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Buffy sat a few feet away from Spike as he worked, but as far as the vampire was concerned, it might as well have been miles. He worked meticulously, not even bothering to acknowledge her as she cleared her throat several times. To the casual observer, he would have appeared to be engrossed in the job at hand, but Buffy could see the telltale signs of his fury - the glittering eyes, the gritted teeth...the muscle that twitched in his cheek every couple of minutes. She could feel his anger slamming against her like a battering ram, and at the moment, she was grateful for the chip that prevented him from attacking her.



Spike was aware of the Slayer's gaze as he finished repairing the door and it only served to fuel his rapidly increasing rage. She had lied to him, and about Angel, no less. She couldn't have picked a better way to piss him off. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, really. Every single time his unlife went bollocks up, it ultimately had to do with his sire. It always came back to fucking Angel ...



He slammed the tools down and stalked into the kitchen, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation with the Slayer. Retrieving a fresh packet of blood from the fridge, he tore into it cold, yellow eyes rolling as he threw back his head and quickly drained it dry. He heard the sound of her wheels behind him as he finished. Unsatisfied and left with nothing else to do but face her, he stalled for time, clenching the bag in his fist. His temper flared again as he recalled the smug look on Angel's face and, snarling, he threw the blood bag at the trash bin as hard as he could.



Buffy caught the empty packet as it came very close to striking her in the face. Saying nothing, she tossed it into the trash, then looked up at him. "Are you going to talk to me?"



"So you can lie to me some more?" he countered, nostrils flaring as he struggled to control himself.



"I didn't lie to you," Buffy tried to protest. "Not really. I just ... didn't ... tell you ... everything," she finished lamely.



"That's rich, Slayer," he snorted. "You have a bloody excuse for everything. Ever heard about the sin of omission?" He tried to move past her, shaking his head in disgust.



Buffy grabbed his arm. "It was a long time ago, Spike. It doesn't even matter anymore."



Spike jerked away from her. "It matters, Slayer. It matters a hell of a lot. I've done everything in my power to help you, and you couldn't even be honest with me. If it wasn't for me, you'd probably be in a nursing home right now, sitting in your own piss and riddled with bed sores."



Buffy was stunned by his gall. If it wasn't for him? Who did he think he was? Okay, so he'd helped her, big deal. That didn't give him the right to assume responsibility for her entire life. "Hold on just one minute!" she yelled, pointing a finger at him. "Don't act like you're here out of the goodness of your little demon heart. *You* needed a place to hide! You didn't care about me. The only thing you cared about was your own ass!"



"Right," he fumed. "I only cared about my own ass. Get off it! I could have left town and those vampires never would have found me. More to the point, I could have left you to them in the first place!"



She blinked, remembering that awful night. The night he'd saved her life. Some of the fight went out of her and she tried to apologize. "You're right, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for not telling you the whole truth. It's just that I know how much you hate Angel and I didn't think you'd -"



"Didn't think I'd what? Didn't think I'd be mature enough to handle the truth? Didn't think I'd enjoy hearing about how much Angel means to you?"



"It's in the past!" she screamed. "Whatever Angel and I had is over, it's done with!"



"It'll never be done with. That wasn't the past that came crashing through the door ready to rip my head off. He's your future, he's what you dream about at night. He fucking owns you!"



Buffy stiffened. "Nobody owns me," she said with deadly intensity.



"Angel does. His mark is all over you - I can smell it." He shook his head at the irony. "Why did I think you'd be any different than Drusilla? It's the same thing all over again - he quirks his little finger and the two of you come running." He threw his hands in the air and turned away. "It's always going to be Angel," he said quietly. "No matter what I do. You're bonded to him just as surely as if he sired you. Just like Dru."



Buffy's hand automatically went to her throat. "But the scar isn't even there anymore," she murmured.



Spike's head whipped around to face her. "What?" He fed off you? You actually let him..." He closed his eyes against the image of Angel drinking from Buffy... sinking his fangs into her soft flesh, tasting her... "When? Was it when you slept with him? No," he continued, murmuring to himself, "Angelus would have bragged about that little incident, no question."



Spike turned to look at her. "It had to be when he was all soul-having. I can't believe the ponce actually bit you." He stared at her in disbelief. "And I can't believe you allowed it."



"I didn't have a choice, Spike. He would have died, it was the only way to cure him of the poison."



"Oh, of course. I should have known. The brave little Slayer sacrificed herself for her vampire lover. How poetic," he sneered. "Tell me, Buffy, did it make you come? Did all that biting and sucking get you off?"



Buffy's face grew red as she remembered just how erotic the experience had been. "Shut up! You don't know anything about it and I won't let you try to turn it into something sleazy. And furthermore, don't you ever compare me to Drusilla! I'm nothing like that crazy bitch -"



"Shut your mouth, Slayer!" He pointed a finger in her face. "You don't get to say anything about her."



"You brought her up! And while we're talking about sacrifice... Exactly how many times did you practically emasculate yourself for your precious Dru?"



"Piss off," he snarled.



"Did I strike a nerve? What's the matter, didn't Drusilla appreciate your efforts?"



"Probably about as much as Angel appreciated yours. Seems to me he didn't stick around too long afterward, did he? Funny, I never figured him for the 'wham bam, thank you, ma'am' type. I guess it depends on the girl, huh?"



"You're a pig, Spike. I can't believe I ever wanted you to kiss me."



"You don't know what you want," he growled, bracing himself on the handles of her chair. "This is me, *this* is who I am. I'm not some romantic hero, I'm not the kind of guy you bring home to mama, and I'm not ever going to love you." His voice turned low and menacing. "I. Am. *Not*. Bloody. Angel."



"No," she whispered, stung by his words, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "You're not. And I don't want Angel. I want you."



"Do you? Do you really think you could be happy with me? With this?" Before she could even blink, he grabbed her upper arms and morphed. As she gasped in surprise, his open mouth came down on hers in a blinding attack of teeth and fury.



Buffy tried to struggle. She needed to, just on principle alone. He was rough, angry, and her lips were bleeding from where his fangs had cut into them. But she wanted it. God, how she wanted it. It was all she could do to keep her lower half immobile as the inevitable heat move through her body. Within seconds, she melted under his onslaught, returning the kiss with equal fervor.



The moment Spike had grabbed her an agonizing pain had pierced his skull. He called upon every ounce of vampiric strength he had and fought against it, torn between wanting to teach the Slayer a lesson and wanting to drown in her indescribable sweetness. The pain started to ease as - incredibly - she began kissing him back. Despite everything he'd said and done, she was still responding and thrusting her tongue against his. And he wanted to kill her for it, for making him want her like this. For making him want Angel's leftovers.



Again.



His hate for Angel at that moment was nearly overwhelming, a hatred that had festered and grown to mammoth proportions over the years. Angel had always gotten there first - with Dru, with Buffy - in every way possible he'd branded and then ruined them for anyone who came along after he'd cast them aside.



Snarling, Spike pushed away from Buffy, shoving her back against the chair. "*That's* what it's like to kiss a real vampire."



Breathing heavily, she stared up at him dazedly, her mouth swollen and bruised, smeared with blood from a dozen tiny cuts. She looked vulnerable, aroused, and so beautiful that it made him want to run away and never look back. He licked the traces of her blood from his lips, wondering as he did why he bothered to torture himself. She was too delicious, and in her present state of weakness, the very thing that had always attracted him. Forbidden fruit ...



Buffy watched the tip of his tongue taste her blood and felt the moisture pool between her legs. She fought against squirming, and forced herself not to pull him down and finish what he'd started. His face transformed back into its human guise, but his expression was still angry. His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, and his eyes glittered with so much repressed rage that she could almost feel their heat scorch her flesh. As she watched, an evil look came over his face and she shrank back instinctively, gripping the wheels of her chair.



Spike leaned forward until they were practically nose to nose. As her mouth moved closer, inviting him to kiss her again, he shook his head, smiling slightly. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't want you. I mean, let's face it, if you weren't woman enough for Angelus, what makes you think you'd be able to keep me interested? Sloppy seconds just don't do it for me anymore."



His head slammed back from the force of the roundhouse punch and it took him a minute to get his bearings. When he opened his eyes, Buffy was glaring up at him, green flames shooting from her eyes.



"I won't be toyed with, Spike," she said fiercely.



"The truth hurts, doesn't it, baby? Maybe you should stick to lying."



"And maybe you should leave!" she yelled.



"Maybe I should," he answered quietly.



Part of Buffy went cold at the thought, but her anger wouldn't let her beg him to stay. Why should she have to put up with his insecurities regarding Angel? He was impossible to live with, and despite the chip in his head, he was still just as evil and just as dangerous as he was before the implant.



At least, that's what she tried to tell herself. He was dangerous all right, but not because he was William the Bloody. The danger didn't come from him biting or attacking her.



It came from her falling in love with him.



No, no way, not possible, she thought. There is no way in hell that I'm falling in love with another vampire. Lust, maybe, but never love. Especially not with Spike. He all but despised her at the moment, and his reaction to Angel? Totally over the top. But why should he care so much about something that happened months ago?



Not to mention the despicable things he'd said. He was lying about not wanting her. She'd felt his desire several times, and the kindness he'd shown her up until now had meant that he cared about her. Was this all an act to make her stop wanting him? Or was it the demon inside him coming out to play? Whatever it was, she didn't feel like dealing with it anymore, but perversely, she still wanted to know.



"What is it about Angel that makes you so crazy?" she asked softly. "Do you really hate him that much?"



"I hate him with everything I am, Slayer. And you will never, ever understand where I'm coming from."



"No, I don't think I ever will." She was suddenly very tired. Trying to understand the inner workings of a dysfunctional vampire family wasn't really top on her list of things to do. She doubted that it ever would be. "I can't do this anymore, Spike. Just get out...go." She ran her hands through her hair, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. "You've more than made your point."



"Fine. You don't have to tell me twice," he retorted. Grabbing his duster from one of the chairs, he stormed out the kitchen door, slamming it behind him.



Buffy jumped at the sound. She started rolling forward, intent on calling him back, but stopped after only a few inches. She couldn't - wouldn't - go after him. Not after the things he'd said. She still had *some* pride left.



Yeah, right, she thought sarcastically. Lying to people you care about, there's something to be proud of.



No matter how she tried to rationalize it, she knew that pretending to still be crippled was wrong. But every time she thought about just getting up and revealing the truth, the fear would paralyze her. Fear of being alone, fear of having to be the Slayer again.



Fear of losing Spike.



The moment he walked out the door, she could feel his absence so acutely that the pain was almost unbearable. She depended on him too much. She needed him too much. And she couldn't help but do everything possible to keep him with her.



No matter how dirty it made her feel.



With a heavy sigh, she braced herself and headed for the door. Her pride was at a minimum, and anyway, what else did she have to lose? All that really mattered was getting Spike back, provided he wasn't already gunning for the city limits in his eagerness to get away from her.



Praying that he hadn't gone far, she reached for the doorknob and prepared to grovel, shaking her head at the concept.



Groveling to Spike. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that the Hellmouth had opened, and the world as she knew it was coming to an end.







Spike stalked across the yard, pausing only long enough to light a cigarette. His head throbbed and he was shaking with anger and unresolved lust. Puffing furiously, he hit the street and kept going until he reached the corner, then turned around stared helplessly in frustration at the Summers house.



"FUCK!" he screamed, gripping his head in his hands.



What had he been thinking, playing nursemaid all these months? Letting the Slayer get close, letting himself actually feel something for her? It was bloody insanity, the lot of it! When had he become such a masochist?



Who am I kidding? he snorted to himself. Since when *haven't* I been on the receiving end? And now, this mess with the Slayer? What made me think I could ever get away with touching her?



Touching the Slayer meant touching Angelus, exposing himself once again to all the pain, hatred, and fury his sire always managed to invoke with his presence.



But she felt so fucking good, the voice in his head whined. Soft and strong, stubborn, willful - she could kill him in a heartbeat, and nothing had ever gotten him off more than the thrill of danger. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't had a woman in months, and certainly no one as tempting as Buffy. Harm had been little more than a convenient wet hole - okay, several holes - but the rest of the annoying package hardly made it worth his effort. He didn't miss having her around, that was for sure.



The Slayer, though ...



He didn't seem be able to stay away from her. How many times had he come back to this stinking pit of a town, anyway? It certainly wasn't the atmosphere that led him back time and time again. No, it was the lure of someone small and blonde, with a delicious scent and a killer right hook. Someone who made him hard just by being in the same room with her. Someone whose absence he was already feeling, even though he'd only left her a few moments ago.



"Bloody fucking hell!"



What was he supposed to do, just turn around and go back with his tail between his legs? Go back and face her after all the things he'd said? After he'd kissed her so brutally he'd drawn blood?



"Well, mate," he murmured softly, "you can be sure the implant hasn't affected your ability to act like a total prick. You should be very proud."



The kicker of it was, he did feel proud. To a point, anyway. He'd been afraid he'd gone soft over the last few months, and now his demon could rejoice in the hurt he'd caused the Slayer. The poor sod had to get his jollies where he could, and who was he to deny his evil side? Still, he didn't relish the thought of facing Buffy after all this. Maybe he could just wander the streets for a bit, until she fell asleep.



Yeah, right. And get his ass buggered by commandos, or dusted by those renegade vamps. No thanks, he thought, weighing the choices. Hurt and angry Slayer on one hand, lab guinea pig and annihilation by his own people on the other. It was a close call.



He sighed and scuffed his boot across the pavement. Either way, he was fucked. But Buffy needed him and that made all the difference. Who'd have thought, eh? he wondered. A vampire with a Florence Nightingale complex? Welcome to my ridiculous unlife. I should have my own bloody sitcom.



Calling himself every kind of loser in the book, he turned around and headed back to Buffy's house, walking as slowly as possible. At the edge of the yard, he stopped, staring at the back door. Almost as if she sensed him, the door opened and the Slayer was there, the light from the kitchen turning her hair into a golden halo. Bugger it, why did she have to be so goddamn beautiful? he fumed. Why couldn't he just walk away and never come back?



"Spike?" she called. "Are you coming back in?"



"Do you really want me to?" he countered, shoving his hands in his pockets.



"Yes," she answered softly. "I do." Her fingernails were digging into her palms as she waited expectantly for him to come to her.



"Why?" he asked, not moving.



"What?" she blurted, the air leaving her body in a rush.



"Why do you want me to come back?"



"Why do I want you to come back?" she replied dumbly. What was his problem? Her temper flared again. "So I can kick your bleached blond ass for being such a prick!" she screamed at him.



He smirked. She really did have him pegged. And at least she didn't try to manipulate him, the way Dru always had. "It's what I do best, luv, remember? I thought you would have figured that out by now."



"Stop playing games and get back in here, Spike. You're outside the protective circle."



"Don't tell me you actually care, Slayer," he said as he took a step. "You'll make me all weepy if you -"



The lasso came out of nowhere and landed around his shoulders, yanking him roughly backward. Buffy watched in shock as his feet shot out from under him and he landed on his back, his head striking the concrete with a loud pop. Someone shouted, "Yeehaw!" and she turned toward the sound, watching as the vampires that attacked her began to rope Spike in.



Looking to her left, she saw two long pieces of wood, and leapt from her chair, snatching them up. Jumping over the edge of the porch, she ran as fast as she could toward the road, where the vampires had successfully pulled Spike, taking him farther away from the shield that had been placed around the house. Her body came alive, each step drawing her closer and closer toward saving him.



One of the vampires charged at her and she ducked, using his momentum to push him away and plunge her makeshift stake into his back. By her estimation, there were five: four large men and one woman. The woman took one look at her and held her hands up, backing away. Buffy focused on the man in the cowboy hat, who almost had Spike hogtied. "Hey, cowboy!" she shouted.



The vampire turned just in time to see a piece of wood flying end over end in his direction. He held up his arm too late and the wood pierced his heart. "Well, son of a bitch!" he managed to exclaim before he plumed into dust.



Spike's head was swimming, aching from where he had struck it on the sidewalk, but as soon as he smelled the blood scented ashes falling around him, he snapped out of it and struggled out of the rope. His first thought was of Buffy, hoping she'd stayed on the porch and out of harm's way. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered for a second and tried to focus. He blinked several times, only to be rewarded by more dust flying into his face. Growling, his demon emerged, allowing him to see clearly.



And he saw her.



The Slayer was on her feet, fighting with the two remaining vampires. She swung efficiently, carefully ducking and leaping over kicks and blows. Her face was red, her hair whipping in the air and her bare feet flying as she landed kick after kick on her opponents. He watched her nostrils flare slightly as the vampires backed off, then charged her simultaneously, coming from either side. She waited, half slumped as if she were trying to catch her breath, then stood, holding the long piece of wood out flat in front of her. The vampires were impaled on either side and vanished, just as the moon began to sink behind storm clouds.



Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, Spike saw her clearly. He saw her standing strong, feet firmly braced at shoulder width, as sure-footed as he had ever seen her, and he saw the weapon she still held in her hands. Swallowing hard, he waited for her to face him.



Buffy was painfully aware of his eyes on her back. Turning slowly, she dropped the wood in her hand as if to show him that she would never dream of hurting him.



The silence stretched on as he stood there, not moving or saying a word. In the distance, the town clock began chiming the hour, shattering the stillness. Buffy held her breath, wondering what was going through Spike's head, but as her eyes met his, the stunned look of betrayal on his face told her everything she needed to know.



He would never forgive her.



"Spike?" she whispered, as the clock continued its relentless bonging. Six, seven, eight...



Glacial eyes bored into hers, chilling her to the bone. When he spoke, his voice dripped with icicles, every syllable filled with contempt. "So, *you* won't be toyed with, huh, Slayer?"



Spike's mind struggled with what he'd just seen - with the fact that she could walk - and everything Angelus had ever done to him suddenly seemed like child's play. When it came to fucking with people's heads, the Slayer was a real pro. And Spike had finally decided that he was through being played.



"I guess that makes two of us."



He stared at her a moment longer, not really registering anything except the clock's distant tones. The sound seemed to come from his chest, substituting itself for the long absent beat of his heart. Nine, ten, eleven...



Buffy shook her head slowly, fear seeping into every pore of her body. She could see his body poised for flight, see his gaze sweep over her hatefully one last time...



And as the clock struck twelve - the midnight hour - and the Slayer stood there with tears running down her cheeks, Spike did what he'd promised to do if she ever got her legs back.



He turned and ran.



















Part Thirteen



Giles drained the last of his third cup of coffee and motioned for a refill. The waitress arrived with a silver pot and filled his cup, then moved toward Angel’s, but the vampire shook his head, mumbling that he’d had enough. When the young woman moved away, Angel clasped his fingers and stared at Giles.



"Why didn’t you tell me all of this a long time ago, Giles?" he finally asked, his glare hardening as Giles added sugar to his cup and took several small sips, purposely avoiding his gaze. "I could have come back. I could have taken care of her. I could-"



"You could have hurt her again. Unwittingly. Unintentionally. But hurt her just the same." The caffeine was making him restless, fidgety. Giles exhaled loudly and put his cup down, then lifted it again. "And to be quite frank, Angel, I don’t feel that I was obligated to tell you anything at all. If you were that interested in her life you should have called her and not me."



There was a long beat where neither man blinked, then Angel looked away and mumbled, "You know why I didn’t call her."



"And you know why I didn’t tell you," Giles replied. "For the very same reason that you haven’t contacted her."



Angel glanced down at the table, slowly tracing a scratch in the worn wood with his thumbnail. He had listened with disbelief to most of what Giles had told him: the commandos, Spike being implanted with some form of behavior modifier, Buffy almost being killed, and finally Spike’s aid in caring for her. Spike, of all people, had been doing what he himself should have done. "I would have been a better choice than Spike."



Giles glanced at him over the rim of his cup, then sat it down again slowly. "Would you? You don’t know what this did to her, Angel. She hated all of us. For weeks, she refused to eat at the hospital, lived off of tubes, and when she finally was allowed to come home, she was insufferable. Spike was the only person who could be harsh enough with her to get through to her and our hands were tied."



"But I--"



Giles held up a hand. "Just stop. I’ve given you all the explanation I plan on giving. I was here and you weren’t."



"I could have been. In a matter of hours, I could have been."



"We can’t erase time, Angel. We can’t go back and do it again. It’s done." Giles motioned for their waitress and requested the check. "I appreciate your concern for Buffy, but I feel that there are more important things for us to concentrate on at the moment."



Angel was about to protest, about to tell the Watcher all about the last Slayer that Spike had killed, when the door chimed and he froze. Several men in dark suits entered the diner and scanned the room, then headed toward the long, empty bar. "I think you’re right," he said, nodding toward the small crowd. "Do they look familiar to you?"



Giles turned, staring at the men at the bar. "I’ll be damned."



There were six men, each of them dressed almost alike, and all of them wearing a pinky ring just like the one Giles was wearing. He instinctively gripped his own ring, twirling it around his finger, and then he stood. "I’ll be right back," he told Angel.



Angel watched, bracing himself for trouble. To his surprise, one of the men saw Giles coming and jumped up, embracing the Englishman tightly. The other five followed suit and Giles pointed toward Angel. Six pairs of eyes bore holes in him, and he looked away, painfully aware of their disdain, for he was the very thing that they hated. He was so caught up in not being obvious, that he didn’t realize that Giles had made his way back toward him until he cleared his throat beside him.



"Angel? Would you like to join us in the back of the bar and discuss plans?"



Angel glanced passed him, eyeing the men critically. "Are you sure they can be trusted?"



Giles nodded. "I’m sure of it. Each of them have, at one time or another, spoken up for me or Buffy to the ruling elite. Most of these men served when my own grandmother was a Watcher. They know what's been happening with Maggie Walsh."



"I see." Angel nodded, tossed a handful of ones on the table, and followed Giles toward the back of the room. Of the six men, only two stood up and said hello to him when he paused beside the long table they had arranged themselves at. Angel greeted them, Giles made the introductions, and then they all sat down again.



One of the men leaned forward, studying Angel closely, his wrinkled face only a few inches from Angel's own. "The one with the angelic face. The books do not lie. They called you the 'scourge of Europe' if I recall. You murdered without a second thought, raping, pillaging your way all over the place. Does that haunt you as much as we've heard?"



Angel said nothing, but he held the Malachai’s gaze, not blinking. With a smile, the elder Watcher shook his head. "I see that the books also did not lie when they spoke of your stoicism. We have heard of your entanglements with the Slayer, and with Wesley Wyndham-Price. It would appear, for all intents and purposes, that the only thing that makes you a vampire anymore is your lack of a heartbeat."



Angel’s face showed no emotion, but he nodded his head slightly. "And it would also appear that the only thing that makes you a Watcher anymore is the fact that you’re still alive. You certainly haven’t been doing your job, have you?"



"Angel-" Giles rolled his eyes and glanced at the Elder apologetically. "I am sorry, Malachai. Angel is overwrought with emotion because of Buffy's-"



"Make no apologies for him." Malachai interrupted, still gazing at Angel. "He should not be faulted for speaking the truth. We have failed. We allowed our system to crumble, allowed Quentin to convince us that your place in our ranks had been compromised, and worst of all, allowed Maggie Walsh to execute her poorly planned operation at the Hellmouth of all places." Glancing at Giles, Malachai shook his head. "And your Slayer’s weaknesses can also be traced back to Maggie Walsh."



That comment piqued Giles curiosity and he narrowed his eyes. "How so?"



Malachai motioned at the waitress, requested a bottle of the finest Scotch, and cleared his throat, waiting for her to leave. When she did, he glanced at the man to the left of Angel, who nodded at him. "Two days before your Slayer was attacked, Maggie sent a formal request to the Elders for a Shaman, a healer who practices sorcery and can control natural events. Our last contact with him was the day after the Slayer’s attack. We have three eyewitnesses who placed him at the hospital and in your Slayer’s room. With Maggie Walsh."



Giles was too stunned to speak for several seconds, then his eyes widened. "Are you telling me that Maggie put some sort of spell on Buffy to prevent her from healing?"



"I am," Malachai replied with a nod. "We were able to obtain documents that Maggie had accessed from our database and each of those documents entailed different ways to alter someone’s healing ability. The Shaman was the link she needed to complete the ritual."



"So, Buffy can walk?" Angel asked, his mind struggling to comprehend everything at once.



Malachai shrugged his shoulders slightly. "There would be no way of knowing unless the spell was lifted. There is a real possibility that the Slayer was physically damaged to the point of being crippled," he paused, "but in my experience, Slayers are either active or they’re dead. There’s never an exception because as long as her body is alive, it’s constantly rejuvenating itself. She won’t bruise, if she does, it’s gone within hours. When she’s cut, it heals faster ... it’s the way of the Chosen. And Buffy Summers has certainly gone above and beyond when it comes to her victories."



"I should have known ... I should have thought of that." Giles rubbed his fingertips over his forehead in frustration. "I mean, all this time I've just sat by and watched her withdraw and I never even considered that there could be something supernatural involved. I should have--"



Rueben, the man to his left, laid a hand on his arm. "There will be time for should haves later. We’ve come to make this right. We were able to secure the location of Maggie’s lab and we have a disk that will shut down her operations for three hours. That’ll give us enough time to infiltrate, take her into custody, and put an end to this madness. Demonic forces can not be trifled with as she is doing."



"And what about her father?" Giles eyed the Councilmen wearily, recalling Maggie's father when he had been an instructor at the academy. "Is Darren Walsh aware of your intentions?"



Malachai took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm afraid that we had to deal with Darren Walsh in very extreme measures."



"You killed one of your own people?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows in shock.



"Would that shock you, Angel?" Malachai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.



"Pretty much nothing shocks me," Angel said. "But if you did kill one of your own people, I'd say that puts us on a level playing field and you have no right to look down your nose at me."



Malachai chuckled and glanced at the man beside him. "He's a spirited old chap, isn't he? I like him." Stretching his arms back, the elder Watcher grinned at Angel. "We didn't kill Darren, we simply relieved him of his duties and left him to his own devices. He got himself killed."



"Pity, that." Giles crossed his arms over his chest, unable to even pretend to be saddened for the loss. "So, you're going to handle this situation yourselves? Would you happen to have space for one more ally?"



"Two," Angel added. He looked toward Malachai. "The fact that my heart doesn’t beat isn’t the only thing that makes me a vampire. My strength could be an asset in all of this."



"Very well." Malachai nodded his head and paused, taking the Scotch from the waitresses tray when she returned. He passed out the glasses and filled each. "Then what do you say we toast--" he held up his glass and tapped it against Angel's. "to unholy alliances."



"To unholy alliances," Angel replied, drained his glass, and sat it back on the table. "Where do we start?"



"We start by bringing Maggie Walsh to her knees." Giles smiled over the rim of his glass as he swallowed the strong liquor down in one gulp. He half listened as Malachai began to outline the plan. By the time he reached his third shot, he had hatched a plan of his own. Maggie Walsh had once told him that he was too much of a loose cannon to ever be taken seriously as a Watcher. And she was right-- he was a loose cannon--



And he was about to go off.





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