* * *

Angel breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out into the murky twilight right after sunset. He had been cooped up in a motel room all day, waiting for the sun to go down.

So he could visit Buffy’s grave.

He shuddered, suddenly not feeling so relieved, and walked toward the cemetery. Such a familiar place, the cemetery. It had meant so many things to him in the past: a place to live, a place to feed, then later a place to fight and kill demons. For him, it had never been a place to mourn. Now it would always be that.

The Sunnydale cemetery in particular was intimately familiar to him; he’d even been here as recently as three months ago, to comfort Buffy at her mother’s grave. It was surreal, that in so short a time he’d be back, not to comfort Buffy but to say goodbye at her own grave.

Angel pulled his black trench coat tighter around his shoulders. It was really too hot for it in Southern California in late May, even at night, but he didn’t care. He needed something comforting, familiar, something to hide in other than just the shadows. Besides, he felt so cold, so dead inside that even summer couldn’t warm him.

The graveside service had probably just ended, he thought as he walked. Willow and Giles had scheduled it as late in the afternoon as they dared without it getting too dark out. They had wanted to make it easier for him to attend the wake, and although he hated crowds, hated the thought of having to grieve in public, he appreciated the gesture. But first, he had to say goodbye to Buffy. And though it had killed him to not be able to go to the service, now he was feeling a little grateful. Better to have a moment alone than to be surrounded by all her grieving friends.

But as he finally approached the grave, he saw that he would not get his solitude after all. A single figure stood at the fresh mound of dirt covered with basket after basket of flowers. At first Angel couldn’t tell who it was in the gloom; all he could see was the silhouette of a person in a long black coat, not unlike his own. Oddly, it appeared to be headless, and Angel wondered if it wasn’t a demon of some sort, but as he got closer, a head stretched up from the shoulders. A head with shocking blond, almost white hair. Angel’s stomach tightened. Spike.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath, stopping short. He had known Spike was going to be around; Willow had told him as much. He also knew he’d have to speak with him at some point, to verify for himself all of these "changes" Willow attributed to him. But not here, not now. He wasn’t ready. This was supposed to be his time to say goodbye to Buffy and Spike was pretty close to the bottom of the list of people he wanted to see right now. He thought for a moment, and then quickly ducked to the side, behind a very tall headstone about a hundred yards away from Buffy’s grave. From there he watched Spike a moment, debating what to do. He could go to the wake and wait for another time to see Buffy’s grave, but the thought of leaving Spike alone there, as if he had more right to be there than Angel did, burned him. So he stayed behind the tall gravestone and watched, curious to see what Spike would do.

Which was, mostly, nothing. For what seemed like an eternity, Spike just stood at the grave, his head hanging low. He might have been talking, but from this distance Angel couldn’t tell. A couple of times Angel thought he could see Spike’s shoulders shake and it looked for all the world like he was crying, but the image of Spike, whom Angel knew to be a brutal and merciless killer who had specifically hoped to kill Buffy some day, the idea of him crying over her grave was too incongruous, so he dismissed it. However, he couldn’t dismiss the obvious grief. His hung head, his slumped shoulders, everything about him announced that he was in deep pain. Angel shook his head in frustration. It still didn’t make sense. How could a soulless vampire grieve?"

Eventually, Angel grew tired of waiting and it was obvious Spike was in no hurry to leave, so he decided to approach him. They had to face each other sooner or later. Might as well be now.

He crept up quietly, uncomfortable, not sure how to deal with anything other than a wise-cracking, smart-ass Spike whose teeth you just ached to kick in. No, that wasn’t totally true, he’d seen Spike grieve once before, after Dru had dumped him. But then it had been pathetic in a funny sort of way. There was nothing amusing about this, however. Nothing about Buffy’s death could be the slightest bit funny.

As he approached, he saw Spike bring his head up, his shoulders stiffen somewhat. "Hello, mate," he said, without turning toward Angel. "I was wondering when you were gonna show. Now my joy is complete."

It almost sounded like the Spike Angel knew. That Spike would certainly call the occasion of Buffy’s death "joy." But there was no humor in his voice now, no menace, no challenge. He sounded utterly defeated. It unsettled Angel.

"Hello, Spike."

He stepped up next to the other vampire, but didn’t look at him. Instead he looked down at the grave, Buffy’s grave. Even in the gloom his vampire eyes could read the headstone:

Buffy Anne Summers

1981 - 2001

Beloved Sister

Devoted Friend

She Saved the World

A lot

Angel bit his lip, hard, to keep from sobbing. He would not do this with Spike here, absolutely no way. Biting his lip and clenching his fists, he looked up and blinked away the tears that were threatening. He stood there a while, silently, Spike beside him, equally silent. It was Spike who spoke first.

"Hard to believe."

Angel looked at him then, finally in enough control to speak. "What?

That she’s dead or that it’s not your fault that she’s dead?"

Spike smiled grimly and nodded his head. "Got that wrong, mate," he said turning to face Angel. "It is my fault."

Angel frowned and suppressed the rising anger, but Spike didn’t meet the challenge. He merely nodded curtly, then looked back down to the grave. Again, he looked defeated and Angel realized that his tone hadn’t been cocky or challenging; rather it had been self-deriding. This hit Angel like a slap to the face: Spike was angry with himself. Over Buffy’s death. Even after what Willow had told him, about how he had fallen in love with her, had fought beside them against the hell god, it still seemed impossible.

"How so?" he said carefully, testing the waters.

"I didn’t stop it," Spike said in a voice full of self-loathing. "I promised I’d protect the Little Bit and I didn’t." Angel frowned, then realized by "Little Bit" he probably meant Dawn. God forbid Spike ever use anyone’s actual name...

Spike shook his head angrily then reached into his coat and pulled out a silver flask. Unscrewing it quickly, he took a swig, then turned to Angel, offering the flask.

"No thanks," Angel said with distaste. It was bad enough to be standing here listening to Spike grieve over Buffy. To share a drink with him and grieve together was just too much. Spike shrugged and pocketed the flask.

"So," Spike said at length, "you bring a stake or did you merely come for the freak show?"

"Spike, do you always have to be a complete pain in the ass?" Angel groaned.

Spike considered a moment. "Yes, I believe I do."

Angel snorted and turned to face him. "Just explain it to me, explain it to me so I can understand. How."

Spike looked down a moment, then looked him in the eye. "Wish I knew. Wish I bloody well knew."

"But it’s true, you actually, you—" Angel stopped, unable to form the words, unable to wrap his mind around the concept.

Spike grinned coldly. "Yes, it’s true. I love her. Loved her," He corrected, then looked down again, pursing his lips.

Angel shook his head, incredulous. "Because of this chip thing."

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. Prob’ly."

"So let me get this straight. The military guys put a chip in your brain and you can’t hurt humans. And then one day you just wake up and say, ‘Hey, if I can’t beat ‘em, I might as well join ‘em. Guess I’ll just fall in love with the Slayer.’"

Spike snickered at this. "Actually, that’s almost exactly how it happened."

"It doesn’t make sense, Spike."

"Well good, we agree then. We done here?"

"Oh, we are so not done," Angel retorted. "You don’t have a soul, Spike—"

"Thanks for the newsflash, moron."

"You have no idea what love is," Angel finished as if Spike hadn’t interrupted.

"Over a hundred years with Dru and you think I don’t know what love is?" Spike snapped.

"That’s not love, Spike, that’s lust. Killing and maiming your way across three continents and having sex over your victims’ bodies, that’s not love."

"Oh really," Spike sneered. "How about letting some skanky whore of a hell god bitch slap you until your face feels like hamburger because she knows you know where her key is, but you won’t tell because you can’t, because you’d rather die then let them hurt her or her sister. How ‘bout that, is that love?"

Angel paused, considering. "Yeah," he admitted, "yeah, that sounds like love."

"Right then, so we’ve established the soulless monster can love. Anything else?"

"Yeah, Spike. So you can love. It doesn’t make you good."

"Never said it did."

"But you wanted to save the world anyway."

"Yeah."

"For Buffy."

"Right."

Angel shook his head, feeling like he was going in circles. "And now she’s dead, so what now?"

"I thought I’d go join the Mormon Tabernacle Choir," Spike smirked. "What do you think, you git? Same as you, I keep on doing what I was doing. It’s a lot less fun and a lot harder to not just walk out into the sun and be done with it, but what choice do I have?"

"Oh, I don’t know, go back to the glory days? Maybe find Dru, get her to do your killing for you."

Spike visibly cringed at that comment. "First of all, I have no interest in finding Dru. We’re done. For good. Second of all, Buffy’s death changes nothing. I made her a promise. She said she was counting on me to protect Dawn and I told her until the end of the word. Way I figure, world didn’t end, I still have a promise to keep." He paused a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was thick with emotion. "I failed her once. I won’t fail her again. Not ever."

Angel watched him, considering his words, searching for a sign, a hint that it was all a lie. But the thing about Spike was that he’d always been a lousy liar. Not because he held any sort of scruples about the truth, but merely because he was incredibly transparent. And at this moment, Angel saw sincerity. Whether Spike was capable of following through on his promise was anyone’s guess, but it was very clear he meant every word he said.

"Besides," Spike added, "I’m developing a taste for pig’s blood."

Angel snorted. "Yeah, right." He smiled, shaking his head, then tried a different track. "Willow says you haven’t fed off a human in a year and a half. That true?"

Spike nodded, then paused. "No, not quite. Once. She was already dead, I couldn’t hurt her with the chip in, but her heart was still pumping, so I guess that counts."

Angel grimaced at the casual way he described feeding off of a recent kill, but plugged on. "Willow thinks maybe the fact that you’re not feeding off live humans is causing you to change somehow."

Spike chuckled. "Willow is a bleeding romantic."

"Yes, she is," Angel agreed. "Think she’s right?"

"Well, I don’t feel the urge to run off to L.A. and start a detective agency to help lost souls, if that’s what you’re asking."

"But would you? Help people? Not just Buffy and Dawn, but someone you didn’t know? Just because you can?"

Spike took a deep breath, then shrugged. "I don’t know. Got nothin’ against helping people, but don’t feel any particular longing to either."

Angel rolled his eyes. This was going nowhere. "What about the past?

All the people you’ve killed. Ever feel bad about that?"

Again, Spike shrugged. "Never thought about it much."

"That’s the difference. I can’t stop thinking about it. I hate it, I can’t stand to think about who I was, what I did. It eats me up inside. That’s what having a soul is."

"Really?" Spike sneered derisively. "Well let me tell you something, Soul Man, something I didn’t even know until a few weeks ago. You don’t need a soul to feel guilt or shame."

"You feel shame?"

"I’m drowning in it," Spike said, his voice etched with pain.

"For...?" Angel prompted.

"For the way I reacted when Buffy found out how I felt about her, when she told me I disgusted her. For what I did when I couldn’t have her. For promising to protect Dawn and failing." He faltered, and for one horrifying moment Angel thought he was going to cry, but he didn’t. He shook it off. "That’s what I can’t stop thinking about. The look in Dawn’s eyes when I lost, when Doc beat me. It haunts me."

Angel was silent.

"Remember when I came back to Sunnydale after the first time Dru dumped me?"

"Yeah, it’s always a pleasure when you come to town, Spike."

Spike smirked, then sobered. "Remember what she said to me?"

"She said a lot of things to you. Most of them had to do with hating you."

"Well yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Remember at her house, with Joyce, when I told you I had Willow and Xander, that I’d let them go if Will would do a love spell for me?"

"Uh, Spike, if you’re trying to make a case for me not staking you, this is the wrong direction."

"I’m all a tremble," he snorted. "Do you remember what she said to me? Because I will never forget. Not that I cared at the time, mind you, but now it will haunt me until I’m ashes."

Angel tilted his head, curious.

"She said ‘You’re not famous for keeping promises.’" He frowned, looking troubled. "’You’re not famous for keeping promises,’" he repeated, closing his eyes, his voice now heavy with pain. "I was going to prove her wrong. I was going to save Dawn. Except..." he trailed off, unable to finish. At length, he composed himself. "So yeah, I know something about guilt and shame."

Angel nodded slowly, digesting this. "But kidnapping Will and Xander, Cordelia getting impaled when the stairs collapsed. You don’t feel any guilt about that?"

"I told you, I don’t think about it much at all."

Angel shook his head. "Then you don’t get it."

"What? Because I’m not all broody and angst-ridden over the past? That’s your gig, mate. It’s enough to get through the day just thinking about last week, why bother about last year or a hundred years ago? Does it make any of those people less dead?"

Angel considered this. "Do you miss it?"

He chewed on his lip a bit. "Do you?"

"No," Angel replied emphatically. "What part of ‘it eats me up inside’ did you not understand?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not the killing, you idiot, the feeding. Ever miss the warm blood, the beating heart, the smell, the taste?"

Angel closed his eyes, his stomach growling involuntarily. He hated that part of himself, the part of him that longed for blood, living blood, human blood. "Yeah," he admitted, "I miss it."

"I miss it too."

"But the killing, Spike, the death. Hurting people for kicks. You miss that?"

Spike looked away and chewed his lip again, and it was a long time before he replied.

"Dru came back once."

"You didn’t answer the question."

"I’m getting to the question," he said tersely. "She picked the perfect time, too. Buffy’d just figured me out and had called me disgusting, she loathed me, the usual. Then out of the blue comes Dru. She told me about Darla—"

Angel winced involuntarily at the mention of Darla’s name.

"—about how she wanted the ‘family’ back together again. And she knew about the chip. She told me it was a lie, that I was still evil, and I wanted to believe her."

"I’ll bet you did," Angel said, disgusted.

"What? You think I like this? I never asked for this, this chip, falling for the Slayer, this... responsibility. I was becoming everything I loathed. I was... I was becoming you." He shook his head, clearly repulsed by the very thought.

"Gee, Spike, I’m touched."

"You’re touched all right, but I digress." He paused, trying to remember where he’d left off. "I wanted to believe her, believe that nothing had changed, that the whole Slayer thing was a lie, an aberration. So we went to the Bronze. For a snack."

Angel set his jaw, not liking what was coming.

"We found this couple upstairs and Dru breaks the girl’s neck, tosses her to me, then goes for the fellow." He stopped.

"And?"

"And I... I..." he winced. "I couldn’t do it."

"You couldn’t feed?"

"No, I couldn’t watch her. She killed the girl and—"

"It bothered you?" Angel prompted.

Spike nodded, clearly unsettled. "Yeah. And when Dru fed on the bloke—

God, it used to be the most exciting thing in the world to watch her.

Like poetry."

Angel grimaced, horrified.

"But this time it wasn’t poetry. It was—"

"Disgusting? Horrifying? Evil?"

Spike closed his eyes, searching. "Ugly."

"But you fed on the girl anyway."

He nodded. "I already told you that. That was the one time."

"And you liked it?"

"Well yeah," Spike said as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world. "It was like I was starving, like I hadn’t really eaten in ages. It was like—" he stopped himself, unable to find a suitable descriptor, but his face was full of longing. Then he frowned. "But I didn’t want to do it."

"Why not? Because Buffy would kick your sorry ass?"

He ignored the jibe. "I don’t know why, I just didn’t want to. It wasn’t fun." He paused again, then shook of the memory. "So we went home and there was Buffy. And I knew. It wasn’t an aberration. Dru was wrong." He sighed.

"And then Buffy kicked your sorry ass?" Angel asked hopefully.

"No," Spike sneered. "Dru shocked her with a cattle prod. And then—" He stopped short. "Well, the story gets boring and mostly falls under the ‘shame’ category, so let’s just say Dru left and we’re done. So to answer your question, no I don’t miss it. I don’t have any regrets, I don’t brood and sulk over the past like certain vampires, but I’ve no particular interest in going back there, either."

"What if you could get the chip out. Would you do it?"

Spike raised his eyebrows. "I’ve pretty much given up on that, but I guess that would depend."

"On...?"

"I’ve got one goal right now, and that’s to make sure Dawn lives to a ripe old age. So it would depend on whether or not getting the chip out would help or hinder that goal."

"How would it help?"

"Not every nasty thing is a monster. You should know that, with all those lawyers you keep running into. Might be useful to be able to fight humans again. And it has occurred to me that with Glory gone those monks might get ideas about wanting their Key back, and they’re human."

"But without the chip, could you resist the temptation? Not Dawn of course, but others, strangers?"

Spike sighed, exasperated. "What do you want from me? We’ve already established I don’t have a soul. I may be getting blood from your butcher, be following in your footsteps with the Scoobies, have fallen for your girl, but I’m not you. I have no interest in being you."

Angel clenched his hands in frustration. "Spike—" he started, then stopped short.

"What...?" Spike began, but Angel held up his hand silencing him.

Spike frowned and looked around. Then Angel heard it again, a footstep, behind the gravestone Angel had stood behind earlier. Quietly, the two of them moved over to the stone, Angel circling to the right, Spike to the left. Then, just as Angel was about to round the corner, something flew out at him. Sidestepping quickly, he reached out and grabbed the form, turned it to face him, and found himself looking into a vampire in game face.

"May we help you?" He asked.

"Aw, sorry man, I thought you guys were humans. I was hungry," the vamp replied. Angel looked around for something wooden and pointy, then saw Spike over the vamp’s shoulder. He had his coat open and was pointing inside to a large stake. Angel smiled and Spike reached for it, but then the vampire broke free and headed over to Buffy’s grave.

"Oh man, this is it, isn’t it?" the newcomer asked, delighted.

"It’s true, the Slayer’s dead."

Angel felt a rage bubble up inside him and it was all he could do to keep from lunging and popping the vamp’s head off with his bare hands. And then he saw Spike. His face was set hard, the hate pouring off him in waves. Spike had always had a temper, had always angered easily, but in all the many many years Angel had known him, he’d never seen Spike this furious. And despite himself, despite his frustration moments before, he felt a sudden kinship with this vampire, his adversary, his former protégé.

"Yeah, we’re gonna celebrate tonight!" the vamp was saying, and Angel tore his eyes from Spike and looked at the intruder, a thought forming. Out of a corner of his eye he saw Spike tense to spring and he quickly held a hand to his chest to stop him. "We?" he asked the vamp casually, giving Spike a warning look.

"Yeah, haven’t you heard? Big party tonight. Celebrate the Slayer getting hers."

The rage bubbled again and Angel forced it down. He turned to Spike.

"Hey William, you feel like celebrating?"

Spike growled, his eyes hard. "Oh yeah, I’ve been looking for a good party."

"So, where is this party?" Angel asked, his arm still on Spike’s chest lest his temper overpower him before their intruder could show them where to go.

"Oh, over there a ways," he motioned vaguely. "I just wanted to dance on the grave first."

Spike pressed forward and Angel increased the pressure to hold him back while fighting his own urge to tear this idiot apart. "William," he said darkly, "we want our friend to show us the party, don’t we?"

Spike let out a low growl but stopped pressing. Angel shot him another warning look, then took his arm down and walked over to the other vampire, clapping an arm around his shoulder as if they were old pals. "We’ve got the rest of eternity to dance. Let’s go celebrate," he said, forcing a jovial tone. To Spike he said, "You got enough **party supplies** on you? Or should we get more?"

Spike tore his gaze from the would-be grave dancer and regarded Angel. "Party supplies, yeah. I think we can make do with what I’ve got on me." His voice was hard and cold.

The stranger looked confused, though Angel suspected it was a perpetual condition with this one. He smelled green, probably hadn’t been a vampire more than a few months. "Party supplies? The only thing you need to bring is a snack. BYOP."

Lovely. Angel thought a moment, considering whether he should go up to Buffy’s house and get Wesley and maybe Willow and Xander to play the role. It would help their odds. He dismissed the thought quickly, however, deciding he didn’t want to interrupt their mourning and would be better off not having to watch anyone’s back.

"We can pick some up on the way," he said, making it up as he went along. Hopefully they could find out where this party was before they had to stake their guide to keep him from killing someone.

"Okay," the rookie shrugged, letting Angel steer him away from Buffy’s grave. "Let’s go."

Angel released their companion and let him lead the way, Angel falling into step behind him next to Spike. They trudged through the cemetery out onto the street. They walked a ways before Spike, who had been keeping his jaw firmly clenched shut, spoke.

"Hey mate, where is this party? Why not at the cemetery. I would think everyone would want a chance to... dance on the grave." The last he spit out as if he’d just tasted spoiled blood.

"Oh," their guide said over his shoulder, smiling like a delighted child, "it’s somewhere even better," he finished cryptically, then turned back to face forward. Angel glanced at Spike, who shrugged in return. But then after two more steps they turned a corner and Spike stopped cold, as if he’d just run into the threshold of a house he hadn’t been invited into.

Angel looked at him questioningly, but Spike just stared ahead, slowly tilting his head up. The anger drained from his face and he looked anguished, pale, even for a vampire. Frowning, Angel turned to follow his gaze and found himself looking at some sort of construction site with a tall, metal tower. He was puzzled for a moment, and then he knew. His stomach clenched and did a slow three-sixty as a cold dread settled over him. He turned back to Spike who still was frozen in place.

"Is that...?"

Barely, almost imperceptibly, Spike nodded, and Angel’s stomach did another slow loop.

"Ta da!" their guide announced gleefully. "The ultimate party place!

The very spot where the Slayer died!"

Angel turned purposefully towards the moron, releasing his vamp face. Now that they knew where to go, the guide was pretty redundant and Angel relished the thought of driving a stake through him, wishing vampires didn’t turn to dust so he could do it repeatedly. But before he could make a move, his prey spotted a couple of homeless people stretched out among some bags of garbage.

"Look, snacks! And they’re winos! We can get buzzed!"

Angel turned to Spike and held out his hand, palm up, but Spike was still staring at the tower, his jaw working back and forth as he relived what had happened there. "Spike," Angel said, trying to draw his attention.

Finally, with effort, Spike dragged his eyes off the tower and looked at Angel quizzically. Angel shook his outstretched hand for emphasis, but still Spike wasn’t comprehending.

"Now would be a good time for a stake," Angel said, emphasizing with his hand again.

Spike shook his head as if waking up from a nightmare. "Oh right." He reached into his coat and pulled out a stake, slapping it into Angel’s palm. Angel curled his fist around the rough wood, then with a low snarl darted after their guide. He was on him before the vamp had even made half the distance towards his intended victims. Angel pounced on his back, roaring in rage, and drove the stake home through his back, then pulled it out again quickly. The vamp turned to dust beneath him and Angel brushed himself off with his left hand, his right still clutching the stake. Allowing his human face to return, he walked back to Spike who still hadn’t moved.

"You okay?"

Spike grimaced. "I’m not too keen on going there. Not exactly one of my happy places."

Angel looked back at the tower and shuddered. No, not a happy place.

"You wanna wait here?"

"What, and let you have all the fun? I wouldn’t want to miss the party." Again he spat the last word, anger returning.

"All right then, let’s go."

"We’d better not waste time getting to it," Spike said, falling into stride beside him. "We can’t count on all of them being as clueless as that stupid sod. I’m not exactly popular amongst the vampire set in these parts."

"Neither am I," Angel pointed out.

Spike snickered. "Please, it’s been two years. No one remembers you."

Angel sniffed indignantly. "Well, that’s okay. My staking them will tend to jog some memories, you think?" He paused, considering. "Spike, listen. They’re going to have victims in there. We protect the humans first, you understand?" Spike didn’t answer and Angel stopped then grabbed his shoulder. "Understand?" he repeated with emphasis.

Spike nodded curtly. "Got it. I know the drill, mate."

"Okay then. And... if there are any dead ones, don’t—"

Spike grimaced, cutting him off. "You got cotton in your ears? I said I don’t feed. Besides," he added, looking back at the tower with distaste, "I’m not feeling very hungry right now."

Angel nodded, satisfied, then let go of his arm. "So long as we understand each other." He started walking again.

"Poofter," Spike muttered, walking with him again.

"Hack," Angel shot back.

They approached the tower cautiously, peering in from behind some piled construction material. Angel scowled. It was a party, all right. Thirty vamps at least, maybe more. Some of them were lounging around, laughing and drinking, while others toyed with some humans they’d captured. Angel could see at least one dead body and guessed there were probably more. Damn.

He looked at Spike. "You ready?"

"You know me, love a good brawl." He reached into his coat and pulled out a few more stakes, handing a couple to Angel and keeping one for himself. Angel pocketed the spares.

"Okay then, here we go." He put on his game face, then he and Spike jumped out together, roaring a mighty battle cry.

Angel went for one who was about to bite a woman. The vamp was caught off guard, not ready for a fight, and he was dust before he could turn. "Go!" Angel shouted at his victim, who stood paralyzed a moment, then turned and ran, screaming. Angel looked for more prey, dusting two more before the rest of them recovered from their surprise and started rallying. Spike had taken out a few himself, but Angel didn’t have time to count as three rushed him. They were slow and drunk, though, and Angel staked them, too, barely breaking his stride.

Then it got tough. Several swarmed him at once, pinning him against some bricks. He managed to stake one before two grabbed his arms and held him down while a female attacked with a piece of splintered wood she’d found on the ground. Angel kicked out hard into the vamp’s gut and she recoiled, but came back for a second round. She never made it though, disintegrating and showering Angel with dust, revealing Spike, still in human face, brandishing his stake.

Angel nodded a quick thanks as Spike turned towards the vamp holding Angel’s left arm. It let go to attack Spike, and Angel, his arm free, rolled to his right to face the remaining one. A quick struggle and he was down as well and Angel looked for more. He dusted two more in quick succession, then saw Spike was cornered this time. Angel jumped in, returning the favor, and they finished off the group together.

By this time some of the stragglers had realized they weren’t going to win and ran off. A few more tried feeble attacks, but they were no match for Angel’s and Spike’s combined rage and before long it was over. Angel looked around, checking for any more that might be planning an ambush, and seeing none, searched for victims. Most of the humans were gone, having bolted when their attackers left them to charge Angel and Spike, but there were a few who had already been bitten. Four dead, Angel counted, and two more who were alive but unconscious and beyond help. Angel sighed sadly, morphed back into his human face, then examined all the victims’ mouths carefully to see if any of them had been forced to drink from one of the vampires. He detected no blood, but just to be certain, he methodically took his stake and drove it through each of their hearts just to be sure. None of them turned to dust, but better safe than sorry.

That grim task finished, Angel looked around and found Spike sitting at the bottom of a metal staircase that went up into the tower. He was drinking from his flask. Angel went over and sat down wearily beside him. Spike offered the flask, and this time Angel accepted, took a swig, then handed it back.

"Now that’s what I call a party," Angel commented.

"I had fun," Spike said, though his voice belied the words. He took another mouthful from his flask. "A much more fitting tribute the Slayer, though, don’tcha think?" Angel nodded numbly, then Spike held out his flask in front of him. "To Buffy," he said soberly, lifting the flask in tribute. He grinned humorlessly than took another drink and handed the flask back to Angel.

"To Buffy," Angel repeated, mimicking the motion as well. He tipped up the flask to his lips and the bourbon inside burned its way down his throat. He gave the flask back to its owner and sighed deeply.

They were quiet for a moment, then Angel saw Spike staring ahead, a pained look on his face. He followed his gaze to a pile of bricks. Looking up from the bricks into the tower above, Angel saw that the pile was more or less below the end of the platform that stuck out like a macabre diving board. He closed his eyes as the grief welled up again. At length he said, "That’s where...?" but trailed off.

"That’s where we found her, yeah," his companion replied, voice thick with grief. "God, I hate this place. Have I mentioned that?"

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that," Angel agreed. Spike took a final swig then pocketed his flask, but made no move to rise from the stairs.

Angel tore his gaze away from the brick pile, willing away the image of Buffy’s lifeless body sprawled on top of it.

"I’m gonna have to keep an eye on her grave, I think," Spike said, "lest it turn into a bleeding vampire tourist attraction. I shoulda thought of it before."

Angel grimaced, then had an infuriating thought. "That would’ve been you a couple of years ago."

"Yes, I believe I even said that once, to Dru," he admitted. "That we’d dance on the Slayer’s grave." He blanched. "A fella could choke on the irony."

Angel fought down the bile rising in his throat, angry, but he couldn’t help but feel a little sympathetic, too. Hell, as Angelus he had done worse things to Buffy than Spike ever dreamed of doing. Glass houses...

"What about that demon, the one who started the ritual?" he asked, changing the subject. "Willow said you guys never found his body."

Spike snarled. "There won’t be a body to find when I get through with the sodding bastard. At least not in big enough pieces to identify."

Angel nodded. "If you find him, I want part of that action." He looked at Spike then, as a thought occurred to him.

"You didn’t go vamp."

"What?"

"You didn’t vamp. You kept on your human face."

Spike nodded slowly.

"Why?"

He fished a cigarette out of his coat pocket, along with a match. Striking the match, he stared at the flame a moment, then lit his cigarette, taking a long drag. He shook out the match, blew out a long puff of smoke, and said "I haven’t put on my game face since I fed on that girl."

Angel watched him closely as he took another drag of his cigarette.

"Really?"

Spike merely nodded, exhaling again.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "When in Rome, I guess."

"You don’t have any trouble fighting that way?"

"Didn’t keep me from bailing you out of a tight spot back there."

"Hey, I returned the favor," Angel protested.

Spike blew out another long stream of smoke, his face suddenly tight. "Maybe I should’ve, fighting Doc. Maybe it would’ve made the difference."

Angel didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. But he realized with some trepidation that he was actually feeling some grudging respect towards his former protégé. Although he himself had never had any reservations about vamping when it suited his purpose, after his time in Pyela, where he had had little control of the demon inside him once he unleashed it, Angel thought he understood. Perhaps this was Spike’s way of fighting the demon since he didn’t have a soul to guide him. It was just so hard to wrap his mind around. He knew that without his own soul he himself had been the worst kind of vampire: cold, brutal, a madman. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how Spike could have done the things he’d done without a soul. It was like having worked his way through a maze with a map and a compass and still getting lost more times than he could count, to emerge scratched and bleeding, finally, then watching a blind man crawl through the same maze with absolutely nothing to guide him, no sense of direction, no understanding of how the maze worked, and still find the right path. Spike still obviously had some issues and didn’t seem to care much about anyone outside of Buffy’s immediate circle, and that was problematic, but the fact that he could even care that much was mind-numbing. It was so different from anything he’d ever seen Spike do before, ever seen any vampire do before, that he had no idea what to make of it.

"Spike," he said at last, "I don’t get any of this, I don’t. It doesn’t make sense to me, but I figure I don’t exactly have a lot of room to be judging anyone. If I can help you out in any way, with this... this path... I will."

Spike smirked. "Passed the test, did I?" he said sardonically, then looked at Angel coldly. "Well, I never asked for your help and I don’t need your approval, thank you very much." He dropped his cigarette onto the ground and snuffed it out with his boot. "But I figure I’ve got enough enemies, what with throwing such fabulous parties like this," he said, indicating the area around him with a sweep of his arm, "that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have you not want to stake me anytime you come ‘round." He paused. "But don’t make coming ‘round a habit."

Angel chuckled, shaking his head. "Thank God you’re still a pain in the ass, Spike. I don’t think I could take it if on top of everything else you suddenly got a personality."

"Look who’s talking, you whiny, sulking sod." Then clapping his palms on his legs, Spike rose stiffly from the staircase. "Let’s get the hell out of here, I’ve had enough of this place."

Angel rose too, carefully avoiding looking at the pile of bricks where Buffy’s body had been found.

"You going to the wake?" Spike asked.

"Yeah," Angel replied, grateful for the distraction as they headed out of construction site. "But not yet. I never got the chance... I need to go to the cemetery first."

"Oh. Right." Spike looked away, sullen.

"How about you? The wake, I mean."

"I’d rather drink holy water, actually, but I told the Little Bit I’d come ‘round. She got it in her head that this was somehow her fault and that I’m mad at her. Can’t have that."

No, Angel thought, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. Can’t have that. Out loud he said, "Okay then, I guess I’ll see you there."

"Right," Spike said stiffly, awkward.

Then the two vampires parted, Spike heading towards the Summers’ house and Angel going back the way they had come, toward the cemetery. As Angel walked, he couldn’t stop marveling at the absurdity of everything that had transpired. It was so bizarre, so wrong. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked. But come to think of it, it wasn’t absurd at all. Of course everything was wrong. Buffy was dead. Nothing could ever be right again.

The End