ANGEL: SEASON SIX

Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff. If i did, i'd be alot happier, have a car, and sure as hell wouldnt live here.

The hotel lobby was cold and empty. Months of neglect had welcomed cobwebs and coaxed plaster from the ceiling. Dead, cornflake orange leaves littered the floor. The only sound was the slow -drip, drip, drip- of a man's blood staining the tile. Angel took a step forward, when suddenly his legs gave out under him, and he collapsed in a black and red heap on the floor. Looking up, he grinned through rust-tinged teeth.
"Welcome home."

ONE HOUR EARLIER:

"SPIKE!"
The vampire spun around, his again-tattered black trench coat swooping. He lifted the battle axe in front of him, just barely blocking the swing of a minions sword as the gnashing demon tried to decapitate him. The spiny creature howled.
"Why are these things so......bloody...,,.miserable!" Spike yelled, punctuating his words with a punch to the minion's skull. Angel, too exhausted to answer, simply gutted another demon before ducking another blow, grabbing the offender's legs, and swinging it into the blood-spattered brick wall behind him. A rushing sound filled his ears, and at first Angel thought he was fainting beofre he turned and saw-- the creatures were retreating. Thousands of demons were turning and crawling, scampering, or running away. Angel took the opportunity to slump against the fence behind him, wincing as the metal cut into the open wounds covering his body. Illyria made her way over to Angel, easily reaching out and with a slight twitch of her wrist, snapping the necks of the stragglers. Though she was still strong, she had a blood on her face, perhaps not entirely hers. She also seemed to have a brun on one arm. Half a dozen bodies later, she reached him: "I do not understand this." She ducked suddenly as a lone minion swung a sword from behind her. With a single kick, she sent the creatue reeling through the wall behind her. She turned back to Angel and cocked her head. "Why do the worms retreat? They could easily have destroyed you if they chose to remain."
Angel only shook his head, panting out of habit. He turned to the blonde vampire standing five yards away.
"....And the beatings will continue.....until...the morale....improves!" With a final powerful jab, the creatures skull caved in. Spike sighed with satisfaction and turned around. One eye was bruised and blackened. His lip was split and swollen and he had a gash reaching across his cheekbone up to his ear. He had various cuts about his face, and looked as though he had been ineffectively stabbed thourgh the heart. And he seemed to be limping heavily from a broken leg.
"So. What unlucky git is next?"
Angel stared, dripping blood onto the already crimson pavement.
"Ey....where'd the meat go?" Spike asked. To a stranger he sounded bitterly diappointed. But Angel, after over a hundred years, recognized the concealed relief and exhaustion behind the voice. What'e more, both Illria and Angel could easily see Spike shaking from exhaustion. "Gone." Angel croaked.
"Bloody cowards, is what they are. Swear, if I didn't feel like half a amputee over here, I'd run and....oi...wheres Gunn?"

PRESENT
"So this is the Hyperi-whatsee?"
"It reeks of blood, anger, and betrayal." The old one nodded grimly. "I approve." Spike stared.
"Goody. Well, now that we have the go-ahead of Mistress Frost, let's--"
"Rest." Spike looked up sharply at the authoritative voice of his comrade-in-arms. "I need it. We all need it." The man sighed. "Hell, we don't know what's goin on-- we're no good now. Sleep."
Spike nodded, then winced from the effort. His vision was blurring from is injuries. "Right then. All in favor, lead the way to something soft."

EARLIER
"It is my wish that he has not been slain." Illryia turned her wide eyes to the blood-stained face of the bleached vampire. "I am not sure why." Spike turned to Angel. "Think he made it?"
Angel coughed badly, spitting up blood. "Be a miracle. We barely did, and we're all...super."
Spike nodded. "Well said, Peaches. I'm on the lets-not-resign-ourselves-to-death-just-yet side of it. GUNN!" Silence. Staggering rain drops sounded on the pavement, making dull thumps on flesh. The still-humid air curled itself towards the three cold figures in the dark alleyway. "OI! YOU OUT THERE!?"
Somewhere far away, a groan sounded fom a heap of bodies. Spike rushed towards the voice, pushing bodies of fallen demons aside. "Christ, he's alive. Gunn, you-- Oh. Bloody...hell."

PLEASE REVIEW! even a word or two. sorry no spuffy yet- its comin.

CHAPTER TWO

PRESENT

Angel dragged himself up from the floor and crossed the lobby, with Spike limping behind him. Angel
gestured vaguely to the left. "My old office." He pointed the other way. "Cordy and Wes's old offices." There was a pause. The silence was so vicious it threatened to deafen its victims. A draft sighed around a corner, and the builiding shifted and leaned against the gusts outside. At last, Angel broke the silence. "Beds are upstairs. C'mon, everyone gets their own room." He turned to Illyria. "Could you...help Gunn?"
Illyria nodded and threw his unconcious form over her shoulder.
Spike nodded. "Peachy. 'Cept um...damn. Stairs. There's gotta be stairs?" He sighed and appraoched the banister.
"Yeah. Not too many though." Angel replied.
"Good. Won't be too far to carry me."
"Like hell if I'm--" as Angel turned, Spike's knees finally gave out and he crumpled to a heap on the floor, having completely blacked out. Angel stared for a minute, then sighed. "Illyria? Could you?" The ancient god nodded and walked forwad, gathering the limp form in her arms and throwing him across her other shoulder.

PAST
"What?" Angel's voice came sharp and worried. "He's alive?"
"Yeah...a kind of alive." Spike kneeled and put his arm behind the man's dark neck, lfting him a little off the hard asphalt. "Poor bastard." He said softly, his voice dripping with pity.
"Sp-...Spike?" Gunn croaked out. Spike slowly reached a trembling hand towards the man's face, then pulled away. Gunn's body was largely intact, barring a deep gash in his torso from his earlier battle. Illyria had shielded him from major wounds. However, his face had suffered a heavy and sharp blow to the face. The bridge of his nose was deeply cut. More obviously, both his eyes had been completely ruined. Charles Gunn was blind. "I think...I think one of those sons of bitches set my face on fire." The man's voice was twisted in pain. His smile came as more of a grimace. "I told y'all...told y'all I was on fire." Spike nodded grimly. "Sure did, mate." Gunn turned to him, though sightless, the movement was meaningless and out of habit. "Can we...can we go home?"
"Yeah." Angel's voice surprised both of the men. "We're gonna go home."

PRESENT

Spike opened his eyes. Most of his wounds had healed, and he felt fresh and reenergized. Light filtered through the drawn curtains, turning the room a glowing yellow. The room was quiet and relatively clean, and the covers he lay on top of were still white and soft after over a year of not being used. Spike sat up, groaning. He ran his hand through his mussed peroxide locks and stood up, limping slightly towards the door, then down the huge banister stairs. Rotating a shoulder, he looked up and stopped dead in his tracks.

Buffy.

Standing in the middle of the lobby in a white dress and long golden hair spilling around her shoulders, she looked like an angel. Spike took a hesitant step forward.
"Buffy?"
She stepped forward, smiling, her blue-green eyes wide with wonder.
"I'm so sorry...I got so lost....Buffy..." Spike could feel the floor falling away beneath him as she stepped closer.
"I'm right here." She whispered softly.
"Buffy...never leave, never leave you..."
"I'm right here." She repeated. Buffy reached out an elegant hand to Spike's cheek. He closed his eyes, waiting to feel her porcelain skin on hers.

Spike opened his eyes.

The hotel room was dank and cold.

Light filtered dimly through ragged curtains that had fallen haphazardly over the window. He rolled over with a moan, seeing out of the corner of his eye that the moldy pillow he lay on was darker and dirtier from his own cold blood. Spike sighed and roamed his eyes over the dusty, cold room before closing them again.
"You cry out while you sleep."
He shot up, surprised by the voice, then gasped as the movement made the room swim around him.
"You speak of merciless beauty, love without pity. Violence that frees."
Illyria stood in the doorway, staring at him. Her cold eyes made Spike shudder.
"Yeah. I..." Spike swallowed hard. "I had a nightmare That's lovely poetry by the way, but I'm pretty damn sure i never said any of that." Spike rubbed his sore eyes. "You got no scent...gotta stop sneaking up on people like that, could gie a fella a heart attack." He paused. "Well, yeah, ok, not me, but--"
"Who is Buffy." It was a command, not a question. The old one drilled into him with her eyes.
"This bird across the pond." Not a lie, exactly...
"Your love rolls off of you in waves, fire without gravity." Okay, so the lying didn't matter so much.
"Where's Gunn at?" Spike asked, trying to change the subject. He didn't feel like thinking about it so much.
"He is dying."

Spike entered the room Gunn lay unconcious in, quickly but silently. He was alone. Spike approached the bed and studied the quiet form silently.
"You're right, Blue. Stupid ponce...not supposed to block the axes with your face..."
"I can feel the life draining from him." Illyria turned to the blonde vampire, mesmerized. "I do not like it."
"Where's the poof?"
Illyria tilted her head at him. "I do not understand your strange monikers."
"Angel." He replied exasperated. "Where's Angel?"
"He lies unconcious. He too bleeds, heavily. He moans out loud as he sleeps."
"Chipper. He'll be fine." Spike replied, distracted. "You were right. Charlie boy here is gonna die. We gotta do something....but...." He sighed. It was too late for a hospital. They would never be able to heal him, and going outside seemed risky at best. So what? He would just...bleed to death? Spike sighed and turned away. He didn't want to think...he was so tired...Just then he heard a sound downstairs.
"Illyria, wait here. Ima check this rattling." Spike went into the hall, praying silently there wouldn't be a fight. No way could they all survive another tumble like that...and why had the minions retreated, anyway?
Spike rounded the corner to the stairs.
The last two people in the world he expected to see.
"Willow? And...Buffy....What?"

Alright, this isnt gonna be so much a season 6 episode-by-episode as a Spuffy centered cotinuation. reiew, pretty please? ill give you chocolate and sex?

PAST (TWO DAYS EARLIER)

“Buffy? Pass the mozeralla, por favore ?”

Andrew waited as Buffy gazed into space. The quiet kitchen area was light by the after burn of the setting sun, turning the glass dining table into shattered mirrors. The light refracted onto the blondes face played over worried eyes, but most of the bags that had formed underneath from carrying the weight of the world had gone.

“Buffy?”

No response.

“Heeey, Buffy...I accidentally ruined one of your blouses by getting Cheeto cheese on it and I think that stuff is like pure chemical goodness created by the government to control our minds and it was an accident I swear I wasn’t wearing it.” Andrew held his breath, then let it out in a slow sigh as Buffy nodded vaguely.
“Cheetos. Good.”
Finally, Andrew leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“Earth to Buffy! Prepare for crash landing! Delta gamma beta code 01652 as stated in the Enterprise Manual page--”
“OK!” Buffy’s eyes refocused suddenly. “You don’t have to resort to the dark arts of mental torture, Andrew. Just...thinking.”
Andrew watched her sadly. She’d spent a lot of time “just thinking” in the past few months. Especially lately.
“Bout what?”
The blond slayer sighed and poked at her cold spaghetti on the plate. “I just...you know I get these feelings right? Slayer sense, or whatever? And it seems like its gotten stronger cuz now there’s like, hundreds more times the slayer power in the world. I got this bad feeling bout Angel. Over in LA.” She looked up with wide, worried eyes and put down her fork. “Andrew...when Dawn gets back...could you take care of her? Just for a few days? I think I might head over.”
“Oh right, sure. Ooh! I forgot to mention: Angel and Sp-...Angel came over a couple weeks ago looking for you. When you were out with his un-dying-ness.”

Buffy’s eyes bugged out of her head. “WHAT?! When??”
Andrew gulped guiltily. “Right before I left for the Bond convention d’italiano .”
Buffy sat, memorizing her plate of spaghetti. Suddenly she jumped up. “I’m going. And I’m bringing Willow.” Garbbing the suitcase she kept packed in the hall closet just in case of emergencies, she started for the door. “Tell Dawn I have errands, don’t break the microwave again, don’t take candy from strangers, and for God’s sake Andrew, you touch my clothes again and I claim your ring finger.” She paused, staring nervously at the door handle. “Angel doesn’t just pop by for a weather report. I smell apocalypse...Again.” And with that, she was gone, leaving Andrew gaping at the door.
“Can I use the emergency grocery stash for a few dozen DVDs, at least??”

PRESENT

“Buffy!” The redhead cried in wide-mouthed surprise. “You were right! Evil’s afoot! It must be squashed!”
“Willow...” Buffy breathed, unable to take her eyes off the dead man standing across the lobby.
“It’s the first!” Hefting her small battle axe, Willow rushed over and began beating Spike with the blunt edge of it. “Crawl back to hell, satan spawn! I know what you are! Be gone! Poof!”
“Bloody hell, woman!” Spike finally flinched, breaking the eye contact he had been holding with the woman he loved for the past minute. “Ey! I’m not the...EY! Watch the leg! Red! Back off-- OW!”
“Willow!” Buffy finally snapped. “He’s not the first. Hello? You’re beating him to a bloody pulp. Well,” Buffy studied her once lover. “Bloodier.”
“Spike?” The witch asked anxiously
.
“Spike.” Buffy whispered, approaching him. She held out her hand slowly, almost touching his ivory cheek. She pulled away, as if afraid he would be gone if she tried to reach out to him.
“You died.” She stated softly.
“Well....yeah.”
“You came back.” He came back, he came back, he came back....
“I’m stubborn like that.”
“You’re right here...” It was the vampire’s turn to reach out to a blonde lock lying across the slayer’s face.
“Willow.” Angel’s voice startled all three from their reverie. Buffy quickly stepped back. “Thank God. We need your help, your healing. Our friend is gonna die.”
Willow’s eyes went wide, then she nodded. “I brought my stuff, just in case. I’ll be right there.”

PAST

“So...we’re going to LA, to a place that’s probably evil, to visit your ex, who may or may not be in trouble because you have a ‘feeling’, and I came because...?”
Buffy held up the little plastic packet o the tray table in front of her. “Free peanuts.”
“You do know how to sweet talk.” Willow grinned, popping a handful of salty roasted goodness into her mouth. “How we gonna find him?”
“Wolfram and Hart, remember?” Buffy growled, her mouth set in a grim line.
“Right...” Willow shifted uncomfortably. “Look I’m sure...he had his reasons, Buff.” She saw Buffy’s hands clench the seat handles until her knuckles turned white. Willow sighed “Fine. But, if you guys start to hit each other, just remember not to um..” She searched for a delicate way of putting it. “Slip into the horizontal monkey tango?”
Buffy’s jaw dropped in thrilled shock. “Willow Rosenburg!”
The girl giggled devilishly as the airplane soared across the atlantic.

PRESENT

“Good to see you too, Angel.” Buffy grumbled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike watching her covertly. She had so many questions, too many questions.
“I don’t know how you and Willow figured out we need you. I don’t have time to ask. Gunn’s upstairs.” He added as Willow hurried with her supplies towards the stairs.
“He suffered a lot of blood loss. He’s got a big wound across his torso, there might be organ damage. Also...” He trailed off swallowing hard. “His eyes. They got hurt, bad. He’s blind, Willow.” Willow stopped dead in her tracks just as she reached the door. Angel had sent Illyria to the basement to attack a shifty punching bag, so Willow wouldn’t demand an explanation for what she would think was Fred’s drastic makeover.
“I don’t think...there’s stuff I need for that. I mean, depending on how hurt his eye is...with Xander...I might not be able to fix that.” She watched Angel’s face fall. “But I can try.”
She swallowed a gasp of pain as she lay her eyes on Gunn’s bloodied and battered body. “What the hell...what happened to you guys?”
“And hey, here’s a question: how did you get back for things to happen to you?” Buffy finally asked Spike. He swallowed guiltily.
“Can we talk somewhere not near the patient?”
“I’ll get to work” said Willow.

“I’m gonna go check on Illy—Illyssa. My...cat.” Angel walked out muttering quickly. “Damn cat...always asking the wrong questions...” Buffy looked at him strangely as he left. Then she sighed and, tentatively taking a hold of Spike’s elbow, led him to a chair across the room from the bed where Willow started setting up the spell.
Buffy’s tiny fingers drilled heat through Spike’s duster straight into his blood stream, making him drunk on electricity. God, so long since he’d seen her, heard her, smelled her even...

“Voco deos saludos. Impero vobis, avudare hominis. Anima restorare. Voco deos saludos.” Willow began to chant, eyes closed lazily, hands hovering over his major wounds.

“How?” Buffy’s first question was the simplest, and the most complicated.
“Not exactly sure meself....something to do with the amulet. And lawyers. Lawyers always up tp something round here. Bloody suits...” He growled, getting distracted.
The low hum from Spike’s throat made Buffy’s heart pound just a little harder, and Spike could hear it, feel the warmth get just a little bit closer to him.

“I think I got most of the bad wounds.” Willow tried not to stare at Gunn’s mangled face. “I’m gonna work on the eyes now.” Taking a bowl of white milky liquid from the floor that she had brought, Willow placed it in the man’s hands, which were reaching a steady pulse again.

“How did the battle start? What happened? Was it because of you?”
“Hey, not taking all the blame for that one, luv.” The use of the nickname Buffy hadn’t heard in so long sent chills down her spine. Spike watched her closely. ‘God, I forgot how much I missed this...just being...just being and with her....’
“You’re hurt.” The slayer noticed, staring at the open wound on his leg.

“Oculos restorare. Deos, impero, pleo, sub cielo, oculos restorare cum aqua viva.” The pulse became stronger, and Gunn became aware that he was somehow, impossibly, mostly healed, except for the maddening pain on his face, but that was also fading, though he still could see only blackness. What was that voice?

“How long have you been here?” Buffy finally asked the question Spike had been dreading. He became intent on studying the pattern in the carpet. “Spike? When did you get brought back?”

Gunn had become almost fully concious, and increasingly alarmed, when suddenly—

“WHAT?!”

A shriek from a voice he didn’t recognize shocked Gunn out of his trance like state. With a jolt, his hands flew up to protect his suddenly wamr-feeling face, sending the bowl of white milky liquid flying. It dumped its contents on both Buffy and Spike, who stood facing each other, one ashamed, one reeling from shock. Both flinched, coming suddenly out of their trance, as the milky stuff soaked into their skin.

“No!” Willow cried, alarmed. The spell broken, Gunn felt only a dull stinging in place of his still dark sight.
Both blondes turned to the witch, confused. That’s when Buffy began to wonder vaguely who had lay the floor down crooked. Taking an uneasy step forward, she suddenly collapsed unconcious on the floor.
“Buffy!” Spike cried, terrified for her. Starting toward her, the rug seemed to suddenly pull out from under him, and he was down too.

“Buffy? Buffy, please. Please, this didn’t kill you. You’re too stubborn, I know that. C’mon. Wake up.” Willow shook her friend quietly on the floor.

Slowly, Buffy’s eyes fluttered open.

“Buffy!”

The petite blonde’s eyes opened wide in surprise, then confusion, then fear.

“What...wha...Who are you?”

Extra long chapter, this time. They keep gettin longer, you spoiled people. This chapter’s bribery: kittens! Fresh from the deli! Review, please.

Angel walked slowly down the long steps that led to the basement. They creaked under his feet, and he looked thoughtfully around at the staircase, remembering ghosts of times that had long passed. Doyle, Cordelia, Wesley....So many people had come through his life, and then gone. Forever. His head spun from too much happening all at once, Wes was gone, away forever, Buffy was here for who knows how long, too much, too much...

“You sent me away.”

Angel looked up sharply. “Oh...yeah. I didn’t want you to scare the others.”

“Who?” The cold blue god asked. Angel looked at the basement floor, where the punching bag lay torn open, spewing its insides onto the concrete. Illyria stepped closer to him from the corner. “My senses are weakened from becoming...less than what I was. But I sense there is a great power above us.”

Angel nodded vaguely. “Sure as hell hope so.”

MEANWHILE

Who are I? Or, am....you....I...Buffy!”

“Buffy.” The blonde repeated, tasting the name.

“Buffy?” A deep, concerned voice sounded from a weakened stranger across the room.

“BUFFY!” Spike gasped, panting like after the second time he’d cheated death. Sitting straight up, he looked at the concerned witch to his left, head spinning. “Hmm?”

The girl pointed confidently at the red-head kneeling in front of her. “Apparently, this is Buffy.”

MEANWHILE

“Who are they. To you.” Illyria persisted.

“Willow’s a witch. Buffy’s friend, she’s...she’s done good. She gave me my soul back.” He thought for a second. “Um...twice.”

“And the girl? The one Spike loves?”
Angel looked up. How did she know that? Didn’t matter so much. “Buffy.” Buffy is... Buffy. What did Buffy mean to him? Hell if he knew. Once, they had been in love, more deeply than he thought possible. Then...when he had asked Buffy if she loved Spike, he had touched something deep, dark, in her. He still wasn’t sure just what. But if Spike hadn’t gone to find Buffy...yet when he came to the lobby, the almost painfully charged electricity flying from her fingertips to Spike had shocked him. And why had she hoped he hadn’t seen? “Buffy loves. Loved me, loves...me. Buffy is--”

“BUFFY!" He was interrupted by a distressed cry from an English-tilted voice from above their heads. Angel turned back to the stairs and bolted.

UPSTAIRS

“No! No, no.” Willow sighed, exasperated. The last thing they needed. “You, Buffy. Me, Willow. You’re a good person, help people, fight...bad things.” She turned to Spike. “Spike. You’re...good? Good. And you and Buffy are...um. And, and the reason you have no pulse is because you have a condition.” She nodded for emphasis. “Very serious, very. It’s, um, Vampyrstifilosis-sis. Sis.” She paused, trying to come up with something more convincing. “Sis.”

Spike stared.

“Thanks for the fill in, flight attendant ma’am. But, lucky for us, I’m not daft, so you can keep your information brochure to yourself, Red.” He rubbed his head. “Got a good jolt on the noggin, but patch me up and I’ll be just pepper soon enough.”

Willow’s turn to stare.

“What...you’re supposed to be all...amnesia-ed.” She pointed poutily. “Buffy is.”

“Wha? Wait, he got a whatzit on his whokit and soon he’ll be whenjit?”

They both stared.

“Well, she still talks like Buffy.” Willow pointed out helpfully.

Just then, Angel burst into the room. “Buffy!” The crowd crouched on the floor stared at him blankly. After a few seconds, a slayer raised her hand slowly.

“I think that’s me.” Spike finally scrambled up from the floor. “Ok, let’s figure this out in a very rational, well thought out fashion, taking turns asking questions, starting with--”

“What the hell is going on?!” At last, Gunn spoke up from where he lay on the bed. His world was still dark, and he recognized a few voices. First, Spike. At last, he had pinpointed one of the girl’s voices as Willow’s who had come up to do...something, he couldn’t remember, almost two years ago. The last was, of course, Angel. “OK, either y’all on crack, I got knocked a good one, or something funky’s goin on with magic. I right?”

“Gunn!” Angel cried, relieved.
“Mmmf.” Spike grunted, distracted.
“Ow.” Buffy commented, grimacing at Spike’s leg wound.
“OK!” Willow finally got everyone’s attention. “I think I know what’s going on here.” She turned to Gunn. “You can’t see, can you?” She asked him sympathetically.

“No. Can we fix that? And also, ow. I wouldn’t mind some aspirin around now.”

“Yah, we can, probably. Fix that.” Willow nodded, though Gunn didn’t know.

“I’ll get some aspirin.” Angel volunteered.

“Atually, why don’t you send Buffy...Buffy? That’s you.” Willow finally got the attention of Buffy, who had been staring hard at Spike’s face, as if trying to remember the words to an old song.

“Oh...yes. Present.”

“There’s some in my purse, it’s right down the hall and down the stairs, in the chair.” Angel began to protest at Buffy walking out by herself, not actually knowing where she was, but a look from Willow stopped him. The girl walked off, nervous, but for some reason she wasn’t sure of, not entirely scared. Willow waited until she was sure the girl was out of earshot.

“OK. Look, when I spilled this stuff on you and Buffy—I was using this stuff to help Gunn’s eyes, after I fixed all his mortal wounds--”

“Pssh. I woulda been fine. Slap a coupla Band-aids on, I’d pull through. Don’t need some chick to be workin mojo on me while I’m sleepin--”

“Half of it went on Spike,” Willow continued, ignoring Gunn, “And the other half- more or less- on Buffy. See, I think these halves are affecting you in different ways. Buffy, on one hand, can not see the past. And Spike...” She trailed off. “Well, we don’t know yet. But, eventually, we’ll know. And I’m thinking it’s gonna be of the not good.”

Spike nodded thoughtfully.

“Meanwhile, I think maybe we should try not to tell her too much of...everything. I mean, apparently she knows enough to know there are people and aspirin and stairs, but I think slayers and witches and vampires and demons and battles and fighting and killing and dieing--” Willow stopped herself as the others stared. She took a big breath and continued. “Might not be such a good idea to let her in on just yet.”

Angel broke in. “But won’t it be more traumatic when she notices her ability to, oh say, bend steel bars?” He was remembering another not-quite-pleasant experience with keeping supernatural information from a girl he had loved with amnesia. ‘Wow.’ He thought to himself. ‘History repeats itself.’

“Not if I can figure out how to fix this first.” Willow replied grimly.

“How, though?” Spike interrupted. “I mean, we don’t even know what’s gotten wonky in my brain yet. What if I end up just dropping dead one day?”

“What a tragedy.” Angel mumbled. After everything they’d been through, all the reconciliations, his jealously was rearing its ugly head with Buffy around. Spike glared.

“Spike’s glaring, ain’t he?” Gunn’s voice surprised them. Spike quickly let his eyes roam the room casually. “Look, sounds like a great idea, whatever. I think we got a bigger problem: them minions. They could come back anytime, and all we got is a cranky vampire, a vampire who may or may not drop dead at any second,”

“Hey!”

“A witch, a slayer who don’t know she’s a slayer, a blind dude, and a sulking ex-god.”

“You won’t be blind forever. And, what minions and ex-god?”

“Um...” Angel sighed. What he wouldn’t give for one of Harmony’s memos. “Long story.” He caught a whiff of Buffy coming back towards the room.

“Got some!” She announced, putting two pills in Willow’s hand. “So,” She sighed cheerfully, looking around the room. “What the hell?”

Sorry this chapter took so long. There were exams, and this funny "school" thing people make me do, plus the mocing to another stae... its just been madness. ENough reviews, i might just pull through *bats eyelashes*

“Is this Buffy?”

Angel was having trouble telling something was off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“This isn’t Buffy.”

The words ran through Spike’s mind over and over. This wasn’t the same Buffy, anyhow. This wasn’t the girl who wore the scars of almost as many apocalypses as years she had lived. This girl seemed lighter, stood up more easily. This wasn’t the girl who had killed her own lover. This wasn’t the girl who had seen her own mother dead.

“It can’t be.”

Angel knew what was different now. This girl was happy, she smiled at strangers.

“It is.”

It had to be. She still glowed.

“It’s always Buffy.”

Was this the same girl who he had loved since he saw her? Was this the same girl he left for L.A.?

“It’s still all about Buffy.”

This wasn’t the same girl he had attacked in the bathroom almost two years ago—the thought made Spike shiver unpleasantly. This wasn’t the girl who kissed him and changed his world. This wasn’t the girl he dreamed about every night he could actually manage to fall asleep. This wasn’t the girl who he told he loved her.

“Always will be.”

Was this the girl who told him she loved him? Was this a girl who told Spike she loved him?

“It always is.”

This wasn’t the girl who told Spike she loved him. Not anymore.
But he could find her.

“So, I hit my head when I slipped on a marble? And my name is Buffy, you’re Willow, Gunn, Angel, Spike…” Buffy’s voice snapped the two vampires out of their reverie. Willow had been presenting a stuttering explanation of what had happened and who she was, trying to keep it as normal as possible as they had agreed. Just until Willow could figure out the rest of the consequences and reverse them.

“Um, Yeah. You got it.” Willow grinned nervously. So Buffy thought she was a kindergarten teacher. So what.

“OK.” Buffy thought for a good while. It was strange how she felt so calm. “So…what was I to you? I mean,” She turned and faced the rest of the room. “All of you.” She turned to Angel. “Friends, lovers--”

“Friends.” Spike interrupted quickly, ignoring the glare he received from Angel. “Not even good friends, really. He’s just a mate you haven’t seen a while. A good, long while.” Buffy stared at him. “Long while.” Angel let loose a low growl only Spike could hear. “You don’t like ‘im that much, really.” He bit back a smirk. Might as well make the poof’s life a bit of miserable while he can, just till Buffy wasn’t out of her gourd anymore.

“What about you?” The blonde girl asked, squinting at him.

“Hm?” Well how the hell should I know? “Well, we um…I guess that we were like, sort of, I--”

“Enemies.”

Spike turned sharply to Angel’s voice. It took every ounce of self-control in him to keep himself for grabbing the nearest piece of pointed wood and lunging at him. And then some. This intense concentration, unfortunately, prevented him from disagreeing.

“You’ve been enemies for a good long, while.” Damn if he wasn’t gonna get back at Spike. “Long while.”

“Oh.” Buffy said. Something in the back of her mind felt like it was protesting, but another part felt like she was angry at him. She would just have to trust her old, old friend. Or whatever. “And um…you two?” She asked turning away from the two men who seemed to be having a staring contest to look inquiringly at the girl, Willow.

“Oh, I’m your best friend of like, 8 years.” The redhead smiled broadly, glancing distractedly at Angel and Spike. Please don’t kill each other.

“And I’ve never met you before. Or seen you. Ever.” Gunn spoke up, speaking towards the wall instead of Buffy. Willow had done a spell under her breath while Angel and Spike were filling in some of the blanks initially, and Gunn was no longer in any pain. She would need more supplies to fix his vision, though.

“Ok. Good.” Buffy looked around. A blind man, a green-eyed woman, a blue-eyed blondie and a dark-eyed brow-full. Ok. I can do this. “I’m…really, really tired right now. I think I’m gonna go try and sleep.” She started for the door, then stopped suddenly. “Um. Do I have a place to sleep?”

“I’ll show you” Willow said quickly, stepping forward.

“I’m gonna go down to the basement.” Angel added, following Buffy and Willow out the door.

“I’m gonna…” Spike dropped his head a sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists. He sat there for a long time.

“Um,” Gunn shifted in his bed. “Is anyone still here?”

Angel paced the basement, having regaled as much as necessary to Illyria so that she would stay out of Buffy’s way. The demoness watched with shards of diamonds for eyes.

“You have done this before.” Angel stopped pacing but didn’t look at her. Illyria tilted her head and raised her eyes, as if searching for something Angel couldn’t see. “A girl. You loved her. And she forgot who she was.” Illyria stepped forward on halting legs. “Fred remembers.” At this Angel turned toward her. “Or…her memories are still here. Why do you repeat mistakes?” Her sneer stung him.

“I--” Angel never got a chance to finish his sentence. Abruptly, he found himself on the other side of the room. In the space between unneeded breaths, Spike’s fists found Angel’s face.

“You – sodding – bastard!” Angel pushed him back, but Spike swung his fist and pushed Angel back again with a roundhouse kick to the chest. “You have –NO IDEA – What you did!” Spike balled his fists together and brought them across Angel’s cheek. “I did you a bloody FAVOR, mate! She’s not your friend, she hates you! She HATES you!” Please let me be wrong. Illyria watched silently from the corner. For some reason, Spike’s distress seemed to upset her. She pushed it away quickly. “She HATES you! She hates you!” Spike’s punches were slowing. Angel caught one fist, then the other. “She – hates – you.” Please don’t let it be that way, again. Angel pushed Spike back, where he fell to his knees and blindly swung at the pavement. “She hates…” The concrete was broken, so was the skin on his knuckles. “She…” Please don’t let her hate me. Spike stopped. He stayed there, on his hands and bloody fists. His body shook. Please.

“So much grief.” Illyria sighed softly, almost under her breath.

“She doesn’t hate you.” It came from Angel, who walked to the cot and sat down.

Spike chuckled bitterly, rising his hand to his cheek as if to examine it, trying to covertly wipe away the tear on his face. “Wouldn’t be so sure.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be doing more damage to yourself. You still need that leg fixed.”

Spike sat wearily on the bed. “It’ll mend itself.” He paused, momentarily regretting throwing out his cigarettes. “But you didn’t see how mad she was. Doesn’t matter anyhow. Guess I’ll be asking the lady myself when she’s all back to her possibly-seething self.”

“Guess so.” They sat for a while, deep in thought. Finally, Angel spoke. “What was it like?” Spike turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Getting your soul, I mean.” Spike grinned for a second then looked back down at the broken pavement. For a while he just listened to the sound of blood dripping.

“You know…when something’s so hot, it feels cold?” Angel nodded unnecessarily. “’S like that, I think.”

Angel chuckled. “All these years and you still talk like a poet.” Spike batted him idly on the shoulder. Angel mouthed ‘Ow’ at the opposite wall. “You know, we still have to figure out the Senior Partner’s plan--”

“Oh, Lord, I don’t ever wanna hear ‘bout the sodding ‘Senior Partners’ for a good, long while without a bottle of tequila around.” He turned to Angel hopefully. “You don’t have any do you?”

Angel ignored his question. “They must be planning something. Maybe they just wanted to weaken us?” He rested his head on his hand, deep in thought. “Gotta figure that out.”

There was a pause. “Well, good luck with that, your poofness. I’ll be trying to find some Weetabix round these parts. Probably futile, but a fella’s gotta try.” He slapped Angel on the back and stood up. “Good luck, mate. Sorry bout the bit of bruise.”

Illyria finally spoke up, startling the blonde vampire. “I don’t understand. How quickly you oscillate from hate and anger to comraderie and understanding.”

Spike shrugged. “You wouldn’t. ‘S a guy thing, luv.” And with that he went up the stairs.

There was a knock on Buffy’s door. She was sitting, fully clothed, staring at the moon trying to pry its way into her room. At the second knock, she started and opened the door.

“Oh. You.” Buffy hesitated. He didn’t look dangerous. Strong, certainly. And if they were enemies, why had they been in the same room? “Come in.”

“Thanks.” Spike walked in uneasily and sat where Buffy had been. She stayed standing, watching him. “I just, um. There’s something you should know. What Angel said? ‘S not true.”

Buffy still hesitated. “Why would he lie?”

“Guess it was just his inner ponce coming out to play.” Spike shrugged.

Buffy slowly sat down next to him. She still didn’t entirely trust him. Then she saw his hands. “You’re hurt.” She stated simply.

“Well, you certainly didn’t lose Buffy’s keen powers of observa--” Spike was cut short by Buffy’s hands drawing his own into her lap. She didn’t seem to notice how cold they were. Spike nearly choked on his own sob, or was it a laugh?

“358 days.” Buffy said abruptly. Spike stared at her eyes, still watching their hands. She absently drew her thumb over the back of his hand. It felt right. “It came to my head, when I was drifting off. I think maybe I was thinking it before.” He was frozen. Buffy continued toying with his hand. “Do you know what it means?” She brought up his right hand, watching it as she entwined the fingers of her left with his. And it felt the most right of all. Finally she looked him in the eye.

To me? More than I can ever say. Spike’s memories were flooding through him, memories he couldn’t share with Buffy now. Not without spooking you. The memories were so strong they were painful. Wait. No. They were painful. Dammit. Ow. OW.

And then Buffy knew they weren’t enemies. Cuz why else would she want to know the answer so bad it chilled her?

Why else would her breath catch when Spike arched backward in pain, before collapsing onto the floor?

And why else would she dive to the floor with him, and take his unconscious head in her lap, and shake him and plead for him to wake up, and he won’t wake up, he won’t wake up, he won’t. Please.

A/N: Sorry this chappy took so long. Again. I STILL haven’t found my comp buried somewhere in the unholy mountain that is the boxes stacked in our garage. Moving’s a bitch. So, extra long chappy to make up for it. Oh, stop pouting.

Anywhore, please, pretty please gimme a review? I didn’t get any for the last chappy and now I’m in withdrawal. Feedback = Writer crack. Many thanks.

From each slayer, Spike got something new.

From each slayer he killed, he got himself a gift—first was the slayer from the Boxer Rebellion. From her, he got a scar, which he still wore proudly almost a hundred years later.

From the second one, the strong, spirited, New York slayer, he got a coat. He loved that duster, he knew Buffy did too, though Dru had never been to fond of him wearing something from a different bird. It had bullet holes and knife slashes, and was now in tatters from that explosion, but hanging in his closet in his apartment. A keepsake.

And he had gotten a third slayer killed, on a warm spring night, not by killing, but by failing to kill. Course, he’d gotten her back, but he still had gotten himself his gift. HE got dreams. All kinds of dreams, which was a bit of odd, because he knew some vampires never dreamed at all—Angelus had slept like, well, the dead. Terrible, aching nightmares or bright, vivid fantasies. Shreds of a memory or a scene painted down to the last detail. Sometimes he dreamed in black and white, sometimes in red, sometimes without sound. All kinds of dreams. But the worst were the happiest, the most vivid, because they always ended with him waking up alone. Well, except for once, the night before he died. Again.

He had had the most glorious dreams, an ecstasy of pain.

But never pain like this.

“AAAAAAAH!” Spike finally shot up from where he had been writhing on the floor, narrowly missing hitting Buffy on the jaw. “What…where…” He turned to Buffy, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Where did I go?”

Buffy shook her head, gaping.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened and he shot up from where he sat, scrambling down out the door and down the hall. “Willow! Angel!” He stopped at Room 214 and pounded on the door. “Willow! Angel!”

“Spike, what’s going on?” The redhead finally stuck her head out the door from where she’d been sitting, trying to find a way to measure Gunn’s heartbeat.

“I have to... I mean, we…there’s gonna be…Oh bloody hell, just grab something sharp and shiny and follow me!” He ran down the stairs and into the lobby where Angel had just emerged form downstairs. “C’mon then peaches.”

“What’s going on?”

“We got ourselves a date.”

“What?”

Spike stopped briefly to turn to him exasperated. “I’ll say this in a way you can understand. You plus weapon, follow Spike,” He made a walking motion with his fingers, “go alley, rescue pretty cavegirl. Capisce?”

“Ooh! I know that, it’s Italian for--” The rest of the company turned to Willow. “Shutting up now.”

Beth was terrified.

This isn’t real, cuz monsters don’t exist. At least not vampires, vampires definitely don’t exist. Not the kind with fangs and lumpy faces and why did the kind of lisp while they talked?, well, threatened, and I don’t want to die in an alley, it’s my birthday Tuesday and I want to know what it’s like to be 16 although it probably—

Oh God.

I’m gonna die.

Isn’t this the part where my life flashes before my eyes?

Suddenly, a figure, panting, covered in blood, appeared at the end of the alley.

“Don’t think you wanna unwrap the gift yet, mate.” He squinted and his eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. “I doubt she’s quite ripe.” And then they fought.

Spike’s head was still spinning, but he figured a bit of violence was a perfect remedy. He shoved the first vamp to the ground, then ducked and spun as the second foolishly tried to punch him in the head. He dropped to the ground and shot out with his right foot, sending the vamp tumbling, and immediately rolled past and under the kick of the first vampire and snatched a shard of a wooden box up. He turned and plunged the makeshift stake in the first vamp’s back, then sidestepped the charge of the second one and flung it behind him without having to look, grinning a little at the sound of dust whooshing. He looked at the other end of the alley where Angel was standing, immediately joined by Buffy, a panting Willow and a calmly walking Illyria.

“Wankers. Give a bad name, not picking a fair fight and all.”

Beth’s eyes widened. “Those were- were va—”

“Very bad men, muggers, who escaped, yeah. Bad, bad, men. Gotta clean up this city.” Angel nodded furiously as Spike limped to the rest of the group.

“Bloody hell. I think me leg opened again, the whole running gig likely less than good for it.” He clenched his teeth then noticed Buffy peering suspiciously at Illyria, who had assumed the form of Fred. “Ooh, um…Illyria?” No way in hell was he calling her Fred. He could just pretend she was from Indonesia or something. “Why don’t you and Buffy escort our poor trembling friend home? She may or may not be delusional.”

Willow nodded emphatically. “Ignore any ramblings.” Buffy glanced back at the mysterious trio before taking the girl by the shoulder. The other girl—Illyria? Angel had hurriedly said something about an exchange student from the Phillipines—walked on the other side, but farther away and more reserved.

“Ok, what in the name of the Snoopy Dance was that?” Willow hissed once Buffy was out of earshot. Spike seemed pale, even for a vampire in the bluish light of the moon.

“Angel…how’d you say you knew about that Circle of the Black Thorn wash?”

“Uh…vision?”

“Were the symptoms skull-splitting pain and hallucinations of a load of unfortunate ponces, etc etc.?” Angel stopped abruptly.

“Oh, God.”

“Not really.” Spike grinned wryly. “More like, ‘Oh, Bugger’”

“Wait…vision? Spike has Vision? Can we cure it?” Willow asked, bewildered. “You don’t mean, like, visions-vision, do you? Cuz that’s usually paired with pain and an early death and can only be bestowed upon a champion and--” She stared at the too tired faces looking back at her. “Damn.”

“I see that ‘Damn’ and raise it a ‘Fuck’.” Spike sighed, then frowned. “Balls. Been a year now and I still sometimes speak in Scooby.”

Spike, Willow, and Angel sat around a table in Gunn’s room so Willow could keep an eye on him. Buffy was asleep and Illyria was doing whatever it was Illyria did down in the basement. Willow had done a healing spell on Spike’s leg to start it healing, but with all the work on Gunn, she had been feeling pretty tapped and hadn’t done much. She sat drumming her fingers on the table, a book on the history of visions open in front of her.

“Well, it doesn’t say a lot about the history of visions’ pains. Just death and mayhem, chaos when they were ignored…Ooh, there are pictures…Um.” Willow closed the book. “Yikes.”

“I mean, it just doesn’t make sense.” Angel continued. “Doyle was part-demon, but he was still in pain most of the time. And Cordelia was human and seemed to have pain like you said yours was like, but when she became part demon, her visions where virtually painless.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “And you’re part demon, so it shouldn’t be so painful.”

Spike shrugged exhaustedly. He hadn’t slept well in days. “Don’t know what to say. You know I’m not one for bragging for Band-aids, but this…” He shook his head. “It was bad.”

“This is all bad!” Angel finally snapped, slamming his hands down on the table, which received a fervent shush from Willow for the sleeping Gunn. “You’re getting visions, Buffy’s got amnesia, Gunn’s blind, and I still have to slay that dragon.”

“Well, I got good news and bad news.” Willow finally spoke. “Spike must be getting visions as the other effect of the messed up spell—Buffy’s blind to the past, Spike’s eyes are open to the future. And I think I know how to fix it. And who were gonna have to bring in.” She stared refelectively at the tabletop as Spike and Angel waited patiently.

“And?!” Spike said sharply. Well ok, not so patient.

“Oh! Um…Things are gonna get messy. Like, real messy. And also,” Willow turned sadly to the bed where Gunn lay, breathing shallowly. “I’ve done everything I can, but Gunn- he’s dying.”

A/N: Gah! Here’s my story:

**********************
Cecily: It shall be a good and satisfying chapter, and we shall call this chapter…”This chapter”

Garage of Doom: I think we should call it “Your Grave”!

Cecily: Gah! Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! Return my laptop!

G.O.D.: Bwahaha! Mine is an evil laugh! The computer is forever in my clutches! Now you die!

*Swordfight*

********************
….Oooor something. Much love to all the Firefly fans who know i just totally violated copyright laws. Well, still haven’t found that laptop, so slow going till i do. Feedback is real encouraging to the through the boxes and do that writing thing (still using a friend’s comp), even hate mail, just so i know that there’s someone reading who i can piss off out of spite.
Multi grazie, as Andrew would say.

Oh, i forgot—i’m in need of a beta, never had one, but just figured what the hell. If you are one, or you know where i can catch one, leave me a message.

MEANWHILE, IN ROME:

“So...what do you think Buffy’s doing?”

Andrew turned to his fellow watcher. “Inevitably saving this and other dimensions from nefarious villains, easily slaying Vampyres, without a single blonde hair out of place—”

“Ice cream.” Interrupted Xander. Andrew paused as the three men travelled through the graveyard, stakes ready.

“Xander, Buffy journeyed to Rome under durress about Angel. I hardly think cold, sugary treats enter her plans.”

“Ah, but my vote is still for ice cream.” The boy grinned at Giles.

“Please don’t say ice, it’s bloody freezing. Speaking of the cold and slippery, how’s Tchenke?” The graying man grinned, removing his glasses to polish them.

“Hey! She is NOT cold and slippery. She’s totally normal. She just HAPPENS to be half-mermaid.”

“Huh? Tuh-cheen-kuh? Xander got a new demon-girl?” Andrew perked up.

“NO! Ok, Mermaids are only part demon. And yes, Ok, evil. But only Tchenke’s mother was a mermaid! Or, merwoman. She says that’s mer empowering. Ahehe...”

Giles smacked the boy lightly on the back of the head for the use of pun. “Goodness, I wish it would warm up. But you must admit, there seems to be a pattern. The praying-mantis teacher--”

“Huh?” Andrew was so lost.

“...Mummy girl...”

“What?”

“...Not to mention Cordelia...”

“Who?” So, so lost.

“...Plus Anya.” This was met by stone.

They dead weren’t spoken of.

But sometimes they spoke.

“The whitest of ashes are coming. They fall and dance and die.” The three hunters spun around. “Nip at your eyes, they do. Bite and slash till you can’t see any longer, blind, like my William.”

“Drusilla. Can someone remind me why you are not of the perma-dead?” Xander looked at the woman. She could have stepped out of an old movie- she was all black hair and clothes and white face and fingers. She swayed back and forth, fingers tangling with the wind.

“He can see it by my stars. The stars are screaming and burning, burning like a naughty boy who loved too much.” She grinned like she’d just gotten a dirty joke. “It starts inside, worms it way out like a finger.”

“Back evil fiend! Never shall you defeat us! For the council has enemies, but through strength and courage--”

“Andrew, do shut up.” The old watcher was surprisingly intrigued by the vampire’s rantings.

“He hasn’t learned the lesson yet—he was in the basement when the school bell rung, talking to crosses and things he hates. He hasn’t learned, so when the stars scream blue, he burns again. Sizzling green spider webs will knock them down like drops of water, but still the boy will die. Because he and Daddy still taste like ashes. Because he doesn’t know his lesson yet.”

“And what is the lesson, Drusilla?” Giles stepped closer gingerly.

The girl giggled. “Silly brown fish.” Slowly she drew a sharp nail across her cheek , and licked the blood of the fingertip when she pulled it away. Then she whispered, as if sharing a secret:

“To not fade away.”

“Oookay, full on case of wiggins is a check. Can I make with the staking now?” But by the time Xander had even raised the stake, the girl was gone.

“Should we call Buffy?” Andrew asked the frowning watcher.

“Bout what? It’s just crazy nonsense- green spiders and brown fish and white ashes...” Xander shook his head. In a few minutes, it was pelted with snow.

L.A.

“Well can’t you, I don’t know, wave a wand? Break the spell?”

Willow scowled at Angel. “Doesn’t really work that way. Turns out, when the greatest inter-dimensional evil that exists casts a spell over its vast army to make the wounds from their weapons permanent? Kinda impossible to fix.”

Spike sighed and leaned back. “Right, so...what do we do? Be in pain and crippled for the rest of our un-lives? Not to mention Charlie-boy.”

“I guess we gotta defeat the army. Wherever it is.”

“Well, maybe that’s why they retreated? Weaken us and all that rot.”

“Don’t think so...” Angel frowned. “They could have killed us there.” He turned to his comrade-in-arms. “They wanted to punish us Spike. This, this is our punishment for striking at the Senior Partners- slow, painful, really slow deaths.”

“Wankers. I still need to slay that dragon.”

“Whoa hey, I claimed the dragon, K?”

“Bollocks! If you hadn’t—”

“Hey, children! Moving on. ‘Bout our recruits?”

Angel nodded sheepishly, while Spike grinned, cavalier as usual. “Don’t see what good it’ll do. ‘Sides getting me dusty—tried to kill one’s girlfriend, the other’s sister, and just beat the sodding arse of the last one.”

“I’ll um...explain later. Spike, could you go check up on Fred and Buffy?”

“Uh...” Spike stood up but wouldn’t meet Willow’s eyes.

“I’ll explain.” Angel told him as he left. And he did.

“Y’all right in here?” The bleached-blonde stuck his head in.

“Uhh...” Buffy still hadn’t looked away from the blue eyed demon. “Is she like...an artist? Or a stormtrooper?”

“Yes. No. Both. Er, why don’t you just head to your room and never ever deal with her again.”

“’K.”

“So that’s the deal with Illyria. What about the recruits? Why do we need them?”

“Oh. Um,” Willow wiped the last of the tears away from her eyes. “Yeah. Right. This has to do with the last part. Spike and the ouchiness?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking. Doyle—from what I heard—wasn’t so fond of being all with the demonness right? Or, demony, rather.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And for him, big with the pain. Cordelia on the other hand, when she got part-demon, she was all pain-free like. And she was fine with being not totally human.”

“Right. Oh. OH. So--”

“Spike’s visions hurt cuz he isn’t accepting of his demon.”

“Yes he is. I mean he IS. He, like brags about it. Often.”

“Doesn’t mean he accepts or likes it. Ever hear of a coping mecahnism? If Spike didn’t act totally fine with it all, he’d be like, Broody McBroodster.” This got her an Angel-sized glare. “Which is a perfectly acceptable alternative.”

“I’M the one who should get the visions anyway. Cordelia kissed me. Me! The visions are mine. He stole ‘em, as is the custom.”

“Uh...sure. Moving on to the soon to be arriving: They’re gonna help restrain Spike.”

“OK, I get how he can be a pain-in-the-ass, but do we really need--”

“Angel, I don’t think you get it.” The redhead took a deep breath and looked the vampire in the eye. “I’m gonna remove Spike’s soul.”

He had been sitting in the garden for a long time.

The sun was starting to rise, and he missed the shade of gray it turned right before daytime. He didn’t see it often. The jasmine blooms were dead, but he knew they would be closing. His skin began to jump and itch, so he went back into the lobby.

“Couldn’t sleep?” The girl’s voice startled him. “Me neither. I start to fall asleep, and then I end up having the weirdest dreams. Monsters and portals and really, really bright lights. Huh.”

Spike shrugged. “I’m a night owl. Rather sleep in the day. Sorta lost track of the date though...”

“Don’t ask me.” Buffy smiled. “It’s weird—I remember basic things. Like what color oranges are and, I dunno, how chocolate tastes. But I don’t remember what house I grew up in, or how I got this nasty scar on my left hand, or yeah, the date.” She wondered why the other man was examining his own hand, like he was looking for something. She noticed the scar before he hid it behind his back.

“I guess it’s bout the remembering feature. Anything that you have to actually think about to remember is gone. Your—Oh.” Buffy’s growing frown began to blur in front of him. “Bloody hell not again...Powers can take their visions and shove--”

And he screamed.

He still hadn’t said anything about it.

After Willow had told him the plan about how to not have Spike’s brains come out a play in the fresh air, he got really quiet for a while. Then he just started pacing.

“I called them already. Um...the three backups are on their way.” No response. “They said they would meet up in Agoura, then take a bus down. Probably be here pretty soon.” Nothing. “Uh...So. So, you’re defintely staining the carpet a new and exciting color.” Angel looked at the crimson color he was turning the rug. “Guess those cuts aren’t gonna get better for a while, huh.”

She sat for a few minutes, thinking back and the trail of blood she’d seen. How it spread, and stained everything it touched. Even when the murdered didn’t bleed, or when they bled all over you.

Angel had heard about the witch’s girlfriend. True love or some such. He’d never actually met her, but she’d sounded nice enough. Of course she died.

The redhead looked out the window at the rising sun. It looked over the garden. Blue sky filled most of her view, and a tree or two. She knew grass lay withering below it, but all she saw was a backyard she hadn’t been in for more than a year. “Not till we find and kill the um...” She itched at her sweaty palms. “Or uh...” Finally she stood up and walked to the window, drawing the curtains shut tight. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Which was answered by a painful scream from downstairs. Obviously.

“Spike! Spike, what happened? Did you have another vis-migraine?!” Willow caught herself just in time.

“Nnngrghfm.” Was the mumbled reply from the tile floor.

“Spike, we gotta know if uh...you need help. In an alley. Soon.” Angel ignored the very freaked look this got from Buffy. “Spike! Speak already!”

“There is no talking ... only pain.” The vampire growled, still not moving.

“Come on already. We have visitors, coming, probably real soon, and you don’t want to make a grand non-entrance now do you?” Willow coaxed

He finally lifted himself from the floor. “You can untwist your knickers, princess. We got time.”

Buffy jumped in, defending her maybe-friend. “Hey, you can’t talk to Willow like--”

“I was talking to Angel.”

Buffy nodded. “Ah. Continue.”

Suddenly the door slammed open. The clump in the lobby looked over sharply, startled.

“Huh. Sooner than I thought.” Willow smiled at the three familiar faces who entered. Angel nodded nervously, Buffy stared blankly, and Spike tried very hard to hide his face.

“Hey, Red.” Fraith grinned a cheshire grin, framed by Dawn and Oz. “So. Who here needs a good slay?”

A/N: Yea, you thought i died, didn’t you? No luck. Joss wanted Spike back, but there were manacles, so...

Actually, i FINALLY found my computer, internet and all. So i be set, and chapters will come thick and occasional now, promise. Real sorry. Hope any readers i had haven’t off and died of old age. *crickets*

A/N: Italics are the other end of a phone line.

JULY, 2001

She should go to bed.

It was 11’o’clock, and she should be in bed. He didn’t have a watch on- he hated anything that reminded him of time, now. The sun rising, the sun setting, thunderstorms, back to school ads, those things on TV about “Do you know where your children are?” which she was watching now. But he didn’t need anyone to tell him what time it was, and he always knew what day it was. Eleven o clock on day seventy five, and she should be in bed.

Part of him wanted to walk away and let her alone, curled up in that robot’s arms- what had she called it? Gross? Obscene? Not real? No wonder he and it’d gotten on so well. Maybe he would leave now- just walk off, steal a car, drive too fast and end up- wherever, Washington, Las Vegas, didn’t matter. Somewhere neon and loud. But he wouldn’t. He missed the DeSoto, but Red and the Boy had this funny obsession with eating food everyday, so it was scrap metal now, somewhere. Whatever it takes. So he walks in the front door.

“Nibblet.” He says gentle and important. “”S late. And a school night.”

“Can’t I skip?”

“I let you skip last week.” He sighs and tries not to look at the plastic thing sitting next to her. “And for the last time, I’m not going to blow up the teacher’s lounge.” He walks over and shuts off the television. “The parts for the bomb are just too expensive.”

She pouts and takes the bot by the wrist, leading it up the stairs behind her. He knows how this part goes. She’ll say good night, and he’ll say sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite, because they spread the plague, you filthy little bird. She’ll grin and go upstairs, and they can play like things are OK for awhile, like things are how they’re supposed to be. He’ll sit at the bottom of the stairs and listen to the soft, simple sobs of the girl for a while, or maybe this will be one of the nights where she’s quiet for a long, long time before the breathing steadies. And he’ll wait till the sky turns gray and raw, and he’ll walk back to the crypt.

She walks to the stairs and goes up. Turns around and smiles quiet, “Good night.” He starts on his end, but he’s interrupted by a voice, sleepy-casual: “I love you, Spike.”

Yet he tries not to react, keeping quiet and nodding gentle, like this is normal and fine. It sounds the same as the last sunrise he ever saw- sweet and beautiful and hopeful and completely, perfectly tragic. But before he can respond, the robot opens its metal jaw- “I love you too.”

And everything is still and everything is stopped.

The universe is holding its breath and Spike can’t even move, can’t even speak because if he does, everything will shatter. Silence sits like smoke from the cigarettes he doesn’t buy anymore- the money goes to those vile gummi worms the bit likes- and after a thousand hours she speaks. Splutters something about sorry or good night and goes up the stairs, leading the oblivios copy-cat bot upstairs behind her.

For a thousand hours he stands there, fists clenched, knuckles white. He doesn’t need to breathe and he doesn’t need to blink, not really, and he thinks maybe he can just fade away, just blend in to the background. He just wants it to be quiet. Finally, he sighs, defeated, and walks numbly home, eyes on his boots. And he doesn’t cry. He pours himself a drink, and he doesn’t cry. He sits down and writes another letter- another one of the thousands upon thousands of letters he writes to her, letters no one else will ever see, letters he will never send, letters he doesn’t expect a reply from- and he doesn’t cry. He turns on the TV and lets blue-white insomnia wash over him and the rest of the crypt, and he doesn’t cry. He drinks his way to an aching, nstalgic, queasy sleep, tossing and turning dreams, and when the morning comes and the in-between seconds where he doesn’t know where he is pass, he doesn’t cry. He’s more used to the wide awake and the dying, anyhow.

No, he won’t cry for it now, on day seventy-six.

There are some things too sad for tears.

PRESENT

Spike’s trip down memory lane ended as quickly and suddenly as it began, and he blinked around. Willow was staring at Oz, Oz was staring at Willow. Dawn was staring at him, and Faith was staring at Angel, who was staring at Buffy, who was staring at everyone. After half an eternity, Willow made a move.

“Buffy, look! Our visitors. That’s Oz, our old friend, that’s Dawn, your sister, and that’s Faith, your-“ she swallowed nervously. “Our- that’s Faith!”

The dark slayer nodded with a rueful grin. “Good to see you too.”

“I’ll um...it’s late, Buffy, how bout you and I go upstairs?” The two girls walked upstairs, the blonde glancing back with a confused look on her face.

“So, um...” Dawn spoke to Angel. “You, uh...” The girl glanced at Spike furtively, but wouldn’t look at him while she spoke. “Called. I got sent to stay with Faith for part of the summer, and um...got the call and hurried...Oz....L.A.” The girl was getting more and more upset.

“Nibblet-“

“I’m gonna go. Upstairs.” She suddenly seemed flustered, her eyes on the floor. “Buffy...and...” She ran off.

Faith watched her retreat up the stairs. “Huh. Freaky.” She turned to Spike. “’Sup.”

“Hey.”

“Came back, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Necklace?”

“Necklace.”

The two nodded and smiled slightly. Angel stared. “You uh, you don’t seem too surprised.”

“Right. Name the last guy Buffy had a lip lock with who died and stayed dead.” Angel opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged. “’Sides, Spike and me? We both got a good portion of Angelus ass-whooping. We’re connected on a very deep level.”

“Oh, c’mon” The brown-haired vamp snorted. “Spike never--”

“Want to stop yapping for half a tic and listen, you great dull slab of brow? I’ll thrash you. Again.”

“But--”

“Wolfboy’s here.” Spike nodded toward Oz.

“Hey.” The guitarist rubbed at his hair. What color was it now? A kind of maroon? “Heard you weren’t evil anymore. Also kind of BBQ-left over.”

“Yes on the soul, no on the dust. What, did Red call you or summat?”

“Yeah. She looked me up last year, before the great trumpets-blaring saddles-blazing battle. Just in case, y’know. Called me after, told me about all of it.” Spike wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have detected a flicker of expression around the ‘just in case’. “She told me that you were gonna have to--”

BRRRING! BRRRING! The phone ringing shocked them all into silence. Angel had figured the phone line was bound to be dead- thank the Powers That Be for odd mercies.

None moved to pick up. At last, it went to answering machine, Angel flinching at the sounds of Cordelia’s voice.

“Hello, you’ve reached Angel Investigations. (Pause)”

“Hello? Hello?! Cordelia, thank God, I thought you were-“

“Is this on? (Ruffling noises) Ok, uh, Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless. Low rates, we’re busy, so leave a message. If you wish to inquire after one Cordelia Chase, in order to hire--”
“Cordelia! Keep it short! Their lives are most likely in great peril!”
“Keep your knickers on, Wes. Those looking for talent may leave a message. The endangered can too.”

“(Long pause.) Hello? Er, this is Giles. I, I wasn’t sure if this line would work, but Angel or Buffy, if either of you are there--”

“Hey, Rupes!” Faith finally called out, breaking the frozen silhouette. “Long time no lecture.”

“Faith? Faith is that you? I--”

“(From a distance)Selina Kyle? Selina is there? Great Gadzooks!”

“Andrew! For the last time, stop trying to be English, and who in the heavens--”

“Catwoman,” Oz smiled a little, stepping closer to the phone. “Selina Kyle is Catwoman’s alias.”

“Ha! Sweet.” Faith grinned. “What’s the deal, tweedy?”

“Erm, I’m afriad there’s been a--”

“Catwoman! Catwoman!!!”

“Andrew! Give me the receiver.” (Scuffling noise. High-pitched scream. Thud. Pause.) Er, hullo?”

“Um, Watcher? Does uh- what’s his name- Tucker’s brother- he does still have life, right?” Spike frowned, not sure just how to celebrate the idea.

“He has a pulse, if that’s what you mean. Wait- wait- (sputtering) Was that-“

“It’s me alright.” Spike smiled bittersweet. “William the Bloody is back. Emphasis on the bloody.”

“Good Lord... (Long pause)”

“Rupert?” Spike stepped forward and leaned over the phone. “You cleaning your glasses?”

“Erm...quite...what? What happened?”

“Evil lawyer. It’s a thing.”

“(softer) Well, that’s good. I’m sure Buffy’s very happy, she is there, isn’t she?”

“Thanks. And yeh. I guess.”

There was a pause. “Aww, I think they’re gonna telehug.” Faith prodded the bleached vampire in the back as he stiffened.

“I think not. I’d ask how Cleveland is, Faith, but there are more important things than pleasantries--”

“Always are...”

“We got a visit from Drusilla. She had a message, and I think Spike would be best equipped to interpret it.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Willow spoke surprising them all from the bottom of the stairs. “Because Spike?” She looked guiltily to his quickly hardening face. “Gonna be out of commission for a while.” She took a deep breath.

“We’re taking out your soul. Tonight.”

A/N: Why is Dawn acting so strange? You’ll see. Oh, you’ll see.

BTW, i REALLY wish that i had named this story “Learning How to See”. So just pretend that that’s its title.

On a more somber note:

Joey Ramone has passed on to the great Fleet Center in the sky, meaning there is only one surviving member of The Ramones who hasn’t died of cancer and/or drugs. Wear black, weep, wail, pray, and moment of silence.

Thank you. Reviews much, much appreciated.