He strode confidently down the tunnel that would lead him to his goal.



When all else had failed to cure his beloved Dru, Spike had taken it upon himself to find out if the rumors about elder blood were true. And truly, who could be more of an elder than Old Batface? Swallowing his pride for the time being, he was prepared to play nice for a while when he entered the cavern the Master had been trapped in for decades. As he crossed the threshold where the barrier was supposed to be, he was expecting to see the head of his clan on his throne with mindless minions milling about waiting at his beck and call.



What he did not expect was the lack of barrier and finding Peaches seemingly frozen in place next to a shallow pool. After a brief moment of disorientation, Spike altered his plans to meet the current circumstances, and approached his Sire.



“Well, well, well, fancy meetin’ you here, Peaches. Did the alleys run out of rats or somethin’?” His words trailed off as he noticed what the older vampire had been staring at so intently that he had missed his great entrance. There, face down in the dirty water, was a girl with blonde hair, a white dress and blood dribbling from the two puncture marks in her neck.

When he reached Angel’s side he was finally able to sift through all the rank smells in the air and realized what had happened: she was the Slayer that set the Master free with her life. Dru had been going on and on about this very image for about a year now; one of the reasons he’d tried to distract her with a detour through Prague.



“You’re too late, Spike. She was supposed to be my salvation and I failed her. And now she can’t even be your third. So leave. The Master is somewhere up there wreaking havoc, why don’t you go with him?” What startled Spike was the resignation in his voice, the broken tone that should have warmed his unbeating heart with the knowledge that the Poofter had been kicked down another notch.



But instead… it made him mad as hell!



He got down on his knees and pulled the girl out of the water, surprised to discover that even in this state, with her soaked hair clinging to her pale skin, her eyes closed and the wound in her neck, she was still beautiful. These Chosen birds are always lookers. Pity that. What drew his attention, however, was that feeling he got when someone was not quite dead yet, she was on the verge of the moment when a bloody wrist was dangled in front of his preys’ faces to give them the chance to become the hunters of the night.



Turning his stormy blue eyes towards the still immobile Angel, he got a very bad idea. The idea was so bad that it could lead to nothing but pain and destruction. Just how I like ‘em.



“You do know that the bird’s not dead yet, Gramps. I’m willin’ to bet all it would take would be a couple of huffs and puffs and she’ll break Death’s door down.” Angel’s guilty look told him all he needed to know: the ol’ bastard knew! With a twinkle in his eye, he decided to see how far he could take this new information. “So seein’ as how I’m a right helpful bloke and all, I’ll even tell you what to do to save the ‘One bird in all the realm’.” He opened the girl’s slack mouth and looked up at the silent vampire. “All you gotta do is hold her quirky nose and use all that hot air nature gifted you with to help her breathe a bit.”



Glancing down at her body, he moved his hands lower, gliding them barely an inch over her still form until he reached the center of her chest. “Then you put your grubby paws between these perky little breasts and push a few times and ta-daaaa,” he said with a broad grin, extending his palms like a presenter in a circus. “You’ve got live Slayer again.” His grin threatened to split his face when the only answer his little show and tell garnered was a flinch and a tormented look.



“I can’t.”



“What was that, Peaches? Speak up. I think maybe I got some water in my ears, but I thought you said you can’t?” Spike faked being surprised so badly, a blind man could have spotted it.



“I can’t, all right? It’s-” Angel shuddered once, then jerked back as if something had bitten him. “I can’t touch her.”



“Could it be that the widdle bitty Poofter is afraid the smell of her blood will make him drain her dry instead of giving her CPR?” Spike was enjoying this so much he was sure the memory alone would make him giddy for years to come. “Or is her cooling body so enticin’ that you’re havin’ all those bad thoughts the gypsies found so bloody outrageous? Fancy a roll in the dirt with the Slayer’s corpse?” He had been expecting a punch, a growl, anything except the deer caught in the headlights look on Angel’s face. Spike just couldn’t take it anymore and he burst into an all out laughter.



Realizing his mistake, Angel quickly tried to backtrack and started spluttering denials and shouting his outrage, only to cause Spike to dissolve into even heartier gales of laughter. Between gasps for air he did not really need, Spike threw more jibes at the bane of his unlife. “Methinks he doth protest too much.”



Suddenly, somewhere deep within his brain, a proverbial light bulb clicked on and his laughter died in an instant. All traces of mirth having left him, he focused back on the girl sprawled at his feet. He raised one hand and caressed her cheek, tucking the strands covering her face behind her ear. Whispering almost to himself, he mused out loud. “Unless I save her.”



Angel was so shocked by the words coming out of the younger vampire’s mouth that he wasn’t even able to come up with a response as Spike proceeded to do just what he had been urging him to do in the first place.



With his right hand holding her nostrils closed, he used the fingers of his left hand to make sure her mouth would stay open. He leaned in closer to her face, fighting every urge in his body that told him to finish the obviously half-done job of draining her dry. He focused instead on the girl’s vital signs, or lack thereof at the moment. When his lips touched hers, his brain registered for a second that this was almost kissing, but then proceeded to exhale deeply, filling her lungs. As he came up for air, he knew he would see this through.



“What the hell kind of a game are you playing at, Spike? The Slayer of Slayers suddenly decides to rescue one? What’s the catch?” Angel asked, entranced by his grandchilde’s movements. He was gentle, caring almost, diligently performing the procedure that could save Buffy. He tried getting closer, but the smell of her blood was now so powerful, it took all of his self restraint to keep himself from kicking the other male away and having his way with her body. Like in the good old times. The thought sickened him.



Not bothering to answer Angel, Spike started pumping the Slayer’s chest in an attempt to get her heart going again. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was doing what he was doing, but it felt right.



Bloody ponces, the lot of them. I bet the bastard used thrall to get her. He snorted to himself in disdain. It’s one thing to have Dru do her magic on some poor git or bird when it’s almost dawn or you’re on a cruise, but using it to bag a Slayer? That’s just cheating. I bet that other pillock, Lothos, used the same tricks on the others. Heard this one got him, though, so ol’ Batface must have caught her at her weakest. A shame, really, seein’ as how she could have been my third. I bet she would hav- His inner thoughts were derailed as the Slayer’s heart started beating on its own and she started gasping for air and coughing up water.



Caught by surprise as he was closing in for another round of mouth-to-mouth, his eyes locked with hers and time seemed to stop for a moment. Green eyes like the grass in spring. Like the waters of the Mediterranean on a sunny summer’s day. What the bloody hell am I thinking? Just as quickly as it had started, the moment ended as Buffy pushed the stranger off her and raised herself on surprisingly steady feet. Angel’s jaw was so slack he couldn’t form any words.



“The Master?” Buffy asked, not bothering with any pleasantries.



“Was gone when I got here, couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago.” Spike was lighting a cigarette and sizing her up and down. Good instincts, quick reflexes, steady muscles, a relaxed pose disguising a fighting stance, prioritizing threats. Looks like I got me a challenge.



“And you are?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest.




“Name’s Spike. Best remember that for our next time.”



“You’re a vampire with the name of a dog that apparently just gave me CPR. What am I missing?” Her foot started tapping impatiently.




“I’m not named after a bloody mutt, Slayer, so watch your mouth. Is that how you treat those that save your pretty little ass?” Spike added a leer for good measure, his hands now framing his crotch, leaving little to the imagination about his idea of a proper treatment for saviors.



“As if! Now tell me why I shouldn’t make you like in the Kansas song?” That earned her a chuckle from the bleach-blond vampire.



“First off, Goldilocks, you seem to have misplaced your stake.” At his words, her eyes widened a bit and she started thinking of ways to get her hands on one. “Second of all, I just saved your ungrateful hide, so I think you owe me.” She merely huffed with impatience as her eyes finally landed on the discarded stake on the other side of the water. “Third, I think you have bigger fish to fry than little ol’ Spike. If I know anything about Old Batface, then he’s probably on his way to the Hellmouth tryin’ to end the bloody world.” He smirked at the brief flash of alarm on her face. “So don’t mind me, seein’ as we’ll meet again to play catch up.”



Looking at the dumbfounded expression on Angel’s face, Spike felt he had a little something extra to add. “Sorry to ruin your necrophilia fetish, Gramps, I guess you’ll have to taste her cunny and blood another way.”



“Ewww, how can you-” Buffy froze in place at Angel’s reaction. He wasn’t outraged. He wasn’t denying it. He looked guilty and a bit annoyed, like someone being caught at a lie. Her heart shattered as her stomach churned. Steeling herself against anything that was trivial, however, she decided it could wait. When she turned to ask Spike something else, he was gone, presumably down the tunnels and into the labyrinth underneath Sunnydale. He, too, would have to wait.



“Angel, you go to the library and hold off there, I’ll take care of the Master.” Her voice was hard and her eyes were cold, something Angel hadn’t really seen in her before. It made a chill run down his spine.



“It’s not like he implied, I-”



“I don’t care right now. The world could end tonight, so we can have the Springer thing another time. Let’s go.”



“Are you sure you’re ok, Buffy?” Angel asked tentatively, trying to touch her shoulder. He felt hurt when she flinched and stepped away from him. So that was Spike’s game. And I played right into it.



“I said later, Angel. Library, Giles, fighting, now!” Without even a backward glance, Buffy started marching towards the exit and away from any possibility of a relationship with the souled vampire.



“Yeah, fighting.” he mumbled, dragging his feet over the decades of dirt.




~~~***~~~



It was all over. The Master was dusted, the Hellmouth was closed, all her friends were alive and she had saved the world again. Her happiness was short-lived, however, as thoughts of what had happened in the Master’s lair came crashing down on her after the battle. Her death and Angel’s apparent betrayal were weighing down on her like lead. Slayers don’t cry. Thinking about the lair, however, brought back the image of her savior and she turned to Giles, who was currently sweeping the floor in a vain attempt to set some order in the world.



“Giles, what can you tell me about a vampire called Spike?”



That got the elderly Brit’s attention and he paused from his sweeping to clean his glasses. “Yes, well, I don’t believe the name rings a bell just now. I’ll have to research it.” Buffy almost smiled at her Watcher’s need for research, but that died too as she felt the sting of his betrayal. How could he have kept that Prophecy from me? What, I didn’t deserve to know I was going to die?



Her thoughts were interrupted by Angel’s voice and she flinched in distaste. “Look him up under William the Bloody.”



“Who’s that, Buff, some new guy trying to fill the Master’s shoes already?” Xander asked, still feeling the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. At Buffy’s silence, he turned to ask Angel something else, only to find him gone. “We really need a bell collar for that guy.”



Giles came back from his office, after checking on the Watcher diaries. “Oh, dear. It says here he is also known as the Slayer of Slayers, the only vampire to have killed two Slayers in less than one hundred years. The moniker Spike comes from his penchant to ram railroad spikes in his victim’s heads in the first days of his turning, back in the early 19th century. He was sired by Drusilla, now presumed dead, who was sired in turn by Angelus. Together with Darla, the four of them made up the Scourge of Europe before Angel’s ensoulement.” He raised his eyes to meet his Slayer’s at the end of his short presentation.



“Whoah, G-man, that’s some serious vampireness. Please tell me he’s not here, Buffster.” Xander pleaded with his eyes, while Willow clutched his arm tight, still not fully recovered from the night’s ordeal.



“How, may I ask, did you come by his name? Did Angel mention him as a potential threat, or-”



Looking sadly at the people around her, Buffy shook her head, the rapid-fire of information having left her emotionally drained. “He’s the one that saved me in the Master’s lair. He brought me back from death.” With those words, the Slayer circled her arms protectively around herself and slowly started to make her way home, leaving the stunned Scoobies to look helplessly at each other.



From his concealed position in a dark corner of the upper stacks of the library, Spike smirked and slinked away into the shadows. So our dance truly begins.

*Club Binge, LA, the middle of July*



The first thing he became aware of was the noise. The pounding, incessant noise that was adding to his headache. He breathed once and tried to filter the smells: dust, sweat, alcohol, blood, vomit and lust intermingled in a cocktail that could mean only one thing – he was in some sort of a club. Opening his eyes, he blinked a few times to get used to the stream of light burning his retinas from the strobes. He rose from the otherwise dark corner of the packed club wondering where his feet and car had taken him this time. A moment of insecurity made him search his pockets and he sighed in relief once he felt the DeSoto keys in his inner coat pocket.



Getting full control of his senses, he scanned the crowd to figure out whom he should have for dinner. Not liking the options closest to him, he stumbled toward the bar, thinking it would be a better place to scout for hot young things while getting some alcohol back into his system to dull the pain. Tonight I feel like havin’ a brunette.



Grabbing a beer, he pushed out the thoughts of Sunnydale and everything that had happened during the previous month to the back of his mind once again.



~~~***~~~



*Sunnydale, the end of June*



“Just a bit more, pet. In a few more seconds Angel ‘ere ‘s gonna be a bowl of dust and you, my ripe, wicked plum, are gonna be back to your lovely destructive self.”



As the final seconds were ticking, a bright light enveloped Dru and Angel, while they stood bound together with the knife allowing the power transfer to occur. Dalton had done his job well, it seemed, and due to the Slayer’s speedy disappearance to LA, Spike was left free to put his plans into motion. Kidnapping Angel had been disappointingly easy: a couple of rumors, a little fang from one of the boys on a teen moron and a well placed tire iron to the head and presto – gift-wrapped Angel.



The light faded as the final moment approached and Dru let out a piercing howl and both Angel and her tumbled to the floor in a bloody, disheveled heap. Spike jumped towards them, trying to figure out if the transfer was complete or if something had happened to thwart his plan to cure his love. While he ripped through the bindings, he was puzzled over Angel’s undusted state. The book had said the elder vamp would be dust when the ritual ended. Guess the Poof got a lucky break in the fine print. I’ll put him out of his bloody misery just as soon as I make sure Dru’s back.



“Spike… My Spike, leave Princess to do it herself, she’s strong enough.”



“Whatever you want, luv. I’m glad you’ve come back to me.” Spike’s face threatened to split due to the huge grin he sported. He straightened out and watched as Dru gently placed Angel on the floor and trailed a hand down his cheek. Still riding the high of seeing his love strong and well, a part of him felt a pang of jealousy at her interest in the other vamp’s wellbeing.



“They showed me, they did. Don’t worry, Daddy, Princess will take care of you. We’re going to the painted men to see the dark one so he can show us the light. Pretty light, making everything white again.” Turning to the now befuddled Spike, Dru had a wistful smile on her face. She ran her nails down his prominent cheekbones and then kissed him tenderly on the lips. “My poor Spike, lost to his Dark Princess, but so full of light. No light for Princess, though, only for the Sunshine.”




Even with more than a century’s experience in deciphering Dru’s cryptic ramblings, especially after a vision, Spike’s mind was working overtime trying to figure out what had just happened. “What’s wrong, pet, where’s the light calling us?”



Hissing, Dru took a step back, adopting a protective stance over the now recovering Angel. “Not us, you bad puppy. Bad puppies don’t deserve to travel on a full stomach. No more pretty girls for Miss Edith’s tea parties. ”



Angel groaned and raised himself on his elbows. “What just happened, Dru?”



“The pixies showed me our path, Daddy. We’ll get our sparkly lights together in the land of the blood-and-night men.”



“What about me, Princess, what about your Dark Knight?” Spike’s voice sounded pleading and desperate even to his own ears, but he didn’t care.



“You’ll get your turn, but not quite yet. Your path is bathed in Sunshine.”



~~~***~~~



*Club Binge, LA, the middle of July*



It had all gone downhill from there. Dru’s visions had come regularly after that and then she moved in with Angel, leaving him bereft and alone. Spike had tried everything he could think of to get her back, but his presents were either thrown out or broken up and his preys were set loose by the increasingly unstable female. A week after the ritual, Dru and Angel had disappeared without a trace and however much Spike searched, he couldn’t find any trace of them. The following week had seen increasingly blurry bouts of drinking, culminating with the decision to just up and drive. Spike left Dalton in charge of the minions, downed a couple of bottles of Jack with beer chasers and got into his trusty DeSoto, with no clear plan in mind.



Somehow he had arrived in LA and stumbled inside the club where, after eating the night watchman, he had finally succumbed to sleep after days of going without slumber. Now, somewhat sober, he started prowling the dance ring in search of a Drusilla replacement for the night.



As he surveyed the partygoers, a group of five or six losers vying for the attention of a scantily clad chit caught his eye. Getting closer, all thoughts of brunette on the menu fled his mind, as the blonde bombshell swayed her hips and ground her ass into any and all male bodies within range. Unable to see her face, he admired her bare arms as they wove intricate patterns in the air. Her stiletto shoes complemented the sight of her legs all the way up to her firm bum, barely covered by a very short black leather skirt.



When she turned around to rub her delectable behind on some git’s thighs, he raked his eyes over her obviously braless tits bouncing under the clinging red top. She’s wearin’ my colors. ‘M gonna eat you up, little girl. Finally reaching her face with his perusal, Spike was struck speechless. Wearing smoky black eyeliner and sinfully red lipstick, her hair flailing around to the beat of her movements was none other than the Slayer herself. Bugger me sideways.



Almost without realizing it, he flashed some fang at the ponces trying to cop a feel of the girl that could sweep the floors with their asses using just her little finger. As the would be suitors beat a hasty retreat, Spike moved behind her and placed his hands possessively on her hips, sliding them forward until his fingers interlaced on her taught stomach. Their pelvises started gyrating together and her hands raised around his neck, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her eyes were still closed while her lips parted to allow a subtle sigh to escape.



Time seemed not to matter as the two of them moved in a world all of their own. The sound of the music blaring out of the speakers dimmed and they continued to sway to the rhythm of her heart. Spike’s erection was straining against the fabric of his jeans as her ass rubbed against him. After some immeasurable amount of time, her eyes suddenly popped open and blue met green.



“You came for me,” she whispered and Spike barely contained a possessive growl from resounding out of his suddenly dry throat.



“Were you waitin’ for me, luv? Was that what that show with the pillocks was all about?” he asked, barely registering the jealousy dripping in his tone.



“They were nothing.” She turned in his arms, her breasts pressed into his chest, her lips close to his. “Are you here to save me again?” The earnestness in her eyes caught him by surprise. This was not the wanton temptress that had been grinding herself on the bulge of his pants, driving every male in the club crazy with lust. This was a scared girl who had seen her own death and had been betrayed by the guy that was supposed to help her. Despite himself, Spike’s battered heart softened for her.



“Save you from what, luv?” He left his right hand on the small of her back, rubbing circles into her skin, while his left tangled itself in her golden tresses. “The Big Bad isn’t known for savin’ as much as for gettin’ into trouble.”



“You saved me from both of them. If you wanted me dead, you’d have left me to die there, in the cave.” A shadow passed over her face. “Want your prize now or later?” The earnest look was gone from her eyes, a cold, calculating Slayer on a mission taking her place. A mission to do what, though?



“Don’ need your pity or your reward, Slayer. What I want,” he accented by thrusting his hips forward in a suggestive manner, “I take.”



“Sure you can take me, Spike?” She asked in a fake higher pitched voice, batting her eyelashes and then biting her lower lip.



Mesmerized by the way her teeth were worrying her luscious lip, Spike felt he was about to drool. Kitten wants to play. “Why don’t we find out, kitten?” Tilting his head towards the back entrance of the club, he cocked his scarred eyebrow. “Up for a bit o’ rough and tumble?”



Giving him a bright smile, Buffy bounced away from him towards the exit, turning once she got half way to arch her back, run her hand up her thigh, and then crooking her index finger in a come-hither motion. “I’m always ready.” She then flounced off, leaving a horny and grinning Master Vampire to trail her to the back alley.



Almost hooting with joy, Spike hurried to pass through the door, reaching it just as it was closing behind the Slayer. As soon as he got outside, he found himself slammed against a wall with a well-placed kick. “Oi, what the bloody hell did ya do that for, luv?”



Giving him the once over and placing her hands on her hips, she started tapping her left foot. “Why are you here, Spike? Last time I saw you my life was turned upside down.”



Leering at her, Spike raised himself off the concrete. “I can turn you whatever side up you want, luv, just tell me how you like it.” Winking at her, he fished out a cigarette from his pocket and was getting ready to light it when she slapped it away.



Getting closer to him, she grabbed him by the lapels of his duster and pushed him back against the wall, pressing her body against his. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?”



“Maybe I’m here for you.” Pushing her back, he followed through with a knee to the guts and a punch to the face. He loomed over her, as she lay crumpled on the ground, his face split in an evil grin as he vamped out. “Maybe I want your blood to wipe out the taste of Dru’s betrayal from my mouth.” At her puzzled look, he decided to expand. “She was my salvation, you see. She made me and I loved her for over a century. Then I get to that shit-hole of a town ‘f yours and it all gets bolloxed up. I get her well and she leaves with her precious Daddy.” Looking into her now narrowed eyes, he softened his tone. “And here you are, gettin’ me all worked up when I’m ready for a spot of violence.”



She launched at him and they both threw punches and kicks as best they could, looking for weak spots, testing each other’s limits and always trying some new maneuver to offset the other one’s attack. Spike felt the rush of battle and luxuriated in it, while Buffy fought harder and faster than she ever had before.



Eventually, a feigned punch to the ribs, followed by an attempted kick to the groin gave Spike the opening he had been searching for. In the split second while her weight shifted for the attack on his manly bits, he struck out and hit her solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her. Before she knew what was happening, he had her on the ground, pinned under his body, with one of his hands keeping her head in place and his fangs dangerously close to her jugular. He almost felt her blood run cold while they both kept their pose, panting and heaving even though only one needed to breathe.



All of Spike’s instincts told him to finish it, sink his teeth in and drink from her. There was something there, though, that wouldn’t let him. That same feeling he had while he was performing mouth to mouth for the greatest enemy of his kind, the same part of him that had been perfectly content to dance with the girl with smoky eyes, was keeping him from taking the final step. The dance between them had barely began, but the promise of what might come was intoxicating.



His combat-centric brain registered her scent. She was all power, sunlight and musk. Her blood beckoned him from a split lip and other scrapes on her body from their fight. The sound of her heartbeat reminded him of the moments he had spent working feverishly to restore that exact sound, yearning to hear it. He realized he wasn’t the only one confused, as she’d just frozen, apparently in terror, but her half-closed eyes told him a different story. She was just waiting for him to do whatever he pleased, whether he decided to kill her or let her go.



He focused on her eyes and his body moved like in a trance. Lowering his mouth to her throat, he liked a path up her neck, along her pulse-point. Reaching her chin, he licked up some splattered blood until his tongue met her lips. Almost roughly, but definitely more gently than he intended, he started licking at her bleeding upper lip. When there wasn’t any more blood, he put his own lips on hers and, still in game face, started sucking at them. His fangs grazed her lower lip and he mashed his lips to hers, his tongue finding its way into her mouth to battle with her own. The fervor of his actions had increased steadily, until the two of them were caught in a frenzy of kisses, their tongues fighting for supremacy.



The hand he was using to hold her head moved lower, to her neck and then even lower to cup one perfectly shaped breast, eliciting a strangled moan to escape her lips, as the flimsy top did little to dampen the feeling.



They were grunting and moaning in turns, Spike having lost his game face in the process. He allowed her to breathe, his mouth finding her earlobe and working it with his teeth and tongue. The smell of her arousal was so powerful, it drowned out everything else and Spike felt himself submerge in a haze of lust. Both her hands were free now and as one explored his leather-clad back, the other grabbed him by the nape of his neck to pull him relentlessly towards her.



All of a sudden, her hands stilled on his back and her entire body went rigid. Sensing this, Spike stopped biting her nipple through her top and looked up at her face. Her eyes were wide and stormy and he knew their time was up. In mere seconds they were both standing, facing each other in fighting stances.



“Stay away from me.” Her tone was deadly and it was clear she meant what she said.



“I never bloody well meant to come near you.”



“Yeah, well, you did! I’m letting you go now ‘cause you saved my life, but this is the last time.” Her eyes. Those eyes of hers‘ll be the death of me.



“Don’t do me any favors, kitten. Threats don’t work on the Big Bad and you don’t even have a stake to back ‘em up.” Raking his eyes once more over her body, he smirked. “Or if you do, I’d love to see where you’re keepin’ it.”



Unwilling to admit her disadvantage, she chose to ignore his words. “I mean it, you come near me again and I’ll slay you.”



Reeling over the fact that he still longed to touch her – and not in a combat way, either – he felt his borrowed blood start to boil. “Without me, little girl, you’d be either dead back in Sunnyhell or as another notch on some prick’s bedpost tonight. What’s next? Donatin’ your body for bloody science?” He emphasized his words with broad hand movements, feeling a growl rise in his throat.



She laughed. The bloody bint had the audacity to start laughing while he felt jealous. “What are you, now? My guardian angel or something? I thought there was an Angel already doing the job.” Her laughter dying out, she continued in a more somber tone. “Although the way he was thinking of doing that…” Her words trailed off and she lowered her gaze to the dirty pavement.



“Bloody Angel is a ponce and you best forget he ever existed. As for me… You call me that again and I’ll rip your throat out and beat you with your own brainstem.”



Raising her teary eyes to meet his, she stepped closer to him. “So why don’t you? Afraid the next Slayer won’t owe her life to you and dust you in a second?”



Chuckling darkly, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her arms roughly. “I already killed two of your kind, Slayer. Don’t think I can’t take you, ‘specially seein’ as how you want it.”



Their lips met in a bruising, unyealding kiss and their tongues fought for dominance once again. Unlike the previous kisses, this wasn’t about lust, it was about control and they both kept their eyes open, challenging each other, giving it their best to end up on top. It ended when she had to pull away to breathe, her eyes still defiant. There were no victories to be had by either of them.



Turning her back to him, she started to walk out of the back alley that had been the stage for this unlikely tryst. Without even turning her head or raising her voice, she gave him a final warning. “Next time one of us dies.”



“You were dead the first time we met and I’m still dead now. I’ll kill you when I want to, not before.” Getting no reply from her, he decided against trying to goad her back for more… Violence, kisses, he wasn’t sure himself what he wanted more of, but he knew he would get it, whatever it was. Opening the back door to the club again, he started searching for his morning snack. He was in the mood for blonde.

She woke with a start after yet another nightmare. She’d dreamt that she was fighting the Master, only to find herself drowning again. Angel was ripping her clothes when he disappeared, leaving Spike in his stead to drag her out of the water and kiss her back to life. Then it was the Master again, chasing her. Way wiggy how my hair looked. I so wouldn’t have two-foot long pigtails. The Master was him, only not him, just the skeleton with distended fangs and those amber eyes. Once again, Spike came and scattered the bones, extending a hand her way. I mean, seriously, do I look like I need saving? Who the Hell does he think he is popping all over the place in my dreams. I’m the Slayer, I don’t need his help.



Satisfied with her conclusion, Buffy walked into the bathroom and started doing her morning “wake up with makeup” ritual. Halfway through removing last night’s eyeliner, she stopped and her hand dropped to the sink. She stood there, looking at the girl in front of her and trying to remember where the carefree cheerleader had gone. After several seconds of intense staring, she shuddered and continued by removing her mascara, then put some new makeup on and gave the mirror a cheery fake-smile. This is me being happy. I’m alive and I’ll do whatever I want.



She whirled out of the bathroom, put on a pair of jeans and a white tank top and went into the living room. Since it was a Saturday, her dad was there, reading a newspaper with the TV on, some newscaster going on about something or other. “Hi, Dad!”



“Morning, Buffy.” He apparently was in a sour mood. Looking at his watch, he then looked up at her. “Or should I say afternoon. It’s 1 PM.”



Rolling her eyes and letting out an irritated puff, she put a hand on her hip. “So? It’s a Saturday and it’s summer. You don’t seriously expect me to not have, you know, fun, right?”



“Fun is…” Hank caught himself and didn’t continue whatever it was he was going to say. Instead, he frowned a bit. “That librarian, Gives or something, called again. He wouldn’t say what it was about, just mumbled about a book or something. Are you in trouble again?” His stern voice turned understanding. “Or is he… bothering you?”



“God, no!” Buffy took half a step back, as if someone had slapped her, and made her most expressive ‘eww’ face. “That’s like, gross, Dad. No, he’s just… I spent a lot of time in the library last year.” Seeing her father’s disbelieving face, she all but giggled. “Seriously, I did. I had to catch up and stuff. And he got it in his head that I like books or something and now he always calls to tell me when he’s got some interesting news.” Seeing that her father was even more puzzled, she had to elaborate. “On books, or, you know, things you find in them. I get loads of homework done like that.”



Visibly restraining from commenting further, Hank went back to reading his newspaper. “There’s food in the fridge.”



Putting on another big smile, she all but skipped to the kitchen. “Thanks, Dad.”



~~~***~~~



She spent the rest of the day shopping with her father, then went to some Italian place for lunch. While she was shopping, Buffy decided to buy some more patrol-friendly clothes and even some flats. She was getting ready to explain her new choice in fashion, but her father hadn’t even noticed the change, so she just smiled, thanked him for using his credit card on her and went to the next store.



After they got back to his apartment, she flopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, while Hank went into the kitchen and started making calls.



As she was zapping on the TV, there was a knock on the front door and Hank went to open it. “Hello. May I help you?” The formal tone he used intrigued Buffy and she strained to listen better.



“I’m looking for Buffy.” All of a sudden everything slowed down, including her heart beat, as she heard the familiar British accent being spoken by the now familiar voice of Spike. For a split second, she pondered what he might want from her, blood or sex? She thought about how he must have found out her address, how her dad didn’t know not to invite strangers in, especially lack-of-pulsey types. Before she managed to realize what she was doing, she was already halfway to the door, telling her dad she’d deal with it.



He didn’t even have the decency to seem surprised by what she thought of as her thunderous look. Barely sparing a glance at her now very worried father, she raised a palm to stop anything the annoying blond vamp might have said. “Dad, I’ll just step out a sec to talk to William. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” Her father started saying something about waiting and calling her a young woman, but she ignored him, stepped outside and closed the door behind her.



What she didn’t count on was Spike not taking a step back, pressing her instead against her dad’s front door. Having him crowding her personal space was at the same time highly uncalled for and welcomed. He had this certain something that made her feel on edge and safe at the same time, a kind of feeling she hadn’t felt many times since being called. Maybe his saving her had something to do with it, she rationalized.



Pushing him away, she finally had some space to breathe and hurriedly started whispering, “Are you crazy, coming here? If my dad found out…” She didn’t finish that sentence as memories of support groups, helpful medication and syringe-wielding orderlies flashed through her mind.



“You’re bloody kiddin’ me, Slayer- mmpfffmmmm” He probably would have said more had she not covered his mouth with her hand.



Through clenched teeth, she seethed, “I said my dad shouldn’t find out, so stop calling me that. Actually, why did you come calling at all?” She arched her eyebrows inquisitively and lowered her hand just enough so he could talk, but kept her palm on his chin – just in case.



“You wound me, kitten. You mean I can’t come askin’ how my favorite S- I mean damsel in distress is doin’?” he asked with what was probably his most innocent look. For some reason, he reminded her of Wile E. Coyote. Just as she was clearing that image out of her head, he leered at her, as usual. “You know, the natives say once you save someone’s ass, you’re responsible for it. So maybe I came to look at your ass, see if it’s all safe-like.” He rolled his tongue around his front teeth in a way that was probably supposed to get her hot for him. It got her mad, instead.



“You’re a pig, Spike!”



“Oink, oink, baby. Never said I wasn’t.”



Feeling her frustration mount because of his presence and words, she lashed out the best way she knew how: she took her hand off his face and punched his nose.



He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, his eyes shooting daggers as he roared, “Bloody Hell, Slayer! Why’d you do tha’?”



Before she could do anything to shut him up again, she heard the door open behind her. “What’s going on here? Should I call the cops?” Buffy groaned inwardly at her father’s presence. Just what I don’t need right now.



Raising her voice and turning her head slightly towards her father, never letting Spike out of sight, though, she tried to get rid of at least one of them. “Yeah, Dad, maybe you should.”



She felt like patting her own back. Her dad would probably go inside to call the authorities and Spike would run off, not wanting to explain his lack of pulse and papers to the men in blue. The plan was perfect! Perfect, that is, until the undead pest had to open his big, fat mouth and ruin it. “That’s not necessary. I’m her boyfriend, she’s just pissed at me for not bein’ around much these last few weeks.” Then he took his hands away from his still bloodied nose and extended his right one towards her father like he wanted to shake hands. “I’m William, by the way, but most people call me Spike.”



Buffy could have sworn all her blood had left her face as she took in the unlikely scene. There was her dad, safe behind the invisible barrier stopping Spike from entering his house, with his cell in his hand and thunderous eyes. On the other hand, the vampire she was imagining as little specks of dust flying in the wind was standing there, hand extended and an almost hopeful look on his face, despite the blood that had started dripping down his chin. What happened next was like a scene from a bad horror movie.



“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I intend to get to the bottom of this. Both of you come in right this instant and start explaining.” Buffy mentally slapped her forehead, as there was a brief flash of victory in Spike’s eyes. What else can go wrong?



She didn’t even have the time to finish her thought, when Spike turned his back on her dad after crossing the threshold and vamped out. “Aren’t you gonna join us, Buffy?” When she jerked forward, he shifted back and smiled at her father. “I’m sorry for meetin’ you like this and being a right ponce, but could I get somethin’ to clean up? Your daughter packs quite a punch.”



Hank looked suspiciously at his daughter and then started heading towards the kitchen. “Didn’t know she had it in her.”



“It’s one of the reasons why I love her.” Spike replied with a conspiratorial wink at her.



Mortified, Buffy could do noting but close the door behind her and look first at one, then at the other man in front of her. It all felt like a nightmare, although, pinching herself did nothing to wake her up. She watched as her father brought some tissues from the kitchen, which Spike shoved up his nose to stop the bleeding. Next thing she knew, she found herself sharing a couch with her mortal enemy under her father’s disapproving stare.



“So, what’s going on with you two?”



Once again, Spike took it upon himself to answer Hank’s question. “Well, I met your daughter in Sunnydale. I rescued her from some shady types wantin’ her hide.”



Hank’s face darkened even more, if that was possible. “Young lady, I thought we discussed staying out of trouble last year. You didn’t start it, did you?”



Buffy felt her blood run cold for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. “No, Dad, nothing like that, it was just some jocks playing a prank.”



Spike latched on to the idea and ran with it. “Yeah, especially this one git, thinks he’s a bloody Angel or somethin’. I had to step in when he was blabberin’ about soul mates and such rot.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, he leaned in a bit closer to Hank, “Between you and me, I don’t think he had the best intentions for my girl, here.” Turning to her, he seemed outraged as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You didn’t meet with the ponce again, did you?”



Pinning him with an icy glare, she responded with an equally frosty tone, thinking about how to get rid of him faster. “No, haven’t seen him since that night when we first met.”



Her father, frown firmly in place, cut their discussion short. “How old are you, William, and what do you do with your time?”



This time Buffy intervened before Spike had a chance to say anything, worried that he’d make things even worse. “He’s twenty-five and he’s a bouncer.”



“A bouncer? Well, I guess that explains the Spike thing. And what are your intentions regarding my daughter?” Buffy felt like she was about to burst out laughing, although she was still way wigged. If Spike had been a real boyfriend, she would have probably chewed her dad’s head off for going after him like this. The way Spike was put on the line for his stupid ideas made her all giddy inside, though. Like anyone could believe we’re together.



“Well, uh, sir…” Buffy decided it was fun watching Spike squirm. Of course, in what she was beginning to suspect was his usual fashion, he turned things around on her. “I know we’ve only been datin’ for a few months, but I was raised a gentleman. I’ll wait for her to turn 18 and then we’ll get married.” Both members of the Summers’ family were stunned. Spike was surprisingly not laughing as he took Buffy’s hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “Sorry to spring this on you like this, kitten, but it just had to be said.”



“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”



Once again, Hank cut to the chase. “Have you two slept together? You realize I could have you thrown in jail, young man, don’t you?”



“Gross, Dad. How can you say that? Jeez, of course I didn’t sleep with him.” Getting past her initial outrage, she was even more upset by what her father’s words meant. “Is that what you think of me?”



“Well, what am I supposed to think? You burned down a school, start hanging out with that no-good Pike and then you come up with those ridiculous stories about fairies and vampires and only God knows what else. Now this guy shows up and calls himself Spike, which, by the way, isn’t that far off from the last one. On top of it all, I hear you’re in trouble again and then this guy is boasting that he wants to marry you. Really, Buffy, what am I supposed to believe?”



She could see a vein in his temple almost bursting from his fury. His face was all red, just like when he and her mom had been fighting before their break-up. The little girl inside Buffy crawled inside herself and started weeping. That left the Slayer in charge.



“Well, for one, you could just ask, not jump to conclusions. You could also just believe me when I tell you something, not call the loony bin.” She felt Spike tense after her last statement and noticed her father backing up in the armchair looking almost scared of something. Turning to the current bane of her existence, she was surprised to see the blond seething with fury. A muscle on his jaw was ticking, his hands were balled into tight fists and his eyes were shooting daggers at her father.



In a chillingly calm voice that contrasted with the pot ready to boil impersonation he was doing, the vamp spoke without unclenching his teeth, “You put your daughter in a loony bin? What kind of sick ponce does that?”



“Who the hell do you think you are, asking me that? For all I know, you’re some pedophile trying to bed my daughter.” Both men rose from their seats and stood toe to toe, something that Buffy knew could end leaving her an orphan. She stepped in between the two and placed a hand on each of them in restraint.



“Enough with the alpha-male posturing. Spike, you better get out of here now, before I kick your ass. Dad, let it go.”



The following seconds became a blur. Hank tried to push Buffy away, the only thing keeping her on her feet being her Slayer reflexes. Spike seemed to lose it at this and before the older man knew what was happening, Hank was being held in the air by the neck with one hand. “Don’t touch her, you bloody git!”



Buffy sent Spike flying with a kick and took a defensive stance in front of her stunned father. “Get the hell out of here, Spike, before I remember who we both are.”



Spike seemed to be almost as stunned as her dad was as he got up slowly. “This is all your fault, Slayer. I came here to play nice, not listen to 20 sodding questions.” He then rounded past her, moving sideways so as not to give her an opening for another attack. Before he went out the door, though, he stopped, straightened out and looked at Hank again. “By the way, next time you threaten someone, or invite them into your bloody apartment, make sure they don’t look like this.” He then vamped out and showed off his fangs. “Until next time, Slayer!” With that, he was gone, leaving Buffy exhausted with all the ups and downs of the emotional rollercoaster she had just been through and her dad looking ready to throw up.



After what felt like an eternity of neither of them looking at the other, her dad’s shaky voice broke the silence. “Who… what was that guy?”



“Sit down, Dad.” As they both collapsed in their seats again, Buffy took a deep breath and got ready for a long night. “You can’t tell mom about any of this.” She then proceeded to tell her horrified dad everything.

**Mid August, outside club Binge, LA**



Buffy was on patrol.


The thought itself brought a bitter smile to her lips whenever she stepped out of her dad's apartment. Her dad was now pretty much acting as a temporary Giles, his head buried in books filled with ancient knowledge whenever he had a moment to spare. He had taken time off work for the remainder of Buffy's visit and spent most of that time getting up to date with everything related to his daughter's destiny. He’d gotten her a gym membership, dojo time and even fencing lessons for her to hone her skills. All her teachers/sparring partners were amazed at her poise, movements and abilities, the dojo master even going so far as to ask her if she were interested in a professional career as a fighter.



All in all, the time since Spike's unwanted visit – and her father's first real vampire encounter – had seen so many changes in her relationship with her dad, it was almost scary. It went so far as him buying her some knives and even a katana. He always did overspend whenever he was feeling guilty and his guilt over the previous year's field trip to the mental hospital knew no bounds it seemed.



Not everything was peachy, though. Hank now wanted to meet with Giles and was even talking about her mom's need to know the truth. They had fights almost every night about that and her reasons for not telling her mom were slowly being eliminated, one by one. Sometimes, it almost seemed like a good idea. But she was determined not to have any contact with anyone from Sunnydale until the start of autumn. Her dad was smart enough not to question that.



Now, also due to her dad's prodding, as well as to the memory of Spike having gotten the better of her, she patrolled every night, not because she felt it was her duty, more in order to train for her next encounter with the bleached blond, something she knew was coming either way. She wanted to kick his ass so bad, he'd have to concede victory and then... There her fantasy took different turns depending on her mood. Sometimes she dusted him, other times she let him go but not before threatening him never to return and other times, especially when she was in her bed, she kissed him deeply, passionately...



Shaking off her musings, she surveyed the scenario of their frenzied fighting and kissing the prior month. Scanning for her prey of the evening yielded no results. She had found vamps feeding there on many of her patrols, and she’d somehow convinced herself that was the only reason why she always came back there and waited. She was, of course, waiting for any vamp to be stupid enough to not have figured out that this was Slayer territory, not for the leather-clad, British-sounding Master Vampire to-to... something.



Once again cursing her penchant for Spike-shaped thoughts, she decided to go to the next club on her route, which usually took her near most major clubs in her dad's neighborhood as well as the closest cemeteries. She was smart enough to know that LA was simply too big to patrol in its entirety, even if you were the Slayer and fated to fight the forces of the night. Nights such as those made her long for the relatively small Sunnydale, where she could patrol every hot spot in one night.



Tonight, however, things were so slow she was getting itchy for a fight. It also meant—and this was something relatively new for her—that she was free to enjoy patrolling, going as far as to reluctantly acknowledge to herself that she liked the fight, the thrill of going toe-to-toe with a baddie and take him down. There was nothing like the satisfaction of knowing that while she was free to take time off, her actions had a huge impact on the demon population when she didn’t. She rationalized that others raced cars and dove off cliffs, while she fought for her life with slobbery, unwashed demons bent on snacking off the human population.



As she reached the end of her patrol, she pouted because she hadn't gotten the chance to work off all her pent-up energy, what with only three measly fledglings on the night's roster. She almost felt cheated.



With a huff, she decided to extend her net for the night. Rounding the corner towards the center of town, she kept to the back alleys and dimly lit parks, trying to look as much like a damsel in distress as she could. That also gave her the opportunity to work on her ability to spot bad guys through that thingy Giles had hinted at, that sort of Spidey-sense that was supposed to act like some sort of radar. So far, it was all a bust.



Finally, half an hour into her prolonged patrol, she felt something, like a tingling at the base of her skull. She realized she'd felt it before, although weaker than at that moment. Letting that newfound sense guide her, she stumbled upon a sight that made her stop dead in her tracks.



In a deserted parking lot fifteen or so vampires were gathered around four bound and gagged girls, apparently getting ready to feast on them. Buffy suddenly realized that this little reunion had to be the reason for the night's apparent lack of adversaries. Maybe they were getting smart and keeping out of the area she had been patrolling. She resolved to start using a random pattern for patrolling each night, right before she threw a stake at the closest vamp, making him turn to dust under the surprised stares of his companions.



“You guys decided to have dinner without asking for permission. Just in case you're wondering, you don't have it.”



The apparent leader of the rag-tag group of idiots pointed at her and spoke with plenty of spittle dotting every word. “Get her and bring her with the rest. Tonight we eat well!”



Snarling and grunting, ten of the vampires lunged towards the girl who was already springing in the air and twirling, evading all their attempts to grab her. In the melee, Buffy managed to stake another vampire and render another two unconscious, but her situation was getting desperate. She was hard-pressed to keep the rest of the vampires from encircling her and attacking her from all sides.



Just as she was beginning to feel her muscles nearing the point where they might falter, she heard the telltale sound of a dusting right behind her. Without pausing to investigate who might be helping her, she thrust herself into the fray with renewed vigor, managing to stake two of her opponents before their apparent surprise at whatever had happened behind her wore off.



Seeing that their comrades were losing, the remaining vamps, including the head idiot, threw themselves into the tussle. Still unable to divert her attention to whatever was happening behind her, Buffy concentrated all her senses and abilities to fight the seven vampires now facing her, snarling and clawing at the air. For the following minutes, which felt like hours, both her and her unknown helper, who was very careful to remain hidden in the shadows, made the numbers massed against them dwindle. Finally, the remaining two vampires made a run for it and Buffy was too tired to give chase.



She turned around and faced her unknown ally. Whatever words of thanks she had, however, died on her lips as she stared at the vampire who featured in her dreams and whose face was superimposed on her opponents when she whaled on them: Spike. Without a word, they stared at each other, unmoving except for their heaving chests, even if his was just out of habit. The tension in the air was almost palpable as the two stood amongst the piles of dust left behind by the would-be Big Bads.



Breaking out of the trance, Buffy rushed over to the four trembling forms on the ground and after making quick work of their bindings, told them to scatter and be more careful. Turning once more toward her unlikely rescuer—twice now—she found him leaning against a wall, languidly smoking a cigarette. His apparent composure made her so mad she could have sworn she saw red. Stomping her way to him, she grabbed his cigarette and threw it away and then attempted to slap the smirk right off his face.



“You really have a problem with showing your gratitude, little girl. Maybe I should take you over my knee and spank some good manners into you.” He emphasized his words with a leer and an even more self-satisfied smirk.



Without knowing exactly what came over her, Buffy decided to shut him up. Apparently, the perfect way to do that was smashing her lips to his. She decided not to question why they ended up devouring each other's mouth and why their hands were roaming, seeking any exposed flesh and every enticing curve they encountered. Just as he started fumbling with the hem of her top, trying to get the offending garment out of the way, she snapped out of it again and the slap to his face resounded throughout the parking lot.



“Bloody Hell, woman, your hot and cold routine could put even Dru's tantrums to shame.”



“You dare call me undecided?” Buffy yelled off the top of her lungs, punching Spike in the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here and who the hell is Dru?”



“Bloody stop, Slayer. What's with all the soddin' questions?”



Punching him in the nose again, Buffy gritted her teeth. “Answer me, Spike or so help me, I'll introduce you to my very special stake that has your name on it.”



Pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the blood flow, Spike couldn't help laughing. “You named your stake Spike? That's bloody priceless, that is, Slayer. Listen, Kitten, I'd love to stay here and answer all your questions while we play another round of snog or flog, but I've had just about enough of you.” With that being said, he bent down and picked her up, fireman style, taking long strides towards wherever he decided to take her.



Struggling to get free, Buffy started pounding on his lower back. “Put me down, you Neanderthal. I'll have your hide for this, Spike.” Seeing she wasn't getting any response from him except a dark chuckle, she decided to change tactics. “Let me down or I'll scream and then you can explain to the cops what you're doing here.” Still getting no answer, she decided to sink her teeth in the side of his torso.



“Oi, Slayer, careful what you do to me. You know how us vamps feel towards bitin', don't you?”



“Eww, you pig!”



“Never denied it, baby. Now settle down and enjoy the ride. Good ol' Spike's got ya.”



“I demand you tell me whe-ooff. Hey, be gentle, you oaf!” Buffy protested from where she was sprawled on the pavement where Spike had unceremoniously dropped her. “Where did you bring me?”



“You really trust me, don't you, Slayer? Otherwise you could have just run off, or fought me to the death, or some such rot.” Spike lowered himself to Buffy's level and looked her in the eye, all traces of mirth having left his features. “First of all, are you goin' to tell me what the bloody hell were you doin' back there? You may be the best Slayer I've seen, but that doesn't mean you are ready to take on a soddin' army all by yourself.”



“What's it to you? First you save me, then you fight me. First you kiss me, then you threaten my dad. And then you have the nerve to say I'm hot and cold?” By the end of her speech, Buffy and Spike were both on their knees, facing each other, their height difference all but eliminated.



“Look, you infuriatin' chit, I'm a vampire; one of those that go bump in the night and that your mum and Watcher warned you about. What I do and why I do it is my business.” With each sentence either of them said, the space between them became smaller, as they grabbed at each other and shouted.



“Well, you hormonal vampire, when your actions affect me, it becomes Slayer business. So what is wrong with you?” By now their faces were just a few inches apart and getting closer, and their hands were firmly entrenched in the lapels of each other's jacket.



Unable to answer anything to himself, let alone her, Spike did the only thing he could; he kissed her long and hard, letting his lips and tongue convey the conflict raging deep within him. Buffy gave as good as she got. Unable to figure out what they were doing, what forces kept drawing them together, they allowed themselves to just stop thinking and feel.



And feel they did.



Both feverish and careful at the same time, they explored each other's body through the layers of cloth and leather. Buffy mapped out his chest and abdomen, reveling in the hard muscles she could feel there while he caressed her tresses and massaged her back, his fingers inching lower and beckoning her even closer to him. His duster slid off his shoulders under her diligent attention. Soon after, his shirt followed, pooling on his feet, allowing her fingers to trace his arms and back, like a blind person would flow over the contours of a face they wished to remember later.



Her skin was so soft. It was amazing the girl he was touching had been Chosen to fight the forces of darkness every night. Giving in to his desires, he trailed kisses down her neck, along her pulse-point, eliciting a strangled moan from her throat. Bolstered by her response and the hand that was caressing the base of his skull, Spike's attentions to Buffy's neck grew more urgent, teeth worrying her skin, lips sucking on her flesh and tongue lavishing her. His hands weren't idle during that time, finding their way under the hem of her shirt and caressing her back and middle, raising goose bumps in their wake.



Lost in the sensory roller-coaster, they didn't hear the approaching danger until it was almost too late. When they did, like one, the two warriors leaped into battle with the three monsters that were darkening the alley entrance. They were about seven feet tall, with broad backs, blue-gray skin and glowing green eyes, their mouths filled with sharp teeth and their hands ending in hatchet-like protuberances. Spike managed to kick the legs from under the one that was wearing a black loincloth, while a brown loincloth-cladded beast tackled him to the ground. Buffy couldn't help him, though, because the remaining monster—the largest of the three and wearing a beige cloth wrap around his torso as well as his legs—was keeping her busy with swipes of his large hands and attempts to bite her head off.



After being thrown back by a swat to the jaw, Buffy managed to find a piece of pipe on the ground and grabbed it like a life-line. With only that as a weapon, she proceeded to systematically disable her opponent's limbs, rendering him incapable of moving. Just as she was getting ready to deliver the fatal blow, her peripheral vision caught movement at the other side of the alley. Not thinking about it twice, she rushed to Spike's aid, who was being thrown about like a rag doll by the two remaining monsters. Attacking the brown loincloth wearing one, she managed to break the beast's skull open with one powerful swing of her makeshift weapon.



Unfortunately, the pipe got lodged inside the lumbering giant and Buffy was left, once again, weaponless. Spike, however, got a second wind and managed to climb on the back of the remaining opponent and, in one heaving move, bend its neck until it cracked. To both their surprise, the one with the beige wrap had managed to crawl away and the two were left alone in an alley with two demon corpses.



“Serves me right, thinkin' a bloody alley can be safe in this town.” Spike shook his head, rummaging in his pocket for his packet of cancer sticks. Ignoring Buffy's glare, he picked one out and lit it.



“You could help me, you know.” Buffy grunted as she was pulling one of the corpses nearer to a wall.



“Don't bother, Slayer. These are Ghor'asht warriors. Their corpses will disintegrate come dawn.”



Huffing and blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, Buffy stomped her foot. “You could have told me earlier, you know.”



Chuckling, Spike leaned against a wall. “What would have been the fun in that, kitten?”



Suddenly, both of them became self-conscious in light of their recent make-out session. The first to find her voice was Buffy, who was near the opposite alley wall from Spike, holding her shoulders as if to warm herself. “So what is this? Us? Is there an us?”



“Dunno, pet.” Spike threw his cigarette away and started pacing impatiently. “All I know is that since I arrived in Sunnyhell, nothin's been the same. You've taken my world and turned it right on its arse.” Stopping in front of the Slayer, he placed his palms on the wall, his arms barely touching her shoulders. “What are you doin' to me, little girl?”



“What are you doing to me?” She answered without backing down, her eyes slipping to his lips and the mouth that had given her such toe-curling kisses just seconds earlier, of which she still felt their lingering effect.



With a frustrated growl, Spike broke away from the wall and turned his back on Buffy. “When you figure out what you want, I'll be in Sunnydale. Shouldn't be too hard to find me. Either we finish what we started, or one of us doesn't walk away. Deal?”



Still reeling from the day's events, Buffy concentrated all her strength in her voice, unwilling to show any weakness. “Deal!”



Neither spoke another word as they headed their separate ways. Each still had unanswered questions, such as why Buffy dove into the fight without backup and why Spike was there to give her that backup. Despite this, they both knew no more answers could be found that night. Nor would they discuss their previous promises of fighting to the death, something that had dotted their earlier encounters with striking regularity. This time they only had the promise of a conclusion. Everything would have to be settled in Sunnydale, where it had all begun.

*Sunnydale, Late August*



Buffy's stomach was all up in knots. She had left her father alone with her mother in the house, after he'd decided he would spend a week in Sunnydale. Sometime during that week, her dad was supposed to meet Giles and then together they were going to explain things to her mom. Buffy was still wondering about the results.



Doing her best to push her anxieties to the side, she set out on an extended patrol. Unlike the patrols she usually did the previous year, this time she admitted to herself that she wasn't doing just her duty; she was also enjoying herself. She had gone over the map of the city with her dad, planning patrol routes for the entire week. She was going to hit the supernatural hot spots at different hours each night, in order to make sure demons wouldn't catch on to any pattern.



That night being her first after her return, she had planned doing a sweep of all of Sunnydale's cemeteries, as well as the Bronze, the docks and the warehouse district. In the following days, she would concentrate more on each of them, but first she wanted to get a feel for the current level of activity in the town. So far, she was halfway through her checklist and nothing had turned up. If things didn't change, she'd have to hit Willy's in the hopes of finding someone to work out her pent up energy on. And, of course, Spike's nowhere to be found. Stupid vamp!



Finally, as if someone was answering her silent prayers, she felt an ever so subtle tingle, something she was beginning to associate with the presence of vampires. Cheering inwardly that she was surpassing Giles' estimates on when she'd be tuned in to that particular Slayer ability, she hurried towards the direction she thought her prey was in. Just as she was about to start her usual taunt and flaunt, maybe even go for a round of fisticuffs, just to keep in top form, she noticed the vamp's oblivious targets.



Xander and Willow should have known better.



Sighing to herself, Buffy decided not to play kick-the-vamp, and spun right into action. Running jump, with a high kick to the back, pirouette with elbow to the jaw, skip with knee to the groin and a stake to the heart finale meant the fledge disintegrated before it had a chance to realize what was happening. Okay, so she didn't really need the elbow and knee points to dust a lowly fledge, but she had to get in hits wherever she could. By the looks of things, the Slayer was going to have to do babysitting duty for her absentminded friends instead of her planned patrol. The same friends who looked like they had been caught doing something coupley and were now staring at her wide-eyed. Great!



Xander jumped off the railing he'd been sharing with Willow and focused all his attention on the new arrival. “Buffster, welcome back!” The eagerness in his voice and the way his eyes roamed over her body made her feel... wrong. Her eyes drifted to Willow, who was obviously hurt by the fact that Xander was just ignoring her. Buffy groaned to herself. Not this again!



“Hi, guys.” Tilting her head towards the pile of dust on the ground, she twirled her stake for emphasis. “Either of you bring any stakes?”



Xander gave her a goofy grin, something he must have thought would make her forget the stupidity, maybe. It didn't work. “It was a real slow summer.” He pointed to the spot Buffy had indicated, his face becoming a bit redder as his excitement levels grew. “That was the first vampire we saw since you left.”



“Great, it's like they knew I was in town or something.” Actually, that is great. No killage without me, no fanginess unchecked and now I'm better prepared. I wonder why Spike and his minions didn't show their faces around. Stupid, stupid vampire! “Come on, I'll walk you home, make sure all the beasties stay away from my friends.” She emphasized the last word, secretly feeling satisfaction when Xander's face fell a bit. Maybe if she was clear enough, she could finally nip his stupid teenage boy crush in the bud. Leaving room for bleachy goodness. Snapping out of her lusty thoughts, she turned towards Willow's house and signaled for the other two to follow.



They both caught up to her in a few steps and, after a few silent moments, the ice was finally broken by Willow. “So, LA...”



Blushing a bit when she remembered some of the things that had gone on in LA, Buffy decided to skip over Spike's presence. No use telling the story a million times. Giles had first dibs on that little tidbit of info, after all. “Well, first there was lots of shopping.” She grinned when Xander's eyes glazed over, the typical defense tactic whenever shopping was mentioned. “I got some awesome discounts, the outfits are out of this world and Queen C will get a run for her money this year.” Her grin widened. “What, she thinks only she can get brand names?” Huffing once for good measure, Buffy enjoyed Willow's answering giggles. It felt good to be back. “I even got dad to go Slayer-shopping. Oh, yeah, he knows now and he'll help me break the news to mom.”



The last sentence she said almost as an afterthought, but suddenly she found herself walking alone. She stopped and looked back only to see both Scoobies looking at her like she'd grown an extra head or something. “What's up, guys?”



Willow seemed too flustered to manage to form words, so she elbowed Xander to say what they were both thinking. “Buff, lemme get this straight. You told your dad about the things that go bump in the night?” At her smirk and nod, Buffy could have sworn she heard the sound of jaws hitting the pavement. Xander's voice gained an octave when he spoke next. “And he's fine with it?”



Giving Xander her best Valley Girl whatever-look, Buffy flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, not at first, but he's become like a mini Giles this past month. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow in the library.” Looking into the darkness around them, she mimicked tapping her nonexistent watch. “Can we get a move on, now? I'd like to finish my patrol before sunrise.” She spent the rest of the trip dodging the Scoobies' incessant questions by repeating over and over they would all talk about it tomorrow. She could swear she almost growled a few times.



After dropping off her friends, she continued her patrol without finding anyone in need of slaying. Shrugging her shoulders, she headed back home and got in her room via the tree. If everything went well, she might even start using the front door sometime. She fell asleep with a smile at that particular thought.



A few miles away, inside the old factory, Spike received a detailed report complete with video footage. An evil smirk graced his vampire features as he contemplated the approaching meeting. “Soon, Slayer. Very soon.” He then sent word to the diggers to double their efforts.



~~~***~~~



*Sunnydale High Library, first day of school*



Buffy breathed deeply before opening the door of the library. It was time to face the music and she knew both her friends were also inside, eager to get an explanation. She had maneuvered skillfully around answering any pertinent questions all day, taking advantage of every chance to get into a quipping match with Cordelia or to shoot down whatever jock was trying to get frisky. Dressed to kill as she was, in leather pants and low-cut halter top, coupled with the innocent schoolgirl makeup she had on, it was no wonder all the boys seemed to lose higher brain function, while all the girls went into super-bitch mode around her.



She had called her father to the library at about that time and she looked along the corridor in hopes of spotting him. Finally, he emerged from the mass of students milling about. He opened his mouth, probably to comment on her clothes, but a quirked eyebrow made him clamp his mouth shut. The man knew enough about teenage girls to recognize a losing battle when he saw one. Giving each other encouraging smiles, father and daughter stepped into the Watcher's domain.



“Hi Giles. Missed me?” She graced the librarian-Watcher-father figure with a brilliant smile. Her mood only got better when she saw him squirm in an attempt to figure out an appropriate and Watcher-y answer when faced with an unknown man.



“Ms. Summers. Yes, quite.” There went the glasses, off for a round of vigorous polishing. Looking at Hank, he frowned as he looked the interloper up and down. “And you are?”



Extending his hand in greeting, the Slayer's dad went into what Buffy liked to call 'Dad the lawyer mode'. “Hank Summers, Buffy's father. I understand you are her Watcher. Am I correct?” The two men shook hands after Giles replaced his glasses and, by the looks of it, both put a little more pressure into the gesture than protocol would have required. Buffy shook her head. Men are still boys. Xander and Willow gestured for Buffy to join them at the research table, all the while looking between the men that were engaged in a power struggle of sorts.



“And what, exactly, has your daughter told you about my duties as her Watcher?” Giles finally let go of Hank's hand, neither man the victor. He closed the ledger he had before him and got out from behind the counter, joining the Scoobies and the Slayer at the research table. Hank followed the implied invitation and took a seat between his daughter and her Watcher.



“Training, research and liaison to the Council, as well as backup on certain occasions.” Looking at the two teenagers opposite himself, Hank gave them the once over. “And you must be Willow and Xander, friends and allies of my daughter.” Puffing his chest in pride, Hank crossed his arms on the table. “Buffy brought me up to speed about all the Slayer business, and I'm here to discuss her progress and future.” Before the other people at the table got a chance to say anything, Hank finished off his statement of intent. “Also, we need to discuss how to tell Joyce about all of this. I won't have the mother of my child going around without a clue to the dangers around her.”



“Yes, well, the need for secrecy where the Slayer is concerned has been paramount throughout the ages-” Giles began, sounding every bit as British and starchy as possible.



Hank cut him off without any hesitation, throwing in a glare for good measure. “I invited a vampire into my home without knowing. The only thing that saved me was Buffy standing right next to me. If Joyce ever makes that mistake and there isn't someone there to help her, I'll personally come and hold you responsible, Mr. Giles. Do I make myself clear?” Leaning in closer to the flustered Englishman, Hank all but growled his next words. “From what I hear, a certain Darla managed to gain access to Joyce's house and even threatened to kill her. The only reason I'm letting that one slide is because Buffy begged me to.”



Giles' mind was reeling at the words Buffy's father felt so free to use. He was quite confident in his own abilities with various weapons, but a certain something in the other man's eyes told him that not even a Council's wet-works team, or any protective charms, would keep Hank from carrying out his threats. This gave him an odd sense of respect for the man, slightly altering his initial estimate of him as a deadbeat father unable to cope with raising a Slayer. The man glaring daggers his way was willing to protect his loved ones tooth and nail, something that Rupert himself could relate to very easily.



Giving a curt nod, Giles started polishing his glasses again. “I believe we can work something out.”



Buffy felt like she had just stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.



~~~***~~~



* Restfield Cemetery, later that day*



Buffy got closer to the spot where Giles had told her the Master was buried. As soon as she approached, however, she discovered—to her horror—that the earth had been recently disturbed. Going on high alert, she scanned the area for threats but was unable to locate any. As she got closer to the grave-site, something else caught her eye. There was a tube-like shiny thingy imbedded in the bark of the tree overshadowing that spot. Prying the cylinder out of the tree, she discovered it held a note rolled up inside. She wondered for a moment at the penmanship of the letter. It looked like it had been written in the same style as the titles of old Jane Austen books, with large arches and clear, spaced letters. Focusing on the words, though, she felt her blood run cold while her anger increased.



My dearest Slayer,



As you may have noticed, Great-Gramps here is missing. The reason for this little walkabout that Old Bat Face's bones decided to take, is that there were some pesky idiots—like that Annoying Guy I just staked—that wanted to put some meat on them. Namely, your mates' meat. Normally, I wouldn't object to a little mayhem, blood, and gore, but seeing as how I really enjoy calling the shots in this God forsaken town, I decided to do a little early-fall cleaning. The bones will be smashed and sprinkled over a river nearby, just to make sure nobody tries anything. Sorry if I spoiled some sort of emotional bond you may have had with the bastard that bit and drowned you, but what can I say? I'm evil like that.



Looking forward to our next encounter,
William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers



PS: By my count, this makes it four times that I've saved your life, Slayer. How about that?



Spike.



Buffy read the letter over and over, not sure she could believe what was written there. She felt frustrated that the ground had obviously been disturbed at some point during the previous night, while she had been going all around the town without anything except a stupid fledgling to show for it. Right here, at such an important spot, somebody had managed to dig up the bones of her greatest enemy to date. And not just somebody, but Spike, the annoyingly smug sonofabitch that kept popping out all over the place, except where she could lay her hands on him and... something.



Throwing her hands in the air in a fruitless gesture of despair, she double-timed it back to the school library, where her dad and Giles were busy making schedules and comparing notes.

* Sunnydale High Library, Less than fifteen minutes later*


Buffy stormed into the library, startling the six people huddled around the research table. Cordelia had joined her friends, although she kept herself well away from the other occupants of the room and made a big show of inspecting her nails. The Slayer didn't miss, however, the inquisitive looks she was throwing every which way when she thought nobody was looking. Jenny Calendar had also joined the group and was sitting beside Giles, their hands almost touching.

Xander got up, that same excitement as before showing on his face. As soon as he saw the stormy look on Hank's face, however, the young man seemed to shrink in on himself and collapsed back in the chair. Buffy was curious to find out exactly what had gone on between her father and her best male friend, but filed it away for future scrutiny, more interested in finding out if what Spike had written was possible. Had he saved her from the Master again? ’Cause if he did, there is major squickage about vamps coming back to, well, death. Or is it life? Or undeadedness?

Shaking off her thoughts, she slammed her hand with the piece of paper written by Spike on the table. “Is what he says here true?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, but she ignored the dubious look thrown her way by Willow.

Both Giles and Hank hunched over the piece of paper without touching it, seemingly afraid they could dispel whatever magic it might have held. After Jenny cleared her throat and nudged the Watcher, he read the letter aloud. In traditional Giles’ fashion, he ignored the other people's gasps and comments until he was finished reading, after which he removed his glasses for a hearty bout of cleaning.

Hank pinned Buffy with a long, penetrating stare that reminded her of when she was a little girl, and she had done something to make her daddy mad. “Spike, as in the guy who came into our house pretending to be your boyfriend?” Hitching breaths could be heard all around the table, except for Cordelia and Jenny, who apparently weren't that familiar with the story of Buffy's undead rescuer.

“Good Lord, Buffy, he did what?” Giles almost went to take off his glasses again, until he realized he was still cleaning them. Unsure exactly what to do, he started to bite down on one of the handles.

“What is it with the undead and the Buffster?” Xander looked furious, but another hard glare from her dad made him sit down and bow his head.

“Okay, what gives with you and Xander, dad?” Buffy felt like diverting attention from Spike might be in her best interest at the moment, so she decided to investigate the curious effect her father had on her friend.

Hank answered his daughter without taking his eyes off the now cowering boy, whose face was getting redder and redder. “That's between me and him. I promised I wouldn't dictate who you associate with. Although I still do have questions about Spike.”

“Yeah, does this mean that Angel is on the market?” Cordelia piped in, her eyes lighting up with the prospect of getting her hands on one of the hottest older guys around.

Flashing her an annoyed look, Buffy squashed the brunette's hopes. “No, he and Spike's ex, Drew or something, left together.” She mouthed to Willow that they would talk later, when the redhead seemed ready to burst with all the questions running around in her head.

“Buffy, exactly how many times did you engage Spike this summer?” Giles had his spectacles back on and was surreptitiously reaching for his Watcher Diary.

“Three?” She flashed an apologetic smile and batted her eyelashes, looking for all the world like an innocent little girl.

“Good God, Buffy, why was I not informed? I could have researched, come to train you, projected a method of attack.” Managing to breathe when Jenny laid a calming hand on his shoulder, Giles inhaled deeply then slumped back in his chair. “He has already killed two Slayers. What you did was utterly foolish.”

Getting up from the chair she’d been occupying ever since her Watcher had finished reading Spike's note, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “You don't even know what happened; how do you know it was foolish?”

“Because you failed to inform your Watcher—the very person charged with helping you with such matters.” Giles seemed genuinely upset about what had happened and Hank wondered exactly how much of the man’s worry was Watcher-Slayer and how much was more, from a sense of some sort of almost parental bond. If the Watcher really cared for Buffy more than just for the Slayer, the man could really be trusted with the well-being of his daughter.

Buffy huffed with annoyance, something her father was very familiar with. “Well, I'm informing you now. Let's not forget, I was supposed to be on vacation. You told me summers were dead, pun not intended. He first found me in a club, minding my own business. We fought, and it was a draw.”

“A draw with William the Bloody? How was that possible?” Giles' anger had all but vanished, replaced by academic interest.

The Slayer blushed a little at the memory of how exactly they had gotten to the draw, but decided she didn't need the aggravation of everyone dissecting whatever there was between her and the Master Vampire. “We both gave as good as we got, but nobody killed no-one.” Giles winced at the mangling of his mother tongue, but thought better than to interrupt his Slayer. “So, we both went our separate ways. Then he came to dad's place, going on and on about how I cost him his Drew and some-such. Before I had a chance to do anything, he had convinced my dad he was my boyfriend and had gotten an invite.”

Hank winced at the memory. “I didn't know any better, so when I saw a man with my daughter, I thought the worst,” he explained. “Apparently the worse was not bad enough, as it turned out. Long story short, he almost had me going for a while, until he suddenly got me by the throat and raised me off the ground.” He shuddered at the memory of that traumatic event. “If Buffy hadn't kicked him away, I would have been dead for sure. Then his face morphed into that monster image, and he promised Buffy he'd see her again and then threatened me to never invite another like him in my home.”

While Hank recovered from the memory of Spike's visit, Buffy took up the tale. “Then Dad went all out and got me enrolled to all these self defense classes and a gym and everything.” Brightening up all of a sudden, she looked at Hank eagerly. “I talked to my trainers, and they said there are some similar places around here. Maybe I'll get to continue my training here, as well.”

Giles piped up, despite feeling like things were moving somewhat beyond his control. “I already discussed it with Mr. Summers, and we both agreed that some techniques and styles you would better learn from professionals, rather than from me. However, that will not interfere with our regular training sessions.”

With a brilliant smile threatening to split her face, Buffy all but bounced in place. “Thank you -- that's so cool!”

Cordelia shook her head in defeat. “You people are crazy. The only thing a girl should be that excited about should be a makeover or a spa day.” She trailed off, getting a dreamy look on her face.

“So, can anyone join, or is it for, you know, experts?” Willow asked, still eager to get the full scoop she felt Buffy had carefully left out of her story. Like boys. Or men. Or... Spike-shaped men.

“Sure, Wills, we'll all go.” With a more serious look, Buffy got back to her story. “I started patrolling again and one night, while on patrol, I got into more than I could handle. There were like fifteen vamps that had captured some girls and were getting ready for a midnight snack. I couldn't just leave them to it, so I jumped in.” Furrowing her brow and letting her eyes drift into the distance, Buffy ignored her audience, reliving the fight in her mind. “They had almost surrounded me when Spike jumped in and took on half of them. Between the two of us, just three vamps managed to run away, while we stayed to untie the girls they'd caught.”

“Fascinating.” Giles was busy scribbling away notes, no doubt preparing a long-winded entry in his diary. “And why did he help you?”

“He didn't really get to say, before some demons jumped us.” Shivering with disgust, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “They were really ugly, and it took everything we had to make it out alive.” Scrunching her face a bit, she amended, “Well, he was still dead, just not dead-dead, you know?”

“Yes, intriguing, Buffy. Please, do go on.”

The Slayer briefly wondered how much faster the pen had to move before the paper caught on fire. From the looks of things, not that much. “Well, after that, we got into another fight, but we were both so tired, we ended up with another draw.” Buffy prayed the blush rising up her cheeks wouldn't give away the real story, but she feared that at least Willow and perhaps even Jenny—by the looks she was giving her—had caught on to the truth. “Anyway, he promised me we'd settle it here, and here we are. The end.” She took a seat and hoped nobody would question her further. She should have known better.

“So, is he hot?” Cordelia asked trying to sound as blasé as possible about it. Willow helped her by opening a book and pointing to the picture of Spike from around the First World War. “Hairstyle and clothes are atrocious, but he has potential,” the cheerleader noticed, and the redhead nodded her agreement.

Buffy felt a surge of... something she was afraid to name herself, and decided to set Cordy straight. “Imagine him looking more like Billy Idol.” She felt very satisfied when both girls—as well as Jenny—took another look at the picture in the book, no doubt trying to imagine the Master Vampire, and doing their best not to drool. Take that, Queen C!

Cordelia tried to save face again. “That look is so eighties.” The slight tremor in her voice told another story, though. If she could, she would sample the goods.

Buffy congratulated herself for being acutely aware of almost every curve and hard surface on the vampire's body. And his mouth! She snapped out of her lusty thoughts when she heard Giles call her name over and over again. “What?”

“I said, I shall require a detailed account of every encounter, complete with a blow-by-blow description. It may prove vital in further confrontations.” He adjusted his glasses again, the paper in front of him filled with his neat and evenly spaced script.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “And the Master's bones?”

Giles jumped like someone had burned him and went straight for a book he had to have known would hold the answer. After a few minutes of fruitless search, he finally found the paragraph he was looking for. “It seems that Spike was accurate to a fault in his description,” he noted. “Had he not taken the bones to smash and disperse them over a body of running water, the Master could, indeed, have been resurrected by shedding the blood of those closest to him.” Getting a pensive look, he considered the implications. “This, coupled with Spike's note, seems to suggest closeness to imply proximity to his body during his demise, rather than any other bond.” Re-reading the whole thing, the full meaning became clear, and he looked up, aghast. “I should have researched this beforehand. I'm sorry, Buffy, for my oversight. I was just so relieved to have you back, I never thought...”

“It's okay, Giles, it's done now.” Buffy didn't feel as calm as she tried to appear. Inside, she recognized she was a lot more relieved knowing the Master was truly gone for good.

Getting a pensive look, Giles asked the question the others were asking themselves as well. “Are you sure Spike really did what he said he did? What if he just took the bones to perform the ritual himself?”

Buffy felt stung by the implication, and her mind refused to believe it. “He did it. I just know he did it, Okay?” I hope he did it. I hope he didn't betray me. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she got up, ready to go continue her patrol. He wouldn't do that, would he?

~~~***~~~

*an old factory across town, later that night*


Spike watched as the ritual was set up. Personally, he hated the blasted things, but sometimes the ends justified the means.

*Summers residence, the next day*


Buffy was terrified. She’d faced death many times; she’d confronted evil up close and personal, and had stared it down armed with nothing more than a splinter and a knife. Now she had no weapons, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. What had her utterly petrified was the fact that she was sitting in her living room, on her couch, with her mom next to her, holding her hand, and her dad in the armchair, holding her mother’s other hand, while they were all listening to her Watcher explain about the things that go ‘bump’ in the night. Yup! Major wiggins time on aisle 5. Damn it! I was supposed to have more time to prepare for this. Damn Spike and the Master’s bones, and dads who change plans and…aargh! She took a few calming breaths while watching her mother from the corner of her eye.

Joyce looked like she was on the verge of a nervous break-down, while Giles talked away without a care in the world. Hank had made his ex promise that she would wait patiently and listen to what the librarian had to say, and so far she was keeping her promise, despite her obvious disbelief at what was being said.

“And that’s how, thanks to your daughter, we managed to rid the world of the Master.” Giles finished his presentation and finally actually looked at his audience to gauge how Joyce had taken the news—apparently not well.

“You’re crazy! You’ve all gone completely insane!” She was looking at her daughter, former husband, and the school librarian as though they had grown extra heads. “I thought we’d gotten past this idea—” The words died in her throat when Buffy stood and raised her father, armchair and all, from the floor without even breaking a sweat. “That’s impossible.”

“It really isn’t, Joy. I’ve seen these monsters for myself, so trust me; this is real!” Hank was completely calm, having been the one to come up with the idea of showing off Buffy’s strength in the first place. Apparently his hunch was right on the money.

Joyce’s expression changed from appalled horror to stubborn defiance. “Well, she’s going to have to stop doing it—this slaying thing. She’s just a girl, and she has school to focus on. If she still wants to, she can do it on vacations or, better yet, after she finishes college.”

Buffy put her father’s armchair down while her mother talked and took back her seat on the couch, feeling drained all of a sudden by the stress.

“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Summers. Her sacred calling isn’t something one can simply take up whenever it is convenient. The forces of the night do not rest; they don’t respect holidays, and they most certainly don’t wait around for your daughter to be prepared to do her duty before they perform their acts of evil.”

“I don’t care! My daughter is not putting herself in danger for this. It’s not her job—” Joyce’s voice was rising with each word she spoke, her eyes gaining an almost crazed look.

“But that’s exactly it, honey: it is her job.” Hank was being as soothing as he could be, reminding Buffy of when she had gotten the measles and her father had talked her out of using sandpaper to rub all of her skin off. “Just think about it. If Buffy doesn’t prevent one of these creatures from unleashing Hell on Earth, then the world will simply end. We’ll all die, including our daughter. What good would it do for her to die before her life can even start, just because she didn’t do her duty to stop the bad guys from winning?”

“But she’s just a kid.”

“I know. That’s why we have to do everything we can to help her, to make sure she’s the best there ever was.” Hank met his daughter’s eyes and stressed his next point. “That doesn’t mean she should neglect her schoolwork.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and huffed in displeasure. They’d been over this before, her dad insisting that she not only get fighting instructors, but tutors for any and all school subject matter in which she felt she was unprepared. According to him, money was no object when it comes to my baby. In the back of her mind, the Slayer wondered where this man had been for the past several years. Maybe if he’d behaved like he was talking now, and if he hadn’t cheated on her mom with his secretary, then… Best not think such thoughts, though.

“I’m glad we agree on at least one thing, Hank.” Her mom stressed her dad’s name. She chose to keep it as formal as possible among exes, while he was using endearments he hadn’t spoken in years. It was almost sickening for Buffy to witness. Her mom fixed Giles with her best ‘mom look.’ “And what about this Council of yours? What’s it doing to make sure my daughter has everything she needs to be her best possible self?”

“Well, certainly…Yes. That is to say, I am here to oversee and indeed watch over your daughter, providing her with any aid she may require.” Giles was becoming more and more flustered, having mostly avoided dealing with parents throughout his career. “I research, train, acquire weaponry, and develop battle-plans, all in all providing the very best help the Council can offer a Slayer.”

“Do you actually fight any demons?” Joyce’s question was asked almost off-handedly, but both members of the Summers’ family that witnessed it recognized it as the beginning of very bad things for the Watcher.

“I have already mentioned that during the battle with the Master I was present to defend—”

“Do you patrol, though? Do you go out in the middle of the night to keep my daughter company and make sure she comes back alive? Do you personally stake even a tenth of the vampires my daughter apparently does? And what of the other demons? I mean, I would think that some of them would have different characteristics from others. Are you there by her side, telling her exactly what she needs to do to kill whatever it is that needs killing?” Her voice was cold and accusing.

The man in front of Joyce seemed to shrink before her in the chair in which he’d taken a seat after his initial speech. “That is not what a Watcher does—”

“So then, all you do is look in some old books and write away in your diary about what my daughter does, while she puts her life on the line. Is that it?” Giles was apparently too stunned to answer even with a nod at this point.

To make matters even worse for the man, Hank decided to throw in his lot with Joyce. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that, Mr. Giles. I’ve already considered which classes Buffy needs help with, as well as what training courses she could take, but I was wondering exactly how much the Council is willing to pay for my daughter’s services.”

“How much—That is preposterous! Being a Slayer is a sacred duty. I daresay, maybe even the highest calling for the side of good. You cannot even begin to presume—”

“Why can’t he?” Joyce had, by this point, leaned back and crossed her arms, seemingly confident in having Giles on the ropes, and enjoying the tag-team with Hank. “The way I understand economy, if someone provides a service, the side benefitting from it should pay. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but Buffy seems to be providing a unique service, for which the Council—as her employer—should be paying her. Otherwise, this Council of yours is pretty much useless, and I won’t allow them to have any more contact with my daughter.”

Giles’ spluttering was so funny that, watching him, Buffy felt her dread from earlier completely evaporate. “Okay, guys, lay off on the Watcher-man. Why don’t we all just chill, and I’m sure you can talk this all out tomorrow. Or the day after. Or sometime.”

The three adults finally agreed with the Slayer and decided to talk the rest of the details about Buffy’s calling at length at a later date. Until then, Buffy was to patrol for three hours a night, so as to not be sleepy at school. Buffy rolled her eyes at all of them and went to her room to change to a more ‘slayage-appropriate get-up’.

~~~***~~~

*Warehouse District, two and a half hours later*


Buffy was bored out of her mind. The patrol had, so far, turned out a big fat squishy zilch on the demon/vampire front. It felt as though someone had given everyone a night off to do whatever, and not let her know about it. So there she was, the big bad Slayer, all amped up and with no-one to kill. Finally giving up on that area of Sunnydale for the night, she headed for her final stop: Willy’s. If she was unable to find at least a lead on something evil even there, she was going to be very pissed.

~~~***~~~

*Alibi Room, ten minutes later*


The doors banged open, the sound eerily loud in the normally bustling establishment. Buffy strode purposefully to the counter, while taking in the room out of the corner of her eye. It was, in a word, empty. No more than ten demons and humans were spread out around the bar, all of them nursing their drinks and doing everything in their power to look innocent. Surprisingly enough, it was actually working, since Buffy knew most of them to belong to harmless species, probably there only due to the lack of prejudice in clientele, rather than the desire to plot evil schemes. Coming back to Sunnydale really sucks on the slaying front.

“Willy, my favorite low-life, ’dja miss me?”

“Ah, hello, Slayer! Two visits in two days? Maybe I should abide by the laws and forbid people under the legal drinking age from coming in here. Of course, exceptions could be made.” His nervous grin was as insincere as she remembered it.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s the what with the quietness around here, or do I have to threaten you?”

“Why would you think anything was going on? As you can see, I run a respected establishment—”

“Cut the crap, Willy. Tell me where the bad guys are tonight, ’cause I haven’t gotten in a good slay in a couple of days, and I’m getting antsy.” She accompanied her words by grabbing the collar of his shirt and putting just a bit too much strength behind the act for it to be comfortable on his side.

He dropped his voice to a whisper, careful so that none of the other patrons could hear him. “Look, all I know is that something big happened last night, made everyone go a bit more on edge than usual, and today almost everyone was gone. I would maybe look into someone possibly taking on the mantle of Master of the town.”

Buffy felt her blood run cold. This can’t be a coincidence. Damn you, Spike. What the hell are you doing? “What does that take?”

“A little ritual, followed by a couple of days of taking out anybody else that might have a stake to the claim. My guess is that whoever started things up last night is knee-deep in fighting about now, costing me a lot of money in clients.”

Buffy released Willy in disgust. She then turned around and shouted, “Who is the new Master? Tell me now, and you can go on sucking down your beverage of choice. Don’t tell me, and things will get really uncomfortable.” She admitted to herself that what she was doing was pretty lame, but she was this close to losing it.

She stormed out of the place as soon as she heard a whispered ‘Spike’ from one of the demons. She had a vampire to find.

~~~***~~~

*Restfield Cemetery, half an hour later*


Buffy was stomping her way home, since her mom’s rules meant her patrol was over for the night. She couldn’t spend any more time running around town trying to find Spike, and it frustrated her to no end that he was doing something that would make her have to kill him, at the same time managing to keep her from slaying anything else. It’s all the Bleached Menace’s fault! All of a sudden, she felt a slight tingle, the relief it brought making her almost giddy. “Here vampy, vampy, vampy! Innocent victim over here. Full of blood that’s just pumping away, all nice and tasty like.”

Her whispered siren song was rewarded with the appearance of a half-bald, bookish-looking vampire with glasses. Who’s turning these people? Before she could start a verbal sparring match to defuse some of the tension built up inside of her, she was interrupted by her intended target, who had stopped a good twenty feet away.

“Buffy Summers, right?” At her nod, he seemed to be relieved and more anxious at the same time. “My name is Dalton, and I have a message for you from Master Spike.”

“What does the bastard want?” The vampire flinched at the way her eyes seemed to be throwing flames at him while she talked through clenched teeth.

“He wishes to invite you to a meeting on Saturday, at this very place. He also wishes to express his regret for the lack of slaying material, but promises you will be suitably entertained during your rendezvous. Also of note, you are invited to come alone, just as my Master will be on his own. His exact words were: we dance better, just the two of us.” His message delivered, Dalton took advantage of the fact that the Slayer was mulling his words over to make a hasty retreat.

I really hate that smug, no good, low-life, evil, idiotic vampire! Buffy resumed her way home, thinking about what to wear for her and Spike’s meeting.

*Saturday evening*


The time had finally come. For three days she hadn’t been able to find anything to slay, except for a couple of fledges on the very first night after she’d received Spike’s invitation. Even the obituary pages in the Sunnydale papers were suspiciously devoid of anything that raised any alarm bells. It seemed that whatever Spike’s plans for the Hellmouth were, they included keeping a tight lid on all things demony. She hated him for it. She hadn’t gotten a good slay in since coming back from LA, and she was way beyond ready for a good fight.

Of course, Giles and her parents were treating all of it like a blessing, using the time to get her mom up to speed on all things slayery, enroll her in a number of fighting classes, and devise new plans for her to be prepared for anything that she could possibly encounter on patrol, not that that seemed to be of much use lately. Buffy snorted to herself, thinking how happy she would have been for the reprieve just a few months prior, but then again, many things had happened since then. She’d died since then. Spike had happened since then, and she hated him for it!

Yup! Good, old-fashioned, all-consuming hate. That’s all she felt, and she dared him to just show the hell up and prove her wrong. That is try to prove her wrong. Yeah, that sounded much better! Not to mention how she hadn’t been able to go Bronzing with her friends, since all her evenings were dedicated to patrolling, and the club was seriously devoid of demons. That reminded her of other unfulfilled needs, like swaying to the beat with a nice, hard, cool body next to her...

Shaking off for what seemed like the millionth time any and all thoughts of the bleached-blond vampire that had managed to turn her entire life upside-down in just a handful of encounters, she focused instead on trying to feel her surroundings, using that special Slayer-sense that she’d been working on so diligently.

Half an hour and a cemetery later, she still hadn’t even seen a peaceful demon cross her path, let alone something killable, or better yet, the vampire in question himself. She was starting to wonder if maybe the ‘Saturday’ the balding vampire had talked about was maybe another week away. That would blow to no limit. There was no way in hell that her parents, Giles, or her friends would let her go out to meet Spike alone again. It had already taken hours, if not days, of pleading, bargaining, bribing, and threatening for them to allow her to go out alone as it was. Another week of those damned planning sessions and she’d probably end up with air support for good measure. She snorted again to herself.

“What’s so funny, Slayer? Care to enlighten me on what exactly’s got you thinking so loudly in the middle of a bleeding cemetery?”

She turned toward the sound of his voice, cursing herself for not realizing he’d gotten so close. When she saw him, her heart skipped a beat. He’s really here! She took a moment to look him over, making sure he looked the same. Boots, black jeans, black t-shirt, red unbuttoned shirt, black leather duster, black nail polish, silver rings and chains, platinum-blonde hair, blue eyes…

She tried to see what impression she made on him, what with all the changes she’d gone through since the last time they’d actually set eyes on each other. She now had steel-tipped boots that might not have been the most fashionable thing she’d worn, but that both her dad and Giles had insisted would be a great help in her duties. Her red leather pants, simple black top and red leather jacket had also been bought from the “Dad’s Special Slayer Fund.” Now that she thought about it, she was wearing his colors, even though inverted. What actually seemed to have captured his attention though, after he’d raked up and down her body with lecherous eyes, was her hair. She’d recently gone to the hairdresser’s and had her highlights redone, opting for a bigger contrast between the different layers, as well as making her hair more wavy. Coupled with edgier make-up, complete with bright red lipstick and smoky eyeliner, it had made quite an impression at school, leaving even Cordelia at a loss for insults. Okay, enough with the ogling and the preening. She pulled out a stake from one of the custom-made jacket’s secret compartments and faced him defiantly.

“You actually decided to show up, for a change. I was starting to think that all this “Master of Sunnydale” bit had made you forget about little old me. Gotta tell you, ignoring a Slayer is never a good idea.”

He chuckled low in his throat, but there was no humor behind it. He dropped the cigarette he’d been smoking and ground it beneath his heel. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Well, good for you love, saves me from going through a whole song and dance.”

He was on her in a flash, his fist sending her reeling back. The fight intensified from there, with a savagery that hadn’t been present in any of their previous encounters, either against each other, or even when they were side by side, going through vamps and demons alike. They both gave as good as they got, while their fight carried them around the cemetery grounds. They were weaving between headstones, fighting on top of mausoleums, trying to use any and all tricks to get an advantage on the other. They left cracked and broken stones and trees in their wake, but neither cared, focused as they were on the battle.

With a particularly vicious blow from the vampire, the stake flew from out of Buffy’s grasp and landed too far from her to be of any use. She couldn’t allow herself even a fraction of a second to panic though, and was rewarded pretty soon afterwards with a golden opportunity. One of her hits that he failed to block properly landed to the side of his chest, where he must have had a still-broken rib. Maybe it was a souvenir from one of those fights she’d heard about at Willy’s. Whatever it was, it caused him to drop his guard for just a moment, and she jumped at her chance. She pressed her advantage, and after a few more well-placed hits and a sweep of the legs, he was effectively trapped under her, his arms pressed to his sides. All she needed to do then was to get her back-up stake from her jacket, and he would be history. As it was, it proved too much of a challenge, as Spike took his chance at head-butting her in the face. He then turned them over, leaving her trapped under him and in mortal danger. Maybe even in more danger than he’d just been, seeing that he didn’t need to get a stake to kill her.

Their eyes met, and time seemed to stand still, both of them stopping their fight for dominance in favor of just looking at one another. She wanted to open her mouth to say something, anything. She’d kept quiet throughout their battle, uncharacteristically foregoing her trademark quips and jibes, because she was unwilling to let slip anything that would reveal her inner turmoil. The conflicting emotions he brought out in her would have been enough to keep a psychiatrist busy for weeks, if not months. And thinking of that usually brought a shudder through her, at the memory of the “facility” in which her parents had dumped her. Right then, though, seeing him so close, feeling his body flush against hers made the need for words overwhelming. Before she had a chance to act on anything, though, he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, all thoughts of fighting, resisting, or talking having flown right out the proverbial window.

She decided that she couldn’t get enough of his taste, or of the way his hands weren’t exactly holding her down anymore, instead more like caressing. The burning need for more consumed her and for a split second she was glad that she hadn’t put a stake through his heart just moments before. So when he abruptly stopped devouring her mouth with his, she couldn’t even focus on opening her eyes to see what was wrong, let alone try to free her hands from his lax grasp. But when she felt his fangs pierce her neck, her eyes popped open, and she screamed.

***


Her taste was even better than he’d hoped. It had been nearly a century since he’d had his last taste of Slayer blood, and the memory of it, although burned in his brain for all eternity, was clearly just a pale comparison to the real thing. While he’d drained every last drop from the Chinese Slayer, Nikki had been a different matter altogether. Since it had been more about the fight itself and less about tasting her blood, he’d broken her neck before he’d had a chance to even get a sip. Afterwards he didn’t have either the time or the energy to attempt draining her corpse. Without the aid of the all-important beating human heart, getting enough to sate his hunger would have meant his putting more effort into it, by hanging her body from somewhere and letting gravity help him do the job. Needless to say, that wasn’t exactly an option in the metro where they’d fought, so he’d just lifted the coat off her and left on his merry way.

Buffy’s heart was beating and with each pulse more blood would surge into his mouth, filling it with that magic elixir that was her life force. He didn’t get to enjoy it for long, though, before a thought managed to creep to the forefront of his mind. That heart was beating because of him. The air that was filling her lungs, allowing her to scream his bloody ear off, was going in and out of her because he had given her the breath of life. His eyes opened in shock at the realization that had been simmering in the back of his consciousness. Resistance is futile, his mind supplied in a synthesized voice stolen from one of those Sci-fi shows that he’d secretly watched behind Dru’s back. He was well and truly buggered!

Ever since that night back in the Master’s underground church turned prison, he had tried his best to rationalize his actions as evil. Saving her had been a grand and pretty effective ‘screw you’ gesture to Peaches, old Bat-Face, and everyone everywhere as well. It had been anarchy at its purest and he had reveled in the chaos it created like a good evil-doer should.

Then their chance first meeting in LA had been all about getting back at his sire and her precious “Daddy.” Since Angel had stolen his girl right from under him, he’d retaliated by snogging the stuffing out of the girl Angel had been so interested in. Tit for tat, as it were, but still evil to the bone, right?

The scene with her dad had been pure, unadulterated mischief; the look on the blighter’s face alone being priceless. Thank all the Hells that the apartment had been on the wrong side of the bloody building for the sun to come streaming in; otherwise, maybe it could’ve turned out different. No matter, he’d have thought up something equally bad to do instead. The whole mess with the pack of vampires, followed by the group of demons they’d fought together, had been nothing more than him protecting his investment. She was his to kill and nobody else’s, damn it!

Coming back to Sunnyhell, digging up and destroying the Master’s bones after he’d previously gotten rid of that “Annoying” little git meant that nobody could stop him from claiming his spot as the top dog in the Order of Aurelius, one of the most feared and evil there had ever been. The logical next step for any self-respecting Big Bad had been his claiming mastery over the Hellmouth itself. And hadn’t that been a barrel of laughs, with the nearly constant stream of challengers that had only let up once most of the leaders of the various demon clans were dead, their entrails decorating almost every surface of his lair.

Ordering a strict no-killing policy in Sunnydale had been just as evil, of course. And that was because… Well just because he was a goddamn rebel, not to be questioned when he went against the norm. Hell, it had been so radical that it had even earned him a summons from the bloody mayor of the god-forsaken town. Of course, during the meeting itself, he’d found out about the man’s enormous hard-on for becoming an all-out pure demon. Ripping the old sod to pieces, setting those pieces on fire, and scattering his ashes in the same river he’d previously disposed of the Master’s remains was just his way on ensuring that no idiot would ever dare to think of using him as a bloody means to an end. He was his own vamp, for fuck’s sake, not a sodding lap-dog.

And of course, to top this list of truly despicable evil deeds, he had single-handedly fought and bested the Slayer herself, while still being on the mend from the wound he’d gotten from what had seemed like an endless series of epic battles. So why was the nagging voice inside his head that had kept telling him to stop lying to himself—which sounded suspiciously like the Slayer— currently laughing at his claims of being evil? Why did it feel so bloody wrong to snuff out that which he himself had restored and protected—namely the Slayer’s life?

The answer was as deceptively simple as it was unnatural, and it was the reason why his eyes were currently bulging out of their sockets in shock in the first place. He’d done it all just to get more time with the Slayer. No, it wasn’t even something as quasi-potentially evil as a vampire wanting more time to study and enjoy the fight with his arch-nemesis. He wanted more time with Buffy. So if that had meant eliminating every possible threat to her well-being he could find, he’d done it willingly and with such glee that it shook him to the core. Which made him question why in all the bloody Hells he hadn’t stopped drinking from her already?

He carefully stopped the blood flowing from the wound he had inflicted. Pulling back from her neck, he could finally focus on how her heart was beating a lot slower, close to the point where it would start to falter and then stop altogether. Her ear-shattering screams of fear and agony when he’d first started feeding from her had tapered off to weak, gurgling sounds that made something in his chest clench painfully. As he looked down at her pale, stricken face, he knew there was no going back.

*Saturday night*

The atmosphere inside the Summers’ home was stifling. Joyce was trying to keep herself from thinking about the danger her daughter had insisted on facing head-on and alone by cooking enough to feed an army for the coming week and making kettle after kettle of tea and hot chocolate for her erstwhile guests.

Giles had brought over more of his ancient tomes for them to look through, but both he and Hank were paying more attention to their watches than to whatever it was they were supposedly reading. Each man was trying to keep a cool and calm demeanor, while failing completely to hide his nervousness. Having made a surprise appearance alongside Giles, Jenny, the computer science teacher who was apparently aware of the supernatural goings on in the town, was also helping with the research, and she seemed to be the only one to actually be doing anything of the sort.

Also present were Willow, Xander, and even Cordelia Chase, who seemed to feel a bit out of place in the group, but was putting on a brave face, nonetheless. The teens were all supposedly doing their homework; although they all had yet to turn a page for the past three cups of hot chocolate they’d absentmindedly sipped at. Nobody spoke in the house, except for a few remarks by Cordelia that she was “missing Bronzing time,” which had stopped after a snide remark by Xander that, “Nobody made you come.” All in all, everyone was trying to pretend that it was just another regular night of research while Buffy was out on patrol, but they were all failing miserably.

When the shrill ring of the telephone broke the oppressive silence, it came almost as a relief to her mother. Then again, Buffy wouldn’t have just called. She would have showed up, maybe covered in dust or other demon gore, possibly with wounds of her own, but alive and safe nonetheless.

“Summers residence, Hank Summers speaking.”

Joyce thought fleetingly that her ex could give somebody the wrong impression by answering the phone like that. This was not his home, nor had it ever been, despite the name. His next words drove all such thoughts from her mind, and made her rush to stand next to him and hold his clenching hand.

“Yes, this is her father. Do you-”

He was listening to whatever it was that was being said to him while visibly blanching and Joyce felt that her heart was about to break into a million pieces.

“I understand, thank you.” The words were spoken as if on auto-pilot, his voice hollow and weak. He put the receiver back in its cradle and turned to look into Joyce’s eyes, seemingly ignorant that everyone else in the house had gathered around them as well. “Buffy’s at the hospital.”

The news brought the blood rushing up to Joyce’s head, her vision getting darker around the edges, the ringing in her ears making her almost miss the rest of her former husband’s words.

“She’s been badly hurt and almost completely drained of blood in what was described as a climbing accident, but the doctors gave her meds and put her on transfusions and they have very high hopes that she’ll pull through just fine.”

Joyce collapsed sobbing in Hank’s arms, while he delivered his final bombshell.

“They also told me that the one who brought her in just in time to save her life is wearing almost all black, save for a red shirt, has bleached-blonde hair, and is claiming to be her boyfriend.” He made a strangled gulping sound. “He’s also refusing to leave her bedside.”

“Good Lord!”

~~~***~~~

*Sunnydale General Hospital, later that night*

He was dimly aware that the nurses and the rest of the hospital staff had stopped trying to get him out of the Slayer’s room after he’d told them that the next person to touch him would get a broken limb, “dealer’s choice.” They’d also stopped nattering on about how he also needed medical attention after he’d flashed just a bit of fang to the pushiest of the nurses. He really didn’t care what he was doing for the town’s usual extra-thick blinders when it came to all things demon, but on the one hand, he figured that nobody in the medical profession could be completely in the dark about what had been really going on in that place for too long. So letting them know that the things that go bump in the night were watching over the Slayer could only ensure prompt and extra-special care. On the other hand, he just didn’t give a fuck. All he could care about was listening to the Sl—Buffy’s heart as it beat with ever increasing steadiness and watching intently at the color spreading back into her cheeks. The rest of the world could just go and bugger themselves silly for all he cared.

He wasn’t really sure how long it had been since he’d burst through the hospital doors, the Slayer in his arms, with him hollering like a man possessed that he needed “a transfusion for the lady.” They’d tried to take her away from him, but he’d insisted he take her and put her in a bed himself. Okay, so maybe he’d barked it at the orderly. He’d told them some story about a midnight rock-climbing date and had been thankful that he’d memorized her phone number before she even returned from LA. It pays to know your enemy!

Of course, that probably meant that the racket coming towards him was probably the chit’s family and friends, most if not all of whom probably knew who and what he was and how to put a stake through a heart. Time to talk to your loved ones, love. Don’t worry, they’re off the menu. Giving her a wink and a half-smile, he turned around just in time to see the Watcher striding purposefully his way, one hand hidden in his jacket.

“You can stop right there, Napoleon. We’re doing this all civilized like, you hear?” He allowed his gaze to travel over the rest of the group when he saw the man slow to a halt. “We don’t really want to find out who the fastest in the land is, do we? I can see the whites of their eyes.” He felt like shaking his head at the lack of recognition on the faces of the Americans of the group. “Wellington’s orders when he defeated Napoleon at Waterloo? What exactly are they teaching kids these days?”

They were still looking bewildered, so he decided to drop the history lesson and just deal with the current situation. Before he had a chance to say anything else, the woman he’d found out was the Slayer’s mother from his minions launched herself at her daughter’s bedside, ignoring his presence there altogether after she pushed him out of her way. The way she was currently standing left her back completely exposed had he been willing to attack her, which only increased the tension in the others, while giving Spike a new sense of respect for the woman. Turning to the rest of the group, but still keeping the bed with the Slayer, as well as her mother in his peripheral vision, he decided to clear the air.

“Look, all this posturing about isn’t worth rot. You should know that I am currently the Master of this little burg, and if I’d ordered it, none of you would have gotten out of the Slayer’s home alive.” Taking a deep breath, he went on the path that could very well damn him for all eternity. Well, more than he already was damned, anyway. “I admit I’m the one that did this to B—the Slayer, but in my defense, she pulled her stake out first. So while I was happily draining away my third “Chosen” bird in a century, I realized that I don’t want her dead anymore than I want to spontaneously combust.”

“Yeah, like we’re gonna believe anything you say, Blood Breath. I say stake first, ask questions never.”

Spike was tempted to either admire the young pup or rip his bloody head off, but the fact that he wasn’t moving to attack told him that it was mostly male posturing, maybe even laced with a bit of inappropriate feelings towards the Slayer. It paid to learn about your enemies, indeed. By the look on the Slayer’s dad’s face, he wasn’t too happy with the whelp either. “I’ll let that one slide, seeing as how I might technically be to blame for the venue we’re having our little chat in, but you better keep your yap shut from now on, if you still want to have a tongue in it to flap.” There it was, fear was evident in the boy’s eyes.

“So what. . .” The watcher didn’t get to conduct his interrogation, as the Slayer’s father spoke over him.

“What do you want?”

Spike’s grin turned feral. There’s the lawyer in him acting up! This will be fun. “I want a truce.” That shut them up good and proper. He drew up to his full height, putting on all the pomp and fanfare he usually hated with a fiery passion in his voice and demeanor. “I, William the Bloody, also known as Spike, also known as the Slayer of Slayers, currently Master of Sunnydale and acting Overlord of the Order of Aurelius do hereby solemnly swear that under the conditions of this truce neither I, nor my followers will kill or seriously maim any human either living in and around Sunnydale, or simply just passing through. The exception to the rule being, of course, self-defense and human criminals such as rapists or murderers—such persons being deigned unworthy of the Slayer’s protection, and therefore being exempt from the conditions of this truce. Also, it is not to be considered as a breach of said truce if third parties outside my control do not comply with my promise, such instances remaining to be dealt with on a case-by-case basis. In return, you won’t try to harm me and my followers in any way, shape, or form. Exemptions for forces outside of the Slayer’s control also apply.”

Relaxing his posture, he took out a cigarette from his pack and was about to light it until the Slayer’s mother picked it from between his lips and put it in a glass of water on the bedside table, with a look that clearly stated any other attempt at smoking would meet the same fate. Can see where the Slayer’s gotten her fire, and it’s got nothing to do with her calling.

“You said kill or maim, leaving a whole range of physical and mental attacks still at your disposal.” The Watcher now had his arms crossed over his chest, although his hand was still gripping the stake he had hidden inside his jacket.

“Look, I’m offering you more than any other Master has probably offered to anyone in his domain, especially with the Hellmouth in his power. Don’t like the terms? Fine, we’ll discuss them all once the Slayer’s up and about, ’cause no offence, but this is supposed to be a truce of equals, and with all your bluster and tweed, you’re not my equal. Understand that, Watcher? For now, let’s just agree to leave one another in peace, and we’ll let the rest be sorted out later, yeah?”

“Wait a minute. Are we actually listening to what this thing has to say? He doesn’t even have a soul, like Angel does, and look where listening to him almost brought us—the Master got out after nearly killing our Buff. So I vote no, hell no, and still say we should stake him and be done with it. There’s just one of him and . . .” the Whelp looked around once, trying to suss out whom he thought he could count on “well, more of us. Right, gang?”

Spike started to laugh, low and ominous, with each sound that he emitted purposefully designed to make the blood run cold in his enemies, just like Angelus had taught him all those decades before. He wasn’t usually one to resort to such mind tricks, but then again, by the terms of his own truce, he would have to be more flexible in his dealings with humans, this group in particular. “Attack me, and I will find myself in the need to practice self-defense, which is a perfectly acceptable kill, as per the truce. I seriously doubt anyone would miss an empty noggin like yours once you’re drained and gone.” The slap on his shoulder was not what he expected, and he turned confused eyes on the Slayer’s mother.

“All of you, stop it! This is a hospital, a place of healing, and I won’t have you fighting each other anywhere near my daughter’s sickbed.” Once she set the ground rules, she pinned the vampire with an icy glare that would have made a lesser man run for the hills. “You stop it with all the big talk nonsense. Stop with the threats and the baiting; otherwise, I will personally throw you out of this room, and don’t think for one second you can intimidate me with the ‘supernatural being’ bullshit. I’ll tan your hide with a fire axe if I have to, so watch it, mister!” She then turned her eyes on the male support group. “And you, if you can’t be civil, get out of this room, this building, or even this town, depending on how upset you make me. You do not want to see me get angry with you. Especially you, Hank, should know better. And what I said I meant for you in particular, Xander. If you want to be permitted to interact with my daughter anymore, you will abide by my rules and hers; you got that? I talked to Hank about you…” Her words were met with chastised looks, mumbled apologies, and the young bigot turning a shade of red that should not have been physically possible. The other women were nodding wisely at the display by what could safely be called the matriarch of the group.

Spike really liked the woman. He was even more impressed, since he’d found out through his sources that the Slayer’s mother had been kept in the dark about her daughter’s calling until just a few days before. She was now taking charge, making sure that the people that were there to help her daughter were indeed going to do just that. Maybe getting her on his side was the key to smoothing things with Buffy and her merry band of miscreants. Feeling a lot lighter on the inside, he allowed himself to actually relax for the first time since he’d arrived in the bloody room, leaning against a wall—a picture of indifference.

Of course, the peace couldn’t last for long. A nurse came in to check on the patient, throwing a surreptitious look his way that held a bit of fear. She asked that only the family members actually stay, preferably just one. She amended the number to two, three tops after throwing one more look at the vampire who had raised his eyebrow in challenge. A bit of shuffling, a bit of glaring from the staff and Joyce, and Spike found himself with just the Slayer and her parents present. The Wanker—’cause only a wanker would have walked out on such women—was still uneasy, but trying hard not to show it for fear of his ex.

The Mama Bear had taken a seat in the chair Spike had vacated on their arrival and was holding her daughter’s hand, not unlike the vampire himself had sat just minutes before. “Now, William, you’re going to tell me exactly what happened between you and my daughter starting with when you first met and all the way to a few minutes ago.” Her voice was soft and calm, but the steel behind her words was still there. “And don’t you dare lie to me about anything, or I promise you’ll regret it.” She wouldn’t even look at him, which only added to his feeling of being chastised by his own mother. “I’m listening.”

*Early Sunday morning, room 205, Sunnydale Hospital*

Darkness.

Pain.

Groggy.

Weak.

Drowning?

Master! Not again! Buffy’s eyes snapped open, and she jerked awake, only to be met with bright fluorescent lightning that hurt her retinas. She tried to blink away the pain in her eyes and bring the room into focus as she took stock of the state of the rest of her body.

Her throat hurt inside and out, and swallowing made her wince. There were aches and pains all over her body, just like she usually had after a particularly brutal patrol. What puzzled her a bit was the different type of throbbing in her arm, but eventually she identified it as an IV needle. So that meant hospital, which explained the damned lights making her eyes feel as if somebody was scooping them out with a spoon—slowly. That brought her to her main problem, namely the fact that she had no idea how or why she was in a hospital bed.

Slowly, and ever so painfully, her mind backtracked and sorted through the memories and awareness came flooding in with the subtlety of a war-hammer to the head. She’d been patrolling, looking for Spike, it being Saturday and all, in order to have their date—meeting. He showed up, they fought, kissed and then… He bit her! The way her heart clenched when she remembered what he’d done had nothing to do with the fear of death, though. He’d betrayed her, confused her with whatever it was what made it hard to think clearly when he was around, only to use that weakness of hers to drink her dry.

Which brought her right back to the big question. If he’d drained her in the cemetery, how come she was in the hospital, with a blood bag connected to an IV drip, looking at her parents sleeping in what had to be very uncomfortable chairs next to her bed? And if she was alive, did that mean that someone had saved her, maybe by dusting Spike while he was killing her?

And why did the image of Spike dusting cause even more pain to her heart than his betraying her?

“Welcome back, kitten.”

His softly spoken words brought her thoughts to a screeching halt. And how many times was her heart going to do that painful clenching thing? Without a conscious thought, she opened her mouth and spoke for the first time since waking up, ignoring the razorblades travelling up and down her throat with each word. “What the hell are you doing here?” Okay, so maybe he was neither dead nor very well driven off, but that didn’t give him any right to be there, in her hospital room, next to her sleeping parents. Then again, what if he’d done something to them, too? She just knew her spine was going to start hurting from the whiplash effect of her looking first on one side, then the other of the bed, in her attempt to verify that her parents were indeed sleeping, and not—

“I never even touched them, pet.”

“Don’t! Stop it with the pet names and with all the rest of the crap. Just tell me why you’re here, so I can get back to healing from what you did to me.” She sounded tired, defeated, and hurt to her own ears, but she just didn’t have the strength left to put on a brave face.

“Guess I deserve that.” The vampire ran his hand through his hair and then reached for something in his inside pocket. What was puzzling to Buffy was how he then took one look at her sleeping mom and seemed to shake off whatever it was he had been trying to do—although judging by past experience, he was probably looking for a smoke. “Look, I’m—yeah, I’m sorry, all right? I was a bloody idiot, thinking with my fangs and clinging to the image of a fight to the death between two mortal enemies that had nothing to do with how things are between us.” He started to pace inside the small space, two steps forward, two steps back, silent as a shadow—well, a talking one. “I never should have bitten you, but then again, I never would have figured it out without doing it.” He suddenly stopped his pacing and looked straight at the very confused Slayer. “You can’t tell me you haven’t felt it too.”

“What I felt was your fangs in my neck, literally tearing me a new one—or two. Was there something else there that I maybe missed? If so, I’m ever so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention while you try to kill me the next time.” She could barely keep her voice in check and the tears of fury from spilling. She was talking through clenched teeth and was just as aware of the spittle flying with each word, as she was of the fact that she felt too weak to even sit up straight in bed. She started thinking that maybe she should start yelling as loud as she could, so that people who hadn’t been nearly drained that night would burst through the door to rid her of his presence. Still, she didn’t.

“That’s just it!” He didn’t seem too shaken up at her outburst; instead, he was pointing at her and tapping the side of his nose.

Is he playing Charades now? Where the hell have I woken up in? Hell, another dimension—or maybe I’m just sleeping and having one of those really weird dreams that I’ll hopefully forget once I wake up…?

“There’s not going to be a next time, love.” He spread his hands out like he was trying to explain something to a child. “Yeah, so I got a taste—you’re delicious, by the way—but I’m a Master Vampire and you’re a Slayer, it’s to be expected that one side or another lose some blood in the process. It’s even written in the bloody handbook! But now that’s all done with, and I’ve made a truce with your dad and your watcher in your stead. No more maiming and killing by my minions and me in exchange for your not staking me and mine. Unaffiliated vamps, other violent demons and the like, as well as run of the mill criminals are open season. Basically, anybody who attacks either humans or those under my command is toast. So, tell me, how good does that sound?” Once his pitch was done, he kept looking at her with a slight smile and big, pleading eyes.

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? I just woke up from a drainage-induced trip to the land of the not conscious, and there you are, cool as a corpse, telling me ‘oops, my bad, nearly killed you, but if you quit doing your fucking job, we’ll just call it Even Steven’?”

“Buffy, you’re awake!”

Her mom’s words stopped the flood of curses that the Slayer was about to unleash on the cocky bastard that had the nerve to be looking at her like she was the unreasonable one. How exactly was that fair? She was still trying to see if maybe she could make a stake appear out of thin air in order to take Spike out once and for all.

“Joyce! Good! Talk to that daughter of yours, ’cause she’s just about run me ’round the sodding bend. I’ll be out for a smoke.”

Spike’s last remark was yelled as he strode purposefully to the door, leaving Buffy free to enjoy the family hug she was the center of at that time.

~~~***~~~

*Two weeks later, The Bronze*

Willow was at the Bronze, and she was more uncomfortable than she had ever been in her life. For one, she was feeling severely underdressed, despite Buffy’s tweaks to her night’s chosen outfit. The reason for her feeling of not-worthiness, though, was that she was currently seated at the Cordettes’ table, and all the other girls seemed as though they were wearing something more slu—form-fitting, brand-name-able, and designed by real designers to attract attention. Another reason for her feeling awkward was that the other people around her clearly didn’t want her there, only allowing her near due to her ties to Buffy. Why Buffy? Because ever since she’d been discharged from the hospital, she was acting like the Cordelia-clone she’d once told her she used to be back in LA and less like the ‘have stake, will party’ girl whom the redhead used to call her best female friend.

What made matters even worse was that the Slayer wasn’t even willing to talk about what had happened, what she was feeling, or other best-friendy things like that. No, all Buffy wanted to talk about these days were clothes, boys, and fun. This in itself wasn’t that much of an earth-shattering change, but the way the blonde saw fit to tackle these subjects made Willow even less comfortable. For example, that very moment her friend was on the dance floor, having fun by drawing around her all the boys in the place. But she was wearing a blue handkerchief top that was barely there—more of a thin scarf running down from a blue choker over her braless breasts, which it did little to cover, to a clasp right above her navel, then around the small of her back and up the other side—black hot-pants that seemed painted on, and black-and-blue stiletto-heeled pumps to round up an ensemble that just screamed ‘come and get me, boys!’

All of that boiled down to Buffy dancing away in the middle of a throng of guys that were more or less drooling at the sight of her, while Willow was left sitting at the Cordettes’ table, with the other girls all giving her disdaining glances for some reason or another, with Cordy herself doing her best to try and seem as if the whole situation had been her masterpiece. It was times like these when Willow really missed having Xander around, but between his insistence on helping Giles and Mr. Summers with whatever they asked, and his family having relatives over, the Xan-man had been almost missing in action for more than a week, now. Not that the presence of their Xander-shaped friend would have changed things much, especially since it seemed that the only one Buffy listened to anymore was the aforementioned Cordelia, despite the best attempts by both her parents and Giles.

The Slayer’s reasoning had been that with the truce in place demons that needed slaying were hard to come by, while vampire attacks had all but ceased, making her the Vampire Slayer able to take a month off to just be a normal school-going teenager. Neither of the grown-ups had had much chance of shaking that belief and they’d all but stopped trying, choosing instead to just wait the month out and hope for the best in the meantime. This also meant that patrols performed by the three males of the group were not at all uncommon, although they admitted they had actually fought something just twice so far.

Willow was pulled out of her reverie by a commotion on the dance floor that had nothing to do with the beat pulsing out of the club’s speakers. When the redhead managed to figure out what was going on, a part of her felt weirdly vindicated, as though this was something that she’d been expecting to happen all along, although she wasn’t aware of thinking about it as an actual possibility. Still, the reality of it was there nonetheless. Spike had descended in the middle of the group of males ogling and sometimes even groping Buffy— with the girl’s tacit approval, if Willow was not mistaken—and had gotten into a shouting match with what looked like a college frat-boy built like an ox, obviously also some sort of jock. Due to the distance and the noise, the exact words were unclear, but when ox-boy—egged on by a couple of guys wearing the same fraternity jackets—swung at Spike, the result was almost a foregone conclusion. The jock was out like a light with one punch; his friends were tossed aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought, and then the real show started, with Buffy giving the vampire a couple of jabs to the kidneys.

By the time Willow managed to reach the fighting pair, the Slayer was dragging Spike towards the back door, anger written clearly on both their faces. The redhead took stock of the situation. The girls at their table were busy trying to look as though they couldn’t care less about what was going on; the guys previously circling Buffy like sharks had dispersed; the frat boys were being escorted out by the bouncers—suspiciously pale and strong bouncers—and her best friend was going out into the poorly lit alley with the one who had put her in a hospital all by himself two weeks prior. What if he has back-up? What if this is a trap? Her mind made up, Willow stepped out the back door of the Bronze, despite her fear. As soon as she saw the two blondes, though, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Spike and Buffy were standing just inches apart, both of them ramrod straight, fists clenched at their sides, their stances almost identical to one another. If Willow had been waxing poetically, she’d have said there was an electric current that seemed to connect the two. As it was, she was taken aback by the intensity with which they were looking at each other, as if the rest of the world had melted away.

“You were egging them on.”

“No, you were acting like Salome, and they were acting like cavemen. Wasn’t my fault big-‘n’-stupid back there decided to touch what wasn’t his without asking permission.”

“Maybe I gave him permission; maybe I wanted his hands all over me.” Before Spike had a chance to speak, Buffy cut him off. “I can take care of myself, Mister Neanderthal. I’m the freaking Slayer, even if I can’t touch your precious little vamps, I can still take care of a drunken idiot.” She narrowed her eyes menacingly. “And I’m definitely nobody’s property.”

Spike grabbed her forearms and his whole body got even closer to the Slayer’s. “You’re mine, and the faster you accept that, the easier this will be for everyone!”

Buffy tried to shake his hands off, but he held firm. “You’re nothing to me. I could never be yours after what you did to me. You’re beneath me!”

Those words seemed to trigger something inside the already irate vampire, and he looked as though he just snapped. He roared—honest to God, lion-in-the-jungle roared—as he lifted Buffy off her feet and slammed her against the Bronze’s back wall. Before Willow had a chance to blink, think, or move to help her friend, the two blondes were practically devouring each other’s mouths, moaning, groaning, and in general making sounds that were more primal in nature, leaving the teenage girl blushing furiously and feeling like a voyeur. Suddenly it had all clicked in her head: the way Buffy was behaving, the surprising actions of Spike that fateful night, the truce, and even further back, the stories about their encounters in LA—which always seemed to be the edited version, and despite her mouthed promise, the Slayer had never really gotten around to telling her best friend the unabridged version—not to mention the way Spike had saved Buffy’s life when the Master had made his move. Everything that a possible future relationship with Angel had hinted it could have been—impossible love between two arch enemies that couldn’t fight their feelings for each other—was becoming reality with the soulless vampire currently engaged in the hottest make-out-fest Willow had ever seen. And just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

Buffy pushed Spike away, and he stood there, seemingly dazed.

“Stop! I won’t do this again. You kiss me, you kick me, you dry-hump me, you try to kill me. You’re like the poster child for multiple personality disorder, and I’ve had enough. Get the Hell away from me!”

Spike looked the Slayer up and down, licked his lips in a sinful way, and made a whole show out of straightening his duster. “You still don’t get it, do you, Slayer? You came tonight, dressed in that little scrap of nothing, knowing what I’d do when I found you. You’re mine, whether you like it or not, and whether I like it or not, I’m yours.” He grinned slightly when Buffy’s eyes widened in shock. “Listen to me and listen good, Slayer, ’cause I want to be sure there’s no misunderstanding about what I’m telling you.” He then enunciated each syllable of the sentence that would probably change everything from then on. “I love you. More than that, I’m in love with you. Now stop playing games with me, little girl, and come dance with me.” He held his hand to her, and Willow almost agreed in Buffy’s name. But the Slayer was frozen in place, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and frightened—and she said nothing.

Slowly, Spike’s hand lowered, and his brows drew together in a frown. He seemed to honestly be at a loss about what he was supposed to do next. Just when the oppressing silence had carried on for longer than a couple of minutes, Buffy pushed herself off the wall, shook out her hair and ran her hands down her body, making the vampire ogle her openly.

Then the Slayer used her words.

“You are insane. You almost killed a guy in front of me not ten minutes ago, despite the truce you came up with. You manhandled me, you assaulted me two weeks ago, you left me in the hospital for two very long days, fighting for my life, and you have the balls to tell me you love me? You’re either insane or simply deluded, ’cause I can’t see any scenario where I could possibly feel anything but loathing for you. Did I stutter earlier? You’re beneath me, so get the fuck away from me and stay gone!”

Spike’s hand shot out with lightning speed, and Buffy was once again pinned to the wall, the vampire’s fingers wrapped around her neck. When he spoke, he did so through clenched teeth, growling out the words slowly and menacingly. “Listen up, you daft bint. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I’m someone you can mop the floor with. I’m not my poofter of a sire, all mysterious, guilt-ridden, and silent. I’m loud, I’m up-front, and I’m real. I made a mistake two weeks ago, but it was in my blood to do what I did, just as it’s in my blood now to protect you. ’Cause that’s what it’s all about: love, hate, lust, loathing—it’s all the blood, screaming inside you, making you do its will. And I’m Love’s Bitch, so that means I listen to it, and I do some stupid things sometimes. But don’t think for one second that that makes you superior to me. We’re the same, you and I, Slayer, and the sooner you take that pretty little head of yours out of your round little ass, the better it’ll be for the both of us.” He let her go, turned around and spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll prove to you that I love you. I’ll find a way. But I also know you feel something for me too; otherwise you wouldn’t have let me touch you, especially not tonight. So I’ll be going now, but I’ll be back. You can’t get rid of me with a few curses and punches, Slayer. Not when I love you.”

He hesitated for another beat, but then seemed to change his mind and walked away with long strides. When he passed by Willow, he winked at her, but his eyes were sad. She once more fought the urge to feel sorry for him, only to feel her heart break for her friend when she saw her. Despite the earlier words of disdain, the look on Buffy’s face was that of someone hopelessly in love and hating herself for it. The redhead recognized it from all those Jane Austen adaptations and other such movies, in which there always seemed to be some rogue acting like the bad guy—despite being actually good on the inside—only to have the heroine fall for him despite herself. Is that how it is between these two? Oh, my poor Buffy! Wordlessly, she approached her shaken friend and let her cling to her, pretending the shudders wracking both their bodies were from the exertion and not from sobs.

*Saturday evening, 1630 Rovello Drive*


A knock at the door interrupted the first Slayerette meeting that Buffy had attended in nearly two weeks almost as soon as it had begun. With Joyce’s nodded consent, Hank opened the door, while the others clutched at the various weapons they kept handy.


“Greetings and salutations from the Master of Sunnydale. May I come in, or do you prefer we continue to speak through the protection of the invitation barrier?” The vampire that said those words took Xander by surprise. Of all the various creatures of the night, he seemed to be the most... lacking. He was obviously balding, had glasses on, wore clothes that could almost give Giles a run for their money in the tweed department, and was looking at them with obvious fear, despite his brave-sounding words. This was definitely not a fighter Spike had sent. What happened next, though, had the young man completely perplexed.


“Come in, Dalton.” The Slayer’s tone was almost courteous, and didn’t that just take the cake?


“Thank you very much, Miss Summers.” He then proceeded to enter, his eyes darting from one weapon to the next. Once seated in the chair Giles had vacated for him, he pulled out some papers from the briefcase he was carrying. “It was brought to my attention that we have been remiss in drafting an actual written agreement to formalize the truce between the Order of Aurelius and the Vampire Slayer, so I am here to remedy that… hm… lapse.” Vampires that not only looked, but also sounded like some sort of non-British watcher-y types were not what Xander had ever envisioned meeting, yet there he was, looking right at him—well, not at him, more like alternating between looking at each and every single person in the room.


The next thirty minutes were filled with haggling on various points between the three older men in the room—and Joyce—with Hank displaying his abilities at negotiations. Those same abilities that had allowed him to make Giles give him all the dirt on what had happened the previous year, landing Xander in a load of hot water with the whole Hyena business. Truth be told, the young man had tried his best to actually forget what he’d done, to put it down to demon influence and move on, with the continuing hope that Buffy would one day see him as a worthy male specimen.


Xander glanced over at Buffy, who was keeping an eye on the bickering adults, while talking to Willow and Cordelia in hushed tones. By the wide eyes on his oldest friend, the subject must have been something particularly juicy, but he just knew it was ‘girl talk’, so he wouldn’t be welcome. In a way, he felt like a fifth wheel, and looking across the room to where Ms. Calendar was trying to look busy flipping the pages of a book, he could understand how she must feel at least part of the time. With a shake of his head, his thoughts and eyes turned back to Buffy.


She was something else, all right. Beauty and power all rolled into one, and he was lucky enough to be able to call her his friend—one of his two best friends, in fact. It was only natural for him to want to be more, but over the past couple of weeks he’d been forced to face his own shortcomings with a clarity that, he had to admit to himself, wasn’t at all one of his usual traits. She was out of his league. Yeah, sure, she’d always been above him, and he’d always known it, felt it in his bones. But what until then had been just one more reason for him to want her more, was becoming one of the reasons to put her permanently in the ‘non-kissing cousins’ group. Well, that and her dad’s demand that he talk to Buffy and fess up to remembering what he’d done. His blood ran cold just thinking about how that particular conversation would go. Maybe he’d hit the jackpot and she wouldn’t maim him, but there was also the possibility that she would want nothing more to do with him. Losing her friendship terrified him.


He was startled by Buffy turning to face the other two girls she’d been talking to and telling them something in hushed, but angry tones, her hands making very clear ‘this is the end of the discussion’ gestures. Her retreat to the kitchen signaled Xander’s chance to face his fears, once and for all. Taking a deep breath, he followed the Slayer with all the enthusiasm of someone going to get kicked in the nuts.


“You okay there, Buff?”


“Oh, yeah, sure.” She seemed startled that someone had followed her. Looking wildly around the kitchen, she pointed to the fridge. “Want some OJ?”


“No, thanks.” It’s now or never, so man up, Xan-man. “Look, there’s something I really gotta tell you. I mean, something I shoulda told you a long time ago, but I was of the yellow-feathered persuasion and kept to myself.”


She was looking at him now, eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted just a bit, eyebrows raised. He had to go on, no matter what, so he focused on an imaginary spot on the wall over the sink and started speaking. He explained how he remembered everything that he’d done when he was possessed by the Hyena Spirit, how he could kinda, sorta, not so much, but still, in a way, control what he was doing. How he could remember thinking there were no consequences, rules, or wrongs, just what he wanted—and what he wanted, he was going to get, no matter what. “You might have noticed, from time to time, that I have a not-exactly little crush on you. Well, I thought I did, anyway. What’s even worse is that I’m kinda relieved that my possessed self was so fixated on you, because that meant that I didn’t participate in the principal dining habits of the rest of the ‘pack’. But what’s even worse than that is I didn’t—couldn’t tell you what happened, and why. See, I’m a male of the species, and on top of that a teenager, so we screw up. In my case, in this case, I more than screwed up, it was screwed up to the power of screw, but just know that I wouldn’t ever do anything like that in my right mind, and that I value being your friend more than almost anything else in the world, a close second to Willow, so whoa! But that’s mostly because she’s been there for longer, not that—”


By the end of his confession, he was visibly trembling, both from the stress, as well as from the fear of losing her—maybe along with some choice body parts along the way. When all he was met with was silence, he slowly chanced moving his eyes to meet those of the Slayer.


And he then understood better than ever the distinction between his blonde friend and the creature that stalked cemeteries in search of the things that go ‘bump’ in the night.


For one, all the mirth and, well, girl-type softness that Buffy was usually animated with was gone, replaced with a cruel, calculating, and ironic quirk of the mouth and slant of the perfectly plucked eyebrows. She was looking at him the way he had seen her look at many-a-demon—before ending their existence in one gruesome way or another. In that moment, Xander Harris’ crush on Buffy Summers was effectively ground to dust by the venom in her eyes. He’d never felt so small, or so afraid in his life.


“Riddle me this: would you have stopped on your own? When you had me under you, getting ready to force yourself on me, would you have gone all the way?” Each question made Xander cringe and shake his head with a dejected sigh. “And once you were done with me, what then? Would you have raped me to death? Or maybe tried to turn me into your demon whore?”


“I don’t know. It was like I was in a red haze, even more so than the rest of the time I was—under the influence.” He barely managed to whisper, his voice hoarse with tears of shame he felt he didn’t deserve their release. Especially since her question was the same thing he had been asking himself over and over again over the past couple of weeks, without a clear answer. At that moment, though, under the focused stare of the Slayer, the words came tumbling out without a conscious thought. “I think I would have tried to keep you… or kill you if I couldn’t.” There! It can’t get worse than now. Have mercy! He couldn’t voice his plea, instead resigning himself to whatever her judgment entailed.


The touch of her hand on his shoulder made him flinch, but her softly spoken words shocked him even more. “Thank you for telling me. In a way, I always kinda knew it wasn’t that simple—what happened back then.” He chanced looking up at her and then he couldn’t look away from the sad kindness in her eyes. “At least now I finally understand. Thank you.” Then the Slayer broke through again. “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip you apart, friends or not, ‘kay?” Without waiting for an answer, she all but skipped back to the living room, leaving a shaken Xander to pick his heart off the floor and make his way back to his friends on his own.


~~~***~~~


*half an hour later*


Buffy was beyond glad when the finishing touches were agreed upon between the elders of the group and Dalton. Throughout the whole process, she’d only spoken to them twice, both times to enquire if they needed her to bring anything. She didn’t much care what the treaty said, she already knew the basics… Spike and his gang were off limits as long as they kept to a strict “vegetarian” diet. There was just one thing that had piqued her interest: all other types of violent demons, as well as “unaligned” vamps were fair game. At least she could start patrolling again. If someone had told her a few months before that she would be looking forward to fighting for her life against some smelly, ugly demon—as they all tended to be—she would have laughed her ass off and told them that all she wanted was to be normal.


Things change.

People die.

She’d died.

And what’s more important, she’d lived! She’d lived more since her short death than in all the years before it. Then, she’d nearly died again, at the hands of the beast—no, the man—that had saved her. Normal had followed and made her acknowledge one thing: normal was beyond boring. After having her father actively help her, after all the hype of her return to Sunnydale, being forced into two long weeks of impromptu retirement as a Slayer had nearly done her in. There’s only so much vapid cheerleader-talk one could take before going home, finding the flimsiest get-up in the closet—the one bought when her dad was busy checking out the rack on the girl behind the counter—and grinding herself up and down anybody within range in the hopes of attracting some action.


He’d shown up just as planned.


The unplanned part was the revelation of Spike’s feelings for her, as well as the way she’d reacted to it. When the initial shock had worn off, she’d found herself feeling a whole range of emotions—from denial to excitement, in thirty difficult steps—but what was lacking was more telling. She didn’t wish he didn’t love her, nor was she disgusted by it, despite her hateful words in the alley. In fact, the revulsion she felt was directed at the way her heart skipped a beat when he’d said it, and at the way her stomach filled up with butterflies when she saw him make his way through the throng of drooling males.


She was attracted to him, that much she’d accepted since the first time she’d opened her eyes, his lips still pressed to hers in a kiss of life, and almost forgot about anything else in her desire for a few more moments of making out with the new hottie. The following encounters only fuelled her desire, with stolen kisses, rubbing, grabbing, and with how forbidden it all was. But feelings?


The only feelings she could have imagined toward a soul-less vampire were the bad kind: hate, distrust, annoyance, violent dislike, hate—the classics. Even Angel’s souled self was on the receiving end of most of the badness enough of the time, despite the whole will-he-won’t-he of their maybe-relationship. So the way she felt for Spike was unnatural to say the least. Relief, safety, happiness, and good, old fashioned companionship—these were not things to be feeling in relation to a bloodthirsty killer. And yet, he had a way to worm his way under her skin, to get her blood pumping faster than ever before, either with a sexy smirk, or with a hurtful word…


Xander had shaken her world. Not as much with what he’d done the year before—water under the bridge, and all that—but with the confession that a demon-possessed best friend would not have stopped, when a self-titled killer of her kind had. Spike hadn’t killed her, despite having had all the opportunities to do her in. He hadn’t even thought of turning her—that much was obvious, what with the whole ‘getting her to the hospital’ incident. So what made Spike different than all the rest? Did he actually, really love her? And if he did, what exactly did she feel about it? She refused to think about it anymore, scared of the answer awaiting her, just as Dalton was saying his good-byes.


“And last, but not least, have a pleasant Weekend, Ms. Summers. The Mas—ahem—William would like to announce that he is interested in courting you. To that extent, I am to present you with a certificate for an all-paid full service spa treatment to enjoy at your discretion.” It was obvious that Dalton was making an extra effort to be the perfect gentleman’s courier, while placing a plain, white envelope on the table with flourish. Buffy was sure she heard Willow try to squeal in silence, but she had other things to worry about at the time. “This is but the first of many tokens of my Master’s affection that you will be receiving, without any pressure on your part to reciprocate. If you desire the—uhm—cessation of the courtship protocol, you have but to say so.”


Buffy blinked fast a few times, feeling as if someone had suddenly focused a large searchlight on her face. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but the many people studying her very carefully—parents notwithstanding—made her feel that she needed to say something fast. “I don’t—”


“Of course, such a discussion would have to be face-to-face between you and him.” Even Dalton smirked at that, no doubt finding Spike’s obviously detailed orders highly amusing.


Stifling a guffaw, Buffy made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Okay, Dalton, you can go now. Thank you for—just thank you.”


“So Mr. Hottie from last night has manners, taste and minions. Looks like little miss Slayer found her sugar daddy.” Leave it to Cordelia to open an envelope not destined to her and say something completely inappropriate. At least it got some of the heat off Buffy’s back—for which she was extremely grateful. Just when the blonde was about to sweep up her gift from the brunette, the latter let out a squeal of happiness. “It’s a full day, five people booking at the best spa in town! If you don’t marry him, I will.”


~~~***~~~


*One week later, Silent Hill Cemetery*


“And if I do this… if I deliver Bu— the Slayer to you, then—”


“Then you will be turned.”


“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

*Tuesday evening, outside The Bronze*

Buffy was waiting for her old friend from LA, Ford. He’d shown up out of the blue, apparently in town for a few days before going to- where did he say he was going? She guessed it was some sort of Karma at work, seeing as how her Dad had gone back to LA the previous Sunday, his job finally refusing to be ignored any longer. He’d said he’d be back as soon as he could, but Buffy had heard those promises before, so the jury was still out on that one. So my Dad goes to LA, one of my old friends comes from LA. Balance in the life of me.

And if someone needed balance, that was Buffy. Ever since signing ‘the Pact with the Devil,’ as Xander kept referring to it, the number of deaths from supernatural sources in Sunnydale had been at an all-time low. In fact, apart from a would-be rapist that had been found castrated and drained, the last possibe supernatural death was that of Mayor Wilkins. She still wasn’t sure what had prompted his 'disappearance', but since it was pre-Pact, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Sometimes she even found she didn’t really want to know. Something tells me finding out why Wilkins died would lead to me having to go see Spike about the killing, either to thank him, or kick his ass. So no.

“I wonder what he’ll send next.”

Willow’s statement startled Buffy out of her thoughts about the blond menace, and made her focus on, well, the same. “An urn with his ashes?”

Willow actually looked upset at the thought. “But he’s like a super boyfriend so far, with the spa, the chocolates, and the dagger.”

“I only agreed to go to the spa because, well, we all needed some pampering, even Cordy. And my Mom and Miss Calendar had never been there, not that we had, so yeah.” She frowned slightly at herself because she wasn’t sure what her point was supposed to be. Then she remembered and went on. “The chocolates kind of ate themselves they were so good, and I can’t not use the very cool weapon just because it came from him.” She unconsciously traced the hilt through her jacket. It really is, as Giles put it, an exquisite weapon; silver too, so that much more deadly. Buffy looked out of the corner of her eye at her best friend and saw that Willow was looking very uncomfortable and excited at the same time. That could only mean it was time for-

“Buffy, what exactly do you feel about Spike?”

And there it was. The easiest and hardest question that had plagued her ever since that night in the Master’s underground church-turned-prison. Of course that didn’t mean she was anywhere near finding an answer, despite the months that had passed.

“Look, I only saw the guy like six times. Total. I mean, yeah, those were some pretty intense encounters, but it was still just six times. And most of the time it was over so quickly that it almost shouldn’t count.”

“But it did count, right? I mean you keep acting like it counted a lot.”

And there went Willow again, dotting the Is and crossing the Ts. Or was it like it had been with Angel the previous year, when Buffy hadn’t thought of anything more between them until the redhead brought it up as a possibility. Then again her meetings with Angel and the ones with Spike were nothing alike. Closing her eyes for a second to ground herself, she came back to the present instead of reminiscing about the past. “Of course it counted. Pretty much every time we met someone almost ended up dead. But let’s not forget that most of the times that someone was me. He tried to kill me, Wills.” It was slightly strange how saying that out loud didn’t really bring the sentiment of revulsion when she thought of him. Seeing him in the hospital room looking so happy that she was alive and awake had really muddled up her response. Not that she wanted to become one of those women that kept forgiving their abusive spouses, but the way he reacted, and his request for a lasting truce made her think that, given the opportunity, he would never hurt her again. Not to mention he said he loved me.

“He also saved you a lot of times. Even when he tried to-”

“Kill me. You can say it.”

“Yeah, that. So maybe he didn’t really mean it. I mean, he’s the famous Slayer of Slayers, so he could have finished the job.”

Buffy sighed deeply. This was getting her nowhere. “Look, I’ll admit that there are some strong feelings when I think of him, but exactly what type, I don’t know. I don’t even know him, so how can I-”

“Like like him?”

She her face with her palms. “Yeah, that. Maybe. I don’t know.” She raised her voice saying the last part, lowering her hands and pinning her friend with a glare that was definitely meant to stop the discussion.

Willow was looking sympathetic, but apparently wouldn’t back down. “So don’t you wanna find out?”

The Slayer snorted. “Even if I would, he hasn’t exactly shown himself, has he? He sends me all these gifts, and notes, and stuff, but where the hell is he?” She was mad, and she had every right to be, dammit!

“Notes?”

Oh, crap! “Forget I said anything.” She was now frantically looking for something to distract Willow with. She so wasn’t ready to discuss the notes she kept finding in the oddest of places, bearing messages that ranged from the mundane to the so-hot-they-almost-set-themselves-on-fire. Still, it was just another way that he kept her at a distance, and no matter how old-fashioned courting used to be done in the Stone Age, she wanted to have him in front of her and- “There’s Ford!”

Willow gave her a pointed look that clearly meant ‘this is not over, Missy!’ Buffy gave a semi-apologetic grin and rushed over to introduce her old friend to her new one, hoping against hope that things would become clearer in time.

~~~***~~~

*Three hours later*

It was clear: Spike had played them all. There was a whole cult-type thing that had taken root in Sunnydale and they apparently worshipped vampires. The stupidity! Willow was kicking herself for having thought that Buffy and Spike were the soul-mates that were meant to break the barriers between vampire and slayer, between good and evil, light and dark, and so on.

There was no such thing! Ford had become involved with these guys. Idiots! They are complete and utter idiots! Idiots with poop heads filled with, well, poop! How could they think vampires are noble creatures that should be worshipped? And ohmygod, that’s almost how I was talking about Spike, not a few hours ago. Eww! Now she was tied up along with three others, Buffy and Cordy included, and they were going to apparently be used as some sort of sick bargaining chip, and then all the idiots mooning over the demons would get turned. All in all a bloody mess.

Willow was almost no worse for wear, the sleeping gas that had been sprayed in her face having done its job instantly, but just before going down she had caught a glimpse of Buffy trying to fight it and getting a 2x4 upside the head for her troubles. The Slayer was still out for the count, which only made Willow more nervous.

Movement on her left made her look away from the group of prostrating and chanting teens to see no less than five vampires stride in like they owned the place. Of course, they weren’t wearing their ‘Grr’ faces, but the way they moved and looked around, plus the paleness were a dead giveaway. Pun intended.

The newcomers walked to the teens that were almost stepping on each other in order to touch their unliving idols. Just as she was about to turn her eyes away, because of a weird sense of ‘what you can’t see can’t hurt you’ that made no sense even to her own brain, someone else walked in, using the same door as the other vampires, but moving so silently that she doubted anyone but her noticed. It’s him!

Spike had apparently sent his goons first to distract the ‘Sunset Club,’ leaving him free to do whatever he wanted in the shadows. And his blue eyes were locked on her, something in them betraying that he knew exactly who she was, despite her previous belief that he wouldn’t remember anything from what went on at the hospital except Buffy’s near-death. Then he winked and placed a finger on his lips in a shush gesture, partially reminiscent of what he had done in the alley behind the Bronze. Maybe that’s where he remembers me from.

“Initiates, we are here tonight to receive your tribute and welcome you into the ranks of the elevated.” The one talking was best described as ‘tall, dark, and handsome,’ so it was obvious why he was chosen as the mouthpiece for the crap the star-struck teens were eating up. “You will witness tonight our greatness, and share in our—“

Willow tuned out the rest of the speech that was meant to inspire people to die, while watching Spike move around in the shadows. For the ‘Master of Sunnydale’ he sure doesn’t like the spotlight. He was getting closer and her heart was about to burst out of her chest. ‘This is it! He’s going to drain me before Buffy even wakes up. God, why did I ever think he was more than an undead hottie?

She was startled by his cold hands touching her skin next to the ropes keeping her in place. “Don’t make a sound, or these idiots might finally figure out what’s going on.”

She then felt the ropes slacken and stopped understanding anything. “What is going on?” Her whisper sounded a lot louder than she thought it would be, but her control of her own voice was difficult because of the whole situation.

“I’m the cavalry, didn’t you figure that out yet?” He was speaking like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Was minding my own business, lording over vampire and demon alike when I hear some ponce was trading up the Slayer to a bunch of wannabe Big Bads.” As he talked, he finished untying her and moved on to Cordy to her right. “I just had to come to pay my respects, didn’t I?” His smirk, now that she could turn around and actually see it, was cruel and twisted, promising fire and brimstone on the vamps currently acting like cult deities on his territory.

“So you don’t want to be worshipped by straw-brained fashion rejects?” Queen C apparently just couldn’t keep her mouth shut for long. She also couldn’t keep quiet enough, as her comment was heard by the until-then oblivious guards Ford had placed to watch his hostages.

“Intruder!”

“The hostages!”

“The Master!”

“Bugger.”

Before the simultaneous shouts had a chance to die out, Spike leaped between Willow and Cordy and decked both boys at the same time, then produced two stakes from the inside of his duster. At the same time more vampires burst in through the door which seemed to be the only entrance point.

And Buffy still isn’t awake. Willow scrambled to the blonde’s side, trying to untie the Gordian knots that were keeping her restrained, but her fingers felt like butter, and the ropes were like steel. Looking around for anything that could help, she was able to see the amount of damage an enraged Spike was willing to dish out.

He had grabbed one of the worshipped five and was pummeling his face into a pulp, while another was lying unconscious to his left, and a tell-tale pile of dust was right next to him. His helpers had eliminated a fourth and were now keeping the teenagers to the side, demon faces to the fore, leaving just the vampire leader who was holding Ford as a human shield before him.

“You won’t harm me while I can kill this human. I heard how you got soft and wouldn’t harm these cattle.” His comments were probably meant to insult and intimidate Spike, but he just started laughing.

“Wankers like you just have no respect for their elders. I’m neither soft, nor stupid, and if you weren’t the latter, you’d know better than to piss me off. Especially in a town with an active Slayer.”

Just as if Spike had summoned her will, Buffy started coming to, starting to test out her bonds while looking around to see what was going on.

“Hello, love. Nice of you to join the festivities. I was just explaining to no-brains over here that there is no chance of him making it out of this undusted.”

“You!”

“Now, now, love, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I had nothing to do with whatever deal these ponces made with one another. They’re both from out of town and as soon as I found out I came right over to put a stop to this.” He looked straight at Willow with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Tell her.”

The redhead swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to assure her friend. “Yeah, he untied me and was working on Cordy when they noticed him and he fought against them. He really doesn’t look like he knew what Ford was planning.”

Buffy’s eyes zoned in on the teenager that was still being held like a human shield by the last remaining vampire not with Spike, as the other two had been casually dusted by Spike while Willow was talking. “And what was your plan, Ford? Feed us to the vamps so that—what? What could possibly you possibly have to gain from them?”

“Life!” His voice sounded a big garbled due to the vampire’s hold on his throat, but he didn’t look like he was afraid. “They were going to turn me and I would live forever, not die in six months from this thing growing in my head.” He was looking at Buffy with the desperation of someone that had nothing left to lose. “Can you understand what it means for someone to find out they are going to die before they even finish high-school? I’m too young to die!”

“And I’m not?” Buffy was fuming, and it reminded Willow of how she looked when she was talking about the Master the previous year. It almost made her want to take a step back, especially when the ropes that she had found so difficult to budge started showing signs of giving way under Buffy’s power. “I got Called when I was fifteen, less than two years ago and I already almost died more times than I want to count. Even if I survive this pathetic attempt of yours, there’s always going to be someone out there looking for me, to kill me simply for what I am. Not to mention all the demons out there that have a serious yen for ending the world that I alone have to stop, because it’s my destiny. So you have a tumor? I have a sentence, and nobody out there is looking for a cure for what I have.” With that, she tensed one more time and the ropes snapped, leaving her free and panting.

Spike spotted the knife he’d given Buffy along with other items, including Willow’s and Cordy’s personal belongings, and took it, covering the distance between himself and the fuming Slayer in a few strides. “You never have to fight alone, love. I’ll always be there, if you’ll have me.” He smiled crookedly and Willow was reminded of how sad he looked in the alley. “Hell, I’ll be there even if you won’t. I ‘got your back, Slayer.”

Willow could only guess what was going on in Buffy’s mind, but her eyes kept throwing daggers at the bleached vampire. Then she snatched the knife and in one smooth move threw it over his shoulder and into the eye of the lead vampire. It didn’t kill him, of course, but it made him howl in pain and leave Ford from his grasp. Then he was turning to dust, thanks to Buffy throwing one of Spike’s discarded stakes straight through his heart.

“God, I love watching you work!”

Spike’s face was sort of glowing with what Willow thought was a lot like pride for Buffy, while the Slayer herself looked like she was preening for just a second. Then she caught herself and looked disdainfully at Ford. “I’m sorry for your diagnostic, but you were about to have the lives of everyone here on your hands. That means you are a criminal, and according to the rules of the pact I have with Spike, you’re free game.”

Ford was looking bewildered by everything that had just happened and was just standing there, gaping at the Slayer.

“You saw what happens to vampires that step out of line: they dust. That is what you wanted to become, a soon to be pile of nothing. Now I suggest you get out of here, and out of town, before you find out what Spike’s vampires do to humans who step out of line. Go!”

Ford started stumbling towards the stairs that led to the single door out of the basement they were all in, his face white as a sheet, but Willow couldn’t find it in her to care much. Maybe he would make it out alive, only to die, as he’d said, six months from now. Maybe he’d find another vampire somewhere else to turn him, or maybe he would become someone’s meal when he wasn’t careful, but whatever happened, it seemed like a fitting punishment for what he’d tried to do.

“And what of them, Slayer? What’s the sentence for this group of worthless sods?” Spike was pointing to the trembling group of teens that seemed to have been snapped out of their ideas about what vampires were in the face of the violence that had just happened.

“They were accomplices and you caught them, so what do you think?” The way Buffy spoke was deceptively calm, but Willow knew her well enough to realize it was just a trick. The Slayer was coiled like a spring, ready to take on Spike and his helpers if she needed to, but she apparently was curious to see what Spike thought.

He started to chuckle as he approached the cowering group. “By all rights they should be fair game too.” He started counting off his fingers. “They’re clearly too dumb to live; they were clamoring to be turned not ten minutes ago; they were willing to let three people die in front of them to ‘earn’ it; and last but not least they’re pissing me off with all their whining and whimpering.” He let his hand drop and lost all mirth from his face. “Shut up!”

His shout coaxed some even more pitiful sounds out of the cowering wannabes. One pale girl started crying. “I don’t want to die! Please, we didn’t know. It’s just that we have no other place to go, no family, no anything, and this was the only thing that gave us any hope. Please, please, just—”

Spike took one more step towards her and drew himself up to look even scarier than he was. “I said ‘shut up,’ the grown-ups are talking.”

Willow could see Buffy strain and she guessed that had Spike taken one more step, she would have tackled him, starting a fight that Willow wasn’t sure who would win. Luckily Spike didn’t take the extra step, instead turning around and looking straight at Buffy.

“So as I was saying, by rights, they’re mine, but consider this another gift to you, Slayer I give you their lives, pathetic as they may be.”

Willow could tell Buffy was trying to act cold, but some small tell-tale signs, like a brief widening of the eyes, and a breath she took like she’d been holding it in the whole time showed she was more touched than she let on.

“Great, just what I need. And let me guess, I’m also supposed to find them a place now, or what?”

“That’s up to you, love. I’m going above and beyond simply by not slaughtering the whole lot. A pound for strays run by vampires could only lead to… accidents.”

“I know.” Buffy hesitated a second and seemed to be fighting an inner battle. Finally there was some sort of winner. “Thank you, Spike, I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t mention it.” He then made a signal to his men and they all started moving towards the stairs.

“Spike!” Buffy’s shout startled everyone. “We need to talk.”

His face softened in a way that Willow found adorable. “I know, love. What do you say we meet tomorrow, your choice of venue?” He smirked and added. “Public place, though, don’t fancy stepping into the mama bear’s den just yet.”

“Expresso Pump, eight o’clock.”

“It’s a date, Slayer.”

He was gone by the time Buffy managed to utter “this is not a date!”

*Next evening, The Expresso Pump*

He’d been nursing a coffee and some biscuits for more than half an hour, his restlessness not allowing him to wait even a minute after the sun had gone down before he plopped himself down in a booth to wait for his Slayer. The time’s getting closer. Maybe I should clear up the table first. I think that’s what proper manners call for. He snorted at his own thoughts.

It had been years, decades even, since the last time he’d given a second thought to ‘proper manners.’ His Dark Princess considered the height of sophistication to have tea parties with her dolls and her victims, while Spike provided the intimidation meant to keep the humans in place while they were drained as they drank their tea. Not exactly keeping track of spoon and fork placements, was I?

Now there he was, using a napkin to clean the Formica table after he’d cleared it, all in order to not offend—

“Slayer!” The whisper escaped his lips as a prayer.

There she was, in all her glory, looking so utterly bitable in her low-cut blouse. He allowed his eyes to drink her in, from the loose hair cascading down her shoulders, to her fashionable yet battle-ready boots. Glorious. As he moved his eyes back up her body, his attention was grabbed by the fading scar he’d left on her neck, the memory of what had happened making his dead heart ache in his chest. I hurt the girl.

Then her dad and Watcher walked in behind her, throwing a warning look his way before saying something to Buffy and taking a seat at the counter. The message was clear: they were to give Spike and Buffy their privacy, but without taking any chances of anything like what had happened in the cemetery repeating.

The vampire almost smirked when another thought came unbidden to the forefront of his mind: she’s so young. Of course he’d known she was sixteen, a Slayer for less than two years, and still in high-school, but seeing her at that moment it really hit him. He’d only seen her play the seductress, or the Slayer, but now she actually looked the part of the teenager going to a coffee shot to meet her—what am I to her?

Maybe the things he’d said to her father as a joke the first time he’d met him weren’t so far from the truth. He’d have to take things slow, bide his time, and let her blossom before he made her his.

“Earth to Bleached Wonder!”

She was wearing an annoyed look on her face and she was snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. How long was I day-dreaming about the Slayer while she was right in front of me, able to stake me at any time?

“You said we needed to talk, so talk.”

She was now sitting ramrod straight, her hands crossed across her chest, looking the picture of annoyance.

Young but gorgeous. He snapped out of his musings when he realized how close to Angelus’ way of thinking he was going. “Yeah, pet, I did.” He knew he had to get his thoughts in line and concentrate on the talk with the girl, otherwise he could muck up his best chance of getting her to see him for himself.

“Well?” She was being cold and distant, which only made Spike want to try that much harder.

“Give us a sec, will you? We haven’t even ordered.”

Her nostrils flared slightly in annoyance, but when the overly-chipper waitress came over, she asked for an expresso—no doubt a signal for him to make it quick—while he asked for a cappuccino. He was in it for the long haul. While they waited for their respective beverages, he decided to take the bull by the horns.

“I’m really sorry I hurt you, love.” He could see the hurt and anger build up, so he tried to soldier on through the rough part, hoping they could reach the good parts later. “I was angry, confused, and trying to be something else than I was.”

“A vampire looking for a snack?”

“You’re not a snack, and I’m not just any vampire. That’s exactly our main problem.” Okay, so it was very ballsy to point out problems when he wanted her to focus on giving them a chance, but all’s fair, right? “You threw me for a bloody loop and I was fighting with over a century’s worth of conditioning just by being near you.”

“So that’s supposed to make it all better?”

“No, of course not.” This was getting him nowhere fast.

“We had this discussion before, about the signal mixage. You can’t just beat me up, almost drain me dry and then turn around and claim you love me. That’s not how it works.” Her tone was calmer than he’d hoped, so at least that was something.

“I know, I know how it works, but I’m willing to throw it all out the sodding window for you That’s why I came up with the idea of this truce even before I realized I loved you.” There, that should get the ball rolling in the right direction.

“You don’t even know me, how can you sit there, all cool as a cucumber, and say you love me? We haven’t even spent time together for more than a few minutes at a time, so how can you say that?”

He almost told her he’s staid by her side until she woke up in the hospital, but decided against it. No use hammering home the idea that he’d almost—. “Look, I may be a lot of things, but one thing’s for sure: I’m Love’s bitch! I fall hard, and I fall fast, and when I do it’s for good.”

“Shyeah, like you did with that Drusilla chick.” At his frown, she smirked lightly. “I can read the Watcher’s diaries, you know.”

“Yeah, I loved Dru for as long as I was a vampire, but it’s not that simple.” He took a deep breath and got ready to tell her everything about his life, death, and unlife, hoping that she’d see him as worthy when he’d be done.

~~~***~~~

She sat looking at him, her coffee long gone and replaced with a soda, his still half-full and as cold as him. She’d listened while he explained about who he’d been as a man, his—what was that word he used? Unrequited—love for a woman named Cecily and how that led to him being turned in an alley by Drusilla.

She could tell he’d left out very large parts of the story, what with him jumping over entire decades at times, but then again she didn’t have a century to hear him talk about himself. But he does.

“So you see, I had to come to this God forsaken town to look for a cure. It was a long shot, but I was willing to put up even with old Bat-face in order to cure her.”

Okay, so she must have zoned out a bit after he’d described killing his second Slayer, but who could blame her? It wasn’t something that she got to hear every day, so her attention span, especially when it involved stories of his Princess—and no, that was so not jealousy—was pretty short.

“And that’s where you came in. Or better yet, I came in on you almost dead by the hands of that over-pompous prick.”

That was much better, he was getting to the part that would finally clear stuff up between them. “So you decided to play lifeguard.”

He ducked his head slightly and managed a pretty good impression of looking sheepish. “It was partially just so as I could piss the Great Poof off, but yeah.” He was back to looking really proud of himself. “I swooped in and saved the damsel, while he just looked on in envy.”

“I know the rest: I kill the Master and get shipped off to LA, you use Angel’s blood to cure your—” She had to stop herself from calling Dru a ho-bag. What could I use: skank, bitch of a Sire, crazy ass ex? Sheesh, and I haven’t even met the—“vampire.” Lame much?

“It’s what I’d come to do.” She felt another pang when she saw how wistful he looked. “Then she had to go and kick me to the bloody curb for the Poof. Again.” Then almost so softly she almost didn’t catch it, he added “still.”

“If this is meant to make me actually believe me you have feelings for me, let me just give you a newsflash: not working. In fact telling me all about your great lost love with your crazy ex of a Sire is so far in the opposite direction of working, it’s not even funny.” She was feeling mean and petty and she was getting ready to get up and walk out of there and—

He grabbed her hand and the touch sent a shiver up her arm, down he back and set butterflies loose in her stomach. She retreated from his touch as if burned. “Stop that! Every time you act like a jerk and I hate you and then you touch me and I can’t think. So stop it!” She could swear his smirk made her panties melt. Focus, damnit!

“It’s not my fault you’re so bloody irresistible.” He was practically purring the words out and it was doing all kinds of twisty things to her insides. “I tried to fight it, tooth and nail, I did. Fought it right up until I saw you bled almost dry. By me. I will never let that happen again, not after I realized what losing you would do to me.” He placed his palms on the table and looked at her with such conviction that she couldn’t help believing him.

“You still don’t even know me.” Her voice was hoarse and weak, but she was too shaken up to do anything about it.

“You’re right, but that didn’t prevent you from crawling under my skin and making me feel for you more than I thought was possible.” He then smiled at her, such an innocent smile that she almost forgot it hid behind it a demon. “And if you’re worried about knowing each other, there’s a simple solution for that: dating.”

There was no air. Someone had come in the Expresso Pump and sucked up all the air that humans needed to breathe. That same someone must have made time crawl at a snail’s pace and set fire to her skin. Wait, wouldn’t fire need air? Maybe it’s just like putting hot coals on your hand. Do coals also need air to burn?

It took a lot of effort for her mind to stop going off into La-La-Land, but she finally managed to focus enough to realize that she could breathe, the time hadn’t stopped, nobody had dumped hot coals on her head, and Spike was waiting anxiously for a reply. Or at least I think that’s what his hands drumming on the table and his eyes looking at me like he wants to drink me in mean. It took her another few heartbeats to realize that she still hadn’t said anything out loud, and that what he said called for an answer of the not-mental kind.

“You can’t date me!” Denial, much?

He seemed unfazed, which kind of wigged her out. “Is it the vampire-Slayer thing? You and I both agree we’re not exactly from the same mold as the rest of the pack, so going against the grain, dating from the other side of the proverbial tracks, and all that rot comes like second nature to us.”

“But you drink blood.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “That’s just nutrition. There are couples out there that have different eating habits and they work just fine.” He perked u even more, if that was possible. “And I’m not like Peaches, for example: I also eat human food with just as much relish, just that I need to gulp down a liquid lunch from time to time. Just think of it as soup.” He was grinning.

He put way too much thought into this. “You can’t walk around in the daytime, so any dating would have to be done at night. When I usually patrol. To kill vampires.” If she could just make him see how ridiculous of an idea it was—

“I always liked a bit of rough and tumble with my scratch and tickle. Thick as thieves, us. And don’t forget, my truce means we’re not actually enemies anymore.” He drew his brows together for a second. “In fact with all the idiots out there wanting to take me on for a shot at the title, we might even be allies.”

Blink. Blink again. Breathe. “What?” Her voice was reduced to almost a squeak, but he was a vampire, so he had no problems hearing her.

“Think about it. All those nasties out there, wanting to take me on to take this town over—they’re in it for the death and destruction, coming here to snack on the populace, or do nasty buggering things to the Hellmouth under this God forsaken place. So that means that my wanting to off them before they off me, and your wanting to stop them from causing damage works quite nicely as a neat little packaged alliance.”

She was getting a headache. Or she was hyperventilating. If only she could remember what she was supposed to do to stop her head from imploding. Breathe!

“Aren’t you sworn to protect everyone, as Master and all?”

He snorted and made a dismissive hand gesture. “Nah! If they have big enough bollocks to take you or me on, they don’t need my protection, so they don’t have it. See?”

Actually she couldn’t see. Everything in front of her was blurry, except for the widely grinning vampire. Is this what tunnel vision is? She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “Still, my parents, friends, and Watcher would never go for it.”

“It’s not a matter of others approving of who you date, it’s a matter of who you want to be with. The rest can either support you or go to bugger themselves.” He raised a finger to stall her coming protest. “Except your Mom. I like her, and I think we can persuade her if we try.”

“I can’t tell my friends to ‘bugger off!’ They, they’d—”

“If they’re really your friends they’ll understand. I can’t believe they never made any choices you didn’t agree with, and yet, there you are, still chums and all.”

That brought to mind Xander’s admission about what had really happened while he was possessed, or more exactly after. Putting that thought out of her mind for now, she still had to concede that Spike had a point. That didn’t mean he was right, though. “You’re too old for me.”

He shrugged. “And the Poofter is ancient compared to me, yet you were still making the doe eyes at him until you caught on to how much of a perverted, sick fuck he is.” At her raised eyebrow he smirked again. “He told me stuff before he left.”

She almost wanted to ask what Angel had said, but changed her mind. Whenever Angel was mentioned Spike became unpredictable. So unpredictable that he even saved his arch nemesis just to piss him off.

“Anyway, as a human I was just ten years older than you when I was turned, and as for you being jailbait, I’m willing to put in the time. All I have is time.”

The way he said—in a lower tone that was full of a promise she didn’t want to decipher—it made something within her vibrate. She wanted to believe him, and at the same time she wanted him to go away and leave her alone. “I don’t have time. I’m a Slayer and that comes with an early expiration date.” Okay, so this point was kinda at odds with her previous one, but she couldn’t be expected to respect the rules of logic when it came to who she dated.

His eyes lit up in anger, his nostrils flared, and his jaw muscles were twitching. “Not if I have a say in it. I’ll make sure you live to be the oldest Slayer ever. You’ll be filling my ear with complaints about aching joints and the like, but you’ll live a long and happy life! No death wish for my Slayer.”

His vehemence almost made her wish it could be so, but at the same time she was frightened that he thought she would grow old with him. “What about when I’m too old, or too frail for you, or what about when I’m gone? What will you do then?”

He shrugged casually, although his eyes were still as intense as they had been when he’d been talking about protecting her. “Don’t bloody know. But we’ll have years and years to suss all that out, now won’t we?”

“You kill people.” And isn’t it funny how it wasn’t my first problem, or the second. Actually, if he talks his way out of this one I have no idea what I could hide behind next. I mean not hide, use. That doesn’t sound much better. Point out?

“I’ve been a vampire for more than a century, luv, so yeah, I’ve killed my fair share, but shouldn’t my being willing to stop killing for you count for something? I haven’t asked you to stop killing my kind, and vampires aren’t even your food source.”

“Well, actually—”

“The truce doesn’t stop you patrolling, keeping the denizens safe and sound in their little beddy-byes. It only protects the vampires and whatever other demons abide by our rules and don’t harm the human population.”

“What about the—”

“Criminals and the like have it coming to them, and are no better, if not worse than the bleeding vampires.”

She was getting pretty fed up with his answering her questions before she had time to actually ask them. “So what, killing them doesn’t count? I can’t have that. I can’t start considering who deserves you draining them dry.” She was getting angry, although she wasn’t sure who she was angrier with: him for treating the death of someone so casually, or her for almost giving in.

“I didn’t say that. We have the truce to sort all that out, and Dalton with your Dad and Watcher spent bloody forever on it, but that’s not what I was saying.” He was looking straight at her so intensely she thought she was the only person in the world. “I haven’t killed anyone since before Dru left. Every time I came close, all I could see was you down in that bleeding church.”

Her heart was never going to beat normally again, from all the skipping and the cringing, and the jumping it was doing. She did feel a weight she hadn’t even been aware of being lifted off her chest when she realized that the fighting with a big slice of making out she had been doing with Spike for months now hadn’t cost anyone their life. In fact, if what he was saying was true—and she didn’t really have any reason to not believe him, since brutal honesty seemed to be his shtick—she was responsible for keeping him in line. She almost rose from her seat to kiss him then and there, her Dad and Watcher just a few feet away be damned.

Almost.

While her heart was doing its happy dance thing, her brain had caught a fleeting though and put all its hopes—for what she wasn’t entirely sure herself—on that single idea. “We can’t keep—” She felt a blush blossoming in her cheeks and spreading further when she remembered some of the highlights of their encounters. “The touching has to stop. I already told you that. I can’t have you trying to twist my head with the touching and the kissing, and the—” She could swear her face was on fire by that point. “If you want us to start dating, you’re going to have to work for it, buster!”

His face lit up like a little kid’s on Christmas. “So that’s a ‘yes.’ If you want, I’ll be happy just holding hands and looking meaningfully in each other’s eyes and all that rot. The only thing I ask is for you to give us a fair chance.”

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. “Deal.” Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. She couldn’t exactly understand what he started babbling about after that, but it sounded like something about worshipping, romance, flowers, and other sappy things that she found sounded really nice all of a sudden. Her attention snapped back into action when he stopped speaking and looked expectantly at her. “What?”

He laughed, short, sweet, and genuine. “I asked if you were free in a couple days’ time.”

“Yeah—no! I have the parent-teacher night and that troll, Snyder, decided I’m on the arranging committee.” She just couldn’t help herself when he saw the almost comic way his face fell. “I’m free on Saturday, though.”

“Saturday it—bollocks!” He was back to sulking. “Saturday is that blasted Saint Vigeous day. Was gonna warn you about it.”

“What’s a vigorous saint got to do with anything?”

“Vigeous, pet, and he’s as far from saintly as you can get. In fact, it’s a vampire feast day, as opposed to human.” He must have read the complete lack of understanding on her face, so he elaborated. “On this night, once every few centuries or so, vampires can perform some rituals, chant some lunacies, and are rewarded with power even greater than the Slayer’s. Only trick is the ones taking part become mindless killing machines, not even interested in feeding, just all-out destruction.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s more than that, because if the ritual is performed on an active Hellmouth it is that much more powerful, so not only will I have to take care that none of my minions gets any uppity ideas, I’ll probably have to fend off some invaders too, probably thinking that once they get all juiced up they can take you and me on.”

“So happy times all around.”

“You bet your sweet, scrumptious ass happy! It’ll probably be more fun than when I took over as Master of this place. Wanna come with?”

She took a moment to analyze what he had said. She looked down at the long-since glass in front of her and then made her decision. “So you want me, the Slayer, to come with you, a vampire, out on a night when vampires get their version of steroids, to hunt other vampires that might get in your way?”

“That’s it in a bloody nutshell.” He was going for glib, but she could see he was tense, probably preparing himself for her to tell him where he could stick his idea.

“So when are you picking me up?”

His smile lit up the place.

*1630 Rovello Drive, Saturday*

Hank Summers was unemployed for the first time since he’d finished grade school. He’d stacked books in libraries, groceries in stores, plates in restaurants, files for law firms, and that had all been before he’d actually graduated collage. He’d been hired right off the bat to work for the firm he’d been temping at, only to be scalped by another, which then merged with another, and finally had been offered partnership right before his divorce became final. He’d given all that up after learning of his daughter’s Calling, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

So when Joyce started talking to him as they were waiting for Buffy’s friends to get her ready for what she called a ‘slay-date’ with the vampire that couldn’t seem to make up his mind about whether he wanted her dead or alive, her questions blind-sided him, despite the fact he was thinking them all the while.

“What are you going to do now?”

The question itself was no worse than others she’d asked him, for example when she asked if he’d cheated. He briefly wondered if maybe answering ‘yes’ back then might have been easier than answering her current question.

“Don’t get me wrong, I liked how you put that weasel of a principal in his place when he tried to put Buffy down in front of us on ‘Parent-Teacher Night,’ and you’ve been very helpful with her training and Slaying.” The word rolled off her tongue with not a small measure of bitterness. It could very well be that Joyce would never be okay with Buffy’s duty. Then again, Hank wasn’t sure he was anymore okay with it either.

“But you told me coming back here so soon after you’d left meant you were out of a job.” She paused and looked at him in a way that reminded him of when she’d asked him what his intentions were, all those years ago.

He stared at her for a minute, taking in the new grey hairs that she hadn’t had time to conceal at the hairdresser’s, the subtle way her skin wrinkled around her mouth and eyes, and then her eyes that bore into him as intense as ever. She was still beautiful and he briefly wondered what she’d ever seen in him. “I was thinking of maybe opening a practice here.” The words came unbidden, voicing a thought he hadn’t known he’d had.

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction—the only sign of her surprise. “And you’d what, move to Sunnydale?”

He caught on to the fact that she hadn’t said ‘here,’ making it clear he’d have to keep his distance from her. He’d known it was coming, and yet it still slightly hurt. Old habits die hard indeed. “Yes, I’d move here. I’m sure with the death rate in this town I can find both a property to own, and a thriving business.” He stopped and looked at the stairs leading up to where Buffy was getting ready to put her life in danger again. “It would mean I’m closer, too.” He left the words hanging, unconsciously using a bit of obfuscation to disguise what he would be closer to. In truth, he wasn’t sure himself.

“It wouldn’t change anything between us. You know that.” Leave it to Joyce to cut through his courtroom persona and get right to the problem. She’d stopped doing it during the last years of their marriage, both content to pretend they were happier than they were, but the end-result had been an even bigger disaster than anything they’d been avoiding.

Maybe they could at least learn how to talk again.

“It would change everything.” He meant it, he discovered. Maybe it wouldn’t lead to where she thought he wanted it to, maybe it would just make them friends again, but he was certain of one thing: it would be a new start. “I won’t make any promises, or demands, I’m not saying we should give ‘us’ another chance, but I hope we can at least be the best parents a Slayer has ever had. In our own way.”

She studied him for a second, using the level stare that he felt peeled away all his layers, leaving him completely vulnerable in front of her. Something else he’d forgotten she could do while he was off being the cliché. Then again, back then she was just as much of a cliché as I was: the hot-shot lawyer and the socialite. What a joke!

“From what Mr. Giles tells me, that won’t be that hard, seeing as how all the other parents either gave them up to the Council, or wouldn’t understand and-” There was a flash of pain and anger in her eyes.

“It was my mistake that we sent her to that place. At least we know now and won’t make any mistakes like that again.” He remembered briefly the rage on Spike’s face once he’d figured out Buffy had been sent to a mental home by her own parents. Maybe he really is in love with her.

“I’m just as much to blame. I was too busy being a betrayed wife to be a good mother.”

He took her hands in his. “You did what you could. We both did. And Buffy says she forgave us.”

“I hope so.”

He held her hands a little longer while wishing there had never been anything to forgive in the first place.

~~~***~~~

*Warehouse district, one hour later*

He had picked her up in his car and drove them to the deserted part of the warehouse district. She had known on some level that he needed some method of getting around, but she still hadn’t been prepared for the DeSoto with its painted windows. To say it made for a weird ride would be an understatement.

To make it all worse, apart from the empty pleasantries at the very beginning, neither of them had spoken for the past whatever length of time it took for them to get to their destination. If you can’t see the scenery, the trip lasts forever and then some.

They had left the car behind and were standing on the rooftop of one of the dilapidated factories.

“My men are stationed there, there, there, and in the sewers.” He pointed out the places where she realized she’d have positioned her own troops, had she had any troops to position.

They’re all safer indoors on a night like this. “I never actually asked: how many minions do you have?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then smirked. “More than I need, but less than what I started out with.”

She realized getting an actual number would require a bit more trust between them. Funny how he declared to love her without actually fully trusting her. “Why’s that?”

He scratched the back of his neck, a somewhat contrite look on his face. “Well there were some losses when I decided to take over after the whole Master disaster; then there were some that got caught in the crossfire with the Poof.” He frowned a little, supposedly tallying up the losses in his head. “Might have dusted a few myself when Dru left.”

The jolt that went through her body at the mention of his ex’s name and the effect it had on him had nothing to do with jealousy. Nah-uh.

“Of course, lost a bit more during the fights to become Lord of the flies, and finally there were those that wouldn’t get with the no-killing program.” He shrugged slightly. “All in all, I think less than a quarter are left, but I can vouch for most of them, and the rest are too idiotic to try anything.” He sniffed loudly. “Probably lose more tonight.”

She hadn’t really thought about what it took for a town full of vampires—and Sunnydale was a bit fuller than most—to stop hunting humans for their dinner. Spike seemed to just shrug it off, but she guessed there had been many battles and a lot of bloodshed between him and his own kind over the past few months. “Why do it?”

He looked at her surprised for a second, but then his eyes softened and filled with that something that she was beginning to understand was how he felt about her. Not that she wanted to put a name on it yet, despite his declarations. “Did it for you. Well, not the first part, that was just me trying to save my Sire; but the rest, from that last night in LA until now—it’s been all for you.” He paused. “Actually, I think everything I did since that first night in LA was for you.”

She really didn’t know how to answer that, so she just looked at their target in silence.

Before her was an old office building that had been the nerve center of whatever it was that had once been produced in this area—the factory they were standing on top of had also been a part of that complex. Now a few square blocks were completely devoid of human life and had been overrun by various demons. Spike had said this is where his initial lair had been, but had declined to tell her his new headquarters’ location ‘yet.’ He doesn’t trust me with anything regarding his vampire minions, despite the truce.

“So whose party are we crashing?” She took a pensive pose. “Or is it your party they’ve crashed, and we’re playing bouncer?”

He chuckled and came to stand right next to her, so close that they were almost touching, but not quite. “They’re technically encroaching on my domain, so bouncing it is.” He lost all mirth from his voice as he continued, though. “The bloke in charge is a right nasty bugger called Kakistos.”

“Gesundheit!”

He didn’t seem amused. “He’s about as old as the Master was and even some of his minions are Master vampires, so you best be careful around him.”

Hearing the Master’s name brought a cold chill through Buffy’s bones, but she shook it off. “What does he want?” Not my blood, not my life, not now, I have too much to lose: Dad, Mom, Giles, Willow, Xander, Jenny, Spike, even Cordy. That’s a sobering thought.

“To kill me and take my place.” He said it like it was nothing. Like talking about the weather. It made her feel sad for him.

“Just like that? He comes in, gunning to kill you? But why tonight? I thought all vamps get an extra boost or something.”

“No, they don’t. There has to be chanting, and rituals, and sacrifices, all things I couldn’t care less about.” The disgust was clear on his face. “But this bloke? He bloody loves it. Eats it up with a spoon and comes back for seconds.” He shook his head and chuckled like he couldn’t believe it.

“That means that technically I’m helping you. So you will owe me.” She flashed him a winning grin, but his answering leer almost made her weak in the knees.

“I’ll more than happily pay you back.”

Great, he had to add that sexy gruff in his voice and that reminded her of the fact that he’d called this a ‘date.’ She was on a date with Spike and he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her up. In the naughty way. Think slaying thoughts. “So what’s the plan?”

“Easy! We go in; we stake them all before they perform their ritual; we get out.”

She laughed at that. “Sounds like one of my plans.”

“Knew there was a reason I liked you, Slayer.”

Hearing him say that brought a shiver of a different kind, but she shook that off as well. It was almost time for battle.

~~~***~~~

*Half an hour later*

He ran as fast as he could, following his companion’s instructions. I can’t be too late! That thought kept repeating in his head like a mantra.

When he got close enough he could hear the sounds of battle and the two shadows moved even faster, drawing ever closer to the source of the racket.

Once he burst out of the side door he could finally take in the whole scene.

Vampires were fighting each other everywhere, clouds of dust bursting whenever a combatant was defeated. A few humans were hanging off the far wall from chains, most of them already dead or dying. The main battle was being fought between Buffy a vampire on a raised platform, their shadows flickering in the light of dozens, if not hundreds of candles, while both Spike and another vampire were weaving around some columns to the left.

Buffy was doing her usual quips in the midst of combat. “You said old, but you forgot to mention ugly as hell! Seriously, are you a vampire, or are you half pig?”

The vampire in question let out a roar and tried to pummel her into the ground, but she was too fast for him and managed to roll away in time, using her legs to topple him over. She then went in for the kill, but was visibly shocked to see her opponent shrug off the stake imbedded in his chest and backhand her a few feet away.

“You silly girl. You think a splinter can stop Kakistos?” He laughed full of malice, taking deliberate steps towards the now disarmed Slayer.

What followed next was more or less a blur, as the newcomers threw in their lot with Buffy and Spike’s forces—easily recognizable by their lack of screaming ‘for Kakistos’ over and over.

More and more of the ancient vampire’s minions were reduced to nothing, and even Spike dispatched his opponent, but the main foe was still standing, having even used the stake he’d pried from his chest to dust a couple of Spike’s vampires that had tried to take him out.

The distraction had given Buffy enough time to gather her wits and she was spinning and kicking at Kakistos with all she had, but it seemed like a losing battle.

That is until, all of a sudden, he let out a powerful scream and started to dissolve into dust, a giant piece of wood sticking out of his back.

The one who’d managed to stake him took a few steps back, joining her companion. Spike went to Buffy’s side and offered her a hand to stand up, while not taking his eyes off the newcomers.

She didn’t even notice him as she raised herself off the ground, looking at the same thing he was. “Angel?”

“Dru?”

*The old factory*

Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off the couple across from her and Spike. It had been months since she’d seen Angel and looking at him now she realized she hadn’t really missed him. Sure, he’d been around the previous year, giving warnings, helping out, and stealing kisses from time to time, but despite having seen Spike a lot less often, his impact on her life was enormous compared to Angel’s. He had single handedly turned her life on its head, and that’s saying something for someone who found out she was Chosen to fight the forces of darkness at fifteen.

Angel was looking at her in a way that she couldn’t exactly interpret. Then again she knew more about Angel from what Spike had told her than from the horse’s mouth, so that wasn’t such a big surprise.

The main surprise was standing next to Angel. From Spike’s greeting she could finally put a face to the vampire-person she’d grow to hate without actually ever meeting. So this is Drusilla.

Buffy was not impressed. Sure, the other woman was taller than her, and she had a sort of something to her that Buffy guessed men could find attractive—if you have a yen for pale brunettes that look like a praying mantis that is—but she sure wasn’t all that. Maybe she should make sure Xander never met Dru, though.

“Hello, William!”

Hearing her speak made Buffy realize there was a way to dislike her more. The English accent that was different from either Giles’ or Spike’s was grating on her nerves. And exactly how many accents do the English need on such a small island?

“What are you doing here, pet?”

It was becoming clear that Buffy should stake every single vampire still left in the factory—Spike’s remaining minions had scattered once the fight was over—just out of principle. She wasn’t sure which of the three to start with, though. Nobody should ignore the Slayer in the room! Okay, so she sounded like a petulant five-year-old even in her own mind, but she was upset, dammit.

“We came to rescue you.”

The words seemed to bring Spike’s attention to Dru’s companion. “The Great Poof, gracing us with his overbearing presence again.”

Spike moved closer to Buffy and she wasn’t sure if it was for support, or as a way to reassure her that Dru was his past. Whatever reason, he was still in the doghouse as long as she was concerned. “We didn’t need you rescuing us.” She waved her hand. “Hello, Slayer here!” She then cocked her head and tapped her right index finger to her lips. “Which reminds me. Shouldn’t vamps be, oh, I don’t know, afraid of me?” She accompanied her words by pulling out her back-up stake.

Angel’s eyes widened for a second almost comically. “Buffy, wait, she has a soul!”

The news stopped her in her tracks. Although she wasn’t really all that sold on the whole soul-good/soulless-bad thing since that night in the Master’s lair, hearing that Drusilla had a soul changed things. Not that she thought the dark haired maniac was good now, necessarily, just that it would be more like murder than slaying to kill her.

“Bollocks!” Spike took a couple of steps forward, only to stumble back almost immediately. “What did you do?” His voice held a mixture of awe and anger that Buffy could totally relate to.

“What’s wrong?” The Slayer in her was itching for action. Not that taking down Kakistos was a walk in the park, but the reappearance of both their exes was doing a job on her emotions and her usual way of dealing with it had become pummeling something out of existence. And isn’t that something that would make weekly visits to a counsellor mandatory. She shuddered once at her own thought.

“The song is out of tune and the players switched seats.”

Spike looked at Angel, probably just as perplexed by Dru’s rantings as Buffy was. “Angelus?”

“It’s Angel now.” He sounded strange. Like he had given up on something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what. “Angelus is gone forever.” He looked straight at Buffy. “That’s what we’ve been doing all this time. We went to Africa and after some trials I got my soul anchored permanently and Dru—”

“I got my soul and my mind back.”

“Your—” Spike rushed to Drusilla and cupped her face in his hands. “Are you—?”

“Cured would be a word.” She shrank back from Spike and his hands dropped to his sides. “I’ve been made clean.” She wrapped her arms around her torso and Angel immediately went by her side and put his arm around her shoulders. The almost imperceptible way she leaned into him spoke volumes about how close they must have gotten.

With the new information she had, Buffy could tell now that Dru was watching Spike more like an animal watches a predator. She’s afraid of him. She’s more afraid of him than she is of me. It made sense, in a way, but it still left Buffy feeling weird. “Okay, can someone please start making with the splainy, ‘cause all of these half-sentences are making for a very cranky Slayer.” She levelled her eyes at Angel. “And regardless of whatever the soul situation is, everyone here but me is still potentially dusty.”

Spike turned to look at her with a mixture of confusion and possibly hurt on his face that made her stomach clench for an instant. Just as she was about to say something else, though, Angel cleared his throat.

“Maybe we could all go for coffee and discuss everything.”

“Wait, since when do you drink coffee?” Spike sounded almost as amazed by Angel’s choice of beverage as he’d been by Dru’s soul-sitch reveal.

The dark haired vampire looked almost sheepish. “Let’s all grab one and I’ll tell you.” Looking down at Drusilla, he amended. “We will tell you everything.”

That was what shocked Buffy more than the coffee. Angel willing to spill his guts was unheard of in Buffy-land. “There’s an all-night diner near the truck stop…?” She left her sentence trail, but with firm nods, everyone started moving out of the ruined factory.

~~~***~~~

*Dusty’s Diner, Sunnydale outskirts*

The two couples were standing opposite each other again, only this time they were occupying a booth in a diner and coffee had been poured all around. Buffy had been the only one to order anything else, and she’d chosen a pumpkin pie that Spike had stolen a slice of.

The trip to the diner had been made in a tense silence that had yet to be broken. Spike was loath to be the first to speak, and yet some things had to be said. “So how come you’re not brooding around anymore?”

What happened next gave him chills, and for a member of the undead, that was saying something: Angel laughed.

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Buffy mock-whispered while visibly trying to keep a straight face and mostly failing. Even Dru was chuckling next to Angel.

“You sure you’re not Angelus? No offense, but from the little of your souled self I saw, laughing and the absence of a cloud raining on your parade wasn’t really in your repertoire. That was more the un-souled version’s MO.” His senses were telling him that both dark-haired vampires were, indeed, souled, but that still didn’t explain their drastic personality shift. One was actually having a laugh, and the other was lucid. What next?

Angel finally quieted down and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s all part of the story we were going to tell you anyway, so listen up.” He took a deep breath. “After you kidnapped me and tried to bleed me to death to restore Dru something unexpected happened,”

“It was the Powers that intervened.” Drusilla spoke softly, yet with palpable excitement.

It made Spike wonder if that is how she’d used to be before Angelus got a hold of her. She was looking straight at him and the lucidity in her eyes almost hurt. Fucking what-ifs.

“When you took me here before our time, you changed so much you can’t even fathom.” There was a split second in which she looked as she did when she was receiving one of her visions, but the moment passed quickly and she was back to looking giddy. “when the ritual was almost done I got a vision unlike any I’d ever had, telling me I needed to take Angel and travel to Africa so we could both become all we could be.” A fleeting look of sadness darkened her features for a moment. “I fought it for a while, too lost in my madness to want to change, but in the end, I managed to convince myself and Angel, and we went.”

“There were trials involved; the stuff of legend that only champions can perform, but we did what we had to and we won our prizes.”

That was more like the Angelus Spike knew. Bragging and reveling in being better than anyone around. He gave a snort. “So what did you win? A new personality?”

The reply was a chuckle. “I actually won the rights to my soul, curse-free, remorse-free, and without any way to lose it.”

“Wait, you could have lost your soul?” Buffy was not taking things too well by the looks of things.

Why can’t you smoke in this place? I should have insisted on a bar. Wonder if the Slayer will get upset if I light one up. He looked at her as she sat with a slight frown on her face. Probably decide to take her frustration out on me. Hmm. No, that’s for when it’s just the two of us.

“The gypsies that cursed him added a clause of eternal torment that could be broken by a moment of true happiness. That would have unleashed Angelus again.” A shiver went through Dru and Angel grabbed her hand in support.

The changes in their vampiric family dynamic were about to give Spike whiplash.

“Do I want to know what would have made him truly happy?” Buffy was looking intensely at Drusilla and Spike wondered what she was thinking.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s not going to happen.” The dark haired vampire was trying to hide something, and if Spike knew anything it was that his Grand-Sire’s secrets always hurt others. No matter the presence or absence of a soul.

“She deserves to know.” Then giving Angel a knowing look, Drusilla continued. “We said no more secrets, remember?”

Spike’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. Angel trying to cover something up was par for the course, Dru calling him out on it, and the nod of agreement he gave her was completely new, though.

“If nothing had changed, he would have lost his soul after he slept with you.”

Spike was sure that if vampires could blush, Dru would be the color of a tomato. As it was, she just seemed to shrink back a bit. Buffy, on the other hand was gob-smacked. Of course, that didn’t last long either.

She turned her attention on Angel and pinned him with a look that was pure Slayer. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t and I’m sorry. I should have known, should have researched my curse before I ever got close to anyone, but I was— Well, I was too blind to see others might be affected.”

“Bloody hell, the Apocalypse is coming! I’ve never heard you apologize for anything in a sodding century.”

“What can I say, I’m a new man.”

He then exchanged a look with Drusilla that was so full of love it would have cut Spike up inside just a few months prior. Guess we both changed then.

“Dru helped me a lot. She made me see things in a way I’d never thought of.”

“Isn’t it just peachy then?” Buffy apparently had decided she wasn’t done being angry. “And what about you, then?” The question was directed at Drusilla and it held not a small amount of venom. “Got one vampire and now you’re back for more?”

Wait. Is she jealous? The thought made Spike grin and his heart soar.

Drusilla looked flustered. “No, it’s not like that. I was bonkers and evil, then I was lucid and pure. It took me a while to adjust and we worked through our problems together, Angel and me.” She smiled softly and stole a glance at her companion. “We have a part to play, but it isn’t here. We just came because I knew you would need us to win this battle, then we’ll leave and start our own journey.”

“Which is?”

“We’ll go to LA to help the helpless. There’s an evil there that we’ll have to defeat.” Angel was answering Buffy’s question while Dru was nodding alongside him.

“As for you and Spike—”

“We’re not talking about me and Spike, or if there even is a ‘me and Spike.’ You’re here to explain you!”

Her dismissal hurt him, but he decided to cover it with another snort. She not-too-gently kicked him under the table, but she accompanied it by grabbing his hand under the table and squeezing it gently. The Slayer is the Mistress of the mixed messages.

“What I meant to say is I’ve no designs on William.” Dru then stopped looking at Buffy and centered her attention on Spike instead. “You were my Dark Knight for over a century, but I never let you be my prince. I’m sorry for how I acted sometimes, but now you can be free of me.” She gave him the warmest smile he’d ever seen on her. “You’ll always be my Childe, but I release you from everything else. The creature I was didn’t deserve the man you are.”

Spike was speechless. Drusilla was basically telling him to go after the Slayer and forget her, but it didn’t hurt as he’d thought it would. Sure, her initial disappearance alongside the Poof had torn him up good and proper, but the radiant creature still holding his hand had given him a new purpose, a new lease on his un-life. To have the woman that had meant everything to him for so long basically tell him she was beneath him was a revelation, though. William would have wept. Spike just nodded and busied himself with another sip of his coffee.

“So you just waltzed into town to stake Cake-whatsis and now you’ll take off again; no harm, no foul.” She let out a low chuckle eerily similar to one of Spike’s own. “I say: no go. You’ll come with me to my home, where you’ll answer all of Giles’ questions, and if he’s satisfied, then you get to go and make a cozy little crypt for two. Until then, I’m keeping my eyes on you.”

“Buffy, we’re not the bad guys.”

She cut Angel off with a short hand gesture. “The fact that I’m willing to maybe sorta believe that is why you’re not blowing in the wind by now.” She fixed Dru with a cold, hard glare. “But I’m the Slayer and this is my town, so my rules.”

Spike just had to admire her. Sat with three Master vampires, that were at least ten to twenty times her seniors age-wise, she could still order them about like they would some lowly minions. She truly was magnificent when she fully embraced her Slayer side.

“But—”

“No, she is right.” Drusilla had put her hand on Angel’s forearm. Apparently neither woman was going to let him whine about listening to the Slayer. “There is much more to be discussed anyway.” Her eyes darted quickly between Spike and Buffy. “There’s more I have to warn you about.”

“Like what?” The frown was back between Buffy’s brows.

“Your sisters are coming and danger wears many masks.”

Spike briefly wondered if all seers spoke in tongues. He’d always thought it was mostly Dru’s insanity, while at the same time never actually needing to seek another seer out to test his theories. Why go drink from a river when you have a well? Still, it appeared all those prophecies being written in cryptic stanzas weren’t just because it was easier to convey a message across times and languages that way.

“I’m a lonely child.” Buffy seemed almost dismissive, but the tightening of the muscles in her back gave her away.

“Not since that night, no.” Dru was back to speaking plainly, although what she said was still puzzling.

Puzzling that is, except if you had a century of experience deciphering messages a lot stranger than that one. “How many Slayers are there, Dru?”

Buffy gasped while the answer came, simple and implacable. “Just the two.” She then looked straight at Buffy, who was already starting to breathe heavily, before she deadpanned. “For now.”

*1630, Rovello Drive, later that night.*

Cordelia Chase was not as dumb as some people though her to be. She had climbed to the very top of the high school hierarchy when she was just a freshman, gathered a group of devoted, albeit weak-minded followers, and in general succeeded in everything and anything she had set out to accomplish. She was already envisioning getting out of Sunnydale and taking LA by storm.

Her world had changed drastically since Buffy Summers had come into it, though. Initially she’d thought of the other girl as a worthwhile opponent, but she soon discovered that almost nothing that interested one interested the other. Sure, they could talk about boys, clothes, status, and cheerleading, but Buffy was never truly interested in those things, they were just on the surface; almost like a cover.

And Cordy had learned very early on that what interested Buffy was what could get the rest of them killed. That’s not right. She looks into what can kill us to save us. That’s why, in a way, Buffy Summers was the single most important person that Cordelia needed to keep close to. Or at least keep tabs on.

It was why she’d accepted her with open arms during her ‘pause’ from Slaying, letting her become a part of her crew, although she knew Buffy could usurp her position in a heartbeat. Not because she was prettier, or smarter, or better dressed, but because there was something within her that made others pause and listen. Maybe it was the Slayer part of her, maybe it was due to how she was before her Calling—by her own admission she’d been a ‘Cordelia in training’ back then.

But Cordy never actually felt threatened by the person that spent every waking moment trying to protect everyone from demons and the like. She actually felt grateful for the blonde’s presence; although that was something the brunette would never admit to out loud.

Now that Buffy was back to Slaying, and more importantly, choosing to hang around with a vampire again, her social standing had plummeted once more. That didn’t make Cordy step away, though. In fact, it made her see the other girl as worthy enough to waste her Saturday cooped up with a couple of nerds, a librarian, a teacher, and Buffy’s parents, waiting for the Slayer to come home from her ‘date with a dash of slaying’. After she’d helped her get ready for it. Talk about ‘above and beyond’!

Even if she was expected to lord over her minions and do her queenly duties, she still preferred spending the time in a place that looked so much more like a study date than what it really was—the brink between life and death.

“When is she coming, already?” That didn’t mean she had to like waiting around, doing nothing.

“Nobody asked you here, so either shut up, or get out!” Xander sneered at her.

The fact that Alexander Harris had the gall to talk to her like that grated on her, but she decided to just sneer back. “I at least helped her get ready, what is your use, again? Waste of space? Doughnut disposal? Human shield?”

“Children!” Joyce’s voice cut through the tension rising in the room and demanded everyone’s attention. “I understand we’re all under a lot of stress, but if you can’t behave, you can all just go home.” She then seemed to think it over again. “Although going alone so late on the night of ‘Saint Vampire’ without Buffy might not be the best idea.”

Cordy just nodded once, making a show out of leafing through a fashion magazine.

She liked Joyce, and in a way would have liked her own mother to be more like her. Especially when it came to the men in their lives. Joyce and Hank were acting better around each other than her parents had in years. Maybe it was the divorce that diffused their tension, maybe they were better off now, as exes trying to deal with things while at the same time not having to make their dying relationship work.

Not that her parents had a dying relationship. In fact, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d have to admit that her parent’s marriage was just as dead as the Summers’. Only without the piece of paper making it official.

One thing was certain, though: her parents weren’t up waiting for her to come back, like Hank and Joyce were waiting for Buffy. She doubted they even knew she wasn’t home.

She resented the Slayer just a tiny bit for it. Resented and envied. Just a bit.

Then the door opened, and she was reminded that envying a Slayer is not something one should do.

~~~***~~~

Rupert Giles had thought he’d seen everything before he’d been sent to Sunnydale. He’d had his wild days, his study days, and his exemplary Watcher days. When he’d been charged with taking over the newest Slayer’s training, he’d thought he’d known all the answers to all the questions that could possibly arise.

Then he’d actually met Buffy Summers and his world had been thrown into chaos.

He’d seen more and experienced more in little over a year acting as her Watcher than in all the other years he’d been alive. Every day had been an exercise in adaptability, something he never had excelled at.

Yet all his experiences with her still hadn’t prepared him for sitting across from three Master vampires—one being the Master of the Hellmouth, while the other two had souls.

He’d sent his Slayer—metaphorically, since she’d actually gone against his wishes—to take on an ancient vampire, one of the oldest in recorded history, alongside another vampire who had recently almost killed her, only to have them return with Angel and—shock of shocks—Drusilla ‘the Mad.’ Only Drusilla was no longer mad, and was instead apparently bringing a message from the Powers.

He smiled warmly at Joyce when she placed a tumbler of whiskey in front of him. The tea he’d been drinking up until then was nowhere near strong enough for the discussion at hand. Only Buffy would require her Watcher to write a Journal the size of a bloody tome in one night. He took a sip to tame his fraying nerves, then raised his eyes to the undead seer.

“So you say your lucidity wasn’t instant.”

She smiled sadly. “I was soulless a long time, Mr. Giles, and mad a bit longer than that.”

Spike glared at the back of Angel’s head, from where he was standing behind the couch holding the vampire couple. Giles wasn’t sure if Angel could read the slight amusement on his face at the tableau.

“It took my soul and my mind a while to reconcile what had happened and everything I’d done with who I am and how I feel.”

“So you assume responsibility for your actions?” Giles was jotting down the responses in his journal as fast as he could, but his hand was already showing signs of fatigue.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes, I know what I did since I was turned and have made my peace with it.” Her back was straight, her head held high, but there was a slight waver in her voice that betrayed she was indeed remorseful.

“Astounding. And you, Angel?”

“I’ve told you, the overbearing guilt that the curse had weighed me down with is gone, and I’ve come to terms with my actions while Angelus.”

“And would you repeat any of them?”

“Of course not! I have a soul, Giles!” He sounded hurt by the idea.

“So do serial killers.” He wasn’t sure himself why he had said it, but maybe it had been the sight of Spike wracked with guilt over almost ending the life of a Slayer—his natural enemy—that had prompted Giles to delve a little deeper into the philosophical divide between good and evil. Or maybe it had been the business with Buffy’s former schoolmate, the one that tried to trade her life for his turning that had gotten Giles to his new conclusion. Souls were highly overrated.

Angel’s face betrayed surprise. He had received a pretty warm welcome the previous time, once he’d revealed his status as a souled vampire. This time there were questions, and inquisitive looks, and a room full of people within inches of weapons and that weren’t showing any signs of being willing to welcome him as the conquering hero. At least that is how Giles would have read the room. Of course, Angel couldn’t know the Watcher himself was feeling under scrutiny. Joyce and Hank were standing to the side, flanking Buffy and watching him with hard stares. Ever since Hank had come to town Giles had been put through the ringer for all the decisions he’d made that had led to even the smallest amount of physical or psychological harm to Buffy.

Maybe that’s why the Council takes the Potentials from their families. They can’t handle the parental Inquisition on a daily basis.

In turn, this had made Giles all the more cautious with where his trust could be placed. While he had been placed on a sort of notice by Buffy’s parents, it was his time to re-evaluate and determine if Angel was worthy to still be in her presence.

In fact, of the three vampires before him, the soulless one was the only one practically assured a continued role in his charge’s life. If only I’d known it would come to this.

“Spike is soulless and he’s not being run through the ringer.”

“Angel!” The one word from Drusilla was enough to shut her companion up. She turned to Giles still looking slightly upset. “Mr. Giles, we haven’t just received our souls, we were purged of the evil within us. He had Angelus simmering under the surface, and my mind was twisted in a way—” She shuddered, apparently appalled at herself. “We are no longer what we were. We aren’t even what was before the demon. We were made new and we were given a mission.” Maybe sensing Giles’ next question, she continued. “A mission from the Powers to do good.” She turned her head slightly to look at Buffy. “Part of that mission was helping you with Kakistos, another part was the warning: your sisters are coming and danger wears different masks.”

The words sounded simple enough, but in Giles’ experience, nothing that concerned Buffy Summers was benign. “Yes, ah, quite. If you may be so kind as to expand on that.” He sounded stuffy to his own ears, but he was fighting a losing battle with the questions in his head. The more he found out, the more seemed just out of reach of his understanding.

“They didn’t give me many details, just that Buffy’s sisters will arrive and care must be taken, lest they fall astray.”

“Care by whom?”

Drusilla looked abashed. “I do not know for sure, but I think by you.” She let her eyes roam over everyone in the room. “All of you.”

“And by ‘astray’ do you mean they could start to actively work against Buffy?” Giles looked at the vampire while thinking about the grooves the pen would undoubtedly leave on his fingers. Focus, Watcher! Watch and record.

“It wouldn’t be a warning for Buffy if it didn’t involve her, now would it?” Drusilla was showing the first signs of impatience since she’d arrived, which Giles had to admit was quite a feat. She’d been enduring his questioning for what seemed like hours, going over the same points again and again.

“As for these masks you mentioned?”

“Never judge a book by its cover comes to mind.” She smiled sweetly, but Giles just frowned more.

~~~***~~~

Angel could tell most of the teenagers in the room were approaching the point where they’d scamper away home, leaving the grown-ups to make a sense of things. He also knew that he would go through another round of the Watcher’s questioning, or maybe it would be the Slayer’s father this time. The man was itching to put his interrogation skills to use.

The vampire suddenly found it all terribly tedious. He needed air, if not to breathe, at least to clear his head a bit. He also knew there was someone else just as anxious for a break as he was: Spike’s interval between cigarettes had been enormous, by the younger vampire’s standards.

“I’m going to stretch my legs on the back porch.” Angel announced to the room. He noticed how Buffy tensed, no doubt debating if she should stay with Drusilla or accompany him outside. For a brief moment Angel found himself amused by the thought she was probably going to go with him, not out of friendship, or any remnants of their almost-relationship from earlier that year, but because she wouldn’t allow him to go outside where he could potentially make plans with some would-be allies lurking in the shadows. The amusement turned biter in his mouth.

“I’ll go with. Could use a smoke.”

There was a look that passed between Spike and Buffy that could be interpreted in many ways, but Angel was sure it had meant the two blonds had agreed to split responsibility for keeping everyone safe. Buffy trusts him more than she does me. The thought should have given him a pang of something—regret? Jealousy? Resentment?—but instead it left him half-smirking. She’d found someone to support her, and if he knew William as well as he thought he did, he would prove worthy of her trust.

Angel looked at Jenny for a second, debating if he should reveal her role in his curse, but thought better of it. It was her secret to keep or not, not his. Dru and he would be having a private chat with the teacher later, away from the Slayer’s family. He turned and walked out of the living room, through the kitchen, and out the back door, sensing the other vampire shadowing him the entire way.

No words were spoken as they each leaned on the wall, and Spike lit up his cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the first drag of it with a heavy sigh. Here it comes!

“By rights you should be dust.” The blond vampire was talking while keeping Angel in his peripheral vision. It was an old trick of his that apparently hadn’t changed in almost a century. If the elder vampire were to attack, he’d find himself hitting at air, while spike would be right behind him, tripping him up. “A few months ago would have ended you before you had the chance to fake breathe.”

“You could have tried.” Angel was certain he was the superior fighter, but only by a hairsbreadth.

Spike smirked but didn’t contradict him. “Only you’re not the old Angelus, are you now?” He inhaled deeply. “And she’s no longer my Dru.”

Angel almost answered by denying she had ever been his, but thought better of it. “We’re still what we were, in a way. In other ways we’re nothing like our old selves.” He gave the other vampire a measuring look from top to bottom. “Then again you’re not the same Slayer of Slayers, though, are you?”

“I’m my own vamp! Finally.” He threw the cigarette away viciously. Without pausing, he fished another one from the pack and lit it.

“There’s a house full of still-alive humans behind us that contradicts that. And a live Slayer to boot.”

“I decide what and who I want to kill.” The tone in his voice reminded Angel of the young fledgeling that wouldn’t stay put, instead attracting way too much attention for Angelus’ liking with his brawls.

“You don’t actually want to kill her though. You want her.”

Spike was quiet, the ticking in his jaw the only movement. “Loving her. It changes you.”

Love? That was a fast U-turn. Angel squashed his pettiness. They were both with who they were supposed to be, so the way and speed they each had gotten there with was irrelevant. “I know.”

There was nothing to say for a while, possibly the first companionable silence they had ever shared.

“So when are you leaving?”

Angel smirked. Leave it to Spike to put getting rid of him above all else. “As soon as Dru says we should.” He could see the briefest evidence of shock before the other male covered it by taking another deep drag of his cigarette. For a moment Angel contemplated bumming one for himself.

“Since when is the great Angelus listening to anyone other than himself?” Spike’s eyes were fixed on the hedge surrounding the back yard, but Angel could tell his senses were on high alert, despite the casual stance.

“Since—” He’d been waiting for this question, had prepared for it, but faced with it out in the open he found himself at a loss. How do you explain something that you couldn’t quite define yourself? “After your ritual I was nearly desiccated, and she nursed me back to health.”

There was another flash of shock and maybe even a bit of betrayal on Spike’s face. Angel understood why: she probably would have left Spike starve half to death before she threw him any scraps, if that.

“It wasn’t really her decision. Or at least not a conscious one. The vision she saw told her she needed me to be able to fight alongside her, so she made sure I could.” He lowered his voice, still ashamed of himself and what had happened. “She didn’t really know what to do, so she kept bringing me things that held blood.” A shudder passed through him when he remembered the little frightened children he’d almost devoured in his weakened state. “She even tried to feed me earthworms at one point.”

The other vampire snorted and almost choked on the smoke in his lungs. Angel just shrugged in self-deprecation.

He’d felt the Slayer’s father hovering behind the closed door since they’d stepped out, but apparently his revelation mandated the man to finally come out, pretending he wanted to smoke a cigar himself.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the fresh air.”

The two vampires shared an amused grin.

“Anyway, worms aside, it was a revelation. I hadn’t expected her to be able to hold to a plan, much less understand she couldn’t kill after the first night.” He shrugged again, noting the weary way the human was watching him. “And she kept talking about her vision, on and on.” He addressed Spike directly, deciding to ignore their audience. “Only you could normally interpret what she was saying when she was gripped by one of her visions, but she was making more and more sense as time went on. By the end, I could do nothing but follow her to Africa.”

“Why there?” Hank couldn’t keep quiet any longer, it would seem.

“Some of the oldest and most powerful magics come from Africa. It’s not humanity’s birthplace for nothing.” He left the thought hanging, leaving Hank to draw whatever conclusion he wanted from that.

“So you got there, fought whatever it was you had to get through, and made sure you could be a good puppy. That it?” Spike had finished his cigarette and was playing with the pack, no doubt on his way to light up another one.

“Something like that. It involved a sort of deity and some wishing, but in the end, we were both cleansed.” Just the memory of the feeling he had after the pain and suffering washed away was enough to fill Angel with a warmth he previously hadn’t felt since being turned.

“Cleansed how?” Hank was watching him intently, all pretense gone. He had probably intended to just observe at first, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to do his own questioning.

Angel though for a moment how to phrase his answer. “I can’t explain a rainbow to the blind.” It might not have been the best answer, but it was far from the worst, and it was as close as he could come to explaining what had happened. Still, he decided to try to describe at least part of it. “Imagine being shown all your sins, and then being forgiven for them, being allowed to forgive yourself, while understanding why you should never repeat them; and that was just the beginning.” He felt goose-bumps form on his skin at the memory.

“So you got a clean slate. Still doesn’t explain you listening to Dru.” The second cigarette had been lit and Spike was speaking while exhaling the smoke in his lungs. It made him look even more demonic than he was.

“I also got a purpose. It wasn’t just a clean slate, it was a new chance at life, a new way to be. And she’d led me to it. The greatest moment since my birth and I owed it all to that woman.” He glanced at the door, his vampire hearing faintly picking up her voice. He already missed her.

“But she was mad. She told us, it took her a while.”

Habit made Angel expect Spike to rebuff Hank for speaking ill of Drusilla, but habits had all been broken months ago, and the blond vampire was silent as the grave.

The message was clear: it was Angel’s job. “She was what I made her, until she wasn’t. She woke up from her nightmare and she was glorious.” He heard his own voice waver in reverence. He didn’t much care. “We both had been given purpose, but she already knew the path.” He pinned Hank with his eyes, trying to convey the truth of his conviction. “I had no choice but to follow her, and she brought us here.”

Spike cleared his throat and threw away the cigarette he’d been holding. “And what’s that rot about other Slayers coming?”

Angel frowned. “She never said ‘Slayers,’ she always says ‘sisters.’ Still, from what we understand, when Buffy was in the Master’s lair she died briefly, before you saved her. The next Slayer got Called.”

“So now there’s two Chosen birds.” A statement, not a question, because Spike had learned decades ago not to doubt Drusilla’s visions.

“Yeah, and the other one will make her way here at some point.” He lowered his voice, but kept it loud enough for the person without vampire hearing to still be able to understand. “Probably the one after her, too.”

“So the other Slayer, whomever she may be, will die? Will it happen here, will we have to—?”

So at least they were listening. “Nothing is written in stone, but the plural, and the warning seem to indicate that at least one would die, and at least one could become a threat. But that’s all we know, so it could be different Slayers.” He shrugged.

“And the second part of the warning?”

“You and I both know that even the most innocent face can hide the most hideous of killers.” Angel was thinking of Darla when he said it, and he could only guess who Spike had in mind. Probably the same.

“Is it really all?” Hank was looking at him so intently that Angel thought he could see his soul.

“Yeah, really.”

Spike growled loudly. “Sodding Powers, giving us half-messages and leaving us to suss out what to do like rats in a maze.”

Angel had to agree with that. “It’s their favorite pass-time, I guess.”

No other words were spoken, and all three males made their way slowly inside.

*Giles’ flat, one week later*

She was avoiding Spike again, and she couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty about it. Sure, the fact that he hadn’t come out to call her on it was proof that he didn’t really want to see her yet, either. I guess we’re both processing. Buffy knew this to be true because she was sure that if he had been actively looking for her, no amount of precaution, patrolling at odd hours, or using unpredictable patterns would have fooled him. He’d have found her, not just kept sending his little presents and notes—most of which were poems. So why hasn’t he?

She brushed her insecurity away, when another thought came unbidden. Maybe Dru told him something in private, like she told me. Or maybe Angel did, before my Dad followed. They’re vampires, it could work.

It had happened after everyone else had left, Giles included. Just the Summers family and the vampires had been left when Dru took her to the side. ‘I have something to tell you, but don’t be afraid. You are not the Slayer anymore.’

Buffy had recoiled in shock. ‘You’re lying!’

‘No, I’m not. When the power went to the new Slayer, it left you. By rights, you should be a normal girl, but the Powers still needed you. They’ll need you more in the future.’ She’d tilted her head, in a way reminiscent of Spike when he did it, in a way reminding her of a child looking at a butterfly caught and pinned in a collection from a museum. ‘Didn’t you realize you were different than before?’

“And had you?” Giles was sitting in an armchair, listening to her spilling her secrets to him from his couch.

She blushed and did her best to look contrite. “Maybe I kinda had?”

“Buffy!” The single exclamation held so much accusation and betrayal, that it hurt deep in her heart.

“I was going to tell you, it’s just that I wasn’t really all that sure. And then there was all the almost dying, and the truce, and I just kinda forgot?” Okay, so she should have told him earlier, but the way he was rubbing at his glasses was borderline abuse towards inanimate objects.

Giles took a few deep breaths in a visible attempt to calm himself. “So, if you would be so kind as to inform me what those changes are, maybe we could start looking into what has happened.”

She wasn’t really sure she wanted to know, but she was also afraid this wasn’t one of those cases of ‘what I can’t see won’t hurt me.’ Just like everything else in my life. “Well, it all started when I found myself being brought back to life by a soulless vampire. I felt the power run through my veins in a way I never had before, like…” She thought of how she could explain it. “Like when you press down on a vein and then let it go, you kinda feel how the blood is rushing through, opening it back up?” At Giles’ tentative nod, she continued. “It was kinda like that, only different.” This isn’t going very well.

Still, Giles was nodding as if he’d understood.

“But then I got distracted by other thing and—”

“So you didn’t take stock of your own powers?” He seemed incredulous.

“Well, sorry, but there was an unknown soulless vampire kneeling above me, Angel was basically admitting to wanting to turn or drain me, then I had a little matter of killing the Master so he couldn’t open the Hellmouth to keep me entertained. I’m sorry I didn’t tell the Apocalypse to stop so I could check an eye chart.” She flopped back and crossed her arms across her chest. She was aware it made her look childish and bratty, but she was too pissed off to care. She was also trying to keep him from asking too many questions about Angel and Spike, because the exact details were still a bit too wigsome for her to share.

First I find myself lost in Spike’s eyes and sort-of kiss, then Angel pretty much fesses up to being a big pedophilic necrophile. Yup, not gonna be sharing that with my Watcher anytime soon.

Giles, of course, was taking it all in stride. He had his glasses sitting a bit weirdly on top of his nose and was busy scribbling away in his journal. “Why did you mention an eye chart? Has your vision improved?” He was looking at her with genuine interest, and she found herself pulled back in the discussion.

Grudgingly.

“Yeah, it has. I can read a fine print like a mile away, and Slayer night-vision was something, but it has nothing on how clear things are when I patrol now.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“You told me yourself my Slay-dar is way strong, and I haven’t even been practicing it all that much. It just kinda developed over the summer.” She flashed back to everything that had happened since she’d first laid eyes on Spike. “Everything has.”

He looked up at her, over the rim of his still-crooked glasses. “And your strength?”

“Since the truce with Spike, enemies that really tested me have been few and far in between, but that could be because Spike killed most of the more powerful ones.”

“So no worthy adversary could be had?” He’d stopped writing, the pen halfway to the page.

“Kakistos gave me a run for my money like nobody else, but he was old as dirt, so what does that prove?” She was picking at non-existent strands on the hem of her shirt, hoping against hope the next question wouldn’t be what she thought it would be.

“And what of Spike?”

Crap! “Well, I never fought him before I died, so what do I know? The only time we actually fought against one another was when he—” She gulped down the bitter taste the thought brought up. “When he almost killed me. He kinda caught me by surprise then, though, so I don’t know if I could have taken him.”

The revelation gave Giles pause and she dreaded he would push with more questions. He had tried in the first week or so after that night to get her to give him a blow by blow description, but she’d refused claiming it was too traumatic, or not important. So what he had just heard was the closest thing to the truth he had heard about that battle and she was hoping against hope he wouldn’t ask for more.

He didn’t.

“So you have no way of gauging your strength? Maybe weights, or—”

“I did punch one of those machines that tells you how strong you are.” She shrugged in false modesty. “I almost obliterated it, so my guess is that I’m at least a bit stronger.”

“Yes, quite.”

“So what does it all mean? Was Dru right, and if she was, what am I and why did the Powers make me this way?” Her head was starting to throb again and that wasn’t of the good. It was one of the reasons she’d finally fessed up to Giles, to stop the stress-induced migraines that were threatening to drive her round the bend.

Giles’ glasses were now off and he was cleaning them thoughtfully. “There is a great deal of things that Dru has claimed.” He looked at her and she couldn’t read his expression. “What little I could corroborate has been confirmed, though.” He placed his glasses back on his face and leaned in, supporting his elbows on his thighs, the pen and journal loosely held in his left hand. “A new Slayer has been indeed called in Jamaica, and there are some unconfirmed rumors of a wish-granting demon somewhere in the African savanna.” He looked pained. “I couldn’t find out much more, I’m afraid.”

She took a moment to let it all sink in. “So it could all be true. Every single word.” She sighed deeply, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “The fun that is the life of me just keeps going.”

“I’m truly sorry, Buffy. I promise I will research everything I can and we will get to the bottom of this.”

She raised her head warily. “So what do you think I should tell my parents?”

Giles looked slightly uncomfortable. “They have only just learned of your status as a Slayer, explaining to them now that you might not, in fact, be a Slayer anymore might prove confusing. That is why I would suggest allowing me to do some more research before we include them in our endeavors.”

Buffy smiled slightly. “How come every time you talk about lying to my parents you get extra tweedy? Is it a guilt mechanism?”

Giles refused to look away, but he seemed annoyed. “If that is all.”

“Okay, I get it, calling the Watcher-man on his stuffiness is a no-no. Bye Giles.” Then less cheery, she added, right before she stepped out of his apartment. “Let me know if you find anything. Anything.”

As she walked out she heard his terse reply. “Quite.”

~~~***~~~

*Sunnydale underground, undisclosed location*

The final breakthrough had been made and Spike was the first one through the hole. He scanned the room with his amber eyes, taking in all the details that he could. There were various jewels and old coins strewn about everywhere, and he began what would probably become the long and tedious process of sorting through the horde in order to claim his prize. I’ll have to give Dalton a double share from the loot for finding that mention about the treasure. The nerdy bugger just earned his weight in gold. Looking around again he smirked. Maybe even literally.

The riches amassed there would ensure he wouldn’t have to steal a damn thing for as long as Buffy lived—which if everything went as planned was going to be another ninety years or so. His Slayer was going to be the oldest Slayer in history, maybe even the oldest person. Her Slayer healing could probably take care of silly things like gout and arthritis, or whatever the hell it was that old people were suffering from these days. He pushed back the thoughts of the future to take stock of the riches in front of him.

Not that he needed the money. Since becoming Master of the town and eliminating that creepy Mayor, business had been booming. People were coming in left and right to ask his protection, either for themselves, for their loved ones, or for their businesses. It was going so well that he’d had to hire more and more extra muscle, going beyond vampires, and adding all sorts of demons, more or less dangerous, but all under strict dietary restrictions.

The Truce had to be respected, or else the Master would get you—that was the general consensus.

Of course, since he wasn’t trashing shops, or draining patrons and owners alike on a daily basis—as previous Masters had been inclined to—trade had flourished. There were contacts from across the globe, and even a couple from different dimensions that had been doing business entirely through his network. And international, cross-dimensional supernatural artifact smuggling was nothing to sneeze at in terms of profit.

His pockets were bulging and his associates were happy, the stability and lack of double-crossings that he was becoming renowned for was unheard of from the Master of a Hellmouth, which meant more business was sure to follow.

This all meant that money had not been his motive for digging yet more tunnels under the already-honeycombed Sunnydale underground. He was searching for something a lot more precious and elusive: a myth.

“Now, if I were the Gem of Amara, what would I be?” He picked up the first item that came to mind—a necklace. Now to see if that cross will still burn—bloody fucking Christ! He dropped both the necklace and the ornate cross, eyeing the rest of the hundreds of knick-knacks that could all possibly be the Gem with suspicion. Bollocks! This is going to hurt like hell.

~~~***~~~

*Main Street*

“And there is a toilet in the back. Basic amenities, you understand, but better than what you might find elsewhere. Total square footage—”

Ethan Rayne let the realtor drone on and on, his mind working a mile a minute about possible avenues to pursue. Maybe I’ll throw in some Fyarl suits, just for fun. Make them really cheap so that at least one cash-strapped family will be glad for the find. Delicious chaos, here I come!

“—purpose for your acquiring the shop, of course.”

“Excuse me?” Ethan realized he must have missed something important during the spiel.

“The Master will have to be informed of the purpose for your acquiring the shop, I said.”

That was a surprise. He had heard rumors of an unconventional player amassing power on the Hellmouth, but to have a simple business space rental openly involve supernatural elements was unheard of, even for Ethan. Still, he decided to play dumb in the hopes of finding more information.

“Would this be the master of trade? I’m afraid I’m a foreigner and not entirely accustomed to American legislation in the matter.”

The realtor raised her eyes from the clipboard she’d been using as a selling script. She was a fine looking, mature woman with dark red hair, green eyes, and a body that belied her generous curves even from under a conservative business suit. Ethan had been looking forward to maybe celebrating their new business relationship in other, more personal ways.

“You should know that we have special regulations in our town. I was pretty sure you were aware of our status.”

She was beginning to look suspicious, so Ethan just widened his blue eyes at her in an attempt to appear completely innocent. “Do tell.” He made sure to put an extra bit of gruff in his voice.

She seemed unfazed. “Apart from all the rules and regulations of any other Californian township, Sunnydale has a particular situation. All new businesses must pass a routine background check form the Master in order to ensure no ill will from potential store-owners.”

That gave Ethan pause. Since when did people actually perform background checks? Sure, he’d forged his fair share of documents before coming over, but nothing that could withstand a thorough approach, and by the way he was being measured from top to bottom, the research that would be done would be nothing if not thorough. What in the bleeding hells is going on here?

He suddenly started having double thoughts about his plans for revenge. If a supernatural being had the audacity to blatantly take over how businesses were being run, in a town with an active Slayer nonetheless, then his casting his chaos magic could land him in a heap of trouble.

“Of course, I’m sure you’ll find everything in the best order.” As he said it, his mind was busy with escape routes and flight schedules.

The woman squinted her eyes and gave him another appraisal.

I’ll never get to find out how you taste, luv. Pity.

“You shall be contacted shortly.”

He didn’t miss the lack of pronouns to indicate who it would be that would contact him, nor the falseness of her smile as she said it. He’d played enough people in his life to understand when he was the one being played.

I hope I make it out of this alive. And with all my limbs intact. He looked at her stiff pose again. At least alive, then.

*Sunnydale Arms Motel, later that evening*

Ethan was just about done packing and planning his escape from the God-forsaken town he’d tried to throw into chaos. As soon as he’d left the company of the increasingly distant realtor, he’d gone around town in as random a pattern as possible, in the attempt to confuse any would-be stalkers. He had then made his way carefully back to his motel room and booked transportation out of the country.

Just as he was giving the room one last cursory glance there was a soft knock on the door. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s the management, there seems to be an issue with the adjoining bathroom and we need to get access to the pipes through yours.”

He turned and watched the door, a sense of dread engulfing him. “Just a moment.” He scanned fruitlessly for an escape route, but other than breaking through the back wall he could see no other way out than the door. Bugger me sideways. If Giles only knew that trying to mess with him will cost me my life, he’d be tickled pink.

Before he had time to do anything else, the door was busted open and a large figure charged in and knocked him out cold.

~~~***~~~

*Sunnydale Inn, around the same time*

Hank Summers had just poured himself a drink to celebrate. He was soon going to be a small town lawyer. Not even in his wildest, or better yet, dreariest dreams had he envisioned being anything other than one of the top litigators at one of the top legal firms in the country. Then again, back when those dreams and hopes were being made, he was still young, hadn’t yet become a cheater, and most of all, hadn’t even the faintest clue about the world around him. The world of demons.

A knock brought him out of his reverie, and he went to open the door while holding a stake at his back: better safe than sorry in this town! Speaking of demons.

Spike was waiting on the other side, in a strange repeat of their first encounter. “May I come in, Hank.”

The lawyer frowned slightly and his hand tightened on the hidden stake. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me that.”

The vampire snorted. “Okay, Mister Summers, may I please come in?”

The tone and phrasing was more cultured than what Spike usually sounded like, once more reminding Hank of the brief moments when he was trying to act as Buffy’s boyfriend back in LA. And yet, she’s dating him now.

When he still got no answer, Spike leaned against the door frame. “You do know that I don’t really need an invitation in a hotel room, right? Then again, if I wanted you dead, I had more than enough chances on much better occasions. Now be a good sport, trust in the truce you bartered, and let me in so we can discuss business.” Despite the soft voice and calming words, there was a steel behind Spike’s countenance that belied the predator in him.

Hank gulped once, fiddled for a second with his stake, then wordlessly stepped aside and made a ‘pass through’ gesture. He wanted to both test Spike’s assertion about the room, as well as trying to gain a measure of control.

The blond vampire smirked, and then he was sitting on one of chairs nest to the table still holding the opened bottle of whiskey. He’d moved fast, not as fast as to become a blur, but faster than a normal human would have.

This will be a long night. Hank made his way carefully to the chair opposite from Spike. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Believe it or not, this is a business meeting.”

The skepticism must have shown very clearly on Hank’s face.

“No, really. You see, this whole Master of Sunnyhell arrangement has gotten me in contact with many parties, each with their own interests, and that means contracts, deals, and bloody mountains of paperwork.”

Hank’s skepticism had turned to shock. He’d never actually thought of the intricacies of Spike’s title, but in his mind’s eye he could see a Mafia-like organization. Any good Mob needs a good lawyer, too. Just my luck I’m the best this town can offer now. Fuck. Hank picked up his tumbler and took a long sip.

“Mind treating your guest to some of the good stuff?”

“You’re not exactly my guest, though, are you?” Despite his words, Hank was already pouring Spike his drink.

“By the end of this discussion, I hope we’ll be business partners, so…” Spike left his sentence trail off as he took his own considerable gulp of liquid.

Hank wondered exactly how much alcohol it would take to get a vampire drunk. Probably enough to drain a person’s savings account really fast. Maybe that’s why they steal so much. “So what do you want from me?”

“Innit obvious? I need a solicitor and you just drew the winning number.” The rest of the expensive whiskey was drained in another long gulp. The vampire then took out a cigarette and his lighter.

Hank was about to stop him, but seeing the way Spike inhaled the smoke made him want to join him. It had been five years since he’d quit, except for the occasional cigar with clients, but the way his nerves were being frayed on a daily basis reminded him of the simple pleasures of watching the smoke slowly escape his lips.

Of course Spike somehow managed to pick up on the unspoken request and tapped a cigarette out of his packet, leaving it and the lighter in front of Hank.

While he lit his own cigarette, the lawyer within him took over. “If you want to secure my services, there are some details I would need first, I would have to review your current legal situation, and discuss with some contacts, without my being obligated to take you on in any way. You will also be billed for my time while I conduct my research, and there would have to be some rules in place to insure that nothing unseemly could be used against me in my professional capacity.” He hardened his features as much as he could. “Any activities that would harm innocents will be disclosed to the Slayer. Are the parameters clear?”

Spike was smirking as he refilled his own glass. “I would expect nothing less. Now let’s talk details.”

~~~***~~~

*The Magic Box*

Jenny was having the umpteenth fight with her uncle over her future role in Sunnydale. More to the point, she was trying to convince him that she didn’t need to move to LA to keep tabs on Angel as he demanded.

“You will obey the laws of this family and you will do your duty. The vampire must keep paying.”

“But he is free of our curse. He has sought out his soul and our hold on him is done. What good could I possibly do in LA?”

“He lies.”

“And what about what Drusilla told me? She said that if they hadn’t fixed his soul and ended the curse, it would have been ripped from him and both of us would have died. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does!” Enyos was looking furious. “It means the monster must be put down; he must suffer beyond comprehension; he must be made to pay for what he has done to our clan!”

“But he has been pardoned by the Powers! You can’t stand there and tell me that means nothing.”

“The Powers may have forgiven him. Our vengeance doesn’t care about powers, or laws, or right.” He paused for a second and raised his chin in defiance. “Besides, he’s probably lying.”

Just then a jingle was heard from the supposedly closed front door of the shop. “Angel didn’t lie. Your curse and its clause are gone. Your vengeance is done.” Drusilla was looking straight at Jenny. “I encouraged you to tell the Watcher, yet you didn’t. We are leaving tonight and I came here to inquire who is coming with.”

“What?” Jenny was left speechless. She also really didn’t want to go to LA, for fear of losing Rupert, while the same fear kept her from telling him of her role in Angel’s curse.

“Your people cursed the vampire Angelus with a soul and torment. The resulting vampire Angel joined me and sought his soul. He thus broke your curse and your hold on him, but his debt to you has not been paid. You say it and I agree.” She pinned Jenny’s uncle with a knowing look. “I am here to make you a deal. You come with us, watch him first-hand, torment him with memories all you want, and do what you consider is your duty—short of killing him—but she stays here.” Drusilla was pointing at the young teacher.

Jenny was shocked, and so was Enyos. “Why do you want me to stay?”

A knowing smile lit up the vampire’s face. “Your path lies here, as long as you’re willing to walk it.” Her face lost its mirth. “I told you before: tell him!”

“That is not her call. Her duty is to her family—” Enyos was starting the same speech again, but this time he was interrupted.

“Her duty, everyone’s duty is to the Powers. You cannot interfere with what is ordained.” There was a fire burning in the vampire’s eyes that brooked no argument. “You will come with us to LA, you will learn what it means to do that which you preach, and you will let Janna fulfill her purpose.”

Her uncle’s voice was filled with resentment. “You already took one daughter from us…”

Drusilla’s voice was light, almost playful, which made her message all the more terrifying. “And you can lose them all if you continue to cling stubbornly to your old ways. Join us and let the wounds heal; don’t and your entire line will fail.”

Jenny could see the battle being raged in her uncle’s mind from his facial expressions. She knew him to be one of the most ardent proponents for the destruction of Angelus, and if Drusilla was willingly inviting him to come with them, it would all be a disaster in the making. Then again, the dark haired vampire seemed to know enough about what was to come. Jenny made a mental note to consult the bones about the future.

“I need to contact the Elder Woman.”

Just then a phone began to ring.

Drusilla smiled warmly. “That would be her now.” She motioned at Enyos. “Go on, answer it. I’ll wait.”

~~~***~~~

*Back porch, 1630 Rovello Drive*

Buffy was getting ready to start her patrol. She’d checked all her stakes, her knives, and her holy water reserve. She was just about to head out into the night, though she still found it a bit surreal that her mother had waved at her and offered to pack a midnight snack ‘for when you’re waiting around for a fledgling,’ when her senses told her a vampire was approaching.

She could tell it was a powerful vampire, but also not Spike, which meant that she grabbed her favorite stake and slowly unsheathed it. Only to put it back when Angel came up to her from around the corner.

“Hello, Buffy.” His voice sounded warm and soothing, but that didn’t stop her mind from providing a flashback to his contrite look in the Master’s cave when he’d all but admitted he wanted to do unspeakable things to her.

Shaking the icy tendrils that had started to crawl up her spine off, she looked him straight in the eye. “Angel.”

He seemed to not know exactly what he wanted to say, or was he just building up the suspense? Regardless, Buffy was starting to get annoyed, especially since her heart still managed to skip a beat at the sight of him. I guess you can move on, but some part will always remember.

“This century, maybe?”

He half-smirked at that, his face almost wistful. “I came to tell you we’re leaving.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. He was an almost-not-even-ex and he was with someone else, she was with someone else, and he’d already announced he was not going to stay for long. Still, once again, her heart refused to not be affected. “When?”

“Tonight. We’re packing up a few things and we’ll be off to LA.” To his credit, he didn’t seem overly happy with it either.

Which only made Buffy mad. He chose this, he chose to leave for Africa in the first place, he chose Dru, and he chose to come through here on his way to LA, so he doesn’t get to play sad over his choices! “Have a safe trip!” She made to go past him, but he grabbed her by the elbow. She could have shaken off his loose grip easily, but instead she stopped and looked at him again.

“I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “What for?”

He sighed and he let go of her elbow. “For leaving, for choosing Dru, for giving up on us and on what we could have had.” He took a deep breath, looking every bit as pained and brooding as she’d ever seen him, something that had been missing in the week since his return. “Most of all, sorry for what would have happened if I would have stayed.”

She felt it like a punch in the gut. She knew what he meant, had heard Drusilla’s words, and she’d been thinking about it in the dead of night, when she crawled in her bed after patrol. He would have been my first, and he would have become a monster. God! She couldn’t let him see how much he’d affected her, though. “Then I guess everything’s all right. If that was all, I have some patrolling to do.”

“Buffy! You’ve been avoiding me all week. We need to talk about this.”

“No, actually we don’t. I had a lot on my plate, what with taking care of vamp groupies, slaying, going to school, and dealing with the aftermath of that wonderful night you decided to waltz back into town.” She made a cutting gesture with her hand. “But all of that is beside the point. We have nothing to talk about. You made your choices, I made mine. Have a nice un-life!”

She stomped away despite him calling after her. She was done, and he didn’t need to see how he’d affected her.

She needed to kill something.

Whoa! A year ago there would have been some major wiggage if I’d have thought that. She mentally shrugged and kept walking toward the nearest cemetery.

~~~***~~~

*Midnight, on route to LA*

The bus was speeding off into the night, the driver skirting the speed limit in order to finish the trip as soon as possible. It wasn’t that Jake was someone that could be easily scared—living in a town such as Sunnydale tended to harden people really fast—but the people that had chartered this particular trip made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

It wasn’t his first catered job: the various school, bachelor, college, and museum trips that went to and from LA were a regular business, especially close to the holidays; and that wasn’t counting the various ‘special occasions’ that paid extra for confidentiality. Still, a group like his current charge wasn’t something someone saw every day, or night.

First of all were the couple that were obviously the leaders of the group. They were both deathly pale and didn’t show in any of the mirrors. Jake was not dumb enough not to know what that meant. Sure, they hadn’t been the first vampires to hitch a ride, but they hadn’t tried to bite either him, or anyone else for that matter, and they also didn’t act like caged animals.

Of course, none of that would make Jake take off the silver cross pendant from around his neck, or throw away the bottle of holy water that he always kept under his seat.

Vampire pack masters aside, the other three adults were even stranger.

Two middle aged men with a British accents and another foreign-looking guy with some East-European accent were seated across from each other, behind the vampires. While the one Brit—the one with a big bruise on the side of his face—was sitting alone and kept to himself, the other two kept whispering to each other and from time to time they would talk loudly enough—either to each other, or to the female vampire that kept getting up and asking everyone if there was anything they wanted—that Jake could overhear what was being said. From the bits and pieces Jake had heard, the lone Brit was on the bus against his will—which seemed perfectly natural, as he was human in a vampire-led group—while the Easterner was almost a reluctant companion to the rest, but kept saying he’d obey some elder woman’s wishes. Didn’t stop him from grumbling all the time, though.

The talkative Englishman—also the obviously armed one, since Jake had noticed the butt of a crossbow and what certainly looked like stakes stuffed in his tweed jacket pockets—had been called Ripper by the other one—Ethan Ripper had called him—and was apparently along for the ride to LA as some sort of bodyguard. I just hope they don’t piss off the undead enough that they turn this into a blood bath.

The rest of the group was made up of seven teens that looked like lost sheep. They were dressed in clothes that looked like they’d been taken from the Salvation Army, and had the same look in their eyes that Jake had seen on many-a runaway.

All in all, Jake would have been completely satisfied to consider this group as two vampires, their human cronies, and their prisoners-soon to be victims. That would mean that maybe, just maybe, he would have been inclined to risk life and limb and call a friend of his in the LAPD to come pick everyone up, but then one of the teenage girls came to talk to the female vampire seated right behind him and Jake strained his hearing to listen in.

“Miss Dru-”

“Just call me Drusilla, pet: Miss would imply the possibility of me ever becoming a Mrs, and we both know that isn’t going to happen.” She sounded sad while she said it and for the first time Jake wondered about what vampires have instead of marriage. If they have anything that’s like that at all.

“Okay, Drusilla. I know we talked about this in Sunnydale, but are you sure we can find someplace to stay that’s big enough for all of us? I don’t want to be a burden.” The young girl sounded so lost it almost broke Jake’s heart.

“The Slayer’s father acquired an old hotel for us, so there will be no shortage of rooms, don’t fret yourself, Anne.” She sounded almost motherly. Then again, that’s how a vampire would sound to soothe its victims, right?

“Chanterelle.” The young girl corrected immediately.

Drusilla chuckled. “You are no more a ‘Chanterelle’ than I am a ‘Miss.’ Trust me, the name Anne will serve you much better.”

“That’s Buffy’s middle name, right?” She sounded wistful, making Jake wonder who they were talking about.

“She already gave you her blessing to use the name. She is very interested in you, especially since she feels responsible for your post-vampire fetish rehabilitation.”

“I still can’t believe she forgave us for…”

“She has a great heart. On the other hand, she did turn you over to a couple of vampires to help you get your new life started in LA, so who knows?” Drusilla chuckled again, this time with more amusement. “Don’t worry, lamb, neither I nor Angel would ever harm any one of you.”

“Yeah that’s what she said. You’re a lot more like the vampires we thought we were going to become than-”

“We are nothing like any other vampire you will ever meet in your life. We are the anomaly, and if you ever go out looking for more of us, you will find your life drained out of you, or worse.” Her voice got a lot darker. “Trust me, I would never wish being turned on my worst enemy.” She snorted once, then continued, sadness creeping into her tone. “Then again, my only enemy from my human life was already a vampire, so no wishes became horses.” Her voice turned cutting. “Don’t ever get turned; kill yourself first. Understand?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. I already had the talk with Buffy, Spike, Mr. Giles, and Mrs. Summers, I’m not thinking of getting turned, don’t worry. None of us are.” Jake could see her cross her heart in the rearview mirror. “Honest, we’re done with the Sunset Club.”

“I know, pet, it’s just that my thoughts catch up with me sometime. I’m sure you won’t let anyone down.”

“No, ma’am!”

With that, ‘Anne’ retreated to her place near the back of the bus, leaving a very disturbed Jake in the driver’s seat. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I better drop them off and forget about them as fast as possible.

He hoped nobody would notice his speeding with five miles over the limit.

*The following Saturday*

Buffy was enjoying a rare moment of vegging out around the house, with nothing pressing to do, or any chores pending. If only there were something to actually watch on TV, she would have been in heaven.

It was also the first time she was alone, not counting her patrols, or her being asleep, in what felt like forever, but was actually closer to the entire time she’d been back from LA. Her mother was receiving a shipment at the gallery, her dad was busy with setting up his practice in Sunnydale, and her watcher had met with Miss Calendar to try to patch things up after the teacher had revealed her secret mission in Sunnydale and the fact that she’d lied to everyone for more than a year. Glad I’m not there to see that go down.

She had tried getting the Slayerettes together, but Willow had to go to a family event, Xander had told her something about a cousin giving birth, and Buffy wasn’t desperate enough to call Cordelia. She’d probably have something to do that I couldn’t join her for, anyway. So Buffy had decided on a day of doing absolutely nothing.

Three extra-large bags of snacks, one tub of ice cream, and two TV-pizzas later she was flipping channels in search of that elusive something that would catch her eye, yet be mindless enough to allow her brain some much-needed down-time.

There was a lot weighing on her and she just couldn’t manage to get relaxed enough that she could feel lighter. Maybe another trip to that spa Spike treated us girls to would be of the good.

Which brought another burst of thoughts that made relaxing so hard to do: Spike; him killing people before and stopping for her; Angel; Giles’ trip to LA to get everyone settled in the hotel her Dad had arranged for them; her Dad being involved in her Slaying because of Spike; her Mom knowing about everything; the possible true meaning behind Dru’s warning; Ms. Calendar turning out to be a member of the clan that had cursed Angel; her Dad acting as Spike’s lawyer; Spike.

Whatever she did, wherever she turned, Spike seemed to always be on her mind, and yet she hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks. Give or take a couple of hours. A quick glance at a clock told her it would be exactly two weeks in ten hours. Knowing that seems lame, sappy, and sad at the same time.

She stood up straight on the couch. To do what? Not like I can just waltz in to his new layer in the middle of the day just to see him. Not that I know where that is, anyway, she thought bitterly.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a knock on the back door that was so quiet she wasn’t sure she would have heard it before—as she had started to define the time in her life up to her short death.

She got up to answer it, tying the sash of the robe she hadn’t changed out of since her shower that morning. She didn’t want to flash whomever it was that was bothering her during her time off.

She strode through the kitchen and opened the door only to find “Spike!”

Buffy’s life had slowed down before, during important battles, or when she’d first laid eyes on her bleached savior, but seeing him on her back porch bathed in sunlight brought time to a screeching halt. Her brain refused to work beyond the repeat of an equation she had learned long before: vampire plus sun equals dust.

The Slayer in her reacted on instinct and she grabbed a handful of his shirt, hauled him in, and dropped to the ground on top of him in order to protect him from the source of sudden death shining above. She started patting him down for flames, at the same time relishing the fact that she was still able to touch him. Not dust was the new mantra playing in her head.

It took what felt like centuries, but it was probably closer to seconds for her hearing to clear enough for her to register the chuckle coming from the man she was currently fondling. Which made her realize exactly how close their two bodies were, and that her hands were dangerously close to dangerously male parts of his anatomy. She scrambled to stand up, not able to process what was going on, and she laid back against the somehow closed back door in order to catch her breath. He didn’t move except to support his upper body on his elbows.

“What-?” She was panting and couldn’t have finished that sentence to save her life.

Spike stood up, a movement so sinfully fluid it made her look him up and down in appreciation without wanting to. He’d not worn his usual black on black, with black on top ensemble, instead wearing ripped jeans and a dark blue shirt. Color, limited as it might have been, looked good on him. She then noticed he had a pair of sun glasses in his hand, which he hung from the neck of his t-shirt, making it look slightly like a V-neck. Wait, sun! “How-?”

“All good questions, Slayer.” He was smiling as he talked, something that also looked good on him. Smitten much? “Why don’t you come with me to your living room and we can have a proper chat about it, yeah?”

She was slowly coming out of her panic-induced fog and her brain was beginning to work at its normal speed again. Her limbs had yet to stop being slightly numb, though. Still, talking and understanding were of the good, so she nodded her assent and waved him ahead of her. Whatever was going on, it was freaky and it meant she would not be taking her eyes off him anytime soon. And this way he can’t see me checking out his ass. She almost blushed at her own thought. Then she had a small panic attack thinking about how she might look herself, but before she had time to finish the thought, it was too late and they’d reached their destination.

Once they were seated with her back on the couch and him in an armchair she expected him to start talking. He apparently decided leering at her was a better choice.

“Are you going to explain or not?” She let bit of anger slip in her tone just to make sure he would be on his toes.

He waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He pointed at her. “Are you naked under that?”

Oh, God! “You’re five seconds away from dusting if you don’t answer my questions and that is what you decide to say? You’re a pig, Spike!” She pressed her thighs closer together and pulled on the edges of the robe to make sure she wasn’t showing him any more skin than she absolutely had to.

“Well, yeah! I will always be more interested in you being almost naked, or completely naked, for that matter.” He looked her up and down the way he was watching her made her skin tingle. “Wanna take the robe off so I can check?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Gah! I don’t even know why I bother. I’ll be right back and you better be here and explain-y when I get back.” She stomped her way to the stairs, shouted an outraged ‘Men,’ and then all but ran to her room, panting. She was sort of aroused, pissed off, and worried at the same time, which made her even more pissed off.

She took a few seconds to get a grip on her emotions before going to her closet to put some clothes on. She caught a glimpse of the way she looked and cringed. Her hair was wild, her make-up non-existent, she had a slight orange hue and a couple of splotches of chocolate from her earlier snacks. She was also flushed and her robe looked all rumpled. I’m a mess!

She wasted no time as she shed her robe—she ignored the slight flare of arousal she got being naked in her room with Spike waiting for her downstairs—and put a pair of cut off jean shorts and a white shirt on. Then she paused, got undressed again, and decided against going commando, opting instead for her most un-sexy white panty and bra set. Any little helps to keep my lusties in check. She put her clothes back on, wiped her face free of any trace food-items, applied some light make-up, and gave herself a confident look in the mirror. Now I’m ready to face the evil undead.

She refused to listen to the voice in the back of her mind telling her that if she didn’t want to give Spike a free show, she should have worn full length jeans. After all, it was her house and she could still wear whatever she felt like. Right.

When she got downstairs she found Spike lounging in the armchair, his right leg over its arm, and his right elbow behind its back. Yummy. Bad Buffy! He still has some explaining to do. He sat up when he noticed her and she did her best to look unaffected by the leer he was giving her.

She marched over to the couch, sat down as prim and proper as she could, turned off the TV, and then turned slightly to face him. “Talk.”

She could practically see the way he struggled not to make any inappropriate comments about how she was dressed, why he was there, what they could do, and any other thing that she knew he wanted to say, but didn’t because she would be upset. The simple fact that she knew all that was astonishing to realize, but not as astonishing, or as interesting as the main question. So she was more than a little relieved when he finally started to talk, answering her.

“This is an old and very active Hellmouth. As with demons, it drew all sorts of people with a knack for the occult, many times bringing their treasured objects with.” He paused for a second and she nodded slowly at him, urging him on. “There was a myth about a vampire Holy Grail, a gem that would make its owner invincible and impervious. The stories called it the Gem of Amara, and it became a sort of underground fairy tale, until Dalton found a more clear mention of it being buried somewhere around the Hellmouth.” He was grinning by now, the pride of being able to one-up everyone else clear to see. “I pushed, prodded, tested, dug, and found it!”

“I thought vampires were immortal anyway.”

“Immortal as in ‘not going to die of old age,’ yes, but as you well know stakes, holy water, the Sun, and so on are all valid ways to kill my kind. The Gem makes all those things useless.” His grin got even wider if possible. “Haven’t gotten around to testing decapitation, but everything else went well.”

“Wait, you tested this thing?”

He looked offended. “Of course I did: crosses, stakes, and the like.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say. A million and one thoughts came to her at the same time, from thinking they could go for picnics now, to the fact that there was no way for him to be killed if he did something truly evil, to how all the other vampires throughout the world would react to the news that Spike held the keys to everything they could possibly want. She settled to utter an almost silent ‘why?’

He got off the armchair and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “For us. I wanted to be able to be with you during the day, not just the night. I wanted to take you out on dates when I can watch the sun shine through your hair.” He looked vulnerable for a moment—which considering his new status as impervious to almost anything, was slightly weird. “Don’t you want us to go out?”

“You’re stupid, and insane, and gah! Of course I wanna go out with you.” She poked his chest with a finger. “Not that you bothered to actually be anywhere near me for the past two weeks.” She then used the same finger to tap her lower lip in faux thought. “I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t just punish you for you absence.” As soon as she said it his eyes darkened and he leered at her. Once her mind caught up with her words’ meaning she felt a flare of lust go through her body.

She couldn’t help it: she was happy that she could go out with Spike in the sun and she knew somehow that he wouldn’t do anything that would make her regret him having the ring. So she crashed her lips to his in what was actually their first kiss since he’d announced officially that he was courting her. Over a month ago. Talk about taking it slow.

Soon the kiss became even more heated though, and thinking became a problem better left for other times. Feeling was much better anyway.

So the Slayer and her vampire made out like a couple of teenagers—which one of them actually still was—until he pulled away from her, both panting.

“Want me to take you shopping at the mall, pet?”

It’s official: he’s perfect! She didn’t answer him, instead giving him another quick peck on the lips, followed by a squeal, and her rushing off to her room to get changed: what she was wearing might have been appropriate for inside the house, but she needed to get mall-ready! His easy laughter accompanied her all the way up the stairs.

~~~***~~~

*An hour later, Sunnydale Mall*

Giles was doing something he was woefully unprepared for. He had seen evil firsthand, had fought against arguably one of the most ancient vampires in history, had been in charge of the training of the single most unusual Slayer the Watcher’s Council had ever recorded, and yet going with a woman to the mall, of all places, was something that truly terrified him.

Still, he allowed himself to be dragged along by the giddy teacher to store after store, their importance and wares having blended together since long before. It didn’t matter, though, because she was looking at him a certain way from time to time, or she would grace him with that smile of hers that would melt his heart, and everything else would become just details to be ignored.

“Look, wouldn’t that scarf just be perfect for what goes for winter in California?”

He nodded. It didn’t really matter one way or another. She would look good in a burlap sack to him. She’d look bloody gorgeous without it, too.

They’d talked, they’d fought, and they’d yelled. In the end, though, he could understand having to do your duty above your personal feelings. He could also understand going against the grain, had done it before, and was willing to do it again. For her. She deserved it.

He deserved it. He truly couldn’t remember anything in his life that could make him feel so alive.

Plus, it never hurt having something on your woman, since they too easily held the upper hand.

His daydreaming about what a life next to Jenny—or should I start calling her Janna?—was cut short by a sight he had never thought he’d see: his Slayer dragging along her vampire, much in the way Jenny was dragging him along, in broad daylight.

His shock must have shown because Jenny was suddenly next to him, looking concerned. “What’s wrong? Rupert?”

He was at a loss for words and the realization only made his lack of verbosity more acute. “I… That… Look!” He mentally cursed himself for being articulate only inside his mind.

“What are they doing?” She grabbed his hand again and started pulling. “Let’s go, we have to ask them.”

Apparently after she got her own secrets off her chest, she was much more carefree and impulsive . As he was being pulled across the semi-crowded mall, Giles thought he would love to take the time to get used to her. May even take the rest of my life.

He was aware of how stupid his grin had to look as they approached the most powerful couple in Sunnydale.

“Buffy, Spike, what a pleasant surprise.”

*The Bronze, the next Friday evening*

The Bronze was as packed as anyone would expect on a Friday when an almost close to famous band from out of town was playing. The people making up the usual mismatched gathering of teens, college goers, and regulars were doing their best to cram as much conversation in the breaks between songs as possible. The bar was as overcrowded as one would expect on such an evening, and throngs were milling around the already full tables in the futile hope someone would make room at some point.

Sitting at one such prized table was a group almost as mixed as the rest of the crowd: a nerdy redhead, a cheerleader-type blonde, and a ‘Prom Queen’ brunette girl, accompanied by Xander, who was feeling pretty good whenever he caught the half-hostile-half-envy looks some of the guys milling about were giving him.

That being said, Cordelia was hanging around them way too much lately. So much, in fact, that Xander was beginning to fear he’d run out of snide remarks to throw her way.

“Whenever you decide to stop ‘slumming it’ with us lowly peons, feel free to go away. Even the slums need a break from your particular brand of bitch.” Okay, so maybe he could still find something to say.

Cordy just barely looked at him long enough to sneer. “Serves me right for doing a public service and trying to grace you with my presence. Maybe I will go, but only when I decide it!”

She didn’t seem at all inclined to leave, though, and that might have had something to do with the bleached blond vampire that was headed their way with a tray filled with drinks. And how come he got to take a tray with? No sooner had that thought crossed Xander’s mind, that he could hear Cordelia express her delight, in her own special way.

“About time you showed up! I’m wasting precious mingling time by hanging around you losers.” She took her drink from Spike’s hand and took a big pull from the straw, only to stop and cough softly, her eyes wide. “This isn’t just Diet Coke.”

Buffy tasted her own drink and gave Spike a disapproving glare when she realized it was probably altered as well.

The self-styled Master of Sunnydale smirked. “Evil vampire, luv. You didn’t actually expect me to obey that whole ‘no alcohol to minors’ rot? So the girls got a bit of rum, and we guys get a bit of tequila. Seems fair to me.” He then took a healthy gulp of the pink drink that had given Xander pause.

What the hell? Xander immediately did the same and decided he liked the bitter taste, and decided to totally ignore the pink color. If it’s manly enough for Spike, it’s good enough for me, too. And it tastes better than beer. Still, it begged the question. “What is this?”

“It’s called a Paloma: tequila, grapefruit soda, and lime juice, but if someone comes sniffing around, just call it juice.”

“And how come you didn’t just bring a bottle of booze, some salt, and a few limes?” Xander was still curious, but that didn’t stop him from drinking some more.

“I’m easing you light-weights in to the real stuff. I figured starting you off on some cocktails would open the door to bigger, better things.” He winked, then he looked at the last member of their small group, who had yet to taste her drink. “Go on, Red, it’s not gonna bite you!”

From the movement Xander felt under the table, he must have received a small kick to the shin for his efforts from Buffy. “Stop trying to corrupt the innocent!” Buffy clearly didn’t actually mean it, otherwise she wouldn’t have had that sly grin on her face.

Queen C was busy sipping away at her drink with enthusiasm, though. “Oh, come on Willow, live a little! This might just be the single most exciting event in your entire life until now. Probably the rest of your life, too.” She then looked at Spike again. “You just might make yourself useful enough if you keep up this kind of treatment for me to ignore the fact that you are a walking corpse.”

Spike almost snorted out his drink through his nose at that, and Xander was curious to see the Master vampire laugh out loud at that characterization of him. He was also pretty sure that he himself wouldn’t have gotten away with it that easily. Even the Evil dead gives Cordy special treatment.

“Watch it, Cordy! That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.” Buffy seemed to pause for effect, which only meant she was getting ready to pounce for the kill. “Actually, now that I mention it. Where exactly is your boyfriend and why are you hanging around us, ‘losers’ when your adoring drones must be somewhere around here, wandering about like headless bimbos. Well, more so than they already are, anyway.”

Xander wasn’t exactly sure who was more surprised by Buffy’s calling Spike her boyfriend, but by the look on the vampire’s face, he was the odds-on favorite.

Cordelia just huffed in annoyance, finished her drink in one long slurp, then presented the glass to Spike with every bit of haughtiness to fit the moniker ‘Queen C’ she’d put on her car’s registration plates. “I need a refill.”

If the Slayer’s glare could have turned to daggers, Cordy would have been ripped to shreds. As it was, Cordelia remained unfazed as Spike got up and walked away, chuckling the whole time, after a carefree “I like you, you’ve got spirit” thrown her way.

“I can’t believe how crass you’re being, Cordy. It’s a whole new level, even for you.” Buffy was apparently not going to let things slide as easily as her date.

“What? I just told him I needed a refill, I didn’t force him to go get me one.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re for real.” Willow’s statement was something of a rarity, especially since it was one of the few times she’d said something throughout the night.

“Don’t worry, as soon as your pet vamp comes back, I’m going to find someone better to hang out with.”

The rest of the people at the table threw each other exasperated looks, but didn’t comment further, especially when another presence made itself known next to them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the girl’s group.” Larry had been a thorn in Xander’s side since grade school, and over time he’d only gotten worse. On many occasions he’d been stuffed into lockers, shoved, locked in bathroom stalls, and so on by the notorious school bully. And just like the proverbial bad penny, he was around when nobody wanted him to be. “Oh, Geez, could that drink be any gayer, Xander? Look, guys, I bet it’s the same shade of pink as his room.” The four other football players which were obviously in the process of trolling for girls started laughing nastily.

Xander felt like crawling in a pit at the bottom of the Hellmouth.

Just as Willow was getting ready to speak up, another voice made itself heard through the blaring music.

“Mate, let me know if you need me to tell the barkeep to put more tequila in for the next round, yeah? Wouldn’t want you thinking it was too soft.” Spike managed to saunter over to the table and present Cordy with her renewed drink seemingly without giving any attention to the jocks crowding the seated group. Making a false double take, he continued to address Xander. “You didn’t introduce me to your friends, Harris.”

The jocks led by Larry were caught off guard both by Spike’s attitude, and by his claim that the drinks were alcoholic, but a bully was always a bully. “What the fuck, Harris, you started to hand around with even bigger losers than you? Look at this guy, did your cousin decide to visit from the 80’s?” The sniggers were much more subdued now that the footballers were busy eyeing the drinks laid out on the table.

Spike gave Buffy a peck on her cheek, sat down next to her, deliberately grabbed his own pink glass, and downed half of it in one gulp. “Xander, it’s your call how this goes.”

For his part, the young man was completely thrown for a loop.

He’d only agreed to come that night to meet Spike ‘officially’ after he’d told himself he’d hate the guy, no matter what. He was, after all, the vampire-type-dude who had made Buffy’s life a roller-coaster since he’d rolled into town, and had almost killed her—something that seemed to be a taboo subject whenever he’d tried to bring it up. Another thing that didn’t sit well with Xander was how a member of the undead seemed to be winning everyone over, one by one.

From what Buffy’d said, he had hired her dad, and had even started working with her mom on some sort of project for the gallery; Giles was saying over and over again how amazed he was at Spike’s behavior as the Master, his words holding an uncomfortable amount of enthusiasm; Willow, Miss Calendar, and even Cordelia seemed to have some sort of warped hero worship, completely ignoring the guy was an evil bloodsucker, and Buffy herself was dating him. This left Xander as the last voice of reason—or at least that’s what he thought.

Then he’d started actually speaking to the guy and he’d seemed, well, likable. While Buffy was in the hospital, Spike had hardly left her side, but he hadn’t been exactly chatty. When they met up at the Bronze, though, he was making jokes, securing tables, and getting them drinks, just like a regular guy would have. True, maybe a human wouldn’t have actually brought the under-aged teens alcohol, but that had served to score major points against the bullies that had been making Xander’s life difficult for years.

And now, judging by the cold, calculating blue eyes fixed on him, Spike was willing to spill blood for him. Of course, Buffy was there, and the pact the two supernatural beings had signed would prevent any permanent harm, but Xander was pretty sure the Sunnydale football team would have to make do without some of its key players for at least a week once Spike was done with them. And all Xander had to do was unleash him. All of a sudden, he felt more powerful than he had in a very long time.

“Don’t worry about it. These are just some guys who think that because they’re on the football team they’re better than the rest of us. Not worth spending your time on.”

“What you yanks call football is just a pansy version of rugby, you know that, right?” Spike looked like he was talking just to Xander again, but the barb was clearly meant to dismiss the jocks.

Said jocks seemed at a complete loss about how to act, and the confusion on their faces made Xander’s heart soar. I might pay for it later, but damn, does this feel good!

Larry placed his hand on Spike’s shoulder from behind, trying to look as menacing as possible. “What did you just say, you bleached freak? You think you’re man enough to talk like that?”

“Spike, don’t!”

Buffy’s warning came just as the vampire, after flashing Xander a very nasty smirk, rose up in a fluid motion while he pulled Larry’s fingers back, leaving him standing over the now whimpering school bully. “I said that you seem like the type of person trying a little too hard to overcompensate for something.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wonder what that something might be.”

When Larry’s friends made to move on Spike, he flexed the hand holding the bully’s fingers. “Let’s not get any ideas, or your friend’s new nickname will be ‘Lefty.’” He then winked at Buffy, who was watching the whole scene unfold, clearly ready to jump in and take her boyfriend down if he went too far. “Let’s get something straight: a real man doesn’t need to prove himself, he could be wearing a tutu, and still be a man.” He sneered at the downed teen. “Now, Harris, tell me if the Sunnyhell team needs to find a replacement for this guy.”

Xander was still reeling from what was happening. He’s deliberately only talking to me to show them he’s on my side. Not the girls, not for himself, but he’s doing this for me. If I play my cards right, I’ll never have to fear Larry, or any of his cronies again. The thought brought a knot in his stomach, like before a test you actually studied for, but still fear because of past experience. “I already told you, man: let him go, he’s not worth it.” Why aren’t the bouncers showing up, though? Are they under Spikes power too?

The vampire leaned a bit closer to Larry’s ear, but spoke loud enough that his friends could hear too. “You’re getting a free pass tonight, wanker, and it’s only because Xander said so. If I ever come across you piss-ants trying to bully anyone again, I’ll show you exactly how fast I can put you all in crutches.” He flexed his hand again, making Larry grimace. “And trust me: I’ll know.” He pushed the teen away from him and straightened up at the same time. “Now you best get home before your curfew, yeah?”

Before anyone could regain their footing, out of nowhere it seemed, three very broad shouldered bouncers showed up and started herding the jocks to the exit, while Spike turned his back to them and sat down.

“So, what were we all saying?”

Xander burst out laughing, unsure himself exactly about what felt so funny all of a sudden, but unable to stop all the same. Distantly he heard Buffy admonish Spike about being mean, and him brush it off, but even through his hysteria, Xander could tell she was almost pleased. Larry was a menace and Buffy herself had been on the brink of throwing him through a wall on a couple of occasions. All things considered, everything couldn’t have turned out better. The relief was overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Willow was looking worried, or maybe it was just the tears that had sprung up in Xander’s eyes from all the laughing.

He finally managed to get a grip on himself, breathing deeply and taking another long sip of his drink. “I’m fine, Wills. I’ve just never seen Larry look so small before.” He threw a big smile Spike’s way. “That was almost too good to be true.”

The vampire nodded. “Don’t mention it; really, don’t.”

“Fascinating as all of this isn’t, I have people to see, appearances to make.” Cordelia faked a sigh. “The life of me is always demanding.” She then got up and flounced away, without even saying ‘goodbye’, or ‘thanks for the drinks’.

“There she goes: Hurricane Cordelia out in force.” Willow shook her head. “Why exactly does she keep hanging around if we’re so beneath her?”

“Because she likes you lot, but her friends wouldn’t get it, so she’s covering all her bases.” Spike shrugged as if to say he didn’t really care. “She’s just putting off having to choose between the two worlds.”

“Whoa, since when are you so insightful about high school politics?” Buffy was obviously teasing him, as was evident by her big ‘he’s my boyfriend’ grin she had on.

“Since I’ve been around for a century of nothing ever changing in how teenage politics work. Plus I get bored, so I watched all the 80’s flicks.”

Everyone chuckled as the much-awaited band took up their posts on stage.

~~~***~~~

*In front of Sunnydale High, the next Monday*

Spike walked up to Buffy after having seen her, Cordelia, and some guys that looked like college students talk, before the males drove away in their convertible.

“Hello, luv!”

She must have sensed him, but she still jumped slightly at his voice. “Oh, hi Spike!”

He kissed her lightly, but something seemed off and he was willing to bet all his winnings from the previous week of kitten poker that it had something to do with the college boys. “What’s wrong, luv?”

“Nothing, honest.” She kept her arms loosely banded around his shoulders. “It’s just that there were these guys, college guys, that invited Cordy to some frat party and they wanted me to come too. I told them I ‘thanks, but no thanks, I have a boyfriend.’” She seemed very happy with herself, and it warmed Spike’s heart, but the uneasy feeling was still there for some reason.

“The Cheerleader’s going, though?” At Buffy’s not, he added. “On her own?”

She frowned slightly. “Well, yeah. Why?”

He took her hand and they both started to walk along the street. “Because I don’t think this will end well for her.”

“What? No! I mean, they seemed like decent guys.” Her frown had gotten deeper. “I think you’re just being jealous.” She stopped him and got in front to look him in the eye. “I told you, I said ‘no.’ And Cordy only asked me because she said I know how to behave like an adult, and considering her Cordettes, that’s something they’re not very good at. Along with being nice to anyone that’s not a jock or a cheerleader.”

“I wasn’t worried about you, but this just…” He tan a hand through his hair, searching for the words to express the weird nagging feeling he had. “Let me tell you a story, and you tell me how it goes. One guy was the one that invited the Cheerleader—telling her to bring some friends to feel more in her element, as long as they knew how to have real fun—another one started insulting him about going out with someone inexperienced, not mature enough, or some such rot, and a third supposedly came down on the second about being a prick, then tried to invite you to go along.” He took in her shocked face. “How am I doing so far?”

“Were you listening in?” She had gone straight to outraged now.

“No, didn’t catch a word, was just coming around when they sped off in that overcompensation-mobile. I just know the script. One’s the ‘in,’ another is the ‘prick,’ supposed to make you feel silly if you don’t go along, and the third’s the ‘charmer,’ to seal the deal. ” He looked away from her eyes. “Seen it often enough.”

“When—? Never mind, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

She let go of his hand and he felt the loss acutely. Why am I telling her this again? Right, cause she’ll hate me when the other chit goes missing and she susses out I could have stopped it. Maybe. Bugger.

He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him again “Look, if something happens to her, it’s no skin off my nose, but I know you. You’ll start thinking that maybe if you’d have gone with, you could have saved her, or that it was your fault for dating an older guy for her trying her luck at it, or something else equally daft.”

“Hey!” She made the token protest, but her eyes spoke volumes. She knew he was right.

“Just tell her you’ll go with, feed her some rot about wanting to see what the fuss is about, or getting some experience to keep up with your worldly boy-toy, but don’t take your eyes off her once you get there. I’ll come over too, at some point, and worst case scenario we’ll just have our first college party together. How’s that sound?”

She smirked and put her arms around his shoulders again. “Boy toy?”

He smiled, relieved that she was agreeing, even without saying the actual words. “Boy toy, man toy, vamp toy—” He kissed her long and deep, leaving her panting. “I can be anything you like.” He couldn’t have kept the huskiness out of his voice if he’d tried.

She blushed and it made her look even more endearing. “Yeah, I—I’ll tell Cordy I’ll go with her.” Her voice wavered a bit, so he didn’t hold it against her that she didn’t take him up on his challenge.

She needs time, and that’s something I’ve got in spades to give to her.

“Are you sure you can get in the party after us?”

He leered at her, making sure she could tell the double meaning of his words. “Don’t worry, I usually get in everywhere I want. Eventually.”

She lightly slapped his shoulder. “You’re a pig.” Her bright smile belied her words.

“That I am, baby. Your pig.” He then laced their finger together and they continued walking towards her home.

~~~***~~~

*under the Delta Zeta Kappa fraternity house, two days later*

Buffy turned her head toward Cordelia. “Spike’s so not gonna let this go anytime soon.”

“What, getting captured?” The two girls, along with another they’d never met before, were all chained up, waiting to be fed to some demon for whatever it was it was giving the frat guys.

“No, him being right.”

Before Cordy had the chance to say anything the invoked demon shot out from the well-like hole in the middle of the underground chamber. It started to sway to and fro, looking at each ‘offering,’ before seemingly deciding on Cordelia as his appetizer.

She felt the terror build up in her. Even with the Slayer here, this town is still gonna get me killed. She couldn’t really focus on anything that was going on around her, except those big black eyes looking straight at her from that snake-like face. I’m never going to look at a snake-skin handbag the same.

Then, all of a sudden, Buffy was free and attacking the demon, Spike, Xander, and Giles were charging in to help from the stairs, and Cordy sagged in relief. I’m safe.

She watched as the group took down the demon and its worshipers, including that two-faced bastard who’d pretended was interested in her. As she was making a mental list of curse words to use, Xander came closer and unlocked the manacles keeping her in place. On a whim, she hugged him and whispered ‘thanks’ in his ear.

They stepped apart and Xander looked as if he wanted to comment on her actions, when the police came in and ushered everyone out ‘for their safety.’

*Sunnydale Warehouse District, the following weekend*

Buffy entered the dilapidated looking building with trepidation. Her senses were telling her there were at least a few vampires inside, although she was pretty sure other types of demons were present as well. The large steel main door looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years, and she had gotten in through a former service entrance on the side of the former warehouse. It wasn’t the only building in such a state of disrepair and sometimes Buffy had to ask herself exactly who had ever needed so many industrial buildings all over town a decade or so prior.

She was jostled out of her thoughts by the sight that greeted her: the secondary entrance, hidden behind the crumbling exterior, was a state of the art security barrier. She had stepped into what looked like a solid steel cage, with the only exceptions being the door behind her, the vault-looking door in front, and what she could only guess was the bulletproof glass observation window manned by a guard. Somebody sure wasn’t skimping on security.

“Password, please.” The disembodied voice could be heard coming from a speaker next to a security camera trained on her.

“Aut cum scuto, aut in scuto.” Spike’s voice was crisp and clear in the enclosed space. He turned to her, grinned, and shrugged. “It was Dalton’s idea to have rotating passwords with Latin proverbs and we all just went with it.”

The vault door opened and surprised Buffy with how quiet it moved. She’d been expecting something resembling the movies with metallic sounds from chains being pulled by gears. Instead, what she heard was a small hissing sound. “So what happens if someone who doesn’t know the password tries to enter?”

He led her over the threshold into a brightly lit corridor. “Nothing much. The alarm gets sounded and every single person inside either rushes out to deal with the intruder, or escapes through a secret tunnel.”

“So you don’t have, I don’t know, laser beams, or something, shooting out of the walls to cut the bad guys to pieces?”

“We thought about it, but I decided against it, just in case someone takes over and lays a trap for whomever is out and about without a clue. Also good for making sure a palace coup wouldn’t catch me on the wrong foot coming home.”

What really threw Buffy for a loop was that he looked completely serious. As if he’d actually considered something as far-fetched as lasers, but had decided against it. “You’re kidding me.”

He smirked. “Okay, so it was more of a ‘either mini-guns, flamethrowers, or walls that close in’ type of suggestion, but the reasoning’s the same: just imagine someone with a grudge was manning the door today. Had we put anything like that up, that person could’ve taken the two most powerful people in Sunnyhell out with a single push of a button. Not on my watch.” He had dropped the smirk, looking determined instead.

The Slayer had to concede his reasoning sounded good. “You really don’t trust anyone here?”

He snorted. “Trust them well enough. Up until I’ve got something every vamp ever would give an arm and a leg to have. Then you get somewhat paranoid.” He grinned again, but she could tell it was weighing on him.

It brought the message home for her once again: he would never be able to feel completely at ease ever again, just so he could walk in the sun with her. The thought brought a knot in her stomach. She wasn’t completely sure if it was from dread or anticipation, though.

Spike led her through a door to the left, to another corridor, then to the right, up some stairs, down another corridor, and finally through a matte glass double door into what anyone would have thought was a normal, open-floor plan office. There were about twenty desks in groups of four, with an additional four set aside along the far wall, as well as some stairs leading to a matte glass wall with another set of double doors.

“That’s where my office is, pet.” He’d apparently seen where her eyes had landed and decided to offer a description. “These here,” he said with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire room, “are my helpers.”

Almost as one, the various more-or-less human looking demons Buffy’s senses were telling her to protect herself from, stated waving ‘hello,’ most of them wearing welcoming smiles.

Spike started calling out their names, but Buffy gave up any attempt at remembering them as soon as she heard the first five-syllable name uttered. Instead she tried to guess what species each of them was from the vibes they were sending her. The tally was at least five vampires and eight or nine other demons, with a couple possible humans thrown in for good measure.

“This here is the Slayer, Buffy Summers.”

Apparently the introductions were all done and it was Buffy’s turn to say something. “Hello, everyone. I’m… not going to slay anyone, so don’t worry.”

By the looks of relief that crossed at least a couple of faces, as well as the chuckles from some of the other people there, that was the right thing to say.

“Let me show you to my office now, Slayer.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, past the still smiling assorted demons, up the stairs and through the glass double doors that closed behind them with a thud. She realized the office had to be soundproofed. When one added in the matte glass, it was almost completely private, while still accessible. Part of her was proud of him for having apparently given a lot of thought to how to run his operation. Then again, it could have been someone else’s idea, like the passwords, but at least he’d implemented it. She remembered her Dad telling her about different office-space layouts and how they affect morale on one of her few trips to his work, back in LA.

“Usually when I’m here the doors are always open, but we’ll keep them closed for now for more privacy.” He was looking at her, obviously waiting for her verdict. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s very… corporate, but not.” She sat down in a plush swivel chair opposite his impressive-looking desk, complete with computer, telephone, post-its, and even a stapler. It all looked so normal, so nothing like the only lair of a Master she’d seen that she had yet to wrap her head around it. “Are the people out there it? Your whole operation is less than twenty vampires and demons?”

“There are a few more, some that only do the day shift and what not, but that’s most of them.” A frown creased his brow. “Were you expecting an army?” He was half-leaning on the corner of his desk, looking down at her.

She got up, her anxiety not allowing for her body to stay in one place for too long. “No, yes, I don’t know! I just wasn’t expecting ‘Spike Ltd.’ I don’t really know what I was expecting,” she confessed. “I guess you’ll just keep surprising me, that’s all.”

He was up and in front of her in the blink of an eye, his hands holding her shoulders, and his eyes pinning hers. “There are a total of eleven vampires, five humans, and about fifteen other demons that I can call my own at the moment.” He took his right hand off her to point with his thumb. “The ones out there are the nerve center, but we’re recruiting more muscle every day.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re right, it’s probably the smallest number to hold an active Hellmouth in recorded history, but they’re all loyal, and, most importantly, they all agree to respect the Pact.” He sounded proud of them. “Wouldn’t trade one of them for ten of anybody else out there.” He lowered his head to be even closer to her. “What’s gotten you so upset, all of a sudden?”

She hadn’t realized it until he said it, but it was true. She was upset. And the reason was weird, to say the least. “Are they enough, though?” She wasn’t really sure where that question had come from, but she went with it. “If someone like that Khaki-straps guy comes barreling down on you, claiming the title of Master, ahead of an actual army of demons, vampires, or anything else, could you survive?”

He smiled. “You forget the Gem. Pretty hard to kill with it, ain’t I?”

“Especially with the Gem. You said it yourself, the Gem is like catnip to vampires. Someone will spill you have it, some baddie with a following will hear about it, and come to get it. What then?”

“Then we fight, and they die.”

“What if they beat you, if they—” She couldn’t even finish the thought out loud. The dread she was feeling was making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

He kissed her gently, his hand cupping her cheek. “You’re worried about me.” His voice was filled with awe, and it only made her madder.

“Of course I am, you dumb idiotic stupid moron!” She pushed him away, exasperated that he seemed to not have understood anything.

His hands gripped her shoulders again, turning her towards him once more. “You don’t understand: since I’ve been turned nobody has worried about me. Ever.” He was looking at her as if she’d just given him the moon, and it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. “Knowing you care, that you worry, it’s—” His hands slid down her arms, then he brought her hands up and kissed them in turn. “Thank you!”

She couldn’t think of an answer to that, so she just kissed him instead. It lasted longer than usual, slowly growing in intensity, until hands started roaming, and he’d pushed her against the desk, with one of his legs between her thighs.

She felt excited, happy, and loved, but a knock on the door brought their make-out session to a stop, and left her panting.

Spike growled softly in annoyance—something she found endearing in that moment—and turned around, shielding her behind him. “Come in, since you had to come banging at the closed door.”

A stunning female vampire with cherry red hair and lips sauntered through the door and she didn’t look sorry to interrupt at all. “Come on, boss, from the looks of things I didn’t interrupt much.”

Buffy took a moment to reassess the vampire, while she racked her brain in the attempt to remember her name. The result didn’t please the Slayer at all: she looked like a cross between a fashion model and a fitness instructor, she was dressed in clothes that showed off enough, without crossing over into trashy, and she wore a smirk that could very well have meant she was issuing a challenge for Buffy to prove why he was with her instead of the vampire. The stake that was tucked away in its sheath was almost begging to be let out in order to eliminate the long legged threat.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting, regardless of what exactly it was that you cut short.” Spike sounded upset, but maybe not as completely as Buffy would have wanted. It was almost playful, and it brought a stab of jealousy to her heart. She hadn’t really felt jealous since Hemery, not even when Cordy had tried to attract Angel’s attention, because it was overshadowed by the brunette’s not knowing what Angel truly was. The thought was sobering, since she’d realized already that she hadn’t really known enough about him either. She vowed to herself to ask more questions about Spike’s past, no matter how icky the answers might be.

Maybe sensing the tension in the air, the mirth left the other vampire completely. “It’s John. He hasn’t come back yet and I’m worried.” She was fidgeting in place, almost as if she was experiencing the emotion for the first time. Buffy was almost convinced that it couldn’t be too far from the truth, given what she knew of vampires.

“I’m sure he was just delayed by something.” He went around the desk and started leafing through a datebook. “He was supposed to meet with Razhak, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She took a couple of steps and kicked the black leather couch so hard it moved a couple of feet away.

“Penny, I told you to leave the bloody furniture alone!” Spike raised his voice a bit, but wasn’t yelling as Buffy expected. It made her think the exchange wasn’t exactly something new between them, and she had to wonder exactly what kind of damage had the things around them taken in the past. At least she could stop wondering about the name, since the closest she’d gotten was ‘Pretty.’

“I should have gone with him. You assigned me to protect him, and if something happens—”

“Dalton will be fine.”

“Wait, John is Dalton?” That piece of information changed the Slayer’s take on things. “Should we go look for him?”

The redhead threw her such a grateful look that Buffy was certain there was more going on than a mere assignment. The thought of the bookish looking vampire with the redhead that was just minutes ago making Buffy feel inadequate brought a whole new level of respect for him from the Slayer.

“Did anyone think to call and ask someone?” Spike had already rounded his desk and was holding a phone’s receiver to his ear while searching a rolodex for a number.

“No, because we can have no thought without our Master.” The sarcasm was dripping off of Penny’s every word. “We’re not drones, even if we are your minions. Of course we called and nobody picked up!” The redhead threw herself on the couch she had recently kicked with a huff.

Spike slammed his phone down hard. “Nobody’s picking up now, either.” He squinted at Penny, and Buffy started wondering if maybe he’d make her pay for the ‘minions not drones’ jab. “So how come you’re still here, pet?”

“You said it was ‘all hands on deck’ for the meet and greet with the Slayer, so…”

“So you waited. Good on you. Now off you go and find out what’s going on.” He’d barely stopped talking and Penny was jumping off the couch and rushing to the door. “Just make sure at least one of you returns to tell me why I have to worry about a balding former professor instead of snogging my date, yeah?”

“Sure boss!” She hadn’t turned around, or even slowed down to acknowledge Spike’s words, instead she disappeared down the steps leading to his office and then tore through the main office like a bat out of hell, leaving everyone staring after her.

“Well that was fun!” Spike sat down in his plush-looking chair with a worried frown.

Buffy decided to cheer him up. She made her way around the big mahogany desk, sat sideways on his knees, and linked her hands around his neck. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but if you want, we can both go looking for him.”

He seemed to light up at the idea. “Thank you, pet. You don’t know what it means that you would be willing to help me find one of my men. Still, Penny’s on it and I’m sure she’ll come back as the password said: with, or on the shield.” At her blank look he elaborated. “It’s an old saying, something the women of Sparta used to tell their men as they went to war. It means they were supposed to fight or die, seeing as how their shields were so bloody big you couldn’t run away with one.”

She scrunched her nose in distaste. “That’s a great way to send someone off.”

“It was, for them. The Spartans were really big on fighting and honor, so running away would have been the biggest sin. Almost won them the bloody world, too.”

Buffy though was much more interested in finding out about her vampire boyfriend than some long dead Greeks. “So do you know so much because you’re ancient, or is there more to the story?” She accompanied her words with a light massage of the back of his neck.

He tilted his head to look at her. “You wouldn’t be trying to find out the Big Bad’s secrets, now would you? Because if I tell you, I might just have to eat you all up!” He dove for her neck and started to lick, nibble, and kiss all along the side of her throat.

Just as her giggles started to become moans they were interrupted once more. By the same vampire. Who didn’t even knock the second time. Penny was rising on the scale of people Buffy wanted to see dead, after she’d climbed down it very fast when it became clear she only had eyes for Dalton.

“What is it about me snogging my woman that gives everybody the right of way through my bloody closed office?” Spike was all but roaring by the end of his question.

The answer took the wind out of both their sails. “I found John and we have a potentially huge problem.”

Jenny had only just finished talking when Dalton came in. He was completely disheveled, with his hair sticking up oddly, and a bruise forming on the right side of his face.

Spike was up in a flash, checking up on his man. “What happened to you and who do I have to kill?”

Penny appeared right next to him, offering the panting Dalton a packet of blood. The whole surreal image in front of her made Buffy’s brain wonder a bit, going from such topics as ‘why do vampires pant when they don’t need air’ to ‘do different blood types give different results, like taking different medicines for different illnesses?’ She closed her eyes tight and shook her head a little to focus while the still flustered vampire was led to the couch and force-fed his dinner.

“Now that you have some plasma in you, tell me everything.”

“Well, after I got to Razhak to talk about letting us hire some of his guys for the new docks project, in comes one of his men all but out of his mind with worry. Long story short it appears that various demons have been turning up missing for the past couple of weeks, and this guy Mirchak’s wife was the latest to disappear. That’s when they figured my nose was much better than theirs, so I was offered the deal in exchange for me trying to find her trail.” The adrenalin must have been running rampant through his body, because Dalton didn’t even sound much like himself. He was too jumpy and loud, but then again excitement tended to do that to someone.

“So why didn’t you call it in, get some expert tracker on it, and decided to just go ahead and run with that nose that’s probably clogged from all the book dust in Sunnyhell?”

“They said time was of the essence, and I didn’t think it would be that hard.”

“Stupid!” Penny gave him a slap upside the head for good measure. “The next time you do something like that, I’ll dust you myself.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Whatever!” Penny tried to act tough by turning her nose slightly up and sneering, but the effect was lost by the eyes that were still filled with worry and wouldn’t leave Dalton’s face. Buffy thought they were really sweet.

“So did you find her?”

“Oh, Miss Buffy, I mean Slayer, I mean I’m sorry, I had completely forgotten you were supposed to be here.” Spike’s hand stopped the other vampire from getting up from the couch.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry, she’s here, and she’s already met you. Now answer the lady’s question.”

John’s face all but fell. “I think we did, in a way.” The words brought a stabbing pain to Buffy’s heart and she had just enough time to wonder when exactly she got to the point where the news of a dead demon pained her physically. Watching Spike’s worried face as he listened to Dalton’s tale made the answer not seem that foreign anymore. “There were a lot of signs of struggle in an alley right off Jefferson, a block from the playground there, and even some blood, some probably hers, some definitely human, though.”

“But their species doesn’t attack humans. Was it a mixed marriage?”

“No, it was pure, but that’s not the point. We found out it’s the humans hunting demons, not the other way around. A team of about five jumped us—we’d split up to search a wider area, so it was just me and the husband—and by the time the rest of Razhak’s men showed up we were almost tazed, bagged, and tagged to be taken God knows where. Luckily when they saw they were outnumbered, they threw some smoke grenades and left.”

“And you’re sure they were human?” Spike’s voice was gruff. Dalton just nodded his confirmation, all of the adrenalin having probably left his body.

Penny’s eyes fixed Buffy in place. “Do you know anything about this, Slayer?”

“I swear I don’t know anything!”

“She’s not a part of this, leave off!”

Spike and Buffy had spoken simultaneously, which warmed the Slayer’s heart, despite the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Sure, she could deny it all she wanted, but humans hunting demons was always going to come with a lot of questions from the demon community—a community which she’d completely ignored up until recently, but that she had begun to realize was a lot more tightly knit than she’d ever thought.

Still, she would have to investigate about what was going on, because either it was the Council trying some alternative tactics, or some rogue demon hunters were moving in on her town. Either way things were not looking good and if what Dalton said was true, it had been going on for at least a couple of weeks without her knowing.

“I really don’t know what’s going on, but I promise I’ll find out anything I can and I’ll stop these guys.”

“How you planning on doing that, Slayer? Going to start offing humans?” Penny apparently wasn’t done questioning Buffy, but the blonde couldn’t really hold it against her, especially with the way she was clutching at her boyfriend, probably thinking how easily she could have lost him that night.

“No, but I bet any humans that know a thing or two about demons will be smart enough not to get on my bad side.”

Penny fixed her with a long, hard glare, then nodded a little when she was probably satisfied by what she saw in Buffy’s eyes. “Good. If you need any help, let me know.” She then lowered herself to her knees and took Dalton’s face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. They didn’t speak, but they seemed oblivious to everything around them.

Spike watched them for a few seconds, then grabbed Buffy’s hand and led her out of his office. “I’m sorry, love, but I have to start taking care of things here.” He turned his head slightly and made some gestures with his free hand. “Mark and Brian will take you home.”

“You’re kidding.” She took the pose she’d used in Hemery whenever someone she’d deemed ‘beneath her’ dared approach.

“Now, now, Slayer, don’t start! I know you can take care of yourself, but I also know Razhak, and he’s almost as strong as me, which is why his kind usually work in construction, or other hard labors. My guys will just make sure nothing tries to take you out on your own, and then they’ll come right back to start the search for these guys.”

“I’d rather be here for that.”

“I know, but the way you can help the most is by getting all of your White Hat pals together to research this, go places us demons can’t and all that rot.” His tone of voice softened and he placed a palm on her cheek. “Just please don’t go anywhere alone, ‘cause we can’t be sure these gits know the difference between ‘Slayer’ and ‘demon,’ yeah?”

“Then they’re in for a world of hurt!”

“Would you kill them?”

The question stopped Buffy’s blood in her veins, especially since Penny had just asked the same thing. “No, but—”

“And that’s your Achilles’ heel. We don’t know they wouldn’t try to kill you, and a fight like that, lopsided from the start, can only end badly for you. I can’t have that! So until you’re safely home with your mates, use my guys as bodyguards. Non-negotiable.”

Buffy was about to protest more, but she had to admit he had a point. If those demon-hunting humans didn’t realize in time she wasn’t a demon herself she’d have to fight them, and she would only be going for incapacitation, while they could even have guns for all she knew. A shudder made its way up her spine. “Fine! But I’ll get you back for this!”

Spike laughed and then leered. “Can’t wait, sweet!” He then kissed her once, with enough passion to melt an iceberg, then went back to his office.

Buffy was left to make her way home with the two almost-acquaintance vampires flanking her, instead of her vampire boyfriend. Sure, mentally she knew he was right, and that he had to take care of his own, while she had to rally her own troops, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Her life as a Slayer sure was weird!

*1630 Rovello Drive, the next morning.*

Hank had only just gotten back from LA where he had gone to tie up some loose ends—such as putting the condo he’d moved in after the divorce up for sale—when he’d gotten the call that there was an emergency Slayer-related meeting he was invited to. So he hadn’t even gone by the hotel he still refused to call ‘home’ these days and went straight for the house. Joyce’s house.

He was currently sat in her kitchen as she made him a coffee while they waited for the rest of Buffy’s friends and helpers to arrive.

“What’s wrong?”

The question startled him and he realized he’d been so lost in his thoughts that the coffee was already in front of him and had probably started to cool. A sip confirmed it. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He should have known better. Joyce sat down next to him and placed her hand on his. “You have that look. Something’s bothering you and I’m not your socialite wife anymore to just believe you at face value. Start talking.”

She was right, of course. Those last few years of marriage they’d both just gone through the motions, living the cliché: him with his secretary mistress, and her with her group of vapid trophy wives. Discussions about their problems had become so rare that when Buffy had burned down the school gym it had all exploded simply because they were finally forced to spend time together talking, trying to make a strategy, trying to be a family. He wasn’t even sure those people still existed anymore. His daughter had matured with her Calling, his ex-wife had blossomed into the kind of woman she’d always been meant to be, and even he himself was finally taking the reins of his life.

“I’m not sure how I can even talk to you about this…”

“Let me guess: Stacy isn’t coming to Sunnydale.” Her voice was devoid of jealousy, or judgement, and that only hurt Hank more.

“How’d you know?”

“Cheaters tend to trade up, not down.”

He winced. “Just for the record, I never considered her better—”

“She was young, pretty, willing to sleep with you, and always listened to what you had to say. Let’s not kid ourselves here.” She got up and grabbed a glass. For a moment Hank thought she would go for some sort of liquor, but she poured water in it instead.

“That’s not… I was a moron.”

Her lips quirked in a twisted smirk. “No, you were just looking out for yourself.” She put the glass down. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so clueless, I would have either stopped you, or gotten someone on the side for me.”

That shocked him. “Really?”

“I don’t know. I just know I missed the signs, or didn’t want to see them.”

“It takes two to screw up a marriage and I’m pretty sure I win at the ‘who screwed up more?’ awards.”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. Why don’t you tell me about what’s got you down now?”

He looked at her, at a loss for words for the moment. He then took a deep breath and started to talk. “I went back to sell off my condo, close up some accounts, things like that. She was supposed to meet me, to talk about her coming over, maybe to become my secretary again here.” It felt almost like a bad dream. He couldn’t even honestly say he was heartbroken. “She called me to let me know she wouldn’t be making the date, or any other, for that matter. She’s been working as Larry’s secretary since they fired me and I guess he’s getting the same treatment I was.”

“Really? She just went ahead and started working and sleeping with your best friend at the firm? What about Hellen? Are they getting a divorce, or will she turn a blind eye?” The unspoken ‘like I did’ sounded loud in Hank’s ears.

“I don’t know and I don’t really care.” He really didn’t have anything else left to say. He realized all of a sudden that most, if not all, of their ties to LA were gone. Her friends had deserted her as soon as the divorce was made final, and his friends had been ‘in a meeting’ and ‘just stepped out’ every single time he called. “To hell with them!”

“Hank!”

“No, really. I don’t just mean Stacy, Larry, and Hellen either. I mean all our so called friends. They can all go screw themselves!” He felt giddy.

“They just—” She didn’t continue her sentence, probably because she was unsure herself how she could defend the people that had cut them out as soon as they hit a rough patch.

“Exactly! I’ve known Giles for just a couple of months and I bet that he wouldn’t start sleeping with my whatever-she-was as soon as my back was turned. And I bet even Spike wouldn’t stop talking to you if he broke up with Buffy. Let’s face it: our daughter is better at making friends—real friends—than we ever were. And that’s not even counting the fact that any one of them is putting their life on the line just by being around her; and they know it!”

She seemed pleased with him. “So you don’t regret that you’re here?”

He took her hands in his. “I only regret what I did to you and Buffy back in LA. I hope I get a chance to make up for it in some way here.” Once the words were out there he realized the double meaning he hadn’t even meant to put in them. Given the choice, he wouldn’t take it back, though. So he waited to see what Joyce had to say about his almost proposition.

She looked at him then in a way that reminded him of days long past, when they were both younger and a lot less jaded. She didn’t say a word for a long time and he could hear his pulse as it pounded in his ears, he could also feel the butterflies in his stomach, something that he thought he had become immune to around the time he’d gotten his corner office with a view. He had been such a fool for so long.

Joyce gave him a small smile, part coy and part encouragement, then she nodded once and spoke to him. “I hope so too.” She didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, though. She got up and started to walk towards the living room. “Now finish up your coffee before it gets completely cold. We have guests coming to discuss how we can help all our daughter with her latest problem.”

Warmth spread through his body despite the lukewarm beverage.

***

Buffy was holding an empty coffee cup, its contents already hard at work inside her sleep-deprived body. She hadn’t been able to get a wink after getting home, her mind busy going over all the possible ramifications of what had happened the previous night.

Looking up she saw a room full of familiar faces waiting for her to start explaining the reason for the early Sunday morning meeting. She took another moment just taking it all in: her parents, Watcher, teacher, two best friends, and Cordelia. Not much of an army, but so much more than any Slayer before her. She allowed herself to feel blessed and good for a few seconds before she jumped in to the ugly business they had to deal with.

“There’s a group of humans capturing, or hunting demons. They got the wife of a guy from a peaceful race Spike was dealing with, Dalton went to help find her and they almost got him instead. From what I’ve heard, it’s been going on for at least a couple of weeks, with about a dozen demons, most of them harmless, disappearing without a trace.”

There was a pause, before Xander asked the question Buffy expected him to.

“So I just have to ask: why do we care? I mean, isn’t a group of demon hunters going to make life easier for you?”

“No.” She knew she sounded harsher than she should have, but she couldn’t really help it. She wasn’t just answering Xander, but herself as well, since she’d spent most of the night thinking about a lot of things, and those same questions had popped up in there at some point.

“But they’re just demons.”

“They were harmless, they were a family, and they were in my town.” Even she wasn’t sure which one of the three was the worst offence, but every Slayer instinct she had told her to fight back at the rogue demon hunters. And if she’d learned anything about herself since becoming the Slayer was to trust her gut.

“But I thought—”

“The truth is that there have been many different demon races and clans that have integrated in human society. The Council usually steers its Slayers away because it could possibly spark a war with forces hitherto left undisturbed.”

Buffy was a bit startled by Giles’ words. She knew there were demons that hadn’t bothered her, and she hadn’t bothered them, but she hadn’t known it was standard Council policy, or something. She just thought there had always been bigger fish to fry.

“So if this gets out of hand, Buffy could have more enemies than she already has?” Joyce’s mother instincts must have made her cut through the BS and right to the ‘what can threaten my daughter?’ of the thing.

“That’s not it, is it, though? At least, not entirely. The Council was more afraid of Slayers asking questions.” Hank was pinning Giles with one of his looks that Buffy knew from before, from LA. She’d gone to a couple of his trials, back when the different rifts in their family hadn’t become so large that everyone just focused on doing their own thing and ignoring the others. So she recognized that look as the one he used to make the main witness for the opposing side betray some deep, dark secret that would sink their case. All of a sudden she was starting to look at things in a completely new light.

“No, I mean the Council are the good guys, right?” Willow’s inner sense of justice must have been going into overdrive.

“But they really aren’t, are they? I mean, sure, they protect humanity from demons, but at the same time, they’re just a bunch of people trying to control a force of nature. A force of nature packed inside the body of a teenaged girl, which means they’re also responsible for guiding where that power is aimed at. I’m willing to bet that a Slayer asking questions such as: ‘how come there are demons that don’t try to hurt others?’, or ‘are demons capable of feelings?’ would be the Council’s worst nightmare, because they would have to start admitting there are shades of grey to her, and that might make her start making her own decisions.” His eyes were all but throwing daggers at Giles. “And that would only make them a bunch of people with lots of knowledge, but without power. Right?”

Giles was very visibly flustered. He was flushed, sweaty, and he was polishing his glasses into dust. “I never— That is to say— How could—?” His shoulders sagged and he dropped his eyes to the ground between Buffy’s legs. “I suppose that could be a perfectly viable description of at least parts of the Council.” He sighed. “One might say large parts.” He looked at Buffy then, his eyes pleading. “I never brought it up because you already had your hands full with dangerous demons, vampires, school, and trying to lead a semblance of a normal life. Had I told you about the numbers of demons around us daily, you might have felt compelled to act on that information leading to your Slaying around the clock, turning you into little more than a Dalek. I mean a mindless killing machine.” His eyes were so full of warmth and sorrow that Buffy felt like crying. “I couldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t. I was going to reveal more to you as you grew older and matured.”

“It’ fine, Giles. I understand.” She cleared her throat from the gruffness near-crying had brought on. She then focused on the rest of the original Slayerettes. “What we need now is to admit there are demons out there that are harmless, and that means that hurting them is the same as hurting harmless humans. Which means these ‘demon hunters’ are evil and need to be stopped.”

There was silence for a few moments, everyone taking their time to digest the newest mission. Then Xander slapped his palms on his knees.

“So what can we do to help?”

Buffy felt better, lighter, and she smiled. “Well, I talked to Spike this morning and his people haven’t been able to find anything new. In fact, it’s like they are ghosts or something.” She swept her eyes across the room again. “That’s why we need to find out anything we can ourselves. Ideas?”

“I could look into the city documents, see if maybe they left a paper trail.” Hank was scribbling notes on a legal pad.

“I could inquire around, see if maybe some old acquaintances of mine know of any groups active in this area.” Giles was writing in his notebook almost as fast as Hank was. The image of the two men slightly hunched over, busy making their lists was almost amusing.

“And we could all keep our eyes peeled, ask around, you know, be like sleuths. Oh, and Ms. Calendar and me could hack into the Police files and check those for clues, too.” Willow’s eyes were all lit up with excitement.

The rest of the voices started to overlap slightly, and everyone began bouncing ideas off the person next to them, and Buffy was just basking in the glow of it all when her mother cut through the noise with a question.

“What if these people come after Buffy?”

“Why would the demon hunters go after the Buffster?” Xander had been reaching for a doughnut from the table when Joyce’s question made him pause.

“Are you really that dumb, Xander Harris? Use that pea-sized brain of yours to imagine you’re a guy hunting demons, apparently peaceful demons, so human looking demons. Now imagine running across a girl, somewhat pretty, with a weird bump on her nose, and off-season clothes kicking the crap out of a demon three times her size. Wouldn’t you try to, you know, hunt the girl-looking demon, too?” Cordelia then slapped the back of his head for good measure.

Willow looked like she’d swallowed a wasp. “Wait, they could do that?”

“Well, ah, that is to say, I suppose that is a possibility, especially if this is a more clandestine group, with less contact with other people more knowledgeable.”

“But the Slayer is like the best there is, how could they not know about her? It’s called basic research.” Willow was still blinking like a deer in headlights.

“Unfortunately there are enough people out there that consider research a waste of time.” He threw a sideways glance at Xander, who just shrugged his shoulders. “In any case, until we have more information about their identities, plans, or intention we should all be extremely careful.”

Buffy had listened with growing dread. Ever since the mention the previous night from Spike that she could be on the list for those people, she hadn’t been able to take her mind off it. Visions of being locked in a cell she couldn’t break out of, wearing strait jackets, and being pumped full of mind-numbing drugs had driven away even the thought of sleep. Hearing Giles talk about it filled her veins with ice and she promised herself that she would never be captured.

And if that’s what people like that Mike-check, or Raise-crack were going through, thinking of their loved ones, and the possibility of them being next, she swore silently that she would do whatever it took to stop it. Whatever the cost.

*Docks District, five days later*

An outside observer would’ve thought nothing was happening. Dalton knew better. All around him Spike’s strike team was advancing, silent as ghosts, but more lethal than anything else in Sunnydale. Five vampires, the Master of Sunnydale, the Slayer, and Dalton. There were representatives from various demon clans that had sent their best and strongest, too, each helping in their own way. Some were beneath, blocking the access through the maze of tunnels under the town. Some were keeping an eye on the sky, in case of flying machines, or unexpected portals. A couple of witches—the Slayer had brought them with—were raising invisible barriers.

All in all, he was taking part in a full-blown attack on the hideout of the rogue demon hunters. His own flight of fight systems were making his blood boil. Of course, he wouldn’t take part in the actual attack, he would be part of the second wave, there for mop-up, intelligence gathering, and interrogation. The Watcher next to him was going to come in at the same time. Various family members of the missing demons were also present. If everything was going to go according to plan, it could mean the creation of an alliance of races that could very well keep control of the Hellmouth for generations.

Dalton was startled out of his musings by the door to the abandoned loading dock they were targeting splintering open. He hadn’t even seen who, or how it was opened, just that there was a gaping hole where the door had just stood.

Dalton watched with trepidation as his Master and the Slayer led the way in. Penny was part of the first wave too wave. Never in his life—unlife now—would he have expected someone like Penny to even notice him. She was like a whirlwind. He counted his blessings every single time she looked at him that way. Hell, he hadn’t even known someone could look at him like that before her.

He had Spike to thank for that. His Master was to thank for everything good that had happened since he’d been turned. In fact, his human life hadn’t been anything to brag about to anyone either.

So when the screaming started, Dalton left his post to rush in and help before he was even able to think about it. An instinct he didn’t even know he had took over. So he went to help everyone that meant anything to him.

He didn’t get very far.

Before he’d made even half the distance from his half-hidden position, the Slayer and Spike came out of the building. At least they looked in one piece.

The couple went to the side, where the Slayer started dry-heaving.

“Breathe, love. We’re going to—”

She got up from where she was leaning against a wall and looked him straight in the face. “You bet we’re going to.” She took a deep breath. “I kill vampires and demons every night. I’ve killed some of those species in there, before. But I never knew there were so may… pieces.” She turned and slammed her palm on the wall she’d been leaning against before. “I couldn’t even recognize some of them.” Her voice was wavering, but there was still steel behind it.

Dalton was feeling like a voyeur, but he couldn’t step away. He’d always been too curious for his own good. It’s how he’d been turned, after all. Spike’s voice brought John back from his memories.

“I could. And that’s why I will find them. I will find them and when I do-” Spike turned the Slayer towards him. “They’re mine. I have every right, according to the pact.”

“I know.”

“And one more thing. You can’t be anywhere near me when that happens.”

She went to say something, but he didn’t give her time to start.

“It will be ugly. I will have to do things that I was taught a long time ago, by a right mean bastard. Things I hate doing.” He ran a hand through his hair and lit up a cigarette. “This was a message for us. For the demon community. So I’ll have to send a message back. Both to the community, and to whatever group decides to do this thing next time.”

She turned away again. “I know that too. Just—” It was obvious she was struggling with something. “Just tell me when it’s done.”

“I’ll still need your help to track them down. We only found them now because of your red-headed friend. Who knows where they’ll haul up next? Could even be in a bleeding church for all we know.”

The Slayer’s straightened her back. She looked every bit the Valkyrie Spike described her to be. “We’ll find them, then. Wherever they hide, they have to leave a trace. Either you sniff them out; or word carries about them doing this someplace else; or they do whatever it was that Wills found this time.” She turned her head and watched as people moved in and out of the building.

Dalton did the same. Some of the humans and demons were trying to find clues as to the identity of the group. Others were just there to find their loved ones. Or what was left of them.

“And then—” Spike was only looking at Buffy.

“Then we’ll go in and rescue whomever they’ll have captured until then.” She met his eyes. “Then I leave and you do whatever you have to. That’s the deal.”

“Deal.”

They both turned to watch the entrance. Cries of dismay could be heard from time to time. Names shouted in a way that emanated grief.

Dalton started feeling anxious. He felt the need to see Penny again. He wanted to touch her, to reassure himself she was still there.

As if she’d read his mind, he saw her coming out of the building. He’d never seen her look so pale. She was turning from side to side, searching for something, and when she saw him, she launched herself into his arms.

That was not something they usually did in public. She was too cool for such displays of affection whenever there was an audience. This time though, whatever it was she’d seen in there—and Dalton was sure he wanted to wait for the victims to be taken away before he stepped food in that damned place—had made her cling to him for dear life.

However much he liked the feel of her, he still wished she’d been one of the ones left at base. By the way Spike looked at Buffy, he was thinking the same thing about his girl.

~~~***~~~

*later that night, Giles’ flat*

Rupert Giles was about to break with tradition. Again.

Since he’d become Buffy’s Watcher, he’d sent weekly reports to the Council via the post office, as Watchers had done throughout the modern times. In this instance, however, he decided to call Quentin Travers himself. The previous time he’d done it had been to discuss the prophecy from the Pergamum Codex. The one stating Buffy would die. The one she’d fulfilled, yet cheated at the same time. The one that had brought Spike into their lives.

The things he’d seen at the docks warranted another call, though.

Steeling himself for the coming breach of protocol, he dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Mr. Travers’ office, how may I help you?”

“Good afternoon. This is Rupert Giles for Mr. Travers.” He was quite proud of his voice for having been so firm.

There was a slight crackle in the line, a ringing tone, and then Quentin answered. “Mr. Giles, to what do I owe the pleasure, so early in the morning for you? Or is it late at night?” The greeting couldn’t have sounded more artificial had it been spoken by one of those infernal automated answering machines that keep asking you to press a button to represent your choice.

“Good afternoon. I’m terribly sorry for the rather unorthodox means of communication, however the situation we find ourselves in has forced my hand.”

“Oh? What exactly is the situation? Has your Slayer expired? Again?”

The words, though somewhat expected, felt like lashes. Giles had always felt guilty for not doing more to prevent Buffy’s—albeit short—death. Prophecy or not, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what exactly would have happened had he joined her on her way to see the Master. Maybe she never would have been thralled; maybe he could have stopped the ancient vampire from half-draining and half-drowning his charge; maybe he could have revived her; maybe the whole situation with Spike would have been different.

Although Giles had to admit, in his heart of hearts, the current arrangement between his Slayer and the Master of Sunnydale was among the better options.

With a start, Rupert realized he’d not answered his superior’s question. “Ah, no. Buffy hasn’t died again.”

“What’s this about, then?”

Just this short exchange was making Giles realize that submitting one’s reports via air-mail also meant one wasn’t subjected to speaking with the leader of the Council, on top of it being traditional. Still, he’d called for a reason and, after he grit his teeth for a second, he went about tackling that reason. Even if it meant a more lengthy discussion. “My Slayer is involved in a search for a rogue human demon hunting group. I’ve already exhausted every means of identifying them I could think of, but their identity is just as unclear as when we first heard of their presence.”

“Yes, I seem to have heard something of the like from some of my subordinates. Have you decided you required more Council resources in this—whatever this is? I was under the distinct impression the Slayer’s job was to protect humanity from demons, not the other way around. Or am I mistaken?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that the demon hunters were attacking and torturing some of the more peaceful races, which has incensed their spirits.”

“They are only marked as non-combatants through our mercy. If any individual or organization takes them on, it is of no concern to us. Is that all?”

Giles felt a bit of Ripper seep through his thoughts, but pushed down the torrent of expletives scrolling through his mind. “My charge feels it is her duty to protect the innocent, which some of the victims actually were. It is also a concern of ours that the Slayer herself might be endangered by some more uninformed demon hunters, as seems to be the case by the way they chose their victims.”

“Have you anything to back up this claim?”

“Not yet, but surely—”

“Have you had any contact with these demon hunters?”

“They have proven quite elusive, but we have found an abandoned base of operations. It was littered with portioned demons.” Giles was getting quite uncomfortable with the questions and the tone of his superior. They reminded him of an old schoolmaster from back in the day.

“Have you had any independent confirmation that it was indeed their base, and not some other demon clan’s?”

Giles thought about the flimsy digital trail Willow had found. He hadn’t understood nearly half the words she’d used, but he was quite sure even she wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was the right place. Except that they had found the missing demons. “No independent confirmation, but there was strong indication—”

“So all your information is circumstantial at best, and probably mostly provided by some sort of demon, or other, am I correct?”

“That is not how things are, exactly, in fact—”

Travers interrupted him again, his voice raised just enough to show his outrage. “So what you are informing me of, through the use of a telephone, is the involvement of an unknown group of demon hunters, with equally unknown reasons or purpose, and that your Slayer, under demonic influence, has decided to pursue these persons without success.”

“In a manner of speaking. That is to say—”

“I think I understand quite clearly, Mr. Giles. In fact, I have decided your Slayer is in dire need of some assistance, and therefore will send you the new Slayer, the one that was Called during your charge’s temporary expiration last year.”

Giles was stunned. He’d never heard of two Slayers being active at the same time. He was also outraged he hadn’t been notified of the existence of the other Slayer. Surely such an event would have required research. Research which had probably taken place without him knowing anything about it.

He’d been kept in the dark. Furthermore, the other Slayer was going to be sent to clean up after Buffy. Quentin hadn’t worded it as such, but the intent was clear. Also clear was the subtext of what the Head of the Council was saying: Buffy and himself were regarded as inferior to the new Slayer, despite their seniority. The implication tasted like bile in his mouth.

“I was not made aware of any other Slayer existing. Has there been any prophecy activated, or is there any theory as to how this was possible, to my knowledge, for the first time in history?”

“The appropriate research has been done. That is beyond the scope of this telephone conversation, however. Any questions you may have, you are free to ask of the current Slayer’s Watcher, Miss Gwendolyn Post.”

“And might I inquire the name of the new Slayer?”

“Yes, quite. Her name is Kendra Young. She had been identified as a Potential from birth, and has been under Council supervision ever since. I’m sure after you meet her that you will agree with me in describing her as the perfect example of a Slayer.” There was a brief pause in which no man said a thing. “If that will be all.”

Giles was left listening to the busy tone coming from his receiver. He had a lot of information to process. The more he considered the situation at hand, the more one thing became crystal clear: things were about to become very complicated, as soon as Kendra and her Watcher arrived.

*The following day, Hank Summers’ new office*

Joyce was sitting on the couch in Hank’s new office next to Jenny. The two had become fast friends after Dru and Angel’s visit, when they had started confiding in one another about their problems. Especially when those problems involved the men in their lives.

They were both supposed to join the rest of the group upstairs in Hank’s loft, but Joyce had pulled her friend to the side for a quick chat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you kidding? Look at this place.” Joyce accompanied her words with a hand gesture to the rest of the building.

“It’s still being remodeled and there are boxes full of stuff everywhere, but you’re not talking about that, right?”

“It’s all Hank’s stuff. I recognized it from back in LA.” She took in their surroundings again. “Most of it is still packed in boxes, as you said.” She pointed to his desk. “But look what he decided to unpack—our family photos. That and a couple of things I got him as anniversary presents.”

Jenny put a hand on her friend’s knee in support. “And you’re wondering if it’s a signal for you, or just who he now is.”

“Yeah. But then I think about what else might be still packed. Like presents from his secretary turned mistress. I mean, sure, they broke up, but he cared about her enough to divorce me less than two years ago. I can’t just forget that.”

“I get it. And his actually getting his own place, in the same town as you is different from when he was tucked away in a hotel, right? It feels more permanent.”

“Exactly.” She huffed and sat back on the couch. “Then there’s the whole way about how he got it.”

Jenny frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Spike gave the building to him as retainer for Hank becoming his lawyer.”

Jenny looked around the place again. “Wow.”

“That’s what I said at first.”

“I’ll probably sound like Cordelia now, but this must have cost Spike a lot.”

“Buffy said he’s doing very well as the Master of Sunnydale. In fact, that’s why he hired Hank—to oversee contracts with other races, other cities, and other countries. You know, the regular stuff the boyfriend of a high-schooler is concerned about.” There was a healthy amount of sarcasm dripping from Joyce’s words. Sure, she kind of liked Spike, and she accepted that her daughter wasn’t normal. That didn’t mean she should be overly happy about giving up on her dreams of a white wedding, chubby babies, and growing old while watching her daughter become the woman Joyce knew she could be.

“Again—wow. But what does that have to do with you and Hank?”

“Well, now that he works for Spike, who’s dating Buffy, he’s even closer to our lives than ever. Then there’s the whole interest he’s taken in Buffy’s Slaying. One way or another he’s involved now in both our lives to a greater extent than he was when we were still married.” She cocked her head to the side a bit and scrunched her face. “You know I’ve seen more of him in the past couple of months than I did the last half a year of our marriage.” She dropped her head back on the couch cushion. “It’s all so confusing.”

Jenny took on a more serious tone than the one she’d been using. “The real question, though is this: would you take him back?”

That gave Joyce pause. For all the things that she’d said or done, and for all the things she was feeling--all muddled up together as they were—she hadn’t just stopped to ask herself that one single question. So what was the answer?

She had no idea. But just because the answer wasn’t simply a resounding ‘no’ was a revelation. What she needed was some time to think.

“Ask me again in about a week. Right now I have no idea what I feel about that.”

Jenny gave her a look that screamed ‘busted.’ “I will.”

The two shared a grin, then got up to join the others in Hank’s loft.

~~~***~~~

*The Bronze, later that night*

He watched her dance. She was like quicksilver: shimmering and undulating, beautiful, yet deadly. A couple of gits had tried to get close to her and her red-headed friend, but she’d pushed them away in a gentle, but firm manner. She was only his, and they both knew it; just as they both knew he was only hers. He found himself bewildered by the sheer magnitude of it from time to time, after so long with Drusilla.

He was circling the dance ring, sticking to the shadows, and pulling gulps from his beer every once in a while. He never took his eyes off her, though. She was his own personal siren, and it took everything he had to keep from answering her call.

He’d promised she could dance a bit with her friends, and he would keep his promises. Especially after they had found those bodies the previous night. He knew she needed to remember she was also a teenager with human friends from time to time, not just a warrior for the Powers that Be.

With a frustrated growl, he decided to look around in an almost certainly futile attempt to give her the space she’d asked for. The usual mix of high school and collage goers were interspaced with grown-ups, proof of the sad state of Sunnydale’s nightlife—if you weren’t undead, of course. It was somewhat funny to think that there were more places catering to demons than to humans, but then again, such were the rules of a Hellmouth.

While scanning the groups of people milling about, he was almost pleasantly surprised to see something to keep him occupied, at least for a little while. There was an unknown vampire trying to put the moves on a shy-looking girl. Unknown meant rogue, and therefore not likely to respect the rules of his pact with the Slayer.

The Master of Sunnydale smirked, finished his drink, and followed the couple out the back exit, once the vamp had managed to half-convince, half-pull the girl along with him.

What he hadn’t expected was to see the girl whirling like a dervish, while she rained punches and kicks on her unsuspecting victim. Before Spike could blink twice, the previously shy flower had whipped out a stake from her back pocket and dusted her would-be assailant.

Then she turned to look at him.

Her dark eyes were hard and calculating, her stake was raised high, and her stance screamed what his senses had just then finally started to recognize: Slayer!

“I’m guessing you must be Kendra, the junior Slayer, right?” He tried to look as non-threatening as possible, despite her continuing fighting stance. He even leaned against the wall and lit up a cigarette.

“Vampire.”

“Oh, a native of Jamrock. The Watcher didn’t mention you were from the Islands.” He puffed some smoke towards her in an attempt to gauge her response. She didn’t even flinch.

“If you know so much about me, you know you are about to die.”

Before Spike had the time to explain about the pact, or anything else, she attacked. On a scale of toddler to Buffy, she was pretty well ranked, but compared to the Slayers he’d gone against before, she was closer to the Chinese Slayer—Xin Rong, according to Giles—than she was to Buffy, or even Nikki. Textbook attacks, tells as easy to read as Xander going for another doughnut, no finesse, no obvious enjoyment of the fight. Didn’t stop her from making his nose bleed and his head ring with a couple of lucky shots, though.

The serious impediment was his own unwillingness to harm her in a serious way, while she seemed intent on going through with her threat. Before long she had him with his back against the wall, with nowhere to retreat, and not enough room to maneuver. Sure, even if she’d managed to stake him, the Ring of Amara would ensure his continued survival, but a warning bell in the back of his mind was ringing in a way that reminded him she wasn’t supposed to know he had it.

Just as things were about to come to a head, someone tackled his attacker and managed to deflect her stake’s trajectory. His Slayer to the rescue.

The two warriors were trading blows without holding anything back. Despite the newcomer being a full-fledged Slayer, she was clearly outmatched both in strength and skill. Buffy was poetry in motion.

Still, Spike had to snap himself out of watching his girlfriend kick ass, because she’d just taken out her own stake, which meant he had to step in.

“She’s the other Slayer.” Once the words came out, the fighting came to a grinding halt. Spike smirked to himself. He could have been speaking to either one of them, although he’d directed his words at Buffy. Still, two for the price of one. And to think those ponces back in the day said he couldn’t use his words right.

Buffy and Kendra sized each other up, relaxing their fighting stances, but both obviously still coiled to strike. His Slayer was the first to break the uneasy silence. “Sorry about hitting you, but then again, you were attacking my ally.”

Kendra’s eyes widened a bit. “You ally yourself with the enemy? Why?”

“He’s not the enemy. He has a soul and we have a pact.”

A red hot poker through his chest wouldn’t have hurt Spike more than hearing Buffy claim he had a soul. As if he needed the blasted thing to be worthy of her. The Poof had one. Didn’t make him any more deserving. He wanted to scream, laugh in their faces, and tell them he was a soulless monster, ready to bag his third and fourth Slayers. Yet he didn’t. He willed his face to remain impassive and he kept his relaxed stance. It wasn’t the time to be petty.

Jaslay—he was pretty proud of his instant nickname for her—was eyeing him with distrust. He couldn’t really blame her since all she had to go on for him was Buffy’s word. Thank God the newcomer couldn’t read his Slayer as well as him, otherwise the lie would have been obvious.

~~~***~~~

*Earlier that day, Hank’s loft*

Spike had an itch. The kind of itch one couldn’t just scratch. His problem was the sun shining in from a row of man-sized windows covering one of the walls—the southern one, and therefore exposed throughout the day. All of his instincts had kept him away from such places during daylight hours ever since he’d been turned. The now familiar feel of the Gem on his finger was the only thing giving him the strength not to curl up in the darkest corner, yet that made him feel uneasy for entirely different reasons.

When Buffy had told him about her fears of other vampires coming for the Gem he’d laughed it away, placated her with boasts and promises, and carried on. The fact was, though, that she was right. As soon as more people figured out he could move around in the daytime, word would spread—if it hadn’t already. Sooner or later all manner of nasties would be knocking on his door, looking to make his ring their own.

He needed to find a better solution than just wearing it on his finger. Even with the Gem’s powers, fingers could be chopped off. If not fingers, than hands, the arm, or worse. He hadn’t been crazy enough to test what were to happen if someone tried blowing him up.

Sure, the danger was par for the course, and the adrenalin was a nice high to ride for a while, but it would get old fast, and he knew it. Worst of all, if someone wanted the Gem bad enough, they might try to get it by threatening the ones Spike cared about, most of which were gathered around the room.

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of some of the vamps he’d run into over the years, and what they would be capable of to try to get the ring. There were other dangers even closer at hand.

For example the matter of the second Slayer—and hadn’t that little nugget caused a flurry when Giles informed them. Now that the noise and theorizing had died down somewhat, the Watcher was trying to make a plan, so it was time for Spike to pay attention to something else other than Buffy’s stony face.

“It is clear to me that the new Slayer and her Watcher are not being sent here merely to provide assistance with our rogue demon hunters.”

“They’re going to spy on us.” Hank’s voice was void of any inflection, but the strain was still there for Spike to hear. “From what I understand of the Council’s methodology, what we’re doing here could be branded as at least unorthodox.” He pinned the vampire in the room with his eyes. “Or they could see it as a heresy and a threat.”

“I wouldn’t think that would be the case. No, it would most likely be more of a concern. That concern though might manifest itself in a more restrictive method of observation.”

Spike snorted in derision. “That’s bollocks and you know it, mate. I’ve heard a bit about what your Council thinks of rogues and what their solution to them is.” Seeing the lack of recognition on most of their faces, he decided some hard truths were in order. “Over the millennia the biggest Slayer of Slayers was the Council itself. I heard tails of Watchers being ordered to execute their charges, of tests like the Cruciamentum, designed to cut short the more independent thinker’s careers, of assassins sent by the Council when matters proved too much out of their control.” A look at Giles was enough to understand that most of what he’d said the old man knew, but maybe not all of it. “They even put a bounty on the head of the German Slayer during the Blitz, payable to anyone, human or demon, just so someone would off the Nazi’s favorite bird. Nearly took them up on it myself, but the Dresden firestorm beat me to it.”

He got lost in his memories for a second, only for Buffy’s horrified face to bring him back in the moment. “I’m sorry, love, but I figure you have to know what they’re capable of.”

“So the people Buffy is working for might want to… kill her?” Joyce’s voice was a mix of outrage, concern, and fear—the mama bear fearing for her cub.

“Now, now, I’m sure nothing so drastic would be considered in our case. The circumstances around what Spike is retelling are much more complicated. Each case is weighed heavily, the price ascertained by the Council’s leadership, and drastic measures are only a last ditch effort to stop Slayers from turning evil. The possibility of them seeing our Buffy as anything even remotely such is—”

“Too great to overlook.” Hank was scribbling in his notepad. “Our best bet is to make sure they find nothing out of place, except a Slayer hard at work to keep the demons at bay.” He then looked at Spike. “Your status is the greatest danger here.”

Spike wanted to protest, to scream, or any number of other things, but he didn’t. Deep down he’d known something like this was possible. Sometimes he found himself thinking that maybe he should just convince Buffy to run away with him, go someplace without many supernatural influences, or people, where they could live out their lives without having to worry about people on both sides of the good-evil spectrum coming after them. But he knew his Golden Girl wouldn’t even hear of it. She needed her family and friends, and most of all, she was a Slayer through and through. Saving the world on a nightly basis was ingrained in her. If only those Council wankers could be made to see that.

“Then we show them what they want to see.” There she was—his Slayer taking charge as she was meant to. “They want me to be the Stepford Slayer, then that’s what they’ll get to see while they’re here.” She gestured to all of them. “We’re all here trying to keep the world from being sucked into hell on a regular basis. I’m patrolling, stopping Apocalypses, doing the Slayer thing. That’s exactly what they need to see.”

“That still leaves your demon connections.” Giles was cleaning his glasses to dust again, a clear sign of unease.

“The only connection they could find for sure is Spike.” She turned to him and he was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web. “And all they’ll need to know is that he’s helping because he loves me.”

The rest of the meeting was filled with the group making plans and contingencies, but Spike was only half listening. She was willing to go toe to toe with the Council over their love, and that was enough.

~~~***~~~

“You bitch!”

“Spike, wait.”

“What the fuck was that, Slayer? A soul? Is that what you think I need to get to be worthy of you?”

“No, it’s just that—”

“That wasn’t the plan, Slayer! You wanted me to act like the Big Poof, you should have had the balls to ask me to my face, not drop it on me with the freaking Jaslay next to me.”

“Who?”

“The other Slayer, stop playing daft!”

She scrunched her face in that way of hers he found adorable. He was too mad at her to think of her as adorable at the moment, though. “Oh, okay. It’s just that I wasn’t sure anymore. I thought about what you said about the Council sending assassins, bounties, and I got scared. I wasn’t sure they’d just believe you weren’t going to go bad just because you love me.”

He pinned her with his hardest glare. “I could throttle you right now. Anything else you decided, or will I find out as this plays out?”

“I was going to tell you, there just wasn’t time. But since we’re talking about this now, out in the open where people could possibly hear us, you shouldn’t wear your ring while they’re in town either.”

That left him reeling almost as much as the soul thing. “So not only am I supposed to play bleeding Angel, I’m to do it without protection? Fuck that! I do what I damn well please, Slayer! I’m the fucking Master of Sunnydale, and you better remember that.”

He left her there. She could probably catch up with him if she wanted to, but he felt the need to be as far away from her as possible while he pummeled some wall into submission. Maybe after that he should start a brawl over at Willy’s. He also needed a drink. The order was of little importance.

*Three nights later, Shady Rest Cemetery*

Buffy patrolled the mostly empty cemeteries alone. It was weird to not have someone with her, and she tried to recall how she coped with it before Spike. It all seemed so far away and jumbled, she couldn’t remember. Of course he hadn’t patrolled with her every night since they became an item, and before that he’d gone for days on end before giving her any signal, yet he was still somehow present. There was always something making her feel him close, maybe out of range of her senses, but still there.

Since the debacle in the back of the Bronze though, he’d completely dropped out of sight. She even went by his place, only to be met with a weird combination of the warm- and cold-shoulder treatment. Sure, his minions were grateful to her for having come through with hunting down Dalton’s attackers, even if they weren’t caught yet, but they were also fiercely loyal to Spike, and he didn’t want her to find him.

The rest of the gang were busy, trying to formulate plans, research, or plain old schoolwork, and Kendra begged off patrol that night. She said something about her Watcher needing her for some special training—which that made Giles act stuffier than usual. That had been fun to see.

So Buffy was left to roam about and wish for a good slay, although everything seemed to be dead. As in deader than dead, because there was nothing for her to take her frustrations out on.

Just as she felt herself getting closer to the full-on-sulk territory than before, she thought she heard movement behind the nearby bushes. Almost afraid to hope for any distracting, worthwhile action, she stalked closer to the source of the sound.

All of a sudden, she felt the sting of a dart in her shoulder. She ripped it out, only to have two more pierce her clothes and skin. Reeling from the unexpected attack, she barely dodged the Taser another attacker tried to use on her.

Several things went through her mind at the same time. She was getting woozy, which meant the darts were probably filled with tranquilizer. She’d finally found the human demon hunters, but it was clear they were after her as well, as she’d feared. She was alone. There were five of them.

She managed a kick to the head of one of her assailants and dropped him like a rock. Was it still called a ‘knock out’ if it was done with your foot?

She thought she heard one of the remaining baddies say ‘fucking Slayer.’ Which only confirmed they knew damn well who it was they were messing with.

She was attacked with collapsible batons and brass knuckles, judging by the feel of it whenever one of the attackers landed a punch. And they all came at her at once.

Her legs were becoming jello-y.

She was going to lose and be taken.

All she could think of was that the guys would find out she was missing, but it might be too late by then. And she desperately wanted Spike to have been with her.

She might have knocked out another one, but it was getting harder and harder to focus, so she tried to make a run for it. She knew full well she wouldn’t make it but was unwilling to admit defeat.

Her legs were in serious danger of giving out by the time she was pulled behind a tree, while shouts and fighting noises could be heard behind her. She almost lashed out at the new threat, but she stopped when she recognized one of the demons who’d joined her on the raid to the abandoned hunters’ lair. One of Spike’s allies.

“Don’t worry, Slayer. They’re running away like dogs. The rest of us will give chase, but we’re taking you home.” He frowned when Buffy was unable to respond. The world shimmered and dimmed around her. “Do you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked.

Buffy almost passed out at the realization she was safe, but she tried to keep awake for as long as she could. She nodded weakly, blinked a couple more times, and then her lids were too heavy to lift anymore, and she allowed herself to drift off.

~~~***~~~

*Summers residence*

Joyce almost had a heart attack when she saw her daughter carried home unconscious by unknown men.

Their leader or spokesman, or whatever, was telling her about an attack they witnessed, but all Joyce could focus on was her daughter’s pale, bruised face. She dragged Buffy and her saviors in the house and did everything she could to make her daughter comfortable on her bed.

When she could think beyond doing whatever she could, like getting Buffy water and a first aid kit, she made a quick call to Hank.

“Hey, there.” He sounded too chipper for being called at eleven at night. Then she remembered he had caller ID and must know Buffy would be on patrol for at least another hour on a regular night. So he thought Joyce was calling him just to say hi.

She didn’t have the time or the resources to figure out how she felt about that. “Buffy was attacked by the demon hunters, and some of the allied demons saved her and brought her home. Come. Now.” She didn’t wait for him to respond. Didn’t say anything else. She ended the call and went back to cleaning the cuts and bruises marring her daughter’s skin.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help her sooner, but we jumped in as soon as we realized what was going on.” The man looked nervous.

Joyce tried to understand why. He must be one of Spike’s men. Which meant he wasn’t a man, but a demon. Joyce dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. He was kind enough to bring her daughter home to her, so Joyce didn’t care what he did the rest of his time. He was a good man, and she would treat him as such. “You did her and me the greatest favor you could. You brought her here alive. That’s good enough for me.”



He gave a curt nod. She could tell he was moved but tried to hide it.

“My… Her father will be here soon. If you could please stay to tell him the full story, I’d appreciate it.”

“Done, Mother of the Slayer.”

His formal tone almost made her smile. “You can call me Joyce.” She glanced at her sleeping daughter. “You’ve earned at least that much.”

“Thank you, Joyce.” He spoke to his men, who were still huddled against the door frame. “Let’s clear out and give Joyce and the Slayer a bit of privacy.” He turned his gaze to her. “We’ll wait for your husband downstairs.”

She should correct him, tell him Hank wasn’t her husband anymore. Instead, she nodded her consent and went back to fussing over Buffy, thinking that the sooner they went downstairs, the sooner she could start looking for wounds hiding under her clothes.

~~~***~~~

*Spike’s office*

The door flew open, and Spike spilled some of the drink he was pouring himself. “I thought I told you to leave me the bloody hell alone.”



Penny didn’t seem sorry in the slightest. “This trumps that. The demon hunters attacked Buffy, and she was nearly taken. Luckily for everyone, a team from Razhak’s crew was there to drive them off and take her home. She’s been tranqued and is a little worse for wear, but she’s okay.”

Spike roared and threw his glass against the wall. He picked up the lamp on his desk to do the same, when Penny stopped him.

“I thought we were supposed to be gentle on the furniture, sir.”

“You open that mouth of yours for another helpful comment, and I’ll stake you good and proper. You hear?” He snarled again but placed the lamp back down. He was about to say something else about her smug look, but he stopped when he saw how worried she was. She was concerned about his Buffy, so he’d let anything else slide.

His Buffy that had been out there alone, because he was such a wanker about her lie to Jaslay. “Bloody fuck.” He needed to act. “You and Dalton go by the Slayer’s house, stand watch, and keep me informed. Call out everyone and tell them it’s open season on the wankers who did this. I’ll be out, hunting them myself.”

While he spoke, a photo reel of Angelus’s teachings played out in his mind, while Spike ear-marked or discarded the various torture techniques according to the level of destruction he needed to bring to the unwashed pathetic excuses for humans who’d dared touch his Slayer. Spike had never used any of those lessons, but it was high time the Poof’s teachings were put to good use.

Ignoring his surroundings, he grabbed a trench coat and a skull cap and stormed out of his base. The quickest way he’d catch the hunters would be to have them come to him. He was half a bottle of whiskey in, so acting like a drunk lout wouldn’t be hard, especially with his accumulated experience in the department. To add an extra touch, he vamped out, slammed his face into a wall, and faked a limp.

He was a tasty-looking morsel, if he thought so himself. Clearly a vamp, lurking around dark alleys on his own, drunk, bleeding, and almost incapacitated. It’d be a wonder if nobody attacked him by morning. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it before.

The slayer wouldn’t have let him act as bait, and there was another Slayer in town who barely knew him and might get stake-happy.

He no longer cared.

The trap was set. Now all he needed was to see who took the bait and then take out his frustrations the good old-fashioned way—through massive amounts of pain.

*

The rogues played possum for a couple of hours, but if Spike’s senses were right, they were hot on his trail at long last. He suppressed his grin of triumph when he ducked in an alley and fake-retched behind a dumpster. It was show time.

Indeed, after just a couple of seconds, he heard footsteps closing in from all sides. He waited until they were close enough to choose fight over flight, and then sprang into action.

Grunts One and Two were disabled with knockout punches to the temple and dropped before they knew what hit them. Spike grabbed another by the baton he was trying to hit him with and slammed him full-on into one of the dumpsters. The other two shot some darts at the wall he’d used for support before the attack, and were busy switching weapons by the time he was on them. He punched one hard enough to make him lose his balance, and followed it up by concentrating on his last remaining buddy.

He traded a few hits with Five, which gave a Four and Two time to get back up and have a run at the vampire. He just grinned wider and pummeled all of them into submission. No matter how good they were, or what training they had, they were no match for the vast experience, raw power, and sheer determination driving Spike’s actions.

Only once everything was said and done, did Spike allow himself the luxury of taking stock of the damage he’d received. They’d gotten more than a few hits in, some of which he’d still be feeling in a couple of days, but those paled in comparison to his victory and what it meant. Payback time*

A short call was all it took for Spike’s minions to pick up the moaning and groaning humans and deliver them to the hunters’ abandoned lair by the docks, still complete with cages, chains, and shackles.

“Since you’re all awake, I want you to listen and listen well. We’re going to play a round of Torture and Tell. I am going to torture each and every one of you in turn, until you answer all my questions. There will be no escape, no mercy, and you will tell me what I want to know.”

The only response he got was a change in the intensity of the glares thrown his way. They must have been trained better than he’d thought.

He shrugged and started working them over.

After a couple rounds of punches to kidneys and livers, he moved on to kicking them in the shins and manly bits. He made sure each captive was in the same amount of pain by the time he was done.

Some of the leaders of the demon community joined as onlookers—there to witness the punishment the Master of Sunnydale implemented on behalf of the demon community.

“Now that the introductions are out of the way, maybe you can tell me who the hell you are and what you want with the demons of our town. Why did you want to kidnap the bloody Slayer, of all people?”

He was met with stony silence.

Cursing on the inside, he realized he’d be in for the long haul. “It’s time for the one-on-one part of the evening.” Looking around, he settled on the one who looked as their leader. “You just volunteered to be first up, mate.”

Spike removed the man’s fingernails, one at a time. The next captive lost his toenails. Spike was about to start on the third’s teeth removal, when the supposed hunter’s leader gave a quick command. The humans started foaming at the mouth and twitching in their bindings.

“Bloody fuck. The buggers had cyanide in their teeth.” The demons present scrambled to save any of the captives, but the hunters were all dead within minutes.

Razhak and Malcolm, the leader of another allied demon clan, approached Spike. “Kicking and cursing the corpses will accomplish nothing. At least they are dead, although their suffering could have been prolonged.” Razhak belied his words by spitting on one of the corpses.

“Yeah, it’s okay. You can stand down. Justice has been served.” Malcolm was more laid back. Then again his clan hadn’t lost anyone to the rogues yet.

“And I’m sure they are not the same ones that attacked the Slayer, so we’ll all get another chance at more vengeance.” Razhak was looking tired.

It reminded Spike to question him about what exactly had happened to Buffy. So he kept from lashing out. “. They were supposed to tell me their plans, base of operations, leaders, and whatnot. These deaths serve nothing.”

“They could still act as a warning.” Malcolm held an axe to clarify what he was suggesting.

Sneering at the cooling corpses, Spike nodded. “Cut off their heads and impale them on pikes, next to the Welcome to Sunnyhell sign. Let every would-be demon hunter get the message that this is our town.”

He was glad he sounded more confident than he felt. If the ones he caught were willing to die, rather than betray anything about themselves, including the sound of their voice, then a few things were clear. They were fanatics; they were foreigners, or at least not native to the US; they were well funded, judging by the small arsenal each carried; and they must have been sent by somebody.

Spike hated being in the dark about whom he was facing.

~~~***~~~

*Gwendolyn Post’s motel room, early next morning*

“Kendra, wake up. We have news.”

The Slayer was wide awake and alert in two seconds flat, which earned a quickly-smothered smile of pride from her Watcher. “What happened, Ma’am?” Kendra asked.

“First of all, it took you one second too long to react to my words—time in which a hostile entity could have incapacitated or even terminated you. I expect better.” Ignoring the mumbled apology from her Slayer, Gwendolyn went on. “I have received word that the rogue demon hunters tried to capture Ms. Summers and failed. This morning, the heads of five of their members were found impaled on spikes next to the Welcome sign at the edge of this hellhole. It’s clear which party was responsible for that act.”

If Kendra felt any shock at the news, she didn’t show it. Instead, eager for orders, she kept her gaze on her Watcher, as she’d been trained to do.

It was a good thing the Jamaican Slayer had been entrusted to Gwendolyn since she was called.

The watcher responsible for training her since infancy had been much too relaxed in his duties, as were most of the ones assigned to Potentials. Travers had seen the light, though, in the wake of Ms. Summers’ prophesized death and her subsequent involvement with demonic elements.

Gwendolyn had immediately been reassigned from her post to pick up the slack with Kendra. Her first order of business was to make sure the dramatic loss of her previous watcher, as well as the slaughter of Kendra’s entire native village gave the new slayer a new sense of urgency in her dealings with demons.

Sure, the loss of human life was a tragedy, however considering they’d been sacrificed for the greater good, Gwendolyn felt no remorse for arranging it. In fact she felt it was a real shame Lothos hadn’t managed to kill Ms. Summers’ entire high school and her family, as opposed to a few teenagers and her rather useless watcher.

It was now Gwendolyn’s job to ascertain exactly how tainted the slayer had become, while taking over the proper patrolling of the Hellmouth.

“This means we must step up our schedule. I wished we had enough time to look for the gauntlet, but orders from Mr. Travers are clear. We act tonight.”

“I understand, Ma’am.”

*Summers residence, next afternoon*

Something was wrong. Buffy couldn’t put her finger on it, but since previous evening's attack, she’d been feeling off. Well, more off than almost having been bested by a bunch of human demon hunters should have felt.

“I’m telling you, Giles, there’s something seriously wiggy going on. The bruises should've been gone by now, and my split lip keeps opening up again and bleeding.”

Her Watcher was frowning as he checked her visible injuries for the umpteenth time that day. “Yes, well I’m sure your Slayer healing will take care of it in no time, in the interim perhaps this will be a reminder about how us normal humans may take a while longer to recover than your calling requires you to.”

She grinned at him. “Sure, I won’t make fun of your taking some time off after we spar again, happy?”

His only answer was a wry smile and a cocked eyebrow. Which brought a pang to her chest, as it reminded her of Spike and his not being there.

“Any news from…?”

“Ah, yes, quite. Dalton was outside until dawn, and he told me his Master would be by this evening.”

The relief flooding through Buffy’s entire body almost made her giddy. “So he knows?”

“About the attack? Yes, he’s well aware.” Off came the glasses for a round of polishing. “It seems Spike took it upon himself to exact some revenge on behalf of everyone.” Giles looked even more uncomfortable than when he’d been telling her about vampire claiming rituals in order to prepare her for any possibility.

“What did he do?” She was sitting on her bed, her back to the wall, and with her arms around her knees. She was sure she didn’t look like the warrior for good, but then again, she wasn’t really feeling it at the moment.

“He apparently played the decoy, managed to capture a team of our, ah, foes, and…” He looked at her in that particular Watcher-y way that he got when things were really serious. Or world end-y. She really hoped things weren’t as bad as that. “Their heads were placed on pikes next to the town entrance sign.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d known he was capable of it, that any threat to either of them would mean he would kill humans. Their truce covered that. And it wasn’t as if he’d killed innocents. In fact, as she was being attacked she’d wished he’d been there, fighting beside her, knowing what his solution to their problem would have been. He’d even told her he was going to kill the wankers. Hearing he’d actually gone through with it was another matter altogether. Sure, they’d deserved it, if nothing else than for what they’d been doing in that old warehouse she’d seen. But they were still human.

Giles was looking at her, waiting to see what her reaction would be.

“I’m sure he did what he had to, Giles.”

“Yes, of course.”

She put her chin on her knees and waited for the sun to finally set.

*

Spike made the mad dash from the sewer to the Slayer’s door under the rays of the waning sun. As soon as Joyce opened the door he burst in, and threw the blanket he was using for cover on the ground. If it hadn't been for the Council lackeys in town he would have used his Ring and been there hours earlier. “Where is she?”

“In her room, up the stairs.”

“Thank you, Joyce.” He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement, and he couldn’t be bothered to apologize for leaving the blanket in the middle of the room as he took the stairs two at a time.

“Spike.”

She was a vision bathed in the light filtering through her curtains when he opened her bedroom door. She was rising to greet him and they met halfway to her bed, hugging, kissing, and touching. He swore he wouldn’t let his pride keep him from her again. Well, he’d try not to let it, at least.

When he was done making sure she was still there, and still his, he pulled back a little in order to look her up and down. What he saw made him growl. “What did the bastards do to you?”

She huffed a bit. “It just looks worse than it is. Apparently my Slayer healing is taking its sweet time to act when humans are to blame, that’s all.”

“Should’ve been more careful. Should’ve made them suffer more for what they did.” He cursed himself on the inside when she flinched and pulled back a little more.

“I heard that you…”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I did what needed to be done. I caught some of the blighters and I was going to make them pay. Didn’t count on them having hidden cyanide capsules in their teeth, though.”

She looked too happy at that. “You didn’t kill them?”

He let her go completely and took a step back. “I didn’t. But I was going to. Was just starting with the torture for information bit when they offed themselves. Was going to kill them anyway, though.” He raised his chin a bit. “It was my right, and you bloody well know it, Slayer.”

She looked away, down, and then back at him. Her eyes were pure Slayer, and he braced himself for whatever she was going to say next. “I know.”

He was a bit taken aback by her response. He’d been sure she’d find some way of blaming him for taking the precious human lives. He smiled wide: his Buffy was growing up. “That’s my girl.”

“While I cannot condone the taking of human life in my capacity as Buffy’s Watcher, I recognize your precedence.” Spike looked at Giles for the first time, realizing with a start the old man had been there the entire time. “And I would have done the same to them for endangering my Slayer.”

“Why Ripper, that’s so very nice of you to say.” Spike got an extra amount of pleasure seeing the other man start cleaning his glasses for what was certainly the hundredth time that day.

“Wait. You said some of them. You mean there’s more hunters out there?”

He liked it when the Slayer in her focused on the important part, although it was dimmed by the reminder there were still enemies out there. He told them both a much edited version of the previous night’s events, ending with his theories as to why they hadn't talked.

“Giles, did anything like this ever happen before?” The Watcher was deep in thought before Buffy’s question.

“Not that I am aware of. There were some reports of various groups hunting demons for different purposes, but mostly were either religion, or vengeance driven. The use of almost military grade equipment and tactics is strange, however. Perhaps it would be best to question the Council further. It is possible there may be more extensive accounts on record that I have not been made aware of.”

“The only ones I knew that worked like that were the Nazis back in their day.” He shuddered remembering the trap he’d fallen into and the subsequent submarine ride. “The top brass was fond of cyanide too, far as I remember.”

“Wait, religious nuts, Nazis? What is this, the Middle Ages?” Buffy’s comment brought an expected response from Giles.

“Actually, the Nazis—”

“I know they weren’t around then. I’m just saying. We need to get more answers.” She turned her eyes on Spike. “You think there’s a chance we could use the bait and catch method again?”

He shook his head sadly. “Doubt they’d fall for it again. Even if they did, who’s to say the next group would be more talkative then last night’s catch?”

“Then what can we do?”

He let out a growl. “I don’t bloody know right now. We’ve been chasing them around town for almost a month and last night was the first time we actually found someone to fight. I don’t know when they’ll show their ugly mugs again.”

That brought a humming noise from the Watcher. “You’re correct, Spike.” The vampire didn’t even have time to recover from the shock of hearing the seldom used words from the man before he continued. “I has been almost a month that we have been seeking them out and around one and a half that they first made their presence felt in the demon community. So why is it that last night was so… eventful, hmm? What changed?”

The Slayer gasped. “We were alone.” She looked at Spike. “All the other times we were either together, or with some of your minions. Last night I was just thinking how weird it was to go patrolling alone after so long right before they attacked me. And you said you were out on your own on purpose. So maybe that’s why?”

“That settles it. There’s no getting rid of me now, Slayer. I’m sticking to your side all night every night from now on until we catch every single last bastard out there.”

“Or perhaps we could consider making it look as if one of you is alone, if that is what seems to draw our foes. I know you said it wouldn’t work, but if we were to go about it a different way, making it seem like a fluke, perhaps it would be just the incentive they need to act, and therefore they would fall into our trap.”

“I’ll do it.”

“The hell you will, Slayer. You’ve already gone down fighting them once, I’ll not risk you again. I’ll put the Gem on and do it.”

It took more yelling, volunteering, cursing, and negotiating, but a plan was finally agreed upon by all three.

~~~***~~~

*Later that night, in one of the many back alleys*

Buffy was being escorted home by Spike after they’d spent some time at the Bronze with her friends.

“I still think I should do it. What if they tranq you like they did me?” Her voice was very low, and his chest warmed a bit at the thought they'd been together long enough for her to know his limits.

He pulled her close and pretended to just want a kiss. “We talked about it, love. The Gem will slow the effects down long enough for backup to arrive.” He nuzzled at her throat. “How are you feeling? Still off?”

She gasped loudly, then continued their hushed discussion. “Yeah. I really don’t get it, I should have been fine by now. I guess I could be coming down with something, too.” She pouted. “A cold is just what I need now.”

“Look at that lip. Gonna get it.”

They made out like the teenager she was for a few minutes before resuming their trip to her house.

After they rounded another corner, Spike’s senses picked up something faint. Faint enough that he couldn’t be sure if it was his team getting too close, or something else. He was about to pick up the pace, just in case, when a crossbow bolt embedded itself in his shoulder. Had he not evaded at the last second, it would have pierced his heart as well.

He ignored the pain, and was trying to see who’d shot him when a soft cry from the Slayer made him look at her.

“They tried to tranq me again. What the hell?”

Two darts were sticking at odd angles from Buffy’s clothes. Luckily he’d given her a specially made jacket to wear which must have stopped the little tranquilizers from breaking her skin.

Spike yelled loud enough that his men would be able to hear him. “Bloody cowards are on the roofs. Get them.” He was about to give chase himself when a wave of dizziness made him stumble. Buffy walked into him, then fell back on her ass.

“Why’d you stop? We should chase them.”

“Dunno, Slayer. Something’s not right.” He looked at his shoulder, noticing he hadn’t taken the bolt out. “Wanna give a bloke a hand with this?”

She blushed, scrambled up from the ground, and started pulling at the shaft with little result. “I… I can’t get it to pull free.” She let go of the bolt and frowned at her hands. “It’s like I don’t have any strength left.”

She looked up at him and he tried not to let the panic he was feeling rising in him to match the one he saw in her eyes.

“We need to get to your Watcher fast. Think you can leg it, Slayer?”

“Yeah, of course.” She sounded anything but sure.

The truth was the dizziness from earlier hadn’t really gone anywhere, so he wasn’t sure how fast he could move, either. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“Then move, Buffy. Now.”

*

The trip to her house had been anything but fun. She was out of breath, her legs hurt, and she was covered in sweat. She would have been even more worried about the state of her endurance, if Spike hadn’t looked like death warmed over.

They were both hopefully safe and sound in her living room, with her mom in the kitchen, preparing them some warm beverages.

“I hate this.”

Spike blinked as if he’d been daydreaming and looked at her. “What’s that?”

“I hate being all with the running from these guys. It’s the second day in a row that I end up at home recovering.”

“Bit new to this myself, but I sure wouldn’t fancy making it a habit.” He grabbed the bolt still embedded in his shoulder and started tugging at it again.

“Maybe we can’t get it out because of the Gem? Maybe it’s healed your muscles around the shaft and that’s why we can’t pull it out.”

He frowned at it, but then shook his head. “Thing is I already tried this before, back when I was testing out what it can and can’t do. I should have been able to pull this bloody thing out.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Or at least you should’ve, no problem.” He went back to glaring at the thing still sticking out of his shoulder. “Gotta be some sort of magic at play here.”

She felt a stab of fear go through her heart. “Well Giles and Jenny are on their way here and they’ll figure it out.”

Spike smirked. “Those two been spending a lot of time together, haven’t they?”

Buffy recognized the diversion tactic for what it was, but was too tired and scared to fight it. “Yeah. I think they’re almost living together by now.” She made a face. “Not that I wanna think about what that means. So don’t need the visual.”

He chuckled. “Got some things in mind for you to visualize if you want, pet.”

A wave of warmth spread through her body at his words, her brain happily imagining some things he might say. Especially since she’d been having extremely vivid dreams about some of the things she could possibly do to and with him.

Her trip to la-la land was cut short by the arrival of her mother with a tray of steaming cups in hand.

“Nothing.”

Both Joyce and Spike gave her disbelieving looks at her sudden outburst, but thankfully neither commented on it.

*

Half an hour. He'd had the blasted thing sticking out of his shoulder, and, even worse than that, out of the brand new hole in his duster for half an hour. And the bloody Watcher was doing a fat load of nothing to help. Instead he was just hmm-ing and ahh-ing at the thing. Spike was done waiting.

“Are you gonna do something other than stare at me, or do I need to go home to have this taken care of?” He gave an experimental wiggle of his shoulder to emphasize his point, only to have waves of pain spread through his entire body. He frowned. With the Gem on he wasn’t supposed to feel that much pain. Numb maybe, uncomfortable definitely, but pain? That was new. Maybe the Slayer’s theory about it being magicked somehow wasn’t completely a crock. Which made sense, seeing as how she was smart as a whip, regardless of what anyone else thought about it.

“Well we’re already all taken turns at trying to remove it through brute force, so I am trying to discern if it may have some sort of warding, or if it may be imbued with some sort of… magic adhesive, for lack of a better explanation.”

Jenny walked in with a soup bowl that reeked both of magic and of something foul.

“You better not be expecting me to drink whatever you’ve got in there. It smells worse than death.” The teacher’s guilty look was all it took for him to understand his fate.

Buffy snorted from her spot next to him. “Says the guy who travels by sewer on an almost daily basis.”

“Well I can stop breathing to deal with that. Drinking swill will leave me with an aftertaste.”

“I can make you some more hot chocolate to get rid of that.” Joyce was the only one who seemed at all sorry for him.

He glared at the Slayer, then beamed his best and brightest smile at her mother. “If you could put some of those little marshmallows in it, maybe it could do the trick.” She nodded and went back to the kitchen.

“This philter, along with a small ritual, should clense you of any spells affecting you. If that fails, it should at least give me a better understanding of whatever was done to this bolt to make it not want to come out.” She thrust the bowl at him while wearing a very no-nonsense look. “Now drink.”

He made the mistake of inhaling once, then decided to hold his breath until the hot chocolate arrived. The vapors were rank. Half-shrugging with his good shoulder, he took the bowl and drained it in a few long gulps. It tasted even worse than it smelled. It was all he could do not to upchuck, so he wasn’t entirely sure what the Gipsy was whispering to the Shafting Shaft—as it would forever be known from then on, as far as he was concerned. A weak pun, perhaps, but there were extenuating circumstances.

He was brought out of his musings by the Watcher saying his name loudly. “Spike. Perhaps taking the Gem off will allow Jenny to discern which threads are from the shaft, and which from whatever that thing’s imbued with.”

It took Spike a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts. It was as if there was a veil coming down on his thoughts. He grit his teeth in concentration, then removed the Ring.

Pain. Only with the ring off could he tell exactly how much it had been helping him. There was pain radiating from the wound, and he was colder than he’d ever been in his entire life or unlife. He could tell the people around him were getting alarmed, and they were probably talking to him, but he was unable to hear, or think. Nor was he able to recall exactly who they were at that moment. All he knew was the pain and the despairing cold.

*

Giles was watching with a growing sense of impending doom. They’d managed to remove the bolt, but the wound left behind was bleeding profusely. Even replacing the Ring hadn’t closed it, although at least Spike was no longer catatonic.

“I’m telling you, this bloody thing packs more of a punch than it should. I couldn’t even remember my own name without the Ring on.”

The Watcher had only seen that scared and haunted look in the vampire’s eyes when he was standing over Buffy’s hospital bed. The time he’d tried to end her life, only to save her yet again. It probably was a testament to both how dire the straits were at the moment, as well as to his devotion to Buffy. Regardless, the researcher within Giles was hard at work. There was something familiar about the vampire’s condition, and he was trying to remember where he might have read, or heard, of something similar.

“There’s something inscribed on this bolt.” Jenny’s exclamation brought Giles’ thoughts on the ailment to a pause, restarting the search for possible culprits. He was no longer convinced they were dealing with amateurs. Instead it seemed they were up against something much more organized and lethal. Until he had more proof, however, he would not burden the rest of the group with his theories.

Perhaps the shaft of the bold held the needed proof.

“Yes, indeed. These seem to be runes of some sort, which would indicate a runeword was used to prevent us from removing the implement.”

Jenny looked at him with growing understanding. “Implement, as in…”

“As in I’m almost certain Spike has been poisoned. What with, remains to be seen.” A sudden flash of memory made him raise his eyes from the runes to his lover. “I need to get to my office. There was a book there.”

“I’ll come with. Jenny should stay here and keep an eye on Spike.” Hank’s voice came from behind the teacher, and Rupert tried to remember when the other man had arrived. Disregarding that as useless information, he nodded his approval, gave Jenny a quick kiss, said some encouraging words to the obviously distraught Buffy, and left with the lawyer in tow.

~~~***~~~

*Gwendolyn Post’s motel room*

Kendra walked in looking winded.

“Is everything the matter?” Gwendolin surreptitiously replaced the file she’d been reading with another, less volatile one.

“The—Buffy and Spike were attacked in an alley.”

“Oh, do tell. How are they faring?”

“The bolt caught him in the shoulder, while the darts fired were stopped by her clothing. I think she must have gotten smart and worn clothes that prevented a repeat of last night.”

Gwendolin frowned in though. “Yes, it appears so. I will have to inform Travers right away.” She looked at her Slayer. “Don’t you have some patrolling to do? We aren’t here on vacation, you know, and now that the resident Slayer and her demon lover are incapacitated…” She left her sentence trail.

As expected, something hard came over the young girl’s features. “You are right. I will do my duty.”

“Good hunting.”

*Sunnydale High School library*

Giles had been only mildly surprised when Dalton and Penny had joined Hank and himself on the research trip they’d set off on. Apparently Spike had set up a round the clock vigil on Buffy’s house as soon as she’d been attacked, and her Watcher was deemed too important to be left on his own after the night’s events as well. It was also a boon that Dalton seemed an able researcher.

The four of them were busy looking through ancient tomes and journals of previous Watchers, with Penny making comments from time to time whenever she found a passage that she considered particularly bigoted, or inaccurate.

“Look at this. ‘Every nest of vampires shares a common blood connection, most likely having all been turned by their Master, although this should not be in any way misconstrued as a familial bond, instead being more of a method of control exerted by the leader of the group.’ Who even writes this crap?” She was looking at Giles with a smirk. “I can’t believe the Council has managed to survive for this long if it doesn’t know the first thing about vampire society.”

The Watcher paused his own search—the one he hadn’t shared with the rest. “Fascinating as your opinion on the matter may be, it is not related to our current subject. Should I remind you that it is quite possible the life of your Master is on the line?”

She made a disapproving noise in her throat and set aside the journal, picking up a demonology book instead.

Giles wondered what the Council would think about his having given free rein to his library to a couple of members of the undead. He looked around, shrugged, and then continued his search.

“I think I found something.” Dalton was squinting at an ancient looking volume. “It says something here about something called the ‘killer of the dead.’ Apparently it is a poison that, once it enters the intended vampire’s body, cannot be stopped.”

“No cure?” Penny had dropped the tome she was perusing and was leaning over her lover’s shoulder.

“Hmm. There is a mention of something here.”

Giles couldn’t contain himself, and therefore peered over Dalton’s other shoulder. Skimming the text, he reached the passage Dalton was currently pointing at and blanched.

“What’s wrong, Rupert?” Hank had also given up his seat and approached the rest of the group.

Giles took his glasses off and started cleaning them. It was in part a tic, and in part because he didn’t want to look at the text anymore. “It seems the only cure is blood in substantial quantities.” Fixing Buffy’s father with a meaningful look, he went on. “And it must be Slayer blood.”

There wasn’t much left to say after that.

~~~***~~~

*Buffy’s house, later that night*

“No, Slayer.” Spike was pacing furiously, but it was clear to anyone watching that he wasn’t very steady on his feet.

“Maybe I can donate a bit at a time.” She looked at her Watcher, who was standing near the entrance and watching the argument unfold. “Did the book say how long we have? Maybe we can—”

“I bloody well said ‘no,’ didn’t I? I’m not risking—” Spike stopped shouting and came closer to Buffy. “I promised I wouldn’t put you in danger again. You’re already weak.” He pointed to the still visible bruises on her face. “The wankers are still out there and they seem to have a real yen for attacking you. I’m not letting you walk around half-baked from blood loss, and that’s final.”

“Giles, how long?”

Joyce could recognize the look on her daughter’s face. It was the one she wore when any and all logical reasoning would be met with a stubborn conviction that ‘Buffy knows best.’ Apparently becoming the Sayer only enhanced that facet of her personality.

“It’s not really clear, however my guess would be a day at the most.”

Buffy’s face fell, and Joyce wanted to go to her, but didn’t want to get in the middle of the argument.

“See, Slayer? Now can we forget about you using yourself as a blood bag?”

“Wait. What about the Gem? Shouldn’t that save you?”

Spike looked away and Joyce was certain he was preparing to lie to her daughter.

“It should. It’s probably just taking it’s time, like it does with tranqs and poisons. I’ll be weaker and groggier for a while, then I’ll bounce right back like I always do. No need to be worrying your pretty little head about old Spike, yeah? You focus on getting back to form.” He walked out after that, mumbling something about smoking on the back porch.

Buffy was left hugging herself in the middle of the living room, and Joyce went and hugged her this time. The way her daughter buried her face in Joyce’s shoulder made her heart ache. Hank joined them, and that made it just a little bit better.

*

“You lied to my Slayer.”

Spike let out a curse at the intrusion. Leave it to the Watcher to not leave bloody off. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Giles held out his hand and Spike passed him a fag and his lighter. After the old man lit up, he kept talking. “The text was very clear. There are no prevention methods, no cures, no quarter, save for slayer blood. The Gem might be allowing you to remain upright, but it will not save you in the long run.”

Spike watched the smoke he’d exhaled get lost in the air. “What of it?”

“She might have been right. If the Gem manages to delay the effects long enough, it might be possible for her to save up enough of her blood for you to consume and be saved.” He was watching the embers of his cigarette while he spoke. Seemed he was just as reluctant to bring it up as Spike was to hear it. Made sense, really. A Watcher talking with a vampire about feeding him his Slayer’s blood. Weren’t they the mavericks? “How fast do you think it’s progressing?”

Spike sighed. “Probably have a few days, a week at most.” He ground out his cigarette. “Not gonna put Buffy in danger. Rather dust.”

“So you’ve said.” The Watcher gave him a sideways look. “You keep mentioning her state. What is it that troubles you?”

Spike lit up another fag. “She’s not healing like she should, and when she was pulling at the Shafting Shaft she had even less strength than you.”

That seemed to give Giles pause. “Are you certain?”

The vampire snorted. “Wasn’t like I was keeping score, but you hurt me more than she did.” Spike narrowed his eyes. “What is it that you know?”

Giles finished his own smoke, studiously not looking him in the eye. “I only have a theory I must research further. I will let you know if anything develops.”

Spike raised his voice at the other man’s retreating form. “You make sure you do that, Watcher.”

~~~***~~~~

*unmarked cave right outside the city*

“Careful, boys. We don’t know what these pulsers have going for them, but you can bet your asses it’s not going to be pretty.” Brian surveyed the assault team he’d gathered. “Any of you got any magic skills?”

One of the other demons—a pureblood Charrak—raised his hand. “I can sense sources of magic, and whatever’s inside doesn’t register. So we should be safe.”

Brian nodded. “Good. At least that’s something.” He started pointing in turn to his team. “You two go in first, you two cover the rear, you and you take the flanks, and the rest of us will fan out as we can. Remember, don’t get in each other’s way, and our goal is to capture at least one. They’ve probably got cyanide in their teeth, so make sure they don’t have time to bite down. Also they must have gotten our little message and won’t even wait for us to capture them before they commit suicide. Speed is of the essence, people—try to knock them out as soon as possible, kill only if you have to.” Once everyone had nodded that they’d understood, he rubbed his palms together. “Ready? Let’s go.”

Once Brian and his team made it inside all hell broke loose. The hunters were heavily armed, wore protective clothing, and were well trained. Once they’d emptied the weapons they had on them, the humans pulled out swords and stakes and charged at their attackers.

Brian and Eddie, another one of Spike’s vampires, ended up trading blows with one of the larger hunters. Thanks to the precaution of grabbing a tire iron, Brian managed to knock out his opponent pretty easily, however one of the hits he’d given to the human’s face must have also broken the tooth holding the cyanide, so there was nothing more that could be done.

A quick head count confirmed what Brian had feared going in. A couple of the humans were already dead, not counting his victim, as well as a couple of the attacking demons. Making a quick decision, he jumped behind the nearest enemy, shoved his fingers in the other man’s mouth and bit down on his neck. He ignored the dying victim’s attempts to bite through his hand. Soon enough he could hear the faltering heartbeat reach that special rhythm that meant it was time. He opened a vein and created Spike’s newest minion.

As his future fledgling gave his last breath, Brian surveyed the cave. The hunters were dead, either from the combat, or with the tell-tale foam around their mouths. He looked down at the cooling corpse in his arms. He hoped the turned hunter would be talkative.

~~~***~~~

*Giles’ flat, early next morning*

Jenny was so tired she almost gave in to her fevered brain’s idea of fixing herself an energy potion. The four coffees and three teas within the last twelve hours weren’t enough to keep her fully functioning anymore, but she knew the potion would only mean she’d be able to focus for about an hour before a total collapse. She doubted she’d have the luxury of uninterrupted sleep for almost a day, as the side effect required.

She sighed deeply and set about making yet another espresso when Giles made a victorious sound.

“Did you find whatever it was you were searching for?”

His eyes were red and sunken in from lack of sleep. “Yes. I will require your assistance now, though.”

She gestured to the bag of magic supplies they’d retrieved from her apartment and placed on the table. “Does that have anything to do with it?”

He was busy rummaging through a bag. “Indeed.” Rupert pulled out the file of blood he’d taken from Buffy. “I need you to look at her blood and tell me if you find anything wrong.”

Jenny could see where things were headed, but decided to ask anyway. “And by look you mean a spell, right?”

He didn’t even pause as he started placing ingredients on the table. Apparently he had his own magic stash under the counter. He then started going through her bag, studying each satchel carefully before either placing it on the counter, or discarding it back in the bag. “I’ll need you to make and drink a potion, perform a ritual, and tell me what you can sense.” He looked at her with sheer determination. “I will provide the anchor.”

Jenny felt a pulse of heat go through her at the thought of performing magic together. Ever since he’d told her about his ‘misspent youth’ as Ripper she’d been curious to see how it would be to do a spell with him. Unfortunately they were both too tired and too pressed for time to enjoy the experience properly. So she made a mental note to try to talk him into doing some experimenting together after the current crisis was over.

His hand on her arm gave her a start.

“I was asking if you require any preparation.” He was wearing a crooked smile.

“No, sorry. I’m just very tired.” She shrugged. “Not much either of us can do about that, though.” She blinked a few times to try to dislodge the cobwebs around her eyes. “Let’s see here.”

The potion and ritual proved to be simple enough. A few powders, a boiling kettle, some candles, a magic circle, and some chanting. Nothing she hadn’t done before, and Giles proved to be a very competent helper.

She could feel the effects almost immediately. Her sight behaved almost like a computer monitor when it shimmered, collapsed to a single point went out, then gradually cleared again. The differences were clear, though. Everything was brighter, while at the same time the colors were more muted. She felt the ebb and flow of magic around her, while at the same time being completely detached from everything. Everything except for Rupert, that is.

When she looked at him she found he was shiny and muted like everything else, but he seemed more in focus. She felt drawn to him in a way that was part the spell, and part her own desire. She would deny giggling as soon as the spell stopped.

Giles smiled, but pointed to the phial in front of her.

Once she looked at it she found it hard to concentrate on anything else. The blood had become a bright orange, and it was glowing, its hallo all the colors of the rainbow. Pretty. Looking closer though, she could tell there was something wrong.

“Jenny.” Rupert was talking. It took her a moment to process what it was he was saying. “I need you to tell me what color the blood is.”

Her mouth was dry, and her tongue was too numb. She pushed herself to speak. “Orange. Ripe mandarins type of orange.” She grinned as she imagined being fed slices of sweet mandarins.

“Is there any yellow pushing back?”

His question took her a bit by surprise. Why would yellow want to push? And who was pulling? Maybe the green knew. The green looked like it knew a thing or two. She shook her head a bit, trying to remember what she was supposed to do. “There’s some yellow, but the red is winning. Why are they fighting? Should we get the blue to referee?”

Rupert was talking again, but she couldn’t make out the words exactly. The image flickered and she could tell the spell was ending.

Once she was out of the trance she found herself in Rupert’s arms.

“You can rest now, it’s okay.”

She frowned. “Did we find out what we wanted?”

He looked sad and angry. “Yes, and it’s as I feared. The Council is behind the attack.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because the trance you were in is used to ensure a Slayer has been affected enough by the Cruciamentum drug. Less the yellow, lesser the powers.” He sneered. “And only the Council has the recipe for the drug.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry. You need to rest now. I’ll call Buffy’s house and tell them to be on guard.”

There were more questions to ask, but the sleep Jenny had been fighting for so long caught up with her.

*

She woke up with a start because of a tremendous crashing sound. Giles was fighting with some men that had broken through the door. Jenny tried to get up, but one of them pointed a device at her and all she knew was pain before she lost consciousness again.

*

Her head was throbbing. Apart from that, her hands and feet were killing her. She realized she’d been manacled to a wall in something resembling a cave.

“—Sanctimonious bitch.” Giles was manacled next to her, his hair and clothes disheveled, and his glasses were missing. He had a big bruise forming on the side of his face and was yelling at one of their captors. It took a moment for Jenny’s muddled brain to put a name to the face. Gwendolyn Post.

So it was true. It had been the Council all along. And now they had them. A look around the walls showed no other captives, just another pair of restraints, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any others that had fallen prey. They could have other caves.

“I am merely doing my job. The job you gave up on as soon as you allowed that creature access to your Slayer.” Gwendolyn spat out her words with such distaste it made Jenny cringe.

“That’s what the excuse the Nazis used. Is the Council of Watchers not better than that? If that is the case, I hereby tender my resignation.” Giles was defiant, but the teacher could tell he was barely standing straight.

It made her wonder what they’d done to him. It’s terrifying to realize that you hope someone was just punched a couple of times and tazed.

“You needn’t worry about resigning. Your services are no longer required anyway. In fact, your position as Ms. Summer’s watcher will become obsolete in short time.” Her smirk was truly horrid.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? She’s one of the best slayers in Council history. I—”

Jenny screamed when Gwendolyn tazed Giles until he lost consciousness. Which only alerted their captor to her being awake. The female watcher didn’t even bat an eye as she revealed another device and discharged it in Jenny’s chest.

*Summers residence*

Hank put the phone down with a trembling hand. For days… for the months since he’d heard of his daughter’s calling he’d been trying to prepare himself for the worst. He’d watched her fight for her life, the most harrowing of which having been when Spike had all but drained her dry. The pit widening in his stomach was almost as bad as it had been then.

“Who was that?” Buffy was coming out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice.

Hank tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “That was Giles.” He went to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. The only way he could get through saying what he had to was quickly, as if ripping off a band aid. “He said the Council is to blame for the attacks, that they shot you with some drug that steals your powers temporarily.” He rushed through the rest before she had a chance to say anything. “Kendra and her watcher are definitely in on it. The last thing I heard before the phone got cut off was Giles being taken.”

The glass Buffy had been holding shattered on the floor. She tried to move to the door, but Hank enveloped her in a hug both to comfort her and to stop her from going out.

“Dad, let me go, I need to help Giles.”

“You need to stay here, away from people with power-stealing drugs and tranquilizers. We’ll let Spike know what we found out and we’ll hatch a plan that won’t get you captured. Or worse.” His voice trembled towards the end.

She crumpled against his chest crying, and he was reminded of earlier times, simpler times, when he’d held her after she’d gotten a boo-boo as a toddler. His heart broke for her.

*

Spike’s roar was loud enough to rattle the walls. “Those bleeding wankers. I knew I should have just ripped Jaslay and her Watcher to shreds as soon as they stepped off the fucking plane.”

Joyce’s living room had become ‘Slayer Central’ once more, with demons, vampires, her family, and her daughter’s friends all gathered together to hear the news Hank had learned from Giles. The only ones missing were the watcher himself and the teacher. The very ones the rest now needed to save.

“There’s more.” Hank’s words stopped Spike in his tracks. “Giles also told me that because of the drug in Buffy’s blood, she can’t cure you.”

“No.” Buffy crumpled in her mother’s arms and Joyce did all she could to keep her daughter upright.

“Knew that, didn’t I? Sensed it. Makes no mind. I still have enough in me to rip the wankers a new one before I go. Worth it.” He was speaking softly, his eyes trained on Buffy the entire time.

Slayer and vampire met in the middle of the room in a hug so charged it made Joyce feel awkward for witnessing it. She busied herself with clearing up some coffee mugs, fighting off her own tears. Her daughter didn’t deserve to feel so much pain at such a young age. She barely made it to the kitchen sink before silent sobs overtook her. Strong arms, familiar arms, banded around her and she allowed Hank to comfort her.

“We’ll get Rupert and Jenny back, don’t worry.” He was rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“But Spike—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. The enormity of it too great to put into words.

“He’s a fighter. We’ll find a solution.” The way he said it triggered warning bells in Joyce’s mind. He had a plan he hadn’t shared. “There is more than one Slayer alive, isn’t there?” He said no more, but he didn’t need to.

Joyce’s eyes jumped to his. “Did you—”

“Buffy already thought of it. She’s going to try to lure the Council lackeys into a trap.”

“But she’s weak.”

“She’s stronger than she’s ever been, Joyce. Maybe not physically, but our daughter is all grown up. Maybe it’s time we accepted it.”

“She’ll always be my little girl.”

“Mine too, but she can do this. She’s amazing. And I have you to thank for that.”

She didn’t know what else to say to that. So she kissed him. Not the frenzied kiss of young lovers, not even the sensuous one filled with promises they’d broken one way or another, but a small sign of things to come.

~~~***~~~

*the Council’s appropriated cave*

Giles spat out some blood from his mouth. Mouthing off to his captors was treated poorly, yet he found himself incapable of stopping, despite the consequences. For as much as his answers had been in the form of beatings, they’d also let slip various details about their operation. Luckily for him that wretched woman was afflicted with the same disease common to Bond villains: she thought herself too smart to fail, and too proud not to boast.

Of course, that also meant she thought he was going to die soon. Giles glanced with dread at Jenny, gagged and hanging from manacles on the wall next to him.

“Stooping to hiring hoodlums to do the Council’s bidding? Not enough wet-work members willing to take on a slayer and a Master vampire, I take it?”

Gwendolyn sneered from her chair—the only furniture in the room. “We didn’t want to risk any traitors trying to warn you.” She made a dismissive gesture. “No matter. Once this whole sordid business is taken care of, there will be some changes. We’ll ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”

Giles’ brain registered her words as an admission that at least not all the Council was involved. This whole operation was most likely not sanctioned by all the appropriate people. Good.

“So is that why it took you close to two months to do anything more than kidnap innocent demons?” His question was met with a punch to his gut from one of the hirelings guarding them.

“Don’t be absurd. There is no such thing as an innocent demon.” Gwendolyn got up and placed the book she was perusing on the chair she’d vacated. “It is exactly that sort of thinking that only proves how far astray you and your charge are from the mission.” She was pacing slowly around the room as she spoke.

“And what, pray tell, do you believe that mission to be? Killing women and children?”

“Killing all demons, yes. Male, elders, females, and youngsters alike, it makes no matter.” She paused right in front of him. “In fact, it might even be a better idea to concentrate our efforts more on the latter two groups. It just might be the perfect method to exterminate some of the vermin species altogether.”

Giles balked at her words. “That sounds dangerously close to the racial purity drivel from the Nazis.”

She just smirked. “Agree to disagree.”

“You aren’t just deluded, you’re stark raving mad, woman.”

She barked a very unpleasant sounding laugh. “I will let history judge me, not traitorous filth.” She feigned innocence poorly. “Don’t they say history is written by the winners? I intend to be one.” The way her upper lip trembled reminded Giles of a rabid dog. “And if you have any delusions about rescue attempts, you needn’t worry. I already spoke to your Slayer.” The way she spat the title left no question about her hatred of Buffy. “I’ve lured her into a trap, and while she’s out getting captured, her vampire will perish, and all her allies along with him.”

“Let me guess. You offered to let us go in exchange for her turning herself in.” Her insufferable smirk was answer enough. “A deal you have no intention to honor, I gather.”

“Do not try to presume you can tell me how to keep my word. You broke your oath as a Watcher, and she has defiled her sacred duty. There will be no quarter given to the likes of you soon.”

“Buffy is still the Slayer—”

“The line passes through Kendra now. Your charge is obsolete.” Her face twisted in an even uglier sneer. “Of course, first I’ll be testing a little theory I have about her dying for a couple of minutes on the Hellmouth. Just imagine if we managed to have not one, but ten, or even more active Slayers at the same time.” Giles was certain he would forever see her face whenever he thought of evil. “That way if any prove defective there would be no pause in our war against demons before we acquire a replacement.”

Giles wondered how he hadn’t realized the woman was so completely deranged when he met her. He desperately wanted to find out more, to escape, to warn Buffy. He needed to save Jenny.

At a signal from Gwendolyn her underling proceeded to punch him repeatedly, alternating between Giles’ body and face until he lost consciousness once more.

~~~***~~~

*Buffy’s house*

“You’re walking into a bloody trap.” Spike was pacing while Buffy concealed stakes and other weapons on her body.

“Of course it’s a trap, even a moron would know that.” She didn’t even look at him, too busy choosing between an extra knife and a police baton. “You don’t think that I’m a moron, do you?” This time she did look at him and he knew she’d deck him if he gave the wrong answer. Slayer powers or not.

He stopped pacing and sat down on her bed, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know better than that, don’t I, love? You are as smart and cunning as any adversary stupid enough to challenge you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So I’m as smart as a dumb-dumb?”

God, but she was gorgeous when she was pissed off. He was just as upset, though. “Fine, you’re the smartest chit in all the land. Tales of your incomparable wisdom have been whispered around campfires throughout the realm.” He was making large sweeping gestures to accompany the imagery. He finished by chopping the air to the side. “It doesn’t matter none if you play into their hands.”

She threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. “I can’t let them have Giles and Ms. Calendar. I have to try to get them back.”

“By offering yourself up instead? That’s a piss poor hostage swap.” He got up and stood right in her face.

“Are you saying I’m worth more than my Watcher and my teacher?”

“I’m saying you’re worth more than the whole bloody world, is what I’m saying.” Both their voices were only getting louder. “I’m saying we should be hunting the bastards down, not making deals with them. Deals that leave you in their hands.” He’d stopped yelling and had clasped her hands in his.

“It’s our only chance to find them.” She’d quieted down also, but was grabbing him so tight he thought for a second she was getting her powers back. “The shaman guy you brought couldn’t find them. He said wherever they’re being held, it must be warded. So our only chance to get to them in time is this exchange.”

“I can’t lose you.”

She extracted one hand and palmed his cheek. “And you won’t. You’ll be tracking me all the way and then you’ll come and get me.” Her face turned hard, and her voice was pure slayer. “And then we can take care of them once and for all.”

He studied her for a few seconds, noting the telltale signs of her having made a decision he had no chance of overturning. “Then I’m coming with.” He started checking his pockets for weapons.

“She said I should be alone.”

“She also said she was sent from the Council of Wankers to help catch the rogue demon hunters who she was actually leading. So excuse me if I don’t give a flying fuck what she said. I’m coming with.” He made another slashing gesture with his hand, trying to show that it was non-negotiable.

“What if they hurt—”

He took her hands in his once more. “Not gonna let them see me, am I? I’m neither a fledge, nor a minion. I’ve learned stealth from the best in the business.” He half shrugged when she snickered. “Not my fault going all in is more fun than skulking about, but I can do it. I’ll hang back until they double-cross you, and then I’m going in.”

There was a flash of fear on her face. “You’re still weak from that poison.”

“Don’t you worry about ol’ Spike. The Gem is taking care of that.” He could see they both knew he was lying, but he paid it no mind. Maybe her plan would work and he would get a shot at Jaslay. Her blood would be just what the doctor ordered.

“I still think I should let them get me so I can lead you to their base.”

“And if they decide they’d rather not gamble on the drug they shot you up with and do you in right then and there?”

“Then you kill them instead, and we wait for Brian’s newest fledge to spill his guts. The main thing is for them to not have my Watcher and teacher hostage while we sit around.”

He flinched. “You heard.”

“I wasn’t trying to, but you were talking pretty loud, and I was thirsty, and…” She locked her eyes on his. “When were you gonna tell me about it?”

Spike rubbed the back of his neck. “Was just about to mention it, but then your watcher went and got captured along with his bird. Figured waiting twenty or so hours was out of the picture.”

“It is, but I still would have liked to know.”

He cupped her cheek. “Wasn’t hiding it from you. I just honestly didn’t get around to it.”

She leaned in to his touch. “I know. Ready to kick some Council ass?”

He kissed her in response and they finished getting ready for the coming meeting and fight in companionable silence.

~~~***~~~

*in one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries*

Kendra was on edge. She’d trained her whole life to fight the forces of darkness on her own. Yet she was now fighting against what, on some level at least, she saw as her sister slayer. And she was doing it as part of a team. A team that included three hired guns and a Council guard. She had no idea how to fight in a group.

There was also a strange itch she got whenever one of her team-mates got too close to her. She tried to ignore it, although it seemed different than how uncomfortable she got around just any males. Maybe it just confirmed what Gwendolyn kept telling her about the Calling requiring her complete devotion to the cause. Just like a nun.

The thought didn’t mean she could ease the grip on her stake, though. If she squeezed any harder, Mr. Pointy would become kindling.

She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and tried to center her herself.

She had a mission, and everything else was just a distraction.

Kendra, the Vampyre Slayer, settled in to wait for Gwendolyn to give the signal. It was all going to end soon, and she would have the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

Alone.

As it should be.