COMING TOGETHER

The sound of her own grating lungs was in her ears, and a myriad of dancing colors played behind her closed eyelids. Her mind reeled, forcing out any thought but one: Angel.

His name played over and over in her mind; the way she had whispered it with reverence the night he told her that he loved her, the way Giles had hissed it with contempt ever since Jenny died. The way she had screamed it with ecstasy the night they had...

"Buffy?"

The Slayer jumped, whipping her eyes open. "God, Will! You scared me!" She snapped at the timid hacker.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Oh, I'm just peachy!" The Slayer retorted, peeking over at her best friend she decided it was a safe a place as any to dump her frustrations. "Why him, Will? Why should HE be so important?" To anyone but me, that is, "why should the world literally rise or fall depending on his being there?" Her voice was now as plaintive as a child's, her eyes wide as if seeking the simplest of answers.

Willow shook her head, there were no simple answers. "I don't know. We should have suspected something when we realized the demon Acathala depended on him to open the Hellmouth, but we really had no way of knowing." Chalk it up to a divine joke, the clever hacker thought bitterly. A man's work is never done, not even after he's tossed into hell by the woman who loves him.

Buffy sighed like the sound of her soul tearing apart, "I think about him in there, Will. I think about the centuries he spent in torment."

"It's been four months, Buffy," the pretty redhead reminded her gently.

Blond hair flew from side to side, as the tiny Slayer shook her head violently, "no. Time passes differently in there. A few days out here is like a person's lifetime in hell."

Willow gasped, her face becoming deathly pale, "then that would mean four months is like..." She left it hanging seeing her friend's eyes snap shut with remembered pain.

"I thought it would last forever," Buffy whispered through clenched teeth.

"What would?" Willow asked as gently as she could.

"Everything!" The Slayer began pacing restlessly. "Our love. His life." She stopped abruptly before the already dizzy hacker, "our hell."

Willow began to wring her hands nervously, her silky hair effectively hiding her face like a curtain. Oh God, the Slayer thought, there's more.

"Buffy, there's more." Willow said hesitantly, missing Buffy's almost amused expression as she rolled her eyes heavenward searching for the propagator of the huge joke being played on her.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that." Willow stared at her with almost caricature question marks in her eyes. "Never mind. Go on."

The pretty hacker stared at her long and hard, "we have no idea as to how to get him out," she finally blurted, leaving Buffy to choke a bit on that one.

Buffy's mind suddenly conjured up the image of a capsized boat. So much for smooth sailing, she thought miserably. She shook her head to clear away the metaphor, "but the book," she finally managed to sputter. "Giles said it was so clear."

Willow nodded ruefully, "it was, as far as to what we're supposed to do. It doesn't say anything as to how we're supposed to go about doing it." She winced at the remembered frustration she and Giles endured as that little revelation popped up. Talk about hell in hardcover.

"But there's always the net, and..."

Willow shook her head, "I've been searching the net for the past two months, ever since you came back and told us what happened. There was nothing about a person being brought back from hell."

"But they're always being brought back in the movies," Buffy argued lamely. "That's got to be based on something."

A smile flashed briefly on Willow's lips at her friend's warped reasoning, she did hit close to the truth, however. "It is. It's based on demons being summoned. He had a human soul when he was," she floundered for a moment, "sent." She finally said.

"It's alright, you can say it. When I sent him to hell." She raised her hands quickly to ward off the hacker's denials, "I've dealt with it, Will. So what happens now?"

"Now it's Giles' turn. He's just started his research so it should take awhile." She peered into the Slayer's green eyes sympathetically, "something will come up, Buffy, it always does."

"Yeah," she murmured sarcastically, "that's what I'm afraid of."

Willow smiled as she pulled her friend into an embrace, only to be joined a moment later by another set of arms.

"Xander!" Willow protested loudly, as his bear hug combined with the Slayer's threatened to choke the life out of her.

"I saw group hug potential, and couldn't resist," he explained as he pulled the two girls into an even tighter embrace.

"More like copping a feel potential and your hormones couldn't resist," Cordelia informed him from not very far away.

A quick peek over Xander's shoulder showed the gang was all there. Buffy wondered idly how long they had been standing there, but found, to her surprise, that she didn't mind even if they had heard the entire conversation. Secrets were a long lost thing among these people whom she considered to be her best friends. Even Cordelia.

"Since we're all here," Buffy said as cheerfully as she could after gently disentangling Willow and herself from Xander's bear hug, "we might as well go Bronzing." She glanced up at the early evening skies, "I'd say we got about three hours before it opens."

Giles frowned, but that was expected. "Bronzing? Buffy, I don't think..."

"Oh, no mister." Buffy said as she wiggled a parental finger in front of the librarian's face. "No Bronzing for you. Not until you finish all your school work."

The Watcher smiled at her weak attempt at humor, as always amazed by the resiliency of her soul. "I meant that I would need help. Willow and Oz to swim the net..."

"Surf." Oz corrected absently.

"You and Xander to help read the books," he went on, ignoring Oz's computer speak. "Cordelia to," he floundered, looking at the May Queen's expectant face, "to bring refreshments." Her expression darkened as she muttered something about librarians and their ungrateful ways.

"What language are the books?" The Slayer asked patiently.

"Well some are in Gaelic, others in Greek, and..." He sighed with resignation, already aware this was a loosing battle.

Buffy smiled winsomely, "well there you go then. All languages neither I nor research boy can read. As for net-swimming, somehow after two months I doubt Will and Oz will be able to come up with anything new."

The librarian turned to slowly face the redheaded hacker, his complexion pallid. "You've been searching for two months?" He demanded.

To their overall surprise she lifted her chin defiantly, "call it a personal project," she said quietly, daring him to challenge her.

He blinked at her unexpected resolve, "and you found nothing?" He asked, deciding maturely to confront her on the issue on another, less sensitive day.

She shook her head as Buffy went on blithely, "as for refreshments, there's always the donuts Xander and Cordy got from before." She paused to look at the pretty brunette, "you did leave him some strawberry jelly ones, didn't you?"

"Nope," Cordelia said spitefully, "I finished them all up." With her little revenge all played out, she turned to leave in a huff.

Buffy shrugged as she looked at the forlorn librarian, "sorry Giles. Good luck on the research, though."

The Bronze was packed to the brim that night, being the only decent place to hang in all of Sunnydale that was no great surprise. What was a surprise, however, was Oz's ability to get them in free of charge.

"The band has certain advantages," he said cryptically when asked how he managed to accomplish that particular half miracle. It was rumored that the Bronze owner didn't even let himself in for free.

They found themselves a nice semi-private booth for Cordelia's benefit, in case any of her friends decided to show up. "It's not that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you," she told Xander. "It's just that I don't want to be not embarrassed just right now." Buffy chuckled softly to herself. By the time Xander's mind would finish working that sentence out, Cordy would probably give him another impossibility to mull over.

Xander had gotten the last laugh, however. He had managed to drag Cordy out onto the dance floor, where she was bravely teaching him how to move in what she referred to as "normal human being dance". From Buffy's point of view she was having little to no success, as Xander's arms and legs waved about like something from a National Geographic mating ritual flick.

Willow was chattering happily to a half-zonked Buffy and a very interested Oz about the latest pagan sites she'd found on the net. The band, which was currently making the most noise at the Bronze, although in Buffy's opinion Cordelia's yelling at Xander came a very close second, abruptly stopped playing once they'd finished their song. Oz excused himself and walked up to center stage.

"What's he doing?" Willow wondered aloud.

Buffy rolled her eyes. The girl couldn't possibly be that naive, this was the exact same scene as in every sixties teen movie ever made. "I don't know, Will." She said, unwilling to ruin her friend's surprise. If Willow didn't watch the right kind of movies, that was her problem.

Oz turned his back to the awaiting crowd, explaining to the band exactly what he wanted from them. They weren't the 'Dingoes', but they'd do.

"Willow," he turned back to the crowd, his eyes straining to view his love, "this is for you," he said as he began to pluck at his guitar.

Willow's lips formed a bewildered O, and Buffy choked back a laugh. Elvis would have been so proud, she thought, wiping away at a mock tear.

Sitting by my monitor / Thinking about nothing else but you / Dunno if it's right or wrong / Knowing there's nothing else I can do.

"It's really very," monitor? "Good." Buffy whispered over to Willow. The redheaded hacker paid her no mind, as she watched her boyfriend with stars in her eyes.

The sweat on my face / mingling softly with my tears / I know I should have told you / about my hopes and dreams and fears.

Buffy sighed and averted her eyes, refusing to look at the love-struck hacker. "It's like staring at the damn sun," she muttered to herself. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as her eyes beheld someone she thought she'd never see again.

"I'm going out for some fresh air," she told her otherwise occupied friend.

"Ah-hum, fine Buffy," her otherwise occupied friend replied, obviously not hearing a word of what was said to her.

Buffy made her way through the Bronze crowd through the Club's back door and out into a dimly lit alley. She savored the cool air on her bare arms for a moment, allowing the beautiful evening to cleanse her body of all the tension she'd been in for much too long. Once that was done she promptly delivered a vicious back kick straight into the groin of the man standing behind her.

She spun around to face him as he rolled to his feet, a pained expression on his pale, delicate features. "What are you doing here, Spike?" She demanded, a stake already at hand.

"Now is that any way to greet an old friend?" He chided her gently, eyeing her approach warily.

"No, but then again you don't fit that category anyway." She delivered another kick, which sent him sprawling. Still, other than lift himself from the asphalt he made no other move.

He watched her carefully, wondering for a moment how she managed to hide stakes and other various artifacts in her outrageously tight outfit. It's a Slayer thing, he concluded. He shook his head, clearing it of disturbing thoughts before he'd find himself on the wrong end of a stake. "I've got some news for you, pet."

She didn't seem to hear him, "you promised you'd stay away, Spike." She said, grabbing him by his shirt collar. "You said you'd take Dru and never come back."

Spike had to fight back a throaty laugh. She'd been the Vampire Slayer for this long and she still believed promises made by a demon? "It's important, ducks." He tried again as she pinned him to the wall, her knee viciously connecting with his groin. He groaned, she was having a little too much fun with that particular area of his body. "It has to do with Cirta."

She seemed oblivious, too far-gone in her own violence to listen to him. "This time you're going down, Spike," she hissed at him hatefully. Her hand moving with lightning speed, fully intending to kill.

He ducked with a yelp, the stake shattering against the wall where his chest should have been. With a growl he punched her stomach, unwilling to remain the scapegoat to her frustrations any longer. He moved a safe distance away from her as she doubled over with pain, only to tense back into a fighting stance with a fresh stake in her hand.

Where did she keep those things? One had to wonder. She advanced towards him slowly, her eyes promising murder as she raised the stake. "This has to do with Angel!" He yelled at her, playing his one Trump card.

He heaved out an unneeded sigh of relief as the Slayer stopped dead in her tracks. "If you're lying to me..." She began menacingly.

He raised his hands with his palms to her in the universal symbol that he was unarmed, "this is too bloody important for me to lie about, Slayer."

She looked at him, wondering why a century old vamp would want to look like Billy Idol. She leaned against the ally wall, occupying herself by tapping her fingernails against the sharp end of her stake. "Then why don't you tell me all about it," she almost purred, keeping a wary eye on him the entire time.

"I'd rather talk to your Watcher, luv."

The murderous look leaped back to her eyes, "I don't give a damn what you'd rather be doing. You talk to me!"

"What luv, don't you trust me?" He asked mockingly, unwittingly echoing her dream.

His pale face lost even more color as she lunged at him with unstoppable speed, he swallowed hard as the stake leveled with his unbeating heart. "Only as far as I can throw you," she said sweetly. "Luv," she added in the most insulting tone she could muster.

He pushed her away with a snarl, well aware he was able to do it only because she allowed him to. "Damn it, Slayer," he snapped, "this is too bloody important for stupid games."

She seemed unruffled, "yeah, you said that already. Tell me about it."

He looked around cautiously, the moon playing wild shadows against his platinum hair. The alley was satisfyingly empty. He slid down to a more comfortable position on his haunches, and rested his elbows on his knees. From his new position he looked up at Buffy urging her to do the same. She sighed mournfully as she perched herself against the opposite wall, this was going to take a while. So much for Bronzing.

"This Cirta chick, your Watcher told you she's for offing humanity?" He asked bluntly, trying to assess the depth of her knowledge.

Buffy shrugged indifferently, "so what's it to you?"

He smiled savagely, the girl was obviously aware of what was going on. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he thought. "Normally not much," he answered truthfully. Sure he liked humans in general, and they made for good meals, but in times of need he wasn't one to be picky. He could live off some animal if need be. "Only she's got a thing for vampires as well."

He frowned as he watched one delicate eyebrow arch in amusement, "that so? Now why would anyone have a thing for vampires?"

"Well how should I bloody well know what goes on in a demon's psyche?" He demanded, loosing his temper. This time both eyebrows shot up, "other then my own," he amended. "Look pet, all I know is that the last time she was here, a few vampires and humans got together and managed to put her out of business." Her eyes were unreadable. "So now she's out to get the bloody lot of us," he went on, trying to get a reaction out of her.

"Fine," she conceded, staring deep into his feral eyes. "So what do you want?"

His eyes widened in disbelief, "have you not been listening?" He grated. "Was I talking to the walls here?"

He stopped as she rose to her feet, "you have nothing new to say to me, Spike." She told him as she deliberately turned her back to him.

"I can tell you about Angel," he called after her.

She stopped as he knew she would, "what about Angel?" She asked with flat, even tones, still refusing to face him.

He could see the tension in her back as she awaited his response, "I know how to get him back," he told her quietly.

"Oh good, Buffy, you're back." Giles said with a perfunctory glance her way. He leaped from his chair as his mind digested what it had just seen, "Spike!" The librarian gasped.

"It's so nice to be remembered," the tall blond vampire told Buffy in conversational tones.

"Shut up!" She snapped at him as she pushed him further into the library. "He knows how to get Angel out of hell."

"What? How? Why?" The librarian fumbled, edging to keep the desk between him and the ruthless demon.

"See ducks, I told you I wanted to talk to you both together. Now I have to tell the whole bloody story all over again."

"I told you to shut up!" Buffy said as she shoved him towards a chair.

He twisted to face her, his demon rising to the occasion. "And I told you this was too important to play games!" He snarled at her, making very sure his fangs were clearly in her line of vision.

"Fine," she said sullenly, "I'll play nice." His face reverted back to its human facade making Buffy wonder if there were any ugly vampires.

"That's all I ask," he said pleasantly, sitting down across from the very agitated Watcher. "As for your 'what's' and 'why's'," he said, looking directly at Giles, "I think you already know the answer to those." The man stared at him, helplessly clueless. "Bloody hell, man! Remember Cirta?" He held out a hand to ward off the librarian's questions, "you people aren't the only ones with knowledge, you know. When someone who isn't the Slayer starts offing us, we like to know what's going on."

Giles nodded, having regained his wits he sat down warily across from the vampire, "that only leaves the 'how'." He said coolly.

Spike nodded, reaching for his inside pocket he pulled out several folded sheets of paper, "tell me what you think," he said intently.

Buffy and Spike stared at the librarian as he read through the papers, taking his own sweet time at it. She wondered how anyone could stay so focused, as each minute increased the tension in the quiet room. Finally Giles raised his head stare at Spike with awe.

"Where did you get this?"

The Watcher and the Slayer sat lost in their own relative thoughts, watching as the double doors swung cleanly behind the long gone vampire.

The Slayer finally broke the tense silence, "is it for real, Giles?"

He looked at her carefully, taking in her round eyes and the pout of her lip. She looked like a little girl again. His little girl, "it looks that way." She rose to her feet in one fluid, graceful motion. The little girl clearing way for the Slayer, Giles thought sadly.

"Good," she said, her tone decisive and in control, "then lets do this now."

"N-now?" He repeated hoping she didn't really say that. "You want us to get Angel out of hell right now?"

She nodded enthusiastically as she reached for the slips of paper Spike had left behind. "You don't really want to wait for Spike and Dru, do you?" She glanced at the papers and put them back with disgust, yet another language she couldn't understand. Was it so much to ask for something to be written in English?

He shook his head, "Buffy, this will require a lot of preparation. There's no way I can do this right now. Besides, this ritual requires the participation of a demon and a witch," among others, he left unsaid.

"So?" She floundered, aching to get her way, "I can hunt us down a demon in an hour, and Willow's a witch, sort of. What else do you need?"

"Buffy, Willow can levitate pencils, that doesn't make her a witch," he said, thankful that the girl and her fragile ego weren't here to hear that. "Besides there's more to it."

Buffy groaned mournfully, why did there always have to be more? "What?" She asked, her voice already defeated.

"We don't know what Angel will be like when we set him free," he said as gently as he could. He had hoped to avoid the issue, but he realized he wouldn't be able to protect his Slayer from this for much longer.

"What do you mean?" She asked cautiously, "he was Angel when he went in." My Angel, she left unsaid.

"Buffy, that curse, it was a human one..." He struggled, trying to find the right words.

"You're saying that they could have broken the curse, that he could be Angelus again," she said bluntly. "That's assuming that he hasn't lost his mind entirely during the torturing."

He gawked at her, speechless. He knew on some level that she'd given this some thought, but her calculated analysis had stunned him. "Anyway you look at it we'll probably need Spike in order to restrain him."

Her eyebrows shot up, "I could do that."

The librarian shook his weary head. This day had been going on for much too long, he somehow doubted that the next would prove to be any better. "No Buffy, there's something else you'll be doing," he warded off her questions with a raised hand. "Not now. I still have to figure some of this out."

"See, I told you she'd be here," Xander said as he burst into the room. "You owe me a double fudge, double chocolate ice cream bar," he called out to Cordelia.

"Fine give yourself sugar poisoning, see if I care." The brunette looked at Buffy with narrowed eyes, "just can't keep away from your watcher, can you?" She looked at them a bit more closely, their serious mood seeping in through her self-centered shell, "whoa, who died?"

The room lay in a hushed silence as the four teens tried to grasp what the Watcher had just told them.

"It's all coming together like it did before," Willow finally murmured. They all stared at her. "Demons and humans joining up to beat a common enemy," she explained, seeing their bewildered expressions.

"I'm just not sure we can trust our own personal demons," Oz said. "How do we know they won't turn on us as soon as Angel's loose? How do we know they're not working together with Cirta, waiting to dust Angel as soon as he's free?"

"Yep," Xander mumbled, "there's a whole lot of trust in this room."

"Well for one thing," Giles answered admiring the boy's quick mind, "if they're not in cohort with Cirta then they wouldn't have anything to gain by attacking us. It would just bring their deaths much closer."

"And Spike is not one for dying," Buffy added then frowned, "well being more dead."

Giles decided to ignore that, "and if they are, then they've got no reason to help us with Angel." He paused to look at the young faces, "I'm afraid that until this is all played out Buffy and I will just have to trust them."

They stared at him. "Buffy and you?" Xander demanded, "you're trying to cut us out!"

The room exploded into sound as each teen voiced his or her objections. Giles leaped to his feet, the chair he'd been sitting on crashing to the floor. That managed to effectively quiet the room. "...sick of those jelly donuts," Cordelia finished lamely, thus sealing the room with silence.

"This is not up for debate!" He snapped, "there is no need for you to endanger yourselves..." He stopped suddenly, looking at them as if he was seeing them for the very first time. For a single, bright moment he wasn't seeing their familiar faces, but the figures they represented. The Witch, the Werewolf, the Iron-Willed Beauty, and the Friend. Above them all stood the Slayer, her immortality shining through the faces of all the girls who had died playing the part. The strong aura their friendship emitted was almost blinding. He gasped as the image vanished, knowing he would never see anything as beautiful again.

"Giles?"

He looked down at their worried faces, he smiled briefly wondering what he must have looked like staring at them with his mouth agape like that. "You can all come," he told them softly.

They exchanged worried glances. "Nice mood swing," Xander complimented him, "it wouldn't happen to be that time of the month, would it?"

"Go home," he told them, "rest. It'll be a trying day tomorrow."

"He couldn't have settled for saying goodnight, could he?" Xander muttered under his breath as they all rose to leave.

"Giles, are you all right?" Buffy asked him gently when her friends had left.

He looked at her, his eyes wide with wonder, "I'm fine. I just get the feeling we're not alone in this particular fight."

She stared at him, "whoa, Giles, don't get all X-Files on me here."

He chuckled, although he hadn't the foggiest idea what she said, "go home, Buffy. Sleep well."

"Yeah," she muttered, pushing her way through the swinging doors, "like that's an option."

Buffy tiptoed into her house, shutting the door quietly behind her. After the day she'd had the last person she wanted to deal with was her...

"Buffy?" Drat!

"Hi mom," she said as cheerfully as she could, wincing at the false sound of her own voice. Oh yeah, mom couldn't see through that one, no siree.

"How did your slaying go?" She said, noting her daughter's scuffed apparel.

"I didn't go slaying, I went Bronzing. Tomorrow I'm slaying."

"Oh." Joyce looked at her daughter closely. Something seemed a bit off, "honey, is there anything wrong? You can tell me."

Buffy cursed silently. Here's one for the developmental experts, she thought, how does one tell her mother that she's going to bust her ex out of hell tomorrow night. With the good help of the school librarian and four close friends, not to mention a demon and a murderous psychopathic witch. She shook her head, till they figure that one out, she'll just have to wing it. "No, I'm fine mom, I guess the Bronze kind of wore me out."

Joyce raised a delicate eyebrow identical to her daughter's, as Buffy told her of recent Bronze developments. "So he actually got up and sang to her?" Joyce asked dreamily.

Buffy nodded. "It was sweet, in a weird computer love sort of way. Willow went nuts for it."

"I should hope so."

"Mom, I should get to bed. It's getting late and it's gonna be a long day tomorrow," she almost kicked herself as her mother gazed at her suspiciously.

"Why? What's tomorrow?"

"Giles is teaching me all about the history of demonology," she lied. Just because her mother knew about the slaying gig didn't mean she had to know everything. Besides, her mom seemed to visibly relax every time Giles's name was slipped into a conversation. The Slayer smiled, Giles had that effect on people.

Joyce sighed mournfully, she and her daughter did not spend nearly enough mother-daughter moments as she would have liked. Of course for that to happen she would have to quit her job and get Buffy to drop out of school. Somehow she doubted Doctor Spock would approve. She smiled lovingly at her daughter, "goodnight sweetheart."

"Mom?" Buffy suddenly called out in a very young voice, "would you come and tuck me in?"

Joyce beamed. The things that mother's live for, she thought.

*************

Angel whimpered from his fetal position in the shadows. Screams of the tormented filling his ears, the stench of the damned in his nose, and the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

They had left him alone to heal for a time, confident that his memories would serve as much of a torment as the physical ones they had inflicted on him. They were right. It was the quiet moments that his own personal demon, his private tormenter would appear. Full of vivid memories that time could not dim. All the murders and atrocities he had committed flashed before his eyes, playing themselves out with agonizing detail.

It was times as these that he awaited blessed insanity, but it would never come. "Insanity doesn't exist in hell," someone had shrieked his way centuries ago, "it's a game for the angels to play." He closed his eyes tighter with remembered grief, that much was true. He had played a wild game with insanity, the same insanity that eluded him now. His mind was as clear now as the day he had arrived.

He whimpered again as his memories unveiled one by one, bringing him to the one that he dreaded the most.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, her hand reaching to caress his cheek.

He did, there was nothing else he could do. He gasped at the remembered pain of her sword sliding through his body, his eyes snapping open at the memory.

"Our sleeping Angel just woke up," a harsh voice rumbled. Angel curled himself into a tight ball, his arms wrapping around his legs. He knew what would come now.

A claw traveled down his naked flesh, gently almost sensually claiming his body for its own delights.

"You're flying out of here soon, my little Angel," the voice whispered near his ear. Angel's body tensed, hope was a thing that did exist in hell. They fed it to him everyday, only to smash it in his face at whim.

The claw's owner laughed roughly at the reaction, twisting his body around suddenly. Angel allowed the motion to carry him, landing flat on his back naked and exposed. Experience had taught him that fighting was pointless and would only result in prolonged agony.

The demon was pale and beautiful, his features as delicate as a child's. His masculine body pale and smooth, almost angelic if not for his hideously deformed hands. Angel watched with muted horror as those hands, more like claws, he thought, connected with his body. He bit back a moan of revulsion as they caressed him like a lover.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, they had raped his body, broken him too many times to count. They had driven him to the edges of insanity and sat back to watch him pull himself together. What was pain to a man in hell? It would come and go and continue for an eternity.

The claws ran down his body leaving bloodied streaks behind. He fought back a wave of nausea as the nails scraped down his chest, digging into his stomach and down to the more delicate flesh below. He bit back a scream, it would only serve to send the demon into a frenzy.

"Open your eyes, Angel!" The demon snarled. Angel did, indifferently. Pain would come and go, but he would remain forever in hell.

The face that welcomed him was gut wrenchingly familiar. Large luminous eyes greeted him, blinking away errant wisps of blond hair which halloed her face like a crown. "I love you, Angel," she whispered like the sound of a thousand hearts breaking.

His heart broke free of the restrictions of his mind, "Buffy, I..." His eyes widened with horror as his beloved's face shifted back to the demon's.

"I love you, Angel," the demon spat contemptuously. "I have a little present for your lady love," he said, gripping Angel's head between his claws.

Angel's gaze was mesmerized to the soulless, unblinking eyes, trapped beyond hope of escape. His jaw clenched as the claws pushed down on his temples, the nails digging into his scull. A roar of triumph sounded in his mind, and a scream raged unbidden from his lips as his demon broke free.

"No!" The man within him raged, unwilling to lose control. The demon bellowed in answer as in that moment of resistance demon and man merged into one.

**************

Buffy awoke with a start. Her hands balled into angry white fists as she pounded her frustrations against the mattress. Finally, her rage spent, she wiped the cold sweat off her quivering brow.

She glanced at her clock radio and groaned, "this is getting old," she muttered. She peered outside her window at the uninviting night and snorted derisively, "forget it!" She said, curling up to a pillow and pretending it was her lover.

"So tonight is the big night," Xander said, anxious for conversation.

"Yeah, although Giles refuses to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing," she looked at her two friends. Oz and Cordelia were busy someplace else and it was just the three of them. If I close my eyes and pretend real hard everything will be like it used to. She almost had to laugh at how pitiful she sounded in her own mind. Under closer observation one of her friends was stubbornly avoiding looking at her.

"Will, do you know what I'm supposed to be doing tonight?" The Slayer asked patiently.

"Me? No! I don't know. I'm of the unknowing. I really don't know. Know what?" Willow babbled nervously.

Buffy sighed, dropping the cat and mouse routine. If Willow didn't want to tell her there must be a good reason, "never mind."

Soft lips brushed against her head, and Buffy's body tensed up. I have really got to learn how to control that, she thought. "So," Scott said conversationally, "you doing anything special tonight?"

Buffy shot Xander a dirty look as he almost choked on his soft drink. "Tonight?" Buffy asked regretfully, "yeah, tonight Will and I have that thing. Remember that thing, Will?" She said, nudging the redhead.

"Yeah, that thing. You know how things are, when you got to do that thing, that thing has to get," she thought for a moment, "done," she finished lamely.

"Oh." Scott looked at her with disappointment in his eyes, "look Buffy, why don't you call me when you don't have to do any," he paused, a bit over-dramatically in Buffy's opinion, "thing."

"Want to talk about it?" Willow asked sympathetically as the three friends watched him leave.

The blonde shook her head, "no. I just want to get this day over with. I would've stayed home only I'd probably drive myself insane."

"So you come here to shower insanity on your friends," Xander shook his head with mock gratitude only to receive a nasty poke in the ribs. "Hey, that hurt," he objected.

"Then learn how to stay on a slayer's good side," she replied piously.

The day passed in agonizingly slow motion, driving Buffy nuts with every ticking minute. Finally the last bell to ring for the day did so and she was free. She marched purposefully to the library, meeting her friends along the way. They walked with a firm, silent gate that could easily start a gang war.

Giles raised startled eyes as the five teens burst into his library together, "well what do you know," Spike muttered, "it's the bloody Power Rangers."

Buffy met him head on, "keep THAT away from us," she motioned towards a black clad Drusilla standing in the shadows.

Spike's eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue. "Right then, we'd better get a move on if we want to get anything done today. Chop, chop people." They stared at him, "would you stop doing that?" He demanded, "the novelty of the staring thing wore off somewhere around yesterday."

Giles was first to shake himself, "right! Well, we won't perform the ritual in here. It'll have to be where hell opened last time and that means the mansion."

Spike nodded, and helped the librarian gather his tools. Cordelia stared at the two vampires in wonder, "do they hold beauty pageants when they do the double sucking thing?" She mused aloud.

Spike gave her a feral grin, showing a hint of fang, "would you sign up if we did, luv?"

She gasped, truly caught of guard, then gasped again in thinly veiled rage as Xander made a lame attempt at hero. "You stay away from my girlfriend," Xander demanded stepping between the two.

Spike laughed uproariously and with a sudden, wild motion lunged at the boy, pinning him to a bookshelf. "You know," he said pleasantly, his game face firmly stating that he was anything but, "hating you was probably the only thing Angel and his demon had in common, well that and obsessing over the Slayer," he amended. "Looking at you now, I really do see why."

"Put him down." A cool voice from behind demanded. Spike turned, dropping the frightened boy unceremoniously to the floor. The Slayer stood with a stake firmly clutched in her hand. He rolled his eyes, this again. "Try that again, and I'll make sure you fit in an ash tray." She said coldly. He nodded, that was fair enough. She had promised to play nice so he should do the same. He shrugged and went on piling books for the librarian.

"It's still light out so we'll go through the tunnels," Spike told them once they had finished gathering all their things.

Buffy stared up at the skies only to be met with the library ceiling. Dark tunnels with two vampires to lead them, could this possibly get any worse? Some slayer sense told her it probably would.

The eased into the tunnels, generously allowing Buffy to be the buffer between the two vampires and the humans. Wasn't that nice of them? She thought cynically as she eyed Drusilla. The crazed vampire was subdued and hadn't said a thing since they first met, but she still managed to give Buffy the creeps.

She eyed the vampire highway, as Angel used to call it, taking in her surroundings as best she could. Her senses told her that there were vampires not far away, but they seemed to steer clear of their group in general. She looked at Spike more appreciatively this time, well aware that this was his doing. The vamp's handier then a cross, that thought seemed to amuse her for some reason. Her amusement evaporated when they reached the mansion. Too much had happened here, the memories were still too fresh.

Buffy eyed the statue of Acathala, noting the sword embedded in the solid rock, the sword that had pierced her lover's body to get there. "It must have been hard for you," a voice said, startling her out of her reverie.

She turned in surprise, "it's even harder right now, Spike." She told him, wondering why he cared. "Not knowing who will come out." On second thought she didn't care why he asked, it was good to drop a little frustration from her own shoulders and onto someone else's for a change. If it was Spike's, then all the better.

He frowned in confusion, "who will..." He repeated, then the horrible realization dawned on him. "Bloody hell, Slayer!" He spluttered startling their already tense group, "he was your Angel when you sent him to hell!" He looked at her appraisingly with newfound respect, "they say us vampire's are ruthless, but that's nothing compared to what someone without a personal demon can do."

She glared at him with disgust and stalked away, leaving him to reevaluate his prejudices concerning the living.

"It's done," Giles called to her motioning at the great pentagram Willow and he had created out of black candles and chalk, and other things Buffy was quite sure she wanted no knowledge of. They all stepped inside carefully, Spike gently leading Drusilla. Buffy shook her head, love manifested itself in the strangest of places, who was she to judge?

The simple act of being led into the pentagram seemed to shake the insane vampire from her reverie. She stared at Buffy with baleful eyes, "she's the one who took my Angel away," she whined to Spike in a little girl voice that grated on Buffy's nerves. "I want to kill her, Spike. Let Princess kill her."

"Hush, luv."

"Kill her with my nails, I will," she confided to Spike with a secret smile. "Just like I did the other one, the dark one."

Buffy tensed, she was talking about Kendra.

"Hush," he said lamely, hoping the Slayer wasn't the sensitive type.

"Shut her up, Spike!" Buffy grated. Apparently she was.

Giles waited patiently till Drusilla quieted down then turned to Buffy with a sword in his hand. "Buffy, in order for us to create the energies we need for this to work, we need you to recreate exactly what happened between you and Angel."

She flushed, "how much of what happened between me and Angel?"

The Watcher coughed uncomfortably, "just the last two or three minutes, before he was..."

"Hell bound," Cordelia finished brightly.

"Yes, thank you. Those were exactly not the words I was looking for," the Watcher muttered.

Buffy nodded, holding the sword, watching them take their positions within the pentagram. Willow, Giles and Drusilla chanted in a strangely melodic language as Spike, Xander, Cordelia and Oz waved burning incense around. We make a pretty good team, she thought to herself, well we would if it weren't for the vampire thing. She sneaked a peek at Drusilla, and the insane killer thing.

She felt a bit silly holding her sword, so she brandished it nastily at the stone demon. Take that, you bad Acathala, you. This was going to be easier than she thought, just wave the sword around. Listen to the singing. Inhale some hopefully very legal herbs and roots and poof! Here comes Angel. They should have tried doing this months ago.

The shadowy figure that lunged at her would have killed her instantly if he hadn't been, well, shadowy. She nearly dropped her sword as she recognized the beautiful features, "Angel," she whispered. He lunged at her again, she instinctively raised her sword to meet his and her jaw dropped when they passed right through each other. Of course, she thought, this is just an illusion to get the old energies stirring. She took a deeper look at the face of the man she loved, her energies were definitely stirring.

She lunged and parried, every swipe of her sword making the specter more visible, more real, more Angel.

She gasped as she realized her sword was hitting something real, something that could very well kill her. She knocked the sword out of his hand, slashing it in the process, jumped and kicked with blinding force sending him sprawling before the stone statue. She raised her sword for that final stroke before he could move to attack her again, but something happened. He clutched at his gut, his eyes burning golden for an instant as he gasped with pain.

She paused, staring at him with unsure eyes. "Buffy?" He asked, looking up at her with trust. "What's going on?" He rose to his feet on shaky legs, "where are we? I don't remember."

She relaxed her hold on her sword, somewhere in the back of her mind a voice screamed illusion, but her heart ignored it, willing to believe the charade, "Angel?" She whispered, unwilling to have her hopes shattered once again.

He touched her arm, eyeing a non-existent wound, "you're hurt." Her heart fell. This wasn't real.

He pulled her into an embrace, "Buffy, I feel like I haven't seen you in months." She closed her eyes hard, knowing what she'd see behind his back. "Everything is so muddled. I..."

The hellmouth began to slowly open through Acathala, as she pulled away from him, "what's happening?" His confusion and love for her evident in his eyes.

"Sshh," she whispered, "don't worry about it." Something in her mind snapped. No! She wailed silently, I can't go through this again. She kissed him once, tenderly, proving her love for him through that kiss, as the hellmouth grew steadily behind him. "I love you." She told him, wanting him to know that more than anything."

"I love you."

"Close your eyes," she told him, awed by the way he complied without hesitation. She kissed him again, a whimper escaping her lips at what she had to do. Her fist tightened on her sword, and with a swift gesture she ran him through. His eyes snapped open with shock, his arm stretched out for her to hold him.

She watched as her love was engulfed in the shimmering energies, his expression filled with pain and confusion, "Buffy?"

Then it was over, he was gone and she was crying. The tears in her eyes blinded her as they reflected the light. Light? She raised her head quickly as the hellmouth opened again, this time the pulsating energies pushing something out.

Then it was truly over and a dirty, naked man lay curled up on the floor. She rushed to him with hope in her heart, "Angel?"

"Buffy, stop!" Giles snapped the command like a general.

She obeyed, staring at him with confusion. "Go on, luv." She heard Spike murmur to Drusilla, "you can go see your Angel now, Dru."

Her Angel? "We need to know who he is," Giles explained, his eyes kept firmly on the hesitant Drusilla. "She can tell us that."

Buffy whirled to face the cajoling Spike, apparently they had it all worked out. "Go on, princess. Tell me if he's your Angel."

She reached out delicate fingers, her sharp nails easily cutting away through dirt and crusted blood to make contact with his flesh. He stirred lightly as she closed her eyes. She lifted her hand abruptly, cleaning it on the dark hem of her gown with disgust on her face.

"Well, luv?" Spike asked expectantly.

"He's not my Angel anymore," she said soberly, something closely resembling sanity returning to her eyes. The Slayer's heart leaped with joy. Then the dark vampiress looked straight at Buffy and her heart fell again. An evil grin spread across her exquisite features, "he's not hers, either. Not anymore."

"I don't understand, ducks. What does that mean?"

The moment of sanity was fleeting, however, "I miss my Angel." She explained to Spike, "my dolls miss him too, especially Mrs. Edith."

He groaned, "it's no use." He told the stunned group, "she's like one of her bloody dolls when she gets like this." He eyed his fallen sire, "I'll come and see him tomorrow. Alone," he added when he saw the looks on their faces, "you better keep dear old dad there under lock and key till then. Just in case."

The first thing to hit his senses was the stench of burning flesh. Pain was the second.

His eyes snapped open, his vision swimming momentarily. He swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea, as stars danced across liquid skies before settling down to become the dark heavens as he knew them. As his vision slowly cleared he caught a glimpse of a dark valley stretched far beneath him. He shifted, his eyes trying to focus on the city lights engulfed in the shadowy vale below.

A sudden bout of pain overwhelmed him, spreading like wild fire from his burning back. His body arched in a desperate attempt to escape, only to find itself unable. He twisted his head to the side, his jaw dropping in a silent scream as his eyes locked unto the bloodied, rusty nail protruding from the palm of his hand.

His body bucked uncontrollably, small moans and gasps escaping from his lips. He could feel wounds opening in his hands and feet, the scent of his own blood filtering through his crimson haze of pain.

His body finally slumped with defeat as he realized he was nailed where he was, only to arch again in a flash of burning pain. His mouth snapped open again in a failed attempt to scream, as he finally grasped he was nailed to a cross.

* * *

Buffy wiped the damp sweat off her brow, her hand coming back with brown flakes of dried blood. It's not like it wasn't expected, she reminded herself as she took into account the last several hours.

Angel hadn't stirred since Drusilla had touched him so Xander deemed it safe for Willow, Cordelia and him to leave. Too many non-Slayer people around an injured vampire is not of the good, he claimed as he ushered the girls out of the mansion. Besides, Buffy had heard him mutter, I don't think some of us are ready to see Angel in full-Monty. Oz had elected to stay claiming he had nothing against Monty.

Ten minutes later the convulsions started. Buffy swallowed hard at the memory of Angel's limbs flailing uncontrollably, knocking Giles off his feet in the process. Terrified that he would hurt himself she lunged at the wounded vampire, straddling his chest as she tried to grab hold of his hands.

That had only managed to send him into a wild frenzy. His features contorted with agony, mouth gaping in a silent scream. His body arched, sending her crashing to the floor.

Her fingers went for her brow again, she had landed badly, she recalled. That was probably when she'd been hurt.

Finally between the three of them they'd managed to restrain the vampire long enough for Giles to sedate him. Panting and exhausted, each tended quickly to their own injuries, in the end Oz was cradling his arm and Giles was sporting what was about to become a spectacular bruise below his cheek. Buffy herself felt something, which she suspected was not quite sweat, dripping down her face. They caught their breath for a moment, standing around the unconscious vampire.

"Grab a sponge and some bandages," Giles said shortly. Apparently their moment was up, "clean him up. If you see any deep wounds, tell me."

The teenagers nodded submissively, treating the injured was definitely adult turf. "Buffy, if this is too much for you..." Giles started, his features openly expressing his concern.

She shook her head stubbornly, "I'm fine. Let's worry about him for now,"she said more roughly then she intended. The Watcher nodded and turned before she could witness the hurt spreading across his features.

As she began to clean her lover's wounded body, she had soon come to realize how much she had overestimated her own abilities. Each wound overlapped another, claw marks and bite marks ran across each other. Cuts so deep they revealed bone met with old scars that hadn't properly healed. She cleaned his body as gently as she could, rubbing away dirt and crusted blood, breathing hard to control the nausea that threatened to overtake her.

"Buffy..." Giles said as gently as he could.

"I'm fine!" She grated between clenched teeth. She went on cleaning and bandaging although every wound was an accusation, every scar screamed out blame. Guilt lanced though her body like a sword though her lover's gut. This is my fault, she thought, I did this to him. Tears rushed to her eyes mocking her attempt to blink them away, yet she went on bandaging burns and lacerations as if the mere act was a kind of penance.

"Buffy..."

She whirled towards her Watcher, her face a mask of agony, "I said I was fine, damn it!" She shouted, blinding tears flowing freely down her face.

"It's over," the Watcher said kindly. "We did everything we could, now he needs time to heal."

She wiped the tears from her eyes with an impatient hand. "Oh," she said sheepishly as she glanced down. Angel was wrapped up in clean bandages from head to toe, an IV unit full of blood had been attached to his arm.

"Go home, Buffy. Get some sleep."

She looked up with surprise to meet her Watcher's determined gray eyes, "what? No, I can't do that," she pleaded, almost begged. "He needs me to be with him."

"He needs blood and care, both of which I can supply," Giles said as gently as he could, but she could hear the steely note that had crept into his voice. He was done arguing with her. "Take Oz home and get some sleep."

"Giles, I..."

"That's enough, Buffy." The steely note rang hard this time, "you're worn out and exhausted and frankly no good to anyone this way. Go home, you can come back tomorrow."

The Slayer nodded, defeated. On the way out she gave her Watcher one last pleading look, "he's not in any pain, is he Giles? You've drugged him enough?"

He smiled at her reassuringly as he settled himself in for the night, "with the amount I've given him he's dreaming of little pink elephants floating through purple fields. Trust me he's fine."

Buffy smiled back as she tried to figure out exactly what that meant.

The ride home with Oz was quiet, each teen lost in thought. Although he dismissed his injury as nothing, she couldn't miss the way he favored his right arm. She grimaced, that was her fault too in a way.

As he pulled up to her driveway she thanked him, hoping he understood how much his help meant to her.

"Buffy, Angel's a vampire," he said quietly as she was about to get out of his van.

She peered at him in confusion, "this I know," she replied hesitantly. Was he trying to say that Angel didn't deserve her care because of what he was? She fervently hoped not. Beating up her best friend's boyfriend was not high on her to-do list.

"What I mean is," the quiet boy said thoughtfully, "he'll heal. That's what vampires do - they live forever and they heal. When you look at his wounds you keep thinking he's human, you got to remember he's not."

She gave him the brightest smile she possibly could, she knew there was a reason she liked him. "Thanks, Oz," she murmured, pouring her heart into those two words. Of course Angel would heal. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, even the Sunnydale night seemed to be a more inviting place. Almost smiling she walked home thinking of pink elephants and purple fields.

* * *

Angel slumped on his restraints, the nails tearing into his skin and the cross slowly burning his back. The pain had become a foggy haze now as he gave in to it, let it carry him away in defeat. Before, he still thought he could fight it, had tried screaming against the atrocities being committed against his body Not even that small salvation had been allowed. His time in hell had stolen away his ability to cry out in pain, to let the world know of his misery.

He had broken down at that point, focusing on the need to shout out his agony. It would be all right then, his mind reasoned irrationally, already lost in a world all it's own, if he could just scream everything would be all right. But he couldn't and it had finally defeated him.

He hung from the nails, his chin resting against his chest. He stared with unseeing eyes at the city spread below him. Dark night skies became a soft, warm glow where electric lights kissed the heavens. He watched uncaring, from his cliff above the vale, the city of the living as he hung crucified above them. Somewhere, in a dark corner of his mind he knew he recognized the city. Even the night sky with its ever-changing stars looked familiar, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except screaming.

* * *

"I should have stayed and helped," Willow fretted as she examined Oz's bruise for the third time that morning.

Buffy smiled and shook her head, "you would have just gotten yourself hurt too. Besides, we managed." She felt surprisingly refreshed that morning. After two hours worth of sleep and a slightly disturbing Walt Disney type dream of little pink elephants, she felt she could take on the world.

"Hey," Cordelia said, "did you know there was an earthquake last night?" They stared at her, "nothing big, but it was around the time we did our little hell opening thing."

"Speaking of which, how's our personal hell-spawn doing?" Xander asked gruffly.

Buffy peered at him sharply, her friend's mixed concern and hate almost bounced off his voice. She shrugged, "I don't know. Other than turning him into the first vampire-mummy in existence there wasn't much else we could do. We bandaged him up, Xander," she added pointedly as she noted her friend's confused expression.

"He's a vampire, Buffy," Oz reminded her softly.

"He'll heal," she replied with almost mantra-like conviction.

* * *

Something was happening. There was a slight difference in the night, an insignificant change in the air that came just before the birth of something new. It had even managed to finally seep through his tortured mind.

He looked up, his head swaying slightly, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to understand the change. Then it hit him - the skies were no longer an inky black. A steely gray cloak had engulfed the heavens with the subtlety of predawn. The air turned cooler, sweeter as the unfulfilled promise of a new day became a reality.

He gasped with understanding as tears of hope filled his eyes. After all this time, all this pain, he would see the sun rise and then he would die.

* * *

"He's crying," Buffy whispered, horror smeared across her delicate features, "Giles, he's crying!"

Giles glanced up, the previous night had taken its toll on the unflappable Watcher. His blood shot eyes and the day old bristles created an image of a middle-aged hooligan. Combined with the mussed hair and the bruise that had developed into an interesting shade of purple there was very little reminder of yesterday's stuffy librarian. "Buffy, it's probably just a reaction to the morpheme." He murmured, trying to comfort his agitated Slayer. "I promise you, he can't feel a thing."

She shook her head stubbornly, blond locks flying, "then why is he crying?" She demanded, "Angel never cries." Not even when a sword had buried itself in his body with the force of his lover's hand.

The Watcher finally rose, his body stiff from an uncomfortable night. He examined the tears running down the ravaged face. Hurt, you bastard! His mind demanded, writhe in agony forever for what you did! He sighed in a failed attempt to banish the unclean thought. "I'll up the dose, Buffy," he finally said. Sometimes he really hated his job.

The Slayer nodded her consent as she visibly relaxed. "Giles," she started hesitantly, "I just wanted to thank you. I know how hard this must be for you and..."

"I'm not doing this for you," he said gruffly. His back was to her as his hands worked over her lover's still form, but the tension in his shoulders was evidence enough of his distress. "Or for him," he added after a time, "I'm doing this because other people shouldn't have to suffer for our mistakes."

She nodded, fully aware that he couldn't see her. He blamed himself, she realized, for the way he had treated Jenny. For denying her his knowledge as she searched for Angel's cure. She sighed, the mansion's air had suddenly become stale, almost oppressive. She felt as though she could hardly breathe. "I'd better go out and patrol," she muttered lamely. "Cirta's minions, they're probably still out there."

She turned to leave, not even sure that the man she had come to love as a father even heard her. "Be careful, Buffy," he whispered when she was already out the door. She tried to smile, but her expression was more of a grimace at the thought of Giles tending to the man he hated most in the world.

She hunted the night like the predator she was, silent and deadly. Her eyes scanned the dark familiar streets, watching, waiting for her prey. It was her own personal bloodlust, the good kind, Giles had once told her. But she wasn't so sure. When the need to kill rose in her, the overwhelming desire to see her enemies' blood flow, she could be as merciless as any demon she had ever come across. They say us vampire's are ruthless, but that's nothing compared to what someone without a personal demon can do. She shuddered at the memory of Spike's words, sometimes she felt she was no better then the demons she slew.

A sound caught her attention, nothing more then a leaf crackling in the night, but it was enough to call on the huntress' instincts. She ducked into an alley, her feet soundless on the pavement as she dropped into a fighter's crouch within a shadowy pool of darkness.

The purposeful sound of boots against the pavement was unmistakable now, the sound too quiet and sinister to belong to an innocent. She smiled as her body tensed, waiting to pounce. Someone was going to die tonight, the knowledge burned in her blood making her heart beat faster with excitement.

She leaped and rolled as she felt herself knocking into something hard. She landed on her feet, her small fists raising seemingly out of their own will to ready themselves for the next attack.

The dark shape she had hit twisted and landed on his feet, his long, dark leather coat concealing his features for a moment, then blew away to reveal a beautiful, pale and extremely pissed off face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Slayer?" Spike demanded.

She could see the ill-concealed rage in his eyes, vivid in the pale light of the moon "Going hunting, Spike?" She asked pleasantly, a hint of steel running through her voice.

He was undaunted. His body emanated power, his legs slightly spread and firmly braced against the sidewalk, his coat rippling lightly in the wind. He stood as if he owned the world. "Actually, yes," he said, his voice betraying his impatience. "Not what you're thinking though."

She smiled, subconsciously mimicking Angelus' confident smirk, "really?" She purred, allowing her sarcasm to seep off her voice. Behind Spike, in the dark, she could barely make out shapes. Human shapes. So Spike brought an entourage, she thought, half-surprised they didn't attack her yet.

"Yes, really." She could sense the waves of impatience rolling off him. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be nursing Peaches back to health." Fear suddenly took hold of his voice, "he's all right, isn't he?"

She grinned sweetly, the violence in her eyes untouched, "Angel's fine. Nice to know you care, though. I'll be sure to give him your best as soon as he's up and around." She took a step closer, a stake sliding smoothly into her hand. She could see the shapes behind the pale vampire shift and undulate, their distress evident. Nevertheless, without bothering to look back he raised a commanding hand, stopping them from moving forward.

"Just hold on and think about this, pet," he took a step back away from her. "I helped you, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," she slid forward, her body poised to strike. "Angel's out of hell, we've got our own prophecy. As far as I can tell, I don't need you anymore."

"Like hell you don't," he rumbled. Moving so fast he was no more than a blur in her eyes, he pushed her to the side, dropping them both to the ground as a blade cleaved the air neatly between them.

She was on her feet in an instant, gaping as a dozen of Spike's minions burst from the shadows, weapons in hand, to rush past her and face her attacker. She whirled to watch a familiar black cloaked figure slice his way through Spike's vampires.

"Go for the eyes!" Spike barked, his body moving swiftly. Already two of his cronies had been dusted and another had been knocked unconscious after sailing into a brick wall, his sword landing on the pavement with a steely clang.

She stood undecided for a moment, then shrugged, a familiar enemy she could handle. These black cloaked things were something else altogether. She'd deal with Spike later, preferably when they weren't fighting a common enemy.

She raced to the unconscious vampire, grabbed his sword and jumped into the fray. She ducked under a vampire, wincing as a knife plunged through his shoulder spraying blood into her face. She spit, the metallic taste rancid in her mouth. She ducked under the wounded vampire as he staggered back clutching his arm, and found herself directly in front of the cloaked figure.

For the first time she noticed a dim red glow within the cloak's hood where eyes should have been. For a moment she couldn't take her eyes off the glow, it seemed to grow and pulse almost like a beating heart. Everything slowed down, suddenly, time stretched out as she watched bemused a sword being raised against her. They have swords that can cut through rocks, she thought sluggishly.

"Protect the Slayer!" She heard Spike cry from behind her. Those were three little words she never thought she'd hear from him, somewhere in the back of her mind she was almost amused.

She watched the sword swing towards her, awed by the way the sleek blade reflected the moonlight, almost unable to rip her gaze away. The blade arched slowly, almost casually in a killing blow towards her neck.

Finally the need to survive saved her, her arms moved with a will of their own to raise her own sword. She deflected the blow a hair's width from her neck, wincing as the sparks seared her skin and tremors ran down to her shoulders. But her sword held its own.

Fine workmanship, her mind noted as she struggled to push the sword off her neck. Suddenly there was no more resistance as the figure dropped his weapon and frantically began clutching at his face.

She leaped back, confused as she watched the figure tear off his hood to pull at the dagger embedded in its eye. "You were saying something about not needing me pet?" Spike snickered. She ignored him, far too caught up in her attacker's actions.

He pulled at the dagger, blocking their view of his face in the process. It slid out of his face with a wet, slithering sound to gleam slightly in the moonlight like a dark accusation. He raised his face to the moon, his knees buckling beneath him as his voice tore out in a beseeching wail.

Buffy gasped, "get away from him!" She managed to yell out as she turned to run. She dropped to the ground as she heard the blast behind her, feeling the fire blaze above her body as the figure exploded into flames.

"Wow," she heard Spike mutter beside her as he raised himself from the pavement. "They die hard, those little buggers."

She lifted herself slowly, dusting herself off and checking for injuries in the process. Other than a slight ache in her arms that was already fading she was fine. More than that - she was lucky, again. Spike's goons weren't - five were severely injured and another four were now dust in the wind. She heard Spike rumble curses as he took stock of his bedraggled crew.

"Go home and rest," he told them. "Feed from the reserves," he added catching the evil gleam in the Slayer's eyes.

She nodded and turned to walk away, muttering to herself. Spike would get to live another night. After a few steps she felt him walk beside her, "where do you think you're you going?" She demanded.

"I told you I was going to see Daddy dearest tonight."

"Fine," she muttered sullenly. It would have felt so good to plunge a stake through his heart, but it just didn't seem right after what he'd done. "Why did you tell them to protect me?" She asked suddenly.

He shrugged, "because whatever Angel-cake is going to be like when he wakes up, I'd bet a pint of beer he's going to be equally peeved if he finds you six feet under."

She nodded, that made sense. Angel had to save the world somehow, and being peeved was not an emotion anyone would want the world's savior to experience. "Always an agenda with you, Spike," she muttered.

He peered at her in surprise, moonlight glinting off his sharp features, "I just saved your bloody neck, luv. What's with the bitchy attitude?"

She turned on him, her eyes a flash of green in the night, "because this is all your fault!"

"My fault?" He demanded, "how is this my fault?"

"If you hadn't drudged up that stupid Judge demon, Angel and I would have never been almost killed and then we would never have..." She stopped, blushing furiously. She spun around, turning her back on the stunned vampire and marched away. His laughter, like clear crystal shimmering through the night, stopped her cold.

"You have got to be kidding!" He chortled, half-choking on his own humor. "I have been accused of many things, pet, most of them true," he added ruefully, "but I have never been responsible for shagging I wasn't involved in. Hell," he laughed, "sometimes I couldn't be held responsible for shagging I was involved in."

She blushed even harder, knowing what he said was true. "Besides," he added on a more serious note, "it was just a matter of time with you two. Knowing soul-boy, he probably wouldn't have gotten his rocks off somewhere else while he was waiting for you to mature." He rolled his eyes at the night sky, "virgins," he muttered, "never did see what all the fuss was about them. Give me a nice willing experienced body any day. How long did he go without, six months? A year?"

"Eighty years," she murmured so softly that no one human could have possibly heard her. Unfortunately her companion didn't fit that category.

"Eighty bloody years?!" He spluttered, his eyes widening in disbelief, "no wonder he walked around depressed all the time. You should have ran a stake through his heart to put him out of his misery."

A smile began to worm its way across her face, "yeah, I get it, Spike."

"Eighty years," he shook his head. "After a week of celibacy, I start looking at poodles funny."

"I said I get it, Spike," A full-blown smile had smeared itself across her face.

"Farm animals run away with terror..."

She was laughing uncontrollably now, "shut up, Spike."

He grinned wickedly to himself as they walked side by side to the mansion. She fervently hoped they wouldn't be running into any unfortunate poodles.

"Criminals."

"No."

"Annoying busty cheerleaders with perky attitudes."

"No."

"Principal Snyder."

She thought for a moment, "I'll get back to you."

Giles raised his head as Buffy and Spike burst in the mansion. Xander and Willow stared at them in surprise, "what're you talking about?"

"Just hammering out the last few quirks in our alliance," the platinum blond replied blithely. "We're figuring out who I'm allowed to eat for being such a good demon and getting to fight with the Slayer," he explained at their confused looks. "So far we've narrowed it down to people who hum Britney Spears songs, principal Snyder and Politicians."

"Buffy!" Giles rose, outraged.

"That's not true!" She objected with a grin, "I never agreed to the Politicians." She glanced over at the annoying vampire beside her. He was frozen in place, his face a mask of concentration. "Spike?"

"I smell blood," he muttered.

"Maybe that's because this whole place is packed up with so many transfusions, we could open up our own blood bank," Xander noted.

"No, you stupid wanker," Spike growled, his face changing as his demon came forth. He crossed the room to Angel's tightly bandaged body before any of them could make a move. "Flowing blood," he hissed.

A nail as sharp as whetted steel flashed against the clean bandages across Angel's chest, slicing through them as though they were nothing more flimsy than silk. Fresh blood oozed slowly out of the wound below. They watched mystified, unable to move, as Spike dipped his finger in the blood. Bringing it to his mouth he licked it clean.

"Can somebody say eww?" Xander muttered breaking the spell.

Spike spun to face Giles, his human mask completely gone as his golden eyes glowed with rage. Buffy felt fear rise up in her throat. Something was happening, something she didn't understand, or didn't want to understand.

"Did you know Watcher?" The pale demon demanded, "did you know?"

"I-I suspected," Giles stuttered as the enraged demon advanced on him with murder in his eyes, "but I couldn't know for sure."

"Giles, what's happening?" Buffy asked, her voice rasping out of her throat in a fear filled whisper.

"Tell her, Watcher!" Spike growled, his fist closing over the librarian's neck. "Tell your Slayer what you've been keeping from her."

She knew this was wrong, she knew she had to get Giles away from Spike, but her limbs refused to move. For a moment there was silence as Spike glared into the Watcher's pallid face. "Tell me!" She finally cried out, her voice shattering the quiet into a million shards of heartache.

"He's dying, Buffy," Giles choked out. "His body isn't healing properly. He's bleeding to death and there's nothing I can do about it."

"No," she moaned.

Spike turned, pushing the Watcher away with contempt, he strode past the stunned Slayer, "deal's off, pet!" He muttered.

The Watcher and his Slayer gazed at each other, betrayal etched in their eyes. She should have helped him with Spike, should have done something. "Why didn't you tell me, Giles?" Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

"I wasn't sure until now."

She nodded sensing the truth in his words and gazed over at her fallen lover. The blood hadn't stopped oozing from his wound and had stained his chest crimson, a bloody reminder of a different wound. She couldn't stay there, she couldn't stay and watch this shell of her lover crumble into dust.

"I need..." She started, but she couldn't form what she needed into words. She turned her back on her friends, ignoring their pain and worry, she ran out of the mansion hoping the night would whisk her away.

"Buffy!" She heard Giles call, but she kept on running, unable to stop even if she wanted to.

Willow and Xander looked at each other sadly as the broken Watcher gazed out into the night. "Help me bandage him up," Willow told him quietly.

She ran blindly, her tears a liquid shield against the darkness of the night. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care as long as it was away from the mansion. As long is it was away from her Watcher and her friends and anyone else who had ever loved and trusted her. She felt as though she was crumbling inside, falling hopelessly apart at the seams. Witnesses were the last things she needed.

The night air burned through her lungs, searing her throat. Panting and gasping she came to a halt, catching her breath against a cool brick wall. Her cheeks blazed with exertion as her chest heaved. She looked around grimacing; her feet had led her to Angel's apartment. After all this time she still came here whenever she felt troubled.

Sniffing hard she blinked back the tears. She needed a distraction, needed to hurt something, maybe even herself. Looking around frantically she found what she was looking for. A dark grin creased her face.

"Not my best appearance ever," she murmured to herself as she stepped into the Bronze, "but it'll do."

She walked inside with the confident stride of one who knew how to draw attention. She slowly made her way to the dance floor, her hips swaying in time with the music. Flashing lights and smoke blinded her as she moved, pressing her way through hot undulating bodies. She took a deep breath, inhaling smoke and sweat and cheap cologne. The hard music beat a steady rhythm that echoed in her chest.

She began to dance, rocking gently at first then gaining momentum as the music whisked her away. She kept her eyes open, to a stranger it would seem a subtle defiance to flashing neon lights and stinging smoke. To her it was fear of what she would see should she keep them closed.

She moved wildly, erratically, uncaring of those that bumped into her along the way. Indifferent to bodies grinding up against her, she moved with her eyes wide open, her mind concentrating on nothing but the music, the dance, the heat. Reaching for a place where senses were dulled and thoughts were nonexistent, she lost herself to the music.

Bodies pressed up closer against her, some hot and damp with sweat, others cooler, dry as a grave, all sensing her weakness, predators to her distress. She barely felt the hands as they began to caress her waist, too far gone to notice the thighs as they rubbed against her body. She kept on moving in time with the music as the hands climbed up to her breasts and the thighs pushed forcefully against her hips from behind.

A hand snaked around her wrist pulling her roughly out of the heated throng. She allowed herself to be pulled dumbly, like a lost child, her vision wavering as dark shapes loomed from the lights and smoke. They leered at her, beckoning her to rejoin them, become one with the dancing mass of those who wished to loose themselves to the music.

But the hand held strong pulling her through bodies that stank of sweat and smoke and alcohol, ignoring her need to loose herself, defying her wishes to be dulled into nothing. She was finally pushed into a side booth and got a look at the body attached to the hand still holding on to her own.

"Spike," she hissed.

"You look like crap, pet," he observed as he sat down opposite her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "they didn't seem to think so," she said, motioning towards the undulating throng.

He dared a glance and choked out a harsh bark of a laugh, "they," he purred, forcing her to look back at the dancing mass, "are made up of teenage boys and fledgling vampires. They couldn't care less if you were Miss bloody America or a scratching-post as long as they can rub up against you."

She could feel the anger begin to boil up inside her and shook her head, this wasn't why she came here, "fine," she muttered as she began to rise from her seat. "Then they won't mind if I'll join them." He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to a sitting position as he pinned it to the table. "Spike," she started to hiss a warning.

He didn't let go of her hand, "usually I wouldn't mind letting a Slayer with a death wish have her own way," he hissed in her face, glaring into her eyes, denying her any means of escape. "But special circumstances demand different approaches." She tried pulling her hand from his grasp, grappling with him as he held strong, "stop it!" He growled as they shook an ashtray hard enough to earn the attention of the people sitting in the next booth. "And start acting like a Slayer!"

That got her attention. Her eyes widened with outrage, "don't you dare tell me how to do my job," she hissed.

"Then do it!" He demanded. "Get pissed off and bossy and bloodthirsty. Go and kick some ass!"

She choked out a short bark of a laugh, "whose ass, huh Spike? Whose ass would like me to kick?" The people in the next booth were definitely staring. "The demons who did that to Angel? They're in hell and even I have my limits." They had also begun whispering. Well let them, Buffy thought, they'd be dead soon anyway. They all would. "Or how about that cloaked guy thing? It took a dozen of us to bring him down and there're many more where he came from. Or how about Cirta herself, wherever she's at." Anger and frustration were rolling off her in waves, but he was unimpressed. "Tell me whose ass to kick, Spike."

He shook his head, opened his mouth as he started to say something when a polite cough interrupted him. "Hello, Buffy," Scott said acidly as two blond heads turned toward him with surprise. "I'm not intruding, am I?"

She groaned inwardly, the guy had such unbelievably lousy timing. Then she noticed her hand was still in Spike's and groaned again in growing consternation. She tried to pull herself free, but to her alarm he wouldn't budge. Oh shit, she thought as she saw the slow, wicked smile spread across Spike's sharp feature's, the son of a bitch was going to have fun with this.

"Actually, you sort of were, mate," Spike drawled, calmly ignoring the seething Slayer. "See, Buffy and I were having a private conversation. Right, luv?" His cool hand began to fondle hers, the slender fingers caressing her suggestively. She swallowed, at a loss for words. Spike gave her a great big encouraging smile as her mind gibbered for something to say.

"You know, Buffy," Scott said, his voice trembling slightly, "if this was the 'thing' you've been doing the past few nights, you could have just told me and I'd have left you alone."

Spike chuckled quietly as Buffy finally freed herself of his hand to rise to her feet with rage. This night was just too much, she thought as she recounted the past few hours. She'd almost been killed and to save herself she joined forces with a bunch of vampires. She struck a deal with Satan, as she lovingly referred to Spike these days, she'd learned that the love of her life would die and now it was being implied that she was doing Spike. After all she'd been through she didn't need this kind of aggravation.

"How dare you?" She demanded, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?" Scott took a startled step back. She'd been subdued in all the weeks he'd tried to get close to her, he knew that, but he didn't know how much more than her usual self. With her eyes flashing and her fists clenched she was a force of nature, a being to be reckoned with. "I don't owe you any explanations!" Her voice climbed an octave. Those who weren't already staring with amusement turned their heads to look.

Scott shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "look, Buffy," he started, imploringly.

She shook her head, she wasn't about to look at anything, and as far as she was concerned she'd seen enough. "It's over, Scott," she said coolly, quietly, acknowledging his discomfort. "There was never really anything there to begin with." He swallowed hard, obviously speechless he turned to leave.

"See you around mate," Spike called at the boy's receding back. "Now there's the Slayer I've come to know and intensely dislike," he said as Buffy slowly turned to glare at him. "Come on," he said, grabbing at her hand again, "let's get out of here. People seem to be staring for some strange reason." Chuckling at his own joke he dragged her out of the nightclub.

* * *

The skies turned a light gray as dawn slowly spread across the heavens. The city below was nearly indistinguishable from the valley it stretched across as electric lights dimmed with reverence to the new day.

Between it all, hanging perilously between hope and despair, the crucified man awaited his death. An awareness he had never experienced before overcame him as he watched the birth of day. He listened with wonder as the earth sang glory to the rising sun, he watched the heavens blush in preparation with awe.

The wind blew coolly across his wounded body, bringing with it a freshness that he had never noticed before. His head raised proudly to watch the sun rise, his eyes shining with acceptance and relief, his features stretched with ecstasy.

To an onlooker he would look much like a different man that died nearly two millennia ago. But there could never be onlookers on that particular cliff and the earth and heavens accepted him for what he was.

He could feel his skin begin to crawl and sizzle as the great golden orb breached the horizon. He laughed, his joy joining with nature's acceptance.

He fell suddenly, the nails he had fought against earlier relented without reason or purpose. He landed on his hands and knees, the soft grass lovingly cushioning his fall.

He closed his eyes as his hands stretched towards the sun, his knees on the ground in silent prayer for the love of God to engulf him. Everything seemed to have stopped, the world was holding its breath as it awaited the burst of golden warmth to streak its skies.

Another breeze rushed past him, this time it brought with it stench and decay like a message from the grave. He opened his eyes in confusion. He could sense the earth's quiet distress, something was wrong, unnatural somehow.

A scream pierced his mind suddenly. A scream of pain and confusion so deep it pushed aside any other emotion. He clasped his bleeding hands to his ears, shut his eyes tight and curled in on himself as he tried to block the earth's pain-filled shriek. But it was to no avail, it surrounded him, drove its agony into him with unstoppable force.

His eyes snapped open forcibly with the natural instinct to understand. At first he couldn't see a thing, then he saw it with a clearness that made him gasp with trepidation. The sun was disappearing so completely as though a giant hand was pushing it back down. The sky was reverting back to its previous darkness, even as it screamed its defiance.

"Do you want to die?" A voice roared in his mind, so powerful he could barely make out the words. "Do you really WANT to die?"

He raised his eyes even though the effort made his head spin. Yes! His mind screamed although his mouth refused to voice the words. Oh my God let me die! He begged soundlessly.

The sky darkened back into inky night, the stars glowing protest as they revealed themselves. The voice in his mind radiated dark amusement, as it spoke, "you were never really given a choice, Angelus. Live!"

His body arched as it began to react to the command.

* * *

Buffy planted her feet firmly on the ground bringing them both to a skidding halt. "Alright, chuckles. What do you want?"

Spike rolled his eyes, inhaling needlessly with exasperation. "Why do all of our conversations start off the same way?"

She grinned mirthlessly, pale skin stretching over tired features, "kind of tells you something, doesn't it?" She said wearily. She was tired, so tired. And there was somewhere else she needed to be, she realized that now. Although he wouldn't even know she was there.

"Yeah," he nodded, "that you don't trust me. You keep forgetting that we're in this together."

"Really? And I was so sure I'd heard that our deal was off."

He grinned, "shall we say it's back on again, and leave it at that?"

She raised her head. Dawn was coming soon, bringing with it a sudden sense of urgency. She needed to be with him now. She turned to leave, her mind focused on her task. She would hold her lover's hand till it crumbled to dust in her own.

Spike was suddenly in her face, his hands clutching at her shoulders, shaking her. "This isn't over!" He cried, his face inches from hers, "Angel's dying, but that doesn't mean we all have to go with him!"

"There's nothing I can do, Spike!" She yelled back.

He stopped shaking her, but his hands still gripped her shoulders, "there is," he said quietly. "There're," he hesitated for a moment, "people," he finally said. "They want to help. They need to talk to you."

She caught the slight hitch in his voice, "people?" She asked, hoping he wouldn't reply. She was so tired, tired of death and danger and secrets.

His eyes suddenly found the tops of his shoes unbearably interesting, "elders," he muttered. "Vampire elders."

She opened her mouth, tried to say something, anything, but nothing other than a throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Vampires, she thought, and they wanted to see her, to help her. Yeah, and Principal Snyder was just moments away from naming her valedictorian. How stupid did he think she was?

He peered into her face, trying to gauge her reactions, "they have as much of an interest in this as the rest of us, pet," he said lamely. "Nobody really wants to die."

She snickered, there were times in her life that she would have gladly died. If only so that she wouldn't have to kill. "Forget it," she said flatly. "It's bad enough that I cut a deal with you, I have no intention to start bringing in any more," she paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly what he was, "help," she finally said. "From now on I fight alone." She looked him directly in the eyes, making sure he caught the seriousness of her mood. "I don't want your help," she said coolly, evenly, "I don't want any more vampire help, whatever age they may be. When Angel dies," she swallowed hard trying to erase the taste those words left in her mouth, "I fight. Alone."

His arms flailed with exasperation, "Then you die alone, you silly tart!" He yelled, "how can you bloody well fight when you don't even know what you're up against?" He demanded. "These people, they can help you."

"Only they're not people. They're vampires and elders to top it off. How old are they, Spike? Were they front row center when Jesus got nailed to a cross? Did they write a patent to the first wheel?" Her voice rose, her tone more demanding, "were they there when fire was discovered?" Her tirade was blowing out of control, "were they born after man came down from the trees," her eyes flashed, "or are they half ape?" Her fists clenched, raised as if to hit something, preferably something blond.

His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. His mouth opened to deliver a scalding retort, but he never got the chance. Softly, subtly, as if she were ashamed to do so, the ground shook under their feet. The vampire and the Slayer stared at each other in stunned amazement. "Bloody fitting that there should be a hell mouth in southern California." Spike muttered once the light tremor stopped. "This place is already hell enough. I hate earthquakes."

Earthquake. There'd been an earthquake before. "Oh my God, Angel!" Buffy gasped as she began to run.

* * *

His body trembled uncontrollably, his hands clawing at the ground. The earth shrieked around him, her pain mirroring his own. In his mind a scream echoed, banging against the walls of his brain, demanding to be released. His mouth gaped open like a bleeding wound, but not a sound came out.

"Can you feel it?" A voice cried in his mind, its ecstasy enough to drive him begging for insanity, "can you feel life burning through your veins?" He felt it, with every fiber of his being he felt it. His skin burned like living flame, his blood boiling through his body.

"Live, Angelus!" The voice commanded, and he could not disobey. Too far lost to pain to resist, fistfuls of ravaged earth and grass clenched in his hands, he thrashed and twisted like a creature insane.

* * *

She ran harder than she ever had in her life. Her lungs breathed fire and her side burned as though a knife had sliced through it. It only made her run faster, holding her side like a woman bleeding to death, gasping like the damned she had only one thought in mind. If Angel were dead she would soon follow.

She didn't notice the figure running beside her, didn't care that he was keeping up with her only by sheer force of will. "Buffy, wait!" He called out to her. But even had she heard him she would never have waited. She had waited too long, wasted too much time.

The mansion loomed ahead like an icon of doom, dark and full of secrets in the steely gray skies of false dawn.

The scream echoed around her as she reached the stairs, bringing her to a skidding halt. Spike slammed into her an instant later sending them both tumbling against the stairs.

They stayed where they were for a long moment, listening helplessly as the sound of pure agony rolled off into the night and died gently as though it had never existed at all.

"Angel," Buffy moaned. She was too late and her lover had died. Somehow she managed to rise up and walk to the door, somewhere she found the strength to twist the knob and push it open. Ashes to ashes, she thought, dust to dust.

She looked over at the cot and stared helplessly at the trembling, bewildered vampire as he raised his head. He looked around slowly, his features betraying his horror. His hair a dark halo over his pale haunted face, "is this real?" He whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse.

They gaped at him speechless, lost to shock. "Yes," Willow finally replied, her voice quivering with awe.

His features crumbled, slowly he curled in on himself as soft whimpers escaped his mouth.

That was enough to pull Buffy out of her stupor. With three quick strides she was by her lover's side, her arms reaching to embrace him.

"Buffy!" Giles snapped.

But she was done waiting. She had waited much too long. If he was Angelus then she would die anyway because she didn't have the strength to fight him again. If he was Angel, she had betrayed him enough. With that thought in mind her arms closed around the suffering man, pulling him into her warm embrace.

She rocked him gently, as she would a weeping child. As he slowly surrendered to exhaustion in the comfort of her arms she vowed to herself that she would never betray him again. For once the world would have to fend for itself.

"How did this happen?" Spike whispered, unable to take his eyes off the couple.

He awoke slowly, a strange lethargy clinging to him relentlessly. He moved carefully, his body tensely awaiting the expected pain that never came. He sat up, a dizziness overtaking him for a moment, forcing him to slow down. He raised his head as soon as he felt steady enough to do so, and was startled to see a small blonde figure draped across a chair beside him.

"Buffy?" He murmured. The figure stirred slightly in her sleep, strands of golden hair falling across her cheek, tickling the long, dark lashes. Is this real? He wondered. He remembered waking, before. People staring down at him, then leaving quietly. He shook his head trying to sort fragments of memory from dream, the effort making his head spin.

He rose to his feet, tenderly testing his body, but still no pain came. Other than the strange fog in his mind and an irritating chafing against his skin he felt perfectly fine.

He smiled, the expression slightly odd across his pale features, there was one thing he could take care of. With a few quick motions he tore away at the bandages wrapped around his body, wincing slightly at the dried blood splattered across everything, mute evidence of near fatal wounds. He rubbed away at the bits clinging to him, brown flakes dropping away to expose unblemished pale skin.

Silently he walked across the room, flexing his stiff muscles, relishing in the feel of a healthy body. A small pile of clothes rested on a chair in a corner of the room, suddenly very aware of his nudity he tied a pair of sweatpants to his waist.

He could feel something pulling at him from outside, calling to him with the sweet voice of memory. Fire crackled in the hearth, emitting a soft inviting glow that beckoned him to stay. He ignored the golden warmth as the pull grew harder, more demanding.

He moved toward the garden, the fog in his mind making all conscious thought impossible. His body led the way surely, although it had been uncountable centuries since he had last walked these halls.

He saw her picking roses in the garden, her pale dress mingling curiously with her skin in the wan moonlight, making her seem sensuously nude. Her dark hair was elaborately made around her face, framing her delicate features with a startling clash of black against white.

For a moment memory mixed with reality. He saw her as she once was; innocent and lovely, fresh and full of life. Then a breeze brought the cloying stench of death to his senses and reality planted itself firmly in his bewildered mind.

"Drusilla..." He murmured, his voice gruff and unsteady.

She turned toward him allowing him to see the true difference between memory and reality; all light of sanity was gone from her eyes. "Angel," she whispered, her little-girl voice grating against his tender nerves. She eyed him appreciatively, taking in his smooth bare chest and the flimsy cloth covering him from waist down. "Not my Angel anymore," she murmured sadly.

"Was I ever?" He asked. The haze in his mind was beyond his control now, and he felt as though he was moving in a dream. The moon's silvery light drew an ethereal quality, painting the world in unrelenting shades of black and white. Her skin seemed to glow in that light, her face a masterpiece of creation spoiled only by the dark light of madness beaming in her eyes.

She giggled sweetly and brought a rose to her lips, sniffing at it coyly. "You were always my Angel. Even when you thought I was yours and made me scream out your name..."

"When you were human?"

She nodded, "and later when your heart reeked of the Slayer," her voice took a hard edge, her fingers callously crushing the delicate rose. "You were such a bad daddy and even then you were mine. Every time you wouldn't kill me, every time you wouldn't let that nasty Slayer kill me." She looked at him sadly, her fingers reaching up to touch him, "but you're not mine anymore. You're hers."

She had cut herself from the rose's thorns. Her fingers were bloody, a disgusting dark contrast against the chalky whiteness of her skin, but he let her touch him anyway. "Whose am I, Dru?" His voice was deceptively patient.

She looked at him as if she could see right through him and giggled, her fingers tracing a bloody signature on his pale chest. "Do you know why the Slayer brought you out of hell?" She asked, completely ignoring his question.

He took a deep, unnecessary breath. A small flame of anger began to smolder in his gut. Inhaling deeply again to control that flame he shook his head.

The dark vampiress glanced around as if afraid of eavesdroppers. He bravely resisted an urge to break her neck. "You're supposed to save the world," she confided. "Or destroy it." Then she laughed, no longer a little girl's laugh, a laugh full of malicious hate. "The moon sings to me. She tells me you don't know who you are. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?"

The small flame in his gut rose to a full-blown inferno, he could feel his face changing even as he took a menacing step toward his insane childe. "What are you talking about, Dru?" He demanded.

"Impotent!" She screeched at him, "all that power, all that rage and still you're impotent!"

He lost control, grabbing her roughly by the waist he pinned her against his body, "am I impotent, Drusilla?" He snarled, pushing against her, forcing her to feel him, to acknowledge him. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, a dark warning to the ease with which he could end her life. She paused only to laugh in his face before sinking her fangs into his lips. Realizing he was fooled he dug his claws into her cool skin, pulling her away from him.

She broke away with a soft growl, her demon marring her perfect features, "so powerful, and so impotent," she moaned, his blood dripping from her lips, staining her chin crimson.

"I think you'd better leave now, Dru," A calm, hard voice said from behind them. Buffy stood leaning against the door, subtly toying with a sharp stake, her eyes as hard as flint.

The vampiress backed away with a snarl, fear evident on her demonic face, "sometimes, when the moon would hide from me and the nights were dark," she whispered in a child's voice, her eyes never leaving the Slayer. "I could hear you screaming in hell." Only then she risked a glance at her Sire, "It used to make me want to laugh," She told him as she disappeared into the night.

"Are you all right?" Buffy asked softly. Angel snarled, his lip had already healed, but the blood dripping down his demonic features made him seem like an insane beast in the darkness. She waited as his anger slowly drained and his face reverted back to its human facade.

He watched her leaning against the doorway, her lithe body filled with catlike grace, firelight from inside made her hair blaze like a golden halo. "You're hurt," she said, reaching up delicate fingers to his lips.

For a single moment memory and reality mixed in his tortured brain. He could see his lover's face clearly in the soft moonlight, and just as clearly he could see a demon's face, lovely and perfect, sneering at him with contempt. He instinctively recoiled from her, "don't touch me!" He gasped, the words flying out of his mouth beyond his control, fear shining in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she choked, the words holding more meaning than she could ever explain. "You slept through the entire day, and when I woke up and couldn't find you after you nearly," for the first time she noticed his bare chest, marked only by his childe's blood and her eyes narrowed with confusion, "died," she finished lamely. "Angel, what happened to your wounds?"

You don't know who you are. He brought a trembling hand to his lips, wiping away at the drying blood. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are? "Is it true?" He asked. "Did you bring me back so I could fight some evil?"

She flinched as though he had struck her a blow, "damn Drusilla!" She muttered. "It's not like that," she explained lamely, "it was just this weird coincidence where we had one part of the key and Spike had the other part. I guess we needed some sort of mutual crises to come together and..."

He ran a shaking hand through his soft, dark hair, "I think I need to be alone now, Buffy."

She reached out for him instinctively, "Angel, I..."

"Please, Buffy!"

She nodded weakly, her hand dropping lamely beside her, "I'll come see you later tonight," she promised. He nodded as she disappeared into the night, a distracted gesture of a man with too much on his mind.

Confusion eddied around him when she left, slivers of memory cutting at him with jagged edges of truth. A bullwhip gleefully biting into his skin, implemented by an insanely laughing demon. Can you feel it? Claws tearing across his body with the abandon of a lover. I love you, Angel.

He sank to his knees on callously discarded rose petals, his hands clasped against his ears, his eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out his senses, trying to shut the memories out. Hellfire burning away his skin, the stench of brimstone boring into every crevice and pore in his body, choking him, suffocating him. Hanging on a cross as the early light of dawn gently burned his awareness away. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?

"Stop!" He screamed. The night carried his voice away, accepting his madness as it echoed into nothing. "Please stop," he begged, his hands dropping to the ground to support his trembling body.

The fog slowly seeped out of his mind, illusive memories clearing way to reality as in a sudden moment of absolute clarity he understood what he had to do.

He's all right, he's just in shock, Buffy murmured to herself as she headed towards the library. Don't touch me. The bitter taste that left in her mouth refused to go away. Did he hate her? Was it so bad that he couldn't stand the mere sight of her? She shook her head trying to dispel the distracting thoughts and tried to concentrate on something more immediate. Those wounds should have taken several months to heal at best, yet they were gone as though they had never existed. And he hadn't even answered her question about them. She shook her head again, she was getting nowhere on her own, she definitely needed to talk this over with Giles.

"Where is Giles?" She asked as she stepped into the library. Her friends were lounging around, talking quietly and reading books. Or in Xander's case eating too many donuts.

"He said he was going home to get some sleep," Cordelia replied, looking up from the book she was reading. "All this time I thought he lived here."

"He does," Xander chuckled, wiping powdered sugar off his nose, "but sometimes he needs some 'me' time away from his books." He peered up at Buffy, "what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with hell-boy."

Buffy winced at the term but said nothing, "he had a little visit from Dru and it shook him up. He said he needed some alone time," she said, trying to make it sound casual.

They stared at her.

"What?" She demanded, as the silence in the dimly lit library became too oppressive.

Cordelia glared at her and Buffy steeled herself, the May-Queen's sharp tongue was not a pleasant thing. "I think what we're trying to say is: 'And you let him?!'"

"Well I couldn't very well force myself on him!" The Slayer retorted without thinking.

"No," Oz agreed quietly as Buffy flushed a bright red, "that would definitely be of the bad."

Cordelia took a deep breath and Buffy winced, the pretty brunette was not through, "what if he goes psycho again?" She demanded, her voice shrilly grating on Buffy's nerves. "What if he starts after you again?" Her soft brown eyes widened as another, more hideous possibility suddenly occurred to her, "what if he starts after me again?" She cried, her voice climbing several octaves.

"Then we kill him," Xander stated coolly, "prophecy or no prophecy."

Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously, "hold on rebel without a clue," she said acidly, her eyes flashing bright anger. "Angel's fine. He's just adjusting, that's all."

"To what," Xander challenged, "life in the fast lane? An all you can eat Sunnydale till the Slayer says stop?"

Willow gasped, "Xander, stop it. We're not going to get anywhere this way."

They were both beyond reason, though, "were you always this jealous of him?" Buffy asked softly as her friend glared at her. "Because you've hated him even before he gave you reason too."

He barked a tense laugh, "yeah, all I ever wanted was my own personalized tombstone."

"That can always be arranged," Spike said smoothly, an amused expression on his face.

"You know," Xander said wearily, "this place has really been loosing its charm as Slayer headquarters lately."

"I'm just glad he didn't bring miss psycho killer along," Buffy muttered.

Spike's eyes flashed with annoyance, "lay off Dru, Slayer. She's more of a woman than you'll ever be," his eyes narrowed at Buffy's audible snort. "She's rad, bad..."

"And completely mad," Buffy added, a malicious grin spreading across her face.

"Really," Xander asked, a grin plastered on his face. "And all this time I thought she was slutty, smutty and totally nutty."

"Ooh, can I play?" Cordelia squealed as everyone but the seething vampire giggled around her, the tension that had engulfed them thankfully broken.

"Lazy, hazy and a whole lot of crazy," Oz contributed. "Well I do write songs, you know," he added depreciatingly as they grinned at him.

"Oh, I got one," Willow squeaked. "A snore, a bore and a total who..."

"Willow!" Buffy gasped, her eyes shocked.

"Well she is," Willow muttered sullenly.

Spike's eyes flashed, "that's right, kiddies," he snarled, his nostrils flaring. "Piss off the bad ass vampire. Think about that next time you walk into a dark alley at night." He turned his back on the giggling teens with disgust and stomped off out of the library, smacking into his sire in the process. "Of course it'd be you," Spike growled, his hand rubbing his cheek where it impacted roughly with Angel's shoulder. "The Slayer's laughing it up over there."

"I came to see you," Angel said softly, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

"Were you now?" Spike drawled, contempt and curiosity battling for dominance across his features.

Buffy watched the two vampires standing at the library doors. One dark and tall, his expression a heart wrenching mix of pleading and distress. The other paler, shorter, slimmer, his confident smirk enough to make anyone break into a cold sweat. The contrast between them was intoxicating.

"I need you," the dark vampire whispered, his arm leaning on the doorway for support, "to tell me who I am." His voice was almost soundless, his stance filled with despair. Buffy ached to rush over to him, to support him, but he had asked her not to touch him and he had not come here for her.

Spike's eyes narrowed, "what're you talking about..."

With catlike grace the dark vampire lunged at his childe, all semblance of weakness gone. "Blood runs true," Angel hissed as he grabbed the pale vampire by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll. His eyes glimmered golden, but his face kept its human mask, "I need you to tell me who I am!"

With a quick twist Spike freed himself from the older vampire's grasp, "why should I?" He demanded, his face inhuman as he lost himself to rage.

Angel grabbed him again, this time his hold was unbreakable. He dragged his resisting child so close their faces nearly touched. "Because I am your sire," he hissed.

Spike stopped struggling, but managed to laugh in his sire's face, "and here I thought the in thing to do these days was to stake your sire in the back. I'd be happy to do that," he growled just as menacingly as Angel.

Angel pushed his childe away as he grimaced with remembered pain, "then do it because you need me sane." He muttered, all at once reverting back to weakness.

"He's gone nuts," Xander whispered.

Spike seemed to have the same idea, "you're loosing it," he assessed as he looked the older vampire over.

Angel ran a trembling hand through his unkempt hair. He tried to chuckle, but a sob filtered through instead, "tell me I haven't already."

"Your conscience getting to you, Peaches?" Spike asked with false sympathy. "Remembering the merry old time you had as a bad ass and it hurts you down deep? Tell me, what was hell like? Repent much?"

The dark vampire's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips curled as a snarl rolled from deep within his chest, "oh, it was a real divine comedy," acid dripped from his words. Willow gasped, her lips forming a startled O as she seemed to realize something, then thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut. "You are going to do this for me, Spike. One way or another I'll find out what I need to know."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore! I'm not some cripple you can stake in a heartbeat!"

A wicked smile spread across beautiful pale features, "no, but Dru is."

Spike's eyes widened with disbelief, as for a single solitary moment the only sound in the library was the soft purr of neon lights. "The guy still knows how to brighten up a room," Xander noted to no one in particular.

"You bloody wanker, you wouldn't," Spike said, the tone of his voice indicating he wasn't entirely sure.

"Not if I didn't have to."

Sire and childe glared into each other's eyes, lost in a battle of wills. Finally the younger vampire turned his head away, "then let's do this already," he muttered. Angel nodded, visibly relaxing as he began to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing?" Spike demanded suspiciously.

"You always were a sloppy eater. I don't plan on letting you destroy what little wardrobe I have left."

Buffy gasped. Sloppy eater? "What's happening?" She demanded, her voice coming out shriller than she intended.

Spike cast an almost amused glance at his sire, "didn't you ever tell her about this?"

Angel shook his head. "Never saw any reason too." His shirt had come off, revealing to the relieved Slayer a pale torso cleansed of all bloodstains.

"Of course you didn't, you old Poof." Spike said contemptuously, his confidence returning, as he seemed to gain some semblance of control. "You were always too busy brooding in the dark, pretending to be something you weren't, to look back at the prettier side of what you were." Angel's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he said nothing.

"And you," Spike turned to the Slayer, humor in his eyes, a sly smirk on his face, "you should really find out as much as you can about who you're so dedicated on destroying. After all, there's more to us then just killing and feeding."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Buffy murmured, her attention clearly elsewhere.

Spike's glance followed the direction of her look, his eyes skimming over his sire's perfect torso with little surprise, "show off," he muttered. "There's a special bond between sire and childe," he lectured, his voice ripping the teenagers' attention away from the walking miracle. "A bond made of blood and trust. Do you trust me, Angel?"

Buffy swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking across her body in reaction to Spike's words. Angel crossed his arms across his chest, his legs firmly braced against the polished hardwood table, a true icon of power, "I trust the world to end if you go too far. I trust that you'll writhe in agony in hell if you kill me. So yes, I trust you."

The pale vampire nodded as if expecting nothing less, "that bond allows for certain things, certain truths," he continued smoothly. "In other words, pet," Buffy shuddered as the pale vampire's eyes bore straight into hers, "he's allowing me to see right into his bloody heart. A true honor," he added cynically.

"Can we get on with this?" Angel demanded impatiently.

"Of course," Spike replied calmly, as in one swift motion he lunged at the dark vampire, his face changing only a moment before sinking his fangs deep into his sire's neck.

Buffy gasped with horror. A slender trickle of blood wound its way slowly down Angel's spine, a startling crimson on pale skin. Spike's hands snaked around Angel's body, pulling him closer into his bloody embrace. She could see the slight caressing motion as a hand entwined itself in the soft, dark hair.

The pair twisted, caught together in a drunken dance, yet somehow still graceful as they crushed against each other. Angel's head lifted, his neck fully exposed, his eyes closed and his lips parted in what could have been either torment or pleasure. Buffy could clearly see his fingers clawing at the material of Spike's shirt, ripping long tracks along the pale vampire's back.

A groan rippled across the hushed room, filled with intense desires and emotions that a singular few could understand. The hand across the dark vampire's back drew harder, clawed at pale skin as it demanded more then what simple contact would allow.

There was only the minute warning of golden eyes, flashing for a moment before fangs sank into a pale neck, dark hair mingling intimately with blond. Their bodies both shuddered a moment, shocked at the unexpected violation then pushed even closer together. Hands tearing at soft flesh, hips grinding together with the full force of masculine passion, they moved as one single, undulating body.

Buffy felt hot sweat form on her face, her breath grew heavier, more strained as she watched the vampires move. In a small corner of her mind she wondered what her friends were thinking, how shocked they must be by the vampires' actions, but she was unable to tear her eyes off the pair. Not even to spare a glance their way.

Spike's shirt was in tatters, hanging on his body seemingly by sheer will, blood slightly staining the pale patches of visible skin. Soft suckling sounds broke the tense silence, betraying any illusion of humanity. Spike's knees buckled suddenly, unable to support him under the strain. For a moment it seemed that Angel could hold them both, his more massive girth built for the challenge. Then they toppled, slowly falling, still intimately joined together.

They landed almost gently on their shoulders, clinging to each other a moment before rolling on the floor in a primal contest for dominance. They seemed almost equal in strength for an instant, but the older, more massive vampire finally gained the advantage.

He sprawled over his slimmer childe, his body denying any means of escape as his hips undulated against Spike's body. A slow steady flush crept across Buffy's face, her mind helplessly envisioning herself in Spike's place, her body at once both repulsed and excited by the notion.

Spike's hands drowned in Angel's thick hair, pushing down in open invitation. His legs wrapped around Angel's hips in an almost feminine gesture. Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as her body began to tremble. I shouldn't want him like this, she thought even as her body reacted involuntarily to the blatant sexual energies, I shouldn't be attracted to the demon in him.

They held still for a moment, a sudden contrast to their frenzied motions, then as one they broke apart, rolling away from each other to gasp for unneeded breath on the floor.