Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and adult content)
Distribution: Sure. Just tell me where.
Timeline: Season 5 of BtVS: AU after Triangle. Season 2 of AtS: AU after Reunion.
Summary: Wolfram and Hart, host of the greatest evil acknowledged on Earth, attempts to restructure the Order of Aurelius, one vampire at a time. A soul hampers one, a chip harbors another, and a Slayer stands between them. The pawns are in place; it is simply a matter of who will move first.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25]

[26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43] [44] [45] [46] [47] [48] [49] [50] [Epilogue]

Chapter Forty-One

Silver Satin Wings

She woke up alone.

Buffy blinked herself to alertness and sat up with a slow sigh, taking in the breadth of solitude. Her senses ached with the weariness of imposed separation, her hand automatically seeking the comfort of the man that was supposed to be at her side. There was nothing. Nothing but the lingering fibers of his presence. The indention where his body had lain the night before as he offered her subconscious comfort. Without needing to know at all, she recognized that the bed had been abandoned a little more than two hours before; she shivered with a likeness of foreknowledge.

She had not awoken with him. And he had left her by herself.

The room was suddenly very cold.

A sigh trembled through her body as she collapsed wearily against the mattress. In retrospect, she supposed she should be grateful. For the first time since waking in her bed that final morning in Sunnydale, she felt well rested. Alert. As though today was the beginning of something resembling her existence within normality.

Her instincts told her that it was around three in the afternoon and that the party, as expected, had congregated downstairs to undoubtedly continue the discussion Angel's future. Buffy forced her eyes closed and groaned heavily. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to barter away an existence based on faults that could never truly be held to his name. She was liable to resent any conclusion her instincts led her to. At one end, there was Angel. Angel whom had always been there for her in one way or another. Angel who was a good friend and a reliable confidant. Angel, whose hotel she inhabited. Whose residential quarters were just a few doors down from the place she had so recklessly claimed for herself.

And yet, whenever she thought of him, she could help but picture Angelus. The part of him residing deep within the shell of a man. His face. His leer. The way he mocked her when she wept, the crude suggestions that so effortlessly flowed from his lips. The cruel harshness behind his touch. How he had born marks on her that would never be healed. How he had burnt away any lasting memory of her innocence with the threat of his contact, and made her into what she was now.

A vampire.

But she wasn't even thinking that far. She couldn't. Not with what she had been granted. With whatever else Angelus had done, he had first and foremost violated her in a way she never thought possible. In a way that would have, with anyone else, forced her away from the calm reassurance of a friendly touch.

She didn't balk from Spike's touch when she thought she would have. Despite what she felt for him, she hadn't suspected herself capable of that kind of healing within such a short amount of time, Slayer or not. And yet, here she was. And she was feeling the effects of their separation; whether from mentality or distance, she didn't know. The rules and guidelines for newly-sireds were unknown to her. Most that she came across didn't last that long.

She needed to see him. She needed to make this right.

The thought alone was what jarred her out of bed. In an instant, she was on her feet, covers nearly strewn to the floor as she made her way about the room, frantically searching out the little intricacies that every girl must suffer through before showing her face in public. She forced her thick hair through the painful subjection of a faulty hairbrush, perfumed herself up, and threw on some jeans and one of Spike's t-shirts. She thought to stop in front of the mirror for brief self-inspection before remembering that such would do little good—will I remember what I look like in fifty years?—but forced her thoughts away before the notion could thoroughly depress her.

A small grin arose poignantly on her face at that. Thank the PTB that Cordelia didn't seem to care about cosmetics anymore; otherwise the day would turn into a beauty criticism session at her expense.

The scene that greeted her upon reaching the veranda that surveyed the lobby turned her depressed disposition into something thoroughly humored. The Seer was reclined comfortably in an armchair opposite Wright, thoroughly occupied with some designer magazine though it was more than obvious that she wasn't seriously fixated on any article. Zack was perched faithfully at the edge of his seat: the epitome of a hawk studying its prey. If she was aware of his scrutiny, she did not appear it. Instead, she continued flipping to her leisure and nodding approvingly at various headlines.

How odd.

"They've been doin' this for about an hour," a voice to the Slayer's left observed. "Ever since the lunch thing."

"Lunch thing?"

"Zack went out to get some grub. Cordy made him go to half a dozen shops to get everything she wanted." Gunn chuckled wryly. "She's good. She's very good. They haven't even been dating all that long, and she already has the man whipped."

Buffy's brows arched. "Everything she wanted?"

"Man, you wouldn't believe some of the things she had goin' on in her diet."

"Trust me, I think I would. I went to school with her for three years. When she wants to punish someone, she does a good job of it."

The man shrugged. "Wasn't nothin' Zack didn't deserve, I guess. No matter who was right, he shouldn't have gotten all wordy with her. That's just not cool."

"He was defending Spike."

"He was being a hypocrite." Gunn shrugged again. "He was defendin' your honey, so I'll grant him that. The man has pulled a complete one eighty since he got here. For a while, Wes and I were wonderin' if we'd be lucky enough to keep him from doin' something colossally stupid...like stakin' Spike and effectively ruining all chance of getting you out." He smiled sheepishly. "Gotta tell yah, after hearin' your boy go on for a few hours, you get to the point where savin' you's a priority."

Buffy offered a weak smile, searching emptily for a polite way of breaking the conversation so that she could find Spike. The scene downstairs hadn't changed, but she didn't reckon interrupting would be regarded as a good idea. Whatever was being done was being done for the benefit of them. All she wanted to do was find Spike.

Find Spike and make everything all right again.

Fortunately, Gunn was observant enough to recognize the signs. When she glanced to him again, he was grinning like a lunatic. "He's downstairs," he provided. "In the trainin' room."

"What's he doing down there?"

Another shrug. "Just a hunch...training?"

She gave him a look that was supposed to be more menacing than it was. "Hardy har har."

"Charles Gunn. One Man Demon Hunter, and a comedian on the side. You better hurry, though. Don't wanna be caught in the crossfire." He nodded to the unchanged scene below. "Trust me. It's about to go boom in a very loud way."

Buffy nodded and gave him her thanks, but heeded his advice. If there was one thing she knew about the Queen C, stay clear of her when she had her eye on something. It was a friendly warning to all bystanders, but one she had learned long ago not to take lightly.

It didn't matter, though. She had her own prerogative.

It was time to make things right.

There was nothing quite like making a grown man squirm. And she wasn't even using her tongue.

True, it had been years since she found herself in the position to drive a specimen of the male race insane with any sort of antic, and despite consequences, Cordelia wanted this to last. She was enjoying herself for the moment, and such was a position she would never forfeit.

Poor Zack.

Her behavior wasn't at all subtle. With a yawn and a stretch, she motioned to fan herself with the magazine, not even bothering to cast an upward glance. "Mmmm," she mused slowly, as though accentuating an afterthought. "It's warm in here."

The next instant, Wright had obediently risen to his feet, traveled across the lobby and hit the AC without saying a word to the contraire. Afterward, he tacitly returned to his seat, perched at the ready, studying her with shades of worry. As though she were a nuclear explosion waiting to happen.

Too easy.

The Seer waited a few obligatory minutes, flipping through uninteresting articles that might have once struck her as utterly fascinating with an eye for apathy. If she wanted to be totally honest with herself, she would contend to being more attune to the hunter's movements than even her own.

But no one ever had fun with honesty.

When she could wait no longer, Cordelia glanced up pensively, her eyes focusing on something across the room. "You know what I could really go for..."

If she had been looking at Wright at all, she would have seen his gaze widen. The picture of an obedient pup waiting to do his master's bidding. She didn't think he was even aware of his actions, but that hardly meant that she was ready to concede.

"A nice cappuccino...with whipped cream and chocolate shavings."

Once more, he bounded to his feet.

"Two percent or skim?"

She flashed him a delighted smile as though she had no earthly idea that he would feel so compelled as to bow to her every whim. The look she received in turn was skeptical but amused, giving off far more than he would ever let on.

"I'm feeling evil today," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Two percent. And you should really see if Wes and Gunn want something...if you're going out, that is."

He flashed her a smirk but complied all the same.

Oh yes. She could get used to this.

It was dark. Buffy knew it was dark. She could feel it with everything she was. And yet, when she looked around, her eyes provided sensory that she would have never believed possible. And it wasn't as though she hadn't been prepared for this; vampires were nocturnal creatures for multiple reasons and their stunning abilities when cornered in complete darkness merely one of them. It was the human in her that was having trouble adjusting. Aside the few turned Slayers in the past; she didn't think that any newly risen vampires had to deal with the transformation as she did. One step at a time. Discovering the connective links between her talents and those born to her.

The parts she had thought she would find difficulty with were already becoming second nature, and somewhere she recognized that the thought should have disturbed her. It didn't. When her body craved blood, she drank it. Drank without hesitation. Without lapsing in the concern that she was doing something unholy. It was simply what her body wanted, and there was nothing she could do about that.

Blood had always made her ancy in life. Funny that it was now a mere afterthought.

No. Oh no. It was everything else that terrified the Slayer. Everything that awaited her beyond tomorrow. Beyond what sat at the bottom of the stairs. Beyond satisfying what she needed to satisfy to ensure her contentment. To give Spike what he so richly deserved.

But it was more than that. Always more than that. She knew that. She simply didn't know how to convey it.

She saw him clearly. He was situated against the far wall opposite Angel's vastly unused training arena. A cigarette was wedged proudly between his lips, a likely-empty beer bottle in the other. His brows arched appraisingly when their eyes met.

Buffy's gasp colored the air before she could stop it. Before she even knew why it existed. And then, through every fiber of her being, she felt the wave of his influence. Not domineering. Not power-driven. Just there. There and painfully reached out for her. Waiting for her to accept the proverbial hand he offered.

It was the power of their connection. Something there beyond what was given.

It moved her beyond reproach.

"An' out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, molding men." A small smile kissed Spike's lips as he drew his cigarette out of his mouth. "'S true, luv. Whatever you say about your crackpot philosophers, that one's true."

Buffy nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to. "What's it mean?"

"Means you've..." There was a second's pause before a sigh tumbled from his lips. "I don' even really know how to explain it. My nature 's to be exactly what I'm not now. 'm not. I haven't been who I am now...ever. Not before I was killed an' definitely not in all the years after." His gaze deepened pensively. "'ve never known anythin' but one extreme or the other, sweetheart. There was never a middle ground."

The Slayer gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully, crossing her arms as she stepped forward. "Do you regret it?"

"No." A dry chuckle sounded through him. "Never could. I don't know love, Buffy. I never did till I...till you came along an' turned my bloody life upside down. Thought I'd had it once. You had a right time provin' me wrong."

"I didn't—"

"I know. 'S all my doin'. An' I don' regret it, sweets. I never could. Nothin' you've ever given me." Another sigh shattered through him, wracking his shoulders with such force that she would have thought him weeping had he not glanced up the next instant. "An' I believe you. What you said in the alley. An' earlier. About trustin' me. But I've never had it all. Ever. An' rightly, with what I've taken from you, I can't expect it now."

"Spike—"

"Angel's important to you."

"Yeah." She flinched as he flinched, but there was no way to dance around it without inherently betraying everything she was. "In some twisted way...but I don't love Angel. I...I can't love him. Ever. Not even counting what's happened...this isn't even about that." Buffy expelled a deep breath and crossed the room before her courage failed her. She felt the hot swell of his gaze needily upon her face—full and wanting. The hint of what he was about to say only made her love for him expand. Even if he didn't realize it himself. Even if he didn't know the full of what he was on the verge of offering. It wasn't even remotely about that, and despite her knowledge of such, she couldn't help but find every aspect of him completely endearing.

And she was determined to prove it to him.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Spike arched a skeptical brow at her but gestured to the floor all the same.

"No. I meant..." Without awaiting his questioning glance, the Slayer cast her legs astride him so that she was seated in his lap, face-to-face with her lower body ground deliciously against his. She prided herself in the low moan that whispered through his lips in response to her and scooted as close as possible so that he could not mistake her intent. "Is this all right?"

The brow domed again. "'F you can't feel how all right it is..." he said, thrusting forward slightly so that his erection crowned against the needy peak between her legs. "...then we have a problem."

A low whimper coursed through her. The sound amazed her ears. There were certain things he was proving her capable of without thought. Sounds, emotions, all of the above that she hadn't ever thought herself possible of achieving. "Agreed."

Spike smiled and stamped out his cigarette. "Good."

"We need to talk."

"I figured. I jus' wasn' lookin' forward to it, as there has never been a good conversation in the history of the world that began with those four words."

Buffy smiled softly and leaned forward, brushing her lips gently against his. "Then we're about to make history."

It was impossible not to share the ripple that surged through him. She reckoned she could have felt it across the world and back.

"Here's the thing," she said, fingers idly enjoying the texture of the wisps of hair collected at his nape. And suddenly words failed her. Nothing calamitous. Nothing treacherous. Simply by looking into the ocean depth of his eyes, whatever she wanted to say coiled infinitely at the end of her tongue and staunchly refused to be handed out.

The Slayer's eyes widened. Goddammit.

"The thing goes like this," she stuttered, thrown by his expectant look. Then paused. "The thing is—"

"Buffy, baby...you don' have to—"

"No. You really, really need to hear this." A tremble shuddered through her. "I'm just bad at saying it."

He tilted his head curiously. "Why?"

"'Cause I've never said it before." Her gaze lowered to the compact space between them. "Never really...and I've never felt..."

"Buffy..."

"Okay. For real this time. Here's the...thing..." She scowled a bit as his eyes twinkled. It was so strange being in this position. The last time she bore her heard to anyone, it was Angel. And she hadn't loved Angel. Not really. But until Spike, he was the closest to love she had ever managed. How the hell did she expect herself to confront the real thing?

It had to be done. That was all there was to it.

And it was better to start with that. It would give her motivation for everything else.

"Brace yourself, honey. This one's gonna knock your socks off." She smiled slightly at the downright curious look marring his features. "Angel...I...I realized right before he came in to kill me—" Spike automatically tensed in her embrace, thus she routinely slid her hands to his shoulders, rubbing slow, sensual circles to draw the worry out. "—I realized that I never loved him. As in...ever."

There was nothing for a long, dead moment.

"Never?"

"Never."

Spike blinked at her incredulously. "An' the Oscar goes to..."

"I know, I know. But I'm not making it up. I just...I realized that I loved you...then. It was then. I knew it then. Before anything else. And it was so...different." Buffy smiled as his eyes warmed at her admission. Again now. Without the fighting. Without all the ugliness between them. Simply because. "It struck me so hard that I knew...I knew it was the real deal and whatever Angel and I had was just...it wasn't love, Spike. I thought it was. Hell, I would've defended that it was to the death just a few months ago. But it wasn't. I didn't even know him. By the time I did...know him, that is...I had already convinced myself that I was in love with him so nothing else mattered. It was a stupid high school girly thing. I guess I thought being the Slayer made me...something more. It didn't. He was the first guy I got serious about...but that's where it ends."

He stared at her for a long, dubious minute. As though the weight of everything lasted so long on his shoulders that any choice but to believe her faded for the other extreme. Everything he had known. Always. Ever since the fateful night that sealed their acquaintance, he had accepted her feelings for Angel. Accepted. Never questioned. Hell, he had lectured them on how their love would never die. How they could never be friends.

It made sense that he doubted her now.

"I never trusted him," she concluded softly, not knowing what else there was to say to convince him of her honesty. "Ever. Not like...I trust my Mom and Giles...and Will when she's not playing around with spells that make all of us do something wonky." That observation earned a light grin. "And you. I trust you. I trust you more than...and I get it if you can't believe me now. I wouldn't believe me, either. Things between us have never been like this."

His eyes narrowed. "That's the understatement of the soddin' century. God, Buffy, I never thought you'd let me...when we were—"

"I know."

A short, dry chuckle tackled his throat. "You can't."

"I know. Believe me." A sigh trembled through her when she saw she wasn't doing much to convince him. "Look, I don't know what changed it for you. I really, really don't. And despite popular belief, I wasn't exactly born yesterday. This...this 'us' thing started a long time before the...before Angelus."

He had nothing to say to that. His eyes told all the truth she needed to know.

"I'd like to say it's been mutual the whole way through. But you were always Mr. Vamp and so I kinda never ever let myself go that way. I mean, it wasn't even a thought. Not because you're not noticeable or anything." She grinned deviously. "If anything, you're more distraction than any woman should ever have to deal with."

"I can't believe you jus' said that."

"Believe it."

"No, I mean really. I'm tryin' to piece this together. Everythin' in the past few days has been soddin' windstorm. I keep expectin' to wake up or...or worse..." Spike glanced down. "I haven't let myself think since I got word that you were gone. With before...when you let me..." She felt heat that shouldn't exist rise to her cheeks. Vampires weren't supposed to blush, but she felt it. She felt it enough to know it was real. His grin of verification was all the punctuation on the thought that she required. "But with you wakin' up...not hatin' me...trustin' me...an' now this with...throwin' Angel into the mix—"

"Angel is so not in the mix."

"Buffy—"

She shook her head, determined. "He's not. I told you that I—"

"You never loved him. Right. Pull the other one."

"It's new, Spike. All right? That make you happy?" The Slayer exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes. "You are without a doubt the most insufferable man I've ever met."

"Thanks ever so."

"But you're the first man I've ever loved. Ever. And I don't know what I have to do to convince you." That was it. With the revelation, the game became a wild card draw and she forfeited the emotion that had compiled against the dam barricaded at her heart for the lasting fear of exposure. Her eyes welled with tears that she did not want but similarly couldn't bid aside, but when she tried to look away, a firm hand caught her by the chin and tugged her back to the first and only home she had ever known.

All the more reason to drive her point home.

"And you know how I know it's love this time, Spike? How it's different from before? You wanna know how? Because we are friends. I was never Angel's friend...and that's more important to me than you can imagine. That I can be in love with you and be your friend, too. And everything on top of everything else, it scares the piss out of me. You're getting to see the side of Buffy Saga Central that no one has seen since the colossal not-love that was Angel." She angrily wiped at her tears but it was overly futile. They simply kept coming. "Don't get me wrong. I thought it was. There were feelings that were very love-like, but they weren't love. I was too young and I...but if not-love can do that to me, then you...God, I don't wanna think about what you could do to me."

"I'd never—"

"Yeah, I know you'd never."

"Do you?" His voice implored her eyes, and when their gazes met her breath caught at the wealth of emotion he was giving her. Though she knew the full of what he felt, the reality behind it still managed to steal whatever was left at her and throw it to the wind. "Do you really?"

"Spike, any thought I ever had about you hurting me has kinda died with the entire chivalrous Prince Charming routine you've been pulling since you came to me in my dream." Buffy pressed a finger to his lips before the thought she saw dwelling in his eyes could know birth. "And yes, it was you. It was a Slayer dream and everything you told me has come true."

A deep silence settled around them. Haunting. Melodic. Silence, as many things, had a life of its own. She simply had yet to appreciate it.

Before she knew it, she was speaking again.

"Do you..." the Slayer fumbled for words. "Do you at least believe that I love you?"

Spike's grip on her tightened. "Yes." He buried his mouth in her throat, caressing the skin there with feather-light brushes of his lips. The effect sent ripples of pleasure through both of them, and they took a minute together to gather their bearings. "God, yes. I can feel it. It bloody astounds me."

She smiled kindly. "Me, too."

"I believe everythin', luv. You have no reason to lie to me."

The smile just as easily melted into a frown. "Then—"

"I jus'...'s so hard to grasp. The entire...I..." He broke off and shook his head. "With everythin' that's happened recently, this is somethin' I need time to mull over. 'S bloody incredible, what you've told me. I know you mean every word. I know it. I jus' think 's gonna be one of those things that hits me right before I nod off. You've broken my world more times than I can soddin' count. An' you keep doin it. Someday 's gonna hit me that this is real."

He had absolutely no idea how close to home those words struck.

"An' this business with Angel—"

"I can't explain it. I just...I need time."

There was a long pause. Though she felt his compliance, she also felt the sting of reservation. No matter what she told him, there would always be some innate draw between him and Angel. The gods themselves could not prevent it. And yet, the weight of his concession bore no right. His lips caressed her temple and, with extreme vacillation, he nodded against her. "'S all right, luv," he told her. "'S all right. You don' have to know anythin' jus' yet."

Buffy smiled softly and feathered a kiss across his cheek. "Thank you."

A rich, however embittered chuckle rose to his throat. "You don' have to thank me for anythin'...ever," he told her. "I've taken enough from you that—"

"Oh, for the love of God, stop."

He arched a brow.

"Stop with the pity-party, Spike. Honestly. If I didn't know you were completely serious, I'd accuse you of compliment fishing. Or reassurance-fishing. Or whatever it is you'd fish for." She shook her head in aggravation. "You have to stop blaming yourself."

He grinned rather shyly at her. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. "I jus' can't believe you...'m sorry. I'll stop bein'...sorry."

A giggle arose to her lips. "Good. It's making me crazy."

"An' we can't have that." With a look to correspond the suddenly light-filled glow in her eyes, the peroxide vampire gently kneaded her sides with probing fingers and was honestly astonished when she squirmed and laughed even harder. The action, of course, caused his jeans to tighten rather uncomfortably, but he pushed the sharpness of his own body's demands aside and focused rather lavishly on the blonde in his lap. "What's this?" he asked, feigning innocence. His fingers continued their attack and Buffy was suddenly forced back by the impact of her laughter, trying desperately to edge away but unable to escape his assault.

The Slayer managed to wiggle out of his lap—if not fully his grasp—and immediately began to claw her way to freedom. The attempt, however ineffective, only served to fuel his mission onward. "Stop!" she begged through laughter.

"What's this li'l trinket I've found?"

His fingers became more boisterous, searching out the full expanse of her body to find all her ticklish crannies. "Spike!" Buffy howled. "Stop!"

"Seems to me the Slayer's ticklish..."

"So help me, Spike, I'm gonna—"

The elder vampire merely leered appraisingly, toppling her over for the fullness of his delight. "Very ticklish."

"SPIKE!"

"Mmmm. Love that, pet. Feel free to keep screamin' it." He blew her a kiss, straddling her thighs for better access. "'F only I'd known this a few years ago..."

Buffy was laughing so hard that her face was red with tears. Had she any room for forethought, she would realize that bucking him off was no hindrance for a vampire of her strength, but her mind was clouded and refused to follow logic through to conclusion. "STOP!"

"Coulda been useful—"

"I swear to God—"

"Wonder 'f I can sell it on the streets. Knowledge on the Slayer's weakness fetches a pretty penny."

She managed to glare at him before giggles took over again. "Like you would!"

"Li'l tactics on how to bring the notorious Buffy Summers to her knees."

Her eyes widened and she managed to seize one of his offending wrists, wrenching him to a momentary standstill. "Oh," she said, suddenly in full control of herself. "I coulda sworn all it took to get me on my knees was you."

That was it. Spike stopped to stare at her in flustered wonder, and she seized control before said flustered wonder could manifest into full-scale smugness. She captured him fully between her thighs and used that leverage to flip him over, cast astride the lovely length of his body.

There it was. That flash of cocky conceit. The same look that had once aggravated her to no end now made her fluster in anticipation. But he couldn't know that. "Gotta admire me a girl with nice strong legs," he purred appraisingly.

Buffy grinned, eyes glittering with mischief as she lowered her hands to his sides, giving back every bit as good as she had received. Her victim instantly began squirming, his usually deep baritone emitting a high-pitched giggle that easily rivaled her own. It was enough prompt that she would have lost her own control had her objective not been thoroughly clear. Now that she had him like this, there was no way she was conceding the higher ground.

"Oooh, what's this?" she demanded mockingly, spitting out a poor imitation of his teasing between her own chuckles. "Seems to me the Big Bad has a weakness."

"Buff—"

"Who knows how many people would like to take wicked advantage of this knowledge?"

Spike arched with a high-pitched shrill that touched her senses more than his ticklish jibes ever could. He was simply adorable. Adorable. And that was all there was to it.

"Of course, I couldn't allow that," she informed him pristinely. "The only person allowed to take wicked advantage of your scrumptious self is me."

The peroxide vampire's eyes widened and his laughter died, hands seizing her wrists once more. Buffy smiled warmly down at him. There simply wasn't a part of him that she didn't revere. The wealth of astonished longing and the glow of love that reflected back at her was more than she could ever ask for. More than she expected from anyone. Least of all him.

And yet, despite everything, here they were.

"I don' know how it happened, either, sweetheart," he murmured softly, speaking no broader on terms she already understood. "It jus' did."

"Yeah," she agreed. Buffy berated herself with idiotic tears flooded her eyes. She was beyond crying like some insecure schoolgirl. She had always thought so. If he knew how he changed her, he did not let it show. It was warm and embracing and more than a little frightening. Wonderful. "It did."

"I love you."

The Slayer nodded erratically, trying to find her voice. "Love you."

He smiled at her, index finger bopping the end of her nose with gentle affection before moving to caress her cheek with warmth that did not know a name for itself. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her down to him so that he might taste the richness of her mouth.

Of course, with the initiation of one kiss, everything bound forward. All the pent up hormones that they had suppressed out of obligation or a need to delay celebration of their newfound love burst through sloppily constructed barriers. Within seconds, they were warring with each other. Tongues dueling for dominance as teeth nipped and hands familiarized themselves with the contours of each other's bodies. Spike clutched at her desperately, drawing her as close to himself as possible without swallowing her whole. And still, it wasn't enough. He flipped her over the next second, pinning her wrists to the ground as his lips and teeth explored her to his content—his jean-clad erection moving urgently against her center.

With a low moan, Spike's mouth began skating down her throat, coaxing little whimpers from her with every teasing bite. His hands skimmed over her breasts and settled on her stomach, outlining her bellybutton blindly before continuing to her hips. The growl of frustration that rumbled from her throat only prolonged his torment. He enjoyed seeing her like this. Like this. It was so strange, considering everything they had shared before. He knew her body well—intimately, even—but not with his own. Something always set them aside. As though the step marked with finality made for the right moment. The right everything.

They had shared so much, but there was still so much left.

It dimly took Buffy a minute to realize that he had freed her hands. When she felt his own skim over her breasts again, she seized initiative and grasped him in the butt of his jeans, thrusting herself against his hardness and earning a long whimper for her efforts. His fingers slid under her top in retribution, searching out her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps after his light caresses. While he did pay special attention to the sensitive underside of her breasts, he made no effort to satisfy the fire that raged in fierce demand for his touch. The Slayer's grumbles of aggravation strengthened, much to his delight, and he planted what had to be the most ridiculously chaste kiss on her forehead.

"You're lovely like this," he informed her. And she was. With her chest heaving for air that she didn't need and a flush coloring her cheeks in a manner that should have been impossible, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Theirs would be a tale of fulfillment. In time, he supposed she would learn methods to conceal just how he affected her. He hoped not. He never wanted her to hide from him. Not like that.

It was a bit hypocritical. Were he obeying the natural laws surrounding his body's temperament, he would have been panting and begging as well. As it was, he was having a hard time not touching her everywhere. Not releasing himself from his ridiculously tight jeans and thrusting himself deep inside his haven to quench that fire. No. He wanted to do this right by her. There would be other times for such exploitation.

Spike would never hide how he felt. This was merely an exception.

"We..." she gasped. "We need...to...go."

"Oh, do we? Where?"

"Upstairs."

"Interestin'." He kissed her again. "Why?"

"Goddammit, Spike, stop teasing me!"

He cocked a brow in turn, lowering his mouth to her skin once more and accentuating between kisses. "Or. You'll. What?"

Bad idea.

Buffy flashed him a frighteningly controlled look then boldly slipped a hand between them to grasp him firmly. While layers of fabric separated them, there was absolutely no mistaking her intent. And just like that, all the supremacy he had been battling for was lost. A long, unintelligible moan hissed through his lips and he thrust needily against her touch. There was nothing she could do that would fail to have some profound and reasonably thwarting effect. He had never reacted to anyone's caress in the manner he reacted to hers, and similarly, he would trade it for nothing in the world.

"Use your imagination," she suggested, licking her lips.

In all honesty, Spike wasn't sure what affected him more; her words or her actions. His hands slammed to the ground as his body trembled and he fought futilely for control. After a few long seconds that intermingled with equally long, heavy pants, he pulled back with fierce concession.

"Right," he whispered urgently. "Upstairs."

"How about this situation in Chechnya?" Cordelia drawled, flipping through her new reading material. "What a nightmare, huh?"

About ten minutes had passed since the demon hunter had returned with her last inane request: a copy of the New York Times. Wright's incredulous look off the demand had nearly earned him additional scolding until he saw clearly that the waters he treaded were not yet still. And, aside a brief thank you, she had not addressed since his homecoming.

This was getting out of hand.

A low groan rumbled from her companion as Zack collapsed wearily against the chair. "Really, Cor, I don't give a fuck about Chechnya. Nuke 'em for all I care. Just tell me if I'm forgiven or not!"

An irritatingly condescending chuckle rang from the man at the counter. "Man," Gunn said appraisingly. "Are you ever askin' for it? Honestly, you might as well bend over."

The Seer's eyes widened as she gesticulated widely to her colleague. "He's right. You're gonna get it, boy." Then she stopped with a frown. "Not that it because...well...ew. But you'll get some form of very unpleasant 'it.'"

"Cordy!"

"And I reiterate, 'nuke 'em'?" A flawless brow arched. "I can definitely tell who you voted for in the last election. Which is fine: I just don't date Republicans."

Another long-winded moan seized Wright's throat. "CORDY!"

She chuckled lightly, folded the newspaper and setting it aside, and traded a stretched, speculative look with Gunn. "You think we've tormented him enough?" she mused.

Zack nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

The other man, however, didn't appear convinced. With a devilish gleam in his eyes and a smile that could not be outmatched, he stroked his chin before offering a lone shrug. "Hmmm...I don't know. Have you resorted to manual labor?"

"Now there's an idea."

The demon hunter's shoulders slumped crestfallen. "There's manual labor? As opposed to the going everywhere that I've been doing since this morning?"

The woman smiled evilly. "Well..."

Suddenly, the door to the basement flew open to unveil a blissfully oblivious Spike with his arms full of Buffy. Their mouths were moving together hungrily, their hands grasping at all sorts of naughty places that no outsider should ever bear witness to. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings and even paused for a minute so that the Slayer could leap fully into her lover's embrace, coiling her legs abound his waist and grind even more provocatively against him. They crashed haphazardly against the elevator door, fumbled for access and all but fell within its cavity. By the time they were out of sight, the floor was blown into a shocked, dumbfound state of submission, staring at the place they had disappeared until crashing sounds above signified a successful arrival.

It was Cordelia who broke the silence. With a sigh, she shifted slightly and located a notebook that had evidently been stored under the cushions of her sofa. "Well then," she said, flipping the pages open. "Who had Saturday at two?"

Buffy found herself propped against a door, her hands curled in Spike's hair as he fumbled hastily for the knob that remained hidden behind her body. His mouth was ravaging hers, rumbling little whimpers into her that went straight to her center. The force of him against her, rubbing into her, outreached anything she had ever experienced. For the love of everything, it had never been like this before. Never. Just this—this—this being with him outshone what she had shared with any of her past lovers. No man's touch had aroused her as effortlessly. With his denim-clad erection grinding into her to the point where she shared the wealth of his wanting to coincide with her own, she thought she would go insane if she didn't feel him strong and within her. Now.

Which required getting to the other side of the door.

She pulled away breathlessly. "Spike—"

Only to be tugged back before he answered huskily. "Tryin'."

"Hurry."

The door opened the next instant and nearly sent them both to the ground. Not that they would have minded—or noticed—the change in scenery. She didn't even remember how they had gotten up here. They had been in the basement just seconds before, she knew, and now they were in the bedroom. Their bedroom. In retrospect, the restrictions of how and why didn't really matter. Spike had blown her world away already; it wasn't entirely impossible to her that he could alter time and space. With the way he felt against her, the passion tumbling from his mouth, the sensual rub of his desire against her own, logicality had no merit. It was just he and she. Vampire and Slayer. Sire and childe. Man and woman. And that was all that mattered.

In seconds, he had torn his t-shirt from his body, pulling away to give her the same treatment. She thought he muttered something about his approval of seeing her in his clothing, but was too forgone to register the words. Spike caught her lips in a roughly passionate kiss before giving up on her bothersome overshirt, ripping it apart and throwing it to match his own in the armchair across the room. "That was my favorite shirt," he growled.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed headily, "and you broke it."

"'S better broken, then," he decided, nipping at her breasts as he navigated them backward, hands rubbing rough circles at her hips. "It was keepin' me from you."

When they finally reached the bed, however, Spike's urgency melted away with the stringency of reverential awe irrevocably took over. It was a wondrous sight to watch—the way he pulled away with such gentility, the look in his eyes speaking for everything even his infamous words fell short of. She thought it silly that his love could still surprise her, but it did. It did. With every lingering substantiality, he never failed to take her breath away.

Spike pulled back reluctantly, gazing upon her with such worship and adoration that it melted the fullness of herself.

Her eyes fell back to his mouth, tugging him forward to indulge the richness of his taste. "So strange..." she murmured.

He pulled away just long enough to rumble a nearly unintelligible, "Whassat?"

She smiled and kissed him again, unable to get her fill. "The whole time...right there."

"Mmmm?" he hummed against her lips, hands cupping the fullness of her breasts and, caressing the underside before he finally pulled away to taste her skin. He kneaded her shamelessly, drawing a nipple into his mouth.

Buffy gasped and clutched his head, careening back. "You were there," she sighed. "You've always...the whole..."

"Always will be," he murmured against her skin. "'ll never be anywhere else."

The Slayer's crooned, whimpering deep within her throat. "Even before..." she complained breathily. "I never...saw you...until now. I'm sorry. Sorry it took...something like this—"

He frowned and pulled back a bit, teasing her nipple with his teeth. "Don' be silly," he berated. "Bygones, an' all that. 'Sides, you said I couldn't apologize, remember? Well, you can't, either."

A beautiful, mocking scowl befell her features. "You're a bad man."

"Thanks ever so for the memo."

Her hand slid from his shoulder as though following a whim of its own, crossed his thigh and suggestively cupped the telling bulge that was grinding into her hip. She earned a hearty moan in turn and grinned. "Mmmm...very bad man."

It was Spike's turn to whimper inarticulately as he thrust against her touch. His hands dropped into her lap as form of petty retribution, prying her trousers open so his nimble fingers could dip inside. When he encountered nothing but her slippery flesh, it was all he could do to not forfeit every will of self. "God," he gasped, "you're gonna kill me, pet."

"Now, why would I wanna do that?" Buffy replied innocently, giving him a squeeze.

"Oh, that's it." The platinum vampire promptly tackled her to the mattress, feathering her face with ardent but equally soft kisses as eager, clumsy hands worked at the trousers that so cruelly concealed her flesh from him. "You're gonna scream until you're hoarse, luv."

"Ohhh..."

"Well...the second time, at leas'. The firs' time...we'll take it slow. Nice, delicious, an' slow." He grinned slyly. "Still, screamin' is encouraged."

Buffy emitted a very unladylike snort that seemed oddly in-place for the moment, despite the temperament surrounding them. "Pig."

Spike chuckled lovingly. "Want you."

"I—"

His hand slipped deftly between her thighs and under the waistband of her panties once more, eliciting a scandalous gasp and an arch as his fingers explored moist softness that never ceased to burn him alive. He knew her like this well. Every time he touched her, he came to life in ways that killed every cliché there was to kill. Then dug up them up and killed them again. A low moan rumbled through his chest, and he eyed her hungrily as hands that knew her too well played her to delicious capitulation. "An' you definitely want me."

"Pig!" she accused again.

"Oink bloody oink. You smell good enough to eat."

"Spike..."

"Think I oughta test that theory. You mind?" With that, he began to unceremoniously slide down her body.

"Spike!"

He stripped her of her slacks without fight and slid her panties down with the same notion, delivering one torturous lick to trembling skin. "All for the namesake of science, of course."

"SPIKE!"

"Hmm. Barely touched her an' she's screamin' my name already. Very interestin'."

"I can't believe you're already making a study off our sex life."

Spike arched a brow.

"Well, okay, I can," she amended. "But...again...with the candles...and the romance...and—"

The brow quirked higher and he lowered his head again.

"You're tellin' me this isn't candles an' romance?" he demanded, his voice reverberating against her skin. "Science can be romantic."

"—and if you stop doing that, I swear to GOD that I'm going to shove something very stake-shaped through your heart, consequences be damned!"

He chuckled against her and she trembled at how good such a small motion could feel. "Don' worry, baby," he assured her with a nibble. "I have absolutely no bloody intention of stoppin'."

The Slayer cried out and arched back, her breathing labored—her hands clenching the bed linens with such force that she nearly ripped the fabric to shreds. In the short amount of time they had shared, she had never been so presumptuous to assume that his insistence to pleasure her this way was anything that he enjoyed. However, with the noises that were rumbling from his throat, he emanated the presence of one dining on the finest crème brule. As if this was more for him than her.

Spike was shoving her reservations and assumptions aside in a manner that berated her for having them in the first place. With every torturous lick, every sinful nibble, every time his tongue swept her clit and entered her, she found herself spiraling further down the whirlpool of paradise. And as if his mouth wasn't enough, his fingers stroked her to furthered ecstasy.

He was setting her skin ablaze without even trying. And it drove her absolutely out of her mind.

Her orgasm was slow but sudden, shattering her into a blazing pit of white-hot rapture. The old adage of seeing stars was overused but no less true. He overwhelmed her until she exploded, let her cool down, and did it again. The cry that tore from her lips nearly choked her with ravenous delight, and the murmur of approval that rumbled from her sire only added to her pleasure.

She wondered, recovering, if Spike would always possess the ability to make her feel this way. And as though sensing the thought, he delivered another lick to her quivering skin, nuzzling her inner thigh with deferential adoration. And she knew then. She knew.

"Spike..."

That was all the persuasion he required. Dropping kisses across every inch of skin he discovered as he moved upward, the platinum vampire settled over her, capturing her mouth in a powerful, demanding kiss. His tongue implored hers; sweeping inside, wrestling her own for dominance before he pulled away and turned his attention to her throat.

Buffy nearly grumbled in frustration, her hands moving to the clasp at his jeans. But again, as he had in the alley, he grasped her wrist and drew her attention to his eyes. The look he betrayed was loving but concerned—a small, gentle smile playing across his face.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure?" she repeated incredulously. "Yes, of course I'm sure."

"I don' wanna hurt you. With what 'appened...'f you're not ready for this—"

Buffy stared at him. His apprehension seemed ridiculous compared to what he had been promising just moments before, but it still touched her heart and sent warmth to every inch of her aching body. With a tender smile, she touched his cheek and nodded. "I heal fast," she assured him. "Even faster now...Slayer plus—"

Spike dropped a kiss across her palm. "There's more than one way to hurt you," he whispered, caressing her face with curled fingers. "More than one way to make old achies come back. 'F you're not ready—"

It wasn't difficult to decipher his meaning. Her reservations about everything that initiated physical contact seemed foolish now. All she needed was him. "I'm ready."

"You—"

"Spike...I wouldn't lie to you, especially about this. I'm ready."

He was still for a long minute, searching her face. Needing, imploring. When she gave him back everything that he poured into her—no reservations, no hesitation—he smiled gently and lowered his mouth to hers, his own hands turning to his trousers.

In seconds, they were both gloriously naked and stretched together. He poised between her legs, rubbing himself against her thigh as moans of encouragement rumbled from her throat. He turned his attention to her breasts again, lavishing her with his tongue as he slid a hand down the expanse of her abdomen to test her readiness. His touch teased her with knowledge that was so natural, she would have thought it by accident had he not flashed her a particularly wicked grin. The same grin that widened when her voiceless whimpers threatened to reach summit.

Buffy arched again, a long moan escaping her lips. "Spike, please!"

"I—"

She reached between them, grasping his cock and bringing him to her entrance. Her eyes fluttered closed as the sensations threatened to take over, compounding into overload. "Please."

"Buffy."

"Please."

"Buffy, look at me."

She did.

"I love you."

It was only when he had her smile that he edged himself inside. A gasp clawed at his throat as she clenched him. Tight. Oh God. Tighter and tighter. On this alone, it was nothing he had ever experienced before. Nothing she had ever experienced before. The coming together of something created out of genuine love. Something shared and known.

Never. It had never been like this.

"Oh God," he moaned, sliding forward until he was completely within her. Buried to the hilt. And even then, he couldn't move. It took a minute to gather his bearings. The sensationalism of simple joining alone was almost enough to send him over the edge, and he feared losing all sense of self. "Oh my God."

"Yeah."

"You're so—"

"You too."

"Buffy..." Spike's hands returned to her face as he began to move, watching with awe-filled eyes as she contoured in pleasure. "'ve never...never felt anythin' like this."

She shook her head. "I...me, either."

His head found solace at her shoulder, his hands seeking hers. Their fingers entwined and settled over the mattress, clenching tighter with every thrust and parry. The molding of her flesh around him was more home than he had ever experienced. The scent emanating from her sweet skin. Knowing it was her, knowing it was the woman he loved and had thought to never have...it was too much. The tempo he set was gentle, pushing them both beyond the depths of physical enormity. Every inward stroke seared his skin, every time he withdrew his body lamented her loss. It was the most blissful torture he had ever known, and he never wanted to leave.

And she was matching him. The shades and ripples and everything that crossed her face touched every nerve ending he thought possible to touch. Her fingers tightened around his as she lifted her hips to recapture him every time he pulled away. Then she broke her hands from his and entwined her arms around his throat, bringing his mouth to hers.

Their kiss was slow but demanding. Tasting each other for everything they had to offer. When he pulled away to lick his way to her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue—making sure to give equal attention to both—she forced her head against the pillows and clenched her thighs together, earning a long, strangled moan. Spike had Buffy's legs abound his waist the next instant, his hands pinning hers to the mattress once more. His movements were deep and leisure. There wasn't a moan, a sigh, a whimper that escaped from her lips that failed to be cherished. He decided that he loved her like this—and though he knew that he would, seeing the finish of his trials made the reward all the sweeter. Not for the intimacy of connection, not for anything aside the flashes of ecstasy that flooded her faces with regularity that stole his nonexistent breath. There were times that he reckoned his heart ought to start beating again. Every taste new. Every sensation treasured. Every ­everything was more than he thought he should be able to survive.

They were pushing each over that threshold. Always had.

Right from the bloody beginning.

A muffled sob rumbled from her lips as his thrusts grew deeper, her hips lifting rhythmically to help him along. "Spike, please..."

He smiled. "Somethin' you want, sweetheart?"

And that was another thing. From sensual to taunting without losing an inkling of sentiment. That had never happened to him before. It was always one extreme or the other. When they teased each other, it was out of more feeling than he had ever thought possible to experience.

"Now. Please? Now. Now now now now."

A tsk tapped through his throat; he couldn't help grinning at her. "Such impatience."

"You...ass!"

He frowned at her with mock ignorance. "Well, we could try, I guess—"

"SPIKE!"

With a chuckle that served to send ripples across her skin, as though every move he made was somehow in tune with her own sensory, he drew a deft pattern across her thigh, hooking a hand under her knee to assist its venture over his shoulder. A gasp of surprise shuddered through her and her Slayer muscles tightened even further.

"Oohhh," he purred. "You liked that."

Buffy nodded emphatically, a choked sob of pleasure rumbling through her lips. It didn't seem possible; he was stretching her from every angle imaginable.

Spike smiled kindly at her, brushing damp locks of golden hair from her forehead. His movements refused to sharpen—rather remained at the same slow, agonized pace. "That better, sweetheart?"

"Good!" she moaned, almost unintelligible. "Spike good!"

"Well, I've reduced you to Cave Buffy..." His breaths were growing sharper, even as his attention remained fully with her. This was important to him—always had been; she could tell it in the matter he went from teasing to serious and loving within two seconds. While it was not always possible, the peroxide Cockney craved gentility in the bedroom. He had spent more than a century with a vampire that was as kinky as they came; this simple lovemaking was something he would never, ever take for granted. "Guess that means somethin'."

His hips swirled with every thrust; touching regions within her she didn't know existed.

The Slayer's hands sought freedom, wrapping around his forearms and digging trenches that were deep enough to draw blood. "Spike..."

His head dipped, lips brushing a reverent kiss against her throat where her pulse would be, attentions honing. The movement caused her further back into the pillows, and a strangled cry escaped her. And when she felt his nimble fingers massaging her where they were joined, it was over.

The second Spike sensed she was falling over the edge, he allowed his game face to burst forward, nuzzling her beautiful sweat-laced throat with deferential awe before penetrating the moist skin there, sweetening her orgasm all the more and triggering his own. And they fell together—seemingly perpetual in a joyous tumble down something they both knew so well without knowing at all. As though the newness and the promise of forever melded them into something more than either could have prepared for. Something that grew with difference and stayed the same.

He wanted to claim her. Wanted to bind her to him for all eternity. Wanted that promise in the way that no other had ever allowed him. But he did not. He would not without her consent. Therefore, he retracted his fangs with more of the same, licking the small wound closed and pulling her with him as he rested on his side. He did not wish to smother her with his weight, but the haven of her body was too rich to lose, even with their submissive breaths of recovery clouding the air. No. He wanted to remain here—remain within her—as long as possible.

For long minutes, they were still. Her body heaving against his in demand for everything she wanted but did not need. The platinum vampire smiled gently and reined her into him, vowing tacitly to never let her go. Not with the battles they had faced and the obstacles they had conquered. This was his forever, and he was never giving her up.

"Spike?"

"Mmm?"

"You weren't kidding when you said 'second time'...were you?"

His eyes wedged open and he studied her imploring face for a long minute before his own broke out into a wide, almost mischievous smile.

"Oh, baby," he assured her, rolling her onto her back, his hardened flesh plunging deeper within her at the movement. She gasped, eyes wide. "You're not goin' anywhere."

"Already?"

A chuckle sounded through his body. If she wasn't used to blokes with stamina, she was in for a rude awakening. He had waited too long for this to quench his thirst with any sort of one-nighter. There were months and—if he wanted to be perfectly honest—years of fantasies to exorcise. Oh no. They weren't anywhere near finished.

However, he decided not to overwhelm her. Not yet. "You better bloody believe it."

This was it. This was what people, historians, philosophers, and all those other wankers had been talking about for centuries. The proverbial it that one only recognized when it was finally obtained. He had thought to he had possessed it before, but what she gave him now nicely pushed all measure of believability aside.

This was it.

And he would never let go.

Chapter Forty-Two

Tub on a Flowered Mat

A cool breath caressed her throat with gentle tranquility. It was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that should have jarred her to wakefulness, but Buffy’s eyes fluttered open all the same. And the first thing she saw was a crown of platinum hair. Spike had buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arm abound her waist, his chest pressed to her chest. Her own arm had sneaked under his to drape over his abdomen; she was snuggled as thoroughly into him as physics would allow.

It was the most wholesome homecoming she had ever known.

The way he slept enchanted her. While away from his overwhelming gaze, he portrayed the charm of boyish innocence. As though his body hadn’t known a century of endurance. As though everything he was stood as the epitome of normalcy. It charmed her that his sleep could present such a picture. That she could obtain in death what she never could in life. This propriety. This belonging.

It didn’t take long for the night to come rushing back, nor the flush that should have been banished from her cheeks to overwhelm the entirety of her being. They had done things beyond the reaches of her admittedly modest imagination. Things she had long ago developed reservations against ever attempting. Things she had never heard of. Things she reckoned he invented for her sake. Things that likely had no English spelling.

Buffy’s blush deepened. It would be a miracle if she could even look at him today. With the knowledge of their indulgencies burned into her system, she didn’t think it possible. Not without defying the logic of vampirism with her impossible blushes and the promised heat of his gaze.

And that was strange, because she had never been embarrassed about her sex life. Well…okay. She was embarrassed that she didn’t have one for a while. But as for the details of whatever sex life she had, nothing ever managed to affect her.

Spike did. Spike changed everything.

And he was waking up.

Oh. Holy. Jesus.

Buffy tensed, impossibly nervous as he yawned against her throat and blinked himself to alertness. She recognized the instant he became aware of her. The instant he remembered everything they had shared the night before. And, while she was prepared to sink in the furrow of her discomfiture, his eyes found hers with sleepy adoration and banished all her worries.

There was nothing to be ashamed of. Not with him.

“Mornin’,” he purred, dropping a kiss against her collarbone.

“Afternoon,” she corrected. “And sorry.”

He frowned. “What for?”

“Waking you up by staring.”

Spike smiled his gorgeous dimpled smile and caressed her mouth with his. “I can think of much worse things,” he assured her.

A giggle touched her lips. “Such as?”

The immediate answer was there but halted before it could find release. There was no need to clarify what he was thinking. All was more than obvious with the way the glimmer in his eyes faded briefly, bringing back the wretched memories of what had been. The Slayer kissed his cheek to remind him that she was with him, drawing him back to her with lazy playfulness. Thus with a shrug, he speculated, “Slow an’ painful castration.”

Buffy made a face. He shrugged again. “You had to ask.”

“I did at that.”

“How you feelin’?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Is that a loaded question?”

“No,” he replied honestly. “A loaded question would be, ‘what would you do ‘f I were to—’”

The Slayer’s eyes flew open and she covered his mouth, flushing all over again. “Don’t. I believe you.”

“You din’t even let me finish.”

“Trust me, I knew what you were gonna say. Or something of a similar nature.”

A sly smile crossed his lips, but he shrugged all the same. “How are you feelin’?” he asked again softly.

Buffy arched a brow at him. “Well rested?” she ventured.

“’S that all?”

“Very happy?”

A shy smile crossed his lips as he leaned inward to nibble on hers. “Me, too.”

That wasn’t difficult to decipher. With a pointed look, the Slayer glanced down to the covers where she could see the outline of an impressive bulge forming tellingly against her thigh. “I can see that. Honestly, Spike…”

He chuckled, shifting slightly to sit up. “I don’ think I ever wanna leave this room again.”

“Second that notion.” Her nose wrinkled. “Though I am kinda feeling sticky.”

His eyes twinkled. “Sticky, eh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“What kind of sticky?”

“I swear—”

A naughty hand delved under the blankets, gliding against her moist skin with devilled ease. “Ohh, yeah,” he purred. “Very sticky. Think I oughta clean you up?”

“I don’t think anything that you and I do in this bed will result in either one of us being clean.”

He smiled knowingly and removed his hand. “Well, we can’t have that. Come on, luv. Lemme draw you a bath.”

A laugh erupted from Buffy’s lips as she slapped his shoulder playfully. “Yeah,” she agreed dubiously. “And that’s gonna help a lot.”

Spike flashed her a look of pure innocence in turn. “Jus’ for you.”

“Ah. One of those baths.”

He gaped at her, unable to hide his smile, though he ducked under a look of pure feigned bashfulness and shook his head as though berating a child. “You have a dirty mind.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? I’m the one with the dirty mind?”

“Yeh. I better watch out, or you’ll sully my virtue.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Let’s Try Something I Can’t Even Spell, I—”

“Oh, feisty.” Spike’s grin was illegally devious, she was certain. His demeanor was lighthearted and, well, happy. Despite everything, she didn’t believe she had ever seen him happy. These past few days aside, in the entirety of their acquaintance, he had never had reason to emanate joy.

No, she corrected herself. During Willow’s ‘Will Be Done’ spell, he had radiated the presence of one satisfied in life. He had smiled at her. He had giddily expressed his hopes for the future. He had gotten along with her friends. He had been happy then.

And if she wanted to be terribly honest, so had she. She had been happier under the influence of magic than any of the days preceding or following. Until now.

Gettin’ killed made me feel alive for the very firs’ time, he had said.

He was right.

Now there was a frightening thought. Frightening but poetically appeasing. As a Slayer, the only time she got to live was after she died. Talk about unwanted irony.

“Buffy?”

His soft inquiry jarred her back to the present, the concern marring his features warming her insides with more than she could have asked for. With a small smile, she nodded and rose to her feet, bashfully averting her eyes as his own ran the length of her. He had seen everything there was to see—and done more than that—but the way he looked at her was positively sinful. It amazed her that he could still gaze upon her as unsampled candy after everything they had shared. “Yeah,” she replied. “Bath time.”

It was amusing watching him navigate through the hotel. Comfortable and quick with all the courtesies of home. It was likely that Spike didn’t even realize he was doing it; moving with such inside knowledge that one would suspect he had been taking up residence within its structure for years. He led her to the bathroom after throwing on a pair of sweats; she had no idea why he thought it appropriate to cover himself—perhaps to avoid temptation, perhaps out of habit.

He was too cute sometimes.

“Cordy lent me some of her poncy smellin’ bubble stuff,” Spike offered, leaning over the edge to grasp the first container that met his fingers. “An’ when I say ‘lent’, I mean for you.”

Buffy grinned. “Of course.”

“I don’ really fancy smellin’ like lavender all day.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a nice smell.”

He smirked and began drawing the bath, dumping in what had to be half the bottles’ contents into the running water. The tub itself was a bronze antique; looking to be something snatched right out of a 1950s movie set. She had never seen one and suddenly felt her stomach clench with the most ridiculous anticipation. Everything with Spike seemed heightened and exciting.

Perhaps that was the love part.

“All right,” he said, tossing the bottle aside after securing the cap in place. “In you go.”

The Slayer arched a brow.

“What?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I think I want you in there with me.”

Spike favored her with a skeptical leer. “I thought you wanted to desticky yourself.”

“We can do that, too.”

There was a pregnant pause, but in the end, he opted with a loving smile and a nod to the tub. “There’s plenty of time for the other, sweetheart,” he promised softly. “Come on. In with you.”

The water was warm and pleasant; the bubbles complete with foamy goodness. Buffy rumbled an audible groan of approval and leaned back, eyes falling shut. “Mmmm,” she mused. “You draw a wicked bath.”

“Thanks, luv. I try.”

Her eyes wedged open after a minute. Spike had situated himself onto the counter and was studying her with a small smile on his face. The picture of everything she thought herself to have earned after such a long trial in fighting for the contrary. It was frightening how quickly he had become so important to her. A long time on the opposing side of her affections. Now they had been through hell and back together. Hell and back, and there was still much to face. So much lingering on the horizon.

So much they had put on reserve.

Buffy rumbled a deep breath. “What do you want to do?”

He quirked a brow. “About what?”

“You know about what.”

A sigh shuddered through him and he looked down. “’m really the wrong person to be askin’ about this, luv,” he replied. “My opinion’s a li’l biased.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Jessica Fletcher, everyone in this building is a little biased. Even those who don’t know Angel.”

A small smile played upon Spike’s lips. “Zangy’s a loyal bloke.”

“Loyal to you.”

“An’ Cordy an’ the Bit.” When she frowned, he held up his hand to signify a person of small stature. “You saw her the other day. The girlie. Rosie. That’s Zangy’s daughter.”

“Oh. That’s the small child he was referring to?”

He nodded.

“The one that makes him play with Barbies?”

Spike grinned. “’m willin’ to bet he secretly enjoys it,” he observed. “Trust me, you get to know Zangy, you know ‘e’s not the kind of bloke that would do somethin’ he doesn’ like.”

Buffy chuckled lightly and stuck out an arm to lather. “You speak as though it’s a crime to enjoy playing with your daughter.”

“Givin’ her past, ‘s a small wonder that she’s interested in Barbies at all.”

“Doesn’t she have that older sister type hanging around?”

“Nikki.” Spike nodded. “’S her aunt. Li’l stake-happy bint. Trust me, she’s even less likely than Zangy to have introduced the Bit to the wonderful world of all things frilly. Who bloody well knows?”

“I’m thinking about inviting him to come back with us.”

There was a still pause. “Zangy? In Sunnydale?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? He’s your friend and after this Darla business is over—remind me to remind you to never tell me the full story there, because, well, blech—he can come conscience free and help us beat the baddies. Besides…you two obviously mean a lot to each other.”

Spike tilted his head curiously.

“Well, you do!”

“I don’ think he’d go for it, pet.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, Zangy’s not liable to settle down,” he replied with a shrug. “An’ even ‘f he did, I’d wager it’d be close to Cordelia. They’ve grown bloody close over the last few weeks. An’ though he’s a vagrant bloke, he’s not the type to form attachments without them…you know…attachin’.” A sigh broke through his body. “Truth be told, I’m not too wild ‘bout goin’ back as it is.”

Buffy blinked slowly before the first wave of objection overwhelmed her. “I—”

“’m comin’, luv,” he reassured her. “You better bloody well believe it. I’m not lettin’ you get outta my sight again.” He exhaled deeply. “’S jus’ the everythin’ else that comes with it. You saw the way Glinda reacted to us. None of the rest of your Scoobies are gonna be too thrilled with the way things ‘ave gone since—”

“They’ll deal.”

“I—”

“I don’t care what they think.”

He looked at her dubiously. “Yeh,” he retorted, “you do. They’re your mates. An’ they happen to be very anti-vampire.”

“Well, yeah. And hello, me vampire.”

“You’re the Slayer. You’re also the owner of a shiny soul.”

“Spike, I don’t care what they think. Maybe I would have at one point…but I really don’t care.” Buffy shook her head, eyes determined. “I love you, and if they love me, they’re gonna have to accept that.”

“They’re gonna think I put some whammy on you.”

“Well, they’ll be wrong.”

“Or that you’re jus’ going through the Stockholm Syndrome.”

She frowned. “The what-a syndrome?”

He chuckled. “They’ll think it’s ‘cause I came after you an’ got you away from Peaches.”

“That was just a nudge.”

Spike held up a hand. “Regardless, they’re not gonna like it, pet. An’ yeh, they might get used to it an’ what all…I jus’ prefer it here. With the Angel Wankers White Hats. They treat me like one of their own without the soddin’ guilt trip.”

“I’ve noticed that you act mostly human around them.”

He smirked. “I have my human moments.”

“I was kidding.”

“Yeh. You’re a riot.”

“I try my best.” Buffy sighed and leaned back, arms stretching to either side of the tub. “Well…I don’t really like Los Angeles…though I don’t like the Hellmouth, either. Besides, there’s still Glory to consider—”

“Relax, pet. ‘m not suggestin’ we move up here. You’d hate bein’ away from the Scoobies, an’ I’d hate bein’ away from you, so sod that idea.” He shrugged, crossing his arms. “But there might be weekend visits. Perhaps daily visits, dependin’ on how much Harris pisses me off.”

“You’d really drive up here every day?”

“No. I’m jus’ sayin’.”

Buffy’s brows arched teasingly. “So you’re all talk?”

He stared at her for a long minute before allowing a large grin to spread across his lips. “Not all talk, luv,” he purred. “You found out that much last night.”

“And I reiterate, pig.”

“You love it.”

She gestured at the tub. “You sure you won’t come in?”

“You jus’ got through destickifyin’ yourself,” he observed. “That’d be a bloody waste of bubble bath, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, fine.” She pouted petulantly for a few seconds before caving and releasing a long sigh. “Will you hand me a towel, then?”

His brows arched and he nodded, hopping down from the counter and turning to investigate the prospect of towel locale. The sight of his turned back was all the incentive required. Buffy’s jolted out of the tub, seized him around the waist, and yanked him back down with her so that his back was pressed provocatively against her breasts and his head rested wearily against her shoulder.

A sigh sounded through her companion, though it was more than obvious that he was far from put out. “I should’ve known you were gonna do somethin’ like that.”

“Well, you were being difficult.”

“Villainous minx.”

“And here I thought you’d be happy that I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

She could feel his grin stretch across the expanse of his body, wring across his skin and fill every previously empty cavity with life. It was a wondrous sensation—exploited and deepened from her share of its feel. “Ohhh,” he purred, stretching against her. “’m happy, luv. Very, very happy. Now let me up.”

Immediately, Buffy’s arms clamped down with an exercise of strength that was—by right—wholly unfair, but she couldn’t help herself. For her purposes, she needed him right where he was, even if it was as a hostage. “I think,” she mused contemplatively, “that I wanna see how happy you are.”

Spike’s hand instantly rose to stop her own in its course. While his eyes had done nothing but speak promises of love and a desire to continue what they had started last night, he seemed otherwise intent to keep to business this afternoon. And though she appreciated the sentiment, she desperately wanted a little more time before they returned to the reality that lurked downstairs. Before she had to sit down and have a conversation with her conscience about what action would best suit Angel. Before she had to consider the inevitable return to the home that waited for her, and the friends that might shun her in light of her transformation.

The friends that would, regardless of their opinion of her, blame and reject Spike for his part in everything that had occurred.

“No,” she breathed into his ear. “Please.”

A raw, tense nerve triggered effectively and sent a wave of desire in its utmost state through his form. With a strangled, nearly piteous whimper, he nodded urgently, caressing her inner arm with a fervent kiss. Small shivers rippled across her skin in turn, her hand sliding down his abdomen with unhurried comfort. She enjoyed the full feel of him—the smooth firmness of his stomach, the way he moaned when her fingers slipped under the waistband of his soapsud-laced sweats. Everything he gave, no matter what it was.

“Buffy—”

“Shhh. Let me play.”

Another long whimper scratched at his throat. “With fire? ‘Aven’t you heard? Vampires an’ fire don’ mix.”

She grinned and nibbled lightly on his ear. “I’ll take my chances.”

Her fingers circled the base of his erection playfully, earning another garroted gasp. She murmured her approval, her other hand sliding down his arm at its convenience, barely touching him so that dribbles of water teased him in her place. “Well,” she said softly. “You are happy.”

Spike nodded desperately. “Bloody ecstatic.”

A tender smile warmed her lips. She maintained a tantalizingly gentle rhythm to her caresses, sweeping her hand along the length of him: up, back, and up again. Over and over, her thumb brushing the aching head of his need with the maintenance of a delicate afterthought. When she traced a particularly sensitive vein with her fingernail, he gasped and arched back, buttocks grinding provocatively against her burning center. She figured, however, that he didn’t even hear her answering whimper. His own coloring the air touched her in a way she didn’t think possible, even with everything that had happened between them, and she dropped her mouth to his throat, encouraging more of the same with wet, affectionate kisses.

“I love the way you feel,” she whispered, teasing his ear with her teeth. Her other hand had finally reached its objective. With restrained composure, she crossed his hipbone, outlined his skin with tentative approach, and finally cupped his sac when she knew he was on the border of losing himself completely.

“I love the way you feel, feelin’ me,” he moaned in turn. “God…you…Buffy…”

“What do you think we should do?”

That earned a blink of surprise. A palpable struggle to find his breath. Finally, after long seconds, he jarred himself to awareness and tried without success to find her eyes.

“Wh-what?”

“Well,” she replied with an innocent shrug. “You wanted to talk.”

Another pause.

“You expect me to talk like this?”

“Should I not?”

Spike moaned and his head collapsed wearily against her shoulder. “Buffy…”

Her grip on him constricted ever so slightly. “It helps take my mind off things,” she replied. “Gives me…strength.”

“While drainin’ mine, I notice.” His hands found purchase on her knees, his grip tight as he thrust against her touch. She let him set the pace, indulging slight victory in the notion that he had conceded fully to her advances. Granted, he had put up more of a fight than she would have expected, but it made the reward all the sweeter.

Only a few days into their relationship, and she knew there had never been anything within its vicinity.

“I also thought…” she continued calmly, her grip on him becoming more boisterous, her touch more demanding. “…that if maybe I talked to you like this, you’d be a little less bias.”

In response, Spike thrust eagerly against hers. “You’ve got the most incredible hands,” he commented with bated breath.

“Why, thank you. I’ve grown rather fond of them, myself.” Her thumb settled along the head and, rather than sweeping back, lingered with small, sensuous circles. Her other hand squeezed the weight of him in her palm, and when she sensed he was about to tumble over the edge, she allowed her fangs to extend and sink into the tempting alabaster at his throat.

That was it. Spike released a hoarse, reverent cry, and came. His sharp movements sent splashes of water over the tub’s side, his grip on her thighs near painful but not. Buffy kept her incisors latched in his skin, her hands stroking still, until she knew the waves were over. Then, delivering a fond and ridiculously virtuous pat to his penis, she released him completely and smiled as he collapsed against her, panting for air as though his dead lungs would collapse.

“Whups,” she said, ignoring his needy breaths of recovery. “It appears that I’ve made you dirty.”

With numb, nearly weak astonishment, Spike was finally allowed to turn in her embrace. The way his skin trembled against hers gave her the most absurd satisfaction, but she did not question it. She would question nothing with him.

“And if we want to follow this through to conclusion,” she continued casually, “we need to clean you up. And hey! We’re in the bath. Already a step in the positive, don’cha think?”

He stared at her for a long, disbelieving minute.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You are,” Spike said determinately, “without a doubt, the most shameless, brazen li’l hussy I’ve ever come across.”

“Actually, honey, you came on yourself. Not on me.”

Emotion stormed his eyes. “We can fix that.”

Buffy giggled, and the sound made his gaze glow with even more fervor than before. “And to think,” she mused, “I was nervous about facing you when I woke up.”

He quirked a brow. “Nervous?”

“Because of the endless and inventive sexcapades that was last night.” Even as she spoke, she could feel the should-be-nonexistent heat rise to her cheeks, and from the look coloring his features, the sight enchanted him. “I don’t know what I thought, but I was nervous. Then you woke up and everything was all right.”

A slow, seductive smile crossed his face, and he neared to plant a kiss on her nose. “You’re adorable,” he decided.

“Well, I try.”

Something slipped against her moist opening. Buffy’s eyes went wide and she arched against him. He immediately seized initiative, edging two fingers into her with smooth, learned ease.

“Mmm,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat. “You’re also slippery.”

“Uhhh…”

“Wonder ‘f that’s you or the water.” Spike quirked a brow of interest. “Think I better go check.”

As he began to descend, nibbling teasing lovebites along the way, she managed to find her voice and pounced before it could abandon her again. “Another…one…of your…scientific…observations?”

He winked at her. “You catch on fast.”

That was the last thing he said before his head ducked under the water. But then, by that time, words were highly overrated.

“How long have they been up there?”

Cordelia glanced up from her notepad, phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Tara was sitting on one of the plush sofas in the foyer and had spent the past half hour or so glancing nervously to the veranda in anticipation of Spike and Buffy’s debut for the evening. Thus far, she had maintained tacit patience, which was more than the Seer could say for herself. However, no one in their right mind was about to approach the bedroom chamber. The entire floor had practically been labeled as off limits.

“A long ass time,” Gunn ventured from where he was sprawled on the opposite settee. “What’d you say, Cordy? More than twenty four hours?”

She nodded. “Easily.” Then returned her attention to the phone. “Okay. So you’re taking her over to her place? Well, I guess you can bring her here if…oh no, that’s definitely better. Very. I think Zack’s a second away from making Anti-Kate Campaign Posters. Oh, lighten up. Yeah. Okay. I’ll call Wes and have him bring something for you, too. Oh come on. That’s what mortal former-enemies are for, right? Right. Later. Buhbye.”

“He’s comin’?” Gunn asked after she hung up.

“Yeah. He might as well. He’s helped us as much as he could.” The Seer shrugged. “Might as well let him in on it.”

“Wh-where is Zack?” Tara asked.

“He chaperoned Nikki and Rosie to the cinema, even though I didn’t think it was necessary.” When Gunn arched his brows, Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Well, you’ve seen the way she handles herself. Besides, the theater’s right around the corner.”

“And we have three very scary vamps running around out there.”

“And also a child to entertain, two vampires to draw out, and a big blubbering baby who can’t admit when he’s wrong.” The brunette sighed emphatically. “It’s the hard-knock life. Anyway, the last I knew, the plan was to get them there, then meet Wes at Caritas and possibly look at the library again for that girl I saw in my vision. They’ll swing by to walk the girls home and pick up some grub along the way.” She emitted another deep breath and shook her head. “I tell yah, it’s gonna be worth it for this thing to be over just so we can concentrate on work as per norm. The girl in my vision didn’t seem to be of the type that could just…wait for us to get to her, you know?”

He glanced to the upper level. “They deserve this,” he decided softly.

“Oh, I agree. I totally agree.”

“So w-we shouldn’t…” Tara gestured emphatically. “You know…get them?”

Cordelia and Gunn exchanged an amused glance. “Um, no.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’,” the brunette advised.

“They’ll come down eventually.”

“And if they don’t, we’ll drag them out.” The Seer shook her head. “It’s been hell on Spike these past few weeks. They deserve one friggin’ day off. It’s no big.”

“Besides,” Gunn added, “until she makes her decision about Angel, we’re sitting ducks.”

Cordelia frowned. “Ummm, yeah. About that. Wes’s decree that the full of our friend’s fate being left in the hands of someone he nearly and did torture to death? Not a likin’ that. I say we ensoul him now.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, it is. You know Buffy’s not gonna want him back.”

“No, we don’t know that,” he retorted hotly. “And even so, who’re we to say? After what he did, maybe he doesn’t deserve to be back.”

Tara bit her lip, uncertain.

“What happened to him wasn’t his fault, Gunn,” Cordelia spat, eyes wide with incredulity. “I can’t believe you. You’re his friend. You should—”

“Look, C, I get it. Angel has a clause. Angel’s special. Angel’s different. Angel had a soul, and therefore we oughta cut him some slack. Angel is my friend. Sort of. We have an understandin’. And that’s somethin’ that we oughta take into consideration before even mentionin’ soulin’ his ass up, all right?” The man released a deep breath and shook his head. “What I don’t get is the soul clause. If we soul him up, what’s to stop us from soulin’ every vamp we come across up? Then we’d have a society of Undead Americans—and some illegal undead aliens—runnin’ around, ‘causin’ all kinds of hell.”

The Seer’s eyes widened incredulously. “That’s so off-scale.”

“Is it? How? If it works for Angel, why not everyone else? What makes him so special, other than the fact that he’s sort’ve our boss?”

“And this is the reason we should stake him? Because it’s not fair to the others?”

Gunn reeled forward harshly. “Okay, now you’re just putting words in my mouth. I’m just sayin’ that if Angel was just another vamp, we’d kill him. Especially with what he’s done.”

“But he’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s not. He’s Angel. Our boss. I get it, O Hypocritical One.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and pivoted sharply to Tara. “Hey. You’ve talked to the others, right? Giles and Xander and all them?”

The Witch blinked unthinkingly for a minute before she realized that she had been directly addressed. “Oh. Oh! Y-yes, I c-called Willow the f-first night…t-to tell her th-that B-Buffy was all right.” She glanced down sheepishly. “Spike had f-forgotten to call Mr. Giles.”

The Seer smiled softly and offered a sheepish nod. “It’s been hectic around here. And Spike was all worried there at the beginning that Buffy would hate him because she was suddenly a vampire.” She shook her head slightly, eyes going wide with the hint of remembrance. “When he first got here, he was like Zombie Spike. He wouldn’t leave her bedside for anything. And then after…anyway. Did Willow tell you anything about what she thinks should be done as far as reensouling Angel?”

“W-Willow doesn’t kn-know that Buffy was turned. None of them do.”

Gunn frowned. “You didn’t tell them?”

She shook her head. “I d-didn’t think it w-was my place.”

“Well,” Cordelia prompted, “regardless, what does Willow think about reensouling Angel?”

Tara shrugged self-consciously. “I—um. We t-took a poll before I left. Giles, Willow, and me all th-thought that it w-was for the best. Of course, w-we thought Buffy was still w-with him at the t-time. But Willow didn’t tell me a-anything about having changed h-her mind, even though she’s back now.” She glanced down. “Xander wanted him dead.”

The Seer snickered. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So did Dawnie. Anya said she d-didn’t care. And Joyce is with the Council’s physicians. B-but we put wards around her room…to g-guard her from Glory.” She looked up again. “They’re taking c-care of her t-tumor.”

Cordelia frowned. “Joyce is sick?”

“They think she’ll be okay n-now. Unless s-something…they think she’ll be okay.” Tara tossed another apprehensive glance upstairs. “Are you s-sure we shouldn’t check on them? S-something might’ve happened—”

“No,” Gunn and the Seer voted unanimously.

“But—”

“No.” Cordelia shuddered. “Spike walked in on me once, and I’m really, really not looking to return the favor.”

The man’s brows perched appraisingly. “He walked in on you and Zack doing the wonky?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“He did, didn’t he? You and Wright gave Evil Dead a free—”

The Seer’s gaze widened in warning. “One more word and I’ll have the witch turn you into a newt.”

Gunn immediately sobered. “You can do that?” he demanded Tara.

Cordelia nodded emphatically. It wasn’t difficult to catch on.

“Oh, yeah,” Tara replied. “But something might go wrong, and there’s no telling if we could turn you back. Magic’s unpredictable that way.”

The lack of stutter from her tone should have indicated comfort, but Gunn was effectively silenced.

The Seer caught the blonde’s eye when he wasn’t looking to mouth her thanks. She received a shy grin and a shrug in turn, and was thus satisfied.

The floor was covered in puddles of water and they had somehow managed to flip to the opposite side of the tub. Her hands were holding his shoulders for balance that she didn’t need, his own having found purchase at her hips as she moved over him in slow, languid strokes. He once reached up to brush damp locks of hair from her face, smiling and cupping her cheek with unnamed tenderness before his itching fingers slid down the length of her. Their mingled breaths tainted the air with nothing more—not even a whisper as they came together. Falling through oblivion only to land where they had started from. Buffy’s sigh of release was almost more pleasing than his name on her lips would have been, and when she moved to rest against his chest, it was the only warmth he cared to know.

The Slayer rested against him for what felt like an eternity, panting softly as his hands skated over her back and drew her hair away from her shoulders. His touch was so gentle—beyond anything she would ever have credited him capable of. The feel of his skin against hers was enough to send her reeling through the recesses of any reality.

Not long had passed since she thought it impossible to ever endure anyone’s attentions. And while she had never doubted her ability to accept Spike’s loving caresses, she noticed she was more than antsy when it came to others. Her time with Angel had taught her to hate human contact. And yet, without it, she never would have found herself here.

A cold draft settled over her and her eyes darkened. There was so much out there that she would never have again, but even more that Angel wouldn’t. Should Angel be brought back, she knew that the torment he would face would easily compensate for everything she had suffered. The knowledge of his malevolent deeds. How he had so willingly tested her endurance. How he had resolved himself to get her to scream, no matter the technique. He had done so much to her. He had robbed her of more than she was worth, and her body ached at the thought of it.

He could have killed her. He would have. Whether from the infliction of his hands or his own prescribed notion of raping her death—she would have eventually crumbled. Every scream that she had kept inside had nearly torn her vocals out, even if it never touched the air. She was honestly amazed that she still maintained the ability to weep, for he had driven her to tears with a mere look. A look of promise. What he intended to do with her. To her. Over and over again. Just because he wanted to. Because it was a fucking riot. Because if he could get her to scream, that would jolly well make his day.

Buffy drew herself to an irrevocable inward standstill, hardly aware of the intensity with which Spike held her, as though attuned to her thoughts. And something occurred to her for the first time. Something that she suspected was implied, even if its meaning remained guarded under lines of ill recognition.

She was hurt.

But even more than that, she was angry.

Hell, she was furious. Angel or Angelus, it didn’t matter. Her insides were reaping the consequences of his abuse. Her body, though healed, still bore the innate marks of torment. She couldn’t stand it. The stink of his impression upon her.

As though the weight of the world came crashing down.

He had taken blood from her, and he owed it back. Rudimentary in theory but no less valid. Buffy had never considered herself a person bent on vengeance, and while she was still far and away from seizing what she knew she had right to claim, there was something else there. Something that was hers.

She must have tensed horribly, for Spike’s grip on her tightened in turn. “Buffy?” he murmured softly, rubbing small, soothing circles into her back. “What’s the matter?”

“I know what I want to do.”

He paused. There was no questioning her meaning. “You do?”

“Yeah.” She pulled back, a weak smile on her lips. She brushed a kiss against his own and enjoyed the shudder that rippled through his body. Amazing that the slightest touch could affect him. She hoped that never changed. “I love you, you know.”

A gorgeous smile swept his features. “Yeh…” he replied shyly.

“Okay.” Buffy smiled back in kind, squeezing her thighs as he hardened within her. “I tell you, you get a reward for being quiet, okay?”

“What kinda reward?”

She planted a kiss in the hollow of his throat. “The best kind. Just don’t interrupt me—despite what I say—until I’m done.”

“With the explanation or the reward?”

A devious smirk flickered across her face. “Both.”

An indeterminate amount of time later, Spike boomed onto the veranda, gazing out into the foyer. Every inch of him was bursting with life—the floor felt new under his feet. An entire day had passed since he last saw any of his colleagues, and for everything good and pure in the world, his mood had never been better.

Not for what he knew, however. Whatever fears and misplacements he had harbored about Angel were thoroughly eradicated. He had just had the most incredible night of his life, and existence beyond the horizon, for all the horrible clichés, looked sparkly and new.

And thus, he decided to announce it to his friends. They deserved to know, after all.

Of course, Spike was never one for convention.

“Oh what a beautiful mornin’!” he sang loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to him with delayed bemusement. “Oh what a beautiful day! I gotta beautiful feelin’, everything’s goin’ my way!”

“Hey, Casanova!” the Seer shouted in turn, unable to conceal her grin. “Do you have any earthly idea what time it is? Here’s a hint: not morning.”

“Cordelia, you are gorgeous an’ intelligent,” the vampire observed dismissively before turning his attention to Wright, who looked to have just walked through the door alongside Wesley, Rosie, and Nikki; several cartons of takeout bunched in his grasp. “Zangy, you are shrewd an’ invaluable. Charlie, you are strappin’ an’—”

“Okay,” Gunn interrupted, eyes wide. “Stop it. That’s scary.”

“Wes,” Spike continued, unabashed, “you are able an’ brilliant. Tara, much too smart for the rest ‘f us.”

“What about me?” Rosie ventured.

He grinned. “You, Bit, are the light of my bloody eye.”

“I see your scary,” Wright muttered to Gunn, “and raise you a ‘what the hell’?”

Cordelia shrugged, unmoved. “He’s just happy ‘cause he got laid.”

“I hate to think how long it’s been if he’s this happy.”

“What’s got laid?” the child inquired.

Nikki rolled her eyes, grip on her niece tightening as she led her into Wesley’s study. “Oh, real nice,” she muttered irately. “Never mind that I—yes, I—get the fun task of topic avoidance.”

Barely a soul noticed their stealthy exit, or the girl’s continuous demands.

“It’s different with the person you love,” Cordelia explained, unhampered.

“Different, I get.” Gunn tossed the vampire an uneasy glance. “That’s just unnatural.”

“What can I say? ‘m an unnatural bloke.” Spike nodded to Wright, brows perked. “You get us the goods?”

“Couple bags of O poz, that work?”

“Jus’ a couple?”

The demon hunter grinned. “Weetabix for you, chocolate for Buff. I thought you’d work up an appetite.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear. Give us a sec; we’ll be right down. Buffy’s come to a decision.”

It was amazing how rapidly the casual jollity could plummet throughout the lobby. The simplest phrase brought them to a crashing halt.

“Very well,” Wesley said a minute later. “Be quick.”

“We should wait for Lindsey,” Gunn observed.

The former Watcher pursed his lips, unmoved. “Be quick,” he said again.

Spike delivered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, cap’n.” He whirled and retreated without another word, not reacting to the stunned tension wrought through the atmosphere. Instead, he resumed whistling showtunes, the sound carrying with him for long seconds following his withdraw.

“Here we go,” Cordelia muttered.

“We don’t know what she decided,” Wesley observed softly.

“I have three guesses, and all of them are the same thing.”

Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Just because you know what you would do if you were in her position.”

Fire ignited behind her gaze. “Now just one—”

“Stop,” the former Watcher barked. “No more bickering. It was getting us nowhere to begin with, thus there’s no reason to assume it will help us now. Buffy is the only one that Angel hurt. She saw the blunt of his power…felt it firsthand. What she decides will be honored.”

“Yeah,” the Seer sneered. “And she’s also the one that doesn’t have to deal with the consequences of what she decides. She gets to go back to her life where Angel’s an afterthought. She decides, Wes, and we’re left cleaning up what’s left over! Call me crazy but, that idea doesn’t fly well with me.”

A stormy gaze set over the former Watcher, but his rebuttal died with the sudden intrusion of the entry doors swinging open and closed again. With calm, nearly dry harmony, all eyes turned with drained, nearly apathetic observation to the new arrival.

“Angel an afterthought,” Lindsey mused in greeting. “Sounds heavenly.”

Everyone stared at him numbly, beyond the point of comment.

He frowned. “What? Have I missed something?”

Chapter Forty-Three

Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

"Oh, wow," Buffy muttered dismally as Spike guided her into the lobby. "Everyone is here." Her eyes settled on Lindsey and darkened, ripples of distaste manifest. She tensed, her grip on her lover's hand tightening even if she didn't realize it. "And I do mean everyone."

McDonald nodded with a wry smile, rolling his eyes. "Great. I'm feelin' the love."

Cordelia shrugged unsympathetically. "Well," she drawled, "in all fairness, you were the spokesperson for the evil organization that brought her here in the first place, so you can't blame the girl for not greeting you with a kiss."

"That," Spike agreed, "an' I'd rip his tongue out 'f he tried."

"It's nothing personal," Buffy explained, tone softening. Her sire tossed her an arched look. "Well, the kissing thing is, but...no. Not going there."

"I think you're the only one here who can say that," Wright observed.

"You wanna mack on Lindsey?" the Seer demanded.

"What? No! I meant about it not being personal, and you damn well know it."

Wesley held up a hand, face severe and wrought with limited patience. "By all means, the bickering can continue after we have reached conclusion. In the meantime...Buffy, I believe you had something you wanted to share."

Spike's snicker sliced through the air, the protective ambiance he excelled around her unmatched by any force. "Oh, look. Mary Poppins 's gonna moderate."

"I beg your pardon."

Gunn's eyes narrowed. "Wow. You got grouchy real quick. Should we postpone the meeting until you get another happy?"

A low growl of warning rumbled through the platinum vampire. "Watch it."

Cordelia's brows arched appraisingly. "Well, ten minutes ago, you were cheerful enough that I thought all hope for my friend was lost. Now, I'm not so sure."

He leered at her. "Trust me, luv. 'm happy with her decision...whatever the bloody hell you all say." His chin jutted at Lindsey. "'E's the one that turned my smile right-side-up again. No offense, mate. The lady's jus' not partial to you."

The lawyer shrugged easily. "None taken."

Buffy smiled softly. "It's not that—"

"I understand, Ms. Summers. Believe me. After what you went through, I'm the last person I'd want to see right now, too."

"This is fascinatin', it really is," Gunn intervened wryly. "But wasn't there some announcement you wanted to make?"

She nodded. "I think it's safe to say that I've come up with something that will appease everyone." Her eyes softened as she considered Wright's discouraging countenance. "Well...maybe everyone."

Lindsey blinked, lost. "I don't get it," he offered when no one betrayed what was being discussed. "An announcement? What's going on?"

Zack quirked a brow. "Oh, you haven't heard?" he asked skeptically, nodding at Tara. "Buffy's friends sent some back up. They came up with a brilliant strategy. Namely shoving a soul down Angel's throat and calling it even."

"Now wait—"

The lawyer's eyes widened and he pivoted heatedly to Spike. "What is this? I believe we had a deal, and in no way was a soul involved."

The crew on the Angel Investigations payroll glanced at the elder vampire with growing astonishment. "A deal?" they echoed together.

"Doesn' matter," came the easy retort. "'S null an' void now."

"No, I really don't think so."

"What is this deal?" Cordelia demanded. "And why haven't we heard of it?"

Wright stepped forward. "More importantly..." He leaned into his friend and whispered speculatively. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It doesn' matter," Spike repeated softly. "'S over now."

"Like hell it is," Lindsey snarled.

"Just tell us," Buffy returned with a shrug. "Now I'm curious."

The platinum vampire favored her with a weary glance, turning his eyes to his associates with undisguised annoyance. "Fine," he conceded. "Bloody fine. Jus' no one jump overboard without a bloody lifesaver, all right? Back when Peaches was still pullin' the torture game, Lindsey offered to help get you out by callin' his friend the Locksmith."

"Gregori," the lawyer agreed, nodding.

"Whatever. 'E was gonna help get you out...an' in turn, I was gonna knock off Angel. No bloody questions asked."

A still beat of supposition flooded the room.

"Wait for it..." the Cockney muttered under his nonexistent breath.

And in turn, they didn't disappoint. "SPIKE!" several—way too many to follow—voices hissed in opposition.

"There it is."

"Damn, that sucks," Zack mused. "We came so close."

Spike shook his head. "Like I said, things change. We all know it din't go down like that. So...movin' on."

"No," Cordelia objected heatedly. "Not moving on. Where do you get off making deals like that without running it by us first? Without even telling us? This is not how we do business."

He offered a lazy shrug. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And I'm failing to see where it stopped being a good idea," Wright muttered.

Lindsey nodded. "As am I."

"Because the Slayer doesn' want it to go down like that."

He might as well have announced that he was pregnant with kittens. With stunning rapidity, the room swirled to a standstill. All eyes fell on them with more observation than any could attest to claiming.

"Buffy..." Wesley said slowly.

"You don't?" Cordelia demanded.

Wright sighed and bristled. "And here we go..."

Buffy shook her head slowly, grip tightening on Spike's hand. He returned with a reassuring squeeze. "There were several reasons supporting my decision," she began. "Mainly...and believe me, I know how petty this is of me, but hey—being tortured for weeks on end can do that to a person...killing him would deny me the satisfaction of letting him feel his well-deserved guilt. And then he'll get over it, but not really, and you'll have him back...and things will be honky dory." She sighed and glanced down. "It's...it's hard, you guys. Despite everything that happened between me and Angel, I don't want to make him suffer...but another part of me really, really does. He made me bleed and cry, and he took pleasure in every minute of it. And really...you know what? I don't care if it is petty. Killing him lets him off easy, and even though I'm more than glad he didn't try, he didn't even consider giving me the option." She glanced up, meeting Tara's shocked gaze. "I want you to do the curse."

Another still beat settled through the lobby, and all stared at her with blunt astonishment.

Wright nudged Spike subtly. "And this is all right with you?"

The vampire shrugged easily. "Hell, from where I'm standin', she raises a good point. You don' know Peaches, mate. The man's gonna torture himself over what 'e's done. Cheatin' me outta watchin' that...well, 's jus' not right." His hand clutched the Slayer's even tighter, and he smiled weakly. "Buffy's too noble to come out an' say she's out for blood without apologizin' for herself. I'm not. He hurt my girl. I wanna see him hurt in turn."

"I'm still not over the 'you offered to kill Angel without telling us' thing," Cordelia growled, eyes darkening. "We've done nothing but help you since you get here, Spike. Honestly..."

"Look, it was wrong of me, all right? I was gonna tell you when it came down to it." He shrugged once more. "It din't. The deal fell through when this wanker let Peaches close enough to kill her."

Lindsey's eyes flared indignantly. "That wasn't my fault."

"Even so, the deal was your man gets her out, I'll do in Angel. You din't deliver."

"Lilah came at me with a stun gun."

"An' I respect her for it. Really. That must've taken balls." His gaze brightened with unguarded aversion. "What'd she do? Steal yours?"

"Look, there's no point arguin' over this," Gunn intervened sharply. "Buff came to a decision that doesn't result with Angel bein' dead. Everyone happy? Good. I say we go for it."

"I'm not happy," Lindsey objected.

Wright rolled his eyes. "And a show of hands of people who care..."

"I'm not, either." Cordelia's eyes implored the platinum vampire's, ripples of hurt quaking her body. To her credit, she hid the notion very well, but it was easy to tell that her resentment went well beyond being out of the loop. She was genuinely affronted that he wouldn't have trusted her with such information. That he would have kept her—out of all people—uninformed.

And it was that knowledge that lent the vampire ultimate pause. His eyes softened and a long, tempered sigh wrangled itself from his lips. "Look, pet," he said gently. "'m sorry I din't tell you. I really am. 'S jus', at the time, I din't think there was a stone's throw we'd get Buffy outta there without...I jus' din't think it possible. I was willin' to make any deal. An' all things considered, the wanker din't ask much."

"No," Lindsey agreed. "I didn't." He paused for a confused minute. "I am the wanker, right?"

"You better bloody well believe it." He smirked and turned his attention back to the brunette. "It was unfair of me, an' I admit that. But I wasn' about to let Peaches get away with what he was hankerin' to get away with. Understand? I couldn't jus' let him...'f that's what it took, that's what I was gonna do."

It was a continuous game of catch; the same that maintained the bulk of attention as the players threw the ball back and forth. For long, seemingly endless seconds, Cordelia held her ground: firm and resolute. The picture of conviction. It was only when Wright clamped his hand on Spike's shoulder in tacit semblance of moral support that she jarred herself to answer, realizing belatedly that everyone was looking at her with the same expectation.

"All right," she murmured. "Did I not say all right? Really, Spike, that I get. I just don't understand why you didn't tell us to begin with."

He had nothing to offer outside a sheepish shrug. "I din't know how you'd react," he explained. "I jus' wanted her out, an' that plan was bullets better than yours."

There was no sense in arguing with that. She merely smiled.

"After she was sired," Spike concluded, "it din't seem to matter. So I dropped it...an' that's why you're only hearin' about it now."

"Well, you shouldn't have," Lindsey intervened. "Dropped it. We had a deal."

The platinum vampire rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you ninny. You're a bloody lawyer. These are the type of loopholes your kind look for. You din't deliver, an' sod the reasonin', in my an' everyone else's book, that means I don' owe you squat."

McDonald conceded a sigh and glanced down, caressing the bridge of his nose with his forefingers. "Then why do I feel like I just got screwed with my pants on?"

"'Cause you did," Cordelia explained. "It's called us getting our own back."

"And we're back to the Lilah chick having all the balls," Wright sneered.

Lindsey shot him a particularly nasty glare. "You have something to say?"

"As a matter of fact—"

"Just lay off, the both of you," the Seer barked. "There was no way we could have made everyone happy with this decision, so deal."

Gunn grinned wryly. "Notice how she says this after she gets the answer she was waiting for."

The former Watcher stepped forward, gaze intent on the Slayer. The look on his face betrayed the patience of one whom had had more than enough experience ignoring his colleagues when they went on erratic tangents. Somehow in the mix of everything, he had found himself named the unofficial instigator, and with that came a certain measure of responsibility. "Buffy," he said softly. "This is what you want. Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Spike squeezed her hand again.

"He put you through a great deal—"

"Yeah," she retorted with a nod. "And I intend to give it right back. I want him to feel it." There was a heavy silence before she exhaled the breath she had been holding subconsciously, tossing a wane smile to her sire. "Angel...it's complicated. Well, not nearly as complicated as it should be. I know he and Angelus aren't one in the same. I know. Believe me, I took Soul Searching For The Undead 101 and passed with flying colors. But...his face...his...those were his hands that touched me." A palpable shudder coursed through her, and she took an intuitive step toward the platinum Cockney in turn. "It was Angelus, but there was enough Angel there for me to never, ever forget." She drew a tight breath for composure. "I'm the Slayer. I'm used to dealing with otherworldly things. What he did to me was not otherworldly."

Lindsey nodded, his eyes growing distant with shades of remembrance. "He wasn't a vampire with you," he said. "He was just a...maniac. I saw that. I'm just...I'm sorry I didn't do more when I should have."

A tight air seized the Slayer—brief but effective. Her gaze foretold that she acknowledged the fault in his countenance was palpable but existed only within the range of what her colleagues would like to claim. Despite what anyone said, the lawyer had done his best within reason to help her, and she knew that such came with great personal risk. The same he had taken at his own expense for her welfare. "I know," she replied. "And...thanks. But you're right. He wasn't a vampire. He was..."

"Shades of Buffalo Bill, from what I heard," Cordelia agreed when the Slayer didn't find her voice. "Girl, no one blames you for being out for blood. I just don't think that Angel should be held accountable for something he didn't technically do. He's our friend. Beneath everything nasty, he's our friend."

She nodded. "He was mine, too. I just...I don't want to be anywhere near him for a long, long time. I don't want him to tell me he's sorry. I don't want to see him in pain. I don't want to know what he's thinking or feeling or even that he's feeling at all. Maybe in a couple hundred years, I'll be over it. But not now."

"I assure you," Wesley said softly. "As long as you are here, Angel will not be welcome."

"Thank you."

Spike's breath caught in his throat, but the move was too subtle for even her to notice. It struck him as odd when she referred to the long-term future so flippantly, and while such incidents were few and far between, he couldn't help but wonder if she knew exactly how long two hundred years was. Hell, he hadn't even been around for a hundred fifty. And yes, while seeing that far ahead did not merit a check in the impossible column, she had no way of knowing how slowly time moved for those who knew how to keep track. As the Slayer, she had known her own time to be precious and limited. Now she had forever.

Forever.

He had given her forever.

From one extreme to the other. There was never any fucking middle ground.

"Do you at least want to be with him?" Tara intervened softly. "When I...wh-when I d-do the spell, I mean. He's...Willow told me—"

"No," Buffy answered shortly. "Again with the petty, but hey, score one for apathy from the tortured girl. Angel might deserve better, but not from me." She turned her eyes to Cordelia. "Ergo, I will not begrudge anyone who decides to...you know...hold his hand."

Wright cleared his throat. Sharply.

The Seer flashed him a smile. "Oh, I dunno. It is mightily tempting."

Spike swore he saw red flash behind the demon hunter's eyes, but he knew Cordelia well enough to attest her behavior to cruel albeit humorous jest. While she might campaign her heart out in support for Angel's return, she wasn't ready to step up to the plate yet, either.

In all honesty, he was trying hard to smother the giddy part that screamed its congratulations to his friend in finding someone to love again. When they had become so in tune to each other, he didn't know. Wright was the first male friend he could claim in...ever. Not a minion, not an accomplice—though he on occasion had filled those shoes as well—and, most importantly, not an opponent in the testosterone combative fields for a woman's affections.

It was the little things that brought his gratitude to Zangy to earth.

"Okay," Gunn said, rubbing his hands together as though trying to generate fire. "So that settles Angel. We bring him back, he broods, ya'll leave, he moves back in, broods some more, and some time in the year 2015, we get back to work. Thank you, next please. Let's talk Darla and Dru."

The demon hunter's eyes flared. "Darla's mine."

"Funny, you keep sayin' that."

"Yeah. If you haven't noticed, I've had a spot of bad luck in finding the bitch. I want her dead, and I wanna do it."

Lindsey tensed slightly, but no one was paying attention. And he did not offer objection.

"So, here's the hypothetical," Cordelia said, backing up to hoist herself onto the counter. "You find Darla. You kill her. You take immense, orgasmic pleasure in the aforementioned killing of her. That's over with. And the next words in your vocab reach somewhere along the lines of, 'What now?' Is that it?"

Wright frowned at her. "I don't...what are you saying?"

Gunn rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna bail on us, man? You know, the entire: 'I hate to bust in, stay, stay a little longer, stake and run'?"

A blank look overwhelmed the hunter's features. He had not thought that far.

He had not allowed himself to think that far in a long time.

"I...I..."

"You know," Buffy began coyly, nudging Spike forward so that he moved with her. "Just to drop my point two, you got a helluva cute kid in that office, most likely enduring the sloppiest version of the birds and the bees, from what I've seen of Nikki."

He grinned and tilted his head in acknowledgment.

"And she deserves a nice, solid home."

There was nothing for a minute. Then the Slayer elbowed her companion, who belatedly realized his cue.

"Oh, erm, right." The peroxide vampire nodded emphatically. "The Bit's a good girl, an' 'f you don' want her to turn into...well...you."

Wright grinned wryly. "Thanks."

He earned a shrug in turn. "'S only love I feel, Zangy."

"Yeah, I can tell."

Gunn grinned tightly to himself. "Well," he began, nodding at Wesley. "We've been talkin', and we think we got the 'what now?' thing covered. Provided your cool with it and everything."

"Yeah," Cordelia concurred, smacking her lips together, eyes twinkling devilishly. "This only works, by the by, if you're gonna be able to contain yourself in the handling of Angel."

"We're not gonna let him back in as Boss Man."

"That's totally Wes's territory now."

"I want everyone to know," the former Watcher intervened, holding up a hand, "that I had absolutely nothing to do with that part. Rather, Gunn and Cordelia forcibly assumed that I would revel in maintaining a leadership position."

The Seer smirked. "Oh, whatev. You're doing an inner happy dance, and you know it." She turned back to Wright. "And, seeing as you were our bookman's inspiration and all...we think it should be a partnership."

The entire lobby drew to an unbelievable standstill.

Zack blinked stupidly. "I'm...I...could you...what?"

A wicked smile crossed her face and she hopped back down, crossing the foyer slowly. "You really think I'm gonna let you scamper away? Ahem—hell no. And don't look twice, but Spike here'd go through withdrawal if you were to up and disappear. But he's way too manly to admit it."

"Way," Buffy agreed.

The vampire in question scowled at her. She merely smiled unrepentantly.

"You...you want me...to..." The befuddled look on his face was truly priceless. "I...you two have been here so much longer than...and I'm not even on your payroll, and..." He glanced to Gunn and Wesley with growing skepticism. "Have you thought this through?"

The former nodded. "It was English's idea. He says you're the best of the best, bro, and so far, he hasn't spoken a lie."

"So those cracks about Darla earlier were—"

Gunn shrugged. "I was humoring myself."

Wright glanced back to the whole of them. If incredulity were a tangibility, he would have been floored with it. "You really want me to...you want to work for me?"

"Well, the ideal word is 'with'. Technically, you and Wes would fill the big shoes, but we're more like a family thing. But there would be money." Cordelia tilted her head. "And if we thought we'd be remotely successful, we'd try to recruit Spike, too, but he's so totally going wherever Buffy goes."

"Yeh," the vampire agreed. "Totally."

"It sounds like a really great idea," Tara said with a weak smile before glancing down. "S-sorry, I d-don't even know you."

Wright was still staring at the Seer in disbelief. "You really wanna keep me here?"

That was all it took. A wave of defense flashed over her without warning, and she bristled. "You? Nah. It's not about you. But if you even try to take that child of yours away from me, I'll hire Wolfram and Hart to find some assuredly illegal—not to mention implanted—way to give me custody. Then you'd have to stay. For Rosie and all."

He domed a brow. "For Rosie."

"Rosie, Nikki, the Barbies. Everything."

He paused, making a face. "Maybe not Nikki. She really should go back to school."

"Agreed."

"Preferably somewhere very far away."

Lindsey cleared his throat suddenly, drawing the focus back without much competition. "This is riveting, it is. But I have a sick police officer to take care of, so I'm going to be on my way." He glanced to Wesley. "You'll call me when this is over?"


"You can be assured," he replied. "And you keep in touch...should any sources leak information to you about...anything."

McDonald snorted sardonically. "That's not happening. It's a nice thought, but it's not happening."

"Nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless, I'll keep in touch." He turned his attention briefly to the display in the center of the lobby and gestured broadly. "Good luck sorting everything out."

There was nothing for a long minute following his departure. Fortunately, Wright had enough self-control to refrain from commenting until he knew the other man was well outside earshot. With a cocky grin, he turned back to Cordelia, nodding absently at the door. "If I stay, will I have to put up with that asshole?"

"Lindsey's not too bad...once you get to know him." She made a face. "Unfortunately, I haven't reached that second stage yet."

Spike raised his hand with a dry smile. "Ummm, I got a quick quibble. 'F Zangy stays, an' really—all for that—what 'appens when Peaches comes off his soddin' guilt trip an' wants his job back."

Gunn shrugged. "He gets it."

"Just a very degraded version of 'it'," Cordelia acknowledged. "As in, not in charge."

"Never gonna be in charge."

Wesley nodded dismally, removing his glasses in a manner that was much too Gilesy for anyone who knew the elder Watcher remotely well. "Had we captured the pattern of his destructive behavior in the first place," he said softly, "this entire mess could have been averted."

Buffy's brows arched at that. "What? You could've made Wolfram and Hart leave his soul in there because he'd had a better day than planned?"

"She's right," the platinum vampire agreed. "What 'appened can be blamed on a lot of people. No one in this room qualifies." He lent himself strange pause at that, a long hiss whistling through his teeth. "'Cept those that don' count as human, of course."

The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Spike..."

He shrugged. "'m jus' sayin'—"

"It wasn't your fault. I might be a dense fake-blonde, but I do remember the bargy-inness that was you the night that Darla did the snatch thing." She smiled softly, resting her chin at his shoulder. "We gave you the blow off, and you did what anyone would've. Stop. Blaming. Yourself."

"Y-you really did," Tara spoke up, ducking down again when she drew everyone's attention. "I-I remember. Really. A-and then with the coming in after she was gone. Y-you've done everything you c-could, Spike."

A small smile tickled his face. "Comin' from you, Glinda, that means a lot."

Buffy scowled and punched his shoulder.

"Ow! Watch it there, pet. It wasn' as though your jabs din't hurt before."

"So," she continued, ignoring him completely, "it means a lot coming from her? Hello! I've been telling you that ever since I woke up, all Night of the Living Buffy."

His smile widened, despite the innate sadness that coincided with any such reminder. "Trust me, luv. You have the power to break me with every breath. Everythin' you do an' say means more to me than you can imagine." He leaned inward, nibbling lightly on her lips before breaking away in remembrance that the crowd likely wasn't one to appreciate public displays of affection. Yet.

Of course, Wright, Cordelia, and Gunn had gotten quite a show the day before, if memory served.

And evidently, they weren't looking for a repeat.

Cordelia snickered, effectively breaking their spell. "You two can make with the lovey-dovey later. Behind closed doors. Right now, I want an answer." She arched a brow at Zack. "Well?"

"Come on, man," Gunn said encouragingly. "Stay. You gotta admit, you're one of us now."

The demon hunter grinned his amusement. Though his answer was written plainly in his eyes, everyone seemed to need verbal verification before breaking open any champagne. "I don't know..." he mused. "Can we rename it Wright Investigations?"

Spike laughed aloud. "Oh, that's bloody rich. I can already see the new slogans. 'Where everythin' is done the Wright way.'"

Buffy grinned and jumped aboard. "'We'll do the job Wright, or your money back.'"

"'The Wright people working for the Wright cause,'" Tara added. She blushed and looked down when her comment earned several chuckles. "Again...s-sorry. I r-really, don't know you."

The demon hunter shrugged good-naturedly. "Ah, don't worry about it. You know, any friend of...yadda yadda yadda."

"And God said, 'Let there be Wright.'" The amusement died as a sea of blank stares found their way once again to Wesley's regard. He glanced down with false indignation. "Are we not doing this anymore? ...I thought it was funny."

"That's because you're a Dork—the kind with a capital 'D'." The Seer pivoted back to Zack imploringly. "And, no, not with the renaming. You have any idea how long it took Angel Investigations to establish a clientele basis? So not going there again."


"You drive a hard bargain."

She shrugged. "I try."

"'F I may..." Spike said, waving a little. "An' this is to be in no way taken as a sign that I like you." That comment earned several snickers—no such proof was required. "But really, 'f you need any more persuasion than the bubbly girl in front of you, you're even denser than I thought."

The brunette beamed at him. "Thanks!"

"Don' mention it, luv."

A warm smile crept over his rugged, unshaven face. "All right, all right. You win. Where do I sign?"

"Hurrah!" Tara cheered uncertainly, giving a small wave of approval. The movement earned a glowing smile from those returning with her to Sunnydale. The girl was so shy and the situation so awkward, but she was making the best out of it.

Cordelia, however, was otherwise preoccupied. She squealed and threw her arms around the demon hunter, swaying with him in light of her merriment. "I promise you won't regret this."

"She'll probably give you a good reason not to," Gunn added with a wink.

Wright shrugged, tightening his arms around her. "Hey, this is the first PDA I've gotten in two days. I'll take it."

"Very good, then," Wesley said with a definitive nod. "All is set." He turned his attention to the Witch and offered a kind smile. "If there is nothing else, it would be best we should get to the first item of business. And, unless I am off schedule, I believe we have a curse to cast."

Chapter Forty-Four

The House's Fall 

Zack Wright had always considered himself an able father, if nothing else. Someone who was there for his daughter when she needed him at all possible turns. Like many before, work drove him away from the dinner table on numerous occasions, and while he lamented not being with her for every waking minute of her day, he never considered himself negligent or absentee. He knew Rosalie well—Rosalie, with her mother's eyes and her forward insight. He knew her favorite movie was still The Little Mermaid and that she liked pickles with her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He knew that she couldn't sleep unless she had her faithful bedmate—Dr. Haller, the panda bear—snuggled into her side. He knew that she was more adult than most adults. And he knew that he would die protecting her.

He loved his daughter more than life itself. And for the first time in seven years, it occurred to him how thoroughly unfair he had been to her. More than a passing whim. More than a simple acknowledgement that managed to surface its way into his conscious before he banished it once more. Before it could drive him into serious retrospection. Without complaint, she had followed him faithfully for more than half her life, watching as he returned home late covered in demon guts. Getting out of bed earlier than any willing child he had ever seen to make him coffee before he left for the day, just so she could spend some time with him. He had never known a nine year old that made coffee, and certainly not one that made it as well as she did.

Rosie was smart. Frighteningly smart. What little school she did attend, she was often outcast by her peers for her intelligence. They called her a freak and ignored her at recess. They avoided her during the lunch hour and never picked her for classroom games. The tests she took were never blemished with anything outside her handwriting and a sticker at the top to solidify her genius. And true, while life on the move did not allot much time in the mainstream of public education, her reputation seemingly preceded her from any such territory.

And yet, beneath it all, she was still a little girl. A little girl who loved Disney and Barbies and all things of the Muppet-nature. She was a born Star Wars fan with an unhealthy fascination with Jabba the Hutt and a crush on Han Solo. She loved pizza and pasta and fried rice and had, at some point, developed an affinity for Springfield Style Cashew Chicken.

She was a little girl. A little girl whom had been denied a normal life. And though no one aside Nikki directly placed him at any blame, he knew that had he not lost himself to vengeance, he would have seen to his daughter with more care. He would have her in a proper school where she picked up math instead of self-defense.

She had once intervened with a gang of boys on the schoolyard who were getting into a brawl. When their strategy to pretend she didn't exist failed to succeed, the boys turned their attention to her in blatant disregard for the 'don't hit, but if you do, especially don't hit girls' policy that remained the unbroken code among children. The teacher later told Zack that she had never seen anything like it. One minute Rosie was standing there as they advanced, and the next, the ground was littered with them. One child even suffered a broken nose.

He had scolded her, of course. That hadn't been appropriate, especially for school.

Deep down, though, he was proud.

Damn proud. That was his girl. And it served those little bullies right that they got their own. His Rosie had defeated the monsters that lurked in her closet and under the bed, not to mention served as a helpful hand in dark allies. She was too small to attribute her abilities on a level of physicality, but like her father, she had impeccable aim with a crossbow.

And now—now—for the first time since Amber died, they had a home.

For the first time since Amber died, Rosie had someone she could regard as a mother.

For the first time since Amber died, he had solace. He had a home, a job, and friends again. And he had Cordelia.

It was time to dim out some of those darker shadows. They had been following him for too long.

Unlike most children, Rosie similarly lacked the habit of ritualistically marking her territory with an abundance of belongings wherever she went. She kept everything she had—most especially Dr. Haller and her now infamous doll collection—well hidden from forthright view. Now, as he pushed her bedroom door open, a smile warmed his heart. She was sitting cross-legged with her back to him, combing one of her obnoxiously pink Barbie brushes through a smooth tug of bleached hair.

The picture of feigned innocence. His girl was sweet, but she held her own.

And well.

He leaned casually in the doorway, folding his arms athwart his chest. His girl. If nothing else, he was the luckiest bastard in the world.

That was a thought he hadn't felt himself worthy of in years.

"Whatcha doing there, Rosie Posy?"

The girl didn't start at the intrusion of his voice. Rosie was not a child that found herself often taken aback. If he was there, she knew.

It always made a trial of surprises.

"Brushing Natasha's hair."

She had different names for all her dolls. Ever since her first, she had always assumed a moniker far from that which so casually graced so many of the blonde beauties. To her, the term Barbie was synonymous with race. Each addition was another member of the Barbie society—likely from the country Barbitiana. When someone tried to correct her in this manner, she politely refused their input. From where she came from, no one looked alike and bore the same name.

And each had a different personality.

Wright nodded appraisingly, indulging a few steps inward. "Big party tonight?"

"Wilma-Jean and Rex are getting married."

Long ago, Zack had consigned himself to the reality that he could not memorize each of her possessions by name, face, and character. Nevertheless he tried and likewise failed admirably. "Big thing, huh?"

"Ginger might be angry. Or Kyrian." She shrugged. "He's a vampire."

The grin faded from his lips just as easily, a cold, gray sensation flooding his veins. Enough to make any man freeze in his tracks. It wasn't an unusual occurrence. Hell, it was hardly that. Rosie lived in a world where monsters weren't monsters—they were a breed apart. But it bothered him. It bothered him that she couldn't even bring herself to forfeit reality in the comfort of her sanctuary. And yet, that was the sort of child she was. She didn't endorse lies to protect herself, nor did she understand the unspoken implication that she should.

One summer, long ago, stopping to buy her an ice-cream cone on one of those rare days when he could devote his time to her. When he wasn't following some inane lead or trifling himself away with the life he had so long ago sold his soul to. "So, Rosie Posy...what do you want to be when you grow up?"

There was nothing for a long, cold minute. She nibbled absently at her cone, catching a dribble of vanilla before it splattered to the sidewalk. And then, as though it was the most accepted thing in the world, she gazed up to him with her mother's eyes and whispered, "Alive."

They never spoke of that day.

For so long, they had lived out of suitcases. They had referred to the Motel 6 as home. She had been enrolled and withdrawn from too many schools. She had no friends to comfort her. And the Powers That Be had encompassed her with the Sight. The Sight that had stolen her innocence.

But it was he whom had robbed her of her childhood.

It was never too late to fix things.

"Rosie," Wright said softly, coming around so that he could sit across from her. "Honey, something's happened."

Her large eyes met his expectantly.

He flashed a loving smile and leaned inward to caress her forehead with his lips. "Do you like it here, Peach-Tree?"

She nodded, smiling in turn. "Yeah. Cordy's nice and likes you a lot." She turned her eyes to the ground. "I like Uncle Spike, too. Is that okay?"

A frown befell his face. "Of course it's...what did you call him?"

"Uncle Spike. He said I should."

Oh, perfect.

"Why did he tell you that? Did he say?"

"He told me uncles were supposed to watch after their nieces and make sure that nothing bad ever happened to them." She shrugged ingenuously again. "And that he would never let anything bad happen to me, so I should call him my Uncle Spike."

Zack's eyes narrowed at her. "When have you had time to talk to Spike?"

"I talked to him when you were with Cordy." Rosie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Is Cordy going to be my new mother?"

His gaze widened in disbelief and he nearly fell back without having the added benefit of losing his balance. "What?"

"You want to stay here with her."

Despite the fact that she had been doing that since birth, it was still a freaky trait.

"And Nikki said that you and she got laid, and that was something mommies and daddies do. So, I thought..."

A coughing fit interrupted whatever it was that she thought.

Nikki was so toast.

Rosie paused thoughtfully. "Since Uncle Spike and Buffy got laid, does that mean that they're gonna have a baby?"

That was it. He had to put an end to this before it got even more out of hand. "Sweetpea, I—"

"Since you and Cordy got laid, does that mean she will have a baby?"

Wright blinked at her. "What has she been telling you?"

"Not much. She told me getting laid was something mommies and daddies do that makes them have babies." Rosie turned her eyes back to her dolls, her innocence too much for him. "Then she said that it was not fair for her to play with the question in a field and to go upstairs. So I did."

Play with a question in... "Honey, did she say 'field this question'?"

"Yeah. That's what she said." She glanced up again. "So what does it mean?"

"I...uhhh...it's not fair for me to field this question, either."

"Should I ask Uncle Spike?"

Oh God. Knowing him, he would give her a straight answer before it occurred to him that such was not his place.

"No! I mean—uhhh—ask me again...in...ten years. I'll tell you then."

Rosie arched a suspicious brow. "You'll be able to field it in ten years?"

Zack paused, exchanged a long, knowing look with her, and shrugged with a sheepish smile. "Make it twenty?"

There was a lengthy moment of consideration, and she cocked her head at him, eyes growing large with misgiving. "It's something only grown-ups know about, right?"

Yeah. In an ideal society. With as clever as she was, he reckoned he was lucky to have eluded the dreaded Talk for even this long. It was his fortune that Rosie preferred films to television, and that he was privileged to censor everything before subjecting it to his daughter's eyes.

He cocked his head in turn. "Is there any way I can get out of this conversation?"

"Well..." With breezing innocence, she turned her attention back to her dolls. "I know that you want to stay with Cordy...I just don't know if we are or not." There was another silence; even though she kept her eyes glued to the plastic in her hands, he could feel the burn of her gaze as thoroughly as any other. "Are we staying here with Cordy?"

There it was. Cards on the table. Sometimes, it killed him that she was the adult in this relationship. She had such freedom and no sense of restraint. She could ask the tough questions without fronting the façade of fearing the answer.

"How do you feel about that?"

Rosie glanced up to him sharply. There must have been something in his voice; her eyes were glowing with radiance that was so raw on her, it stole his breath. "Stay here with Charlie and Wes, and Cordy, too? I want to, Dad. I really, really want to."

Relief flooded through him. He had known, of course, but hearing her say that sweetened the deal all the more.

"Really?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I just wish Uncle Spike and Buffy could stay, too. But they really have to go away?"

Wright clamped his teeth down on the inside of his cheek. He really was going to have to put a stop to this 'Uncle Spike' business.

But then, looking at her shining face, he presumed there was no harm in it. What little he had seen between the vampire and his daughter proved more than enough that he loved the girl. If this was his way to emphasize that, he had no place to put something that gave them both joy to a halt.

"Yeah, sweetie. They do. Buffy has a mom and a sister in a town not too far from here, and she loves them very, very much." He smiled warmly at her heartfelt disappointment, knowing instantly that she coveted what they had, even if she would never say it. And he would do his best to give her more of the same. "And since...Uncle Spike loves Buffy, he's gonna go where she goes."

Rosie nodded slowly. "But...he'll come back to visit...right?"

"Oh, you bet. And if he slacks off and doesn't come around for a while, we'll go see him. Deal?"

That was all it took. She was smiling again. "Deal." With a cheerful hum, she turned her attention back to her dolls, holding up the two he assumed were Wilma-Jean and Rex. "Is Cordy going to be mom?" she asked again. "Since we're staying and you two have gotten laid—" Despite all, he couldn't help from choking at the words escaping the lips of his darling daughter. She tossed him a glance that gave him the horrible notion that she had done it on purpose. "—is she going to be my new mom?"

Now, there was a question. A damn scary one at that. He hated the term 'new mom'; it implied that Amber was easily replaced, and she wasn't. He felt the burn of her loss every day. Everything she had wanted for Rosie. All the plans she had made for the future. The way she lovingly caressed her stomach in anticipation of their second.

The way she hung from the wall in the den, open and bleeding.

Dead.

Amber had been naïve; he had as well.

He wasn't anymore. And Cordelia was the furthest thing from naïve that he could find. And she wasn't like Amber at all. Where Amber had been submissive, Cordelia was bold. Where Amber had been sweet and soft-tempered, Cordelia was radiant and opinionated. Where Amber's touch had set him aflame, Cordelia's left him to sizzle.

He and Amber had been high school sweethearts—on and off through the early years and steady toward the end. He had never known another woman until he met Cordelia.

It was said not to happen twice, and for the longest time, he had believed it. After he lost his wife, there had been nothing for him. It would have been easy to lose himself in women and booze, but he hadn't. Cordelia was the first after Amber, and with her, the impossible had happened.

It hit him then—unprecedented. A flying swoop out of the big blue. Somewhere from the pits of realization, a conjured image to strike him between the eyes. There on the floor of the room both he and his daughter had come to think of as hers. There, surrounded by her toys. There, with her large eyes watching him patiently. The epitome of someone just dying to scream, 'I know something you don't know.'

And she did. But he knew now, too. And it blew him away.

He was in love with Cordelia.

He was absolutely, positively, one-hundred-fucking-percent-in-love with Cordelia. With everything about her. From her attitude to her warmth to the way she could make him squirm simply by reading a magazine. He was in love with her. In love with her in a way that he had never been with Amber. Neither weaker nor stronger: different and beautiful. He loved her completely.

Fucking Christ, how had this happened?

Never had he suspected himself possible for caring for another woman in his lifetime. And furthermore, he had always known that even if some invisible line were crossed, he would never, ever call it love.

Of course, just weeks before, he had told Spike that they would never be friends. And now his daughter was calling him uncle.

He, Zack Wright, was in love with Cordelia. And he was not the sort of man to take that lightly.

Slowly, he brought himself to awares and turned his attention back to his expectant child. With a thin, nearly timid smile, he took Wilma-Jean, Rex, and Natasha from her grasp and set them before him.

"I'm gonna try to explain this, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He held up Rex. "Pretend this is me."

Rosie beamed and waved at the doll. "Hi, Daddy!"

A grin tickled his lips. He reached for Natasha. "Pretend this is your mother...sans the hair and the figure and the every-man's-fantasy."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Not that your mom wasn't perfect," he corrected. "But Barbie—"

"That's Natasha."

"Sorry. Natasha...no real woman looks like Natasha, okay? These are impossible self-esteem-blowing standards that Mattel oughta be sued for. Unless women have had work or throw-up every day, they don't look like this. Believe me, I know." When her bewilderment didn't diminish, he sighed, cursed himself for opening his mouth and inserting his foot, and continued. "Anyway, pretend Natasha is your mom."

She nodded solemnly.

He reached for Wilma-Jean. "This is Cordy, okay?"

"Cordy has brown hair."

"So did your mom."

"And it's short."

He nodded patiently. "Yeah, it is."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, pondering studiously. "Cordy looks more like the doll than Mom did. Does that mean she's had work or throws-up?"

Wright pondered scouring the room for a hole to crawl into. In the Hyperion, such a thing might be easy to find. "Can I pay you never to mention this conversation to anyone?"

"So I shouldn't ask Cordy—"

"I swear, I will hang you upside down from your toes for a week if you do."

She giggled playfully, encouraging a smile of his own. "You wouldn't."

"You're right. You caught me. Just don't ask Cordy."

A shrug. "Okay."

Wright held out for a moment, considering. "Also, don't tell her that I used a doll you named 'Wilma-Jean' to represent her in this little charade."

Another shrug, though she was smiling this time. "Okay."

"Okay." He let out a deep breath before returning his attention to his demonstration. "Okay, so this is me. And this is your mom. Your mom and I had you, and we both love you very much."

"Mom, too?"

"Wherever she is, pumpkin, she loves you." Zack felt his eyes misting and a lump rising in his throat. The years hadn't been kind to him, and he had never felt the urge to sit down and discuss his late wife with Rosie. There were things she wanted to know; things she deserved to know. Things he couldn't mention without losing himself. And yes, while it still hurt, the wound was finally nearing completion in the healing process, even if he suspected the skin over it would forever remain red and tender. "But then your mom went away," he continued, placing Natasha to the side. "And it hurt Dad for a long time. Dad took you and Nikki—" He nastily fumbled until he found a Stacy and Skipper doll to maintain the enactment's livelihood. "—and he was never the same. He did things he's not proud of, and eventually became someone that wasn't even...he became someone else. Someone even your mom wouldn't approve of. The day that Mom went away, Dad went away, too. He just couldn't do it the way she had."

It wasn't until he felt Rosie's small hand covering his own that he realized he was trembling, and that the mist in his eyes had transformed into tears.

But for the life of him, he didn't know whom he was crying for.

It took a minute to locate his voice, and when he did, it was hoarse and full with emotion he hadn't thought himself possible of feeling anymore. "Since Dad couldn't go away with your mom," he continued, "he tried to run away from everything else. He went and killed demons, taught you and Nikki to do the same. And while he still loved you more than anything in the whole wide world, he was very lost. He kept trying to run away, but every time he found some place new, what he was running from would catch him. Then, one day, he met a vampire named Spike."

Rosie obediently handed him Kyrian.

"And though Dad and Spike didn't get along at first..." He did a poor imitation of the two dolls trying to kill each other. "...eventually, they decided that they should try to put their differences aside. And then, something strange happened. Spike introduced Dad to Cordelia. And then something stranger happened. That part of Dad that had been lost for so long? ...well, she found it. She found it and gave it back to him. She and Spike and all their friends...they reminded Dad what he had been missing out on. And while Dad still misses Mom very much...Cordelia...she...she makes it...she makes him Dad again. She makes Dad feel...well...she makes him feel. She and her stupid little magazines and her stupid cappuccino with two percent, whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and her stupid vamp-sponsorship, and her stupid—"

"Stop."

Wright frowned. "Why?"

"Because Cordy's right behind me."

He froze before timidly raising his eyes, knowing she spoke the truth and damning himself for not noticing her in the first place.

His gaze hit home and he couldn't help suppress the moan that rose to his lips.

"Oh, fuck."

The Seer beamed at him. "That's exactly what you're not getting, buster." Her countenance darkened. "And don't use that language in front of her!"

"It's okay," Rosie recited. "I've heard it before."

Her eyes narrowed. "How many times a day do you say that, hon?"

"Four or five."

"Right!" In an instant, Zack had bolted to his feet, plastering a forced smile to his face and moving heatedly for the door. "I'm going downstairs now. You two have fun."

Grinning deviously, Cordelia winked at his daughter before entwining her arm with his. "I'll walk you. Tara's done with the curse. We're all just sort've waiting now."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You better believe it."

He had no idea the depth of aforementioned trouble, but she didn't leave him guessing for long. They barely made it halfway down the corridor before she abruptly stopped and shoved him against the wall, covering his mouth with hers with such ardent frenzy that it made him weak in the knees. They dueled for long seconds until the breathing thing got in the way, forcing them apart for a few still beats. Then their eyes met and before they knew it, they were going in for seconds.

"Mmm," Wright murmured against her. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"Rosie didn't tell you how long I was in the doorway." Cordelia pulled back with a warm smile, brushing a kiss over his cheek. "You're really the sweetest man I've ever met."

"Hey—"

"Well..." She paused thoughtfully. "Maybe except for Spike."

"HEY!"

She merely grinned, thoroughly unrepentant. "So, Rosie's okay with you're staying?"

Wright nodded. "She'd rather Spike and Buffy stay, too, but we know the chances of that are..."

"Nonexistent?"

"Yeah."

She clasped his hand, fingers entwining as she led him down the hall. "Well, who knows?" she said softly. "Buffy loves Spike, and Spike loves it here. Maybe—"

"She has a life elsewhere."

"Yeah, like an hour away."

"It's the Hellmouth, Cordy. She can't just leave."

The Seer's eyes widened. "Oh, so she's supposed to spend every waking minute for the rest of forever watching over it? Hell-o! It's called a life, pal. Besides, there's a Hellmouth in Cleveland, too. And guess what's on their Christmas list, right next to pony or something else you want but never get. Begins with S, ends with...well you get the point." A sigh rolled off her shoulders. "Okay, okay. Big fault. I'm not wild about being without them, either, but it wouldn't work out. Angel's coming back...most likely...and I really don't think that Spike could stand to—"

"Angel has to work here? He can't...I dunno...take the nightshift at Wal-Mart?"

Cordelia scowled. "He's a great guy once you get to know him."

"Yeah. He only tortured the living crap out of my best friend's girlfriend. What a fucking saint."

They froze simultaneously when they realized what he had said.

"Did you just—"

Wright's eyes widened comically. "No. I did not just anything. In fact—"

"You just called Spike your best friend!"

"I did not!"

"Ohhhh..." Cordelia smirked scandalously. "I am so telling!" And before he could offer a word of objection, she had torn from his side and bounded down the hallway, screaming that she had a secret at the top of her lungs.

He watched her disappear in horror. Yelling verbosely down the stairwell. Giddy and obnoxious and absurdly childish. And strangely, he hadn't seen anything in a long time that brought him greater joy, even if she managed to effectively shatter his reputation.

Oh yeah. This was love.

Now he just had to find a way to tell her.

"A thousand plus channels, and I still can't find anything worth watching."

Lindsey arched a brow and entered the room, nearing the sofa with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "You don't have cable," he observed. "You only have four channels to begin with."

"That's seven, thank you very much." Lockley shrugged and reached out to take the coffee, offering a thankful grin in turn. "Is this black?"

"I swear, I actually put the sugar and cream in the cupboard while I made yours. Just in case they decided to fling off the counter."

"Thanks." With a long, leisure sip of approval, she leaned back and indicated the television once more. "I only complain about what I'm watching because I don't care."

"I know."

"Before this...before everything happened, sitting down to fry my brain really wasn't on the top ten of my to-do list."

"I can imagine that. My recent unemployment has me memorizing the weekly line-up, as well."

She scoffed, as though offended at the notion. With a subconscious tug at her blonde ponytail, she smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her sweatshirt and took another sip of her coffee. "I'm memorizing nothing."

"Oh really? Then what comes on at eight? You've been watching the clock like a hawk the past half hour."

There was a second and a guilty pause. Kate glanced down and murmured under her breath, "Survivor."

He froze, staring at her for a long unblinking moment before he cracked a smile and ducked his head at her shyness. As though admitting that much was akin to signing one's name to a death warrant. "Ahhh," he said, nodding. "So, the detective has a guilty secret."

Lockley's eyes widened. "It's not my fault. I'm stuck here watching whatever's on. And that show just happens to be..."

"Sinfully addictive?"

"More apropos than my other choices."

Another grin curled his lips, bidding voice before a sharp knock drew the room to an infinite standstill. Kate drew to a firm standstill and met his gaze with shades of worry she had not allowed herself to portray since leaving the hospital. Through the past two days, both had been more than aware that Wolfram and Hart was liable to trace and eradicate Lindsey from the mortal coil, given everything that he was and knew. Especially with what he had related with the plans to reensoul Angel. Something neither could fully grasp.

Immediately, she reached up and flicked the television off before tossing the remote to the other end of the sofa, placing her drink on the coffee table and moving to stand. She didn't get very far; Lindsey placed his hand on her shoulder to hold her where she was, a finger at his lips.

"Stay put."

Her eyes widened even further in protest. "I—"

"If they're here, it's for me and not you."

"And that's supposed to make me not help, how?"

All sense of forewarning vanished the next instant. There was a rasping at the door, as though someone was drawing her nails across the surface. Then a small voice touched the air, and McDonald's blood ran cold.

"Lindsey..."

Lockley glanced up. "It's a woman."

No, it was more than that.

"It's Darla."

"Darla? How did she find you here? How—"

A sigh ran through his body. "Wolfram and Hart, Lilah, following my scent, and of the above." He turned to her, studying her face for a long minute before nodding to the bedroom. "You remember the other night when I told you I was putting some stuff in your nightstand?"

She nodded.

"I need you to go in there and get my insurance policy. You'll know what I'm talking about once you see it." Lindsey looked up again. "I need to know what she wants."

"Other than—oh say—a dead us?"

He shook his head. "It's something else...this is...just go get it."

"Whatever it is, it won't hold a vampire, Lindsey. Especially one as old and strong as—"

He tossed her a wry glance with a thin smile. "Trust me, Kate," he said. "If needed, they will do the trick."

They exchanged a long look of understanding. There wasn't much they could say without giving themselves away; despite the door between them, vampires had exceptional hearing. If Darla even began to suspect something other than the very best of intentions, they wouldn't get anything from her. Thus with a nod, Lockley cast her quilt aside and fought to her feet.

Lindsey made sure she was well out of sight before approaching the doorway.

What he found on the other side would have at one time rendered his heart worn and seeking vengeance. Not since her resurrection had Darla appeared so lost and confused. She was wearing a light pink shawl, her hair was tangled and her eyes shaken. For everything, she looked to be genuinely distraught, but he knew better than to fall for the same old. The vampire was, if nothing else, an exceptional actress.

She flashed him a weak smile after a few agonizingly long seconds. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"It's not my apartment." And that raised an interesting question. "How did you find me, Darla?"

There was a pause. She was trembling hard; so hard that he had to force himself not to cross the threshold and comfort her. Despite everything that had occurred, there was some tug that she held over him. Some small calling that demanded attention. While his feelings for her had suffered a drastic undertaking, she was still so influential. Just in her presence, her thoughts, her singular being.

Dangerous.

"Lilah," she managed after a long minute. "A-after it...a-after it happened, L-Lilah told me where to go."

He frowned. "'It?'"

Darla's head turned up and her eyes found clarity, swimming with indecision. "It's Angel, Lindsey. H-he...we were in Lilah office...there was fighting and...a-and he..." Her hand crawled down the expanse of her body to cover her stomach. "My boy left me. He left me again. He started yelling and sobbing, and he was hurting, and then he ran into the hall. I-I tried to go after him, but he was yammering like he had in Romania, looking at me with such...horror." She shuddered visibly, reaching to clutch at her throat. "He tried to kill me, Lindsey. My Angel. He tried to kill me all over again. He looked at me and then...realized who I was and... Funny, the first time this happened, he begged me to take him home."

Ah. So that explained it.

The curse had worked. Of course. What else would have brought her to him?

McDonald nodded. "And Dru? Where's she?"

Darla shook her head, looking down again. "I didn't see. Angel threw me into the hall and tried to kill me, but he couldn't. Then...then Lilah said something and he was gone. I told her I needed you, so I came." She smiled weakly. "Here I am. And I do need you, Lindsey. You're the only one...you're the only one I have left."

He pursed his lips, considering, and finally crossed the threshold to take her into his arms. When she clutched at him, he felt his heart warming with something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in weeks. And yet, he knew it was over. Somewhere deep rang the realization of self-discovery. Brushing a kiss to her temple, he whirled her so that her back was to the doorway.

"Angel tried to kill you?"

She nodded pitifully. "He had his hand at my throat. After the pain was over, he shoved me against the wall and had his hand at my throat. I don't know...I guess Lilah reminded him...about the cheerleader." She cracked a weak, unfeeling smile. "It's such a shame, too. We were having so much fun. Why do they always take him away from me when we're having such fun?" There was no sense waiting for a response. She nuzzled his throat, offering a patch of alabaster a long, mournful lick. Then there was a pause and she tightened her grip at his shoulders. "Lindsey...why is the mortal trying to sneak up on me?"

McDonald froze, eyes darting to Lockley. "It's her apartment."

"Let me kill her. We'll make it our apartment."

A lump rose in his throat. "I'm sorry, Darla..." His hands skimmed the length of her arms before grasping her wrists, using that leverage to pull her prostate against him. That was all the incentive Kate required; she hurried forward and clamped the aforementioned insurance policy to hold her still. "Today just hasn't been your day."

Darla roared and shimmied free, tugging at the cuffs that now held her arms bound behind her back. She flashed around, gracing Lockley with a murderous look that would have rightly scared anyone else into stunning submission. "You idiot," she snapped. "Handcuffs? Please. I—"

"They're not handcuffs," Lindsey returned, coaxing her to turn her attention back to him. "I didn't leave Wolfram and Hart without taking some of the benefits along with me. I'm willing to bet you can appreciate that."

Her eyes blazed with fury, every mark of her screaming her condemnation of him as a traitor. In the next instant, her bumpies had emerged and she looked to ready to gnaw through his throat until his head fell from his body, only to fall with the impact of Lockley's backhanded blow. She met the floor with such bluntness that even took the lawyer by surprise.

She didn't move to get up. She was out cold.

McDonald glanced up, eyes wide.

The blonde shrugged, unbothered. "Police officer, remember?"

"Yeah, and she's a vampire. Not to mention, you're sick."

Another shrug. "It's all in the application of strength. And I'm not that sick."

He gazed at her for another long, incredulous beat. Then slowly, he smiled.

"You're a hell of a woman, Lockley."

"This is what I'm saying." Her blue eyes dropped to the ground, staring callously at the vampire crowding the hallway. "Shouldn't we stake her while she's out?"

There was a long pause.

"No."

She blinked, not bothering to disguise her surprise. "No?"

"No." Without meeting her inquiring gaze, Lindsey kneeled forward and gathered Darla in his arms. His heart was hammering, and every string that was still tied to Wolfram and Hart screamed in protest. But there was a sense of duty, and he knew that some ties to vengeance could not be broken. "Stay here, Kate. I won't be long."

There was no want of objection, but she frowned her confusion anyway. "Where are you going?"

A shiver ran through his body. "Special delivery."

"You think it was a mistake inviting her in here?"

Spike tossed Gunn an incredulous glance. "'S not like she's goin' anywhere."

"Lindsey didn't offer us any proof that those were Gregori's cuffs, though. He just plopped her by and decided that we should just take it on a word of faith."

The vampire's gaze narrowed and he reached for the material in question before summoning all of his strength to give it the tug of conviction. When absolutely nothing more than his grunt of exertion resulted from the display, the other man was effectively silenced.

Spike snickered and gave a weary glance over his shoulder where Wright was sitting on the back of the sofa, eyes intent on the unconscious blonde. A stake was ready in his grip and he occasionally thought to toss it between his hands to better the feel. "So, Zangy," the peroxide Cockney drawled. "This 's it. The big one. What you've been waitin' to do for seven long bloody years."

The demon hunter nodded. "So it would seem."

Gunn grinned. "Never figured she'd be handed to you like this, did you?"

The other man's brows arched appraisingly. True, the last thing he had ever expected was to be allowed such a break. In the fifteen minutes that she had been here, he was still trying to grasp the concept that once over, all ties to his former life would be effectively severed, and at the start of the day, he would have snickered at the man who suggested things ever happened this easily.

Some men would be angry that she had been gift-wrapped and handed to him.

He wasn't. As long as she died, and as long as he was the ultimate cause, all was fine by him.

He just couldn't grasp that it was today. Today of all days. What made today unique?

"So we're countin' on getting a visit from Angel soon?"

Spike shrugged easily. "Depends on whether or not the wanker has a death wish. 'F he comes near me or Buffy while we're here, 's gonna take hell's legions to keep me from tearin' him apart."

Wright frowned. "I thought you wanted him to suffer. 'Poetic justice' and all that."

A brow arched as the peroxide vampire regarded him. "Yeh, I did. 'S been, what? Two hours? I'd wager the git's suffered enough."

There was a chortle of interest. "Cordy would so kick your ass."

"Yeh, well, Cordy would have to catch me firs'."

Zack laughed genuinely at that. Of course, Spike would run before he hurt someone he cared about. That was simply an understanding he had come to grasp over the past few days. One that brought him peace whereas before it would have only served to up his suspicion.

"You think you oughta do it now?" Gunn asked nervously, bringing their attention back to the unconscious blonde. "Just get it over with?"

"No. I want her to look me in the eye. I want her to know it was me that did it."

Spike leered with patronizing assessment. "Tha's my boy."

Wright rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"Oi! 'S that the way to talk to your best friend?"

"I swear, I'm gonna stake you, then Darla."

The vampire shrugged, clearly unthreatened. "Y'see, that'd brass off my lady. An' yours too, I might add."

"Yeah. Our ladies have notoriously bad taste, don't they?"

Gunn shook his head. "I can't believe you're doing this," he told the hunter. "I mean, you're minutes away from sealin' your life's conquest, and you're using the time to bicker about your women? Isn't this usually used for self-reflection and thinkin' about how after this, nothin' will ever be the same?"

Spike and Zack glanced to each other wryly, and shrugged with casual negligence.

"Been there," the Cockney said.

"Done that," the hunter agreed.

"Come on," Gunn complained. "This is it, dawg. The big it. You're entire life's gonna change."

"My life has already changed." His gaze settled darkly on the unconscious vampire. "This is just unfinished business."

"So, you're not at all nervous?"

Wright paused meaningfully, pursing his lips. "I wouldn't say that."

"Yeh," Spike concurred with a nod. "'E's right, mate. Think about it. The whole of your former life's over after this one. You gotta be feelin' it."

Gunn nodded enthusiastically. "He's only been waiting for this for seven years."

"Dreamin' about it—"

"Planning it—"

"Practicin' technique on my relatives—"

"Imagining how good it'll feel to finally—"

There was a sudden moan and everything drew to a standstill. Gunn and Spike's grip on Darla tightened without thought, holding her against the wall and within clear aim of Wright's stake, should he decide to do it from a distance. However, when the moment finally arrived with its entire expected climax, there was really nothing to it.

Darla's eyes fluttered open. It took a minute to gauge her surroundings, to realize that she was bound and held.

Her eyes first traveled to Spike.

"You."

He grinned, thoroughly unbothered. "Grandmum. There's someone I think you oughta meet...though I'd wager introducin' you would be pointless."

There was a pause of confusion. Then she looked up.

And gasped when she saw him.

"Zack..."

That was all it took. The next instant, Wright's heated footsteps covered the floor of the lobby, his stake upping and burying itself in her chest. When she gasped again, her pleading eyes going wide, he blew her a mock kiss and pulled away.

"I would say something here," he observed. "But it's all so clichéd."

Watching her dissolve was one of the most fulfilling endeavors of his existence. Strange. It was nothing overly climactic. Trumpets didn't sound, he didn't hear a heavenly choir, and the moment didn't draw out longer than it was supposed to. One minute she was there, and just like that, it was over.

All was over.

The weight of seven years over.

"Hmmm..." Zack said, pivoting to Gunn. "Turns out, I was fine." He tossed the dazed man his stake before whirling around and heading up the corridor, wondering if Cordelia would like to take in a movie.

After all, they deserved it.

It had been a hell of a day.

Chapter Forty-Five

Tell Me Something Good 

It hadn’t been like this before.

It had never been like this.

The sensation itself was something that no one could forget, despite how much time had passed. The first time had burned so long ago, and he could still feel it. With every move he made, with each breath he wasn’t supposed to take. The way it sent waves of burning light through every pore in his body, making every place on him that had ever been touched scream in pain. Every muscle that had ever been strained ached as though afflicted with new injury. Every minor detailed hurt had seized command without turn to any other form of soft consideration. Such a shock—a blunt, sharp stab that impressed every nerve. And then pain. So much pain. Pain that surpassed anything previously experienced, and then some.

The first of anything was supposed to be the hardest. The most difficult to endure.

The second time hadn’t been any easier. Feeling the weight of his conscience soar into his unprepared self. Feeling the full of Buffy’s tears as she gazed at him. Feeling the sweetness of her kisses, the whispered hush of her oath of love. Feeling everything that he had never thought to feel again.

Feeling a sword shove through his gut.

The moment that he realized his soul was being retracted once more, Angel had thought that to be the end. There was no way Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn would allow him to survive. Not with what he made them promise, and certainly not with what had transpired thereafter. He had stood outside the Hyperion yelling at them for hours, and he remembered reveling in their foolishness when they neglected to put an end to it then and there. He had felt their presence following his trail for days, and yet they hadn’t attempted to come at him with a stake. They had sent Spike on the inside, and even he fell short to the mastery of seeing his end.

Spike.

In truth, the minute that Angel realized his soul was being stolen, he knew that living again was a burden he did not want. He knew that his already reddened hands would know the pain of more blood, and he did not wish that for himself. Not for others, and certainly not for himself.

He had not known the face that haunted him more than any other would belong to Buffy.

A rush then. Standing in Lilah Morgan’s office, chatting with her, making the usual threats. His arm was around Darla’s waist, and he was leering at her appraisingly. He felt the stir of old irritation, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t adapted himself to in the long sentence of his lifetime.

He couldn’t even remember what was being discussed. Not specifically. Most likely a string of speculation begging to see the end of Angel Investigations, or something of a similar nature. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered.

A sharp pain winded his stomach, sending him back as his eyes went wide. He found himself on the floor, clawing the carpet as sensationalism beyond repute seized command over what it was that he knew. Something inhuman tore at the air; he realized belatedly it was himself. “Fucking no!” he rasped.

“Angelus?” Darla asked. It was a rare day when concern touched her voice.

Today was a rare day.

“Fucking no!”

Another wail tackled the air and Drusilla sank to her knees, holding her head. “Oh, no, no, no. They’ve interrupted our tea party. No crumpets. No sugar. Grandmum!”

He felt, rather than saw, Darla’s understanding. “No…”

Drusilla was sobbing now, rocking herself back and forth. “Bad, bad. They’re ruining our happy home. Nasty little wasps. Buzzing around my head. Bzzz, bzzzz…”

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead.

Why wasn’t he dead?

Everything after Wolfram and Hart was a blur. He remembered shoving Drusilla away, but he didn’t know if he had killed her. It was possible. Things had been fast and violent. He suspected he would have felt it had he killed her; right now, he was too foregone to register anything he felt.

Darla, though. He remembered Darla. He remembered thrusting her against the wall in the corridor outside Lilah’s office. He remembered feeling the manifestation of his self-loathing and hatred pour from his hands into her throat. He wanted to tear her head from her body. He wanted to make her dead. If he couldn’t be dead, he wanted someone there in his place.

They had killed together. And they had enjoyed it.

But in the end, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill the woman that had caused him and those he loved so much pain. He had killed her once. He couldn’t do it again. Even there at the end, he couldn’t do it. Not now. Now when he was even more to blame than she was for the way things had gone. She had killed, but she had been merciful.

Flash. Buffy hanging in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart, naked body aligned with bite marks and bloody gashes. Things he had done to her because he wanted to. Because he was bored and she was convenient. Because she was the one thing above all others that, even now, drew him to the limelight of humanity. He had done that to her.

He couldn’t kill Darla. Darla hadn’t done that.

He had.

Reparation he was used to. Guilt he was used to. Hating himself he was used to.

This was beyond anything he had ever felt. Anything he had a right in feeling.

And he needed someone. Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn. Anyone.

He needed to see them.

The Hyperion itself was off-limits, though, and somehow he knew that. Without forward recognition, he knew. He knew, and yet his feet wouldn’t listen to his head, and instead insisted on carrying him the length of what separated him from the only true sanctuary he had ever known. Perhaps at a different time, he would have regarded the apprehension with which he observed his association with a unit he had founded himself as thoroughly unorthodox, but there was something to be said about such acknowledgment. Every raw nerve in his body called him home, and while he appeased the technicalities in distance, he refused to adhere his more primal urges.

After all, Buffy would be in there. And he couldn’t face her.

Not now.

Not after everything he had said. After everything he had done.

He had hurt her; he hurt himself.

And the last time he saw her, she had wanted him dead. She had wanted him dead even more so than he did right now.

Had it not been for Spike, she would have killed him.

Spike.

There was no way within the realm of feasibility that he could begin to react to the sensation the strictest of foreknowledge bestowed. Similarly, there was no sense in denying what he knew was true. He had been there. He had seen it all. Furthermore, in the past two days, Lilah had taken immense pleasure in detailing the reels of film the forbidden security cameras captured. While he and his girls had delighted in reliving every minute of the Slayer’s agony, he recalled the pure fury that coursed through his veins when he saw his disobedient grandchilde touch his property as though he had some right.

And he had done more than touched her. She had welcomed his hands and lips and tongue in and on her body. She had cried for him. He had cried for her.

Angelus had watched and felt nothing but envious rage. Angel recalled and experienced the most troublesome regret to coincide with his already seething disgust.

He had driven her to that. His touch had made her crave the healing power of a monster that believed himself in love with her. A monster that could be a monster again if he desired it so. Chances were, she didn’t even know the chip was out. What he had seen a few nights ago was enough to testify to that. She had allowed him to cradle her to his chest. And true, while Spike was not completely unfeeling—he had never been as monstrous as the rest of them—he was still at heart what they were. A monster. And now that the danger was over, it was time for that side to come out of hiding and stop playing at heroics.

That’s not fair.

Life seldom was.

You saw him with her. He cares. He cared for her while you tried to make her scream. And he had no reason to.

That was the lowest of all thoughts. Spike without a conscience had more of a sense of right and wrong than he had displayed even before Wolfram and Hart reverted him to natural form. It would have been easy had the months prior to the incident at Holland Manners house displayed the perfect aptitude of Angel Investigations. They didn’t. Darla’s return had shaken the foundation he relied on, such that even now with everything that had passed, he couldn’t kill her.

Something nasty told him that even if he hadn’t been Angelus, the lawyers in the wine cellar would have never made it out alive.

A monster cursed with humanity cursed with monstrosity. Where did that leave him?

Infinitely fucked.

Angel released a long, agonized sigh as he paused before the Hyperion. He was still far enough away that he doubted anyone inside would stoop to detection, but close enough to make out the shapes passing the windows. A sense of home he had never before reckoned. He saw Cordelia chatting heatedly with someone he did not recognize upfront. He saw Gunn speaking to Wesley and a blonde girl he couldn’t identify—the hunter’s body language betraying a manner of storytelling that the vampire would recognize anywhere. He saw another girl he didn’t know and a child playing a card game. And he saw Buffy and Spike emerge from the upper levels, duel smiles on their faces and hands clasped so tightly one would presume they were made that way. Cordelia turned abruptly from whatever she was saying to greet them with something that only made the picture of their delight grow. Then Gunn intervened to scold the unfamiliar man about something—something of which he himself received a decent scolding to in the thereafter. Wesley added his two cents and made everyone laugh. The elder vampire watched as Spike left Buffy’s side so he could approach the child, whisper something in her ear, and brush a kiss across her cheek. The other girl didn’t seem too happy about that, and the unknown male rolled his eyes and said something that had them all laughing again.

Buffy approached the platinum vampire then and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing herself against his back intimately. Spike was still talking to the other man but he couldn’t stop his hand from tangling with hers where it rested against his stomach, and no one denied the intimacy of the gesture.

Out of everything he had seen, everything he had done, Angel knew that what he had just witnessed was the most painful trial of his existence. It wasn’t fair—not to her, not his victims, and not even to Spike. While he resented the hell out of it, he further resented the knowledge that he had no right in resenting in the first place.

Everything he had ever worked for was gone, and it was more than what he owed. And still it hurt. It hurt terribly.

But it was what he owed.

There was no sense in disrupting their happiness. Not when they had something to celebrate.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t demand that of him. He didn’t deserve it.

Instead, he turned and did what he should have done from the beginning. From the head of this entire charade. Ever since Wolfram and Hart decided to muck with the serenity that had been his lifestyle. Before they reintroduced him to Darla and made the claim to play God. Before he let them get into his head and drive him insane with furious outrage and the weighted heat of his own arrogance.

It was time to put that all behind him and let those he loved bask in their joy.

And walk away.

A watery smile had crossed Cordelia’s face, and she traded a long, meaningful glance with Wright as he came down the stairs after seeing the girls to sleep. “I swear I was gonna let you walk, no contest, but I was never good at keeping promises. Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to talk you out of this?”

“Buffy’s made her decision.”

“We,” the Slayer corrected, eyes narrowing at Wesley. “We decided.”

“You know you’re always welcome here.”

Spike smiled, arm tightening around Buffy as she snuggled into his side. “Yeh,” he replied with a cordial nod. “An’ we appreciate that. We really don’…I…” It was a rare day when the platinum vampire found himself short of words, and the notion was nothing that could be cast aside lightly. Despite what he said, how he tried to put up an impenetrable façade, the concept of leaving was hitting him hard. Never had he known such unprejudiced acceptance.

The look on his face was unreadable, but it stabbed Buffy’s conscience all the same. He would follow her to the end of the world if she asked, but Sunnydale was going to be hard enough. And yet, here he was. Speaking on her behalf. He hadn’t voiced a word of complaint about his status other than to note a preference for the people they were with now, and she knew that he would not. However, the hidden layers buried within his eyes were enough to foil the hardest of hearts.

“We’ve spent some time talking,” she said hoarsely. “There are things that are different now.”

“We’re gettin’ an apartment, for one,” Spike observed without missing a beat. “The Slayer doesn’ wanna live in a graveyard, an’ I respect that.”

Her gaze narrowed and he grinned unrepentantly. “And Spike has decided that, despite how much he loves my family, it’d be better if we—oh say—didn’t live there.”

“But it won’ be till after this Glory business ‘s over,” he confirmed.

“Until then, he’ll stay in the basement.”

Gunn frowned. “Wait. Whoa. Who’s Glory?”

“Someone you don’t have to worry about,” Buffy replied. “I just have to stay near the house until she’s bit the dust.”

“Watch the way you use that phrase, luv.”

Tara smiled weakly. “She…Glory, that is…we haven’t really h-had any trouble with her. I mean, since we w-went to England. We didn’t tell anyone where we were g-going, and the Council gave us some information—”

The Slayer’s eyes flashed with directive sanction that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “What information?”

“It’s…it’s not good. But it might not be a problem f-for too much longer.”

A frown depressed the peroxide vampire’s mouth, and he tossed a curious glance to Buffy. “I never got the full of that gig, y’know.”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “You’ll know. I just can’t talk about it right now.”

“What’s this, girl?” Gunn demanded with false indignation. “We gang up to save your hide, and you can’t trust us?”

“Oh no. So completely not that. I trust you. I’m all with the trusting. It’s more…if you know, you’re in danger.”

“So ‘s jus’ me an’ her normal mates that she doesn’ like,” Spike affirmed with a nod. He received a death glare in turn. “An’ Zangy, ‘m guessin’, ‘f he decides to tag along.”

Cordelia frowned. “What?”

“Jus’ temporary, luv,” Spike retorted, holding up a hand, unable to suppress the grin that innately rose to his lips at her presumption. “Buffy an’ I thought it’d be to our benefit to have your honey come back with us. Y’know…fight the baddies an’ all that sodding rot.” He flashed a speculative smile at the demon hunter. “’F that’s all right with him.”

“Let me emphasize the ‘temporary,’” the Slayer added. “Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled for you to be in SunnyD forever, but as we all know, that issue was decided yesterday.”

There was a long minute of suspended silence. Wright blinked slowly and came to himself without delayed hindrance. “What? Okay…I’m lost…now you want me to come with you—”

“Again with the temporary.”

“—to fight this chick that’s been causing you so much trouble?”

“W-we need all the help we can get,” Tara offered meekly.

“We do,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “Well, we always do, but especially right now with the…with all the extra special clauses that come with her. It’d be a favor to Spike…and me…and if it’s all right with everyone here…” She frowned as she glanced around the lobby. “We’re not asking any more than to borrow him for…two weeks, tops.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “Two weeks?”

The Witch shrugged. “I-it’s not that much, when y-you think about it.”

“An’ Zangy’s the most obvious choice,” Spike concluded. “’E’s not hot on the wire ‘round here on a normal day—yet—an’ this town needs the bloody lot of you to keep from high-tailin’ it to hell.”

A worried look overwhelmed Cordelia, and she gnawed on her lip thoughtfully. “But you’re going to let him come back hassle free.”

Wright arched a brow. “Ummm, ‘let him’? What, you think they’d lock me in the basement?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Look,” Buffy intervened sharply, holding up a hand. “If it’s going to be a problem—”

“No, there is no problem,” Wesley decided authoritatively. “I know enough about hellmouths to recognize that trouble circulating with the rise of a new power can result with catastrophic consequences. We would be happy to help in any way possible.”

“Ummm, hold on.” Wright was waving his arms frantically, a dissatisfied scowl on his face. “Unless I missed something, I could’ve sworn this was—oh, I don’t know—my decision.”

The other man shook his head calmly. “Not anymore. Your decisions are based on what’s good for the whole, and right now, what’s good for the whole coincides with not being killed horribly in the potential upcoming apocalypse.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Who said anything about an apocalypse?”

“You had it all over your face. I might not have been the best Watcher, but I do know how to read ‘potential world-threatening disaster ahead’ when called for.”

“So this is a company decision?” Zack demanded, brow furrowed with continuous dissatisfaction. “A company decision where the company in question is the same that I’ve been named president to?”

“Co-president, thank you.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have bumped him up so quickly,” Gunn muttered to Cordelia, who arched her brow at him in turn. “It’s already gone to his head.”

The Seer rolled her eyes and stepped forward to take Wright by the arm with gentle persuasion. “It is for the best,” she said softly. “We’re just gonna have to help you get used to decisions being made for you when you work as a part of the whole.”

He was still pouting. “I don’t like it.”

“You can bring the Bit,” Spike added.

“Rosie on the Hellmouth? No thanks. I pass.”

“I’d watch after her for you,” Tara offered with a shy grin. “She’s adorable.”

“An’ you’re loony ‘f you think I’d let anythin’ happen to her,” the vampire protested. “I’ll guard her precious bones with my unlife.”

“Really, we’re going to have nothing going on here,” Cordelia said. “We’re still following up on that lead with the girl who disappeared, even though by now she’s probably been hacked to bits and made into people stew.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Nice.”

“Hey, you drink blood. Don’t judge.”

A sigh ran through the demon hunter as he guided his hand through his brown locks. “Well,” he began, as though desperately trying to wrangle some semblance of control. It had to be hard, and everyone understood. Going from where he was his own boss—no questions asked—to having his fate decided by an unpronounced committee. And yet, no one was rushing him. All was, for better or worse, well. “I guess it would be worth it to see all these people Spike keeps bitching about.”

The vampire grinned at that. “Xander?”

“For starters.”

Buffy scowled and whapped her sire across the chest. He laughed and kissed her cheek in turn. “Come on, luv. ‘S not like the whelp’s ever been my number one fan.”

Her scowl only deepened in the manner it did when she knew he was right.

“Xander’s not bad,” Tara said obligatorily. “He’s just…loyal and protective.”

“Judgmental,” Spike corrected gruffly. “An’ a bloody hypocrite.”

“He’s not—”

“Oh, so I’m a bad guy ‘cause I got turned under circumstances that were bloody beyond my control, but his bird’s all right ‘cause she has an expiration date an’ a shiny pulse, but no soul along with it.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “An’ let’s not forget that she volunteered for her gig. Bloody recruited by some head honcho demon ‘cause of the wackiness she did to earn it. I did nothin’ but stand in an alley an’ I’m the bad guy? Right. Makes perfect sense.”

The Witch glanced down again, mimicking Buffy’s ‘I know when I’m bested’ face. “He…he just doesn’t always have time to think logically.”

“Okay, it’s official.” Wright shook his head with a taut grin. “I have to meet this guy. At least pre-this, I never discriminated. I just hated everything nonhuman.”

“And now Spike’s your best friend,” Cordelia added.

“I swear to God…”

“That’s okay,” Buffy said, sliding her arm through the peroxide vampire’s and pressing herself consciously into his side. “He’s kinda mine, too.” When she received a startled look of endless adoration and wonder at that, she merely smiled and planted a brief, however affectionate kiss on his lips. “Not that I have anything against Wills and Xander…but…you’ve kinda been bumped up.”

“That’s the way it should be,” Tara said with a concurring nod. “Willow’s my best friend, and I like to think I’m hers, too. It only strengthens how much we love each other.”

Spike adapted an endearingly goofy smile and started shifting as though he had been fed caffeine pills. “Well, that’s it,” he decided. “I got me my girl, my pride, my sentiment of endless adulation, an’ a chum to help me go back to a place I bloody despise. ‘S all good, though, I think ‘m ready.”

“Good.” The Slayer sighed slightly. “I just wish I was. It’d be so much easier if I had an idea of what to expect.”

A still beat sizzled through the lobby. The platinum vampire glanced expectantly to those he had grown so close to, and as though the thought occurred to them all at once, a series of conspiratorial smiles sprouted to instantaneous life.

Gunn turned to Wesley. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I believe we all are.”

It was too well-timed to be trusted. Buffy turned to Spike worriedly. “What? What is it?”

“A way,” he replied elusively.

“How?”

His eyes sparkled mischievously, but he did not answer her.

The next thing she knew, Buffy was sitting on stage for a crowd of demons with a microphone in her hand.

It was difficult to see with the mass concentration of spotlights and the like, but she knew Spike was out there watching her. Spike and everyone—lounged comfortably at the bar while she sat up in the limelight, basking in discomfort and the innate paranoia of people hearing her sing.

He likely had that insufferable smirk on his face.

She was so going to let him have it.

“Don’t sweat it, lemon-drop,” the proprietor of Caritas had told her. Lorne. That was his name. The Host. Lorne. He was by far the kindest and most interesting non-vamp demon she had ever come across. The sort that demanded respect without muttering a word. He was polite and full of life; humorous, even if she was much too nervous laugh at his jokes. “It’s a little intimidating for a first timer, but believe me, it’s a piece of red velvet cake once the spotlight hits you right.”

Evidently, the spotlight was off by several thousand light-years.

Then the music started playing and the words appeared on the teleprompter.

Oh god oh god oh god…

“Love,” she heard herself sing, “you didn’t do right by me. You planned a romance that just hadn’t a chance, and I’m through.”

An aggravated grunt rumbled through the audience. Buffy’s glimmering eyes shot up and instantly captured Spike’s, and she flashed him a loving grin that undoubtedly came across as dry and insincere. Well, served him right for making her sing. Wasn’t as though the song was about him, anyway.

It was hardly about him.

“Love, you didn’t do right by me. I’m back on the shelf and I’m blaming myself, but it’s you.”

Meanwhile, Spike was grumbling with interest, trying to look unaffected. It was a silly thing to take offense to, and the knowledge, instead of liberating him only made his frustration grow.

“Hey there, big guy.” Lorne handed him a Martini with a wane smile. “Relax. You’re the last person she’s thinking about with those lyrics in mind.”

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Do I wanna know how you know?”

The Host tapped two fingers against his temple with arched brows.

“Ah. Figured it was somethin’ like that.”

“Besides,” he continued, “I think we can find certain audience members that serve as a more appropriate target, don’t you? Say—and this is just a hunch—Tall Dark and Angelkins over there.”

Spike’s head shot up, instantly following Lorne’s direction. Indeed, the grand poof himself had decided to make an appearance. He was lingering in the back, watching Buffy with a glowering guilt-filled gaze that only served to rub the peroxide vampire in the wrong direction. Though his body language screamed a disposition aware to their presence, he made no move to establish eye-contact.

He must have started forward, for the next thing he knew, the Host had placed a neutral hand on his shoulder to hold him stationary.

“Hey, hey,” came the reprimand. “Call off the militia, bro. As much as any of us would love to see a Spike-shaped fist breaking our boy’s face, this is a sanctuary and he’s as welcome as any of my other guests. Take some advice from McCartney and let it be.”

“’E’s within thirty feet of the Slayer, mate. ‘E came here knowin’—”

“That my sanctuary applies to the finest and the lowest, egg muffin. Little Buffalicious doesn’t even know he’s here.” Lorne waited until the tension rolling off Spike’s body finally began to subside before he released him completely. “You have the high ground now. My advice: keep it. Just let it go and enjoy the show. You’re the one she loves.”

There was nothing quite like hearing another being say that with such knowledgeable conviction. He released a deep breath and nodded to signify his cooperation. Then, calmed, they both returned their attention to the stage.

“My one love affair didn’t get anywhere from the start. To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart wasn’t smart…” Buffy met his eyes again, and while she was definitely the cutest thing he had ever seen, her nervousness was doing its part to work a number on him as well. To her credit, she was covering admirably. He reckoned he was the only one who knew her well enough to read it.

He tossed another irritated glance to Angel who did not credit him by looking back. Perhaps not the only one.

“Love. You didn’t do right by me. As they say in the song…you done me wrong.” She offered an impish smile and he recognized the concluding chords. Finally. “Yes, Mister Love. You done me wrong.”

The song drew to a close and the whole of the bar dissolved in applause. Buffy smiled shyly and nodded her thanks before scampering off stage as quickly as possible, racing to his side before anyone could approach. Now that it was over, Spike allowed himself to absolve the whole of her tension. It was so damned adorable. She could kill demons without batting an eye, but when asked to sing for them, she was nothing but nerves.

With alarming rapidity, Lorne had wheedled himself to the stage and was leaning over the microphone. “How about another hand for Little Miss Buff, wasn’t she a doll?” The crowd easily appeased the request; they had decided to forgo the ‘Slayer’ part of her title. It was better that way. With or without a sanctuary, demons weren’t going to be partial to anyone made from birth to kill them. “I’m gonna go have a chat with our not-so-single white vampire. Meanwhile, we got Cordy and Zack the Hunter comin’ up to keep you company. Be gentle, kiddies. We’re dealin’ in a lot of Caritas virgins tonight.”

Spike’s head shot up and his eyes widened. Cordelia and Zangy were doing a number together?

Oh, fucking priceless.

“What do you bet,” Gunn sneered appraisingly, “that they do ‘Anything You Can Do’?”

“Close,” Lorne agreed as he joined them. “It’s a showtune. Their aura was so similar when they came in that I had Bobby whip them up a little something special.”

“Better.” Wesley shrugged. “I thought you might have paired them off with a Sonny and Cher number.”

“I’d say Simon and Garfunkel,” Tara volunteered. “B-but that’s just because I like Mrs. Robinson.”

A despondent look overcame the Host. “Damn. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

The chords struck and drew everyone’s attention briefly to the uncomfortable duet at the front. Cordelia looked a bit more flexible than Wright; the man was unsmiling, as though the world itself had lost its sense of whimsy.

But, being the team player that he was, he let his eyes drift to the teleprompter and began singing.

“You'll have to be a little more standoffish,” he chimed, “When your formers come by looking for a date.”

Spike grinned. Bloody priceless.

“What a way to start out our relationship,” Cordelia shot back in song. “Now I can see why I should’ve made you wait.”

“For what?” he demanded.

“For this.” She gracefully gestured to her rear.

The Host shook his head. “Quite a pair, the both of them. Even I couldn’t have predicted that match.” He turned back to Buffy with a wry grin. “You did fine, blossom. Stop looking so glum.”

Spike tilted his head to the side. “Can you tell us anythin’?”

“The strawberry is the only fruit that bears its seeds on the outside.”

“I heard how you were kickin' up some capers,” Wright continued on stage. “Before when I was still on the go. I heard some things you couldn't print in papers, from your friends, who’ve been talkin' like they know!”

The peroxide vampire rolled his eyes. “How about somethin’ useful.”

Lorne grinned. “So sue the green guy for having a sense of humor.” He shook his head and turned to Buffy. “You got some times coming up ahead, cinnamon buns. Some are good, some are on the side of not. But you’ll always have people there along the way.” He nodded at Spike. “Just stick by them, and all should be a slice of apple-pie.”

“I only did the kind of things I oughta—sorta,” Cordelia had retaliated in song. “To any I was as faithful as can be—for me. Those stories 'bout the way I lost my bloomers—Rumors! A lot of tempest in a pot of tea!”

“The whole thing doesn’t sound very good to me.”

“Well you see…”

The Slayer’s frown hadn’t alleviated. She worried a lip between her teeth and traded a long glance with Spike. “Is there anything else?” she asked. “Like…everything has changed. Everything. And—”

“I can only tell you enough to get you on your way, strudels. Everything else is up to you.”

Spike snickered and rolled his eyes. “I shoulda warned you, luv. Big Green here’s not exactly keen on what the rest of society refers to as details.”

“There are a lot of conflicting pathways in the massive cream pastry of the universe, and you probably knew that,” the Host explained. “I’m not a mystic fortune teller, sugarbritches, and you know it. I just need to send you two on the right one.”

On stage, Zack had been given a lengthy piece of fast-spoken versed dialogue. He was all but tripping over himself to keep up. “I didn’t even sow my last wild oat, and I’ve cut out all girlies.” His brows arched as though that meant something. “I save my money, don't gamble or drink in and am out before the earlies! I’ll give up all the other things that a gentleman never mentions. But before I give up anymore, I wanna know your intentions!”

“The most I can tell you is that you’ve made the right decisions thus far. Now all you gotta do is avoid baby-faced doctors and tall towers.” Lorne smiled as though he had told a joke that no one understood. “The world will hand you a slice of fine and send you on your way if you let it. Your friends need to be trusted, because they trust you with their lives. The whole of them, honey. Not just a few.”

“With me it's all or nothin’,” Wright was singing loudly. “Is it all or nothin’ with you? It can’t be ‘in between’. It can’t be ‘now and then’. No half and half romance will do.”

“Towers and doctors…” Buffy repeated with a frown. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry, pumpkin. You will.”

“If you can’t give me all, give me nothin’. And nothing’s what you'll get from me!”

“Not even something?” Cordelia protested in song.

“Nothing’s what you’ll get from me!”

A sigh of exasperation rang through the platinum vampire. “This has all been very helpful. It has. Really. ‘m not jus’ sayin’ that. But the thing is—”

“I know what the thing is, Spikelbum.” Lorne turned back to Buffy. “You’ve already given your gift, tootsie. Had you not, we might have reason to be worried. But it’s been given, whether or not you know it. And giving it twice wouldn’t do any good anyway. So, like I said, stay away from towers and baby-face doctors, and that will set you on your path.”

“Can we move into a house?” the Seer was singing, “All painted white? Make it ghost-clean and pretty and bright?”

Wright leered at her. “Big enough for only just us three?” he demanded in turn, indicating a small child with his free hand.

Cordelia nodded as though she understood, face flushed from exertion, albeit she seemed to really be getting into the number. “Supposing that we should have another?” she replied, making a move that would suggest a pregnant stomach.

“He better look a lot like me.”

“The spitting image!”

“He better look a lot like me!”

Buffy pursed her lips, heaving out a sigh. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah. I can tell you one more thing.” The Host moved to cross between them, clamping down a hand on the peroxide vampire’s shoulder. “Not to go all Tammy Wynette on you, pumpkin, but stand by your man. I guarantee he won’t let you down. Now, come on, Spikalicious. You’re on next.”

He blinked. “What?”

Gunn grinned, briefly jarred from the performance on stage and nudged the Slayer with a wink. “Oh, he’s gonna sing? You’ll fuckin’ love it.”

The prospect admittedly was a fun one. So much hype had been made about the vampire’s singing voice that her curiosity was effectively piqued.

“Why do you bloody have to read me?” Spike demanded.

“Because your lady’s future is tied in with yours, you big blonde fluffball,” Lorne retorted boldly. “And I can’t read the first half of a good book without knowing how it ends.”

“Spike is going to sing?” Tara asked, tearing her eyes away from the spectacle at the front with some reluctance.

Buffy grinned. “Looks like.”

“I want everyone here to know that this is against my will.”

“I would request some Sinatra,” Wesley offered with a wry grin. “But I don’t think that would do any good.”

An adorable pout crossed the platinum vampire’s mouth. “I hate you all.”

The Slayer’s brows arched and she leaned into his inviting arms to steal a kiss from his lips. “Not all of us, I’d hope.”

As expected, his eyes softened, but not nearly enough to grant her the kind of leeway she was looking for. It all served to make him wholly who he was. Spike without the preliminaries. Just Spike. “No,” he agreed huskily. “Not all. But then, the Bit’s not here, is she?”

“You think you’re funny…”

“But ‘m actually hilarious.” He grinned and kissed her again. “Be prepared to be blown away, luv.”

“With you it's all or nothin’,” Cordelia was singing. “All for you and nothin’ for me. But if a woman is wise, she'll realize that men like you are wild and free. So I’m not gonna fuss. I’m not gonna frown. Have your fun. Go out on the town. Stay up late and don't come home till three. And go right off to sleep if you're sleepy.” She leaned forward to pat his head condescendingly. “There's no use waiting up for me!”

A frown befell his face. “Oh come on, Cordy!”

She had begun to move away, swaying teasingly to the music. “No use waiting up for me.”

His expression turned rakish, and he neared her like a predator. “Come on and kiss me!”

She almost made it, but he grasped her by the wrist and pulled her to him without another beat. The crowd went wild. “No use waiting up for—”

He kissed her. And that was that.

“Woo!” the Host applauded, wheedling his way on stage once more. “Someone get the hose, those two are on fire! Or need to be separated before we offend some of our younger patrons—one or the other, take your pick! Our next performer is no stranger to Caritas. You might remember him as the killer vamp with a heart of gold. Give up to Spike the Chipless Wonder!”

That was it. Buffy, Gunn, Wright, Cordelia, and Wesley all burst out laughing, especially when he meandered unenthusiastically on stage. Tara, for her part, smiled like a good sport, but the look on her face was all too much of a reminder that chipless as he was, Spike did not hold her trust. Yet.

He truly looked ready to kill them all.

A beat past before an unmistakable beat rang through the air and changed his attitude drastically. The switch was so sudden that Buffy reckoned even the Powers could not have anticipated a blast of unprecedented merriment. In a flash, he went from grouchy and unaccommodating to sporting the most ridiculous smile she had ever seen.

“Charlie!” he called into the crowd, drawing attention to Gunn as though even the most obscure of demons knew it was he that was being addressed. “This one’s for you, mate! Don’ say I never did anythin’ for you!”

The man in question frowned, confused.

Then grinned.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” Tara asked.

“He’s actually gonna do it.”

Despite the unspoken implication, Spike had turned into a performer at the tune and raised the microphone before his voice touched the air. “Here she comes now sayin' Mony Mony.”

Five jaws dropped simultaneously.

Then Buffy burst out laughing.

Followed by Wright and Cordelia.

“Shoot 'em down, turn around come on Mony!” He was rocking rhythmically now, winking at them, seemingly uncaring that they were poking fun at his expense. “Hey, she give me love and I feel all right now. Come on, you gotta toss and turn, an’ feel all right, yeah I feel all right! I said yeah—”

He turned the microphone obediently to the audience, who screamed an enthusiastic, “Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

Fat tears were rolling down Buffy’s cheeks, she was laughing so hard. And the sight of her jollity seemed to be enough to egg Spike on. “'Cause you make me feel so good! So good! So good! So fine, so fine. It's all mine. Well I feel all right. I said yeah.”

“Yeah!” the audience yelled back.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

A series of cadenced claps settled through the spectators. In the back, the Slayer and the others were rocking back and forth in beat, clapping along with them. The most effective form of dancing while sitting he had ever seen. He swore the lot of them moved like unemployed synchronized swimmers.

Never, ever had he imagined a scene to compare to the one now.

It was so much fun. And Spike didn’t have fun. Not with others. Not like this.

These past few days with Buffy, with everyone, had been the best of his life.

“Wake it, shake it Mony Mony. Up down, turn around, come on Mony. Hey, she gimme love, an’ I feel all right now.” He threw his head back theatrically. “Don't stop now! Come on Mony! Come on yeah, I said yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah.”

“'Cause you make me feel so good! So good! So good! So fine, so fine. It's all right. Well I feel all right.” The music continued along with the recorded backup, but that was as far as Spike felt he needed to go. Dramatically, he tossed the microphone into the crowd, snagged a bow, and hopped down into a frenzied sea of enthusiastic patrons.

In seconds, he found himself hugging an armful of Buffy, who was still trembling from the power of her mirth.

“Like I said,” Cordelia shouted over the music and the cheers. “You coulda made it big!”

“I can’t believe you finally sang Billy Idol!” Gunn yelled.

“I made a truce,” Spike retorted with a shrug. The Slayer had yet to let go of him. “’S not an Idol original, so I figured there was no harm.”

“You were great,” a voice rumbled against his throat before pulling back to attack his lips with ardent. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Everything.”

Spike smiled softly and held her to him. Oh yes.

Whatever they faced from there, it was worth it. Whatever Lorne told him, it was worth it. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was worth it. So worth it that he nearly forgot Angel had been a part of the crowd.

Nearly.

But for everything else, for the first time in forever, he knew he was happy.

And for the rest of whatever happened, nothing could take that away.