Rating: R
Timeline: Post Season 6 with no reference to Season 7
Summary: Spike, struggling with his soul and his love for Buffy, is offered redemption from a very surprising source. However, when signs of an uprising evil begin to appear, he must face his fear and guilt and return to the place it all began for him—Sunnydale.

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] [Epilogue]

*~*~*

A/N: The events in this chapter are inspired by Porphyria's Lover, a poem by Robert Browning, which can be found here: http://www.whysanity.net/creative/browning.html. Also, Buffy quotes Dante's first sonnet from La Vita Nova. I might also point out that this chapter was written several months prior to the chapters preceding it, when I stumbled across the aforementioned poem and decided it would be a unique play into the story.

The air smelled of rain and carried the tenor of chamber music. Calming, deceptive sounds of pleasant repose. It strived for the sensationalism of normality—serene and quiet. However, after a century of experience, he knew not to place faith based on sensory. Eyes were deceiving; scents were unreliable, and sound—ah, sound. Sound was the worst of all. A menacing opponent—it threw itself at walls while scampering down empty corridors, whispered false promises and distorted to shape itself as forbidden hungers, coaxing the impotent to hear what they desired.

Every fiber of his being stretched with pain, prompting him to scream in torment before lasting recollections came searing back. A flash of blinding white and it was over. Over…he was falling. Falling before he could be sacrificed. Falling before he could be saved.

The Gate of Abraxas had opened. He had raced to close it. He had failed.

His eyes squeezed shut, bidding the world away. Against black pits, he saw her lunge first, battling him with superior strength and speed. Winning against his deepest wishes. But they had both disappeared into the portal. He remembered falling.

All right, he thought. I hurt enough to know I’m still undead. The… William glanced upward, fighting to see something he recognized. The scene was blurry against his eyes, but the scent was so achingly familiar, a sharp pain sprang tightly across his chest. Old and abandoned—the crypt of his past. The crypt he had occupied what felt like centuries ago. Where they had shared intimacy after intimacy. The same Riley had detonated the day she told him it was over.

Buffy. Where was she? He tried to sit up but pain drew him back. If he had survived, she was alive as well. Willow and Angel would have taken him elsewhere. Something…

Giles’s words came back to haunt him. The Gate will only close with a sacrifice of pure psyche… Abraxas seems to think that justifies the means. It would, of course, kill the carrier—but that is the material point. Something horrible retracted in exchange for something good.

At that, his eyes widened. Pure psyche? Did that mean…

He tested his resolve, forcing his mind to the darkest hour his demon had ever conjured. It was a path he never wished to see again. A plane he could not avoid. The thought of her squirming, kicking, screaming beneath him as he heard only what he wanted to hear. Saw only what would give him release.

A sharp pain engulfed his chest, and William expelled a jagged, agonized breath. No. The conscience was still there. The guilt. The suffering.

That meant…

Something significant fell within him. It was then he knew. Then that he understood.

She was gone.

It had hurt him before. Once upon a time, six years ago, when her voice filled his black heart with empty promises, false desires and misguided demands. His sight had betrayed him more than once. For what seemed like a lifetime, he thought he saw her as receptive. That his own could be repaid. Sweet retribution for the anguish his fallen heart forced him to endure.

Everything was different now. He had wronged her in the past; there was no doubt, but never without punishment. There toward the end, he found himself abused for repressions he could not have possibly initiated. Hated with such seething rage one minute and ignored the next. She had hurt him so many times. All thrust and parry. Kick and punch. Snap and pull.

The evidence was irrefutable. She had led him here. She had fueled his holy crusade. She had given him life after taking it so many times. She provided the reason to animate his useless lungs. Over and over again, she had gone to him to die. And despite her silent pleas that screamed for the release of inward torment, he was the one who fell cold, who underwent her stare, her bitterness, her biting tongue. Who knew how it felt to be hurt time and after time.

William’s eyes snapped shut and a sharp pain jittered up his spine. In seconds she would enter, and he had not the strength to fight through the barriers and run. The voice housed deep within his cavity told him it was justified. That whatever she threw at him was minimal compared to the pain he inflicted. It was true on some level. Despite her frenzied blows, he had bitten her back. Every chance he got: a barb here, a reminder there, a punch when it didn’t hurt so much.

But she was his Buffy. Loving her meant loving the hurt, the torment, the fire that raged despite numerous attempts to calm her screaming soul. Time after time, he willingly threw himself onto the flame, and she had resented it. Resented the evidence that a creature as dark as he could love where others in his place had proven it impossible a thousand times to their credit.

Everything was different now. Now he had lost her behind the fire forever. The silence whispered lies that he could have prevented it. Regardless of how incapacitated he was, if he had truly made an effort, neither one of them would be here. Instead, he had stood there—confined by spiritual resistance and will battling his darker nature—as breath was stolen from her body, her essence vacating to make way for a new sort of evil. A being he couldn’t comprehend with powers he would never have. And it wanted justice. It wanted his head on a platter. Notwithstanding the knowledge that he deserved all of what was to come, every rational nerve in his body screamed that this was his last chance. There was time now—he could writhe and struggle and try to escape, but his weakened potency betrayed his will. There was nothing to do. Nothing to do but wait.

An ache harboring in his chest begged for a second futile gulp of air. With every useless intake, her scent lingered nearer. He knew she was coming and hated that he was powerless to prevent it. That he would lie here like the lapdog she had modeled him in to. The consistent it’s not really her, it’s not really her played through his mind fruitlessly. Whether it was her or not, he knew he would not lift a finger to harm a golden hair on her head. He was here forever. Through good or bad, willingly doomed to endure the best of times and the worst of times. He would remain. To protect and watch after her, after her sister, to do anything she asked of him.

He had done this to her. It hadn’t been his doing, his siring, but he was responsible.

After so many years committing atrocities with a song in his heart, to reflect the events accumulating the past decade with remorse struck as dark and unnatural. He had killed before—so had she. And that was the way it was, and the way he had accepted it. The inconvenience a conscience ruined the fun of plain and simple madness. And yet here he was. He would have killed to keep himself from falling behind the lines of tedium once, a time that did not seem so long ago. He had tried to kill her more times than he could count.

Things had been so basic then. Enemies were not supposed to love each other, but there was a sense of poetic beauty to the philosophy. The wisdom hidden by his willful ignorance screamed that life was simply that—hurting because you love. Hurting the ones you love because you love them. The simplest motives in history reduced to one conclusion. And here they were. They had bled together, wept together, fought together; exchanged hate, sarcasm, hurt and turmoil, kisses, love, and the promise that someday this crazy world might make sense.

It didn’t. He was still here. Waiting to die again. Waiting for the minute that would be his final death.

Eyesight was returning but he didn’t want to glance around. The room was home to him, or had been long ago. They had shared much in here—the atmosphere was her essence. He could smell it from a mile away. In those years apart, he thought of nothing else. The thrill of home was overrated. He had longed to return to this place with every fiber of his being, and it had all been in vain. Though blame for the recent turn of events could in no way be discarded at his feet, William could not escape the feeling of liability. The scorn of the deepest sort of guilt.

You hurt me to make yourself feel better, he reflected, unsure where such meditations originated. Thoughts running through his mind were so aged that he had long ago thought them dead and buried. With a futile sigh, he attempted to flicker his wrist, a finger, an eyelid, anything that would confirm his lingering willpower to move. Anything to encourage him to bound to his feet and run. Now. Now. Run now. While the chance was still alive.

William scoffed. His chest heaved with motion and sent a wave of pain crashing through his body. Bloody hell. Nix the entire escaping idea. Neither of us are alive…the chance might as well die, too.

A second wave overpowered him with heartbreaking awareness. The alien feel of inward torment shuddered through his broken body. Pain! Four years later, and he was still unaccustomed to the disclaimer the infliction of pain came with. Buy this one, kiddies. Side effects sold separately. It made him shiver to think he had at some point enjoyed this. A lifetime ago. Spike had been perverse. He had loved pain, fed off it. Every punch seemed to satisfy more than hurt. Amazing that so many things could change with simple consciousness. Love. Loving her was the most agonizing experience of his existence, but he welcomed it. Welcomed everything that loving her meant, even if she could never voice the return of his sentiments. Despite the moments of tenderness they had shared in the past, the confession of love buried within his throat fueled her rage, pumped through her like blood. He was a monster, after all. A shell of a man, and it was conventional knowledge that such creatures could not love.

He had loved, despite reasoning and logicality, and that changed everything.

She was coming.

That was all knowledge would allow. Not with the wind and tide that crashed behind the door. Soon she would enter, and all would change. He would see her for the first time since he allowed her to die. Really see her. The thing she was made to become. Cold. So cold. William was no stranger to it. Long ago his ability to differentiate the tone of separate seasons had abandoned him. Winter and summer were one in the same. That changed the first time he touched her skin and absorbed its warmth—alive—and he knew life would never be the same. Every day of his existence thereafter was a mocking attempt to reclaim what he lost.

What he lost was about to walk through that door. What he lost had once been pure; it was now a dark, evil thing. A reason his heart would have squealed in delight once upon a time, if only to find a mate as black as he. The layers of kindness he had often seen trapped behind her eyes would be replaced with empty nothingness of the worst sort. Nothingness could still hold something. Even nothing was something, in most respects. Not so with her. She had fallen in the worst of ways, and there had been no one to catch her—try as he had.

But she was coming now, and he could not avoid her. He would have to look into those eyes, those black pits of nothingness and know he created it. That he brought her to that lowly state, one way or another.

If I hadn’t come back, if I hadn’t come back…

The mantra was growing old. Rationality fought for a break. True, he did have a significant role in her transformation, but it wasn’t by returning. He had watched her die once and couldn’t bear the chance of it happening again. So he had protected her, fought with her, loved her, hurt her and left when it became unbearable. Now he was back and she was gone again, only this time lost where no one could reach her.

And she was coming.

A breeze flittered. Small, nearly indistinguishable, but existent. It carried only two meanings; someone was coming or leaving. The stillness of the sepulcher was disturbed, and he braced himself.

The affect of her actual entrance, though, was overwhelmingly reassuring. He knew her face anywhere, could identify it through a multitude of hundreds, could feel her eyes piercing him with that all-familiar glower. That was her face, all right. The face he had sketched a thousand times, had etched painfully tight in the back of his mind. The naked eye would never be able to decipher the difference; it took one who had been there to see beyond the fine print and through the lines. He saw, and his discovery sent roars of thunderous relief through his body. It wore her face, maneuvered in her body, spoke in her tongue, might act, portray, even feel the frontage of the woman he loved—but this was not his Slayer.

It was the eyes that gave it away. The eyes and her body language. The way she moved as though she wanted him, without second thoughts, hesitation, or remorse. Regardless of what had happened, what screams and confessions she had plundered, she had never looked at him like that. A sense of abandonment crackled behind her vacant gaze. Her soul that stank of such nobility—amidst confusion—was gone. Killed? Perhaps. She had died so many times; her spirit must have finally departed as well.

Grief overpowered him first, but it was short-lived. The image he had been dreading was standing before in the center of the room, mimicking him with her face, but it wasn’t her.

It wasn’t her.

That thought alone coaxed him from the pivotal edge of reasoning. It wasn’t her. Whatever it was, it was the thing that killed her. This idle beast was no threat. He had to see. He had to see to gather the strength for what had to be done next. For what had to be finished; for his redemption and her release. William exerted a breath. He had to kill her.

Again.

Bloody irony.

Candlelight accented her skin with enchanting neutrality. Like she had so many times before, she flushed when she saw him. It was distracting; she wasn’t supposed to flush now. The vestige made her look too alive for comfort, and he had to keep himself convinced that she was gone. Such a game was used to distract the weak-minded and those who saw only with their hearts without firstly considering the consequences. William was used to that; doing before he allowed his mind to catch up with him and scream, THAT’S PROBABLY NOT A GOOD IDEA! He could not afford to lose his wits now. She depended on him. She needed him. Needed him to be strong.

Needed him to kill her.

Like a predator seeking its prey, she stalked toward him, eyes blazing briefly with the sense that was so comfortingly not her that he had to suppress a sad grin of recognition. It would not do well to burst into tears.

His face was set in a glare to which she did not react. Instead, she circled the bed attentively, eyes never leaving him though his gaze stubbornly refused to abandon the incessant stare of straight ahead. Not a shudder ran through him, not a beat rippled across his skin. Much to his controlled surprise, he was steady in reaction, knowing a slip could set him back in the game. He was already too far behind to tread additional barriers.

Then she was behind him, prodding his face with hers, studying him as she ran her hand arms length across his shoulders, not eliciting even a sigh. A whimper. Nothing to acknowledge her presence. There she stood in silence, considering. He imagined her head tilted coyly to the left as her teeth gnawed thoughtfully on her lower lip. The picture tickled his mouth with a grin before he bade it away. No, no. Not Buffy, he had to remind himself. That was a Buffy-characteristic. The person behind him was not Buffy.

He decided to call her Porphyria. If she was not Buffy, she did not deserve her name.

Finally she completed her circle, moving to stand in front of him once more; a breathtaking vision of death. When she saw his response had not alternated, she grinned at last, crossing her arms in that wonderfully familiar patronizing fashion. “Hello, lover,” she said.

An inward flinch exercised his pain. He did not respond—just stared ahead.

A visible fraction of distaste creased her brow. Silence would not do. With a sigh of air that was just as useless to her as it was to him, she sizzled forward, tempting his eyes to drop from hers, but he would not look away. And so in silence they stared. Power versus power. His previously sated muscles began to writhe.

When she could wait no longer, Porphyria scowled and began the final approach. On all fours, she climbed toward him, a slow, cat-like death march. She crawled over his languorous form until only a breath separated them, clearly displeased when she still received no reaction. With intent, she tried once more, emanating a steady breath onto his lips. He did not so much as blink. Growling, she set herself aside, claiming the cold spot beside him, kneading his collarbone with her nearest hand.

The iciness of her touch did him in. At last, she was awarded her coveted response—eyes glimmering like birthstones of avarice. The inner rational lodged within his cavity began to scream that he was losing again. Losing all semblance of control, if he had ever possessed it. No, no, he couldn’t allow himself—but he did. It was inevitable. He felt her smile against his skin, persuading an arm to encircle her waist as her head found purchase against his shoulder.

Golden locks of hair tickled his senses, and he thought he was lost. William snapped his eyes shut to find the haven he had established for himself, but it was gone. All that was left was her.

“So silent,” she cooed. “Don’t you see? All is better now. Everything is as it should be.”

No, luv. Don’—

“He woke her then, and trembling and obedient she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw her then depart from me.” The creature batted her eyes at him, another useless refrain to beguile. “Not departing here, lover. Isn’t it time that I eat your burning heart? Hmmm? I will. Then you can stop pretending to live.”

She knew. Bitter reality. The battle was over before it began. Porphyria raised her head as her arms encircled his, reversing their positions so he was cradled, however unwillingly, in her embrace. Tenderness. The false façade of tenderness. Never in life, never in their time together—at least not until the end. It was easy to lose his sense of awareness, but the voice was persistent in its accusations.

Not real! Not real! False face!

Destructive cycle. He had to break free. Then she was speaking to him, her voice heavenly as her body reverberated against his cheek. He let his eyes drift closed again, arm wrapped around her side unwittingly drawing her nearer. As he melted into her, she brought a hand to stroke his own golden hair. A wave through—he had never known such softness. The illusion of what he had striven for all those years ago was with him now, whispering things he once would have killed to hear her say. Once but not now. Now all it brought was pain.

“You waited so long, didn’t you?” she murmured. “To hear me say it?”

William’s eyes opened wide and he again attempted to struggle, exertions made in vain as she shushed him and brought him back to her shoulder. No good—this was no good. No good could ever come from this. If he thought he was behind before, there was no way he could win the game now. Not without destroying himself along with her.

It was elegiac in that sense. The inner poet rejoiced. Finally, something to break the years of silence. Something worth writing about.

“Shhh,” Porphyria encouraged disarmingly, stroking his hair with everlasting compassion, however untrue. For a fleeting moment, the play seemed better than reality. “I’ll say it now. You need to hear it once more. I’ll make everything right again.”

No no no no no! Unmask! Unmask!

When he attempted to fight again, when he sat up to look away, her strength overpowered him. She grasped his head and forced him to look at her—into those soulless eyes that were not Buffy. Into the face of the thing that killed her. The thing that used her voice now to make toddle things in her favor.

Damned if he let her—

“I love you.”

The single utterance of the over spoken phrase should not have done him in, but it did. William’s body quivered with release and he sank forward. Never before had she said it with such liberation. True, he had heard her voice the confession over and over since his return; releasing her burden with a heavy heart, as though she should be punished for her lack of insight and misplaced judgment. It was honest, of course. He had wronged her and she him, and they had known anything above hatred would only lead them into the fire. Yet they had persisted anyway, as the stubborn always do. At the time, he had been certain that they could subdue anything that stood in their way. They both had beaten death.

It hadn’t been too long ago that she first professed her long-concealed feelings. When he returned and she found him, and they spoke at length about the past. About everything that had occurred before his departure. They had debated over the scorn, the fear, the angst, the heartache, the mistakes, the wounds that hurt still, even after so many years. And then, Buffy had turned her eyes downward before they could glaze over in tears.

“I bring up the past for a reason,” she had said. “It reminds me of all the things I’ve done. The good and the…very bad. And every time I think of you, I know that I…I was too selfish. You gave me the fire back, and even though it was what I asked for, I hated you because of it. I was scared, and I ran, and I hurt you because I was hurting myself.” Buffy had paused meaningfully, a single tear of solidarity skidding down her cheek. “I loved you then…and I still do…and I hate myself for it. I shouldn’t…love you, I mean. After everything you’ve done, what I’ve done to you. You hurt me so much, but I still love you.” A stomp of her left foot as she yielded to frustration. “Why? It shouldn’t be like this. And I hate it! I hate that I can’t stop. I hate—” And she broke down, sobbing into her hands as he offered her the comfort of an embrace, avoiding a similar outburst with futility.

He remembered what he had thought, and it was as true then as it was now. If there wasn’t blood, there would be tears.

Such emotion had wracked her tone. Love was supposed to draw people together, not drive them apart. And still, the roller coaster rides he had endured in the past proved none to the contrary. Love was a lie; a joke they made for the movies. An intangible being that people spent their lifetimes trying to achieve; reaching, grasping, even touching from time to time, but never owning. Never holding. Unconditional love was nonexistent in his experience. His misplaced faith in the destructive cycle had allowed his overly broken heart to be used again and again…

And still, here she was, saying things she could not possibly mean. Uttering her confession as a release and not a prison. It had never given her pleasure. When she was at his side, all she could feel was sharp pains of self-disgust and remorse. And though it pained him, William had to see beyond what he wanted and what was true. The woman curled beside him might look and speak like her, but it wasn’t. Once upon a time, he was accused of being in love with pain. He had been; perhaps he still was. He could have her now if he wanted, but he didn’t. He didn’t want her because it wasn’t her. This…Porphyria wasn’t the Slayer, no matter how well she had dressed up for the role and rehearsed her lines. It wasn’t Buffy.

William exerted a breath as his body finally defeated its ailment, leaping beyond the bound. Then he was up, wrenching free from her grasp as he turned to look at her, muscles flexing as the strength returned. The face that was Porphyria looked back, smiled her deceptive smile, and leaned invitingly into the pillows.

The image made him growl, and the fire within exploded. Furiously, he lunged for her, taking a fistful of golden hair and wrapping it thrice around her throat. Her hands went to his wrists, and her superior potency might have succeeded in prying him away had he not straddled her waist, eyes gleaming with dangerous objective. An animalesque gaze he had not issued anyone in what felt like centuries burned his eyes, pumping his long useless veins with something blacker than hate. He had never before had the drive to kill as he did now. Kills in the past were committed quickly—without ceremony. For convenience and survival, to pass the time and worn off boredom. Now, he killed for release. Porphyria had locked his beloved away, and he would fight until he won her back.

Hold on her hair firm and unwavering, he growled once more before he tugged. He grasped and pulled, watching her writhe beneath him, the darkness of her pupils contradicting the tenderness he had felt not two minutes before. Fleetingly, he supposed her gleam was supposed to intimidate him, but it only fueled his conviction. She writhed, thrashing and kicking under his grasp, but he held resolutely with all his might. The more she struggled, the more determined his tug became. Cold hatred coursed through his trembling body, and he pored his rage, self-resent, and frustration into her. Cutting her off her—killing Buffy’s murderer in sweet reprisal.

When the last was coming, he jerked especially hard, tearing the slightest bit of scalp from her head as her muffled gasps subsided and her body collapsed, motionless. The untamed glimmer in his eyes flashed dangerously. “That’s bloody right, bitch,” he muttered bitterly. “You let her go.”

But the body beneath him did not respond. Red marks stretched along her neck; whispers of a thousand little fingers that sucked her life away. It was a sight he had seen often; had induced often; but the look was strange on her. The frontage of being dead. Lying there, breathless, pulseless, skin ivory white without blood rousing her cheeks.

It wasn’t over. William knew resignedly death could not stop her. The past attempts were fruitless; there wasn’t any reason that this time would be different. With a sigh, he leaned forward wearily and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“We’ll make things right, luv,” he promised idly, entwining a piece of hair around his forefinger. “Somehow, we’ll make things right.”

For now, however, that was all he could do. Porphyria was gone, and return as she might, there had to be hope for Buffy. As the storm calmed, he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. His body commanded him to run, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Strength, in every essence, had betrayed him. There he clutched her for the remainder of the night, tightly, protectively. He nuzzled her hair, rested his cheek against her crown, and waited for the night to stretch into day.

“Make things right,” he murmured as he slipped from consciousness. “Even if it kills me, pet, I’ll find a way to make things right.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

"What do you mean, she came and left?" Willow snapped stridently.

"I mean, very simply," Giles replied, "that Buffy came by here, said there had been an accident, and was on her way."

"She was in and out in two seconds," Anya verified. "Did something go badly? She mentioned Spike was hurt."

Xander's brows arched. "And from that cryptic message, you would never guess there was trouble. She said something to me about the ritual...that it had taken Spike's soul away and that you two-"

A pained look overwhelmed Angel's features, and he had to grasp Willow's shoulder to maintain balance. It was a poorly timed tactical move, as she chose that instant to keel forward in a fit of sickly comprehension. "Oh God!" she gasped.

The vampire retained some restraint, straightening with a huff of composure. "Something went wrong with the ceremony," he said. "The Gate opened... Buffy opened it when she threw the Master into it."

Giles had paled significantly. Disbelief shadowed his expression. "The Master?"

"We weren't able to help!" Willow sobbed. "I tried but she said it was... she jumped through! I told her she shouldn't and she did anyway. She and Spike... they raced for it and... I don't know who got there first."

"Buffy did," Angel whispered. There was no denying his assumption; the look on his face was enough substantiation for anyone to read. "She would not have said we were with her if it wasn't true. She walked right passed us without even registering that we were there."

With every minute, the Watcher was becoming increasingly paranoid. It was a wonder his glasses were still arched on his nose rather than relegated to the hem of his shirt. No one had ever seen him more troubled. "Then there was a serious miscalculation that I did not consider," he concluded in devastation. "Buffy leapt through the Gate to close it?"

Willow sniffed and drew her arm across her eyes. "Y-yes. I swear, Giles, I tried... but she was too quick. And Spike... he took off and she yelled at him and then they... they were both gone."

"In so many ways, I'm not loving the look on the G-Man's face," Xander said apprehensively. "Buffy jumped into the Gate. It's closed, I presume?"

Both the Witch and Angel nodded weakly.

"Where's Spike?"

"She carried him out," the vampire answered. "The look on her face-"

"-like she was dead-"

"-she didn't know who she was, or where she was-"

"-I was afraid to say anything. She looked as though-"

"The Gate of Abraxas tore her soul from her body," Giles murmured. His voice was barely above a whisper, but the revelation echoed through the house with all its horrible conception. "It should have killed her... but she was already dead. The portal couldn't recognize that distinction." It was a face the Watcher had never before worn. Every spark of animation withered and died. For long seconds, it appeared he would break down, but he did not. His grief was beyond the expression of tears. "Dear Lord..."

Anya frowned, unsettled beyond reproach but still maintaining a firm grasp on her stamina. "Well... why didn't she come and kill us, then? She appeared fine when she dropped by. She-"

"The orb," Xander gasped, tears clouding his eyes. "She took the orb. Said Willow needed it for the curse."

The Watcher looked at him sharply. "You gave it to her?" he snapped, but there was lack of conviction to support the indictment. "You simply handed it over?"

"How was I supposed to know?!" the other cried. "It was... it was Buffy! She said she needed it and I gave it to her. Just like you would've done. Don't start pointing fingers at me!"

"He's right," Angel muttered. "Any one of us would have done the same. If Willow and I hadn't seen her for ourselves..."

Color was slowly returning to Giles's visage. The same face of disbelief overwhelmed him, but the clockwork of his thought process was beginning to tick once more. "What about Will? You say she carried him out?"

"He was unconscious," the Witch explained. Her face was swollen red from crying. "I guess the Gate knocked him out. She was holding him and she carried him out."

The concern glowering through Anya's eyes became significantly more manifest. "She... she wouldn't... hurt him... would she?"

All eyes fell on Angel.

The vampire sighed. "The only vampire I knew... well, personally, who was sired by the Master was Darla. She made me, and you guys know the story. There were many things that she was... when I knew her. Before..."

"Yes, before you impregnated her," Anya said. "We understand that. Go on."

He tossed her a dry look, but they lacked time for petty squabbling. "She was a menace. Just like any other vampire... only not. She... she had the capacity for love that Spike had. That Dru had. That I-"

"Lacked?" Xander offered.

There was no denying that, but even still, Angel managed to appear somewhat hurt. "Yes. I'm not sure what to expect of... of Buffy. She loved Spike, right?"

Harris nodded. "For reasons beyond me."

This time, both Giles and Willow sent him a look that warned him to tone it down before they interjected verbally. It was a message well received.

"Well, seeing as they share vampiric roots... she might have tried..." Angel shook his head. "But she would have failed, from what I've seen of him. Sp... erm... Will. Whatever you call him these days... whatever he did, if he's regained consciousness... it's been enough to keep him alive. For now, at the very least." Aggressively, he turned to Willow. "Do you have any idea where she would have taken him?"

She shook her head, another onslaught of tears grasping her before she could speak.

"None at all? Any place unique to..." The word was difficult to place for its implications, but that made it no less valid. "Them?"

"Not that I can think of."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Come on. There has to be something! When she and Spike were together-"

"Together in the sense of using him for sex?" Xander asked unhelpfully.

"I don't care how or in what sense!" he finally shouted, flustering in remnants of still-lingering embitterment. It was an odd color on him, especially at such a moment. "Where would they go?"

"To his crypt." The voice came from the top of the stairs, carrying with it much-craved ignorance and repression. Dawn was finally emerging from her room, having once again bombarded herself inside after Willow left hours earlier. "When Spike and Buffy were doing the funky monkey, I'd think the safest place for them to go would be his crypt."

Xander made a face of disgust. "Ummm... yeah. Having seriously revolting flashback here. Remember when Buffy was inviso-girl? I went to ask Spike if he had seen her and he was..." For a second, it appeared he really was going to be sick. "He was... 'exercising' on his bed."

"Exercise on his bed? Who would..." Willow turned bright red and looked down. "Oh. I get it."

The next question was the sort only Anya would have the gall to ask. "What kind of exercises?"

Harris arched a brow. "Push-ups. What did you think?"

"Well, he could have-"

"Really, Ahn!" He stepped back, covering his ears. "That's the sort of question nobody expects you to answer!"

She frowned. "Then it's stupid to ask."

"Enough talk about the sexcapades," Dawn stated, directing her gaze toward Giles. "What's going on? Why the group convo? Where's Buffy?"

An ambush of uncomfortable looks were exchanged.

The look of mild disconcertion converted into full-blown distress. The girl's eyes went wide and, without suggestion, tears started skating down her cheeks. "What? Is she... she... where's Spike?"

Willow stepped forward and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away with fervent force. "Don't bullshit me!" the Summers girl cried. "I don't want anything but the truth. Where are they?"

"We don't know," Giles said, finally removing his glasses. "Spike is alive, according to Angel. He will know if something happens. Your sister..."

"What?!" The shrill in Dawn's voice nearly breeched the sound barrier. "Where is she?! I deserve to know!"

"Buffy threw herself into the Gate," Anya said, earning a look of dissatisfaction from all angles. In defense, she shrugged and raised her arms in defense. "Good God! In case you haven't noticed, the girl is a teenager. It's not like she was raised on Care Bears and all those other warm fuzzies."

"Bunnies?" Willow suggested.

"WHERE?!" The vengeance demon leapt a mile in the air. When she noted the terrain was safely void of rabbits, she scowled at the Witch. "Not funny. Anyway, do you want me to tell her, or is one of you going to suck it up and do the adult thing? I'll do it if-"

"The Gate?" Dawn repeated, anger giving way to straight shocked abandonment. "Buffy threw herself into... the Gate? But...I thought that was... she..."

"To close it, sweetie," Willow explained, drying her eyes. If the matter was to be discussed with the young one, they had to gain composure of themselves. It would not do well to express such a want of forsaken hope in front of her. "The Master... well, he had your sister's blood in him. When he went through, the Gate opened. Buffy ran to close it. She and Spike... they both went through."

Angel rapidly stepped forward and grasped the girl's shoulder before she lost balance. For long minutes, they coached her to breathe and waited patiently for her to gain control. If by will or incredible stamina, Dawn refrained from breaking down. Her breathing fit seemed to be the worst of it. When she was ready to hear more, she glanced pitifully to the Witch in silent encouragement to continue.

"They both came back through," she concluded. "Buffy... she... she carried Spike out of there. Then she left."

At that, the girl grew angry. "What? And you didn't follow her? You didn't see if she was all right? God, you heartless-"

"Dawn." Giles this time - calm and collected, but still horribly shaken. "Something... something went horribly wrong with the ritual. Something that I should have..."

The reaction was instantaneous. At once, her skin paled and her eyes went wide. "What?"

"Buffy was able to close the Gate of Abraxas... but in retribution, it stole her goodness."

Realization struck, delayed and lingering in the shadows of denial. Dawn took a step forward, trembling anticipation returning to her tone. "Ummm..." she stuttered. "In English please?"

"Since Buffy is a vampire, she is already dead," Angel explained. "The Gate couldn't kill someone who's already dead. Not with the way it took lives. I'm suspecting it registered her as gone and stole her... her soul from her instead."

That was it. Dawn burst into tears and crumpled into a helpless heap on the ground. Immediately, Willow, Giles, and Xander all went to comfort her, but she screamed and tore up the stairs. Her thundering steps quaked through the house, and the slam of her door made the foundation shake. What occurred in the solitude of her bedroom left little to the imagination - between gaps of silence, the sound of muffled sobs filtered down the corridor.

A few minutes were needed to regroup.

"I have no idea what to expect of a soulless Buffy," Angel said, stepping forward. He grasped the railing on the staircase and squeezed so hard his already-pale skin whitened another shade. "But a vampire with that sort of strength... I don't want to think of the consequences. Spike's alive for now, but we can't bet how long her patience is going to last. Once she tires of him or gets frustrated, she'll likely stake him or... or something equally unpleasant. Wherever he is, we need to get him out of there. As soon as possible."

"I'll do another locater spell," Willow volunteered. "But I need some more herbs. I used most of my supplies during that last one." She turned to Anya. "Can you take me over to the Magic Box?"

The vengeance demon nodded. "Sure. We open at-"

"Now would be a good time!"

"Oh." She took a minute to look inconvenienced, then shrugged. "Fine. Whatever. But I want you to know this is strictly against store policy. It's nearly-"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Oh get on with it!" he snapped. "We used to do it all the time!"

"Used to being the operative phrase there, Harris," his former love replied contemptuously. "If memory serves-"

"You two will have plenty of time to settle your issues later!" Giles intervened. "In the meantime...Angel and I will visit the old crypt. It's a dead-end, but it's better than nothing."

"What do you want me to do?"

The Watcher looked Xander over cautiously and sighed in forlorn defeat. "Do you think you could hex the house? Make sure Buffy is uninvited? Once she tires of Will, she will most definitely come here. She will want to sever the ties to everything that ever made her-"

"Human," Angel whispered. A look of cold remorse shadowed him for brief seconds, but he was well beyond the point of reliving his sacrament. "I remember. We better go."

Giles's gaze remained trained on Harris. "Do you think you can do it?"

At his sheepish expression, Willow stepped forward and patted his shoulder encouragingly. "You don't need to be a warlock to do it, Xan. Just put the garlic and crucifixes up and say the incantation."

"We better take some crosses and stakes with us," Anya observed. "You know... in case we see anything."

Angel glanced at the Watcher. "You should, too. Just... watch where aim those things."

Heaving a breath, Giles nodded. "I concur... but be careful. We don't want to stake Buffy. There..." He turned to the vengeance demon. "Do you carry any Orbs of Thesula at the Magic Box? I'm not sure if they're still bought as paperweights. If not, we'll have to order one from England."

"I haven't sold any in a while," she replied, "or had to mark them on inventory. Truthfully, between managing that store and reaping vengeance across the world, I don't know where I get any time for myself. I'll look. Unless the shop's been raided or something..."

A still beat drew across the room.

"We better go," Willow said hurriedly, grasping Anya's arm.

"Yes...us, too," Giles replied. "Watch out, Xander. And arm yourself."

With haste, both teams took off. It was time to brave the night.

He awoke when the strain on his arms became unbearable. It felt someone was trying to tear his limbs from their sockets. The scent was different than he remembered. Wisps of feather-like fiber dangled between his fingers. William blinked once, then again, straightening his composure. That initiated a chain reaction; every nerve in his worn body howled in pain. Something rattled against stone and prompted his eyes open wide.

He was not where he had fallen asleep. The long forgotten chains he had once imprisoned Buffy in were once again being put to good use. William drew in a ragged breath, his eyes adjusting to the dark, vampiric or not. He welcomed the dark.

Such pain had not felt the plateaus of his physical existence since Glory wreaked fun during her torture session. He did not care to see what marks were there in reminder.

Another breath was all it took, and all the memories flooded through. William moaned aloud, his body straining to arch forward and held by the clasps that fastened each wrist. The bolts held still as he knew they would. He had not fashioned them in mind of an easy escape. With cunning, he stilled once more in dim recognition that she was close. Had to be close. He wondered mutedly how long he had been asleep.

"Very sloppy of you." Porphyria's voice came from the shadows. A mocking tone - completely void of any sentiment that might have harbored during their last exchange. "Brave, of course, in that really...'I have a death wish, ask me how' kinda way. My, my, Spike. Are you slipping? I would've thought even you would have the intelligence to-"

"Shove it, you right bitch," he snapped. "Can't blame a fellow for gettin' a bit winded every now an' then."

"Oh, but lover, you can't get winded. You can't use any of those mediocre excuses. I know what it tastes like, remember?" Slowly, Porphyria emerged. Not enough to truly engage the darkness, but he saw the outline of her form. The physique and foreign twinkle buried within those sadistic eyes. "I would've thought that you, of all the stupid vamps in this town, would have understood that. After all we've shared. After all you put me through." Quietly, she advanced again. He wasn't aware of her propinquity until her smell invaded his nostrils, her chest brushing against his. "You finally got what you wanted, didn't you, Spikey? Here I am. A creature of the shadows. I must say: your world fits very nicely. I think I like it here."

"I know well enough not to listen to a bloody word," William retorted, stretching forward, pushing into her in a silent ode that called her bluff. "You may walk the walk, pet, but you're the furthest thing there is in this world from a decent rendition of the good Slayer Song. They'll know when they see you."

Porphyria grinned madly, leaning forward until her mouth brushed against his. "Oh, but that's what makes it so sweet, my darling. They didn't. None of them. Not even Ripper, if you can imagine that. The big idiot! I walked right up to him-"

The platinum vampire growled ferociously and strained forward, ignoring the pain that sprung up and down his side and tackled his shoulders with brutal merriment. "'F you 'urt a one of 'em," he growled. "I swear, by God..."

"Now we're talking!" She turned away from him gleefully, stepping again into the dark. "I knew there had to be a little animal somewhere in you. A stupid soul couldn't have driven it all out. Let it go, Spike. Imagine the fun we could have."

"Easier said than done, pet," William retorted, spitting a tasteful of his own blood to the floor. "Not that I care a lick to help the likes of you."

A mocking tone filled her voice. "Oh stop. You'll hurt my feelings."

He strained again, pulling forward with useless effort. "You let 'er go! Stupid bint!"

"Why should I? I like it here." She prowled forward again, resting her hands on his chest. Cold skin atop cold skin. He shuddered in affect. With a saucy grin, she licked her way up to his ear, and whispered alluringly, "Don't pretend you haven't always wished this would happen, Spike. Think of the possibilities. You could have me any way, anywhere you wanted. We've earned this, don't you think? Me with my stupid slaying and my stupid morals, and oh FUCK the world!" Her eyes gleamed with sparks of insanity. "And YOU! With your pathetic penance. With your blubbering every two seconds about 'Oh, I wish things were different.' Like I wasn't a bitch in heat that didn't have it coming. I-"

William snarled and vamped, lunging his fangs for her and missing with a selective dodge. She cackled when she saw him, her eyes shining like emeralds. "You're not 'er," he snarled, fighting back the new desperation that struck. He remembered how effortlessly she had placed him under her whim while enticed upstairs, and would be damned if that would happen again. "You're not 'er, an' you know it. Bloody wench. Don' think they'll stop."

"What? GILES? The Brigade of all Do-Gooders Anonymous?" Porphyria cackled. "What can I say? I gave them a chance. A real chance. Walked in there, right under their noses, and took away the only possible thing that could restore... well... anything."

Even through the darkness, he could see the orb gleam as she held it up for examination. Something black pierced his heart. Oh, luv, he pleaded softly. 'F she did what she's suggestin' she did, I hope to whatever it is up there that likes to see us muck up so bloody much that you never come back.

"I thought we would destroy it together," she continued, tossing her toy in the air casually. "Of course, I thought a lot of things. I thought I'd come in, have a pleasant talk, get you to see the light, if you pardon the phrase." The flinging was become exceedingly careless, and he knew it was by intention. Any minute now, she would allow Buffy's salvation to shatter. "But, we both know how that turned out. I suppose it was fair warning. You did tell me that even if I was as stubborn as a mule, I was in there with the champ."

"Jus' tell me, you halfwit," he hissed, struggling again with his bindings. It was no use. "Where are they? What did you do to 'em?"

Porphyria frowned, ceased her play with the orb, and crossed her arms. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"You blind-sighted bitch! Tell me! I'll rip your soddin' throat out if-"

At that, humor leaked back into her eyes. "Oh? Is that right? And what? Bid farewell to every chance of seeing your precious Buffy again? I don't think so. You might think you're noble, Spike, now that you're bleeding-soul man. We'll always know the truth. I could tell you I killed every one of them, drained them dry, and used Dawnie's bones to pick my teeth, and you wouldn't harm one solitary hair on my head."

"I gotta handful of scalp 'ere to prove you wrong," he spat.

She cackled in amusement. "You old romantic. You're out there, searching for your redemption like some pantywaist when there's real fun to be had."

"An' you're singin' an age-old song, luv," William replied. "Learned it from me, you did. 'S no use, you bloody bitch. It'll never work, this game you're tryin' to play. An' if you 'ave harmed any of them, especially Red, Ripper, or the Bit, I'll tear you're bleeding head off."

Porphyria sneered and stepped forward once more. "The People's Hero. How very sad."

"What-"

"I'm not going to tell you, so you can stop asking. Find a way out of here yourself, and you can see what's there. Or what's not there." Her brows arched in challenge as he growled in affect. Unthreatened, she warmed up yet another pace. "Or...if you play real nice, I'll undo your bindings for you and we can have a little fun. Come on, you big baby. You know you want to."

William shook his head in desperation. "You're not 'er. You're not. You never will be."

"What? In the same way that you're not Spike? Hah! That's pathetic." Porphyria was within reach again, and while he remained in game face, he did not attack. Instead, he allowed her to stroke his cheek, his chin, follow her eyes down his chest until reaching for the apex that made them both gasp in a combination of painful pleasure. "This certainly feels like Spike," she mused, squeezing him gently. The peroxide vampire's eyes closed and he gritted his teeth together to keep from moaning. His failure to verbally react only made her grasp him harder, and she leaned forward, nudging his throat with her nose. "You smell like Spike. The look, the voice. Baby, you got it down. Don't you see?" Another firm squeeze. He bit his tongue to distract himself. "There is no William the Bloody without his soulless counterpart. You would not be halfway as interesting if you weren't at least a part of him. You would not exist without the other. So there has to be..." Squeeze. "Has to be a very... large..." she grinned as he caved, unable to withstand anymore, and glanced at his very ill-timed response. "Part of you... that enjoys this a little too much. That just wants to give in."

"Why should I?" he croaked. "'E never would."

Porphyria arched a cynical brow. "Normally, I would say to trust the source, but in this instance-"

"You're not 'er, you crazed bint," William cried with resolution, grasping control on his physical reaction and doing his damndest to reel it inward. It didn't work, but it was worth a shot. "All right... so as a soulless git, I'd prolly find this right entertainin'. Might play it out for shits an' giggles. But I'd never love you. You're not 'er. An' whether I'm William or Spike, anyone who's not 'er jus' has shoes that 're too large to fill for your own good. So sod off an' find yourself a new toy."

"Love?" she snapped, releasing him. "Who says I want love?"

"Who says anyone'd want you?" he countered. "You got your lines good an' memorized, pet. But this town's full of chaps loyal to the Slayer. An' once they find out about you an' 'er, an' angry mob'll chase you down. Get staked good an' proper."

"Oh, Spike. That's ridiculous. Angry mobs are so dated. Besides, this is California! You talk a lot for someone who has nothing to say," Porphyria observed. "You'll want to watch that. We don't want to chance you getting yourself...hurt." With that, she turned and melted again into the shadows, and he knew she was not returning. "The night is young, Spikey, and I have a whole new lifestyle to get accustomed to. I do hope you find something entertaining to do while I'm gone." The sounds of her retreat stopped, and pause lent quietly in her tone. "Oh... and while I'm thinking about it..."

It was expected, but that did not draw away the shock that raced up his spine when the orb hit the ground. Even in the still dark, he watched it dance into a thousand sparkly pieces, clinking against cold ground before settling to its rest.

She was gone, then, without another word. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and before he could help himself, William was crying. There with nothing but the silence to mock him. Each tear represented a new cause. The girl he didn't save. The people he needed to protect. The love he had lost, and feared would never again see.

God, please, he begged. Or whoever's up there that finds this so bloody amusin'. 'F you have an inkling of mercy...let  her have been bluffing. Please, let her have been bluffing.

He waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

There was nothing to do in the iron dark. Nothing to do but wait.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The past several years had schooled the Scoobies well into treading the shadows without fear come nightfall. Things that would ordinarily cause one to jump—the affects of what went bump in the night were lost. Not a cemetery in Sunnydale remained unmapped. The journey to Spike’s old crypt was once made on a daily basis in the way back when, but covering the steps now, Giles felt the oddest rush of déjà vu. It was outside anything he had experienced before—grim and forewarning. Something dark spooled in the pit of his stomach, and shivers sprouted across his skin in response.

If he noticed, Angel did not make mention of it. He paced faithfully at the Watcher’s right, safely away from the assortment of crucifixes and vials of holy water stashed in a knapsack slung over the opposite shoulder. They had not exchanged dialogue since leaving Revello Drive; the slightest crackle was liable to betray their position to any meddlesome ears that might be nearby.

However, after a while it became apparent that conversation was needed. There was no method to communicate the expression of shared confusion over obscure findings or the trade of thoughtful insights. In the end, it felt safe. The vampire’s senses assured him that the Slayer was nowhere close.

How this conveyed to Giles, neither knew. A similar wave of understanding overcame them when it was clear whatever danger lingered had temporarily lifted its vale. “Do you hear anything?”

Angel paused thoughtfully in stride. “No,” he reported several anticlimactic seconds later. “Though it’s safe to say she was here earlier. She probably went out to hunt.” It was discomfiting—talking about Buffy as if she was any mediocre vampire, but neither thought to mention it. Some things were best conveyed without words.

“Willow and Anya?” There was no panic behind the statement—only general concern.

“They’re fine. For now. Anya has demon strength and Willow has proved more than once that she is capable of taking care of herself.”

The Watcher nodded, though he was clearly not convinced. “And Will?” he asked. When the vampire tossed a wry glance in his direction, he flustered and shrugged, advancing several spaces. “I’m sorry, I don’t fully understand how your connection works. Try as we might, the Council has never…breeched that level of comprehension. There is more to vampirehood than even we credit, and I know this. I don’t know enough, granted…I could not, and Lord knows I’m willing to learn more. But that is not the reason. I ask because he is my friend…” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “Is there any way…can you feel when he is near? Is your connection that potent?”

“Not exactly,” Angel replied. “There’s no way of telling how far away he is. But I do know he has been here.”

“How—”

Discreetly, he pointed to his nose. “Spike was bleeding recently. I could smell it a mile away. Wherever Buffy was, she isn’t anymore. If we’re going to get him out, it has to be now. She’ll be back.”

Giles did not need to be told twice. “His crypt…his old crypt was this way,” he directed. “I don’t know why she would have taken him there now—”

“Well, where else would she go?” Angel countered logically. “Home? I don’t think so. Whatever the Gate reduced her to, it obviously left enough…well…Buffy to recognize Spike as her…ummm…”

“Mate?” the Watcher offered unhelpfully.

A briefly pained look shadowed the vampire’s features—one commanded by instinct rather than envy. “Oh,” he said, attempting to sound casual. It was odd to hear a sporty tenor under conditions such as these. “He’s claimed her?”

“Claimed? Oh, good heavens, no. I meant in the…ummm…right.” Giles reddened. It was almost refreshing, experiencing an emotion that did not coincide with downright sorrow and general terror for all humankind. “I’m sorry. I studied the patterns of vampiric claiming, of course, but I never—”

“Made the connection?” Angel laughed, a tad uneasily. “Considering who you’re talking about, I don’t think I would have, either.”

That initiated an uncomfortable, albeit short silence for collection.

“He loves her, you know,” Giles said softly. “He loves her beyond the boundaries of conventional love. I know you…your relationship with her was one of the most torrid affairs I’ve ever witnessed, much less been a part of, however great or small. Without knowing, asking, or wanting. When he came here, he knew he could never have her. Not after…well, what happened. Whatever she’s doing to him now…Buffy, or this thing in her place… Will, on some psychological level, will assume it is what’s coming to him. Provoked, even deserved.” A harsh breath of impatience hissed through the man’s teeth, along with a fond sort of respect. “He never forgave himself.”

“He never should,” the vampire replied.

A rush of loyalty coursed Giles’s veins, but before he could turn his annoyance into angry provocation, Angel held up a hand in ode for clarity. “I never forgave myself either,” he continued. “For what I did…whether it was two hundred years ago, or what I did to you. You and the rest of the people I loved. I never forgave myself for that, and I never should. Just like Spike shouldn’t for what he did to her.”

“Good Lord,” the Watcher replied hotly, revealing more annoyed aggravation than he cared. “I can’t believe this. My Slayer has been turned, and rather than discuss the repercussions of her state, we’re having the very same tête-à-tête that concluded many an argument with Will. I will say this, Angel, and then we’ll leave the matter at rest. What Spike did to her was unforgivable only to one person. He has yet to give himself pardon for his crime. To forgive is an act of compassion. And even so, what happened in the past in no way accounts for the amends he’s made these past few years. Even this past month since we’ve returned.”

“You’re singing his praises.” A note of resentment swept through the vampire’s voice. “But you never forgave me, did you? And I never expected you to.”

“Yes, I did.” The revolution came soft, and while he could tell it was granted with surprise, it did little to hinder their journey. “I told Will as much…well…sometime during our early acquaintance. There have been horrible wrongs committed in the past that were not overlooked. I hated you for a long time, yes. But I forgave you. I forgave you when I finally understood the difference between you and Angelus. They are both a part of you, granted, and forever will be. Just like a very real part of William will always be Spike, regardless of how he wishes it were not so. You don’t…understand these things until you’ve lived them. For all my schooling and knowledge and training, it has taken me an ungodly amount of time to depart the monster from the man. The trouble then was we had all known you as Angel, and it wasn’t as if you were a friend we had lost never to get back. We saw the face of what killed you do…atrocious things…never differentiating you from the demon. With Will…I, at least, had time to get used to him…I knew. I had traveled that pathway before. The same with Buffy.” A sigh coursed through his body. “We have every reason to believe she is going to do some powerful damage before we have a chance to set things right. I just hope we’re not too late.”

There was nothing to say at first. Nothing to hear but the ground, soft beneath their feet as the old crypt came into view. Something that sounded vaguely like thanks rumbled out of Angel’s throat, but Giles did not think to question him. Whatever answer was provided was and would always be enough.

The sepulcher door creaked its memorable drone as the Watcher pushed it open. A few things were immediately in sight, but very few. Discarded lamps, cards, and furniture that had not seen an owner in years were scattered in general disarray across the floor. Cobwebs housed every corner, sprinkled with age-old dust. Nothing of aching familiarity struck on first glance. There was nothing to see or hear.

Nothing that he could detect, at least. Angel took two steps inside, drew a deep breath inward, and concluded, “He’s here. Is there a downstairs?”

Giles could not find his voice; he was so overwhelmed with relief. A slightly giddy chuckle escaped his throat, dry and eager as he bolted in the indicated direction without thinking of offering a reply.

The downstairs was dark but he knew it would be. At the time, it didn’t matter if he slipped and broke his neck. Priorities first. He did not stop. Did not think. Did not even realize he had spoken until the echo of his beseeching, “Will?” resounded heavily in his ears.

A dry cough tittered in response. “Ripper?”

Angel was advancing from behind. “Spike? You down there?”

“An’ Peaches! Praise Jehovah.” Souled or not, it was beyond peculiar to hear that phrase in the rough and recognizable Cockney accent. “’S everyone all right? Everyone—”

“Will? I can’t see you.”

“’m over ‘ere. Where the chains ‘re…’ey, I’m guessin’ you din’t come down ‘ere often.” It was true. Giles had avoided this place at all cost when he lived in Sunnydale. “She locked me up an’ left. Went to go get herself a bite to eat.” The same manifest reprieve coursing through the Watcher’s system was evident in the platinum vampire’s voice. “God, she gave me the biggest scare of my unlife. Makin’ like she’d offed the lot of you.”

“The orb, Will.” By then, Giles was beside him, attempting and failing to undo the bindings that held him secure at each wrist. “What did she do with the orb?”

“Whaddya think? She destroyed it ‘s what she did. Oh, fer the love of…Ripper, you’re gonna wear out your old mannish muscles. Get Peaches over ‘ere.”

Never had the Watcher been happier to receive a hearty dose of good-natured invective. Nodding, he stepped aside and made room for Angel. A few tugs to loosen wore the bindings raw, and he was able to pull the younger vampire free.

A long moan sounded through the lower level. William would have fallen had his grand-sire not been there to offer a shoulder of support. “Lord,” he gasped. “’d forgotten how much that can ‘urt.”

Angel arched a skeptical brow. “It never hurt you before.”

“I was never left chained up for hours at a time.”

More silence. The peroxide vampire cracked and offered a grin of concession. “Well, all those times it was at leas’ ‘alf way enjoyable. Dru knew how to make any unpleasant situation…well…wackier than it was s’posed to be.”

Giles helped him to the floor, reading the signs that demanded rest without having to see any. Even through the darkness, through the material that made up his shirt, the markings of physical abuse bled through with all their wondrous visibility. It looked to hurt like the dickens, but the most pain he had exhibited had sounded more like a sigh of relief rather than soreness. “What happened? What did she do?”

“Question is ‘what din’t she do,’” William retorted bitterly. “I couldn’t remember a thing when I firs’ woke up. Then I saw where I was…an’ it hit me.” A somber note struck his voice. “She’s gone. That…thing is in ‘er place.” He looked to the Watcher desperately. “It was the Gate, wasn’t it? The Gate of Abraxas that took ‘er soul away? It couldn’t ‘ave been anythin’ else.”

“Then you don’t really need confirmation, do you?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No. Bloody hell, it should’ve been me.”

“Yes, it should have,” Angel agreed stealthily. There was no venom behind his tone—rather blunt honesty that neither could help but appreciate. “I won’t pretend to understand, but from all these accounts of you, it would have been better for everyone.” A jest crept into his voice. “You humane vampire, you.”

William tossed him a poignant smirk. “You’re one to talk, you nancy-boy-hair-gelled-poof.”

The elder vampire grinned. “Yeah, Giles. This one’s going to be fine.”

“I coulda told yeh that.”

The Watcher took hold of the younger vampire’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “As enjoyable as this is,” he murmured, “we best be leaving.”

“I hear that. Where’s Red? An’ the Nibblet? Are they—”

“Everyone’s fine, Will.”

Angel sucked in one side of his cheek to bite back a sigh. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You an’ me both, Peaches.” William glanced sharply to Giles. “Wha’s bein’ done? There ‘as to be another Orb of…whatever ‘round ‘ere somewhere. At Demon-Girl’s magic shop? We—”

“They’re looking now,” the Watcher assured him. “Willow and Anya left when we did.”

“How’d you find me ‘ere?”

“Lucky guess, really,” Angel replied. “I figured she would have taken you someplace special to the two of you.” The peroxide vampire domed a brow in silent reminder of their rugged surroundings, prompting his grand-sire to continue, somewhat annoyed. “Well, we ruled out pretty much everywhere else.”

“Guess she din’t share ‘er lot of stories with the Scoobies while we were away.” William gestured to Giles, grinning despondently. “Blimey, I can’t even begin to think of all—”

“And we really don’t want you to,” the Watcher quickly intervened. “We have to go. Buffy will be back soon, and—”

A frog the size of Connecticut leapt into his throat. “Don’ call ‘er that. That…whatever that is…it isn’t the Slayer. An’ I don’ mean in some poncy ‘I’m not Spike an’ ‘e’s not Angelus’ thing,” he continued, motioning to his elder. “That thing is not the Slayer. She’s not my Buffy.”

The look that shadowed Angel’s face read the words she never was with such ardent fervor that it took even him by surprise. However, the notion passed, as most outdated instinctual tendencies do. A sigh of recognition hummed through his dormant form, and he nodded as he moved to assume the lead. “If she runs into one of us, it should be me,” he decided. “Sp-Will, you’re too…um…”

“’F you say weak I’ll tear your—”

“He’s just trying to help,” Giles observed. “It’s a good idea. Here, William. Come on.”

The peroxide vampire tossed his arm over the Watcher’s left shoulder and retracted instantaneously, a loud scream tearing out his throat. Familiar smoke began to sizzle through his shirt, and before he could collect his balance, William found himself on the ground, hand absently moving to caress his steaming side.

“Erm…yes…” Giles said sheepishly. “Wrong arm.” He extended his right and earned an irritated scowl as he pulled his friend to his feet.

“Words of wisdom, Ripper,” the younger vampire growled. “’F you’re gonna associate with us sunlight-deprived citizens, watch what you carry ‘round. Yeh oughta know that by now.”

A bit of the proverbial spark was returning to the old man’s eyes. It was needed, especially during these darkening hours. “I did that intentionally.”

“Don’ I know it,” William snickered, though his tone betrayed nothing but fondness. “You’ve been lookin’ for a way to off me for years.”

“I heard a stake through the heart still does the trick,” Angel volunteered. Then he froze.

Giles immediately recognized the lasting note in ode to the familiar tune of ‘I Have A Bad Feeling About This.’ At once, his insides flushed with cold. His grip on the peroxide vampire tightened with authority. The stronger jab of his resolve warned him not to speak, but he knew if the situation was grave, they were betrayed anyway. “An—”

It was the iciest voice ever to walk the free earth, the coldest tenor drawn within a cavity that felt no compassion. Terror was his preliminary reaction, but he pushed it aside in light of his own seething selfishness. Whatever stood on the other side of his companion was something he was not ready to see. The face of everything he had sacrificed himself for. Something arctic seized hold of his heart determinately, squeezing black drops of sorrow in the hope they would eventually turn to gold.

Without having to make a peep, he felt the same steadfast result shiver through his friend.

“Well, well, well,” an unfamiliar voice drawled. It made his skin crawl and summoned the taste of bile to his mouth simply with the insinuation. “I always seem to show up at the most inopportune times. Let me guess…family reunion? Sire, childe…and the childe’s…cousin, I think? Something equally lame.” He could not see her for the darkness, and he was glad. “William Ripper II, or was it just Fitzwilliam? Time flies, doesn’t it?” She was advancing now, and he could feel power radiating off her like bolts of magnetic energy.

The Buffy-creature stopped beside him, leaning supportively on William’s aching shoulder. Proud as he was, not a moan escaped him. No reaction of any sort—not even when she bit him hard.

“Giles, Giles, Giles,” she said, not looking at him. Her hands were lost in bleached locks. The artificial affection she tampered with was difficult to watch, much less to tolerate. “You sure know how to break a girl’s heart. First you go and let me get all dead, then you take away my favorite toy. Shame on you.”

Empty words as they were, they still cut deep.

“Leave them alone,” Angel said resolutely. Challenge had buried itself in his voice—challenge the Watcher could not abide but he refrained from objection. “Come on, Buffy. Don’t flake out on me. You know perfectly well you could take both of them with a flick of the wrist.”

“’Ey, watch it, mate,” William grumbled, immediately followed by a sharp elbowing that forewarned his mouth not to get carried away.

Buffy grinned and neared the platinum blonde, licking a long line up his neck. “Yes, I know,” she replied chirpily. “Of course I know. That’s what makes this…” She reached down to grasp him, but his good hand caught her before she could obtain contact. “So much fuuuuuun…”

“Lay off, pet.”

“Bet you would love to make me.”

And all the while, Angel was still talking. A familiar air settled about him, one that made Giles shiver simply to consider. “They’re good for amusement, sure. A good torture session or two. Fun time with chainsaws. I know the drill, Buff. I know the drill like I know you. You prefer a real fight in your man. Something that’s worth defeating. Look at poor William…he’s in no condition to play.”

“I swear, Peaches, ‘f—”

“Ah, ah,” the Buffy-creature admonished, placing a finger to his lips. “Shhhh. That’s a good boy. The big kids are talking now, Spikey. You’re better just to sit there and wait your turn.”

“No can do,” William replied, retracting from Giles’s support, limping struggling to full height. “You might wanna take out Peaches, sure…who ‘asn’t? But not while I’m ‘ere. I—”

“Spike…” The elder vampire’s voice. Low and agitated.

She laughed, a long, grueling laugh that stank of fierce insensitivity. “Oh, is that all? Angelus, I didn’t realize you’d gone out and gotten yourself a bodyguard. Last time I checked, it wasn’t you that needed one.”

“You can pick fun with them all you want after we’re through here,” he replied. “Hell, I’ve already come close to killing Spike several times tonight. But you and me, Buff…” He flashed a patronizing smile.

She flashed it back, dripping with falsity. “You must think I’m really stupid. I lost my soul, not my mind, you arrogant jackass.”

“You wanna play your cards, sweetheart? Fine. I just thought you’d prefer—”

“I know what you thought, Angelus. That’s the trouble with you. All thinking and no acting.”

“You have nothing to lose,” he observed, taking a bold step forward. “Either way, the ball’s in your court.”

Her eyes narrowed menacingly. “I like it there. But, on an tremendously annoying note, you do have a point.” With a growl, she suddenly lunged forward and grasped William’s shirt collar. Giles fought to retract it, but her grip was far superior to any he could maintain. His efforts only amused her, and she hastened her hold, a long cackle rumbling through her body.

“Rushing to save the life of a vampire,” she murmured. “Especially this one. I never thought I’d see the day.” Her eyes flickered to her objective, and she offered a superlatively forged smile. “I’ll admit…it’s a nice set up you got here, Spike. I can see why you’d be so reluctant to—”

A flash coincided with a tremulous grunt as the platinum blonde pounced. In an instant, they were both on the ground, and he had straddled her waist, delivering blows that weren’t nearly as powerful as they looked, but substantial enough to keep her floored. The pure malevolence flooding his features was enough to frighten any heart—regardless of how black it was.

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed, empowerment striking his worn body. “You took ‘er away from me, you worthless heap of compost! You killed ‘er, but that wasn’ enough…you had to take ‘er away, too!”

“Will!” Giles grabbed him by the leg and hauling him upward. “Will, this is not the time. Come on…Dawn will be worried sick.”

It was mention of the name that quenched the fire in his eyes, and while he struggled again against the Watcher’s hold, his resolve weakened and he nodded in understanding. The Buffy-creature, battered and a little worse for the wear, wiped the dribbling blood from her chin and chuckled. “Oh come on, old man,” she spat. “Things were just beginning to get interesting.”

William growled and moved as though to lunge again, but thought the better of it. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he repeated bitterly. “Come near me an’ mine—”

“Yours?” she echoed incredulously. “Why, Spike, I never knew you imagined yourself so valued. Go on. Run to your precious Dawn, you housebroken puppy.” She laughed again and started to sit up, immediately deterred by Angel’s assumed position. He kicked her back and set himself astride her as his childe had. No want of mercy creased his brow.

Then it was his turn for retribution. Each punch gashed a blemish that looked odd against ivory skin, wounds swelling with the release of polluted blood. However, despite reasoning, the Buffy-creature was all the more humored, cackling as the blows were delivered. Giles paused by the door, his grip on William substantial, and lost himself in a form of morbid fascination. It wasn’t until the elder vampire barked at them to run that he dragged his besieged companion to safety.

“Oh, you’re good,” the fiend beneath him bantered, bruised but not hurt. Her eyes flashed maliciously and she flung him to the crypt wall with fluent ease. In honesty, he was surprised she had waited so long to retaliate, but given the circumstances, would not question his good fortune.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” she said as she advanced. “What did you expect?”

“I’m not disappointed,” he replied, fighting to his feet. “I always knew you’d make a hell of a vampire.”

“So that’s why you didn’t turn me when you had the chance?” she countered, running her tongue over her teeth. “Not very convincing, Angelus.”

“What can I say?” He offered a simple shrug before lashing out with the back of his fist. It was an easy block; she caught him by the arm and threw a punch to his face. “I’ve never liked competition.”

The Buffy-creature arched her brows at him challengingly. “Horse shit.”

“Well, it’s not like the opportunity came knocking.”

“Oh, but you felt it,” she retorted. “You felt my want of the darkness. You had to. You say I never gave you the chance? Like hell, and you know it. Every time we fought you could have taken me. I would have let you.” Her eyes traced him suggestively. “You were a decent lay, if memory serves.”

Angel rolled his eyes and attacked again, swinging with glorious connection for her jaw. Skin touched skin, but he felt her iron grip enclose around his wrist, and she used her advantage to kick swiftly in the abdomen. “You, sure. You would have let me,” he conceded with a grunt. “Buffy wasn’t quite as whorish in her intentions.”

“Ouch. That took balls.” She charged, kicking him to the ground as he fought to sit up. “Glad to see you finally grew yourself a pair. Honestly, Angel, you act like this wasn’t inevitable. What did you expect? Buffy the Vampiric Vampire Slayer? Sounds like a bad sitcom.” When she swung her leg for him again, he surprised her—clutching her calf to his advantage. She had only time to shoot him an arched look before he yanked her to the ground, forcing her to her back.

Then he was over her, poised and snarling in reverence of his true demonic roots. She gasped in affect, and fleeting lust flashed across her eyes. A different lust altogether. Lust that he had never witnessed in all their years of acquaintance. Dark and welcoming. The look only a vampire could issue. “Oh,” she drawled invitingly. “Now this feels familiar.”

Something inside flinched, but he refused to take the bait. That would do little to vacillate the turf in his favor. “You will be stopped, you know,” he sputtered informatively, hand going to her throat in empty threat. “Somehow. Even if one of us has to—”

“Oh, don’t do that,” the Buffy-creature berated. “Bad Angel. No biscuit. Lies will get you nowhere. You lack the stamina to do anything concrete. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. You like this too much to let yourself waver under the influence of poor bleeding William’s rambling. No, Angelus. This is what you want.” The next move was well planned and caught him far off guard. In a flash, she spread her thighs and captured him between stalwartly muscled legs, arching herself against him. He could not help it; a moan seethed through his teeth. “This is what you want. Some grunt work. A nice good fuck. Oh, imagine the team we would make. You and me…like you’ve always wanted.”

At that, he tried to sit up. Tried and failed. Odd that he was the one trapped when it was she who was pinned to the ground. “Oh no,” she cooed. “It’s useless lying to yourself. Come on, you miserable fuck. Come on. Prove to me you’re half the man you claim to be.” She flashed her fangs as she burst into game face, grounding her hips against his, immeasurably giving her the advantage.

It was impossible and daring. She knew what she was asking and what his answer would be. However, that didn’t stop the shiver of temptation from shimmying up his spine. That didn’t put halt to the one blessed second in which he wanted to. Such enticement was consuming—terrifying to a degree that made one doubt self-constructed willpower. Angel had spent the better of his years away from Sunnydale putting an end to feelings of animosity. That road was traveled and he had no material desire to venture its course again. Yes, he had taken Darla in the heartland of depression and objectivity, but he had not loved her. Cordelia, unlikely as it was, held his ardor and affection, and for that purpose alone, he knew they could never be together. But Buffy was his first, and in many ways, his only. In over two centuries, she was the first to claim that shadowland of warmth. That which he kept concealed from the world. It was because of her that he left. Because of her youth. Because of what she had to offer and what he could never consciously grasp. And here she was again. Buffy but not Buffy. A mate blacker than his demon could ever conjure. True havoc reeked in the layers of that falsified smile, and the proposition made with her eyes was too much to bear.

And yet he was tempted.

He saw what William had meant in his reasoning. It wasn’t her. It truly wasn’t her. In a manner that could never be compared to the Angelus in him or the Spike in his childe—it wasn’t Buffy. This face did not belong to the Slayer.

The second passed, and all plausible persuasion dissolved.

“Let me up,” Angel growled, and by the fall of her face, he knew he was understood. The creature frowned and released him, kicking him again to the wall as she climbed to her feet.

“Fucking Christ, every vampire in this town is whipped,” she grumbled. “And somehow, it’s all my fault.”

“Charismatic charm,” he retorted sharply. “Or so it used to be.”

“You know I can’t let you out of here, right? I mean, I do intend to do more…well…doing than you ever did.” She smiled sourly. “I’ll admit…Jenny Calendar. That was a good one. Little bitch had it coming. But what was your count other than that? Willow’s fish? That from the big bad Angelus? What a shame.”

“You’re taking cheap shots now,” he observed, circling. “And you wouldn’t bother unless you felt threatened.”

The thought made her rumble in mirth. “Threatened?”

“One way or another, Buff.” Angel grinned, despite how weakened he was by lack of tenacity. “You have it all right now. Sure. The sky’s the limit. You’re the strongest thing in this town. No bothersome mortality to deal with, no conscience, no feel at all for humanity. But even then, the numbers are against you, sweetheart. In the end, there’s us and there’s you. I’d say the odds aren’t in your favor.”

“In the end, there’s just me, honey. Mutual acquaintance told me that once." She advanced once more, drawing a piece of splint wood from the ground without leaving his eyes. “You ever wonder what dust tastes like?”

“’E ‘asn’t, but you’re about to.”

It happened too quickly for either to follow. The next second purchased the sound of a crossbow, fine and elegant in the air, flying swiftly through the air. It burst through the Buffy-creature’s chest, breaking bone and skin in one tremendous blow. A gasp of surprised desperation sounded through the air, clutching her with firm authority as she toppled into a jumbled heap.

Behind her stood William, crossbow poised and ready in his gasp. “Let’s get one thing straight, bitch,” he growled. “Only one of us ‘round ‘ere gets to off Peaches, an’ I called dibs years ago.” He glanced to his sire, who could not help but regard him with surprise. “Wha’s all that? Yeh comin’?”

No need to ask him twice.

He had never run so fast, or so reluctantly. Even still, his steps were outmatched by William’s ardent strides. They were halfway back to Revello Drive before either thought of stopping, both heaving for unnecessary air, and trading looks of paralleled esteem.

“I can’t believe you did that,” the older vampire confessed, shaking his head when they again stepped into pace.

“Did what? Come after you?”

“No…with the crossbow…and Buffy—”

The younger shrugged simply, resting the weapon nonchalantly at his shoulder. “Wasn’ nothin’. Jus’ gave ‘er a run for ‘er money. Less you were really outta it an’ missed the entire ‘she din’t go all poof’ thing.” A sigh coursed through his system. “If I’d wanted to kill ‘er, I’d’ve aimed for the heart. An’ I wouldn’t ‘ave missed.”

Angel pursed his lips and nodded. There were some things mankind was simply not supposed to understand. “You came after me,” he whispered.

“I did.” William winced at the implication, though it was in good humor. “Don’ go all poncy on me, Peaches. I did it why I said I did it. Killin’ you’s my job. Always ‘as been. I’m not about to let some wacky vampire sod that up for me. ‘Sides…” He trailed off thoughtfully, eyes growing distant for a long second. “’F she killed you, an’ we get ‘er back, she’d never forgive ‘erself.”

“Spike, she doesn’t—”

“I know. Bloody hell, I wasn’ meaning to sound like…” It was only when they shared a long look that Angel was convinced. Finally, after being told a thousand times over, his childe really did understand. “But that doesn’ mean she’s not your girl, too, as much as it pains me to admit. Anythin’ were to ‘appen that was ‘er fault, she’d…hell, I dunno…but it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“What is, anymore?” he replied surreptitiously. “Did Willow find an Orb of Thesulah at the Magic Box?”

“No. Plum run out, they did.” William stilled. “But somethin’ did ‘appen. Watcher Boy called.”

“Wes?”

“Yeah. Said a one of ‘em had had some wonky vision ‘bout this an’ the like. Got ‘em all riled up. ‘E’s comin’…Wes or whoever. ‘E was gettin’ ready before I left.”

Unbridled agitation rumbled through his system, Angel expelled a sigh. “God. I know he means well, but what can he possibly do that—”

“Well, those wankers in the Council contacted him,” William continued. “Not five days ago. Said they got wind somethin’ bad was brewin’. An’ now ‘e’s comin’. There’s more. I din’t get far, but I heard enough. Help has come to town—Watcher Boy sent ‘er straight away.”

“Help?”

“Willow went to go get ‘er at the bus station. ‘S some renegade slayer bird who’s hopefully rehabilitated enough to know what the hell to stake an’ not to stake.” He frowned. “You know…that sounds oddly familiar. Any idea who she is?”

Angel was no longer beside him. He stood several paces away, astonishment blowing him clear out of the water. “Faith.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“So, B finally got it in her to go postal.” The voice was one they had heard a thousand times, knew to expect, and still managed to send vibrations of recollection throughout the room. “I always knew this day was coming. There’s no way anyone could be that wholesome without eventually—”

Much had changed since Faith last stood in the foyer of 1630 Revello Drive. A sort of grown maturity hung about her character, but not enough to make any substantial difference. There was no question concerning the opinion of those whose presence she now relied on. Despite the pledge of good confidence Angel issued time and time again, the hostility surrounding her had not alleviated much, if at all. For what she had done in the past was unforgivable in many lights, contradicting the nature of their falling foundation, but not without merit. However her intentions might have altered, however her mortality might have blossomed, the Sunnydale residents would always see her in a very different light.

Xander coughed loudly. “I hate to burst your bubble because I know how long you’ve waited to see her fail, but what happened to her wasn’t her fault.”

“Still singin’ the same old song, I see,” Faith retorted darkly, sizing him up with her eyes. “I don’t blame you. Really, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just—”

“Yeah. You just.” With a sigh, Harris turned to Willow, who was leaning glumly against the hall entry. “Have I mentioned recently how much I hate this plan?”

“Not for about seven minutes,” she answered. “Almost a record.”

He grinned proudly. “Well, that’s an accomplishment, if I ever heard one. I was only aiming for three.” The casual tease abandoned his eyes without motive and he looked back at the dark-haired Slayer. “You do know you’re only here for negotiations, right? As in no stakey the Buffy.”

Faith flexed her brows suggestively. “Gee, Harris. Welcome to the conversation. Yeah, Wes went over the full about a thousand times on the way to the airport. Any more, and I swear he would’ve given me a pop quiz. I’m here to hold, not to kill. Got the full jist and all that BS.” Sighing emphatically, she rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So…aside from postal Buffy, how is everyone? Long time no—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Xander warned. “We’re not going to socialize and become all friendly-like. If memory serves, that leads to badness in the worst of ways.”

Willow smiled slightly. “Because there’s a badness in the best of ways.”

“Yeah…” He blinked and tossed her a cynical smirk. “A big bucket of funny as always. I’m just saying—”

“Listen, I don’t want to get into a big whatever while I’m here,” Faith said stridently. “Just don’t talk about the past, and I won’t be the bitch who won’t get off your ass, all right? Angel thinks I’m all right. That should be—”

“Peaches also thinks all that gel makes ‘is hair look less wankerish.” William was coming down the staircase. However long he had been there was anyone’s presumption. It was natural and assumed he climbed in through the long neglected window in Buffy’s bedroom. “’Course, we all know tha’s the not the case, so no use in coverin’ it up.” His eyes narrowed with scrutiny at the sight of the new arrival, and he drew in a huff of air. “Well, you must be Faith. ‘S somethin’ to meet you, face to face, that is.”

She grinned tightly, violent gaze flickering with amused recognition. “Oh yeah. William the Bloody with a chip in his head. How the fuck are yah?”

“Lil sore, thanks for askin’.”

The pause allotted Willow enough time to spring from her position and sail into his arms. William fell back at the force of her hug, constrictive with relief and burden of carried anxiety. “Oh God, you’re home,” she gasped.

The term home was used with such lenience that he made him stop in reflection, but it was best not to dwell on such things. A smile tickled his lips as he patted her back with lasting gentility. “Tha’s right. Come on, Red. Don’ tell me you were worried or what all. I got more stones than—”

“Don’t try to be all tough guy on me,” she warned, pulling out of his embrace. “Angel and I…when she left…when she carried you out.”

“’Ey there. ‘S all right. I’m still undead an’ all.” The friendship he had with Willow was one casual observes would never understand, but they had long ago agreed to stop questioning.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, grinning expressively. “It’ll sure keep me from aging a year a night. The next time you get kidnapped by a crazed vampire, no worrying from me.”

“Good. See that it stays that way.”

Xander stepped forward and grasped William’s hand without pretense. The act itself was sufficiently formal to avoid awkwardness, but still wholly surprising. Despite all acts of presumed disliking, enough esteem was held to establish the foundation of mutual respect and acceptance. The vampire thought it better not to question a show of hospitality.

“Glad you got out,” Harris said as they broke apart. “Where’s Angel?”

“Still climbin’ in,” he replied. “Saw some vamps prattlin’ ‘round down the street. ‘E’ll be ‘ere soon enough.”

“Did you guys see her?” Faith asked. “I mean, obviously you saw her. If I’m about to go against a fucking pissed off slayer turned vamp, I’m gonna need the inside scoop. ‘Specially since I’ve been outta the game a couple years. How mental has she gone?”

“Giles said something to the affect of Reagan MacNeil, but not as likeable,” Xander offered. “Or you, without a conscience.”

She arched her brows at him challengingly.

“And while…PMSing?”

“Harris…” she said warningly. “You don’t even wanna know how close I am to—”

“And for everyone who doesn’t want her to finish that sentence,” Willow intervened quickly. “Let’s get back on topic. Sp…William, did you or Angel get hurt or something? We probably want to make sure every one of the Scoobies is all in preparation mode for the big evil.” A frown beset her face. “I just never thought that…”

“None of us did, Red. An’ no…Peaches is fine, though I think his pride ‘as been better,” the vampire replied, running a hand through strands of bleached hair. “I wasn’ there to see everythin’. But she ‘ad ‘im on the floor…or the other way around. Either way, he was losin’ his gall.”

The Witch’s eyes darkened. “What did she do?”

A wave of silence overcame him, hurt but understanding. “I wasn’ there to see everythin’,” he explained when he found his voice. “But ‘e told me enough. Apparently, Porphy’s itchin’ for a new playmate.”

Xander’s brows arched. “Porphy?”

William smirked beside his poignancy. “Gave ‘er a nickname while she entertained ‘erself. Had to. Couldn’t stand to call ‘er Buffy.”

“So you chose…Porphy.”

“From Browning, right?” Willow asked helpfully. “He had a poem about some girl or her lover…or something to do with a girl and her lover.”

“Yeh. Took a chapter outta that tale.”

She beamed proudly and nudged Xander’s shoulder. “Who says you learn nothing in high school?”

“No one by your name, for sure,” he replied. “And did we read that in high school?”

A grin overwhelmed her features. A good, honest grin. It was nice to see, especially given extreme circumstances. “Well, most of us read. Some of us napped.”

Faith’s gaze had not wavered from William. With forceful intent, she stepped forward. “She wanted a new playmate, huh? What kind of playmate?”

The vampire looked down again as if to hide his reaction. A long beat passed as he collected his thoughts. “It wasn’ her,” he began, voice steady, though kept as though he was trying to convince himself above all others. “Tha’s the important thing.”

Something dark flashed behind the new Slayer’s gaze, and she paced forward once more. “What did you mean by playmate? Did she hurt Angel?”

At that, William rolled his eyes and released a long, expecting chuckle. “Another sodding Peaches groupie,” he observed. “Bloody typical. Well, pet, you tell me what I meant. Shouldn’t be too mysterious. ‘E has a retractable soul, unlike yours truly. She…well, she…”

Immediately, Willow stepped forward, placing a complacent arm on his shoulder. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Well, sure…she did…but not Buffy. You know she would never—”

He grinned at her concern. “This isn’t about me, Red, much as I ‘preciate the notion. I knew the minute I saw ‘er that she wasn’ the Slayer. She’s jus’ tryin’ to run a muck, and sod all ‘f I let ‘er.”

It was most obvious that Faith had not heard a word beyond the confirmation of Buffy’s actions against the elder vampire. The look on her face was one created by sweet retribution. A frontage not seen justified in accordance with her nature. She flexed her hand to wan away tension and was all but trembling with outrage when she spoke again. “That fucking bitch. Doesn’t she know what…good, God, I’ll—”

“Judge not lest ye be judged, oh hypocritical one,” Xander snapped defensively. “And she has an excuse. Last time I checked you tried to make Angel go bonkers because there was nothing better to do.”

William coughed to deter attention, but no one looked at him.

“And as Spike so adequately stated,” Harris continued, “you’re not dealing with Buffy. If Buffy was here, you’d still be wasting away in LA. Whoever it is…Porky…Porphy…or—”

“Porphyria,” William said. “An’ ‘e’s right. I should know. I wouldn’t ‘ave jammed ‘er full of crossbow ‘f any part of that was the Slayer.”

At that, everyone in the room glanced at him dubiously. It took only that announcement, minor as it was, for Xander’s eyes to go blank and the previously manifest support to crash with a conclusive bang. “You what?!”

“She was about to off Peaches. I ‘ad no choice.” The peroxide vampire backtracked once he assessed that he had stepped into foreign territory. “She’s still undead too, mate. I wouldn’t ‘ave done somethin’ so bloody stupid. I give yah, Angel’s my grand-sire an’ all, but I don’ like the poof all that much. I won’ kill this bird until I know there’s no chance. Until I know that…”

“Until we know she’s not coming back,” Willow acknowledged with a sigh.

“Yeh. I told you…or…whoever, after the lot of you brought ‘er back, ‘f there’d been somethin’ wrong an’ you had to get rid of what you got that I wouldn’t let you. Not if the slightest bit of ‘er was still…her.” William waited for Xander’s nod of recollection. “’F we can’t get her back, an’ tha’s for certain, I’ll do it. I’ll kill my love’s murderer. Not one part of that thing is Buffy.”

“You’ll have to beat me there, pal,” Faith growled. “I gotta right mind to—”

It was rash and poorly played; not to mention it left a burning headache. William’s hand shot out without thought, clasping the other Slayer’s throat. The hold lasted all of two seconds—cut off in mutual regard to the swift kick at his chest and the retraction to cradle his head in pain. He found himself on the stairs, caressing the tender skin at his brow.

“What’s the big fucking deal, bitch?” she snapped, rubbing her throat though he had not held on long enough to produce any marks.

William wouldn’t even meet her eyes; he was tremulous with too much fury. Flashing a quick, fiery glance to Willow—who was quaking, herself, at the sight of such an outburst—he commanded, “I don’ want that crazy bint anywhere near my Slayer.”

“She’s not your Slayer!” Xander said hotly. “I don’t care who you are. Even if she was Buffy, she never was—”

“I don’ have time to prattle around with nancy-boy technicalities,” the vampire snapped. “That bird doesn’ wanna help. She’s out for blood.”

“Well, so are you!” Faith yelled back. “William the Pussy-Whipped Bloody. Mr. I-Got-A-Soul-But-I’m-So-Gosh-Darned-Afraid-To-Use-It. Make accusations that you can follow; it’s a good hint. Nothin’ else coulda made you snap B with a crossbow. I guaran-damn-tee you that.”

“She was gonna kill your savior, sweetheart,” he retorted indignantly. “But ‘m not about to end ‘er right good. Not while she stands a chance.”

“Hello! Neither am I. Back the fuck off.”

“You ‘ave before.”

The other Slayer’s eyes went wide with the sting of accusation. “Jesus-Tap-Dancing-Christ, I’ve been on the goddamned honor role longer than you have. If we’re gonna play that game, Willy, the let me go right ahead and crown you the winner. You arrogant bastard. I’m bad to the bone, baby, and likely will be forever. I’m all five by five. Secure in it. At least I know that. I can accept it. You’re lost, pops. Don’t think they haven’t told me about you.”

The platinum vampire perked a brow. “You’re five by five?” he repeated. “As opposed to six by six? What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Xander snickered in spite of himself. Willow elbowed him.

Faith rolled her eyes and stepped back, hands going up in frustration. “I knew there was a reason I hated Brits,” she observed. “I knew it. If they’re not all over your back because of the stupid world, they’re annoying you in the highest degree.”

“Well,” Harris said with a shrug. “He’s Spike. That’s what he’s good for.” Again, the Willow elbowed him.

“Doesn’t even matter that I have something helpful to tell you people,” she continued, speaking as though recording an inward monologue. “Go ahead. Bang! Ruin the fun of the surprise. Faith’s a big a screw-up as always. I—”

It was then that Angel appeared at the top of the stairway. “Whoa,” he said bluntly. “Looks like I’ve interrupted a hell of a party.”

William glanced at him with masked agitation. “Welcome aboard, Peaches. We’re jus’ ‘avin’ a lil debate. Seems your girl ‘ere thinks the best way to deal with our problem is through a pointy piece of wood.”

Xander and Willow immediately latched onto Faith’s arms so she wouldn’t lunge. “That’s not what I said, you—”

“Stop it! Sheesh, and I thought you two would get along.” The elder vampire rolled his eyes and started downward to join them. “Of course, I didn’t take into affect that…well…no one gets along with Spike if they can help it. And that—”

“Psh. Right, you ponce,” his childe scoffed bitterly. “See ‘f I go outta my way to save your hide again.”

“Save it, Spike.” Angel turned to Faith and nodded slowly, motioning for her captors to release. There was no threat anymore, if there ever had been. “You have something to share?”

Arms crossed, she tossed a wry look in William’s direction, distaste spelled across her features in bright bold ink. “If Billy Idol here doesn’t have any more notes of wisdom to spiel to your goody-gooders, then yeah. I do.” She arched her brows at the younger vampire in challenge, and though he met her stare blow for blow, he did not speak. “Wes’s got a lead. Well, he’s waiting. He said he’ll be here sometime tomorrow but to go on without him anyway. That’s why he didn’t get here when I did.”

Angel nodded. “What’s the lead?”

At that, the Slayer grinned—a smile so pure and similarly frightening that it could scare a toddler into giving up an ice-cream cone. “Orb of Thesulah, baby. In the fucking house. He called around like crazy and found a magic store that still sells ‘em.” Her eyes flickered back to the platinum vampire, dulling and brightening simultaneously. “Which is what I meant when I said I would not kill her, you dick. I won’t. Not unless this stupid curse thing doesn’t work out.”

William shook his head, unwilling to admit that his heart would have leapt at the news if it had the capacity to beat. There could be no thought of hope. Not until he saw her eyes again and knew her for Buffy. Knew that all would be well. Still, the hostility left his tone. There was no place for it anymore. “You’re forgettin’ one thing, pet,” he observed.

She snickered at him. “What’s that?”

“Buffy wasn’t your number one fan when she was all soul—an’ for that matter— pulse-havin’,” he said. “Now she’s a wicked powerful Slayer/vamp hybrid with a nasty grudge. Even if she had put it all behind ‘er, the Porphyria thing she is now ‘s gonna remember you as that bird who got on ‘er bad side. Me an’ Peaches ‘ere were on ‘er good side. Imagine what she’d do to you.”

A flash of fear—small but detectable—blazed across her eyes. Then it was back to boasting, confidence, smiling as if the entire matter was of no consequence. “Yeah, well, she’ll have to get through—”

“Wait a second, Faith,” Angel intervened, stepping beside her and grasping her shoulder. “He does have a point. You haven’t been in active training mode for some time now. She could very well—”

“Who cares?” the Slayer replied airily. “I got the moves, I got the skills. She better watch her bony ass out. I’ll drop her so quick—”

“You couldn’t beat her before,” he said, and the color drained from her face. “I didn’t want to say it, but there it is. You tried and she gutted you. She’s been training hard for years since you were put away. She has resources now that you can’t possibly fathom. She—”

“All right! Jesus H. Christ, give a girl a break.” Faith stepped out of his reach, hand combing nervously through her hair. “So what do I do? Sit from the sidelines while the rest of you give a go at it? I don’t think so. This is my calling, you miserable fucks, and I intend to do something with it.”

Angel shook his head and seized hold of her arm once again. “I wasn’t suggesting you don’t.”

“Then what the hell were you suggesting?”

“That Spike and I go with you to keep Buffy in line.” He eyed William for approval; though it was obvious he didn’t care if it was granted. “Just to make sure things go well.”

“Yeah. Me and Vamp Buffy dukin’ it out in the streets of Sunnydale,” she retorted cynically. “What makes you think anything could go wrong?”

“We’ll be there,” the platinum vampire said. “We sure as hell oughta be.”

Faith’s brows arched skeptically. “Do you honestly think she’ll show with all of us there? She might be bloodthirsty, but B’s not stupid.”

“We’ll be there…just to watch,” Angel clarified. “And stop her from…well…”

A smile crossed her face. “Vamping me?”

“Killing you.” Xander’s eyes narrowed and he stepped forward. “She wouldn’t vamp someone she considers an enemy. Remember the entire ‘not stupid’ thing? Yeah…it applies for that, too.”

“Well, whatever. I just know I’ll give her something to scream about.” At that, she frowned. “So, what? If we’re not here to slay, then why the fuck did they drag my ass out of LA?”

“You’re questioning your temporary freedom?” Willow asked.

“Oh, is that what you think? No. It’s good to be back in ole SunnyD. Got a lot of fond memories and all that sentimental crap. And I get the entire ‘Wes is coming to save the day—yippee.’ But still…what do ya’ll need me? We go out and make sure…what?”

“That she doesn’t hurt anyone,” the Witch replied. “If the curse works, Buffy won’t be able to live with herself if she—”

“Oh, right. Goody two-shoes Summers.” A foray of piercing looks persuaded the Slayer to discontinue the thought. “Right. Whatever. We’ll deal.”

“When will Wes be here?”

“If we’re lucky,” Angel observed, “he’ll show tomorrow.”

At that, William scoffed bitterly. “When have we ever been lucky?”

The air grew thick with silent acceptance. No one attempted a reply.

All grew quiet on the home front.

However long they stayed up talking, Dawn didn’t know. For hours, it seemed, she had lied in the wake, tears crusted against raw and reddened cheeks. She suspected no one realized how acutely voices drifted through walls and vents in the house. In the days of her youth, she had trained herself to be a connoisseur of deciphering the various muffled vowels and brief silences. It had not taken long to become fluent in the art of eavesdropping. From this vantage point, she had listened Buffy sneak a vampire into her room. Had listened as an impossible alliance between two enemies was forged to bring down a mutual adversary. It was irrefutable; there was only one place to get all the dirt—the hot gossip. This was it.

They didn’t know how much she could hear. No one did.

Dawn sighed, a lone tear rolling down her cheek, filling ruts carved into puffy skin. It timed perfectly with the tremor that quaked through her body. Never in her life had she felt this much desperation—the desolate sensation of utter abandonment. In the past, despite how bad things got, there had always been someone to rely on. A sister to cling to. Even during the months following Buffy’s sacrifice, she had never thoroughly experience the coarse reality of arbitral desertion. Giles had been there. And Spike. And Willow. And Tara. Arguably, nothing had changed, though all felt different. Notwithstanding the deceiving frontage and what her subconscious willed her to believe, the vampire she had trusted with more than her life was gone. She knew William would die protecting her, but it wasn’t the same.

The person she depended most upon had disappeared as well. Gone in the worst of ways. Gone but still there. Gone, but in Sunnydale. Ruining lives, destroying families, maiming the innocent all the while hating her. It seemed poignantly fitting. After all, Buffy had always been there. When Glory had her hostage, the solitary thought that kept her resolve from diminishing was that her sister was out there and would stop at nothing to get her back. What was to happen when she became the target of the hunt? Vampire or not, she was certain the Slayer was consistent in one thing: she would not stop. She would never give up. Never.

Without realizing it, Dawn had started crying again. More than simple sorrow, more than any measure of grief could feasibly express. She sobbed when there were no more tears to offer, gasped for air that hovered above her with mocking objectivity. She could not cry enough—she could not cry at all. Whatever there was to offer in the cruel face of humanity, she lacked in full. Everything was stripped away, rendering her cold, barren, and alone.

It was then it came rasping. A small and obscure tapping, at the face of her chamber door. Dawn’s eyes flew open and she fought to maintain control over her release, but nature had none to offer.

Another tapping. Feather-light. Knocking, inquiring, at her…

She sat up, eyes shooting to the projection of light cast under the door. No one stood there. Whatever it was had to be a conjecture of her overly active imagination. Her hope was becoming too strong. It would do little good to—

It came again—louder this time. Strident and demanding. She heard the metallic hissing in her gasp and her froze in her chest. The sound was intruding from the window, not the door. The window where there sat, perched on a sturdy tree branch, the deceptively neutralizing persona of her dead sister.

Which came first—panic or relief—she was not certain. It had been days since she last saw Buffy. Days that somehow transpired to weeks and ultimately to years. Her blood coursed with the taste of reaction, and without thinking, she edged to her feet and pushed the frame open. Cool night air kissed the wetness on her face and nearly ripened her body to stone.

She was not sure who she was looking at, or what. The image was Buffy, but those were not her sister’s eyes. A smile that dripped with falsified compassion was etched tightly on her face. When Dawn was nearly convinced that there was nothing there—that her sight had finally failed her—the being leaned forward and stretched her hand to explore the invisible barrier between them.

She didn’t get far. A low hum announced her collusion with a boundary compressed of nothing; she frowned and pulled away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe those guys,” she muttered in aggravation. “What, is this punishment for me locking them out of the house? They have some bizarre foundation for grudges, I tell you. You’d think people would learn to grow up every now and then.”

That was all the prompt she required. Dawn leapt to her feet, backing strategically from the window. “Get out of here,” she ordered, trying to sound strong. Her throat hummed with the taste of nervousness, but she did not let it distract her.

The look she received in reply was enough to break anyone. A patented Buffy look. Brokenhearted—hurt beyond reproach. “Dawnie,” she pleaded. “Please let me in. Don’t recognize me? It’s me…it’s—”

No, that couldn’t be allowed. Furiously, she clasped her hands over her ears and shook her head and fervent denial. “Liar!”

“Dawn—”

“No. No! Get out of my room, you motherfucking liar!” She was screaming so hard she was certain her plight could be heard for miles. Perhaps that was the reason the thundering up the stairs failed to register to her conscious. “You evil bitch! Get out of here!”

Her bedroom door flew open, but she did not turn to greet her guests. Without having to look, she understood. Cold comfort swept her insides with all the joyless relief it could offer.

“Looky, looky,” William drawled from behind. “’Ello, luv.”

Another voice. Angel. “Get out of here, Buffy.”

That was all it took for the look of presumed innocence to slip from her face. An expression as malevolent as any to befall her sister’s character beset her achingly familiar features. Then the thing was laughing. Cackling. Making viciously delightful fun of her misery. “I should have known the brigade would come a runnin’,” she observed. “I must say, I’ve trained you all very, very well. That was impressive.”

Dawn heard Willow gasp. “Oh God.” The preempted sound of tears was in her voice.

Xander was next. His resolution was as wobbly as any, but he managed to hold his ground. “No…that’s not—”

“Oh,” the Buffy-creature spat. “Let me guess. You’re line’s going to be…‘that’s not her.’ Do you have any conceivable notion how many times I’ve heard that in the past couple days? Really, you guys should look into getting a new slogan.”

The last to enter the exchange was the furthest away, similarly she with the most hostility to her name. “Where is she?” Faith growled, pushing people out of the way in a frenzied hurry to get up front. “I swear to—”

The Buffy-creature’s eyes widened when she saw her. “Holy fuck,” she said. “I had no idea you guys had gotten this desperate. It’s kind of flattering…in a ‘you must really have a death wish’ way.”

Faith’s gaze flickered dangerously. “Get out of here, B.”

“Or you’ll what? Go into another coma?”

At that, the other Slayer assumed one of her notorious poises, leaning far to the left with her hand on her hip. “Maybe dying a third time gave you some serious brain cancer or somethin’,” she suggested. “I coulda sworn I told you to leave. And yet, you’re still there. Nothing a good staking couldn’t fix.”

William and Angel must have tensed, for the Buffy-creature looked appraisingly in their direction. “Still talking big, I see,” she replied, eyes homing in. “Well, I’m ready to dance if you are. Honestly, Faith, I don’t see why you think you stand a slightest chance. I mean…you couldn’t beat me before. What the hell makes you think you could now?”

The other Slayer didn’t even flinch. “I’ve discovered the perks to forming strong alliances.”

“Get out of here, Buffy.” Angel again. Voice low in warning.

“Oh, threats from the big boy now. Is your bodyguard on break?” She gestured to William in amusement. “Don’t see a crossbow anywhere.”

“Don’t tempt me, pet,” the Cockney growled. “Wouldn’t want to do anythin’ rash.”

“Let me guess…because you’re not Spike?” She frowned at the elder vampire. “And to think…I came so close to getting you back to being fun again. But—”

Faith was losing her patience. In honesty, Dawn was surprised she had lasted this long. With an emphatic step forward, she produced a cross harbored in her left hand and waved it at the window. The effect was pleasing; the Buffy-creature hissed and vamped and lost balance, collapsing to the ground below.

“Yeah!” Xander yelped. “Take that, Porky!”

William glanced at him with domed brow.

“I mean Porphy!”

Faith leaned out the window and chucked the sacred emblem with supreme marksmanship. Dawn didn’t look but her sister’s cry of pain brought enough realism to the scenario for anyone to challenge.

Then the Slayer was yelling idle threats—things she knew would never come to be. No one was staking Buffy. Not while a chance remained that Buffy could be rescued.

“That ballsy little bitch,” Faith muttered as she drew back inside. “Didn’t figure she’d come by here.”

“I did,” Angel whispered. “She had to eventually.”

“I should go out. We all should.” She motioned to William broadly. “Whaddya say? Think she’s going out for dinner?”

“She already ate, pet,” the platinum vampire observed. “But that won’ stop ‘er from reaping all kinds of hell. All right…patrolling it is. Come on, Peaches.”

There was no sense in feeling abandoned now; Dawn understood they were doing what was needed. Still, her body was trembling far too hard to be discarded in consequence. Willow was at her side immediately, arms around her and persuading her head to find purchase at her shoulder. “It’s all right,” she whispered emptily, not attempting to conceal the doubt behind her voice. “It’ll be all right. I promise. No tears, no tears. You got graduation tomorrow! There can be no tears at graduation!” Her voice was clogged with a wealth of emotion that the Witch could not deny. “Well…unless they’re happy tears, of course.”

She wouldn’t be able to live up to that. Not now. Not after everything.

Not when it was time to brave the night.

Chapter Thirty-Five 

Every inch of the town simply burst with the promise of a long, healthy summer. It was one of those annoyingly chipper days that made everyone who wasn't combusting with radiant energy frown in discontent and excuse themselves from all imminent promise of conversation. Dawn's graduation was scheduled for the courtyard at Sunnydale High, but threat of a rainstorm that never arrived persuaded the faculty to move it indoors. William and Angel were there, standing precariously near Giles trying to maintain the frontage of proud relatives while scooping the crowd for signs of trouble.

It took no one by surprise that Buffy didn't show. Such would have been a hazardously bold move on her account.

The look on Dawn's face when she received her diploma was distant and forlorn. She smiled when she was supposed to, shook the principal's hand with detached interest, and even paused to have her photo taken with a group of friends she would likely never see again. If anyone noticed her slump, they were too preoccupied in their own feelings of perpetual delight to make mention.

Willow took her in her arms as soon as the students were dispatched. The two vampires slipped on sunglasses, ponchos, thick gloves, and carried themselves under umbrellas to the car. Several odd glances fired in their direction, but no one stopped to inquire.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetie," the Witch said supportively, climbing into the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Dawn replied, tone monotonous, removing her cap and tossing it in the backseat where Giles was scrunched between two very sun-allergic colleagues. Both were buried under a bound of quilts and coats - anything they could locate before leaving that morning. "Big ceremony."

"She woulda been 'ere, you know," William offered, not at all helpfully but empty comfort was better than none.

"Yeah." The young Summers girl was staring out the window, hardly listening. "I know. I know real well."

"Any news from Wes?" Angel asked, poking Giles in the ribs.

From the front, Willow flashed the Watcher a gaze of blunt warning. "Ummm...we really shouldn't be talking about this now. Remember...graduation equals happy day."

"In what alternate universe?" the elder vampire replied. "I seem to remember a giant snake..."

"You guys should talk shop," Dawn said quietly. "It's all right. I know it's more important than me being Miss College USA."

"Honey, don't-"

"Well it is!" she barked, crashing recklessly against the seat.

"Ow!" came a Cockney voice from behind.

"Sorry," she muttered. Violently, she turned to Willow, eyes flashing with the most life anyone had seen in days. "I'm sorry if my sister's sudden desire to kill me and all of you doesn't weigh in on your priorities list. It does mine. I can't enjoy this. I can't enjoy anything until this is all over."

"Dawnie, I didn't mean that," the Witch replied, her tone low and hurt. "I just...academic success...whoopee..."

"Yeah...big whoopee."

There was a beat of respectful silence before Angel prodded Giles again. "So?"

"Xander did not page me," the Watcher retorted, reaching to draw the contraption from his back pocket. "I assume there have been no updates. He knows to contact me as soon as possible. Wesley has not been very...informative on when he plans to get into town." He paused thoughtfully. "I do hope everything went all right."

"We woulda heard by now," William said assuredly, though he hadn't the faintest idea who he was talking about. "I'm sure Peaches's psychic bird woulda picked somethin' up 'f there'd been trouble."

"You never can know," his grand-sire replied. "Sometimes it takes days-"

"Gettin' off the matter at hand," the younger interrupted quickly. From beneath the coats, he shot Angel a look of pure warning. They weren't to upset Dawn today. "'Ey, Bit, where you fancy us treatin' you for supper?"

"I don't want to go anywhere," she replied dismally. "Just home."

"Bull. 'S you're bloody graduation!" William nearly leapt forward with emphasis and was stopped by Angel before he could reach sunlight exposure. Realizing his folly, he nodded in thanks, rolled his eyes, and continued. "Nibblet, 'm not gonna let that thing ruin what oughta be the, well, in the top ten of all remarkable things that 'appen to you. 'F you don' choose an eatery, I bloody well will."

Both Giles and Angel tensed for a long second before barking, "Choose!" simultaneously.

"Very funny," the Cockney growled.

The elder vampire arched a brow. "We were trying to be funny?"

"'Ey! I 'ave bloody good taste in my munchies. Tell 'im, Ripper."

"If we travel that route, Will," the old man jested, "I doubt you will ever speak to me again."

"You're pretty much runnin' that risk either way."

Something thundered in the front seat with the impact of a small explosion. "Guys! Stop!" Dawn cried. "This is stupid. I told you I don't want to go to dinner, and that's fucking final!"

A dreary silence settled over the occupants in the back.

"Bit," William said softly. "She'd want you to go."

The young Summers girl folded her arms and sat back, sniffing loudly. "I don't care."

"Yeah, you do. 'Course you do. 'F you din't care, you'd be namin' your favorite Joe's Diner right now." He paused thoughtfully. "She'd want you to live your life. 'F you don't, then that bloody Porphyria wins."

That was all it took. The mention of the creature carrying her sister's face diminished any lingering reservations. Out of the corner of her eye, Willow saw Dawn's expression harden with raw determination. "Fine," she agreed, voice barely above a whisper. "Let's go to...the Sunnydale Brewing Company."

"Don't think I'll let you drink, young lady," the Watcher warned. "You might be eighteen and a high school graduate, but-"

"Like I would anyway!" she snapped. "Honestly, Giles, if I wanted to drink, there'd be a thousand ways for me to get some real good booze. But I don't, so forget it. I like their cheeseburgers." She sighed, calming. "Then can we go to the Bronze?"

"Whatever you want, pet," William complied, perhaps too leniently. His elder shot him a look of warning, but he refused to retract.

Another beat passed. "And I want Faith to go."

That lent a long silence, understanding and mutually sympathetic. Giles cleared his throat and sat forward. "Dawn," he said slowly. "She's best to go out patrol...or at the very least await Wesley's arrival."

"Buffy won't go hunting if she knows we're out," the girl replied. "I want Faith there. I want this over with."

"You can't mean that, Bit," William said, aching to break free of his temporary restraints and establish eye contact. "Your sis's jus' a spell away. I'd take care of the bloody bitch myself, but 'm not willin' to gamble losin' 'er. We can't give up jus' yet."

"And how is she going to act if she does get her soul back?" Dawn demanded, tears springing to her eyes. "Does anyone remember mopey Buffy? The Buffy you tore from Heaven? She was happy there...imagine what she'd be like when she remembers everything she did." Broadly, she motioned to the lump forming the shape of the elder vampire. "Angel's been around for a bazillion years and he's still not over everything!"

"Hey," came the disgruntled retort. "Give a guy a break. I'm not that old."

"I'm sorry," she continued, shaking her head. "She'll wish herself dead. I don't want her to go through that."

"None of us do," the Watcher observed, sighing. "But we must try. For her sake."

Dawn was unmoved, inflexibility set in her voice that would not be wavered. "I won't go out tonight unless Faith comes with us," she said. "That's what Buffy would want."

The car pulled into 1630 Revello Drive - resolution determined without wavering fault. The girl would simply not be persuaded, and no amount of rationalizing would alter that.

William and Angel tore from the backseat and sprinted for the open doors, nearly knocking over Xander in the process. The rest were slightly sluggish on the uptake. Dawn said nothing to her friends as she entered. With a look of isolated interest, she flung her cap and gown beside the coat rack and made the solemn march upstairs.

"Hey, shorty," Harris called after her. "Major congrats are in order! It's not every day you-"

"Save it," she replied shortly. "Don't bother me until we leave." Her door slammed shut in somber warning of an unhappy disposition.

He blinked stupidly and glanced to the living room, where the two vamps were panting needlessly, still smoking from their recent close-encounter. "Was it something I said?"

The Watcher and Willow closed the door behind him. "No," Giles answered. "Dawn's just upset that...Buffy wasn't there. To see her graduate."

"Oh." Xander sighed. "I was sorta hoping she'd forget that part."

Anya suddenly appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray topped with layered cake and white icing. "Happy Graduation!" she cried, then frowned once realizing the object of ceremony was nowhere in sight. "You did remember to bring her home, didn't you? Just because she's out of high school-"

"She's upstairs," Willow said quickly, nodding meekly to the platter. "And I don't think she's in the mood for...well...anything."

The vengeance demon huffed disapprovingly, arms lowering. "Well, there's gratitude for you," she muttered dejectedly. "You spend all day-"

"Ahn, you went to the pastry shop." Xander rolled his eyes before turning again to Giles. "She mentioned something about leaving. Are we leaving? If so, where, and how much should I pack?"

"To dinner," Willow explained, narrowing her eyes as she scoped to the living room. "Will had this brilliant idea that-"

"Oh, save it, Red," the platinum vampire scoffed. "She can't stay up there forever. An' we can't hide in 'ere till Watcher Boy decides to show. What the Bit needs is some time outta the bloody house, an' with all 'f us there, it should make things right simple."

"We can't all go," Angel immediately countered, earning a dry look in response. He balked. "Well, we can't! Someone has to stay here in case Wes calls."

All eyes fell to Xander.

"Hey, don't look at me!" he cried indignantly. "I had to miss Dawnie's graduation! I so do not deserve to miss the party."

"What about Faith?" Anya volunteered.

Giles shook his head. "She is...adamant on bringing Faith with us. I believe she is sporting for the chance that we might run into Buffy." William cleared his throat. "Or Porphyria, whatever the bloody hell you call her. And while her mind is not quite as...clear as one might aspire, she did make some insightful points in the car."

The Cockney stepped forward, brows domed in concern. "You're not thinkin' 'bout listenin' to 'er, are you? I gotta tell yeh, Ripper...Nibblet's full of hot air an' the like right now. You give 'er back 'er sis an' it'll put the color back in 'er cheeks."

"I'm not sure if I'm prepared to be that selfish," the Watcher replied. "We lack substantial evidence, but we all know that she has been feeding. Buffy couldn't live with herself like that, and you know it."

Angel shook his head. "No...I disagree." All looked at him in blunt astonishment. "What? I'm not allowed to have a completely random opinion every now and then? Buffy understands the difference between being souled and not being souled. I should think everyone here would after what the past has taught us. And while she may never accept what she did, she will come to understand that fundamentally it was not her fault. She's not stupid, Giles."

"Once she thought she'd killed...oh-what's-'is-name...Warren's old flame," William said resourcefully, a look of understanding overwhelming him. "It tore 'er apart. She went to turn 'erself in an' I stopped 'er. She beat me to a right bloody pulp, which was likely deserved, but I din't understand. Not like I do now." He glanced up. "I won' stop till she's back, Ripper. What 'appened wasn' her fault. She was tryin' to save the sodding world. She couldn't've known it would...what would 'appen."

The Watcher heaved an exasperated breath. "Will, I understand your-"

"No! You bloody don't. I won' let that thing tha's out there win!" He started pacing, hands coursing through platinum strands, quaking in affect. "I won' give up on 'er, get it? I won' let 'er go without a fight. I won' jus' quit. I won' abandon 'er. For the second time in my unlife I wasn' quick enough to save 'er...not this time. Not when there's still a chance."

"He's right," Xander agreed, stepping forward emphatically. He didn't answer the questioning look he received for such a random spur of moral support. "I regretted it before, but I won't again. This isn't like when she died and was buried and we did the bad thing, G-Man. Are you saying you're willing to give Angel and Spike a second chance, but for Buffy there's just no hope? If they can stomach what they've done, then she sure as hell can. She's worth more than both of them put together."

William stepped out of pace and moved forward, his outrage calming, but not by much. A sigh tremored through his body. "I don' fancy gettin' in spats with you, Ripper. 'Specially 'bout morality an' the like. But I can't see eye-to-eye with you on this one."

The Watcher heaved a breath of concession, removing his glasses. "I can respect that," he decided. "You made some valid points, but I can't say for certain that I agree. There are some things you don't simply get over or stomach." He looked up and replaced the bifocals on the bridge of his nose. "However, if it is a matter between us and...Porphyria, then I will grant my pardon. It isn't fair that Buffy should die for actions that were..."

"Not 'er fault?"

"Yes."

"Where's Faith?" Angel asked.

"Out getting food," Xander replied. "We got kinda bored playing UNO."

The elder vampire nodded. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but you better stay here again tonight. Anya'll have to stay to."

The vengeance demon frowned. "Hey! What did I do?"

"If Wes calls, you'll have to pick him up. It's better if you go out there with someone who can fend." He motioned broadly. "Willow will come with us. Should something happen, she'll need to get Giles and Dawn back home."

Harris looked positively forlorn. "Twice? I'm being dumped twice in one day? Have you no heart?"

"It's for the best."

The Witch's lower lip was trembling. With great trepidation, she stepped forward and commanded Angel's gaze. "Do you really think something's going to happen? Maybe we should postpone this until-"

"If we're out, she'll come to us," he answered. "And if she comes to us, that means she's not somewhere else. That means someone else is still alive. One less person to feel guilty about once all of this is over."

"An' we all need to be there," William offered. "Well, least me, that Faith bird, an' Peaches. Notta one of us would be able to hold 'er alone."

"Buffy has super-human strength," Anya observed. Everyone shot her a dubious glance and she rolled her eyes, shrugging in concession. "Fine. She's always had super-human strength. Let's take time to laugh at the demon. Go ahead!" When no one moved, she shook her head and continued. "What I'm saying is...Slayer plus vamp...versus two vamps and another slayer? Do you guys think you can hold her without one of you getting...oh, let's say, staked? I might be wrong, but I think she'd be more upset about killing someone she loved than a perfect stranger."

"Even that's debatable," Giles said softly. "But she does have a point."

"Well, that's why we're all going together." Angel took a step forward. "Strength in numbers."

"Very well." The Watcher sighed heavily and paced away. "I cannot stop you. When do you think we should leave?"

"After sundown, naturally," William retorted. "I don' particularly fancy sharin' a bloody blanket with Peaches again."

Twilight came quicker than anyone realized, though due to summer, the days were impossibly longer. It was any vampire's nightmare: waiting an additional two hours before treading the hunting grounds. Around seven that evening, Willow crept into Dawn's room and shook her awake. The poor girl had fallen to sleep by the sounds of her own sorrow. Dried patches of former wetness coated her face. Once she was somewhat coherent, the Witch explained that they would be leaving soon.

"I'm drivin'," William announced as they headed for the front door.

"No, you're not." Giles snatched the keys from his grasp. "I have had the unfortunate experience of riding with you before. I remember exactly how well you navigate a vehicle."

"Oh come on. That was of the then."

"Yes, well, this is now. I'm driving."

Willow grinned lightly as she slipped between them. The Watcher turned to close the door, and called in finality to Xander, "My pager will be on. If Wesley calls-"

"Beep you. I know the drill."

"Hey, Harris!" Faith poked her head around the doorframe. "Want me to bring ya'll somethin'?"

He offered a weak, put-on smile. "No. The hearty dose of good ole McDonalds really did me in. Thanks for the offer."

She shrugged. "Whatever. Your loss."

The door closed with a note of finale, though the verdict would not arrive indefinitely until the car pulled out of the driveway. Xander watched them disconsolately and flopped down on the couch beside Anya, who was preoccupied with her nails while pretending to be interested in the evening news.

"Ahn?"

"Hmm?"

"Up for a round of UNO?"

The night started off slow but progressed with promising sanguinity. Dawn's mood remained unchanged throughout the majority of dinner, despite Faith and William's attempts to cheer her up - which consisted in numerous successions of making complete fools of themselves. It was Angel's heart-rending toast about the accomplishments obtained through the earning of a diploma that ultimately did her in. He was puzzled but pleased - more over with his childe's enthusiastic pat on the back as he took his seat.


"Now," William said between chuckles. "Why din't I think of that?"

He decided not to mention that the speech had been issued in the mindset of the utmost enormity. Whatever he had said, it made a face that had not seen a titter in over a week burst into long, hard giggles. That was all the motivation he required.

The Bronze was one of those places that one never tired of. For over ten years, they had enjoyed the music, endured the food, and lived out some of the more climactic stages of their lives while competing over raging amplifiers. It was the club designed for all generations.

The night, despite contradictions, had surprisingly passed without serious corollary. After dissolving that first time, it was difficult keeping Dawn from enjoying herself. She demanded William twirl her around on the dance floor a time or two and somehow talked him into posing for a picture with Angel. No one had any serious fixation on how long her good spirits would last, thus humoring her became imperative.

It was well past midnight before any could wear the strain on the teenager's random spurt of energy.

"Oh, come, on you guys!" she cried when Giles announced it was time to retire. "It's early!"

"Once upon a time, I woulda agreed with you, Bit," William observed, fighting sleep with every worn nerve in his body. "But Ripper the Wanker's 'ad me on regular people schedule for years now."

Giles tried to think of a snazzy comeback, but all he could produce was a long yawn.

"This is so unfair," the girl pouted. "You get me out of the house, pump me full of caffeine, and call it quits? You...you..."

"The kid's gotta point," Faith interjected. "It's what...after one? And ya'll are hanging it up already? Come on! There's fun to be had out there! I haven't been partying since-"

"The last time you had fun," Angel said softly, "things went a little...well, maybe we shouldn't talk about it."

"And hell-o. So not a kid, here! High school graduate equals big responsible adult! I mean..." She fumbled into her purse to produce her driver's license, unused as it was. The Summers girls were cursed with the inability to successfully pilot any moving vehicle. "It says right here. I'm eighteen. I could...I could rent porn and smoke if I wanted to."

Faith grinned madly. "Oh, she's become a wild child! Hold on to your seats, ladies and gents. I-"

"Can we gag her?" Willow whispered to Giles, who shrugged sleepily.

They were huddled in a fairly large crowd. It being late, the streets of Sunnydale were all but abandoned. Even the mischievous sprites were taking the night off. The sort of evening Buffy would have loved. Nowhere to go, nothing to slay, nothing to do but party.

It was that genus of poignancy, spoken or not, that lowered the morale.

"No news from Wes, I'm guessing," Angel said softly when the silence became too thick.

"If Wesley had arrived, I would have gone back a long time ago." The Watcher shook his head and took off his glasses. "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."

The vampire smiled lightly and moved to make a reply, but William grasped him by the shoulder with such blunt, cold fervor that he felt his legs turn to granite. He didn't have to look to know what caught the younger's attention. It was there; laid out for them in all glorious understanding. The final reproach to a long day's wages.

At the other end of the street stood Porphyria. Porphyria who was not Buffy. Buffy who was so far from herself it was near impossible to look at those eyes from any distance and read the compassion once locked therein. She was far enough for someone to place a mileage sign between her and her intended, and still, she was easy to read.

Then she spoke, and even through their distance, her words were as articulate as if she had been standing alongside them.

"I knew..." The voice she used was foreign, even more so than it had been the night before. Cold and wrought without pity. Without remorse. Without knowing or kindness of any sort. "I knew if I wandered around long enough, I'd find you out here somewhere."

Faith was already reaching for the stakes concealed up either sleeve. William patted Dawn on the shoulder and steered her in Willow's direction. "You get 'er outta 'ere," he said sternly. "I don' know wha's about to go down, but 's nothin' for 'er to see."

Porphyria was nearing, step by step, clearly in no hurry. Her hands were concealed piously behind her back, a look of presumed innocence washing over ruthless features. "Mmm...how deliciously predictable. Go on, Spike. Save the girl. We all know how good you are at that. How...quick."

"Cheap shot, bitch."

"What's to stop me from taking her now? You?" She arched an eyebrow at the elder. "Angelus? I don't see any crossbows nearby."

"They don't need one," Faith observed. "I'm here."

"Oh...right. The true sign of desperation. 'Let's call the mental slayer.' Peachy idea!" Porphyria's eyes flashed wickedly. "And still...all things considered...would you be so cruel to keep me from my sister on her graduation day? I got her something really cool."

"Willow," Angel said softly. "You and Giles, get her out of here now."

"Yes, Dawnie. Run. Run far." The crazed woman took another step forward, her arms falling to her side in revealing lack of any convention weapon. "Big sis has some things to discuss with the naughty vampires. They've been bad. Very bad." Her eyes shot upward, glimmering maliciously. "Bad Angel. Bad Spike. Bad, bad Spike. You know-"

"That is immaterial!" Giles yelled, and William shot him a look of warning.

Porphyria chuckled at his expense. "Oh, and my Watcher. So loyal to the evil vampire. My Watcher. My very own pet Watcher. I'll get to you in a minute."

"No you won't." Angel turned desperately to Willow. "Get them out of here."

"I'm getting, I'm getting." The Witch took Dawn by the arm and pulled amidst her struggles. Giles assumed position at her other side. When Porphyria tried to intercept, a wave of blunt, powerful magic fired in her direction and sent her flying to the pavement.

"It should hold her!" Willow screamed as she directed the others to the car. "But not for long. You guys-"

"Get outta 'ere, Red!" William yelled back at her. "Now!"

There was no want of negotiation in his tone. Anyone could read that.

Then they were gone, and it was just the four of them.

"That hurt," Porphyria said, climbing to her feet. "And you sent her away. Not exactly the best tactical move."

"Leave the damn vamps out of this for a minute," Faith barked, raising a stake to eye level in emphasis. "It's between you and me, B. Occupational hazard of becoming one of the non-pulsers community."

She cackled at the insinuation. "What, and you can take me? I remember you being impulsive, not stupid."

"Who can say? I'm a slow learner."

"The slowest. We can agree on that."

"I might surprise you. Come on, bitch. Gimme all you got."

Angel stepped forward on inclination. "You might wanna-"

"Step outta this Peaches," William advised. "Neither's gonna listen to you now."

Porphyria nodded, brows arching. "The first thing he's said in days to make sense. Listen, Angelus. If you can just wait your turn, I'll get around to killing you here in a few, okay? This shouldn't take long."

Faith's eyes flickered. "Yeah, boys. Leave us alone. Gotta have some girl time. Slayer to Slayer. Ya'll wouldn't understand."

Then she charged.

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