“Join the club,” Spike mumbled. “Share the same thoughts and I still can fathom where she’s comin’ from half the time.”

Giles returned and dumped a high stack of books onto the table. Smallish, thick and sporting matching red bindings, they looked like a scaled-down set of encyclopedia. He slapped a hand on the uppermost volume to keep the pile from toppling over. “A little light reading should clear things up. I regret that this didn’t occur to me earlier.”

“There are many years worth of Slaying stories here, Buffy. Including a great deal I didn’t inform the Council of.”

She blinked at him in consternation, before returning her stare to the pile of books.

“I knew this interview deal was bogus,” the Slayer accused, wagging a finger at him. “You were making us dish the dirt while you went on withholding from your fellow Watcher-people. Giles, shame on you!”

He winced. “Ah, yes, well... Uh, speaking of information, Buffy, I - I’d like a word with you before you leave.”

Buffy’s brow knitted with concern. “Am I in trouble now? Because I was only kidding with the shame thing, okay? Actually, you know, that wasn’t me at all. It was Spike. Spike thought it. It’s Spike’s fault.”

“Yeah, yeah, blame me. I enjoy it.” Spike planted a booted foot against the table and pushed back, his chair rocking alarmingly on two legs. “’Specially if there’s to be some sort of punishment involved. Whips, chains…” He made an oddly suggestive sawing movement with his jaw, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “All nostalgic for a Spike in your bathtub, old man?”

“Spike, do shut up. There’s no bother, really. Merely a private matter I’d like to discuss.”

“Sounds almost interesting.” Spike’s chair returned to the floor with a bang. “Didn’t know you had a private life, Rupert.”

Giles seemed uncharacteristically perturbed by the observation. His gaze darted toward his co-worker before he snatched off his glasses and began scouring the lenses, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I do have interests outside the store, you know,” he grumbled.

Giles replaced his glasses and glared at the vampire. “No. It is not. And I will have no more cheek from you, understand? Honestly, as soon as that dratted coat comes out of storage, you revert straight back to your old ways.”

“That’s so not true,” Buffy said. “Spike’s always this annoying and you know it. No reverting necessary.” She aimed a wink at the children. “Right, guys?”

Lydia finally dragged her attention away from the swaying stack of Slayer lore, and regarded its author with utter disbelief. “You sing?”

An hour later, Buffy flumped into the empty seat on Giles’ right-hand side. “Okay, Spike’s taken the kids home, Lydia’s gone off to blind herself interpreting your teeny tiny Watcher scrawl, and Anya’s lost in the untold joys of Money-Counting-Land. We are, for all intents and purposes, alone.” She rested folded arms on the table and nudged him with her elbow. “So, what’s up with the privacy clause on this convo? ‘Cause you do get that Spike’s gonna pick up the gist of it anyway?”

He glanced up from his book. The same book, she now noticed, that he’d been carrying around all day. “I do realize that, yes. But I needed the others gone, Lydia and the children especially. I have some rather… delicate news.”

Buffy snorted. “Do I have ‘handle with care’ stamped on my forehead now? Giles, I’m twenty-six years old. Married with childre- Um, child. You can not be worried about my sensibilities at this point.” She shook her head at his stricken expression. “Sorry, but high horse? Get off it. I can handle the delicate. Between Spike and the slaying gig, I was cured of any illusions a long time ago. I mean, you should see some of his history. No way I could be corrupted more.”

“Well, I must say, while that evokes some very disturbing mental imagery, I wasn’t referring to that sort of… I - I only meant that there are some important issues I need to raise. Without an audience.”

“I’ve discovered a more detailed translation of this so-called Slayer prophecy in the Chronicles of St. Basilisk the Smug. It puts a completely different spin on things.”

“There’s more detail? I thought the Council were the big experts on this stuff. Aren’t they usually kinda nit-picky with their whys and wherefores.”

Giles grimaced. “Yes, well. Needless to say, I don’t trust their motives. And it seems for good reason. Their version is all wrong. The Latin must have been transcribed by idiots.” He held out his book and pointed. “See here what is clearly the word ‘aureus’, and not ‘aurora’.” He gave Buffy a significant look. “It doesn’t mean ‘dawn’, it means ‘golden’.”

“It also says that this Prodigy would be a union of both good and evil,” he went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “The Council made this to sound as though it was a virtuous and pure being who would fight the demons, a champion of sorts, but it’s much more complex than that. This person would be more of a link between the two.”

“Like a bridge,” Buffy concluded morosely. “You can stop reciting from the big list of clarifications now, okay? I get it. My baby boy is the prophesized Messiah.” She sighed. “This is so what we get for giving him a Biblical name.”

“In the immortal words of Indigo Scorn, this ‘fully siphons the cosmic gas tank’.” She frowned and looked back at him. “Hey, wait a minute. Wasn’t Basilisk the name of that booger monster from the Font of Knowledge, the Keratos demon who may or may not have something to do with the origins of the Serpiente link?”

“Why, yes.” He seemed inordinately pleased that she’d remembered. “I’ve been researching him on a somewhat sporadic basis over the last few years, which is why I happened to have this particular volume handy. It’s all connected, Buffy, all of it.”

“Yay.” There was no discernable enthusiasm at all in her tone, and after a few minutes of chewing on her lower lip, she took a deep, fortifying breath. “Giles, I think I need to tell you something really important.”

Taking the Nipper along on early patrol was not Spike's idea of good father/son bonding time, but for some mysterious reason Buffy had insisted, and he was nothing if not a willing slave to his Slayer. Besides, he reasoned, it was only middling dark and any real threats wouldn't be about until Buffy and Dawn took secondary around midnight.

The younger Slayer had slotted easily into their regular patrolling schedule. She was reasonably competent, despite her disturbing tendency to be clumsy with the heavier weapons; didn’t have anywhere near the same flair as Buffy, of course, but she got the job done.

They strolled amiably through Restfield Cemetery, taking the well-worn path toward Spike's old crypt. The vampire was hoping that the familiarity would make the boy open up. He'd been uncannily quiet for too long, and it wasn't right for him to keep things so close to his chest. He didn't allow Buffy to get away with it, and he was damned if he would allow his son to.

"So," he began, casting a surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye. "Got somethin' on your mind, eh?"

Seth was silent; a tiny tow-headed figure bundled in an outsized parka and a long stripy scarf, kicking sneakered feet through the grass. He shuffled along for a while longer before finally piping up. "Uncle Xan was tellin’ Butt ‘n’ me that when you die you go up to heaven or down to hell..." His tone was questioning, seeking confirmation.

Though he knew that this wasn't the subject that was really troubling the boy, Spike nodded, going along with the diversion. "'S right. What do you think about that?"

The boy's forehead crinkled up, the same way Buffy's did when she was thinking really hard. After a long thoughtful pause, he replied, "I like it here in the middle."

Spike smiled. "Me too, mate, me too. What say we stay here for as long as we possibly can?"

"'Kay." Seth's reply was distracted as he gazed off into the distance. He stopped walking and squinted. "Oh wow. Cool."

"What?" Spike tried to make out what his son was looking at, and failed to spot anything of interest.

Seth pointed and his father followed the gesture, even going to the extreme of leaning over to sight along the outstretched arm. He shook his head and straightened, still unable to see the fascination.

It was a well-known fact, on the Hellmouth anyway, that vampires as a whole had extremely fine-tuned auditory systems. Spike had lost none of that inherent capability with his human reversion, but right at that moment all he could pick up were his and Seth's own heartbeats. He felt as deaf as a post.

He hesitated for a moment at the thought, calculating in his head. His lean features screwed up in a horrified grimace at the realization that he'd be turning one hundred thirty within the year. Should just start calling him Methuselah. He was jarred out of his musings when Seth suddenly took off at a mad dash.

Spike tore after him. Bloody kid was almost moving at full vamp speed. That was new. Still not as fast as his old man, though. They’d not sprinted even halfway across the graveyard before Spike overtook his son, effortlessly gathering him up and clutching him tight.

“Don’t you EVER do that again!” he puffed, holding the little body to his chest.

He held Seth up and peered at him. Sure enough, his eyes had turned a deep, dark gold. They were focused beyond him, on a nearby crypt.

Spike pivoted around to look, sensing the lone vamp lurking there even as he did. Buffy may have had a point about bringing the boy along on patrol after all. This display of his had all the hallmarks of what she called her ‘spider’ sense, the Slayer part of her that always knew when a vamp was in the vicinity.

Seth’s powers were developing faster by the day. At this rate he was going to be more powerful than they had ever imagined, and he was going to get there a whole lot quicker. The sooner they learned to deal with it, the better.

He lowered Seth to the ground, keeping one hand on his narrow little shoulder to hold him in place, and pulled a stake from his pocket, peering from it to the vamp and back. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to see how talented the boy really was.

Seth took the decision away from him, snatching the stake, lightning fast, and then charging the vampire.

Judging by the stupefied expression on the fledgling’s face, he hadn’t been expecting this either. “Hey, what the…” was as far as he got before his mini-attacker leapt through the air and staked him - right through the heart in one thrust – then landed soundly on the balls of his feet, surrounded by swirling clouds of dust.

Spike pursed his lips together, hard pressed to keep from grinning from ear-to-ear, pleased as punch. That’s my boy.

“No, Spike,” Buffy’s voice whispered in link-speak, sounding just as proud as Spike was. She’d apparently been keeping tabs on the whole expedition. “That’s OUR boy.”

-4-

ADMISSION

The soft, almost tentative knock drew Buffy’s attention away from the glossy fashion magazine on her lap. She frowned, dumped the magazine onto the coffee table, and made her way into the hall, pausing as she sensed the identity of the mysterious late-night visitor before she’d even reached the door.

Angel. Great. Just what she needed. And a personal visit like this had to mean big news, something he couldn’t tell her over the phone.

She sighed and then pulled the door open, plastering on a cheerful smile. “Hey.”

The Warrior Vampire gazed at her from under a heavy, burdened brow, his broad shoulders hunched awkwardly beneath his stylish charcoal trench-coat. “Hey.”

Buffy knew that he hadn’t been the happiest of people since Faith died, but this was a whole other level of not-happiness. This was almost pre-Cordelia not-happiness. She grimaced. “That so doesn’t look like a good news kinda face.”

“How about an ambiguous news face?”

“That depends. What’s ambiguous mean?” He gave her a weary look and she grinned. “Sorry, but you’re way too serious. You’re acting like Cursed-Angel Mark 3.” She peered at him suspiciously. “You’re not cursed again are you?”

“No. It’s not… Um, can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” She preceded him into the lounge, ushering him magnanimously toward the sofa and then curling up in Spike’s chair, tucking her legs beneath her.

Angel glanced around nervously as he sat, his eyes resting a fraction overlong on a group of family photos before returning to the Slayer. “Wes thinks he may have found something in the Pylean Trionic Ledgers,” he said without further preamble. “About Seth.”

She didn’t even blink. “More bridge stuff?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together. “There’s a possibility that he’s in danger. Most of the new entries were found in conjunction with references to someone called the Golden One or the Golden Prodigy, but it’s kind of unclear whose side he’s on.”

“Huh.” Buffy stared down at her hands, absently picking at a hangnail on her thumb. “Hence the ambiguous.”

“Yeah.” Angel watched her intently. He didn’t like that she was so quiet, it didn’t bode well. “Where’s Spike?”

“Out. Patrolling.”

Something was… off. He inhaled sharply, testing the air, scenting. She was the only one in the house. “And Seth?”

“Out.” She met his eyes evenly. “Patrolling.”

“What? You’re kidding me?”

“About this? No.”

“Buffy, why would you even... ?”

Her gaze skittered sideward, just as the front door was flung open and Seth burst through in an explosion of hyperactivity.

“Mom! Didya see? Didya, didya?” He launched himself into her arms, still bobbing up and down in excitement.

She hugged him back tightly. “Sure did, baby. You did real good.”

Spike surged in a moment later, the door crashing shut in his wake. “Bloody brat,” he panted. “Ran pell-mell the whole way back.” He caught sight of Angel and his lip curled with distaste. “Why’re you here?”

He asked out of sheer habit, already knowing from Buffy why his Sire had deigned to grace them with his presence.

Angel didn’t answer anyway. He was immobile with shock, mostly due to the fact that the boy was actually clutching a stake in his small, mittened hand. “Is that a... ?” The question caught in his throat when Seth turned his head to look at him. “Oh. Jeez.”

The lad’s eyes were a dark, molten gold. “Vampire,” he growled, and would have attacked in the next instant if Buffy hadn’t held him firm.

“That’s Angel,” Buffy murmured to the agitated child, one hand stroking his hair in attempt to calm him. “Remember Angel? He’s a good guy.”

Seth just struggled harder against the Slayer’s hold. She threw her husband a pleading look.

“Nip!” Spike barked.

Seth looked at his father, tawny eyes blazing.

“We don’t stake the guests,” Spike told him firmly. He smirked at the older vamp, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “Even if they are wankers.”

Seth let out a silly giggling noise, slipping back to his normal state as suddenly as he’d changed into the other one. “Spike said ‘wanker’.”

Buffy scowled at the blonde vampire. “Spike needs to have his mouth washed out with soap.”

Seth pulled out of her grasp, grinning eagerly. “Can I watch?”

“No.” She gave him another brief hug. “It’s late. Go on up and get ready for bed, okay?”

“’Kay.” Instead of moving to do as she asked, Seth lingered by her side, resting his weight against the arm of the chair. He gnawed on his lower lip, casting shy glances at Angel through his long lashes.

Spike smiled indulgently. “Got somethin’ you wanna say?” he prompted.

“Sorry, I was gonna stake ya,” Seth intoned, then turned on his heel and scurried away up the stairs.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder self-consciously. “He’s kinda shy around strangers.”

Spike snorted. “Don’t get any stranger than old Peach-fuzz there.”

Angel glared at his incessantly irritating childe. “I think what just happened takes the strangeness cake.” He raised his brows, glancing back and forth between the pair. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Gramps, but Nip’s gone all super-powered on us.” Spike slouched against the doorjamb, feigning a complete lack of concern.

Buffy maintained a similar air. “We’re dealing.”

“By letting him dust vampires?” Angel was incredulous. “What the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to get him killed?”

Buffy’s eyes widened, hurt by the accusation. “How can you even ask that?”

“It’s a valid question. From what I saw you’re not exactly being the poster people for responsible parenting.”

Spike let fly at his Sire in much the same manner as Seth had tried to. In the blink of an eye he had Angel pinned to the sofa, one implacable hand gripping his throat.

“Shut your gob, you bloody arrogant git,” he hissed, squeezing harder with each word, pushing him into the cushions. “We’re doin’ what’s right as best we know how an’ we sure as hell don’t need the likes of you, or that sodding Council getting in our way.”

Angel struggled. Wrenching at Spike’s wrist to break the hold, then shoving him back, straining to draw the air to speak. “The… uh, the C-council is here?”

“New Slayer, new Watcher,” Buffy reported, unsympathetic to his distress and kind of disappointed that Spike hadn’t hit him. “That’s how it works, remember?”

“Uh huh.” The older vampire rubbed at his throat thoughtfully, and then looked up at Spike, who loomed over him like a particularly annoying bleached blonde thundercloud. “Strangling me doesn’t really work, you know,” he commented.

“Yeah, well, it’s good for a laugh.”

Seth appeared on the stairs behind them, pajama clad and peeking anxiously through the banister. “Mom?”

Buffy shot to her feet. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“Are you guys fightin’?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Buffy and Spike had answered simultaneously, then stared at each other, a complex jumble of emotions zipping back and forth between their gazes.

“Your Dad just made Angel a little mad,” Buffy explained after a beat.

“Like when he makes Uncle Xan get all red in the face and then he yells all them bad words?”

“Yeah. Exactly like that.”

Seth took a moment to register that, then dismissed the incident altogether, moving on to a more important subject. “Hey, I can’t find Mr. Gordo. He’s losted.”

Buffy headed off toward the stairs, taking her son’s hand and joining him in the climb back to his room. “Where did you last see him?”

Spike and Angel watched them leave, each lost in their own thoughts.

“So,” the elder vamp said after the silence had stretched to breaking point. “Superpowers, huh?”

“Yeah. Happy bloody Birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?”

-x-

Giles was enchanted.

Enchanted, spellbound, awestruck; simply because Lydia Travers-Sherwood was sporting the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It transformed her, softened all those hard, straight edges, made her seem more human. There was a real woman under those starchy outer layers. A woman who was worth knowing.

Lydia met Rupert’s gaze, hoping to share her amusement, and her grin faltered slightly as she noticed his rapt expression. A moment passed, then he indicted the other in their midst with a jerk of his head, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and she was forced to slap a hand over her mouth to trap the laughter threatening to escape.

Angel had burst into the Magic Box ten minutes earlier urgently wanting to speak with Giles, the smoke clinging to his shoulders proof positive of a close call with the mid-morning sunshine. They had yet to learn the reason for his urgency however, as only moments after he’d been hastily introduced to a somewhat awed Lydia, his cell phone had sounded, letting him know that there was a message awaiting him.

Watching the centuries-old vampire struggle with the device was proving to be one of the most entertaining things Lydia had witnessed in the last decade.

First of all was the fact that his ring-tone was set to the tune of ‘I Think I Love You’ by none other than the Partridge Family. It had taken him five minutes to turn it off, bringing about the second reason for her merriment - that the phone was so very tiny and no match for his large blunt-tipped fingers.

And then there was the swearing.

“Stupid plastic piece of crap.” Angel jabbed at the keypad one more time and then glared at it with such intensity it was a wonder it didn’t melt. The hand holding the phone flexed as he hefted it up, ready to throw it across the room.

“I don’t think Cordelia would appreciate you doing that,” Giles commented.

Angel frowned, dark eyes flitting from the Watcher to the phone and back again, his face enigmatic. Then he sighed and stuffed the cell in the pocket of his coat. “Can I use your phone?”

“Be my guest.” Giles waved at the apparatus on the wall and went back to his books, only occasionally glancing up to catch a peek at Lydia. If she was aware of his attention, she didn’t let on, seemingly absorbed once again in her own research. She was thorough, but not overly bookish. Practical, without being staid. And she had a marvelous sense of humor. He was really beginning to like her quite a bit.

Angel was by now engrossed in a mostly one-sided conversation with his other half, punctuated by long drawn-out pauses as she ranted down the line. “No, Cor, it’s just that … Oh come on, you know I hate the stupid thing … What? No I did not. It’s right here in my pocket … Because Giles probably doesn’t know how to use it either.” He glanced at the Watcher and mouthed ‘sorry’. “Cordy, could you just tell me … Yeah, yeah. Got it … No, I don’t have to write it down … Not much longer … Right. Bye.” A deep sigh. “No, I’m not going to say it … Because there are people here listening … I am not embarrassed.” He squeezed shut his eyes, frustrated. “Cordy…”

“She seems to be the domineering sort.”

Giles jumped at the voice. Without his noticing Lydia had moved to the counter, evidently to engage him in conspiratorial undertones. “What? Oh, oh yes, quite. Cordelia Chase is a very assertive young woman.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind.” Lydia watched Angel thump his forehead against the wall in aggravation. “For the most part.”

“Yes, well, despite how it looks he’s a better and more patient man that I. Cordelia often had me at my wits end.”

“Judging from what I’ve read so far, it’s a place you’ve visited quite a bit.”

Giles smiled. “I’ve had my moments.”

Lydia returned his smile. It was even more beautiful close up. “I’ll just bet you have.” She winked and strolled back to the table.

Giles watched her go, mouth agape. Had she just been flirting with him?

“Can I talk to you privately?”

Angel’s low voice startled him from his musings. The man moved like a cat, he hadn’t even heard him hang up the phone. “What? What did you say?”

“Wow. Stunned Giles. That’s one for the record books.” The vampire’s dark gaze darted toward Lydia and then back to the flustered Watcher, one corner of his mouth ticking up the tiniest bit. “She must be special.”

Giles scowled. “Is that your business?”

“Not really.” Angel shrugged. “Have you recovered enough to talk yet?”

“You do seem troubled. More so than usual, at any rate. Is it Cordelia?”

“No, Cordy’s just…” He floundered for a suitable adjective for a moment, and then threw up his hands in defeat. “Being Cordy.”

Giles stifled a knowing little smirk of his own, dropping his gaze to the paperwork before him. “Indeed.”

“The truth is I’m worried about Buffy.”

The Watcher’s head shot up at that, and he instantly gave himself away. “Why? Did something happen?”

Angel stilled, realization dawning. “You already know don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Giles’ face hardened. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“That might fly if you were dealing with a human, but…” Angel looked Giles over. “Faster pulse, higher blood pressure.” He sniffed pointedly. “Sweat. Not lying to me, are you?”

Damned sensitive vampires. “Not in the least.”

“Uh huh.” Angel placed his hands on the counter and leant in. “I’ve got two words for you, Giles. Golden. Prodigy.”

They both swung towards the Magic Box door as it clattered open.

Dawn flounced in, a spring in her step. “Hey, what’s…up…?” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the vampire. Her eyes widened comically and she let out a little ‘eep’, before dumping her backpack on the floor and scrabbling to find the stake she’d squirreled away in it.

“Never mind, Dawn,” Lydia said calmly, barely bothering to glance up from the journal she was reading. “It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be slain.”

The teen hesitated. Her Watcher didn’t seem to be under a thrall or anything but you could never know for sure, especially with older vamps. And this one felt pretty old. Kind of unusual, too; sort of brooding and mysterious, different from your average, run of the mill creature of the night. He made her twitchy, and not in a good way despite being really, incredibly gorgeous.

“Okay.” She kept the stake in her hand, regardless, and eyed him skeptically. “Why don’t we need to slay him? I mean, he is a vampire, right?”

Angel straightened and eyed her right back.

So, this was the girl the Watcher’s Council believed would end dimensional disharmony? She seemed perfectly unremarkable to him. Buffy had always given the impression of being so much more there; a larger than life presence. But, much like Faith, he sensed no real power in this one other that her Slayerness. That clinched it. No cosmic destiny for her.

Jaw set like granite, he crossed his arms, at his most imperious. “Yeah, I am. My name is Angel.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” She folded her own arms across her chest, mirroring his pose, tapping the stake impatiently against her left shoulder. “Because I have to say, that’s a really sad name for an evil vampire, not ominous sounding at all.”

Angel’s imposing façade gave way, making him appear much, much younger all of a sudden. “I’m not evil,” he whined. “Why does everyone always think that?” He threw his arms out in supplication. “Am I giving off evil vibes or something?”

“Kinda.” Dawn cocked her head, reminding him weirdly of Spike. “Plus, you know, vampire.”

“Well, I’m not evil okay? I used to be, but I got better. I haven’t been evil for a long time. Years, even.”

“I get the point.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, where it cascaded straight down her back like a shampoo commercial. “Jeez, tantrum much?”

She was definitely reminding him of Spike now. It wasn’t anything specific he could put his finger on, but Angel suddenly wanted to strangle her. He made a frustrated sound in his throat and turned to Giles for support.

“Oh, um,” Giles realized he was supposed to say something to back the vampire up, but could think of a single thing. “He – he used to be known as Angelus,” he finally blurted.

Angel glowered. “That’s not helpful.”

Dawn blinked, memory jogging. “As in Scourge of Europe Angelus?” She pursed her lips and looked at him anew, something akin to admiration sparking in her clear blue eyes. “Huh. I’ve heard about you. You’re, like, famous and stuff.”

“But I’m not evil anymore,” Angel qualified. “I have a soul now.”

“You’re a hero then, right? Like Spike.”

The older vampire looked appalled. “God, no. I’m not anything like Spike. At all. We’re completely different. I mean, he’s so… so short. And obnoxious, and annoying, and… he has bad fashion sense.”

“Really, really bad,” Dawn snorted in amusement. “And his hair is kind of…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other and Dawn actually felt something shift inside her, a sudden pull of attraction. What was that all about? Sure he was hot, but he was also an icky old vampire - EW! Except… except she wasn’t feeling the ‘ew’ part so much right now, and those dark chocolate eyes of his were so beautiful, especially when he was smiling… all soft and melty and…

She blushed and ducked her head, waving the stake in his general direction. “I’ll, um, I’ll just be putting this away now.” She snatched her backpack from the floor at her feet and retreated to the reading nook, not sparing him a backward glance.

Angel watched her go, the smile still lingering. “She’s cute,” he commented. “Got a bit of an attitude problem, but that’s to be expected with Slayers.”

Lydia turned in her seat to regard him warily. “What do you know of Slayers other than your interactions with Buffy and Faith?”

Angel’s features stiffened as he drew back into himself. “Nothing much.”

Giles squinted at him. He’d known Angel long enough now to know when he was hiding something and this was classic avoidance on the vampire’s part, an interesting development after all this time. What did he know?

The vampire turned his head and met the Watcher’s eyes. Something lurked in their depths, something Giles had never expected.

Fear.

Angel abruptly dropped his gaze, finding fascination with the tile pattern on the floor, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Giles was beyond intrigued now. He had done hours of research on the souled vampire after he’d first appeared in Buffy’s life, but the Council’s records were far from perfect. Of the limited number he’d found, some were sketchy, others blatantly false. Sometimes the vampire had been given credit, if one could call it that, for different murders on the same date on opposite sides of the country, while yet another stated that he had not even been in the country at that time.

He cast a fleeting glance at the pile of journals Lydia was sorting through. Several of them were dedicated entirely to Angel and his alter-ego, but he couldn’t recall any references to Slayers apart from his history with Faith, Buffy and, to a lesser extent, Kendra. In fact, he was positive there were none. What was it he had missed?

Angel, not surprisingly, had identified his intentions from that one furtive movement. “Giles, I…” He sighed heavily. “Look, could you just… let it go? Please?”

“Why?”

“It’s… Nothing good can come of it, and I…” he cut himself off, sensing that Lydia was now watching them curiously from the study table. He shook his head. “Just drop it. We’ve got other things to worry about now. Things that have nothing to do with me.” He stared intently into the Watcher’s eyes, almost trying to impress his will on the other man. “All right?”

Giles met the look head on. He’d gone up against Angelus at his worst and this version of the vampire, Warrior-soul or not, was nowhere near as intimidating. But… he was correct in his observation; there were other issues at hand that held precedence.

“Fine. Consider the matter dropped.” The grateful smile beginning to blossom on Angel’s face disappeared when Giles added, “For now.”

-x-

Saturday night was Double-the-Fun Night, wherein patrols operated in two simultaneous shifts. This week the Scooby Roster had decreed both Buffy and Spike on active duty and Willow chief baby-sitter.

The young witch took this obligation very seriously and even though Seth was safely tucked away in bed, and Spike had been home from his allocated rounds for almost an hour, she was still firmly ensconced at the house on Revello Drive.

She was perched on the edge of the sofa, so engrossed by the laptop on the coffee table before her that she only looked up as the front door slammed and Buffy squelched into the room, soaked through.

"Yikes. What happened to you?"

Buffy grimaced. "Believe it or not, it was this whole weird thing where water fell from the sky."

Willow nodded solemnly. "I have actually heard of that. Some people call it 'rain'." She mimed quote marks with her fingers. “Word is it’s never supposed to happen in Southern California.”

The Slayer wrung out a handful of sopping hair and then whined, stomping her feet. "Wah! Rain make Buffy all drippy. Ruin Buffy's new suede boots. Buffy no like."

Spike walked into the room behind her and draped a fluffy white towel over her shoulders. He'd obviously been anticipating her arrival. "You're makin' a puddle on the floor, pet. Might wanna take your soggy self upstairs."

"I'll make you into puddle," she muttered, shooting him an enigmatic look from the corner of her eye, but started off to do his bidding anyway, rubbing at her hair as she went. "Thanks for the towel by the way."

"No worries." The vampire watched as she walked away, admiring how her wet clothing molded to her trim figure. When he turned back, Willow was eyeing him with the narrowed gaze of scientific analysis.

"So, how did you know?" she asked.

"Eh?" Spike frowned. Witch was getting as bad as the Watchers, wanting to know all their little irks and quirks.

"How'd you know that she got caught in the rain? Was it like a physical thing or a metaphysical thing?"

"Why's it matter?" He plunked himself down on his beloved green chair, flinging one leg over the armrest. "You doin' Rupert's dirty work now? Plannin' on joining his merry band of wankers?"

"Merry band of ... ?" Willow waved that off. "Never mind. I was just thinking that maybe we should be paying more attention to the odd kinda stuff that happens around here. Start, you know, keeping track."

Spike's pale head tilted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Moving with a slow deliberation, he straightened, swung both feet to the floor and leant forward. "Don't much appreciate bein' spied on" he said. His voice was soft, but there was danger lurking behind those mellifluous tones.

She swallowed, her face flushing guiltily. "I'm not..."

"Bollocks." He reached out and slammed her laptop shut, just to make sure he had her full attention. "Know well and good when someone's prying. That new bird's been on your ear, hasn't she? Been whisperin' all kinds of sweet promises."

"N-no..."

"You'll pay no mind to our business, Red" he growled, jabbing a finger under her nose in dark warning. "None. Got it?"

She blinked huge frightened eyes at him. He hadn't threatened her like this for years, not since the bottle-in-face incident that they didn't talk about anymore. He was practically vamping out right in front of her. Maybe Lydia had been on the money after all, something was definitely up.

"S-sure. Whatever you say, Spike."

Buffy bustled back into the room, still damp but now swaddled in a mint-green terrycloth robe that had to be five sizes too large. She moved unswervingly to Spike's side, and settled a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in the wiry musculature there. "What's up?"

Spike shook his head, not taking his eyes from Willow. "Nothing you have to worry your Slayer head about," he said.

"You sure? Vibes of the serious variety bouncing all around the room here."

"We're fine, love." He reached up to cover her hand with his own, finally dragging his gaze away from the redhead when he noticed the low temperature of her skin beneath his fingers. "Bloody hell, you're chilled to the bone. Want some hot chocolate to warm up?"

"You bet. Make it a Spike Special."

"Hmm." He nodded distractedly and wandered off toward the kitchen.

Buffy zeroed in on Willow. "What isn't he telling me?"

Willow pried her laptop back open. "I thought you guys could just pick up what the other one was thinking or isn't that working anymore"

"Oh, it works." Buffy's mouth curved in a secretive little smile. "It works real g-o-o-o-d."

Willow made a squick face. "TMI, Buff."

"So sorry, gay-now girl." Buffy shrugged. "We've got this system. I don't really know how to explain it so you'd... Oh" She gestured at the computer. "It's like firewalls or something. Password protect."

"You can do that?" Willow looked up, interest peaked. "In your head?"

"Uh-huh." Buffy slumped into Spike's chair and began to roll up the sleeves of her robe. She peered fretfully in the direction of the kitchen. "He’s being all broody though, so he's not real keen on letting me in just yet."

"And also kinda big with the not-trusting."

A few minutes passed in silence as Buffy regarded her longtime friend with a speculative expression. "You were pushing him."

Willow's mouth dropped open. "How did... ?"

"You were fishing for info and he clammed up."

"Yes!" Willow blurted, almost in relief. "That's exactly it! And then he got all finger-pointy and 'grr' at me, and it was even scarier than I remembered, mostly because he's not fall-down drunk this time."

“Yeah. ‘Drunken Angry Spike’ is definitely more annoying than scary, but I have to admit ‘Sober Angry Spike’ completely wigs me out.”

“I’m down with the wigging.”

“Well then, how’d you set him off? You were... what? Doing some freelance noticing?"

"It was really Lydia who did the noticing part."

"Right nosy bint, that one," Spike commented, ambling back into the room.

He seemed calmer, handing Buffy her 'Best Mom Ever!' mug, then dropping down beside Willow in his usual boneless sprawl. She shifted fractionally away from him.

He sighed heavily and then locked eyes with Buffy, his scarred brow lifting in silent inquiry.

She raised her own brows in return; then when they’d reached some sort of verdict in their internal debate, nodded and took a sip of her hot chocolate, leaving whatever explanations were necessary to her vampire partner.

Willow huffed in resentment. "Okay, now you're both with the not speaking."

"Look,” Spike twisted so that he was face to face with the witch, “I understand you’re a tad on the peeved side, but I’m not goin’ to get down on my knee and beg forgiveness for the intimidation bit earlier, ‘cause truthfully? Not sorry. There was a good reason for that. And,” he went on, interrupting as she made to comment. “Before I let the proverbial cat out of the bag, I want your word that it goes no further than this room. Enough people in the know as it is."

Willow panicked, torn between her desire to discover the big secret and loyalty to her spouse. "But - but I can tell Tara, right? I can't keep any secrets from Tara. We don't... I have to tell her everything."

"Glinda, then," Spike conceded. "But that's it. I'm not fooling here."

She nodded emphatically; one hand raised as if taking an oath.

"Good." Spike pursed his lips, unsure as to where to start. He shot a glance toward the ceiling, almost as though he was seeking guidance. "Right then. Uh... remember when the Nip was born?"

"Kind of unforgettable. It wasn’t exactly the textbook version of birthin’ babies. What, with all the fighting, and the biting."

"Yeah. Right. In any case, we figured all that 'bridge' twaddle Rupert kept banging on about was over and done after that." He paused and looked over at Buffy. "Turns out it wasn't."

"Wait, you're saying... What are you saying? There's something wrong with Seth?"

"No." Buffy clunked her mug down loudly on the coffee table. "Don't ever say that. This is exactly the reason we didn't tell anyone. There's nothing wrong with him. He's not wrong!"

"Shush, love," Spike cautioned. "You'll wake the lad."

The Slayer's lip trembled. "He's special," she insisted.

"That's right," the vampire agreed. "Same as you, same as me." He glanced at Willow. "Same as you, if you want to get fussy about it."

The young witch took a moment to process the information, trying to maintain some sort of calm. Wouldn’t be good to turn into a big spaz on them when they’d trusted her with something so mind-blowingly important. She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. "So, um... Define the special. Just how special is he?"

"Been flashing the yellow peepers since nigh on the beginning," Spike revealed, an odd hint of pride in his voice. "And just lately, he's been showing signs of Slayer strength. Staked a fledge last night all on his own."

"But he's only five!" Willow was shocked.

He patted her on the knee. "There’s where you've hit the nail dead square, love."

"Can you imagine what the Council would do if they found out?" Buffy asked. "The tests they'd perform on him?"

"Oh. Yeah, okay, I can see why you freaked out on me." Willow nodded. "I totally get it. And Lydia will just have to wallow in ignorant creek from now on. She won't be getting anything out of me." She made a show of crossing her heart, and then gave them a shrewd look. “That’s not the whole story, though, is it?”

“No.” Spike didn’t elaborate. He was having a hard time trying to incorporate all the puzzle pieces himself. Between what that Lydia chit had told them about the prophecy, Angel’s cryptic visit, and Giles dropping his ‘let the boy patrol’ bombshell…

Little wonder he had a headache again; almost as bad as the chip, all this bloody thinking.

Buffy frowned at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll manage.”

She kept her eyes on him, concerned. “Is that the honest truth? You did nearly vamp out again. I can tell.”

Willow was intrigued. “How can you possibly know that? Apart from my description of the ‘grr’ factor, I mean?”

Buffy tapped her forehead. “He gets this niggling little head-achy thing from the ridges.”

“Really?” Willow had her scientific face on again. She leant in to peer at him, reaching out with one finger to poke him curiously between the eyebrows.

“Oi, watch it.” Spike growled in protest and leaned out of reach, burrowing himself a little deeper into the sofa cushions and scowling at each of them impartially.

They ignored him.

“That falls on the extreme side of weird, doesn’t it?” Willow asked. “Technically he’s still a vamp, and a vamp’s gotta get the bumpies.”

“Usually, but he’s been having trouble with his for a while now.” Buffy snuffled with laughter. “Spike don’t got game-face.”

That earned a disgusted grunt from the vampire. “Still in the bloody room, you know,” he groused.

Willow smirked at him in a manner that was decidedly condescending. “So, you’re having a little trouble …performing, huh?”

“What? No, I… No!” Spike looked appalled by the insinuation. “God, what is it with you birds and impugning my manhood? The whole lot of you, you’re always… Hey, hold on a minute, I’m havin’ flashbacks. We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

“What? When?” Willow’s eyes grew round. “Oh. Oh, right. When you… with the, uh, the chip.” She glanced at Buffy and the two of them dissolved into giggles.

“’S not funny,” Spike said indignantly. “No pleasant memories there at all. I had a horrible time of it that year.”

“Not true. What about my will-be-done spell?” Willow demanded. “You can’t tell me that was horrible.”

He pouted. “That was torture.”

Buffy batted her lashes at him, teasing. “Aw, look at that lip…”

Spike broke out in a grin despite himself, eyes sparking a roguish shade of blue. “Wanna come and get it?”

“And I think that’s my cue.” Willow stood and began to gather her things together. “I’ll go and leave you guys to… do whatever.” She stuffed her lap top into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Just keep it down, okay? I don’t think Seth’s sleeping very well.”

“Nip’s just a night owl,” Spike said easily, dismissing her allegation with a wave of his hand. “Like his old man. Vampire genes, you know.”

Willow nodded. “I know.”

She left without another word.

Buffy turned straight to her husband. “Seth hasn’t been sleeping? Since when? Why didn’t I know this?”

“No need to get your dainties in a bunch. I was going to tell you private like once Red was on her way.”

Buffy got up and moved across to the sofa, hitching up her robe to climb astride the vampire’s lap. She cupped his chin in her palm, looking straight into his eyes. “That’s the reason you’ve been making with the surly all night, huh? Trying to be cloak-and-dagger guy?”

He shrugged. “Don’t like hiding things.”

Buffy snorted. “I would never have guessed,” she said, “Seeing that you’re so good at it.” The hand at his jaw began to wander, fingers trailing down the length of his throat to dip into the V of his sage-colored shirt. She deftly popped open the top button. “So, uh, want to come upstairs and… show me stuff?”

Spike suppressed a grin. Unable to resist teasing her, he peeked up from beneath his lashes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Not tonight, Slayer,” he intoned solemnly. “I’ve got a headache.”

“Oh, okay, I…” Buffy froze, a line creasing her brow as she concentrated on feeling him out through the link, then she whapped him flat in the centre of in the chest. “Jerk.”

“Ow!” He rubbed at the injured spot. “That hurt.”

“Good.” She thumped him again, just for the hell of it.

“Cut it out.”

This time she pinched him.

Spike grabbed her by the upper arms, tight enough to bruise any ordinary person. The look he gave her burned with laser-like intensity. “You vicious little bitch.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an assho - ” The word was cut off by Spike’s mouth meeting hers, hard and hungry.

Mmmm… Lips of Spike…

…TBC
Chapt 5 of Equinox Dee Bradfield

CONFIDENCE

Since Angel had inexplicably opted to stay in Sunnydale for the time being
and do the lurking thing that he was so good at, he’d been recruited onto
the patrol roster. It wasn’t a development he was particularly happy about,
especially since they had teamed him with the younger of the two Slayers,
and he was registering his complaints about the previous evening’s shift
with the management.

“…And she’s so clumsy! She’s always stumbling and tripping over. I mean, I
had to haul her out of open graves twice last night.”

Buffy shook her head, bewildered by the diatribe. “But it’s already been
settled. We wrote it down, in permanent ink and everything. You get to be
the one to take Dawn along with. One vamp, one Slayer. The perfect system,
you said.”

“Well, I was wrong. I’ll do it alone from now on. She’s too much of a
distraction. Also, you know, I don’t trust her. She acts all weird when I’m
around, and she, like… stares all the time. I really think she still wants
to dust me.”

“Are you impaired or something?” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Angel, Dawn’s got a
huge crush on you.”

He scoffed. “She does not.” There was a pause as the vampire registered the
truth of what she was saying. Horror and surprised pleasure battled for
dominance on his usually impassive face. The latter won and a smile began to
curve his mouth. “Does she? Really?”

“Oh, come on. Do you not remember how we first started dating? You’re the
totally hot older guy. Not to mention the whole ‘forbidden fruit, taboo,
must not go there’ thing. Wanting what you can’t have.” Buffy patted him on
the arm. “I wrote the book on this, trust me.”

Spike let out the stupidest little tittering noise at the idea of Buffy
writing anything resembling a book. She sent him a withering glance before
turning back toward Angel. She sighed when she saw his face, now sporting
one of those rarely seen goofy ear-to-ear grins. Ten years ago, she would
have melted into a gooey puddle seeing that grin. If Dawn walked in right
now, she was doomed.

Spike sputtered then, a giggle strangling in his throat. She could feel his
amusement bubbling along beneath the flow of her own concern, and while she
could definitely see his point of view on the situation, she also knew how
badly her own liaison with the vampire had turned out. Dawn did not need
that right now.

“Not going to happen, love,” Spike suddenly said, breaking into her musings.
His tone was light, residual laughter still rippling under the surface. “’S
not like the great berk’s interested in the Nibblet, not when he’s got the
former cheerleader taking up his time.”

Angel’s smile abruptly disappeared as he realized what was being implied.
“What?” He glanced back and forth between them. “You can’t think I was
gonna…? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not now, you mean,” Spike noted. “Didn’t stop you last time round.”

Angel stared at him. “Are you saying I’m some sort of perverted
cradle-robber?”

“Cap fits dunnit?”

“There is no fitting of caps,” Buffy soothed, intent on keeping the peace.
“We’re not accusing you of anything.” She pinned Spike with an unyielding
gaze. “Are we?”

“’Course we are,” he said blithely. “Think on it, mate. How many years you
got on my girl again?”

“Oh, like you can talk,” Angel retorted. “How much older are you?”

“I’m young at heart,” Spike said. “And no matter how you slice it, you’ve
still got a century over me, Pops. No getting around that.”

Buffy sighed. “This is so entirely pointless.” She threw her hands up and
began walking away. “When am I going to learn that there’s no getting
through to either of you? Stupid bull-headed vampires.”

They both watched her go, admiring the scenery, the inspired landscape of
‘Annoyed Blonde Slayer in Tight Leather Pants’.

Spike waited until she was out of sight before sharing a small grin with his
Sire. “Pervert,” he observed conspiratorially.

“Cradle-robber,” Angel agreed.

-x-

Dawn’s spur-of-the-moment patrol had gone well; seven vamps and a Spotted
Graknathyn all done and dusted. She wasn’t going to mention that last one to
Lydia when she made her report, though. If she remembered her demon studies
right, the Graks traveled in large family groups called gaggles, kind of
like geese. She got the feeling that slaying the one individual who had
dared to venture out solo was going to lead to bad things of a revenge-y
sort.

So, no mentioning of that. Or the fact that she’d managed to cut herself.
Again. On the calf this time. It was a good thing her healing powers were
all that and then some, or she would have to do some serious explaining.

This would probably lead to the loss of permission to take the sword along,
which would definitely be bad. She liked having a good solid weapon in her
hand, made her feel safe and stuff, even if she was the one who was often on
the receiving end of it. Spike found this particular trait of hers
hilarious. ‘Ironic’, he’d said.

Dawn didn’t get it.

She strolled along Main Street, heading for the Magic Box. She knew it was
way past closing time, but Buffy and Spike sometimes hung there after their
patrol and who knew, maybe Angel would be there too. Not that she was
looking for him or anything…

Oh, who was she kidding? She was practically stalking the guy. Could she be
more desperate and obvious?

Dawn thought back to the night before during their shift when she’d
‘accidentally’ tripped over a headstone and all but thrown herself into his
arms. His nice, strong, muscular arms…

The young Slayer sighed. Nope, obviously desperate, that was her.

She was still a little icked out by the ‘him being a vampire’ hitch, though.
She’d tossed some vague, un-incriminating inquiries at her fellow Chosen
earlier, trying to figure out if the attraction thing was of the normal for
Slayers, but Buffy had just rambled on about ‘affinity’ and ‘balance’, and
then mentioned something really disturbing about ‘meshing’.

Dawn didn’t get that either.

She halted outside the front window of the store, her breath catching in her
throat when she spied Spike and Angel inside. Oh, wow. He was here.

Now she was nervous. Vamps could sense that, right?

She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, and almost started
hyperventilating when the older vampire stood up and shrugged out of his
overcoat. He wore a fitted burgundy-colored sweater underneath and it made
him look completely drool-worthy and holy schmoly, get a load of those
muscles!

Spike, who was perched on the study table with his back to the door,
suddenly held up a hand, bringing the conversation inside to a halt. He
cocked his head to the side and then peered back over his shoulder, one
eyebrow arched inquisitively. When he saw that it was her he turned back to
Angel and made some comment that made the other vampire cringe.

Dawn scowled at the back of his bleached-blonde head through the glass. He
was always doing that; making her feel inferior. What the hell was he saying
about her to get that kind of reaction?

She barged in through the door. “What did you just say about me?”

Spike smirked. “Hello to you, too, Nibblet.” He paused and sniffed, his eyes
dropping to the slash in the leg of her jeans. “Had yourself another little
accident, did you? Nasty.”

Her anger evaporated in favor of keeping the incident low profile. “Oh my
God, Spike, please don’t tell Lydia.”

“Right.” He pursed his lips and regarded her speculatively. “What’s in it
for me?”

“Um, how about I don’t stake you?”

Spike launched himself off the table and was instantly nose-to-nose with
her. She blinked. Man that was fast!

“Don’t make threats you can’t carry out, little girl,” he snarled, his
breath puffing against her face. “Lesson the first – know thy enemy. Not
your typical vamp here.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over his beating
heart, his fierce blue eyes drilling into hers like lasers. “Feel that?”

Oh yeah, she felt it. That and a whole boat load of fear. Why hadn’t anyone
told her that he could be so seriously scary?

“Back off, Spike.”

Angel clamped a powerful hand on his Childe’s shoulder and wrenched him
away. Spike flew backward, crashing into the counter and then sliding down
on his ass and resting there like a propped-up rag doll.

Dawn gazed up at her savior with big, worshipful eyes. “Thank you.”

Angel stared at her for a long moment, his expression unfathomable, and then
casually shrugged. “Sure. No problem.”

“I was gonna kick his scrawny butt in two seconds anyway,” she continued,
stepping into his path as he moved away, trying to hold his attention. “But,
you know, I appreciate the help.”

Angel allowed a tiny smile. “Well, it’s kind of my job, helping people.”

“Mine too!”

Spike snorted. He was still sitting where he’d landed, massaging his arm to
get the circulation back. “You and your bloody hero complex, Peaches.” He
wagged a reproving finger. “Be the death of you one day.”

“Already dead,” Angel informed him blandly.

Buffy re-emerged from the training room and stood over her husband like
impending doom. “What are you doing?”

He offered a guileless little smile. “Polishing Rupert’s tiles with my
delectable rear end?”

“Uh huh.” She waited until he’d pulled himself upright and then kicked him
in the shin. “That’s for being mean to Dawn.”

“Ow! What?” He hopped on one foot. “I was helping!”

She unrepentantly kicked him in the other leg. “And that’s for trying to lie
to me.”

He didn’t reply, but his eyes glazed over for a split second and Buffy
twitched like she’d been electrocuted.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh, that’s…” She flushed and hissed at him, “Don’t
do that here!”

Dawn was fascinated. “What did he do?”

No one quite knew how to answer that, and when the cheerful electronic
strains of ‘I Think I Love You’ suddenly filled the awkward silence, they
all turned and stared at the place where the tune was emanating from.

Angel’s coat.

“Your manly apparel got a penchant for David Cassidy, has it?” Spike asked
dryly. “Can’t say as I’m surprised.”

Angel glared at him, snatching the coat up and searching the pockets for his
dreaded cell phone. When he found it he handed it straight to Buffy. “Here,
you answer it,” he insisted. “I keep forgetting how.”

Buffy grinned. “You always were technology challenged,” she said. “Darn
these tiny new-fangled thingamajiggys!” She pressed the call button and held
the phone to her ear. “Hey, Cordy!” she chirped, eyes dancing with mischief.
“Yeah, it’s Buffy… Nah, he’s here, he’s just doing his ‘cranky old
fuddy-duddy who can’t use a phone’ routine…” She let out a delighted peal of
laughter. “God, I know!”

Spike shook his head at his Sire. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

Angel watched Buffy warily, a belated wave of trepidation furrowing his
brow. “What?”

“First rule of coupling, mate. Never give the birds a chance to gossip.
‘Specially when there’s an ‘ex’ involved.”

“I never thought of that.” Angel’s worry became more pronounced when Buffy
unashamedly studied the cut of his trousers and then winked, her tongue
curling behind her teeth in the wicked way usually favored by her partner.
“How bad could it be?”

“Trust me, mate, you don’t want to know.” Spike rubbed a hand across his
eyes as though trying to erase an unwanted image. “Hell, I don’t want to
know. Buffy, have some pity, love.”

The Slayer pouted at him, but said her goodbyes and handed the phone back to
Angel. “She wants to talk to you.”

Angel looked at the device as though she’d just tried to hand him a hissing
snake. He took it gingerly and held it to his ear. “What is it, Cor?” At her
reply, his eyes darted from Spike’s to Buffy’s and back, before he spun on
his heel and moved off to try and find some privacy. With their shared
powers, they could probably hear the other end of the conversation and he’d
had enough of their teasing for one night.

Meanwhile, Dawn had been watching the scene unfold, feeling no small amount
of trepidation herself. Her stomach felt like it was trying to make a swift
exit via her throat, tightening all the muscles and making it hard to
swallow.

Just who was this Cordy person? More importantly, what did she mean to
Angel?

“Who’s that?” Her voice was small and embarrassingly squeaky. She flinched
at the sound of it.

Buffy and Spike exchanged an enigmatic look that quickly dissolved into a
silent battle of ‘You tell her’, ‘No, you tell her’, ‘No, you’. Even Dawn,
in all her cluelessness, was perceptive enough to make out what that meant.

“Oh. Oh, don’t worry, I get the picture.” Her voice was all thick and teary
now, but she absolutely refused to cry. Not here anyway. “I’ll, um… I’m
going now.”

“Dawn…” Buffy’s call came too late, the younger Slayer having already bolted
for the street, and she sighed heavily. “Damn. This is so not good.”

“Yeah.” Spike’s dark brows were creased together in a worried frown. “Your
average teen hormone bomb’d be bad enough, but this one’s all Slayer-like
and such. Could do all manner of damage.”

“Probably more to herself than anyone else, I think,” Buffy nibbled at her
lower lip, eyes riveted on the Magic Box door. “I hope.”

“Well, there’s nothin’ like a broken heart for pushing a person to
extremes,” Spike told her. “I learned that lesson hard enough.”

Buffy squinted at him for a second, trying to decipher his meaning. She saw
his memory flash in rapid sequence from a party scene and That Cecily Bitch,
to a darkened alley and Drusilla, and her heart leapt in sick understanding.
“You don’t think she’d…”

“Nah. Not the Nibblet.” He turned, directing his frown toward the broad
expanse of Angel’s back as he hunched in the corner, engrossed in his phone
conversation. “But right there’s an open target if ever I saw one.”

“She’ll blame him,” Buffy realized. “She’ll want to take away the pain, and
the one that caused it.”

Spike nodded. “That or she’ll get it into her head to track Vision Girl
down, try to free him up for herself.”

“Great. Like we haven’t got enough crap to deal with at the moment.”

Buffy slumped against his side and he instinctively curved an arm around her
shoulders, pulling her in tighter and tucking her head under his chin.

“Don’t fuss about it, pet,” he said, stroking her hair. “We’ll get it
sorted.”

She listened to Angel’s furtive mutterings for a moment, and then glanced up
at her husband’s face. “You know, I think I hate him sometimes.”

Spike’s chest rumbled beneath her ear as he chuckled. “Suspect I may have
some bearing on that sentiment.”

Buffy shook her head, her cheek brushing against the lapel of his denim
jacket. After all these years of being cigarette-free, he still smelled of
smoke. It was strangely comforting. She had to fight the urge to just bury
her nose there and stay awhile. “No, it’s not you. I know how you feel about
him and I can filter most of it out, but there are times when I… I just want
to shake him for being so self-involved.”

“Can’t fault you for that,” Spike said. “Often want to inflict some grievous
harm on the old lunkhead myself.” He smiled in happy reminiscence. “Never
forget rising up from my wheelchair and belting him with that lead pipe. Or
even torturing him for the Gem of Amarra, for that matter. Those were some
good times.”

Buffy swatted his flat stomach. “That’s not nice.”

“Been called a lot of things in my day, can’t say that’s one of ‘em.”

“Well, you’re not nice nice, but you’re not not-nice, either.”

He laughed outright. “That Slayer logic, is it?”

“The more superior Buffy logic actually.” Her hand soothed the place she’d
struck in slow circles, bunching his shirt. She froze as something occurred
to her and tapped him with a pointed finger. “You’re like an M & M.”

Spike peered down at the top of her head, scarred brow quirking. “Now, how
d’you reckon that one out?”

“See, you’re all bright and hard on the outside, but in the centre there’s
only sweet chocolately goodness.”

“No offense, sunshine, but that is utter bollocks. Only sweetness and light
to be found in this bag of bones comes from you and the Nipper.”

“Way to prove my point, Candyman.”

He only huffed in reply and they were silent for a time, enjoying the peace
and quiet that settled over them whenever they were locked in such an
embrace, the absolute sense of right. Only there in each other were they
able to find a small measure of order amid the chaos that defined their
lives.

Angel suddenly appeared in their line of sight, tugging on his coat and
fumbling to put his phone away. He looked more miserable than ever. “Where’s
Dawn?”

Spike blinked at him. “You get some bad news?”

“No. Why?”

“You look kind of…” Buffy was going to say ‘constipated’ but managed to stop
herself just in time. “Um, upset.” She reached out to lay a hand on his
forearm, finally daring to broach the subject they’d all been avoiding.
“Angel, what’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go back to L.A.?”

He stared down at the point of contact with an almost unnatural fixation.
“No reason.” His eyes rose to meet hers, simmering like espresso, dark and
bitter. “Nothing that matters, anyway.”

The Slayer snatched her hand away, unnerved by the change in him. He’d just
set a new world record: from goofy grin to withdrawn and brooding in mere
minutes. What the hell could have caused this? It had to have been the phone
call, but the why was a mystery. When she’d spoken to Cordy, she’d sounded
great, relaxed and cheerful even, nothing to indicate a problem of any kind.

She snuck a concerned peek back up at Spike, catching him just as his head
was starting to tilt sideward. She’d always wondered why he did that. Maybe
he was so perceptive of people because he was always seeing them from a
different angle to everyone else.

“Maybe,” he murmured distractedly, his eyes never leaving the other
vampire’s face.

Angel, in contrast, was refusing to look directly at either of them. “I’m
okay, really.”

Spike shook his head minutely, indicating to Buffy that no, he really
wasn’t, but he was willing to let it go for the time being. “Yeah, you’re
just dandy. Fine as fine can be. Unfortunately…”

“…Dawn’s not.” Buffy picked up where Spike had left off with barely a dip in
the conversation, trusting that he was doing the right thing in avoiding the
other topic. He’d always been a better judge of Angel’s character than her.
“She’s kind of wigged about the whole ‘Cordelia’s your girlfriend’
scenario.”

“Oh.” Angel’s lips peeled back in a pained wince. “Damn it. I didn’t want
her to find out that way.”

“Sod that. You didn’t want her to find out at all.”

Angel eyed Spike sourly, but didn’t bother with any further response. “I
should go find her.” He brushed by and left without uttering another word,
disappearing into the shadowed street like the creature of the night that he
was.

Buffy straightened and folded her arms across her chest. She hated when he
got all Mister Mystery on them. It was never a good sign, and the last thing
they needed was for him to have another ‘dark’ episode. “And once again,
something’s funky in the state of Angel.”

“Was wonderin’ what that smell was.”

She made a sound in her throat, amused and distracted all at once, and Spike
moved to stand behind her, briskly rubbing his palms over her upper arms to
ward off her sudden chill. There was a thoughtful pause, and then he began
to apply more pressure, massaging the pliant flesh with his thumbs, working
steadily upward to the tight contours of her shoulders.

“Mmm.” She pressed back into his body, surrendering to his expert touch.
“That feels really good.”

“Reckon so. You’re all tense, love.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Well, I happen to have a share in that particular load and I’m okay.”

“Liar. You’re just as strung out as I am, you’re just better at hiding it.”

He leant in and growled low into her ear; an actual growl, like a big cat.
It made a completely different kind of shiver run down her spine. “What say
we call it a night then? Take some time to relax. Nip’s sleepin’ over at the
Harris’ place, so we’ve got the whole house to ourselves for a change. Could
give you the full body version o’ this.”

Ooh, maybe involving some sort of oil… Images of gleaming skin and long,
clever fingers ran through her head, leaving Buffy flushed with the
possibilities.

Spike bit at the tender curve of her neck. Teasing, encouraging, and sending
her a few select images all his own.

She grinned and bent abruptly at the waist, using her ass to push him away
and then sprinting for the door. “Last one home’s a stinky Grox’lar Beast!”

Spike stayed motionless for a moment, still reeling, trying to catch his
breath. “Hey, that’s cheating.” And then he was running after her, barely
remembering to close the door on his way out.

-x-

Dawn had almost made it halfway back to the hotel when she sensed the
vampire behind her. It was one of the souled-up club, she could tell that
much, though which one wasn’t entirely clear from this distance. Either way,
it didn’t matter. She didn’t want see Spike or Angel. Especially not Angel.

She ducked into a side alley, flattened her back against the wall, and
waited for him to pass by.

And waited, and waited.

She frowned. They should have caught up by now, whoever it was. She edged
closer to the mouth of the alley and peered around the corner, only to come
face-to-chin with Angel, who was doing the exact same thing.

“Gah!” She flinched back and slapped at his chest. “Jeez! Don’t do that! You
almost gave me a heart attack.”

The dark vampire just looked at her. With the light behind him, she couldn’t
make out his face. Which was a pity, really, ‘cause she’d never been this
close before. She took a deep breath and held it for a second. He even
smelled good.

“Why did you leave?” he asked.

She exhaled noisily. “Well, it was kind of boring and stuff. I mean, if you
don’t count that ‘phone conversation-slash-comedy routine’ thing you were
all busy with.”

There was a pause while he looked at her some more. Dawn wasn’t sure, but
she thought maybe he was smiling a little.

“Her name is Cordelia,” he said after a bit. “She’s my…” He hesitated then,
not at all sure how to define what he and Cordy were. They weren’t married,
technically. And the old standby titles of boyfriend/girlfriend seemed
woefully inadequate. “She’s special,” he concluded lamely.

“So am I!” Dawn cringed the moment the words left her mouth and hurried to
cover the slip. “Not that I want to be or anything, I just meant…”

“I know what you meant.”

He did? Mortified Dawn pushed past to the street, her face flaming.

“You’re leaving again.”

“Yeah. Kind of big with the embarrassment here, so I’ll just…”

“Stay.”

Did he just ask that, or was it her imagination? She turned back. “Huh?”

“I want to talk to you some more. To explain.”

“I thought you did that part already.”

He took a few more steps toward her, coming out of the shadows. A diagonal
band of neon slashed across his face, lighting its planes in soft shades of
blue, and in that moment he was utterly captivating to her; all earnest
little boy, eager for her time. “Please, Dawn. It’s important.”

Resist, Dawn. You must resist. She narrowed her eyes. “Is this gonna be one
of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speeches?”

“Maybe.”

He was definitely smiling this time. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy.
She smiled back. “I’ve never had one of those before. You get to be my
first.”

The connotations of those words seemed to startle him for a second and his
smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. “That’s… good. I guess.”

Dawn flicked her hair over her shoulder, nervous again. “So, um, you wanted
to talk, right? And the talking and drinking thing seem to go, like, hand in
hand, and the Java place is still open. At least, I think the Java place is
still open. Want some coffee?” She frowned then. “Do vamps even drink
coffee?”

“I can do coffee.” Angel fell into step at her side. “But I think maybe you
shouldn’t.”

Dawn wanted to bounce up and down with glee. This was so great! He was
teasing her, like she was his best-friend or something.

There was still hope that she could win him over.

-6-

MISCONDUCT

Willow really wished she could magic herself out of the room. Out of the house, out of the town even, put Sunnydale and the Hellmouth far behind her. And while she was at it, she could go that one step further and put Buffy and Spike’s ‘special’ child behind her as well.

Unfortunately an escape wasn’t in the offing, so she remained locked down in the house at Revello Drive, enduring yet another ride on the babysitting rollercoaster. She’d deja-ed this vu many times before, but she had to say at this point that she wasn’t going to be volunteering for the duty ever, ever again. There was going to be some putting-down of Willow-feet, and if that didn’t work, the Resolve Face would be used. She couldn’t cope by herself anymore. Seth was getting worse at each time, his disobedience growing exponentially along with his powers.

A loud crash made her wince and tug agitatedly at the wispy ends of her newly-cropped hair. “Seth Jameson Grey,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “Get your little hybrid butt into bed right now.”

He suddenly popped up at her elbow, elfin face dominated by big, curious blue eyes. “Whassa high-bridge?”

“H-hybrid,” Willow corrected automatically, shocked that she hadn’t heard him coming. He was using Spike’s vampire stealthiness, now. That was a new development, and not a particularly pleasant one. Her heart was pounding from the fright he’d given her. “It means mixed. You know, like you’re made up of bits of your Mom and Dad mixed together.”

“Huh.” Seth blinked at her for a second, taking that in, and then dashed off again at full speed, a mere pajama-clad blur to the witch’s eyes.

Willow sighed. The kid had also inherited the narrow attention span distinctive of both his parents; they could have left that ingredient out of the mix with no argument. He was clever, though. Real clever. Quick on the up-take and quick with the taking-off. She didn’t know where his attention-deficient parents got the patience. Of course, he was usually a perfectly behaved little angel when they were around because Spike didn’t take any of this crap from him. And if Spike didn’t, she wouldn’t either. She wasn’t about to be shown up by a vampire; she’d have to pull out the big guns.

Willow got to her feet. “Time for bed,” she announced in a very stern voice. “I really mean it! Vado! Par ventus!”

Her pupils flashed with silver and a spiraling gust of wind flared up from her extended hand to whirl through the house, scooping up the demon-child and carrying him off to his room like Dorothy over the rainbow.

She followed the magical tornado up the stairs, listening to the little boy’s delighted giggling as he was swept along, and ending the spell only upon reaching the doorway of Seth’s bedroom. He was now sprawled on his back, smack-dab in the centre of the bed, his hair a wild halo of blonde curls around his head, disordered even further than normal by the supernatural trip.

“I wanna do it again,” he demanded when he saw her.

“No,” she told him, having all the patience in the world now that she was back in control of the situation. “Little hybrids need to sleep.”

“Not tired.” He sat up suddenly, all eager-beaver. “Hey, can we go kill some vamps?”

“And again, I say no.” She set the Resolve Face. It had many uses. “The way I see it, you’ve got two choices here. Sleep, or that perennial favorite… more sleep.”

He laughed. “That’s the same!”

“Pick one, buster.”

Seth flopped back onto the bed again, contemplating his options. After a moment, he scooted up until his head was on the pillow. “Killin’ vamps makes me sleepy,” he grumbled as he maneuvered his body under the covers, determined to have the last word.

Willow sighed as she switched off the light. “The scariest thing about that statement is that it doesn’t surprise me.”

“Night, Auntie Will. I love you.”

She smiled. That always surprised her, but in the very best way. “Love you, too, Seth. May the Goddess protect you in your dreams.”

-x-

He’d finally found it, the connection he’d been seeking.

Giles tapped his finger on the ornately hand-written page, the inked words glaring up at him like an accusation, as if he should have known their significance all along. Indeed, it seemed so obvious now, the fact that they hadn’t pieced the puzzle together before this moment was beyond his comprehension.

Fittingly, Angel chose that moment to stroll in from his early patrol with Dawn. She was glowering at his back as they came indoors.

“So not fair,” the young Slayer complained, poking him with her stake for emphasis. “That fledge was totally mine, and you just leapt in there and…”

“Saved you from being his dinner?” Angel supplied.

Dawn’s scowl darkened. “Wasn’t gonna happen.”

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

Giles sighed. He was glad that they’d become friendlier over the past week, it made scheduling the patrols simpler, but honestly, these two brought out the very worst traits in each other. Angel acted even more childish with Dawn than he did with Spike, and that was saying something.

The sound had drawn the dark vampire’s attention, and he was staring intently at the book in Giles’ possession. “What’s that?”

“Just some research material.” The Watcher did not wish to reveal the details of his discovery with Dawn in the room; it would just upset the girl.

Instead of being put off by the reply, Angel became even more interested. He wanted to learn all that he could about Seth’s abilities before the Equinox occurred, forewarned was forearmed, and Giles was his best bet on that score. And for some strange reason, that old book seemed familiar. “Anything good?”

“Well, that would depend greatly on your definition of the word.”

The Watcher’s wary tone finally registered with the vamp and he paused, eyeing Giles with concern. “What is it?”

“I am not discussing this right now.” Giles closed the book to emphasize his point.

“Why not?”

Realizing that his unwillingness to share was merely encouraging Angel to push harder, Giles stared at him with hard, flinty eyes. “Fine then,” he said. “I have two words for you. A name actually - Saskia Kaldera.”

Angel jerked back like he’d been shot, brown eyes wide and stunned.

“Weird name,” Dawn commented. She peeked at Angel curiously from the corner of her eye. He looked like he was gonna hurl. She wondered briefly if vamps did that, and then grimaced at the ‘blood fountain’ image that planted itself in her head. Ew, gross! Nice one, Dawn. “So,” she hedged. “What’s the trauma? It’s a girl, right? Who is she?”

“As far as I can tell she was…”

“No!”

Giles’ explanation was cut off by Angel’s sharp outburst. The vampire was shaking his head, as emotional as the Watcher had even seen him.

“Don’t.” He shot a glance at Dawn, conveying that his concern was not for his own welfare, but for that of the teenaged Slayer. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please?”

“Later then,” Giles relented. This was obviously a painful subject, and one that the vampire had managed to avoid for decades. Nevertheless, it was also one that needed to be discussed at the earliest opportunity.

Angel nodded. His already pale skin was now ashen, drawn taut and waxy with the strain of containing the untold devastation within. It made him look quite ill.

“Will you be alright?” Giles wasn’t certain what compelled him to ask; a sliver of guilt sneaking in, perhaps, though not nearly enough for him to completely drop his hard-line stance against the vampire.

Angel let out a humorless bark of laughter. “I doubt it.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

Dawn stared after him. “Congratulations, Giles,” she applauded dryly. “He was finally starting to lighten up, being all fun and jokey and stuff, and then wham! You turn him back into the über-mope.”

“Inevitable, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Angel has countless evils to atone for and this…” He looked down at the book’s buckskin cover, running his fingers over its weathered surface. “This would have to be one of the very worst.”

-x-

Spike sensed Angel the moment he entered the cemetery.

It was odd that the old man was about, he and Nibblet having taken the early shift and all. He heaved a dramatic sigh and glanced at the newly-risen vampire that he was holding by the scuff of the neck. “Sires, eh?” he asked in a rare moment of camaraderie. “Always the bane of your existence.”

The vamp shrugged, confusion obvious even with his game-face on, and Spike staked him in disgust.

“Bloody hell,” he complained, brushing dust off his dark denim jacket. “Is a spot of decent conversation too much to ask from you people? Nobody has any standards at all these days; they just up and turn the first blithering, pea-brained idiot they come across.” A smirk curled his lips. “Speakin’ of which…”

The blonde strolled off in the direction where Angel’s signature was the strongest. He absently dusted another fledgling as he passed the Snyder tomb, and then back-tracked to appraise the dissipating cloud.

“Well, well. Numbers are on the up. Must be getting’ close to the big day.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Buffy’s dread was like a lead weight on his chest, but his own feelings were less clear. On the one hand, he was terrified, but on the other was a certainty that Seth could handle anything the Hellmouth had to throw at him, much the same as his mother always had.

He moved on, only to come to a halt at the edge of a clearing to watch Angel wandering aimlessly through the graves. Stupid pillock wasn’t even looking where he was going. Good way to be ambushed given the current size of the demon population.

“Oi!” he shouted.

Angel stopped, startled, and blinked at him. Spike couldn’t be certain, but those looked like tear tracks on the big guy’s face.

Wonder what’s got him all maudlin this time?

As he moved closer, he found himself asking despite himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Angel sighed heavily, realizing how idiotic that sounded given his obvious emotional state, and wedged his hands into his pockets. “No, you’re right, there is something. I just really don’t want to talk about it.”

Spike sucked in his cheeks and studied the other vamp with some concern. “Is there anything I can do?”

“What are you -?” Angel narrowed his eyes. “Are you actually being nice to me?”

“I dunno.” Spike scratched at his scarred brow. “S’pose I am. Must be Buffy’s influence.”

“Well, that’s just… kind of sad.”

“Oh, like you’re one to throw stones.” Spike’s voice picked up an octave as he mimed holding a phone. “‘Yes, Cordy. No, Cordy. Three bags full, Cordy.’’ He snorted. “Bloody whipped, you are.”

Angel sighed again, hard and deep, ducking his head. “Yeah.”

Spike flexed his hands, almost giving in to an itch to shake some sense into the daft old git the same way Buffy yearned to. He hopped up to sit on a nearby headstone instead, banging his boot-heels against the fancy inscription in a muted little ba-dum ba-dum beat. If he couldn’t do the shaking part, he could at least annoy the hell out of him.

“Well, come on then,” he urged. “Unburden yourself.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“And all that moanin’ and groanin’ you’re doing is tellin’ me otherwise.” Spike rolled his hand in a gesture of further encouragement. “Go ahead. Spill it.”

Neither spoke, regarding one another in challenge, each waiting for the other to break first.

“You’ve killed Slayers,” Angel finally blurted after a long pause. “How do you deal with it?”

Spike drumming feet stopped abruptly and he frowned. “You done something recently that I should know about?”

“Not recently, no. 1898.”

“Year of the curse.” The younger vamp tipped his chin, blue eyes glinting with sudden insight. “Huh. That gypsy bird you offed – she was a Slayer.”

“She was.” Angel gazed up at the darkened sky, murmuring the name in a reverent undertone. “Saskia Kaldera.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Spike nodded. “Those cunning coppersmiths of Romania, the Kalderash Clan. Seem to recall snacking on a few family members myself at the time. Demon’s got to eat.”

“But that’s not the same thing. What I did to that girl was more than… It was terrible. Monstrous.”

“Fitting description for monsters. Because that’s what we were, if you’d care to remember properly.”

“You weren’t. The Power’s left you with that ‘moral centre’ thing. You would never have made her suffer like that. You wouldn’t have drawn it out for hours and hours and…”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Spike agreed. “Proved that for a fact two years after when I went and did a Slayer of my own.”

Now that he thought about it, Angel’s grudging, “I guess that makes you one of us” made a hell of a lot more sense provided the new information. Hadn’t quite got what he’d been going on about at the time.

“Good old fashioned hand-to-hand that was,” he continued, smiling softly. “Blade and brawl, fists and fangs. First time I really got a taste for it.”

“The killing?”

“The dance. My whole purpose after that was to live for the dance. Led me right here to my sunshine girl and the Nipper. Can’t say as I regret any of it.”

“I regret everything,” Angel whispered.

“Well, you need to let that go,” Spike told him. “It’s makin’ you look old.”

“I can’t.” The older vamp barely managed to choke the words out. “And now Giles knows… He’ll tell Dawn and Buffy, and then Cordy will find out. They’ll all hate me.”

Spike shrugged. “Hate to break it to ya, mate, but Buffy knew the second I did.” He paused, considering. “In point of fact, I think she may’ve twigged first.”

“Oh.” In all the misery, Angel had forgotten that aspect of their link. He winced, anticipating the worst. “She doesn’t…?”

“Give the girl some credit. If she didn’t hate you after Angelus’ big ending-the-world rampage all those years ago, she’s not about to start now,” Spike scoffed. “Neither is Cordelia, for that matter. For some ungodly reason, that bird loves you. One more black mark on your bloody history books isn’t going to make a bit of difference to her.”

“I wish I could be so sure.”

“Angel, it was over a century ago. If you’d been the one to top Faith, then you might have a problem, but you weren’t. Times past, you wouldn’t’ve thought twice about it.”

“I wouldn’t even have thought once about it.”

Spike jabbed a finger at him. “There. See?”

“Still, Giles is making out like I’ve betrayed him or something, like I’m Angelus again all of a sudden.”

The Watcher’s attitude pained Angel far more than he’d believed possible. He’d thought they’d finally been able to put the unforgiving specter of Jenny Calendar’s death behind them and become, if not friends, then respected colleagues. Time obviously hadn’t healed that wound as well as he’d thought.

“And I really don’t want Dawn to know.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Well now, isn’t that interesting?”

“What?”

“You’re afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you’ll shatter her pretty little rose-colored specs.”

“That’s a part of it I guess,” Angel admitted. “A small part. She’s so unaffected by the evil around her, and I’m flattered that she …likes me, really, but she’s also totally dedicated to her calling. If she finds out, she might up and stake me for killing one of her kind.”

“Not bloody likely.” Spike’s lean face twisted in derision. “Nibblet’s a nice enough chit, but she’s a hard time tryin’ to find the business end of her sharp-and-pointys, let alone have the stones to dust the one bloke in the world who makes her pure young heart go all pitter-pat.”

“Buffy did it.”

“Buffy’s different,” Spike stated flatly. “In too many ways to count.”

“The whole damn thing is different,” Angel persisted. “You have to be aware of that. That innocent little gypsy girl was the protector of her people and I destroyed her.”

“Couldn’t have been as innocent as all that. She was a Slayer.”

Angel continued on as though he hadn’t heard the comment. “That’s even what her name really meant, you know. ‘Protector of mankind’. I looked it up.”

Spike grinned ingenuously. “Want to know what my name means?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “You’re deliberately trying to get on my nerves now, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” The younger vamp hopped off his gravestone perch and stood toe-to-toe with his Sire, peering questioningly into his eyes. “Is it working?”

“No.” A beat, and then, “Actually, yes.”

“Good.” With a curt nod, Spike was off again, cutting a swaggering swathe through the field of stone markers. “I’ve had about all I can stand of your ridiculous self-flagellation, Peaches,” he called back over his shoulder. “Do us all a favor and get over it.”

-x-

Xander leant back into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, intending to rest them only for a second. He hated these late night meetings; being dragged from his cozy bed with its cozy covers and his cozy dreams, and into the harsh reality of life on the Hellmouth. He was just gladder than glad that it hadn’t been anything to do with Buck. His son was safe, slumbering away upstairs in Buffy and Spike’s spare room.

Mmm, slumber…

He jerked upright as he was punched back to awareness by his wife. Now his shoulder was stinging. Rude awakenings sucked. “Okay, one - ouch,” he said, rubbing the injury. “And two - I wasn’t asleep!”

“You were so,” Anya said. “You were starting to do that irritating snorty thing with your nose.”

“Huh? What snorty thing? I do not snort!”

Willow tittered from her spot in the guest armchair. “Yeah, you do.”

“Fortunately it wasn’t really loud yet, so I saved you the embarrassment of making unpleasant nostril noises in front of your friends.” Anya beamed.

Xander glanced around the room. Apart from Anya and himself, only Willow and Spike were present. “Spike doesn’t count as one of my friends,” he said, and was somewhat surprised when the vampire actually looked hurt by the jibe. He smiled broadly before adding, “He’s family.”

Spike blinked. “When exactly did this happen?”

“I guess about the same time that Buffy decided you weren’t dust-in-the-wind material.”

The vampire mulled over this unexpected new development. “I don’t get a say in the matter then?”

“Sorry, oh Bleached-buddy, all Scooby adoptions are consult-free and absolutely non-negotiable. We also accept no refunds.”

“That old chestnut about not bein’ able to choose your relatives, eh?” Spike shook his head. “Wish I’d known that before I got into this gig. Might’ve had a different result altogether.”

“Bull-pucky.”

“Did you just say -?”

Xander ploughed onward, ignoring the interruption. “There is no way on God’s great earth you would have been able to stay away from the Buffster and you know it.”

“Bull-pucky?” Spike mouthed, incredulous and unable to speak the words aloud for fear of sounding like a wanker.

“He tries to refrain from using curse words,” Anya explained, patting her husband’s arm. “Buck started repeating him at inopportune moments.”

Spike snorted and Willow pointed at him.

“You sound something like that when you’re asleep,” she told Xander, “Only more nasally.”

“Stuffier,” Anya offered sagely. “And sometimes there’s this little whistle.”

Willow nodded.

Spike snorted again and burrowed deeper into his chair, trying to distance himself from their ridiculousness.

Xander looked horrified. “Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Buffy asked, walking in on the tail-end of the conversation. Even though she’d been monitoring most of the proceedings through the link while she’d been upstairs, she’d been too distracted by Seth’s latest bout of insomnia to worry about the details of the last few minutes.

Spike thrust his chin toward Xander. “Harris was just amusin’ us with tales of his talented nose.”

“Oh.” Buffy paused, debating whether she even wanted to know what that meant considering the source. Deciding in the favor of no, she got right to business. “I guess you’re all wondering why you’re here.”

“Spent the last decade wondering that, pet,” Spike commented. “Dedicate an hour every afternoon to the cause.”

She smiled, loving that he was trying to lighten the mood. “I see. So, you’re not actually using that time to watch Passions?”

“’Course not,” he replied blandly. “Meditation is what that is, a touch of the old navel-gazing. Light from the telly helps me concentrate is all.”

“Hmm” Buffy decided to let that go. They had more pressing matters to attend to than Spike’s wacky viewing habits. “So, again, the reason I called you all over in the middle of the night is because there’s some pretty big stuff we’ve kept on the Q.T. and since bits and pieces have been leaking out all over, it’s time to get the whole lot out in the open.”

“Wow, really?” Willow seemed relieved.

Buffy smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You’re off the hook with the secret-keeping, Will”

“Phew. Thanks. I was starting to get all jittery with the pressure.”

Xander looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I’m guessing you got exposed to some of the leaky bits?”

“Oh, yeah, but - but not because I’m, you know, more in-the-loopy than you. They only told me so I wouldn’t spill to Lydia.” Her face scrunched up guiltily. “Not that I was going to, she just kinda suckered me into doing some snooping.”

Anya shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “I told you,” she sniffed. “Didn’t I tell you? Never trust a Watcher.”

“What about Giles?” Buffy asked, frowning. “He’s still a Watcher. He’s my Watcher. Why do I have to keep reminding people of that?”

“I don’t need reminding,” Anya said bluntly. “I’m aware of his position and I choose not to trust him either. I never have and I never will, especially not now when he’s lusting after the other one.”

“What?”

The cry came in a simultaneous burst; Willow, Xander and Buffy were all horrified, Spike was just amused.

Anya didn’t even blink. “Why are you so shocked? It’s quite obvious, actually. I recognize all the signs. Besides, he’s a man, she’s a woman. They’re single, repressed and British and share many other common interests; it’s only natural that they would want intercourse.”

The Slayer wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“Anya!” Xander clapped a hand over his eyes. “No! God, bad visual. Must. Stop. Thinking…”

Spike smirked. “You’d have to start first.”

Xander peered at him through his fingers. “Hey!”

Buffy mumbled something under her breath that sounded like ‘Stevedore’ and Spike suddenly exploded into laughter.

Her mouth twitched involuntarily in an answering grin. “Band candy,” was all she said in way of an explanation. It only made him laugh harder.

Xander pulled his hand completely away from his eyes to stare at the hysterical vampire. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”

“Unless you’re me,” Buffy said. “Contrary to popular opinion, Spike’s not the Big Bad 24-7; he also spends a lot of his time being a doofus.” Sighing, she pinched at the bridge of her nose. “Where was I before I was so very sickeningly interrupted?”

“About to spill some beans,” Willow supplied fervently, eager to be rid of her top secret burden. “Now. Please?”

Spike abruptly shot up in his seat, eyes riveted to the ceiling, sober as a judge despite the residual happy-tears trickling down his lean cheeks. A distracted pointer finger came up to wave in her direction. “Hold that thought,” he said. In less than a blink, he was on his way up the stairs.

Buffy’s own gaze was pinned to the ceiling now, worry lines creasing her forehead. She looked older all of a sudden, weighed down with every last one of her twenty-six years. “God, I hate this.”

Willow got up and crossed to her side, throwing an arm around the Slayer’s slumped shoulders. No matter what, she would always be the supportiest of supportive best-friends. “I know how much you wanted everything to be perfectly perfect and normal, Buffy, but…”

“…This is the Hellmouth. I know. I got the full ‘cosmic destiny’ memo a long time ago, Will. There’s no normal for me. Or Spike. I just… I’d hoped…” She didn’t finish that sentence. She couldn’t. What she’d hoped for didn’t apply anymore.

Xander cleared his throat. “Um, not to sound on the bad side of informed, but what the hell is going on here?”

“It’s Seth,” Willow explained. “He’s…”

She was cut off by an enormous crashing sound. They all rushed into the foyer to see Spike flying into upper landing. He bounced off the wall and rattled head-long down the stairs, his shoulders jolting over each step. He landed at the bottom with a thud, face down and unconscious.

“Daddy!” Seth miraculously appeared at his father’s side. They’d been so engrossed in Spike’s spectacular descent they hadn’t realized he was being followed. The little boy was barefoot, dressed in rumpled blue pajamas and clutching Mr. Gordo by one of his pointy stuffed-pig ears. “I didn’t mean it.” He looked up at Buffy with luminous golden eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my sweet heaven,” Xander breathed.

Buffy crouched at her son’s side. “It’s alright, baby. Daddy’s gonna be just fine. You didn’t hurt him. Okay?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Seth repeated, fat tears spilling over. “I didn’t.”

“It’s okay.” Buffy pulled him into her arms. “Everything’s okay. We’re not mad at you.”

Spike groaned, rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the circle of Scooby faces. “Bloody hell, what’re you lot staring at?”

“Nothing.” Xander held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. He was smart enough these days to know when his opinion wasn’t wanted. Right now was a case in point. “Nope. Not us. Didn’t see a thing.”

Anya, who’d been slowed by her pregnancy and had only just arrived on the scene, peered past him with keen-eyed interest. He turned and ushered her back into the living room before she could put voice to her own unwanted opinions.

Buffy ignored them and squeezed Seth’s shoulder reassuringly. “See? Daddy’s fine. He’s swearing again and everything.” She gave her husband the evil eye. “Which he shouldn’t. Ever again.”

Spike coughed out a laugh. “Right, love. Whatever you say.” He pushed up into a sitting position and eyed his son warily. “Alright Nip?”

Seth stared back. “Alright?” he parroted softly.

“Yeah. I’m good.” The blonde vamp reached out and clasped the boy’s forearm, raising the tiny hand for closer inspection. “Packs quite the punch for somethin’ so small,” he mused. “There’s a lot of raw power there.” He glanced over at Buffy. “Needs some proper training, though.”

She gazed at him for a long minute, taking the opportunity to read the link and discover the circumstances of this latest upset for herself.

Apparently Seth had been awake again, and making an attempt at escaping through his bedroom window to go vamp-hunting. The noise had alerted his father, and when caught in the act Seth had responded intuitively to the threat looming from the darkness, using all his power to drive it away.

Buffy’s now-enlightened gaze shifted to her son. “The window, huh?”

Seth shuffled back a few steps, pulling his arm out of Spike’s loose grip and holding Mr. Gordo in front of his chest like a shield. “Am I groundered?”

“Ooh yeah.”

“A whole week this time,” Spike said, rising to his feet and rolling his head from side to side. His neck cracked audibly. “No patrols…”

Buffy winced, a hand going to her own neck. “…And no cartoons,” she added.

There was a flare of golden ire in the boy’s eyes and it seemed for a brief moment that a tantrum was in the offing, but he simply nodded, accepting his fate without argument. “I’m tired now,” he informed them, and then punctuated that statement with a yawn.

Willow smiled. She’d been hovering nearby, concerned about her honorary nephew. “Hey,” she said cheerfully. “On the plus side, it looks like beatin’ vamps up makes him sleepy too, and not just the dusting part.”

Spike stared at her, hard and implacable.

In the face of his continued scrutiny, the witch’s smile became more and more uncertain, tugging comically at the corners of her mouth. Up, down, up, down. “Um, that’s a bonus, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Seth nodded agreeably and blinked at her. “Tuck me in, Auntie Will?”

“If it’s okay?”

She crooked hopeful brows at Buffy, who nodded but didn’t look back in their direction. For some reason she was unable to drag her attention away from her husband.

Spike frowned, sensing the weight of her unrelenting stare. She was struggling to hide something, throwing up firewalls all over. His tilted his head, lips moving in silent question. What?

Before she could answer, Seth caught at his mother’s hand, wrapping his small fingers gently around her thumb. She glanced down at him inquiringly.

“Are ya sure you’re not mad?” His eyes were blue again now, and so much like Spike’s that Buffy’s heart almost broke at the sight. “I don’t want’cha to be mad,” he said earnestly. “”Cause I’m tryin’ ta be a normal kid, Mommy. I’m tryin’ real hard.”

The walls crumbled and Buffy promptly burst into tears.

… TBC

A/N: I was going to post a little note here apologizing for the lateness of this chapter, but it seemed redundant. I’ll let the chapter speak for itself. The plot bunny regarding Angel’s history with Slayers has been brewing since I watched ‘Damage’ (I’m obsessed with that episode for some reason). Of all the things that tipped him off about Dana being a Slayer, it was that she was yelling about being chosen… in Romanian! How did he know that? Coincidence, I say ‘nay’. I wasn’t planning on using it in this story, but it wrangled its way in anyhow and now I’ve had to weave the rest of the story around it. Stay tuned for more. Dee