The demon trilogy
by Jane Davitt
printable version

The Demon Made Me Do It

Chapter One

Spike sat slumped in his chair, listening to the rain rattling against the small, high windows of his crypt. It was night but he had no desire to leave his home in search of company or conflict. He wouldn't melt in the rain but he liked the feel of wet, clammy clothes as little as the next man. He had blood, beer and a TV. Running a bit low on smokes but he could make it through to the end of this storm.

He did feel a twinge of loneliness though. Truth be told, ever since he'd been turned, he'd been with someone. Losing Angelus, Darla and finally Dru had left him adrift. Friends had been notable for their absence when he was human; having them had been an unexpected benefit of being a vampire. Now he was reduced to hanging round the Scoobies, on the outside looking in, never belonging, never really welcome.

The door slammed back, bringing a gust of rain wet wind into the room and interrupting his melancholy musings.

Spike didn't even bother to turn his head. Only one person he knew ever made an entrance that way and he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of jumping out of his skin.

"Evening, Slayer," he drawled. "So nice of you to -"

The swirling air brought him her scent and his nostrils flared, as he tasted blood. A second later, he was by her side, catching her as she slid down the wall, one hand pressed to her stomach, blood seeping out and staining her clothes.

"Show me," he said urgently.

She shook her head weakly, gasping with pain.

"Need to stop the bleeding," she whispered raggedly. "Give it chance to close."

Spike went to one knee, scooped her into his arms and stood effortlessly. Striding over to the sarcophagus he used as a bed sometimes, he laid her down on the tangle of blankets, smoothing them as best he could.

"Did you kill it?" he asked. "Don't want it following you to finish the job."

Buffy's eyes sparkled with anger and she struggled to sit up.

"If you're saying I'm putting you in danger, I'll go," she rasped.

Spike shook his head in disgust. "Lie still and stop being a ninny. Just asking is all. If I'm up to my eyes in band aids, don't want to be attacked."

She looked at him and nodded reluctantly. "It's dead," she said. "Unless that species can survive losing a head..."

"Well, I have heard of some..."

"And several tentacles."

"Hmm..."

"And three of its four legs."

Spike looked down at her, his hands busy peeling back her clothes to get to the wound. "You did all that, it's dead, but if you were top of it that much, how come it was able to get close enough - hey, that looks nasty. Bleeding lots."

"Stop drooling!" she snapped but it lacked her usual edge.

Spike stepped back and drummed his fingers against the edge of the bed. "Save your energy for healing," he advised her quietly. "And tell me what did this. It looks like a claw, not a weapon."

Buffy reluctantly eased back on the antagonism. It had distracted her from the pain but it was a little unfair to expect Spike to suffer the equivalent of a tantrum - though she realised, surprised, that he would oblige her in that, as in anything else. Now _that_ was a distracting thought.

"It was a big demon, blue tentacles, each with a razor sharp claw - " she began.

When she finished describing her attacker, Spike stared at her, a frown creasing his smooth forehead.

"That's not good news," he said finally.

He turned and vanished for a few minutes, coming back with a bowl of water, a fairly clean cloth and some bandages. Buffy let him give her some rudimentary first aid and settled back to rest a little. "O.K.," she said quietly. "Care to finish that thought?"

Spike leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her head. Buffy felt a wave of dizziness as she looked up into his intense blue eyes. There was no anger, no devil in them now. They were concerned and he looked apprehensive. Spike? Scared? Buffy felt a quiver deep down that had nothing to do with the way Spike's mouth was hovering just above her own.

"Buffy? Be brave for me, honey?"

Enough was enough. Buffy planted her hand on his chest and heaved him out of the way, pulling herself up and swinging her feet round so that she was sitting, not lying down. It cost her but it was worth it. You faced Spike as an equal at the very least or he just...well, he took advantage and you started to play with thoughts that you had no business thinking. "This isn't a hospital soap, Spike. Spit it out."

Spike huffed then said bluntly, "You're dying, slashed by a Camiorr demon. You've got about an hour to live."

Buffy felt numb with shock, then rallied. "I'll get to Giles. He'll look it up, find the antidote."

She began to stand but Spike reached out and gripped her arm, his face full of concern. "No need, love," he said seriously. "I already know what it is...but you're not going to like it."

***

Buffy stared at Spike in patent disbelief. "I'm dying - or you _say_ I am and you expect me to believe that the only chance I have is if I - oh, it's too gross." She looked at him hopefully, waiting for him to flash her that irritating grin and admit that it had been a joke, tasteless and inappropriate, just the kind he probably liked.

Spike gave her back look for look and growled with frustration as the stubbornness in her eyes began to solidify. "This is your life we're talking about, Slayer. I've told you often enough how I feel about you." Buffy glanced away swiftly, unable to face the naked emotion in those ice blue eyes. "How can you think so little of me that you'd think I'd lie about this?"

"Because you've lied and tricked me before, Spike!" she said angrily. "Because you've manipulated me, made me think, made me feel - "

"I don't give a bugger about that and neither should you. You're dying in front of me and you won't listen to reason. I'll ask you one more time; will you do as you're told or not?"

As ever, Spike's mouth was his worst enemy...when he was using it to speak with anyway. Buffy stiffened in outrage at his dictatorial tone and headed for the door, bent over and moving slowly but not looking back.

Spike cursed under his breath, grabbed a candlestick, came up behind her and hit her hard on the back of her head. As she collapsed bonelessly to the stone floor he shook his head ruefully. She'd never forgive him for doing it, or herself for letting it happen. But he'd rather she was alive and angry than dead and well, dead.

Picking her up again, he took her downstairs this time and tied her to the bed. Better get that out of the way first. She obviously wasn't going to do this willingly and that left him no choice.

None whatsoever.

***

Buffy stirred and woke. As soon as she opened her eyes she was greeted with an exasperated sigh from Spike. "Couldn't have stayed out just five more minutes, could you?" he muttered. "Bloody typical."

Buffy gasped as she pulled at her wrists and found that she was handcuffed to the bed. Drawing her feet up to kick Spike, she quickly discovered that Spike was possessed of more than one pair of cuffs. Resolving never, _never_ to ask why he had them, she settled for giving him the look Giles used on her sometimes. It queried silently and put the person on the receiving end in the awkward position of fumbling for words to reply with, when they weren't always sure of the question.

Spike knew perfectly well what Buffy wanted to know and rarely lost his self-possession. Arching an eyebrow he said simply, "You've still got your kit on so don't go assuming ravishing's on the cards."

Buffy's silent, dignified response to waking up chained to Spike's bed crumbled as images of being ravished by Spike flooded her imagination. Now that was too much. She was only human.

"Why not?" she said through gritted teeth. "I'm wounded, I'm dying and you're obviously reenacting one of your Dru inspired sex games. Can't say much for your timing."

Spike threw up his hands and paced around the crypt. "I specifically tell you you're safe and you go and bring Dru into it! Women!"

"Then why the cuffs?"

Spike was there, suddenly, inches away from her face. She felt surrounded by his scent, hypnotised by his eyes.

"You knew what you had to do to live and you wouldn't. I can accept you not being with me, I can let you choose not to kiss me, to love me. But I can't let you choose to die. Not again. You can do what you want to me, Buffy, but you can't die on me again."

He stepped back, biting his lip, his fists clenching at his sides and she wished, for a fleeting second, that her hands were free so she could pull him back to her.

"So you're going to force me? Even though it makes me sick to even think of it?"

He cast her a glance of sheer surprise that she even had to ask. "Yes, Buffy, of course I am. And you know it. Drop the act, forget the pose. It's just you and me here, now, tonight. No Xander with his prissy disapproval, no Willow looking all wide eyed, no boyfriend's memory to be loyal to. Just us. I want you. You know it. What you know as well is that you want me. No; don't argue with me or I'll gag you until I need your mouth free. I'm a vampire, remember? I sometimes think you forget that -"

"It's what I can't ever forget," she replied fiercely. "And you forget who I am. The Slayer of vampires. Slayer. I kill vampires. It's who I am, it's what I do."

He let her finish, then smiled at her slowly, the clean lines of his mouth drawing her eyes. She'd kissed him twice under a spell. Now every time she focused on his lips, all she could think about was how it would feel to kiss him because she wanted to.

"As I was saying," he drawled, his husky voice arousing her more than any caress from Riley's hands ever had, "I'm a vampire, Slayer, I can hear your heart race, your breath quicken. I can almost hear you beginning to drip when I get close to you like this. I can sure as hell smell it all over you. It's like a cloud of honey surrounding you and I want to lick every drop from every part of you. You can't hide from me. You never could and that scares you. You do right to be scared - but you're not frightened of me."

"Skip the pop quiz on Buffy's brain," she said scornfully, making a supreme effort to stay calm when every word flicked her imagination like a teasing feather. "Say I do feel something. It's just sex. You're sexy. OK. I admit it. But there's more to love than that."

"It'd make a nice start though," he murmured wickedly.

Buffy paled and shuddered as a wave of pain swept through her, wiping out her growing arousal, if only for a moment

Spike's face changed dramatically. "I'm a stupid git, trying to seduce you, when you're - "

"I am not dying!" Buffy gasped. "All right. You've made your point. I need the antidote. I need you. But only because I want to live. Don't get your hopes up that it means more than that."

Spike smoothed the hair back from her clammy forehead, his hand shockingly, deliciously cool. She moaned and leaned into the caress almost unthinkingly.

Spike reluctantly turned and walked away. He came back with a knife, the edge on its long blade glittering in the candlelight. He held it up in front of her and said, "Ready?"

She nodded and he slashed downwards in one smooth motion.

Chapter Two

Spike winced as the knife bit deep into his arm. Tossing the knife aside, he got onto the bed and straddled Buffy.

"Take off the cuffs," she said in a whisper. "I promise I'll do it."

He shook his head.

"No time, love, and besides, there's something I didn't tell you."

"What?" she said in a panicked whisper that was all she had strength for.

"Shut up and swallow."

He slipped his hand behind her head and pulled it up, pressing her mouth against his skin, feeling her warm mouth on him. Hesitantly, tentatively, she began to lick and suck at the blood that welled up out of the wound. He flexed his arm, keeping the blood flowing, knowing that she had to take in more than a mouthful or two. He was afraid that she would gag if he fed it to her too fast but he didn't want to make her endure this any longer than she had to.

As Spike's blood entered her mouth, Buffy began to retreat within herself, closing her mind to what she was doing, to the copper salt taste that seemed so familiar. Spike's hand tangled in her hair, his palm curving round her head protectively. His arm didn't tire, didn't move. He held her perfectly positioned to feed on him.

Angel. She flashed back to him feeding on her. It was the wrong thing to remember. The intensity of that moment had surpassed their one time as lovers. Now she was feeding off Spike and the erotic memories were spilling over her body like cool water on a hot day. She tingled, she burned and finally she tore her mouth from his flesh and gasped for air.

Spike had been watching her intently. Now as her head jerked up, their eyes met. Her lips were smeared with blood. His blood. Her eyes were wide, a pulse hammered in her neck. In his eyes, she was utterly desirable.

Knowing what he knew, Spike tried not to respond but it was beyond him not to taste her, just a little.

Bending down he began to lick the blood from her mouth with slow laps of his tongue, like a cat with a bowl of cream. Only when her lips lay bare of blood but glistening from his tongue did he kiss her. As his lips took hers, Buffy pulled frantically at her restraints. Spike felt her struggles and without taking his lips away, he ran his hand along her right arm until he reached the cuff. With one pull, timed to work with her own efforts, he snapped the link that held her. After he had done the same for her other hand, he reluctantly abandoned her mouth and slid down her body until he could reach her ankles, kissing her flesh where he could.

When she was free, Buffy pushed herself up and they knelt, facing each other, eyes wild and hungry.

"What is this?" said Buffy desperately. "What's making me feel this way?"

Spike swallowed, still tasting blood in his mouth like rich wine.

"It's the side effects of the poison. Forgot to tell you; it's used as an aphrodisiac in some circles. Have to make sure you've got a vampire handy of course or things can get a little...heated before you die. And you being a Slayer, well, vampire blood isn't just blood, not to you."

Buffy's eyes closed for a second as she fought with the desire that hammered at her senses.

"Dracula. I drank his blood...I saw things..."

Spike nodded.

"I'll bet you did," he said hoarsely. " Won't get that from me...but there's something else I can give you."

Buffy leaned closer, sliding her hands up his strong arms, and cupping his face.

"What?" she whispered seductively, flickering her tongue over his neck and nipping at his flesh with sharp teeth.

Spike sighed. Being noble was so little fun, he couldn't think why it was so popular.

"A headache."

Buffy's head and the candlestick met again, with predictable results.

***

The next time Buffy woke up fully, she was in Spike's arms and he was trying to knock on Giles' door without dropping her. The door opened as she began to struggle.

"Spike! What happened?" said Giles, throwing the door open wide as he saw who Spike was holding.

Spike strode in and dumped Buffy on the sofa.

"You weigh a ton. Ever think about a diet?" he said, massaging the feeling back into his arms.

Buffy glared at him and then looked confused as the memories flooded back. She had woken up once or twice on the journey from the crypt but it was all hazy.

"Did you drop me? Twice?" she asked indignantly.

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Slayer, I did. Awfully sorry and all that," he said with bitter sarcasm. "Had a bit of trouble fighting off the hordes of vampires who thought it was too good a chance to miss, you being helpless and all."

Buffy took in the bruised face, skinned knuckles and torn shirt.

"Ah. That would be a sorry then," she murmured apologetically.

Giles interrupted. He had finished cleaning his glasses, he had visually checked that Buffy had no missing limbs. Now he wanted details.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on? Buffy, are you wounded? Do you need attention?"

"Nothing you'd care to provide," muttered Spike.

Buffy raised herself up on one elbow.

"If someone didn't keep hitting me over the head with a candlestick, in a pitiful attempt to play Clue without a board, I'd be fine."

A moment later she regretted her attempt to lighten the mood. Giles' face darkened ominously and his lips tightened. With an interrogative tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow, he waited silently for Spike to reply.

Spike shrugged and moved away so that he had a clear path to the door. It was instinctive but the implication wasn't lost on Giles.

"Your girl got slashed by a Camiorr demon. You know about them? Course you do, you being a Watcher and all. But she wasn't a sensible little Slayer. Wouldn't listen when I told her she was dying. Didn't want to know when I explained about the cure. So I took matters into my own hands."

Vampires moved fast but Giles surprised even Spike by his speed. He crossed the room and grabbed Spike by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

"Yes," he whispered, his eyes searching the vampire's face. "I do know about Camiorr demons. _All_ about them. If you took advantage of Buffy in the aftermath of her recovery then I'm going to stake you, right here, right now."

Spike had been resisting temptation all night. Suppressing the cruel urge to ask Giles if he was angry or jealous, he simply stared back with a sneer.

Giles took this as answer enough and began to tighten his grip on Spike's throat.

Buffy felt as if she'd done this many times before. Dragging herself off the sofa she took hold of Giles and yanked him away from Spike.

"Stop it," she said forcefully. "Spike, just tell Giles what happened - no don't bother. The mood you're in you'll probably start with the handcuffs."

Spike gave her a look of disbelief and howled, "Are you _trying_ to get me staked then, Buffy?"

She grinned at him and his spirits lifted. She was feeling better. Good.

"Sorry. Again. Giles," she turned to her Watcher, placing her palm against his chest placatingly. "Spike didn't do anything. I tried to leave because I wouldn't feed from him and he knocked me out and tied me up. He slashed open his arm and I drank. He didn't force me. I was close to the edge and I knew I had to, by then. When he took off the cuffs, I well, I tried to -" her voice faltered.

Giles said awkwardly, stammering a little, "I-I know what you must have been feeling, Buffy. I assure you, no blame attaches to you."

"It doesn't to Spike either," she said earnestly, holding his gaze. "He just knocked me out - again, and brought me back here. Safe and sound. Apart from a mild concussion."

Giles looked at Spike who was leaning against the wall, rubbing his throat rather moodily.

Buffy had a flash of insight and stepped back, heading for the bathroom and leaving them to resolve their issues. Besides, she really wanted to wash and tidy up. She might have just nearly died but that was all the more reason to look good now she was going to live.

Left alone, the atmosphere curdled with embarrassment and neither man seemed inclined to break the silence.

Finally Giles sighed.

"Drink?" he asked. "I seem to recall you being rather fond of my single malts."

Spike grinned with relief and nodded amiably at his former landlord.

"Sounds good to me."

"So fond, in fact, that you drank them all, leaving me with the dregs of a bottle of banana liqueur that's almost as old as Dawn."

"And you haven't got more in since?" said Spike in disbelief. "Bloody hell, Giles!"

Giles smiled back.

"It just so happens that I located a rather nice 18 year old Macallan in the local liquor store. I think this calls for a toast."

Filling two glasses with generous measures, he passed one to Spike and raised his own in salute.

"To...restraints and restraint," he said quietly.

Spike and he shared a look of complete understanding, before turning away from each other abruptly.

Spike downed his drink in one, causing Giles to shudder in horror at the disrespect, and made for the door.

"I'll push off now. You take a look at the wound. Might need a better bandage than the one I put on. Thanks for the drink."

Chapter Three

Buffy emerged from the bathroom, looking around for Spike. Giles was sitting by the fire, glass in hand, looking pensive.

"Where did -"

"He went home," said Giles quietly, studying the way the firelight sparkled as it touched the crystal glass and the clear amber liquid within it.

"Oh," said Buffy blankly.

"I'm not sure you realise how lucky you are, Buffy. A human with that poison in them would have been dead in under an hour. You were right to mistrust Spike initially I suppose, but it's incredibly fortunate that you went to him for assistance and that he knew what to do. It's even more incredible that he didn't, well, we don't need to go into that."

Buffy perched on the edge of a chair opposite Giles and gazed into the fire, welcoming its warmth. "I know," she replied. "Drinking his blood was, well, eeww comes to mind but that's the least of it. In my mind, it's like the ultimate poison itself. It's what would make me -"

"There's no question of that," said Giles quickly, leaning forward. "If you're worried about being turned -"

Buffy shook her head, still staring into the flames. "No. I know that won't happen. It's just, Giles I wanted him so much. I don't know what's happened to me."

Giles frowned. "I explained; it's the poison. It would have been the same whoever was with you, or if no one was. Very awkward of course and I'm still amazed that Spike didn't umm -"

"Didn't let me rip off my clothes and his and have hot, wet, wild sex?" said Buffy in a hard voice. "I came this close to making Spike's dreams come true and the only reason I didn't was Spike himself."

Giles rubbed his forehead. "It could be that the instinct for self preservation overcame his natural desire to, well -"

"For God's sake, Giles!" Buffy flared. "Stop tiptoeing around it. And if you think he was scared that I'd stake him afterwards, well, you don't know Spike very well. Or me."

"No," said Giles in a whisper. "But Spike knows me extremely well. If he had done that to you, I would have staked him."

Buffy stood up and faced Giles, her eyes flashing with anger. "It wouldn't have been your decision to make, Giles! You can only protect me so far. Some things are private."

Giles looked at her with a dawning suspicion. "Sit down, Buffy," he ordered. She set her lips stubbornly and remained standing. "I said, sit. You're still recovering and you're paler than I like to see you."

Buffy rolled her eyes and obeyed him, folding her arms across her chest and looking defiant.

Giles took a deep breath. "Spike _didn't_ do anything untoward, so this whole discussion is meaningless. I won't give you any empty promises but if I ever do feel the need to stake him, I'll try and discuss it with you first. And I will bear in mind that tonight at least, he saved your life.

"However, what troubles me is that I'm sensing your feelings for Spike are changing and the events of tonight are the least of your worries."

Buffy swallowed and looked into the fire again. Speaking softly, she said, "Giles? How long do the effects of that stuff last?"

Giles shrugged. "I don't know exactly. Your being the Slayer tends to make most poisons less effective. But it's simple enough. You're not trying to rip my clothes off, so I'd say it's out of your system."

Buffy's head twisted and she gasped at his dry tone. "Giles! I would never -"

"Oh, yes you would, Buffy," he replied grimly. "With that devil's brew in your veins, you wouldn't think twice, believe me."

She absorbed his words and looked at him. "You've seen someone die like that, haven't you?" she asked with a dull certainty.

Giles nodded, looking away from her concerned face. "I'd rather not discuss it, but yes, I have. There was no tame vampire to save her. She died horribly, screaming and clawing at - "

His voice broke and he stood abruptly, walking over to the bottle of whiskey and splashing some into his glass. He returned to his seat and took a large gulp.

Buffy shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

There was a pause and then she went on, "So, Giles. It's out of my system but there's just one problem."

"Yes?"

"I still want to rip Spike's clothes off."

"Oh my God."

Giles rose again and grabbed the bottle. This time he took it back to his seat with him.

***

Spike reached the cemetery gates and made for home. The rain had stopped now and the slowly warming earth was releasing its scent. Here in the graveyard, Spike felt drunk on the odours of old blood and bones. The dust of the vampires he had slain a short time ago seemed to hang in the moist air, coating him with death. He grinned, his fangs flashing briefly at the memory of the fights.

The first had been easy enough. One on one, a fairly good fighter but nothing he couldn't handle. It had left him a little tired but he had picked Buffy up and continued to walk quickly. Word must have spread. Maybe someone had watched the fight and seen who was lying unconscious on the ground. Just before he left the cemetery, three of them appeared. This time, they had a plan. Well, two of them had one, anyway. While their decoy spent the last few minutes of his life getting his face pulverised by Spike's fists, they had scooped up Buffy and were sneaking away with her.

The instant they touched her, they were marked for death. Spike felt protective towards few people but those he had chosen to shield had, like it or not, a formidable ally. The combination of outrage and frustrated lust that was still crackling through his body was deadly. Spike waded into them and literally tore them apart with a savagery that went beyond the normal, even for a vampire. When he had finished, his hands were so coated with blood that he had to use the water from a vase on a grave to sluice them clean before he could pick Buffy up again.

Cradling her to him possessively, he kissed her lips and felt her respond even as she sank back into oblivion. There were other vampires lurking in the shadows but no one troubled him again. He was holding their death in his arms.

With a savage grin, Spike reached the door of his crypt and kicked it open with a booted foot. It felt good. No wonder Buffy did it so often.

***

Giles stared at Buffy in shock and then bit his lip. "Buffy, I'm going to be frank with you. This situation you find yourself in, attracted to a vampire for the second time, no don't look away when I'm talking to you." Buffy flushed but met his eyes. "It's not unheard of, believe me. Over the centuries, several Slayers have been seduced by their prey. And they all paid the price. They died at the hands of their lovers. Even worse, some were turned and were killed by their successors."

Buffy shuddered at the thought of fighting a vampire with Slayer training - and at the thought of such a fate for a Slayer's body and soul.

"Your situation is different of course, in that both of the vampires you have been involved with are, in various ways, harmless." He paused, then said in a cold voice, "At least for the most part."

The shadow of Jenny hung between them, chilling the air.

"I'm not in love with Spike the way I was with Angel," she offered, trying to excuse herself to this man whose face was set in bleak lines of suffering.

"No," said Giles. "You're not. Angel was your first romantic love. As long lasting as candy floss and as sickly sweet. You were a girl, and innocent. He was forbidden to you and of course that made him so tempting that I believed you weren't to be trusted near him. If he hadn't left when he did, I might have made sure he left forever."

Buffy felt tears stinging her eyes. "You think, when we knew what would happen that he, that I would _ever_ have done that again? "

Giles smiled at her coldly. "Come out and say it, Buffy," he said, mimicking her words to him. "Do I think that you would have given into a Slayer's urges and mated with your prey? Again? Knowing the consequences? I'm really not sure. But I've never been certain that sex with you would necessarily have triggered that, not so elusive, moment of perfect happiness second time round. And I was sick of waiting for Angelus to return so I could kill him for what he did to my Jenny. For everyone's sake, Angel had to leave. And I'm glad that he did."

Buffy was sobbing now, tears pouring down her face. Her wound, the experiences she had endured had left her emotionally defenceless. "You never said, you never told me how you felt."

"Should I have had to? He killed my girlfriend. I'd say hating him was a given."

"That was Angelus!"

"That's the only reason I let him live as Angel. But I'm not as rational as you think, Buffy. Seeing that face grated on me, tortured me. Now you want Spike. At least if you take your pleasure with him, we won't have to worry about the world ending. But if that chip malfunctions, what then, Buffy? Will you kill him? You'll have no choice."

Buffy stood up, her mouth twisted with her attempt to hold back her tears. "Giles, why are you saying these things to me? Why are you being so cruel?"

Giles looked at her and seemed to see her distress for the first time. Standing, he reached out and hugged her. Buffy leaned into his embrace, her tears soaking through his shirt. He patted her back and murmured to her comfortingly, then eased her away. Drawing her with him, he went to sit on the sofa.

"I'm sorry to have hurt you, Buffy. But I said nothing that I haven't wanted to say for a while now. You think I haven't seen what's been developing between you and Spike? I'm your Watcher, remember. I know you and, for my sins, I've made quite a study on William the Bloody, too."

Buffy reached out for Spike's empty glass and wordlessly held it out to Giles. He allowed her a single measure and watched as she drank it and the colour returned to her wet cheeks.

"So, you think I should just tell Spike to go away?" she said hesitantly.

Giles looked at her. "He wouldn't go," he said bluntly. "He's in love with you. He'd die for you. You're bound to him. Together you've formed an alliance that has the Watcher's Council spinning like a top and tearing their hair out in frustration. They've never seen anything quite like it and that's never popular with them."

Despite the emotionally charged atmosphere, Buffy couldn't help giggling at that. Giles looked at her in surprise and then relaxed, giving her a reluctant grin in return. "I never thought I'd be grateful to Spike, but the way Quentin is foaming at the mouth, well, it wipes out a few grudges I hold against him."

"But it can't cancel them all," said Buffy, serious again. "He's still the Spike who's killed countless humans, no matter how many he's saved by working with us. They don't cancel out. This is people we're talking about."

"I'm glad you can see that, Buffy. But, to be fair to him, since the chip, I've seen signs of change for the better. I'd hesitate to say he was rehabilitated. He's a vampire and he'll always be a vampire. But he's learned, as Angel did, that he can be a vampire and exist without killing."

"Well, he gets a bit on edge if he doesn't kill _anything_" Buffy said apologetically.

"I think he's chosen the perfect address if he needs demon fodder," said Giles dryly.

Buffy hesitated then decided that it was time to come clean. "Giles, there's something you need to know about Spike. You said, 'if the chip stops working'. It already has in one way."

Giles looked at her, stunned. "Spike is killing again? Buffy, this is intolerable! You should have warned me, we're all in danger -"

Buffy shook her head slowly. "No. Spike still can't hurt humans. The chip is working perfectly. But he can hit me. You were so busy focusing on him not raping me that you've ignored the hitting over the head bit."

"I-I assumed he had paid the price with one of those headaches he gets."

"No. I just found out a few weeks ago. I hit him. I do that too much, you know? He lost his temper and hit me back. I think we both froze, waiting for him to go all ouchy but nothing." She smiled ruefully. "I couldn't believe it. I made him hit me, over and over until I finally accepted it."

"That must have been nice for him," Giles murmured.

She gave him a quick glance. "You're saying I wasn't being fair? I never am with Spike. But that's our problem. Point is, he could attack me now, he could have turned me tonight, he could have done anything. But he didn't."

Giles looked at her with sympathy. "You're worried about what this means, what you've become?"

Buffy sighed. "No, I had a word with Willow and Tara. I hated making Willow go through it all again; she's still so guilty about bringing me back but I had to. It seems I'm still 100% human. Just off the spectrum as far as the Initiative's toy is concerned. I must have bits of other dimensions mixed in or something. Doesn't matter; they tell me there's no other side effects."

"Even so, I want to look into this myself," Giles said firmly. "You're absolutely certain that Spike is safe?"

She nodded. "I made him hit Willy to test it," she confessed. "He could be faking it but why?"

"Well, I really don't know what to say. This goes beyond anything in my experience. I think I preferred the old style vampires, myself," Giles said, a little wistfully.

"But this still isn't a 'my blessings on you both' speech is it?" said Buffy, looking at Giles with pleading eyes.

Giles stood and paced, polishing his glasses so hard that Buffy cringed, waiting for them to snap. "It can't be," he said finally. "I'm a Watcher. Hating vampires is in my blood, it's my raison d'etre. Treating Spike as I do, as a person, not a thing, is a bigger concession than you realise. But I don't believe he's any danger and he is ...different."

Buffy squirmed a little. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you, Giles."

"A few months ago, you wouldn't have been able to. Now you're an adult, just as I am. We can meet as equals, Buffy. Do you really think adults don't discuss sex? Do you think it's an activity reserved for your age group and under?"

"Whoa, Giles," said Buffy hastily. "I have a feeling you're going to say something involving my mother and chocolate and then I'll have to curl up and die."

Giles smiled. "I promise I won't. In return, never, ever tell me what you want to do to Spike's incredibly monotonous wardrobe again."

"Deal."

Chapter Four

Drinking the smooth single malt had given Spike the taste for more. Not that he had anything approaching the rarefied heights of Giles' bar. Unearthing a bottle of, well, something alcoholic, the label had faded and tasting it didn't give him any clues, he took a long swallow and flung himself down on the blanket covered slab. It still had some of Buffy's scent clinging to it and he began to think over the events of the evening, a smile curving his lips. It faded as he despondently wondered if that were the last time he'd ever get so close to her. Not like Red was likely to cast any more spells and somehow, he didn't want to trick her into his bed. That had been the main reason he'd held off earlier. Not mercy. He had none. Pride.

It wasn't going to keep him warm in bed though. Cursing as he felt desire rip through him again, he moved away from the bed and its tormenting, arousing scent.

***

Buffy waited until the following night to visit Spike. She wanted to think things over a little and her wound needed time to heal. She tried to pretend that it was just a visit to say thank you, but her patrol was the shortest on record and her jacket bulged with a small package that she'd shoved in there to leave her hands free to fight.

Taking a calming breath, she put her hand on the crypt door and pushed gently. As she walked through, she groaned inwardly. Spike had a visitor.

Clem looked up eagerly as he heard the door close.

"Buffy! Haven't seen you for a while. Come to join us?" His face fell as he took in the glances that Spike and Buffy were trying hard not to exchange, then brightened as the romantic in him grasped the significance. "I should go," he said hastily. "Got so much to do back in the lair."

Buffy was too well mannered to fling open the door but she was tempted. Spike was equally tempted but decided that it would do Buffy no harm to realise that he wasn't going to drop everything for her.

"Sit down, Clem. You've only just got here," he ordered.

Clem dithered, glancing between the two as if looking for clues.

"Yes, sit," said Buffy gently, smiling at him. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll come again another time."

"Or you could join us, you know," said Spike losing patience with the games.

"Join you?" said Buffy, taken aback. She'd never really spent time with Spike when they weren't arguing or killing things. The idea of socialising, well, it was weird.

Spike grinned at her, an eyebrow lazily lifting in an unspoken challenge.

"It doesn't involve kittens does it?" she asked suspiciously.

Clem laughed, relieved that they weren't going to fight in front of him."Afraid not. This is our regular TV night. I haven't got one, so Spike tapes me some shows in the week and I come round to watch them."

"Shows?" said Buffy, a dawning horror gripping her.

"Passions!"

"Ah. Well, what can I say? I'd -" she caught sight of Spike's face which looked somehow hurt and finished, "love to."

Clem beamed and reached for the remote.

*** An hour later, Buffy was in an agony of impatience. She had ended up sitting next to Spike on his sofa. The springs were mostly missing and she had found herself inexorably sliding towards the middle. So had Spike. It was impossible to avoid touching him and she found she didn't want to try.

Turning her head to ask Spike a question about one of the characters, in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all, she found that her face was inches away from his. The crypt was full of shadows and Clem, who seemed to be slightly hard of hearing despite ears larger than some satellite dishes, had turned the volume up so high that even sitting a few yards away, Buffy and Spike could talk without being overheard.

Forgetting her question, she looked at him for a long moment. His face was serious, his eyes watchful and guarded. Sighing, he broke the silence and said softly, "Last night..."

"Yes?" she murmured.

"I've never felt so - " his voice trailed off.

"So - what?" hissed Buffy, trying not to give in to the urge to shake it out of him.

He shifted round to face her, sliding one arm along the top of the sofa. If it moved downward just an inch, it would be resting on Buffy's shoulder. She found that she was sitting upright, her back straight enough to make a deportment teacher swoon with admiration. It still didn't bring her shoulders in reach. Buffy discovered that anywhere Spike was touching her, which at the moment was the front of her knees, had suddenly become an erogenous zone. Amazing. Knees were the new G spot.

Spike looked frustrated. Buffy felt insanely glad that they were sharing that at least.

"I can think of a dozen words," he said. "None of them seem to cover it all though."

"Are you sorry you didn't get to satisfy your curiosity about what it would be like with me?"

Spike twisted his mouth in a rueful smile and glanced away, then back at her. "Sorry doesn't begin to describe it. I should get a bloody medal for stopping you."

"So what made you? Giles thought you were scared of what would happen afterwards, getting staked, I mean." Buffy knew she was needling him but she was curious.

Spike looked genuinely surprised. "Way I felt last night, I was wondering if I'd been cut by one of those Camiorr claws myself. Wouldn't have let much of anything stop me, least of all that. I stopped because I've waited for you this long, I can wait a bit longer. I want you to come to me, to admit you love me. Then I'll make the way you felt last night seem like a candle to the sun. You'll burn, Buffy and I'll be the only one who can -"

"Smooth on some after sun?" said Buffy dryly.

Spike glared at her then burst out laughing. "I get carried away around you, love. You bring out the poet in me."

She smiled. "Not the animal? Shame."

Spike growled, a throaty purr, deep and totally inhuman.

"That better?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at her and smiling as he saw her flush.

Buffy gulped and looked around. "Umm...where's Clem?" she said.

Spike turned his head and saw the door close quietly. "Think he got tired of pretending not to be paying attention and buggered off. Want to leave now you're all unchaperoned?"

"I'm out of here if you don't turn that TV off."

Spike stood, walked over to it and clicked it off. He toyed with the idea of kicking it into silence but dramatic gestures have a price and that wasn't one he wanted to pay. He needed that telly to keep him sane.

The silence was a shock after the blaring voices and music but it was soothing too. Instead of awkwardness, there was a calm inevitability about what happened next. Spike walked over to Buffy and held out his hand to help her up. He'd done that after fights and his grip had been strong and reassuring, but with no overtones or significance. Tonight, it was different. As she put her hand in his it was a commitment, recognition of a bond.

He pulled her up and towards him, locking his hands behind her neck.

"Going to give you a chance to escape the monster," he whispered. "One chance. If you're still here when I open my eyes, you're mine."

Letting his hands slip to his side, he shut his eyes and stood there, relaxed and patient.

Buffy hesitated. They hadn't talked, they hadn't said anything, set guidelines, made promises...Maybe they didn't need to. When they talked, they fought. She didn't want to fight Spike, not tonight. She looked at him. His eyes were still shut. He must know that she hadn't moved away. When would he reach out for her?

Buffy smiled as she realised that he would stand there for as long as it took for her to make up her mind and give him a signal. He wasn't rushing her and despite his words, he was leaving it to her to set the pace.

It was all she needed to know.

Stepping forward she kissed his eyelids softly. As she did, she felt his arms wrap around her fiercely. His eyes snapped open and they were blazing with hunger. Without a word he kissed her, their bodies tight against each other, straining to get even closer. Buffy's senses were heightened to the point where she was conscious of every movement, every caress.

This was no meeting of young lovers, sweet and tentative. The Slayer and the vampire belonged in a different world. They had danced together for years, teasing and taunting, in rhythm and faltering, as the music changed. Now they were about to bring the dance to an end.

As the kiss deepened, they began to pull at each others clothes, needing to have nothing between them, no more barriers, even thin cotton and silk.

Spike took hold of the hem of Buffy's top and tugged it up over her head then bent to kiss her breasts. She reached behind to unhook her bra and let it fall away, then slid his shirt off his back. She ran her hands under his t shirt, touching muscles she'd slammed her fists into so many times. Now she caressed, explored and finally exposed his chest, using her strength to simply rip the shirt off him. The package she had brought contained a new one so she didn't think he'd mind. Spike wouldn't have objected if every item of clothing he owned was reduced to scraps as long as Buffy kept touching him like this.

They worked on each other's jeans for a second, fingers fumbling with buttons and zips. Buffy slid her hands down the front of his jeans and was rewarded with a shuddering gasp from Spike and a stab of anticipation for her.

Realising that it was faster if they took off their own jeans, they stepped back for a moment and finished undressing.

Finally naked, they stood looking for a second, still in silence, and then Spike fell to his knees in front of her.

There was nothing of the supplicant in his action. It just brought him level with her hips. He slipped his hands round her bottom, cupping her flesh, his fingers digging into her.

Then he made good his promise to lick every drop of honey from every part of her.

Their shadows merged and twisted on the crypt walls as the candles flickered and guttered. There were words now, whispered and screamed as they urged each other on or begged for release. There was tenderness; soft kisses raining down like blossom falling from a tree in spring. There was passion as they tore at each other with fingers and teeth, Spike never giving in to the urge to change, even as his climaxes took away all sense of self, even as he cried out her name.

And finally, there was peace and subdued laughter, as they rested on the bed and talked, tracing patterns on each other's skin with teasing fingers, wrapped in a golden haze of satiated pleasure.

Then the crypt door slammed open and a man entered, flanked by two guards, one armed with a cross bow and one with a tranquiliser gun.

He surveyed the scene in front of him, a look of disdain and revulsion contorting his features.

As Buffy and Spike began to struggle free of the covers, identical looks of shock on their faces, he said calmly,"Kill the vampire, subdue the girl. Do it now."

Buffy looked at Quentin Travers and saw their death in his eyes.

Chapter Five

Time slowed to a crawl inside the crypt. Buffy had heard nothing after the words, 'kill the vampire'. They filled her with panic and fury so intense that her body responded the only way it knew how.

It looked for someone to kill.

Buffy fought most nights and yet could go weeks without being seriously challenged. She was too experienced to get over confident; even the newest vampire could surprise you, but it was unusual for her to have to draw on the reserves of strength that lay at her core. Now she reached for that strength, felt it simmer and burn within her blood.

Even as she assessed the threat to her lover and herself, she began to move. Her eyes swept across the three men. The greatest risk to Spike was the crossbow, to her the gun. Travers was an unknown quantity but his hands were buried in the deep pockets of an overcoat and she was willing to bet that he had a gun and a stake at the least.

Crossbow man it was then.

The intruders had surprised them but surprising a predator can be counter effective. Poke a sleeping cat. It will not stretch languidly before ripping claws across your hand. It will strike without warning, without thinking. Three men were facing two people who had the ghosts of a thousand kills at their backs. The only possible advantages the men had were Buffy's reluctance, and Spike's inability, to kill humans.

As Buffy slid off the sarcophagus and moved swiftly across the room, towards the man with the crossbow, the element of surprise shifted to work for her. She was still naked, her golden hair falling around her face, both relaxed and invigorated from making love with Spike. She was a stunning sight and the man faltered as she glided towards him looking like the incarnation of a savage warrior from the past. Which wasn't far from the truth.

As he fumbled with the crossbow release, trying to aim past her to where Spike stood, she kicked at his wrist. Reflexively, he squeezed the trigger, sending the bolt, by a fluke, directly at the vampire. Spike twisted away, the bolt grazing his side, leaving a shallow furrow in his flesh.

The man never got chance to reload. Teeth bared in a ferocious smile, Buffy grabbed his weapon and snapped it in two, flinging it away from her. Her foot scythed upwards and caught the man below the jaw. She felt no pity or regret when she heard the crack as the bone shattered. He went down to his knees, crying out in pain and clutching at his face.

Spike, like Buffy, had concentrated on the threat to his beloved more than the one to himself. As she moved, so did he. Allowing her to pass in front of him and fully aware of his limitations in a fight like this, he began to move backwards, heading towards his weapon chest. Getting wounded on the way was irritating but he hardly felt it. Three swift steps and he was at the chest. Using his heel, he kicked up the lid and risked a swift look inside. Perfect. Snatching up a throwing knife and blanking his mind, he threw it unerringly, not at the man holding the gun, but at the weapon itself.

The chip wasn't entirely fooled; it triggered belatedly, inflicting an intense stab of pain. But the knife had not faltered as it left his hand. The gun, with its drugged darts, was knocked out of the man's hand and sent spinning away.

Buffy's peripheral vision exceeded the norm and she registered the fact that the gunman was now unarmed. She pivoted past a motionless Travers and used her momentum to drive another kick into the remaining guard's stomach. He collapsed, winded and with several cracked ribs. Buffy wouldn't kill but she had no qualms about inflicting pain. The Council had come for Faith several times when she was around. She knew what they were capable of and she had no reason to trust them on her own behalf.

With his guards defeated in less than twenty seconds, Travers should have been fearful. Instead, his face was mask like, bland and unconcerned.

Buffy cocked her fist as she moved in front of him but hesitated. He was elderly and he hadn't drawn a weapon yet. He smiled at her indecision, the mask shifting to reveal triumph and she remembered his hands. As he began to withdraw them from his pockets, her own hands shot out, gripping his wrists so hard that she felt his fragile bones shift under the pressure. Digging into the nerves in his wrists, she forced him to uncurl his fingers.

"Got any more cuffs?" Buffy asked Spike, keeping her eyes locked on Travers as she held him immobile.

"Well, no, there's a limit to how many a bloke needs to keep around the place, love," said Spike. "But there's plenty of rope."

"Good. Do this one first. But take his coat off before you tie him up. I want to see what he's got in there."

"Can we get dressed after that, then? Because you look a little chilly."

Buffy looked at him and then herself and gasped in shock as she became aware of her nudity. Moving faster than she had in the fight, she dragged Travers over to Spike, snatched up her scattered clothes and vanished into the shadows. Spike was completely unconcerned about his lack of clothes and grinned happily at Travers as he gently but firmly gripped his wrists.

"How does it feel to have made the biggest mistake of your life then, mate?" he asked in a solicitous tone. "You've really pissed her off and believe me, that's never a good idea."

Travers stared over Spike's shoulder, expressionless again. Only a faint twitch of his lips betrayed his emotions.

***

Buffy and Spike, now dressed and armed, looked at their three prisoners. The two bodyguards were sullen and quiet, one through choice, one through necessity. Travers was also silent but his malicious eyes never strayed far from Buffy.

"What do we do with them?" Buffy asked in disgust. She had been enjoying herself for the first time in ages when they had spoiled everything. Not to mention the fact that every thirty seconds or so, she remembered that Quentin and his thugs had seen her naked. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Maybe she _should_ have killed them. That had to be extenuating circumstances.

Spike walked over to the dart gun. Picking it up he weighed it in his hand. "How about you use this on the gatecrashers so I don't have to worry about them doing anything tricky? I'll stay here and you can go and fetch Giles. I have a feeling he might want to see this little lot."

Buffy grinned and took the gun from him but Travers finally broke his eerie silence. "A renegade Slayer deserves a Judas for a Watcher. Just who do you think told us about your unnatural liaison with the demon? It won't save his job; his incompetence and lack of control over you has gone too far but -"

"Shut up," said Buffy scornfully. "Nothing you can say, _nothing_ would ever make me doubt Giles."

She sent darts into the flesh of the guards, watching as they lost consciousness within seconds. Spike sauntered over and rolled up their eyelids. "Seem to be out for the count," he reported. "Might be as well if you kicked them though to make sure. Aim for the knackers and no one can keep from moving."

"I think they're really drugged," Buffy said hastily. The primitive and wholly human desire to inflict pain on those attacking her and her mate had drained away. She felt a little shocked at the emotions that had boiled up inside her. Turning to Travers, she asked sweetly, "Ready for some of your own medicine?"

He glared at her. "I have a weak heart. If you use that on me, I could well die."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Be still my beating - oh, you just said that, didn't you? I could knock you out the old fashioned way instead. There's a really useful candlestick around here somewhere."

"Why won't you listen to me, girl? I am telling you that your Watcher betrayed you."

"Maybe it's because you keep calling me 'girl' when you should be calling me, 'person who means I have a job'"

Quentin looked amused. "You are one in an unending line of tools that my organisation makes use of as we see fit. Don't flatter yourself that you're of any real or lasting significance in the world. Your job might be; you are not."

Buffy kept her temper with an effort. "Is that the world that wouldn't exist if I hadn't saved it five or six times?" she asked pointedly. "Because, I don't know, don't want to sound vain or anything, but I'd say that made me marginally more significant than a dried up, power hungry old man who's lost his grip on his tool."

Behind her, Spike snickered. "Did I say something that's funny if you're from Gilesland?" Buffy asked him suspiciously.

"Yep. Tell you later, pet." Preferably when you're not gripping _my_ tool, he added silently.

"Oh. Well, whatever."

Travers lost patience with their flippant lack of concern. "You are a travesty, a poor excuse for a Slayer. You have betrayed your calling, not once but twice now by your dalliances with those you exist only to slay. You are willful, disobedient and disrespectful."

"Knew there were many good reasons for loving you, my sweet," said Spike, a slightly menacing smile on his face as he listened to Travers insulting Buffy.

Buffy laughed."Giles was right," she said. "You really are foaming at the mouth aren't you? Does it bother you that much that Angel and Spike have greyed things up in your black and white world? They're not the only ones either...look at Clem."

"Slayer, I'm deeply wounded," said Spike, "Never thought he was more than a friend. Just goes to show how blind I am."

Buffy rolled her eyes with mock exasperation."He _is_ a friend," she said. "But he's also a demon. And he's on my list of people I never want to have to kill."

"I'm on that list, too, right?" asked Spike.

"You seem to have snuck on it somehow, don't ask how."

Spike grinned, then sobered."So, you going to push off and fetch Giles?"

Buffy took his hand and pulled him over to the far side of the crypt, out of earshot."I don't like leaving you with them. Suppose someone else comes? It's funny Travers brought just two people to take us out. It's deeply insulting on one level but it's also suspicious. He knows how well we can fight."

"I can't, not humans anyway," Spike pointed out. They were still holding hands and he pulled her close for a swift kiss, resting his head against her shoulder for a second. "Knowing that I couldn't help you nearly killed me. I hate this chip."

She smiled at him."You did fine. We won, didn't we?"

"Suppose so." Spike didn't sound wholly convinced.

"I can prove what I say, " called Travers. "Inside my coat, a letter from Rupert..."

Buffy shook her head in disbelief and walked over to the coat, slung over the back of the sofa. "Which pocket?" she asked tersely.

Travers smiled calmly. "If you just reach inside the right hand one, you should find it. It sets out his disappointment in you, his plans to kill this Spike creature. I think you'll find it illuminating."

"I think I'd find it to be a forgery but I'm not sticking my hands in there. This coat is giving me the wiggins somehow."

"Want me to take a look?" offered Spike.

Buffy looked at the thinly disguised anticipation flitting across Travers' face. "That would be a 7.6 on the no scale. Let's see; he came armed with weapons for humans and vampires. What's the other element? Magic. I'm betting there's something nasty and spell covered in there. Think we'll let Will and Tara check it out."

Spike shrugged. "Works for me. Just don't bring Xander. This night's been ruined enough."

Buffy gave him a look but let it pass and headed for the door. As she reached out to open it, it swung towards her. She stepped back swiftly, reaching for the stake in her pocket. "Giles!" she exclaimed with relief.

Giles ignored her and pushed past to stare at the three bound men and Spike. Looking at Travers, he said sharply, "Why is the vampire still alive?"

Travers allowed satisfaction to settle over his face like scum on a pond. "An oversight that I'm sure you can remedy, my dear fellow. After you untie me of course."

"Of course," said Giles pleasantly, stepping over to where Travers lay.

As Buffy looked on in horror, he took out a small knife and slashed at the rope binding Travers' wrists, freeing him in seconds.

The Demon Made Me Do It

Chapter Six

"What the hell are you doing?" shouted Spike, striding towards Giles, who was on one knee beside Travers, cutting the rope that bound his wrists. "That wanker just tried to kill us! He's not safe."

Giles stood and swept his hand across Spike's face in one smooth movement. The vampire fell back a step and looked at the Watcher in disbelief, one hand going up to his bloodied lip.

"Be silent, vampire," said Giles coolly. "Or I'll cut out your tongue before I stake you. I wonder if it would turn to dust when the rest of you does? Be interesting to find out."

Buffy choked and looked around her wildly. "Giles, something's wrong, this isn't you. Why are you behaving like this?"

Giles seemed to notice her for the first time. "You should really pay more attention to what's right under your nose, Buffy. But they say that love's blind, don't they?"

Buffy frowned, trying to think, to concentrate. Not for a moment did she doubt Giles. He was either affected by a spell or playing a deadly game with Travers. Either way, her trust in him was as deep as her love for her mother had been. On the chance that he was fully aware of what he was doing, she decided to play along. If he was enchanted or possessed, it wouldn't make any difference, so she couldn't really lose.

"I've seen you turn into a drunken, drifting excuse for a man, if that's what you mean," she said bitterly. "I got you your job back, when you were reduced to being a shopkeeper, remember?" A quotation swam to the top of her mind and she laughed scornfully. "Who was it who said the English were a nation of shopkeepers?"

Giles automatically opened his mouth to answer her and stopped himself, covering the action with a hasty polishing of his glasses. "You'd do well to be more respectful of the country that has worked for centuries to guide, train and protect the Slayer line. But respect isn't a quality with which you're terribly familiar, is it Buffy?"

"Oh, I can respect a lot of qualities, Giles. Loyalty and trust being two. When I give those to someone, I _never_ ask for them back." She let that hang in the air for a second before continuing, a mocking smile curving her lips. "Of course, since you stripped me of my powers and almost got my mother killed quite early on in our relationship, that's not really a factor between us, is it?"

Spike was far from certain what Giles felt about him but he knew that the Watcher loved Buffy deeply. No one who had been at the foot of Glory's tower when the sun rose and illuminated Buffy's lifeless body, could doubt that. The scene being played out rang false to him, though Travers was lapping it up. It took him no longer than Buffy to guess at the possible causes. Buffy's equally improbable taunts and useful hints allowed him to guess at her strategy. He grinned inwardly. Time for a good taunting, was it? Well, if something had turned Giles evil and he was due to be staked in moments, he could at least have some fun before he dusted.

Spike opened his mouth to join in but Travers, who had been listening to Giles and Buffy's verbal sparring, a smug smile on his face, stepped forward, raising his hands theatrically. "Now, now! I see that you weren't exaggerating in your letters, Rupert, she really is out of control, but we don't have time for this. The ritual needs to be performed at midnight and that gives us very little preparation -"

"'Ritual'?" asked Buffy sharply. "What ritual? If you two think you can force me to do anything, you've forgotten who you're dealing with. I can break you into little pieces in less time than it takes me to put my lipstick on in the morning."

Travers looked at her with disdain and dislike fighting it out for first place. "There's an old saying, my dear Slayer," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "About there being more than one way to skin a cat? Well, I don't have a cat around to demonstrate, but I do have your charmingly freakish sister at Mr Giles's shop. She's going to make a fascinating study subject for some of our more advanced students of mystical beings back in London. Unless you cooperate, in which case, I might just forget her rather unusual background."

"If you hurt Little Bit, I'll tear this chip out with my bare hands and come looking for you, Travers," Spike said quietly, his appreciation of the game vanishing and worry creeping in. "And when I do, I'll snap your neck like a dry stick. You're not to my taste though; so don't worry about being bled dry. I'd eat rats before I'd drink from you."

Travers applauded ironically. "You've slept with her now, vampire. You can drop the concerned act. I've just spent half an hour with the young girl. She's annoying and tiresome; you couldn't possibly care what happens to her."

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't," said Buffy tightly. "But I do and I second everything he just said. Dawn's been through enough and I'll never forgive you for adding to her trauma."

She was looking at Travers but Spike sensed that her words were aimed right at Giles. He winced. If it turned out that Giles was just pulling a fast one on this git, he was going to pay for this little twist. Buffy had that, 'we are not amused' look on her face.

"So," said Travers. "Shall we adjourn to the Magic Box?" He was as calm as if he were inviting them to afternoon tea.

"You still haven't told me what this ritual is for," said Buffy, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him.

"Oh, did I not? How remiss of me. To put it very briefly, we need a new Slayer. You're incorrigible, Faith's just not the kind of girl we like to have around...so we've decided to take matters into our own hands."

"You're going to kill us both?" Buffy said. "Are you hoping for one, maybe two new Slayers who'll jump through your hoops?"

'No, no, my dear. Too chancy. As you point out, we're not entirely sure what will happen in the event that you both die. In your case for what, the third time? You couldn't even do that part of your job correctly, could you? Trouble. You've been trouble from the start, never listening, never -"

"Quentin," said Giles quietly but forcefully. Travers paused and rubbed his eyes for a moment, composing himself.

"As I was saying, we want to have a fresh start. There'll be no more of this random selection of Slayers by some unseen agency. A highly talented researcher on my personal team has devised a way to strip you both of your powers. You will remain alive; we'll make sure of that. Don't want your deaths to complicate matters. Why take chances, hmm? We will then bestow the powers on a suitable candidate. We have several in mind; we just need to weed them out. The less successful ones, well, they'll have to be eliminated of course. So, no need for you to fight us. You've spent a lot of time wishing you could be normal I believe. Here's your chance."

Buffy tossed her head and stared at him angrily. "And Spike?" she asked. "Do I get to keep him?"

"I really can't allow such an obscenity to continue. He dies tonight, I'm delighted to say. Rupert agrees with me totally on this, don't you?"

Giles smiled slowly. "I'm as likely to spare you, Spike, as I am to share a drink with you," he said.

Quentin nodded eagerly. "Do it now, Rupert, I want to see William the Bloody turn to dust. One for the record books, eh?"

Spike and Buffy shared a surreptitious look of relief at the confirmation that Giles was still Giles. Spike wondered how much that whiskey cost. Maybe he'd give Giles a bottle when this was all over, as a memento. Or steal it, anyway. No point in wasting money...unless maybe it came in miniatures?

Giles casually pulled a stake out of his pocket and gave Buffy an enigmatic look. Buffy floundered for a second but Spike came to her rescue. "So, it's a staking is it?" he demanded indignantly, moving away from Giles as he advanced towards him. "Kill the poor vampire who can't hurt anyone anymore, the vampire who saved your sorry life more times than you've got laid?" Giles glared at him. Spike had a feeling that was a genuine glare. " Who helped you out when your pal Ethan turned you into a demon? Not to mention that time that other, evil vampire had you by the throat and I set him on fire when we were patrolling? Good times, lots of them. And now you're saying it's all over, end of the line for Spike?"

Travers began to look puzzled. Spike was grinning by the end of his plea for mercy and he and Giles were still several feet apart as Giles was making no effort to close in on Spike but was simply matching his steps. As suspicion flared in Quentin's eyes, as Spike reached the door of the crypt, as Buffy began to grin and relax, the situation was shaken like a kaleidoscope and the pattern shifted.

"It was a trick, wasn't it?" screamed Quentin, his calm vanishing as he realised the extent to which he'd been fooled.

"A trick? Not exactly," said Giles reflectively. "I'd say it was more akin to pest control." He turned to Buffy and Spike, who were now standing together. "I must offer you both my apologies for distressing you. Though, I must say, you played up beautifully. Now, if you'll just open that door, Spike, I think there are some people -"

"Giles!" shrieked Buffy, who had let her eyes wander to Travers. "Stop him!"

Travers lunged for his coat and reached into the right hand pocket. He didn't pull out a letter. He pulled out a small box, made of some dull grey metal. On the lid was an ornate sigil. Travers set the box down and flicked open the lid, just as Giles reached him.

It was too late. The box was about the size of a box of kitchen matches but as they watched, a hand appeared, scrabbling for a grip. It took hold of the side of the box and began to pull. With a sickening noise of grinding bones and a stench of decomposing flesh, a demon appeared, bursting through the box and expanding swiftly, muscles ripping, skeleton re aligning. He howled in pain, long arms wrapping around his misshapen head. The arms dropped and he looked around, panting, a grey tongue hanging out of a mouth that seemed too full of teeth for it to fit in. He was big, he was ugly and he looked dangerous.

Buffy sighed with relief. Finally, something she could kill.

Chapter Seven

Giles grabbed Travers roughly and began to pull him away from the demon. "Banish it before it kills us all, you fool!" Giles cried.

"Kills all of you, is more accurate," Travers said in a gently chiding voice. "And thank you for the suggestion." He twisted his head round and called out, "Ragrathnil, do my bidding and kill all in the room but me."

The demon crouched and sprang towards the two unconscious guards. Travers realised his mistake and began to shout counter orders but it was too late. The demon's jaw widened impossibly, and a swirling miasma of sickly yellow light flooded out of his mouth. Tendrils of the light shot out to grip the arms of the man who had wounded Spike. He was inexorably dragged towards the demon's maw. The light ate away at him from within and in seconds he had stretched and thinned, bones and flesh dissolving and merging with the light. He was captured and consumed so quickly that Buffy had barely had time to reach for a weapon.

Travers finally managed to attract the demon's attention before he attacked the second guard. "Not them, you stupid creature, the others!" He gestured wildly round the room. The demon hesitated, swinging back and forth as it chose a victim. Giles clung onto Travers, determined that if he was going to be demon food, Travers was coming along too.

Buffy gripped her sword, thankful that Spike kept a varied assortment of weapons in the crypt. Not as many as Giles of course but then, few people did. She circled round, trying to draw the demon's attention but she froze when Spike began to talk. "Is that really you, Rags?" called Spike. "Haven't seen you in ages. Hanging round with a dodgy crowd, aren't you? Not like you to be working for the humans."

The demon paused and swiveled to face Spike. "Spiikkke?" he growled, his jaw clicking upwards abruptly.

"You know this demon socially?" asked Buffy in disbelief, keeping her sword at the ready.

Spike smiled, walking casually over to a chair. "Oh, Rags and I go back a ways, don't we mate?"

The demon nodded, spattering green slime on the walls as he did so.

"Do you want me to put him on the list next to Clem, then?" asked Buffy brightly.

The demon turned to her, his back to Spike. His eyes looked confused but he began to move towards her, snarling, and starting to open his mouth again. Spike neatly beheaded him with a two handed swing of the axe that had been leaning against the side of the chair.

"No need, pet. We hate each other," he said cheerfully.

Giles tightened his grip on Travers, who was now staring aghast at the demon's corpse and muttering incoherent curses.

Buffy looked down at the demon. "_I_ wanted to kill it," she said through clenched teeth. "You demon hogger!"

Spike shook his head wearily. "Most girls would be all, 'Oh, Spike, you're my hero!'" he pointed out. "But me, I get the weird one who nags me for saving her from going all squishy."

Buffy pouted then relented. It had been a nice swing of the axe. "Is it, like, just going to stay there? Because I'm thinking, hard to avoid tripping over it."

Spike shook his head. He bent and picked up the box and placed it on the demon's chest. It was interesting to watch. Like a film running in reverse, the demon got sucked back into the box, leaving a faint smell behind and some smoking gobbets of slime.

Spike closed the lid and brought his booted foot down hard. The metal crumpled and the box vanished. "Tidy enough for you?" he asked with a grin.

Giles spoke up. "Buffy, could I trouble you to open the door? There are some people out there who need to take care of the loose ends and finish the er, cleaning up. They're waiting for my signal."

"Leaving us time to discuss some things?" Buffy said in an ominous tone of voice. "Like ruining my night off, putting Dawn in danger, not to mention something so embarrassing that I'll be blushing about it when I'm old and wrinkly."

Giles looked momentarily intrigued, then coughed as Buffy's gaze intensified. "I suppose that's got to happen, yes. I'll explain everything."

She opened the door and peered out into the darkness. "Travers is all insane and gibbering. Now would be a good time to take him away," she called.

"Thank you, Miss Summers," said a quiet voice. An elegantly dressed man stepped out of the shadows, followed by a woman and a small child. They walked towards her and paused at the threshold.

"May we enter?" he said politely.

"Not my home," said Buffy. "You need to ask him."

Spike appeared by her side, his arm wrapped around her protectively. "You friends of Giles?" he asked. "Not got a grudge against vampires or any nasty pointy bits of wood on you?"

The man smiled. "I have no ill will towards you, Guardian and Protector."

Spike frowned, his head tilting slightly in the gesture that Buffy had always found strangely appealing. "Don't know what you're on about mate, but come on in."

The strange trio walked into the crypt and glanced around. The remaining guard was still unconscious by the wall. Travers was staring blankly into space, his mouth slightly ajar, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, as though he was strangling something small and helpless.

Giles moved forward to greet the newcomers. "You heard it all?" he asked.

The man nodded, his face somber and distressed. "You warned me, Rupert. I should have taken more notice. I placed too much importance on your less than amiable relations with Travers. It coloured my judgment. You _are_ considered something of a rebel, you know."

"Giles is a rebel?" whispered Buffy to Spike. "I'll never understand you English guys."

"I'm sorry," said Giles. "Where are my manners? I haven't introduced you all."

"Oh, he's a rebel," Spike whispered back. "See? Got no grasp of proper etiquette."

Giles cleared his throat and waved at Spike and Buffy. "As you may have gathered, this is our Slayer, Buffy Summers and her," he gulped and reached for his glasses, then stopped himself. "Her - partner, Spike."

Spike's face was indescribably gleeful as he relished Giles's discomfort.

"And I'm honoured to introduce Miss Amy Ward and her Watcher, Elizabeth Stanton," Giles continued. The girl bowed her head politely and her Watcher smiled.

Giles saw Buffy look at the small child with shock and carried on hastily before she could ask any questions, "And this is, I think I'm safe in saying, the new head of the Watcher's Council, Andrew Carlton."

The man nodded his head. "I called an emergency meeting of the Circle as soon as Travers left for the airport. After I explained your fears and the actions I had already taken, we used up the discretionary fund for the next two years, and hired a private jet so that we could get here ahead of him." He smiled. "Most enjoyable. Every word he said, all that went on in this room from the time he entered, was heard by us as we waited outside, and the people back home. I received their unanimous vote of support just before Miss Summers called to us."

"Really?" asked Giles curiously. "Is that some form of spell based on the Runes of Talmac? I never quite managed to master them."

Andrew Carlton threw back his head and laughed, the lines of strain vanishing from his face. "Oh, Ripper, how you've changed!" he said. "Your Slayer is quite correct; you're not a rebel at all. No, Travers is bugged and we have a link up that allows us to receive the signal from the device, that's all. He had a fortuitous visit to the dentist that allowed us to implant it in his tooth. Very reprehensible, I know but I think it worked for the best. Don't you ever read your e-mail? I did tell you about it."

Buffy reflected that the Council was still as high handed as ever. She didn't trust them much, no matter who was in charge. "Giles," she began, "I have questions, lots of them but, tell me, Dawn's safe isn't she?"

"Perfectly safe," said Giles. "Quentin's thugs grabbed her and brought her to the shop but they didn't hurt her. While Travers was ransacking my shelves for the ingredients he needed for his ritual, I managed to reassure her secretly. She's as good an actor as you are. She screamed beautifully and managed to give Quentin quite a headache."

"That's my Little Bit," said Spike proudly.

"I told Travers to go on ahead, that I would follow when I had finished my preparations. He left a third guard at the shop but it didn't take me long to overcome him. He's bound and gagged in the shop basement, with Xander and Willow on guard. Tara and Anya took Dawn home, where I imagine she's eagerly waiting to see you."

Buffy sighed with relief. "So, isn't six or seven a little young to be a Slayer in training?" she asked, smiling down at the small girl.

The child frowned at her. "I've been training since I was four," she said sternly. "I'm not a baby, you know."

Buffy gave Elizabeth Stanton a helpless look. "I, uh, didn't start till I was a lot older," she said to Amy apologetically.

The girl looked horrified but was too polite to comment.

"Travers tried to make me believe that you'd been writing to him, complaining about me," Buffy said with a laugh. She stopped and frowned. "You hadn't had you? Because I've been working really hard training these last months, you know."

Giles looked slightly embarrassed. "As a matter of fact, I've sent some splendidly scurrilous accounts of your conduct to Travers. He's heard all about how you neglect your patrols to consort with Spike, how you're encouraging Willow to experiment with the dark arts, how you don't floss daily -"

"Giles!" said Buffy, laughing. "You are so going to suffer next time we train together."

Giles smiled back at her, then sobered. "Anyway, I hesitated to mention my plans to you. It's not like you've ever been terribly interested in the politics of the Council. Quentin's irrationality has worsened since we last saw him but it was so gradual that it was hard for those around him to appreciate it. When I got wind of this plan of his from Elizabeth, I knew he'd finally gone too far. Amy is one of the candidates for your replacement but there are four other girls as well and you, well, you heard his plans for them."

Buffy shivered but didn't comment, unsure if Amy had appreciated her potential fate. "I don't get it though. If Faith and I are out of it and the next in line are all fresh out of kindergarten, who fights the demons until they grow up? It doesn't make sense."

"It makes sense, girl," hissed Travers, stirring from his apathy. "Not all the candidates are this young and I wanted to experiment, see just how much difference it made if there was no Slayer. Do you think you alone fight? There are scores of my people, all over the world battling demons and -"

"They're not your people anymore and they never will be again," said Andrew with a cool finality. "You have betrayed all that the Council stands for. You are correct that in the fight against evil, there are many warrior - but there is only one Slayer and she is utterly necessary as head of the armies of light."

Buffy was a little taken aback at this description but decided that it was nice to be appreciated. Sure, she got respect from the local vampires, but that wasn't exactly the validation she craved.

"So, why did you bring Amy and her Watcher along?" asked Buffy. "Wasn't it a bit risky?"

Elizabeth and Andrew exchanged glances. Andrew smiled at Buffy and said, " Amy is my niece, my late sister's child. I felt that I wanted her close by in case Quentin's supporters - and he has some - decided to use her against me."

"But as we're here," Elizabeth broke in, " I'm sure Amy would be terribly thrilled to watch you slay, possibly join in some of your training sessions, that sort of thing." She smiled kindly at the little girl. "We mustn't get too carried away with the holiday spirit and fall behind."

Buffy gave Giles a desperate, pleading look. He shrugged helplessly but said, "Possibly, this being the Hellmouth, it might be a little too hazardous for Miss Amy to actually patrol but I'm sure Buffy would give her a daylight tour and let her use the training facilities at the shop."

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said Buffy trying to seem pleased about babysitting being added to her duties.

Spike had been studying Travers intently. "So what's happening to this joker, then? You're not going to just let him go are you?"

Carlton shook his head. "We have no intention of that. Travers is dangerous. His final fate will be decided by his peers. Until then."

Carlton took out a thin necklace, and walked towards Travers. Quentin's eyes widened in horror and he began to scramble away across the floor.

"Would you hold him still?" Carlton asked Spike politely. Spike stepped behind Travers, hauled him to his feet and gripped his arms firmly. Carlton said, "By the powers of the Council, I am authorised to bind you with this charm. It will be removed so that you may hear your sentence in full possession of your mind."

He pulled Travers' shirt away from his neck, exposing his throat, and then casually dropped the necklace over Travers's head. As it settled against him, Travers began to scream. The necklace lay still for a second and then there was a faint sizzling sound, that grew louder and louder. The necklace sank into Travers's flesh, blood trickling down to stain his white shirt. The flesh closed over the chain, leaving an inflamed ridge of scar tissue.

Buffy looked away, sickened and hoping that Amy wouldn't have nightmares. She peeked at the child and saw that she had a slight smile on her face and seemed totally unconcerned. Of course, Travers had planned to kill her, but still.

Giles spoke quietly to Buffy. "That charm has taken away all of Quentin's will. He cannot think or act independently until it is removed. A mental straitjacket of sorts. It will let them get him home without any problems."

"That's horrible!" Buffy said.

Giles raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And what he planned to do was not? How many people would have died because of his frustration at being nominally in charge of a woman who stands and acts alone and refuses to be subject to authority?"

Buffy shook her head. "I guess. But, Giles?"

He looked at her enquiringly.

"I _do_ listen to you, you know."

Giles smiled and said, "I know you do, Buffy." And then do whatever you planned to do in the first place, he thought, amused and long resigned to his Slayer's independence.

As the crypt emptied of people and peace descended, Spike and Buffy had chance for a few hurried words in private.

"Buffy, this didn't turn out quite as I expected."

"Oh, I don't know. It's nice to have a quiet night in, now and then."

"How about we try again tomorrow without the company and all that?"

Buffy grinned and murmured, "Passion without 'Passions'? I'm in."

She walked off to help Giles haul up the guard who was still blissfully sleeping. Spike watched her, his face losing its hardness, his eyes wistful.

"You love her," said a voice.

Spike turned to see the appraising eyes of Andrew Carlton studying him frankly.

"You think I can, do you? Being evil and all?" he responded slightly bitterly.

"Evil is as evil does." Carlton replied enigmatically.

He turned and walked away swiftly. Spike frowned, wondering why he had called him Buffy's, what was it, protector? Well, he couldn't argue with that.

Andrew Carlton's thoughts were a combination of surging elation and apprehension but he had no intention of sharing them. Yet. It still lacked six months to the night the prophecy had foretold.

There was plenty of time before the Slayer needed to know about -

"All ready, here," called Giles.

Carlton smiled and left the crypt.

Coda

Buffy lay on her stomach, her hair loose and tangled, still slightly damp with sweat. "I am finished, through," she moaned. "This is harder work than fighting demons."

"That's because you don't train for this sort of activity," Spike said solemnly. "Uses different muscles. I mean -" he ran one finger over the curve of her bottom and around the top of her thigh, "you don't use these muscles much when you're lopping off limbs or stabbing with stakes, now do you?"

His finger thrust unerringly into her as he spoke and he felt her arch upwards, pulling him in deeper. She clenched teasingly, trapping his finger for a second, then gasping as he replaced it with his cock, still hard, still hungry for her after several hours of making love.

As he slid deep then withdrew, in a maddening rhythm that had her fingers clawing at the sheet beneath her, Buffy allowed herself to respond with a total lack of thought for consequences or appearances. This was Spike and he knew her as no one else ever had. She didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't or to rein in her strength for fear of hurting him. If she wanted more, and she did, oh God, yes she did, he was ready for her, inventive, imaginative and uninhibited.

She was surrounded by a love so deep that it almost scared her.

She always lost those she loved.

***

Spike lay still, watching Buffy sleep. She had stayed all night with him. He would have staked himself rather than admit it but the trust she showed by sleeping in his bed meant more to him than her kisses did. Not that he was complaining about the kisses. A smile that was pure male curved his lips and he stretched lazily, glancing down at the scratches on his body. Buffy played rough - but if kisses left marks, he didn't think a square inch of him would be left bare. He wasn't complaining.

The covers slipped off her shoulders as she began to wake and he reached out to pull them up, shielding her from the cool early morning air of the crypt. His arm was white against her honey golden flesh and he decided that they were like the sun and the moon, endlessly circling. Now, impossibly, they had come together and he wondered about the consequences.

***

Buffy had spent the previous day with Amy and Elizabeth and enjoyed it more than she imagined. The little girl's precocious solemnity had dissolved along with the seven-scoop ice cream mountain Buffy had treated her to. She had been amused by Buffy's toned down descriptions of her less apocalyptic adventures and had reduced Xander to a wheezing heap on the floor when he jokingly offered to be her sparring partner but refused to bother with his protective suit.

Buffy had delivered them back to the shop just as Giles and Andrew Carlton walked in, having spent the morning interrogating a docile and compliant Travers. Buffy thought that Giles looked tired. His eyes rested on her with a kind of desperate bewilderment for a second, before he smiled and began to tease Amy about her day in Sunnydale.

Some time later, as she walked over to fetch a particularly ugly idol for Anya, who needed to wrap it for shipping to someone in Kansas, Buffy overheard Giles ask Carlton, "So, you will return before the time? To allow us chance to -?" He caught sight of Buffy and stopped abruptly. She smiled, grabbed the statue and took it to the counter, her face smooth and unconcerned. Giles wasn't fooled and he wondered just how long it would take her to get it all out of him after Carlton left. Perhaps Spike would distract her.

***

Buffy left the crypt in the early morning and looked around the cemetery curiously. She had been there in the daylight before of course, but not often. It looked so different with the sunlight brazenly exposing the hidden and turning black ground magically into smooth green grass. She wished that Spike could share this morning with her, could see the transformation of his home. She shrugged. Maybe he wouldn't like it. Truthfully, she felt sometimes that the sun was too bright, the night the time she came alive. She lived in two worlds and wondered if one day, she would be claimed by the darkness or if she would turn her back on it.

It was too good a morning to be gloomy. Buffy made her way through the gravestones, back to her family, her thoughts lingering on her lover, sleeping now where her body had lain. Overhead, the sun shone, and high in the sky, each crater clear and distinct, the silver moon shone steadily too, bathed in reflected radiance as it contentedly shared the daytime sky with its ancient rival.

The End

The Demon Inside Me

CHAPTER ONE

May 7. Sunnydale.

Spike looked around his crypt, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead. He was exhausted after fighting for hours but something was different, something wasn't quite - he whirled round and confronted Buffy who stood, innocently bewildered, in the doorway. "What have I told you about potted plants?" he roared. "They die in here! It's too dark for them."

Buffy sauntered forward and patted his arm gently. "Special house plants, designed for shady areas," she said. "And sunny ones, moist ones, dry ones - "

"Huh?"

"Plastic," Buffy clarified, smiling up at him sweetly.

Spike sighed and ran a hand over his blond hair, smoothing it back quite unnecessarily. "Buffy," he began, "it's not that I don't appreciate you trying to spruce the place up a bit but it's just not me. Clem got an eyeful of that bloody throw thingy you put on the couch and nearly choked to death laughing. I can't show my face at Willy's without having to beat up some joker calling me Martha Stewart's toy boy."

"I just want to feel I'm contributing," said Buffy. "It's not good for you living in a dank hole. Besides, I seem to recall you telling me that nothing you owned compared to the joy of loving me - and naturally I took that to mean that it was a sort of swap. Everything you own is mine now. Sweet of you."

"And you belong to me? " said Spike, trying to salvage something from the situation and wincing as his romantic words, uttered in the heat of the moment, came back to taunt him. Buffy gave him a pitying look. "Slavery's illegal in California. I belong to me and don't you forget it, mister."

Spike looked downcast and she relented, coming closer and nestling into his arms. "I could loan you bits now and then," she whispered. He brightened at once. "I get to pick them?" he asked.

She grinned. "I think I can guess which bits you'd go for," she said knowingly.

Spike smiled slowly, shaking his head. "I doubt it. See, I'd pick this little bit here, just behind your ear. The bit that I kiss and you go all squirmy. Or maybe the part where your back becomes your bottom and it's the smoothest curve you can imagine, like a sand dune sculpted by a storm. Or the silky bit at the very top of your inner thighs, just below -"

"Spike. Stop talking and -"

"And what?" asked Spike, bending his head and pausing, his lips separated from hers by the width of a sigh.

Buffy pouted and her lips brushed his. Spike growled and pulled her tight against him, his hands caressing her body through what was starting to feel like too many layers of clothing. As she began to tug at the stiff button of his jeans with one hand - tracing the equally stiff outline of his cock with the other - all thoughts of décor squabbles fled.

Until Spike lit the candles by the bed.

"What's that smell? This candle's one of those scented ones from the Magic Box!"

"Jasmine and ginger. From the sensual range!" yelped Buffy.

"Do I look like I need any help feeling sensual?" Spike said dangerously. Buffy glanced down and shook her head meekly in the face of overwhelming evidence in his favour. "Then why the hell -"

Buffy resorted to a weapon she rarely, if ever, used as a Slayer. Spike groaned at the large eyes and the quivering lip then spotted the barely repressed giggles. Launching himself at her, he pinned her to the bed and began to tickle her mercilessly.

As the scented air enveloped them, they wrestled together, laughter dying away as passion took over from play. It was a night neither would forget. It was the last night before they were told of the Journey.

***

May 1. Hampshire, England.

In the library of his country house, Andrew Carlton, the new head of the Watcher's Council sat, as he had done for three long hours, and tried to find some loophole in the words he was reading. Obsessively scanning archaic, faded script in a demon language, had given him a headache that made every blink feel like a blow from a hammer. "Enough," he said aloud, pushing away from the desk with a violence born of frustration. Pacing the library, rubbing his temples, he finally capitulated and accepted the situation. The prophecy was valid; the events were almost upon them and the Slayer had to be told. It was almost a relief to begin planning instead of trying to evade what was to come.

Freed from the treadmill it had been chained to for over six months, his brain began to assess possibilities and form strategies. Striding back to his desk, he reached for his phone, intending to call his secretary in London and get him to arrange a flight to California. He hesitated. His predecessor, Travers, had been sentenced by the Watcher's Council to imprisonment in one of their own facilities. Carlton had visited him there a week after his sentence had been imposed. Travers had stared at him, no recognition in his glazed eyes, his mouth hanging open. It had been a profoundly disturbing sight and Carlton felt no satisfaction as he turned away from the remnants of a man he had known for many years. The days of being controlled by the spell necklace as the evidence against him was presented had broken Travers' mind and shattered the arrogant personality of the former head of the Council.

Carlton knew that Travers was no longer a threat but he could not be certain that all of his supporters had been weeded out of the Council. Travers had been a compelling character and his influence still seemed to pervade the London office. Flicking open an address book, he called Heathrow Airport himself and booked a seat on a flight leaving on the seventh for Toronto. He would need some time to gather all the relevant texts and to arrange for his deputy to take over for the time he was away. He had an elderly aunt in Canada; pretending to visit her on a long overdue holiday and taking a roundabout route to Sunnydale might keep his purpose secret.

Somehow he doubted it though.

***

April 2. Langton, England.

The White Room of Langton Lighthouse was white no longer.

The lighthouse itself had long since ceased to act as a warning to ships sailing the turbulent sea that lashed against its base. Renovated by an eccentric recluse, it had been transformed into an unusual home but one perfectly suited for a man who had been known to attack the postman delivering his birthday cards. Of course, most were from 'loving' relatives, who licked the envelopes and stuck on the stamps to an accompaniment of heartfelt prayers that this would be Simon Delvers' final birthday. The old man had hung on grimly until only one relative remained to inherit his small fortune and lonely home and had expired, under rather strange circumstances, soon after.

Entering his new possession, his great nephew, Matthew Delvers had smiled secretively, fingering an unpleasant looking figurine in his pocket. It had to be a macabre coincidence that the small statue was pierced by a sliver of wood through the stomach, exactly as old Simon had been found, impaled on an oddly shaped piece of driftwood.

As he had 'more money than sense,' according to the locals in the village on the shore, Matthew had gutted the lighthouse, making it into a decorator's dream. Indeed, it had featured in more than one glossy magazine. Every article focused on the room at the top of the tower; the room that gave the place the nickname of the 'Whitehouse'. Everything in the room, everything, was white. It could have looked unimaginative, even bland, but with the salt air sweeping through the open windows and the sunlight splashing over the pristine furnishings, it had the exhilaration of the first snowfall and the ethereal softness of a fluffy cloud. Visitors hovered on the threshold, unwilling to set foot on a carpet that was as silky-smooth as swansdown. They giggled nervously as their host urged them in, an amused smile flickering over his thin lips. If they wore colours, in an attempt to temper the whiteness, they clashed horribly and seemed crass, uncouth. If they tried to blend in by wearing white, they looked a dingy grey in comparison to the dazzling surroundings. Their host was the only one who seemed fully at ease and he invariably wore black. It was the antithesis of white, yet strangely, the two colours complemented each other to perfection.

But the White Room was white no longer.

Gouts of blood, dark red and bright scarlet, were splashed on the walls, soaking into the carpet. And amid the carnage, his mouth still smiling, Matthew finished dismembering the woman who had been his lover for ten years. As her head parted from her body, he began to laugh and behind him, in the shadows that were creeping in as the sun sank down, his laughter was answered and echoed from a mouth not designed to laugh, a mouth filled with sharp fangs. His companion stood as the room was plunged into darkness and walked over to join the man, whose laughter had become hysterical, gasping giggles.

"Enough," the vampire said softly. "The sacrifice has been made. It is time to open the portal. I must be ready for her when she arrives. I must greet the Slayer when she enters the Realm."

Grelin's yellow eyes gleamed as Matthew scurried over to a heap of books and jars and his tongue slid out to taste the blood-drenched air. It made him hungry, of course, but far more delicious than the blood was the sharp tang of defiled purity.

CHAPTER TWO

May 8. Sunnydale.

Buffy wandered into the Magic Box an hour after it opened. Giles glanced up eagerly as the bell jangled and his face filled with relief as she entered. "Finally!" he snapped, walking over to her. "Didn't you get my message?"

"There was a message? I haven't been home yet. No, I just dropped by to umm, look at the candles." Buffy blushed slightly but Giles didn't notice.

Over at the cash register, Anya's head came up sharply. "Candles? Did the jasmine one work then?"

Buffy's blush deepened. "In a way. But I think I'll go for something a little more -"

"Kiwi and lime," Anya said with a brisk nod. "Works every time."

Giles was looking between the women, frowning slightly as his scolding was derailed. "To do what, precisely?" he asked.

Anya smiled condescendingly. "It's so obvious," she said. "They're fruits. Be fruitful and multiply. What do we want multiples of when we're engaged in -?"

"Anya!"

"I'll take the pillar one."

Giles and Buffy spoke together and then avoided each other's eyes. "If we can concentrate - just for a moment - on your duties as Slayer," said Giles, in a clipped tone of voice, "I'd like you to meet someone. I did tell Dawn it was important but obviously the appeal of multiple, umm, events that is, well, damn it, Buffy! Where were you?"

Buffy folded her arms and fixed him with a measured stare. "I spent the night with Spike," she said. "Yes, we had sex -"

"Good for you!" caroled Anya. Buffy gave her a quelling look

"But that was after four hours of the busiest patrol I can remember. We must have staked about twenty vampires, all over town. Spike didn't recognize any of them as locals. Seems Sunnydale is becoming even more popular than usual. After all that fighting, it was almost two in the morning. I didn't want to wake up the house, so I went to Spike's as it was nearby. Any problem with that?" Her voice remained flat and controlled, a sure sign that she was annoyed. Giles took the hint and wisely backed off.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said. "It's just that someone rather important arrived very early this morning and I've spent the last few hours assuring him that you'll be here any moment."

"That's not my problem," said Buffy quietly. "Who is this person?"

"Andrew Carlton; you remember him, of course. He's been traveling since early yesterday and he's - "

"Jet lagged and weary but delighted to see you again, Miss Summers." Andrew Carlton emerged from the training room at the back of the shop and came towards Buffy, his hand extended, a friendly smile on his face. Buffy shook hands rather awkwardly and looked to Giles for guidance. Until recently, all her dealings with the Council had been such that an outsider could have been forgiven for assuming the Slayer was the Council's mortal enemy, rather than its precious charge. Buffy still hadn't adjusted to the idea that a Council visit was anything but a trial and a tribulation.

"I overheard you telling Rupert that you had a busy night," he continued, no hint of an apology for eavesdropping in his face or manner. "I'm sorry to be bringing tidings of more work for you."

"If it's another apocalypse, we've met our annual quota," Buffy said wryly.

Carlton shook his head. "No, not quite on that scale but serious enough. I'd prefer to go through this just once, as time is short. We need to involve a few other people." He looked at Giles. "Do you want to include all of Miss Summer's friends and helpers?"

Giles sighed. "They'll find out anyway but I don't want this to get out of hand. Perhaps just Willow, Tara and Spike would be best."

From behind the counter, Anya made a noise that could best be described as an offended snort. Giles said casually, "Of course, with Anya here to keep the shop open, we won't lose any revenue. If it were to be a full Scooby meeting, the shop would probably be closed for the better part of the day."

"I can tell when I'm being manipulated," called Anya. "But it's more than likely that whatever you're bothered about is nowhere near as important as you think it is, so I don't mind."

"The Council wants to involve a vampire?" Buffy asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "Has to be a first. Anyway, it'll have to wait a bit. He's asleep and if the patrol tonight is anything like the last one, I'll need him rested."

Andrew Carlton looked at her carefully, noticing a bruise on her cheekbone and faint circles around her eyes. Deciding that for the Slayer to look tired, it must have been a very strenuous patrol, he said, "By all means, let him sleep. I could do with a few hours rest and a bath myself. Suppose we meet here at, say, three? I understand Spike can travel safely in daylight by means of a tunnel system?"

Buffy grinned. When Carlton said, 'Spike,' his mouth twisted slightly, like a vegetarian talking about veal. "Sure," she replied agreeably. "I'll tell Willow and Tara and swing by for Spike later on." She yawned. "I could do with a nap too." She smiled in farewell and started to walk out of the shop.

"Don't forget your candle!" called Anya, waving a neatly wrapped parcel. "I added it to your tab."

Buffy took it from her with a nod of thanks, that turned into a scamper for the door, as Anya said in a discreet whisper, audible to anyone in a twenty foot radius, "Happy orgasms!"

Carlton stared at Anya, a question on his lips, and then shook his head; obviously assuming that he'd misheard her. Giles groaned inwardly and ushered him out of the shop as quickly as possible.

***

Buffy slipped inside Spike's crypt later that day and made her way down to the lower level. She paused for a moment, looking at him as he lay sleeping, sprawled on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his hips. Even after six months, she still couldn't quite believe that they were together. Her lips quirked upwards as she thought about their frequent quarrels - dramatic explosions of emotion that lasted as long as a summer storm and did as little damage as a pillow fight. Somehow, fighting with Spike always led to spectacular sex, which made her wonder how they'd avoided it back in the days when the fighting was done with fists and feet, rather than words. It also explained why they fought so often.

Every day - or night - she learned more about him, more about the man he had been and sometimes, chillingly, more about the demon he had become. Spike rarely flaunted his misdeeds but his reminisces had a tendency to end with, 'and then I bit him,' which didn't make for comfortable listening when you were the Slayer. But he was changing. Whether the cause was the chip, his love for her or a combination of factors, she didn't know. It was enough that for the moment, she was happy and so was he.

Sitting down beside him, she drew her hand gently down the sleek line of his back. He stirred at her touch, and nuzzled the pillow like a kitten burrowing against its mother's side. Buffy felt a wave of tenderness sweep through her. Leaning forward, she planted a line of kisses down his spine, feeling his muscles flex as he came fully awake. When she reached the edge of the sheet covering his hips, he spoke, his familiar husky whisper sparking an equally familiar ache in her. "Don't stop, pet. I'm sure Sleeping Beauty needed more than just a peck on the cheek and I'm so bloody knackered you'll have to give me a good reason for turning over, let alone getting out of bed."

"That's a tempting challenge but we're needed back at the Magic Box." Buffy said, with a wicked grin. Spike rolled over lazily and smiled at her.

"And I need you right here," he said simply, reaching out a finger and drawing it slowly down her bare arm.

"It's the Watcher's Council," Buffy said with a sigh, allowing herself to relax into his arms briefly. "That Andrew Carlton is back and he wants a meeting. Us, Willow, Tara and Giles. It's not secret from the others but he seemed to think there wasn't much they could do."

The playfulness fled and Spike's face sobered. He remembered Carlton and he remembered what Carlton had called him when they last met. 'Guardian and Protector'.

"Fine," he said abruptly. "I'll get dressed."

Buffy stood and moved away from the bed. "I'll go with you through the tunnels," she said, looking at him appreciatively as he stood naked, reaching for his black jeans. Spike caught her appraising - and admiring - glance and smirked, his eyes gleaming as he pulled on his jeans with a tantalizing slowness. Buffy threw a pillow at him. "You're hot. I get it. Now put it away until later," she said.

"That a promise?" He finished dressing and then turned to her, pulling her close and kissing her almost fiercely.

"What was that for?" she whispered, touching her lips, stinging slightly from his kiss.

Spike shook his head. "I get the feeling it's going to be a while before we can do that again, promise or no promise." His eyes blazed suddenly. "You're mine now. That Council tries to say otherwise and -"

"Since when did I ever listen to anything they said?" demanded Buffy. She kissed him swiftly. "There; see it wasn't the last time. Now let's go. Sooner we hear what he has to say, sooner we can get back to normal. If that exists in this town. Did I tell you about that crocodile I bumped into last week in the sewers? Not a demon croc, a real one. Must have been twenty foot long -" Her voice floated back to Spike as she disappeared into the tunnels. He stood for a moment, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that something evil had its attention focused on them, and then shrugged fatalistically and followed her.

***

The Realm. Night.

Grelin stared at Delvers, a contemptuous sneer on his face. The man had seemed so promising, so drawn to darkness, but since the death of his lover, he had changed. As the horror of what he had done to her sank in, the remorse and guilt had eaten away at his resolve. In one way, it had been his salvation. There was no reason to keep him alive now he had opened the portal but Grelin took a perverse pleasure in seeing his gradual disintegration into despairing madness, prodding him with reminders of his actions.

The matter at hand was too serious to permit many distractions, of course, but a clever man - and Grelin never thought of himself as anything less - could arrange events so that pleasure and duty were combined. Take the sacrifice tonight - it had to be a woman, it had to be a virgin. That was set out in the ritual. But it didn't have to be a woman with the silky blonde hair and deep blue eyes of Delver's dead lover, the closest match to her face and figure that he had been able to find in the town. Seeing Delver's face as her blood flowed onto the scrying table would make up for the fact that he had not been able to determine anything useful the last two times he had tried.

He could feel that the time was near when the Slayer would arrive. He knew where the portal would open for her. He could even guess who she would bring with her - and the death of _that_ one would be almost as sweet as killing the Slayer - but he still didn't know one thing, and until he did, the outcome wasn't certain.

Grelin liked to be certain. Grelin liked to be certain he would win.

CHAPTER THREE

May 8. Sunnydale.

As the door into the training room closed and the meeting began, Anya moved from her usual position behind the counter and headed for a shelf, feather duster in hand. The brass incense burners on the shelf didn't look all that dusty but the shelf was the closest one to the closed door. As she flicked imaginary dust motes away, she tried to hear anything that was being discussed inside the room, but failed. Frowning, she reached out a tentative finger to touch the door. A blue spark flared as her finger met a magical force field. Anya sniffed disdainfully, a sour look on her face. "Willow up to her tricks again," she thought. A group of students came in, chatting excitedly about tarot cards. Anya smiled, her mood improving as she took in their expensive clothes. Now if she could just convince them they needed a crystal ball each as well.

Inside the room, Willow sensed Anya testing the protective warding and grinned a little naughtily as she pictured Anya's frustration. The spell prevented both magical and mundane eavesdropping and alerted her to any attempts to breach it. She hoped that Anya was the only one trying to listen.

They were scattered around the room in pairs; Carlton and Giles on the sofa, Willow and Tara perched on wooden folding chairs, and Spike and Buffy leaning against the wall. Carlton stood smoothly and smiled round at them. "Thank you for coming here. It's good to see you all again, but as you may have guessed, this isn't a social call. I'm afraid I have some rather disturbing news and although the Slayer is the one primarily affected, the, ah, 'knock on' effects are such that, in time, the whole world could feel the repercussions. She will need to leave almost immediately to deal with this situation and - "

"Oh, get on with it!" interrupted Spike rudely. "What needs killing? That's what it usually comes down to."

The others said nothing but it was clear from their expressions that for once, Spike had spoken for them all. Giles usually went on like this, too, but they were used to him.

Giles cleared his throat and flinched as every eye turned to him. "Andrew, perhaps you should give them some background."

Buffy spoke for the first time. "Why don't you do it, Giles?"

Giles glanced at Carlton. The man sighed and waved his hand towards Giles. "Oh, go ahead, Rupert. You know as much as I do and precious little it is."

Buffy glanced sharply at Giles. "How long have you known?" she asked. "Six months maybe?"

Giles' hand went automatically to his glasses and then dropped back to his side. "Andrew shared what he suspected with me when he visited, yes. However, his conclusions were so tentative at that point that there seemed little point in burdening you with them."

"Newsflash, Giles," said Buffy tersely. "I'll take burdens over surprises any day of the week. But go on, tell me now."

Giles nodded his head, a little taken aback by Buffy's reaction, and began, his voice dropping into the measured cadences of a lecturer. He looked at Buffy, directing his words to her as she stood, back straight and face set in stern lines.

"Buffy, we've touched on the origins of the Slayer's power in your training and there was that dream experience when you met the First Slayer." Buffy shrugged noncommittally, waiting to see where this was going. "What we've not mentioned because we weren't aware of it was that the roots of the Slayer's power - your healing, strength, the premonitions, even the way you're chosen - flow from a power source located in another dimension. And, from all that Andrew has been able to discover, that power source is drying up, fading. It must be renewed or the Slayer line will end and if it fails soon, you'll find yourself losing your abilities."

He paused; letting his words sink in, seeing the shock on the faces around the room. Carlton chimed in, his face grim, "I came across this information in the course of my investigations into Travers' experiments, before he was set aside. If you remember, he was working on spells to transfer the Slayer's power from one girl to another. I'm not entirely sure where this particular scroll came from but what troubles me is who else knows of it. As soon as I grasped its import, I took it away from the London office and I've been studying it at my home in the country. I don't know if Travers missed it, or knew I was responsible. I worked on it alone and, to be frank, I've had a hard job accepting what it revealed."

Spike spoke again and Giles was struck by his confidence in the presence of the head of the organization dedicated, amongst other things, to the eradication of his kind. Spike had always been rather brash and yet insecure, so much so that one tended to forget how long he had been on the planet. Since Buffy and he had openly become lovers, a measure of maturity had mellowed him. Not that it was always evident, especially when he tangled with Xander.

"Has this got something to do with you giving me fancy names last time we met?" Spike demanded, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his coat, his expression challenging.

Carlton looked surprised, then nodded. "I'd almost forgotten that I said that. Yes, part of what I read before I made that trip last year, indicated that a vampire close to the Slayer would play an important part in the Journey, acting as her guardian and protector to be precise, but until I met you, I thought it would be -"

"Don't even think about it," said Spike indignantly. "If Buffy needs a bodyguard, it's going to be _me_, not that souled, brooding freak of an Angel."

Buffy sighed. Spike's jealousy for Angel showed no signs of dying away. It was one of the few topics that she avoided when she was with him. "What's this journey then?" she asked Carlton, impatience giving her voice an edge. Giles was _so_ much better at the explaining bit than this guy.

Carlton surprised her by being clear and succinct, possibly spurred on by the latent menace in Spike's eyes. "The scroll says that every thousand years after the birth of the First Slayer, the source must be replenished by the current Chosen One. She travels to the dimension and is directed to what's referred to as the Wellspring. Once there, she enters a trance like state and, well, I'm not positive, but I believe you'll be told of what you need to do to recharge the power source once in the trance."

"Why would the power source not be here, in this dimension?" Tara asked, pleating her skirt with her fingers nervously.

Giles looked at her, his eyebrow raised. "That's an excellent question, Tara," he said. "I can only guess at the answer." He turned to Buffy. "Do you remember, Buffy, I once told you about how vampires began? How this world was inhabited by demons, who gradually left as the race of humans rose in their place?"

Buffy nodded slowly. It had been a long time ago but she remembered. "You told us that the last demon to leave fed off a human, mixed his blood with his victim, and formed a vampire." Spike made a soft sound that could have been agreement or amusement but said nothing.

"That's correct," said Giles. "At least, as far as we know. It makes sense that the Slayer line was forged at the same time, or shortly afterwards, by humans aware of the danger to them and skilled enough to create a defence. Perhaps they needed to base the power in the same dimension that the original demon fled to. That way they could use its own strength to defeat what it had created and left behind." He sighed. "This is all so vague," he complained. "We have no enemy to contend with, which is something, I suppose, but we don't have the faintest idea of what Buffy will need to do."

Carlton opened his mouth, as though to comment, and then subsided.

"So what's the friendly vamp for?" asked Spike, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes speculative as he watched Carlton. Bugger knows more than he's letting on, he thought.

"He, that is, you, will stand guard over the Slayer's body. Naturally, being in a trance, she'll be unable to defend herself." Carlton replied

"Defend herself from what, exactly?" asked Willow, her mind busy with ideas for spells that could help her friend.

Carlton looked uncomfortable. "I think it's safe to assume that there will be dangers."

"Be specific," snapped Buffy. "I need to know what I'll be up against."

Carlton rubbed his forehead and said wearily, "Well, vampires of course. What did you expect?"

Silence descended and heads turned towards Spike. Shrugging carelessly, he said, "Makes sense that I go with you then, love. So, when do we start?"

Buffy pushed away from the wall and strode over to Andrew Carlton. "We don't. Not until we've had a chance to look at this scroll ourselves and read exactly what it says. There's something we're not being told and I'm leaping through no more hoops for the Council."

***

The Realm. Daybreak.

"What are you doing this for?"

The voice was rasping and husky, partly because it had been two days since Matthew had spoken, partly because he had screamed a lot instead of talking.

Grelin glanced over to where the human was huddled in a corner, quirking an eyebrow as Matthew emerged from his daze of misery. "I'd almost forgotten you were still alive," he remarked. "I hope you don't regret reminding me."

Matthew didn't waste energy struggling to his feet to confront Grelin. Wrapping his arms around himself tightly, as though letting go would mean he literally fell apart, he whispered, "You told me that if I opened the portal -"

"I'd reward you with powers beyond those of mortal man, life everlasting, all the usual promises. Yes, I remember."

"You lied." It really wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry, you expected truth and trustworthiness from a _vampire_?" Grelin asked, with polite incredulity.

Matthew flinched as his gullibility was brought home to him. "I expected payment for my - services. Or are all vampires thieves as well as liars?"

Grelin rose from his chair and strode over to Matthew, who looked up at him with no fear, his lips twitching in a travesty of a smile. Grelin recognized the goading as an attempt to win an easy death and halted, curbing his urge to tear out Delvers' throat. Squatting down beside him, he stared into the glazed eyes of a man he had known for many years, a man who had called him friend. "You want answers?" he asked softly, his dark eyes filled with unholy delight. Matthew hesitated, sensing a trap, then nodded.

Grelin stood abruptly and walked back to the table, grabbing a pitcher of wine and splashing some into a glass. He took it to Matthew, knelt, and held it to his lips. "Drink then, and listen." The wine spilled over Matthew's chin, as he tried to hold it in his parched mouth before swallowing but he drank enough to revive him a little. Pushing himself into a sitting position against the wall, he said in a stronger voice, "No more lies?"

Grelin widened his eyes in pretended shock. "You wound me, old friend, you really do. But have it your way. No lies." He dragged a chair over to Delvers and began to talk in a low, rather musical voice, his amusement growing as Delvers began to tremble, his head shaking back and forth in rejection of all that he was hearing. Finally, when Delvers was raving, his brief moment of sanity slipping away, Grelin stood and walked away without another glance, chuckling to himself.

Delvers never saw him leave. His world had narrowed to the wall that supported him, the stone floor he lay on and the visions that were etched onto his mind. He saw Grelin rising, bloated with the power of the refreshed Wellspring, saw him take the energy intended for a thousand or more Slayers, saw him strike down the Last Slayer, crippled by her return to humanity. And he saw his world shatter and reform as Grelin decreed, a hell of torment, ruled over by the Immortals, returning from exile to their first home.

And it was all his fault. Deep within him, a spark flickered, the desire to atone, to fight back and undo at least part of the evil he had committed - but the winds of fear and despair that swirled around it were very strong.

CHAPTER FOUR

Over Anya's protests, the shop had been closed and all the available people were gathered around the table at the back of the store. Dawn was at Janice's house and Buffy decided that there was no point in disturbing her study time, even though she suspected that there would be more chatting than book cracking. Xander was working out of town but was expected home in a few hours.

The parchment scroll had been unrolled and unceremoniously pinned down with crystal paperweights taken from the shelves. Anya's lips had tightened at the disruption of her display but she had let it pass. Willow and Giles were deciphering the text from scratch, to cross check Carlton's translation. Willow was using her computer, which had so much arcane information on the hard drive that she half expected it to wake up and start talking to her one day. She pictured Giles' reaction to that particular upgrade and giggled. Giles was delving into books, building a tower of them on the table and stacking them on the floor beside his chair. Tara had retreated to a quiet corner and was poring over Carlton's version, trying to make sense of it and scribbling down notes as she read.

Buffy had long since laid down unwritten rules that excused her from most of the research - she did the fighting, she didn't see why she should do the book work too - and she and Spike were talking to Carlton. He was nibbling cautiously on a donut and sipping rather more appreciatively at a latte from the nearby coffee shop.

"This all seems very - organised," he commented, waving his donut-laden hand vaguely towards the researchers and scattering crumbs as he did so. Spike brushed some powdered sugar off his black jeans fastidiously then shrugged and licked his sticky fingers clean.

Buffy followed Carlton's look and smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "You really have no idea what we do over here, have you? We've been researching like this for over six years. Somehow, someone always finds the right text, identifies the crucial weakness of whatever demon it is we're fighting. I couldn't have lasted this long without them."

"Can vouch for that, as a former mortal enemy," said Spike. "But I still think they've got you into trouble as well. They make great hostages, especially Little Bit."

Buffy ignored him and gave Carlton a long, considering stare. "Why have you been working on this alone? Are you good at translating or something?"

He looked rueful. "'Fraid not. That's why it's taken so long."

Buffy slammed her hand down on the table. "Then why didn't you let us know earlier? If you didn't have anyone you could trust in England, well, Giles would have been happy to help. I could have done with some warning that I'm about to lose my Slayer strength. Suppose it happened earlier than you predicted, when I was in the middle of a fight? You've endangered me." Her tone was dangerous and Spike stirred in his seat, the predator in him sensing that soon there would be blood spilled.

Carlton flinched, then rallied. "I had to be sure. This journey is highly dangerous. Sending the Slayer off into another dimension leaves this one unprotected. We don't know how long you'll be away, what effect it will have on the Slayer line if you die over there. There was just so much I didn't know."

Buffy stood up and leaned over him, palms flat against the table. "When you people learn that sharing information with me should be the first step, not the last, we'll get on a whole lot better." She pushed away and walked off to the training room with quick, angry strides. Spike guessed that the punching bag was in for one hell of a session. He turned his head, pursing his mouth as he considered the chagrined man beside him.

"She's right, you know," he offered. "Thought you weren't as much of a prat as the usual Council wankers but you're proving me wrong. If you're holding anything back, I'd better not find out about it when I'm up against something with more teeth than me."

He stood, intending to join Buffy, but Carlton reached up and grabbed his arm, halting him. Spike stared hard at the hand until it fell away but didn't move. Carlton moistened his lips. "I told you that the dimension was inhabited by vampires. Have you ever heard of it? Is there anything _you_ know that you can share?"

Spike looked dismissive. "There're thousands of dimensions and plenty have vampires. This one got a name?"

"The only way it's referred to is as the 'Realm'. A little like this planet being called 'Earth' I suppose -" he broke off sharply as Spike's face changed. For a second, the vampire looked skeletal, flesh drawn taut against his sharply defined cheekbones.

"You want to send Buffy _there_?" he said in a ragged whisper. "No bloody way!" His voice rose to a shout and he morphed into game face instinctively. Carlton shrank back, eyes widening in fear. He had never been this close to a vampire who was free of restraints and angry. The chip seemed small comfort when Spike's fangs were inches away. The others glanced over in alarm but Giles was the first to move. Stepping over to Spike, he said calmly, "Buffy doesn't like it when you do that here, Spike."

The vampire stared at him, yellow eyes flaming with anger and fear. Giles gently patted his arm and Spike shuddered, the tension leaving him as his face became human again.

"Get Buffy," Giles said over his shoulder. Tara ran to the training room and returned a moment later, a concerned Buffy by her side. Buffy went straight to Spike and stood, hands on hips, in front of him. "You starting early on the protector job?" she asked, her voice level.

Spike shook his head wearily. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing round the room. "Didn't mean to scare any of you. Well, most of you, anyway. " He flicked an angry look at Carlton who had recovered his composure a little. "Yeah, I know that place. Know of it, anyway." He sat down in a chair and fell silent for a moment. Buffy moved behind him, her hands gripping the back of the chair. Spike began to talk, looking down at the floor, his voice almost dreamy. "Vampires have a mythology, you know."

Giles frowned in bewilderment. "Yes, of course. I have hundreds of books about them, the legends, the fiction that has sprung up around them -"

"No. That's not what I mean. They're books written by humans, poking around trying to explain what they can't comprehend. We vampires, we have our own myths, our own legends. Doubt you've ever come across them. They're not something we share with - humans." The gulf between Spike and the other people in the room yawned wide as everyone listening replaced the word 'humans' with the more accurate one, 'food'. "I'm not saying every vampire cares. Most fledglings don't think past the next neck and most sires aren't much better. But the older ones, you get them talking and they know things, stories that have been passed down for centuries."

"And this Realm place is in the stories?" Willow asked, repelled yet fascinated by the idea of vampire fairy tales.

Spike looked up and smiled painfully at her. "It's in all the good ones, yeah."

Everyone imagined what a 'good' vampire story would be like and shuddered.

Spike stood up, facing them, Buffy still at his back, silent and tense. "Some of the stories talk about it as if it's real, in some, it's a place you go to if you've been good. Or bad, in our case. Valhalla for Vampires." He laughed shortly. "I never knew it was where the last demon went to, though." There was a faint note of derision in his voice. "Seems to me, that's as much guesswork as anything."

Giles nodded reluctantly. "So much of our work is based on third hand information. When you consider that most of this world doesn't even know that demons exist, it's not terribly surprising that valuable data has become lost or garbled over the centuries. What can you recall of these stories, Spike?"

Spike looked thoughtful. "I got mine off Angelus and Darla. They used to tell them to Dru and me. It was one way to spend the time when we were holed up somewhere, or travelling." He grinned. "Not the most fun way, but you can't always be -" He turned and caught sight of Buffy's face, which looked ominously calm and decided not to finish his sentence. "They got them from the Master, I suppose. The big appeal of the place, for me, was that you could walk in the sun over there. Don't know why it didn't burn." He frowned. "I miss the sun sometimes." His voice was wistful, the usual sarcasm missing. "Darla used to tease Dru by telling her that you could see yourself in a mirror there as well but Angelus told me that was a load of cobblers. Dru went on and on at me for months, wanting to go, thinking it was real. I'd have to tell her that she was beautiful a dozen times an hour and Angel would draw her, so she could see for herself. He liked doing that."

Buffy shivered, remembering the drawings Angel had done when he had lost his soul.

"Are there people, humans, I mean, over there?" Tara asked timidly.

Spike flicked her a wry look. "We have to eat, love. Yeah, plenty of humans but they're not like here. They know who's in charge, they don't fight it. The vampires don't kill them every time they feed though. Always puzzled me that. I was young and the killing was so good, I couldn't imagine holding back." He felt the atmosphere change and sighed impatiently. "Look, you asked, O.K.? I can tell it straight or I can pretty it up. You pick."

Giles said quietly, "Your honesty might save Buffy's life, Spike, so be open with us. We all know what you are. Just - don't remind us of how much you enjoyed killing. It might not be prudent."

There was a flash in his eyes that Spike recognised. He accepted the warning and continued, "You've got to remember, this was years ago. Not too clear on the details. We kill you partly for the rush, sure, but partly because dead people can't go and raise angry mobs. It's practical. In the beginning, when you've just been turned, it's hard to judge how much you can take but I'm thinking the vampires over there are old enough to be good at it and everyone knows what they are, so they can take just enough and move on." He looked reflective. "Some ways, it must be worse for the humans over there, never knowing if this time, they'll get drained, this time the vampire won't choose to stop -" His voice trailed off as he considered this and he missed the revulsion spreading across Tara's face.

Willow was as disgusted as Tara but a little more accustomed to horrors. She frowned and said, "I don't understand why they don't fight back. I mean, I've killed vampires, we all have. Buffy's best at it but it's not like they couldn't just _try_."

Spike shrugged. "Don't have all the answers, Red. Not like I ever thought I'd be visiting the place."

"But they're still just vampires," Buffy said flatly, impatient with theories and legends. "They might be able to walk in their sun, but they come here, they're toast. And they can be staked, can't they?"

Spike nodded. "Apart from the sunlight, they're vulnerable just like they are here, as far as I know, but you don't get it, Buffy. I don't know how long this Journey is, but you wouldn't get more than a few miles before being captured. They stay in game face all the time; they're in charge, no need to hide. That's how they'd see you for human straight away. You can't fight a whole planet of them." His voice faltered. "And me, they'd tear me to shreds once they found out what I was."

Carlton frowned. "You're one of them," he objected, his calm restored as Spike's anger seemed to have dissipated.

Spike laughed bitterly and sank back in his chair. "I _was_ one of them. Now I'm a freak. A renegade and a freak. I can't kill humans and I'd give my life for the Slayer. Doesn't get much sicker than that."

Buffy reached out her hand to touch his shoulder and then hesitated. Spike turned and smiled up at her. "I don't feel that way, sweetheart. You know that. I could do without the chip in my head but I'll never be ashamed of loving you." He grinned. "It's kinky but I'm evil, I'm allowed to be perverse." Buffy punched his shoulder lightly but the atmosphere remained tense.

Giles swept off his glasses and paced the room, polishing the lenses hard. "We need all the information we can get," he said. "Let's get back to work. Spike, if you can think of anything from these stories about this power source, its location, anything useful -"

"I'll try."

"Try hard," said Buffy quietly.

***

The Realm. Moonrise.

When he had passed through the portal with Grelin, Matthew had been too dazed to take note of his surroundings. The portal had opened into a room, empty but for a table, stained dark with dried blood. The lingering scent of terror had completed his descent into what now seemed to be a blessed oblivion.

The days that followed had reduced him to a whimpering, frightened child but he discovered that there is a limit to misery. "You can't wet water," had been one of his grandmother's favourite sayings and Matthew discovered that he was so thoroughly terrified that he was no longer scared. He felt that he could dare anything, attempt any feat and be safe, cocooned in his shell of indifference. He was the walking dead. His soul had surely been claimed by darkness after his actions and his world was about to be destroyed. Nothing more could be done to him.

He spent long hours reliving memories of his time as Grelin's friend. At first, he had thought him human - what else? When Grelin had revealed himself as a vampire, Matthew had been thrilled by the romance of it and Grelin was careful to do nothing to open his eyes to the truth. When he confessed his longing for the lighthouse, it had been Grelin who showed him the spells needed to kill his uncle and make it seem an accident. After that line had been crossed, Matthew's grip on morality had slackened to the point where he was willing to do anything Grelin told him. The vampire worked on his love for Antonia, twisting it to suspicion, distrust and finally hatred. Only when his hands were coated with her blood, did Matthew begin to see Grelin's true nature.

And then, of course, it was too late. Grelin had taken what he needed from Matthew's collection of antique weapons and ordered him to open the portal. The blood runes could only be drawn by the hands that had spilled the blood, a traitor's hands. The portal could only be opened by one who had betrayed a lover. Grelin had never loved anyone or anything in his centuries of existence and could barely comprehend the emotion. He needed Matthew's help to get there, but as soon as they stepped into the Realm, any pretence of friendship sloughed away.

Grelin had been born in the Realm, chosen as a child by a vampire, nurtured and trained until he reached his full growth, and then turned. A thousand children could be chosen in a single year, but by the end of the years of training, it was rare for more than ten to be alive. Newly turned vampires generally fed first on any rejects, draining them and snapping their necks. It made a brutal sense to weed out the fighters from the human population. It made even more sense to kill those who might have achieved high levels of skill as fighters without the necessary cruelty that made them suitable fledglings.

There was never any doubt that Grelin would be turned. As a human, he was already a monster. In time, he had risen to be the most powerful and feared vampire in the Realm. A century later and his boredom was driving him to excesses that endangered the status quo. Inevitably, he was overthrown and before he was killed he escaped through a portal to Earth. It had amused him to stay there, annoying though it was to hide from the sun and be a shadowy figure of legend. The vampires of Earth seemed pitiful to him but that made them all the more easy to control.

When he found out about the Slayer, he had smiled with true pleasure. He had sought and slain her, reveling in her pain, but his victory had been soured. As she died, her eyes had filled with a quiet peace and she had whispered, "I feel her being Called. You have killed me, only to wake the new Slayer. We are deathless and unlike you, we will never end."

Learning the truth of what she had said, recognizing the futility of killing a Slayer, he had begun to look for ways to break the magic that raised a new Slayer, Phoenix-like from the ashes of the old. When he found a copy of the scroll that had lain for so long in the archives of the Council and knew that the answer lay in his old home, he had screamed with triumph, a soaring elation coursing through his cold veins.

Now he waited, a spider in a web. Waited for the Slayer to touch his sticky trap and be drawn in, helpless as he fed on her. His return had been greeted with suspicion by those who still remembered him, but he was safe for the moment, protected by the dark magicks he had studied in exile.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon, I will have it all.

CHAPTER FIVE

The day became night and after Dawn and Xander had joined the group and been updated, Buffy and Spike left the busy researchers to patrol for a few hours. After the activity the night before, Sunnydale seemed eerily calm. When an hour had gone, with the only vampire in sight walking beside her, Buffy decided to head back to the shop.

"Do you want to feed before we go back?" she asked. "Your place isn't far, or we could drop by Willy's."

"Seen the price he charges nowadays? I swear he's upped it because he holds a grudge against me."

"My treat."

"Huh. He hates you even more. He'd double the price."

Buffy smiled happily. "We could just steal it from his fridge," she said. "I'll divert him, you grab a pint or two."

Spike refused to return her smile. "Stop trying to cheer me up, pretending to be bad," he said gloomily.

"Not working, huh?"

Spike shook his head, striding along, his coat flaring out behind him. "I'm too worried to be happy. You just don't know -" his voice broke off, frustration silencing him for a second. "That place is dangerous. Any human would be at risk but a Slayer? They'll feel you coming; you'll be the ultimate trophy. Killing you, drinking your blood.God, they'll be drooling so much, you'll probably drown before they bite you."

"They don't have Slayers there then?" Buffy asked, her eyes automatically scanning her surroundings as they walked.

Spike shrugged. "It would be pointless. Did you ever think how impossible your job is? Back in the beginning, maybe you humans could have wiped out every vampire if you moved fast enough but now? You kill every night but you're in one small town. The rest of the world we can do with as we please. If we turned every one we fed off, you'd be over run. We don't because we don't like competition. In a way, vampires help you by keeping the numbers down. Funny, isn't it?"

Buffy remained silent. She rarely gave much thought to the big picture. She didn't have time - no holidays for the Slayer - and after years of patrolling it had become almost routine. Giles used to lecture her on the history of her calling but she had brushed him off so often that he'd given up. Now she was older, she wished she'd listened more. She also had a feeling that if Spike decided she needed to know more, he'd be impossible to ignore.

"Anyway, over there, humans are in the minority. So they're not killed so much and when one of them gets turned, it's rare, it's an honour. They're protected by the vampires. No wars, not much crime. A Slayer would mess that all up. That's another reason I don't want you going. Seems to me, you'd be in as much danger from the humans as you would the vamps. They'd turn you in and then, well -"

"Well, what?" Buffy demanded.

"I remember stories of hunts they have. Don't think they go in for prisons much. Someone's caught breaking the rules, they just let them go, give them a head start, hunt them down and leave them in pieces."

Buffy shivered. "Nice stories."

"I used to think so."

***

They returned to the shop after Spike had fed, to find some progress had been made. Carlton was looking decidedly chagrined that what had taken him weeks of work to translate had taken Giles and Willow a matter of hours. When Tara compared their almost identical results with Carlton's, she had found dozens of tiny differences. She was trying to be tactful as she went through them with Carlton, like a teacher correcting an essay. "So, you translated the same word two different ways, you see? And I think in this sentence, what you thought was an adjective, is actually - oh, Buffy! You're back. That was quick."

"No vamps. All patrols should be so easy. What's happening here?" she asked, marveling at the way the shop looked uncannily like the school library when all available surfaces were covered with books.

"We've managed to put together a fairly accurate translation and I've gone over it again and put it into modern English." said Willow.

"Really? But I like the 'it came to passes' and the 'inasmuchases'" Buffy said, pretending to pout. Willow brandished a hefty looking sheaf of paper at her and she grinned. "Just teasing. Hit me with the simple one instead."

"I'll second that,' said Xander fervently. "Aren't there any modern prophecies written by people who speak American?"

Giles flinched. "It's an interesting observation, Xander," he began. "But -"

"You're going to deliver one of your witty observations about me reducing things down to ABC level, and make me feel stupid aren't you?" Xander asked.

"Not now you're expecting it," Giles retorted with a sniff. "I hate being predictable."

He stared at Xander with a straight face before they both began to laugh. Somehow it spread until the whole room, with the exception of Spike and Andrew Carlton, were giggling helplessly. Spike shook his head in mock despair and said loudly, "I'd dock his wages, mate."

Carlton smiled. "If we paid him more than a pittance, I'd seriously consider that."

Giles recovered first and cleared his throat rather guiltily. "Yes, well, perhaps we should get on. If you'll all settle down, I'll read what we've all come up with."

Giles began to read aloud and the room settled down to listen, the shadows seeming to creep into the shop and carpet the floor with darkness.

"She is chosen from the multitudes and she is made strong like her adversaries. She must fight until she dies, she must fight the Vampires, the demons that hell brings forth. She cannot remain human, as is her birthright, for then she will be overcome. She must steal from the dark and drink deep of it. The fusion of life and death, light and dark blend within her and make her strong. The Slayer is the Vampires' Bane and their Beloved for she carries them deep in her heart. Like them she is swift, like them she takes no heed of wounds, like them she is eager to kill. The night is her world and she shares it grudgingly."

Giles paused. "I think what it's saying is that the Slayer is -"

"Part vampire?" exclaimed Xander, giving Buffy a horrified look. Spike raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Explains a lot," he drawled.

Giles looked at Buffy, a wordless question in his eyes. "Carry on," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

Giles found his place, gave Buffy an uncertain look and then continued. " But for every gift, there is a price. Every thousand years, the source of the Slayer's power must be replenished. She must Journey to the Realm and drink deep of the Wellspring. She will slip into oblivion and in the emptiness will find the Answer. If the power fails, the Slayer line will be broken, the hell spawn will rage unchecked, and all shall be plunged into night without end as the screaming of the souls in torment rises in vain to the indifferent heavens."

Giles coughed. "Poetical license, no doubt. These prophecy writers tend to get carried away. This is the really important part though." He pushed his glasses firmly into place and read, " It may come to pass - I thought you got rid of all those, Willow - that this lore is lost and forgotten as the ages pass by. You will know the Slayer who is fated to make the Journey by various signs and portents. She will not stand alone as is her custom, but will gather to her those pure of heart and purpose -" Xander looked astonished and flushed slightly, ducking his head in embarrassment, "and her strongest enemy will fall to her power and range himself by her side. She will drink of his unliving blood in her darkest hour and her power will quicken it. As the Chosen One begins to falter, it is a vampire who will lend her his strength and walk beside her in the Realm, to stand guard over her as she drinks and enters the Inner World to learn her fate. She will be a Slayer who has gone beyond and returned twice over, a Slayer who broke the chain and forged it anew."

"That would doubtless be your first death, Buffy," Carlton said quietly. " The event that resulted in the unprecedented calling of another Slayer. And am I right in saying that you drank Spike's blood after that demon poisoned you?"

Buffy's right hand went to her throat, nervously fingering the scars left by Angel and Dracula, her left hand still wrapped across her body. She ignored Carlton, her eyes fixed on Giles, her cheeks waxen in the artificial light. He smiled at her gently. "This is a lot to take in, Buffy, I know."

Tara spoke up, as Buffy remained silent. "W-wasn't that all six months ago? If Buffy's powers are still the same, then it can't be the time. There must be a mistake."

Carlton shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well," he began but Xander cut him off. "Let me guess your next words," he said. ''There's something I didn't tell you'. Am I right?"

Carlton glared at him, then nodded reluctantly. "I was trying to present things in a logical order," he complained. "Giles, finish reading it. Get to the part about how the portal is opened, what the Slayer has to take with her and I'll finish telling you all I know so far."

Giles gave him a level look, glanced down at the paper he held and gave a summary of the remaining text. "The portal is opened when Guardian and Slayer feed on each other and she has to take the Shield of Andar, which translates as, hmm, snow or possibly frost, with her to the Wellspring. Not sure why. A gift or a proof of identity, perhaps? I think that just about covers it." His voice became dangerously cold. "And now I'd appreciate it if you told us everything you know and the hell with logical order."

As Giles mentioned feeding, Buffy and Spike exchanged looks, their faces impassive. Dawn pulled a disgusted face but kept quiet. She was curled up next to Tara, unwilling to attract attention in case someone remembered that it was way past her bedtime.

Carlton stood up. " I will tell you, Rupert, I promise, but first I have to make a phone call," he said. "Is there a telephone I might use -?"

"Is that going to be a local call, mister?" Anya said sharply.

"Anya, be still," said Giles. "You need to call the Council?"

Carlton nodded. "Something happened a month before I left. A particularly gruesome murder. It wouldn't have been any business of ours normally, but the report referred to occult symbols drawn in blood, so naturally, I sent someone down there to investigate. There was every indication that a portal had been opened from the symbols drawn on the floor. When I examined the photographs of the scene, which I have with me if you're interested, it looked alarmingly as if the symbols relate to this matter. In fact, I believe whoever used the portal used it to go to the Realm. It's what spurred me on with my research, when I was at the point of giving up."

"But why did they kill someone?" Willow asked. "You didn't say Buffy had to perform a sacrifice."

"It could be that she's an invited guest, so to speak," said Giles, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table as he spoke. "If someone else tries to enter, they're going to have to do a little extra to force open the door."

"There's more," said Carlton. "The section about the shield was one of the first parts I translated in the scroll. Naturally, I began to look for it, discreetly of course. I made no headway at all. Vague hints about what it looked like but the trail of ownership seemed to lead nowhere. Then came this murder. The victim was Antonia Ferrell, the partner of a rather unpleasant man called Matthew Delvers. I knew him as a dabbler in the black arts but wrote him off as a dilettante. He lived in an old lighthouse and the top room was where the murder took place. Antonia was literally torn apart. Because of the isolated location and Delvers' disappearance and occult leanings, the police are naturally looking to him as the murderer."

"What does this have to do with the shield?" asked Buffy. The colour had returned to her cheeks and she seemed to vibrate with suppressed energy. Giles looked her, frowning slightly. She seemed to be wound too tight, somehow, far edgier than normal.

"Attached to the report I received were various magazine articles about the lighthouse. The man had decorated the room where the murder took place completely in white. It seemed to make quite a stir, though to my mind, it would have been impossible to keep clean. However. I was just flicking through them when something caught my eye," Carlton continued.

"I'm guessing this shield is white?" said Xander.

Carlton grinned unexpectedly. "Smart young man," he remarked. Anya beamed at him, the potential overseas call forgotten. "Yes, there it was, hanging on a wall, plain as day. Small, decorative rather than functional, and totally plain. Delvers collected old weapons and this would have been just up his street. I very much doubt he realised what it was and I have no idea where he acquired it, but it really doesn't matter now."

"So did you tell your people to grab it, then?" asked Spike. "Tucked it into your overnight bag with the duty free booze, did you?"

Carlton shook his head. "I would have done precisely that but for the fact that the photographs taken of the murder scene show that the shield is missing. It seems to have vanished along with Mr Delvers."

"Oh, well, that's great!" exploded Spike. "So you're saying we can't even get to this place without it?"

"You can go - but you need to find the shield when you get there or it will all be for nothing. The Slayer will not be able to complete her task"

"I don't understand," said Willow reflectively, pushing her hair behind her ears and leaning forward slightly. "Buffy's the Slayer and Spike seems to think even she'll have a hard time in this place. How can a human hope to survive? What's he gone there for?"

Carlton shrugged. "Possibly he isn't working alone. There was mention of a friend he had to visit around the time of the sacrifice. He seems to have vanished too, but according to the police, nothing is known about him. That's suspicious in itself nowadays. It's difficult to avoid showing up on computers and the like. I can also think of several groups who would be very glad to see the power of the Slayer dwindle and fade. They might know of this prophecy and believe that this is the time it talks of."

"Do you have a name for this friend?" asked Giles. "Is he known to the Council, if not the authorities?"

"That's why I want to call the office. They were looking into it when I left. We have a name, 'Grelin', but that's all."

Spike's head jerked round. "Grelin is a vampire. One of the oldest ones I know. He's a sneaky little bugger. Tangled with Angelus once, back when it was just him and Darla. He took a fancy to her, see, but the lady wasn't interested." Spike grinned, lost in memories. "Angelus was bad but no one messed with Darla. She sliced his face so deep, he still had faint scars when I met him, oh, must have been a century later. We didn't get on."

"Why does that not surprise me?" muttered Xander.

Spike laughed. "Are you saying _you'd_ be matey with someone who liked to start the day with a newborn baby? He's a mean one but he's got no guts."

Dawn paled and clutched at Tara's arm. "Did - did you eat babies, Spike?" she squeaked. Xander turned a hard look on Spike.

"No, I bloody didn't!" said Spike, "For one thing, they're barely a mouthful and for another, I like - liked - food that can fight back." He looked around at the disapproving faces and said, "What? Look, you've got to understand what it's like. You lot aren't people to us, you're just -"

"Spike. Shut up," said Xander firmly. "Last thing we need is you giving us a vampire's eye view of the world as a giant butcher's shop."

Spike growled in frustration, his fangs appearing for a second. "That's it, whelp," he gritted. "Close your ears, because it's getting too scary. Don't want to risk learning something, now do you?" He rounded on Giles. "All this time you worked with Angel and me and you've never really bothered to ask us about vampires, what makes us tick. All you care about is turning us to dust. Call yourselves students, researchers - you're the bloody butchers. Sure, we feed on you but we need you too. It's not that simple, it's not - " He stopped and looked from face to face and then, overcome by the futility of it all, walked to the door, his jaw clenched in anger. "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Spike, wait!" called Buffy, but the door slammed behind him as she spoke.

"Let him go, Buffy," said Xander, his voice cool. "I think we could all do with a break from Mr Fangface."

Buffy gave Xander a furious look. "Don't talk about him like that!"

Xander refused to back down. "He's a killer."

Buffy jerked her head to one side, her lips pressed tightly together. She said in a cutting voice, "Got a lot in common with your fiancée, then, hasn't he?" Ignoring Xander's splutters and flashing Anya a glance that could have been interpreted as apologetic in a poor light, she went after Spike.

The Demon Inside Me

CHAPTER SIX

She found him in the alley beside the shop, methodically kicking a can against the wall. In the enclosed space the noise was deafening but he turned as soon as her footsteps entered the narrow corridor. Giving the can one last kick and sending it ricocheting out of sight, he began to brush past her without speaking. Her hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of his duster. "Don't shut me out," she said softly.

He paused without looking at her and said bitterly, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Buffy acknowledged the meaning behind his words, remembering how often she had pushed him away and belittled him. "Spike, you know how I feel about you, and you've never cared enough about Xander for his opinion to matter, so why -"

"You're wrong," he interrupted, finally turning to look at her. "I _don't_ know how you feel, not for sure, and Xander's your friend; I don't want any of them to hate me, because it makes it awkward for you." He hesitated and then said, mumbling a little, "Besides, it'd be nice to have someone to go for a beer with now and then. Harris isn't that bad, he's just got a grudge against me for some reason."

"Well," said Buffy, trying to be impartial, "The first time you met him, didn't you nearly take a bite out of his neck?"

Spike waved an impatient hand. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones," he said.

"Not sure he is," Buffy said wryly, "but I'm more interested in us. What do you mean, you don't know how I feel? We've been together for six months now!"

Spike gave her a level glance. "I love you, Buffy," he said deliberately spacing the words, and waited, his scarred eyebrow arched, for her to grasp his meaning.

She did, almost at once and panicked, realising that this was it, it was time to commit - or reject. She had never told him she loved him, never, even when she had screamed his name as his mouth and hands dragged her into the hot darkness. As she looked into his eyes, dark now, in the shadowed alley, she felt the indecision leave her and her mind cleared. Glancing up at him, she replied, "I love you too, Spike." He looked at her in shock, an inarticulate sound escaping his parted lips. "I've loved you for so long now," she went on, the words tumbling out, her eyes taking in the play of emotions over his face as he listened to her. She stopped, expecting him to kiss her, to hug her close.

He stepped back instead and with a low growl, went into game face. She flinched but didn't move away. "And do you love me now?" he asked, a terrible entreaty in his voice. "Do you trust the demon, too?"

Buffy had gone too far to retreat. "You heard what they said in there. I'm part vampire, too."

"I doubt it. Distant cousin, maybe, but you're human where it counts. You have a soul, remember?" said Spike, bracing himself for the pain he would have to hide if Buffy sidestepped his question.

"Kissing kin?" she asked, sliding her arms inside his coat and around his waist. Before he had time to change, she fastened her lips onto his neck, and nipped at him with her teeth, feeling him shudder with need. She looked up into his eyes, slitted and inhuman. "I trust you with my life, and I know that's a safe bet, " she whispered. "I love _you_, all of you. But I'd rather kiss you without the fangs, if that doesn't hurt your feelings too much. They're too sharp."

His vampire features melted into human again and she saw that tears were falling from his eyes, the tears the demon would not allow to flow. His head sank onto her shoulder for a moment as he regained control of himself. She stroked his back soothingly, murmuring to him, then cried out as he twisted his head and sank his teeth, blunt and harmless in comparison to his fangs, into her neck, teasing her, arousing her so fast that she felt the lust surge through her blood like fire through dry grass.

"Now," he said hoarsely, his hands sliding up her arms to cup her face. "I want you now."

Buffy locked eyes with him and said, "It's mutual, believe me."

Spike looked around them, the hard ground, the dumpsters lined up a few yards away and groaned. "No, not here. It's not going to be here, not the first time I know you love me. It's going to be special."

Buffy caressed his face gently, the lust simmering within her transforming to tenderness. "You old romantic, you," she murmured softly. He kissed her, his cool lips hard against hers and her response was immediate. Arching against him, she returned his kiss, her mouth hungry and demanding. Spike's resolve began to shred as her busy hands slid inside the front pockets of his jeans. He was evil, wasn't he? Didn't that mean he was supposed to give into temptation? Even as he thought this, he was gripping Buffy's wrists and pulling her hands away from his body. It was a valiant effort but somehow it finished with Buffy's back flat against the wall, her hands held over her head by one of his, while his other hand roamed her body. She squirmed with need, allowing him to hold her in position, moaning as he cupped her breast, flicking the nipple erect, then scraped his nails down her stomach, sending quivers through her. When his hand slid knowingly between her legs, she gasped, thrusting up against it, wordlessly pleading with him for more.

Spike growled deep in his throat, all thoughts of waiting forgotten. Their surroundings faded from their thoughts as he leaned in to kiss her, his tongue sliding over hers, as the kiss deepened. Buffy tore her hands free and wrapped them around him, her nails digging into his back through the leather of his coat.

They both heard the purposefully heavy footsteps at the same time and twisted apart, dropping into fighting stances automatically. An outbreak of tactful coughing had them both exchanging rueful glances. Dropping a last, lingering kiss on her lips, Spike hugged her swiftly and then stepped away. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, then reached for his hand and led him out into the street, where Giles was waiting, a look of pure, undiluted embarrassment on his face.

"It's all right, Giles, we were just talking," she said. "Just - clearing the air."

Giles looked at them both and unexpectedly smiled. "I think you'll find Xander in a rather less hostile mood." he said.

"Anya ripped him a new one, huh?"

"Spike!" Buffy protested.

Giles and Spike exchanged looks of male complicity and Giles replied, "That just about covers it, yes. She seemed to be torn between anger at being labeled a murderer - that really wasn't very tactful, Buffy - and an upsurge of demon fellowship with you, Spike. But I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from gloating when you go back in. You're far from blameless yourself. You know Xander too well not to be aware of what his reaction would be to your words."

"'S'all right, Watcher. Buffy told me off good and proper," said Spike audaciously. Buffy gasped at this fabrication but settled for pinching Spike's backside hard as they went back into the shop.

"Do that again, Slayer, and I'll take you on the shop counter and the hell with the location or the audience," Spike murmured in her ear. He sounded serious but she couldn't resist the urge to test him. She learned that it's never wise to challenge a demon.

"You wouldn't dare - no! I didn't mean it! Spike!"

"Put her down, Spike. Playtime's over," said Giles firmly, turning his back on his Slayer as she thrashed helplessly in Spike's arms.

To Buffy's surprise, Spike not only obeyed but walked over to Xander and said casually, "Sorry, mate. Got a bit out of line there." Basking in Dawn's approving smile, Spike sauntered over to a seat, inwardly relishing the way the whelp had had the high ground swept away from him. Xander gave him a sickly smile and a deadly glare. Anya settled for just the glare and sent it winging towards Buffy. It failed to have an effect because Buffy was still thinking about what had just happened. Or hadn't happened.

Buffy sighed inwardly. Sex - especially with Spike involved - wasn't a spectator sport in her opinion, but if the shop had been empty, she knew she'd have been on that counter by now. Or bent over it - or straddling Spike as he sat on it - or - she made an effort to wrench her thoughts away from sex but made the fatal mistake of sneaking a look at Spike as she walked to a chair. He was doing that thing with the arched eyebrow and he was biting his lip, trying to keep back a grin. He couldn't read minds as far as she knew, but she was certain he knew exactly what she was thinking. The last time he'd looked at her with that much heat, they'd been in bed, talking after making love. She'd asked him if there were anything at all he wouldn't let her do to him. He'd looked at her just like that and slowly, oh so slowly, shaken his head. "Not a single damn thing, pet," he'd drawled. "And you come up with one I haven't tried and you'll get -"

Carlton, seething with impatience, stood up, interrupting Buffy's thoughts with uncannily bad timing "I really think we need to remain focused," he said. "If Grelin, and possibly Delvers, have taken the shield into the Realm, all they have to do is destroy it and the Slayer will be unable to complete her task. We have to follow them, locate them and -"

"'We'?" asked Spike in pretended surprise. "You're coming too, then?"

Carlton turned to him, bewilderment crossing his face. "No, of course not. I'm simply saying -"

"Don't bother. I'm going, so I get to say simple things. You're not, so you don't." Spike looked over to Willow and Tara. "Heads up witch girls. Got any spells that might come in handy?"

Tara and Willow exchanged glances. "We might have," Willow replied cautiously. "We'd need to make them ones you could use by yourself though and that's trickier."

"Oh, oh, I've got an idea," Dawn said, her face lighting up as she tried to be helpful. " They're not going to be talking English over there, are they? So you're going to need a translation spell."

Tara looked thoughtful. "We can do that, yes. That's a great idea, Dawnie!" She continued to look pensive and then said, thinking aloud, "You know, we should be able to adapt that spell to cover written as well as spoken. So we'd get absolutely accurate translations."

Giles looked at her, his eyes sparkling as the implications sank in. "That would be an invaluable research tool, Tara," he said. "When this is all over, I'd be very interested in helping you work on that."

Tara blushed, looking pleased. Willow squeezed her hand, smiling, and then came up with an idea herself. "Going on with the fitting in part, I wonder if we could do a seeming charm that made Buffy look like a vampire? It wouldn't fool anyone who got really close but if the portal brings you out near to this well, then maybe it'll be enough. After all, it could be that you won't see anyone. Go in, have vision, get out."

"You're forgetting I have to find the shield," said Buffy with a sigh. "So I'm going in all bumpy face and babbling demon talk. Great."

***

The Realm. Morning.

Matthew reached out for the shield, his hand trembling slightly. It was his shield; the one Grelin had brought through the portal with him. Of all the ornaments in the White Room, it had been his favourite, combining his passion for ancient armour with his obsession for white. It was fashioned from metal but he had no idea how it had been coloured white. It wasn't paint, or dye. It seemed as if the metal itself was white, a pure, smooth, white unmarred by scratches, despite its age. He had toyed with the idea of having it analysed, but had been reluctant to let it out of his possession.

And now it was here, in the Realm, hidden deep within a chest in Grelin's private chamber.

Matthew had been told of Grelin's plans by the vampire and he had overheard much as he huddled in a corner, ignored and overlooked. Other vampires had visited Grelin, cautious, wary of his ambitious schemes. Grelin, his eyes sparkling, had charmed them into reluctant acquiesance with vivid descriptions of Earth and its riches. Not least of which was a population in the billions. He spoke of sharing the power that the Slayer would kindle at the Wellspring but Matthew felt certain that here, at least, he lied. They had been intrigued by the idea of a Slayer and their plans for her death made him shudder. Grelin had applauded their inventive imaginations and sent them away, a satisfied smile on his face as soon as the door closed behind them.

But he had never mentioned the shield. Matthew frowned. He had discovered it as he searched the room for a weapon small enough to hide in his clothing. Why would Grelin have bothered with it unless it was to play some part in his schemes? He dared not remove it but even as a sudden noise in the corridor sent him scuttling back to his corner, his thoughts returned to it. It might be that in depriving Grelin of the shield, he could in some small way, hinder his plans. It might be that the Slayer would need it to defend herself. It was beautiful, fashioned of light and purity. She fought the darkness - she must also be pure, an angel of light. The shield would be perfect for her.

His mind, wavering between sanity and madness, fastened on this idea with the tenacity of a child demanding a treat. It was _his_ shield and he was going to give it to the Slayer when she came.

Then she would make it all safe again and he could die in peace.

CHAPTER SEVEN

May 9. Sunnydale.

No one had really expected to sleep well, but Giles had insisted that they tried. Carlton was staying with Giles and they talked far into the night, until Carlton fell asleep on the sofa in mid sentence, looking much younger as he rested and the frown between his eyebrows smoothed out. Giles looked down at his old friend sympathetically. Andrew Carlton had taken on a job that would have crushed most people, and he wondered how long it would be before he either gave it up, or changed into the kind of man who could send others to their deaths without a tremor. The Council did so much more than guard the Slayer nowadays. Giles gave a philosophical shrug. Andrew had dealt with Travers well enough and he'd lasted this long. Maybe he would find a middle ground. He draped Carlton with a blanket and went to bed.

Spike tactfully went home alone so that Buffy could spend as much time as possible with Dawn. Halfway back to the crypt, he realised that he wasn't going to get any chance to be alone with Buffy before they left. In an effort to cheer himself up, he staked two vampires who were so fresh from their graves that they still had dirt under their nails. It didn't make up for a crypt that seemed desolate. He went to bed, clutching one of the throws she'd draped over his tatty chairs, cuddling it like a security blanket. Halfway through the night he came to his senses and regretfully let it slip to the floor. The pillow was softer anyway and it was redolent with Buffy's scent.

Buffy appreciated Spike's gesture and was fully aware of his need to be with her, as she felt it too. After an hour of Dawn trying to be brave and supportive, she found herself so tense that sleep was impossible. Once again, her responsibilities as Slayer and Dawn's guardian had clashed and once again, Dawn had come second best. Reminding herself that Dawn would be lucky to make it to her next birthday if the Slayer was no longer keeping the demon population of Sunnydale to manageable levels, she tried to stop the guilt from eating away at her resolve to go through the portal.

Willow and Tara had followed Spike's example and gone to their room early. They listened to the quiet murmur of voices from the room below, winced as Dawn's rose at one point as she made a point with some vehemence and then, as silence fell, they drifted off to sleep. As they slept, they cuddled close, as if losing touch with each other would allow the monsters to enter.

Xander and Anya slept with as much space between them as was possible without running the risk of falling out and landing on the floor. After the first half hour of listening to Xander rant about Buffy letting Spike feed off her, she had been bored. As the minutes went by and he showed no signs of stopping, she got angry. When even that didn't shut him up, she took his favourite hammer down from the pegboard on the wall and held it poised over a stack of his Babylon 5 plates. When he opened his mouth and said, "And another thing - ", she let it drop and stalked off to bed.

The next morning, the group gathered again, sleepy eyed and tense, at the shop, closed for stock taking, according to the sign on the door. Willow and Tara began work on the two spells they had decided would be useful, and the others continued to search for information about the Realm, Grelin and the source of the Slayer's powers. They found little and what there was did nothing to reassure them.

Grelin featured in several Watcher diaries and seemed to be capable of any atrocity. Giles read through the diaries he had, his face growing pinched with concern as he read of horrors that went beyond anything a normal vampire would do. The average vampire would kill, to be sure, would have no qualms or mercy, but few of them would bother with the elaborate scenarios that Grelin had set up to torment his victims. They fed and hid, conscious of their vulnerability against humans aware of their presence and pushed too far. As Buffy's friends had proven so many times, a human could kill a vampire. It was an unequal contest, but not one with a completely predictable outcome.

As lunchtime approached, Xander volunteered to go for pizza. "Want to come with and help carry all the cheese laden goodness home, Buffy?" he said casually. Anya gave him a look that both warned and appealed but his eyes slid past her.

"I'm in," said Buffy, slamming shut the book that Giles had forced into her unwilling hands. "Don't suppose they deliver to other dimensions, so this might have to last me a while."

Spike lounged in his chair and studied Anya. He picked up on tension like black velvet picked up fluff and the air around Anya was crackling with it. Fellow feeling overcame the urge to be malicious and he slouched over to her and said quietly, "Don't worry, love. He's stuck in a groove but I'm betting Buffy'll kick him out of it."

She continued to stare at the door. He shrugged and began to move away but paused as she said reflectively, "Ever wish you could still kill things?"

"Every day, love, every day."

***

Xander tried to start the conversation he'd been rehearsing three times, only to have trite comments about the weather spill out of his mouth. Buffy turned and gave him an amused look. "It _is_ a nice day, the breeze _is_ refreshing and why don't you just spit it out, Xander? I know there's something bothering you."

Xander nodded eagerly. "There is, Buffy and I'm guessing you're bothered too but you can't admit it."

She gave him a puzzled smile. "I'm a bit uptight about this journey, sure, but we've been up against worse. What makes you think I'm bothered?"

Xander spread his hands out and shrugged, "Oh, day tripping through portals, humans hacking up their girlfriends, Slayer powers fading, vampires feeding off you and -"

"And stop right there, because it's that last one that bothers you the most, isn't it?" she replied, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Xander, you hate vampires and you hate my boyfriends. When they overlap, you seem to hit all time lows of being bugged. Why is that?"

He opened his mouth to reply with a quip, an insult, anything but the truth and then he saw her eyes. She looked tired, drawn and he just couldn't hurt her anymore.

"Can we sit down?" he said. Relief flickered in her eyes as she sensed his lack of hostility. They made their way to a bench and sat down, staring out at the street.

"I know what you're thinking, Buffy. You're thinking I'm still in love with you and I'm jealous of Spike." Buffy moved uneasily, unsure of how to reply. "Well, yeah, maybe I am a little. I do still love you, and I don't plan on stopping, but it's the love of a best friend now and that goes for Willow, too. Just as well, the way things have turned out. You'd break my ribs if you hugged me too hard and I'm the wrong gender for Willow." He stopped and smiled at her. "I don't know if I'll ever convince Anya of this, so you might want to drop in a good word for me."

Buffy winced as she imagined that conversation. "I'm not sure that's up there with the best idea you've ever had, Xander," she pointed out tactfully.

"You think? I always thought you girls went in for all that heart to heart stuff. Whatever. Anyway, now we've got that out of the way, can I spit out what I've been trying to say for the past hour?"

"Go for it, best friend, Xander," said Buffy solemnly.

"It's the feeding deal. Buffy, there has to be another way. I can't let you -" His voice broke off and he slammed his fist against the arm of the bench.

"Xander!" said Buffy in alarm, grabbing his hand as his fist raised again.

"Would it be unmanly of me to say, 'oww'? Xander asked, cradling his hand gingerly.

"Would it be unladylike of me to ask what the hell you're doing?"

Xander turned and stared at Buffy with fear in his eyes. "Feeding, Buffy. You'll be drinking his blood as he feeds on you. Do you think Giles is the only one who has nightmares about you being turned? Especially now that Spike can hurt you?"

"Spike would never -" Buffy stopped. "I understand why you're upset, Xander. It won't get to the point where I'm in danger of - that. I won't ask you to trust Spike because I know you don't, but trust me. I would _never_ let that happen. But this is the only way to open the portal and I have to do this if I'm to stay Slayer."

Xander looked at her helplessly. "I know you do, Buffy. It's just - you're doing this alone, we're not going to be there to help. You might not be worried but I am."

Buffy stared at the peaceful scene around her, people walking, talking, smiling, doing the mundane things that made up life for most, but not for her. "I can't tell you not to worry. I won't even ask you to believe that Spike's part of the group now, so I'm _not_ alone. What I will ask is that you look out for Dawn. If something happens, you might never know about it, I just - won't come back. Look after her, Xander? I know all of you will, but she loves you."

Xander nodded speechlessly, then set his jaw. "But you _will_ come back, Buffy," he said, certainty strengthening his voice. "I know you will."

They stood and hugged, Buffy resting her head on Xander's shoulder with relief. She hadn't wanted to leave with any ill feelings between them. "See?" she said, raising her head and looking up at him, her eyes misted with tears. "Ribs all safe."

"Thank you for being gentle with me," he said dryly. "OK, after all that emotion, there's got to be donuts as well as pizza. I need that sugar rush."

***

Willow looked up from the book she was reading after a lunch that featured pizza, donuts and not much else, and saw Buffy sitting alone at the front of the shop, staring out of the window. She went over and sat beside her, glad of the chance to talk to her friend. "Hey," she said softly.

Buffy turned and attempted a smile, "Hey, back at you," she said.

"We're going to be ready soon," Willow went on, "and I just wanted to, well -"

"Say goodbye?" Buffy asked rubbing her hand across her eyes, as if they were full of grit.

"Are you feeling OK?" Willow asked, concern in her voice.

"Just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night." Buffy felt a quiver of apprehension. As the Slayer, she was used to getting by without much sleep. Last night she hadn't even fought anything. Why was she feeling so exhausted?

"I don't want to say goodbye," Willow said, "I just wanted to ask if you were dealing with all that about being part vampire, because, you know, I'm going to be looking into that while you're away. It's just one ancient prophecy after all, and you know what they're like. Doom, gloom and a side order of despair. Never any prophecies about happy endings and, oh, you're going to live long, die happy and be super rich, oh, no, it's all, you're going to be miserable from day one and -"

"Willow. You're ranting and possibly raving. It's fine. I'm dealing. It does make sense in a way. Besides, it didn't say I was part vampire exactly. It said part of my strength was drawn from theirs. I hunt them. The only way to do that and win is to know them. If the Slayer has part of their spirit inside her, it helps I guess. I'm not likely to sprout fangs and stop sunbathing."

"Well, after my spell, you might be doing the fangs part. Think of it as an early Halloween costume."

Buffy looked thoughtful. "What?" said Willow curiously.

Buffy glanced around to make sure that no one was in earshot. Leaning close to her friend, she whispered, "I was just wondering; do you think Spike will get off on me being all vamped out?"

Willow gasped and then began to giggle. "That's so naughty," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "I tell you what; if he does, I can always cast the spell again when you get back."

Xander called over to them, "Hey, lovely ladies, what's so funny?"

They exchanged glances and chorused, "You really don't want to know."

Buffy stood up, feeling refreshed by her chat with Willow. "Think I'm going to go train a bit," she said, resting her hand on Willow's shoulder for an instant.

Giles watched her enter the training room with relief, having seen her pensive withdrawal deepen as the hours went by, and turned back to Carlton who was regaling him with some malicious but entertaining gossip about a mutual acquaintance. Gradually, his attention wandered as the rhythmic thudding of fists against punching bag began to falter.

"And after all that, they blackballed him anyway!" Carlton finished, laughing heartily.

Giles twitched his lips in a mechanical smile then said, "Excuse me for a moment," and drifted casually toward the training room door. Spike watched him go and frowned, listening, like Giles, to the change in the rhythm of Buffy's fists. He began to get out of his seat and then changed his mind. Giles knew Buffy better than he did in some ways. Best let him deal with her. Spike continued to flick over the pages of a book, with a disregard for its fragile condition that would have earned him a glare from the Watcher, and strained to hear what was being said in the room next to him.

Giles stood on the threshold, and then stepped into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. Buffy was throwing punches with all her strength, her breath hissing out as her fist connected with the coarse canvas of the punching bag.

It was swaying slightly, languidly drifting in a lazy arc. She was barely moving it. Giles felt his heart break as she collapsed against it, hammering it weakly with knuckles that were bleeding and raw. He crossed the room swiftly and gathered her into his arms.

"It's going, Giles," she said, her mouth working helplessly as she tried to hold back the tears. "I've lost it."

He crooned words of comfort, patting her back awkwardly, lost in memories of the last time her Slayer strength had deserted her, shameful memories of his betrayal, as he followed the Council's orders. As she began to sob, he frantically patted her harder, until he was rescued by a quiet voice and a hand on his arm.

"Easy there. She's not a pet dog, you know."

Buffy raised her head from Giles' chest and stared at Spike through a haze of tears. "I can't do anything, Spike," she wailed. "I felt it go, felt it leave me. I'm not the Slayer anymore."

"Don't look any different to me, Buffy," he said in a calm voice, resisting the urge to take over where Giles had left off. "We knew this was going to happen. It's why I'm tagging along, remember?"

"I didn't think it would happen before we even got there! I've got to fight this big bad vampire and -"

"You can bloody well leave him to me," interrupted Spike, his voice hard. "I was never going to let you go up against him. I owe him a favour or two. I'm going to take him down myself. And less of the 'big bad'. That's _my_ name."

"How can I survive over there if I can't fight?" she protested.

"I told you love, you didn't stand a chance anyway. You can't fight that many all at once. Now, maybe you can slip under their guard. Might work out for the best. And you know what? I've been thinking." His voice dropped into a conversational tone and Giles watched her concentrate on Spike, her tears forgotten. "All this time you've been Slayer, you've been scraping the bottom of the barrel a thousand other Slayers drained nearly dry. Now, once we get that barrel full again, you'll be able to dive right in. Shouldn't wonder if you'll notice the difference in your power. Might even - don't get your hopes up though - might even be able to take me."

Buffy wasn't fooled by his attempt to cheer her up - but Spike really did seem sincere. "There hasn't _ever_ been a time when I couldn't take you, Spike," she said confidently, a little swagger in her step as she moved closer to him.

"Oh, yeah? How come you never managed to stake me, then? I'm undead proof that I'm the better fighter."

Giles quietly edged out, a small smile on his lips as he listened to them bicker. He had planned to get Spike alone before they left, planned to let him know just what would happen if he failed to protect Buffy. Now he realised that it wasn't going to be needed.

If Buffy didn't make it back, neither would Spike. Because the only way Buffy would die was if Spike was already dust.

The Realm. Afternoon.

Matthew watched, sickened and yet fascinated, as Grelin tore at the throat of a young woman, drinking greedily. The woman was pretty, but her neck and the crook of her elbow were thick with scar tissue. As Grelin pushed her away, wiping his mouth fastidiously with a napkin, Matthew gauged his mood and decided that he was mellow enough to answer some questions. The girl staggered out of the room, her hand pressing down on her wounded neck, tears streaming down her face. Grelin didn't spare her a glance.

Matthew cleared his throat and Grelin's head came around sharply. "Ah, so you're feeling better, old friend?" he murmured, the sympathy in his voice as insincere as his smile.

"Feel - weak," Matthew said, exaggerating the quaver in his voice a little.

Grelin nodded. "You need to eat," he said cheerfully. "Shall I call her back?" He chuckled as Matthew frantically shook his head.

"I need to know what you're going to do with me," Matthew said, the words sticking in his throat.

"A good question, my friend. I was just going to kill you - I can't send you back and I don't think you'll be happy here somehow - but you know, I've changed my mind." He paused cruelly and Matthew closed his eyes, as a sick apprehension flooded him. He had thought himself resigned to death; why did he care? Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to return Grelin's watchful gaze.

"From what I know of Slayers, they're a sentimental lot. Devote their short lives to saving people. You know the type. It strikes me that you'll make an interesting diversion for her. I'm not quite sure how I can use you, but it would be a pity to waste you, now wouldn't it?"

Matthew swallowed. "When - that is, do you know when she will get here?"

Grelin frowned but answered readily enough, "I have no idea but it doesn't matter. I have spies watching where the portal will open. It's a matter of a few miles away. I will know of her arrival almost as soon as she sets foot in the Realm, she and her vampire companion."

"She will be with a vampire?" blurted Matthew, surprise jolting him out of his pretence at weakness.

Grelin smiled slowly. "She will indeed. She will be with the only vampire pathetic enough to ally with a human, let alone a Slayer. She will be with Angelus, the vampire with a soul. I owe him and I have a special welcome waiting." He stood, towering over Matthew. "And since you seem so much better, I see no reason why you should loll around all day. Get yourself down to the stables and tell Fellor that I sent you." His smile broadened. "He'll have plenty of work for someone like you."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Buffy looked into the mirror, grimacing and poking at her face. "It feels just the same," she marveled.

"It will do," said Tara with a small shrug. "This is a glamour, a seeming. Your own face hasn't altered at all. It's keyed to this necklace. If it's touching your skin, you'll appear to be a vampire; take it off and you're human. I wanted to make sure you could show your real face in case you met some humans with pointy sticks." She smiled gently and Buffy smiled back. She'd come to appreciate Tara's quiet humour and strength. "She's like an anchor," she thought, "keeping us all from drifting away in a sea of weird."

Buffy stared again at her reflection, the thick brows, the sharp fangs and yellow eyes. "I look -"

"Good enough to eat," said Spike, taking advantage of his lack of reflection to surprise Buffy. "In fact, I think I prefer you this way, love. Maybe Willow could let you keep this necklace and -"

Buffy frowned in quick suspicion and then pounced. "You! You were listening to me earlier!" she accused him, jabbing her finger into his chest.

"You mentioned my name. I couldn't help it," he countered, fending her off easily. "Besides, might have taught you a lesson."

"What lesson?" she demanded, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Vampires hear good. You want to say anything to me over there and there's vampires around, be bloody careful it's nothing secret."

"Just how good _is_ your hearing?" she asked, curiosity dousing the flames of indignation.

Spike tilted his head to one side, considering. "I can hear everything anyone's saying in this shop if I focus on them," he said finally.

She nodded soberly. "I'll remember that."

"Miss Summers? Buffy? I think we're ready," called Carlton from the shop.

Buffy looked down at the floor, then flung her head back and walked out of the small bathroom into the shop. Dawn choked as she saw Buffy's vampire face and looked away, her lips mutinous. Buffy had spoken to her alone, trying to prepare her for the fact that this might be one challenge she might not be able to overcome as it hadn't seemed to sink in the night before. Dawn had gone from tearful to termagant in seconds and back again. As Buffy sighed and began to move towards the training room, which had been prepared for the opening of the portal, Dawn hurtled toward her and hugged her fiercely. "I didn't mean it when I said you were an awful sister," she whispered. "Only - come back, Buffy. I don't want you to not come back."

"Oh, well in that case -" said Buffy, with a rather wobbly grin.

Dawn let her go reluctantly and went to sit with Xander and Anya. It had been decided that the fewer people in the room when the ritual began, the better it would be. After some discussion, Willow and Giles were chosen as observers, partly to report on the success of the portal opening, partly because, as Xander had pointed out, 'portals open both ways and we don't want to lose Buffy and gain a ten foot tall demon with an unfriendly attitude.' Giles was armed with a sword, Willow had memorised some useful attack spells.

"I just need to cast the translation spell and then I guess we're ready," Willow said. "We can do that out here. It's a two way spell that means when you speak as normal, the person listening hears you in their language." She paused. Something was bothering her, a sense of something overlooked. Dismissing it with a shrug, she concentrated on remembering the words of the spell. "Right, here goes -" She began to chant, walking round Buffy and Spike who stood, hands clasped, in front of her. "What ears shall hear, Minds will comprehend, From this the beginning, Till the spell is at an end," she finished. "All done."

Buffy looked at her. "Is it working?"

"Can you tell I'm talking to you in Italian?"

"No"

"Well, I am, so I'll go out on a limb and say it's working."

Buffy smiled. "Then let's go," she said, moving towards the training room.

As the training room door closed behind them, cutting off the anxious faces of their friends, the four people moved to their places in silence. Buffy and Spike sank to the floor facing each other. Willow and Giles moved to flank them but remained standing. Giles cleared his throat. "I don't believe anything needs to be done or said apart from the feed - well, it seems very simple." He paused, unsure of what to say.

"Good luck," Willow said softly. Buffy smiled at her and then turned to Spike, blocking out everything apart from him. They hadn't planned this in detail. A knife had been placed on the floor and Spike hesitated and then reached for it, offering it to Buffy, hilt first. She took it from him and then paused. "No," she said firmly, dropping it beside her. "Not that way." She looked at Spike and said, "I want you to bite me."

Giles surged forward, a protest bursting from him, all his Watcher's instincts clamouring at him to intervene. He was stopped by Willow's voice, relaxed and calm. "Back off, Giles," she said. "They know what they're doing. That's the whole point of this. It's the only way they can prove they're the people in the prophecy. The Slayer has to trust a vampire enough to let him feed on her; he has to love her enough not to kill. She'll be fine."

Spike and Buffy were oblivious to the discussion above them. Moving slowly, Spike took Buffy's left wrist in his right hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed it on the inside, where a faint tracery of veins patterned the golden skin, and then let it drop into his lap, still holding it. He changed into his vampire face and brought his free hand up to his fangs, biting down deeply, so that the blood welled up and began to drip down. Thrusting his bleeding wrist at Buffy, he pulled her left hand up and bit down so fast that she barely had time to register the pain. His hand was there, in front of her and she gripped it tightly and brought it to her mouth, her lips hovering for a moment before she began to taste him.

As Slayer's blood flowed down a vampire's throat, as she in turn drank what lay within his veins, the world began to spin around them. The Slayer saw visions, images forming in the red darkness that swirled in front of her eyes. Desperately focusing on tiny details - the cool smoothness of his wrist within her grasp, the softness of his tongue on her flesh and the sharp scrape as he dug his fangs in deeper - she didn't notice the transition as the portal opened and began to pull them to it. The images seemed to flash in front of her faster and faster - glimpses of her past, Spike's face looming over her as he tied to bite her when Ethan's Halloween spell had taken away her memories, again, in the hospital when she had been trying to save Riley and Spike had thought the chip had been removed. The violent images faded and she saw Spike bruised and bloody after enduring Glory's tormenting, his face when she walked down the stairs towards him after Willow's spell had brought her back She felt his hands grip her arms hard, as he halted her despairing, suicidal dance to Sweet's tune. And, then, as the portal closed around her, all she felt was a kiss, laid gently on her lips like a blessing, the kiss Spike used to wake her when she fell asleep in his arms.

Spike was calling on all his willpower, all his strength as he felt Buffy's blood trickle into his mouth, caressing it as her warm fingers caressed his body. The pull to drink deeper, take more, was overwhelming - not because he felt any desire to hurt Buffy but because the taste of her was so intoxicating that he didn't want to stop drinking. It wasn't just that - after so long - it was human blood, it was that it was _her_ blood. He had wanted to taste it for years now.

In the beginning he wanted her blood because it would mean her death. His third Slayer, his third victory over his most dangerous adversary. Then, when the hatred had turned to obsession, he had craved it as he craved any scrap of her clothes, her time, even the pain she dealt out to him almost casually. Finally, now, when his sorrow over her death had burned away the layers of conceit and deceit and left him with a love that transfigured all he saw, all he was, he wanted her blood to seal their bond. He would never have forced it on her, never have given way to the desire to taste her as he thrust deep inside her arching body, slick with sweat, demanding and giving unstintingly. But now he had been given the chance not only to taste her but to have her feed on him, her face a match for his own, demonic, horrific but still, somehow, Buffy. Torture. It was torture but he endured it, clinging to the single thought that if he went too far, he would lose her and he could never bear to lose her again. The passage through the portal ended his ordeal and he felt the world drop away from him with unbearable slowness.

Giles and Willow saw the portal appear around the linked pair. It hovered over them, a slash of blue, widening to engulf them. There was a crack like a lightening bolt and the air sizzled with energy. The figures of the Slayer and the vampire began to shimmer and the blue light grew so bright that both watching closed their eyes automatically. When they opened them, they were alone in the room.

Giles collapsed onto the sofa in the corner of the room, his hands shaking as he fumbled for a handkerchief.

"So, they're gone," he said unnecessarily.

"Variable temporal flux!" Willow cried out.

"Most people say, 'Bon voyage'," Giles murmured absently, still a little shaken. Buffy and Spike feeding on each other, Buffy looking like that, the blood on her lips. It was the stuff of nightmares for a Watcher.

"No," said Willow impatiently. "We never calculated how time runs in the Realm. They could get back after a day there and it'll be like ten years here. We never checked - I _knew_ there was something else, besides the translation spell and the disguise!"

The door was flung open and the others came rushing in. "D-did it work?" asked Dawn. "Did they get there safely?" She looked at their faces. "What's gone wrong?" she demanded shrilly.

***

The Realm. Late afternoon.

The portal opened and Buffy and Spike found themselves in a grassy meadow, spangled with sunshine, dotted with wildflowers. Slowly, they let go of each other's wrists and glanced around.

"Sun," murmured Spike, trying to restrain the urge to cower. "I'm in the sun."

Buffy had instinctively leaned towards him, trying to shield him with her body, but she relaxed as she saw that he was safe. "Guess that part of the stories is true. Oh, God, my wrist!" Moaning as the pain hit her, she anxiously examined the wound made by Spike's fangs.

"It should close up soon," he assured her, still lost in wonder as he gazed up at a blue sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his cool skin.

"I don't have Slayer healing anymore, remember?" she snapped.

Spike looked at her sympathetically. "It'll close because vampire spit acts as a coagulant," he said bluntly.

"That's so gross," she said, studying it again. It had stopped bleeding but it hurt. A lot. She'd forgotten what that was like. Normally it took a major wound to make her wince.

Spike glanced around. "Looks peaceful enough. We'd better get under cover and scout around a bit."

"No," said Buffy, looking past his shoulder. "We'd better run."

The Demon Delivers

Chapter One

The Realm. Late afternoon.

The portal opened and Buffy and Spike found themselves in a grassy meadow, spangled with sunshine, dotted with wildflowers. Slowly, they let go of each other's wrists and glanced around.

"Sun," murmured Spike, trying to restrain the urge to cower. "I'm in the sun."

Buffy had instinctively leaned towards him, trying to shield him with her body, but she relaxed as she saw that he was safe. "Guess that part of the stories is true. Oh, God, my wrist!" Moaning as the pain hit her, she anxiously examined the wound made by Spike's fangs.

"It should close up soon," he assured her, still lost in wonder as he gazed up at a blue sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his cool skin.

"I don't have Slayer healing anymore, remember?" she snapped.

Spike looked at her sympathetically. "It'll close because vampire spit acts as a coagulant," he said bluntly.

"That's so gross," she said, studying it again. It had stopped bleeding but it hurt. A lot. She'd forgotten what that was like. Normally it took a major wound to make her wince.

Spike glanced around. "Looks peaceful enough. We'd better get under cover and scout around a bit."

"No," said Buffy, looking past his shoulder. "We'd better run."

Spike surged to his feet in one smooth movement. Buffy followed him, dismayed that she felt awkward, clumsy even. All that training and she was as out of shape as this? She frowned, then pushed the thought aside for later. Spike was looking at what she had seen behind him. Three men on horseback had appeared from a wood at the edge of the meadow. From this distance it was impossible to tell if they were vampires, but as they were galloping towards them, that might not be the case for much longer.

"No point running," said Spike. "They'd catch us in no time and it makes us look weak. Better find out what they want." He stood, casual and relaxed, arms folded, and waited. Buffy stood by his side, her hands pushed into the deep pockets of her leather coat. Her fingers of her right hand curled around a stake, gripping it lightly.

The riders came near and it was clear that they were vampires. Buffy couldn't shake a feeling of unreality. Vampires in the daytime just didn't seem right. The hooves of the horses slammed into the ground with a regular rhythm, and Buffy felt the earth vibrate under her feet. The animals were huge and standing still took all her willpower. Spike was a reassuring presence to her left. At least she'd have company when she was squashed under several tons of four-footed death. Spike's fangs were bared in a smiling snarl and his eyes were glittering with enjoyment. He threw back his head and screamed a wordless challenge as the vampires approached. They remained silent, their faces grim but they made no move to draw the swords that hung at their sides. Of course, they didn't really need weapons, Buffy thought. Not when they were sitting on living bulldozers.

At the last moment, the riders pulled viciously at the reins and the horses wheeled smoothly, sending clods of earth flying at Buffy and Spike. The riders galloped back to the wood and left them exchanging puzzled, though relieved, glances.

"Well, that was different," Buffy commented, brushing the crumbling pieces of dirt off her coat and shaking her head vigorously. It felt as if there was enough soil in her hair to pot a plant. "Is that some sort of vampire welcoming ritual?"

Spike shook his head. "Could have been a test," he said. "It's more likely they wanted to get a look at us." He glanced around. "It's funny they popped up just as we arrived. Almost as if they were expecting us. Don't like it."

"Well, we've got two choices," Buffy said. "We can follow them, as they must be going somewhere, we can head in the opposite direction because it's not full of mad horsemen, or we can -"

"Go to those humans waving at us over there?" suggested Spike, nodding towards the woods over to the left.

Buffy turned to see where he was looking. "It's like rush hour," she complained. "Well, they don't look unfriendly. Are you going to drop out of game face?"

Spike nodded. "Might as well. We're far enough away that they can't tell what we are."

Buffy lifted her necklace away from her neck and slipped it under the collar of her shirt. As soon as it wasn't in contact with her skin, the glamour vanished and she was back to her normal human face. As she started to walk to the group of people, Spike caught at her arm. "What is it?" she asked, turning to look at him.

Spike touched her face. "I like you better this way," he said. He leaned forward and kissed her and at the first brush of his lips, they both felt a surge of power pass between them.

Buffy jerked back, her eyes wide. "What was _that_?" she whispered. "It felt - " her voice trailed off. Bending down, she picked up a fist-sized rock. Hefting it experimentally, she turned and threw it, fast and sure, at a large boulder a hundred feet away. The rock hit it, sending chips flying. "It's back," she said wonderingly. "I've got my strength back."

Spike flexed his hands. "I don't feel much different."

"You didn't need to get stronger," Buffy pointed out. "This might be part of what the prophecy was about," she said thoughtfully, years of research making her adept at evolving theories from small clues. "When we fed from each other, we became linked."

"And one kiss gave it all back?" said Spike. "What would happen if we -"

Buffy grinned at him. "Maybe we'll find out later," she said demurely. They turned and began to walk towards the people again. The smile faded. "We don't know how long this lasts for, though."

Spike shrugged. "I can kiss you every five minutes, if that's what it takes," he said. "And if we need to feed again, well, it wasn't a picnic but I'll do it."

"You didn't like it?" said Buffy, with some surprise. "Don't I taste good?"

Spike smiled at the note of hurt in her voice. "'Course you do, pet," he reassured her. "That's the trouble. It took a lot of doing to stop. I don't want to put you at risk."

Buffy slid her hand inside his. "I trust you," she said softly. Glancing ahead, she sighed with relief. "I'm glad I'm not helpless anymore. It was a horrible feeling, not being able to do stuff."

"Yes," said Spike. "It is."

***

Matthew glanced up wearily as the three riders trotted into the stable yard, their mounts ridden hard, sporting glistening flanks and wild eyes. They dismounted and walked off towards the main house, leaving the horses tethered to a low rail. As they passed Matthew, bent over a water trough, scrubbing away at crusted on deposits, set like concrete, he heard one say, "So that's what a Slayer looks like. I could break her with one finger."

"Cute though. Why is a vampire killing other vampires?" puzzled his companion.

He got a disgusted look. "She's human, fool. She was trying to pass as one of us. At least, I think she was - " Uncertainty crept into his voice.

"Face it," said the third, his voice fading as they moved away. "We're going by what Grelin told us. The pair of them could be perfectly normal vampires. We'll see, when -"

Matthew hissed with frustration. She had arrived and that was all he knew. He had to find a way to get the shield; he had to find a way to deliver it. And he had to clean this trough before that sadistic bastard came back and -

"Enjoying your rest, are you?" said Fellor menacingly, his large hand gripping Matthew's shoulder. Matthew twisted out from under the crushing fingers and thrust a stake upwards into Fellor's heart. It was what he'd been using to clean the trough with but it still had a needle sharp point, as he had been very careful not to get it blunt. It had taken him a long time to whittle it, after all. Fellor gaped at him uncomprehendingly and then exploded, his flesh disintegrating, his skeletal remains starkly silhouetted against the stone wall of the stable.

Then he was gone. Matthew smiled. He liked this way of killing. No mess. No blood. No guilt.

***

Sunnydale. May 9.

Willow hurried over to Dawn, taking her hand reassuringly. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart," she said quickly, the words tumbling out as Dawn's face set uncompromisingly. "It's just -"

"Just what?" said Xander, glancing around the training room wildly, as though he expected to see body parts scattered on the carpet. "They went through the portal, didn't they? Did Spike drink too much? Did Buffy go all bumpy for real?"

Giles walked to the centre of the room and cleared his throat. Andrew Carlton smiled with admiring approval as the babbling cut off and all heads turned towards the Watcher.

"As far as we know, Buffy and Spike made the transition to the Realm safely. Buffy did not appear to be distressed and the time elapsed was insufficient for Spike to have come anywhere near draining her. Nonetheless, Willow has had a belated but pertinent thought regarding the -"

"Giles!" Dawn said through gritted teeth. "Stop being pompous and tell me."

Giles sighed. "Time in the Realm might run differently. We don't know how long they'll be away."

Anya nodded her head. "Like the dimension that Brother Saul was from," she remarked. "It ran much slower than here. Or was it faster? I get confused."

Tara looked at Willow. "Is it something we can work out?" she asked. "If the difference is too great, every hour they spend there could be a year here."

Dawn cried out in shock but Willow ignored her, moving briskly towards the shop. "Back to the books," Xander sighed, long familiar with Willow's, 'born to research' face.

***

Buffy and Spike came to a halt a few yards away from the group of five men, still standing in the shadows of the trees. They were dressed in simple tunics and trousers and carried short daggers on their belts but nothing more in the way of visible weapons.

"Hello," called Buffy, a smile on her face. She hesitated. She wanted to ask them where the Wellspring was and get going but it seemed a little abrupt, not to mention dangerous, if these men were inclined to be unfriendly.

The tallest men stepped forward, smiling as though it hurt his face. He raised a hand in greeting and bowed his head. "Greetings, Slayer," he said calmly. "We have been waiting for you."

"Waiting? Oh! Not for long I hope. See, we didn't know we were coming until yesterday and -"

"We have been waiting for many years."

"We're late then," said Spike. "Sorry about that, mate."

Buffy turned to glare at him but he kept his cool eyes on the leader and refused to acknowledge her rebuke. The leader looked a little taken aback. "I meant - the legends tell - we have long known that this was the time," he stammered. Glancing between them, he settled on Buffy, as she looked the more approachable. "Slayer. I am your guide to the Wellspring. My life is yours to command."

Spike's eyebrows came together in a quick, suspicious frown but he stayed silent. Buffy beamed at the man and said. "Call me Buffy."

He looked confused. "Why?"

"Because it's my name," said Buffy patiently. "And if we're going to be travelling together -"

"Travelling? The Wellspring lies but a brief walk away. A few hours at most. Do you need to rest first?"

Buffy and Spike looked at each other. Spike jerked his head and moved a short distance away. Buffy followed him, after shooting the men an apologetic look.

"Something screwy going on," Spike said in a low voice "This is way too easy. I don't like easy."

"Well, I do," hissed Buffy. "It makes sense that the portal brought us to the right place. I can't see why you're being so fussy. Do you want to trek hundreds of miles and fight ravening hordes or something?" Her eyes widened. "You do, don't you! I could tell you were loving that whole being charged by wild horses deal. Men!"

Spike sighed impatiently. "Listen," he began. "I know you're keen to get this over and done with but speaking of horses, there's a saying about gift ones and not looking them - no, that's not right. Oh, bugger it! There's something not right and you know it. Have it your own way though. Spike's here to rescue you when it all goes pear shaped. As usual."

She pivoted on her heel and began to walk back. His voice reached her ears, "And yeah, that horses thing, coming on top of feeding off you? Got me randy as hell. And you felt it too." She refused to answer but he smiled as she threw in a purely gratuitous wiggle of her backside. Vampire blood's getting to her, he thought, half jokingly. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She _did_ seem a little more reckless than usual. His eyes widened in horror as he wondered if that meant he'd become more, well, human. Vampires didn't think about consequences generally, they trusted to their fangs and went in fighting. Shaking his head, he followed Buffy into the woods. Sooner they got this over with, the better.

Though it'd be nice if he could pick up a bit of a tan.

Chapter Two

Sunnydale. May 10. Morning.

The Magic Box was humming with activity. Anya had insisted on opening the shop, pointing out that losing all their customers wouldn't do anything to get Buffy back. It was Saturday, their busiest time, which may have been an additional factor in her reasoning. Xander, dark circles under his eyes after patrolling with Giles the night before, agreed. He was too tired to argue. If Buffy didn't get back soon, word was going to get around. It wasn't as if they had the Buffybot to back them up. One persistent vampire had nicked Giles' neck before Xander had managed to stake it on the third stab. And that's just the first night, he thought, yawning.

Usually when there was a situation, a monster, a threat, it was at their throats in a different way. This time, the only problem they were having was that Buffy wasn't there. It wasn't as if it was the first time of course. She hadn't been in Sunnydale at all for most of Xander's life and the town had survived. She'd also gone off once or twice for many weeks at a time. Xander didn't even want to think about the summer when she'd been dead. He was trying to block that from his memory. So why was it that she'd been gone for less than a day and it felt as if there was a huge hole in his life?

"It's because she's not in our dimension anymore," Tara said quietly, near to his ear.

Xander jerked upright, realising that his head had sunk lower and lower until he was napping - and drooling slightly - all over pages of notes. "Was I talking in my sleep?" he said ruefully.

"More like wild muttering," Tara answered, a smile lighting up her solemn face. The smile faded. "We all feel that way. It's dangerous and we can't help them."

"'Them'? Oh, you mean Spike. He should be fine," said Xander casually, still burning with resentment that Spike had bitten Buffy. His friends were _not_ meant to be vampire food, no matter how good the cause. He thought back to the time that Spike had taken over the school. Angel's plan to get past his defenses had involved getting Xander in a headlock, ripping back his shirt to expose his neck and offering him to Spike to bite. The humiliation of that moment, bent over and helpless, the uncertainty about Angel's trustworthiness, the terror of staring down at the scuffed tiles not knowing which of the two vampires would sink sharp teeth into him - they were the sort of memories that left scars.

Willow walked over to the table. "I'm not so sure," she said, placing a large leather bound book on the circular table. "I finally tracked down a book that mentions the Realm. A day late, but it might still help us. The vampires there aren't like Spike, even before the chip. Killing humans is frowned on, unless it's for punishment or certain rituals. If they find out that Spike's racked up hundreds of kills, they won't be impressed."

"Well, he can't kill now, so that's not likely to come up in conversation, is it?" said Xander, thinking privately that Willow was making a bit of a fuss.

"Oh, it'll come up, knowing Spike," said Willow grimly. "And as he's expected to feed quite often during the day, to make up for only taking a little at a time, it won't be long before they find out his other liability." She paused, and looked at Xander, a hint of challenge in her large eyes. "They'll kill him for being a murderer, or they'll kill him for being - in their eyes - crippled. Any vampire who gets too weak to feed is killed by something called the Ordeal, to purge their taint from the clan. And you might not care if he dies, Xander, but Buffy does."

"Oh, I care," said Xander. "For two reasons. The first is that it'll leave Buffy alone over there - and the second is that I won't get to see it." He walked off, his eyes hard, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Tara and Willow exchanged glances.

"He's got -"

"Issues," finished Willow sadly. "And the real problem is that Spike's the least of them."

***

The Realm. Late afternoon.

Buffy was talking to Sadrin, the leader of the group. The other men had still to speak and she wondered if they were mute, scared or if there was some ban on talking to her. "So, you don't mind the vampires feeding off you?" she asked curiously.

She got a look of puzzled incomprehension in return. "They need our blood to live. We would be cruel to withhold it, when it doesn't hurt us to give it." He shifted from foot to foot, obviously uneasy. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was asking questions or the fact that she wasn't moving until she got answers that bothered him most.

"Being dead doesn't hurt? Well, I suppose it doesn't, but getting there's not much fun."

Again there was that look. Buffy sighed. "I think we need to sit down and clear the air a little," she said.

"We don't need a bloody history lesson, Slayer," hissed Spike. He was feeling twitchy. Being out in the sun was making him nervous now the initial elation had faded. It was too bright. He couldn't shake the uneasy fear that suddenly the rules would change and he would be on fire - briefly.

Buffy looked at him and seemed to sense his agitation but he got the fleeting impression that it amused her. He was really starting to feel peculiar. Unfamiliar emotions were tugging at him, making him feel defenceless and exposed. "I really think it might be useful, Spike," she insisted. "Let's all sit over there for a minute." She pointed towards an outcrop of rock. Sadrin shrugged and obediently trudged to the rocks, sitting down and looking a little nervous. His four companions stood as if on guard. Spike sighed and followed Buffy over to the makeshift seats.

"Where we come from, Sadrin," Buffy began, " Vampires aren't the reason people donate blood. They're the reason I'm called the Slayer." She hesitated. Maybe she was being a little cryptic? "To be blunt, vampires are soulless demons who feed from humans and either leave them dead or turn them into more vampires. My job is to slay as many as I can. I live in a town that's built over, well, a gateway to hell, so it tends to attract them. I bag four or five a night but they just keep on coming."

Sadrin stared at her, his mouth slack with shock. "You _kill_ the Immortal ones?" he managed to say. "You take away their chance at life everlasting? What kind of a monster are you?"

"Obviously the bit about them killing their victims slipped right on by," Buffy snapped, rolling her eyes impatiently. She didn't like being called names for doing her job.

Sadrin waved his hands in agitated reproof. "They rarely kill! Why should they? If they kill us, they cannot feed from us again. It would make no sense. I suppose you could say that in a way, one who is chosen to ascend to their exalted level dies, but that's being very literal. It is an honour that all aspire to but few are granted."

Spike chuckled. "Give it up, Buffy," he advised. "Whole different set up here. Don't go rocking the boat."

Buffy tried to grapple with the idea of vampires being welcome parasites and failed. Maybe Spike had been right. Forget the sociology and get the mission completed. Sadrin and his friends might be planning to betray them of course, but now she had her strength back, they would be easy to defeat, easy to hurt. Strange how appealing that thought was.

"So why are you helping her then?" Spike asked, still convinced that this was an elaborate trap.

Sadrin stared at him, solemnly and brushed back a lock of brown hair from his weather beaten face. "We were commanded," he said. "By Lord Grelin." An odd expression passed over his face. "He is - not like the others," he said carefully, "doubtless because he has been apart from them for so long." There was a pensive silence. His companions seemed to sigh wordlessly as though the thought of Grelin's differences were painful to contemplate.

Buffy exchanged a swift look with Spike. If Grelin had told these people to help the Slayer, they had just moved off the 'to be trusted' list for good. She toyed with the idea of threatening Sadrin to get to the truth but decided to play along for a while.

"Grelin's been living in our world for quite some time," Buffy said. "So he's from here originally, is he?"

"Lord Grelin is one of the most powerful of the Immortals. His power grew so great that he faced many rivals and was forced to leave the Realm. He has been gone for years. He returned but days ago."

"'Years'?" asked Spike. "More like centuries. He'd been around forever when Angel was turned. I'd say he was on our turf for about six hundred years, give or take a decade."

Sadrin shook his head firmly. "Lord Grelin left when my father was a child, perhaps seventy five years ago, no more."

"Whoa," said Buffy. "I know the answer to this one. It's like different time zones, or the hour going on in the fall."

"'Spring forward, fall back'," murmured Spike. "Ask a vampire about the sense of that; the sun still rises and sets just the same. One of your, umm, the government's dafter notions."

"That's it though," Buffy said. "Now we need to work it out. It can only be an estimate, as you're not sure how long Grelin was in our dimension, but it should do. Seventy five years equals six hundred." Her brow furrowed and Spike could have sworn her lips moved as she tried to work it out. He surreptitiously used his fingers to help calculate the ratio, his mental arithmetic being more than a little rusty.

"Six!" Buffy said triumphantly.

Spike sighed. "It's eight, you silly sausage."

"Silly _what_?" demanded Buffy, her face darkening.

He reached out and patted her arm, taking in the signs of temper, a quiver of unease growing in his mind. "Term of endearment," he said smoothly, grinning as her eyes narrowed. "Trust me, it's eight. Not as bad as it might have been but we'd better get our skates on."

"Unless we want to miss summer altogether," Buffy agreed. "So, eight days here, equal one at home?"

"Other way round, you - oh, you're teasing are you? Right!"

Sadrin watched with amazement as Spike chased Buffy around the rock twice before giving up and calling a truce. "If you are done, we should be on our way before darkness falls," he said, tentatively gazing at Buffy as she collapsed to the ground giggling, her good humour restored.

She sobered and pursed her lips. "No offence," she said bluntly, "but I wouldn't mind knowing a bit more about Grelin's plans before we march off to a trap or our painful deaths."

"I know nothing of such matters, Slayer. I was told that you would appear, as happens every -"

"Hundred and twenty five years," said Spike, marveling at the way his times tables were creaking back into full operation. He'd be reciting French irregular verbs next.

"Huh? Oh, that's a thousand of our years. Doesn't have as much of a ring to it, somehow, does it?" commented Buffy.

"Loses something, yes," agreed Spike, watching Sadrin's face with sardonic amusement. The poor guy was in so deep, it'd take him hours to swim back up to the surface. Half an hour of Buffy had turned his world upside down. Spike could sympathise with that in some ways. He often found Buffy bewildering. Of course, that was when she was just Buffy. Now she was showing signs of being like a fledgling vamp, touchy, impulsive and unfocused. Spike sighed. Giles was going to kill him if she stayed like this. It occurred to him that this was the first time he would have cared about Giles' reaction and he sighed again. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody, hell.

"And that when you did appear, I should guide you to the Wellspring, as did my father's father," Sadrin finished, obviously determined to complete the recitation of his orders.

Buffy looked intrigued. "Tell me what happened," she said eagerly. "A Slayer from 1002 met your grandfather! That's like, so cool and yet majorly weird." She pulled a face and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Sadrin looked at her, his face expressionless. "He told me that she died screaming. I hope your end is swift." He stood, brushing dust from his trousers. "You seem like a nice girl."

Chapter Three

The Realm. Late afternoon.

Matthew peered around the door of Grelin's chambers. His plans were simple. He was going to take the shield - _his_ shield after all - and then take advantage of Fellor's absence to steal a horse. He had noticed the direction the riders took when they left in the morning to relieve the others on watch. He would ride out that way and try to find the Slayer.

The room was empty yet full of menace. Grelin left a trail of despair wherever he went, like a repulsive slug. Thinking back, Matthew realised that at every party he had given where Grelin was a guest, there had been a rash of fights, relationships ending, an escalation in alcohol or drug consumption. He had brought out the hidden evil in everyone he touched and his final victory had been to instigate Matthew's vile murder of his lover. Matthew bit his lip. It was easy to blame Grelin but if he were to be honest, he had been weak. Would any of his friends have fallen under Grelin's spell so readily? Self - loathing left him shaking but he forced back his nervousness, focusing on his mission. His spirits rose, as he imagined the Slayer's gratitude when he handed her the shield.

Resolutely, Matthew strode across the carpet and flung open the ornately carved chest tucked away in a corner of the room. Kneeling, he scrabbled amongst the clothing that had lain on top of the white shield. It had gone. His fingers scraped the wooden floor of the chest and he moaned in despair, his confidence draining away again.

"Could it be this that you're searching for so desperately?" purred Grelin from the doorway. Matthew swung round to face his former friend, clambering to his feet, his heart thudding painfully. Grelin was holding the shield in his hands, his fingers splayed across its surface. Matthew felt that it was besmirched by his touch. He half expected Grelin's hands to leave bloody prints on the pristine surface.

"It's mine," Matthew said, his voice growing stronger as his anger grew. "You had no right to take it."

Grelin's face registered scornful surprise. "No right? Can you possibly think that your money could purchase this? It belongs to the Immortals, not the race of humans. The Shield of Andar crossed over to the Realm when the creator of vampires left your miserable land. It disappeared soon after. I know now that it was sent back to your world with the first Slayer to cross over to visit the Wellspring. She stole it. Now this Slayer will need it and I wonder if that's the reason for your audacious attempt at theft."

Matthew glared at him. "The shield is mine," he said stubbornly, instinctively keeping his desire to help the Slayer secret. "I care nothing for this girl."

Grelin nodded thoughtfully, seemingly accepting this. "No matter. I have to get it to her and I believe she will trust you more than she would me. You can lie, tell her a tale of how I kidnapped you, brought you here by force, how you long to return - I'm sure you can fill in the details. Or maybe, hmm - " Grelin looked pensive but didn't elaborate.

"I don't understand why you're helping her," Matthew said slowly. "I thought you wanted to steal the power for yourself."

"It isn't stealing!" snapped Grelin, his anger the first real emotion he had shown. "That power is based here, in my world. It should not leave. And it should not be given to one who slaughters us like beasts." He passed a hand over his eyes and regained his icy calm with an effort. "She is the only one who can initiate the power transfer and to do that, she must have the Shield with her. As soon as she goes into the trance, I will kill the vampire who stands guard over her, pathetic mongrel that he is, and link myself to her. In the world of dreams, I will fight her and once she is dead, the power will flow into me. All of it, for me, for ever. I will gather all the power and keep it safe. I will have all that I wish for and more." His voice sank to a whisper, as he became lost in dreams.

"Why do you hate the vampire she is with so much?" asked Matthew, alert for any hint of weakness in Grelin's armour.

Grelin roused himself, staring at Matthew blankly for a second. "His name is Angelus. Once he was a mighty fighter, strong, not like the soft weaklings that my people here have become. He was magnificent." Grelin chuckled, his fingers going to a long scar down his cheek. "And so was his mate. I bear no ill will for the marks she gave me, but Angelus and his young whelp - what they did was shameful." Once again, he seemed to be sunk in a reverie, but this time his face was dark with anger.

"W-what did they do?" whispered Matthew, almost afraid to ask.

Grelin stared at him. "It is past," he said with finality. "And Angelus is no more. He was cursed with a soul. I could not have wished for a crueler punishment. It means he is no match for me. He has become allied with the Slayer, or so I heard, overcome by guilt for his centuries of killing." Grelin spat contemptuously. "He would fit in well here, I have no doubt, with these degenerates who no longer hold true to the old ways. Unfortunately, he won't get the opportunity. When you give the Slayer your gift, it would be ill-mannered of you not to gift Angelus too."

"I don't understand," said Matthew dully, feeling the oppressive wave of sorrow breaking over him once more as his plan foundered.

"You will take this wine - he was always fond of a bottle, as I recall - and you will insist that all drink a toast. He will be suspicious of course, but once you have drunk, he will see no harm in doing likewise. Vampires are not susceptible to poison after all."

"What's in it?" Matthew said bluntly, fear rousing him a little.

"To you, nothing but a fine red wine. To Angelus, well, let us say, it will bring back memories." Grelin's thin lips stretched in a smile that promised pain. "And just to make quite certain that you tell the right story to the Slayer, I think you need to rest a while." Matthew frowned as he tried to make sense of Grelin's words. Grelin's fingers were moving, writhing in complex patterns. Matthew tried not to watch but his gaze was trapped like a fly in honey. As his senses slipped away, he heard Grelin begin to talk in a persuasive, gentle voice.

***

The Realm. Early evening.

Buffy shook her head, sending her hair flying wildly. "That can't be right," she objected. "The Slayer line didn't end a thousand years ago, so she can't have died here without switching the power on, recharging the batteries, whatever. You've made a mistake." Her voice was cold now and she stood over Sadrin, her hands fisted, her lips curling back. With a slight sense of shock, Spike realised that she was trying to slip into game face. Her hand went up, about to finger the necklace that would make her look like a vampire if it touched her skin. Spike moved swiftly to her side to stop her, taking her hand in his. She shook him off angrily but didn't try to touch the necklace again.

Sadrin gave her a pitying look, ignoring the threat she posed, as a parent ignores a child's tantrum. "It was the price she paid for the power. It killed her."

"And I suppose it doesn't matter where the Slayer dies, the spell just keeps on going, back on Earth," said Spike, not as shaken by the news as Buffy expected.

She rounded on him furiously. "Could we please be a little more giving with the sympathy?" she demanded. "If I have to be tortured to death so there can be another Slayer then fine, but I'm not exactly looking forward to it." Her lip quivered slightly. Buffy had gone up against odds that seemed impossible, monsters that seemed invulnerable. She'd died twice already - but dying like this would be very hard. She wasn't sure she could do it, but she knew she didn't really have a choice. Slayers just didn't.

Spike gripped her hands hard and she felt that strange current run between them again, refreshing her spirits and calming the rage and fear swirling through her mind. "She might have died. You won't." he said, his voice level and decisive.

"You can't know that," Buffy protested weakly, wanting him to convince her.

Spike bared his teeth in what might have passed for a smile. "Anyone tries to kill you, they come through me, Slayer. And you're not dying in front of me again. I swear it. But I think we need to have a little chat -"

***

Sunnydale. May 10. Night.

Xander staggered through the front door of the Summers' house and made it to the sofa - barely - lying along it with his head resting on several cushions. Dawn rushed over to him, concerned, but he waved her off. "I'm fine, Dawnie, just exhausted," he said. "Wouldn't mind a glass of water though."

Dawn and Tara were the only ones who hadn't patrolled that night. They knew that Buffy would slice and dice them if Dawn got hurt and Tara had some research she wanted to finish which made her the perfect sitter. Xander was uneasily conscious that several vampires had escaped staking and were presumably spreading the news that the Slayer was a no show for the second night in a row. Dawn brought him his drink and he held the glass in a trembling hand before managing to bring it to his lips.

"Why are you so wasted and where are the others?" Dawn asked, her sympathy receding, as Xander wasn't actually bleeding, just dusty and bruised.

"Right behind - make that right here," said Xander as the hallway filled with people in much the same state as himself. "I put on an extra burst of speed at the corner so I could have dibs on the comfy seat."

Anya came in, picked up his feet, swung them round and let them drop to the floor. Ignoring his moan of anguish, she fell into the space she'd cleared and stared at Dawn groggily. "Your sister," she said.

"Yes?" Dawn asked brightly.

"She needs to come back. Now."

Tara emerged from the kitchen with a platter full of sandwiches, chips and dips. When Xander remained recumbent, she looked concerned. The others found seats and began to pick at the food, but it was obvious that the night's work had drained them.

"You guys patrolled all summer," said Dawn. "I don't remember you being this tired." She sounded vaguely disapproving and Anya summoned up enough energy to give her a look of loathing.

"We had the robot and we had Spike," Giles pointed out, sounding a little put out himself. "And the vampires are far more numerous than they were then."

Andrew Carlton looked thoughtful. "I remember the Slayer commenting on that, just before she left," he said. "If I had to venture a guess, it would be that as her powers lessened, the demons sensed it somehow."

"They're moving in for the kill," said Willow. She turned to Giles. "We have to find out how long Buffy will be gone!"

Tara coughed. "I may have worked that out," she said timidly.

"Well, I must say, that's fast work!" Carlton said heartily, giving her an approving smile. He liked Tara because she seemed to be slightly on the outside of this tight knit group, which meant that he had company. This field trip was turning out to be exciting but he longed for his office and the ordered quiet of his life. He might have been dealing with vampires and demons there too, but they weren't hanging onto his jacket, spattering him with sticky ooze or dying in front of him and coating him with dust. He made a mental note to push for a pay rise for all the field operatives. Poor blighters deserved it.

Tara blushed at the compliment. "Tonight I traced what may be Grelin's first appearance. I can't be certain, but it was at least 620 years ago. He's mentioned as being one of the knights at King Richard the Second's court. But he was very reclusive."

"Understandably so," mused Giles. "One wonders how he avoided discovery. Not many mirrors back then, of course."

"He didn't," said Tara dryly. "He was accused of being in league with the Dark Forces and fled, leaving behind the bodies of seven of his servants, all with these funny marks on their necks."

"I don't understand how that helps you sort out the time difference, though," said Xander, roused from his exhaustion by the speed at which the chips were vanishing as people recovered from the patrol and dived into the food. Grabbing a handful he began to munch happily.

Tara tucked her hair behind her ears, perching on the arm of Willow's chair. "Grelin also appears in the book on the Realm," she said. "He was banished because he kept killing people when he fed and that's not done over there."

"And can I just say, some of the people we met tonight could learn from that excellent example?" Xander said enthusiastically.

Anya nodded agreement, fingering a long tear in her sweater with a resentful frown on her face. She made a mental note to dress in older clothes next time. Or to borrow one of Buffy's jackets.

Tara glanced around and carried on as Giles gave her an encouraging nod. "I also found a reference to when the last Slayer went over there. The date the book gives for that, combined with the date Grelin left, well, it's pretty simple math."

"I'll take your word for that," said Dawn, pulling a face at the mention of mathematics, "but what's the difference?" She looked at Tara beseechingly, her face pale.

Tara smiled at her reassuringly. "Eight," she said. "Not much at all. One day there is eight days here. She'll be gone a couple of weeks maybe." She took in the expressions on the faces of the patrollers and frowned. "That's good, isn't it? Here we were thinking she might be gone years and it's only going to be a few weeks at most."

"You weren't out there," said Xander, fatigue robbing his voice of emotion but giving it authority. "We'll be lucky to last the weekend. The way the vamps are popping up, we'll be overrun by the time she gets back."

Tara sighed. "We need help," she said. There was a chorus of muted agreement but no suggestions.

"May I see that book, Tara?" Carlton asked, stretching out his hand.

"The one about the Realm? Sure." Tara passed it over to him.

"What is it, Andrew?" asked Giles, watching as his friend paged through the yellow, crackling leaves of the book.

"Don't you think it a little odd that a book with all this information exists at all, let alone here in Sunnydale?"

Silence fell. "It was on the private shelves in the shop," said Willow. "It must be yours, Giles."

The Watcher shook his head. "I know all my books," he said, as one stated a fact of nature. Tara and Willow nodded as Dawn and Xander exchanged looks of incomprehension.

"Giles, you have more books than anyone," Xander said. "Maybe this one just slipped your memory?"

"This isn't the time for levity, Xander," replied Giles.

"Really wasn't being funny," muttered Xander under his breath, leaning back against the cushions sulkily.

"It's plain that this book was planted on my shelves by someone," said Giles. "We can't be certain of their motive and so the information within the book must be treated with suspicion."

"Oh, I assure you it's legitimate," said a voice. The front door swung shut with a click. As one, they turned towards the hallway. Standing there, his hands in his pockets, a cocky smile on his face, was a familiar but far from welcome visitor.

"Can't tell you how good it is to be back in dear old Sunnydale," said Ethan Rayne.

Chapter Four

The Realm. Early evening.

Spike had gone with Buffy to a place where they could still see Sadrin and his men, but they were out of earshot. "What is it?" she asked. Smiling flirtatiously, she wound her hands behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "Do you want to taste me again?" she murmured. That did it.

"No, I bloody well don't! Buffy, listen to yourself, the things you're saying, the way you're acting - "

Buffy pouted. "I thought you liked it when we fed. I did. I liked it a lot - both times."

Spike grabbed her hands, which were wandering over his body. He felt certain that Sadrin was getting an eyeful and he was hot with embarrassment. He groaned. He'd once made love to Dru on a London stage, in front of an audience too stunned to leave. Of course, when they tried, they discovered that the doors were locked. Spike had risen from Drusilla's spread eagled body, splendidly naked the pair of them, and worked his way through the crowd, feeding or killing as the whim took him. The play had been an experimental one, the audience only fifty strong but it had been a wonderful tale to spread amongst their kind. And it served as a warning to the playwrights of the 1920's perhaps; bore your audience and who knows what they'll do to entertain themselves.

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Spike forced Buffy's hands away from him. "Feeding off each other, it's affecting us. I'm full of human emotions, embarrassment being the main one at the moment. You're the spitting image of any fledgling who's had their first neck and wants more. Sloppy, careless; the sort that gets staked by you when you're in your right mind. You hated it when you drank from me in the crypt, last year; you only did it because you'd have died otherwise. Keep thinking about that."

His voice got more forceful and he shook her shoulders to drive home the point. Her eyes widened and realisation spread over her face. "I do feel - different," she admitted slowly. "Do you think this is part of a test or something?"

Spike shrugged. "Could be. If I get any more human, you might as well lend me that necklace, 'cause I'll be too wimpy to get my fangs out." He stared down at her face, now looking worried, and he softened. "But I'll never be so weak I can't protect you," he said, "and not letting you feed is part of protecting you."

"Even if it means I can't fight? I can feel my strength going already."

"We'll see. But emergencies only, right? Not going to let you get a taste for it. And I'm not going to let you get hurt either."

Buffy smiled gratefully at Spike. She knew as well as he did, that all the good intentions in the world didn't mean you could save people you loved. Her mother was a good example of that. But she was still reassured by his resolve to protect her. She'd been Spike's adversary for long enough to be aware that he was formidable in battle and about as likely to break under pressure as a chunk of diamond.

"Let's move out," she said, filled with urgency, as dusk began to gather around them. "If there's a trap, we're prepared, we'll trip it."

Spike nodded, relieved that she seemed to be fighting back against the effects of his blood in her body. Hand in hand, they walked back to the patient group. "After you, mate," he said to Sadrin with a genial smile that didn't reach his eyes.

They had just reached the edge of the clearing when they heard a horse approaching, not galloping, as the trees were thick, but trotting along the trail that they had been using. "Do you think it's those vampires again?" Buffy asked Spike quietly.

"Only one this time," said Spike, listening carefully.

The horse and its rider came into sight and Buffy frowned. She recognised him from the photographs that Andrew Carlton had shown them. Unless the evidence was misleading, they were about to meet a human who made most demons look cuddly. She stepped forward as the horse slowed to a walk. "Matthew Delvers?" she asked politely, a slight edge to her voice.

He flinched, his eyes raking her with an avid desperation that made her want to step back. "You know me?" he said.

"If you're the one who chopped your girl up and used her blood to get here, then, yeah, we do," said Spike, not liking the way Delvers had looked at Buffy.

Delvers slipped down from the horse, which ambled away and began to crop at the grass contentedly. "I didn't know what I was doing!" he cried out frantically. "You have to believe me!"

"We really don't," said Spike. He wandered over to the pathetic figure and gave him a clinical appraisal. "Looks to me like your typical human who got more than he bargained for, but don't be fooled, Slayer. He knew the score." He glared at Delvers, "_Didn't_ you?"

Delvers burst into tears, his face crumpling and his legs giving way. Buffy and Spike stared at the heap of misery in front of them and said nothing.

'This is one of Lord Grelin's horses," announced Sadrin. Showing more emotion than they had seen before, he went over to Matthew and kicked him sharply in the side. "Thief!" he declared.

"Hey!" Buffy protested, as Sadrin's foot came back again. "Leave him alone. You don't know he stole the horse." She bent down by Matthew and said, in a more doubtful tone, "Did you steal it?" Spike smiled as she instinctively protected the man. That was more like Buffy. And he'd not even felt a twinge of pity, which was a relief. It seemed that once you knew what was happening to you, it was possible to fight it. He hoped so.

A tear stained face was raised to hers. "No," he whispered. "Grelin gave it to me, told me to find you. I have gifts for you both."

"Okay, now this is getting silly. He's supposed to be the bad guy and he's giving us guides and fruit baskets? I am so not liking this!" Buffy looked disgusted.

"So what are these gifts, then?" Spike said impatiently, his arms folded.

Matthew struggled to his feet, holding his side and walked over to the horse. Reaching into the saddle bags, he pulled out two objects swathed in cloth. Going over to Buffy, he presented her with the largest item. "This belonged to me," he said. "You need it to help you fight evil and so I give it to you freely." Buffy looked at him doubtfully but took it and unwrapped it. She gasped as she saw the shimmering white shield.

"Are you sure you want to -" she began, awed by its beauty. The setting sun seemed to tint it red for a second and she shivered.

"Oh, please!" Spike interrupted. "We need that to do what we came for so just take it. He can have it back afterwards."

Buffy gave him a look that should have reduced him to smouldering ashes. "Jealous because _you_ didn't get anything?" she asked sweetly.

"I have a gift for Angelus," Matthew said eagerly. "Grelin was pleased that you were with the Slayer and offers you this wine to toast the success of your mission." He withdrew the bottle from its wrappings and presented it to Spike.

"Well, if I see Peaches again, I'll be sure to -"

"'Angelus', maybe you should open it, as Grelin wanted," Buffy said casually.

Spike took her meaning at once and played along. "Sure," he said. "Wouldn't say 'no' to a drink." Using his thumb, he pushed the cork in and raised the bottle to his lips. "But where's my manners?" he said. "You try it first, mate. By the looks of you, you need it more than I do." He held the bottle out to Matthew with a slightly mocking bow of his head.

Matthew only had Grelin's assurance that it wouldn't harm him, but he had given the Slayer what she needed and a swift death by poison was preferable to the horrors of remembering his deeds. He accepted the bottle and drank deeply. Spike nodded and glanced at Buffy who shrugged noncommittally. Matthew passed the bottle back to Spike who sniffed at it and then shook his head. "Smells corked. I really don't think I will." He held it out to Matthew, who took it automatically.

"You would insult Lord Grelin by refusing his gift?" said Sadrin, outrage plain on his face.

"In a heartbeat," said Spike, smiling at the joke. "But if you want some, be my guest."

"I swear that it is safe," Matthew said. "Grelin told me that it would bring back memories, that's all. Is it a wine you drank together in the past?"

Comprehension spread over Buffy's face. "Memories. Of all that Angelus did, all at once. Of course. It wouldn't kill but it would be like an emotional avalanche."

"Way he broods, you'd be lucky if he spoke for the next week, let alone be any use fighting," Spike agreed. "Still not going to taste it though."

"No," said Buffy, needling him slightly, "it might make you so nostalgic for the killing fields that _you_ start brooding."

"I don't understand," said Matthew, still gripping the bottle, an uncertain look on his face.

"Join the club," said Spike. "We don't understand most of what's happened since we set foot in this place and I'm getting just a little bit tired of it all." He slipped into game face and advanced on Matthew. "Now why don't you be a good little murderer and fill us in on everything we need to know and maybe I'll ignore the way my tummy's rumbling."

Sadrin cried out in shock as he realised Spike's true nature and his four companions, still silent, moved swiftly to his side. In unison, they knelt, tilting their heads to one side, offering their necks. Buffy shuddered with repulsion. Spike looked wistful and then decided that it would get boring fast if food stopped running away. "Thanks, but I'm sworn to only feed from the Slayer until this quest is over," he said grandly. "While I am her, uh, Guardian, I can drink no lesser blood. Sorry about that." He swung round to face Matthew and growled mendaciously. "I can still have some fun hurting you though, so start talking."

Matthew quailed and began to talk, sometimes haltingly, with averted eyes, sometimes almost babbling. When he had told them all he knew, he stopped dead, looking at them imploringly.

"So, Grelin's not a bad sort, after all and it's you who's the killer?" Spike said sceptically. "He's all keen on the Slayer regaining her powers and pushing off back home because he's never returning to our world, so why should he care?"

Matthew frowned, his mind struggling with Spike's summary. It wasn't quite right, somehow. Deep in his mind, a memory was screaming at him to be noticed but Grelin's conditioning held. "Y-yes," he said doubtfully.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "You don't sound very certain," she observed. "Me, I'm sticking with the 'Grelin is a villain' theory. Now you lot get up, you look silly, Delvers, you get back on your horse and go back to your pal and Mr Guardian here can come and earn his keep."

"I get paid for this?" Spike wondered audibly.

Buffy leaned in and kissed him fast. 'There," she said. "Hmm. No zap that time. Pity. Looks like we would have to feed again for me to get my powers back."

"Are you saying you only kiss me when you want something?" Spike protested. "I'm deeply hurt."

"I always want something when I kiss you," Buffy said and turned away, the shield on her arm, leaving Spike to work that one out in his own time.

The clearing emptied and Matthew stood, lost and alone. After a moment he began to follow them, his feet dragging as if he had no other choice. He ignored the horse, which tossed its head and continued to munch the lush grass, its reins trailing.

***

Sunnydale. May 10. Night.

There was silence as the people in the room stared at Ethan. He had been prepared for shock, even threats, but blank faces rather disconcerted him. He covered it with some typical bluster. "Giles, you're looking well. Considering. And Andrew! Congratulations on the promotion, old man. I knew your father would wangle it one day."

Giles had been lounging in an armchair. He raised an eyebrow and said calmly, "Dear me, Ethan. It's called a door. One knocks on it. Did your spell with the Army deprive you of all your manners?"

"As if my lack of etiquette concerns you!" sneered Ethan.

"I know you," Anya said suddenly. "You were in the shop for twenty minutes last Wednesday and didn't buy anything!"

"Oh, please! Over priced tatt. I'd as soon get my supplies from someone reputable." Anya gasped at the insult and began to struggle out of her seat, clearly intending to teach him the error of his ways. Xander reached for her wrist, holding her in place.

"Ignore him, Anya," said Giles. "I suspect he was hanging around waiting for a chance to slip that book onto my shelves when your attention was elsewhere. And as he made a practise of substituting dried house spider web when the spell specifically stated that only black widow web would do, I hardly think he's in a position to get snooty about quality."

"Oh," said Anya, subsiding. "A cost cutting amateur. We had a name for them when I was a vengeance demon."

"What?" asked Dawn curiously.

"The, soon to be dead in various repulsive fashions, people."

"Ah. Catchy!"

Ethan sighed theatrically. "Can you people ever stay focused?" he complained. "Don't you want to know why I added to your preposterously large book collection, Ripper?"

Giles went through the calming ritual of cleaning his glasses before replying. "Grelin told you to, and you were being a good little lackey," he said.

Andrew crowed with laughter as Ethan's face soured. "What did he promise you, Rayne? I know you; you wouldn't do it out of the goodness of your heart."

Ethan smiled thinly. "No, but I would to further the cause of Chaos and believe me, people, when Grelin gets back, Chaos is going to throw a party."

"Will there be hats and ice cream?" Xander said innocently. "I'm thinking, an evil party, the elastic on the hats would snap or dig into your neck and the ice cream would be all runny, or a really nasty flavour and -"

"_Will_ you cease your inane babbling!" snapped Ethan. He looked at Giles appealingly. "Can't we discuss this over a beer somewhere, away from the children?"

"No, we bloody well can't," said Giles. "I haven't forgotten what happened after the last time we got drunk together. If you've got some misleading information to share, or a message from Grelin, be quick and say your piece. Otherwise, get the hell out of this house. You're not welcome."

"Fine. I can take a hint."

"The fact that you're in front of me again shows that you can't."

"Ripper, if you want to see your precious Slayer again, I'd shut up."

Xander swore later that Giles teleported, he moved so fast. Ethan found himself grabbed by his shirt and thrust against a wall, his head cracking against it hard enough to make Tara wince. The others, with more experience of Ethan's ways, showed no sympathy at all. Giles' hand slid upwards and locked around Ethan's throat. Slowly, inexorably, it began to tighten, making Ethan choke and gasp for breath. He clawed ineffectually at the hand that was squeezing the life from his body while Giles watched his struggles, lips compressed in a slight smile, eyes hard. When Ethan's eyes rolled up, Giles slackened the pressure a little, allowing his victim enough oxygen to revive slightly.

"If you ever threaten Buffy again, in word or deed, I'll treat myself to the welcome task of ridding the world of your presence," he said quietly.

Ethan held up a hand in surrender. Giles released him, stepped out of reach and pointed at an upright chair in the corner. "Sit over there, Ethan. Xander, why don't you get Ethan a drink?"

Xander started to protest and then realised that Giles had turned away from Ethan and was mouthing a word at him. Xander smiled. "Sure, Giles," he said easily. "It might help him talk."

He stood up but Willow stood too. "No need for rope, Xander," she said, eying Ethan coldly. Pointing her finger at him, she murmured a short phrase and gave her finger a negligent twirl. Silver cords of air wrapped around Ethan's legs and torso, pinning him to the chair. His eyes bulged with outrage but he had the sense to keep quiet.

Tara looked uneasy at Willow's use of magic when a rope was all that was needed, but with the deed done, decided to save any comments for later. Giles glanced at the witch with a slight frown but nodded briskly. "And now that we have your attention, Ethan -"

Chapter Five

Sunnydale. May 10. Night.

It didn't take too long to extract all that Ethan knew. It might have done perhaps, but at the first hint of evasion Giles sent Dawn out of the room on a pretext. He then raised his eyebrows at the others, jerking his head towards the door. After the room had cleared of all but Andrew Carlton, he systematically began to beat Ethan bloody. Carlton, as befitted his exalted status, didn't bruise his knuckles on Ethan's face, but took neat notes of everything that - finally - came out of Ethan's bleeding, swollen lips. After Ethan, his head drooping like a water deprived cut flower, had run out of things to say, no matter what the incentive, Giles walked away, his heart sickened. His Slayer was at risk, the world around him was on the verge of disaster and there was nothing he could do.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of imitating Delvers and using Ethan's blood to open a portal to the Realm, but that was a line he could not cross. Not yet. If Buffy and Spike were killed, someone needed to take the fight to Grelin when he returned to Earth. Though Giles doubted any force could defeat him if he had indeed found some way to distill and absorb the power meant to fuel a thousand Slayers into his own, already powerful, frame.

Sinking into a chair, Giles allowed himself the luxury of a moment of quiet reflection. He had less than thirty seconds of peace before the banished Scoobies crept back in, their eyes wide as they saw the ruined features of Ethan Rayne.

Xander spoke for them all when he said, "Remind me to remember this, next time I think of you as Library Man, Giles."

With his eyes shut, Giles smiled slightly.

The Realm. Evening.

As the sun set, Sadrin's men lit torches, simple ones, made by wrapping rages around branches, soaking them with a thick, oily liquid from jars in their packs, and then setting them alight. They allowed the journey to continue but it wasn't easy to walk on a path that was crossed with tree roots and brambles. Buffy peered into the shadows, unease prickling the back of her neck. Somehow, what had been a wide trail suitable for a horse, had petered out to a path so narrow that they could barely walk single file. Spike was behind her, the last in the line and his vampire vision made him more sure footed but even he seemed to stumble now and then.

"Sadrin!" Buffy called softly. He was at the head of the line and he stopped immediately, turning round to address her. "Yes, Slayer?"

"This just isn't working. We're averaging a yard a minute and if I leave any more of my hair on brambles, I'm going to be bald. How much further _is_ this place anyway?"

Sadrin hesitated and then replied, "Not far, but my village is closer still. Would you like to rest there and complete your task tomorrow?"

Buffy had thought that she couldn't get any more suspicious of Sadrin but she discovered how wrong she had been. Going to stay with the villains never worked out well in the movies. She opened her mouth to protest but looking around, she realised that she didn't have a choice. Again. She sensed that her actions were being manipulated, her movements choreographed by a hidden puppet master. Grelin? Or something connected with the Wellspring? Spike moved closer, his mouth to her ear. "Not sure about this," he whispered, echoing her misgivings.

"Nor me, but what else can we do? Do you think he'll give us directions? If he did, could we find it in the dark?" Buffy looked around again. The utter darkness of a world without streetlights and with an overcast, moonless sky was getting to her. She wanted to scream out for someone to turn on the lights. Silly, really. Cemeteries weren't all that well lit, after all and she spent enough time in those. Spike's arms slipped around her and she leaned back into his embrace for a moment. Held close like that, the darkness became a soft blanket, wrapping her safely, hiding her from unfriendly eyes. She found his hand and squeezed it gently, gratefully. He dropped a kiss on her hair and released her.

Buffy made up her mind and called out, "We'll go to your home, Sadrin, thank you."

There was silence and then he answered, his voice almost melancholy, "As you wish it, Slayer."

***

The Realm. Evening.

Grelin had ordered Matthew to stay close to the Slayer, so he wasn't surprised when he didn't return. It was highly possible that he was dead of course. Angelus would be in a guilt-fuelled frenzy, maddened by memories of his misdeeds, undimmed by time, unsoftened by remorse. In revenge, the Slayer might well have dispatched the one who had brought her lover to such a state. The news that Fellor had disappeared brought a crease to his forehead though. Questioning of the other stable workers gave him an idea of when Fellor had met his fate. He had no hesitation in linking it to Matthew's visit to his chambers at a time when he should have been working under Fellor's supervision. Pursing his lips, he wondered whether to be glad that Matthew still had some fire left to stamp out, or angry that a useful employee was now dust on the wind.

Grelin moved to the open window and stared out into the night. "I feel you, Slayer," he murmured. "You will rest poorly tonight, fearful of every noise, certain that you are in danger. It is that fear that I send against you, weakening your resolve, sapping your strength. Tomorrow, we will meet and I will make all your nightmares come true." He smiled and reached for a bow that lay on the table beside the window. Taking an arrow, black, with a silver point, runes carved into its length, he fitted it into the bow and shot it. The arrow sped out, cleaving the air, leaving a trail of darkness so palpable that it seemed to slice across the sky like black lightning. Impossibly far it traveled and it trailed behind it nightmares, phantasms, demons. It passed over the village where the Slayer and her guardian lay, locked in each other's arms, and their dreams were invaded by horrors. Finally it wavered, as Grelin's control weakened, and plunged to earth, burying itself deep in the soft undergrowth of the forest like a poisoned thorn embedded in flesh.

***

The Realm. Midnight.

Spike woke suddenly and found himself sitting up. If he had been human, his heart would have been hammering, he would have been coated with the sweat that fear brings and he would have been gasping as his terrified body tried to cope with a rush of adrenaline. With none of these reactions possible - he was supposed to cause fear, not feel it - he settled for slipping into game face for a moment, automatically appearing as fearsome as possible. Glancing round the room, his eyes seeing nothing dangerous, he relaxed and lay back, trying to shrug off the nightmare he had just had. Buffy moaned and he grinned, thinking she was complaining that the covers had been pulled off her. Whenever they slept together, he always seemed to end up with the bulk of the sheets over him and as she pointed out, that was most unfair, as he needed them least.

Tucking her in, he tried to put his arm around her but as she felt his touch she jerked back and began to scream, eyes tight shut, fists flailing. Spike tried to wake her, tried to cuddle her, but she stayed asleep, fighting a phantom assailant.

"Buffy! Wake up, love, it's me, it's Spike, I've got you, you're safe -" He kissed her face, trying to get some response.

In a world of shadows, filled with lurking shapes that refused to reveal themselves, Buffy heard his voice. Stepping out into the light, she saw him, platinum haired, blue eyed and handsome, though a stranger to her. Stumbling towards him, sobbing with relief, she stretched out her hands. Cold fingers took her wrists in a painful grip and he leaned close, his face twisting into a demonic form. "I've got you," he said.

"No!" Buffy screamed, twisting away as his fangs scraped along her neck. Running blind, hands stretched out, she fell, smacking down against the hard ground, feeling blood beginning to seep from grazed hands and knees. As she tried to push up, her fingers brushed against a short branch, snapped off a tree. She was armed. Invigorated, she stood and turned to meet her enemy.

She frowned. The vampire in front of her had changed back into his human form. As she circled him warily, the stake raised, he stood still, arms by his side. He was saying something but she couldn't understand his words.

Spike stared down as Buffy cried out in pain, watched as her face smoothed out with relief, and then tensed with fear. Stroking her hair gently, he continued to croon to her, nonsense words, like a parent comforting a child. "I'm here, pet, it's fine, I'm here. I love you, no one's going to hurt you while I'm here. I love you. Wake up, come back to me, wake up Buffy. Please -"

In her dream, the vampire fell to his knees and held out his arms in supplication. She walked over, raised the stake and stopped. His eyes - they drew her in, and she saw in them the message that his lips were repeating over and over.

"I love you."

Buffy dropped the stake and woke up in Spike's arms.

***

Sunnydale. May 10. Night.

Xander turned his back on Ethan, wincing slightly, and looked at the Watcher and his friend. "So - going to fill us in on what he said?"

"D-does he know anything about Buffy?" asked Dawn, her eyes wide and filled with worry.

Giles sighed, stood up and walked over to pat Dawn's shoulder reassuringly. "He told us some information we didn't have that might be of use. It seems Grelin, rather than Delvers, is our main concern." Speaking briefly, he told them of Grelin's plans to steal the power of the Wellspring and use it to rule not only the Realm but Earth. "He has lived in two worlds, both with advantages and disadvantages as far as he is concerned. He plans to remould them both to suit his ideal."

"What will that mean?" asked Willow, filled with foreboding.

Giles gave her a level look. "It appears to be a world where vampires can walk freely in the sun, can kill their victims because the population is great enough that it doesn't matter and where, naturally, he is in charge."

"But that's crazy!" Xander protested. "If vampires stopped skulking and everyone knew about them, well, we'd wipe them out in no time. It's staying secret that saves them. How many vampires are there in the Realm? And would they want to come here? You told us that they don't like killing. Not quite sure I believe that but still - "

"You make some valid points, Xander," said Carlton. Xander preened himself at the unusual praise. "But Grelin is not entirely sane. I doubt that he has thought this through. He will cross over with a small group of acolytes and he will wreak some terror, no doubt, but I imagine once his position is known, the Council's forces will soon -"

"You're forgetting something," said Giles, his voice so quiet that it was barely audible. Carlton looked round in surprise. "If Grelin crosses over, it will be because Buffy is dead."

"Well, yes, possibly -" began Carlton, his tone making it clear that this was regrettable but hardly an unusual occurrence where Slayers were concerned.

"And if this Slayer dies, none will rise to take her place. If you turn to Faith, you'll find her powers have gone too. Who will you send against a vampire with the strength of a thousand Slayers, an immortal returning home to the world that forced his kind out? He will be invincible. He has only to turn each victim and they do likewise, to create an army. And if he can walk in the sun, where will you hide?"

Andrew's mouth hung open with shock and the room was silent until Ethan began to laugh painfully. "It's all over, isn't it Ripper? A new dawn - or should that be a new night?"

Giles stood. "We are not without resources, Ethan but you'll forgive me if we don't discuss them in front of you." He looked at Willow. "Can you put him to sleep?"

She smiled. Walking over to Ethan, she placed her hands on his head and whispered softly. He screamed once and then slumped against the magical bonds that held him. "Pleasant nightmares," she said.

***

The Realm. Midnight.

Buffy looked up at Spike's concerned face. "That was horrible," she whispered. "It was like a Slayer dream but worse. I thought you were going to kill me and I nearly staked you. If I had, I wonder what would have happened? It felt so real."

Spike nodded. "I had one too," he said. "It wasn't a bundle of laughs. It woke me up and then I saw what you were going through."

"What did you dream about?" she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know what could scare Spike.

Spike thought about lying but decided not to. Buffy knew him, all of him, and still loved him. She deserved the truth. "I was at your house. Everyone was there, all the Scoobies, Giles, your sis - and they were all dead. I'd killed them." The stark facts were bad enough but the images haunted him. He'd seen worse, he'd done worse, but never to people he knew so well. He swallowed at the memory of Dawn, blood lying thick across her throat like a scarf, glazed eyes half open, as was her mouth, fixed in an endless scream of imploring denial. He shuddered. Was this how Angel felt all the time, he wondered distantly. Did his memories cling to him like smoke to clothing, waiting for him to close his eyes or lower his guard, so they could leap out at him from the darkness of his mind? Poor sod. He began to fret that if Buffy did need to feed again, he might not want to risk it for his own sake. He wasn't sure he could cope with any more guilt.

Buffy shivered and reached for him, pulling him close. "That must have been awful," she said sympathetically, rubbing his back.

Spike buried his face in her shoulder, shame and relief flooding him. Her pity was too much to bear. Her scent surrounded him and he nuzzled her neck, kissing and licking at it, needing to taste her. She pulled his head up so that she could kiss his lips, her mouth hungry and demanding. They caressed each other wordlessly, the heat between them flaring into life with every touch, every stroke. Spike thrust into her almost savagely and she cried out, not with pain, but a demand for more. He was above her, his arms trapping her against his body, his lips claiming hers and she came at once, then began to climb again. As he hammered into her, all his customary finesse lost in the conflicting emotions that were tearing him apart, she urged him on, wrapping her legs around his waist, her nails scoring his back. The small, exquisite pain was enough to make him climax and for the first time ever, he slipped into game face as he came.

Almost without thinking, his fangs took her throat and instead of struggling, he felt her pull his wrist towards her, biting deeply enough to reopen the wound that his own fangs had made earlier that day. As the link was made, as they fed, the air around them began to burn with the cold blue light of the opening portal. Buffy was lost, gulping greedily, her sense of responsibility swamped by the sensations that her body was experiencing. Spike was in her deeply, doubly penetrating her flesh. Pleasure, ecstasy almost unbearable in its intensity, had her in its grip and there was no room for rational thought.

Spike was aroused by her, as he had never been before. She met and matched him every step of the way and he gloried in her body, in her love. But he remained aware of their surroundings and as the portal began to engulf them, he stopped feeding, tearing his hand free from Buffy's mouth. The blue light dimmed and he sighed with relief. Buffy was frantically trying to recapture his wounded hand and he growled at her warningly. She wasn't his fledgling, but she responded to his threat for long enough to allow her own personality to assert itself.

"Spike! God, what was that?" she whispered, wiping the blood from her lips and reaching up to her bitten neck.

"That was me being a useless pillock and nearly landing us back in Sunnydale, with nothing done," Spike replied bitterly. He pulled out of her and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Buffy lay still. "It wasn't your fault," she said.

"Didn't I spend most of today telling you how we couldn't do that again? How it was changing us both for the worse? Then I go ahead and do it anyway. I'm useless. Should've brought Xander with you, he'd have been more of a help."

Buffy giggled at that admission and Spike twisted round to glare at her. "What's so bloody funny?" he demanded.

"You are," she said softly. "You're all tangled up inside and yet all you care about is not being able to protect me. You think you're a failure. You're not." The amusement left her voice and she moved over him, straddling his body and easing down on his hard length, sighing with pleasure as he filled her. "I can feel your blood inside me," she whispered, moving languidly, making him gasp. "It's burning, it's begging me to listen to it. Just like you'll be begging soon if I keep doing this - " She paused, sheathing the head of his erection in her, but not moving down. Spike's nails dug into the sheets, his body rigid as he tried to stop his hips from moving upwards. He stared up at her, unable to speak, refusing to plead. Without warning she slammed down, taking him deep inside her, throwing back her head and crying out. Spike growled, thrusting into her helplessly and she pulled up again, almost losing him but not quite. He moaned then and she felt him quiver with need. "But I'm the Slayer," she murmured. " I have that darkness inside me already. I've lived with it for years. I can tame it. So I won't give into it again, no matter how - hard it gets." She leaned forward and nibbled at his neck, just at the place where a vampire would bite, feeling the throaty purr he was making.

"But I'll listen if _you_ want to beg," she said, taking him inside her again and starting to rise up almost at once.

Spike's hands shot out and gripped her waist, halting her. Holding her still, he began to move with a steady, insistent rhythm. She moaned with enjoyment, then wailed as he stopped abruptly. "I'm going to start begging now," he whispered. "I can see you're going to take some convincing, so it'll take me a while -"

"No! No need, just don't stop, don't stop -"

Spike surged up into her, grinning wickedly. "Anything you say, love. Yours to command, you know that."

There was a pause and then she said thoughtfully, "Well, in _that_ case -"

When they could take and give no more, they slept, her breath warm against his face, his hair soft beneath her hand, slept dreamlessly until the morning came.

Chapter Six

The Realm. Daybreak

Buffy and Spike stood at the edge of the wood, waiting for Sadrin to lead them to the Wellspring. The Shield had been placed in a backpack and Buffy slung it on her shoulders. It was light but the pack was made of rough canvas and she could feel the straps beginning to chafe her skin through her cotton shirt. Reluctantly, she took it off, pulled on her jacket and shrugged the pack back on.

"I can carry it and your jacket, love," Spike offered, guessing that it was already warm enough that she would be more comfortable without a coat. Sometimes his own indifference to the temperature made it difficult to remember that others might be too hot or too cold.

Buffy shook her head. "Thanks, but I have this feeling that I should be the one who takes it there. It'll be cooler in the wood, maybe."

Sadrin was a few hundred yards away, deep in conversation with the four men who had been his companions the day before. They finished speaking and he bowed his head in resignation and then watched as they walked off hurriedly. Shaking his head, he turned and walked towards Buffy and Spike. His face was calm but there were shadows under his eyes. "I will take you, but no one else will come," he said.

Spike shrugged. "They weren't exactly chatty," he noted. "Doubt we'll miss them."

Buffy was a little more inclined to question. "Why don't they want to come with us?" she asked, her tone making it plain that she expected an answer.

"Last night they had dreams. Now they are frightened of what will happen when you reach the Spring. I cannot force them as I had the dreams too. I only go because I must."

"Why must you?" Buffy persisted, frowning as she wondered why other people seemed to have been affected by nightmares.

Sadrin looked at her and a smile flickered on his drawn face. "I didn't tell you why I was chosen to be your guide, did I? Lord Grelin is of my family. Had he remained human, he would have been my uncle, many times removed of course." He looked amused by their looks of bewilderment. "It is a great honour to be chosen to be turned, not only for the Immortal, but for their family. Since Lord Grelin was changed, the head of my family has always been the head of the village. I owe him much. I'm glad to be able to repay him."

This ran so contrary to Buffy and Spike's experiences that they had nothing to say. Silently they followed Sadrin out of the village, into a wood that, in daylight, seemed idyllic. After walking for about ten minutes, Spike began to lag behind. Buffy turned, about to ask him what he was doing, when Spike suddenly doubled back along the track and reached into the bushes. Buffy raised an eyebrow and watched with some amusement as he hauled Matthew out of his hiding place. "I thought I could hear rustling," she commented.

"Yes, looks like we've got some company," said Spike, his hand gripping Matthew's collar.

Sadrin came back to join them, staring at Matthew with evident disapproval. "Did Lord Grelin tell you to join us?" he demanded.

"He told me to stay near the Slayer," Delvers replied, hunching one shoulder defensively as Spike released him.

Buffy pursed her lips. "Walk in front, then, where I can see you," she ordered. She didn't want anyone behind her whom she didn't trust. Of the people with her today, only Spike qualified.

***

Sunnydale. May 11. Morning.

Giles looked at Ethan and frowned. He still slept but Willow's spell would have to be lifted soon. Once Ethan was free, Giles doubted that they would be able to keep him prisoner. He was just too tricky. On the other hand, Giles didn't really want him out there doing his best to help the vampire who was trying to kill Buffy. But Ethan wasn't the only one who could be tricky of course.

"It's a pity we can't trust anything he says," Willow commented sourly, coming into the room quietly and passing Giles a cup of coffee. They were the only two awake and both looked exhausted from too little sleep.

"I agree," said Giles. "I extracted quite a bit from him but he's too tough to break, without far more pressure applied than I really feel comfortable with."

"Want me to try?" Willow said eagerly, eyes twinkling.

Giles tilted his head and looked at her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. "And just what did you have in mind?" he asked, "I don't think I can condone some of the darker spells, not even on Ethan."

"I was thinking of a simple truth spell," she replied.

Giles shook his head. "He'll be warded against anything that basic, I'm afraid."

The twinkle in Willow's eyes deepened. "So we get more complex," she said, holding up a book so that Giles could read its name.

Giles squinted at the title and gasped. "Goodness me, Willow! Do you really feel capable of this? If you slip up, Ethan will be left with a pink ooze where his brain used to be."

This time Willow dimpled. "I'll make sure to have Tara and Dawn standing by with a bucket and mop," she said.

"Oh, well, in _that_ case -" said Giles. "Let's go and get something to eat first. I'm sure I'll be losing my appetite soon."

They walked into the kitchen and Giles leaned in close to whisper in Willow's ear, "Do you think he heard that?"

Willow nodded. "I slackened the spell very gradually. He probably thinks he fought it off by himself. The binding spell is still holding him though."

After eating a quick breakfast they went back into the room where Ethan was tied to a chair by magical bonds and Willow pretended to lift the sleep spell. He gave a fairly convincing imitation of someone who had just woken up and then looked at them imploringly. "Rupert, old pal, I'm going to lose all use of my extremities, not to mention starve, if you don't let me go and feed me."

Giles smiled. "Willow has one little spell to do and after that, I promise we'll set you free."

Ethan blanched. "I'd really rather she didn't," he said hurriedly. "In fact, I can't think why she'd want to. I'm totally on your side. I see now that it would be bad for everyone if the Slayer died and Grelin took over." He smiled, the dried blood on his face cracking. He was going to get a nasty shock when he looked in a mirror.

Giles smiled, shaking his head slowly. "We don't trust you, Ethan and we never will. It's vital that we get all we can from you to help Buffy. For the sake of our friendship, I'll stop short of actual torture but Willow here, well, you know these youngsters. Always keen to think outside the box. She's found a rather useful spell - what was it called again?" He looked at Willow, his eyebrows raised enquiringly.

Willow smiled happily, her eyes fixed on Ethan like a cat watching a caged mouse. "The Rite of Esgarth," she chirped.

Ethan surged forward, panicking. The bonds held but he tipped the chair over sideways and fell heavily, his legs kicking in the air. "Ripper! You can't let an amateur, a girl, try that spell on me!"

Giles grinned at his predicament and reached down to grip the chair. Willow came across to help him and they set it upright. "I'm not an amateur," she said seriously. "I've raised the dead. So that should make you less nervous, in case anything goes wrong, hmm?"

"Can I speak freely? No. It doesn't."

"Pity."

There was a short silence as Ethan looked at two calm, utterly ruthless faces. He crumbled before their eyes. "There's something that I didn't mention, what with all the pain and everything." He paused to glare at Giles, a flash of his usual arrogance resurfacing. "Grelin left me a way of communicating with him. It's tricky, we're not talking cell phones, but if I absolutely have to, I can reach him."

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "That might be useful," he allowed. "Tell us more."

Ethan hesitated and then shrugged. "Those vampires you've been having trouble with? They're here because Grelin's put a Stone of Compulsion directly over the Hellmouth. It's sending out a signal to every demon in a thousand mile radius. Some can't move very fast but by the end of the week, well -"

"Grelin was actually here?" demanded Giles.

Ethan wriggled uneasily. "Well, when I say Grelin put it there, I mean he -"

"Told you to," interrupted Willow, her face showing the contempt she felt. "We could all have been killed last night. You've endangered my friends. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

Ethan looked at her. "A little cross?" he offered hopefully.

She smiled without humour. "Try again."

Giles waved an impatient hand. "You placed the Stone, you can neutralise it. If we do it quickly, it should reduce tonight's influx considerably."

Willow bit her lip thoughtfully. "I have a better idea," she said. "Until Buffy gets back, why don't we reverse the signal on the Stone? Send the demons as far away from here as their warty little legs will take them. It's not as if we're dumping all our problems on other people; most of them aren't from here anyway and they should scatter in all directions. When Buffy's back, we can cancel the spell and things will gradually get back to normal."

Giles nodded as she spoke, his brain busy planning what they would need in the way of counter spells and ingredients. "I think that should work and it will leave us free to concentrate on helping Buffy," he said.

Ethan looked at them both, his jaw dropping. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to set up that spell?" he spluttered. "You'd be interfering with a mystical masterpiece."

Willow and Giles exchanged glances. "He really _is_ an amateur, isn't he?" she commented. Ethan gasped, her words hurting more than any blow.

"Wake the others," said Giles. "We'll go to the Magic Box, get what we need, and head over to the school. Good news, Ethan. You're going on a field trip."

***

The Realm. Morning.

Sadrin had been walking for what seemed like miles. Buffy's Slayer strength had begun to fade again. She had never been much into hiking and with only normal stamina, she was flagging. Spike strolled along beside her, his eyes watchful. The insects didn't seem to land on him and he wasn't sweating or panting. "I hate you," Buffy muttered, slapping irritably at a cloud of bugs hovering around her face.

"Me or the mini bloodsuckers?" asked Spike with a grin.

"Both!" she said.

He put an arm around her and hugged her. "If I thought you meant that -"

"What?"

"I'd cry."

"No, you wouldn't."

"No, I probably wouldn't."

Buffy giggled. Spike was the first boyfriend she'd had with a working sense of humour. He smoothed her damp hair back with a cool hand and she sighed with relief as the insects dispersed for a few blessed seconds. "Maybe if I stay this close to you, the bugs won't bother either of us," she said.

"Works for me but if we get ambushed, you're hanging onto my good thumping hand," Spike replied.

Buffy's spirits slumped again. "And throwing me at them is about the most use I'll be."

Spike shook his head. "Doesn't make sense, love," he said. "That last time you told me about, when Giles drugged you for that daft test of the Council's, well, that was physical. There was a good reason you lost your edge. This isn't like that. All that training you do, even without any mystical stuff, you're still fitter than most girls your age."

"That's what I was wondering, " Buffy said slowly. "I feel so clumsy, so weak - unless I'm just trying to get used to it. I'm over compensating, I think. Maybe if I practiced I wouldn't be that useless. Trouble is, I don't think we've got time. Do you hear water?"

Spike glanced at Sadrin. "I think you're right. Looks like we've arrived." Ahead, Sadrin had halted, Matthew at his side. Both were staring out over a small, deep valley, completely circled by natural stone walls. Buffy and Spike hurried to join them and the Slayer gasped. The Wellspring wasn't a small pool, as she'd imagined. A waterfall, some hundred feet high, was pouring over a cliff at the head of the valley, a straight, smooth ribbon of silver. At the foot of the fall was a deep lake, shimmering blue water stretching out to fill the valley.

Buffy looked to her right. "Where does the water go?" she asked.

Sadrin shrugged. "Underground tunnels perhaps. The lake never dries up, never floods. It has stayed like this for ever."

"Haven't you ever gone down stream to see if it resurfaces?" said Spike, feeling strangely moved by the sight in front of him. It had been so long since he'd seen water reflecting a summer blue sky. A memory of a trip to the seaside as a child came into his head. For a second, he could feel the sand under his feet, packed hard by the water's edge, soft and trickling through his toes up by the dunes. He glanced down to see if the wave had splashed his sailor suit, feeling the metal edge of his bucket cutting into his hand. When he saw nothing but grass and his boots, he shook his head violently. "This place - " he said. "It's messing with me. Taking my memories and replaying them."

Sadrin nodded. "That is why we know little about it," he said, giving Spike a sympathetic smile. "It can be a strange place. People stay away."

Buffy and Delvers looked puzzled, obviously not affected by whatever spell had caught Spike in its net. Spike looked grim. "Let's get this over with," he said. "My memories aren't all that pleasant for the most part and I'd just as soon not relive most of them."

Sadrin pointed to a narrow trail. "That will take us down to the lake," he said.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Let's go."

Chapter Seven

Sunnydale May 11. Afternoon.

Giles looked around at the ruins of what had been his second home. He seemed to be in mild shock. Willow and Xander had been back to the school after it had been blown up and they were prepared for the rubble, the chunks of demon flesh and the lingering smell. Ethan, his hands cuffed behind him with some more of Willow's magical rope, smiled sardonically, kicking aside a blackened lump that had once been a book. Giles moaned. "I thought we emptied out all the texts," he said plaintively.

"We were in a bit of hurry, Giles," Xander reminded him. "I know we got most of them. My back ached for days. Books are _heavy_"

"Chaos rampant. I love it," murmured Ethan, pleasure in his voice as he gazed at the destruction and ruin around him.

His words snapped Giles out of his nostalgic fog and he glared at Rayne. "Where did you put this Stone, then?"

Ethan gestured with his head. "Down there, of course. As close to the Hellmouth as I could."

His three companions looked at a hole in what had been the library floor. It looked dark down there. "Can't we reverse the spell from up here?" asked Xander, eternally hopeful.

Willow shook her head. "We have to scatter stuff on it, draw circles around it - we need to be down there."

Giles took charge. "Xander, you're armed, you stay up here in case a demon arrives." Xander hefted a large axe and tried to look confident. "Ethan, you will come down with us. I'll go first, then you, and Willow, you can be last."

Giles peered doubtfully down. The hole was about seven foot deep. If he hung and dropped, he would be fine - in theory. Willow and Xander watched as he sat on the edge of the hole, his legs dangling. Placing his hands to one side, he twisted around and began his descent. Suddenly he cried out and clutched desperately at the floor. "My legs! It's got my -"

Willow gasped and began to run to the hole but Xander beat her to it, flinging himself down on his stomach and trying to haul Giles back up. He managed to grab Giles by the arms but whatever had hold of his legs was far stronger. It simply pulled Giles out of his jacket, leaving it dangling empty from Xander's hands for a second before he let it fall into the hole. From beneath them, they heard the sounds of a fight begin. Xander scrambled up, and ran back to where he had dropped his axe. "I'm going in," he said tersely and ran for the hole, jumping straight down.

Willow was about to follow him when she remembered Ethan. He was edging backwards but he froze as she turned towards him. "What's down there?" she asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

Ethan smirked. "As any amateur should know, a Stone always comes with a Servant. I really did mean to mention it to old Ripper but, well, I had other things on my mind."

Willow glared at him. "I've had enough of you," she declared. Extending a hand, she pushed him backwards; green light fizzing from her fingers. The bonds around Ethan's wrists dissolved and he screamed as his arms and legs were pulled apart. "Adhere," said Willow, in a voice of pure fury. Ethan's body was sucked up against the wall behind him and he hung, suspended. "That should keep you safe," she said, turning away to join the fight. The ghosts of a billion flies clustered consolingly around Ethan as he pulled helplessly, trying to free himself and failing.

"I hate this bloody town," he muttered.

Xander landed awkwardly but it saved his life. As he fell sideways, a sword slashed through the air where his head would have been, breaking in two as it struck solid wall instead of flesh and bone. Rolling, he managed to keep hold of his axe with an effort. A swift glance showed him Giles lying in a corner, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead. A stone in the centre of the room was pulsating, giving off a low pitched hum that made Xander's teeth ache. He also got his first good look at the demon. Somewhat to his surprise, his first thought was that it didn't look like much. Either I'm getting braver, or all the frequent blows to the head have softened my brain, he mused. The demon was about his height, humanoid and covered in purple and grey scales. It was Xander plus axe against demon with bare hands. Xander smiled. "Hit me with your best shot -oh."

The demon opened its mouth and hawked up a gout of purple jelly, spitting it out. As it flew towards Xander, it set on fire, reacting to some element in the air. Torn between revulsion and concern, Xander managed to dodge but it splattered his sleeve and began to eat away at the fabric. He ripped his sleeve away, thanking his own forethought in buying shoddily made, cheap clothes, and threw it to the floor.

"Okay, I think that's enough of that," he said firmly, gripping his axe in both hands and advancing on the demon. Giles moaned in pain and the demon's head whipped around. Xander watched in horror as it prepared to spit fire at Giles, who still had his eyes shut and was an easy target. Swinging his axe, he put all his strength into one scything blow. The demon's head was lopped off neatly and went flying away, just as the fireball emerged from its mouth. Xander recovered his balance and smiled triumphantly. A shriek from above told him what had happened to the fireball. It had smacked into Willow's feet as she began her descent into the hole. "Sorry, sorry!" he shouted, "Didn't mean that to happen, Will."

Willow's trainers didn't burn but they began to melt onto her feet, making her cry out in pain. Xander reached up and took hold of her waist, lowering her to the ground. Picking up Giles' jacket from the floor, he wrapped it around her shoes and yanked them off as fast as he could. She was sobbing and he saw that her socks were sticking to her feet, soaked in the purple jelly. Without thinking of the risk, he tore them off just as they exploded into flames, searing his flesh. Throwing them aside, he cradled his burnt hands to his chest, whimpering as the agony of the burns began to reach him.

"Xander!" said Willow in horror. "Your hands - we have to get you help."

Xander shook his head, " I'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Check out Giles first."

Willow hobbled over to Giles and examined him anxiously. "Apart from the cut, he seems to be in one piece -" She pulled out a wad of tissues and began to dab at the blood on his face. Giles stirred at her touch and his eyes flickered open.

"Stupid of me to forget," he whispered. "The Servant - "

"It's dead," said Willow, "but we have to get you and Xander to the hospital."

Giles shook his head weakly. "No. Spell first or who knows what the night will bring."

Willow chewed her lip with indecision but finally nodded. "I can do it alone. I'll be quick"

"Ethan?"

Willow smiled. "He's not going anywhere."

***

The Realm. Early afternoon.

The climb down to the floor of the valley had been a combination of walking and scrambling over rocks but it hadn't been dangerous or taxing. Buffy was finding that continually expecting an attack was more draining than a fight would be. She could feel an indefinable threat hovering but when she turned to look at it squarely, it vanished like a mischievous sprite playing hide and seek. Sadrin's offer of a bed for the night for instance; she had been twitchy from the moment he ushered them into a small, one story building in the centre of the village. She was certain that the windows were high and didn't open for a reason, and although they weren't locked in, small scufflings outside the door indicated that it was guarded.

But apart from the bad dreams, nothing had happened. The whole time in the Realm had been like that so far; nerve wrackingly safe. The paradox was driving her crazy. Spike tapped her on the shoulder and she actually jumped and squeaked with surprise, whirling round to glare at him.

Spike recoiled himself, his blue eyes startled. "Sorry, love, didn't mean to scare you. Just wondered why you were muttering like that."

"I wasn't!" She hesitated. "Was I?"

He nodded, anxiously scanning her face. "Not feeling too tired?"

She shook her head. "I'm still normal but I think I'm getting used to it in a way. Like learning to walk on a boat, when the deck's going up and down. Not hard, but it takes practise."

"You'll be fine, Buffy. Trust me."

She looked at him, hazel eyes sparkling with life. He melted inside as she smiled up at him, the image burning into his mind. So beautiful - and now so fragile. As she turned and walked the last few yards to the end of the path, he noticed how their feet were crushing the flowers in the grass, bruising their leaves, tearing their petals. Some flowers sprang back, hardy and resilient; some had been uprooted and lay dying. The poet in him recognized the metaphor, the lover feared it, and the fighter rejected it. Spike shook his head. This place was hurting him. He couldn't wait to leave.

The four of them stood at last at the water's edge. "If an arm appears waving a sword, I suggest we all bugger back up that hill," said Spike.

"Scared your heart isn't pure, Sir Galahad?" Buffy murmured.

Spike raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Never figured you for a Tennyson fan - no, wait. You just watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail, right?"

Buffy gave him a haughty stare. "Don't even try to get snobby with me when you spend all your time watching soaps," she retorted. Sadrin coughed rather despairingly and a smile lit up Matthew's sad face as he listened to them squabble goodnaturedly. Finally, the tension relieved a little - which had been Spike's plan - Buffy looked at Sadrin expectantly.

"You have the Shield?" he intoned.

"Fine time to ask her!" protested Spike. "Supposing she'd left it back -"

"Spike. That's enough," said Buffy quietly, not taking her eyes off Sadrin. She pulled her pack round and fumbled with the straps, still gazing at Sadrin's face. Taking out the Shield, she slipped it onto her left arm, letting the pack fall to the ground.

Sadrin pointed at the lake. "The Wellspring lies at the heart of the lake. You must go to it and drink of it deeply."

"How do we get there?" said Buffy dubiously. " I don't see a boat. Do we have to swim?" Sadrin shrugged, obviously not planning on offering any more help.

Spike walked over to the edge and waded in a few feet. The water lapped gently over the top of his boots, soaking into his black jeans. "Feels warm enough - aah!" Leaping back, he fell to the ground and frantically pulled the damp fabric away from his legs. "It's bloody holy water," he said through gritted teeth.

Buffy fell to her knees beside him and quickly untied his boots, pulling them off. "It must be," she said. "It's not bothering me." Spike skinned out of his jeans and flung them over a rock to dry. His duster covered him but he felt a little conspicuous. Angry red weals marked his calves.

Buffy looked at them, with tight lips. "If you knew about this and didn't tell us -" she said to Sadrin, her face stormy.

Sadrin didn't replybut silently produced a spare pair of trousers and some thick socks from his pack, handing them over to Spike with a small bow. The trousers were baggy and a little long but Spike pulled them on gratefully. The socks let him wear his wet boots again without too much pain.

Buffy looked out at the lake. "How can it be blessed water?" she asked. "It doesn't make sense."

Spike shrugged. "Don't see that the 'how' matters as much as the result. I'm supposed to stick by you, not let you go off swimming in a lake. For all we know, it's full of piranha or sharks. Fatal to both of us."

Buffy gulped. "I never could watch 'Jaws'," she confessed.

Delvers spoke up unexpectedly. "It's a test."

"Well, we sort of got that far already," Spike said sarcastically. "Any more helpful hints?"

Matthew turned to Buffy. "You were told to bring the Shield with you. It might help."

She frowned and turned to face the water, making sure that the Shield was visible. "If you want me to come out there, fix the water," she called. "I'm not letting Spike get hurt again and I'm not going without him." She expected to feel foolish talking to water but she didn't. There was a sense of someone listening in this valley, an expectancy in the air. No one replied and she was about to turn away when the sun, hidden behind a thick bank of clouds, appeared again. Its rays seemed to arrow towards the Shield and when they reached it, the white surface began to glow, reflecting the light back. Buffy cried out, startled, but held her arm steady. The glow was the same frosty blue as the portal and it spread out across the lake, turning the water to ice. The effect raced across the water, almost too fast for the eye to follow and when it reached the opposite shore, there was a loud crack as the ice sealed in the water.

"Skates, not a boat," Buffy said softly. "What did Giles say it was called? The Shield of Frost?" She turned to Spike. "Shall we go before a thaw sets in?"

Sadrin raised his hand, halting her. Reaching into his pack he pulled out a simple cup, fashioned from dark wood, smooth with age. "You need this," he said.

"And that's all you're going to say, hmm?" Buffy asked. She looked at the two men. "Wait here for us. I still don't trust either of you. If you go, I can't stop you, but if you do anything tricky, I _will_ come looking for you. Got it?"

Delvers nodded but Sadrin simply smiled. "We will wait and watch, Slayer."

Spike held out his hand to her and they cautiously edged out onto the lake. It wasn't as slippery as Buffy had expected. It had frozen so fast that every ripple had been perfectly preserved, which left ridges. As they walked further onto the ice, Buffy felt a dream-like detachment slip over her like an icy cloak. Spike's cool hand was her only link to reality. The Shield was still on her left arm but it felt like part of her now. She didn't turn to look back at the shore, nor did she scan her surroundings. There was no need. The ice was empty and bare. Gradually the combination of ice and warm air produced a mist that thickened as they walked, shrouding the figures waiting behind them. They continued to walk, with a certainty that they were heading towards the Wellspring itself. Finally they reached it - a neat circle in the ice with clear water filling it. It didn't look impressive in itself but the air around it was sparkling, charged with energy. Spike glanced up and saw that the blue sky was obscured by the mist. He shivered reflexively. The mist meant that they would be blind if anyone did follow them and he felt trapped, as though the walls of fog were solid barriers.

Buffy stooped down, dipping the cup into the water. She straightened and looked at Spike, a smile wavering on her lips. "If something goes wrong, Spike -"

He didn't let her finish and he didn't give her empty reassurances as he had before. Instead he leaned forward, careful not to touch the hand holding the cup, and kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss that promised all the time in the world for them. When he pulled back, her eyes were stinging with tears. Impatient now, she drank the water, finding it cool and slightly bitter. Darkness swept into her mind, the cup fell from her hand, and she sank down on the ice, unconscious. Spike sat beside her, cross- legged, pulling Buffy onto his lap as much as he could. He folded her shield arm across her body, so that it was protected and he waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

***

Grelin moved so silently that the two men on the shore were only aware of his arrival when he chose to let them be. Delvers shrank back and Sadrin bowed deeply. Grelin gazed out across the ice, peering through the mist, his face unreadable. Without turning his head he asked, "Did Angelus drink the wine?"

Matthew frowned. "No, but I don't think -"

Grelin didn't give him time to finish his sentence. His fist lashed out and hit Matthew on the jaw, rocking him back on his feet. Sadrin looked shocked but remained silent. "You fail me in all you do, little man," said Grelin. "I think you have come to the end of your borrowed time."

"Lord Grelin -" interrupted Sadrin. "I do not think the Slayer is with the one you knew as Angelus."

Grelin rounded on him, fury twisting his features. 'The Slayer has to be with a vampire willing to die to protect her. There's only one vampire with a soul; who else could it be?"

Matthew had slumped against a rock, his hand cupping his bruised jaw but he looked up and said, "She calls him Spike. They're lovers." He took a savage delight in seeing Grelin at a loss for words, his house of cards demolished by a passing breeze blowing a wild card into the pack.

Grelin's head moved slowly back and forth as he rejected the information. "Impossible," he said finally. "A Slayer is trained to kill vampires on sight. How could she have grown close to one? And I know him. He ran with Angelus' pack, a foolish boy at first who became deadly, a true killer. He would never -"

"It is true, Lord," said Sadrin, his voice smooth. "He is the one. He is her Guardian as she dreams."

Grelin shrugged, "No matter. I owe him a debt and it may be that fate has brought him to me so that I can finally repay it." He smiled wolfishly and turned to look out at the lake. "She has entered the dream world," he noted. "I can feel her presence there."

"What will you do?" said Matthew. "What will you do to her?"

Grelin began to walk out onto the ice. "What do you think, little man?" he said mockingly. "What do you think I will do?"

Matthew stared at his back. "You'll kill them both," he whispered.

Chapter Eight

Sunnydale. May 11. Night.

The spell on the stone had been reversed, Giles and Xander's injuries had been treated and Ethan was once more tied to a chair at the Summers' house. It had been a busy day, Giles reflected, fingering his injured head gingerly. Fortunately, Ethan had been considerably more subdued than usual after experiencing Willow's powers firsthand. There was a grudging respect in his eyes when he looked at her, and deep down, a speculative gleam.

The group had discussed, speculated and planned but eventually the talking died away as the pointlessness of it all sank in. Sunnydale was peaceful, Buffy and Spike would be gone for days yet and Ethan was contained.

The Scoobies were learning that the hardest part of an adventure is not being part of it. They had to wait.

They weren't very good at waiting.

"Giles," said Willow thoughtfully, tapping a pencil on the dining room table in a rhythm that was irritating Ethan as much as lemon juice on a paper cut, "if Ethan can get in touch with Grelin, so can we. It seems a pity that we can't use that link to do something."

"Yes," said Dawn eagerly. "We can send a spell against him, or maybe just spy on him." Tara smiled at her enthusiasm and then returned to her textbook. She had spent a lot of study time on researching the Realm and somehow she didn't think that was going to help her in tomorrow's classes. Now the urgency was over, she was doing her homework.

Giles looked alert. "A scrying spell? I wonder if that's at all possible between two dimensions." He turned and called to Carlton. "Andrew? I need your input here. Do you remember that time we had the invasion of Fagrint demons and we had to speak strongly to their clan chief?"

Carlton nodded. "It was a direct breach of the contract we signed with them in the thirteenth century," he said indignantly. "Totally irresponsible behaviour. Cost them a pretty penny in damages, I can tell you."

"Yes, quite," said Giles. "But how did we communicate with the Chief? I was sent away for my final training session around then and I missed all the excitement."

Andrew sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, his face animated at the chance to talk shop. "Well, old Ponsonby - you remember him? We were terrified of him until we found out about his yen for custard creams. Never seemed quite so scary after that. Anyway, he used a very ancient method involving chicken entrails -"

Xander and Anya stopped eavesdropping at that point and wandered out to the kitchen. "Do you think there's anything they can do?" she asked.

Xander shook his head despondently, his burned hands throbbing painfully. "I think it's keeping them busy though."

Anya shrugged. "The shop _is_ shut so I don't mind, but I hope Giles is a little less distracted tomorrow."

Xander gave her a look of mingled disappointment and resignation. "Aren't you even a little bit worried about them?" he asked.

Anya looked him squarely in the face. "Yes. I am. They're my friends, yes, both of them. But I've been around a lot longer than you, Xander and I know my limitations. They're in a different dimension, on an impossible mission, with an insane foe that they don't even know about, snapping at their heels. They're in deep trouble. And there's not a single thing I can do. I hate that. So I'm not going to think about it."

"And it'll just go away?" said Xander, sounding as if he really wanted the answer to be 'yes'.

Anya patted his face gently. "Never has so far." His face fell and she slipped her arms around his waist. "You were very brave today," she commented. "Jumping down that hole, fighting the demon, saving Willow - I'm very proud of you."

Xander grinned sheepishly. "All part of the job, ma'am."

"But it isn't your job," Anya continued, "and even if it were, it's over for a while. We have a home and I think we should go there."

Xander gestured to the living room, " But, Anya, they need us! We can't just bail on them. There's research to do, demons to fight -" His voice trailed off as she shook her head slowly. "I guess there really isn't, is there?" A feeling of relief swept through him. "We're on holiday. Hey. That's not so bad. Maybe we can see a movie, go out for a meal, and pretend we're normal."

Anya beamed. "My hero."

***

The Realm. Afternoon.

Matthew watched Grelin disappear into the mist and made up his mind to follow. He waited for a while, watching Sadrin assemble a meal of sorts and set it out neatly on a flat rock, and then stood. "Where are you going?" said Sadrin, his back to Delvers.

"To stop him," Matthew said simply.

Sadrin turned, a sharp knife in his hand. "I really can't allow you to leave," he said. "When Lord Grelin is raised still higher, he will turn me. I will become immortal, as he is. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with that." He walked purposefully towards Matthew, the knife glittering in the sunlight.

Matthew smiled. "But you see," he said quietly, twisting and evading the thrust that brought the blade inches away from his heart, "I _am_ nothing. I killed my love and now I'm nothing." As he spoke, he brought out the stake that he had used on Fellor. With no fear in his mind, no thought of self, he was an implacable opponent. Sadrin slashed him a dozen times but he refused to collapse, waiting for an opening. When it came, he discovered that a stake to the heart could kill a human quite well too.

"But messy," he murmured, looking down at the sticky blood on his hands and clothes. "Don't like the mess." He tucked his stake away and walked onto the lake. Blood dripped from his cuts and where they landed the ice turned dark.

***

Spike cradled Buffy, smoothing her hair back from her face, watching her anxiously for any sign that she was waking up. He hadn't forgotten why he was there though. Grelin walked silently but Spike was a vampire too and when Grelin reached the Wellspring, he found Spike standing, a stake in his hand, standing guard over his Slayer.

"So it is true," Grelin said, not bothering to greet Spike. "This Slayer has enslaved you as she did your grand sire. She must be strong indeed." He peered at the small figure lying on Spike's duster, her face and hair pale against the black leather. "She seems a pretty little thing - for a human." The scorn in his voice was palpable but Spike ignored it.

"You still talk a lot, Grelin. It was talking to the wrong people that got you in trouble as I recall." Spike raised an eyebrow, as cool as the ice surrounding him.

Grelin's eyes narrowed. "You expected me to die that day, didn't you? But I was strong. I'm even stronger now. I'm going in after your Slayer and when she's reawakened the power for me, I'm going to kill her. You'll have her body to play with but -" He never finished his sentence. Spike had long since learned that waiting for an opponent to signal the start of the fight wasn't in the rules. And if it was, he didn't mind breaking them. His foot lashed out in a vicious kick against Grelin's knee and as the other vampire stumbled, he moved in closer. The fight was fought in silence, both in game face, and both at the peak of their abilities. They were equally matched in strength and motivation but in the end, Grelin triumphed because Spike was vulnerable on two fronts. When it was clear that the fight would have no quick result, Grelin maneuvered himself so that he was between Spike and Buffy. He knelt and held a blade to her throat, his intent plain.

Spike glared at him, wiping blood from a cut on his lip. "You can't kill her," he sneered. "You need her alive to do your work for you."

Grelin smiled. "She can do it just as well blinded," he said.

Spike hesitated. Buffy was lying so still - she had evidently not completed her task yet. He had to buy her more time but he couldn't let Grelin hurt her. Agony ripped through him. Had he failed her again? With a savage roar, he threw himself at Grelin, surprising him with the ferocity of his attack. Grelin was sent flying over the ice but as Spike launched himself at him, intending to finish the battle, Grelin managed to position the knife so that Spike was impaled by it as he landed. Smiling thinly, he pushed Spike away. The wound wasn't fatal but it slowed Spike down. As he writhed in pain, Grelin grabbed Spike's head and hammered it against the ice brutally until he went limp. He glanced around and picked up the stake that Spike had dropped, holding it poised over his heart. He paused. Killing Spike like this would be too easy. The innate sadism that had prompted him to keep Matthew alive made him spare Spike for the moment. He kicked Spike viciously in the head and when there was no response he nodded in satisfaction and turned away.

The cup that Buffy had drunk from was standing on the ice by the circle of water. Grelin filled it and raised it in a sardonic salute to himself, a dark exultation coursing through him. The cup was struck from his hand as it touched his lips and he turned, snarling, to see the slight figure of Matthew Delvers, staring at him steadily.

"No," said Matthew.

Chapter Nine

Buffy woke in the dream world and frowned. She was still on the ice, the shield on her arm, but she was alone. The mist had grown thicker and she could only see a few yards. "Well, this isn't much fun," she muttered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. If I'd known I was expected to provide entertainment as well as give you a priceless gift -"

Buffy looked around. "A disembodied voice? I don't get to see you?"

"Try looking in the shield."

Buffy slid the shield off her arm and turned it. She saw her own reflection swim up from the milky depths, but that was all. There was a pause. Buffy sighed. "Is this the part where you tell me the answers are all inside me, I just have to look?"

The face looked offended. "Certainly not."

"So why do you look like me?"

"I look like whoever the current Slayer is." The face shimmered and dissolved, then reappeared as Faith. "Do you prefer this? She's equally valid, of course, but as you're the one here -"

"No!" said Buffy hastily. "Go back to being me. Please." She didn't feel up to a prolonged conversation with Faith.

The face obeyed, smiling happily out from the shield. "Do you live in there? Who are you?" asked Buffy curiously.

"I don't know that you can call it living, exactly, but my essence is within the shield, yes. It has been from the beginning. And I just hate being all mystifyingly cryptic so I'll tell you everything you need to know." Buffy raised a sceptical eyebrow. If true, it would be wonderful but she wasn't hopeful. "Of course, what seems clear to me might not seem so to you," the face went on. "After all, I can see the big picture and you can't." Buffy felt almost reassured as the world went back to normal. She settled down and waited for the vagueness to begin.

"My name is Ula. I was the First Slayer. My father was the enchanter who created the Slayers after the last demon tainted human blood by feeding and making a vampire. He had a personal reason for doing this, as a vampire killed his brother. My father knew that I would die before my time so he arranged it that I would become immortal myself in a way. As one Slayer dies, another is Chosen. But his magic was only so strong. He sacrificed his life to augment it and that is why every thousand years, another sacrifice must be made, to keep the spell - and the Slayers - alive."

"Stop!" said Buffy, scrambling to her feet and dropping the shield on the ice. The flow of information had stunned her but one question was clamouring to be heard. "I've seen the First - she was nothing like you. You sound, well, like me. Not thousands of years old. And, no offence, but she was serious, dedicated, not, well, chatty."

Ula smiled. "You saw me as I was, thousands of years ago. When I died, my mother managed to capture my soul and she put it in here. The shield has gone to many places, had many owners and I have listened and learned. I can also sense a lot of what happens to you - to all the Slayers. I can hardly remember that girl." Her face looked thoughtful. "Do you think you'd have much in common with yourself at six months? But that's why you were told to bring the Shield. Can't do much without me, now can you? It made it a little harder for you to get here without it; I can open the portal you see. Matthew Delvers didn't need to kill anyone to reach the Realm; he just needed the Shield, but Grelin either didn't know that or didn't care."

Buffy frowned. "So, if I had had the shield back in Sunnydale, I wouldn't have had to feed off Spike?"

Ula shook her head. "No, there has to be blood as well but it doesn't have to mean a death. It's only a portal, after all. And it was important that you fed. I think you'd already worked that out. It's the sign of the need to renew the power when a Slayer and a vampire combine. You're a special Slayer, dying and all that - and he's a special vampire. A match made in - hmm, not heaven, not with you two. Let's just say it was meant to be."

Buffy felt her head swim. "So, I'm here, I've got the shield; what now?"

"I told you; a sacrifice must be made."

Buffy sighed. "I guessed as much. Well, this is something I've had a lot of practise at so it shouldn't be too -"

"No, no, not you! You're the Slayer and a good one too, despite what my earlier self told you. I was a bit focused back then. No need for you to die before your time as I did."

Buffy felt a sickness grow within her. 'Then who?"

Ula grimaced. "You're not usually this slow," she complained. "I made it easy for you; you don't have to look far or anything. He's standing right by your body."

Buffy shook her head vehemently. "I will not sacrifice him! I know he's a vampire, I know I'm supposed to kill his kind, but you don't understand; he's different, he's changed. He trusts me with his life. He fed off me and didn't kill me; that says it all." She stopped, out of breath, her emotions violent and turbulent. "You just said we were meant to be!"

Ula grinned, annoyingly. "Ain't love grand and dramatic? I didn't mean him. I meant - oh. That's not so good."

"What?"

"I meant Grelin but unfortunately, someone else has just killed him."

***

Grelin could scarcely speak, he was so angry. To have this moment interrupted, spoiled, by the likes of Delvers - it was beyond anything. The cup rolled to the edge of the pool of water and silently fell in. It was wood but it didn't float. Instead it was sucked in, vanishing from sight. Thrusting Delvers aside, Grelin threw himself down and reached into the water, his fingers searching desperately for the cup. It was gone. Grelin scooped up a handful of the water and drank it but there was no effect.

"It has to be from the cup," he muttered. Matthew watched him calmly, no trace of fear on his face. Grelin stood and glanced about him; the still bodies of the Slayer and her Guardian, the silent figure of the man he had twisted to suit his purposes. "You think you have stopped me?" he said. "I will kill you and him and when she wakes, I will kill her too and take her power." His voice was rising until he sounded like a spoiled, petulant child.

Matthew halted his progress with one devastating word. "How?"

Grelin looked puzzled. "Killing is easy, little man. I taught you that, if nothing else."

Matthew looked at him patiently. "Once she has the power, it belongs to the Slayer line. You cannot take it from her here. Kill her and another will rise. You have lost everything, dreams, ambitions and purpose, just like me. Now we're equal."

"Equal? I, the equal of a human? I am an Immortal, a higher being. You exist to feed me, to serve me, no more."

"You are a man who lets a demon rule you. A weakling. I pity you, and I pity myself. "

His words maddened Grelin and he advanced, his fangs sharp, his bestial eyes gleaming gold. Delvers stood still, his hands by his side. Grelin grabbed him by the shoulders and bit deeply into his neck, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone and the hot gush of blood. Mathew smiled even as he screamed in pain, smiled as he plunged the stake into Grelin's heart, the thirsty stake, fed by dust and blood. Fangs locked in his victim's neck, Grelin never saw the stake flash upwards, hardly felt it penetrate. But he saw the smile and pulled back in time to see what jutted out of his chest.

"No!" Grelin gripped the stake and tried to pull it out, tried to reverse his fate. It was too late. Delvers looked into the face of the demon who had corrupted him utterly and saw it shred away to bone and dust. Then he fell to the ice, one hand at his ruined throat.

"Thanks, mate. Saved me a job," said Spike, struggling up to his knees.

***

"Spike's killed him? Is he okay?" Buffy demanded. "Let me go to him."

Ula pouted. "Wasn't Spike. Fine Guardian you picked. It was Matthew. I suppose if anyone had the right to kill Grelin it was he. Oh, well. Maybe you will need to kill Spike after all." She sounded completely unconcerned, as though she were offering Buffy the choice between tea or coffee.

"Not going to happen," said Buffy grimly. "I want to see what's going on. Right now."

Ula must have done something because suddenly Buffy was back in her own body. She sat up and looked around quickly. Spike was crawling over to Matthew, both of them dripping blood all over the ice. Buffy cried out and ran over to Spike. "Where are you hurt? What happened?" she asked, gripping his shoulders.

He looked up at her through pain hazed eyes. "Buffy. You got it all sorted then? Had a bit of a problem with Grelin but Matthew here took care of it."

Buffy glanced at Matthew, saw his throat and shuddered. "Grelin fed off him?"

Spike shook his head slowly. "He got suckered. Matthew lured him in, knowing that was the only way Grelin would let him get close enough to stake. He waited until Grelin had his fangs in and then stabbed him. Brave. Stupid but brave."

Matthew coughed, blood pouring out of his mouth. "Not stupid," he whispered. "Nothing to live for. Murderer twice over."

Buffy went over to him, kneeling beside him, knowing that he had only moments to live. "You were still brave," she said simply. "You knew what he planned to do and you've saved so many people. I know it doesn't cancel out what you did but - it helps. Believe me."

Spike looked away uncomfortably as the agony ripped at his side. The shield caught his eye and he frowned, catching a glimpse of the familiar reflection inside. It shimmered and an insubstantial figure appeared in the air, a twin to Buffy. Spike said urgently, "Buffy -" and she turned, glaring when she saw Ula.

"Can't you at least let him die in peace?" The Slayer demanded.

"Er; who is this, love?" asked Spike, wondering if he was hallucinating.

Ula took pity on his bewilderment and changed form so that she looked like the First Slayer Buffy was familiar with. "I am Ula, the spirit of the First Slayer," she said.

"Pleased to meet you," said Spike, automatically.

"Don't be," said Buffy bitterly. "She wants me to kill you to activate the power. Seems Grelin would have done the job but unfortunately, he's not here."

Matthew had lapsed into a lethargic trance but he roused at this. "I couldn't even get that right?" he murmured. "Sorry."

Ula glided over to him. "You are dying," she said bluntly but not without some sympathy. His eyelids flickered in acknowledgment. "Then it's really quite simple." She turned to Buffy. "Kill him instead. He won't mind; it would be doing him a favour, and it will save your boyfriend."

Buffy's eyes flashed. "No! The Slayer isn't a killer. Not now, not ever. I don't kill humans."

Frustrated impatience flashed across Ula's face and she shrugged. "Then the Slayer line ends here."

Spike opened his mouth, but, fortunately for the future of his relationship with Buffy, said nothing. It was left to Matthew to act and he did so with a desperation fuelled by the need to atone. His hand still clutched the stake that he had used to such effect. He turned it so that the point was towards him and then slid it into Buffy's hand. She gripped it automatically and then looked down at him. "What -?"

Matthew grabbed her wrist and with one last burst of strength forced the stake into his heart. Buffy screamed and dropped the wooden stake but it was too late. Matthew's face contorted with pain and then, quite simply, he died.

Spike sighed with relief at the tidy resolution, exchanging glances with the First and recognising that they shared a common emotion. Buffy was less pragmatic. The horror of what had happened broke over her like a wave, leaving her breathless and floundering. Buffy's head dropped into her hands and she began to sob. Spike started to drag himself over to her but Ula stopped him.

"Enough," she said with a cutting finality. "It is done. For another thousand years, the forces of darkness will meet you as they crawl from their graves. Through you, I will continue the work my father gave me. Thank you, Slayer."

Buffy raised a tear stained face. "You -" she choked. "You've made me a killer."

Ula nodded. "Yes. But I didn't do it today."

The figure vanished and the Slayer and the vampire were left alone on the ice.

Chapter Ten

Sunnydale. May 17.

Buffy and Spike arrived back where their journey had begun, in the training room at the Magic Box. It was dark and empty. They struggled to their feet, both weak, Spike from his injury, Buffy from emotion and blood loss. This time Spike's feeding had been almost desperate as his injured body took in sustenance. She had been on the point of hitting him to make him stop when his fangs slid out of her flesh and he let her wrist drop. The taste of his blood in her mouth made her feel sick and she walked over to the water cooler in the corner of the room and drank deeply.

"Not much of a welcome home, is it?" Spike asked flatly. "Sure it's eight days we've been away, not eight years?"

Buffy shrugged. "Let's go find out," she said, her tone mirroring his.

The shop was deserted and a glance at the clock told them why; it was eleven at night. The shop was locked up and they decided to use the tunnel leading from the basement to go to Spike's crypt. As they walked, Spike began to chuckle. "What is it?" asked Buffy, not sounded as if she cared all that much.

Spike grinned. "Just thinking about the last time I saw Grelin. It's no wonder he was so keen to get his hands on Angel but I don't suppose he minded getting a chance to kill me either."

Buffy sighed. "Go on then; tell me why."

Spike began to talk, his voice almost dreamy as he sauntered along. " I told you about the first time Angel and Grelin tangled. Before I was born, that was. Darla cut him and he disappeared for a while. He popped up again not long after I'd been turned. We were still in London and I couldn't figure out why they were so scared - they'd won, hadn't they? But Grelin was doing terrible things to people they knew, moving in closer and closer to them. Of course, Angel being Angel it wasn't long before he got angry instead. They set a trap for him, captured him just before sunrise." His voice quickened with amusement. "They left him with his tongue nailed to the door of St Paul's cathedral, stark naked. I think the humiliation of it hurt worse than tearing his tongue free. He got burned too but he made it. We never saw him again."

Buffy shuddered. Knowing what Angel had done in the past always disturbed her.

"Here we are," said Spike, leading the way up into his crypt. It was surprisingly tidy. "I asked Clem to keep an eye on it," said Spike. "Looks like he did a bit more than that. Want a drink or something?"

"I'm going home," Buffy said abruptly. "You stay here and rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Spike looked at her, reading her mood with uncanny accuracy. "You didn't kill him, Buffy."

She threw up a hand as if he had raised his fist, not his voice. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice hard. She turned and walked to the door but Spike was there before her, his hand slamming it shut.

"So that's it? You're going to shut me out, put a door between us?"

"Can't you just give me some space, some time?" she hissed, looking at him as though she hated him. "It's been a long day. I'm really not up to more fun and games."

Spike flinched, his eyes showing the hurt that she'd wanted to inflict. He turned away and she felt the sick satisfaction of scoring a hit before the slump of his shoulders robbed her petty victory of any pleasure.

"Oh, God, Spike. I'm sorry," she began. "I didn't mean that."

She went to him, wrapping her arms around him, but he was as still and cold as ice. Stepping back, she watched in disbelief as he walked away from her and climbed down to his bedroom without a word or a glance.

For the second time in an hour, the Slayer felt tears sting her eyes but she didn't wait to see if Spike would be moved by them. An intense longing for her own home filled her and she left the crypt, moving as fast as she could, feeling strength returning to her body. She was almost at the cemetery gates when a trio of vampires stepped out of the shadows.

"Slayer's back, boys," said the biggest, a sneer on his vamped out face. "Thought you'd gone and left us. Guess you just couldn't stay away, huh?"

Buffy wiped away her tears, dropped her backpack on the ground and began to fight automatically, kicking, punching and pounding them. One she staked but as he dusted she fell and the big vampire landed on her, squashing her against the ground. Buffy felt a tree root dig into her spine, the tickle of grass against her face, breathed in the smell of the soil and knew that she had no strength left in her to fight. It was a mental weakness, not physical and it left her feeling strangely detached. As if pleading for her life, she stretched out her hand, brushing the face of the vampire as he snarled at her. Spittle dripped from his fangs and landed on her cheek. Sheer revulsion sparked a fury of hatred, shattering the shell of apathy that had formed around her, and Buffy screamed at him, a wordless cry that ended with one command - "Die!"

And he did. It began where her hand lay against his face, a redness beneath the skin that spread as a forest fire crackles busily through the dry bracken before erupting spectacularly to bring down the tall trees. When the magical flames had consumed all they wanted, they left him, exploding out of the hollow bag that had been his body and leaving Buffy staring up at a starry sky. The last vampire made an odd retching sound and turned to run. Buffy let him go. Moving as silently as a ghost, the tears drying into sticky tracks on her face, she went to find Giles.

***

Giles and Carlton were still awake but only just. Sipping appreciatively at a small selection of malts, they were reminiscing and making tentative plans for the future.

"I really need you back home," said Andrew. "Only for a short while; I can see that you're needed here, but your advice on a realistic training programme for both Watchers and Slayers would be invaluable. If you could spare the time -" He was interrupted by Buffy knocking on the door. Giles walked across and peered through the peephole to see who it was. When he saw Buffy, his face lit up with pleasure.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed, opening the door and ushering her in. "I wasn't expecting you back so early! Wonderful. Come in." As he took in her appearance and the fact that she was alone, he sobered, lowering his voice and shielding her from Andrew's gaze with his body. "Spike? Is he not with you?"

"Spike's fine," Buffy said dully. "I did what I had to, the power's back, we're back, everything's fine. Except it isn't and it never will be again." She hauled the Shield out of the pack she had been carrying for what seemed like days, not hours, and tossed it carelessly on the table. Carlton winced as it knocked into a bottle of Highland Park but remained silent. "She told me to keep that safe so I suppose you'd better have it. Slayers come and go but you lot are always around, aren't you?"

Giles looked at her thoughtfully, assessing his Slayer. He had seen her grieve, seen her despair but this seemed to go deeper than that. She was in shock and he moved quickly. Buffy found herself wrapped in a cover, huddled up in a soft armchair, hands clutching a warm cup of cocoa. Sipping at it automatically, she felt her body and mind calm as Giles' remedies and concern soothed her.

"Do you want to discuss it now, Buffy? It can wait until tomorrow, I'm sure," Giles said as he watched her pale cheeks flush pink again.

She shook her head, turning to stare at the empty fireplace. "There's so much to tell, I don't know where to start. You talk; how have things been here?"

Giles and Carlton exchanged rueful glances. "We had a visit from Ethan," said Giles, rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking slightly embarrassed. "I won't bore you with the details right now, but it seems he was working for Grelin. We managed to defuse a little surprise he had set up and we were holding him at your house, but well, -"

"He escaped," said Andrew. "I'm not sure how but one morning he had gone, taking with him all the cash he could find and leaving a decidedly rude note."

Giles nodded, throwing up his hands helplessly. "You know Ethan - not an easy chap to hold onto. Still, I doubt he'll continue to bother us if Grelin's dead - I assume he is dead?"

Buffy nodded and Giles smiled, his thoughts hidden behind his cool eyes. Ethan probably would have escaped in time but as it happened, he'd had an assistant. Giles had overheard him talking to Willow and had been shocked at the subtlety of his approach. The older mage had tried to lure the young witch into experimenting with the sort of spells that he and Giles had abused as teenagers. That Ethan should be so irresponsible was no surprise. That Willow should have been tempted had horrified the Watcher so much that he had weighed up the risks and decided that Sunnydale would be better off without Ethan around. Ever. When it came to it, he hadn't -quite- been able to kill him, but Ethan had left town under no illusions about his fate if he ever came near Willow again.

"Anyway," Giles continued smoothly, " all has gone well in your absence. Dawn had a B on a math test which sent her into paroxysms of delight, Xander finally put up the shelves in the basement for you and Anya's hair is now Sunset Sable. Or so she tells me. It's a brownish red." He smiled as Buffy looked fleetingly amused. "So, are you ready to tell us what happened?"

All his good work was undone by this simple question. Buffy's eyes filled up with tears and she brushed at them impatiently. "I've cried more today than I have since -" She stopped, not wanting to mention her mother's death. Taking a deep breath, she carefully put down her mug on a side table and stared at Giles. In a monotonous voice she began to describe what had happened in the Realm as Giles and Carlton listened, longing to interrupt and ask questions but prevented by a steely gleam in her eyes. She finished her recital by telling them about the vampire she had just killed, looking down at her hands as she spoke, holding them away from her body as if they were coated with filth.

"So, I'm no better than Faith and now I've got super powers to make killing people really easy," she said bitterly.

"Actually, that new increased power is transitory," began Giles. "A side effect of the freshening of the powers. We did some research whilst you were away. It should wear off in a day or two."

"So after that, I'll just be an ordinary murderer? That's a relief."

Giles opened his mouth to reassure her but as he did, the door opened and Spike appeared. "That's a load of bollocks, Slayer," he said, his voice hard.

Buffy's head shot up and she glared at Spike. "Don't try and make me feel better!" she said. "You were there, you saw -"

"I saw everything," said Spike flatly. "Even dusted the vamp you let go just now. I've been listening to you until I couldn't take any more. Pull yourself together, girl."

Giles surged to his feet, his eyes stormy but paused. Visibly restraining himself he raised an eyebrow at the vampire leaning casually against the door. Spike's lips were compressed and his face was drawn with pain but he held Giles' gaze without flinching. "Your Slayer's learned a lesson tonight. Should have been something you taught her on Day One. Guess you were too busy on the finer points of inserting stakes." Spike pushed himself away from his support and walked into the centre of room. He looked down at Buffy, still huddled in her chair and his face softened for a second. "She thinks she's a killer, Giles. Thinks those pretty little hands are dripping with blood and there's no getting them clean. But why is she only getting the message now, after what, six or seven years of Slaying?" He stared down at Buffy's woebegone face, blue eyes freezing her in place. "Why didn't she know that from the start?" He knelt down by her chair, a sudden movement that made her gasp. Gripping the arms of the chair, trapping her, he whispered, "You kill. You Slay. And you want to know something? You're bloody good at it, love. You really are."

Buffy's head began to move back and forth in a frantic rejection of his words. Carlton, his face filled with indignation and hostility, began to go towards Spike but Giles, wiser than his friend, held him back, watching the scene with keen eyes.

"The mistake you're making is in feeling guilty about it. You didn't kill Matthew; he used you to commit suicide. You should have killed him, mind you. Bloody silly time to have scruples if you ask me. But what you do, night in and night out - it's not something to feel guilt over. Killing is ending something and that's not always bad. Sometimes, like today, it's a kindness. Sometimes it's hard. But you're like a doctor curing an illness by killing disease, like a teacher killing ignorance by showing kids how to read - and you're the only thing standing between humans and a quick nasty death."

He shook his head, his hands sliding down to grip hers, holding them tightly. "They asked a lot of you, love. But that First Slayer was right. You're special. You can take it. You can take anything they throw at you and if something does get by you, I've got your back." His voice became grudging. "And I suppose those Scoobies of yours might come in handy now and then."

Buffy pulled her hand free and held it up to his face, her eyes shining with a new understanding and a deep love. She touched him gently and he held still, the air between them quivering with tension.

"Do you want to live?" asked the Slayer.

 The End

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