Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Buffy..."

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

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

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

"Go home, Buffy. Get some sleep."

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

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

"Giles, I..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Farm animals run away with terror..."

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

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

"Criminals."

"No."

"Annoying busty cheerleaders with perky attitudes."

"No."

"Principal Snyder."

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

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

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

"Buffy!" Giles rose, outraged.

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

"I smell blood," he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," she moaned.

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

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

"I wasn't sure until now."

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

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

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

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

Xander rumbled, but did as he was told, "Did you know that flowing blood smelled any different than stand-still blood?" He asked the preoccupied hacker. "Well, I didn't," he muttered, ignoring Willow's dirty look.

* * *

Chapter Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Spike," she hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Buffy!" Giles snapped.

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

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

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

"I don't know," Giles replied, his face a mask of conflicting emotion. "I wish I did."

Go to Part 6