Chapter Six

He awoke slowly, a strange lethargy clinging to him relentlessly. He moved carefully, his body tensely awaiting the expected pain that never came. He sat up, a dizziness overtaking him for a moment, forcing him to slow down. He raised his head as soon as he felt steady enough to do so, and was startled to see a small blonde figure draped across a chair beside him.

"Buffy?" He murmured. The figure stirred slightly in her sleep, strands of golden hair falling across her cheek, tickling the long, dark lashes. Is this real? He wondered. He remembered waking, before. People staring down at him, then leaving quietly. He shook his head trying to sort fragments of memory from dream, the effort making his head spin.

He rose to his feet, tenderly testing his body, but still no pain came. Other than the strange fog in his mind and an irritating chafing against his skin he felt perfectly fine.

He smiled, the expression slightly odd across his pale features, there was one thing he could take care of. With a few quick motions he tore away at the bandages wrapped around his body, wincing slightly at the dried blood splattered across everything, mute evidence of near fatal wounds. He rubbed away at the bits clinging to him, brown flakes dropping away to expose unblemished pale skin.

Silently he walked across the room, flexing his stiff muscles, relishing in the feel of a healthy body. A small pile of clothes rested on a chair in a corner of the room, suddenly very aware of his nudity he tied a pair of sweatpants to his waist.

He could feel something pulling at him from outside, calling to him with the sweet voice of memory. Fire crackled in the hearth, emitting a soft inviting glow that beckoned him to stay. He ignored the golden warmth as the pull grew harder, more demanding.

He moved toward the garden, the fog in his mind making all conscious thought impossible. His body led the way surely, although it had been uncountable centuries since he had last walked these halls.

He saw her picking roses in the garden, her pale dress mingling curiously with her skin in the wan moonlight, making her seem sensuously nude. Her dark hair was elaborately made around her face, framing her delicate features with a startling clash of black against white.

For a moment memory mixed with reality. He saw her as she once was; innocent and lovely, fresh and full of life. Then a breeze brought the cloying stench of death to his senses and reality planted itself firmly in his bewildered mind.

"Drusilla..." He murmured, his voice gruff and unsteady.

She turned toward him allowing him to see the true difference between memory and reality; all light of sanity was gone from her eyes. "Angel," she whispered, her little-girl voice grating against his tender nerves. She eyed him appreciatively, taking in his smooth bare chest and the flimsy cloth covering him from waist down. "Not my Angel anymore," she murmured sadly.

"Was I ever?" He asked. The haze in his mind was beyond his control now, and he felt as though he was moving in a dream. The moon's silvery light drew an ethereal quality, painting the world in unrelenting shades of black and white. Her skin seemed to glow in that light, her face a masterpiece of creation spoiled only by the dark light of madness beaming in her eyes.

She giggled sweetly and brought a rose to her lips, sniffing at it coyly. "You were always my Angel. Even when you thought I was yours and made me scream out your name..."

"When you were human?"

She nodded, "and later when your heart reeked of the Slayer," her voice took a hard edge, her fingers callously crushing the delicate rose. "You were such a bad daddy and even then you were mine. Every time you wouldn't kill me, every time you wouldn't let that nasty Slayer kill me." She looked at him sadly, her fingers reaching up to touch him, "but you're not mine anymore. You're hers."

She had cut herself from the rose's thorns. Her fingers were bloody, a disgusting dark contrast against the chalky whiteness of her skin, but he let her touch him anyway. "Whose am I, Dru?" His voice was deceptively patient.

She looked at him as if she could see right through him and giggled, her fingers tracing a bloody signature on his pale chest. "Do you know why the Slayer brought you out of hell?" She asked, completely ignoring his question.

He took a deep, unnecessary breath. A small flame of anger began to smolder in his gut. Inhaling deeply again to control that flame he shook his head.

The dark vampiress glanced around as if afraid of eavesdroppers. He bravely resisted an urge to break her neck. "You're supposed to save the world," she confided. "Or destroy it." Then she laughed, no longer a little girl's laugh, a laugh full of malicious hate. "The moon sings to me. She tells me you don't know who you are. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?"

The small flame in his gut rose to a full-blown inferno, he could feel his face changing even as he took a menacing step toward his insane childe. "What are you talking about, Dru?" He demanded.

"Impotent!" She screeched at him, "all that power, all that rage and still you're impotent!"

He lost control, grabbing her roughly by the waist he pinned her against his body, "am I impotent, Drusilla?" He snarled, pushing against her, forcing her to feel him, to acknowledge him. His hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, a dark warning to the ease with which he could end her life. She paused only to laugh in his face before sinking her fangs into his lips. Realizing he was fooled he dug his claws into her cool skin, pulling her away from him.

She broke away with a soft growl, her demon marring her perfect features, "so powerful, and so impotent," she moaned, his blood dripping from her lips, staining her chin crimson.

"I think you'd better leave now, Dru," A calm, hard voice said from behind them. Buffy stood leaning against the door, subtly toying with a sharp stake, her eyes as hard as flint.

The vampiress backed away with a snarl, fear evident on her demonic face, "sometimes, when the moon would hide from me and the nights were dark," she whispered in a child's voice, her eyes never leaving the Slayer. "I could hear you screaming in hell." Only then she risked a glance at her Sire, "It used to make me want to laugh," She told him as she disappeared into the night.

"Are you all right?" Buffy asked softly. Angel snarled, his lip had already healed, but the blood dripping down his demonic features made him seem like an insane beast in the darkness. She waited as his anger slowly drained and his face reverted back to its human facade.

He watched her leaning against the doorway, her lithe body filled with catlike grace, firelight from inside made her hair blaze like a golden halo. "You're hurt," she said, reaching up delicate fingers to his lips.

For a single moment memory and reality mixed in his tortured brain. He could see his lover's face clearly in the soft moonlight, and just as clearly he could see a demon's face, lovely and perfect, sneering at him with contempt. He instinctively recoiled from her, "don't touch me!" He gasped, the words flying out of his mouth beyond his control, fear shining in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she choked, the words holding more meaning than she could ever explain. "You slept through the entire day, and when I woke up and couldn't find you after you nearly," for the first time she noticed his bare chest, marked only by his childe's blood and her eyes narrowed with confusion, "died," she finished lamely. "Angel, what happened to your wounds?"

You don't know who you are. He brought a trembling hand to his lips, wiping away at the drying blood. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are? "Is it true?" He asked. "Did you bring me back so I could fight some evil?"

She flinched as though he had struck her a blow, "damn Drusilla!" She muttered. "It's not like that," she explained lamely, "it was just this weird coincidence where we had one part of the key and Spike had the other part. I guess we needed some sort of mutual crises to come together and..."

He ran a shaking hand through his soft, dark hair, "I think I need to be alone now, Buffy."

She reached out for him instinctively, "Angel, I..."

"Please, Buffy!"

She nodded weakly, her hand dropping lamely beside her, "I'll come see you later tonight," she promised. He nodded as she disappeared into the night, a distracted gesture of a man with too much on his mind.

Confusion eddied around him when she left, slivers of memory cutting at him with jagged edges of truth. A bullwhip gleefully biting into his skin, implemented by an insanely laughing demon. Can you feel it? Claws tearing across his body with the abandon of a lover. I love you, Angel.

He sank to his knees on callously discarded rose petals, his hands clasped against his ears, his eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out his senses, trying to shut the memories out. Hellfire burning away his skin, the stench of brimstone boring into every crevice and pore in his body, choking him, suffocating him. Hanging on a cross as the early light of dawn gently burned his awareness away. How can you do anything if you don't even know who you are?

"Stop!" He screamed. The night carried his voice away, accepting his madness as it echoed into nothing. "Please stop," he begged, his hands dropping to the ground to support his trembling body.

The fog slowly seeped out of his mind, illusive memories clearing way to reality as in a sudden moment of absolute clarity he understood what he had to do.

He's all right, he's just in shock, Buffy murmured to herself as she headed towards the library. Don't touch me. The bitter taste that left in her mouth refused to go away. Did he hate her? Was it so bad that he couldn't stand the mere sight of her? She shook her head trying to dispel the distracting thoughts and tried to concentrate on something more immediate. Those wounds should have taken several months to heal at best, yet they were gone as though they had never existed. And he hadn't even answered her question about them. She shook her head again, she was getting nowhere on her own, she definitely needed to talk this over with Giles.

"Where is Giles?" She asked as she stepped into the library. Her friends were lounging around, talking quietly and reading books. Or in Xander's case eating too many donuts.

"He said he was going home to get some sleep," Cordelia replied, looking up from the book she was reading. "All this time I thought he lived here."

"He does," Xander chuckled, wiping powdered sugar off his nose, "but sometimes he needs some 'me' time away from his books." He peered up at Buffy, "what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with hell-boy."

Buffy winced at the term but said nothing, "he had a little visit from Dru and it shook him up. He said he needed some alone time," she said, trying to make it sound casual.

They stared at her.

"What?" She demanded, as the silence in the dimly lit library became too oppressive.

Cordelia glared at her and Buffy steeled herself, the May-Queen's sharp tongue was not a pleasant thing. "I think what we're trying to say is: 'And you let him?!'"

"Well I couldn't very well force myself on him!" The Slayer retorted without thinking.

"No," Oz agreed quietly as Buffy flushed a bright red, "that would definitely be of the bad."

Cordelia took a deep breath and Buffy winced, the pretty brunette was not through, "what if he goes psycho again?" She demanded, her voice shrilly grating on Buffy's nerves. "What if he starts after you again?" Her soft brown eyes widened as another, more hideous possibility suddenly occurred to her, "what if he starts after me again?" She cried, her voice climbing several octaves.

"Then we kill him," Xander stated coolly, "prophecy or no prophecy."

Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously, "hold on rebel without a clue," she said acidly, her eyes flashing bright anger. "Angel's fine. He's just adjusting, that's all."

"To what," Xander challenged, "life in the fast lane? An all you can eat Sunnydale till the Slayer says stop?"

Willow gasped, "Xander, stop it. We're not going to get anywhere this way."

They were both beyond reason, though, "were you always this jealous of him?" Buffy asked softly as her friend glared at her. "Because you've hated him even before he gave you reason too."

He barked a tense laugh, "yeah, all I ever wanted was my own personalized tombstone."

"That can always be arranged," Spike said smoothly, an amused expression on his face.

"You know," Xander said wearily, "this place has really been loosing its charm as Slayer headquarters lately."

"I'm just glad he didn't bring miss psycho killer along," Buffy muttered.

Spike's eyes flashed with annoyance, "lay off Dru, Slayer. She's more of a woman than you'll ever be," his eyes narrowed at Buffy's audible snort. "She's rad, bad..."

"And completely mad," Buffy added, a malicious grin spreading across her face.

"Really," Xander asked, a grin plastered on his face. "And all this time I thought she was slutty, smutty and totally nutty."

"Ooh, can I play?" Cordelia squealed as everyone but the seething vampire giggled around her, the tension that had engulfed them thankfully broken.

"Lazy, hazy and a whole lot of crazy," Oz contributed. "Well I do write songs, you know," he added depreciatingly as they grinned at him.

"Oh, I got one," Willow squeaked. "A snore, a bore and a total who..."

"Willow!" Buffy gasped, her eyes shocked.

"Well she is," Willow muttered sullenly.

Spike's eyes flashed, "that's right, kiddies," he snarled, his nostrils flaring. "Piss off the bad ass vampire. Think about that next time you walk into a dark alley at night." He turned his back on the giggling teens with disgust and stomped off out of the library, smacking into his sire in the process. "Of course it'd be you," Spike growled, his hand rubbing his cheek where it impacted roughly with Angel's shoulder. "The Slayer's laughing it up over there."

"I came to see you," Angel said softly, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

"Were you now?" Spike drawled, contempt and curiosity battling for dominance across his features.

Buffy watched the two vampires standing at the library doors. One dark and tall, his expression a heart wrenching mix of pleading and distress. The other paler, shorter, slimmer, his confident smirk enough to make anyone break into a cold sweat. The contrast between them was intoxicating.

"I need you," the dark vampire whispered, his arm leaning on the doorway for support, "to tell me who I am." His voice was almost soundless, his stance filled with despair. Buffy ached to rush over to him, to support him, but he had asked her not to touch him and he had not come here for her.

Spike's eyes narrowed, "what're you talking about..."

With catlike grace the dark vampire lunged at his childe, all semblance of weakness gone. "Blood runs true," Angel hissed as he grabbed the pale vampire by the shoulders, shaking him like a rag doll. His eyes glimmered golden, but his face kept its human mask, "I need you to tell me who I am!"

With a quick twist Spike freed himself from the older vampire's grasp, "why should I?" He demanded, his face inhuman as he lost himself to rage.

Angel grabbed him again, this time his hold was unbreakable. He dragged his resisting child so close their faces nearly touched. "Because I am your sire," he hissed.

Spike stopped struggling, but managed to laugh in his sire's face, "and here I thought the in thing to do these days was to stake your sire in the back. I'd be happy to do that," he growled just as menacingly as Angel.

Angel pushed his childe away as he grimaced with remembered pain, "then do it because you need me sane." He muttered, all at once reverting back to weakness.

"He's gone nuts," Xander whispered.

Spike seemed to have the same idea, "you're loosing it," he assessed as he looked the older vampire over.

Angel ran a trembling hand through his unkempt hair. He tried to chuckle, but a sob filtered through instead, "tell me I haven't already."

"Your conscience getting to you, Peaches?" Spike asked with false sympathy. "Remembering the merry old time you had as a bad ass and it hurts you down deep? Tell me, what was hell like? Repent much?"

The dark vampire's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips curled as a snarl rolled from deep within his chest, "oh, it was a real divine comedy," acid dripped from his words. Willow gasped, her lips forming a startled O as she seemed to realize something, then thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut. "You are going to do this for me, Spike. One way or another I'll find out what I need to know."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore! I'm not some cripple you can stake in a heartbeat!"

A wicked smile spread across beautiful pale features, "no, but Dru is."

Spike's eyes widened with disbelief, as for a single solitary moment the only sound in the library was the soft purr of neon lights. "The guy still knows how to brighten up a room," Xander noted to no one in particular.

"You bloody wanker, you wouldn't," Spike said, the tone of his voice indicating he wasn't entirely sure.

"Not if I didn't have to."

Sire and childe glared into each other's eyes, lost in a battle of wills. Finally the younger vampire turned his head away, "then let's do this already," he muttered. Angel nodded, visibly relaxing as he began to unbutton his shirt. "What are you doing?" Spike demanded suspiciously.

"You always were a sloppy eater. I don't plan on letting you destroy what little wardrobe I have left."

Buffy gasped. Sloppy eater? "What's happening?" She demanded, her voice coming out shriller than she intended.

Spike cast an almost amused glance at his sire, "didn't you ever tell her about this?"

Angel shook his head. "Never saw any reason too." His shirt had come off, revealing to the relieved Slayer a pale torso cleansed of all bloodstains.

"Of course you didn't, you old Poof." Spike said contemptuously, his confidence returning, as he seemed to gain some semblance of control. "You were always too busy brooding in the dark, pretending to be something you weren't, to look back at the prettier side of what you were." Angel's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he said nothing.

"And you," Spike turned to the Slayer, humor in his eyes, a sly smirk on his face, "you should really find out as much as you can about who you're so dedicated on destroying. After all, there's more to us then just killing and feeding."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Buffy murmured, her attention clearly elsewhere.

Spike's glance followed the direction of her look, his eyes skimming over his sire's perfect torso with little surprise, "show off," he muttered. "There's a special bond between sire and childe," he lectured, his voice ripping the teenagers' attention away from the walking miracle. "A bond made of blood and trust. Do you trust me, Angel?"

Buffy swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking across her body in reaction to Spike's words. Angel crossed his arms across his chest, his legs firmly braced against the polished hardwood table, a true icon of power, "I trust the world to end if you go too far. I trust that you'll writhe in agony in hell if you kill me. So yes, I trust you."

The pale vampire nodded as if expecting nothing less, "that bond allows for certain things, certain truths," he continued smoothly. "In other words, pet," Buffy shuddered as the pale vampire's eyes bore straight into hers, "he's allowing me to see right into his bloody heart. A true honor," he added cynically.

"Can we get on with this?" Angel demanded impatiently.

"Of course," Spike replied calmly, as in one swift motion he lunged at the dark vampire, his face changing only a moment before sinking his fangs deep into his sire's neck.

Buffy gasped with horror. A slender trickle of blood wound its way slowly down Angel's spine, a startling crimson on pale skin. Spike's hands snaked around Angel's body, pulling him closer into his bloody embrace. She could see the slight caressing motion as a hand entwined itself in the soft, dark hair.

The pair twisted, caught together in a drunken dance, yet somehow still graceful as they crushed against each other. Angel's head lifted, his neck fully exposed, his eyes closed and his lips parted in what could have been either torment or pleasure. Buffy could clearly see his fingers clawing at the material of Spike's shirt, ripping long tracks along the pale vampire's back.

A groan rippled across the hushed room, filled with intense desires and emotions that a singular few could understand. The hand across the dark vampire's back drew harder, clawed at pale skin as it demanded more then what simple contact would allow.

There was only the minute warning of golden eyes, flashing for a moment before fangs sank into a pale neck, dark hair mingling intimately with blond. Their bodies both shuddered a moment, shocked at the unexpected violation then pushed even closer together. Hands tearing at soft flesh, hips grinding together with the full force of masculine passion, they moved as one single, undulating body.

Buffy felt hot sweat form on her face, her breath grew heavier, more strained as she watched the vampires move. In a small corner of her mind she wondered what her friends were thinking, how shocked they must be by the vampires' actions, but she was unable to tear her eyes off the pair. Not even to spare a glance their way.

Spike's shirt was in tatters, hanging on his body seemingly by sheer will, blood slightly staining the pale patches of visible skin. Soft suckling sounds broke the tense silence, betraying any illusion of humanity. Spike's knees buckled suddenly, unable to support him under the strain. For a moment it seemed that Angel could hold them both, his more massive girth built for the challenge. Then they toppled, slowly falling, still intimately joined together.

They landed almost gently on their shoulders, clinging to each other a moment before rolling on the floor in a primal contest for dominance. They seemed almost equal in strength for an instant, but the older, more massive vampire finally gained the advantage.

He sprawled over his slimmer childe, his body denying any means of escape as his hips undulated against Spike's body. A slow steady flush crept across Buffy's face, her mind helplessly envisioning herself in Spike's place, her body at once both repulsed and excited by the notion.

Spike's hands drowned in Angel's thick hair, pushing down in open invitation. His legs wrapped around Angel's hips in an almost feminine gesture. Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as her body began to tremble. I shouldn't want him like this, she thought even as her body reacted involuntarily to the blatant sexual energies, I shouldn't be attracted to the demon in him.

They held still for a moment, a sudden contrast to their frenzied motions, then as one they broke apart, rolling away from each other to gasp for unneeded breath on the floor.

The room was quiet, filled only with the artificial sound of purring neon lights. "Man," Xander muttered, his voice slightly shaking, "I will never look at necking the same way again."

* * *
Chapter Seven

Spike sprawled on the floor, his chest heaving as he gulped unnecessary air, "I've never felt anything like that," he breathed. "It was like nothing I've ever tasted before."

Angel, seemingly already recovered, paused from buttoning his shirt, his trembling hands and a dark stain on his collar silent witnesses to his own inner turmoil. He reached out his hand towards the younger vampire. Wordlessly, with a look of near reverence, Spike clasped it with his own and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"What did it taste like?" Buffy asked, more of a need to break the oppressive silence then out of any real interest.

"Were you not listening?" Spike's eyes never left his sire, a newfound respect shining in them. "I just said I never tasted anything like it." He fingered his tattered shirt, "and you said I was the sloppy eater," he said wryly. There was no blame in his voice, only a friendly camaraderie that seemed to flow naturally between them. They were friends before, Buffy thought, the nature of their friendship suddenly a wonder to her.

"Maybe it was because Angel's a man," Willow suggested hesitantly. "And you've probably never, um," she floundered, "tasted a man before."

Spike finally tore his adoring gaze away from his sire to snicker at the timid redhead. "Little girl, I'm a century old amoral vampire. I've TASTED men, women and a full myriad of interesting things in between." He rolled his eyes as the girl took a step back into the protective embrace of her boyfriend. "Now would somebody who knows what they're talking about please talk?"

"What did it feel like?" Angel asked quietly. His stance was calm, his stained shirt the only evidence that something had happened.

"Alive," Spike replied, awe bouncing off his voice. "Raw and powerful, like a Slayer's only more earthy." Buffy swallowed hard, forcefully turning her mind away from the thought of how Spike would know that. "Older then anything I've ever felt before," he went on, "what you'd feel like if you'd lived a hundred times your lifetime." His time in hell, Buffy thought. How old was he now? "But somehow still alive." He said the last with a childish sort of wonder.

"Can you tell me who I am?" Angel asked intently, his dark eyes boring into his childe's.

Spike shook his head, "I'm sorry, mate. I couldn't even begin to guess. You're a bit like the way you used to be, before, when you still had a spine. Only this time your soul was still there," he made a face even as Buffy breathed her relief. Of course his soul was still there. She tried to glare at Xander, but he wasn't looking her way. "It's almost like you're everything rolled up into one," he shook his head again. "I don't know who you are."

Angel nodded, his gaze falling to the floor, his shoulders slumped with defeat. Wordlessly he turned and walked towards the swinging wooden doors. "Angel!" Buffy called out after him. She didn't know what to say, but she knew she couldn't let him leave like this. He didn't even pause at the sound of her voice as he left the library.

They stood in stunned silence for a moment as the heartbroken Slayer blinked back her tears. "You can't let him run around like this!" Xander finally spluttered, "he's out of his mind, you don't know what he might do out there." Buffy shook her head helplessly, the words choking in her throat.

Spike nodded, "Hell has just frozen over." They stared at him and he sighed, "you've been living on the hell-mouth for too long, kiddies. What I mean is I agree with the idiot child over there." Xander flushed, but kept his mouth shut. "I could feel the madness in him, pet," he told Buffy. "It's different then it was before, after you gave him his happy, but he isn't in full control."

"But his soul..." She started.

"Is in there with a mind that's out of control and a demon howling for blood," Spike shook his head, "all mixed together somehow. He can't be left alone." Buffy nodded lamely and went after the pale vampire into the cool night.

"I could have told her that," Xander muttered as the Slayer and vampire left.

"And it would have been just as effective," his girlfriend patronized.

"How do you know which way he went?" Buffy demanded after a few minutes of following Spike at a brisk walk.

"I don't," he replied.

"Then where are we going?"

"To see the elders."

Buffy stopped in her tracks, allowing the pale vampire to continue a few more paces, "excuse me?"

Spike turned slowly, "to see the elders," he repeated, annunciating each word. "I have no intention on chaperoning a who-knows-how-old vampire."

She stared at him, "but all the stuff that you said..."

"Which is exactly the reason why we're going to see the elders."

"But you said he couldn't be left alone!"

He rolled his eyes, "why me?" He asked the moon. It glowed on, ignoring him entirely. "Try to keep up with the story line, luv. I exaggerated."

"Why?"

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, calling on every bit of patience his demon had to offer. It didn't. "Because," he grated, "I didn't feel like explaining myself to your yapping friends." He held up his hand to cut off any more questions. "I met with Dru after she saw Angel. She told me he wasn't right in the head." A delicate eyebrow lifted questioningly. "Well not in so many words," he added reluctantly, "but I got the general idea. Anyway, that's why I went to see you in the first place, pet, to tell you that this has gone on long enough. We need to bring in some more help."

She thought about it, about Angel's reactions, his mood swings. "If this is a trap," she started.

He groaned, "do we REALLY need to go through this again, Slayer?"

She shook her head, "lead the way." He gave her a feral grin that almost made her wish she had staked him that first night outside the Bronze.

They walked to the outskirts of town where Spike's car was waiting, parked in the shadows.

"You're kidding," Buffy said, eyeing the filthy vehicle suspiciously, "we walked all this way for THIS?"

He shrugged as he creaked open the rusty door, "can't park it in the city. Officials keep calling it a hazard of some kind and tow it away."

"Gee, I wonder why," she muttered balefully, glaring at the blackened windshield. "Clean much?" She asked, kicking a half-empty vodka bottle out from under her feet.

He sighed, this was going to be a long ride.

"Spike," she said after several long moments of silence, "that thing you did with Angel tonight. Did you guys do that before?"

He risked a glance her way, noting how young and fragile she looked in the darkness, "we're vampires, pet." He said as if that explained everything. After several moments of silence he realized she was expecting more than that as an answer. "He's my sire," he finally added.

"Think you can speak in longer sentences?" She asked irritably, "four words or more should do fine."

"Didn't you two ever talk?" He retorted, "or did you just mumble around each other's tongues?"

Her green eyes narrowed dangerously, "oh yeah, we talked," she replied acidly. "About saving the world, keeping ourselves and others nice and safe, from you among other things. You know the usual couple lovey-dovey stuff. Guess we just never found the time to reminisce."

He laughed, much to her chagrin, "yeah right, the Poof probably never liked to talk about his past, would ruin his image as the Slayer's pet vampire." Buffy bit back a growl, the platinum haired vampire had an annoying talent of cutting straight to the truth. "I will tell you this, though," Spike added, his voice suddenly filled with memories. "He was different then, not like you knew him after his soul flew away."

"Different how?" She asked, suddenly filled with curiosity.

"He wasn't bleeding mad, for starters," Spike replied quickly, reminding Buffy that he too had suffered when Angel had changed. "He also wasn't as power hungry. Knew how to relax, enjoy the little things in life. A good show in London, a carriage ride around Paris at night, a nice all-you-can-eat brothel in Amsterdam." He sighed reflectively, "those were the days. We cut through Europe like we owned it, but then he had to go and eat a Gypsy." His pale face clouded at the memory, "I told him not to, you know. I said: 'Angelus, leave the bloody Gypsies alone, they're bad for you.' What with all that magic and warped beliefs, who knew what they could be carrying." His voice turned strangely parental, reminding her slightly of her mother telling her to go do her homework or Giles saying she ought to be patroling. The thought evoked a smile out of the Slayer despite his words. "But did he listen? Oh no, Angelus always knew better than everyone else. I thought he was dead till that night at the high school. Nearly killed poor Dru, it did."

"Really?" Buffy asked, biting back the humor in her voice at the last second. He seemed to catch it anyway and looked at her, searching for signs of mockery in her features. "Watch the rode!" She hissed as the car swerved dangerously close to the gutter.

"Yes, really," he said once the car moved more securely on the dark, beaten track. "She was never the same after he was gone. That night, when the mob nearly killed her in Prague, I always thought she did it on purpose. She killed a hooker in the middle of a street full of people," he said, catching her curious look, "didn't even try to run away. I found her half dead and bleeding, they beat her so bad it took her a full year to walk again." His face changed as his demon awakened at the memory, "they probably left her thinking she was dead, the bloody bastards," he hissed through sharp, angry fangs, "she was never the same, though. Lost her will to live." He chanced a quick look at the hushed Slayer, "she loved him, you know."

Yes, I know, Buffy thought. Despite all he ever did to her she probably loved him more than she could ever love you. She still does. "How old are the elders?" She asked quickly, needing to change the subject.

He laughed, his face shifting back to his human mask. "Well them being called elders in a race that's supposed to live forever is a bit of a hint," he said as Buffy swallowed nervously. "I'll put it to you this way, luv. Remember the master?" She nodded, her face clouding at the memory. She still had nightmares about him. "Well, when he wasn't even a glint on his sire's fangs they were still known as the elders. Helpful enough?" She nodded, cold sweat breaking out at the thought of ageless demons wanting to see her.

"Any special thing I'm supposed to know or do when I see them?" She asked casually, relieved to hear that her voice wasn't quaking.

He nodded, his sly smile bright against the car's inky darkness, "you know that thing that you insist on doing whenever there're vampires around?"

"You mean Slaying?"

"Yeah that. Well don't," he said flatly.

"I seriously hate you," she told him dryly. His only reply was a bright smile.

He stopped the car a few minutes later. Buffy looked around noting the dark, bleak woods surrounding them. "This isn't gonna be one of those oops-I-ran-out-of-gas situations, is it?" She asked suspiciously.

He glared at her, "I'm not here to satisfy your fantasies, luv. Although," he looked her up and down suggestively, "when this is all over, who knows?"

A stake appeared as if by magic in her hand, "I'd love to see you try," she purred, her fingers caressing the stake lightly, seductively. "Then I might finally be able to stick this were it belongs."

His eyes narrowed, glinting sparks of repressed violence, "we walk a bit from here," he said roughly, turning brusquely to lead the way without waiting to see if she followed. She chuckled to herself then scrambled after the irritated vampire before he disappeared from her sight completely.

They walked in silence for several minutes, a nervousness building in Buffy's gut. She was a city girl at heart; concrete, cars and pollution made her feel at home. The unfamiliar woods seemed sinister, filled with strange sounds and a gaping darkness. Branches snagged at her clothes, jutting roots reached to trip her feet and once she thought she saw a pair of eyes glimmering in the forest's depth. She turned her head to look, but it was gone. A kind of panic began to claw at her and she found herself biting down on her lips to keep from screaming. She locked her eyes on Spike's back, his confident strides slightly reassuring her, and kept moving through the forest and through her fears.

He finally stopped at the edge of a clearing, she could see campfires pushing away the darkness just over Spike's shoulders, dark undecipherable figures sat huddled near those fires. He glanced down at himself and frowned. His tattered shirt clung to his body with mere will power and dried blood speckled the cloth. "This won't do," he muttered, discarding the offending material, leaving him standing half-naked in the darkness.

Buffy took in his slender form, trying not to stare. His frame was lean and sleek, the body of an acrobat. His smooth, pale chest seemed silken in the moonlight, muscles rippled as he moved holding promises of both power and tenderness. Light scratches marred his perfection across his back, in Buffy's eyes they were a lover's mark branding him to his sire.

With a confidence innate to his nature he stepped out into the clearing, immediately commanding the attention of all saw him. "Who goes there?" A harsh voice demanded. Buffy hung back, waiting to see how this would turn out.

"Use your eyes, you bloody twit!" Spike's annoyed response floated through the darkness.

"I said, who goes there," the voice rasped, a tell tale sign of words slithering through sharp fangs.

The faint sounds of a scuffle sounded, the nauseating pounding of flesh against bone, "they're waiting for me," Spike said pleasantly. "And they're not really known as a patient lot. So why don't you play your little soldier games later and go fetch me a clean shirt so I can go and see them properly." A strangled, outraged groan sounded and then the wet slap of flesh against bloodied flesh. Buffy swallowed hard, thankful her eyes hadn't adjusted to the scant light just yet. "That's a good bloke," Spike encouraged as the figure scuttled off.

Several moments later the figure returned grunting meaningless apologies and handed Spike a dark cloth. Spike sniffed at it disdainfully, "not exactly Versace, but it'll do. Come along, pet," he said as he began walking into the clearing, pulling the shirt over his head.

She scrambled after him, intensely feeling many pairs of vampire eyes boring into them, their undead aura making the delicate hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. She swallowed down her nervousness and stayed close to Spike, subconsciously imitating his confident gate and his proud stance.

Vampires thrive on fear, Angel had once explained to her. If you show them you're not afraid you're already one step ahead. One step isn't bad, she thought, although two-three or several thousand would probably be a hell of a lot better. There were too many vampires here, she could sense them all around her. The knowledge that should they attack she would be virtually helpless kept her off her usual balance.

They crossed the clearing, reaching a natural rock wall, its top lost amid trees and night skies. He headed towards a small opening in the rock guarded by two fierce-looking vampires. "Spike," one of them grunted by way of acknowledgment, stepping aside to let them pass.

"Nice to be recognized," Spike muttered. "I had to teach one of your more cheeky fledglings some manners."

The guard sighed ruefully, "children today," he said thoughtfully, "they've got no respect for their elders. I hope you didn't hurt him too bad, though, we might need him later."

Spike shrugged, "should be up and about in a week or so. In the meantime his aches and pains will give him something to think about." Buffy heard the guard's approving grunt as they stepped into the crevice.

The crevice opened up to a long twisting corridor. Hallways gaped at their sides as they walked, some dark with gritty stone floors, others well lit, soft luxurious carpeting offering an open invitation. Spike passed them as though they never existed, choosing the long, spiraling corridor instead. Torchlight flickered brightly at regular intervals between heavy tapestries. "This isn't just a temporary camp, is it?" Buffy asked shrewdly, her eyes skimming across the magnificent works of art as she walked. Knights fought bravely against hideous beasts while ladies swooned gently across fields of silk and gold.

"No, it's not," he replied.

"Then what's to stop me from coming here when this is all over and..."

"Torch the place down?" He completed dryly. She nodded although his back was to her. It was a stupid question, she knew that. One of those 'I know you're the killer, I'm alone and defenseless, but I'm still going to tell you I know you're the killer' type of cheap horror movie questions. But Spike was bright enough to have reached her conclusions on his own. "I wanted to blind fold you," he told her. "But they asked me not to. They said it was a matter of trust. They were very insistent about that."

Trust, she mused. There were far too many vampires aching for her trust lately.

"They also said they wanted you to feel welcome," Spike went on.

That was just too much. She nearly laughed out loud at that. Her nerves were hypersensitive as it was at the proximity of so many vampires in one closed space. Vampire niceties were not going to change anything. "Won't you step into my parlor? Said the spider to the fly," she murmured.

He stopped to look at her, torchlight playing wild shadows across his pale, sharp features, his deep eyes unfathomable. "They just want to talk, pet," he said. It was as close to comfort as she would get from him.

They moved on, Buffy slowly stroking the soothingly smooth wood of the stake tucked snuggly in her sleeve as she walked. She didn't really expect to use it, but its familiar weight was a source of comfort.

Spike finally stopped before a closed wooden door, "Ready?" He asked.

"No, not really," she replied. He pushed the door open. "Great to see that that matters somehow," she muttered.

The room was large, though not intimidatingly so, a roaring fire filled the hearth, its colors playfully gleaming off the bright tapestries on the walls. The carpeting was lush, inviting bare feet to walk across its soft surface. A library, such as Giles would have been proud to own, rested against the far wall. A dark haired man leaned against the library, his attention riveted to the book in his hands. Several others lounged around the room talking softly or reading. No one seemed to have noticed their arrival.

Spike cleared his throat politely, immediately earning him the attention of six pairs of eyes. "Ah, William," the man leaning against the library said delightedly, his voice heavily laced with an alien accent. He closed his book with a dusty thump and set it on a shelf.

Spike bowed unselfconsciously bringing a surprised smirk to Buffy's lips. Spike was not the sort to bow down to anyone without feeling even the slightest discomfort. No matter how well he hid it. "I bring you Buffy, the Vampire Slayer," he said formally.

Buffy immediately squared her shoulders and lifted a defiant chin, she would bow down to no one. Especially if they had vampire in their title. She could feel her skin prickle as the elders watched her silently. "I thought she'd be bigger," the raven haired one finally said.

"Yeah, I kind of get that a lot," Buffy replied awkwardly.

 "Thank you William, you have done us a great service today," a pale woman sitting near the hearth said softly, her soft blonde hair gleaming in the firelight. Her voice was resonant, floating about the room with the strange accent of a forgotten language. "You may leave now."

Spike's eyes widened with surprise, "leave? But I..."

"Return to Sunnydale," the dark haired elder said softly. This was a man who didn't need to shout or order to get his way, his soft-spoken words were enough of a command. Buffy could feel the power emanating from him, from all of them. More powerful than the master had ever been, but different. The sense of awful malevolence that she had always associated with him didn't exist here. Her knees began to tremble. "Tend to your maddened lover," there was no reproach in his voice, but Spike winced all the same. "We will see that the Slayer returns safely."

Spike nodded and quickly left the room, leaving Buffy standing vulnerable and alone with the six vampire elders. She had hated Spike before, had attempted to kill him more than once. But she had never ached to see him a pile of dust at her feet as much as she did at that moment. "Sit, child," the pale woman said gently, "make yourself comfortable."

"That's not really likely to happen," Buffy replied, putting on a bold front. Never let them see you sweat, that way you're one step ahead. "I'd rather stand, thank you." The power radiating off them was incredible, it made the master seem like a fledgling. The pale woman nodded with supplication. She seemed young, a woman in her early twenties, but Buffy was enough of a veteran not to fall for that. After all, she had missed her boyfriend's bicentennial on account of not having been born. "You wanted to see me," she stated, hoping to speed things along.

The dark elder nodded, seeming to catch her mood, "there are things you must know so you may be able to destroy the impending evil."

A few things clicked in Buffy's mind, things she would have guessed long before had she not been distracted. That bleached blond little shit, she thought irritably, ignoring her own status as a not-entirely-natural-blonde. He was in league with these people from the very start. "You're the ones who gave Spike the way to get Angel out of hell," she said with wonder.

The elders shared a knowing look, "she is brighter than she looks," one commented dryly. Buffy's hand fondled her stake gently.

"Yes," the dark elder, which seemed to be their leader confirmed, "the coming of the Evil One holds great threat to all our lives. We had no choice but to be involved."

"The Evil One?"

"You know her as Cirta, the one who existed before man." Buffy nodded and he went on. "She was also known as the mother of the demon race and she ruled them all with an iron fist."

Although she was basically familiar with the outline of the story, Buffy couldn't help but shudder. "What happened?" She found herself asking, a child drawn to a bedtime story.

"In due time man came," the elder continued, his deep blue eyes dancing with amusement at her question. "And with them, as demon and human blood mingled, the lesser of the demon race. The vampires, the werewolves, half-demons, lesser monsters and nameless creatures which have become extinct over the ages. They were abhorrent in her eyes, an abomination. She made them into slaves, servants to her every whim, to be destroyed or spared at her wish. Eventually the humans and lesser demons rose up to destroy her."

The bitterness in his voice made Buffy tremble, "did you see it happen?"

This time his amusement couldn't be contained in his eyes alone, "ah, child," he laughed out loud, "how aged we must seem to you." He shook his head at the flustered Slayer, "this was long before our time. Long enough in fact to be forgotten by most races of man and demon."

Buffy inhaled deeply, trying to will away the flush that had spread across her face at the elder's ringing laughter. "I take it they weren't able to destroy her, seeing as she's still our problem," she said coldly. She was NOT about to make friends with a group of ancient vampires, no matter how nice they were to her.

He shook his head, "no. Even as a group they lacked the power. Instead they came together to lock her under the most powerful curse that had ever been used."

"So the lock broke?"

The elder seemed uncomfortable suddenly, "a series of events occurred, the hell-mouth breaking open, a righteous soul passing through. These events lessened the curse."

Buffy could feel the ever present guilt grab hold of her heart, "but she's not free yet."

"No, but she will be. With the single act of freeing the demon Angelus from hell all restraints have nearly been lifted."

Buffy shook her head, "I don't understand. Then why would you want to free Angel if that's what breaks the curse?"

The pale woman gently touched her dark companion's shoulder, "he must be the one to destroy her completely," she said softly, easing the young Slayer into the bitter truth. "Had we not broken her curse her minions alone would have torn the earth apart."

"How could they walk around while she's still," she floundered, "locked," she said lamely.

The dark elder spoke, his blue eyes serious, "when Angelus was sent to hell a certain amount of her power returned, certain parts of the curse became void. Her minions are nothing but animated demon corpses without a brain between them. They have the power to live a single night with the strength of a lifetime. She has an endless number of them at her disposal and together they have the power to rend the fabric of our lives apart."

"Then how's Angel supposed to stop her once she's freed?"

The elders shared an uncomfortable look, wrenching a horrible suspicion into Buffy's mind. "She wants him, Buffy," the dark elder finally said. "She wants him as her own, as her equal," as her lover. "When she has him, that will free her completely."

"Well she can't have him," Buffy heard the hysteria hovering over the edges of her voice.

The elder ignored her, "when she has him," he said firmly, "only then will he be able to destroy her."

"She can't have him!" She yelled, her panic ringing true.

"She will have him when you lie to him." Buffy's breath caught in her throat. "When you tell him you don't love him, that you could never love him. It will tear him apart and then she shall have him."

Lie to him, betray him. But she had sworn never again. Righteous anger engulfed her, filled her with its familiar strength. "Who do you think you are?" She demanded, her voice trembling slightly. Her body moved unconsciously to her battle stance, although they hadn't threatened her. Her eyes flashed green fire, "who the hell do you think you are to tell me to do this?" She screamed, her rage an undeniable force.

A meaningful look passed between the elders, a question asked and answered, a decision made. "We are Watchers," the dark elder finally said.

Go to Part 8