Burn for Me

Author: Emily

Parts: 61 - 70

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~Part: 61~

Buffy was ready to scream. *Five minutes* in a car alone with Spike was more time than she had ever wanted to spend in an enclosed space with him. After two hours, she was nearly ready to pull her hair out. The only thing that stopped her from doing it was the realization that she looked bad enough already. She’d been fresh from patrol when the call had come from Angel, saying that she needed to come to L.A., and Giles had only given her an hour to get ready. By the time she threw some things into a suitcase and got the keys to the car from her mom, she barely had enough time to shower and throw some clean clothes on before she had to head out the door. There simply wasn’t time for the hour-long hair and make-up ritual she used to do every time she expected to see Angel.

She wasn’t about to let Spike drive her mom’s car, but since she was the driver and not the passenger, she didn’t have the chance to fix up her appearance while she was in the car. Initially, she had thought that she might stop at a gas station just outside of L.A. and clean herself up a bit in the ladies room, but by that point in the drive she was so annoyed with Spike that she couldn’t bear the thought of the trip taking even a single moment longer than it absolutely had to. So when they finally arrived at the offices of Angel Investigations, she was, to put it mildly, not looking her best. And the conversation that she heard when she reached the entranceway wasn’t exactly designed to put roses in her cheeks or stars in her eyes.

She stood in the doorway with her mouth hanging unattractively open while Spike smirked, Wesley blushed, Angel shuffled his feet, Gunn concentrated on not laughing out loud, and Cordelia serenely painted her fingernails. For a moment, the room was silent.

Spike, who had rather enjoyed the cheerleader’s diatribe (he loved Buffy, but that didn’t mean that he thought she was perfect. He, more than most, knew of her flaws) had nothing to be embarrassed about, so he was the first to recover.

“Cordelia,” he stated genially. “Smashing, as always. Still going to that gym?”

“Three times a week,” she answered, “when I’m not busy beating up on demons or getting migraine-inducing visions. Thanks for noticing.”

Their exchange gave Angel a chance to pull himself together, so he was the next to speak.

“Buffy. Spike. I’m glad you got here safely.”

“Yes, ah, welcome,” Wesley added, stepping forward.

“Thanks, mini-Giles,” Spike stated breezily as he stepped fully into the room.

“Wesley,” the watcher corrected. “Wesley Wyndam-Price.”

“Wyndam-Price?” Spike asked as he seated himself on a couch. “I ate a watcher with that name back in the seventies.”

“Yes,” Wesley confirmed, “my uncle.” A slight smile sliding over his lips. “I’d always hoped I’d have a chance to thank you for that.” With that, the ice was broken. Gunn stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Call me Gunn,” he stated with an easy grin. With a firm handshake, they sized each other up, and decided that they approved of what they saw. Both Spike and Gunn had instinctive respect for good fighters. Gunn looked over at Buffy and wondered whether or not he should introduce himself to her, as well. She was still standing in the doorway with her mouth hanging open in shock. He decided to wait.

“So, cheerleader, you mentioned something about migraine-inducing visions? I’m guessing that that means that you’re our seer?”

“*Cordelia * is the seer?”

Everyone turned to look at Buffy who was still standing in the doorway.

“You’re kidding me, right? Cordelia can’t be the seer.”

“And why’s that?” Gunn asked with a hint of a dangerous edge in his voice. He didn’t appreciate the slayer’s tone.

“Are you *joking*?” Buffy asked, her voice getting shriller. Deep down, she knew she was being unreasonable. Yes, there had been a time (known as sophomore year) when the idea of Cordelia being an asset to the fight against the darkness would have been laughable, but it had been a long time since then. Cordelia had fought the good fight in Sunnydale for two years, and apparently had kept on fighting even after she hit L.A. Even though Buffy and Cordelia had never been exactly friends, there was no denying that Cordelia deserved respect for the choices she had made. But Buffy just couldn’t seem to stop herself. She felt tired, and grungy, and aggravated at the whole of the world. She had been yelled at by Giles, stuck in a car with Spike for hours, and then had walked in to Angel Investigations just in time to be insulted. She wasn’t in the mood to be fair.

“This is *Cordelia* we’re talking about,” Buffy continued. “Since when has she cared about anything more than her clothes, or her hair or her image—”

“Buffy, stop,” Angel said softly. “I know you’re tired, and you’re talking without thinking, but even you know that you don’t mean that.” He sent a tentative, apologetic look in Cordelia’s direction. The brunette, still focused on her nails, didn’t catch it, but Buffy did. That was enough to send Buffy over the edge.

As with most women, the last thing Buffy wanted when she was behaving unreasonably was to be told that she was behaving unreasonably. Her instinctive reaction was to get defensive. Added onto that was the fact that Cordelia had just berated her in front of the entire L.A. team, Angel included, and Angel’s response, instead of defending her, was to support Cordelia and defend *her* when Buffy questioned her abilities, and the result was a Buffy who was more than a little unstable.

“Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t mean?” Buffy snapped.

“I’m the person you came to help, remember?”

“Based off of some vision that Cordelia had! How am I supposed to know if that vision was accurate or not? I mean, consider the source!”

“Now really, I don’t think that that’s appropriate—” Wesley tried to interject.

“And what’s your role in all this?” Buffy countered, turning on him. “Great mighty demon hunter who passes out whenever there’s a sign of danger and squeals like a girl; what’s your position here?”

Gunn’s grip on his axe tightened. Yeah, he definitely didn’t like this girl. Wesley might come off as a little pompous at first, but the man was no coward. He worked hard to protect people; he had even taken a bullet for Gunn a few weeks earlier. That had definitely earned Gunn’s respect. And Cordelia, for all that she might look like stick-figure Barbie, had a good heart and was an amazingly caring person, once you got to know her. Gunn had only known her for a few months and he had already realized that. The slayer, although she had obviously known Cordelia for years, had apparently never bothered to try. He opened his mouth to give Buffy a piece of his mind, and quite possibly a piece of his fist, but Angel beat him to it.

“Wesley happens to be my boss,” Angel stated, trying to turn her focus back on to him. He didn’t want her lashing out at his friends like that.

“Your *boss*? Hell, no wonder you had to call me to get the job done! How could you ever get anything accomplished with him in charge?”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Angel bit out through clenched teeth toward the rest of the group before grabbing hold of Buffy’s arm and dragging her into his office. Moments later, the door slammed, and raised voices could be heard on the other side.

“Well, that was fun,” Spike commented. The rest of the group laughed nervously.

“Is she always like this?” Gunn questioned.

“Where Peaches is concerned?” Spike replied, wincing as Buffy’s shrill voice pierced the air, even though the closed door. “Pretty much.” He glanced at his watch. “Once she gets going like this, she can go on for hours, and we probably should wait to talk about the vision until they’re done; so in the meantime, can someone point me to a phone?”

“There’s one right over there,” Cordelia offered, pointing a perfectly painted fingernail to a phone on the receptionist desk.

“Got one with a bit more privacy?”

There was a pause, and some raised eyebrows, but Wesley stepped in eventually, offering the phone in his office. With a nod of thanks, Spike stepped in and closed the door behind him. He wanted the L.A. gang to respect him. They weren’t in the habit of thinking of him as some sort of neutered puppy, and he wanted to keep it that way. The thought of them overhearing a phone conversation where he sounded warm and caring and (demon forbid) *gentle*, was unappealing. Lifting the receiver, he quickly dialed the familiar number. Through the walls, he could easily hear Angel continuing to argue with Buffy.

“How could you not tell me that Cordelia was your seer?”

“I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

“None of my business if you decide to spend all your waking hours with the girl who spent most of high school trying to steal you away from me?”

“Grow up Buffy, you’re not in high school anymore. Cordelia has changed a lot since then and I would have hoped that you would have, too.”

“So now you’re trying to say you didn’t like the way I was in high school? You damn well seemed to like it the night of my seventeenth birthday, or don’t you remember?”

Spike focused on blocking them out. They weren’t the voices that he wanted to hear. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the phone, which rang only once before it was answered.

“Spike?” a breathless voice asked.

“No pet,” Spike answered. “You’re Willow. *I’m* Spike.”

“Right,” Willow replied, and Spike could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s all coming back to me now. Me college student. You evil vampire. I think I’ve got it.”

“Very good, Red. Knew those brains of yours would pull through in the end. So, picked up on the first ring? I guess that means you’ve been waiting anxiously by the phone?”

“Yes, with bated breath. Literally! I’ve already passed out twice from holding my breath for too long. Lucky thing you didn’t wait five minutes longer or I might have been unconscious again.”

Spike laughed out loud, feeling the tension that had built up in him since the beginning of the car trip finally ease. Willow always made everything alright. He missed her so much already, and he’d only been gone for a few hours! How was he going to feel after a few days away from her? Spike settled himself in the desk chair and hoped he’d be able to leave L.A. before long. He wanted to go home to his Red.

(“There’s just no way to win with you, is there Buffy?” Angel’s frustrated voice rang out through the wall. “When I show up in Sunnydale, you get furious with me, telling me that I’m no longer part of your life and that I should just stay gone and never try to talk to you again, but then you come running down here to L.A. to accuse me of keeping things from you. When the hell was I supposed to tell you? In our non-existent phone conversations? In my replies to all those newsy letters you never wrote me? In our visits that only ever happen in emergencies when you yell at me for ruining your life?”)

“So you miss me that much, do you?”

“Nah, I miss the food! I had a package of Ding-Dongs for dinner.”

“Willow…” Spike growled.

“Kidding! Just kidding, mein fuhrer. I ate the left-over lemon chicken and rice, just like you told me to.”

“That’s more like it.”

“It didn’t taste the same without you stealing bits of it off my plate,” Willow confessed, her voice soft and wistful for a moment before she forced it to brighten. “So what’s the situation there? Do you think you’ll have to stay for long?”

“Hard to say. We haven’t even heard about the vision yet. Buffy’s been spending most of her time yelling at Peaches for not telling her that Cordelia was his seer.”

“Yikes! How long did that argument last?”

Spike checked his watch. “So far, fifteen minutes and counting.”

“Still going on?”

(“For the last time, Buffy, there’s nothing going on between me and Cordelia!”

“Maybe not yet, but you want there to be, don’t you? I saw the way you looked at her. How could you?”

“How could I *what*? You and I were over a long time ago, Buffy. If I chose to have Cordelia as part of my life, what business is it of yours?”

“So you have been seeing her! I knew it! How could you lie to me like that?”

“I have *not* been seeing Cordelia! She’s only just *forgiven* me after the mess with the whole Darla situation—”

“WHAT????”)

“With no signs of stopping. And since we can’t get started talking about the vision until they’re done, that means you have plenty of time of tell me all about everything you’ve done since I left.”

“Spike, it’s only been two and a half hours.”

“Good, then that means it won’t take you more than two and a half hours to tell me all about it.” Willow laughed, and complied. When she was finished, Spike told her about the drive to L.A. and what had happened since he had arrived. By the time he was finished, the yelling had finally quieted from the other side of the wall.

“Gotta go now, pet. Sounds like things are about to get started.”

“Be careful Spike, please? Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Spike rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the burst of warmth he felt at her obvious concern. “I promise, Red. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright. Let me know if there’s any research I can do from this end to help.”

“Will do. Miss you, Red. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Miss you, too,” Willow answered, but it was too late. He’d already hung up. “I love you,” she whispered to the dial tone before hanging up the receiver. She closed her eyes and rested her head against one of the couch pillows. Her head had been aching ever since Spike had left. She hadn’t bothered to mention it to anyone, figuring it was just a response to the stress she’d been feeling lately, added on top of her worry for Spike. Rising to her feet, she decided to head up to her room, hoping that her head would feel better after she got some sleep.

She changed into her pajamas, and then slipped into Spike’s room. Sliding into the bed, she buried her face in the pillow, drawing in his distinctive scent. It helped her relax, a little. Letting her eyes slip closed, she realized that this was the first time she’d tried to sleep with him more than a few feet away in over a month. She wondered how she was ever going to be able to sleep when Spike was so far away.

~Part: 62~

After Spike hung up with Willow, he went back into the lobby just in time to see Angel and Buffy storm out of Angel’s office. The slayer practically had steam coming out of her ears and her hands were clenched tightly into fists. Angel’s eyes were flashing with gold, his demon straining to be released, and a bruise was developing on his cheekbone that was the same size and shape as a set of dainty slayer knuckles. Wesley took one look at them and announced in a falsely hearty voice that he was dead on his feet, and that he needed to be heading home. Gunn, quick to follow his lead, said that he should be heading out as well, and offered to give Cordelia a ride home, which she was quick to accept. In five minutes, the lobby was empty except for two vampires, a slayer, and a couple of suitcases.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” Angel managed to growl out, picking up the bags that were obviously Buffy’s, and heading for the elevator doors. “We cleaned up some rooms for you.”

When Buffy stomped over to Angel and tried to yank her suitcases out of his hands, claiming that she didn’t need his help for anything, leading to a tug of war over the suitcases that ended when the suitcases burst open and Buffy’s clothes (which included a wide variety of pieces of sexy lingerie, included on what was supposed to be a fighting mission for no good reason) poured out over the floor, Spike decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and stayed in the lobby until the fireworks had passed. He could still hear Buffy yelling even as the elevator doors closed behind her.

Once the doors were closed and Spike was safe from attack, he let slip a small smile. To his very great surprise, the trip was going better than he had ever dreamed possible. Along with Buffy, he had assumed that the slayer would simply fall into Angel’s arms when they arrived, accompanied by the sounds of rising violins, perhaps, and that the pair of them would spend as much time as possible staring longingly at each other and bemoaning their forbidden love for as long as Spike and Buffy remained in L.A. It had never occurred to him, just as it had obviously not occurred to Buffy, that Angel might have moved on.

Spike didn’t claim to understand it. The ability to put a love affair behind him was something he had never really achieved. The only way he had ever been able to get over a girl was to fall in love with someone else. And despite Buffy’s noisily voiced accusations, Spike didn’t believe that Angel was actually in love with Cordelia. (Or rather, he wasn’t in love with her, *yet*.) Angel was simply over Buffy. He had put that part of his life behind him, and he had no wish to recapture it again. For the first time in years, Spike felt something like respect for the dark-haired vampire who had been like a sire to him. Spike knew from personal experience how difficult it was to put a love like that in the past. But Angel had done it. He had left Buffy and made a brand new life for himself in L.A.

A damned nice life, from the looks of it. His business was booming. He lived in a beautiful hotel. His staff consisted of a watcher who was trained to hate vampires, a Sunnydale girl who had fought against the creatures of darkness since high school, and a street kid who was always looking for a fight and yet Angel had, somehow, managed to earn their trust and respect. Spike had expected to spend the whole of his trip watching his back, dealing with mistrust and suspicion on all sides. Instead, everyone had been surprisingly… nice. They all seemed willing to work with him. Even Angel wasn’t taking potshots at him, which was unusual, to say the least, especially given Spike’s behavior during his last trip to L.A. For once, *Buffy* was the one who was trying everyone’s patience, not him. Accustomed to Sunnydale, where everyone seemed to take the stance that Buffy was incapable of doing anything wrong, it was a pleasant change.

Five minutes later, Angel came back downstairs, alone, with tension still evident in his shoulders and his clenched fists, and bits of amber shining in his eyes. Spike wasn’t surprised when the dark haired vampire headed straight for the kitchen and tossed some blood from the fridge into the microwave. Bickering with the slayer would arouse even the most passive vampire’s demon, soul or not. Any vampire’s natural instinct when it came to the slayer was fight or flight, and having to spend time with her where neither option was available, especially when she was in a pissy mood, was enough to make the demon inside very hard to control. Feeding took the edge off.

Spike was, however, surprised when Angel divided the bag of blood equally between two mugs and pressed one of them into Spike’s hand while collapsing next to the blonde vamp on the sofa.

“Cheers,” he growled out, letting his demon face emerge as he clinked his mug briefly against Spike’s before devouring the contents in a single gulp. Angel grimaced visibly at the aftertaste of the cow’s blood, but his fangs and ridges melted away as he placed the mug on a side table, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the couch. “Damn, I needed that.”

“Has the slayer always driven you to drink, mate?” Spike asked as he sipped at his blood.

“Yes, actually,” Angel answered with his eyes still closed. “Used to be the lust and sexual tension would rile up the demon and I’d have to feed more heavily to keep him pacified. But now…”

“Now?”

“Now, it’s aggravation.” Angel’s eyes opened. “I’m guessing you caught most of the argument from before?”

“Bit hard to miss,” Spike stated, working hard to keep his voice nonchalant. He didn’t know whether or not Angel knew about his own feelings for the slayer and he certainly didn’t want to give anything away. In any form, as Angel or Angelus, the dark haired vampire had always had a talent for manipulating the weaknesses of others.

“She just won’t let go,” Angel groaned. “Won’t let go of what we had, won’t let go of what she expects me to be, or Cordelia to be, or even you to be.”

Spike snorted. “This from the vamp who held a grudge for five years over a cheap nothing of a French whore.”

“I marked her first; you had no right to drain her without my permission.”

“You marked her when you were drunk and then you left the country for a month. I got sick of her coming around to look for you, whiny chit that she was, and just cleaned up after your mess. Besides, I refuse to have this argument with you again. It was 1886, for crying out loud. Let it go.”

“Nah, it’s too much fun arguing with you,” Angel replied and Spike noticed the hints of a smile lurking around his lips. “So how have you been, Spike?”

Spike raised a single eyebrow. “Well now, that’s a pretty vague question. How have I been since when? Since the last time you were in Sunnydale when you walked away without a second glance, leaving me tied to a chair with arrows sticking through me? Since I showed up a few months earlier and tortured you for the Gem? Since Dru ditched me, for good this time? Since I helped the slayer send you to hell? Since you walked out on me a hundred years ago? Since when, exactly?”

“Since the chip,” Angel answered. “Since ADAM. Since defeating Glory. Since moving in with Willow. Since we started a conversation that didn’t include fists flying, for the first time in decades. Since now, if you like.”

“You know about the ritual?” Spike asked, studiously avoiding eye contact.

“Of course. I’ve been keeping track.”

“Of me?”

“Yes, Spike. Of you. No matter what passes between us, we’re still family. We always will be, and I’ll always care what happens to you. I have to say, I don’t know many vamps who could have survived as well as you have after something like the chip. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.” Angel stood and crossed over to the kitchen, rinsing his mug and placing it in the dishwasher. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.” Spike, too shocked to speak, simply gathered up his duffel bag and followed obediently as Angel led him to the elevator. They rode it in silence up to the third floor where Angel showed him into a clean, comfortable room with fresh sheets on the bed.

“Get some sleep,” Angel ordered. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow.” Angel paused before exiting the room. “It’ll be… nice to be fighting on the same side again, Spike.” He stayed long enough to see the flash of surprised pleasure that crossed Spike’s face at the comment before exiting, shutting the door gently behind him.

Spike quickly stripped down and crawled into bed, wondering how the hell he was supposed to be able to sleep after a conversation like that. As if it wasn’t enough to show up in L.A. and discover that Angel was no longer in love with the slayer, he and Angel had actually had what might pass for a heart to heart talk. It was confusing and disorienting and disturbingly pleasant. For the first time in almost longer than he could remember, Spike felt reconciled with Angel. He wished he could call Willow again and talk it out with her. She’d know what to say to make him feel like himself again. Spike smiled at the thought of Willow and how pleased she would be if she knew that Spike and Angel were on good terms, at last. The thought of Willow’s happy smile made Spike relax instinctively, and he was hardly aware of the way his eyes drifted shut as he slipped easily into sleep, visions of his red-haired witch still dancing in his brain.

~Part: 63~

The slight tinge of fever was easy for Willow to ignore when she woke up. After all, this was California, not to mention the mouth of Hell. Heat kinda went with the territory. Of course, Willow had always been a little cold-natured, tending to prefer long sleeved shirts and sweaters in any weather, but she still didn’t think it was odd that she was feeling a little warmer than usual. The headache that had been bothering her the night before hadn’t gone away with a good night’s sleep, but Willow chalked that up to the fact that she hadn’t slept well. She popped some aspirin, and didn’t give it a second thought. She didn’t have time to think about it, really. She needed to get to class.

She made sure to take good notes in Western Civ. She had that class with Buffy, and Buffy would need to see the notes when she got back. But as she walked across campus to her next class, she started thinking about Buffy, and that made her think about Spike, and that made her think about how she hoped he was being safe, and being careful, and how much she missed him… Of course, that made her think about how much she loved him. <Bad Willow,> she scolded herself. <Spike isn’t going to be around forever. You should be using this time to get used to being without him again, and to prepare yourself for what it will be like when he isn’t around all the time to talk to, and go places with, and look forward to seeing at the end of the day and…> The headache was getting worse. She felt restless and uneasy and warmer than she should. Blowing off her next class and buying herself a no-matter-who-leaves-you-chocolate-chip-cookie-dough-ice-cream-will-always-be-there-for-you waffle cone suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

Spike, meanwhile, was having a blast. Buffy had woken in a penitent mood, and had come downstairs in the frame of mind to play nice with everyone, but the damage had already been done. Angel didn’t speak more than two words to her at a time unless it was absolutely necessary and was careful to always seat himself somewhere where she couldn’t sit beside him. Wesley was coldly polite, obviously still offended over what Buffy had said about him the night before, and Gunn made no attempt to hide his dislike, which threw a real wrench in Buffy’s plans to flirt with Gunn to make Angel jealous. Cordelia, meanwhile, was reveling in the opportunity to be as bitchy to Buffy as she wanted, knowing no one would stop her, and all the L.A. gang would take her side if Buffy attempted to bitch back.

Buffy, of course, was near her wits end. She wanted to apologize to Angel for yelling at him earlier, but he wouldn’t let her near enough to him to say an entire sentence at a time. To make matters worse, he seemed to have come to terms with Spike. The two of them spoke easily, going over what they knew about the vamps and coming up with battle strategies, even having some warm-fuzzy reminiscing moments that made Buffy feel sick to her stomach. It was like she was in some kind of alternate universe, or the twilight zone. Spike was openly liked and accepted by everyone there, while they all gave her the silent treatment and open disdain. It wasn’t *right*, it wasn’t *fair*, it wasn’t the way that things were *supposed* to be.

She made one more desperate attempt to make things right with Angel when they set out on their reconnaissance mission that night. It was decided that Angel, Buffy, Cordelia, Spike, and Gunn would be the ones to go scope out the territory. Angel had to be there since he had the most varied battle experience and would be the best at finding weak points in their defenses. Spike had the most recent experience with vampiric organization and was there to catch anything Angel might miss. Cordelia was there to identify for Angel the key players as noted in her vision. Gunn was there because the members of his gang would only accept a situation briefing from him. And Buffy was there because she had whined and argued her way into joining them until they agreed just to shut her up.

When the sun finally set, the group weaponed up, and headed out. Buffy stubbornly positioned herself next to Angel as they headed toward the lair, and he tolerated her presence in jaw-clenched silence. Cordelia, Spike, and Gunn picked up on the tension and gave them a bit of distance, talking with and teasing each other, but giving Angel and Buffy a wide berth. Their seclusion from the others gave Buffy the courage to speak.

“Just like old times, isn’t it?” Buffy stated timidly. Angel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. “You and me, I mean,” Buffy continued. “All those nights we patrolled together. I always felt so safe, knowing you were with me, like I could take on anything. I-I miss that… all the time, really.”

“You’re a slayer, Buffy. You don’t need a vampire patrolling with you to make you safe,” Angel replied in a cold voice, deliberately pulling his arm away from the hand that was trying to clasp on to his.

“No, I… that’s not what I meant,” Buffy stammered.

“Then what did you mean?” Angel asked impatiently, hoping that they could get this resolved, once and for all. He stopped and turned to face her, meeting her eyes at last but ignoring the hurt look on her face. He didn’t mean to be cruel. He truly didn’t realize how harsh and cold his voice would sound to a girl who was used to hearing that voice soften as he told her that he loved her. He didn’t know the damage he was doing to her surprisingly vulnerable heart. But Buffy felt every word as if it were a blow and shrunk back from him. She was a fighter, with all of a fighter’s instincts. When she was injured in this manner, the fighter as well as the woman in her ached to retaliate. But for Angel’s sake, and for the sake of the love that she felt for him and would *always* feel for him, she tried to choke back her anger.

“I just meant that this is nice, doing this again. With you. I mean, sure, I patrol with Xander and Willow and they’re fun to have along, but I can never completely let go, you know? I always have to keep an eye out to make sure that they don’t get hurt. Patrolling with Spike is even worse since he’s useless against anything alive, and half the time has some kind of personal history with the demons we fight. You feel the same thing, don’t you? Don’t you get that same kind of frustration, fighting alongside normal humans who just can’t be as fast, as strong, as capable as you would want a partner to be?”

Buffy was caught up in her thoughts and was unaware of Angel’s reaction to her words. She didn’t intend to belittle anyone with what she said; she just wanted to express to Angel how liberating it felt to fight side by side with him again. Every other patrolling partner she had ever had had mostly served to hold Buffy back and she continually missed how free she had felt when she was with Angel. He was her match, in so very many ways. She never had to hold back anything when she was with him. He equaled her strength, her speed, her tenacity, her resilience. Most of all, he equaled her passion. The nights she had spent with him before the mess of the curse and Angelus and hell itself stood between them, whether patrolling or more… intimately engaged, she had gloried in Angel’s ability to take everything she put out and match it, giving strength for strength and passion for passion. She tried to express this as she spoke to Angel, completely unaware that she was saying everything wrong.

Angel grew angrier the more she babbled on about the problems of patrolling with “normal” humans. The L.A. gang had become more than simply his coworkers, more even than just his friends. They were his family, and Angel blocked out the rest of what Buffy was saying at the implied insult to the people he treasured so dearly.

“Actually,” he replied, in a voice tight with suppressed anger, “I can’t say I’ve missed fighting alongside someone who was born to kill me. My friends may not have superpowers, but they trust me completely, and have all of my trust in return. It makes for a nice change.” With that, he pulled away from her completely, and caught up with the rest of the group.

“We’re nearly there,” he announced. “We need to keep quiet while I scout out their perimeter guards.” With that, Angel disappeared into the shadows, leaving the others to wait in silence until he returned, five minutes later.

“I’ve found a hole,” he stated. “If we’re quick and quiet, we should be able to get a good look at them before we have to leave.” Cordelia, Spike, and Gunn nodded their understanding while Buffy simply followed them, operating on auto-pilot, still dazed by what Angel had said. The next thing she was truly aware of, they were standing outside a dilapidated old building, peering down into basement windows. While the aboveground portion of the building seemed on the verge of collapse at any moment, the basement was in excellent condition, and packed with vampires.

Cordelia shifted over until she was right next to Angel, able to whisper directly in his ear. “The one in the blue shirt standing in the corner is the leader,” she said as quietly as possible, knowing that Angel’s sensitive hearing could pick up on the faint sound and nodding her head in the direction of a dark haired vampire with a menacing expression. “I recognize him from my vision.”

Angel nodded, and turned his head so that his lips were pressed right against her ear. “Look closely and take your time,” he whispered. “Is there anyone else that you recognize? Anything else we should know?” She nodded and started to open her mouth to speak, but Angel cut her off with a single finger pressed against her lips. “Not here,” he said softly. “When we get away, tell me everything you noticed.” She nodded again, and let Angel pull her soundlessly to her feet. Not another word was spoken as they headed back toward the street while Buffy followed almost zombie like watching Angel deliberate ignore her and hold on to Cordelia. Gunn and Spike were oblivious to the tensions between the trio as they exchanged smiles of satisfaction at having so neatly slipped under the enemy’s guard. This would, perhaps, be even easier than they thought. They would have felt less complacent if they had overheard what was said inside the lair as the leader spoke to the vampire at his feet.

“Fools,” the vampire muttered in a low tone as he ran his fingers through his childe’s dark hair. “Did they honestly believe that we wouldn’t know that they were here?”

“Their foolishness will just make them easier to defeat, sire,” his childe replied, giving the answer he knew his master expected.

“True,” Jonathan conceded with a smirk. “Nonetheless, just because they are fools is no reason why we should not be prepared. Follow them, Bartholomew, and return the favor. Try and find out exactly what they have planned, so we can turn it against them. Let us see if we can take the battle to them.” Bowing in obedience, Bartholomew left the lair and trailed the A.I. gang as they returned to the hotel.

As they returned to the hotel, while Spike and Gunn swapped battle stories with exuberant gestures, Angel and Cordelia paired off, speaking quietly to each other and discussing the figures that Cordelia had recognized from her vision. Buffy followed a few steps behind the pair, her temper simmering to a higher and higher pitch as she watched the easy intimacy that the two of them shared. That had been *her* once, who had stood by Angel’s side and made plans for attacks. That had been *her* who Angel would guide gently with a hand on the small of her back to steer her around broken glass in the street, or a crack in the sidewalk. That had been *her* who Angel would touch in a thousand casual ways, and listen to with such sincere attention.

Buffy kept her mouth closed, but her eyes went hard as her temper burned hotter by the minute, making her completely unaware of the vampire who stalked behind them. She was so caught up in her anger that she didn’t hear the burst of laughter that Bartholomew failed to contain when he realized that their final destination was the Hyperion Hotel. He couldn’t quite manage to hold back his delight at the realization that the new headquarters of Angel Investigations was located in a public building, to which vampires needed no invitation. Buffy, as the only one not holding a conversation, might have heard the laughter if she had been listening. But she wasn’t listening, and so it went unnoticed.

Bartholomew silently cased out the hotel from the outside, thankful that he had been a guest there some seventy years before. The place hadn’t changed much under the ownership of that pathetic excuse for a vampire, Angel, and the underground entrance into the service areas of the hotel was exactly where he remembered it being. Shifting himself easily into the air vents, he crawled around until he was able to hear the voices of the A.I. group upstairs.

“So we’ll wait until just before sunrise tomorrow night to attack,” Angel stated. “That way we’ll be able to catch them when they’re tired. I’m also betting their perimeter guards would be at their weakest then.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Buffy replied. “They’ll have the most power after having fed. We should hit them right at sundown, before they have the chance to go out.” Angel looked exasperated, and Buffy hid a small smile of satisfaction. She wanted him aggravated.

She knew, of course, that Angel was right. Newbie vamps were easiest to catch right after sundown when their hunger overwhelmed whatever sense they possessed, but older, more experienced vamps just grew more cunning when they were hungry. They would be at their most vulnerable when they were sated and complacent, not expecting an attack. But she wanted to argue. Angel had been putting her through agony since she arrived and if she could repay him with a little irritation, then it was the very least that she could do.

“Buffy, why can’t you just accept that we know what we’re doing here?” Wesley attempted to interject.

Stung that Wesley, of all people, would be questioning her, Buffy immediately and instinctively attacked. “Gee, I don’t know, Wes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m the *vampire slayer*? This is *my* job, not yours. Who the hell do you think you are to try to tell me how to do it?”

“Where do you get off coming into our town and bossing us around?” one of Gunn’s gang piped up. He was there to help out as a favor to Gunn, and he’d be damned before he’d put up with attitude from a mouthy bit of Valley Girl trash. Buffy, furious that everyone except Angel was taking up the gauntlet, set into one of her tabasco-flavored rants that could last an hour or more. Angel was far too familiar with them to be impressed. He ducked away when Buffy wasn’t paying attention, exiting into his office where he pulled out a bottle of scotch and a walkman with headphones. Five minutes later, when Buffy realized that he was gone and knocked her diatribe up another few decibels, he just poured himself some more scotch and turned up the music. The rest of the gang was shouting now as well, and he had no interest in hearing any of it.

Bartholomew, on the other hand, was delighted to hear every word. <Dissention amongst the ranks already> he thought to himself as he crawled back down the vents back into the service area. <Excellent. This will be even easier than we thought.> He exited the building, whistling softly to himself as he walked. Jonathan would be pleased. The opponents were weakened by bickering and infighting, and even if they managed to work out their differences, they wouldn’t be attacking the lair until just before sunrise. That meant that they’d be leaving themselves wide open to be attacked by their opponents at any point after sunset the night before.

The gang, oblivious to the plans being made by their enemies, continued to argue with the exception of Angel who was calmly emptying a bottle of scotch and Spike, who ducked back into Wesley’s office to pick up the phone once again. It rang three times this time, and Spike was adjusting to his disappointment at the thought that he would only get an answering machine, when he heard Red’s voice.

“Hello?”

“You sound tired,” Spike stated, immediately concerned.

“And you sound happy. Having fun?” Willow asked, wanting to keep the conversation off of how she felt.

“An absolute blast, pet,” Spike answered, distracted just as Willow had hoped by the happiness he was feeling. “Wish you were here.”

“Me, too.” Willow sighed softly. “So tell me what’s so blastful about L.A.?” she teased.

Spike complied, filling her in with the details about how he had reconciled with Angel, formed a friendship with Gunn, and even built up an appreciation for Wesley and Cordelia. Willow gasped and laughed and scolded Spike in all the right places, just as he had known she would, and the happiness in her voice at Spike and Angel’s reconciliation was unmistakable.

The conversation went on much longer than Willow had imagined it would. She had hoped, when she first picked up the phone, that she would be able to talk to Spike for only ten minutes or so. She was so very tired, and she was afraid he’d pick up on it if they stayed on the phone for longer than that. She was torn between relief and hurt that Spike was so caught up in the marvelous time he was having that he barely noticed how drained she sounded. She told herself that it was a good thing that he hadn’t noticed. After all, the last thing he needed with a battle on his hands was to be worrying about her.

Forcing herself to look at the situation cheerfully, she decided that all she needed was a good night’s sleep, and she’d be fine again. Rummaging around in the medicine cabinet, she found the sleeping pills that her mother left in Sunnydale. She swallowed down two, hoping against hope that they would help her sleep, and that when she woke up, everything would be fine. Maybe after a good night’s rest, she would no longer mind that Spike was so happy away from her that he was oblivious to her pain.

~Part: 64~

The sleeping pills worked a bit too well. Nightmares raced through Willow’s mind as she slept, frightening and confusing her with visions of flames and the taste of ashes, but she was unable to awaken herself. She spent the night tossing and turning, whimpering softly, and waiting desperately for the release from her nightmares. But she wasn’t even aware of it when she finally did wake up. Instead of the nightmare of pain and fear melting away in the bright light of day, it only got worse, convincing her that she was trapped in dreams from which she would never be able to emerge.

Fire. She felt like she was on fire. It hurt more than a bookcase falling on top of her. It hurt more than walking in and seeing Oz and Veruca tangled in each other inside their cage. It seemed to hurt her body and soul, ripping into her with unbelievable pain. She wanted to reach for the phone and call Giles, call 911, call someone, *anyone* to come and help her, but it hurt far too much to allow her to move. She was barely able to curl herself up into a ball where she lay softly sobbing, wondering how long it would be before she was discovered. She wasn’t aware of the faint sound of the phone ringing downstairs, or the answering machine picking up. All she was aware of was the digital clock that lay on the bedside table as she counted off the minutes, waiting for someone to come looking for her.

Her salvation came in the form of Dawn, who bounced into the house happily with her backpack slung over one shoulder, calling out for Willow who had promised the day before to help her with her social studies project. When there was no answer to her cheerful calls of Willow’s name, Dawn started to get a bit concerned. Running up the stairs, she frowned when she saw that the door to Willow’s room was open, showing the empty room. A glance down the hallway showed that all the doors were open showing unlit rooms, except for the guest bedroom, where the door was shut.

“Willow?” she asked cautiously, as she approached the door. “Are you in here? Can’t you hear me?” Tentatively, she opened the door, squinting as she tried to see into the darkened room. Vaguely, she could make a shape out on the bed. “Sleeping? But it’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and you *promised* you’d help me with my project,” Dawn whined, approaching the bed. “Come on, Willow, wake up!” When there was no answer from the girl barely visible in the darkness, Dawn reached out a hand to shake her shoulder, and immediately flinched back.

Willow’s skin was so feverishly hot, it was almost painful to touch it. “W-willow?” Dawn whispered, her voice soft and uncertain as all the playfulness faded away. “Can you… can you hear me?”

“Dawnie?” Willow whispered, so softly that Dawn wouldn’t have heard her if she hadn’t been straining to hear a response. “Is that you?”

“What’s wrong, Willow? What happened?”

“It’ll be alright, Dawnie. Just stay calm.” Dawn took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to obey. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I know I need to get to the hospital. Can you call 911 for me and tell them to send an ambulance?”

“I can do that,” Dawn answered, relieved to be told what to do. “Yes. I can do that.” There was a phone on the bedside table, and Dawn immediately dialed 911.

A few minutes later, sirens were sounding down the street, and EMTs were banging on the door downstairs. Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, Dawn went downstairs and let them in, directing them upstairs to Willow. One of the men stayed downstairs with her, asking her questions for their paperwork. Frightened and distracted, she only heard about every other word the man said.

“What…name… patient?”

“Willow Rosenberg,” Dawn answered mechanically.

“Relation… patient?”

“She’s my friend.”

“When… find…?”

“I came here after school. I guess it was… around three thirty?”

“Okay, we’ve got her,” a voice from upstairs announced, and the man stopped questioning her as he helped the others guide the stretcher down the stairs. Dawn rushed over to Willow’s side, gasping at what she saw. It had been too dark in the room for Dawn to do anything but feel Willow’s fever. Now that Dawn could finally see her in the clear light of the living room, her appearance was shocking. Her hair was drenched with sweat, making it look several shades darker, nearly black. Her face, in contrast, was completely white, and looked frighteningly thin as it was pinched with pain. She was trembling visibly and her lip was bloody from where she had obviously been biting it.

“Might… follow… us,” the paramedic suggested to Dawn. “If… join… ambulance… catch… whatever… wrong… her.”

“No!” Dawn cried out, snapping out of her stupor at the realization that they didn’t want her to come with them. “I’m not leaving her.”

The paramedic looked at her measuring. “Alright,” he conceded. “But you’ll have to stay out of our way and let us do what we have to do to save your friend’s life.”

“Fine,” Dawn agreed tightly, following them outside and into the ambulance. The ride to the hospital was spent mostly in silence while Dawn sat next to Willow, keeping a death grip on her hand. She wasn’t even aware of the tears streaming down her face and falling in gentle drops on the stretcher. The paramedics worked around her, attaching Willow to machines to monitor her condition. As they worked, they discreetly shook their heads at each other over Dawn’s oblivious head. They didn’t want to say it out loud in front of the visibly distraught teenager, but the situation looked bad. Very bad.

When they arrived at the hospital, Willow was wheeled into a room where Dawn was not allowed to follow her. Hospital attendants shoved paperwork in her hands and told her to start filling it out. Panic took hold again. Hospitals scared the living daylights out of her, especially after her mom’s recent problems. Dragging all her loose change out of her pocket, she let out a mental prayer of thanks that she had enough for the payphone as she dropped in her dimes and nickels and quickly dialed a familiar number.

“Joyce Summers,” a cheerful voice answered.

“Mommy?” Dawn whispered. Her mother only needed to hear that one word and the tone in which it was spoken to know that something was very, very wrong.

“Dawn? Baby, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the hospital. It’s Willow. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with her. It’s almost like she’s in a coma, and I’m scared. I’m so scared. Can you come here? Please?” Her voice broke on the last word as her eyes filled with tears again.

“I’ll be right there,” Joyce answered, hanging up the phone, grabbing her purse, and walking out of her office. “Family emergency,” she called out to her assistant as she rushed through the door and heading out to the parking lot. Ten minutes later, the car came to a screeching halt in the hospital parking lot.

With a mother’s instinct, her eyes were immediately drawn to Dawn, who was visibly shaking in the hard, plastic hospital seat where she sat with her knees up against her chest, curled up as tightly as she could. She was so wrapped up in her fears that she didn’t notice her mother entering the room until she was pulled out of her seat and into a warm, comforting hug.

“They won’t tell me anything,” Dawn whispered in her ear.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joyce whispered. “I’ll take care of it.” Joyce forced herself to be strong for her daughter and bit back the wave of fear that she felt for Willow as she walked over to the receptionist’s desk.

“Can you tell me the status of Willow Rosenberg, please?” she asked politely.

The receptionist checked the chart on her desk. “The doctors are with her right now. Someone will come out to speak with you when they’ve reached a decision.”

“Do you have any idea when that will be?”

“There’s really no way to tell,” the receptionist answered, firmly but not unkindly. Joyce nodded her understanding and stepped away from the desk. Her eyes drifted over to where Dawn had curled herself back up in her chair. She flinched as she realized Dawn had been through this before. When Joyce, herself, had been the one in the hospital bed being poked and prodded by doctors, Dawn had sat out in the uncomfortable hospital chairs for hours, with Buffy and Willow and Xander and everyone else. <Of course,> Joyce thought to herself. <Everyone else.> Pulling out her cell phone, she pulled up the number programmed as Magic Box.

“Magic Box. How may I assist you?” Giles’ voice answered after two rings.

“Rupert, it’s Joyce.”

“Joyce? Is something the matter?”

“I’m at the hospital.” Joyce began. Giles cut her off before she could get any further.

“The hospital? Is Dawn—”

“Dawn’s fine. It’s Willow. We don’t know quite what’s wrong with her yet, but from what Dawn told me… you might want to get here, as soon as you can. And bring Xander and Anya with you.”

There was a long pause as Giles processed this information. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Giles answered at last, then hung up. Joyce put away her cell phone and went to rejoin Dawn. Dawn stepped out of her chair, seating herself on her mother’s lap. Joyce wrapped her arms around her daughter and stroked her hair gently, trying to comfort her.

“Is Willow going to be alright?” she asked, in a quiet voice.

Joyce wanted so badly to say yes. She wanted to say that Willow would be just fine, that she was far too strong to give up without a fight, and that she’d be walking out of the hospital in no time. But she couldn’t say that. This was Sunnydale, and both Joyce and Dawn knew that you just couldn’t count on a happy ending. Joyce didn’t want to hurt her daughter with a harsh version of the truth, but she didn’t want to lie to her either. So she answered the only way that she could.

“I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know.”

~Part: 65~

Two minutes after he hung up the phone with Joyce, Giles was locking the doors of the Magic Box and hustling Anya into the car. As they drove to the hospital, she called Xander on her cell phone. The conversation was abrupt. All Xander had to hear was that Willow was in the hospital and he immediately said that he was on his way, hanging up the phone while Anya was in the middle of a sentence. Anya was torn between being relieved that he responded so quickly, and annoyed that he hung up right away. She *needed* him at times like these, and as her boyfriend, he was supposed to know that. He was supposed to know that she was scared and uncertain and completely bewildered, all at once. He was supposed to remember that she didn’t like hospitals, and didn’t understand them, and didn’t like the thought of Willow being in one. He was supposed to understand that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

They arrived quickly at the hospital. A cursory glance of the parking lot was enough to tell Anya that they had beaten Xander there. Giles rushed ahead through the glass doors right away, but Anya stood outside to wait for Xander. She’d feel better walking in with him. None of this made any sense to her, and she knew it would be easier for her to face it if she was facing it with Xander. Anya supplied a lot of factors in her relationship with Xander. She was the one who provided good taste, sound financial planning, creativity in the… physical side of their relationship, and an unconditional love that Xander never had a moment’s reason to doubt. But there was one element in which Xander excelled: he was the strong one. He was the one who had dealt with hospitals, and buried friends, and lived with the worst of human and demonic suffering without being broken by any of it. He was very good at being strong. Anya was not. She was weak, and confused, and lost without him. So she stood in the entryway waiting for him, shivering in spite of the warm weather, and hoping Xander would arrive soon.

He did. Even though the construction site was on the other side of town, as opposed to the Magic Box which was centrally located, Xander pulled up at the hospital only two minutes later. They walked in just moments before the doctor came into the waiting room, and walked up to Joyce right as the doctor approached.

“Are you the one here with Willow Rosenberg?” he asked.

“Yes,” Giles answered as he joined them. “We all are.”

“We’ve moved her into a private room in the ICU. I’m afraid the situation is rather serious,” the doctor said. Xander grabbed hold of Anya’s hand and held on tight.

“What exactly is the situation, doctor?” Giles asked.

“Miss Rosenberg appears to be running a very high fever. We’re doing everything we can to lower it, but so far, we haven’t had much luck. The troubling part is that we can’t find any cause for the fever.”

“How is that possible?” Joyce questioned.

“We are, of course, still running tests, but we have found no signs of any virus or infection.”

“Can we see her?” Xander asked, his voice tight with fear.

The doctor sighed as he looked over the group. It was, of course, against all hospital procedure for a patient to have so many visitors at once. On the other hand, the doctor had been practicing medicine in Sunnydale for nearly ten years. He had been around long enough to be far more familiar than he would have liked with the astonishingly high death rate, not to mention all the scores of inexplicable illnesses and injuries. Maintaining normal hospital procedure in a place where everything was so blatantly *not* normal seemed almost absurd. And really, what harm could it do to bend the rules in this instance? There was very little that the hospital could do for Miss Rosenberg if they couldn’t find the source of her illness. In light of the circumstances, isolating her from her family and friends in what could very well be the last few days of her life seemed unconscionably cruel.

“Right this way,” he replied, leading them to the room. “She’s sleeping for now,” he told them as he ushered them into the room, “and I do ask that you let her get her rest.” The others nodded their understanding as they quietly entered the room. As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, they gathered around Giles.

“Do you think it’s the bond?” Anya and Dawn asked at the same time.

“No,” Giles answered. “I don’t. The Tzeranza bond is powerful, but it’s not that powerful. There’s no way it could have debilitated Willow this quickly. I do, however, think that the fever is mystically induced.”

“So what are we dealing with?” Xander questioned.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “There are many spells and enchantments that can cause this sort of mystical fever. It could be a decoy to guarantee that we won’t pay attention to a demonic ritual taking place elsewhere in Sunnydale. It could be an attempt to weaken the slayer by attacking her witch. And it’s possible that a demon is targeting Willow specifically because of a spell she has done or a demon we have killed as a team.”

“How do we stop it?” Xander asked, staring at the pain lines that marked Willow’s face, even in her sleep.

“I’ll fetch some books from my apartment,” Giles stated. “We must keep a close watch on Willow to see what symptoms manifest themselves. Once we discover the enchantment, we can see what steps must be taken to end it.”

“Should I call Buffy so that she and Spike will know what’s going on?” Joyce suggested. “It’s possible Angel’s group might have some insight on the problem.”

Giles considered the idea, then shook his head. “It would only worry them when they should be concentrating on the battle they are about to fight,” he decided. He snuck a look over to Willow and remembered the look on Spike’s face when he asked Giles to take care of her for him. <Forgive me, Spike> he pleaded silently in his head.

“Giles, that’s not fair,” Dawn insisted. “Spike and Buffy care about Willow. They have the right to know if she’s sick, especially if…” Dawn’s voice trailed off, and they all knew what she was trying to avoid saying. Spike and Buffy had the right to know that Willow was sick, especially if there was a chance that she wouldn’t survive until they got back to Sunnydale. None of them wanted to think that Willow had only a day or so to live, but that was the damnable mess of not knowing exactly what it was that was wrong with her. She could be like this for weeks, months, even years, suffering but still alive, or she could die within the hour, with no explanation.

“Dawn’s right,” Anya piped up. “Willow could die.” They all flinched at the cold directness of her words, and Xander cleared his throat with what Anya recognize as his Anya-you-shouldn’t-say-things-like-that-where-people-can-hear-you face, and for the first time in their relationship, it made her truly angry. Yes, she still had a little trouble dealing with ridiculous human customs over what was and what was not appropriate, but that didn’t give Xander the right to tell her she didn’t know how to behave like a human. She damn well knew how to *feel* like a human. And it hurt. At the moment, that human range of emotions hurt like hell.

“Yes, I said die,” she hissed. “It’s what we’re all thinking; I’m just the only one willing to say it. So don’t look at me like I’m being cold or callous or ‘inappropriate’ and don’t try to explain that this is hard for all of you to face. It’s hard for me, too. Willow’s my friend and *I’ve* *never* *had* one of those before so believe me when I say I know this hurts. But Willow could die, and Spike and Buffy have the right to know.”

“And if we called them right now and informed them of the state that Willow is in, what would that accomplish?” Giles asked, quietly. “When I spoke to Angel yesterday, he told me they were planning on attacking the vampire nest tonight, just before dawn. If we called them now, they would either get in their car immediately and drive back, or stay and finish the fight they had planned before returning. If they finished the fight, how well would it go while they were distracted thinking about Willow? To what extent would they be endangering their lives, and the lives of Angel’s associates, by focusing on anything other than the fight?” Giles waited to see if any of the others would reply to that. When they remained silent, he continued.

“And if they immediately headed back to Sunnydale, what then? The raid would have to wait until Spike and Buffy could return to L.A. We have no idea how long it will take us to figure out what, precisely, is wrong with Willow. It could be weeks. Weeks during which the hundred or so members of the vampire gang would feed without restraint. And meanwhile, Spike and Buffy would be here, doing what? Until we find out what demon has done this to her, there’s really nothing they could do.”

“They could say goodbye,” Anya replied. “We don’t know if she has weeks. We don’t even know if she has hours left to live. If they came home now, they could at least have the chance to say goodbye.”

“What chance?” Giles replied, coldly. “What guarantee do we have that she even has hours? If Spike and Buffy stand the chance of rushing home only to find that they are already too late, then the only thing we have to gain or lose by not telling them are the unlives of a hundred deadly vampires who they could eradicate, once and for all, this evening.” Giles sighed and took off his glasses once more, rubbing his eyes in the vain hope of making his headache go away. “We have no idea what’s wrong with her, and there is nothing any of us can do until we find the source of the problem. Spike and Buffy will be achieving a concrete purpose tonight. I see no reason for us to interrupt that just so we can bring them here to be as lost as confused as we are, ourselves.”

Everyone seemed to slump, as if all the fight had been knocked out of them. There was no arguing with Giles’ logic. Wearily, the gang nodded its agreement, and went to make all necessary arrangements so they could be with Willow while they tried to find what was wrong with her. Joyce went back to the gallery to close it up, telling her assistant that a family emergency meant that she would be out of office indefinitely. Giles headed home to pick up research supplies, dropping Anya off at the Magic Box on his way so that she could close up shop and pick up her car. Xander went to pick up some food for a research session. And Dawn stayed in the hospital room, sitting on the bed next to Willow’s sleeping form, holding her hand so she’d know that she wasn’t alone.

~Part: 66~

<It's strange,> Spike thought to himself as he looked around at the other members of the A.I. team scattered around the office that morning. <For the first time since I've joined up with the do-gooders, I'm surrounded by humans who actually seem to like me and trust me, and yet. all I want to do is go back to Sunnydale.> The thought was startling, but none the less true. He missed Willow. Sure, it was nice getting on with Angel again, the prom queen had a wicked sense of humor, Gunn was a mate, and even the watcher was tolerable once he got over his pompousness, but none of them could match his Red. It was the morning of his second day in L.A. He'd only been away from her for about forty hours, and he still could barely wait to see her again. He hadn't known it was possible to miss a mere human being so very much.

"Hey watcher, mind if I use your phone?" Spike asked, rising to his feet.

"Hmm, what?" Wesley asked as he looked up from the book he was eagerly reading. "Oh yes, by all means. Help yourself."

Spike gave him a nod of thanks before ducking into the watcher's office, closing the door behind him. An anticipatory smile lit up his face as he dialed the familiar number and listened to the phone start to ring. The smile melted into a disappointed frown as the answering machine picked up.

"Hey Red, hope you didn't pass out from holding your breath, waiting for me to call," Spike said after the recording ended. "Just. thought I'd call and see what you were up to. If you get a chance, call me back. We're planning to hit the lair tonight and it's boring as a library around here while we wait. Talk to you soon." Spike contemplated adding that he missed her, but figured that she already knew, so there was no reason to sound like a nancy-boy by saying it out loud. Gently, he hung up the phone, hoping that she would call him back soon.

"That was quick," Cordelia commented as Spike reentered the office. "Had she just gotten out of the shower or something?"

"Nah, she wasn't home." Spike checked his watch, mentally kicking himself when he noted the time. Of course she wasn't home. She had class. Feeling slightly cheered up at the knowledge of *why* she hadn't been there to take his call, he settled himself back on a couch. She'd call him back when she got out of class. If she didn't, he'd just have to call her again.

She didn't call him back. So he called her again, a bit aggravated but not terribly surprised to discover that she still wasn't home. He knew she didn't much care for being home alone, and he figured that she had either hung around campus to get some studying done in the library, or had gone somewhere with her friends.

After the third unanswered call, he started to feel a bit nervous. She had to know he would call her at some point during the day, and it wasn't like her not to at least call in to check her messages if she wasn't going to be home. When he made the fourth call, well into the evening, and still received no answer, he honestly started to worry. He told himself he was overreacting, but he still picked up the phone again and dialed one more number. Giles should still be at the Magic Box, and he would be able to tell Spike that she was alright.

"Hello, you have reached the Magic Box," Giles' prerecorded voice clicked in after four rings. "We are currently closed. If you wish to leave a message, you may do so after the beep, and we will get back to you at the earliest available opportunity. Thank you, and have a pleasant day."

"Busy signal?" Cordelia asked when Spike rejoined them.

"Answering machine," he answered. "It said they were closed, but that can't be true. Giles never leaves this early."

"Maybe they just decided to take the night off and close early," Gunn suggested, looking up from the sparring session he was having with the members of his gang who had come to help.

"What if they're in trouble?" Spike countered.

"Isn't that kind of jumping to conclusions?" Cordelia questioned.

"Who's jumping to conclusions?" Angel asked as he walked in from his office, catching the tail end of Cordelia's comment.

"Spike is," Cordelia answered. "He can't get a hold of anyone in Sunnydale, so he thinks they might be in trouble."

"It isn't jumping to conclusions to say that it's not like Willow not to be there if she's expecting a call, and that it's really not like her not to call a bloke back after he leaves four messages on her machine," Spike said stubbornly. "She knows I worry," he added, so softly that only Angel heard him.

Angel started to step toward Spike, hoping to comfort him, but was distracted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Buffy asked as she entered the room.

"Spike's worried because he can't get a hold of Willow, and when he called the Magic Box, no one was there," Wesley answered.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, Spike," Cordelia said soothingly.

"Yeah, I bet your Red's gonna call you any minute now and let you know that things are just fine," Gunn added.

"But what if they aren't?" Spike ground out, his voice deliberately hard as he tried to hide how scared the thought made him that something might be happening to Willow. "I can't get a hold of anyone, and this is the Hellmouth we're talking about. Anything could be happening there, and how would I know about it?"

"If anything happened to Willow, I know Giles would call to let you know," Angel interjected. He could easily pick up on the anxiety that was pouring off of Spike in waves and knew he had to get the vampire calmed down.

"And if that same something happened to Giles?" Spike asked, his fears mounting. The thought of the Scoobies incapacitated and unable to reach him, and Willow hurt, without him there to take care of her riled the man and the demon in him. Neither part of him could bear the thought of anything happening to her. Subconsciously, he started growling softly, too low for anyone but Angel to hear it.

"If anything happened to Giles then the hospital would call me and let me know," Angel answered firmly, stepping over to Spike and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm listed as one of his emergency contacts."

The growling didn't stop and Spike didn't respond to the gentle pressure of Angel's hand on his arm, so Angel shifted his hand to Spike's face, turning it so Spike was forced to look him in the eye. "Relax," Angel commanded in a soft voice. "We're going to be fighting soon and we need you to keep your focus. We're counting on you, Spike. Please, just try to relax."

Buffy had watching with mounting irritation as all of the A.I. gang hastened to comfort Spike. Ever since her arrival, they had barely given *her* the time of day, no matter what she said or did, but when *Spike* got upset, they fell all over themselves trying to make him feel better. It just wasn't fair. Her irritation switched to anger when Angel joined in on the comforting. After all, Cordelia's good opinion was never something Buffy had really cared about. Outside of a few mostly polite conversations, the girl annoyed her. Wesley was even worse. Gunn was too new of an acquaintance for Buffy to be too bothered by the thought that he didn't like her. When the three of them made it obvious that they were willing to comfort Spike while they were barely willing to speak to her, she felt irritated and offended but when Angel got involved, any rational perspective Buffy might possess flew out of the window.

The past two days had been far too little time for Buffy to get used to the fact that Angel didn't want to be near her anymore. No matter how many times he told her and no matter how many different ways he found to show her, Buffy still stubbornly refused to accept the truth. Every time she was away from him, Buffy managed to convince herself that next time it would be different: next time would be the time when whatever emotional walls Angel had constructed would come crashing down and he'd realize again that he loved her. With such high expectations surrounding every encounter, it was a very bitter pill for her to swallow every time she walked into a room where Angel was located and saw him deliberately place himself at a distance from her.

But for him to comfort *Spike* and not her was more than she could bear. The clear and evident proof that Angel was willing to talk to Spike, touch Spike, comfort Spike in a dozen different ways when he wouldn't even *look* at her drove every rational thought out of her mind. All that mattered was for Angel to *stop* comforting Spike. She'd say whatever she had to say in order to make that happen.

"Geez, chill. Everyone in Sunnydale is fine."

"How do you know?" Angel asked.

"Because I just talked to my mom. She said they're all Bronzing it tonight. Even Dawn went with them. I guess Willow decided that going out with her friends was more fun than wasting time sitting around, waiting for you to call."

Buffy watched with satisfaction as Spike's face twisted slightly with pain at the thought that he had been forgotten while Willow went out with her friends. She, herself, had been hurting for the past two days and was more than bitter enough to take pleasure in the knowledge that someone else was hurting just as much. The expressions on his face were easy for her to read, since they were emotions she had been feeling since she had arrived in L.A.: hurt, bewilderment, surprised pain at the idea that you aren't as important to the person you care about as you thought you were. Her mouth twisted into something resembling a smirk as she watched.

She did not feel so much as a twinge of guilt for the lie. It was only a *little* lie, after all. She *had* talked to her mom, and her mom had told her that the whole gang was thinking of going Bronzing and that Dawn was planning on tagging along. There had been no specific mention of whether or not Willow was planning on joining them, but it stood to reason that she would. So it wasn't really a lie to say that her mom had told her those things, because she had. The only thing that she had just possibly fudged a little bit was when, precisely, the conversation had taken place. But did it really make a difference that the phone call had taken place the night before instead of that evening?

Buffy could think of no reason why the gang would change their plans, and if Willow was unreachable by phone, then she probably *was* out somewhere with the rest of the gang. Where else would she be? If anyone in Sunnydale was in trouble, the gang would have called L.A. so if Spike couldn't reach Willow, it most likely meant that the redhead had found something better to do with her time. And after the way that Buffy had been made to feel ever since getting to L.A., she was damn well going to make Spike feel useless and despised if she possibly could. Turnabout was fair play.

"I guess without you around to brainwash her with the bond, she finally came to her senses and realized just how much of a waste of time you actually are," Buffy taunted, driving the knife in with deliberate cruelty, and feeling a surge of pleasure as the pained look on Spike's face darkened. <Hurts, doesn't it, Spike?> she thought to herself. <Painful, isn't it, when someone you care about doesn't care about you?>

"Buffy, that's enough," Angel stated, a warning tone clear in his voice. Buffy ignored it. This was the best she had felt all day, and she wasn't going to give it up just because Angel told her to. Why the hell should she go out of her way to please Angel when he was so obviously determined not to be pleased with her?

"No Angel, I don't think it is enough. After all, it's important that Spike understand the situation so he can *move on*, don't you think?" she replied bitterly, taking just as much pleasure in the look of pain on Spike's face as she did in the look of annoyance on Angel's face. It was nice, at last, to get under his skin.

"I said that's *enough*!" Angel growled.

"But I'm just getting started!" Buffy replied, opening her mouth and taking in a big breath of air, ready to really let him have it. "So to pick up where I left off, what the hell-" She was cut off, however, when all the lights in the room abruptly shut off. With the sharpness of her slayer vision, she could just make out the confused expressions on everyone's faces as they stood in the dim combination of moonlight and streetlights that filtered in through the windows.

"If you really want to take this opportunity to rip him apart," a silky voice stated from the shadows, "I wouldn't be one to stop you. But, if you don't mind us asking," the owner of the voice stepped into the semi-light, revealing fanged teeth, a ridged forehead, and about eighty five vampires behind him.

"Can we help?"

~Part: 67~

The fight started badly and quickly got worse. The A.I. team was severely outnumbered, and its members, with the exception of Angel, Spike, and Buffy, were cruelly hampered by the fact that there wasn't quite enough light in the room for their human eyes to distinguish between friend and foe. For a very short moment, a strong burst of mingled adrenalin and panic ran through Spike as he realized just how heavily the odds were against them. Then he plunged into the battle. Odds had never really mattered to him before; he saw no reason to start caring about them now. He couldn't stop the surge of panic that ran through him at the thought that this might be his last battle, but he wouldn't let it stop him from fighting.

~~~*~~~

Unfortunately, the stronger Spike's bursts of emotion, the more clearly they were transmitted through his forgotten bond connecting him to Willow. At the same moment that the rush of panic shot through Spike, a feverish redhead shot upright in a hospital bed in Sunnydale, yelling out Spike's name.

"Willow!" her friends called out, exchanging worried glances over her head at the glazed look in her eyes. The doctors had told them that delirium was common with fevers as high as hers, but they had hoped. well, they had hoped for a lot of things. Willow thrashed around on the bed until she nearly ripped the IV out of her arm. She didn't notice, busy fighting an opponent only she could see. Xander crawled on the bed, trying to flatten Willow under his body before she was able to do any serious damage to herself. Giles rushed over to help him hold her down.

"Should I call a nurse?" Joyce asked nervously. "They might be able to give her something to calm her down."

"Spike, no!" Willow screamed, oblivious to her friends surrounding her. "Too much, too soon, too many, too many. You promised me you'd come home. Can't break your promise. Can't. please, please don't. It's too dark! It has teeth. Vampire teeth to rip him apart, nothing left. Ashes, ashes, ashes!"

"No," Giles answered Joyce in a choked voice. "If they hear the. manifestation of Willow's delirium, we'd have to deal with the psychiatric ward." Joyce flinched at the memory of Buffy in the psychiatric ward after her first encounter with vampires. They had strapped her to the bed, and kept out all visitors for fear that she was dangerous. No, they couldn't let that happen to Willow. Reluctantly, Joyce seated herself back in the hard, plastic chair and tried not to wince at the moans of pain coming from the girl in the hospital bed.

"The darkness has teeth," Willow murmured, shivering as if she were freezing even as her fever continued to climb, "and it wants to bite him, rip him, tear him apart. It wants to hurt him, *please* don't hurt him. Too much blood. No more blood!"

Dawn couldn't take it anymore and burst into tears, running out of the room. After a momentary pause, Joyce and Anya went after her. Xander didn't even notice them leave, focusing instead on leaning his weight onto Willow's shoulder to hold her down, laying his head down next to hers on the pillow and whispering soothing nonsense to her, trying to calm her down while tears streamed down his face. Willow looked up and finally seemed to look at Xander instead of looking through him.

"They're hurting him, Xan. Make them stop," Willow whimpered.

"I wish I could, Wills," Xander whispered softly, thinking of how he'd give anything to stop her hallucinations from hurting her. He had no way of knowing the hallucinations were real and that Spike truly was fighting the battle of a lifetime while Willow experienced it all, helpless and hurting, from the back of his mind. She couldn't *see* what he was seeing, but she could *feel* every blow that he gave, or received, and every rush of pain, or desperation, or dread.

~~~*~~~

Meanwhile in L.A., Spike fought like the demon that he was, ripping into the opposing vampires. The fact that they were so overwhelmingly outnumbered had its advantages: the enemy vamps were getting in each others' way, and their lack of familiarity with the space made them easier targets. But for every vamp that he managed to dust, three more popped up, and he knew just how badly the odds were stacked against him. The seer was knocked out, as was one of Gunn's boys. The watcher's arm was visibly broken in at least one place. Buffy and Angel were uninjured and fighting with everything they had, but the sheer mass of the attack was slowing them down.

If the A.I. gang could only *see* what they were doing, they might stand half a chance. A spark flashed into Spike's eye as an idea raced through his brain. Peaches would be furious with him when it was all over, but he hadn't gotten Angel good and mad at him in over a year; he was due to have a bit of a row with the vamp.

"Fire," Willow whispered, her eyes clenching shut. "No, Spike, don't. Make the fire go out." Instead of following her commands, the fire burned high in Los Angeles as Spike pulled out his lighter and started turning his opponents into walking torches. It was dangerous as hell, but the A.I gang could finally see what they were doing, and this new advantage drove them into the battle with renewed energy.

Willow stopped struggling, but her eyes shut tight and she twisted herself into a fetal position, rocking herself back and forth as she felt the battle play itself out. She didn't notice when Dawn, Anya and Joyce re-entered the room, not even when Anya came over to the bed and took hold of one of Willow's hands in one hand and Xander's hand in the other. All Willow could see, hear, and feel was Spike as he torched the lobby of the Hyperion and fought his way through the blaze.

The tide had turned in Los Angeles. The enemy's oppressive numbers became a major disadvantage in the tight space, as there was little they could do to stop themselves from setting each other on fire. Angel's team, with their superior knowledge of the space, followed Spike's example and concentrated less on physically defeating their enemies and more on manipulating them into destroying each other. It was almost beautiful in a dear-God-this-could-kill-us-all kind of way.

The vampire leader who had been so confidently arrogant when he announced his presence in the hotel saw the writing on the wall and realized that he was about to lose. Determined that he would make his defeat as costly for the A.I. team as possible, he allowed himself to catch fire, and threw himself directly, deliberately, straight at Spike.

Willow let out a piercing scream, and then went limp. Everyone in the hospital room gasped and rushed forward, afraid that this was it for Willow. They all sighed in relief when they realized that she was still alive and still, barely, conscious. Leaning over her as they were, they all caught the words she uttered in the softest of whispers.

"Angel," she murmured. "Saved by an angel, and a blanket, and blood. No more fire. No more vampires. Safe. Safe." She let out a contented sigh and opened her eyes. Xander was there, still beside her on the bed, only inches away with tears streaming down his face. Lucidity seemed to return to her and the vagueness disappeared from her eyes as they focused on him.

"Don't cry, Xan, it'll be alright," she whispered. With great effort, she lifted her hand to brush away his tears. "Angel put out the fire; Spike will be fine. And Angel will help him heal; I know he will. Even though I'm not there to heal him like before," she glanced at her wrist and Xander's eyes followed hers, noticing for the first time the faint scar from her actions in L.A. that even her best healing spells hadn't been able to erase, "he'll be fine. Sire's blood is better than witch's blood, anyway. So don't cry." Smiling softly at him, she let her eyes drift shut, snuggling into the pillow as she fell asleep.

Exhausted as she was, she stirred but did not wake when Giles grabbed her wrist and turned it to the light so that he could see the scar. She slept on, not noticing the way the hand holding her wrist began to tremble, and unable to see how all the color drained from Giles' face as he finally put the pieces together.

"No," Giles whispered. "Please God, no." In an instant, he rushed over to the phone on the bedside table. Ignoring everyone's frantic questions, he rapidly dialed a number into the phone, then held the receiver to his ear with shaking hands. They all heard the annoying beeping sound that precedes the message saying that a line is out of service before Giles slammed the phone back down. Expecting that he would explain himself now, they were all shocked to see him grab his jacket off a chair and head for the door.

"I have to drive to L.A. right away," he said determinedly. Everyone called out protests, but Giles ignored them until Xander physically grabbed hold of his arm and kept him from walking out the door.

"Giles, you don't have the energy to go anywhere right now. None of us do, after the day we've had. You'll get yourself killed if you try to drive to L.A."

"Getting Spike here is the only way we can save Willow." Everyone in the room froze.

"What are you talking about?" Dawn demanded in a shaky voice. "You said this had nothing to do with Spike."

"I was wrong," Giles answered softly. "God forgive me, I was wrong! If I had known, if I had had any *idea*. but there isn't much time; we have to get Spike back here with Willow right away. The phone line at Angel's is down, which means that someone has to go and get Spike."

Immediately, everyone protested. Giles looked like death warmed over, which was exactly how all of them felt. Driving to L.A. on what they all knew were poorly lit highways populated mostly with half-asleep truck drivers was a recipe for disaster.

"Rupert, if you explain to us what's going on, maybe we can find some other way to help Willow," Joyce suggested, trying to calm everyone down.

"What Willow said a minute ago," Giles stated at last, "about healing Spike before with witch's blood. She meant *her* blood: that's how she got that scar on her wrist. She must have given him blood when he was attacked in L.A. If she gave her blood willingly, which I have no doubt she did, then her actions changed the nature of the bond that she and Spike shared."

"So you're saying that the bond actually *is* what's wrong with her?" Anya asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Giles answered.

"But. but that's good, isn't it?" Dawn asked tentatively. "I mean, now that we know what's wrong with her, we can fix it, right?" Neither Giles nor Anya answered. "Right?" Dawn asked again, her voice a bit more insistent.

"Wrong," Anya answered. She reached back for Xander and he slid his arms around her from behind. His hands shook as they encircled his waist. He didn't understand yet exactly what Giles meant, but Anya obviously did, and it had her scared. That was enough for him to be scared as well.

"Anya, baby, what is it?" he asked softly, cradling her in his arms. Her only answer was to turn so she was facing him so she could lay her face against his shoulder. He felt wet warmth seep onto his skin as her tears bled through his shirt. He tightened his arms around her and looked pleadingly to Giles for answers.

"The change that Willow enacted by giving Spike her blood seems to have made the bond far more sensitive than is normal," Giles explained tentatively. "Willow is much more aware of Spike, even in their separation, than any of the cases I have studied. I have no doubt that her reactions earlier were the result of emotions she sensed from Spike during the battle with the vampire gang in L.A. and Willow's own, natural apprehensions for his safety."

"So you're saying that her awareness of him is affecting her physically?" Joyce asked, trying to understand where Giles was leading.

"Not exactly," Giles hedged. "On the one hand, yes, she is much more aware of him and is responding, in many ways, to any extremes of emotion he might be feeling. But that isn't what's causing her fever." He took a deep breath. "It would appear that in increasing the sensitivity of the bond, she also increased its sensitivity to distance. Her fever is actually the bond's normal response to separation, but in Willow's case it's moving much more rapidly than normal."

"How much more rapidly?" Xander asked, slowly starting to catch on.

"If I were to calculate a guess, I'd say that the bond is moving a three times its usual speed. They've only been separated for a little more than forty-eight hours, and normally it would take five or six days for Willow to reach this stage of withdrawal."

"So," Xander managed to choke out, "how much time does she have before she." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Death," Giles stated hesitantly in a voice that cracked just a bit despite all his efforts to keep it steady, "usually occurs after twelve days, which in Willow's accelerated case would mean after four days."

"It's only been two days," Dawn interjected, her voice filled with a desperate hope. "If the battle in L.A. is over and done with, Spike and Buffy should be heading back home soon, maybe even now!"

"Even if they don't head back now, they'll be certain to head back right after the next sundown," Xander added, that same stubborn hope filling his voice as well. "Even in the worst case scenario of some accident on the highway taking ages to get through, they'll still be back here in less than a day, and that should be more than enough time to take care of what's wrong with Willow."

"Right," Joyce interjected. She could see that there was something more that Giles wasn't saying, some other reason why he was so despondent about Willow's chances, and she wanted to get him out of the room before Dawn and Xander realized it as well. Now that they finally had some hope to cling to, she wasn't going to let anything take that away. "So all we can do for now is trying and figure out if there's some way to make Willow more comfortable until Spike and Buffy get back. Rupert, why don't you and I go and get some more coffee, and then we can decide if there books you can get from your house later that might hold something to help Willow for the time being?"

Giles, too upset to argue, followed her obediently into the hallway. Joyce made sure they were well down the hallway (she knew all about Dawn's propensity for eavesdropping) before she spoke at last.

"What is it you aren't telling them?" she asked softly.

"The separation effects of the bond." he answered after a moment's hesitation. "While it's true that death only occurs after twelve or more days, the victim usually slips into a coma after ten days. In Willow's case, it would happen if Spike didn't return in the next twenty four to thirty six hours. But it could happen even sooner. Some victims have been known to drive themselves into comas ahead of schedule through sheer force of will as a type of defense mechanism, when the pain became too much for their conscious mind to bear. Willow has a very. strong will and the pain she is experiencing now is. most acute, indeed. If she decides that she can no longer deal with the pain."

"Can she not be revived after she's fallen into a coma?" Joyce asked, catching the direction in which Giles was going.

"I-I couldn't say for certain," Giles stammered, unable to bring himself to say the words that would condemn the girl he loved like a daughter to her death. "It's far from my area of expertise, and the change in the nature of the bond makes it difficult for me to draw any definitive conclusions."

"But you think that if Willow slips into a coma, she won't wake up?"

"I can't say definitely that she won't wake up," Giles replied. "But," he continued slowly, "in all the cases that have ever been recorded, no victim ever has."

~Part: 68~

When the dust cleared and the fires burned out in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, the A.I. gang was left battered and bruised and triumphant. and alone. The few vampires from the attacking gang who had survived the attack had fled after their leader turned to dust, and no one bothered to chase after them. Without a powerful leader guiding and directing them, they wouldn't be a problem anymore. Thanking the Powers that Be that Cordelia had insisted on fireproofing the lobby walls and scotch-guarding the carpets when they first moved into the hotel, the A.I. crew began to clean up.

First priority, of course, was dealing with the injuries. Spike's demanded the most immediate attention. While Spike's unlife had been saved when Angel smothered the flames by covering him with a blanket, the burns were still quite severe. Since everyone knew that sire's blood was the best and surest cure, no one but Buffy gave it a second thought when Angel led Spike back into his office where they shut the door and did not open it again for over half an hour.

Satisfied that the vampires were taking care of each other, the rest of the gang mostly ignored the closed office door and concentrated on taking care of themselves. Bandaging everyone up after the fight did not, fortunately, take long. If there was one thing they had all learned over the years, it was how to administer first aid. Even Wesley's broken arm didn't require a hospital visit. Cordelia, once revived, was in her element, bossing and ordering and "supervising" the patching up everyone else. Gunn was busy seeing to Terrence, the boy from his gang who had been knocked out, and wrapping up Wesley's arm. The rest of Gunn's gang-on-loan were kept busy sweeping out the massive piles of dust littering the floor under Cordelia's close supervision, and tossing into the alley all the items of furniture that were too badly burnt to be salvageable.

Only Buffy remained unoccupied. Though sore and bruised, she wasn't injured with anything that a good night's sleep and a day or two of taking it easy wouldn't cure, so she didn't take part in the general bandaging up that occupied the rest of the group. Instead she stayed close to the door of Angel's office, waiting for the door to reopen and Angel to emerge, and straining to hear any of the sounds from within.

Although Buffy never spoke of it, battles have a strange effect on slayers that only other slayers could fully understand. Faith had hinted at it years before when she stated that fighting always made her "hungry and horny." That was, of course, putting it mildly. Slayers were fighting machines, genetically designed and biologically engineered to physically oppose evil for the whole of their lifetime. They only felt fully alive when they were using every ounce of their strength and every shred of their ability to fight for their lives. Fighting stirred their blood, stimulated their senses, and awakened the most carnal of their appetites in a way that was almost orgasmic. After such a good fight and hard-earned victory, Buffy skin was tingling and her blood was humming and she needed, absolutely *needed* someone with whom she could work off the blissful energy vibrating through her body.

She needed Angel, needed him so badly she was practically salivating at the thought of him. She leaned against the wall by his office, knees weak and physically trembling at the thought of being near him again. Her eyes closed and she bit back a moan as she remembered the things Angel could do to her, the way he could make her feel. Vampires were creatures of enormous appetites as well, and she knew that the battle had brought out Angel's more carnal sides, just as it had with hers. He'd need her tonight, just as she needed him; she was sure of it. Absolutely sure of it. So completely sure of it, that she failed to notice the soft moans coming from the office, and failed to consider the possibility that Angel might turn his desires to someone other than her.

Angel gasped as Spike's fangs sank deeper into his neck and his eyes closed, against his will. It had been so long, so very, terribly, achingly long since he had had Spike pressed up against him like this. He knew nothing would come of it, not tonight, maybe not ever again after the way he had treated Spike for so long, but that didn't stop it from feeling amazingly good. He knew Spike could feel his erection, as close as he was, but neither of them made any move to move away. Angel raised a gentle, tentative hand and stroked Spike's hair, which was still surprisingly soft, in spite of the bleach. Spike purred instinctively in response and Angel smiled, continuing the caress, holding Spike just a little bit closer.

They needed this, both of them. After the fight that got their blood pumping, after the adrenalin running through their veins when they thought they would surely lose, and, most especially, after sheer the terror that had raced through Angel when he saw Spike on fire and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would lose him if he didn't act quickly, they both needed the comfort of touching and being touched, holding and being held, and sharing their blood and their strength and themselves with each other. They gave no thought at that moment to anything or anyone else.

Reality intruded slowly. Sounds from outside the office came to their attention bit by bit. Cordelia's strident voice was, after all, hard to ignore. Spike's fangs receded from Angel's neck and the wound soon closed. Angel reluctantly dropped his hold on Spike, and Spike pulled away fully, looking Angel in the eye without speaking. They stood like that for a long moment, just looking at each other. Then the final piece of reality intruded as Spike picked up on the heartbeat close to the office door and the pervading scent of burnt almonds in the air. Slayers always smelled like burnt almonds to vampires when they were aroused: a mixture of bitter and sweet, not unpleasant, but somehow unsettling. Buffy was very thoroughly aroused, and air around them was thick with the smell of it. They both recognized it instinctively, but it was Spike who turned to the door. After all, Spike was in love with her. And Angel was not.

Spike opened the door and spotted Buffy immediately, his eyes darkening at the lust written all over her face. The scent of burnt almonds was stronger with the door open, and it was making his head fuzzy and his pants painfully tight. Buffy didn't notice Spike watching her as she looked straight past Spike to Angel, a spark lighting in her eyes as she noticed the prominent bulge in the front of his trousers. She leaned against the wall, needing its support even more as she arched her back, trying to draw his attention and hopefully his lust on to her. Angel didn't notice. He was busy looking at Spike. There's no telling how long the three-way stare might have lasted if Cordelia hadn't become aware of it at just that moment.

"What," she asked loudly, making all three of them jump, "are the three with super powers doing standing around while the *rest* of us clean? And in the *dark*, no less. I don't think it would be asking for too much for *someone* to go check on the fuse box?"

Angel leapt on the opportunity to get out of the room and headed immediately down to the basement to check on the wiring. He was followed shortly thereafter by Wesley who was convinced that he knew exactly what to do to get the power up and running again. With the moment broken, Spike and Buffy stepped fully into the lobby and, under careful supervision, of course, began to clean with the others.

After an hour of Wesley and Angel puttering around with the wiring, trying to get the power restored to the building, Cordelia lost her patience and called an electrician. She arrived within fifteen minutes, and had the power up and running within half an hour. Angel and Wesley, attempting to hide their embarrassment, came swaggering back upstairs after paying the lady, bragging about how well the fight had gone. Yes, they might not know everything there was to know about power lines and how to restore them, but they knew plenty about how to fight vamps, and that was more important, right? Cordelia patted them on the head and wished them goodnight, stumbling into the elevator to crash in the spare bedroom she kept at the hotel. After the night they had had, heaven knew she needed her rest. Changing clothes swiftly, she stuck in some earplugs and practically collapsed into bed. Sleep came quickly.

Gunn rounded up his gang and loaded them into his truck to drive them home. Wesley headed out the door at the same time to head over to his apartment. Angel took advantage of the general confusion to slip upstairs to his room while Buffy wasn't looking. He locked the door securely behind him and was soon asleep.

Buffy looked up and noticed that she was alone in the mostly clean, slightly scorched lobby with Spike. With a huff of annoyance, she headed for the elevator. She didn't know exactly how Angel had managed to get away from her, but there was no denying that he was gone. Short of searching through the entire hotel, there was no real way for her to find him. He had been very careful to make sure she didn't know the location of his room. Her only option at this point was to get upstairs to her room where she would be able, at least, to get herself off. She was practically crawling out of her skin and needed some release *soon* or she wouldn't be able to sleep.

Spending some "alone time" with Angel would have to wait until tomorrow. It would be her last day in L.A. and, therefore, her last chance to make things right with him. She'd need a good night's sleep so she could look her best. Her mind started racing with images of thoughts and fantasies that could give her the release she craved the fastest, causing her arousal to skyrocket to the point where Spike just couldn't take it anymore. He simply *had* to do something to get that passion focused on him.

"Running away, slayer?" Spike's voice taunted from behind her.

She wheeled around, instantly furious. "What would I be running away from?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Me, of course," Spike answered, moving closer in a deliberately predatory manner. "As always. Any reason why you're so afraid to be alone with me, little girl?"

"I'm not afraid, I'm just repulsed," Buffy spat out. "Who *in their right mind* would want to be alone with you?"

The emphasis on *in their right mind* was too clear to ignore and Spike flinched, as always, at the allusion to Drusilla, but quickly collected himself. He was hacked off and horny already and Buffy was obviously the same, and if she wanted a fight, then that was exactly what she would get.

"Big words from a girl whose boyfriends can't leave town fast enough once she spreads her legs. Tell me, slayer, am I the only man you've kissed who hasn't run straight for the state line?"

Spike barely got the sentence out before Buffy threw her first punch. Spike ducked, causing Buffy to swing in a nearly complete circle, almost losing her balance. Spike's chuckle in response just made her madder, and she swung again. It was blocked, but the kick she directly immediately after connected, sending Spike back several steps. Her smile of satisfaction was almost feral, as was his grin in reply.

"Bring it on," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

And she did.

The fight raged on for nearly an hour. Spike couldn't strike any blows without setting off the chip, but he could still block, not to mention duck under her punches, causing her to slam her fist into the wall instead of his smirking face on more than one occasion. Neither held anything back as the fight grew harder and hotter by the second. Spike was so achingly hard, he was amazed he could walk, much less fight, while Buffy was so aroused from the adrenalin, the slayer pheromones, and the sheer, aggravating pleasure of a strong and capable opponent that she was nearly shaking and couldn't stop her thighs from squeezing together in those brief moments when she was standing still. When her tongue slid out of her mouth to lick the sweat off her upper lip, Spike had had all that he could take.

Pouncing, he slammed her against the wall, pressing his body tightly against her and capturing her tongue in his mouth as he attacked her mouth with his. He barely noticed when the chip fired in response to the rough force of his actions. After all, agony was always a part of the experience with Buffy. Loving her was harsh and tumultuous and passionate and painful. The throbbing of firing synapses in his head seemed to fit the moment, somehow, especially when she instinctively responded, kissing him back just as hard. One hand clamped on to his ass, pulling him closer while the other tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt while thrusting her tongue deeper into his mouth and grinding her crotch against his.

If the kiss had stayed like that; rough and angry; then there's a chance it might have lasted longer. But Spike couldn't help himself. He had the girl that he had wanted for so very long in his arms, and being rough with her just wasn't something that he wanted to do. Instinctively, he gentled the kiss, moving his lips more softly against hers and releasing some of the tension from his grip.

The gentleness brought Buffy back to earth. The kiss became a *kiss* instead of just another form of attack. Disgusted at Spike for kissing her, disgusted with herself for letting him, and absolutely *infuriated* with her maddeningly horny body for responding so eagerly, she shoved him away as hard as she could. Unexpected as the move was, it knocked Spike over and he landed with a thud on the floor. She turned her head to the side and spat, trying to get the taste of him out of her mouth, before turning to face him with eyes full of loathing.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Spike? The only chance you have with me is if I'm unconscious. That's the only way I'd let you touch me."

Without another word, she stormed over to the staircase. She was in no mood to wait for the elevator. Barreling up the stairs, she didn't stop until she reached her room where she slammed the door shut. She practically ripped her clothes off her body as she dove onto the bed and instantly shoved her hand between her legs. <Angel,> she thought to herself firmly, forcing her mind onto the dark haired vampire. Her eyes closed as her fingers delved deeper and her mind ran wild with memories and fantasies of her ex-lover. <I'll be with Angel tomorrow, and everything will be right again.> Firmly convinced that tomorrow would be the breakthrough in rebuilding her relationship with Angel, she allowed herself to imagine his kiss, his touch, his hands all over her body, and bit back a silent scream as she came, at last. Sleep followed soon after.

Meanwhile, Spike was still slumped over on the floor of the lobby, close to tears. She had rejected him so many times before; he had thought he'd built up some kind of resistance to it. He hadn't known it could still hurt like that. Clenching his jaw to hold back both curses and tears, he forced himself to his feet. The sun would be rising soon, and he was bone tired. He'd need his rest if they were going to head back to Sunnydale the next day.

Dragging himself over to the elevator, he let it take him up to his floor, where he mechanically entered his room. Stripping off his scorched and tattered clothes, he slipped into bed and closed his eyes. Finally, silently, he allowed the tears to fall, unaware that in Sunnydale a matching set of empathetic tears slid down the cheeks of a redhead asleep in her hospital bed. The sun rose only a few minutes later, shining serenely over the quiet hotel where everyone finally slept.

~Part: 69~

It was well past noon before the Hyperion lobby held any signs of life. When the gang had finished cleaning up the lobby after the battle in the wee hours of the morning, Gunn and Wesley had been ordered by Angel in no uncertain terms to take the day; if not the week; off so they could recover from the whole ordeal. They took the order to heart and spent the whole of their mornings lounged around their apartments with no intentions of coming in to the office.

Cordelia, despite the authoritarian energy she had shown the night before, was more seriously injured than she had been willing to let on. She had taken some pretty heavy blows in the battle before she was knocked out, and needed at least a few days of taking it easy in order to fully recover. Since Cordelia was the kind of girl who needed an ear-splitting alarm clock or notice of a sale starting at six in the morning to keep her body from sleeping twelve hours a night, all she had to do to guarantee plenty of sleep was neglect to set her alarm. Secure in the knowledge that even if she got up, Angel would probably send her straight back to bed anyway, Cordelia slept soundly, ensconced in her room in the hotel.

Angel, though he had not been seriously injured during the fight itself, had given Spike quite a bit of blood to help the blond heal. Unaccustomed to losing so much blood at once, Angel found himself sleeping late, as well.

Buffy's body, likewise, was in self-repair mode after the double strain of the battle against the vampires and then her later fight with Spike. She slept soundly and dreamlessly while her body healed.

Spike, energized with sire's blood for the first time in years was, therefore, the first one to wake, in the mellow middle of the afternoon. He stretched slowly to test his strained muscles and formerly-burnt skin, and smiled in relief when he felt just how much he had healed. Already, all visible signs of the battle had faded, and within another day or two, he knew that even the residual soreness in his skin and his muscles would be gone. Running his tongue over his lips to moisten the dry skin, his smile faded when he realized he could taste on his lips a combination of sire's blood, slayer's saliva and his own tears. <That does it,> he thought to himself. <It's definitely time to leave L.A.> The town was driving him crackers.

At first, it had been fun to be treated as the prodigal son while Buffy was the pariah, but the pleasures of life at the Hyperion were quickly wearing thin. The battle they were there to fight was done, the relationship between Spike and Angel was getting confusing again after years of pleasantly uncomplicated mutual dislike, and Buffy was about to self-destruct in a way that was downright painful for someone who loved her as much as Spike did to watch. Nothing that had taken place since they had arrived in L.A. had happened the way he had expected it to, and he was still undecided as to whether or not that was a good thing. Good or bad, it was confusing and upsetting, and he'd had about all that he could take. Besides, he missed Willow like crazy. With all the insanity of the past few days, she was pretty much the only thing left in his world that made any kind of sense to him at all.

<Just a few more hours, Red,> he thought to himself. <As soon as that sun sets, I'm getting the hell out of this town and coming home to you.> With a smile on his face from that cheering thought, he grabbed a quick shower and packed his bags. Heading down into the silent lobby, he helped himself to a packet of blood from the fridge and then ducked into the watcher's office, heading straight for the phone. Already, his mind was running through what he would say to Willow: how he would scold her for not returning his messages the previous day and making him worry, how he'd assure her that the battle had been an easy victory and that he'd been careful, like he had promised (which was a lie, of course, but it would make her happy, just the same), and how he'd be coming home to her in just a few more hours.

His hand closed around the receiver, ready to pull it to his ear and dial the familiar number when a sound from the lobby caught his full attention. Stepping away from the phone, Spike headed stealthily to the doorway to investigate. He stopped when he reached the doorframe and hid. Standing in the shadows of the watcher's office, he watched undetected as Buffy stepped into view.

There was something off about her, something about her appearance that instinctively struck a discordant note with Spike, though it took him a minute to realize what it was. Finally, it clicked. She looked different because she was nervous. Spike had, over the time that he had known her, seen the slayer look happy, sad, angry, furious, vengeful, ecstatic and triumphant, but never, in all the years that he had known her, had Spike ever seen her look nervous. It made her seem younger, weaker, and far more vulnerable than usual, and Spike automatically ducked further into the shadows, knowing that she'd be furious if she knew he was there, watching her at that moment. For a girl who dressed just on the legal side of public indecency, she was surprisingly particular about who she allowed to see her with her more vulnerable emotions exposed. She wouldn't want him, of all people, to see her like that.

She stepped quickly into Angel's office, sliding the door shut again behind her. Through the wall, Spike could hear her seat herself on the couch, fidgeting a bit as she made herself comfortable, and then fidgeting a bit more out of sheer nerves. Phone call forgotten, Spike stood with his ear practically pressed against the wall, trying to figure out what she was up to. He didn't have long to wait before he found out. Both Buffy and Spike looked up as footsteps sounded in the lobby and they both recognized Angel's distinctive tread. Buffy settled herself on the couch, holding her breath in anticipation while Spike really *did* press his ear against the wall, not wanting to miss what was about to happen.

Angel stepped in front of his closed office door and forced a sigh out of his long-dead lungs. He knew Buffy was in there; he could feel her distinctive slayer presence from the moment he entered the lobby. And he had a fairly good idea of why she was in there. He had, after all, been expecting this. Gripping the knob and gritting his teeth, he opened the door. They might as well get this over with once and for all. Buffy needed to know that things were well and truly over between the two of them. He had hoped that she'd be able to figure it out for herself, but everything she had done since she arrived proved that she refused to accept what was so blatantly obvious. This time, this conversation, Angel knew that he had to be sure to make it absolutely clear. The relationship they had had was dead and gone and would never be revived. The sooner she accepted that, the better off they both would be. Angel wasn't looking forward to driving the point home, but he knew that this was as
 good a time as any and better than most to get it done with. She would, at least, be leaving soon.

"Buffy," he acknowledged as he entered the office, watching the way she sprung up out of her seat at the sight of him. Deliberately, he crossed over to his desk, hoping that putting some distance, not to mention some furniture, between them might help keep the discussion from getting too emotional.

"Angel," Buffy answered softly, tentatively. "I-I'll be leaving tonight."

"Yes, I know," Angel answered, his voice coldly unresponsive.

"I wanted to apologize," she said, avoiding eye contact, "for the way that I've behaved, some of the things that I've said."

Angel sighed again, this time in relief. This was going much better than he had hoped. Maybe she had learned to accept it, after all. If forgiveness for her behavior was all that she wanted, then that, at least, was easy enough for him to give. "Apology accepted, Buffy. I know it must have been. surprising to come here and have things be so different from what you expected. I don't blame you for lashing out a little."

"So you forgive me?" Buffy said hopefully, edging closer to him, scooting her way around the desk.

"Of course."

"I'm so glad," she replied, her voice dropping to a lower, more confident tone as she stepped even closer, close enough to touch. "You know I could never stand it when you were angry with me, Angel."

"I'm not angry, Buffy, I-" Angel tried to explain, backing away from her, but Buffy cut him off as she moved even closer. Angel's back hit the wall and Buffy closed in, preventing him from moving away.

"I know, Angel," she whispered, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. "I know." Her hand slid up his arm to the back of his neck while the other hand rose to his chest, holding him in place as she raised her lips against his, drawing him into a kiss, pressing him back against the wall. On the other side of that same wall, Spike heard the sound of lips on lips and closed his eyes in pain.

As precariously as she was balanced against him, Angel didn't think he could push her away without physically hurting her, but he could (and did) turn his mouth away from hers, breaking the kiss. "No, Buffy," he stated firmly.

"Yes, Angel," she answered insistently, running one hand up and down his chest while the other stayed locked behind his head, trying to pull his mouth back on to hers. "Yes, please. Please, Angel. I need you. I love you so much."

"*No*, Buffy," Angel stated more firmly. Gentleness be damned; he didn't have to put up with this. He pushed her away. She staggered, but didn't fall. But it only took her as long as she needed to steady herself on her feet to go from sweetly affectionate woman in love to slayer-strength pissed-off woman scorned.

"It's Cordelia, isn't it?" she demanded angrily. "You fucking liar; you *promised* me there was nothing going on between the two of you!"

"It's not Cordelia, Buffy," Angel replied, rapidly losing his patience. He had been prepared to let her down easy, to gently explain that he just didn't feel that way about her anymore. He had had a whole speech prepared where he'd tell her that she really was a wonderful woman and that one day, she'd find the person that she was meant to be with, but that their time apart had made it clear to him that regardless of whether or not he was cursed, regardless of whether or not he was a vampire at all, that person just wasn't him.

He had known she wouldn't like what he was saying. He had even anticipated a few tears on her part. He had been prepared to deal with that. But for her to behave like the proverbial shrew, raking him over the coals as if he were a cheating husband, accusing him and his friends of all manner of things. it was simply more than he could take. He was sick of having this argument with her, sick of her jealousy and pettiness and childish refusal to listen to anything he was saying. He was making a desperate effort to hold on to his temper, but his last reserves of patience were fading away.

"Then it's Darla?" Buffy screeched. "You *staked* that skanky bitch years ago for *me* and now she's taken you away from me?"

"She couldn't take me away from you, Buffy, because I'm not *yours*!" Angel bellowed out. "I will *never* be yours again!"

Buffy froze. She didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even blink. Several long seconds passed before she began to breathe again.

"What did you say?" she managed to gasp out, still standing shock-still, as if she was hoping that as long as she didn't move, time would stand still and he'd be able to take back what he had said before it became real.

"I'm not yours, Buffy," Angel repeated, his voice noticeably softer than it had been moments before, but still firm enough to show his unwavering decision. "I won't be yours again."

"But you love me," she protested, dazedly, as if she had just been told that the sky was no longer blue and two plus two now equaled five. She didn't sound angry, just confused, as if everything she knew to be true had just been proven false. "You've always loved me, and you always *will* love me."

"*No*, Buffy," Angel repeated, his voice deliberately slow and forceful so that it couldn't be misunderstood. "I don't love you. Not now. Not anymore."

"But." she stammered, still confused, "why?" Her voice grew a bit stronger. "You loved me before. You *did*. I *know* you did. And I haven't changed."

"*I've* changed, Buffy," Angel cut her off. "I'm not the same man I was before."

"You're not a man at all," Buffy sneered, anger starting to replace her shock.

Angel groaned. "This is why I left Sunnydale in the first place," he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, Buffy heard him.

"The damn *curse* is the reason you left Sunnydale!" she screeched. "Because you wanted to be with me. Because you *loved* me too much to be near me and not be able to be with me. Don't pretend it isn't true! You know you wanted to be with me, and that's why you had to leave!"

"The curse didn't make me leave, Buffy; I left because I didn't want to stay!" Angel retorted, the words coming out almost before he was aware of them. "In three years of being together, all we did was make each other miserable, and I'd had enough of it!"

"No!" Buffy shouted. "That's not true; we were happy, you know we were happy!"

"*When* Buffy? When were we happy? When we first started going out and you tried to pretend that everything I represented didn't even exist? When you were so busy flirting with Owen and Ford and those frat boys who wanted to feed you to a snake that you barely noticed I was around? How about when Angelus broke lose and you sent me to hell? Or your senior year when you told me half a dozen times that you couldn't be around me anymore, and then got pissed off when I flirted with Faith on *your* orders?"

Angel finally understood why Cordelia took so much pleasure, if not pride, in her own bluntness. It was downright cathartic to say all the things he'd buried inside himself for so long. He hadn't *wanted* to say these things to Buffy, hadn't like the thought of deliberately hurting her even if he didn't love her anymore, but when she pushed him. well. they just came out. And he wasn't sorry about it in the least. Every word he said was true, and it was past time for Buffy to come to terms with it.

"In our entire relationship, can you name a time where we went more than a week without one of us getting jealous, or breaking things off, or getting into a fight and drowning in so much angst, I damn near disgusted *myself*? When were we *happy* Buffy? When were we ever really happy?"

She was furious, he could tell. She practically had steam coming out of her ears. Fortunately, though, she was too mad at the moment to be able to speak, which gave him a chance to finish, uninterrupted.

"And then I came to L.A. and things finally started working out for me." Angel's voice grew less angry and more excited as he tried to convey to her what had happened in his life since they had parted ways. He had changed and they were *good* changes. He wanted her to understand that.

"I started to do things for myself, instead of just being your sidekick all the time. And I realized something: I wasn't fighting to help you, or earn my redemption so I could be with you; I was fighting because I *wanted* to. It wasn't just your battle anymore; it was mine, too. I didn't need to love you anymore to remind me to want to do good things. I didn't need you to give me purpose anymore. I. I didn't need you." He slowed down, trying to say this gently. "I *don't* need you. And I don't love you. Not anymore. I've moved on. What we had was very powerful and very real. but it's over now. Really over. No matter what happens now, even if my soul becomes permanent, even if the Powers that Be make me human tomorrow, I won't be coming for you again."

For a moment, Buffy stood still, seemingly processing this new information. Angel dared to hope, for a moment, that she would accept it. Or at the very least, maybe it wouldn't fully sink in until she was already half-way back to Sunnydale and he was out of range. But then he saw that familiar fury in her eyes, and his heart sank. No such luck.

Her fist slammed into his face so hard, he saw stars. When his vision cleared, she had already stormed out of the room. Angel crossed over to the doorway in time to see her barreling up the stairs, doubtless on her way upstairs to pack her bags and get away from him, as quickly as possible. He made no move to stop her. While Angel was distracted by the pain in his broken nose and Buffy was distracted by the pain in her broken heart, neither noticed the bleach blond vamp standing just inside the doorway of the watcher's office, taking in it all.

~Part: 70~

Back in Sunnydale, the gang had slipped into a depressingly familiar routine. Once they knew that Willow was in no *immediate* danger, it was no longer necessary for the whole group to stay with her all the time, and they slipped into hospital behavior. They performed all duties in shifts: one person staying with the patient, one person running any errands that came up, another (if necessary) doing research to see if there was anything in a pile of dusty books that could help them, and whoever was left going home to toss and turn and pretend to get a few hours of sleep before the shifts rotated again.

Willow, meanwhile, slept on, while her fever continued its slow, merciless climb. Despite their best efforts, the doctors failed in every attempt to contain, much less lower the fever. When they reached the conclusion that there was nothing medicine could do for her, they had to satisfy themselves with pumping her full of fluids and vitamins, and giving her sedatives as often as possible, hoping that sleep and nutrition would allow her body to fight off the problem that medicine was helpless to cure.

Despite the sedatives, Willow's sleep was not particularly restful as her body tried; and failed; to fight the fever that was consuming it. Sleep rarely lasted more than an hour or so before she woke, tossing and turning, trying to shake off the heat. There were no blatant signs of delirium once the fight in L.A. was over, but she still grew less and less coherent each time she woke. The gang no longer bothered asking the doctors and nurses who came in on their regular rounds if there was anything more that could be done for her. They knew that the answer was no. The only one who could help Willow was a bleached blond vampire over a hundred miles away.

Even though it was broad daylight, the gang couldn't hold back on the hope that Spike would be there soon, miraculously appearing in spite of the lethal sunshine and his own complete ignorance of the situation, to save Willow. Every time the door opened, the Scooby sitting with Willow would look up hopefully, only to slump back down in disappointment when the door opened fully to reveal a doctor, or a nurse, or another Scooby. They tried calling L.A. with religious regularity every twenty minutes, but the line stayed disconnected, and no matter how many times the door to the hospital room opened, it was never Spike. They'd hold onto Willow's hand which was becoming uncomfortably hot to touch and curse the one-way nature of the bond, wishing they could use the connection Willow was so obviously feeling to Spike to force into action the oblivious vampire in L.A.

{At that moment, Willow was the last thing on Spike's mind as all he could feel was his own pain. Spike watched as Buffy stormed down the hall in a fury with barely concealed tears evident in her eyes and felt his undead heart break yet again. She didn't even notice him standing there. <Why do I bother?> he asked himself. <What good does it do me to put my heart out there, only to get this in return?>

The stronger Spike's emotions rose, the more clearly they transmitted through his bond, until Willow awoke in her hospital room in Sunnydale with tears in her eyes.}

"Will?" Dawn asked, cautiously. "Is something. can I get you anything?" She held her breath while she waited for an answer. There was no telling, now, what kind of answer she would get. When Giles last checked on her, he said that delirium would, most likely, set in soon. Every time Willow opened her eyes, the Scooby with her would hold his or her breath, hoping that she hadn't dipped into delirium just *yet*.

"Why does he love her so much?" Willow whispered softly. "He just loves her so *much*, Dawnie, and I don't understand. She hurts him so badly."

{Spike, in the hotel, escaped to his room. The last damn thing he needed was Angel sitting him down for another heart to heart chat. All he needed, really *needed*, was to get the hell out of L.A.}

"I don't know, Wills. I just don't know," Dawn sighed.

"I'd give him anything to make his pain stop," Willow said, more to herself than to the girl standing beside her. "I'd give him blood. no wait, I already did. I'd give him a home. no, I did that, too." For a moment, Willow looked perplexed, then her face cleared. "I'd take out the chip!" Her face clouded again. "No, I'm already doing that." She sighed. "What can I give him, Dawnie? He hurts so badly, and I'd give anything. anything I have . I'd give him all of me, everything I have and everything I am, body and blood, mind and soul and heart and love and. *all* I have if he'd take it, but it wouldn't make the pain stop. What can I give him to make the pain stop?" Willow started messing with the sheets, digging around in the bedding as if it was hiding something from her, something that she needed to find.

"Got to find something to give," Willow muttered under her breath. "Something to give him to make him happy." Dawn's eyes filled with tears as her heart sank. The delirium, it appeared, was starting. "What can I give him, Dawnie? What can I give him?" Her searching became more frantic and Dawn started to reach for the call button for the nurse's station. Maybe another sedative would calm Willow down.

{Triumphantly, Spike pulled the bottle of scotch out of the hiding place he had found under the floorboards. God only knew how old the bottle was; doubtless it dated back to the pre-Angel Investigations days when the hotel was used by drifters and drunks; but he didn't much care. Alcohol was alcohol. Even if it was poison, it wasn't like it would kill him. All it could do was numb the pain for a few hours. And that's all he needed: just something to numb the pain for a few more hours.}

Dawn was pre-empted when the door opened and Anya walking into the room.

"W-willow?" Anya asked shakily, instantly worried at the sight of Willow obviously struggling with her bedding, with a lost and confused expression on her face.

"Anya?" Willow asked weakly, stopping her struggles as she turned to see her new visitor. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Willow, I'm here," Anya replied, seating herself very carefully on the bed next to the redhead and flinching slightly at the heat literally pouring off her skin.

"Do I get my wish now?" she asked, her voice sounding hopeful and incredibly young. "I blew out all my candles every year and never got my wish. but you give wishes, don't you, Anya? Can I have my wish?"

{Spike didn't stir from his drunken stupor until a few more hours had passed and the slayer came banging on his door. Struggling to decipher her abrupt commands, the words "home" and "now" finally sunk in and he rose quickly to his feet. His wish was answered: it was sunset at last, and they could finally get the hell out of there.}

Dawn and Anya exchanged silent, pain-filled glances. 'Delirious?' Anya mouthed to Dawn. Dawn nodded. 'For how long?' Anya mouthed next. 'Just now,' Dawn replied, jumping to her feet and rushing over to the window, unable to look at Willow anymore.

"Anya?" Willow asked again, when there was no answer. "My wish?"

"Go ahead and make your wish," Anya choked out. "And if I can, I'll make it true."

"I can have my wish?"

"Sure, Willow," Anya replied. "Whatever you want."

{Spike just wanted to get out of there and he shifted his weight back and forth of his feet with visible impatience as the slayer bid Angel a tension-filled goodbye. He watched her, and she watched Angel, and neither of them was any happier for what they saw. But finally, *finally* they were heading for the door.}

"No," Willow said sadly. "Not what I *want*, but what I *wish*. I want Spike, but he doesn't want me. So I wanna give Spike my wish," she said in that same innocent tone. "Because if he had a wish, he'd be happy. I can't make him happy, but a wish could. Can I give him my wish?"

"Sure Willow," Anya managed to whisper. "You can do whatever you want. Don't. don't worry about that now."

"Can you bring him here, Anya?" Willow asked hopefully. "Bring him here so I can give him my wish?"

"He'll be here soon," Anya promised. "Very soon. Just hold on for now, just a *little* bit longer. He'll be here soon."

{Buffy slammed the front door shut so hard, the noise echoed through the walls. It was so loud, it even managed to wake Cordelia from her coma-like sleep. Bleary eyed and only partially awake, she stumbled out of her bedroom to see what had caused the racket.}

Dawn turned to add her reassurances to Anya's when the light from the window caught her hair. Dawn's natural blonde highlights weren't very noticeable in most lights, but the sunlight hit them at just the right angle in that moment to make her hair light up till it looked nearly platinum blonde.

"Spike!" Willow exclaimed, delightedly. "You came! I wanted to give you my wish, so you could be happy. You'll be happy once you get your wish, won't you Spike?" She smiled so brightly in Dawn's direction that it was difficult for a moment to believe she was sick. She looked almost radiant. But then she moved as if to get out of the bed and the sickness became all too apparent as she realized, even in her delirious state, that she lacked the strength to get out of bed. She flinched in pain at her overly abrupt movement and fell back against the pillows.

Dawn rushed forward when Willow fell back, stepping out of the sunlight, returning her hair to its normal light brown. As the platinum light faded out of her hair, all signs of happiness faded out of Willow's face.

{"Is everything alright?" Cordelia asked sleepily as she entered the lobby. "I thought I heard a noise."

"Everything's fine," Angel replied. "Buffy and Spike just left.}

"Spike," Willow whispered softly, "Where did you go? Please don't leave me. I just wanted to make you happy. Please don't go. I need you so badly. I-I love you so much."

Anya looked up and caught Dawn's eye. The teenager's face looked slightly blurry, and it took Anya a minute to realize that it was because she was seeing her through tears. Dawn was crying as well. This, then, was the result of their matchmaking attempt. Willow was completely in love with Spike. And it looked like it just might kill her.

"Please Spike?" Willow continued to plead from the bed. "Please come back? Please don't leave me? Please? Please?" Willow's thrashing grew worse as she tried to scramble out of bed to reach the vampire. Sniffling loudly, Dawn pressed the nurse's call button, stepping back when the strong, capable nurse brought in yet another sedative. It was injected into Willow's IV and they watched as her eyes unwillingly drifted shut while her lips kept forming the word 'please,' 'please,' 'please.'

"I don't think I can take this much longer," Anya whispered.

"The sun's starting to set," Dawn replied, her voice straining to sound hopeful but somehow falling short. "Spike will be here soon."

Anya glanced over to the window and her eye caught on the clock on the wall. "Have you tried calling Angel lately?" she asked, looking for something to do. Calling Angel wouldn't take long, but it would give her *some* occupation, even if it didn't last.

"Not in the past half hour," Dawn shrugged. "Go ahead if you want."

Anya picked up the phone and dialed the number she had memorized hours before.

{"They left? Is it sunset already?" Cordelia asked, slowly becoming more alert.

"Yeah," Angel answered, turning to face her. "Want me to drive you home?"

"Home? Okay. It'll be nice to sleep in my own bed, maybe get Dennis to draw me a ba- Oh shit, Dennis!" Cordelia squealed, rushing over to the phone on her desk. "I didn't call to let him know I wasn't coming home last night. He'll be frantic!" She yanked up the phone and almost started dialing the number before she realized there was no dial tone.

"The phone's dead," she said, hanging it up with a confused expression on her face. "Wonder when that happened?"

"The vamp gang probably cut the line last night when they cut the power," Angel suggested. "Too bad we didn't check before. I hope we didn't miss any important calls."

"I doubt we did," Cordelia replied. "What are the odds that anything important would happen today, right when we didn't have a phone?"

"You're right," Angel answered. "Come on. I'll take you home, and then call the phone company from a pay phone. If anyone has to reach us, they'll try back later.}

"We're sorry, this number is out of service. Please, hang up the phone, and try again."

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