Angel sighed as he sat down in the back seat of the car. It had been a hard day, and an even harder night. This Korchek demon had given them
a hell of a hard time. Plus, there had been this feeling, all day long, during the research and during the hunt and the actual killing of the slimy
bastard, that something was slipping away from his mind.

All that time, he could not help wonder what it was he could not remember. He could just sense it was important. And he sensed it had to do
with Willow. He looked at the redhead next to him in Cordelia's car. The witch's gaze was vacant, her face emotionless.

He had been willing to ask the little witch about some sort of memory-restoring spell. But he had felt it wouldn't quite be the right thing to do.
Willow had seemed quite strange today. Sure, she still wore that mask to make people think she was just doing fine, but Angel couldn't help notice
her hands.

People always thought to control their faces. Hence the expression poker-faced. But there never was such an expression as poker-handed.
Hands could tell you much more about someone than his face ever would.

And her hands, usually as impassive as her face, had been quite agitated today. Really simple things, the way she was fiddling with a pen, the
nervous tapping of her fingernails on the desk, simple things which reminded Angel of the Willow she once used to be. The Willow he missed so
much.

Consequently, like the smart vampire he was, he came to the one logical conclusion he could find to explain this change. Willow knew what Angel
could not manage to grasp. Willow might even be the cause of his partial amnesia.

Then he came to the solution of his problem. He'd have to find a counter-spell on his own. With that thought, he started to listen
absentmindedly to the chatter of Cordelia and Wesley about which of the two of them had played the greatest part in killing the Korchek demon.
And he sighed again, softly.

-----------

Willow rejoiced with victory when she stepped inside of her room. Angel could not remember anything, or else he would have mentioned it. Then
he wouldn't be an obstacle. And Spike was still immobilised on her bed.

She looked at him; he was asleep. And yet nothing on his face would show any sign of rest. He was even paler than usual and his face was
marked with red streaks.

Looks like he cried a lot, Willow smiled to herself. Good. Because now came the fun part. She took a glass orb out of her bag and smiled wickedly
at it.

Then she sat down and set up a sacred circle in front of her, with all the herbs needed, putting delicately the orb in the middle of the circle,
among some candles. She placed some stones next to her legs before reverting her gaze to the sleeping vampire.

She watched his face for a moment. His eyelids were fluttering, and, by the sight of his tensed expression, he wasn't in the middle of a most
pleasant dream. Willow grinned.

Then she whispered some words which startled Spike out of his sleep. He looked confused and afraid for a moment, before everything came back
to his mind and red tears welled up in his blue eyes.

He already suffered so much, and she had warned him it was just a beginning. What next did she have for him? He shuddered. Then his eyes
focused on her smirking face and he calmed himself down. He had to be strong.

"Here it is, Spikey," announced Willow, waving to the preparations around her, to the orb. She giggled as his eyes grew wide, realisation hitting him.
"Yes, it's an Orb of Thessulah, the very same kind which gave Angel back his soul. I just wanted you to be aware of what was happening to you. I
can't wait to see William. Any last words, Spike?"

He just shook his head. He knew that if he tried to utter a sound, he'd just burst out in tears. Mental exhaustion was worse than any other form
of torture. He was too tired. He wanted it over with.

Willow shrugged, slightly disappointed. She felt as if she was coming back to life. She started to feel things again. And for the moment, she felt
great.

"Well, then, I guess this is goodbye, Spike," she added cheerfully.

She began the ritual by lighting the candles, and then the incense, and spreading it all around her. Then she threw the stones into the sacred
circle, and began chanting Latin words.

ŒQuod perditum est, invenietur.
Not dead nor not of the living. Spirits of the interregnum I call. Let him know the pain of humanity, gods. Reach your wizened hands to me. Give me
the sword. Gods, bind him. Cast his heart from the evil realm. I call on you gods.
Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.'

Spike watched in awe as the witch began to levitate and more words in Latin flowed quickly from her mouth. Her eyes were turning brighter and
brighter, and the Orb was beginning to glitter too.

Spike tried to prepare himself as best as he could for what was coming. A soul. Being as much a poof as Angel. Probably even worse. All he could
think to manage to accept this was 'This is her will. This is her will. This is her will.'

----------

Angel had been researching for a spell to help him, in all the books by his place, since Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn had left, a few minutes after
Willow had went up to her flat. And he still hadn't found a thing.

Suddenly, he felt something stir inside of him. Through his Master/Childe bond, he knew Drusilla was around. A few minutes later, she stepped
into his office, looking completely bewildered.

"Where is she, daddy, please tell me! She is going to hurt him, I do not want to lose my Spikey, please!" Drusilla ran and hugged firmly her Sire.

"Spike?"

And suddenly, Angel felt it. He could feel Spike's presence. That was what Willow had been hiding from him. He withdrew from his Childe and
quickly opened a drawer of his desk. His Orb of Thessulah was missing. Damn it.

Without paying further notice to Drusilla, he walked hastily up the stairs to Willow's flat. He opened it and quickly headed for Willow's room. He
could hear some chanting now: ŒLasa Orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el. Utrespur aceastui.'

Just as he opened the door to Willow's room, Drusilla on his heels, he could hear the witch yell "Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!"

He stopped right in the framing of the door as he saw Willow, levitating in mid-air, and Spike, on her bed, his blue eyes becoming incredibly shiny
for a moment. Then Willow's form fell back down to the floor and she burst out crying. Spike slowly sat up on the bed, lifting a hand to his
forefront.

Angel saw Drusilla quickly pass by him. He didn't try to stop her from jumping at the redheaded witch; he wasn't even sure he would have
physically been able to stop her.

But Spike reacted, when Angel couldn't. He quickly grabbed a stake that laid on the witch's chest of drawers and dived it into Drusilla's back
before she could harm Willow. His eyes grew wider when he saw his once great love turn into dust, an expression of genuine surprise on her delicate
features.

Then Spike fell to the floor and started sobbing. Angel looked down at him. He knew how it felt when your conscience became aware of every
horrible deed you had perpetrated. And Satan knew he and Spike had perpetrated many of these. And then, of course, he knew how it felt to kill
your Sire in the back.

Willow looked up at Angel, her hands nervously soothing her neck, where Drusilla had started to strangle her. Her eyes were full of tears. Angel
smiled; at least, the old Willow was back.

"He... he staked her for me?" she asked, her green eyes reverting to Spike's sobbing form.

"Yes, I believe he did," softly replied Angel. "The only thing you could do right now would be to hold him in your arms. For the moment, he's crying
for all the deaths and sorrow he's caused. I believe it's gonna take some time."

Leaving the room, Angel watched over his shoulder as Willow crawled to Spike and embraced him. He slowly closed the door behind him. These
two needed privacy. And he needed to cry for the lost of his Childe. Angel was very much attached to both of his Childer and even though Drusilla
was very far from being sane, he felt her loss keenly.

Three beings were crying in the building. A vampire and a mortal witch were mingling their tears, blood and water, holding tightly to one another.
They were crying for everything they had almost lost, for what they had really lost, and mostly for what they had found back. The third was sitting
at his desk, in front of a bottle of whisky, crying for his redemption, for the death of a close one, and mostly for their own salvation.

A few hours later, as dawn crept in the sky and the city began to wake up, the three finally gave in to exhaustion, and fell asleep.

Now was the time for peace, regrets, and sorrow.
 

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