Two nights after she dissolved her bond with Hannah, Cyrene and Tara, Willow left the Hyperion.

She had spent the first night after the ritual arguing with Angel and Spike, who were stunned when she declared her intentions.

"Willow, talk to us. What is so wrong that you want to leave?" Angel entreated.

"I'm not letting you set one foot outside this bloody hotel, d'you hear?" Spike growled.

Willow smiled sadly at her companions. She looked at Angel and Spike as they stood in the center of her room and stared at her with strained, panicked expressions. Each wore the pain in his own fashion: Angel, with forlorn, soulful eyes; Spike, with blustering, possessive anger. She would miss them both, so much.

"Spike, you can't stop me," Willow replied. "Angel, this is just something I need to do. I feel...caged. It's getting hard to be so close to what I want, yet always have it just out of arm's reach. There has to be a solution, but I haven't found it here. So I need to go."

"Dammit, Red--" Spike began, only to be cut off by the soft but stern voice of his sire.

"Spike, Willow and I have something to discuss in private."

Cold rage gripped the blond vampire and he loomed in Angel's face. "If you're even *thinkin'* of edgin' me out, truce's off."

Before Angel could respond, Willow placed a gentle hand on Spike's arm. A simple glance was all it took to diffuse the tension, as she reassured him, "You and I can have our own time together, later. Please let me talk to Angel now, though -- alone."

Appeased for the moment, Spike stepped away from his sire. Fixing Willow with a heated gaze, he repeated, "I. Won't. Let. You. Leave."

With that, he strode out of Willow's room, although she knew he wouldn't go far. She expected that she was in for some serious hovering. Not to mention an argument that would give her the mother of all headaches.

One hurdle at a time. She crossed to her door, which Spike had deliberately left open, and closed it. Then, she summoned her courage and looked Angel in the eyes.

Hoo boy. Bad idea.

He knew. He knew exactly why she was leaving, and those beautiful sable pools shimmered with such desperation that Willow wouldn't have been surprised if he offered to give up his soul if only she would stay. For that was exactly the price he'd have to pay.

"What can I do to change your mind?" Angel whispered. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"Angel, you know it's not that simple."

"Of course it's not that simple! You're not the only one who's caged!"

Willow jumped slightly at his outburst.

His calm demeanor cast off, Angel gripped her urgently by the upper arms and drew her flush against him. Bowing his head, he rested his brow against hers and continued in a trembling voice, "I love you...I want you so much it hurts...I feel as trapped as you do, seeing you, holding you, but not being able to share everything with you."

Every fiber of Willow's being yearned to give in and let him persuade her to stay. But she had thought this through. "Then you know why I have to go."

"No, I *don't*. Because as bad as it is, it would be worse if you left. Stay, Willow."

Gently but firmly she extracted herself from his arms.

"I can't walk that line any more, Angel. I'm tired of settling, tired of making do. It's the torment of Tantalus; you're everywhere I look, you're in every inch of my heart and my mind; but if I reach for you, you slip through my fingers. The only way to break this stalemate is for me to do something about it. It's what I've always had to do; nothing has ever come easy."

With each word, Angel's eyes darkened. Willow knew that he could visualize each bar in the cage that separated them. They were forged of the unyielding alloy of a curse Willow had grown to hate.

"Isn't there anything I can do...?"

A soft plea. An admission of defeat.

Willow gazed at him with loving, bittersweet regret, and struggled to keep her voice steady as she offered what mercy she could. "Let me keep my things here? I plan to come back someday."

Numbly, Angel nodded, but his eyes already looked empty, as if someone had drained the soul, the demon, every animating force out of him.

There was no kind way to end this conversation. Willow wanted to wrap her arms around him and offer soothing words of comfort, but it would be cruel to torment him with a reminder of what they had lost, and would lose. She turned to seek out Spike.

"Meet me back here later tonight, after you've talked with Spike."

Willow paused and looked uncertainly over her shoulder. Angel had done his best to raise a mask of stoicism, but a tiny spark of unrepentant longing flickered in his eyes. Gesturing to the books that lined shelves all along the walls, the candles, the laptop computer on her spacious desk, he murmured, "Everything will be waiting for you exactly as you've left it. But let me have something more to remember you by than just your things."

"Angel, I don't know if that's a good--"

"Do this for me. Please."

It was the wrong decision. They were both just prolonging their torture. Yet Willow still found herself nodding.

"All right."

*****

"Get away from me with those, Spike."

Willow squared off against her lover, who held a pair of hand-cuffs in his grasp. She was glad she'd left the door to his room wide open.

"No. Gonna keep you here even if I have to tie you to my bed and drain you so low you're too weak to move." Spike's gaze was determined and unflinching.

"Try it and you'll be revisiting your glory days of rodenthood," Willow warned evenly.

Spike clenched his fists angrily, held in check by a threat he knew full well she'd make good on. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?! You belong here with me and Angel! What the hell is going on with you two? What could be so bad you'd want to--"

The blond vampire halted in mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed. It shouldn't have been possible, yet his face seemed to pale beyond its usual deathly hue.

"He's *that* in love with you, isn't he?" Spike murmured, comprehending at last.

He kicked himself for not guessing sooner, but he'd been too content to have Willow in his bed to think too hard about why he'd been able to monopolize her time.

"Yes."

Spike spun away from Willow and roared in exasperation. He took out his frustration on the metal waste bin by his closet, furiously kicking it over and over.

"Damned CURSE!" Kick. "Soddin' GYPSIES!" Kick. "Why!" Kick. "Does!" Kick. "He!" Kick. "Always!" Kick. "Find!" Kick. "A! Way!" Kick. "To! Bloody!" Kick. "Muck!" Kick. "Everything!" Kick. "Up!?!"

Kick. Kick. Kick.

His fury spent, Spike leaned against the wall, his back to Willow, and finished bitterly, "And I'm not enough to keep you here. Everything's about my damned Sire."

"Oh, Spike..." Willow protested sadly, feeling ashamed that, much as she loved him, she couldn't stay. "If there were any other way, I wouldn't leave you."

Abruptly, Spike turned around with an expression that challenged her to argue with him. "I'm coming with you."

Willow's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Spike, I don't know how long I'll be gone. This is something personal I need to do on my own."

"Sod that!" he dismissed her objection. "Whatever it is you're after, it won't hurt you to have company. And I'm not the problem, am I, luv? It's the Poof you can't be around."

"I can't--"

"You told me I couldn't stop you. You can't stop me, either. I'm coming with you."

Willow saw the determination in Spike's eyes, and realized he had a point. Short of sending herself half-way across the globe with a translocation spell, which she would prefer not to do since it was exhausting, there was no way she could sneak out without him following her.

Spike knew her. He knew the instant that he had weakened her resolve, and moved in for the kill. Time to up the ante.

"Come on, luv. Let me show you the world. Just you, me, and a few billion unsuspecting necks..." Spike purred invitingly.

"Oh, no...Spike, don't *do* this to me," Willow groaned, despairing of any chance to resist if he kept this up. "Can you go back to being violently cranky? Um...maybe you should kick the trash can some more..."

He had her.

Shaking his head, Spike approached her slowly, raking his eyes over her body as if he wanted to devour her. "Why should I be angry? After all, I get you all to myself, a nice change of scenery, a spot of adventure now and again...think I'm startin' to like this idea."

Willow trembled as he dipped his head and nuzzled at her neck. "It...it won't be an adventure," she stammered weakly. His lips worked steadily against her soft skin to ensure the demise of her resistance. "I'll probably....mmm....spend night...after...night....ahh...in musty old archives..."

"Sounds wonderful, luv," Spike murmured as his tongue teased the delicate whorls of her ear.

Resolve officially dust.

Gently pushing against Spike's shoulders, Willow coaxed him into looking at her again and sighed, "Promise me that you'll let me do what I have to do; no arguments."

"Agreed," Spike grinned triumphantly. "So, shall we shag on it?"

*****

It was only with difficulty that Willow was able to extricate herself from Spike's arms and return, as promised, to see Angel in her room one last time.

She was fearful of what she would find when she peered around the door.

And rightly so.

In less than half an hour, Spike had undermined her resolve to travel alone. In a matter of seconds, the sight of her room threatened to destroy her will to leave altogether.

An array of candles flickered in a half-circle in the middle of the room, framing something low and wide draped in a white sheet. A sketch pad with creamy-white pages and a charcoal stick lay atop the sheet. The artist who had placed them there stood to the side, in the shadows, gazing quietly at her.

Willow could easily believe that Angel had been waiting there for her all night.

"Angel?" she whispered uncertainly.

"One last time, before you go...let me sketch you. At least let me have that much," came his soft reply.

"You have sketches of me," Willow reminded him.

"None of them come close to what this one will be," Angel countered.

Posing for him would sorely test her, Willow knew. Sketching, for Angel, was never simply about lines and shading on paper; it was seduction. Not in the sordid sense, as a prelude to a carnal act. No mere prelude, the art of capturing his subject on paper was the act itself. Each fleeting glance over the top of his sketch pad was a caress. When charcoal met paper, it was a kiss; a kiss that deepened with each gentle, patient stroke of the charcoal. The act culminated in an ecstasy of light and dark, softened edges and sharp lines, illusions that seemed more real than the original.

He might as well have said, let me make love to you one last time.

Angel knew this. Willow saw the steps he had taken to make it safer. He would not draw her on her bed, where temptation could so easily triumph, but in the middle of the room. The draped sheet offered the soothing illusion of a studio.

"This is dangerous," Willow offered one final protest.

"I know. But nothing will happen. Trust me, Willow," Angel promised.

At last, Willow nodded her assent. Slowly, she removed her clothes. Angel made no move to help her, but maintained a chaste, respectable distance. Even after Willow lowered herself onto the make-shift platform, he still kept back. Rather than posing her as he would have before, by placing his hands on her and nudging her this way or that, Angel prudently avoided touching her. Yet even his softly-voiced instructions caused Willow to shiver.

"Lie down...no, on your stomach. Rest your head on your arms."

Willow rolled over and propped her folded arms beneath her head. The cotton sheet felt smooth and soft against her belly.

"Turn your head to the side...like that. Now, draw your knee up slightly to your side..."

Her thighs parted slightly as she complied with the hushed request. Angel circled her slowly, studying her with a mixture of reverence and an artist's critical eye. Willow wanted so desperately for him to touch her, but she remained silent.

Angel sat down in a chair alongside Willow's reclining form and took up his sketch pad and charcoal. He looked her in the eye for a moment, his stormy gaze expressing every shade of passion and sorrow, then dropped his eyes to the blank paper beneath his fingertips. Soon, the faint, scratching sound of charcoal on paper began to soothe them both. The familiar, repetitive noise was hypnotic, and alleviated some of the tension of frustrated desire. It was like a lullaby: sharper scratches for prominent lines, whispering sweeps for smudges and shading.

As happened so often when he sketched her, the passage of time was forgotten. Thick drapes covered the windows in Willow's room; had the dawn come and passed into mid-day, they wouldn't have known it. Nor would Willow have cared. She was content to watch her beloved Angel as he worked obsessively on his masterpiece; he was beautiful to behold when he sketched.

Finally, Angel was satisfied with his creation. He put his mark, 'A', in the bottom-right corner, then looked up at Willow.

Willow propped herself up on her elbows. "Can I see it?"

Angel smiled, scooted his chair closer and held it out for her. She admired the soft lines and the subtlety with which he captured her very being. With a few, simple smudges he conveyed the expression of a woman gazing wistfully at her beloved; the slight shyness of a naked beauty aware that she was being watched; and the deceptive repose of a lover tense with the desire to be touched.

"It's beautiful," Willow praised him.

"It's a pale copy of the original," Angel insisted.

They locked gazes. Slowly, mirroring each other, Willow and Angel raised their hands and brought them close to each other's faces, hovering so close yet not touching.

It was Willow who broke first.

Seizing his face in her hands, Willow pulled Angel down for a hungry, desperate kiss. Without hesitation, Angel wrapped his arms around her and crushed her petite frame against him. He kissed her as if he could draw her very essence into himself. But neither of them was blinded by this last, desperate grasp at passion. Sweet as it was, they let the moment go.

Angel pulled away and lowered his eyes. "You should go before Spike barges in here looking for you."

"Angel..." Willow began.

"I know...He's going with you."

Willow gaped at Angel in disbelief. Had he overheard them?

As if Angel knew where her thoughts had turned, he explained, "I didn't eavesdrop. It's just that Spike and I are very alike in some ways. He's doing exactly what I would do, if I could."

"I never meant for you to be left alone, Angel," Willow whispered, as tears stung her eyes.

Angel released a soft laugh and countered, "I won't be alone. Gunn, Cordelia and Wesley will be here. The Powers still have work for us."

"That's not the same," Willow murmured.

"I know."

Willow looked at him sadly and on impulse moved to place a reassuring hand on his cheek. However, Angel felt his self-control hovering on the edge and pulled back. Stepping away from her, he muttered, "I'll see you both off tomorrow night."

Taking the sketch with him, Angel left Willow in her room, to grapple with the painful consequences of her decision.

*****

Spike stood at Willow's elbow and observed the pained, longing gaze she and the Poof were exchanging. Bloody hell, this wouldn't even be necessary if she'd just stay put.

"Flight leaves in two hours, Red."

Willow nodded, but her eyes never left Angel's.

Spike grew irritated; if she didn't want to leave, why in sodding hell did he have two tickets for a flight to Heathrow in his pocket? If it were up to him, he'd shred the tickets, drag her back to bed, and tell her to find some other way to resolve her situation with the Poof.

And as for Angel...

Spike couldn't bring himself to look into those haunted, dark eyes. He hadn't seen his sire look that abandoned, that lost, since the night Darla had chased him away in disgust over the soul.

"I guess we should be going," Willow murmured at last. "Angel...thank you. Thank you for everything. And take care of yourself, please?"

"Good-bye, Willow. Spike--" Angel extended a credit card in his right hand. "I'd like you to take this. It should cover anything you'll need. Don't worry about the bills, I'll handle them."

A flippant remark was on the tip of Spike's tongue when he realized why Angel had given him the card.

His heart sank as he realized that his sire's intuition was right.

It would only be a matter of time before Willow left him, too, in the pursuit of her quest. Daddy was giving him the chance to treat Willow like a queen until the inevitable night when she set out on her own.

Well, this was one occasion on which Spike damn well intended to do his sire proud. He'd show his Red the world in style.

"Thanks, dad," Spike smirked as he took the credit card and slipped it in his pocket. Turning to Willow, he crooked his arm and proposed, "Shall we, luv?"

With a final strained glance at Angel, Willow looped her arm through Spike's and the two travelers set out on their journey.

*****

2018: FIVE YEARS LATER
 
 

At the beginning of a journey, it's easy to believe that you're going out into the world. Or, put differently, as an eager, hopeful adventurer you imagine that the world is a *thing* out there for you to discover. Once you're under way, though, you realize that it's the world that seeks you out. The problem is, when it finds you, you don't always understand what it's trying to tell you.

And it peers at you curiously, wondering why you don't see the answers it has set in front of you.

The wise sojourner recognizes this as the first clue that her purpose wasn't quite as clear as she thought it was when she started out.

Willow discovered this soon after she made her first contact with a scholarly Kobold at Balliol College, Oxford. Within the first five minutes of their conversation, Willow got the impression that the Kobold demon knew more about her quest than she did.

"Wasn't it there when you left?" the gnarled, bespectacled demon interrogated her.

"Well, yes, but--"

"What kind of a fool goes looking for something that's already there?"

"Excuse me! That's not the problem."

"Don't tell me -- you're bogged down in the mechanics of it, aren't you? Well, then, missy, do you even know how you want to alter the mechanics?"

"I want to make it permanent, is that mechanical enough for you?"

"Yes, but HOW? What, forgot to do your homework, did you? Think! Was it the trigger you wanted to change? Substitute the existing one for something less risky? Say, perfect enlightenment, which NOBODY manages these days. Or, perhaps it would be simpler to install a new one. Does it have to be his, or would any reasonable facsimile do?"

"Wait a minute -- huh? All I want to do is--"

"It's painfully obvious that you have no idea what you want. I suggest you take the time to study the matter. Start with the Fergiz demons in Budapest. It should be simple enough even for you. Don't worry, if you don't speak Fergiz they're equally willing to converse in Hungarian... you DO speak Hungarian, don't you?"

"Arrrgh! Some demon! You're as bad as...as a college professor!"

"If you're going to stoop to vulgarities and petty name-calling, I suggest you leave, now."

As a first step on her quest for knowledge, Willow felt it had been about as graceful as tripping over her own shoelaces. She came away completely exasperated. The worst of it, though, was that in his infuriatingly pompous way, the Kobold demon had nonetheless shown her how many questions she had failed to consider.

That he could care so little, yet understand so much, bothered her.

This was a personal quest, dammit!

That meant it was supposed to be... well, personal. And...and... a quest! One of those meaningful journeys of self-discovery.

Yet as the months stretched into years, the other demons she encountered were much like the grumpy Kobold of Oxford. They treated her quest like a curiosity, some sort of intellectual exercise. It was unsettling for Willow to arrive at a new locale, make contact with the keeper of an archive or the head of a clutch...and discover that she was expected.

Willow didn't like the feeling that she was losing control of a search that had such intense, personal meaning for her.

After five years, Willow had grown almost too disillusioned to continue when she received a promising tip from a demon community in the ancient Sumerian ruins at Lagash. They advised her to seek a demon hermit, one of the oldest who still deigned to dwell in this realm, and who wandered the Sahara Desert.

A hermit in the desert. Now that was more like it! This was the stuff of quests!

Willow passed through one of the older sections of Baghdad, eager to return to the lavish hotel suite she and Spike had occupied for the past six months.

She paused and smiled as she thought of her lover.

Dear Spike.

For five years, he had been her only companion, content to roam wherever Willow's search took her. He had asked her no questions about why she spent hours in obscure libraries in the various European capitols they visited; said nothing about her meetings with different demons; made no comment about the many ancient languages she studied until she could read and speak them fluently; and even held his tongue when she returned from a two-night disappearance, saturated with the unmistakable brimstone odor of a Hellmouth.

Her smile faded at the realization that she was going to have to leave him.

She couldn't ask him to wander aimlessly in the desert while she looked for a hermit who, she was told, didn't want to be found.

The dwindling smile became a frown.

Why did quests have to be so lonely?

*****

He wasn't sure why, but Spike had an uneasy feeling that tonight was the night.

Whether it was a spark in her eye, or a slight quiver of excitement in her voice, or her restless energy when she returned from Lagash, Spike couldn't be sure. But something told him that she was going to leave him. Tonight, maybe tomorrow night at the latest.

Spike had known ever since they set out together that the moment would come, eventually. He'd even had nightmares about it, once or twice. However, Spike did not, as he'd feared, simply awaken to an empty bed. He was cradling his treasured redhead in his arms, relaxing in the peaceful aftermath of lovemaking, when Willow chose to break the bad news.

"Spike...I'm going to move on tomorrow night."

He heard her pronoun choice clearly, but chose to ignore it.

"Just as well. Hearing 'Allahu Akbar' every bleedin' time I turned 'round was gettin' annoying," Spike remarked gruffly.

Willow was silent for a moment, and Spike knew that she knew he'd deliberately misinterpreted her declaration.

"I'll be going alone," she said at last.

Although he knew it would be in vain, Spike attempted to cajole her into continuing the journey together. Raising himself up on one elbow, he gazed down at her tenderly, traced her lips with one finger and observed coyly, "But we make such a devastating pair, luv. Don't want to go breaking up the act so soon, do you? Look at what happened to the Beatles..."

Willow arched an eyebrow at him and played along. "They all had successful solo careers. Well, maybe not Ringo...You're not worried about being a Ringo, are you?"

"Me? Not bloody likely! I'm a damn legend, I am," Spike huffed, feigning wounded pride. Their eyes met, and Spike's gaze softened. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to Willow's and poured his heart into a kiss that was pure, bittersweet longing. She returned his passion and his anguish measure for measure.

When their lips parted, Willow stirred and Spike rolled away to let her sit up. Her mood now serious, she told him, "You can't follow me where I'll be going. This is something I have to do on my own."

Not willing to give up without a fight, Spike stared at her unflinchingly. "I'll consider letting you go if you'll tell me what this has all been about. What could you want so badly that you won't stop, even after you've spent five years looking and haven't found anything?"

Willow shook her head, smiling at his stubbornness. "I've come close, more times than you know. But please don't ask me about this. You wouldn't be happy with the answer. And if it doesn't work out in the end, it will be better if this remains my own personal search. No one else will have to be disappointed."

"I'm not letting you go off where you could get staked -- or worse!" Spike's voice grew louder as his concern mounted. "Dru walked out on me, but at least I know she's still out there. Angel and I would've felt it in our blood if she'd been dusted. But there won't be anything to let me know you're safe. I wouldn't be able to feel you...I'd never know...bloody hell! I won't accept that!"

Touched deeply by Spike's admission, Willow placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned her forehead against his. When she pulled away, she extended her left wrist to him and whispered, "Bite."

Spike raised her proffered wrist to his mouth and, after placing a reverent kiss on her skin, bit deeply and savored her taste. However, he blinked in confusion when she pulled her arm away after he'd taken only a few sips. Puzzled, Spike watched as she dipped her right index finger in the blood that seeped from her wound, and made no protest when she grasped his left wrist in her left hand.

Murmuring words Spike couldn't understand, but which he recognized as one of the archaic demon languages she had picked up during their travels, Willow drew something resembling an inverted Y on his wrist with her own blood. As she chanted, the symbol she'd drawn began to burn and Spike hissed in pain. Before he could jerk his arm away, Willow closed her hand tightly over his wrist and continued the incantation. By the time Willow finished, Spike's eyes were pressed shut and his body had gone rigid as he struggled to withstand the agony.

Then, suddenly, he realized that the pain had been replaced by another sensation. It spread out from his wrist and through his veins.

But it was impossible.

Willow released his wrist, and Spike peered at it in wonder. A simple, black tattoo that resembled three dragons' tails radiating out from a central point, branded his flesh. Yet it wasn't the tattoo itself that amazed him -- it was the feeling that Willow was literally flowing through him.

"What'd you do?" Spike asked when he recovered his voice.

"I gave you a way to know whether I'm okay," Willow explained, lightly tracing his tattoo as might an artist admiring her handiwork. "It's the closest thing I can ever have to a blood bond with another vampire, unless I sire a childe someday. Can you feel me?"

"Yes!" her lover gasped, still in awe.

"There may be some places I'll go...some places where there's power stronger than my own...and it might mask the connection. You might not be able to feel me, then. But as long as I'm in one piece, the mark will remain on your wrist. If it ever disappears, you'll know--"

Spike interrupted, not allowing her to say the fatal words. "It's permanent. This is never coming off."

Willow started to chide him about harboring unrealistic illusions, but he stopped her again. "Willow...luv...I'll give you another five years. If you're not back by then, I'll come looking for you. And then you'll be in for a stiff punishment."

With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Willow let her hand slide teasingly down his chest, toward the flesh that never failed to rise to her will. Playfully, she purred, "*How* stiff?"

Shutting out all thoughts about her impending departure, Spike focused on his desire and pinned her beneath him. "*Very* stiff..."

*****

Spike returned to Los Angeles soon after Willow left him in Baghdad.

It was the first time that he'd felt truly dead in a long time. He was heartsick. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that he could feel her through the bond she had created.

When he walked into the lobby of the Hyperion, he was greeted by a somber, withdrawn shadow of the sire he'd seen just five years earlier. Even with the bright flash of hope Spike detected in Angel's eyes -- hope that Spike knew would soon be dashed -- he looked like the haunted, solitary vampire Spike had tormented years ago in Sunnydale. The blond vampire could only hope he himself wouldn't look that bad after five years without Willow.

"You look bloody awful, Peaches," Spike remarked with a slight lift of the eyebrow.

"Nice to see you, too, Spike," Angel retorted wearily. Then, his tone of voice lightened ever so subtly, and his body tensed in anticipation, as he asked, "So, is Willow with you?"

All it took was Spike's lowered eyes and the mild clench of his jaw, and Angel had his answer. When Spike glanced back to his sire, as he'd expected, the small spark of hope in those deep brown eyes had died out.

"She felt the need to wander a bit. Told her I'd come looking for her if she wasn't back in five years," was all Spike said.

Angel nodded, but said nothing for a few moments. The silence made Spike uncomfortable. The past few nights had been tough enough, getting used to not having Willow beside him; he damned well didn't need the Poof's penchant for brooding to make it even worse.

Impatiently, Spike muttered, "So, got anything to drink around 'ere, mate?"

Rather than answering the question, Angel posed one of his own. "How about you? Are you just wandering through?"

Spike let out a feeble chuckle and exchanged a knowing look with his sire. Downright pathetic, they were. But where better to turn than each other?

"Had enough of traveling for now," Spike remarked. "Thought I'd stick around and sponge off the old man for a while."

Angel's mouth twisted into a wry, half-smile and he shook his head. Nobody would ever accuse Spike of being sentimental, that much was certain. However, Angel couldn't bring himself to continue their gruff verbal sparring. In truth, he'd missed his childe as much as he'd missed Willow.

"It will be good to have you here again," Angel offered with heartfelt sincerity.

Sire and childe appraised each other silently for a moment. Then, Spike advanced slowly toward Angel, with a sinful gleam in his eyes.

"Who says you're gonna have me? Might 'ave to get me drunk first..." Spike taunted, feigning disinterest. He paused briefly and then dashed toward the stairs.

A pleased growl rumbled deep in Angel's chest and, grinning, he started after his fleeing childe, quite willing to give chase.

*****

And so Spike settled back in at the Hyperion. Begrudgingly, Angel's co-workers were forced to admit that they were glad he was back, since his return succeeded in breathing a little life into the dark vampire. So to speak.

But there was a persistent emptiness inside Angel that not even Spike could reach; a hollow chamber that echoed with memories of a vibrant, gentle companion and all they'd shared with each other.

When the subtle gloom that lingered around Angel threatened to infect Spike, the blond vampire decided he'd better find a distraction fast. He'd be damned if he was going to take up the stoic, angst-ridden routine like dear old dad.

It was as good a time as any, he decided, to go check up on the little brat, Megan.

After some extended cursing at the DeSoto, which had sat in a garage near the Hyperion during his absence and groaned its protest when he tried to start it, Spike finally managed to get the old behemoth running. In short order he was on the road to Sunnydale.

He wondered if Megan would sense that it was him, or if he'd been gone so long that her Slayer signals would merely register a vampire like any other.

When Spike finally rolled into town and parked the car, it didn't take him long to find her. Familiar with all of the Hellmouth's most-likely spots for vampire activity, he soon tracked the Slayer down in a cemetery on the south side of town. Rather than approach her right away, Spike chose to follow in the shadows, observing her as she patrolled.

She was no longer the inexperienced little girl he'd shoved around five years ago. And, he noted, she'd shaped up *quite* nicely.

Megan ambled leisurely among the graves, but her relaxed stride was deceptive. Spike discerned with an appreciative glance how alert she was. Her limbs were poised for the fight and her eyes scanned the terrain with confidence. Now sixteen, she was far more the predator than Buffy had been when Spike had first encountered her -- but then Buffy hadn't been thrust into her calling at age eleven.

A scrawny-looking vampire emerged from behind a tree and snarled at Megan. Even from a distance, Spike caught the scent of fresh earth on him. A fledgling -- and none too bright, from the look of him. Spike moved closer to enjoy the show. It was brief; the fledge barely got in a few punches before Megan thrust a stake between his ribs and reduced him to dust. Not bad.

"Still leaving your left flank open when you lunge, I see. Better work on that, or some nasty thing'll get a piece of you."

Almost casually, Megan turned toward the sound of his voice. Spike saw the anticipation in her eyes. Yet with the restraint of a skilled fighter, she held back, sizing him up.

In a calm, neutral voice she said, "I wondered who was following me."

"Wondered? You mean you'd forgotten me, and you let any old vamp tail you through the tombstones?" Spike pouted, feigning wounded pride.

A hint of a smile twitched at Megan's lips, but she remained cautious. "I didn't forget you, Spike. I thought it might be you...So...have you come for me?"

"Ooooh, does the little Slayer want a fight?" Spike teased, moving toward her with a panther's grace.

"Not so little any more, you old wanker," Megan taunted back, her eyes never leaving his.

"Wanker?!" Spike protested as he circled closer. "I ought to give you a royal thrashing for that, you little niblet."

"Go ahead and try it," Megan dared, matching him move-for-move.

Never one to resist a challenge, Spike lunged for her, and before long they were engaged in a fluid, almost elegant exchange of feints and parries. The blond vampire noted approvingly that she easily deflected his more direct attacks, and demonstrated the finesse of a practiced killer. She was good.

'Course, she'd had the best teachers, he congratulated himself smugly. He'd have expected her to be this good.

Almost too good.

For a split-second, Spike's concentration slipped as he compared his current opponent to the awkward girl he'd trained. It was all the opening Megan needed. She had him pinned on his back with a stake poised over his heart before he'd even blinked.

Still, his bravado never left him.

"Thought you were doin' alright there for a minute, luv -- but where's the follow-through? I oughta be dust by now."

"Yeah, but then Willow would never forgive me," Megan fired right back, with a coy twinkle in her eyes. It was Spike's undoing, and he smirked. In a completely un-Slayer-like gesture, Megan threw caution to the wind and engulfed Spike in a fierce hug. "God, Spike, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

"Mmmm...if I'd known you'd throw me to the ground and try to ravish me, I would've hurried back sooner," he leered as he ran his hands up her legs and over the curve of her ass. Megan sat up abruptly and flashed him a reproving look.

"Hand check, old man," Megan chided with a wry grin. Then, her expression softened to that of the eager, shy child he remembered, and she asked, "So, where's Willow?"

As they rose to their feet, Spike pursed his lips and shrugged wearily. "Not sure. Left her in Baghdad, but she said she'd be movin' on." At Megan's alarmed, pitying expression, Spike added, "Sooner or later, Red'll come track me down. Or I'll track her down. But she's off on some sort of personal quest right now, and there's no changin' 'er mind when she gets like this."

Megan relaxed slightly at Spike's assurance that he and Willow were "still together". Nonetheless, she fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed with the reunion. Finally, Megan asked softly, "Wanna talk?"

Maintaining his cool exterior, Spike lit a cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke and replied, "Yeah, sure. Why not? Coffee shop or crypt?"

"Blood bank?" Megan suggested with an innocent lift of the eyebrows.

Spike narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Still a little brat, aren't you?"

*****

That was all it took for Slayer and vampire to renew their old ties. Spike slipped into a routine of joining her on patrol once a week or so. They would reminisce about Willow or trade stories about what had happened to each of them during the five-year separation.

Despite some initial misgivings, Megan's Watcher eventually came to accept their association -- albeit only with the help of Giles. However, Mr. Smythe couldn't quite bring himself to join Giles and Spike on the few occasions when they revisited the old days.

The first such occasion happened not long after Spike made his presence known to Megan. Whereas Mr. Smythe greeted Spike's arrival in the magic shop with an awkward, cautious attempt at civility, Giles merely flashed a brief, tired smile and waved the blond vampire up to his apartment.

"Neat or with ice?" Giles inquired as he set two glasses and a slightly dusty bottle of single-malt Scotch on the coffee table.

"Straight up," Spike replied as he took a seat on the futon. Giles sat down in a leather, wing-back chair, poured two glasses of Scotch, and handed one to Spike.

As they clinked their glasses together, Spike muttered, "Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting and drinking."

Giles raised his eyebrows for a moment at that particular memory, then answered, "Cheers."

"I take it Willow was well when you left her?" was Giles's first question after he'd savored his first sip of Scotch.

"Well and determined," Spike stated simply. "How 'bout things here?"

"I suppose as well as can be expected for a Hellmouth. We haven't had an Apocalypse in a few years," Giles mused thoughtfully.

Spike pursed his lips and said, as he raised his glass for another sip, "Good to hear." After he'd swallowed, savoring the rich burn of the alcohol, he continued, "How's the new bloke gettin' on -- what's 'is name, Simple Simon?"

"Cecil Smythe," Giles chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever."

"He's proven to be an able, supportive watcher...if a bit over-eager at times," Giles conceded. "At any rate, the fact that Megan has turned out to be a formidable Slayer is testament to the level of commitment he's brought to his calling."

"She's good, I'll grant you," Spike agreed. " 'Course, I'd say it had more to do with who started 'er out. Least you didn't let 'im turn 'er against us. Wasn't sure if she'd really stake me."

For a moment, Giles's expression darkened. "I made it a point to follow her education about vampires -- and the Council -- very closely. And, for the most part, Mr. Smythe handled it commendably. While he wasn't always forthcoming with information, he never lied to her."

"Let me guess -- when she couldn't get something out of her Watcher, she came to good ol' Uncle Giles," Spike smirked knowingly.

Giles raised his glass as if to make a toast, and declared, "I am the fount of all wisdom."

Spike cocked an eyebrow, raised his own glass, and they drank together.

The former Watcher grew pensive, then recounted more details of Megan's development. "It didn't take long for her curiosity about previous Slayers to emerge. And the more Smythe kept silent about what happened to Buffy, the more Megan wanted to know. The girl was -- is -- no fool. She realised quite soon that her situation was unorthodox; that no other Slayer had been called at such a young age, and that it wasn't the norm for vampires to step forward as a Slayer's protectors in the absence of a Watcher. Rather than jeopardize her working relationship with Smythe, I waited a few years before I told her everything."

"Everything?" Spike challenged. "Even 'bout you?"

"Yes, even about me," Giles answered, locking gazes with the blond vampire. "I spared her the grisly details, but I told her about Buffy's murder and our response to her killers. It was one of the few times I've seen her truly distraught."

"I can imagine," Spike let out a low whistle. "Never any fun to know there are people out there who might want you dead. Worse when it's your own keepers."

Giles shook his head. "She wasn't upset for herself. She felt sorry for Willow." At Spike's look of astonishment, Giles explained, "Willow made quite an impression on Megan. Apparently, when they first met, Willow told Megan that she and Buffy had been friends. Megan felt that it must have hurt Willow very deeply to lose her friend, and that they must have been very close for Willow to seek revenge against the Council."

After a beat, Giles concluded softly, "Megan said she would do the same, if anyone ever went after Willow. Or you."

The revelation deeply moved Spike, and it showed in his eyes. However, he masked it quickly and remarked, "Always knew she was a good kid. So, you mean to tell me Red and I rate bloody vengeance, but if something happened to you, she'd shrug it off?"

Giles chuckled. "She has a certain fondness for me, as well. But I've persuaded her that I am no longer afraid of dying. I'm not getting any younger, and I've seen more than my fair share of death. I've grown reconciled to my mortality...enough so that I have no qualms about inviting a vampire into my home and sharing an old bottle of Talisker with him."

"Good. Then I guess you won't worry about liver poisoning, either, y'old pisser," Spike taunted, nodding toward the nearly-full bottle. "So, what say we kill it?"

With a smile, Giles picked up the bottle and filled both of their glasses to the rim.

*****

2020

Two years passed, and Megan graduated from high school.

She had spent her senior year browsing wistfully through brochures for the University of Colorado and Arizona State, but resigned herself to UC-Sunnydale, unwilling to abandon her duty.

Once in awhile, Spike brought Megan back to Los Angeles with him to visit Angel, which the dark vampire appreciated as a welcome diversion from the monotony of solving cases, fighting demons, and wandering the streets lost in thought until dawn.

Something about Angel's demeanor perplexed Megan. Any time Willow's name came up, he seemed to close in on himself. She said nothing, since she couldn't quite put her finger on what struck her as odd about it. It was only natural that he'd miss his friend. But it seemed to be more than that.

So, Megan decided to let it alone.

Spike became a familiar face to the residents of her dorm -- none of whom suspected that he was a killer. On the occasions that Spike didn't find her in her room, neither her roommate, Jackie, nor the other freshmen who lived on her floor batted an eyelash about waving him in the direction they'd last seen her.

One Saturday night, he found her down in the basement doing her laundry.

"Now, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Spike drawled as he strolled into the detergent-scented room.

"It's *because* I'm such a nice girl that I'm here," Megan retorted with the flippant grin she reserved for Spike alone, as she continued stuffing clothes into the washer. "I'm not going to be one of those college kids who takes her laundry home to mom."

"Oooh, a martyr, eh? But it's a Saturday night, luv. Y'know, the last Slayer let 'erself kick back a little."

Megan shrugged nonchalantly, dropped the lid and slid a laundry token into the machine. "I'll probably pop by the lounge in between loads and watch the movie they're showing. Then it's patrol-time."

"Well, that's bloody boring, isn't it?"

"I could always kick your ass for a little amusement," Megan pointed out, grinning broadly at his good-natured teasing.

"Dream on, little girl!" Spike chuckled, rolling his eyes dismissively. " 'sides, I would've thought you'd have some strapping young college man's arse to kick around on a Saturday night by now."

"How do you know I don't?" Megan folded her arms across her chest and demanded haughtily.

"Oh, come on, luv -- vampire, remember? Do I have to give you the remedial course on what we can tell about human physiology? Or about all of a woman's *intact* parts?" Spike taunted. He fixed her with a lewd stare, then closed his eyes, inhaled dramatically, and announced, "Nope. No young man yet."

"You...pig!" Megan exclaimed, partly shocked at the openly vulgar gesture, yet on the verge of laughing hysterically in embarrassment. "That was just *gross*, Spike! God, don't you *dare* do that in front of any of my friends! That was just...ick! I can't believe I still hang out with you."

Never one to pass up a chance to make the girl squirm, since it had become one of his favorite pastimes, Spike pushed further. Invading her space, his face mere centimeters from hers, he whispered seductively, "So, why no young man, luv? Holding out for someone better, perhaps?"

"Maybe I haven't come across anyone yet who's worth the trouble," Megan retorted without flinching. She knew he was just trying to yank her chain as always, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

"Sure about that, are you?" Spike arched an eyebrow, his gaze locked with hers. He loved making the kid back down when she tried to challenge him, and as challenges went, this was turning out to be wicked fun. Bringing his mouth close to hers, he murmured, "You mean no one's ever made you burn, made you want to feel his hands on you, feel him touch those places where you blush even to put your own hands...?"

As Spike wove an erotic image with his words, he brought a finger up to Megan's breast and lightly teased the tender peak through the fabric. A trembling gasp slipped from her parted lips and whispered across Spike's. Blushing, she pulled away abruptly, and Spike could see the enticing outline of her erect nipples straining against her tee shirt. A quick whiff of the air left the blond vampire grinning smugly at how much he'd affected her.

"Okay, game over. We are so not going there," Megan asserted forcefully, finding it difficult to look Spike in the eye. "You're like my big brother or something. Eww. Not to mention the fact that you're with Willow."

Spike chuckled, but returned to the casual, gruff manner he knew she'd come to expect. "Go *where*, little girl? All I did was ask a simple question, and suddenly *your* mind is in the gutter."

"God, I *really* hate you right now, Spike!" Megan moaned, blushing even further. She let out an exasperated sigh and covered her face with her hands. Soon, though, she was laughing softly. "I don't believe this. I must be the only person on campus who has to put up with a vampire making fun of my lack of a sex life...while I'm doing my laundry, no less."

"Sure," Spike agreed. "Most of the other chits, I'd just go ahead and shag without giving a rat's arse about their sex lives or lack thereof."

Megan dropped her hands from her face and stared at him in shock. "You'd --- what?! But...you're with Willow! You'd cheat on her?"

At this, Spike couldn't contain his laughter. He let it bellow forth, and was still wiping the tears from his eyes when he finally regained enough composure to respond.

"You're such a bloody *girl*. I see your Watcher didn't go much beyond the basics about vampires. We don't march up to the altar and pledge to forsake all others until dust. Red and I would kill for each other, die for each other, but that doesn't mean we haven't had other lovers, even while we were together."

"So she could be off with some other vamp right now, and you wouldn't care?" Megan demanded incredulously.

All traces of humor left Spike's face at that thought. He scowled, and flecks of amber smoldered in his eyes.

"I thought so," Megan observed knowingly. "You wouldn't like it if she found someone else, but you think it's okay for *you* to sleep around."

"Watch it, niblet," Spike growled. "Red's mine. She's never minded when I satisfied an appetite with a human now and then, 'cos she knew that's all it was -- a passing appetite. Had 'er own human partners, too, though she kept it within a small circle of witches. And since she and I hooked up, there's only been one other vamp for either of us."

Megan's brow furrowed as she attempted to reconcile her human, romanticized notions of love with the image of vampire relationships Spike had just given her. As she was mulling it over, suddenly his words clicked in her mind, resolving a long-standing mystery. Eyes wide, she clapped a hand over her gaping mouth, then removed it and squeaked, "Angel!"

Spike narrowed his eyes at her, puzzled by her apparent surprise. "Yeah, of *course* Angel. Thought you knew."

"No one ever said anything," Megan murmured. "Like you said, Cecil basically stuck to what I needed to know about killing vampires. Giles would tell me a little more. But it was mostly about vampire customs, clan rivalries, some history." She paused for a moment, gazing at him shyly, before glancing away. "He was the one who explained why you bit me before you left."

For a moment, Spike's expression softened. He reached out and brushed a hand almost fondly over the scar he'd left on Megan's neck.

Then, lest he appear too soft, Spike observed brusquely, "Yeah, well, you're part of *my* circle. Couldn't have some pathetic minion chewin' on you while I was gone." He took a few paces away from her and changed the subject. "So Angel never talked about Red, then?"

"Oh, sure, he'd talk about her sometimes. But he seemed so sad. I always thought he was jealous of you," Megan admitted.

The buzzer sounded on one of the washers she had started earlier. While Spike stood blinking at her, Megan pulled her damp clothes from the machine and tossed them in the dryer.

"Jealous of *me*?" Spike mused. The idea wasn't exactly impossible, he knew. But after spending so many years resenting the hold his sire had over their shared lover, knowing that part of Willow's affections would always be reserved for her earliest protector and mentor, it felt strange to consider that Angel might have cause to be jealous of him, too.

"Duh," Megan shook her head and smiled. "Who was left behind while you two went off to see the world? And who has the funky tattoo that links him to Willow?"

Spike continued his silent reflection as Megan tossed a dryer sheet in with her clothes, shut the door and pressed the 'start' button. "I used to wonder what he was thinking about when he slipped into one of his funks. This kinda puts a whole new twist on things."

Spike let out a short laugh. "Nobody can tell what's goin' on in my sire's 'ead when 'e gets like that. Trust me, luv. I've known 'im for well over a century by now, and even I can't figure 'is moods all the time."

*****

A blood cocktail sat ignored next to Angel's hand as he leaned against a table in Caritas and paid no attention to his surroundings. He stared across the room at nothing in particular, as he had been staring for hours, and wondered where Willow was.

If she was okay.

He supposed that Spike would share the news if the tattoo vanished. Numbly, Angel blocked that thought out of his mind. But it was replaced by a gnawing unease at all the other things that could be done to a vampire without necessarily dusting it.

No, he wasn't going to let himself worry about that. Willow had proven time and time again that she could take care of herself.

<Even witches, even powerful vampires, can be caught off guard.>

Angel steeled himself against his treacherous inner voice.

He should have stopped her. Willow had been upset about Megan, and it had clouded her judgment. She felt alone, abandoned, and Angel cursed himself for not having done more to let her know that she wasn't alone.

Would it really have been so bad for him to have subdued her, tasted her that night in the cemetery? They had both wanted it.

Wanted it too much. He had known it then, just as he knew it now, and deep down, he knew that Willow understood as well. And rather than continue walking the fine line between danger and misery, she had chosen to leave.

This must have been what Buffy felt when he did the same to her.

Angel closed his eyes and felt his heart clench just a little tighter.

The thick fog of his thoughts was finally dispelled by the soaring, falsetto voice of a crooner from bygone days.

'I don't have plans and schemes,
and I don't have hopes and dreams,
Baby I just don't...have anything,
Since I don't have you...'

Angel scowled.

The Host had a sick sense of humor.

"Cute. Really cute," he growled darkly, looking up as the green-skinned demon approached his table.

"Well, I figured it would be a shame for you to sit there, carrying that BIG old torch, without a good, old-fashioned torch song," Lorne mused in his usual, half-sympathetic, half-condescending voice.

Angel glanced around and saw that, save for the two of them, the bar was empty. He'd closed the place; now he was being chased out.

As if in confirmation, the voice from the jukebox wailed melodramatically,

'When you walked out on me,
In walked old misery
And he's been here since then...'

Angel flashed the Host a disgusted look.

Rising to his feet, Angel muttered, "I can take a hint."

"Care for some advice, too?" Lorne spoke up as Angel turned to walk away.

"No."

Clucking his tongue in exasperation, Lorne continued, "Well, then I'll make this one for the road. Don't bury yourself, fellah. You can sing the blues, you can drown your sorrows, you can hold your breath...well, maybe there wouldn't be much point in your case...or you can keep burying yourself beneath the weight of the world. It won't bring her back any sooner. So stop burying yourself. Maybe you should try singing the blues for a change. It's more fun."

Angel paused briefly on his way to the door, looked over his shoulder, and shook his head in disbelief. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Sure you won't give it a try?" Lorne persisted, but his only answer was the sight of Angel's broad back disappearing through the exit.

The Host shrugged and sighed, "I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, you big dope."

*****

Willow shifted restlessly in her shroud. Buried beneath the dunes of the Sahara Desert, she waited for the sand above her to cool, signaling that the sun was safely beneath the horizon. She was glad she'd learned the trick from a vampire in Cairo, but she still had to laugh.

It just seemed so weird.

Tonight on Wild Kingdom, see the burrowing vampires of the Sahara... right after the lions of the Serengeti and the flying squirrels of Madagascar.

But if her latest lead took her in search of a demon hermit who shunned settled communities, she would have to get used to this. A little discomfort was a small price for all she stood to gain.

She just wished it were easier to fall asleep. Although she didn't need to breathe, traces of the human fear of suffocating beneath the earth lingered on. The oppressive weight of the sand made it difficult for her to relax enough to get more than a couple hours' sleep each day.

Leaving plenty of time for her mind to wander. And wander it did, as always, back to Angel and Spike.

Willow wondered if they were driving each other crazy yet. There was no doubt in her mind that Spike had returned to Los Angeles. For all his impetuous stunts and volatile mood swings, her sweet monster was a creature of habit.

She hoped her two lovers were taking care of each other.

*****

Angel slammed Spike against the cold, marble exterior of a crypt. He relished the dull, hollow sound as Spike's skull hit the wall. Good. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Spike?" the dark vampire demanded, his voice low and menacing.

Angel was livid. This was one of the rare occasions he'd visited Sunnydale to check up on Megan, but what he saw when he tracked her down on patrol made him think he should have made it a point to come by more often. His incorrigible childe was trying to seduce her.

"What d'you mean, you big Poof?" Spike struggled to choke past Angel's hand, which was clenched tightly around his neck.

"Don't play with me, boy," Angel snapped, squeezing tighter. "And don't play with her, either. Megan has looked up to you since she was a girl -- God knows why. But I swear, if you use that to take advantage of her, what I did to Alexei will seem like a spa treatment compared to what I'll do to you."

Angel released his hold on Spike, whereupon the younger vampire slid to the ground with a thud. Spike hissed in pain, and mumbled a few words too quietly for Angel to make out. Angel bent down and slapped him.

"What was that, Spike? I didn't quite catch it."

Spike glared sullenly at his sire. "I *said* I'd never hurt her. Now get the hell off me."

"Don't mouth off to me," Angel scowled in his childe's face. "So what was that back there, just then? The leers, the suggestive remarks?" He pointed his finger accusingly. "Dammit, you copped a feel!"

"What the hell do you know?" Spike shot back. "She's used to it. We're just pissin' around, same as always."

"Yeah, sure, same as always. If I'd seen you touch her like that when she was eleven, I would have ripped your hand off," Angel retorted. "It's not the same as always. It's not just kidding around. She's not a girl, she's a woman. And you are *not* going to twist that to suit your needs. Just because Will--"

Angel's tirade was cut off when Spike hurled himself against the senior vampire. His fury allowed him to tap an inner reserve of strength. Overpowering his startled sire, Spike knocked him flat on his back.

"Meg's not a substitute for Willow! Nobody is a substitute for my Red!" Spike shouted. "Not even you, you pathetic, sorry sod! For fuck's sake, your own childe comes back to you, and it's still not enough to pull that gel-encrusted head out of your damned, broodin' arse! At least with Meg, I can talk about Red and the old days and NOT FEEL FUCKIN' DEAD!!"

Angel angrily shoved Spike away, but said nothing. Spike's words had stunned him; it was the cold shock of truth. Another reason for Angel to feel guilty about having failed the ones he loved. Both of them sat on the ground for a while, neither willing to look the other in the eye. At last, Angel muttered wearily, "You *are* dead, Spike. We both are."

"Oh, thank *you*, Mr. Angel Investigations. No wonder your bloody agency is always on the verge of bankruptcy."

Angel snorted ruefully, but said nothing for a few moments more. Then, he stood up, wearily dragged a hand through his thick hair, and said, "You care about Megan."

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, rising to his feet. He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "This better not be leadin' up to some *touching* father-and-son talk about the facts of life."

"I've seen you screw your way through an entire village, Spike. I think we've got that covered," Angel remarked dryly. "But is that all this thing with Megan is to you? Another stop on the tour?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, you prick?" Spike growled uneasily. Clenching his jaw, he turned his back to Angel. Another drag on the cigarette. Then, in a low, almost challenging voice, he admitted, "I told you I wouldn't hurt her, and I won't. 'Course I care. She's my girl."

"Spike..." Angel advised, "For once, think about the consequences. Not just for her, but for you. It might seem tempting now, but Slayers don't live forever -- they don't even live as long as a normal human. Are you really willing to put yourself through that?"

"Shut. The. Hell. Up."

Angel pressed further. "Why? Avoiding the issue won't make it go away. I care about Megan, too, but as much as she means to both of us, one of these days she's going to die." After a brief pause, he added a dark warning. "When her time comes, I won't let you turn her."

"Jumpin' ahead a bit, aren't you?" Spike retorted coldly as he spun around to glare at Angel. "I haven't done a bloody thing yet, and you're makin' like an over-protective father. Only you can't quite say 'don't do anything I wouldn't do, son', can you? Had *your* share already."

Instinctively, Angel's fist shot out and landed a forceful blow on Spike's chin. Then, continuing as if nothing had happened, Angel confessed with emotion, "I just want to spare you what I went through. Why set yourself up for that kind of pain?"

"Thanks for sparing me," Spike muttered, wincing as he rubbed his sore jaw. "Some of us don't give a rip about pain. We're vamps, or had you forgotten?"

"You know what I meant."

Spike stepped a few paces away from Angel and remained silent for a few moments. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, reducing the last bits of tobacco to ash. As he exhaled, he dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it with his boot.

"I won't force the issue with her...but I won't talk her out of it if, one of these days, it turns out she's interested," Spike conceded at last. "I'm not like you, Peaches. I'm not in the habit of denying myself the things I want. Never does any good. You can give into temptation, or you can hold it off, but either way there's no guarantee they won't leave you in the end. And then where are you?"

After one final, penetrating stare, Spike turned and slipped away into the night, leaving Angel alone among the tombstones.

*****

Willow sat on the soft, silvery sand beneath the night sky. The air was cold and clear and still as a tomb.

She had an odd feeling -- she wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten where she was. True, she had been searching the desert for close to two years and knew that one dune looked much like another, making it easy to feel lost.

However, what really made her wonder if she were dreaming was her silent companion. She couldn't recall their initial meeting. At some point, he was just there.

Literally, he was *just* *there*...he hadn't spoken yet, or acknowledged her presence in any way.

The stranger was cloaked in midnight blue and his -- or her, or its -- face was completely obscured by a hood. All Willow could see of the creature beside her was a gnarled, purple hand with red claws. Peaking out from beneath a long, heavy sleeve, the hand traced geometric shapes and random designs in the sand.

"It is a very strange thing for a demon to seek. Of what importance is it to you?" the stranger said at last.

Willow furrowed her brow. Had they been talking?

"How do you know what I'm looking for?" she asked.

"You've been looking for me. There are only a few reasons that pilgrims seek me out," came the deep, raspy reply.

"You're the hermit!" Willow blurted excitedly.

"Why do you want this, blood drinker?" the hermit repeated.

"Why? Well...it's for someone who is important to me. Okay, and for me, too, if you look at it a certain way. It has to do with how we relate to each other, I guess...Wow, I can't believe I finally found you! But, here you are! Um...just out of curiosity, do you have a name?" Willow was so thrilled that her search had finally proven fruitful that she lapsed into babble-mode.

For several moments, the hermit remained silent. Willow wasn't sure what made her think this, but it almost seemed to her as if he were laughing -- even though he made no sound. Then, in his oddly ethereal voice, he replied, "Call me Hypnoi."

"Oh. I'm Willow. Um...getting back to why I'm here, I was told that you know a spell for--" Willow began, but Hypnoi's gravelly voice interrupted her.

"You, yourself have already given me the answer you're seeking."

"Huh? I have? Uhh...when exactly was that?" Willow stammered, confused. Was it part of a hermit's job description to be annoyingly cryptic?

"Haven't you, though?"

Willow frowned, growing impatient. "No...actually, that would be a big no. I must have missed that part."

"How can you seek what you cannot name? How can you name what you cannot recognize?" Hypnoi challenged evenly. Then, as if he pitied her lack of comprehension, he added, "Speak what was written at the first gate. Seek the Harvesters. They are the only ones left who know the language."

With that, Hypnoi vanished.

"Hey...HEY!" Willow exclaimed, blinking as she suddenly found herself alone in the desert. Leaping to her feet, she rested her hands firmly on her hips and shouted crossly, "That's not fair! What kind of clues were those? I've read prophecies that made more sense, you...you... inconsiderate vanishing hermit, you!"

Willow received no answer to her tirade, although later she vaguely remembered hearing faint echoes of laughter.

*****

Spike wandered toward the Student Union building, wondering if he'd find Megan at the dance or if she'd decided to take a pass on this one, too. Her friends in the dorm pestered her to socialize more, but usually she begged off. Smirking, he began to wonder if maybe she *was* holding out for someone.

He just had to get her to admit it. Stubborn little wench.

As he emerged from an alley between two buildings, he heard the sounds of fighting. Even without the visuals, he knew Megan was in the process of dusting someone. Spike chuckled at the thought that she'd been provided with yet another excuse for not going to a college social event.

His humor faded when he finally caught sight of Megan and her opponent, just in time to see the vamp strike out with a knife. She yelped as the knife sliced across her arm, but her concentration never wavered and a few seconds later, she dusted him.

Spike charged toward her in alarm.

"Dammit, girl, you're supposed to be more careful than that!" the blond vampire scolded crossly as he reached for her wounded arm.

"Lighten up, old man. It's just a scratch," Megan smoothly brushed his hand away.

Spike would have none of it. "Come on, let's have a look."

"Yeah, right, you blood-sucker. Looking over the menu?" she teased.

Although Spike continued to frown in concern, her good-natured ribbing caused him to relax somewhat. As he closed a gentle yet firm grip around her wrist, Spike eased into their familiar repartee. "Relax, luv. You know I won't put my mouth on you unless you really want it."

Megan arched an eyebrow at him, but made no protest as he undid the button at her cuff and pushed the sleeve up her arm.

Spike clamped down on his instincts, although it was difficult to ignore the heady scent of her Slayer's blood. With almost clinical detachment, he examined the cut, which was indeed superficial. Thus reassured, he released her arm and stepped a few paces away, putting greater distance between himself and the temptation of her blood.

"It'll heal," he observed gruffly. "Let's get you cleaned up. Hope that wasn't one of your favorite shirts; stain's not likely to come out. Tear from the knife certainly won't."

"Vamp-doctor-and-wardrobe-consultant to the rescue," Megan joked with a grin.

A slight smile twitched at the corner of Spike's lips, but he said nothing. Indeed, to Megan he seemed oddly quiet on their way back to her dorm, and she didn't miss the fact that he was keeping his distance. Guessing that maybe it was harder for him to be around the scent of her blood than he let on, she started to feel bad for having teased him about the menu.

As they walked, her feelings of awkwardness grew even further when she realized...she was curious.

It didn't help that his constant teasing had been making her confront thoughts and feelings she didn't really want to deal with. Though she would be loathe to admit it to him, after he and Willow had left, she *had* developed a little crush on her memory of him. He'd been the strong, cocky, wise-cracking protector who always looked out for her. To make matters worse, as she'd grown older, her appreciation of the male form had matured as well. And he looked just as good now as he had when she was only eleven.

Treacherously, a question she had once asked whispered through her mind.

<What does blood taste like?>

And what about the other side of that equation, she wondered....what did it feel like, for a vampire to...?

Suddenly, the image of his mouth on her arm popped into her head. She desperately struggled to block it out. Slayers shouldn't have such thoughts. But it was burned into her mind, where it remained even after they reached her dorm room.

Megan unlocked the door and they entered. As she headed toward her closet, where she kept a small first-aid kit, Spike flopped down on her roommate's bed, leaned on his side and perused the cd's that were scattered on the floor.

Megan hesitated, looking at her closet door, then at Spike. He seemed fully engrossed in Jackie's music selection.

She took another step toward the closet, then stopped.

Her breathing grew shaky, and it felt like fireflies were bobbing and darting about in her chest.

Megan turned fully back toward Spike and stood there, watching him. After a few moments, he looked up and frowned at her. "You all right? Your pulse is racing."

"Spike, I..." Megan began, but was too flustered to think of how to say it. Wordlessly, she extended her arm to him, as if it were an offering.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the light coming in from the window. Megan hadn't bothered to flip on the light switch, intent on grabbing her first-aid kit and heading out to the bathroom. But even in the darkness, she caught a brief flicker of emotion in Spike's eyes, stronger than any she'd seen since the night he'd ripped out another vampire's heart on her parents' lawn.

Quickly, he looked away and muttered, "You're a big girl. You don't need me to bandage that up for you."

"I don't want you...to bandage it up..." Megan murmured awkwardly. "I want to know...what it feels like..."

He stared at her intently for several moments, before rising to his feet and approaching her with a slow, deliberate pace. When he was almost flush against her body, he asked softly, "Did your Watcher tell you what a Slayer's blood is to a vampire?"

Megan felt her heart racing. Unable to speak, she merely shook her head.

With a smile that was pure sin, Spike swept his eyes over her before leaning close to her ear and whispering, "An aphrodisiac. Gets us all hot and bothered. Just so you know what you're offering."

He nuzzled the tender skin just behind her ear. Megan's eyes slipped shut and she released a shaky breath. When she opened her eyes, Spike had stepped back; he was waiting.

Still unsure of her decision, Megan nonetheless found herself holding her arm out to Spike. He grasped her hand and pulled her toward him. Rather than lowering his mouth to her wound right away, he drew her hand up and kissed it. Then, he slid her sleeve up, his fingers teasing lightly at the wispy hair on her forearm. Keeping his eyes on hers, he finally brought her arm up to his lips. His tongue snaked out of his mouth and teased at the cut. Megan trembled slightly. Spike's eyes slid shut as his mouth closed over the soft flesh of her arm, and he began to suckle.

Even if he weren't a vampire, it would have been an intimate act; indeed, it felt more intimate than anything Megan had ever shared with any man, even her dates in high school. As she shivered at the gentle suction of Spike's mouth on her flesh, and succumbed to the pull of his hunger as he drew out her life's essence, Megan almost felt naked.

She bit her lower lip and found herself gripping Spike's thigh with her free hand. As he continued to drink, Spike brought one of his hands down to cover hers. He pressed her palm even more firmly against his taut muscle, before letting his hand begin a slow, upward journey. His fingers traced a tantalizing path over her hips, then swept up to dance across the swell of her breasts.

At last, he pulled away from the cut on her arm and cupped her cheek in his palm. Spike tilted his head and Megan parted her lips in anticipation. But he didn't meet her lips with his own right away. Instead, he flicked his tongue against her mouth and ran it along her fleshy bottom lip. Her soft moan was quickly swallowed up when Spike finally closed his mouth over hers in their first kiss.

It was patient and unhurried. Spike savored the texture and taste of her mouth like a connoisseur. Megan, too, devoured his lips and tongue with pleasure, tensing slightly at the forbidden flavor of her own blood. She rested her hands on Spike's hips, while he cradled her head in his hands, all the better to press her lips closer to his.

Slowly, Spike nibbled his way down to Megan's neck, and she let her head fall back to grant him greater access. His tongue swept the entire column of vulnerable flesh in one long, wet stroke. It was a potent measure of the trust between them, which subdued the combative instincts of Slayer and vampire, predator and prey.

It was too much.

"Oh, God...Spike..." Megan whispered, light-headed from his attentions.

He withdrew from her neck and gave her a brief kiss.

"Shh..." he hushed, laying a finger on her lips.

It was only when Spike pulled away that Megan realized she was panting. Her rapid breathing was the only sound that disturbed the silence as Spike crossed to the door. He slid the deadbolt in place and then, as added insurance against roommate with key, he grabbed the nearest desk chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob.

Turning back to Megan, Spike shed his leather duster and tossed it on Jackie's bed. He smiled as he looked at her, flushed and fidgeting like the inexperienced virgin she was, yet meeting his gaze with a Slayer's fearlessness. She was exquisite.

When Spike stood before her once again, he took her hands, placed them against his abdomen, then slowly dragged them up, tugging his black tee shirt free of his jeans. Understanding what he wanted, she helped him remove his shirt. He raised his arms, allowing her to pull it over his head, then brought his hands down to her shirt and began to unbutton it.

In a matter of moments, every article of clothing had been stripped. Completely bared to each other, Spike and Megan gazed at one another through new eyes. They saw each other not as long-time friends, confidants, or sparring partners, but, at a most primal level, as male and female. Touch soon heightened this new awareness, as Spike drew her intimately against him. Megan's skin tingled. Her breasts, which had never felt the bare skin of a man's chest, were crushed against him. Her thighs brushed against smooth, jutting male flesh that even her hands had never touched.

Spike gently pushed Megan back onto her bed and covered her body with his own. They lay entwined with each other, delighting in the feel of skin and teeth and tongues. When their caresses grew urgent and heated, Spike took her virginity in one swift stroke. Megan hissed and blinked back tears; Spike stilled momentarily and placed soothing kisses on her dampened lashes. Then he began to move within her.

When Megan started to move with him, Spike abandoned his restraint. Though he was careful not to cause her pain, Megan's first time was anything but gentle. Her vampire lover was a tempest unleashed, consuming her with relentless passion.

However, even more than their lovemaking, it was what Spike did in the quiet aftermath that reached right into Megan's core, and made it clear to her how their relationship had changed.

As they rested together, her back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, he murmured, "I'll not have you getting swiped at by other worthless vamps ever again. From now on, they'll know that if they touch you, they answer to me."

With that, he brought one hand up from her chest to tilt her head to the side, while his other arm continued to hold her in a fierce, possessive embrace. Letting his demon come to the fore, Spike pierced her neck with his fangs and renewed the mark that claimed her as his.

*****

"What the--? Jeez, what's up with the door? MacKenzie, are you in there?"

Megan's eyes flew open to the sounds of her roommate struggling with the door. Oh, shit!

She glanced at her alarm clock, which read 3:50 a.m. Oh, shit! It was 3:50 a.m. and she'd locked Jackie out.

And now Jackie wanted in...and Spike was here...and...oh, shit!

Spike's arm tightened around her as he mumbled sleepily, "Ignore her, luv. She'll go 'way."

"Spike, let go, dammit!" Megan pushed away from him. She stumbled away from the bed, clutching the entire bedspread in front of herself to cover her nudity -- not to mention a rather conspicuous bite on her neck -- and went to the door. Removing the chair that Spike had wedged under the doorknob, she cracked the door open. "Uh...hi Jackie. Sorry about that."

"Never mind," Jackie sighed as she pushed against the door. "Just let me in, already."

However, Megan held the door firmly in place, and blocked Jackie's view of the interior.

"What the hell? Let me in," Jackie repeated indignantly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Megan.

From behind Megan's unyielding form, Spike called out in an overly-sugary voice, "Come back to bed, sweetheart. Sheets're gettin' cold without you."

All traces of suspicion vanished from Jackie's expression and she grinned broadly. "Wayyyy to go, MacKenzie!"

Megan blushed furiously. Before she could stammer an explanation, an apology -- she didn't know what, really -- Jackie took advantage of her momentary embarrassment to push past her into their dorm room.

"Hey, Spike," she greeted the blond vampire casually. "Don't get up. I'm just going to grab a few things and go crash down the hall in Jen's room."

"Knew you were a good egg, Jackie," Spike replied pleasantly, even as his eyes laughingly revealed his amusement at Megan's discomfort.

In a matter of moments, Megan's roommate had grabbed some clothes and basic toiletries, stuffed them in her gym bag, and slung the bag over her shoulder. As she breezed out the door, she winked at Megan and quipped, "Took you long enough."

Megan groaned and closed her eyes. Great. By morning, the entire dorm would know.

Maybe the whole campus.

She shut the door and slumped against it, barely restraining herself from banging her head repeatedly against the smooth wood. Spike came up behind her and nuzzled the nape of her neck.

"So the news is out. No reason to get your knickers in a twist. Scratch that, you're not wearing any. Come back to bed and I'll take your mind off it."

As he wrapped his arms around her and drew her back toward the bed, Megan sighed, "Spike...we need to talk..."

He turned her so she was facing him. At the sight of her troubled expression, he grew stern. "That'd better not be regret, little girl. I shagged you, I claimed you. You're mine. There's no turning back now."

"It's not regret...exactly..." Megan began.

"Damn right it isn't!" Spike continued defensively. "As first times go, that was right cracking! Left you completely knackered, I did."

"Spike, I was *there* -- you don't have to convince me," Megan reminded him. "And it *was* good. It was *amazing*. But that's not the problem."

His pride somewhat placated, Spike subdued his ire and asked, "Then what's the problem, luv?"

"You. Me. This...I don't know..." Megan murmured weakly as she sank down onto the bed. Spike sat beside her and pulled her back until they were both stretched out fully. Still not quite sure what she was on about, he opted to kiss her and nibble his way down her neck. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd forget what had her in such a pet.

Megan said nothing for a while, but she didn't protest Spike's ministrations either. At last, she whispered, "What happens when Willow comes back?"

Spike stilled.

He propped himself up on his elbow and regarded Megan steadily for a moment, before answering quietly, "Yes, luv. When Red comes back, I'll shag her into the ground and, when she recovers, we'll pick up where we left off. I'd *still* want to shag you into the ground, too. Already told you, we've both taken human lovers while we were together. Question is, what would *you* want to happen when Red comes back?"

Hurt and confusion flooded Megan's eyes. She rolled over, turning her back to Spike, and muttered, "Just leave me alone. Close the door on your way out."

Angrily, Spike gripped her shoulder and rolled her back to face him. "Doesn't work that way, little girl. I'm not some scrawny, teenaged git you can send packing. You invited a *vampire* into your bed. We want something, we don't let it go."

"You don't want me, you want Willow," Megan bit through clenched teeth.

"Still on that, are we? Already told you about vampire relations. I'll always want Willow; doesn't mean I don't want you."

"Yeah, you told me, all right. So now I'm an 'appetite' you satisfied."

Spike shifted to his demon face and his golden eyes glared down at her. "That how you want to see it? Would that make you feel better? 'Cos you're right -- you were absolutely tasty. So glad you offered yourself up on the menu."

"Let. Me. Go." Megan demanded in a voice that trembled with pain and fury. She attempted to pull herself away, but his grip was unyielding, in spite of her Slayer strength.

"Sorry, no."

Megan continued to rail against the strong prison of Spike's arms and her rage mounted further.

"I should have staked you the first night you came back! You want a fight? Fine! You've got the worst fight of your creepy un-dead existence on your hands!"

"S'okay, I like a good fight. I'd rather shag, though."

"Not with me, you won't! I'm not here for your convenience! I'm not anyone's casual screw! I'm--"

"Special," Spike cut her off. He resumed his human mask. "I never said you were just a convenience. You're the one who jumped to conclusions, luv."

"You told me you had sex with all those other humans just to scratch an itch; that they didn't matter," Megan fumed, although Spike's words had disarmed the worst of her anger.

"They didn't; you do."

"But...." Megan protested weakly. She closed her eyes and shut down completely as the complexity of her emotions became too much to handle. "I can't do this. Humans are different. We're not like vampires; when we fall in love, we do it one at a time..."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "You give humans too much credit. Your kind are just as sordid as we vamps. Why d'you think daytime drama is such a hit? So," he leaned closer and began to tease her earlobe with his tongue, "you're in love with me, are you?"

"Stop it," Megan whispered. "Quit playing with me."

"Not playing. Least, not the way I'd like to."

When Megan said nothing and merely laid still beneath him, her eyes squeezed shut and leaking a few, stray tears, Spike sighed in exasperation. "Meg, look at me."

She kept her eyes shut.

"Luv, you don't want to make me pry your eyelids apart."

Megan reluctantly looked up at him.

"Not once did I ever mark any of those other chits I shagged; didn't care two scrapes about 'em. You're the only one I've claimed in that way -- you're the only one who's ever mattered enough. I'm not gonna lie -- I won't ever stop loving my Red, no matter who else comes along. But you're the first who's meant more to me than a shag or a quick bite. And I'm not one to pass that up; you're mine."

Megan sighed wearily and closed her eyes briefly. She'd known Spike for years, and that was probably the closest to a romantic declaration of love she'd ever get out of him. It still didn't solve everything, though. She opened her eyes again and admitted, "I couldn't do this to Willow."

Spike blinked at her in surprise. "What, you and me?"

Nodding, Megan continued, "I'll never be able to thank Willow enough for what she did for me. She didn't have to come looking for me, or help me out while the Council still had their heads up their butts."

Spike smirked at this remark and relaxed his grip on Megan somewhat.

"I owe her everything. How can I sleep around with her boyfriend?"

"Wouldn't really be *sleeping*, luv," Spike interjected slyly.

Megan let out an exasperated sigh. "You know what I mean, Spike."

Spike grinned lazily and released Megan's arms. Teasing beneath her chin with one finger, he explained patiently, "Willow wouldn't begrudge us this. I've been a good sport about Angel; she wouldn't gripe about having to share me with you. Trust me. Red's a real stickler for fair play."

"What, so all's fair in love and war?" Megan snorted.

" 'bout sums it up, yeah. So...*enemy* mine, shall we make war?" Spike leaned close and began nibbling tenderly at Megan's jaw line.

She shivered, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Well...I guess I wouldn't be a very good Slayer if I passed up a chance to kick some arrogant vamp's ass, *enemy* mine," Megan taunted.

"All talk and no show, little girl," Spike raised his head and narrowed his eyes in feigned skepticism.

Gripping his head fiercely, Megan pulled him down for a hard, demanding kiss. With zeal, the new lovers grappled with each other on the carnal battlefield of soft sheets.

*****

With a heavy thud, the drained body of a dock worker fell at Willow's feet; her own body hummed with pleasure as the stolen blood coursed through her veins. It was amazing how powerfully a fresh kill could grip her after two years of austerity in the desert.

She was just grateful that the Tuaregs still traversed the Sahara regularly in caravans.

Now in Algiers, Willow could once again enjoy the comforts of a densely-populated city. She figured she would allow herself a few weeks to restore her strength before she set out to find these mysterious Harvesters that Hypnoi had mentioned during their brief encounter.

After two years of burrowing, she wanted to spend at least a few days sleeping in a real bed!

As Willow meandered through narrow streets, acquainting herself with the sprawling, North African metropolis, she sensed other vampires following her. This wasn't unusual in itself. The clans of a city tended to keep a close watch on unfamiliar vampires in their territory until they were convinced the new arrivals posed no threat.

But there was something different about the ones who followed her. There was a trace of magic about them. Willow's curiosity was piqued. In her extensive travels, she had encountered few other vampires who practiced the arts as she did.

Willow decided to seek them out. If they were adept at magic, they might possibly have connections that could help her find The Harvesters.

When she caught up to them, she discovered that it had been two vampires following her, a male and a female. Apparently, they were willing to be found; they were relaxed comfortably on the edge of a fountain in a quiet courtyard. As she approached, Willow scrutinized their faces, discerning what she could from their eyes.

What she saw there caused her to halt in her tracks.

Their eyes looked so unbelievably old.

It was then that Willow recognized the magic that enshrouded them. They were concealing their age with a cloaking spell. She wondered in awe exactly how ancient they were.

They greeted her in Arabic; thankfully, it was one of the languages she had picked up in the course of her research.

"You have been with the hermit of the desert recently," the male vampire observed.

"Who are you, and how do you know that?" Willow asked.

He bowed slightly, but with a practiced grace that made it seem a courtly gesture. "Forgive me. I am Anubis. This is my mate, Sahu."

Willow glanced between the two of them. Anubis and Sahu were strikingly beautiful. Their skin, although it could still pass for human in dim light, seemed as smooth and translucent as alabaster. Their features were chiseled and their dark, dramatic eyes shone with the majesty of the pharaohs. Like Willow, they were garbed in the traditional style of the local human population.

"You have the look of someone who has spoken with the hermit," Sahu explained in a rich, sultry voice.

Before Willow had the chance to wonder how she could tell something like that from a look, Anubis added, "You are unusual for one of our kind. You have a demon at your core, but you are animated from without -- even beyond the normal ties of blood. Is that why you sought the hermit?"

"I have no sire, no childer; the only blood ties I have are the ones I've made through magic. I am also Wicca, joined always to the natural magic. And I sought Hypnoi because I'm looking for something that will help someone I care about," Willow explained candidly.

"Hypnoi?" Anubis and Sahu looked blankly at her.

"The hermit in the desert."

Anubis tilted his head thoughtfully. "My mate and I left mortal life behind nearly four thousand years ago. In all that time, I have never known the hermit to have a name..."

"Four thousand years?!" Willow murmured incredulously. She racked her brains, trying to resurrect distant memories of history lessons. Had that been the era of the Great Pyramids?

Willow began to suspect why they used the cloaking spell. At that age, they would radiate a signature so powerful that every vampire on the planet, no matter how far away, would sense them. It was only through magic that they could enjoy the solace of anonymity.

"Then she must have given it to him," Sahu concluded.

"Well, no...I'm not making it up," Willow insisted defensively.

"I never said you were. I said you gave him his name."

Willow stared at the ancient vampiress in disbelief. Sahu let her fingers drift through the water in the fountain as her eyes stared into the night sky with the serene disinterest of one who measured time in centuries.

"How could *I* have given him his name? That's...that's his identity. It doesn't have anything to do with me."

"Doesn't it, though?" Anubis fixed her with a penetrating gaze. "If you can't accept that, then how can you believe you could find anything in the desert for this one you care about -- your mate?"

"He would be...if it weren't for his soul..." Willow confessed. It didn't even strike her as strange that she was sharing such personal information. She had the eerie feeling that, were she to try to conceal anything, Anubis and Sahu would see right through her.

"His *soul*...intriguing..." Sahu remarked lightly, without a trace of disgust.

"That doesn't seem to surprise you," Willow noted.

Sahu closed her eyes and smiled, as if savoring one of the secrets of the universe. "It is immaterial. If others of our kind are repelled by the thought of a soul, it is because they are young. They see nothing but an unwelcome restraint. Anubis and I practice restraint, but without souls. We don't need them; we have eternity. In the end, it is all the same."

Anubis cocked his head toward the horizon. All three vampires sensed the approaching dawn, signaled by a subtle build-up of energy in the air that their natural aversion to sunlight enabled them to detect.

"Stay with us at our estate while you are here," he said, rising to his feet.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Willow accepted. As Anubis and Sahu led her back to their lair, she added, "May I ask you a question? Do you know anything about a group of demons called the Harvesters?"

At the mention of the Harvesters, the serene expression that had seemed to be permanently etched onto Sahu's face faltered, but only for a fraction of a second. "The name is an old one."

"Does that mean you know them?"

"It means," Anubis warned gravely, "that the path on which the hermit has set you is a long one. And dangerous if you venture forth unprepared. Knowledge can be fatal if you aren't ready for it. That is the purpose of a journey. It isn't what you find at the end that matters, but how you shape yourself along the way. Stay for a while, and we will prepare you."

*****

2025: FIVE YEARS LATER
 
 

Angel and Gunn trudged through the Hyperion's lobby, hefting massive axes and rolling stiff, sore shoulders. Another night of fighting demons; another triumph for the forces of good; another batch of aching muscles.

Stiff, sore backs and arms were a minor distraction for Angel, though. He was silent and edgy, forcing himself to ignore the tympani of Gunn's heartbeat and the hypnotic thrum of the blood pulsing through his veins.

There was always a measure of discomfort for Angel, as a vampire, working in close proximity to humans; but over the decades, he'd noticed that the assault of humanity on his acute senses fluctuated in intensity. He had cultivated such self-discipline that most of the time, it was easy to ignore. But for the past few years, resisting the lure of the blood had required greater concentration. It was wearing on his nerves.

As they descended to the basement where the weapons cabinet was, Gunn attempted to draw the dark vampire out of his shell.

"That was some nice work back there, man."

Angel blinked wearily and remarked, "After awhile, taking out a half dozen demons gets to be routine."

"You got that right, but I wasn't talking about the demons."

"What else was there?" Angel asked, wondering if he'd missed something. It was possible -- his nights on the street had blurred into one, long, lonely night of battling monster after monster.

"I meant what you did for that kid. Any fool could see he'd never had anyone talk to him the way you did. You made him feel good about himself, man. The boy needed it. That was a righteous thing you did."

"I just...wanted to help..." Angel mumbled awkwardly. Why was Gunn making a big deal out of this?

And...did he have to stand so close? His blood was still heated and thrumming from the fight...

"You cared. And that's something he ain't ever gonna forget."

Angel said nothing as he unlocked the weapons cabinet, hung his axe back in place and then did the same with Gunn's. His comrade-in-arms stared at him in disbelief.

"Yo, Angel, what's your problem?"

"I don't know, Gunn. Why don't you tell me?" Angel snapped, too tired and irritable to guess where Gunn was headed.

"Damn right I'll tell you," Gunn retorted sternly. "Maybe it'll pull your head outta your damn broodin' ass. Half the time you walk around like you don't give a shit any more."

"I get the job done."

Gunn ignored him. "Then you come out with something *real*, like what you did for that kid tonight. That wasn't just doing a job, that was *real* -- you cared. So why the hell do you walk around the rest of the time acting like you don't?"

"Gunn, what the hell does that matter? Have I let any of you down, lately?"

Angel was in no mood to get into this with his friend. He did his best to be a team player, having learned a painful lesson years ago when he'd attempted to cut his crew loose and take on Darla single-handedly. But there were some things he just couldn't talk about with them.

"Not lately, but there's no tellin' where you're headed. You think you can keep pullin' this caring-one-minute-walkin'-around-like-a-zombie-the-next routine without tearin' yourself in half? Quit pullin' that bullshit, because who do you think will be stuck cleanin' up the mess when you *do* crack? I've seen you do your Mr. Hyde, and once was enough. Yank your tragic-hero head outta your ass before you forget you got a soul; if that happens again, I swear I will stake your ass myself."

Clamping down on the urge to lash out at Gunn for making accusations that were both frighteningly close to the mark and painfully naïve, Angel stalked away from him. Stopping several feet away with his back to his co-worker, the dark vampire growled, "I told Cordy once that I wouldn't go down that road again. I won't endanger all of you like that. But there are some things you can't understand."

"Try me," Gunn challenged. He'd never had any patience for Angel's bottled-up angst. "When a man needs to get something off his chest, he oughta get it off his chest."

Angel spun around and glared at him coldly. "Don't you see? That's just the problem -- I'm not a man. The kinds of things I need to get off my chest would have you, Wesley and Cordy reaching for the stakes and holy water. Not because you're in any danger -- you just might think you were, because you can't understand."

"Understand what?" Gunn snapped. "Like, what -- you got an itch to kill somebody?"

"Yeah, actually, that's part of it," Angel snapped back.

Gunn stared at him warily. Neither one of them said anything for a few moments. As Gunn silently calculated how quickly he could reach the weapons cabinet, he prompted, "But you mean kill a demon or vamp or somethin', right?"

Angel closed his eyes and lowered his head, fatigued. The look of fear and mistrust in Gunn's eyes was exactly why Angel never bothered to explain his inner struggles to his co-workers. They had lived and worked alongside a vampire for close to twenty years now, yet they remained blissfully ignorant of so many of the realities of vampire existence.

"No, Gunn -- I mean kill a person, a living human being," Angel stated bluntly. He raised his head and looked at Gunn, deadly serious. "The bloodlust is *always* there, did you think it wasn't? Just because I have a soul doesn't mean the cravings go away. I *won't* kill anyone. I've been controlling my urges for over a century now. But the call of the blood has just been stronger, harder to ignore since Spike moved in with Megan."

"Spike? What the hell does he have to do with it?"

Angel laughed and shook his head. "Everything. Gunn, in the time we've known each other, you've become one of the best vampire hunters I've seen. How much do you really want to learn about us?"

Gunn's eyes narrowed defensively at the question, which sounded suspiciously like an accusation of bigotry from his vampire colleague. "Why don't we find out? Go ahead, I'm all ears."

<No you're not...you're blood. Can't you feel it?> Angel thought darkly.

Angel motioned for Gunn to follow him and said, "If we're going to do this, I'll need a drink." At Gunn's alarmed grimace, Angel reassured him, "Strictly Red Cross, Gunn. I'm not eyeing your veins."

<Well...okay, maybe I am...>

They made their way to Angel's suite, where he pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and offered it to Gunn. Still radiating tension, the young man accepted it, twisted off the cap and took a swallow. Meanwhile, Angel emptied two pouches of blood into an oversized coffee mug, then popped it in the microwave according to his established ritual. Forty-five seconds on Medium High.

On second thought, make that fifty seconds...tonight, he needed it just a little warmer than usual.

Gunn straddled a barstool near the kitchen and sat down. Angel paced restlessly, sipped the blood, and searched for a way to explain...hell, he wasn't sure what he was trying to explain.

Blood?

Kinship?

Exile?

<Might as well start with blood...it's easiest...>

"Gunn, blood means more to vampires than food. It's the reason a sire can distinguish between his own childe and any other vampire -- for some, even across distances as great as one or two hundred miles. It's how we sense who's stronger and weaker, and sort out a hierarchy. It's part of a matrix that connects us, especially family."

"Sure, I understand. Blood's thicker than water; your family comes first," Gunn interjected easily.

Angel shook his head impatiently. "No, you don't. There are positives, like the close sense of connection between sire and childe, or between mates. But there are negatives, too. Big ones. When a vampire is cut off from its kin, one of its main channels for satisfying the call of the blood is gone."

"So...what you're sayin' is that Spike bein' gone has made it harder for you to deal with your cravings," Gunn concluded, watching Angel pace and drink with the raw tension of a caged tiger.

"It's like removing a dampener," Angel explained, absently licking a drop of blood from his lips. "Without the presence of my kin, or any others of my own kind, it's harder not to notice all the other sources of blood around me...all of it in living, human bodies."

"Hold on, though. You said you spent almost a hundred years alone, hiding from other vampires. Are you sayin'...the entire time, you were that--?"

"--miserable," Angel finished for him with a nod of the head. "You know some of it. I've told you how far I'd sunk when Whistler found me. But there's no way you can know what it's like to drink rat's blood, when everywhere around you all you can hear, smell and *feel* is the human blood you really want."

"Okay, Angel? You're really creepin' me out here," Gunn edged back slightly on his barstool.

The dark vampire offered a sheepish half-smile. "Sorry...It wasn't just being surrounded by humans but not being willing to kill that hurt, though. It was being cut off from my family -- from all vampires. Part of what drove me back to Darla so soon after I was cursed was the need to feel the blood bond. Even as I was repulsed by the viciousness of my own kind."

"I still don't buy it," Gunn insisted. "Don't get me wrong, I understand it's hard for you. I'll give you that. But Spike showed up and kicked you around a bunch of times before you settled down here. You tellin' me that each time he came back and then left, you went through this...withdrawal, or whatever you wanna call it?"

"No," Angel stopped pacing and sat down on the edge of his coffee table. He thought back to the reason he had had to purchase this replacement for his first coffee table, and smiled slightly. What a turning point that had been. "No, what makes this time different is Willow."

"Willow? But you two don't even have that blood tie thing goin' on," Gunn observed bluntly.

"Willow gave me the chance to be part of a family again. I hadn't had a family since 1898."

Angel fixed Gunn with a steady gaze, saying nothing more than that because, to him, it explained everything.

Everything he cared to explain, that is. It would be getting too personal to say that if it weren't for his fear of losing the soul, Willow would be his mate.

"Things were finally comin' together for you, huh?" Gunn finally commented after a few moments' silence. Angel saw him sitting there on the stool, holding the bottle of beer he'd barely touched during the lengthy confession, and wondered briefly if the man would bolt.

"Yeah," Angel acknowledged wearily. "It took me a century to pull myself together after losing my family -- and then only with Whistler's help. It was something I thought I'd never really have again."

"But Spike's still around. Shoot, man, the 'dale ain't that far away."

"I know. But he's taken a--" Angel caught himself just as he was about to say 'mate', and said instead, "--fancy to Megan; his interests are elsewhere for now."

Gunn shook his head, frowned, and took a hearty swig of beer. After he'd swallowed, he muttered, "Man, I don't believe I'm about to say this. But why don't you ask the Q-Tip to come back for a visit once in awhile? I mean, I get caught up in the whole killin' demons and savin' the world groove, but I still keep in touch with my mama."

<Oh boy...I'm not explaining this one...>

Respecting Megan's privacy, Angel avoided mentioning her sensitivity to the complex, multiple layers of vampire sexuality. Instead, he managed a weak grin and countered, "Spike visits; it's just been awhile. And visits aren't a substitute for a lair."

Building on what he perceived as Angel's improved humor, Gunn laughed and said, "Yeah, I got you. Whatever you do, don't go givin' my mama any ideas. My girlfriend would kill me if I moved back home."

Angel's grin broadened slightly, but he said nothing. Gunn's expression mellowed to sympathetic concern, and he asked, "You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah. I'll...what was it you said? I'll pull my tragic-hero head out of my ass. Tell Wesley and Cordy that I won't give any of you reason to worry."

Gunn's face lit up with an amused grin; he stood, walked over to Angel, and clapped Angel's hand to his in a firm handshake. "Word up. Listen, I gotta go. But just remember what you kept saying after that epiphany of yours. What we do matters. I know it's hard for you right now. But you're doin' good things. That oughta count for somethin'."

Angel's eyes focused, really *focused*, on Gunn for a moment as he absorbed the man's words. He was right. It was difficult, going back to living in isolation after those wonderful years with Willow and Spike, but what he was doing was valuable in itself. The work *was* more than just a way to numb the pain.

"Thanks, Gunn. I needed that."

"No problem. Later," Gunn said with a wave as he headed out.

*****

Spike dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his boot before opening the door to the apartment.

Meg didn't let him smoke in their place.

He grinned. Their place.

After Megan's freshman year, and a rather stormy beginning to their relationship, it had become clear that they needed more privacy than the dorms offered. Some of their first lovers' spats had become legendary on campus.

The Poof had been bloody pissed at having to pay for the damage Spike had done to the lounge on Meg's floor...

But the fights and the doubts and the guilt Megan felt about Willow had all been part of their volatile courtship. Spike felt the blood rush to his groin as he thought of the night Meg had finally let go of the guilt and given herself over to him completely.

The unbearable sweetness of hearing her say that she wanted him however she could have him, no matter how things worked out in the end... He didn't let her out of bed for a full forty-eight hours after that.

Of course, Jackie hadn't taken too kindly to being barred from the dorm room for two days straight. Spike smirked as he remembered the royal tongue-lashing he and Meg had gotten for that.

So Megan had done a little apartment hunting at the end of Spring semester, and found a one-bedroom place in a small, Spanish-colonial complex not too far from campus.

Spike stepped inside and glanced around the space he'd shared with Megan ever since she'd signed the lease five years ago. No sign of her in the living room.

With a smirk, Spike noted how few signs there were of vampire residence. It would take an astute observer to discern the significance of the heavy drapes over the windows, or the fact that among the photographs that decorated the shelves and walls, there were none of Megan and him. The only picture of the two lovers together was the framed sketch done by Angel as a housewarming gift.

He heard the shower running, arched an eyebrow slyly and started back to their bedroom. But just as he was warming up to the idea of joining her, the water shut off. Damn, she'd finished too soon.

When he pushed open the door to their bedroom, she had already dried off and wrapped a towel around herself.

Easy on, easy off...

"Hey Spike, how was Willie's?" Megan began as she stepped up to give him a quick kiss.

Spike, however, had other ideas. A sharp tug on her bath towel sent it sliding to the floor. Megan squealed, half in protest, half in delight, as Spike wrapped his arms around her and sent them both tumbling onto their bed.

"Spike, stop! It's already after 10:00; I have to patrol."

"Why go out? You've got a big, bad vampire right here to wrestle with. C'mon, Slayer, I'm a killer -- you'd better vanquish me to keep the world safe from all the evil I might do."

With light flicks of his tongue, the blond vampire teased his way down her neck, along the sharply-defined crest of her collarbone, and finally closed his mouth over a taut, pink nipple. Megan moaned softly, but continued her efforts at protesting.

"That must be nine-hundred and ninety times you've used that ploy to keep me in bed."

"And that's nine-hundred and ninety times it's worked, luv," Spike murmured seductively against her breast.

Megan sighed and reluctantly pushed his head away. "Do you really want another argument with Cecil?

Spike rolled away from her and grimaced in disgust. "What a way to ruin the moment, luv."

He closed his eyes and flashed to an image of his first confrontation with the Megan's easily-flustered Watcher after the man had learned about the two of them.

It had been all Spike could do to keep himself from drooling as the veins throbbed in Smythe's neck during his tirade. Or, at least, what passed for a tirade from the scandalized, normally mild-mannered Watcher.

Eventually, with Giles's assistance, Smythe managed to tolerate his Slayer's romantic involvement with Spike -- knowing full well what had happened when the Council had tried to come between the previous Slayer and her vampire allies. Following the example Willow had set during her friendship with Buffy, Spike refrained from killing in Sunnydale. Although it was a constant source of tension, Megan refrained from pressing him about his out-of-town feeding binges. But when Megan's sex life interfered with her slaying duties, Smythe drew the line.

"I'm sorry." Megan ruffled his hair affectionately, before climbing out of bed and heading to her dresser for some underwear. "I'll make it up to you when I get back. Oh, by the way -- Gunn called about an hour ago."

Spike's eyebrows arched high. "Gunn? As in demon-killing bloke who works with the Poof -- that Gunn?"

Megan nodded and wrinkled her brow slightly. "Yeah, it was kinda weird."

"I'll say," Spike snorted, surprised that any of Angel's human co-workers would be calling him. Usually, if they needed help, they relayed messages through Giles.

"He sounded a little worried. He said he had a talk with Angel last night, and thinks you should give your sire a call. And that was the weird thing -- I don't think I've ever heard Gunn call Angel your sire. He just calls him Angel."

Spike sat up slowly, his eyes distant as his thoughts turned inward. That must have been some talk last night, if Gunn was alluding to the sire-childe relationship.

Megan, clad only in underwear and a navy blue tee shirt, stopped dressing and sat down beside him. "What's wrong?"

Spike shrugged and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Not quite sure. But I think I should make a trip to L.A."

He felt Megan tense slightly, and knew that she was experiencing a small twinge of discomfort at the reminder of his intimate connection to Angel. She did her best to stifle her reactions, since there was little point in being jealous of something that Spike couldn't change. But Spike knew she felt awkward. Try as she might, she could never rid herself of her human notions of love. Nor did he want her to. That innocent, childlike faith in the purity of love was one of the traits he cherished most about her.

She mustered a sympathetic smile. "He needs you."

"You'll be all right 'til I get back?" Spike asked, stroking her cheek tenderly.

"Are you kidding? Life's going to be a breeze without you causing trouble all the time. This'll be like a vacation. Maybe I'll even re-decorate the apartment. You know, paint the bathroom pink or something," Megan teased him reassuringly.

For a brief moment, Spike played along and narrowed his eyes indignantly at her insolence. "You paint it pink and I'll bring back a bucket of goat's blood and splatter it all over the walls."

However, he knew she was muffling her own feelings in an effort to be supportive, and the gesture moved him. Cupping her cheek in his palm and leaning his forehead against hers, he murmured, "I'll miss you."

Megan smiled softly and brought her lips to his in a gentle, lingering kiss. When she pulled back, her eyes held a profound tenderness...but only for a moment. Her eyes twinkling with devilish merriment, Megan taunted, "You're not goin' soft on me, are you, old man?"

"Soft?!" Spike growled playfully. "Baby, I'm the *hardest* there is. Maybe you need a little reminder before I go..."

He tackled her with a roar.

*****

Angel paused in the middle of the alley and glanced over his shoulder.

His childe was stalking him.

The dark vampire had felt his boy's presence for the past half hour. It had been a slow night; Cordelia hadn't had any visions. Angel had ventured out to the anonymous L.A. streets, avoiding the more-heavily peopled areas and sticking to secluded alleys like the one in which he now stood, wondering if Spike would show himself any time soon.

The answer hit Angel abruptly, as Spike dropped from a fire escape overhead and sent them both crashing to the ground.

"Spike," Angel winced slightly as he stood up, nursing a scraped jaw. "Why didn't you tell me you were planning on dropping in?"

"What, and lose the element of surprise?" Spike feigned shock.

"Believe me, Spike -- coming from you, a full-body slam into the pavement is never a surprise," Angel observed dryly. However, his mask of bemused detachment didn't reach his eyes, which glowed warmly at the sight of his cocky childe. "So, here for the weekend?"

Tilting his head to the side as if considering his options, Spike replied, "Might stay a bit longer this time, Peaches."

To Angel's surprise, Spike dropped his human mask, lacerated his palm with his fangs, then flicked his wrist, sending droplets of blood splattering lightly against Angel's face. Slowly, the dark vampire wiped his cheek with a single fingertip, and sucked the digit into his mouth. Angel closed his eyes and steadied himself against the rich, heady taste of his childe's blood.

So good.

"All you had to do was ask, y'wanker," the blonde vampire teased in a low, seductive voice.

Angel reached for his childe, but Spike took a step back, his eyes fixed intently on Angel's. "Not gonna come that easy, mate. Somebody's been a bad boy...mopin' in the dark instead of just takin' what 'e needs. All you had to do was call, and I would've come. Now you're gonna have to work for it."

Suddenly, Spike sprinted at the brick wall, pushed off against it with one foot and sprang back up to the fire escape twenty feet above. He leered down at Angel with fiery yellow eyes.

"C'mon Sire...feel it...feel it rise in your veins."

Spike's seductive words lured Angel's demon to the surface, and with a pleased growl the dark vampire morphed to his true face. His childe's actions -- the taunts, the blood, the acrobatic display -- were unmistakable.

It was an invitation to the hunt.

Blood-sport between sire and childe.

Angel willingly picked up the gauntlet and leaped up to the fire escape. His childe had already raced up to the roof. Angel followed close behind, tracking Spike through their bond. It was exhilarating.

He heard Spike's laughter ahead, and a few moments later the thud and scuffle as Spike leaped and landed on the roof of the adjacent building. Angel grinned; they had the whole city at their feet. He only hoped that Spike would head toward the warehouse district. Angel didn't think L.A.'s human residents needed to be treated to a show by two vampires in heat.

As Spike's path took them not toward empty warehouses, but one of the city's bright spots for nightlife, Angel chuckled to himself.

Never let it be said that Spike could keep a low profile.

*****

2029
 
 

Willow silently berated herself for not having done a better job at concealing herself as she studied the ruins near Tikal, Guatemala, where a demon community resided. There was something to be said for keeping a low profile. Only Willow might never get the chance to say it.

Willow had found the Harvesters.

After two years of patient tutoring by Anubis and Sahu, followed by several more spent doggedly pursuing leads in Asia and South America, Willow's search had proven successful. She only wished that Hypnoi hadn't used their archaic name -- if he had just mentioned Tikal, she would have known which demon community he meant right away.

As she looked down at the deadly wooden spears pointing up from the pit over which the Harvesters had suspended her, she wondered if maybe this was a bad thing.

The leader of the Tikal demon community, the last remnant of an ancient brotherhood of soul harvesters, stared impassively at her. Around its gray, scaly neck it wore an amulet. Set in the center of the amulet was a faroe stone, which allowed the demon to block Willow from casting a spell to free herself.

"You seek to join us. Few are worthy to partake of the harvest. Why shouldn't we harvest *you*, and be done with?"

"That would be a pretty slim harvest," Willow retorted coolly. "There's nothing to harvest. I'm a vampire, or hadn't you noticed?"

Cruel laughter circulated among the motley assortment of demons who surrounded her. Some were Fyarl, some Lamia, there was even a Howler.

"We'd noticed, vampire. And I ask again, why shouldn't we harvest you?"

Willow was poised to make a retort when his cryptic allusions to harvesting her began to make a dreadful, chilling kind of sense.

They thought she had a soul!

Her mind raced. Could she use this to her advantage, or should she just disabuse them of their erroneous notion?

Before she could think of how to handle this, a tall, slender, blue-skinned demon with a cat-like face stepped forward and observed, "The process of harvesting might be difficult. The seat is hard to locate -- it seems to originate externally."

The leader considered this, then motioned for Willow to be pulled away from the pit and released. But something in his calculating expression told her that this was a case of "out of the frying pan, into the fire".

"We will keep you for now, vampire. You are a curiosity, and we would know more about you. Unless you prefer...?" He gestured toward the pit.

"No. I'll come with you."

It wasn't really much of a choice. Die now or die later. She understood that they would keep her only until they had figured out what made her tick. Something gave them the impression that she had a soul, but as long as her nature remained a mystery to them, they would refrain from subjecting her to the harvest ritual.

Willow hoped she could remain a creature of mystery long enough to learn the ancient language Hypnoi had said she needed to know, and then find some way to escape.

This wasn't how she wanted to meet her end.

*****
 
 
 
 

2030
 
 

In every generation, there is a Chosen One.
 
 

She alone will fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.
 
 

She is the Slayer...
 
 
 
 

*****
 
 
 
 

<That smells like...blood....Oh, God...can't hear a heartbeat.... No...No no no no no no no no...Not her please not oh God oh baby no God I'm so sorry what they did to you NO! No no no not my girl not like this drained her they drained her baby please don't be...no no no no no no no no no no no bastards I'm going to KILL THEM ALL they'll pay fuck them all to hell tear them apart feed them their own hearts piss on their ashes if I could damn them all they'll beg me to die KILL EVERY LAST SODDIN' ONE OF THEM...oh God, baby...>
 
 

<...please...>
 
 

<...don't leave me...>
 
 
 
 

*****

In a park near the UC-Sunnydale campus, Spike huddled on the ground and clung to Megan's cold, still form. Her skin was eerily pale, void of blood. A vicious gash darkened her right temple. Her throat was marred by a multitude of bite marks. Her wrists had been snapped, and several fingers broken. Half a dozen stakes lay scattered around the perimeter.

She hadn't gone down without a fight.

For a few moments, Spike simply rocked her and sobbed quietly. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and roared so forcefully it made his throat bleed. Tremors ran through him; he doubled over and coughed into his hands, staining them scarlet.

The fierce demon who prided himself on having killed two Slayers now felt his unbeating heart break at the death of this one. His mind was gripped by a single, fevered thought: kill the ones who had committed this sacrilege. He leaned close to the bite marks and emblazoned the foul, residual scent of Megan's killers on his memory.

Megan MacKenzie, the Slayer, had fallen at age twenty-eight, after having served seventeen years in the fight against the forces of darkness.

*****

Angel was working out in his dojo when a cold shudder ran through him. He stopped mid-jab and steadied himself against the punching bag. The sensation grew, enveloping him in a shroud of despair.

Without hesitation, the dark vampire abandoned his work-out and strode up the stairs from the basement. He grabbed his black trench coat from his suite and tossed it on over the sweatpants and tee shirt he'd worn during his practice. Angel was on his way out the door when he paused, reminded himself that others were at risk, and that he did owe them at least a warning.

Crossing the lobby to the office area, he picked up the phone and called Giles. When the former Watcher answered, Angel launched into a terse set of commands.

"Rupert, listen closely. Megan is dead...Stop, just listen. I don't have time to explain. It's a guess, but I'm not wrong. Stay inside tonight. Call Xander and Anya. Tell them to stay off the streets and keep the kids in. Advise Megan's Watcher to do the same. I have to go."

Without waiting for the explosion of questions from Giles, Angel disconnected and headed for the door, intent on reaching Sunnydale as soon as possible.

He only remembered feeling this sensation once before: the first time Spike had encountered him after he'd been cursed with his soul.

Angel remembered how Spike's sense of utter betrayal and loss had hit him through the bond they shared. He could think of only one thing that would make his childe feel that way now. Something had defeated the Slayer and robbed Spike of his beloved. Which meant that Sunnydale's streets wouldn't be safe tonight. His childe would be out for vengeance, out to kill the ones who had ended Megan's life. With the bloodlust on him, he would slake his thirst on anyone who crossed his path.

Angel hoped that Giles would follow his advice, and ask questions later.

*****

When Angel found Spike, a few hours before dawn, his childe's clothing, hair and face were covered by a thin layer of ash. He had indeed been on a rampage.

Spike was kneeling in a small clearing in a park. Angel could smell traces of blood on the ground. Although Megan's body was nowhere to be seen, the familiar scent of the blood led Angel to deduce that this was where Spike had found her. This was where she had made her last stand as the Slayer.

At Angel's approach, Spike declared in a low voice, "Don't try to rein me in."

Angel paused, knowing how raw the pain must be. "I didn't come to rein you in. I came to see if you wanted any help."

Spike whipped around with sudden violence and glared at Angel through demon-yellow eyes. "They're *mine*!"

"They're yours," Angel agreed, not challenging his childe's right to vengeance. "But I'm your sire, and I'll stand with you if you need me. Do you know who they are?"

Spike's face contorted with cold, cruel malice. "Killed the eight who did it already. One of 'em was wearing a clan ring I've seen on a few vamps in L.A. They're *all* mine. Their sires, their childer, every minion in their clan...every vamp in every lair that gives them sanctuary when I come for them. They all die."

Angel didn't doubt Spike would make good on that vow. The rage was upon him and would linger for days, weeks even. He was lethal to anyone and anything -- even his own sire was at risk. A vampire in the throes of grief over the loss of a mate could be unpredictable, and far stronger than normal.

Yet despite the risk, Angel once again moved toward Spike. His childe needed him.

He dropped down before Spike and placed his hands on the younger vampire's shoulders, a gesture of support and consolation. Spike raised his head to look Angel squarely in the eyes, and something inside finally gave out.

"Sire," Spike whispered, trembling with anguish. He flung himself at Angel and the dark vampire enfolded him in strong, sheltering arms.

"They drained her, Sire," Spike sobbed. "They took my girl's blood... every drop...and they left her..."

"And you have my blessing on your vengeance, childe," Angel soothed him, kissing his brow. "She loved you, boy...No matter what, remember that she loved you."

Angel continued to rock his devastated childe and together they mourned the loss of the young girl, the young woman, who had held some of the world's most formidable vampires under her spell during her brief life.

*****

Andrew Murdoch studied the runes at the threshold of the stately hotel as he waited for permission to enter. They must have been a parting gift from Willow, who hadn't been seen in the city for over fifteen years.

Nadia shifted uneasily at his side. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Although she was no longer a fledgling but a strong, confident master in her own right, he knew that the thought of entering this particular lair frightened her.

Although it was small, the clan that inhabited this lair struck fear into most of the city's vampires.

Now more than ever.

An imposing, dark-haired vampire appeared at the door and stepped out to meet them.

"That was fast," he remarked.

"I called from my car phone," Murdoch explained. "You must be Angelus. As I mentioned on the phone, I am Andrew Murdoch. This is my childe, Nadia."

The dark vampire nodded. "I don't usually have visitors. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this inside?" Murdoch suggested, gesturing toward the door. When the legendary vampire appraised him mistrustfully, Murdoch clarified, "I come as an unofficial delegate from some of the other clans in the city. As one of the few of our kind with any connections to your clan, they've sent me for information."

This seemed to sway the dark vampire. He waved them toward the door and said, "Come in."

Murdoch escorted Nadia into the spacious lobby and gave it an admiring glance. Angelus indicated a few plush, red lounges in the center of the room. When they were seated, Angelus asked, "What do the clans want of me?"

"Not you -- necessarily. Your childe. News of his rampage has reached every vampire in the city. They're calling him The Reaper. But while the death toll has been impressive, there is greater concern about the obvious pattern. It's clear that he's targeted Claudio Ramirez's clan; what we want to know is why. Is this a bid to establish his own lair?"

As Murdoch explained the reason for his visit, he gauged the dark vampire's reactions. Angelus seemed to relax, yet his face hardened into a cold, grim mask. Murdoch felt Nadia tense beside him; even though Angelus's souled condition was known to all, just one look had the power to intimidate. Few scorned him.

"No. It's vengeance. A branch of the Ramirez clan killed his mate."

It was a possibility that Murdoch had suspected, and he nodded. Angelus continued, "Tell the clans that this isn't a bid for power; we have no interest in making a grab for territory. But the rankings will be affected. Spike intends to take out the entire clan, down to the last minion."

"And anyone who offers even one of them sanctuary," a cold voice announced behind them.

Murdoch caught the quick flash of dread in Nadia's eyes. Maintaining his composure, Murdoch turned to see Spike standing at the entrance. A stake poked out of one of the pockets on his leather duster, and he held a massive axe in his left hand. Blood and ash formed a grisly paste on the blade. His fingers were smeared with dried blood and his black tee shirt was covered with ashes. He had indeed earned his new title.

"I'll spread the word," Murdoch replied, rising to his feet. "Come, Nadia, we have what we came for. Thank you, Angelus, for your candor. The clans will deal accordingly."

When he and Nadia were safely outside, she asked, "Sire, what happens now?"

"Now? Spike will finish off the Ramirez clan and the rest of us will divide their territory. With any luck, our clan will come away with a sizable portion of it."

"You don't think they'll be able to stop him?"

As he ushered Nadia into the waiting limousine, Murdoch took a final glance at the hotel and answered soberly, "No, I don't. From the look of him tonight, all the whispers about The Reaper have been well-deserved. The Ramirez clan is as good as dust."

*****

Angel noted with amusement how quick Murdoch and Nadia were to leave after Spike's arrival. His boy had always known how to make an entrance.

"How many tonight?" Angel asked.

"Six. All I could find. The sods've started hiding."

Saying nothing further, Spike started toward Angel's suite. Although his childe still had his own room, Angel had insisted they share his suite for the time being. He was willing to let Spike exact vengeance on his own, but at all other times wanted his childe where he could keep an eye on him.

This was his childe, blood of his blood, and Angel wasn't going to let him destroy himself. Spike had slipped into a cold, silent shell after the emotional breakdown after Megan's death. He was working through the grief in his own fashion -- slaughter -- but Angel refused to let him spiral too far downward. For the first time in over a century, Angel was going to make certain he was there to pick up the pieces.

"What do you think you're doing, Spike?"

The blond vampire's hand paused on its way to the sink faucet in Angel's kitchen.

"Gonna clean the blade."

"Not like that you're not. That blade is made of carbon spring steel. Hand it over."

Angel took the axe from Spike and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a box of baking soda, set it on the counter, then reached in for a bag of blood. Handing the blood to Spike, he issued a simple instruction.

"Feed."

While Spike heated the blood, Angel set about cleaning the axe blade with a mild baking soda and water solution. When he had removed the residual blood and ashes of Spike's victims, Angel wiped the blade dry with a cloth towel and set it on the counter. After retrieving a bottle of oil he kept beneath the sink, Angel carried it, the towel and the axe over to the sofa and joined his childe.

Spike looked completely numb. He sipped the blood as he slumped and stared absently at the coffee table.

Angel didn't attempt to force conversation on his grieving childe. The elder vampire poured a few drops of oil on the cloth, then quietly and methodically smoothed it over the blade. After a few moments, he noticed Spike watching his hands as they polished the metal with meticulous care. The younger vampire seemed almost mesmerized by the soothing, rhythmic motions of Angel's fingers.

"Plannin' on showin' it in a museum, ya ponce?" he sighed, barely mustering his usual sarcasm.

Angel arched an eyebrow. "It's a good weapon. With the proper care, it'll be good for centuries." He set the axe down on the coffee table and stood. "Now it's your turn."

Spike didn't protest as Angel ushered him into the bedroom and instructed him to undress. Angel did likewise, then guided him to the shower and told him to get in. After adjusting the water so that it would be just hot enough to soothe his weary childe, Angel stepped in behind him and shut the door.

Rivulets of water streamed down the chiseled curves of Spike's back. Angel heard his childe release a faint sigh as he hung his head forward and let the hot spray pound down on his neck. He looked defeated. Reaching for the soap and a sponge, Angel worked up a good lather and then began attending to Spike's back with the same patient care he had given the blade. He let his hands roam over Spike's shoulders, half scrubbing, half massaging away the tension.

Soon, Angel was fighting to suppress his own desires.

He continued his gentle ministrations, dragging the sponge down Spike's back to his narrow, taut hips, over the firm swell of his buttocks, and down the beautifully sculpted length of each leg. Angel even knelt, an uncharacteristically submissive position for a sire to take with his childe, and gently lifted Spike's left foot, then his right, to caress his tender soles.

When Angel stood up, rather than turning Spike around so he could cleanse his front side, he pressed himself intimately against Spike's back, snaked his arms around and began washing Spike's chest. Purring softly, Spike let his head fall back against Angel's shoulder. As Angel continued down to the sleek plane of Spike's abdomen, he felt the sponge brush up against his childe's erection.

"Angelus," Spike hissed.

It was no more than a soft whisper, but in that whisper, Angel heard the cry of his childe, and felt the full weight of his grief and pain.

The sponge fell to the floor.

Grasping Spike's cock in his hand, Angel traced his thumb in firm circles over the head, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger vampire. As his fingers gripped the swollen flesh and began to move in slow, firm strokes, Angel glanced at Spike's face. He was trembling. Tears leaked from his closed eyes and mingled with the water droplets on his face.

Still working his childe toward release, Angel raised his free hand up to Spike's mouth and offered his wrist.

"Take me in, William," Angel encouraged him, using the name reserved for their most private, personal moments. "Feel me within you. Let me ease the pain."

With an urgent groan, Spike morphed to his demon face and sank his fangs deep into Angel's flesh. He clung to his sire's wrist fiercely with both hands, desperate for the consoling effects of the rich, red ambrosia that was Sire-blood. He drank greedily until Angel's powerful strokes sent him crashing over the edge. Spike's hips jerked forward and he howled in ecstasy.

Angel held him for several moments afterward, until the gradual cooling of the water obliged him to reach forward and turn off the shower.

Spike turned and kissed Angel with genuine love and gratitude. This was one of the rare moments when they had dropped their usual, gruff posturing; when they had abandoned their antagonism and had been as they were in those first, sweet years at the beginning.

The blond vampire felt a gentle nudge against his thighs and looked down. He looked back up again with a grin.

"I could take care of that for you, y'know."

"Later, perhaps. First, I want to get you into bed."

"That's what you said *that* night," Spike smirked.

Angel, too, remembered his encounter with William, then a living, would-be poet, on a London street in 1874. Despondent at having been scorned by the woman he adored, he had been easily provoked by the dark, handsome stranger who knew just how to coax his anger to the surface. Bitterly resentful of the 'polite society' that had mocked him, William was ripe for seduction. Angelus had swiftly persuaded him to defy the propriety of polite society by indulging in scandalous, carnal abandon. Oh, how sweetly he'd given himself up...

"A hundred and fifty-six years later, and you're as debauched and corrupt as ever," Angel growled affectionately as he led Spike to the bed.

In spite of their gentle flirtation, Angel made no move to satisfy his own needs once they were entwined beneath the covers. He merely wanted to hold Spike, to anchor his childe to him and prevent him from being tossed and churned by the raging storm of his grief.

They lay together silently and Angel had the impression that Spike was drifting off to sleep. However, just as Angel's own eyes began to slip shut, Spike murmured, "I thought she was just a little slip of nothing when I first saw her...just a kid Red was hell-bent on helping..."

Angel wrapped his arms tighter around Spike and nuzzled his ear.

After a few more moments, Spike confessed in a pained whisper, "It hurts."

"I know."

Spike released a shuddering sigh that developed into awkward laughter. "Crikey, look at me. I'm turnin' into a bleedin' poofter."

Angel chuckled deeply. "Don't worry, Spike. If I know you, you'll be wreaking all kinds of virile, manly mayhem in no time."

"You know me well, Sire," Spike agreed smugly. Then, regarding Angel with a thoughtful, serious expression, he added, "You do know me. I never thought I'd say this, but I needed this tonight. Thanks....Oh bloody hell! I *am* goin' soft in my old age."

"It's not age, it's just the mileage, Spike. You've been through the wringer. Welcome to the club. If you can get back up on your feet again, who really gives a damn if you're soft?"

"Oh, sod, just what I need. Fatherly advice. Peaches, shut the fuck up and go to sleep."

*****

Spike's recovery was slow, but eventually he returned to his old self. Certainly, his cocky self-assuredness was enhanced by the feat of having destroyed an entire clan of vampires. And his wry, sardonic sense of humor resurfaced, much to the discomfort of Wesley and Cordelia.

His years with Megan and the trauma of her loss had mellowed him slightly. Angel noted with quiet pride that, although Spike hadn't lost his zest for the hunt, he went out less frequently, and rarely bragged about terrifying or torturing his kills anymore. Although Angel had no first-hand knowledge, he suspected that Spike was killing only what he needed to feed.

On the occasions that Angel passed by his childe's room and saw the sketch of Spike and Megan hanging on the wall, he had to smile and wonder if she wasn't watching over him and keeping him in line.

Just when Angel thought Spike was back on his feet, he was dealt another shocking blow.

It was shortly after dusk when Angel was jolted awake by his childe's screams. Alarmed, Angel scrambled to his knees in full gameface, ready to rip out the throat of whatever had dared to attack his childe. When he saw that they were alone, he resumed his human face, gripped Spike by the shoulders and tried to discern what was wrong.

The blond vampire stared with horror at his wrist.

Angel followed his childe's gaze; when he saw what had left Spike so shaken, Angel froze.

Willow's tattoo, Spike's link to their beloved, had suddenly faded. The previous night, it had been as prominent as ever; now it was so faint Angel almost couldn't see it.

"Oh, God..." Angel whispered, aghast.

*****

<Oh, God -- not like this!>

Willow tried to push her fear aside and concentrate.

She was chained to a massive stone altar, deep inside the Tikal demons' keep. The rest of the brotherhood gathered around her as the leader prepared to harvest her alleged soul. They had grown impatient with their attempts to understand her nature, and decided to subject her to the ritual despite their uncertainties about its success.

The leader wore the same faroe stone amulet that had prevented her from escaping when they had first captured her. Because of it, Willow was unable to conjure herself away from the keep.

And so she would die.

Regardless of the success of their harvest, the Tikal demons planned to stake her at the end of the ritual. All because of their mistaken belief that she had a soul!

What she wouldn't give for Dorothy's ruby slippers right now.

Wait...

That was it!

Willow silently tested the magical restraints that the Harvesters' leader had erected through the faroe stone. Yes! She found the hoped-for loophole. In their obsession with extracting her imaginary soul in its complete form, and believing that it originated from multiple points outside of her, the Harvesters had been unwilling to sever those external connections. The faroe stone wasn't preventing her from working magic through already existing bonds.

She didn't have a pair of ruby slippers, but she had Spike.

The ruse might work. If she could persuade the Harvesters that they had successfully extracted her soul, she knew from having witnessed past rituals that the leader would focus the powers of the faroe stone on dissecting the soul -- giving her an opening to use magic for escape.

As Willow prepared to channel her essence through the bond with Spike, she experienced a moment of clarity and nearly wept over the eighteen years she could have spent with her two lovers.

Why hadn't she seen it?

The name she had 'given' Hypnoi, simply because she had cared to ask.

The fact that not only the Harvesters, but Anubis and Sahu, too, perceived that she was animated by something beyond herself.

It was so simple.

It was the chicken-and-egg paradox: which comes first, identity or connections with others?

Everyone was shaped by giving of themselves and, in turn, by what others gave them. An eternal dance. Which meant that, although it didn't fit into any conventional mold, Willow did indeed have a soul. Not one that could be extracted, for it could never be pinpointed in a single place. It existed only in the space between Willow and those she loved.

Which meant that a soul was something far more intricate than she had ever imagined.

Suddenly, the answer she had been seeking for so many years whispered softly through her mind, like a rustling breeze she had been too distracted to hear. She had been so focused on Angel's soul, she had forgotten the curse.

It was all in the delivery. Given in hate, as retribution for Angelus's own hateful deeds, Angel's soul rested on a shaky foundation.

But as much as her discovery left her in awe, she had no time to ponder the mysteries of the universe. Putting all her power into her spell, she thrust her essence, her consciousness, her entire inner being, back through the bond.

Her awareness of her own body grew faint, and she felt Spike's presence more powerfully than she had in years. She felt his pain -- he was hurting. Instinctively, she radiated sympathy, offering him what brief comfort she could through their mingled essences.

Then, through her dim connection to her own body, she sensed the transition in the ritual. The powers of the faroe stone were no longer blocking her from conjuring herself away from the Harvesters. She shot back through the bond, prepared to initiate a translocation spell as soon as she was fully within her body.

As she sped away, she felt Spike's alarm at her sudden departure.

*****

Spike sprang up from the bed. "I've got to find her!"

"Can you still feel her?" Angel demanded anxiously.

Spike paused, but he was so agitated it was difficult for him to concentrate. "I don't know. It's...I can't tell. Crikey, for years it's been so weak -- but it's been there. Now...fuck! Angel, I can't tell!!"

Angel tried to calm him down, but Spike's impulsive nature had resurfaced. In minutes, he was dressed and headed for the door. Angel, clad only in sweatpants, pursued him out to the lobby.

"Spike, dammit, stop and think for a minute!" Angel protested. "How are you going to know where to start looking?"

The blond vampire spun and held his sire at bay with a frantic, determined stare. "I'm not comin' back until I've got Red with me. I was too late for Megan. I won't lose Red, too!"

Before Angel could restrain him, Spike was gone.

Standing alone in the lobby, for Angel it was a painful flashback to the night Willow left eighteen years ago. Every one of his earlier fears about the disasters that could have befallen her returned in full force. It took every ounce of Angel's willpower not to follow Spike's example and charge forth blindly in search of her.

When Angel calmed down, he called Giles; then Wesley; then Cyrene. He recounted the alarming news about the tattoo, and pleaded with each of them to tap every one of their resources for information about Willow's last whereabouts.

But their efforts were in vain.

*****

2033: TWO YEARS AFTER TIKAL
 
 

"You're earlier than I expected you."

Willow laughed with childlike delight as she looked at the purple-skinned demon, cloaked in midnight blue, who sat beside the jagged, rocky entrance to the Hellmouth in Hadar, Ethiopia.

The oldest existing Hellmouth on earth. The first gate.

"I didn't rush. Every minute of the journey was necessary," Willow assured the hermit. "I wondered if I would see you here, Hypnoi."

Although his face remained obscured in the shadow of his cowled hood, Willow could just barely make out his toothy grin.

"Yours has been a worthy journey, blood drinker. It was meet that I should see you at its conclusion. So, are you prepared?"

Willow smiled, fully at peace and assured in her knowledge. She remembered Anubis's words in Algiers.

<That is the purpose of a journey. It isn't what you find at the end that matters, but how you shape yourself along the way.>

"I wasn't prepared twenty years ago," Willow acknowledged. "I wasn't prepared five years ago, or even two. But I am prepared now. I know what it will say."

Hypnoi laughed melodiously and nodded his head toward the entrance. "Then enter, and see."

Willow proceeded into the rocky orifice and descended into its smoky, sweltering depths. She came to a smooth section of the cave wall that was covered in ancient hieroglyphs. It was the language Willow had learned during her captivity in Tikal. And although the characters mapped out an equation so complex it stretched from floor to ceiling, the cumulative effect repeated a single message.

<Given in love.>

It was time to go home.

*****

A memory.

A vivid sensation somewhere deep in the blood stirred his dreams, and Angel awoke, disoriented, in a tangle of sheets. His sleep had been troubled and restless for the past few days; often he hadn't awakened before nightfall. But this was tangible, close...

He could feel her. An essence like no other, heady with magic, flooded his senses. Stronger than it had been when they'd parted -- and darker. Angel leaped from his bed, frantic with hope.

Please don't let it be another dream.

Angel pulled on the nearest available article of clothing -- the loose-fitting, white-canvas pants he wore for workouts -- and dashed out to the lobby.

It wasn't a dream.

An image of that first night, so long ago, flashed in his mind's eye. A hesitant, frightened fledgling had stood before him in the lobby, trembling at his approach. Now it was Angel who trembled as he neared the companion who had haunted his thoughts all these years. She was so changed -- yet not.

"Willow."

"Hello, Angel."

He noticed the difference most in her bearing. She stood poised with a blend of confidence and edginess that suggested she had grown accustomed to watching her back in dangerous crowds. But her eyes, although softened with unspoken regret, held the same compassion they'd always had, even though it had been...

"Twenty years, Willow."

"It's good to see you again," Willow confessed.

Although her smile was warm and genuine, muting the regret in her eyes, Angel saw that she was holding herself back. Closing his eyes, fearful that he might yet be dreaming, he whispered hoarsely, "God, I've missed you."

When he reopened his eyes, she was still there. He could see her brow knit tightly and knew that she was suppressing tears, just as he was. One step toward her was all it took. The force of twenty long years pulled them into each other's arms. Angel wrapped her in a fierce embrace as Willow buried her face in his chest.

They clung to each other for what seemed like hours, so overwhelmed were they by their first contact in two decades. Buried in the deeper recesses of Angel's mind was a hushed dread that during her travels, Willow had grown hardened to the point that the companion he had known was no longer there. While she had been gone, he could cling safely to his own, idealized vision of her. But now that she was here, as relieved as he was to see her safe, part of him was terrified.

What if her demon had become dominant? What if she now resented him for holding her back?

What if his souled condition now disgusted her?

The long-standing fears surged forth, despite Willow's tight embrace.

But if Angel's worries were irrational, he was by no means alone.

Willow, too, was awash in conflicting emotions. She had left him. After everything he had done for her, she had left him. And it hadn't been on the best of terms, either. Even though her intentions had been good -- and had ultimately proven fruitful -- she wouldn't blame him if he felt betrayed.

Willow also knew that her experiences had changed her, hardened her in some ways. What if he was disappointed by what she had become? Would he see her as no better than any other vampire -- no better than those of their kind that he staked on a regular basis as champion for The Powers That Be?

Despite their silent fears, Willow and Angel eventually eased their desperate embrace and looked at each other with hopeful, if apprehensive, eyes.

"Are you..." Angel began, finding himself unable to complete his question.

"I'm back. To stay, if you'll let me," Willow affirmed, waiting tensely for his reaction.

His features contorted into a mixture of joy and disbelief. "Willow... this will always be your home. You never have to ask."

"I wasn't sure...when I left...I mean..." Willow stammered, "So much has happened. I didn't know if you'd want me back."

"Of course I want you back. I never wanted you to leave," Angel said fervently.

Still uncertain, Willow gazed at him intently. "I've changed since then."

Angel nodded and glanced away uncomfortably. "There's a lot to talk about. But...you're *back*. We have all the time to talk that we need." As he spoke, the dark vampire began to lead her back to his suite -- at one time *their* suite.

"Got blood?" Willow asked, acutely aware that, preoccupied by her return journey, she hadn't fed in almost three days.

Her companion tensed slightly, and Willow knew that Angel was struggling with the awkward subject of their history with exchanging blood. Of course, what she had to tell him would put an entirely new twist on that; in fact, it could change everything. For the moment, she needed to put him at ease.

"A good AB-negative...vintage 2029 if you have it, although the 2030 also has its bold, sassy overtones..." Willow observed playfully.

Her lighthearted banter had the desired effect; Angel relaxed and smiled.

"Nicely complements fish," he added, feeling relieved at the ease with which Willow joked with him.

Angel guided her through the door to his suite with a light touch of his fingertips on the small of her back. The contact made each of them shiver slightly, and Angel quickly pulled away to rummage through the refrigerator for some blood. Willow seated herself on the couch. She thanked him when he handed her a mug, and sipped its nourishing contents appreciatively.

"It's amazing how a week in a sparsely-populated jungle can make even bagged blood taste good."

"Jungle?" Angel prompted curiously.

"Near Uaxactún, Guatemala. Occasionally I could nip a tourist here and there, but I went through some long dry spells there," Willow explained.

Angel let out a low whistle. "Last I heard, there was a nasty clutch of demons near Tikal. I hope you didn't stumble across any of them."

"Actually, I went looking for them..." Willow admitted hesitantly. When Angel's eyes widened and he nearly choked on his blood, she steeled herself for the explosion.

"Went looking?!?! For the love of...I don't...*what* were you thinking Willow? I thought we could ease into this, but maybe we should confront it from the outset..." Angel sputtered.

"You're right, it will be better if we talk about what we *really* want to talk about," Willow agreed, "But if we're going to do this, I need you to calm down."

"Calm down?! There are fewer than twenty demon communities left in the world that practice both human- and demon-sacrifice -- one of which you willingly sought out -- and you want me to calm down?"

Angel squeezed his eyes shut, anguished at the thought of what her travels must have involved if she had felt no qualms about consorting with the demons of Tikal, the worst of the worst. He suffered in silence, tormented by dark thoughts about the situations Willow might have gotten into.

At last, when he had subdued his temper, he asked, "Help me understand, Willow. Why would you seek out such monsters? What have you been doing for the past twenty years?"

"This is going to take awhile, Angel," Willow mused with a weary smile. "To start with the Tikal demons, I *know* that what they do is horrifying. I witnessed it myself. But I wanted their knowledge. I hoped it could help me find what I was looking for...what I've been seeking for twenty years."

"Nothing could be worth that kind of risk," Angel countered, his words punctuated by dread at how easily he might have lost her permanently. "No amount of personal enlightenment, or whatever it was that took you around the world, matters more than you do."

"Angel, I won't start out like this. Something *was* worth every risk I took," Willow argued patiently. "But until you can listen to me with an open mind, tell me about things around here. How is Megan?"

Even before he answered, the sorrow in Angel's face revealed the painful truth.

"She died three years ago. There's another Slayer now."

Willow covered her eyes with her hands and rocked silently for several moments. She berated herself for not having returned sooner. How could she have imagined that Megan would still be around, when short life-spans were a basic fact of Slayer existence?

When Willow finally removed her hands, she turned red eyes to Angel and demanded, "How did it happen?"

His expression grew somber and, staring into the distance, he observed sadly, "How it always happens with a Slayer. She went down fighting. It was vampires, this time. Spike never did tell me all the details. I think it was too painful for him. After he found her...he went after all of them. Not just the ones who killed her. He tracked down their minions, their sires, their childer...every last vampire with even a remote connection to Megan's killers. He wiped out an entire clan."

"Oh, Goddess..." Willow murmured, stunned. She knew Spike well, knew what drove him, and drew the conclusion that Angel had left unspoken. "He took her as a lover, didn't he?"

Angel nodded. "Her freshman year in college. It was about two years after he came back. I warned him how little time they would have; wanted to spare him what I went through."

"But he didn't listen," Willow commented with a soft smile at Spike's familiar patterns.

"Does he ever?" Angel chuckled ruefully.

He and Willow shared a quiet, thoughtful moment as she dealt with the harsh reality of Megan's death, and her remorse at not having returned in time to see the girl after she had grown. At least Megan had been reunited with one of her protectors from the early days.

Willow's smile deepened, and she admitted honestly, "I'm glad they had each other, even for a short while. I'm glad he had someone while I was away." After a brief pause, Willow braced herself and voiced the inevitable question that learning about Megan's death had raised. "Did anyone else die while I was gone?"

For a moment, Angel's eyes flickered demon-gold. Anger was evident in his voice. "Gunn."

Angel continued bitterly, "Police shooting. They had a vague description of a suspect: adult, black male. He was doing what he always did -- fighting all the creatures the police don't know about, to make L.A.'s streets safer for humans. The review board called it a 'tragic incident'."

Willow grasped Angel's hand. "Angel, I'm so sorry."

Angel closed his eyes at the painful memory. Gunn had been a true friend, one who never pulled his punches or hesitated to speak his mind.

"He cared," Angel murmured sadly.

After a few minutes, he continued, "You'll be interested to know who started lending us a hand at Angel Investigations after we lost Gunn."

"Who?"

"A promising young man named Jesse Harris."

"Little Jesse?" Willow squealed impulsively, then clapped her hand over her mouth in astonishment.

Angel chuckled. "Little Jesse is twenty-nine years old now, and taller than you."

"And Xander and Anya? Giles?" Willow pressed, suddenly eager for details.

"Everyone's fine. Giles and Wesley have both been active in the re-organization of the Watchers Council that started about the same time you found Megan. Xander's company is doing well, and he and Anya have been talking about traveling a little, now that Julie and Jesse have left home. Willow..." Angel's tone grew serious. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about how things have changed around here. Right now, I want to hear about you. I need to understand why you put yourself in danger."

Willow prepared to reveal what she had found. If Angel was willing to accept it, they both had a chance for happiness.

<If he even feels for me after twenty years,> Willow reminded herself.

"I left because I realized that the one thing I wanted most was you," Willow began. "Working with Megan helped me take my mind off the fact that you and I couldn't be together, but when I had to give her up...just as I had to give you up...I felt trapped. It seemed like there were two choices: happiness along the path of the demon, or self-denial along the path of my human remnant. I couldn't resign myself to either one, so I set out to make a third option. It took twenty years, but I finally found it."

"Found what?" Angel asked, fully attentive.

"The means to make your soul permanent," Willow answered softly.

"My soul?" Angel repeated, staring at her in disbelief.

"No happiness clause involved, no fear that a false move could banish it into oblivion," Willow confirmed.

"How?" her companion wondered, almost in a daze. Her revelation was still too much to process. It seemed too good to be true. "More Romany magic?"

"No, human magic can be undone," Willow explained. "In the end, it wouldn't have been worth the effort. That's why I traveled among demon communities for so long -- even some of the worst, like the Tikal demons. I needed something older, something more powerful. After years of rumors, hints about an elusive, lost magic, I traced it to its origins. There are words written in the rock deep within the Hellmouth at Hadar, Ethiopia...forgotten since they were first used."

"Maybe forgotten for a reason, Willow," Angel cautioned. "Demon magic and souls don't mix. There's no guarantee that using a dark spell on a soul wouldn't leave the soul tainted, twisted."

"I know," Willow nodded grimly. "That was something I learned at Tikal. But this isn't demon magic, either. It goes back even further."

"Demons were the original inhabitants of this realm, Willow. Theirs is the oldest magic there is," Angel objected.

"It's not simple magic. It's one of the Essential Principles that structure this realm, woven into the very fabric of this reality. Kind of like a law of physics. It was this Principle that was invoked to fix the first soul in a human body, making it more than mere dust."

Willow's calm words left Angel speechless.

He blinked at her, then looked away. What she had said rattled every one of the beliefs that had been instilled in him when he was human, and that apparently still shaped his thoughts. That kind of power couldn't be wielded by lesser beings...the idea seemed nothing short of blasphemous.

When Angel had regained his ability to speak, he murmured, "How could something like that have been written down? Aside from the one who invoked it and the recipient, there were no other witnesses."

"Oh, there was one witness," Willow assured him gravely. "And that, I discovered, is the source of the oldest case of sibling rivalry on the face of the earth."

"Cain and Abel?" Angel narrowed his eyes, perplexed.

Willow chuckled at him. "No, you Catholic. Humans and vampires. This entire realm wasn't made out of nothing. You said yourself that demons were the original inhabitants; they were displaced to bring a human world into existence. What better way to strike back than to steal the vessels who were given dominion over all things in this world?"

After a brief pause, Willow continued.

"I always wondered about the weird way that we perpetuate ourselves. On a basic level, humans are nothing more than food to us. But it's out of humans that we make our mates, our companions. Vampires are driven to consume humans, in more ways than one...we're kindred. Children of the same Principle: what was first used to gift a lifeless mass with a soul, was later reversed to give demons the ability to banish that soul and colonize the vacated body. In a way, it's a kind of twisted tug-of-war, but it's helped me understand why vampires can be so possessive and territorial. It's our oldest memory."

Stupefied, Angel leaned into the sofa and tilted his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. He would have expected Willow to come back from a long journey with knowledge rather than a souvenir tee shirt. But she'd outdone herself. It was almost too much to grasp.

Straightening up, he looked at her and confessed, "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll at least think about it," she replied, with a sad, yearning glimmer in her eye that tugged at Angel's heart. Almost awkwardly, she lowered her head and whispered, "After twenty years, I can't expect you to feel the same way about me. But I love you, Angel. You were with me, no matter where I went. Every night, I kept hoping: maybe tonight I'll find the spell that will let me go home, that will let me be with him. Because *you* are my home, Angel. You are my heart, and my soul."

"Oh, Willow..." Angel breathed softly. "Don't ever doubt that I love you. When you left, I had nothing. Everything was empty -- most of all, me."

Trembling, Willow whispered, "Be with me."

Angel nodded.

Willow rose to her feet and held her hand out to Angel. He let her draw him toward the bedroom, and complied willingly as she urged him to lie down on the bed.

"I don't know how forcefully this will hit you; if you're already reclining, you can't be knocked over," Willow explained with a gentle smile.

"What if it doesn't work? Is there a chance that my soul could...?" Angel asked, fearful of what might happen if their effort somehow weakened the tenuous link he already had to his soul.

Willow caressed his cheek reassuringly. "Angel, it will work. I haven't ever been more sure of anything."

They looked at each other, sharing a final moment of wonder and trepidation.

Then, kneeling above him, Willow lowered her face to his, telepathically projecting an array of harmonies that no mouth could ever pronounce. It was less a spell than a mathematical equation. As the tones blended with each other, Willow felt something that she had never expected to feel again.

Her lungs swelled with a living breath.

Willow pressed her lips to Angel's in the most primal kiss, and let the breath pass from her lungs into his.

That which flowed from Willow to Angel was indeed given in love.

For one, blissful, fleeting moment, they shared the feeling of life as it stretched and tingled in their chests.

Then the sensation faded.

What was left in its wake, Angel couldn't describe exactly. But he knew -- he knew without hesitation. His soul was so firmly implanted in him that it was virtually inseparable from his body. Only his final death would send it flying away.

The feeling was too powerful to bear, and Angel was unable to stop himself from shaking. He reached up and caressed the face of his beloved, so moved that he could think of only one thing to say.

"Childe..." Angel whispered. "Blood of my blood..."

The words left her stunned, and Willow let out a half-choked cry. Any semblance of reserve was lost as she felt tears pooling in her eyes.

Angel pulled her down for a sweet, all-consuming kiss. The years melted away, and every bleak moment of loneliness was burned off by the heat of renewed passion. When Angel released her mouth, Willow found herself laughing and crying at the same time. Murmuring hushed assurances of love, Angel cradled her face and kissed away the tears. Slowly, persistently, the gentle touch of his lips soothed her until Willow felt the exquisite serenity that came with knowing this was but a prelude to what they could share for the rest of their days.

Suddenly, neither of them could wait to get started.

Angel rolled her beneath him and kissed her again, so deeply and thoroughly she thought he might be trying to pass the soul right back to her. They devoured each other slowly with lips and tongues, savoring each other with the patience of artists, the appetites of gluttons, and the abandon of two halves made whole.

Without interrupting their leisurely exploration of each other's mouths, Willow and Angel deftly began removing the articles of clothing that separated them. Soon, every inch of skin was open to their touch, and they lost no time in delighting in a thousand tactile memories. Willow ran her hands over the smooth, solid plane of his back and let them slide down to caress his hips. Angel flicked his tongue along her neck, gradually making his way down to the gentle swell of her breasts. He closed his lips around a nipple, sucking it in deep and nursing it rhythmically with his tongue. Willow arched her back, growing wet with the delicious sensation, and instinctively her thighs parted.

Angel's hand wandered down to tease her already-tormented flesh. His fingers stroked her engorged outer lips, while his thumb worried the intimate nub concealed between them until Willow groaned from the painfully delicious ache. At her frustrated cry, Angel shifted his weight and slid inside her. They stilled for a moment, letting their bodies drown in that first, wonderful moment of joining. It was what they had both wanted for two decades.

Slowly, they began to move. Their thrusts were gentle, almost teasing at first. Steadily, the urgency of their tempo mounted, as they built themselves closer to rapture. Willow clung to Angel, wrapping her legs about his waist and kneading the tight flesh of his ass as he plunged deeper within her. Soon, the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and she was gasping for unneeded breaths. In one, brilliant, suspended instant, Willow felt the tension within her belly contract and then explode outward. She shuddered, and was joined by Angel as he gave himself over to his release.

They held each other afterward, lightly stroking each other with reverent, almost hesitant hands. Neither could believe that they had just enjoyed an act of love so pure, so intense, that under different circumstances it would have shattered Angel's soul. It was only beginning to dawn on them that this was no longer denied to them -- that it would be the first of many.

Angel pulled her against himself, squeezed as though he would never let go, and whispered, "Mo chridhe. My heart."

Willow smiled, and kissed him again.

*****

The following night, Willow stood beside the fountain in the courtyard, bathed in moonlight as she waited for Spike to appear. She had felt his approach since early that morning, knew it was the call of the mark she'd left on him as he drew closer and closer. The tug of her bond told her that he was within the city limits, and its pull grew steadily.

She knew he could sense her. And by all indications, he was coming like a bat out of hell.

She felt him enter the lobby of the hotel; within seconds he was staring at her, mute with disbelief at the long-sought apparition who stood before him. He looked haunted, haggard and drawn. Willow suspected that he hadn't fed in days, and it cut her to the core. She guessed that he had neglected his own needs, tearing the world apart to find her.

Spike took one step forward. Having recovered his voice, he declared hoarsely, "It faded."

When Willow's brow wrinkled in mild confusion, Spike extended his wrist. The tattoo Willow had infused into his skin with her own blood was only a pale shadow of what it had once been. The blond vampire continued numbly, "Two years ago. You said so long as you were still here, it would be on my wrist. That if it vanished, it meant you were gone. You didn't say what it meant if it faded..."

His voice trailed off as Spike slowly, hesitantly walked toward Willow. With heartfelt remorse, she said, "It wasn't something I'd anticipated. I encountered magic that was stronger than my own. I'm sorry, my love."

For a hushed, tense moment, they looked at each other in silence. Then an expression Willow had never seen on Spike's face before twisted his features into those of a distraught, frightened boy.

"I didn't know what to think!" Spike cried.

He sank to his knees, wrapped his arms desperately around Willow's waist, pressed his cheek against her belly and wept.

Willow dropped to her knees and kissed him, pouring into the kiss every ounce of love she had. Spike drank her in greedily. Pulling back for a split-second, he morphed into his demon face, and Willow followed suit. Rushing past the tentative preliminaries of human tenderness, they embraced each other as demons, with a vampire's kiss that ran fang-deep. Willow reeled from the force of his hunger as he suckled at her neck. She withdrew her own fangs from his vein, terrified at how far he had let himself wither away. He was dangerously low.

Angel stalked into the courtyard in alarm. By now, through the bond he shared with his childe, he, too, had sensed it.

Crossing over to Willow and Spike, Angel placed his hands on the blond vampire's shoulders and waited for him to lift his mouth from Willow's neck. After a few more swallows, Spike drew back and looked up at his sire, Willow's blood trickling from his lips. Angel sank to his knees, facing his childe, and offered his neck. Silent thanks flickered in Spike's demon-gold eyes before he leaned close and began to drink the elixir that could restore him as no other.

While Spike fed deeply from Angel, Willow ran her hands gently over Spike's back and nuzzled the nape of his neck with her brow. Gradually, Willow's ministrations and his sire's blood allowed Spike to relax until he was purring contentedly. At last, he pulled away and looked wonderingly at his two lovers, absent too long from his side.

Angel rose to his feet and drew Spike up with him. Gazing into the wild, volatile blue that had been so captivating when Angelus had first laid eyes on him, the dark vampire murmured in a soft brogue, "What've ye done ta yerself, sweet William?"

Spike smiled slightly, then swooned and seemed as though he might fall over. He was still dangerously weak from his lack of feeding. Ignoring Spike's feeble protests, Angel swung his weakened childe up into his arms and carried him back to his suite.

Willow followed, and when Angel laid Spike on the bed, she sat down beside him and murmured, "Spike, I'd like to renew my mark on you. It will allow me to give you my strength."

Spike closed his eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then, very softly, he asked, "That the only reason you want to do it?"

Willow smiled at his stubborn pride. It had been fifteen years since they'd parted ways, yet his quirks were so familiar.

Stretching out alongside him, Willow draped one arm across his chest, snuggled close, and whispered, "No. I told Angel I was back to stay, if he'd have me. The same goes for you. I know it's been awhile, but I've missed you. I want to renew the bond because you're my family, Spike. My lover, my companion, my temptation...my sweet, wicked monster."

"Don't forget 'Big Bad'," Spike reminded her, mustering as much bravado as he could. However, feeling the effects of not having fed in close to eight days, he grew tired and added weakly, "Missed you, too, luv."

His permission granted, Willow offered her wrist, and after he bit into it she repeated the same ritual she had performed in Baghdad.

Angel returned from his refrigerator with several Red Cross pouches. When he was certain that Spike had consumed enough blood, the three companions, together after such a long separation, wrapped themselves around each other and slept.

Although there were questions enough to last them for months, relaxing into the shelter of each other's company came back to them effortlessly.

*****

Within two days, it was as if Spike had never missed a night of feeding. His strength and arrogant sense of humor returned in full force. Yet, like Willow, he had changed as a result of his experiences. Thus, their first nights back together were somewhat awkward, but also magical -- it was like discovering treasure on familiar ground.

First, however, they had to get past two things.

Megan, and Angel's soul.

It was their first conversation after Spike was strong enough to sit up, awake, for more than an hour at a time. For a talk that involved such sensitive issues, it began so simply.

"So, what brought you back, Red?" Spike asked as he sipped the mug of warmed blood Willow had just handed him. By now, they had moved him from Angel's suite to his old room.

"I found what I was looking for," Willow explained, uneasy at how Spike would take it when she confessed that she had been searching for a means to secure Angel's soul. His reaction to her initial decision to leave, especially when he'd learned it was because she and Angel could no longer be together, was forever burned into her memory. She hated that she had been responsible for hurting him so deeply.

"And that was...?" Spike prompted her, smirking at her nervousness.

Willow averted her eyes and answered quietly. "A way to make Angel's soul permanent, without any worries about a happiness clause."

When Spike said nothing, Willow cast a furtive glance at him, fully expecting to see betrayal etched across his face. She was stunned to see not pain, but a quiet thoughtfulness, in his eyes. He nodded slowly in acceptance, took another sip of blood, and murmured, "I assume it's already done -- it worked?"

The redheaded vampire nodded mutely.

A slight smile teased at Spike's lips. "I'm impressed. That's quite the feat you pulled off, Red."

Finally, Willow recovered her voice, although when she spoke it was rather small. "You're...you're not mad?"

"What, just 'cos you abandoned me for fifteen years so you could find a way to be with the Poof?" Spike observed bluntly. He couldn't resist a slight barb, any more than he could avoid feeling a slight twinge of jealousy. But when Willow cringed in remorse, he relented. "Nah, could never stay mad at you, luv." He cupped her cheek with one hand and his eyes burned into hers. "You should know by now, I'd turn the world upside-down for you." Then, in a more lighthearted tone, he continued, "Besides, you gave him back to me. My sire and I have gone through a lot since I came back from Baghdad."

Willow's eyes glistened in empathy. "I know. Angel told me about some of it."

Spike closed his eyes at the painful memories. "Then I guess he told you 'bout Meg."

"Yes. I'm happy for what you had together. And I'm sorry for the pain you went through when she died. I wish I'd come back sooner, so I could have had just one chance to see her again."

"She would've liked that. Cor, you would've been so proud if you'd seen how she turned out." Spike's voice was rich with emotion as he recalled Megan's vibrant strength. Then, sobering he admitted. "I'd have been nothing but cold, blind rage for years after she died if it hadn't been for Angel."

After a few, silent moments, Spike set aside his mug, grasped Willow's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, luv."

She smiled at him in mild surprise. "For what?"

"For not mindin' about Meg. I never did come lookin' for you after five years, like I'd said I would."

"Your place was here with her, then," Willow assured him with heartfelt conviction. "Spike...neither Angel nor Megan have to come between us."

"No, luv, they don't," he agreed, losing himself in her beautiful, green eyes. Eyes he'd dreamed of on more days than he could count... even, from time to time, when he'd been with Meg.

Spike and Willow held each other in a tender, forgiving gaze for several moments before bringing their mouths together in a healing kiss. Willow stretched out, molding herself to Spike's body, and rested her head on his chest. Reunited and reconciled, the two lovers fell asleep in each other's arms.

*****

A Tuesday night in mid-summer, not long after Willow's return, found Angel, Willow and Spike in Caritas. The crowd in the bar was fairly small. As they had nearly every night, in many locales, the two males grilled Willow about her travels.

"So how did you manage to get out of Tikal?" Angel asked, leaning forward in his seat in anticipation of her answer. Once he had gotten over his initial horror at Willow's brush with the infamous demons, Angel had been fascinated by her adventure. "Those demons are known for not letting anyone who's seen the inside of the temple leave. You either go in as a sacrifice, or you become a member of the community -- and members don't travel very far from the clutch."

"Actually, they did sacrifice me. Or they think they did," Willow explained.

Never had two vampires gawked in a more undignified fashion.

Angel gaped in shock, and Spike's hand froze in the middle of lifting his pint glass to his mouth. First to recover his voice, the blond vampire blurted, "You'd bloody well better not tell me you're a ghost, 'cos you damned well don't feel like one in bed."

Willow chuckled at them, but then her expression darkened as she recalled the experience.

"They didn't know what to make of me. The Tikal demons are soul harvesters. They dissect the soul the way a butcher dismembers a steer." Willow shuddered. "Not a pretty sight. They were convinced I had a soul, and they held me prisoner while they tried to figure out how to extract it."

"Hold on there, luv. Why the hell'd they think you have a soul?" Spike demanded warily.

"Umm...it's kind of complicated. Can I finish the rest of the story first?"

Spike shrugged in assent and swallowed another mouthful of ale.

Willow proceeded to tell them both about the Harvesters' attempt to sacrifice her, the ruse she had enacted by 'hiding' her essence in Spike, and her subsequent escape through the jungle. Once more, Angel and Spike gaped at her in very un-demonly fashion.

"Willow, do you know how close you came...?" Angel exclaimed, aghast.

"I know," Willow admitted, tenderly caressing his hand. "I'm sorry to have worried you. At the time, though, the danger didn't matter to me. Nothing mattered except finding something that would let me be with you again. Both of you. What I learned, though, was that you don't find a way to strengthen your connection to others by cutting all ties and running away."

"That was two years ago, wasn't it?" Spike guessed, finally making the connection. "That's what made the tattoo fade."

Willow nodded. "I'm still not sure exactly why. Although I *can* say it taxed my reserves pretty severely. I barely had the strength to get as far as Uaxactún before I collapsed and had to lay low for a few days."

"But you still haven't explained why they thought you had a soul," Angel prodded, his fascination winning out.

"You go snackin' on a gypsy girl while you were gone?" Spike added, equally curious.

"No, I have something, but it's not exactly a soul. I have both of you. And Tara, Cyrene, Hannah, Giles, Xander..." Willow revealed with a grin. When Angel and Spike merely frowned in puzzlement, she continued. "I'd always thought of my connection to all of you as a restraint on my demon. I never saw it as creating something. But your constant influence *did* create something, just as the steady pressure of the ocean's waves makes sand out of boulders."

"So we've warped you -- that was my plan all along, Red," Spike smirked. "Still don't see what that's got to do with you havin' a soul."

"You can call it warped, or you can call it shaped, Spike. Over the years, my demon has adapted to Angel's guidance, to the feelings that remained from my human self, to the steady compassion of my coven -- and to the love I felt for both of you. As a result, I've developed certain behavioral patterns, and a certain amount of empathy, that have become part of my core essence. I have many of the trappings of a soul, to the point that I even give off the same kind of energy that is associated with souls. The only difference is that I haven't got the soul. The Harvesters didn't know what to make of me. So, they assumed that I was the legendary Vampire With A Soul."

Angel's face fell when he heard her final remark. His shoulders slumped and a familiar cloud of guilt descended upon him. With profound remorse, he murmured, "Willow, I am so sorry...even my reputation has hurt you."

Smiling gently, Willow shook her head and reassured him, "No, Angel -- quite the opposite. The only reason they tolerated me in their community for as long as they did was because they were intrigued by the mere possibility of a souled vampire. If they hadn't heard about you and your soul, they would have staked me on sight as an unwelcome intruder. So, in a way, you saved me. Both of you did, at one point or another."

"So, this whatever-you've-got, it's permanent?" Spike demanded incredulously. "Your demon has been trained into some sort of fluffy little lap dog?"

Willow regarded him with a wry grin for a moment. Then she flashed her demon visage and revealed something she had not yet shown either Angel or Spike: the inky black eyes she had developed after years of exposure to dark magic, and had learned to show or conceal at will.

"I wouldn't quite say that," Willow growled.

Her growl softened into a chuckle at the alarmed looks on her companions' faces.

Resuming her human appearance, she added, "My demon is a part of me, so it's been getting stronger, too. It may have been tamed somewhat, but even a trained circus lion is never truly tame. My demon is just comfortable with how far I've come without slashing and mayhem and plots for world domination."

"Your demon's bloody spongin' off your good side!" Spike blurted indignantly.

Willow shrugged and smiled. "That's one way of putting it. I had some incredible conversations with vampires who are older than you can imagine. Believe it or not, Spike, but the survivors among us mellow with age. It's pragmatism. The ones who are too high-profile get taken down sooner or later. One couple I met, Anubis and Sahu, put it really well. They were turned in Thebes sometime around 1900 B.C., and stopped killing other than to feed before Rome was even an empire. Not necessarily out of compassion; they said they didn't need souls when they had eternity."

Spike scowled petulantly. "What, you're sayin' I oughta trade in the smokes and leather for a pink lambswool sweater?"

"No! I love the leather!" Willow laughed, running her hand seductively up his duster. "If I have my way, I'll be able to enjoy you just as you are for at least a couple more centuries."

"Hmm...I dunno..." Spike mused, draping an arm casually across Angel's shoulders. "It could be hard to tear me away from my sire. We kinda rediscovered each other while you were away."

Willow rolled her eyes at Spike's obvious attempt to make her jealous.

"We did come to a new understanding when Spike realized that needing me didn't make him weak," Angel observed, gazing at his childe with pure desire.

"The hell I did, you wanker," Spike protested, but not as vehemently as Willow might have expected. She watched as Spike's expression grew tender and he leaned in for an intense, heated kiss with his sire.

Willow's grin faltered slightly. Spike was just teasing her, wasn't he?

When Angel and Spike finally ended their kiss, they exchanged a hungry look, so fervent that Willow felt her smile slip even further.

However, in the next instant, both her companions turned toward her with mischievous eyes and chimed, "Gotcha!"

Angel burst out laughing, with wholehearted yelps of glee such as Willow had never heard from him before.

Meanwhile, Spike crowed smugly, "That's what you get for tryin' to scare us with your new look, Red. When it comes down to it, we know how to make you *shake*."

At first, Willow glared at them both, but Angel's laughter was infectious. Soon, she too was laughing uproariously as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"That was just mean!" Willow's pout lost its impact as her lips refused to cooperate, and twisted into a grin. "And *you*, Angel -- I never would have guessed you could pull off a prank so well."

"It's all your fault, Willow," Angel teased. "The ability to enjoy a really good laugh is just one of the things you've given me, now that I don't have to worry about losing my soul."

"Is it too late for me to take it back?" she retorted with a rueful grimace.

"Aww, Red really thought we didn't want her," Spike fussed with Willow's hair as though she were a neglected puppy. Arching her eyebrow, she batted his hand away. Treating her gesture as a challenge, he suggested coyly, "Maybe we should remind 'er that the team just isn't complete without 'er."

Spike rose up, reached for Willow, lifted her from her seat and pushed her down on their table, knocking glasses and bottles to the floor.

Willow shrieked anew with laughter. "Spike, cut it out! Angel, make him stop!"

"Why? When I could join him..." the dark vampire purred as he grasped Willow's hand and sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. Willow half-moaned, half-chuckled, wondering if they were still kidding or if the three of them were about to have a public orgy. Suddenly, a splash of ice-water drenched all of them and startled them into drawing apart.

The Host stared reprovingly at them with an empty, dripping bucket in his hand. "Oops, clumsy me. It slipped."

Willow and Angel glanced at each other somewhat sheepishly. Spike, on the other hand, glared unrepentantly at the green-skinned demon.

"Guys, maybe we should take this home," Willow suggested.

"Always knew you were the smart one, sweetie," Lorne smirked. "But if you *must* do that in public, just don't do it in my club. Try The Devil's Playmate over in West Hollywood; bet you'd pack the house."

At Spike's arched brow, Willow warned sternly, "Don't you dare, Spike. Don't even think of it--"

As they headed for the exit, Angel grinned broadly and reveled in the knowledge that Willow was indeed back.

*****

The air was crisp and still as only that hour just before night fades to dawn can be. Willow called it the Hollow Hour.

She strolled down a street not far from the Hyperion, deep in thought. Many a night since her return had found her reflecting upon her journey, on all the twists and turns that had brought her to this point and made her who she was. Without regrets, she nonetheless pondered what might have been.

As Willow reached an intersection, she glanced to her right and saw a young woman waiting alone at a bus stop. The woman wore what looked like a standard-issue blazer for a hotel, and Willow surmised that she had just gotten off the night shift at the hotel further down the street.

In a shadowy alley across the street, Willow recognized one of her own kind. He watched the woman at the bus stop intently.

Willow released a low growl and flashed her jet-black demon eyes. Startled, the other vampire looked at her. When he saw her chillingly dark orbs, he fled in terror.

The young woman, too, had heard the strange growl and looked uneasily around her. By then, Willow had returned to her human appearance. The woman watched her guardedly, then looked at her watch.

Memories superimposed themselves on the scene.

<Once upon a time, Willow Rosenberg went to a computer programmers conference in Los Angeles and never made it home. She had been on her way to a 4.0 that semester; she had been weighing her choices between a career in computer technology, or possibly opening her own magic shop. She liked cookies.>

A few minutes later, the bus arrived, and pulled away from the curb with the woman safely on board.

Willow watched it leave, then continued back to the Hyperion. She smiled as she thought of lives altered by chance encounters and divergent paths, and wondered if that woman liked cookies.

Then, Willow let herself reach out to a familiar presence.

<Eternity, Willow...eternity...> She heard Sahu's voice echo in her mind.

*****

THE END

TO BE CONTINUED in Masters and Minions 7: Triptych
 
 

Look, it cannot be seen -- it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard -- it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held -- it is intangible.
These three are indefinable;
Therefore they are joined in one.

--Lao Tsu, Tao Te Ching
 
 
 
 

NOTES:

Tantalus, in Greek mythology, was punished by being forever chained in a pool of water in Hades, which receded whenever he attempted to drink and quench his thirst.

'Allahu Akbar' (Allah is the Greatest) is the beginning of the Al-Athan, or Muslim call to prayer.

The lyrics for my first (ack!) foray into songfic (shudder!) are from 'Since I Don't Have You', originally recorded in 1958 by The Skyliners, but it's Brian Setzer who has been ringing in my ears far too much of late. What can I say? I'm a sap. Sap sap sap sap sap...