The Problem

By Esmeralda

Chapter One

Xander flung out his arms to steady himself as his feet skidded in the loose gravel. His attacker took advantage of his momentary loss of balance landing a brutal right cross followed by a drop kick that sent Xander crashing to his knees. Fortunately, the demon was unable to pursue its advantage, a sickening crack signaling its sudden demise. Its neck broken, the creature slumped to the ground. Xander paused just long enough to flash his rescuer a quick grin and then rejoined the fray.

Spike watched his lover launch himself back into the battle and shook his head. The boy was like a bloody puppy at times - all bouncy energy and bright-eyed enthusiasm. He enjoyed teasing the whelp over it, patting Xander on the head and making 'arf arf' noises. Not that he had any real complaints. It could be irritating, but as Xander applied that same hyper-animation to pretty much everything, the benefits far outweighed the annoyance factor. Anyway, it was kind of endearing...not that Spike would ever admit as much. However, puppyish-enthusiasm aside, Spike realized that Xander's fighting skills needed some fine-tuning. From this little display it was clear that his lover was still finding his feet with his Consort abilities - showing a worrying tendency to under or over estimate them.

As Spike looked on a violet-eyed demon attempted to take Xander out with a vicious kick. Xander instinctively sidestepped avoiding the blow, before grabbing the demon's raised leg and twisting it with bone-snapping ease. Concerns momentarily forgotten, Spike crowed with delight. Reaching out he snared a nearby combatant. "See him?" - Spike pointed to Xander. The demon he'd plucked from the fray nodded nervously. "He's *mine*." The bewildered demon responded to the proud declaration with an edgy smile. Then Spike's grin widened into something more savage and the demon's smile faded. It scarcely had time to blink as Spike wrenched its head back, ripping out its throat in one bite, releasing a spray of cobalt coloured blood, and bringing an abrupt end to its confusion.

Dropping the body at his feet, Spike pulled a face. "Fuck. Fucking tasteless...." He spat and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. He spat again; his expression darkening as the demons foul essence continued to linger. Spike growled and kicked the deceased demon a few times for good measure. However, his expression brightened as he took in the fighting still going on around him. Using the dead demon as an impromptu springboard, he gave a happy whoop and launched himself back into the fight.

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In the same dark alley, Doyle and Angel fought side by side: Doyle setting them up, Angel knocking them down. It was proving to be an efficient system; the ground was already littered with those who had encountered Angel's devastating jabs. Light and nimble on his feet, Doyle weaved in and out, avoiding the enemies' heavy-handed tactics whilst getting in a few jabs of his own.

In fact the fight was going well - until Spike noticed a Zarog demon closing in on his lover. Distracted, Spike failed to sense the assailant behind him, and in an instant it had taken hold, yellowed talons stretched across his temples. Even as he raised his arms to throw the demon off, the darkness was already descending, and Spike fell to his knees, pitching face forward onto the asphalt.

Xander watched in horror as Spike collapsed. "Nooo!" Instinct took over. He snatched up a piece of wood and swung it blindly at a demon zeroing in on him, caving its skull. Without breaking his stride, Xander flung the broken slat aside and rushed to Spike's defense.

Spike lay motionless, the demon's talons gripping his head. Xander threw himself at the creature and succeeded in knocking it away. He snarled at it and the demon scuttled backwards. Xander ignored it, dropping down beside his lover, blind to all else now but Spike.

Angel had heard Xander's shout. He spun around and was confronted by the distraught youth and his childe's crumpled form. Enraged, Angel quickly singled out Spike's attacker, lifting it up and hurling it against the wall. It struck the brickwork with a sickening thud and slid down into a pile of crates, but before Angel could finish off the job the demon had scrambled to its feet and raced away into the gloom. Angel hesitated briefly over whether or not to follow, but one glance at Spike and Xander decided him. He abandoned the pursuit and crouched down beside Xander, helping to ease Spike over onto his back.

Xander touched his lover's face anxiously; the familiar features felt cold and lax beneath his questing fingers. "Spike? Spike, come on. Wake up." There was no response. Xander looked to Angel, but found no comfort there: Angel looked about as worried as Xander had ever seen him.

By now most of their attackers were either dead or unconscious, and those that could still stand chose to flee. Doyle kept an eye on them as they ran. "Maybe we should think about gettin' outa here?" he suggested. "Before they decide to come back with reinforcements."

Angel nodded and lifted Spike into his arms, cradling his childe against his chest. He tried to reassure Xander. "Spike will be fine. I've seen him handle worse beatings than this." Angel tried not to remember how many of them had been at his hands.

"Sure. I mean, he's already dead. How bad can it be?" Xander quipped weakly, trying to quell his mounting fears. The knowledge that his lover was technically dead brought little comfort. There was a world of difference between Spike's normal level of 'deadness' and this eerie stillness.

As they hurried to the car, Xander fell into step beside Angel. He wound his fingers around a corner of Spike's duster, clutching it like a security blanket to ward off the fears that swelled within him. //He's fine. He's fine. Spike, you'll be fine. *Please* be fine. //

Fortunately, he was too lost in his own thoughts to notice the look that Angel and Doyle exchanged.

--------------------

They drove back to the office. Angel carried Spike inside and the four descended to the apartment in silence.

Angel took Spike into the bedroom and placed him on the bed. "Xander, stay with him. I need to find out what we're dealing with. Okay?"

Xander nodded and lay down beside his lover. He waited until Angel and Doyle had left, and then he leaned across to place a gentle kiss on Spike's lips. Was it his imagination, or were they colder than normal? He drew back and waited. After a minute or so he sighed heavily. "Guess that only works in fairy tales, huh?" He snuggled back down. Resting his head on a leather clad shoulder, he draped an arm across Spike's chest and stared up into his lover's face. Spike remained unnervingly still; not so much the relaxed repose of the undead as the motionless marble of a tomb effigy.

Xander tried to calm the panic clawing at his chest. He told himself that everything would be all right, that Angel would fix this and his life would go on as before. However, as he recalled all the other occasions when life had screwed him over, his fears grew.

Chapter Two

"Got it." Doyle lay the open book on the desk and quickly read through the passage beneath the rough illustration. He frowned. "I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Angel, but this doesn't look good."

Angel came to stand behind his shoulder. "What have you got?"

"Our mystery attacker is an Aruubus demon. They're psychic feeders, tapping into a victim's mental energy through touch an' draining off the memories." Doyle glanced across to see how Angel was taking this: judging from his lover's expression, not well. He read on. "They take the surface thoughts first, then tap into the deeper stuff. The longer they maintain contact the more memories they siphon off."

"Can the lost memories be restored?" Angel's face remained stonily impassive, but the tightness in his voice testified to his concern.

Doyle scanned further down the page. "Erm...Yeah. If the demon is killed the psychic energy it's absorbed is released an' if a victim happens to be somewhere nearby, they get back what they've lost."

"Good. Then we kill it."

Doyle read on. "Ah."

"Ah?"

Doyle had finished the chapter. "That won't be easy. Seems these Aruubus are nomadic; they don't hang around any place for long. Plus, after a while the memories they've taken start to fade. Added to that, getting the memories back will be the equivalent of a major psychic blast. According to this, most of the poor bastards go mad from the shock of being whammied with everything they've lost."

"Spike's not that weak-minded," said Angel. "We find this Aruubus, kill it, and get his memories back."

"Hey, I'm with yer one hundred percent. I'm just saying it's not gonna be easy that's all."

"We have a lead," said Angel. "This Aruubus was working for whoever tried to take us out in that alley. We find them, we find the Aruubus."

"Fair enough," Doyle agreed. "But how do we find out who set us up? I mean, my vision didn't say anything about twenty pissed off demons. It was more of a - 'guy summons demonic entity, demonic entity slays guy, demonic entity slinks off into dark alley to feed on the local low-life' kinda thing." He shrugged. "And I hafta say, it didn't look like the hiring and firing sort. I can't see it employing an angry mob."

"If it wasn't the entity, maybe what happened tonight wasn't connected to your vision."

"Someone else trying to kill us?" Doyle thought about it. "Yeah, that could work. We've certainly ticked-off enough evil types for one of them to dish out for the heavies. Could even be they were after Spike. I mean, he's pretty good at pissing people off."

"Well now they've pissed me off," said Angel darkly. "It's time for a little payback."

"All fine and good, but how do we find who's head to break?"

"We'll find them," said Angel.

Before Doyle could say anything else a muffled cry rang out, and in the next instant they were both racing for the stairwell. Angel was already at the bottom by the second shout and Doyle was only a step or two behind. They came to a sliding stop in the bedroom doorway.

Xander stood, clutching his arm, facing an angry and confused looking Spike who held a lamp out in front of him, brandishing it like a weapon.

"Are you alright?" Angel asked Xander.

Xander nodded. "Oh, sure. Fine." The false brightness left his voice as it rose in panic, "Considering Spike just tried to rearrange my face with the bedside lamp! What's wrong with him?"

Angel met Xander's desperate gaze. "The demon that attacked him was an Aruubus."

Xander looked nonplused. "And I repeat, what's wrong with him?"

"It sucked out his memories," said Doyle, shooting Angel an apologetic look. He understood that this was hard for his lover but he couldn't see that there was anything to be gained by sugarcoating it for the kid.

Xander understood at once; his dark eyes widened in distress. "He-he's forgotten me?"

"It's temporary," Angel assured him. "We'll get his memories back, Xander."

"Right," Doyle agreed.

Angel took a step forward. "Spike. It's okay. Just put the lamp down."

In response Spike made a clumsy swing toward him. "Stay back! I don't know who you bastards are or how you got me 'ere, but you're not laying a hand on me, none of yer!"

Angel frowned. "Will?"

Blue eyes widened briefly before Spike managed to conceal his surprise. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.

"I'm....a 'friend'," said Angel hesitantly.

Spike's eyes narrowed in scorn. "Sorry *friend*, you'll'ave to do better than that. I've never set eyes on you before." He glanced at Doyle and Xander. "Any of yer."

"Spike-" Xander began.

"Spike? Why do you keep saying that? What spike?"

Xander looked helplessly at Angel.

"It's a nickname," said Angel.

"A nickname? Spike?" Spike shook his head. "What bloody idiot came up with that?"

Angel shrugged awkwardly. "You did."

"Oh yeah, right," said Spike sarcastically. " 'Course I did. That'd explain why I've never bleedin' 'eard it before." He waved the lamp toward them. "Just you lot step away from that door, I reckon I'll be going now."

"No," said Angel softly.

Spike sneered at him. "You gonna stop me, *mate*?"

"If I have to. I can't let you go out there. Not until you know what you are. It wouldn't be safe for you or any one else."

Spike opened his mouth to snap something back, and then changed track as he caught onto something Angel had said. "What do you mean? - What you are'?"

Xander and Doyle glanced at Angel worriedly.

"You're not human," said Angel.

Spike sneered openly. "Right. So what would I be then?"

"A vampire."

Doyle winced. So much for worrying that Angel would sugarcoat this.

Meanwhile, Spike's eyebrows had shot up to his hairline. He looked like he wasn't sure whether or not to laugh. He stared at each of them in turn. They stared gravely back.

"You're all bleedin' mad." Spike muttered. In the next instant he darted forward - swinging the lamp madly as he attempted to charge past. Angel plucked the lamp out of his hand and threw it to the floor, grabbing Spike and holding him fast.

Spike squirmed and twisted, trying to break free, spewing forth a steady stream of obscenities.

Angel shook him until he fell silent. "Listen to me. *Listen to me*. Your name is William. You were born in London - over one hundred years ago. Look around you, look at that lamp. Have you ever seen anything like that before? Look at how you're dressed. How we're dressed. This is the Twenty first century, Will: the year two thousand and one. You've been dead for over a hundred and twenty years."

Spike stared at him. "You're mad. I'm....I'm not dead."

"No?" said Angel brutally. "Then find your heart beat." He dropped Spike back onto his feet.

Spike hesitantly put his hand over his heart. Terror flooded his features. Frantically, he pressed both hands to his chest. "W-what...what'ave you done to me?"

Distraught, Angel and Xander moved toward him but Spike suddenly pushed past them. He ran blindly until he found a door. Yanking it open he dived in, quickly locking it behind him. He swore as he realised there was no other door and no window - he was trapped. He whirled around, staring about the bathroom in desperation. Suddenly he stopped.

His gaze had fallen upon the large oval mirror above the sink. Spike slowly walked over and placed his hand upon the cold, flat surface. He shook his head in horrified denial. "No...no...NO!" With a desperate cry, he curled his fingers into a fist. As he slammed it forward the mirror erupted into a shattered spider web; myriads of zigzagging cracks and broken shards. His knuckles grazed the brickwork behind, leaving smears of scarlet blood and tiny, frail tatters of skin.

Sinking to his knees, arms wrapped around them, Spike rocked back and forth, moaning piteously. He didn't so much as flinch when the door was suddenly kicked open. Angel stood on the threshold, with Xander and Doyle directly behind him. Angel took a cautious step forward - only to freeze as Spike cried out and scrambled away.

"Sta-stay back!" he wailed. "You've done this, you bastards. Keep away! I'll kill yer. I'll kill the bleedin' lot of yer." He glared at them briefly, eyes bright with fear and hate, before lowering his head to his knees and hiding his face in his arms.

Angel crouched down until he was eye level with his distraught childe. "Will. *Will*, look at me."

Spike slowly shifted his arms and looked up at Angel fearfully.

"I'm sorry, Will." Angel's voice cracked slightly. "You're right. I did this, but it was a long time ago. I was...'different'. And you have to believe me when I say you can trust us. You *have* to trust us."

"Why should I?" Spike snarled. "You say you've done this?" He stabbed his chest with his finger. "Why can't feel nuffin'? You're saying I'm dead? That I'm some kind of monster?"

Spike shook his head, his voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "You tell me why I should listen to anything you have to say, *friend*."

"Because you have to," said Angel. "Because we're the only ones who can help you get back what you've lost."

"And what'ave I lost?" Spike spat.

"Everything," said Angel softly.

Spike frowned and studied him silently for a moment. At last he nodded. "Alright, I'll listen. Can't say I'll believe any of it mind you. The way I see it you're all bloody lunatics."

Visibly relieved, Angel stood, extending a hand to Spike - who pointedly ignored it.

Spike waited until Angel and the others had moved before following them into the next room. He stood, stance defiant, as the others took their places awkwardly. An uncomfortable silence fell. "Well?" he demanded.

Angel suppressed a sigh. Where to begin? "All right, first - what *do* you remember?"

Spike regarded him through narrowed eyes. "You're sayin' I've forgotten stuff?"

Angel nodded.

Spike gave a snort. "Well now I know you're lyin', mate. Cos I know exactly who I am."

"Are yer sure?" said Doyle. "I mean, if you've really forgotten, how would you know?"

Spike thought about that for a moment before settling on looking daggers at Doyle. "I 'aven't forgotten nuthin'," he insisted.

"So how do you explain the things in this room?" Angel asked pointedly. "That lamp you were holding? The way you're dressed? And as I recall, you weren't painting your nails back in 1874."

Spike snuck a surreptitious glance at his hands, eyes widening as he saw the chipped black polish.

"And what about in the bathroom?" Angel pressed on. "What did you see in there, Will? Or was it what you didn't see?"

"Shut up," Spike snarled.

"You looked in the mirror, didn't you? You looked, but no one looked back did they, Will? So what's that all about?" Angel pretended to think. "Could be a trick mirror I guess." He shook his head. "But how would that work? So if it's not a trick mirror....It must be you."

"Shut up!"

"So maybe, just maybe, we're telling you the truth. What do you know about vampires, Will? Well I can tell you this much, they don't have reflections."

"Shut up! *Shut up*! SHUT UP!" The last part came out as a strangled growl. Spike's face shimmered, his demon aspect emerging. With a snarl he launched himself at Angel.

Angel caught him easily and spun him round, holding Spike against his chest, pinning his arms back. Spike struggled vainly.

"I'm sorry, childe," Angel whispered, soft enough that only Spike heard.

Spike suddenly went still, his head sagging forward. Angel released him.

The three watched as Spike lifted his hands to his face, tentatively touching the ridges that had risen in his skin. A pink tongue flickered across the razor-edged teeth. A drop of blood welled up and Spike swallowed; gold eyes glittered - the rich red fluid sending an obvious rush of pleasure through his body.

Slowly the wild-eyed panic faded from his face. "It's bloody true," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he began to laugh.

Doyle glanced at Angel nervously. Angel seemed impassive, though a closer look into his eyes revealed both sorrow and remorse.

Xander's expression was agonized as he watched Spike laugh until tears rolled down his cheeks. Gradually, the laughter changed, growing steadily more hysterical and the tears were accompanied by loud, hiccuping sobs.

"I'm a...v-vampire. A b-loody v-vampire."

Xander couldn't take it any more. He turned and fled.

Angel watched him go, his expression torn.

Doyle understood. "I'll go talk to him."

Angel was left alone to calm his overwrought childe. He sighed and reached forward.

Spike flinched and jumped back.

"Easy," Angel soothed. Moving slowly and definitely, he eased his fingers into Spike's coat pocket and withdrew a battered packet of smokes and a cheap plastic lighter. He lit one and handed it to Spike - who hesitated, then wiped his face on his sleeve, and took it cautiously.

Angel eyed the remaining cigarettes. Releasing another heavy sigh, he lit a second one and slid down onto the floor, legs out, leaning back against the sofa. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, exhaling the smoke through his nose, suddenly he felt every one of his two hundred plus years.

Then he heard the whisper of leather against the wooden floorboards, and knew before he opened his eyes that Spike had settled down beside him. The fragile show of trust tightened his throat. Angel glanced at his childe and offered a slight smile. He received a wary look in return, but Spike didn't move away. More than memories, it seemed, bound sire and childe. Theirs was a tie woven in flesh and blood; nothing and no one could break it. Somewhere deep inside, Angel felt a knot of fear loosen. He hadn't lost Spike; this tentative shared peace was proof of that. However, his relief was short lived as he recalled the look on Xander's face just before the boy had fled. He would restore Spike's memories, he vowed. He wouldn't let either Xander or Spike lose the happiness they had found together.

First he would restore Spike...

... Then he would find out who had done this and exact payment.

He might have a soul, he might play for the good guys, but Angelus was still part of him, and he could use that to his advantage when he chose. He was a Master Vampire, and someone had dared to hurt those he called his own. That someone would pay - preferably in blood.

Chapter Three

After a brief search, Doyle finally found Xander hunched up against the filing cabinet. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief, having feared the young man might have taken to the streets in his distress. However, locating him was apparently going to be the easy part. Xander's anguish was palpable and Doyle felt utterly at a loss as what to say that could in any way ease it. So instead he slid to the floor and sat cross-legged, laying a gentle hand upon a shaking arm. Xander raised his head, revealing silent tear tracks glinting silver in the poor light. Doyle's breath caught at the raw pain in that desolate gaze. "Come here," he whispered, holding out his arms.

Xander didn't hesitate, burrowing into the comfort of Doyle's slender embrace; shaking with the force of the sobs that tore through him. Doyle didn't offer any pointless platitudes. He simply provided an anchor for Xander to cling to; the safety of his arms bringing some comfort as Xander cried out his grief. Even after the worst of it had passed, Xander remained - his face hidden against Doyle's shirt - sniffling loudly. Doyle spied a box of tissues on Cordelia's desk. "Hang on a minute," he whispered. Gently extricating himself, he snared the box and returned to Xander's side. "Here." He held out a handful of multi-coloured tissues.

"Thanks." Xander's voice was hoarse and watery.

Doyle made a show of studying his hands while Xander cleaned himself up. Doyle knew from experience that it was discomforting enough letting down your guard and sobbing all over someone, without adding to the trauma by allowing them to see you all red-eyed and runny-nosed after the event.

Dignity somewhat restored, Xander screwed up the used wad of tissues and threw them at the waste paper basket. He missed and the resulting wild bark of laughter made Doyle jump.

"Story of my life," Xander explained bitterly. "Can't even get the rubbish to land on fucking target."

Doyle didn't know quite how to respond to that, or to the harshness in Xander's voice. He had the feeling that he was moving into deep and murky waters, and he was wary of putting a foot wrong.

"Why?" Xander asked suddenly.

Not fully understanding the question, Doyle responded the only way he could, with a shrug.

Xander didn't appear to notice. "I mean, why does everything in my life have to turn into a sad, shambolic...mess?" The last word was flung out after a brief pause; Xander evidently having failed to find a word to suitably sum up the utter crappiness of his former existance.

Doyle decided that now would be a good time to intercede. "Hey, nothing's turning into anything here. You and Spike have a good thing going. This is just a hiccup, that's all."

"A what?"

"A hiccup," Doyle reiterated firmly. "A minor stumbling block; a pebble on the path of good fortune; a wrinkle in the weave of life." His meaningless diatribe had its desired effect when a faint smile ghosted across the youth's face.

"You're certifiable," said Xander fondly.

"Course I am," Doyle agreed. "We both are, 'else we wouldn't be able to put up with the pair of them."

"Did Angel mean it? When he said he can fix Spike? He's not just saying that, right?"

"*We* can fix this." Doyle stressed the 'we'. "Spike's gonna be needin' you; even if he doesn't know it yet. He's got to be feelin' pretty low right now. And my guess is he's probably gonna be feelin' a lot lower before this thing plays out. You've got to hang in there."

"He doesn't even know who I am!"

"He doesn't need to," said Doyle gently, keeping hold of Xander's arm when the youth would have pulled away. "Look, Angel's been explaining some stuff about this Consort gig." Doyle hesitated. "He wants me to know, you know.in case." His voice trailed off. Angel hadn't exactly asked him yet; it had become something of an impasse between them. Seeing that Xander was waiting on him expectantly, Doyle pressed on. "Now, I don't pretend to understand the half of it, but I do know Spike doesn't need to actually know who you are; that's not how it works. He's bound to you. You're sort of a matched set. Memories have got nothin' to do with it. You're gonna have to hang in there, cos the way I'm hearing it you don't get a choice. You have to be there for him."

Xander sat quietly, clearly mulling over what Doyle said. Finally, he leaned back with a sigh. "Okay, I get it. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself, right? Show some backbone. Give Spike some sympathetic support."

Doyle felt Xander was being a little hard on himself. "No one's saying you shouldn't be feeling down about this. I mean, when Angel had that whole 'no happiness' thing going on; I spent most of my nights drinking myself stupid or wearing out my right hand." He flushed admitting to the latter, but Xander just shot him a rueful smile. He hurried on. "I just think that maybe you need to be concentrating on fixin' the problem."

Xander nodded, then asked, "An Aruubus?"

Doyle told Xander what he'd got from the book: deciding to leave out the nomadic part for now. Xander had enough to deal with without any additional worries about finding this thing. Doyle hoped Angel's source would come through; he wasn't looking forward to overturning every rock in L.A. to see what would crawl out.

"Come on, lets go an' see if Spike's calmed down any, yeah?"

Xander nodded and the pair made their way downstairs.

Chapter Four

In fact, given the current circumstances, Spike was feeling remarkably calm. His earlier level of panic had given way to a strange sense of 'rightness', as though on some instinctual level his body still knew how to be a vampire, even if his mind had forgotten. He was even growing accustomed to his heightened awareness, so much so that when he heard the approaching heartbeats, he hardly flinched.

The boy he'd woken beside earlier entered the room with the Irish man at his side. Spike had been too agitated before to really take any notice of the whelp. Now it seemed, he couldn't help but look at him, as though he was drawn to him in some way. Spike didn't want to be obvious about it, so he stole occasional glances from under lowered lashes, whilst seemingly focused on the smoke smoldering between his fingers.

His first impression was young, no longer a child, but barely a man. The eyes were large, dark, and somewhat mournful looking. The boy's hair was dark too, thick loose waves cropped close to his collar. Spike's fingers twitched involuntarily. He had no memory of its texture and somehow that felt.wrong. His gaze lingered on the boy's pale face. Spike's eyes narrowed; did the whelp always look that sickly?

He was on his feet before he'd even registered the action - walking toward the boy, who watched wide-eyed but made no move to back away. Spike barely spared the Irishman a second glance; Xander held all of his focus.

Doyle exchanged a brief look with Angel, who nodded slightly. Doyle stepped away.

Spike could hear the boy's heart beating. The sound was soothing and he pressed even closer, his body brushing against the boy's. When the whelp trembled in response, Spike made a soft, shushing noise in his throat. The boy swayed toward him. Spike smelt soap and skin, and underneath, the lingering taint of sex. He hissed, alarmed as he suddenly hardened in response. //What the hell? //

He jumped back, and felt oddly chilled as he drew away, as if the boy's body had somehow been lending his warmth. He didn't sense Angel behind him, and he jumped when the older vampire spoke softly in his ear.

"He's yours."

Spike jerked round to meet Angel's gaze. The dark eyes pinned and held him. "W-what?"

"He's yours," Angel repeated. His voice was too soft for anyone else in the room to hear. "Can't you feel it?"

Spike shivered, the soft tones had a strange, hypnotic quality. "Feel?" he echoed.

"You can, can't you?

Spike's only response was to lick his lips and look back at Xander, who was wearing his best 'rabbit in the headlights' expression.

Angel wasn't deliberately seeking to provoke Spike, or torment Xander, but there was more at stake here than lost memories. Spike and Xander shared a bond that paid no heed to Spike's bewildered state. Denying it could ultimately destroy them both. Spike might believe he was 'mortal Will' in his head, but deep inside part of him still knew what it was to be a vampire. It was up to Angel to guide that part, to see that the Consort ties between Spike and Xander continued to grow and flourish. He could do nothing less for his childe, and his childe's Chosen. He had to push Spike, he had to force the younger vampire to hold onto and explore this link with Xander. For if the worst happened, and Spike's memories were irretrievably lost, Angel didn't want his childe to lose Xander too.

Whether Spike realized it or not, Xander was probably the only good thing ever to have come into his life. Their peculiar brand of love not withstanding, Angel couldn't in all honesty count either Drusilla or himself as 'good things'.

He moved closer, letting his lips brush Spike's ear as he whispered, "Go to him."

Angel used his 'Master' voice to nudge Spike. It was working. Spike almost seemed to be held in a trance; his pupils dilated, leaving a barely visible ring of gold. Xander was equally caught, hypnotized by the actions of his lover - who was now rubbing up against him like a cat asking to be petted. The ambiance surrounding the pair was distracting. Going by his slightly glazed expression, Angel guessed that Doyle was picking up on it too. The green eyes held a heavy-lidded, dreamy cast that made Angel want to throw him down and fuck him through the floor. Angel clenched his hands, digging his nails into his palms. Now was not the time to lose control.

"Touch him." Angel raised his voice slightly, directing it toward Xander.

Xander blinked, startled. Hesitantly, he reached out. His fingers ghosted over Spike's hair.

"Again," Angel instructed.

Bolder, Xander repeated the gesture, his fingers carding through the soft blond waves. A low, rumbling purr came from Spike, who's eyes were now half-closed, with just the narrowest glimmer of gold showing.

"Xander, go and sit on the sofa." When the youth shot him a worried glance, Angel smiled reassuringly. "It's all right, Spike will go with you." Sure enough, when Xander stumbled toward the sofa - Spike followed, as though tugged along by an invisible thread. Xander sat and Spike curled up around his legs, still purring loudly.

As soon as Xander and Spike were seated, Doyle darted to Angel's side. "Okay," he whispered. "So are you going to tell me what's going on?" Angel took his arm and led him into the bedroom. "Oh, I get it." Doyle fought to keep the resentment out of his voice. "This is another Consort thing, right?" He knew that this wasn't the time to be petty, but Angel's refusal to even talk about claiming him was a mounting source of friction between them. Doyle couldn't help the hurt he felt at the perceived slight, and it didn't help that Angel became totally closed-mouthed whenever he tried to bring it up. If Angel would only say why he wouldn't take Doyle as his Consort, then maybe Doyle could get past it; as it was, they were both simply circling the problem.

Angel looked slightly uncomfortable as he explained. "Spike's vampire nature is starting to reassert itself. The safest way is to let it work through the link he shares with Xander."

"What about the link he has with you?"

Angel shrugged. "A Sire/childe bond is strong, but it still requires some instruction to be effective. We don't have time for me to lay down all the rules for Spike."

Doyle responded with a slight nod, still swallowing down his own hurt.

Angel changed the conversation. "How's Xander doing?"

"About as well as you'd expect; what with him thinking that his world's ended, and he should have been ready for it on account of it being his lot in life, or some such crap." Doyle's mouth twisted in disgust. "You have to hand it to his folks, they really did a number on that kid."

Angel didn't answer. (He'd had similar conversations with Spike, and had spent a considerable amount of time persuading the younger vampire that ripping out the Harris clan's collective throats wasn't really an option.)

Doyle brought the conversation back to the matter in hand. "How long do you think we've got?"

"Before Spike's memories start to deteriorate?"

Doyle nodded.

Angel sighed. "I've no idea. The book said that the Aruubus fed infrequently?"

"Yeah."

"Then my guess would be a few days, maybe a week if we're lucky."

"So where do you want to start?" Doyle asked.

"I'm going to pay a visit to Merl, see if he's heard anything. He might know where we can find this Aruubus."

"Right. I'll hit the streets too. I've got a few names I can try. They might give us something."

Angel frowned, then nodded reluctantly. "All right, but be careful. We don't know that this was a deliberate hit, but if it was we're probably all targets."

"Hey, careful is my middle name remember."

"I thought it was Francis," Angel teased gently.

Doyle jabbed him in the ribs. "I thought we agreed we were never going to say that word again."

"What? Fra-"

Doyle put his hand over Angel's mouth; his expression was exasperated but his eyes danced with laughter. "Never, ever, again." He smiled as Angel kissed his palm. "We should go," he said softly before removing his hand.

"I know," Angel agreed. He glanced toward the main room. "I just wanted to give them a little time."

"Will they be all right here do you think?"

"Xander can lock up once we've gone." After the incident with Penn, Angel had invested some fairly impressive security measures. The apartment was now nothing less than a mini fortress. "I'm taking Spike with me," he continued.

"Is that a good idea?"

"The sooner we expose Spike to this Aruubus the better. If I find it and I kill it, I'll need him with me." He didn't add that Spike was going to start feeling hungry pretty soon, and a fridge full of cold blood might not cut it. Xander was in no danger, but Spike needed to feed if he was going to maintain his strength, and Angel would rather that he was around to ensure that Spike didn't just drag someone in off the street to slate his appetite.

"So how long do you want to give them?"

"A little longer," said Angel. He wrapped an arm around Doyle's waist and pulled the smaller man hard against him.

Doyle swallowed sharply. "Have we got time to-"

"-No," said Angel. "But I need." He didn't finish, instead nuzzling Doyle's neck with a breathy sigh.

Doyle understood. Xander and Spike weren't the only ones in need of some wordless comfort. Aside from which, that earlier business had left him so hard he hurt. He felt Angel's teeth graze his throat. //Oh please, oh please, oh please// he chanted silently. Funny, before Angel he'd never given much thought to biting as an erotic experience. He didn't know if it was because Angel was a vampire, or simply because it was Angel. Whatever the reason, biting now rated right up there, along with the bone melting blow-jobs and the incredible sensation of Angel sinking slowly into him. or visa versa. Doyle wasn't picky, equally happy as a top or a bottom, as long as Angel was along for the ride.

A soft purr reverberated against the sensitive skin of his throat barely a second before razor edged fangs nipped him gently. A cool tongue followed, soothing away the sting. "Please," Doyle murmured, burrowing his hands into Angel's short hair, trying to pull him closer. "Please." He all but begged. He almost sobbed in frustration when Angel drew back - seemingly heedless of the hands tugging at his scalp. Gold eyes regarded Doyle silently. "I need you," Doyle offered simply. A fingertip traced his lips. Then Angel was suddenly crushing him close, mouth hard against his. Still careful, still holding back: nevertheless, needle sharp teeth nicked Doyle's tongue.

His shirt was yanked open in one pull, sending buttons skittering in all directions. Doyle whimpered as Angel's hands roamed across his chest, teasing his nipples into hardness. His own hands scrabbled to remove Angel's shirt, chanting silent hallelujahs as he eventually succeeded. His fingers played across an expanse of cool satin skin, while Angel covered his body in playful bites and kisses. They clung together as if they were each trying to climb inside the other.

Angel reclaimed Doyle's mouth, imparting a kiss that all but ended Doyle's ability to think. When Angel finally tore free he fastened his lips upon Doyle's exposed throat, sinking his fangs into the pale, warm flesh. Doyle gasped and arched against him, clawing at Angel's back. He moaned, his body jerking with each deep pull as Angel drank from him, unaware of being lowered onto the bed until Angel's body lay over his.

Doyle wrapped his legs around his lover and thrust up against him. Fingers fumbled with the fastening of his trousers and then a cold hand closed around his weeping flesh. Doyle gave a brief startled gasp.then he was coming so hard he almost bucked Angel off the bed. His foot kicked the bedside lamp, sending it toppling the floor with a dull thud.

When he'd recovered his breath he reached for Angel, only to have his fingers to be caught in a gentle grasp and held away. "What about-?"

Angel smiled at him tenderly. "You really think I could hold out during a ride like that?"

Doyle flushed. "Sorry about the lamp."

"We'll get another," said Angel softly, clearly unconcerned by the lamps sacrifice.

Doyle wiggled free a little and peered over the edge of the bed. "Actually, I think mebbe it survived."

Angel drew Doyle back underneath him. "Fuck the lamp," he muttered, nestling contentedly against Doyle's chest.

Doyle knew that Angel was listening to his heartbeat. "Yeah, who needs it," he agreed. Since they both had night vision, actually neither of them did. but it was a nice lamp.

--------------------

Xander heard the sounds emanating from the bedroom, but his attention was solely on the figure curled around his legs. Spike was always very tactile, and it seemed his loss of memory hadn't altered that. It felt strange - both good and scary - to be held by someone who was, and wasn't, his lover. Xander had guessed that this had something to do with their Consort link. Part of him was relieved that they apparently still had that; part of him was still struggling to hold it together. He recognized the wisdom of Doyle's advice - to concentrate on solving the problem, rather than allowing it to overwhelm him. But it was hard. Spike had filled a large space in his life, and without him Xander felt hollow.

Next Thursday was to have been their first real anniversary. A whole year since that weird, wacky day when Spike had come charging to his rescue, performing an impromptu sex act to free him from the clutches of a pasty faced demon. They'd planned to celebrate by spending the entire day in bed - which wasn't really any different to how they spent most days - nevertheless, Xander had been looking forward to it. Bed meant closeness, and cuddling, and sex - and sex with Spike was always something to be savoured. Whether it was slow and tender or hard and fast, Xander never tired of it.

He hurt. He missed Spike. His heart was breaking and he wasn't sure how he was going to survive it.

A sad smile played around his mouth as he gently stroked Spike's hair. Spike was purring softly. This wasn't 'Will the gutter-rat' pressed against his legs, nor was it his sarcastic, sniping, sweet-edged lover. This was a vampire turning to the ties of Consort for reassurance. Doyle was right, Spike needed him whether he knew it or not, and Xander wasn't going to let him down. "I'm here," he whispered softly. "Sshh, it's all right. I'm here." Spike's only response was to tighten his hold upon Xander's legs.

--------------------

Doyle and Angel padded quietly into the bathroom, necessity having cut short their afterglow. They had work to do. After a quick clean up, Angel gently separated Spike and Xander. A somewhat sullen and suspicious vampire had replaced the wild-eyed, agitated Will of an hour before. Angel was used to dealing with his childe in difficult moods, though the fact that this Spike no longer remembered him might raise some future discipline problems.

After a brief, but vocal protest from Xander - Doyle, Spike and Angel left - leaving the unhappy youth doing research. Spike initially balked upon seeing the Cadillac and clearly only bravado got him into the passenger seat. Angel had a pretty good idea that Spike was still in denial over the whole 'missing one hundred years thing'. As they drove past the brightly lit sidewalks, Spike slouched down, staring blankly at the dashboard, studiously ignoring the sights and sounds going on around him. Nineteenth Century London to modern L.A. was a scary leap by anybody's standards; Angel could feel the distress enemating from his childe in waves.

They dropped Doyle off first - after Angel had extracted a further promise from his lover to take care - and then went to pay a call on Merl. Spike calmed visibly as they descended into the sewers; though he practically adjoined himself to Angel's side, in a way he hadn't done since he was first turned. Angel purposely let his fingers brush against his childe's as they walked through the tunnels, recognizing the need for comfort.

--------------------

While Angel and Spike were calling on Merl, Doyle was questioning old contacts, trying to get a bead on the Aruubus. After a couple of unproductive hours - disheartened by his failure to discover anything - he headed back to meet up with the others. Uncharacteristically distracted, he failed to notice the car tailing him .until he happened to glance up.just in time to see it speeding toward him. It struck him almost head on, sending him spinning into the gutter, where he lay motionless.

Chapter Five

A little over two hours later....

Doyle bit his lip to contain a moan. He was fairly sure right now, any sound would be a bad idea; even breathing was an unwelcome intrusion. His head felt like someone had been using it for percussion, and the rest of his body had a well used, wrung out feel to it. Since the memory of his last conscious moment was proving elusive, Doyle kept his eyes closed and tried to think.

As he was thinking another little factor wormed its way into his consciousness: he was upright - and not by choice; something cold and heavy encircled each wrist. Fingers felt upwards and encountered heavy chain links, rough with rust. Doyle's eyes snapped open. Not that he needed to see to know that he was chained to a wall. He shivered - partly in response to his predicament and in partly because the water trickling down the brickwork was soaking into his shirt.

A quick glance at his surroundings suggested that he was probably in an old warehouse, one that had long ago fallen into disuse. Age and decay tainted the air, and the once whitewashed walls were green with damp. A few oddments lay scattered across the badly stained floor: some broken pallets, a frayed tarpaulin, a rotting skein of rope, and a number of smashed crates. And he wasn't alone. Standing near the far wall, the heavy knuckles of its 'hands' scraping the ground, was a Shurub demon.

Okay, this could be bad. This could be very bad.

He tried an experimental tug on the chains and winced as the links rattled noisily; a nervous glance toward his companion indicated that either the Shurub was hard of hearing or it didn't care. Doyle returned his attention to his manacles. They were obviously old, coated with rust and stains he preferred not to think about. Unfortunately, age hadn't weakened them, and the brackets and rings - which fixed the chains to the wall - were all shiny and new. Evidently, someone had taken the time to transfer his or her favourite toys to a suitably secure locale. He didn't want to think about all the possibilities that chains and a large, empty warehouse conjured up. However, the fact that there was probably no one around to hear him scream was playing fairly heavily on his mind.

Though it had its drawbacks, Doyle had been given cause to be grateful for his half-demon status on more than one occasion. For one thing, it gave him resilience to pain and shock far beyond that of a normal human. He could survive injuries that would kill a man. Unfortunately, it could also work against him. Should someone take it upon his or herself to deliberately inflict pain upon his person, he could expect withstand the torment for prolonged periods.with only a forlorn hope of passing out and missing some of the 'fun'.

Along with a growing sense of panic, his memory had returned. He recalled the car that had ploughed into him as he crossed the street, and he tried to think if there had been any witnesses to his subsequent abduction. Unfortunately, he didn't remember seeing anyone; besides which, in that district, bystanders didn't exactly rush forward with information.

He shivered again and tried to lean away from the cold, dank wall. How long had he been here? How much longer would it be before Angel counted him as missing? Maybe they were already looking for him? Still, try as he might, Doyle couldn't rouse much hope for a timely rescue; there was just too much stacked against him. Whoever had done this had timed it perfectly, with everyone distraught and distracted over Spike's little problem.

Which begged the question - just who was behind this? Someone he had crossed? Someone Angel had crossed? Someone they'd both crossed? Doyle began a tally of names in his head; it amounted to a depressingly long list. However, most were dead or similarly indisposed, and of those still unaccounted for he couldn't really think of one who bore a 'chains and manacles' kind of grudge.

"So, you're the little half-breed my Angel's been amusing himself with."

Doyle's head snapped up and he stared wide-eyed at the woman standing a few feet away from him. He hadn't heard her arrive and her scent was wrong for a human. It only took him a moment to place it.

Oh, god: a vampire.

She was beautiful: deceptively fragile, with pale, delicate features and shoulder length fair hair. She wore a crushed velvet dress in midnight blue that emphasized the unnatural pallor of her skin. Doyle wet his lips nervously and tried to dampen down his fear. Vampires were never good news.

"Erm, hi," he offered with false brightness, proud that his voice barely wavered. She ignored him and moved closer. Doyle fought back a flinch as she took hold of his chin and held his face up to her cold, assessing gaze.

"He always did like to play with the peasants," she murmured. "Like a cat, toying with a mouse."

Doyle was wracking his brains to try and place this crazy bitch. It came to him in a rush of terror. Darla. This had to be Darla. He hadn't missed the proprietary tone when she spoke of Angel. He stared into pale blue eyes, cloudy with hate. Oh, God. He was going to die.

Her voice dropped to a sibilant whisper as she continued. "Of course, eventually the cat tires of the game and kills the mouse." Her fingers tightened painfully. "Vermin have to be destroyed," she hissed.

Doyle tried not to wince as her nails cut his skin. "You know, Angel told me about you." He ignored his survival sense, which was shouting at him to shut up. "Darla, right? Yeah, he said he felt sorry for yer, on account of you being a real woman once, and now yer just a cold, hell-spawned-" He had a fraction of a second to brace himself for the oncoming blow, but his head still rebounded off the brickwork with sufficient force to bring tears to his eyes. He closed them, silently willing himself to absorb the pain. He could feel the blood welling into the scratches she'd left upon his cheek.

The initial pain was already fading to a raw sting, and after a few controlled breaths, Doyle risked re-opening his eyes. He barely checked a shiver of revulsion; Darla was delicately licking the blood from her fingertips. However, it seemed to calm her immediate homicidal urges. She eyed him disdainfully

"What would a creature like you know? What we share is beyond your understanding." She brought her face close to his. "I made him. We were inseparable. If it weren't for his curse." Her voice trailed off as her gaze became wistful. "I could have freed him, made him mine again."

Doyle decided it would be unwise to point out the contradictory nature of that statement.

"But you-" Darla hissed. The savagery had returned to her expression. "You've ruined him. I know that you've done something to alter his curse." She placed her hands on either side of Doyle's face, holding him fast. Her eyes glittered with spiteful glee as a pained gasp escaped him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Yeah," Doyle spoke through gritted teeth. "I've saved him from the clutches of crazy bitches like you."

Her fingers tightened like a vice and Doyle was certain he could hear his bones grate in protest. He struggled to withhold a sob, and very nearly wept with relief as she released him. However, she only did so in order to signal to the Shurub demon. It lumbered over; a shapeless mass of scale and muscle.

Darla gracefully stepped aside so that the creature could stand directly in front Doyle. It looked to her. She held up her hand. "One finger." It reached for Doyle.

"Wha-" The rest of the word was lost in a wail as the Shurub's meaty paw closed around Doyle's hand and a finger snapped wetly. Doyle could no longer contain the tears that ran down his cheeks; the salt pouring like fire into the cuts on his face. "Oh, god, oh, god," he moaned. Blurrily, he could see Darla, her expression now one of vicious amusement.

"Ooh," she murmured. "That looked so much fun." Her voice grew singsong. "My turn."

Doyle barely had a chance to breathe a 'no'. She reached past the manacle around his wrist to grasp his unhurt hand. He tried in vain to pull away, sobbing as she wrenched his forefinger sharply - dislocating and breaking it in one move.

"Mmm," she hummed happily. "That was *so* delicious. "She smiled at the Shurub. "And we still have eight left."

Doyle would have liked to say that the next few hours passed by as a blur. Unfortunately, every break, cut, burn and blow registered with agonizing clarity. When eventually he did sink into unconsciousness, it was to the sound of Darla berating the hapless Shurub..

"I wanted him awake you idiot!"

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