The Problem

By Esmeralda

Chapter Sixteen

The beach house was smoothly expensive. Only the blackout blinds situated at every window detracted from its stylish opulence. Immediately following their arrival there was a brief but intense argument. Angel wanted to go in alone but Spike slapped down that idea. So then Angel and Spike were going together, except there was no way Xander was letting his lover out of his sight. Xander also pointed out that, since this was Lindsey's home, they'd be needing his services as token non-dead guy to get them past the front door.

Desperate to find Doyle, Angel abandoned the argument after less than a minute. As he walked up the drive Spike and Xander were right behind him. The problem of what to do with the lawyer was solved by Spike - who simply slugged him and left him slumped across the back seat.

Spike grabbed hold of Xander just before they reached the door. "Remember. No heroics. You stay behind me an' Peaches. Way behind. Things look like they're goin' bad, you run."

Xander recognized the emotion behind the blue-gold eyes. Fear. Spike was afraid. He tried to choke back his own burst of panic. "Right. Gotcha. Way, way back."

The door was locked; it was also impressively sturdy - but not sufficient enough to withstand the combined force of two powerful vampires. Xander stepped over the splintered remains and invited them in. "So I guess we're not going for the softly softly approach?" Spike's look told him it wasn't worth it. Xander guessed that Darla was more than capable of sensing their arrival, if nothing else she had to be able to detect his heart pounding madly against his rib cage.

"This way." Angel led them upstairs.

Walking quietly on the plush carpet wasn't a problem, even for Xander. However, no one expressed any surprise when they opened the double doors to the master suite and Darla turned to face them with a smile.

"Angel, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever get here." She tutted. "You never used to be so slow." She turned to Spike. "And William, still following behind like a dog." She noticed Xander and smiled cruelly. "And you brought me something to eat."

Spike interposed himself between Darla and Xander. "You stay the fuck away from him, bitch."

"Where is he?" Angel's quiet voice cut through the opening hostilities. He aimed a lethal glare at his former lover.

Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion and anger. "How could you? How could you sleep with that, that.mongrel?"

Angel responded with a vicious backhand. "His name is Doyle." He spoke through gritted teeth. "And I want to know where he is. Now."

Xander jumped at the sound of fist and face connecting. Darla, by contrast, seemed barely to notice the blow. However, as Xander watched her features changed - the fragile English rose replaced by something far more predatory.

"So you want your precious Doyle back. What are you going to do if I won't tell, Angel? Push another stake into my heart?" Darla opened her satin dressing gown to reveal the flimsy slip beneath. She stepped closer to Angel, her face reverting to its former pale beauty. "Go on, lover. Push it in. Bury it deep." She was pressed up against Angel now. The tip of a pink tongue peaked out to moisten her lips. "Drive it into me. Go on, lover. Do it." She laughed when Angel violently pushed her away; a harsh humorless sound tainted with contempt. "You can't can you?" she taunted. "Your soul's made you weak, Angelus. You're nothing but a sad, pathetic, crippled-"

"Shut up!" It was Spike, not Angel, who interrupted her vitriolic tirade. He started forward, but Angel's outstretched arm held him back. Darla was apparently too immersed in her own anger to notice the silent exchange that passed between the pair.

Xander - who was observing all this closely - was not. He was unable to decipher Angel's sphinx-like expression, but he caught the flicker of comprehension that crossed his lover's face and the cruel glee that followed it. Clearly Angel had a plan and Spike was now privy to it. Xander could only watch and wait.

Spike backed off. Angel now held all of Darla's attention. "I want Doyle."

"Go to Hell," she hissed. Her mouth twisted into a malicious smile. "Because that's where you'll find him." She began to laugh again.

Xander felt as if someone had stuck a knife into his gut. Doyle…Doyle was dead? No wait, that couldn't be right. Why would Doyle be in Hell? Doyle was one of the good guys.

"You spiteful fuckin' bitch," Spike snarled.

Xander was struggling to think. Okay, Hell - a.k.a. the Demon Dimension. Angel had been there and from Buffy's brief report, a good time had not been had by one and all. Oh, God, she'd sent Doyle there. He was alive…and hurt...and oh, God. He looked at Angel, whose expression was no longer sphinx-like.

"You'll never get him back." Darla sounded triumphant. "Now what are you going to do, lover?"

"*Don't call me that*." Angel's voice was tight and clipped. "I am not your lover." He seemed to be fighting for control. "But you're right," he added softly. "I won't stake you."

//Huh? // Confused, Xander turned to his lover. Spike's attention was focused on Angel, and when Angel held out his hand, Spike threw him a bottle from a small drinks cabinet.

Angel caught it easily, glancing at the label. "At least Lindsey has good taste in scotch."

Xander was bewildered by Angel's conversational tone. He watched Angel toss the bottle from one hand to the other. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, Angel suddenly struck it against the metal bedpost, smashing the neck. With a flick of his wrist he showered the contents over Darla, who spluttered as the amber liquid trickled down her face and chest, soaking into her nightgown.

"No," Angel continued, his voice soft and dangerous. "I'm not going to stake you." He held out his hand again: Spike tossed him his lighter. Angel lit it, eyeing the fluttering flame for an instant before he threw it. "Goodbye, Darla," he murmured softly.

Xander watched as Darla's face was surrounded by a halo of flame. Then the whole of her body was alight and her disbelieving expression turned to one of pain and rage. With a shriek she hurled herself at Angel, who - to Xander's horror - stood as if rooted to the spot. She never reached him. Spike snatched up a nearby footstool and threw it at her. It struck her in the chest, making her stagger back. She had no chance to resume her attack: the flames had her now. She flailed her arms, screaming as she burned. Xander could feel the heat from the inferno upon his skin. He took a step back and found Spike beside him, a cold little smile playing around the corner of his mouth. Xander had the impression that for Spike at least, this moment had been a long time coming.

It seemed to go on and on, but in reality it was over in seconds: her cries abruptly silenced, as she suddenly became a figure of glowing ash that in turn, disintegrated into nothing.

Xander stared at the blackened smudge on the otherwise immaculate faun carpet. Nothing else in the room had been touched. There was no lingering odour of charred flesh. No scrap of burnt clothing. Darla was simply gone. Xander felt a frisson of unease: the reality of his lover's insubstantiality suddenly striking him. He tried to shake it off.

Spike was ready to go. "Come on, Peaches. No point hangin' about 'ere."

Angel didn't move.

Xander gave his lover a nudge and hinted that Spike should say something a little more encouraging.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Oi, Angel. Doyle. Missing. Hell. Remember?"

That worked. Angel was suddenly all business again, stalking out of the bedroom without so much as a backward glance. Spike and Xander hurried after him.

They caught up in the hallway. "So what now?" Xander asked.

"We need a portal spell." Spike glanced sideways at his Sire. "Not easy to get them, mate."

"We'll get one." Angel's tone brook no argument.

Spike shrugged easily. "Fair enough."

"How do we 'get' a spell?" Xander wanted to know.

"Scrolls."

"Scrolls?"

"The powers trapped in the words," Spike explained. "All you have to do is read 'em. But portal spells are hard to come by. Expensive too." He addressed Angel. "You know anyone selling scrolls on the cheap?"

Angel didn't answer, but the tightening of his jaw implied no.

They'd reached the front door. Spike's eyes suddenly took on a speculative gleam. "I might be able to sort us something."

"Let me guess," said Xander. "You know where to get your hands on a portal scroll?" Sometimes Spike's ability to supply on demand could be downright eerie.

"No." Spike grinned wolfishly. "But I know a bloke who does."

Xander followed his lover's gaze - past the ruined, broken doorway and down the drive - to the figure just getting out of his car.

"Lindsey." Angel hissed the name like it was a curse. Lindsey chose that moment to look up from locking his car. He saw the three figures framed in the shattered doorway and his eyes widened in shock. Then he was fumbling with the car keys trying to reopen the door.

"Spike, bring him to me."

Xander shivered at the sound of Angel's voice: a Master vampire commanding his Childe.

Spike obviously heard it too, for instead of snapping back a sarcastic refusal, he shot forward like a hound on the hunt. Lindsey had only just succeeded in opening the car door when Spike was upon him. Lindsey's struggles were almost comical as Spike half-dragged, half-carried the man by the scruff of his neck. Spike slapped Lindsey once when Lindsey tried to kick him. Spike dropped the cursing, fighting figure at Angel's feet and stepped back, effectively blocking Lindsey's escape.

Lindsey looked up at Angel defiantly. He had guts, Xander had to give him that. Either that, or he had more balls than brains. Xander was beginning to think that the people at Wolfram & Hart weren't too smart. Striking out at Angel's nearest and dearest wasn't so much strategic as suicidal.

"Where's Darla?" Lindsey demanded.

"Oh don't worry, mate. She's upstairs keeping things warm for you." Spike's smile turned nasty. "Least she was."

Lindsey looked angry and confused. And afraid, Xander thought: so not completely stupid then.

"Darla! Darla!" Lindsey yelled, trying to get to his feet. Spike placed a hand upon his shoulder and pushed him back down. Lindsey's face tightened in pain as Spike's fingers dug into bone and muscle. "Where is she?" the lawyer gasped.

"Persistent little bugger, ain't he?" Spike crouched down behind Lindsey and moved his hand so that it gripped the back of Lindsey's neck. "You know, I could just pull your head off like this." He tugged slightly.

"Spike." Angel called his childe off. Sporting a sullen pout, Spike gave one last squeeze, then let go and stood back. Angel eyed the man at his feet coldly. "You're Lindsey MacDonald?"

Lindsey didn't answer. Spike kicked him. "Yes," the man growled. "I am. What of it?"

Xander raised his eyebrows. He revised his initial opinion of Lindsey: the guy definitely had more balls than brains - and was apparently unaware he was in imminent danger of losing both.

Angel's answering smile was truly terrifying. Lindsey paled slightly. "You supplied Darla with a portal spell." It wasn't a question and even Lindsey recognized that much and stayed silent. "So I guess you're the man to see if we're in the market for one."

Lindsey frowned. "You smashed my door in because you want to buy a spell?" He sounded slightly incredulous.

"No you moron. We kicked your bloody door in, 'cos you've got more fuckin' money than brains." Spike shook his head, as if despairing of the man's idiocy. "Darla? You got some kinda death wish? Cos you know, I'd be more than happy to help out." He shifted into his vampiric visage, golden eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.

"You're...you're vampires?" Lindsey glanced quickly from Spike to Angel and Xander, before eyeing a piece of broken doorframe on the floor.

"Ah, ah," said Xander, kicking the wood well out of the man's reach. "That would not be smart."

Angel suddenly reached down and grabbed Lindsey by the throat, dragging the man upright and slamming him into the wall. "I don't have time for this. I'd just as soon kill you know, but we need something from you first. A portal spell. Now I know you gave one to Darla, and you strike me as the sort of guy who wouldn't give away a one of a kind possession. So I'm guessing that you have a few more stashed somewhere." He hit Lindsey against the wall a few times for emphasis. "Now where?"

"S-screw.y-you."

Angel's face shimmered, his demon coming to the fore. He yanked Lindsey's head to the side and sank his teeth into the struggling man's throat. He didn't drink; he simply bit down, hard. Unable to stop himself, Lindsey howled in pain. Angel pulled back: teeth bloody. "Talk, or I tear out your throat. No more chances." He released Lindsey, who slumped against the wall clutching his neck: blood seeped between his fingers. Spike eyed it hungrily.

Lindsey didn't miss Spike's ravenous gaze, or the murderous glint in Angel's eyes. He didn't want to die. "Safe. I have a safe upstairs. I keep them in there."

"Good boy." Spike patted Lindsey on the head, then ran a finger under his chin, catching a little of the blood.

Lindsey watched with a combination of revulsion and reluctant fascination, as Spike sucked the digit clean.

"Well, what d'you know. Lawyer's don't taste half-bad, considerin'.

"Come on." Angel gave Lindsey a shove in the direction of the stairs.

Lindsey led them into the bedroom, where he paused at the sight of the broken stool and the blackened carpet.

Spike strode over to the burn mark and looked down. "Guess she couldn't wait, mate. Don't worry, I'm sure a bit of bleach'll get her out."

Lindsey blinked. The stunned look was rapidly replaced by one of distraught rage. "You, bastard. You killed her! YOU, BASTARD!" He flew at Spike who knocked him back without effort.

Xander realized that Lindsey really had felt something for Darla. //Poor shmuck. // He shook his head.

Spike had Lindsey pinned on the floor by virtue of a well-placed Doc Martin. "Safe?"

Lindsey had clammed up again.

Angel had run out of patience. He dropped down beside the squirming, shouting lawyer and grabbed hold of an arm, stretching it out. He took hold of the hand and wrapped his own around it and squeezed. Lindsey's shouts changed to sobs as bones gave way beneath the crushing force.

Xander pulled an 'euck' expression. Which became a 'double euck', when Angel let go and Xander caught a glimpse of mangled, bloodied flesh - red intersected with the startling white of bone.

Angel took hold of Lindsey's other hand.

"N-NO!"

It was, Xander thought, with evil satisfaction, a pretty girly scream.

"Over.o-over by the b-bed."

Spike went to look.

"M-move.the.c-cabinet."

Spike picked the bedside cabinet up and casually threw it aside. Its absence revealed a small safe set into the wall. "Combination?"

"6, 4, 3. 8, 9, 1."

Spike was already stabbing the numbers into the keypad to open the electronic lock. On 1, the safe door opened with a soft click. Spike went to put his hand in, then hesitated. "What else is in 'ere?"

Angel squeezed Lindsey's hand encouragingly.

"Ju-just a few s-scrolls. They're.safe to.h-handle."

Spike frowned, but cautiously put his hand in and pulled out a bundle of papers. He quickly discarded those they didn't need. Though he raised an eyebrow at one of them. "Got a problem keepin' it up 'ave we?"

Lindsey shot him a hate-filled look.

Spike just bared his fangs in a mocking smile and went back to his search. "Got it," he finally announced, waving the much-wanted scroll and dropping the rest onto the floor.

"Let's go." Angel was already at the door.

"Hey," Spike called. "What do you wanna do about this?" He gave Lindsey a kick.

There was a brief silence. Then a soft: "He's all yours."

Xander shot his lover a startled look, but Spike was too delighted to take much notice. He threw Xander the precious scroll. Xander caught it with fumbling fingers and watched as Spike hauled Lindsey to his feet. Xander found himself trapped by fear-glazed eyes as Spike plunged his fangs into the lawyer's neck.

In a somewhat abstract fashion, Xander knew that Spike still fed on humans, albeit now only on the bad guys. It was something they'd discussed, sort of. However, Spike had always been fairly circumspect in the past and Xander had never witnessed anything like this before. He could actually feel Spike's pleasure as the stolen blood sang through the vampire's veins, spreading with it the illusion of warmth. He shifted uneasily, suddenly experiencing an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. What the?.He was getting off on this?!

A dull thud cut into his panic - the result of Lindsey's lifeless body hitting the carpet. "He's.ah.ah?"

"As a doornail," said Spike cheerfully. He stepped over Lindsey's corpse and took Xander's hand. His face shifted once more into its human guise: blue eyes wary and somewhat worried. "You okay with this?"

Xander nodded mutely. Spike kissed him. Xander responded instinctively but then recoiled as the metallic tang of blood hit him: Lindsey's blood. He would have jerked away, but Spike's hand cupped his head and held him fast. Xander had little choice but to continue the kiss: his uncertainty fading with the gentle onslaught of lips and tongue.

When Spike drew back his expression still held a lingering concern. "You okay now, Pet?"

Xander nodded again, this time more definitely. "I'm good." He was surprised to realize that it was true. Seemingly satisfied, Spike took his hand.

"We'd best not keep Peaches waitin'. He's liable to burst something."

Sparing Lindsey's corpse one last, mildly disturbed glance, Xander allowed his lover to lead him away.

Chapter Seventeen

Spike kept a surreptitious eye on his lover as they walked to the car. He'd felt Xander's flair of panic as he'd fed and knew the whelp was still troubled. Unfortunately, comfort-sex and explanations would have to wait until they'd sorted out the rest of this mess. He bit back a gasp as a stab of pain sheered through his skull. Fuck, that bitch. Torching had been too good for her. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his hip flask, taking a long swig. He offered it to Xander but the boy shook his head. Spike took another swig and replaced the flask in his pocket. His head felt like someone was practicing trepanning on it… from the inside. His thoughts were still jumbled. Angel had given him a terse recap during the drive out to the beach house. Spike knew an Aruubus had attacked him and he'd lost his memories as a result. Spike could put together some blurred bits and pieces of the past four days, but none of it made much sense. In typical Spike fashion he pushed it aside for now. He could sit down and sort through it all later.

When they reached the car Angel drew their attention to the open trunk.

"Get what you want, we're going now."

Spike glanced about him. "Bit out in the open for spell castin', ain't it?" Spike knew that people tended to mind their own business in these kind of neighbourhoods, but he'd learned a valuable lesson when he'd almost lost Dru to the mob in Prague: sometimes it was better to be discreet.

"Then we'll go back to the house:" was Angel's only concession.

Spike helped himself to a couple of daggers. He didn't have Angel's knack for swordplay and he preferred to fight in close quarters anyway.

Xander reached for the axe. Spike knocked his hand away. Xander frowned. "What?"

"That would be no. No way. And, not a bloody chance."

Spike stared his lover down. No way in Hell was he taking the whelp to…well…Hell.

"He's right, Xander. You really don't want to come."

Spike was about to snap at Angel to mind his own fucking business when he caught the haunted look in his Sire's eyes. He'd been privy to some of the nightmares that had followed Angel back from his little sojourn into Hell and his gut twisted with something akin to sympathy. It only hardened his resolve. Xander could give him those hurt 'puppy-eyes' all he bleeding wanted. He was not taking the boy into Hell with him and that was final. He wasn't all that keen on going himself. Sure, he loved a good fight, but he'd heard enough about the demon dimension to know it wasn't a place he was in any hurry to visit. However, he knew his Sire wouldn't let a little thing like Hell fire and a hoard of demons keep him from doing his white knight bit and rescuing the mick…and Spike decided he'd better go along to make sure the pouf didn't bollocks it up.

Xander was still protesting as they walked back up the drive.

Spike snapped as they re-entered the house: he grabbed an arm hard enough to make Xander wince. "*Shut up. * Just shut up. You aren't coming and that's fuckin' final."

Xander blinked at him, his expression startled and hurt, but he didn't say anything more.

Angry - with himself, Xander, Angel, the whole fucking mess - Spike stormed after his Sire.

Angel was in the dining room. He'd pushed the chairs and table to one side and was preparing to read the scroll. He directed an impatient look toward Spike, who ignored him. Angel turned to face a subdued Xander. "Once we've gone, go back to the apartment and stay there."

Xander nodded.

Spike shelved his anger and caught his lover's eye. A tumult of emotions passed between them: want; need; desire; regret; love. So much love it left Spike a little awed. He managed a smile - more bravado than anything - and knew Xander had recognized it as such. Spike was slightly put out. He didn't expect or want a tearful, clingy farewell, but a quick kiss wasn't too much to ask, was it? Then the room suddenly filled with a white swirling mist as Angel finished chanting, and it was too bloody late. Spike tried to put everything he felt for Xander into one last look: knowing it was impossible. Then he followed his Sire into the black abyss.

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

"Ughn." Spike tried to stand but his legs wobbled and he collapsed back into the dirt. He spat the foul tasting earth out of his mouth and eventually managed to roll onto his back. A groan to his left made him turn his head. Angel was trying to raise himself into a sitting position. Spike found the strength to laugh as Angel's arms gave way and he too fell back to earth.

Angel finally heaved himself over onto his side. "I hate portal travel."

It was said with some feeling and for once Spike found himself in complete agreement with his Sire. Portal travel was for wankers. Now he had the rubbery limbs and the churning guts to go with his pounding head.

"Spike."

Something in that one, low hissed word put Spike instantly on guard. He struggled to lift his head and look past Angel. Trying to see what it was that had so alarmed the other vampire. What he saw made him stiffen in shock. Disbelief rocked him. No…No…There was no way…*NO*. He shook his head in helpless denial, but the vision didn't vanish with his refusal to accept it. There, sprawled in the dirt a few feet from Angel, lay Xander.

Spike pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to his lover, dropping down in the dirt beside him. He reached out and touched the dark hair, feeling the soft strands slide between his fingers. The strong, steady pulse of the boy's heart did little to alleviate the sudden blinding terror that had gripped him. He shot his Sire a deadly look. "What the fuck did you do?!"

Angel shook his head, confusion and distress plainly evident upon his face. "He must have jumped after us. Before the portal had time to close."

Spike's gaze didn't soften, but deep inside he knew it made sense. Angel knew enough about magic not to have accidentally roped the brat in with the portal spell. "You stupid, brave little fuck," he muttered: his fingers tightening reflexively on the dark waves. The result was a dull groan.

Spike released his grip on Xander's hair and gently patted a warm cheek. "Come on, idiot. Time to wake up. Rise and shine. Before the locals come an' find us."

Angel was already standing - albeit relying rather heavily on the support of his sword.

Spike blew in Xander's ear. Xander flapped a hand weakly at it. "Hmngh?"

"Wake up."

Xander opened his eyes. "Unzzit?"

"Yeah, whatever," Spike muttered: helping Xander to sit upright.

After shaking his head a few times, Xander was able to take stock of his surroundings enough to offer his lover a sheepish grin. "I guess it worked?" Spike smacked him on the back of his head.

"Yes it worked. And don't think this is the last you'll be hearing about it. You and me are gonna talk." Spike stood up and released a long-suffering sigh. He held out a hand to Xander. "Come on, get your arse up. We've got us a demon-boy to find." Angel glowered at him before moving off, taking point. Spike followed at a slower pace, supporting his wobbly-legged lover.

After a little while Xander stopped shaking and was able to walk unaided. He looked around: his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "This is Hell?"

Spike just nodded. He was still silently fuming.

Xander eyed the arid landscape. "I guess I was expecting something a little more…flamey."

Spike shrugged. "Depends on the dimension. Some of 'em are hot enough to melt your eyeballs."

Xander was even more confused. "There are different Hells?"

Spike tried to explain. "They're dimensions, Pet. They take up the same space. They're not so much different, as different aspects of the same thing."

Xander looked blankly at him.

Spike rolled his eyes. He really didn't feel like offering instruction in 'Hell Dimensions: 101'. His head was still pounding and anxiety for Xander had tied his gut into a tight, sick knot. "You know what a kaleidoscope is?"

Xander nodded. "One of those twisty things you look through, right?"

"Yeah. Well think of Hell as one of them. It's all the same place, but how you twist it changes what it looks like."

Xander thought about it. "Okay, I get that…sort of. But then how do we know this is the right 'twist'?"

Spike nodded his head toward Angel, who was still walking up ahead. "Peaches might be a tedious arse, but he knows his mojo. He'll have directed the portal spell to take us to Doyle."

"Oh." Xander fell silent again.

Spike could feel the young man's fear. "You shouldn't 'ave come," he muttered.

"I had to," Xander whispered softly.

Spike nodded. He understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. He held out one of his daggers. "Here, you'd better 'ave this."

Xander accepted it with a soft: "Thanks."

"Just stay close," Spike instructed. "It'll be all right. We'll get the mick and go home." He spoke as much

to reassure himself as Xander. Xander offered him a wan smile and they walked on in silence.

After a short time, Xander asked: "You still mad at me?"

"Fucking livid."

"Oh."

"But I reckon I'll get over it."

Xander's mouth twitched happily. "Good," he mumbled.

Spike let his own mouth settle into a wolfish grin.

"'Course, we're gonna 'ave a little chat about discipline when we get 'ome."

"Discipline?" It came out as an undignified squeak.

Spike was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Peaches has got the gear. I'm sure he wouldn't mind lending us a little something."

"Gear?" It was clear that Xander's imagination was doing cartwheels.

However, Spike had little trouble detecting the subtle nuances in his lover's emotions. Behind the fear and the uncertainty he could sense excitement and lust. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for taking Xander's mind off his worries. "Maybe if I paddle that behind of yours bloody, you'll think next time before doing summat stupid."

Xander raised his hand. "Hey. Already thinking here. And I'm thinking I like my behind without the bloody part."

Spike seemed to mull this over. "Fair enough. I'll just use my hand then: smack it 'til its nice and rosy."

"R-rosy?"

Spike took the opportunity to goose Xander, who yelped and jumped. Spike leered at his lover, letting the teasing glint show in his gaze. Xander swatted him on the arm.

"Bad."

Spike was unrepentant. He caught hold of Xander's hand and placed a kiss in the center of the palm. "Mine."

Xander swallowed. "Yours," he whispered hoarsely.

Reluctantly, Spike released Xander's hand and they quickened their pace to catch up with Angel, who was still single-mindedly marching ahead.

Chapter Eighteen

Sometime earlier…

Doyle had no idea how long he'd been unconscious but a she took in his surroundings he decided it hadn't been long enough. He pulled himself into a sitting position, trying to quell the uncontrollable shaking that had stricken his limbs. //Well, Toto, I guess we aren't in Kansas anymore. // Above him the sky was cloudless and oppressive: a pale shade of brownish-ochre. The earth beneath his fingers was dry and crumbly, devoid of life. However, despite the emptiness of his surroundings he didn't think he was alone. From somewhere far off, cries rang out.

Agonised and prolonged, they made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. As he sat, trying to gather himself, the cries would occasionally stop: only to start up again, even more heartfelt and anguished than before.

He pressed his hands over his ears and tried to shut them out: without success. Unable to decide where the sounds were originating from, Doyle picked a direction and began to walk. There was nothing to aim for and no place to go, but he felt marginally better on the move than he did sitting in the dirt. Besides which, he had no food, no water and no weapons. He was wearing the clothes he'd been sleeping in: an old sweatshirt Xander had left behind and a pair of Angel's pyjama bottoms - he felt ridiculous. He was just grateful that he'd been suffering from cold feet and so he was wearing two pairs of socks.

As he shuffled along, tightly clutching the drawstring of his black pyjamas, Doyle tried to figure out what was going on. He'd already guessed that someone had used a portal spell to transport him out of the apartment. The one hundred dollar question now was to where? He might have hazarded a guess at some desert-type spot, if not for the eerie cries and the singularly worrying lack of sun. That, he knew, was just plain…wrong. There were no clouds. It appeared to be daytime. So where the fuck was the sun?

It threw up the prospect of some troubling alternatives. Either he'd been flung forward in time to an age when there was no sun - an implausible and unpleasant notion. Or he wasn't anywhere on earth exactly. There were numerous other planes of existence out there. Most of them not the kind of place you'd pick to visit. Doyle felt a wave of hopelessness crash over him. He was lost: utterly, totally and irredeemably lost. He stumbled and tripped over his too large pants: landing hard on his knees. He tried to stand, and then abandoned the attempt. Falling forward onto his arms, head bowed, he wept softly - grief, rage and despair draining the last of his strength.

He must have drifted into an uneasy sleep at some point because he awoke with a start when someone shook his shoulder. He cried out in surprise, rolling over onto his back. He forced open gummy lids and looked up. Correction, not someone: something. "Aargh," he cried again and tried to scuttle back. It reached down and grabbed his ankle. Doyle kicked out with his free leg. He might as well have been striking at granite. The creature eyed him with what appeared to be amusement and a look Doyle couldn't quite place and didn't much care for.

"Sympathila musee bashj?"

Doyle heard the question but had no idea what the creature was asking. He shrugged as best he could from his position on the ground. "Look sorry, but I've no idea what yer sayin'."

"Human?" the creature muttered. It leaned down and sniffed. "Not human." It decided.

"Hey, I'm human enough." Doyle felt vaguely affronted.

"Speak human?" The creature was understandable, if you didn't mind your consonants sounding as if they were being ground out through a mouthful of broken glass.

Doyle nodded warily. "Yeah, I speak human."

"You mine."

//Huh?// Doyle didn't much care for the sound of that.

"Er..let's not be hasty." He tried to pull his leg free.

The creature - it was some kind of demon he decided - let go, but only in order to right him and grab hold of his arms. Doyle regretted breathing in when he got a waft of the thing's breath. "Okay," he tried again. "First of all. I think mebbe there's been a misunderstanding here. See, I'm not really supposed to be here at all, an' well, I don't plan on stayin' that long. So if you could just point me in the direction of the nearest town-"

The demon looked at him.

"You know - town? Place where you guys hang out? I'm looking for someone who knows a bit of magic. I might have a little business to put his way."

The demon tightened his grip. "Mine."

"I don't really under-"

The demon extended a long blue tongue and licked Doyle's cheek.

Eyes wide with panic and revulsion, Doyle found himself nodding. "Ok-kay. Now I get ya. Yours…right." This was bad. This was very bad. A clawed hand yanked at his pyjamas, pawing him roughly. Doyle closed his eyes and bit his lip to withhold a whimper. This was the bit where he woke up, right? The hand withdrew. Doyle opened his eyes. Not a dream. The demon was giving him the once over. Its expression could be described as lascivious, though Doyle wasn't sure whether it wanted to devour him or ravage him. Neither seemed a pleasant prospect.

The long blue tongue flickered out again; it stroked across his other cheek and despite his violent flinch, slithered wetly across his mouth. Doyle felt the thick slickness of saliva and tasted the creature's foul breath. He gagged. The demon however, seemed well pleased. "Good," it grunted. Then it relinquished its grip on Doyle's arms and shoved him down, non-too-gently. Doyle's legs buckled and he fell back into the dirt. He had no time to gather himself for flight or fight. The demon straddled him, removing the sweatshirt with a few swipes of its three-inch claws. They grazed Doyle's bandaged chest. The demon eyed the dressings dispassionately. "You bad?"

"B-bad?"

The demon's face showed frustration. "Bad?" It struggled to find a more suitable expression. "Hurt?"

Doyle hesitated, then decided a sign of weakness probably wasn't going to make much odds at this point. "Yes. I'm hurt."

The demon gave a terse nod. "Not hurt," it mumbled.

Doyle felt a bubble of hysteria well up. It was going to be gentle with him? However, it seemed that was what the creature meant. It tugged at his pyjamas, rather than simply ripping them away. It even peeled off his socks and underwear. Naked and shivering, the gravity of the situation suddenly hit Doyle. This thing was going to do what ever it wanted to him, while he lay here, helpless. He was simply too tired, sick, and sore to fight it. Self-pity and self-disgust warred within him. He was ashamed of his inability to act, even though his rational mind told him it would be useless. The demon had to be close to seven feet tall, and was broad with it; it could crush him with one squeeze of its six-fingered hand.

Though right now, crushing him seemed to be the furthest thing from its mind. Its long blue tongue unfurled like a grotesque flower. Doyle bit down on his lip, drawing a bead of blood, as the sticky, slippery tongue lapped at his body, prying into all his most secret places, stripping him of his remaining defences. As the wet tip probed the entrance to his body, Doyle gave a sharp cry of protest and kicked out desperately. His foot connected with the creature's head but it barely moved with the blow and simply took hold of his leg.

Eventually gripping both of his ankles and holding them apart. Humiliation seared through Doyle's body like a scarlet flame. His nails cut crescent moons into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists. This wasn't happening…this could not be happening. He tried to conjure up his lover's face, but it seemed too much like a betrayal. Angel would never take what he wanted this way. Even when they got a little rough with one another, Angel was always thoughtful and considerate of his pleasures.

He swore and then lost it on a sob as the creature's tongue pushed slickly into him. It pressed onwards, deep, relentless. It didn't hurt, at least, not physically, but as it sank into him it slowly ripped his soul to shreds. Tears and curses fell ineffectually. Unable to bear this invasion of his being, Doyle made one last fierce, frantic attempt to break free. The demon swatted him back without effort, pausing only to place a clawed hand upon Doyle's belly by way of warning. Doyle read the silent message. If he fought this - it would eviscerate him. Doyle felt the pulsing muscle driving deeper into his body and he made his choice.

He sent a silent prayer to ask his lover's forgiveness, and another that Angel might never find his desecrated corpse. Though that at least, seemed unlikely. Then he dug down into the last reserves of his strength, bringing his own demon to the surface as he began to buck and struggle and scream and fight. He'd anticipated that it would be brief. It was, but not in the way he was expecting. The creature suddenly arched back with a choked cry and then slumped forward across Doyle's legs with what appeared to be a tusk, or maybe it was an antler (?) protruding from its back. Too stunned and exhausted to move, Doyle lay shivering. His rescuer easily dragged the demon's body aside. Doyle blinked, trying to get a better look at the slender form silhouetted against the sky. It spoke: its voice smooth and strangely melodic.

"See, Miss. Edith. See what happens when you're naughty."

Chapter Nineteen

It took Doyle's dazed brain several moments to realize that Miss. Edith was the piece of cloth-wrapped bone clutched in the young woman's left hand. The young woman who was currently regarding him with huge, liquid-dark eyes: her head cocked to one side like a bird's.

"You're Daddy's friend." She stated confidently.

Suddenly aware of his nudity, Doyle reached for the torn remnants of his clothing. He hurriedly pulled on the pants, resolutely directing his gaze away from the demon's corpse. "Er…Daddy?" He glanced around but the strange young woman was alone.

She crouched down in front of him, bringing the bone to her ear and making a show of listening, as though it were telling her some closely guarded secret. "Miss. Edith says you shouldn't be here. Daddy will be cross if you get lost." She sounded as though she was reciting a lesson learned long ago.

Doyle was shaken and confused. Something about this young woman set his alarm bells ringing. The answer came with a sudden flare of panic. What was it with him and weird lady vampires? However, even in his shell-shocked state, Doyle could slip into silver-tongued mode faster than most: especially when his life might depend upon it. "Well…ahm…Miss. And Miss. Edith. It's a real pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The young woman's face broke into a dreamy smile.

"Pleasure is blood and pain and screaming. Daddy used to make us scream." Her face saddened. "But then he went away. He came back, but he was still gone."

No way was Doyle touching that. So he just nodded and made what he hoped was an appropriate: "Uh huh" noise.

"My Spike brought pretty things to make me smile."

//Spike?// Doyle stiffened. He really didn't believe in coincidences. "So…ah…Spike took care of you, then?"

"He's my sweet prince."

"Is he here?" Doyle asked casually.

She shook her head, dark ringlets tumbling. "My Spike loves the boy now. He has to be with him. I saw it in a dream."

That more-or-less clinched it for Doyle. He wiped his hand on the remains of his sweatshirt. "Where are my manners? I'm Doyle." He held out a grubby hand and got a coy look in return as slim white fingers closed over his. The cold made his scratches throb.

"Drusilla." She made it sound almost musical.

Doyle dredged up a shaky smile. "Hey, Drusilla." At least now he knew where he was: since it seemed unlikely she could have found her way out of whatever Hell dimension she had fallen into. He felt scared and sick, and sure - he was grateful for the timely rescue, but he could do without companionship if it meant he'd just swapped one attacker for another. Though she didn't look like she had any designs on his blood supply, and she had killed that thing before it could…Okay, not going there right now because if he did he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to deal, and he couldn't afford to lose it just yet. Not while there was still the remotest chance that he could find his way back to Angel.

Angel ~ the very thought of his lover left him near desperate with longing: a raw painful ache that made his chest hurt. He knew that his sudden disappearance would have made Angel even more determined to find Darla, and the idea of a distracted Angel going up against that psychotic ho made his desire to get home all the more urgent. He tried to think: a portal had brought him here; the Hell mouth led to here. So somehow, somewhere there was probably a way back, right? Or maybe not. This was Hell after all. Full of unspeakable nasties and things that went more than bump in the night. They weren't supposed to have the run around. This place was probably sealed up tighter than Uncle Billy's wallet. Though he had managed to wheedle the odd copper out of that as a kid. So not completely hopeless then.

He sighed and pulled on his socks. Drusilla was no longer watching him and despite his resolution not to look at his ex-attacker, Doyle felt compelled to see what she was doing. She was dipping a long slender finger into the pool of blood congealing on the creature's back. She sucked the bloodied digit in a manner that somehow managed to be both obscene and erotic - in a really disturbing sort of way. Drusilla's forehead furrowed and her nose wrinkled delicately; evidently the demon's blood was not to her liking. She turned to face him wearing a forlorn, mournful expression that made him think of doe-eyed orphans and abandoned puppies. Get a grip. She's a vampire for Chrissakes. Somehow the knowledge didn't lessen his pity: it just tempered it with a healthy dose of fear.

He was sharply reminded of Spike's grief at her supposed passing. Of the memories and guilt that Angel had shared with him. Doyle gave a mental shrug: what the heck ~ she's practically family.

"Hey…I…Look, what d'ya say you and me get out of here?" She regarded him silently. Doyle tried very hard not to squirm under that strange, too-seeing stare. He tried out a smile: it wobbled a little. "Mebbe Miss. Edith would like to take a walk? You know. See a bit of the world?"

Drusilla walked slowly toward him. She seemed to glide across the uneven ground. As she leaned over him, Doyle sucked in a breath.

"We should find Daddy," she announced gravely.

Doyle nodded with relief. "Yeah, that'd be good. That'd be greatness." He stumbled to his feet. Surprised when she steadied him with strong but gentle hand. He shot her a quick grateful smile and got an odd look in return. Not quite a smirk but enough to make his heart stutter. He tried to appear calm. Though the little voice telling him that if she did turn on him he was dead didn't help. "So, you have any idea where to go?" he asked inanely. She gave him an indecipherable smile and crooked a finger at him. Doyle found himself drawn forward until he could almost taste the scents that lingered on her pearly skin. The sharp cut of earth, the metal tang of blood and the faint scent of flowers?

Lavender and Lillies.

"Miss Edith knows."

A low conspiratorial whisper that made him shiver.

"Right…Miss Edith. And will she show us?"

Drusilla shook her head. "She's being very naughty. Shall we punish her?" Her eyes gleamed faintly at the prospect.

Doyle edged away slightly. "Er, mebbe later, yeah. We should probably try and find 'Daddy' first. Don't want him getting' mad." Thankfully, she seemed to agree with him and as she turned and walked away, Doyle followed.

Chapter Twenty

"You know if you'd stopped poncin' around and claimed him, it'd have made findin' him a bloody sight easier." The only visible result of Spike's sniping was a slight stiffening of Angel's back and shoulders.

"Hey," Xander whispered, placing a hand on Spike's arm. "Go easy on him, okay? I think he's wound pretty tight right now."

Spike shook his head in disgust. "Pair of 'em have been dancin' round one another for months." He raised his voice again as he added: "I thought the whole point of fixin' your soul was so you could have him? What's the problem? He's good enough to fuck but not good enough to be your Chosen?" Angel came at him so fast he was a dark blur. Spike tensed but held onto his sneer even as Angel's hands tightened around his throat. "What's the matter? Truth hurts?" The words came out rough and choked, ending in a slight hiss, as Angel pressed harder.

"Stop it!" Xander glared at them both. "Doyle. Remember? Isn't going to get found with you two acting like a couple of infants."

Angel gave Spike one last shake and released him. Spike rubbed his throat - eyes bright and knowing. "Thought so." His voice was slightly hoarse. "You're afraid to take him." He shook his head. "Pratt."

"Huh?" Xander had the feeling he'd missed something important.

Angel's anger seemed to ripple the air around him.

Spike was utterly unfazed. "What? Do you really think you're doin' him a favour? Poor bastard's so confused it's a wonder he can walk straight."

Angel took a threatening step forward. Xander quickly jumped in between the pair. "Hey. Time-out, remember?" He made a cutting motion with his hands. "Jeeze, what is it with you two?" Spike opened his mouth: Xander slapped a hand across it before he could speak. "No. No more. We find Doyle and go home. Then you two can act like the anti-Waltons. Okay?"

"You're right. This isn't the time." Angel still sounded pissed but he looked marginally less like he wanted to rip Spike's head off.

Xander sighed his relief and waited for Spike's response. He got a mumbled agreement and a wet tongue lathed across his palm before he lowered his hand. Xander waited until Angel had walked off a ways before turning on his lover. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he whispered furiously. "He's this close to losing it" - thumb and forefinger displayed the miniscule distance - " And you're trying to get him to whale on you? Do you want to lose a body part?"

Spike looked insulted. "Hey, I can-"

Xander wasn't in the mood to listen. "Enough with the 'who can take who'. Read my lips - I don't care. I just want to find Doyle and go home." His voice wavered a little on the last part, but he knew that Spike could sense his fear so what was the point in trying to hide it?

Spike's gaze softened. "I won't let anything happen to you, Pet."

Xander tried to hang onto his anger. It wasn't easy with Spike looking at him like that. "I know. It's just…I've only just got you back." He stroked a finger down one sharp cheekbone and his voice dropped even lower. "I don't want to lose you again."

Spike turned his head and nuzzled the finger before folding it within his own and squeezing it gently.

"Won't happen, Pet."

He spoke as one who knew this for a fact, and even though Xander knew that was impossible, Spike's easy assurance lessened the ache around his heart. He was still haunted by how close he'd come to losing this, and the prospect of another close call was more than he could handle right now. Cold fingers tugged him forward and Spike's free arm curled around his waist, drawing him tight against that lean, hard body. The sharp, sweet musk of smoke and leather tickled Xander's nose and stirred the interest of other parts. But it was a slow, sulky interest. Now was not the time and this was definitely not the place. Besides which, he was too stressed and wired. Though that didn't stop him rocking his hips gently against the sharp dip and curve of Spike's, glorying in the fit.

Spike made a sound that was almost a whimper and Xander had to swallow against a sudden dizzying rush of want. He pushed away gently. "Later," he promised, his voice sounded strained and husky even to his own ears. He brushed his lips against Spike's and repeated the promise softly. Spike looked a little dazed when he drew back.

"Right, yeah. Later."

Xander liked to think that the croaky roughness wasn't entirely due to Spike's brush with strangulation. Certainly, he doubted that was why Spike needed to adjust himself before they set off.

Then again…………but that was a thought for another time.

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