Sweet Revenge

by Jackson Rayne

Part Thirty-One

It was mid afternoon, the time where no vampire was at his best or brightest and Spike was dozing fitfully when he heard his name being called, footsteps clattering across the floor above him.

"Spike!"

"Huh?" Spike jolted himself out of his half doze. It was Buffy, and she was sounding pretty damn stressed. He looked up to see her heading swiftly down his ladder into his underground cavern, he tensed, his nerves, already stretched taut, pulled a little tighter. She'd already done the blood run this morning and she never came twice in one day. This couldn't be good.

"What, what is it?" he asked as he swiftly hid Xander's coat that he'd had tangled around him under his pillow.

Buffy shook her head, barely even seeming to notice him, never mind the coat. Her eyes were overly bright, darting restlessly around his crypt as though she was hoping to find answers written on the walls. "Spike it's Glory."

He sat up swiftly, instantly checking the exit. "What - what's she done?"

"She's ... " Buffy glanced above her where Dawn's legs were coming into view as she climbed down the ladder. "Its Tara."

"*Tara*?" Spike repeated, he'd been so sure she was going to say Xander, or that Glory was on her way here, it took a moment to sink into his baffled mind.

"What's happened to her?"

"Glory seems to think that Tara is the key, she's going after her - I have to get out there - *now* I need you to look after Dawn."

His eyes widened in disbelief. Him? Protect the kid? He was a wreck! He opened his mouth to protest, but paused as she looked back at him with wordless pleading. She knew he was a wreck, and he was still the one with the best chance of keeping Dawn safe.

Dawn reached the bottom of the ladder and turned to him, her young face blotchy and scared.

"Hey Little Bit," he said softly.

"Hey." She bit her lip.

He turned to Buffy. "Yeah, sure I'll watch her, you go."

Buffy nodded gratefully, gave Dawn a swift hug and scrambled back up the ladder. They listened in silence to her footsteps run across the crypt above and the door slamming behind her.

He and Dawn looked uncomfortably at each other. She shivered slightly, glancing around nervously at the gloom of his resting place. "Is it ... are we safe here?"

"Sure we are," he said with a confidence he didn't really feel. Still it would have to be safe here now. She was relying on him to make it safe.

He stood, disentangling himself from the sheets and heard Dawn give a strangled gasp. "Oh Spike," she choked.

He looked up at her in confusion and realised he was only wearing his jeans, her wide eyes were staring at his bare chest. Not in a good way. The light from her torch jumped erratically over his body, as her hand shook violently, the beam ruthlessly spotlighting the mass of purple bruises and welts that covered him. He looked down, seeing himself through her eyes, then back up at her. Her eyes were filling up as she stared, seemingly unable to tear her gaze away. He struggled into a T-shirt and his duster as quickly as he could manage, ignoring the pain shooting through him at the movement. The palpable guilt and concern from her made him feel edgy, embarrassed about the physical evidence that lingered on him of how much he'd suffered to keep her safe. Yeah he'd done something for her. No need for her to beat herself up over it. It wasn't her that had chained him to the damn ceiling and tortured him in all manner of interesting ways.

"C'mon kid," he offered tersely, without meeting her eyes. "I'll give you the tour."

***

Xander wandered back to the magic shop after a long walk he'd taken to try and clear his head. It was something of a relief to know he hadn't been totally paranoid earlier on, it really was one *hell* of a hot day. Sweat was trickling down his back making his T-shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin. He wondered idly how Willow and Tara were getting on at the Fair thing they were going to this afternoon. Any sensible person would either be jumping into a swimming pool right now, or indoors with some ice water and air conditioning. Of course he was doing neither of those things himself. Instead he was planning an afternoon surrounded with old books and weird smelling herbs. No air conditioning in here, but he did have a couple of large cokes loaded with ice. He figured a cool drink and some extra research was the least he could do to make up for his short temper with Giles this morning. He pushed at the door to find it locked, pulling back slightly in confusion he noticed the 'Closed' sign.

A thud of sick worry hit in his stomach. However over the years he'd gotten so used to that feeling he only arched an eyebrow very slightly before digging out the spare keys Giles had given him. He unlocked the door, looking around him warily as he entered the shop. It was warm and silent and filling him with a very bad feeling. He locked the door behind him again. The ceiling fan turned lazily above him, it didn't seem to be cooling the place down - only rolling the waves of hot air around. The faint hum from it was the only sound he could hear.

"Hello?" He carefully placed the cokes on the counter. "Giles?"

"Xander? In here."

He pushed the door to the back room, standing motionless in the doorway as it swung open to reveal Giles standing behind a chair, cleaning his glasses. Slumped in the chair, bound by twine was one of Glory's minions. He was quite dead.

"Hey Giles," Xander greeted him uncomfortably as he cautiously stepped into the room. "Re-decorating? Going for the Reservoir Dogs' kinda style?"

"I caught him sneaking around outside," Giles said grimly. "He was keeping an eye on us while Glory goes for the key."

"Oh no - Dawn ..."

"Is not in danger at the moment. Glory seems to think that the key is Tara."

"*Tara*?" he echoed. "Oh God." Sick helpless fear washed over him in a tide, but he ignored it, there would be time to freak out later. "What's happening?"

"Willow knows, she's checking at the Fair, I've already called Buffy, she's out looking for them. Now all we can do is wait."

"Oh. Great."

Giles replaced his glasses, and Xander found himself slumped against the wall. He pulled listlessly at his T-shirt, peeling it away from where it was clinging damply to his skin, trying not to look at the dead demon in the chair, trying not to think about what could be happening to Tara. He remembered Willow this morning, bright and happy. The way she had glowed, and how he'd snapped at her. Because ... he'd been so jealous.

It was hard, acknowledging that. He hadn't until this very moment. She'd found something with Tara that he'd wanted with Spike, something he'd come so close to, only to have it slip away, like water between his fingers. The jealousy had twisted inside him, ripping into him with its spiky, cruel edges, making him lash out, and now, oh now he'd give anything to go back to this morning, to shake the petty jealous bastard he'd been until his teeth rattled, to be happy for her, to have Tara safe and Willow happy, she must be frantic right now ...

"Wait - Willow knows?" he questioned, trying to distract himself from ugly painful truths. "How? I thought they were going to the Fair together."

"They were supposed to but they had a fight. Willow came here and Tara went alone."

"They had a ...?" He stared in disbelief at Giles. "But they *never* fight."

Giles shrugged tiredly. "It seems they picked a bad day to break with tradition."

"Oh God," he said again, whether as an examination of dismay or a plea for help he didn't know. Maybe both. But at this moment the only god that seemed to be around was the one hellbent on torturing, killing and tormenting them all.

Images of Spike, battered and bleeding floated before him and he had to squeeze his eyes closed tightly for a second to try to block them out. They didn't go away completely though, but danced just at the back of his mind. Spike, Tara, how many more people he loved were going to pay for protecting Dawn before they *did* something to stop Glory?

He pushed himself away from the wall, pacing restlessly about the room.

"She''ll be fine," he said aloud, needing to hear the words out loud. Giles remained silent. "She'll be *fine*. Willow *and* Buffy on the case? Glory won't know what's hit her ..."

At that moment they both jumped as the phone peeled out. Crazily, he already knew it was bad news, the damn thing was almost pulsating with bad vibes. They looked at it for a moment as it rang out persistently, then Giles, looking like he was facing a firing squad, picked it up.

***

It was cool in the hospital. Too cool. The air conditioning was set too high and he couldn't stop shivering, even with his coat on. It should be a relief after the heat from outside, but instead it just made him feel cut off from the outside world, in a place that wasn't quite real. They'd spent a lot of time in this hospital lately. Too much. Memories of Joyce, pale and ill filled the place. Xander had a sudden powerful yearning to be on the beach, in the evening, with a cool breeze and the scent of sand and salt water, and *away* from all this. From the smell of antiseptic and despair, the artificial, too-bright lights that made everything in here look stark and ugly, the doctor with his patronising false cheer, the x-rays on the wall, the incomprehensible charts, and all it really came down to was Tara's blank eyes and the tears streaking Willow's face.

"Man, words cannot express how much I hate this place," he said at last.

"It is dreadful," Giles agreed sadly. Xander looked at Willow, who was staring at Tara, with such a look of gut-wrenching loss his heart was breaking. For her, for Tara. Silence fell between them all again. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do to make Willow feel better, except be here. His presence, silent and useless as it seemed to be was the most he could do for Willow right now, and if it was all he could do he'd damn well do it. He looked at her and loved her fiercely, trying to imagine his love was a blanket, wrapped around her, keeping her warm and sheltered.

They'd been here for hours, and he was still fearfully on edge, as though he was waiting for something, but what? The doctors had poked and prodded Tara every way they could think of before plastering her broken hand, and pronouncing themselves baffled. She had certainly succumbed to some kind of mental problem. Possibly the same that had been sweeping through Sunnydale lately. Gee thanks for the help guys, would never have noticed without you. They had said - in confidence of course - that plans were underway to investigate. Yeah, good luck. They should start with the swanky apartments on the other side of town. He wondered what they'd say if he told them the truth, that a hell god had shoved her fingers into Tara's brain, given them a good wriggle around and sucked all the sense out of there with as much delight as Dawn with a milkshake. They'd probably think he was crazy as well.

He looked up hopefully as Buffy - finally - came into the room. She looked pale and unhappy. Maybe *this* was what he was waiting for. She must have finally checked her answerphone to find the short sad message Giles had left for her before they had left the magic shop.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Will, I'm so sorry." She wrapped her arms around Willow, holding her tightly. Willow's eyes began to fill up again, and they pulled apart as Willow gestured helplessly at Tara.

"They kill mice," Tara said, smiling brightly. He bit his lip as Willow cried silently for Tara, destroyed and unaware. At least he hoped she was unaware.

"Tara," Buffy said softly, wrapping her arms around her. Tara looked ahead blankly.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Buffy said, turning back to Willow. "But Dawn's safe with Spike, so I can stay as long as you need."

His heart skipped a beat, then gave three in fast succession to make up for it, at the mention of Spike, but he stayed still, stoic, silent and concentrating on
pushing every ounce of support he had to Willow.

"I'm so scared." Willow said trembling.

***

"Nothin' to be worried about, kid," Spike said reassuringly as he led Dawn through his underground cavern. It was the part he rarely went in, hollow and cold. The light of her torch broke up the darkness, and he hid his winces of pain from her as the beam occasionally danced across his eyes. "No one's gonna hurt you."

"Oh yeah?" Dawn replied sceptically. "Same no one who did that to you?"

Spike felt a wry smile tug as his mouth, that was his Little Bit. "What, these?" he mocked his sore and beaten body gently. "It's just a few bruises. Nothin' to write home about."

He turned to see her watching him, sadness and fear apparent in her expressive eyes, she wasn't going to buy the act. She was scared, scared bad, and he knew why. Glory was going to find her, if not today then soon. She knew it, he knew it, and Buffy probably knew it, and he was just a big walking preview of what was to come when she did.

"Hey, chin up, platelet," he said as kindly as he knew how. "Don't get scared. Maybe Glory doesn't wanna kill you, maybe it's something ..."

"Worse?" Dawn finished. For a moment they looked at each other, then he turned away. He didn't know what he could say to help. Maybe there was nothing he could say.

Shit. To coin a Sunnydale phrase, he really sucked at this comforting thing. Beating up demons - yeah that he was good at, but the kid didn't need that now - she needed some hope, some love. And he wasn't much good at that. She should be out in the sunlight, not trapped in the dark with a demon and bad things coming for her from every direction.

For some reason a memory flashed through his head - false of course, the monks had done their work on him as well - of the first time he had seen Dawn. She'd been with Joyce at the parent/teacher night, and had gotten separated from everyone when the place went dark. He'd found her in a closet and grabbed her. She'd screamed in terror and he'd yelled at Buffy to come out or the kid would make a nice pre-appetiser. Buffy had come out to face him and he'd carelessly tossed Dawn aside. He wondered what the reality had been.

Whatever. They'd come a hell of a long way since then. He realised she was being pretty quiet, and glanced back over his shoulder to see her sitting on a rock, unable to look at him as she struggled to hold back the tears.

He felt his face soften, his heart swell up and ache for her. Poor Little Bit. His best friend. They sure had come a hell of a long way. He slowly walked toward her.

"Hey," he said softly, tentatively reaching a hand out to stroke her hair, still uncertain as to if he was doing this comfort thing right. She turned to him unexpectedly and he swiftly pulled his hand away in a sudden attack of nerves, pretending to be running it through his hair. Fortunately she didn't seem to notice.

"You wanna know what I'm scared of, Spike?" she asked tearfully.

/Glory, Glory, and oh lets say Glory?/ He thought, but he stayed silent. Waiting for her to say whatever it was she needed to get out.

"Me."

His brow creased in confusion as she looked up at him, her face crumpling. Too much pain and sorrow, the poor kid had been through enough to last two lifetimes.

"Right now, Glory thinks Tara's the key," she continued, her voice trembling. "But I'm the key, Spike. I am. And anything that happens to Tara ... is 'cause of me. Your bruises, your limp ... that's all me too."

He would have shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter but it still hurt too much, all he could do was listen as she spilled out her hurt, let her get it all out.

"I'm like a lightning rod for pain and hurt." Tears began to trickle tiredly from her eyes. "And everyone around me suffers and dies. I ... must be something so horrible ... to cause so much pain ... and evil."

The guy he'd been once would have enjoyed playing with her heartache, her fear that *she* was the bad thing, the thing that needed to be stopped. The guy he was now didn't hesitate for a second.

"Rot."

And he didn't give a damn if it meant he was soft, pathetic. It was the right fucking thing to do and it felt good.

Dawn shook her head despairingly. "What do you know?"

"I'm a vampire," he said with emphasis. "I know somethin' about evil. You're not evil."

Dawn made a tiny gesture of acknowledgement. "Maybe ... I'm not evil. But ... I don't think I can be good." She looked up at him with misty hopeful eyes like he was some kind of hero that could put everything right with a couple of words. But he wasn't a hero, he didn't really know what he was anymore.

"Well," he said carefully. "I'm not good, and I'm okay."

She gave him a wan smile. "I guess."

He sat down next to her. "You didn't ask for any of this kid, not one bit of it. Only have to look at you to know that. Why do you think everyone *wants* to protect you? You're just about the sweetest most innocent thing I've ever come across."

Dawn sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes with her hand, and he tactfully averted his eyes. After a few moments her snuffling subsided.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you love Xander?"

He started in shock. The instinctive movement hurt his unprepared body. Not as much as the memories her question had released though. She had her sisters knack for hitting where it hurt.

"How did you know about that?" he hedged, staring at the ground.

"I hear stuff, stuff I'm not supposed to. I know what you did, why it all started, but Buffy told me what you told her, after Glory ... And I thought you wouldn't have looked like you did that night you asked for me to take him a message if you didn't love him."

He nodded as the ground blurred under his vision, maybe he would have let some tears of his own out, but they hurt as well. Prepared or not.

"Do you?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he said quietly, looking at her at last. "Yeah. I love him."

She gave him a sad smile. "I figured. You know you kinda suck at sticking to a plan."

"You noticed that huh?" He gave her a tiny, wry smile. His fingers were clasped painfully tight. "How is he?"

"You know Xander - he doesn't give much away, not by talking anyway. But ... he looks like he's hurting."

"Yeah."

"Spike? Do you think you two will get back together?"

Spike glanced away again as the pain that throbbed inside him gave a vicious twist, threatening to swallow him up.

"No."

After a long moment Dawn tentatively reached out, her dainty, warm fingers curling around his pale, cool hand, and they sat in silence for a while.

***

Buffy was slumped against the wall as though the effort of standing unaided was just too much, while he, Willow and Giles stood ramrod straight as though if they even buckled that little bit, they would break altogether. He still felt like a spring coiled up too tight, desperate to be released. What the *hell* was it that he was waiting to do? All of them were watching helplessly as the nurses tried to settle Tara into a wheelchair.

"Don't!" Tara cried out, upset, pushing the nurse away. "Please don't with that treachery! I told the cat and now I beg my mother sitting all alone."

"Bye Tara," Willow called after her, as she was wheeled away. "I'll see you tomorrow, I love you." She struggled to stay still for a moment, then made a sudden move to run after her.

"Willow no," he said strongly, darting in front of her and blocking her path. "It's just for one night."

"I know," Willow admitted unhappily. "But it's a whole night. I don't think I can sleep without her."

/Tell me about it Wills./ "You can stay with me," he offered.

Buffy pushed herself away from the wall. "Will, you just have to rest." she said, sensibly and uselessly. "Okay? Right now there's nothing you can do."

Nothing you can do, nothing you can do ... Buffy's words echoed weirdly in his head.

But she was wrong, there was something and finally he knew what he'd been moving inexorably towards, what he'd been waiting for, not just this afternoon, but ever since he had seen Spike, bruised, bloodied and broken after the torture he'd endured at Glory's hands. The roller coaster had finally decided which direction it was heading in. He looked at Willow, and knew she felt it too. It was like looking in a distorted mirror. Different face, same expression, burning, powerful, frustrated anger. Anger screaming to come out and have its way. Or to put it simply. Revenge.

"Yes there is." Willow turned away swiftly, and comprehension burst open on Buffy's face.

"No, no way!" She shot out into the corridor after Willow, and he followed, more slowly. His heart was thudding fast, but his surroundings were beginning to feel ever so slightly distorted around him. Like he was moving out of tandem with the world. He stood back, listening to the words they spoke crash through his ears.

"You cannot even *think* about taking on Glory!" Buffy yelled.

Willow whipped around to face her, her eyes blind with pain. "You saw what she did to Tara!"

/I hate Glory for what she did to him/ His lips moved as he re-played his conversation with Willow from only this morning, but no sound came out, except in his head, where he could hear his voice, as strong and furious as Willow's.

"I ..."

/just want to take my best shot/

" ... can't let her get away with it!"

"No!" Buffy argued back passionately. "You *have* to let her get away with it. Even I'm no match for her you know that."

"But maybe I am."

"You're not!" Buffy said decisively. "And I won't let you go."

/I don't care if she squashes me like a bug/

"This is not your choice. It's mine." Willow shot back.

"This is not the time!" Buffy said desperately.

"When Buffy?" Willow snapped tearfully. "When is? When *you* feel like it? When is someone you love as much as I love ..."

/Spike./

"... Tara? When its Dawn, is that it?"

"When we have a *chance*." Buffy insisted. "We'll fight her, when we have a chance. You wouldn't last five minutes with her Willow she's a god."

Willow, just as swiftly as she had fired up, gave in. "Fine, I'll wait."

"It's the only way." Buffy said with relief.

"Yeah." Willow turned away walking slowly down the corridor .

"Can I do anything?" Buffy called after her helplessly.

"Just let me be alone."

Buffy turned unhappily to see him standing there.

"I'm right, right?" she asked frantically. "I mean she would be killed."

"Sure Buff," he said, staring after Willow, as the tension inside him coiled tighter and tighter. "Listen I'm gonna go after her - I'll talk to you later."

***

Spike and Dawn had been sitting together for a long time before the Slayer came back. He took one look at her, exhausted and drawn with grief and knew this time at least, that the good guys *hadn't* gotten there in time. He stood up and backed off a little to give them some space while she told Dawn what had happened to Tara. Brain sucked.

He was surprised at just how bad the news made him feel. He wasn't much for being affected by others pain, and Tara was someone he never thought about from one day to the next, but he remembered how fucking scared he'd been at Glory's mercy. Tara must have been petrified when Glory found her, and yet she obviously hadn't given Dawn up. He knew for a fact how much guts that took. He silently saluted Tara, feeling as much grief as though he'd lost a comrade in arms, realising with a shock that he did have something to be thankful for. His wounds would heal, Tara was going to be lost forever.

Dawn cried and cried. "It's all my fault," she wept at last.

"No," Buffy said strongly as she stroked Dawn's hair. "Sweetheart it is *not* your fault."

"How's Willow?" Dawn asked through her tears.

"She was looking to go all payback-y on Glory for a minute. But I cooled her down a little. Actually a lot."

Spike frowned slightly. He'd seen Red gettin' her vengeance on after she'd worked out what he'd been doing with Xander. He was pretty surprised there was *anything* Buffy could have done to cool her down, Red just worshipped that witch.

"So she's not going to do anything rash then," he checked.

"No, I explained there was no point."

Spike didn't know what he'd been expecting, maybe that she'd had Red doped up on too many drugs to move, or maybe even that she'd chained her up, but he'd been expecting a hell of a lot more than that. Sometimes he wondered about Buffy - how could a smart girl be so fucking *blind*?

"Mm -hmm," he said sceptically.

"What?" Buffy asked.

He struggled to find the words to explain feelings that had no rational explanation. They were just ... *felt*. "You - so you're saying that a powerful, and mightily pissed off witch was plannin' on going and spillin' herself a few pints of god blood until you what ... 'explained'?"

Buffy frowned. "You think she'd ... no. I told Willow it would be like suicide."

"I'd do it." He glanced away, remembering a dark haired lad who had stared up at him, eyes all dark and hungry and oddly trusting, even early on, when he'd had no right to expect it. For that look he'd kept his mouth shut even as he screamed at Glory's hands. "Right person, person I loved, I'd do it."

He met Buffy's eyes again. She was looking at him, still uncomprehending.

Dawn nodded. "*Think* Buffy," she said gently yet desperately. "If Glory had done that to me."

Buffy froze. Loss, rage, and understanding whirled through her eyes, taking less than a second. Without another word she flew to her feet, racing out of the crypt as though the devil himself was on her heels.

Dawn bit her lip. "I hope she gets there before ... Do you really think Willow will do it?"

He nodded. "Anyone who loved someone that much would do it."

***

The door rocked on its hinges as it burst open and Willow flew out of the magic shop. Literally. She was several inches above the ground carried by an invisible wind, and her eyes were dark, mists of dark magic gathering in the orbs. She was chanting something he couldn't make out the words to, but the hairs on his arms were all standing on end, he could feel the power gathering around her, feel her charging up, flicking all the switches. The magic was swirling around her in a dense dark cloud, with tiny blue sparks within it, crackling as they brushed close to her. She barely paused when she saw him in her path.

"I know where you're going," he said seriously. "You don't stand a chance."

"I don't *care*!" Willow yelled. She wasn't crying anymore but tracks from her tears had left thin silver streaks on her cheeks. "She has to *pay* for what she did! Don't try to stop me ..."

Xander lifted his hand, showing her the axe he held, swinging it experimentally, testing it in his hands.

"I don't want to stop you," he said, his voice emerging cracked with certainty and a terrible rage, his eyes darkening with his own need for vengeance. "I want to help you."

Part Thirty-Two

Xander's eyes met Buffy's, she looked back at him calmly, her face gave nothing away, all her attention was focused on dealing with his injuries. Greyness tinged his vision, and he bit his tongue, the sharp pain bringing the world back into focus. They didn't speak, her movements were swift and sure as she wiped the blood from his face and cut away his clothing, her hands cool and gentle.

~Willow's hands were pressed against his head, dry and hot, burning where they touched him, as the pressure built and built. She was chanting, words he couldn't understand. Her hands clamped painfully tight on him, then suddenly she wrenched them away. The heat where they had pressed remained grew hotter, almost unbearably so, it sank inside him and exploded. He screamed, a long roar as his body shuddered. The world splintered apart before his eyes as barriers burst open inside him, dense power released from it's pen flooded through him as though he'd been hit by bolt of lightening, channelling it somehow. Power that he could barely contain, he felt he could rock this building in it's very foundations with a touch of his finger and his power was still nothing compared to Willow's! Just enough to buy him a little time against Glory.

/God how can she stand it!/ his mind cried out in terror and exhilaration. The world flew back into shape. A world he normally only saw a pale shadow of. His senses were on overload, sight and sound exhilarating and alarming in their intensity, colours weirdly bright - Willow's hair was an amazing scarlet, her eyes a deep fathomless black and the heat was scorching him. ~

He shivered as Buffy eased his T-shirt away from his skin, the cool air in his apartment a delicious relief against his hurting overheated skin. Buffy's eyes widened slightly and the corners of her mouth turned down instinctively in a grimace. He would have turned his head to look but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"Your shoulder is dislocated. I'm going to have to snap it back into place."

He drew in a breath to steady his nerves. "Okay."

She swiftly fumbled with her belt, unfastening it and handing it to him. "Bite on this."

He nodded and she placed her hands on his swollen, misshapen shoulder. He flinched, biting on the belt and swallowing the urge to yell at her to take her hands away from there, it damn well *hurt*.

"Are you

~... ready?" Willow asked, each word a clear thunderclap in his head. He nodded, and they turned. The axe felt weightless in his hands, Willow was floating above the ground, and he felt as though his own feet were barely touching it. The building began to shudder around them, cracks appearing, slithering up the walls; the lights flickered as they passed, struggling to stay alight against the heavy, thick force emanating from them. With one look from Willow the door to Glory's place flew open.

"Kali, Hera, Kronos, Tonic..."

Willow was chanting as they advanced on her. He heard, yet he didn't. The colours and richness of the room rushed at him like a freight train, but he ignored the rush of scentcoloursound and it flew through and past him, as there, in the centre of it all stood Glory, a faint shadow of surprise on her face as she took in this new development.

He looked at her, and hated her so much he didn't know how he could bear it, he couldn't keep this inside him and stay sane, it burned in his veins like lava, and all he wanted in this moment - all they both wanted - was to make her pay, and pay and *pay*.

The minions fluttering around Glory took one hasty, terrified look at them and fled.

"Air like nectar, thick as onyx," Willow was still chanting. "Cassiel by your second star..."

"Oh it's the lovers!" Glory examined. "That's so cute." She looked amused. "Doesn't this town have any non gay people?"

"Hold mine victim as in tar ..."

Something he couldn't see, but could sense burst out from Willow. Thick and heavy, it charged towards Glory, and spread out, the air shimmered around her. She halted, pushed against it, unable to move forward. The amused look was wiped from her face, she looked at them in confusion. She'd had things her own way for so long this she couldn't quite grasp what she was up against. Time to find out.

His ears were humming a loud, harsh buzzing sound as his power surged up restlessly. He felt as though his slipping, weak fingers were trying to cling on to a wild horse. Part of him revelled in it, but part of him was terrified of it, of what was inside him, something he could barely understand and certainly couldn't control, that it was going to turn on him, burn him up from the inside out.

He joined hands with Willow and they spoke as one. "I ... owe ... you ... *PAIN*!"

Blue bolts shot out from them, bolts fired by anguishpowerpainmagicloss. His body juddered helplessly, he tried to hold on but couldn't control it, couldn't stand it. His mouth tasted metallic, his teeth vibrating in his gums, his eyes dry and his skin smoking and /ohfuckhelpsomethingsgonewrong/. He was being electrocuted from the inside, but then Willow's hand clasped even more tightly on his, she drew the bolts, helped him channel them away from himself, and they flew across the room attacking the trapped Glory who let out a scream of pure ~

"Arrrrrrrgggggghh!"

"Sorry!" Buffy hurriedly passed him the flask of brandy from the first aid box and he swallowed thankfully in a few long, hungry pulls until the blinding pain receded.

"Better?"

He rolled his shoulder, testing it gently, a dull ache spread out from it, but it was nothing like the agony it had been. He nodded gratefully. "I'm fine." He cast a concerned look at the bedroom door. "I hope I didn't wake Willow up."

"I doubt it," Buffy said. "I think today took a lot out of her."

He nodded. " Yeah."

There was a moment's silence as they both remembered Tara in the hospital all alone, confused and frightened.

He slumped back on the couch, relishing how easily he could move now his shoulder was back in place. He groaned, running his hands through his hair, weariness had settled deep into his bones, an aftermath from the spell he supposed.

"You know you guys were crazy," Buffy said frankly as she cleaned the deep gash on his forehead, tutting in sympathy as he flinched under the antiseptic sting.

"Yeah I know."

"You were also incredibly brave."

He shook his head. "It was all Willow - if it wasn't for her giving me some power ... " He trailed off, not liking the thought of where that sentence would take him, because even if she hadn't he doubted very much if it would have stopped him. "She was the one throwing the big stuff at Glory. I wouldn't have even slowed her down."

"So you had some extra power, it was still you in there. You used it, you fought a hellgod and lived to tell the tale. That's pretty incredible." She dabbed at the truly spectacular bruising that was coming up on his throat with something cool and soothing. "Is that ..."

~ " ... it, is that the best you can do?" Glory yelled, as in response to Willow's command, all the glass in the mirrors and windows shattered, flying towards her and tearing her dress to shreds, and yet she remained unharmed. For the first time he felt fear. They'd already hit with their best shot and she'd barely paused in her tracks. They really were like tiny flies to her that she could swat in a second.

"You think I care about all this, the apartment, the clothes?" She ripped off the tatters of her dress to prove her point, her black slip underneath unscathed. She backhanded Willow across her face and she flew back like a rag doll over a sofa, crashing on the floor.

"Willow!" he yelled, panicked.

"Now, sucking on your girlfriend's mind?" Glory taunted Willow. "*That* was something to treasure."

His heart was pounding way too fast, like an animal in a trap; the thudding was resounding in his ears, too much noise, too much sight. His eyes were recording images like a shutter speed camera, and she was moving towards Willow purposefully, close, too close. He hurled his axe in flight across the room, it was a perfect throw, cruel, hard and so fast he could barely track it with his eyes. Powered by magic, it was beyond anything he could have ever done on his own, and against anybody but a god it would have meant instant death. She turned a split second before it would have smashed into the back of her head, batting it aside with one hand, her eyes narrowing. Faster than he could blink she was on him, backing him helpless against the wall.

"Like cutting into your boyfriend," she remembered, her eyes alight with the joy of cruelty. "That was a fun day. He's not much with the silent suffering is he, lover? You should have heard the screams."

"No!"

He furiously, and foolishly, threw a punch at her and as he did so with a 'whump' sound he could *feel* he was back to normal, colours drained back to their usual pale hue, sounds faded, oddly shallow and lacking and Glory didn't even flinch as his fist hit her mouth. Like throwing a punch at a mountain, she was unmoved and unharmed as the skin on his knuckles broke, began to bleed. She grabbed his throat in a crushing grip and effortlessly lifted him up, his feet dangling above the ground; he choked, a harsh wheezing sound coming from his throat.

/That would be me gasping for air,/ a part of his mind recorded with a kind of detached terror. Black spots skidded wildly across his vision, and beyond them he could still see Glory, laughing, her fingers tightening, when a movement caught his eye. His eyes drifted past her, and she turned following his gaze to where Willow was standing, fury on her face, a small trickle of blood running from her mouth. She looked eerie and half-mad, her fragile body shuddering with power, rushing from her in a furious tide. The movement he'd seen was the black bag she had brought with her sliding across the room towards her. It opened itself.

"What's this?" Glory mocked releasing her grip on his throat; he stumbled back, wheezing as the air rushed through his throat. "Bag of tricks?"

Daggers flew up out of the bag, their cruel points gleaming as they hovered eagerly, pointing straight at Glory.

Willow's lip curled in disdain. "Bag of knives."

They charged, airborne towards Glory, who batted them all aside. One, thrown off course by her came close, too close to him, and caught him on his forehead as it flew past, tearing into his skin before burying itself in the wall. Blood began to trickle down his face, his head was humming insistently loudly and his panting, harsh and hoarse was still shaking him.

"Spirit of serpents now appear," Willow commanded.

Glory picked up a coffee-table and hurled it at Willow, she had no time to duck, it hit her hard and fast, she collapsed to the floor under its force, yet still managed to brace herself up on her hands and look back at Glory with pure hatred in her eyes, finishing the spell. "Hissing, writhing, striking near!"

A snake appeared out of the carpet Glory was standing on and wound itself around her leg.

Glory shook it off impatiently and the snake vanished, as she bore down on Willow. He launched himself at Glory, in a desperate attempt to slow her down and with an exasperated sound she whirled around.

"Now this is getting weak," Glory snapped, as with a casual swipe of her hand she sent him flying across the room. He crashed into the wall hitting it hard with his shoulder, it made a sick slick cracking sound, and pain exploded making him want to throw up, he had to move, but Glory was already on him.

"And so are you honey. Aren't ya?" She grabbed his arm, wrenching his injured shoulder and he screamed as it popped with a meaty slurp. Glory was back in step and she was right, he was powerless, weak and helpless.

But he was still Very. Pissed. Off.

She laughed down at him as she twisted his arm up his back, taking pleasure in his pain, the same pleasure she'd taken with Spike? If only thoughts could beat, hurt, *kill*. He burned, yet was immobile, thoughts flickering crazily, yet clearly through his mind.

He wanted Dawn safe.

He wanted Tara to be well.

He wanted Joyce to be alive.

He wanted to get Willow out of here.

He wanted to kill Glory.

He wanted Spike back.

"Ready to beg lover?" Glory taunted as she tightened her fingers on his arm.

He hocked from the back of his throat and spat, full in her face. ~

"Well," Buffy said as she packed away the reminder of the first aid supplies, "I guess that's all I can do, are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

"No," he said with certainty. "I don't need to."

"Okay, but try and get some rest."

"I think I could sleep for a week."

She gave him a small smile. "Eight hours will do." She checked her watch. "I've got to go - I need to get back to Dawn. I'll be over tomorrow."

"Okay. Hey," he said as she reached the door.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for showing up when you did."

She fidgeted with her hair uncomfortably. "I wouldn't have, if it wasn't for Spike."

"What?" he asked blankly as his heart lurched painfully in his chest.

"He knew," Buffy said looking at him with a look on her face that he couldn't decipher. "He knew Willow was going to go after some payback, that she loved Tara so much she wouldn't care what it cost. He said he'd do it too. For the right person. Someone he loved."

She paused then continued carefully. "Of course ... as much as you care about Tara, I don't think it was her that made you go in there."

She watched him, the silence stretched out, silence that he just couldn't begin to find the words to fill. Any denial would be pointless, every injury felt spotlighted, a silent, powerful testimony to the truth. He shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, well." He said at last, oddly ashamed and embarrassed.

"Do you want to talk about this?"

He shook his head wearily.

"Okay," she said at last as she turned to go.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"Something important I need you to do for me."

She nodded seriously. "Anything."

"Spike never knows about this."

~ Her eyes widened in disbelief as she dropped him in disgust, then they darkened in fury. Fruitlessly he scrabbled back on his heels and his one good hand, the other dragging uselessly on the floor. Her hands raised, and whistled down towards him.

"Shield!"

Willow's voice rang out from over the other side of the room, and Glory's hands hit an invisible barrier barely two inches from his face. He froze as she pounded on it in frustration and he could feel it tremble, beneath her strength, yet somehow it held.

Glory snarled in frustration and her eyes turned to Willow.

"So I'm thinking you're the one with the power here sweetie. That's fine, I can deal with you first."

Stamping over to Willow she grabbed her arm and pulled her across the floor to where one of the daggers was lying. She scooped it up and continued dragging Willow.

"No!" Was it him or Willow that yelled that? Maybe it was both of them, he didn't know it didn't matter - he pushed frantically against the shield that was now his cage, sound draining from the room, he was moving in slow motion as Willow and Glory sped up - a film he was watching, incapable of participating in. Glory pulled Willow up and shoved her against the wall, holding her by the throat.

Pushing, pushing, pushing, couldn't get out. Desperate sounds issued from his mouth.

"Know what they used to do to witches, lover?" Glory asked as she flashed the knife threateningly at Willow. "Crucify 'em."

"No! Willow!" He kicked desperately against the forcefield Willow had erected around him, feeling it shiver under his feet. Weakening as Willow's power weakened. Kicked harder, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything but feeling it give that tiny bit more.

"They used to bow down to gods." Buffy's voice said ironically. A sob of relief escaped his mouth as Buffy's hand stayed Glory's knife inches from Willow's face. Buffy kicked Glory in the stomach and Glory dropped Willow to the floor, just as the forcefield broke apart and he rushed forward.

Buffy punched Glory in the face. "Things change." ~

***

Later, after he had soaked his weary aching body in a warm bath and slung on a pair of old jeans he wandered into his bedroom to check on Willow. She was still sleeping soundly, her face blotched with the tears she'd shed before dropping off. He felt oddly like crying himself. Exhausted, drained, the smallest of movements requiring monumental energy. He yearned for another power boost, yet at the same time knew it was something he could never do again. That much power had been frightening, addictive. Too addictive, to actually be able to command that power to come to you whenever you wanted it ...

He looked down at Willow and felt a shiver of faint fear.

He pushed aside his nameless floating fear and aimlessly wandered back into the front room, restless and dissatisfied. His eyes landed on the flask of brandy Buffy had forgotten to pack away. He picked it up, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand, there was still plenty left. Taste still lingered in his mouth from before, the bitter warmth that could put him beyond everything ....

Then, coming to a swift decision, he put it back in the box, closing the lid firmly.

He turned away from the box feeling a little sick and shaky. For the first time he could almost understand his dad. But he wasn't his dad. He was stronger than him. Even now, bruised and battered and feeling weaker than he ever had in his life, he was stronger. Buffy had said so herself, he had faced a hellgod. He had things in his life he wanted to hold on to, friends who needed him. *Him*, not a pathetic drunken shell. He'd seen up close exactly where that led, and he didn't need another night getting up close and personal with a piece of glass. He had to deal with things the hard way, one day at a time.

But it was so very hard.

He needed to do something to distract himself from the drink he wasn't having. He began to make up the couch where he was going to sleep tonight, but half way through he dropped the pillow he was holding, drawn to the window, he looked out. Remembering what Glory had yelled as Buffy had pulled him and Willow out of there.

~"This isn't over, you hear me? It isn't over!"~

A shiver shot down his spine. He believed her.

He looked out at Sunnydale at night. Spike was somewhere out there, unknowing of what he'd done tonight, and yes part of him - most of him - wanted to go to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let Spike know how much he'd risked, how much he still cared despite how hard he'd tried to stop, despite everything Spike had done. That only led to grinding terrible heartbreak. Far better to hide his vulnerability, bury it deep under a brittle facade of hate and resentment and keep himself safe.

He rested his head against the glass, his head spinning unhappily he looked at the room reflected in the glass. Empty and lonely, it waited there so hollowly. A tiny part of him whispered that all he had to do was forgive him - tell him he could forget the past, and Spike could be here - soon, *now* but he couldn't - he didn't *feel* it. He wanted to - but he just *didn't*. Love yes, all twisted up with resentment and hate, but forgiveness, trust ... No. Never.

But he missed him. So much. He'd tried to block it out, to only think of the bad parts, but tonight all the good parts kept flashing through his mind. Opening the door to Spike as he picked him up for their first, and only date, and Spike looking so unusually endearingly nervous. Spike insisting awkwardly on buying him his beers. Spike's eyes almost black as they lay pressed against each other, Spike swearing brokenly that he loved him ...

He shook his head, physically flinching as he tried to switch off from the memories. It felt as though his arms were tied to opposite poles and were being pulled for all they were worth and the more he was pulled the more empty and frantic he felt, and all he could do was hold on, try to keep himself together, and stay away from Spike. There was no way to fix what had passed, no way he could get back to the guy that had smiled up at Spike trustingly and believed him when he said he wouldn't harm him again. Things had gone so damn wrong no matter what they did there was never going to be a way they could be right again.

***

In the early - very early hours of the morning he woke to find Willow perched on the end of the couch, her unbrushed hair falling haphazardly over her face. She was wearing one of his old T-shirts that was way too big on her, hanging in loose folds to mid-thigh and was curled up hugging her knees in a gesture for reassurance that he recognised from their pre-school days.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey. How do you feel?"

He stretched out. "Like I went a couple of rounds with a hellgod."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"For what? With or without you I'd have still gone in there. You just kept me alive, if you think that's worth apologising for ... "

"I shouldn't have used magic on you ... if Giles knew ..."

"Hey, you just gave me a little power Wills," he interrupted, trying to stop her guilt.

"I didn't give you the power, I just ... unlocked it."

He frowned. "What?"

"Every person has power inside them, enough to light up the world if they wanted to. But there are barriers, stopping them from tapping it, I pushed down a few of your barriers. The power you used was already in you."

"Wow," he whispered, remembering the sensation of floodgates opening, power rushing through them - all that inside him? He wrenched his mind back to the moment where Willow was still huddled up unhappily. "But it was my power right?" he rationalised. "I mean ..."

"You couldn't handle it. Hardly anyone can. That's why the barriers are there, I pushed them down, it could have killed you."

"But it didn't. Don't beat yourself up over this Will."

"You, uh, you'll probably have some withdrawal symptoms today," she said guiltily, picking at a thread hanging from her T-shirt.

"What kind of symptoms?"

"Exhaustion. Some nausea."

"I can deal. Do you get that as well?"

"No - I used to though. Tara still does ... did." She gulped and looked at the clock.

"You don't have to go just yet," he said, reading her mind. "Have something to eat, get ready ... just ... prepare yourself, okay?"

She didn't respond.

"Willow? Will you be able to deal with this? Because there are other options. You could maybe find her someplace to stay or call her family or ..." He trailed off as he imagined Tara wailing in an asylum or being yelled at by her so-called family.

"No," he realised. "Of course we won't do that. We'll take care of her. It'll be fine."

Willow tried to smile gratefully, then her face crumpled and she began to cry, racking, heaving sobs and he gathered her to him, rocking her in his arms.

***

After Willow had left to pick up Tara, refusing his offer to come with her he dosed himself up on painkillers and fell back onto the couch. Willow was right, the exhaustion weighed on his limbs, in his very bones, he slept until the late afternoon, and he dreamt.

He dreamt he was running, running though rain drenched streets, the reflections of the weird orange streetlights bouncing off the wet pavement in front of him. He was tearing into his parents house, almost tripping as he ran down the stairs, back in the basement. It looked as though he'd never left, all his belongings scattered around the room, and he was turning helplessly, searching for something, as he turned to face ... whatever it was.

A curtain was fluttering against the wall, it hadn't been there before. It wasn't really there he knew that, the curtain belonged back in Spike's crypt, but in his dream it waited for him here.

"No, no, I don't want to see."

In his dream the words came out loudly, unknowing to him, he whispered them where he lay on the couch, in his apartment, his brow furrowed, tears trapped beneath the lids of his eyes.

Back in his dream in the basement his hand reached out and drew back the curtain.

"No," he moaned. "Oh no."

Buffy, Buffy, so many Buffy's, he circled helplessly, pinned down by her eyes.

"Is he someone worth fighting for Sweetie?"

And Glory was in there with him, pinning him to the floor, his hands grabbed at her, trying uselessly to fend her off as the knife in her hand stabbed down again and again, a scream welling up in his chest yet it wouldn't come out ....

On the couch he croaked helplessly, struggling to wake up, to break through the layers of exhaustion and come back to reality but couldn't, they pressed down so heavily, trapping him, he fell back into his dream and ...

He was in the graveyard, thudding through the mud and he saw, he saw ...

He saw himself and Spike, wrapped around each other frantically, their mouths melded together, their bodies joined, unaware, uncaring of the pouring rain, the mud and cold. He saw them clinging on, Spike's back arching, mouths breaking apart to gasp ...

But there was no gasp, no words, the thunder was rumbling ominously regularly, in a rhythmic thudding noise.

"You have to listen."

He jerked around to see Spike next to him, his duster dark with rain, his hair drenched.

"Listen to what?" He yelled over the thunder that was roaring louder and louder, raindrops falling into his mouth.

"*Listen*," Spike repeated.

But all he could hear was the thunder, over and over ...

His eyes were ripped open and he was on his feet before he even registered that he was awake, staring wildly around his apartment in confusion. His chest heaving as he tried to snap back into reality the loud insistent thunder was still resounding through the room and his bewildered mind finally realised that it was someone pounding on his door. Before he could even begin to cross the room Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Tara all burst in. Tara was wailing in distress, as Willow tried fruitlessly to calm her. Buffy was holding onto Dawn's hand so tightly Dawn's face was pale with pain.

He felt his own face drain of all colour.

"What -what's ..."

"Glory." Buffy answered, and he felt himself taking a swift step back at the look of sheer panic in her eyes. "She knows it's Dawn."

***

It still felt unreal. He was here - the sick worry in his stomach and the warmth of the day told him that, but he still felt as bewildered as when he'd first woken up. Too much to take in all at once and his brain was just refusing to process this latest development. He could hardly blame it, the shocks had been coming in thick and fast the past month or so. But still nothing had quite prepared him for this. This was insane - hellgods and keys notwithstanding they couldn't really be doing this! Yet somehow when Buffy had harshly asked for an alternative it had been impossible to think of anything.

Xander glanced around him. Willow was sitting on a bench with her arm around Tara, Giles was next to him silent and grim. Xander glanced down the street again as they waited for Buffy.

"Anybody else feel that?" he asked suddenly, needing to hear something, something other than the confused, clamouring thoughts in his head. Thoughts that screamed, what the hell was he doing? There were things, things that he needed to do here, he didn't know what, exactly, but there was unfinished business here in Sunnydale.

"What?" Willow asked.

"Cold draft of paralysing fear."

"We just need to stay calm," Giles interjected.

"Calm, right," Willow said sceptically.

"No he's right," Xander agreed, trying to feel some kind of resolve, something other than sick dread. "We gotta be like Sergeant Rock. Cool and collected in the face of overwhelming odds."

"Yes," Giles added reassuringly. "Everything will be all right, we just need to stay here calmly. As soon as Buffy arrives ... "

A large Winnebago motor home drove up and screeched to a halt in front of them. The windows were all covered with aluminium foil. For some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on Xander felt a crawl of dread slither over him at the sight of that. The door swung open.

"We'll feel oddly worse." Giles finished.

Xander agreed wholeheartedly. He *really* didn't want to get in there, leaving behind his home, his job, everything he'd worked so hard for. Without them, he felt as though he'd be diminished in a way the others, who carried their Slayer strength or witchy powers with them just couldn't understand. But his friends, his real family were on the line here, and without them nothing meant much anyway. He picked up his stuff and followed them in, but not before a last glance down the street, not knowing, or not wanting to know, what he was looking for, what he was saying goodbye to - but knowing whatever it was the loss of it was making him die inside.

He entered the van, glancing first to the table where Willow was trying to settle Tara next to Buffy who was studying maps with a frown of fierce concentration. His chest clenched, but he ignored it - hey at least now things couldn't get any worse ...

Yet of course they could because he turned to look at the drivers seat, and there, looking straight at him, his face utterly unreadable, was Spike.

Part Thirty-Three

Xander felt his face drain of all colour, his eyes widening as they tried to assimilate the evidence in front of them. His body was frozen with disbelief while inside he was reeling, rocked to his core, as a tidal wave of overpowering emotions threatened to drown him. Spike couldn't be here - he *couldn't*, his mind must have finally snapped under the pressure and served up in a bizarre twist the person that he held responsible. But he was here, he was right *there* ... Spike's eyes were hidden behind huge black shades - but more than his eyes were concealed, it was as though he was sheltering behind a massive barrier that was hiding ... everything. No emotion, no response, this wasn't the battered wreck Glory had left in her wake, or the pale devastated vampire that had begged him for another chance. He looked taut, tough, collected. His mouth was set in a grim line.

"What's he doing here?"

Someone voiced his thoughts but it wasn't him, it was Giles, sounding cold, angry and slightly frightening.

"Just out for a jaunt," Spike replied ironically. Xander felt Spike's concealed eyes fix on him as he spoke, and oh that voice, that cigarette and whisky and honey *voice*, it was just the way he remembered. His skin broke out in gooseflesh, Spike's voice sounding the same as it always had somehow convinced him in a way nothing else could that this wasn't some illusion his overstrained mind had served up. "Thought I'd swing by and say howdy."

"Out." Giles ordered softly and menacingly.

"He's here because we need him." Buffy said finally looking up.

Xander turned to face Buffy - it was so much easier to look at her than Spike, and as he tore his eyes away his power of speech finally returned.

"The hell we do," he said quietly. She couldn't, she *wouldn't* do this to him. Would she?

Buffy's eyes flickered slightly yet her face remained set in determination and a cold realisation swept over him. She would. She didn't care that Spike had used and wrecked him, how he'd drank and wept, how the sight of Spike brought back all his worst memories making him feel sick, filthy and degraded. Dawn's life was hanging in the balance, and nothing, not even a friendship that had endured as much as theirs had meant anything compared to that as far as Buffy was concerned.

Maybe Buffy read the anguish on his face because he could swear he saw a flash of guilt pass over her face, but her voice was resolved. "If Glory finds us, he's the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn."

"Buffy, come on ..." he begged helplessly, hopelessly.

Buffy leapt angrily to her feet as though unable to bear the pressure of his misery a second longer. "Look, this isn't a discussion! He stays." Her eyes met his fleetingly and then she pulled them away. "Get over it," she finished with a faint trace of self-disgust in her voice. She grabbed one of the maps, and stormed into the back room, slamming the door behind her.

There was a moment of awful silence. Xander could feel everyone's eyes fixed on him, even Tara's. Almost against his will his head turned back to Spike who was smiling slightly bitterly.

"Buckle up, kids, Daddy's puttin' the hammer down!"

Spike slammed into gear and the RV screeched off accelerating violently. Xander lurched helplessly, almost falling to the floor, and it wasn't just because of Spike's driving.

***

Buffy leant against the door, closing her eyes briefly. Part of her wanted to cry, but mostly she didn't have the energy. She hated herself for what she was doing to Xander, wanted to go out and hug him, say sorry, but she couldn't, she'd made up her mind and being tough was the best way to handle it, the only way she could handle anything without breaking down, she couldn't stop and she couldn't soften - not for a second, but poor Xander ...

/'Come on B!'/ Faith's voice spoke up coolly in her head. /'Don't wimp out now. Slayer's gotta do and all that'./

/Oh I do miss you Faith!/ She cried out silently, not to the unstable, cruel Faith, who'd scared them so much but to the other Faith. The wickedly funny, tough talking, vulnerable Slayer who'd burst into her life, who understood that slaying was a tough gig and you couldn't always be the kind, sensitive, good friend you wanted to be, sometimes you had to bruise people to keep them alive. /I miss you. Especially on days like this when everything is so hard and scary and everyone is looking to me for answers and I don't know what to do ... /

If Faith had been here than maybe they would have had a shot against Glory, maybe they could have stood and fought rather than running away.
She opened her eyes and with a weary sigh sat down with her map. The Faith that had been was gone, swallowed up by her shadow side. Mom was dead. Riley and Angel had left. The responsibility lay squarely on her shoulders alone, and though it was such a burden, though it felt like it was crushing her she wouldn't put it down. Whatever it took, any sacrifice she had to make. Xander would deal. They all had to deal.

***

Spike tightened his trembling hands on the steering wheel as the R.V wandered dangerously over the road. His facade of calmness was paper thin and coming apart at the seams. His voice was steady, his demeanour calm and he deserved a fucking Emmy for this but the truth was his hands clenched so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles glowed white, his mouth dry with nerves and his already shredded nerves screaming like violins. His ears were on full alert for what was happening behind him. Apart from a whispered question from Willow to Xander as to whether he was alright - a question that Xander hadn't answered - nothing more about his being here had been said and the pressure was mounting steadily as everyone worked hard to pretend that this situation wasn't about a million miles south from being normal.

He took a corner way too fast and the tyres screeched protestingly. He must be insane. He should have told Slayer to piss off the minute, the *second* she'd appeared in his crypt - yet somehow he'd found himself agreeing quietly to this crazy scheme of hers without even asking what was in it for him.
Oh who was he kidding? He knew what was in it for him. Even though the thought of facing Glory again was terrifying, even though seeing Xander was pulverising him with guilt, even though it hurt more than he could bear to be so close to what he'd lost, he wasn't going to walk away from this. There were exactly two people in the world that he cared about, both of them were sitting behind him and he was damned if he was going to let them face the final battle without him fighting with full fists and fangs in their corner. He could die, he knew that. He just didn't care much, he had a chance here to make amends and he was damn well taking it. He thought of Xander who was sitting hunched up at the table, his back pointedly turned to him. Whether Xander liked it or not. He was just lucky his healing powers had finally begun to kick in, his bruises had vanished, his scars fading, even though he wasn't at full strength yet. He wouldn't have even gotten this far if it hadn't been for Dawn. Against his will he remembered the cavern - the scrape as she'd caught her hand on the sharp edge of the rock, the scent of blood, rich and warm in the air and her uncertain question. "Will it help you heal?"

With an unfamiliar feeling of guilt he pulled his mind away from the memory with distaste. He'd only had a few drops, he justified angrily and he hadn't taken anything that hadn't been freely offered. It wasn't like he'd sliced the Bit, it was an accident. Like Xander finding that bloody Buffy closet that he hadn't had the brains to burn long ago.

He slammed his foot to the floor, and the engine roared in protest at his rough handling as they shot forward again and the road fell away behind them. He only wished he could leave the past behind as easily.

"Spike." Giles was standing next to him. Talk about the iron hand in a velvet glove. Before Giles Spike would never have believed a middle-aged English ex-librarian could have made his insides turn to water with fear. "For the love of God pull over and let me drive."

"I can handle this."

"The tyre marks you burnt into the road back there beg to differ. Pull the hell *over*." Giles voice was tempered with steel and with resignation Spike sharply pulled over and slid out from the driver's seat to let Giles take the wheel.

As they pulled away again, somewhat slower and a good deal more steadily he turned to where Xander was sitting with the two witches and Dawn. He
hesitated. Although there was a seat spare there was no place for him at that table. Dawn looked up at him anxiously but before she could speak Xander rose to his feet and came towards him.

"I want to talk to you."

Xander's face was pale but his mouth was set in a tough line, and he didn't need to hear what Xander was going to say to know it wasn't going to be a tender speech suggesting they be friends and make the best of this. Xander's fingers bit into his arm as he pulled him so they were facing away from the girls. They were all studiously keeping their eyes averted, pretending they didn't notice anything going on. Xander released his arm and Spike slowly took off his sunglasses. He felt as though he was taking off a suit of armour, baring his heart. Naked and vulnerable, and oh so ashamed, however much he tried to be calm, to be on his best behaviour he knew his mere presence here was ripping them both apart, but never mind him, he didn't matter, it was Xander's pain that was killing him.

"What are you doing here?" Xander asked in such a low voice that it was barely audible even to his keen vampire hearing. "More games?"

"I'm here for the Little Bit," Spike tried to speak calmly. "I want to help."

"Do you expect me to believe that you are actually being noble? Come on Spike - why don't you tell me what the real reason is? Planning to hand Dawn over to Glory so you can get a hellhole with a view when she takes over?"

Spike tensed, his determination not to snap back shattered under the brutal attack. Yeah, he knew anything Xander had to say against him he deserved, but he had no right to use Dawn to get back at him, no right to suggest that he'd ever do *anything* to hurt that girl. Before he could stop himself he found himself hitting back.

"Harris I know you don't think much but try and get what passes for your brain around this; Slayer asked. I agreed. I'm gonna protect the Bit until I'm dust in the wind, and if you don't like it see how far you get taking me and Slayer on, 'cos the way I see it out of the two of us, you're the expendable one here." No sooner had the words dropped into the space between them then he wished with all his heart that he could take them back. What a great way to make amends, lashing out at him, trying to hurt him as much as he could, but the pressure, the *pain* of Xander's loathing was unbearable, his defences splitting under it, and patience wasn't his thing. When he had his back against the wall attack was the best form of defence.

Xander's eyes looked very dark. His extreme stillness spoke of his struggle to batten down on a tide of violent emotions and Spike felt himself tense. It was only when Xander spoke again that he realised he'd been waiting for the blow.

"Fine." Xander said at last. "But one foot out of line and I'll see exactly how far a vampire can bounce along the ground after being thrown from a moving vehicle before bursting into flames. Buffy or no Buffy."

"God you've got cruel," Spike observed as his body trembled helplessly.

"Oh didn't you hear?" Xander shot back with fake surprise that failed to mask the biting anger in his voice. "A heartless bastard used, abused and lied to me. It kind of changed me. Great plan by the way. Really worked well."

Words. Who was it that said words couldn't hurt? What bullshit. Words were the most vicious, heartbreaking weapon in the world, especially from someone you loved with your whole heart, would *die* for if it would only make them think of you kindly. Words could kill you over and over, make you wake in the night and weep time and time again under the sting that never faded.

The pause that dropped between them after Xander's speech was pain streaked, harsh, and terrible to listen to. Much like Xander's voice had been. Unable to bear looking at the devastation he had wrought anymore Spike dropped his eyes from Xander's. Xander turned away in a swift jerky movement, sitting next to Willow and Tara.

"It wasn't worth it." Spike said quietly to himself.

***

As Giles drove Xander tried to fight back the nausea welling up relentlessly inside him while keeping his eyes averted from Spike who was sitting on the floor beside Dawn's seat. He *hated* that, seeing those two so friendly, he itched to drag her away from him but he had no real reason to. After their confrontation Spike had been quiet, and yeah, maybe he shouldn't have said what he'd said to Spike. If nothing else then Spike had proved he'd do a lot for Dawn but everything was still so hard and hurt so much. Sad and furious, sick and filled with hate, for himself, Spike and Buffy, he felt like someone was taking a huge wooden spoon to his emotions and giving them a vicious stir. He wanted to scream, yell, smash everything in sight and burst into helpless tears, but he couldn't. All he could do was sit still and endure as the R.V roared on down the highway, feeling that if Spike so much as brushed past him he thought he'd scream from sheer nervous tension.

"Spike?" Dawn asked tentatively as the silence became unbearably tense, "did you bring some cards? We could play a game."

"I wouldn't play with him Dawn," Xander was unable to stop himself from remarking bitterly. "One way or another he'll bleed you dry."

Dawn bit her lip nervously as Spike flinched slightly yet said nothing.

"Xander," Willow remonstrated gently.

"What? All I'm saying is Spike here is a master at bluffing, gets you to lay all your cards on the table then hits you with his best shot. Right Spike? Isn't that how you play?"

His voice was shaking, he felt sick but driven, appalled at what he saying, and yet revelling in it. The contrast between Spike's apparent acceptance of the situation and his own neurotic terrors was just too much to bear. If he couldn't imitate Spike's cool manner - which he couldn't - then he wanted to wreck it any way he could.

Spike still didn't reply but his jaw was clenching, as his body vibrated minutely with the pressure.

"Oh c'mon Spike!" he pressed. "Admit it, you're the best at your games, we all have such fun playing your games. Just a problem though, nobody but you knows the rules!" He was almost snarling as he spoke, Dawn was looking close to tears.

Spike snapped, his blue eyes were almost black. "Look, I ..."

"I don't even want to play anymore," Dawn interrupted quickly.

"Yeah that's what I said at first," Xander said without even looking at her.

"Don't recall you making that bluff very convincing though," Spike said angrily, finally abandoning his silence and under his initial flinch of pain Xander felt bitterly triumphant. He could cope with Spike snapping, it was Spike being heroic that was so impossible.

"Do we know where we're going yet?" Dawn called to Giles desperately as he opened his mouth for a stinging response.

"We'd already be somewhere if Captain Slowpoke would give up the wheel." Spike muttered, leaping on the change of subject with relief. "Hey Gramps! Bloody step on it!"

"Step on what?" Giles snapped back. "I've driven tricycles with more power!"

The vehicle lurched and Xander groaned, the nausea wasn't going, it was getting worse. He felt seriously ill, in fact he'd never felt worse in his life, he flashed hot and cold uncomfortably, his head was pounding and his mouth kept rushing frighteningly with saliva which was strange since he never usually got travel sick. Why did he have to start now - in front of Spike?

"Is anybody else queasy?" he asked in confusion. Willow looked at him with an expression of guilt and warning that confused him. He frowned, then remembered. She had warned him about this, exhaustion and nausea, the aftermath from the spell they had done so he could face Glory. Oh yeah *that* spell, the spell Spike must *never* know about, because then Spike would know that some part of him still cared and he had to shut that out, keep it away, it was the only way to survive.

For a moment he glimpsed another reality, one co-existing alongside all his anger, a reality where he couldn't hide behind a safe wall of hate. He rubbed his eyes frantically. He must be going mad. The feeling he'd had last night that his arms were tied to opposite poles and were being pulled was getting stronger and stronger, he could swear he could almost feel himself being ripped in two.

"He doesn't travel well. He's like fine shrimp." Willow hurried to cover for him.

"I shoulda nicked that Porsche I had my eye on," he heard Spike's voice say to Dawn, but he *knew* that Spike was trying to lash out at him. "There's just enough room for me, you, and big sis."

The other reality vanished, the wall flew back up and Xander dropped his hand form his eyes to fix Spike with a look of utter loathing.

"What?" Spike retaliated, feigning ignorance.

"Would you give it a rest, or..."

"Or what, you're gonna toss your cookies on my shoes?" Spike raised an eyebrow, but although his voice was coolly unimpressed Xander knew he was trying to remind him of their confrontation and his earlier slam about how useless he was. Two could play at that game.

"Or you can be undead man walking," he glared, reminding Spike of *his* earlier threat. "See how fast you can hitch a ride with a flaming ..." Xander balked but somehow managed to finish the sentence, " ...thumb."

"Fine." Spike said quietly. "Shrimp."

Xander stood up suddenly, as to his horror he unexpectedly felt a humiliating need to cry. He had to get away from Spike before he betrayed a hint of weakness. He stumbled away, and fell with relief into the passenger seat beside Giles.

"That guy is bloodsuckin' the last nerve right outta me," he said, barely knowing what he was saying just knowing he had to speak, to somehow regain his composure and reduce this nightmare to manageable proportions.

"Well, Buffy has a point," Giles said reluctantly. "In a confrontation, Spike may prove ..." he paused as Xander visibly winced. " ... useful."

"I don't know if Buffy's thinkin' too clear on that one, or anything else right now. I've never seen her so ..."

"She's ... been through more than her fair share of late," Giles reminded him gently, his loyalty to Buffy indestructible. "She just needs a chance to catch her breath, regroup. She'll be all right."

"Yeah. She'll ... Yeah." Xander ran out of words, ran out of breath, struck dumb by *his* need to catch his breath and regroup, something he wasn't going to get while Spike was within spitting distance.

"How are *you* coping?" Giles asked, keeping his eyes studiously ahead.

Xander felt a hysterical laugh well up, but managed to swallow it down, and say almost calmly; "Been better, Giles. Been better."

"I know it's hard," Giles said, genuinely sympathetic but mercifully unemotional. His calmness helped Xander to recover a little. He remained in the seat beside Giles, staring blindly at the road stretching ahead.

***

They left the city and roared down the highway. Willow still studied her book. Dawn peered curiously over her shoulder. Spike sat opposite Dawn, sad it may be that a master vampire needed to be close to a fourteen-year-old girl but he needed to know that someone was on his side and Dawn's light brushes and soft inquires as to if he was okay were balm on his stinging and raw emotions. He wasn't proud of the way he'd snapped back at Xander earlier, even though Xander had obviously wanted it, gone out of his way to provoke it. What else could he have done? /Yeah/ he thought with disgust, /I'm a real prince./ Shit. What a bloody awful mess this all was. A mess *he* had made.

"Any luck?" Dawn asked Willow and with relief he turned away from torturing himself to listen to them.

"Uh, if you define luck as the absence of success, plenty," Willow replied glumly. "There's a couple barrier spells, but they only work on a fixed locus. Haven't found anything that'll work while we're still moving."

Tara reached out her hands across Willow, towards Dawn. "So pretty, can I have one?"

Willow gently pushed her arm back. "Come on," she reproved gently. "Anyone hungry?" Dawn asked swiftly. Spike grimaced at the fake brightness in her voice; the poor kid was still eating herself up with guilt over Tara.

"Snacks are the secret to any successful migration." Dawn continued reaching into her backpack. He was watching her with concern when suddenly unexpected pain flared up, heat searing his hand - thanks to Tara, who had lifted the blind to look curiously outside.

"Hey! Aah!"

He bolted in a panic into the shadows as a horrified Willow realised what had happened. "Tara, no! What did I tell you?"

The sunlight vanished as Willow pulled Tara back from the window, shoving the blind back down. Tara wailed loudly at the harshness in Willow's voice. The stench of burnt skin hung acridly in the air.

"Shh." Willow crooned repentantly pulling the weeping Tara's head to her chest to comfort her. She glanced up at Spike, misery in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. She, she didn't mean to." Willow apologised tearfully. "She doesn't know what she's doing."

His sharp expletive died on his lips as the sight of them brought back an onslaught of memories. How often had he soothed Dru, just like that as he tried to protect her from all the bad things in her mind? Instead he nodded, trying to signal to Willow that he understood.

"We know." Dawn said softly.

"No biggie," he said to Willow, then awkwardly to Tara, who was still crying; "Look, the skin's already stopped smoking. You go ahead and play peek-a-boo with Mister Sunshine all you like. It keeps the ride from getting boring."

Willow gave him a grateful look, then turned back to soothing Tara who was wailing about the lack of light. He winced with pain as he tried to flex his injured hand, then glanced up to see Xander on his feet, staring at the angry red that had slashed across his pale skin. Spike's heart leapt into his mouth with a wild surge of hope. The look on Xander's face ...

Xander met Spike's eyes and for a moment Spike could read all kinds of conflicting emotions on his face, compulsively he took a small useless step forward then stopped. Xander's eyes were unreadable again, his face stony. He turned away pointedly, sinking back in his seat next to Giles. Spike's heart plummeted back down so quickly he felt sick.

Dawn caught his eye. "Okay?" she mouthed concerned. Was he? He didn't know - but he knew his hand wasn't what was hurting him. He gave her a quick nod and Dawn gave Tara a last unhappy look before slipping away into the back bedroom where Buffy was still ensconced, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry," Red said again, she was looking close to tears herself as Tara whimpered into her breast.

"'S'alright." He stared blindly at his hand, had to - it was easier than looking at Xander. "Compared to some stuff, this is nothing." He turned to Willow. "Don't beat yourself up over it Red. I remember it's no picnic havin' a girl who's out of her mind."

Willow stroked Tara's hair in a gesture of wordless tenderness as her lip trembled. "How did you bear it?"

A deep pang of empathy so strong it hurt resounded throughout him as she looked at him, struggling under a burden he remembered only too well. "Had to. No choice. I loved her. Maybe it was easier for me though. I never knew her any other way."

Willow nodded silently and for a moment their eyes met in a wordless understanding.

There had been a faint thundering sound faintly gaining on them for a minute or so, but with all the hand scorching he hadn't really noticed it - however now it was getting very loud. Just as he began to wonder in irritation what the hell the noise was, the bedroom door opened.

"Giles!" Buffy shouted warningly.

"I see them." Giles replied grimly.

"See who?" Spike asked, confused, as the thundering sound became easily distinguishable as horse's hoofs. He leapt back in shock as an arrow flew into the wall next to him, then the next moment dozens of them began to shoot into the R.V as the yells outside - war cries of dozens of men - streamed in.

Oh right, the crusade. Didn't look like he'd need Tara to keep the ride from getting boring after all.

Part Thirty-Four

Xander peered out through a gap in the wooden slats that had been haphazardly nailed over the windows of the ramshackle abandoned gas station. The great 'run away' plan had failed, utterly and completely. The knights outside surrounded the building, pacing restlessly, held back by the magic barrier Willow had erected, while they were inside, cornered like rats in a trap with no transport, no weapons and no plan. Although his sickness had faded his stomach was still tensed in a huge tight knot. It had been one disaster after another, first the attack which had led to them losing the R.V, then the frantic fight they'd had in here before Willow had got the barrier up, followed by Buffy's cold, tense confrontation with the General they had captured. The General wasn't going to stop his knights from attacking them until Dawn was dead. Pretty ironic that although both groups were desperate to keep Dawn from Glory they had still ended up on opposite sides.

Although they now had a moment to re-group none of them could relax. He was charged with nerves but had no outlet for his energy, there was nothing they could do but wait for the barrier to break or fade away, and for the knights to come charging in. Not to mention Glory would be searching for them by now. He almost wished the battle was happening, it would be better than it looming over them like this. He wondered vaguely if he was a candidate for a nervous breakdown. Probably, but he couldn't flake out now, they had more important things to worry about.

He turned away from the window, to look at Giles. Giles had been impaled with a spear during the attack on the R.V and was bleeding heavily, and although Xander tried to stay calm - freaking out wasn't going to help anyone - dread kept clutching at him, paralysing him with agonising worry. Giles looked pretty bad. At least the knights had allowed them to send for help for him, he just wished help would hurry up and get here.

Xander tore his eyes away from Giles to check on the others. Buffy was pacing anxiously, biting her lip so hard tiny drops of blood formed under the pressure, the angry red standing out garishly against her pale strained face. Willow had her arms wrapped around Tara who stared ahead blankly, oblivious to Willow's embrace. Dawn was huddled in the corner next to Spike. Xander's eyes flickered as they lingered on Spike. Spike had also been injured in the attack, his hands had been badly cut when he had grabbed hold of a sword to stop it from impaling Buffy in her head. Plus despite the knights being human he had thrown a punch at one, which must have given him one hell of a headache.

/That was very brave of him./ A small voice in his head whispered. That voice had been whispering a lot of things like that the past few hours. Ever since he'd first stepped into the R.V and been brought face to face with all the feelings he'd so stubbornly refused to acknowledge. He forced himself to look away before Spike became aware of his gaze, he didn't have time to think about this now - not while Giles lay bleeding silently and ominously.

He turned again to look back out of the small gap and to his immense relief he saw the brightness of headlights cut through the dark.

"Buffy, he's here."

Buffy ceased her pacing, and nodded. "Will?"

The girls slipped outside to open up a door in the barrier as Ben, looking around him nervously at the gathering of the knights around the building, climbed out of his car.

***

Thankfully Ben seemed to take all this weirdness in his stride with impressive calmness, working away, stemming the bleeding, bandaging Giles up and injecting him with something to numb the pain, while all the time laying on the charm with the Buffster. Pretty smooth of Ben. Xander felt a tiny smile touch his mouth as his gripping anxiety about Giles eased. Ben seemed like a good guy, and having a doctor around was always handy. Buffy obviously liked him, maybe this time she'd hit the jackpot. It was kind of nice that in the midst of all this hellish uncertainty something good was beginning. Buffy was smiling at Ben, her eyes filled with gratitude and warmth, and a spark that could so easily become something more, while Ben was looking at Buffy as though he was just falling into her. In an effort to give them a little more privacy Xander let his eyes slide away from them. It felt almost like trespassing to watch them when they were looking at each other like that.

With a mighty effort he managed to stop himself from looking across the room to where Spike's tense, black leather clad form was. Instead he found himself watching Dawn. Sometimes it was impossible to believe that this fragile-looking young girl was the cause of all this, that she was made from mystic energy so precious that the monks had believed she could be a powerful force for good and so dangerous that the knights would fight and die to stop her from falling into Glory's hands. He loved her dearly, as though she were his own sister, but how much of that was real and how much was false memories? Whatever - it didn't matter. The General said she was the Key no matter what form she had been pressed into - well as far as he was concerned she was Dawn, no matter what she was made from.

She must have sensed his eyes on her, because she turned to face him and as he flashed her a small reassuring smile she came over to him.

***

Spike slumped moodily against the wall and made a renewed effort to stay calm as the pressure inside him to roar, break something, fight someone, mounted steadily. This waiting was hard on everyone, all charged up with nowhere to go, but he felt like for him it had an extra dimension of frustration. His demon was rattling in its cage angrily - desperate to be out and free and tearing through the bastards who had them trapped. Starting with the wanker General in the next room who spoke about Dawn so coldly and emptily. If only he didn't have this fucking chip, he'd slash a bloody swath through those knights, steal the doc's car - get Dawn and Xander to safety ...

His fists tried to clench and the stab of pain from his injured hands brought him back to the reality of the situation. He was totally helpless against the knights, trapped in here with his back against the wall and Xander everywhere he looked, and as the knights outside worked out a way to kick the door down, and slaughter them all, Slayer refused to move, plan, do anything but wait and make googly eyes at the idiot doc! Did she think that the knights were going to go away if she waited long enough? Not bloody likely, the only thing on their mind was destroying the Key.

He instinctively looked up for Dawn to reassure himself she was still safe and saw her over the other side of the room, heading towards Xander. Despite a small twinge of guilt, knowing that Dawn wouldn't like it, he couldn't stop himself from tuning into their conversation.

"Hey," Spike heard Xander say comfortingly to her. "You okay Dawnster?"

Dawn gave a slight shiver as she avoided the question. "I think Giles is looking better."

"Sure he is - Giles is pretty tough for a member of the tea and scones brigade." Xander spoke lightly, but Dawn didn't respond to his cheer. Spike glanced up surreptitiously, Dawn had a look on her face that broke his heart, weary and guilty and frightened. For a moment she looked old.

/C'mon Xander/ Spike silently pleaded. /Stop the jokes, open your eyes and help the girl will you?/

"Hey," Xander said seriously as he realised the depth of Dawn's distress. "Don't worry, everything is gonna be okay."

"How?" she asked hopelessly.

"We'll find a way," Xander replied determinedly, sounding indestructibly positive. "No way will we let anything happen to you. We're not going to let you go." Dawn gave Xander a small, grateful smile. Spike felt a surge of bittersweet relief as she looked comforted. Of course they hadn't needed him over there. They were doing just fine without him.

"Are *you* okay?" Dawn asked Xander.

"Sure," Xander replied casually.

"Spike's not."

Spike started with shock, his eyes widening. He couldn't believe that Dawn had just said that! Part of him was embarrassed and a little annoyed at her interference, another part was deeply touched that she cared enough about him to speak up for him, and more than either of them was the overwhelming, powerful surge of hope as he listened, transfixed, for Xander's reply.

/Please/ he begged silently. /Please, give me something. Anything .../

"Oh," Xander said quietly. "Well maybe I don't care how Spike is feeling."

Spike flinched as the words slashed into him, even as he rolled his eyes in bitter mockery at his own stupidity. What else had he expected? Unable to bear listening to anymore, he stumbled blindly away.

***

As he spoke, out of the corner of his eye Xander saw Spike flinch, and knew, as he'd suspected all along, that Spike had been listening to their conversation. Damn vampire hearing. But he didn't have to worry about that anymore as Spike blundered from the room.

/Serves him right for listening/ Xander thought defensively, but it was an empty consolation. Spike was hurting. The thought didn't give him any savage pleasure anymore and a cold touch of fear ran down his spine. He'd built these walls of hate thick and high around him to keep him safe, and now they were shaking around him.

"Please make up with him." Dawn said quietly. "He's really sorry and he's trying so hard to make it right. Don't hate him anymore."

"What else am I gonna do? I think we all saw how well the other thing worked out."

"You could just be friends," Dawn said hopefully.

Xander closed his eyes briefly in despair. He knew she meant well, but offering sugar-sweet suggestions that couldn't even begin to deal with utter, devastating, raging heartbreak wasn't helping. For a moment he was barely even aware of Dawn next to him, in his head he was seeing himself, drunk and drowning, so much hurt, blood pouring from his arm, the pain where he had sliced his arm, nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

"I can't be friends with him."

"Well okay maybe not friends," Dawn said, frowning a little as she struggled to explain what she meant. "But ... forgive him. All he wants is to make things right with you."

And her words weren't sugar or useless anymore, as she spoke the walls shook around him, as though each word was a bash against them.

"If it's revenge you want - then you've got it." Dawn continued. "You're really hurting him, but things are really bad and scary right now, and we don't know how it's going to end. You don't have to ... you know ... with him again, but if you can let him know that he hasn't been trying for nothing ... well I wouldn't waste your chance, because ... I think you want to take it."

His defences were crumbling, memories crowded in of all the things he'd tried to block out but just kept pressing against him, demanding to be acknowledged. Spike who had loved him, Spike who had admitted he'd been a real bastard but apologised and swore to make it up to him. Spike who had grabbed onto a sword to save Buffy and been tortured by Glory for Dawn and for *him* and all this good, all this courage had stemmed from Spike's 'plan'. It didn't make the pain Spike had caused him any less heart-rending, but it made it less meaningless. Even now Spike was trying so hard, suffering along with him as he tried to put things right and Xander couldn't bear to think of him hurting. He couldn't go back - the relationship was dead, and he would never be able to bear to be so vulnerable with Spike again, but he didn't want Spike to hurt anymore because of him, and even as he articulated these feelings in his head forgiveness finally streamed though him as the walls crashed down.

His hands that had been tightened into fists relaxed, his shoulders loosened, and the relentless, unbearable tension that had been relentlessly gnawing inside him, making him frustrated and furious, vanished. Folded up and flew away with a whisper.

It felt very strange to be out from his protective barrier. It was quiet without the relentless roar of his anger and hurt, he felt exposed, raw and shaky, but somehow more himself than he had been for a long time. Dawn smiled supportively at him, sensing his change of heart and he felt a little stronger. How strange it was that *Dawn* of all people was able to help him let go. Not Buffy, or Willow or Giles, in the end help came from where he had least expected to find it. Xander looked at her for a moment. "Y'know what? I am really glad the monks sent you to us."

Dawn's eyes glowed with surprise and pleasure as he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

***

Spike stood in the dark, chilly back room, ignoring the General who was tied up in here, as he fiercely willed himself to regain his composure although it felt like his rack was being tightened an extra couple of hundred notches. Of course he could handle this - he could handle anything, but right now he needed a moment to give his poor aching heart a chance to patch itself up, to regain his customary assurance. His hands hurt. He was tired and lonely, heartsick and sad. He'd tried so hard but it was all for nothing and it hurt. It hurt.

The moment stretched on and his composure remained just out of reach. After a while he tried to light a smoke, anything to stop himself from breaking down but his hands hurt so badly he couldn't get the grip necessary on the lighter to spark it up.

"Ow," he whispered, despising himself for such pitiful weakness, when Xander entered the room, standing in the doorway, his eyes glancing briefly at the General before coming to rest thoughtfully on him. Spike furiously refused to look up. If he had come in here to unleash more vitriolic abuse he didn't want it. Xander didn't say anything, but he moved. He stepped up to him, taking the lighter from him gently, but firmly. Spike finally managed to look up at him warily. Xander remained beside him, looking at him without the crackling loathing that had been emanating from him for so long.

Spike looked at the lighter still nestled in Xander's hand. "Thanks," he said, his voice coming out almost casually.

The lighter sparked under Xander's fingers and Spike leaned in briefly, guiding his cigarette to the flame. Couldn't look Xander in the eyes. Couldn't or else he'd end up doing something stupid. The tip of the cigarette glowed in the darkness of the room and Xander snapped the lighter closed as Spike took a drag, waiting.

"You know, those things'll kill you," Xander said, breaking the silence with reassuring awkwardness as he nodded to the cigarette.

Fortunately, since words were beyond him, Spike didn't have to reply to that, he merely arched an eyebrow. /Keep cool. Keep unemotional. Keep safe./

"Oh. Right," Xander said as he thought processed that sentence, then nothing more. The abuse didn't come - and cautiously Spike acknowledged that it didn't feel like it was going to come. There was no bitterness or searing tension polluting the air, and somehow it was deeply comforting that Xander was being ... well *Xander* with him again.

They stood side by side, leaning against the wall, as Spike inhaled. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, and suddenly he felt a little better, though maybe it didn't really have anything to do with smoking.

"I mention today how much I don't like you?" Xander said as he stared into the middle distance.

Spike felt a small smile touch his mouth. "You mighta let it slip in ... " He looked at Xander. "Once or twice."

Xander looked at him and smiled back. A real smile - the kind he hadn't seen from Xander for a long time, and suddenly he wanted to laugh, howl with relief, and weep because with that tiny, wordless exchange he heard everything Xander couldn't find the words to say.

He wanted to babble out his thanks, his feelings, try to explain what was in his heart but there were no words that could begin to cover it and he was afraid of saying something stupid, making some passionate proclamation that would only upset Xander, so he stayed silent, still, and despite all the overwhelming relief, sadness welled up as well. Sadness that he already knew would never really leave him. He may have been forgiven, but Xander wasn't going to come back. An aching loss for what might have been wrenched inside him, as they stood, without touching, beside each other, behaving so politely, when once this dark boy had loved him so much, had laid in his arms, exhausted, sated and glowing.

"How're your feelers?" Xander asked.

Spike tensed again as his thoughts were drawn back to the danger they were all in right now. "Nothing compared to the little bits we're gonna get chopped into when the Renaissance Faire kicks the door in. And here we bloody sit."

"It's not like we got much of a choice," Xander pointed out.

"Could make a break for it!" Spike said desperately, all the emotion he dared not reveal to Xander firing him up as he let off steam by lashing out against their situation. He gestured to their captive. "Use General Armor-All as a shield, get to the doc's car, and ..."

"Great plan," Xander interrupted. "And while all the hacking and slashing's going on, what are you gonna be doing, huh? Throwing migraines at 'em?"

"Look, we stay here, we all die!" /*You'll* die you idiot and d'you think I could stand it?/ "At least this way, some of us /you/ might get ..."

"No."

Buffy's voice cut into their exchange and they both jumped as guiltily as if she'd caught them plotting to hand Dawn over to the knights for a little slice and dice while they snuck out the back way. They spun around to see her standing in the doorway.

"We're all gonna make it," she said grimly. "I'm not losing anyone."

Spike sighed. When it came to sheer bloody determination you couldn't beat the Slayer - but still ...

"Check the supplies." Buffy ordered coldly. "See if anyone's hungry."

They exchanged a glance, but walked out of the room without attempting to argue with her. However before they reached the next room. Spike grabbed Xander's arm, pulling into a small unlit cubby away from the others.

"Hey - what ...?" Xander yelped startled, and instantly on edge.

Spike quickly let go of his arm, /not gonna fuck it up - not gonna upset him/ forcing himself to keep calm, determined not to scare Xander off the second they'd begun to make peace, but still blocked his way out, speaking rapidly.

"Listen we could get out Xander, you and me, the knights out there don't care about us, we could get past 'em ..."

"What?" Xander exclaimed in confusion. "What are you talking about? What about Dawn?"

"Slayer can look after her until ..."

"Gee its nice to see how deep your loyalty goes Spike!"

"*Loyalty*?" Spike repeated incredulously. "You know I'd protect her until the end of the world."

"So why do you want to run out on her now?" Xander questioned grimly, folding his arms.

"I'm not running out on her," Spike spelled out. "I'm trying to save *you*." Despite his determination to stay cool and unemotional in order not to disturb this delicate balance they had just reached he couldn't stop the passionate words from flowing, the situation was too desperate. "Do you think I could stand it if anything happened to you? I'll come back to help the others when you're safe!"

"Oh." Xander said softly.

For a long moment their eyes locked on to each others, and something swelled up in Spike's heart, something hot and tight and full of longing, then Xander uncomfortably broke the gaze. "But no way. I'm not leaving my friends."

Spike rolled his eyes in furious exasperation as his frustration reached boiling point. "Look it's not like you can do anything! What good is you getting killed gonna do them?"

"Thanks Spike," Xander said, annoyance masking his hurt. "But I can do more than you against these guys, and useless or not I'm staying - and if you can't get that then I guess you really don't understand loyalty."

"You're a bloody fine one to talk about loyalty!" Spike snapped before he could stop himself, and shit here he was fucking things up *again* but he couldn't help it. The past weeks had been hell for him as well, and the words he'd repressed for so long were hurtling out of his mouth like lemmings off a cliff.

"What?" Xander questioned angrily.

"What happened to all those promises *you* made? All that stuff you said ..."

"Yeah I think that was *before* I found your stalker closet of my best friend!" Xander snarled.

"I burnt it!" Spike hissed furiously. "Y'know you're not the only one that's been through hell. Do you know what it's been like while you've been so busy hatin' me? It's not been a bloody joy to behold, I've taken a beating from a Slayer, abuse from the witch, threats from the watcher, a punching from you, and, oh yeah, *torture* from Glory, all for *you* - you want to see the scars?"

"You want to see mine?" Xander burst out furiously, and his dark eyes weren't polite or cold or empty anymore but brilliant, burning with passion.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're not the only one that's faced up to Glory okay? I went after her for you!"

"What?" Spike snorted in disbelief. "Yeah as if you'd do that for me ..."

"How do you think I got these?" Xander viciously pulled his shirt away to show bruises coming up on his throat as his voice flowed on in an unstoppable tide. "Or had a dislocated shoulder, or a knife nearly embedded in my head? I went after her for *you*- after everything you've done to me, so don't tell *me* about loyalty or love or ..."

Xander stopped.

Spike was motionless, so was Xander, as though they were standing on a precipice and the slightest movement would have them tumbling down. Spike stared at Xander, he stared back. His too-long dark hair was falling into his eyes, which were just full of that confused look he'd missed so much as Xander tried to work out what had just happened between them. Always trying to make sense of stuff, that was Xander, but he was beyond making sense of it, there was no sense in any of this, all he knew was that Xander had risked his life for him. For loyalty, for love, and he wanted to touch him so badly he ached inside.

"Let me see," he said quietly, reaching his hand out, stopping just before his hand brushed against the bruised skin on Xander's neck.

Xander stared at him blankly as though he'd just spoken in a different language he didn't understand, then he shook his head as he fumbled with his shirt to try and hide his injuries again. "No - it's not - it doesn't matter. I should ..."

"Xander."

Xander stopped talking.

"Please."

Xander swallowed hard. " A-alright." He glanced away, looking at the floor as though the words were just too difficult to get out while he was looking at him. "But let me look at your hands."

Spike nodded.

***

Xander didn't know what he was doing. Why he had told Spike about him going after Glory, why he was letting this happen. This wasn't something that should be happening if the relationship was dead, but his mind, which should have been screaming at him to stop this, was silent.

The light was dim in here and outside this small private space he could sense the others moving, talking, but they felt a million miles away, as though he and Spike had slipped sideways into another dimension. Wordlessly Spike let him untie his bandaging on his hands. Xander traced over the deep, angry welts gently with his fingers, those physical marks of how hard he'd tried to make things right. He wanted to press a kiss into his palm but didn't. He re-tied the bandages tighter, more carefully.

He didn't dare look up. He could sense Spike's eyes on him. Watching him with a kind of helpless aching want and it made him feel scared, weak and powerful at the same time, and more than that - it made him aware of feelings that he'd really hoped he'd pushed down until he'd pushed them away and he couldn't face them - he was too frightened to face them. Instead he looked at his hands still gently clasping Spike's. Unable to stop himself he slowly ran his hands up over Spike's leather clad arms, across his shoulders, down his chest to his stomach. Spike was silent, perfectly still as they both watched his hands move, running over this body that he'd known so well, and he wanted to feel the skin under these clothes so badly it hurt, and he was tired of *thinking*, thinking he should stop, thinking of all the bad things this could lead to. He lifted Spike's T-shirt, and this definitely shouldn't be happening, yet it was. He was making it happen. His breath was short as he reached out his free hand, tentatively letting his fingers brush over Spike's stomach. Spike inhaled slowly, raggedly as he touched him, as though his hand tracing over Spike's skin brought relief from all the pain. Spike's skin was still cool, but not the flowing tactile sensation of satin he remembered, now it was broken up with rough scarring.

"Been through a lot," Xander said through the lump in his throat as his fingers skimmed over the healing wounds gently.

"Yeah," Spike replied quietly. "Ripped apart inside I was. Crying into my pillow."

"You'll heal." Xander said as his eyes blurred, his shaking hand still sliding over Spike's stomach.

"Don't know." The words came out haltingly, as though Spike was finding talking just as difficult as he was. "Don't think I'll ever really get over this one."

"You really hurt?" he asked, managing to somehow get the words out even as his voice emerged cracked and wavering.

"Yeah." Spike said brokenly. "So much. You can't imagine."

"I don't have to imagine."

He still didn't look up - too afraid that once he looked up he would be lost forever.

Spike's hands reached out to his, halting his movements, tracing over his wrists, brushing over the scar that remained from the night with the glass.

"Glory?" Spike asked.

Xander shook his head hard. There was a long, long pause.

Spike's hand cupped his cheek, gently lifting his face up, brushing back his hair to look at the healing gash where the knife had torn a path, tilting his face slightly to examine the bruising on his throat. Spike, gentle and slow, stroked along the line of his bruised neck and shoulder. Xander swallowed hard and closed his eyes. It was all too much, the dark and the warmth, the silence and stillness after so many sleepless nights, and too much to drink and too many hangovers and too much frantic activity. He wanted to speak but didn't dare. He couldn't let it out - if he did he'd never stop. The too-tight spring that had been coiled up inside him was unwinding, but too far, soon he was just going to collapse. Spike's thumb gently rubbed at his collarbone and he opened his eyes.

"I am sorry Xander." Spike said, and he knew Spike had seen further then he wanted him to as his eyes, his voice radiated with painful, heartbreaking sincerity. "I'm sorry for everything."

After a long moment Xander managed to speak. "I'm not. Not for everything."

He looked up. Blue eyes locked onto brown as memories blasted between them, longing, desire, *want* and the gentle looks Ben and Buffy had been exchanging were *nothing* compared to this. That was a spark - this was a *blaze*, it slammed into him with such force the outside world spun away and disappeared, and he wasn't half dead and cold anymore, couldn't be - not when this, whatever the hell it was between them triumphantly surged up - not dead, never dead but powerfully, vibrantly, spectacularly *alive*. Spike's eyes were scorching blue beams, his hands holding on to him tighter than ever and although he knew Spike's hands should feel cool they felt hot - incredibly hot, searing heat pressing through his clothes, branding his skin and he was falling, falling into the heat, the dark, and those passionate fiery eyes.

"Xander ..."

Spike spoke, then stopped suddenly, struggling to keep the words back, but he didn't want Spike to hold the words back, he wanted to fall and fall and never come back out, because right now he was vulnerable and floating and maybe he was losing it, and that was fine with him ...

"Spike," he managed to form the word, his speech clumsy, his mouth dry, his heart thudding double time. "I ... "

"You don't understand, I gotta get out, open a door *now*!"

The voice, panic stricken and loud burst in between them and they snapped away from each other as though an unseen force had yanked them apart. Propelled back to reality the chill of the room flooded over Xander again and the sounds from the next room no longer seemed a million miles away, they were damn close and damn loud.

Spike shot out of the cubby and he followed a step after to see Ben, no longer calm and efficient but pale and sweating, desperately whipping his head around the room, trying to find an escape route. Spike flew over to Dawn's side with Buffy. Xander couldn't quite get his feet to work, still shell shocked and stunned from whatever it was in there that had happened, he watched anxiously from the doorway.

"What happened?" Buffy asked in confusion.

"I-I don't know, he just freaked out." Dawn said panicked.

"Let me out!" Ben cried out frantically.

"Okay!" Buffy snapped to a decision. "Will, open a door!"

But before Willow could even draw breath, before Xander could move from his stunned state, before anyone could try to calm Ben down, he cried out desperately in denial, putting his hands to his head, as though trying to cram something back in and suddenly ... suddenly ...

Xander froze as the ice cold panic flew over his body, and no, no this wasn't real it was some awful, awful hallucination because this couldn't be happening they couldn't be trapped here with the thing they were running from ...

Glory stretched easily, gazing around herself, taking in her surroundings. As her eyes fell on Dawn a smile began to creep across her face. "Well, what do you know. Little Ben finally did something right."

"The beast!" The General yelled hoarsely.

Glory glanced over at him. "Hey, it's Gregor!" She grabbed a hubcap that was hanging on the wall nearby and threw it like a Frisbee. Xander's shocked stare could do no more than track it as it flew at the General. There was a sick, wet, crunch.

"Now it's not." Glory said happily.

Spike broke out of his horrified paralysis and flew at Glory with a yell.

/No, Spike!/ Xander reacted a split second later, throwing himself after him, no *way* was he letting Spike die after all this! Glory swatted Spike aside casually and he crashed backward into Xander.

Under Spike's force he smacked into the wall, sharply rapping his head. For a second he lay disorientated, unsure of where he was, all he could see was the dark, Spike's body on top of him ... He could almost believe he'd dreamt the last couple of weeks, that they were back in Spike's crypt the night before everything had descended into hell.

Spike swiftly rolled up to his feet, extending his hand to Xander. He shook off his fog, ashamed of his momentary confusion, and pathetic wish. Unfortunately this was all too real. He grasped Spike's hand firmly as Spike pulled him up. Sounds of shrieks and fighting came in from outside. Dawn, Glory and Buffy had all gone, he was about to race outside to help when Buffy burst back in: "Willow! Get it down, now!"

Willow raised her head and Xander took an instinctive step back as the magic crackled around her, her eyes black and dense with power. "Hear, hear my plea. Circling arm protecting me."

Buffy raced back outside and he shot after her, then slammed to a stop.

Glory and Dawn had vanished. Buffy was picking her way slowly through the bodies of the knights. Dead. All dead.

"The car," Spike was standing beside him, and he could sense Spike shoving aside his shock to concentrate on the basics, getting Dawn back. Spike impatiently shook him to get him to snap back to reality. "Get the keys!"

Automatically he obeyed, shoving aside his horror as he and Spike pelted over to the car. His heart, which was still trying to catch up with the shocks, thudded heavily in his chest. He tried the car door fruitlessly.

"Locked - Spike it's locked!"

"Fuck." Spike swore articulately, slamming his hands against the car in frustration. "*Fuck*" he swore again as the jolt jarred his injuries. "Get back to the Slayer - see what she thinks we should do now."

They ran back, his breath was sounding in harsh gasps. All this pointless running back and forth was more terrifying than anything. It only underlined that every second was taking Dawn further away from them and they were at an utter loss to know what to do now. They were cast adrift with no plan, no guidance, no clue, but Buffy would know what they should do.

They shot back over to Buffy then stopped. Willow was pleading helplessly with her as she sat on the ground amid all the corpses, her eyes wide and empty as tears trickled down her face.

Part Thirty-Five

Xander paced about the dimly lit shack restlessly. The feverish useless activity had ceased now. They had to keep cool, think clearly. They weren't going to Dawn back, not right now, and certainly not with Buffy like this. She had allowed them to lead her into the gas station, but remained in her zombie-like state. They had yelled and pleaded, shaken her and embraced her tightly. Hard, frightened hugs with no comfort in them, only desperation. Not so much as a flicker of response had come from her. He was trying to avoid touching her now, it was a skin crawling sensation to feel her warmth, her breath yet know if he jabbed a pin in her she wouldn't flinch. The mind, the spirit that dwelled inside this body had retreated into some far away place inside herself and all that was left out here was her shell and her tortured eyes.

Panic rose in him again but he forced it down. Panicking wasn't going to help, he had to stay calm, cool, collected, but it was hard when the toxic fear was seeping through his body, when he felt trapped and smothered enough to scream and every second ticking by cranked it up another unbearable notch. Glory had Dawn and they were doing *nothing*.

"Better part of a century spent in delinquency just paid off," Spike said, breaking the tense silence as he re-entered the gas station. "Hot-wired Ben's auto. Who's for gettin' the hell out of here?"

"All in favour, let's do it," Xander agreed fervently. He loathed this place so much he could hardly stand still. They had been trapped in here way too long, now the doors were open he could barely restrain himself from leaping into the car. He glanced at Giles who was looking like hell. He was seriously worried about Giles, he could barely move and kept drifting in and out of consciousness. "You good to go?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," Giles said painfully as with a palpable effort he tried to regain focus. "How's Buffy?"

"The same," Xander turned to look at her helplessly. "Still."

"It's been almost a half an hour," Willow said nervously.

"The Slayer's gonna be all right, won't she?" Spike asked with concern. Xander was amazed, then disgusted with himself as an unforgivable pang of jealousy shot through him.

"You should try it again, Will," he said quickly, trying to distract himself from his chaotic emotions. What the hell was the *matter* with him?

"All right," Willow sighed, "but ... I'm not even sure she's, you know ... really in there."

"Try," Xander asked quietly. Willow sighed and stepped forward, kneeling on the ground in front of Buffy.

"Can you hear me? Buffy!"

Buffy stared blankly ahead. Unseeing, unhearing.

"Buffy!" Spike joined in. No response.

Spike circled them helplessly, totally at a loss. "She can't just be brain-dead. I mean ... she's still Buffy, somewhere in there, right?"

No one answered him.

"Spike, come on," Xander said tersely. "We're not gonna get Dawn back by sittin' around here."

"You're not gonna get Dawn back any way you slice it, Harris," Spike snapped. "It's for Buffy to decide."

"Good, panic. That oughta help!" he shot back, hiding the hurt as Spike's sharp tone lashed like a whip across his heart. If he'd been thinking clearly he might have remembered his own waspish behaviour in the R.V as Spike's apparent composure had driven him wild, but right now the only thing he was really thinking about was holding his shredding nerves together long enough to help Dawn, and how Spike was *not* helping.

Spike continued to pace restlessly about the room, Xander tried to ignore him but he was hyper aware of Spike's every movement. Each step Spike took set his teeth a little further on edge, stretching his too-thin veneer of self control to breaking point. Irrationally he resented that Spike could show his edginess so easily while he had to stay calm and helpful like a good Scooby should. In fact right now he was resenting a hell of a lot to do with Spike. What the hell was going on in Spike's head? Jumping down his throat now when less than an hour ago he'd been saying ... saying ...

Xander's mind shut down protectively. Nothing had been said. Nothing, nothing and less than nothing, and even if something had been said it was over, a moments madness never to be repeated.

"We should move her. Unless we shouldn't. Should we?" Willow asked, ignoring the sharply rising tension between the ex-lovers.

Xander shrugged with weary frustration. "I am so large with not knowing." Yeah, God forbid he might actually be able to suggest something helpful. He cast another desperate look to the moonlight and fresh air outside. If they stayed in this dark, cramped shack a second longer he was going to kick down every derelict wall in the place.

"It's impossible to know for sure," Giles said, struggling for breath. He had managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Deep pain lines were etched on his face but they were overshadowed with worry for Buffy. "Losing Dawn, after all that Buffy's been through ... I think it's pushed her too far into some sort of catatonia."

Spike rolled his eyes impatiently. "You don't need a diploma to see that. Snap her out of it." He grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, vigourously shaking her.

"Buffy! Oi, rise and shine, love!"

Buffy flopped back and forth under his rough grip like a doll. With every shake the anger inside Xander bubbled a little hotter, a little higher.

"Spike..." Willow began warningly.

"Come on, people," Spike snapped angrily. "Girl's endowed with Slayer strength. It's hardly the time to get dainty! Buffy!" He shook her harder.

"We tried that!" Xander yelled in agitation.

Spike ignored him, his hand shot out. The loud crack sounded like a gunshot as he slapped Buffy hard across the face, almost simultaneously yelling with pain as his chip activated. Xander's control shattered as the pent up fury erupted, it propelled him over to Spike with a speed that was almost vampiric. He grabbed Spike, hauling him away from Buffy's vacant form so viciously he flew back a few steps. He was shaking with anger and wasn't even sure what he was so angry with Spike for - if it was really about him hitting Buffy, or about him stupidly hurting himself for setting the chip off, or maybe it was really about what had happened between them earlier.

Because as hard as he tried not to think about it his mind kept flashing back. Back to his hand sliding over Spike's skin, that had been just as cool as he remembered. Back to the soft words that said one thing and meant another and he *hated* it, had to do something to make *stop*.

"Are you *insane*?" he raged, yelling in Spike's pale, perfect face as though his burning anger would somehow melt the memories of cool skin. "We could be dealing with neurological damage here. You want to kill her?"

"We have to do something, I can't just sit here watching!" Spike yelled back, his voice shaking, his eyes burning like two blue flames. "*You* waste time with kid gloves. I'm willing to wager, when all is said and done, Buffy likes it rough!"

And he knew it was coming, knew that look on Spike's face, he waited for it, every muscle in his body tensed, wanting to hear it, wanting to rain blows on him until all these feelings went away and maybe then he would be at peace ...

Spike mouthed at Xander. "Like you."

Xander flew at him.

***

Spike's head snapped back under the blow as Xander's fist smashed into his face, and crazily, he welcomed the blast of pain, hell he'd practically been begging for it. It felt like anger. It felt like passion. It *felt*, and right now he needed that, needed to feel something other than terrified, crazy with worry about Dawn, no sodding clue what to do next, inside out and upside down and everywhere he turned Xander was there, torturing him, taunting him.

He flew back at Xander and they grappled furiously, rough and despairing as he tried wordlessly to pour out all the feelings he couldn't begin to explain, but he never made a move to hit him back. He didn't want to hurt him ever again. He didn't even know why he'd lashed out at Xander, just that he'd had to, because he couldn't take another second of this. Xander acting so bloody calm, brushing off what had happened between them in the dark enclosure like it was nothing, the knowledge that Xander had been so fucking *stupid* as to risk his life and take on Glory for him, and most of all he couldn't take that scar on Xander's wrist, yet it was seared into his mind, a scar that somehow he was totally responsible for. Sick with guilt, remorse and anger, he deserved every punch Xander threw at him, he *wanted* to be hit, and most of all he just wanted to feel him close, even if it was like this. Xander's body was burning hot - pressed against him without restraint as they lurched against each other and he felt like crying and felt like screaming, and wanted to hold Xander so tight he'd never get away again ...

"Separate."

At Red's icy command a powerful, invisible force came between them driving them apart. It propelled them swiftly and suddenly away from each other, throwing them to opposite sides of the room. Suddenly bereft, alone, the cold snapped forward to meet him as Xander was wrenched from him. They both turned to stare at Willow. She looked at them grimly.

"Buffy's out," Willow summed up coldly."Glory has Dawn. Sometime real soon, she's gonna use Dawn to tear down the barrier between every dimension there is. So if you two wanna fight, do it after the world ends, okay?"

Spike dropped his eyes from hers. He was *not* loving this. Shame, a feeling he hadn't had much to do with until he'd fallen in love Xander-bloody-Harris, had him writhing in it's grip yet again. Willow was right, later, when they had Nibblet back, then he could pick fights, wail, and wallow in emotion. Right now he had to ignore his broken heart and think with his head. He owed Dawn that much.

But it still hurt. And that was something he was helpless to stop.

Xander defensively re-adjusted his clothes, shooting furious glares over at him, but some clarity had returned to both of them. They remained apart.

"All right," Willow continued after a moment. "First we head back to Sunnydale. Xander'll take Giles to a hospital, Spike, you find Glory. Check her apartment, see if she's still there."

Oh *shit*. Out of all the places in the world she had to send him there? He never wanted to see Glory's place again. He saw it often enough in his nightmares.

/Oh come on!/ he frantically tried to fire up his fighting spirit. /Stop acting like a bloody nancyboy. This is nothing, I can handle Glory. Maybe even I'll be able to get a little payback. Show the bitch that when she messes with my Dawn, with my *Xander* then she's got me to deal with/.

"Try anything stupid, like payback," Willow continued as if she was reading his mind, "and I will get Very Cranky."

His eyebrows rose nervously. The last time he had heard that particular tone in Willow's voice she had been threatening to rip out his heart and set it on fire. All right then. No payback. Part of him, a small, sore, afraid part, the part that still had nightmares, the part that had never really managed to break through the chains Glory had bound him with, was incredibly relieved.

Willow's eyes swept over them all. "Everyone clear?"

Xander cautiously raised his hand.

"Xander," Willow acknowledged.

"Uh, what will you do?"

"I'll help Buffy."

"Okay then," Xander said, with the air of a man who knows not to push his luck any further.

"The world is spinning," Tara cried out unexpectedly, distressed. They all jumped slightly. "Straight to a new day! Big day. Big, big day."

Willow instantly dropped her grim persona, moving swiftly to reassure her. Stroking her hair and face she shushed her gently.

"Uh ... Will?" Spike began warily as he moved forward. "Now don't turn me into a horned toad for asking, but what if we come across Ben?"

"I don't think a doctor's what Buffy needs right now," Willow said distractedly.

"Well, yeah," he agreed ironically. "Especially not one who also happens to be Glory."

"What do you mean?" Giles asked in bewilderment.

Spike rolled his eyes. Giles was losing it, probably the shock of his injury was catching up with him. "You know," he reminded Giles impatiently. "Ben is Glory." He really hoped Giles would pull it together, the last thing they needed was for him to flake out as well, thinning their already depleted ranks. It was only as he looked around he noticed the bewilderment on all their faces.

"You mean ... Ben's with Glory?" Willow frowned.

"'With' in what sense?" Xander asked. "They're working together?"

"No. No." Spike said, spelling it out slowly as he looked at them warily. Was this some sort of joke? "Ben is Glory. Glory's Ben. They're one and the same."

There was a moments pause as they all looked around, wordlessly asking each other what the hell he was talking about. Not receiving any answers they turned back to him, all with identical, utterly mystified expressions.

"When did all this happen?" Xander asked, baffled.

"Not one hour ago!" Spike said his voice rising as he began to feel slightly freaked. If this *was* a joke he didn't think it was very funny. They must have noticed! "Right here, before your very eyes! Ben came, turned into Glory, snatched the kid, and pfft! Vanished, remember? You do remember...?" Spike trailed off as everyone continued to gaze at him blankly. He stared at them in utter confusion. How could they possibly have forgotten? "Is everyone here very stoned?"

Still no enlightenment was forthcoming from them, and now they were looking at him as though *he* was the one who was crazy. Spike's patience snapped. "Ben! Glory!" he thumped one hand into the other as he shouted, as though the physical movement would permeate their brains. "He's a doctor, she's the beast. Two entirely separate entities sharing one body. Like a bloody sitcom, surely you remember."

"So you're saying Ben and Glory ... have a connection," Xander said tentatively.

"Yes, obviously, but what kind?" Giles questioned thoughtfully.

For a moment Spike gaped. What the *hell* was going on? How could he be the only one that remembered? More than that, why did it feel like his words were hitting a brick wall? Like something - or some*one* - was blocking their memories.

"Oh, I get it," Spike shook his head with reluctant respect as the penny dropped. "That's very crafty. Glory's worked the kind of mojo where anyone who sees her little presto-change-o instantly forgets. And yours truly, being somewhat other than human stands immune."

"So ... Ben and Glory ... are the same person?" Willow suggested slowly.

"Glory can turn into Ben, and Ben turns back into Glory." Xander pieced it together carefully as though he was groping around in the dark.

"And anyone who sees it instantly forgets." Willow finished.

Spike sighed in relief. Now they were getting somewhere! If they could just hold in to that ...

"Kewpie doll for the lady," he said ironically, pointing to Willow.

"Excellent," Giles said nodding in satisfaction as he looked around at everyone. "Now. Do we suspect there may be some kind of connection between Ben and Glory?"

Spike looked hopefully at Xander and Willow who looked enquiringly back at him.

Spike fought off the powerful urge to beat his head against the wall.

"Glory *is* ...." he began, then shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in furious frustration. Bloody hell and *fuck* as if they'd needed this to get any harder! "Look lets just forget this for now."

There was a moments pause. "Forget what?" Xander asked.

Spike heard a noise that sounded something like; "Arrrrrrrggggggghhh!" issue from his mouth. The others all took a nervous step back, bewildered at his anger, which as far as they could tell had sprung up for no reason. "Let's just get going."

"Yeah," Xander was practically out the door before he'd finished speaking. "I'll drive."

***

As Xander almost carried Giles to the car, he tried avoid Spike's eyes, staying as far away from him as he could, he burned in mortification. What had happened to his new, lets-just-get-along-and-let-the-past-go attitude? He'd thought he'd be calm now, dignified, maybe a little sad, but not furious, not passionate, not overreacting and certainly not taking a swing at Spike. He should have known better. Spike never adhered to any plan. Even a plan of his own making.

He carefully deposited Giles on the back seat as Willow and Spike led Tara and Buffy to the car and guided them into the back with Giles. Tara whimpered anxiously as she was crammed in so close to the others.

"You want shotgun Will?" Xander asked hopefully, acutely aware of Spike's hovering presence behind him, waiting to find out where his seat would be. Not in the front next to him - please God - wasn't this hard enough?

"No," Willow said, dashing his hopes. "She'll, I'll feel better if I'm next to her." She looked at Tara sadly and he ached for her, a deep pang of shame shooting through him. He really was a selfish bastard, how could he be so wrapped up in his own feelings when people he loved were in so much pain? He gave her a comforting pat, waiting until she crammed into the back, squeezing the door shut before moving to take his seat.

"Wait," Spike, who had taken the front passenger seat, brushed the remains of the broken glass which spoke of his illegal entrance into the car, off the drivers seat. The black tips of Spike's fingers flashed before Xander's eyes. He flinched. He'd noticed in the RV that Spike was still painting his nails. He'd been trying not to look at them. It was a tiny thing, a huge thing. They were the same as they had been the last time they had slept together. He remembered how the black varnish had reflected the flame of the candles.

"Thanks," Xander muttered without looking at him as he slid behind the wheel. He slammed the door closed with unnecessary force and they pulled away, leaving the gas station behind them.

Crazy. Crazy that the sight of black painted nails would hurt. Yet they did. Every time.

***

They drove in silence for a long time, speeding back to Sunnydale along the roads that only a few hours ago they'd been pelting down in the opposite direction. Giles fell asleep - or passed out. Willow had her eyes closed, but she didn't look like she was sleeping, more like she was concentrating. Powering up, preparing for whatever it was she was going to do to help Buffy. Tara was huddled up against Willow, dozing. Willow had given her a pill to knock her out so she could be restrained safely without getting too upset while Willow would be busy helping Buffy. Buffy herself was still staring blankly ahead. Which only left himself, and Spike.

Though he didn't want to, Xander found himself surreptitiously glancing at Spike slouched in the seat beside him. He couldn't seem to stop, as though Spike was a magnet, drawing his eyes. He now knew why he'd been so reluctant to move out from behind his hate. Without it Spike was a force he had no shield from. He still loved Spike, totally, helplessly, he'd always known that. No matter what his head said, his heart ached with the loss of him, and to be so close to him ... it was torture. Spike was under his skin and was pushing every button he had, and he didn't even have to try - he just *did*. His every movement, his voice, the way the very air was charged with his presence all worked the old trick Spike had of stripping his defences bare, making him do, say what he most wanted to keep locked away inside him. He had lost control for a moment back there in that dark room, and when sanity had returned, it had terrified him. His heart may ache without him, the longing may tear him apart, but to be *with* him, when he loved him so much that Spike could break his heart with a look ...

He recoiled in fear. No way would he *ever* let that happen again. As much as his poor grieving heart hurt, he had to stay strong, keep his distance, but an unpleasant feeling was insidiously creeping over him. Much as he hated to admit it, it was shame. He had let things get out of hand back there, and taken his fear out on Spike, pounding on a guy who couldn't hit back because *he* couldn't deal.

"Spike," he began awkwardly, breaking the long silence, casting an embarrassed glance into the mirror to check the others weren't listening. Strange how intimate just saying his name could be. Unnerving. "About hitting you back there - I'm ... uh, I'm sorry."

He stopped, frustrated with his lack of articulacy. Too scared to display any emotion for fear it would all come spilling out he'd sounded expressionless and stupidly formal. Spike looked at him and Xander took his eyes briefly off the road to look back at him. The orange streetlights flashed past, highlighting Spike's face, the slash of his cheekbones.

"Yeah well," Spike said ironically, "I'm gettin' used to that."

Xander looked away again, staring at the road ahead, rigid with shame.

There was a pause, and Spike must have read his face because the next moment he'd dropped the irony. "Forget it," Spike said gently. "You were pissed off - *I'd* pissed you off." He turned away to stare out of the window and muttered quietly, almost to himself. "I deserved it."

Xander shook his head. "I shouldn't have done it," he said stiffly.

"Hey don't go gettin' all guilty on me." Spike said, his voice an odd mix of roughness and tenderness that made him want to lay his head down on Spike's shoulder. "It's not like I wasn't fighting you back."

"But you weren't," he said quietly. "The chip never went off."

He darted another look at Spike, surprise was written on his face. Spike hadn't thought he'd noticed. As if he could have missed it, and what he really wanted to ask was why? Why had Spike pushed until he snapped, and not even tried to fight back? But the look in Spike's eyes right now made him afraid to ask. They were full of heat, emotion, it was wonderful. And scary. And painful. The car began to wander dangerously. He snapped his eyes away, his hands trembling as he steered the car back on track, concentrating on the road.

After a moment Spike began to untie the bandages on his hands. Xander glanced over with a strange tight feeling in his chest. Only earlier he had untied them to see deep welts, now the skin was almost completely healed, just faint white lines snaking across the palms. But despite vampire powers he knew Spike had some scars that wouldn't heal, and maybe - one day - that would be a kind of comfort to him. Spike had loved him after all.

Spike reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth he began to pat his pockets, looking for his lighter. With a sudden flame to his cheeks that he fervently hoped Spike couldn't see in the dark, Xander remembered earlier - when he taken Spike's lighter from his bleeding hands, helping him to light his cigarette and - for some reason he didn't want to go into - he hadn't given it back.

Should he say something? No. He didn't want Spike to get the wrong idea - whatever the wrong idea was, he was just going to keep quiet ...

Spike was beginning to look irritated, searching his duster in earnest, Xander could feel the weight of the lighter growing heavier and heavier in his pocket.

"It's in my coat pocket," he blurted out. "I forgot to ... I didn't ... Uh, just sec ..." He was negotiating a tricky stretch of road and needed both hands on the wheel.

"It's okay," Spike said, his voice a little lower than usual. "I'll get it."

"No," he said panicked. "Don't ..."

But Spike had already leaned over close to him, reaching his hand into his coat pocket. He caught a breath of Spike's scent. The faint pressure of Spike's hand brushed against his hip. Even through the layers of clothing, that slight touch felt unbearably intimate. His fingers tightened on the wheel. He wanted to jerk away, yet was frozen. To his horror, desire, long repressed, almost forgotten stirred, sending it's demanding ache through his body.

His breath caught.

Maybe Spike's did to.

Then Spike's fingers closed around the lighter and he retreated, lighting up.

Neither of them said anymore as they flashed past the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign.

***

Spike fidgeted nervously with his lighter as they pulled up outside Xander's apartment to drop off the girls and change cars. Xander gently woke Giles. Giles was looking exhausted and confused, worry was written all over Xander's face.

"Spike," Xander said without quite managing to look at him, "get Giles into my car, I'm gonna help Will get set up."

He nodded and easily caught the car keys Xander tossed to him. Xander gathered the sleeping Tara to him, picking her up and carrying her into his apartment, as Willow followed, leading the docile Buffy.

When Giles was safely ensconced in his new seat Spike leant against the car, taking a much needed moment to steel himself to face the next torturous encounter with Xander. His lip curled bitterly, he *hated* this - being so utterly defenceless, playing the love-sick puppy, radiating need and love, begging wordlessly for approval, but he couldn't stop. Crazy that a perfectly ordinary young man would make him weak, make him ache, make him burn, but Xander wasn't ordinary. Not to him. He was warm and kind, he had guts and smarts, he was wickedly funny and oh yeah. He was amazingly, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Other people didn't really seem to notice it, and somehow he liked that, it made him feel amazingly good about himself, like he'd discovered an incredible secret, and he loved him. He *loved* him.

He couldn't stop. It wasn't in his nature to stop, and he couldn't give up hope. Not until all hope was utterly gone, completely smashed, and no matter how much Xander tried to run from it, despite Xander sending 'Stay Away' vibes so clearly he could almost feel a force-field around the boy that would fry him if he tried to break through, he still hoped. *Something* was there, still simmering between them. Tenderness had been almost tangible in the air between them when Xander had been looking at his wounds, in the car Xander had trembled under his hand. Xander had risked his life to go after Glory for him, and that had to mean something didn't it? He *must* still love him, at least a little, and that meant there was still a chance. Or at least so he hoped.

Xander came out of his apartment, walking over to them. "We good to go?" Xander asked him awkwardly as he reached him, still doing that bloody, flicking glances, no-eye-contact thing. Spike steeled his nerves. He wouldn't exactly impress Xander by collapsing into a quivering heap. He was trembling with fear, sick with dread but he didn't falter.

"You two are," he replied cooly, determined not to let even the smallest chink of fear out, he so dearly wanted Xander to admire him. "Catch you later." Without any more ado he began to walk away.

"Hey!" Xander called out after him. "Where you going?"

Spike turned back to face him, Xander was watching him, a slightly confused look on his face.

"Following orders," he said tersely. "I'm going to Glory's."

"Oh." Xander's eyes flickered. "That could be ... pretty dangerous."

"Tell me something I don't know," Spike agreed. The words were flippant but his tone was deadly serious.

"I - I could drop you off," Xander offered haltingly.

He shook his head. "No - Giles needs help now. Go, get him patched up, I'll find you later." This wasn't quite as altruistic as it sounded, if Giles worsened thanks to any delay of his causing, Xander would never forgive him.

Xander nodded reluctantly. "Right."

He turned away again, when Xander burst out; "Spike!"

He turned back, Xander froze, as though the words were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't quite get a grip on them. Spike took a small, hopeful step forward, suddenly desperate to hear what Xander wanted to say.

"Just ... just don't do anything stupid okay?" Xander said in a rush. "If you do we'll all pay for it."

Spike couldn't even bring himself to muster up a bitter smile. "Got you. No stupidness." He turned away again.

"Spike!" Xander's voice was desperate, Spike turned back around.

"Yeah?"

Now it was Xander who turned his back. He opened the car door, he paused before climbing in.

"Be careful," he said quietly. Without waiting for a reply he climbed into the car, slamming the door shut and roared off.

Spike watched the taillights of the car vanish down the road as he stood there, hurting and hoping at the same time.

***

Spike stared at the door to Glory's apartment and fought down his fear. The problem was that his fear was putting up a hell of a good fight. It might be irrational but it was all consuming. He knew Glory wasn't in there, vampire ears didn't miss much, the place was deserted but he still couldn't take the final step through the door. What if she *was* there?

Stupid to be scared. He'd survived hadn't he? There weren't many guys around that could take all the torture Glory had to throw, escape and live to tell the tale.

He reached out his badly trembling hand, and silently began to turn the handle, then he pulled back again. He had to get over this, he wasn't going to be any help if he kept quivering with fear every time he saw Glory, sneaking around her like a whipped dog. She could beat him, he got that. The important thing was not to beat himself.

Xander - just a mortal, no Slayer power or vampire stamina had still burst in here, faced up to Glory for him. That had taken guts, and he had guts too damnit. He was gonna do this his way, snap the last chain Glory held him in. He waited until his hands were rock steady, then with a swift sharp kick, he burst through the door.

***

While the doctors were poking and prodding Giles about Xander wandered to the candy machine. He stared at it blankly before realising he didn't want any candy. Or coffee which pretty much encompassed the hospitals entire choice of beverages and food on offer. After a moment he realised his mind wasn't blank at all, it was worried about Spike. More than worried, *agonising* about him. If Glory was in her apartment, if Spike was caught ... And now she'd be even more pissed with him wouldn't she? She'd be wanting a little payback for his escape, and now she had Dawn there wouldn't be a single reason for her to keep him alive - he could be dust - right *now*. Unless of course she decided to torture him for a while first.

His heart twisted like wet rag, as waves of terror vibrated through him. Why the *hell* had he let Spike go alone? He thrust his hand into his pocket, scrabbling for the lighter ... but of course Spike had taken it back. Spike could be dead and he didn't even have one tangible thing of him to hold on to.

He turned away from the vending machines, and began to stride blindly down the corridors, trying to leave his fear behind, but it travelled with him, clinging to him tightly, whispering the terrible possibilities into his ear. Memories assailed him, flashing before his eyes, Spike, bleeding, tortured ...

He couldn't leave them behind. He began to pick up speed, jogging, running sprinting, and there wasn't enough *room* in this hospital to leave them behind. His feet thudded on the floor, his legs moving fast, beginning to ache, yet never taking him far enough. The sound of his breath filled his ears, harsh and fast. He shot past nurses, blurs in white, and pelted down the corridor where he had made his decision to help Willow get revenge. He sprinted faster, but there was no escape, nothing could stop the scenes of Spike's hellish torture playing before his eyes.

An agonising stitch struck him in his side and he slammed to a halt, doubling up in pain, gasping for breath. His legs were shaking, he was sweating, a cold, sickly, frightened sweat. Panting heavily he leaned against the wall, his hand clasping his side protectively. As he raised his head he focussed on the sign opposite him. He was right outside the psychiatric ward.

Maybe Glory's victims could help? Maybe in the same way Tara had gotten a flash of clarity about Dawn being the Key, these guys could tell him about Glory, tell him if Spike was with her.

It was a stupid, insane, impossible hope, but right now it was the best he had. He reached out and pushed open the swing door.

Rows of rumpled empty beds looked back at him. He slowly advanced into the silent, deserted room taking in the unmade beds, the broken restraints. This obviously wasn't the work of the nurses, all the crazies had picked themselves up and left under their own power. Or maybe someone else's had been calling to them? He didn't know, but what he did know that there was nothing and no one here that could tell him if Spike was alive.

He turned away, as terror wrapped him tight in it's cold insidious grasp, draining him. He walked at a slow cautious pace back to Giles as though in an effort to make up for his earlier frantic race through the hospital.

Giles was waiting for him, sitting on the bed, colour in his cheeks and his eyes considerably brighter, looking so *normal* relief shot through him. He hadn't realised until now just how worried he'd been about Giles.

"Hey Giles," he said, his voice filled with affection.

"Ah Xander," Giles said, pleased. He rose to his feet slowly, clasping his hand briefly over where he'd been impaled and walked over to him, struggling into his coat. "Can you uh ..." Giles asked, gesturing at his coat, flapping around him.

"There." Xander said as he carefully draped Giles's coat over his injured side without trying to get his arm in the sleeve. "How you doing?" Xander asked as they walked down the corridor.

"It only hurts while I answer pointless questions." Giles said snappishly, Xander raised his eyebrows. Yup, Giles was totally back to normal. "Where's Buffy?" Giles questioned, trying to bring himself back up to speed.

"Willow's on it. Or ... in it. She's workin' some spell, trying to reach Buffy psychically."

"She's gone into Buffy's mind?" Giles asked, concerned.

"Pretty trippy stuff," Xander agreed, he'd been worried himself when Willow had told him what she had planned. He believed she could do it - he just wasn't sure she *should* do it.

"It's extraordinarily advanced," Giles said thoughtfully.

Xander's eyes flickered uncomfortably - he didn't want Giles to know just *how* advanced Willow was, like giving him superpower advanced. Thankfully Giles was already thinking of something else as his brain charged up. "I was thinking we should check on Glory's victims while we're here."

"Hmm?" Xander said distractedly as his heart gave a huge leap at the sight of a distinctive blond head. *Spike*! It was Spike! Here! *Safe*! He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them Spike was still there. He bit his lip to hold back a sob of relief. Flooded with gratitude he felt suddenly lighter, like he could bounce down the corridor. Spike hadn't noticed them yet, he was stealing a bag of blood from a hospital trolly, giving him a much needed chance to regain his composure, thank heavens, otherwise he might have said something stupid.

Giles was looking at him expectantly and he snapped back to attention.

"Oh, the mental ward?" Xander replied to Giles hurriedly, so he was talking unconcernedly as Spike noticed them and walked to meet them. "I've already been," he said, glossing over his frantic race through the hospital. "The vegetable section's closed. Nobody there. It's like they all just got up and walked away."

He greeted Spike with nothing more than an eyebrow raise and a pointed look at the blood bag in his hand. Certainly no endearments, no frantic questioning to if he was okay. Too afraid that if he started his overwhelming concern would be all too apparent. Maybe Spike was a little hurt because he launched straight into his report without wasting time with greetings.

"Checked out Glory's flat. Looks like the great one has scampered."

Relief and worry clashed inside him with equal power. He was painfully glad Spike was safe, but Dawn was still missing, they still had the end of the world racing towards them and no leads - what the *hell* were they going to do now?

"Gone to perform her ritual with Dawn and leaving us entirely clueless," Giles said with weary resignation.

"Not entirely." Spike said thoughtfully. They looked at him enquiringly.

"I know this bloke," Spike said resignedly, Xander guessed whoever this bloke was Spike really didn't want to see him, but hey, backs against the wall here.

"Well, not so much a bloke so much as a demon," Spike amended. "But still, bookish. All tuned in to the nastier corners of this our magic world." He took out another cigarette, looking as though it was less for the enjoyment, and more of an effort to take the edge off his nerves. "It's a bit of a last resort really, but still, we might persuade him to suss out Glory's game plan."

He lit up in total disregard of the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall beside him. It occurred to Xander that this summed up Spike's attitude to rules perfectly. Spike looked up at them questioningly. "Sound worthy?"

It sure did to him - he looked at Giles in a wordless question and Giles nodded in agreement.

"Off we go then," Spike said without meeting his eyes, then to Giles; "Meet back at the shop?"

Giles nodded again and Xander gave him a comforting pat on the arm before falling into step beside Spike just in time to receive a huge blast of smoke, from Spike's direction. He coughed, waving it away. It had been so long since he'd spent time with Spike he wasn't used to the accidental inhale anymore. Well he'd never really got used to it. With painful clarity he had a flashback to the night they'd spent together in Spike's crypt. After the second, or maybe the third time they had made love Spike had lit up, he'd coughed and Spike had blown more smoke teasingly at him. He'd hit Spike with the pillow, Spike had hit him back with his own pillow and they'd grappled playfully, he'd managed to roll on top of Spike, pinning him down and straddling his hips. They had paused, the lightheartedness fading. Spike had looked up at him and that look - it was so fucking *hot*, his body had stirred restlessly, aching and unsated, *again* as though they'd been apart months instead of a few breathless moments. Then he had leaned closer, as Spike slowly put the cigarette down.

It had smouldered, discarded in the ashtray and eventually died out, unsmoked.

"Found Ben's room at Glory's," he heard Spike say. "Didn't learn much."

"Wait, wait, wait," he said in astonishment as his attention was truly grabbed, wrenching him back to the present. *Surely* he couldn't have heard that right? "*Ben*? At Glory's? You're saying all this time he's been subletting from her?"

"This ... is gonna be worth it," Spike said, sounding amazingly pissed off. He turned to him with a frustrated glare and gave him a hard, sharp slap on the back of his head.

"*Ow*!!"

They both yelled in unison, clutching at their heads. They stumbled, and Xander only noticed too late that they had both reached out instinctively, using each other for balance. Spike's hand lingered, just a second too long against his arm giving him a fish leap of fear before Spike hurriedly turned it into a mild cuff on his back. They fell back into step, and Spike said wearily; "Last time. From the top."

***

Fortunately it was only a very brief journey to the Doc's by car. It was still an uncomfortable, mostly silent journey broken only by Spike's directions. There was so much stuff between them the very air felt heavy. With some relief Xander pulled up where Spike told him to, looking about himself curiously as he followed Spike to the Doc's door. Because of Spike's obvious reluctance to involve this guy he'd been a little worried, but this place didn't look particularly dangerous, just a small, snug building, at least it wasn't the sewers or a creepy mansion. Of course he had learnt not to rely too heavily on appearances. Spike knocked loudly on the door.

A voice from within called out; "It's always open!"

With a barely perceptible wince Spike opened the door.

The appearance of safety continued as they entered. It looked cosy in here - warm and bright, the guy who had called out to them was sitting at a desk studying huge volumes. He looked oldish, friendly, his absorption in the volumes surrounding him reminded Xander strongly of Giles.

So all in all it was surprising that a cold chill of fear was very lightly running down his spine.

"What can I do for you boys?" The old guy asked sociably. "Want some cocoa?"

"No," Spike said curtly. "We need information. We need ..."

"Ben's Glory!" Xander burst out as comprehension, *memories* suddenly, swiftly burst open in his mind, falling into their rightful place. Ben changing, Spike explaining, then yelling, then slapping him across the head, everything, he remembered it all.

"Who's what?" Doc asked warily.

"Look at this," Spike remarked tolerantly. "Special Ed remembers."

"Yeah. I do!" Xander said, too excited to be insulted. "Ben's Glory and Glory's Ben! It's like this fog's lifting," he waved his hands around his head in explanation.

"Wonderful. But not why we're here." Spike turned back to the Doc. "Hell-god type. Name of Glory-"

"A.K.A. Ben." Xander put in quickly.

" ... has gone missing. She's brewing up some major-league bad, and she's nicked the Slayer's kid sister in the bargain. You got any idea where Glory would take her?"

"Glory ... Glory." Doc seemed to be playing the name over in his mind, so why did Xander have the feeling he knew exactly who they were talking about? Despite his fleeting excitement about getting his memories back something in here was seriously spooking him out. 'Something' probably being the Doc. All of his hackles - pretty well developed after all this time on the Hellmouth were standing on end, and getting worse as Doc closed his book and slowly walked over to them.

"Oh! You don't mean Glorificus?" He was in front of them now, and Xander had to force himself not to step back. "Gosh," he continued. "What do you wanna get mixed up with her for? That's a sure way to get yourselves killed. I hear she's awfully unpleasant."

/Yeah, don't have to tell either of us that/ Xander thought uncomfortably. From the look on Spike's face he was thinking the same thing. /And how's about backing up a couple of paces there fella?/

To Xander's relief he turned away, replacing his book on a nearby table. "When it comes to hellgods, my best advice is get out of the way and stay there."

"Love to. Can't." Spike said brusquely.

"Well, uh, other than that," the Doc was fluttering round in a drawer now with his back to them, Xander tensed. When he turned back to them empty handed he felt sick with relief.

"I'd like to help ... but I'm a small-town guy. This Glorificus, if it is her ... she's big city."

How modest. Why was he now thinking of the witch in the story who lured children into her gingerbread house before eating them?

"She's got Dawn," Spike said desperately.

"Right." He looked thoughtful. "Well, I may know a fella ... you know, who knows a fella in... in China. He might ..."

"How the hell are we supposed to get to China?" Spike snapped. "Teleport?"

"I guess." Doc shrugged unhelpfully.

Spike looked at him suspiciously.

"You know," he continued a little nervously, "if you're in that much of a hurry. Wish you luck."

"You're lying." Spike said coldly, Xander looked at him uncertainly, although he had an intuition that Spike was right the last thing he wanted to do was piss this creepy guy off - at least not without a damn good reason. Doc took off his glasses.

Funny, without them he didn't remind Xander of Giles at all, now he reminded him of a snake.

"And what's more," Spike continued calmly "I believe you're standing right in front of the very thing we need."

Doc smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the kind of smile the witch would give just as she slammed the oven door shut on the helpless little children ...

Suddenly he leapt, was behind them, they whirled around, but it was too late. Xander froze in horror. Doc had a sword, the point was hovering less than an inch away from Spike's throat. With the clarity that came when every sense was completely focussed on what was in front of him Xander could even see the razor sharp sword reflecting the light on Spike's face.

His body was thrumming, fired up, desperate to move, but he forced himself to stay completely still, not to do *anything* to make Doc use that sword on Spike, waiting for the chance to make his move, as his thoughts ran in a panicked loop.

/No, no, don't kill him, don't make me watch him die, don't, don't./

"Idiot," Doc hissed.

Doc lunged forward but Spike smacked the blade aside, throwing himself to the floor. "Get him!"

With the blade away from Spike's throat Xander flew forward, but a tongue, long and lizard like shot out of the Doc's mouth across the room. It pressed hard against his chest, pinning him against the wall. For a moment everything, even the danger vanished as every part of him crawled in utter revulsion and horror, as he pushed against it, then thankfully the tongue retreated, but with it's pressure gone he toppled forward, crashing to the floor.

/Oh God, oh no, Spike is gonna die because I'm so fucking USELESS!/

Doc towered over Spike's prone form. "You think only underworld bottom-feeders worship the beast?" With a vicious kick to Spike's face he turned grabbing the box he'd been hiding, throwing it into the fire.

"Her day is coming, boys!" He shouted jubilantly as he stalked back, grabbing Spike by the front of his shirt. "And when she returns, then you're gonna see something!"

A red mist of panic and rage fell over Xander's eyes. He rolled up to his feet, kneeing Doc in the chest, knocking him away from Spike, all in a swift, Slayer-like movement. He fell on top of the Doc, wrestling with him furiously, Doc struggled frantically under him, it was repellent, revolting. He reached out and grabbed the sword that had landed nearby, slamming it down into the Doc's chest. The struggles ceased as blue slimy blood spurted up over him. Panting heavily he turned away from the body to look at Spike.

Spike was kneeling by the fireplace with the box in his slightly singed hands, staring up at him an expression of amazement, exhilaration and cocky pleasure on his face. For a moment they didn't speak. Xander staggered up to his feet, wiping the repellent blood from his face.

"What do we got?" he asked, trying to distract him. Whatever emotional scene Spike had planned right now he just wanted to skip it. It worked, Spike looked back at the box.

"Something worth dying for." Spike said seriously. They stumbled out of the room, into the fresh night air.

Spike closed the door behind them and paused before they carried on, opening the box. Xander leant over him to see, it was full of papers, carefully tied, covered in obscure markings, some language he couldn't even begin to translate.

"Looks like the ritual rights," Spike said, his eyes darting swiftly over the markings.

"Well obviously," Xander said uncomfortably.

His eyes were caught by Spike's fingers, skimming lightly over the weird writing on the papers, and his damn fingernails were still black. Suddenly he felt empty, exhausted and so close to tears he didn't know how he could begin to hide it.

"This is going to be very helpful," Spike was saying, unaware of his distress. "We need to get it to Giles."

"Great," he said dully. "Lets go."

"You don't seem very happy about it," Spike said casually.

"I'm not happy!" he snapped suddenly, unable to stop himself as the shock, the fear and the stress finally broke through. Spike's eyebrows shot up with surprise at the unexpected force in his voice. "Why the hell would I be *happy*? Great plan Spike - just take us straight to the guy that worships her!"

"I didn't know!" Spike snapped defensively. "It worked out didn't it?"

"*Worked out*?" he repeated incredulously. "You could have been killed in there!"

"Not with you fighting on my side," Spike smiled meaningfully, satisfaction warming his voice as his eyes lit up.

"Shut up!" Xander yelled, his voice shaking. "Stop looking so pleased about it! I hate this - I hate how you make me *feel*!"

"Oh really?" Spike snapped as the glow of pleasure vanished from around him. "You're not the only one this is hard for okay? I'm not bloody singing for joy about the way *you* make *me* feel."

"Right Spike and how's that?" he questioned angrily, and he didn't know why he was doing this - he was playing with fire, and he knew it, but he was driven, desperate to hear what the hell was going on in Spike's head, once and for all.

"Don't, all right?" Spike said, his voice shaking. "Don't *do* that. You know exactly how I feel!" His voice was raising with each word, his slender form trembling. Xander was transfixed, dry mouthed with sudden fright at the release of emotion from Spike that up to now he had kept penned up so well. "You can tear me apart with just a bloody look! I have tried so hard to stop loving you, but I can't so just stop torturing me, will you?"

"I'm not ..." Xander denied, stiff lipped.

"Oh yes you are!" Spike shouted. "Everything you do, everything you say - you *breath* and it hurts me, cos the soddin' air is closer to you than I am. Bein' so close to you - so close to somethin' I want so bad ..." Spike's voice broke, raking his eyes hungrily, desperately over him, Xander felt himself flush under that gaze, as Spike carried on. "But if you don't want me then stop looking at me with those bloody hot eyes of yours and stop trembling when I get close to you. Make a bloody choice and stick to it!"

"I am!" he shot back furiously. "I've made my choice!"

He stopped, his anger draining away at the raw pain that flashed in Spike's eyes. Oh God. Why did this have to hurt so much? It felt like every part of him was bleeding. "Spike," he tried to say it gently. "It's easier this way."

"Easy?" Spike repeated, his voice still shaking. "You call this easy?"

"I didn't mean easy - I meant better, I meant ..."

"You meant safe," Spike said contemptuously.

"What's wrong with being safe?" he questioned defensively.

"It's not *real*," Spike struggled for the words, "it's not *right*. We're not supposed to be apart. You and me are meant to be together," Spike tried to smile lightly, but couldn't do it. "We're soulmates, pet."

"You don't have a soul," Xander whispered.

"Maybe not the soul I used to have, but I've got something, I couldn't feel like this if I was empty. Whatever it is I love you with every bit of it. My heart, my head, my gut, my body ..." Xander shook his head trying to blot out the incredible, terrifying words, Spike raised his voice. "You think you're being so bloody strong shutting me out - the truth is you're too gutless to let me in!"

Something broke inside Xander, his deepest most dreadful pain roared up from the place where it had made it's home inside his heart, out of his mouth. "You *broke* my *heart*!"

He didn't know how those words came out of him, he had never before displayed a painful, private wound for someone else to look at - especially not the one who had wounded him. Nauseated and ashamed he felt like he'd had all his clothes torn off him in public.

He and Spike stared at each other, terrible, disfiguring pain written on their faces, and he knew they were both in hell. Impaled here by their love for each other, there was no way out. He clawed for breath.

"I know," Spike said brokenly. "But ... I can make it right, if you'll just let me. Let me in. Please Xander, I mean you do still love me a little ... don't you?"

The moment that followed seemed to go on forever as the pause stretched out. He looked at Spike, Spike was looking back at him, eyes burning, straining towards him, desperate for his answer. All desire and love and tension radiating from him, it was all in front of him, begging for another chance. All he had to do was reach out and take it, and he wanted Spike. Wanted him so bad. Wanted him right now. But he couldn't take the risk. He *couldn't.*

"No."

Spike's face whitened.

"No," he repeated again distinctly, the terrible word vibrating between them. "I don't." As he spoke something died inside him, inside Spike - he could see the death in Spike's eyes. The light in them vanished, something else began to fill them, a pain he could hardly bear to look at.

Seconds ticked by.

"Right," Spike said eventually, his voice hitching roughly, Xander flinched to hear it. "Right."

The shock began to shake through Xander at the enormity of the lie he had told. He was cold all over, he wanted to staunch the wounds he'd just inflicted but couldn't move his body, his tongue wouldn't work. He looked away, at his feet, at the car, anywhere but at Spike.

"Spike ..." He managed to get out, but Spike shook his head violently.

"We - we'd better get back to the shop," Spike cut him off as though he just couldn't stand to hear his voice.

"I'm sorry ..." he began brokenly, moving forward.

"No - don't," Spike stumbled away as he stepped closer. "Let's just go."

Spike got into the car, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as though one of his limbs had been hacked off. Xander closed his eyes briefly, shuddering. Searing pain, self-reproach and misery shredded him inside but what else could he have done? He knew what Spike wanted from him, it was in his heated eyes, his vicious gestures, the frustration in every line of his tense frame and he'd had to make it stop before he weakened enough to give in to it. He hadn't wanted to hurt him but Spike would never have really given up unless he'd destroyed all hope finally and forever.

Tears of loss stung his eyes but he forced them away. He'd done what he had to. He wasn't open like Willow, or fearless like Buffy, he had never been good at letting his barriers down, opening up his heart. The only person he'd ever let in heart and soul, had been Spike himself and that was a lesson he didn't need a repeat of, he had learnt it well. Taught by tears and heartbreak and drinking so much he passed out and hacking at his arm with a piece of glass. The barriers were back up and treble locked. He had forgiven, but he could never forget. He could never let Spike back in. Spike had so much power and he was so vulnerable, Spike would get bored, leave him, and he'd be destroyed all over again.

So he'd done the best thing. Obviously.

He stumbled blindly into the car, feeling half dead and hurting all over, like his body didn't belong to him. They didn't exchange another word as he drove erratically to the Magic Box.

 

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