The Pit

By Medea

Chapter One

"Rupert, send my childe back to me."

Willow listened at a distance as Angel spoke in clipped tones to Giles over the phone. She could imagine Giles' flustered response to what probably seemed to him like a rather abrupt demand, but considered that the Watcher was lucky he hadn't witnessed the prelude to the demand. Even now, it chilled Willow to re-visit her earlier conversation with Angel and his anguished response to everything she had recounted about Spike's condition.

She couldn't tell whether Angel would greet the blond vampire's arrival with a fist to the jaw or a stoic, sorrowful embrace.

When she had narrated the highlights of Spike's recent infatuation with Buffy in all its gruesome detail, including his rather humiliating escapade with the robot duplicate, Angel's rage escalated steadily until it literally pealed off him like the tolling of a bell. It seemed a sacrilege to him, especially after everything Buffy had been through with her mother's untimely death -- one development in Sunnydale life he was grateful that someone *had* told him about. At least he had had the chance to be there for her.

As Angel listened to the catalogue of Spike's attempts to seduce the Slayer he had done little more than frown deeply and clench his jaw a few times. Yet that was but his surface reaction. The volatility of his inner emotions had almost sent Willow running for the door. Her instincts screamed at her to get the hell out of the way of a master vampire with that much pent-up anger.

How quickly things had changed when Angel had pressed her for any information that might shed light on his Prodigal childe's otherwise inexplicable crush on Buffy. As Willow recited chapter and verse every aspect of their ordeal with the Initiative and the fate that had befallen Spike, which had obliged the formerly-murderous demon to work closely with his sworn enemy, Angel's mood turned from anger to despair. At one point when Willow described the extent of Spike's inability to fight, hunt, or even so much as bruise a human, Angel stood abruptly, grabbed his trench coat and told Willow in a low, seething voice that he was going up to the roof for some air. Willow knew better than to follow him.

His tormented, furious howls carried all the way down to her. She learned then exactly how closely Angel's demon lurked beneath his souled exterior. But what was even more frightening was the long, desolate silence that followed when his despair was finally spent.

It had taken the approach of the dawning sun to send him back downstairs again. By that time, he had regained enough of his usual composure to make the call to Sunnydale.

"I don't care if you haven't seen him recently. Track him down and tell him to get over here," Angel replied to the Watcher's protests.

After a brief pause, Willow heard Angel answer a question that she knew would be coming.

"Yes, I know where she is. Willow is here with me....she'll be staying here for a while longer...no....I'm sorry, I can't explain right now, other than to say that she's safe."

Willow stopped eavesdropping at that point and went to curl up on the bed. She hadn't yet given much thought to how she would deal with her friends back home, and the prospect of trying to explain the recent twist of fate was unappealing.

It was only supposed to be a weekend trip into the city for a conference, not a turning point that would permanently change everything.

Xander had been planning to take her along to help him purchase his first car this week. She and Tara had promised to help Giles with his inventory at the magic shop. And Buffy was going to need *major* help with American Lit if she was going to pass the...

<Oh,no...> Willow moaned inwardly, as yet another unpleasant realization hit her.

Buffy was no longer just Buffy -- she was The Slayer.

And Willow was a vampire.

Willow felt the conflict rising within her. She had memories of Buffy as a friend, a truly close friend who in life had meant as much to her as her best bud, Xander. Willow even remembered crying together with Buffy on more than one occasion after her mother's sudden and unexpected death, although in her current state the young vampire could no longer summon up any feelings of grief.

But would any of that matter anymore?

Buffy was The Slayer.

How would she react to Willow's recent induction to the community of the undead? Willow had seen Buffy stake dozens, even hundreds, of minions without so much as batting an eyelash. Would she condemn Willow to the same fate? What if Buffy decided that it would be the merciful thing to do?

<And what about me?> Willow continued her troubled thoughts, <How will I react to her? Will I even see her as Buffy, or is there some vamp kill-or-be-killed instinct that will take over if I get near her?>

Angel had returned to his private suite, and although her senses were highly-attuned to his presence Willow was so preoccupied with the tangled issues over which she had been brooding that she didn't really notice. It wasn't until she felt the subtle shift in the mattress as it accommodated his weight that she remembered her host. Detecting a faint hint of blood in the air, she turned to find him stripped down, leaning against the head board and offering her a mug while he sipped his own.

"Thanks," she murmured awkwardly, unsure of what to say to him after the rather tempestuous night he had passed on the roof.

"I'm sorry about last night," Angel apologized, "I shouldn't have left you here like that...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I can see how everything I told you would be upsetting," Willow replied, grateful that he had taken the lead in dispelling the tension.

"There aren't words for what I feel," the elder vampire growled, his demeanor momentarily darkening, "Those commandos violated him. They practically *eviscerated* him, taking away everything that made him what he was. My childe....Blood of my blood..." his words trailed off into a pained whisper.

Willow placed a comforting hand on Angel's shoulder and stroked him gently, but said nothing. Just as she struggled to relate to the human emotions she used to feel, once upon a lifetime, she also knew that she had no capacity to fathom Angel's connection to his wild, treacherous, arrogant childe. She herself had known her own sire for scarcely twenty-four hours, and had experienced not the slightest twinge of regret at his loss.

After a few moments Willow managed to say, "He'll be back with you soon, though."

Angel grasped her hand in his and squeezed gently, grateful for her effort to console him. Then, he dismissed the urge to continue brooding over his failure to protect his childe, and concentrated on his newly-acquired foundling. "Your friends are worried about you, Willow," he informed her. "We'll have to tell them something soon."

"This is *so* not good," Willow cringed, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her head against her palms.

"They'll find out eventually," Angel reminded her.

"I know. I just don't want to think about how they'll react right now. And then there's Buffy..." her words trailed off.

Angel nodded in agreement. "It will be awhile before you're ready to see Buffy. I don't think it would serve you well to test your limits this soon."

"It's all happened so fast. Being turned. My sire getting staked...and *you*..." Willow muttered wearily, "I don't know how I'll make any of them understand it, when I can barely sort through it myself."

"They probably won't understand, not for awhile," Angel conceded, "But they won't have any choice but to accept it. As much as I wish it were possible, this is something that can't be undone."

"Except with a stake," Willow corrected him soberly.

Letting go of her hand, Angel pushed himself up on his knees and faced her dead-on. His eyes reflected sorrow and determination as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and asked gravely:

"Is that what you want Willow?"

"No!!" she barely squeaked, "No, no, no...what I meant was that they might see it as a solution if they decide that the Willow I was before would rather have died than end up like me."

Angel visibly relaxed and pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he feared she would shatter. Resting his forehead against hers, he promised her solemnly:

"They'll have to go through me, little one. I offered you my protection, and you'll have it for as long as you wish. But please, don't ever, *ever* joke about being staked. If it comes down to that, and you decide it's what you want...I'll do it for you. If this existence becomes too much for you, I won't let you suffer. But I hope it won't. I'll do everything I can to see that it doesn't, because I'm not ready to give you up just yet."

"Well, I'm not giving up, either. I just barely got started!" Willow declared emphatically, before she softened her tone and added, "Thank you again, Angel, for giving me a chance...I guess I can't stop saying that."

"Willow, this isn't a one-way street. You're giving me something, too," Angel murmured as he settled comfortably back on the pillows and drew Willow along with him. When she stared at him expectantly, he explained, "You're giving me the chance to make a difference."

Willow grinned mischievously and said, "I could go out and buy you a 'Save the Whales' poster, too, if you'd like."

Angel smiled back at her and urged her to rest her head against his chest as they prepared for their diurnal repose. As he looked down at her slight form cradled against him, bittersweet thoughts of his own, erstwhile sire filtered through his mind.

The lost soul who didn't want to be saved.

This time, he hoped it would be different.

******

The faint sound of footsteps on the vast parquet floor of the lobby roused Angel from his slumber some time in late-afternoon. He listened intently and discerned the familiar click of Cordelia's heels. Gently extricating himself from the sleeping redhead, he slipped out of bed, pulled on the clothes he had discarded on the floor that morning, and went out to speak with Cordelia before she could sneak out, unnoticed.

She was stealthily tucking a note atop several shopping bags filled with clothes when Angel emerged from his suite and approached her.

"Willow will appreciate those," he observed, startling her. Cordelia released a strangled gasp and nearly fell over, before whirling around and scolding him:

"Honestly, Angel!! Lurk much? Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry. I just wanted to catch you before you left," Angel apologized, even as his eyes rebuked her softly for her near-successful effort to avoid him. "There's been a slight change in plans."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed questioningly for a brief moment and then widened suddenly in horror. "Oh God! Did something happen? Is Willow still...is she...?"

Realizing that Cordelia must have assumed the worst about Willow's adjustment to existence as a vampire, Angel rushed to assuage her fears. "Willow is fine, Cordelia. She's sleeping right now. I only wanted to let you know that I called Giles this morning and told him to send Spike back to L.A. I'm going to ask him to stay with us for a while."

"Spike?!" Cordelia stammered in disbelief, "You mean I'd-Just-As-Soon-Torture-You-and-Kill-You Spike? *That* Spike? What on earth do you need him for?!"

Angel shook his head. "It's what he needs me for. Apparently, a lot has happened in Sunnydale that nobody bothered to tell me about. Spike doesn't belong there anymore. He belongs here."

Something flickered in Cordelia's eyes, and her expression slowly resolved itself into a determined glare that Angel was all too familiar with these days. She was upset, and he knew she probably questioned his judgment. He braced himself for the onslaught that he knew was about to be unleashed.

"Well, this is just great! Angel, what are you, the founder of some kind of Humane Society for Abandoned Vampires?!" she fumed, "Willow, I can understand. But Spike? This is starting to be a *very* *bad* pattern with you. Look at what happened with Darla. You came this close to losing it for good."

"Cordelia--"

"Be quiet!" she interrupted sternly, "You turned your back on us once already for the sake of some misplaced loyalty to Darla. It doesn't work, Angel. You can't save everyone. But you can destroy yourself while trying. Don't go there again."

"I know it looks bad," Angel asserted, "But please trust me, Cordelia. I don't want to go down that path again any more than you want me to. I'll admit that I can't predict how this will all turn out, but it's what I need to do."

The willful brunette locked an unflinching gaze on him, until she finally sighed in frustration, "Angel, I'm worried about you."

He lowered his eyes apologetically. "I've given you good cause to worry."

Shifting in closer to him, Cordelia grasped his hand gently in hers and voiced a heartfelt plea. "Don't make the same mistake twice, Angel. This time, don't cut yourself off from us. Don't expect to shoulder the weight of the world without having someone else to lean on. That's what we're here for."

Glistening brown eyes looked up at her gratefully, as Angel drew her nearer still to place a light kiss on her forehead and murmur, "Thank you, Delia."

The Seer squeezed his hand to emphasize their shared commitment to each other and to a common cause. It had remained largely unspoken, but Angel's intimate gesture brought into stark relief the hesitant attraction that had arisen between them during the course of their shared trials against the forces of darkness. They remained in silent communion for the space of a few heartbeats before Cordelia broke away, averting her eyes awkwardly at the thought of a road that would never be traveled, and with some effort mustered her customarily chipper voice:

"I should get back to the other office. Gunn and Wesley might start wondering where I am....oh, and that reminds me. They stopped by yesterday evening and left your care packages in the employee fridge behind the front desk."

Cordelia's gaze remained uncomfortably diverted from his own, and Angel could only wonder what his co-workers had overheard of the previous night's activities when they had delivered the supply of blood. Before he could attempt to explain, however, Cordelia offered a quick, "see you later", and turned toward the hotel's grand entrance. Angel called after her:

"I'll be in touch, soon."

With her hand on the door, Cordelia turned and smiled. "Keep us up-to-date about what's happening with Willow, too."

After her departure, Angel gathered up the vast assortment of shopping bags that the brunette had left behind and toted them back to his suite, feeling somewhat like an overburdened camel in a caravan. He fully expected to find Willow still sleeping in his bed, but was taken aback to see her sitting in the nude, yoga-style, on the floor. Her eyes were closed, and although her lips moved in an almost imperceptible dance of speech, the vision presented by her posture was one of utter stillness and serenity. Angel was unwilling to take so much as another step, as though to break the trance would be an act of profanity in a sacred space.

The minutes passed, and still Angel remained frozen in place, watching Willow's silent meditations.

Without prelude, the young vampire's eyes were open as if they had never been closed. She smiled at Angel and, nodding her head at the bags clutched in his hands, mused, "That's a lot of clothes. I should have guessed, knowing who we sent to do the job."

As Willow shifted to her knees and then pushed herself up off the floor, Angel felt the need to apologize for intruding on her. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I didn't know you were..."

"It was a rejuvenating spell," Willow explained, "It clears the mind and focuses energy. It's kind of part of my morning routine...oh, well, at least it was while I was still human and...I guess since you mentioned drawing upon my past strengths, I thought I should keep it up..."

"Good idea," Angel agreed before asking, "Have you already helped yourself to some blood?"

"Not yet. If the spell is performed as the first act upon waking, it enhances any experience that comes after it. Meals are more fortifying, sensory perception is heightened, all kinds of good stuff."

"So this first bag will be--"

"--just as bland-tasting as any other bagged blood, only I'll draw a little more strength from it," Willow chuckled.

"That's a good thing, since you'll need your strength this evening," Angel warned sternly, although the effect was undermined by the grin that tugged at his lips.

"You're going to teach me to fight?" Willow's eager reply literally sang forth.

"We're going to start this evening," Angel confirmed, "So why don't you rummage through the things that Cordelia bought and find something comfortable and unrestrictive. Because as much as I enjoy seeing you like that," he raked his eyes over her still-undressed body, "I don't think I'd be able to concentrate on teaching you the necessary moves in that condition."

"Oh, I don't know," Willow countered smoothly, "I think you could teach me some *very* nice moves in this condition."

"None that would do you any good against a vampire who considered it his duty to stake a minion's minion. Now stop tempting me and go," Angel growled at her fondly. He kissed her tenderly as he handed her Cordelia's numerous finds and turned to retrieve some Red Cross pouches from the refrigerator.

Willow dumped the bags on the floor at the foot of the bed and sorted through them, eventually pulling out the requisite underwear, a pair of gray sweatpants and a tank top. She joined Angel for her first blood of the evening which, as she had hoped, was indeed more filling and energizing with the effects of her rejuvenating spell. The two vampires made quick work of their meal, and when Angel had changed into more suitable clothing himself he led her down to the spacious room that functioned as his own, personal dojo.

They began with a few simple hand-to-hand defensive maneuvers, which Angel demonstrated for her several times, explaining each motion as he went through it, before observing and correcting her efforts. Willow had to force herself to concentrate, and resist the temptation to give herself over to the pleasure of watching his body move. It took no small amount of discipline on her part, since she had never witnessed the male form arch and twist and strike with such balance and perfection.

His shoulder muscles contracted and released easily as he swung his arms in elegant arcs. With a posture that was less that of a fighter than a dancer, punch flowed seamlessly into kick. Each gesture was measured and precise, and executed with a deadly grace.

It was enchanting.

For over two hours, Angel guided her patiently through various routines. To her increasing frustration, Willow discovered that her resurrection as a vampire might have brought with it super-human strength, speed and agility, but her limbs were not automatically conditioned to execute the strategic moves that Angel was teaching her. As with anything, this was going to take practice. And lots of it.

"Freeze, Willow!" Angel barked at her sharply. She complied instantly, and he drew her attention to her stance. "Look at the way your feet are planted. Then at where I am. What do you see?"

In life, Willow hadn't been a fighter, so she had few memories on which to base any analysis of her bearing in combat mode. With uncertainty, she guessed:

"Um...my feet are too close together?"

"That, and your weight is thrown off. Your opponent could tip you over like that. But if you adjust your stance..." he explained, placing firm but gentle hands on her hips and nudging her into the correct posture, "...like so, you'll keep your balance. Lose your balance, and you could get staked. Now, let's go again."

Willow readied herself to recommence the exercise when she paused, suddenly aware of a strong presence elsewhere in the hotel.

Angel detected it as well and looked at his student soberly. "We're done for now. He's here."

"Spike," Willow whispered.

*****

The blond vampire who stalked into the hotel lobby was in a foul mood. Not only had he suffered abuse from the Slayer and her pathetic lot for more months than he cared to remember because of the bloody chip, but it had all come to an end with the Watcher sanctimoniously sending him packing back to L.A. It was like being chased out of Sunnyhell with his tail between his legs before he'd even had a chance to restore a little of his bloody dignity after that bloody humiliating confession to the bloody prim and untouchable Slayer. Cor, this chip must have made him completely daft -- what was he thinking?!

And it was the damned Poof's rotten sense of timing that had yanked him away from the Slayer and her little pep squad before he'd had a chance to remind them all how he'd earned his reputation as the Big Bad.

"Peaches!! Where the bloody hell are you?!?" Spike bellowed. His irritation climbed steadily at the fact that his sire didn't even seem to be concerned with being here to explain the sudden marching orders.

"Keep it down, Spike, I'm right here," Angel answered as he strolled in from the basement dojo.

A caustic remark was poised to spring off the tip of Spike's tongue when his eyes fell upon the figure trailing slightly behind his sire. Certainly a familiar face, but in an entirely unexpected package. He let out a low whistle, and muttered, "Bloody hell."

All three vampires held their positions as an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. At last, Spike shook his head incredulously and spoke again:

"A sodding minion got to her, eh? And here I'd always rather thought that I'd be the one to do the honors. Well, I can see why you called me, mate. Couldn't bring yourself to do the job yourself, what with the soul and all, could you?" Spike moved slowly toward Willow, with the deliberate tension of a panther tracking its prey. "Just hand me a stake and I'll take care of it nice and proper."

"Angel..." Willow hissed nervously.

"It's all right, Willow," Angel reassured her as he stepped closer to her, shielding her from Spike's advance, "You're under my protection. Now that Spike knows this, he won't do anything to hurt you since I'm *sure* he knows what happens to anyone who harms an individual I've promised to protect." Angel fixed a cool, resolute stare on his lethal childe. "You remember Alexei, don't you, Spike?"

With this remark Spike halted abruptly and his entire demeanor changed. He diverted himself from his previously menacing approach to Willow, strode over to an overstuffed armchair, dropped down onto it and lit himself a cigarette.

Glaring up at his sire with contempt, he drawled, "You've got to be bloody joking, Peaches. What on earth ever possessed you to take *that* under your protection? No, let me guess. She showed up on your doorstep like a poor little abandoned kitten, and you felt an obligation to her precious, innocent memory. Is that what happened? You know as well as I do that *this* isn't that girl anymore. Let me put it out of its misery -- you'd be doing it a favor."

"The name..." Willow seethed at him furiously, "...is Willow. I am not an 'It'."

Before Spike was able to hurl a condescending retort at her, Angel intervened. "I know what she seems like to you. But there's more of the old Willow in there than you think, and we're going to help her get stronger -- strong enough to survive."

"We? *WE*?!! What do you mean by *we*?" Spike demanded ominously.

"You're going to help me."

"The hell I am!!" Spike responded with such force that he nearly flung his cigarette across the lobby. He was back on his feet, drawing himself up to the most intimidating height he could muster.

"You're going to help me, childe," Angel repeated, emphasizing his claim as sire over his rebellious, erstwhile companion. "In turn, I'll help you."

"Like I need your help," Spike sneered back at him defiantly. "Anyway, what do you need me for? I can smell you all over each other, so you've obviously been feeding her. I know you can teach her to fight. What more could you possibly be needing my services for?"

"I can't teach her to hunt..."

Spike's interest surged at this revelation, and he marveled at what could have persuaded the Great Poof to abandon his scruples about taking human life. However, any elation he felt at the prospect of a good round of vicarious bloodletting, courtesy of Willow and with Daddy's blessing, was shattered when he heard the next words from his sire's mouth:

"...and you do need me, William."

That voice. That name.

It was from a time that had long since passed. A beautiful, wonderful time that had ended with the arrival of the Soul. And Spike had worked so hard to forget, to shove aside that painful loss and bury it beneath bitterness, decades of wandering from massacre to massacre with his Dark Goddess, and a stubborn tendency to track down his once-magnificent sire and torment him from time to time. The Poof had never evoked their glorious past in this manner.

Yet now he chose to summon up...everything...with only a few words.

Spike looked deep into Angel's eyes and, seeing the compassion and regret lingering there, the truth finally hit him. In a voice laced with venom, the blond vampire addressed Willow directly for the first time since his arrival:

"You told him."

"He asked," Willow replied simply.

The only thing that quelled Spike's urge to lunge at the slight redhead and rip out her throat was Angel's earlier warning about ending up like Alexei.

Bloody hell, he needed to hurt something! Very, very badly...

When Angel saw his childe ease into a deceptively calm stance and caught the cruel, mercenary glint in his eyes, the elder vampire knew well enough to be deeply worried.

"We both know you could force me, Angelus," Spike acknowledged coolly, deliberately addressing his sire by his former name, "But we also know that it would be exceedingly messy...you never know what *innocent* bystanders might get caught in the cross-fire," he continued with a menacing glance at Willow, "But with the proper incentive, I might be persuaded to do this voluntarily."

"What kind of incentive?" Angel asked, matching his childe's low, deadly tone of voice.

Rather than answering the elder vampire, though, Spike turned to Willow and stated flatly, "You. One night. For as long as it takes until I'm bloody good and done with you."

"NO!!" Angel roared as he threw himself at Spike and landed a crushing blow to the younger vampire's skull. The force of the impact sent Spike staggering backward but he maintained his footing and rushed back at Angel with blinding fury. Locked in combat, they struck at each other mercilessly until an angry, resolute shout halted them.

"Stop it! That's *enough*!!" Willow demanded sternly. "This won't solve anything. Besides, as the central player in this sordid melodrama you two seem *determined* to work out with your fists, I think I have the final say in the matter."

"Willow, you don't have to--" Angel cautioned her, but she dismissed his warning with a declaration that brooked no argument.

"It has to be *my* choice," Willow insisted, "I know I don't have a great deal of choice about my situation, thanks to the no-good sire who started me out at a disadvantage. I want that to change, and if there is a way for me to make it happen, no matter how unappealing, I want to be the one to consider my options and make the decision."

"Please, don't do this, Willow. Don't deliver yourself into his hands like this. I know Spike in this mood...it won't be pleasant," Angel begged, fearful of the damage that his vicious childe could inflict on her.

"You wound me, Peaches," Spike taunted wickedly, "I could have sworn that you rather liked me in this mood."

"Oh, cut it out, Spike!" Willow snapped, exasperated, before she softened her tone and attempted to soothe her mentor. "Angel, I appreciate that you want to protect me from him...and I don't doubt that I need it right now. But eventually I'm going to have to be able to rely on myself, even in situations I might not be fully prepared to handle. You can't always be there to look after me."

Even with centuries of experience at mastering his emotions, Angel couldn't prevent the pain that Willow's words caused him from flickering briefly across his face. Of course, it came as no surprise to him when Spike detected it and pounced.

"Score one for you, luv," he chuckled appreciatively, "You hit him where it really hurts. The Poof *hates* the idea that he can't save everything he cares about."

"Fuck you, Spike," Angel growled, his eyes flaring demon-gold.

Spike winked at him and twisted the knife still further. "Not just yet, mate. Maybe later. So, little minion...what'll it be?"

"Refresh my memory," Willow replied coolly, "What exactly are the terms and conditions of this deal?"

Angel gritted his teeth at the smug, triumphant grin that stretched across Spike's face.

"Very simple. A trade. I keep you for one night, to do with as I please. In return, I help the Poof toughen you up so that you stand half a bloody chance at survival."

Willow stilled her nerves, exercising the same restraint that had served her so well in the lair a few nights earlier, and nodded. "Agreed."

Helpless to deter Willow's chosen course of action, or to persuade her that it wasn't a *choice* when it involved this degree of coercion, Angel stalked over to Spike and grabbed his devious childe brutally. One powerful hand drew his stubborn, blond head within intimate reach of the elder vampire's mouth, while the other gripped Spike's ass and pulled him flush against Angel's hips. Brushing his lips across his childe's ear, Angel whispered a deadly warning:

"I promise you, my boy, anything beyond a few bruises or welts, and I will make sure you feel every single blow you inflict on her. A fracture for a fracture. Wound for wound. Blood for blood. And if she's scarred permanently, I'll stake you myself."

Letting his true face emerge, Angel sank his fangs savagely into Spike's neck, reasserting his authority as sire. Almost immediately, he felt his childe's familiar response as Spike hardened against his thigh. The younger male struggled to contain his moan, furious at Angel for humiliating him like this in front of Willow, but unable to resist the delicious sensation of his sire bending him to his will. He gasped softly enough for Angel's ears alone to hear, "Agreed."

Angel released him, but not without difficulty. It had been a century since he'd tasted Spike's blood, and in that time it had become that much more potent. Their mutual reactions to each other proved a heady mixture for him, and for a split-second Angel contemplated offering himself in Willow's stead. As he looked at his childe, he realized that Spike knew exactly where his thoughts had turned and even appeared mildly tempted. But Willow had made it clear: it mattered to her to be able to do this on her own, even if it promised to be unpleasant.

At last, Spike recovered his original cockiness and quipped, "Right. We'll need a room."

"There's one made up just past my suite," Angel replied evenly, clenching his jaw as he watched Spike stride away, taking Willow with him.

Angel prepared to undergo his own form of torture that evening.

 

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