The Pit

By Medea

Chapter Three

Willow left Spike in his diminutive, furred state for a full twenty-four hours, partly to make certain that he knew she meant business, and partly because such a major spell left her feeling somewhat weakened. Angel insisted that they forgo her training until she had recovered her strength, and instead lured her back to his room to feed.

She needed little coaxing. After the awkward reminder of her past life presented by the visit from Xander and Tara, Angel's blood offered the comforting oblivion of passion. And Angel himself was amazingly insightful as a lover, patiently experimenting with touch, with different degrees of gentleness and force, until he became expert at building her slowly yet inexorably to rapture.

As they reclined intimately after a period of frenzied coupling, with Willow resting against Angel's broad chest and suckling at his wrist while he stroked her hair with his free hand, neither of them noticed a small, white rat who hunched in the corner and observed quietly.

*****

The following evening, Willow restored Spike to his normal state. He stared at her sullenly as she extended his leather duster to him and said, "Truce?"

Her former tormenter shrugged on the duster nonchalantly and then continued to regard her coolly, his arms folded defiantly across his bare chest. Willow attempted to match his unswerving gaze, but flinched inadvertently and let her eyes momentarily wander south.

Spike arched a thin, sculpted eyebrow at her and replied, "Truce."

*****

For the next several weeks the three vampires fell into a routine of intense sparring and companionable co-existence. At times, Spike lapsed and took to bullying Willow, whereupon Angel delivered a sound thrashing. For her part, Willow discovered exactly how much she had learned about vampire relations when she realized that sometimes Spike did it on purpose, just to elicit that sound thrashing from his sire. Oddly enough, it allowed her to relax around him, as if there was solidarity in their shared craving for the senior vampire's touch.

And Willow had no illusions about how those thrashings ended.

The mingled scents of the two males' arousal often filled her with an overwhelming urge to abandon the safety of the premises, stalk the night and kill. Only Angel's warnings about the risk of encountering other vampires on her own, before she was fully prepared to defend herself, had quelled the impulse.

Finally one night, after Willow had managed to bring a stake right up to Angel's chest in a lightning-swift gesture during a practice bout, her mentor agreed that she was ready. And if Willow basked with a sense of accomplishment, Spike was downright giddy at the prospect of going out to prey on the living.

"I can still remember taking Dru out for her first real hunt," Spike waxed nostalgic, "Bloody hell, this will be just like old times!"

"Don't get carried away," Angel instructed, "And if you run into Wesley, Gunn or Cordelia, don't say a *word* about what you're doing. They wouldn't understand this."

Spike scowled at him petulantly, but didn't challenge his orders. Instead, he turned to Willow, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her after him, whispering conspiratorially, "Come on, luv, let's get you dressed to kill before Daddy decides to give us a curfew, too."

Angel smirked in wry amusement at his headstrong childe and drawled, "Be home before dawn."

"Don't wait up, mate," Spike fired over his shoulder as he and Willow made their way toward Angel's suite. As they passed into the sitting room, Willow gestured toward the couch and told Spike to have a seat while she changed.

"Why the modesty, luv? I've seen it all before," he quipped, somewhat bewildered.

Willow flashed him her "resolve" face and answered firmly, "That's not a subject you should bring up if you like walking upright. And even so, we've been through this already: the agreement was for one night. It didn't give you carte blanche to me or my body. Now have a seat. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Spike was stunned. For a few moments, his face was frozen in a mask of indignation before he sputtered, "You...little....wench! You think you can treat me like some bloody *minion*, to dismiss at your whim?! I've half a mind to leave you on your own. Go hunt, princess, and get yourself dusted for all I care!!"

"Oh, you'll come with me all right," Willow fired back at him smoothly, "Because you haven't been able to hunt in over a year, and you want this more than I do."

The blond vampire was completely still, and all emotion drained from his face except for his eyes.

They held the look of death.

In a low, menacing tone Spike threatened, "That's not a subject you should bring up if you like having your head attached to your shoulders, little minion. My sire may be forcing me to make something better out of you than the *pathetic* creature you are, so I'll give you a survival tip: never push a Master vampire too far. You're not in the same league."

Willow was the first to break the stalemate. Placing her hands on her hips she asked wearily, "Do we really have to go through this again? *Truce*, Spike..."

He glared back at her, and she could almost see him struggling inwardly. Finally he threw his hands up and muttered in exasperation, "Oh, bloody hell! *Truce*, you little brat...now hurry up and get dressed, will you? We haven't got all bloody night!"

Willow raised her eyebrows, unable to contain a bemused smirk at his petulant display, then turned toward Angel's bedroom and headed for his closet. She sorted through some of the dressier clothes that Cordelia had purchased for her, but which had hung, forgotten, ever since Willow had first yanked them out of the shopping bags. Quickly divesting herself of the sweatpants and tee shirt that had become her preferred workout clothes, Willow slipped a deep plum tank top over her head and then pulled on a simple, black rayon skirt that flowed like gossamer all the way to her ankles.

And then it hit her.

Like waves of heat shimmering above the sand under a scorching desert sun, the scent of Spike's blood saturated the air.

Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, Willow nearly swooned and had to lean against the wall for several minutes, shakily bracing herself to stay on her feet. She writhed, as if by contorting her body she could clear the lust from her head, and wondered what the hell he was playing at.

As for Spike, he, too, was braced against a wall, struggling to control himself.

With one palm flat against the plaster, he leaned into his hunger as he bit down savagely against his own wrist, violently attempting to quell the desires provoked once more by a stubborn little spitfire who had had the effrontery to deny him. As the pain slowly calmed him, he realized that a bag of blood was desperately in order before they went out. Licking his wounds, he went to the refrigerator and browsed.

Back in the closet, Willow regained her composure and moved to finish dressing. She suddenly needed to feed...very, very, very badly.

Rather lacking in footwear options since she hadn't remembered to ask Cordelia to buy shoes as well, Willow stepped into the well-worn sandals that had been among the belongings that Tara had sent her from Sunnydale. She frowned slightly at their impracticality, suddenly wishing that she had something that she could wear with a skirt but still run in should they encounter a group of vampires too numerous to fight. Oh, well, for the moment it couldn't be helped.

She emerged from the bedroom to find Spike by the microwave, gulping down a mug of re-heated blood. When he had emptied the mug of its contents, he lowered it and nodded at her gruffly, "Very nice."

Willow smiled nonchalantly and shrugged back at him, "I wish I had better shoes."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he crossed the room and studied her. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against her collar bone with a teasingly light touch and observed, "Your outfit does want something more...a bauble of some sort, maybe a necklace..."

Tension hung between them as Willow looked down at his hand, and then up at its owner.

With a final caress of his thumb over her clavicle, Spike pulled away and, with temptation smoldering in his icy blue eyes he murmured silkily, "Shall we?"

*****

They meandered at a leisurely pace through one of the more fashionable restaurant districts. The two vampires blended in easily with the other couples, Willow having consented to link her arm loosely through that which Spike proffered with a flair of gallantry. Spike made several suggestions as to possible prey, but waited patiently while she scanned the crowd, considered the myriad of faces thoughtfully, and chose. When she spied a rather self-important-looking businessman drinking with a group of friends at an outdoor, patio bar and whooping it up as though he were the life of the party, Willow zeroed in on him with a feral grin. Intrigued, Spike followed her gaze and nodded approvingly.

The deadly pair seated themselves at a nearby table and ordered two glasses of red wine, which they pretended to sip while they observed the Armani-clad man discreetly. When he excused himself to head off to the men's room, they moved into position.

They flanked him silently as he strode inside the restaurant and down the corridor to his destination. Just as he reached for the door to the restroom, the man felt a powerful yet slender arm wrap firmly around his upper torso while a hand clamped down over his mouth, and he was propelled through an exit into the alley behind the kitchen. Before he could catch a glimpse of his attacker, Willow had easily snapped his neck and embedded her fangs in his jugular. She drained him swiftly and disposed of the body in the dumpster which Spike held open for her.

Lowering the lid, the blond vampire once again crooked his arm and offered it to her, saying, "Nicely done, luv. I take it your tastes are running toward the elite this evening?"

Willow smiled almost drunkenly, still tingling from the heady sensation of feeding. "I guess they are."

"Fancy a bit of a challenge, then?" Spike grinned at her fiendishly. "Care to stalk the rich and famous on their own ground?"

"Lead on, Spike," Willow deferred to him, warming to the game. They re-entered the restaurant where Spike coolly demanded that the maitre d' call a limousine for them. When it arrived he instructed the driver to take them out to the television studio district, and relaxed against the cushiony leather seat...somewhat disappointed that Willow kept to her side of the seat.

Sometime later, when the limousine pulled up on the outskirts of one of the studio lots and the driver stepped to the side of the vehicle to hold the door open for Willow, she pulled him in and snapped his neck just as deftly as she had done to her previous victim. As she drank, Spike savored the tantalizing aroma of blood and muttered forlornly, "Cor, I miss that."

Willow pulled away and regarded him sympathetically. Shifting the driver's body toward her companion she said, "Help yourself."

Spike looked at her, dumbfounded.

Minions usually weren't able to exercise this kind of self-control while feeding, at least not for the first six months or so of their existence. Angel's blood must really be helping. Not that Spike would have doubted it, having indulged in his sire's potent elixir quite recently himself.

Still, he hesitated and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Mmm hmm." Willow nodded and released the driver into Spike's arms. Needing no further encouragement, he plunged his fangs with deep relish into the man's neck and drank greedily.

When he finished, Spike let the body slump to the floor, reached out to grasp Willow's hand and drew it to his lips. Placing a reverent kiss on the back of her hand, he whispered fervently, "Thank you, luv."

Without releasing her hand, Spike reached up to cup her cheek and held her gaze with turbulent, dark eyes. The look she saw there caused Willow to shiver and she pulled back, murmuring, "Shall we go?"

The mood broken, Spike pursed his lips slightly and followed her out of the limousine.

They wandered outside the high fences surrounding different studios, and past the guards posted at their lonely booths at the entries. When they came upon one who was oblivious to the outside world as he watched a Lakers game on a portable television set, they glided past him, unobserved in the shadows, and onto the lot.

At last they saw a haggard man, just on the other side of his prime, exit one of the huge soundstages and make his way toward a car parked nearby. Leisurely, Spike and Willow strolled over, picking up snippets of an argument he was having with someone on the other end of a cell phone.

"Look, I don't care if David won't sign for another year," the man snapped in exasperation, "I can't kill off Mulder because I need the character if I'm still going to go ahead with another movie."

As he reached out absently to insert his keys into the lock on the driver's side, working on auto-pilot as he concentrated on his conversation, the man was startled to feel an icy hand clamp down on his wrist. He looked up in horror at demon-yellow eyes, and saw one of his own scripts come-to-life.

"This is *not* happening!" he groaned in denial.

Willow yanked him easily toward her and wrenched his neck to the side. As she bent down over his throat, she snarled with scorn, "You know, I *really* hate what you did with this season."

Quickly draining him, she let his corpse slump down alongside the car. Spike joined her and wiped a stray trace of blood from the corner of her mouth, savoring a vicarious taste.

Glancing down at the body, he observed lightly, "Wasn't that the bloke who did the paranormal show with the delicious redhead?"

"Mmm hmm," Willow nodded, still buzzing with the feel of living blood in her veins.

"Hmm...well, serves him right," Spike shrugged, "He got us all wrong."

And so Chris Carter met his unhappy end.

*****

Willow and Spike returned to the old Hyperion hotel shortly after 3:00 a.m., each somewhat edgy but for different reasons.

As with her first kill the night after she was turned, when the initial rush of feeding had waned Willow found herself mulling uncomfortably over the ease with which she had robbed three humans of their lives. Spike, on the other hand, had reveled in every moment and found himself wishing more than ever that he could get the bloody chip out of his head. The things he could show her...

Spike was stirred out of his reverie by the feel of Willow withdrawing her arm from his and moving away from him. He realized that they were already in the lobby and Angel was advancing to meet the redhead. The blond vampire halted as he watched his sire enfold her in a comforting embrace.

"How was it?" Angel asked her softly as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

The conflict was visible in her features as she confessed, "About the same as last time."

"Don't be modest, luv," Spike interjected, not quite clear what Willow and the Poof were talking about. "You're a sight to behold when you move in for the kill."

The perplexed, somewhat pained smile that flickered briefly on Willow's face as she glanced back at him and mumbled her thanks left Spike feeling even more confused. What was wrong? Had she not been able to eat her fill? He would have thought that three would have been enough, but maybe he brought her back home too early...

"Willow, it's something you need to do right now," Angel reassured her, "Although I can't be the one to help you with this part of what you've become, even I can accept that this is necessary for the time being."

"I know," Willow admitted, "It just feels...weird. This is one of those things that reminds me that I don't quite fit in..."

"Come on," Angel urged her back toward his suite, "Let's get some rest." Casting a grateful look over his shoulder, Angel offered a sincere, heartfelt thank you to his childe for having helped Willow with that aspect of her development in which Angel himself simply couldn't partake.

Spike could only stand and watch as they retreated together...to another day spent in each other's arms.

When they were gone, he rested his hands on his hips, tilted his head back, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and cursed, "Bloody hell."

*****

For the next few days, Willow declined to go out and hunt. Angel was content to let her set her own pace, and concentrated instead on drilling her on her fighting techniques.

Spike, who had thoroughly enjoyed his night out and had been looking forward to another hunt, grew increasingly irritable and began taking it out on Willow when they sparred. He struck more swiftly and with greater viciousness, often delivering sharp blows that left painful bruises for the better part of a day. Angel was able to hold him at bay with warning growls when Spike came close to hurting her seriously.

Until the fourth night after their hunt.

The three of them had been training for several hours, alternating between more subdued periods in which Angel instructed Willow in a new move while Spike reclined at the edge of the mat, and periods of frenetic activity as the three of them circled each other and fought.

Willow's speed and agility had been improving steadily, and if Spike's attacks had grown more brutal, the young redhead's methods of deflecting them had grown more fluid and precise. And in one fatal moment, when Spike lunged at her, Willow successfully brought him down with a painful jab of her foot to the back of his knee. Without hesitation, she swung her other leg around in a powerful arc and kicked him in the head, connecting with the back of his skull so sharply that it slammed him face-forward into the mat. The impact split his lip, drawing blood.

Demon to the fore he rose -- now out for hers.

With a roar he lashed out at her, slashing a clawed hand against her bicep which left deep, furrowed wounds. Willow snarled in pain and clutched at her arm, but before Spike could inflict further damage Angel crashed into him with rib-splitting rage and hurled him against the far wall. Cracks snaked through the plaster from the force of the impact, and it was several moments before Spike could hoist himself shakily back to his feet.

"Get out of here," Angel bellowed angrily, "You're done training with us until further notice."

"Oh, come off it, Angel!" his childe snapped with equal ire, "This is the first real training she's gotten. You've pulled your punches with her since day one. Do you really think any other demon out there who might challenge her is going to hold back? If you're really set on preparing her for the big, bad world, you can't let her cower behind you every time things get a little rough."

"Spike, how would you like--" Angel began, but he was cut off by Willow's determined voice.

"No, don't...He's right, Angel. I need this."

"Willow, he's not doing this out of concern for your well-being," Angel insisted, "He's been stewing for days now and using you as a target for his frustrations, just like he did when he first got here."

"I know," Willow agreed calmly, "He needs to feed."

Spike's ears perked up at this, and he looked on incredulously as his sire went absolutely still and asked Willow in a voice that actually seemed hopeful, "Are you sure about this?"

"Will he honor the ritual?" Willow pressed Angel with deadly seriousness.

"Hold on, what are you two on about?" Spike demanded, "What ritual?"

Angel gazed at Willow expectantly, and she turned to the blond vampire who scowled petulantly at being left out of the picture. "I can give you your freedom, Spike. I know how to get rid of the chip."

By all rights, Spike's heart had been dead for over a century. So, he couldn't quite understand how it had suddenly leaped up into his throat, for that was certainly what it felt like. He blinked in shock at Willow a few times and then somehow managed to squeeze out a strangled query.

"How long have you known?"

"I've been working on the method for over a year, but I only thought about applying it to your situation a few days ago...after we came back from our hunt," Willow explained.

"And there's a catch," he pressed her for details.

Willow cast her eyes downward momentarily, as if she were ashamed of what she was about to say. She steeled herself, raised her head and began a speech that she had obviously been preparing for some time.

"What you did to me that first night was despicable, Spike, especially since you were using me to work out your anger against somebody else. But I know that it was tame in comparison to what you would do to my friends back in Sunnydale if you were able. I don't want you to hurt them -- I can't be responsible for that. But...I also think that what was done to you was wrong. You're a vampire, and the demon in you needs to feed. I've felt the hunger, and I know what it's like...but I'm also a minion. I can only imagine how unbearable it must be for you."

"You don't know the half of it, luv," Spike growled vehemently.

Willow continued, "I'm having major angst about the categorical imperative over this. What it comes down to is that I want to protect my friends, but I don't consider protecting *all* humans a sufficient justification for that device. It's sadistic even by our standards."

Spike wrinkled his brow in confusion, unprepared for the lapse into Willow-babble. "Categorical impera...what?"

"Kant, a philosopher," she rolled her eyes at him as if he were an absolute dolt, "He argued that moral precepts had to hold true in *all* cases, without any exceptions we might make for situations where it's difficult for us to adhere to them. I know from my memories that this was something I used to believe very strongly -- that the rules had to apply the same way to everyone. But now I'm having trouble feeling the same kind of concern for humans in general that I feel for the safety of Xander, Tara, Giles and Buffy. I know that humans will die if I release you...but I'm still willing to do it."

"That's easy, luv -- it's the demon in you," Spike offered his perspective on her ability to care for some, but not all, humans. "We're bloody selfish and possessive. We don't care a rot about anything unless we have a claim on it."

"That's what bothers me," Willow lamented, "I don't want to let that side of me take over."

"Well, that's what the Poof is here for, isn't it?" Spike gestured toward his sire, before eagerly returning to the original question of removing his chip. "Anyway, what do I have to do to persuade you to do this...whatever it is you can do to get the bloody chip out of my head already? I'll get down and beg on my knees if that would help."

"And then you'd promptly torture me within an inch of my unlife once you've gotten what you want, just because I made you beg," Willow concluded without missing a beat.

A smirk twitched at the corner of Spike's mouth, and he chuckled, "Cor, you *are* learning, aren't you, luv?"

The wry observation cut the tension slightly and elicited brief yet sincere laughter from the three vampires. Choosing to step in, Angel explained to his childe, "I told Willow about the ritual of a blood oath. She's willing to help you if you'll go through the ritual and promise not to seek vengeance on anyone in Sunnydale."

"Deal," Spike replied instantly.

"You're sure?" Willow raised her eyebrows, surprised at the speed with which he had made his decision.

"Are you kidding? Red, for the chance to hunt again, I can easily forego this particular spot of revenge. Sooner or later, someone else will cross me and I'll be able to take it out on *them*," Spike conceded with a fiendish grin.

"Okay...well, I'll need about half an hour to get the ingredients ready. Why don't we meet back in Angel's room and we'll do it there," Willow suggested.

"Ingredients?" Spike prompted curiously.

"For the spell. Angel had Wesley deliver them after I told him what I had been thinking about your situation. I'm going to try the translocation spell I used during our fight with Glory. I figure if I can zap a whole god out of a hospital, I should be able to make a micro-chip vanish," Willow recounted the procedure to him.

"Is it safe?" Spike asked with concern, "And I don't just mean for me. As I remember it, that spell took a lot out of you."

"I guess we won't know until we try," she shrugged, "Are you still game?"

"Definitely."

"Then see you in half an hour," Willow smiled and left her two companions in the dojo as she went off to prepare for the spell.

Angel looked at his childe as he stared after Willow with the closest thing to an expression of pure bliss that he could ever recall having seen on Spike's face. The elder vampire thought that Spike was wholly oblivious to his presence, until he heard the urgent question uttered in a soft whisper:

"You gave her your consent, Angelus...even knowing what I'll do once I can kill again?"

Hearing his childe address him, almost reverently, by his former name shook Angel to the core. It evoked intimate memories of their days together as sire and childe, as partners...as lovers. The gesture moved him deeply enough that it finally summoned from within that which had remained unsaid since Spike's return.

"I couldn't bear to see you like this any longer," Angel confessed bitterly, "I have a mission to fight demons exactly like you, to oppose everything you stand for. I have no doubt that one day, we'll end up on opposite sides in a fight. But you're still my childe...and I've learned recently that it doesn't help my crusade to sacrifice those I care about."

"I won't give you cause to regret this," Spike promised as he approached Angel. "Sire...we've been enemies for too long."

Angel's eyes simmered with emotion and he gripped Spike's shoulders possessively. Bowing his forehead down to rest against his childe's, the elder vampire murmured, "Blood of my blood."

Such words were reserved for claims born of pride, and when they fell from his long-estranged sire's mouth Spike was left momentarily speechless. However, he swiftly recovered and responded by crushing Angel's lips with his own in a bruising, desperate kiss. Angel lost no time in returning his passion. He pulled his childe into a fierce embrace and engaged him in a duel of tongues. Their hands stroked and kneaded each other's taut, muscular backs in a process of long-awaited re-discovery.

Reluctantly, they eased apart after several minutes, both hungry to reclaim each other yet equally aware that they would need far longer than thirty minutes to do it properly. Angel was the first to break the silence, declaring firmly, "We'll have some unfinished business to tend to later."

"That's for bloody sure," Spike growled as his control wavered and flecks of gold sparked in his eyes.

They walked together back to Angel's suite where Willow was busily combining different powders in a bowl. As she measured and blended each, she recited a soft liturgy that would unlock their full potency and yield the desired effect. Angel and Spike watched her with admiration as she practiced her craft. For both, it shed light on one reason that Willow demonstrated far greater strength and resilience than a minion of her status would normally possess. If she had reached this level of accomplishment in life, it was safe to assume that through the craft she had established a link with a force beyond herself and which served to sustain her even after she had been turned.

"Okay, everything is set," Willow announced at last, "If you're ready to perform the blood oath, I can cast the spell and we'll see if this works."

"I'm *more* than ready, luv," Spike assured her fervently. The three came together with little ceremony and Angel began.

"What is sworn now in blood shall hold until we return to dust."

Willow and Angel turned to Spike, who spoke soberly and deliberately. "I swear on my blood that I will not harm those you have asked me to spare." He extended his arm to Willow who grasped it by the wrist.

Staring at him calmly, Willow continued the ritual. "In accepting your blood, I accept your oath." She steeled herself for the overwhelming sensations she knew his blood would evoke, and pierced his wrist with her fangs. The flood of power left her feeling light-headed, and although she managed to release him after a few swallows, she had to steady herself against Angel momentarily before they could proceed. When she had regained her composure, she nodded and extended her own arm to Spike.

Gently, he took her by the hand and raised it to his lips. Rotating her hand to expose the tender flesh of her wrist, he bit down. Willow flinched slightly, but after two quick swallows Spike withdrew his fangs and licked her wounds, soothing the flow of blood until it ceased.

Spike then turned to Angel and offered his other wrist to his sire, saying, "I swear I will not dishonor you as my sire by breaking an oath taken in blood."

Angel accepted his childe's wrist and sank his fangs into the pale flesh, drinking and leaving his own mark behind like a seal on a contract. He then held out his own wrist to Spike and concluded the ritual with words of warning.

"In accepting the blood of your sire, bind yourself to this oath and know that should you ever break it, you shall perish by the hand that made you."

Spike drank willingly and the ritual was complete.

Willow then gestured for him to sit on the floor while she fetched the powdery blend she had prepared. Angel stepped away to give her room.

She stood beside Spike and began her incantation as she sprinkled the dust in a circle around both of them. When she had anchored the end of the thin trail to the beginning in an unbroken symbol of eternity, Willow knelt down in front of him and placed her hands on either side of his head, just above the temple. Closing her eyes against the strain she felt as the spell rose within her, she recited the final stanzas of her invocation. The circle of dust ignited and vaporized almost instantly in a ring of violet flame, and Willow felt the power surge through her fingertips. Spike yelped as if he had been burned, and just as it had when she had used it against Glory, the spell left Willow feeling somewhat weakened and dazed, with a trickle of blood flowing from her nose.

Since Willow and Spike were momentarily incapacitated by the effects of the spell, Angel was the only one who noticed the faint clinking sound as the microchip, which had re-materialized in mid-air in the kitchen, fell to the floor and bounced across the linoleum. He walked over, retrieved it from beneath the refrigerator, and then returned to his companions and offered it to them for their scrutiny.

Spike plucked it out of his hand and stared at it for a moment before placing it back in Angel's palm and saying, "Hold that for me for a minute, mate. And look after Willow, would you?"

Nodding his consent, Angel pulled the fatigued redhead against him and held her while he waited and wondered what his childe was up to. When Spike returned from his room down the hall, he hefted the familiar weight of his trademarked steel railroad spike in his hand.

Fully intrigued, Angel watched as Spike once again took the chip from him and moved to the coffee table, setting the chip down on its surface.

"How attached are you to this table, Angel?" Spike asked with a gleefully wicked gleam in his eyes.

Before Angel had a chance to respond, however, his childe twirled the spike in his hand with a flourish and then swung it down with a crashing blow that shattered not only the tiny object that had been the bane of his existence, but the table as well. Spike surveyed the destruction with immense satisfaction.

Angel likewise observed his decimated coffee table, and the vindication that literally radiated from his childe's entire being, and mused, "It can be replaced."

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