By Ebony Silvers

|Chapter 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14|15| Epilogue|

Chapter 1 - "So Wrong"

Angel and Baby were fighting again. That was all they had done for the past week. They had sniped at each other and threatened and postured and yelled until Cordy was heartily sick of it. She was ready to kill the pair of them. Now they were at it again. Cordelia could hear their voices, raised but not quite shouting, through the closed door of her office. She shook her head and looked at her monitor. She didn't want to get up and go out into the lobby to stop them. She just didn't have the energy at the moment. She was tired of trying to play peacemaker. They had always fought but lately it was worse than ever. She couldn't remember a civil word passing between them since the New Orleans contingent had arrived. At least once a day, they nearly came to blows. She wasn't sure what was going on with them but had reached the point where she didn't care. She wasn't going to keep killing herself trying to convince them to make nice-nice with each other. They were grown vampires and could take care of themselves. If they wanted to spend their unlives arguing and griping at each other, then more power to them.

She decided that she'd just let it go. As long as she didn't hear anything breaking or the sounds of bodies being thrown around, she was just going to ignore them.

~~~~~

Half a continent away, Mörderer de Realitäten chanted the words of an obscure spell. The arcane symbols etched on the walls of the cave began to glow, first green, then pink, then gold. The scent of power and ozone filled the air around him, overpowering the bitter smell of the herbs he tossed in the brazier. Swirls of smoke rose from the brazier and from the censer he swung through the still air. The etchings glowed brighter and brighter until the light spilling from them hurt his eyes. He shouted the last words of the incantation and shielded his face with his forearm as the light exploded and filled the chamber. It died rapidly, leaving the cave lit by only the red coals of the brazier and a few dim candles. The elderly demon smiled. He had just removed the threat of the Scourge once and for all.

He wondered exactly what scenario would be played out. Without their leader, the Scourge would be crippled and powerless; if forced to fight and destroy their leader, they would themselves be destroyed. Either way, he would win. Of course, there was always the chance that Angelus would prevail and annihilate his family. Mörderer would win in that case, too. The old man's laughter echoed in the dim cave. Removing the soul from the vampire should have occurred to him months ago. He wished he could be there to see Angel's soul slowly bleed away but that wasn't possible. Ah well, it didn't matter it was done now, in a very short time Angel would cease to exist and only Angelus would remain.

~~~~~

Angel stomped into his office and planted himself behind his desk. A peculiar light gleamed for an instant in his eyes. Baby followed a few steps behind him and slammed the door before throwing herself into a chair. A similar glow lit her eyes for just a fraction of a second. "God damned annoying vampire!" she muttered to herself. "Over-grown, broody bastard!" He ignored her.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She didn't even know why she let Angel get to her. She smiled sardonically and admitted to herself that she knew exactly why she let Angel get to her. She let Angel get to her because he'd touch her when he got angry. Because he'd put his hands on her. She fought with Angel because she wanted him.

And it was wrong. Wanting Angel was fundamentally wrong on so many levels that it wasn't even funny. It was bad and it was perverted and it was obscene.

She thought about her family. She wondered what they'd say if they knew that she wanted the big Irishman so badly some days that it was a physical ache. That she had to scream at him to keep from jumping on him? They wouldn't understand. They had no idea just how perverted she could be, she knew. No, bless them, they had no idea. For vampires and demons, they were all such innocents in their own way. Well, maybe not Wes. That troubled lovely was the only one who really understood the darkness within. Wes had a core of violence that really appealed to her. They were so similar. Wes was the only one she let hurt her, ever. Spike didn't like to hurt her and so she wouldn't ask that of him. She went to Wes when she needed to hurt. Wes might be the only one who could understand her attraction to Angelus, who wouldn't be disgusted by it. He'd realize that what she felt went way beyond sex. Because it wasn't just sex she wanted from Angel. God knows, she had all the sex she could want. Not only was her husband quite possibly the best lover ever born, she had not one but three other lovers. Uninhibited, inventive, experimental lovers. She had two incredibly handsome men and two unbelievably beautiful women who would gladly give her a tumble any time she wanted one. She had sex that porn writers could only dream of. That romance writers would drool over. And she wanted Angel. Wanted domination and humiliation at his hands. Wanted it so badly she could hardly think of anything else.

She was so fucked up.

Spike alone was all the man any woman could need; he should be all the man any woman could want. Hell, Spike was more man than most women could deal with! God! She loved him so much. What she felt for him was so intense it was frightening. He was everything she had ever dreamed of and then some. There were days she wanted to merge herself with him, just completely submerse herself in his being and disappear forever in him. Spike was perfection and the center of her world.

So why did she want Angel? Because she was fucked up and sick, she decided. Nothing else could explain it. She shifted in the chair trying to settle more comfortably but couldn't find a way to ease the need inside. She breathed deeply as she thought about the conversation she'd had with Cordy just that morning. Cordy had been going on enthusiastically about Angelus' prowess at cunnilingus. The way the brunette had described it… God, it sounded good. Baby could imagine it. Feel it. It would feel so good! Angel's tongue, strong and wet, parting the folds of her labia, searching for that nub of nerve endings that would bring her so much pleasure. She ground her hips into the chair, wishing that she had some privacy and that Spike wasn't out of the building. If Spike were here, she wouldn't need to fantasize about sex. Spike would go down on her at the merest hint of desire. Damn, he was good at it. He was probably better than Angel. She doubted if anyone could be better than Spike at any aspect of the sexual act. Spike would be triathlon gold medal champion if sex were an Olympic event. Crap! She wished he were there. He'd make her forget about Angel.

And she desperately wanted to forget about Angel. It wasn't easy when he was sitting there, not six feet away. Ignoring her.

She should just get up and go find some of the others to talk to. The hotel wasn't empty. Wes and Dru were in their suite. Fred, Gunn, and Cordy were working in their various offices. They were so close, she could hear their phone conversations if she concentrated, could hear them breathing, coughing, hear their heartbeats.

But Angel was here. And she didn't want to leave him. She had to be near him. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about him today. What was wrong with her today? The need was worse than it had ever been. She had known she desired Angel for some time now but since she had been turned, it had grown exponentially. The childe/sire bond often resonated with longing these days. And today it positively throbbed. The longing seemed to grow by the minute. It was as though she had no control over it any more. She couldn't get the visions that Cordy's disclosures had caused out of her mind. She couldn't help it. Cordelia had been pretty explicit about what Angel could do. It conjured up images and sensations that Baby very much didn't need. She wanted him so much it was killing her. She had to do something about it. But what? The need was driving her slowly mad. A thought fraught with interesting ramifications came to her but it was so perverted she hardly dared consider it. It would be so wrong, so sick, but so much fun. And it would be so easy. She found herself seriously considering it after all, but could she actually do it? She didn't dare jack off, did she? Did she dare sit here and get off while Angel watched? It would serve him right after what he'd just called her. That might just be suitable punishment for his cruel, cutting words. Yeah, punish Angel and have a little fun at the same time. How would he react? Would he stop her? Would he say anything? Or would he just watch? How fucked up was he?

Her hand stole beneath the skirt of her dress. She was nude beneath the soft violet silk. He heard the rustle and his head shot up. The scent of her hit him like a two-by-four to the head. She wasn't actually…. Oh God! She was. He was momentarily immobilized.

There was so much danger in this. They were surrounded by people. People who would be shocked at finding her jacking off while Angel watched. And he was watching. Of course, the proximity of other people only heightened the experience. For both of them. The door behind her could open at any moment. The risk was intoxicating. She had definitely cultivated her exhibitionist tendencies to a new high. He had secretly admitted to himself that her complete disregard for the opinions of others was very appealing. That freedom from guilt or public sanction was so alien to his own actions. The part of him that was Angelus wanted to join her in that uninhibited milieu. It hinted of a basic concept of superiority that appealed to the demon. She was a goddess of Darkness, why should she care about the rules or sanctions of her food animals?

He wondered where this would lead. How far would she be willing to go? What was going on behind those feline eyes?

Baby knew he was staring at her. She fantasized about how it would feel to have Angelus caressing her breasts and ran her wrists across her nipples. They were so hard and sensitive that the action hurt. It was a delicious pain and increased her arousal. She could imagine how very, very much Angelus would enjoy inflicting that pain. She looked into his coffee-brown eyes and saw the answering spark of desire. His eyes were fixed on her hands and what they were doing. Hunger had been ignited deep in their brown depths. She rubbed harder and bit her lip to keep from moaning. This had to be done in complete silence. The risk involved... it made it so good. So arousing.

Her other hand, the one beneath her skirt, moved in tiny circles and she arched against the chair. That wasn't her hand. No. It was his. Angelus'. She stared at him, so dark and handsome, so tall and strong. His hands were clenched in fists on his desk and he was starting to breathe. She could imagine just how much he wanted to be the one doing this to her. And in her mind, it was him. Yes, it was Angelus. He was doing this. She could feel the arousal building.

Angel clenched his teeth as she ran the back of her hand over her bust. A muscle jumped in his jaw at her movement. He wanted to bury his teeth in those lush breasts, devour her. He wanted to taste her skin. Wanted to feel her nipples contracting at the touch of his tongue. As she began to unbutton the top of her dress, he bit his lip. This was more than he had expected. She really was going to masturbate right in front of him. She really was such a bitch. He couldn't believe she was doing this.

He couldn't believe he wasn't stopping her.

It was so hard not to moan, not to cry out. She couldn't let the others hear her. There could be no sound beyond a strangled gasp or a shallow pant. They mustn't hear, mustn't guess that just beyond the thin office wall she was being dream-fucked by the most powerful vampire ever turned while said vampire sat and watched, his dark eyes hot and smoldering, fixed on her nearly exposed bust line. The knuckles of his hands were pure white they were clenched so tightly. Clenched so tightly because he couldn't touch her. He mustn't touch her.

She stared into his burning eyes and mouthed words. "Do you want me?" she breathed, no sound escaping, just the movement of her lips communicating her desire to him.

He closed his eyes for a moment before answering. "God. Yes!" His answer was as silent as her question but she heard him just the same. His face conveyed the emotion that his voice couldn't. She hadn't expected him to admit his intense longing. He'd denied it now for over 15 years.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered soundlessly. "Tell me and I'll do it."

He licked his lips. He should stop this now. Throw her out and tell her to never even think of it again. "Move over here where I can see all of you," he said instead.

She got up and moved toward him, the thin material of her dress fluttering around her thighs. She sat down on the desk in front of him and slid one leg around until her legs dangled on either side of his. He watched the movement of that long, smooth limb avidly, secretly praying it would brush against him in passing. His prayer was answered as the side of her foot trailed across his knees. The shock of it, even through his clothing, was so strong his whole body jumped. He knew he should push back from the desk, away from her, make sure she wasn't within reach. But this was so much better. She was only inches from him. The sides of her calves touched the sides of his thighs. Though there was no warmth coming from her undead body, he could feel that bit of contact searing his flesh. Feel heat burning into his soul, turning it to ashes inside him.

"What do you want, Angel?" she asked again in silence.

He resisted the urge to shout 'You!' and grab her. Instead, he answered, "Touch your breasts again. I want to see how hard you can make your nipples. Make them hard for me."

As her small hands closed over her breasts she pretended they were his long fingers closing over her flesh. Her nipples were already so hard that his imagined soft squeezing motion hurt and hurt. It felt so good. She stifled a moan and clenched her hand over her breast, fisting the smooth silk of her shift, the heel of her hand kneading her breast. He couldn't bear it. He had to touch her somewhere. He placed his hands over her silk-covered knees, his fingers flexing and squeezing. She quickly copied his motions. What his hands did to her knees, her own hands did to her breasts. It was delicious and excruciating. Watching her was wonderful. He'd had innumerable sexual experiences but he had to say that this might be one of the best. Watching her slim white hands pleasuring her own body was as erotic as anything he'd seen. Knowing that she was imagining the touch was his, knowing she wanted him badly enough to fantasize about him; it was maddening. Not being able to touch her was killing him. His erection was already throbbing with want and desire.

"I want to see you," he mouthed. "Finish unbuttoning your dress."

She smiled ever so slightly and complied, slipping each tiny purple button from its anchor. It was taking too long. Angel couldn't stand it. He began unbuttoning the dress from the bottom, working his way upwards. He wanted nothing to interfere with his gaze. He wanted nothing between them but air. If they had been playing with fire before, they were toying with a volcano now. If anyone walked in, they'd never be able to explain this away. Sitting before Angel on his desk was one thing, sitting there with her dress completely open was something else again. Nevertheless, he unbuttoned the last fastening on her dress.

Careful not to touch her skin, Angel pulled her dress open, easing it over her shoulders. The slick material slithered down her arms and off, pooling on the desk around her, revealing her body to him. God, she wasn't wearing a stitch underneath. She sat before him completely naked save for the bits of silk draped across her thighs. He could have sworn his heart hammered a time or two. He'd seen her nude before, of course. Hell, he'd suckled those lovely breasts before, but that had been in group situations. When the Scourge played, almost anything was possible. If he touched her then, it was approved. He could touch, lick, caress, and kiss, but even then there were sanctions. He wasn't allowed to touch her sex, wasn't allowed to say how badly he wanted her, wasn't allowed intercourse. It was all safe and non-threatening to either of their mates. This was different. This was something totally new. Dangerous.

They really needed to stop now. He really needed to send her upstairs. Away from him. He put his hands back on her knees; they were still draped in purple silk. As he began to fondle her knees the way he wanted to fondle her breasts, he looked into her golden eyes. Her pupils were dilated with her desire and her lips were parted slightly. He didn't have to imagine what it would feel like to slide his tongue between those pouty lips, he remembered how soft and luscious they felt, how good they tasted. He fought to keep from groaning. God, he wanted her so badly. He had never wanted her more than he did right then. He gave in to temptation and slid his hands up the tops of her thighs, the cloth under his hands moving with him. She tilted her head back and bit her lip. He moved his hands back down to her knees and she stared at him, transfixed. Up and back, he slid his hands in parody of what his body was telling him it wanted to do. What his body had to do.

"Want you," he said silently. "Wanted you for so long now."

She was breathing now, too. He could smell her arousal.

"Touch yourself," he soundlessly ordered. "Touch yourself for me." Her hand dropped between her legs and he watched, fascinated, as her fingers disappeared into her dark hair. His mind screamed for him to take her, to take her now. He wanted her so much. He reached down and unfastened his pants, freeing his erection, before returning his hands to her silk-clad thighs. She stared at his penis as her small fingers worked within her core.

"Pretend it's me," he told her. "Pretend it's me inside you." She spread her legs wider and more of her fingers disappeared from view. She began to saw her hand in and out. She dreamed of what his thickness would feel like sliding inside her, of how it would fill her. She stared at it, wanting its breadth stretching her, wanting its length deep within her. She imagined what it would be like. He'd move slowly at first, allowing the friction to build. He'd whisper depraved obscenities in her ear. Call her vile names: slut, bitch, whore. Oh God, she loved for him to call her 'whore'! It would be Angel's gentle hand that moved possessively over her body but it would be Angelus' lilt that whispered degradations in her ear.

"Want you, girl. Wanted you for so long now." His soundless words sent tiny shivers of sensation straight to her womb. "I've never had to wait so long to have anyone before," he said. "But I've waited years for you, sweetness." She could hear his voice in her mind as his lips moved soundlessly. See the need in the dark eyes gazing so intently into hers. His tongue snaked out, moistening his rich lips.

The smell of her was intoxicating. He could bear it no longer. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand from within her and to his mouth. He sucked her fingers, licking and cleaning them of her juices. It tasted of ambrosia. He groaned. It sounded absurdly loud in the silence, startling them both.

He pulled her head down, resting his forehead on hers. "We have to stop," he whispered, finally speaking. She nodded, a tiny movement against his brow. But neither of them moved. His hand was tangled in her red hair, holding her to him. One hand was still moving up and down her thigh. Her hand rested, still wet from his tongue, on the thin sapphire cloth covering his chest. He could feel the damp seeping through the material, carrying a bit of her onto his skin. He moved his lips to hers and fisted her hair as his tongue slipped between her lips. Minutes passed as he plundered her mouth, tasting her, possessing her. The nails of one of her dainty hands dug into his shoulder as the other creased his shirt in her fist. Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers. "We really have to stop now," he repeated. "We can't do this. Not now. Not ever."

Cool puffs of air beat against his face as she panted. He felt her nod again and there was the tiniest catch to her voice as she said, "I know."

It unmanned him. He crushed his lips to hers. "I want you so much," he murmured. "I want you more than I can even explain." He pulled her down onto his lap, her legs on either side of him. He reached up and finally placed his hand over her left breast, rolling it in his hand. The feel of it was incredible. She winced slightly as he ground into her sensitive flesh. That one glimpse of pain caused his desire to skyrocket. He had to have more.

"Angelus," she breathed as he kneaded her breast harder, eliciting moans of pleasure/pain from her. She pressed against him. Her hips began to move in tiny circles against his burgeoning erection.

He placed his lips beside her ear so he could whisper to her. "Sometimes I pretend it's you. When I'm with Cordy or Dru, I pretend it's you. Fantasized it's you I'm fucking instead of my wife. It's so wrong. But I want you. Want you so much." Angel moved his lips from her ear down her neck, following the line of her carotid artery to her clavicle and on to the hollow of her throat, leaving bruised blue marks. She threw her head back, exposing her neck to him. "I love it when we all have sex together. It's easier to pretend. I've kissed you while you orgasmed with Wes inside you and pretended it was me you came for." He nibbled across her collarbones. "And I want you to come for me. God, I want to make you come. You'd look so good if you were coming for me. You're such a beautiful little whore. You'd do that wouldn't you? Come for me? I can make you come for me, girl." His voice held a hint of Ireland. The sound of that lilt sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her. The pressure was building between her legs. "You'd be so wet for me, wouldn't you? So wet. So hot." Just like she was now. She could feel the wetness coating her curls, feel it coating him as she ground against him, so close to having him inside her but still not quite achieving the reality. She strangled a groan of pleasure and need. He smiled. The feel and scent of her desire was so intoxicating. "Such a slut. So wet."

She could feel his hard body moving against hers, thrusting against her, wanting to enter her, each thrust harder than the last. Faster. Stronger. Strength beyond that of any human male. Strength sufficient to break bones and rend flesh. Strength and power that no mere mortal could match. He was a fitting mate. Fierce and pitiless in his pursuit of what he wanted, his ruthlessness matched hers. The thought of all that controlled power pushing at the juncture of her legs was maddening. She pushed and ground, trying to reach more of him.

"Want you to come for me, darlin'." That soft Irish voice was stronger now. More dominant. "Come for me, Baby. Come on, bitch. You know you want to." She ground harder against him and he slipped his hand between them, searching for her core. His fingers slid inside her and his teeth fastened on her nipple, biting hard. She rocked against his hand, mentally screaming, physically only whispering his demon name over and over. "That's it, girl. You're mine." He moved one arm behind her, holding her upright as she bucked and arched against him. His lips and teeth punished her breasts. "I knew you'd be sweet. Knew you'd be the best bitch I ever had." The ache deep in her was nearly overpowering. She wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Do it. Let it go! That's my sweet, sweet little whore." He bit down again, harder. Nearly hard enough to bring blood. She shattered into orgasm and sat silently gasping for breath.

He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue as deeply into her cool mouth as he could. A small part of him was shouting for him to stop, shouting that they hadn't gone too far yet. It was overpowered by the roaring need to possess her. He locked that bit of himself away. He wouldn't be stopped now. He wouldn't be controlled, not in this. She should be his. She was as vicious and passionate as any childe he'd ever sired. Headstrong and stubborn, he would love to break that spirit to his will. He wanted to control her, own her. He had to have her. His hands were busy reigniting her desire. It took only a moment. What he had given her wasn't nearly enough to quench her blinding thirst for him. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. He lifted her and placed her back on the edge of the desk. Standing, he towered over her. She slipped her hands beneath his shirt and reveled in the feel of his skin. He grasped her thighs and tilted her hips toward him. With a nearly subsonic growl, he entered her. They both froze. This longed-for, fantasized moment broke upon them with clarity and sweet horror. After years of denial they had finally attained that which they desired. Angel looked into the eyes of his lover and tears started from his eyes. He thrust deeply into her, rejoicing in the feel of her around him, devastated by their adultery. She wrapped her legs round him, pulling him deeper into her with each lunge of his body. Each thrust brought unimaginable joy, each plunge shattered marriage vows a bit more. She cried tears as silent as his as she exulted in the feel of his body in hers and wept for the loss of their fidelity. Something precious and vital slipped further away from them both.

That which made them human was locked away, caged deep within by a forbidden passion that should never have been realized. That which remained reigned ascendant, victorious in its freedom from the constraints of honor or oath, and simply sought self-gratification. Their hold on humanity slipped further with each thrust of Angelus' body into hers. The bars of the cage around their souls was strengthened each time she lifted her hips to meet his.

The words Angel whispered in her ear now were gentle words of comfort and acquittal. "Shh. It's alright. It's not your fault," he murmured in time with his thrusts. "I need you. Sweetheart, need you so much. Need this." He kissed her face, her eyelids. "It's my fault. Not yours. Never yours." He slipped his hand between them and gently fingered her clitoris. "Sweet girl. My sweet darlin' girl. Come for me, darlin'. For me." She bucked against him as her orgasm took her. As her internal muscles rippled around him, he could hold back no longer. With a soft cry he came, jettisoning his seed deep inside her, sealing their union, their transgression, and their fate.

~~~~~

Baby tried to button her dress with fingers that shook so badly she could barely hold the tiny purple bits of plastic.

"Here. Let me," Angelus said softly and began to do up the buttons.

She looked up at him. He had his head bowed over his task. "I'm scared, Angelus," she whispered. "I'm so scared."

He looked into her eyes, big and golden-green, and suddenly he was kissing her again, telling her it would be all right. Her body molded to his and before he even realized how it happened she was lying on the floor beneath him and he was inside her. Again.

He reached up and locked the door. He wanted her and wasn't going to be interrupted now. He no longer cared if the others heard. They'd know soon enough. In a house full of vampires, you couldn't hide who you had sex with. Scent alone would reveal what they had done. Hidden infidelity was an impossible occurrence in vampire society. Trying to hide their actions didn't matter anymore. They'd had each other and, one time or twenty, it was all the same. They were adulterous lovers. And the minute Spike was within twenty feet of them, he'd know it. Angelus wouldn't even try to hide it. There would be consequences and he would face them when the time came. He was more than capable of dealing with whatever would come.

For now, he had the unrequited cravings of a decade and a half to fulfill. He ground his body into hers. Even having just had her, his desire had not lessened. He had years of self-denial to satiate and he doubted that a week locked away with her would lessen his need for her body. He fastened his mouth on hers and tried to bury himself ever more deeply within her. She wrapped one leg around his shoulder, opening herself more to him.

"Angelus. Oh God, Angelus," she murmured over and over against his lips, his skin. For the first time in fifteen years, he didn't correct her. The name sounded beautiful falling from her lips. Her hands moved over his shoulders, his back, fingers kneading and clawing. They curled around his buttocks, trying to pull him deeper within her. She met his plunging thrusts, met his want, met his need with her own. She tossed her head and begged him to never stop. He rolled his hips, sending her over the edge once more. Unlike Cordelia, Baby didn't scream; she gasped her orgasm instead. He paused his movements and held her, covering her face, throat, and chest with kisses. She finally grabbed his head and guided his lips back to hers. Her mouth was insatiable, her tongue battling and finally capturing his. She drew it into her own mouth, sucking it, moving her tongue up and down his. He groaned and began to move again. She thrust upward, wanting as much of him inside her as possible. Words meaningless and momentous were exchanged. "So big." "So tight." "So good." "So wet." "You're beautiful." "Harder." "Faster." "You feel so good." "I want you." "I need you."

"I love you."

Words that shattered reality and remade it into something unrecognizable. Words and actions that ripped apart the fabric of their lives and left them adrift, without compass or guide. Words that once said could not be dammed, but flowed as a torrent sweeping away artifice and denial. Angelus couldn't stop their flow even if he'd wanted to. His words washed across her as his kiss punctuated each sentence.

"God, I love you."

"I love you so much."

"You're mine."

"I'll never let you go."

"You're mine forever."

And fangs found their way into dead veins that for all their lifelessness pulsed with vitality. Blood, precious and binding, was exchanged. In the primordial way of their kind, blood and sex were not simply separate elements but could, when intermingled, forge a bond that linked individuals in a fashion beyond human understanding. She arose from their coupling not simply his Childe but his Bride.

~~~~~

Finally spent, they lay on the cold floor wrapped in each other's arms, mournful and exultant. Baby stroked Angel's hair. The stiff locks prickled against her chest. "What just happened?" she asked.

He didn't lift his head from her breast or meet her eyes. "We made love," he answered softly, mindful of vampiric ears.

"I know that," she responded. "I mean why? We've fought this for years. Why are we suddenly so…" She couldn't think of a word. She moved on. "You claimed me."

"Yes," he answered simply.

"As consort." Her voice was expressionless.

"Yes."

"Why?"

He stroked her nipple as though it were a kitten. He didn't need to think about his answer. "Because you're mine. You've always been mine." There was the faintest lilt to his words.

"Angelus?" Her voice didn't change, though she now knew the answer to it all.

"Yes, darlin'?" He allowed a finger to circle her areola lazily.

She stroked his temple. "Angel's gone, isn't he? He's not in there at all anymore."

Angelus smiled and ran his hand down and around to settle on her abdomen. "Oh, he's still here, love, but he's not in control anymore. And he won't be. Not ever again."

Chapter 2 - "Crazy"
by Ebony Silvers and Fojiao2

Spike knew something was desperately wrong the instant he walked in the Hyperion. The very air resonated with the wrongness. Instantly alert, he reached out with his enhanced senses. The smell of gore, a sanguine thread, ran throughout the hotel, permeating the air with the sweet-sour scent of human blood. Dread building with each step, he followed the sound of muffled sobs to Charles Gunn's office.

"Shit," he breathed and hurried forward. Fred, her body bowed in agony and grief, sat on the cold stone floor, cradling Charles' head in her lap. One of Angel's broadswords protruded obscenely from the black man's abdomen. Blood covered the floor. Fred's clothes were tattered rags, her bruised and scratched skin showing through dozens of rips and tears. Over the smell of the blood and terror was a scent that Spike recognized far too well. "Angel." He felt his chest tighten and fought back a weakness that dimmed his vision and clenched his stomach. The scent of his sire was everywhere in the room, more so than it normally was. The hotel smelled strongly of Angel at all times but there was something different about the scent, something frightening. "Angelus did this, didn't he?" he said as he knelt beside the pair, heedless of the gore seeping into his denims. Gunn was still breathing but he was unconscious. Spike could feel the pain radiating from the tiny woman. "Have you called 911?" The private investigator still stood a slim chance of surviving if the paramedics arrived in time and knew what they were doing.

She nodded and gulped back sobs. "Why would Angel do this, Spike? Why?"

Spike wrapped his arms around her diminutive form. He had a very good idea of what happened. They all had nightmares of it often enough. "He sounded funny, didn't he? Sort of an accent?" When she nodded again he continued. "It was Angelus. Angel without a soul." He paused before asking the next question. "Did he rape you, pet?" If it wasn't her, then it was Gunn or one of the others. Spike could smell the semen plainly.

She nodded again and sobbed harder. "He… he made Charles watch!" she wailed. "How could he? Spike, how could he?" The devastation on her face sliced through him as surely as Angel's sword had sliced through Charles Gunn.

Spike couldn't explain it to her. He couldn't tell her that for nearly a century he'd been just as bad. That rape, murder, and pain had been their daily bread and wine. He couldn't burden her further. He had to let her hold on to some illusions. "It wasn't Angel," he lied. "It was Angelus." After so many years, it seemed impossible that they'd have to face this. Angel's soul was supposed to be anchored, for God's sake! The shock was rapidly wearing off enough that he could think clearly. "Where are the others? Are they alive? Who was here?"

"Baby was with him," Fred said weakly. Spike actually flinched. Baby wasn't supposed to be at the hotel today. She was supposed to be in San Francisco wasn't expected in back L.A. until after nightfall. She must have gotten in early. Spike's heart contracted and he felt a need to breathe. He clamped down on the feeling. If something horrible had happened to his wife, he would feel it. He reached out through their link and touched… nothing. It was as though a wall existed between him and his wife. It was as if she didn't exist. Fear turned to panic.

"She just stood there watching," Fred continued. She looked up at Spike with such horror and confusion in her eyes that he felt all the air leave the room. His dead lungs craved it. "She just stood there and laughed."

~~~~~

Spike swept through the corridors of the Hyperion, coat flapping behind him like the wings of a carrion crow. He could sense neither his wife nor his grandsire anywhere. They weren't in the hotel, or its nearby environs. He could vaguely sense Drusilla and followed the tentative link to the deep basement of the structure. As he neared the old strong-room he began to call out. Surprisingly, it was Cordelia's voice that answered him. He heard the tumblers of the lock clicking and falling into place even as he reached the door. Cordelia practically fell into his arms, holding him tightly, clinging to him in a way she had never done before. Spike looked over her head and into Connor's dark eyes. The teenager held a battle axe whose sharp edge couldn't have cut Spike as deeply as the pain in those young eyes. Connor had seen too much in his brief life and to see his father turn into the dark monster that was Angelus was possibly more than he could take. Spike wondered if this would be what finally sent Connor spiraling into insanity. Someone with lesser fortitude would have succumbed long ago. Spike held out a hand to the young man. As his mother had, Connor fell into the arms of the man he considered his uncle, allowing tears to finally flow. He had been strong, been stoic through the hours of waiting and wondering if his father, the person he loved more than anything in the world, was going to kill him.

"Why, Uncle Spike? Why?" he wailed. "Why did this happen now?"

Spike held his grandsire's family tightly and didn't try to offer false comfort. "I don't know, brat. But we'll find out." His own pain was nearly overwhelming. Baby wasn't here either. He hadn't really expected her to be. He knew in his heart that she was gone. Physically, she was out there somewhere but whatever lived in her body now wasn't her. The thing that made her his love, the part of her that was the woman he built his life around, was no more. Baby would never have stood by and watched another woman be raped. Never. When Fred had said that Baby simply watched and laughed, he knew that for all intents and purposes, his wife was dead.

"Cordelia?" he finally said. "Can you tell me what happened?"

As she had so many times in her life, Cordy put aside her grief to deal with the current crisis. "Angel and Baby had been fighting all morning and they ended up in his office. I figured they were sulking at each other. You know how they get." She took a deep breath. "They were in there for quite a while and when they came out…" She swallowed and fought back nausea at what she had seen. She didn't know how she could tell Spike this. "Spike… I saw Baby first and there was a new bite on her neck. It was Angel's. It was a… a consort mark." She broke down for a second or two before she could continue. She avoided looking at Spike. She didn't want to look into his blue eyes and see the same devastation she felt. "Then I saw Angel and I just knew. It wasn't Angel. It was Angelus." She shivered. "I ran. I just ran. I screamed for Connor and tried to warn Fred and Gunn. Dru was running down the stairs already pulling Connor with her, screaming that Wesley was gone. She grabbed me and practically dragged me here." She couldn't continue. Even knowing that it was Angelus and not Angel, seeing her husband's mark on another woman had slashed her heart. How could she tell Spike the horrible things Angelus had come and whispered outside the locked door? She tried to shut the evil words from her mind but couldn't. Angel's sweet voice telling her that she wasn't woman enough for him; that she was too sweet and weak had shaken her. Hearing him say that she wasn't exciting enough to hold his attention, that even while Angel was so concerned with being faithful to her, his thoughts had strayed to other women. Asserting that if she'd been woman enough, he'd never have taken Dru and Faith back to his bed, that he wouldn't have lusted after Baby if Cordelia had been good enough. She knew that there was a kernel of truth in Angelus' lies. Cordelia hid her face in Spike's broad chest. She knew that Angel really had wanted his youngest childe. She had seen it in his face whenever he'd fought with the red-head. She kept hearing that beautiful voice telling her that if she'd been a good enough fuck, he'd never have thought of anyone else. She couldn't stop the tears from soaking into Spike's shirt.

Drusilla stood slowly, moving like an old woman. "They've taken our loves away, my Spike. They've left us with ashes and dust and pain." Her eyes were clear and filled with the same pain Spike felt. "I saw Wesley slip away, Spike. A bit at a time, he just slid away from me till there was a stranger staring at me from his eyes." This time Spike was the one who shivered. He wasn't sure he'd be sane if he'd been forced to watch Baby disappear before him. That Drusilla, whose grasp on sanity was tenuous at the best of times, had managed to weather it and even save Cordelia and Connor was a testament to how strong she really was. "Wesley has left with them. He's left me, Spike. What will we do without them, my sweet? They were our reason for being." The loss in her deep blue eyes sunk into Spike's very core. "There's nothing ahead of us but grief and death," she continued as she came toward him. "The very walls are screaming with it. The stars weep from the pain of it. I can't see an end to it, my prince. They're gone and I can't see a way to get them back!" she wailed, finally allowing the grief a voice. As she wrapped her arms around the group, Spike felt something inside him snap. He couldn't contain his own pain any longer. Holding the remains of his family, he threw his head back and roared, his agony so great that his scattered children felt it, and many miles away Angelus smiled.

~~~~~

Spike set about trying to deal with the situation as best he could. Before the blood in Gunn's office had time to congeal, the master vampire was on the phone to Sunnydale warning the Slayer and Rupert Giles of the danger they were in. Giles would in turn warn the Watcher's Council. A call to his pilot and his plane was on the way to pick up his eldest childer. The Gunns' medical care was seen to and every precaution for their safety was put in place. As long as Spike stayed busy, he didn't have to think about his wife and how very much he hurt. But eventually, everything was in place and there was nothing left to do but wait for Angelus to appear in L.A. or Sunnydale.

But he didn't appear. Days passed without any sign of the three missing vampires. Not a word was heard. Spike eventually moved Cordelia, Connor, and Drusilla to New Orleans. The house on Rue Royal was easier to defend than the hotel. Arrangements were made to move the Gunns and Lorne to a safehouse with sufficient guards to protect them. An attack was likely to come at any time.

Faith joined Buffy in Sunnydale, though their request to have the current active Slayer join them was denied by the Council. She was needed elsewhere, they said. Faith sneered that they didn't need some sixteen-year-old, snot-nosed brat helping them anyway. As the second Slayer called since Faith's thirtieth birthday, she was inexperienced at best. The first Slayer after Faith had only lasted nine months and Faith had no greater expectations for this one. She was too completely under the Council's thumb. Faith doubted that this Slayer would be joining her and Buffy in the over-thirty crowd. The next Slayer would be called because her predecessor died, not because her predecessor reached the unbelievable age of thirty. Faith grinned, remembering how shocked the Council had been when their new Slayer was called and they discovered that Faith still lived. They were even more shocked to find that the girl had been called the exact minute Faith turned thirty. Of course, they'd never had an active Slayer reach that age, either.

Drusilla, after a few days of lucidity, lapsed into the sort of dementia she hadn't experienced since joining with Wesley. She floated though La Maison du Rouge s'Elevé talking to the stars and the flowers in the courtyard, carefully watched over by Spike's people but further from reality than she had been in decades. Mention of Wesley's name would send her into a wailing depression that lasted for days. She simply couldn't bear being apart from him. For the most part, unlife had sped by for Drusilla. Years and years and decades, fluttering behind her like pages torn from a calendar, so lost was she in the arms of her blond paladin, her sweet Spike. Only with her precious Wesley had it slowed down, had every delicious minute been appreciated and passed into the waiting hands of memory. The years he had been human were like a fever dream from which she hoped to never awake, for his warmth was always there, the swirling blood within his hands ready to reach out and leave a heat-tattoo upon her marble flesh. That had changed when he was turned, but his affection never flagged, his attention to her even more concentrated because he could hear and feel her from farther away. With the added bond of family, he was even closer to her. She treasured the moments she could spend in his presence. Then came the day when his soul had started to drain from him. She could see it fluttering above his head, a bird being squeezed through the bars of a cage inch by inch until it finally was no longer free but beat ineffectually at the bars. Dru had screamed and cried, had held onto him with force that would have shattered his body had it still been human, and watched his eyes the entire time as the light within them slowly died. Soulless, he was not a ravening monster or suddenly hideously cruel. If anything, he was too polite. He was . . . just another man, a stranger who treated Dru with civility and the deference a fledgling owed to a master vampire, but nothing more. The love that had swept them both up like a maelstrom and drowned them in happiness for decades was gone. When his sire had called him to her side, he had simply turned away and followed Baby without a word to his lover. Now, Dru found that time moved more slowly than she had ever imagined it could. The seconds dragged forward like boot-steps, Boom-Boom, Boom-Boom, each moment a slap against her mind. They would collect themselves into minutes and strike her like a whip's lash, and every hour gave her the impression of a sword driven through her belly. She slept no more, had not shut her eyes in two weeks, so that they dried out and would have stopped functioning if she weren't already dead. She had allowed herself sleep only once after Wesley had gone, and the nightmare that resulted from that lost hour was enough to keep her up for months to come. The idea of thinking ahead even one more day was impossible. Dru now lived from second to second, hoping that the next one would be her last. Only the care of Spike's family and the grief she saw mirrored in her childe's eyes kept her from walking out into the warm sunlight. She would not add to his pain.

Cordelia assisted Spike every way she could, but eventually the waiting became too hard for her and she retreated into researching a way to restore Angel's soul, seldom leaving Spike's library. Tara and all the magic users Spike could find were researching but having no luck in discovering what had ripped the souls from Angel, Wes, and Baby. Shut away there with them, she seldom had to see the wreck that was Drusilla or face the walking wounded that was Spike. Knowing that she was not alone in her pain was not comforting; their pain cut as deeply as her own. She couldn't bear to look at the vampires. It hurt too much. She missed their spouses as much as they did. Her fellow consorts had been so much a part of her life that she didn't realize their importance until they were no longer there to talk to. She would have given worlds for a sarcastic comment from Baby or a quirked eyebrow from Wesley. She had always known that there was some small chance that Angelus would reappear and she had sealed a portion of her heart away against that day. She had never dreamed Wes and Baby's souls could be in jeopardy, too. She felt thrice bereft. She'd lost her husband and her two best friends in one swoop of a fell knife. She didn't even have the solace of physical love to sustain her. Her three most constant lovers were gone. She knew that if she asked, Spike would take her to his bed and comfort her but she also knew that he would only be doing it to make her feel better. Incredible as it sounded, Spike had lost interest in sex. On further thought, she realized that it had been years since Spike had bedded anyone outside the Scourge, outside the family. With that entity broken, he was as alone as she was. She was deeply concerned for him. He'd appeared to be so strong, so in charge of himself and everything around him. He was their general now, directing their troops, handling this unwanted battle. She'd known he was hurting, of course. How could he not be? But she'd had no idea how badly he was hurting until, in search of a particular book and thinking he was out, she had walked into his private rooms one day to find him sitting in Baby's favorite rocker. Looking about the room she realized that he had moved nothing since his wife had disappeared. Baby's discarded clothing was strewn on the chair where she always tossed it. Her toiletries were still out on her vanity; a pair of shoes were still in a corner where she'd kicked them off. The room must have been like this when she left for L.A. He must have called as soon as she vanished and told his people to touch nothing. The chill that rocketed through her had frozen her heart. She suddenly realized how close to the edge Spike was walking. She feared that it would take very little to tumble him over, leaving him as mad as Drusilla. If Spike succumbed, Cordelia wasn't sure she would be able to carry on alone. She prayed daily that he would have the strength to endure this.

Terrified, she buried herself in ancient tomes and in seeing to her son. Connor attended a select private school under the watchful eye of no less than three bodyguards specially trained to deal with vampires. But he was far from doing well. The boy seldom slept and the stress was wearing down even his considerable strength. He was too young for the burdens that had been visited upon him. She knew Spike was protecting Connor as best he could. There were orders that no one speak ill of Angel before Connor and that any news of Angelus be filtered through Spike and Cordelia before it was spoken of to the young man. The worst monstrosities Angelus could create wouldn't touch the boy if Spike had any say-so in the matter. Still, Cordy feared for her son. She felt safe here in the Vieux Carré physically but she wasn't sure that there was emotional safety anywhere for any of them anymore.

Three weeks passed before the first word of Angelus' activities reached the Master of New Orleans. After that first report, news came daily. Spike had thought that his heartbreak was complete. He thought he could hurt no more than he already did, but each report he received splintered him a bit more. Angelus wasn't in Sunnydale. It seemed that for the time being at least, he had no interest in the Slayers. Instead, he was cutting a swath of blood and fire across the American heartland with his new consort at his side. Rumors came, quickly confirmed, of ranches and farmsteads whose occupants were found tortured and dead, of truck stops and restaurants turned into charnel houses, of an entire town in Kansas razed to the ground with not a single citizen left alive. Rumors of death and destruction the likes of which had not been seen in over a century, not since Angelus walked Europe, came to the Master from demons and humans alike. Tales came to Spike of a dark lord and his red-haired lady who reveled in torture and death. The ruthless brutality of the pair was unrivaled in the history of the continent. Angelus' name once more rang out as the epitome of cruelty and malice. His nameless consort/childe was spoken of by those who came before Spike in awed whispers of fear. Her brutality and viciousness were said to be a perfect match for her sire's. A dark mage accompanied them, protecting them with strong magicks and dealing destruction to any who would interfere with the pair. Anguish and Ruin followed where the trio walked and Death rode beside them. Those who saw them and survived invariably described the encounter as having seen a bit of Hell visited upon the Earth.

Spike sent out his childer, trusted and tenacious, to locate his grandsire, but they were always three steps behind. Money for information flowed from Spike's coffers to no avail. Tips were always received too late; Angelus had already moved on. Tara's magicks, Mama Claire's voodoo, Rupert Giles' wizardry, none of it could locate the rogue vampire. Wesley's craft was too strong and the trio was hidden from detection. Even Willow's awesome power couldn't slice the veil that hid Angelus from his pursuers. Angelus was never in one place long enough for Spike to receive a true report on his whereabouts and Spike refused to uselessly chase the other vampire across the continent.

More and more there was a clamor for Spike to do what he could to stop the trio. In the deepest reaches of his heart, the Master of New Orleans prayed that he would not locate them until he had discovered the miracle that would restore them. He didn't want to be placed in the position of killing Angel, though he had promised Angel long ago that he would control Angelus should it ever become necessary. And for all the grief that would cause him, he was willing to do it. He knew it was what Angel wanted. His consort was another matter. Spike simply wasn't sure if he could bear to end the existence of the demon that wore his beloved's body. He wanted that body back here where she belonged. The longer she was gone, the harder it became for him to continue. Each day, his house smelled a bit less like her. Each day, it was a little harder to hear the echo of her laughter in its halls. Each day he lay on their bed because only there, surrounded by her belongings, where everything smelled of her, could he find any peace. There, in the bed they had shared for so long, he could pretend she was still beside him. Only then could he sleep for a few scant hours and escape the ceaseless agony that each night had become for him. Only the hope that he could somehow find a way to restore her kept him functional. The thought of driving a stake through the pale breast where he had so often rested his head sent waves of clenching nausea through him. He couldn't think of separating that lovely head from her white shoulders; it sickened him. He knew he couldn't look into those eyes and kill her. He didn't care what she had done; he couldn't kill her. He wasn't sure but that he was willing to let the world burn rather than destroy her. Indeed he wasn't sure that he wouldn't join her in burning it if it meant he could stand beside her again.

Spike felt that he was going slowly mad.

Chapter 3 - "Sweet Dreams of You"

René Beaumont sighed and continued his search through the crowded streets of Miami. Spike's latest tip said there was a chance that Angelus was here. It made sense. The streets were crowded with Spring Break revelers. All those exuberant, heedless youths had to be tempting to someone with Angelus tastes for nubile flesh. All that said, so far he'd seen no sign of his great-grandsire. And no sign of his sire's consort. René wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not. He knew that Angelus had to be stopped but he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to discover him. Because finding Angelus meant finding Baby. And there were repercussions to finding his cher Maman that he didn't want to consider. René ducked into an alley and lit a cigarette. He sighed again. He really wasn't sure he should be doing this. He knew that Spike had no idea how to restore Baby's soul and he knew that the alternative was something he couldn't bear to think of. How Spike could even consider killing their sweet Bébé was beyond him. Surely there had to be another alternative. Thoughts of Baby being dusted sent a crawling coldness wriggling through Rene's guts. Most frightening of all, René had no doubts that Spike would do it. He knew that love wouldn't stop Spike. He had seen his father destroy his rogue children. He was only a few weeks old when he'd seen Spike stake Phillip. He still dreamed of that horrible night occasionally. The first of Spike's children to die by their father's hand, Phillip had deserved it but it didn't spare them the trauma that went with losing one of the family. The pain for them all had been so great. Spike had cried after Phillip was dust, devastated by the action he'd been forced to take. But over time there had been other children who had gone bad and his sire had killed them because it was the right thing to do. Spike always cried afterwards, his heart broken. René shivered. He wondered how long Spike would cry for Baby before he continued his life without her. The Cajun wondered if Spike would take the Slayer to consort. He swore to himself at that thought.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" a beloved voice said in his ear.

"Bébé?" he said and turned to find her standing close to him.

"Of course, honey. Who else would it be?" She smiled and held out her arms to him. He knew what Spike had told them, that she was some soulless creature now and no longer the Baby they knew and loved but somehow he couldn't believe it. Wasn't he soulless? Wasn't Spike? Yet they were who they were. Why should it be different for Baby? Why should having a soul or lacking one make so great a difference? All his unlife, Spike and Baby had stressed that those who were souled were no better than those who weren't. That good and evil resided in the individual not in whether they were soulless demon or souled human. Why could this not be his precious Bébé after all? Baby had always sworn that Angel and Angelus were one and the same. If that were true, and René had always agreed with Baby, then surely his Maman still walked. He allowed her to wrap him in a soft embrace. She smelled the way he remembered and he breathed in her fragrance deeply. He'd missed her so. Knowing she was safe with Spike was one thing but not knowing how or where she was and knowing she was with that bastard Angelus was something else again.

"You all worried about me, my sweet René?" she said, her accent more controlled that he remembered.

"Yeah, Maman, I am. I…" the noise of a group of tourists interrupted him.

She smiled softly. "We can't talk here, honey. Come with me." She took his hand and led him to a fine art deco house near the shore. René had no doubt that the original occupants were lying very dead somewhere, the victims of Angelus' need for a suitable abode and a midnight snack. It was a beautiful house, something you would see in a magazine, but like those professional photos, it was somehow empty and cold. He revised his opinion and decided that no one had ever really lived here. It was too… bright and barren, too perfect. It was like a statue of a beautiful woman, lovely to look at but nothing you could curl up to at night.

"Where's Angelus, Bébé?" he asked as they climbed a dazzling staircase.

She shrugged. "God knows. Or cares." She didn't sound concerned about her lord's whereabouts at all. Since the incident with Wolfram and Hart, Baby had always known where Spike was or worried if she didn't. It appeared Angelus didn't rate the same consideration. René was heartened by the thought.

The beautifully appointed room she led him to looked out over the ocean. He could hear the soft surging of the waves on the white sand. "So tell me why you were talking to yourself in alleys, René," she said as she closed the door behind them. She sat down on the bed and patted a spot beside her.

"We all been worried about you, Bébé," he said as he sat down as she indicated. "Not knowing how you were. Not knowing if Angelus be treating you all right. I seen him hit you before, me, and I don't like it. I don't like to think about it."

She smiled and René felt the familiar tug at his unbeating heart. She placed a gentle hand on the side of his face. He was such a handsome man. Much more so than any of the minions or pets that Angelus had surrounded himself with. More so than Angelus himself. He was as lovely as any man she'd ever seen. Those aqua eyes alone were worth the effort. And he was so very much enamored of her already. It would be so easy to get what she wanted. "My sweet René. Always worrying about me," she said softly just before she kissed him.

Baby had kissed René hundreds of times and he had welcomed every one of them. But this time there was something different about her kiss. It lingered. It felt less maternal. In fact, it didn't feel maternal at all. When he felt her tongue lightly touch his lips he jumped back in shock. "Bébé?"

"Shhh," she said and the look in her eyes sent the blood rushing to his head. He had always made a concerted effort not to think of Baby ever looking at him like that. It made it easier to see her with Spike. He thought of that look as reserved only for his sire though he admitted, not without pangs of jealously, that he had seen that look turned on Wesley Wyndom-Pryce occasionally. René knew it would never be intended for him, not even secretly the way, in unguarded moments, he had seen it directed at Angel. So he firmly told himself that Baby would never look at him that way. But a man couldn't control his dreams and he had dreamed of seeing that look of need and longing on her face for him. Not a week passed that he didn't dream of her with that expression, that he didn't dream of holding her, of loving her. Of making love to her. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of her golden-green eyes. It was too much to see it in reality. It would destroy him, he knew. Once seen, he would not be able to live without seeing that look directed at him daily.

"Shh," she said again and he could feel cool breath on his cheek as she spoke. He felt her lips brush that same spot and he squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. "My sweet, sweet René," she whispered. "Always so full of care for me." Her lips touched his face again just beside the corner of his mouth. It was like an electric shock and he felt a muscle there jump. "Always looking out for me." Soft lips against his, unbelievably soft and yielding against his. "Always there when I need you." Those lips pressed more insistently. "And I need you so much, my René." She ran her tongue tenderly over his lips, seeking entry between them. He opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into hers. The desire so naked in their feline depths drew a groan from him and he found he couldn't resist the pull he'd always felt towards her. Her tongue slid between his lips as soon as they parted and her hands, soft and smooth, caressed his face. He had never been kissed like this. By her. The taste of her was exquisite. It flowed through him like champagne bubbles, ephemeral and dizzying. Her tongue explored his mouth, searching and tasting, leaving nothing untouched. Independent of thought, his tongue twined with hers, not battling but simply investigating, discovering.

He pushed away from her, panting for breath like a living human. "Pere," he gasped. "Spike…"

"Thinks only of his slayer," she said sadly. "All these years, I've always come second to her," she lied. She remembered easily how he had reacted to Spike's near affaire with Buffy. He had been livid. He had even told Spike that if such a thing happened again, he'd take Baby as his own. It hadn't been an idle threat. It had taken a level of devotion that was nearly unimaginable to stand up to Spike and swear to take his consort away if Spike ever messed up again. René had been courting death when he said it and he'd known that. "Do you have any idea how many years I've listen to him call out for her in his sleep?" A little truth could make a large lie sound real. Spike had stopped calling out for Buffy years ago. But it wouldn't hurt for the gorgeous Cajun to think he still did. "I couldn't take it any more, René. I just couldn't."

The sadness on her face twisted his heart. He had never truly forgiven Spike for the pain he'd inflicted on Baby in Sunnydale. Was it possible that Baby had never forgiven her husband his near infidelity? That she had willingly left? That she was finally free?

"And now?" She managed a sad smile for him. He really was just beautiful, such perfect features with that wavy black hair that he was wearing a little too long these days and those eyes! They were almost teal. Such an unusual color and they stood out so from his olive complexion. He was the sort that garnered open stares on the street. He would make a lovely addition to her court. She only kept the finest, the most beautiful, the most brilliant around her. The others were dispatched as soon as she tired of them. This one, with his immortal beauty and his lovely accent she planned on keeping a while. Such a pretty, pretty trophy for her collection. And so besotted. It would be fun to see how long she could keep him hanging on her apron strings. If it worked well, maybe she could seduce other of Spike's childer from him. Jean Claude would be perfect. He was as besotted as this one. And it would hurt Spike so much to lose his sons. It would be so amusing to take away that which he cared about so much. It would be so appropriate, too. She'd make him regret keeping her subservient to that human soul. For loving the soul and hating the demon. She'd make Spike pay. She had to suppress a grin; she could feel the human screaming inside her. Screaming and cursing and fighting against the magic that kept it bound and helpless. Tormenting the soul was nearly as much fun as tormenting a person with a body. Destroying this boy would be so easy and would cause so much pain for the soul locked within her. She wasn't sure she could stop the smile that transformed her face into a sinister mask. She turned away from the young vampire for a moment as though overcome with emotion so he wouldn't see that smile.

She quickly regained control of her features and put on a mask of resigned sadness. "I'm so alone, René. There's no one here who loves me," she lied again. But how could René know that Angelus was capable of such an emotion. "Wesley doesn't think of anything but his books." That was true enough. Wes had barely looked at her since they'd left L.A. He only came to her bed when she called him as his sire. If he wasn't so talented at magic, if having him with her didn't hurt Drusilla so much, if he didn't annoy Angelus, she'd have staked him for daring to be indifferent to her charms.

She brushed a lock of jet hair from René's forehead, the gesture so familiar he couldn't really believe that what Spike had told him about her being a different person was true. "And Angelus… well, Angelus is all wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am on those occasions when he notices I'm even here." That wasn't entirely a lie. Recently Angelus seemed less and less interested in her. He hadn't touched her in well over a week. "I'm so lonely, sweetheart. I need someone to care about me." Her lips brushed against his. "Don't you care about me, René?" And again. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and she was prepared to give that to him. She'd give him whatever it took to get what she wanted. "Aren't you the one I've always counted on to take care of me?" A light kiss, barely a peck. She could feel him beginning to respond, scenting his arousal growing. "The one who's always cared about me?" Lips more insistent on his. He cared so much, this one. It was disgusting, but very useful. "The one who's always loved me." Hands brushing his face, his shoulders, across his clavicle. Settled gently on his chest now, motionless. Time for the trump card. "Don't you love me, René?"

The need on her face was overpowering. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Oh Mon Dieu! I love you, Bébé. I do. I always have." He kissed her the way he had always dreamed he would.

~~~~~

René looked at Baby's sleeping form and knew it was impossible for him to return to New Orleans. He had betrayed his sire in the worst way possible. And all for nothing. The woman lying beside him, with the scent of his sex all over her, with his seed inside of her, wasn't Baby. His cher papa had been right. Whatever lived in her body now, it wasn't Baby. It had her memories and her voice but it wasn't her. He had seen it in her eyes when he'd been buried deep inside her. Something cold and hard lived in that beloved body now. There was no love in the depths of her eyes. There was no caring. The thing he loved most about his Bébé, the thing that made him hers was missing. He rubbed his hand across her arm, intrigued by the smooth feel of her skin as he stared out at the beach. In the dark hour before dawn, no one moved across the sand. No birds flew through the salt night sky. It seemed abandoned. As abandoned as the body he held. No, the woman he loved wasn't in there. And had she been, he would never have touched her like his, he knew. She would never have allowed it. Tears flowed unbidden from his eyes but he didn't bother to dash them away. It wasn't the first time he'd cried over Baby and he doubted that it would be the last. She'd broken his heart before. He doubted that it ever really healed. Of course, she had never meant to break his heart. She would never intentionally hurt him. Because she did love him. He knew that. She had once told him so. Had told him that had Spike not consumed her very existence, he was just he sort of man she could have spent her life with. But there was Spike and there would always be Spike. He knew that. For a brief hour he had succumbed to a dream. He had allowed himself to be blinded by an illusion greater than any glamour Wesley Wyndom-Pryce could create. He had allowed himself to believe that Baby wanted him. And the creature that lived in her form had wanted him, had wanted him for the physical pleasure he could provide. And nothing more. It had not cared what he felt or needed. It simply sought its own self-gratification. No, Baby hadn't broken his heart this time. She hadn't done it because she wasn't at home. Some one else, some uncaring thing had taken up residency in her sweet body. But even that thing hadn't broken his heart. He had done that himself. He had shattered his undead heart by daring to grasp a dream he had known could never come true.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Damned kicker was that he knew he wouldn't leave. It wasn't Baby that he'd made love to, this near empty body, but it was as close as he would ever get. And for that he'd stay. Because he would take whatever part of her he could have, even if it was just a shell. He stared down at her and listened to the waves pound on the shore outside, the beach as empty and desolate as his heart.


Chapter 4 - "Faded Love"

Angelus looked into the face of his consort and wondered why he couldn't stand the sight of her. Baby looked wonderful. As he had ordered, gone was the tacky streetwalker garb she had previously favored. She now dressed in tasteful attire that accentuated her form and was no less sensuous than her former whorish mode of dress. Her hair was a lovely auburn now rather than the unrealistic and somewhat garish red she had previously favored. Her beautiful bob was perfectly styled, lying smooth and gleaming about her head. Her cosmetics were applied with a delicate and artistic hand. Her fingernails sported the most delicate of French manicures. She exuded West Coast chic. She had a sophistication and stylishness that was the envy of all Angelus' minions. Even while dealing the most gruesome of deaths, she managed to look good. The beauty and elegance of the Consort of Angelus the Cruel was already becoming renowned. She made him ill.

She was vicious and merciless and brutal. She killed without remorse or hesitation. Any pesky morality she had once possessed had fled. She was as indiscriminate with her affections as he could have wished. Fidelity, mercy, restraint-all were missing from her make-up. In their place were licentiousness, callousness, and ferocity. She was likely to take a lover in the morning only to kill him before the sun rose the next day. He should be thrilled at how quickly she had remade herself to suit his wishes. Instead he wanted to scream at her.

Angelus couldn't complain that she hadn't done everything he'd asked of her. She accepted his word as law. She welcomed his every attention, reveling in his touch. She warmed his bed as well as any woman he could wish for. She was wonderfully compliant to his every wish, no matter how depraved or bloody. She was everything he could wish his consort to be. She was perfect in every way. She made his skin crawl.

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hit her. But he knew that if he did, she would simply ask how she had displeased him and how she could correct the fault. He hated her.

~~~~~

Wesley looked up with mild displeasure on his face as Angelus stomped into the study. "Find a way to restore Baby's soul," the master vampire grated without preamble.

The former Watcher coldly considered his grandsire. "Finally figured it out, did you?" he said in his most annoyingly clipped upper-crust accent. The one he knew grated on Angelus' nerves.

Angelus restrained himself from snapping the other man's neck. "Figured what out?"

Wesley reached up to straighten the glasses he no longer wore. "That she's the one you want and not that ice queen that currently inhabits her body."

The elder vampire sighed. "Yeah, I figured it out." He reached across the desk for the decanter that always sat near Wesley. Seeing no extra glass, he appropriated the ex-Watcher's and drained it. "And you're right, m'lad, she is an ice queen. Colder than the wind off the North Sea and twice as cutting. Enough to make a man's balls shrivel up." He poured a generous measure of scotch into the glass and grimaced at the smell. Damn, why couldn't the Englishman drink decent whiskey? "She'll bed anything that moves but there's no fire in her heart. Nothing there at all." He downed half the liquor in one gulp. "If I have to look at all that perfection much longer, I'll stake her myself," he said.

"I thought that perfection was what you wanted," Wesley said snidely. "You said you hated the way she dressed and talked and acted before. You said you wished you could make her into what you wanted."

Angelus swallowed the other half of the scotch and poured another glass full. "Yeah, well, there's some proverb or something about being careful what you wish for because you might just get it. Well, I got it." He wasn't going to tell the mage that nightly he dreamed of unruly too-red hair and a near-indecipherable drawl. That his unconscious fantasy wore too-tight leather and too-short shirts. That he dreamed of long legs encased in tight denim and worn cowboy boots. He couldn't let Wesley know that he wanted the woman who railed at him and cursed him and showed him no respect whatsoever. That he longed for the sarcastic edge that crept into her voice whenever she began to feel the least fear of him. That he'd kill gladly or, even more shocking, let live anyone who could restore the fire and hate to those golden eyes. How could he tell Wesley that he was desperately, hopelessly in love with a vile-tempered, sharp-tongued harridan who dressed like a cheap tart and would sooner spit on him than allow him to touch her? He looked at the ex-Watcher and knew he didn't have to. Wesley already knew. He drained the glass. "Just do it. Get her soul back. You might want to restore your own while you're at it. You're not nearly the monster your human half was."

Wesley couldn't argue with that. While an accomplished hunter, he no longer felt the need to torment his victims prior to dispatching them. Feeding was gratification enough. He found the effort needed to elicit the screams and fear Angelus and the human Wesley so enjoyed counterproductive. He could better spend his time investigating the texts he'd accumulated and increasing his knowledge and magical abilities. Power lay there, not in eviscerating some poor sod when he could simply drain the body and be done with it. Angelus would learn that one day. When Wesley was strong enough, Angelus would understand where true power lay. Till then, he would do Angelus' bidding. "It will take more than a few days for me to discover what's caused this. I have some idea already but I need to do a bit more research," he told his master. "It may take a fortnight or more."

Angelus nodded. "Do it as soon as you figure out how." Soon, with any luck, he'd have the woman he wanted instead of the demon bitch he despised. In the meantime, he wished her joy in her new puppy. Seducing one of Spike's childer was a stroke of genius. He grinned at the thought of the pain that little act must be causing. He rose easily and went in search of a better bottle of liquor. Maybe if he drank enough, he'd be able to face the ice queen without ripping her perfectly made-up face off.

~~~~~

René watched expressionlessly as the demon wearing Baby's body tormented some poor wretch. One of the minions had messed up or disobeyed her orders or something. He hadn't really been paying attention to the details. In any case, she had the hapless vampire chained to a wall and was engaged in drawing pretty pictures on his writhing body with the point of a stiletto. The sight was sickening but René didn't let his revulsion show. He might be less than two decades old but he was a master vampire in his own right with rule over his own city and a bloodline to be proud of. The other vampires in Angelus' entourage wouldn't see any sign of weakness in him. He was the son of William the Bloody and, though he had betrayed his father, he would bear the name proudly and show these bastards that Spike produced childer they should be afraid of. And the others were afraid of the dark Cajun. He could tell by the sidelong looks they cast his way that they knew he was a force to be reckoned with. The vampires and demons that had gathered around the Angelus gave the Master of Mobile a wide berth. Taciturn and reserved, he seldom spoke to any save the lady of the house. René didn't like to converse with anyone outside of his family and never had. His silence frightened the lesser demons. Angelus' bootlickers soon learned they would get nothing but a fist in their faces or a stake in their hearts if they disturbed him.

None of them dared challenge him. In two short weeks he had proven to them just where he fit in the pecking order. Angelus had made no children since he had emerged, only minions, and as Angelus' great-grandson he was, along with Baby and Wesley, the tip-top of the hierarchy. Baby, of course, as both childe and consort, was second in power only to Angelus himself. Wesley was her childe, Angelus' grandson, and respected accordingly. Even here in the hellish kingdom Angelus had created, family mattered. Those who were of the same bloodline as the Master ruled; they were the royalty in this court. And each of them was more than capable of proving to any of the hell-spawn just why this was so. René smiled to himself. Pity Wes had become so complacent about everything; together he and René could have terrified Angelus acolytes properly. As it was, René barely tolerated the presence of the sort of monsters he was used to killing on a nightly basis. That at least was one thing she had not been able to change. He still hunted only the predators. He still preyed only on criminals. The innocent were safe from René Beaumont's fangs and always would be. He wouldn't break that vow to Spike.

He looked at the murderous creature he had taken as his lover two weeks earlier and fought back a shiver. He sprawled a bit lower in the chair, the picture of boredom and nonchalance. Watching her like this made him want to scream. Not that he hadn't seen Baby torture and maim before; she had become an expert at that about the time he was turned. Hell, she had taught him a thing or two about inflicting pain. But she was never indiscriminate in her predations. Always with his Bébé there had been a righteous anger burning from within. Always her victims had visited cruelties equal or greater on their victims first. What she gave them was retribution. This demon that looked so much like his adored Bébé inflicted pain simply for her own gratification. For the tenth time that day, the hundredth time since he had been taken into Baby's bed, he told himself that he should leave. He had his own city and even if Spike wanted that back, well, there were plenty of places where a strong, intelligent vampire could go. Spike and Baby had trained him well; he'd be able to make his way successfully anywhere in the world. Why the hell did he stay here?

Tired of her screaming play-toy, Baby flipped the knife into the wall and strode toward her new Favorite. She straddled his long legs and settled herself across his lap. "Mm. Bored, precious?" she asked and ran a hand between his legs. She began to stroke and fondle him. "I can distract you," she said in a sultry voice that was almost, but not quite, the one he remembered. She leaned forward and kissed him. Her hair smelled of the gardenia-scented shampoo she had always used. She must have it sent in from New Orleans, he thought. He closed his eyes as her lips trailed down his neck, gently biting and licking. If he didn't look too closely at her, he could almost believe that she was who he wanted her to be. If he pretended just the tiniest bit, then he could believe that this really was Baby he held and not her demon. If he lied to himself, he could believe she wasn't really gone.

That was why he stayed.

~~~~~

René locked his mouth onto Baby's as he pushed his body slowly into hers. She moaned against his lips like a creature in torment, writhing beneath him like one of the damned. He knew this wasn't so; he knew he was the one who was damned. He had known that since the first time he looked at Baby and knew he could never have her, since he had realized that her love for Spike transcended all other aspects of her life. He couldn't have been more than a week old. He'd known it was wrong to feel so strongly for his sire's wife. He knew that. But from the moment of his awakening as a vampire, he'd felt nothing but love for her. Hers had been the last face he'd seen in life and the first face he'd seen in unlife. The first order his sire had ever given him was still burned into his mind: "This is Baby. You must always love and protect her." It was burned into his heart as well. He wondered how Spike felt about the way he was following that order. No, best he not think of that, he told himself. He shied away from contemplating the pain his actions had to be causing Spike. He couldn't think of his father while he was making love to the woman who had been his father's wife for nearly twenty years. His mother. René rethought his condition. No, he was thrice-damned, once for his illicit love, again for betraying Spike, and finally for betraying Baby herself by using her body this way. And this was his punishment. He could have her body. He could sate his desire on her willing form, but he couldn't touch her soul. The part of her that he loved the most was completely out of his reach. He was the one in torment. Holding her, having her beneath him like this, should have been the most glorious experience of his existence; instead, it was the most heart-wrenching.

René allowed the fantasy to carry him past the ache. When he was like this, in Baby's bed, moving inside her body, inhaling her fragrance, he could find some solace, some peace. This was why he stayed, to be close to her, to be able to see her and touch her. To live the dream. He gently stroked Baby's body, his touch tender and caring. He knew it wasn't what the demon wanted; she wanted roughness and pain. He didn't care. At this moment, it wasn't the demon he was making love to; it was Bébé and he did love her. This was her body and he would treat it accordingly. "I love you," he told her before lapsing into French. Like this, the demon didn't exist and he spoke to Baby's spirit-wherever it was-and prayed she could hear him. Here he found the voice that was so seldom heard. Here he was voluble. "Je t'aime. Je te besoin." He touched her in the way he that he wanted to touch his Bébé. The way he would have touched her if she had been there. "Je t'ai aime toujours." Careful not to look into eyes that were worse than dead, he poured out that which he had in place of a soul, poured out his very essence onto her body. "Tu es mon coeur." With the most tender of touches he emphasized what he felt. If he couldn't love the creature within, at least he could love the body without. "Tu es mon âme." And he prayed that somehow his Bébé knew that this was true. She was his soul, or as close to a soul as he would ever have again. She had been the soul for their entire family. Spike was their heart and Baby was their soul. René suspected that neither one existed any more. Some evil magic had taken the soul and the evil he had done would destroy what was left of the heart. "Je vis seulement pour tu." Whatever happened, however this all ended-and René knew it would end badly-she had to know that he was hers until he was dust. "Tout que je suis, c'est pour tu." Right or wrong, he would be here until she sent him away. "Tout que je suis appartient à tu." He didn't try to stop the tears that flowed from his eyes. It would be useless. "Ma vie est pour tu." His hands and mouth accentuated each expression of love. Holding her like this was all he'd ever dreamed of. He immersed himself in that dream. He knew that soon he would be forced back to reality, but for a few moments, a couple of hours each day, he existed here in this fantasy with her. For that brief time he was alive. And he would convey his love for her in the only way he could. He would give this cherished body pleasure at the cost of his own sanity. "Si je dois mourir, laissez-l'être maintenant, comme ceci, pendant tu tenant."

For he knew he was slowly going mad.

He felt her stir beneath him, the beginnings of her orgasm triggering his own. He came, sobbing and calling her name. As the final shudders of their mutual climax traveled through their bodies, gentle fingers wiped the wetness from his cheeks and he heard soft sobs echoing his own. He opened his eyes and stared down into Baby's face. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, eyes that were filled with love and caring and pain equal to his own. Eyes that could only be described as 'soulful.'

He gasped and realized the impossible. "Maman? Bébé?"

The sad smile answered his question. She cupped his cheek in a familiar gestured. "Oh my René, my sweet, sweet René. What have I done to you?" she asked before wrapping her arms around him and drawing him to her. "My dearest boy. What have I done?"

René held her close, their bodies still joined as they cried for what had been both found and lost.

~~~~~

Angelus glanced toward his consort as she slammed into the room followed closely by her Cajun puppy. He started to turn back to the demon he was speaking with when something about her arrested his attention. It wasn't her anger. The ice queen was angry at least half the time. There was something different about her. There was a fire, a spark that he hadn't seen before. The answer hit him about the same time her knee made violent contact with his genitalia. He fell to his knees.

"You whore-son bastard," she snarled. "You motherfucking son of a bitch!" She drew back her arm to slap him but he intercepted the blow and held on to her wrist as he pulled himself back to his feet.

"Hello, Baby," he said with a grin. "I've missed you." He glanced at the gathered minions and demons. "Get out!" he ordered.

They hurried to do his bidding, with the exception of René Beaumont, who stepped forward. "Let her go," René growled. "You leave her be, Angelus."

Angelus growled back. "I'll twist your head off, boy," he grated and stepped toward the young vampire.

"No!" Baby ordered and placed herself between the two men. "René! Go back to our room." The Cajun ignored her and continued to growl at his great-grandsire. "René! I am still your mama and you will do as I say." She knew Angelus was quite capable of killing her son. "Go wait for me in our room. Please."

René had been conditioned to obey her since the moment he was turned and he couldn't resist the pleading look on her face. He growled once more at Angelus and stomped from the room, his stormy countenance scattering the minions and lesser demons from his path.

Angelus laughed. "Good to see you have a strong hand on his leash, sweetness." He turned to his consort and couldn't contain a grin. Her hair looked like it hadn't been near a brush all day, her face was free of make-up, and she was wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt. His grin broadened when he saw the cowboy boots she was wearing. God alone knew where she had scrounged those from. She looked like hell and he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire existence. "God, I missed you," he said again. The pain from her blow rapidly receding, he felt a rush of desire the likes of which he hadn't experienced in weeks.

"I didn't go anywhere, you motherless bastard," she grated. "I've been here the whole time. And you fucking knew it!" she shrieked. She tried to slap him again but he evaded her blow and recaptured her wrist.

He hadn't felt this good in weeks. "Yeah, I knew it. But I couldn't talk to you, darlin' girl," he said with more Ireland in his voice than he normally allowed. She seemed to bring that out in him. "You weren't able to rail at me and try to hit me. Damn, I missed that." He leaned forward to kiss her.

She brought the heel of her boot down on his instep and wrenched her wrist free. She made a noise of disdain and headed for the door.

Angelus caught her in his arms and grinned more broadly. "And where might you be going?" he asked.

"Home! Home to Spike, where I belong," she snapped, refusing to give him the satisfaction of struggling with him.

"And do you honestly think he'll have you back?" he asked mockingly, tracing the consort mark he'd put on her neck. "After all you've done?"

"It wasn't me. He'll understand that," she answered. "It was the demon."

Angelus' grin was mocking. "Now you and I both know that's a lie. The demon, the human, its all the same. Haven't you been saying that for years? Its simply a matter of control. Any way, the demon wasn't in control the first time I had you," he said. "Before I marked you, we fucked and that wasn't the demon." He brought his thumb around to trace her lips but she jerked away. "You know it and I know it. It wasn't the demon and it wasn't even me. You and Angel were still mostly in control." He laughed. "Or should I say out of control." He brought his face close to hers. "You cheated on Spike and you know there's no way in hell that he'll forgive that." He watched what little color she had drain away. "And even if he took you back, would he ever be able to look at you without seeing you with someone else? Your little demon is a tad on the nympho side, my sweeting. She's bedded anything that had a dick from the Pacific to the Atlantic. You smell like a hundred different males-men, demons, and vampires. How is your oh-so-very-possessive Spike going to deal with that? You smell like his childe. I don't see you sending the boy away. In fact…" He sniffed inquisitively. "Smells like you just crawled off of him. Spike won't ignore that."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll spend the next few centuries making it up to him. I'll beg. I'll crawl on my knees to him if I have to."

He knew she would, too. "True enough. And he probably would take you back. Hell, I couldn't blame him. You're as good a fuck as any I've ever had." He smirked in anticipation. "But will he take you back when you explain how you left Wesley and René to die? Because you see, if you even try to go back to him, if you try to leave me, I'll kill your childer. They die the instant you walk out that door."

He watched his warning take hold of her. It was quite possibly the loveliest sight he'd ever seen. The sheer terror and despair were beautiful to behold. She knew that her sons were strong but she also knew he was stronger and had a hundred minions at his beck and call. She knew he'd follow through on his threat. "You see, darlin', you're mine and I'm not giving you up." He caressed her cheek. "Now, you can stay here as my consort, letting me have your sweet body any time I want, and your boys will be fine. Hell, you can keep the Cajun as a fuck toy. I don't care. But you try to leave and I'll dust them both. And you know you can't stop me. Even if you slip them out, where are they going to go? Back to Spike? I'm sure Wesley can. He'd be welcomed with open arms, but Spike will dust your coonass boy for touching what's his. So where is he going to go? Where is he going hide? There's no place he can go where he'll be safe from me. I'll find your pretty little Cajun and I'll take him apart bit by bit. I'll make sure it takes him days to die." She closed her eyes, unable to look at him. She knew he would do exactly that. "Do you want me to tell you exactly what I plan on doing to him? Do you remember what Wolfram and Hart did to Spike?" She shivered. Those images were indelibly carved into her memory. "I'll do that and more. But don't worry, I won't carve up his face. It's too pretty. Besides, I know a spell that will let me keep his head intact for a few days after I've cut it off. I know you'd like to see it. Of course, he'll be conscious for those few days." She threw up all over his antique Chinese rug.

He waited patiently until her heaves subsided, even rubbing her back and holding her when her arms felt too weak to support her weight. "So are you still mine, sweetness? Do you still belong to me?"

Sitting on the floor, unable to stand because her knees had turned the consistency of Jell-o, she nodded. "I belong to you," she whispered around the tightness in her chest.

She didn't resist when he carried her to his bedchamber. She undressed as he instructed, and climbed into his bed. Angelus joined her but growled when she continued to lie unresponsive underneath him. She looked up at him with hate-filled eyes. "I said I'd do what you wanted and I will, but I don't have to like it."

"Oh you'll like it, my sweet darlin'. I can make you like it," he said. With the patience he was famous for he began to stroke and kiss her, searching for those places he knew were sensitive to his touch and brought her the greatest pleasure. He, who had taken months to torment Drusilla into madness, who had come close to doing the same thing with the Slayer, turned that same energy and persistence to forcing her to respond to him. At first it was no more than a jerk or a snarl but slowly her body began to betray her.

~~~~~

Angelus let her return to her own room and the arms of her precious Cajun. He was quite pleased with this day's work. She hadn't climaxed, and he hadn't expected her to, but there had been moments when she had bit her lip to keep from crying out because what he was doing felt so good. He lay back in his big bed and contemplated his next moves. He knew he could seduce her, that he could make her enjoy what he did to her physically. He was her sire and he had resources at his disposal that no one else would have. As her sire, she was instinctively drawn to him. That would definitely help. Yes, he'd make her enjoy the physical aspect of their union and that would make her hate herself. He knew her well and knew what would cause her the most turmoil. Enjoying being with him would be catastrophic. It was a good thing she didn't have a reflection because she'd never be able to face herself in it once he was done with her. He loved seeing her so miserable. She looked so beautiful when she was in such pain. God he loved her. Breaking her would be more gratifying than anything he'd ever done. He could barely wait for the next move.

~~~~~

René looked down at Baby in concern and disbelief. "What do you mean we're staying? You need to go home."

She shook her head. She didn't think she could say the words again. Home didn't exist any more. Not for her. Home was Spike and he'd never let her near him now. She couldn't blame him. She'd promised him that she'd never willingly let Angelus touch her. So much for that vow, she thought. So much for ever seeing Spike again. She looked at René and saw the worry and concern he felt for her. She couldn't bear it. She covered her face with her hands.

"Bébé, please," he begged, running a hand over her hair, letting her know he was there.

She threw her arms about him and let him rock her gently. "What is it, hey? You tell your René so he can fix it for you."

She looked up at him and realized that in this household he was the only one who really cared about her. He was the only one she could depend on. "Hold me, René, please. Hold me," she said. He complied wordlessly and continued to rock her as though she were a child.

Finally, through tear-strained eyes, she looked up at him. "René, I smell like him. I hate it. I don't want to smell like him. I won't be able to sleep if I do." With a shaky hand she stroked his perfect face. "Make me not smell like him. Make me smell like you."

He looked down at her in horrified wonder. "Bébé? What you saying?"

She looked into eyes the color of a tropical sea, eyes that didn't lie or hold cruelties or a twisted sickness disguised as love. "Love me," she said in a tiny voice. "Just love me." She drew his head down into a kiss that tasted of ashes and tears and hopelessness.

~~~~~

René wished there were some way he could turn back time and make the last few months not exist. He'd rather never have held Baby than to have to hold her like this. Her pain was so great, so sharp, he felt it as a living thing crawling inside his chest, gnawing at his heart. But he couldn't reverse time and he couldn't make everything right, so he did the only thing he could and did as she asked. It wasn't hard to do; he did love her. And each second that passed here in the hell that Angelus had created, he loved her a little more. He would make sure she knew she was not alone. As long as he was quick above the ground, she would never be alone. So as René held her and for the first time made love to his Bébé, he repeated the words he'd said when he had held her demon. In his soft Cajun-French he told her again, "I love you. I need you. I've always loved you. You are my heart. You are my soul. I live only for you. Everything I am, it is for you. Everything I am belongs to you. My life is yours. If I have to die, let it be now, like this, while holding you."

Chapter 5 - "I Fall to Pieces"

Angelus murmured and whispered against Baby's skin. Words of love mingled with admiration of the darkness inside her flowed from his lips. She shivered and kept her head turned away. She wasn't sure what disturbed her more, the thought that he really did love her in some twisted way or the horrible things he saw within her. She focused on a painting on the wall beside the bed. It was a rather clichéd seaside scene and she tried to remember where they were now. Myrtle Beach? Cape Hatteras? She wasn't sure. Angelus kept them constantly on the move. They stayed no more than three days in any one location. She was tired of the constant travelling. She was tired of living out of a suitcase. She was tired of sleeping in strange beds. She wanted her own bed. Her own bed with Spike in it. She wanted that so desperately that sometimes it made her feel as though her insides were being sucked out and replaced by ice cubes and razor blades.

She was too tired to deal with Angelus today. Too tired to fight against him. While she could turn away and block out the sight of him, she couldn't block out the sound of his voice. His words clung to her. She felt them sticking to her skin like syrup. His words adhered like obscene paint baked onto her by his fiery touch. She would need to scrub and scrub to get his words off her flesh. There wasn't enough soap in the world to remove them. A lake of boiling water wouldn't be enough to cleanse her of them, she knew. She'd never be clean again.

She would need René to help her obliterate some of the horror of Angelus' words. Only René's gentle hands could ease the burning of Angelus' touch. René's love was the only clean thing left in her life and she had sullied even that, had perverted it by using it as a tool to help her forget for a few hours that she belonged to Angelus. She was as great a monster as Angelus was. She knew that she was slowly destroying René as surely as Angelus was destroying her. Her love for René, her need for him, would kill the young man as surely and as painfully as morning sunlight burning through him.

Angelus' hateful words were less dreadful than her inner reflections and for once she was glad that she couldn't block them out. "You and I have always been truthful with each other," Angelus said softly. "That's the one thing Angel really respected about you. But that wasn't what turned him on," he said as he expertly tongued one plum-brown nipple. "I was turned on because I knew that deep down, you wanted me. That it didn't matter that you were married to Spike, you wanted me. Your desire for me and mine for you was our dirty little secret." She kept her face turned away, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge that he was even there. "Of course, I like my women on the dirty side. And you're as dirty a little thing as I've ever seen." He ran his fingers over her abdomen, searching, questing, his touch light and teasing. "You know that the demon can only bring out what's already in the human. We can't be anything that isn't already there. We really are one and the same. The demon, the soul, we're all just parts of the same person. Your demon was a cold, calculating, manipulative bitch, sweetness." He eased his hand between her legs, pleased when she involuntarily jerked away. He didn't want her willing and compliant. Not yet. He wanted to take his time and enjoy breaking her to the leash. "She was also the biggest whore I've ever seen." He watched a muscle jump in her jaw. "I've never seen a woman who wants it as much as you do, darlin'. There is no way any one man can keep you satisfied. It's no wonder you took Wes, Dru, and Cordelia into your bed. Damn, I don't know how Spike kept you to himself as long as he did. But then, Spike always did have stamina. Or were you always playing with his childer? Hmmm? Is that it? Were you playing sex games with your boys? You always smelled like those two Cajun ones. Did they give you a good time without getting off themselves? Couldn't have Spike smelling that, now could you." She longed to hit him. To just make him shut up. But she wouldn't. He'd only hit her back and talk even more. "No, I don't think you did. I think you just thought about it. I think you thought about fucking them just like you thought about fucking me." He moved further down her body. She tasted superb, she really did. He could actually taste the distress she was feeling. It was damn near intoxicating. "Is that how you managed to stay true to my grandchilde? By being false to him in your mind? Well, you know what the Bible says about that, now don't you, darlin'? Tell me, how many fantasy fucks did you have, sweetness? How many lovers have you imagined? Or were your Cajuns and I enough for you?" He explored her navel with an insistent tongue. "At least you don't have to worry about that anymore. It's all reality now. Your Cajun boy and I, we'll keep you satisfied." He moved lower, licking the sensitive area above her mons. "So tell me, precious, how is your coonass treating you? Is he keeping my darlin' girl happy?" He smiled. She had made his task so much easier by taking the Cajun as her lover. "Does he make you feel like this? I'll bet he does. He looks like he'd be really good in bed. I'll have to find out one day. But first, I want to make sure you know that however good your pretty boy is, I'm better." He fastened his mouth onto her clitoris, sucking and nibbling. As he began his most serious assault yet on her, she couldn't stop her hips from pushing up to meet his lips, couldn't keep from moaning when he delved his tongue deep inside her. He smiled. After two-and-a-half weeks of his forced attentions, she was ready finally. With persistence and determination, he had used his hands and mouth to force her body to accept him, to want him. It had taken time but he was patient. He was also very, very good at pleasuring a woman. She still refused to look at him but that didn't matter. She was listening to him and she was responding to his touch. He could wish for no more than that. When, with clenched fists and eyes squeezed shut, she climaxed, he couldn't help but smile. It was time for him to begin her final destruction.

"My sweet darlin' girl," he crooned. "I always knew you were the one for me. You belong here, you know. Oh I know you think you love Spike, and maybe you do. But you always end up hurting him." He noted the tiny wince. There was the weak spot. He'd be able to use that to make sure she never left him. "He's not like me, sweetness. He won't understand you needing other men. But I understand." He stroked her gently. He sometimes liked to play the lover, especially while he was playing the tormentor. "I don't mind that you're a whore. It doesn't bother me." He could practically smell her anguish. It was sweet. "Though, I don't suppose whore is the right word. You don't sell it, after all; you don't expect anything in exchange except a good time. You give it away to any man that asks. No, whore's too harsh. I guess you're just a slut." His smile was blinding as he saw a tear slip from her tightly closed eyes. "Just a filthy little tramp who can't keep her legs together regardless of what she feels. I mean, you hate me but you just came for me. What was it you said? 'Don't stop. Harder'? Well I did what you asked and you came so good, honey. Thrusting up against me like that, with your legs all wrapped around me, your pussy squeezing me. Damn it was good, sweetie. You are just the most dick-hungry little cunt I've ever seen." He kissed one nipple gently, pleased that it was still pebbled and hard. "I don't entirely understand it. You don't really have any reason to be so horny; it's not like you're not getting any. I mean, you're doing it with your own stepson daily." He laughed softly. "Hell, several times daily from the sound of it. Jesus, he must be exhausted." His amusement was replaced by desire. "You are just the hottest little piece of ass. I like it." He sucked at that nipple and fingered her clitoris again. He hummed against her breast in a tone guaranteed to send any fledgling into ecstasy and was gratified when she arched a bit against him. Being her sire really did make this so easy. "You're just like your demon and, Satan knows, she'd fuck anything that moved. And a few things that couldn't. It's really amazing how you managed to hide that all those years, but then again, you really didn't, did you? You bedded Wesley, Cordy, and Dru regularly. I heard you made it with Ripper once. Is that true?" It wasn't, but she wouldn't defend herself to him. "You and Spike went at it like weasels all the time. Oh and then you had your little human pets. Some FBI agent, right? And a police detective? You like lawmen, I guess. No one could ever call you a one-man woman, honey. But like I said, I don't mind. You being the biggest tramp ever born doesn't put a crimp in my day, sweetness, because you see, you're my slut. As long as you come for me, you can keep as many pets as you want. Keep your coonass, honey. I know he makes you feel good. Spread your legs for him as often as you like. It won't change the fact that you belong to me. That you're my bitch."

~~~~~

René knew that whatever happened this time had been worse than anything Angelus had done yet. He also knew it was useless to ask. Baby wouldn't tell him. She refused to speak of what went on when she was locked away with Angelus. Oh they had sex; René knew that. He could smell his great-grandsire all over her. Nightly she begged him to help her remove Angelus' scent from her body. It was a good thing she was a vampire or she would have burns and blisters from scalding herself in her efforts to try and rid herself of Angelus' scent. He did his best to try and keep her from really injuring herself when the scrubbing became too frantic.

But there was far more to this than sex and being marked by Angelus' scent. There was something eating at her mind, destroying her spirit. Her eyes were hectic and full of an agony beyond anything René had ever imagined. It suddenly struck him that she was dying. Each day, when she came back from Angelus' bed, she was a little weaker, a little less able to cope with the day-to-day aspects of existing. Already, he had to remind her to eat and even then she'd refused to hunt. He'd begun feeding her from his own veins in an attempt to strengthen her. He was the one who combed her hair and helped her dress since she no longer cared if her clothes were clean or what they looked like. Her nails, always carefully tended and painted in a rainbow of bizarre colors, were short and bare. For the first time in René's memory, she looked old. Even during those awful months when Spike was dead and she was struggling to maintain the family and find a way to bring him back, she hadn't looked this lost.

Being here like this, without Spike, tormented daily by Angelus, was killing her as surely as a stake through the heart. And however much he wished it was otherwise, there was nothing he could do to help her. There was only one person who could help her now. It would mean his own death but better that than seeing her destroyed like this.

"Maman?" he said softly. "You need to go home now. You need to go home to Papa. I know Angelus is holding hurting me over your head. But I got a few tricks up my sleeve, too, you know? I can disappear in the swamps and won't nobody be able to find me. Once you back with Spike, well, that bastard not be able to do anything to you and he not be able to find me. And don't even believe him when he say he'll hurt Wes. He needs Wes. Wes got the best voodoo there is. Angelus knows that if he don't have Wes, he'll be dead. That Willow, she find him and fry him, her. Besides, Wes, he able to take care of himself, too, heh?"

He placed his finger under her chin and lifted her head. She looked up at him with empty eyes. "You need to go home now. You need Spike."

She shook her head. "I can't. Even if Angelus turns back to Angel this minute, I can't go home to Spike. Not after what I've done. Spike deserves someone decent, someone clean. I'm not either one. Spike deserves way more than some… whore for a wife." She caressed his cheek. "But you're right. You need to leave. If you stay here, Angelus will kill you, if being with me doesn't kill you first."

He had a premonition of disaster. He knew that the minute he was gone she'd kill herself. He also knew that he had to leave. He had to get her help. He had to go to the one person who could provide that help and convince him to do what had to be done. And he had to keep her alive long enough for that to happen. "Bébé? I'll go but I'll need time to get away and hide myself. Can you keep Angelus happy for a few days? Give me a week and he'll never find me," he told her. It'd be hard for Angelus to find a pile of dust, René thought. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded and he gathered her close. With an ache that he knew would stay with him for the few remaining days of his unlife, he made love to her one last time.

~~~~~

René shushed Wesley before he could cry out. "We got to get out of here." The Englishman arched a brow at him.

The Cajun sighed. "Look, Maman, she made him really mad today. I don't know what she did and she won't tell me but he's in a killing mood. It's either you or me and it's pretty much a toss up to which it gonna be. He don't like me but I keep Maman happy and she might just off herself if something happen to me. Now, you her child and losing you would hurt her. Besides, Angelus, he don't trust you. He think you getting too powerful," René lied. "Maman, she say we both need to leave. She say we need to hide for a while."

Wesley nodded. He didn't trust Angelus. The Irishman kept harping on how much he preferred Wesley with a soul. The demon had no intention of giving back control of their life to his human half. "Alright. I would like to take a couple of books with me," the ex-Watcher said.

René smiled. "No problem. If I was you, I'd take that spell that restores his soul. It be a good thing to hold over him, in case he come after us. Or better yet, just go ahead and restore him now."

Wesley shook his head. He had intended to take the spell that would restore Angelus' soul in any case. "If I restore Angel, he'll simply force me to restore my own soul and I have no wish for that to occur."

René nodded sympathetically. He hadn't really expected to get that one over on Wesley. He'd had no real hope of that working. He knew that he couldn't force Wes to restore Angel's soul; Wes was too strong. Once he had the other man in New Orleans, it would be a different matter. "Can't understand the big uproar about a soul. I'm doing just fine without mine." That comment should help assuage any suspicions the Englishman might have about René's motives. Apparently, Wes believed his kinsman. It only took minutes for Wesley to gather what he needed. It took even less time for René to cold-cock the mage and deposit his bound form into the car. He made sure Wesley's mouth was securely taped closed. He knew what the other man could do with just words. He couldn't risk Wes casting some sort of spell when he noticed they were heading for New Orleans and Spike rather than running for the Canadian border. In less time than René had anticipated, he was behind the wheel of the car. He wondered what the land speed record from Myrtle Beach to New Orleans was. Well, whatever it was, he intended to break it. His 1973 Firebird could do 120 miles per hour easily for hours on end. And if he blew the engine, well, he wouldn't be needing a car soon anymore anyway. Dead vampires didn't need fast cars.

~~~~~

René strode into Spike's parlor half-dragging a bound and gagged Wesley Wyndham-Pryce with him. He shoved Wesley into Jean Claude's arms. "Hold him and don't take that gag off. He'll turn you into a frog or something if you do."

He threw himself at Spike's feet, neck bared, submission in every line of his body. "You got every right to kill me, Papa," he said. "I don't expect any different. But hear me out first, then you can kill me however you want to."

Spike grabbed his son by the hair and sniffed. The wave of hurt that swept across his father's face caused René to wince. "It's true then. What we've heard. You're her lover." Spike had prayed it was a lie.

René raised his chin proudly. He was ashamed of hurting Spike but he would never be ashamed of being with his Bébé. "I am."

Spike backhanded him so hard that René skidded across the hardwood floor. The younger vampire wiped the blood from his split lip but didn't offer any resistance or change his attitude of submission. He looked at the blood coating the back of his hand. "It no more than I deserve," he said.

"You got some kind of balls coming here, boy," Spike grated. He grabbed his son from the floor and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there. Anger warred with hurt for supremacy in the gamut of emotions Spike was experiencing. So far, hurt was winning. "She throw you out and now you want me to put you out of your misery, is that it?" He slammed René into the wall again, hard enough to crack the plaster. "Couldn't stake yourself and thought I'd do it for you?"

René hung his head. He couldn't face the suffering in Spike's blue eyes. "No, I could have stayed with her forever. And I would have. I won't lie to you about that. But she's dying and you the only one that can save her."

Spike lowered the arm he had drawn back preparatory to striking the other man. "What do you mean?" he said levelly. He knew that René wasn't here just to taunt him. That wasn't his son's way. He also knew that René was not suicidal but he had to know that coming here, smelling like sex with his sire's consort, was tantamount to putting out a death warrant on himself. He had to know that Spike would beat him to death.

René looked up and Spike was struck by how… anguished his son appeared. René, for all his silence and taciturn ways, always had a spark of pure joie de vivre lurking in the depths of his blue-green eyes. At heart, René was as big an imp as Spike himself. That spark was missing. There was only misery and pain in his teal eyes now, and a sort of dogged determination. The thought came unbidden that his son looked like a man on a suicide mission.

"Angelus is killing her. A little bit at a time," René said. "He's been playing with her head. Got her thinking she's some sort of awful person and that you couldn't want her. She won't eat. She barely sleeps. She cries half the time. She can't live like that. She's just … fading away."

Spike allowed René to slide down the wall as the import of what he'd said sunk in. "Are you telling me she has her soul back?"

René nodded. "Yes, sir. Wesley restored it. Before that, well, you wouldn't have wanted to see her."

Spike shook the other man slightly. "Why the hell hasn't she come home then!?!" he demanded.

René swallowed back tears. "I told you. Angelus. He's been playing with her mind. He's got her thinking all messed up. Got her thinking you don't want her no more cause of what all happened. Got her thinking she's bad and …" He swallowed again but a tear slipped out. "Daddy, she called herself a whore. Maman! He got her thinking of herself that way. Got her thinking that she's a whore. I'd kill him if I could." He took a deep breath before he continued. "She told me that she not clean enough for you no more. That she not decent enough for you. That you deserve better than her." Looking into Spike's eyes he knew that they shared a single thought on this. Regardless of what had happened, there was no better than her for either of them.

Spike released René but the younger vampire didn't move. "Not decent enough for me?"

René nodded. "Because she been with him." He hung his head again. "Because she been with me." He took a deep breath. "Like I said, you the only one who can help her. Take her back, Papa. Go get her and bring her home. One smile from you and she'd be alive again. I can't do it. It's not me she loves. It's not me she lives for." He looked directly into Spike's eyes. "I won't lie to you, Spike. I wish it was me that she loved. But it's not. And it never will be. I was a … comfort, that's all. I'm afraid for her. I'm afraid she's gonna take a walk in the daylight really soon now."

However great René's transgressions, they didn't matter at the moment. Getting Baby back where she belonged was all that mattered. "Can you get me to her?" Spike asked.

"I can," René replied without hesitation. "But we'll have to move fast. Angelus won't stay in any one place long."

"Papa!" Jean Claude's call interrupted them.

Spike looked toward his eldest son and cursed. Drusilla was gliding determinedly toward Wesley. "Bloody Hell!" Spike didn't think Dru could survive seeing Wesley and having her consort ignore her again. If she touched him and felt the emptiness inside him, it would kill her. Jean tried to intercept his grandmother but she tossed him aside as though he were a stuffed toy. Before any of the childer could stop her, she had removed the tape from Wesley's lips. Spike grabbed her by the waist and pulled her away before she could be hurt. Dru wailed at being separated from her Wesley and clawed at her childe. Spike had over a century's experience of dealing with a less than sane Drusilla and avoided her talons easily, trapping her wrists and holding her arms immobile while she kicked and screamed. He murmured soothingly to her the whole time but she was as wild and mindless as he had ever seen her. The sound of her distress reverberated through the house.

"Let her go!" Wesley ordered. "Release," he ordered the ropes binding him and they fell away. He looked at the kicking, writhing form of his love, her cries echoing through his mind. "Spike!" he growled. "Let her go!"

The Master of New Orleans looked into the stormcloud eyes of his former friend and saw an anger he had thought gone forever.

Wesley pulled himself up to his rather formidable six foot two inch height and glared at the man holding his lover. "You may be my grandfather but I'll still kick your arse if you don't release her this instant. Now. Let. Her. Go!"

Spike grinned and released his sire. She flew to Wesley's open arms. "Shh, my love, my precious. It's all right. I'm here. It's all right," Wesley whispered while stroking her dark hair.

Spike smirked. "About time you sorted yourself out," he said.

Wesley grinned at him over the top of Dru's head. "And past time we sorted out Angelus," the mage added. He looked to where René stood alone, still leaning against a cracked wall. "Thank you," he said.

René shrugged. "You're welcome. But I didn't do it for you. I did it for Maman," he said rubbing the wound on his lip. Damn but his father was strong. His whole jaw ached.

Wesley nodded. "I know." He looked at his fellow countryman. "René's correct, Spike. Angelus is killing Baby a bit at a time. He is under the impression that he loves her and perhaps in his way, he does, but it's a twisted, destructive sort of love. He intends to break her."

Spike nodded. He knew all about twisted, destructive love. "So give Angel back his bleeding soul right now."

"I wish I could." Wesley said. "Unfortunately, I have to be in the same room with him to do it." He murmured something to Dru that none of the others could catch.

Jean picked himself off the floor. "So, what just happened? How come you're back all of a sudden?" Suspicion had become second nature to Jean Claude over the years.

Wesley smiled down at Drusilla's dark hair. "It was Dru. Seeing her like that. So hurt, so desperate. I couldn't stand it. I was so angry that she was hurting. It gave me the strength to fight and overpower the demon part of me." He kissed the crown of her head. "When I saw Spike manhandling her like that, something just snapped."

Spike held out his hand to the ex-Watcher. "I'm glad you're back. I've missed you. Dru… she needs you more than I can even explain."

Wesley looked up from staring into Dru's deep blue eyes. "Baby needs you the same way."

Spike nodded. "Then let's go get her." Wes' grip tightened on his. He returned the pressure before releasing his friend's hand. The Master strode to his errant son and snarled at him. "Kneel," he ordered in a voice filled with death. René immediately complied. He knew he was about to die but it didn't matter. With Wesley restored and at Spike's side, René had no doubt that they would save Baby and that she would be returned to what she was. That was all that mattered.

The room had gone completely silent; even Wesley and Dru were quiet. Wesley kept Dru's face turned from the sight of her childe and grandchilde. Dru had always been fond of the dark-haired Cajun and Wes didn't want her to see René die. Wes himself had no wish to see it; he had always been fond of René and Spike's elder children. However, he felt he owed it to René to watch his execution as a man should. He wanted to tell Spike that killing René would break Baby's heart but suspected that would only increase the anger Spike already felt. This way there was a chance that René's death would be quick and clean.

Jean Claude clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. He knew there was no alternative. René had broken several basic commandments. There was no other option, but he didn't want to see his brother and best friend die. He heard one of the grandchilder begin to cry behind him. He whirled and slapped the offending childe. "Show some respect. If he's not sniffling, by God, neither will you!"

Spike ignored them all. "You betrayed me," he grated.

René didn't look at his sire. He didn't want to see the hurt in Spike's eyes again. He stared at Spike's belt buckle. It was one Baby had given him. He remembered taking her shopping for it. "Yes, sir. I did." He took a deep breath. He'd die the way he wanted to, with dignity. "And I'm sorry for that."

Spike growled. "Are you asking for mercy?"

René shook his head. "No, sir. I did what I did and you have to do what you have to do." He wouldn't beg or plead. He was the son of William the Bloody and he'd die like a man. Spike might be lethally furious with him but he'd have no cause to be ashamed of him. He continued to stare at his father's belt buckle. Baby had been so insistent on finding the perfect gift for Spike's birthday that evening. She had looked through two dozen antique shops before she found that bit of silver and gold.

"You took my consort to your bed without my permission." Spike's voice had never been colder.

Technically, it was her bed but René supposed that didn't matter. He was still thinking of taking Baby shopping. She'd been so pleased with that silly belt buckle, bouncing around like a teenager. He could still hear her laughter. "I did," he said around the lump that suddenly choked him.

"By law and tradition, I should whip the skin off your back, douse you in holy water, and stake you out for the morning sun after I cut off your knackers," Spike rasped.

René nodded. He vowed he wouldn't embarrass Spike by begging for mercy while being tortured. He swore to himself that he'd bite his tongue off before he got to that point. He returned his mind to that long ago and far away shopping expedition for a birthday present for his sire. She had been so happy then. So full of life. He remembered how he had just stood near her listening to her heartbeat and the blood flowing through her veins. She was so beautiful when she smiled. He wished he could have seen her smile one last time.

"Or I could just stake you." Spike looked down at the ebony head and wondered how it had all fallen apart so quickly.

René nodded again. She really had been worth it, he decided. All of it. The pain had been worth it. If he had given her one minute of solace and comfort, it was worth it.

Spike grabbed a handful of that gleaming black hair and forced his son to look at him. René reluctantly ceased his contemplation of a silver belt buckle adorned with a golden railroad spike. "You came here knowing that I'd kill you."

"Yes sir." He looked into eyes that were sky to his sea.

"To save her." It wasn't a question.

"I'd do anything for her," René said softly.

"I think you would," Spike agreed. The hard grip in René's hair eased and became almost a caress. "I think letting you live, knowing that she loves me more than you, will hurt you more than anything I could possibly do to you." He squatted down so that his face was level with his son's and his hand slid to René's cheek. "I think that you're already punishing yourself in ways I could never match." He ran his thumb over René's swollen lip. "I think it would be a damned bleeding shame to kill you for something I once did myself."

René looked in wonder at his sire. "Papa?"

"And if you ever touch her again without my say-so, I'll beat you to death with my bare hands." Spike opened his arms and took his son back to his heart. He looked out over the dark head buried on his chest. "Anyone got a problem?" he snarled.

Jean Claude dropped down beside them and placed a hand on his brother's back. "If they do, I'll beat the shit out of them for you," he said in a suspiciously husky voice. "Damn," he cursed as a teardrop fell and darkened a spot on René's blue shirt.

~~~~~

Angelus sighed. "Are you going to play that same song over and over all day?"

Baby didn't look up. She was very busy studying the wood grain on the parquet floor and couldn't be bothered with him. "Yep."

"I'm sick of it," he said gently. He knew she was very close to a total breakdown and would either fall into his arms completely or kill herself. He didn't want to force it just yet. Besides, this much agony was beautiful to behold. He wondered how he had ever lived without her.

"Then leave." She picked up the whiskey bottle beside her and took a drink. She knew it annoyed Angelus when she drank from the bottle. "It's my room." Which she didn't like. It was too big, too open, and had too many windows. She longed for balconies and wrought iron and heavy blue shutters to block out the sun. She took another drink.

He sighed again. "Why that song?"

She listened for a few minutes as Jon Bon Jovi sang of loving someone even when you had to be with someone else. "'Cause it makes me think of Spike."

Angelus cursed but she didn't really hear him. "Don't you ever think of anything else?" he snarled.

She took another drink. "Nope." This time she did meet her demon sire's dark gaze. "I think of him constantly and I always will. Get used to it." She returned her attention to the flooring and her whiskey and listening to Jon sing.

With an ironclad fist I wake up and
French kiss the morning
While some marching band keeps
its own beat in my head
While we're talking
About all of the things that I long to believe
About love and the truth and
what you mean to me
And the truth is baby you're all that I need

I want to lay you down on a bed of roses
For tonight I sleep on a bed on nails
I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is
And lay you down on a bed of roses

Angelus wondered if she was purposefully trying to drive him to murder her. He looked at her blank face and realized that might be the truth. He decided to try again. Maybe he could force a conversation out of her. Or at least get her to curse him. This distance was worse than the ice queen had been. "There's a report that a Slayer is hunting us."

Baby took another drink. "Good luck to her. Hope she finds us soon." She never bothered to look at him. Maybe Buffy would be the one to kill her after all. That almost sounded appropriate.

When you close your eyes
Know I'll be thinking about you
While my mistress she calls me
To stand in her spotlight again
Tonight I won't be alone
But you know that don't
Mean I'm not lonely I've got nothing to prove
For it's you that I'd die to defend

I want to lay you down on a bed of roses
For tonight I sleep on a bed of nails
I want to be just as close as the Holy Ghost is
And lay you down on a bed of roses

Baby felt tears pooling in the back of her throat. She hadn't known it was possible to cry this much. Suddenly, Angelus was grabbing her and shaking her. The bottle fell to the floor, spilling golden liquor across the pale wood.

"I'm sick of you crying over him! I'm sick of you moping! I'm sick of being ignored!" he shouted.

The one-sided smile she gave him could more rightly have been called a grimace. "Too bad, because that's all you have to look forward to."

He pushed her away from him. She stumbled but didn't fall. "And suppose I don't want to put up with it anymore? Suppose I don't feel like this shit? What if I turn you out? Where are you gonna go?"

"Home with me, where she belongs," Spike said from the doorway. He stepped into the room flanked by his two eldest sons, his grandson, and his sire. With Jean Claude, Rene, Wesley, and Drusilla beside him he was a formidable sight. Baby had never seen anyone more beautiful in all her existence. She had always felt that Spike was the most glorious creature ever created and seeing him standing there, when she had never thought to lay eyes on him again, nearly turned her faint. Her knees honestly went weak and she felt as though all the light in the room was focused on her husband. It seemed, in fact, as though all the light in the room emanated from Spike. When he turned his gaze to her, she was immobilized by the love that shone from his eyes. They were bluer than a noonday sky and brighter than the sun within that sky. She felt something tight and hard within her relax and fall away under the warmth of that blue-blue gaze.

Spike felt his heart soar. The eyes that looked back at him were her eyes. Not empty or cold. Not inhabited by some barely-known demon. Not a stranger in his wife's body. It was she, his lover, his wife. She was really there. The love, the longing, the soft caring that gave his life meaning was all there. As his son had said, Baby was back and she wanted him as much as she ever had. Seeing her, he felt their link reestablish, felt her love flowing through him once more. That unique connection forged by magic and blood and strengthened by their years together opened and the wall he had felt between them tumbled away. "Rose," he whispered and stepped toward her. Angelus nor all his hell-spawned followers could keep him from her now.

Baby smiled at him, hope lighting her face. She could feel him again. Deep inside her, she could sense him, glowing and dark and warm and wonderful. She knew without doubt that he loved her. It was beyond any level of happiness she could describe. Nothing mattered so long as he could look at her like that. She belonged to him. She always had and she always would and nothing else was important. Nothing that had happened before had meaning. If Spike would take her back into his heart, her life could begin again. She needed only his words of forgiveness and his love to be whole again.

She jerked as an arrow pierced her heart. Baby had time to look down briefly and then, uncomprehending, to look at her love and breathe his name, her only words to him in months. And Spike watched in abject horror as his beloved died with his name on her lips, helpless as her beautiful face turned to dust.

Chapter 6 - "How Can I Face Tomorrow"

Spike could hear screaming-Drusilla? Jean?-but it had no meaning. He looked down. Baby's dust had settled on his clothes. He could see it, a gray powder sheen on his black garments. He could taste it on his lips. An arrow struck him in the shoulder but he barely felt it. How could such a wound compare to the pain of tasting his wife's death on his lips? He was sorry that the arrow had missed his heart. He looked up toward his attacker.

A young girl was perched in one of the big windows, a great compound bow in her hands. A Slayer. He could sense her now that he wasn't distracted by the sight of his wife. His wife! He clamped down on the scream inside himself. Time enough for that later. He strode toward the young Slayer, casually plucking her next arrow from the air and snapping it with one hand. Snapping it as easily as he snapped her neck half a minute later. There was no dancing with this one. No playing. No words. He hadn't been able to speak to his beloved, why should he bother to speak with the Slayer that killed her? He broke her bow over his knee and tossed the pieces to the ground beside her body. He had never expected to claim his third Slayer. Hadn't wanted to, not for years.

His face remained an expressionless mask the entire time.

He turned to find Jean Claude at his side. "Find her Watcher," he ordered. Noting the fury and grief on his son's face he added, "I want him alive and able to talk, Jean."

His eldest childe nodded grimly. "I'll bring him to you, Papa." For once, his accent was nearly as thick as René's.

Reminded of his other son Spike scanned the room. Wesley, ever vigilant for Drusilla's safety, had placed her behind a heavy chair, using it and his own body as a shield for his lady. Now that the danger had been eliminated, he allowed her to rise. At least they were safe. He had managed what Spike couldn't. Spike forced that scream deeper within himself. He couldn't give it free rein, not yet. Wesley's face was stony and hard. He had just lost his sire and would have felt her death as plainly as Spike did. Spike realized he would have to take Wesley as his own childe now. Wesley was Baby's only legacy, the only trace of her bloodline. The only bit of her Spike had left. Spike swore to himself that Wesley would thrive. Beyond Wes and Dru, Spike spotted his prodigal son. René had two arrows protruding from his abdomen but like his sire, seemed oblivious to them. He sat beside the small pile of gray ash, all that was left of the woman he thought of as both his mother and his lover. Spike hadn't seen him move, hadn't seen him collapse, emotionally injured beyond the ability to vocalize it. René's shock and pain were beyond screams. Spike looked at him and saw a devastation that mirrored his own. René had been willing to sacrifice his existence for Baby and now she was gone. How, by all that was unholy, were they supposed to exist without her? Spike had been living that pain for the last few months sustained only by the hope that he would somehow regain his bride. That could never happen now.

Someone was still screaming. It took a moment for it to register that the shrieks of rage and woe were coming from his grandsire. Spike walked over to the Irishman, wondering without really caring if the shock of his childe's death had restored Angel's soul. One look at his face told him otherwise. This was still Angelus. A grief-stricken, infuriated Angelus, but his sadistic bastard of a sire nonetheless. Good. Spike didn't want Angel back just yet.

Angelus looked at the Master of New Orleans. "They took her! They took her from me! She was mine! She was my consort." His face was human but contorted into a façade of pained rage nearly as hideous as his demon face would have been.

Spike punched him as hard as he could directly in that human face. "No, you fucking bastard, she was your prisoner. She was my consort. And it doesn't matter whether you kept her locked up for six months or six centuries, she was mine. She always has been. And there wasn't a damned thing you could ever do that would change that."

Angelus roared and launched himself at his grandson but Spike evaded the attack and sent Angelus sprawling. He pinned the larger man face down on the floor, a sharp knee buried in Angelus' spine. Spike dug that knee in with as much pressure as he could bring to bear short of snapping Angel's vertebrae. "Understand this," Spike hissed, his eyes flashing yellow. "She was never yours. From the day she set foot in this miserable world she's been mine. She was always mine. Heart and soul, she was mine." He leaned down so he could whisper in Angelus' ear. "And those are the only parts of her that matter." He released the other vampire, standing with his hands spread as though defiled by touching Angelus. "Wes, do it now," he ordered, his disgust evident in his voice and face.

Wesley nodded and began to chant. Angelus roared again and would have gone after the mage had Drusilla not grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. She threw him across the room, sending him crashing into an occasional table, shattering the mirror behind it. "You are a very bad Daddy," she said. "You made my sister very unhappy. You hurt her the way you used to hurt me."

Angelus rose fluidly from where she'd tossed him, murder in his eyes. He rushed the ex-Watcher again but this time it was René who intercepted him. René, who had found a target for his grief and fury and had thrown off his paralyzing shock and replaced it with an all-consuming desire for vengeance. René, who, armed with the Slayer's arrow he'd pulled from his own body, was filled with a burning need to kill Angelus. René, who felt no pain or weakness from the wounds he'd received to his body because the wound he'd received to his heart was greater and far more grave. René, who didn't really care if he survived another minute as long as he took Angelus out with him. René, who was no longer quite sane.

"Fuck," Spike cursed and, much as it went against his basic instincts, went to assist Angelus. "René! You can't kill him!" Spike doubted if his words penetrated the haze of rage surrounding his son. Spike could feel the anger and hurt surging from the younger vampire and flooding the room. The family link was nearly overpowered by René's grief. Spike felt an answering despair but he knew that killing Angelus would help nothing, just as killing René would have helped nothing. "Wes, I don't suppose you can hurry this along," he shouted. By now René had managed to knock Angelus down and was sitting straddling him, trying to force the Slayer's arrow into his great-grandsire's chest. Angelus was equally determined to keep the sharp wood away. Spike was impressed that René had managed so much. Angelus was notoriously strong. But René was overcome with emotions he couldn't deal with and a berserker rage he'd never felt before. He was beyond feeling physical pain. Angelus had crushed half the bones in René's wrists but the young vampire persisted in his assault.

"Dru, help me!" Spike shouted as he tried to pull his son from his grandsire. "René, stop. René! René!" Not even the sound of his sire's orders could penetrate the misery and anger René Beaumont felt. His Bébé was gone and the bastard son of a bitch underneath him had made her last months on Earth into an agonizing hell. He had to die. It was that simple.

With a strength that he seldom used, Spike wrapped his arms around his son and lifted him off Angelus. The older vampire rose with a snarl and made for the pair only to stop and gasp as if in pain. His body spasmed as though he had been punched in the gut. Drusilla saw the truth and turned away from him, returning to Wesley's side just as her wizard finished the last words of the incantation that had restored Angel's soul. Spike looked at the man who had acted as his sire. "You're back then?" There was no joy in his voice, no anger, only an emptiness beyond sensation.

Angel nodded, too overcome by his actions and the death of his childe to speak just yet. René was still fighting his father's hold. Angel was the only one in the room who knew the horror that young man had faced daily in Angelus' household. He found his voice. "Let him go, Spike," he said hoarsely.

Spike stared at Angel for a short eternity before complying with his request. René immediately went after Angel, who took the first few punches without attempting to defend himself. Only when René raised the arrow to stake him did Angel grab the Cajun's still-injured wrist and twist it. "I don't want to hurt you, René. Angelus did enough of that over the last few months."

René hit him again with his free hand. "You are Angelus! I talked to her. Every day. I talked to her and I know all about what you really are. She told me. There not two people in your head. There just one. And I'm gonna kill you for what you did to her."

Angel looked at his great-grandson and saw every hideous thing that Angelus had ever inflicted on humanity, on his childer and grandchilder, on the people he loved and hated. He saw the loathing he felt for himself. René knew the truth. It was in is face. He knew Angel and Angelus were the same. Angelus hadn't lied to Baby when he'd tormented her with that fact. And that fact was crushing her tormentor now. Angel knew he had been the one causing Baby such anguish. He had been out of control, his conscience beaten by his need for self-gratification, his baser aspects given greater priority than his laudable ones, but he wasn't possessed. He wasn't under the control of another person. His demon was the same as the demon that dwelled within each person, a part of that person, not a separate entity. He was as much to blame for his actions as any serial killer who claimed insanity when caught, as much to blame as anyone who claimed to have a split personality or hear voices telling them to kill. He'd been temporarily insane, perhaps, but the evil still flowed from somewhere inside himself. He was as much a criminal, no, more of a criminal than any of them. He looked at his grandson and saw a reflection of a woman he had destroyed, a woman that a part of him loved enough to claim as his mate. A woman already the property of that grandson. She still lived inside Spike's eyes. And she died in René's. René was locked in the moment of her death. Angel could almost see his childe turning to dust when he looked into René's eyes. He felt it inside himself. As her sire and her Master, he had felt her die, had felt her simply cease to exist. There was an emptiness now where she had once been. He could still smell her scent in the air but he could smell her dust, her death as well. Deep inside, a part of him, the part that he sometimes thought was the real him and not the façade of decency he wore, was screaming from the loss of his lover, his wife. She might have been Spike's in her heart-he didn't doubt that-but in Angel's heart she had been Angelus' wife. A pain nearly physical lanced through him. Baby was dust and he had caused her nothing but agony for over three months. He loved her as his friend and his childe and, God help him, his lover and she was gone. And somehow, he knew, he had contributed to her death.

Angle released René's hand. "All right. No one has more right to do it, except Spike."

René drew back the arrow and looked directly into Angel's face. He wanted to see the bastard's eyes when he killed him. Looking out from the coffee-brown depths of his great-grandsire's eye, René saw a grief as great as his own and a guilt greater than anything he'd ever believed possible. Nothing dwelled within Angel that didn't hurt. René at least had the knowledge he had never intentionally hurt Baby and that she, on some level, loved him. He had no regrets for the time she had been with him save that the circumstance had been so painful for her. Angel would carry no good memories of his time with Baby, only the pain of forcing her to stay with him when her heart was elsewhere. René was reminded of what Spike had said to him the day before about it hurting more to know Baby loved Spike more than she could ever love René. He understood now that sometimes living was a greater punishment than death. He let the arrow fall to clatter on the floor. "No. You need to live. You need to think about what you done to her. How you made her feel. I hope you see her every time you close your eyes. I hope you hear her crying any time you lie down to sleep. I hope she haunts you." He skewered Angel with a look as sharp as the fallen arrow. "And if I ever see you forgetting or think you getting over it, I be sure and remind you." He leaned forward and hissed in Angel's ear. "Because I saw it all and I ain't ever gonna forget and I ain't ever gonna get over it."

~~~~~

Jean Claude drug the bloodied form of a man into the room and tossed it at his father's feet. The man sported a black eye and an obviously broken arm.

"Jean? I thought I said I wanted the Watcher unharmed," Spike said quizzically.

Jean grinned unpleasantly and the Watcher shivered. "You said you wanted him alive and able to talk. You didn't say you wanted him all in one piece."

Spike looked at Wes. "Never argue semantics with a Doctor of Philosophy," he said. Wes nodded. "Do you know him?"

Wesley walked over, grabbed a handful of sandy-brown hair, and pulled the Watcher's head up so he could see his face. "Yes. Surname's Stubs-Winchel. Can't recall his first name. By-the-book little shit from what I recall."

Stubs-Winchel stared up at his fellow Watcher. "You! You're Wyndham-Pryce." His accent was British and rather posh, even more so than Wesley's.

Wesley smiled. "That I am. And you, my friend, are a very dead man." The smile turned into a sneer.

"Wes, don't terrorize him too much. I'd like to get some sense out of him before you kill him," Spike said, aching to rip the man's head off himself. He nodded and Jean picked the Watcher up and held him before the Master of New Orleans. "Now then." Spike patted the man's tie back into some semblance of order. "You're going to die. Understand that. I'm going to kill you." He enjoyed the new level of pale the prisoner discovered. "The only variable is how you die. Tell me what I want to know and I'll snap your neck. All quick and clean. Just like I did for your Slayer." Spike gestured toward the bit of clay lying unattended beneath the window. "Clam up and I'll let Wes and Jean have some fun."

Angel stepped up to stand beside his grandchilde. He was still in shock but this man had sent a killer after his consort. Damn it, he refused to think of Baby any other way. She was his childe and his granddaughter-in-law and his consort.

"Want to join in on that?" Spike asked.

The Watcher had no problem recognizing the dark figure. "Angelus!" he gasped.

"Actually, the name is Angel," the Master of Los Angeles said.

René plucked the man from Jean's grasp and pressed him against the wall, his feet dangling a foot off the floor.

Spike moved to stand beside his son. "Now, I want to know exactly what your orders were from the Council."

Stubs-Winchel shook his head and simply stared with huge terrified eyes from Spike to a silent Angel.

Wesley pulled his switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. "I believe my grandsire asked a reasonable question."

The other Watcher's eyes grew round and afraid. "G…grandsire," he stuttered.

Wesley changed into his demon face. "Yes, rather. I don't believe we were ever properly introduced. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, grandson of William the Bloody, grandson of Angelus the Cruel. Son of Spike's Consort. Son of the woman you just helped kill." Drusilla came and stood beside him.

Even Angel felt a shiver of fear. Wes as a human had been intimidating. Wes as a demon had been, well, boring. But Wes as a souled vampire was frightening and a pissed-off Wes was… terrifying.

"I think you'd best start talking, mate," Spike advised.

The captured Watcher looked at the vampires before him. All Watchers were taught that capture and torture were a possibility, particularly for the Watcher assigned to the Slayer. However, Stubs-Winchel doubted that any training the Council could have given him would have been sufficient to prepare him for this. He was pinned against a wall and faced with none other than William the Bloody and Angelus the Cruel. Like most Watchers, he didn't really believe that Angel the Souled existed and he was certain of it now. Faced with Angelus, Spike, a female who was obviously Drusilla the Mad, two grim-faced vampires he didn't recognize, and a famous Watcher turned vampire, he crumbled and told them all he knew.

~~~~~

Spike tossed the body of the dead Watcher down beside his equally dead Slayer. As promised, he'd killed the man quickly. The rest of the Council, well now, that was debatable. He had a few things to deal with first and then he intended to burn those bastards.

"Wesley," he called softly. His grandson appeared at his side immediately. "Wes, I know you've been looking into some things about resurrection." He kept a closer eye than they all knew on what was happening with his family.

Wes nodded. "In case something ever happens to Drusilla, I want to be sure I can… bring her back to me."

Spike locked gazes with his grandchilde. "I want Baby back. I know she brought me back and I intend to do same with her."

Wesley nodded again. "I'll start on that as soon as we get back to New Orleans."

Jean appeared at Spike's side. "Papa?" He held a beautiful ginger jar in his hands. He looked towards the pile of ash on the floor. "We can't leave her…" Jean Claude shuddered. "We can't just leave that there. Can I…"

"No," Spike interrupted. "I'll do it." He took the jar from Jean. "The rest of you get ready to leave."

"There are some books and parchments here that I should pack and take with me," Wesley said. "Angel should probably clean out whatever he has."

Spike nodded. "Jean, gather anything Baby had."

René reached out and touched Spike's arm hesitantly. "Please, let me." He studied the toe of his boot. "I know where all her things are. I…" He couldn't continue.

Spike couldn't help but pity René. He knew that his son had done a terrible thing. But he also knew that René hadn't done it to hurt his sire. He had done it for love. Spike himself had done some pretty terrible and some pretty stupid things in the name of love. "Alright. Jean can help Wes and Angel."

René nodded but couldn't meet Spike's gaze. He turned and slowly opened the closet, pulling out Baby's suitcase. Spike reached for Jean. "Keep an eye on René, will you? He isn't… I don't want him near any doors or windows during the day, you understand."

Jean looked at his brother. René was silently packing Baby's clothes, his shoulder slumped, his head bowed. He looked like a man defeated by life. Jean couldn't suppress another shudder. His chest felt tight and he fought an irrational urge to breathe. "I will," he told Spike. "Come on, Wes." They gathered Drusilla and Angel and the foursome left René and Spike alone with dust and memories.

Spike stared at the small pile of gray for an eternity, unable to bring himself to go near it. He couldn't believe that this was all he had left of his beloved. How had someone so very central to his being simply disappeared? How could she simply be gone?

He sensed something and realized that René had fallen silent. His son was standing immobile with his head hanging and something clasped tightly in his hand. Spike placed a hand on René's shoulder. René was shaking.

"Son?"

René drew a shuddering breath. "The demon part of her, she loved you, too," he said. When Spike made no comment, René continued. "She was angry at you. She was jealous that you didn't want that part of her as much as you wanted the human part. She wanted to hurt you because she was so jealous. Bébé, she told me that her demon took me and…" He couldn't say it. "Anyway, Bébé say that the demon part of her wanted to use me to hurt you. She say she went with Angelus 'cause the demon wanted to stay in control and she knew you'd do everything to get the human back in control. She say she sleep around 'cause none of them as good as you. She say she not care about Angelus except for sex and because he a big bad second to nobody but you. She didn't love him. You got nothing to be worried about there. Demon and human, she never love anybody but you."

Spike had never thought what the vampire demon Baby had gained when she was turned did or didn't feel about him. That part of her was completely ignored except for the enhancements it brought to the human woman he loved. "What's brought this out, son?"

René held out his hand, the one that was clenched around something so tightly his knuckles were white. "The demon, she kept these and then, well…Angelus wouldn't let Bébé wear them, once she came back. She made me hide them from him. He'd go through her things looking for them. She didn't want him to throw them away or destroy them. I forgot they were in my pocket…"

Foreboding filling him, Spike held out his hand. René gave him Baby's wedding rings. "Jesus God," Spike breathed, unconsciously using one of Baby's favorite curses. Even during those months she was gone, she had been his. Heart, soul, and apparently demon, she'd been his. He had to get her back. He had to.

She'd never truly betrayed him. He looked at his son's face, set in lines of heartache. "Thank you. You didn't have to tell me."

René nodded. "I never wanted to hurt you, Spike. I just… she was so beautiful that first night, and then it was too late. I'd already… well, wasn't much point in going home then. And it wasn't really her. She was so cold but she wanted me and I couldn't tell her no." René wasn't very coherent but Spike let him ramble. "And when she came back! She needed me so much." René was shaking again, uncontrollably, like a man with a fever. "She was all alone. I couldn't leave her like that!" He looked at Spike, teal eyes hectic and mad. "I couldn't leave her. She needed me." Spike tightened his grip on his son's shoulder. "She was…" René's face twitched. "She wanted…" His knees gave way. "She…" His face crumpled and tears sprang into his eyes.

Spike thought for a moment of what living in this household must have been like for René. Loving Baby and trying to care for her while watching Angelus torment her daily. Spike had lived that life in his earliest days as a vampire. He had loved and cared for Dru, watching helplessly as she was abused by her sire. And somehow he knew that what had happened here was worse than that. He purposefully pushed thoughts of what it had been like for Baby from his mind. He wouldn't be able to survive that. It occurred to him that René had lived something he couldn't even bear to think about. He wrapped his arms around his son, supporting him. "I know."

René stared at him. "She's dead. Oh God. She's dead." Together they sank to the floor. The pain erupted from René and he roared out his agony. Spike squeezed his eyes tightly closed but the screams he had been holding back wouldn't be contained any longer. Face lifted to a heaven he no longer cared about, Spike joined his childe, sending anguished cries to a God that couldn't care about soulless demons.

~~~~~

Spike stared at the urn containing the dust he and René had carefully gathered from the floor of the house in North Carolina. It sat, as it had for six days, on the mantle in Spike's bedroom. "What are you telling me, Wes?" he said in a deadly voice.

There were unshed tears in Wesley's voice when he answered. "We can't bring her back. All the spells I have are for either a vampire or a human. There's nothing for someone who was both."

"Wolfram and Hart…"

"Brought back the vampire," Wes said. "They restored you, completely, the way you were, a vampire in a vampire body. When they brought back Darla, they brought back a vampire in a human body. It wasn't Darla with her original soul. Souls are very tricky things, Spike. And before you even ask, we can't bring back the vampire and then restore her soul. The spell we used to give Baby and me our souls is very strong and it links the soul to the body in a unique way." Wes paused for moment. "I've tried, Spike, but I can't locate her soul. If I can't locate it, I can't restore it." He reached for his glasses before remembering yet again that he no longer wore them. "I've consulted with everyone I know. We can bring back any vampire you'd like. But that's all it would be. A demon wearing Baby's body. Probably wouldn't survive."

"Then bring back the human," Spike said in that same voice.

"They won't let me." There was an ocean of rage in Wes' answer.

"Who won't let you?" Now there was rage in Spike's tone.

"The Powers That Be. Rupert, Willow, and I tried. The Powers That Be negated the spell." Wes desperately wanted to break something. "They said it was her time. They said that we couldn't restore her because she was supposed to be dead." He paused to take a calming breath "I've tried everything, Spike! Willow, Rupert, Mama Clair, Tara, Wu Xu Shiang, all of us. We've tried everything!" He didn't even notice that he was breathing like a man who'd been running. "She's really dead, Spike. She's not coming back."

Chapter 7 - "She's Got You"

Wes faced his grief, as he had all the tragedies thrown at him by a capricious fate, with a stoic rage. And, as in all things, he lost himself in Drusilla and she in him. Their love supported them through this loss of sire and sister and lover and friend. Drusilla talked of time and eternity and said the stars cried for Spike and the flowers couldn't look at him. She spoke of a time when Spike would be both whole and half and would no longer hurt so deeply and of a Voice who would rule them all, but even Wes couldn't make sense of her prophesy. He dutifully recorded it in the book with the beautiful tooled leather cover he'd had made just to keep all such things she told him. He tried desperately not to remember the look on Baby's face as she turned to dust.

Claudia, while grief-stricken by the loss of her mother, was not as devastated as her brothers were, perhaps because she had not seen her mother's death. She carried on as would any child would who had lost a beloved parent. She opted to remain in her own home in Vicksburg, away from the tumult and mourning that stalked the house on Rue Royal. She found it impossible to face her father's deep despair.

Angel locked himself away with Cordelia and Connor for two days. He wasn't able to face the thought of returning to L.A. yet. He wasn't ready to face Charles and Fred Gunn. He had no idea what he could possibly say to them. Los Angeles held nothing for him at the moment. Cordelia and Connor were with him and that should be all that mattered. But he found he couldn't remain with his wife and son either. He tried to be supportive of his son, who had been genuinely fond of his "Big Sister" and who was confused by the change that had occurred in his father. Spike had done such a good job of sheltering Conner that the youth didn't really understand why everyone was so angry at his father. Cordelia's grief at losing her friend was deep, while her joy at Angel's return was immense. Angel wasn't prepared to deal with either emotion. His own feelings were so conflicted that he felt he was doing his family more harm than good by remaining with them. Connor couldn't understand Angel's anger at himself and everything around him. Cordelia couldn't understand his silence. Angel was taciturn-nothing was truer-but over the years, he had always talked to her when he'd speak to no one else. For the first time, he couldn't talk to Cordelia about what was bothering him. He had no idea how he could explain to Cordelia that he was feeling more than the loss of his childe and his friend. He couldn't explain to her that he was mourning the loss of his lover. He simply couldn't do that to her. He ended up locking himself in Spike's study, away from everyone.

Jean Claude was too busy trying to run the city, rule the family, and keep his brother from committing suicide to have time to grieve himself. René nearly succeeded in killing himself twice before Jean Claude gave up and simply chained his brother in his room with a case of tequila for company. Jean was tempted to join him.

Spike was inconsolable.

He refused to see anyone except Jean, René, Drusilla, and Wes. Cordelia, attempting to thank him for restoring Angel to her, was politely but brusquely told to leave him alone. Spike didn't want her gratitude or her pity. He wanted to die. He understood René's attempts to walk in the sun. Unfortunately, Baby had made it very difficult for him to kill himself. The Jewel of Amara had bonded to his body and become a part of him, irremovable and permanent. None of the usual methods of death were open to him, sunlight and holy water no longer burned him and wooden stakes meant no more than plastic ones. He tried ripping his own heart out but discovered he passed out before the deed could be accomplished. Drusilla, finding him bloody and torn, had begged him never try to do such a thing again. Her frantic tears had finally wrung an oath to that effect from him. He didn't own a guillotine so self-decapitation was difficult. Wes and Dru began to keep as close a vigil on him as Jean Claude kept on René. Reluctantly, under their watchful eyes, Spike continued to exist. And grieve.

~~~~~

Nearly three weeks after Baby's death Rupert Giles forced his way past the childer on guard and into Spike's rooms. "There's a problem," he said to Wesley. The younger ex-Watcher carefully marked his place in the text he was reading. Drusilla looked up from the handkerchiefs she was embroidering with Wesley's monogram. Spike took another drink from the bottle at his elbow and ignored them all. "The Watcher's Council knows Spike killed their Slayer," Rupert announced.

Wesley raised an expressive eyebrow. It asked how on earth the Council could know that, how did Rupert know they knew and, lastly, why should he care?

Rupert interpreted all three questions correctly. "I assume you didn't kill all Angelus' acolytes?"

Wesley set the book aside. "No, I believe several escaped even with my various spells and a certain, well, enthusiasm on Jean Claude's part for killing
them all. There were simply too many of them in too many places for complete elimination to be feasible."

"Apparently some of them saw enough, and escaped, to spread tales. It's gotten back to the Council." Rupert stared at Spike. He'd not seen the master vampire in nearly two weeks. Not since Wes had reported that they couldn't restore his wife. Rupert had known Spike for nearly twenty years and he'd never seen the vampire so… lackluster. Spike had always had a certain spark. Even when lounging and at rest there was a coiled energy to the other man. It was gone. They'd all known Spike would take this loss hard but Rupert realized that none of them had any idea just how very much Baby had meant to Spike. Rupert knew about their unique connection, he had seen it occur, but he never expected that it would last or that now, nineteen years later, he'd be watching his then-enemy wither away from the loss of his lover.

"I still have some contacts within the organization who are willing to tell me what's really going on," Rupert continued. "Not all of us are complete madmen. Although I'm beginning to wonder. What in God's name were they thinking!" He removed his glasses and allowed them to dangle from an elegantly negligent grip. The gesture was so familiar that Wesley grinned. Rupert looked at his old friend. He never thought he'd think of Spike that way. Life was definitely peculiar. "Spike, I…" He shook his head. "I can't tell you how very sorry I am about Baby. She was a fine lady. When I think that an organization I'm linked with had something to do with her death, well, I'm simply appalled."

"Murder," Spike said softly.

Rupert arched an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I don't…"

"It was murder. You can say it," the Master answered in a voice void of expression. "Not her 'death,' not her 'passing,' not her 'end.' It was her murder." He took another drink. Not that it did any good; he hadn't been able to get drunk enough to ease the ache even when he drank enough to pass out for a few hours. "Your precious Council sent an assassin who murdered my wife. And I intend to kill them all. Eventually. Haven't quite decided on the method yet." He finally met Rupert's gaze and the human recoiled from what he saw in Spike's eyes. "But when I do, you're gonna be the only Watcher left alive, old man."

Rupert looked at Wesley and was shocked to see him nod. "You can't mean that you…"

"Why not?" Wesley asked. "The Council does those poor girls no good. They manipulate and play the puppeteer. They're every bit as evil in their own way as what they advocate they oppose. When Spike is ready, I won't try to stop him. In point of fact, I'll join him in his efforts." He smiled coldly. "She was my sire and my friend." Drusilla reached out and took his hand. She would join her childe and her lover in that quest.

Rupert felt removed from the three in a way he had not in over a decade. For the first time in years, he thought of them as vampires, not as people who were somehow simply different. "I have never claimed that the Council is perfect. I am well aware that some of them are corrupt and, yes, evil. But you can't kill them all. There are innocent people among the guilty and good people among the bad." He looked into the empty blue eyes of the Master and shuddered. "Please, Spike, let me discover those responsible for Baby's death… murder. I have no problem whatsoever with you seeking justice on them." He thought about all the years and the efforts Spike, Baby, and their family had put forth to help him and his Slayer. He thought of what they risked and how truly extraordinary Spike and his children really were. Vampires, soulless vampires who fought for good, not because a soul imposed it upon them, but because they felt it was the right thing to do. He thought of his own wife and children and felt a rush of anger. "In fact, I believe I'd like to join you on that bit of business." His voice was pure Ripper.

Something sparked for just an instant in Spike's eyes. "Done. But don't take too long. If I figure out what I want to do, what's proper, before you get your list together; I won't wait for you."

Rupert nodded. "Fair enough. I've already begun, in fact. I was going to do a bit of house cleaning myself."

Spike actually smiled. "Well, I'm glad the wankers know. Wasn't trying to hide it."

"Yes, but now they'll send a Slayer after you. Or some of their other assassins. We'll need to be more vigilant."

Wesley pulled Dru into his lap. "No need, I've already discussed this with Jean Claude. We've increased security here and I've cast a few protection spells of my own in addition to what Tara and Mama Claire already had in place. I think even the Powers That Be would set off an alarm if they tried to enter."

Spike had been ignoring them again. But Wesley's words triggered an idea. "That's it!" he nearly shouted. "Of course." He threw off his lethargy as though it were a blanket. Without another word to the three he strode from the room in search of Cordelia.

~~~~~

Cordelia stared at her husband. He had barely glanced up when she literally kicked in the door of Spike's study. Now he was staring at the desk blotter as if she wasn't even there. He was sprawled in Spike's chair with his feet propped on the corner of the desk and a bottle of Irish whiskey in front of him. He held his glass in a lax grip, twirling it in circles on the blotter. "Enough is enough," she said. "I want to know what's going on with you."

His expression didn't change and he didn't look at her. "No, you don't. You really don't," he answered.

She knocked his feet off the desk and planted herself in front of him. "Yes, I do," she grated. "And I want to know now!"

She found herself held against the wall, her feet not touching the floor, helpless in the hold Angel had on her shoulders. She forgot sometimes how very, very fast he could move and how very scary he could be. She realized something else, too. "You're drunk!"

He leaned close to her. "Nope. Not yet. Close but no cigar." His grin was unpleasant. "Can't get drunk. If I get drunk, he'll come out, you see, and we can't have that happening." He set her on her feet and turned his back to her. "Of course, the way he's feeling, he'd just get a little drunker and then we'd both pass out."

"Angelus, you mean." Cordelia straightened her shirt. Angel sat down and picked up the glass again. Despite his assurances to the contrary, he was quite drunk. "And why should that son of a bitch want to get drunk?" She stared at her husband. "No, never mind. It doesn't matter. He's gone. You're not him."

Angel took a drink. "Oh, but you see, I am." He stared at the liquor. "I am him. And he's me." He drained the glass.

"That's not true," Cordy asserted. "He's a monster. A horrible, horrible monster."

Angel nodded. "Yes, I am. More than you could ever imagine." He poured another glassful and wondered if he'd end up destroying Cordy, too. She was so sweet and wonderful. She deserved someone much better than he was. "You have no idea just how awful I am. You'd be better off without me."

"Stop it," Cordy ordered. She'd seen him in this mood before, though she had to admit, never quite this bad. Self-loathing was pouring from him. "You're a good man, Angel. A caring man. A loving man. Any woman would be lucky to have you love her."

He snorted. "Tell that to Baby. I loved her and look what I did to her." He downed half the whiskey and grimaced. It burned going down but not as much as his heart burned every time he thought of Baby being dead or of betraying Cordelia. He wished René had driven that arrow through him. Being dust would be better than being like this, he'd decided. However, he'd discovered he was too weak or too selfish, and he wasn't sure which, to end his own life.

Cordy reached out to stroke his cheek. "Oh honey, that wasn't you," she said.

He grabbed her hand. "Yes, it was." He looked into her loving hazel eyes and did the hardest thing he had ever done. He told her the truth. "It was me. It's always been me. Angelus doesn't disappear. He's always right here inside me." He kissed her palm. "You know how you have a little voice inside you that tells you to do selfish things or say something mean and cutting?" She nodded. "Well, I call that little voice Angelus. He's a big voice, actually, but still, that's all it is. My baser tendencies. The part of me that's selfish and cruel and enjoys hurting people. He's not a separate person. I'm not possessed. I'm just out of control." He released her hand and turned away. He didn't want to see her face when she stopped loving him. He held up his glass. "You know how some people act totally different when they're drunk? Just because they're out of control? Same thing."

"I don't understand," Cordy said. "You've always said that you weren't Angelus. Over and over and over, you've told me that."

Angel took a deep breath. "I lied." He took another drink, still refusing to look at her. "If it's any consolation, I was lying to myself, too." His mouth twisted into a grimace filled with hatred for himself. "But then, that's what I do best. I lie."

"Angel," Cordy was suddenly very frightened, not that he would hurt her but that he would never recover from this. "That's not true."

He looked up at her and she shrank back from the horror she saw inside him. "It is. I lie and I use those lies to destroy people. And I'm very good at it." He emptied his glass and set it back on the blotter. "You want to know what's bothering me? Really? Because I promise you that once you hear it, you won't be able to stand the sight of me."

Cordelia knelt before him. "I don't believe that."

Angel's face twitched but Cordy couldn't identify the expression. "All right then. I'll tell you. What's bothering me is that I left my wife, my wife that I love…" Cordy reached for the hand resting on his thigh but he pulled away. "For another woman. And I married the other woman…" he stared directly into Cordy's green eyes. "Because I loved her, too. I'm sorry, Cordy. I loved Baby and I wanted her and I married her. She was my consort, God damn it, regardless of what any of the rest of them think." Cordelia's eyes were huge in a face gone pale. "I took her and I made her mine and I destroyed her. Because that's what I do to the people I love. I destroy them." He thought of Spike and Drusilla and the pain he had caused them over the decades they'd been together. He thought of René, who might just possibly be as mad as Dru now. He thought of Connor and how the Angelus part of him wanted to teach the boy to be just as vicious as the lord of the Scourge ever was. He thought of Cordelia and how quickly the confused expression on her face was going to turn to loathing when he finished what he had to tell her. "Cordy, what Angelus… what I told you at the Hyperion, those were lies. You are a wonderful wife and an amazingly desirable woman. And God knows, you are as good in bed as any man or woman could ask for. And I love you. But I did want other women. And men. Because I'm not built for monogamy. Vampires generally aren't. I think Spike's the exception to that rule. I honestly think he'd have been happy if he never got to touch another woman but Baby for as long as he lived… unlived. I think Wes is the same way about Dru. For them, everyone else is just playing. Just a game. They'd be happy with just their consorts. But in general vampires aren't that way. I'm not that way. And I never was. I was a womanizing bastard when I was alive and I'm still one. Even though I was married to you, even though I had Dru and Faith, I wanted Baby. I've wanted her for years. The fact that I couldn't have her just made me want her more. So when I got the chance I took her. I took her and I drove her half-insane."

Cordelia looked on the verge of passing out but Angel couldn't stop now. He had to make her understand just how awful he was. He had to make her understand why she needed to go away from him and stay away. She had to stay away so he could never do to her what he'd done to Baby. If he left she'd only come after him, but this way… well, when he finished, she'd never even want to look at him. "Do you know what I did to her? Has René told you?"

She shook her head. "René doesn't talk to anyone. Not even Jean Claude. He just… drinks and…."

"And tries to kill himself," Angel finished for her. "Because of what I did to her. René's another notch in my belt. He was as strong a man, a vampire, as any I've known and I drove him crazy. Because I knew his weak spot. He loved her and he couldn't bear seeing her come apart. If it had been Spike, it would have been the same. Except I probably would have killed Spike because that would have really hurt her. You see, hurting her was the name of the game. Because I loved to see her hurt. I got off on seeing her hurt. And I did things to her that you can't even imagine, honey."

His expression frightened Cordy. "Stop it. You don't need to tell me this."

His face hardened. "Oh yes, I do. You need to know exactly what I am." He decided he needed some Dutch courage to finish this and took a drink directly from the bottle. "I forced myself on her. Nothing so mundane as rape. Rape is easy. Done it hundreds of times. Hell, did it to her before. It's good for a quick high but it doesn't last. Now what I did to her, that's something you can savor. Something you can think about and enjoy for years. I forced her into my bed with extortion and threats against her children. But that's easy, too. That's not what makes it special. Once I had her there, I made her enjoy what I did to her. It took time. She was tough but eventually she liked what I did to her. She'd beg me not to touch her while her body and her hands were pulling me into her. It was great! She wanted what I did and she hated herself for it. It just ate her up that I could make her like having sex with me when she hated me so much. She'd leave me and run straight to René. She'd cry and cry and beg him to help her forget that I had touched her. I could hear her begging him to help her right through the wall sometimes. Each time she left my arms she was a little more fractured, a little less whole. And that was killing him. I had her firmly convinced that she was a worthless little tramp that deserved everything I did to her. And I loved it. I had her believing that she was so filthy and so debased that Spike would never even want to set eyes on her again. It was so good." He watched the tears flow down Cordelia's face. "I get hard now just thinking about it." He reached out and she flinched away from him. "That's what kind of monster I am, Cordy." He took another drink from the bottle. It was nearly empty. "And it kills me that I could do that and enjoy doing it, and that thinking about it gets me hard. And it kills me that she's dead and I can never see her again and never touch her again." A muscle in his jaw started to jump and he clenched his teeth to control it. "I love her and she's dead and I made her life hell and all I can think about is how much I wish I could touch her again. If she were here, I think I might even challenge Spike for her."

"You'd lose," Spike said from the open doorway. "I'd kick your sadistic arse into the nearest hell dimension."

Angel gestured with the bottle. "There's a stake over there somewhere. Be my guest. I won't fight you on it today."

Spike looked at his grandsire. He'd been standing in the doorway a long time. He'd wanted to hear what Angel had to tell Cordelia. He'd needed to know what had happened and how Angel felt about it and figured Angel would never tell him. He'd also figured out what Angel was up to. "No, not today. Not when you're doing your damnedest to make Cordelia leave you." He looked at his friend and sometime lover. "You realize that's what's he's doing, don't you? He wants you to believe he's the worst monster ever born-And he is, but that's nothing new-so you'll leave him and he won't be able to hurt you. Isn't that right, Peaches."

Angel's snarl made it all worthwhile. "I hate you."

Spike grinned. "Of course you do. Because I tell the truth. I'm the opposite of you. I always have been." He pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered into the room. "This is just another one of your schemes. Another of your bloody plans to make yourself some sort of martyr. If you make Cordelia disgusted enough with you, she'll leave, and then you can feel all better about yourself because you sacrificed your marriage for your sins." His face twisted into a sneer. "I always knew you were a weak, sniveling bastard. A real man would throw himself at Cordelia's feet and beg her to take him back. He'd grovel and crawl for her love. And he'd work like a son of a bitch to make his marriage strong again."

Cordelia looked at Spike in wonder. She suddenly realized why Baby worshipped him. He continued without ever looking away from Angel. "A real man will move Heaven and Earth and anything in between to get to the woman he loves. See now, I'm a real man, not some bloody ponce like you, and I intend to do a little Earth and Heaven moving." He smirked and a bit of the Spike that none of them had seen in months was back. "And I'll need your help, Cordelia, and probably even yours, Peaches. So get over your self-pity, you worthless fucker. We're gonna get Baby back and then I'm gonna stand on the sidelines and cheer while she kicks your arse." He grinned. "So. How do I get in touch with the Powers That Be?"

~~~~~

It had taken some doing and some serious research and some even larger bribes and calling in of markers, but Spike finally discovered a way to contact the Powers That Be. Angel's previous experiences with them had proven invaluable. He knew the right questions to ask. And it was actually Angel who finally discovered a way for Spike to contact them. The leader of the Scourge now stood with his grandchilde, Wesley, Drusilla, René, and Jean Claude deep in the Atchafalaya swamp before a ruined shack staring at a representative of the Powers That Be. The old woman, rocking with a bit of sewing in her lap, could have been any race or nationality. She could have been crafted from the mud around them. Hair as gray and straggly as the spanish moss swaying from the trees peeped from beneath a do-rag, stray wisps stirring in the evening breeze. From the number of wrinkles on her face, Angel figured her to be at least his age and then some. She could have sprung into being with the swamp around them.

"So the Champion of the Powers That Be has come looking for a Conduit," she said in a voice broken by time. She looked up at them with eyes that might have been brown or green or might have been water scooped directly from the bayou outside her door. "What you wanting to say to me, Undead?"

"Can you speak to the Powers That Be?" Spike asked, tense and filled with anger now that he was actually here with one of their people.

"Oh, I can Speak, child. But that don't mean they're listening. Depends on if you got anything to say that they want to hear." She bent her head over her sewing. The rocker creaked against the gray cypress boards of the porch. The shotgun cabin was probably even older than she was. "Go ahead and say what you got to say, Undead. If they're listening, they're listening. If not, well, then I guess they're not."

Spike snapped. Before Angel or Wesley had any idea what he was doing, he had snatched the old woman from the chair. "You tell them to listen or they're going to be minus a Conduit, because I'm gonna break your neck."

The old woman's eyes flashed and Spike found himself flat on his back on the bare dirt of her yard. She laughed. "You can try, boy." She sat back down with her sewing as though nothing untoward had happened. "Now, say what you got to say, Master of the Hellmouth." She grinned down at him with gape-toothed mirth. "They're listening. They've been waiting for you to come to them."

Spike rose without bothering to dust himself off. "I want my wife back," he said simply.

The old woman shook her head. "She's among the truly dead. It was her time. She's paying for her sins now."

Jean Claude shivered. He had been terrified to come to this place. His people had heard rumors and tales of it since they'd come to Acadia. His grandmother had warned him about places like this, places where the old powers were strong. Cajun and Creole people knew enough to stay away from them. This was one of the oldest. When Angel had said where they had to go, Jean Claude had been vocal in his opposition to the plan. However, Spike insisted it was the only way to get Baby back and René had insisted on joining this expedition. Spike hadn't had the heart to deny him; René deserved to be a part of this more than Angel did. Jean wasn't going to let the two of them face something this dangerous alone. Reluctantly he'd come here to this tiny island surrounded by miles of dark swamp. He knew that even in the day, he'd be safe from the sun here. The trees and vines were so thick that light never made it to the ground. He might be vampire and a creature of the night himself but this place reeked of powers beyond anything he could imagine.

And now to hear this frightening crone announce so coolly that Baby was dead and in Hell caused a cold hand to reach out and squeeze his heart. Spike had never minced words about what they all were, about what he had made them. It was clear from the moment the offer was made. They were demons, creatures created in Hell, and destined to return there one day. He knew that as demons they were all bound for eternal torment but it wasn't something any of them, except maybe Angel, thought about much. To hear that Baby was confined to eternal torment was more than he could stand. Of them all, he felt she deserved that the least.

"What's bothering you, Redeemed?" she asked, turning her attention to the Cajun. "You're not going to Hell when you turn to dust. Why do you care about some poor sinner girl that's paying for her crimes? Hmm?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. He scented more than casual conversation here. "What do you mean? We're vampires, demons. We're all going to Hell."

She grinned again. "Not you, Master. Not your boys, here." She nodded at Jean and René. "You saw to that." She looked into his eyes and he saw that she was telling him the truth. "You're a demon, yes. And that's why you're Redeemed. You were one of the greatest warriors of the Darkness ever created. But of your own free will, you fight for the Light. No soul makes you do it, no hope of turning human, or of gaining a place in Heaven made you turn to the Good." She looked pointedly at Angel before turning her attention back to Spike. "And you bring other demons to the Light. Your children fight for the Good because you've taught them a new way." She bent her head over her sewing again. "You and your children have earned your place in Heaven. Stay on the path you've chosen and peace waits for you at the end of your lives."

Jean looked at René in shock. They were demons. Soulless, hell-spawned creatures of Darkness. They'd both accepted a long time ago that their human souls had moved on to whatever awaited them and that the demons they had become were bound for Hell. Now the Conduit of the Powers That Be said they had earned a place in Heaven without even trying.

René's eyes sparked with cold fire, making him look like the demon he was. Jean was reminded that his brother was master of his own city. René glared at the old woman in anger. "Then how come you say my Bébé is in Hell? Huh? How that be?"

Spike glared at the Conduit, equally as shocked as his sons at hearing he was somehow forgiven for all his evil. He was also furious that Baby had not been included in that reprieve. "If she is, then you can forget about any sort of redemption for me. I don't want it. Not if she can't have it, too."
The crone smiled and continued her rocking. "Then maybe we can talk, boy."

The trees and crickets and rustlings of the night disappeared. Darkness surrounded them and there was only the old woman and the distant lapping of slow flowing waters. Only the two of them existed. She looked up at him and her eyes glowed with a golden light. "You been going your own way, Undead. You go where you please and you save the world when it suits you. That's all well and good and it's earned you a place free from pain when this world is over. But the Powers, they need soldiers. They're at war and they need discipline in the ranks. They need warriors who follow orders."
Spike drew himself up. "And I don't follow orders."

The old lady spit into a metal coffee can. "Didn't have any way to give you orders." Her eyes glowed more brightly. "Until now."

He understood. He wasn't sure if she was feeding him some sort of psychic messages or if he was just perceptive enough to see where this was leading. "Baby. What's the deal then?"

She grinned. "You're a smart boy. It's simple. You get your lady fair back and the two of you fight for the Powers That Be."

"Then why all this?" He waved his arms at the impenetrable darkness around them. He still couldn't see the others. "Why not just come to us and say the Powers wanted us."

"We couldn't. There are things even the Powers can't do. I wasn't lying when I said it was her time. She was meant to die that night. Nothing anyone could have done to stop it." She rocked back. "And we can't just bring her back, either."

Spike's face turned stormy. A lesser being than the Conduit would have been in fear of their life. "They can bugger off if they think they can hold her out to me like some carrot. They bring her back or I'll burn half this world. I'll do enough to get thrown into Hell with her," he snarled.

"They know that. And they intend to give her back to you, but you have to sacrifice something."

Spike didn't hesitate. "Name it."

She laughed. "Damn, boy. You got it bad." She settled down. "It's this way. They can't just give her a new life. Life isn't that easy to come by. They can make her a new body, that's no problem, but giving that body a spark… Well now. That's where you come in. You'll share your life essence with her." She raised her hand, forestalling his interruption. "You need to understand what you're agreeing to; so be quiet. You and her, you'll be one life. That means that if one of you dies, then the other dies within a few hours. She's just a soul right now, one that's already been condemned to Hell. Now, she shares your life, you'll share her soul. That means that whatever you do is written on that soul. Right now you got redemption, boy. You got Heaven's gates open to you. You do this and you back where you were. You share her sins and she shares yours. But you'll also share all the good you've done and all the good you'll do. When you die, you'll share her fate."

Spike grinned. "One life, one soul. Got it. I can live with that."

The old woman shook her head. "You a piece of work, Undead. Now let me finish. She got to sacrifice, too. Nothing comes free. She comes back and she
has to work for the Powers That Be."

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," Spike interrupted. "You lot snap your fingers and we're supposed to jump. I get it." He wasn't happy about it but if it meant Baby would be back….

Her eyes glowed and he felt a flash of pain. "You're trying my patience, boy," she said. "That is exactly it. We give you an order and you jump. But we have to give you that order. Now how is that supposed to happen? Hmm? You answer me that."

"Cordelia."

"The Champion's Seer is in Los Angeles with the Champion. You'll need your own connection to the Powers. Your woman, she'll become the Voice of the Oracle. The Powers will speak directly to you. Give you your orders through her."

Spike nodded. Slavery to the Powers That Be… well, there were worse things. Living like he had for the past month came to mind.

The old woman nodded. "She's got to agree to it, too. So you need to go fetch her and tell her everything I just told you. If she agrees, well, then you get her back in a nice new body and you both got a nice new job."

Spike frowned. "What do you mean fetch her? You said she's in Hell."

"That she is, Undead. You'll need to go there and have a little talk with her." She waved her hand and Spike felt a hurricane wind rush past him. He looked around to find himself standing before a door. He knew instinctively that Baby was on the other side of that door and that this was Hell.

~~~~~

"Where's Spike?" Angel demanded. His grandchilde had simply vanished.

The old woman didn't look up from her sewing. "He's gone to fetch his lady. You all just run along home now. There's nothing else you can do here." She squinted at the needle. "He'll bring her home if she's willing. If she's not, well, I don't think Satan himself is gonna be able to throw that boy out of Hell as long as his woman's there. Never seen the like," she murmured. She glanced up and caught Drusilla's eye. "And you another one." She surveyed the group. "You all the most peculiar vampires I ever seen. All love and tragedy." She shook her head. "You all so willing to die for each other. Maybe you should think more about living for each other." She looked at Angel. "You go on now, Champion. There's no more for you here. Go on, now. I got nothing more to say to any of you."

Drusilla took Wesley by one hand and René by the other. "Come. Spike will want us home when he gets there." Jean grabbed Angel's arm and pulled him after the vampiress. He wanted away from this place. He reckoned there wasn't enough gris-gris in the whole voodoo culture to protect them from its influence. He grasped his brother's shirt and wordlessly indicated that he should turn around. René, looking back, saw that the shack had disappeared and only a clearing in the swamp remained.

Chapter 8 - "Back in Baby's Arms"

Spike registered all the details of the bare and dismal room later. His immediate attention was wholly consumed by the woman seated at the table. The hair that hung down her back in an untidy plait was nearly white; the brown streaks few and faded. She was wearing a shapeless gray dress that effectively camouflaged her figure and a pair of half-moon glasses were perched on her nose but he had no trouble recognizing her. He'd recognize her anywhere.

"Baby," he whispered. She didn't look up. "Baby?" he said a bit louder. "Precious?"

"Don't call me that," she said expressionlessly, unmoving. "I've told you all never to call me that. Only he can call me that." She picked up a book from the table and put it in her pocket. "Seems like you'd get tired of this after a while. I have." She still didn't look at him.

"Pet?" Spike ventured in some confusion. He had anticipated many reactions; complete apathy wasn't one of them. He suddenly feared that her months with Angelus and her weeks here had driven her mad. "Pet, I've come to take you home," he said gently.

She ignored him. She removed her glasses and laid them on the table carefully. She rubbed the bridge of her nose in a gesture he remembered well. She'd do that in the afternoons when she'd been up too long working on the computer instead of sleeping. Those last years, before she'd been turned, she hadn't slept as much as Spike thought she should. He'd often awaken to find her propped up on the pillows beside him working on something or another on her handheld or laptop. He'd scold and she'd laugh and they'd end up making love or simply cuddling for hours. He had to win that back. He didn't care what it cost.

"Dove? Don't you want to come home?" He kept his voice as soothing as he could. His years with Drusilla had taught him volumes about dealing with the insane. If Baby's mind was fractured then, like Wesley, Spike would spend the remainder of his existence helping her put those pieces back together again. He was simply thankful he'd have a chance to do so.

"You must be new," she said in that same tired, expressionless voice. "That game worked pretty well the first hundred or so times they tried it, but it hasn't worked in centuries." She stood and pushed back the room's single ladder-backed chair as though it pained her to do so. "Why don't you just toddle along now? Tell your boss you tried. He'll understand. He's used to it by now." She walked slowly to the simple basin and pitcher that rested on a battered stand against the wall behind her. She limped slightly in a way that Spike recognized. She'd moved that way when she'd been human, when her knee was bothering her, when she ached. Every time he had seen it, it had frightened him because it reminded him that time was passing for her differently than it did for him, reminded him of her mortality. It reminded him that every day she was getting older and he wasn't. He hadn't seen her move like that since she'd been turned. And now, here in this horrible place, she moved like an old woman again. He couldn't repress a shudder.

She stared at the mirror over the basin but Spike doubted she saw anything, though he could see both their reflections clearly in the cracked glass. He remembered his joy at having his image appear beside hers after she'd gifted him with the Gem of Amara. It had been a while since he'd seen her reflection in a mirror. He'd had to cover most of the mirrors in the house after she became a vampire so he wouldn't see himself standing alone when she was beside him. The sight of that had driven some nameless terror deep into his being. He simply couldn't stand it though he didn't know why. It was one of the few drawbacks of her undead state. He deeply missed seeing her in mirrors and feeling the warmth of her living body in his arms. Such were small prices to pay, however, for having her with him for eternity. With a grim determination, he promised himself that he would take her from this place and restore her to where she belonged, at his side.

Baby wasn't looking into the mirror, not really. Her stare was as vacant and bare as the little room they were standing in. The mirror looked as though someone-Baby herself?-had driven a fist into the glass sometime in the past. Dust had collected in the cracks of the break. He didn't want to know what pain would have driven her to smash her own reflection.

Baby splashed water on her face and silently dried herself with a dingy scrap of towel. She acted as though she was alone, as though he weren't there at all. Spike couldn't help but shudder. She had never, ever ignored him, not once in all the years they'd been together.

"Pet?" he tried again. "Rose, I know you can hear me. I wish you would talk to me."

She continued to look into the broken glass. "Why? I have nothing to say to you and you have nothing to say that I want to hear. I've heard it all thousands of times now. There's nothing new you can tell me. I've heard all the lies, all the curses. What are you going to call me that you haven't already called me or that I haven't already called myself? What are you going to tell me? You going to tell me about René again? I memorized that a long time ago. I can see it perfectly, clearly in my mind. You don't need to elaborate." Her vacant stare was beginning to really frighten him. "You might as well just go away. I'm not interested."

She sounded so tired that it broke Spike's heart anew. He couldn't help but feel that if he could somehow simply make her acknowledge him, make her see him that it would all be all right. If he only had some idea of how to do it. "I think you should look at me, dove."

She ignored him, busying herself with turning down the covers on a simple cot in the corner. She folded back the rough army-green blanket and the graying sheets from a pitiful bit of a pillow and sat down. He came and knelt before her but she purposefully turned her face away. She methodically removed her plain brown slippers. "Sweetheart, can't you look at me?"

"No. I won't. And you know you can't make me. I've gotten very, very good at not seeing any of you." He could believe that. He didn't think she'd actually seen him since he walked into the room. She lay down and pulled the covers over herself. She tried to turn away from him but lying on that side was obviously too painful for her and she was forced to turn back toward him. He reached out and began to knead her thigh with careful fingers. He knew that was where the pain was always the worst whenever her knee was acting up. He could feel the muscles knotted and hard. They must hurt abominably. She was so tense he feared she'd break into a dozen pieces beneath even his most dulcet touch.

"Rose red, what is it, sweet?" he asked, hoping that she'd somehow recognize him. "Tell your Spike what's wrong and I'll take care of it."

She shivered and scrunched up her face for an instant. "You're good," she whispered. "You're the best they've sent in a long time."

He reached out and, with the gentlest of touches, turned her face toward him. "Precious," he began and she shivered again. "It's alright. I'm here now." He brushed his lips against her cheek. She moved away and sat up, pulling her skirts primly over her legs.

"So that's the scenario tonight?" she asked tonelessly. "Why not? It's been a while since you lot reminded me that I'm a tramp." She took a deep breath. "So how do you want it? A fuck? A blow? What?"

The blankness, the sheer absence of any sort of feeling in her voice and her countenance terrified him. Spike panicked and grabbed her shoulders. He couldn't bear the bleakness a moment more. He had to get through to her somehow. However, Baby managed to look past him without ever actually looking him directly in the face. "You want it rough? That's okay, too. That should be about right. After all, what does it matter? I'm just a whore," she said.

"Don't ever call yourself that!" Spike said desperately. He shook her gently. "Not ever! It's a lie! You've never been that. I don't care what Angelus told you. It's not true. I don't care who you've slept with. I don't care how many you've slept with. You're not a whore. Not ever!" For the first time she looked at him, really looked at him. Spike tried to pour all the love he felt for her into the look he returned. "You never have been. And I'll kill anyone who says you are." She started to shake. He brought a hand up to caress her cheek, cupping it tenderly the way he loved to, the way he did when they were alone and it didn't matter if he acted like a lovesick wanker. "Shh, dove, shh. It's all right. I'm here," he whispered to her. He looked into her green-gold eyes and brought his other hand up to smooth her hair, feeling the texture of it, enjoying the way it clung to his fingers. He pulled the braid around until it hung over her shoulder. "Always wondered how you'd look as a platinum blonde." He considered it a moment. "I like the red better. I've always liked it red. Don't really care what length it is, as long as it's red." The white, though silvery and pure, reminded him too much of mortality. "You've always kept it that way for me. You've always done everything I asked of you." Though his eyes were dry, there were tears in his voice. "I wish you'd just see me now. I'm asking you to just see me. I've missed you so, precious. I… I need you. I never knew just how much until you were gone and I had no way to get you back." She was staring at him now. "It was worse than anything I've ever felt. Anything!" He couldn't stop touching her. He had to be in contact with her. It had been too long since he had seen her, had touched her. He wanted to rediscover every detail of her face, her eyes, her soul. "Dove, my gentle dove, please come back to me. Let me take care of you."

Something behind those golden eyes, some barrier separating her from him, shattered. "Spike?" she asked in a small voice filled with tears and terror.

"It's alright, precious," he said. "I'm right here. There's nothing to be afraid of now." He nearly toppled over when she grabbed him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Spike rocked her soothingly, crooning to her that he was there and it was all right now. As he petted and stroked her, he realized she was reciting her own whispered litany.

"Spike. Oh God, Spike. Please let it be you. Please let it really be you," she whispered over and over and over.

~~~~~

Spike buried his face in Baby's hair, wanting to drown himself in her scent, but he discovered she had none. He was shocked for a moment and suspected some sort of trick from the Powers That Be until he remembered that this was only Baby's soul. Her real body was dust and ashes in an urn on his mantelpiece. Whatever it was that he held, it wasn't real, wasn't corporeal. It was some sort of glamour. A make-do vessel to hold her essence. "Precious?" He tugged and pushed with hesitant fingers until she tilted her head up so he could see her face. "I have come to take you home," he told her. He felt her shiver. "Why is that so frightening, sweetheart? I thought you'd want that more than anything."

She shook her head and looked up at him with eyes that were huge and slightly unfocused. He remembered that she couldn't see him well this closely without her glasses. It would seem that one of her torments was to have all her human frailties again. She simply held him tighter.

"Pet?"

She sighed. If this really, truly was her Spike, he wouldn't let this go she knew. He'd worry it like a bone. He'd find out sooner or later. Better that he know from the beginning. "When I first…came here, you'd come and say you were going to take me home. But it was never really you. It was… something else. Not you, just something that looked and sounded like you."

It was Spike's turn to shiver. "You mean, they've been using my form, my body to torture you?" he managed to say. She nodded. "Buggering bastards!" he snarled. She made a sound that might have been amusement or might have been a sob. Something she'd said earlier finally made sense. "Oh God," he moaned. "Not that, too!"

She placed a comforting hand on his face. "That's how I knew it wasn't you. No matter how angry you are with me, no matter how much I hurt you, you would never, ever hurt me that way. Knowing how I feel about that, knowing all that's happened to me, you'd never rape me. I know that." Spike turned his head so he could kiss her hand and she smiled at him. It was a tiny, fleeting thing but it was a smile nonetheless. He sighed as she laid her head on his shoulder. Contentment washed through him, leaving peace in its wake. He couldn't maintain anger against what had happened to her just yet, he was too happy to be with her again. He'd be furious later, he knew. He tucked that thought away and simply held her, reveling in the sound of her voice, the texture of her hair.

"I can feel you," she said and there was wonder in her voice. "I can feel you inside me just like I remembered."

He smiled, and his smile was blinding. "Yes, precious. And I can feel you again, too. I've never known anything that felt better. Not ever."

"It really is you." She couldn't seem to stare at him enough. Her eyes devoured him. "After all this time, it really is you. You really came for me."

"Of course I did, dove." He smoothed her hair, wondering again at how white it was. "These weeks without you have been awful; I knew I had to get you back or die trying."

She looked at him oddly and he was suddenly reminded of his own stint in Hell. How time seemed to pass differently. He'd finally determined that years, decades, rather than months had passed for him. It was so jumbled and tossed in his memory that he could never be sure. He suspected that the magicks Wolfram and Hart had used to bring him back had erased large portions of those memories. Still, he knew that he had been longer in Hell than he'd been gone from Earth. How could he have forgotten that? "How long have you been here, dove? Do you know?"

She nodded. "They tell me, sometimes. I kept marks on the walls for a while but I stopped. It didn't matter after a while. It's hard to tell the passage of time here. There's no night and day."

"How long?" he insisted.

Her eyes were distant when she answered and he feared for her sanity again. "Something over three hundred years."

He hugged her to him as an unimaginable weight crushed his heart. "Precious! No."

She stroked his hair, content to simply touch him. "It's alright. The first century was rough but after that, well, it's just monotonous. The same thing over and over. It all just blends together. If they didn't tell me how long, I'd have no idea how much time has passed. It could be years; it could be millennia. I honestly couldn't tell you."

She sounded as pragmatic as ever but Spike felt nauseous. Here in this bleak little room for three centuries, it truly was Torment. He hugged her closer. Something hard and sharp dug into him. He remembered seeing her with a book. He reached into her pocket and pulled out the object. It wasn't a book. He turned it over in his hands. It was one of those double picture frames, hinged so it folded up and looked like a book. The silver frame was so worn from contact with her fingers that the chased engravings were barely visible. He started to open it.

"Don't,' she breathed.

Something in her voice told him that he had to know what was inside. She must have had this since she first arrived here. Sterling wore but it took time. What was so important that she'd held it till the silver was worn away? What was so important that she slept with it in her pocket? Spike thumbed the latch and opened it. As he expected, there were spaces for two photos within. Grim-faced, he closed the album. He wanted to scream and tear and rip something. The fury he'd thought to put off until later was suddenly very immediate. He wondered if it was possible to torture the lords of Hell. He wanted to destroy them for the pain they had caused her. He'd thought himself a master of delivering agony but this was worse than any of the physical tortures he could think of. This was worse than any of the mental torments Angelus could concoct and Spike had always suspected Angelus was the son of Satan himself. He handed the silver album back to her.

She'd spent three hundred years trapped in this barren cell with only that album for company, only those two photos to see her through the slow decades. Perdition indeed, Hell beyond his greatest imaginings, secluded and locked away day after endless day as the decades marched past with nothing for company but photos of himself and René.

~~~~

He pushed thoughts of what had happened to her from his mind. He had to. There were more important matters to be dealt with first. His anger would not help her. He'd tend to her once he had her home where he could see to her properly. He'd make the next three centuries something so grand that she would barely remember the three she had spent here. "Well, it's over now. You're coming home with me. I had to sell your soul to the Powers That Be to do it, but we're going home together."

"I'd like that," she said simply. She didn't ask what he meant. Her trust in him was total.

He told her about the old woman, the Conduit, and all the things she'd said. "I think she was a part of the swamp itself." He placed his hand on her cheek again. "I know I've asked you to share my life before but this time I mean it in the literal sense." He kissed her again, delicately, lovingly. "Will you, dove? Will you share my life?"

She responded to his kiss, drinking in the first joy she'd felt in centuries. "Oh Spike. I want nothing more, but I'm not sure I should."

"Pet," he said in a voice filled with warning. He knew what she was thinking.

"This is a horrible, horrible place, Spike," she said. "If I go home with you, I'll be condemning you to this when we die."

He wasn't about to let her pull an Angel on him. "I've always expected to end up here, love. I've been here before. And you pulled me out." He put all the force of his rather considerable personality behind his words and the gaze he directed at her. "There is no way in … well, here, that I'm going let you stay. You're coming home with me and that's final!"

She smiled slowly. "You're cute when you're all dominant," she said finally.

He threw his head back and laughed. "Besides, if we end up back here, so what? Got a bed, a table, a chair. That's three different places I can make love to you. Add the floor and the wall and you've got five. Now, think of the different positions I can come up with and the possibilities are endless." He looked around the pitiful room. "I can probably figure how to rig that mirror over the bed."

She looked at him in complete wonder.

"What?" he protested with a grin that should have been patented. "Just because we're in Hell you think I'm not gonna take every chance I can get to shag you blind?" She smiled. The first real smile he'd seen since first setting eyes on her again. He sobered and touched her face once more. "Will you share my life with me, my heart?"

She placed her hand over his, pressing his hand against her cheek. "I will. Will you share my soul with me?"

"There's nothing I want more," he said just before the room faded around them and he lost consciousness.

~~~~~

Spike woke slowly and rolled over. He was lying on the floor of his own bedchamber. Watery light spilled through the half-open shutters and he could hear the rain beating on the roof of the balcony, cascading over the edge, and rushing through the gutters. He rolled his head and realized he was alone. He shot to his feet, searching frantically. Then he saw her. She was lying face down on the bed. The gray dress was gone, leaving her naked, her skin snowy against the dark comforter. And her hair was red. He reached out to touch her with a hand that shook. Her skin was cool and smooth beneath his fingers. He climbed into the big bed with her so he could ease her onto her back. He wanted to see her face. She stirred, opened her eyes, and whispered his name. As soon as she spoke, he knew that it was all going to be all right. It didn't matter if they were enslaved by the Powers That Be. She was here with him, reaching for him, holding him in the arms he had missed so desperately, kissing him with the lips he'd craved more than he craved blood. And she smelled wonderful.

"Spike," she said surfacing from his kiss. "Oh Spike, I'm so sorry. I did such terrible things. I…"

"Shh," he interrupted. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters." He lowered his mouth to hers again. "You're here with me and that's all I care about. You're here and I don't give a shit about anything else. I've missed you so. I wanted to die." He punctuated each sentence with a kiss. "Life isn't worth living without you." He wanted her so badly. And she smelled so good! He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled. She smelled purely of Baby and nothing else. He raised his head to look at her. "I could get drunk just from your scent, precious." What he saw in her eyes sent his mouth back to hers. She opened her lips beneath his and he slid his tongue between them. She tasted sweet, sweeter than any fruit he'd ever tasted, sweeter than nectar. She always reminded him of ripe peaches, tart and sweet. Luscious. Her skin felt like silk and he wanted to taste that, too. He reluctantly broke his kiss only to immediately move his lips to that silky skin. She arched her neck as he kissed and licked and nibbled his way down her throat and back up again. "God, you taste wonderful. Salt and rain and things that grow in cool shade." He would say such things when they were alone, when he needn't fear being ridiculed for a touch of bad poetry or a too-fulsome phrase. She loved them all and longed for his words as much as his touch, because they came from his heart. He kissed his way back down her so-white throat. "I'm gonna kiss all of you. There won't be an inch of you that won't know my touch," he said. He moved to lick her consort mark and pulled back. He turned her head from one side to the other, searching.

"Spike?" she asked in confusion.

He laughed suddenly. "Of course!"

"Spike?" she repeated.

"Its all right, dove," he said kissing her quickly. "Seems the Powers That Be weren't lying when they said they'd give you a new body. This one's brand new. Never been used at all. Your scars are gone, pet."

Her hands flew to her neck. The place where Spike had claimed her was gone, the skin smooth and unblemished. She started to protest and remembered that Angelus had placed his mark over Spike's and was suddenly glad that she was unmarked. The spot where Angel had bit her so many years ago was also gone.

Spike was running his hands over her, searching. "All your scars are gone, no bite marks, no cut marks, no surgical scars. They're all gone." He ran in hand along the inside of her thigh. That mark was gone, too. He looked at the crux of her legs and grinned. "And apparently, you're a natural redhead now, too." He ran his hand over the springy dark red curls where there had been only brown before. "I like it!" He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away before lying down beside her. He pulled her atop him, her weight solid and reassuringly real. She laid her head on his chest. His skin was as cool and perfect as her own. And he smelled like home.

The worn denim of his jeans was soft against her legs, the fly rough against her stomach. She could feel his arousal growing against her. He sighed. "I want to make love to you, dove. I want to make love to you for days and days. I may never let you out of my arms again." He turned them so they were lying on their sides. He draped his leg across hers and propped his head on one arm. He considered her seriously for a few moments, sliding his other hand over her shoulder, her arm. "You're so beautiful."

She smiled at him timorously. He always went on so. Always telling her how beautiful she was, how wonderful she felt, how good she smelled, how delicious she tasted, how sweet her voice was. It wasn't true, of course, but it didn't matter because he felt that it was. That was how he perceived her. She'd always wondered what she had done to deserve such a man. And now, after all she'd done, all the pain and betrayal, he still wanted her. He still loved her. She thought her heart would burst.

"Why are you crying, rose?" he asked, catching one crystalline tear on his forefinger. It tasted of the sea.

"I love you so much," she answered. "I wish there were some way I could explain to you how much I love you."

He kissed her, rolling her onto her back, bringing his body over hers. "I know, precious. I know." He kissed the pristine expanse of her neck. He thought of the photo in the silver book. "I do know how very much you love me." That brought something to mind and he fingered the gold chain around his neck. He sat up, unhooked the clasp, and removed her wedding rings from where they'd hung about his neck since shortly after René had given them to him. "I'd like you to wear these again," he said, holding them up where she could see them. "Will you?" She nodded, beyond words. He eased them onto her finger, kissing her hand. "I know that through everything, you never once stopped loving me. These prove it." He kissed her deeply, with a tender passion that grew with each second. He pressed his body against her, feeling every curve of her against him. She fit so nicely. He was often certain that she had been made just for him, she fit him so well. His hand found its way to her breast, soft and abundant, her nipple already beginning to pebble just from his nearness. He released her lips and stared at the mound in his hand. "Perfect, so perfect," he whispered. "Lush. Like peaches, white and ripe. Delicious," he murmured as he lowered his head and wrapped his tongue around the areola. He heard her breath catch, as sweet a sound as he'd ever heard. He suckled her, pulling her into his mouth, rolling her nipple between his teeth. He mimicked the motions of his tongue and teeth on her other breast with his fingers. He could feel her hands tangle in his hair, rhythmic motions kneading his scalp. He switched to her other breast, humming. The vibration sank into her very bones, so that even the sounds he made became a part of her. He began to move down her body, kissing, licking, murmuring, leaving a trail of endearments and love that marked her as surely any of the fang marks he had left on her old body. He moved past her navel, his hands traveling everywhere that his mouth didn't. As he neared the clutch of red hair covering her secrets, it was the most natural, the most appropriate action in the world for her legs to open for him, for her to breathe encouragement and appreciation for what he was doing, for her to let him in. She would have no secrets from him. Body and mind, she would always be open to him. This was what they were meant for, he knew: loving each other. No other woman had ever enjoyed his touch the way this one did. She was blatant in her sheer need for his body, his skills, but more importantly, she was blatant in her need for his tenderness, his words of love, the physical expression of what his heart felt. Even now, she was whispering love and adoration. His tongue delved between her private lips, licking delicately at the wetness already seeping from her. She tasted tart and salty, a ripe ocean fruit for his delectation. He explored her core, smiling when she arched upwards, reaching for more of him. He spread his hand across her lower stomach, steadying her, calming her, even as his tongue drove her closer to madness. He sought out her clit, nudging and rubbing it with the stiff tip of his tongue before sucking on it, sending her falling into orgasm. As her shudders subsided, he climbed up her body, licking, caressing, until he reached her mouth and could kiss her again. He pulled back to look at her, lips parted as she breathed heavily, eyes unfocused, as tremors still shook her. He felt such a rush of desire that he knew he would not be able to hold himself from her for long.

"Dove, I want you," he told her. "I want you so much." Longing made his voice hoarse.

With eyes that were still glazed from the pleasure he had brought her, she tried to interpret the expression on his face. She realized he was asking permission. "Oh Spike, yes. I want you, too," she told him.

He hesitated still. "With all that's happened to you. Whatever my false duplicate did…"

She silenced him by pulling him down to her lips. "Love me, Spike. Just love me," she ordered. She reached for the buckle of his belt. He let her take the initiative in removing his pants, only separating himself from her long enough to remove his boots and shuck his jeans onto the floor. He lay beside her, half on her, proof of his desire grinding into her hip, as he began to finger her. He kissed her again, deeply, letting her feel all his longing and need. She responded with a need as great and he moaned into her mouth. He slid one long finger inside her and froze. His sudden stillness concerned her and she said his name tentatively. He moved that one finger carefully and watched her face. She jerked slightly when he probed a bit deeper. "Damn, pet. They really did give you a new body. You're a virgin!" They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Baby, a widow who'd borne three children, who had three lovers before Spike as well as six lovers in addition to him, now had a virgin's body.

"I guess the PTB's have a sense of humor after all," she told him.

He looked into her smiling face and was overcome with a sense of rightness. Laughter and love with her was why he was created, he decided. This, not the blood and the violence, not the night and the darkness, nor the day and the light; this softness, this rain-gray tinted gentleness was why he had been born, why he had been turned. Everything in his life had led to finding her, had led to this moment. He latched his mouth onto hers, firmly intending to never release her lips again. His hands moved of their own volition over her, pleasing her, bringing her ever closer to ecstasy. Her moans and cries of bliss slid over his tongue, the food that his heart craved. Only when she was as close as he could bring her did he lower himself onto her, slowly pushing into her.

"Oh God, Baby, you're tight," he rasped, biting his lip in his efforts not to hurt her, though he wanted nothing more than to be deep inside her. She was pushing just as desperately against him, wanting him inside her, wanting to be joined to him. He knew that she wasn't really a virgin; that she was an experienced woman well versed in all aspects of the sexual act. He had taught her the more exotic ones himself. But some part of him, some hidden romantic, was secretly pleased that he was the first man to touch this body she now inhabited. In some subliminal way, this made her even more his. And it made this act, this first time together again after such ghastly trial and devastating separation, even more special, more precious. He was determined that this time would be as perfect as he could make it. As gently as he could he pushed against the thin barrier inside her. He felt her moan against him, not in pain, but in pleasure. He pushed again, eliciting another pleased cry from her. He smiled; she was, after all, still a vampire and fundamentally she reacted differently to pain than a mortal would. He was glad. He didn't want her to have even a moment's unpleasantness now. He continued to rock, barely bumping against her hymen till she begged him to enter her completely. With one smooth push, he took her maidenhead and sheathed himself in her.

"Oh God, Spike. Oh God." She could feel every curve of him. He'd never filled her this way before. He felt so perfect. She melted as he began a slow, steady rhythm, nearly withdrawing from her completely before he pressed back into her, deeper each time. He shifted so that each thrust gave her the most pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his shoulders, his neck, opening herself as much as possible to him. The subtlest movements of his body sent waves of sensation through her. He was all that mattered. Nothing else existed, for either of them. There was only this joining, this becoming one. He was so close to completion. He felt his body tightening, coiling, as he felt the first flutters of her release building. But only when he felt her tightness squeezing him, only when she began to cry his name, did he allow himself to let go. Only when he knew she was achieving fulfillment, only then, driving as deeply into her as he could, did he spill his seed, crying out his love for her.

Perhaps the Powers That Be possessed some small measure of mercy; perhaps the universe was not ruled by a cold and unfeeling deity; perhaps there was some degree of justice in the cosmos. For in that moment of mutual rapture, their minds were opened to one another as they had been when they kissed for the first time and they each felt not only the physical joy of their coupling but experienced the emotions they had for one another. They each were flooded with the love the other felt. His elation was hers and her joy was his. There was no separation between them; they were one life and one soul, a single being. For a brief moment, they were one and they knew the surety of the love they had. In all the world, it may have been that there were no two people who were so complete.

Chapter 9 - "Why Can't He Be You"

Spike listened to the rain pouring off his roof onto the street below, enjoying a contentment he didn't think he'd ever experienced. His memories of this room were all good. Lying here, in his own bed, in his own house, in the heart of a city he ruled, he had often thought that he was possibly the luckiest vampire ever turned. He had power and control over his own unlife; he was feared and respected by both the demon and the human world. He knew now that all that meant next to nothing. He pressed a kiss to Baby's temple and ran a hand over the satin of the nightgown he'd put her in earlier. She stirred in her sleep, pressing closer to him. He also had love. He knew that meant everything.

~~~~~

Hunger finally drove Spike to slip from Baby's arms and pad across the floor to the wet bar. He dug a bottle of blood from the refrigerator and poured it into a cup to warm it. As he sipped, he couldn't help but consider the future. He wasn't sure what being the Voice of the Oracle meant for Baby or for him. He found that he couldn't work up a great deal of concern about it at the moment. When the Powers That Be called, then he would worry about it. Now his concern was for Baby. He still wasn't sure she was entirely sane. Three centuries of isolation dwelling on what had happened during her life had to have consequences. He remembered his own time in Hell. The memories of the years he'd spent killing, torturing, and destroying hadn't been as agonizing as the memories of what he had done to people he cared about, particularly to Baby. He had taken her and turned her into a killer. He knew that. Had she not met him, she would probably never have raised her hand in violence to another soul. He had taught her to kill, to injure in the most painful of ways, and to revel in it. He had taught her that she could live like a creature of the night. He knew that she had already possessed a joy for the violence, that she secretly craved the sight of death and gore, but she had never realized it. She would never have known the darkness within her existed had it not been for him. He released it. He had nurtured it until she was as effective a killing machine as any woman ever born. And he loved her all the more for it. Still he knew that she had gone to Hell when she died because of what he had made her.

He felt a flash of raw anger for the Powers That Be. How dare they say he was Redeemed yet condemn her to Perdition. Demon or human, their sins had been the same. Simply because he had been predisposed to evil didn't make him better than she was. He snarled, growling softly in bootless anger. Being at the beck and call of such entities was going to be difficult. He was used to being his own master and bowing to no one, not even his sire or his grandsire. He no longer served; he ruled.

Baby stirred and he immediately went to her side. She still slept but was beginning to toss and moan as she was gripped by a nightmare. Even as he reached for her, she screamed out, "No! Spike, please! No!" She lurched half upright and he caught her. "René!"

"Pet! Wake up," he begged.

Her eyes flew open and stared at him in horror for a moment before she pulled herself from his grasp. She threw herself facedown into the pillows and began to cry.

He rubbed her back and told her soothingly, "It was just a dream. It's all right, dove. It's all over now."

She wept harder, body-wrenching sobs that shook her whole frame. She curled into a ball. Helpless, he tried to pull her into his arms but she pulled away again. She couldn't bear for him to touch her just then. After minutes that seemed endless to him, her sobs subsided and with visible effort, she sat up. When she turned to him, he nearly recoiled in shock. He had never seen such grief as was written on her face. "Pet?" he whispered hesitantly.

She swallowed and Spike could see the effort it took for her to pull herself together enough to speak to him. "I have to know. And then I promise I'll never mention it again. But I have to know. God knows I owe him that much." She swallowed again and Spike was frightened by the hectic tint of lunacy in her eyes. "René. When you…." She was unable to continue for a moment. The images flashing through her mind were too overpowering, too devastating. She had to know the truth, even if it killed a part of her. She drew a deep steadying breath. "I have to know how you killed him. I have to know exactly how he died." Of course, a part of her was dead already. It had died with René.

"Dove!" he cried, shocked beyond further speech.

She turned her head away. She couldn't look at him. She kept seeing René die over and over, the most hideous of deaths imaginable, all at Spike's hands. There was a pain in her chest worse than either of her own deaths had inflicted. Her heart couldn't reconcile the overwhelming love she felt for Spike with the blazing hatred she felt toward him for René's death. Spike had pulled her from Hell; he had proven his unimaginable love by sacrificing his own redemption for her, by giving up part of his very life force for her, by offering her complete forgiveness for all she had done. He was linked to her to the point where at an elemental level they were a single entity, but she hated him for killing René and she would never be able to forgive him for that. To continue her life with Spike, she would have to wall that part of her away, never to be touched or thought about again. She would have to completely segregate everything René meant to her and all her memories of him from the rest of her consciousness. Once that was done, she would have the door to René's room nailed shut and forbid anyone to speak René's name or mention anything about him to her ever again because she wouldn't be able to bear it. But she had to know the truth before she did that. She owed it to René's memory. Once she knew the truth, she would be able to deal with both the love and the hate. In any case, wasn't the hate she felt for Spike infinitesimal compared to the loathing she felt for herself for being the cause of René's destruction? "Don't be afraid to tell me the truth," she told Spike with a coldness he seldom heard in her voice. "It can't be any worse than what I've imagined based on the bits they told me."

Understanding flashed through Spike's mind; her tormentors had told her that he'd killed René, torturously no doubt. He felt that seething anger towards them again. He contained it and forced her to turn back to him. "Rose, look at me," he said with gentle firmness. "I didn't kill René." Her eyes widened and the fear in them grew. "No one killed René, dove. René's alive."

"Alive?" she whispered incredulously.

"Well, undead," Spike amended. "I didn't kill him, rose," he repeated. She swayed and, for a moment, Spike thought she would faint. "Would you like to see him, pet?"

She gasped. "He's here?" Her mind kept hearing the words 'René's alive' over and over. There were no two words more beautiful in the English language.

Spiked nodded and smiled. "Yes, dove. He's here. We haven't done anything bad to him. He's not been tortured; he's not been hurt. We had to chain him up for a while but that was for his own protection. He's down the hall in his room."

She was off the bed and running out of the room before Spike could say another word, her nightgown shimmering ghost-like in the rainy half-light.

René's door was open and she clipped the edge of her hip painfully on the doorframe as she rocketed into the room but it didn't matter. All that mattered to her was the man seated in an old rocker, ebony head bowed, staring unseeing at the book in his lap. She drank in the sight of him. She couldn't see his face but she knew the feel of that black, black hair, silky between her fingers. She knew the feel of those long, clean limbs, as well-formed as any in existence, wrapped around her. She remembered how strong and gentle the hands listlessly lying across the pages of the novel were, how they had felt on her body. Her unbeating heart felt as though it was hammering in her chest.

"René?" she called softly, a wealth of longing in her voice.

She glowed. That was René's first thought. In the rain-washed light of the dim afternoon, she glowed. Her white gown, simple and plain, was no more luminous than her face, radiant in the murky dimness of his room. Nothing, no woman, no work of art, no thing, had ever been as beautiful as she was. The distant roil of thunder couldn't compare to the booming rush of elation that went through him at the sight of her. She was an angel, he was sure of it. She was the Heaven he had been promised by the Powers That Be. He had died again, finally, and she was his Eternal Reward and if that was so then Death had no sting.

Recognition and amazement played across his face. The book dropped unheeded to the floor as he stood and rushed to her. She met him halfway in an embrace, a collision of bodies and emotions that knocked their legs from beneath them. Spike arrived in time to see them collapse onto the floor, to see the raw adoration on René's face before his son placed a hand on either side of Baby's head, long fingers tangling in her hair, and kissed her with a passion Spike had seldom seen from anyone. Had Spike not been perfectly secure in his wife's love he might have been worried. As it was, he felt only pity for his son. He had realized the depth of feeling René had for Baby over the weeks when she had been dead. René's love for Baby nearly matched his own but he also knew that René could never have what he really wanted. And he knew that René was as aware of that fact as Spike was. So as Spike watched René ardently kiss Baby, he felt only sorrow.

René reveled in the simple feel of her, the taste of her. Whatever it was he had in place of a soul, it called out for this. Her hair, satin-smooth locks twining around his fingers, tied him to this plane. Without her, he was anchorless, drifting and apart from reality. The texture of her tongue against his was enough to sustain him. Her soft lips on his were all he required to truly live. He needed her more than he needed fresh blood. He could live without feeding. He couldn't live without her. She was his life and his sanity and his very soul.

René slowly became aware that his sire was in the room. He ended his kiss but clasped Baby tightly to his chest. He looked up at Spike in awe. "You did it. You found her. You brought her home."

Spike nodded. There was no fear in René's voice, only joy and wonder. His childe wasn't thinking of himself at all, only the elation of having Baby back with them. Spike couldn't help but smile. Despite the offense his son had committed against him, there was still something innocent in René's love, something pure. Spike wondered if that was why he'd spared his childe's life. Had that aspect of purity, that knowledge that René's motives were honest, saved his son? Looking down at his consort tightly held in the arms of his childe, Spike could find no anger, no hurt inside himself, only concern for them. He realized he loved them both. Had Baby been curled in any other man's lap the way she was sitting in René's, had any other man kissed her the way René had, that man would already be dead, Spike knew with certainty. But that would never happen because he also knew that Baby would allow no other man to hold her the way René was clutching her and she would cling to no other man the way she clung to René. She never had.

Baby pulled back far enough from René to stare at him in wondrous disbelief. She ran her hands over his face, his hair, reassuring herself that he was real. In a voice that was barely audible, she said, "They told me you were dead." She had never seen anything more beautiful than his teal-colored eyes. She wanted to dive into their turquoise ocean depths and never resurface. She wanted to drown in his love and give herself over to oblivion in his embrace. She wanted to hold him forever and keep him safe from all harm. Thinking him dead had nearly crushed her soul. Of all the torments inflicted upon her in Hell, René dying for her sake had been the worst. The descriptions of his death had come closer to breaking her than any other punishment. She remembered lying on the floor, pounding it until her fists were bloody and her knuckles broken, screaming for René, unable to endure the agony he'd been put through during his torture and death, all described to her by Spike's beautiful voice. She would have gone raving mad had her torturers permitted her to do so. But you weren't allowed to go crazy in Hell; the comforting luxury of insanity wasn't allowed. "They told me Spike killed you."

René looked at Spike in confusion. "No, Bébé, no. Spike… Spike, he spared me. He gave me back my place in the family. He had every right to kill me, but he didn't. Me and Spike, we understand each other." The lingering fear for him that he felt in her triggered a flash of anger. Someone had used him to hurt her. He'd find them and kill them slowly. "Why you think he kill me? Who tell you this lie?"

Spike shook his head. "She was in Hell, René. The old woman wasn't lying about that. They… did things to her. Told her things to hurt her." He vowed to tell René about the circumstances of Baby's penalty later.

Baby kissed René again, quickly, tenderly, before an intense sadness settled onto her features. "I'm so sorry, René, for what I did to you."

"No, Bébé, you got nothing to be sorry…"

"Shh," she said, placing a pair of fingers over his lips. He kissed them, unimaginable elation filling him at that simplest touch, but he remained silent as she had asked him to. "I need to say something and you need to listen. Spike, you need to hear this, too." Her husband came and sat on the foot of the bed where he could see them both.

She looked at Spike first, her body still pressed against René's. "Spike, everything that happened between René and me was my fault." She silenced her lover before he could protest. "I initiated it. I knew he couldn't refuse me." She thought for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. "Spike, I'm a cold, manipulative bitch. You never see that part of me but I can play the puppeteer as well as Angelus ever did. He pulls strings and people dance and they hate him for it. Well, I can pull their strings pretty much the same way and make them love me while I do it." Spike started to say something but the resolve in her eyes silenced him. She was going to say this and he couldn't stop her. "René's seen me do it. I had a whole collection of lovers that I drove to despair. They'd do anything I said just for a moment of my attention."

René bowed his head, hiding his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. He knew what she said was true. The jealousy directed at him when Baby had brought him into Angelus' household as her Favorite had been immense. When her paramours discovered she had forsaken all of her courtiers for him, it had gotten ugly. He'd killed five of them before the others learned to live with admiring her from afar. He might have to put up with Angelus touching her but he didn't have to let the rest of that rabble lay a hand on her. He had taught them that she was his as much as he was hers. All they could do was hope she'd speak to them or acknowledge they existed. She had been for his touch only. His and that bastard Angelus'. But her love had been only for him. He sealed that memory deep in his heart. For the span of a few weeks, her love had been his. The emptiness of existence without her had been unbearable, her death insupportable. To see her now, to hear her voice, was like awakening from his first death all over again. He saw with new eyes, felt with new senses, and she filled them all. His love for her defined him. Without her, he didn't exist.

Baby was trying to make Spike understand how she had been in those dark, dark days. "Spike, you showed me that I don't have to be beautiful to be sensual, that I don't have to be gorgeous to be attractive. You showed me that my mind is my greatest asset. I can never thank you enough for that. But I twisted the knowledge you gave me the way I twisted so many things while I was…evil. I used everything you've ever taught me to my advantage. A wit amongst Angelus' people called me 'la belle dame san merci.' And I was. When I saw René in Miami, I knew I had to have him in my collection. He was perfect. Your son, one of your favorites; I knew it would hurt you so much for me to seduce him and at that point I wanted to hurt you."

Spike nodded. "René told me about what your demon did."

"He doesn't know everything. I never told him everything." She been afraid he would leave her if he knew how truly awful she was and she had so very desperately wanted to keep René with her. "There was more to it than just hurting you and pissing off Angelus. I wanted René for lots of reasons. Hurting you was one but he's also gorgeous. He may be the most beautiful man I've ever seen and I only collected the finest. He was the jewel in my collection. Handsome beyond belief, attitude that wouldn't stop, a master vampire, a prince among our kind, all that under my thumb; he was perfect. And he couldn't resist me. He tried." She wasn't sure how to tell Spike the next bit but decided straightforward was best. They'd always communicated best when they were plain with each other. "Do you realize what we've done to the children? I figured it out, watching Angelus make his minions. Seems the first orders a sire gives a childe or a minion are very important. Angelus always orders his to obey him completely. You always order yours to love and obey me. Haven't you ever wondered why they all fall in love with me? We've conditioned them to. They don't have any choice in the matter."

René refused to be shushed this time. "That's not why I love you! I know about conditioning fledglings. I have my own children. I know that I can bind them to me or anyone else with just a few words. But that don't make real love! Spike's children are all fond of you, Bébé, yes, and maybe it strong enough to be called love in some of the others but they don't feel for you what I do. What I feel for you is different than what they feel! It a million times stronger, a million times deeper. I love you." He wouldn't be told that he had been brainwashed into loving her. He knew what he felt was real, real enough that her death had nearly killed him. Jean hadn't come apart without her; Claudia hadn't felt the devastation he did. They didn't feel the depth of emotion for Baby that he did, none of his siblings did.

She stroked his cheek, a sadness in her eyes beyond any he'd ever seen. "I know you do, sweetheart. And I love you."

Spike tilted his head. She looked up at him. She wouldn't lie to him. Not ever again. "Understand that, Spike. I love René. What I feel for him is second only to what I feel for you. I adore you beyond anything anyone but the two of us can imagine. You're my life, Spike. Even before what happened today, you were my life and my soul. But René is my heart. And he has been since the beginning. I've known it for a long time."

Spike didn't know what to say or what to feel. He should be angry; he knew that, and he did feel a stab of anger but it faded as quickly as it appeared. He knew the absoluteness of Baby's love for him. He had felt it only hours earlier. He also knew it was possible to love more than one person and to love them in different ways. A part of him still loved Drusilla. She had been his dark princess for over a century and that sort of devotion didn't simply disappear. He still loved Buffy though he had chosen Baby over the Slayer as he had once chosen the Slayer over Dru. Still, a declaration of love for another man from his wife cut him. He knew she loved him above all others and that was should be enough. But she should love no other. He knew it wasn't fair, not when he carried love for Dru and Buffy in his own heart, but he had become used to believing that she cared for no one but him. Spike had believed for years that no one owned any part of her affections; that she existed solely for him. For a millisecond, he wanted René dust; but the image of Baby's grief-transformed face when she had believed he'd killed his son intruded immediately. He couldn't do anything that would cause her that pain, that would drive her over the precipice into madness. Unsure within himself of what he felt he could only stare at her.

Baby waited, chin raised proudly, for his verdict. He knew she would accept whatever judgement he pronounced as long as he directed his ire towards her. He knew, instinctively, that she would place herself between him and René if forced to it. It would destroy her but she would do it. Instead of anger, he felt a whirling rush of pride and desire. She was magnificent. He had to fight the urge to scoop her up and make love to her right there in René's bed. He thought of the agony that act would cause René and was tempted for just a moment.

He nodded to her his understanding. The joy that he saw in her was more than reward enough. As long as she loved him above all others, what did it matter if someone else had some small crumb of her affections. Spike had felt the blinding, searing love she felt for him. It resonated through his body even now. If she felt even half of that for René, his son would be a fool to ever leave her side. Spike analyzed that thought for a moment. He hadn't thought of what Baby's return would mean for his son. He knew that is was unlikely they could ever return to what they had been like a year ago. René had been her lover; was it possible for him to go back to being simply her admirer? Spike doubted it. He wouldn't have been able to. Spike realized that his pronouncement to René before Baby's death had been accurate. What could possibly be worse for René than seeing Baby with Spike, knowing that she loved Spike more? Spike felt another rush of pity for his childe and was glad he hadn't acted on his instinct to hurt René. Seeing Spike with Baby would be worse than death for his son. Perhaps it would have been more merciful to kill René. Again, there was a twist of satisfaction at that thought. René might have her heart but he'd know no joy in its possession.

Baby turned her attention to her lover. How could she ever make amends for the vast wrong she had done René? He was precious beyond words and his love was so sincere and true and she'd used him so abominably. "My darling, what I did to you was unforgivable. I knew that what I was doing was killing you. But I was selfish and I needed you. So I kept you beside me." She still needed him. Deep within her, she needed him beside her, needed his steadfast devotion, needed his tenderness, needed him desperately. "I should have sent you away the minute I got myself under control. Instead, I kept you with me and I used you. I hope one day you'll forgive me because, God knows, I'm never gonna forgive myself."

"Bébé," René protested. "There's nothing to forgive…"

"There's a hell of a lot to forgive, my heart." She kissed his cheek and smoothed the frown lines from his forehead with fingers that had to touch him. "I damn near destroyed you because I wasn't strong enough to fight Angelus on my own." She couldn't pull away from him even now, though she knew she should. "I had no right to ask the things of you that I did. No man should have to go through what you did. And I knew that. Like I said, I'm a cold, manipulative bitch."

"Don't say that!" René ordered. "I stayed because I love you. I couldn't leave you alone with him, not the way he treated you." His handsome face twisted in anger. "I should have killed him. I should have shot him in the head and then staked his evil ass."

She kissed him again. She had to feel his lips on hers. Had to assure herself that he was really there, really alive, with the most intimate of physical contacts. "You're too honorable for that. You would have challenged him and fought him one-on-one and he'd kill you." She forestalled his objection. "Not because he's a better man or a better warrior, because he's not. Angelus would kill you because he's a vicious, conscienceless son of a bitch who'll do anything to stay alive. He'll cheat and he'll lie and he'll fight dirty. I know because he fights the same way I do."

René's remonstration died before he could voice it. He was suddenly reminded of Baby's confrontation with Wolfram and Hart. She had been willing to sacrifice her erstwhile ally Angel to achieve her goal. He wished now that he had used the stake he'd had pressed to Angel's heart that day. Had he known the future, he would have. His expression turned icy as hatred such as he'd never known filled him. "You might be surprised, Maman. Where Angelus is concerned I might be willing to do just about anything."

She believed him. She had never underestimated René. She knew the incredible strength that lived inside him. She had leaned on it during the blackest period of her life. His strength had been all that kept her from insanity. "René. Don't let that hate eat you up inside. Angel's not worth it. Besides, I'll deal with Angelus in my own way in my own time."

Spike grinned. He'd told Angel he'd sit on the sidelines cheering while she kicked his arse. He could hardly wait. In the meantime, he'd reached a decision. "René, a lot's happened to us all and we need time to sort it out. Baby's had three centuries in Hell. She's going to need us all here to help her get back on her feet. I'd like you stay for a while. I think Baby needs you here."

Baby reached out a hand to her husband, overwhelmed by his understanding and care. She poured her gratitude into simply saying his name. He came and took the hand she offered, kneeling beside them. "It won't be easy for you, son, being here," Spike warned as he brought Baby's fingers to his lips, kissing them.

René nodded. He looked at the two people who had come to be his parents in this unlife he'd been given and the knife he always felt twisting inside him when he saw them together returned with a lethal vengeance. Still, it didn't hurt the way seeing Angelus holding her unwilling form had. It didn't hurt the way knowing she was a collection of ash and dust stilling on his father's mantle had. It didn't hurt the way never being able to see her again had.

It didn't hurt René to see the love glowing on Baby's face when she looked at Spike because when she turned to look at him, that glow didn't fade and the love didn't diminish and this time they were for him.

~~~~~

Baby woke in her own bed. She wasn't sure quite how she'd gotten there. Exhausted by the vast array and incalculable intensity of emotions she's experienced in the first five or six hours of her new life, she'd fallen asleep in the arms of the two people she loved most in the world. Spike was now asleep beside her and she assumed René was in his room. She could still smell René on her skin and clothes, his cologne and his own scent as familiar to her as her own. Spike and René, she smelled of them both. She smiled. She had never thought to see either of them again. Joy filled her. And hunger. She rose quietly, not wanting to disturb Spike, who had to be exhausted, too. She knew she had slept no more than an hour and he probably needed far more sleep than that. As he had done earlier, she went to their refrigerator. Her search was fruitless however; Spike had drunk the last of the blood and hadn't had a chance to replace it. She plucked a robe from the back of a chair and headed downstairs in search of sustenance.

She saw no one in the halls or the few open rooms she passed. The big grandfather clock in the hall showed that it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. It would be another hour or two before most of the household stirred from their slumbers. The vampires would all be sleeping and even the most day-oriented of humans tended to migrate to a more vampiric schedule the longer they were in the house. Accordingly, she was surprised to smell fresh coffee as she neared the smaller dining room. Peering into the room, her gaze hardened as she saw who was sitting at the head of the table as though it was his rightful place.

Angel stared out into the courtyard. The rain still poured, leeching the color from the flowers and turning the brick paving into a small lake from which miniature rivers rushed out toward the streets. He could barely hear the cars slurshing past, throwing up gouts of water onto the sidewalks. The breeze blowing in through the French doors brought the wet smells of earth and asphalt and rubbish. Overriding all of those was the smell of the river and the rain itself. He had never seen a place where it rained so much. It didn't matter; he wasn't in the mood for sunshine anyway. The gray half-light was soothing and the rain muffled the sounds and scents of the household, giving the illusion that he was alone. He might have been the only one in the building for all he could tell.

"Hello, Angelus."

He shot to his feet, knocking his chair over and spilling coffee across the white linen tablecloth.

Baby raised an eyebrow at him. "I'd rather you didn't abuse my furniture," she said coolly. She stood a few feet inside the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, red hair tousled and unbrushed. Her dark blue kimono was open and her bare feet peeped from beneath her white gown. Her face was forbidding and her expression cold. He thought she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. With a speed that no one in the house could match, he was beside her in the blink of a human eye, wrapping her in his arms. She felt as good as she had looked. She felt reassuringly solid and smelled wonderful. She also smelled of Spike and René. Angel growled.

"Oh, cut that shit out," she ordered. "And stop squashing me." He chuckled and leant in to kiss her. She grabbed the front of his pants. "Try it and I'll rip your balls off."

He released her and held his hands spread wide, mouth quirked upwards on one side. "I see you're all better," he said. He felt himself harden in her hand. Some things never changed.

She growled and let go of him. "You are one sick motherfucker, you know that?" she said.

His smile faded. "Yeah, I know," he said seriously. "I'm constantly amazed at just how sick I am."

Baby was tempted to roll her eyes. "Before you go all broody on me, I have a few things to say to you."

Angel nodded. "I imagine so. I just want you to know that I am sorry for what happened. I…" He couldn't really figure out what to say. He never thought Spike would actually bring her back. "I nearly drove you insane."

She shook her head. "And I nearly did the same thing to René." She looked into brown eyes that could be as caring as any in the world, like they were now, or the source of her worst nightmares. "We're a pair, Angelus." She walked past him and sat down at the table. "I did a lot of thinking while I was in Hell. Three hundred years gives you a lot of time to think." He looked at her in amazement. "Yes, I was there three hundred years with nothing to do but think," she confirmed. "A lot of it was about you."

He came to sit beside her, concern strong on his face as she continued. "The first hundred years I wanted to kill you. I came up with an amazing variety of ways to kill you slowly and painfully. I had some truly inventive agonies planned for you." He nodded. He couldn't blame her for that. He was half-surprised she hadn't just staked him on sight. "The second hundred years I was mad at me. There were a million things I should have done that I didn't. I could have killed you in your sleep. I know you had minions guarding you and all, but I could have found a way. I should have staked you while you were inside me. I could have smuggled in a little piece of wood. I should have burned the house down around us. There are a hundred ways I could have ended your existence. And I was too weak to see them."

"Baby. I…"

She raised a hand, silencing him. "The last hundred years, I realized I couldn't blame it all on you because I'm just as vile as you are. I'm just as selfish and cruel. Without my soul to act as a control mechanism, I'm just as big a monster as you are."

He couldn't deny it. She had stood side by side with him, laughing as he orchestrated the greatest reign of terror North America had ever experienced. "That wasn't you," he said placatingly.

"Don't start that shit. It was me. Just like it was you." She looked out at the rain-drenched courtyard. "I said that we're a pair and I meant it. We're both cruel, heartless, murdering monsters who enjoy having some poor fucker beg us for their lives. We like having control over other people and making them suffer. We get off on it. I'm just as bad as you are." Angel admitted it, albeit with a certain reluctance. "You are not one bit worse than I am. But you're also not one bit better. Now Spike and René, they're a hell of a lot better people than we are. And you know it."

He nodded. He might argue with her about Spike but he'd save that for another time. "I know it. Still, what I did to you was wrong. I… those last weeks, I should have found another way to keep you with me."

She smiled sardonically at his choice of words. "So you don't regret taking me away from my husband? You just regret the way you did it."

He was silent of a moment before he set his jaw stubbornly. "There are things I regret, yes, but I don't regret making you my consort," he said finally. "I don't regret loving you. I don't regret the fact that you're mine."

"I'm not yours. Not anymore." She drew herself up. "I carry no man's mark any longer and when I do it won't be yours. You were right about a lot of things, Angelus. I am a slut and I do need more sexually than maybe most women do. But you were wrong about a lot of things, too." She stood. "I don't need other lovers when I have Spike. You see Spike understands that there's more to satisfying a woman than just making her come. Because, unlike you, he can keep me satisfied. Wes and the others, they're just toys, just playthings to help kill some time." Disdain dripped from her voice. "Spike is twice the man you are. That's why I slept with everything that came along when I was with you. I was looking for someone who could compare to him. I didn't find anyone till René joined me." She paused before she reached the doorway. "And once I had René, I didn't need anyone else. Didn't you notice that I took no other lovers to my bed once he was with me? Even when I was all evil and demony, I didn't need anyone else, just René. You see, Angel, René is twice the man you are, too. And if I can't wear Spike's mark, I'll wear René's. But I'll never wear yours." She swept from the room without another glance in his direction.

René was waiting for her in the hall. She could tell immediately that he had heard at least the last part of what she had said. Smiling, he opened his arms to her and she went to him immediately. She lifted her face for his kiss without a single thought to anything but how wonderful René looked when he smiled.

Chapter 10 - "Walking After Midnight"

René's arms felt so comforting wrapped around her. Baby still couldn't believe he was really there, that he wasn't dust, that he hadn't truly died. An insistent voice in the back of her head kept telling her that none of this was real, that she was still in Hell and this was just the newest torture. Any minute now, one of those horrible creatures that wore Spike's body would step out, slap her or worse, and laugh as this house that she loved so much vanished and was replaced with that tiny, lonely room. That was what always happened, wasn't it? They built your hopes up and then took it all away because you had to be punished, because you were bad. Inside. She knew she was bad inside; they didn't have to keep proving it to her. She had hundreds of dead people who could testify to it. Some of them had come and talked to her. They'd told her what she was really like inside. Evil. She clung more tightly to René. He might be taken away any second, because she was evil and as such she was allowed no happiness. She started to shiver, chilled to her core.

"Petite!" René questioned. He sensed the change in her, an anxiety, a fragility such as she had never had before. He was afraid to hold her any closer, afraid she'd shatter in his arms like a piece of delicate crystal. "Cher, what's wrong? You tell your René."

She shook her head and burrowed deeper into his chest. He recognized the action. He had held her a hundred times like this when they had been with Angelus. She was terrified. He had no idea what was so frightening now but he'd give her the comfort she needed. Caring for her was his only purpose any longer. "My sweet belle, it okay. I got you now. Nothing and no one gonna hurt you ever again. Not so long as I'm alive."

She bit her lip to keep from sobbing. How could he understand that her fear was of him being not alive, of him being dead again? That her greatest fear was being back in that room knowing she'd never see Spike again and that René was dead and that it was all her fault. It was her fault that she'd never see Spike; she'd left him for Angelus, hadn't she? She'd cheated on him. Of course, Spike couldn't want to see her ever again. That's why it was so obvious that this wonderful place, this home Spike had made for her was an illusion. There was no way he could just forgive her the way this illusion Spike had. She had hurt Spike so deeply; she knew that. Angelus was right; she always ended up hurting Spike. He was the center of her universe and all she did was cause him pain. And if this Spike, by some miracle, was real then she had hurt him yet again, hadn't she? She shouldn't have agreed to leave Hell. That was wrong, selfish. He had a place in Heaven and she had taken that from him, too. She had thought once that she could be the one to help him, to get him past the pain of loving Buffy, but now she knew she was his damnation. She hoped that when her jailers came to her this time they beat her until she couldn't move. She'd welcome it. It would be the least she deserved. They were right to wear Spike's form. Wasn't he the one she had wronged the most? She wished that one of them really were Spike. Spike should beat her. He deserved to beat her senseless. She'd feel better if Spike really would hit her but that would hurt him, too, wouldn't it. Spike would rather die than hit her. It was selfish for her to want him to punish her just so she'd feel less guilt. She was so evil, so selfish. She'd learned that in Hell: her great sin was selfishness. She was selfish and evil and she'd been unfaithful to Spike because of that selfishness. She'd ripped apart her marriage, broken Spike's heart, and destroyed René because she was a selfish, uncaring bitch. It was her fault René had died in agony. She had been the one who seduced René, enslaved him, and in so doing, she had made Spike so angry and so hurt that he had ripped René apart. She shuddered, plagued by the images in her head again. She wanted to scream but knew she couldn't; if this was a dream it would only bring her jailers out sooner and she was still selfish enough to want this dream to continue for a little while longer. She'd pay the price later, whatever the punishment was, so she could have a few more hours in this house with Spike and René. These few hours would be worth it.

She did the only thing she could think of: she simply held René to her and prayed that this was reality and not another dream she'd awaken from soon. If she held him tightly enough, maybe they couldn't take him away. They couldn't hurt him. She looked up at him, needing to see his face and once more assure herself that he wasn't an illusion, that there was no red demon-fire lurking in his eyes. They had never sent her false Renés, had never let her see or touch his image except as a single photograph. His death had been described in excruciating detail but they hadn't shown it to her; the visions in her mind were bad enough. She was not allowed the comfort of the sight or feel of him. In Hell, his beauty was denied her. So now when he bent and kissed her, she held on to him all the tighter, afraid he would vanish, afraid each touch of his lips was the last.

René realized that they couldn't simply stand in the hallway kissing. It wasn't proper. It wasn't respectful toward Baby. He wanted no one to have a reason to say anything demeaning about her. "Come here." He led her into the music room. It was usually empty and there were big comfortable chairs and couches scattered about. He sat down in one of the huge, overstuffed chairs and she immediately crawled into his lap. She wrapped herself around him and welded her lips to his, promising herself that she would never let him go, not ever again. He belonged to her and she'd protect him this time. Nothing was going to hurt him ever again; she wouldn't let it.

They remained that way, simply together, simply holding each other while the grandfather clock ticked away the rainy afternoon. Finally, it was hunger that intruded. Baby's stomach rumbled and René couldn't help smiling. She felt his smile against her lips. She felt his chuckle cascade from his mouth into hers and deep down her throat to become a part of her. Nothing could have made it more obvious to him that she really was back than that simple growling stomach; it was so mundane. He stretched his hand across her satin-clad abdomen. For all that his body was as tepid as the air around them, warmth seeped through her from his widespread fingers. It dispelled some of the cold terror that lurked inside her. "You hungry, ma petite? Hmm?"

She nodded. "That's why I came downstairs in the first place. I was going to find some blood."

René tsked at the thought of reheated blood. "You need something better than bottled blood, Bébé."

The shiver that ran through her was visible. "I… I don't think I can hunt, René. I really just couldn't." The dead people in her head hissed at her.

He shushed her. "I know, petite, I know. And you don't ever have to hunt again if you don't want to. Your René will take care of it." He unbuttoned his shirt and bared his chest for her. "You drink, aime. You drink and grow strong." For weeks, while she was under Angelus' domination, René had fed her in this fashion, trying to keep her strong enough to exist for one more day. He would do this every day for the rest of eternity if this was what she needed. "You don't need to hunt as long as I'm here, Bébé. Come, sweetheart. Let me care for you. Drink, m' ange."

The hand she caressed his face with trembled slightly. "Je t'aime, René. Je te besoin. Mon Dieu, je te besoin," she said in the Cajun-French he had taught her, kissing his silky skin. She licked the spot above his heart carefully, the spot that already bore her mark, proclaiming to any that saw it that he belonged to her, that she had claimed him as her consort. Proof written on his skin of her love for René and her infidelity to Spike and Angelus both. Proof of how she had used René for her own ends, binding him to her body and her will. Proof of just how selfish she was. And selfish she remained; she wouldn't deny herself this even though she knew it would only bind him closer to her, wrap him more tightly in the web of her needs and wants. René shivered beneath her fingers and her mouth as she caressed his consort mark. She pressed her lips to the mark in a kiss before she forced her face to change and sank her fangs into his willing flesh. René nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out at the sheer ecstasy of it.

~~~~~

Spike followed Baby's scent through the house. She had been dead and gone so long that her smell no longer permeated the building and he could trace her movements though the halls, following that tenuous thread downstairs. He found Angel in the dining room, leaning against the open doorway, staring out at the rain. "She was here," Angel said tonelessly before Spike could ask. "She left." His grandsire never moved and Spike recognized the signs of a major brood in progress.

Spike wondered what had passed between the two and was sorry he'd missed it. "Give you a piece of her mind, did she?"

Angel didn't answer the question and Spike decided that baiting his grandsire wasn't worth the effort at the moment. He had turned to go search the rest of the house for his ladylove when Angel spoke again. "She's not the same woman that left the Hyperion with Angelus. With me. She… Too much has happened, Spike. She may never be that woman again."

Spike paused. "I know that. But I'm gonna do everything I can to see that whoever she ends up being, she's whole and she's happy."

Angel nodded. "You may be the only one that could do that."

Spike didn't smile. "I'm betting on it, mate. That may be the only chance I have to keep us together." He thought for a moment. "All of us."

Angel shook his head. "Not all of us. Cordelia moved out of my room, you know. I thought it would be temporary but it's been two weeks now. She doesn't want to live with me anymore. She doesn't even want to look at me any more." He'd been right about that, he told himself. It was what he wanted wasn't it? So how come he felt so awful? Why did he feel he'd made the most colossal mistake of a long life full of colossal mistakes?

"Then I'd say you have some groveling and crawling ahead of you, Peaches," Spike advised.

"I don't know how, Spike," Angel said hopelessly. "I honest to God don't know how." He felt his life flowing away from him like the rivulets of rainwater flowing away from Spike's garden. He had never felt this lost and alone, not even when he was living on the streets subsisting on rats. Losing Cordy had shattered his heart and crushed his will to carry on. She wouldn't speak to him. She'd leave the room whenever he entered. She wouldn't even look at him. She couldn't stomach the sight of him. Just like he'd wanted.

The Master of New Orleans shook his head. "Then you better learn, mate. You better learn." He left his grandsire alone with a heart as leaden as the cloud-filled sky.

~~~~~

Spike unconsciously bared his teeth at the sight of his consort feeding from his son. René's head was thrown back, his eyes closed, rapture transforming his already beautiful features into something even more exquisite. Soft declarations of love spilled from his lips, a current of melodic French. Spike came within an eye-blink of killing him right there. He might have, had Baby not raised her head and allowed Spike a glimpse of her face. It was sad, so intensely sorrowful that Spike felt faint. She should never look like that. Not ever!

"René, you should go away from me," Spike heard her say, her hand resting over his son's heart. "I'm so very bad for you. Being with me is gonna end up killing you." The self-loathing in her voice froze Spike in place.

"Hey now, none of that," René answered. They'd been through this all before. He wasn't going to let her do this to herself today. He was reminded that he really wanted to kill Angelus for making her hate herself so. "You not hurting me. This is where I want to be. Besides, if I go away, who gonna take care of you? Who gonna feed you? Who gonna make sure you sleep some? Who gonna brush your pretty hair and make sure you don't forget to put on clean clothes? Huh? Who's gonna make you smile when you're sad? Who gonna do all that?" Spike drew his lips back in a silent snarl. He would be the one who did those things for Baby just as he remembered doing all of those things for Drusilla. René stroked Baby's hair with a shaky hand and empty eyes and Spike had another glimpse into the hell René had lived in Angelus' household. He remembered how hopeless he'd felt some days when Angelus had been particularly vicious or Dru had been nearly catatonic. Anger warred with pity within him. "Don't I always take good care of you, m' petite ange?" René said wearily.

She nodded and laid her head on his bare chest, covering his consort mark, small fingers curling into the black hair sprinkled across the muscular expanse. For so long, all those awful, awful weeks, he'd been the only thing that was solid, the only thing she could cling to. "You're the only one I can count on anymore."

Pain such as he hadn't known existed shot through Spike. He'd kill them both and then die himself, he decided. At least in Hell he'd have her to himself.

"That's not true, Bébé; you have Spike now," René reminded her.

"Spike!" The love in Baby's voice, the emotion she engendered into simply saying her husband's name, caused a flash of agony to cross René's face and a flash of warmth to flood Spike's heart. She really did love Spike with an intensity that was cosmic in scope and he felt the tightness inside him uncoil at the adoration he heard in that one word.

"You don't have to cry for him no more, m' coeur, because the cher papa he's here with you." René had no idea that his words had just saved his unlife. "I know he's what you really need. I know that he can do things for you that I can't. I know that. Spike will make you well again, Bébé. He'll protect you." René had gone from the ecstasy of her fangs in his body, his blood, his very essence feeding her, to a sorrow as deep as hers. Deep inside he knew that he was in many way just a shadow of Spike. He knew that Baby did love him but he also knew she loved Spike more. He could be her lover, her consort, but her words to Angel aside, he knew she'd never let him mark her. He could be her husband but she wasn't his wife. He belonged to her but she would never belong to him. He sometimes managed to delude himself into thinking otherwise. He found himself in constant conflict. He loved his sire and respected him but he also wanted Baby desperately. He dreamed of challenging Spike for her day after day, and each time, when Spike was defeated and René reached for her, Baby would turn away, crying for Spike. René would wake nearly screaming from the unfairness of it all. Mentally he knew Baby needed Spike more than she needed blood, but his heart was torn. Still, he would take whatever part of her he could. He'd remain her paramour if that was all he could be. He'd stand with his sire and care for her however he could. He brushed her hair from her face, desolation plain on his. "Don't send me away, m' aime. Let me stay and take care of you. Let me do that one little thing." René squeezed his eyes closed as the hurt continued to wash through him, and Spike was reminded how very close they had come to losing René to madness and suicide. And how very painful the thought of losing this childe had been to him. René, Jean Claude, and Claudia were very precious to Spike; he loved them second only to Baby. They were the core of his family; in every way that counted, they truly were his children. They were special, these three. They had been with him before he became master of the city, before he'd been part of Angel's new Scourge. They had stood with him in a hundred battles, never hesitating to risk their existence for their parents and each other. Spike often said that Jean was his good right arm. If that was so then René was his left one and Spike was left-handed. Spike suddenly realized that René should never have been placed in a position where he was responsible for Baby's welfare in such a way. He blamed himself for willful blindness. He knew René loved Baby and had done so almost from the moment of his turning. That was why Spike had never hesitated to leave his consort in the care of his black-haired son. He knew René would protect her with his life. Spike had actually encouraged his sons to love their mother above all other women. In some basic way, Spike may have made René's betrayal inevitable. It only needed an evil, out-of-control Baby hungry to possess René to trigger it.

Spike vowed once more to find out how Baby's soul had been caged and make whoever had done it pay a thousand-fold for her pain. He added René's suffering to that bill of retribution. The anger had receded, leaving an ache for what should have been in its place. Watching unobserved from the shadows he took the time to truly look at his son. René was thinner than Spike had ever seen him, and René was not a heavy man to begin with. The sparkle that always lurked in his eyes still had not returned. His mental condition had only improved and the suicide attempts ceased when Spike's plan to contact the PTBs and revive Baby had been revealed. It was only then that they had been able to remove the restraints that kept him safe from himself. Always quiet and reticent around strangers, René had become that way even with family. He seldom left his room, no longer joining in family time around the big dining table in the earliest hours of the morning or before the evening's activities began. Days passed without Spike catching so much as a glimpse of his son. René had become a stranger to those who knew him best. Angel was right that this frail, distraught Baby was not the same woman that had left the Hyperion, and now Spike knew this gaunt, reclusive René was not the same man he had sent to Miami. Spike realized with a sinking heart that none of them would ever be the same again. He wasn't sure Baby was sane; he wasn't sure René was either. And if they were both mad, how could he trust them not to betray him again? He wasn't sure he could tolerate the thought of René, sane or not, touching Baby that way again. Flirtation and fun with Wes was one thing but this deep attachment to René was something else. It was… threatening. He wasn't sure what he would do if his options came down to killing his son or letting him have an affair with Baby. Killing René might destroy Baby and keeping Baby from René might kill his son. René confirmed that fear with his next words.

"Besides, I'll die without you." René laid his head back against the chair as though too tired to hold it upright any longer. "Now, you didn't eat enough. How you gonna get strong again if you don't eat?"

She gave a watery laugh. "You're such a mother hen."

His answering laugh rumbled under her cheek. She could hear it deep in his chest. "Mama René, that's me. Now you stop arguing. You need to eat. You need blood."

"Then she'd better get it from me, don't you think?" Spike said softly but firmly. He wanted them both to know he was here and he wanted to end this little tete-a-tete. He wasn't pleased at the flash of fangs he saw from Baby as she lifted her head. Since when did she bare her teeth at him? It was less than an instant but deeply unsettling. He wasn't pleased when René closed himself off so that Spike could barely even feel him. It increased his distrust of the entire situation. Spike promised himself that he'd have a talk with René that very night about what was and wasn't allowed where touching Baby was concerned. And a far gentler one with his wife about the same subject.

Then he saw the mark on René's chest and all coherent thoughts left Spike's mind. Howling, wind-whipped wrath swept through him, wiping away pity and love and concern, leaving only hurt and rage. He grabbed Baby and tossed her from René. Weakened by Baby's feeding and weeks of grief, René stood no chance against his sire. Baby's frantic efforts to pull Spike from her consort were without effect. She was no match for an enraged Spike. Her screams and pleas were as useless as feathers thrown at a brick wall. Her fists and fangs were as ineffective as her cries. The shriek torn from her as René's body turned to dust reverberated through the house, chilling and freezing the heart of all who heard it. That cry of unimaginable grief tore though Spike, puncturing the haze of his fury, allowing him to realize what he had done. He feared he had just destroyed her as well as his son. Her deepest fear had been realized. Her heart and mind were as torn as René's body had been. Spike realized that by killing his son he had driven her into insanity, for there was only madness in Baby's eyes now. When he reached for her she shrieked again and shied away from his touch. Angel, racing into the room in answer to her screams, was just in time to see Baby evade Spike's grasp and crash through the shuttered window and run into the street. Even as he and Spike raced for her, the rain clouds parted and the late afternoon sun touched her but she didn't burn. Spike's invulnerability had been passed to her. Relief washed through both men. She stood sparkling in the sunlit rain. "I'm sorry, dove," Spike said. "I didn't mean… I just…" He could think of no words for her.

"My heart," she managed to say. "Do you want to see what you did to my heart?" Before Angel or Spike had any idea what she was about, she succeeded in what Spike had tried once before. She plunged her hand into her chest and pulled her own heart out. Before their eyes, she melted away, her dust mingling with the rain and flowing away forever. Spike felt himself die with her. She was his heart and soul and he had destroyed her. He sank to the wet pavement to wait for his inevitable and now longed-for death.

Angel stared at Spike's kneeling form as his grandchilde spread his arms to the sunlight that shouldn't have been able to burn him and burst into flames. Spike's ashes mingled with the rain and flowed away as Baby's had. Angel stepped into the street, not understanding how they had come to such a pass. His heart, already bruised and beaten, couldn't cope with losing Baby again. And now Spike was gone. He had nothing left. Fred and Charles would never trust him again; none of his human companions would trust him ever again. Connor, finally informed of a portion of his father's crimes and blaming Angel for Cordy's pain, wouldn't speak to him. And Cordelia would never forgive him. She was his very heart and he had thrown it all away. His actions had set in motion all the tragedy that had unfolded. And now Spike had paid for Angel's misdeeds with his life. The guilt and heartache were overpowering. He destroyed everything he touched.

Knowing that Cordelia and Connor were lost to him through his own actions, that he had destroyed Baby and now she and Spike were both lost to him in death, Angel stepped out into the ray of light that had destroyed his dearest grandson and friend, and what little hope he had left. He closed his eyes as flames licked his form, welcoming oblivion.

~~~~~

Drusilla woke from her vision with a start and leapt from Wesley's arms. She knew she only had minutes to avert disaster. She nearly plowed into Cordelia as she raced through the hall. The Seer looked frantic. "Vision," Cordelia said succinctly. "I have to get to Angel."

Drusilla shook her head even as she grabbed Cordy's hand and pulled her down the corridor. "No, that won't do any good. We need to get to Spike. We have to keep him from seeing that consort mark."

Cordelia nodded as she ran hand-in-hand with the vampiress, realizing they had experienced the same vision. If Spike found out Baby had claimed René then he'd kill René, and Baby, Spike, and Angel would all die, too. The Pride would be shattered and the Scourge destroyed. She ran as fast as she could.

~~~~~

"Now, you didn't eat enough. How you gonna get strong again if you don't eat?" René said.

Bébé gave a watery laugh. "You're such a mother hen."

His answering laugh rumbled under her cheek. She could hear it deep in his chest. "Mama René, that's me. Now you stop arguing. You need to eat. You need blood."

"Then she'd better get it from me, don't you think?" Spike said softly but firmly.

Cordelia collided with him, knocking him away from the door and further down the hall. "Spike! You're back! You were gone for days! We were all so worried…."

Drusilla slipped into the music room and placed her hand on René's head. He could hear her voice hissing inside his head, reproaching him. "Look at what you're doing, willful child! See what you can cause!" His mind opened and allowed him to see the images she wanted him to see. His body shook and trembled under the power of her vision. His own end was bad enough and then to see both Spike and Angel destroyed was terrible, but seeing Baby's death was horrific. Drusilla's will kept him from physically screaming, kept him frozen and silent, but his cry resounded inside his head. "You have to be careful," her voice warned harshly inside his head. "If he sees that mark before the proper time, my Spike will kill you both." René shivered again beneath her delicate, strong fingers. "She isn't strong enough to control herself and you're going to have to be strong enough for both of you! Keep what's between your legs in your pants because Spike won't tolerate you encroaching on what's his. And neither will I. I know you love her, I feel it; but if you take advantage, if you hurt my son, I'll rip your mind apart from the inside until you're as hollow as a gourd." The voice inside his mind gentled and he felt a touch of caring, a gust of love. "I'm fond of you, grandchilde, and I know you're in pain but I won't let your pain destroy the family." He nodded and she released him. René felt what energy he had left drain away. He had no idea that his grandmother could speak to anyone but Wesley in such a way. Drusilla constantly surprised and frightened them all with her powers and her insight. Mindful of her piercing blue eyes on him, René closed his shirt, buttoning it without looking at his terrifying grandsire as she pulled the woman he belonged to from his arms.

"Come, little sister. Come." Dru led Baby a few steps from the Cajun. Dru looked at her red-haired grandchilde/sister. All the changes in Baby were evident to Drusilla. "It's all right, little gray dove. It's all right if you coo with your sweet Frenchman, but you can do no more than coo. And you must be discreet." Dru tilted Baby's face so they were looking at each other. "Dancing on a razor will cut you both. It will slice you to shreds." Dru's stern expression was at odds with the soothing hand that caressed Baby's face. "I know he makes the pain go away. I know. He's like my sweet, sweet Wesley in that way, though Wesley is much more to me than just a comfort. I know what René does for you. How he anchors you. All dark and bright, caring and love and thick treacle keeping you from slipping away."

Baby hugged her, grateful someone understood. "I do feel like I'm slipping away, Dru. It would be so easy to just let go."

Spike and Cordelia entered the room just in time to hear Dru say, "You mustn't. I know it's hard when they talk in your head all the time. I can see them all around you, shouting at you. Such nasty voices. You shouldn't listen to them. They lie."

Spike swallowed. Dru had just confirmed that Baby wasn't entirely rational. One thing that Spike had learned over his unlife; whatever else could be said of Drusilla, she was seldom wrong. Cordelia's eyes were huge. "Is she okay, Dru?" Cordy asked.

Drusilla nodded. "She's all new. She has a nice new house to live in. She'll have to redecorate it to make it her own. She isn't comfortable in it yet. She feels it isn't hers." Pained confusion settled onto Cordy's face. She hadn't understood a word of that. Dru continued, "She's all fractured. And brittle. She'll break very easily." Dru looked up at her childe. "You must treat her carefully in these next weeks, Spike. The thoughts in her head are all jumbled like blocks thrown about the nursery floor. And the voices aren't kind to her. The flowers scream at her and won't sing pretty songs. They make her hurt." Dru stroked Baby's hair. "She's like me now. And Mummy." Dru nodded toward Cordy. "She can hear the stars."

"The Conduit said she'll be something called 'the Voice of the Oracle,'" Spike explained. "I don't really know what the bloody hell that means but I assume she'll have visions like Cordy."

Sympathy for her friend flooded the Seer. Cordelia nearly winced at the distant look on Baby's face. Cordy doubted Baby had heard a word Spike said. Seeing Baby vacant-eyed, listening to something no one else could hear, the hurt Cordy'd felt when thinking of her with Angel faded. Whatever had happened between the two of them, Baby had barely survived it and she hadn't survived it intact. Fragile was how Dru had described her and the word fit. It gave Cordy pause; she had never thought of Spike's goth queen as fragile. And now she was a seer. Being a vessel of the Powers That Be was difficult at the best of times. She wondered if Baby was strong enough to bear that burden. She sure as hell didn't look it at the moment.

Drusilla shook her head. "No. She won't See. She'll Hear. They'll shout at her and scream in her head. They'll take her voice and use it as their own." She tilted her head as she saw into those places that no one else could. "She'll Speak for you, Spike." She saw the many threads of possible futures untangle as she watched. They had just passed a great snarl but many others lay ahead. She turned clear blue eye on her childe. "You freed her body and her soul but her mind is locked in a somber room with no curtains and you can't open that door." That piercing gaze was turned on René. "But he can. He has the key. You have to use him. If you throw away the key, she'll stay locked away forever." Spike felt a cold fist squeeze his heart. He didn't want René to be the key to Baby's recovery. He wanted to be the key. Dru had to be wrong this time.

A harsh tone crept into Dru's voice. "If you ignore me, Spike, you'll all three die. He is the key and can unlock the door but only you can pull her from that room. Only you can make her whole." She didn't dare share her vision with him. Unlike Cordelia, Dru could see the many paths ahead of them all. Knowing that Baby had claimed another would lead only to destruction if it was revealed now. There would be a proper time for Spike to know but it wasn't today. Her whole face softened. "You're what she really needs but you have to be able to reach her. And she's locked herself away right now. You're strong and patient, Spike, and in the end you'll walk beside her again. I see it."

Cordelia placed a hand on Spike's arm. "Please listen to her, Spike. I saw something, too. Whatever is going on here is important enough that the PTBs sent visions to Dru and me both."

Spike nodded, but the eyes he turned on René were cold. "I'll do whatever it takes to make Baby well."

René returned his sire's stare with directness. He had never been much for prevarication. And he hated lying about his relationship with Baby. He wanted the world to know he was hers. "So will I. Whatever she needs." He stood so he could look down at his sire. He hated the dishonesty and deceit. He'd be mindful of Spike's feelings but he wouldn't lie and he wouldn't step aside if Baby needed him. "She's the only reason I exist. I don't care what anyone else wants. I belong to her. And I'll take care of her."

The muscles around Spike's mouth tightened and he back-handed Rene hard enough to knock the taller man from his feet. Fear leapt into Baby's heart and she moved closer to René. Spike snarled warningly at her and grabbed René by the front of his shirt, shaking him. Baby grabbed her head with a cry and sank to the floor, whimpering. René and Spike were both beside her in an instant. She didn't really see either of them. The voices inside her head were deafening and the images of Spike's anger blocked all other sights. René reached out to stroke her hair, murmuring comfort. Spike growled at him, drawing back his hand again.

"Spike!" Drusilla snapped. "If you want to see her die, continue dancing down that path." She grabbed a handful of her grandchilde's black hair and forced him to look at her. "Do you actually want to see her die?" René shook his head and she released him with a warning look.

"What's wrong with her?" Cordy asked fearfully. She knew Baby had died and, apparently by some miracle of Spike's making, she was now back, but she had no idea Baby had spent centuries in Hell.

Drusilla looked sadly at her granddaughter. "False voices speak to her now. They're confusing her, showing her ugly, ugly watercolors dripping with tragedy, beating her with words sharp as flails. They'll fade if she survives. But right now they're screaming so loudly she can't think. They cloud her vision and block her ears. They shout and shout and shout."

"Dru?" Baby could hear the seer's voice. It cut across all the others, silencing them, bringing temporary peace. She looked at her vampiric sister and asked hesitantly. "You're right. I keep hearing things. Seeing things. Am I crazy?" She sounded tired.

"No more than I am, little sister," Dru answered. Baby closed her eyes in defeat and nodded, broken and radiating hopelessness.

René was holding her in an instant. Discretion and Drusilla's warning be damned; Baby needed him. "Then we'll take care of you, Bébé." He nodded to his sire. "Both of us."

Spike nodded. He'd deal with René later. Baby was the main issue now. He'd told Angel he'd move Heaven and Earth to get to Baby and he had. He wasn't about to lose her. "I'm here, pet. I'm not angry," he lied. "We'll take care of you. Everyone here will take care of you. You'll be just fine. I'll see to it," he promised. She looked exhausted and Spike decided she and he had both had enough excitement for one day. "You need to rest and eat. You need something to make you strong."

René nodded. "And you're right, Spike. Sire's blood would be very good for her, better than what I can give her," he said bitterly. "She won't hunt, so we're going to have to feed her. Between the two of us, we'll see that you get better, Bébé."

"Damn right," Spike replied and though he agreed with René, he didn't like the tone used. René had never treated Spike as an equal and he wasn't going to start now. Spike reached across Baby and grabbed his son by the hair. "And I want to hear a little more respect when you talk to me. So mind your mouth." He didn't like the way the apprehension still rolling from Baby jumped at his words. Maybe Dru had a point. "Come here, dove," he said gently. "René's right. We'll both take care of you but I'm the one that can help you now. You've had a very busy day." She continued to stare at him with huge eyes. "Pet?"

"Spike, what if none of this is real? What if you're not real?" There was a wildness in her that frightened Spike. "What will I do when you disappear?"

"Oh, rose. I'm real," he said around the lump in his throat. He hugged her. "My sweet rose. I'm real. So are Dru and Cordelia. So is René."

"René?" The apprehension in her grew. "René!"

"I'm here, cher," he assured her. She reached out a hand and twined her fingers in his. Spike's jaw twitched but René didn't see it. He saw only the need and confusion in Baby's eyes. "I'll always be here."

Spike scooped her up into his arms, breaking her hold on René. "Pet, you need to rest now. I'm taking you upstairs. Cordelia, I know you said you wanted to talk to her, but it'll have to wait." He looked at his son. "You should get something to eat yourself, René. And get some rest." Spike kissed the top of Baby's head. "I'll take care of her for a while." There was a wealth of meaning in his statement.

~~~~~

Spike placed Baby carefully on their bed. As he started to move away, she reached out, grabbing him. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere, pet," he assured her. It hurt him to see her this way. She'd always been so strong, so self-assured. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm right here." He was suddenly reminded of their earliest days together, when they hadn't even been an "us." She had been like this after Angelus' attack. Well, he had put her back together after that and he'd put her back together again. "I'm always here with you."

She smiled and somehow that made Spike feel better. "You are. Always." She stroked his cheek. "I feel you inside me all the time now." She took one of his hands in hers, turning it over and back, just looking at it. "Dru's telling the truth, you know." She looked up at him with clarity. "I'm not quite right. The worst part of it all is that I know it. I thought crazy people didn't know they were crazy."

"You're not crazy, pet," Spike said with more conviction in his voice than was in his heart.

"You never could lie for shit, Spike," Baby observed. The comment was so classically typical of her that he couldn't help laughing. "I'm crazy; I know it, but I've decided that's okay. If being nuts means I'm here with you then it's okay to be nuts." Her eyes clouded over again and she seemed to be listening to something.

"Dove?" He realized that she didn't hear him and a piece of his heart splinted and fell away. He brought her hands up to his lips and began to kiss her fingers. Though full clarity didn't return to her eyes, she did return her immediate attention to him. "Don't go away like that, rose red. Stay with me."

She squeezed his fingers. "Oh, Spike! I want to stay with you. That's all I want, just to be here with you."

There was only one answer to a declaration like that. He leaned over and kissed her. As she wrapped her arms about him and pulled him down to her, he said, "There isn't an army of Light or Darkness on the planet that could take you from me now, dove."

~~~~~

In the days that followed, Spike watched as Baby swung between lucidity and obvious madness. Hours would pass when she seemed quite normal, almost her old self, laughing and talking to the childer and the members of the household. Then, with little or no warning, she'd sit silently listening to something no one else could hear. Or worse, she'd start to tremble or twitch and beg unseen entities to stop shouting at her. She spent a great deal of time with Wesley, Drusilla, and surprisingly, Cordelia. She seemed most comfortable with her fellow consorts and with her grandsire. She was particularly comfortable with Drusilla. Baby claimed Drusilla made the voices in her head stop shouting so loudly. In the company of Wes, Cordy, and Dru, she was most relaxed. In the company of René, she was most sane.

Spike was with her as much as he could be. Wes feared that whomever had tried to destroy their souls would launch another attack and Spike was often called from her side to deal with those who might have information. There were disturbing rumors of groups that wanted revenge on both Baby and Angel for the acts performed while they were soulless. Spike intended to protect them both and that meant he was often away from her side, often not even in the house. But wherever she was, René was there, a quiet shadow ready to perform whatever commission she might need. She didn't like for him to leave her sight; she seemed to need the tall Cajun in the room with her. René had become her constant companion. The household began to whisper.

Chapter 11 - "You're Stronger Than Me"

Jean Claude heard the sound of René's fiddle and the faintest of giggles through the wall of his office and ground his teeth in sheer vexation. That happy sound meant that Baby was in her study. With René. Alone. Jean stared at the papers scattered before him and didn't see a word that was printed on them.

"Bro?" Rex asked. The dim light of Jean's desk lamp gleamed on his dark skin and caught sparks of gold from his jewelry and the tiny hair ornaments in his braids.

Jean looked at his younger brother. He hadn't forgotten that Rex was in his office; he just hadn't wanted Rex to see the thoughts going through his head.

Before Jean could answer, Rex continued. "What's going on with that?" he asked, jerking his head toward the closed door that separated Jean's office from Baby's. The sound of an old Cajun love song, melancholy and compelling, bled through the wall. Jean simply shook his head but Rex wasn't ready to let it go. He crossed his muscular arms and favored the older vampire with a deadly serious look. "I'm gone for a few weeks and I come home to find Mama's back-a thing for which I'm unbelievably grateful-but the household's in an uproar because she's spending more time with René than with Daddy." Jean knew Rex was leading up to something. After being forced to destroy Phillip, it had been nearly two years before Spike could bring himself to turn another childe. Rex was the eldest of that second generation of children Spike had created and as such held a position of power in the household. He and Shelley usually spoke for the younger childer, funneling their requests to Spike or Baby or Jean while Jean saw to the running of Spike's empire. "What's up with that? I'm hearing rumors that I really don't like, Jean."

"I don't know; I really don't." Jean Claude took a deep breath and released it before he answered. It was almost a sigh. "What are the younger children saying?"

Rex shook his head, his multitude of braids swaying. "It's not just the childer talking. The humans, the servants, even the old master's minions are starting to talk. I don't like what they're saying at all." He paused for a moment as though debating how much to tell Jean. "They're saying that René's more than just Mama's errand boy these days. That Mama's paying way too much attention to him. That's they're spending too much time alone together. That he's overstepping the line." Rex's dark eyes turned hard and he leaned forward. "They're saying René's screwing Baby." He paused as though that statement alone was more than enough, but after a moment he continued. "Half of them say Spike's okayed it and the other half say they're sneaking around behind his back, if that's even possible." He leaned back again. "Though I suppose if it is possible to screw around without anyone knowing, Baby would be the one to figure it out. She knows more about vampires than any of us." He sighed. "Me? I don't care. I figure that's between Baby, René, and Spike. But if Spike's okay with it, he damn sure needs to say something. I'm gonna have to start killing minions if the rumors get much worse." Rex uncrossed his arms and worry settled on his face. "Spike hasn't said it's all right, has he?"

Jean shook his head.

"Fuck!" Rex whispered. "Spike will kill René when he finds out. What in the hell is René thinking?"

"I don't think he's thinking at all," Jean answered wearily. In fact, he was pretty sure René wasn't thinking; he was simply feeling and reacting.

"Well, he ain't using his head; that's for damn sure." Rex considered the situation for a moment. "Or at least not the head that's above his neck. He's thinking with his fucking dick and he needs to cut it out."

Jean sadly shook his head. He had seen René in those dark days when Baby was dead. There was far more involved here than lust. He wished it were something as simple as desire and lust. He'd seen the way they looked at each other, the way Baby's face lit up when René entered the room. "No, he's thinking with his heart. And so is Maman."

The flabbergasted expression on Rex's dark face showed that he had never thought of that aspect of a possible affair. He hadn't even considered that Baby might have feelings for René beyond simple want. The implications of that were terrifying. "Fuck," Rex repeated. "This could be really bad, man."

Jean winced as the fiddle's tune died mid-note and no sound came from the other room. His mind conjured pictures of all that his mother and his bother could be doing in that silence. "It already is," Jean said.

~~~~~

"It be dawn soon," René told Baby. Moonglow circumvented the perimeter leaves of the big oak in the courtyard, dappling the edges of her garden with silver light. "You should be heading to bed, petite." He plucked a blossom from the moonflower vine that twined about the porch support and handed it to her. "You don't get enough rest."

Baby shook her head. "I don't want to go to bed." She stared at the still-dark garden. The candles and flambeaux had all burned out hours ago and it was lit only by the city glow and the moon. She liked it best that way. To her vampire eyes, the flowers and greenery were as visible as they'd be by daylight, though the colors were faded and soft. She missed the sounds of her garden. She couldn't hear the fountain or the crickets over the din inside her head. The noise had been particularly bad today. She could barely think at all anymore. The voices within clamored more and more for her attention and she found herself answering the voices within more often than she answered the people around her. "I'll only dream if I do."

René nodded. She was still plagued by nightmares. She woke the household at least every other afternoon screaming because she'd dreamed Spike was gone, or René was dead, or she was trapped with Angelus again. It was worse when she was alone. Baby, who'd never cared much one way or the other about companionship other than Spike, could no longer tolerate being by herself. If she were alone in her big four-poster bed, she'd be lucky to get two hours of sleep before the first nightmare hit, if she slept at all. And today Spike was gone and not expected back for four days. René expected those days would be long. He'd gladly spend them awake amusing her with his violin, or stories, or whatever she wanted, but still, he knew she had to have some rest. She seemed weaker each day, more withdrawn from reality, more trapped inside her own mind. His level-headed, pragmatic Baby, as solid as the oak in the center of the courtyard, was slowly becoming some distracted, fey creature as ephemeral as the moonlight around them. Watching her come apart despite all his and Spike's best efforts to reach her was the most heartrending thing he'd ever experienced. At least when they'd been on the run, he could blame Angelus for what was happening to her, but now that she was surrounded by her family and friends she should be doing better; but instead she slipped a little further away from them all each day. "You have to try, ange. Please?"

She nodded reluctantly, absently shredding the flower he'd given her with nervous fingers. René noticed and it worried him. She always protested when someone destroyed a blossom from her garden for no good reason. "You worry too much about me, sweetheart," she said dropping the flower and reaching up to touch his cheek. He reveled in that simple touch. It meant that, for the moment at least, she realized who he was and that he was with her. "Why are you so good to me when I'm so bad to you?" she asked softly.

René covered her hand with his own. "You're never bad to me." He worried at the remorse she carried from their love affair. She refused to let him take any of the blame, though he knew it was as much his fault as hers. He wished she'd let him bear the entire burden of that guilt. He'd do it gladly. He couldn't force himself to regret their intimacy; he treasured the memory of each moment they'd been together and, even now, he found himself treasuring these moments when they were alone. However, he deeply regretted the anxiety their affair had caused her, and had he known the future, he would have walked away from her in that alley in Miami. He'd have found Angelus and killed him, from ambush if necessary, and Spike's orders on the matter be damned. He'd have forced Baby to go home to Spike even if he had to knock her unconscious, tie her up, and drag her home.

And then he'd have left and never come back. He thought about leaving a lot. Maybe he should leave anyway. It would be hard, leaving without her say-so. Consorts didn't just walk away from their masters. The marking, the claiming-it established a link as strong as the childe/sire bond. He'd willingly enslaved himself to her and he'd be ripping out a part of himself if he left. He'd deal with that trauma if he had to, though. For her sake. He worried that by remaining he was injuring Baby further. He had gone to Drusilla not a week earlier asking if he was making Baby worse by being a constant reminder of days she didn't need to be reminded of, but Dru had assured him this wasn't the case. His grandsire swore that the time would come when he would need to make a decision, but that if he or Spike left now Baby would be locked in madness forever. Of course, that was always a possibility regardless of what he did or didn't do. And that possibility terrified him. He brushed an errant lock of hair from her face. "I love you," he said simply.

"René." The caring in his eyes touched her very heart. He was so precious to her, this man who loved her so. In another time and place she would have been happy with him alone. She moved closer, placing her other arm around his neck, drawing him to her, pressing herself close to him. It was such a relief to hold him. She needed physical contact with him, needed to assure herself that he was real. The voices kept telling her that he was an illusion, that he'd vanish, that Spike would vanish, that the house would vanish. They swore she'd be alone very soon, alone forever, so she'd better enjoy these few moments while she could because this was all she was going to have to see her through eternity. She intended to build all the memories she could before it was all taken away again. She'd love René and Spike as much as she could in the time allowed her. She pressed her lips to René's.

René froze. "We can't do this, cher," he whispered, Drusilla's warning echoing in his mind. He'd been holding himself from Baby for weeks. He'd been behaving in the most honorable fashion he could. The most sedate of hugs, the most innocent of kisses were all he'd allow. He wanted her so desperately that allowing anything more was courting disaster. Just watching her walk across a room filled him with unimaginable need and he knew that if he ever allowed himself to really touch her, he'd be unable to stop. So over her protests, he held them both to a stringent code of conduct. He'd taken his grandsire's warning to heart and was trying to protect Baby as best he could. He'd subjugated his own desires for her well-being. It was killing him. He wasn't sure which was worse, seeing her with Spike like this-seeing her and not being able to touch her-or not seeing her at all. It all twisted that knife in his gut a bit deeper. René wasn't sure he was going to live through this. The constant pressure to control both himself and Baby was becoming more than he could stand. His hunting expeditions had become particularly violent as he vented his frustration on whatever miscreant crossed his path. On the streets of New Orleans, the Master of Mobile was becoming nearly as feared as his sire.

And now, once again, he'd be expected to push her away. He wasn't sure he could. She sensed his turmoil. "Shh." Baby kissed him gently. "It's all right." She slid her hand down until her palm rested over her mark. "We're not hurting anyone. Spike said I could kiss you. He said I could hold you." She traced the remembered outline of his consort mark through the thin knit of his shirt. It was comforting and stirring at the same time. To have his lover caress the scar she'd made was one of the greatest and most erotic pleasures a consort could have.

René trembled under her touch. "I don't think this is exactly what he meant, m' ange," he protested softly. His resolved weakened as her hand slid under his shirt and he felt her cool fingers on skin that felt hot and fevered. He always felt as though he burned with fever when he was near her. For weeks he had burned for her. When she finally touched his mark, skin on skin, he gasped shakily and closed his eyes. When she pressed her lips to that most sensitive of scars, he nearly cried out. How could her lips be both soothing and searing at the same time? Each touch scorched him, scarred him. "Please, Bébé." He wasn't sure if his entreaty was protest or plea. "Avoir la pitié sur moi, ange."

"Shh, my René, shh. Baby's gonna make it all okay," she whispered huskily. She continued to lick and kiss and nibble his scar until René was breathing raggedly. When she first suckled then bit his nipple he could stand it no longer. He grabbed her shoulders and held her from him, fighting for some sort of control. Gasping for breath, he stared down into her golden eyes and saw such want his legs felt weak. In a voice softer than a whisper, she said, "Je te besoin, René."

With a groan, he pushed her against the wrought iron porch support, his body pressed against hers, his lips crushing hers, his tongue plunging deep into her welcoming mouth. She needed him and suddenly that was all that mattered. He ground his hips against her, evidence of his answering need pressing hard and insistent against her soft stomach. Baby gave herself over completely to his embrace. She wanted him so much, and not just because she desired him, though God knew she did desire him. But only like this, holding René or holding Spike, did she feel any true peace. Only when one of them had their hands on her did the tormentors in her head fall silent and the incessant din and clamor stop. With Spike gone, they had been so loud all day and all night that her head throbbed from the noise. It hurt so badly. René could make that pain stop for a while, so she twined her fingers in his hair and abandoned herself to feeling loved. And she did feel loved when René held her. He made her feel loved and clean. Spike made her feel loved and forgiven. They both made her feel wanted. She knew that when she was cut off from them again, she would splinter into a million pieces. She prayed and prayed that they wouldn't be taken from her, not just yet. Not until she had enough memories to see her through. Not until the end of time.

As René's hands began to rove over her body, blessed silence descended and she realized she could hear the fountain and the crickets and the soft rustle of the faint breeze in the moonflower vine.

~~~~~

Jean watched silently from the shadows as René kissed Baby, distaste evident in the curve of his lips. He cleared his throat loudly. And then again, before they heard him. Startled, René flashed yellow eyes at his brother. Jean stared back at him coldly and René's eyes returned to their ocean blue color. René pulled himself away from Baby. He had to physically unwind her arms from his body. She was immersed so deeply in her need for René that it took more than a moment for her to realize Jean was even there.

"Maman, you look tired. Maybe you should go to bed now," Jean said firmly. He had never felt quite so coldly angry in his life. He was angry with her and furious with his brother.

René gently steered Baby past his brother. He could feel the hostility coming off Jean. He didn't want Baby to be touched by it. "Jean's right, aime. You need go to sleep now. Come. I tuck you in, heh?"

Jean reached out and placed a restraining hand on René's arm. "I need a moment with René, Maman."

"It's alright," René assured Baby, seeing the concern on her face. "You go on ahead. I'll be right up as soon as we finish and I'll be nearby if you need me."

The two men waited until she was in the house and the door had closed behind her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Jean hissed. "You're just damn lucky it was me that saw you. What if it had been someone else, heh? What if it was one of the servants? One of the minions. You know they live to make mischief! What the hell are you thinking?" He pushed René. "Are you really crazy? Is that it? You actually did lose your mind? 'Cause that's sure as shit what it looks like to me."

Yellow played about the irises of René's eyes. "You don't know nothing about it, Jean. It's none of your business so leave it alone."

Jean pushed him again, vampire fire flashing in his own eyes. "You damn near screwing Maman in the middle of the courtyard sure as hell is my business! The whole house is talking about you two. God damn it, the whole town's talking about you two. I have to spend half the day doing damage control trying to keep Spike's power intact and keep Maman's name clean. It's plenty of my business, fils! Who do you think's been holding everything together with Spike gone half the time and you playing fucking Lancelot?!? But you don't see that, do you? You're too busy being tragic. Well, you and Guinivere better get your shit together "

René pushed back. "Don't call Bébé that…."

Jean cut him off. "Why not? Isn't that what the two of you are playing at? The queen and the king's favorite knight all involved in a tragic love affair? The queen and her champion fucking each other the minute the king's back is turned?" he sneered. "Let me remind you, baby brother, that Lancelot and his queen brought down a kingdom." He pushed again. "Is that what you want? Is that what you're trying to do, huh? What's next? You gonna challenge Spike for her? You want that? Or maybe you're just gonna challenge Spike for everything? That it? You want to be Master here?" A look of indefinable loathing and disgust settled on Jean's face. "Let me make something real clear. If you're planning on challenging Spike, you gotta come through me first, little brother."

René snarled. "I ain't gonna challenge Papa. But if I was, you couldn't stop me…" He pulled himself up. In his cowboy boots, he stood a good four inches taller than Jean in his loafers. "Big brother," he sneered down at Jean.

"Oh, I can stop you alright," Jean snarled. "You may be Mr. Big Badass Master of Mobile, but I'll kick your boogalee ass, boy. I'll stomp you right into the ground."

"Any day you think you're bad enough," René countered and shoved Jean back.

Jean's eyes went completely yellow. "I know all of you think that because I sit behind a desk, because I run the household, that I'm somehow less a vampire than you. Maybe I don't get off on the mayhem the way the rest of you do. Maybe I don't get into the violence. Maybe I am just Daddy's secretary, but at least I ain't a traitor who's fucking his own mother!"

With a muted roar, René rushed Jean and found himself stretched out on the ground. Jean was correct in his estimation of the way the public and even his family perceived him. His serious nature often led people to believe that Jean was mild-mannered and perhaps even meek. And there was no denying that Jean was even-tempered. He was seldom stirred to anger; the philosopher in him nearly always weighed both sides of any argument. But like many quiet and relatively unassuming men, when Jean was roused, he was a force to be reckoned with. René had just succeeded in rousing Jean in a way he'd never been roused before. René, although thoroughly familiar with Jean Claude's routine, had forgotten that his brother was in as fine a condition as any vampire in the city. Jean spent two hours every day training, often with Spike or Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, learning everything his sire and the ex-Watcher could teach him. And Jean was an excellent student. Of a naturally athletic bent, he was in peak fighting shape. René, by comparison, was far from his top condition. Though he hunted each night, easily killing the criminals and malevolent demons that crossed his path, the blood he consumed did him little good; he still fed Baby regularly from his own veins. He had allowed his training schedule to falter as he spent his time on her care. He slept only when she did and Baby seldom slept any more. Spike had fallen into the same trap. Both men were chronically exhausted and probably weaker than they had been in years. Neither man had been thinking much, if any, about themselves lately. Jean, realizing this state of affairs, was even more determined to be as strong as he could be. He knew that defense of the family might fall to him and that to take care of his family, he had to be able to take on all comers.

He was also angrier than he could ever remember being.

Jean looked down at the prostrate form of his most beloved brother and felt a sense of betrayal such as he had never known before. This man that he loved above all other men save one had been faithless to everything they had sworn to believe in and protect. He'd been false to their father and debauched their mother. He'd taken the woman they had sworn by everything their kind held holy to protect and care for and made her his mistress. But René had shown proper remorse and handed himself over for Spike's judgement. And to Jean's everlasting amazement and joy, Spike had shown just how great a man he truly was and had given René forgiveness and a second chance. But René couldn't be happy with that. He had to continue in his path of immorality, deceiving Spike and taking advantage of Baby, holding their names up to ridicule and gossip. Jean now wished that Spike had simply killed his brother. At least Jean might not feel so betrayed if that had happened. Jean didn't want to think about what Spike would feel when he found out that René was still corrupting Baby. He kicked René and was rather pleased to feel a rib snap under his boot. René uttered a few choice curses concerning Jean's human lineage and rolled away from the next attack. He managed to make it to his feet and land a solid hit to Jean's eye before his brother bloodied his nose with a stinging left hook. They grabbled and Jean used his bulkier form to advantage. He slammed René against one of the porch supports, the heavy iron vibrating with the force of the impact, the graceful design of the wrought iron cutting into René's back. René managed to lever his knee between them, pushing out with all his strength, sending Jean flying. The older vampire crashed into the edge of the marble fountain with enough force to have shattered the spine of a regular man, or a lesser vampire. Jean simply shook it off and with grim determination made for his brother again. René used his longer limbs to advantage, realizing that Jean could crush him if he got his arms around him. He feinted a punch and drove a sharp knee into Jean's diaphragm. Jean paused for a moment, but only for a moment. They hit and clawed and kicked, deadly serious in their intent to injure each other. Grabbing Jean's arm while blocking a punch, René managed to wrench Jean's shoulder so badly Jean thought he'd ripped it from its socket. Jean didn't let the pain slow him down. He swept René from his feet with a well-placed kick to the back of René's knees. He grabbed René's foot, twisting it around his own leg till he heard ligaments tear and at least one bone snap. René managed to land a kick with his uninjured leg to Jean's jaw that staggered Jean and nearly dislocated his jaw. It was enough for René to scramble free and pull himself to his feet. Jean simply grabbed the front of his brother's shirt and began punching René in that oh-so-lovely face. Jean swore that when he was through, no woman would want to look at René again.

"Hey! Hey! Cut it out," Baby shouted, coming out of the house. "What is wrong with you two?" Then the scent of her consort's blood reached her. With a snarl, she forced herself between the two men, pushing Jean away. René's shirt ripped as she levered them apart, a large piece of it hanging from Jean's fist. With fangs bared and eyes glowing, she faced what she now only perceived as René's attacker. "Mine," she growled, low and deep, a warning. It reminded Jean of a lioness protecting her cubs.

Technically Baby was only Jean's sister and a rather young sibling at that, but in reality she was something much more. She had always fed regularly from their sire. Spike lavished his time and attention on her. She was as well-trained as any fledgling ever turned. She was the acknowledged alpha female in their pride. With the exception of Spike, Drusilla, and Angel, it was believed that there wasn't a vampire in the house that could take her. That didn't matter; he'd deal with her if he needed to and he had a sneaking suspicion that he might be the fourth member of the family who was able to take her. Then Jean stopped cold in the act of reaching for his brother again. A frisson of icy shock rushed through him. He stared from Baby's snarling countenance to the scar plainly visible in the patch of moonlight shining on René's chest. He understood. She wasn't protecting her childe; she was protecting her mate. René hadn't debauched Baby, hadn't indulged in some illicit, tawdry affair with her; he'd married her.

"Mon Dieu," Jean whispered, shocked to his core, and unconsciously crossed himself.

René realized what Jean Claude was staring at and lifted his chin defiantly. He placed a soothing hand on Baby's shoulder. "It alright, petite. I'm fine," he told her.

"You're bleeding. I can smell it." She continued to snarl at Jean. Only when René forced her to look away from Jean Claude and turn to him did she allow her vamp features to relax and her human ones to reappear.

"I'm alright," René assured her again. "Me and Jean, we just having a little disagreement is all."

He was holding her, a hand loosely clasping each forearm. It was enough to keep the inner voices at bay and allow her to think for a moment. René was bloody, sporting a cut over one eye, a bloody and obviously broken nose, and he was favoring one leg. She glanced at Jean, who looked no better. He had a huge bruise on one side of his face, a torn ear, and a black eye. He held a hand pressed comfortingly to his shoulder. What could have brought the brothers, who had always been so close, to such a pass? It wasn't hard for her figure out, even mentally impaired as she was. "You were fighting about me," she said with a weary sadness that ripped through René.

"No, petite, no. We…"

"Don't even try to lie to me, René. You're not any good at it," she said. She sighed. She noticed a shadow inside the doorway and knew who it was. Little that happened in the house escaped Tara's attention. She draped her robe over René's shoulders, covering his consort mark before she nodded and the Wicca came forward. Tara was unlikely to say anything anyway. Tara always knew far, far more than she ever discussed. "Go get cleaned up, baby. Get Tara to set that leg. I need to talk to Jean."

René resisted that idea. "No, you don't need…"

"Please René!" She took a deep breath. Screaming wouldn't help, though she felt like doing so. "Please, baby. I do need to talk to Jean."

René, with obvious reluctance, complied with her wishes. He favored his brother with a silent snarl, letting Jean know that it wasn't over, before exiting, leaning on Tara's steadying frame.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jean grabbed Baby's arm and pulled her through the French doors into his study. "You're damn right, we need to talk." He pushed her down into a chair before the leather-topped desk and closed the doors so they were less likely to be overheard. "What the hell is going on, Baby?" he grated as he sat down beside her.

She rested her head on her hands for a moment before pulling her fingers through her hair. "I don't know, Jean," she said wearily. "I honestly don't." She looked up at him. "I do all these awful, horrible things and I don't even know why." She felt cold again. Icy. She started to shiver.

If Jean noticed, he didn't say anything. "When did you claim René?" he asked grimly. "Were you the demon when you did it?"

She shook her head. "No. I claimed him the same day I got my soul back," she admitted.

Jean did the one thing he thought he would never, ever do. He slapped her. "Spike should have left you dead," he said frostily. He felt like screaming. He felt like crying.

"I know that," she answered. One side of her mouth twitched in a crooked parody of a smile. "Don't you think that I, above all other people, should know that? I wish he had, for his sake." She clenched her fingers together to stop their shaking. The voices were already starting to shout and scream again. She probably didn't have long to say what she needed to say before they took over again. "Are you going to tell Spike about René?"

Jean stared at her. "I don't know. What if I tell you that's exactly what I'm going to do?"

Her mouth twitched in that ugly smile again. "I'll take René and we'll run. We'll run and hide. I can't let Spike kill him."

Jean snarled, showing fangs. "Spike won't have to. I'm gonna kill the deceitful, lying little bastard myself."

Jean found himself pinned to the floor, his arm held at an awkward angle and her boot sole planted firmly against his neck. Pain, agonizing and burning, shot through his already injured shoulder. "I love you, Jean, I do, but I'll break half the bones in your body before I let that happen," she hissed. She twisted his arm a bit to emphasize her point and he felt something sharp pressed between his shoulder blades. "I know what you think, my darling Jean, but if I sever your spinal cord right here, it won't do you lasting harm but you won't be fighting anybody for a few weeks." Jean reevaluated his inner assertion that he could take her. He'd forgotten that Baby wouldn't play by any rules. That she'd fight only to win and damn any consequences. God alone knew where she'd had that knife hidden. She released him, trembling all over now, and tossed his letter opener back onto the desk. So that's where she'd gotten the weapon. Jean filed that move away for future use if needed. She knelt beside him as he sat up. "Please understand, Jean. René didn't do anything wrong except listen to me. He only did what I wanted him to. And look where that got him. He's pretty much lost everything that mattered to him. His freedom, his daddy, his integrity, and now he's lost you, his best friend and his dearest brother…" She tilted her head and Jean realized she was listening to something he couldn't hear. With visible effort she pulled her attention back to him. "You don't have any idea what I did to him, sweetheart. Or how much I regret it. But it's done." She reached out for him with a palsied hand. "I can't take it back. René belongs to me, body, heart, and mind. I claimed him. And I'll protect him." Jean realized that she had claimed René but René obviously hadn't claimed her. Spike would have found any mark placed on her body. He realized that René must have completely subjugated himself to her. René might be a city's undisputed lord and master but she was René's master. So what the hell did that make her? Jean felt a cold fear creep into his being. He wondered if all this time he was blaming the wrong person. He didn't want to think of that. He had never and didn't want to even consider Baby as the aggressor in this horrible situation. She had always been Spike's. Always. He couldn't conceive of her loving another man enough to claim him. Yet the proof was there above René's heart. What in God's name was happening to them all?

He stared at the hand she held out to him. It was shaking so badly he could hear the links in her bracelet clinking against each other. She was starting to twitch. He grabbed her hand in fear. He could feel the muscles spasming, the tremors running up his own arm. Fear, guilt, and something he couldn't quite identify flowed from her. He could actually see her receding from him. It was as though he was sitting on the dock watching her float further and further away on some murky and bleak tide. However angry he was with her, however disillusioned, he didn't want to see her like this. "Baby? Maman?"

"You don't know what I did to him, Jean," she said, her eyes distant and unseeing. "What I'm still doing to him. How I'm using him. I've wronged him so much, him and Spike. I don't know how they even stand to look at me anymore."

"Baby?" Jean was truly frightened now. The desolation in her voice and on her face was nearly more than he could comprehend. He had seldom seen her in the last few weeks. He had no idea she was like this, that her mental condition had deteriorated so drastically.

"I keep hurting them. I don't know why. I just keep doing it." Her whole body was shaking now, like someone gripped by a fever. "I try to stop, but I can't. I'm afraid of what I'm doing to them. To all of us. And now I've come between you and René."

The fear on her face caused an answering fear to lance through Jean. Was this how she'd been with Angelus? Was this anguish what René dealt with daily? He took both her hands in his. "Maman. Me and René, we'll work it out." Jean knew deep inside that she was on the verge of shattering. Something beyond his understanding had taken her and warped her into a fragile thing that, once broken, would never be repaired again. The terror he felt at the thought of that was nearly overpowering.

She stared at him intently, as though it took all her effort to even see him, as though simply concentrating on him was more than she was capable of anymore. "Promise me you'll try? Please? For the sake of what I once meant to you?"

Jean felt his heart break. No wonder René had succumbed to temptation. Jean couldn't resist the urge to wrap his arms around her, to give her whatever comfort he could. He guided her head to rest on his shoulder and stroked her hair soothingly.

"I don't want to be this way anymore," she said in a quiet, empty voice. "Help me, Jean Claude. Please?"

At that moment, he'd have done anything she asked. He pressed a kiss into the palm of her trembling hand. "We'll all help you, Baby. We'll see this through together."

"No one can help me anymore, Jean. I know that now." She lifted her head and looked at him with inconsolable eyes. "Do you know that I have to practically read your lips to understand what you're saying? I can't hear you anymore because the noise in my head is too loud. It's so loud it hurts."

Jean squeezed his eyes closed for just an instant; he couldn't bear the raw agony on her face. He wanted to help her so badly. He had no idea what he could possibly do. Mentally, he was unable to think of a single solution, so he did what his heart told him to do. He kissed her and continued to kiss her even when it turned from comfort to something more visceral. The feel of her tongue on his, her tiny moans of pleasure and encouragement, awakened feelings deep inside him, feelings that he normally kept carefully locked away. Like all of Spike's children, particularly the five eldest, he loved her. Jean's love for her was an established fact in the household, never doubted, never hidden. Before any of the others, before René or Claudia, he had been with Spike and Baby, their first childe, their only childe. He remembered her convincing Spike that loving his son would be better than dominating him, that they could all find a new way to live without that pain and violence. Jean remembered her telling him that he didn't have to be a monster unless he wanted to. She, as much as Spike, had shaped what he had become and he adored her for that. As Spike had commanded on that night so long ago, Jean loved her.

Only when he realized that she was stretched out beneath him, that he had one hand on her bare breast, kneading it with demanding fingers, that he was sucking and biting her other nipple, that his fingers were inside of her, and that he was grinding his erection, painfully hard and throbbing, against her leg, only then did he spring away from her, gasping and struggling for breath and control.

She looked at him sadly as she sat up. "You see, Jean? You see how easy it is for me? I can even get to you and you're made of much stronger stuff than René." She looked up at him with empty golden eyes. "So don't be too hard on him. Give me a week, two at the most, and I'd have you just like I have him." She arched her shoulder as though it hurt her. "How long could you hold out against me, my dearest Jean?" She slid her hand down his cheek, following the curve of his neck, down onto his chest to tangle her fingers in the hair there. Jean had never known such desire from a simple touch. He couldn't even remember removing his shirt. She leaned in and kissed his chest, murmuring to him. "My Jean Claude, who's always taken care of me." She licked her way across to his nipple, flattening her tongue on it. "Who's always stood beside me." She bit down on that hardened nub of flesh, sending sensations shooting outwards to every part of his body. "You were always mine just as much as René." He knew that was true. He was there first. Her hand flowed down across his stomach, fingers spread from his navel outwards, sending heat throughout him. "More so, because you never left me." René had run, unable to remain in the same house with her, wanting her. Jean had always secretly considered his brother somehow less of a man for that weakness. She eased her hand further southward, sliding it up and down his hardness; building friction heat and making him moan and throw his head back. "And I could do to you exactly what I've done to him." She removed her hand and placed a chaste kiss on his open lips. Jean's brown eyes were huge in a face gone pale even for a vampire. He feared she was right. He prayed that he would have the strength to walk away from her now. He didn't know what he would do should she try something like this again but he understood now how René had fallen. And with Angelus as her lord instead of Spike, it would have been easy to give in. Only his loyalty and love for Spike kept him from reaching for her even now, kept him from burying himself inside her, and freeing his desires.

Her head tilted as though she were listening to someone behind her and she whispered, "I know that. I know! Stop saying that." She shivered. "It was just an object lesson, okay? I didn't actually… Stop it! I would never really hurt Jean… No! I didn't. Stop saying THAT!" Jean shivered and he realized for the first time that she really was insane. She forced her attention back to him. "Stay away from me, Jean. Stay as far from me as you can," she ordered him with a desperate, distracted air. "Don't let me destroy you, too." Her head twitched as some invisible entity spoke to her on the opposite side from the first. "Shut up and let me think," she ordered it. "Jean? Promise me you won't tell Spike? I promise you I'll tell him when the time is right. Please don't tell him right now. René hasn't touched me as much as you just did since we came home, though God knows I've given him every opportunity." Her eyes focused on him for just a moment and the ache inside her was more than Jean could grasp. "But the only time I don't hurt is when I'm with him."

Jean swallowed and nodded. "I won't go to Spike. If he asks me flat out I won't lie to him, but I won't volunteer it either." And he'd never, ever reveal what had happened in this room to anyone, living or dead.

Baby nodded and kissed his cheek. "You're a good man, Jean Claude DeValliere, and I do love you. More importantly, I have always respected you more than anyone I've ever met," she said before her eyes rolled back in her head and she abandoned herself to the voices inside her fractured mind.

Those were the last coherent words she spoke for more than three days.

~~~~~

Spike was bone tired. He and Angel had spent four days tracking leads that didn't pan out and talking to informants who didn't know a damned thing. He knew an attack was coming, probably more than one, and he wanted to be ready. He had to be ready. He wasn't about to let Baby die again.

He was weary and discouraged and nearly at the end of his mental rope, and perhaps that explained why he reacted as he did when he walked into his bedroom and found René curled up in his bed holding his wife. Spike really only came to himself when Angel accidentally broke one of Spike's fingers prying them from René's throat. He realized that Wes was assisting Angel while Jean, Dru, and Cordelia were holding Baby's struggling form. It was Baby's screams that finally caused him to let go of René. He realized then that the others had been in the room when he walked in and that René was fully dressed while Baby was covered by one of her more demure nightgowns. Baby's cries didn't lessen once René was free, though she was no longer struggling. In fact, she was slumped in Jean's arms, holding her head with both hands, keening and shrieking.

"Oh God. Not again," Cordy moaned. "René, get your ass over here, now!" she ordered and favored Spike with a disgusted look. "Thank you so much! That's the first time we've gotten her to sleep since you left and now we're back where we started."

René gave Spike a look of mixed hurt and anger but obeyed Cordelia. He took Baby from Jean and began to coo and shush and murmur to her. "Look, Bébé, Spike's home. See? I told you he be home soon, didn't I? See? Please, Bébé. Look, m' ange." The eyes he turned to Spike were desperate and filled with a weariness even greater than his sire's. "Spike? She needs you. She's needed you for days."

"You could at least remember to turn your cell phones on," Cordelia snapped. Angel nodded guiltily.

Spike's blue eyes were huge as he knelt down beside them. "What happened? How long has she been like this?"

Jean looked mildly guilty. "René and I had words. Maman overheard. It was the morning after you left."

René had finally gotten Baby to look at Spike and now he was trying to get her to recognize who her husband was. It wasn't working. Spike stared at his wife in abject fear. She had never been this bad. Dru had seldom been this bad. Baby was no longer screaming but she was repeating the phrase "my fault" over and over. Spike had never been so afraid in his entire existence. How in the name of God and the Devil was he supposed to bring her back from this?

"Try touching her," René suggested. He didn't need to have Dru's psychic ability to know what was going through his sire's mind. He imagined they both had the same thoughts. "Sometimes, it seem like the contact, it gets her attention."

Spike nodded and rather tentatively untangled one of her hands from her hair and held it in his own. "Pet? Dove? Can you hear me?"

Recognition sparked in her eyes and she cried out Spike's name before diving into his arms. He held her gratefully. His relief lasted only a moment then she began to keen and cry again. He looked inquiringly at his son but René sighed and shook his head. "I'm out of ideas, " he said despairingly. "Wes? Grand-mère?"

Wes said nothing but Drusilla came and placed a hand on Spike's shoulder. "I told you that you had to use the key but you've both ignored me. The stars keep telling me that you must use the key."

René's temper snapped. "I done everything I can! What does it mean?" He leapt to his feet and grasped Dru by the shoulders. "What am I supposed to do?? You tell me what it means and I'll do it! I'll do anything!" He shook her slightly. "You tell me!" he shouted before Wesley knocked him halfway across the room.

Cordy tackled Wesley before he could go after his uncle and with Dru's help pulled the Englishman away while Jean held René back.

"Enough!" Angel roared, shocking them all. The Lord of the Scourge seldom raised his voice and almost never with his family. "René, get a grip! Wesley, get that Goddamned temper of yours under control right now! Drusilla, if you can't give a prophecy that's coherent and make sense, then fuck all and keep it to yourself!" He was obviously furious.

The altercation had disturbed Baby and she was wailing louder than before. Angel looked at her with sympathy for a second before he plucked her from Spike's arms. He held her by the shoulders, her feet dangling off the floor and shook her. "Stop it! Right now!"

Spike snarled and headed for Angel but Dru literally knocked his feet from under him. "No! Watch and learn, my son," she said, bright eyes focused on her sire, and used her mental abilities to hold both Spike and René relatively immobile. Wes saw what she was doing and added his strength to hers, together creating a spell that held the two men in a sort of paralysis. He would always follow where she led.

"Stop it!" Angel roared again, growling at Baby. "Cut this shit out!"

Baby's scream died in mid-cry. She stared at him with a small frown. "Angelus?" she finally said in a tiny voice.

"That's right, childe," he answered sternly, secretly elated.

"It hurts, Angelus," she said.

"I know. But screaming about it won't make it any better," he said firmly.

"Make it stop," she begged and the helplessness in those few words sliced at his soul, but he knew that sympathy wasn't what she needed.

"I can't. You're the only one who can do that." He shook her again, gently but enough to keep her attention. "But you've given up. I never thought I'd see it." He allowed his disgust to be plainly heard. He set her on her feet.

"But it hurts so much, Angelus." Tears sprang into her eyes.

He slapped her. "Don't whine. It's pathetic."

Spike growled, fighting Drusilla's control. Cordy, despite her anger with Angel, would support whatever he was trying to do. She still believed in him; she just couldn't trust him with her heart. She placed a restraining grip on Jean Claude. Wesley recognized that this might be the correct tack to take with his sire. God knows, she wasn't reacting to any of the other, more gentle tactics they'd tried. He added his physical strength to Cordelia's efforts to restrain Jean..

"You've gone weak." Angel shook Baby a little harder. "Since when are you some puny, delicate thing that can't even take care of herself? It's disgusting." Something was awakening in her golden eyes. A spark that had been absent. "I guess the Bitch Queen is really dead after all. Pity, 'cause she sure as Hell could get me hot." He grinned his best evil grin, the one that screamed 'Angelus,' and ran a hand across her bust, ignoring Spike's and René's growls. "Of course, this body still gets me hot. And come to think of it, I kinda like it when you go all compliant on me." He kissed her, deeply, possessively, plundering her mouth, running his hands over her body, kneading her breasts as he pressed her to him. "It's good when you remember that I'm your master," he said breaking away from her lips. "I love it when you remember that I own your ass."

She punched him as hard as she could, barking her knuckles on his jaw. "You Goddamned motherfucking bastard! You know I don't belong to you, you no-good, Irish son-of-a-bitch. I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

Angel grinned at her, all impish little-boy charm. "Damn, I've missed you! Darlin' girl, have I told you lately that you're just glorious when you're pissed off at me?"

Her snarl turned into a grin. "Angel?" she said and the smile reached all the way into her voice. She stared at him for moment then kissed him just as hard and just as longingly as he had kissed her. He didn't hesitate to return those emotions. When she pulled away there was a question in her eyes.

"Yes, sweetness?" He took her hand in his and began to nibble her fingers.

"I'm an awful person." It was a simple statement of fact.

"I know." He continued to nibble and suck, licking his way across her palm.

"I've done horrible, horrible things."

"I know. I was there." He wrapped his tongue around her thumb.

"I'm vicious and cruel." She stared at the head bowed over her hand, the shoulders hunched in a familiar way.

"I know." He swiped his tongue across her wrist and was rewarded with a shiver.

"I'm evil and you don't mind." She said in wonder.

He grinned at her. "That's why we're so good together."

Her grin broadened. "Because we're just alike."

"You got it!" He grinned at her before he sucked her forefinger completely into his mouth.

"How do you live with it? Knowing you're rotten inside?" she asked calmly.

He sucked her finger for another moment or two before he looked down at her. "You just do," he told her. The soft caring in his eyes was pure Angel. "You just deal with it in your own way." The imp grin he gave her was pure Angelus. "I brood. Apparently you go crazy and hear voices."

She continued to grin. "Yeah, apparently I do."

He pulled her close again. "That's okay. I kinda like my women nuts."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Keep that up and I will have to rip your Goddamned balls off. I don't belong to you," she repeated, then she frowned. "Are you trying to get me to hit you?"

He pressed against her, making sure she could feel his need, hard and demanding, against her. Making sure she understood what he was trying to get her to do. Her eyes went big and wide. "Jesus God! Angel!!"

He laughed. "Made you forget about whatever it is that's making you a basket case, didn't I?" He continued to hold her, closely, intimately, heedless of those who were watching. "See, I know what you need. And you don't need the love and cooing. You need the fight. If I can get you pissed off enough, get you mad enough to fight, then maybe you'll have a chance." He felt her sag against him, exhaustion beginning to take hold now that the screaming in her head had been reduced. It was still like being at a party with a hundred people talking all at once but that was better than a stadiumful all screaming at her. At least she could think a little and the throbbing in her head was just a dull and insistent ache now. She swayed and would have fallen had Angel not been holding her. He swooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Wesley released Jean and the young vampire pulled Cordelia into an embrace. She had been holding Jean more for support than for restraint from the moment Angel had kissed Baby. She had finally really seen it, the attraction, the inter-reaction that she'd seen a hundred times and ignored. But she couldn't ignore what she'd just witnessed. Angel loved Baby. Maybe not as much as he loved her but her husband did love another woman. Cordy held tightly to Jean and refused to allow herself to cry in front of Angel. With a look toward his great-grandsire that was impossible to interpret, Jean Claude scooped Cordelia up and carried her from the room. With a sigh, Angel followed. He'd try to talk to Cordelia again, try to explain that he'd done the only thing that could help his childe. He doubted he'd have any success.

Drusilla released her spell, freeing her childe and grandchilde. Wesley gathered up his ladylove, who was depleted from her efforts to contain the two men. Carrying her, he followed Jean from the room. Spike and René both rushed to Baby's bedside.

Barely awake, exhausted from three days of turmoil and madness, Baby looked up at them and reached for René. Casting a look at his sire that was both apologetic and defiant, René sat down beside her, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. "Shh, it be alright now, ange. You sleep for me?" he asked softly.

"So tired, René," she answered blearily. "Hmm, you're so quiet. Always so quiet…Feels so good, the quiet." She closed her eyes.

Spike wanted to kill them both. He wanted to rip their hearts out and feed on them. He wanted to die. Then Baby opened her eyes looking about, questing. "Where's Spike? I want Spike," she pled.

"I'm here, pet," he told her. She held out her hand and Spike took it.

"I thought you were never coming home," she said and in that instant he swore that regardless of what was happening or where he might need to be, he was never leaving her for that length of time again.

"I'm home now, rose," he told he, rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand. "I here with you."

"I'm so tired, Spike," she said, still wrapped in René's embrace.

"I know, dove." He shucked out of his boots and pulled her from René. "You need to sleep now. I'm here with you and I won't let anything happen to you." He lay down and cuddled her close.

She nuzzled into her favorite spot on his chest and sighed contentedly. René took a deep breath and rose tiredly. Desolation and exhaustion marred his beauty. Before he could step away, Baby called out for him. "Please stay," she said. She held out a hand to him and he clasped it tightly.

Spike looked at their entwined hands and the muscles around his mouth tightened, but he said, "Stay, René. If that's what she needs, then stay."

"I'll do whatever she needs," René answered. Somehow Spike felt it was a warning.

"Then lie down and go to sleep," Spike ordered tersely.

René complied and Baby fell asleep, wrapped in Spike's strong arms while one hand held tightly to René's.

Chapter 12 - "A Poor Man's Roses or a Rich Man's Gold"

The fais do-do was in full swing by the time the Pride arrived. The lights that had been strung from the house to the boat docks reflected off the calm waters of the bayou and glinted off the glassware and food bowls of the wedding feast. One of René's mortal nephews had married that afternoon and the reception had moved from the church to the old house belonging to René's human grandparents. The heady smell of spices-cayenne, cloves, peppercorns, bay-rose in curls of steam from steel trash cans filled with shrimp and crayfish, onions and garlic, potatoes and corn that had been placed over open fires to boil. The contents of some of the makeshift cauldrons had already been dumped onto newspaper-covered picnic tables. René's mortal relatives and most of the city of Houma were gathered about the tables or whirling on the boards of a hastily-constructed dance floor to the sounds of a Creole band. The vampires were greeted with waves and shouts of welcome.

René reappearing in the lives of his human family was not as unusual as it might first appear. In the tightly knit community of the Cajuns of Houma, Louisiana, it was hard to keep a secret. After a group of cousins partying in the Vieux Carré had run into René, who had for more than three years been supposedly dead and buried, it had been impossible to keep his undead existence a secret. When it was discovered that, unlike all the vampires his people had ever heard of, René was not a conscienceless killer but a protector of the community and no less than a son of the new-and much talked about-Master of New Orleans, he had been welcomed back into the family fold. True, that welcome had been hesitant at first, and had really only gained enthusiasm when it was discovered that not only was René still up for a good time, and no more likely to kill you than he'd ever been, but that he could also provide a quick link to the newest power in the political/criminal underworld. Spike ruled New Orleans and its underworld and René was his trusted son. He had suddenly become a powerful man. He could also be counted on to provide a substantial gift when such things were expected. Hence, René was generally invited to all weddings and funerals and the big holiday celebrations. In many cases, these invitations now included his vampire family since the presence of the Master of Louisiana, and his generous wallet, could only enhance any gathering. The bride and groom at this celebration would find themselves a few thousand dollars richer following the Pride's visit and the Pride would find a welcome into the human world that they might not have otherwise had. Spike didn't begrudge the humans their few materialistic moments. He had begun to suspect that he and his would be welcome even if they had no money to give. The Cajuns were an openhearted people. They also threw one hell of a good party and he always felt welcome among them.

It was a delightful change from his life of only a couple of decades earlier. The Pride was grateful to be included in this bit of the human world. It helped them maintain that connection to humanity that they all craved. Living as they did, hunting and killing each night but trying to protect as they destroyed, it was vital that they not lose empathy with the mortal world. They needed to feel a part of life as much as they felt a part of death. So, more and more, as the years passed, they were becoming a fixture of living in South Louisiana. Like no vampires before them, they had interwoven their lives with those of the humans around them. Nowhere else on Earth did a seventy-year-old parish priest tuck his rosary and crucifix carefully away so he wouldn't burn a thirty-year-old demon as he danced a sedate waltz with her. Nowhere else on Earth would that same priest include the demon's undead lord by name in his benediction over the wedding feast, asking God's protection on the vampires the same as he asked it for his congregation and its leaders. Nowhere were vampires considered so much a part of the community that normal mortal humans felt comfortable including the undead in their nightly prayers. As they went about their chosen task of protecting the innocent, these vampires were sometimes remembered as heroes rather than monsters. And so from a few select households scattered across the swamps, the farmlands, and the cities, households whose lives had been touched by the Pride, who had family members safe beneath their roofs because of the vigilance of Spike's family, each night the words winded their way to Heaven, "And God bless Master Spike and his family."

And if God chose to listen, then when a century had passed it was conceivable that the undead men and women dancing here this warm autumn evening would dance at the weddings of this bride and groom's great-grandchildren.

~~~~~

Louis Beaumont shook his head and passed a beer to his cousin. "It just ain't fair," he said.

"Yeah?" his cousin answered noncommittally. It had been a long day and he'd had a little too much fun and a little too much beer to follow whatever it was Louis was about to whine about. Paul wasn't sure why he was even hanging with Louis tonight. Louis was well enough most of the time but he didn't like the big Cajun when he got like this.

"I mean, look at 'em." Louis gestured across the big expanse of mown grass to the spot Spike's Pride had claimed as their own.

"Yeah?" Paul repeated in the same tone. "Looks like they having a good time." The Scourge and the children of William the Bloody were obviously at their ease, the members of the small group stretched out on benches, lawn chairs, and sheets of plywood spread on the damp grass. The baker's dozen of vampires, heads nodding and feet tapping to the music, were laughing and talking amongst themselves, occasionally directing a comment at a nearby group of mortals, or moving onto the makeshift dance floor to two-step. A little more self-assured, a little more self-contained, a little more … lit from within than the mortals surrounding them, they were certainly a sight to give pause to even the casual observer. A more astute observer would notice the too-pale skin, the too-bright eyes, and the occasional too-rapid, too-graceful movements of the individual members of the group. Indeed, the few humans who were not "in the know" cast a confused and considering look toward them, trying to determine just what was different about these people. Paul, well aware that they were undead, simply shrugged and continued, "Richard, he got a Goddamned thousand dollars from la dame du Maître and, Cecile, she got that much from both la Maître and cousin René as a wedding present in the money dance." He shook his head at the vagaries of life. "Who'd ever thought René would have money like that?"

Louis made a noise of disgust. "That what I mean. My chicken-shit little brother got all the luck. Got all the breaks." He took another swig from his beer.

Paul frowned at him. "He died when he was twenty-eight. I don't call that luck, me."

Louis snorted. "He don't look so dead to me." Indeed, René, like all Spike's family, looked very much alive. He was feeling quite content and full of life, in fact. He'd had a good week. He and Jean had talked and they were back on as good of terms as could be expected. They were well on the way to being as close as they once were. Though René had no idea what had passed between his mother and his brother, it was obvious Baby had somehow gotten Jean to understand that René meant no harm to Spike, no disrespect to their sire. Baby had had a good week as well. She was more clear-headed than she'd been in months, though she still heard voices constantly. She'd slept so René had slept. And tonight she was enjoying herself. She loved the music and the dancing and the feel of celebration in the air. Baby was relatively happy, so René was happy. And it showed.

Paul had to agree. "Yeah, he look damn good for a dead man." He shook his head. "That just too freaky; him being dead but still here."

Louis ignored him. "Yeah and he gonna look like that forever."

Paul finally understood what has eating at Louis. While acknowledged as a damned handsome man in his youth, Louis' looks had still never compared to the perfection that was his younger brother. And that had galled Louis' soul. Now at forty-nine, over thirty years of hard living on the wrong side of the law were showing, and Louis' looks had faded. Women seldom noticed him when he walked in a room anymore. René, while technically forty-four, looked twenty-eight and, if anything, better than he did the night he died. Added to his already celebrated beauty was that indefinable something that brought charisma and allure to childer and masters. The plainest man or woman alive gained an appeal and magnetism once they were turned that gave them an unambiguous beauty. Now forever frozen on the cusp between youth and the prime of his manhood, René Beaumont was perhaps the most handsome childe Clan Aurelius, famed for the beauty, intelligence, and viciousness of its members, had ever spawned. Only William the Bloody could rival his aesthetic perfection. In life René had been striking; in death he was stunning. And his beauty would never fade. Now sitting beside his sire, one golden, one ebony, the sight was heart stopping. Spike and René were quite conceivably the two most beautiful men the assemblage had ever seen.

And it offended Louis' sense of what was right. In short, Louis was jealous of René. Of his wealth, his power, his beauty, and his immortality. It was plain to Paul.

Paul figured all that would be nice but he didn't fancy dying to get it. And there was that eternal damnation thing to worry about. The mere thought of being a vampire gave him the shivers. "Look, you can stand here and get all hot that your dead kid brother is having more fun than you are or you can go party. Me, I gonna go party." He grabbed another beer from the old galvanized tub filled with ice. Louis could work himself into a snit if he wanted to but Paul didn't have to stay and listen. Besides, he'd always liked René better than Louis, anyway.

~~~~~

René leaned back against the edge of the overturned boat and ignored the gaggle of teenage girls ogling him, Rex, Beau, and Jean. The brothers were worthy of being ogled and it wasn't only the young women who were doing it. More than one group of matrons was whispering and keeping a close eye on the four. The sons of William the Bloody were fine examples of manhood and more than one matchmaking mother bemoaned the fact that they were all dead. René drained the last of his beer and considered the empty bottle for a moment. "I gonna get another. Y'all want one?" he asked, waving the bottle for emphasis. Receiving affirmative answers from his brothers, he sauntered across the yard toward the tubs and kegs set up on sawhorses and planks.

He noticed his human brother glowering at him but ignored it. Louis was a morose drunk and was best left alone when he was in a mood. René fished four bottles of beer from the tub and nodded at Louis. He paused to wink at a particularly lovely and very young juene fille who was doing everything but standing on her head trying to capture his attention. It never hurt to give the girls a little bit of encouragement. It helped them have good self-esteem. She nearly fainted and ran off to tell her giggling friends how the unbelievably hot René Beaumont had actually winked at her.

Louis reached out and pushed René sideways as hard as he could. He was surprised when René didn't fall. The human really had no idea just what René was now. René, caught off guard, did stumble slightly however and some of the beer splashed onto his shirt. "Goddamn it, Louis. Watch what you doing, heh?"

"I think you're the one who should watch himself, little brother," Louis snarled.

René sighed. He knew exactly where this would end if he didn't leave now. So he tried. Unfortunately, Louis had other plans. "Don't you walk away from me, you little shit! You too good to talk to me anymore? That it?"

"No, Louis, that not it. What you want to talk about?" René said with a sigh. There were times when he really wished he had no relatives, at least no human ones.

Louis noticed with disgust the smart silk shirt René was wearing with such ease and the expensive cowboy boots on his brother's feet. He took account of René's gold jewelry, large diamonds glinting mockingly from René's ears and left nostril. "How about we talk about how you never come around except to show off? How about we talk about how you never help the family? How about we talk about how you think you too Goddamned good to be seen with your own brothers?" Several humans, including two more of René's human brothers, gathered behind Louis, not saying anything but watching the building altercation avidly.

"That's not true, Louis. I just don't live here anymore. I got a different kind of life now." René silently thanked God that was true. He'd been distancing himself from Louis' scams and crimes even before he died. He simply hadn't been comfortable with that life. He might kill nightly but at least the people he killed deserved it; he wasn't selling drugs to kids or roughing up hookers. Being either a dealer or a pimp had not appealed to René. Drug-running had been fun; he could get high off the thrill of smuggling, but it was a good way to get dead quickly and he didn't like the contraband he hauled and all it represented. "You know if the family needs something, all you got to do is call me. I'll take care of whatever it is."

"Yeah," Louis sneered, happy that he had an audience to play to now. "The high and mighty René Beaumont. Always ready to show how powerful he is; how he the big hero. Well, you never done shit for me, little brother!"

René felt something inside snap and fought for control. "I took a bullet for you! I died in your place!" He stared coldly at the man that represented his life before that traumatic night. "And I thank God every day that I did! Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me!" He felt his teeth begin to sharpen and put a stern hold on his temper. He backed away a few steps. "I promised our mama that I wouldn't fight with you no more. So leave me alone."

Louis reached for him. "And suppose I don't want to leave you alone?"

A grip as implacable as a steel vice clamped onto his wrist, pulling his hand away from René. "Then you have to deal with me," Jean Claude said in a voice like raging flood waters. He stared hard at Louis for a moment before releasing Louis' arm and addressing René in a much friendlier voice. "You want to hand me a beer, m' petit frère?" Jean's eyes never left Louis.

René grinned and passed an open bottle to Jean. "Sure. Told you I'd fetch you one." Jean, finally breaking eye contact with Louis, grinned back as René continued. "You ever met Louis? No? This is Louis Beaumont. Louis, this is my brother, Jean DuValliere."

Louis pulled his lip back in a snarl. Unfortunately, a human snarl didn't really impress even the average vampire and certainly couldn't impress two vampires such as Jean and René. "Brother?" he sneered, taking in Jean's Brooks Brothers casual style. It contrasted sharply with the jeans and t-shirts of most of the partygoers. "What? You so fine and fancy that you even got you a new family now?"

René tried to remember everything he had ever learned about controlling his temper. He remembered Baby telling him once that words could be a more effective weapon than fists. While he might not have her cutting wit and scathing tongue, he figured he could hold his own with Louis. He decided fighting with Louis wasn't worth the effort. "Come on, Jean. I think Shelley want to dance with you. Our 'tite soeur, she looking fine this evening."

Jean laughed. "You know she doesn't dance with anyone but Rex. Or Papa." He grinned again. "Or maybe she'll find some nice, warm mortal to dance with tonight. That sounds like a good idea, heh fils? We find us a couple of nice, warm girls to snuggle up to?"

René smiled back and shook his head. Jean's deeply-hidden wild streak was showing. Something had gotten his blood up tonight and he was acting more like a hot-natured Cajun than a cool-tempered philosophy professor. The grin on Jean's face was pure imp. "You know that all we have to do is wink and we can have any one of them we want."

Louis' face turned beet red and Jean's grin got a little wider. "You know we the best-looking men here. Well, me, you, Papa, and our brothers. No one can compare to the family, heh? We the fucking hottest things these girls have ever seen." René blinked. Jean seldom swore. "Hell, fils, pick two or three girls for each of us. God knows, we can handle them."

"Jean?" René said tentatively. Jean was obviously baiting Louis, though René wasn't quite sure why.

"Come on, baby brother. You know it's true. Men like us, two, three girls, don't mean anything." He clapped René on the shoulder. "And the girls do love you, frère." He turned glittering eyes to Louis. "You know, René is just hell on the women. They're always after him. Can't blame them, of course. That body and that face would be enough blessing for most men but then René, he's got all that and money and power, too. Hell, women on the street practically fall down and open their legs for him."

"Jean? You bite a crack head before we come here?" René asked, more than a little frightened. Jean was scary when he got like this.

"Naw. Though getting a bite might not be a bad idea." Jean stared intensely at Louis. "What say we leave a little early tonight? Go find us someone to eat." Jean was rewarded when the human paled significantly. 'Forgot little brother was a predator, huh, you stupid piece of shit?' he thought and decided to rub it in a bit more. No one messed with his family. "It's been at least three days since we went out together and found someone to rip apart." Jean smiled companionably at Louis. "'Course, René, he's got quite a reputation for ripping things apart. He's damned good at it."

"René is damned good at a lot of things," Spike said as he settled himself on the opposite side of René and threw an arm over his son's shoulder. Baby placed herself in front of René, leaning into him and wrapping one of his arms around her waist. She didn't say anything but her attitude was clear: annoying René would incur her wrath. René felt his other siblings gathering around him.

Wesley and Drusilla joined the group as well, Dru trailing a languid hand across Louis' shoulder. She tsked. "Such thoughts. The green-eyed monster consumes him." She smiled and petted René's cheek.

And René understood. His family, his vampire family, had felt the distress his argument with Louis was causing him and had come to help. It didn't matter that there was tension within the family. It didn't matter that his father might end up killing him yet if René couldn't control himself. It didn't matter that he and Jean had tried to kill each other not two weeks earlier. This was his true family and they'd stand by him against any outsider who dared to meddle with him. His heart swelled. "To answer your earlier question, yes, Louis, I have another family. Have had for a long time now." René grinned. It was good to feel a part of his family again. Good to be who he was. "I got the sort of family you can only dream about."

Spike grinned and tightened his grip on his son. They'd get through this thing they were dealing with somehow. They had to. He wasn't going to let his family fall apart. It just wasn't going to happen. "Your mama wants to dance. Come dance with us, René."

René looked at Spike with a love that caused his father to blink. "I'd like that, Papa. I'd like that a lot."

Spike nodded and felt some of the tension he'd carried about for weeks uncurl. "Come on, rose. You'd like to dance with me and René, wouldn't you, dove?"

Baby's eyes were somewhat distant but she had at least heard the question. "Yes, Spike. Please."

Spike kissed her hand. "René, you lead your mama out. I'll be right along." He placed her hand in his son's and waited until they reached the dance floor before leveling a look filled with warnings toward the humans. "René is my son now. You'd do well to remember that." Jean grinned and whirled a laughing Drusilla off toward the dance floor where Wesley joined them. Spike sauntered to the dance floor, where he wrapped his arms around both Baby and René. Regardless of any jealousy he might sometimes feel toward René, René was his son. René belonged to Spike as much as any of his other children. Maybe more so. Jean, René, and Claudia were nearly as special to him as Baby was. They were his first children, the ones who he had spent the most time with, the ones he had personally taught and trained. The younger children learned more from Rex and Shelley than they did from him. But he had been true sire to the three eldest. And he loved them dearly. He looked from his childe-bride to his son and was consumed with love for them both. They would work this out. Whatever it was, they would work it out. He wasn't going to lose either one of them.

~~~~~

The hours passed pleasantly. Baby would dance with no one but Spike or René. She said dancing with the others made her head hurt. Neither man minded; they lived to serve her needs. Spike had to admit it felt good to just relax for a change. It had been a long time, over ten months, nearly a year, since he'd walked into the Hyperion to find it coated in Charles Gunn's blood. And in all that time, this might be the first time he'd felt relaxed. He sat, leaning back against a stack of crates and fish traps listening to the zydeco band, with Baby settled between his widespread legs. He smoothed her hair where her head rested against his shoulder. His children were scattered around him; Wes and Drusilla curled on one side, his sire's hip pressed against Spike's thigh. Jean lay at Spike's feet with his hands folded behind his head, staring up at the stars, singing along with the band, while René was stretched out on his stomach beside Spike with his chin resting on Spike's ankle, grinning at his brother. This was how they were meant to be, Spike thought. He didn't need Heaven as long as he could have nights like this. Spike was practically purring with contentment when his cell phone beeped.

"Tell them to sod off," Baby murmured and went back to singing "Jolie Blanc" along with Jean.

Spike chuckled. "I'll do that, pet," he agreed and answered the call. "Yeah?" Baby felt him tense and she fell silent. "Yeah? When?" He sat up straighter and she tilted her head to look up at him. His face was set in cold, hard lines. "Bugger!" His lip curled. "Well, it's about time," he snarled. "I'm on my way. We'll be there in less than an hour." He folded his cell phone and gently put Baby away from him. "I have to go, rose."

She gave him a questioning look. "Looks like that attack we've been expecting is going down around sunset this coming evening. That gives me about eighteen hours to get everything ready. Tara's evacuating the humans to one of the bunkers already. I'm moving the younger childer out, too. It's just going to take time." He kissed her hand. "But there's no need for you to miss the rest of the party, dove. You stay here and have some fun. René, stay with your mama and then take her out to the plantation. I don't want her anywhere near the house till this is all over. Everyone else can come with me." He stood, pulling her to her feet.

"No, Spike," Baby protested. "Let me help."

"Nonsense, Baby," Spike said without really looking at her. "You need to be somewhere safe."

"Spike!" René was shocked by the intensity of the look she gave Spike. "I need to be with you. Let me fight beside you like I've always done."

Spike shook his head. "No, pet. You stay here and enjoy the party."

"I don't want to enjoy a party while you're getting ready for battle!" She had started to breathe in rapid, deep gasps. "Spike, don't do this to me! Don't shut me out this way!"

He ran a hand across her cheek. "I'm not shutting you out, luv. I just don't want to have to worry about you while I'm fighting."

She went very still for several moments before turning her back to Spike and stalking down to the bayou. Spike sighed. "René, try to talk some sense into her."

René looked at his father. "I don't know why you don't let her go with you. She's always stood with us when there was trouble."

Spike ground his teeth. "Don't you start, too. She's not coming and that's final. I won't have her getting hurt. When the party's over, take her out to River Road. Don't bring her anywhere near Royal Street till you hear from me." He started to walk away but paused. "And if you don't hear from me by dawn tomorrow, you take her and you run. Keep her hidden. Keep her safe."

René looked at his father. "If I don't hear from you, Spike, she'll be dead. Remember, you die and she dies." He looked at the small figure standing on the riverbank staring out at the water. "And then I'll die."

Spike nodded. "Yeah," he said so softly that René barely heard him. Then the Master took a deep breath. "You just keep her safe and happy till I get this taken care of. I'll call when it's safe to come home."

René nodded. "I'll do that, Papa. I'll be dust before I let anyone hurt her."

Spike smiled at him. "I know that. That's why I always leave her in your care. I can trust you to do what's right by her."

~~~~~

René caught up with Baby as she stalked the bank of bayou heading away from the lights of the party. "Cher, he's just worried about you," he said placatingly.

She shook her head. "I'm tired of him treating me like this," she grated. "Goddamn it! He is the blindest little shit ever turned. Why doesn't he see what he's doing to me!?!"

René's ultramarine eyes went big and round. Baby never, ever criticized Spike in front of any of the childer. "Cher?"

"I'm so fucking mad at him, I can't see straight." She flung the can of vanilla coke in her hand out into the swamp, where it impacted a tree with a resounding whump before falling into the water with a splash.

" Bébé?" René didn't really know what to say. He knew that Spike and Baby occasionally argued but he had seldom seen or heard anything like this anger and hurt in her voice before. This was as bad as when she'd caught Spike with Buffy. "What is it, ange?"

"He keeps pushing me away. I know what he's feeling but he can't keep doing this!" She strode along the bank, heading further into the darkness, away from the humans, away from the lights. "I'm not a china doll he needs put on a shelf." A boat dock loomed up in the darkness and she headed out onto the pier, her shoes thumping on the planks, the sound hollow on the warped, gray cypress boards. Someone had placed a glider at the end of the dock and she threw herself down on its metal seat. She stared out across the swamp. René settled himself beside her.

"That's not what Papa meant, petite," he said. "Papa loves you. He just worries."

Her face was bleak as she contemplated the black waters of the bayou. "Yeah. But when did I become a liability, René? Hmm? When did I go from fighting beside him to being a distraction? To being something he has to worry about?"

René started to say something in Spike's defense but she cut him off. "I know I'm crazy now and that makes a difference but this goes back before that. He's been doing this ever since I was turned. Not letting me fight. Not letting me hunt on my own. I had more freedom when I was mortal." Her mouth twisted. "But that's the point, isn't it. I'm not human anymore and that kills him."

René sensed that she was on the verge of tears. "Don't cry, cher. You and Papa will work it out. You always do."

"I hope so," she responded. "But I'm really not sure anymore."

They sat in silence for a long time simply listening to the crickets, the creak of the glider as they rocked back and forth, and the occasional slush/splash as something moved in the dark water. He placed an arm over the back of the glider and sighed. "You know, Bébé, it might be time I go back to Mobile. I don't think it helps you and Spike for me to be here."

The panic she felt was indescribable. She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him as much as she could. "No! You can't leave me! Please, René! Please don't go!" she pled frantically.

He was startled by the intensity of her distress. He hadn't meant to cause her such agitation. "Ange! It's all right. I won't go if you don't want me to. I'll stay as long as you need me." He wrapped his arms around her. "I was just worried that I'm making things worse for you and Spike." She looked up at him with a question in her eyes. "Yeah, I know." He sighed. "Part of me wants to tell you to leave his ass and run off with me. I won't deny that. That part, it wants you all to myself. I dream of it being just the two of us. I can damn near taste it sometimes." He pushed her hair from her eyes. "But I know it won't ever happen. I may be half-crazy, too, but I ain't stupid. The two of you are even more a part of each other now. Best thing I can do for you is help you get back to where you and Papa belong." He decided to try and reason with her one more time. "You know having me here isn't good for Papa." She hugged him more tightly. "Ange. You got to listen." She buried her face in his shirt and shook her head. "M' belle, please. Me sleeping in Spike's bed each night along with the two of you; that ain't right. Pretty soon, Spike gonna be as crazy as the two of us."

She didn't lift her head. "And what am I supposed to do when he's gone, René? What am I supposed to do when I'm alone? He's gone all the time now. Not a week passes that he isn't gone for two or three days."

"He just trying to look out for you, petite," René said sadly. Baby was exaggerating, but only slightly. Spike was away a great deal of the time. More and more over the last few years, the running of his empire called him from home. More and more Baby was left alone.

"Yeah," she said. She didn't sound convinced. "You can't go, René. I'll die without you."

He sighed in defeat. If she didn't want him to go, he'd stay. He leaned his head back against the cushions. "All right, m' ange. I'll stay. I'll stay till you better. I'll stay till you strong enough to send me away." He sounded tired even to himself.

Baby lifted her head and stared at him. She stroked his face with a gentle hand. "My beautiful René, I'll never be strong enough to send you away." She ran her fingers across his lips. "I love you."

Pain flashed across his face and he kissed the fingers resting on his lips. "I know, cher. I know," he said softly and guided her head back to his shoulder. They sat like that, her head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped about each other, the gentle movement of the glider like the Spanish moss swaying in the humid breeze. The two figures were as close as one, as still as the night around them, only the creak-squeak of the glider betraying their presence as the moon slowly set behind a lightning-blasted bald cypress. Eventually the music from the distant party caught Baby's attention. It was very late and the band had settled into bluesy, slow-dance love songs. Though far from the party now, the music was plain to her vampire hearing. She smiled and rubbed her face across René's shirt. "I like this song," she told him softly. "It makes me think of you." She caressed him as she sang to him in a voice only a hair above a whisper.

"Lace curtain blowing on a river breeze,
Slips across my bed and it brushes the sheets.
Seems everything I do, just reminds me of you.
Smell of the morning in a rainy land,
The touch of satin across my hand,
Just makes me wish I, wish I could be

Closer to you. Closer to you.
Wrapped in your loving arms. Holding you tight.
Closer to you. Closer to you.
Whispering Baby, Baby, deep in the night.

If I said that I loved you, would you turn away?
Afraid of what you think you're suppose to say.
Well, that's alright, baby. 'Cause I already know.
I can see it in your eyes; I can hear it in your voice.
Believe me, baby, we got no choice.
Come here, come here, come here to me.

Got to be
Closer to you. Closer to you.
Wrapped in your loving arms. Holding you tight.
Want to be
Closer to you. Closer to you.
Whispering Baby, Baby, deep in the night.

Closer to you,
Baby, Baby.
Closer to you.

René tried not to hear her. Tried not to feel anything. It was impossible. She was sitting on his lap, her legs on either side of his thighs, her body pressed to his as they leaned back and he rocked them back and forth in the old glider. When she reared up onto her knees and kissed him, his arms automatically wound around her, pulling her closer to him. When her tongue pushed against his lips, demanding entry, he let her in. He didn't fight her, didn't resist when she plundered his mouth, when she sucked his tongue into her own mouth. He had no will but hers. He didn't protest when she ripped the buttons from his shirt in her quest to touch more of him. He did moan when her fingers found his skin, pressing against him, tangling in the silky hair that covered his chest. When she released him long enough to pull her dress over her head and discard her bra, he could only stare.

"René, I want you. I want you so much," she whispered. "Please don't tell me no this time. Please, René, I need you."

He closed his eyes, knowing that if he looked at her, he could never tell her nay. He forced his hands to drop to his sides. "Please, cher. You know this is wrong." He was breathing heavily, his hands clenched as he fought the nearly overwhelming urge to touch her.

"No, it's not," she countered and placed both hands on his bare chest. "You're my consort, my husband…" He flinched. He'd fought not to think of himself that way for the past few months. "How can it be wrong for me to want to make love to my husband?"

René swallowed convulsively, still refusing to open his eyes. "Spike…" he whispered.

"Is my lover, is my life, is my soul," she said. "But he's not my husband anymore."

René's eye flew open in shock. She was staring at him with solemn golden eyes. "Angelus ended that bond when he took me. He broke my marriage then; obliterated Spike's mark. Ended my ties to Spike. I haven't been consorted to Spike in months. Death ended my ties to Angelus and I was bound to him against my will anyway. When I came back, the Powers That Be set me free from all ties. There are no marks on my body, René. I belong to no man. But you belong to me. You'll always belong to me." The starlight showed the truth of her words to him. Her body was unmarked, unscarred, perfect and glowing in the light of the distant stars. "And I need my husband. I need you." She ran her hands over his chest, up and over his shoulders. "I can't bear it if you push me away, too. It breaks my heart. I know you want me, René. Why do you keep fighting me?"

Looking at her there, like that, he had no answer that made sense. When she leaned down and took his lips again, he knew he was lost. With a moan, he brought his arms back up, wrapping them around her, pulling her closer to him. When she reared up this time, his mouth settled in the deep valley between her breasts and one hand cupped her derrière, kneading her muscles. She threw her head back and arched her back in ecstasy, drawing his lips further down her body. He held her to him with a hand spread strong and steadying at the small of her back. His other hand he brought around to fondle her breast.

"Oh God, Bébé. Mon Dieu. I love you. I need you." He could barely form the words; his mind was so consumed by her. He couldn't think. He could only feel. He was vaguely aware of calling her sweet names in French. His love, his dear, his heart. His angel, his beautiful angel. Over and over, he called her his belle ange. When finally he was stretched out beneath her, lying on the pale planks of the dock, looking up at her, he could think of no other words to describe her. She was his beautiful angel. His glimpse of Heaven. He knew even as he stared at her, that this is how he would always see her, haloed by stars, eyes glowing with love for him. René prayed that God would take him now because no moment could be more perfect than this. Or so he thought until she eased her body down onto his, joining them. Until she began to move with deliberate precision, drawing him deep into her with each thrust of her body, sending him spiraling into sensations beyond ecstasy. Until she sank her fangs, long and gleaming in the starlight, into his chest, seemingly into his very heart, reopening her mark, reclaiming him, opening his mind to her, rejoining him to her. René's primal roar of rapture echoed across the swamp, sending its creatures, both animal and human, scurrying for shelter as she drank deeply of his love and devotion.

~~~~~

Baby rested her cheek on René's stomach, rubbing her face against the stiff-soft hairs covering his smooth skin. She could feel him, finally, after all these months, not just his body, but his emotions. She could feel what he was feeling. She was connected to him again. She felt whole.

Linked again to him, she felt when he began to slide into despondency and guilt. "René…" she said cautiously. "Don't go there, lover."

"I think I just lie here till the sun comes. Save Spike the trouble of killing me," he said.

She ran a comforting hand along his torso and down his hip to his thigh, where she allowed it to settle. "Spike's not going to kill you, baby. I won't let him."

The guilt he was feeling increased. "He should. He should have killed me the night I come back to him. He should beat me to death. He should rip me to pieces…"

"René, stop!" she said firmly.

"I swore I wouldn't do this to him again, ange. I swore it to myself." He sounded so lost, so broken.

Baby hated herself for what she had done to him but she knew now that it was necessary. She just had to make him see that. "René, listen to me. We had to do this. I understand it now. Dru was right; you are the key. But she was wrong about this." She eased her hand over him again. She pulled herself up his body till she could kiss his lips. She pulled herself atop him and slid down so she could lick his consort mark. "We needed to be together. This was what was missing, René." She felt him stir beneath her. Even filled with self-loathing, he couldn't help responding to her. "When I died, our bond was shattered. Missing you, being separated from you was one of my torments, the second greatest that Hell could throw at me." She looked into his teal eyes. "When the Powers That Be brought me back, they gave me a new body. I have no physical ties to anyone. But I have the same soul, the same mind. And it still has ties that it needed to re-establish. The PTB gave me a new tie to Spike. Different than it was, even better than before. I can feel him all the time now. Angel's acting like my over-bearing sire again. We've bonded just enough. I don't want to be linked to him as any more than that. So I had my sire and my Spike. But I couldn't feel you. I was still separated from you, René. Still apart. That's why I was hearing voices, René. Not being connected the way I should be; my mind thought I was still in Hell. And it conjured the voices of Hell to torment me again. But now, I can feel you. We're connected again. I know, finally, that I'm really here. I'm not in Hell and you are real and that means this world is real." She smiled gently down at him. "Spike's a dream. He always has been. Spike's beyond what's real. He's my fantasy. He's my ideal. I never have been able to believe that Spike's real." She kissed him softly. "But you're reality, René. The love I feel for you hurts enough that it has to be real. You're real. You tie me to this plane." She sank her fangs delicately into the barely closed punctures on his chest, just enough for his blood to begin flowing again. She sucked and licked till he was breathing in ragged gasps. Then, piercing her tongue on one saber-like fang, she thrust it bleeding into his mouth. He sucked it greedily, needing that taste of her. Her blood flowed, sweet and electric through him. When the bleeding stopped, she pulled back and sat up. She could feel him, hard and ready below her, and she shifted so he slid effortlessly inside her. He gasped and bit his lip. "Connecting to you, my René; that's what was missing. Being with you like this, that was the key. You are my sanity, René."

With a preternatural strength, he flipped them. He looked down at her and began to stroke powerfully in and out. "And you are my madness," he gasped. "My insanity. I'll never be right again, cher. Not ever." She met each thrust with one of her own. "You a fever in my blood, a fire in my heart and mind, ange. I never be free of you, not if I here for a thousand years." She called out his name, already lost in him. It took but little time till she screamed her need for him, shattering the night.

Far away, Spike raised his head and growled, unsure exactly what had disturbed him.

~~~~~

René looked up at the night sky and knew he was doomed. It didn't matter what happened, his life was over. Either Spike would kill him or he'd kill himself, but one way or another he'd be dust before the sun set. He knew Baby would never leave Spike and deep in his heart René had always known that. He didn't really want her to; he'd seen what happened when she was apart from his sire. But he knew he couldn't live without her and that Spike would never share. Besides, regardless of what Baby said, he deserved to die. He couldn't help picturing Spike's face when he found out; couldn't help thinking of how Jean would feel. Maybe he really would just lie here and wait for the sun. It was a good place. He was bayou-born and having his dust settle here in the swamp would be fitting. Baby sighed and stirred, her breath cool again his chest. Of course, he'd have to get her inside first, make sure she was safe from the burning rays of the morning. He'd have to take care of her first. Even his death would have to wait on her well-being.

Baby smiled as she felt his emotions swing from disheartened to concerned. She'd see that René had plenty of opportunities to care for her over the next few weeks. As long as he had something to do, he wouldn't think so much about what had happened. She could keep him distracted long enough for him to work through some of his guilt and remorse. She wasn't sure yet how she was going to handle Spike but she'd think of something. She wasn't going to let either of her two cherished men suffer any more for her sake. She'd see that they were alright even if she had to beat them both half to death to assure it.

René sensed that she was awake. "Ange? We need to talk," he began.

"I know, precious," she said. "I…" She jerked, squeezing her eyes closed, and made a tiny noise of pain, throwing herself away from him. Her back arched and she cried out. René was instantly beside her, holding her away from the edge of the pier, trying to ascertain what was wrong.

"Yes, I hear you! You don't have to scream," she said through clenched teeth.

René dropped his head. She was wrong then. She wasn't cured. He wouldn't have even that small consolation from what had happened here. She wailed softly and threw her arms out. Then she opened her eyes. Golden light poured from them, bouncing off the water and reflecting on the roof of the boat shed in crescents and waves. René had never seen anything quite so terrifying in his entire existence.

"Yes," she repeated. "I understand." She closed her eyes again and her body slumped back to the dock.

" Bébé?" he said hesitantly. "Cher?"

She sat up, suddenly energized. Her eyes were their normal golden-green hue. "Get dressed, baby," she ordered scrambling for her own clothes. "We don't have much time."

René simply stared at her. "What just happened?" he asked.

She snapped her bra closed, pulled her dress over her head, and kicked her slip out into the water. "I just got my first message from the Powers That Be," she said and noticed he was simply staring at her. "René! Get a move on!" she snapped and kicked his pants toward him. "We have to hurry." She was all business now. "I mean it, René! Get dressed right now or I'm dragging your ass back to New Orleans naked."

He blinked a couple of times and pulled on his Levi's. "What did they say? What's happening?"

She slid her shoes on and handed him his boots. "That attack that Spike's getting ready for? It's not tonight. It's this morning. We have till sunup." Dawn was less than an hour away. "Spike is gonna need us. If we're not there, he's gonna die."

René stood, stomping his cowboy boot more securely onto his foot. "Then let's go," he said simply.

"Give me your car keys," she directed. "I drive faster than you do."

René might argue that point but not right now. He dug in his pocket and tossed them to her. With vampiric speed they raced back to the old house and the shell road where his Firebird was parked. Baby slung shells and dirt as she dug out of the yard. If Spike needed them, they'd be there as quick as was humanly possible. René didn't argue. He simply braced one arm against the roof of the car and one foot against the dash. If Baby didn't wreck them, they'd be in the Vieux Carré in record time. Luckily, the interstate was relatively empty because the speedometer topped out as they crossed the Spillway heading into the gray light of dawn.

"You got weapons in this thing?" she asked as they roared onto Canal Street. "Spike took mine. He won't let me carry anymore."

"Yeah. Got guns, knives, stakes, an axe, couple of swords," he answered. "Some in the trunk, some in the back seat."

The car fishtailed as she swung onto Royal. "I want guns. These are humans, mortals. And remember to be careful, they're trained to fight vampires."

René nodded. "The guns are in the back seat."

"Get 'em," she directed.

He unfastened his seat belt and dug the box up from the floorboard. He sat back down again and popped it open. She glanced at the contents. "Give me the forty-five and one of the nine millimeters. You got extra clips? I need a knife, too." She screeched to a halt in front of her house, uncaring that she was blocking the street. She shoved the extra clips in her bra and the knife in the big pocket of her flowery dress. She cocked both guns and slammed the door of the car closed. She stared at the remnants of her front door; it lay splintered and broken on the sidewalk. René moved to her side. She growled and yellow played through her eyes. "Let's go find your daddy."

Chapter 13 - "I Love You So Much It Hurts"

Spike roared in rage as one of his grandchildren exploded into dust. Anna had been a good childe, quiet and rather shy, who liked to play classical piano to amuse her grandsire. She was very young; she hadn't even known how to fight yet. Like her sire, Jean Claude, there had been no love of violence in her. Spike tossed his current attacker across the room and made for the man who had killed the girl. Throughout the large open rooms of the ground floor men and women, vampires and humans, fought. Only minutes earlier, the windows and doors had exploded and dark-clad intruders had flooded his home. The older childer and those humans who were trained to fight had engaged the invaders while trying to protect the more helpless of their number. So far, Spike's family was holding out quite well but there were already losses and Spike felt each one. Each death fed the fires of fury that drove him, increasing the strength and ferocity he put behind each blow, each kick that he dealt one of their attackers. He broke the spine of the man who had killed Anna, leaving him helpless on the floor.

Even in the midst of his own fight, Spike was aware of the course of the greater battle going on around him. He had to be. His people looked to him for guidance, for the occasional shouted order, for direction given when it was needed, even for the confidence that flowed through the family link, strengthening them all. He had to make sure they believed they could win. Spike was needed everywhere at once and, to his family, it seemed that he was. Their sire, their patriarch, flew through the house dealing death to their enemies and providing leadership and words of encouragement. Simply the sight of his black and gold hair, easily recognizable even in the dim pre-dawn light, could sway the course of a fight.

Killing his current foe, Spike took a microsecond to evaluate that greater battle. Wes and Drusilla were surrounded by several assailants, but Spike was not concerned; his mage and his sire were more than a match for a dozen humans, no matter how well-trained. Magic fire danced from Wesley's fingers and exaltation waltzed in his eyes as he dispatched first one man and then another. Dru laughed as she held aloft the heart of yet another, blood dripping from her pale elbow. Shelley, fangs bared, her vampire face as terrifying as her human one was beautiful, stood guard, battle-axe in hand, over a group of Spike's humans. Beau worked to reach a second group hiding beneath the stairwell. The pale blue of his eyes was hidden beneath the yellow of his demon. His blond hair was caked with bright blood but he seemed unhurt otherwise. He was grinning at the sheer joy of battle. As long as the battle was hand-to-hand, Spike had no fears that his family wouldn't triumph. The magic users among the attackers concerned him but even so, he had faith that Tara, Wesley, and Mama Claire could combat that threat. However, he feared for the safety of his humans in such intense fighting. Rex swung a huge sword, protecting the Wicca and the Voodoo priestess as they wove magicks that crackled in the air about them, Tara's long hair blowing in eldritch winds that touched no one else. Spike had no idea where Angel and his family were; they'd been upstairs when the attack started. Likewise, he couldn't see Jean Claude anywhere, though he could sense that he was still with them, sending out calm strength through their connection.

Spike snarled when a crossbow bolt thumped into the floor, narrowly missing his foot. Snipers! Bowmen stood or crouched in three of the ground floor windows that he could see. They were protected by other soldiers armed with a variety of weapons. Spike suddenly feared for his whole family. They'd had no chance to reach the armory and their weaponry was limited. The vampires were fighting mostly with what nature had given them, fang and claw and strength beyond the human. Only a few were armed with more than the knives they habitually carried. Spike realized he would have to take out the bowmen or they were all dead. He reversed course and headed for the nearest one. Vaulting over a couch, he finally saw Jean. His son was using one of Baby's antique chairs as a shield as he attempted to reach the same bowman Spike was after. With deliberate movements and the occasional taunt, Jean was drawing the attacker's fire to himself, away from his less protected siblings. The Master couldn't help grinning. They might all die today but, by God, his children were magnificent. He felt nothing but pride for all of them.

He heard a gunshot and saw one of the bowman's protectors fall. Half a second later the bowman's head exploded as a second shot ended his threat. Spike whirled in time to see his consort fire again. He heard another body thud to the floor. Her eyes flashed with yellow demon fire and her snarl revealed a bit of fang but the rest of her face was human. Her thin floral dress, its delicate pattern and colors suitable for a wedding celebration, stood out in stark contrast to the dark combat clothing of the attackers. It fluttered about her in pastel waves. She was firing as she ran; even in motion, her aim was impeccable. René, bare-chested and fully vamped, a force of destruction in his own right, followed in Baby's wake, firing at a different group of bowmen. Spike grinned. Baby had disobeyed him and he would deal with that later but she was glorious. He turned his attention back to the fight, confident that his wife and son would take out the snipers and free him to deal with the close work. Maybe they'd all survive after all. After a few minutes, the sound of gunfire ceased. A quick glance as he dodged a sword thrust revealed his ladylove, her ammunition exhausted, thrusting a knife into the abdomen of some hapless attacker. She had finally donned her full game face and was growling and snarling as she fought. Spike actually felt a shudder run through him as she bit into the screaming man's neck. He turned back to his own battle with renewed confidence and a slightly unsettled heart.

René and Jean Claude both moved closer to Baby. The three had trained and fought together for all of the men's unlives and they moved well as a unit. Baby was intent on reaching Spike and her sons were intent on protecting and assisting her. A pair of attackers blocked the vampires' path and engaged them in hand-to-hand combat. A grim-faced human thrust a large crucifix at Jean, determined to defeat these hell-fiends. Jean threw out his hand, grabbing the holy relic in reflex. Better a burned hand than to be blinded by a cross in the face. He and his attacker both stared at Jean's hand wrapped around the body of the blessed object, the Cajun's fingers curled around the crux of the two silver bars, the image of Christ cradled in his palm. They waited for the pain to come. It never did. Jean was not burned; the silver felt cool, almost soothing, against his palm. With inhuman strength, he pulled the cross from the man and stared at it. René, seeing what had occurred, was awestruck. "Redeemed," he whispered in wonder

"Oui," Jean said breathlessly. "Merci, Dieu, pour votre pardon," he whispered. The human backed away in shock from this figure with the face of a vampire and the voice of a penitent. Jean clasped the cross to his chest, gratitude for his deliverance flooding him, nearly bringing him to his knees. His features slid back into their human guise. "Merci." He gaped at his brother, exultant and humbled simultaneously. René was filled with elation. That this gift had been revealed to Jean first, that the eldest of Spike's children was the initial recipient of this blessing, struck René as fitting. He had always felt that Jean was the best of them all. His older brother held the crucifix out to René, showing him the path they should follow and, as he had always done, including his younger brother in the gift he had received. René had never loved anyone more save Baby.

René stared at the bright silver shining in the dim room for a moment before reaching for it. In his heart, he wasn't sure he could touch it. He was sure it would burn him. He knew he was not as virtuous a man as Jean and felt that surely God would reject him. Hadn't he done enough this very night to condemn himself forever to perdition? Unlike Jean, didn't he deserve condemnation? René's face shifted to human as he stared at the crucifix lying painlessly in his hand. He lifted intense eyes to Jean. "We're forgiven. We truly forgiven," he said.

Jean's smile was brighter than the sun just rising over the city. "Yes, little brother, we are." He took the cross from René and held it aloft. "We are forgiven, brothers and sisters," he shouted. "Their crosses and holy water can't hurt us. They have one less weapon they can use against us!"

Baby held the other attacker immobile. "Do you see my sons?" she whispered. "They are warriors for the Powers That Be. They aren't monsters for you to slaughter. Their sins are forgiven." He nodded, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. "Pray that God gives you the same forgiveness," she said and snapped his neck.

Heartened by the miraculous proof that they were somehow no longer condemned simply because they were demons, Spike's children and grandchildren fought with renewed vigor. The defeat of the bowmen had begun to stem the tide of the battle and Jean's announcement turned it. With sword and claw, fang and knife, the vampires slowly began to overwhelm their attackers. The blood of those who would destroy them fed and healed them, gave them strength in the midst of the battle, renewed them.

Soon only a small pocket of resistance remained, the strongest of their foes fighting more to kill than to survive. Spike waded through the fallen to reach the spot where his consort and eldest sons fought beside his sire and his favored grandson. The enemy's strongest would be met with their strongest. He snatched a stake from the man who would have used it on Dru and flung the offending piece of wood away. He tussled with the human before throwing him to the floor. Spike was crouched in preparation for delivering the killing blow to his opponent when René slammed into him. The axe that would have taken Spike's head embedded itself deeply in René's midsection. René collapsed with a cry and lay on the floor gasping. Jean grabbed Spike's would-be assassin and tore his throat out with a clawed hand. Spike quickly dispatched his opponent. He was the last of their attackers. The Pride had triumphed.

Baby was already at René's side, pulling the axe from his body and flinging it away. She pulled his head into her lap.

"Merde! That hurt, ange," René gasped, barely conscious. The wound was deep and large; his blood pooled on the floor and sank deep into the Oriental rug, turning it crimson, staining her legs and hands and the floral silk of her dress.

She smiled down at him. "You'll be okay, now, baby. We'll get you bandaged up, get some blood in you and you'll be fine."

Spike knelt beside them. "Thank you, son. You…" Despite the blood covering René, despite the smell of carnage and slaughter, the mark on René's bare chest was evident and the smell of sex coming from his consort and his son was plain. Spike felt as though that axe had hit him after all, right in the middle of his chest.

Baby sensed the change in Spike and threw herself in front of René. "No!" she ordered. Spike growled, menacing and low, a sound so frightening several of the younger children and grandchildren fell to their knees and covered their heads, cowering in fear. "No!" she said again just as sharply, just as determinedly as before. The muscles around her mouth tightened, drawing her lips into a tiny moue of defiance.

"Get out of the way," Spike snarled, the words barely understandable. Whimpers could be heard coming from the youngest childer.

"No!" She glared back at him, uncowed. "I won't let you hurt him."

René tried to push her away. He couldn't let her be hurt for his sake. He tried to give himself over to Spike but he was too weak to budge her. "Ange, please! Let Spike do it. Please. It's what I deserve."

"Shut up, René," she snapped. "Not another word!" He started to protest but she cut him off. "I mean it! I'm your Goddamned master and you do what I say!" He subsided, more because his eyes had rolled back in his head and he nearly passed out from blood loss than for any other reason. Spike grabbed her and tried to pull her away from René. "NO!"

Jean tugged gently at Spike's arm. "Please, Papa," he pled. "Not like this."

Something in his face, in his voice drew Spike's attention and suddenly Spike simply… understood. "You knew!" he snarled.

Jean face was a study in remorse and unease. "I…." He hung his head, unable to meet Spike's eyes. "Yes, sir. I knew."

Spike hit him. Spike had not struck Jean Claude since the night he awakened. Jean had never given Spike the least reason to even think of hitting him. So the pain of what he saw as Jean's duplicity was nearly as painful as René's betrayal. "You…." Spike couldn't even verbalize what he was feeling. Jean sat up but offered no opposition to his sire.

"Jean!" René tried to push himself up. "Please. Papa, it's not Jean's fault. It's mine. It my fault. Don't take it out on him. I'm the one deserves your anger. Not him."

"Goddamn it, René! Shut the fuck up!" Baby drew her own hand back; she came within half a breath of hitting him. She sent every sort of warning she knew through the growl she gave, demanding submission, demanding obedience. He was too weak to fight her and collapsed back into his brother's arms.

"Who else knew?" Spike demanded, facing her. "Did the whole family know about you and René? Who else knew?"

"I did," Wesley admitted softly. "I've known since the beginning." Spike's rage was obvious; he could see that Drusilla knew that his wife had taken a consort as well. Wes faced Spike openly. "I didn't tell you because… well, it wasn't about you. This was between my sire and her consort and her master and ... well. It wasn't my place. Spike, this really wasn't about you; this goes back to when we were all with Angelus."

"I suppose he's laughing at me as well. I suppose he knows all about this, too," Spike's voice had never been harder, never been so painfully enraged.

"He sure as hell didn't know!" Angel declared in a voice filled with wrath as he strode up to the small group. He was covered in blood and still carrying a battle-axe. He snarled at Baby. "When? When did you do it?" The muscle jumping in his clenched jaw showed just how furious he was.

She grinned up at him. "Long enough ago that the whole fucking household knew I put horns on you. Long enough that they laughed at you for weeks behind your back. Long enough for all of them to know that I picked him over you," she sneered. "I made damn sure they all knew you were second best."

He ground his teeth, trying to ignore the demon raging inside his chest and the fire running through his mind. "You fucking bitch," he grated. "How could you do that to me?"

Her twisted grin grew. "Stings, doesn't it?" Her face was unpleasant, ugly. "Gets you right in the gut. I knew it would eat you alive. Payback is a royal bitch, Angelus; I made sure of that." The glint in her eye was cold and malicious, and the malevolence of the smile on her face was unspeakable. "Not like I was really disobeying you. You told me I could keep him as a fucktoy; you just didn't expect me to marry him."

Spike looked at her in horror, unsure who she was. He had been with this woman for almost twenty years and he suddenly no longer knew who she was. He caught a glimpse of René's face and nearly recoiled. He knew that look, knew that feeling. He'd had it when Buffy called him "convenient." Heartbreak was a painful thing to experience but now he wondered if it might not be even more painful to see. Realizing you'd been used was probably the worst feeling anyone could be subjected to; disillusionment was a close second. René was feeling both and it showed on his face. Spike had never seen such misery writ on such a beautiful canvas.

Angel slammed the axe into the floor beside Baby's feet, burying the blade several inches in the old oak boards. She didn't even flinch. "You really are a Goddamned ice queen." He reached for her. "I hate you."

She snarled up at him. "It's mutual."

His face twisted, rage and something very different swirling as his dark eyes changed to yellow. He was breathing heavily, fighting whatever emotions were seething within him. He growled and she threw off his hands, snarling back, an echo of her rage coming from Wesley. She was his sire and Wes would side with her in this conflict. Even René, hurt beyond expression at the words he'd just heard, growled along with them. She was still his master and he still hated Angelus with a passion unequaled. Spike stared at the four vampires lost in a struggle for dominance and control as old as their kind and shivered. The phrase "there but for the grace of God…" flashed through his mind. His household could have been like that, torn by constant conflict and battles for control, locked for eternity in bitterness and hate.

Angel growled and his face shifted again. He grabbed her and simply glared down at her, his mouth working for moments before words could be formed. "God help me. I love you."

She slammed her elbow into his nose, breaking it. He released her and staggered back. Her eyes flashed yellow. "It's mutual," she snarled softly.

"Enough!" Spike roared and grabbed her forearm, jerking Baby to his side. "Tara, we need to take care of our wounded." The Wiccan nodded. "Vieta, help her. Shelley, Rex, we have to get the shutters back up and get these bodies out of here. Without the world seeing it."

They nodded. "We'll get clean-up started," Rex assured his father and avoided looking at his mother or his older brothers. Normally Jean Claude would have been in charge of clearing away the aftermath of the battle and concealing it from the world at large. Rex was rather terrified. He had no wish to step into Jean's shoes.

"I doubt if there's any sort of ID on any of them but check anyway. See if any of them are alive. I need to find out who sent them."

"They're from the Watcher's Council," Wesley supplied. "I recognized more than one of them while we were fighting."

Spike nodded. "That makes sense. We've been expecting them to come after us." He thought for a moment. "Wesley, definitely see if any of them are alive. See if there's a back-up plan in case this failed. And call Rupert Giles. I want him here before nightfall." He looked down at his two eldest sons and drew a long breath. The muscle in his jaw was jumping again. The whole room could see as well as sense his rage. "Jean, get your brother patched up. I'll want to see both of you later. Why don't you both rest a while in your rooms until I come up."

Jean sighed. Spike hadn't killed them out of hand, though that was still a possibility. And their sire hadn't flat out said they were confined to their rooms, though it amounted to the same thing. He was granting them some dignity. Jean suspected he was safe from death, though he was sure René had no chance of escaping execution this time. Following his brother's death, Jean wondered if he himself would simply be exiled or if he'd face physical punishment first. It didn't matter. It couldn't hurt worse than what he was feeling right now. He nodded. He had no words for Spike. Nothing he could say would make it better or excuse what had happened. He couldn't meet his father's eyes. "Yes, sir." It was doubtful if René even heard Spike. He was staring at Baby with the look of a man who'd seen everything he owned swept away by a tornado. Jean was pretty sure that analogy wasn't too far from reality. Thinking about it, he realized René had nothing left. Jean half-pulled, half-lifted René to his feet and led him away. René looked back over his shoulder at his mother. Baby looked at him with sad golden eyes but she said nothing.

Angel looked at her for a moment before he wiped the blood from his nose and cursed her. "Damn you, woman."

She smiled that one-sided, ugly smile again. "Too late," she whispered as she watched Jean half-carry René up the stairs. Spike saw her look as well as the one René had leveled over his shoulder at Baby and again had one of those blinding moments of understanding. Half of him rejoiced in the insight he'd just had while the other half wailed in grief and anger. He did still know her and he could have explained her actions in the minutest detail. And he knew she loved René as much as René loved her.

~~~~~

Spike slammed the door behind him and pushed Baby in the general direction of their bed. He strode across the room as far from her as possible. He didn't trust himself next to her. He'd never hit her but he was as close at this moment as he'd ever been. She reeked of his son beneath the smell of the blood of the people she had just killed. "What the hell was that little show about?" he grated.

Baby's face was set in lines of rebellion and defiance. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

Spike stared at her steadily. "To me it was. I doubt if any of the rest of them had the slightest idea what you were doing." He crossed his arms across his chest. "Maybe a better question would be, what was that little drama supposed to be in aid of? Who was it supposed to benefit? I know it wasn't for me. I doubt if it was for Angel, though I daresay you enjoyed that knife thrust you just gave him. I know it wasn't for Wes or Dru. That only leaves Jean and René. So, just why did you just go to such great and painful lengths to break René's heart?"

Baby was only half-surprised that Spike read her actions so well. "Because it will be easier for him to leave if he hates me. It'll be easier for him to find somebody new if he isn't carrying a torch for me."

"You didn't have to rip his heart completely out. You didn't have to be so cruel," he snapped. Part of him hurt for his son, part wanted to beat René to a bloody pulp, and part wanted to slap her for caring for René enough to go to such lengths for him.

Sadness joined the anger on her face. "Yes, I did." She looked past him, avoiding actually seeing him. Like she'd practiced so many times in Hell, she simply didn't see him. If she didn't look, she wouldn't have to see the anger, see the hurt. She'd become very good at it.

Spike moved past the issue. It was done. It could be altered later if he needed it to. More important was the consort mark Spike had seen on René's chest. It was not fresh but it had been freshly used. He pushed his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't be as tempted to hit her. "So you claimed René when you were with Angel?" She nodded. "I haven't smelled him on you, not like this, since you came back. Is this the first time you've been with him since you've been back with me?" His voice was cold. Hollow. It reminded her of the sound her shoes made on the dock in Houma.

She nodded again. "Yes."

He nodded. At least there was that. "You could have told me he was yours," he said finally.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head, a tiny, involuntary movement. "No, I couldn't. You'd have killed him."

"You got that right," he snarled. He spoke in anger, hoping to hurt her. He really didn't feel like killing René; beating him half to death, yes, but not actually killing him. He did feel like killing her, though. He'd never felt like this before, not since those angry, hurtful days when he'd been with Buffy. He wanted to lash out, give her pain equal to his own. He wanted to see her hurt. It was taking every iota of self-control he had to keep from screaming at her, to keep his hands off her. The rage he felt was so strong every childe and grandchilde he had was quaking from the sheer force of it flowing through the family connection. Throughout the house, they trembled with terror at the feeling of their father's rage. His eyes were blazing blue fire when he looked at her. "I'm probably still going to kill the little fucker."

Her face turned hard and determination settled in her eyes. "No, you're not. I won't let you or anyone else hurt him."

He stared at her. "You'll fight me over him?" He really did want to kill her. He'd die, too, of course; but he was beginning to not care about that.

"I'll fight anyone over him. You. Angel." She smiled at a memory. "Jean. You might be interested in knowing that I had to kick the shit out of Jean to keep him from killing René or going to you. Thank God, he's enough of a vampire that dominance still works on him. I beat him, so he did what I told him." She didn't mention that she'd fucked with his mind and nearly fucked his body to achieve those ends. There were some things it was best to keep to one's self. "I owe René too much to let anyone hurt him. Well, anyone else. I've done awful things to René, Spike. That little thing out there with Angel is the least that I've done to René." She still shied from looking directly at him. "He didn't deserve any of it. And I just keep doing it. Over and over. I use him and he lets me. He's a hell of a lot like you when it comes to his women." She looked at the pattern of the Turkish rug at her feet. "He, ah… He hasn't let me touch him since we got back. He wouldn't do that to you. Took a lot for me to finally get to him. He fought me every step of the way. Pity. We'd all have been better off if he'd given in sooner."

Spike frowned at her. So, he was supposed to believe René wasn't the villain in all this. He was supposed to believe it was all her fault. So be it. "You want to explain that or have you added being cryptic to the list of new bad habits you've developed? Should I list it right under infidelity?"

She started to make a retort but restrained herself at the last instant. This couldn't degenerate into a shouting match. People she loved might die if that happened. "This wasn't about you, Spike. I wasn't yours when I claimed René. I wasn't unfaithful to you, Spike. I was unfaithful to Angelus! And he deserved every second of it." The cold hardness crept back into her face and voice.

"And I suppose you weren't unfaithful to me tonight? I suppose there's a damn good reason you smell like you've been fucking René for hours. I suppose those weren't your fang marks I saw on him. So if you weren't being unfaithful to me when you were screwing him into the ground, what were you doing?" He was shouting now. His hands were clenched so tightly it felt as though the bones would snap from the pressure.

"I was using the key!" she snapped. "I was doing what I should have done weeks ago. I was getting my mind back!" She forced herself to calm down. Spike was right. Regardless of how it happened, she had cheated on him. And she'd deal with that guilt when it was appropriate. Right now, she had to deflect his anger from René. "The Powers That Be aren't too innovative in their prophecies and instructions. When they told Dru that I should use the key, they were speaking in the ancient and accepted way." She pinched the bridge of her nose and finally met his gaze. What she saw in his crystal blue eyes caused her to flinch. "I'm cured, Spike. No more voices, no more headaches. There's just me in my head now. I'll get the occasional visit from the PTBs but other than that, I'm all… better now." She didn't sound too happy about it.

Spike looked as though she had hit him. "You're…. That's all it took?" he managed to say through clenched teeth. The muscles in his jaw jumped and his lips curled in revulsion. He gave in to impulse and crossed the room, grabbing her. "One good fuck with René was all it took to get your sanity back?" He couldn't believe it. Anger rolled through him in waves.

She met his gaze directly. He'd taught her to never back down. "I needed to rebond with him. I'd bonded with you again after coming back but I still needed to bond with my other husband."

He flinched when she said the word and his rage exploded. "Don't call him that! Don't you dare call that lying shit your husband. I'm your husband! And don't expect me to believe that screwing around with him is somehow sanctioned by the Powers That Be. The thought of the two of you together sickens me." He pushed her away and crossed the room again. "He's my Goddamned son! My son has been having an affair with my wife." He shoved his fist through the wall, plaster raining down and sprinkling the floor and his clothes. The wall shook from the force of his blow. "He's been fucking his own mother! Lying to me about it the whole time. Deceiving me! So don't you dare give that two-faced, motherfucking bastard a decent title like consort or husband."

Her temper, never stable under the best of conditions, snapped. "Why not? How is it so different than what you and Dru did for a century? I took him and I claimed him and he's mine. René is exactly what I've made him. And he's the only one around here who doesn't treat me like I'm some sort of dirty family secret, some burden to be dealt with, some sort of obligation. The only one in this house who doesn't make me feel like a piece of shit is René. He's the only one who makes me feel like there might be a little bit of good left in me. He's the only one that makes me feel like I'm worth something. He's the only one who accepts me for what I am and loves me anyway. So don't you dare call him names! Don't you dare tell me that what I do with him is wrong because the only time I feel right is when I'm with him!"

Spike couldn't believe the words that were coming from her mouth. "I've done everything I could for you! I forgave you for everything. I was willing to pretend it never happened!"

"That's the problem!" she shouted back. "You pretend it didn't happen. But it did happen! We can't just ignore it! We can't pretend. We can't just chop out eight months of my life and pretend it didn't happen." Why couldn't he understand? She wanted to shake him.

"Why not?!? Why can't we just go back to how it was? That's all I ever wanted." He stalked back to glare at her. "I wanted to be with you just like I was before. Bugger all! I went to Hell to bring you back!" He actually shook her. He'd never hurt this much in his life or his unlife.

"Why? Why did you bring me back? To be with me? That's damn funny then, because you're never here!" she screamed. It was time to get to the crux of the problem. "You're always gone! I don't see you for days, even weeks at a time!"

His fingers dug into her flesh, leaving bruises, the first bruises he'd ever made on her in anger. "I'm trying to make things good for you. I have to keep you safe. I have to provide for you."

"I don't need you to protect me! I don't need the money and prestige. Goddamn it! I need you!!!!" She raised her chin. Hurt radiated from her every word. "And you haven't been here! Even when you're in the house with me, in the same room with me, you're not here. You haven't been here for me since I was turned."

Spike stared at her in shock. "I was always…"

"No, you weren't! You've been… avoiding me. Not looking at me. You pretend half of me doesn't even exist. You pretend the vampire half of me isn't here. You keep pretending that! I know you didn't want me to die, Spike!" She forced the tears that filled her throat back and down. "But I did. I died. And you keep pretending that didn't happen. You treat me like I'm just a human who needs to drink blood occasionally. Well, I'm not, Spike. I'm a vampire." She saw the horror in his eyes just from hearing the words. "And that kills you. You think I didn't notice the changes in the way you've been treating me since I was turned? I see the way you look when I feed. I've seen how it disgusts you. I've seen how your face looks when I do anything blatantly vampire. I tried to be human for you but I can't. I'm not human anymore. I'm vampire. Just like you. Just like the childer. I'm a vampire and I have the same needs any vampire would have. I need to hunt. I need to kill. I need the pain and violence sometimes."

"You're not like that," he whispered, releasing her. "It's not true."

"Isn't it? I've needed the violence for years, Spike. Even when I was alive I wanted the violence. You showed me that part of myself. You taught me how to kill, Spike. You taught me that I could enjoy it; that I could crave it. And now you shut that part of me out!"

He shook his head, denying it to her and to himself. "No, I…"

"How many times have you mentioned missing my warmth? Missing the sound of my heartbeat? Missing my breath on your cheek? Missing some aspect of my humanity? You've been in mourning for me for three years now." She looked down at his boots. "Tell me something, truthfully: that time you took me hunting, that one and only time you've taken me hunting since I was turned, what did you feel when I killed in front of you for the first time?" She looked up and truly met his eyes for the first time since they'd entered their bedroom.

He stared back for what seemed like hours. "I hated it," he finally admitted, his face set in hard lines and his mouth drawn into a tight knot. "I can't stand to see you do that. I thought I'd like it. But I don't." He looked away from her. "And I don't know why I feel like that."

She dropped her head. She had known, but still, to hear him say it…. She pushed that hurt away. "You feel that way because that means I'm a vampire. And that means I died."

"And I let it happen," he said. "I didn't save you. I let you die." The anger didn't fade any but now part of it was directed at himself.

"Yeah, you didn't save me and I died, but it was bound to happen. You couldn't have stopped it. Regardless of what decision you made, that demon would have killed me." She sighed. "I know you didn't want me to die. I know you didn't want me to be turned. But it happened. It was inevitable. I was bound to die sometime and, at my age, it couldn't have been too long till it happened. It's amazing you managed to keep me alive as long as you did, honey. I lived longer than any human consort on record." A sad smile twitched across her face for an instant. "And no, I'm not the same as I was before. And I can't ever be that human girl again. I'm a demon, Spike. Hell spawn just like you. Souled but hell spawn all the same."

"No." He shook his head again. "You're not like that."

She grimaced at the pain in his voice. "Yes, I am. I'm a demon. I'm not weak and delicate anymore. I don't need you to protect me. And you hate that. So you pretend nothing's changed. You teach me to fight but you won't let me go into battle with you. I'm alpha female but I'm not allowed to lead the hunts. Hell, I'm not allowed to even hunt on my own. We let fledges hunt alone at six months old. I'm over three years old and you won't even let me out of the house alone."

"I don't want you to be hurt!" he cried. "Can't you see that? I can't bear the thought of you being hurt!"

"I'll heal! I'm a fucking vampire! I'll heal! Why can't you let me be what I am?"

"Because it's not right!" he shouted. "It's not right! What I did to you, what I made you, it's not right!"

She recoiled in shock. "Spike?"

"You were a good woman," he said. "Caring, loving, gentle. You were as maternal as Cordy ever thought of being. Shy, modest. You had never hurt anyone. Never even hit anyone. I changed all that," he said sadly.

She suddenly looked terrified. "I thought you wanted me to change," she whispered. "I thought you wanted me to be more like … Dru and … well … more like a vampire. I did everything you asked me to, Spike!"

"I know that! And I wanted that!" He opened the French doors and looked out at the street. Their room was untouched by the attack, though some of the plants on the balcony were overturned and their pots smashed. "But now, I…" He fell silent.

"What? What now? You don't like what I've become?" She grinned unpleasantly, painfully. "See, I knew that's how you felt. But what am I suppose to do? You made me this way. I've changed everything to suit you, the way I dress, the way I act around other people, the way I think! My morals!" She stared at his back, straight and uncompromising against the open doorway. "My God, Spike, for ten years, I never touched another man. I never even thought about it. The thought of having sex with anyone but you never even crossed my mind. Then you said you'd enjoy it if I'd do it with Wes. So I did. And yeah, I liked it. After a while, it seemed perfectly normal to me. Then it was, 'I'd really like to see you with other women.' So, I learned to do it with Dru and Cordelia. And I liked that, too. You said it was a vampire thing, that it would make the family stronger. And I believed you. It did seem to make us all closer. It was great. But then the rules kept getting more and more complicated. Angel could join in, but only for heavy petting. No real sex allowed. I figured, okay, issues; I can deal with it. And I did for years. Oh and don't touch the childer. It's all right to watch them and to admire them and love them. Love them with all your heart but don't really touch them. You can kiss and caress them; you can watch them with each other. You can even kiss and hold them while they're doing it but don't actually have real sex with them. And then it was 'you can have a human pet or two but don't get too close to them.' Fuck them but don't care about them. I'm sorry, Spike, but I like to feel something for the men I screw."

He ignored most of what she said. His mind was focused on one sentence. You made me this way. It cut through him with as much force as the axe that had nearly cleaved René in half. "I'm sorry," he said, so softly that had she not been a vampire, she wouldn't have heard him. "I shouldn't have done it."

The fear her anger had managed to push away returned. "Shouldn't have done what?"

He continued to stare out at the street though he saw nothing; his gaze was turned inward. "I shouldn't have taken you with me when I left Sunnydale. I should have sent you back to your own world."

Had he pulled her heart from her chest, it would have hurt no less. She swayed from the force of the pain that shot through her. It was so strong René felt it three rooms away and tried to rise from his bed and go to her, sure that she was dying. It took all of Jean's strength to hold him down.

"I should have left you with Rupert and never asked you to leave the school with me," Spike continued.

She collapsed to her knees, her legs unable to support the burden of her misery. She tried to speak, to make some sound, but could only manage tiny gasping breaths.

"It would have been better for you," he finished and turned back toward her. Only then did he see the devastation his words had caused her. He was before her in an instant; his hands on her shoulders the only thing keeping her from falling prostrate on the rug.

"I… I've made you hate me so much that you w… wish we'd never even been together?" she managed to gasp. "Oh God." She looked as though she might pass out or throw up at any second.

"No, God, pet! No," he said. "I… it's what I've done to you." She could only stare at him uncomprehendingly. "You're right. You are exactly what I've made you. You've become everything I wanted you to be. And I'm so sorry, precious. I've condemned you, don't you see?" She shook her head. She didn't see anything at all. "That place you were in, that horrible room, you were there because of me. You went to Hell because of what I taught you to do."

Understanding blossomed in her mind and in her heart. "Spike!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him closely. "Oh God, honey." She kissed him so hard she bruised his lips.

He eventually grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away. "Wha'…" The confusion on his face was beautiful to behold.

She was grinning from ear to ear. "You know, you do… the… the stupidest things… w…when you're feeling guilty," she panted. She kissed him again, not as violently. "I thought you didn't love me anymore, you big doof! I thought you couldn't love me because I wasn't human anymore." She kissed him again. "I oughta smack the shit out of you for scaring me like that."

He looked at her as though she had lost her mind, again. "But I just told you that it's my fault you went to Hell. You were stuck there for three hundred years! I knew that something like that would happen when I, well, when I saw that you really were a demon like me. We go to Hell when we die. I made you a demon and I've condemned you to Hell for all eternity."

She laughed. She hadn't felt this good in nearly four years. "You look at me, William Roxton. You look at me and you listen to what I'm telling you. I did what I did because I wanted to. You didn't corrupt me; you didn't coerce me. You didn't make me into anything I didn't want to be. Spike, like you said, I just spent three hundred years in Hell. I know exactly what I'm gonna be punished for and none of it had anything to do with being a demon." She saw that he still wasn't understanding. "Spike! Your children have been forgiven for being demons! I saw proof of that tonight. You were forgiven for being a demon. All because of what you've done here. You making me a vampire didn't condemn me to Hell. I went to Hell for a whole lot of reasons. But you weren't the cause any of them, my darling." She looked into his clear blue eyes and pushed every bit of love she felt for him through the connection they now had.

It hit him hard enough that he had to gasp. He had to fight to remember why they were arguing. "René, you love René," he gasped.

"Oh, honey. Of course, I love René. How could I not love him? He's just like you." The adoration in her golden eyes washed through him, sweeping everything before it. Suddenly nothing else mattered. He loved her and she loved him. She might love others; she might love Angel, she might love René, but she loved him more.

This time he was the one who kissed her hard enough to bruise her lips.

~~~~~

René relaxed in Jean's grasp, fighting him no longer. "She be all right now," he whispered weakly.

Jean nodded, though he knew René couldn't see him. He leaned back against the headboard, cradling his brother's broken body against his own. He felt the love that was flowing between Spike and Baby, felt the anger and hurt drain away. He felt everyone in the house relax, felt the relief feeding back from the other childer and grandchilder. He sighed. At least Spike was better. He plucked the rolls of gauze from the covers where he'd dropped them. "Will you let me finish bandaging you now, heh?" His accent was deeper than it normally was. He was tired, dispirited, worried, and heartbroken.

René shrugged and then grimaced at the pain. "Don't see why you want to bother, m' frère. Spike's gonna kill me in a little while anyway."

Jean tried to shut that image from his mind and heart but he couldn't. "Yeah. But I can make you comfortable for that little while." He began to gently wind the cotton around René's abdomen, carefully pulling the wound closed so it would heal properly. René lay quiet and solemn in Jean's embrace, moving only when instructed to, and allowing his brother's caring touch to ease at least the physical pain he felt. Nothing could ease the pain in his heart and his mind. Jean worked quickly but with the utmost care. René could feel the love his brother had for him. "Jean, when Papa comes, I want you to renounce me."

"No, I…," Jean began but René shushed him.

"I mean it." For a second it was the voice of a man who had conquered and ruled a city, then his tone softened and he was simply Jean's baby brother again. "Ain't no point in you dying for me. Won't help nothing. Just make me hurt more knowing you suffering, maybe dying for me."

Jean nodded again. "Yeah, I reckon so," he said sadly.

René patted Jean's hand where it lay on his stomach below the bandages. "Besides, once I'm gone, she's gonna need you."

Jean grabbed René's hand and squeezed it hard. He couldn't speak. It was all he could do to keep from weeping. He finally found his voice. "I'll take care of her for you."

René knew Jean better than any person, living or dead. He had a pretty good idea of what was running through Jean's head. "Don't you go blaming her, Jonny."

"Soc au' lait! After what she said out there, you're still gonna defend her?" Jean said incredulously. He wanted to beat Baby till she couldn't see. He wanted to make sure she hurt as much as René was hurting. "Merde!"

"I'm a grown man, m' frère. I could have said no," René said sorrowfully. "I just didn't."

Jean shivered in memory. "No, I don't think you could. I don't think you could ever say no to her."

René squeezed Jean's hand and Jean was surprised at how weak his brother was. He looked down into René's face where the other man lay against his breast. The haggard face that stared up at him ripped his heart in half. That his fun-loving, wild-child baby brother had been brought to this end tore him apart. René teal eyes were full of so much pain, so much regret, that Jean couldn't keep his own eyes from filling with tears. He squeezed his eyes closed and held tightly to his dearest friend.

"Jean." René waited till Jean Claude was looking at him. "Don't take it so hard. I think I ready to die. There's nothing left for me here. I'd just as soon be dead. Us being forgiven and all, it makes a difference, yeah?" Jean nodded, unable to speak. "So don't you be worrying about me. I'll be in Heaven. And I'm as ready to go as I ever gonna be."

Jean ran a hand over René's cheek, feeling the faintest hint of stubble. René stiffened suddenly and his face convulsed with pain. "Renny? What is it, petit frère?" Jean asked fearfully.

"She's with him. I can feel them together," René hid his face in Jean's shirt. "Mon Dieu! I can feel them." Jean rocked him gently, mindful of his injuries. "Oh Jean! I know I'm ready to die now. I wish I was already dead."

Jean simply held his brother as tightly as he could as René was forced to feel the woman he still loved make love to his sire. He held his brother as he sobbed, crying with him. René cried for his love and for the ruin of his life. Jean cried for his dearest brother's pain and for his own grief at knowing that René was going to be taken from him soon. Jean cried because the person he probably loved most in all the world was in agony and was going to die and there wasn't a damned thing Jean could do about it.

Chapter 14 - "Heartaches"

Spike stared at the cup of tea cradled between his hands. It had gotten cold while he gazed out at the bright garden. He could hear the children moving about the house, cleaning up, repairing, removing bodies. They all studiously avoided his study. Aside from a few pieces of overturned or smashed furniture, it had weathered the fight well. Of course, it had been empty when the attack started.

He sensed his grandsire before he heard or saw him. Angel knocked against the doorframe; the fine mahogany door was twisted on its hinges and hung permanently open. "You might as well come in, but I'm not much company at the moment," Spike said softly.

Angel nodded and sat down across from Spike. "Me, either." He reached across to the decanter that always sat on the edge of Spike's desk. It had survived the fight intact, he was happy to see. He plucked a glass from the tray and poured a generous amount of Spike's whiskey.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. "Bit early for that, isn't it?"

Angel considered the contents of the glass and shook his head. "Nope. Been a long morning."

"You got that right," Spike agreed softly and thought about adding a shot of the whiskey to his tea. He decided Angel looked like he needed it more.

"Where's she?"

Angel didn't need to be more specific. Spike knew who he meant. "Baby's sleeping. She's worn out." His lips twitched in an aborted smile. It didn't matter what else was going on, the sex was still fan-fucking-tastic. And that melding thing at the end only increased the pleasure. But Spike wondered if they had anything else anymore. Was the physical all that was left of their union? He remembered when they would talk for hours. It had been so long since that had happened. He knew they hadn't simply talked to each other since before this horror with Angelus had started. He suspected that they hadn't really communicated in a lot longer than that. He cursed silently and dug in his desk drawer for his extra bottle of whiskey.

Angel didn't say anything. He took a long drink of the liquor and smiled; it was smooth and mellow. At least Spike kept decent whiskey. "I imagine. That little scene earlier would have worn out anyone. Hell of a woman you've got, Spike. I don't know if I want to kill her or kiss her." He took another sip. "Of course, that's pretty much the way I've always felt about my children. I'm pretty sure when I die that one of my children will be the culprit."

Spike tilted his head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "I did everything the way it's always been done. A millennia of vampire tradition handled just the way it was supposed to be. Turned who I wanted, beat and raped you all into submission…"

"You tried," Spike amended.

Angel looked at him. "I did. Anyhow, look how it ended up. You all hated me. This last foray into building a family wasn't any better. We fought constantly. Power struggles all the time. And now I find out my consort was making a laughing stock of me." He took a large gulp of the whiskey. "You know, you shouldn't feel bad that your experiment here failed. Love and acceptance isn't any better a method than violence and domination."

Spike frowned. "It's a hell of a lot better!"

Angel didn't look at him. "Maybe. But it's failed just as badly."

Spike swung his boots off the desktop where they'd been resting and faced his grandsire. "It hasn't failed! Did you see my children this morning? Did you see what they did? They held off an assault, a fucking planned ambush by the Watchers Council! They were bloody magnificent. Even the Watchers' crosses and holy water couldn't stop them. My children are forgiven. I don't know of any other vampire that's ever happened to and now I have a whole house full of them! Failed? I don't think so. Did you see the way they worked together, the way they cared about each other, protected each other? The way they covered my back? I'd be dust right now if it weren't for…" He froze. "If it weren't for René."

"What are you going to do about that, Spike?" Angel asked. "Tradition demands you kill them both. But since killing her would mean you die, I suppose just killing him will do."

"Yeah, tradition." Spike took a swig from his bottle.

"Look at it this way; he came looking for it." Angel swirled the whiskey in his glass. "He had to know that you'd smell it on him, on them both. He should have taken her and run. He had to know that you'd kill him if he came back here. He should have warned you about the attack and run."

Spike felt as though he couldn't breathe and needed to. "You're right. He had to know." He had come to almost hate these moments of blinding understanding. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "He came here knowing I'd kill him but he came anyway. Because Baby told him I needed him. Fuck!" He flung the bottle against the wall. "Why the hell did he do something that stupid? Why didn't he run? What the hell was he thinking?"

Angel grinned. He loved it when one of his plans worked. "Now that's what you've got to find out, isn't it?"

Spike pulled his lips back in a snarl. "Or maybe I'll just give the little fucker what he wants and kill him."

~~~~~

Jean Claude lifted his face from René's soft, dark hair when Spike walked into the bedroom. He couldn't read what Spike was feeling. His sire had closed himself off and his face revealed nothing. Jean figured that was probably for the best. Better silence than to feel Spike's pain and rage. A band, painful and tinged with panic, tightened around Jean's chest.

"Go to your room, Jean," Spike said softly. "I need to talk to René alone."

Jean's arms pulled René closer to him in a futile but instinctive urge to keep his brother safe, to protect him. Jean drew in a deep breath. "I'd like to stay, if I may? Please, Papa." René made a tiny motion of protest but Jean only held him more closely.

Spike could see that Jean had been crying. The tracks of dried tears were plain on his face and on René's. He assumed the brothers had been saying their goodbyes to each other. He knew his two eldest sons were closer than siblings born of any single woman could be. It would be devastating to Jean when René died. This whole situation had to be ripping Jean apart. Still Jean looked at his sire openly, meeting Spike's eyes squarely. There was no duplicity in Jean's warm brown gaze. Spike still couldn't believe Jean had kept what he knew of Baby and René secret. Spike had trusted Jean more than any person quick upon the Earth and that hint of deception cut deeply. If Jean had truly betrayed him then Spike felt there was no one left that he could trust. "All right then, if you're sure you want to see this," Spike said.

Jean shuddered inside but nodded. He wouldn't let René die all alone. His brother would leave this world knowing that there was at least one person in the room who loved him and would grieve for him when he was gone. It was the only thing Jean could do for him now.

Spike walked over to the bed and looked down at his sons. His face was locked in a rigid, livid sorrow. "René." It wasn't a question or an order; it was simply an acknowledgement that his younger son was there.

René took a deep breath and fought to sit up, pushing Jean's arms away when his brother would have held him just a few moments longer. "Yes, sir," he said in much the same tenor.

"You know why I'm here, René?" Spike asked in that horrid toneless voice.

"Yes, sir." René stared straight ahead. "There a stake in the top drawer of my bedside table, Jean. Would you hand it to Papa?"

Jean shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. "I just can't."

René reached into the drawer and retrieved the weapon himself. He struggled to his feet and wrapped an arm around one of the tall posts at the foot of his bed, using it to keep himself upright. He'd die on his feet, if Spike would allow him to. If not, well, then he supposed he'd die on his knees but at least he wouldn't die stretched out helpless in his bed. He held the stake out to his sire. Spike stared at the piece of wood where it rested in René's outstretched hand. His son's hand showed only the smallest tremor. Taking the stake from René, Spike looked up into his son's eyes. "Do you remember what I told you I'd do to you if you ever touched her again without my permission?" he asked.

René gave the tiniest of flinches. "Yes, sir. You said you beat me to death with your bare hands."

"Exactly. I don't make statements like that lightly," Spike said coldly.

Jean shuddered. "Please, Papa, no. Not that." That band around his chest was crushing him, squeezing all hope from his heart.

"Be quiet, Jean," René ordered him. "It's… it's Papa's right." He swayed slightly and clenched the bedpost more tightly. He prayed Spike killed him before he passed out again.

"Yes, it is," Spike said. "It's my right to kill you however I see fit. I ought to kill you slowly. I should take my own damn time about it," he snarled with evident fury.

René's face twisted for just an instant at the profound pain buried under the anger in Spike's voice. He wanted to take that pain away but knew there was nothing he could do. He had never felt so awful. Unexpectedly, he wasn't so sure dying on his feet was what he wanted. He wasn't sure he deserved that much consideration from his sire. He'd disobeyed and betrayed his sire but worse than that, he'd hurt his father. He wished to God that Baby had belonged to anyone else. He could have taken her from anyone else with only the smallest twinge of guilt. But the cruelest of the Fates had demanded that she belong to his cher Papa. Only if she had belonged to Jean could René have felt this horribly regretful, could he have felt this much at fault. Of all the things René felt guilty for, hurting his Papa was foremost. He wanted to fall on his knees, tell Spike how sorry he was, and beg Spike to forgive him before Spike killed him. He wanted to crawl but knew that would only disgust Spike. There was nothing René could do to ease that deep and abiding hurt except die however Spike thought fitting.

René wasn't afraid of dying. He had seen enough, felt enough, to know that the old woman, the Conduit, had told the truth; his sins, his demonic aspect was forgiven. He believed that he would go to Heaven when he died. Hadn't he held a crucifix in his bare hand only a few hours ago? He was Redeemed. Whatever it was that demons such as he had in place of a soul would go to Heaven when his body was dust. But he couldn't quite believe that the burden of guilt he felt would leave him even there. He was certain he'd feel horrible for hurting Spike forever. He nodded. "Yeah, you should." He pressed his free arm across his bandaged middle. Standing was making the wound stretch and hurt. But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He'd hurt his father irreparably. If killing him slowly would ease some of Spike's agony, René would be happy to let him do it. He didn't care how he died; he just wanted to be dead. He had nothing left to live for now that he knew Baby had been using him to get back at Angelus. René knew she loved him. He'd felt it through their link but now it seemed she didn't love him a fraction as much as he loved her. He'd let her claim him because he cared so desperately for her that he wanted to be joined to her forever. She'd married him to belittle her master. He wished Spike would just hurry and shove a stake through his heart.

Jean felt as though he was being torn asunder. Had anyone but René hurt Spike this much, he'd have ripped them apart himself. Slowly. In the most agonizing ways he could think of. But this was René and he loved René and didn't want him to die. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if their father beat René to death. He wasn't sure he could simply stand by and watch that happen without interfering. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand seeing René tortured. Jean decided this must be part of his punishment for not doing something, anything, to stop René, to stop Baby, before their affair reached so tragic a conclusion. Jean felt he had failed his father, his mother, and his brother. God was punishing him by letting him observe the consequences of that failure. He could surely think of no greater punishment than watching his father kill René slowly. "Please, Papa," he said in a voice shaking with emotion. "Please don't hurt him. Make it quick."

"Jean," René said warningly. "You stay out of this." He didn't want Spike's anger turned on his brother.

Spike ignored his eldest son though he took account of Jean's face, pale even for a vampire, and his hands clenched tightly in the bedclothes. "René, I ought to tear you apart a bit at a time; however, you saved my life today." His gaze flicked to the gauze wrapped around René. It was spotted with bright blood. His son was still bleeding this long after his injury; it must have been even more severe than Spike had thought. "Damn near got yourself cut in half doing it. You could easily have died saving me." René shrugged one shoulder and flinched in pain. Spike ignored it and continued. "So I'm inclined to be merciful." He placed the sharp point of the stake over René's heart, in the center of his consort mark. A garnet bead of blood formed and then cascaded down René's chest to add its color to the bandage below as Spike began to push the wood slowly into his son's body.

~~~~~

Baby had awakened alone. She was disoriented for a moment but quickly realized where she was. The events of the last twenty-four hours returned and she lay for a moment trying to sort it all out. She pulled on her robe and went to sit near one of the French doors leading to the gallery. She listened to the sounds of the street below, grateful to be able to hear the sounds, grateful for the silence in her mind. Thinking of the blissful quiet brought to mind René and she opened the link she had reestablished with him and reached out with her mind and heart for her young husband. What she felt sent her flying from her chair and down the hall. She had to reach him. Had to get to him before it was too late.

~~~~~

Tears were flowing freely down Jean's face though he was silent. He could feel his heart ripping in half as his father slowly drove a stake into his brother's chest. He had bitten through his tongue to keep from screaming. His own blood, bitter and tasting of despair, filled his mouth and flowed down his throat, choking him. He suddenly hoped Spike decided to kill him, too. For the first time in his life or unlife, he knew what it felt like to want to die.

Baby threw herself between Spike and René knocking René to the floor and away from the deadly stake. "No, please, no!" Jean had never seen such desperation. "Please Spike, no!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," Spike said frostily. Jean was shocked at how cold and hard Spike's eyes were when he looked at Baby. None of the habitual warmth and love that normally softened Spike's blue eyes whenever his father looked at his mother was evident. They were chunks of glacial ice. Jean was suddenly unsure if any of them would leave the room alive. They might very well all die here before the ormolu clock on the mantle struck another hour. For the first time, Jean was frightened of his father.

Baby didn't recoil from Spike's anger. "Because it wasn't his fault; it was mine," she answered firmly. "I'm the one you should be so angry with, not him. He tried to stop me. He tried, Spike. He really did."

"I've heard this speech already. I'm supposed to forgive and forget because he was weak?" Spike hissed. "Since when is weakness a sufficient excuse? I need a better reason than that." His grip tightened on the stake he still held in his hand. He glanced to where René was struggling to sit up again. Jean knelt and helped his brother to sit, cradling Rene gently. "So tell me again why I shouldn't kill him outright."

Baby shivered. She couldn't bear the thought of René dying. Her heart shriveled within her chest at Spike's words. "Please, Spike. Please, don't," she pled, her desperation evident beneath a building anger.

Spike's upper lip curled in revulsion. "So you've come to plead for him. Would you actually beg for him?" he asked. "I might let him live if you're willing to crawl. Would you truly get down on your knees and beg for him?"

She glared at him for a moment, her mouth twisting into an ugly line. She pulled her lips back in a half-snarl but dropped to her knees, bowing her head in complete submission to her sire. "I will," she said clearly, ignoring René's protests.

"So will I," Jean said and copied his mother's stance. He placed a restraining hand on René's shoulder when his brother began to object. "Please, don't kill him, Papa. Avoir la pitié sur lui. Avoir la pitié sur nous tout. S'il vous plaît, sire. L'Epargner. Epargner sa vie."

Spike looked down at his wife's bowed head, his disgust plain. "I thought I taught both of you never to grovel to anyone for anything."

"I will for him." She didn't look up, though Jean could feel the tension coming off her in waves. He could sense the anger in her; in terms of blood she was his sister, after all. And René was their brother.

Jean nodded. "Et je ferai, aussi."

René tried to shrug off Jean's grip. "Don't do this to her, Spike. Don't, please."

"You shut up," Spike ordered softly, almost conversationally, never even glancing at his errant son. He kept his attention focused on his consort. "I don't hear any begging yet," he said icily.

"Please, Sp… sire. Please, Sire, don't kill him. I beg you, please." She wouldn't call him by name. Not when he was making her do this. If he was going to treat her like a fledgling, then, by God, she'd act like one. Her hair veiled her face and she didn't look up at Spike. She refused to look at him. He didn't need to see the rebelliousness she felt in her eyes. He didn't need to see how much she wanted to slap him. Or how much she wanted to hold him and make the pain that had driven him to this point go away. She was so angry--at herself, at him, at the world--that she could barely think. "I'll say anything you want. I'll do anything you want," she hissed. "Just let him live!"

"Jean, do you feel the same way?" Spike asked.

"Mais oui, Papa," Jean responded without hesitation. "I do."

"You're a lucky man, René. Few people have even one person who loves them enough to beg for them. You have two." Spike didn't look at René; he was still focused on his consort.

"I would do the same for you, Papa," Jean Claude told him. "Without a second thought." And he knew René would beg for any of the people in the room.

Spike took a moment to look at his eldest childe. Jean met his father's eyes unflinchingly. "I think you would." Spike's face softened momentarily. Jean's mind was open to him. Spike skimmed the surface of it and knew Jean was hiding nothing. "Never keep secrets from me again, Jean. You never have in the past. I don't care if you think it's the right thing to do or not. Keeping things from me is never right," Spike said.

And as easily as that, Jean knew his father had forgiven him. He wouldn't face exile or punishment. Spike's reprimand was enough. "Merci, Papa. I won't. Never again." Some of the weight lifted from his chest. He prayed Spike would be as merciful to his brother. He felt René's hand grip his and glanced over to see a look of thankfulness on René's otherwise sad face. Jean smiled at him before looking back up at his father. Spike's face had returned to its cold, hard lines and his eye glittered dangerously. A frisson passed through Jean.

Spike looked down at Baby, the lines around his mouth tight and his jaw clenched. He'd see just how serious she was about this. He'd see just how far he could push it. He'd see what she was willing to do for René and what she was willing to do to stay here. "All right then. It works this way. René leaves. He lives but he leaves. Forever." Baby swayed slightly but nodded. René felt her rush of joy and loss through their link. She was hiding most of her emotions from him but she hadn't been able to conceal that. Spike continued in a freezing voice, "I let him live. In return, you stay here as my link to the Powers That Be. I strip you of your standing in the family. No status. Lower than the lowest minion. Nothing more than my bed warmer." He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look at him. There was something bordering on hate in her eyes and the insolence was plain. "That's the deal. You give up everything, the power, the position, the title of Consort, everything in exchange for his life."

"No! Spike, no!" René cried. "Don't do this to her! Kill me but don't do this to her." He shook off Jean's hand and began to struggle to his feet.

"I'll do it," Baby said. She glared rebelliously directly into Spike's crystal eyes. "I'll do it. Just let him go, damn it." Her mouth was as tight as Spike's and her jaw was as tightly clenched.

"No, you won't!" René said. "I won't let you." He glowered at his sire. "I don't care what we did. You got no right to treat her like this." There was a strong tinge of anger in his voice.

Spike's own anger flamed. "I've got every right. When the two of you decided to screw around on me, you gave me that right, didn't you?" Spike sneered up at René and he pulled a little harder on Baby's hair, making her flinch and snarl. "I got that right the second you shoved your Goddamned cock in her. You gave me the right when you fucked her, don't you think?"

René stared at Spike for a moment and then dropped his head. He couldn't meet Spike's eyes. Spike could feel great currents of remorse flowing off his son.

"You fucked her, Goddamn you," Spike said softly, more in pain than in anger. "You knew what that would do to me. You knew better than anyone." He took in both Baby and René in his words. "You knew how much it would hurt me for the two of you to be together. But you had to anyway. You couldn't keep your damned hands off each other." Spike released Baby and focused on his son. Anger was building with each word. He glared at René, eyes flashing yellow. His voice was a tight whisper, painful to hear. "Couldn't keep your Goddamned dick from between her legs, could you? I should fucking kill you!"

"No! Spike," Baby interrupted harshly. "You promised me…"

"You be quiet. You promised you wouldn't fuck around on me. You swore this wouldn't happen again." He stared down at her, all the hurt he'd been feeling evident in his face. "You're worse than he is. You told me yourself that you seduced him." There was a hint of tears in his blue eyes. "Were you that hungry for him? Wanted him so much that you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer?" He reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair again. "Look at me! I'm sick of you hiding from me! What's he got that I can't give you? Hm? What? He's damned pretty but so am I. I've seen his dick; it's not any bigger than mine. Good in bed? He can't be better than I am. So what is it? Why the hell can't you keep your legs closed when you're around him?" He was shouting now, consumed by all the hurt and betrayal he felt.

"I don't know! I just feel things for him! I just… want him." She glared up at Spike. There were tears in her eyes, too, but her chin was thrust out and her mouth tight with anger. Despite the fact that she was kneeling before him, there was no submission in her posture. She looked… defiant.

It infuriated him. She should look repentant. She should at least look like she was sorry for what had happened. His mind kept conjuring pictures of the two of them together. Had they laughed at how they were deceiving him? Ridiculed him for being so blind? "I should beat you till you can't walk," Spike growled at her. He pulled his arm back. "You fucking wh…"

"Don't say it!" René snarled. "Don't even think it! You can beat me all you want but you don't lay a hand on her and you don't call her names, particularly that one." He struggled to keep upright. The least lapse of his concentration and he'd be stretched out on the floor again, he knew.

Spike leveled a cool glance at him. "She's mine. She belongs to me; a thing you keep forgetting. She's mine to do with as I please. I can beat the shit out of her daily if I want to. And who's gonna stop me? You?"

René gritted his teeth against the pain lancing across his body but managed to pull himself up straighter. "If I have to."

"René!" Jean grabbed his hand. "Don't! I'll take care of Maman. I'll see that she's all right. I'll see she has what she needs. Just go! Please. Don't stay here and die!"

"No," René answered. "My living ain't worth her being treated like this. No one treats her like this as long as I can still move. I wouldn't let Angelus hit her and I won't let anyone else. Not even you, Sire."

"Shut up, René," Baby snarled. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you or anyone else…" She looked pointedly at Spike. "To protect me." She growled a warning at René. "Do what your brother says."

Spike twisted the hand he still held locked in her hair hard enough that she grimaced in pain. "Shut the fuck up! You're nothing but property now. You have no say-so in anything." Spike shoved her away from him and René took an unsteady step toward Spike.

Jean couldn't take it any longer. He'd forced himself to remain detached, forced himself to try and remain neutral, but his family, his very reason for existing, was imploding around him. Something deep inside him snapped, releasing all the pain and grief and anger he'd held bottled for so many months. He surged to his feet. "Stop it!" he roared. "Goddamn all of you! Just stop it!" He glared at Spike, so infuriated that he was trembling all over. "If you want them dead then kill them, but stop torturing them this way. Mon Dieu! Stop torturing yourself!" He gasped for breath. "Give me the Goddamned stake and I'll do it myself. Anything is better than watching the three of you tear yourselves apart!" He snatched the stake from Spike's hand and threw it across the room. It embedded itself inches deep in the plaster. "Is that what you want? Heh? You want to just stand here and rip yourselves to pieces? Did you forget that you're tearing me apart, too? That you're tearing the whole family apart? If you weren't all three so fucking blind, you'd see that you feel this way because you three love each other! After everything that's happened, you all still love each other." He turned away, unable to look at any of them. "And I love you, too. But right now, this minute, I hate you, too. I hate you for what you've done to all of us, but mostly for what you've done to yourselves." He placed his palm flat on the wall and leant his head on his stiffened arm. "I'm tired of holding everything together for everyone. I can't do this anymore."

Spike stared at his eldest childe's back. He could feel the pain radiating from Jean Claude. He'd been so locked in his own misery that he'd not thought of his childer. His anger at Jean had helped him not see that his son and indeed his whole family were impacted by what he had thought of as his private pain. He looked from his still-kneeling consort to his wounded childe. Baby was so angry and hurt; she was flooding their link. He could feel everything she was feeling and her link to René was wide open. She was feeling everything René was. They were both angry, so angry. He lost himself in that anger for a moment but then he felt something else. Something he hadn't expected. Love between the two of them was there, of course, but blended and almost a part of that was love for him. The two loves were so entwined it was hard to separate them. And wrapped around that was grief and guilt at the hurt they had given him. Regret. The love and regret were braided into a rope that wrapped their hearts like a hangman's noose. And the love and regret were stronger than the anger. It filled them both.

Spike was sire to both of them and he could read them easily. He had been too angry earlier and then too wrapped up in Baby's body to explore his connection to them, but he took the time now. Now that he'd pushed them far enough that nothing would be hidden, when the truth would practically leap from their minds and hearts, he'd read them and discover if they were still his son and his wife or if they were two strangers he'd have to destroy.

Of the two, René was actually the easier to read. But then René had always been more open, his emotions on the surface. Spike immersed himself in his son and was surprised at what he found. René actually was willing to die for Spike, either to save him or to pay amends for what he had done to his sire. He really would have stood unresisting while Spike drove a stake slowly through his heart, allowing Spike to kill him because of the guilt he felt. René loved his sire and the passion he felt for his sire's wife was tearing him apart and had been for years. His love for Baby was driving him to the brink of insanity again. The thought of how she'd used him ate at René. He hated her nearly as much as he loved her. And he was enslaved to her. He physically wasn't able to refuse her. She was his master. René was in constant conflict and had been since he was turned. He felt too deeply and took everything too much to heart. René was as lost and broken over Baby as Spike had been over Buffy. And René ached with the pain he'd caused Spike.

Baby loved René desperately but it was a quarter of what she felt for Spike. Her guilt was greater than René's, if possible. She had spent centuries contemplating the pain she'd given to both the men she loved and now felt she had just compounded her crimes. She knew Spike loved her; she felt it, as did he, every time they made love. It was a more complete joining than her childe/sire or her consort/master bond had been. They literally became one person for a few, brief moments, experiencing everything together as a single entity, not these pale echoes Spike was experiencing now. He wondered if that connection wasn't a gift from the Powers That Be, as he had originally thought, but a method of protection for their psychic. Had he not known how complete her love for him was, he might have killed her. Or at the very least, he would have banished her. And either option would not suit the PTB's plan. He delved deeper into her emotions, searching for any hint that she had take pleasure in her deception, any sign that she enjoyed holding him up to ridicule. There were none.

Spike suddenly realized that their loyalty to him was intact and unquestioned. Baby and René had betrayed him with their bodies but not with their hearts. Both would sufferer whatever punishment he deemed appropriate because they craved his forgiveness. They craved his love. Both would lay down their lives for him. And both would do whatever it took to keep the other from being punished for what they felt.

He stared at his three best-beloved children and felt some of the anger melt away. They hadn't laughed at him. They had cried for him. They hadn't set out to purposefully betray him. It had happened and they all desperately wished it hadn't. And Jean was right; he did still love them. Both of them. All three of them. Spike had conquered a city, built an empire with the two men and the woman before him. He'd known of René's passion for Baby for sixteen years. And for all that time René had held himself in check. He had resisted the love and want he felt so deeply for only one reason--because he loved Spike and didn't want to hurt him.

Spike smiled at René holding onto the bedpost simply so he could remain standing. His son never had been one to back down. Of all his children, René had always been the most like his sire in that respect. "How are you going to stop me? You can barely stand," he said gently.

"Don't matter," his son answered softly. "Anybody treat her like this and I kick they ass."

Spike's grin broadened. "Not five minutes ago, you were willing to let me kill you any way I wanted to, but I can't hurt her?" He looked at Baby. "And you, not six hours ago you were giving me Hell for not paying attention to you and for ordering you around and now you're willing to be my slave just so I won't kill René." He glanced at Jean and saw that his eldest had straightened from his attitude of despair and was staring at his sire. Spike reached out and opened their bond as well. He pushed all the love and gratitude and pride he felt in his son toward Jean. And suddenly Jean was grinning, too. Jean had figured it out. Or he'd been reading his father through their bond. Jean was not to be underestimated. Spike laughed. Assured that his most precious childe was reassured, he looked at Baby and René. "You're both idiots."

"Hey," Baby protested.

"Papa?" René said hesitantly.

Spike reached out a hand to Baby and helped her from the floor. "You're right. He is just like me." She tilted her head quizzically. "In all the worst ways possible." He looked searchingly at his second son. "And the best."

"Papa, what are you saying?" René said as he reached out to grab the bedpost again to keep from falling.

Sky-blue eyes met ocean-blue ones. "That I understand you didn't mean for any of this to happen. That I know you'd rather cut your own heart out than shame me. That you love her more than living. I'm saying that I forgive you. That I understand."

Relief surged through René, leaving him weaker than he'd been. He was grateful when he felt Jean's arms around him, supporting him. He stared at his sire and felt Spike touch his mind. René tried to open himself to his father as much as possible. Spike felt his son's efforts and smiled. He sent reassurance out to René. Spike felt René's gratitude in return. And René's heartbreak. René was filled with the pain of it. He felt as betrayed as Spike did and by the same woman.

Spike looked at his wife. "But there's a great deal René doesn't understand. You need to tell him the truth. It's not right, what he's been thinking."

She searched Spike's face and knew what he meant. She had felt him inside her mind and felt him wrapping himself around her even now. She had felt the acceptance and the love flowing back from him. Jean was right; they were all idiots. She hid her face in Spike's chest. "I was trying to make it easier on him."

"I know, pet," Spike told her. "But it was stupid. René, your mother is a very good liar. An excellent one, in fact. She's particularly good at it when she thinks she's protecting someone." He watched as Jean tightened his supporting embrace around René's waist. "She lied out there. With Angelus. She lied. She never thought of how claiming you would affect him until after she'd done it. Now I'm not saying she didn't use that information once it did occur to her. She's very smart that way. But she wasn't thinking of hurting Angelus when she claimed you." Spike tilted Baby's face so he could see it. He stared at her though he spoke to René. "She claimed you for the same reason she does everything. For love."

René collapsed. Only Jean's strong arms kept him upright. Jean swung René up into his arms, not that simple a feat considering René's greater height. Jean deposited his brother on the bed and positioned himself at the head of the bed once more and pulled René carefully back into his embrace. "Papa, he's hurt really bad."

Spike came to sit beside his child. René looked up at him. "I think Jean's right. I feel… I feel…" His eyes started to roll back in his head.

"René," Spike said sharply. "Look at me!" René blinked and forced himself to focus on his sire. Spike held out his wrist. "Drink."

"Papa?" René whispered in awe. "Papa?"

Spike nicked the artery himself so his blood began to flow. The scent of it filled the room, sire's blood, precious and healing, calling to all three of his children. "Drink, son."

Jean helped René position himself so he could comfortably reach his sire. René's lips felt dry and rough against the tender skin of Spike's wrist. René's injury must have been massive to cause such dehydration. It was amazing he'd managed to stand for as long as he had. Spike wondered how René had managed to even stay conscious.

"Because he's strong, like his daddy," Spike heard Baby whisper in his ear as her arms wrapped around his waist. "God in Heaven! I love you, Spike." She laid her head on his shoulder blade. "I love you so much."

Jean looked at his father in awe. "We all do. I think we sometime forget that." He laid his cheek on top of René's head. "And I think maybe we forget how much he loves us."

Spike reached out and gripped Jean's hand. "Drink, René. You don't have to go anywhere. This is your home. And your mother's still my Consort and she always will be. And she'll always hold a place second only to me in this family."

René had no tears to cry but his hand tightened on his father's arm.

As Spike felt René begin to drink in earnest, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back as that feeling of connection flowed through him. He allowed that wonderful sensation to sweep him free of anger and heartache and doubt. His family would survive. He would see to that. And not the Watchers Council or their own internal struggles would defeat them. His children would survive and thrive. All of them.

René could feel life returning to him with each sip of Spike's blood. Jean held him close, care pouring out to his brother, his mother, and his father. Jean's love flooded René as did Spike's. He felt nearly whole for the first time in a very long while.

Baby held tightly to Spike and swore that she would never let him go. She felt his body moving beneath her cheek, felt his love, and cried.


Chapter 15 - "Just Out of Reach of My Two Open Arms"

René downed another shot of tequila and grimaced. Half a bottle of JC and he was still completely sober. He stared at the dark wood of the bar top and tried to concentrate on the music coming over the speakers overhead, anything to help him not think of what was happening back at the house. He knew Baby was in bed with Spike. Or in the shower, or on the gallery, or some other place. It didn't really matter; it involved sex. Even though Baby was blocking their link so he couldn't sense what she was feeling, he knew there'd come a point at which she would lose control, a point at which she wouldn't be able to control what she was doing. And then he'd feel what she was feeling, experience what she was experiencing, and he wanted to be well on the way to unconscious when that happened. He didn't want to be aware when she reached that point. He didn't want to feel her come for Spike. He'd felt that often enough in the last twenty-four hours. He didn't think he could stand to feel that again.

Being out of the house helped, but he wasn't far enough away to keep from feeling their union. He wasn't sure he'd ever be far enough away to not feel something when they were together. He poured another shot and thought of asking for a bigger glass. Ice-tea size would be about right. The bartender knew him and she wouldn't even look at him oddly. Of course, pouring shots gave him something else to concentrate on. He went back to listening to the music. He didn't recognize the song, though he recognized the artist. He should; Bon Jovi was a favorite of Baby's. The song was probably a bit before his time. The words caught his attention.

And I will love you, baby - Always
And I'll be there forever and a day - Always
I'll be there till the stars don't shine
Till the heavens burst and
The words don't rhyme
And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I'll love you - Always

"Merde," he muttered and downed a couple of shots in rapid succession.

Now your pictures that you left behind
Are just memories of a different life
Some that made us laugh, some that made us cry.
One that made you have to say goodbye.
What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair
To touch your lips, to hold you near.
When you say your prayers try to understand
I've made mistakes, I'm just a man.

When he holds you close, when he pulls you near,
When he says the words you've been needing to hear
I'll wish I was him 'cause those words are mine
To say to you till the end of time

Yeah, I will love you baby - Always
And I'll be there forever and a day - Always

He pushed the shot glass away and tilted the bottle back, allowing the tequila to flow straight from the bottle down his throat.

If you told me to cry for you
I could.
If you told me to die for you
I would.
Take a look at my face
There's no price I won't pay
To say these words to you.

"Mon Dieu," he muttered and wondered if he could slam his forehead on the bar hard enough to knock himself out.

"Probably not. You're head's too hard," Jean Claude said as he sat down beside his brother.

René realized he'd said his thought aloud. Maybe he was drunker than he felt. He hoped so. "Yeah, you probably right." He poured the liquor into the glass this time and knocked it back and tried to ignore the end of the song.

And I will love you, baby - Always
And I'll be there forever and a day - Always
I'll be there till the stars don't shine
Till the heavens burst and
The words don't rhyme
And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I'll love you - Always

He felt his brother's eyes on him and downed another shot. The bottle was nearly empty and he still felt fairly sober. There were nights when being a vampire really sucked. ""What you doing here, Jean?" he asked.

"What? I'm not allowed to keep you company these days? Humph. I think you don't love me anymore," Jean said with a fake pout.

René looked over at him and Jean fluttered his lashes at him in the most extravagant manner he could. René burst out laughing and shook his head. "You a nut."

Jean grinned. "Yeah, having a kid brother drove me crazy." He accepted the glass of bourbon the bartender set in front of him. "Thanks, Lois," he said. "What you gonna do, Renny?"

René shrugged. "I got to find somewhere to stay today. I for damn sure can't go back to the house." He thought for a moment. "Got to find something to distract me."

Jean nodded and the grin didn't diminish. "I thought so." He held up a key card. "Best room the Sheraton has," he said and slid the card into his brother's shirt pocket. "Fridge is already stocked with blood and José Cuervo." His eyes glittered in the dim bar. "I think we should find us a girl. You want to? It's been a long time since we shared a girl." René tilted his head. "Come on, fils. We find us some pretty and make all her dreams come true. What you say?"

Jean practically radiated energy when he got like this and René couldn't refuse him. "All right. You pick one and we rock her world, brother." He smiled.

~~~~~

Jean practically fell through the doorway of the hotel room; he was laughing so hard. "So you think she ever gonna get over it, her?" His accent was in what René called full-out coon-ass mode. "Me, I don't think so."

René laughed along with him. "Yeah. Now, how stupid do a girl got to be to try to pick us both up when her husband just at the other end of the bar? Lord, she might be très joli but she not very smart."

"Mais non. Her brain match all that blonde hair she got."

René laughed again. "You supposed to be the nice one in the family, fils! What you did to her was just mean!"

"What?" Jean put on a look of exaggerated innocence. "All I did was let her know you weren't interested." With the faintest of lisps, he drawled, "Oh, I'm so sorry but he's with me tonight. But isn't he just the most darling thing! I'm just so grateful he swings my way."

René laughed. "I thought she gonna spit!"

"Especially when you told her my chest was better than hers!" Jean collapsed on the couch in a relaxed sprawl. "Shame we couldn't find anybody to suit us, though. I was looking forward to a little fun to while away the day."

René grinned and opened the curtains so he could look out the window. The Sheraton towered over the Vieux Carré and he could see the river and Algiers beyond. Canal Street hummed with late, late night traffic directly below. "Nice."

"Yeah. Our city, frère," Jean said with a look that defied interpretation. Jean considered his brother for a moment. "And it has been a long time since we shared a girl. Been a long time since we shared anything."

"Yeah. I know." René's gaze turned toward Royal Street and home. The grin faded and a sadness that was becoming habitual settled onto his face. "I was gone for a long time," René answered sadly. "Not sure I'm back yet. Not sure I'll ever be back. What that they say about you can't go home again?"

Jean came to stand beside him, putting an arm around René's waist. "You can always come home to me, brother." René went very quiet and Jean could feel him begin to slide further back into the depression that had gripped him earlier in the bar. Jean knew he had to do something to help René even if it was something drastic. "None o' that. Come on. I'm gonna distract you."

René quirked one eyebrow. "Yeah? How?" he asked with just a hint of trepidation in his voice. Jean could get some… odd ideas when he wanted to.

"I could make you forget your problems for a while," Jean said softly. "I know how to do that. I've done it before." The look he gave René was filled with implication. This wasn't the first time René had been devastated by his love for Baby. And Jean Claude had been there then when René needed him. "You know what I mean." Jean slid his other arm around René, embracing him. Jean would always be there when his brother needed him. He tightened his embrace slightly. "I could go down on you," he whispered in René's ear. "I know you like it when I do that." He ran a gentle, questing finger up and down René's fly and was quite pleased to feel René stir under his hand. "I could make sure you don't think of anything at all for a few hours."

René shivered. If any other man had touched him there, René would have broken all their fingers, but somehow when Jean did it….

Jean ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of René's clavicle where his shirt gaped open. "Would you like that?" he asked, his voice just the faintest touch husky.

René swallowed. His collarbone tingled from that brief contact. Jean had always had that effect on René's body. He was the only man that did. "Yeah, I would."

Jean grinned brightly enough to light Harrah's Casino. "Good. Come here with me."

René let Jean lead him to the bed and didn't protest when his brother began to undress him slowly, raining kisses and licks and nips on his body as Jean did so. No other man was allowed to touch René like this. Jean, laughing, said that René was the only heterosexual vampire in existence. Somehow, though, gender didn't matter when it was Jean who was touching and caressing René. When it was Jean running a cool tongue over first one nipple then the other, when it was his brother's hand reaching down to fondle and stroke; René didn't mind allowing Jean the freedom of his body. He felt nothing but love and trust for his brother.

Jean Claude knew how much René needed to taken out of himself tonight. Jean intended to do everything he could to make sure René didn't suffer tonight alone. In Jean's opinion, René had suffered enough. He'd make sure his petit frère was distracted from his woes for a while. Jean smiled softly when René groaned. He loved having that effect on his gorgeous brother. He adored making René squirm and moan and he knew just what to do to make René gasp and cry out. Jean proceeded to use his not-inconsiderable skills to tease, tempt, and pleasure René. With the greatest care, he began to do all the things he knew delighted René. What remained of this night and the ascendant day would be all about René, about his needs. Jean's pleasure would come from the comfort and enjoyment his brother took from this encounter. Not that there were no compensations for Jean; René was an incredibly beautiful and very desirable man. And he allowed Jean Claude to make love to him far too infrequently in Jean's opinion. And there was no one Jean loved and wanted to express that love to more.

Jean sucked on René's earlobe, twirling his earring with teeth and tongue, gratified when René gasped and began to breathe. He used blunt teeth to nibble down René's neck, following the line of carotid artery and then jugular vein making René whisper his brother's name breathlessly. Jean pulled his own shirt off so he could press his body to René's using that skin-on-skin contact to further excite his brother, to make sure René not only knew but also felt that he wasn't alone. Jean studiously avoided the scar above René's heart, knowing that the last thing René needed was any reminder of Baby. He murmured to René in French, offering him the comfort of the language René preferred, of the heritage that they shared. Jean whispered softly to René, telling him how beautiful he was, how strong, how much Jean enjoyed touching him like this. Jean murmured his pleasure and abiding affection on René's skin as he worked his way slowly across René's hard chest and down, pausing to explore the pink-red scar that bisected René's softer abdomen. Jean rained soft, lingering kisses and gentle, comforting licks on that physical proof of René's love and concern for their father, that evidence that René was willing to sacrifice himself for the good of his family. He wanted to taste that testimony of René's bravery and goodness before it faded. Jean wanted to memorize that mark before it disappeared, as it would in a few weeks. He wanted to be able to trace the remembered line of it in years to come. Jean poured all the gratitude and pride he felt onto René's healing wound before moving on to concentrate on the sensitive area below René's navel. René's hands were clenched in the coverlet as he surged up to meet Jean's hungry, eager mouth.

The sensations shooting through René were nearly overpowering. What Jean was doing simply felt so good! There was so much caring in each touch of his brother's hands, of his lips. René had never felt so loved, so… cherished. Jean's love was unconditional, running so deep and strong it swept away René's pain and left only a feeling of peace and completeness. René had forgotten what peace felt like. It had been so long since he'd felt anything but turmoil and pain that he no longer remembered what it felt like to be free of the hurt. This was what Paradise would be like. This was that much-vaunted glimpse of Heaven. Even if it was only for a moment, Jean had given René a gift more precious than a handful of gems. Jean had reminded René of why they fought, why they constantly strove to control the darkness inside them. They battled the evil within so that they could have these moments of peace. René had lost himself in Jean Claude's love and in the process had found himself again.

René's body responded to Jean Claude's ministrations as eagerly as his spirit responded to Jean's love. When Jean's mouth engulfed René, he nearly came off the mattress, arching up and into that welcoming coolness. "Mon Dieu, Jean!" he gasped. He felt Jean's laugh through his entire length. It resonated into his core, melting the iciness in his heart and loosening the coiled tightness in his stomach. When Jean began to move his tongue up and down and around, René thought he would die. "Oh m' Dieu. Jean. Jean, stop. Pitié. Please, Jean. Stop." He reached down and gently pulled Jean away.

His brother looked at René in confusion. "Didn't you like it? I thought I was doing rather a good job," he said with a leer.

René smiled as he gasped for breath. "You were. Oh, you were! But that's not what I want."

Jean grinned. "Oh. All right then. Tell me what you want," he smirked.

René's answering smile was a much softer version of his elder brother's smirk. "I want this," he said and kissed Jean. It wasn't the usual playful kiss René indulged in on those rare occasions when he agreed to share Jean's bed. It wasn't the lust-filled kiss they exchanged when hunting was good or when Claudia or Vieta joined them. This kiss was filled with love and affection. With reciprocated need. René intended to return to Jean as much of the love and peace he'd been given as he possibly could. René intended to love Jean as much as Jean loved him, even if it was only this once. René's lips were tender but demanding, his tongue seeking entrance into Jean Claude's mouth the instant Jean's lips parted. Jean let him in. There was no hesitation, no holding back. There was surprise but no reluctance to receive whatever it was that René was willing to give Jean. Jean accepted René's tongue into his mouth as eagerly as he accepted René's love into his heart, welcoming it and twining his own around it. René tangled his fingers in Jean's brown hair, holding him and wrapping one long leg around Jean's. He rolled them so that Jean lay stretched out on the bed and proceeded to mimic Jean's earlier actions. Jean Claude gasped in surprised pleasure. René had always allowed Jean to make love to him; René had never made love to Jean. Until now. Jean lay nearly immobilized by the sheer joy of it. He'd never believed that René would ever do this, never believed that René would offer up pleasure to Jean as Jean had so often offered pleasure to René. Jean felt as though his heart would leap from his chest and explode. He could hardly bear the elation of it.

When René finally ran his tongue over his brother's hard length, Jean reached out a restraining hand. "You don't… You don't have to do this, René," he gasped. "I know you don't like to go down on…"

"Shh," René shushed him. He eased up to kiss Jean's lips again. "It's all right. Shh." He smiled at his brother with all the love he felt for Jean shining from his eyes. "I want to. Tonight, I want to." He kissed Jean once more, deeply, in a way he had never kissed Jean before. "Je t'aime, Jean," he said and moved back down Jean's body to settle between his legs. He wrapped his hand around Jean and kissed him. "Je t'aime, m' frère du coeur," he said before taking Jean into his mouth and beginning to suck.

Never in the nearly seventeen years they'd been brothers had René done this for Jean, and the older vampire was overwhelmed. He clenched one fist in the bed covers tightly enough to tear the fabric, but the hand he placed on René's head was gentle, caressing the black silk of his brother's hair. "Mon Dieu, René," Jean gasped and moaned, feeling orgasm approaching. He wouldn't be able to hold back tonight. He was too overwhelmed by emotion and pure physical sensation. "René. René, I'm going to come," he said, trying to warn his brother. He knew how much René hated even the thought of semen in his mouth. Jean would do nothing to sully this moment. It had become too precious to him.

His surprise neared shock when René simply lifted his head long enough to say, "Then do it. Let go, Jean. For me. For once, just let go." Then René was sucking and licking again, driving Jean past the boundaries of control. And for once, Jean did let go. He surrendered his iron will to another, to his own emotions, and to the love he normally kept buried deep inside. He simply abandoned himself to René, letting his brother have complete control as he spasmed deep in René's throat, gripping René's hair and calling René's name, locked in the most exquisite moment of rapture he'd ever experienced.

~~~~~

Jean awoke alone. The space beside him where René had lain was empty, the covers thrown back from wrinkled sheets. Jean raked his eyes across the darkened room, searching just a touch wildly for his brother.

"It's all right; I'm here," René said, emerging from the deep shadows and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Jean immediately knew something was very wrong. It was there in the timber of René's voice. "What happened? What's wrong?"

René's face gave nothing away. "Baby woke me up. She didn't mean to, but she did."

"Oh René!" Jean closed his eyes for a moment. "You should have woke me."

René's mouth twisted for an instant in a sad smile. "Why? So I could ask you to make love to me so I wouldn't think about how the woman I married myself to is in bed with her husband?" He pulled one leg up into the bed and wrapped an arm around it. "That not fair to you. I can't ask to you hold me every time Baby's with Spike."

"You could." Jean reached out a hand to René. "I would."

René gripped his brother's hand tightly. He looked directly into Jean's warm brown eyes and shook his head. "No, I can't. We've talked about this before. I love you too much to do that to you. I don't love you enough, not like that. The only one I love like that is her." Something flashed across René's face, something Jean couldn't or didn't want to interpret. "And she's with him. And she always be with him." He paused before whispering, "God damn them both."

"René, give it time," Jean began.

"No!" René said firmly. "You still don't get it, do you, Jean? I gave it time. I gave it sixteen years! And I love her more every day. I had her for less than a year, brother. And I'd kill to have even one of those days back. I got nothing left, Jean. Not one damn thing. Because I don't got her. And I'll never have her. Not ever again. I'll never touch her again." His blue-green eyes bore into Jean. "How would you feel if you knew, knew for a fact, that you'd never touch me again?"

"I…" The look on Jean's face was answer enough.

"Yeah," René said slowly. "So don't tell me to give it time, Jean. All I got is time." He pulled his hand away and wrapped that arm around his leg as well. "I can't even believe you said that to me."

"René, I didn't mean…"

"I loved her from the second I saw her," René said, staring pensively into the darkness. "I mean from the first second. I'm lying there in an alley with a bullet in my chest, dying, and all I can think of is how I finally found the woman I love. My soul left me loving her!" He paused for a moment. "And that just the way it is. And it ain't gonna change. And it ain't gonna get no better."

Jean wished there was something he could do but he was powerless.

"I'm gonna ask her to let me go back to Mobile and this time I won't take no for an answer. I'm leaving. And I ain't coming back."

Jean nodded. It tore at his heart but that would be for the best. For all of them.

~~~~~

The sun had barely set when René and Jean knocked on the door to their parent's bedroom. That action alone showed the gravity of the situation. Only the older children ever entered Spike's bedroom and they normally did so rarely. Of course, until two days ago, René had been sleeping there.

"I need to talk to Maman, Spike," René said flatly when Spike answered his knock. "You can stay if you want. I may need your help to talk sense to her."

Spike arched an eyebrow at his son's tone but nodded. "We wanted to talk to you, anyway. Jean, I'm glad you're here."

To Jean's surprise, there was quite a gathering inside the room. Baby, Wes, Dru, Cordelia, Rex, Tara, Rupert Giles, even Angel were all present. "Is something going on?" Jean asked.

"Just discussing what to do about the Watchers," Rex answered. He looked unhappy.

Jean nodded. That threat would have to be eliminated, and soon. He glanced at his mother perched on the foot of the bed and was arrested by the look on her face. He knew that expression. She only got it when she and Spike had been fighting about something and had reached a compromise. A compromise that she didn't necessarily like. And he'd say she particularly didn't like this compromise. He had that clichéd but very real sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You wanted to talk to me, Papa?" René said just a tad hesitantly, realizing he'd been a touch impertinent in presuming to order Spike to stay or go while he talked to Baby. It was a hard transition from the position he'd held vis-à-vis Baby in Angelus' household to the one he held now. It was difficult to go from ordering and arranging most aspects of her life to being able to control none of them. And he was too used to being master of the house to handle a lesser position gracefully. He ruled in Mobile and his word was instantly obeyed. Even in Angelus' household, he had acted the Master. He had easily establish domination over Angelus' courtiers and minions. And with Angelus himself there had been a constant power struggle. He was openly defiant to his great-grandsire. René had no wish to ever appear that way with his father but he was finding it very difficult to play the second son. He put a check on a mental list, another good reason to go back to Alabama as soon as he could.

"Actually, your mother has something she needs to say to you." Spike's words may have been spoken to René but they were aimed at Baby. She shot him a look filled with rebellion and anger before sliding off the bed. Apparently, she needed to say whatever it was she had to say on her feet.

"René, your father and I had a talk," she began. Jean imagined talk was a mild word for whatever had been exchanged between his parents. "And he pointed out a few things to me that I already knew." She snarled the last few words while glaring at Spike, who was unfazed by her displeasure. "But he was right." As she looked at René, the anger faded and was replaced with a soft sadness. "I do need to talk to you." She moved to stand before him and reached up to place her hand on his cheek. "There are some that think that what you and I did was very wrong." René placed his hand over hers, pressing her palm into his flesh. "But they weren't there. And they don't know what it was like." Anger resurfaced and she turned her head to glare at the occupants of the room in general and Spike and Angel in particular. That suppressed rage was still evident in her face and her voice when she said, "And you didn't do one damn thing wrong!" She visibly pulled herself together, taking a deep breath and releasing it to counteract her fury. "But I did. I wronged you. I should never have claimed you the way I did."

René's shock and hurt were evident and Jean ached for his brother. Baby reached out and took René's free hand in her own. "Sh," she whispered so that only he heard her. He stilled. The anger all faded from her eyes when she looked up into his. What was left was something so intensely private that Jean felt extremely uncomfortable just observing it. He was glad that Spike and the others couldn't see her face from where they were.

Her voice was soft and very quiet when she spoke. "You're a master vampire. You have children and grandchildren. You rule half a state. You're a king in your own right. You're a strong and powerful man. And I shouldn't have marked you the way I did. I should have marked you as an equal, not as a… well, the way I did." She dropped her head, unable to face him.

"I never complained, did I?" René told her. The slightest of smiles curved his lips and there was only love in his eyes where he looked down at her. Jean wanted to scream; it all hurt so badly.

Baby looked back up at him and a tiny smile crossed her lips. "No, you never did," she whispered. She took another deep breath and the self-assertion Jean was so familiar with settled over her. "Still, what I did was wrong. So I renounce my ownership over you."

"No!" René breathed, stricken. Jean wanted to go to him and hold him but didn't dare; René had to appear strong, especially before this assemblage. Jean prayed his brother could do it.

"I am not divorcing you. I would never shame you that way." Baby glared at Spike for just an instant as if daring him to contradict her statement before turning back to René. "You are and will remain my husband for as long as you want to." There was no mistaking the defiance in her whole manner.

'So that's what they fought about,' Jean thought. He was surprised he hadn't heard that argument all the way across Canal Street at the hotel. Hell, he was surprised they hadn't heard that argument in Baton Rouge!

"René Beaumont," she said in clear, ringing tones so that everyone in the room heard her plainly. "You have been a good and true consort to me. I could ask for no better husband. But I have wronged you and so I return to you your free will. From this moment forward, I am no longer your master. You may come and go as you will and your choices are your own." She moved the thumb of the hand still pressed to René's cheek into his mouth. He obligingly bit down with suddenly sharp teeth so that her blood filled his mouth and a tiny trickle escaped to flow across his lip and down his chin. René felt something deep inside him burst open and he knew it was true that he was no longer enslaved to her as a minion was enslaved to its master. His will was his own again. But he also knew that his will would always be subservient to hers, because she would always rule his heart.

He sucked her blood greedily, knowing he would never taste it again. He wanted to drown in the taste of her. It had been less than forty-eight hours since he'd made love to her and already he felt as though it had been years. How was he supposed to live for untold centuries without her? Her hand tightened where it gripped his and he knew she felt the same way. At the same time, he knew she'd never leave Spike. He wondered briefly if his life could possibly be any more fucked-up. Then he remembered that he could be nothing more than a moldering collection of bones in a graveyard in Houma. He'd never have known her touch, or Jean's. He decided he'd try living for a while. Jean had given him that gift at least; Jean had given him back the will to live.

"Good then. That's taken care of," Spike said a touch too loudly.

René shot his sire a look of pure resentment before he veiled his eyes and dropped his gaze back to the woman he was still mated to. He swirled his tongue one last time over the precious digit resting in his mouth and released it. "I will always belong to you," he told her so softly that only she and Jean heard. "I will always be your consort." Her fingers clenched with bone-crushing force around his and she gave the tiniest of nods.

"Let's get this Watcher situation sorted out," Spike said with fake enthusiasm.

Baby moved to sit on the bed again. René sat beside her while Jean planted himself on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. If Baby's fingers stayed twined with René's, no one saw save Jean, who was careful to shield that tiny intimacy from the rest of the gathering with his own body.

~~~~~

Spike gathered his forces both internal and external and called a council of war. The big formal dining room was full when he entered, flanked by his consort and his two eldest sons. The symbolism of the act was not lost on those present. The family dynamic would remain uninterrupted. Spike still ruled, René and Jean still lived and were his primary lieutenants, and Baby was still his mate and alpha female of his pride. Angel, at the secondary seat of power at the end of the table, grinned. Spike might not have a reputation for it, but he was as good at propaganda, protocol, and ceremony as any head of state. Witness what he had just done. Without saying a single word, he'd let the whole of his empire know that the status quo had not changed and he'd let all outsiders present know that his family was as strong as ever. Even Angel's own presence at this conference had meaning. By placing the head of his bloodline at a ceremonial seat of power, he'd let the assemblage know that Angel was still liege lord of the clan but Spike ruled his own household and territory. By seating Drusilla on Angel's right with Wesley beside her and Rex and Shelley on Angel's left, Spike had given a visual representation of the current dominance order in his house. The family as a whole breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief. The leaders among the minions and those vampires not of Spike's bloodline were also fairly pleased. Disruption in the ruling household would threaten their positions and power base. There were some among those present, both human and vampire, that were less pleased. There were always those who hoped and plotted for Spike's downfall, always some that schemed to replace him. The solidarity of House Aurelius continued to frustrate their plans.

Spike took his place at the head of the table and pulled Baby into his lap. Jean sat down on Spike's right and René on his left as they always did. Angel smiled from his place at the foot of the table. Cordelia, Connor, Mama Claire, Tara, Rupert Giles, and Spike's other leading children completed those seated at the table. Claudia was teleconferenced into the meeting from her own seat of power in Vicksburg while Leonce was on the computer from his new spot in Galveston. Even René's eldest son was conferenced in from Mobile. The leaders of the minions, demon clans, governmental and criminal organizations aligned to Spike lined the room; the more powerful seated while their lackeys and the less influential stood. Spike wrapped his arm tightly around Baby's waist and began. "As you all know, there was an attack on this house two days ago. It was well planned with fairly advanced knowledge of our habits and our whereabouts. Now, it appears that there was someone here in New Orleans, someone supposedly loyal to me, feeding information to my enemies." Spike looked out across the room and his eyes were as hard and sharp as the sapphires they were often compared to. "And that pisses me off." He nodded at his grandson. "Wesley, find them for me."

The mage nodded and wove a fiery pattern in the air with one finger. A whispered word or two and the line of fire shot out, whirling about the room, seeking, searching. It split into several ropes of orange flame and wrapped four of those seated or standing around the walls, binding but not burning them.

Several of Spike's younger children and grandchildren, those not seated at the table, grabbed the four and brought them before their lord, forcing the miscreants to kneel before Spike. The Master of New Orleans' lip curled slightly. "I can't abide traitors," he said before looking at one of his daughters. "Kill them. Take your time about it."

"With the greatest pleasure, Daddy," Nicole said and motioned to her twin sister Aliya. They nodded and the captives were hauled away, screaming and pleading.

"We lost family in that attack so you can be sure those four will take weeks to die. My girls will see to it." He surveyed the room coldly. "Any of the rest of you who might be thinking of betraying me might want to remember that." He glanced at Angel and was surprised at the approval on his grandsire's face. "You'd all best be very, very careful what you say about the movements of my family to anyone. Is that understood?"

There was a general noise of acquiescence and nodding of heads from the perimeters of the room. Spike smiled. "And any of you that were working with those four might want to run now. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna find you and kill you slowly but the chase first always makes it more fun!" Angel noted several faces pale significantly. It was good to occasionally remind the peons that they were ruled by William the Bloody and that Spike had earned that title in every way. Spike could be as loving as he wanted to with the family but he needed to keep a steel grip on everyone else. Angel suddenly realized he'd have to send one or more of Spike's children to keep an eye on L.A. or he'd have problems of his own. René had the best reputation for handling difficult-to-control cities but Angel would be damned for all eternity and give up any chance of Shanshu before he turned over a city the size of Los Angeles, his city, to that coonass bastard. Angel decided he would ask Wesley for a recommendation.

While Angel had been distracted with his thoughts, Spike had dismissed the bulk of the assemblage, keeping only his core family and friends still gathered about the table. When he was sure no one from outside could hear what he had to say, he looked at them all with a burning anger in his eyes. "It's time we dealt with the Watchers."

~~~~~

The real council of war was briefer than most of the participants had thought it would be. Spike had obviously thought long and hard about what he wanted and how it should be accomplished. Angel's often-snide comments aside, Spike really was good at planning. He often became bored and tried to rush his plans but Baby could normally mitigate that tendency and together they were fearsome in the execution of Spike's will. Spike didn't rule a fair portion of the Southeast by simply allowing events to occur at random. He was well aware of the various talents and strengths among his family and friends and he used those talents well. Wesley, Angel, and René's son, Sam, were brilliant strategists. Baby, Jean Claude, and Jean's daughter, Emilie, were highly efficient organizers and implementers. They could take any plan Spike gave them and make it reality. René, Jean, and Rex were natural leaders and the childer would follow them gladly into battle. The members of the Scourge and their consorts were battle-hardened veterans with a wealth of experience ready to be tapped. Angel, Baby, and Wesley had terrorized half the country all on their own. Spike had no doubts that a united Scourge backed by the might and money of his Pride could seriously, perhaps permanently, inconvenience the Watchers.

Added to that strength was one very pissed-off Watcher. Rupert Giles was furious that he had not been informed of the attack on Rue Royal. He knew that meant the Council considered him at high risk and he wondered if his own family and his Slayers were in danger of attack. Calls were sent out to both Sunnydale and Los Angeles. Rupert was surprised when he could reach neither Buffy, Dawn, nor Faith. He and the entire assemblage were even more surprised when all three women walked in and planted themselves at the table. "Slayer dreams," Buffy said by way of explanation. "All three of us."

"We need to be at whatever is going down," Faith added. "The PTBs apparently want us there."

There seemed to be no possible argument against that logic. The three Slayers would join the assault force when it left for London in two days' time. The Scourge and their consorts, the Slayers, René, Jean, and Rupert Giles would be the only ones to attempt the assault on the Watchers' mansion. A larger force would be too easy to detect. As it was, extreme measures would have to be taken to get out of New Orleans and into London without being noticed. It wasn't going to be easy but it wasn't impossible. Jean, Spike, and René's skills at piloting the Leer should be enough to get them into and out of the country without going through legitimate channels. Ripper and Wesley both had contacts within the UK that they could utilize. Getting to the Watchers wasn't going to be a problem. Getting into the mansion, now that was problematical. The wards and magicks protecting it would be impressive. Luckily, Wesley and Rupert both had some knowledge of the defenses and a great deal of mystical knowledge at their disposal. It was decided to enlist Willow's help. Her extraordinary talents would be the only sure way to defeat the spells that kept vampires away from the Watcher stronghold. She wouldn't join the actual assault. She was expecting and Spike refused to endanger Willow or her child. Wesley, Dru, and Rupert would have to handle any magic-users they encountered. Overall, they felt up to the task. The vampires and Cordelia were all fueled by rage that their home had been attacked. Rupert was appalled that once again the Council had told him one thing and done another. They all agreed; it was past time to deal with the Watchers.

~~~~~

A few simple sticks of dynamite proved the most useful method of entering the building housing the Watcher's Council. The explosion that took down the door also took out three Watchers, leaving them moaning and bleeding on the marble floor. The concussion from the blast shattered windows and eardrums throughout the building. More terrifying than the blast to those persons still conscious were the figures that coolly stepped through the splintered opening. Some recognized at least one or two of the marauders and even those that didn't could sense the menace they exuded. With shouts and occasional screams of panic, those who had some idea of what was happening let the rest of their organization know: the Scourge had come to pay a visit.

Spike surveyed the ruins of the front hall with some pleasure and a quizzical tilt of his head. "That was nice, dove."

"I thought you'd like it," Baby answered with a happy grin. She really did enjoy armaments; explosions were just so much fun! She hefted her assault rifle and checked that her knife was easily accessible.

Wesley laughed. "The Council will try to barricade themselves in the safe room in the basement," he advised. "They'll expect the wards to hold and the morning sun to drive us away." The barrel of his own rifle rested negligently over one shoulder; Drusilla's arm was draped over the other.

"Well, then they're fairly stupid, aren't they?" Cordy said and slid her katana from its sheath. She looked about at her family as though wondering what the hold-up was. "So now we round up these other losers?"

"Yeah," Spike drawled. "That's exactly what we do." He nodded to his sons, who morphed into their game faces and, clearing the stairs to the first landing in a single unified leap, began the assault.

Preceded by the eldest of the Pride, the Scourge and their allies swept through the building like a Gulf-spawned hurricane. There was no safe quarter, no place of refuge. Locked entries were no match for demon strength coupled with human ingenuity. Doors were kicked in, ripped from hinges, or blown open by magic or explosives. There was no concealment, no hiding. Vampire senses and magic spells sought out all, revealing them to the invaders. Those watchers who surrendered were herded into a large lecture hall and secured inside. Those who fought died. Finally, only those who had locked themselves into what Wesley termed the safe room were left to be dealt with. A tiny amount of plastique destroyed the reinforced doors, leaving only magical wards to keep the vampires out. Those wards were no match for the power Willow Rosenberg Harris was channeling through Rupert Giles. The wards came down with enough fireworks to impress even Baby. "Cool!" she grinned. "Damn, Ripper! You're sexy when you do that."

Rupert's long years of association allowed him to ignore her easily. He motioned his vampires into the last stronghold of the Watcher's Council as the fire deterrent system reacted to his pyrotechnics and water cascaded from the sprinklers.

Quentin Travers stared at the attackers as they poured through the shattered doors. Even if none of his people recognized them, he did.

William the Bloody strode through the smoke and water looking like the dark and fallen angel he was. Water cascaded from his gold and black hair, running down his leather duster in black rivulets, molding his shirt to his body, and washing the blood from the axe in his hand. His consort followed two strides behind him, her black clothing plastered to her body, her wet hair dark as Bordeaux wine, her rifle ready to protect her husband and lover. His sons, as beautiful and dangerous as their father, preceded him, clearing his path with gun and foil, their eyes glowing with battle lust and demon fire. His grandson and sire followed him, magicks waltzing from their fingers, the blood of the slain washing in rusty courses from their garments. Angelus the Cruel led his seer/consort and the dark Slayer Faith through the debris with arrogant malevolence, his dark eyes flaming with yellow fire. Artificial rain glistened on the pale skin visible through the tatters of his ruined shirt and ran down the claymore he carried with such negligent ease. Cordelia's priest-forged blade was nicked but unbroken and her eyes glowed pale with powers beyond the mortal. Faith, her dark twin, laughed while her sword whirled and flashed with ruby fire in the glow of the carmine emergency lighting. Armored in Kevlar and righteousness, Cordelia and Faith cut down any that would hinder Angel's progress. Ripper Giles, borrowed magicks dancing over his body and billowing his coat in winds only he could feel, followed, flanked by the two greatest Slayers ever known. Intent on protecting their surrogate father, the Summers sisters, one fair, one brunette, acted as one, their movements so smooth and subtle it seemed even the falling spray could not touch them against their will.

Quentin Travers' very heart quailed within him.

The vampires fanned out, weapons ready, prepared to use their undead bodies to shield the humans among their number. The crossbows of the Watcher could have been deadly to the vampires had not Wesley been prepared. A few words activated a spell he'd prepared and the bolts flamed into ash in a millisecond, their dust mixing with the water on the floor. Free from that threat, the vampires engaged any of the defenders who dared to challenge them. The Council bodyguards, trained from their youth to fight the undead, found these vampires unfazed by their assault. Jean's foil was every bit as deadly as René's pistol as they led the way through the onslaught, intent on bringing down the Watchers' last defenses. When, with a chilling battle cry, their mother joined them, they formed a flying wedge, destroying all before them and channeling those on their flanks back and into the swords of the Seer and the Fallen Slayer. It seemed but moments before the floor was awash with red-tinged water and the bodies of the defeated.

Quentin Travers thrust a large golden crucifix out before him, only inches from Jean's face. "Get back, Goddamn you."

Jean stared unflinchingly at the icon for a long moment before reaching out with deliberate slowness and wrapping his bare hand around the golden shaft of the cross. "You should not handle such holy things with such blasphemy on your tongue," he said. The words were spoken softly but echoed in the still room. All eyes seemed fixed on the sight of the vampire holding the precious icon, his bare skin unscathed by contact with its gem-encrusted surface, his clear brown eyes fearlessly staring at its beauty. Jean murmured a soft prayer and brought the cross to his lips. One of the older Watchers fainted. Jean passed the crucifix to his brother, careful to not touch their unforgiven mother. "René, see that this is handled with more respect," he said in more ringing tones.

"Mais oui, Jean," René instantly responded. He took the cross and with his own muttered prayer, kissed it, and tucked it safely away inside his jacket.

Apparently, none of those who had escape the assault on Spike's home had seen the evidence of Spike's children's redemption and reported it back to their leaders. The surprise that went through the ranks of the Watchers at the sight of Jean and René's actions was palpable. The surprise turned to demoralizing shock when René laughed and said, "Yeah, you never fought the Redeemed before, heh? God, he don't mind if we touch what's His 'cause He's claimed us again." It didn't require vampire abilities to hear the gasps from more than one Watcher.

"The Redeemed? Oh, God help us all," one Watcher muttered.

"Don't kill that one," Spike ordered. "She knows something." He slammed his axe into the wooden floor in front of Quentin Travers' feet. The human flinched from the sound of the impact alone. "It's time we had a talk, don't you think?"

Whatever Travers would have answered was interrupted by a scream from one of the women clustered behind him. Her arm outstretched and trembling, she pointed behind Spike. The Master of New Orleans turned to see Cordelia floating easily three feet above the floor, her eyes glowing with a white light. He'd seen her do this many times over the past fifteen years and felt no shock from it. However, the sight of his sire floating somewhat lower on Cordelia's left, her eyes burning with blue fire, and his own consort levitating on Cordelia's right, her eyes filled with golden luminosity, was new and shocking.

"I am the Seer of the Champion," Cordelia stated in a voice that seemed to come from a great distance. "I See."

"I am the Voice of the Oracle," Baby said in a voice not her own. It sounded as though several persons were speaking at once. "I Hear."

"I am the Prophet of the Powers That Be," Drusilla said. Only she seemed aware of those around them. "I Know."

"Dieu clément!" Jean breathed and Spike agreed with him. "Merciful God," indeed.

"Lord of the Redeemed!" Baby called in that voice not her own. "We are the Oracle. We speak for the Powers That Be."

"Yeah," Spike said with impatience. "What do you lot want now?" He focused on the sight of his wife, possessed by their new masters.

"Your first task has been decided. You will remove the Slayer from this place and convey her to the Hellmouth."

Spike shrugged. "Easy enough. Consider it done."

"No! I won't let you!" Travers shouted and snatched the axe from floor and swung it at Spike's head.

The Voice, The Seer, and The Prophet each raised a hand, palm outstretched before them. Radiance flew from those hands; blue, white, and gold brightness swirling and twining together. The weapon in Traver's hand disintegrated.

"Damn," Spike muttered. "I liked that axe."

"You will not attempt to harm the Lord of the Redeemed. He has the protection of the Powers That Be," The Seer stated.

The Voice said. "Hear us, Council of the Slayer's Watchers. You have abused your authority. You have abandoned the tenants of your charge. You use the Slayer for your own agenda and not for the tasks you were set."

"As was prophesized, you have failed," The Prophet stated, glowing blue gaze fixed on Travers.

"This Council of the Slayer's Watcher is dissolved!" The voices emanating from Baby's mouth were implacable. "Your ability to locate new Slayers is rescinded."

Cordelia moved her hand and a piercing beam of light transfixed Travers and three other Watchers. They spasmed as something invisible was pulled from them. When the light was removed they fell limply to the floor, Travers ending on his knees before the Lord of Louisiana.

"Another has been chosen," the Voice continued and Cordelia turned her pure luminosity on Rupert Giles. Touched by power greater than that already coursing through him, he, too, would have fallen had the strong arms of his Slayers not reached out with lightning speed and supported him. "Rupert Giles, you will found a new Council. May this one succeed where those before it have failed. The Slayer is given into the care of her sister Slayers for mentoring. May her life be as long as theirs."

"It won't be," Drusilla said. "But at least she'll be happy." It was her own voice, not the distorted tones of the possessed, though her eyes still glowed. "Come out, child. There are none here that will harm you."

A tiny girl, barely in her teens, shook off the restraining arm of a Watcher and walked fearlessly toward Rupert. She looked at the two women on either side of him. "You're Slayers, too?" she asked in a small voice. "I'm not alone?"

Buffy nodded as Faith came to stand with them. "That's right; you're not alone," she said kindly. "You never have to be alone." Rupert opened his arms to the child and there was something so warm and caring in his eyes that she went to him without hesitation.

"Hear us!" The Voice demanded. "These before you are our warriors. You will not interfere." Her golden gaze turned to Spike. "Lord of the Redeemed, complete your task. Convey this Slayer to the Hellmouth along with her new Watchers."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike said. "I heard you the first time. And I have a name, you know. Nothing wrong with calling me Spike."

The Powers That Be ignored him. "So may it be," the Voice, the Seer, and the Prophet said as one and the glow faded from their eyes and their bodies crashed to the floor. They were already rising before any of their compatriots reached them. Wesley held Dru closely while René and Jean helped Baby and Cordy to their feet.

Spike turned back to the frightened former-Watchers. "You heard. We're not to be interfered with. Another attack on any of us and I won't leave a single one of you standing," he said softly. Everyone in the room heard him and had no doubt that he meant every word. He turned and walked purposefully toward his consort.

A cry from Quentin Travers caused them all to turn and stare. Kneeling, the human was transfixed by Angel's claymore. The Master of Los Angeles leaned toward the dying man and, in a voice that was pure Angelus, said, "She was my consort when you had her murdered. No one takes what's mine." He pulled the sword from Quentin's body and strode away without a backward glance at the body adding its scarlet to the water puddled on the floor.

Epilogue - "I'd Die Without You"

Baby watched silently as René secured his violin in its case and then placed the case in the duffel on the foot of his bed. She could hear birds singing in the waning light in her courtyard as they readied themselves for the approaching night. Finally she said, "When were you going to tell me you were leaving?"

René had been aware of her from the moment she appeared in his doorway, just as he was always aware of her, just as he had always been aware of her from the moment he saw her, just as he would always be aware of her until the moment he was dust. "I don't know. I thought maybe I call you when I got to Slidell, or maybe Bay Saint Louis, or maybe Biloxi. Or maybe I wait till I got all the way to Mobile. Maybe then I be far enough away that I won't turn around and come right back if you say you don't want me to go."

She drew a deep breath. "I don't want you to go," she whispered. He turned tortured eyes to hers. "But I know you have to." She felt as though someone were squeezing her heart, crushing it inside her chest. "I understand." She could barely speak. "I…" She shook her head. There was nothing to say, no words she could give him.

He grabbed her, wrapping her in a frantic embrace, crushing her lips beneath his, forcing his tongue into her mouth with frenzied desperation. He held her as tightly as he could, tight enough to shatter a human woman's ribs, kissing her with all the hunger and pain that dwelled inside him. Her answering embrace and kiss were just as desperate, just as hungry. He knew, as did she, that this could very well be their last touch.

He pulled back from her lips long enough to say, "I love you. I will always love you."

She held back from him long enough to answer, "And I love you. Forever."

He kissed her again and when he knew that if he didn't stop he would never stop, never leave, he pushed her from him and, snatching the duffel up, fled the room and his father's house.

Unable to stand, she collapsed, beating her fists repeatedly against the carpeted floor, and biting her tongue till it bled to keep from screaming for him to come back.

~~~~~

"Wait! Wait!"

René turned at Cordelia's call, his hand on the door of his Firebird. She half-ran to him. "You have an empty room in that pink house of yours?" she asked, looking up at him.

He tilted his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I can find one."

"Good," she answered. "Because I need one." When he said nothing, she shook her head. "I forgot, you're the talkative one." She dropped her suitcase at his feet and her face turned vulnerable. "Look. I can't stay here. I can't be in the same house with Angel anymore. I can't see him every day knowing… well, I just can't. Jean told me you were leaving and … Can I come with you?"

René had never really thought about Cordelia. She was his great-grandmother, Angel's consort. He had already been gone from home, building his own place in the world, before she began spending much time in New Orleans. He knew she had moved out of Angel's rooms and had been avoiding his great-grandsire but hadn't thought much beyond the fact that it was no less than that bastard Angelus deserved. For the first time René considered how the past year had affected her and realized that Cordelia had been as devastated by the events that occurred as any of the rest of them. She handled her heartbreak quietly, with a grace and circumspection he wished he had. His life seemed to be on show for everyone in the house. Cordelia had managed to keep hers private. He felt a surge of envy and respect. "Yes ma'am," he answered, and bent to pick up her suitcase. He pushed it into the back seat and went around to open the car door for her. She gave him a look, startled at the old-fashioned courtesy, before she climbed in and buckled up. René swiftly followed suit. The big engine of the Firebird roaring like the pain in their hearts, he sped out heading for Interstate 10.

~~~~~

Jean Claude knocked softly on the open door to Angel's room and walked in. He held a plain envelope out to his great-grandsire. "Cordelia asked me to give you this," he said coolly before leaving. Angel read the note twice before crumbling it in his hand and putting his fist through the wall.

~~~~~

Wesley placed a scroll and a sheet of plain paper covered in his own meticulous handwriting in front of Spike. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. I suppose I stopped thinking like a Watcher long ago."

Spike nodded and read the prophecy Wes had translated. It was brief as such things go.

And in those days, there will arise a Prophet undying and her sister shall See and her sister shall Hear. The Fallen shall be the Forgiven; the Soulless shall achieve Heaven. And the Redeemed shall arise.
The Lord of the Redeemed shall lead his forces against the Lords of the Council of the Slayer.
The Council shall be found lacking and they shall fall and the Dark Lord will slay the Iniquitous. And the Slayer shall join her Sisters. And a Voice shall speak and a new…

"Where's the rest, Wes?" Spike said looking up at his grandson.

"Lost centuries ago," the other Englishman answered.

"Of course. The one prophecy we know has a chance of coming true and we only got part of it." Spike reread what Wes had given him. "Reading it, knowing what happens, it makes perfect sense, but I imagine it was fairly cryptic if you don't have hindsight to help you."

Wesley nodded. "We had no idea."

Spike looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Blue eyes met blue eyes. "Damn, Wes. What have we gotten ourselves into?"

~~~~~

Unable to bear staying in a room that smelled so much like René and unable to stand being in the house with anyone else, Baby headed out into the gathering dusk, not really caring where she was going as long as it was somewhere else.

~~~~~

As the big sports car topped the high rise on the Lake Pontchartrain bridge, Cordelia adjusted the volume on the radio one last time. "Being in love really sucks," she said.

With half his attention on the traffic and half on the rather frightening woman beside him, René agreed. "Yes, ma'am. It does that."

She stared out at the lights of the eastern shore. "It sucks worse when the one you love loves you, too, but you can't be with them."

"Yeah, it really does," René said. "But, you could be with Angelus if you want, ma'am."

She shook her head. "No, I can't. I love him but I can't trust him anymore." She looked at the man beside her. It was still light enough out that she could still see him clearly but it was hard to look at him. No one that pretty should look that sad. "You could have anyone you want. Why her?"

René shrugged. He suspected Cordelia was asking a whole lot more than why he was attracted to Baby. She was asking why Angel was attracted to Baby. "I don't know. It sound silly for a man my age, but it was love at first sight."

She looked at him strangely. "Oh. That's… insane."

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am. But it true." The grin didn't last.

"You don't have to ma'am me constantly. My name is Cordelia but the family calls me Cordy." She felt the jar all the way up her spine as the car hit a dip in the road. Jesus, she hated Louisiana highways. "So stop with the ma'am already."

"Yes ma… Cordel…Cor…" He couldn't do it. It felt wrong. He searched his mind frantically for something he could call her that wouldn't stumble off his tongue or make him feel as though he should sink through the floor. It hit him suddenly. She'd kill him if she ever found out what it meant but…Mémé. It was perfect. "Yes, Mémé."

She looked at him oddly. Jean Claude had said René was different. "Okay, then." She stretched out her long legs and settled back. "I… I really do appreciate you letting me come with you." She sounded tired. "I just couldn't stay in that house anymore."

Rene focused on the road and tried to ignore the fact that he could still smell Baby on his skin and his clothes. "Yeah, me neither."

~~~~~

Baby stared out at the river not really seeing it, not really seeing anything. Maybe Spike was right. Maybe she should never have left Sunnydale with him. Maybe she should have gone back to where she'd been born. It would probably have been better for all concerned. She hadn't noticed the sounds of the radio coming from a party on one of the riverboats but now the words of a song she'd once known but forgotten long ago found her and ripped through her heart.

Is it my turn to wish you were lying here.
I tend to dream you when I'm not sleeping.
Is it my turn to fictionalize my world.
Or even imagine your emotions to tell myself anything...

Angel tried to ignore the radio playing in the garden but the song hurt too much. He punched another hole in one of Spike's walls, and then another and another, pounding the plaster and studs until his fists were bloody and his knuckles broken. They still hurt less than his heart did. He sank to his knees and screamed for Cordelia.

Is it my turn to hold your hands.
Tell you I love you and you not hear me...
Is it my turn to totally understand.
To watch you walk out of my life and not do a damn thing...

As they crossed the Louisiana / Mississippi line, the song coming from WGNO settled into René's torn heart and tore at Cordelia's abused soul.

If I have to give away...
The feeling that I feel.
If I have to sacrifice...
Oh, whatever babe, whatever baby.
If I have to take apart...
All that I am...
Is there anything that I would not do,
'Cause inside I'd die without you...

Spike looked at the tears flowing down his consort's stony face and simply wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried.

Oh, I apologize for all the things I've done.
But now I'm underwater and I'm drowning...
Is it my turn to be the one to cry.
Isn't it amazing how some things just completely turn around...

So take every little piece of my heart...
So take every little piece of my soul...
So take every little piece of my mind...
'Cause if you're gone... inside...
I'd die without you...

"Dove, I'm… I'm so sorry," Spike said into her hair. It hadn't been hard for him to track. He would always find her, wherever she might be.

She turned from the railing and into his arms. "Oh no, Spike. It's me. I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm the one who's hurt you!" She looked into his eyes. "I can't seem to control anything lately. I'm just a wreck. And I seem to just spread that around."

He brought a gentle hand up to cup her cheek. He wanted so very much to be angry with her, he really did, but he just couldn't seem to find it in himself. Earlier in the day, he'd wanted to kill her. Now he just wanted to love her. "I think I'm as confused as you are."

"See what I mean?" She closed her eyes for a moment.

Spike could feel her hurting. "Don't do this to yourself, rose."

She strove for control but it wasn't there. "I… I tried, Spike. I did. I tried not to feel anything for him. I tried so hard. But I can't help it." She tried to pull away but he held her closer. He wasn't going to run from this and neither was she. He stared at her until she started to breathe, stared at her until she started to cry, stared at her until she released the pain in a wail that flowed out over the Mississippi. "Oh God, Spike. Help me! I love him. Oh God, I love him and I can't stop!" He pulled her to him, kissing her face, her hair, licking the tears from her cheeks. "No, Spike. Please. Don't." He ignored her. He knew what was best. He always knew what was best for her. "Spike! Stop! It's not … It's not right." He continued to rain kisses on her, gentle as mist that was rising from the river. "It's not right!" she cried. "It's not right for me to cry on you for him!"

He grinned. He really did know her better than she knew herself. "Look at me, dove. How many times have I cried on you for Buffy?" She went very still. "Tell me how many." She didn't say anything. "You can't because there were too many to count."

"This is different," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "It's different because this time, it's you that's a wreck." He laughed. "You're not used to that. But it's all right. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. I. Love. You. And you love me. I feel it every time we touch. And somehow, we'll put this all back together. We are one life and one soul and no two people can ask for a better foundation than that. We will put our marriage back together. I swear that to you, dove. And we'll be as good together as we ever were." She stared at him, newly astonished at the sheer power of the man she had married. She suddenly believed him. He saw it in her face. "We will, love. Don't doubt that. We'll get through this. We'll get through this the way we've gotten through everything else-together."

She kissed him so hard he cut his lip on his own teeth. The blood tasted good mixed with the taste of her in his mouth.

~~~~~

Jean Claude gathered his not-inconsiderable courage and pulled open the huge door. He stepped inside and actually breathed a sigh of relief. He could do this. He was strong enough. He made his way down the side aisle to the row of small cubicles. He paused for only a moment before entering the nearest one. He sat and waited until he heard movement in the next box and the partition between the two opened. He stared down at the rosary lying in his bare hand and took a deep breath before beginning. "Father, forgive me for I have sinned. It's been seventeen years since my last confession…"




~Fin~

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