Imitor Vita Pro Amor 5

XIV: What's Your Fantasy?

Swirls of blue and white surrounded her, washing over her like transparent mesh sheets

blowing with the wind. They surrounded her with the gentlest of caresses as she walked barefoot in a room filled with nothing but the blue light of morning. They blew against her bare arms like silk, whipping at her gently, like consiprational whispers. She stopped and sighed, feeling so at ease here. Her hair blew back gently as the breeze tickled her skin. Brushing her palms along her stomach, she found herself clothed in a translucent white dress, the hem of the skirt trailing at her feet in a short train. The sheer white fabric was worn over a cream colored material underneath. A matching shawl was tucked around her arms, lightly covering her bare back. She looked in a mirror and realized, she'd never felt more beautiful. Her skin was soft and glowing, her lips shimmering with a coat of gossamer, and her eyes sparkling darkly in contrast with the light that enveloped the room. She didn't feel scared or uneasy at all, even though she was clueless as to where exactly she was. The ground was silky and soft beneath her feet, like she was walking on the petals of wild roses.

The song was the story of their lives. They both knew it, and they took solace in each other's embrace. As long as they had one another, there was solace in this contramundum.

He closed his eyes tightly against her hair and gritted his teeth. He was fighting

back the tumultuous emotions bubbling inside of his body, so close to the surface.

But before he could stop himself, he began to purr softly. He wished he knew how to cut that ridiculous sound out, but he felt her ease, even with the noise of an animal. Could it soothe her? Why couldn't it…the fact that a monster of a man was holding her and comforting her was already ludicrous. Yet, here they were dancing in the surf, surrounded by fireflies and stars.

And I would be the one

to hold you down,

kiss you so hard,

I'll take your breath away

and after I'd wipe away the tears,

Just close your eyes dear...

When the music ended and there was silence, the wind picked up and she sensed the candles flicker out. It was suddenly dark. But, it was still safe and serene. She lifted her head from his chest and she turned her gaze upwards, as if trying to see him through the blindfold. She wondered how his eyes looked as the moonlight bounced off the ocean. She deliberated whether or not his smile was as bright as hers. Her hand left his shoulder, traveling up his neck, tracing his cold lips. They weren't clammy or anything associated with what a person who was dead felt like. Their coolness was refreshing. The warmth of her skin made his lips warm to touch.

She smiled at him. She placed her palm on his chiseled cheek. "Kiss me..." she breathed into the wind. He was too in shock to move at first. He pondered whether he knew it was him. Blindfolded, she would willingly kissing him. But what if she thought he was really someone else? His lips tingled warmly. She'd get to know him if she didn't know it was him. He'd make sure of that. When he felt some pressure from her, pulling him towards her, he fulfilled her request. His lips pressed against her softly at first, heat meeting cold. He felt his entirety jump and come to life at the feel of her full, warm lips. He purred again, with desperate want. He pulled her into his embrace and his mouth came down slightly harder on hers. Her mouth parted and he ran his tongue along her lips, which were swollen from his kisses.

She met his ferocity with a gentleness all her own, and moaned softly, finally feeling what she longed for, for months. She met his actions with her own tongue, dancing along his. It was explosion after explosion, the two temperatures creating a battleground in the duel kisses between them. They returned each other's fire and ice with more of the same, neither willing to submit. She could feel her losing control from the intensity of his kisses. She moaned again when he began to gently suck on her lower lip and things began to slow, to sometihng more tender. More loving.

Finally, they pulled apart, leaving her gasping for air and him, nuzzling her neck affectionately.

She grinned, pulling his head up. "I want to see you... I need to see you..."

He was afraid to speak. He knew his voice would be a dead give away and the fear of seeing the loathing and disgust in her eyes made him scared. "Spike...please..." She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "I...know it's you..." She paused, with a wicked smile. "It better be you..."

He cocked his head to the side. How could it be? He grinned wildly and placed

A brief, sweet kiss upon her swollen lips, as his hand slid into the hair, gently slipping the knot of the blindfold loose. He removed it tenderly, pulling away from her slightly. He stood then, staring at her, awaiting her reaction. Her eyes searched up, finding his moonlit face. She sighed with happiness, and smiled contentedly. "I knew it was you," she whispered softly, running a thumb along his cheekbone in what could only be called a lover's caress.

He watched her intense, passion-filled eyes. "I'm glad you're happy..."

Spike's undead heart threatened to pound against his chest with the sudden vitality he felt. He watched her gown flowing in the moonlight, her hair blowing against the breeze...her eyes shimmering with happiness. She was beyond beauty. She was perfection.

"I feel so peaceful here. I..." she blushed. "I feel beautiful and warm and comforted..." She danced over to where the wind blew sheets of blue mesh across her. "It feels so good, every touch, every sound, every smell...it's so beautiful here. And the ocean!" She jogged over, jumping into the waves, despite her dress. "Everything here is so nice!" She made her way back to him, eyes glowing. "Can you feel it?"

He nodded. "Watching you brings me more joy than anything, Buffy... Don't you know that?"

She smiled and moved to kiss him again, this time, a familiar, gentle touch of the lips.

"Spike, where are we, exactly?" she whispered up to him.

He looked down at her, cupping her face. "My dreams, Buffy..." he paused.

"In my dreams, you love me, as much as I love you. In my dreams, you're at peace an' you're happy, an' as painfully beautiful as you are in reality. In my dreams, you're not blindfolded all the time. I wish you'd see it when we wake up too, pet. Can't you see how much I love you?" he gripped her arms a bit tighter, not with anger, but with determination, as if he were afraid that any second, they would wake up. "Can't you look past the demon? Can't you see the part of me that loves you, slayer and all?

Please...Please…Please..." he chanted, though he already felt them being ripped away from his dream world.

"Spike!!!" Buffy screamed, eyes flying open, and she shot up. She heaved heavily, gasping for air as she was forcefully ripped from her dreams. She suddenly felt suffocated, and got out of bed, to open her window. She breathed in the night air for a moment and sighed. Her heart was racing like a freight train. Squeezing her eyes shut, she warded off the tears. Just what the hell was this all about?! And why did it take dreams of what could never be to put her truly at peace? She took a few more deep breaths; telling herself over and over that it had just been a dream. It hadn't been real.

She wrapped her arms around herself, protectively. Yet, it had felt like so much more than an unintentional subconscious fantasy.

She shivered coolly, bringing the window down, so as to leave it open just a crack. Satisfied, she then padded back over to her bed and climbed in, tucking herself into the covers. She raised her brow, seeing something lying at the foot of her bed. Reaching down, she grabbed it, plucking it off the floor. She gasped, realizing what it was. It was a beautiful, sheer white shawl. "Oh God..." she fingered the fabric. She recognized the fabric from the dress in her dream, but apparently, it had really come from her closet. A present from her mother, to match a dress she'd bought a few years ago… She wondered how it managed to get onto her bed. Shrugging mentally, she laid it onto her nightstand table and slipped down into the bed, shutting her eyes.

Beside her bed a firefly darted out from the air and flew out into the night air. A gentle wind rustled into the room from the crack in her window, and the shawl blew and fluttered onto the floor. But there was no Spike.

Part XX: Enter, the Grand Poo-Ba

Meanwhile at the Hyperion Hotel in Los Angeles, Cordelia Chase broke out the gauze and bandages, as she and Fred helped patch up Angel's numerous wounds for what seemed like the umpteenth time in so many months. Her former boss looked like Swiss cheese, except with red, oozy holes. "Angel, you know guns? They have bullets, which cause hurt. You should duck."

"Thanks for that new bit of information, Cordy," he grunted, partially in pain from the clip that had been emptied into his person by a particularly zealous street gang and partially out of annoyance.

Fred cocked her head to the side; nonplussed by the exchange, because in truth, it was something she had seen everyday for the past three months. She pressed gently on a strip of gauze, so it stuck to a wound lying on the place where his shoulder and chest met. Angel noted that her touch was infinitely more gentle and tentative than Cordelia's, who just seemed unimpressed by his ability to constantly get shot, stabbed, run over, or burned.

"Does it hurt long?" Fred asked in that tremulous, sweet voice she had, pushing her glasses back up her nose. He didn't know why, but that made her seem adorably innocent, despite the hell she had been through back in Pylea.

He smiled gently at the young woman. "It really looks more painful than it is."

Cordelia smirked and pushed hard against one of the oozing wounds, causing him to hiss sharply and wince. "Yeah, impress the ladies some other time Macho boy, and stop flexing so I can get this thing to fit right."

He opened one eye to look at Cordy, his body still bent slightly from the pain she had caused. "I survive street gangs, demon cults, and my own childer, but it's my secretary that kills me."

There was a beat, as Cordy, slightly surprised, tried to figure out how to respond to that. "You made a joke. Too bad Wesley's not here. You might have scared him. He would have thought you were all soulless again."

"Why is it that whenever I try to make jokes people automatically think that I've lost my soul?" he complained, creasing the entire plane of his face into one giant frown.

"Because you're Mister Concrete-Face. Mister Granite-Features. When you make jokes you remind us of psycho boy again. It sort of takes getting used to."

"I thought it was kinda funny," Fred offered, noticing Angel's wounded ego.

He smiled crookedly. "Thanks."

She smiled back enthusiastically before gently wrapping his chest with a strip bandage so that the broken ribs he had withstood from bouncing internal bullets would mend easier. He watched her intently. After Fred finished and tied it off, she patted it gently, as if commending the bandage itself for such good work. Angel's eye sparkled a bit before turned his attention back to Cordelia. "So when are Gunn and Wesley getting back?"

"Do I look like a psychic?" Everyone paused. "Okay, never mind. Do I look like a watch?"

"You look fine," Fred responded. Everyone paused for another beat, save Fred, who clasped her hands in her lap and waited expectantly for someone to talk.

"Thanks, Fred," Cordy smiled. "Anyway, Wesley called and said he and Gunn should be back with your new book soo…"

She never finished her sentence.

Angel, despite his wounds, moved to catch her, before she fell onto the floor. It hurt like hell, and he bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out, while Fred immediately went to get a pad and paper. "Cordy? What do you see?" Angel asked eagerly as she held her head and moaned.

"Give me…a sec, will you… you big…dope?" she ground out, in obvious pain.

"Sorry," he responded, properly chastened. Fred scurried over and held out the pen and pad to Cordelia, her glasses in crooked disarray on her face. Angel mused that he'd really need to get her some new glasses; those big thick black frames always seemed to be falling off of her delicate little face…

"Oh God! Dawn!!! He's going to… Don't touch her!!"

The words Cordelia uttered were like being submerged in a vat of ice-cold water, and Angel was slapped; quiet harshly, back into reality. "Cordy?" he asked, his voice quiet.

She groaned and shook her head, eyes watering slightly, weather from the pain or her natural empathy, no one could be sure. "God, Angel…something was taking her…it was going to feed off of her, drain her of everything."

"Our Dawn?" he asked, anxiously.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, the movement causing a fresh bout of nausea to wash over her. Fred produced the ibuprofen dutifully. Cordy smiled shakily and accepted it, pushing herself out of Angel's grasp and sitting back down on the couch.

"When?" the souled vampire asked, eyes full of anguish. He'd once tried to drain Dawn dry himself, not so long ago. Now, now he had to protect that little girl that was Buffy's sister. He hoped she didn't hold a grudge.

"Tomorrow…soon, I don't know…" the seer responded, clenching her teeth as the throbbing continued unmercifully on her skull. She vaguely wondered how Doyle had endured it for so long, the pain, both physical and emotional of others' torment.

"We can't chance it…we have to go now," Angel stated. "Or it might be too late." He glanced at the clock overlooking the counter. "It's just past 2… if we drive fast, we can get there before sunup."

"If traffic's not bad," Fred mused thoughtfully. "LA has a lot of traffic."

Despite the current situation, Angel smiled a bit at the girl's random musings. "Yeah, Fred. Traffic can be a bitch." With that, he grabbed his shirt and his duster, mindful of his wounds, and headed for the door. "Call Wesley and Gunn. Tell them to hurry up and get back, Cordy. We're leaving for Sunnydale in 20 minutes. I'll go get the car."

Cordelia downed an aspirin and watched him walk gingerly out of the hotel's double doors. "You know, we could call them and warn them. Why does he always have to have such a Batman complexion?" she muttered, rubbing sorely at her forehead.

"I used to watch Batman." Fred smiled.

Cordelia couldn't help but notice how charming the girl was, despite her wackiness. She could see why Angel had developed a soft spot for her, almost immediately. "C'mon Fred… we better go pack some things incase it's a longer trip than we think. Unlike some, we need different clothes to wear everyday." She pulled the other brunette up the stairs, grabbing the cordless and dialing Wesley's cell phone as she did. She'd have time to complain about her skull-cracking headache, later.

20 minutes later, the LA gang was in the car and moving 20 miles above speed limit towards Sunnydale. "Tell me again why the hell we ain't just callin' her? You know Angel, telephones HAVE been invented since the 1700s…" Gunn drawled from the backseat of the speeding convertible, not too happy about being dragged off to Smallville, CA in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. "I mean, she's the Slayer right, ain't she supposed to handle this sort of stuff everyday?"

Angel growled from behind the wheel of the GTX at the young man and pulled onto the highway at a rate of speed that would get them arrested. "The PTB's sent Cordy the vision. Which means they wanted ME to work on this. There's got to be something going on that they need ME for."

"You sure they ain't just shittin' with you?"

Angel glared at his coworker again through the rearview, but it didn't do much considering Gunn couldn't see it. "Look, if we can get this taken care of without Buffy finding out, all the better. We know that she doesn't need to see me."

"Because you're still the most important thing in her life right now, and she thinks about and laments you everyday, I'm sure," Cordy drawled, bored.

Fred pushed her glasses back onto her nose, sitting in-between Gunn and Wesley and asked completely innocently, "What's a Buffy?"

Cordy smirked. "Good question."

Buffy was having trouble sleeping again. However, it wasn't the same, excited restlessness that had visited her with dreams of Spike, but rather something ominous and foreboding in the shadows of her mind. Her subconscious realized it was a prophetic dream and that she should pay attention, but natural fear kicked in as well and she immediately attempted to shy away from the images haunting her.

She whimpered in her sleep in pain and frustration, as if the very life was being sucked out of her. A laughing, wrinkled old demon gaped and flashed before her, causing her to instinctively cringe and twist away. Then suddenly, a green light filled the peripheral edges of her vision, and with it, a warm respite from the cold ice of fear. It was something so magnificent and bright that it nearly blinded her. Yet it drew her towards it, with all its gentle purity. She wanted to reach out and just touch it, run it through her fingers. It was airy and light, playful. It swirled about her fingers like a butterfly, and a sudden pang of familiarity hit her as it flitted gracefully between her fingertips. Then the moment was ripped apart as she watched, horrified, as the warm, glowing energy swirled and compressed into a thick mass, before being forcefully pulled into the wrinkled form of the demon, where it promptly dissipated with an earth-shattering burst of power followed by the elated cackling of the wrinkle-face. The last thing she heard was a distinctively familiar scream…

Buffy's eyes shot open and she gasped, filling her lungs with air. She held back the girlie scream that her body had initially wanted to let out, and sighed instead. Hand on her thumping heart; she shook herself. "God… is it soooo much to ask for a decent night's sleep?" she grumbled, turning on her side so she could survey the digital reading on her nightstand clock. 4 AM. Perfect. She'd gotten exactly three hours of sleep. Groaning tiredly, she rolled back onto her back, and tried to breathe slowly to calm her racing heart. Talk about the mother of all bad dreams. Buffy stared at the white ceiling of her room for several minutes, willing herself to calm down enough to think about everything she had seen rationally. She'd had prophetic dreams before, right? Sadly enough, this was definitely an experience that was not new. She mentally went through the steps of standard, required procedure after such a dream. What she needed was to write down the details right away before she could forget. Pulling herself into a sitting position, the Slayer grabbed her journal from her nightstand and a pen from the top drawer. Uncapping it with her mouth, she reached over and clicked her lamp on, illuminating the room in a soft yellow glow. Then, with a still, slightly shaky hand, she began to write what she had seen in that vivid, horrible, strange dream. The next step would have to wait till tomorrow, for the Scoobies.

In his crypt, Spike jerked uncomfortably awake, hand going to his chest and rubbing absently. What the hell had that been? He growled and vamped out, testing the air around him for possible danger. Not sensing anything, he shook off the ridged countenance of his demon and frowned. Being a vampire, his instincts were not just super-sensitive to the physical world, but also in superior tune with that of the supernatural. And something seemed off kilter. That little shock he had felt just a second ago, that spark from inside, it was a warning. Grunting, he debated weather it was worth the risk of getting up and trudging to the Slayer's, or the Watcher's to ask them if anything was going on. Then he realized how bloody ridiculous that all would seem if he rung the bell at 4 in the morning and asked if everything was okay because he'd had a jolt. He laid his head back down on his crypt and tried to get back to sleep. Still, he felt a certain amount of disquietude running through his veins, as if his demon was anticipating something, and preparing itself. He tried to shake it off as jitters from everything that had happened earlier this morning, and willed himself to relax. But he was itching, inside. Growling, he sat up again and tossed his blanket off. It felt like something was going to happen and he'd be damned if it got the jump on him or his.

He sighed and grabbed his duster, swinging it onto his shoulders before exiting his crypt. He had time to do a quick sweep/looksee before sunrise. And he knew he wouldn't get any bloody sleep until he figured out was getting him all in a twist. It felt like there was something building, adding up, and getting ready to happen, soon. He strode out into he cool night air, his senses sharp and his body ready for anything. But in contrast to his inner turmoil, the outside was as still as…well, a tomb. Sighing, the vampire ran a frustrated hand through his hair and kept walking, in the direction (consciously or not) of the Summers's home. He walked quickly; wanting to make sure all was well there of all places, before heading back to the crypt in time that he wouldn't become the dreaded alter ego, Extra-Crispy Spike.

And so was the reasoning that brought him there, and upon arrival, oddly enough, he saw a light shining from the bedroom window that was Buffy's. The vampire stood under the tree in front of her house a moment, wondering what she could possibly be doing awake at this time of night, or rather, morning. Furrowing his brow worriedly, he wondered if everything was all right. Had he missed some clue earlier that should have revealed to him how Buffy was feeling about the past days' events? Had her making Riley leave been harder on her than it had first appeared? He muttered to himself about being selfish earlier, and for not thinking about the effects of his battle with Cardboard might have had on her. She had cared for Riley once, after all. And a part of him realized that she could very well be taking this poorly, just because she was the kind of person that cherished everyone in her life, and mourned each of them, if need be.

He contemplated climbing the tree to check up on her, but wondered if his presence would only bring a fresh bout of hurt to her. He was the reason, partly, for this entire fiasco in the first place. But the thought of her up there alone with no one to lean on tugged at him as well. He sighed and ran a hand through his already disheveled-from sleep-hair. Decisions were not always fun to make. It was a toss up between going in and possibly getting staked for his efforts, or going home, feeling guilty and wondering if he had caused some terrible pain in Buffy's life and hadn't been there when she had needed him.

He smirked to himself after reciting his thoughts through his mind. The decision apparently, was already made, and he began to carefully scale the tree. A strange night when one would rather risk getting staked than having to deal with their own guilt for possibly hurting someone they loved. He was a right soft wanker, he was.

Angel checked the clock on his dashboard as the convertible arrived in Sunnydale and allowed a grunt of satisfaction. They had gotten here with time to spare before sunrise. Deciding that there was time for a quick detour from the motel they were shooting for, the vampire hung a quick left and headed towards Revello Drive. The other members of his group were fast asleep in the convertible and thus, unaware of the side trip. The vampire was going to give himself this one, small allowance to perhaps, put his heart at ease for the night. It was just a crumb, after all.

Perhaps the PTB's were bored in the world of fighting evil, and felt the need to liven things up. Perhaps there was some hand of fate mischievously playing with the strings of the lives of our heroes, just because they could, and felt that they should do as such. Or maybe Sunnydale just wanted to see another terrific kicking of someone's ass. One never really knew on a Hellmouth, but it happens nonetheless.

Angel's convertible rounded the corner and drove down the street at a subdued pace, so as not to disturb any of the sleeping inhabitants of the neighborhood. The car pulled to a stop across the street from the Summer's home. He shut off the engine and pulled the keys, noting that his young friends were all still sound asleep, save for maybe Fred, who had woken once their momentum had stopped and was now looking around the quiet, suburban neighborhood with no small amount of fascination. "Where's this?" she asked him quietly, still fiddling with the loose glasses on her face.

"This is Buffy's house," Angel responded quietly. "I'm just going to check in real fast. Stay here, okay?"

She nodded and smiled. She always had a smile, for everything. Angel wondered if that was from having to live in a dimension where there was no laughter and she was making up for it, or if that was just in her nature. It was endearing, that sort of friendliness. "I'll be back in a second."

She nodded and took her hand away from her face, folding it into her lap with the other one. "Okay." She smiled again.

He returned the gesture, genuinely, and slid out of the car quietly, not bothering to mold himself into the gray shadows of the pre-dawn sky. There was no need for stealth now, he sensed no danger, and there wasn't time for that sort of grand entrance. Halfway across the street, a familiar scent caught his attention, and he barely kept from morphing, shaking his head and growling. Fearing that his senses were playing some sort of sick joke on him, he paused to take a figurative breath to gather himself. Then, he took another whiff of the air around him, listened to the demon pounding inside of him. There was no mistaking it this time, and all he could manage to think through his shock was an inarticulate, `what the hell'. The subdued pace he had initially taken was then switched for something more frantic, as he dashed across the lawn. His instincts hadn't betrayed him, as he had first thought. And there, to confirm what he already knew, much to his utter disbelief and horror, perched Spike, on the tree just outside Buffy's bedroom. The very tree Angel had traversed countless times to steal a moment with his precious slayer, during what seemed, an eternity ago. The blonde vampire looked to be peering in, his brow furrowed with thought, probably about the best way to kill her, as far as Angel was concerned, anyway. Spike made as if to knock on the glass, but pulled his hand back, and morphed into his demon form first. Enraged, Angel did the same and presented his demon countenance to the forefront, before silently moving to scale the tree after his errant grand-childe. This time, he would really kill the bastard.

Spike poised to tap softly on Buffy's window but paused when his senses screamed at him from inside. He allowed himself to morph to better analyze the situation, confused as hell with himself and his apparently, wacky wirings. That move gave him all the warning he needed, and he swung around the outstretched limb just out of the grasp of whatever it had been stalking up after him. On the belly of the branch's trunk, he growled and pushed himself back up the opposite side, back on top, landing in a defensive crouch on his toes. He glared into the night, senses on full alert.

"I'll kill you before I let you hurt her, Spike."

Spike was dumbfounded at the sound of the familiar voice, and let his guard down for a split second as realization hit him. It was just long enough for Angel to sucker punch him, sending him flying out of the tree and down into the hard packed earth just below. He grunted in pain, attempting to shake it off as his grand-sire landed lithely beside him, the perfect picture of glowing rage. Spike would have found it funny, if they weren't in danger of waking the Nibblet, which would make for a very brassed off Slayer to deal with in the morning…

"Oh yeah…" Spike jumped to his feet gracefully, remembering that there was a smoldering, magnificently pissed 249-year-old elder just about ready to kill him. He spun to face his grand-sire, smirking, just because he knew it irritated him to no end. "Mind me askin' what the hell you're doing in Sunnyhell, Angelus?" he asked, conversationally.

"I could ask you the same, boy."

"You can? I'm glad for you, I really am. You're learning more every time I see you, Hair Boy."

"You always did like to run your mouth before a fight," Angel growled in response. "Glad no one will have to deal with that ever again, after tonight."

"Well, aren't we the strapping Super-Poof tonight? Mind tellin' me why you saw fit to toss me out of the bleedin' tree?"

"What do you want with Buffy?"

"What do mean, what do I…" Spike didn't get to finish his sentence, because Angel lunged at him again, growling like a rabid lion. Spike ducked around him fluidly. His grand-sire sort of sacrificed form for power when he was this brassed off, and Spike knew it. Had years of experience with it from the past, in fact. The younger vamp supposed he could take the split second his sire was off balance during the charge to get under his defenses and give it good, but he really wasn't in the mood for this right now. Instead, he stood and waited patiently for Angel to spin around. The elder vamp did it about ten times faster than Spike had predicted however, and a foot caught him on the side of the head, snapping his chin sharply to the right. William growled low in his throat. Bloody ponce always liked going for the cheap shots. Setting his jaw again, he slowly turned back to face Angel. "Angelus, listen you ragin' wanker…" He was cut off with a quick jab to the nose.

Managing to dodge the next series of punches from Angel, Spike felt himself being backed up towards the bushes, and chanced a backwards glance to gauge the distance. He learned a little too late, that that had been a mistake, when his grand-sire's foot connected with his stomach. The force of the blow sent him staggering backwards, into the wall of Buffy's house, with a subdued `thud'. That was it. That was bloody well it. Spike wouldn't let his poof of a grand-sire get away with that while he was too busy trying to not fight back. Charging forward, Spike tackled Angel and shoved him bodily into the trunk of the tree, before smashing his fist hard into his sire's nose. "Will you bloody well listen to me?!" he hissed, trying to draw back so they could talk. As much as he'd like to kill the grand-poof right here and now, he knew Buffy wouldn't appreciate it, and he barely, just barely, managed to contain himself and keep from fighting back in more than just self-defense. But Angel took advantage of Spike's charity and grabbed him by the collar of his duster, reversing their positions, and slamming Spike into the trunk, hard.

"Listen? How about I `bloody well' kill you instead?"

Spike rolled his eyes at the threat that wasn't very threatening. "This is bloody ridiculous. Will you just LISTEN for a second?" Spike couldn't believe this. He really couldn't. In all the time he had been working with the Scoobies, none of them had even bothered to keep his volatile grand-sire in the loop by telling him he'd switched teams? He made a mental note about thumping Xander upside the head for it tomorrow, if he lived that long.

"You know what? Fine. You've got one second to tell me what the hell you're doing here," Angel growled, right in the younger vampire's face as he held him off the ground.

"One second? That's fair," Spike agreed. Then he swung both arms out and knocked the hands pinning his body to the tree away, before slamming the palm of his hand into Angel's face. The older vampire staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose and snarling. He was going to kill Spike now. He really was.

Buffy paused in her writing when she heard a solid thump come from outside, against her house. Frowning, she set her pen and paper down, swearing to herself that if Spike was still out there… scratch that, she KNEW Spike was out there. She could feel him. Shaking her head, the Slayer got up off the bed and padded over to the window, annoyed face on and prepared to be thrown at her blonde vampire. Thrusting the window open and poking her head outside, she took a deep breath, ready to tell him that she wasn't above dusting him if it would get her some rest. And then she stopped when she saw what was happening. Spike was obviously fighting someone; she could tell who was who from the brilliant shock of hair that was uniquely his. She couldn't make out his opponent down in the dark there, however. She squinted, trying to make out the shape of it to discern if it was vampire or demon. Or worse yet, a drunk, royally pissed off, Riley Finn.

She quickly got to her feet and sprinted back to her nightstand, throwing open the bottom drawer and grabbing a stake, just in case. Spike looked to be holding his own, but his opponent sure looked like he knew what he was doing. She ran back to the window, weapon in hand, and took another quick look. Whomever it was that her friend was fighting seemed to be getting the upper hand. Either Spike was holding back, or the thing attacking him was really very good. In a fraction of a second, the Slayer was crawling out the window and on the branch of the tree; stake tucked under one arm.

She jumped gracefully down behind the warring creatures and poised her stake, when her Slayer-sense screamed "vampire" at her.

Spike saw her, about to get the drop on Angel, her stake raised and ready to turn the bastard into dust. He sighed, knowing he was going to regret this tomorrow… "Buffy, no!!!!"

And with Spike's warning, Angel spun around, vamp face still full on, growling savagely. Buffy paused, too shocked to move. Her stake stayed poised mid-air, when something inside of her warned that he might once again, be soulless. "Angel?" she asked tentatively. God, all she needed was Angelus showing up again…

Upon seeing Buffy, and reading the half hopeful, half horrified expression on her face, Angel instantly reverted to his human mask. "Buffy?"

"Good, you still remember each other. Buffy, luv, tell your wannabe knight in shinin' armor to bloody well put me down, eh?"

Still shocked, Buffy lowered her stake as Angel morphed back to his human face. "Um, Angel… put Spike down."

Now Angel was confused. "What? But he… and I saw him, and he was climbing the tree…"

Buffy shook her head, not understanding a word of the babbling coming out of Angel's mouth. Instead, she looked at Spike, who was suspended several inches off the ground by the edges of his duster, slammed up against the back of the tree. "Spike?"

"Saw your light on, was worried you weren't takin' everythin' that happened today well," he explained, shrugging a shoulder as far up as Angel's grip would allow. "Then all of a sudden, I get knocked out of the bloody tree by the Dark Avenger here."

"Oh." She nodded, then turned her gaze back to Angel, who had watched the exchange with furrowed brow, and a frown that seemed to make his whole face stretch downward. "Oh! Angel, let him down, now!"

Working on autopilot, he did as he was told, and dropped the younger vampire, who landed on his feet, smirking. He always had the most irritating smirk. "Will someone tell me what's going on here?!" Angel asked, looking from one blonde to the next.

Spike looked at Buffy. "Seems the Scoobies and you… left out a bit of detail, pet. Apparently, Peaches'n cream here still thinks I'm evil."

Buffy sighed. "I knew I forgot SOMETHING in my welcome back call."

"You had a lot to talk about, luv. Back from the dead and all. Don't worry about it. Anyway, I was just droppin' by to see if you were all right. Got a strange feelin' while I was sleepin' and it wouldn't let up, kinda got worried. You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Buffy responded, smiling at Spike in much the same manner Fred smiled at him, Angel noted. "Thanks."

"So it's normal when you're up at 4 AM readin', then?" Spike asked, skeptically.

She shook her head. "No…I had a dream… a nightmare."

"You did? Was it one of your Slayer-y thingies?"

"Yeah, I think so. I was writing it down."

"Oh. Guess that explains a lot then." Spike smiled sheepishly. "So um, you're not all broken up about the Commando Kid, then?"

"No, not as much as I thought I might be. I'm already over getting over him."

"Good. I was worried I'd mucked up or somethin' and left you all alone in your misery."

"Nope, no misery here. Just bad prophetic dreams."

"I don't suppose I should be relieved then, eh pet? What'd you see?"

Angel coughed. "I'm still here."

Both of them were smacked out of their private world and back to that annoying thing called reality at the irritated voice coming from beside the tree trunk.

"You ARE still here. Why don't you get gone then, Poof?"

Buffy smacked Spike's arm lightly. "He's obviously here for a reason."

"Other than bloody sucker punching a bloke at 4am in the bloody morning?"

She smiled a bit at Spike's overacted expression of disgust. "You're bleeding," she said softly, reaching up with her fingers to wipe some blood of off a small cut that had opened itself on his forehead. "C'mon inside, before you two are Crispy-Spike and Crispy-Angel… apparently, we need to talk."