Chapter Eleven -- When Tables Turn ... Promises are Made

"Let me get this straight," Xander said, hunching his broad shoulders and jerking his head around; looking both confused and nauseated. "The reason The First came to Sunnydale was because it wanted Spike's body?"

"Doesn't everyone these days?" Faith asked. Her dry humor earning her glares from all present. She raised her hands in defeat. "Sorry, sorry," she apologized as she backed into her husband's arms.

"Quite true, Xander," Giles confirmed. "We all know that The First was incorporeal. It could take on the appearance of various people, but had no true physical form. In essence -- other than its ability manipulate and influence our actions through the words it spoke -- it was powerless. However," the watcher paused to take a breath. "It could use a host as a vessel. It has the ability to enter a willing subject, to use that subject's body as if it were its own, thus the inhumanly strong preacher. The caveats being, that the vessel it requires has to be strong enough to contain it -- the preacher was never meant to be anything other than short term -- and the vessel must have a --"

"Soul to corrupt," Robin guessed.

"Precisely." Giles looked on Wood with approval.

"So ... just how are we going to protect Spike?" Dawn asked, quickly grasping the threat.

"Protect Spike!" Kennedy hissed, outrage making her face tighten into an ugly mask. "I say we dust the bastard! He murdered Amy. He fed --"

"Quiet," Willow ordered, her voice vibrating with power. "We don't know anything yet." Her voice softened, "At this point all we have are questions"

Giles nodded. "Yes, many questions." He looked around at the Scoobies as he began to explain further. "Along with the book detailing The First, Willow and I also found one that had a small section on the jewel that Spike wore into the Hellmouth. It would appear that the bearer of the amulet is given the ability to channel the power of heaven, sunlight if you will, into the abyss -- at the cost of his immortal soul."

"Spike paid for destroying the Hellmouth with, not just his life, but with his soul," Willow explained to those gathered in the library.

"That sucks," Andrew broke the silence caused by Willow's dramatic words. "But at least now that he's soulless again, The First won't be after his well-muscled, yet sleek and compact body."

"What are you, stupid?" Kennedy asked as she glared at Andrew. "Don't any of you get it?" She looked around the room. "Yes, Spike lost his soul. That's too bad. I feel real sorry for him -- but he's FEEDING again. He murdered Amy and, for all we know, he's already killed Buffy!"

"No!" Xander took a step forward. "Spike wouldn't do that. He ... " Uncertainly, he looked to Willow for help. "He wouldn't hurt Buffy, would he, Will?"

She shook her head slightly, but her eyes were haunted as she spoke, "Spike wouldn't."

"But it's Spike we're talking about here." Confused, Xander looked back and forth between Willow and Giles. "Isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Giles said reluctantly. "There's more."

"More? How can there be more?" Xander asked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in preparation. "Lay it on us."

"Before we called you all together, Willow and I went over the spell she used the night Spike returned." Willow hung her head so that her loose hair hid her face. "When she issued the invitation that allowed a demon to enter this estate, she made a grave error." Willow shuddered visibly. "She called for an 'angel of light.'"

"Uh oh," Andrew gasped and sidled closer to Xander. "That could be bad -- very, very, very --"

"So?" Faith asked, giving Andrew an impatient look. "Big deal, we wanted an angel, right?"

"You really have to start reading your Bible, darling." Robin tightened his arms around her waist. "In the scriptures, second Corinthians I believe, it says that Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light."

"Yes, the great deceiver." Giles stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. "A demon that appears to be the savior, but instead, is the ultimate evil."

"Willow?" Xander asked in disbelief.

"Hey, still Jewish here," she said softly. Her voice trembled as she tried to explain, "I've never read the New Testament."

"Oh, this is great, just great. Buffy's up there," Xander pointed towards the shadowed ceiling, "stress testing her new bed with something that might not even be the vampire that she's decided is the love of her life, who may or may not be an evil, soulless, murdering monster."

"That sums it up quite nicely, Xander. Thank you," Giles noted dryly. "The question is now, what can we do about it?"

"Go up there and dust him," Kennedy said confidently.

"We can't," Willow said as she lifted her head. "We don't know that he's guilty of anything and besides, we promised Buffy that we'd never interfere -- that we'd never intrude on her privacy again."

"But this is different!" Kennedy shouted.

"No," Willow denied firmly, her eyes hardening with resolve. "It's exactly the same. She's in love with a vampire. We have reason to suspect that he's evil and we fear for her safety. We've been through this all before."

Kennedy was speechless, she was so angry. "Grrrr," was all she managed as she stormed from the library.

"So what do we do then?" Faith asked.

"We wait and we watch," Giles said. "Rona's already on guard outside Buffy's apartment and the moment Buffy emerges --"

"If she's still alive," Robin noted darkly. Faith twisted inside the circle of his arms so that she could look questioningly into his face. His face was expressionless as he spoke. "Spike could have caught her by surprise and already drained her."

~

~

Buffy lay unmoving on the bed, totally drained and too weak to move.

She had just enough strength left in her well-used and aching body to smile, which is exactly what she was doing -- smiling at the sleeping demon beside her.

"I love you," she whispered before drifting off to sleep beside him.

She awoke several hours later and didn't need the clock beside the bed to tell her it was nearly lunchtime. She was ravenous, so hungry that she thought about taking a few big bites out of the vampire curled around her.

His arms encircled her tightly, one of his legs rested between hers, and his head was a heavy weight on her chest. It was hard to believe that in all the years they'd known each other, all the things they'd done with each other's bodies, that this was only the fourth time that she'd ever awoken in his embrace. Buffy kissed the top of his head and vowed to wake with him every morning from now until the day she died ... again.

She rubbed her cheek against his satiny hair and frowned. Spike had been right, there were a few things different about him. His hair, being one of the most noticeable. Always before it had been rough, slightly crunchy even without the goop that he'd thankfully given up. The bleach he'd habitually used had left his hair brittle, with a slightly greenish tinge. Now, it was felt like silk and was the purest white except for the shafts of gold that highlighted it.

Thank God she hadn't pulled it out by its roots during the long hours they'd spent in bed. She didn't have to close her eyes to picture the sight of her hands grasping and pulling at the gilded curls as Spike lay between her spread thighs. His face hidden against her pussy, his lips nipping on her delicate folds, his tongue stroking and probing, rasping and rubbing, burrowing into her -- driving her insane.

Buffy panted with sudden need. She almost woke him, but then restrained herself. He needed his sleep, and besides, there was no rush.

They had all the time in the world.

So, instead of shaking him awake and jumping on his face, she carded her fingers into the soft waves of his hair. She marveled at the way the curls seemed to cling to her fingers as if even Spike's hair wanted to embrace her. She giggled at the silly thought, kissed the top of his head again, and wiggled out of his arms before she gave in to temptation and took him again.

He didn't wake, but he did mutter something about shoes.

"I'm going to have to find out about this footwear fetish of yours," she whispered to his sleeping form. "Maybe it's my high heels that you really love."

He looked so beautiful, so innocent lying there on the ice-blue sheets, that she wanted to cry.

And change the sheets.

What had her friends done with the navy ones she'd picked out, anyway? Spike looked lovely, but his pale flesh would have looked even more delicious spread out on a darker color. She took one step toward the closet and then both her bladder and her stomach demanded her attention.

Tinkle, shower, and breakfast became her immediate priorities.

Buffy hurried to the bathroom. She hissed when her bladder let loose and burned her tender, swollen flesh. She showered quickly, gently washing her pleasantly sore nipples and her over-used ... cunny, as Spike would say.

Once out of the shower, she looked for, and was delighted to find, a pair of brand new toothbrushes. She'd have to remember to thank Willow, or had it been Dawn who'd been so thoughtful? Buffy picked out the pink brush, leaving the black one for Spike. She was in the process of brushing her molars when she saw it -- the livid bite he'd left on her neck. She choked on the mint-flavored paste and spat it out into the sink so she could inspect his mark.

Livid, red imprints of human teeth could plainly be seen superimposed over the old scar Angel had left. Spike had bitten her hard all right, just short of breaking the skin. She winced as she touched it and hoped it would fade soon. In the meantime she could wear a scarf, that way the gang wouldn't have to know --

Know what? That she and Spike had spent the night together having wild sex? That he was still vampire enough to bite when he was aroused? And that she'd let him?

Buffy snickered. She was pretty sure that every person on the estate knew what she'd intended to do with Spike when she'd dragged him off. No sense trying to hide the mark, in fact, she kinda liked it.

She wrapped a large towel around herself and went into the kitchen hoping to find food. She opened the fridge and was disappointed to find it empty except for a full jug of extremely unappetizing blood. A quick search of the cupboards produced nothing more appealing than a box of onion-flavored crackers and a jar of peanut butter. With a discontented sigh she carried the crackers into the bedroom, sat in the chair, and munched on them as she watched Spike sleep.

He'd been so weird last night, she thought as she finished the crackers and headed for the jar of peanut butter. He'd seemed almost frightened -- as if he hadn't wanted to get too close to her. As she unscrewed the lid from the Peter Pan jar, she let her mind wander back ...

~

~

"Forgive me," he whispered.

Buffy didn't have time to wonder what he meant -- suddenly he was biting her. Pain seared through her, burning its way from her throat to her throbbing pussy. She screamed at him, hitting him a stunning blow to the side of his head. He released his teeth, pulled away from her throat, looked at her with a horrified, guilty expression, and then tried to escape the grip of her legs.

She tightened her thighs and grabbed his hair, yanking his face toward her own. She raped his mouth -- there was no other description for the way she forced his lips apart and thrust her tongue into him. He struggled against her, pushing at her, trying to escape. She kept up her assault, raking the roof of his mouth, nipping his lips, licking his sensitive teeth until he began to respond. She demanded his tongue, drew it into her mouth, and sucked on it greedily. She slid one arm down between their tightly pressed bodies and felt his arousal.

Just as she'd done that very first time, she yanked his belt loose and ripped his pants open. That time she'd roughly yanked his cock out, hadn't cared if she hurt him with her impatience. This time she tried to be more gentle, to guide his thick cock around the teeth of his zipper.

She felt his start of surprise as she gently began to stroke and caress him. He tried to pull his mouth free, she knew he wanted to look into her eyes, but she dug her fingers further into his hair and held him prisoner as she pumped her fist and ground the tip of his cock into her belly. He groaned into her mouth and began to pull at her jeans.

Why hadn't she worn a skirt? she asked herself, desperately wanting to give him immediate pleasure.

She released his mouth, unlocked her ankles, and dropped to her knees in one fluid motion. Before he could react, she was gripping him tightly by his narrow hips and had his cock held firmly between her slick lips. She sucked and she swallowed. She used her strong neck muscles to thrust and withdraw her head -- to fuck him so hard with her mouth that he had to brace his hands against her shoulders to keep from falling forward.

She worked him into such a frenzy, that he came quickly -- a sure sign that he'd lost complete control. He surged forward and called her name as he filled her mouth with his jizz.

Buffy held the position until she was certain that he was empty, then she carefully slid her lips off his softening cock, slurping up a few stray drops of semen as she did so. She rose to her feet, keeping her hands on him to steady him as he swayed.

He looked at her blankly from under his brows until she deliberately tilted her head back and swallowed the come she'd been hoarding. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Buffy was thrilled with his reaction.

For the very first time, she'd given him pleasure before seeking her own.

Their sex had always been about her and her needs -- never about him. She'd used him, abused him, hadn't appreciated him, and they'd both known it, had grown accustomed to it.

At first, when she'd still been numb from the grave, she'd needed him to make her feel. He'd taken her to places dark and exciting, wild and dangerous. She'd done things to him, forced him to do thing to her that she never would have believed herself capable of enjoying. And she had enjoyed it all. He'd made sure of that. He'd seen to all her needs -- whatever they'd been. If she needed to hurt him to love herself, he'd not only allowed it, but had encouraged it. Whatever she'd wanted, he'd been delighted to provide. The few times he'd asked for more -- for some deeper emotion -- she spurned him, hit him, abused him, forced him into things that had nearly destroyed him.

Then, during those final days in Sunnydale, she'd needed him again. She'd allowed him to make her feel worthy -- and he had. His heartfelt words, his gentle worship of her body had given her the strength to fight, to survive, and to win.

She'd given him nothing in return.

Until now, she thought. From the still stunned look on his face, that had obviously been a pretty fantastic blow-job. She licked her lips and grinned at him, already making plans for what she was going to do to him next.

"I told you I'd changed," she said, just before she tightened her hands around his hips and heaved him into the air. He landed dead center on the bed and she was on him before he stopped bouncing. "And I'm going enjoying showing you just how much."

He goggled up at her as she began stripping his clothes, kissing and licking the pale flesh as it was exposed. He tried to move once, to touch her, but she slapped his hands away.

"Uh uh," she cautioned. "You just lay there and enjoy yourself. Leave everything else to me."

When she had him naked, she paused.

"Buffy?" he asked, looking sweetly confused and slightly apprehensive.

"Just enjoying the view, my love," she explained as her eyes devoured him.

She'd planned on sucking him off again, but found that her treacherous body had other ideas. She pulled off her shirt and shimmied out of her jeans. He tried to sit, but she pushed him back down. He lay flat on his back, his arms over his head, and his fingers wrapped around the iron bars of the headboard. His cock stood stiffly upright and wobbled a bit, as if beckoning her to come. She straddled him and slowly lowered herself until the dark tip of his cock was pushing against her entrance. She leaned forward, spread her fingers across his abdomen for balance, and then pressed her hips down. She could feel his shaft as she stretched around it, encircled it, enveloped it, and welcomed it.

His cock filled her and their eyes locked. This is what she'd wanted, what she'd yearned for, what she'd missed the most these last lonely years -- the look in his eyes when he was deep inside her. That awed, innocent, amazed look that always crossed his face whenever she allowed him close to her.

She moved on him, lifting her hips, clenching her inner muscles, and then sliding back down. She found her rhythm and watched with delight as his pupils dilated, expanded, until only a small, thin circle of blue was visible around the black.

Then she paused her movement.

"I love you, Spike." She lifted off him until only the tip remained within her. "I'll always love you, no matter what." She rammed down, taking his entire length back into her. "I promise I'll never let anything come ..." She undulated her hips and ground her mound into his pelvis. "... between us ..." She moved one hand behind her back and held his balls. "... again." She squeezed them gently and her hips resumed their powerful rhythm. She pumped up and down. She clenched and released and clenched internally. She caressed his balls and gently pulled at his sack.

His eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth opened, his face took on a look of ecstasy as she rode the sweet friction toward their release.

~

~

Buffy woke Spike with a kiss.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead," she said as she traced the valleys and hills of his chest with her fingers. "Buffy still hungry."

"Errmm," he grumbled and rolled away from her.

She looked at the naked back he was presenting to her ... and smiled.

"Buffy!" he cried out in shock as her fingers traced the knobs of his spine from his neck to the cleft between his cheeks.

She laughed when he spun around, clutching the sheet to his chest like a shy maiden.

"Feed me, Spike," she ordered as she crawled toward him across the bed.

His mouth curved softly and his eyes warmed. "Come here then, luv. Just so happens, I got a tender bit o' nosh you can nibble on," he crooned seductively.

"Really?" she asked perkily. "'Cause I was thinking toast."

He blinked.

"And orange juice. Maybe coffee?"

He rolled his eyes and flopped back against the headboard in disgust. "You woke me up to tell me you want breakfast?"

"Yep."

"Go get it then, pet. There's a kitchen big enough to feed the red army on the first floor."

"I want you to go with me," she pouted.

"Why?"

"Because, you stupid, sodding, outrageously gorgeous and sexy-as-hell vampire, I love you and I never want to be apart from you."

His face fell.

"Buffy, you still don't understand. I've changed. I've been ... I'm--"

Buffy pressed her hand over his mouth to block whatever he was going to say. "Shut up, Spike," she ordered. "Just shut up and listen to me. Wherever you were, whatever happened there, however you're different -- doesn't matter. I love you just the way you are and I promise I always will. Got it?"

He nodded behind her hand.

"Good." She grinned happily as she pulled him out of bed and pointed. "Shower," she ordered. "And Spike?" He looked at her a bit uneasily. "Don't you dare do anything nasty to your hair while you're in there." He lifted a hand to his head and touched the wild mess thoughtfully. "No gel," she said firmly. "And don't forget to brush behind your fangs!" she called out as the door closed behind his adorable behind.

Buffy wrinkled her nose as she picked yesterday's clothes off the floor. Her bags were still in her Jeep and she was a little surprised that no one had brought them up. She slipped into her jeans and then snapped her shirt in the air hopefully, but the creases remained. With a sigh she put it on and began to hunt down Spike's outfit.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, she thought she'd found everything, though it had taken her a while to find his shirt. How it had ended up hanging from the overhead light was a mystery to her.

"So what's with the all gray outfit?" she asked as she held up the leather coat and inspected it. The thing wasn't as classy as his old duster, but it would have been fine -- if it were black. "I'd accuse you of doing your own laundry and spilling some Clorox into the washer, but I don't think you can bleach leather. Can you?"

"Apparently I can," Spike said with a shrug as he stepped into the gray pants. He sat on the chair to put on the matching gray socks. He slid his feet into gray boots and then stood and dove headfirst into the gray T-shirt. He shoved the shirt into his waistband and cinched the gray belt tight as he buckled it.

Buffy held the leather coat out for him. He gave her an odd look as he slipped his shoulders inside.

"You like the new color?" he asked, and it was her turn to shrug.

"S'okay, but black suits you better."

"I think so too," he agreed as he opened the apartment door for her to pass. "But --"

"Rona!" Buffy gasped as she nearly collided with the black girl. "What are you ...?"

Rona grabbed Buffy by the arms and spun her away from the doorway. "Buffy, you're alright!" she said with relief.

"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Rona gave Spike, standing in the doorway, a long look. "Giles needs to see the both of you in the library ASAP."

"Sure," Buffy agreed. "But after I eat, okay. I'm starv -- Oh, Spike," she looked contritely at the vampire. "I forgot to warm you up some blood. Want me to--?"

"I'm sure Spike's still full from his last meal," Rona said darkly.

Spike stiffened.

Buffy looked back and forth between the two, feeling lost. "What's going on?"

"Giles will explain," Rona said as she motioned Spike out of the penthouse and then trailed behind them as they walked to the library.

~

~

The back door to Buffy's penthouse -- the entrance that Willow had been so determined to keep private that she hadn't placed any spells of protection on -- opened silently. From within the thick shadows of the stairwell, two robed figures stepped into Buffy's bedroom.

~

~

Chapter Twelve -- When Tables Turn ... Things Break Loose

Kennedy fumed as she drove north along Route 5 toward the city.

The redheaded witch was driving her crazy.

Things hadn't really been good between them for a long time now. She knew that, but she didn't know why. She'd certainly done everything that she could think of to keep Willow happy -- in bed and out. She could still turn the heat on, make the fiery hair crackle, make Willow gasp, in time with the thrusts of her studded tongue.

Nope, their problem had never been in the bedroom.

It had always been the magic.

Somehow, Willow always blamed Kennedy whenever things went wrong with the spells. Which was completely unfair. Hadn't she always supported Willow's witchery? She'd never complained about the stinky smell of the herbs or the gross things floating in mason jars that Willow kept on her desk. In fact, Kennedy had not only supported the weird Wicca lifestyle, she actively encouraged it. She was constantly trying to bolster Willow's sometimes shaky self-esteem. Always telling her that she was the best, the greatest, the sexiest -- that she was a goddess. What more could Willow need?

Some pessimistic, derogatory, smart-mouthed, dreadlock sporting, fashion disaster?

Kennedy hissed and the steering wheel bent in her hands, creaking ominously enough to bring her focus back on her surroundings. The massive structures of the old grain elevators came into view on her left. She turned toward them, and when a chained gate blocked her way, she hit the accelerator and mowed the barricade down.

She parked the truck in front of the dilapidated entrance and stalked through the old warehouses looking for something evil, something fanged, something soulless, something like that lying bastard Spike to kill and maim and torture. She needed violence. She needed to kill something. She needed --

"You need help with Willow."

Startled by the voice so close behind her, she spun, lifted her stake, and struck. As her weapon neared the speaker's breast, Kennedy's eyes widened in recognition. Instead of trying to stop the motion of her arm, Kennedy added strength to the blow. The wooden point sunk deeply -- and then passed completely through the figure. Kennedy lost her balance as her body followed her stake through the woman's ethereal form to land gracelessly on the hard-packed earth.

"You're The First," Kennedy gasped as she scrambled away on her hands and knees.

"No," the ashen-haired, soft-eyed apparition said with a crooked smile. "I'm Tara."

"But ... you're dead, aren't you?" Kennedy asked suspiciously.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"You don't fool me," Kennedy said as she rose to her feet and faced the woman. "The First always comes back as dead people."

"During those months in Sunnydale, did it ever appear as me?"

Kennedy's dark brows came together. "No."

"That's because it couldn't," the ghost said. "You see, I'm too powerful a Wicca for it to take on my form." Tara dipped her head and smiled slyly from behind the veil of her hair. "That's also the secret of dealing with Willow."

Kennedy scowled. "I don't like riddles."

Tara tucked the curtain of hair behind one of her protruding ears. "But Willow does," she explained softly. "She likes a challenge and she's attracted to power. That's how you must be if you want to keep her -- make her love you -- the way she still loves me."

Willow still had pictures of Tara, hidden away in the bottom drawer of her desk. Kennedy had never understood what Willow had seen in the dumpy, dish-water blonde -- until now. Tara exuded sexuality. Her eyes were soft, yet sly. It was if she knew amusing secrets. Tara's mouth was crooked, yet delicious looking. It begged to be kissed. Her body was awkward, yet lush. The soft curves and gentle swells begged to be petted, explored.

No wonder Willow still loved her, Kennedy thought.

"What do you want?" Kennedy asked.

"I still love her, you know," Tara said, her soft eyes growing dewy with emotion. "So I want her to be happy and I think you could be the one to make her that way." Full lips smiled with sweet sadness. "I can help you, if you let me," she offered. "I can tell you things. I can give you my power." Soft eyes gleamed with sincerity. "I can give you Willow -- all you have to do is ..."

~

~

They were all gathered in library, waiting.

"What'd I do now? I feel like I've been called to the principal's office," Buffy said as she looked around at the tight faces of her friends. "No offence, Robin."

"None taken," he assured her in his soft voice, even as he lifted a large crossbow and pointed it in her direction.

Buffy stiffened as she understood who his target was.

"Buffy, please step aside," Giles asked wearily. "Spike is --"

"Mine." Buffy said forcefully as she glared at her friends. She backed up, shielding Spike as much as possible with her body. "You've all gone completely mental if you think --"

"Buffy, please, listen to--" Giles tried again.

"Listen? I'm done listening to any of you," Buffy said coldly. "I thought you'd come to grips with things -- with me and my choices. Now you dare..."

"He might have killed," Giles said through her tirade.

"... call me down here like a school girl and ..." she went on without pausing.

"He might be evil," Xander added.

"... threaten my --"

"Buffy, he's lost his soul!" Willow cried out tearfully.

Buffy fell silent, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"I'm sorry," Willow sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

Buffy shut her mouth, swallowed, and then took a deep steadying breath. So, this is what Spike had meant. What he'd tried to tell her. What she'd prevented him from saying. She hadn't listened, she hadn't wanted to hear. Instead, she'd covered his mouth and promised him undying -- and unconditional -- love.

She groped behind her for Spike's cold hand, squeezed it, and pressed closer to him. "Soul or not, I love him," she said defiantly as she lifted her chin and looked around, daring them to say one more word against him.

"A slayer was murdered, drained dry, and left in the crypt," Rona said bluntly as she circled them from behind.

"That doesn't mean it was Spike!" Buffy spit out vehemently

"It happened the same night he arrived," Faith pointed out.

"But Spike wouldn't do something like that." Buffy twisted around and looked at the vampire confidently. "Tell them you didn't do it," she commanded.

He looked guiltily into her eyes, parted his lips preparing to speak, and ... and she knew what he was going to say.

"No!" she screamed, as she hit him in the mouth hard enough to break a human's jaw -- hard enough to knock a vampire down -- hard enough to keep him from confessing. "How could you!" She kicked the side of his head. It snapped back and he twisted limply to one side. She lifted her foot to strike again and --

A heavy weight hurdled into her, knocking her to the ground. "Buffy, listen," Xander panted from his position on her chest. "We can chain him until ... there's a room in the basement. I can put in some bars and --"

Buffy shoved Xander off and leapt to her feet.

"Or we can contact Riley," Giles suggested quickly. Buffy turned toward him. "I'm sure he'd help us track down one of the Initiative's surgeon's. We could pay whatever it would take to have the chip put back in."

Buffy just stared.

"And there's always Angel's curse," Willow suggested timidly.

Buffy felt like the world had tipped as she was slipping off the edge. The Scoobies trying to protect Spike from her? They really had gone insane.

"No one," Buffy took a deep breath and moved to stand over Spike. "No one is going to chain him, or put him in a cage, or shove some electronic bug-zapper into his brain, or ..." she turned to Willow. "Put some chastity-belt curse on him that would make him miserable."

It was then, while Buffy's attention was on Willow, that Faith made her attempt to solve the situation. She dove at the vampire, her stake held in a lethal grip as she plunged it toward his chest. She would have dusted him then and there, if Dawn hadn't been watching for just such a thing. The youngest Summers girl stuck out one of her long legs and tripped Faith. The stake that had been intended for Spike's heart sank painfully into his shoulder instead.

He howled in pain.

Buffy roared in rage.

"Just trying to help, B. Knew you wouldn't be able to do it and thought--"

Buffy grabbed Faith and hurled her into Robin, sending husband and wife stumbling into the shelves. Then Buffy yanked the stake out of Spike and fell to her knees beside him. She lifted her wounded lover gently and cradled him in her arms. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with wonder.

"I'll take him away," she promised, as nightmarish visions of Spike dissolving into a dust cloud filled her horrified brain. "I'll take him to some place where he won't be tempted -- where he can't kill. A deserted island, maybe." She sniffled as she hugged his bright head protectively to her chest. She felt his arms slip loosely around her waist and kissed him gently, knowing that no matter what, she'd never let any harm come to him -- that she'd find a way to keep him safe. "I'll watch him like a hawk," she promised herself as well as her friends. "I won't let him --"

"Get your filthy paws off our Chosen One," boomed a voice, so loud, so powerful that the books on the shelves vibrated and several toppled over.

Two robed and cowled strangers seemed to appear out of nowhere to stand above Spike and Buffy. All she could see from within the shadows of the hoods that they wore, were two gleaming red flames where their eyes should have been.

"I told you to remove your hands, foul creature," one of the figures spoke again.

Buffy tightened her grip on Spike. Whatever these things were, she wasn't going to let them hurt him.

"Succubus!" the creature hissed. Then it threw off its robe and ...

A sudden, fiercely bright, gloriously white light filled the three-story room, illuminating corners and recesses that had never been seen clearly before. Buffy grimaced and squinted at the stranger through the glare he was emitting from his nearly nude body. He lifted a hand and from his fist a fiery blade sprang forth. He raised the sword of fire high and brought it down towards Buffy's stunned face.

Spike leapt to life.

He lifted his hand, met, and stopped the blazing blade's descent. "Leave her alone!" Spike howled as he surged to his feet and positioned his body protectively between Buffy and the --

"Oooh, Oh," Willow gasped. "I didn't screw it up. I didn't screw it up."

"Out of my way," the man-like creature said to Spike as it lifted the sword again. "You've let her corrupt you, weaken you, tempt you into ignoring your mission, and drag you back down into this mortal coil."

Spike stood stubbornly in front of Buffy.

"You will obey," the second figure ordered in its deep, blaring voice. Then it, too, removed its robe. The light inside the library doubled as shimmering, gleaming, golden wings appeared miraculously on the backs of the strangers.

"Angels," Giles whispered in awe.

"Demons of light," Willow clarified. "They're --"

"You are one of us," the first angel reminded Spike. "It is your duty to --"

"Bugger that! And bugger you, too, ya' pig-ignorant, knob-headed, poncey nit. I'm not one of you lot. I'm Spike --"

"You are our Chosen One!" The second angel roared. "You are the Champion!" Rows of books fell to the floor. "You are Cherubim!" The windows shattered. "And she..." Its blazing red eyes turned toward where Buffy stood slightly behind Spike. "She and her kind are beneath you!" The sheer power emanating from the angel made the massive library table bounce on its legs, spin, and turn completely around.

Buffy gasped, stung not only by the angel's demeaning words, but by the memory of her own. She'd once said something very similar to Spike and had never before understood how much it must have hurt him.

"That's enough, boys," she said as she stepped up beside her mate. "Time for you feathered freaks to grab your harps and migrate south for the winter."

"Silence, harlot," the first angel sneered at her before turning back to Spike. "That creature is what you left us for? She treats you no better than before -- still spilling your blood." It waved a gleaming hand, indicating Spike's wounds. "Now, enough of this foolishness. Perform the task you were chosen for," it commanded. "Cleanse the abominations -- slay them!"

"No," Spike hissed through his fangs as his face contorted and he vamped.

"Then we shall!" The two angels tucked their wings tightly to their bodies and lifted their swords as they rushed towards her. Spike stepped into their paths and ...

A shimmering, halo of light surrounded him, emanated from deep within him. It bleached him, his clothes, and his coat -- turning them from gray to purest white. Wings, larger and strikingly different from the dove-like, feathered appendages of the angels, burst forth from his back. They seemed to be made of threads of light -- gold and silver, red and white -- woven together to form pliable, bat-like wings that spread wide and then rose high above his head.

With a feral growl, Spike met the angels' charge. He caught the swords of righteous fire in his bare hands and ripped them from their bearers' grips. He held the flaming shafts aloft then hurtled them through the air. The fist angel went down with a blazing lance through his chest. The creature barely had time to groan before it imploded, folding in on itself until there was nothing to mark its final resting-place other than a white smear on the hardwood floor.

The second angel was quicker. It caught the bolt of lightning in its hand. Then it shifted the blade and tried once more to get to Buffy. She moved to meet it halfway, no sense letting Spike have all the fun. Her view was suddenly blocked by an already familiar glowy wing. She shoved against its rubbery, tingly surface.

"Get this thing out of my way!" she hissed at Spike, giving his wing a punch out of sheer irritation. It swung back with enough power to knock her off her feet. She landed heavily on her butt and skidded several feet. "Oh," she gasped. "That's so not fair."

The angel strode forward and this time Spike ignored its sword. He kicked the demon's legs out from under it and pounced on top of its prone form. Spike's glowing wings covered them, hiding what was happening from view, but, unfortunately, not blocking the sickening sounds -- flesh tearing, bones cracking, viscera squishing.

Spike straightened and stood on the latest white smear. His wings folded down and slowly seemed to melt into his back. He turned and revealed his blood-splattered front. In his hand, he held the still dripping heart that he'd wrenched out of the angel's chest. Crimson liquid oozed down his arm, splashing onto his white sleeve and then ... fading into the white leather. Within moments, Spike was once again clothed in the purest white.

"At least we'll save on dry-cleaning bills," Buffy noted as she pulled herself painfully to her feet and rubbed her sore bottom.

~

~

Chapter Thirteen -- When Tables Turn ... Secrets are Revealed.

Rona entered the library with J.C. cradled in her arms.

"Found him wandering in the hall," she explained as she dropped the cat onto Willow's lap. She leaned down between Giles and the redhead. "There's a Captain Beck from the Sheriff's Department downstairs," Rona whispered softly.

"Dear lord, what next?" Giles asked before turning his head and looking upward.

Rona followed his gaze toward the new gargoyle that graced the library's upper reaches. Its white flesh, hair, and clothing glowing softly in the shadowy dimness above the topmost shelves.

"He still hasn't come down," she stated the obvious.

"Hasn't even moved in hours," Xander said as he plopped into the chair next to Giles and hungrily dug into his box of Fiddle Faddle. "Just crouches up there like a creepy looking albino bat."

Buffy glared at him from across the room. Her hearing was either acute enough to make out his words, or else she was so attuned to anything Spike related, that it set off her frown automatically. Xander just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Technically, bats don't crouch," Andrew offered helpfully as he slid onto the table between Xander and Giles. "They hang upside-down from their toes."

"And I suppose you've studied them?" Xander asked.

"Well, not exactly, but I have seen every episode of the Munsters," Andrew explained proudly as he swung his legs playfully back and forth.

"The Monsters?" Giles asked wearily.

"Munsters," Andrew corrected. "The grandpa was a vam-pyre."

"Grandpa Munster?" Giles asked in confusion.

"Oh, no. His son-in-law, Herman, was the Munster -- a monster, too, actually. He looked a bit like Frankenstein ala Karloff, not --"

Giles removed his glasses and leaned over until his forehead rested on the table. "What shall we do about the Captain?" Rona asked before he could start banging against it.

"I'll go right down," Giles said, relieved to have an excuse to leave the library. He gave Spike one last, long, perplexed look before he followed Rona from the room.

"Where's he going?" Buffy asked curiously, as she and Dawn sat down at the table with Willow, Xander, and Andrew -- Mr. & Mrs. Wood having been banished from the inner circle for attacking Spike.

Xander shrugged. "Visitor downstairs," he said with complete lack of interest. He shoved a handful of caramel covered popcorn into his mouth, then motioned upward as he chewed. "I should do something about that," he said with his mouth full.

"About Spike?" Buffy asked, looking instantly protective.

Xander shook his head and swallowed before speaking. "The big window."

They all looked at the window he'd mentioned, or rather at the opening where it used to be. The glass in it, as well as with all the other windows, had shattered during the battle with the angels and they'd spent over an hour sweeping it up. The 'big window' was on the upper level and far larger than the long, narrow ones that circled the second level to allow some natural lighting to filter into the library.

"Afraid it might rain again tonight?" Willow asked, concern for the books making her frown. "We can tape some plastic over them, that should keep the moisture from getting in."

"Was thinking more about keeping certain things from getting out."

Willow's eyes focused on the opening of the large window. It was the only one big enough for --

"What things?" Dawn asked as she grabbed the box from Xander's hands and started going through it, searching for peanuts.

"It's pretty high up," Willow noted doubtfully.

The window was in one of the highest peaks of the mansion, four floors off the ground, completely inaccessible from both sides.

"He has wings," Xander pointed out.

"Oh!" Dawn cried out as she looked up from the popcorn box. "You pig. You ate up all the ... what?" she asked in confusion as she took in Buffy's pale and frightened face.

"It'll be dark soon," Buffy whispered as she rose to her feet.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Dawn asked. When no one answered quickly enough to suit her, she poked Andrew hard in the ribs. "Spill."

"Hey!" he cried out in exaggerated pain. "Xander thinks that Spike is perched up there just waiting for night to fall so that he can fly out the window on his angelic wings," he said as rapidly as possible while flinching away from Dawn's menacing fingers.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Dawn gasped as she looked up at Spike.

"We have to get him down," Buffy said firmly. "Now."

~

~

"Eloise!" The man greeted her sister warmly from the second floor. Welcome, delight, and an odd note of relief were obvious in his voice and manner.

Lydia's first thought was that he was one of the homeliest men she'd ever seen. From where she stood below him in the Great Hall his head looked way too small for his overly large body. His chin rivaled Leno's. His smiling mouth was too small, girlish actually. His nose was barely noticeable. His small eyes were hidden behind old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses. His hair was thin and receding and some nondescript brownish-blond.

But then he moved and he spoke and she revised her opinion.

His big frame exuded leashed power and surprising grace as he rushed down the stairs, nimbly sidestepping several girls who appeared to be loitering aimlessly. Lydia found her eyes following the movement of his hips and tracing the path his hand made as it slid along the banister.

"Your timing is astounding," he said excitedly to Elly.

His refined British accent sent shivers down Lydia's neck. She wished that he were saying those same words to her instead of her sister -- and with an entirely different meaning.

A young woman stepped into his path. He spoke softly to her -- something about everything being under control -- and patted her on the shoulder as he brushed quickly past her.

"We have a slight situation here that falls within your area of expertise," he said as he approached them across the tiled floor. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to --" He stopped abruptly, as if just noticing Lydia and her uniform. "I beg your pardon," he said and she admired how quickly he recovered, his excited face closing down and looking guarded. "Captain Beck, I presume?"

Lydia inclined her head, trying to look regal, but not aloof -- confident, but not intimidating -- sexy, but not desperate.

He visibly stiffened. His eyes behind the lenses, narrowed -- whether with interest or with trepidation, Lydia wasn't sure. But she was sensing something ... definitely something going on here.

"Relax, Rupert," Elly said with her gentle smile. "This is my sister, Lydia. The one I've been telling you about?"

Lydia nearly laughed aloud when the poor man stiffened even more and took a step back. Apparently, Elly had been playing matchmaker with him as much as she had been with her.

"Um, yes, quite." He stammered adorably and Lydia's long dormant mating extinct surged back to life.

She wanted this Englishman.

"Mr. Giles," she said as she removed her broad-brimmed hat and smiled at him. "It's nice to finally meet you." She extended her hand, knowing that he'd be too much of a gentleman to refuse it. Just as she'd suspected, his grip was firm and his palm was callused. This was no pale, insipid schoolmaster. "Elly's told me a lot about you, too." She smiled at him conspiratorially. She was thrilled when he calmed and responded in kind. "But that's not the reason we're here, is it?"

He pulled his hand away abruptly -- Lydia's professional instincts screamed warnings at her.

"Care to tell me exactly what is going on?" she asked as she put her hat back on and switched into her official role. She saw his eyes flick slightly and knew he was guilty of something. She just needed to find out what it --

"What have you done with the body, Rupert?" Elly asked curiously, causing Rupert Giles' mouth fall open in shock. "Is it still in the tomb?"

"What body? What tomb?" Lydia demanded of her sister. "You didn't say anything about a death."

"I didn't?" Elly asked, her graying brows drawing together over her eyes in confusion. "But that's why I brought you along, Liddy -- to help Rupert get rid of it -- as well as to meet him, of course. You two are perfect for each other," she added with a misty smile.

Lydia blinked at her fey sister, then turned. "Mr. Giles," she said in her practiced inquisitor's voice. "Perhaps you'd better tell me everything from the beginning."

~

~

It wasn't as if they hadn't been trying to get Spike down.

After the second angel had bleached the floor, stunned silence had filled the library.

Spike had stood, clothed in the purest white, with the angel's still-twitching heart in his hand. His eyes were on the floor, but the emotions on his face were naked for all to see: Remorse, sadness, shame, maybe even embarrassment.

"Spike?" Buffy had asked, her voice gentler than Willow could ever remember hearing it.

He'd looked up then and Willow had seen something dark flash in his eyes. He'd dropped the heart at Buffy's feet and taken off. He'd half-climbed, half-jumped, and perhaps used his angelic powers a little, to get to his perch on the fancy cornice that encircled the library's cathedral ceiling. He'd been up there ever since, crouching, his white-clad arms wrapped around his up-drawn knees, his face turned away.

Buffy had called to him, ordered him, and finally, begged him to come down.

He hadn't acknowledged her, hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched in hours.

"Will, can you like ... float me up there or something?" Buffy asked as they stood looking up at the shelves, yet again seeking some way to reach him. Buffy'd climbed the shelves three separate times, but the distance across to the beam that he sat on was too far for even her to jump.

"Maybe," Willow said hesitantly as she stroked J.C. "But what if you do reach him and he still won't come down?"

Buffy's eyes were large and dark in her pale, tense, tired face. "I'll convince him."

Willow raised her brows at Buffy's confident tone. Nothing yet had been able to sway Spike into leaving his roost and explaining what was going on -- not even Buffy, the woman he'd apparently loved enough to abandon heaven for.

So they'd spent the last few hours going over the details of Spike's return. Buffy had repeatedly grilled Willow on every aspect of it. She'd demanded detail after minute detail -- even taking notes. Buffy in research mode was a rare and scary sight. Unfortunately, they still had more questions than answers and still had no idea about what to do with, for, or about Spike.

"See, Liddy?" asked a strange voice. "Isn't he magnificent?"

Willow and Buffy spun around, surprised to see Faith and Robin, as well as the two ladies that flanked Giles. The smaller, older looking woman was pointing toward Spike.

"Eloise," Willow greeted the speaker fondly. "I didn't know you were ... Oh!" she cried in delight, dropping J.C. gently to the floor and grabbing Buffy's arm in excitement. "Buffy, this is Eloise Lynne!"

Buffy glared at the Woods before looking at the frail old lady who was staring raptly up at Spike. She managed to mutter an unenthusiastic, "Hi," before tuning toward the uniformed police officer. "And you are?" she asked aggressively.

"Buffy," Giles stepped forward quickly to do a more thorough introduction. "This is Eloise and her sister, Captain Beck of the Erie County Sheriff's Department. Eloise is from just down the road in Lily Dale, and as luck would have it, happens to be one of the world's foremost experts on --"

"What are they doing here?" Buffy jerked her head toward Faith and Robin.

"I asked them to join us," Giles explained softly. "You see, Eloise has a special interest in --"

"He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Eloise whispered in awe as she continued to stare at Spike.

Willow saw Buffy's frown and nearly giggled. Surely she wasn't jealous? "Eloise is an angelologist," Willow explained with a smile. "I'm sure her interest in Spike is purely scientific."

"She's a what?" Buffy asked.

"Angels," Captain Beck said. "My sister is into them, as well as demons, witches, warlocks, mystics, prophets. In fact, you name it and if it's got anything mystical about it, she's studied it." The policewoman removed her hat and tilted her head back. "So that's the angel, huh?" she asked skeptically, squinting at Spike. "How'd he get up there?"

"Flew, I'd imagine," Elly said, her attention never shifting from Spike's distant form.

Captain Beck snorted. "On golden wings, no doubt?"

"Actually," Andrew said. "He folded them up first and then he climbed."

Captain Beck opened her mouth to ask anther question, but Elly forestalled her.

"Poor thing, he's so frightened," she said as she took a step forward.

"Spike, frightened?" Xander asked. "Of what? He just --" Dawn kicked him in the shin and gave him a warning look. He stopped speaking, his eyes flicking uncertainly toward the captain. "Err ... of heights. That's it," he said. He pointed a finger upward. "He got up there and now he's afraid to come down."

"He's afraid of himself," Elly explained softly. "And confused -- about what he is -- about what he has to do."

"But you know, don't you?" Willow asked and Elly nodded.

"I've had visions. I've seen wonders ... and horrors. I've seen the past ... and glimpsed the possible futures." She lifted a trembling hand toward Spike and called out, "And I have the answers you seek."

High up, amidst the decorative beams, Spike's head swiveled around on his neck. His dark eyes looked down at the old woman, but he didn't budge.

"Tell us," Buffy demanded, "everything you know."

As she began to speak, Elly's eyes remained locked with Spike's.

"I've seen a great battle, waged in darkness. I've seen a champion forged by trials, sacrifice his soul to bring light into the darkness -- cleansing it and closing it. The champion burned, his body was destroyed, but he was rewarded. He was re-born even stronger than before, granted the powers of angels -- of Cherubim, the warriors that make up the heavenly host -- and charged with being the one chosen to cleanse the earth of a new and powerful threat -- of an ancient evil given new lives."

Elly fell silent as if waiting for someone to ...

"What do you mean?" Giles asked.

"You know the story of Pandora and the box?" Elly asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "Pandora innocently opened the box of the gods and released all manner of sorrows and pestilence upon the earth." Her voice dropped to a whisper and her lips curved into a mysterious smile as she continued, "As well as one small ray of hope." Then she turned away from Spike and focused her look at Buffy. "Hello, Pandora," she said softly.

Buffy shook her head. "The box with all the books? I didn't --"

"Not that one dear," Elly smiled. "The one I'm referring to is a metaphor."

"A-what-a-for?" Buffy asked with a frown. "'Cause I haven't opened any boxes. None. No boxes. Not me."

"Not technically, I suppose. Willow was the one who lifted the lid," Elly said gently. "She's the one that cast the spell that changed the world."

"The slayers," Willow gasped as the puzzle pieces began to take shape in her mind. "The angels called slayers 'abominations'. Oh! And they wanted Spike to kill, not just Buffy, but all the slayers." She gasped and looked upward at Spike. "He really did kill Amy, didn't he?"

Elly nodded. "Yes, he did."

"He's a murderer then?" The policewoman unsnapped her holster and rested her palm on the pistol's stock.

Buffy's head went up and her fists clenched.

"But why Amy?" Giles asked. "She was a lovely, sweet, inquisitive --"

"Evil," Elly said abruptly. "She was weak and she was courting corruption -- check her rooms, you'll find evidence there."

"I'll go look," Rona volunteered.

"Wait!" Elly called. She closed her eyes and seemed to look inward. "Her makeup case, top shelf in the closet. Don't open it. Bring it."

Rona nodded and hurried from the room.

"Have you ever wondered how slayers were chosen, Rupert?" Elly asked abruptly. Her eyes opened, but her face was blank as she continued to speak. "I've always been curious about it. Then, just two nights ago, a vision came to me. Slayers weren't chosen for their strength, or their intelligence, or their sense of responsibility alone -- they were also chosen for their ability to resist authority -- for their independent spirits."

"That I can believe," he said with a wry smile sent in Buffy's direction.

"It was you Watchers that tried to tame them with your rules and regulations. By training potentials to behave from the day they were found, you were actually weakening them. That's why the most successful slayers were the ones the Council missed. Those girls were the ones that lasted the longest.

"But now things have changed. No longer is a single slayer carefully chosen. All that have the potential are slayers. Thousands of girls and women around the world have been awakened -- thousands who may have already been thieves or murderesses or agents of darkness -- thousands who do not meet the criteria, who are weak and slow-witted, lazy and dependant. Thousands of girls, who because of their superior strength, have suddenly been made far superior to humans -- and far more vulnerable to outside forces."

"Dear Lord!" Giles gasped. "The First can use slayers for vessels."

"That's why it never killed me," Buffy burst out. "I've always wondered. It had so many chances, but it always let me live."

"It hoped to use you, dear," Elly agreed gently. "Its plan was to cause problems between you and your souled vampire -- hoping that one of you would turn on the other and give it an opportunity to take over the victor." The old lady's smile lit up the room. "But the two of you showed it. The harder it tried to split you up, the more in love you became."

As if on cue, all eyes turned upward.

"To continue your metaphor," Giles mused. "If the role of Pandora is played by Buffy and Willow, and the opening of the box is equated with the awakening of all the potentials, then what they set free when they did so was ..."

"Sorrow, sickness, and death." Willow gulped. "The unworthy slayers."

"But there must also be a hope," Dawn added thoughtfully. "And that would have to be ..."

"Spike," Xander said, awe resonating in his voice.

~

~

Chapter Fourteen -- When Tables Turn ... Truth is Found

"Here it is," Rona panted as she re-entered the library holding out a small, pink bag. She tossed it onto the table, took a deep calming breath, and resumed her habitual, indifferent slouch.

Giles made to open the bag, but the Captain waved him aside. From her side pocket she produced a pair of latex gloves, which she put on quickly before carefully unzipping the bag and dumping its contents out on the table. Bones and feathers that had been twisted together with strands of chestnut hair, pebbles and pieces of quartz, along with a small curved dagger tumbled across the polished surface.

"What is all this?" Captain Beck asked doubtfully.

"Tools of evil," Elly said.

"Looks like the stuff I saw years ago in a cave under Sunnydale," Buffy noted. "On an altar to The First."

Willow nodded in agreement and backed away from the relics. "No one touch them," she warned. "I can sense their power." She looked at Elly. "How can we safely get rid of them?"

"I think that's his job," the old seer said, directing her eyes to a point behind where the circle of Scoobies had gathered around the table.

Spike watched them turn toward him. He tried not to cower in shame and embarrassment, he tried not look for horror on her face, but he failed. He cringed and wished he'd never left his safe perch, even as his eyes desperately sought hers.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he whispered. "I couldn't help it. I didn't want to hurt her, but she --"

Buffy launched herself at him, once again stopping his confession. But this time, instead of her fists, it was her lips pressed to his that cut off his damning words.

He teetered beneath her weight as she wrapped her arms around his neck, shock and relief and wonderment at her reaction, making his balance unstable. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her blessedly warm body closer. She tasted like honey, like life, like redemption, and he devoured her mouth hungrily, letting her sweetness wash away the darkness of his fear.

Eventually, he pulled his lips free and rubbed his cheek against the silkiness of her golden hair. He stroked the long tresses; sliding his fingers through her mane, and marveling at how delectable her hair always smelled. She stood patiently under his caress as he nuzzled against her.

He took a step back and had to hold her to keep her at arm's length. He needed to see her.

"You shine brighter than the sun," he said reverently.

Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and he knew that he'd never doubt her love again. He wanted to fall to his knees, to worship her purity, her beauty, her golden --

Then she knocked his restraining hands away, grabbed him once again by his belt, and tugged him fiercely to her side. "I love you too, Spike. But if you ever," she warned through clenched teeth, "try to hide yourself away from me and ignore me again. I'll ... I'll ... well I'll get a really long ladder and haul your white-clad, gravity-defying, angelfied ass right back down to me."

"Oi," he crowed, delighted with her forceful display of possessiveness. He traced the scowl on her brow with the tip of his finger. "Don't ever change, Slayer."

"Unlike you?" she asked crossly. "Now you're the Chosen One, an angel no less, and I'm just an abomination, a low-life, mortal whore dragging you down from some heavenly realm, interfering with your divine mission to end the slayer line?"

"A bit queer sounding, innit?" he agreed. A sense a mischief overtook him and he looked over her shoulder at the boy. "No offence, Harris."

"None, taken ..." Xander's face took on a desperate look. "Mr. My-clothes-keeping-turning-white-and-I-sprout-wings," he spit out with an apologetic shrug.

"That the best you can come back with?" Spike asked in disbelief.

"Sorry," Xander said with lopsided smile. "I'm still trying to grasp all this ..." He waved both hands dramatically around in the air. "... Spike is the good-guy stuff."

"Yeah, I --" Spike tried to say he was as floored by it all as Harris.

"You lied!" Willow burst out. "I thought angels had to tell the truth?"

Spike lifted his scarred brow in amazement.

"You said you were in Hell," Willow scowled at him. "Now I've yanked two people out of Heaven." Her lips trembled and Spike was suddenly afraid she'd cry.

"Easy, Red," he said gently. "You opened the door, is all. I was the one that ran through it."

"But, you were in --"

"Ever imagine what it would be like for a vampire there?" he asked. "Drug out of fluffy white clouds every dawn to sing Halle-bloody-lujah to the sunrise that came from every direction at once?" he paused thinking back painfully. "And then when you burst into glorious flame, having Holy Water poured over you to put it out? Bollocks!" he swore viciously. "You'd think after a few thousand times, it woulda dawned on those daft birds that sunlight and vampires just don't mix."

Buffy gasped and pressed tighter against him. He rubbed his knuckles against her cheek before continuing. "And then there were the classes. Wanted to educate me, train me to be a good little cherub," he said disgustedly. "Made me attend lecture after endless lecture on the wages of sin -- felt like I was locked in the studio audience of a bloody, bible-thumping televangelist."

Buffy smirked up at him. "My poor Big Bad," she said with mock consolation and kissed him tenderly.

He grinned at her. "Can you believe they expected me to learn their ways? To play the harp for the posh Seraphim, those bloody holier-than-thou toffs that are the next rung up on the angelic pecking order," he complained. "I told those chinless wonders just where they could put their harps. In fact," he added smugly. "One or two of 'm might still be trying pull strings outta their arses."

Buffy giggled against him.

"Yeah, poor Spike," Xander didn't even try to repress his smile. "You flunked out of angel school, didn't you?"

"Flunked? Hell, no. I bloody well ran like the blazes to escape!"

"They didn't understand him," Elly said simply, a faraway look on her face. "Spike has weakness they couldn't comprehend and strengths that they couldn't even begin to imagine. Poor things."

Spike looked at the woman; she reminded him of someone. "Poor things?" he repeated in outrage. "Those bird-brained nits are thick as bricks."

"Yes, they are quite stupid and shortsighted," the old lady agreed with a smile. "But then, they always have been -- that's why they're let into this dimension so rarely." She looked at Buffy. "They see things purely -- in black and white -- and because they are soulless, they are not capable of seeing any shade in between. That's why the slayer line was first formed."

Spike felt Buffy tense against him and knew that she understood. "The heart of the demon," she whispered. "The first slayer was chained down and the heart of a demon was forced into her," she said simply. "That's what the angel meant when it called me an abomination, isn't it?"

"In my visions I saw a demon of light being sacrificed long ago," Elly said with a nod. "The powers that be, god if you will, had realized the ineffectiveness of a heavenly host that destroyed everything that was not completely pure." She paused, blinked, and then asked, "How many humans are without a single flaw?"

Willow was the one who broke the silence. "Spike?" she asked. "You said something ... you were afraid of what you'd see when you looked at Buffy -- that's why you weren't anxious to see her."

He nodded, not surprised that she'd been the one to figure it out.

"Spike has the ability to judge us, to look within our humanity and see what lies in our hearts," Elly explained.

"The invitation spell!" Willow gasped. "That's what I chanted."

"But how can that be?" Giles asked, finally breaking his silence. "You said that angels couldn't distinguish levels of darkness, because they lacked a soul. Yet Spike has the ability, and we know that his soul was sacrificed as payment for destroying the Hellmouth."

"Sacrificed, but to whom?" Elly laughed gaily. "He's special, Rupert. He always has been."

Spike watched the woman suspiciously as she approached him, the feeling of familiarity growing.

"How or why, hasn't been revealed to me ... all I know is that his worth lies here," she touched his chest. "And here." She touched his head. "In the spirit and imagination. He walks in worlds that others can't begin to imagine." Spike shivered as he heard Drusilla's words from long ago repeated. This woman was touched, used by some higher power -- just as Dru had been, no wonder she seemed so familiar.

"You can see darkness in people?" Buffy asked with concern.

"Not in you, luv," he was quick to reassure her. "I see it swirling around the others, like tendrils of thick smoke, but you still shine brightly."

"Love!" Elly clapped her hands in delight. "That's the power of your love, Spike. It blinds you, as well as allowing you to see."

"And the rest of us?" Faith asked as she stepped forward. "I'd guess I'm the smoggiest one in the room. You gonna cleanse the world of me, Spike?" Her mouth and eyes were hard, but from across the room he could hear her heart racing in anxiety.

Wood walked forward to stand next to her, lending his support.

Spike looked at the protective husband first, studying the ripples that surrounded him, then he shifted his focus to Faith. She gleamed in his vision and he smiled at her. "You shine just as brightly as Buffy." He heard the catch in her breath and saw her sway against Wood with relief.

"Just, ya' know, making sure we're still playin for the same team an all," she said, regaining her bravado quickly.

"And Amy?" Rona asked. "You saw something else in her, didn't you?"

Spike felt sick all over again. He peered down at Buffy; she smiled back encouragingly.

"Knew it before I even saw her," he explained. "A sense of something so dark and evil that ..."

"She's what made you sick," Dawn realized. "It was when we met her in the hallway, that you got dizzy. Then she followed us up to Buffy's rooms and you ... um ..."

"Puked my guts out?"

"Yeah," Dawn agreed with a grin for his crudeness. "Then after she left, you started to look better."

He nodded, then looked down at the floor. "Wasn't sick 'zactly." He dropped the arm that he'd had wrapped around Buffy's waist. He wasn't fit to touch her. "Was hunger," he confessed shamefully.

The urge to feed had been so powerful, so all-consuming, that it had made him nauseous with need for her blood. He'd forced down the pig's blood that the 'bit had warmed for him, but it had clotted in his gut and had only made the situation worse.

Silence fell on the library.

"Everything comes with a price," Elly explained, knowingly. Her face suddenly lost its happy glow and she looked old and tired. "The price Spike must pay to survive in this dimension is that the only blood his body will tolerate is from a similar species -- either another demon of light or a --"

"Slayer," Buffy guessed.

He felt her fingers touching his and grasped her hand as if it were a lifeline. He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes and what he saw there made him --

Buffy gasped as he vamped out.

His eyes turned, not their usual golden color, but blazing, fiery red. His brow fell down toward his eyes, wrinkled and terrifying. His fangs descended. Wicked, razor sharp, and lethal -- they looked deadlier than ever before. He growled deep in his throat as his wings flared up from behind, rising higher and higher, making him appear huge as he loomed over her. Brilliant light blinded her and she threw an arm over her eyes, trying to block out the horrifying sight. His angry, high-pitched, murderous howl made her shudder with fear. She knew he was about to kill, recognized his frenzy to feed.

"Spike!" she screamed, but her voice was lost in the thunderous noise his wings made as he flapped them in agitation.

She reached out a hand, preparing to grab him, but he leapt aloft, clearing the others as well as the table. From somewhere a blazing sword of fire appeared in his left hand. He slashed through the heavy doors of the library, kicking his way through the debris, and disappeared into the main part of the school.

~

~

Chapter Fifteen -- When Tables Turn ... Battles are Fought

They moved toward the shattered library door in one large group, Buffy pushing and shoving her way through the Scoobies indiscriminately, desperate to get through the opening first -- to get to Spike before he could --

She stopped in her tracks and gasped in disbelief as a form suddenly blocked her path.

"Surprise!" Tara sang out, hunching her shoulders, dipping her head, squinting her eyes, and giving them her shy, crooked, achingly familiar little smile.

"Tara?" Willow questioned softly, her fine red brows drawing together in a frown even as her lips curled upward in delight. "Tara!"

Willow moved to run toward her, but Buffy caught her elbow and held her back.

"Still using the same old bag of tricks, aren't you?" Buffy asked the apparition. "I'd have thought The First Evil ..." Willow made a wordless cry of pain and rage and hatred.

"... would have come up with something new by now."

The image of Tara smiled coyly at them. "Oh, but I have." It lifted its arms in the same awkwardly, graceful way that Tara had of moving and indicated the broken doors. "Come and watch as your fluffy pet vampire gets his arms and his legs and those gaudy new wings ripped off."

Buffy dropped Willow's arm and ran right through the specter.

"We'll save his head for last!" it called after Buffy's retreating back. "Just to make sure he feels the agony before he turns to dust once and for all."

The others followed Buffy, skirting The First on their way out the door.

All but Willow.

She had some business to take care of with The First ... first.

"Get out of her body," Willow ordered.

"But it's so warm in here," The First said, using Tara's most gentle and seductive tone of voice. "You remember, don't you, Willow?" it asked, as it stroked one of Tara's elegant hands across Tara's rounded hip, letting the fingers come to rest on Tara's pubic mound. "How warm and wet I am inside?"

"Leave. Her. Alone!" Willow's sight darkened and she felt her hair began to flutter around her face.

"Make me," The First taunted as it lifted Tara's other hand and began to massage one of Tara's breasts. "Oooh," it moaned as Tara's lids half closed with lust.

Willow felt the hatred, the dark power surging inside her. She felt it flowing through her body, coursing through her veins. She raised her hands, preparing to cast her black magic at The First --

"Willow, no!"

She ignored the shout and started to chant the darkest spells of power. She'd destroy The First and cleanse the earth of its lies and deceit. Whatever it took, whatever else would be destroyed, Willow didn't care. She was determined that the bitch that was defiling Tara's memory was going to go down. Willow felt the magic building, then erupting from her body. She directed it toward --

A stunning slap to the side of her head made Willow lose her concentration and choke back the magic. She spun to the side, falling to the floor as another blow landed on her opposite cheek.

"That's not the way!" Rona screamed down into her face. "It's a trick! A trap!" Willow felt the power leaving her, draining away under the onslaught of Rona's logic. "It's what it wants -- for you to lose control." Rona's voice softened and Willow felt tears welling in her eyes. "That's why it came back as your Tara -- the only person you'll ever truly be able to love."

Willow looked up into Rona's concerned, slightly sad face and suddenly realized something -- something of staggering importance. "You're wrong," Willow whispered, her heart pounding with excitement as she gently touched one of the slayer's dark braids. "About me not being able to love anyone but Tara. You see, I ..." Willow's voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "I'm --"

"Oh, isn't this just touching," came a snidely familiar voice.

"Warren!" Willow hissed as she looked over Rona's shoulder at the latest apparition.

"You two girls gonna put on a show? Eat a little carpet while you're down there on the floor?"

Rona rose to her feet and held out a hand to help Willow up. "Ignore it," she said. "All it can do is taunt us."

Willow nodded in agreement, deliberately turning her back and blocking out all the nasty things that the image of Warren was spewing. "You're right," she said as the sound of gunfire echoed through the mansion. "Let's go see if we can help Spike and Buffy!"

Willow kept a tight grip on Rona's hand as they ran toward the sounds of battle -- they didn't have far to go.

Once again, the inner circle was gathered on the landing overlooking the Great Hall. They were eerily silhouetted against the last rays of the setting sun coming through the huge round window behind them. Giles was shouting orders, demanding people to get back and not interfere with whatever was happening below. Captain Beck beside him, had one foot on the shattered rail and was calmly reloading her pistol, her face grimly determined. Elly was transfixed, her face void of all expression.

Wood looked lost as he held Faith's limp body against his own with one arm, in the other dangled a splintered crossbow. Andrew was on his knees, holding tightly onto a wounded and bleeding, but thankfully still conscious, Xander.

"Spike! Look out!" Dawn screeched in warning.

Willow rushed to the rail just in time to see him use his wings to slap two junior slayers aside.

"Leave him be! He is not your enemy!" Giles roared to throng below and then pointed beyond Spike. "She is!"

Willow's gaze followed the direction of his accusing finger.

"Kennedy," Rona noted softly.

Willow took one horrified look at The First's new vessel before turning -- and running away.

~

~

Through a haze of red, Spike destroyed the library door. He burst through it and entered the school, seeking the blood of slayers.

Instinct controlled him. Desire guided him. Hunger drove him onward.

He was pure fury, vengeful and righteous -- the Cherubim of all Cherubim -- the Champion. The one chosen to rid the earth of these abominations -- these unworthy slayers who had stolen their powers from the demons of light. These humans, who had corrupted the glory, wielding the strength of the angels for base, earthly reasons.

It was his mission, his sacred duty to destroy them all.

He lifted his blazing sword high and marched forth to battle his foe.

~

~

By the time Buffy got to the railing, Spike was already surrounded. She never hesitated, just leapt from the second floor, down into the fray. She put herself deliberately in front of him, blocking the wooden stakes that were aiming for his heart.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she screamed at the circle of girls surrounding them.

"Buffy," one of them gasped. "Get out of the way!"

"And let you dust him? Not likely."

"But you and Kennedy said he'd gone mad, that he'd killed Amy and was going to kill us all!"

"That wasn't me!" Buffy shouted as understanding dawned. "The First is here. Lying and deceiving, pretending to be me -- just like always. Spike won't hurt --"

Behind her, he snarled. She felt him trying to push her aside, but she twisted and sidestepped. She grabbed at him, holding him firmly with both hands when he tried to move past her.

"Spike! Stop it," she ordered. "What's wrong with you?" Even as she asked the question, she had to kick aside a wooden stake that one of the girls was menacing him with. "I swear I'll kill the next one of you that tries to hurt him!" she hissed.

"You can try, but I doubt you can succeed."

The room stilled as everyone's attention was drawn to the speaker.

"Kennedy?" Buffy asked, and Spike lunged against the hold she had on his belt.

"Not entirely," the dark slayer said smugly. "I'm much more than Kennedy now."

"Yeah? Well I always did think you thought way too much of yourself," Faith snarked as she landed on the floor of the Great Hall a few feet in front of Buffy. "I mean really, Kennedy? Might just as well have called yourself the-princess-whose-shit-don't-stink"

"Careful, Faith," Buffy tried to warn her. "Don't forget the Preacher."

Faith snorted and moved even closer to Kennedy. "I'm not worried. She's --"

Kennedy moved incredibly fast. She grabbed Faith by the arms. Bones snapped and popped as she squeezed. Faith screamed in pain and kicked Kennedy in the face. Kennedy howled angrily, and with strength beyond that of any slayer, she flung Faith high into the air. Buffy watched in horror, squinting against the brilliant shaft of sunlight, as Faith landed amidst the crowd gathered at the second floor railing, shattering it and sending the Scoobies flying in all directions.

Kennedy then grabbed one of the slayers closest to her and wrapped her fingers around the girl's neck. Before anyone could move -- the girl was dead and her lifeless body tossed casually aside.

"Release Spike!" Elly shouted as Lydia drew her pistol and began to fire.

Buffy watched the bullets hit Kennedy squarely in the chest. The vessel of the First barely flinched at their impact.

Buffy remembered her defeats at the hands of Caleb -- and he'd been an ordinary human. With a sinking heart, she knew she'd have no chance against Kennedy, a slayer, possessed by The First. But there was one chance, one hope ...

"Go, Spike," she urged, as she released her hold on him.

He lunged toward Kennedy and two slayers, blinded with confusion, reacted by whipping out their stakes and pouncing on him. Dawn screamed a warning from above. Spike twisted and used his wings to knock them safely aside.

Giles shouted something and then all Buffy knew was Spike and Kennedy.

Spike lifted his sword; Kennedy batted his hand as it descended. The fiery bolt sailed through the air and exploded in a shower of sparks. She grabbed at his wings, trying to snare him; he broke free and tucked his wings away. She swung a left hook at him; his jaws snapped at her. He landed a shattering blow to her nose; she kicked him in the stomach hard enough that his feet left the floor. They surged together clasping each other, both trying the crush the other. They spun and smashed into a wall, shattering a support pillar and cracking the marble floor. She lifted both her hands high, locked them together, and brought them down onto his head. He dropped like a stone; she crowed in delight. He heaved himself off the floor, swept his leg sideways and knocked her feet out from under her. She stumbled.

Then he saw his opening and he pounced.

Almost quicker than the eye could see, he had a death grip on her throat -- her jugular exposed and vulnerable -- his fangs descending.

"Please, Spike," Willow sobbed from beside him. "Please, don't feed from her."

He hesitated, turned his eyes to Willow, and was doomed.

Kennedy broke away from his distracted hold. As she had done with Faith, she grabbed him by the arms, spun around, and hurled him up into the shaft of sunlight. He cried out in pain as flames appeared along his chest and down his leg. Then he twisted in midair and unfurled his gleaming wings. They spread wide, blocking the light, absorbing it and growing even brighter as they held him safely aloft.

Kennedy watched and hissed with rage. She --

"I'm sorry," Willow whispered to her former lover as she swung the long-hidden, magic scythe and cleaved The First's vessel in two.

The essence of The First burst out of the broken shell. It rose into the air like a dragon, roaring and snarling, swirling round and round the Great Hall before dissipating into the ether.

~

~

Epilogue -- When Tables Turn ... Can Peace Be Found?

"Are you warm enough, luv?" Spike asked. He pulled Buffy closer and tried to determine if her body was more chilled than it should be. Shagging in an unheated crypt in the middle of winter on the shore of a frozen lake wasn't the smartest thing for a delicate human like her.

She shivered instead of answering.

He frowned, trying to decide if she really was cold or if she just wanted him to --

With a sigh, he decided it really didn't matter. He shifted on top of the granite sarcophagus, rolling from his back to his side so that he could unfurl his wings. Bloody things, more of a nuisance than anything else, but Buffy loved them.

And he lived for her every whim.

Again he shifted positions, sitting slightly, drawing her tightly into his chest, wrapping his softly glowing wings around them, covering them from head to toe, and then rolling back onto the lid. She snuggled close and made a sound of pleasure.

"That better, pet?"

"Mmmmm, they're so warm," she wiggled against him. "And sexy." She rolled further, drawing Spike over her, onto her, and into her.

"Not as warm you," he gasped as he slid into her depths. Nothing gave him greater pleasure, made him feel more alive, than when he was deep inside her and could feel her heartbeat pulsing around his shaft.

They made love slowly and languidly, barely able to move, wrapped as they were in the cocoon of his supple wings. Not that they minded the restriction; after all, they'd been going at it all day.

This is what Buffy had wanted for her birthday. A day alone with him in the crypt -- for old time's sake she'd said when she'd first suggested the idea a week ago. He'd looked out the penthouse window at the thick blanket of snow that covered the estate grounds, and started thinking about space heaters and down coverlets.

Earlier, when they'd entered the pleasantly warm tomb, Buffy had taken one look at the kerosene heater he'd installed and kicked it over. Luckily, the safety mechanism on it had worked; shutting off the fuel before it had exploded into flames.

"We'll make our own heat," she'd stated as she'd begun to impatiently rip his clothes off -- that's when he knew for certain that she lusted after his wings.

Thank god Buffy still thought of him as sex object, Spike thought as he moved against her. She was constantly jumping his bones and dragging him into dark corners in order to take advantage of him. He smirked even as he nipped the tender flesh on the side of her breast. She'd been right; she had changed a lot in the time he'd been gone -- gotten a lot hornier, she had.

She shuddered beneath him as he teased her nipple with his tongue then drew one of her firm little tits into his mouth.

"God, Sike," she panted as he suckled on breast. "I love you."

And she'd become a lot more loving toward him ... and happier and open and ... well she'd always perfect. Now, she was just more so.

Not like the others.

He was getting thoroughly sick of the way the others treated him -- with reverence and with awe. He couldn't help it if the things he touched turned white, if plants burst into bloom when he passed by, or if animals followed him around -- Willow's stupid cat was bad enough, but the birds! Did they have to flock to him, singing and twittering? He felt like bloody Snow White with all the little buggers drawn to his presence -- and why that soddin', worthless excuse for a cat didn't just eat them, he'd never understand.

The students and staff were nearly as bad as the animals about trailing him around, which is why he kept so close to the original Scoobies -- at least they could remember when his presence had inspired fear instead of ... worship. Spike had never thought he'd be glad to see Wood's scowling face -- that man would never forgive him, much less be awed by him -- which suited Spike just fine.

The Wood's had returned just last week, released from their duties guarding the Hellmouth in Cleveland. They'd be living at the estate permanently now; taking full-time positions in the school. Wood would be the acting principal and Faith would help with the training for as long as she felt up to it. Seems Wood had managed to slow her down in the only way possible -- by knocking her up.

Spike grinned against Buffy's breast. Faith in the role of mommy, suckling an infant at her tit -- it was bizarre. Yet, of all the Scoobies, she alone had the chance to reproduce. He certainly couldn't accomplish that feat with Buffy, nor could Xander with Andrew, nor Red with her new bird, and as for Giles, the watcher was getting a bit long in the tooth to spill much baby gravy into his lady cop.

'Course that left Dawn.

Spike pitied the poor bloke who was currently trying to get into her pants. Nice enough chap, but not nearly good enough for his Lil'Bit. Spike knew he'd have to run the wanker off soon, before the Niblet got too attached. He'd --

He groaned in pleasure as Buffy's internal muscles squeezed him, milking him as her hips moved in time to his thrusts. He drove deeper and pulled her even closer. She reacted by pulsing around him, lifting her legs and locking her heels behind his knees, spreading herself wider beneath him.

She was amazing.

She was everything, he thought as he looked down into her intense face. Her eyes were dark with passion, gazing at him with love. Her mouth was open as she panted -- her lips swollen and red. He could hear her blood rushing through her veins, smell the nectar of her sweet cunny, feel the strength of her quim as she clenched and unclenched -- driving him mad.

"Grrrh," he groaned through gritted teeth as he fought to keep himself from --

"Arrggh," he moaned in relief when he felt her reach her peak and allowed himself to follow, grasping her hips firmly, grinding his pelvis against hers, and pumping his jizz into her warm and living body.

After he'd calmed, after he'd collapsed atop her, he felt her fingers in his hair, petting him, stroking him, caressing him. Then she turned her head slightly so that his lips were pressed against the pulse-point in her neck. He couldn't resist resting the tip of his tongue against her dewy skin. She tasted of salt and power and honey and life itself.

"Drink me, Spike," she whispered.

He tried to lift his head, to pull away from her jugular, but she twisted her fingers into his hair and held him close.

"You haven't fed in five days," she said worriedly. "Take some from me. It's okay and," she wheedled, "it's fresh from the pump."

"Buffy," he sighed and relaxed into her grip. He kissed her neck gently, lipping the scars that other vampires had left behind. "Slayer blood is powerful and filling. I don't need much to keep me going."

"You sure?" she asked suspiciously. "The blood the girls are donating is enough for you? Because if it isn't. I can --"

Spike laughed. "You're not offering to bleed one for me, are ya, luv?"

"'Course not," she said as she slapped him smartly upside his head. "I meant you can always top off your tank with me. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," he said as he stretched his neck up and captured her lips, trying to get her mind directed back to more pleasant matters.

In the months that had passed since his return, Spike had managed quite well on the blood donations that Rona -- Oi, Red's love sure had sweetened that sourpuss up -- had organized. It was now part of the requirements of attending the school -- contributing to the blood bank that served as the resident vampire's main diet. He drank it sparingly, always feeling slightly nauseated by it and more than a little guilty about the way the frozen bags of blood were piling up in the freezer. They shouldn't be feeding him; it seemed so wrong, as if he was helpless again and besides, their blood was just too pure. He could survive on it, but he craved something darker for his sustenance. Not that it would matter much longer. He didn't want to tell anyone yet -- not even Buffy -- that he'd be getting filled up on a fresh supply of slayer blood ... soon.

In the pit of his stomach, hunger was growing. In the back of his mind a twitch was increasing. Somehow, he knew that The First had seduced a new convert and that soon it would be his time to feed.

The End.