Chapter 8 - Of Good Intentions

"Cameron Grey?" Giles said, sounding surprised. "Why, he's the new Slayer's.er Hope Mason's, Watcher. Why do you ask?"

"I have my reasons," Faith replied, gripping the phone a little tighter. "What do you know about him?"

"Well," Giles said, pausing thoughtfully. "I met him at a Watchers' retreat a while back. A clever chap. Good with computers. Seemed to be a real modernist."

"Modernist?"

"Um, yes. As I recall, he had some interesting ideas for bringing the Watchers' Council into the twenty-first century. Even had a few projects on the side that he'd financed with his own money. A comprehensive Watcher database, for one-"

"You mean there isn't one already?"

"Lord no."

"Oh."

"Yes, well, as I was saying, he'd financed these projects with his own money. His family is rather wealthy."

"I see." Faith thought about the three-thousand dollars she'd taken from the dark-haired vampire.

"The Grey's happen to own an auction house in London. Over the years, they've been instrumental in acquiring many rare artifacts for the Council archives."

"Hmmm. This is all really interesting." Faith bit her bottom lip, "but what I really wanna know is if he's."

"If he's what?"

"Evil."

"I.I wouldn't think so."

Faith snorted. "Not like it never happens. Remember that Watcher I had-"

"Gwendolyn Post. But that was different. Believe me, Cameron Grey is Hope's Council appointed Watcher. He has excellent credentials. I don't think there's anything to worry about."

"I'm not so sure." Faith hesitated, then went on to tell Giles about how she'd found the note with Grey's telephone number in the roll of bills lifted from the dark-haired vampire. "I'm not sure about what's going on," she said, "but you've gotta admit, something's fishy here."

Giles agreed. "I'll look into this," he said. "Until then, let's not jump to conclusions just yet."

He was about to hang up when Faith stopped him. Hesitantly, she told him about her run in with Hope.

"I.I told her." she said. "I told her I was a Slayer."

Giles inhaled sharply. "You didn't."

"Yeah, I did. Call me crazy, but I thought I could help her somehow. The girl's a walking time bomb-sound remotely familiar? I just thought." Faith's voice trailed off . "But she didn't want my help, and now she knows. I figure it won't take long for the word to get out. She'll tell her Watcher. He'll alert the boys in London. They'll figure out it's me and then send out the goon squad. I probably should've skipped town, but."

"You were worried about her."

"Yeah."

"Well, perhaps the Council won't figure it out-that you're still alive. And perhaps."

"Perhaps what?"

"I don't want to raise false hope, but I've perceived a change, albeit a gradual one, in the Council-an evolution. The old school. it seems to be dying out. New Watchers are rising to prominence, bringing with them new ideas. There's been talk of Travers being forced into retirement. His actions-ordering your assassination-have caused dissention among the Council members. Many feel that you were wronged."

"You think that maybe someday-I could come out of hiding?"

"I do."

* * *

In a luminescent ten-by-ten cubicle of blue light located in a luxurious loft apartment-turned-training room, she stood poised, a fifty-pound battle- axe in hand. Waiting.

"Who will it be today, Hope?" asked her Watcher, sitting several yards away from her. He surveyed the computer screen in front of him and tapped the tab button several times. Images of various demons briefly flashed on the monitor. "How about a Fyarl?"

Hope glanced at Grey and shook her head. "Nobody hard, okay. I'm tired of getting my ass kicked by a stupid simulation."

"Ah." Grey tabbed several more times and stopped on the image of an ordinary-looking vampire. "Let's just go with a vampire then-one fresh from the grave."

Hope nodded. "Fine."

Grey hit "enter" and a vampire of medium stature, wearing a brown tweed suit materialized in front of her. He snarled at her, all yellow eyes and pointy teeth, and took a swipe at her midsection. Hope backpedaled out of the way then swung her axe at the vampire's head, missing by almost a foot.

The vampire growled and advanced on her, grabbing for the axe. Hope retreated, almost to the edge of the wall of light. She shifted the axe out of the vampire's reach, barely maintaining her balance. The simulated demon then lunged for her, successfully knocking her out of the computer- generated arena. Hope fell down hard on her backside as the cubicle of light and vampire's image disappeared.

Hope arose to her feet, cursing. "I thought you said he was fresh from the grave! That guy had to have at least a level four-"

"No. He was only a level one vampire. We can't get much lower than that, unless you want to fight simulated grandmothers."

"Well, I still say-"

"Hope, maybe we should work on your concentration. Have you been doing the meditation exercises I taught you?"

Hope walked over to where her Watcher was sitting and sank down into the black leather chair next to his. "What's the point?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I said what's the point. I'm no good at this Slayer stuff. You know it as well as I do."

"Hope-"

"I don't know what idiot upstairs decided that I would be the champion of champions, the defender of good, the blah, blah, blah, whatever bull story they give you, but I think they made a mistake."

"There's no mis-"

"Every night I go out there, I get this close to becoming urban road kill. It's scary. But you know what's even scarier?"

Grey shook his head.

"What's even scarier is that sometimes I think that I'd be better off." Hope's voice became low. A whisper. "I just want it to be over." She turned to her Watcher and looked him directly in the eyes. "I can't do this."

Grey's brows furrowed. "Hope, you know that you just can't stop being what you are. You know that you're-"

"What? The only one?"

"Yes. Except for Buffy Summers, of course-"

"But you're wrong. There're more Slayers out there. I know it. I met one."

"That's impossible."

"No. It's true. I ran into her last night. She was strong like me. She said.she said she was a Slayer."

"She was lying. Probably a vampire playing with your head."

"I don't think so. Something about her." Hope frowned. "She said she'd been watching me. That she knew what I was going through. She said she wanted to help me."

Grey's eyes narrowed. "What did this 'Slayer' look like?"

"Um. Brown hair. Kind of wavy. Brown eyes. A little taller than me."

Grey turned to his computer and typed furiously for several seconds. A girl's image appeared on the screen. Hope glanced over his shoulder and her eyes widened.

"That's her," she said, staring at what looked like a police mug shot. "That's the girl I met last night."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Chapter 9 – Blown Away

He felt a little like Dorothy, riding the skies on a tornado. The winds swirled about him, disorienting him. The noise droned around and through him—maddening, like a thousand random voices: crying, whispering, sighing.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been hurtling through the air, blowing through clouds, mountains, airplanes and anything else that came in his path. The sensation of passing through solid matter was strange and unsettling to him and further highlighted the question: What was he?

Was he a ghost? And if so—dead?

No. He couldn’t be dead. He refused to be.

Spike thought of Buffy. The Slayer was probably all torn up worrying about him. She and Angel would probably be working on the location spell by now.

Bloody Angel.

The sodding poof had better keep his paws off her. Spike had seen the soulful longing in the vampire’s eyes, the tentative hand reaching for hers.

He trusted Buffy, but the thought of her and Angel thrown together—the tragic, unrequited lovers. She: grieving and vulnerable; he: supportive and selfless.

It just about made him sick.

If only she could see him—hear him. He had to get through to her. But how? She hadn’t been able to hear him when he was standing right next to her, yelling in her ear. How could he get through to her now?

Oh how he wished he could talk to her. Hell, talk to anyone for the matter.

Was there anyone out there that could hear him?

* * *

Buffy glanced around the lobby of the old hotel that was now the home of Angel Investigations. The room was imposing with great twenty-foot ceilings, ornate architectural details and a cold stone floor. Angel ushered her on toward his office, but Buffy lingered by the reception desk, running her fingers over the smooth marble. She was reminded of the mansion the vampire had once inhabited back in Sunnydale.

"This place," she remarked with a slight smile as she turned to Angel, "is definitely you."

"You think?" Angel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Buffy nodded. "Definitely has that mausoleum feel." She looked at him and noticed the hurt expression that crossed his face. "But I like it," she quickly added.

"Well, the rent’s reasonable and it can house a fair amount of people," Angel explained. "There’s a room upstairs you can use…"

"That’d be great," Buffy replied. "But first," she absently stroked the leather jacket that was slung over her arm, "we’d better do the location spell."

"Right." Angel led the Slayer to his office and offered her a seat. He then shuffled around the room, first looking for a spell book and then the appropriate items required to perform a location spell.

As Angel sat at his desk, hunched over the well-worn volume, Buffy looked at him skeptically.

"Aren’t you going to get someone else to do the spell?" she asked. "Maybe someone who knows how to do magic?"

Angel shook his head. "Everyone ’s either asleep or out. I’ve done location spells before. There’s no need to--"

"But, if it doesn’t work, you’ll get someone else to do it, right?"

"Of course, but I really don’t think that’ll be necessary."

* * *

Loren sat in front of the globe of the world and shook his head. "Well, it looks like we’re all out of powder." He glanced down at the discarded maps of L.A., California and the U.S. lying on the floor and shrugged. "And we’ve just about tried every location spell I know—well the only one I know, but we’ve tried it like seven different ways and nada, zippo, zilch." Sighing, the green-skinned demon turned to Angel then Buffy. "I don’t think this Spike person is out there."

* * *

The wind had finally begun to subside. Spike could feel himself descending, slow at first, then faster and faster until… He’d landed. But where?

Spike looked around. It was still night; moonlight illuminated the gravestones surrounding him. Overgrown by weeds, only the top halves could be seen: some broken, others tilted at odd angles, sunken into the earth.

Spike noticed a statue several yards away. Beneath the full moon, it appeared almost white—glowing and pure. An angel, with outstretched wings, bowed head and hands placed together in front of her in prayer.

Spike looked up at the angel’s face; eyes closed, expression serene, it beckoned him. He walked over to the statue and held his hand out towards it, as if to touch it. But he hesitated, knowing he couldn’t. His fingers would only pass through it.

He curled his hand into a fist and drew it back, dropping his arm to his side.

So, he thought bitterly, was this to be his final place of unrest? His haunt?

He supposed it was appropriate. Spooks usually haunted graveyards, didn’t they? Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. He could make some ghost friends to hang out with—like Casper and such, eh? But how did spirits pass the time? They couldn’t exactly drink beer, munch on blooming onions and play kitten poker, could they?

What did they do?

Did they use their imaginations? Eat pretend blooming onions while drinking pretend beer, playing pretend kitten poker with pretend kittens and pretend cards. He supposed he should just make the best—

Oh bloody hell!

Who was he kidding? He wasn’t a purple dinosaur.

And besides, one couldn’t pretend Buffy. Not really.

He closed his eyes. He could picture her golden hair, warm brown eyes, her smooth white skin. He could picture her smile and hear her laugh…

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. Not for him.

He missed her, and it hurt—not knowing if he’d ever see her again. Ever be with her. Touch her.

Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pockets and began to wander the graveyard as he supposed spooks typically did. He felt alone. If only there were someone here he could talk to…

And then he heard it.

The soft tinkling of laughter. Delicate, like a silver spoon lightly tickling the edges of a crystal glass. The humming followed: soft and tuneless.

And it was getting louder. Coming closer.

A moment later, he saw her. Walking with a slight spring in her step, like a little girl coming home from ballet class, practicing her tondue here or pirouette there. She laughed again, then turned suddenly toward him and stared straight at him.

Her half glazed eyes focused on the space he occupied as if she saw him. He caught his breath. Did she? Could she? See him?

She took a tentative step towards him and smiled as if she’d run into an old friend.

"I see you," she sang, pointing a skinny finger in his direction. "You’re like a mountain mist, but you’re there—lingering in the air, you are." She walked right up to him and waved her arms in the space he occupied, frowning. "My hands go right through you…but I sense you. You’re here, aren’t you?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t—from shock.

"You’re here aren’t you, my Spike?"

Chapter 10 – Looking for Trouble

She should’ve stayed in her apartment and laid low—like Giles had told her. But for Faith, sitting around in her crummy studio with its paper-thin walls and bickering neighbors, its peeling wallpaper and noisy plumbing, and not to mention the roaches…

No. She couldn’t do that

Instead, she’d devised a plan: to find the dark-haired vampire, ask a few questions, and beat the crap out of him if necessary. Just what was his connection to Hope’s Watcher? What game were they playing? Faith was determined to get some answers.

At a little past mid-night, Faith was on her way to the vampire’s favorite hangout—the club she’d seen him exit the previous night. Stopping as she caught her spike heel in a drainage grate, she glanced at her reflection in a store window.

She looked different, in a clingy wine colored dress with a low v-neckline and a feminine, bias-cut skirt. Her hair cascaded around her face in carefully arranged ringlets; dark makeup accented her eyes and lips, contrasting against her pale skin. The small black velvet handbag hanging from her shoulder was just big enough to hold her wooden stake.

Faith ran her hands down the sides of her dress and nodded approvingly.

She’d blend in well with the young, fashionable crowd that hung out at the upscale nightclub. Hopefully, she’d go unnoticed.

* * *

As she wove through the hazy nightclub for the third time, Faith craned her neck, trying to see over the heads of writhing, gyrating dancers. The room was dark—except for the strobe lights that occasionally flashed in her eyes—and completely packed. An image of canned sardines came to mind—wriggling in their tin like worms.

She’d just started to rethink her whole game plan when she spotted her quarry standing in a corner, talking to a man in a dark suit. He hadn’t seen her yet and Faith started toward him, carving her way through the crowd.

She was less than three feet away when he looked up and stared at her. His eyes narrowed as he nodded an acknowledgement then nudged his companion, and gestured in her direction.

The vampire’s friend turned toward Faith. He was tall, and handsomely clean-cut, with short cropped, light brown hair, slightly longer in the front. His eyes matched his slate gray suit and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

"So she really is alive," the man in the suit murmured as his hand disappeared into his coat pocket.

Confused, Faith stared at the stranger who seemed to know her. "Who…?" She then glanced at the vampire, suddenly remembering her stake. She reached into her handbag, but was too late.

The man in the gray suit drew out a rod, no bigger than a pen. quickly grazing her shoulder. She heard a crackling sound, and felt a sharp biting pain, then staggered backwards, colliding with the vampire and feeling his strong arms come up to catch her as she lost consciousness.

* * *

The first thing she saw upon waking was the man in the gray suit. Only now, he’d shed the coat and looked decidedly less formal in his rumpled and half-tucked white dress shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His gray eyes sharpened as they caught hers.

"She awakes," he said softly. His accented voice was low and vaguely familiar.

Faith attempted to sit up, but found she was tied to a bed. Straining against the ropes, she scanned her surroundings, noting that she appeared to be in a dimly-lit bedroom with sleek, expensive-looking furniture. All of the window shades were drawn down and Faith saw slivers of light peeking out from the edges.

Her keeper sat in a chair a couple of feet away from the bed. She immediately noticed the pen-like rod in his shirt pocket.

"Where am I?" she demanded, still struggling with her restraints.

The man looked at her thoughtfully, rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You’re at my place," he replied as if it should have been obvious.

"And you are…?" There was a challenge in her voice.

The man arched an eyebrow. "I’m Cameron Grey."

Realization sunk in. "Hope’s Watcher."

"Yes."

Faith swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel bitter taste from her mouth. "So I guess she told you…about me…"

Grey nodded. "Yes. I didn’t believe her at first. She told me another Slayer had approached her…offered to help her… I thought it was just a vampire or demon, playing with her head. But then she recognized your picture—the one in the police database…" His eyes flickered over Faith’s body, then rested on her face. "That mug shot really doesn’t do you justice."

Faith turned away from him. "So what are you going to do with me?"

Gray paused, rose from his chair and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. He turned to face the large dresser mirror opposite the bed and studied Faith’s reflection in it. "That’s a good question," he murmured and let out a slow, even breath. "The world believes you dead. I suppose I should call Travers…"

The name gave Faith a chill. "No. Don’t. Please, not him."

He turned back to her abruptly. "Who then?"

"Giles," she breathed. "Call Rupert Giles…"

Chapter 11 – On a Whim

"Drucilla?"

Her eyes widened and a broad smile spread over her face. "Oooh, I was right. It is you," she squealed and clapped her hands together with delight. Her expression then quickly turned to a pout. "But what’s happened to you? You’re all fuzzy and transparent, just wisps of nothing, shimmering in the darkness."

"You can see me?"

"Of course I can." She started grasping at the air in front of her, her hands opening and closing in quick, bird-like motions. "I see you plain as night. But I can’t touch you. My hands pass right through you as if you weren’t really here."

"But Buffy, Angel—neither of them could see me…"

Drucilla laughed. "They don’t see like I do, now do they, my Spike?"

"Right," he breathed, "your special gift…your second sight."

"Yes," she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temple, "Ah, I see you and the Slayer. Had a bit of a tiff, did we? I see you going poof on her. Oh, and I see her now. Poor girl. So sad…"

"What do you see?"

"She’s searching for you. But it’s no good. It’s too bad she doesn’t see like I do." Drucilla sighed dramatically. "Ah well, at least she has Angel…"

* * *

Her look said it all.

Withering under the Slayer’s stare, Lorne turned to Angel who was seated next to her. "I—I don’t know what else to say," the green demon said, "her friend’s just not out there. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I think we’re pretty safe to assume the worst here."

"No!" Buffy spat, glaring at Lorne. "Try another spell." She looked to Angel. "Or get someone else to do one."

"Buffy," Angel said gently, "I don’t think another location spell will give you the answer you want. No spell will. At this point, we really don’t know what happened to Spike, but I think…" He glanced at Lorne, who nodded. "I think he’s gone."

"I’ll call Wil—"

"No." Angel took Buffy’s hands in his and looked her in the eyes. "At least not tonight. It’s late. You need to get some rest."

"I can’t rest. Not now. We have to find Spike. We—"

"Just lay down for an hour," Angel urged, he stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, I’ll show you to your room."

Buffy gazed up at Angel, searching. "Do you really think he’s gone?"

Angel just stared back in silence. He led her upstairs to the spare bedroom.

* * *

"So what happened to me?"

Drucilla shrugged. "I haven’t the foggiest."

"But you said you saw…"

"Yes, but I can’t explain it any more than your Slayer can—and she was there. I’m not omnipotent, you know."

"But try…see…what happened to me!"

"Oh, all right," she shut her eyes tight and pressed two fingers to each temple, "hmm…"

"What is it?"

"I see someone—a woman—who can help you…"

"Yes?"

"But the image is faint. I see long dark hair…dark eyes…"

"Who is she?"

"I don’t know. But I sense power in her…great power."

Spike thought of his sister. Emily? Could it be?

"What else can you tell me?" he asked.

Eyes still clenched shut, Drucilla pursed her lips and focused on the image floating in the dark cavities of her mind. But it eluded her and vanished into the blackness.

Her eyes opened. "I don’t know. There’s no more."

"But—"

"There’s no more, Spike."

"But what do I do now?"

Drucilla’s expression was now bored. "You leave," she said coldly. "I grow tired of this chitter-chatter with non-beings."

"But—"

"Leave, I said!" She fanned the space he occupied with her hand as if she were trying to dispel a foul odor. "Go! Click your little heels together and leave…"

"You mean like Dorothy?"

She nodded. "Yes, and her little dog, Toto, too."

"But…how?"

Drucilla exhaled irritably. "I knew this spook once. He was quite enamored with me, actually. He told me that the way his kind got around was by…"

"Yeah?"

"By whims and wishes."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be. Someone else you’d rather be with?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then go. Whim yourself away. Just do it."

Spike thought of Buffy. "Just whim myself you say…"

"Yes. Now go."

Whim. Whim. Whim. He shut his eyes. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Wherever you are—that’s where I want to be…

And just like that, the winds began to swirl about him, lifting him up higher and higher. He glanced down at Drucilla, now twenty feet below. Her arms were outstretched and her angular face pointed to the sky. She was smiling.

"Good-bye, my Spike."

He waved. "Good-bye."

* * *

Rest. He expected her to rest. Buffy shifted around fitfully on the twin-sized bed. Oh, Angel meant well. He really did. But sometimes she had to agree with Spike and his opinions regarding the souled vampire.

Sometimes Angel was a bit…bent.

Like how could she possibly rest at a time like this? Her boyfriend had just disappeared, no vanished, no disintegrated for no apparent reason right before her eyes. She’d never seen anything like it. In all her years as the Slayer—she’d seen them dust, and explode, occasionally implode, or melt into a pool of slime, but not…this.

And all she could do about it was—rest. She stared up at the ceiling and studied a large spider hanging out in the corner.

What happened to you, Spike?

She turned on her side. Spike’s leather coat, hanging from the back of a chair near the door caught her attention.

Oh Spike.

Sighing, she sat upright, slid off the bed and padded barefoot over to the chair. She picked up Spike’s coat and put it on, savoring its buttery feel and his scent, faint but lingering, mixed in with the smell of leather. Absently, she stuck her hands in his pockets.

They weren’t empty.

She pulled out a small, black velvet box and stared at it for several seconds. Her hands shook as she opened it.

A diamond engagement ring.

Beautiful. Perfect.

She didn’t breathe for several heartbeats. Then she began to cry.

* * *

Sitting alone in his office, Angel pulled out the slip of paper he’d found at Emily’s mansion. With all the excitement after Spike’s vanishing act, he’d almost forgotten about it. On it was a man’s name with a telephone number.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered as he dialed. It rang several times before a woman answered.

"H—hello?" She sounded tentative.

"I’m calling for a…" He glanced at the slip of paper. "Cameron Grey."

There was a pause. "He’s not here," the woman said finally. Angel frowned. There was something familiar about her voice.

"Is there another number where I could reach him? It’s urgent that I talk to him."

"He’s…" she began, then, "who is this?"

"I’m sorry, my name’s Angel. I’m a private investigator in L.A."

There were several seconds of silence before the woman spoke.

"Angel?"

"Yes…?"

"It’s me…"

Me. His brain worked in overdrive, running the many possibilities of who "me" could be until one name clicked. But it was impossible. She was dead…

He opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

"It’s Faith."

Chapter 12 – Restless Spirits

“Faith…?” Angel said, stunned.

“Surprised?”

“Um, yeah…I thought you were—“

“Dead? No. I pulled a Buffy. You know—died, but came back.”

“R…right.”

“So, why are you looking for Cam?”

“Cam? Oh, uh, you mean—Cameron Grey. I uh…it’s just that…uh… Where is he anyway?”

“He’s at the retreat. Left a few days ago. I’m sort of apartment-sitting.”

“Retreat?”

“Yeah, the annual Watchers’ retreat. I hear Giles actually got invited to go this year…”

* * *

“Oh why did I come to this thing?” Giles muttered as he sat alone on a scratchy wool blanket, ten feet away from the rest of the group.

Wistfully, he glanced over at the other Watchers sitting around the evening bonfire, seemingly having a good time. But Giles was too nervous to think about fun. He had a presentation to give in the morning.

Damn that Cameron Grey!

It was all that young Watcher’s fault. If Grey hadn’t been so persuasive, convincing Giles less than two weeks earlier—to speak at the retreat…

Sighing, Giles fumbled with a stack of color-coded index cards that he’d prepared a few days earlier. If only they’d asked him to talk about some other subject—say, trans-dimensional portals, ancient demi-gods, or even Slayer P.M.S. and how to deal with it—then he might have been able to speak competently.

But no, his topic was entirely different and just thinking about it gave him polliwogs.

Squinting, he held a mint green card up to eye level and read, “Habit number one—be proactive…”

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People was not a subject most Watchers were familiar with—Giles included. Originally, Grey had intended for Stephen Covey to speak in person at the retreat, but sadly, Mr. Covey had been otherwise engaged. Thus, Giles had been a last minute replacement.

He shuffled through the stack and pulled out a second card, this one salmon pink. “Er, habit number two—“

“Rupert!” Looking casually elegant in khaki slacks and a Ralph Lauren navy blue sweater, Cameron Grey dropped down next to Giles. “How are the Seven Habits coming?”

Giles forced a smile and looked at Grey with bewilderment. “I…uh—“

“Oh, I know you’ll be fine. Better than fine. You’ll be superb. You’ll blow them away. You know in all the years this organization has existed, not once have we ever considered proper management training for our people. I feel it’s simply shocking that I’m the only Watcher here with an M.B.A.”

“Yes, well, perhaps—“

“Oh, and by the way,” Grey lowered his voice, “I’ve heard some rumblings about that Spike fellow and his charge…”

“Buffy.”

“Yes. There’s been a great deal of gossip about his absence here—that he’s skipped off to Hawaii with her and that he’s been dating her for some time now.”

“Yes, well…” Giles looked away uncomfortably.

“Is it true?”

“I—I’m…afraid so.”

“Indeed.” Grey looked thoughtful. “Then he’s setting a precedent, isn’t he? Although, I daresay that it’s not necessarily a bad one…”

Giles was silent for a moment then frowned. “Good God man, you’re not thinking of…but she’s only fifteen!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Grey laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of…that. No, I was thinking of someone else…”

“Ah.” Giles smiled. “I think I understand.”

“Yes. Well, you’d be blind if you didn’t.” Grey added, amused. His voice then grew softer, serious. “Rupert?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad…that it was you I called…last month…and not…”

Giles nodded. “You did the right thing.”

* * *

“You sound good.”

“Thanks. I guess I’m getting there.”

“And this Cameron fellow…”

“He’s helped me out—a lot. And I think…I’ve helped him back.”

“How so?”

“Well, with training Hope and patrolling, you know, stuff like that. The kid was a mess…but I think she’s getting better.”

“I’m glad.”

“I am too. I think…for the first time in my life…I’ve got a real purpose, you know. I’m not just wasted space.”

“You never were, Faith—”

“You’re a terrible liar, Angel.”

The vampire smiled.

“But getting back to why you called. How did you get this number? And why are you looking for Cam?”

“I, uh, actually found his name and number in the pocket of a black trench coat, but I’ve no idea who the coat belongs to—“

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Black trench? It’s got to be Dominick’s. He works for Cam, but he’s gone missing. He’s supposed to check in every night, only he hasn’t, not for a couple of days now…”

* * *

Outside the hotel, Spike levitated in front of a third floor window, peering in at the Slayer who lay, wrapped in his leather coat, asleep. Dru had been right. He really could whim himself to wherever he wanted to be. And the winds had brought him here.

Taking pause, he noticed the layer of grime that appeared to seal the window shut.

Not a problem. He leaned forward and fell through the glass, into the room.

Inside, he heard Buffy moan softly and saw her turn over. Spike stopped. Did she sense him?

He moved over to the bed and stared down at her, immediately noticing her eyelids fluttering back and forth.

“Ah, dreaming about me, pet?”

And as if in response, she murmured his name. Her brow then furrowed and she turned away from him.

Transfixed, he sat down on the bed, admiring her hair, spread out over the pillow like a gilded fan. He’d always loved it so. The way it shimmered and almost glowed. He stretched his hand towards her, but stopped himself. He so wanted to touch her; feel her warmth.

But he couldn’t.

And it was torture. Bitterly, he wondered if he were better off somewhere else, away from her.

Then she shifted again, toward him, once more murmuring his name. Slowly, he lay down alongside her, stretching out, toe to toe, his face to hers. He closed his eyes.

“Sleep, luv,” he whispered. “Sleep.”

A restless spirit, he’d traveled many miles that night, but now, nestled close to the woman he loved, he’d found—at least temporarily—peace.

Chapter 13 - Weakness

“Spike.”

She awoke with his name on her lips, her voice eager and hopeful. She could feel him watching her. He’d come back. He’d found her. He was here. She opened her eyes, expecting to see steely blue staring back at her, but instead saw dark brown.

Angel.

The vampire was perched on the edge of the tiny bed, looking down at her. She saw a flash of anguish in his face, but he buried it quickly, and his expression became unreadable. He withdrew the hand, which had been resting next to hers, and placed it in his lap. The sleep, the dream, the hope slipped away from her as she sat up, modestly gripping the sheet to her chest to cover what her sheer nightgown did not. She couldn’t help feeling somehow violated. He’d been watching her sleep.

“Buffy,” Angel began. He looked away, ashamed. “I came up here to talk to you. I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I was worried, so...”

She should’ve been mad. He had no right. He shouldn’t be in here, in her room, on her bed. She should’ve been, but she wasn’t. Angel was her friend and she needed one badly.

“It’s okay,” she said finally, her voice quiet. She managed a smile and reached for his hand. “Angel, I…”

He turned back to her, his eyes meeting hers. The anguish was still there, still buried, but barely hidden beneath the surface. They were both in pain. That much was clear. But was she the cause of his? Did he still love her after all this time? She looked deep inside herself and found no trace of the feelings she had once had for him. Oh, she still had feelings. Warm ones. But not the fiery ones that had once burned her, charring her inside. Amazingly, all traces, all scars, all the hurt was now gone. Spike had done that. He’d been the one to finally heal her.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me-and Spike.”

Angel flinched at the former vampire’s name, but quickly recovered. He smiled, and it almost seemed genuine. “Your welcome,” he said in a way that broke her heart.

There was an awkward silence as neither of them could find words to say. Finally, Angel cleared his throat. “Buffy, the reason I came up here was…I came to tell you, I think I may have stumbled onto something.” He explained to her about the coat he’d found in Emily’s closet, the slip of paper in the pocket, and of calling the number written on the paper. He told her about Faith.

“Faith’s alive?” She was stunned.

“She’s in New York,” he replied. “For the past month, she’s been working with Hope Mason and her Watcher.”

“But what’s her connection…to Emily?”

“Well, according to Faith, Cameron Grey, Hope’s Watcher, has been working on a special assignment for Quentin Travers to locate Emily.”

“And destroy her?”

“Yes.”

Buffy frowned. “I still don’t understand. I mean, how…Emily’s so powerful…”

“Apparently, Grey found a weakness.”

“What is it?”

“More like ‘who’. His name’s Dominick. Ring any bells?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Well, he was her sire-and her lover.”

“I still don’t-“

“Apparently, this Dominick is ‘gifted’-like Drusilla, only much more powerful.”

“You mean he’s psychic?”

Angel nodded. “And he can control minds. They were using him to find her-kind of like a bloodhound. He’d go from city to city, searching her out. If he got near enough, he’d be able to sense her. Eventually, he came here-to L.A.”

“But why would he help Grey find and destroy Emily? He’s a vampire. Evil. Remember?”

Angel flinched again, this time at the word ‘evil.’ “Not all vampires are-“

“Oh, so you’re saying he has a soul? So he’s a good guy like you?”

“Not exactly. He’s more like how Spike was…before he became human again.”

“You mean he has a chip?”

“Yeah, apparently, this Grey is some kind of a computer genius. He managed to tap into the technology that the Initiative used in their demon experiments-like the one performed on Spike.”

“But how?”

Angel shrugged. “The guy’s rich. He’s got connections. I don’t know exactly.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, they were using Dominick to locate Emily, and they succeeded…only, he disappeared a few days ago.”

“So…”

“So, I’m thinking, maybe those ashes we saw back in Emily’s bedroom weren’t Emily’s. Maybe they were someone else’s-“

“You mean Dominick’s?”

“Precisely.”

“So, you think Emily’s still alive?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility.”

* * *

Spike stood in the corner, watching. He’d been curled up on the bed next to the Slayer when Angel came into the room. The bloody vampire had nearly sat on him! And now, there was Angel, chatting away with Buffy. Oh, what were they talking about? He was too jealous to listen. From the moment Buffy had reached for Angel’s hand and held it firmly in her own, Spike had felt the blood boiling up inside of him. Of course, he didn’t have any blood-any more. But, that was beside the point! He was jealous with a capital “J”.

He could read the body language between the two. Buffy had started off looking aloof, but she had warmed. Getting warmer. And now-his eyes narrowed-even warmer.

She was talking quickly. Her hands making tiny gestures. Her eyes were bright now-gleaming.

* * *

Angel took a deep breath. “Now, Buffy, I don’t want you to get your hopes up…this may not lead us to Spike…”

“But if Emily’s alive, she can help us! She’ll know what’s happened to Spike. She’ll bring him back! She’s done it before, don’t you see? She can do it again!”

“That’s if she really is alive. We’re just assuming at this point.”

“I know, but if she is…” She threw her arms around the vampire’s neck. “Thank-you, Angel,” she said, her voice now filled with hope. “I could kiss you! I could just…”

She pulled away from him, holding him at arms length. Angel studied her face as a look of uncertainty crossed over her features.

“I could kiss-“ she began again, but before she could finish, he’d swooped down, acting on impulse and over three years of longing. In a moment of weakness, Angel gave in to the feelings he’d been fighting for so long. He kissed her.

* * *

Spike’s narrowed eyes, widened, then bulged.

What the…

His worst fear-one that had been haunting him ever since he’d fallen for the Slayer-was now right before him. Angel held the Slayer tight, one arm around her waist, the other caressing her cheek. And they were macking.

No!

Without thinking, he sprang from his corner, leaping right at Angel.

As ghost collided with vampire, something unexpected happened. Spike was overwhelmed by-feelings. He could touch again! Suddenly, he was caressing Buffy’s smooth skin, holding her close; his lips crushing against hers. But she pulled away from him without warning.

“No,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his. “Buffy, I-“

But she cut him off with a slap so hard it left his cheek burning.

* * *

Angel felt the slap, saw the look on Buffy’s face, and heard the voice that was his-only it wasn’t. He tried to move, raise his arm. He tried to speak. But he couldn’t. Buffy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-

His mouth opened and someone else’s words came out. “Buffy, listen to me. “

Her eyes shone with tears of anger and betrayal. “How could you?” she asked, her teeth clenched.

“Buffy,” said his voice, sounding strange and urgent. “It’s me-“

“I trusted you!”

“Pet, listen…it’s me.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at the man in front of her. “Spike?”

Spike! With the realization, Angel fought harder for control of his body. I will not let you- He struggled; willed himself to take back what was his, but it was no use.

“Is it really you?” Buffy asked, reaching up to stroke the cheek she’d just slapped.

Angel felt himself lean into her touch, felt himself shudder. “It’s me.”

“But what’s happened to you? How did you…?”

“I’m not sure,” his voice replied. “One minute I was sitting there talking to you and the next, I’m a ghost, a spirit of some sort. Maybe I died, but I don’t know how.”

“And Angel? What have you done to him?”

“I don’t know that either. I, uh, saw him making the moves on you. So I went right at him…and then this happens.”

Buffy held his face in both hands and stared at him, searching. His head dipped down, lower, lower, until their lips touched. Soft, furtive, tender. Angel felt an ache deep inside of him as he experienced what he had longed for. Only it wasn’t. Not really. He felt his arms envelope her, felt her heart beating, her pulse quickening. “I thought I’d never touch you again,” the voice murmured in her ear. There was a low growling sound from deep in his throat and the rush of dead blood down his body, signaling his arousal. His hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her closer.

Buffy pulled away. “We can’t,” she said, searching his face, looking deep into his eyes for a trace of the body’s true owner. “What if-“

And then he kissed her again, harder this time. Silencing her.

No!

Angel panicked and fought back one last time as he felt his body pressing down on Buffy’s; felt her yielding to his weight, lying back onto the mattress.

Please don’t!

But his cries went unheard as skilful, knowing hands found their way under the cotton nightgown seeking, seeking, then pausing in all the right places. They made her gasp then sigh.

Please!

She was now fumbling at the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons. He felt the fabric tear off of him. Her hands splayed out over his chest, then went lower, to his belt. The leather strip slid away, and the buckle rattled as it hit the floor.

Don’t!

With an impatient roughness, she shoved his pants down. He felt her grabbing him, guiding him. This was not the Buffy he knew. This was not-

And then suddenly, he was inside of her. Her heat warmed his cool body and he began thrusting, deeper and deeper; he felt a tingling from the friction caused by his skin sliding against her skin, again and again. He’d stopped resisting and had to wonder, were these his actions or Spike’s? He didn’t know anymore. He let the sensations take over-both new and familiar. He’d been with Buffy once before. But at the price of his soul! And now, what would be the cost? He stared into the face of the woman who had once brought him a moment of pure happiness, the woman he’d once loved. She stared back at him, her eyes soft and glazed, seeing but unseeing.

“I love you,” she murmured, lowering her lids, smiling.

He felt a pain then, mixed with the pleasure. Long ago, he’d tried to run from her and the hurt she’d caused him. He thought he was saving them both. But he now realized he’d been wrong. He shouldn’t have left. Instead, he should’ve searched for a way to make their love work. But he hadn’t. He’d made a mistake and now it was too late.

Oh, Buffy. The biggest mistake of his life. I love you too.

Chapter 14 - Afterglow

His face loomed just inches above hers. Dark eyes bore through her, shocking her consciousness and waking the voice of reason that had previously been silenced. Through the numbing, pleasure-induced fog, it spoke.

Look at him! It’s…

She squinted up at him, uncertainty creeping in.

Angel?

But before her inner protests could continue, his face descended, dipping out of view; his lips grazed her ear, and he whispered, “Slayer.” Cool breath tickled her neck, making her shiver beneath him. She concentrated on his movements, which were slow, urgent and oh so familiar. Not Angel. Spike.

Closing her eyes, she quieted the doubts that were swimming inside of her.

Don’t think. Just feel...

Nothing mattered except this moment, which they’d stolen-along with Angel’s body. And when it was over, she knew reason would prevail and there wouldn’t be another chance.

So, just feel…

He was kissing her lips now; his mouth demanding and hard, his tongue searching.

Her fingers dug into his back as she clung to him; only breaking the kiss to tell him that she loved him.

He murmured his response; unintelligible, yet clear. She could tell he was getting close, but she didn’t want this to end.

Slow down! Didn’t he know…?

But his movements quickened and his muscles tensed, signaling his inevitable release. Her breathing was now shallow, a gasp with every push as he drove deeper. Her body tingled, tightening.

And then a last breath, a sigh.

He crumpled beside her, one arm lazily strewn over her stomach, his hand around her waist. She remained still for a moment, savoring the pulsing warmth deep within her; a smile on her lips. So perfect. She so wanted to hold on to this moment; tuck it away in a little box. But it was already fading. Growing cold. It was time to wake up. She opened her eyes to see him lying beside her, his face nuzzled against her shoulder. Her gaze raked down his body, his broad shoulders, his dark hair. The seed of panic took root, growing quickly like a common weed.

What had they done? What if Angel…? But it was unthinkable.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

* * *

“What is it, pet?” Spike asked, sitting up. He looked down at the Slayer and smoothed her hair with a loving hand.

Buffy gazed up at him, eyes filled with horror and shame. “Spike, what have we done?”

He smiled in response. “What we’re best at,” he replied, sounding almost smug. He gave her a smoldering look. “Maybe we could-“

“No,” she rolled away, escaping his touch. His hand lingered in the air for a moment, then sought her shoulder.

“Buffy-“

She shrugged his hand off, then rose to a sitting position, legs hanging over the bed, feet just touching the floor. “I can’t…look at you,” she said finally. “At him.”

“But-“

She wrapped the sheet around her and walked to the window. “Don’t you see?” she asked, staring down at the streets below, now striped with shadows cast by the low morning sun.

He shook his head. “See what, luv?”

She pressed a hand against the glass, then leaned her forehead against it. “Angel,” she whispered. “What if he…? But he has to be…in there, somewhere…watching me…us…” She turned to him. “Don’t you think?”

He looked at her, frowning. “No, I-“ Absently, he glanced at the dresser mirror on the opposite wall and started at the sight of the empty bed. A bed that curved down in the middle where he sat.

She followed his gaze to the mirror and nodded. “We were selfish-and stupid.”

Spike scowled, getting his composure back. “You don’t know…” he began. “I mean, I don’t think Angel’s in here. Wouldn’t I feel him if he were?” He made a fist and rapped his knuckles against his skull. “Hey, peaches, you in here?” He waited for a couple of seconds, then shrugged. “Nothing. See? Maybe, I kicked him out somehow. Or maybe he’s hovering about in the air somewhere.” He glanced up at the ceiling.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, and that would be better!” she said sounding bitter. “Having him floating above us when we were…”

“No. Of course it wouldn’t,” Spike said, now irritated. He stood up, nude, glanced down and paused. Normally, he would’ve pranced around the room stark naked for all he cared, but he wasn’t about to go flaunting Angel’s assets in front of Buffy. So instead, he snatched the bedspread up off the floor and wrapped it around his torso, approaching her with leaded feet. She was staring at him, but her face was filled with too many emotions to read. Finally, standing a foot in front of her, his eyes caught hers. “Buffy, I don’t know what else to say. Would I take it back? Would I prefer not touching you again?” He shook his head. “No, of course not. I understand what you’re feeling. I do. You’re looking at me, and you see Angel. I don’t like it any more than you do, but…it’s done.” He caressed her cheek, then caught her chin in his fingertips, tilting her face up toward his. “And I’d do it again.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away. “Don’t,” she whispered.

He took a step back, shaking his head. “But what would you have me do then? Fly away, like a good little ghost?”

She blinked back tears. “No. There’s got to be a way. Emily. Maybe she…”

“But Em’s gone, pet.” His voice was tender.

“She may not be!” she insisted with a hint of desperation. “Angel…He thinks she may still be alive!”

Spike’s eyes widened with surprise. “Does he? But where is she then? And how does he-“

“It’s just a hunch, but he thinks that the ashes we found may not have been hers. The Council sent another vampire after her-to hunt her down. Angel found his coat in her closet. The ashes may have been his, or even just a cover.”

“This other vampire…”

“Angel said his name was Dominic.”

“Emily’s sire.”

Buffy nodded.

“But why would he-“

“He was working for the Council, for Hope Mason’s Watcher.”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Met him last year. What was his name now?”

* * *

“Cameron.”

She’d finally reached him. After leaving several messages at the inn where he was staying, she’d decided to try his cell phone again. It had been turned off earlier, due to his being in conferences all day, but this time it rang-and he answered.

“Faith?” Just her name, but he sounded pleased to hear from her. She felt her chest tighten, just slightly. She didn’t know why.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she said, stomach fluttering. Maybe she was coming down with something. There was an awkward silence. For some strange reason, she felt tongue-tied, sitting on his comfortable bed, in his luxury, New York apartment. You would’ve thought he was right next to her, instead of thousands of miles away.

“Faith? Is there something wrong?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“No,” she answered quickly, “it’s just…Dominic’s gone missing.”

“Again?” Now he sounded annoyed. “He knows that chip in his head will-“

“I think it’s different this time…”

* * *

While toying with his drink, Giles eyed the young Watcher sitting across from him. The bar was almost empty, save for the two of them and several locals carousing in the back. Grey was on his cell phone, gesturing with his free hand as he spoke.

Giles knew Faith was on the other end of that line. He’d heard Grey say her name, and it had immediately caught his attention. The younger man had hinted at his attraction to the Slayer the previous night, and Giles wasn’t sure if he approved. He knew Grey had a history with women; many histories, and many women. Grey had looks, money, and charm, and didn’t mind using them to his advantage.

Giles couldn’t help but feel protective over the Slayer the Council had discarded and believed dead. But as he sat there, ears pricked, playing the disapproving parent, he became aware that there something going on with the handsome Watcher. And it had nothing to do with his interest in Faith. Sitting perfectly still, Giles listened.

“We’re close,” Grey said, sounding excited. “I need to call Travers.” There was a long pause.

“I know…I know. You don’t trust him,” Grey continued. “You’ve told me before.

“This has been set up for almost a year now.

“You need to inform Hope. She’ll know what to do.

“She is ready.

“No. You can’t be involved with this. It’s too risky.

“Everything will be fine. Just trust me.”

Grey glanced at Giles uncertainly. “I’ve got to go,” he said, then closed the cell phone.

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two men, which lasted for several seconds before Giles finally broke it.

“What’s going on?”

Next