Stars danced in Buffy's vision when the vampire's fist connected with her jaw. Her knees buckled from the blow but she remained upright, parrying a right cross just before it caved in her face and retaliated with a round kick to the demon's ribcage. The vampire howled, muting the cracking bones, and fell to its knees. Before it could react, the slayer pulled the blade from its sheathe strapped to her waist, and decapitated the demon.

"Kinda sloppy there, Slayer," the British voice commented and Buffy rolled her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest and watched the platinum blonde limp into view. Her annoyance was temporarily forgotten when she saw the jagged wound across his jaw that was still bleeding.

"Are you…" she started but Spike cut her off with a wave of his hand.

" 'm fine, slayer. Just that Polgara didn’t wanna go gently into that good night, 's all. Don’t get your knickers in a twist over lil old me."

Buffy huffed and thwapped him in the head.

"Oi! Watch it, now," he said and fell into step next to her.

"Or you'll what? Scowl me to death?" She chuckled at Spike's indignant snort but kept her eyes roaming the darkness for demonic activity.

"You sure know how to emasculate a bloke, luv. Just snip off the testes at the root," he said and she groaned when he demonstrated, complete with Spike hand movements.

"Thanks for that lovely imagery. That'll really help getting me back into bed with you."

"Gotta try somethin', don’t I?" He replied and she slapped him in the chest. Despite his leering tone, Buffy knew that Spike was anything but confident when it came to their relationship. The last two weeks had seen it become something it hadn't been since the first month of her return from the dead. Thanks to Angel, everyone now had cell phones and the slayer and her platinum blonde had used them to talk on the phone, despite him still shacked up in the Summers' basement. Rarely did they spend time alone except for patrolling and a few conversations out on the porch. For all intents and purposes, they had gone back to the courting they'd unceremoniously skipped all those months ago and Buffy had to admit that she liked it.

True, she missed the physical wow-ness of their physical encounters but she felt that the were both still stinging from the Bronze fiasco and taking their time to get to know one another had been something both had agreed upon.

The digital tone of Rob Zombie's 'Dragula' broke the amiable silence and the slayer gave her boyfriend an amused look. He shrugged and dug into the pocket of his duster for the phone.

" 'lo?" he said after flipping it open. "Patrollin' over at Harrison, you? How many dusties? Ha, we beat you, luv. Slayer dusted seven…well, four but I did in a Polgara. Snapped that skewer off and impaled the blighter with it. Right you are, Shadow. This usually isn't a busy place. Yeah, well, that's how it's been everywhere the last two weeks. Yeah, yeah…wanna talk to the slayer? You don’t have to save him, luv, we wouldn’t blame ya. Oi, now, watch the threats to the man parts...ta, luv, see you tomorrow."

"So, how's Faith and Xander doing over at Restfield?" Buffy asked when Spike shut the phone off.

"Thirteen vamps so far. I'll be buggered before I let the whelp outdo me."

"Geez, what is up with all this macho man BS?"

Spike pulled a cigarette from the inside pocket of his duster and lodged it between his lips. "Don’t really know, luv," he said and lit the fag, "but I'd like to ask you and Faith the same thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the slayer asked guiltily.

"Oh, nothing. Just that the whole competition bit's not just a guy thing."

Buffy rolled her eyes, annoyed at Spike's supernatural ability to get to things she'd rather he not. He was right about the slayer competition thing; even in her withdrawal from much of the group, Jay usually made time to gloat when she led the night in kills. With that said, plausible deniability was the way to go thus Buffy did the only thing she could think of--she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Veeeery mature," Spike drawled and flick ash from the tip of his cigarette to the ground.

"I'm a slayer," she replied, "there's nothing in the slayer handbook that says that I have to act like an adult."

"Of course not," he agreed and they walked for several minutes in silence until he stopped and regarded her with curious eyes.

"What?" she asked, partially irked and partially aroused by his stare. Damn body, always reacting to that cobalt gaze of his.

"Well," he said and dropped the rest of his fag to the ground and crushed it underneath his boot heel. "Just that, oh, I don’t know…just have a strong, sneakin' suspicion about that slayer handbook of yours."

"There is one, ya know."

"Of that, I've no doubt, pet."

"Okay, then what's with the alliteration mumbo jumbo?"

He ignored her comment and narrowed his eyes, as if searching for an answer that refused to make itself known.

"Creeping me out here, Spike," she said and started to walk away when he called her name.

"What?"

"It's just that…you haven't actually read that slayer handbook, have you?"

It took a moment for her to process the thought and by the time she did, Spike had jogged off into the night, cackling away.

"You bastard!" she shouted and chased after him. And though a frown marred her features, Buffy couldn’t keep the bubbling warmth at bay as it roiled in her gut and up into her chest. Before she could stop herself, a peel of laughter escaped her throat. She would have stopped were it not for suddenly being tackled to the ground by a streaking shape of black.

"Gotcha, luv," Spike said and Buffy's laugh fell off into giggles as they rolled on the ground and nimble fingers danced across her ribcage. She fought but the battle was lost and Buffy couldn’t be any happier.

*****

She streaked through the graveyard, oblivious to the tombstones and trees blurring in her peripheral. She ignored the two vampires in the distance, rising from the ground as babes from a womb, and maintained her pace. She would have been home already but had decided for one more round in the cemeteries, dragging a sullen Faith along while Xander went home for the night. Luckily for the girl they found being held down by three men as another…

Jay erased the thought and lengthened her stride. The bastard had a good head start but he wouldn’t get away. She saw him not twenty yards away, his blue jacket a beacon in the distance. She and Faith had dispatched the others without a sweat, both relishing in the breaking bones and horrific screams of the would-be rapists. If it was up to her, they'd all be dead but Faith had stayed her hand and told her to go after this one. At first she'd jogged halfheartedly, pissed at the brunette slayer for sending her off like a schoolgirl on an errand. That was until she thought about the opportunity. Faith may have stopped her from killing the others, but no one would be around when she caught up to him.

A feral smile split her features and a roar pierced the air. The bastard turned around, his eyes bright with fear and he screamed. He stumbled for several yards before he fell. He scrambled to his feet but by that time Jay was close enough and she bounded the remaining yards separating them and slammed her shoulder into his kidney.

Blue jacket howled in pain but Jay showed no mercy. Grabbing his right arm, she wrenched it behind his back as hard as she could. Muscles and tendons ripped and she watched as his bone popped from the socket.

"Does it hurt?" she growled viciously, pressing down on his forearm until that bone, too, broke. His shrieks sounded like that of a dying animal but it drove the slayer only to further cruelties.

"So you're tough enough to hold down a helpless girl and rape her?" Her heel smashed down on the back of his hamstring, shattering his thighbone. "Not as tough when the woman fights back, are you?" Another shattering blast of breaking bones pilfered the air when she straddled him and slammed her fist into his ribcage. Blood spurted from his mouth, followed closely by whimpering pleas for mercy. But Jay heard none of this; all she heard was the sweet surrender of his body breaking under her blows.

"Had enough?" she asked after a few more minutes. The man convulsed between her legs and for the first time Jay was drawn to the staccato pulse of his jugular. Her tongue swiped at the perspiration dotting her lips and she leaned forward, her eyes intent on the erratic beat of life just below the skin. It would be so easy just to rip the skin and have that warm liquid flow down her throat. No one would ever have to know, no one…

Just as she was about to nestle her chin between his shoulder blade, strong hand ripped her away from the kill. Jay reacted instinctively and rammed her elbow towards the face of the intruder. But the culprit ducked and Jay lost her balance. She fell on her butt and stared up at her assailant. The anger and supernatural rage that had drove her actions the previous minutes had all but vanished at the singular glance into the familiar brown eyes of her namesake.

"Faith…" she said, her tongue feeling as if it had swelled. The brunette stared at her, not in rage but in astonishment--and fear. Faith eyes drifted to the body and Jay saw the horror in that split the other slayer's features. It only lasted a moment before Faith tore her gaze away from the carcass, fled to the bushes and vomited.

Jay watched Faith's petite body dry heave after the contents of her stomach had been expunged. She could do nothing for the sickened slayer and turned her gaze towards what Faith had seen.

As if for the first time, Jay laid eyes on the broken body five feet from her. She looked, with cerulean green eyes at the man before her and gasped at his damage body. It took only a fraction of a second for Jay to realize that her hands had been responsible for this crushed husk and when the memories flashed in her mind, she could do nothing but wail and she collapsed to the ground as the man breathed his final breath.

*****

Spike sat on the porch, lit cigarette dangling from his lip. Buffy had gone to bed a little over an hour ago, knowing that she and the other women still in Sunny D (Willow and Tara had gone on a Wiccan retreat for the holiday) were responsible for the food preparations. Spike and Giles would be doing the vast majority of the cooking, something both Brits had vehemently lobbied for once Buffy had volunteered to do the honors. The Fourth was tomorrow and, though he didn’t quite give a fig about the American holiday, no way was he gonna turn down some good old-fashioned eats. Barbecue and corn were nummy treats even to the undead.

The caw of a crow split the air and Spike's mind fell to the truth to why he was still awake. Though he'd yet to admit it to Buffy, he was concerned for Jay. Her behavior the last few weeks--though understandable in its erracticness considering the events she had lived through--unsettled him in a way he could not explain.

Can't or refuse to see? the demon's voice whispered to him. He didn’t try to silence the bugger, least of all for the simple fact that the demon part of him was seldom wrong. True, it often saw the dark in everything but in a town like Sunnydale, the dark often held the truth--truths that most people denied themselves.

"Get a grip, you wanker," he said and ran tense fingers through his hair. He held his hand out in front of him and watched the minute tremble of the limb. Bugger. The tick of his extremities wasn’t something that happened often to him--hardly ever, in fact--but when it did, there was usually trouble brewing of the major variety. Maybe it was a byproduct of hanging around Dru for a bleedin century or the power of Aurelius giving him warning to impending doom, but whatever it was, he didn’t like it one bit.

Almost as if the very air heard his qualm, the night carried the heavy scent of blood to the vampire's nostrils. Although the majority of what he smelled was from an unfamiliar source, there was a trace of someone's scent that Spike knew very well.

He was off the steps and halfway down Revello before another thought could form. He saw the two figures turning onto the street, two petite women with one obviously supporting the other. From a distance it appeared that they were drunk but as Spike neared them he saw the blood covering their bare arms and the blotches that stood out on their dark clothing.

"What happened?" Spike demanded and slid his arms around Jay's waist.

"I killed him," Jay said and chuckled but there was a hysterical lilt to the sound. "I killed him."

"Shadow," Spike growled.

"Later," Faith replied and despite his vehemence to know, there was an edge to her voice that made him drop the issue.

They made it to the house without incident and Faith took the young slayer to the bathroom while Spike waited outside, in part to make sure no one saw the two slayers (at Faith's behest) and also because he dared not leave his baby girl.

It took the two slayers the better part of an hour to finish and when Jay opened the door, her short hair matted to her head and those wide eyes staring at him, tears brimming to the surface, Spike's heart swelled with a love that burned him more than anything he'd ever felt.

"I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight, Daddy," she said and rushed into his arms. Spike absorbed the impact of her little body against his and led her to the basement as she stifled sobs that nearly tore his undead heart out.

"Don’t worry, Bitlet," he said once he had her tucked in. "Daddy's here." He sat on the bed and she clung to his waist, her head leaning against the crook of his hip. He rocked her, humming a song his Mum had sung to him even into adulthood. It always soothed him, Early One Morning did, and had the same effect on his girl.

Within five minutes her shivers had stopped and her breathing had evened out.

"Damn, Capt'n," Faith said from the bottom of the stairs. He hadn't even heard her come down. "You sing that for me and I may have to reconsider my choice for who's my man." She attempted to leer at him but he saw right through it. Something was wrong and it wasn’t just because his little girl had come home covered in blood. Faith was shook and that meant only one thing.

Things were bollocksed up to the nth bloody degree.

"So, you gonna tell him you're in a basement with his favorite undead fiend in some shorts that are barely there and a white tank top--sans the bra, of course?"

"What will B ever think?" she asked and the worry was clear in her voice.

"She wouldn't have to know," Spike whispered as he approached and with each step the atmosphere thickened with the truth he knew she was about to tell him, a truth he knew ever since he realized his daughter was splattered with human blood. It was a truth that he feared and knew with a certainty would never leave the sanctity of the basement, forever staying between him and the brunette in front of him. And as much as it pained him to keep it hidden from his love, it was something he knew Buffy could never know.

*****

The shattering of a plate and a familiar British curse roused Jay from her sleep. Her first instinct was to bury her face under the pillow but when she inhaled the musky scent of the sheets covering her, she knew this wasn’t her and Dawn's room.

"Daddy?" she whispered and sat up in the makeshift bed. Save for the small stream of light peeking through the window at the opposite end of the room, she was shrouded in darkness. She shrugged and laid back down, her fingers interlaced behind her head, and let her mind drift with the sounds of activity above her.

Her mind wandered as her eyes policed the ceiling. Last night had been one of her better days in the last few months, definitely the best since the confrontation with Set…CJ on the porch.

An involuntary shiver raced up her spine and Jay banished the thoughts of seeing those eyes hellbent on her suffering. Nope, not this time, not after the wonderful night of slayage she'd gotten in. Oh she hadn't wanted to brag but eleven kills prior to meeting up with Faith and Xander had to have been the best. In fact, she guessed that was most likely the high for the week. And then the four dusted vamps when it was just she and Faith shot the total to fifteen. Oh, yeah, what a night. In fact, such a great night warranted maybe just a little more shuteye.

"Yep," she said and burrowed further into the covers. "Jay here is gonna sleep until someone gets her up." She felt sleep's warm embrace wrap its arms around her and she returned the gesture. So close to utter satisfaction, her limbs became leaden wares and her mind slowly disengaged from the world around her…

"I know you're awake, Bitlet," Spike's baritone voice called from the top of the steps and Jay groaned in protest but made no motion to get up. "You can dilly all you want, luv, but you're gonna be up here slavin away like your Da is…bloody hell!"

Jay dropped into uncontrollable giggles at her Da's antics and slid her head under the pillow. He's not gonna get me without a fight she thought and tensed when the creak of wooden steps reverberated through the basement.

"I said--get up!" Spike shouted not a foot behind her and the slayer squealed and rolled out of bed. A frown creased her face and she was ready to wop vampire dad over the head with the pillow until she saw what he was wearing.

His all-black attire was firmly in place, but over his torso was a white apron with the words 'Kiss the Chef' printed on the front. What drew her attention, however, was the 'bloody' written in what looked like lipstick between right about 'Chef'. It looked ridiculous.

And it was bloody hilarious.

"Glad you think it's funny," he deadpanned when she fell to the bed, holding her stomach. "And since you think it's so funny, Bitlet, I think I'll have you and your Mum on shuttling the eats out to our resident griller, which would be yours truly."

Her laughter fell away and her bottom lip jutted out. "But I wanted to do some grilling!"

"Tough," he said and sauntered over to the steps. Just before bounding up to the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Maybe next time you won't brass off the Capt'n of this lil operation."

"But Daaad," she whined and scowled as he answered her with his trademark chortle. When he was finally gone, she sat on the bed, legs and arms crossed and she mustered the sourest look she could come up with. If he saw this…

"The pouting won't work, sweets," he called down. "Not when I got a slab of bloody meat in front of me to season."

Jay groaned. In her time, the same was true. Put something good to eat in front of her Da and all the womanly powers of persuasion became ineffective. It was her (and her Mum's) kryptonite when it came to influencing him. And it looked to be a habit that had been a long time in the making.

"Hoo-rah," she muttered without joy. Sometimes life just wasn't fair.

*****

Morrigann delighted in the paradoxical look of pleasure and agony written across the human's face. Her fingers slid through his black hair as she rode him, each undulation of her hips a bit more forceful than the prior. The past twelve hours had been spent fucking this young man and though it had been fun, the coupling had been lacking in one important thing.

"Morrie!" he screamed and she felt his warm seed pulsate inside of her. That singular action was enough to bring her over the edge and she lost control of the hunger and bit into his neck.

She drained him in seconds without a fight and the pleasure of the bite was enough to bring him cresting to another orgasm before his heart stopped. She peeked once more as well and, afterwards, her tongue licked the puncture wounds embedded in his flesh.

"Have fun?"

Morrigann turned from her position on top of the dead body and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Just a bit," she said and slid noiselessly to the floor. She slipped into the robe lying at the foot of the bed and approached the shimmering figure standing in the doorway.

"Course," she said and caressed the air before the figure, "it would be so much better if you could join me."

"Soon, my dear, so very soon." He gestured to the exanguinated corpse. "That gives credence to the term, 'little death', I'd say."

"Yes, well, Mr. Parker Abrams there was a distraction. Adequate, but not the most attentive of lovers."

"Then again, what mortal could satisfy you, my succubus? I myself sometimes have a hard time keeping pace."

She gave the figure a pleasureful smile and kissed the man's cheek, her lips passing right through his form. "Come now, Gabriel, never has there been an occasion where I have left your bed unsatisfied."

"True," Gabriel admitted. "I am quite the lover." Morrigann chuckled at his brazenness but said nothing. "Now that the pleasantries out of the way and your hunger somewhat sated, I have something for you to do."

"Anything, my Lord."

His eyes narrowed and Morrigann shivered in fear and lust as his brown eyes drank her in. "I asked you to lay low when you first left, no killing of our primary enemy…I've decided to amend that particular command."

"I see. May I ask why?"

He shook his head ruefully. "No, you may not. For now I need you do nothing save listen; I cannot maintain my presence here much longer."

"Your will is my own," she said and bowed gracefully before him.

"Good," he said and bade her closer with a single finger. "There's this place I'd like you to visit in LA…"

As he chomped down on his fifth helping of the night, Spike had to admit that the day had turned out pretty good, especially considering the way last night had ended. Taking a swig of his Corona, the vampire watched from the back steps as the others enjoyed the holiday.

Seated around the table scrounged from the basement, Dawn, Cordelia, Xander and Faith were playing cards. Spike grinned as Dawn and Cordy won another hand. The Niblet's smile broke through the smoke of the grill and Spike was thankful for the reprieve she'd been given with CJ. Despite his earlier take on ripping her boyfriend's lungs out, the time since and subsequent talks with Buffy had calmed him and Spike had to admit to himself that something not the boy's fault was going on. So he hadn't objected to Dawn going to see him at the hospital (though it would have made little difference) and her spirits had been brightened when she had gone with CJ's aunt to bring him home. She'd spent most of her time at his house the past three days and were it not for the boy's insistence, she'd probably be over there now, tending to him like some sodding mother hen. As it was, she was having a good time of things.

Just like his other two girls, Spike thought as he watched Buffy and Jay teasing the Poof. Spike would've loved to join them but he didn’t want to interrupt the mother/daughter bonding that had been weeks in developing and it had culminated this morning when the two had worked in tandem during the food preparations. Now they pelted Angel with water balloons that had come out of the blue and the others laughed at the carnage.

"Sometimes I forget that, despite their trials and tribulations, they are still children."

" 'lo, Rupes," Spike said and took another sip of beer. He glanced at the Watcher, who was dressed in a dark Polo shirt and khakis. He held a Corona in his hand and Spike tipped his own to Watcher. "Thought you retired for the evening after sweating it in that gulag of a kitchen this mornin'."

"Yes, well, contrary to what you may think, I am not an old and stodgy bugger."

Spike grinned and set the now empty bottle between them. He picked a cigarette from the pack and slipped it between his lips. "Your words, not mine."

They spent several minutes in silence, enjoying the rest of the group who'd now turned to setting off fireworks. So lost in the moment that it took several seconds before Spike realized that Giles's intense gaze had fallen to him.

"What?" he asked between puffs.

Giles shrugged and gave him a wry smile. "A Watcher and a vampire sitting outside while those destined to save the world set off fireworks and toddle around like a bunch of school children…it's rather refreshing."

"Cheers to that," Spike replied and turned his eyes to the sultry brunette that sauntered over to the porch.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the British Boys' hangin' out havin a beer."

" 'lo, Shadow."

"Faith."

The brunette slayer plopped down next to the platinum blonde and nudged him with her shoulder. "So what's poppin off, blondie?"
"Discussin' philosophy with the good old Watcher here. Notwithstanding the run-on sentences and his otherwise over-explaining the obvious, he can be quite succinct when need be."

"Yes, well," Giles said and stood, "on that note, I believe I shall fall back on your favorite past time, Spike."

"Yeah, mate? Didn't particularly know you had a chit waitin for you to shag." He winked at the Watcher. "Looks like an old dog can learn new tricks."

"So saith the soulless vampire that vanquishes evil alongside the slayer."

"Checkmate for the Watcher in the GQ fuddy duddies," Faith said and she laughed when Giles rolled his eyes.

"Tell Buffy I said goodnight and I'll see her in the morning."

"B told me the two of you are having breakfast. Thanks for leavin' me outta it. I'm just drownin in tha love."

"Faith…"

"Chill out, G-man," she said and smiled. "I'll hit you up some other time."

"I’m sure that you will," he muttered and strode back into the house.

"So," Spike said, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "something you wanna ask me?"

"Jay looks pretty good."

He glanced over to his daughter who was hurling firecrackers at a retreating Xander who, in turn, lobbed sparklers at her--quite ineffectively.

"So, does she remember anything?"

Spike took a final puff of the fag before crushing it under his boot. "Doesn’t appear so."

Faith brushed a lock of hair from her face and gave Spike a critical look. "That was some hardcore shit you pulled on her. Where'd ya learn that?"

"Spend a century of unlife with a loon connected to the mystical, you pick up a thing or two."

"Think she'll ever remember?"

Spike opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. In theory, the mind wipe--for lack of a better term--was supposed to have a permanent effect on the recipient but Spike had spent enough time in the world to know that nothing was ever permanent. Whether or not it was the right decision, or even his to make, Spike wanted Jay to be rid of the memory of taking a human life and the hypnotism he'd performed had been the only option he could think of. Still, things like that could only do so much and the subconscious mind had a way of bringing things back with a fury.

"Question of the day, luv."

"And do you have an answer?"

He was going to tell her no but he caught sight of the commotion in the yard. He sprinted the short distance to where everyone was gathered and nudged his way past Xander and Dawn. Please don’t let it be Buffy, he thought and was relieved when he saw the center of attention was Angel. But relief soon turned to sympathy when brown eyes devoid of nothing but the sharpest pain glanced back up at him. It was a look he'd never associate with his Sire and in that moment, Spike loved Angel without reservation.

"Peaches?" He turned to Buffy when Angel remained silent. "Slayer, what happened?"

"I don’t know," she answered. "He got a phone call and…and he just collapsed."

"Who called?"

"Kate Locksley," Cordelia answered and the crowd turned towards the brunette. Her eyes were blurry and tears rolled down her cheeks. She still cradled Angel's cell in her hand though there was no strength in her grip.

"Who's that?" Dawn asked and made her way to the seer.

"A detective in LA Angel used to work with."

"What did she want?" Xander asked.

"Gunn and Wesley...and Lorne…"

"What happened?" Jay asked. "Is everything all right?"

"No," she replied and bit back a sob. "It's not…"

Though he had no connection to the people she spoke of, Spike's insides tightened and before she revealed the truth, he knew exactly what she was going to say.

"They're dead. They're all dead…"

Silence descended upon the group and Spike glanced up at the sky. For the first time tonight, he noted the fireworks exploding forth, painting the sky red in their brilliance.

He glanced at the files and back to Fred. Her eyes never wavered though the timid smile on her face--yeah, that was his girl--told Gunn all he needed to know. Still, he had to voice the question if only for him to hear the response himself.

"You're kidding me, right? This is like one of those April Fool's jokes without the April though."

"Everything is there, Charles," she said and gently took the file from his outstretched hand. She rifled through the papers, searching for the official request. She found it and, holding it up for him to see, read, "Denzel Washington formerly requests our services, starting July 31st, 2002." She dangled the letter, complete with letterhead of the actor's agent printed clearly at the top.

Gunn snatched the paper from Fred and held it with both hands in a grip as if it would disappear if he didn't. "Denzel wants us? Seriously, he wants us?"

Fred smiled, one of those smiles that lit his soul on fire, and she leaned over the desk separating them. "Evidently, aside from the complications of assimilating off the street gang members into 'Training Day', there were some local disturbances of a supernatural nature that disrupted filming."

He frowned and leaned against the desk, letting it support the bulk of his weight. "That's funny, cause I sure don’t remember seeing any headlines about gangbangin' ghosts wreckin' havoc on the set?"

Fred rolled her eyes and he mocked the gesture. "Gee, Charles, I wonder why. It's not like the public is really going to believe that."

"Not like it wouldn’t be good for a bit of publicity."

"If it was about ghosts and demons I'd agree…although that would probably come off as staged and more than a little self serving and it would more likely hurt the opening and…"

"Fred, honey," Gunn said and kissed his girlfriend flush on the lips. When he pulled away, her breath came in jagged gasps, mirroring the steady pulse of his heart. His libido was in full force and it was taking a big-time effort not to take her right here on the desk. If Angel didn’t hurry back soon, there was gonna be some surprised customers one of these days.

"Can we please turn down the lust vibes, Sweet Cheeks," Lorne said as he sauntered in the room, Martini in hand. One look in his direction and Gunn was cured from feeling said vibes. Possibly ever again.

Dressed in a lime green suit that was an eerie compliment to his skin tone and a tie that matched his blood red shoes and eyes, the demon was more than just a fashion wreck, he was just…

"Horrible," Fred said and Gunn snickered. Rarely did his girl ever diss on someone, yet as badly dressed as the Pylean was today, well, there was no holding back.

Lorne, of course, was undeterred. "Just because you two can't seem to appreciate the intricacies of fashion as it is in showbiz, don't go raining on my parade."

"It'd take a lot more than rain to drown out the pain I'm feelin' at lookin' at that, my man," Gunn said and shivered. He started glancing through some of the other files as Fred and Lorne made idle chit chat. Let them have their peace, Gunn was still reeling from the prospects of working alongside Denzel. Denzel, he thought and grinned. Not only did the actor know of AI, but asking for their express written assistance, personally no less. Okay, so it wasn’t addressed to one Charles Gunn but did it matter? He'd make sure to be on the case and no way was Angel gonna get in the way of that.

So enthralled by the thought of meeting his favorite actor, he never heard the door open or Lorne's warning when he started humming. The last thing Charles Gunn felt in this world was a sharp pain that exploded through his body. He heard Fred scream and turned towards her as everything fell away. His last thoughts before darkness claimed him was if she would have looked that way if he ever threw her a surprise party…

They spoke in hushed voices in the kitchen, every so often sneaking glances toward the silence of the living room where the former cheerleader tried to console the brunette vampire. Buffy had talked to Kate after Cordelia had dropped the phone. Gunn and Lorne had been found in the Hyperion, torn apart, and Wesley's bloodied and broken body had been found on the street, thrown from the window of his apartment. Fred's body--the waif of a girl that Angel had rescued from a demon dimension not two years ago--had yet to be found. The detective had sworn she would get back with them as soon as she could, and offered her condolences before hanging up.

Buffy's eyes swept around the room, taking in the shape of its occupants. Xander and Faith leaned against the sink, the young man's arms wrapped around his slayer. Jay and Dawn sat next to one another, their fingers interlaced in sisterly comfort. Giles had stayed at his apartment, exhausting his resources to find those responsible for this. He'd tried to ask Angel if they had crossed any powerful demons recently and the vampire had responded by simply handing the phone off to Cordelia. Buffy herself sat on the island with the platinum blonde vampire leaning against the wall opposite her. He hadn't looked at her since they'd entered the kitchen but she felt his eyes on her when her attention was elsewhere. She'd wanted to call him on it but doing so seemed so selfish and the Slayer held her tongue.

"Who could've done this?" Dawn asked, breaking the silence. "I mean, I know demons but why--well, aside from just doing it."

"I wish I knew, Dawnster," Xander said and visibly tightened his hold on Faith. "And as much as I'd like to think it's a random hit, something's telling me it's not."

Everyone nodded their assent but Buffy was the only one to voice the concern. "Do you think it has something to do with what's coming?"

"No doubt about it, pet," Spike replied, his voice eerily calm. "My money's on the wankers Shadow and the whelp here saved you from a fortnight ago."

"But why?" she asked and for the first time in hours, his cerulean eyes dug into hers.

"Don’t rightly know, but I'd wager at them thinning the herd a bit, increasin their odds when it comes down to the rhubarb. Reckon we should warn Red and Glinda, too."

Buffy's eyes widened and she felt guilty for not thinking of her friends sooner. She hopped off the island to retrieve the phone when bitter laughter cascaded through the hall.

"Don’t pretend like you care," Angel said, his baritone voice drawing everyone's attention to the door.

"Angel," Cordelia said and grabbed him by the elbow. The vampire shook her off and took two more steps toward Spike. The younger vamp frowned, unsure where the hostility was coming from. In fact, his expression was similar to her own and Buffy tried to slide in between the two.

"What are you goin on about, mate?" Spike asked and cocked his head to the side.

Angel's glare burned everyone in the room, the contentious sneer accompanying it had everyone but Faith turning away.

"Angel, what's going on?" The brunette glanced at Cordelia. "You didn’t by chance give him a quick happy, did you?" The seer rolled her eyes and moved fully into the kitchen. She looked up at the vampire with a sympathetic question hanging from her lips.

"Angel, don’t do this," she pled. "Spike's trying to help here."

He glanced down at Cordelia with enough disdain to cause her to stumble backwards and in that moment Buffy thought that Angelus had indeed returned.

"Help? Spike trying to help? Since when has he done anything that doesn’t benefit himself? Are we all forgetting about the vampire bitch he let bite him."

"But he's sorry for it," Jay said and stood. Buffy saw that only Dawn's grip on her hand had prevented the young woman from attacking the vampire. Her cerulean green jewels pulsed with anger and, for one instant, Buffy thought she saw the amber tint of vampire eyes. She dismissed it quickly, blaming it on the angle the light hit her daughter's eyes.

"Do you really believe that?" Angel snorted and stepped forward, crowding Spike's personal space. "Do you really believe that he's sorry for letting that vamp suck him off and feed from him?" Brown eyes turned to Spike. "He's just sorry he got caught."

"That's not true!" Jay yelled and tears leaked from her eyes. "He didn’t mean for it to happen, he didn’t."

Angel tsked and Buffy cringed at the condescension in the gesture. "Do you really believe that? If so, you're as naïve as your mother is on that."

"Ho, now, Peaches," Spike said and Buffy saw the anger bubbling to the surface. "No need to go lambastin everyone else over your grief."

"Spike," Buffy said but Angel silenced her with a growl directed at the bleached blonde.

"Don’t you talk to me about grief, boy. You know nothing about it. All you know about is throwing fits when you don’t get what you want. Crying because Dru found better things to do than to be shackled around the neck by a sniveling, whiny nothing like yourself. Even in her insanity, you weren't good enough for her. What makes you think you're good enough for Buffy?" Spike blanched and before anyone could intercede, the brunette's venomous tongue struck again.

"You know you're not deserving of her but you try to play the part, don’t you. Try to fit in, try to show false concern when you could give two shits about Willow and Tara." When Spike lowered his head, Angel sighed. "You're sad, William, a sad and pathetic git whose mother should have dashed his brains out while he was a babe…"

The punch came before anyone could react and by the time Buffy knew what was going on, all hell had broken loose.

Spike tried to defend himself from the verbal onslaught of his elder, but failed. He tried to brush off Angel's surgical strikes with indifference or anger but nothing worked. Just as the talk in the crypt had demonstrated, no one was as deft at hurting others with words as Angelus. Each word he spoke sapped more of Spike's strength away until his will to fight had trickled next to nothing.

Until…

"You're sad, William, a sad and pathetic git whose mother should have dashed his brains out while he was a babe…"

A rage like no other burst from the dam of his soulless core and Spike's fist slammed into Angel's face almost of its own accord. The impact knocked the larger vampire over the island and into the cabinets. Before anyone else could react, Spike hopped over the divider, landing two punches to the downed vampire before a large hand clamped around his throat.

Angel rose swiftly, though his was still unsteady from the assault. Spike clawed at the iron muscles that squeezed at his neck, tearing flesh through the leather of Angel's jacket but the other vampire's grip never lessened.

"You always hit like a woman, Willie," Angel taunted. Spike refused to submit, ignoring the shouts that reverberated from the room. Before anyone could break them apart, Spike struck again.

His left hand gripped Angel's wrist and he slammed his forearm into the brunette's elbow with all his strength. When the hold gave, he smashed the back of his fist into Angel's cheek. The vampire stumbled but when Spike tried to follow up with a right cross, Angel ducked and squeezed him around the waist. He lifted Spike off the ground and rammed the two of them with all of his might into the closest object, which just so happened to be the backdoor.

Metal and wood splintered as the two supernatural beings tumbled onto the back porch. Spike roared in pain when slivers of the door speared him through the arms and back. Angel had not gone unscathed either, and Spike winced at the giant shard of glass that had pierced the former's cheek. Sympathy was short-lived, however, and Spike's heel slammed against Angel's jaw, driving the shard deeper into his flesh. The elder vampire roared and tackled Spike and the two spilled down the steps. They rolled halfway across the yard before Spike found himself pinned underneath the hulking form of his Grandsire.

"Familiar position, William?" Angel sneered and his fist connected with Spike's face. "Losers always end up on the bottom, don’t they?" Spike intercepted the next blow and before Angel could pull his fist back, the younger vampire bit into his arm.

"Arrrgggh!" Angel yelled and tried to shake Spike's hold on him but the blonde refused to let go. His free hand clawed at Spike's face but the other vampire broke his hold only when the pleading voices of his love and daughter broke through his senses. He reluctantly let go and Angel was yanked off of him while someone dragged Spike to his feet.

"What the hell was that about?" the petite, blonde whirlwind that was Buffy demanded, her emerald eyes shining with anger and unshed tears, glaring from him to Angel and back again.

"It's about this soulless demon, this liar trying to wedge his way into your lives," Angel spat.

"But you said…"

"I was wrong, Buffy. I thought Spike changed and I ignored my better judgment. Tonight was just a reminder."

"Not Spike's biggest fan here," Xander said, tentatively releasing his hold on Angel. Spike noticed that Faith, however, did not. "But since when has expressing concern for someone else been a crime?"

"It's not, if you mean it."

"If you think he doesn’t care for Willow and Tara," Dawn said from where she stood next to Spike, "then it shows that you don’t know him at all."

"I know him better than any of you combined," Angel sneered. He ripped his arm from Faith's grasp and the other slayer took a step towards him before Buffy waved her off. Angel stalked towards Spike and the latter knew that words designed to hurt weren't too far in coming.

"Tell them, Spike, tell them the truth. You don’t care what happens to anyone besides yourself, do you? Except maybe your daughter. I'm not sure if you can even care for Buffy. Oh, sure, you want to possess her, want to own her, but do you really love her? No, don’t answer that, I know you can't, cause you're a soulless demon."

Spike snorted. "Come off the white horse, Peaches. That song and dance has been beaten to bloody death. Heard the soulless speech a thousand times from the Slayer, here, and ya know what? She's singin a whole different tune cause she knows I've changed. Even the whelp does."

"That doesn’t mean they're right, Willie my boy, does it? Aren't you the one that said demons didn’t change?" And just like that, Spike understood.

The anger drained from his shoulders and Spike gave Angel a consoling smile. "It's not your fault, Angel."

There was no questioning the surprise that burst from Angel's face although he quickly masked it. "What are you talking about?"

"Your mates…it's not your fault."
Angel closed the distance between them and hoisted the smaller man up by the lapels of his duster. "Shut. Up."

When Buffy tried to intervene, Spike halted her with the shake of his head. He returned his attention to the angry eyes of his Grandsire. Brown eyes that burned with rage and yet pled for something that Spike was sure he couldn’t give Angel and for a reason he couldn’t define, Spike wished he could.

"It's not your fault that you weren't there, mate. You can't be everywhere at once."

"What do you know about anything, Spike?" Angel spat but there was a shakiness to his voice that Spike doubted anyone else heard. "What do you know about people depending on you?"

Without hesitation, blue eyes sought hazel and a heartfelt conversation passed between he and Buffy within seconds. Turning his gaze towards the vampire holding him up, Spike placed his hands on top of Angel's till he was lowered to the ground. They stood there, Angel's hands still holding him but the strength gone and Spike felt a calm settle over him.

"I know what it's like, mate, to fail someone who's depending on you and have them pay the ultimate price for you cock-up. The difference between us is that I was there when it happened, like I should've been. I just didn’t get the job done…I know what you're feelin…"

"You don’t know anything," Angel said, dropping his hands. There was no conviction in his voice and his brown eyes glistened in the moonlight.

"Keep tellin yourself that, mate, won't matter 'cause you know I'm right. You can't save the world and everyone in it by yourself, Angel," Spike said and glanced at Buffy. "When things go to hell and people die, you can't blame yourself. Guilt does nothing but eat at you and cripple you when you're needed again." Angel started to speak but Spike held his hands up. "I know, I don’t have a soul, thus, accordin' to some, I can't get bit by the guilt bug. Bollocks! I may not feel guilty for everything I do or say, but that doesn't mean I don’t feel it. It's like teeth in here--" he pounded a fist on his chest, "--and it feels as if your whole body's on fire and nothin' can release you from the pain. And the thing is, you think you deserve to feel like that and maybe sometimes you do. But this ain't one of those times, Peaches.

" 'm not gonna lie. I don’t feel like the Scoobs here about your mates. Just the way 'm built, I can't help that. But I know if it was Red and her bird…" he shook his head. "The point is, Angel, is that you can't be everywhere, can't blame yourself that this world has teeth that you can't always defend those you love against 'em. You do what you can, when you can as best you can, mate. That's all you can ask yourself without driving yourself bonkers."

"They were my friends," Angel whispered and Cordelia slid her arm around the brunette's waist. "I brought them into this."

Spike shook his head. "They knew what the risks were, mate. They died fighting the good fight. Remember that."

The blonde's attention fell from Angel to the woman that held his heart. Tears streaked down her face and Spike cupped her cheeks in his hands. "I understand now, luv. When you said it wasn't my fault. Just took awhile to sink in." She tried to speak but he hushed her with a gentle kiss on her lips. "I'm about to shove off for the night, no, don’t ask why. Got some things to do, things to set right. I'll be back tomorrow, luv." Before she could respond, Spike turned from the others. He ignored the pain that radiated from his body and the burning desire to run back and envelop Buffy in his arms. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, because after two weeks of waiting, of dreading, his time was up.

She was calling him home.

*****

Not even during her five-year isolation on Pylea had Fred ever been this afraid. There she was a nothing, a no one--a cow used for menial labor. The gazes of the Pyleans contained nothing but disdain for her and the other humans that had been the unfortunate victims of circumstance (or jealous, evil professors) They were beaten, sometimes killed, for what the Pyleans saw as laziness or glancing the wrong way at their masters. She'd even seen brief bouts of torture (it never lasted long since Pyleans were, for all intents and purposes, immortal beings and death only visited them when their bodies were dismembered). For some reason, they never got it through their horned heads that humans couldn’t take the same punishment. Still, that was the worst of it. Aside from the tortures and beatings, there had been no violations of the "cows". She never worried about defilement at the hands of her captures.

But the look in the faces of the two demons that crouched in front of her like vultures whispered of breaches of her virtue she'd only seen in movies. They leered at her, even the one who had no eyes, ripping her clothes from her without so much as a single touch. She covered up in a ball but there was nothing to shield her from the rancid lust that poured from the two creatures.

"She is so small, my brother," the one with no eyes said, and his forked tongue licked the blood that still stained his lips. Blood from her friends, blood from the man she loved.

"Oh, God," she murmured, feeling the bile churning in her gut. Charles. He'd had no chance. Lorne had sensed what was to happen but it had been too late, the axe had been buried in her boyfriend's back before he had a chance to defend himself. He had fallen to his knees, eyes locked on her before the demon that had eyes nearly severed his head with a single bite from the smaller demon's mouth. She'd stared in shock as his lifeless body fell to the floor, unable to move even when Lorne roared for her to run. Lorne, they had toyed with him, obviously knowing what he was. Sword and some sort of firearm had slowly tore him apart. The demon whose right hand beheld a cannon had lapped at the dead Pylean's blood as she watched. That's when her stomach had rebelled and her brain finally, albeit too late not to witness the horrors, shut down. She'd only awakened when she was tossed to the floor not five minutes ago. She had no idea where she was or why she was alive. The only thing she did know is that once the two monsters before her were through with her, she would beg for death.

"God, won't help you, girlie," the eyeless demon said and caressed her with a talon. She whimpered when it cut into the flesh of her jaw and pushed into the wall, hoping that it would engulf her frail body.

"No he won't," said the one that had finally ended Lorne's existence, "he's still in the future." Both laughed at what was obviously an in-joke and Fred curled further into herself.

"None of that, lovely," the eyeless one said. It smacked her and she screamed, holding her arms tightly across her chest.

"She thinks those spindly things will keep us from the goods," the one with eyes said. "Nothing's gonna keep us from your wares, baby…"

"Except me." Both demons turned towards the voice and Fred ventured a glance at the new visitor. It was the third assailant, the one who had hurled the axe into Gunn's back. She was still dressed in black but the heavy coat she had worn had been discarded. Black leather pants and a top that barely contained her ample breasts was her only clothing. Her bare feet made no noise as she sauntered across the marble floor towards the corner.

"Come now, Morrigann," Eyeless said, "you wouldn’t deny us this, would you?"

"Oh, I would, M'ul At," she said and Fred nearly forgot the fear that slithered through her veins. The woman's voice was like a splendid breeze and Fred's muscles relaxed at the dulcet sound. The two demons stood and Fred was barely aware of them anymore as this beautiful creature stood before her, eyes surveying Fred's cowering form.

"She is beautiful," the woman said. "In a plain, human sort of way."

"Much like the slayer," the one not named M'ul At said.

Morrigann shook her head and her multicolored locks, woven in tiny braids, whipped through the air. "There is nothing plain about the slayer. This one does not interest me…but the slayer…If she wasn't the slayer, I'd have a tumble in the sack with her."

Only on the third repetition did Fred catch the word. Slayer, she thought, and allowed a single tear of hope to dot the corner of her eye. Did they mean Buffy? Had they brought her to Sunnydale? Were they going to tell Buffy about her?

"This one," the woman said, interrupting Fred's thoughts, "will be bait."

"For the slayer?"

Morrigann shook her head and the smile that graced her lips had Fred more afraid than the two demons ever could. "No. For someone much more special."

The yet to be identified demon spat on the ground and gave the woman a contemptuous glare. "You still fawn over that parasite? A vampire who follows the slayer around like a dog!"

"That is true, D'bahn, but soon that parasite will break apart our enemy more than myself or even Gabriel ever could."

D'bahn scoffed. "And how would that be, Morrigann?"

Irritation rippled across the other woman's features and she rolled her eyes. It was nearly enough to draw a hoarse chuckle from Fred. "Do not worry about the details, simpleton. Just know that William the Bloody will be at my side and he will be the one to kill the slayer and we shall rut in her blood."

M'ul At yawned. "Sounds a bit melodramatic to me."

"Well, if you could see what I have in store…" she said and smiled hideously. "Where are my manors? You can't see, M'ul At, can you?" The demon growled but did nothing. "Anyway, enough of this." Morrigann turned her back and Fred moaned at being left alone. She watched the woman walk towards the other room, stopping at the door's threshold.

"I will be out for a few. There are…things that I must attend to." She nodded towards Fred. "Do with her as you will, just leave her alive and in tact…more or less."

Fred couldn’t control the sobs that ripped through her, or the frantic scream when their hands were upon her. She heard a door close in the distance but her mind could not shield itself from the probing hands that tore at her clothes, or the claws that sliced into her flesh. She tried to turn from her attackers and was slammed into the wall with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs.

She ignored the taunts whispered in her and the coarse palms that scratched her flesh. There was no doubt in her mind what was about to happen and she was powerless to stop it. She tried to retreat into herself, focusing on the equations that were always near the forefront of her mind. So close to feeling nothing, science had saved in so many ways and it would again come to her rescue and blank out the memory of what was about to happen.

She jumped when a sound echoed in the background just as the demon's hands gripped her hips and pulled Fred against its hard body. She'd be so close to being absolved of what was going on around her and the momentary lapse was enough to bring her present situation to light. It was too late. There was nothing she could do now…

Just as her mind accepted her impending doom, the body that pressed her into the wall was gone and Fred slid bonelessly to the floor. The distinctive sound of flesh on bone reverberated through the room and seconds later D'bahn's head crash through the wall. He didn’t move.

Feeling the weight of unconsciousness pushing her down, Fred risked a glance over to where she thought her would-be savior stood. But she couldn’t see anything but the brilliant shine of the overhead light glistening from the pure white of sword and its master.

"You are unharmed?" the figure asked, its voice a thunderclap in the silence. Fred opened her mouth to answer, but the only words she could spit forth were "thank you". And even the luminescence of her savior, her Angel of Mercy, was not enough to stave off the darkness as it consumed her.

Severed Ties

He'd been walking for what seemed like hours, stalking the cemeteries with the predatorial grace honed by thirteen decades of existence. But even with amber eyes that saw everything, ears that picked up the slightest muffled whimper dozens of yards away and a nose that detected the heady scent of fear a hundred yards away, Spike had found nothing. Not a demon, not a vampire. Sunnydale, for all intents and purposes, was dead.

"Just when a bit of violence would take the edge off," he whispered and lit his tenth--and final--cigarette since he'd left the Summers residence. Fat load o' did it's done for me, he thought and angrily flicked the newly lit fag out into the street. Nicotine wasn't going to be the answer, just as his desire for a scrap fell on deaf ears. He’d been avoiding this since the night in the alley but Spike understood that he was putting off the inevitable.

Hands thrust deep into his pockets of his duster and head down, the bleached blonde stalked through the gates of Restfield. As he crossed over the threshold and started the trek towards the abandoned crypt that had been his home for the better part of two years, forgotten was his need to satiate the bloodlust coursing through him. Forgotten was the pain of seeing his daughter in shambles the night before or the guilt that clawed at him for what he'd done to her. What he did remember, however, was the love and respect he'd gained from the others. Love from Buffy, Jay and Dawn, respect from the others. He needed that support now as he prepared to face something that he could not physically fight; he fought his blood's demands for the past week without anyone realizing his struggle and he would rectify it without anyone finding out. He had to if he didn’t want to let them down.

Just don’t be yourself, mate, he thought and cast his eyes to the familiar door of his crypt.

Closing his eyes, the vampire reached out with his senses. He cocked his head to the side, listening for something--anything--that would alert him to her presence. He remained still for several minutes, but nothing drew his attention. Taking one last look around him, Spike raised himself up and, in tribute to his slayer, kicked the door open.

The sound of the wood slamming into the concrete reverberated through the crypt and even before stepping into the chamber, Spike knew he was not alone. Candles lined the walls and floor, their flames licking at the darkness, painting the inner chamber with an eerie stroke of shadow and light. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the atmosphere his gaze fell to the voluptuous figure seated on the sarcophagus.

Candlelight reflected off her crossed legs and Spike couldn’t hide the lust that coated his vision at the thin veil of material that clung to her breasts. Her face was partially shielded by her braided mane of hair but the knowing smile that graced her lips was unmistakable.

"Hello, William," Morrigann whispered and slid a finger along her thigh. "Miss me?"

*****

It didn’t take long for him to find a room. As much as he didn’t want to move her, the demon twins wouldn’t be out long and if he was there when they awakened, someone would have died and it wouldn’t have been him. And despite his desire to see D’bahn and M’ul At suffer for their violations on the humans they had brought back over the past few weeks, Frost was not stupid. Gabriel’s arrival was not far off and the Vampire Lord would be thoroughly displeased if two of his greatest lieutenants were gutted by their ally. Leaving the scene was the only option.

He had wasted no time in wrapping the slight woman in his white cowl and hustling out into the night. Land’s End Motel was half a dozen blocks from the lair and though it was somewhat close, Frost’s natural pheromones cloaked he and the young woman’s trail. He chose a room out of the way and twisted the knob off. The door swung open and he slid inside. He pulled the covers back and slid her underneath them. Pulling the single chair up to the bed, Frost sat in silence, watching, thinking.

There was nothing overly spectacular about her. True, she was beautiful but not in a striking manner. Her body, though lithe and tone, bore not the suppleness of a Morrigann or even the petite Slayer. But there was something about her, something he couldn’t quite place that drew him to her. When he had walked in as M’ul At ripped her clothing off and fear drifted off her in waves, Frost's first instincts had been to tear the brothers apart. He'd immediately pulled Airendale from her sheathe and she'd muted his desire for blood, as she often did and he’d used the pommel to bash the sightless demon in the back of the head with before pulling the other away from her before slamming his face through the wall. Forcing his eyes to the naked woman had nearly driven him into a blind rage but when she stared into him and mouthed a ‘thank you’, his anger melted and his concern had shifted to her.

He tried to rationalize his actions. Although he was a demon and loved the violence his world presented, rape was not something he’d ever participated in. It was a deplorable act, without honor and that had been the reason his respect for Seth waned every passing day. A warrior such as the slayer abused by her captor had angered Frost enough to challenge Seth to a duel, a battle that the former had no chance of winning. And where his respect would have normally been elevated by an opponent defeating him, Frost still detested the other. True, Seth had beaten the slayer, but that did not give him pause to violate her at every turn. Death at the hands of an enemy was a respectable outcome but to be denigrated at your captor’s expense…

A low moan caught his attention and Frost stared into the soft features of the young woman. Her head lolled towards him and her eyes fluttered for several seconds before opening. She blinked several times and finally focused on him. A faint smile tickled her lips and Frost found himself smiling back. He thought she was about to say something but then a shadow past over her eyes and the bright sheen of tears made itself known.

"Do not worry," he said and brushed a bang out of her face. She flinched but just barely. "You are safe."

"Where…where am I?"

"Sunnydale."

"But how did I…oh God, Charles." The tears that had been held in check burst through and he watched as her sobs cut through the otherwise silent room. He wanted to comfort her but anything he said would be trite. His desire to meditate had been the only thing that had kept him from Los Angeles. If it weren't for that, he may have been the one to slay her friends and they wouldn’t be here. For once in a long time, Frost was thankful to have been left out of the fight.

He didn’t know how much time passed but her cries subsided to muffled whimpers and this time Frost did put a hand on her shoulder, making sure to keep the covers between her flesh and his hand. She responded by staring up at him, her eyes, fearful yet almost trusting.

"Who are you?" she asked and her voice cracked, hoarse from her emotional outburst.

"I am…" he took pause. What should he tell her? That he will be death to those she knows here? That he saved her from violation when, in the end, she will most likely die anyway? "…a friend," he settled on.

"How did…how did you find me?"

Frost bit his lip. He wasn’t used to lying or obfuscation. He’d always lived by the truth and being straightforward. But this woman couldn’t take the truth, especially in her condition. She needed something-someone-to trust, to believe in. Until he figured out what to do (and soon) he was her lifeline.

"I was following them…"

"The ones that did this…" she motioned towards her nude body underneath the covers (did she even realize she was clothed by a simple cowl?)…"The ones that killed my friend and my…"

"Yes," he answered quickly, before she could dissolve into tears.

"Why…why did they do this? Why did they…"

Frost held his hand up and she calmed. "It is not about you, but about what is to come."

"Does it have anything to do with Angel?"

"The Slayer’s previous vampire consort?" She nodded. "I am afraid it is. A ploy to confuse and widdle down the ranks of ou…of their enemy."

"How do you know all of this?"

"Because, I make sure to know."

"Are…are you a demon fighter?"

Frost chuckled. "Among other things."

The woman lowered her head and Frost saw her mind taking the information in. For an obvious noncombatant, Frost thought, she was taking things well. He knew that the shock had yet to filter from her veins but still, he’d expected a more hysterical reaction. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for this young woman, so strong of spirit.

"Does Buffy know? About this…about you?"

"She knows about…the players in this game, but she does not know about you. It is something that I need to rectify soon."

He saw the fear return in her eyes and he stayed the urge to hold her. "Are you going to leave me?"

"I have to, in order to contact the slayer."

"But what if…"

Frost smiled gently. "They will not find you."

"How…how do you know."

"Because you were with me, and I cannot be tracked." He saw the uncertainty written in her features and though he wanted to stay with her, Frost knew he had to leave.

Kneeling beside the bed, the cold warrior pulled his sword from its sheathe. He coaxed the woman's hands from under the sheets and placed the hilt in her palms.

"Airendale, my weapon," he said as her small hands wrapped around the pommel. "She shall protect you."

"But it's too…" her words trailed off when she lifted the giant blade as if it were paper. Frost chuckled at her wide-eyed expression and stood up.

"This is no sword of metal, but one of magic and will. And, per my will, I have passed ownership to you." He walked towards the door when the woman called him.

"I…I'm Fred," she murmured. Frost bowed and when he lifted his head, chilly eyes met the warmth of this woman--Fred--and the eternal warrior felt something burn inside of him that he thought gone for centuries.

"Frost," he whispered and walked out the door, confused by what it was Fred had started within him. When the cool night air hit him, he realized that nearly two hours had passed since he'd brought Fred to the motel. His thoughts coagulated into a uniform point, focusing on what he had to do.

He couldn’t face the Slayer; regardless of his words, from what he'd studied of her, fists would be her answer and Frost didn’t want that. Not yet. In truth, he had only one choice and while others couldn’t track him, Frost could track anyone and anything.

Even someone he hadn't seen in two weeks.

*****

"It's been over an hour," Buffy said as she paced the living room floor. "He should've been back now."

"Come on, Buffy," Dawn said and risked a soft pat on her sister's arm. "You know how Spike is. When he needs to work off some steam, he can be gone for hours at a time."

Xander stood, squeezing Faith's hand before he did so. "Dawnster's right, Buff. Spike's more of a grab and smash kinda guy. He has something on his mind, a good old fashion pummeling usually clears that bleached poisoned brain of his right up." On Buffy's murderous scowl, Xander backpedaled. "Just a lil joke, Buffy."

"Well, it's not funny," she growled and started her pacing anew. After the pissing contest between her lover and ex and Spike's departure into the unknown, Cordelia had taken Angel back to their hotel room. And despite Buffy's reservations about separating the group, Cordelia had made a few good points. First, Angel--and Buffy herself--had needed time to cool off and second, decentralizing their forces was ideal in case of a surprise attack. That line of thinking had Buffy advising Willow and Tara to go straight to Giles's apartment instead of Revello when they arrived back in Sunnydale. They'd also decided in the hasty twenty-minute meeting to make sure everyone--including Buffy--always had a partner wherever they went. If these new enemies had the foresight to take out the Angel Investigations crew, they weren't relying on just brute force.

"Mum." Jay's voice drew Buffy out of her haze and the Slayer looked at her daughter. So much like her with a touch of Spike thrown in, Jay offered Buffy a reassuring smile and, with that as the only provocation, the young blonde embraced Jay, holding the other woman tightly. "It's gonna be okay," she whispered in Buffy's ear and the latter allowed the tears to fall, albeit silently. Jay pulled Buffy even tighter against her, their petite frames meshing, leaving little space between them and the longer she held Jay, the more Buffy felt her own strength and resolve chipping away at the anxiety of Spike being out alone.

Reluctantly pulling away, Buffy stared into the blue-green eyes of her daughter and smiled. "You're right, baby," she said. "It will be." Turning towards the remainder of the Scoobies, Buffy spoke.

"Everybody, Jay and I are going to bring Spike back--Xander, I know, it's risky but that's why I'm taking my girl here. As tough as he is, if Spike runs into TweedleDee and TweedleDumb out there alone he…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "We have to get him back here."

"B's right," Faith said, speaking up for the first time. "As tough as that stud muffin of hers is, taking on those two ugly sons of bitches won't work out for him." Faith walked over to the two women, laying her hand on either of their shoulders and smiled. "Go get your man, girls."

Forty-five minutes of trailing false scents and places he had been, the two slayers had ended up at Restfield. Somehow, the Slayer already knew this would be where they'd find him but had let Jay use her vampiric instincts to track Spike. When they passed through the gates, she couldn’t shake the déjà vu that crept into her heart. She glanced over at Jay, who was scanning the area for signs of Spike. As they traversed the cemetery, something whispered to Buffy that she needed to be alone.

"Jay," Buffy whispered. "Why don’t you take that quad."

"But Mum, we shouldn’t be separated."

Buffy smiled, hoping that she didn’t betray the torrent of emotions welling inside of her. "It'll be fine, as long as we keep each other in sight." The reluctance in Jay's eyes was clear but the young woman nodded and, pulling a dagger from her belt, jogged off into the opposite direction.

She watched Jay for a few seconds before making her way towards the place she knew Spike would be. There was no hiding from the fear curdling inside her but she wouldn’t let that stop her.

It was time to face her future.

*****

CJ stared at the clock, squinting his eyes at the green numbers as if by concentration alone he could make the night pass more quickly. As it stood, 3:25 was the hour of the day and until the sun shone overhead in the clear sky, he'd stay where he was on the couch, nowhere near the comfort of his own bed.

The nightmares had started while he'd been under anesthesia and for three days afterwards. The images of a life he'd never lived, of atrocities he'd never committed had driven him to the point of insomnia. He'd yet to tell anyone; not his aunt, not Dawn. How could he? What could he say? No way could he tell her the truth, she'd have nothing to do with him afterwards. As it was, he could barely stomach looking in the mirror, for while the face wasn't the same, the eyes reflected the flecks of cruelty that had plagued him whenever he retreated into the world of dreams.

"Get over it, Jansen," he said and pushed off from the couch. He walked over to the window, flexing his arm. His breaks had healed for the most part but there were times where the injuries still bothered him. The doctors were amazed at his recovery but had made no further inquiries into the circumstances behind it. Typical Sunnydale, he thought. Dawn had told him enough about the town's residents to know that they weren't too keen on probing cases with supernatural ties.

"Dawn." Even the murmur of her name in the darkness was enough to lift his spirits. Cliched as it may have been, she was his light in the gloom his life was fast becoming. When he'd felt consumed by the bloodshed he could not un-see, thoughts of her gave him respite from his growing fear of becoming the thing in his dreams.

A shiver up his back broke CJ from his wandering thoughts. Another sign of the change, whatever that was. The tingle at the base of his spine continued throughout his limbs and CJ closed his eyes. The tremors had been a sporadic side effect of from the events two weeks prior, though they only occurred at night.

Just like the visions, he thought. The Big Bad images like creeping in the dark. He chuckled. Though he'd always been the night owl, catching rest for three or four hours in daylight only had never been part of his routine. As it was, he knew that was the only way to fight whatever it was that warred with his mind in…

A faint rustle on the porch caught the young man's attention and all worries were temporarily forgotten. Instincts honed through years of combat in the streets and abilities not his own took over and CJ crept to the door. He pulled the dagger hidden in the umbrella rack, holding in a reverse grip as his other hand turned the knob. He was slow and even with their enhanced abilities, a vampire would never be ready for the attack.

But before he pulled the door open, CJ found himself on the porch, sprawled on his back with an iron hand wrapped around his neck. Stars danced in his vision from where the back of his head had kissed the concrete and when he finally glanced up at his attacker, the young man thought he was hallucinating. But when the figure did not dissipate nor release his grip, CJ knew this was no illusion.

"Do not try to move," the man in white whispered and tightened his grip around CJ's neck. "Listen and listen well, young warrior. I have information that I believe shall prove useful…and welcome."

TBC in The Agony and The Ecstasy…

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