Giles approached the Old Crawford Street Mansion with the knowledge that he was being drawn there - that he was under the influence of some kind of psychic siren song.

Apollyon lumbered behind him, aware that something was happening with the Watcher, but not entirely sure of what. He'd been following the human around Sunnydale for what seemed like hours, trying to make sense of the his aura and occasional mutterings about Spike and the Slayer.

From what he could ascertain, the Serpiente had somehow mutated under the destructive influence of the Hellmouth. It had fed off Spike's love for the Slayer and linked them together, as was meant. But it had also fed on the Watcher's hatred of the vampire and allied itself through him with Spike's demon side. This was where the danger lay.

The Watcher was no longer in full control.

~*[+]*~

Angel closed the door of the Magic Box behind him, leaving Buffy and Spike in the street outside. The Scoobies all looked at him expectantly.

"Spike's coming back too, right?" Anya asked point blank. "You didn't kill him, or run him out of town?"

Angel brushed his fingers gingerly over his injured cheek. He had the makings of another bruise. "He hasn't gone anywhere. He doesn't do that."

"Yeah, you know, even when you toss him out on his ear he's at you again the next day," Xander rolled his eyes. "It's like the never-ending Spike-a-thon."

"Oh, or - or that song," Willow put in. "You know, the one about the cat comin' on back."

Angel managed a small smile at the analogy. "He ... uh, he and Buffy have something they have to work out." He avoided their eyes. "They'll be in soon."

"What did you do?" Willow asked him suspiciously.

"Why does everyone around here assume that everything is my fault?" Angel threw his hands up in surrender. "What does it take for you guys? I'm not evil, okay? Spike is."

He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. "I think."

~*[+]*~

Spike had started the pacing thing as soon as Angel had gone. He really was a great big ball of hyperactive energy when he was upset.

"Something clicked," Buffy commented, perching on the edge of a bench. "Major clickage, I can sense it. Something Angel said filled in a gap."

Spike stopped the pacing long enough to throw her a questioning glance.

"William," she said, reading him. Then, "Hold up a sec, William?"

"Bloody right William," Spike spat. He rapped a fist against his breastbone. "A whole century he's been in here, plaguin' me with his ... goody goodness. Weak little prat. Trained myself to shut him out, to let the demon have all the say. But this sodding chip..."

"Subdued the demon side," Buffy nodded in understanding. "That's why you've been acting more human." She hesitated. "Are you saying that he's been back there the entire time you've been -?" She blinked, stunned. "The not-leaving thing is really ingrained there, isn't it?"

Spike's lips quirked. "Never one for the dramatic goodbye scene, me."

"William can't still be in there," Buffy insisted. "Not the original human version, otherwise you wouldn't have become a vampire."

"I didn't say he was all here," Spike griped. He resumed his pacing, albeit at a slower pace. "Not in your usual soul-having sense anyway. I'm just sayin' that there's always been something in here, a wimpy something that makes me wanna not do demon stuff. I call it William. You can call it a soul if you want but I've never been comfortable that label, it's too narrow a definition."

"But that means that you chose to kill all those people."

Spike paused, standing directly in front of her. "It's not about choice, love. Not that simple. Shades of grey remember?" He shrugged. "I just let the demon have his space. I wouldn't be here without it. Besides which, it's easier that way. Your Watcher's probably figurin' that out as we speak."

"But if you knew..."

"I suspected," Spike explained. "That's all it was. Havin' Neanderthal-brow blurt it out like that was..." He made an ambiguous gesture. "Well, I've never had an epiphany before, but I expect that's what just happened." He shook his head. "Clickage," he murmured, smiling softly.

"So," Buffy concluded. "If this William thing is your 'soul', then you're just like Angel, huh? Except you haven't actually let it have much say in how you are. Until the chip, I mean."

"Gettin' tired of yammerin' about it, Slayer." Spike sighed. He tipped his head, the scarred eyebrow lifting inquisitively. "Wanna go get snockered?"

"We can't. We have to go and find Giles and Apollyon."

He nodded. "Knew you'd say that. Your sacred duty thing is a real bitch."

"That's what I keep saying."

Spike wavered for a moment, undecided. "Right then," he said finally. "Back to the bloody inquisition."

Buffy stood and pulled the door open. She'd already taken a half step inside before she realized that he'd deserted her. Why hadn't she sensed that he was gonna do that?

She rolled her eyes - stupid broody vampires and their stupid preternatural speed.

"I know what you're doing," she called telepathically to his rapidly retreating psyche. "And believe me, buddy, you can't run away from this one."

~*[+]*~

The first thing they noticed was that she started to get clumsy - a stumble here, a few dropped books there.

Then she got giggly - loud giggly.

"What's with Buff?" Xander questioned the group in undertone. "The Spike thing? You think she's finally flipped?"

Angel glanced up from the sheet of paper he was writing on and stared sourly. "She's drunk."

"Nope. She's been here the whole time. How could she be -?" Willow's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. He's drunk," Angel confirmed. "Consequently..." He gestured toward Buffy, who produced an enormous belch.

She smiled widely and swayed in her seat, her head bobbing rhythmically. "Ooh, I love this song!"

"He's gotta be in a club somewhere," Willow surmised. "The Bronze?"

"We'll check there first." Angel abandoned his handwritten vision descriptions and got to his feet. He cupped a steadying hand beneath Buffy's elbow as she did the same.

"Sod off," she snapped, tugging her arm away so violently that she almost fell over. She blinked rapidly, composing herself, and turned back to him.

"I get to kill him, okay?" she said in a moment of absolute sobriety. "Just me. No one else touches him."

She ruined the self-possessed Slayer image by tripping up the stairs on the way out.

~*[+]*~

The gang, minus a Magic Box-bound Giles-spotting Xander and Anya, entered the Bronze to find it in the throes of an "Infernal Disco" night, complete with obligatory mirror ball and lava lamps.

"Ooh, way cool!" Willow exclaimed, immediately forgetting why she was there and dragging Tara toward the dance floor.

Angel watched the witches disappear into the crowd and shook his head. Talk about skewed priorities. They were way too unworried about what was happening.

He suddenly realized that Buffy was no longer draped unsteadily over his arm. He quickly scanned the area and spotted her heading unerringly for a dimly lit booth at the back of the room, almost like she was being drawn there. Peering through the crowd, Angel had to acknowledge that she probably was.

Buffy stopped as she reached the booth and folded her arms, unabashedly eyeing its occupant. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Spike was slouched back against the wall, his eyes hooded as he surveyed the dancing throng. Several empty beer bottles sat on the table before him and another dangled from his hand, held loosely by the neck. That wasn't what made her stare.

He'd changed.

He still wore his torn denim jeans and rumpled red T-shirt. He still wore his duster and boots. What had changed since she last saw him were his lack of temperance - and his hair.

It still tangled about his ears and tumbled boyishly over his forehead. He hadn't cut it. It was just so... WHITE. He was practically glowing in the dark.

Typical - just when she was starting to get used to the au naturel version, he'd reverted back to the bleached one.

Spike blinked sleepily and looked up, finally registering her presence.

"Hello cutie," he greeted and threw her a wobbly smile.

There was a world of hurt simmering under his drunkenness and she decided to let the lecture about his intoxicated condition slide for now.

"Hi yourself, Back-to-Bleach Boy." She sat down next to him and tugged on one of his curls.

"Whossat?" He frowned, and Buffy smiled.

He'd actually forgotten that he'd had all the color sucked from his hair. It was funny, really.

"So, the Big Bad's back, huh?"

"Where?" The out and out confusion on his face was priceless. He abruptly struggled to his feet. "Angelus!" he cried. "You bloody poofy ... wanker!"

Buffy pulled him back down as Angel approached them.

"Back to normal?" he inquired.

"Him or me?"

"Either."

"I sobered up as soon as I got in the same room with him," Buffy said. "Weirdness rears its ... weird head again. But hey, gettin' used to that now."

Angel nodded. He looked amused, though how he managed that without changing his facial expression was beyond her.

"What about the hair?" he asked.

"Hair?" Spike piped up. "Hey, Broomstick Brow's an expert on hair." He gestured at his Sire with his beer. "It don't stand up like that on its own." He leant forward. "It used to be long, didn't it, Dad?" He tipped his head, delighting in his retrospective description. "You used to tie it back."

Angel gave him a withering look. "So did you."

There was a long pause and then both vampires smiled, reliving old memories.

Buffy peered speculatively back and forth between the pair, trying to imagine them a century ago. They were probably hot then too.

"I was," Spike assured her, picking up on the thought. "He ... wasn't. Ever."

Buffy laughed and playfully nudged him with her knee. He covered it with his hand and squeezed possessively. She placed her own hand over his and glanced up to find him gazing at her.

"God, I love you," he declared. He lowered his head and rested it against her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

Buffy froze in shock, her eyes darting up to meet Angel's.

The older vampire gave her a feeble, somewhat strained smile, then turned on his heel and left.

Spike nuzzled her neck. "Is he gone?"

She shoved him away from her. "You're impossible!"

He snorted and took a long draft of his beer.

"So," Buffy offered, uncomfortable now. "Disco huh?"

"Disco sucks." Spike slammed his empty bottle onto the table.

"It does not. It's like ... classic, or something."

"I was there when it happened, Slayer. It sucked then too." Spike gave the boisterous club-goers a contemptuous sneer. "This lot remind me of that time I turned up at Studio 54."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged. "Dru's idea."

"Was it ultra-cool? You know, like the movie?"

"Never saw the flick, love, but back in the day I chanced upon Michael Jackson and fed on a couple of swingers. Kept me wired for a week after."

"You met Michael Jackson?"

"Oh yeah. He's not human, you know."

"Like that's a news flash."

They shared a conspiratory grin.

"So why'd you do it?" Buffy asked.

"Do what? Get sloshed?"

"No, that part I can understand." She reached up and yanked out a tuft of his hair.

He winced and glowered at her. "Hey!"

She waved it under his nose. "Peroxide therapy."

Spike grabbed her wrist, keeping it still so that he could focus on what she held. He blinked at the white strands.

"I didn't."

"Yea-huh." Buffy nodded enthusiastically. "It's like a bad horror film. Punk Vampire Part Two - Return of the Deadhead."

"Sodding hell."

"If it's any consolation, you're more you now."

"And that means what? Spike's an inebriated idiot?"

"Yep." Buffy grinned. "No, it's just that you weren't fooling anybody with that whole new-look-me thing. You were trying to be something you weren't. This is you." She tenderly tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "The hair is who you are."

"That's incredibly shallow, Slayer. And here I was thinkin' that the bloody soul thing made me who I was."

"Well, that too. I was being ... symbolic."

"O-Kay." Spike gave her a skeptical look and then pointed to his empties. "I'm out."

"Over and out," Buffy clarified. "We're leaving."

"Wanna take me home, huh?" Spike leered. "Wanna have your wicked way?"

"Don't tempt me," Buffy muttered, hauling him to his feet.

They went into the back alley together, having reverted at some point in the departure to their recently acquired habit of holding hands.

Buffy briefly wondered if the feel of a vampire's skin was addictive.

Spike, still under the influence of his beer-binge, and the bottle of vodka that had come before it, intercepted the thought and a goofy grin plastered itself across his face.

The couple took several determined steps toward the street, stopped, and then turned back around. Their actions were all completely synchronized.

"Bet we'd clean up at the ballroom dancin' championships," Spike deadpanned. "Points for timin'."

Buffy ignored him and peered into the shadows, her spider sense tingling. There was definitely something demony afoot.

"How 'bout ice-skating?" Spike continued. "Better than that poncey bloody Torvill 'n Dean." He snorted. "'Bolero' my ass."

She frowned at him then. "You skate?"

He nodded. "Wasn't kiddin' about the dancin' either." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "I got moves you've never seen."

Buffy was denied the chance to puncture his ego when a wheezed-hiss of a voice emanated from the darkness.

"Slayer Spike," it proclaimed.

Apollyon's massive, horned head popped out of obscurity for a second before retreating. For a big guy he was pretty good at the hiding thing.

"Was that his version of 'Psst, over here'?" Buffy asked. She blinked. "Hey, I understood what he said and I don't speak the lingo."

"I do," Spike proudly declared. He actually raised his hand before realizing what that meant.

Vampire and Slayer stared at each other. No doubt about it, the link had upped the creepy ante again. Was there no end to how close they could get?

"Does this mean I'm as smart as you now?" Buffy wondered. "Scary. Good thing I'm not at school anymore. Oh, except for Modern History, damn it. I could have aced that."

Spike was silent, but she could hear his mind ticking over.

"I know the names of all the Backstreet Boys," he announced suddenly. "There's something scary." He began to list them, counting off on his fingers. "Brian, Nick, Howie..."

Buffy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Oi! Watch it," he complained. "Sportin' your bruises, remember?"

She shrugged indifferently and dragged him toward Apollyon's hidey-hole.

"I hate you," Spike greeted the lurking Keratos, scowling sullenly. "Rotten sodding Serpiente-carrier."

Apollyon just looked at him, and then abruptly gave him a solid whack upside the head with one of his tentacles.

Buffy winced at the blow, a nasty reddish welt appearing along one side of her face. "Well, that stung," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Spike shoved the Keratos against the brick wall in retaliation - no mean feat considering the difference in their sizes. "I can still do demons over, you know," he snarled viciously, his eyes burning intently.

It was his don't-mess-with-Spike expression. Fully-fledged master vampires had been known to run screaming from it, though for some reason it only provoked laughter and ridicule from Slayers - his Slayer in particular.

He waited for a beat, making sure that Apollyon understood the message, then turned back to Buffy and ran his fingers soothingly across her cheek.

"Alright, pet? Not too bad?"

When she nodded, he realized something horrifying.

"I'm sober." He glared. "He bloody well made me sober. Now I'm really pissed off."

He whipped back around, more than ready to beat the Keratos into a slimy green pulp.

Apollyon held up his enormous clawed hands in defense. "Of Drusilla is news," he hastily divulged.

Spike's fist paused mid-flight, but it remained cocked. "Well, go on then," he said. "Keep yappin'. Might save you if you're lucky."

Buffy stepped in front of Spike and curved her fingers over his tightly clenched hand. She gently lowered it to his side, stroking his knuckles and sending him calming vibes.

"I think he came to talk, Spike," she said. "Knocking him out might kinda defeat the purpose."

"And when did you become Little Miss Peacenik?" Spike was struggling to stay annoyed. He wanted to hit something, damn it! She wasn't being fair.

Buffy kept her gaze steady and his anger abruptly deflated, punctured not only by her determination, but also by the burgeoning affection that he sensed behind it.

"Developed a real bad case of the warm fuzzies there, Slayer," he accused.

"Well, duh! Link?" She rolled her eyes. "Besides, we couldn't hurt him when he was all screechy, how'd you figure it would be any different now?"

Spike looked chagrined. "Just wanted to have a go," he mumbled. "A spot of violence before bed 'n all that rot."

"It's two a.m.!"

"And your point is?"

"Right through that freakish humany heart of yours if you don't shut up and let feely-feeler guy have his say."

"Appreciate," Apollyon hissed, gracing her with a hideous yellow-toothed smile.

"'S Okay," Buffy acknowledged. "Though, hey, could have done without the happy face from hell."

Apollyon was about to impart his news when the door to the Bronze flew open and he once again retreated into the shadows.

"Oi!" Spike shouted to the group leaving the club, and they whirled around in surprise.

Buffy hadn't even recognized Angel, Willow or Tara.

Where was her head at?

"Believe we're hung over," Spike volunteered by way of an explanation. "A bit mud-stuck, not exactly on the ball."

"And whose fault is that?"

"His." Spike pointed a condemning finger at the looming Keratos-shaped figure behind them. "He did the soberin'. I think a hell of a lot straighter when I've got a couple under me belt."

Buffy glanced down - her mind suddenly fixed on speculating what was under said belt.

"Let's keep it clean, Slayer." Spike's voice purred in her head.

"I - What?" She blushed furiously, mortified at being caught out.

"Oh, don't play the dainty ice-queen. I know good 'n well what you're ponderin' under all that perky bottle-blondeness."

"Bottle-blonde?" Buffy was offended. "Hey Pot, I'm Kettle. Black much?"

"More like white," Willow commented as she reached them. She grinned. "So, what's with hangin' out in the alley, you crazy hangin'-out-in-the-alley people?"

Tara smiled crookedly, enjoying her girlfriend's humor.

"What is that?" Angel was peering past them into the gloom, having picked up the other presence almost immediately. "Is that him?"

The Keratos cautiously moved back into the light, towering over the much smaller Buffy and Spike.

Despite already having seen the demon, Willow and Tara both squealed and clutched each other. Angel continued to peer at him suspiciously.

"I've heard of you," he said.

"Keratos demons are legendary," Buffy began. "Giles says..."

"No, I mean I've heard of him. Specifically." Angel's eyes narrowed. "You all kept mentioning him and it set a few bells ringing. He's a mercenary, for one."

"You're a bit behind the times there, aren't you?" Spike jeered. He gave his Sire his best 'you're-a-daft-git' look. "Dru hired him, you blundering prat. That's how this started."

Angel frowned. "I didn't think Dru was that..."

"Smart?" Spike scoffed. "She is. Mad as a hatter, sure, but a clever little chit."

"I was gonna say 'gullible'." Angel awarded his Childe a superior smile. "I just remembered where I heard the name. From Doyle."

Everyone remained quiet, not really being familiar with who he was talking about. Music from the Bronze thumped distantly in the background.

"Irish guy? Used to get all the great helping-helpless visions before Cordy?" Angel sighed impatiently. "Your pal there occasionally works for the PTB."

"The who-tee-huh?" Buffy's brow furrowed as she tried to work out what the letters stood for. She was enlightened by using Spike's more comprehensive knowledge. "The Powers That Be?" She gawked at the demon. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yikes," Willow whispered. "That's just..." She trailed off, awestruck.

"Drusilla was just a means to an end, wasn't she?" Angel asked the demon. He snorted. "You guys are too much."

"Unexpected arises," Apollyon warbled. His tongues flicked nervously. "Hellmouth mutate."

"The Hellmouth unexpectedly mutated what?" Spike pivoted around to face the Keratos. He could barely restrain himself from strangling the reticence out of the creature barehanded. Buffy was the only thing holding him back.

The entire assemblage stared at the demon.

Apollyon shuffled under their scrutiny. "Tale of long involved be," he offered.

"Looks like its back to the bloody shop then," Buffy sighed, completely unaware of how much like Spike she had just sounded.

~*[+]*~

The Magic Box was oddly deserted when they arrived.

Granted, it was almost three in the morning, but Xander and Anya had stayed behind in case of Giles' return. They should have been there.

Apollyon squeezed his way through the entrance and stood in the foyer, uncertain as to whether he should proceed any further. There were strange vibrations here. It reminded him of the Watcher and he cradled one hand close to his body protectively.

Spike noticed the action and swiftly snatched hold of the scaly appendage, realizing something that they had all missed.

"Claw's gone," he announced, holding up Apollyon's damaged limb.

"Giles?" Buffy asked. It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.

"Blameworthy," the Keratos confirmed. He looked almost embarrassed at the injury and tucked the misshapen hand behind his back. "Escape must or demise fear of."

Spike snorted in disbelief. "Like Rupes would even..."

"No, Rupert wouldn't," Angel said quietly. "But Ripper is more than capable, especially if he's being controlled by some form of vampire demon."

Buffy cringed, and Spike frowned at her.

"Ripper?" he inquired, searching their now combined memories. He managed to piece together a rough picture of the Watcher's dark demon-hunting past and his eyebrows shot up.

"Well, well. What do you know? It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Not always," Buffy commented dryly.

"Um, hello?" Willow raised a tentative hand. "A little wigged out about the Xander-Anya missing-ness over here."

"Hey, it's freakies all round, Red," Spike assured her. "But level heads are needed now, a bit of underhanded plot-plannin'. Best that we're not all pointlessly panicky."

"Try saying that three times fast," Tara mused offhand.

Angel was regarding Spike with skepticism.

"Weren't you the guy who had a carefully laid out plan for getting the Gem of Amarra back, but abandoned it because he got bored?"

"Told you, Peaches, with all that watchin' and waitin' my leg started to cramp," Spike explained as if his decision had been perfectly logical. "That's awfully painful, you know."

"Oh sure, and being shish-kabobbed with hot pokers was a walk in the park," Angel sneered. "Not that you had the guts to do that yourself, did you my boy? Had to hire the power-hungry vamp with the kiddy fetish..."

Spike growled, moving to launch himself at his Sire. Only Angelus called him 'boy'. He'd always hated it.

Buffy intervened, pushing a restraining hand firmly against Spike's chest.

"Lay off," she said sternly. She gave him a shove but then allowed her hand to linger, relishing the steady thud of his-her-their heartbeat under her palm.

She gave Angel a pointed sidelong glance. "That means both of you."

Angel allowed himself the tiniest of self-satisfied smiles.

Spike was always so sensitive. He was an easy mark, quick to rile, but Buffy was right. As much as it amused him, picking at the younger vampires freshly bleached defenses was not going to get them anywhere.

"What we need is to begin at the beginning," he said. "Any ideas where that would be exactly?"

"At the PTB, I'll wager," Spike said. He shot a malicious glare at Apollyon. "Kept that wrapped nice 'n tight under your scales, didn't you?"

The Keratos didn't answer. Instead, thin milk-white membranes formed over his luminous green eyes and he began to hum like an oversized bumblebee.

He extended his tentacles until they fanned from his armored shoulders, translucent folds of skin unfurling between each feeler to create the illusion of graceful, scalloped wings.

"He ever done anything like this before?" Buffy whispered in Spike's head. She had to admit that Apollyon looked pretty damn creepy right now.

"Not even when he was three sheets to the wind and blind." Spike's reply was distracted as he stared at the demon in absolute fascination. He didn't even call her on the pointless whispering. "Hope this isn't leadin' to an explosion of some sort."

"Ditto." Buffy didn't take her eyes from the Keratos. She didn't do anything more than lean back against Spike, knowing that he'd support her.

He wrapped his arms around her slight form, partially enfolding her in his duster, and rested his cheek against her hair.

Neither one realized the bond that the intimate position implied - they were too engrossed in Apollyon's metamorphosis to even think about it.

Angel was transfixed.

Not by the demon, but by Buffy and Spike.

The familiarity was second nature to them, he realized. The short time that they'd been linked had been long enough for a synergy to have formed between them, a kind of harmony in their actions. It was there in the shared heartbeat and the synchronous breathing that he doubted they had even yet noticed. It was even present in the ebb and flow of their arguments.

Spike was smoldering dark to Buffy's radiant light, the night to her day.

Hell, Angel thought as his Childe absently brushed back a strand of Buffy's hair, he was even left-handed to her right. They were two halves of a whole. He could see that now. She was lost to him forever.

"It was never meant to be."

The insightful declaration came from the Keratos demon, but it was delivered in a clear and unmistakably feminine voice.

Buffy blinked at the transformed demon.

"Okay, what gives? What's with the girly-speak?"

"Direct link." Spike disclosed, his voice purring in her ear and sending an exhilarating ripple of shivers up her spine. "He's just tapped right in."

He seemed peculiarly entertained by the concept, a patented Spike-smirk playing across his lips. Then he actually laughed outright and the attendant Scoobies looked at him like he'd gone off his trolley.

"Oh come on! He's the bloody PTB's satellite dish," he gleefully explained to their blank faces. "How idiotic is that?"

Buffy giggled then, though it was obvious she was fighting the urge. Some part of her realized the importance of this and wanted to know how it fit in with her destiny as the Slayer.

"Lower beings," the voice intoned, managing to sound both annoyed and amused. "I am Herald, Supreme Oracle of the Powers That Be. You will heed my words."

"Yeah, hang on, love," Spike wiped a tear from his eye. "Let a fella get his sodding breath."

Herald was startled. She had never been spoken to in such an informal manner. Where was his honor, his respect? Surely this being realized the magnitude of his destiny, of his status in the Aftertime?

"You have not yet found your place," she said.

Spike frowned.

"My place is with the Slayer," he said matter-of-factly, his arms tightening reflexively around Buffy. "Figured that pretty much covered it."

Buffy smiled.

That was sweet. Uber-freaky, but sweet.

"That is true," Herald agreed. "But you are also to be a player in the Aftertime. You are to be a Guardian." She sounded puzzled. "Are you not aware of this?"

Spike snorted. "Listen, pet, right now I could be Arthur or bleedin' Martha and wouldn't give a toss, so give us a break and cut all the cryptic stuff."

Herald was silent. She was listening to something outside their perception, although no one present could quite grasp how they knew that.

"I am bid to explain," she said after a moment, her serene voice continuing to come from the Keratos demon. "But only what is necessary for your imminent challenge. The remainder is not yet for your knowledge. I was misinformed about this, I am ... sorry."

"Some Supreme Oracle," Buffy scoffed. "Gets her wires all crossed and spills the wrong info. Now we'll spend ages worrying about what the Aftertime is."

"But hey, I'm gonna be a Guardian," Spike boasted. "That's gotta be good, right? Won't be roastin' on some griddle in the fiery pits, at least." He scowled suddenly. "Does this mean I'm one of the white-hats now?"

Buffy tipped her head back to peer at him. "You've got the hair for it."

Spike leered at her and then melodramatically buried his face in the exposed curve of her neck, snarling savagely. He even went so far as to nip her skin with his blunt human teeth.

Buffy wasn't impressed and coolly stomped on the toe of his boot.

They both groaned at the same time.

Willow stepped forward, keeping one of her hands locked with Tara's for moral support. She seemed somewhat scandalized by Buffy and Spike's behavior.

"I - Um, look, Oracle Lady? I'm just a little confused about what's actually happening here. Are you saying that Buffy's supposed to..." she gestured vaguely. "...Be with Spike."

"It is ordained," Herald said. "He is her counterpoint, her balance. They are the convergence of light and dark in this world, the fusion of good and evil."

"Yeah, me 'n the Slayer, we're the picture of co-existence," Spike said sarcastically. "All sweetness and light. We're a bloody Rockwell painting we are."

"Spike, shut up," Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. "This is important."

Spike rolled his eyes in a see-what-I-mean sort of way.

"See what I mean," he said.

Herald fell silent once more. It was a disapproving silence.

"Now you've upset her," Buffy complained.

"Did not."

"Did too. It is so your fault. You're being all grumbly and annoying."

"Annoying?" Spike scowled. "What happened to 'sweet'?"

"I'm going to forget I thought it," Buffy snapped.

"Yeah ... well ... me too." He was so irritated he couldn't think straight enough to respond properly.

The argument was escalating and they separated, facing off.

"That's a real smooth comeback, Fang-breath," she taunted. She shook her head in disbelief. "And the PTB have ordained our togethery-ness? What the hell are they thinking?"

"Hey, you're the one doin' the protesting on that score. Wasn't me bein' all 'there is no us' and 'I don't love you' and 'get off me you disgusting pig'."

"I never said that once!"

"Oh right." Spike's eyes widened incredulously.

"Well, I didn't!" Buffy asserted, then amended the statement. "Not recently. Not out loud at least." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Anyway, you're the one that's trying to fob off the thing about us connecting before the Serpiente even happened. You great big ... avoidy coward."

"Coward?" Spike puffed out his chest. "Me? You're one to talk. Should change your stupid name to Cleopatra, you should. Bloody Queen of Denial."

"That was lame." Buffy scoffed. "You're so pathetic."

Angel looked back and forth between the two, noting how alike they were in both temperament and strength. This could get interesting.

"I'll take twenty on Buffy," he said to Willow.

She stared at him like he'd suddenly turned into Angelus. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "They're gonna kill each other and wreck the whole meant-to-be thing."

"They won't kill each other," he said confidently. "They've both had plenty of chances before and never acted on them. This is all for show."

"The Warrior, Angel, is indeed correct." Herald had apparently realized that outraged silence wasn't going to get her anywhere. "It is merely a manifestation of their passion."

"Oh," Willow peered at the couple. The dispute had descended into wordlessness and they'd resorted to fiery glares and contemptuous scowls. The tension in the air was palpable. "Passion," she repeated slowly. Then, "Ew, too much information. I just had this horrible visual."

"Yeah," Angel looked pained. "I didn't need to know that. I mean, I knew that's what it was but you didn't have to spell it..." He glanced up eagerly, having latched on to something. "Hey, did you say that I was a Warrior? Is that an Aftertime thing?"

Willow blinked at the sudden change of subject and turned her attention back to Herald-Apollyon. The demon's funny eyelid-thingies were starting to flutter. "Um, guys? I think you're about to lose your PTB connection."

Buffy and Spike were nose to nose at this point. At the observation they whirled to look at Willow.

The red-haired witch took a step back, hearing Tara's soft gasp behind her. This was a mega-yikey situation, even more than the morphing demon had been.

Their eyes were glowing.

Not a creepy, all-out alien sort of glow, but a subtle electric glow. Like static, or fireworks - the exploding sky-rockety Fourth of July kind.

Constant warmth radiated from behind Spike's irises, the cool blue heated with power. Curiously, his aura was composed. Buffy, on the other hand, was all vibrant energy - her eyes imbued with flashes of sparkling emerald green.

The bright colors seemed to alternate, the irises of Vampire and Slayer generating iridescent tones of both shades - then they kind of ... combined in a swirling aquamarine crescendo and disappeared. It was incredibly beautiful.

"The link is complete." Herald spoke in hushed tones, as if even she were awed. "They are one."

"And while arguing too," Angel observed, his lips curving in a melancholy smile. "It's kind of poetic."

He was a little surprised at his sudden lack of antipathy. When did he become one of the unopposed?

"That was excellent!" Willow blurted, channeling the absent Xander.

Tara peered at her, a bit daunted by the unusual outburst.

"What happened?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously.

They looked at each other in surprise and tried a second time.

"It was..." Again with the sameness.

"That isn't..." Ditto.

"Wow," Willow breathed. "They're like, almost the same person."

"Don't think so, Red," Spike disagreed.

It took a shift in consciousness that could easily become second nature, but his basic personality remained separate - the rest had merged seamlessly with the Slayer. In reality, it was not much different than the active link, and was actually a step back from the level of closeness they'd already reached. The main distinction was the latent knowledge that this was a permanent, indestructible bond. This was for life.

Or unlife, as the case may be. He still wasn't all that clear on where he stood in the mortality scheme of things. The by-product heartbeat was still thumping away at Buffy's pulse rate and the need to breathe was still pressing. If it weren't for his dust-inducing sensitivity to the light of day, he'd say that he was almost the male equivalent of a Slayer.

"You will no longer be susceptible to the sun," Herald informed him, reading his thoughts. "You have risen a step above and are now past certain pitfalls of your earthly existence."

Spike stared, rendered speechless by the announcement.

"What?" Buffy croaked, struggling to accept the full significance of what was happening. This fresh tidbit of news was a bit much coming on top of an introduction to the heart of Spike's essence.

And 'heart' was definitely the operative word. There was no doubting it now - he was truly, madly, deeply in love with her. And he was right about something else too. William was still in him. He'd been shunted back into some secluded corner of Spike's psyche, but he was there, a teeny-tiny remnant of pure shiny goodness in the dark.

Angel was deliberately ignoring this latest development and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, staring at the Oracle.

"Are you gonna do the big reveal or not?" he asked bluntly. "'Cause there's still the small matter of a missing Watcher."

"And a missing ex-demon," Willow went on. "And a missing ... guy." She frowned at that last, feeling that Xander somehow deserved a better rap. He was more to them than just a guy.

"N-not to mention the deranged vampire with the boosted vision-giving gift," Tara put in.

"Hey," Spike complained, having finally found his voice. "Hold up. Thinkin' that maybe this ... 'us'-ness is a tad more important."

Buffy was finding that his tendency toward selfishness wasn't quite as aggravating to her now. She could see where it was coming from. And though insecurity wasn't something she'd previously associated with him, it explained a lot.

"Or maybe not," she retorted. "Seems to me that part was supposed to happen." Ignoring the mockery inherent in Spike's raised brow, she continued on. "The PTB set us up. All the other wiggy stuff going down is a defecty side-effect that they didn't count on."

Spike grimaced. "Bloody stupid, stinkin', hellmouthy Hellmouth."

He sighed and canted his head to one side, his lips twisting thoughtfully. "It's gonna be light soon," he commented seemingly offhand, casting a furtive glance at the shop's front window. "Wanna try for a quick stroll 'round the neighborhood?"

"There won't be any more big scaredy runaways on my watch," Buffy told him. She raised her eyebrows. "The name Drusilla ring a bell? Or Giles? We need to focus here." She eyed the Oracle-occupied Keratos demon intently. "Okay, you, Heraldy Girl, make with the bean spillage."

"As you have already ascertained, the presence of the Hellmouth was, as you say, a spanner in our workings?" Herald's voice contained a smile. "What has transpired has resulted in the release of the vampire demon. It is operating as a separate entity outside of its vessel."

"Are you sayin' that my demon ain't in here with me?" Spike scowled. "That can't be right. I'm still with the liquid diet."

"Yes, that ... quirk will remain with you. However, when was the last time you underwent transmogrification?"

"Huh?" Buffy wished that these Oracle things came with a built-in big-word translator.

"She means when did I last go game-face," Spike simplified. He folded his arms and considered the question. He was silent for a full minute. "And, believe it or not kiddies, I can't recall. The only one goin' all fangy and 'Grr' recently was Giles."

Buffy carefully thought back over the short time that he'd been back in Sunnydale. She couldn't remember either. Even before he'd left for his Mexican jaunt, his game-faciness had been a rare occurrence.

"You don't even get bumpy when you're feeding anymore, do you?" Buffy gazed at Spike, her face displaying a kind of wonderment. She became aware of the dreamy expression, frowned, and adopted a more casual demeanor. "I mean, not that you'd need to, drinking from a mug and all." She tipped her head at Herald. "Is that chip-related?"

"The Initiative were allowed to operate here on our indulgence," Herald told them. "Because the implantation of the chip itself was necessary. William was not going to have sufficient control without our intervention. He needed guidance. His waiting period had drawn out long enough and you had already been called."

"Hang on," Angel held up a hand. "You said William. You don't mean his soul? Not that William?"

"Which other?" Spike jeered. "You and Dru did something wrong, you know. He's been in here since I was turned. Bugger never left."

"He wasn't meant to," Buffy stated with sudden insight. She didn't even glance at the vampires, keeping her eyes on the demon. "He was supposed to stay behind. Spike was turned wrong on purpose."

Angel frowned at that. "But I don't remember anything going that drastically wrong. Other than you putting up one hell of a fight when we..." he trailed off, his complexion becoming suddenly even more pale.

"When we what?" Spike demanded. "What the hell did you do?"

"You'd have to go into the vagaries of vampirism," Angel murmured. "It can't be that common an occurrence... I mean, I'm sure the Old Ones would have records of something similar." He didn't seem to be addressing anybody specifically, the hushed commentary making sense only to him. "Maybe Giles would be able to explain the details better, but if I'm remembering it correctly..."

"I do remember some of it," Spike inserted. "It's not exactly the clearest of memories, but still ... special, you know." He drifted into reflection, a wistful smile crossing his face. "Dru was so different. She came to me spoutin' all manner of fancy things. Swimming fish and glory and walking in unimaginable worlds..." He blinked, coming out of his reverie to a gaggle of vacant faces.

He blushed. "Right. So, you figure she could see the future goings-on then?"

Angel sighed, disregarding the question in favor of recounting his story.

"Dru had been wanting to make herself a playmate, and she had her heart set on Spike from the moment she laid eyes on him." He shrugged. "There's no accounting for taste, I suppose, but she is insane."

"You can insult me later, you poncey git," Spike broke in. "Just get on with tellin' the tale."

Angel gave him a formidable glare but continued on.

"Dru had no business trying to turn anyone. She was still a fledgling really, only twenty at the time. Darla and I shouldn't have allowed it."

He shook his head. The enormity of his own past arrogance never ceased to amaze him.

"There's a period that comes in the draining when you know the soul has left the body. It's a change in the taste, like a plateau, or the eye of a storm..." He faltered, wincing at the inanity of his description. "Kind of a difficult thing to put into words. The Time of Sanguinary Blessing, the Old Ones call it. That's when the intended is supposed to drink from you. I'd assumed that Dru had already reached that point when she first attempted the feeding, but looking back, I can see that William hadn't completely left." He glanced at Spike. "That's why you woke up in the middle of it and scared the daylights out of her."

"Now, personally, I would have taken that as a big, flashy neon sign that something was wrong," Buffy stated blandly. "Of course, that would be dumping a load of sane into the mix..."

"Dru called for me to come and help," Angel said, ignoring her. He had become distant, lost in his recollection. "You were fighting her off when I arrived so I..." He lowered his eyes guiltily. "I held you down while she tried again."

"Bastard," Spike muttered, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He made no further comment, not trusting himself to stay calm enough to hear the rest if he did. He almost didn't register the Slayer taking a supportive hold of his hand.

"It happens sometimes, the fighting, but not usually as ... enthusiastically."

"Tried?" Buffy prompted. "What, the second time didn't work either?"

"No."

"Well, how many times did she bloody well try?" Spike was horrified at the turn the story was taking.

"Three times," Angel said. "Or was it four? None of them were successful. As I said, it was probably because William was still present. We didn't realize that then," he asserted. "I didn't realize or I wouldn't have..."

"And this is the part where you stepped up to be the Daddy, right?" Spike drawled flatly. "Oh joy of joys. Lucky me." He was so tense he was surprised his tendons weren't snapping.

Buffy pulled him into a comforting embrace then, abandoning the cursory hold on his hand to mash her face against his chest and bury her arms inside his duster to enfold his taut body.

He stood stiffly, not taking his eyes from his Sire. He didn't want to be comforted - he wanted to smash something. And Angel's face was looking like a good place to start.

"I'm sorry, Spike, we didn't know," Angel persisted. He could no longer meet his Childe's eyes. He realized that there was no way he could make up for this.

"Drusilla was well aware of her role," Herald told them, breaking into the strained atmosphere with her calm tones. "She was the sole demon who was able to heed our call, the harbinger of William's salvation."

"You mean, she was the only one mad enough to cock it up," Spike growled.

"Her ... instability has been used to our advantage, yes." Herald didn't seem have a problem with that. "She was someone for you to care for, an outlet for your devotion. Without her, you would never have been able to love the Slayer as you needed to."

"So, this is Dru's fault then?" Spike's skin was flushed with his anger. It was an uncomfortable, prickly heat and he hated it. It was way too hard to look cool when you were sweating bullets. "Convenient for you, is it? Makin' her the scapegoat?"

Buffy smothered an inappropriate smile against the front of Spike's T-shirt. She'd picked up the stray thought about looking cool, and it was so out of place amid the drama, it was funny. And he really was developing quite the shiny surface. Made him look kinda ... lickable.

Ew, gross! Likable Spike! Spike lickage! That was just too... Actually, it sounded downright intriguing. Her mind should do the wandering thing more often. It arrived in the most interesting places.

Spike peered down at the top of Buffy's head. She hadn't let up on the hugging and he could still feel the comfort thing going on, but her thoughts had suddenly veered off on a fascinating tangent. It was distracting him.

He smirked. Lickage, huh? The girl's mind worked in the oddest way. He closed his arms around her, resting his hands against the small of her back.

Willow scowled at the Buffy and Spike huddle. Something wiggy was going on under the surface there. Her scowl deepened as Buffy tilted her head back to bat her lashes at Spike in mock innocence, her lips curved in a subtle, almost seductive smile. The vampire's tongue curled behind his teeth and he raised his eyebrows at her in a really suggestive way. She responded with a tinkling laugh and burrowed closer against his chest. It was weird and sort of indecent, but somehow not so large with the surprisiness.

"They are meant to be together, aren't they?" Willow wasn't expecting an answer. She was stating a fact. A completely fait accompli-ish fact.

"All that has taken place in their pasts has lead to this moment," Herald sounded almost reverent. "They are united as equals. Equal in love, in hate. In strength and weakness, in all things. No other shall rend them apart, it is an eternal bond meant to endure long beyond their passing."

"Wow. So they're actually like, married? In a spiritual sense, I mean," Willow was captivated now. Maybe the link wasn't so ooky after all. Married was good. Married was ... safe. She could think of them as married. If she didn't let herself think too hard, that is. "That's cool. I'm down with that."

"Me too," Tara put in. "Way down."

She had been feeling a little left out of the proceedings. Most of the people being mentioned were unknown to her, but Buffy and Spike? She knew them. And she knew how perfect they were for each other. She had understood where they were headed from the moment she first saw them together. Karmic destiny was great that way. She'd felt the same pull when she first met Willow.

Angel had moved away from the living sculpture that was the transmuted Keratos and was sitting at the study table, toying with vision inventory that he'd written earlier. It was probably obsolete now. "So, what about Giles?" he asked.

Buffy's head snapped up from its cozy resting-place against Spike's chest.

Oh God, Giles! He'd completely slipped her mind. Bad Buffy, bad, bad, bad...

Herald seemed to sigh. "This is more difficult to explain. What developed when the Watcher made contact with William was..."

"'Spike', love," Spike interrupted. "Call me Spike. I don't hold with usin' that simpleton's name. Haven't gone by it for a good while, and I don't bloody plan to start up again now."

"But you're listed in the Watcher's Diaries as William the Bloody," Buffy noted, her attention momentarily diverted from the Giles problem by Spike's unusual request. She wasn't going to forget her Watcher again, but, "Hey, did they call you that because it's like, every second word that comes out of your mouth?"

"I hate that sodding name," Spike grimaced. "Doesn't exactly come from a happy period in my life, you know."

"You mean 'unlife'." Buffy corrected.

"I meant what I said, pet. That unfortunate moniker hails from my delightful pre-vamp days."

Buffy's eyes widened and he could sense her diving in for a quick look-see at their combined memory banks.

Tara blinked at him. She hadn't heard anyone call him anything other than Spike. "Were ... Were you a serial killer or something?"

Spike laughed at how very wrong that was. Laughed until tears came to his eyes.

Tara looked mortified. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Oh love, you gave the ol' funny bone a proper ticklin' there. Serial killer," he snorted. "God, how I wish..."

He suddenly realized that Buffy was staring at him like he'd sprouted another head - a particularly ugly one ... with horns. Or, judging by the look in her eyes, maybe a halo. She'd discovered his deep dark secret then. Thankfully, she wasn't mentioning it to the others. Not for the moment, anyway.

"You realize that we will be into some serious former-life conversage later," she informed him via the link. "'Cause I want in on the embarrassing details."

"Now, that's a date." He grinned at her, twirling a silken lock of her hair around his fingers.

Buffy sighed and snuggled back against his chest. The guy could do double-duty as a pillow he was so comfortable. She smiled. A big softie that's what he was. A big, romantic, poetry-writing softie.

"Okay, can we get back to Giles now?" Angel was getting impatient, and he had the feeling that Herald wouldn't be able to keep the connection open for much longer.

"Yes, as I was saying," Herald sounded relieved to be continuing her explanation, "When, ah, Spike initiated contact with the Watcher, his demon must have sensed an opportunity for freedom. As a result of the chip, the demon has been repressed, and in the Watcher, it has found at least a small outlet for its bloodlust."

"So Giles was like a psychic escape hatch?" Willow frowned. "That is just plain wrong. Evil and wrong and a bunch of other bad words that I can't think of right now." She pondered that for a moment. "Which, I guess, is the whole point..."

"Jeez, poor Giles," Buffy lamented, her voice muffled against Spike's shirt.

He gave her a gentle squeeze that she returned in kind. He was pretty touchy-feely for a vampire. She couldn't seem bring herself to let him go and she was beginning to find that somewhere close to frightening.

Spike sensed the tiny panic attack and reluctantly drew back. He placed a brief kiss on her forehead and turned her around to face Herald, managing to keep one arm curved over her shoulder from behind.

"Listen to the fairy-story then, pet," he murmured in her ear. "We've got all the time in the world for the other."

Buffy smiled. She could feel it spreading into a big, sappy lovesick grin but she didn't care...

Oh my God, lovesick? Sick with love? Since when?

Since always, you doof. That peppy little voice-of-reason popped up when she least expected it, but it always spoke the truth. She loved Spike. Okay, no big. She loved Xander too - a nice platonicky kinda love.

Right, so was she in love with Spike?

She was. She really was. How in the hell had that happened?

Her mind seemed to freeze, trying to process the bombshell. Her heart went into a frenzied squeeze-and-release routine that was almost painful.

When had she gone from hating his guts, and most of the rest of him, to not wanting to be apart from him ever again? This was going down too damn fast for her taste. It smacked of some kind of interference, like some kinda of love mojo had been sprung on her. It was Willow's 'will-be-done' spell all over again.

Spike understood every last bit of what was going on in her beautiful head, could feel it in the churning of his gut and the tightening of his chest. It was one doozy of an internal battle and she was reeling from it.

Buffy was in love with him.

Him, Spike, the guy who had not so long ago headed the list of people that she would most like to see dead. She'd finally admitted it to herself. He felt like breaking into song or screaming around the room in full-fledged hysterical joy. Of course, he couldn't allow himself to do that. Not yet, not until she was coping with the admission. And judging by the stunned expression on her face, that was gonna take a while.

She wrenched away from him, trying to put as much space between them as possible, and sat at the study table next to Angel. The older vampire watched her with concern in his dark eyes, knowing that something was up, but not sure if he really wanted to ask for the details.

Spike folded his arms, resisting the urge to follow her, his chiseled face betraying nothing of his own inner turmoil. He was happy and frustrated and a handful of other things all at once, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. William, the sentimental prat, had taken over and he wasn't letting the opportunity go to waste.

Herald's voice broke into the awkward atmosphere, but it was not the smooth tone that they had become accustomed to hearing. She was either breathless, or her fragile connection to this dimension was breaking up. As if in confirmation of the idea, Apollyon's eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little, his tentacle-wings rippling.

"My time draws short," she said. "All that remains is for you to rid the Watcher of his demonic possession. The text you need will be made available to you."

At her words, a thick book miraculously appeared in mid-air and thudded to the ground at Willow's feet.

"Like an exorcism?" The witch was surprised. She sat down on the floor to open the book, but it flipped to the correct page of its own volition. She peered curiously at the spell it revealed. "I'd never thought of vamps as being possessed before, but that's kinda true, huh?"

"He won't get all vomity and Linda Blair on us will he?" Buffy pulled a face. She'd always hated that movie. Buffy and vomit were unmixy things.

Spike gave her one of his genuine grins. There was that oddball humor of hers again. It was one of the things he loved about her, her ability to laugh in the face of extremely intense situations.

She threw him a look of furious dislike. She didn't want any love vibes coming from him right now. No love for Buffy, and definitely no love for Spike.

He quirked the scarred eyebrow at her, his grin evaporating.

She was fighting this too hard.

It was losing battle, couldn't she see that? The feelings were there. The fact that she was even angry with him revealed the magnitude of those feelings. She'd admitted it, and she knew that he knew that. There was no denying it - not now, not ever.

Confessions of the heart were never pretty, especially the deep dark secrety ones, and he understood the painful repercussions of that kind of exposure only too well. He'd gone through the same thing himself, had struggled with his own feelings for months, years. But this? This was out and out rejection.

"What about Dru?" he asked Herald, not breaking eye contact with Buffy. The Slayer's quiet, determined avoidance was starting to piss him off.

"Yeah, about that," Angel put in. "How has she been sending these visions if not with your consent?"

"Our consent was granted," Herald informed them. "Though your Seer's vision is true, we enabled a heightening of Drusilla's power in order to draw you here, manifested illusions that all that came to pass was of her own making. You needed to be present, to bear witness to the Slayer's union with your Childe. It is an event that will have consequences in your own life and, indeed, in the lives of those close to you." She sounded very pleased with herself. "It is for the greater good. Everything we do is to that end."

Spike snorted. "Oh yeah, you higher-ups are great at the altruism. Not to heavy with the personal sacrifices though."

"Explain," Herald's manner was annoyed now. She was not used to her motives being questioned.

"You expect us lower beings to do what you want, when and how you want it, right? But you don't do a hell of a lot in repayment. So little Spikey's got a soul? I'm so bloody honored that you care."

"It can easily be revoked," Herald's voice was beginning to cut in and out. Apollyon's eyes opened a fraction.

"Seeing as it was such a chore to keep it here in the first place, I don't see how that's gonna happen, love."

Spike knew he was pushing it, messing with the PTB, he just hadn't aggravated anyone for a while - he needed the rush. Plus, the pain from Buffy's rejection was looking for a way out and he didn't think she'd appreciate him belting the crap out of his Sire, which is what he really wanted to do.

Buffy was glaring at him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, her displeasure into his head.

"Quit it, you moron," she scolded via their link. "She'll fry you or something."

"Then I'll fry." At that moment Spike didn't particularly care. "Don't feel that I'm cut out for this Guardian thing, anyhow. And it's not like anything's gonna come of this link business. Not while you're being Denial Girl."

"I am not in denial!" Buffy snapped aloud.

"Denyin' that you're in denial," Spike observed dryly. "Now that's rich."

Buffy's gaze grew dangerously narrow, and both of them experienced a slight twinge as the chip threatened to activate.

"I hate you," she asserted. "I mean, I really, really, really hate you."

"Okay, you hate me," Spike conceded. "I get it, Slayer, alright? You've made your point." He sighed, seeming to sag as the fight went out of him. "You win. I'm done tryin' to convince you otherwise. It's the worst kind of torture ever. Even Peaches couldn't do better."

Angel frowned then. "I resent that. Some of my best..." He stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying, and smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Right." Spike huffed. "I haven't got the scars to prove it either."

The Keratos demon chose that moment to come out of his transformation, lapsing back into his Apollyon persona with a loud whistle-grunt. His double tongues flicked in and out rapidly.

Willow glanced up at him from the spell book. "Oh, you're back."

"All will better be," the demon warbled happily. "Powers restore balance."

"Balance?" Spike spat skeptically. "You know where you can shove your sodding balance, mate." He stalked away to set himself atop the counter.

Apollyon's tentacles curled defensively. "Messenger I am only," he returned. "Do not be shooting me."

Spike's only response was a testy snarl followed by the mechanical flick of his lighter as he ignited a cigarette.

"So, we have the basis of a plan right?" Angel asked, taking on Giles' usual role of Commander-In-Chief. "We have the exorcism spell. And if Willow says it's do-able, I'd say a rescue mission's in order." He raised his eyebrows. "All those in favor?"

Willow absently thrust her hand in the air, still avidly reading from the book. Tara smiled shyly and did the same. Spike refused to look at them, blowing a cloud of smoke in the opposite direction.

Buffy cast a grateful smile at Angel as she raised her own hand.

He was right. Her Slayery-ness was needed now. It was time to focus on the important stuff - Giles, Xander and Anya and the current crisis. She would deal with the whole Spike-related craziness later.

Much later.

Next