EPISODE SIX
"Action and Consequence"

Buffy's head hurt.

The lump above her ear had already healed a little, but it had also left a colorful spray of bruising that fanned all the way out along the top of her cheekbone. She looked like she'd been well and truly battered. Whatever Spike had run into out in LA had to have been pretty hard to mark her like that, and whatever he'd hit straight afterward had resulted in a similar pattern across the middle of her back.

She was sort of mad that he'd endangered Seth by being reckless, but also weirded-out by the fact that she hadn't sensed any real danger. She'd just got the same surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline she normally got from him when they patrolled, so whatever it was he was doing it wasn't life-in-peril stuff.

The worst part was that on top of the headache, she couldn't ever remember feeling so depressed; a depression so deeply ingrained that she couldn't discern whether it was his or hers. She felt like there was a huge weight pulling her down. Not the literal, dragging kind that she occasionally felt with Seth, but an emotional heaviness, a great big black cloud of something.

She missed Spike. That was part of the problem, at least. He had always been a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy existence, had always sparked something elemental in her, something raw and powerful. He made her feel alive. Without him she felt dead and listless and, despite being surrounded by her friends, utterly alone.

"I miss Spike," she said suddenly, causing her companions to turn and look at her. "Is that wrong?"

"No! No, of course not," Willow hurried to assure her. "Don't ever think that. It's completely understandable. He's... he's the father of your baby, for starters."

"He's your soul mate," Tara put in. "Your true partner. You feel incomplete without him, inadequate. Like part of you is missing."

Buffy gaped at her, tears welling in her eyes. "God, that's beautiful. You should, like, write that down or something."

Tara smiled softly. "You said it yourself, remember? Way back when Mr. Giles tried to sever the link."

"I did?" Buffy frowned. "I... did. How could I forget something like that?"

"You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately," Willow commented. "It was just small stuff to begin with. You know, not picking up milk on the way home, or calling us about patrol, but now you're..." She bit her lip, not sure whether she should continue.

"I'm what? What am I?"

"You're forgetting the people who mean the most," Willow blurted. "You never talk about your Mom anymore..."

"She's dead," Buffy inserted bluntly. "What's to talk about?"

Willow crumpled slightly, upset by her friend's callousness, but struggled on nonetheless, "...a-and you hardly ever check in with Giles. Now you've shut Spike out, and he's the closest person in the world to you. It's like, nothing matters except for Seth."

"Well, he's important!"

"We're not saying he isn't. He's precious, a miracle even," Tara said kindly. "But he's not... he's not the only one you have to worry about." She took a deep breath. "Have you even thought about what you could be doing to Spike?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy, think about it. If you keep pushing him away, he's eventually gonna run out of away room." Willow scowled at her own verbal inadequacy. "I mean, it'll get to a point where he's got no more room to go."

"And again, I say 'Huh?'"

Tara came to Buffy's rescue. "What Will's trying to say is, how far can you push before the link snaps?"

"The link can't... snap...? Can it?" Buffy's eyes got really big. "God, what if the link snaps? He'll die, won't he? Spike will die." Buffy spread both hands across her belly as though the motion itself could quell her sudden twinge of panic. Her face drained of color, to a point where the witches thought she might faint. "I could kill him."

"Yes, you could," Tara agreed, glad she'd gotten the Slayer to at least contemplate the risks of the estrangement. "But that's always been true. We all know it won't ever happen."

"I hope not," Buffy's reply was little more than a whisper. She bowed her head to stare at her hands, still molded to the distended contour of her stomach, and didn't recognize herself anymore.

Xander and Anya chose that moment to emerge from the direction of the basement - he gallantly toting a carton filled to the brim with an assortment of jars, and she trailing disinterestedly in his wake.

After he'd deposited his cargo on the counter, the ex-demon sighed loudly. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do you feel manly enough yet?"

Buffy perked up, welcoming the distraction of someone else's relationship problems. The witches exchanged curious glances but said nothing, each of them loath to ask the inevitable question. Luckily Xander leapt to his own defense.

"Hey, manly here! I have extreme manly man-ness. I just..." He shrugged self-consciously and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I was just wondering you know, why the feeble fairy name? Gladius is a sword and Falchion is a sword. How come I don't get to be sword-guy?"

"His manhood is all threatened," Anya told them, pulling the herb-filled jars one by one from their box and positioning them on the shelves behind the counter.

"And what, the whole fairy part of that didn't concern you?" Willow struggled to hide her grin.

"Huh? No! No, it doesn't seem very... macho. It's all, 'Ooh, Leal doesn't need a weapon because he's so cute and funny and ...and non-heroic.'"

"Bollocks," Buffy sneered.

Xander blinked at her. She'd sounded so uncannily like the absent Bleached Boy Wonder that he was positive she'd channeled his spirit or something; almost like when the link stuff had first happened. If she started talking to invisible people they were in serious trouble.

"Great Spike impersonation there, Buff," he offered. "Fun at parties and big with the scary. You can stop any time now."

"That was total load of bollocks," she went on, as though he hadn't spoken at all. "As in 'crap', as in 'utter baloney'. Sure, you're cute and funny, but you're also one of the most heroic people I know."

He smiled; a wide, goofy caricature of a smile that went beyond pleased and almost split his face in two. "Really?"

"Come on, you've been a Scooby for how long now? You help save the world all the time, and you do it because you're you. Because you're special, and not in a Chosen One kinda way. You don't have the mystical super-powers or anything; you're just a regular guy fighting the good fight. Can't get any more heroic than that." She paused for effect. "Plus, I need someone with some semi-heroic qualities to be my designated Slay buddy and this means that you therefore qualify."

Anya eyed her doubtfully. "You need a Slay buddy? What for, and why does it have to be Xander?" She drew herself upright indignantly. "You can't have Xander. He may become dead or dismembered. I need his member fully intact. You know, for sex," she added, just in case they hadn't clued in to her clever innuendo.

Buffy decided to ignore that part, Anya's insinuations regarding Xander usually only served to make her queasy. "Since Spike's incommunicado in LA, I need someone to back me up," she admitted and folded her hands on the shelf her belly provided. "Nipper's not exactly tag-team material yet. And I sorta leave the high part out of high-kicks these days."

Willow scowled. "You never let on..."

"That I was having trouble keeping up with the slaying?" Buffy smiled ruefully. "Can you blame me? Slayer here. Not of the good if I can't cut the mustard." She hesitated; mimed a slicing-with-a-knife motion, then gave them a quizzical look. "Can you cut mustard?"

"Mustard-cutting aside, I'm all for helping out with the patrol," Xander volunteered. His cheeks were flushed an unflattering crimson from both Anya's color commentary and the Slayer's praise, but he was standing just a little bit taller because of it. "Just consider me the swarthy Ricardo Tubbs to your dashing, pastel-clad Sonny Crockett. We'll walk the beat, make the rounds, run down some evil and nail its ass to the wall..." He stopped. "Okay, that last part, not so much. I kinda ran short on the Miami Vice analogies."

"What are you talking about?" Anya demanded, staring at him in bewilderment. "I never understand any of your obscure popular culture references. I feel very left out." She pouted and folded her arms.

Xander rolled his head back, either popping-out some frustrated tendons or beseeching a higher power for assistance, it was hard to tell. "Sorry, Ahn," he mumbled. "I keep forgetting that history is nothing but a vast vengeancy blur for you."

"Hey!" Anya defended. "I'll have you know the nineteen-eighties was a productive decade for me despite all the big hair and shoulder pads women tortured themselves with." She sniffed. "Men were often the least of their problems."

Buffy exchanged a horrified look with Willow and Tara. They all shuddered. "Look, can we not revisit that particular era?" she pleaded. "Some of us have traumatic childhood memories."

"And I'm suddenly having sandbox flashbacks," Xander said. "In which I am made to swallow copious amounts of said sand. Tell me again why I'm a hero, Buffster. Boost my oft-bullied ego."

Buffy snorted. "Oh please!"

"I'm not kidding!" Xander insisted. "I mean, even Giles gets to be Mage the wise and powerful. His fairy looks like Gandalf with wings."

"Oh pooh!" Anya dismissed that with an airy wave of her hand. "There's absolutely no resemblance. Gandalf has that unruly facial hair. All the mini-Giles had was that funny pointed hat."

"To match his funny pointed ears," Buffy chirped.

"And his pointy magic wand," Willow added, then wrinkled her nose. "How stereotypical was that? Nobody uses a wand to do magic anymore, it's the height of corny."

Tara gave her a lop-sided grin. "Snob," she teased.

"Yes, she is," Anya agreed matter-of-factly, giving Willow a stern look. "You're in no position to be condescending. All the best wizards use wands. It's the done thing. Perhaps you could control your spells better if you did use one. They're really quite simple to construct when you know how..."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'control your spells'?" Willow fumed. "I've never... I mean, I only occasionally lose..." She folded her arms, dropping into a sulk. "I have lots of control."

Buffy absentmindedly massaged her lower belly. Stupid cramps. "Sorry, Will. I have to side with Anya on this one. Remember that whole 'do thy will' thing featuring Blind Giles and the Demon Magnet?"

"Hey!" Xander piped up. "Didn't they play the Bronze last month?"

Willow ignored him, and frowned at Buffy. "Why are you bringing that up? I thought that'd be listed under a big 'fond memories' heading now, what with the Spike smoochies and all."

Buffy concentrated hard on her stomach, evading the witch's probing gaze. "Okay, bad example." She was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod, as if making a decision and hauled herself upright. "I'm gonna go hang 'round the headstones for a while. Coming Xand?" She aimed for exit, not waiting to see whether or not he followed.

Xander gave her retreating back a long, probing look and then turned to Anya, brows raised. When she merely shrugged, he trailed after the Slayer. "And I'll see you ladies later."

The door closing behind him was like the starting signal for discussion.

"You see what I was talking about?" Willow was all but wringing her hands. "With the standoffish? Something is seriously wrong. We have to find out what it is so we can help. We need to help."

The three women gazed at each other, at a loss as to just how they were supposed to do that.

~[*]~

Angel and Spike stomped through the newly restored rear courtyard of the Hyperion, quibbling over tactics as they went.

"We're coming back for reinforcements because I don't have a great blinding death wish," Angel explained through gritted teeth, fast-losing what patience Spike hadn't already eroded away with his abrasive presence. "Jumping feet first into a crowd of demons twice well, your size is not my idea of fun."

"What is, watching paint dry?" Spike paused at the bottom of the stairs leading indoors and scowled at his Sire's back. "And I do not have a death wish," he grouched. "The whole point about this trip was my not dying."

Cordelia was already waiting by the weapons cabinet when they came inside. "I felt the Warrior-on-a-mission vibe coming from a mile away," she told Angel, all business. "What do you need?"

Spike was impressed. He'd never seen this side of the girl. Had guts she did, not unlike a certain Slayer of his acquaintance. "Couple o' medium sized axes should do it," he told her. "Want to come off threatening, but not so over-laden that we look to be lily-livered."

"The whole 'I'm too cool for these weapons' method of intimidation," Cordy surmised. "Which might work if you were actually cool or intimidating instead of a scrawny stack of neither."

She tossed a broadsword toward Angel as she spoke, which he caught without looking and swung over his shoulder, stalking past into the main office.

"That didn't look much like an axe," Spike commented dryly.

"It's his favorite," she confided in a none-too-subtle aside. "I think it's a security blanket sort of thing."

"I heard that, Cor," Angel said mildly, wandering back out into the lobby. He glanced at the stairs, frowned, and then looked back at Cordelia. "Where's Wes?"

"He and Fred went out for 'ice-cream'." She made little air-quote marks with her fingers.

"Uh huh." Angel just nodded, taking her words at face value and completely missing the significance.

Cordy exchanged a look with Spike. The younger vampire seemed almost as fondly exasperated with Angel's continued ignorance as she did. She smiled. "Gunn's out on a case with her, if you're wondering."

Spike didn't know whether to be offended by her dismissal of Drusilla or not. He cocked his head to the side and peered along his nose at her. "Not a fan of Dru's then?"

"No more than I was of you when you were at her stage of moral development," she shot back.

He grimaced. "Don't ever remember us doing anything to you personally," he mumbled, his tone caught somewhere between self-justification and embarrassment. "Me or Dru. We conveniently taking the blame for something or what?"

"No." Cordelia's flinch contradicted the hasty denial. She was suddenly having flashbacks to Dru's ill-timed Spike dumpage and the consequent 'Cordy-kabob with an extra helping of painful'. She cast a pleading gaze toward Angel, seeking a means of escape from the hole she'd unwittingly dug for herself.

He was of no use whatsoever, staring distractedly into space.

"Hello?" she called. "Earth to Angel..." She broke off into a lighthearted cackle. "Jeez, how lame does that sound?"

The corners of Spike's mouth took on a wicked curl. "You want an honest answer?"

"God, will you just SHUT. UP!"

They gawked at Angel, startled by the outburst.

The older vampire scowled at his Childe, chocolate-colored eyes simmering, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How can you keep acting so goddamn blasé?" he demanded. "Are you so selfish you can't see that this is affecting more than just you?"

Cordelia took a step toward him. "Baby, what's -?"

"No. No, forget it." Angel waved a dismissive hand. "Let's just... go and get this done. The sooner he goes back to Sunnydale the better."

They were just about to head out when Wesley and Fred came in. The couple had been holding hands, but sprung apart on seeing they had an audience.

"Spike!" the former Watcher greeted warmly. "What brings you out here?"

"None of your damn business," Spike returned. His tone was just as warm even though he was still slightly miffed at Angel for saying he was selfish. What a load of bollocks that was... Him? Selfish? Humph. He wagged his brows at Fred. "Nice to see you've dispensed with the sackcloth and ashes ensemble, pet. Does wonders for you."

"Really?" Fred beamed, pleased by the complement. She tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and then straightened the hemline of her floral shift dress with nervous fingers. "Thanks. You look great too! I mean, not that you didn't before... You kinda look exactly the same actually." She frowned at that, her mind ticking over. "Do you age now or not? I forget that part."

Spike pursed his lips, hollowing out his cheeks to an almost skeletal degree. "Now there's a thought. Never got a proper instruction manual to go with the big humanity hookup, so I couldn't rightly say."

Wesley brightened at the prospect of some hands-on research. "I could carry out some tests while you're here?"

The blonde vampire eyed him skeptically. "Had enough of the prod 'n probe to last me, thanks all the same." He pointed toward his head, making a quirky trigger-pulling motion with his finger. "Unpleasant little incident involving government types and cunning chip-shaped implants?"

He wasn't being dishonest, technically. The chip was still floating about in his skull, large as life, but there was no way that he was gonna tell them that it wasn't working anymore. Angel would definitely stake him then. Hmm, possibilities there. Maybe telling wasn't such a bad idea after all...

Spike contemplated the merits for a moment, conveniently forgetting his earlier protestations about having a death wish. While in the midst of a particularly gruesome scenario, he had another link attack. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and light-headed and his nerve-ends twitched like he'd been electrocuted. He could hear someone calling him, but they sounded a long way off.

He struggled to find his equilibrium, and finally glanced up to realize that he'd zoned out and they were all staring at him. "Sorry. What? Did you say something?"

"Just another babbled apology from the babble twins," Cordy reported. She fluttered a hand to indicate Wes and Fred, but remained focussed solely on him. "Are you... okay?" The question seemed wrenched from her of it's own accord and she frowned as though wondering where it came from.

Spike ignored her concern, blinking at the former Watcher and his twig-figured girlie, and then turning an assessing look back on Cordelia and Angel. "You know," he said speculatively. "You're severely lacking in blondes around here. Need one?"

"Are you and Buffy gonna come to stay?" Fred asked, then paused. "Wait. You said 'one'. One blonde, not two."

Spike once again found himself the center of everyone's undivided attention. Everyone that was bar Angel, who was gazing longingly at the door, wrapped in his own thoughts.

He sighed and began to tap the point of his sword against the floor, making little triangular notches in the linoleum. Wonder if bashing their hard heads together would make any sort of impression?

He let out another, even deeper sigh when Gunn and Drusilla entered from the direction of the basement. Oh great, more distractions, just what Spike needed...

"...One for the team," Gunn was saying, using the back of his sleeve to mop at a trail of clear slime dribbling down the side of his face. "Those Vuntarks didn't stand a..." He halted, realizing that the lobby was exceptionally full. "And we've got more than the usual number of vamps in tonight. Hey Spike."

Spike found he could do little more than nod in acknowledgement, stunned into silence by the sight before him.

After nearly a hundred and fifty years, Drusilla had finally moved with the times. Her hair was cut in a short and sassy bob, her slender form shown to best advantage in brown suede hipsters and a cream bulky-knit sweater that seemed to have shrunk at some point, stopping several inches above her navel.

"William!" she gushed, the swimming-pool-blue of her eyes limpid with pleasure. "So nice of you to visit. Especially when I've got such grand news." She tucked a possessive arm through Gunn's, neatly avoiding the slime. "My dashing Knight Gallant just killed himself a nasty swarm of Vuntarks."

She was bragging, Spike knew, recognizing the tone as the same one she'd used when he'd done away with that Chinese Slayer all those years ago. He recoiled from the memory, and from Dru. Any changes she'd made were merely window-dressing, then. Same as ever she was.

Angel had clearly recognized her tone as well, spinning around to pin them with his imperious gaze. "What did you call him?"

Dru blinked, a tiny frown forming between perfectly sculpted brows. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's Liam now, isn't it?"

Spike pulled a disgusted face, not wishing to be reminded of that while in the presence of his Sire.

"No, not him," Angel stalked toward them, training his sword at Gunn's head like a laser-pointer. "Him."

"Knight Gallant," Cordy reflected before Dru could comment. "Just like the fairy. Coincidence? I say 'nay'."

"No such thing," Spike agreed. He cocked his scarred brow at Dru. "Star's tell you to christen him with that?"

"I don't remember," she pouted.

Angel redirected the sword, targeting Drusilla this time. "Try."

The vampiress was wholly unconcerned by his posturing. "Is it especially important?" she inquired curiously; lashes lowered to sleepy half-mast, the chin of her heart-shaped face set a-tilt.

Spike squinted at her. He definitely recognized that expression. Those cat-like features were suddenly looking all too smug. He shook his head and set about lighting a cigarette to distract himself from asking her how the canary had tasted.

"Been callin' me that long as I've known her," Gunn said. "This not-so-crazy kick-ass version of her anyhow." He gave Angel a hard look. "And put the sword down, 'less you want me to shove it somewhere painful."

The elder vampire narrowed his eyes at the threat. "My, my. Protective aren't we?" he mused silkily, sounding so much like Angelus that Spike shuddered. "Something going on I should know about?"

Cordelia stepped in, slapping Angel lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, back off, Daddy Smallbucks," she chided. "Little Orphan Vampy can take care of her own self." A sharp look of her own this time, directed at Dru. "Right?"

"Certainly." Drusilla's smile was polite, almost demure, which usually meant she was trying to think of the best way to kill you.

No love lost between those two. Spike resolved to keep well out of their way. "Much as a cat-fight would amuse me just now, thought we were off to terrorize some Keratos." He glanced around, his brows raised in invitation. "You did mention reinforcements. More the merrier and all that."

Angel grunted, backing away from his stare-down with Gunn. Spike was right. He hated when that happened. "Okay. Gunn, you and Dru take your ride, back up only. Cordy, Wes, you're with me and Spike." He paused and tipped his chin at Fred. "You're up with all that computer stuff, right?"

The young physicist darted an apprehensive glance at Wesley. He smiled at her reassuringly. "Um, yeah? It's been a coupla years, but I reckon I can still... Why?"

"Can you chop into the DMV database and track down a number plate for me?"

"Chop?" Fred blinked rapidly, each flutter seemingly connected to the cogs whirling in her brain as she processed what he was saying. She seemed awed that he was even speaking to her in the first place, let alone asking her to do something of import. "Oh! Oh, you mean hack. Well, sure. I could do that. I think. Whatcha got?"

Angel moved to the counter, scribbled some numbers on the back of one of the business cards and handed it over. "It's only a partial, but it belongs to a black transit van. Older model, but the guys in it were young. Early twenties maybe."

Spike let out a disdainful snort at his Sire's performance, twin streams of smoke blasting from his nostrils. He sauntered toward the courtyard doors; one of Angel's prized fighting axes perched insouciantly atop his shoulder, black leather flowing behind him like the cape of some perverse superhero.

"Linger on and play Sam Spade all you want, Peaches," he declared. "Gonna go raid me a bloody warehouse."

TBC...

EPISODE SEVEN
"Defining Normal"

The black van pulled over to the sidewalk, slowly crawling to a stop and lurking in the shadows. Three pale faces peered out of the windscreen and across the street; their eyes moving in concurrent motion up the massive building that occupied the next block, it's impressive bulk silhouetted by the moon's argentine glow.

"Bastion," they chorused in hushed undertone.

"This is it," Tiny went on. "The secluded fortress home of Gladius and Jewel."

"And it's disappointingly lacking in both the seclusion and the fortressness departments," Weedy said. "Where are the sentries and stuff? Gallant should be standing out in front with that wicked axe of his at least."

"It's an old hotel," Stocky informed them. He'd pulled out a pair of binoculars and was scanning the entrance through the driver's side window. "'The Hyperion'," he mused, reading the signage. Then scoffed. "Lame. This whole set-up is so lame. It's a wonder they haven't been found out before."

"We're going to be the lame ones when they realize that we doubled back and followed them here." Tiny squirmed in his seat. "I mean, did you even see how fast they moved? I don't know how we got away without severe body damage."

"Yeah," Weedy agreed. "We are so gonna get busted."

"Shut up, Whine-drew," Stocky snapped.

"It's Andrew," Weedy/Andrew mumbled sulkily. "How come no one ever remembers that? Not like it's difficult or anything. You remember all the Eldrichian names, no probs."

"That's because they're interesting," Stocky sneered. "And you're not."

"Leave him alone, Warren," Tiny said petulantly, raising his rounded chin in an uncharacteristic show of defiance.

"And what? Pick on someone my own size? Oh wait. I can't." Stocky/Warren gave him a scathing look. "God you're pathetic. You're pathetic and you're short. Next time I'm partnering up with some guys who're actually..." He straightened suddenly, fingers hurriedly moving to better focus his binoculars. "Hang on, someone's coming out..."

All three paused with bated breath, waiting.

...And waiting.

"Well?" Tiny prompted. "Who is it?"

Warren shook his head in disbelief, listing the group one by one as they emerged from the depths of the celebrated building. "Falchion, Gladius... and, holy crap, Jewel."

"Where?" Tiny leant over Warren's shoulder, trying to get a better view, and then made an attempt at grabbing the binoculars out of his hands. "She's so hot!"

Warren shoved him. "Don't make me hurt you, Jonathon."

Tiny/Jonathon backed off, mouth set in a mutinous line, and glared at his larger companion. "You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Warren perked up again. "Ooh! Vigil just came out with Gallant and Nebula. They're all pretty well armed. Serious hardware, too. Could be something's up."

"They're probably going to hunt us down and kill us," Andrew fretted. "I'm too young to die!"

While Warren was scowling at Andrew, Jonathon finally managed to snatch the binoculars and zeroed in on the boat-like shape of the Gladius-mobile just as it tore away from the hotel, tyres squealing. The top was down and Falchion was perched on top of the backseat like he was riding in a Thanksgiving Day parade, the florescent streetlight accenting his hair and the gleaming leather across his shoulders. Gladius was in the driver's seat, almost invisible in the dark, his precious Jewel curled trustingly against his side.

Jonathon suddenly gasped, the magnifying lenses dropping from his fingers onto the floor of the van. "Oh-my-God."

Warren smacked him around the head. "Hey! Watch it, bumblefingers." He shifted forward to retrieve the fallen item and only then noticed the stupefied expression on the boy's baby face. "What?"

"That wasn't Jewel," Jonathon said. "That was Cordelia Chase. We went to high school together." He blinked, turning wide eyes on his companion. "I think I know where Eldritch is."

~[*]~

Giles rapped on the front door to 1630 Revello Drive with far more purpose than he had the last time and was satisfied by the sharp sound his knuckles made on the paneling. Yes, that was suitably authoritative.

He waited for what seemed an exorbitant amount time and then knocked again, now feeling a small measure of concern. Why wasn't she answering? "Buffy?"

He leant forward to check for signs of life, to try and peer through one of the rectangular glass insets, or even rest his ear against the door, when it abruptly swung open in front of him.

The Slayer blinked up at him, uncharacteristically startled, her eyes huge and red-rimmed, dominating her otherwise pale face.

"Oh Giles," she said inanely and sniffed, one hand wiping surreptitiously at her cheek. "It's you."

Giles paused, not sure how he could respond to that, and she took the opportunity to peer around him into the street, searching for precisely what he couldn't hope to guess. Hidden cameras perhaps.

"Wow, this is like becoming a regular thing," she remarked. "The visiting, I mean."

He sighed. It was worse than he'd thought, almost as bad as Spike had been making out. She was blatantly covering up, ignoring the fact that anyone with eyes in their head could see she'd been crying, let alone someone who was as close to her as family.

"Buffy..." he began.

She smiled, forcibly bright, and stepped back. "Oh sorry, my bad. Not exactly hostess-with-the-mostest these days. Come on in." She gestured toward the living room. "Spike's not here, but you knew that already."

"Indeed." He took a seat on the sofa, casting an eye over the suspiciously crushed box of tissues on the coffee table, and then pulling an appropriately horrified face at the crater-sized bowl of popcorn beside it. She had evidently been indulging in her own unique brand of wallowing.

Buffy delved into the puffed-up kernels, taking a handful. "Want some?"

"Er... Uh, no." He frowned at her. "Buffy..."

She plopped into the armchair. "You keep saying my name all the time, like you wanna say something serious." She nodded sagely, munching on a piece of her popcorn. "I gotta save the world again don't I?"

"I should think this is actually rather more important."

"What's bigger than world saveage? Other than the gi-normous beached-whaleyness that is me?"

Giles pinned her with steely eyes. "Why have you neglected to tell me of your problems with Spike?"

She glanced away guiltily. "Oh. You want to talk about..."

"What transpired in the Magic Box, yes. And also the consequences of your actions."

"Consequences? There are consequences now?" That flustered her, he could tell; the nervous babble was a dead giveaway. "Well, there was the yelling thing, and that wicked black eye..."

Giles leant forward, hands clasped together. "Do you realize what you're doing to him? How badly he's hurting?"

Buffy's eyes welled again, and her chin trembled. "I'm not doing anything to him. It's not me."

"It's not? Are you so sure?"

At the quietly solicitous tone in his voice, she finally broke down.

"No, I'm not! There's sure, and then there's me. I'm the incredibly unstable Unsure Girl. I just don't get it, Giles!" she lamented. "We were so happy, and then we weren't... and I don't mean to be so mean... and, and ...I love him SO MUCH! I don't want to hurt him, and I really don't want him to die! I don't!"

The Watcher's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "Strangely enough, neither do I."

She stared at him, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had just said. "But..."

"Despite what you may believe, I'm actually quite, um... fond of our resident vampire. He can be very... He - he does tend to grow on you."

"Like fungus," Buffy asserted. "Or one of those ivy-plant vine thingies. He gets all twined around your insides and then you just can't get him out with out destroying something vital."

Giles grimaced. "Yes, well, that's a very colorful way of looking at it."

"But it's true!" she insisted. She grabbed a wad of tissue from the box on the table and loudly blew her nose. "It looks all wrong on the surface, but Spike and me go together like ...Spike and me. We just fit, you know? We fit so good that for a while I couldn't tell where I finished and he started. Which wasn't always the best thing..."

"But he is an essential part of your life."

"I don't have a life without Spike. He is me. Only male. And British. And a vampire... Well, okay, so he's not me exactly..."

"You've never told him any of this, have you?"

"I didn't think I had to." She tapped the side of her head. "Link, right? I figured he already knew."

Giles rubbed his fingers into the crease in his forehead, though years of vexation had made the mark one of the deepest lines on his face and no amount of massage would ever eradicate it.

"He believes that you are pushing him away. That you don't need him anymore because he doesn't fit into the image you've created of a normal life..."

"Well, that's just stupid."

"...And I'm not convinced he's entirely wrong."

Buffy was silenced by that revelation. She huddled further into her chair, sliding down on her tailbone, a crease to rival Giles' forming between her brows. The gauzy over-shirt she wore had been knotted above the generous swell of her stomach and she absently twisted the loose tails around her fingers.

"Some of the responsibility can be placed squarely on my own doorstep," Giles went on. "I've been cautioning you from the very beginning to keep your identity secret, to appear normal above all else. I'm afraid I seem to have done more harm than good in that respect."

"No, that's not right. This has nothing to do with... It's not about you." Buffy struggled upright. "I wanted a nice normal life. Okay? I admit that. I wanted it for the longest time, but it could never work for me. Every time I got close, it blew up in my face. Remember that whole fiasco with Riley? That clinched it. I don't want normal now, or nice. I want Spike."

Giles chuckled. "Out of the mouths of... mothers-to-be."

"Shut up," she hiccuped, part sob, part laugh. "It's not funny."

"Certainly not." The Watcher sighed, serious once again. "Regardless of what you're saying Buffy, Spike is adamant that this estrangement is of your doing... A-a-and, quite astonishingly, he's willing to sacrifice himself so that you may have the normal life that you want."

"But already said that I don't..." Buffy paused in the middle of reaching for another helping of popcorn, eyes widening. "Sacrifice himself?"

"I've never seen him at such a low ebb," Giles said softly. "It's somewhat disconcerting. He's usually so... it seems ludicrous to say, but he's usually so lively, so dynamic. A force to be reckoned with, a..."

"...Pain in the ass?"

"Quite."

Buffy mock-frowned at him. "Way to be supportive of my significant other, Giles," she admonished. Then she shook her head. "God, I could just kill him sometimes. He's so completely... aargh! Why doesn't he just talk to me, huh? He used to talk all the time. Used to be I couldn't pay him to shut up."

"Are you wholly confident that you are not accountable for the link's shortcomings?"

"Not wholly confident. I'm not doing anything purposefully, not as far as I can tell, but I just get so... cranky. Mad cranky psycho Buffy on the rampage. And I don't get the why. Maybe its hormones." She brightened at that, fixing her Watcher with hopeful eyes. "Do you think its hormones?"

"I - I couldn't say," he stuttered at her. "I'm not an expert in these matters."

"Willow thinks I'm shutting everyone out, too. If I am, I don't mean to. I want you guys to be here, to be part of Seth's life the way you've been part of mine. Support system good, right?" She smiled sadly. "I've been thinking about that a lot. Haven't resolved anything, but the thinking part's covered. Everything keep going round and round in my head... and where it stops no one knows..." She giggled. "God, I sound like Drusilla. You think that'll get Spike back? He seemed to like the crazy..."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. I dare say it's another thing you have in common with Spike, he was acting rather the same way."

"Maybe we're influencing each other. It's not like we haven't done that before."

Giles stared at her, struck by the statement. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "Buffy, you're picking up on each other's insecurities, and by doing that you're feeding them, making them manifest themselves."

She pouted. "Well, that sucks. Make it stop."

"I'm afraid that part's not up to me."

"You're no help. I thought you were supposed to be helping." She paused to suck in a deep breath, wincing and pressing a hand to her side. "Ow."

Giles actually panicked, shooting to his feet. "W-what? What is it?"

"Popcorn," she muttered viciously, as though confronting a mortal enemy. "Another item to add to the ever-expanding 'Buffy can't eat that anymore' list."

The Watcher shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he would like nothing better than to make a dash for it. "P-pardon?"

"Seth's pretty finicky about foodstuffs," she said, shifting her own weight to her right hip so that she was listing sideward in the chair. "Oh, that's much better," she sighed, enjoying a heartburn-free moment, then raised her brows at Giles. "I wonder if Spike's getting this. 'Cause now the pain's just sort of evaporated. That only happens when it transfers otherwhere."

"Shouldn't you be able to contact him and see?"

"Uh..." Buffy looked dumbstruck, like she was only now realizing that she could do that, but was still reluctant to make the attempt. "I guess."

"You guess? Buffy..."

"And there you go with the name-game again. Drop the sincere thing already, okay? I'll try it, just... gimme a minute."

She closed her eyes, lips pressed together in a thin line of concentration. After a moment her expression softened visibly, jaw going slack, those same lips parting on a blissful sigh. ...Ah, Spike...

Being connected to Spike could sometimes be like sticking your finger in a power socket, or diving headlong off a cliff-face into a churning whirlpool. Right now, though, she was getting a diluted sense of comfort. He was surrounded by people he knew and trusted, people he categorized as family. On closer inspection, he actually felt kinda... well, yellow. All shiny and golden like a sunlit field, like the glow from a cozy open fire caressing her skin with its warm fingers. In spite of everything that was happening, he still felt like home to her. More like home than this house did nowadays.

"And they call him mellow yellow," she sing-songed in an amused tone.

Giles quirked an eyebrow at the odd reference - he hadn't thought anyone her age had even heard of Donovan. Was this further evidence of Spike's influence? He refrained from commenting, though, and quietly moved back to his spot on the sofa. He did not wish to distract her.

Then Buffy suddenly hissed, as if in pain, and shot backward in her chair, her eyes flying open in shock, fingers clawing into the armrests. The Watcher was startled to see a ripple of the yellow she'd mentioned swirling through the deep green of her irises.

"Good Lord!" He found himself gravitating forward in his seat, mesmerized by the play of colors. There was a final fleeting glimmer of icy blue and then she returned to normal - if leaping out of her seat like a scalded cat could be construed as such. He wondered in passing if he'd ever seen a woman in such an advanced state of pregnancy move with that degree of speed and agility before.

He leapt to his own feet to follow her as she maneuvered toward the stairs. "Buffy, what is it?"

"I'm going to LA," she gritted determinedly. "Right now."

Giles caught hold of her arm just as she began her ascent, and instantaneously found himself catapulted into the front door as she flung him off without a second thought. He slid to the floor, stunned.

Buffy toddled to his side, reverting all at once to the tearful hormone bomb she'd been earlier. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from. I haven't had that much power since..." She trailed off, terrified of what she'd just revealed. "Um..."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "I am aware of your current affliction," he said gently. "Spike enlightened me."

"Spike had no business lighting anyone," she retorted, more out of habit than anything, then chewed at her lip. Her eyes dropped to stare at the floor, troubled and hurt. "He pushed me away just now. Slammed the linky door in my face like I was an annoying travelling salesman person."

Giles frowned. "I would have thought him above revenge of that sort."

"What sort? There was no 'venge' in the first place, what's he need the 'Re' part for?"

"He told me you'd been pushing him away. Perhaps this is merely tit for tat."

She set her jaw. "But I haven't been pushing him away," she intoned stubbornly. "I already said it wasn't me."

Giles looked up, his expression growing thoughtful. "You may be right. There may very well be an outside influence." His gaze was focused on her belly. From this new perspective, it looked enormous - the very thing he'd been overlooking now hitting him squarely in the face. "Or in this case, an inside influence."

TBC...

A/N: I know the updates have slowed to a crawl, but I'll be making a concerted effort to quicken my pace from here on in. I wanna get it finished before everyone starts losing interest after the finale. [We're only up to 'Showtime' here in Tassie, so we probably won't get 'Chosen' until August or September. Of course, I'm totally spoiled for everything, hence the depression and lack of writing progress (*sighs deeply*).]
The last four chapters are all in progress (word of warning: never do that - it's not fun) so more is definitely on the way.
Cheers all, Dee. : )

Spike stalked along the now familiar metal grating of the warehouse catwalk, his tread smooth and purposeful. Florescent light filtered through the latticework, dancing up over the fall of his duster to paint abstract designs across his pale features.

Angel hung back and watched him, mesmerized, only jerking out of his wary scrutiny when Cordelia prodded him with the point of her crossbow.

"Ow!" He twisted around to glare her, rubbing at his abused arm. "What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes on the big scaly demons," she admonished, indicating the floor below them. "Down there. Not the little annoying one up here."

"But he..." Angel turned back to Spike. "He's acting weird."

"And this is news why?" Cordy followed Angel's gaze, only to frown herself when she observed the blonde's behavior. "Wait. What's he doing?"

"See?" Angel shook his head, eyes riveted to the younger vamp. "Weird."

Spike's face was now etched in a grimace of pain. He leant against the catwalk's handrail, bending over at the waist, the double-sided battle-axe dangling forgotten from his right hand. The left was rubbing at his chest and he was muttering something inaudible under his breath. Inaudible, but vehement, the simmering rage all but tangible.

"Well, that's all kinds of disturbing," Cordy whispered. "Can you hear what he's saying?"

Angel concentrated for a moment, then, "Not really. Something about... popcorn?" He shot her a quizzical look. "That doesn't make any sense."

She shrugged. "It's Spike. Who the hell knows what goes on in that freaky over-bleached head?"

There was a pause as they both digested what she'd said, and then they answered simultaneously, "Buffy."

Overhearing the name, Spike pivoted on his heels to stare at them, his eyes narrowed dangerously, jaw clenched tight.

His nostrils flared, anger curling his lips into a sneer, eyes gleaming a brilliant yellow as his demon came forth. With a deft twirl of his wrist, the axe swung up to battle readiness, and the vampire launched himself up and over the handrail and into the pit of Keratos demons below.

Angel and Cordelia looked on, unabashedly wide-eyed, as he plummeted several feet to land boots-first in a feline crouch. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and then in one fluid move, sprang upright and tossed the axe. It slammed through a control panel with lethal accuracy, shutting down the conveyor belts. He bounced on his toes; tongue firmly planted behind his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows at the one demon he recognized. Apollyon.

"'Ello Polly. Who's been a naughty boy then?"

Angel rolled his eyes at Cordelia, exasperated.

Cordy smiled and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder; her hand lingering to stroke down his arm in a subtle caress before she moved back to descend the stairs she'd just spent ten minutes climbing. Angel waited until she disappeared in the shadows, before leaping down to join Spike.

His landing was slightly less spectacular than the younger vamp's had been and he ended up lying in an inelegant sprawl at Spike's feet having narrowly avoided being impaled on his own sword.

"Graceful as ever," the blonde jeered as his Sire struggled upright.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Right. 'Cause I'm not the one whose got some explainin' to do." He stared pointedly at the still silent Keratos, brows arched skyward. "Care to start?"

Apollyon angled his head and regarded him with one bright green eye. "S-spike."

"Yeah. That'd be me. Nice of you to remember."

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon hissed again, louder.

"Uh, yeah? What?" The blonde blinked at the enormous demon, confused by his insistent tone and twitched in surprise, unconsciously reverting to human form, when another Keratos materialized behind him.

"Yeah?" it imitated in a high, oscillating tone, then squeaked and began to laugh with what the vampire could only hope was delight. The noise was horrendous. He scowled up at it and wiggled a finger in his ear.

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon was waving the rest of the lumbering reptilian-demons toward him now, his tongue flicking in and out excitedly. "S-s-spike! S-s-spike!""

"WHAT?!" Spike was beginning to work beyond annoyance now, getting up a full head of homicidal steam. "I am aware of my own name, you know."

Angel's lips quirked, twisted, then began to spread into a great big crooked grin that looked completely alien on his usually impassive face.

Spike squinted at him. "Am I the only one here who's even remotely sane? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"How many litters did you say Apollyon had?" Angel asked out of the blue.

"Didn't." Spike looked at the broadsword in his Sire's hands, seriously contemplating nicking it and decapitating every single one of them. "And what's that got to do with the King of Redundant over there?"

"Well, judging by the size of these guys, I'd say they were the oldest bunch of offspring. The first litter."

"And?"

"And they're all called Spike."

Spike stared at him, mouth open. "No they bloody well are not!" He turned the disbelieving stare on Apollyon. "Are they?"

Apollyon nodded vigorously, his tentacles extending to indicate his progeny, now numbering more than half a dozen. "Honor for deed," he informed the vampires. "Fealty."

"Don't want your sodding fealty," Spike grumbled, still eyeing him distrustfully. "And speakin' of deeds done, where's that money-grubbing missus of yours?"

Wesley emerged from a side office, leading Idylla at the point of his sawn-off shotgun, vigilantly avoiding the sinuous flow of her tentacles. "Is this the lady in question?" he asked, barely visible behind her bulk. "I discovered her uploading data from the computer inside. Rather hurriedly too, I might add."

He didn't mention how peculiar it had been, the sight of the colossal demon tapping delicately at the keyboard with a single nail claw, but it would make for an amusing story later when circumstances weren't as tense.

"S-s-spike!" the large female demon boomed, the doubled tones of her voice bizarrely lower in pitch than the males and resonating painfully in their ears.

Spike winced. He'd forgotten how dissonant the females were, especially to delicate vampire hearing. It actually hurt to listen to them. "We got that part, love. Now, if you could shut your torturous yap for a second, I'll get on interrogatin' hubby dearest."

"Of service," Apollyon burbled, eager to please. "Tell all needed."

Idylla moved alongside her mate, revealing herself to be almost a full head taller, and laid a massive clawed hand atop his head, patting it soothingly.

The ridiculous grin had not left Angel's face and his chest was starting to ache from holding himself in check. When Cordy emerged from the stairwell, dark eyes sparkling with amusement as she picked up on his mood, the knowledge that she was sharing his glee snapped what was left of his control and his laughter exploded in a high hysterical rush.

Spike glowered. "Not really the time, Peaches," he admonished between clenched teeth.

That earned him another howl of laughter. Spike was criticizing his timing! The older vampire flung his arms around Cordelia, almost to keep himself upright, and hiccuped loudly.

Wesley stared at him, aghast. "Some decorum, Angel, please."

"They're all called Spike!" he wheezed, his face buried in the curve of Cordy's neck, his shoulders shaking.

"Entertaining, yes," Wesley agreed. "But hardly enough to inspire such delirium."

Cordy snorted. "Oh lighten up, Wes, or I'll go tell Fred you're a big old stick-in-the-mud."

Steely eyes narrowed at the suggestion but he prudently resorted from making any further comments, instead backtracking into the office to try and determine just what Idylla had been up to in there.

Spike sighed. "Right then, before this gets worse and to avoid some confusion, I'll let you lot call me 'Liam' for the time bein'." He thrust an adamant finger at Angel before the older vamp could speak. "And no cheek from you."

Angel just nodded, sniffing, and handed his sword to Cordy while he wiped at his eyes. She shook her head, smiling indulgently all the while.

"Dork," she murmured softly.

Spike ignored them, focussed instead on the other demon couple. He gestured expansively. "So? Explain away. I'm all ears."

Apollyon flashed an ingratiating smile. "Family large," he said, causing a ripple of agreement from the attendant members. "Multiple litters. Mouths to feed many."

"Alright, I get that," Spike conceded, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. "But not exactly seein' how that fits in with your little fairyland here."

"Gemel's exploits gainful to extreme," Apollyon went on, sounding like a bizarre cross between Giles and Anya. "Profit margin large." His expression brightened hopefully. "Cut you in?"

Idylla looked ready to protest her mate's offer, but recoiled with a deafening squawk when Spike growled at her.

"If you want to keep those tongues of yours, I suggest you keep them in your head," he warned and turned his attention back to Apollyon. "You seriously tryin' to justify putting us all in danger for a few pound to line your pocket?"

Wesley returned from the office, this time looking somewhat more flustered. "Sorry to interrupt, but we may have further problems..."

"And those would be what?"

"Idylla seems to have been... um, posting the latest data on their web page. Unfortunately this includes information about Buffy's present... condition..."

Spike's eyes grew colder by the second, his teeth tightly clenched. "Which condition? Just about the Nip or -?"

Wesley wavered, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. "All of it, I'm afraid. Up to and including your current separation."

The blonde vampire was instantly back in game face, pure unadulterated fury driving bodily at the Keratos, his sheer momentum propelling them both forward until Apollyon slammed into one of the control panels, the machinery crumpling under his tremendous weight.

Spike glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye, and kept one hand fast against the demon's throat while the other reached out to extract the battle-axe from where he'd thrown it earlier. He held it up under Apollyon's chin, the tip of one blade barely piercing the crustaceous skin.

"Seth's origins were meant to be kept quiet, you sodding great git," he growled. "You wanna talk about family? Fair enough then. There'll be no more profitin' off me and mine, understand? Or your little clan's gonna find itself less one proud papa."

Apollyon gurgled, the only noise he was capable of making at this point, and his tentacles lashed out and attached themselves to the vampire, tiny suction caps clamping at his face and neck.

Angel struck without any thought but to help his Childe, the heavy broadsword slicing several of the demon's right-side appendages in half. He ducked and whirled, coming up again on the left to repeat the move, but Apollyon had let go just as suddenly as he had grabbed on, whining like an injured animal, the site of the amputation leaking a sticky black ichor.

Idylla gabbled at him in sympathy, but she and the remainder of the family were prevented from coming to his aid by both Cordy and Wes' ready aim and their own reticence. They were, after all, a peaceable race and not inclined toward violence.

"Aargh!"

Spike reeled sideward, away from the Keratos, hands scrubbing at his face where the tentacles had been. A raised, oddly polka-dotted welt ran straight down the left side from hairline to collar, and another snaked from cheekbone to the bridge of his nose on the right. He almost looked like he'd been daubed with some bizarre red war paint, the impression shattered only by the faint glimmer of moisture in his eyes and the lone tear that escaped to run parallel to the injury. He was in all kinds of pain.

Angel diverted his attention from the demon for a second to raise a comforting hand in the younger vamp's direction.

"Don't!" Spike snapped, wrenching himself away. "Nobody bloody touch me."

He turned his back on them and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden blinding compulsion to scurry back to Sunnydale - a suggestion that Apollyon must've shoved in his head 'cause he'd had no intention of leaving beforehand. He straightened, and took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together. And this Nancy boy boo-hooing wouldn't do. A bit of the old bluster was called for. If there was one thing he was good at, it was bluster...

"Right, you..." He stepped menacingly closer to Apollyon. "You never come near me, or any one of my family again. Got that, stumpy boy? We. Are. Done. This place is officially out of business."

That said, he brought the axe to bear on some nearby oil drums, his efforts rewarded when they split open and began leaking what smelt suspiciously like gasoline. He snorted, both in cynicism and at the pervasive odor. It was almost enough to give a bloke a nosebleed.

"Well, that's a fortunate turn of events, innit?" he drawled. "A proper little bonfire to take the chill off. Seems fitting." In spite of his words, the chill remained, glinting like icicles in his unwavering gaze.

Idylla met that gaze for the barest of moments, recognizing his intentions, then gathered her young band of Spikes and hurried for the exits, a deafening combination of whining, cackling and thunderous elephantine footfalls in filling the air. Apollyon cast one last mournful look around his crumbling empire and then followed, passing an incredulously wide-eyed Gunn, who had just arrived.

"Tell those bloody PTB wankers I'm done with them too!" Spike shouted after the Keratos, struggling to be heard over the din.

Gunn held his hand up as if in protest. "Now that's one slimy can of worms I don't wanna open." He shrugged off the weirdness and went on, "Came to see what the hold up was." He indicated the doorway behind him with a jerk of his head. "Vamp-girl's gettin' edgy. Says the sun's almost up."

Angel aimed a self-recriminating kick at the nest-of-snakes tangle of Apollyon's lost limbs, shaking his boot when a persistent suction cap attached itself to the sole. He grimaced. "Will they be alright? The Keratos?"

"Does it matter?" Cordelia screwed her nose up at Angel's predicament, finally taking the sword from him and scraping the sucker away herself. "God, that's gross."

Spike stared fixedly at the expanding pool of gasoline, still fighting against an overwhelming urge to race home to Buffy. After a while he rolled his head from side to side, deflating like a punctured balloon, complete with long hissing exhalation.

"Don't go worrying your sorry caveman head 'bout that lot, Peaches. Keratos regenerate. He'll be good as new and back to his wicked ways in no time." He pulled his silver lighter from the depths of his duster pocket, idly flicking the lid open and closed with his thumb. He didn't look at them. "Word to the wise, unless you're fond of the crispy-fried look, the more flammable among us might wanna find some cover. Things are about to get a touch heated."

Cordy appeared ready to object, but Angel caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We'll wait outside," he said simply. "Go ahead and do what you have to."

~[*]~

The van rolled along the highway, almost invisible but for the twin headlights cutting through the thick blanket of pre-dawn fog. It had been travelling along the road for a couple of hours now.

Jonathon sat in the passenger seat, going over a file of printouts. "I can't believe I didn't see it," he muttered, scrutinizing the contents carefully in the dim interior, then paused to amend the statement. "Well, except if you take into account that we've been keeping track of the Eldritch Universe for a while and they'd never released any official merchandise. All we had were those vague descriptiony things in the character archives. So - so you can't blame me, right?" He knew he sounded defensive, but Warren wouldn't really blame him, would he?

Fortunately Warren didn't seem in a blaming kind of mood. "But since we got hold of the info on the warehouse," he prompted, "And those conceptional drawings for the action figures...?"

Jonathon held up several of the sketches, one after the other. "Cordelia Chase is Jewel, Willow Rosenberg is Charm... God, look at this! Buffy Summers is Annulet! She saved my life a bunch of times and I never once realized..."

"I don't understand how you could just forget people who're all stunning and movie star-like," Andrew said from the rear of the vehicle where he sat, keeping a close eye on several incoming feeds. "I'd remember them. Especially Falchion, and Gladius. I mean, no one that good looking could possibly exist in real life." He sighed dreamily, drifting off for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "So, um, we get to this Sunnydale place, take Buffy-slash-Annulet hostage now she's all powerless and stuff. And then what? Wait for them to find us?"

"Don't be an idiot," Warren snapped. "We auction her off on our site, hand her over to the highest bidder..."

"And then we'll be rich, rich, rich," Jonathon concluded. "Right?"

"You got it, Sparky."

One of Warren's hands began beating an impatient rhythm against the van's steering wheel and Jonathon watched it anxiously. "But, no one gets hurt? We don't hurt her."

Warren didn't look at him, but his hand stopped its restless movement and he shrugged. "Of course not."

Jonathon glanced over his shoulder and met Andrew's gaze.

Andrew turned back to the panel of flickering screens, eyes widening comically when three of them went dark without any warning. "Oh no!" He tapped frantically at the glass of the one nearest him. "Oh no, no, no!"

Warren didn't take his eyes off the road. "What the hell are you blubbering about?"

"It's gone." The panic in Andrew's voice made it tremble. "Aftertime Creations is gone. What are we supposed to do now?"

TBC...

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