Chapter Seven – Nearer To Setting

THURSDAY

8.27am

It was full morning, the light already chortling merrily through the windows, brightening the whole of the house. Buffy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and ran her fingers through her tangled hair as she thunked down the stairs, letting her weight drop onto each step with a lazy, comfortable feeling. She was in her bathrobe, and enjoying the airy swish that came from nothing underneath.

Swanning into the kitchen with a smile playing about her lips, she stopped short at the counter, seeing the fridge door open and a dark-haired figure leaning inside. Buffy pulled the front edges of her robe together quickly as Dawn emerged from the fridge, a carton of chocolate milk in one hand and a glass, amazingly, in the other.

"Oh – hey."

Dawn looked up at her sister, and poured herself a measure, then began knocking it back with noisy slurps.

"Good morning," Buffy returned. But she couldn’t help herself – her brows creased together critically as she watched Dawn mid-gulp. "You’re having that for breakfast? Again?"

Dawn shook her head and considered the air as she leaned on the open door.

"Nah – I thought I’d have a chocolate muffin for breakfast."

Buffy grimaced. Did her sister ever actually consume real food?

"Blergh."

Dawn took another slurp of milk, and nodded at Buffy thoughtfully.

"You should probably have one too. You probably need to re-fuel, after last night’s circus."

To Dawn’s immense satisfaction, Buffy’s jaw dropped.

"Dawn!" she choked, before her face paled and she stammered out the obviously unnecessary question, "You – you heard?"

"Well, only the first three times…" Dawn explained, trying very hard to keep her face serious. If she hadn’t been milking the joke for all it was worth, she would have rolled her eyes. Sis, I think half of Sunnydale ‘heard’.

Buffy was looking mortified.

"Oh god!"

"But then I got tired of covering my ears with the pillow," Dawn continued blithely. "Came down to watch some tv. I didn’t think you’d mind."

"Oh god!" Buffy repeated. Her face was in over-blush, and she was covering her mouth with her hand. She stared at Dawn for a moment, until a thought came to her, and she dropped her hand and started to giggle.

"Oh, geez…we – we were trying so hard to be quiet…"

Dawn couldn’t help but grin.

"Well, you failed miserably with that one. Next time, try sky-writing."

"Sorry."

Buffy looked contrite, around the smile, and Dawn waved her sister’s embarrassment away amiably.

"Ah, forget about it. It’s kinda cute. Well, gross – but cute. How’s Spike?"

"Recovering," Buffy supplied drily, with a grin.

Dawn lifted an eyebrow.

"Does he want a chocolate muffin too, y’think?"

"Maybe."

Buffy’s grin had become a full-blown smirk. Dawn didn’t want to go there – she’d had enough of a demo last night. Instead, she looked out the window at what appeared to be the start of a truly beautiful day, a happy thought surfacing and making her clap her hands together gleefully.

"Mom’s coming home today. This is excellent."

She looked at Buffy suddenly, with a belated realisation.

"Oh, crap – do you think maybe we should…"

Buffy was nodding as they both surveyed the rather untidy kitchen, and she finished the thought for her sister automatically.

"…clean up the house? Yes. But you go shower, I’ll get things started, okay?"

Dawn grinned, recognising when she was copping a break. If her sister was always in such a good mood the morning after, Spike should come over more often.

Still, better to make hay…she abandoned her glass and milk carton on the kitchen counter, and ran for the stairs, before Buffy changed her mind. The fridge door was left swinging wide in her wake.

Buffy took a deep breath, and let it out as she looked at the kitchen disaster zone. She listened to Dawn’s thumping feet on the stairs, and then, after a beat, a banging on an upstairs door. Her face creased, then broke into a grin as she heard the one-sided exchange pealing down, Dawn’s irritated voice echoing off the walls.

"Spike, hurry up! If you use up all the hot water, things are gonna get ugly!"

oOo

12.42pm

"But if you say ‘unitas’, that won’t give you a re-charge. I mean, you could just end up being consumed by Primordiality – not exactly of the good."

Tara tapped at the pages of the book in front of her and Willow. Her face was sick of frowning – she felt like she’d been wearing a perpetually perplexed expression for close to twenty-four hours now, and it was beginning to drag. Nutting out the details of the spell for focussing Dawn’s energy was proving troublesome, to say the least.

Willow’s expression matched her girlfriend’s, with an added dose of frustration.

"Well, I thought ‘unitas’ would conjoin our energies – but, yeah, that doesn’t sound quite like what we’re after…"

She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face with a groan, then tried to reapply herself to the text.

"Anyway, I can’t seem to find the word for ‘conjoin’ – maybe there isn’t one, not in translation…and dammnit, this is making me cross-eyed."

She sighed, blowing the pages together, and lifted her head to take a break.

The shop was cool and quiet, but there was a sense of things building up. Tara had questioned earlier whether it was wise to keep allowing customers to come in, and now Willow had to agree – the Magic Box had been turned into Gathering Headquarters, and even the most casual observer would be bound to notice that something was going on.

Giles had piled a small excess of heavy weapons inside the door of the office – supposedly out of the way, but of course they were constantly in Anya’s way and she kept tripping over them. At the moment, he and Ray were sitting on a long bench towards the back of the shop, companiably sharpening axes and discussing demon groupings. Ray was wielding a whetstone with one hand, and had a cigarette dangling from his lips – he winked as he caught Willow looking at him, and she grinned quickly back at him.

Uriel was sitting at the other end of their table, learned tomes laying open dustily in front of him. He was keeping a watchful eye on Gabriel, who was lolling in the armchair, ostensibly helping with the research on conjurable weapons. But Willow noticed how Gabriel’s eyes flicked over to the door every time the chimes sounded – she had a feeling she knew who he was looking out for. At the moment, the two angels were conferring on some detail – Uriel was speaking low, and gesturing discretely with his hands. Where his fingers passed, a delicate spray of sparks danced out into the air, and just as quickly faded.

The cash register sounded behind and to the right – Anya, dealing swiftly with another customer. She was becoming distinctly clanging in all the transactions, which was irritating, true, but she was forgiven for her thoughts being elsewhere. Xander was off on day-patrol with Buffy and Michael. Willow figured there’d be a respite from the clanging when he returned.

Willow forced herself not to be distracted, and let her eyes reluctantly return to the text in front of her. It was in Latin, too.

She looked up at Tara mournfully.

"Can’t I just say ‘unitas’?"

Tara shook her head with a sympathetic grin.

Willow sighed and slumped her shoulders in a mock-sulk.

"Oh, alright… And here I was, getting all excited about doing some Primordial demon-butt-kicking…"

She snorted and got an answering snort from Tara in reply.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Willow, but you can’t unite your energy with Primordial Energy."

"Geez. Not even just a little? How come?"

There was a brusquely cheerful interjection from behind.

"’Cos you’ll fry your brains."

Both witches turnd their heads to look at Anya, who was standing a few feet back, rocking back and forth on her heels and swinging her arms like a bored teenager. Now that she’d gained their attention, Anya grinned and continued.

"Yup – uniting yourself with Primordiality is asking for a brain-frying. You couldn’t survive it and still be you. Well, you might, but I doubt it."

"You mean, she’d be taken over by Primordiality," Tara suggested, interested in Anya’s take on the matter.

The ex-demon nodded, pleased that someone was taking her seriously, and relieved to be getting a break from the dull work of counter-service. Handling the money was nice, but the customers were getting on her nerves.

"Basically, yes. I mean, you’re calling up one of the basic forces of creation – pretty much the basic force. And once it’s moved in, Primordiality generally doesn’t like to leave."

"What do you mean?"

Anya had obviously been waiting for her chance to get involved – she immediately grabbed a chair and squeezed in between Willow and Tara in a way that made them both look sideways at each other.

Well," she explained in Tara’s direction, "it’s kind of like those crabs - you know, the ones on the Discovery channel? They move into a new shell, eat the owner, and then take over….oh, I forget what they’re called."

Willow had forgotten what they were called too, but she wasn’t liking the analogy. And the fact that she’d almost called up the uniting spell yesterday with Dawn was giving her a creepy feeling in the gut.

"We get the idea. But Dawn’s got Primordial energy running through her, and she’s still human, so how does that…"

Anya waved to cut her off.

"That’s Dawn – she was created to be a vessel, so she’s got space inside herself for it." She shook her head at Willow critically. "But not you, I’m afraid. Nope. If you tried it, and then the Power left you, you’d probably just wind up a vegetable or something."

She explained it so chirpily, both the witches had to raise their eyebrows. Then Tara sighed and frowned in frustration.

"Well, that still doesn’t help us solve the problem. Unless you’re saying that we can’t use Dawn’s energy for the protection spell…"

"Oh, no," Anya went on, "you can still do that. You just have to come at it from a different angle."

"And that angle would be…" Willow prodded gently.

"You have to siphon the energy through the channels that you normally use for magic."

Anya could see that her answer wasn’t providing any illumination. With a quick frown, she grabbed up a pencil and flipped over the piece of paper that Tara had been using to take notes, and began drawing a lopsided diagram.

"Here. This is Dawn, lots of energy coming from her – and here’s Willow. She’s the channel, so she’s being extra careful."

She fixed Willow with a piercing look.

"And I mean, extra careful. You don’t want to give yourself over to it wholly, just direct it – otherwise…well, that would be bad, as we’ve already discussed."

Willow nodded at the warning, then looked at Anya’s diagram.

"So who’s…"

"That’s Tara – behind you. She’s the one who’s really doing the spell, the one you use for drawing the energy." Anya looked at Tara with a slightly challenging expression. "You sure you’re up for it?"

Tara swallowed the instant anxiety that came over her at the question, and tried to look professional, if not entirely confident. She nodded hesitantly, then more firmly.

"I guess…I mean, yeah, I think so. As soon as I get the Latin straight."

Anya’s eyes widened in surprise.

"You’re worried about the Latin? Well, heck - why didn’t you say so? Here…"

And she began to scribble down a passage in a dead language that they’d been struggling over for the better part of three hours. Willow and Tara looked at each other over the top of Anya’s bent head, wearing identical grins.

oOo

1.23pm

Dawn scraped the plates into the garbage, then quickly started rinsing. She’d only done one before she got impatient, and then she set the crockery aside and grabbed a dishcloth to dry her hands.

The housework could wait. Everything was pretty clean anyway, after the morning’s whirlwind tidy-up. Her mom had been approving, but more just glad to be home. At the moment she was sitting tucked up on the sofa with a throw rug, and now that Buffy had gone on patrol and Spike had left (after poking his head around the corner to give his greetings) Dawn had time with her mom all to herself. And there was no way she was gonna waste that on washing the dishes.

"Dawn? Are you done sweetie?"

Joyce seemed to feel the same way. Dawn gave the counter a quick swipe with the cloth, then hurried back, flicking the cloth over her shoulder.

"Yeah, mom – I’m here."

Joyce looked up at her youngest daughter, taking in her sudden appearance with a fond smile. She patted the cushions beside her.

"Don’t worry about the kitchen. Come and sit with me."

Happy to oblige, Dawn dumped the cloth on the coffe table, and slid in next to her mother, trying to avoid plonking herself down with her usual carelessness. She curled up with a grin as Joyce folded an arm around her and hugged her in.

"It’s good to have you home, mom."

"It’s good to be home," Joyce replied with a satisfied sigh. She stroked her daughter’s long hair for a while, then looked down as Dawn stirred.

"Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not tired?" Dawn’s face peered up with a trace of worry, checking her mother for signs of peakiness. "I mean, maybe you should lie down in bed or something…"

"I’m fine," Joyce reassured blithely. "Really. And I’ve got a surprise for you."

With a little anticipatory lift of her eyes, she reached down the side of the sofa, then pulled her hand back up. Dawn frowned with curiosity -–her mother was holding a book, over-large, with bright pastel illustrations on the front.

"What’s this?" Dawn giggled. "You want me to read to you?"

"Uh-uh," Joyce shook her head. "I want to read to you."

Dawn couldn’t stop the little run of giggles as she examined the book in her mother’s hands. The drawings seemed vaguely familiar.

"Mom, this is a picture book."

"I know. And I know you’re not a baby anymore, but…" Joyce’s words trailed away for a moment as she regarded her daughter’s sweetly upturned face. "Well, you used to love it when I read this to you."

Dawn gave her mother a grin, a multitude of emotions buzzing through her. By far the most important one was love. And then – bemusement.

"You know, technically, you never really read this to me…"

Her mother’s face paled starkly for just a second, and Dawn had the briefest stab of panic. But before she could move, Joyce seemed to recover, shrugging and smiling.

"Then I guess we can enjoy it together for the first time – all over again."

Dawn felt a blush of relief, and let herself giggle her momentary terror away.

"Well, okay."

"Shall we start?"

At Dawn’s nod, Joyce settled herself back aginst the sofa, feeling the weight of her daughter’s head against her shoulder, feeling the weight of the terrible question hard against her heart. How many sunsets? She cleared her throat, enveloping herself in the closeness with Dawn, letting it comfort her enough to open her mouth and speak in a voice that was quiet and unshaking.

"’One day, when I was six years old, I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called ‘True Stories From Nature’…’"

oOo

1.35pm

He used the edge of the knife that he’d borrowed from Buffy’s store to poke the grille up and aside, careful not to burn his fingers. He had his duster and a blanket for cover, but it was the middle of the day, and he didn’t want to crisp himself after all the trouble he’d gone to to get here.

The sewer entrance was past the patch of bush near the Summer’s back porch – he considered himself lucky that Buffy hadn’t gotten the witches to magic it up. Either she’d forgotten about it with all that was going on – doubtful – or she’d left it open for her own benefit. Or for his, a thought that brought a warming glow.

Nice of her, he mused with a grin, but he’d have to tell her to put wards up. The tunnels were crawling with demons – his normally casual stroll through the seamy underside of Sunnydale had turned into a major duck-and-dodge job. The smelly main stretch had become a thoroughfare. If it wasn’t for the lack of light (aside from the odd scruffy campfire) and the occupants all looking so mangy and ugly, Spike would have thought he was at the mall.

Anyway, he’d managed to get to the Magic Box without incident, and now there was only the few steps from the tunnel exit through the alley to the back door. He pulled up his coat, swathed himself in blanket, and hiked himself up into the deadly light.

The quick run to the door was enough to make his skin prickle and his eyes wince, but the door was unlocked so he slipped through briskly and let the cool dark of the back room refresh him. Blinking to get his bearings, he picked his way through a collection of crates and boxes, and dodged the heavy punching bag, then came up short at the foot of a mattress of training mats, sniffing something familiar in the abandoned pile of blankets there.

Spike fished a cigarette and matches out of his pocket, lighting up with a sigh. He blew the smoke out in a long plume, and flicked ash onto the blankets for good measure.

"So," he began with a dry drawl, not bothering to peruse the black corners of the room, "it goes like this. A man walks into a bar with a dog, a raccoon, and a chicken under one arm, and the bartender takes one look at him and says –"

"Hello, Spike."

The tall figure in the charcoal dress shirt and neat pants unfolded out of the gloom on the left. Spike lifted the corner of his mouth, then went on with a considering expression.

"Well, noo, that’s not what he said, but…"

He took in Angel’s glowering face, how the other man stared at him, and his voice sharpened.

"…but I guess you never heard that joke. Hello, Angelus."

They stood glaring at each other for a moment. Angel was leaning against a pillar, his finger tucked into the pages of the slim book in his hand. His brows drew together as he stood, watching Spike smoke.

"I haven’t heard the one about the soulless vampire helping out the Slayer either, but I guess I haven’t been hanging out in the right places."

Spike shrugged one shoulder diffidently.

"Well, you’ve been shmoozing with the L.A. crowd, what do you expect. But I’ll let you in on a secret anyway –" His face became deadly serious. "It’s not a joke."

"I don’t believe you."

Angel’s flat response, and the way he dumped the book on the mattress with an air of finality, was enough to get Spike’s back up. Hell, the guy’s presence alone was getting his back up, but he tried to keep a handle on it.

"I don’t care what you believe." He took another hit from his cigarette, and grinned thinly. "You wouldn’t know the truth if it jumped up and bit you on the arse."

It was like Angel moved standing still. Spike’s head whipped sideways with the force of the punch, but he wouldn’t let himself stagger for all the blood in the Northern hemisphere. When his head turned back around his face was still human, although his eyes were blazing yellow and his voice was dangerously low.

"I’ll let you have that one on credit, but don’t think it’ll happen again."

His shoulders had dropped, a half-ready stance, and Angel just stared at him, as if daring him to make the first move.

"You’ll betray her," Angel stated, the smooth certainty of his voice a surer goad. "If it weren’t for that chip it would have happened sooner rather than later. And that’s the last thing Buffy needs right now."

Spike stared at him for a beat, then exploded with anger.

"What the hell do you know about what Buffy needs? She’s walking into the fight of her life tomorrow, and she’ll be lucky if it all manages to break even! And now you come round, with your hangdog looks and your ‘poor me’ attitude, and it’s just…fucking pathetic, is all."

He tossed the cigarette onto the floor and ground it out with a look of disgust. He didn’t want to look at the other man, couldn’t – or he’d do something he’d regret, and now was most definitely not the time.

"And what do you care, Spike?" Angel challenged, his fists clenching together.

Spike’s head shot up, a look of bright fury on his face.

"I bloody care, alright!?"

"That’s impossible."

"Right," Spike snorted humourlessly, "And you’re the bleeding expert."

Angel was shaking his head. This couldn’t be happening, it was wrong, all wrong. His grandchilde, standing there, lying like he actually believed himself…

"It can’t be true. I know you -"

Spike covered the step between them with the rapid speed of a snake, his face glaring up at the taller man.

"You don’t know anything about me. And you don’t know Buffy – not anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Angel frowned back in response.

Spike’s mouth twisted, and a look of grief flitted briefly across his features.

"Her mother’s dying – she didn’t tell you that?"

Angel took a step back, blinked in confusion.

"What?"

Spike was nodding, his gaze tearing away quickly to watch images in his own mind.

"Buffy knows it, but she doesn’t want to know it. Can’t say as I blame her." He looked back at Angel darkly. "And now she’s got the Gathering to sort out as well."

Angel opened his mouth then closed it again. A flash of Joyce, the way he’d last seen her, raced through his brain – the curling hair, the eyes… The pang of memory was gone in a moment, and left him looking at Spike’s scowling face. This couldn’t be right…there had to be something…

He straightened, and fixed the younger man with a wary calculating expression.

"So, what’s your angle, Spike?"

The blonde vampire looked flabbergasted.

"What?"

"Well, " Angel shrugged, as if it were obvious, "I’ve never known you to do anything if you couldn’t find profit in it for yourself somewhere…"

Spike could only roll his eyes at the gall of the man.

"Oh, Jesus – you’re unbelievable."

"And you’re predictable," Angel countered unequivocally. He stared at his grandchilde, trying to search out the reasons behind it all. "So, what is it? What’s in it for you?"

Spike looked into Angel’s eyes, then laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The bloody fool was being given a straight answer and hadn’t even realised it yet.

"You just don’t get it, do you? Well," he shrugged, his eyes dancing away with amusement, "you always were thick as a post…"

The older vampire’s nostrils flared at the insult, and it was enough to bring the scent of something he recognized, something that the smoke of the cigarettes had masked. His eyes went suddenly wide.

"You smell like…"

Then Angel realized. With a snarl, he lunged in with a fist. But the younger man weaved under the punch, and suddenly they were eyeball to eyeball, hands clenched in each other’s shirtfronts, and Spike’s gaze was intent, his voice a growling declaration.

"You bloody pillock. It’s her – it’s always been her. Before I even knew it myself, it was her. I’m a simple man, Angelus – I’m not trying to save the world. I’m just trying to get the woman I love out in one piece."

With that he pushed away, twisting out of Angel’s grasp, leaving the other man staggering for balance. Spike shrugged his shoulders back into his jacket, straightened his white shirt, and spun to leave.

But Angel hadn’t finished yet.

"Spike –"

"No." The blonde vampire turned his head to look back, a decisive expression on his face. "I’ve said my bit. It’s enough."

And it was time to go. He walked quickly to the door, went through without a parting glance, leaving Angel standing in the dark of the training room, stewing in shocked silence.

oOo

Spike stood in front of the door for a moment, trying to quell his shivers. With faintly trembling fingers he frisked for a cigarette, managed to get one to his mouth then looked in vain for his matches.

"Wanna light?"

The dumpy man standing a foot away, regarding him, had a hand stretched out. The pink plastic lighter in his fist was already emitting a feeble flame. Spike blinked at the offer for a moment, then nodded.

"Thanks."

He lit up, exhaled a shaky breath that evened out by the end, then checked out the guy on his second drag. His eyes narrowed, taking in the derelict clothes, the hat.

"You…look familiar."

The guy shrugged.

"I get that a lot. But yeah, I’ve been around." He looked at the vampire speculatively. "You must be Spike."

"Congratulations – got it in one." Spike frowned a little, feeling at a disadvantage. "And you are…?"

"Ray. Pleased to meet you. You won’t mind if we don’t shake on it, believe me."

Spike grinned faintly then as he recognised the name, and relaxed somewhat.

"Sure. So. You’re, er, helping with this shindig tomorrow, eh?"

"Uh-huh," Ray nodded, before giving Spike a wry grin. "Must say, I’m kinda surprised at you pitching in though."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Ray’s grin broadened. Then he straightened as he looked the vampire up and down, a light of understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Wait a second… Ah, I get it."

"What?" Spike’s eyes narrowed, then he sighed as he figured what the angel was sensing. "Yeah, look, I can’t hurt humans anymore, so if you think –"

"Nah, that’s not it," Ray replied, shaking his head.

"Then what are you talking about?"

"You, son, of course." Ray tilted his head and smiled gently. "Kind of an unusual case, but she’s a pretty girl, I can see the attraction…"

Spike seemed to be completely confused now. Ray crooked up an eyebrow at him.

"Geez, you don’t know?" He snorted. "There you go – and I thought kids these days always move so fast with all that stuff… Anyway, why don’t you come on over, we’re just getting ready for a little strategy meeting."

He gave the vampire a genial pat on the back, and a gentle push in the direction of the conference table. Spike, still blinking, let himself be led.

He could see some of the figures populating the shop now – some he knew to be friendly, others he warily put in the ‘undecided’ category. Willow and Tara were chatting in low tones to Anya over by the counter; he could see Rupert Giles in discussion at the table with the kid, Gabriel – not a kid, he reminded himself – and a tall black man with a serious, weathered face and a smattering of salt-and-pepper in his hair.

"Just an intimate soiree, huh?"

Spike’s apprehension was kicking into action. Ray shrugged, trying to reassure.

"For the time being. We’re just waiting on –" The angel seemed to sniff the air suddenly, and looked up towards the front door. Spike’s own senses picked up a familiar tingle a beat later, as Ray’s features widened in a grin. "Ah, here they are."

The door opened, and a small company traipsed in, Buffy in the lead. She was looking tired, but chipper – joyous, even. And to Spike’s eyes, gorgeous as ever, even with an axe in one hand, a crossbow in the other, and what seemed to be a smear of demon-goo staining the front of her overalls. Combined with the white tank, and hair in plaits either side of her face, she looked like a five-year old just come back from a heavy session of sandpit-playing and tree-climbing. If you didn't know better. Spike struggled to stop the moony grin on his face from completely taking control.

Xander, then another guy with red hair were following close behind. The latter went straight for the conference table – Spike caught a glimpse of a broadsword in a waist-scabbard under the guy’s coat. Huh – must be one of the white hats.

Xander’s entrance was marked by a flurry of movement as Anya launched herself away from the counter to bestow a bevy of kisses and hugs, and to check him over for war wounds.

Buffy waved at no-one in particular as she struggled to get a back-pack off.

"Hey guys." Then as her face came up, she spotted Spike standing beside Ray, and her eyes lit from within. "Hey!"

Spike let the moony grin take over as he and Ray came up to the table, watching Buffy as she dumped her gear inside the door and moved down the steps in his direction, smiling. But before she arrived, Spike found himself being distracted by a quiet, familiar voice to his right.

"Hello, Spike."

Giles tipped his tea-cup towards the vampire in additional greeting. There was a cautious neutrality to his expression that made Spike oddly nervous. He nodded back, letting his grin fold into something more befitting

"Uh, Rupert - hey."

Then Ray was patting him on the back again, and focussing his attention on the other three men across the table.

"Hey, guys – Michael, Uriel, I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced."

The red-headed man with the very blue eyes and the calm face turned away from the murmured discussion with the other man, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hello. I’m guessing that you must be –"

But Buffy had made her way through to the table and now barrelled into the vampire for a sudden bear-hug. Spike felt a rush of happiness, and grinned.

"…Spike." Michael finished the sentence unnecessarily, his eyebrows raised at the spectacle.

Spike just lifted a shoulder, and if he’d still possessed circulation he might have coloured.

"Uh, yeah." Then he looked down into Buffy’s up-turned face with a quietly exultant smile. "Hey, love."

"Hey."

She was mirroring. But all the same, they were in company – still vaguely shy in front of their discretely observing friends, the couple were content just to squeeze, and rub noses fondly. Gabriel’s voice was a subtle ice-breaker.

"So, Spike – you’re feeling better?"

"Much. Thanks."

"I’m glad to hear that," Giles pronounced, and the pair turned to look his way. With a nod to emphasise his sincerity, Buffy’s Watcher was giving his unstated sanction – it wasn’t a blessing or anything, but Spike figured it was the nearest they were going to get at this point. Quite a turnaround… He didn’t know what Buffy had said, but he was grateful for the breathing space.

Which was more than could be said for the old black guy, Uriel, who was eyeing off Spike warily, even as the rest of the company began to close on the table. There were waves and nodding acknowledgements all round, and a collecting of books and chairs, as Spike met Uriel’s gaze.

"So. Mr…uh – Spike. You’re committed to assisting us with the Gathering?"

Spike thought the answer was kinda obvious, considering that he was currently pulling out a chair for the Slayer.

"He is," Buffy returned firmly. She flicked back her plaits and rested her elbows on the table. But Uriel wasn’t looking at her – his eyes were on the vampire.

"Yeah, sure." Spike didn’t know what else to say – I mean, would it be more sincere if he did the Scout’s Honour sign? "Well, o’course."

Uriel was still frowning. Spike rolled his eyes, not appreciating being under the microscope.

"Geez, look – what can I tell you? If you’re wondering about my motivations –"

Then Ray was butting in, pushing a chair in his direction.

"Forget it, son – he’s just being nit-picky." He scowled at Uriel for a second. "His motivations are fine. I mean, it’s the oldest incentive in the book. Come on, Uriel – look at the guy, it’s obvious. He’s in love."

There was a collective double-take at the pronouncement. Giles choked quietly on his tea. Xander baulked and stared.

"He’s in love?"

"Well, duh," Anya interjected quietly. "I’ve only been telling you for days."

Giles seemed to have found his voice. He stared at Ray.

"Spike’s in love? As in ‘real emotion’ love?"

Ray just shrugged and nodded, apparently confused by all the fuss. But even Spike was looking astonished.

"I am?"

He looked down at Buffy’s face – she was gazing up at him with glowing eyes, seeming to be equally amazed.

Then the vampire checked back with Ray, his face whirling with confusion. How could it…how was it possible? No soul equals no capability for the higher emotions, right? I mean, thinking he was in love was one thing, but actually feeling it was something else…

"Are you…are you sure?"

Ray huffed out a breath and raised his eyebrows. "Geez… Yes, Doubting Thomas, I’m sure, okay? Like I said, unusual case. But you got it." He countered Spike’s querying expression with another shrug. "Don’t ask me how, I just work here, remember? But yeah – it’s the real deal."

Spike felt a little dizzy. This was…god, this was big. All these years – saying it, not knowing whether it was just his brain screwing with him, some big demonic practical joke…or worse. A gut-feeling, not believed by any one else, only half-believing it himself. And it was all true. True enough for an angel to pick it up, to know it, to say it out loud…

Another sensation bubbled up through him. Relief. Vindication. Jubilation. He was in love with the Slayer. With Buffy. He was In Love.

He said it to himself once, to try it out.

"Love. I’m in love."

Willow was looking on, glancing back at Tara with a sentimental quiver in her lips.

"Oh, this is just so sweet."

Anya lifted an eyebrow at her.

But Spike was oblivious at this point. He thunked down into his chair, staring at Buffy.

"Did you hear that? I’m in love."

Buffy face was a mixture of total adoration and amusement. She had to swallow before she could speak, and even then it came out with less than her usual flippancy.

"With me, I hope."

Spike grinned then, reaching up to pull on one of her plaits.

"Of course with you." And he leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on her smiling lips.

Xander pushed back into his chair. "Oh god, I think I’m gonna barf."

He got a kick under the table from Anya for his efforts, and Spike and Buffy both looked up quickly.

"Do you mind?"

"Yeah – come on, you and your girly smooch all the time, and nobody says –"

Giles winced and interrupted hurriedly.

"Yes, well, Spike’s in love, I think we’ve established that. So before this turns into an episode of ‘Passions’ perhaps we could move on to the issue at hand."

It took a moment for Spike to tear his eyes away from Buffy’s, but then he finally got himself together.

"Oh, yeah. Right." He cleared his throat and faced Uriel. "The Gathering – I’m on it. All committed and everything. ‘Cause, you know…"

"You’re in love with the Slayer," Uriel filled in drily.

There was a second of sheepishness, which the vampire brushed away, then, with the courage of confirmed conviction, he met Uriel’s eyes squarely.

"Yeah. I am." Clasping Buffy’s hand under the table helped enormously.

"Well." Uriel scratched his head, a little perplexed. "This is all a little…irregular…"

"Tell me about it," Giles said quietly as he took a sip of tea.

"Well, I am," Spike returned, with a trace of bluster, "so you can just…get over it."

He caught Michael across the table grinning amusedly.

"What?"

Michael’s smile opened as he shook his head.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking…" He considered for a second then recited. "’Oh, that I could a sin once see! The Devil –‘"

"’- hath some good in him, we all agree.’" Spike finished the poem with a wave. "Yeah, yeah. Well, Herbert was a twit, but I appreciate the sentiment."

He felt Buffy’s fingers lace together with his own quickly, and he caught her eye with a rueful grin. He still couldn’t quite get his head around it. A night of passionate lovemaking, and believing he was in love with the incredible woman by his side, was pretty much the apex of his hopes, but …real love. Real emotion. God…

Gabriel’s voice cut in.

"It’s good to have you on board, Spike."

"Thanks."

Spike favoured him with a nod, before glancing around the table with a grin. Willow was giving him a gleeful thumbs-up sign, and Tara looked equally happy. Anya was smiling amiably, all her foresight seeming to have come to fruition, and Xander was giving a concessionary shrug. Spike grinned again to himself as his eyes dropped to the wood of the table – all this comradely sentiment, he didn’t know where to look… He settled for raising his eyes again to Buffy’s, and giving her a dopey smile.

On his right, Ray clapped his hands together with a little impatience.

"Okay, well – now that’s sorted out, how’s about we get down to business." He turned his face towards Willow and Tara. "You ladies going along okay with that spell?"

Willow took the spotlight as all eyes focussed their way, and Tara’s confidence melted slightly.

"Uh, yeah. With a lot of help from Anya."

The ex-demon beamed at the faces around the table before Willow continued.

"So, we think we’ve worked out a way to keep the town covered with a kind of protective shield."

"B-but it’s only going to cover to the town’s perimeter," Tara added meekly.

Ray nodded and waved her concerns away. "That’s okay – we can run interference for strays."

"And we’re gonna have to do a quick spell beforehand," Willow went on, "to encourage people to stay home."

Uriel leaned forward with a frown.

"That may be harder than you think – the energy of the Gathering is very unsettling for magic."

Tara swallowed and took over the explaining.

"Well, we’re hoping that Dawn’s power will provide a boost."

"How will you control it?" Giles seemed worried, the lines etched on his forehead seemingly grown deeper after the last few days. "Won’t the use of Primordial Power endanger you both?"

The two witches exchanged a glance – the rest of the company suddenly understood that their own worries followed a similar path. Tara took a breath, and looked back at him

"We hope not. We’ve worked out a system to channel the energy, but we’ll have to be extra careful." She flicked her gaze over to Anya in acknowledgement.

"I’m going to be the channel," Willow clarified. "I’ll be moving the energy – but it’ll be Tara who’s doing the spell to draw and direct it."

Everyone looked up at the blonde witch in surprise. Tara gulped – somehow, her stage-fright was worse than her fear of doing the magic – and was about to look down when Giles caught her eye.

"Then Tara, I’ll be your back-up. You’ll have to explain the mechanics of the spell to me." He narrowed his gaze gravely. "I won’t be able to take over from you if you weaken, but I might be able to provide you with a boost if you need it. And we need to ensure that the three of you are safe from demonic interference."

"Protecting the protectors, huh?" Xander mused.

"I believe I have a few magic tricks left. And if all else fails, I’ve still got my sword-arm."

Buffy was nodding her approval, and giving Tara and Willow a supportive smile.

"Apart from the whole ‘Dawn in danger’ thing…" She shrugged, knowing that the witches would understand. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Tara smiled back gratefully. Then Spike broke the moment with a wave of a finger.

"Uh, if you don’t mind me asking – how’s this Gathering business gonna work? The demons stand on one side of Main Street, and we stand on the other, and then the bell rings and we all come out swinging?"

"In a manner of speaking," Uriel said, inclining his head.

Xander grinned. "The good ole Mexican stand-off."

Buffy grimaced and twirled a plait. "I don’t know… It sounds too easy."

"I’m inclined to agree."

Ray was pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and hanging his hat on the corner of his chair. He looked towards Gabriel and Giles, indicating something on the floor behind them with his chin.

"Would you mind bringing that up here?"

With a quick nod, the two lifted the map off the floor and onto the table. Elbows and hands were lifted to make room, and then Ray was standing and pointing with his unlit smoke.

"Thanks – okay, here’s the situation. You got Main Street here, but check out the lay of the land: buildings all along here, but lots of grassy vacancies all over the place."

Spike had also risen to standing, to check out the coloured topography. Now all the emotional outpourings were concluded, his expression was a study in professional interest. He poked the glowing, shifting sand over the paper with a finger.

"This is the Demon Map, huh?"

Willow and Tara smiled and nodded. Spike flicked off the red goo that had started crawling up his hand, and winced.

"Lovely. Well, Ray and Buffy are right – I don’t think the Mexican stand-off thing is gonna work."

"How do you figure?" Gabriel asked, peering at the map curiously.

Buffy answered in Spike’s stead. She’d already had a good look at the layout of Main Street.

"There’s too much empty space."

"Right." Spike agreed. "And too many demons. You know, the countryside around Sunnydale is packed to the rafters. And the sewers are like the London Underground." He glanced the Slayer’s way briefly. "You wanna put wards up near your house, by the way."

"Oh – thanks." She smiled in gentle appreciation at his thoughtfulness, then looked back to Ray. "So, I’m guessing we’ll start swinging before we hit Main Street?"

Ray shrugged, and crooked a thumb towards the shop entrance.

"If I’ve been adding up demon numbers right, you’ll be fighting off bad guys as soon as you walk out that door."

"Great," Xander groaned.

Michael had been watching the exchange carefully, and now stepped in to explain.

"The last Gathering was held in a field, on top of a hill. The township was in the out-lying surrounds, in the valley."

"This situation is different," Uriel nodded as he took over the narrative. "All the participants will be pouring into the middle of Sunnydale. I’m afraid the danger for the town’s population will come somewhat before sundown tomorrow."

Willow baulked with the realisation.

"We’re gonna have to do the protection spell sooner than we thought."

"Yes. In fact, you’ll be the front line of defence."

Willow and Tara looked at each other and paled.

"How – how much sooner?" Tara stammered.

Ray considered the ceiling for a moment.

"Well…I reckon the best thing would be to set up the younger Miss Summers, and the ladies here, off the middle of Main Street, say…two hours before the event."

"Two hours?" The women gaped in unison.

Uriel watched them both cautiously. "Do you think you can handle that?"

Willow was forced to reply, as Tara’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Uh, yeah. I guess." She looked pained as she regarded her lover’s face. "Ah, geez – I don’t know. Two hours is a long time."

Tara swallowed and recovered, although her voice was very quiet.

"But…well, if you need us…"

Giles glanced up with a reassuring expression.

"Tara, you can do this. I’ve seen you work – you’re a talented witch. And you’ll have support."

She gulped again, her face losing a little more colour.

"I’m glad you’re sure." But with a deep breath, she firmed her resolve. "Well…okay. Yeah. Two hours. That’s…that’s, uh, doable."

Willow squeezed her hand, which seemed to give her a little more encouragement. And Ray was looking on kindly.

"You’ll do fine, sweetie. You got the goodies. And remember, you’ll have people aound you. Rupert here, plus Mr Harris, and his lovely demon friend, will be running back-up. And Michael will take your station too."

Michael nodded and smiled at the witches reassuringly. Xander’s eyes immediately brightened, and Anya grinned and straightened at the compliment - plus the thought that she and Xander were actually going to be doing something.

"We’ll be right behind you," Giles confirmed.

Buffy made a mental note to give the two witches a pick-me-up pep-talk after the meeting, then glanced back to the angel quickly as he lit up his cigarette.

"So, Willow and Tara are on guard duty, and Giles and Xander and Anya are backing them up. And what do the rest of us do?"

Ray shook his head at her to dampen the enthusiasm a bit.

"Other stuff – but first, preparations." He blew out a plume of smoke and stabbed a grubby finger towards Xander and Anya. "You two – I got another job for you both. I want those weapons out the back stashed in places near where the main firefight will occur. Don’t worry, I’ll put up wards on ‘em so no-one can touch ‘em but us. But I don’t want anyone reaching for an axe or something in the height of the battle and coming up empty-handed, okay?"

"Sure thing," Xander nodded, Anya following.

Ray glanced around at the other expectant faces.

"Right. So, the same time as the girls do their witchy do, the rest of us will meet here. Then I think it’d be good to have our helpful vampires make a clean-up in the vicinity of the shop before we emerge. Give us a clear exit."

Buffy frowned, remembering something suddenly.

"Speaking of helpful vampires…where’s Angel?"

"Out."

Both Spike and Ray had replied in chorus – the two men glanced at each other. Spike grimaced and tried to explain.

"He’s…"

"…taking the edge off." Ray finished for him.

Spike looked over quickly, as the words were taken out of his mouth, then turned back to Buffy as her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

Spike shrugged helplessly. Buffy’s frown deepened.

"Did you two –"

Ray cut her off quickly. "Can you guys discuss it later? Look, don’t worry about the big guy, I’ll fill him in. But anyway, as I was saying, the boys can clear out any immediate threats here, before we take the it to the streets."

Buffy looked temporarily mollified, and nodded. Spike seemed grateful that the angel had run interference, but his attention had been taken by the man’s last words.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great. But aren’t we forgetting the little daylight issue?"

"Don’t worry – we got it covered."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Well, I’m real happy for you. But just so’s you know, bursting into flames isn’t exactly the high point of –"

"You’ll be protected," Uriel interjected. He was leaning an elbow on the Demon Map, and had his eyes on Spike. "I can protect you both from the sun until dusk, when the Gathering occurs."

"Oh." Spike absorbed this with a curious, slightly confused face. The mechanics of the angels’ abilities was still a big question mark as far as he was concerned. "You can?"

Uriel nodded, his expression dry.

"Oh. Okay. Well…great."

Ray ashed his cigarette carelessly in the vampire’s direction.

"You happy now? Okay, then at about an hour before dusk, we leave the shop and head for Main Street."

"Fighting demons all the way," Buffy added.

"Yup. Hence the ‘early to the party’. Way I figure, even with the boys on flank, it’ll take us an hour to carve our way through to the Gathering point."

"My word." Giles was looking incredulous, and frankly worried.

"Yeah," Ray nodded in his direction. "And don’t think protecting the girlies there will be a walk in the park either. You’ll be in the thick of things for two hours before we arrive. Hope that sword-arm of yours isn’t too rusty."

Everyone was chewing this information over. It appeared that each and every participant would have their hands full at some point – no slackers. Spike sucked his lip as a thought occurred.

"So, it looks like our main problem will be…exhaustion."

Ray tilted his head, admiring how the vampire saw through to the heart of things.

"Hit the nail on the head. That, and staying together."

"That’s another issue." Uriel swung a glance around the table. "I want everyone – and I mean everyone – in one place at sundown." He tapped a spot on the map. "Here’s our meeting point. Dispose of attackers up as far as Cayman Street, but don’t drop out of sight, and don’t go down any back alleys, no matter how tempting it may be to give chase. Remember, there’ll be plenty of demons to go round."

"Gotcha." Buffy nodded solemnly. "So, by the time we reach Dawn, and Will and Tara, we’ll be in a rough vee formation?"

"Yes. Angel and Raphael on one side, Gabriel and Spike on the other, and you and I in the back centre. We come up here, and collect the others in the middle."

"Okay. So –"

The phone rang abruptly, the jarring tones breaking the collective concentration. Everyone looked up, and there was a pause. Then Anya groaned and pushed back from the table.

"I know I work here, but why do I always have to get it?"

She rose and gallumped off towards the counter. Buffy swung back around to look at Ray and Uriel.

"So that’s the plan?"

"That’s the plan." Ray ashed his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.

"Okay. It sounds good - let’s hope it goes off without too many hitches."

Uriel smiled wryly. "In my experience, there’s always the odd hitch or two. But if we keep to –"

Anya’s voice had risen near the counter, and he stopped to look over.

"I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak more slowly…look, whoever you are, will you please –" She sighed and held out the receiver impatiently in Giles’ direction. "Giles, can you take this call, because I have no idea what this person is saying."

With a shrug, Giles stood and walked over to take the phone.

"Yes, hello…" There was a pause, and then his voice went suddenly low. "Dawn – is that you?"

The echo of his words seemed to resonate in the air. Buffy looked up, blood draining from her face. She pushed her chair away from the table, the screech of wood making a wincing punctuation.

"Dawn –" Giles listened carefully, and his eyes strayed over to Buffy’s widening gaze. "Dawn, we’re coming over right now. Just…just stay there."

She couldn’t move. As Giles hung up the phone and turned, she tried to rise, but found herself staggering back. The feel of Spike’s arms on her shoulders registered – a dim, cool touch. She felt her lips go dry – she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And then, the barest whisper.

"Oh god…"

Giles took in her white face, her arms hanging down limply, then took control.

"Anya and Xander, mind the shop. We’re closed. Willow and Tara, come with me."

The witches moved fast, gathering their belongings. Giles snatched up his jacket, and Buffy’s backpack, then stepped towards her, reaching out a hand gently.

"Buffy, come on, we’ll go in my car…"

But she was shaking her head slowly, so pale, so suddenly small and frail, like her heart had stopped beating, and it made him ache to see it.

"No…no, it can’t…"

"Buffy, you have to come now. Come on. Here, take my hand."

Spike was holding her up – his face was a mess of worry.

"I wanna come – I should be there –"

Giles shook his head quickly, focussed just on getting Buffy home.

"No, Spike, it’s still light outside –"

"I should be there!"

Distraught now, the vampire growled instinctively. Giles looked at him squarely, taking things in hand.

"It’s not the time." His voice softened, and he spoke quickly. "Spike, it’s dangerous for you. Stay here – please. I’ll call you, as soon as I can. I promise."

Then Willow was beside the couple, loosening Spike’s grip on Buffy’s arm with gentle fingers, peering up at him.

"Spike, he’s right. Come on. Sunset is close, and…we’ll need you then."

With a sharp grimace of frustration, the vampire relented. His hand rested on Buffy’s shoulder, then slid slowly away as she turned to give him an imploring look of confusion, before allowing herself to be led towards the stairs.

All eyes followed in their wake. Uriel exchanged solemn glances with the other angels. Spike slumped where he stood for a moment, then fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, his eyes down. He searched one pocket, then the next, groped inside his duster for a second then, in a burst of overwhelming fury, spun and kicked his chair across the room. It splintered against the wall with a resounding crash.

oOo

8.30pm

The house on Revello Drive was very quiet – Xander motioned Anya and Michael to hang back a little as he made his way up the stairs to the door. He’d already seen Giles’ car parked out front, but by this stage all the other vehicles – the ambulance, the coroner’s car – had long since gone. From the outside, nothing seemed amiss. Maybe the lights in the house were a little dim, but Xander realised that it was really only his imagination that made the Summer’s residence appear downcast, gloom-shrouded.

Not particularly looking forward to collecting Spike for the patrol, Xander made a wince before blowing out a sigh, and giving the door a tentative knock. A few moments later, just as he was thinking of knocking again, the door swung open halfway, and Giles’ careworn face emerged.

"Hello Xander."

"Uh, hi."

He scrutinised the Watcher carefully – Giles looked like he’d been through the wringer. Xander didn’t want to think about how Buffy and Dawn were looking right now. He let his eyes wander past the doorway, into the lamplit hall.

"Is, uh, everything okay?"

Giles nodded wearily. "Buffy and Dawn are…resting. Willow and Tara are with them." He looked slightly apologetic. "I’d say come in, but I don’t think –"

"No, no – it’s okay. It’s fine."

The Watcher removed his glasses with a sad smile.

"Thank you. For understanding. And for doing this patrol – a necessary evil, I’m afraid."

Xander shook his head quickly. "No problem. Really – anything we can do." He cast a look around the hall again. "Is, uh, Spike –"

"I’m here."

The vampire had walked in quickly from the kitchen, and was in the process of putting out his cigarette in a coffee cup. Dumping the cup on the hall table, he quickly gathered his coat, eyes downcast.

"Let’s go."

And he brushed past Xander abruptly, out into the night air, shrugging into his duster. Xander grimaced in his wake.

"Ookay." He caught Giles’ gaze again. "Um, Giles, we’ll stop by in the morning, is that alright?"

Giles nodded. "I’d say that would be essential. And call me here, after the patrol, fill me in on how it went."

"Sure." Xander was walking backwards off the porch, keeping an eye on Spike, who’d stalked past the others and had already started moving up the street. "Uh, talk to you then."

"Good luck."

We’ll need it. Not just dealing with the demon hordes either – Spike in a funk was the last thing Xander really felt like coping with right now. The vampire had elected to go with them on this patrol as an alternative to teaming up with Angel, who’d joined up with Ray and Uriel, leaving Gabriel guarding the store. From his attitude, it had obviously been a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Xander gave Anya and Michael a nod, encouraging them to catch up as he made tracks, trying to keep up with Spike. The vampire was already a dozen long strides ahead. Xander made a face, and called out an appeal.

"Spike. Spike, wait up."

With a droop of the shoulders, the vampire slowed his pace, pulling out another cigarette listlessly, waiting for the stragglers.

"Spike! Hold up for a second."

Xander jogged the last few steps as the vampire turned to regard him, frowning.

"What?"

Suddenly, Xander was at a loss for words. Spike’s face was haggard – he looked tired, drawn, like he was in physical pain, and Xander remembered with a lurch that Spike really did have feelings, just like the rest of them. It seemed an intrusion to ask, but Xander needed to find out what had been happening. His voice softened with the tentative query.

"How – how’s Buffy?"

"How the hell do you think she is?" the vampire replied with a snarl.

"I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you."

Spike looked away. "Well, her mum just died, so she’s super."

Man, he really can be an asshole sometimes… Xander pursed his lips.

"Look, I’m trying real hard to be sensitive about your situation here, but you’re not giving me much to work with."

The blonde man just made a face and rolled his eyes, blowing smoke. Giving concessions was the last thing on his mind at the moment. And if Harris wanted to be sensitive, he could do it all on his own.

Xander took in the look, the attitude, and blew up. The pressures of an afternoon spent sitting in the shop, waiting for the phone, waiting for news, and worrying for his friends, suddenly impacted in a heated explosion. He stabbed a finger in Spike’s direction.

"We all loved Joyce too, you know!"

Spike looked up, surprised, saw an expression of grief that matched his own, and relented. He sighed into the night.

"Buffy’s…she’s catatonic. She won’t speak, won’t eat, won’t sleep…" A look of exasperation and worry washed over his features. "It’s scary."

Xander frowned at the news. As Anya and Michael came closer, he fixed Spike with a more mellowed gaze and tried to make his own reassurances come out with a sense of understanding, of rightness.

"She’s grieving, Spike – it’s normal."

But the vampire was shaking his head anxiously. "This is beyond normal – you could stab her with a knife and she wouldn’t respond… Her Watcher doesn’t know what to do…" He swallowed, and admitted, "I don’t know what to do. What to say…"

"Well, I can relate to that." Anya had come round to stand at Xander’s side. Her words were quiet, despite their irreverence.

"What about Dawn?" Xander asked.

"Sedated. Doctor gave her something to calm her down. Tara’s watching her." Spike flicked away his cigarette butt, and caught Xander’s eye grimly. "The doc didn’t want to give Buffy anything. Said she was already too quiet."

"Ah, man…"

Xander let his eyes slip up to the stars above them. This was bad. Bad news. Understandable, from Buffy’s point of view, but…what would happen tomorrow, if she was out of commision? He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder – Michael had stepped closer to give his encouragement.

"Give her time. She’ll feel better after she’s had some rest."

Spike’s face transformed suddenly with anger, and he took a stride towards the angel, pushing himself into the other man’s comfort zone.

"Well, time is the one thing we don’t have. And you – telling her that her mum was improving, when it was all just bullshit –"

"I never told Buffy that her mother was getting better." Michael seemed unperturbed, his face its usual calm sea. "I said she was getting stronger – there’s a difference. Joyce knew the end was close – it was her mind that was strengthening, preparing itself –"

"That is bollocks, and you know it." The vampire stared the red-haired man down witheringly. "You can be as pedantic as you like – it all boils down to the fact that you gave the girl hope when there was none."

"It was important that Buffy feel supported –"

"And where’s your support now? When she’s sitting up there in her room, half bloody comatose?" Spike waved his cigarette, disgusted. "Ah, you religious types are all the same…"

He whirled away and started walking off. Michael, looking torn, made to follow but Xander stopped him with a hand and a serious glance.

"I wouldn’t. Just – give him a minute."

Being the one to intervene on Spike’s behalf felt kind of strange, but in the interests of an argument-free patrol, Xander figured it was a good idea. He set the pace up the street again, watching the vampire’s loping stride, and trying to keep a respectable distance. By his side, Michael seemed to be lost in consideration. Xander wondered if being a servant of the greater good was really all it was cracked up to be.

Anya was happy to walk briskly for a while, but after the first hundred metres or so, her shoes started to hurt, and she was beginning to think the whole night was going to be spent in gloomy contemplation and in-fighting. With a determined frown, and waving off Xander’s entreaty to leave it, she picked up her steps and caught up with Spike. His brief acknowledging glare was enough to get her started.

"So. I thought you’d be used to all this by now."

"Used to what?"

Anya watched him light another smoke off the butt of the first, and wondered if smoking tobacco helped. Maybe she should take it up. Except for the taste – gross.

"Well, you know. People dying. It’s not so uncommon, after all."

The vampire stared forward for a second, thinking.

"This is…different."

"Because you cared for Joyce."

"Yeah, I guess."

The ex-demoness frowned then. Was that what it was? This uncomfortable, gritty feeling she’d been experiencing? She grimaced with the effort of understanding.

"It’s…depressing. I feel sad. I’ve felt sad all afternoon."

Spike gave her a melancholy look. "That’s what grief is."

"When does it stop?" Anya scratched her neck, her arms, like the feeling might be expressed through the skin and washed away, with a little application.

"It doesn’t." Spike looked almost bemused now. Never thought he’d be explaining feelings to…well, anyone. He clarified gently. "The sting fades, after a while, but…it never really goes away."

Anya pondered this for a moment. The prospect of this sad feeling, going on and on… She frowned at the idea. But it wasn’t in her nature to become mired in pessimism – she shrugged in Spike’s direction.

"Well, at least you can work off a bit of energy through rampant bloodshed."

Spike sighed. "Yeah – bring on the demon hordes, eh?"

If Xander had been in earshot, he would have groaned at the open invitation. As it was, he barely had time to gulp when two over-large and over-furry creatures suddenly emerged behind them. One of them wrapped an arm around his neck, and lifted his feet of the pavement. Michael whirled and drew his longsword, not sure which to attack first – the demon throttling Xander, or the one advancing on him with heavy, lumbering steps.

Anya and Spike, a fair way ahead and totally oblivious, chatted on.

"Maybe that’s what Buffy needs – a little killing spree."

"Always tends to make me feel brighter," Spike agreed with a considering nod.

Xander felt his lips start to turn blue, and scrabbled for purchase on the arm at his neck. Michael was parrying the other demon, which had extended one hand, and blocked the sword with a flat, racquet-like palm.

"You’re lucky you can still do it, you know," Anya continued blithely. "Now I’m not a Vengeance demon, many’s the time when I’ve been relieved that I still have the opportunity to –"

"Urgh." Xander burbled. "Help."

Anya and Spike both turned at the interruption. The auburn-haired girl frowned quickly.

"Oh, crap."

"Right." Spike stepped forward briskly. "Allow me."

With a rapid twirl, he ran back, slipped behind the first demon and broke its neck with a sharp jerking twist, then grabbed the creature’s arms by the wrists and wrenched them away. Xander, released from the stranglehold on his throat, dropped to the ground and hacked back a breath. Anya rushed to his side as Spike moved on to the next opponent.

But Michael had already gained the upper-hand, and was in the process of extricating his sword from the second demon’s neck. The head plopped to the ground and rolled under a nearby bush. The angel looked up to check the first skirmish, then nodded his head approvingly at Spike.

"That was nice work."

"Ta." Spike shrugged – easy.

Xander had risen to his feet, with a little assistance, and was looking at his one-time attacker with distaste. His voice was croaky as he rubbed his bruised throat.

"Thanks. But did you really have to pull its arms off like that?"

"Felt like it." Spike cast him a faintly reproachful look. "Got the job done, didn’t it?"

Xander had no choice but to lift his shoulders in agreement.

At least the attack had done what no amount of small-talk could have achieved – the company was walking together, maintaining a comradely watchfulness as they made their way throught the quiet streets. By the time they’d made their way up to Bellevue, Xander had almost started to relax. Spike and Michael were talking to each other, if largely monosyllabically on the vampire’s part. But Xander didn’t feel the need to keep walking between them anymore, which was something.

The next attack, by a couple of slimy things and a deformed hunchback with a tail, wasn’t a surprise. By the fourth episode, the demonic interferences were taking on a kind of a boring rhythm – the demons attacked, and were quickly dispatched, mostly by Spike, who seemed to be enjoying the chance to rampage, but with equally efficient if less obviously bloodthirsty assistance from Michael. Anya even managed to score a few points for effort – her preferred choice of weapon appearing to be a maidenly blush, feigned shock, followed through with a side-swipe with her club.

In this more or less businesslike fashion, the group found itself at the corner of Foreman and the appropriately named Widow’s Alley. They were in the process of deciding which turn to take next when Xander noticed the odd-looking jumbled piles in the alley. He walked forward to check, and found himself frowning above a dead demon body. He nudged it once with the toe of his sneaker. Yup, definitely dead.

"Huh. I didn’t think that Angel and the others were working over this far."

Michael moved over to look. The body was one of several; maybe half a dozen dead demons lay in tangled disarray.

"They’re not." The angel’s brow was knitting together.

Spike was examining the first body, then the others in rapid appraisal.

"Neat work – single swordthrusts."

He looked up at Michael in consternation.

"I know this," Michael muttered, drawing his sword as he looked around the alley.

"Right behind you."

Spike had straightened, and was now back to back with the angel as they surveyed the alley cautiously. Xander watched their defensive positions and raised an eyebrow.

"What? What is it?"

Spike’s nostrils were flaring, a look of dark concentration on his face.

"She’s around here…someplace. I can smell it."

"Who?"

But before the vampire could reply, another figure appeared at the top of the alley. A girl, a tiny supple human-looking girl, pale all over, which made her shock of frizzy red hair, flaring around her face like a sunburst, even more of a contrast. She was wearing an assortment of bright-coloured clothes – a tie-dyed crop top, exposing a slim waist, and lycra hipster shorts in a glaring fuschia. She looked like she was dressed for an aerobics class, except for the cherry-red boots laced up to her knees.

And the huge sword, in the scabbard on her back.

"Grace."

Michael’s voice was soft, a mixture of announcement and greeting. Even Spike felt vaguely surprised at the change in the girl’s appearance – if it wasn’t for his senses, he wouldn’t have recognised the creature before him as his previous attacker. Chameleon-like, Grace had altered herself to make herself harder to spot - until it was too late.

The girl didn’t acknowledge Michael at all, merely took a few steps closer to them. Xander was frowning. The girl didn’t look like she could fight her way out of a damp paper bag, let alone take on and nearly kill a master vampire.

"This is Grace? But…but… She’s so…little…"

As if she’d taken his words to heart, the girl suddenly moved closer, and reached back to draw her sword. The weapon was ridiculously big, looked too heavy for her to hold upright – but Grace managed it without difficulty, positioning the tip in their direction. Xander’s hackles rose.

"Hey, watch where you point that thing, girlie."

Grace’s eyes flicked over the company, lingering on Spike, then coming to rest on Anya. The ex-demoness felt suddenly nervous.

"Xander… Xander, she’s giving me that look."

Straightening his shoulders, Xander took up a chivalrously protective stance in front of his girlfrend. He extended a placating hand towards the girl before them, beginning a stern, if slightly underconfident entreaty.

"Now, I know you could run me right through to get to her, but I’m telling you it’s not gonna happen – I mean, come on, ouch…"

Spike and Michael had moved around behind Grace, and if the Death-Bringer felt uncomfortable about being hedged in she certainly wasn’t showing it. Michael spoke smoothly, quietly, as if there was a large and dangerous jungle cat present, which might suddenly turn on them and bare its claws.

"You can’t reason with her," he said in Xander’s direction.

"Anyway," Spike added, in the same cool tones, "it’s not Anya she wants…"

And now Grace’s gaze slid away from the Scooby pair to fix on the vampire’s face. Spike thought that if she could have showed emotion, she might have grinned.

"…is it now?" he finished, sotto-voce, a delicate invitation.

It was all that Grace needed. With a burst of speed that Xander found shocking, the girl launched herself towards Spike, bright hair spinning as she swept up her sword. Spike feinted just in time, and danced away to the open side, letting the confrontation space unfold.

Bloody hell. He’d been too slow again. The number of times he’d replayed the incident in the Bronze over in his head, and he still came up short when it came to assessing the deadly angel’s swiftness. She was like a striking snake – had her fangs in you before you knew it. And her sword had taken a neat slice out of his white shirt as he dodged – it was now missing a button, in fact. But at least this time he hadn’t had to experience the sting of her sword-edge on his skin. Not yet.

And this time he had a weapon. He let Grace’s rapid thrust-sweep combinations roll him onto the ground, then grabbed the long, curved knife out of his boot and did a hand-spring to standing.

Whoah… He was forced to backbend halfway down again as a long swipe of her sword arced over his midriff – he’d miscalculated the rise, and it nearly cost him his head.

Trying to factor the girl’s speed into his reaction times…the best way to do that was to engage directly. Spike shivered into his game face, and sprang forward with a roar. Grace seemed less prepared to take him when he came on the offensive – she was forced to give ground in an exchanged series of blows that took them halfway down the alley, dodging crates, demon debris, and Xander, Anya and Michael.

Xander was trying his best to keep the hell out of the way while watching the furious conflict, his face reflecting a state of mental confusion.

"Uh…lady? Hello? Hey, you probably don’t know, and don’t really care –"

He raised his eyebrows as the combatants threw each other off the alley walls, Spike narrowly deflecting a sword-jab.

" – but, uh, he’s one of the good guys now. Y’know? The good guys?"

Spike was in the middle of pushing the sword away from his neck – Grace had him leaning back over a trashcan, one cherry-booted knee on his chest. He flashed Xander a disbelieving look, and ground out a reply through clenched teeth.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Xander grinned back, until suddenly the battle was heading his and Anya’s way. "Hey!"

Spike had managed to push the angel away, and scooted off the trashcan for more open ground, sending Grace sprawling. She jumped back up quickly, and before he had cleared past Xander and Anya she was advancing on him – she looked like she’d be happy to barrel through a few minor inconveniences, like a pair of humans standing in the way for instance.

The girl’s sword was at mid-height, and set for a long thrust between the couple to get at her objective, the vampire passing behind them. They had to do something - Anya raised her club, but Xander realised that this would be a perfect excuse for Grace to skewer her, and suddenly grabbed the weapon away. His girlfriend frowned.

"Xander! Do you mind? I’m –"

Xander opened his mouth to reply, realised suddenly that he didn’t have time and it was in any case, stupid, closed his mouth – he could explain later. With an apologetic look at Anya, and with perfect Keystone Kops timing, he whacked the club down on Grace’s sword-hand as she jabbed through. The long blade fell to the ground, and the Angel of Death gave him a look that might have melted him on the spot, if he hadn’t been in the process of running away, Anya in tow.

Spike was appreciative of the interference, regardless of how burlesque. And with Anya and Xander now safely out of firing range, taking shelter behind Michael, Spike had some room to move. He sprang off the wall, somersaulting over Grace’s head, and went into a crouch, sweeping with one leg. He caught the angel’s ankle, and the manouever might have sent her tumbling, except she used the sword as a prop, the point stuck down in the concrete, to take her weight as she transformed the spill into a jumping kick with both feet. Spike took the impact in the neck, and fell back heavily. But he wasn’t about to let Grace do her little ‘jump on and burn out’ trick – he rolled over and quickly parried as he rose.

In a strange way, it was satisfying – Grace was a more than credible combatant, and it was almost like fighting with Buffy. The purity of attack and defence refreshed him, burnt away some of the bitter-tasting sadness and worry inside him. This was familiar, comfortable almost – fighting for his life he could handle. And he had to stay focussed, match Grace’s speed, parry, block, dodge, spin, return…

He let his body take over, let the movements become fluid. The motion of the fight began to take on its own life, and the sphere of action closed his vision – the sword, the girl, his knife, the alley wall, asphalt below, his own legs scissoring, the whipping edge of his coat, muscles bunching, loosening… The juice of grief and confused emotions trickled in, became a stream, a river – more fuel for the frenetic fire. He felt his mouth turn up in an ecstatic smile, the growl of a vaguely hysterical chuckle roll in his throat.

And before he knew it he was eating brick, slammed face-first up against the alley wall, his left arm twisted behind him, breaking his hold on the knife. He didn’t have to look – he could see it mentally, Grace’s arm raised, the sword-point ready to thrust through his back, straight through his chest, into his pale bloodless heart…

But at the moment of truth, the sword was stayed. He felt the hold on his arm release, and he flung himself around, back to the bricks, to see Michael watching Grace pick herself up from the asphalt across the alley. The angel turned his head for a moment to check on Spike, gave the vampire a wry grin.

"Hey. You wanna be careful, mixing emotion and energy – tends to upset your balance."

He turned back as Grace dove forward again, and blocked with his long-sword. Spike could only frown and nod.

"Uh, right."

But his reply was lost in the sounds of metal clashing as Michael and Grace began to battle. Spike watched the display as he recouped against the wall. He realised suddenly that he was sporting a dozen light scratches, where Grace’s sword had almost got lucky, which dismayed him for a second – he thought he’d been on top of things.

But Michael had been right; he’d been feeding off his anger.

Come on, emotions are nothing new…

But he’d just never really had to acknowledge them as a factor before. Now, there they were, and they were just so…there. Blatant. Unavoidable. It was as though having other people admit that his emotions had substance suddenly made them real, even to him. Hard not to be tempted to put them to some practical use.

But it was no way to fight – good gas for the tanks, but dangerous. Like Michael said, unbalanced.

It wasn’t quite his style. He wasn’t like Angel, like Darla, even like Dru in her madness – not dispassionate, but wild; not self-possessed, but feral; not cool…well, yeah, kinda cool, but hardly ‘collected’. More…undomesticated. And definitely not balanced. And so what? It’d worked alright for the last hundred and eighty years, hadn’t it?

But Grace was a different kind of opponent, and watching Michael and his peer wage elegant war, Spike realised that this was a different style of fighting. One that he’d do well to take a few tips from.

Michael’s face had assumed a kind of calm blankness – it didn’t even look like he was exerting any effort. But his hands and body were a blur. Right-handed, he was in the process of tossing the sword back into his lead hand after parrying a number of long, vicious strokes with his left. Grace was floating around him, buzzing and swarming, legs and arms flashing. In fact, she really did resemble an insect that way – the same detached aloofness, uncaring, icy…

Michael didn’t have quite the same air about him – it was more an equanimity, an acceptance of each action and reaction, each stroke and counterstroke. He seemed to be able to anticipate his opponent’s every move, and be there to match it. It was like watching water flowing, watching him lilt from one manouever to the next. Spike felt oddly jealous – even at the height of his fury and power, he’d never mastered the speed and smooth proficiency that these two combatants demonstrated.

He was distracted by Michael’s voice – the man had turned his head briefly to catch his eye. His words came around the sound of striking iron, as the swords clashed discordantly.

"Spike – are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Something sailed out of the air towards the vampire, and he grabbed for it – his knife. He looked up to see Michael’s quick grin, the raised eyebrows.

"Come on, then!"

The vampire was taken aback momentarily by the invitation, then shrugged it away and straightened. He narrowed his eyes, judging his entrance, then took a few quick steps to move into an engaging position – he caught Grace mid-flight, as she was halfway round a leaping spinning kick. Spike’s barrelling elbow to her torso made a solid sound as it hit her in the ribs, and she fell back inelegantly in a heap.

Spike had a half-grin on his face – try that on, you bloodless bitch… - but he wiped it away just as quickly. Think. Focus. Remember what Michael had said, fueling yourself with emotion won’t help this time. With a glance at the red-haired angel to coordinate the attack, he took up a prepared stance on Grace’s left, his fingers curling viciously around the bone hilt of his knife, and his shoulders drawing back.

Michael had angelic equanimity, but Spike was coming from the other side of the spectrum. His eyes began to glow darkly as he lowered his head, assessing the positions, watching Grace rise and melt into a multi-defence posture.

From a number of feet distant, Xander felt Anya gasp and wriggle closer to his back as the three figures at the other end of the alley seemed to stop in time for a beat, then suddenly moved, all three at once, with weapons and fists and feet so fast that Xander’s eyes could hardly move quickly enough to catch up.

But this had to match up with the best of them. An angel, who fought like a calm sinuous blur, and Spike, in what seemed to be all his demonic glory, facing off with a girl who moved like lightening, and purported to be the Angel of Death. He was trying to keep his eyes on the action, but it was like trying to watch a kaleidescope of movement – and Anya was poking him in the back.

"What’s happening?"

"They’re fighting – and you can watch now honey, I don’t think they’re coming our way."

They looked too engrossed in what they were doing to even be thinking of him and Anya in the background. There was a thrust, a parry – Michael blocked a sword blow, then spun to avoid a punch. Spike was dodging a kick, and using a particularly nasty-looking curved knife to open up slashing spaces in the girl’s defence. Then she jumped up incredibly high, and came bearing down on both the men with a double-footed kick, and a long swipe with the sword. Xander watched Spike tumble to avoid contact, then lost some of the action when the figures moved too fast again.

It was hard to believe that this tiny girl was capable of taking on two obviously masterful opponents, but she was doing it – she was even making some ground. Her one weakness, from what Xander could make out with his once-trained eye, was her one-sided obsession with killing Spike. She seemed less focussed on defending or fighting off Michael’s attacks than on just skewering the vampire as quickly as possible.

At one point she made a sudden, almost frustrated-seeming attack, swooping in with wide hacking cuts with the sword, then was forced to somersault back about four times to avoid a combined assault from the men. If Xander didn’t know better – I mean, come on, she’s the Angel of Death – he’d have thought she was getting pissed off.

Then suddenly she got the break she needed. Spike, who’d been fighting with a detached brutality that Xander had only rarely seen, suddenly lost concentration when Grace spun and kicked his head against the alley wall. The vampire let out a roar of anger, and punched forward with his knife, aiming for the jugular. The girl blocked his arm easily and ducked under it to deliver a raking slash with the sword that ripped through the back of the duster and buckled Spike’s knees. The vampire cried out sharply, and his hand went up on the wall for support.

But before Xander could move, Michael had stepped forward to shield. The angel stood in front of the staggered vampire, shoulders square, sword held lightly in his right hand. He met Grace’s gaze with a cool look of warning, and his voice was soft, but it carried.

"He’s under my protection."

The girl was standing in a half-ready posture, sword up-raised and flattened out for the victorious run-through. But the point was directly facing Michael’s stomach. She wasn’t about to get her victory without going through her peer first.

Spike bit back a hiss and winced as he raised his head to look around Michael’s coat. For the first time, he saw the girl’s face change expression – her mouth was set in a line, and her chin seemed to tremble for a second, her eyes widening and brow knitting together. She was confounded in her purpose, and it appeared to be a wholly new experience.

Then Spike was shocked to see Grace’s mouth open and a choked, inarticulate cry trail out – it sounded like a thousand rooks cawing, or a haunting caterwauling… But even more shocking was her sudden, furious movement. She stepped forward forcefully, and drove the point of the sword home in one vicious thrust. It went clear through Michael’s abdomen, the tip emerging three feet out his back, so fast that Spike’s head jerked away barely in time, the edge making a sibilant sound as it passed his neck. He gulped, eyeing off the sword – too close.

Michael had bent with the force of the sword-thrust, but then his head went up, and he grabbed Grace’s wrist where it held the hilt of the sword, sliding under his ribs.

"My protection."

He held her gaze for a long second. Grace’s face trembled again, then as quickly as she’d attacked, she pulled back, the sword drawing out with a harsh noise as Michael grunted and Xander grimaced. Grace took a step backwards, lifted the sword up in front of her darkened face in an elegant, olde-world salute, then before anyone could move, a fresh breeze swept through the alley, Grace springing up to ride it, bouncing up to rafters and pylons far above, scaling the alley wall…and disappearing.

Xander was left shaking his head, with his brain spinning. Then he realised that there were more pressing concerns than his own amazement. Michael was still half bent over, using his sword to prop himself up. Spike was kneeling behind him, leaning on a crate and rubbing his neck as though he was still feeling the tickle of the near-miss.

Xander came closer, Anya following behind, and peered at the angel.

"Are – are you okay?"

With a wan grin, Michael squinted up at him. He seemed to be trying to catch his breath or something – then he straightened gingerly.

"Mm. Yeah." He grinned again ruefully. "That stings."

Xander was blinking.

"But you… I mean, the sword went right through you…"

"Yeah." Michael agreed. Then he opened his coat to demonstrate. "I’m fine. Really."

Xander looked. The cloth was marked by a distinct rent, but there was no blood, no gore, no guts falling out… Weird. He looked up at Michael, who was smiling reassuringly, then back at what should have been an awful wound. Nothing. Nada. Wow.

Spike, who was carefully getting to his feet with Anya’s assistance, raised an eyebrow at the display.

"Huh. That’s handy."

Michael shrugged modestly, then nodded at Spike’s back.

"You alright?"

It was a bit hard to see, being behind him and all, but Spike could feel the sting of the wound – deep, but not tragic; painful, but not incapacitating. The tender corners of the gash were already itching, which meant that the skin was beginning to knit together. It wasn’t the first time he’d been grateful for the fast-mending facility.

"Nothing that won’t heal," he reassured.

Well, no one got killed, and Grace was got gone – Xander felt relieved. He also wished that the patrol was over. It had been a busy enough evening already, and he was about ready for a nice hot cup of chocolate, or something sweet and not nasty, that wouldn’t jump out of a dark corner and bite him on the ass. He heaved a sigh, still feeling slightly dizzy from the aftermath of the fight, then grinned at the two combatants, grateful that neither of them had lost any limbs, the responsibility kind of tending to fall back on him, after all.

"Hey. That was nice fighting."

"Thank you."

The two men, calm red-head and glowering peroxide, had answered in unison. With a quick surprised look at each other, they both gestured graciously for the other to take the credit. It all ended in a bit of amiable smiling and shrugging, until Anya sighed out a long, tired breath and stated the obvious in a dry, matter-of-fact voice.

"Well. This has certainly been…quite an exciting evening."

Spike snorted, then his face changed as he remembered why he was out here, listening to Anya’s bon mots instead of Buffy’s witty comeback lines. He surveyed the ruins of the alley – broken crates, dead demons, sword marks in the bricks and asphalt – and nodded grimly. His words were soft and heavy in reply.

"And a very long day."