*************

It breathed. With gentle palpitations against her bare arms, the air around her resonated in a quiescent whisper that spoke of frailty and despair, relaxing her vigilance to the point where her arm lowered, the weapon in her hand forgotten. We are not your enemy, it seemed to say. To oppose us would be to slaughter your own innocence.

I'm not an innocent, she wanted to respond, but the words caught in Buffy's throat, fixed in melancholy silence, her hazel eyes sweeping over the desolate landscape. In daylight, she didn't doubt that it could be quite beautiful---callow knolls punctuated with the occasional shrub, the bent forms of flower stems bowing in the breeze---but in the advent of the storm, the sky hung low, a sepulchral study of death, with portentious clouds blanketing the earth. This was not beautiful. This was a warning. And Buffy hadn't survived being the Slayer for the past five years by ignoring the obvious.

His arm slid around her waist, his skin somehow capturing what little light there was to gleam in a pale splendor, and she felt the feather touch of his lips on the curve of her neck. "I'm goin' to say this one's courtesy of your Slayer subconscious," Spike murmured, his mouth mere millimeters from her ear.

Buffy nodded. "I don't think you've experienced one of these yet," she said, her voice equally low. Anything louder would have seemed a sacrilege to the barren surroundings.

"Hate to break it you, but I've been poppin' into these dreams of yours for a week now," the vampire reminded, his amusement evident.

"Not one of these. Those were just normal, Buffy-working-through-her-stress-type dreams. I'll lay you two to one that this one's a prophetic Slayer dream."

Two sets of eyes watched as the grasses undulated in the wind, quickening their dance as it began to gain momentum, catching the tendrils of the Slayer's hair to float raggedly in the breeze. "And it's tellin' you…what?" Spike asked. "That it'll be windy tomorrow? Thought that's what the weather channel was for."

"No." She leaned back against his chest. "Can't you feel it? There's something…here."

His senses reached out, searching the night sky for any signs of a presence, human or otherwise, but found nothing. Spike frowned. This was the only place he and Buffy didn't share experiences, this netherworld of their dreams, and it was only here that he felt so completely cut off from her, devoid of the life that she breathed into him during their waking hours, returned to his pre-cleansing state of being utterly alone. He had yet to decide if he liked it or not.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked.

She shook her head. "But it's trying to tell me something. I just can't understand what. I don't suppose you speak wind?"

His sapphire gaze glanced down at the sword in her hand. "Probably sayin' 'please don't kill me,' though I think Excaliber there might be a tad over the top for the job." His hand came up, smoothed her hair down over her shoulder, trying his best to tame it against the wind, but it was a losing battle. Even as he did so, the air grew more virulent, and the whispers it had been sharing earlier began to turn into screams.

Buffy's eyes darted around, knowing that they were not alone, unable to find the owners of whoever had summoned her to this place. How can you fight what you can't see? she wondered, and took a tentative step forward. Almost immediately, she was buffeted back, slamming into the vampire behind her, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

"What the bleedin' hell was that?" Spike growled as he stumbled to his feet, his hand automatically going out to assist the Slayer up as well.

"That is what's trying to talk to me," she replied, and lifted the blade again, readying herself for whatever battle seemed to lay before her.

"What did you do to piss it off?"

She glanced back at him. "What makes you think it was me?" she queried. "Maybe it was pissed off before I got here." His cocked eyebrow was his only response, and Buffy rolled her eyes as she turned away. "Not like these dreams ever make any sense anyway," she muttered. "For all I know, the whole thing is just one big metaphor."

"First time I ever fought a metaphor," Spike said, joining her at her side. "'Bout time I had a challenge."

The grin he shot her was enough to bring a smile to her lips, and she shook her head in mock dismay. "Big-headed vampires are always the first ones to get staked," she taunted.

"Oooo," he said, pursing his lips before burying his mouth in the curve of her neck. "That a promise?"

The tremors that went through her body seemed to echo against his skin, and Buffy sighed as his tongue lapped gently at the scar on her neck, tilting her head to allow him better access. "I'm working here, Spike," she murmured.

"Workin' usually happens when you're awake," he laughed. "I think this qualifies as playin'." He felt her stiffen in his arms, and looked up, eyes ready to search the horizon for whatever menace had captured the Slayer's attention, his own muscles freezing when he saw the spectre hanging before them.

"Somehow, I don't think it's in the mood for tiddlywinks," Buffy commented, as she separated herself from the vampire's embrace.

It hung there, a diaphanous dance that shimmered in spite of the lack of light, neither male nor female, yet somehow eerily both. Instead of eyes, two endless pools of ebony gaped back at them, and its mouth was a lipless hole, locked in a palsied scream that sang of sadness, a silent cry for ears that would never hear it.

"Who are you?" Buffy asked, not really expecting a response, but desperate for some sort of reaction, something she might be able to use.

I am all. Its mouth didn't move, but the words were unmistakeable.

"All?" she quizzed. "Isn't that laundry detergent?"

I am all, it repeated. As are you.

"OK, now I know it's a metaphor," Buffy groused. She glanced back at Spike. "You were the poet. What the hell is it talking about?"

He shook his head. "Bugger if I know," he said. "Things were a little more literal back then."

You must go.

"Wish I could," she replied, turning back to face the spectre. "But I don't usually get a say in these matters."

You must go.

"Broken record much?" She sighed, the sword in her hands lowering just ever so slightly as her annoyance began to fester. "I heard you the first---."

It slammed into her stomach, drilling her backward onto the ground, pinning her to the cold earth with invisible fetters, and she felt the first drops of rain begin pelting her from the sky. Spike's voice seemed to come to her as if from far away.

"Buffy!"

But she was helpless, unable to move except for the blinking of her eyes as she tried to shield them from the icy onslaught of the heavens…

*************

It was only her ceiling. No rain. No clouds. Definitely no wind. Just the plain and simple white of her bedroom ceiling, staring back at her as if to ask what the hell was wrong. The sensations from the impact to her gut were already fading, drifting into the ether of the dawn, and she glanced over at her closed curtains, spying the faintest filaments of orange already beginning to peek through.

Though she was alone in the room, Buffy knew that Spike still slept, probably off in his own dreams by this point, and marvelled yet again on this strange side effect from the ritual. Ever since the aborted cleansing a week earlier, every time one of them started dreaming, the other would join in---provided, of course, that he or she was sleeping at the time---and they would experience the dream together. It was weird. In many ways, it was as if they were still awake, like they'd been prior to their time in Greece, just spending time being together, with the exception of how they interacted with whatever was happening in the dream. So far, Buffy had had to help Spike kill a group of motorcycle demons, while he in turn had been forced to follow her around while she chased Brian Boitano for his autograph. He was still making her pay for that one.

Tossing back the blanket, Buffy hopped from her bed and strode over to the window, ready to throw open the curtains to face the morning but already feeling the urge to leave them drawn. That was another thing she'd noticed. All of a sudden, sunlight made her feel squicky, and she found herself avoiding it when she could. Not that it hurt or anything; it was more like being aware of its potential dangers more than anything else. Probably just leftover vampire crap, she'd decided. It'll just pass in time.

Have to remember to tell Giles about the dream, she thought. Maybe he can make some sense of it. And, just maybe, it'll bring him back to earth again, help him refocus on the current situation in Sunnydale. Though she knew why he'd been a little distant since returning---and not that she was begrudging him any kind of happiness---Buffy was anxious to get this issue with Glory and Dawn sorted out, the knowledge that they'd lost precious research time because of Daymon and his little ritual all too keen in the Slayer's mind. Time didn't stand still on the Hellmouth, although, to be honest, if it happened one of these days, she wouldn't really be all that surprised.

*************

His head rested in his hands, his elbows perched on the edge of his desk. The paper stared back at him, the words bleeding into a black mush, and Giles felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, an acidic burning that seared its path into his nostrils. He should've known, should've anticipated that they would pull such a stunt, but in the wake of the gang's return from Greece, he had allowed himself to momentarily forget about the bureaucratic beast, savoring instead the new lease on life he'd felt he'd been granted. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he mentally scolded. How could I have been so short-sighted?

It wasn't as if he'd even given them all the details; his report had really been just a cursory outline of the events of Buffy's kidnapping. He'd left out all mention of Cortina, and Celie, and the Slayer's involvement with Spike, yet somehow, they had found out. How, he had no idea, but here it was, gazing back at him in black and white.

The tinkling of the shop's bell jerked him from his reverie, and he quickly pulled a book over to cover the paper, hiding the very obvious crest of the Council's letterhead from any errant glances from a passer-by. He rose when he saw Buffy, stepping away from his seat before she took the time to come to him. No need to worry her, he decided. She's certainly under enough pressure right now as it is.

"You look well rested," she commented as she settled into one of the chairs. "Does this mean no more midnight drives to the desert?"

Giles blushed. "Cortina had…business," he said. "And, really, it's none of your concern."

Buffy laughed. "When you sleep through two of our last three training sessions, I think I get the right to give you a hard time." She glanced around at the empty shop. "Where is everyone?"

"Anya asked for the day off, but for what purpose, I didn't have the nerve to ask, and frankly, I stopped listening as soon as she mentioned the word costume. As for Willow and Tara, I presume they're at classes. They did say they had a lot of make-up work to do."

A twinge of guilt wiped the smile from the Slayer's face. "I guess I kinda forgot that life goes on as normal, even on the Hellmouth. My bad, I'm sorry."

Giles shook his head. "You've been pre-occupied," he said. "It's certainly understandable." He sat down in the chair opposite her. "I'll probably regret asking this, but where's Spike?"

"At his crypt. I assume, still sleeping." Actually, she knew for a fact that the blond vampire was still off in la-la-land, but Buffy kept that confirmation to herself. She and Spike had decided not to share that aspect of their newfound connection with anyone just yet; it was hard enough for the gang to adjust to them being a couple as it was anyway.

"I'm afraid without Anya here to mind the store, we won't be able to train today."

She shrugged. "That's fine. I have something else for the agenda, if you don't mind." As she related the details of her dream, taking care to edit out the details about Spike being there, Buffy watched the frown lines on her Watcher's forehead deepen, the blue of his eyes grow increasingly murky.

"Interesting," he murmured when she finished. "And you have no idea what summoned you to that particular spot?"

"Nope."

"And there was nothing regarding Glory or this key business in it?"

"Nope."

"Interesting," he repeated, and stood to cross to the nearest bookshelf.

"Glad you think so," Buffy said. "'Cause it's bugging the crap out of me." Her head tilted as she watched him pull out a thick, leather-bound volume. "So what do you want me to do?" she queried.

"Pardon?"

"What do you want me to do? I'd rather not be wasting my energy on something other than finding out what's going to get rid of Glory, but if you think this is important…"

"Oh, no." Giles looked over at his charge. "Don't worry about the dream for right now. Concentrate on protecting Dawn. I'll take care of the research for this. Unless, of course, you have another dream, in which case we'll have to lay a little more credence to the possibility of some additional danger."

"Good." Buffy visibly relaxed, sinking back into the chair. "I was kinda hoping you'd say that."

*************

He was breathing, and it hurt like hell, but somehow, Spike knew that stopping was not an option; stopping would mean certain death. He walked into the mist, feeling it part before him only to close again as he passed through it, inhaling deeply the musky scents of the cobbled streets, and wished not for the first time that he didn't have to go down that path, that he could choose instead to stop dead in his tracks and just wait for consciousness to return. But that was not an option, not now, and so his feet moved, inexorably drawing him closer to his destination, yet one more pitstop in the field of his memory.

Buffy knew none of this. For some reason, this only happened when he slept alone, when he knew Buffy was awake and walking around in the outside world, and he lay alone and unconscious in his bed. He almost thought it was better that way. When he'd made that first sojourn, it had scared the rocks out of him, leaving him with an impending sense of panic when he woke up, and Spike had worried that she would sense that, just as she was now sensing everything else that seemed to be going through his head. She hadn't; she had, in fact, seemed oblivious to the entire experience, prattling on about how Joyce had invited him over for dinner and how thrilled Dawn was going to be when she was officially told about them being a couple. Thank god for minor distractions.

The house loomed in front of him, its long, thin windows all too familiar, the glint of a candle visible from behind one of the drawn curtains. Already, his heart was starting to race, his nervousness about walking up those stairs to knock on that particular door crushing the air out of his lungs, and Spike wished bitterly that he didn't always need to be human during these escapades. Sometimes, there were serious advantages to not needing oxygen, or not feeling a heartbeat, and this definitely qualified as such. Still, his body climbed the steps, an echo resounding throughout the street each time his boot met the sculpted marble, and he steeled himself to face the house's occupant…

*************

If he kept his eyes down, intent on the task at hand, Spike didn't notice how the crypt walls were suddenly too close, the heavy stone too cold, the air too dank. Gotta start lookin' for a new place, he thought irritably. Won't do to have Joyce thinkin' I can't make things nice for her firstborn. Besides, it's 'bout time for a fresh start. New girl, new life, and all that. Certainly deserves a new flat.

That would have to wait until tomorrow, because for now, he was already late, the sun's disappearance over the horizon trumpeting dusk's arrival and his own delinquence. Though he was doing his best not to intrude on Buffy's feelings, giving her as much privacy as possible whenever he could, the annoyance she was currently feeling was crossing the distance between them with little problem, shortening his own temper unnecessarily, causing him to spill the nail polish remover over the coffin's lid.

"Fuck," he muttered, and jumped up before the spreading fluid could reach his trousers, his reach for the nearby towel automatic. It had taken him too long to decide what to wear to this shindig; no way was he going to go through that nightmare again by getting himself wet.

"What?" he barked when the timid rap rang on his crypt door, too busy cleaning up his mess to realize that someone was actually taking the consideration to knock before barging in.

He didn't even look up when it creaked open, the dusky illumination from outside casting titian shafts across the floor. "I'm not…intruding, am I?" came Giles' voice, and Spike's head jerked up, his blue eyes curious to see the Watcher step gingerly over the threshold.

"At least you had the decency to knock," he commented dryly. "Don't get that very much these days."

Giles hung back, lingering just inside the entrance, his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets. "How are you doing?" he asked. "I haven't seen you since…" His voice trailed off, both men knowing to what he was referring. This was the first time they'd laid eyes on the other since arriving back in Sunnydale, and neither was sure how he felt about that right then.

Spike shrugged. "All healed up and never better," he said. "But somethin' tells me you didn't come callin' just to check on my health. What bug's up your skirt, Rupert?"

Slowly, the older man's hand withdrew from his pocket, bringing with it a folded piece of paper, and he stepped forward to hand it over to the vampire. "I haven't told Buffy about this, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't, either." He waited a moment as Spike scanned the letter, the line between his heavy brows deepening until finally the blond looked up to stare at him. "Obviously, I'm not going to do it," Giles added. "I want you to rest assured on that."

"Council of Wankers," Spike growled. "Why in hell did you tell them in the first place? None of their bloody business what me and Buffy do."

"I didn't!" The Watcher's already frayed nerves flared in protest. "I have no idea how they found out what happened. Do you honestly believe I'd betray Cortina's confidence in such a way?"

The mention of the Vrolek's name was enough to curb the vamp's irritation. "S'pose not," he admitted, his gaze returning to the letter. "Whaddaya think they want with me?"

Giles shrugged. "If they know the whole story, I'd assume they're interested in seeing what effect the cleansing had on you. I know it certainly intrigues me." He cleared his throat. "But I'm not going to just hand you over to them. That would be…wrong."

Spike's azure eyes flicked back up to inspect his guest's face, searching for a sign that might betray his last statement as something other than truth. He knew little about how Rupert might be treating Buffy differently this week; other than saying he was taking nightly trips out to the desert to see Cort, she'd made it sound like everything else was just peachy keen, and Spike had certainly not overstepped the boundaries he'd placed upon himself by deliberately rummaging around her psyche trying to suss it out on his own. And now here was Giles, offering his support of their relationship by refusing to turn him in to the Council. Perhaps there might be hope for their future here in Sunnydale after all.

"So if you're not goin' along with them, why're you here?"

Giles sighed. "Because I thought you ought to be warned. In case they're not pleased with my response." He held up a finger in warning. "You are not to tell Buffy about this. She has more than enough to worry about right now with Glory, and if this most recent dream of hers proves to be more than just a passing fancy---."

"She told you 'bout that, huh? Thought she might."

"Yes." The Watcher's frown was immediate. "How do you know about it? She said you were still sleeping when she stopped by this morning."

Inwardly, Spike groaned. Bugger. He was goin' to have to be more careful about saying shit like that 'til Rupert learned the whole story. If that ever happened. "She came by this afternoon," he offered, his impassive face masking the lie more effectively than his voice. "Told me about it then." He handed the letter back to Giles. "You better hang onto this. Wouldn't want Buffy running across it when she's around."

"When she's…? Oh, yes. Of course." Carefully, he replaced the paper back into his coat, half-turning before hesitation checked his movement. Now is the perfect opportunity, the Watcher thought. It really wouldn't require anything more than a few choice words, and then it was out there, and everyone could go on with their lives. "Spike…"

The vampire saw the struggle behind the lenses of the other man's glasses, the clash of years of indoctrination with that which was right before his eyes, and an unfamiliar pang of pity caused him to frown. "Rupert," he started, "you don't have to---."

"Yes, I do." Lifting his chin, he turned to face Spike squarely, two sets of blue surveying the other with unfaltering ease. "This past week, I've never seen Buffy more…" Focussed? Happy? "…at peace. I'd be a fool to think that it wasn't due to your influence, your…relationship. I just wanted to say…thank you." There. It was done. Over with. And most surprisingly, the world hadn't ended.

"I know you haven't exactly been chuffed to bits about me and Buffy," Spike said, his voice low but reassuringly steady. "And I know how much you'd like to just tell me to bugger off. That's why I've been keepin' my distance, lettin' you get adjusted to the idea. But I said it before and I'll keep sayin' it until I don't have a tongue any longer to form the words. I love Buffy. The only thing that matters to me is that she's happy."

Giles lowered his head. "I know." He couldn't help the wry smile that twisted his lips. "I have to admit, the prospect of having an ally in dealing with her more…stubborn side is quite appealing. Perhaps with your help, I might even be able to finally convince her that one doesn't need to train while the World Cup is playing." The warm ripple of their shared laughter swelled against the stone walls of the crypt.

*************

She was waiting on the front porch as he approached the house, and Spike found himself deliberately slowing his gait as the Slayer rushed towards him, her anger a literal wall that preceded her steps in a relentless drive. He was almost an hour late, and though he knew she was pissed off, his own annoyance with her was even greater, mostly because he knew that this time, though it wasn't completely his fault, there was no way he could say anything without giving away too much about Giles and the Council. It was going to take all he had to suss out a way to hide that kind of information from her---not that he thought she went poking around in his head unnecessarily---and he wasn't happy about that prospect. Fuckin' wankers.

"Where the hell have you been?" she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the front door. "Are you trying to start this off on the wrong foot? 'Cause, gotta tell you, you're doing a brand-spanking great job of it." She glanced back at him over her shoulder and immediately frowned, jerking him to a stop. "What are you wearing?" she demanded, pulling open his duster to reveal the chinos and dark blue shirt, carefully tucked into his pants. Even his trademark skull ring was missing. "You look like you jumped out of a Gap commercial."

"What?" he said, looking down at himself, his brow furrowed. "I was goin' for the please-don't-stake-me-I-promise-not-to-bite-your-daughter-unless-she-asks look. I thought you'd like it."

"Except you don't look like you," Buffy countered. "You're trying too hard. Relax." With deft fingers, she pulled the shirt from his waistband, smoothing it out over his hips in an attempt to affect a more casual air.

Spike snorted. "Sorry to break this to you, kettle, but that's a fetchin' shade of black you're wearin'."

"I just want this to be perfect."

"Buffy…" Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her against his chest, arresting her frenzied attacks on his clothing. He could feel the pounding cadence of her heart against his skin, and the slight flush high on her cheeks only confirmed the anxiety that was rolling off her in waves. "Luv, everything'll be fine. It's not as if your mum's never met me before. Remember the very heavy axe aimed at my head?" He matched her small smile and reached up to stroke the hair away from her eyes. "I've had more cups of her hot chocolate than you think. Everything's goin' to be right as rain, I promise."

She believed him. At least, she believed that he thought it would be OK, and for now, that was more than enough. Leaning her cheek against the hard sculpture of his chest, Buffy sighed. "Don't even know why I'm so worried," she said. "Sometimes I think Mom likes you better than me anyway. I've gotta practically beg for hot chocolate. You, you just show up at the door and she's giving it away in buckets."

Spike laughed and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I keep tellin' you," he chuckled. "It's the accent. You American birds are always fallin' for the accent."

*************

The soapy water lapped against his hands with its igneous caress, sliding between his fingers, warming his flesh from the outside in. Spike hated to admit that he actually enjoyed doing the dishes, found the sensual fashion of the fluid to be incredibly erotic, searing heat combined with slick lubricants that offered promises of more than cleanliness. Even the very tactile presence of the sponge, rasping against his oiled skin, brought tiny prickles of pleasure, reminding him of dark retreats and even darker nights. He chuckled silently. I'm probably the only vamp who ever got a hard-on watching that Palmolive woman natter on about "you're soaking in it," he thought. Wonder how Buffy would react if she knew?

At his side, the young blonde's face was locked into a grimace, her normally nimble hands fumbling with the towel as she dried off the gravy boat Spike had just placed on the drainer. "How come we get stuck doing the dishes?" she complained. "You're the guest. You shouldn't have to clean up after everything."

"Because it's the polite thing to do," he replied. "And because your mum went to a lot of trouble with dinner. It's the least we can do." His gaze glanced back at the door, the two female voices in the dining room drifting to his ears with the ease of falling feathers. "Besides," he added, "it gives them a chance to talk about us."

Buffy's eyes widened. "You think that's what they're doing?" she whispered. Tossing down her towel, she hurried over to the entrance, pressing herself out of sight against the jamb as she listened in on their conversation.

"…think now that they're dating, Spike'll let me borrow his jacket?" Dawn was saying. "It's just the coolest thing. Nobody at school has anything like it, and I just bet if I were to show up wearing it…"

Stepping back to the sink, the Slayer rolled her eyes. "Fat lot you know," she said. "All she's going on about in there is your stupid coat."

"Didn't hear you complainin' about it the other night after patrollin'," Spike replied. "Fact, I think your exact words were, 'At least this way I don't have to worry about grass stains on my---.'"

"Ssshhh!" It came out as a hiss, but the twinkle in her eye told the blond vamp that it was more put upon than real, the memory of that night bringing warm flushes to both of their bodies. As his cock hardened, Spike couldn't help but miss the feel of his black jeans as they would tighten around his crotch, scraping with delicate fingers along the length of his erection. Buffy was right; the chinos were just not him.

"Willow called and invited us out to the Bronze later," Buffy said. "She said she and Tara were in need of a little R&R after their marathon homework sessions."

He shrugged. "Whatever. I'm easy." His blue eyes narrowed as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Don't you want to go?"

"I dunno. It just seems so…" Her nose scrunched up as she sought the right word. "…normal. Like something I would've done with Riley. I guess I've never…pictured you in that kind of way before. All boyfriendy and making with the small talk."

Her confusion swept over him and Spike brought his hands out of the dishwater, wiping them quickly on a towel before resting them on her hips, pulling her gently against him. "Not that I'm a big fan of bein' normal," he said, "but just 'cause I'm in your life now, doesn't mean I want you to be letting go of all those things you had before me. I knew what the Slayer package consisted of when I got into this, so don't be usin' that as an excuse. I won't let you." He leaned forward, nipping gently at the end of her nose. "S'long as I get my fair share, I got no bones with Scooby life."

Buffy's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Even if I want to double with Xander and Anya?"

He grimaced. "Don't think I'm ready for that much normal yet, pet."

*************

If he had looked up, Giles would've seen the voluminous clouds rolling in from the east, vast piles of black cotton that swarmed across the sky, blotting out the faint pinpricks of the stars with a chilling finality. Instead, he was lost in thought, hands buried in his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm, head bent as he rushed from his car to his front door.

Though he knew Anya wouldn't be pleased when she discovered he'd closed the shop early, Giles was more than willing to trade her impending moodiness for the satisfaction of having warned Spike of the Council. Ever since he'd faxed back his reply, the Watcher had been nervous about what his direct refusal of their orders would entail, how they would react to his obvious insubordination. Yet, demanding that he take the chipped vampire into custody---capture him like some wild animal---just begged to be defied, almost as if by doing so, they were testing his loyalties. And there was nothing Giles despised more than being used like that.

The wind eddied gently around his ankles as he fumbled with the keys, finally slipping the correct one into the lock and pushing his front door open with a reluctant shove, drawing him into the inky blackness. It was the wrong darkness for him right now; what he wanted---where he wished to be---was the dry scent of Cortina's cave, the cool shadows that wrapped him in their ever-familiar embrace. More than that…he wanted her.

This would be the second night since their return from Greece that he hadn't held Cortina's sleeping curves in his arms, and though he certainly appreciated that she had her own responsibilities to take care of, he found himself resenting the time they were apart, wishing instead of being alone in his flat this evening, he could be lounging in her quarters, drinking some of that whiskey she kept hidden, laughing as they debated some of the finer points of Nordic mythology, only to finish the night in her bed…naked…limbs intertwined as her touch elicited responses he'd thought dormant from disuse.

His wince was almost audible as Giles realized that his body had betrayed him with yet another erection, the mere memory of the white demon's hands more than enough to bring him to full arousal. Another bloody cold shower, he thought irritably. I'm going to be so puckered by the time she gets back, I won't even be able to appreciate her. His hand snaked out, flipping the switch on the wall and throwing the room into brightness, and the Watcher began to pull the coat from his shoulders.

"You're early."

He froze as her voice floated to him from the kitchen, his pulse rousing from its somnolence to tattoo his skin in shades of heat. As he stood rooted, Cortina came to the entrance, an amused smile glinting in her pale eyes, and he drank in her white-clad form as if she may at any point vanish. "You're supposed to be away," he finally managed.

"And you're supposed to still be at the shop," she rejoined. "How do you expect me to surprise you when you walk in before I can even get started?"

When she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen, Giles followed her automatically, dropping his coat on the chair as he passed it, all thoughts of a shower gone as elusively as the day. Though nothing she could be doing in the other room could surpass his pleasure merely at seeing her, his curiosity was piqued, her culinary talents unexpected. His evening had just taken a turn for the better…much better…

*************

They beckoned, with voices of dark and light, calling the children of the wind with unrelenting fervor, while offering the promise of untold felicity should they be found. Although there had been repasts throughout the years, this---an unexpected delicacy in the lassitude burying this dimension's essence---was too exhilarant to ignore, and so they came, dancing with the breezes as they skated over oceans, rounded over mountains, swept through plains, until finally espying the tumult that was their destination.

How fitting that those who came to feast should do so at the Hellmouth…

*************

The air was peppery to the nose, the heavy spices Cortina had used in the meal still lingering in the room as tenuous motes, and Giles unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirts, rolling up his sleeves to lessen the sudden warmth that suffused his body. Prior to moving to California, there would've been no way his palate would've survived such a culinary excursion---vegetables he wasn't sure he recognized spiced with herbs he was certain weren't indigenous to human culture---but now, having gorged himself on what was really a fantastic meal, he wasn't sure he could ever look an overdone Sunday roast in the same way again. And he certainly wouldn't enjoy it.

"So you haven't said," he started, picking up the towel to begin drying the dishes that lay on the drainer. "Does your being in Sunnydale mean you've concluded your business?"

"It means," she replied, plucking the cloth from his hands to slide her body between him and the countertop, "I missed my favorite librarian."

The corner of his mouth lifted in an embarrassed half-smile, and Giles couldn't help ducking his eyes to avoid the forthrightness of her gaze. "Ex-librarian," he reminded her.

Her nimble fingers began tracing delicate paths atop his chest. "You can take the man out of the library," she said, "but you can't take the library out of the man. So I stand by my statement."

"Do you have to…leave tonight?" he asked, knowing that she could feel his arousal through their clothing and feeling oddly liberated that he didn't mind.

"Have to…? Yes, I probably should. The real question is…will I?" There was no mistaking the twinkle in her pale eyes as she glanced up at him, her lips curled into a coy smile, and she firmly took his hand in hers to lead him away from the drying dishes and into the living room.

The scents were less out here, and Giles caught a whiff of the musk he was quickly associating with Cortina's skin, that tangy mixture of heather and freshly turned soil that was so unique to her. When he felt the sharp prickles in his mouth as it suddenly salivated, his erection jumped, the memory of his tongue on the velvet skin of her inner thigh all too much in the present. "There is that whole…sunlight issue," he said, swallowing hard.

"Are you deliberately looking for a reason for me not to stay?" she teased, pressing him down on the couch before curling into his side, lips hovering just over his skin as her breath fanned the side of his face.

"No." He could barely contain the giggle that rose to his throat as the tip of her tongue darted out to trace his ear. "Stop that. I've told you it tickles."

Her chuckle reverberated against his skin as she leaned in closer. "Telling me not to do something is like waving a red flag at a bull, Rupert."

"I just meant…"…giggle… "…so that we don't have to worry about time…" …giggle… "…your cave might be…" He grabbed her hand before it could settle in his lap. "Cortina! Please!"

Her lip jutted out in a pretend pout. "And here I thought you'd let me have my way with you if I fed you first. Remind me to skip the meal next time."

Giles hand curled around her hip, pulling her onto his lap, pressing his arousal into the crack of her ass. "My only intent is that having your way doesn't get impeded by our concerns regarding time," he murmured. "I'd rather be able to spend the night enjoying…you, than having to keep one eye on the clock because you've got to get out before dawn."

She laughed. "Well, at least we agree that neither one of us is planning on sleeping." Deftly, she extricated his glasses from his face, setting them carefully on the table behind her.

"You're incorrigible," Giles said, shaking his head.

"And you're cute when you use big words," Cortina replied, and leaned forward to press her lips to his.

*************

The sweat dripped between her breasts, tracing the curve to its underside only to continue its track down her abdomen, pooling at the waistband of her jeans in a familiar stickiness. It wasn't the only part of her that was wet. Feeling Spike's body pressed up against hers, barely even moving as the rhythm of the song wrapped them in its cadence, the moisture between Buffy's legs was undeniable, seeping through her panties until even she could smell the musk amid all the other bodies on the dance floor. It wasn't just her, though. The vampire's erection was evident, even through the baggy chinos, and she ground her hips closer to his, sliding her body in minuscule measures along its length.

Spike chuckled, his mouth on her ear. "Nobody says we have to stay, luv," he murmured.

She glanced back at the table where Willow and Tara were leaning into each other, giggling over some unheard joke. "We pull a duck and run, and they're going to think we're no better than Xander and Anya."

Though she couldn't see his face, Buffy knew the vamp was grimacing. "You know comparin' me to Harris is the surest way to piss me off," he said, only half-joking.

"I know," she laughed, and squeezed him closer.

When the song ended, the pair separated just enough to move back to their table, Spike's hand in the small of her back as he guided Buffy through the throng. Anyone watching wouldn't have missed the possessive lean of his body as he pulled her chair out for her, leaving his arm across her shoulders as he eased himself onto the adjoining stool.

"I'm thirsty," Willow announced, just a little too loudly. "What about you guys?"

"Oh, I'm fi---," Tara started, only to receive a sharp elbow in her side. "Thirsty, yes," she amended, and matched her girlfriend's gaze to look over at Spike. "I definitely could use a drink."

The vampire rolled his eyes. "Isn't it just easier to ask me to go?" he asked. "None of this shimmy shammying about, trying to be all subtle-like." He rose to his feet and began to walk away.

"What about Buffy's drink?" Willow called out after him.

"Oh, I'm just going to have---."

"---water," Spike finished with her, and ambled off toward the bar.

"So, spill," the redhead gushed once he was out of earshot. "How're things since you two got all cleansey?"

Buffy couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "Things're good. No freakout from Mom. Dawn's all, oh Spike is so cool, can I borrow his leather coat. Even Giles asked how he was today. I'm beginning to think we came back to some Stepford version of Sunnydale here."

"You two look really good out there," Tara offered. "Everything just looks like it…fits."

"Well, we definitely have the whole compatible body parts issue under control," she laughed. "But, you're right. It fits. We fit. Makes me wonder what the hell I was ever thinking with going out with Riley." She felt the flash of irritation from behind her, and had to resist the urge to glance back and see the vampire's face. Every time even a fraction of a memory of her ex flitted across her brain, Spike's temper flared, his inability to hide his dislike for the other man almost comical. Her mouth opened to continue, when a sudden image of a naked Drusilla dancing with one of her dolls filled her head, the tinny echo of a record player providing the accompaniment overriding the music from the bandstand. Buffy jerked around, glaring back at the bar, to see the blond vamp smirk as he turned around to pass the cash to the bartender.

A tiny line appeared between Willow's brows as she witnessed the exchange, green eyes darting between the two blondes. "You…OK?" she asked timidly.

"Fine." Buffy's hair flew around her as she whirled back to face the two witches. "I forgot to ask," she went on, changing the subject. "How's Elvis doing?"

"Good. Adjusting. He doesn't like it when I leave him too long, but we haven't been able to come up with a better solution than Cortina's. Somehow, I'm not sure we could get a six-foot dog covered under our pet deposit."

"And I think Miss Kitty Fantastico might be just a little threatened if we were to bring another pet home," Tara added. "Especially if it was the demon canine variety."

"Giles is supposed to take us out there tomorrow," Willow said. "Wanna come?"

"You know, as much as I'd love to, I'm still kind of coming to grips with the whole Giles having a life outside being my Watcher thing. I'm not sure I'm ready to see him making googly eyes at Cortina just yet." She only glanced up when Spike came up behind her, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand as he slid onto his seat.

"Well, I for one am glad Rupert's got a little bit on the side," the vampire commented. "Might loosen him up, let him appreciate the finer things in life for a change." A ballad filtered from the speakers, the heavy saxophone rippling over his skin, and he rose, cool fingers brushing against Buffy's cheek. "C'mon, Slayer," he said.

Tara and Willow watched as the pair drifted back out onto the floor, melding into the other's body with an ease that belied their brief time together. The blonde witch sighed. "Do you think they realize they look like they're doing so much more than dancing?"

Willow answered with a small smile. "Somehow, I don't think they care."

*************

The wind had picked up even more by the time they left the Bronze, the soft rustle having evolved into a blustery gale, whipping Spike's coat around his ankles, sending icy shivers down Buffy's spine. Hugging her jacket closer around her, the Slayer's steps quickened, rushing down the sidewalk at such a pace that the vampire raced to keep up with her.

"You could still go home," he offered. "My crypt won't be the warmest place tonight. You won't hurt my feelings if you pick Mr. Gordo over me."

"Liar." She flashed him a quick smile. "Besides, his tail isn't nearly as cute as yours is," she added, and reached inside his coat to pinch the curve of his ass.

Spike jumped, more from surprise than anything else, and a wicked grin cleaved his features. "You did that 'cause you wanna be spanked, didn't you?" he taunted.

She felt his body tense and started running just a split second before he did, her laugher floating back to him on the wind. "Gotta catch me first!"

They ran like that all the way to the cemetery, Spike always just a few steps behind the Slayer, her golden hair a frenetic cloud obscuring her face from his view. At one point, he knew she slowed to allow him to catch up, but the blond vamp deliberately lessened his own pace, maintaining the distance between them, refusing to give up just yet the spectacular aspect of her pumping legs as they melded into her hips. It was only when they were mere yards from his crypt door that he put on the extra speed, diving forward to tackle her to the ground, the pair tumbling over the closely shorn grass until a large headstone brought them to a crunching halt.

"You…run like…a girl," Buffy panted, using her momentum to flip him over onto his back.

Spike stared up at her, her chest rising up and down from the exertion, the flush in her cheeks only partially caused by the nip in the air. Digging his lean fingers into her hips, he pushed her down so that her upper body landed against his with a thump, her breasts crushed against him in taunting pleasure. "See how fast you go with five feet of leather draggin' you down," he replied.

Her lips pursed. "Ooo," she cooed. "Five feet of leather? That a promise, or are you just teasing this poor horny Slayer?"

His growl was instinctive, blue eyes darkening to almost black as his pupils dilated with pleasure. "You've been inside my head," he reminded her. "You tell me."

The breath caught in Buffy's throat as the sudden sensation of straps around her wrists, the rough edge of a cord trailing over her nipple, flooded her inner eye, and the movement of her lips to his seemed the most natural thing in the world, mouth sucking at the full lower curve as if to swallow it before opening and entangling his tongue with hers.

"Buffy…luv…"

She didn't know how he did it, made her name sound like dark chocolate smeared across his lips, but it only lit her brighter, her fervor increasing, arms coming up to wrap themselves around his shoulders as she fought to consume him.

Spike noticed the change in the air first, and tore himself away from her kiss to frown up at the cloud-covered sky. Gone was the high-pitched squealing of the wind, replaced now by a deadened calm, every particle in the air seemingly frozen, fearful of making a sound lest it should wake some untold beast. A moment later, Buffy sensed it as well, and twisted her body to gaze around her.

"Storm's comin'," the vampire said. "We should get inside while we can." Rolling her to one side, he clambered to his feet, hand reaching out to help her up as well, but was met with nothing. "Buffy?"

"Sshh," she cautioned. Something was out there, something…familiar, but where it was coming from or even what it was, she had no idea. She was slightly annoyed she hadn't sensed it earlier, and blamed her over-active hormones for her lapse in concentration.

"Nice to know I'm more interestin' than work," Spike said, his lips twisted into a smirk, answering her unspoken thought as if she'd actually uttered the words out loud. "But I think you're over-reactin'. It's just the storm givin' you the heebie jeebies, not some big nasty lurkin' around the corner."

Though she didn't really believe him, Buffy rose to stare around the deserted graveyard, her hand slipping automatically into his as he began pulling her toward the crypt, away from whatever was causing her skin to crawl. Nothing jumped out at them along the way; no bolt of lightning came out of the heavens to strike them down. I probably am over-reacting, she thought as they stood in front of the door. Must just be something in the air…

*************

She stared down at the bed, head tilted, the scent of Spike's body still hanging in the air. "You know," she said as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, "this'll be the first time I've been in this bed since I had that dream about you and the beach."

"Actually," and his fingers slid inside her trousers, deftly undoing the button before sliding down the zipper, "last time you were in it was the dog fever, remember?"

Buffy sighed, enjoying the feel of his lips on the curve of her neck. "I like my memory better," she murmured. She gasped as his nail caught her clit before sliding into the slickness of her pussy, her muscles reflexively clenching around the two fingers, straining to hold them in, almost crying out loud when he extracted them and his hand from her pants.

"You've been wet since we hit the Bronze," he murmured, holding up his fingers so that she could see her fluids glistening there in the flickering candlelight.

"Now's my time to be right," she said, and turned in his embrace. "I've been wet since you got so turned on doing the dishes."

Somewhere between there and the bed, the duo shed their clothes, falling onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs, Spike's lips leaving icy trails over the top of Buffy's breasts. The barest flick of his fingers caused her nipples to rise, hardening to twin points under his attention, and he brought himself lower, taking in the nearest to suck it against the roof of his mouth.

She hissed, arching her back to bring him even closer, one hand clutching at the sheet while the other raked down his back. When her legs spread, allowing him easier access to the heat of her soaking slit, the vampire chuckled, and none too gently shoved them back together, using the opportunity to brush the palm of his hand over the coarse curls. "You're an impatient one tonight," he teased, stretching his sculpted form against hers, flipping her around so that each lay on their side, her back to his front, his rock-hard cock easing into the crack of her ass.

Buffy whimpered at the contact, eyes flittering shut as Spike's hands returned to her breasts, rolling and tugging at her nipples as he nibbled across the top of her shoulder. It was at once both too much and not enough, her pussy aching to be filled, the promise of his cock just inches away, and the grinding of her ass into his hips seemed the most natural thing to do, rubbing its length between her cheeks, the pre-cum dripping from the head to create a sticky path in its wake.

Though this was hardly their first time, the inferno of the Slayer's flesh in his arms seared Spike in a vortex of runaway emotions, each threatening to take control…the continuing disbelief that Buffy was actually his…the blood-driven lust that demanded he take her, once and for all…the unequivocable love that wanted only for her to be happy. For a brief moment, he wondered how she felt those feelings, if they were just as much of a confusing mishmash for her as they were for him…

"Not confusing," she whispered. "Real."

"Y'know, we've really got to stop doin' that," Spike murmured into her skin.

"Stop doing what?"

"Answering questions that never get asked."

He felt her stiffen slightly in his embrace. "Does it bother you?" she queried, her voice slightly husky. "I try to give you space, you know, so that you can still feel like Spike, but sometimes it's just impossible not to hear you, or to feel you. And things just pop out of my mouth before I can think."

"That's got nothin' to do with what happened in Greece," he replied. "You've been poppin' off without thinking ever since I met you." He laughed as she tried to twist around, her gasp of indignation put on more for effect than because she was actually annoyed. They both knew he was right, and it was that more than anything else infuriated her…in a good way, of course. "But, to answer your question," he continued, his hand straying from her breast to trace lazy circles on her stomach, "no, it doesn't bother me. We're just goin' to have some explainin' to do to the others if we keep it up."

"They wouldn't understand. Especially Giles. I think he'd go all Watchery on me if he knew just what happened between us."

Spike bit his lip, holding back the words of reproach that had automatically sprung there. Couldn't go defending Rupert if he didn't want to explain why he was feeling particularly disposed toward him, and that would just lead to more questions that he didn't want to be answering right now. Better to just…

His hand slid down to her leg, grasping the soft flesh of her inner thigh to separate them, sliding his body downward just enough to ease his hard cock between her outer lips. Her moan of pleasure was all he needed to spur him forward, tongue tracing the curve of her ear as he guided himself to her opening, sinking the shaft into her wetness inch by excruciating inch.

Her muscles sucked at him, drawing him deeper, her leg lifting and curling back around his in order to give him room to slide even further into her pussy. It was only when Spike felt the heavy sac of his balls press against her ass did he stop, holding himself there for a moment that seemed to stretch an eternity, before mirroring his actions in reverse, pumping in and out with agonizing leisure.

"Nice thing about coming in a crypt?" he murmured into her ear. "You only have to worry about your screams wakin' the dead."

Buffy's giggle quickly turned into a whimper as he began to pick up speed, his blunt teeth scraping at the tender flesh of her neck. Every thrust threatened to split her open, and when she began to match his movement, grinding her ass backwards into his powerful hips, Spike growled, the tension in his body forcing him to begin driving even deeper.

The sweat that had dissipated from her skin on the run to the graveyard returned, slicking her back so that it slid with glorious ease over his chest. Its arrival, however, heralded the dysfunction of her lungs, every breath seeming to catch in her throat with a harsh rasp, and Buffy had to keep reminding herself to exhale…inhale…take in the oxygen so that the kaleidoscope that danced before her eyes as he fucked her would stay bright and colorful, not shade itself to black. Just because he didn't need to breathe, didn't mean she could do the same.

He always wondered how someone so small could take him the way she did, swallowing his hard cock whole as if it was candy, every squeeze of those inner muscles a vise-like embrace that offered to drain him dry. He couldn't help the sounds that emerged from his throat, the animal grunts paired innocuously with the words of love… "Buffy…fuck…so beautiful…can't…don't…god…love you…so much…" It was an endless stream, some of it making sense, most of it not, all of it filling her ears, telling the young woman exactly what doing this meant for him.

The explosion came out of nowhere. Usually, there was a build-up, that spring that tightened in the pit of her stomach, but this time, it didn't appear. Instead, the scream was ripped from Buffy's mouth, echoing against the walls of the crypt, her body tensing, clenching, driving against his cock. He came just a few seconds later, always unable to hold himself back as her pussy milked the length of his shaft, and clung to her damp torso, frozen within the depths of her wetness as he shot, load after load, the paroxysms of pleasure wracking throughout his body.

It took a minute for the room to stop spinning, and another before Buffy felt safe enough to open her eyes again. She smiled when she realized that Spike was still buried inside her, his mouth nuzzling her neck, his arm returned to around her waist as if he were settling in for the night. "You don't plan on sleeping like this, do you?" she asked lightly.

"S'nothin' wrong with it," he murmured, already half-asleep. "Just means I'll already be in proper position for round two."

"And just how many rounds do you foresee?"

He chuckled. "I tell you that, and there goes the surprise."

Her laughter joined with his, and slowly, Buffy snuggled back against his chest.

*************

She watched him as he slid the robe from his shoulders, his back to her, and smiled lazily as he so carefully returned it to its hook on the bedroom door. "Just once, I'd like to see you be so dazzled by my presence that you forget you're British for a minute and leave your robe on the floor like a normal human being."

Giles glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the twinkle in the blue depths unmistakeable. "And since when do you know so much about being a normal human, o she of the mystical demon realm?" he teased.

Cortina laughed as he slid back under the blankets, draping one leg over his thigh, allowing her skin to brush against the satin firmness of his semi-erect cock. "You live a few hundred years around mortals, and then we'll talk about who knows what."

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling her fingers skate across his stomach. "I believe that's the first time I've thought about that," he mused.

"Thought about what?"

"Your age," he clarified. "The things you must have seen…the history you've witnessed…it's really quite intriguing to consider the possibilities." His head turned, a small smile on his lips. "I suppose it would be far too gauche to ask exactly how old you are."

"Suffice it to say…older than you." Her eyes danced in amusement. "Don't tell me I'm your first older woman," she accused lightly.

His laughter was immediate. "Oh, god, no," he said. "In fact, I lost my…" His voice trailed off, glancing at her expectant gaze before clearing his throat. "Never mind."

"Well, then…" She rolled herself on top of him, straddling his hips, as she sat up. "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with being your first demon." His blush and the quick ducking of his eyes caused Cortina's jaw to drop in genuine surprise. "Rupert Giles! Will wonders never cease…"

"She wasn't a…demon, per se," he protested. "Just…not human."

Her white hair trailed over his bare chest as she leaned down, hands pressed to his shoulders as she supported her weight, small even teeth nipping at his throat. "Someone's a very bad boy," she murmured, feeling him swell between her thighs.

"Actually, I've been told I'm quite good," Giles replied, unable to hide his smile as he went along with her teasing.

"And we don't have to worry about going into work today?" Cortina asked, her bites travelling across his shoulder to his upper arms.

"No." The air caught in his lungs as her wetness glided over his erection, all rational thought temporarily banished. "Anya…ummmm…I told her…"

"…to watch the shop?" she finished for him, the words no more than breath in his ear.

"Yes." Mustering his last reserve of strength, Giles wrapped his arms around Cortina's torso, flipping her sideways and back onto the bed, his long body pressing her down into the mattress. "We've got all day…"

*************

The flames crackled in the fireplace, casting claret-colored shadows across the floral wallpaper of the drawing room, the tiny revenants dancing in solemn glee as he watched her glide across the floor with the silver tray balanced carefully in her delicate hands.

"More tea, William?" she asked, and the familiar lilt of her voice constricted his throat, the barely repressed shivers in his skin escalating to tremors that were difficult to mask. Fuck.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," he growled, refusing to look up into those oh-so-familiar blue eyes. "It's Spike now."

"Hmm, yes, you have." He heard her settle in the chair opposite, the long length of her skirt impossible not to notice as it billowed out around her. "You're certainly in a…curious temper this evening. Do you want to discuss what's vexing you so?"

"Since when is this about talkin'?" he muttered. "Let's just get this on and get it over with."

Her gentle tsk seemed to boom throughout the room, and Spike couldn't help but sneak a look at her out of the corner of his eye. The soft brown hair curling around her temples, just a hint of grey beginning to tinge an occasional strand…the fine lines around the eyes…even the small bend in her nose…it was the details that made it so hard, knowing that it was so close and yet… "You're not even her," he said, his gaze returning to the fire before him, losing himself in its hypnotic power. Don't look, don't look, don't bloody look, he chanted silently. Seeing her face, knowing what he knew…it made the memories of watching Buffy with Daymon at the beginning of the ritual feel like Christmas.

"I've arranged for us to be alone tonight," she said, ignoring his disavowal. "I thought you'd be pleased."

And it appeared in his hands, just as it had every other time, hot and steaming, the rich scent that normally made his mouth water turning his stomach to lead. The sensation of his own heartbeat as it pounded within the walls of his chest---growing all too-familiar---pulsed down his arms, making the fine china rattle against the saucer, and his knuckles grew white as he tightened his grip, wishing and praying that the soddin' tremors would just stop. Relax, relax…and then there it went, the fragile cup shattering in his grasp, the crimson fluid spilling to obscure the tiny roses painted along the edge of the porcelain, his own blood mingling with the drink as the shards sliced into his palms.

"Fuck," he muttered, and reached for the cloth at his side, knowing as he did so that it wouldn't make a difference.

"Now, William, what have I told you about using such language in my house?" Her tone had hardened, and Spike raised his head to look at her, the pain in his hand forgotten, drowning in the celestial shade of her aspect as he found himself rooted to his seat. "I'm afraid you leave me no choice…" The dagger appeared in her lithe grip---again, always again---and he braced himself for the punishment it would deliver, mesmerized by the wont of its arc as it sent splinters of refracted candlelight scattering across the deadness of her eyes…

*************

She'd give just about anything for a mirror right now. Don't know what you expect, she chastised herself, running the comb through her damp hair. The vamp's got no reflection; what does he need a mirror for?

Still, if she was going to be spending time at the crypt, Buffy was going to need to get one, along with a couple other amenities to make the place more human-friendly. Maybe some curtains, as she hummed distractedly under her breath. And definitely some decent movies to watch when nothing's on TV. No way am I sitting through any more Passions.

The Slayer giggled. Wonder how long it would take him to notice if she tossed his tape collection out the window? Just had to make sure to do it during the day so that he'd have to wait until the sun went down before he could get them. That might actually be a fun game, and it would keep her Passions-free during hours when their extra-curricular options were more on the limited side.

Buffy glanced at the watch on her wrist. Twelve-thirty. No wonder she was hungry. And Giles was so going to kill her for being late for training. Downstairs, Spike was still asleep, and though she could've used a few more hours of shuteye herself, she knew she had to get up and actually do something with her day. Even if it meant braving the storm that still raged outside.

Going out, though, meant one thing; she had to find her shoes. No way was she in the mood for mud splodging between her toes, probably with vamp dust thrown into the mix for good measure. A quick survey around the crypt told her what she already knew---that her boots were still downstairs---and with a sigh, Buffy headed for the ladder. Not that seeing Spike one more time before she left was a bad thing, she thought. But if he wakes up, I'm going to be screwed 'cause I'll never get out of here.

*************

She heard him before her foot had left the ladder, the soft whimper in the back of his throat that hooked into her stomach with icy claws, and immediately Buffy's senses tuned into the blond vampire on the bed, eliminating the space between them in two quick steps, clambering to kneel at his side.

"Spike!" she hissed, hands on his shoulders. "Wake up!" She shook him, gently at first, then with increasing force, watching with growing dismay as he refused to respond. What she wouldn't do to be inside his head right now, to be able to help him fight down whatever it was that was gripping him so. But no. Buffy was stuck on the outside, minus their normal connection, with only her voice and her two hands to get him to snap out of it.

"Spike!" she shouted again, this time lashing out with a quick right to his jaw, mentally noting to apologize to him later for having to hit him. She saw his lids flutter, the frown beginning to furrow his brow, and placed her hands back on his shoulders. "Wake up!"

"What the…?" Spike blinked against the light, scowling. "Fuck, Buffy. I'm trying to sleep here."

"No, you're trying to have a nightmare there," she retorted, sitting back on her heels.

The faint flashes as it started to come back to him caused the vampire's hand to unconsciously clench, and he fell back onto his pillow, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear his head. Don't worry her, don't let her know about the dreams, he thought and quickly focussed his mind elsewhere, anywhere, just as long as she didn't…

They both heard it at the same time, the footsteps softly treading across the floor above them, and simultaneously looked up at the ceiling, as if by doing so, they could see through it and discover who the new arrival was. Correction. Arrivals. Very much a plural.

"You expecting company?" Buffy whispered.

Spike snorted. "One of these days, you're goin' to realize that's a really daft question," he replied, and reached for his pants.

"I don't suppose you have any weapons down here?"

He couldn't help the grin. "Yeah. You."

She rolled her eyes. "How about something pointy?" she asked, but even as his mouth opened to respond, that smirking glint shining in his blue eyes, she held up her hand to cut him off. "You are not about to go there."

Together, the pair ducked into the corner, away from the entrance from above, hiding in the depths of the shadows so that the intruders would be surprised should they come down. "You could be lucky," Buffy murmured. "Maybe they just want to rob you."

"Bloody well hope not," Spike muttered. "Took me forever to nick all that stuff."

The first landed with an almost silent thud, his back to the pair, the weapon in his hands trained on the empty space in front of him. Immediately, the vampire stiffened. Human.

She caught the thought just as she darted forward, foot connecting with the newcomer's back to send him reeling forward. Human meant she was on her own here; Spike's chip wasn't going to help in this kind of fight. Not that it was much of a battle. In the space of a single blink, Buffy leapt over the man's head, landing in front of him as he stumbled to regain his balance, and had wrenched the weapon from his grasp, using it to butt him in the face.

Spike watched as he went down like a rock, his smile automatic as he watched the Slayer reach gracefully for the foot of the second man, yanking him down through the hole and tossing him against the wall like a tightly rolled newspaper, adding him to her unconscious body count. Every move was like liquid fire, executed with deadly accuracy in a grace that made his mouth water. God, he loved watching her fight.

Buffy cocked her head, sliding against the wall as she listened to the remaining tread overhead. Hazel eyes remained locked on the hole in the ceiling, and as two booted feet came to rest on the ladder, she yanked on its side, dislodging it from its placement so that the third intruder came crashing to a heap on the floor before her. One carefully aimed kick, and it was officially Buffy, three…intruders, none.

"Who've you pissed off now?" the Slayer asked as she circled the three men, tying them to the post for interrogation later on.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Spike replied, arms folded across his bare chest. But he knew. And in spite of his efforts to the contrary, he couldn't keep the words from floating across his brain. Bloody Council...

She stiffened as if burned, head whipping around to stare at him, eyes blazing. "The Council?" she said. "What could they…?"

"Bugger," he muttered, ducking his head as he ran lean fingers through his hair. When he tried to step away, though, Buffy's hand shot out, wrapping around his arm in a steel vise, forcing him to turn back and look at her. "Look," he started, "I told him I wouldn't say anythin'…"

"Giles." Her voice was glacial, and he could feel the anger radiating from her in icy slivers. "Why the hell did he keep this from me?" she demanded.

"'Cause he bloody well knew you had enough on your plate without havin' to add me to it!" Spike shot back. "I'm not such a whelp that I can't take care of myself, y'know."

Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "Oh, because you're so good at defending yourself against humans, right?" she said, and shook her head. "Get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to go see Giles."

He looked point blank at their three hostages before turning an annoyed azure gaze back to the Slayer. "There are so many problems with that, I don't even know where to start," he snarked.

"They're not going anywhere---."

"---not to mention it's daytime---."

"So, we'll take the tunnels." Her jaw was firm. "I have a few choice words for both of you."

"How 'bout you give me mine here and go skip along to Rupert on your own?" Spike offered. "'Cause if I show up there with you, he's goin' to know somethin's up." He paused. "We're goin' to have to tell him about…you know…" He hoped that was enough to convince her not to drag him along. Nothing about this could turn out good if he went.

"You can either get dressed on your own like a good little vamp," Buffy said, "or I'll dress you myself and drag your ass out of here. Your choice." The look in her eyes was immutable as she waited for him to respond, his t-shirt dangling from her fingers.

"Bitch," he muttered, yanking the piece of cotton from her hand. He loved the stubborn bint, but sometimes she got him so mad, he felt like tearing her throat out. And this, knowing how fucked up this was going to make everything, definitely qualified as one of those moments.

*************

They were both soaking wet as they stood in front of Giles' door, the rain pelting their skin until it pocked in protest. "Hurry it up," Spike growled from under his steaming blanket, watching as Buffy pounded on the wood for a third time. He wasn't happy about being out in the storm, and this traipsing around Sunnydale was starting to erode his last nerve. You couldn't have been at the shop, could you, Rupert, he thought irritably. No, you had to call in sick, and make me drag my ass over here. Hope you're in there puking your guts out.

Buffy frowned. "You don't think he's too sick to answer the door, do you?" she asked.

"Who bloody cares?" he snarled. "Just get me in there before you have to sweep me in there!"

Biting her lip, she grasped the doorknob, expecting to feel the lock beneath her grip, only to be surprised when it easily twisted in her hand.

Spike pushed past her into the apartment's interior, oblivious to his surroundings as he dropped the blanket to the floor and began stamping out the flames. Buffy's entrance behind him was slower, and she felt her skin crawl as she surveyed the room, the pieces slowly begin to fall into place.

"Giles?" she called, walking past the chair that was knocked askew, eyes glancing at the claw marks that trailed down the wall. The apartment was silent, the only sound audible her own heartbeat, and the Slayer rushed forward, disappearing down the hall.

*************

He lay in a huddled heap behind the door, and Buffy had to push against him in order to get inside. Blood stained his forehead, clumping his eyebrows into a sodden mass, and his knuckles were torn, the skin ragged shreds from the blows she imagined he'd thrown. Giles groaned as she rolled him over, propping his head onto her lap, his eyes flickering open to stare up at her.

"What happened?" she asked. "Are you OK?"

"Cortina…" he murmured, and tried to twist his head to gaze over at the bed.

Buffy looked up, around the empty room, before settling her worried eyes back on her Watcher's face. "She's not here," she said. "What happened?"

Her announcement seemed to drain what fuel he had, and the older man slumped against her arm. "They…took her…"

"Who? Who took her?"

"Your bleedin' Council."

Buffy's head swivelled to stare at Spike in the doorway. "How do you know that?" she asked the vampire.

"They left their calling card," he replied, and tossed the weapon to the ground before her.

*************

The storm guided the way, carving their path through the city that housed the Hellmouth, offering temptation along the way but harboring no doubt as to where the true bounty lie…or rather, bounties, as the voices called to them in a harmonious unison that was impossible to resist. Through the streets…allowing the wind to carry them…whispering their thrill at the festivities to come.

The trail diverged, splintering between black and white, and for a moment, they hesitated, unsure as to which to follow, knowing that either would be pleasurable but unable to choose which should be first. In the end, they opted for the shorter path, their eagerness overwhelming their reason, and sailed along on the air's currents, their hunger growing, threatening to better their judgment.

They swarmed around the house, dancing with the gales, delighting when the tall blonde rushed from her SUV to the front door, only to follow her in as she struggled to close it behind her. Their glee quickly dissipated, however, as they were greeted with an empty plate, the dwelling bereft of the promised feast. Dismay dissolved into anger, and the uninvited guests began to grumble. They were hungry. They had come to feed. If they were to be denied their treat, then they would have to satisfy themselves with what was on hand.

They followed her into the living room, attracted by her radiance, not as bright as the one they desired but delectable just the same, and, as she settled herself onto the couch, dozens of invisible eyes drank in the sight of their next meal…

*************

Giles winced as she daubed his knuckles with the antiseptic, the singe as the fluid seeped into his exposed flesh reminding with harsh alacrity of his own inadequacy to protect Cortina. "Sorry," Buffy murmured, and set aside the cotton balls to pick up the bandages. There was a moment of silence as she carefully wrapped his hands, stretching the white gauze around the wounds with a gentleness that surprised even her, and she hesitated before speaking again, a quick glance up into his face confirmation for the young blonde that his real pain didn't lie in these external injuries.

"How many were there?" she finally asked, letting loose his hands to sit back on her heels.

Giles leaned back into the couch, eyes fluttering shut. "Four. Five maybe. They were all dressed identically, and it happened so fast…" His lids opened, gazing down at his charge in weariness. "I'm not sure."

"Well, at least Cort put a fight," Spike said, nodding toward the claw marks that scarred the wall. "I'd wager she's givin' them a good run for their money."

In spite of his pain, the Watcher smiled. "Yes, she's definitely doing that," he agreed. "She has remarkable…spirit."

"Any idea on what they want with her?" Buffy queried.

"Most likely the same thing they want from Spike," Giles replied. "To study her. She's not even supposed to exist. I can't imagine how I ever thought they'd be able to resist such a temptation." His eyes flickered to her face, apology shining through the blue depths. "I never intended for you to get hurt by my…withholding the information I had. I merely didn't want to worry you unnecessarily."

"It worries me more when I start thinking you guys don't trust me," she said. "But the important thing is, they failed."

"Somehow, I don't think they counted on the Slayer bein' in my crypt," Spike chuckled. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have piddled about only sendin' three men."

"That doesn't mean they won't try again." Her voice was hard, her face grim, and the two men watched as she rose to her feet. "If they think that just because they give me a little bit of information on Glory, they can start interfering in my life and the people I care about, they've got another thing coming. This is one bud I'm nipping before they can even open their mouths to bite."

"I should've insisted she return to her caves last night," Giles said softly. "At least there, she's got defenses. Guards to protect her from such an attack."

"Stop blaming yourself."

His gaze was direct. "And who else is there?" He shook his head. "I should've known, should've been prepared. The Council is ruthless in its pursuit of knowledge, and Cortina---."

"---has us on her side." She sat herself down next to him on the couch. "The Council wouldn't even have me as a Slayer if it wasn't for her, and if they can't see the voice of reason in that, then we'll just have to introduce them to fists of fury instead." She smiled, trying to lighten the tone. "You know, one of these days they might actually learn that pissing me off is really a bad idea."

Spike and Giles smiled, their individual pride at the strong woman before them evident in both grins. "I…appreciate the support, Buffy," her Watcher said.

"Don't go thinking this gets you off the hook for not telling me about them gunning for Spike." Rising to her feet, she folded her arms across her chest as she glanced between the men. "As soon as this whole mess gets fixed, I'm going to have a bone to pick with you two. And not some wimpy funny bone, either. I'm talking huge leg-sized bones." She began heading for the front door. "So, while I'm gone, you two talk strategy. Figure out how we want to start on getting Cortina back."

"You're leaving me here?" Spike asked, stepping forward.

"You're leaving him here?" Giles echoed, back straightening as he leaned forward.

"I'm leaving him here," Buffy affirmed. "I think you two will survive an hour alone together while I run home to pick up some weapons and change my clothes. No offense, Giles, but these have gotten a little…icky." She plucked at the fresh stains on the hem of her top. "Not that there's anything wrong with Watcher blood, just not on my new blouse."

"I can always swing by the crypt to pick up my own weapons---."

The shake of her head was vehement. "I don't want you out alone, Spike. Not without some kind of protection in case they make another attempt to snatch you. The Council won't be expecting you here, so you should be safe until I get back."

The room was silent after she left, the two men refusing to look at the other. The blond vamp was the first to shatter the quiet. "Don't suppose you've still got some blood in the back of the fridge," he drawled, sauntering to the kitchen. "Council kinda put a kibosh on the whole breakfast thing."

"No," the older man replied, rising to follow him out. "But there is some Weetabix. If you're really hungry, you could try some the old-fashioned way, you know…with milk."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Don't be givin' me the Watcher attitude, Rupert. How the hell did you expect me to keep Buffy out of the know once your work buddies showed up?"

"They're hardly my 'work buddies'---."

"And I told you keeping her out of the loop was a bad idea---."

"I'm not going to keep apologizing for that!" Giles' fist slammed into the wall, startling both of them, and he winced as a bright spot of crimson appeared on the bandages.

"Y'know I'm goin' to get the blame for that, too, don't you?" he said, marching past the other Englishman to fetch the remaining gauze from the living room. "She's goin' to think you took a swing at me."

"Well, we just won't tell her then, will we?"

The two men looked at each other for a moment before both burst out into laughter, sharing the moment of their own silliness as it warmed the chill of the room. As the air quietened, the earlier tension replaced by a more relaxed ease, Giles watched as Spike returned with the bandages and set about replacing his dressing. "You should really stop whinging about feelin' guilty about Cort," Spike said. "I mean, those Council wankers caught you with your pants down. Hardly expect any man'd be able to put up a good fight with his tackle blowin' in the breeze."

The Watcher chuckled. "I suppose not."

"And don't know what Buffy's got her knickers in a twist about, anyway," the vampire continued. "If the Council won't play ball, we'll just find Cort on our own."

"That sounds much simpler than it actually is."

"Not really. All we've got to do is get Red. She'll take care of it."

"Do you think one of her locator spells will work?"

"Not her hocus-pocus. Her Elvis. Cort's still in the area, he'll sniff her out soon enough."

For the first time since Spike's arrival, he saw a light gleam in the Watcher's eye, the faintest glimmer of hope breaking through the clouds that had been shading the blue depths. "Yes," he murmured. "The Hound can certainly find her. We must call Willow."

Spike held firm to the other man's hands as he tried to walk away. "Let's get you patched up and sorted first," he said. "I'm not listenin' to Buffy natter on about how I broke her Watcher when she gets back."

*************

The wind cut at her skin as she raced along the sidewalk, arms hugged tightly around her thin body in an attempt to stave away the cold. Maybe we should just reconvene at my house, Buffy thought grumpily. Giles has a car; he can bring Spike along and nobody has to be out in Hurricane Hellmouth. Although the rain had decided to take a break, the storm itself didn't seem in any danger of ending any time soon, and the thought of having to return to it laden with weaponry was growing increasingly bothersome to the Slayer. Yep, no reason why we can't do this at my house, she decided. Plus, hot chocolate. Big bonus.

She saw the SUV parked in the drive and only gave it a passing thought as she flew up the porch. Mom must've forgotten something, she thought, and tested the theory by turning the doorknob, feeling it twist within her grasp. So much for locked doors today.

"I never want to hear any more grief about playing hooky again," she called out as she pushed the door shut behind her. "Home in the middle of the day? People are going to…" Her voice trailed off as she came to a stop in the living room entrance, her smile fading. "Mom?" There was no response from the still form lying back on the couch. "…Mom…?"

*************

"You need more biscuits," Spike shouted as he shut the cupboard door, the wooden frame reverberating dully as it bounced slightly in its slam. "And how the hell do you have McVitie's in the first place? These cost a bomb outside of merry old England---." The plate in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering into jagged splinters, as his hand reached out to clutch the edge of the counter, the world around him swimming in a kaleidoscope of crimson and gold, the air suddenly thick and too heavy as he found the unavoidable urge to begin gulping at it. The images were coming fast and thick, bombarding his inner eye with pain so exquisite he audibly winced as he struggled to straighten. Joyce…in her living room…lying back…not moving…god, no…

"Spike? Are you all right?" There was no mistaking the concern in Giles' voice as he strode from the living room, stopping in the doorway with a worried frown as he watched the vampire lurch forward, gripping the wall as if by letting go he risked toppling over, not even cringing when he latched himself onto the Watcher's arm.

"Buffy's," he snarled. "Now."

*************

Movement meant acknowledgement, and acknowledgement meant admittance, and in the vacuum that now entombed the young blonde, admittance was the same as saying goodbye to the lifeline that had been her mother, and she wasn't ready to do that. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

The cold crept up her body, inching its path through her limbs, leaving numbness in its wake, and Buffy found herself lost in the vision of an empty house, silence thundering between its walls, trying to suck her in just so that it could spit her back out again, a shell of what she was, walking through the days like anything really mattered when knowing inside that it didn't.

Buffy, luv, we're on our way…

"Spike!" His name echoed around her, the relief in hearing him albeit in her head expelling the air so that she sounded for all intents and purposes that she was calling him from somewhere within the building.

Sshh…he reassured, his inner voice just as silken as his real one, stroking the golden hair of the scared little girl inside her head. You're not alone. Rupert and I will be there any minute. He felt the trembling begin in her knees, knew she was unaware of it, and wished more than anything that he could be there in the Summers' house instead of hiding underneath some blanket in the back seat of Giles' mid-life crisis. She needed to be held, needed to know that she didn't have to face this by herself, needed to know that Spike felt Joyce' loss just as strongly as she did. The stab of fear as he realized she was standing there immobile, not feeling anything but chill, sliced through his gut, wrenching a frustrated growl from his throat, stinging his eyes with tears. Not bloody fair, he thought, knowing Buffy could hear him but unable to hold back his own ache. Not Joyce. She deserved so much better.

It was then that he felt the swirl of air around his ankles and frowned. What the…? But the difference became clear in a moment when he recognized the sensations not on him, but on Buffy, the slight breeze wrapping around her legs, not his, circling and entwining as they swept upwards, a lissome spiral that seemed to be imbued with its own life…

Buffy!

The urgency in his call wrenched the Slayer from the reverie staring at her mother's dead body had swallowed her in, and she turned her attention inward, feeling the rough texture of his blanket against her cheek. What's wrong? she asked.

Get out of the house. Now. Get as far down the street as you can.

Why? I can't just leave her here…

Damn it, Buffy, just do as I say! He couldn't help the panic as he felt the tightening around her torso and thrust the sensations at her consciousness, forcing her to notice for the first time how difficult it was getting to draw in a lungful of air, even harder yet to let it out. Just run!

She stumbled backward, her legs prickling as if they'd been asleep for hours, her usual grace vanished on the wing of desperation. The air seemed almost palpable now, and this time there was no mistaking the brushes against her skin as she raced back to the front door, throwing it open to the renewed gales outside, and ran, head bent, down the street.

Giles saw her first, a golden wraith in the fervor of the storm, and honked as he pulled up along the sidewalk, jerking her attention to the street as she veered to meet him. He frowned as she slammed the door shut. "Are you…?" he started to ask, only to be cut off by the vicious growl from under the blanket in the rear of the car.

"Just drive, Rupert."

With one last worried glance at his charge, the Watcher yanked the steering wheel around, reversing the vehicle's direction, before taking off with a squeal across the cement. He allowed a moment of silence before his frustration got the better of him, and barked, "Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Mom…" She was staring out the windshield in front of her, hazel eyes glazed in a distant whimper, all color gone from her skin.

"What? What about your mother?"

She couldn't answer, couldn't say the words. Too final, too real, not true…

"Joyce is dead," Spike said softly, raising the blanket enough so that he could look out at the immobile blonde in front of him.

"How do you know that?"

Buffy didn't move, but he felt it just the same. "I saw her, Rupes," the vampire said, mentally extending his hand to soothe the racing nerves in his lover's skin.

"How? You've been with me the entire time." Giles glanced into his rearview mirror and cursed the lack of reflection he was greeted with. How he desperately wanted to see Spike's face right now.

"Because I saw it." Her voice was almost inaudible, but it was loud enough for both men to hear. "I walked in, and she was just lying there, and she wasn't moving, and…"

The muscle twitched in the Watcher's jaw. "Are you telling me that Spike can see what you're seeing?"

"See, feel, but none of that is worth a toss right now. Not when we've got to get Buffy away from here."

"I don't understand. Was Joyce killed?"

And it was then that the connection became clear in Buffy's head, the correlation that Spike had sensed between the presence swirling around the Slayer's body and her own mother's inert form crystallizing. She stiffened, sitting up straighter in her seat, as a spark appeared in the hazel depths of her eyes. "Yes," she stated, her voice suddenly brittle, two high spots of color coming back to her cheeks.

"By what? Vampire? Demon?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "But there was something there. I…we…Spike…felt it. He's the one who told me to get out of there." For the first time, she turned in her seat to gaze at the blond in the rear. "Thank you."

"Someone's got to be watchin' your back," he replied with a wry smile. "And seein' as how I've got so much experience at it…"

"So where are we going?" Giles interrupted, his frustration edging his voice. "If there's a threat to Buffy, we need to keep her safe until we figure out what it is, how to get rid of it. I'm open to suggestions here, especially since you two are the only ones who seem to have all the information in this scenario."

"I'm sorry." The apology in her eyes was genuine. "I promise, I'll tell you everything."

"I say we kill two birds with one stone," Spike said. "Pick up Red and head out to the caves. Buffy should be safe there while Elvis goes lookin' for Cort."

Giles nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "That sounds good."

The Slayer stiffened. "Dawn!" she exclaimed. "I can't just have Dawn come home and find Mom like that. She'll freak."

"So we'll pick up Bit on the way." A quick glance at the seat around him made his shake his head. "Next time you decide to blow your dosh, Rupert, try and do it on something with a little more legroom, OK?"

*************

Her whole body ached, the tape over her mouth endlessly tight, pulling at her skin with hundreds of little fingers that pinched and squeezed as if to remind her of its presence. In spite of the fact that her abduction had occurred hours before, she could feel the blood dripping down her hands, and knew from the pain in her fingertips that her nails were torn from their beds, most likely still embedded in Rupert's wall from where she'd fought to slow their exit, not that that made the pain any less.

They were humans who held her, armed with weapons that had effectively knocked her out until moments earlier, but who they were or what they wanted were unknowns, variables in this kidnapping equation that Cortina was desperate to decipher. They knew enough not to let her speak, her Vrolek scream her most viable defense, and her hands were bound behind her, but other than that, she was free to roam, should she choose to. Of course, the crushing ache through her flesh prevented any sort of movement, and she wondered what exactly they had done to neutralize her so.

Turning her head, Cortina felt the soft brush of cotton underneath her cheek, and knew she was in a bed, a feather dream beneath her body that belied the harshness of her seizure. She let her eyes flutter closed again. I need to rest, she thought, recuperate for whatever lies ahead. Whatever it is they want, they won't get it without a fight…