Chapter 15

“It’s okay! No need to panic! Cavalry’s here!” Xander declared as he flung back the door to the library to make his grand entrance.

Willow looked up from where she had been sat with Dawn and Giles, who were busy examining a large book on the circular table in front of them.

“Cavalry?” she asked, humour tinting her tone.

“Yes. I am the cavalry. All is not lost - I come bearing donuts…” Xander declared, ceremoniously depositing a large box of donuts down on the table. They looked at him, seemingly mystified at his actions.

“What? This is a Scoobie meeting isn’t it? And, can I say, the first one in a long time. So, in honour of the occasion, I bring the necessary donuts,” he explained.

Dawn looked at Willow and shrugged, then turned to the box of donuts, only to find she had been beaten to it by Giles who was already taking a large bite out of the strawberry jelly.

”Hey! I wanted that one!” she complained.

“Tough. You’ll learn that you have to have speed and cunning to make a real Watcher. One day, you might just be able to beat me to the strawberry jelly donut,” he said, his tongue catching a stray dibble of jelly which had escaped and was rolling down his chin.

“Oh, that’s really mature!”

The group turned to where Buffy was standing by the door, arms folded across her chest, obviously fighting to hold back the laughter. She shook her head and walked into the room, taking up position leaning against the large, dark, hardwood fireplace opposite the table that formed the centre of the well-stocked library.

“What? We have to be mature now? Since when? And why did no one tell me?” Xander said in mock astonishment, looking around the room at the faces of the others there.

“There was a memo sweetie - musta passed you by.” Willow patted his hand gently, holding back her own giggle.

“Yes, well. May I enquire why exactly you’ve called us here today, Buffy?” Giles asked seriously.

Buffy took a breath and scanned the faces in the room. Xander had been right with his comment that it had been a long time since they’d met like this. It had been a long time. In fact, thinking about it now, Buffy suddenly realised that there had never been a meeting like this in the mansion and the absence of those who hadn’t made it this far stung anew as she found herself mentally waiting for them to appear.

The lack of Anya’s blunt and often inappropriate comments, Tara’s quiet but honest advice and then there was… Buffy shook her thoughts away and turned them back to the present and the diminished group before her waiting to hear what she had to say.

“You’ve all been really good at giving me space to think - and to talk things through when I’ve needed too. And I have been thinking about all this. It’s been a lot to take in, but I have been trying.

“I can’t say that I’ve come to any decisions about what I’m going to do, but I do know that I have to accept that I can’t rule it out completely.”

She took a breath and looked each of them in the eye in turn before continuing. “I didn’t get much sleep last night and it gave me time to think and I suddenly realised something that just hadn’t occurred to me before - I’m not the only one who has to make this decision. If I have a baby, then there’s got to be a father.” She turned to face Willow. “You said that you thought it was Angel?” She paused whilst Willow nodded her confirmation. “Right, then I can’t make this decision without him. We need to have him here. He has a right to know what’s going on, to have a say in all this.”

“Of course,” Giles agreed, reaching for one of the books in front of him. “I’ll contact him immediately.”

*~*~

The man behind the desk stretched and shifted a little in his seat, leaning back to ease the pressure off his behind which had slowly gone numb after hours of sitting mindlessly in the same position.

*Hell, I really gotta find myself a new job,* he thought to himself as he reached into his back pocket to pull yet another cigarette out of the crumpled and rapidly emptying packet which resided there. He flipped channels on the small TV in front of him then changed to staring out of the window as he was met with a seemingly endless stream of commercials.

It had been this way all day, all week if he cared to think about it that hard. The motel was hardly the most popular of places and there had been little to interrupt his viewing pleasure - or lack of it - during his shift.

For want of anything else to do, he picked up the slim package that had been delivered earlier and turned it over, examining once more the plain, uninterrupted, general brownness, of it. Not for the first time, he wondered what it contained, considering the reluctance of the delivery boy to leave it in his care rather than waiting for the resident of the room it was addressed to to return and collect it.

He sighed and tossed it back on the counter, fairly sure by now that its mysterious and unknown contents were in no way breakable - *if they were, they would have broken by now,* he mused as the package slammed against the wall at the end of the desk.

He took one last long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the now overflowing ashtray. He scanned the car park and sat up slightly as he noticed a man walk in, laden down with bags. He smiled - he didn’t recognise the man, which could only mean a new customer.

He frowned as the man seemed to be going to bypass the small, cramped front office completely, then he glanced at the package wilting at the far end of the desk and shook his head. He turned back to the man who was rapidly making his way across the parking bay out the front of the motel and looked again. The hair was wrong, the clothes were different, but there was definitely something in the way the man carried himself… *It couldn’t be,* the clerk thought to himself, then shrugged. With the tiny number of guests staying at the motel at present, the odds were that this was the right man.

He heaved himself up out of his chair and made his way to the door, grabbing the now grubby package on his way past.

“’Cuse me!” he called out to the man who had now almost reached the other side of the car park. The man stopped and turned.

“Yeah?”

“Your name, er,” he looked down at the package in his hands. “William Sinclair?”

The man raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, that’s me - what’s it to you?” the man sneered, walking back across the car park.

“Hey, no need to be like that - got a package or you, that’s all…” he held it out, slightly nervous at the other man’s tone.

“Well, thanks bunches, mate,” the slender blonde mocked sarcastically, taking the package from his unresisting hands. Then, without another word Spike tucked the package under one arm, turned on his heel and strode away towards his room.

*~*~

Spike slammed the door behind him and dumped his bags carelessly on the floor before sitting almost gingerly on the side of the bed and staring at the package he now held reverently in both hands.

There was only one thing that it could be and Spike found that he could barely control his excitement and hope at that thought. Only two people knew where he was at the moment - probably the only two people who were actually aware of his existence at all - and only one of them knew him as William Sinclair. Taking a deep breath, he ripped open the envelope, letting its contents spills out onto the bed.

A single sheet of paper lay on the top of the pile, obviously the print out of an email. Spike picked it up and began to read.

Dear Mr Sinclair

Buffy Anne Summers

Further to our recent conversation, I write to confirm that I immediately set our best agent in the United States to locating Miss Summers.

I am now pleased to be able to inform you that we have located her with little difficulty and can tell you that she is currently living in Cleveland. More exact information pertaining to her whereabouts should be contained in the information provided to you by our agent.

I took the liberty of arranging for you to travel on the next available flight to Cleveland and tickets, along with the necessary identification documents, should also be enclosed herewith.

If you should have any further queries, please do not hesitate to contact me further.

Yours sincerely


Gerald S. Walker

Spike dropped the letter and turned to the pile on the bed, his face breaking into a grin.

*And that’s why I pay him so well,* he thought exaltedly as he pulled the white sheet of paper from the pile and looked at the address which had been scrawled thereon. It meant nothing to him, but it was a start and it was where she was. Where he was going to be.

He picked up the first class plane tickets and checked the flight time. He checked wrist, checking the time on his newly purchase watch, and realised that he had only a few hours before he would have to leave for the airport. He hardly glanced at the other documents, knowing from past experience the high quality identification Walker, Green and Company could produce at short notice.

He stood and started to throw clothes straight from the bags into a suitcase he’d picked up that afternoon, not caring how they landed - he sooner he was packed and ready to go, the better as far as he was concerned.

*~*~

Spike paced the length of the room before turning round and walking back again, glancing at his watch with every turn. His suitcase stood by the door, tickets and passport lying on top, his whole life packed and ready to go.

If only the taxi would arrive.

He glanced at his watch once more, only to realise that he still had almost an hour before the taxi was due. He heaved a sigh of frustration and turned to pace the length of the room yet again.

The wait was killing him.

If felt like he’d been ready to go for hours, and in all reality he probably had been. The sun had set whilst he was waiting, but Spike had hardly noticed - such a petty thing was far beneath his notice in his current heightened state of anticipation. His world had shrunk once more - this time to the ticking second hand of the watch on his wrist. Nothing else mattered.

He shook his wrist, then frowned as he realised that the watch was still ticking, every second seeming to pass like an hour. He wondered if it was losing time, if it was actually later than it seemed - what if the cab had been and gone? What if he’d missed the sound of the horn?

He turned on his heel and made his way back across the room, this time heading towards the door. He picked up the suitcase and thrust his tickets and passport into the pocket of his jeans as he opened the door and stepped out into the night, determined to complete his wait for the cab by the side of the road where he could be sure not to miss it.

*~*~

Spike craned his head to look down the almost deserted highway, before returning to rocking back and forth on his feet whilst he waited for the cab. He closed his eyes and let himself relax slightly as the night breeze played over his face, his jubilation allowing himself to, for the first time, let go of his fear of the night.

Nothing could harm him tonight, nothing could touch him. He was invincible, safe and secure inside the bonds of his love.

He smiled to himself as his world shrunk down to the mere beating of his heart, he revealed in the sensation, finally at peace with his humanity. He took deep breaths of warm night air as his mind turned to the future and all the possibilities it held in store.

Eventually, he let his mind turn to her, to Buffy. He felt his heart soar as he remembered her. The way her eyes flashed when she was angry, the way her hair moved when she turned.

He wasn’t surprised in the least when he found lines of poetry wending their way through his thoughts once more - the first time in over a century that he’d let them roam free across his conscious mind without quashing them the moment they formed. But that was then and the romantic nonsense that usually formed his verse had had no place alongside the demon.

But those days were gone and now he could…

His body stiffened suddenly as a cold hand grasped him from behind, stretching his head to one side. In his shock, Spike hardly resisted as the long, sharp canines descended and pierced the soft flesh of his throat to drink deep from the jugular that lay just beneath the surface.

“Ow,” he whispered softly as his world faded to black.

A/N Trust me, there’s a method to my madness and a reason for everything I do, you just get to wait impatiently for me to reveal my master plan. Oh, the power!!! *L* Anyway, don’t forget to review and tell me what you think. Every review makes me write that little bit faster.

Silence reigned in the library, its occupants ranged around the room in small groups.

Xander wandered over to Giles who was standing by the large fireplace in solitary contemplation. His question to the older man was only whispered, but it earned him a glare shot at him from where Buffy sat at the table across the room. Xander frowned and turned to look at her.

“What? Talking not allowed now? Have we got to sit here in stony silence all afternoon? I mean, I realise that this is a library, but come on!” he snapped, failing to keep the bewilderment out of his tone at his friend’s behaviour.

Willow reached across the table and took Buffy’s hand, frowning slightly at Xander. “She’s just a bit nervous, that’s all.”

“Not to mention that he’s late,” grumbled Dawn as she fidgeted in her seat next to her sister.

“I’m not nervous, it’s just that…” Buffy tried to justify her reaction then trailed off as she realised that she couldn’t.

They were saved from any further antagonism as at that moment the door to the library opened and Angel entered.

Buffy looked up and swallowed; waiting for the normal swell of emotion inside that usually accompanied his arrival. She stood as he walked across the room and as he reached her she realised that there was nothing - no weak knees, no skipped heart beats - she was glad to see him, but that was all.

It was almost disappointing and she stood there, feeling slightly awkward, for a moment as he waited for her to make the first move. Finally, she raised her eyes to his.

“You came,” she said simply.

“I was told it was important,” he answered, somehow managing to convey in those six small words his disappointment that she hadn’t asked him here herself.

Buffy faltered, unsure of what to say. Her gaze wandered round the room as she tried to come up with a reply when they alighted on the other man still standing by the door, totally ignored until this moment.

“Wesley,” she said and, almost as one, the gang turned to look at the man by the door.

“Wesley,” Giles repeated. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously.

“Well, I heard a rumour that you were trying to reform the Watcher’s Council. Quite naturally, I was interested, and when Angel said that he was coming out here, well, it seemed like the perfect time to come along,” he said, walking into the room.

“Talking of which, you want to enlighten me as to why I’m here?” Angel asked, leaning against the table and crossing his arms.

Buffy took a few steps backwards and looked at Dawn, who sighed and prepared to explain yet again.

*~*~

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Wesley said as Dawn fell quiet. They looked at him expectantly. “You say that this all stems from a prophecy?”

“That’s right,” Dawn said and she pushed the book across the table so that he could examine the text.

“Yes, well, in that case, why all this talk of ‘decisions’ and ‘maybe’? It’s a prophecy - that generally means it’s inevitable.” He looked up from the book straight at Buffy who calmly returned his gaze. “I’m afraid if it proves to be accurate then you have no choice in the matter. Prophesies have an uncanny way of coming true no matter what you do.”

“Yes, well, I kinda think that I can have a certain amount of control over this one,” Buffy said impatiently. “I mean, it says that I’m going to have a child and indicates that there’s going to be a father, so I’m guessing that, as long as I don’t, well, you know, then no prophecy!”

“These things generally find a way, that’s all I’m trying to say…” Wesley demurred.

“Well, they can bloody well just stop trying to find a way until I say they can find a way!” Buffy shouted, before taking a breath and perceptibly calmed herself down and sitting back into her chair.

Wesley coughed slightly and returned to studying the text of the prophecy.

“And you think I’m involved in all of this?” Angel asked.

“Well, that’s the conclusion Dawn and I came to - the second verse seems to suggest it,” Willow explained.

“Yes, I see - dark Champion…” Wesley murmured as he scanned the text.

“Exactly - that, coupled with the rest of the verse seems to suggest a vampire with a soul,” Dawn agreed.

“And that means Angel - he’s the only vampire with a soul, after all.” Willow added.

“Well,” Wesley said slowly, eyes never leaving the text as he frowned slightly. “That’s not strictly true…”

Buffy looked at him sharply, but remained silent. Wesley, his eyes never leaving the book, missed the look entirely.

“Yes, well, that’s all in the past, isn’t it?” Giles said, trying to deflect the topic.

“And anyway,” Wesley continued, ignoring the comment. “This can’t refer to Angel.” He looked up for the first time, sure now of his conclusions.

“What do you mean?” Willow asked, confused by the statement.

“The end of the last line - it can’t refer to Angel.” He looked down at the book as he read the text. “It’s clear - “the one who has won and lost that which was taken from him.” His eyes raised again and took I Willow and Dawn. “I believe you were quite correct in your translation - it does seem to suggest a creature with a soul and most probably a vampire - however the prophecy is very specific in this. It names one who has won his soul.”

“And I never won my soul…” Angel added, suddenly realising where Wesley was going with his reasoning.

“Exactly - you were cursed. As far as I am aware, only one demon has ever won the right to the return of his soul.” Wesley finished, leaving the name hanging in the air.

“But it can’t be…” Buffy whispered, looking firmly at the table.

Wesley looked across at her, confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You said prophecies found their own way?” she asked, meeting his eyes. “You said that they were inevitable and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.” She laughed harshly. “Well, it looks like my decision has been made for me then, doesn’t it. This is one prophecy that will never come about. Not if it relies on Spike!”

“Why not? I mean, I realise that the other side of the country is a long way, but…” Wesley tailed off as he watched the colour drain from the face of the small blonde woman in front of him.

“What did you just say?” she asked coldly.

“That the other side of the…”

“I heard you. What did you mean?” she asked, looking from Wesley to Angel, who was suddenly trying to look inconspicuous over the other side of the library.

“Spike. He’s living in California.” Wesley frowned. “Didn’t Angel tell you?”

“No. Angel didn’t tell me,” she said, her tone dropping another couple of degrees as she pinned the vampire with her stare. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go now,” she said as she suddenly stood and left the room, leaving everyone to stare after her in shock.

As the door slammed shut behind her sister, Dawn stood and walked over to Angel.

“Tell me everything,” she said simply in a tone which brooked no argument.

*~*~

Buffy was busy stuffing clothes into a bag, tears streaming down her face as Dawn let herself quietly into her sister’s room and sat down on the bed.

“Buffy,” she started, but her sister ignored her, pulling clothes from her wardrobe to join those already in the bulging bag. “Buffy,” Dawn said again more firmly as she laid a hand on her sister’s wrist to stop her frantic packing.

Looking up, Buffy sank down onto the bed.

“I have to leave,” she said, knowing that further explanation would be unnecessary.

“I know. I want to come with you.”

“No. Dawn, this is something I need to do alone,” she replied as she stood once more and started to force the bag closed.

“Why? Let me come.”

“No. I, well, just no,” she said as she managed to get the zip to close over the mass of clothes inside.

“But…” Dawn started.

“There’s nothing on this earth that you could say to make me change my mind,” Buffy said simply.

“Fine,” Dawn answered sulkily. “I know where he is.”

“Then you can tell me, but you’re still not coming.”

“There’s something else,” Dawn said quietly. Buffy stopped, something in her sister’s tone making her wary.

“He’s human,” Dawn said, not knowing how else to put it.

“Oh.”

*~*~

“So, that’s it. You’re going.” Buffy turned as Angel emerged from the shadows in the hallway.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“He calls and you come running - is that how it is?”

“He hardly called, Angel. I wouldn’t even know he was still around to call if it hadn’t been for Wesley.” She looked him directly in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, harsh edge to her tone. “You knew and you didn’t tell me. You knew how I felt. You must have known I would want to know.”

“He’s not good for you…” he started.

“Oh, grow up, Angel!” Buffy exclaimed. “I’m a big girl, I can make my mind up about things. And anyway, any right you ever had to make decisions about my life, you gave up years ago. You had no right to keep this from me. So yes, I’m going. Goodbye Angel.”

He was silent as he watched her walk out into the sunlight outside, bag flung over one shoulder.

She didn’t look back.

Awareness returned slowly and he lay still letting his senses reach out and tell him what he needed to know.

It was only as he came to the knowledge that he was in a cold, damp, cramped room, lying on a cold, hard slab of stone - probably granite from its temperature - sometime in the middle of the night, that Spike realised he shouldn’t be able know this.

He lay still once more and that’s when it came to him - he was lying still. Really still. No breathing, no heartbeat, nothing.

He was distracted from his train of thought by the sound one someone moving across the room towards him. He continued to lie still until he heard them stop by his prone figure. He could sense that whoever - or whatever - it was looking down at him before moving back to the far side of the room.

Spike weighed up his situation, trying to remember how he got to be in this small dank room.

Then he remembered. The razor sharp teeth sinking effortlessly into his unprotected neck. The world going hazy. And then the blood.

He could remember the sharp tangy taste of it as it ran, warm, down his throat sa the world went away.

“You bastard,” he said, still lying on the hard stone, his eyes still closed. He sensed the figure, *The vampire* he assumed, turn and look at him.

“So, finally he wakes up,” it crowed in triumph.

“Yeah, I’m bloody awake. What the fuck did you turn me for?” he asked, opening his eyes and swinging his body up to sit on the side of what, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a tomb.

“Let’s get this straight right from the start,” the vampire said threateningly, walking towards him. “You address me as Sire until you earn the right to do any differently and you defer to me,” he reached Spike and stood directly in front of him.

Spike eyed the vampire critically. He was big, there was no denying that, probably some four inches taller than Spike, with the breadth of chest to go with it. But for all his apparent strength, Spike could tell one thing about this vampire that made him confident that he could take him - the vamp wasn’t very old and had a smell of wariness and forced bravado about him. Spike smirked.

“I said,” the vamp said forcefully, poking Spike in the centre of the chest to emphasise his point. “I said, you defer to me. That means, no talking back. No smirking. You don’t do anything without my say so. Do. You. Understand?” The vamp accentuated each of his points by poking Spike in the chest.

As the vamp’s finger hit him in the chest for a final time, Spike’s patience broke. Reaching up, he grabbed his Sire’s finger and twisted, smiling at the resounding crunch it made as it broke and at the look of shock on the face of the vamp in front of him. Shock that quickly turned to pain as Spike continued to twist, forcing the vamp’s arm up and round his back.

“You’ve had your say - now it’s my turn. Let me tell you how this is going to go. Firstly, I don’t answer to anyone, and definitely not a little shit like you.”

“But, but - I’m you Sire,” the vampire managed to protest from his position half bent towards the floor.

“I don’t care if your bleeding Lucifer himself. I. Don’t. Answer. To. Anyone.” Spike accentuated each of his words with a slight pull to the already overstretch arm of the vamp who was now kneeling at your feet. The vamp whimpered.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. You were expecting to sire a childe who would be all meek and weak and malleable, weren’t you. Weren’t you?” he asked forcefully, pulling once more at the arm of the vamp beneath him.

“Yes,” the vampire managed to sob.

“Yeah - you’d have to be weak to be controlled by a wimp like you. Let me guess - you’ve never sired before, have you?”

“No!” the vampire cried before Spike could ‘encourage’ him any further.

“You want me to let you know where you went wrong?” Spike asked, leaning down to whisper in the vampire’s ear.

“Yes, yes, tell, just let me go first,” the vamp sobbed uncontrollably.

“Bloody hell! You truly are a pathetic little git aren’t you?” Spike sneered as he let go of the vampire’s arm and thrust him across the crypt to cower snivelling in a corner. Spike jumped down off the crypt and brushed the dirt off his shirt. “I mean, look at this place, bloody disgrace it is,” he said eyeing the sorry state [if you can think of a better word than ‘sorry state’ then please insert it here!] the crypt was in. He stretched his limbs and took a deep, now unnecessary, breath.

“Y’know - I was just getting used to the whole breathing malarkey again. And you - you little twerp - came and ruined it all.” Spike strode over to the cowering figure in the corner. “Do you know what you took from me? Have you any idea what you’ve done?” Spike towered over the figure for a second before turning and pacing back over to the tomb at the far side of the crypt, his back to the vamp. “I’d found her again. I was human. We could have finally been together. She would have loved me like that.”

The vampire looked up at the bleached blonde in terrified confusion, unsure how he was supposed to react to this impossibly strong fledgling he’d just sired and who was now pacing his crypt talking to himself. He eyed the door, wondering if he would be able to make it and escape.

“Don’t even think about it,” Spike said, without sparing the vamp in the corner a glance. “You wouldn’t make it. Wouldn’t have a hope in hell and you’d be dust before you were up off the floor. Now, where was I?” Spike turned and walked back over to the vampire. “Ahh, yes - I was telling you where you went wrong. It was bad luck, you see. For both of us. Bad luck for me because I had finally found what I wanted - I’d been given another chance. I was human again.”

The vampire frowned at the use of the word ‘again’, not understanding what he was being told.

“Yes, you heard me right, and that’s where your bad luck comes in. You ever heard of a vampire called Spike - William the Bloody?”

The vampire nodded and finally found his tongue, “Sure, but last thing I heard he was dust - got himself killed fighting with the Slayer,” he sneered.

“That’s right. Well, except for the dust part. Became human instead.” Spike’s expression hardened and he grabbed the vamp by his shirt and hauled him up off the floor. “At least until some stupid, fucking, snivelling little vampire turned me. So, you’re bad luck is that you just sired a master vampire. And a very pissed off master vampire at that. And you know what?” Spike asked, his tone calming.

“W-what?” the vampire stammered.

“That’s the last mistake you’ll ever make,” Spike said as he coolly broke the vamp’s neck and walked out of the crypt before the dust had settled on the floor.

He breathed in the cool night air and realised that he’d spent the past few weeks fooling himself. He could never have been happy as a human. This was how he belonged.

The vampire was how he was.

But something was still missing and it took him a minute to realise what it was. When it came to him, he smiled and strode off through the graveyard.

*~*~

The morning started for Mary much the same as every other as she walked down the street towards the shop she’d successfully ran by herself ever since her husband died three years ago. It was hard work, but a good living and she managed.

She sighed as she thought about Mike. They’d been so close, the perfect couple their friends had called him, but the brutal attack late in the shop one night had put and end to…

Mary came to an abrupt halt as she reached her shop, gazing up at the window. She tried the door and was surprised when she found it locked. She checked round the whole shop, but could find no sign of a break in and no other signs of disturbance.

Confused, she returned to staring at the shop window.

She knew for a fact that when she had left the shop the previous night the mannequin in the window had been sporting a very nice, full-length, black leather coat.

Now the duster was gone and the mannequin was dressed in a rather gaudy white shirt with pale blue and pink stripes, a cluster of pink roses decorating the left breast, and a pair of black dress trousers.

Switching on the overhead lights to combat the failing light of evening, Giles walked over to the sideboard in the library and poured out two glasses of scotch. Adding some ice to each, he turned and offered one to the man behind him.

“So,” he asked, taking a sip of his drink. “What do you think?”

Wes turned and walked over to one of the bookshelves. Cradling his drink, he scanned the shelf for a minute whilst he considered his words. The tour of the mansion which Giles had taken him on had been impressive to say the least, but it left him with so many questions about what had happened in Sunnydale.

“You seem to have achieved a lot in the past year. I had no idea…” Wes started.

“Yes, well. Something had to be done. Couldn’t just leave them all to their own devices,” Giles replied.

“So many Slayers,” Wes said wonderingly as he sipped his drink. “Where are they all coming from?” he asked, turning to face the older man.

“Oh, all over the country. We generally go out in pairs, looking for them, then bring them back here for education and training. They won’t have an easy life and we feel that they should be adequately prepared for that.”

“And they come of their own free will?” Wes asked carefully.

“Of course!” Giles responded, sounding a little hurt. “What kind of place do you think we’re running here Wesley? To be quite frank, most of them are relieved to find out they’re not alone. Quite a few of the girls found themselves suddenly alienated from their peers that day. We always make sure that there’s a Slayer on search so they can see that there are others like them. And, sad though it may sound, quite a few of the parents are glad to send them here.” He laughed. “But then again, we both have first hand experience of trying to handle a teenage girl with superpowers, so maybe we know what they must be going through.”

“Hmm, yes. And you only accept teenagers?”

“Yes. Once they get to an age where they can appreciate what they are and what they will have to face. And I’ve never approved of taking young children away from their parents. I know I hated every minute of the boarding school I was sent to as a young boy. If we come across a girl who’s too young, we generally try and talk to the parents, explain the situation and leave them information about the school for the future.”

“You tell the parents?” Wes asked, sounding slightly aghast. “What do you tell them?”

“Calm down. We obviously can’t tell them everything - hellmouths and demons and the like. Each case is very different and it’s up to the field team to decide what they think the parents can handle knowing. Sometimes it’s almost everything, more often less and occasionally hardly anything at all. Our teams are getting very experienced now and they’ve found that no matter what they say most of the time the parents will believe what they want to believe. I know for a fact that some of them think we merely run a girl’s boarding school and nothing more, despite information and evidence to the contrary.”

“Do you only admit girls from the States?” Wes asked, turning back to the shelves as he took in all he was being told.

“At the moment, yes. The long-term plan is to set up similar schools in other countries around the world. To be honest, I had hoped that the project would move faster than this…”

“Faster? You seem to have made remarkable accomplishments here, Rupert.” Wes said, turning to look at Giles.

“Yes, well. I had hoped to have at least one other school started by now, but finding people to run these institutions has proved harder than I originally imagined. Obviously, a place such as this has to be run by one who knows what the girls will have to face, and that means Watchers.”

“Indeed.”

“But the First seems to have been culling Watchers as ruthlessly as it was culling Potentials. There just don’t seem to be that many left,” Giles explained with frustration.

“No, there aren’t - of course, the situation wasn’t aided any by the fact that Quentin had been recalling Watchers from the field to London and the result of that was that most of them were there when the building exploded.” Wes said.

“How do you know that?” Giles asked.

“Father told me. Actually, he too had been recalled, however his train into London that morning had been cancelled and he never made the meeting.” Wes laughed harshly. “He said that it was the first time he’d ever been glad that England had such an inefficient public transport system.”

“Yes, well. I’d say that I’m surprised that I was never informed about the recall, but…”

“You’re not. Would you be surprised then if I told you that I wasn’t informed either? Neither of us were exactly flavour of the month with the Council, were we?”

“No. But I got used to that fact a long time ago.” Giles said with resignation. He paused. “Your father?” he asked the younger man who had taken a book down off the shelf and was now flicking through it. Wes looked up.

“Yes?”

“Do you think he’d be interested?”

“Interested? Oh - in helping?” Wes shut the book and placed it carefully back on the shelf before taking another sip of his drink and moving to lean against the end of the table in the middle of the room. “I could put you in touch with him, of course. But I should warn you, he’s been retired for some time now and, well, he’s very set in his ways. I’m not entirely sure that he’d approve of what you’re doing.”

“Ahh - one of those,” Giles said derisively, before suddenly stopping, realising what he’d just said. “Oh, God. Wesley, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that - he is your father, after all.”

“He may be my father, but you were quite right - he’s definitely one of those,” Wesley said, smiling for the first time since he had arrived that morning. “I have no doubts about that. He’s a good man, and was an excellent Watcher in his time, but I’m not sure that he’d understand your methods.” Wes continued as he wandered around the room, “He was a great supporter of the structure of the Watcher’s Council and I know that he would only advocate its return in its previous incarnation.” Wes stopped by the smaller table, which held the book of prophecy they had been discussing only that morning. “And I take it that isn’t your plan?” he asked, sure he already knew the answer. Giles laughed.

“I have two Slayers who would have some very harsh words for me if I even contemplated that,” he said, shaking his head. Wes lifted an eyebrow.

“Only harsh words? Then I’d say you’d be getting off lightly,” he laughed.

“Yes, well. You’re right, it’s not my plan, so I don’t even have to contemplate what the reality would be.”

Silence fell across the room for a moment as the conversation came to a natural conclusion. Giles quietly sipped his scotch, wondering at the shared history the two of them had and how the time away had changed Wesley.

Wes, in turn, shifted his attention towards the book of prophecy, which still lay open and abandoned after that morning’s scene and the sudden departure of one of its characters.

“You say that Dawn completed the initial translation of the text?” Wes asked.

”Yes, and from what I can gather, she was perfectly correct.”

“So I can see,” Wes agreed, picking up the now typed sheet of paper from next to the book upon which was written the translation of the prophecy. “I have to say, I’m very impressed with her, especially as I’m led to understand that she has only been studying languages for, what? Two years now.”

“At most. I find it hard to believe sometimes. And she’s keen to become a Watcher,” Giles explained. “A little too keen at times,” he added, frowning slightly as he wondered what the fallout would be from the recent argument on that subject.

“I…” Wes began, but stopped as his eye caught a phrase in the book below him and he frowned. He checked the piece of paper in his hand before his gaze returned to the book.

“What is it?” Giles asked, placing his glass on the sideboard and walking to join the other man at the table.

“The prophecy doesn’t refer to a vampire with a soul,” Wes said in a monotone.

“Pardon?” Giles asked in disbelief. “But we agreed the translation was correct!”

“Oh, but it is,” Wes explained and he looked at Giles. “We just haven’t been reading it correctly.”

“Please, explain.”

“That line, the one we always seem to come back to - the one who has won and lost that which was taken from him.”

“Yes - and we agreed that that referred to a vampire with a soul.” Giles said somewhat impatiently.

“Yes, we did - but in our surprise at the fact that it couldn’t refer to Angel we missed out another specific point in the line.” Giles read the line once more and suddenly his frown disappeared and he looked up.

“And lost…” he said, suddenly understanding.

“Precisely,” Wes replied. Putting the piece of paper back on the desk and taking a long sip of his rapidly disappearing scotch, he walked away from the other man to lean against the room’s main table.

“A vampire that has not only won his soul, but then lost it again? Impossible!” Giles declared.

“Somewhat improbable, I must admit,” Wes allowed. “The translation’s definitely correct, which means that the prophecy calls for a vampire to win his soul, to voluntarily go and seek the return of his soul, and the somehow lose it again.” Wes said, thoughtfully.

“Not only that, but it has to be a vampire who Buffy is in love with,” Giles added.

“And we know it can’t be Angel.”

“Spike won his soul, but he’s now human and therefore still has a soul,” Giles mused.

“And, anyway,” Wes said, dismissing Giles’ thought with a laugh. “Buffy would have to be in love with him.”

A hush fell over the room as Giles looked at the words of the prophecy once more before speaking.

“She was,” he simply said into the silence.

Angel stood, barely visible, in the darkening shadows which heralded the onset of evening. He had stood there, as still as a statue, in exactly the same position, ever since she ad left. Ever since she had walked out on him.

He had retreated away from the sunlight which had poured through the open door, back into the shadows, into the dark and that was where he’d stayed.

And, as his body retreated into the shadows, so his mind retreated into the shadow of his past. Lost in his memories, past events looped through his mind on a seemingly endless playback, like some kind of nightmare from which he was unable to wake.

It was all happening all over again. He had lost yet again in the never ending battle.

The sun finally dipped blow the horizon outside the hallway, unseen by Angel as his vision turned inwards, seeing only the memory of what had gone so long before.

Once again the scene started to play. Once again Angel found himself back in that room as… Angelus opened the hotel room door, his whole body ached from his lengthy fight with Darla, but he knew that Drusilla would be back and knew better than to show any weakness in front of her.

Drusilla dallying with some, well, something. The man before him reeked of fledgling, a view only reinforced by his upper-class and refined, if now somewhat askew, attire. His memory clicked into place and he suddenly realised who he was watching at the same moment that Drusilla turned to him, a daft smile gracing her mindless face.

Standing in the hallway, Angel hardly flinched, hardly moved, as his mind further separated itself from reality, as the scene in his never-ending nightmare shifted, as he felt the heat of the flames, the stench of the dead and the screams of the dying rise up across the years, as he remembered the guilt and pain of the freshly endowed soul bite once more into the core of his very being…

Angel held back a growl of jealousy from the look, a look which previously would only have been given to him. He had always been the one who gave permission. That was the way of things, the way it had always been.

Again the years passed unseen as Angel’s mind filtered out the memories, cruelly leaving only those which would cause the most pain, those memories which would form a concentrated history of theft and betrayal.

For the first time in hours, in the now pitch-black hallway, Angel showed the first sign of movement, the first sign that his mind had not completely separated from his body, as a ghost of a smile appeared on his face as his mind allowed him a brief moment of respite, a brief glance of joy as he remembered the time he’d spend with her the love he’d shared with her, the moments when everything fell away and all that was left was Buffy.

But as he started to cling to that memory, to use it as a lifeline to claw his way back to reality, his own mind cruelly plunged him back into the depths of pain and he was once more lost to his deepest insecurities.

Memories of his time by her side were replaced with vivid memories of her abandoning his side for Spike’s, of her battling by Spike’s side to send him to hell.

His tormented mind threw up vision of Spike plotting to once again take everything that was Angel’s, to wrest it all from him.

Angel, lost in the prison of his own mind, remained oblivious as his memories began to warp, twisting the truth, ignoring the fact that he, Angel, had abandoned her first, that she had had no choice. In the dark recesses of his memories the past twisted and contorted itself, Angel’s old fears of his rival growing like weeds to smother and kill the truth of what happened so that only one thought remained - every time Angel had something, Spike came to take it away.

Angel’s tortured mind grasped at the realisation, at the first fully formed, coherent thought which had appeared in the quagmire of his mind since she had left, since this nightmare had begun and he used it to pull himself out of the torrent of memories which threatened to overwhelm him. In his desperation, he held onto the thought and clutched at it, committing his entire being to it and as he did so, his anger began to build.

It had constantly been that way. Even when Angel had finally done the noble thing, when he’d left her to give her the chance at a normal life, Spike had been there, waiting to take his place - or so it seemed to Angel’s memory, to the way he was coming to view things. It was all falling into place.

Spike had always been there, waiting, allowing Angel to build everything up, to do all the work. Then Spike would just take the glory, the spoils.

Just as he was doing now.

It was so obvious, Angel couldn’t believe he’d been such a fool never to realise it before. Anything Angel had, Spike wanted. First it had been Dru - Spike must only have wanted her because she was devoted to Angel. But, Angel reasoned, that only lasted until Angel found Buffy, then Spike began his next move.

Angel’s anger reached it’s peak as his now irrational mind arrived at what it saw as an inevitable and perfectly reasonable conclusion.

Spike didn’t love Buffy.

Spike had never and would never love Buffy.

Spike only wanted Buffy because she had once been Angel’s, because Spike very obviously had an uncontrollable need to possess that which Angel had.

The evidence was overwhelming - besides Dru and Buffy, there was the fact that Spike had taken Angel’s place at the head of the Order and there was what Angel considered to be the final piece of conclusive evidence - the fact that Spike had taken Angel’s rightful place in the Shanshu Prophecy.

Spike was a parasite living off others, taking what was rightfully theirs. At every step of the way he had let Angel go first and face al the dangers before following closely behind and purloining what he had managed to obtain.

Angel let the anger rage unchecked as his eyes finally refocused and he returned to the here and now - his ever spiralling memories suddenly ceasing as his mind coalesced and united, intent on one single purpose.

This had to end. For too many years had Spike been taking what belonged to Angel.

”This ends now,” Angel muttered determinedly as he strode out into the dark of the night.

Buffy yawned as she reached the bar, knowing that she should really just find a motel and get some sleep. But that wasn’t an option, not now that she was here.

Getting a flight to California had been easier than she’d thought, though the cab fare to get her from the airport to this sleepy little town had turned out to be extortionate. The original plan had been to find a motel and sleep until dawn, but as soon as she stepped out of the cab into the failing light of the town’s main street she had known that resting wasn’t on the agenda. She had to find him, she had to know.

That had been hours ago now and she had realised that her sudden flight from the mansion might not have been one of her better-laid plans. She was beginning to realise just how big a small town could be when you were looking for just one person. And, by the looks of it, one person who really didn’t want to be found. She didn’t understand it - she’d expected to find him quite easily. After all, the Spike she’d known before wasn’t exactly the type to fade easily into the background - his whole image had been carefully crafted to positively scream “Hey everyone, look at me!”. But, so far, she’d found no trace of him.

Not that she hoped to find him in this bar. Unless he had totally changed, this just wasn’t his type of place.

Large, clear, immaculately polished windows fronted the fashionable and spotless bar, which stood out somewhat incongruously even in this, one of the better parts of town. It came across as the type of establishment that would be more commonly found in one of the trendier areas of LA, rather than in this backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Buffy glanced through the window for a moment, watching the quiet and well-heeled clientele who sipped cocktails and mineral waters inside whilst engaging in quiet conversation in small groups. Many of the customers were still dressed in business suits and carried briefcases, flaunting to those passers-by who cared to notice that they had good, well paying jobs and nowhere better to be. This was definitely a place to see and be seen. But at least she could be sure of avoiding any trouble here, unlike some of the previous bars she’d visited.

As little as she cared to admit it, she had been driven to this bar partially from desperation - her trawl of the seedier places in town having failed to turn up any information - and partially from thirst.

She sighed as she sat down at the bar and signalled the bar-tender, who quickly took her order and then her money. She sipped her drink and stared into the mirror behind the bar, trying not to think about her abject failure. She frowned as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, teasing her hair back into place with the tips of her fingers.

She shook her head as she recalled that, though the ‘bad side’ of town might not have turned up any information, it was stock full of trouble.

She brushed at her shoulders, wiping the remains of vamp dust off her lightweight coat, then smiled sheepishly and dropped her hands back to the bar as she realised that she was getting odd looks from some of the other customers.

*Great, so now not only do I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards cos some stupid vamp in one of the local dives decides that he wants to have a go, when all I was doing was innocently looking for information,* she smiled to herself as she remembered the look of shock on the vamp’s face when he realised that the diminutive, innocent-looking, blonde girl who’d walked into the bar and started asking questions was actually more than she’d seemed. Not that he’d looked shocked for that long - mostly due to the fact that he’d become a small pile of dust not long after. *Not only do I look a complete mess, but now everyone thinks I have dandruff! Stupid vamp - dusting all over my new black coat. The undead just have no manners.* She shook her head and sipped her drink slowly, letting her mind wander, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d looked in every bar in town and found exactly no information on a bleached-blonde Englishman living in the area.

She was starting to wonder if Angel had got it wrong and Spike had never been here, or if he’d mistaken the name of the town.

Lost in her own thoughts, it took a while for the conversation of the two women further down the bar to penetrate her consciousness.

“…No, really?” one said to her friend.

“Seriously! And then he said, ‘I mean, honestly, what kind of retard wears heels like that in a dark alley? Take two steps, break your bloody ankle.’ - I mean, how rude can you get?” the second woman said incredulously. Buffy frowned and looked towards the two.

“That’s so…” the first woman trailed off, lost for words.

“Yeah,” the second woman nodded, taking a sip of her drink before getting back into her stride. “So, then, I said, ‘I was just trying to get home.’ - which I obviously was.”

“What did he say to that?” the first woman said eager to hear more of her friend’s story.

“Oh, he just got worse! He turned round and said, get this, ‘Well, get a cab, you moron’ - like I wouldn’t have done if there had been any around. I mean, I’m not stupid. But then, to top it off, as he was walking away - just heartlessly abandoning me in the middle of a dark alley, where I’d been brutally attacked by God knows what - he turns round. And at this point I’m thinking that he’s going to apologise and offer to walk me home, maybe even offer to buy me a drink - I mean, he might have been rude, but he was gorgeous - I mean, really - all white blonde hair and these cheekbones, anyway, I digress. So, he turns round and says…”

The woman broke off suddenly as she felt a hand on her arm and she turned, giving Buffy a withering glare that normally served to make even the most self-confident person think twice.

“Yes?” she asked condescendingly. “If you don’t mind, we were having a private conversation.”

“No - I don’t mind at all. Just wondered. The hottie - the guy with the hair and the cheekbones. Terrible manners, English accent - probably dressed all in black…” Buffy said with a smile, blatantly ignoring the 100-watt glares directed her way by both women.

“Yes, that about sums him up,” the second woman said uncertainly.

“Thought so. Now, do you happen to know where I can find him?” Buffy asked sweetly.

“No idea. And to be quite honest, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Right - I guess you expected him to be duly grateful after he’d saved your life, right?” she asked, this time tainting her saccharine tone with something more.

“Er, well…” the second woman stammered, her glare wilting under the power of the interminable sweetness of the tone of the woman next to her.

“Right, well, maybe you could tell me where you were attacked - give me a place to start. Okay?” Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, well, by the cemetery - at the corner of First and Wiltshire.”

“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard. Oh, and one other thing - the guy that attacked you - you get a look at him? Facial trauma at all?” Buffy asked, taking her hand off the woman’s arm and picking up her bag.

“Yeah - bad bumps. Dunno what happened to him. He just seemed to disappear. I guess he ran off quickly when that guy showed up. It was like one minute he was there and the next, poof, he was gone.” The woman shrugged and turned back to her friend as Buffy walked out of the door.

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at Spike,” Buffy mumbled to herself as she set off for the graveyard. “You’re not the big bad anymore - if you’re trying to play the hero, it’s going to get you killed.”

A/N - I know, I know - been a while since I updated. Sorry, I wanted to get these chapters right, which means lots and lots of rewrites! Thanks to my fabulous betas for putting up with me!!

Anyway, let me know what you think of this - you’ve all been rather quiet lately and I’m wondering if there’s anyone still out there!

Finding the graveyard wasn’t hard for Buffy - after all these years she was fairly sure that she had a sixth sense when it came to finding them. Anyway, most town planners generally put them in fairly predictable places and the woman in the bar had been quite good at giving directions.

She quickened her pace at the sound of fighting that was coming from deeper in the poorly lit cemetery and stopped as she rounded a corner past a large mausoleum covered in clinging ivy as she saw Spike being attacked by two vampires.

Buffy suddenly couldn’t breathe as she experienced a moment of complete, freezing panic as she watched the scene before her.

She watched as both vampires circled the platinum blonde, who was warily eying both of them. As the larger of the two vamps attacked with a burst of speed, Buffy suddenly launched herself into action as she realised that if she just stood there, Spike was going to be killed.

She ran at the trio, pulling a stake from her inside pocket as she deftly avoided the gravestones that lay in her path before using the last one as a springboard to flip herself into the air. Twisting, she knocked Spike out of the path of the oncoming vamp, before landing on her feet and thrusting her stake into its heart.

She didn’t even pause to watch the vampire disintegrate into a small pile of dust before she turned to face the other one.

“So, you gonna come here and let me kill you, or you gonna run off screaming like a little girl?” she asked the big, burly vampire who remained.

The vamp looked uncertain for a moment as he eyed up the petite blonde facing him. She decided to give him a helping hand with the thought process, as it seemed to be causing him so much difficultly, and drew another stake from her pocket. Smiling slightly, she proceeded to twirl it in between her fingers leisurely.

Mind made up, the vamp backed away slowly for a few paces before turning and running off into the darkness.

Buffy counted slowly to five, before flipping the stake so she was holding it by the point and throwing it confidently after the fleeing vamp, knowing full well that it would find its mark.

She scanned the area quickly and, certain that they were now alone, she looked for Spike.

She gasped slightly as she realised that when she had pushed him out of harms way he had fallen against a nearby gravestone. She flew to hiss ide, cradling his head in her lap as he started to come round.

“Spike, Spike. Are you okay? Oh, God - I’m sorry, it’s just…” she babbled as he groggily shook his head, trying to remember what had just happened. She smiled as he focused on her face.

“Buffy? What… What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding a little confused.

“Never mind that now. Are you okay?” she asked, the concern evident in her voice.

”Yes. I’m fine,” he answered, struggling to sit up so that he could look at her properly.

“Oh, good. I was so worried, when I saw you lying there, I thought, I…” she continued.

“Well, you did push me into a gravestone, pet…” Spike interjected.

“Yeah, okay, but well, the vamps and you…” she paused and frowned, sitting up a little straighter, she pushed him away. “And anyway, what the hell did you think you were doing?” she said angrily. “You could have been killed! And don’t tell me that you just happened to be on a midnight stroll through a graveyard when you were ambushed by two vampires!”

“But, pet, I…” Spike tried to interrupt.

“Oh, no! Don’t you ‘but pet I’ me! You just can’t do this kind of thing anymore! You, well, you just can’t…”

“But…”

“Don’t interrupt me!” she admonished before continuing. “I didn’t come all this way to find you just so I could find you dead! It doesn’t work like that, it can’t work like that. You just can’t do this stuff any more.”

“But, if you’d just let me explain…” he tried again, desperate to get a word in edgeways.

“Explain? Explain?” she said with disbelief, standing up and starting to pace in front of him. “Spike, there’s nothing to explain. You can’t go around playing the hero anymore. Things change and you’re different now.” She stopped in front of him when he stood up to meet her. She stepped forward so that she was standing toe to toe to him, looking up into his eyes for the first time in over a year. She took a breath and continued. “I just couldn’t cope with losing you. Not again.”

Spike stood for a moment and looked down at the furious woman in front of her. In the back of his mind he allowed himself to appreciate how beautiful she looked at the moment - her long blonde hair in disarray from the fight and her green eyes flashing with anger and concern - and how much more beautiful she actually was than his memory of her, but he knew that he had to explain, and explain now, what had happened.

He opened his mouth to speak, but, before he could say anything, Buffy launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately.

“Oh, God, Spike. I’ve missed you so much!” she declared between kisses.

*~*~

Dawn walked down the corridor towards the kitchens, her carpet-muffled footsteps were the only sound in the dead of the night. She rounded the corner by the library and bumped into Willow coming the other way.

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Dawn asked by way of greeting.

“Dawn!” Willow admonished in a loud whisper, even though they were far from the wing of the house where the bedrooms were situated. “You should be in bed - it’s the middle of the night!”

Dawn looked at the other girl and cocked an eyebrow. “Pot, kettle, black. And anyway, after what happened today? There’s just been too much going on for me to sleep.”

“You should at least try,” Willow continued, trying to sound like the mature adult, but failing as she recognised that Dawn’s reasoning was much the same as that which had Willow roaming the corridors of the mansion in the dead of night.

“What, like you are?” Dawn asked and Willow decided to just drop the subject. Dawn saw the redhead give in to defeat and decided that she’d push her luck a little further. “Look, since we’re both wide awake and looking for something to do, maybe you could teach me some spells…” she asked.

“Oh, Dawn, I don’t know about that…” Willow said, not sounding too happy about the idea.

“Oh, please - you’ve been promising to teach me, like, forever,” Dawn declared, heartened by the fact that Willow hadn’t just said no’ straight away.

“You need to be able to concentrate. It’s the middle of the night - you can’t concentrate if you’re sleepy,” Willow pointed out.

“Oh, I’m so not sleepy,” Dawn replied.

Willow thought about it and then decided that simple spells couldn’t do that much harm, and gave in. “Oh, go on then. But you even look a little sleepy and we stop - okay?”

“Okay,” Dawn agreed with a big smile.

“Fine, come on then. We’ll go in here, as good a place as any,” Willow said, opening the door of the library so they could both enter.

The two girls stopped just inside the door I surprise as Giles and Wes looked up from their positions in chairs by the fire.

“Oh, sorry. We didn’t think anyone would still be in here at this time of night,” Willow apologised.

“You couldn’t sleep either then?” Giles asked in sympathy.

“Nope. So Willow’s going to teach me how to do some spells,” Dawn announced as she walked into the room and sat on one of the sofas.

Giles looked up at Willow, who smiled apologetically. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” the older man asked with concern.

“Well, I was just gonna do some simple spells - a bit of levitation, that’s all. We were gonna stop if I got worried.”

“Well, do you mind if we supervise?” Giles asked.

”Oh, no - not at all,” Willow agreed readily, glad that she wasn’t going to get a lecture from either watcher.

Willow quickly proceeded to clear a space in the middle of the floor and had Dawn sit across from her. She knew that this wasn’t strictly necessary for the simple levitation of a pen that she had in mind, but she thought that it would help Dawn concentrate.

“Right, Dawn, I want you to concentrate on the pencil…” Willow began.

*~*~

Spike’s head span as Buffy kissed him - it wasn’t anything that he had dared believe that he’d ever experience again and he couldn’t believe that she’d actually sought him out. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, savouring every minute of the kiss.

All thoughts of talking and explaining fled for the time as he deepened the kiss.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Buffy drew back and took a breath.

“I want you,” she murmured, nibbling gently on his neck.

Spike moaned quietly - the girl had to remember what that particular action did to him - before forcing himself to come out of the daze he seemed to have descended into in the last few minutes. He drew back slightly and looked at her. “What?” he asked foggily.

“Need you, now,” Buffy said, before reaching up to capture his mouth in another passionate kiss.

Spike descended once more into a lust-filled haze as he luxuriated in her touch. After a moment, he pulled away once more and physically had to shake his head to clear his mind.

“But…” he started, wanting to explain before things went too far. He knew that she obviously thought he was human, someone - he assumed Angel - had obviously told her where he was and from the way she was so concerned, she obviously thought he was human.

“No buts!” she declared as she pushed his duster off his shoulders and started to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Er, graveyard?” he asked, hoping that that tack would make her pause in what she was doing enough that he could explain.

“So, nothing new,” she shrugged as she managed to divest him of his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his trousers.

“But, Buffy…” he started again, before stopping suddenly as her hand wriggled its way into his pants and all thought completely disappeared from his mind.

*~*~

Giles and Wes settled down into their respective chairs to watch the scene playing out before them.. Willow and Dawn were each sat cross-legged on the floor, hands resting on their knees in a classic mediation pose.

“Now, Dawn. First, I need you to clear your mind of everything. Chose something to focus on, something that’s clear in your mind. Something dear to you often helps - an object of some kind.” Willow instructed in a low, calm voice.

There was no reply from Dawn, but Willow didn’t really expect one straight away. She still remembered how difficult she found this simple spell when she first tried it. But, in the same way, she knew that it got much easier to accomplish very quickly.

“Now, I’m going to talk you through the spell…” Willow bean again once she was sure that Dawn had achieved her task.

*~*~

“See, trees,” Buffy said as she dragged Spike almost bodily into the grove. Once inside, Spike had to admit that the trees and bushes did provide a very effective screen against any prying eyes - not that any were likely at this time of night.

“Buffy…” he tried again to talk to her.

“Shh, Spike. No talking now. I just want to hold you, it’s been so long,” Buffy moaned as she removed her top and pressed herself bodily against his bare chest, before reaching up to kiss him once more.

“Buffy…”

“Spike, oh Spike,” she breathed, moving once more to divest him of his clothes. He moaned as it suddenly felt like her hands were everywhere at once, the gentleness that she had previously shown disappearing as he realised that it was a good job he was no longer human as she would be in danger of hurting him.

”God, Spike, just how I remember you,” she murmured.

“I know, Buffy…” he said, desperately trying to get her attention, but that attempt failed as she finally succeeded in her task.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, almost reverently, as she caressed his body and, moving more gently now, but still with unadulterated passion, lowered him to the floor. “I want you Spike, I need you,” she breathed and he knew that he was lost. He’d never been able to deny her anything and especially not this.

He bit his lip, trying to banish the thought that crept into his mind, the doubts that formed as he succeeded in convincing himself that it would all be okay, that she’d understand. That this time it would all work out.

Things were different this time. This time he could see the love shining in her eyes sa he entered her. *This time,* he told himself, as they began to move as one. *This time, it’s real.*

*~*~

“It’s no good - I can’t get I,” Dawn declared after trying for a good while.

“It’s not difficult, Dawn, you just have to concentrate. Look, I’ll show you,” Willow offered.

The witch closed her eyes and turned her head towards where she knew the pen was laying in the middle of the floor. The pen lifted off the floor with no hesitation and Willow levitated it so it was on par with her head before making it turn a few lazy circles.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Dawn grumbled.

Giles had almost dropped into a lazy slumber, lulled by Willow softly spoken instructions to Dawn, but the sudden thump of the pen falling to the floor brought him to full attention.

Willow, still sat in her original position on the floor, had let the pen drop, displaying a lack of control that was almost unheard of in the powerful Wicca.

“What the…” he started, before trailing off as Willow’s eyes opened, displaying black orbs in place of the normal green.

“What’s going on?” Dawn asked, her tonebetraying her concern and a little fright.

“I have no idea,” Giles replied, his gaze never leaving the witch.

Suddenly, Willow began to speak. “A hic nox astralis mille ablocare deus adesse hic adunatto,” she chanted rhythmically.

Giles looked at Wes, instinctively deferring to his greater knowledge of languages.

“It’s Latin. Erm, she’s saying ‘On this night of a thousand stars let the Gods witness this joining’.”

“Caelestis caritatis et plenus amare,” Willow contined.

”Right, ‘Perfected by love and melded with passion’.”

“Ablocare huius duo corpus accidere unum.”

“’Let these two bodies become one’.”

“Ablocare haec cervix omnis alienus.”

“’Let them strengthen each other ‘.”

“Et potissim hoc aeger abiter et abolescer ante eo lumen.”

“’And all their weaknesses cower and fade before that light’.”

“Quia ego loquer hinc sic voluntas deus adesse sic voluntas an posse.”

“’As I speak this so shall the Gods witness and so shall it be.’” Wes finished as Willow collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

*~*~

The two bodies in the grove were totally alone, with nobody and nothing around to witness their passion.

And nothing and nobody to witness the strange glow that suddenly surrounded them before almost instanteously vanishing.

The two themselves were so lost in their passion that they didn’t notice the change.

*~*~

“Willow, Willow -are you alright?” a concerned Dawn asked as the witch started to come round.

“Yes, I’m fine, why?” Willow asked, confused as to why the other three were standing over her like this.

“Do you have any memory of what just happened?” Wes asked.

“What just happened?” Willow asked, suddenly alert and worried about what she’d missed.

“The spell…”Wes prompted.

“Yes, Dawn was trying a levitation spell. It didn’t work, so I did it,” Willow looked at the other three. “That’s not the spell you’re talking about, is it,” she asked slowly. Giles shook his head. “So, what did I do this time?” she asked with resignation.

Giles and Wes shared a look. Wes shrugged. “To be quite honest, Willow,” Giles said. “We have absolutely no idea.”

*~*~

Buffy awoke some time before dawn and smiled as she realised that she was snuggled up against Spike’s firm body. He was just how she remembered him.

It took a moment for that thought to filter through her sleep-hazed brain.

He was exactly how she’d remembered him. His body was firm and muscular - and cold and hard.

She carefully placed her head against his alabaster chest and lay still.

Absolutely still.

There was no rise and fall of his chest, no breathing sounds. No heart beat.

Just the way she remembered him.

Dead.

A vampire.

She pushed herself away from his body and grabbed her clothes to herself, covering her naked form as best she could.

The moment caused Spike to stir and he raised himself up on one elbow and looked at her. He saw the look on her face and knew straight away - the little voice in the back of his head had been right, but, as usual, he’d ignored it. He didn’t dare move as he waited for her to say something.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, clutching her blouse to her chest as she scanned the area for the rest of her clothes.

“Luv, pet - Buffy. I…” Spike started desperately.

“Don’t ‘pet’ me. I can’t believe it. I, I thought…” she trailed off as she started desperately pulling on her clothes.

“I tried to tell you…” Spike said, knowing as the words left his mouth that they would do no good.

“What? That you were a vampire again?” Buffy shouted in disbelief, anger and accusation evident in her tone.

“Yes, that I was a vampire again,” Spike said, anger rising in his own chest now. Anger at himself, for believing that things could be different, that she would accept him this time around, for fooling himself yet again that she could ever love him.

“Oh, God. What have I done?” Buffy said quietly, more to herself than to Spike. She looked up and shook her head. “I, I, have to go,” she said, before running off.

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