9. Drain You

Warning: Bit o' naughtiness in this one.

---------------------

"Hey," Angel said quietly, his eyes on Buffy as she circled his bed.

"Hey yourself... how you feeling?"

"Like hell. I forgot how much being human hurt." He reached for her hand, and she sat on the side of his bed, interlacing her fingers with his.

"Well, yeah. Probably would have been a nicer experience if you hadn't, y'know, fought a demon horde first..."

"I really didn't think we were gonna come out of that," Angel whispered. "None of us did. We all really thought we were going out in a blaze of glory, y'know?"

"Disappointed?" Buffy grinned.

"I like being alive. And I haven't been this alive in a long time."

"So, can I get you anything? I'm sure your new meatsuit has needs..."

"Actually, yeah." Angel sat up, smiling crookedly. "I am kinda hungry."

"Name it. The best of our creepy cave rations are at your disposal. Whatever your gourmet heart desires, be it granola bars, granola bars, or even granola bars. Also, some trail mix, but I think Andrew picked all the M&M's out of it..."

"Actually..." Angel pulled her towards him, "I was kind of hungry for some nice, raw, cookie dough."

"We don't... oh! See, I, uh, I just got that..."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Wanna crawl in? I feel like having a moment of perfect happiness."

---------------------

"Giles, are you okay? You look kind of... pale..."

Giles polished his glasses, a faraway look on his face. "I... it's... rather extraordinary. I should like to see a demonstration, if you two don't mind..."

Xander and Willow exchanged a nervous glance.

"The thing is... when we do this... it's kinda, um, very woo. I mean... sometimes... sometimes that's really good... we took out just crazy amounts of demons, didn't we, Xander? But sometimes, uh... like, I tried to do a locator spell on Spike and ended up kinda... sucking his memory out... so..."

"And we healed Buffy just 'cause I thought about her..."

"Oh, and we couldn't separate, remember that? Kennedy had to practically break your fingers..."

"Yeah, couldn't help but notice she went for my fingers, not yours..."

Willow grinned impishly. "Well, she has a vested interest in my fingers."

"And normally I would say 'eww', but I just realized I'd be turning my back on hot lesbian mental pictures, so..."

"You do know that when Kennedy and I aren't inside your head, we don't wear naughty schoolgirl outfits?"

"Hey, what you guys do when you're not inside my head is your own business," Xander leered. "What you do inside my head is mi-i-ine."

Giles cleared his throat. "Pardon me terribly for interrupting, but -- unexplained magical phenomenon? Possible significance for the war on evil? Unless you'd really rather bicker over the costuming in Xander's private mental copy of 'Luscious Lesbians III'..."

"That was a good one," Xander and Willow said simultaneously.

"And with a brief break for me to roll my eyes to heaven, I will once again struggle to get you two back on topic. The demonstration?"

"What spell do you want us to do?"

"Willow knows what spell I want us to do," Xander said darkly.

"And Willow said no," Willow replied firmly. "Maybe we should do some kind of simple glamour, something that won't be catastrophic if it goes all... woo."

"Wait-wait," Giles' eyebrow raised. "What spell do you want to do, Xander?"

"We had a little fight earlier," Willow said hurriedly.

"Because she put Buffy on this major, and may I say majorly undeserved, guilt-trip about Captain Peroxide..."

"Oh, please. You're even more white hat/black hat than Buffy is."

"All I'm saying is, if he really is a trap, a memory that you can't access..."

"What is this?" Giles interrupted.

"Will and I got into it," Xander explained. "And I said that things were over for Buffy and Spike way before the assault, back when Riley caught him with the Suvolte demon eggs... and Willow, for some weird reason, can't remember that..."

"It's like the memory is blocked," Willow finished.

"And I say, if it's blocked, it's probably important, and we should un-block it."

Giles frowned, thinking. "Well, if that is indeed when Buffy ended their relationship, perhaps he has repressed it? It would be a most painful memory..."

"He has other really painful memories, though, and I can access those..." Willow said. "It's weird, it's like... the door is there, but it's... nailed shut."

"All the more reason to crowbar it open, I say," Xander's jaw set. "Spike's an unknown, and he's out there with Dawn."

"Xander does have a point, Willow."

"Fine," Willow sighed. "Fine. Since it's Dawnie."

She flopped her hand, palm-up, on the flat stone, and Xander took it.

"You ready?" Willow whispered.

"Ready," Xander replied...

And they gasped in unison, their necks arching as trails of light swirled around them, Giles eyes' widening as their hair shades blended to reddish-brown, Willow's eyes darkening as Xander's lightened. Giles put a hand on each of their wrists and wrenched them apart; Xander and Willow stared at him, panting.

"How do you feel?" Giles said gently.

"I feel... well... weird," Xander said. "Good-weird..."

"Yeah, what he said..."

"Put aside your embarrassment for a moment. Be honest with me."

"Fine," Xander sighed, looking at his shoes. "Take every moment of horny in my life and roll 'em all together in a big, sticky hornball, okay? That's how I feel." He scuffed his toe against the stone. "Sorry, Will."

"Don't be sorry, I... I'm having a majorly non-gay moment right now..."

"Interesting," Giles said.

"Interesting?" Xander bleated. "Interesting? That's all we get? No knowing nod and an 'Ah, you're obviously possessed by a floobertywooberty demon from the glorkzak dimension?'"

"I think it might be a bit more complicated than that. Willow, did the spell work?"

"Hang on, lemme see if I can remember now..."

"C'mon, Will. Suvolte demon eggs, Riley coming in, blowing up Spike's crypt with a grenade... any of this ringing a bell? Unnailing a door?"

Willow's eyes flew wide, horror flooding her face.

"I knew it!" Xander crowed. "What did he do?"

"Willow," Giles said gently, "Tell us what you saw..."

"Spike wasn't the doctor," Willow sighed. "Although he did buy eggs from him."

"What the hell did Spike want with flesh-eating demon babies?"

"Suvolte demons... their blood is a kind of poison. A sort of unique one. If someone drinks it, it... makes them vulnerable. You can take things from them. Strength. Love. Faith. Innocence. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Whatever you're missing."

Xander's hands balled into fists. "He gave that to Buffy? He was... taking herself from her? God, no wonder she was so..."

Willow touched his hand. "Xander. Spike was drinking it."

"What?"

"He was hatching the eggs on purpose. He was feeding on them."

"I... I don't understand."

"She wouldn't ask for anyone's help, so... he made it so she didn't have to. He opened himself up so she could just take what she needed."

---------------------

Angel touched Buffy's shoulder. "Hey-hey... sleepy girl..."

"Muhnumuhnuhmunf."

"Hey, I'm the mere mortal here. You're the one with the Slayerness... shouldn't I be the one falling asleep before... y'know... the dough gets unwrapped?"

Angel paused. "Can we get a new metaphor? I really hate that metaphor."

Buffy groaned. "You're a mere mortal... who's still in his own time zone. I started this day on Italy time..."

"Oh. Yeah." Angel kissed her shoulder. "Kinda forgot. Been a big day."

"Uh-huh..." Buffy mumbled, her eyes closing...

---------------------

"Do you even like me?"

"Sometimes."

"But you like what I do to you."

Spike turns to her, an eyebrow raised, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers. "Do you trust me?"

"Never."

The flash of pain in his eyes sends a shock through her heart; it's so hard to remember sometimes that he doesn't have feelings... not real ones, anyway...

Still, she tries to soften the blow. "Be kind of embarrassing for me, huh? I mean, when you're all 'Oh, let me tell you about the three Slayers I killed, the last one was the best, I had her handcuffed to a bed...'"

"You think... you still think I'd kill you?" he whispers, his face an open wound.

"I'm kidding! Ha-ha-ha! Funny!" Her voice trails off. "Or not..."

He merely stares, and if his eyes are shinier than usual, she's sure it's the candlelight.

"Hey," she teases. "How come you want to cuff me up, anyway? I thought you liked that I could kick your ass."

He smiles a little, back on familiar ground; he reaches out to slide a lock of her hair through his fingertips. "I assure you, pet, it's only for the safety of my remaining furniture."

"What remaining furniture?"

"Point." He tilts his head, raises an eyebrow, and something shoots through her; she reaches to him, puts both of her hands on his wrist.

"All right, Big Bad," she smiles. "Cuff me up."

The delight on his face ought to scare her; she can tell it's the trust, not the thought of her helpless, that has him grinning, and she can't decide which is more terrifying.

He lays her down across the bed, running his hands up her forearms, locking her wrists into place... and sits back, watching her, drinking her in.

"All right," she says, trying to keep her voice steady, her tone a challenge instead of a plea. "I'm at your mercy, ooo-ooo. Whatcha gonna do to me?"

"This," he whispers... and places a tender kiss on her eyelid.

Buffy stiffens from shock; this isn't them, isn't what they do... at least, isn't what they do when she has any say in it. Spike presses his lips to her other eyelid, her temple, the tip of her nose; his fingertips trace her cheekbone, lovingly, with aching slowness.

His fingers slide through her hair, brushing it back from her face. "So beautiful. You're so beautiful..."

And hours pass, melting into molasses, as Spike learns her, inch by inch... fingertips and lips and sheathed teeth, committing her to memory. He watches her, notes every tiny gasp and sigh as he surveys her skin, returning to tease in the interesting spots he's found, then just caressing, his cool palm gliding, his face full of wonder. He finds sore muscles and works on them, his hands kneading away the knots, his eyes deep and full, happy to take away the pain, happy to be making her happy.

She relaxes, boneless, nearly asleep, only to gasp back to reality when his grin turns wicked, seeking the places that make her arch beneath him, stopping with a naughtily arched eyebrow when she gets too hot, turning achingly tender again.

"You're a tease," she gasps.

"Learned from the best, pet," he growls against her stomach... and then moves lower.

He does not need to breathe. The hours pass; she loses the ability to move, to think, to do anything but sob his name, to shake uncontrollably in his arms.

She can see light in the windows when he finally takes her, claiming her mouth with his, whispering against her lips that he loves her, that she makes him feel alive. And she feels it inside her... his love for her, his faith in her, his respect for her, his desire for her, surging through her veins, lighting her from the inside, pooling in her mind, blowing away the gray fog in which she lives.

She can feel, she can feel him, she can feel herself, feel herself come to life, feel herself the way he sees her, see the beauty and strength he sees, see the light within her that draws him. It's like she's taking his love from him, taking his passion, drawing it deep within herself, filling the holes with it...

He stiffens and shudders, whispering her name, again and again, like a prayer to the light... and raises himself, kissing her forehead tenderly, her left eyelid, her right.

"I love you so much," he whispers, his voice low, rough.

He reaches above her head. She hears the metal rattling of the handcuffs; she is free.

He catches her eyes, stares into them. "Do you love me?"

Time stops; she's frozen, pinned beneath the weight of his expression, and part of her wants to give this to him, give something back...

Her silence makes him shiver; he drops his eyes, drops his voice. "Could you ever love me?"

"Spike," she whispers. "I'll never love you. I can't. You... you know that."

"Right." She watches as the walls slam down. "Of course. Forgot. Soulless evil thing. Slipped my mind there for a second."

"Spike... I need to go."

"Of course you do." He rolls away from her, presenting the smooth planes of his back. Her freed hands itch to touch them; she doesn't.

"I guess I'll see you later."

"Right," he replies flatly.

"Um... thanks. It was... fun."

"Just bloody go," he commands, and his voice is thick, choked.

She goes.

11. Shiny Things

"Spike... that really stinks, okay?"

"You're the one with the bleedin' death wish, Bit," Spike said slowly, poison dripping from every syllable. "Bit o' secondhand smoke ought to be just what the Doctor Kevorkian ordered."

"Yeah, but it smells like..."

"What... death?" Spike rolled over in the dim light the escaped the shut curtains, propping his head on his hand, his voice low, sinister, seductive. "You'll get to know that taste intimately, pet. When your heart stops beatin', when it shrivels up in your chest... when you take that last, gaspin' breath, when everythin' inside you goes silent n' cold..."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving predatorially. "Do y'know why vampires don't just rise up the moment they're sired, Bit? Why they have time to be buried, to claw themselves out of their graves?"

Dawn blinked, her eyes wide. "No..."

"They need time to rot." Spike smiled when she flinched. "On the inside. And you feel it, Bit. You're not strong enough to rise yet, you're paralyzed, but you feel it all the same. It's agony, love... all the pain you've ever felt in your life, you roll that together and you still won't begin to understand."

He tapped ashes into the tray perched on his bed. "There's only one thing worse than bein' conscious for your decomposition, and that's feelin' your soul go. It doesn't take off quick, love, choirs o' angels singin' it to its rest... oh no. It's ripped out, an' it's ripped out slow-like. You can feel it pullin' away, like pullin' tape off flesh. You can feel the light in you go. The demon that steals your body rips it out to make room for itself... inside the cold, dead shell that's all that's left of you when it's done its work."

Spike caught Dawn's eyes, held them... mesmerizing her. The light of his cigarette reflected in the pupils of his eyes, red fire dancing. "And when it goes, Bit... it leaves your mind, your memories behind. Call it a toybox, 'cause that's what it is... a toybox full of shiny things for the new demon inside you to play with. Darkness loves to pervert, Bit, and don't kid yourself for a moment -- it's got a sense of humor."

"I don't understand."

"Here's the funny thing, Bit. When I was human, I -- and if you breathe a word of this, I'll rip out your lungs n' make balloon animals of 'em, understand?"

"Understand."

"Right. Well, William made Xander look rugged n' manly. Rugged, manly, and smooth with the ladies. I didn't even talk the same, Bit, I..." He broke off, looking inward. "Can I still do it?"

"Yes, I still can." Spike smiled, and Dawn's eyes widened.

"Spike... you... you sound all... Merchant Ivory..."

"My dearest, darling girl," Spike grinned, still in his human voice, "I was all Merchant Ivory. Waistcoats and hankerchiefs and little glasses, doting on my mother, living in novels. I wanted passion, excitement, pain, love, joy... certainly... and I found them within pages, in perfect worlds of chivalry and faith and courage and undying love. I wore rose-coloured glasses that were very nearly opaque. I wanted a life that was bigger, cleaner, brighter, simpler, than human existence; I wanted a woman that was better than human."

Spike shrugged. "I supposed that explains why when I finally fell in love, it was with a vengeance demon..."

"Uh, what?"

"Cecily. You've met her. Only 'Cecily' wasn't her real name, of course. It's Halfrek."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa..."

"Oh, indeed. A shock for me as well, I assure you."

"Spike, could you... could you talk normal? The Giles accent is... kind of creepy, coming out of you."

Spike dropped back into his normal voice. "Prefer the Johnny Rotten thing, eh?"

"Who's Johnny Rotten?"

Spike recoiled as if slapped. "Bit... wait... no. Stayin' on topic, but... we'll come back to that. At any rate, the demon... it took what I was and twisted it... made me the epitome of what I'd always scorned, and it used my own personality to do it. Squishin' some things, drawin' out others, keepin' just enough intact for the thing to have that nice touch of irony..."

"But..."

"Don't interrupt me, Bit, I'm gettin' to the good part. When Angel was Angel, he loved Buffy more than anythin'. But when his soul left... when he went back to bein' Angelus... that love, it didn't leave. The passion was still there... but it got dark just like the rest of 'im. Became obsession. S'what the demon inside him did with his mind, Bit. Took all that love and turned it into somethin' twisted and sick, something that made him stalk her, threaten yer mum, kill the Watcher's bird. Love. Are you starting to get it? Whatever you care about, Bit, whatever you are... that's what the demon's gonna use."

"But you are a demon."

Spike inhaled, cocking an eyebrow. "True that."

"So how can you talk about yourself in the third person? I don't get it. Part of you is still human, part of you is a demon, part of you is the soul? Where are you?"

"Might ask you the same question. Which bit of you is the Key, which is Buffy? Where are you?"

"I... I don't know."

"Right. Can't locate your existential Dawnness any more than I could tell y'where William ended n' Spike began, even before the soul muddied the works. Angel's the one you want to talk to on that topic, though..." Spike sneered, "I'd rather imagine he's busy just at the moment."

"Yeah, they... I guess they have a lot of wounded, huh?"

"Wasn't quite what I meant, but sure, Bit; wounded."

Dawn flopped over onto her stomach, gazing across the valley between their beds. "What did you mean?"

"We should get some sleep," Spike said gruffly.

"Spike..."

"Fine. Uncle Spikey was havin' a wee pity party where your big sis is concerned."

"You think she's back with Angel?"

"Don't think it, love. Know it. Saw it." Spike adjusted a pillow under his head, sighing. "Smelled it."

Dawn surveyed his face, her eyes widening in shock. "You... Spike? You... you don't hate Angel any more...?"

Spike smashed his pillow over his face. "Bit, go to sleep."

"Spike, come on. I can tell. I mean, you used to tape cartoons of him to Buffy's punching bag... what gives?"

"Fine," Spike groaned, tossing the pillow aside. "Fair cop, Bit... Peaches has grown on me a bit since I put on the white hat." Spike grinned. "What can I say? He's like a big, funny, fluffy, frowny circus bear."

"With fangs."

"Yeah." Spike flashed her a wicked look. "What's not to like?"

He flopped onto his stomach, raising an eyebrow. "Looked cuter as a puppet, though."

"A what?"

"A very funny story, that I'll tell you in great detail tomorrow." Spike rolled over, facing away from Dawn.

"Huh," Dawn said, gazing at the ceiling. "Guess she's cheating on The Immortal, then."

"Looks to be," Spike sighed. "Better a million years of Angel with me tied up n' forced to watch than her with that bloody bastard."

"Don't like the Immortal, huh?"

"You could say that."

"I don't either."

"Glad to hear one female doesn't think he's the bleedin' King of All..."

"He came onto me," Dawn sighed.

Spike was rolled over and wide awake in an instant, staring. "He what?"

"Came onto me," Dawn yawned, propping her head on her palm. "I'd gotten him to do the you impression and play rummy with me. Y'know, for old times sake. I guess he thought it worked so well on Buffy, might as well try it on..."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, Bit. Back up. The me impression?"

"Don't you know what The Immortal is?"

"Enlighten me."

"He's a psychic vampire. There's some other word for it, I can't pronounce it. He must have drained you at some point. That's what he does... I think he's a major creep. He sees a woman he wants, what he usually does is drain the boyfriend first, get all this inside info before he even approaches her. Then he moves in, already knowing what she likes. Makes a perfect first impression."

"Angel and I... he chained us in a barn..."

"Did he go for Darla and Dru right afterwards?"

"Yeah... yeah, he did..."

Dawn snorted. "Typical."

"Tell me more."

"I thought you wanted me to go to sleep," Dawn teased.

"You can sleep in the car. Talk."

"He drains all kinds of stuff. Memories, technique, knowledge. I mean, everyone thinks he's so great, but what's so great about someone who's just... a patchwork of other people? Everything he is, he stole from someone else."

"You're bloody well kidding me."

"Nope. You wanna hear something hilarious? When he first met Buffy, he thought Andrew was her boyfriend. So he was all talking about Star Wars, you should have seen the look Buffy gave him..."

"And he does a me impression?"

"He can shape-shift. Normally, he just stays whatever kind of handsome is in style, y'know? When I first saw him, Lord of the Rings had just come out, and he was doing this sort of Orlando Bloom, Legolasy thing... I mean, as much as he could without someone being all, 'Hey, dorkwad, why are you dressed up as an elf, go back to GeekCon,', y'know?"

"Dorkwad?"

"It's a word!" Dawn smiled conspiratorially. "It's what I call him behind Buffy's back."

"His new name it shall be, then. Tell me more about Buffy and... Dorkwad." Spike grinned from ear to ear. "Dorkwad. I do like that."

"Well, we're out at a club, right? Me, Buffy, and Andrew. Andrew goes off to the bathroom, doesn't come back for the longest time... finally comes back all woozy. Then here comes The Immortal, babbling to Buffy about Scott Bakula."

"Why didn't she just kick him in the stones and pour her drink on his head?"

"Well, she cut him a little slack. Because of how he looked."

"Buffy's got a thing for elf impersonators? Wish I'd known, I could have nicked a fetchin' Santa's Helper costume off a mall worker..."

"Um, yeah, hello? Cheekbones from hell, dark hair dyed white blonde, black eyebrows?"

"He looked like Legolas, I got it..."

"No, dim bulb, he looked like you."

"Oh," Spike said quietly.

"And then they started talking, and your name came up, and he said he knew you..."

"Oh? And what did he say about me, pray tell?"

"Nothing but nice stuff. Otherwise, Buffy probably would have kicked him in the stones and poured her drink on his head."

"Really?"

"Duh. Spike, we thought you were dead. We missed you. And when The Immortal said he knew you, seemed eager to hear about you, Buffy was all over that. She likes to talk about you. She doesn't get much of a chance to."

Spike raised his eyebrows, leaning back. "Wow."

"See, that was when I got suspicious. Because the more he talked to Buffy, the more obvious it became that she really cared about you, the more he started... becoming you. His voice started changing, his features shifted a little... he didn't offer to do the full-on change until later, when she said how much she missed you."

"So he walked around lookin' like me, talkin' like me? Bit, that's bent."

"It kinda was. He never did it when Andrew was around, though..."

"Well, if he drained Andrew, he'd know I was alive and that Andrew knew that."

"Makes sense." Dawn picked at her fingernails. "But yeah. He did his little you impression all the time."

"I still say it's soddin' creepy."

"Spike. You're not hearing me. I said, all the time, and I'm giving you the meaningful look."

"All the -- even when they were..."

"Especially then."

"Wow. Got herself a nifty little sex toy, didn't she? Bam, I'm with Spike! Bam! I'm with Angel! It's the bloody undead sex buffet! I tell you what, Bit, that's the last scrap of guff I take for ordering that bloody bot..."

"Spike..." Dawn whispered. "He never changed into Angel."

Spike froze. "What?"

"Not once." Dawn bunched up her pillow beneath her head. "And you know what else? The first time he... y'know... stayed over, Buffy cried after he left."

"Serious?"

"Serious. Cried all over me. Got snot on me, actually, it was way gross. Said he could look like you and talk like you, but he never looked at her the way you did."

"Bit... you're makin' it up."

"Cross my heart and hope to..."

"Hope to die?  I know you do, Bit... which means I know what this little pep talk is all about, right? This is all part of your bloody 'Vamp Me Please, Spike' pledge-a-thon, and for a second there, I was actually fallin' for it. Nice try, Bit." Spike flopped over to his other side. "I'm goin' to sleep now."

"She said that. That's one of the things she said, when she was crying. That you didn't believe her when she said she loved you."

"With bloody good reason, Bit. Buffy never loved me. God knows she's spent long enough tellin' me she never could. I was burnin' alive, she took pity on me, told me what I wanted to hear."

"She really does love you, Spike."

"As a friend, maybe. Not the way..." Spike sighed. "You don't understand, Bit."

"I understand fine, it's..."

"Buffy won't ever love me, Bit. She can't. She shouldn't. You could stuff four souls in her and she never would. Tear up your trump card, Nibblet, 'cause Spike knows somethin' you don't."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Why she'll never love me."

"But..."

Spike smiled painfully. "I'm beneath her."

12. Lie Most Effectively

"I have no desire to watch you die again. I found it most unpleasant."

Wesley looked into the mirror warily, meeting Illyria's eyes in it and setting the razor blade aside. "I was only preparing to shave, Illyria."

"I only lie to you at your request. I did not request this lie."

"Yes, that's right." Wesley's mouth set into a grim line. "You lie most effectively. I remember quite well."

Illyria cocked her head, walking into the hotel bathroom to stand at his side. "It was indeed effective. I was not certain it would be."

"Your Fred impression was very convincing. Thank you." Wesley sighed. "Illyria, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone."

"I do not wish to leave you alone."

Wesley's fingertips tapped the blade that lay flat on the counter. "Very well, let us try logic. Illyria, Spike is right. I'm an unknown threat. I very much doubt that Wolfram & Hart has brought me back for a noble purpose. I could be possessed... some sort of weapon, perhaps implanted with a trigger similar to the one the First Evil placed in Spike. We're at war. We cannot have liabilities."

"Your logic is flawed. You are in the same position as Spike; you react differently because your cookie dough is dead while his is alive."

"C-cookie dough?"

"It is a metaphor. I see it is not a universal one. I will make note of it. I wish to examine your knife wound."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. I no longer have it."

Illyria smiled. "This pleases me."

"Does it? It shouldn't."

"It does. I felt great grief when you died. I caused much violence. It did not make the emotions stop for very long." Illyria looked around the small bathroom. "I was unaware if it would work."

"Well, sublimating one emotion into another is one way of dealing with grief, although yes, it is generally temporary..."

"You do not understand. I feel surprise at this. I am aware that your training has given you knowledge of the sacred objects involved in true resurrections. Is this information incorrect?"

"No, it's not," Wesley said, a little shaken. "Depends on which spell is to be used, of course, but ah... Urns of Osiris are primarily used, but even better, assuming of course you can even find one, is a Tear of..."

Wesley broke off abruptly, and Illyria tilted her head.

"I believe you understand now, Wesley."

"The Tear of Illyria." Wesley whispered. "I can't believe I... never made the connection... I always... I assumed it was an ancient city, it never occurred to..."

"I have lost many of my former powers," Illyria said, picking up a tiny complimentary bottle of lotion and examining it curiously. "I was unaware if that was one of them."

"So you... made one of these crystals?"

"It did not have time to evaporate and crystallize."

Wesley blinked. "The Tears of Illyria are... actual tears?"

"Is that not what the name indicates?"

"So when you were..." Wesley winced, "... being Fred, she cried for me?"

"Fred cried for you, yes. Those were human tears. Mine were not."

Wesley met Illyria's eyes in the mirror. "You... you... cried for me?"

"I felt grief. It is rare and unfamiliar. It is also unpleasant. I wish to avoid it. You will shave without self-injury now that you know the facts of your resurrection?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. Do not use all the hot water. This form is dirty, and I wish to cleanse it."

"C-certainly."

"Also, be sure to return the toilet seat to the lowered position."

Wesley choked on a laugh. "Put the seat down. Right. I can handle that."

---------------------------

Xander rolled over painfully, letting out a little groan. It was dark... freakishly, blackout kind of dark... and he was laying on the ground, on something thin and lumpy that felt like... clothes.

Which would explain the nakedness. He squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness...

Eyes. Eyes, plural. Xander raised his fingers, tracing the roundness behind his eyelid.

Yep. This definitely merited the Snoopy Dance.

He reached beneath him to pull out his clothes.

"Ooof," a sleepy little voice murmured.

"Hey, Will," Xander grinned. "Check it out... ol' two-eyes is back!"

"Xander," Willow said in horror.

"No, it's funny, don't you get it? It's a Frank Sinatra joke..."

"Xander... do you have any clothes on?"

"I, uh... no."

"Do you... do you remember anything?"

"I remember we were gonna work that spell. Which, I guess we did, 'cause I've got an eye and all..."

Willow shifted around in the darkness. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"Xander... I'm... I'm pretty sure we had sex."

"How do..." Xander broke off. "I guess you'd be able to tell. Uhm. I don't suppose we used..."

"Y'know, I'm really doubting we shook off the magical lust to go buy condoms."

"Are you... on the Pill or anything?"

"Xander, I'm a lesbian. Birth control? Not a priority!" Willow gasped. "Oh my God, Kennedy."

"She's going to cut Little Xander off, isn't she?"

"I think you'd be lucky if Little Xander's all you lose," Willow groaned. "Oh my God, how am I going to explain this?"

"Well... we were under a spell. Couldn't be helped. Nothing we could do, right?"

"I don't think she's going to go for that, Xander."

"Well, it's true... ergo it should be easy to go for..."

"I know! It's just... we tell each other everything, and I kinda told her about... y'know, the situation, with you and me and Oz and Cordelia..."

"Oh, Will."

"Yeah. And she's kind of insecure about that kind of thing, anyway. She's always saying I'm bi, and I'm always telling her I'm not, but..."

"Well, not to outnumber you, Will, but given what we just did..."

"No, Xander. I mean, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I'm completely unattracted to you right now. I mean, I find you about as sexually exciting as... as... toothpaste."

"You want to explain to me what the right way to take that is?"

"You know what I mean! I like the girlies! Yay with the boobies! It's not until you and I do this new spell-thing..."

"Well, I guess we're both in agreement that we should never do that again..."

"I don't know, Xander..."

"Look, Will. Not that I'm not in favor of sex with hot redheads as a general rule, but I prefer to remember it afterwards."

"We have to talk to Giles."

"I kind of doubt he wants to hear about our little sexcapades, Will..."

"Xander, I think this is the one time that's not true."

---------------------------

"Buffy," Angel whispered, his arms tight around her, the heat of his body warming her through. "Buffy... hon... it was just a nightmare. Wake up."

Buffy's eyes fluttered open, her hands grabbing Angel's forearms.

"Easy... easy..." Angel gasped in pain. "Hey-hey, Slayer, pull back..."

"Sorry," Buffy let go, giving him a sheepish smile. "Not used to having to go easy on you."

Angel chuckled. "Yeah, there's a lot of stuff that's going to take getting used to. Like, for example... it took me the last thirty minutes to figure out that I've really gotta pee. I wonder if I remember how."

"I think it's pretty easy. Ready, aim, fire. Y'know. You, uh... didn't do that before? I mean... you drank, and stuff... where'd it go?"

"C'mon, Buffy, you slept with two of us..." Angel winced. "Three of us... you never noticed?"

Buffy blushed. "Um. Yeah. About that. Um..."

"Look, I know you slept with Spike. And The Immortal. Can't say either one of them really filled my heart with joy, but..."

"Look, the Immortal was just... a stupid thing I did. I mean, I was totally using him..."

"Oh, unlike the loving, caring, blissful union of you and Spike... next up on Lifetime."

"Well, yeah. I was... I was using him, too. More of a... Pay-Per-View thing."

"Better a million years of Spike with me tied up and forced to watch than the Immortal, Buffy..."

"Whoa-whoa," Buffy said, raising her hands. "Totally wasn't expecting that ranking. You hate The Immortal that much, or have you suddenly joined the Spike Fan Club?"

"You're gonna laugh," Angel smirked, "But... a little bit of both. Mostly the former, but... there is a little bit of the latter."

"Oh my God -- first Willow and now you? What's next, Xander in an 'I Grok Spike' t-shirt? Have we gone into Bizarro World?"

"Look, Spike's a major pain in the ass," Angel said. "I'm not saying I don't want to punch him. Frequently. Violently. So his nose bleeds, and his face gets all swollen, and, uh, yeah. But... I've gotta hand it to you, Buffy, he's changed a lot. Beneath the thick layer of total jerk that won't budge, of course. I see the William in him all the time. I just wish he'd knock it off with that stupid fake accent... that's annoyed me for over a century."

"I think I speak for everyone when I say, 'Wha-huh'?"

Angel grinned. "To which part?"

"To all the parts! You not totally hating Spike, you somehow thinking I changed him, and then there's the whole fake accent thing... is he not really British?"

"No, he's really British, it's just... when Spike first started out, he was like..." Angel chuckled. "Oh, I can't believe I'm just now realizing this, I could have harassed him to the point he'd have staked himself. Gunn's right, we need to find him, this is too delicious."

"Hello, planning to share...?"

"He was like... the love-child of Giles and Willow."

"Ew. So don't want to think about how you make one of those!"

"Yeah, me neither. But William was very... insecure. Easy prey, and I don't just mean the vamping. He fixated on Drusilla, even more than the normal sire thing, and that gave him an Achilles' Heel a mile wide. He was fun to play with. Angelus had a field day."

"How... how do you mean?"

"Well, y'know. The whole sire thing. Darla felt it for the Master, I felt it for Darla, Dru felt it for me. As much as Spike loved her, there was always that part of her he could never touch, that part that belonged to me and always would. So he tried to impress her, tried to get access to that part of her... by being me, acting like me. And at the time, well... I wasn't the world's greatest role model. Unless you're evil. If there were Evil Wheaties? I would totally have been on the box."

"Are we... are we talking about Drusilla or me, now?"

"I'd hoped you'd notice the parallel. I was also hoping you'd laugh at my Wheaties joke, but I guess that's okay." Angel paused, considering. "Sort of weird, really. He tried to be Angelus to get Dru, and went over to the Dark. He tried to be me to get you -- I still can't believe he got a soul, he's such a copycat -- and went over to the Light."

"So it's all about you, in other words."

"Well... yeah." Angel grinned. "Boy, would that piss Spike off. Why didn't I think of any of this stuff when he was annoying the crap out of me? I gotta write all this down. Do you have a pen?"

"Look, I didn't lead Spike over to the Light any more than Dru led him over to the Dark, okay? I mean... he's a demon, hello?"

"Yeah, he is. Like me, and Lorne, and Anya..."

Buffy sighed heavily. "Look, don't make me give you my unsorted laundry speech."

"My turn. 'Wha-huh'?"

"Oh..." Buffy kicked out at a rock. "I got a version of this from Willow yesterday. Or today." She looked around the cavern in irritation. "How the hell am I supposed to know what time it is underground?"

"I don't know either," Angel smiled. "That's so cool."

"Huh?"

"My little sense of when then sun's coming up or going down? Totally gone."

"Does this mean you're quitting your creepy little sniffing habit?"

Angel flopped down on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. "Givin' it up for good."

Buffy laid down next to him, propping her head on her hand. "So... his accent's fake?"

"Well, I dunno, he's been doing it for a century, I guess it's real now. Although I have noticed it kinda comes and goes." Angel shrugged. "He used to be way more upper-crust, y'know? The street kid accent was just another attempt to be tough. Like the fingernail polish, and that stupid leather trenchcoat -- have I mentioned how much I hate that thing? -- and the gallons and gallons of Clorox he's poured on his head over the years."

"He bleaches his hair with Clorox?" Buffy said in horror.

Angel grinned a grin of pure, unadulterated joy. "Now, that would be punk. But no. He's way too vain. He has it done in a salon. Spike has a color consultant. Spike has a stylist. Spike has a..."

"Yeah, yeah, and you wear lifts..."

Angel's face paled, and Buffy burst out laughing.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was actually true!"

Angel glowered at her, and Buffy touched his arm. "I'm glad you and Spike aren't at each other's throats all the time anymore."

"Did I say that? I don't think I said that. He's like... my annoying kid brother. Actually, I guess he's my annoying kid grandson, but the brother thing works a little better."

"Well, I can definitely empathize then."

Angel considered something. "Hey, Buffy... did I ever actually meet your little sister? I mean, I 'remember' her, but did I ever really meet her?"

"I don't know," Buffy sighed. "I don't really know precisely when the mojo happened. I know it was back when I was dating..."

"Captain Cardboard?" Angel finished.

"Okay, maybe not liking you and Spike with the truce so much..."

"Spike talks about Dawn all the time," Angel mused. "I guess they have something in common, with the whole younger-sibling-living-in-the-shadow thing. I mean, you're Wheaties Box material yourself. Not to mention the whole supernatural-being-living-in-a-human-body thing."

"I don't really think about Dawn like that. Besides, she's not The Key anymore."

Angel arched an eyebrow. "She's not?"

"Well... if she is... she doesn't open anything."

"You sure?"

Buffy cradled her knees. "I hope."

---------------------------

"What's all this for, then?"

Dawn smiled at Spike, plucking a bag of sage out of her basket and giving it a little shake. "I figured things might be after us. I just want to be armed."

Spike cast a wary eye around the magic shop. "Been learnin' from Red? Can't say as I fancy that."

"Not Willow. Giles taught me some stuff. Basic protection spells, locator spells. Y'know. Picked some stuff up on my own. I'm pretty smart."

"I know that, Bit. Just gives me the crawlies to see you messin' with the mojo. Didn't exactly turn out well for Teen Witch, did it?"

"Well, I'm not doing the kind of stuff Willow was doing. She was into the black stuff. I'm not." Dawn turned in a whirl of hair, pulling down another book.

"Right," Spike drawled. "Because you've never been drawn to the forbidden..."

"Please. Give me some credit."

"Oh, I'm givin' you credit, Bit. That's why I'm watchin' you like a hawk."

"Y'know, if this place really gives you the 'crawlies', you could have gone to Wal-Mart with Illyria and Wesley."

"And leave you alone in here? Fat bloody chance. The day you agree to let someone else pick out your clothes is the day I don't take my eyes off you for one second."

"We're on the run from a demon horde, Spike. I don't care if my clothes are cute."

"Well, now," Spike grinned. "There's your proof that you're not made from Buffy."

"Whatever. I'm gonna go pay for this stuff, but I need some nightshade, and it's on the top shelf. Could you get it down for me? It's over there."

"Nightshade," Spike glowered.

"I'm not gonna drink it, hello, it's an ingredient." Dawn batted her eyelashes. "Spike, c'mon."

"Fine, fine." Spike trudged off across the store, muttering as he went. "Supposed to protect the bint... got me fetchin' poisons for her..."

"Hi," Dawn said, setting her selections on the counter. "All this stuff, plus a bottle of nightshade my friend's getting right now, and I'd like that pretty paperweight, too."

The shopkeeper chuckled condescendingly. "Dear girl, that's not a paperweight, that's an Orb of Thes--"

Dawn cut him off firmly, staring into his eyes. "I'd like the pretty paperweight, please. And if you could wrap it up -- completely -- I'd appreciate it."

The shopkeeper nodded.  "Certainly."

Spike came up behind her. "Got your poison, pet. Now, when your sister stakes me, you'll send me a postcard in hell, right?"

"Sure thing," Dawn grinned, taking the bottle from him and setting it on the counter. "But don't worry."

Dawn watched as the shopkeeper wrapped the orb in a sheet of newsprint.

"She's not going to have any reason to stake you."