Chapter 18 - Warning and Trust

It's late when I finally get home. Gina and I finished our shopping, then went to get something to eat. We talked a lot more over our meal, and by the end of it, I was feeling happier. I sometimes wonder why Gina never got into counselling - she seems a natural to me. She put me straight on some things, and her belief that Spike's love for me is obvious made me feel a lot better.

I hear the TV as soon as I open the door, and I recognise the show immediately. Not that I would have just a short while ago, but since Spike's been living here, it's become a regular fixture.

I dump my purchases in my bedroom, and take the jacket out of its wrappings. I hang it over the closet door and admire it for a moment, wondering when I should let him see it. I feel awkward about it now, almost afraid of his reaction, and put it in with my own things until I decide how to do it.

I go into the living room, greet him to be answered by a grunt, and proceed into the kitchen to get myself a soda. I go back, and sit down beside him. He doesn't seem to notice me, so I watch the show with him.

Well, no, I'm not really watching the show. But, sitting here with him, it actually gives me a feeling of security I didn't even know I was missing. The show breaks for commercials, and he turns to me, favouring me with his attention.

"So, how'd the shopping go? Manage to clear out the cash?"

"No, we didn't, but I think I got enough for now. Did Wesley call?"

"No, heard nothing from the Watcher. But then, since you were out with his missus, he may have guessed you'd not be in."

"He could have called to talk to you," I remind him.

"And I was supposed to be of the shopping party, until I started losing brain cells too quickly and decided to abandon you."

"It wasn't that bad," I argue, and he fixes me with a look that makes it perfectly clear that he doesn't agree. I shrug.

"It's not like you tried to persuade me to stay," he continues.

"Well, there're some things it's better to shop for without male interference."

It's fleeting, but I'm sure I see him redden at those words. He turns away, walking to the kitchen, asking if I want anything. I tell him I don't, and he disappears for a few minutes, only to reappear when his show starts again. There's no remaining sign of whatever it was, if it even was at all.

"Is there anything else you thought of?" I ask, when the show finally ends. "You know, any clothes that could be useful?"

He looks at me, as if weighing up whether or not I'm trying to make a point, but it doesn't seem like he sees anything like that on my face, because he answers a moment later.

"Well, " he pauses, then goes on. "There is one thing I didn't think of. You know, being in California, it's not as if you have any real weather, if you know what I mean. But sometimes, at night, it'd be good to have a jacket - nothing fancy mind, just something to keep the breeze off. Never mattered too much when I was room temperature - I suppose it takes a bit of getting used to. The coat - well, let's say it's seen better days, and there are times when it almost gets in the way."

I grin, wondering at the fact that he's giving me the perfect opening. I don't say anything, just get up and go into the bedroom. I lift the jacket out of my closet, smoothing down the leather as I do so. It's stiff, unyielding, and very different from the coat, but then, that's hardly surprising. I walk back to him, surprised to note that I'm nervous. I'm unsure how he's going to take it. Am I organising him too much? Did he look at it in the window thinking it was hideous? I swallow hard, and go back into the living room.

"Would this do?" I ask. There's no reply, and I don’t dare look at his face to see if there's a reaction there. "If it's no good, I can always take it back, and you can choose something for yourself. I mean, if you don't like it."

I look at him, and he's standing beside me. I didn't hear him getting up. He holds out a hand to take the jacket from the hanger, and I hazard a glance at his face. I'm still mystified. He doesn't look happy, but then he doesn't look angry either. He unbuttons the jacket, and slips it on. Of course, I didn't imagine him wearing it with the usual black on black ensemble, but I'm relieved to note that it's a perfect fit.

He flexes his shoulders, rolling them, getting a feel for the jacket. He looks down, and I realise he's trying to see how it looks.

"There's a mirror in my closet," I offer. "Only one for now, but it'll give you an idea …"

He nods, not speaking, and I lead him into my room. I open the closet door, and he stands in front of it, smoothing the leather with his hands.

"Hard to get used to," he offers.

What? Me buying him coats? Well, yeah. Then he continues.

"Having a reflection. You get so you make yourself believe it doesn't matter, but deep down, it does. Gets so you avoid places with mirrors, and if you can't avoid them completely, you make sure you don't look."

"So, there's an upside to being human?" I ask.

"To make up for the getting older and dying, and being easy prey for any big bads around? Doesn't seem like a lot."

"Hard to believe, seeing you looking at yourself like that."

He turns from the mirror, and I metaphorically kick myself since it seems I've said the wrong thing. Again. In an effort to change the subject, I ask, "So, is the jacket ok? Like I said, I can take it back."

"Jacket's perfect, Pet. Admired it when we were out. Didn't think you'd notice. Was a time you wouldn't have."

And of course, he's right. There was a time when all that interested me about Spike's clothing was whether or not he was wearing any. Oh, and watching muscles rippling under a tight T shirt, and wondering how he actually got into jeans that tight.

"You really like it?" I ask, my voice soft.

"That I do, Pet. It's right natty. I'll be suited and booted in this."

Now what on earth does he mean by that? My confusion must be obvious.

"You'd think, number of years you spent with Giles, you'd have picked up a bit of the English language."

"There's nothing wrong with my use of the English language," I protest, and he grins, and I realise I'm smiling again too.

"If you say so, Pet. If you say so."

We go to our beds soon after that, each to our own rooms. I spend a few moments looking through the underwear I bought, trying to imagine Spike's reaction to it, but I give up. I need to stop torturing myself like that. If Gina's right, and we're going to be able to find a way to be together, then it'll happen. If it doesn't, then I'll just have to deal.

My mind flips back to just after Riley left. I can look at that now and realise that he did both of us a favour. And Xander nearly made me make a serious mistake. If I'd managed to stop Riley that night, it would only have prolonged the agony for both of us. I was so desperate for normal then, and he seemed my best hope.

I remember visiting a convent - I mean, I was chasing a demon, and that's why I was in the area, but I actually asked one of the nuns about the whole 'doing without men' thing. Not going to try anything like that again.

I pull on a tank top and shorts. I climb into bed, and toss and turn for a while before eventually managing to sleep.

I know it's a dream, but it seems so real it hardly matters. I'm in the bathroom, in the house on Revello.

I haven't thought about that night for so long, but every detail is crisp and clear. I feel the pain in my back from being thrown against the head stone. Spike comes in, and I'm my usual bitchy self, telling him to leave me in peace. I see something snap in him, as if he's been holding the demon back with sheer force of will, and then he's pulling at my clothing, trying to make me see that I care about him. I'm struggling, but this time, it's as though either he's stronger or I'm weaker, because I can't push him away.

And then the scene changes. I'm no longer in the bathroom, but in my bedroom, my here-and-now, LA bedroom. I'm lying in my bed, and Spike's there, pulling the straps of my tank top down my arms, then giving up and just snapping them.

I can see his face then, human, but there's no sign of lust or anger or any of the things I remember from before. The expression on his face is absolute terror. I think it's then I realise I'm not dreaming.

The tank top's been pulled down, and he's struggling with my shorts, and I'm still trying to stop him. Somehow, now I know I'm awake, it's easier, and I manage to push him away. He lands in a heap on the floor, and I pull a sheet around myself. He's shaking his head, and I'm about to ask him what's happening when he speaks.

"Slayer," he starts. It’s his voice, and the intonation he used back in the days when killing me was a major pre-occupation. The look of terror is still there, in his eyes, and my heart goes out to him as he speaks again, his voice more measured, almost slightly stilted.

"I think you've been wasting time. You've got a job to do, and if you don't get on with it, this will seem like a pleasant interlude compared with what I'll make him do next. Did you know that he remembers every person he killed? Every person he hurt? He's got it all stored in his head, and I don't even have to imagine anything, all I have to do is persuade him to act out one of his memories. You know what that could mean, don't you?" He's got some absolutely delicious memories.

It takes me a moment to realise what's happening. Lilah. Once I've done that, I manage to answer.

"Leave him alone. You've got a problem with how I'm doing the job, you take it out on me. He wasn't part of the deal."

"Ah, but he was. Remember, I can control him. It's even fun. But I won't unless you make me do it."

"But he's human, he hasn't got the strength to hurt people like he used to have." I'm grasping for anything to stop her doing as she's threatened. There's a pause then, as though Lilah is thinking about something.

"Ah, but you're wrong. I can make him as strong as I need him to be. Of course, it's not going to do his body any good - that's why people are generally limited in strength, but it's possible to tap into reserves, for a short while anyway. And, if I need to, I will."

I know she's gone by the way Spike slumps. He dissolves into tears, shaking and murmuring the same words over and over.

"Couldn't stop her. Sorry, sorry, tried, couldn't."

I pull the sheet tighter around me, quickly tying it, and sit on the floor next to him. I put my arms around him, and hold him tight. At first, he pulls away, and the muttered words change to "Don't, don't, don't deserve."

I hold him tighter still, as tight as I dare, and stroke his hair.

"It wasn't you, I know that. You're not to blame."

He looks at me, and his eyes are full of self-loathing. "But it was, Buffy. It was what I tried to do to you before. She's right - she didn't give me the idea. That came from in here."

As he says that, he points towards his own head.

"I was going to force you, to show you, part of me was watching, trying to stop myself. I just wasn't strong enough."

"It doesn't matter, Spike. It's over, and it wasn't real. Just Lilah messing with your mind. She can do that, you know. I mentioned it when I told you about the amulet. Wes is working on a way round it, and Willow said she would too, so it's only for a while."

"But, Buffy, first, I was in your … bathroom. I thought it was a dream, but then it changed."

"I know, I dreamt about it too. Seems she can also get into my mind."

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I know it doesn't mean anything, saying sorry for trying to hurt you like that, but I am sorry."

"I just said, it wasn't real."

"The first time, it was. I'm sorry."

"What? For turning the tables on me? Our relationship then was built on violence."

"I know," I say quickly before he can interrupt. "I was the one who kept the violence going when you would have changed things. I did a lot of thinking after Sunnydale, and I know that you were driven to do that. I'm not saying it wasn't wrong, but you did so much trying to keep your demon in check, and what credit did we give you? None. Hardly surprising it managed to escape its leash. And I pushed you away, remember? And you knew I could, just like I knew I could. I was never really in any danger that night, and, shocked as I was, I did know that."

He's shaking now, and I realise that he's coming up in goosebumps over his chest and arms. He's only wearing his jeans, but they've been hastily pulled on, and the zipper's still open. Whatever else I do, I can't leave him shivering like that.

"Just a moment, Spike," I tell him, getting up and going to my drawer where I find some exceedingly frumpy pyjamas. You know, the sort of thing you wear when the cramps are bad, or you're just feeling rotten. Comfort clothes. I go into the bathroom and pull them on, then go back into my room.

He's sitting where I left him, and if he even noticed I'd gone, he's giving no sign of it. I pull him up, finding it surprisingly difficult, even though he's not resisting. I pull him towards my bed, and push him onto it.

"Buffy, no," he says, realising at last what I'm doing. "You can't trust me. I've got to go."

"No," I answer simply. "You're staying here. Lilah would expect you to leave, or me to throw you out, so that's exactly what we're not doing."

"But after …"

"After what? If it happens again, I can stop you. We proved that."

"But …" he starts, but I'm not going to listen to him giving me chapter and verse on why this isn’t a good idea.

"Stay with me, Spike? Just hold me. Please. I need to know you're there."

And, as I knew he would, he nods his head. While he thought I was doing it for him, he'd never agree. Doing it for me, though, is another matter. The silly thing is, that although I really do want to have him here, he needs this more than I do. He needs to know, to feel that I trust him. And I do.

Spike falls into a restless sleep almost immediately. My mind is going over what happened, and I resolve to contact both Wes and Willow first thing in the morning. If there's no way of getting this control clause removed, the only other option we've got is leaving for Las Vegas immediately.

I think about what happened, and while it's true that it could have been worse, it was a pretty drastic show of power. No one was really hurt, well, not physically, but the blow to Spike's sanity must have been severe. He's so fragile - more than I ever realised before. It's different than Angel. I know he spent a long time after he was cursed, eating rats and listening to Barry Manilow. I also know he resented the fact that Spike seemed to cope with his soul so much more quickly. He took it to mean that Spike's guilt was somehow less than it should have been, but the truth was that they're just such different personalities. Angelus' evil was more … considered. He planned things, milking the maximum amount of suffering out of what he did. It's almost as if he has to feel remorse in the same way - by a deep consideration of it all. I think that's why he broods so much.

Spike's different. His evil was always much more spontaneous. I mean, that much was obvious just in my experience. He could make plans, but he was just too impatient to stick to them. His remorse seems to be different too. He went mad with it for a while, but then again, part of that madness was actually induced by the First, so I don't suppose we'll ever know how he'd have coped without that influence. But, when he realised I needed him, he was there, apparently back to normal, and ready. The damage was done anyway, he just didn't brood about it. It seemed that he could put it behind him. But what Lilah did to him - that was exactly the worst thing she could have done without actually having him kill someone. I wonder why she shied away from that. I mean, it's not as though it's part of her usual MO - minimising the body count.

Spike is restless, dreaming of - I don't know what - but I'd bet it's not hugs and puppies. He's tossing and turning, moaning, and I know he's in some sort of pain, but I can't do anything to help him.

Spike's body spasms, and as it relaxes, he turns in towards me, as if trying to hide from the world. I tighten my hold on him, and he seems to settle a bit, snuggling into me, and it feels so good to be able to return some of the comfort he's given me over time. I stroke his hair, gently smoothing it down, and hoping that he finds it as soothing as I do.

Lilah. She's a problem I currently have no idea of how to solve. I just know that the solution needs to include something very painful to make up for what she did to Spike tonight.

In thinking about causing Lilah pain, I realise I still don’t know how to achieve that. I mean, what is she? She's dead, but she's not undead, not in the sense of being a vampire, and I have no idea what she is.

I get the impression that Wes has been concerned for her. I don't mean when she was alive - they had some sort of relationship then, even though he used that relationship to thwart her. But, from things Gina has said, I think he's still concerned about her. The hold the senior partners have on her seems to be total, and we have no information on what her existence is like. Is she able to enjoy the 'life' that she has? How do the senior partners motivate her to do what they want? Carrot or stick? It's yet another thing to think about, and I feel like my brain is in danger of overloading.

Spike shifts in my arms, and his face appears from where it's been nestled towards me. He's smiling, his face completely different from the pain-filled one I last saw. He looks so much younger. It's the face I used to see, back when he was giving me a reason to stay alive, and before he realised that me seeing him getting joy out of our liaison was a guaranteed way to pain at my hands. I feel another stab of guilt at that thought. When he was chipped, the only people who treated him like he mattered in any way were my mom and Dawn. For the rest of us, he was an object of fun, some extra muscle. Even when I knew I needed him, it was still on the basis that he, personally, had no value. I made it my job to remove any joy he might have felt.

Sure, he enjoyed a bit of violence, and he used to grin a lot while he was fighting, but what I'm seeing now is different. Not that grin, which was somehow hard, but a smile, gentle, beautiful. It makes my heart contract just to see it. I wish I could see that expression daily, for the rest of my life.

He shifts again, turning towards me, and his hand finds its way under my pyjama top, just to my waist, and I can feel his hand, warm on my skin. I miss this so much. I wish this could be every night, curled together, after …

I force myself to stop thinking that way. I need to sleep, and I force myself to just feel, just enjoy, without any what if's.

I must have slept at last, because the next thing I know is that I'm startled awake when Spike suddenly jerks, and sits up in bed. I open my eyes, and see him take in his whereabouts. There's a ghost of a smile on his face, and I can only assume he's trying to link his current position with a history that would account for it. A fraction of a second later, I know he's made the link, because his face changes to one which looks anything but happy, and it's accompanied by a stiffening of every limb.

I place one hand on his shoulder, and my other arm around his waist, trying to pull him back down to me, but he pulls away, getting out of bed and fastening his jeans.

"Spike," I say, desperate to get him to look at me. "Come back. It's ok."

"It's not ok, Buffy," he disagrees. "And I don't see how it can be, not while some bint's got a free pass into my head and can make me try to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me last night," I remind him.

"Yeah, well, Slayer strength. Next time, she's going to choose some poor bird who hasn't got your advantages. And I'm going to hurt her, because I couldn't stop myself last night, and not hurting you is about the best incentive I've got."

"You're not going to hurt anyone. If I have to knock you out, I'll stop you."

"You can't be with me every second, …"

"I can if I need to, but that won't matter if Wes or Willow come up with a way out of Lilah controlling you. And, if we get on with what she wants, she should leave you alone for a while at least."

He sighs deeply at that, recognising the truth of what I've said, but then he looks over his shoulder.

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I have a few personal moments. Disadvantages of being human and all, but I need to use the bathroom, and a shower might be a good idea."

"Fine," I tell him, settling back down under the covers. "I'll guard the door."

My final comment doesn't even merit a smile. I lie there, trying to relive the feeling of holding Spike in my arms. I inhale deeply, trying to smell him from the sheets, and realise it's different from before. There're similarities, but there's a muskiness that was missing before, making his scent even more distinctive.

When he's finished, I follow him in to shower, and when I'm dressed, I grab some coffee, and I'm about to get something to eat when the phone rings. It's Wes.

"Buffy," his voice is full of concern. "I hear Lilah paid you a visit last night."

"Yeah, how did you know?" I answer, taking the phone to my room.

"I had some business with Angel early this morning. He told me."

"And how did he know?"

"It seems Lilah visited him just after she left Spike alone. Angel's livid, of course, and he's currently planning a way to get Spike out of circulation and keep him that way. It took me some time to get him to calm down enough to make any sense. I've just left his office. Angel's getting ready to send out the troops to find Spike. Do you know where he is?"

"Of course I do. He's here, and if Angel sends his goons after him, they'll have to contend with me."

"Good. Angel assumed he left after what happened. I'd hate to think he was out somewhere in the city alone."

"He wasn't in any state to go anywhere," I tell him.

"So, what happened?"

"Well, sounds like you already know the highlights. She forced Spike to re-enact something from our past - let's just say it wasn't the brightest moment for either of us."

"And then?"

"And then I spent some time trying to convince Spike that he's not an evil monster. Kind of the opposite of what I used to do. He was so broken by what she did. He seems a bit better this morning, but it's going to take a while before he can put it behind him."

"But he's still there?"

"Yes, he's in the kitchen."

"Good. Look, I'm going to be finished here in a few minutes. Ok if I come round then? I think we need to get moving on things."

"Yes and yes," I agree. "I was going to call you in a few minutes. Oh, and give Angel a message from me, will you?"

"What?"

"Tell him to stay away from Spike. Tell him that if anything happens to Spike, I'm going to stake first and ask questions later."

"I will. See you soon."

While I've got the phone in my hand, I call Willow. She doesn’t have any good news, but promises to go on working on the control issue.

True to his word, Wes arrives a short while later. Spike seemed to be avoiding me while we waited, but I didn't push it. Once Wes arrives, he swaggers into the living room. He looks cocky enough to put his vampire-self to shame, but I sense the lie in his demeanour. Wes doesn't say anything, but I see him narrow his eyes as he takes in the changes.

"Ok, Buffy, so how do you want to play this?" Wes asks, as soon as we're settled.

"Well, unless you can tell me that you've found a way round Lilah's ability to get into Spike's head, then I think we should get on with it - leave for Las Vegas today, or at the latest tomorrow."

"I'd hoped to have more time to find out some more about the Carnolan social structure and so on, …"

"There's what Lilah gave me," I remind him.

"But we've no idea how much of that is truth and how much just what they want us to believe," Spike butts in.

"Very true," Wes agrees. "And I understand your haste, but I'd have to advise a slight delay - a couple of days, that would allow me to …"

"Wes," I say, making my voice clear and, I hope, not allowing my internal emotional turmoil to be seen, "if you don't get that booking done today, then I'm going to do it. I want to be at that hotel by tomorrow night, absolute latest. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," he replies. "I don't think this is the wisest course, but if that's the way you want it …"

"It is."

He nods, starting to get up from where he's sitting. I put a hand on his shoulder before he stands.

"Thanks, Wes. For everything. And especially for not arguing about this."

"Would it do me any good?"

"Not the slightest."

"It seems a wise course to save my energy for a cause I actually have a chance of influencing." He smiles wryly as he says that, then he's back to business.

"I'll get my PA, sorry, my ex-PA to do the booking. Hotel, flight and car hire. I've already obtained a complete set of paperwork for Spike. His background will specify that he's of 'independent means'. That'll account for the money you'll be spending. I'll call you with the flight details as soon as I have them."

"Thanks," I reply, then go to get up, but Wes tells me he can find his own way out. To my surprise, Spike gets up anyway, and when I look at him questioningly, he answers that he needs to 'use the boys’' room.

Once they're in the hallway, I hear voices, so I approach the doorway. I'm not too surprised by what I hear.

"Promise me, mate," Spike's voice.

"I hardly think Buffy would…"

"She wouldn't. But, I need you to promise me. If I hurt her, make sure I can't do it again. I don't care how. Set Angel on me, whatever it takes."

There's silence then, and I assume Wes is stalling, or trying to think of something else to say.

"I hope I'd find a more … humane way than setting Angel on you. I have memories, recently restored to me, of how he reacted when he believed I was responsible for hurting someone else he loved. But, I promise."

I hear a sharp exhalation from Spike then, followed by both the bathroom and front doors closing. I force the conversation out of my mind for now. If something happens, there'll be time to make sure Wes doesn't keep his promise. In the meantime, I've got packing to do.

Chapter 20 - A Change of Scene

The news that we've got a flight tonight comes quickly, and adds further momentum to my packing. Spike has finished his, apparently, and has been sitting in front of the TV ever since. I get the impression, as I pass through on my way to the kitchen, that he's not actually watching at all. At least, his expression doesn't change to match the canned laughter, and when I glance back towards his face, it actually seems rather glazed.

It's so frustrating. Someone I love is hurting, and I want to go and hold him, comfort him, but I know that's actually the worst thing I can do right now. He coped with it last night because he was so exhausted, emotionally and physically, but now, at best he'd push me away, and at worst he'd tolerate my touch even if it burned him worse than holy water used to.

I'm actually relieved that we're not going to be here tonight. The idea of spending a night in my room wondering how he was coping in his - well, let's just say I don't want to think about it. Then, on the other hand, it's not going to be easy for him to be with me either, but I'm sure there's something we can arrange that'll make him more comfortable.

Wes and Gina arrive late afternoon with tickets, a cell phone for Spike, and more advice than I can take on board. There's also a little extra for each of us - a pin that can be hidden in just about any piece of jewellery, which will interfere with any listening devices we happen to encounter. Apparently they're a product of both Fred's and Wes' old departments, so they should be proof against both electronic and mystical spying.

Spike's attitude changed as soon as the others arrived, and he's now attentive, and asking questions I hadn't thought of. I even get the impression that Wes is impressed, and that's not easy to do.

Wes starts to give us a quick run down on Spike's 'history', handing over his passport.

"Your name is William Ashcroft, and you are a British citizen. There's also a green card in the bundle, so there shouldn't be any problem about you remaining in this country in the longer term."

Spike's eyes widen at the name, and he seems to be trying to say something, but Wes doesn’t notice as he’s checking things off on a list in his notes.

"How did you find out?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"What? The name? Oh, I've known for some time. It was one of the things Giles asked me to find out for him - although he didn't tell me why he wanted to know. It turns out that, once he had your name, and knew when you died, he was able to do some hunting around your family history. Your family has consisted of a single line since your death. Your cousin, another William, inherited from your mother, and the most recent member of that family, another William Ashcroft, died childless in an unfortunate accident five years ago. The circumstances were such that there wasn't a body to identify.

It was the perfect blueprint for giving you an identity and a past. Using that information, I got the experts at Wolfram and Hart to make the required changes, and it now appears that you survived the accident. The money, however, is a complete fabrication, and I've arranged temporary changes to your history to show that it was the bequest of one Jane Daventry, an older woman you worked for. The money is actually expenses paid to you by Wolfram and Hart, but the details are there in case anyone asks."

William Ashcroft. I think about the name, and decide it suits him. He just looks shocked to hear it again after so long.

"I want a different name," he says at last.

Wes looks surprised. "Why? I thought you'd be most comfortable with your own name."

"Because I don't deserve it. Why d'you think I bloody revelled in being called Spike? Because I'd already done enough harm to the name when I killed my own mother, and I wasn't about to do any more."

"I'm sorry, Spike, I can't change it in time for your trip, and I had assumed that you would use this identity in the future, but if you wish, once this job is complete, I can arrange a new identity for you."

He doesn't look convinced.

"Spike," I say, "You've got another chance here. Use the name, and make your life something your mother would have approved of, that would have made her proud."

He laughs at that, but it's a laugh that says he doesn't think it likely.

"Doesn't seem like I've got much choice then, does it? But it's hard to imagine what I could do that would make up for vamping and then dusting her."

"Your motives for that, they were, well, understandable. She was dying and you wanted her to live."

"And I turned her into a monster that'd put even bloody Angelus to shame. Yeah, I did her a real favour."

He gets up then, and leaves the room.

"The rest of it is pretty simple," Wes continues after a moment. "And it's probably not that important. I'll leave it now. Tell him I'm sorry. I didn't know he would be upset. I only knew that his mother had died at around the time he was sired. There were no suspicious circumstances cited at the time of her death, there are even records of a burial."

"He must have arranged that for her," I realise. "I don't know how he did it, surely there were some checks, death certificates and so on?"

"I'm sure there were, but then it's always possible to terrify someone into doing something. And Spike's always been, well, resourceful."

When Spike returns a few moments later, he's changed. He's still in jeans, but now it's teamed with one of the shirts we bought him, this one in a dark purple colour. If he's still upset about the name, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

"So, when're we leaving for the airport?" he asks.

"In a few moments," Wes replies, checking his watch. "In fact, if we're ready, we might as well leave immediately."

Despite leaving earlier than we intended, we still only make the airport just in time. Our goodbyes to Wes and Gina are hurried, and we dash to check in. Once that's complete, we're directed through security to the first class lounge for the short wait.

Spike seems to have changed during the ride here, because his arm is around my shoulders with casual familiarity while we sit. The only give-away is the fact that I can feel the tension in his body. He's scared to relax in case - well, I don't know for sure what he thinks might happen. It's not like he's likely to attack me in a public place, now is it? I can't imagine even Lilah would think that would help with anything.

The rest of the journey is pretty much like that. The first class treatment might have been more enjoyable if I hadn't been so worried about Spike, but I'd tend to doubt that anyone but me noticed that anything was wrong. He played the part perfectly, rarely out of contact with me, and stopping occasionally to place a kiss on my forehead or cheek.

At last we arrive, the door to our suite is closed, and we're alone. I check out the various rooms, while Spike grabs his bag and takes it into the bedroom. The main room is huge, has a large screen TV, a bar, several very comfortable-looking chairs and what looks like some sort of music system. I go from there to the bathroom, and now I'm really impressed. The tub is huge, and I mean big enough for, well, for things I shouldn't be imagining right now. It's sunk into the floor, and it looks like it's got a jet option. Ranged along one edge are shelves holding an array of pots and potions that're going to take even me a while to get through. I pick one at random and inhale its fragrance. Rose. Pretty much a standard, but lovely just the same.

If I don't get out of here now, I can see it's going to take a while, so I go to take a look at the bedroom. And it's not what I expected. I just assumed there'd be two beds - you know, standard hotel feature. Having said that, the one that's the focal point of the room is huge. It's draped with white lacy coverings, and it's easily the biggest I've seen. Spike must see me looking because he speaks.

"It's ok, Buffy, I'll sleep in the other room, or on the floor."

"Spike, look at the bed, would you? It's big enough I could get lost in it. We can share, and there's no need to get closer than either of us is comfortable with, ok?"

He looks like he's about to argue, then his shoulders relax and he sighs. His expression seems odd considering. If I had to say what I thought it meant, I'd say he's relieved.

"You hungry?" I ask. It's getting late to be eating, but I didn't eat much on the plane, and I'd like something.

"Yeah," he admits. "Want to go out or just get something sent up?"

"I think just get something sent up. I'm kinda tired too, and we've got tomorrow to have a look round."

He nods, and picks up the card next to the bed.

We order some sandwiches, and they arrive remarkably quickly. We go into the living room, and Spike eats his while fiddling with what I took to be a sound system.

"This is pretty good," he says, a hint of enthusiasm back in his voice.

"What, the sandwich?"

He looks at me with that almost pitying expression he always used when someone didn't get something he thought obvious.

"No, this. Looks like I can get pretty much anything I want. The hotel's got a huge collection of MP3s, and I can play them here. Some of these tracks I haven't heard since …"

He stops then, and looks down.

"Since when?" I ask.

"Since Sunnydale, when you and Soldier Boy blew up my collection."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"You didn't really have any choice. I know that. Just, well, didn't feel very clever then."

I must be looking puzzled because he continues.

"Didn't know what those eggs were for. Was keeping them for a mate, like I said, but this mate didn't bother to tell me they had to be kept cool. And he didn't bother to tell me what they were for. All I knew was that I was going to get two hundred bucks a day for storing them."

"You didn't know they were dangerous?"

"Said that, didn't I?’Sides, I'd hardly store something that dangerous anywhere you or Dawn were likely to come, now would I? Might not be the brightest in the box, but I wouldn't take a risk with either of you."

"So, why'd you do it? I mean, I never got the feeling money was that important to you."

There's silence then, and he's shuffling his feet. I cast my mind back to then. That was the time of the dreaded chicken hat. And then I remember. He said he could get money. He said I didn't have to work at the Doublemeat.

"You did it for me, didn't you?"

He doesn’t deny it. "Couldn't stand seeing you working in that place. It was wrong. Broke my heart seeing you there, having to deal with the pillocks that came in, always tired, trying to do everything."

"I wouldn't have taken the money, you know."

"I know, but I'd have found a way, something. Even gone to Angel if that's what it took. But then the eggs got blown up, and there wasn't any money, and you said …"

"It's over. I remember."

"And then, selfish git that I am, I spent my time trying to get you back, to make you see, and then other things sort of took over. And you know how that ended."

"Yeah, I know. And that's the point. It ended. It's over. And then we got a chance to start again."

"And who's to say it won't end the same?"

"You do, and so do I. We've both got choices here. It's up to both of us to make sure we don't make the same mistakes again."

He nods then, and turns his attention back to what he's doing. A moment later, the sound of the Ramones is filling the room.

"I'm going to take a bath," I tell him over the noise.

He nods, but seems pretty oblivious to anything other than the music.

The bath is just what I needed. There's a shower cubicle too, and it's a generous size, complete with sprays at various levels, but when it comes to decadence, you can't beat a bath complete with bubbles. As I lie there, I think about what's going to happen, and wonder how long it's all going to take. I mean, all I know is that we're supposed to turn up here, and that somehow, I'll be contacted. What I don't have any idea of is the time it's supposed to take. I mean, it could happen tomorrow, or it could take weeks.

I stifle a yawn and decide I'd better get out before I fall asleep. I dry myself, and pull on the pyjamas and wrap I brought. The pyjamas were a last minute addition to my case, and not new. They’re pretty enough, Chinese style top in a satiny material, and pants to match, and they're a lovely shade of dark green. The wrap is black, and was actually bought to go with some of my newer acquisitions, but I suspect if I get into bed in some of those, that Spike'll run a mile.

I go into the bedroom and pull a brush through my hair. The hairdryer supplied is pretty efficient, and in no time I'm ready for bed. I take a look out into the living room when I'm ready, but Spike seems lost in his music. At least he's found some headphones, so I don't have to listen too. I walk to where he can see me and mime my intention to go to bed. He nods, and goes back to moving his mouth in time to whatever is playing.

I go in to the bedroom and make myself comfortable on one side of the bed. Within seconds I'm missing Spike. While the circumstances were far from ideal, the simple fact of sharing a bed with him just felt so good and natural, and I just know that I'm never going to be happy sleeping alone again.

It’s much later when I hear him. While I was sleeping, he’s come to bed, and he’s lying as far from me as he can, but he’s shaking, murmuring, sounding afraid. And then, without warning, he’s thrashing about. Instinctively, I move towards him, holding him in my arms, and having to use a surprising amount of strength to prevent him from falling off the bed. Almost immediately he stills, and his breathing slows, but now I’m back where I want to be, holding him, and he doesn’t seem to have any objections. I consider letting him go and returning to my own side of the bed, but I’m so sleepy that it just seems simpler, to say nothing of much more pleasant, to just close my eyes.

Chapter 21 - Further Developments

It's dark. Something is stalking me, I feel it, but I have no idea who it is or exactly where they are. I'm concentrating so hard, scanning with everything I've got, but I can't pinpoint it. And then I feel something, just a pinprick in my arm, but my defences crumble, and with them, my will to resist. I'm floating, and any sense of danger gradually dissipates as I relax, and it occurs to me at last that I've been dreaming.

I come awake suddenly, and every sense is on alert. I consider the possibility that it's just a remnant of my dream, but I know it's not. I do my best to remain immobile, and just carefully open an eye, taking in our surroundings. The bed looks as I remember, as does Spike. Somehow, during the night, our positions have changed, and I'm now wrapped in his arms. My heart's still hammering, my Slayer sense on overload. I move slowly, trying to make it seem natural, and take a look further around the bed, but it all seems as I remembered.

Spike moves suddenly, and his eyes snap open. He takes a moment to take in his situation, then buries his head in the pillow, pausing only to mutter, "Sorry."

Much as I'd like to persuade him that he's got nothing to be sorry for, my Slayer sense is still screaming at me, so I sit up, and look around some more.

There must be something about me that's radiating my concern because Spike swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up too, watching me carefully.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Don't know. Can't see anything, but my Slayer senses are about to overload, and I don't know why."

Spike nods, and goes to pick up a t-shirt to add to the sweat pants he wore to sleep in. I pick up my wrap, and raise my arm to put it on, and I spot a speck of blood on my lower arm. I touch it, noting that the blood's dried. Putting concern about it to one side for now, I approach the door to the rest of the suite, with Spike at my side.

Sitting on our chairs and sofa are three … men. Well, they look like men, but my senses tell me otherwise. They could be brothers, dark brown hair, tanned, brown eyed, wearing identical looking navy blue suits, white shirts and navy ties.

"Would you like to tell me what you're doing here?" I ask, more rationally than I thought I'd manage.

One of them stands, and holds out a hand to me. "We're here to welcome you," he answers, obviously expecting me to shake his hand. I don't. He lowers his arm with a shrug.

"You can call me Aaron," he adds. "My brothers are Benedict and Cornelius. We represent the International Carnolan Government. We have been awaiting your arrival for a long time, Miss Summers."

"Look, I don't know what you've got in mind, but we paid for this suite, and I don't take kindly to finding three strangers in it, so if you'd be so kind as to leave, …" Spike invites in his most gracious, and at the same time menacing sounding voice.

Aaron just smiles. "You can do as you wish, Mr. Ashcroft. It is Miss Summers who is of interest to us."

"Well, Miss Summers would also like you to leave," I add.

"I regret that will not be possible," Aaron replies. "Although we would be happy to wait until you have dressed … more appropriately for company."

"Look," I say. "I don't care what you think you're here to do. If you want to speak to me, you can call, or make some other arrangements. You don't just break into our suite. Whatever it is you want from me, I've got to say, you're not making a very favourable impression."

"However, we are not leaving."

Ok, this is just too much. I approach Mr. Smarmy-face, grab him by the arms, and attempt to propel him toward the door. He doesn't move. He hardly seems to notice that I'm trying to move him.

"Miss Summers, we took the precaution of injecting you with a muscle relaxant while you slept. You are, I believe, familiar with it. It was developed by the Council of Watchers some time ago. We very much want to talk to you, and we'd rather avoid any unpleasantness. So, if I can suggest once again, perhaps you would like to dress and then we can talk."

"You want to avoid unpleasantness, yet you inject me with something against my will?" I demand incredulously. I can feel waves of anger rolling over me, and it's an effort not to just give in to them, even though it doesn't look like it'll do me any good. With an effort, I turn towards the bedroom, and I gesture for Spike to follow me. So much for all our subterfuge. They know exactly who I am, and they haven't wasted any time getting in contact with me.

Once the door's closed, I pull some clothes from the wardrobe. Black leather pants, a cotton top and a leather jacket. I open a drawer and pull out some underwear. I haven't said a word since we came in, and neither has Spike, but then he doesn’t have to for me to know how he's feeling. He's as mad as I am.

"Let's get dressed, and go and see what they want," I suggest.

"Doesn't look like we've got much choice," he agrees. "Why'd that bitch bring me back human? If I …"

"Doesn't matter, Spike. Look, let's go along with them for now. It won't be that long till I get my strength back, then we'll reconsider. I'd kinda hoped to be in control going in, but if this is all we've got, then we'll just have to go with it." He nods, then picks out some clean clothes before leaving the room.

"I'll get changed in the bathroom," he says, steeling himself to walk past the three in the living room.

He's there with them when I return, already dressed, and doing his best to exude menace. And his best is pretty good, I've got to admit. Pity it's not backed up by demon strength any more.

Aaron had been sitting when I returned, but he stood as I entered the room. "Now, Miss Summers, let's get down to business. I apologise if you feel we've been less than welcoming so far, but I'm sure, once you've heard what we have to say, that you'll understand our need for caution."

The sofa is vacant, and I gesture for Spike to join me there.

"Ok, I'm listening," I say.

"We did say Mr. Ashcroft is welcome to go. In fact, we would strongly advise that he leave now. If he hears what I have to say, that option will no longer exist."

"I'm staying."

"Spike? Maybe you should …"

"I'm staying."

His arms are folded, and his posture is making it clear that he's not willing to compromise.

"Very well. Now," Aaron gestures to his two companions who get up to stand beside him. "We know why you're here. We know about Wolfram and Hart, and the fact that you are in some way indebted to them. We even know that it has something to do with your companion, but the details are not significant to us. Your arrival among us was foretold many hundreds of years ago. We knew that you would come among us with the intent of destroying us. And that may in fact be the final result of your arrival. However, we believe there is another possibility, one that will destroy, or at the very least, seriously weaken those you refer to as the Senior Partners. We believe that this second possibility would be the better option for humanity as a whole, and we're willing to explain why. When you have heard and seen what you need to, you will be left to come to your decision."

I glance at Spike, and he gives me a forced smile in return. Whatever I expected, it wasn't this.

"You mean, if I don't agree, you'll just let us go?"

"Well, it's not that simple. The prophecy says that you will accompany us, it just neglects to tell the final outcome."

"And the Senior Partners know about this prophecy?" Spike asks.

"We have been careful to hide all the possibilities form them. Let's just say that the version they have allows for only one outcome."

"So I'm just to allow human eating demons to live?" I ask. "Just do nothing about it?"

"I suggest you discover for yourself a bit about our needs before you condemn us out of hand. And you have allowed other such creatures to live before. You have a history of being intimate with those you are purported to slay. Among vampires, Angelus has a fearsome reputation, yet you didn't choose to kill him when you had the opportunity."

"He had a soul."

"Not all the time. And he wasn't the only one, was he? Although the other was different in many ways. He achieved redemption in the end, did he not? And returned as the human at your side. His journey is quite remarkable, and an interesting side note to your own story if not central to it."

"So, what's your story?"

"Now, why would you believe what I say? It would be much more convincing, don't you think, for you to come with us and actually experience our way of life?"

"Now wait a minute," Spike says, his voice loud and strident. "If you think Buffy's going anywhere at all, you've got another think coming. Now, it's time you left."

"As I said, you were welcome to leave, and could still do so if you insist." As he says this, he looks at his two companions who nod, although the one designated Cornelius doesn't look happy about it.

"And I said I wasn't leaving Buffy. Now, get out of here."

"I think not."

The expression on his face is so irritating, I want nothing more than to wipe it off.

"You can either come with us willingly, or unconscious. The choice is yours."

As he says that, he pulls a gun from his pocket. "The pellets in this gun contain an anaesthetic. The effects of it are instantaneous when they hit your bloodstream. I would prefer not to have to use it, but …"

The expression on his face becomes even more irritating. Spike and I get up as one, and move towards them. The gun is raised, aiming at me. I stop. Without my Slayer strength I don't know what I can do.

It happens so fast, it's a blur. Suddenly Spike's no longer beside me, he's launched himself at Aaron, knocking the gun out of his hand. It goes skittering across the room, and one of the others - I think it's Benedict - moves to intercept it, but Spike's too quick, he kicks out and Benedict goes sprawling in the opposite direction. While this is going on, I try to get involved, but I'm grabbed from behind, and someone has his arm around my neck, and then I feel a gun at my arm. I try to struggle anyway, but I can't make any impression on the grip. These Carnolans might look human, but I'd estimate almost vamp strength.

Spike's managed to knock Benedict out, and Aaron's on the floor with Spike on top of him, hitting him repeatedly. And then he sees me, struggling against Cornelius who speaks.

"Mr. Ashcroft. You are a surprise. Now, I'd suggest you stop that, and let my brother up. If you don't, I may break a bone or two in this young lady before I put her to sleep. Nothing fatal, of course, but I can make it extremely painful."

Spike does as he's told, moving away slowly. Aaron retrieves his weapon, and points it at Spike.

Looking at Spike's expression, he hasn't realised the significance of what he did. Those 'men' are strong. They're all taller and bulkier than Spike, and he shouldn't have been able to make any impression on one of them, let alone two.

"So, what do you think?" Aaron is asking the others. "Should we take our surprise along with us? Or is he more trouble than he's worth?"

"I think," Cornelius answers, "that he may be part of what we don't understand. I say we take him. It won't be difficult to keep him under control, and it may make the Slayer more amenable to us."

"I think you may be right," Aaron agrees. "Ok, let's do this."

I hear the shot and see Spike crumple. Aaron goes to him, putting a hand to his forehead. "Good, just as I expected," he says. "Your turn now."

Cornelius nods, and I see his finger start to depress the trigger, and then, nothing.

In the space between sleeping and waking I hear him, moving around, sounding agitated. I know it's Spike without opening my eyes. As I move slowly upwards towards full consciousness, I remember what happened, and Spike's agitation is explained. Despite that, it still takes me longer than I'd expect to surface completely, and as the details become clearer, my own agitation grows.

At last, I manage to open my eyes, but my first attempt to sit up is a total failure. Alerted, I assume, by my abortive attempts to move, Spike seems to materialise beside me. I'm lying on a bed. Not the bed from the hotel, just a basic double sized bed. The room is a surprise too. It looks like a normal domestic bedroom. Well, fairly normal, in that the only windows are high in the sloped ceiling. There's a chair below one of the windows, positioned to reach them, and I assume Spike's been busy.

"How're you doing?" he asks.

"Groggy? You're doing better by the looks of it."

"Came round maybe half an hour ago. Tried the door, but I couldn't budge it. Same with the window. Looks like we're stuck here for now."

"Spike," I say, as the last memories of recent events click into place. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Well, yeah. Got taken by the brothers Grimm, didn't we?"

"Yes, but you nearly got us out of it."

"Well, I tried, but without my vamp strength …"

"That's just it, Spike. I had a go at them, and they weren't human-strong. Even without my extra abilities, I can tell the difference between normal- and demon-strength, and believe me, they were demon-strong - pretty close to vamp-strong, I'd guess."

"Can't be. The door, and the windows, they're reinforced, but it's not like they're solid steel or anything. If I was vamp-strong, I could've …"

I grab his hand, and turn his arm so I can see it more clearly. It's exactly where I expected to find it, a small, red dot of encrusted blood.

"Looks like you've had a dose of muscle relaxant too," I inform him.

He cranes his head to look, and I can almost see his chest puffing up with pride.

"So, I'm still a match for you then?"

"Spike, you were always a match for me. Strength had nothing to do with it. But now it looks like I've found an ideal sparring partner. You may be human, but there's nothing average about you."

"Well, I never claimed to be average," he says, a smirk starting on his face. "But this puts a whole new complexion on things."

"Still, it doesn't get us out of here," I remind him.

He sobers immediately and gets up to resume his pacing. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and approach the door. It a little more substantial than a standard domestic door, and, normally, I'd be able to get through it with one kick. I turn away from the door, and consider trying the window too when I hear a key turning in the lock behind me. I swing around, ready to attack, but I'm completely thrown by what I see.

She's tall, well, tall by my standards, maybe 5 foot 7, slim, with long strawberry blonde hair which is pulled into a flattering knot on the top of her head. She's full-figured, but perfectly in proportion, and I'd estimate her age as, well, fortyish. She comes in and calmly locks the door behind her. While her back is turned, I launch an attack anyway, but she bats me away without appearing to expend any effort. I land on the floor a few feet away, and when I look up, she's hovering over me, and offering me a hand to get up.

"I'm sorry about that. Even now, it takes a bit of getting used to, being strong like that. Now, please don't try anything else, because I honestly don't want to hurt you, and as you just saw, my control's not good enough when I'm excited about something."

I ignore her proffered hand, and instead take the one offered by Spike to get up.

"I'm sorry about all this, you know. It's just, I need to talk to you, and I didn't think you'd listen voluntarily, so we had to take measures."

She pulls the chair that was under the window to face the bed, and gestures for us to sit opposite her. On the grounds that we don't seem to have much choice, I sit as directed, and Spike sits beside me. She regards us in silence for a while, and I do some thinking. There's something wrong with this, quite apart from the whole kidnapping thing. I just can't put my finger on it.

"As I said," she begins, "I am extremely sorry for the methods we have used to get to this point. I hope that you will find it in yourselves to forgive us all in time."

"If you want forgiveness, this'd better be some story," Spike mutters under his breath.

I can't help but agree, but I don't say anything.

"You were brought here so that I can explain something of the way we live."

"If you eat human flesh, then I'm not sure I want to know any more," I reply, wondering where this is leading.

"I personally, never have, and never will, eat human flesh. That particular requirement is very specific, and, if you allow me to explain some things, I will eventually get to that."

As she says this, it dawns on me what was wrong. Nothing. That's what my Slayer sense has been giving me. Absolutely nothing. She's either human, or she's a type of demon that flies under the Slayer radar.

"Are you human?" I ask.

She smiles. "You noticed. I'm as human as you are."

"But the strength?"

"Comes from the same source as your own."

Ok, so now I'm confused. She's a Slayer?

"Go on," I encourage.

"I'd like to start by telling you about some of the specifics of the Carnolan way of life."

"But you're human," I interject.

"Yes, but, by choice, I live among the Carnolan. They are my friends, my family. You’ve already met my boys."

"You mean the goons that brought us here?" Spike interrupts.

"You were brought here by my sons, yes," she replies in a tone which implies that she doesn’t think a lot of Spike’s use of the word ‘goons’. She takes a deep breath then continues. "Let me explain. Carnolan never have female offspring. Despite this, their reproductive requirements are very similar."

"Then how?" Spike asks.

"They use human women."

"What, they take humans to use as brood mares?"

"No, no, nothing so crude. They do not take women against their will. All of us are here willingly."

"But why?" I demand.

"Simple. We fall in love."

Ok, maybe that's true, but then again, maybe she's been brainwashed.

"We choose to live away from humans for the most part. In fact, that wish for seclusion is so deep seated, that we guard information on our existence from everyone. Or at least, we try to. The Senior Partners at Wolfram and Hart have always been aware of us. Until recently, we haven't interfered with their plans at all, and so we've been ignored. Over the past few years, we've become much more active outside our own communities, and that has been in preparation for your coming."

"Ok, I get that you've been waiting for a Slayer, but I'm not the only one any more."

"True, but you were identified by a number of specifics. I'm sure you're aware that, in Slayer terms, you are unique."

I think about that for a moment. So far, it makes sense, in a Hellmouthy sort of way. Except we're not on the Hellmouth any more.

"So, what do you expect me to do?"

"That's simple. We expect, or more exactly, we believe you are our best hope of dealing a major blow to the power of the Senior Partners."

"Not that I'm not in agreement with doing something about the Senior partners," Spike says. "But there's this adage, you know the one, 'better the devil you know'. Can't help but think it applies here. They told us the Carnolan are human-eating demons, and that they're planning on taking power. Can't see the advantage for us in helping you, and I know of at least one disadvantage."

"Well, as to your adage, the best way around that is to get to know us. This house is within an area protected by ancient magic. Anyone on the outside will simply go around it, and not even realise they've been deflected. Only those of Carnolan blood can breach it for themselves. You can't leave the area, although you are welcome to leave the house if you wish."

"If we were free to go," Spike asks, "why the needles and the locked doors?"

"Simple, really. This," she gestures around her, "is my home. I didn't want it wrecked by you trying to escape. Keeping you both in this room until I had a chance to talk to you was all we wanted. The door won't be locked from now on, unless you lock it from the inside."

She looks at us, gauging our reaction. For now, I'm calm, and I'm not getting anything different from Spike.

"Ok, what do you say we take this discussion downstairs and continue it over some coffee? And I baked some biscuits this morning. Or scones," she says, looking at Spike, "if you're English."

She gets up then, opens the door, and we follow her out of the room and onto a narrow staircase. We go down, reaching a landing with several doors, and then continue our descent on what, I assume, was the original staircase. When we reach the bottom, she turns left, and takes us into a large, cozy, kitchen.

"Where are your sons?" I ask. I'm not sure what to make of their mom, but I definitely don't trust them.

"Oh, the boys had to go back to Vegas. Running that hotel takes all their time. Bringing you here was just a favour to me."

She sets coffee brewing, then opens a cupboard and pulls out a tray of biscuits, leaving it on the large wooden table that is the centrepiece of the room. Spike and I each pull up a chair, and soon we both have a large mug of coffee in our hands. Our hostess sits opposite us, and it occurs to me that I don't know her name.

"Who are you?" I ask.

She looks puzzled at the question, then speaks. "Apart from being the mother of three Carnolan demons, you mean?"

"Well, yes."

"My name is Lucy Wells. I was born in California, forty-something years ago. I was a potential Slayer. I had a Watcher and everything - apparently they had me marked as a likely candidate, so I merited my own watcher. Of course, the fact that I didn't have much in the way of parents might have had something to do with it too."

She takes a sip of her coffee, and motions us towards the biscuits, so I take one, spreading it with the offered butter.

"His name was Farthington. John Farthington. He was a good man, still is, as far as I'm aware. He started my training, explaining all about vampires and how to kill them. I enjoyed it, really. It gave me something to do, made me feel important. There wasn't a lot in my life otherwise. He started when I was fifteen, but when I turned eighteen, and still hadn't been called, the Council insisted he go back to London. He had no choice, really. When he tried to tell them that he wanted to stay here, they made it clear that they would have him deported if need be. And, I had a boyfriend, so I wasn't about to travel to England, even for someone I cared about as much as I did for John. I never knew my own father."

"So," I interrupt. "If you were a potential, then that's why you …"

"Got with the serious strength? Yes. When you dissipated the Slayer power to all potentials, I got my share. A bit late in life to be very useful, but I got it just the same. Probably just as well, because if I hadn't, there's no way my boys would have left me alone to talk to you. And they don't see things quite the way you and I do. Much as I love them, Carnolans can be a little single-minded about things they feel are important."

"You keep calling them Carnolans, but surely your sons aren't pure bred? They've got a human mother, after all."

"All Carnolans have a human mother."

"I've heard rumours about some demons like that," Spike says. "It's supposed to be where the tales about the Faerie creatures stealing girls come from, taking them against their will."

"Except the Carnolan take no one against their will."

"You mean you chose this? Being away from your own kind? Being isolated? Why would you do that?"

She turns to me, smiling softly as she speaks. "You, of all people, shouldn't have to ask that. I did it for love. That boyfriend I mentioned? He's now my, well, the human term is husband. I fell in love. Of course, when I first met him, I didn't know he wasn't human. I wasn't a Slayer then, so I didn't get the 'tingle'. But I did know before I decided to be with him. It was quite a shock, finding out that the man you love isn't human, but my background as a potential Slayer helped a bit."

"How do we know you really came voluntarily, and weren't brainwashed?" Spike demands.

"Well, you can only take my word for it, I suppose."

"So, how does it work, I mean, Carnolan man, human woman? You said there aren't any Carnolan women."

"That's right. Carnolan men essentially reproduce themselves. My sons have no biological relationship to me. My body just nurtured them until they were ready to emerge into the world. As for how, well, the mechanics are pretty much like the human version."

"Ok, but there's still the whole eating human flesh thing. I mean, that's got to be wrong."

"What if it's done willingly?"

"You're not going to tell me a human is going to willingly agree to be eaten alive?" Spike's voice is almost a growl.

"There are some rather special circumstances."

"What?" I ask. "You mean, they're suicides or something, just getting a helping hand?"

"No, not like that at all. The only humans whose flesh is eaten are those who have chosen to live among the Carnolan. It's a peculiarity of their, well, biology, but my sons will never be able to reproduce, have children of their own, unless they eat my flesh."

"That's …"

"Disgusting?" She shrugs. "It's a gift, given willingly, or not at all. It's my choice, and when the time comes, I will do it."

"When the time comes?"

"When I am close to death. My sons will know that. There is a ceremony, and these days, there's even anaesthetic. It's the order of things in this society. From death, comes life."

There's a matter-of-factness about the way she says it that screams 'truth' at me louder than any protestations she could make. There's even a weird sort of logic about it too.

Spike drains the last of his coffee.

"So, tell me what you have in mind for the Senior Partners" Spike seems intent on changing the subject.

"Oh, that? Well, we aren't actually that strong, not in the way they're strong. But we have one advantage. We know the source of their power."

Chapter 23 – Jealousy

She wouldn't tell us any more about Wolfram and Hart. She said that was for later, when we had begun to understand the Carnolan way of life.

When we finish our coffee, she suggests we might like to shower and change. I take a look at my attire, and realise I'm still in my pyjamas. And I'm just grateful that I chose something to sleep in that's more or less decent. I take the shower first, dressing before I leave the bathroom, and Spike follows while I do something with my hair. No hairdryer because I didn't pack one, but at least I find my brush, so I get to detangle it. I'm just finishing the make up when Spike returns, still towelling his hair.

"Where to?" he asks.

"She said we could go outside," I say, "so let's do that."

We don't see Lucy when we go downstairs, and we go straight to the front door. We stand on the doorstep and look around. I don't know what I expected, a single house, or a small group of homes, but it's bigger than that. Lucy's house has another on either side, and there are another three visible on the other side of the road. I step out a little further, and see no end to the buildings.

Lucy comes up behind me, and I decide to ask her about it.

"How big is this?"

"The enclave? I'm not sure about the actual area, if that's what you want to know. There are a couple of hundred of us living here just now, and a fair number of the houses are empty because of business outside."

"It's like a town," I comment.

"It is a town," she corrects me, smiling. "Would you like to have a look around?"

"Might as well," mutters Spike.

I take his arm, and he doesn't pull away. We walk along the sidewalk coming to an intersection and turn left. There's a small store, the sort that seems to sell everything, and opposite, what looks like a school.

We see a number of people as we walk, and their reaction is interesting. Lucy obviously commands respect, and we are objects of curiosity. Apart from Lucy, we see only another two women, one obviously pregnant, and the other with two small boys. The really spooky thing, though, is the way all the men look so similar. I assume it’s just the way they are. Having said that, it’s also obvious that they take care to make slight changes to hairstyle or facial hair to give themselves some individuality.

In the distance I spot what seems to be a parking lot. Since I haven't spotted any cars anywhere else, I ask about it.

"Cars aren't much use within the enclave," she answers. "Everything's pretty close, really. The cars are used when we leave. We're too small a community to be truly self-sufficient, and there are a lot of things we need from outside. And we've always had people working in the human world, passing as human, although recently, that's become much more intensive."

Well, logically, if that's where the cars are, that's where I'd expect to find the edge of the enclave, so I start to walk in that direction. Lucy doesn't comment at all, but I get the distinct impression that Spike understands my motive.

The sun is bright overhead, and it's pleasantly warm.

"Where are we?" Spike asks.

"Where is the enclave, you mean?" Lucy asks.

"That's what I said."

Spike is obviously still a little put out, and I can see that he's struggling to put all the new information together in his head.

"The enclave is in the middle of the desert. If you could find a way to leave, you'd find no roads for several miles in every direction."

"Not exactly desert weather, though," he comments. And he's right. It's very pleasant, but not the hot, dry heat you'd expect if we really were in the desert.

"The spell is designed to keep the enclave at a more comfortable temperature. Remember that our enclaves around the world are normally in areas where there are few people. The climate in those places is often hostile."

I glance at the vehicles, and realise that, yes, they seem to work with that story. They're all utility type vehicles, the sort of thing that could make good time where there aren't any roads. I drop Spike's hand, and continue to approach the furthest of the vehicles. As I get closer, I realise that the parking lot isn't as big as it seems. What I thought were continuing rows of cars is actually a mirror, and I keep walking towards it. There's something odd. I feel … something, and close my eyes to shake off the sensation. When I open my eyes, I can’t see anything wrong, so I continue to walk. To my surprise, I walk into something hard.

It's the green Range Rover I just passed, and now it's in front of me. I scan behind me to find Spike, but there’s no sign of him. Concerned, I look all around, and I spot him in front of me which doesn't make any sense at all. I turn around, and I can see the reflection of the Range Rover, so I move towards it, this time also taking note of my own reflection. Again, there's that feeling, something faint and odd, and my reflection's gone. Again, the car in front of me is real.

I walk back to Spike, interested to hear his reaction.

"What did you see?" I ask.

"I saw you walking one way, and the next second, you'd turned right around."

"Yeah," I reply. "That's what I thought."

"I said you'd be deflected by the end of the enclave," Lucy reminds us.

"But," Spike says, his eyes narrow slits, "If that's what happens out there, then people are going to think they're travelling north, and they're actually going south. Must cause a lot of confusion."

"Well, the effect is a bit different on the outside. It has something to do with the angles involved, I think, but on the outside, the effect is more subtle. People are just 'encouraged' to walk around the enclave. So, they might end up a few hundred yards away from where they think they are, but their ultimate direction of travel will remain unchanged."

"Clever," he murmurs, and I'm really not sure whether or not he's being sarcastic.

We return to Lucy's home after that, and when we go inside, Lucy excuses herself, saying that she needs to see to some business.

"Just one thing," Spike says, as she turns to go. "Your boys said they were representatives of the Carnolan Government. When do we get to meet someone from your government?"

Lucy smiled at that. "Oh! Well, you already have. You see, I'm the current First Minister of the International Government."

"You mean," I interrupt, "they let non-Carnolans into their government?"

"More than that, actually. The most basic stipulation for membership is that members should have borne a Carnolan son. So, all members of the Government are actually human women."

She goes into a room which turns out to be a comfortable living room, and through that to what looks like some sort of office. She opens a drawer, and selects a document from the pile there.

"Here, this might help a bit. Our government's pretty low-key compared to human governments. That gives a few details of how things work. I'll answer more questions when I get back, if you like."

She ushers us out of the office and closes the door.

"I'm not going to lock that," she says, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't go in without me. There's nothing there that could really harm anyone, but there are private records of some individuals, and those people wouldn't be happy to know that their personal details were treated carelessly. Within the limits of personal privacy, I will supply you with whatever information you need."

She beckons us to follow her, and we go into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and points out the range of food there, telling us to help ourselves. I hadn't realised it before, but I'm hungry, something my stomach decides to make known by growling.

As soon as she's gone, I open the fridge again, looking through it for something tasty. Spike reaches over me, and pulls out a tray of eggs. He leaves them by the cooktop, then reaches into one of the adjacent cupboards to pull out a pan. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he actually knew where things were kept.

"Omelette?" he asks.

"Yeah," I answer.

"See what we could add to liven it up a bit then," he requests, finding a bowl and starting to break eggs into it.

I do as he asks, finding some mushrooms and a red pepper. On another shelf are some green onions, so I help myself to a couple. I take them to Spike who finds a chopping board and a knife, gesturing to me to get chopping.

"Spike, how do you know where things are kept?"

"Don't know, not as such. Just, there's not that many possibilities if the kitchen's well thought out. And this one is. Obviously, you're going to keep pans close to where they're used, and there're only so many drawers to keep the knives in."

"Oh."

A few moments later, we're sitting down to omelette with bread and salad and I've even found a diet Coke to go with it. We both eat quickly, and when we've finished, I sit enjoying the feeling of hunger satisfied.

"So, Pet," Spike says as he pushes his plate away from him. "What's the next step?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Let me see. They brought our bags from the hotel. I wonder if my cell phone’s still in my purse. Wes must be worried if he hasn't been able to get through to us. I thought we'd try to call him."

"Seems like a plan," he admits, and he leads the way upstairs.

My phone’s where I left it, and I take it out, only to find that there's no signal. I show Spike, and he shrugs.

"Could just be too far out in the desert," he offers. "Or it could be the magic. No way of knowing for now."

"So, we're on our own," I say, my mind going through the possibilities. "Seems we don't have any choice other than finding out what we can. We just need to widen our research to find a way out of here."

"So, fancy a walk?" he asks. "Not going to find out a lot in here. Natives seem friendly enough. Maybe we should see what we can find out without a chaperone. This," he waves the paper Lucy gave us, “seems to be a bit on the dry side. Maybe try it for bed time reading. Should send us to sleep right quick.”

“The thing is, what are we trying to find out? Are we looking to find that the Carnolan are actually a species that deserves to continue, or looking for a way to destroy them?”

“I don’t know, Pet. Seems, with the bargain you made with Lilah, maybe you don’t actually have a choice.”

“And there’s Lilah’s hold over you.”

“Yes, well, that’s as may be. But you’ve always got an option on that.”

“What?”

“Simple. Kill me. Asked the Watcher to do it if things went that way, but if he’s not around, it’ll be up to you.”

“Not going to happen. I’ve been there, done that, killed someone I cared about, sent him to Hell. Not going there again. We’ll find another way, even if I have to chain you up somewhere.”

The look of pain on his face is unmistakeable at the reference to Angel.

“I was a different person then,” I remind him. “Just a child, really. And I mean it. I’ll chain you up if that’s what it takes.”

“Not that that’s not an inviting possibility, but you don’t want to be saddled with me if I’m a liability. If that happens, maybe I’ll find a way to do for myself.”

I don’t answer that. I can’t. I’m still holding out the hope that Willow can do something about it.

"I wonder if there's a landline?" I ask, forcing my mind back to the present. I head back out of the bedroom, and down to the kitchen, then check the living room, and even open the office door. No phone in sight. I check the kitchen, and it's the same story. Whatever else we're going to do, it looks like we're going to have to do without checking in with Wes, at least for now.

"We'll have to let Lucy know that we need to contact him, or he's likely to come looking for us."

"You think he will?" Spike asks.

"Yeah, I do. Either that, or he'll go and stir something up with Lilah, and that could be even worse."

“So, you up for this walk then?” he asks me, and I nod.

This time, we walk in the opposite direction. Again, we see some Carnolans, apparently going about their business. It's different, though. Before, when we were with Lucy, people looked at us, but there wasn't really anything in it, and I can only assume that was due to Lucy’s influence. Now, it's noticeably different. The men are watching me carefully. I can feel their eyes on me, and it's not a comfortable feeling. I glance at Spike, and I guess he noticed too. He's glaring at the man ahead who's looking at me particularly carefully. He's right in our path, and he seems to be waiting for us to get there.

"Miss Summers," he says when we get close enough.

"Hello," I answer. "This is Spike."

He ignores that, not taking his eyes off me. "My name is Winston. I'd really like to get to know you. Can I offer my services as a guide to our town?"

"Thanks, Winston," I answer. "But Spike and I'd like to have a look around on our own for now. Maybe later."

He glances towards Spike, before returning his attention to me. "The invitation is open whenever you care to take it up. Of course, it would be much more interesting if you dropped the human man. I'm sure you'd find that I would more than make up for any loss."

"Well, Spike and I sort of go together. So, if he's not welcome on this tour you're offering, I guess I'm not either."

I take a tighter hold of Spike's arm before walking off. It's only then that I feel just how tense he is. I glance at his face, and his lips are pursed and his brows wrinkled.

"Jealous?" I ask.

"I am not jealous." His voice is indignant.

"Looks like it," I offer.

"Why don't you go and make eyes at Mr. Dark and Smarmy over there. He's guaranteeing you won't miss me."

I stop walking, and pull him to face me. "Spike, I'm not looking for anyone else. I've spent years since Sunnydale, trying to find someone to take your place. And, you know what that taught me? There isn't anyone who could take your place. No one. Spike-replacement doesn't exist. And, now I've got the real thing, why would I even want to look?"

His body relaxes a bit at that, and then there's that new expression. The one that says he's not sure about himself any more.

"You sure about that, Pet? You sure you've got Spike back?"

"I'm sure," I answer. And to prove it, I stand on my toes, put my hands on his shoulders and kiss him. I'm not sure what I intend, not even sure I gave it any thought. I just do what seems natural, and once my lips are on his, the rest just follows like it hasn't been years since all those times after I came back from the dead. His response is exactly what it should be too, and in no time, lack of oxygen is becoming an issue.

We pause, forehead to forehead, panting for air. Spike gestures over his shoulder towards where Winston is still standing. "You've made your point, Love. Now, is this all for his benefit or should we take it somewhere more private?"

I look at him for an instant, wondering if he really thinks I'd do that just to make a point. Then he grins, and I know he's teasing me.

"Somewhere more private, I think," I answer, gently punching him in the ribs as I do so.

"Oh, in for some pain, am I?" he asks, his eyes glinting at me.

"Quite probably," I answer, spinning us both round to go back the way we came.

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