“They left town, sir.”

“They what?”

“Summers didn’t go to the college, and the vampire didn’t patrol.  They left together, we have a vehicle following them and it looks like they’re going to LA.”

A dozen expletives ran through Riley’s mind, none of them the kind he would let slip where anyone could hear.  Of all times, they had to choose this night to take a little trip!

“Keep an eye on them, wherever they’re going,” he instructed the soldier.  “If the vampire is alone, and can be secured without her knowledge, remove him.  If not, we’ll wait until they come back.”

That was, of course, assuming they would come back.  If it was only up to Buffy, Riley had little doubt they would; she took her duty to protect Sunnydale very seriously.  But she was under the vampire’s thrall, so he could only hope.  Hope for the good of the mission, as well as for more personal reasons

When they arrived at the Hyperion, Buffy and Spike found the hotel mostly deserted, except for one of Angel’s employees, Fred, who was perusing heavy leather bound books.  Research in LA looked frighteningly similar to research in Sunnydale.  From what the girl said, the other members of Angel Investigations were out gathering information in the field.  Buffy itched to go out and help, more to delay her encounter with Dawn than for any other reason, but Spike’s slight head shaking wasn’t needed to remind her of a little incident a few months back.  She and Spike had gone out, unbidden, to help Angel, and when they had found him he had been quite… explicit about them waiting at the hotel the next time he wasn’t there when they arrived.  Vehemently explicit.

It seemed that Dawn at least was there, currently in Steven’s room – where else?  As she was leaving Spike in the office with the woman, he sat down on the edge of the desk, picked up the book and asked Fred what it was she was looking for.  She hadn’t asked for help, and he hadn’t really proposed, but he would help anyway, and that brought a small smile to Buffy’s lips as she climbed the stairs.  There had been a time when Spike had found it very amusing to annoy a person doing any kind of research, just for the sake of getting on their nerves.  And now he helped, without even being asked to.  Of course, if she pointed it out, he would claim he was just passing time, and wasn’t really helping anyway.  But she knew better.  And she would have to remind him later how wonderful she thought he was.

The door of Steven’s room was partially open, and when Buffy lightly knocked it opened further in front of her, revealing Dawn sitting at the desk, writing in what Buffy knew was her diary.  The teen’s eyes came up to her sister, the barest frown barring her forehead.

“Hey there,” Buffy said quietly.

“Hi.  I told Spike I needed a ride tomorrow, not tonight.”

Interesting start, Buffy thought wryly.  She might as well have said she didn’t want to see them.  As she came further into the room, Buffy’s gaze traveled to the drawings that graced the walls.

“Don’t worry,” she said blankly.  “We’ll stay here until tomorrow night.  You won’t be alone with the big bad vamps until then.”

Talking about big bad vamps…  One of the drawings, surrounded by a light gray wood frame, represented a woman and her child.  Darla & Connor, the inscription read.  She looked so peaceful on this drawing, almost as innocent as her baby.  Appearances could be so deceptive.

“What bad vamps?”  Dawn asked, her tone lightly teasing.  “Because, if you haven’t noticed, you and Spike are more badly whipped than big bads.”

Another drawing showed a young woman, smiling graciously, eyes sparkling.  The whole picture expressed love and tenderness.  Buffy couldn’t help grinning faintly at that, wondering when Angel had ever seen Dawn like this.  She was much more likely to scowl in his presence than smile.

“Who are you calling whipped?”  Buffy asked, pointing to the drawing.

For the first time, hazel and blue eyes met.  The mischievous light in the blue ones died pretty quick however, and Dawn let out a soft sigh.

“You want to talk?”

“Do we have something to talk about?”  Buffy replied, her voice expressionless.

The teen rolled her eyes.  “Fine,” she said with a hint of exasperation.  “Close the door behind you when you go then.”

She turned back to the desk and her diary, but Buffy didn’t leave, returning instead to her study of the pictures.  A smaller one caught her interest.  It showed Steven and opposite him Spike, both carrying swords, poised for attack and defense.

“I’ve been a vamp for three years,” Buffy said very low, a finger hovering above the small figure of her Sire on the heavy cream paper.  “It never seemed to bother you before.  So why does it upset you now?”

She heard the chair move behind her, as if Dawn had pulled it away from the desk, but she did not turn toward her sister, her eyes remaining on the drawing.

“I’m not upset,” the teen replied.  “Not anymore.  I mean, I was really… stunned.  One day, you’re a human, the next day you’re a vamp.  And you were so happy when you became human again.  And I was so happy for you too…”

Repressing a sigh, Buffy turned to face Dawn, unsurprised at finding her eyes shiny with tears.

“I am still happy, Dawn.  It’s my choice.  Being a vamp isn’t as dreadful as you seem to think.”

“But there are so many things you can’t have”, Dawn murmured.  “When you were a vamp before, it was a matter of being dead or undead, so I didn’t feel too guilty.  But this time you could have remained alive, you could have had a normal life and kids and everything.”

Buffy was about to try and explain that she would never have anything close to a normal life, not as long as she was the Slayer and Spike was in her life, but then she realized what Dawn had said, and she frowned in confusion.

“Guilty?  Why on earth would you feel guilty?”

Dawn’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Buffy came to her, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her head back up.

“Spill.”

Dawn swallowed heavily, before saying, her voice hesitating slightly:

“When you were ill… when you were at the hospital…  I went to see Spike a few times.  I told him how sick you were and that it wasn’t fair that you were dying again… that I couldn’t bear to lose you a second time…  I never really asked him to … but…  I’m pretty sure he did it at least in part for me.  Because of me.  And the night he took you away, I could have stopped him if I had wanted.  I just know he would have stopped if I had asked him to...  But I didn’t.  I knew what he was going to do and I let him take you.  I wanted him to.”

Her confession over, tears started to roll down Dawn’s cheeks.  Without thinking, Buffy kneeled in front of her, taking both her hands in hers.

“Listen to me, Dawnie”, she managed to say despite the emotion that had her shaking.  “You have nothing to feel guilty for.  Even if you had asked him to do it, you still wouldn’t be at fault.  Spike may act like a kid sometimes, but he is adult, and he makes his own choices.  And so do I.  If being a vamp was so horrible, do you think I would have willingly become one again?”

She brushed a strand of hair away from Dawn’s cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

“There are things I will never have, true,” she continued.  “But I have other things that a human cannot even imagine.  I am closer to Spike than I’ve ever been to anyone, and that means more to me than I can explain.  Do not feel sorry for me, Dawn.  Because I am not sorry.  I don’t regret being what I am, and I never did.”

Slowly, understanding made its way on Dawn’s face, and she smiled faintly through her tears.  She didn’t say a word, but pressed lightly Buffy’s hand in hers, and nodded.  These simple gestures warmed Buffy’s heart.  Everything would be OK now.

The apartment had so many candles that it hadn’t been hard for Manon to borrow a few of them.  Same thing for the herbs, the Witches had a supply just as complete as the Magic Box, and she had managed to take what she needed without either woman noticing.  The bedroom wasn’t big, but by moving the desk a little she had cleared enough space to form a circle of candles large enough for her to sit in.  She had memorized the words of the spell, and what herbs to burn and when.  All she needed now was to gather the courage to start.  Because once this was done, everything would be different.  But after the way Spike had talked to her tonight, things had to change.  She just hoped it would be for the best.
 
 

Spike was still going over moldy books when Angel, Steven, and Gunn returned and made the research null and void.  They had found whatever they had been looking for, and they had killed it, the only normal human of the trio wearing slimy proof of it.  Fred disappeared with Gunn, presumably to help him scrub demon remains off his back, leaving Spike with a fidgeting Steven and a mildly annoyed Angel.

“I don’t suppose you brought provisions with you?” the older brunette asked once Spike had announced his and Buffy’s intention to spend the night in LA.

“Not any more than usual, Peaches,” Spike replied with a slight smirk.  “Why?  Did you ditch all your blood already?”

“What would I keep it for?”

“Guests, of course.”

“Well, if the guests were courteous enough to warn that they’re coming…”

Shaking his head a little, Angel picked his car keys off the desk and made his way out.

“I’ll be back in half an hour”, he called over his shoulder.  “Try not to set the hotel on fire this time.”

“I’ll try if you remember that my favorite’s O neg,” Spike shot back.

Before Angel disappeared, Spike’s acute hearing caught a few muttered words that made him chuckle.

“’Wonder why I don’t just open a vein, it would be quicker and less painful.”

Spike focused his attention back on the ex-vampire’s son, who was still acting strangely nervous.

“What’s up, kid?” he asked a bit warily.

“Can I ask you a question?  Kinda personal one?”

“Try your luck; we’ll see if I care to answer.’

Steven tilted his head slightly.  “Did you really ask to be a vamp?”

The question surprised Spike, because a few days before the kid hadn’t been particularly troubled by the news of the couple being revamped.  At the time, he had seemed more interested in knowing about his father state of life – or unlife.  The answer was a bit tricky too.  Technically, Spike hadn’t asked to be back to vamphood.

“What I asked Cordelia,” he answered truthfully, “was to take my life to heal the girl.  I thought that meant I’d be dead, so being back to being a vamp was definitely of the good.  But I probably would have asked her later if it hadn’t happened right then.”

“Why?” the kid asked, his tone curious but not judgmental.  “Why were you ready to die for her?  And why did you want to be a vampire again?”

Angel had asked just before it happened, Buffy just after, but no one had bothered to inquire since.  It pleased Spike immensely that Steven cared enough to want to know the reason.  He motioned for him to take a seat, and sat again himself on Angel’s desk.

“When I became human,” he explained slowly“, I got my soul back.  You saw the result of that.”

Steven nodded, mouthing quietly the word ‘William’, and Spike winced.

“Yes”, he sighed.  “William.  More or less.  Not the same as when I died.  Not Spike either.  A mix of the two, I guess.  It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the guilt.  A hundred years of killing was a bit too much for poor William.  I was told I could work the guilt off by doing good deeds, but it was still breaking me inside.  During the fight, Manon got hurt by saving my life.  If she had died, it would have been one more Slayer on my conscience.  One too many.  It would have killed me.  So, dead for dead, giving up my pulse for the girl was just logical.  And I’m actually quite happy to be a vampire.  I’m used to it, I enjoy it, and I even still have my Slayer with me so unlife is just perfect.”

Again, the kid nodded, more slowly this time, almost thoughtfully.

“I think I understand,” he said at last.  “Not sure if congratulations are in order, but it’s good that you got what you wanted.”

Almost gratefully, Spike smiled at him.

“I’ll go see Dawn,” Steven added, returning the grin.  “She always gets worried when I’m out working with dad.”

Spike warned him that Buffy was with her and that maybe they were not done talking, but the kid went anyway, saying that he could try to smooth things over if needed.  For a few minutes, Spike was alone in Angel’s office, and he thought back about what he had told Steven about his human experience.  It was the first time he had actually put what it had been like into words.  He hadn’t talked about it with Buffy, because he hadn’t needed to.  She had been there, by his side, all along.  She had even faced with him the multitude of his victims.  She knew.  Better than he could ever explain.  Better than anyone, or almost.  Angel probably had a pretty good idea of what Spike had gone through too.

As if summoned by the blonde’s thoughts, the brunette returned, and handed Spike a brown paper bag.

“I am told chairs are more comfortable than desks to sit on,” he commented casually, himself sitting in his leather armchair.  “And I’ll add the blood’s price to your tab.”

Shrugging, Spike got off the desk, not because he had been indirectly asked to do so, but because from this position he couldn’t see Angel behind him.  Dropping the bag in one of the chairs opposite the other man, he sat in the other one, legs stretched in front of him, one booted foot resting on top of the other.  They studied each other for a while, neither taking the initiative to start small talk, until Spike lit up a cigarette.

“Are you trying to kill me with second hand smoke?”  Angel remarked then.  “Because if you are feeling murderous, I’m sure you could find a faster way.”

Smirking, Spike blew smoke toward Angel, but then put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk.

“Wouldn’t it be fitting?” he said smugly.  “You give me fangs, and a century or so later I use them to kill you.  Fate is such a funny thing.”

He waited long enough for Angel to start wondering if he was serious, before adding: “Of course, I’d rather have a really good reason to off you, because the Slayer would be pissed off, and the cheerleader would probably skin me alive.  Where is she, by the way?  I had a few things to tell her too.”

Angel’s cheeks took a nice reddish tint, which only confirmed to Spike that something was going on there.

“The Powers called her,” he said quietly.  “Other missions in other places.  She said she’d be back, though.”

Spike nodded, his rant for Cordelia could wait.  Right now, it was Angel he was dealing with.

“OK.  First things first.  Do you still consider yourself as my Sire?”

Angel blinked several times, and his eyes widened slightly in obvious astonishment that Spike could easily understand.  A few seconds before, he had been casually mentioning the idea of killing the brunette, and now he was inquiring about what link existed between them.  Unwilling to let Angel know the meaning he attached to this question, Spike tried to keep his features smooth and expressionless.  He wanted an honest answer, not one dictated by what Angel thought he wanted to hear.

“I told you before”, Angel finally said, his voice serious and soft all at once.  “You are like a son to me.  An obnoxious, annoying, disrespectful one, but still a son.  Still my Childe even if I’m not a vampire anymore.  And you always will be.”

A weight was lifted off Spike’s shoulders by these simple words.  One of the few good things about being human for a few days was that it had allowed him and Angel to put some old demons to rest and define exactly where they stood in relation to each other.  He was glad the understanding still held now, but felt reluctant at having Angel know it.

“Does it mean you’ll let me sample every now and then?” he asked, his mischievous tone hiding deeper emotions.

“Don’t push it,” Angel replied, amused.  “Be grateful I went to get you blood, and don’t expect I will do it again next time if you don’t warn that you’re coming.”

Spike nodded lightly.  This matter having been settled, on to the next.

“Buffy and I are getting married.”

He watched for a reaction at his quiet announcement, and received a very faint smile and a slightly raised eyebrow.

“I had gotten that already,” Angel said.  “I was there when you bought the ring and when you two told the gang, wasn’t I?”

“And you’ll be there for the wedding?”

A flash of surprise passed through Angel’s eyes.

“If I am invited, I will,” he replied carefully.

“Of course you are, you ponce.”

“I am torn between feeling flattered and insulted”, Angel chuckled.

There was a genuine, so very rare happy light in the brunette’s eyes, and it occurred to Spike that ever since turning human his Sire had been less prone to brooding, and more inclined to show his emotions.  Definite progress on both counts.

“That’s not all,” Spike said after a few seconds, unsure how to say the rest.  “If it wasn’t… if it was someone else but Buffy, this is the point where I would ask you to be my best man.”

Again, Spike could see that his words were surprising his Sire, and, again, pleasing him.

“But you’re not asking me.”  Angel said, tilting his head just a little.  “Why not?”

“It just would feel uncomfortable,” Spike reluctantly admitted.  “Considering who you are to both Buffy and me.  Awkward, for all of us.”

Slowly, Angel nodded his understanding.  “Who are you asking then?”

Despite him, a light smirk came to Spike’s lips.  “’Can’t say I have a lot of options, but even if I had, the choice is easy.”

“Steven?”

“Yes, Steven“.

“Did you ask him yet?”

“No, ‘ wanted to tell you why first,” Spike said, rising from his seat and picking up the butcher’s bag.  “Now that I’m done, I’ll be out of your nancy-boy hair. ‘  Night, Peaches.”

“Good night, Will.”

For a second, the thought came to Spike to turn around and complain about the use of that particular nickname as it brought back unpleasant memories of a few days before.  But it only took him another second to realize that for Angel it was more likely to be a reminder of their newfound peace than of his temporary insanity.  So he said nothing, and just smiled as he walked away.

“The offering.  The sacrifice.  The blood.  All to beg from thee that you glance upon that creature, once Chosen, now fallen.  And when your eyes look away, let them keep amongst them the core of what she was, what a demon shall not have, what I implore that you take from her.  For a Slayer cannot be a vampire, for a vampire cannot have a soul, let her become the beast so that the hunt can be unleashed.”
 

Sunrise wasn’t very far when Buffy woke, eyes snapping open suddenly, immediately wide awake and aware of where she was, with whom, and how many humans were close by.  She couldn’t have said what had startled her awake though.  There was no noise in the sleeping hotel, except for the occasional faint purr of her Sire at her side.  She felt a little different, but she didn’t quite know how or why.  She felt… expectant.  As if something was about to happen, and everything would be changed by it.  She felt hungry, too.  In more ways than one.  There was blood in the hotel, just waiting for her to take it, but this particular hunger could wait.  Right now, there was something else her body craved.  And as someone had told her once, long ago…  Want.  Take.  Have.  Come to think of it, Faith would have made a great vampire.

As she inched closer to Spike’s neck, her demon visage came forward.  With her now enhanced vision, she could see the faded marks another woman had left there.  Faded, but still present, as they always would be.  The only good thing was that the insane one, when she had marked Spike as her Mate, had bitten nearly exactly over the first set of scars she had given him.  Only by looking very closely could one tell that it was two sets of punctures, almost perfectly superimposed.  Buffy usually avoided giving them too much attention, unwilling to think about Drusilla and her role in Spike’s unlife.  Right now, though, she had an intense desire to cover these reminders, to erase Dru from his memory forever.  It would have been even sweeter to have the woman around, see if she could be tortured back to sanity, give her a taste of holy water since she liked it so much.  Yes, the brunette had definitely gotten an easy way out.  Too easy.

With this thought raging in her mind, Buffy bit down roughly over the offending scars, as if by slicing through them she could obliterate them.  She knew, abstractly, that it wouldn’t work, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try.  She growled in delight as Spike’s blood hit her tongue, and pulled on it harder, growling again when one of his hands nestled by the back of her head while his other arm held her lazily.  The power in this blood, her Sire’s blood, had her quickly lightheaded and she could just have sucked him dry, but she forced herself to stop after a few more seconds.  She had other plans, other needs, and he would require at least some blood to fulfill them.

“’Morning, kitten,” he said sleepily as she lapped slowly at the wounds.

In a flash, she moved over him, one knee on each side of his body, fisted hands on each side of his head, her still vamped out face just above his.

“Do I look like a kitten?” she snarled somewhat menacingly.

Amused blue eyes plunged into fire ones, and his hands came up to cup her face.

“No, luv,” he said quietly.  “You look like the woman I adore.”

With that, he pulled her down to his mouth, starting a soft and sensuous kiss.  Immediately however, Buffy thrust her tongue past his lips, demanding and obtaining something fiercer, hotter, uncaring that her fangs nipped both their lips and tongues in the process.

As the kiss lingered, Buffy started rubbing her body over Spike’s, satisfied to instantly discover the proof that she had not stolen all of his blood, since he still had enough to be very nicely hard.  He was not the only one affected, her body felt as if it was on fire, and she was more than ready for him.  Pulling away from his lips, she sat up and lost no time guiding him inside her.  She sighed in contentment at the glorious feel of him, and started rocking her hips, rising until he was almost slipping out, then slamming back down as she contracted her internal muscles again and again.  His hands were not idle as she concentrated on her rhythm, one holding on to her hip hard enough to leave a bruise, the other kneading roughly her needy breast.  All too soon, the tension was becoming unbearable; she just needed something else, something more.

“Please”, she gasped, unsure what she was pleading for.  “Please, baby…”

His face morphed and he raised himself from the bed, his mouth closing over a nipple that was so hard it hurt, his fangs piercing on each side of the areola as he startled suckling.  As he did so, his eyes looked up at Buffy, and even in this demon form she could see his love for her in the molten gold.  It was too much, and she shut her eyes tight to block the sight.  A wordless shout rose from her throat as a violent orgasm shook her and started in her a fire that the cool spill of her lover only fueled further.

Gasping for unneeded breath, she let herself lie over him, nuzzling his neck as he nuzzled hers, only realizing when a fang grazed his skin that she was still wearing her game face.

At that moment, Spike was ready to die and go to hell, because he knew heaven, and he had experienced it often enough for the memories to last him until the end of eternity.  But if he wasn’t going to be dust quite yet, he sure wouldn’t mind a few more servings.

He had been rubbing his face to the crook of his Slayer’s neck for a little while, enjoying the light pressure of her body on top of his, when she said:

“You remember what we were talking about, about having Riley watch?”

An annoyed growl, muffled against satin skin, was Spike’s only reply.

“I just had an even better idea,” she continued, oblivious to his warning that her ex wasn’t exactly a good topic for pillow talk.  “Care to hear about it?”

Again, Spike growled, this time completing the thought with words.  “If you insist on talking about Captain Cardboard when we’re in bed, it better be very, very painful for him, luv.”

Buffy chuckled a little, her fingers tugging at Spike’s bleached locks playfully.

“Painful, that’s the idea, yes.  I was thinking, since he enjoyed being vamp snack, you and I could show him it can be not so pleasant.  Like, test biting on various body parts to see where it hurts more.  Then when we’ve taken him to just an inch from death, almost drained but not quite, we do very naughty things in front of him while he’s too weak to do anything but watch.  If he dies, the last thing he’s seen is us fucking.  But if he doesn’t die, we give him a day or two to recuperate and we start all over again.  Almost drain him, give him a show, and see if this time he dies or not.  And all over again until he does.  What do you think?”

Pulling away from her neck just enough to see her face, Spike observed the woman who had shared his bed and unlife for three years.  She was still in game face, and returning his gaze with fiery eyes that threatened to consume him.  If he hadn’t known her so well, he could almost have believed she was serious as she talked of killing the wanker.  To tell the truth, hearing her talk like this, the image of them hunting, feeding together, had always had a certain appeal.  And if he had wanted to hide these feelings from her, it was too late, because listening to her he had grown hard in her depths again, revealing quite clearly what he thought of her idea.  Was it a test?  What was he supposed to say?  She couldn’t really expect him to protest against the thought of her ex dying a very painful death, right?  It was just that, a thought.  Words.  Nothing more.

Unsure of what she expected from him, he decided not to say anything, and instead started rocking under her, slowly, burying himself progressively deeper.  As before, she urged him to go faster, harder.  Rolling them so that he was now above her, he complied, never one to refuse his lady, and soon they were back to the same wild, primal rhythm as before.

When Spike collapsed on top of her, Buffy was still shaking from the intensity of her climaxes, and they each had their fangs in the other’s shoulder.  For a moment, they remained immobile, then slowly, wordlessly, they tended each other’s bite marks.

Buffy was pleased at her Mate’s reaction when she had talked about torturing Riley.  He hadn’t killed in so long, she had been afraid he might be reluctant.  But if just talking about it brought forth such a wild, intense coupling, she couldn’t wait to see what actually doing it would do to his never faltering libido.

Now that this particular need had been fulfilled, and despite the amount of blood she had taken from her Sire, she was hungry.  Warm blood sounded very appealing at the moment.  She managed to pull away from her lover’s embrace, smiling when he protested at the loss of contact.

“Feeling peckish, baby,” she explained as she trailed her lips and tongue over the lightly bleeding marks her nails had inflicted to his back.  “I’ll bring you back something to eat, OK?”

He rolled to his side as she walked toward the door and she could physically feel his eyes roaming over her nude body.

“Luv?” he said, slightly amused, “would you do me a favor and put something on?  Don’t fancy anyone looking at you like this.  You’re mine and I don’t share, not even the sight of you.”

She had turned back to look at him, and a delightful shiver ran through her when he said the word ‘mine’ with a hint of gold piercing in his eyes.  Complying to the wishes of her Sire, she slipped on a bathrobe that was by the bathroom’s door, closing it modestly over her.  Blowing a kiss to him from the tip of her fingers, she stepped out and, licking her lips in advance, made her way toward Angel’s room.
 
 
 

The extended Council, which gathered every single Watcher present in London, including Watchers in training, had been divided in small groups, each of them focusing on a particular topic under the supervision of a member of the High Council. No replacement to Quentin Travers had been designated yet, and none would until a new charter had been adopted to establish what was already called the New Council.

Andrea and Giles, because they were responsible for the turn events had taken, had been asked to go from group to group to observe the work in progress.  Giles wasn’t fooled by the maneuver, and understood that it was just a way to make sure they did not gain too much influence within one particular group.

A while before, he had seen Andrea leave the group she was supposedly observing and enter her father’s former office.  Wondering what she was doing there, and bored senseless from listening to discussions about how to recruit Watchers more effectively, Giles eventually managed to follow her.  When he entered the room, she was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the massive desk, very still and apparently so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t acknowledge his presence until he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Rupert, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said almost apologetically.

“I see that,” he replied.  “What were you thinking about so intensely, if I may ask?”

She rose from the chair and leaned against the desk, facing Giles.

“I am just wondering where my father is now,” she said quietly, a slightly worried tone in her voice.  “I wish the Council had decided to keep an eye on him.  He is very much capable of rallying the Watchers that did not witness his demise and to create a new group to work against us.  He knows so much about the Council of Watchers, he could easily destroy it if he wanted to.”

Giles nodded thoughtfully.  Andrea had expressed pretty much the same ideas three days before in front of the High Council, and so had he, but despite all that they had recently learned about him, no one had believed that the ex head watcher would go as far as to destroy what he had worked for during most of his life.  All they knew now was that Travers had left London, and they only knew that because Andrea had tried to visit him and been informed by her old nanny of his departure.

“If he does try to strike at us,” Giles said with more confidence than he really felt, “we will counter him.  His reign is over.  Do not worry yourself too much over him.”

As Andrea gave him a small smile, Giles felt suddenly compelled to clean his spotless glasses.  Not watching her directly might help for what he wanted to say next.

“I was wondering if you would like… that is, there is a very nice restaurant just a few streets away… we’ve all been working so hard for the last few days that a little quiet time…”

That didn’t quite sound like the elegant line he had practiced, but she seemed to understand the point behind the hesitations.

“I’d be glad to, Rupert.  It would be a nice change to talk of something else than work.  That is, if you want to.”

Was he imagining things or was there suddenly a little more red in her cheeks?  Of course, he was still pointlessly rubbing his glasses, so he might have been mistaken.  Replacing them on his nose, he buried his hands in his pockets and tried not to fidget too much.

“Talking would be delightful.  With you, I mean.  Of other things.  Or anything, actually.”

To his own ears, he sounded more than pathetic.  He hadn’t had so much trouble asking a woman on a first date in… never, as a matter of fact.  Not that he had done it very often, but it seemed to get even more difficult as he aged.  Shaking his head lightly, he couldn’t help chuckling a little, amused as much as annoyed by his own clumsiness.

“You must think I’m a perfect idiot,” he said self-deprecatingly.  “Here I am, a grown man, barely able to ask a lady to dinner without tripping over my own tongue.  Pitiful.”

“Idiot or pitiful are not words I would ever apply to you,” Andrea replied with an indulgent smile.  “Hesitant, maybe, or even shy, but then, in this particular domain, so am I.”

It was a strange admission, coming from the mouth of a woman who had the reputation of never being intimidated by anything or anyone.

“Things should get easier when we know each other better,” Giles said hopefully.

After all, they had really met just a few weeks earlier.  Before that, they had barely ever exchanged anything more than salutations.

“Probably”, Andrea agreed very low, and again she was slightly blushing.  “Though I wish we were already there.  This way I wouldn’t have to wonder whether you will kiss me tonight.”

For a second, Giles stared at the woman in front of him, who was watching him levelly in return, despite the redness of her cheeks and her previous claims of shyness.

“If it might help,” he said, entering her game after clearing his throat, “I can admit that I am very likely to at least try.”

“Only try?” she asked, a delicate eyebrow arching questioningly as she took a step toward him.

“Well, if I knew whether my attempt will be welcome or not…”

“Oh, it will be welcome, have no doubt.”

As she grinned, halfway between seducing and shy, Giles realized how close she was now.  So close that her perfume, a light rose fragrance, enveloped him.  So close that he could see the fast beating of her pulse point, in total contrast to her apparent calm.  The lady knew how to bluff, he thought with a touch of admiration.  But then, so could he.  He gave her his very best Ripper smirk.

“Why wait tonight then?” he whispered, and closed the distance that separated their lips.

Silent as a hunting tigress, Buffy walked past Steven’s room, pausing for a second to make sure no one was stirring inside.  Later, she would have time to deal with the two teens.  Steven, she thought, might do quite well as a vamp; he already knew how to fight and only needed time to be as good as Angel or Spike.  Dawn, on the other hand, with her whining and her weaknesses, would do a nice meal, but no more.  Maybe Buffy would bring her to her Sire as a snack later.

Finally, she reached Angel’s room.  There was some noise coming from inside, indicating that he was awake.  Without knocking, she opened it and slipped in, locking the door behind her.  She didn’t want to be interrupted.

As she stepped inside his room, in the small hours of the morning, clad only in a bathrobe, Angel froze where he stood next to the bed.  All he wore was a black pair of pants, and he was drying his hair with a towel.  To say that he looked startled was quite an understatement.

“Buffy?” he asked, the worry evident in his voice.  “Is something wrong?”

Unconsciously, she moistened her lips as her eyes traveled over him.  She had forgotten how yummy he looked.  So different from her yummy Spike, as different as night from day, but just as delicious to look at.  He seemed to become very self-conscious under her gaze, and stopped drying his hair, reaching instead for the gray shirt that was lying on the bed.

 “Nothing’s wrong”, she finally answered his question, a small smile playing on her lips.

Yes, something was indeed very wrong, but she would soon make it right again.  Many years before, a man called Liam had been born, certainly for no other destiny than to become a vampire and bring mayhem to the world.  And there was no denying that Angelus had been quite gifted in that regard.  A real artist of violence and murder.  Until the so sad night he had been replaced by a weakling answering to the name of Angel.  Buffy had brought back Angelus once; she very much intended to bring him back to the world again.  And then, all three of them, maybe four if she decided to turn Steven, would have the time of their unlives.

As she let her thoughts wander to the hell they would bring to Sunnydale, California, and the world in general, Buffy had come closer to Angel, and she was now close enough to reach to his half buttoned shirt and check that it was silk, as she had thought.  She chuckled as he took a step back, still looking awfully uncomfortable.

“Did you want anything?” he asked, frowning and catching her hand as it was reaching toward him again.

“Don’t we all always want something?” she purred seductively, sitting on the unmade bed without taking her eyes off him.

As she lay there on her side, she was aware that she was exposing quite a nice amount of flesh, and Angel probably had a hard time not looking at the cleavage she revealed.  It amused her slightly that his eyes, and his frown, kept being directed at her face.

“I think you need to leave,” he said in a strong tone.  “Spike will be wondering where you are.”

So, seduction wasn’t working.  Buffy was very curious to know whether he was completely over her or whether he was just wary of Spike’s reaction if he found her half naked on Angel’s bed.  She would have time to request a truthful answer from him later, but she doubted very much that all his feelings for her were gone.  Maybe it would be different after; Angelus had never had much of a human side, but it wouldn’t matter, she would be his Sire and it would be enough.

Still, if he wasn’t coming to her willingly, she would have to try something else.  Kneeling on the bed so that she was just in front of him, she locked her gaze to his, following instincts that she knew were coming straight from her demon.

“Let me in,” she cooed.  “Show me your thoughts and your dreams, let me make them true for you.”

As she started rocking slightly from side to side, Angel’s body echoed her motion, and his eyes became slightly glazed as they remained in hers.  She could have done this without his consent and without the thrall, but after all dusting vampires had no secrets for him, and she did not fancy becoming ashes because he didn’t understand fast enough that it was a gift she was offering him.  When she was sure he was in her control, she moved back on the bed, still on her knees, beckoning him to climb in front of her.

“I will give the world back to you,” she whispered.

At the same time, she trailed her fingertips on his forehead and down his cheek, caressing lightly.  He turned his head just enough for his lips to brush against her hand, and she smiled, satisfied.  He had done this on his own, without her intervention through the thrall, which had to mean that deep down, he wanted it.  He wanted her.  Still going down her fingers traveled, along his neck, past two scars so old and so faint that they were hardly noticeable.  As she reached his shirt, she undid the few buttons that were fastened and pulled on the fabric, exposing delectable looking flesh.  She could hear the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat.  He wasn’t afraid.  Why would he be, she was offering him eternity.  Even when she shifted to her game mask in front of his face, when she tilted his head, he didn’t stir, didn’t show any sign of surprise or fear, didn’t try to break through the thrall.  Only when her fangs pierced his skin did he gasp ever so slightly.  But to Buffy’s ears it was a sweet music.  She had drunk from Angel shortly after being turned, but it compared in no way to the first, very first bite she was taking off a human.  The warmth down her throat, the taste on her tongue, the beating of his heart in her ears…  She had thought before that nothing could equal drinking from her Sire, but maybe she had been wrong.  This was just glorious.  It satisfied her demon’s hunger in a way it had never been satisfied before.  Warm blood from a living human.  So much of it.  So good. She didn’t think she would ever get enough.
 
 
 

Spike entered the dark room and carefully deposited his frail and precious burden on the bed.  If he hadn’t been hearing her fainter but still stubborn heartbeat, he might have believed her dead already.  The damn doctors must have given her massive drug amounts to have her sleep like this.  Brushing a strand of hair off her cheek, he considered doing it right away, even if he had said he would give Red a day to get ready.  Did Buffy even have a day left?  She had to.  Just a few hours so that he could give her a last sunset.  Just a little longer.  Stifling a worried sigh, he sat down in a chair next to the bed.  Sickness had left her pale, too pale, and weak, too weak.  Slayer healing had not helped her this time.  If he had believed before that there was something, anything at all above them all, he would have stopped believing now.  No being could let this happen to their chosen fighter and still call themselves superior.

For a long while, he watched his Slayer sleep.  His Slayer.  His Buffy.  The mortal who had taken his unbeating heart.  The fighter who had seduced at the same time the man and the demon.  Maybe it was because she appealed to all parts of him that he was ready to do anything for her.  Even what he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing in any other circumstances.

“Just do it already,” an impatient voice snapped.

Despite himself, he turned his gaze to the woman who had talked.  She stood by the door, in the shadows, wearing attire from another era.  There was no lost love between them, and there had never been.  From the very night William had risen from his grave, Darla had always made it clear that for her he was no more than a toy shared by Angelus and Drusilla, and that being so he was very much expendable, in more than one way.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, her impatience up one notch.

“Why would I bother to tell you?” he shot back, just as annoyed by her intrusion as she seemed to be by his delay.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Our Spike is grumpy,” a new voice said playfully, just as its dark haired owner revealed herself by her grandsire’s side.  “He didn’t want an audience, but the stars always watch.  And we will watch too, and help if he…”

“No!”  Spike interrupted her, jumping up from his chair.  “You are not helping.  I need no help!”

Unconsciously, he had slipped into game face.  Dru was right, an audience was the last thing he wanted, and especially this kind of audience.

“Spike…”

Buffy’s voice was faint, just a whisper, but it silenced the two women and brought Spike’s attention back to the Slayer.  He had to make a conscious effort to show her his human visage and smile at her.

“Yes pet?”

“Where are we?  Why did you bring me here?”

“He brought you here to kill you, Buff.  Or to be exact, to make you one of us.  Killing Slayers isn’t enough anymore, now he fancies himself a Slayer’s Sire.”

The unbidden words were harsh, mocking, and reminded Spike of Angelus’ rebuttal when he had turned a minion for the first time.  They had fought then, and it had ended with the newly risen vampire becoming ashes.  This time, Spike couldn’t afford to fight, couldn’t afford to lose, couldn’t afford risking anything bad happening to Buffy – anything worse than what he had planned for her, at least.  So he completely ignored his Sire, who, he instinctively knew, was with the two women.  Instead, he focused on Buffy and only her.  Trying to comfort her with a smile, he opened the curtains and watched as the last golden rays of the sun bathed her.  But Angelus’ words had distressed her.  She wasn’t paying attention to the last setting sun she would ever get a chance to see, and it made Spike even angrier at his Sire.

“I can’t let you die like this, luv,” he murmured as once again she demanded an explanation.  “You deserve so much more.”

There was some insane cackle behind him as he sat on the bed by his Slayer – his, no one else’s.  There were also comments from the trio as he tried to soothe her a little, but he ignored them and did what he had come to this place to do.

Soon, she was laying in his arms, still as death, the faintest trace of his blood on her lips, and again Spike was confronted to his Sire’s cruel words.

“You not only turned her, but you had to make your Childe too, uh?  What do you think you’re doing?  Did you figure you two would go out hunting together, unstoppable because she is the Slayer and no other Chosen One could even touch a hair of her head?  You can’t even hurt anyone, my poor boy!  Will you just watch her as she kills?  Will you take whatever remnants she leaves to you?  How long until she gets tired of your impotence?”

Angelus laughed out loud, and Spike shut his eyes tight.  No, she wouldn’t kill anyone.  She would have her soul, her shiny and pure Slayer soul, and she would be just like before.  Almost like before.  All they needed now was Red to cast her spell…

Red…  As if summoned by Spike’s thoughts, the witch appeared suddenly between Darla and Dru.  She looked scared, and her eyes pleaded for Spike to do something.  But as he sat up on the bed, Angelus placed himself between him and the women.

“Keep still, my boy,” he ordered with a twisted grin.  “An interesting plan you had there, but I have a much better one.  Our girl is going to wake soon, and she will be hungry.  She can have the redhead first, so the little bitch won’t be playing with souls and spells anymore.  Then we’ll drop by Sunnydale to say our goodbyes to the rest of the Scoobies, and we’ll be on our way to a little trip around the world.  And if you promise to behave, we might let you come along.”

Spike wanted to launch himself at his Sire, to free Willow before it was too late, to do something, anything, but he was completely paralyzed, and couldn’t have moved an inch to save his own life.  As he desperately tried to think of some way to fix things, he felt Buffy stir at his side.  She rose to her feet and he could only watch in horror as she wordlessly went to Willow.  She turned to him then, her eyes burning with cold fire, and her smile just as icy.

“I’ll bring you back something to eat, OK?”
 
 

 

Spike woke up in a jump from his dream – no, nightmare – and looked for Buffy around the room, although he could feel quite clearly that she wasn’t there.  Where was she, anyway?  He had drifted back into sleep after she had left, and by the clock on the nightstand it had been a few minutes ago.  More than enough time to get down to the kitchen, warm some blood and come back.

Settling back down on the propped up pillows, he reached for his cigarettes on the nightstand and lit one, taking a long, calming drag.  It wasn’t unusual for him to dream of turning Buffy, but so far it had always happened in his dreams as it had in reality.  What in hell had brought forth this one?  As far as he knew, Darla had been ashes again by the time he had turned Buffy, Dru wasn’t even in the country, and Angelus was safely locked under Angel’s soul.  A nightmare, really.  Buffy awakening without her soul.  He shuddered at the thought.  From the moment he had decided to turn her, it had been evident.  She had to have her soul right away.  Even if it meant he wasn’t sure to live through her first night.  Even if it meant giving up any hope to be with her.  He couldn’t risk that she would kill a human, or more, in her first hours or nights as a vamp, only to be cursed later and feel the weight of guilt for eternity.  He had been certain Willow would have ensouled her at the moment she learned Buffy was a vampire, so he had warned her in advance.

Of course, the thought of making a run for it with her had crossed his mind.  More than once.  He couldn’t kill then, but he could still teach her.  What a huntress she would have done…  Combined vampire and Slayer abilities…  And next to her, as the Angelus of his nightmare had said, an impotent vampire who could barely feed.  From any way he looked at it, even today, it had been the best solution, for all of them.

Going through his dream again in his mind, her first vampire words came back to him.  They didn’t make much sense – not that the dream made any sense at all – as she wasn’t going anywhere when she had said them.  A nagging thought wormed its way in his mind.  Her first words in his nightmare had been the last thing his Buffy had said before leaving the room.  Why?  Why would his sleeping brain associate these particular words with a soulless Buffy?

Frowning, he put out his cigarette in the ashtray and climbed out of bed.  Within seconds, he had pulled his jeans on and was walking down the hallway toward the stairs.  Just checking that Buffy was alright, he told himself.  She’d be gone for a while, after all.  No other reason, really.  As he walked by Angel’s room, he froze mid-stride.  He could feel her, behind that door.

If Angel had laid one finger on her, he was a dead man.

He tried to open the door, but it was locked, which only fueled his ire.  With just one kick, the barrier was removed and he stepped in, barely aware that his demon features had emerged.  As he had feared, Angel and Buffy were on the bed, but their embrace was of a very different nature than what he had imagined.

As she lifted her mouth from the human’s neck to look up at Spike, there was the barest hint of laughter in Buffy’s gold eyes.

“No need to get upset,” she said with a wide grin.  “There’s still some left for you.”
 
 
 

Even engrossed as she was by the slow sips she was taking of Angel’s blood, Buffy had felt her Sire come closer, so his entrance wasn’t much of a surprise.  What amused her, however, was the jealous look in his eyes.  His shock, too.

She reluctantly let go of the still living human’s neck and grinned at Spike.  She hadn’t expected him to burst in before she was done with Angel, but if he was ready to help, she had no objections.

“No need to get upset.  There’s still some left for you.”

She had been very careful as she drew the precious nectar.  It was her first real meal, and she had wanted to savor each drop of it and make it last.  Spike wasn’t answering to her offer, though.  He hadn’t moved one step, hadn’t said a word; he was just watching her with what looked now very much like anger.  And pain.

Shrugging, she returned her attention to the two punctures that were trickling blood and gave them a quick lap.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said, trying to tempt him.  “He tastes even better now than when he was a vamp.”

Still, no reaction, except for a light twitch in his jaw.  Deciding that she had waited enough, Buffy fastened her mouth to Angel’s neck again.  That brought out an answer from Spike.

“Stop.”

The word was quiet, emotionless, and wasn’t accompanied by any movement, yet Buffy was compelled to obey.  Again, her gaze rose toward her Sire, but she was becoming annoyed now.

“Care to explain what you’re doing, Slayer?”

Not so impassive anymore.  There were still jealousy and anger in the fire of his eyes, and they tinted his voice, even if he obviously tried to control himself.

“I am turning this poof back into Angelus.  You wanna help?”

Buffy could almost have laughed as surprise filled Spike’s face.  He even took a step back, and stared at her, unbelieving.

“What would happen if we both fed him our blood?” she asked, toying with the idea.  “Would we both be his Sires?  That could be fun.  What do you think, love?”

Slowly, Spike shook his head in denial.

“Why?” he asked in a murmur.  “Why in hell would you do that?”

“Why not?  Angelus is a lot more fun than Angel.”

“Fun?”  Spike repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, fun.  I didn’t get it when Dru said we could all be a family, but it’s crystal clear, now.  Not that I regret the bitch, good riddance, but once we turn Angel and maybe even Steven, we will have a hell of a good time!”

What she didn’t want to say out loud was that Spike hadn’t been a hunter in so long that she feared he had lost his touch.  But she had no doubt that with some help he could become again the Slayer of Slayers he had been.  All of them together, they would set the world of fire, and dance among the ruins.  After all, she had saved it often enough to deserve to get some fun.

It had to be a nightmare.  He was undoubtedly still asleep, and this was all just a nightmare.  There was no other way.  There could be no other way.  And yet, he wasn’t waking up.  However hard he ordered his body to wake up and put an end to this monstrosity, he was still there, a few steps from a vamped out Buffy, whose lips were red with Angel’s blood, and who was talking about turning him into Angelus as she would have talked of the weather.

He finally managed to tear his eyes away from her and brought them to Angel.  All he could see were the two bleeding marks on his neck, everything else was obliterated.  Everything but the sound of his heartbeat.  So slow.  Too slow.  That simple sound made Spike snap out of his stupor.  If he did nothing, Angel might die, whether Buffy took another drop of his blood or not.  He wasn’t sure a dead Angel wouldn’t have been better, but he wasn’t sure either if he was in any state to take that decision now.  First, make sure Angel would live.  Then understand what had happened to Buffy.  Then fix it.  Then, and only then, would he allow himself to give in to the anger he felt raging in him.

“Get off the bed, sit down, and don’t move even one finger until I say you can.”

Whatever else was wrong with Buffy, at least she still obeyed Sire’s commands.  She didn’t look particularly happy about it, though, as she let herself fall into a chair in a corner of the room and crossed her arms over her chest.  Sulky and pouting, Spike would have called her adorable, if he hadn’t been too numb to feel anything.

Getting to the bed despite his urge to turn around and run away from both his Sire and Childe, he pulled Angel flat on his back and checked the wound gingerly.  The only reason the man was still alive was that Buffy hadn’t bitten through a major blood vessel.  Without needing to think, Spike went to the bathroom and pulled out gauze and tape from the first aid box.  Back in the bedroom, he settled on bandaging the two punctures, refusing to give Buffy a look even when she addressed him.

“Come on”, she pleaded.  “He’s almost dead anyway.  He sired you, you sire him, that’s just a nice return of favors.  I’m sure he’ll be grateful…”

“Why in hell would he be?”  Spike hissed between his teeth.  “The ponce has been moaning for his humanity for so long, and when he gets it back you want to vamp him again.  I very much doubt he would be grateful.”

“Who cares about Angel?”  Buffy replied with a shrug.  “It’s Angelus I’m talking about.”

Spike could only laugh at that, though he felt more like screaming.

“What do you know about Angelus?  Nothing.  You think you know him, but you don’t.  You have no idea…”

Pressing his lips tightly, Spike forced himself to stop there.  Getting into an argument with Buffy wouldn’t help right now.  First things first.  Growling at the still glazed look in his open eyes, he slapped Angel, harder, maybe, than he should have, considering his condition, but far more gently that he wanted to.

“Wake up, you bloody idiot”, he snarled.

No reaction.  Another slap.  “How you could be stupid enough to let her enthrall you, I have no fucking clue.”

Still, Angel wasn’t answering.  “I swear, I should finish you off just for your stupidity.”

This time, his hand didn’t reach Angel’s face, as the human blinked several times.  His eyes finally focused on Spike as he touched his neck carefully where it was now bandaged.

“And what exactly do you suggest I had done?” he managed to say, his voice tired and dry.

Spike only glared at him.  As a Master Vampire, Angel probably could have resisted a thrall by a younger vampire.  As a human, there was just nothing he could have done.

“Try to stay awake,” Spike said coldly.  “I’ll go get Steven so that he can take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need…”  Angel started, and tried to sit, only to fail miserably.

“Yeah, sure, you don’t need to get to the hospital.  And I am not angry enough to snap your neck and end your suffering.  Don’t move and shut your bloody mouth.”

With that, he threw a glance at the now very obviously irritated Buffy, who was still immobile on her chair, and got out of the room.  Striding through the corridor, he stopped in front of Steven’s room and banged angrily on the door until it opened in front of the startled young man, who was wearing a sheet draped around him.

“Get dressed.  Your father needs a ride to the hospital.”

Still half asleep, the kid didn’t move, staring at Spike as if he had grown another head.  The vampire realized belatedly that he was still wearing his game mask, but couldn’t have changed back even if he had cared to.

“The hospital?” he muttered.  “Why?”

“I told you to get dressed!”  Spike snapped.  “I meant today, not tomorrow.  I’ll get Peaches down to the hall, join us there.”

Without waiting to see whether the kid was moving, Spike turned around and walked back to Angel’s room, unwilling to leave Buffy and her almost-victim alone any longer than necessary.

After Spike left the room, Angel managed to pull himself to a sitting position, although the effort left him feeling quite light-headed.  When his vision had cleared up again, he carefully turned toward Buffy, a hand pressed against the bandage on his neck.  Immobile, she seemed very calm, but a lot was passing through her eyes, too much for him to recognize the emotions.

“Were you going to just kill me,” he asked quietly“, or turn me?”

He knew, really, in his heart and flesh which one it was.  But he needed to hear her say it.  Maybe it would make it more real that Buffy had actually attacked him.  Maybe it would shed some light on why she had done so.

“Turn you, of course,” she said with the hint of a smile.  “I could still do it, you know.”

“Why?”  Angel murmured, pushing back the dry sobs that were rising in his throat.

“You want it,” Buffy said simply.

Her affirmation left Angel speechless for a couple of seconds.  How could she ever think he would want to be vamped again?

“I don’t…”

“You can lie to yourself”, Buffy interrupted him coolly, “you can lie to the others, but not to me.  You didn’t fight the thrall.  You didn’t fight at all.  You wanted it.  And I know why, lover.  Back to being a vamp, a real vamp, you could have had both of us.  The two persons you love, the two persons who love you.”

Completely numbed by the words this woman he thought he knew was giving him, Angel shook his head, not understanding what she was saying.

“The two persons?” he repeated slowly.

Her grin widened, and her gaze flickered between him and the door, where, he realized, Spike was standing, his face more murderous than Angel had ever seen.  And the deadly eyes were looking straight at him.

“Me and Spike,” Buffy chirped in. “Don’t you know we…”

“Be quiet, Childe.”

It was a relief when Spike’s gaze left Angel to settle momentarily on Buffy, and the brunette let out a quiet sigh.  Why Spike was as angry at him as he was at Buffy, Angel had no idea.  Was it his fault the suddenly insane Slayer had attacked him?  He didn’t think it was wise to voice that remark right now, though, and didn’t say a word as Spike helped him get up and took most of his weight on him as they walked out of the room and toward the first floor.  As they reached, with some difficulty, the last step, Angel felt compelled to say something at last.

“Spike, she didn’t mean…”

“Not.  Now.”

A few more steps and Spike was letting Angel slide on the sofa in the middle of the hall.  The human felt as tired as he had after the day-long apocalypse fight a few days before.  He didn’t believe he was going to die, but maybe the hospital wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Listen”, Angel tried again as Spike paced in front of him, “it’s…”

“No, you listen”, the blonde interrupted him, his whole body so tense that Angel thought he might jump on him.  “My Mate just tried to turn you because she… she said she loves you.  Talking to you is the last thing I want to do now.  I don’t even know why I care about saving your sorry ass.”

At that moment, Steven entered through the front door, and Spike twirled around, giving the impression he was on the brink of attacking the teen.  Steven raised his hands peacefully.

“Hey, calm down”, he said quickly.  “It’s just me.  I got the car as close as I could.”

As Spike nodded stiffly, Steven’s eyes moved to Angel, and he frowned at the very obvious bandage on his neck.

“What happened?” the kid asked icily, an almost accusing glare moving to Spike.

The blonde didn’t say a word, and instead helped Angel get up and walk to the door.

“I said, what happened?”  Steven repeated, this time addressing his father.

Angel tried to catch Spike’s gaze to know what he should answer, but there was nothing for him in the still golden eyes.

“Just an accident,” Angel finally replied warily.  “Let’s go now.”

By the hard look Steven gave him, there was no doubt that he didn’t believe Angel, and would press the matter later.  But for now, he said nothing and stepped in to take Spike’s place as a support to Angel.  Together, they walked outside in the barely risen sunlight, leaving behind them a vampire who did not give them a parting word as he banged the door shut behind them.
 

Next