Chapter 1

As the blond vampire ran over the Welcome to Sunnydale sign the second time in less than six months, he realized that once again it was because of Druscilla that he came back to the Hellmouth.
But this time it was because of her visions and not for some fool's mission to somehow win back the love of his unlife.

Nope, now he had her.

At least he did, until the visions.

It was pretty much up in the air now. For all he knew, once she woke up three days before and discovered Spike had left, she could've found a couple of minions to take her back here as well. Not to find Spike, of course.

But for him.

Her daddy.

His sire.

Angelus.

Spike heard himself growl and felt his demon take over and he welcomed it. If what she saw was true, he would need his demon to fight his sire—to send the bloody asshole back to Hell where he belonged. Spike knew that if he succeeded, he might end up in Hell with the prick, but it was a chance he would just have to take.

Fury and rage propelled him upward from South America back to Sunnyhell. Rage against his sire—a red hot anger that had yet to die even with the knowledge that both the demon and the soul of Angelus had spent more than two hundred years in Hell.

And he was furious at the Slayer for not being able to keep her legs shut tight against Peaches—inviting the bloody bloke back to terrorize everyone—demon and human alike.

For over three days, that anger pushed him beyond even vampiric endurance, as he snuck out of his lair just before dawn and began the long drive north so he could either prevent Angelus from re-emerging or to kill the bastard if he did come back.

The world just wasn't big enough for both Spike and Angelus to be both undead and kicking. Not after last year, when Spike watched his whole life become systematically destroyed by his once mentor, friend and yes, lover. More than any being alive, Spike despised Angelus. And if it was the last thing he did, he would make sure the bloody prick was dust.

Reversing the car, he pulled his DeSoto back onto the street and headed towards the Slayer's house. No matter how much the girl said she hated Spike, she was the only one alive that hated Angelus as much as he.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy laid in bed, her heart thumping loudly and prayed. Their plan was simple: ensnare Faith. Find out if she was really in league with the Mayor or discover if she had somehow decided to go undercover without informing the rest the Scooby gang. As much as Buffy wanted—no, needed to believe the latter, in her heart Buffy knew that Faith had chosen the 'dark' side. All the signs were there. Her anger, distrust, her lust of death and violence. Her denial of pain when she accidentally killed the Mayor's assistant. How, no matter how hard Buffy, Giles and her mother tried, she steadfastly refused to allow herself to trust them.

Her mother offered her home to Faith and the other Slayer refused, choosing to live her life in squalor instead. And the bitch of it all, was Faith never let anyone forget while Buffy, Xander, Willow, Oz and Cordy lived in nice homes with heat and air conditioning and family, she was forced to live her life in a hotel room, alone. It didn't matter at all that the other slay had chosen that existence—it was still everyone else's fault that she was there.

And then there was Xander.

Faith nearly killed him and then claimed she was just 'playing' around. It didn't matter that Xander had bruises that decorated his neck that said it was not a game. It didn't matter that Xander was Buffy's friend.

And then there was that attempt on Willow's life. Sure, Buffy knew that every human was a potential meal for vampires, but the local vamps had a tendency to stay away from the Slayer's friends and family—knowing that if they did kill one of her own, the fight would become personal. Everyone—demon and human alike—remembered what had happened the year before when Angelus had terrorized the Slayer's people.

No one was safe.

And as much as demons love to wreak havoc, they were smart enough to know that pissing off the slayer was not in their best interest. So, an unspoken truce was rendered. Keep it professional. They do their evil and the Slayer's do their slaying. That way the fight

was clean, almost tidy, in comparison to the year before. The best thing about it was Buffy didn't have to worry nearly as much about her friend's lives as she had the year before.

Which led her back to hoping and praying that Faith was still on the side of the 'white hats.' Because if she did choose the Mayor as an ally, then once again the battle would be brought back home.

Oh yes, the plan was simple, but the knot in her gut that formed in the beginning of the night had yet to diminish. Instead it had grown, leaving her both restless and agitated.

The Slayer sighed, rolling over onto her side, hugging a pillow and closed her eyes and finally slipped into an uneasy sleep—silently praying that she was wrong. That when she woke up in the morning everything would be all right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Parking his car around the block from her house, Spike quickly got out and ran towards the Slayer's home. The further into Sunnyhell he drove, the more 'off' it felt. The usual evil currents that all good demons revel in, had jumped nearly as high as it had been the year before, during the time with Acalthla. Any other time, Spike would've loved it. But now, all it seemed to do was pound in the feel of doom that Spike had been fighting since he left Brazil.

What if he was too late?

He shook his head—not really wanting to think that far and turned his attention to the tree that he'd seen Angel as well as Angelus climb countless times, and jumped for the lowest branch. He then swung his body up and within minutes he found himself inside her room—watching her struggle in her dreams.

Moaning softly, she flipped over onto her back, the sheets that covered her body, slipping sensually down, revealing a royal blue silk camisole. Her nipples were erect and appeared to be pushing against the material, causing part's of Spike's anatomy to press uncomfortably against his jeans. He shook his head in amazement, wondering what kind of gods would send such a beautiful creature to this place solely to kill his kind.

Whomever they may be—they had a sick sense of humor.

Adjusting himself, he found himself grinning as his mind played out one of his most prominent fantasy's: the seduction of the Slayer. Even though both of their extincts were to kill one another—Spike knew for a fact, he had the same effect on her as she did on him.

She may hate him—but she lusted after him. He smelt her arousal everytime their bodies were pressed against each other. He hardened—she became wet and wanting.

He shook his head, silently cursing himself.

Dru was right. If lusting after the Slayer was any indication, he was getting soft. Time to get the show on the road, he thought to himself as he walked softly over to her bed and studied the situation.

First things first, he thought as he picked up the stake from her bed stand and stuffed it in his duster's pocket. I wonder if she keeps that for me? I'm touched. He looked upwards, eyeing the cross that hung on the bedpost and picked the offending object up by its chain and carefully placed it under the bed—out of her reach.

He then looked down at her. One arm was flung over her face; her other hand was clutching and unclenching the bed spread as her body moved back and forth.

Bracing himself for the fury she was guaranteed to unleash, he grabbed both hands and plopped down on top of her at the same time—immobilzing her.

"Morning, luv," he said, his voice laced with humor as he watched her hazel eyes flash in anger.

Gods, this felt too good, he thought to himself as he felt his cock harden once again.

"Spike!" she hissed, trying to yank herself out of his grasp. "What the hell are you going here? In my bedroom? In my bed!"

He chuckled lightly, suddenly wanting to see her blush—force her to acknowledge his effect on her. It didn't have to be verbally—a nice aroma of arousal mixed in with a good, honest blush would do.

He bent his head down to her ear, and lightly blew into it—feeling her shiver in response. Grinning, he spoke, "Not that I wouldn't mind a shag or a hundred with you, that's not why I'm here."

Growling, she pulled on her arms once again, as a deep, beautiful shade of red spread from her chest upwards to her face. One down, he thought to himself and then felt her nipples even tighten more—poking his chest.

He pushed his lower body down more, settling himself in between her legs.

She whimpered as a wave of muskiness hit his senses.

Ah! Did it!

"Spike," she said, her voice low and threatening.

"Luv, I wouldn't do that if I were you. You know how much violence turns us demons on," he said conversationally.

She then pushed her body upwards—trying to knock him off her-only to inflame his senses more. Damn her! he thought as he reigned in his very much alive sexual responses and sighed dramatically.

"Come on, luv. You can't tell me you've never felt a man turned on before. I know you did have a go with your lap boy once and if Dru's visions have any truth to them, I'd say you've fucked and fucked up once again."

"Bastard—" she stopped and frowned, her lower lip sticking out in such an enticing manner that it took some will power to keep him from ravaging her right there and then—Angelus be damned. "Dru's visions?"

He nodded. "That's why I came back. Can't have that bloody arse running around again trying to destroy the world and steal my women again."

"Women?" She frowned and then suddenly her eyes widened. "That's it! That's what I've been feeling! Spike! Let me up—I've got a Slayer to stop!"

"You're not going to stake me then, pet?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Not if you move your dead ass, I won't!"

"Luv, it's not my ass you feel," he said, whispering in her ear.

She growled.

"Ah, you love me, Slayer! Admit it!" he said as released her and stood up, instantly missing her warmth.

"Finally," she muttered as she slipped out of bed. She turned on her bedside lamp and headed straight to her closet.

Spike leaned against her desk, enjoying the view as she pulled out a pair of jeans and slipped them on over her panties. "So, luv, are you going to fill me in?"

She grabbed a sweatshirt and turned around to face him. "Did you ever meet the other Slayer, Faith?"

He shook his head as he watched her pull the sweatshirt over her head. "Nope, can't say I have—but I have heard of her."

She nodded, frowning as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She sighed and turned back towards her bed post. "Where's my cross, Spike?" her voice laced with exasperation.

"Underneath your bed," he said, smirking.

"Asshole," she muttered as she squatted down and reached under her bed. "Got it." She then sat down on the edge of the bed and began putting on her socks. "Well, Angel, Giles and I suspect that she's joined forces with the Mayor. You do know about the Mayor, don't you?"

"Aye luv, every demon that's interested in Sunnyhell knows of the Mayor. His ascension coming up, isn't it? And if the other Slayer joined him, that would make your job a helluva lot harder, wouldn't it?"

She nodded once again as she stood up and grabbed a black duffel bag. Opening it, she pulled out three stakes and began tucking them in various hiding spots around her body. "The plan was that Angel and I would have a huge falling out in the middle of the Bronze—and end up fighting outside. We made sure Faith was around, heard Angel say that he wished that he was Angelus again—if only so he could snap my neck and we leave—in opposite directions. Both beaten and upset.

"She fell for it. With Oz following her, Faith went to the mansion and came on to him. He responded—with enthusiasm." She stopped and closed her eyes. Spike could tell this killing her. "They ended up leaving together. The last anyone saw of Angel was both him and Faith going inside of City Hall."

Spike frowned, wondering if Faith was really that dense. Anyone who knew Peaches, knew that he was a pansy ass as a soulboy...

"Luv, how did you expect this to work?"

She rolled her eyes. "Easy. Anyone who knows of Angel's past—of all of our group's past, knows of the conflicts, all of the mistrust and anger. Especially when it came to Angel. Also, we finally know who let him out of Hell. Who's to say that the First isn't there—still egging him on, like it had done over Christmas? And last but not least," she stopped and bit her lip in frustration. "The fight was started because I was dancing with Xander. "

Spike chuckled softly, remembering what Angelus told him about Buffy's dancing. "Dancing, luv? Or was it making love with your clothes still on?"

She smiled. "The second. Xander," she giggled, shaking her head. "He was going nuts. I almost felt sorry for him. And I'm sure that some of that anger that Angel showed was real." She sighed and met his eyes. "I did my job well."

Spike mulled over what she told him and wondered what was going to go wrong. Obviously something, or Druscilla wouldn't have had the vision. And if Spike learned anything after spending over a hundred and twenty years with his princess was her visions were eerily on the mark.

"Spike, are you sure you want to help?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw her free hand clasping the bedroom door knob. "You know, Dru will never take you back if you do."

He smirked at her. "Luv, I figured that out in Mexico. But, I also know, if he does return, I lose her anyway. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Besides, I'd bet you that if he comes back, you and your little friends won't be only ones he'll be out to kill. Angelus never did take too kindly to betrayal."

She nodded once and opened the door. "Let's go then. I have to leave a note for my mom first."

Shocked at first, he followed, silently wondering when she started to do that. Then he remembered, Joyce Summers now knew of Buffy's fate and probably insisted on knowing where her daughter went off to when her duty called.

Only on the Hellmouth, he thought to himself as he watched her scribble a note and stick it on the refrigerator. He glanced at the microwave, checking out the time and silently calculated the remaining time he had until he had to find some place to stay during the day. Four hours until dawn. Would it be long enough?



Chapter 2



As the two walked towards Spike's car, Buffy couldn't help but remember the other two times that Spike was fighting with her and not against her. Even though the last time he had been in Sunnydale, he had been drunk as a skunk and kidnapped Willow and Xander, still when she, Angel and Spike had faced Trick's boys, the two vampires and slayer fought side by side as if they had done so for centuries.

She shouldn't have been surprised—really. Considering that Angel had chosen both of them for companions—maybe even lovers, if what her little voice told her about Angel and Spike was true. Although Angel liked to claim that Angelus was a totally different entity from the souled Angel—Buffy had her doubts. Ever since she had met Willow's vampire counterpart and Angel's reaction to the other Willow, she secretly believed that there was more to a vampire than just a demon. Besides, how could anyone explain Spike and his ability to love if all there was to vampirism was a demon animating a corpse?

Sighing, she glanced over at the said vampire, noting the clenching of his jaw and the tenseness that seemed to radiate out from him. This really bothers him, she thought to herself in amazement. Although she knew that Spike hated Angelus, it hadn't really hit her until just then how much.

He hates Angelus as much as I do.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit her heart, threatening to send her into a panic. Angel's gone...somehow she knew it was true, even though they had no proof. Somehow Faith and the Mayor managed to break Willow's unbreakable curse.

She clenched her eyes shut and stopped walking, feeling her heart race. "He's gone."

She felt a cool hand grab her arm and her eyes snapped open. For just a second, she thought it was Angel and her eyes watered. Blinking back the tears, she realized it was Spike and a wave of disappointment crashed down on top of her.

"Slayer?"

Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. "We're too late, Spike. I can feel it."

He dropped his hand and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Once he took a deep drag, he nodded once. "I hope you're wrong, luv, but—"

"You feel it too."

He shrugged and started walking again. "I don't know what I feel, Slayer. I haven't slept in three days—I haven't had a decent meal since San Diego and all I've thought of was how much I wanted to tear my sire apart limb by limb if he managed to find his demon self again." He opened the car door and tossed his cigarette aside. "Neither of us are Dru—so let's drive our little butts over to the mansion and find out for sure instead of mind-fucking ourselves over what-ifs in the middle of the street."

She chuckled softly. "What do you know? You really aren't a stupid demon after all."

"Ah luv, I'm full of surprises," he said smirking as he got into the car and leaned over to unlock her side.

She opened the door and a wave of stale cigarettes, vodka, tequila, blood and pot hit her. "Geez Spike, when was the last time you cleaned out your car? 1980?"

"Fuck you, Slayer." He turned the ignition and the De Soto roared to life.

"I thought that was what you wanted," she snapped as she turned to her side, one arm hanging onto the seat and the other bracing against the dashboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A block away from the mansion, he pulled over to the side and turned off the ignition, ignoring the panic that he had been fighting since leaving the Slayer's house. It wasn't until he was surrounded by the Slayer and Joyce's scent as well as the Summer's own personal atmosphere did he realize what it was that was bothering him since he arrived in Sunnyhell.

He felt Druscilla.

It was her essence that called him when he began his drive through Sunnyhell.

He might as well admit it to himself—he lost her a long time ago. Her madness—the very thing that he loved—needed Angelus' far more than she needed Spike's love. And if she had to choose—their sire would win everytime.

Druscilla was Angelus'—to punish, to have, dominate, manipulate and own. Not love, because Angelus had never been capable of that. But for Dru, that didn't matter. She needed what Angelus gave her for more than she wanted Spike's love.

"Bloody hell," he snapped, tearing his keys out of the ignition. He turned to the Slayer and found that she had been looking his way, but her eyes had a faraway look about them. Probably thinking about Peaches—how her last word's to the bloke had been angry and hurtful—even if they both knew they weren't true.

"Luv, Dru's here."

The Slayer's green eyes widened. "How?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Knowing her, she probably set me up. Knew the moment I left and arranged for her own transportation up here."

She frowned, her eyes studying him suspiciously. "You better not be fucking with me, Spike," she warned, her hold on her stake tightening.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Come on, Slayer. You know me better than that."

She began gnawing on her lips. "I also know that you would do almost anything to keep her, too."

A wave of anger flooded him. "Except bring that wanker back!" he yelled, slamming a hand into the steering wheel, bending it. He shook his head, chuckling humorously. "I'm ashamed to admit it—but I hate him more than I love her."

She sighed, nodding. "I know. I hate him more than I love Angel." She looked down at her hands. "That's because he gets such a thrill out of destroying our love." She lifted her head, her eyes wet with fresh tears. "We've got to find out, Spike. We can't just sit here and dread it." She opened the car door and stepped out, grabbing her slaying bag before closing and locking the car door. "Let's go and at least find out—and kick some ass if we need to."

He quickly followed suit, and within a minute he was walking beside her, smoking a cigarette and ignoring his Dark Princess's siren call that had been tugging at his heart for the last hour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last person, or that is demon, she expected to see hiding behind a row of bushes in front of the mansion was Whistler. It had been over nine months since his last appearance in Sunnydale, and Buffy knew instantly, seeing him, meant that Angelus had returned as well. It was at that moment she felt her heart break and silently wondered if she would ever be able to love again.

Life was too cruel. Why couldn't she have at least one solid thing in her short life? All she wanted was to know that Angel was nearby—a phone call, or a short walk away. He was the only being alive—with the exception of Oz maybe, that understood what it was like to walk that fine line of evil and good. Of viciousness and gentleness. Of love and hate.

She took a deep breath and knelt beside the demon, motioning Spike to follow. "Whistler."

"Took you long enough. What were you two doing, picking out china patterns?"

Spike growled, his eyes flashing.

Buffy silently thanked the vampire. She forgot how much the little demon irritated her. "Is it true? Is Angel gone?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

The demon nodded. "They managed to get a soul-taker to perform the ceremony."

Buffy frowned. "I thought Giles knew the only demon that could do that and he owed him a favor."

Whistler sighed. "He did owe the Watcher a favor. It would've worked out fine if the lousy demon could keep his wife out of the Mayor's reach." The demon stood up and walked away from the mansion, signaling to Buffy and Spike to follow.

Once the three of them were far enough out of hearing range to whatever vampire patrols were circling the mansion, Whistler sighed. "We all underestimated the Mayor. And other factors," he said, glancing at Spike.

"You mean Druscilla."

The demon nodded. "I don't know everything, Spike, but I think that you know by now, she set you up. She told you her vision to test you. From what I've heard tonight, if you hadn't left, she would've stayed with you—Angelus be damned."

"Fuck!" The vampire began pacing, his movements almost stiff—waves of rage emanating from him. "But she knew bloody well what the hell I was going to do! I never once apologized for helping the Slayer and I still don't regret it." He shook his head. "I still have wet dreams about pounding the pillock's skull in with that crowbar."

Buffy almost smiled at that as she turned and to look at the mansion—knowing that until a few hours ago, Angel had been there—and now he was gone.

"What about the curse? Can Willow perform it again?"

Whistler shook his head. "Not the curse—if she could find a restoration spell—maybe that would work. I don't think the curse will work again."

"Why the hell not?" Spike asked, as he leaned against a tree. "It's not as if it isn't still there in his body. It's always been there. It's just a matter of dominance."

"What?" Buffy whipped around, not believing her ears. "You mean his soul has always been there?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "I don't know what fairy tales those watchers been telling you, pet, but the soul doesn't leave the body when the demon enters—it's just subdued. That's why he had all that bloody guilt—because he was there—watching everything the demon did—but powerless to do anything to stop it."

Her mouth dropped open as she sent a few silent curses towards the watchers. "Is what he's saying true?" she asked Whistler. "Is this another lie told to young, naive girls to prepare them to go out and battle the evil of the world?"

Whistler glared at the vampire and nodded slowly. "You have to remember, Buffy, maybe a dozen or so Slayers have made it to their eighteenth birthday. They usually don't live long enough to worry about the moral implications of what they do."

"I gotta get out of here," she said as she shook her head. "There's nothing more we can do tonight—now that we know he's back. We'll just have to work from there.

"I just want to go home and cry now. After I call Giles."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why the bloody hell are you here?"

"Balance, my man, balance."

Spike growled softly at the demon and turned to watch the Slayer disappear through the trees. "For once, I have to agree with the Slayer. There's nothing left to do tonight. I don't fancy myself meeting the sharp end of a stake—not when I haven't fed in over 24 hours. Plus, there's a bottle of tequila in my car that's calling my name. You can tell me the real reason tomorrow."

The vampire then followed the slayer to his car, leaving the demon to contemplate the balance of good evil in the world all by himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Luv, wait up. I'm taking you home," Spike called as he watched her walk past his car down the street. Cursing under his breath, he took off and followed her, silently amazed that she managed to keep her emotions under control for as long as she had that night. "Slayer! Stop acting like an arse and get your butt back here!"

She stopped and whipped around, stake in hand. Her face red and puffy. "Fuck you, Spike! I'm in no mood to deal with you tonight. Go bother someone else. Hell, go eat and leave me. I don't even fucking care right now!" Her voice cracked as sob escaped her lips. "Shit! You're the last person I want to see me like this. For all I know, hatred be damned, tomorrow night you'll be over there rubbing all over your 'ho—trying to get back into Angelus' good graces." A sardonic laugh rang out. "Good graces—what a fucking oxymoron. Tonight I told Angel that I hated him and I wished he would just leave me the fuck alone.

"And guess what? He did. After all his struggles to fight his personal darkness—to find his way—to have it end like this....God, I want to kill her. Until just now, I felt sorry for her. I saw a part of myself in her. If my mother died or if my parent's were like Xander's—she could've been me. Or I could've been her. I could even rationalize why she tried killing Xander. I know she has issues with men." She shook her head, her body stiff and angry. "But this," she paused as she shook her head again, "I can't. I want her dead. I want another one called. Maybe the next one will have some fucking sense."

Her hand holding the stake dropped as her she bowed her head. Hearing her small cries, Spike inwardly sighed as a part of his undead heart went out to her. No matter what anyone thought—this slayer was the strongest of them all. What most considered a weakness was her strength—her love. He slowly approached her and once he could, he pulled the stake out of her grasp.

"Come on, luv, let me take you home," he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to his car.

"You know—I really want to hate you right now," she said softly. "But, I can't. I can't do a lot of things, can I?"

He opened her side and gently pushed her into the car. Once inside, he turned to her, wanting to say something, but finding that he was all said out. What else was there other than 'I'm sorry' and somehow it just didn't seem fitting for a demon to apologize. So he took her home instead.



Chapter 3



For the ten-minute drive back to her house, Buffy stared unseeingly out the window. The warm winds blew at her hair, as she once again replayed in her mind, the last time she had seen Angel.

Even though they both knew it was just an act, they still said things that hurt one another. How else could you make the fight realistic? Buffy knew how Angel would react if he saw her ‘dancing’ or as Spike put it, ‘making love with her clothes on,’ with Xander.

He’d go ballistic.

Which he had done.

As many times as he denied it, Angel was jealous of Xander.

Xander saw Buffy in the sunlight, came over to the Summer’s house for breakfast on weekends—talked to her when Angel was forced to stay inside, away from the sun’s killing rays.

Xander saw and lived with a side of Buffy that Angel could never touch.

And Xander was human. And warm. His heart beat. His blood was his own. All the things that Angel had lost nearly 250 years before and had lusted for now that he was a souled vampire.

Yes, Buffy knew. And she did it anyway—for the plan. A plan that failed miserably and took the one person in the world that she felt connected to away...

Forever.

She never thought she could feel as bad as she had the year before when she sent Angel to Hell.

How fucking wrong she was.

She inwardly sighed, fighting a yawn. She was exhausted—emotionally as well as physically—and yet the last place she wanted to go was home.

"Pet, we’re here," Spike said as he gently shook her shoulder, jolting her out of her thoughts.

She turned and faced her sometime ally—most of the time enemy—and noticed he was watching her strangely. She gave him a small smile. "Don’t worry, Spike. I’m not losing it. I was just thinking about how much I don’t want to go inside. Somehow, it makes it all too real, you know?"

He turned around and reached over to the back of the car and pulled out an unopened bottle of tequila. Quickly breaking the seal, he tipped it to his mouth and took several large drinks.

"Yeah, I know." He slid the bottle between his legs and lit a cigarette.

"Spike?"

"Um?"

"Where are you staying?"

The vampire shrugged noncommittally as he took a drag off his cigarette. "The factory, I suppose."

That will not do, she thought to herself. As much as she hated it, she needed him. And as the evening wore on, she realized it wasn’t only to fight Angelus, but because Spike was the only one who understood her pain—because in this instance—it was his as well.

She shook her head and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. "No, Spike. He’ll find you. I’ll lay money the mayor’s got someone watching the place right now. " She leaned down and grabbed her slaying bag from the floor. "I can’t believe I’m gonna suggest this—but if you promise to keep your fangs away from me and mine, you can stay with us."

His scarred eyebrow lifted in surprise. "Are you sure, Slayer?"

She sighed again. "Do you promise?"

"What about your mum?"

Buffy giggled despite herself. "I have no idea how you did it, but you charmed her thoroughly. You know, she forbid any of us to do the uninvite spell because she wanted to make sure that you knew you were always welcome in her home." Buffy laughed out loud. "Giles nearly had a heart attack and Angel—he was seething. Even though she knows—knew," she caught herself, "that Angel had his soul, she still didn’t like him or trust him. So tell me, how the hell did you do it?" She asked, watching him finish off the tequila.

"Honest and polite. And never threatened her, luv. That’s the truth. I like your mum. She treats me with respect and cares for me, even though she knows I’m a soulless demon. I’ll tell ya, luv, if more humans were like that, there would be less eligible happy meals with legs, if you get my drift," he finished with a wink in her direction.

She groaned out loud as she opened the car door. "You know, you are the most exasperating person on the face of this planet?" She stepped out into the street and slammed the door shut. "Half the time, I don’t know if I want to laugh or stake you when I’m with you.

"So, do you promise? "

He pulled out a duffel bag and the tossed the empty bottle into the backseat. "Yeah, luv, I promise—as long as you keep those stakes away from my heart. I sorta fancy my undead organs—"

"I promise," she said as she walked past him and headed towards the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Spike lay in the makeshift bed the Slayer had fixed for him on the floor of her room, he tried to remember a time when killing a slayer was more appealing than wanting to shag one.

But he knew the answer.

Pre-Sunnyhell.

He silently chuckled, thinking of what that hick vampire, Gorch had said to him earlier this summer when he met up with him in Texas. "That Slayer—she ain’t like any one I ever met before. Do you know she had me help her fight some egg-spewing demon with her and then tried to stake me?"

The overweight vampire was aghast that a Slayer would even consider fighting side by side him—it just was not normal.

But then Buffy had always said, she never got to read that handbook that everyone was talking about and her actions seemed to back that up. She improvised—following an instinct that seemed to only get better with age. And it worked far better than anyone ever thought possible. Spike was sure that those old tweed stuff shirts in England were throwing fits at the unorthodox methods of their slayer.

But still, she was alive when so many women in her shoes had died so much younger than her.

After Acathla, Spike tried to remember the two slayers that died at his hand and he couldn’t. Oh sure, he could remember their rich, life-filling blood and the sound of their whimpers as their life force left them. But he couldn’t remember what either of them looked like or if they had any family or friends.

They were just the enemy and he treated them as such.

With his Slayer—and that’s what she was in his mind—his Slayer—he knew her friends not only by name but by face. He had talked to her mother for hours over the phone in the past couple of months and had been at one time on intimate terms with the love of her love.

So, was he getting soft?

He didn’t think so. The thought of the other slayer dying by his hand sent welcomed chills down his spine. Blood and mayhem still called him once the sun set and yet, he couldn’t forget the sinking feeling in his gut when Whistler told him that night that he was there for balance.

Balance for what?

Good? Evil?

And at whose expense? His? Poof’s? Dru’s?

The way Spike’s gut tightened, he had feeling he knew who was the small demon’s next project and that idea did not sit well with William the Bloody.

The vampire inwardly groaned as he tried to turn his exhausted brain off. He extended his senses and realized even through all his inner musings, he had yet to hear anything from the young woman causing all his self-introspection.

Her silence was damning.

"Slayer?"

"Spike—don’t." He heard her take a ragged breath. "I can’t—not now."

Never one to follow orders or requests; he turned over to his side, facing the bed, and lifted himself enough to take a peek at her.

He bit back a moan.

There, lying in nearly the same position she had been when he had first shown up, was the Slayer, but this time, her eyes were wide open and filled with unshed tears.

She turned her head and their eyes met.

In 200 years, he had seen many humans cry, but until then, Spike never considered tears to be physically beautiful. Before, they had soothed his demon—their anguish filling him with glee.

But hers, they were different. Her hazel orbs—watery and filled—watched him carefully as he sat up.

Not even wanting to think about why he was doing this, he pulled himself up and on sat on her bed. She silently watched him, tears now slipping serendipitously from her eyes as he scooted over and slipped in behind her, wrapping his cool arms around her fevered body.

Her silent pain called to him. So similar to his, that he had no choice but to gather her small body in his arms and hold her as the tears of a love forever lost flowed freely from her heart through her eyes.

As her body began to shake, he caressed her arms and head and felt each sob as if it were his own. Because maybe, if she cried enough for herself, she could shed a few for him as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a nearly finished cup of coffee in her hand, Joyce Summers opened her front door to leave for work.

She stopped.

Lying on the steps was a long, white thin box reminiscent of a flower box, with a small, white card taped to the top.

She bent down and picked it up, absently noting its weight and whom it was addressed to as she walked back into the house through to the kitchen.

She left it on the counter, knowing that Buffy would see it when she got up, but Joyce knew she had to be the one to call Spike. Not only did Buffy hate the vampire, she doubted if Buffy had any way of contacting him. No, Joyce would call his voice mail and let him know when she got to the gallery.

Not trusting her daughter’s need to ‘protect’ her, Joyce had long ago left all evidence of her contact with him at the gallery—safe from her daughter’s prying eyes.

Before leaving, she gave the box one more glance while silently debating whether or not to wake Buffy now, or give her a couple more hours of much needed sleep.

No, she would call Buffy from the gallery as well. Her daughter had a late night and tired slayers were sloppy slayers.

After taking one last sip of her coffee, she left the house and headed for the gallery, not noticing the two strange cars parked in front of her house as she drove away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slipping down from the car window, Faith wiped the gathering sweat from her brow, once again ignoring that tingle of conscience that tugged at her soul every time she saw or thought of Joyce Summers. After nearly five minutes, she heard the Summer’s Jeep pull out of the driveway and drive past her car. Only then did she sit up and grab the cellular phone that lay on the passenger seat. Hitting the speed dial, she made her call.

"Hey Boss, it’s inside."

"Good. Very well done, Faith. Why don’t you go home and catch some rest. We can’t have a tired Slayer tonight, now can we?"

She found herself grinning in response. As evil as the mayor could be, he still took care of her. "Sure thing. I’ll be at home if you need me," the slayer said then hung up. Bed—my wonderful comfortable bed.

"It may be empty now, B, but pretty soon I’ll have my own pet vampire to fill it," she whispered to herself as she turned on the ignition and pulled her brand new Mustang GT out onto the road. As she passed the black De Soto, she smirked, remembering Angelus’ rage once he found about the return of his wayward childe to the Slayer’s side.

Angelus’ anger was a beautiful sight. A wondrous, sexy sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike’s phone rang first.

Half asleep, he entangled himself from the warm, sleeping body of the slayer and reached down to the side of the bed and grabbed his duster. Digging through the inside pocket, he found it and pulled it out.

"What?"

"Spike? It’s Joyce."

He felt the slayer’s body stiffen at the sound of her mother’s voice. "Joyce?"

Buffy reached over to snag the phone from him and he slapped her hands away and turned to his side—trying to ignore the hot feel of her glaring eyes on the back of his head. "What can I do for you?"

"I know it’s early—or late—for you, but I thought I was just calling your voice mail. I’m sorry—"

"It’s alright, luv. I had all my calls forwarded," he said, rolling over onto his back and meeting Buffy’s confused, swollen eyes. "What’s wrong?"

"No—nothing like that. It’s just that this morning someone left a package at the doorstep for you and Buffy and I—"

"Package? What kind of package?"

"That’s the strangest thing. Not only was it addressed to both you and Buffy, but also for a flower box, it was pretty heavy. I know you an my daughter don’t get along—"

He felt Buffy tense at the word flower box and Spike remembered over a year ago when Angelus had sent Buffy a dozen red roses…"Can I call you back?"

"Sure. I’m at work now. Do you have the number?"

He couldn’t help but chuckle at Buffy’s indignation when he nodded. "Sure do, luv. Thanks and I’ll get back to you. " He closed the phone and met the slayer’s astonished face and grinned.

"What can I say, pet? She likes me."
 

Chapter 4



"You do know that we are going to talk about this later, right?" she asked the blond vampire who was sitting way too comfortably on her bed—in her bedroom—in her room! And her mother! She clenched her teeth, forcing that desperate urge to scream as well as rip his dead heart out, down.

"Take deep breaths, luv. It helps."

Her hands balled into fists. "Argh! Coming?"

"Is it sunproof?"

She sighed dramatically. "I'll just bring it up. Is that all right, O' Undead King of Irritation?"

"Just peachy, Slayer."

She yanked the door open and stomped through it, slamming it closed behind her, cursing the whole time. "Damn egotistical, peroxide blond, fanged-face asshole! How dare he insinuate himself into my life! Without any say-so from me. Next thing I know, my mother'll be the one picking out the fucking china pattern and we'll be married with me flung helplessly over his shoulder like a prized heifer in a cattle auction. Why him? Why does she like him and not Angel—"

She stopped midway down the steps, clutching the hand rail.

"Because," she answered herself. "Spike doesn't lose his soul like most people misplace their socks, that's why."

Biting the inside of her cheek, she ignored the newest streams of tears as they flooded her eyes. Barely able to see through the clouds of moisture, she slowly continued down the stairs.

Angel—gone.

Angel was no more—ever.

Only he was never ever really gone. He'd always been there—on the inside, looking out when the demon was in control. And now, he was going to die being stuck in a body that was no longer his—if it had ever been, since that night in Galway over two-hundred and sixty-some odd years ago. His last days on this Earth now will be spent watching his demon destroy everything that he had worked so hard to rebuild.

The First did prevail after all.

She wiped her face as she stepped into the kitchen, instantly spying on the box sitting on the counter. Just as she reached for it, she stopped, suddenly unsure. A part of her wanted to open it now, away from Spike's knowing eyes, but as her fingers slipped underneath the edge of the lid, she changed her mind.

She couldn't. Her heart was racing uncontrollably as that now-familiar feeling of dread filled her. For herself as well as for Spike.

For a whole lot of reasons that she really didn't want to analyze too much—they needed to open this together. The main reason being that she didn't want to be alone to suffer Angelus' wrath—she didn't think she had it in her to do it again. If it had to be Spike to stand next to her while she did this, then so be it.

She moved her hand over to the gift card, noting the elegant script of Angel's and sighed when she saw both her and Spike's name.

They both needed to be there for this.

As if reading her thoughts, she heard Spike yelling from her bedroom.

"Don't you even think about it, Pet! Get your bloody arse up here and bring that blasted thing with you!"

"Piss off," she muttered as she picked it up, noting the weight and feeling as her nightmare was just getting worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xander was late again.

In all the years that Willow and Xander had been friends, that one trait had managed to stay with him when some many of the others had fallen to the wayside.

Well, that and his unhealthy love of Hoho's and less specific, his love of junkfood in general. Even at eighteen, he couldn't seem to keep it together enough to be ready when she pulled into his driveway.

Nevermind that they had discussed this just the night before how they were on for breakfast before meeting up with everyone else at the library at noon.

Nevermind that this 'breakfast' like the past eight Saturday morning get-togethers, was a joint effort between the two childhood friends to build new bridges and mend the broken paths that had been made by both of them in the past year so they could and would always be friends.

And finally, nevermind that Willow's Saturday mornings had become a haven of sorts—where she could just be Willow. Not Oz's girlfriend, or Buffy's best friend, or Giles' research assistant or even resident witch when the need so arose. These two hours of the week spent in Xander's company helped her remember who she was and how far she had traveled to get where she was now.

It helped her feel better and more secure because no one understood how much Willow had grown in the past three years more than Xander.

He had been there from the beginning—when she'd been shy and geeky Willow, friend of Jesse and Xander's—to now, fledgling witch and demon-hunter.

Only Xander really knew her.

And even though she was in love with Oz and would do anything for Buffy and Giles, Xander in some ways would always come first. Because home, family and hearth always came first.

Because it just was.

Which was why after the third blare of her car horn, Willow began to get worried.

Xander always stuck his head out of his bedroom window after the second horn honking.

And she knew he was at home, because the night before, her and Oz dropped him off a little past midnight after an interesting night at the Bronze. She still had to call Buffy. She was worried about the Slayer almost as much as she was about Xander. Even though she knew that the fight between Buffy and Angel had been planned as a rouse to bring to the surface Faith's loyalties, they still exchanged some hateful words.

Shaking her head, as if it would push Buffy out of her mind, she replayed Xander's last words to her as he stepped out of the van were: "See ya at ten, Will. Thanks Oz."

And then he closed the van door and sprinted up to his front door. Willow and Oz remained there until he went inside and the porch light flickered on and off. That was his signal that all was cool.

"Where is he?" she whispered, her voice trembling. She turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and stared at the front door, silently willing it to open and Xander to step out.

When nearly five more minutes passed, she got out of the car and slowly walked up to the drive, towards the front door. With each step, the invisible fist that had been clenching her insides since the third horn blare, tightened its grip.

By the time she reached the front door, she shivered, feeling a cold sweat break out across her body.

Something was wrong.

She slowly lifted her hand and knocked once, the hollow sound of her fist impacting the wood door, echoing eerily inside the Harris' home as it swung open and hit the door stop only to stop halfway on its journey back. Her throat tightened and even though she wanted to go inside, she couldn't make her feet move. It was as if she were frozen in place. She coughed lightly, trying to clear her throat, but everytime she tried calling out, only pitiful squeaks came out.

And then, a small breeze brushed by her, bringing along with it the metallic scent of blood.

Willow's stomach lurched.

Finally able to get her legs to move, she turned on her heel and ran straight to her car, digging out her car keys as she went. Moments later, she was out onto Xander's street and heading over to Buffy's.

No matter how much Willow had change, she could not go into that house alone.

Not if she wanted to remain sane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy had barely made it through her bedroom door when Spike shot up out of her bed and yanked the box out of her grasp.

"Spike! Chill!"

"Blood Slayer. I smell blood. "

Her mouth dried. "Blood? Why would he...?"

"Talk to any of your mates today?"

"No, just Mom and you. Although you hardly qualify as a 'mate.'"

"Just keep telling yourself that, pet, and maybe one day you'll be believe it," he said smirking at her as he began to lift the lid off the box.

Before either of them could see what was inside, they were interrupted by a loud, frantic pounding of her front door.

He stopped, allowing the lid to fall haphazardly back down onto its home. "Expecting anyone?"

"No—"

"Buffy—wake up. It's Xander—"

"Willow."

"The witch."

"I'll be right back, she said as she left her bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike knew as soon as he heard the witches cries, what was Buffy's half of the present.

Knowing Angelus, it could be a whole array of bloody, body parts. A heart maybe? Or one of the poor bloke's eyes. Or maybe some other errant piece of the whelp that the pillock cut off in a moment of demonic glee.

He shut his eyes, instantly remembering the year before when Angelus gave Druscilla a heart for Valentine's Day. Although Dru was thoroughly impressed and oohed and ah'ed over it, all Spike could think of was how much that one little act reminded him of a cat bringing home its kill as an offering. How animalistic and useless. Sunshine was definitely a better gift—although Dru did turn the poor pup after forgetting to feed the pitiful thing for a couple of days. A demonic puppy was a sight to behold and was one of the only things that kept Spike entertained for the following three months—until Angelus dusted the dog after discovering Sunshine was honing in on some of the demon's meal.

Gods, he hated that asshole.

Which brought him back to the contents of the box. What had Angelus left for him?

"Bloody hell, " he growled, impatient with himself and that tendril of fear that was weaving its way into his being. Fed up, he yanked the lid upwards.

And gasped.

A dozen long-stemmed red roses lay perfect on the bosom of a very familiar china doll—which in turn, was covered with a bloodied and torn flannel shirt. Beside the flowers lay a battered leather wallet.

Growling, he dumped the box's contents onto the Slayer's bed and found himself actually sighing in relief when he saw that there were no ashes in there.

Druscilla was still alive.

At least for now.

But the message was clear: any time, any place, any reason.

He picked up the wallet and was about to open up when he heard a loud gasp.

"Xander's! That's Xander's. I know—'cause I got it for him—two Christmas' ago."

Spike turned to see Willow crumble, nearly hitting the floor before the Slayer shook herself out of her own stupor and caught her.

After she sat Willow down on a chair, Buffy walked over to him, all the while studying the items on her bed. "The shirt's his too. He was wearing it last night." She picked it up, noting the blood. "Is it fresh?"

Spike nodded. "A few hours—maybe four at the most, luv."

Buffy nodded and reached for the box lid and pulled off the card. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out the note.

"'A Token of My Love, '" she read from the front. "Bastard, " she whispered as she opened the card. "'To my dearest Buffy and Spike. . .

'"As you know by now, I have returned with Dru and the lively and witty Faith at my side. I always did have a thing for Slayers, but then you knew that, didn't you, Buff ? We will be looking forward to the next time we meet.

"'Oh yeah, one other thing: tell Willow thank you for once again banishing me to the confines of that wuss's brain and for that, I'll make sure Xander visits her first when he awakes.

"'Pleasant dreams. . .

. . . . . . Angelus. '"

 

Chapter 5



It was Willow that finally broke the silence.

"We—we have to—to call Giles and—and go over to Xander’s—get Oz. May—maybe someone is still al—alive," she whispered as she wiped her face and picked up the phone. She stopped just as her finger nearly touched the dialer. "Bu—Buffy, how did Angelus come b-back? I thought the soul-stealer owed Giles?" She wide green eyes stared at her friends—confusion and pain radiating out from them. "And Spike, why are you here?" She turned her attention to the vampire.

Buffy shook her head, and held out her hand, her mouth clamped shut—almost as if she was afraid of the pain that was dying to be released from her—and glanced over to the vampire, silently asking him to answer the question.

Spike rubbed his tired face and nodded to the Witch. "Call the Watcher and the Wolf, and bring them over. I don’t want to tell this story again, all right luv?"

She nodded, confusion still evident as she started dialing the phone.

"Red, don’t worry about me. On this, I’m on your side."

Buffy nodded in agreement. "Trust me on this, Willow—he is," she whispered quietly as she picked up Xander’s wallet and opened it.

Spike watched her face crumble as she pulled out what looked like a snapshot and held it tightly to her heart. A sob shook her body and once again, Spike felt the pangs of empathy ring through him.

He walked over and sat down on the bed, and slowly reached for her, pulling her down onto his lap. With his arm around her, he rocked her. "Luv, can I see?" he asked, nodding towards the picture.

She held it out from her chest, showing it to him. It was a picture of her, Willow and the boy, sitting on a park bench. He had his arms around both of them—all three of them smiling. The joy on their faces was apparent. They were happy.

"It was taken about a couple weeks before Acathla. I remember that day—because it was the first day I actually felt happy since Angel had left. I felt like I was getting some of my life back. Oh, I knew that I had to kill him—I guess it was because I finally was able to let go of that hope. And it was such a relief…"

"Can you come over now? And page Oz—it’s important. Devon’ll just have to deal," Red said over the phone, pacing in front of the bed. Spike watched her eyes shut everytime she saw the shirt—but not before she flinched physically. At first Spike was puzzled why she wasn’t as upset as they Slayer—then it hit him.

She was the one who cursed Angelus.

She knew she could do the same for the whelp. That was what was keeping her from breaking. In her mind, she hadn’t accepted the whelp’s death.

"Bloody curse," he muttered to himself. Instantly he felt two pairs of eyes land on him. "You’re planning on cursing him, aren’t you?"

Willow’s mouth clamped shut and instantly she turned around. "Giles, thanks. And hurry." She hung up the phone and faced Spike and Buffy. "So—so what if I am. I am not going to lose anyone else if I don’t have to!"

He groaned and released the Slayer. Suddenly pacing seemed to be a pretty good thing to do.

"It’s a curse, Red. Not a restoration. It’s got that blasted happy clause in it—or did you forget that! That’s what got all of us in this bloody mess to begin with! Poof-face got a happy and suddenly he’s Angelus—the demon we all love to hate! Do you really think that’s fair to the boy? To live an eternity without being able to be happy?"

Buffy shut her eyes and nodded. "Will, he’s right. It was a curse—not a spell—a curse."

Red pursed her lips and shook her head, ignoring the angry tears that ran from her eyes. "It’s okay for Angel but not Xander?"

"I didn’t say that! Last spring—it was different. If I had had the courage to kill him, I would’ve. But I couldn’t kill him. And we had to get rid of him. Cursing him was a way to get him out of the way. But now—even if we could curse him again—I don’t think he would want us too. We had enough problems keeping our hands off each other—the happy clause loomed above us—he was miserable. Willow, he tried killing himself on Christmas Eve."

Spike stopped mid-stride. "How?"

The slayer shook her head, and laughed humorously. "He was going to greet the sun. But someone had a different idea—we had a freak snowstorm—no sun."

"Divine intervention, pet?"

The slayer shrugged. "Hell if I know. But if it was, where the hell was it last night?"

Spike frowned, remembering what Whistler said. "They were caught with their pants down, luv. Just like we were. Whistler said as much."

"Whistler?" Willow asked as she shook her head. "Wait a minute—about the curse—"

"Will, the soul never leaves the body after its been turned. The demon’s just in control."

The witches mouth dropped open. "Bu—but I thought—"

"I know," Buffy interrupted. "So, did I."

Red’s eyebrows creased as she looked up at Spike. "Why are you so different? Even before Angelus—you still loved Dru. Why is your demon capable of love and not Angel’s?"

Spike sighed, hating that question was asked even though understanding why it had been. Hadn’t he asked that same question thousands of times in his own mind—even if he never had vocalized it?

The bedroom door opened, saving Spike from having to answer. He groaned outloud when he saw who the Watcher had brought with him: Whistler.

"Because like souls, demons change with incarnations. Depending on their experiences, they, like souls, can go either way…less demon-like or even more so."

Spike growled, hating to hear that answer but inside knowing it was the truth: his demon wasn't nearly a cruel and sadistic as most. It never had been. In reality, his demon was more 'humane' than his soul. It always had been.

"Oh come on, Spikey—you know it's true."

"Yeah, well you didn't have to bloody shout it out to the world!"

Whistler chuckled as he strolled into the room and headed straight for the bed. He picked up the discarded card and read it silently. After he set it back down, he looked at each of them. "I'm sorry."

The watcher, silent until then, picked up the card himself and read it. "Oh dear Lord, he's back. Whistler informed me of it, but I really didn't believe it." He glanced over at Willow. "Are you sure Xander's not home?"

She bit her lip nervously. "I didn't actually make it into the house. But it just felt wrong. The door wasn't even closed all the way and I—I smelled bl—blood."

The watcher nodded. "Well, considering Faith's previous relations with him and with Druscilla being back—"

"Angel's turned him," Buffy said, picking at her bedspread. "That note…" she shook her head. "Xander's gone."

The Watcher sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching his nose. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Has anyone checked out the mansion today?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Okay, once Oz arrives, you two," he said looking at Red, "head over to the mansion. Take Xander's shirt and see if Oz picks up his scent. Now, that means, stay outside—in the sun. If the bloody pillock's back—he'll know that we need to do this. So, stay away from any place that may be dangerous. Buffy, Whistler and I will go to Xander's. If need be, we'll call the police." He stopped and looked up, finally acknowledging Spike's presence. "And you need to rest. We'll stop by Willie's on the way back and pick up some blood. Whistler told me that you've been on the road for over three days. And if we're going to finally get Angelus, we need you at your full strength."

"What about Wesley?"

The watcher groaned, rubbing his temples. "Maybe he'll go running off to England now that his Slayer has gone rogue. Bloody hell, I don't know. He's useless. Maybe he can stay with Cordelia—protect her or something. If Xander's been turned, she'll be one of his main targets."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Whistler, Oz and Willow were downstairs waiting for Giles and Buffy. The slayer had grabbed an outfit and headed for the bathroom to change, leaving Spike and Giles alone in her room.

For the first couple of minutes, neither man said anything, almost as if they were sizing one another up. Finally, Spike couldn't take it and had to ask him why the Watcher wasn't aiming a crossbow at him.

The Englishman gave the vampire a sardonic smile and began clearing off the bed, placing the 'gift' items back in their original box. "Whistler. I've known the demon on and off for over twenty-five years. He pulled my arse out of a few rough spots—especially during those days of my misspent youth. Ironically, it wasn't until later, while studying with the council, did I realize how powerful and influential my guardian demon was. The short of it all is that he said that I could trust you—at least in this matter—and reminded me of how much I had relied on Angel, even if I had hated the bloke."

Just what he needed to hear. Whistler did have plans for him after this. "Bloody hell, this was not the way I pictured spending the rest of my existence! All I ever wanted was my Black Goddess, some blood and a regular spot of violence to put things in perspective. Not this."

The watcher shrugged unsympathetically. "I could say I'm sorry Spike, but I'd be lying. But I do know what it's like doing something that goes against yourself—no matter how much fun you have while you're doing it—it just doesn't sit well with you. I have a feeling that's how you ended up here, instead of with Druscilla."

Spike glared at the watcher, hating that he was right, and nodded once.

"But," the watcher continued, "I also have no doubt in my mind that you will continue to wreak havoc in areas that do not go against yourself. Whether or not that's demon enough for you, I don't have a clue. Nor do I really care. I assume that's why Whistler's here—to help you work out those issues. "

He walked over to the door and opened it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, please inform Buffy that I will be downstairs with the others waiting for her. Remember, rest."

And he left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered as he pulled off his tee-shirt and tossed it onto a chair. Soon his jeans followed and naked, he turned, getting ready to slip under the covers.

That is, until he heard a distinctly feminine, "Ooh."

He straightened, instantly recognizing the Slayer by both her scent and her voice, and started grinning when he saw a deep dark blush cover her exposed skin. Cor, she's blushing everywhere. He felt himself begin to stir in excitement.

Still smiling, he kept his eyes on her as he pulled up the covers and slipped underneath them. Watching her stand there, aroused and angry at the same time, stirred his need even more. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Well, Slayer, are you going to stand there and ogle my body for the rest of the day or are you going to do your daytime slaying duties and leave me to rest? Or there's the third option."

"What's that?" she whispered, her voice low and definitely sultry.

I will have her before this is finished, he promised himself silently. "What's what?"

She stomped her foot in agitation and finally moved from the spot she'd seemed to be anchored to. "_The_ _third_ _option, asshole," she growled out as she picked up her slayer's bag by the door.

"Oh, that. You could stay here with me and let me find out for myself how much of your body does blush when you're aroused."

She instantly clamped her eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath, as if picturing in her mind exactly what he meant. He couldn't help but smile at her response. Gods, she was gorgeous.

"Oh, whatever." She turned on her heel and stepped out the door, slamming it behind her, leaving him alone.

"She wants me," he whispered to himself. The door whipped open and she stuck her head inside.

"Get over yourself, Spike. Before you go to sleep, call my mom and let her know you're here. You wouldn't want her to come home and air out my room or anything, now would you? And I know I wouldn't appreciate coming home to finding a pile of vampire dust on my bed sheets. Such a bitch to get out.

"See ya, Spikey."

The door closed once again.

"Bitch," he muttered to himself. "Just as I was getting the upper hand too." And then it occurred to him—that's why he enjoyed the Slayer. She was his equal in so many ways. In battle—both the physical and verbal. And if he was lucky, in bed as well. At least he hoped he would find that one out soon.

Grinning, he turned to the phone and dialed the gallery's number. He didn't even bother asking himself how he had memorized it—he didn't feel up to the soul-searching the answer would require. Brooding was something his sire did when he had his soul. Not Spike, William the Bloody, thank you very much.

"Summer's Gallery."

"Hello, Joyce. It's Spike."

"Spike, how are you?"

"Bloody exhausted. It's been a rough few days."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is—is it about Druscilla?"

"Among other things. Listen, the Slayer told me to call you. I've been in town since last night. Actually, I was at your house when you called—"

"Where?"

"The slayer's room. "

"Spike!"

"Joyce, it's okay. We're on the same side for right now. It's complicated."

"Are you and Buffy sleeping together?"

If he could've blushed, he would have. "No Joyce. I just needed a safe place to stay and she insisted the factory wasn't. Oh bloody hell, Angelus is back, Joyce. Dru saw it in a vision and that same night I left Brazil to come back and see if I could prevent it or help Buffy dust him for good."

"Oh my God, my poor daughter," her voice cracked. "Is she okay?"

"You're daughter is a strong one. She's keeping it together. But with this as well as the Mayor's ascension, she's a bit preoccupied. 'Probably why she wanted me to call you instead of herself."

Joyce sighed loudly. "What was in the box?"

"Later Joyce. It would be better if you talked to us in person. As it is, the slayer wanted me to call you to warn you that I was here." He fell back on to the stack of pillows behind him and stretched, feeling the last few days of fatigue settle heavily into his body. "I've got to go. I haven't slept in three days—except for about three hours earlier this morning and I really need to do some catch up. Can we talk about this later?"

For a moment, Spike thought she was going to argue with him. For the past three months, he had gotten to know Joyce Summer's pretty well, and the one quality she shared with her daughter was a fierce protectiveness of those she loved. Spike could tell she was torn between worrying about her daughter and worrying about him.

"I'll be okay and so will she. She made me swear to keep my fangs off her and hers and I don't break my word—"

"But what about her and her stakes?"

"That was part of the deal as well."

Joyce chuckled softly. "Okay, Spike. I understand."

"One last thing."

"What?"

"Can you get home before it gets dark. It would make me feel better. And if you can't, call one of us and we'll escort you home."

"That won't be—"

"Joyce, promise me."

A heavy sigh reverberated through the receiver. "All right. I will. Sleep well, Spike."

"Thank you. I think I will."

He hung up the phone and closed his eyes, allowing himself to finally succumb to the exhaustion that had been plaguing him since he had left Brazil.

 

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