As Whistler stood in the aether and looked down at the sleeping pair in Buffy's bed, a twinge of regret and sadness filled him.

It was time for him to leave and yet, for the first time in years, he found himself reluctant to do so. Even the year before, when he knew that this same slayer was getting ready to face the demon that held her one true love and the world captive in its angry heart, he hadn't felt this kind of remorse.

He knew then that she would survive.

It had been written.

But now, in the days ahead, her future was unsure. Too much depended on other beings and their motivations, and yet, for the prophecy to be fulfilled, she had to survive—soul intact.

The balance of all depended on it, and yet, because of his position, he could do no more than he already had done. He had laid the groundwork; ensured Spike's allegiance and as the days wore on, the vampire would discover what it actually meant to join his team.

Unfortunately, because of the immediate situation, Whistler couldn't outright tell him—the vampire had to discover it all on his own or it might unfavorably tip the balance of power once again. And if that happened, then Angelus' return would be for naught.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

The soul-stealer was supposed to be working with Rupert Giles and not for the Mayor. The ruse that Angel, Giles and Buffy came up with was supposed to supply them with enough information so that the forces of good could battle the upcoming ascension.

Angel's soul was to have remained intact.

Druscilla and Spike were to have stayed in Brazil.

Xander Harris was suppose to graduate from high school and eventually join the army—utilizing that military training that he had come upon during that Halloween spell.

And Wesley Windham-Pryce was to have gone back to Britain and the Watcher's Council, with his proverbial tail between his legs, and spend the rest of his life learning from the mistakes he made while in Sunnydale.

But the balance had tipped somewhere else and in the scramble to right the wrongs, a series of events had taken place and, because this was the Hellmouth, they were amplified.

Call it the ripple effect.

And now, once again, the balance was precarious at best, and everything depended upon two young women, both warriors, now on opposite sides, to make the right decisions when it counted the most.

Whistler could only sigh.

It did not look good.

~~~~~~~
It had been a long time since Buffy had experienced a prophetic, slayer dream. In a lot of ways, this dream reminded her of the ones she had shared with Angel when the One Evil was haunting him.

Like those dreams, this one had cohesion—a common thread that held each scene.

The thread in this instance was she.

To be more specific, her last battle, defeat and finally death.

She was alone—one girl against two master vampires and a slayer.

Faith had managed to ambush her, using her human-ness to catch her unawares during the daylight hours, and subdue her.

Now Buffy was shackled naked in the atrium of the mansion as Dru beat her, using a sharp leather whip, all the while Faith and Angelus watched.

Buffy was lucky in a sense—she didn't physically feel the pain each time a new cut was formed or an older one was deepened. But her mind knew and her soul cried out each time that the leather hit her skin.

She knew—she would not survive this.

Whatever this creature who wore the face of her ex-lover had planned, the end sequence was the finale of Buffy's mortal life.

And hopefully her life period.

Just when she felt her soul splinter and cry out against the pain, Buffy heard Dru drop the whip.

Seconds later, she felt two cool tongues lap up the blood that flowed freely from her wounds. A low purr followed a soft chuckle and then without warning, she felt the searing pain of two sets of fangs as they sank into her neck—blinding her senses.

A pair of cold hands slipped around her body to squeeze her breasts, pulling and tugging unmercifully at her nipples. Soon, a cold, hard cock tore through her last vestige of virginity as she felt her mortal life slip away.

The last word she whispered was: "Spike…"

And then she died.

"Luv, wake up. It's okay. I'm here," she heard the comforting cadence of her lover's British accent pull her through the remaining haze of her dream.

Her eyes blinked back the tears and she saw Spike leaning over her; concern marring his expression—and it hit her.

She did love him.

Leaning up, she kissed him gently on the lips as her arms tugged his cool body back down on top of hers—trying to push away the horror of what she had just dreamt away.

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes shut as flashes of the whip swept through her mind and she felt herself tremble in response.

"Just hold me, Spike."

He nodded, still looking concerned as he rolled over onto his back and pulled her on top of him, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

Despite her best efforts to remain awake, exhaustion crept its way through her body and against her own volition, sleep soon followed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't dreamless.

~~~~~~~
For the second time in as many days, it was the phone that woke him.

Pulling free a hand, he grabbed the receiver before its second ring, and growled softly into the receiver.

"Yeah mate? It better be good."

"Sp—Spike?"

His eyes shut as the Watcher's voice washed over him. Never, in all his years, did Spike ever think he'd be in the position to speaking to one of them first thing in the day.

"Yes Giles," he said, sighing softly. "It's me."

"Put Buffy on—I—I found something—"

"She had a hard night. Nightmares."

"—Oh dear. Were they prophetic?"

Spike rubbed his tired face and then opened his eyes. "I don't know. She didn't say."

"You know of the Codex, don't you?"

"Yeah…"

"I checked it first thing yesterday and there was nothing," the watcher paused and took a deep breath. "I wish I could say the same today."

Spike blinked his eyes, gently pulling away from the slayer's sleeping form and sat up. After lighting a cigarette, he leaned back against the headboard and tried to decipher the meaning behind the Watcher's words. "What did it say?"

Giles cleared his throat. "Only the first stanza is visible, but it's titled 'Metamorphosis.'"

"What does it say?" Spike repeated.

"'What was once of light, is now of the dark. That of the dark has been lightened. The prisoner shall finally be free. What was will no longer be. What will be, has never been.'"

"What the fuck?"

Giles cleared his throat again. "My thoughts exactly. And with Whistler here—"

Spike glanced at the clock: two PM. At least they had gotten some sleep. "Give us about an hour and then come on over."

"Yes, that'll be good."

It didn't occur to Spike until he hung up the phone that he had just told Joyce Summers she wasn't welcome into her own home for another hour. "Bloody hell, you git," he muttered to himself as he stabbed out the cigarette. "That'll earn you points with the lady's mum." He shook his head ruefully and looked down at the slayer and suddenly, for just a moment, everything else was forgotten.

He could just watch her for hours—just sleeping. As he felt himself stir, he groaned softly and turned around, swinging his legs off the bed. If he didn't put some space between himself and her, he'd be exactly where he didn't want to be found when the Watcher and Joyce arrived—snug deeply inside of Buffy.

In love. He was bloody in love with not just a mortal, but the slayer.

How fucked up could he get?

Shaking his head, he stood up and grabbed a pair of clean jeans, slipping them on over his naked body. Once decent, he walked over to the forgotten bedroll and picked up a discarded blanket, and wrapped it around himself.

Once protected from whatever errant sunrays that managed to slip through Willow, Oz and Cordelia's impromptu project of sun-proofing the house the night before, he headed for Whistler's room.

~~~~~~~
"Harris! Wake up—you bloody fool! Xander!"

"What?" the whelp's eyes flashed yellow as he growled at Spike.

"Put your fangs back where they belong," Spike snapped as he leaned against the arm of the couch. "I need to ask you something."

Xander rubbed his eyes, blinking up at Spike. "What?"

"Did Whistler talk to you at all last night?"

"Yeah, right before you and I had our heart to heart."

"No," Spike shook his head, trying to reign in his temper. "After that?"

"No," he paused as he shut his eyes. "I mean, I don't think so…"

"What do you mean, you don't think so?"

"It was a dream, I think. Or maybe he came down and talked to me while I was asleep."

"What did he say?"

Spike watched as the boy flung the blanket off his body and sat up, and leaned forward on his knees, holding his head. "I think it was about you." The young vampire looked up and met his eyes. "Something like, you need to remember to follow your heart and to remember your folklore. Yeah, that's it! He said, tell Spike that he needs to—no, he said, listen to your heart and remember your folklore."

Spike finally felt whatever control he had slip, and let out loud growl as he picked up coffee can filled with nails and threw it against the wall. "That bloody, noisy, no good-demon-from fucking hell! He left! You know what that means, Harris? It means we're in deep shit! He always leaves when the shit's getting ready to hit the fan—and he always comes right before it happens!" He started pacing in the space right behind the couch. "Mother fuck! Giles found a prophecy in the Codex and Buffy had a nightmare last night—and now Whistler disappears."

Xander stood up and grabbed his pants off the chair and slipped them on. "Spike—calm down, man. It's happened before—"

"Yeah, but not when I loved her—"

The younger vampire actually chuckled aloud. "Welcome to the club, my man." He slipped on a tee shirt and turned for the stairs. "You need to keep your head, Spike. She's going to need you. I know. I've been there before."

As Spike stood in the empty room, listening to Xander's soft steps up the stairs, he realized the boy was right. In this instance, the whelp was the teacher and he was the student.

Spike hated it.

~~~~~~~
It wasn't until she was awake, that Faith realized she'd just experienced her first real Slayer dream.

It was finally official—she was a slayer.

This had been the last piece of the puzzle—eluding her for nearly a year as she had struggled to adjust to her new life.

Unlike Buffy, Faith had some warning about her possible calling—but not much.

The Tweed Guys had found her on her fourteenth birthday while sitting in the dirty and dank hallways of Juvenile Detention, awaiting her placement. She'd been taken in for beating the neighborhood bully nearly to death.

The Tweeds rescued her, stuck her with her first Watcher—a gentle and kind woman with a sharp mind and even sharper combat skills.

It wasn't until Faith herself had been called, did she learn that her guardian had been a potential slayer herself.

All of it—the saving Faith from the juvy authorities to taking the errant young girl under their wings to training her—teaching her how to defend herself—was wonderful. A lifeboat in a sea of neglect and abuse that had been Faith's life since birth.

It was just a shame that it'd been too late.

The scars were already there. The abuse had already been suffered. Her psyche had already been damaged.

Faith knew this.

So did her watcher.

Too bad The Powers That Be didn't and activated her anyway.

And just like her rescue two years before and her calling, the dream was too little too late—

Especially since it forewarned her of her own death.

Groaning softly, ever conscious of Angelus sleeping beside her, Faith tugged on the chains that had her secured to the iron bed.

His bed.

He couldn't have his pet slayer run away and leave him, now could he?

Never before had she felt the need to flee as much as she did at that moment. Not with Kakistos, not with Mr. Trick and not with her drunken mother standing over her with a hairbrush, ready to strike.

Because, if the dreams were right—she'd have to sacrifice herself for the greater good. The same good that had ignored her and allowed her to suffer at the hands of her mother and the countless boyfriends she had paraded through their home. The same good that seemed always to favor Buffy over herself, no matter how much heart Faith put into slaying and fighting for the Light.

And for the first time in her seventeen years, Faith didn't know if she had the power to refuse.

It was at that moment Faith finally understood what it meant to be the Slayer…

It meant that she had to be willing to sacrifice everything that she was for the cause because not to, would mean certain death for the world.

She also understood what the other slayer gave up the year before and Faith couldn't help but wonder what kind of drugs The Powers That Be were on to choose this time to finally force Faith into coming into her full destiny.

~~~~~~~
"Gone?" Buffy asked, dropping the towel onto the chair beside her closet. "What do you mean, gone?"

Spike felt his throat dry as he stared at the naked young woman standing in front of him, hands on her hips, her breasts tilted up fetchingly as her eyes flashed angrily at him.

"Spike! Get your eyes back in your head! Where the hell is Whistler?"

He groaned, dropping his head as he tried willing his hard-on down. "Get some clothes on, Slayer, before I say the hell with your mum and your watcher and I throw you on that bed right now!" His eyes flashed yellow as they met hers.

She gave him a purely feminine smile and nodded her head in acquiescence. "As you wish." She turned around and began dressing.

"So, did he say anything to anyone before he disappeared into the Great Unknown?"

Spike fell back onto the bed and shrugged. "It depends if you call visiting Harris' dreams, saying anything, luv."

Finally dressed in a pair of jeans and tee shirt, she sat down beside him as she began pulling up her socks. "What? What did he say?"

"He said 'to listen to my heart and remember my folklore.'"

"Damnit Spike, I hate riddles!"

She had just finished tying her shoelaces, when Spike finally couldn't take not knowing anymore. He turned to her and lifted her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. He had to know what she had dreamt of the night before. "Do you remember what you dreamed, Buffy?"

As he watched the pain ripple across her face, he felt his stomach clench in a knot. Please don't let her say it, he mentally chanted to himself as he watched her take a deep breath and face him once again.

"It was a slayer dream."

"And?" He asked, needing to push her—needing to know the answer.

She shook her head and stood up. As she paced in front of him, he could feel the pain and anger coming off her in waves. "I don't know if I want to tell you. I'm afraid you'll freak and ruin whatever chance I have to survive this." She stopped and kneeled in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. "One thing I've learned is that these dreams hide the real truth underneath appearances. Meanings are tucked underneath visions. The truth is never clear."

"Love, what did you dream?" He asked, grabbing her hot and sweaty hands in his, stilling her.

Sighing, she lifted her head and met his eyes. "I dreamt of my death. Faith kidnapped me and Dru whipped me and she and Angelus drained me. " She shrugged. "And that's it—minus some really gory details that I don't feel like sharing right now—including blood and sex." She stopped and forced herself to grin and added sarcastically, "You know, those things that seemed to go hand in hand with vampires in general."

Spike traced the tear trails with his finger and leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. After pulling her up into his lap, he wrapped his arms around her small, warm body, all the while inhaling her sweet scent.

If he lost her…

He found he couldn't finish that thought.
 

Chapter Thirteen





"So, just so we're all on the same page," Buffy started as she began pacing the kitchen floor. "Whistler has left. And if he follows his modus operandi, that means the bad mojo—the really bad mojo is coming. And, just when we could actually use another Watcher—the Wonderless Wesley has scurried home to the Motherland—"

"Buffy," Giles said, chiding her.

Buffy heard Spike chuckle softly behind her.

"—And," she continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "There's a new prophecy afoot and finally, I dreamt last of being tortured and drained at the hands of Dru and Angelus. Not a fun way to say adios to this world."

She felt a pair of cool arms wrap themselves around her waist, stilling her as her stomach did a lazy roll as flashes of the night before came to mind. She could really get used to this—his support, his love—his caring. She felt him kiss her on the top of the head.

She just had to stay alive long enough to enjoy it.

"Love, you said yourself these dreams aren't meant to be taken literally."

She sighed softly, knowing that he was right and nodded in agreement. "Well yeah, I may know it, Spike, but that doesn't mean I feel it." She turned to look at Giles. "What exactly did this prophecy say again, Giles?" She bent her head to the side and rested it against his forearms. Feels so good...

Giles pulled out a piece of paper and slipped on his glasses. "Like I said earlier, it's only one stanza—"

"Which means what, mate?"

Giles looked up at Spike and frowned. "That there may be more coming. With the Codex, prophecies don't always appear complete. Something may happen which will trigger another line, or change what's written." The watcher cleared his throat and looked down at the table. "This is what has been revealed so far: 'What was once of light, is now of the dark. That of the dark has been lightened. The prisoner shall finally be free. What was, will no longer be. What will be, has never been.'"

"Can I see that?" Willow asked, her hand extended to the paper.

Giles nodded and pushed it across the table.

Willow studied it quietly for a moment and lifted her head to meet Buffy's eyes. "This first line is easy. 'What was once of light, is now of the dark.' The first person I think of is Faith. But it also could apply to Angel."

"Maybe it's about both of them," Oz said, reading over Willow's shoulder. "Why not? Their defection—together—is what is so devastating, right?"

"Yeah," Xander said as he sunk down even further in his chair. "If it had just been Faith—it would've hurt, but it wouldn't have hit us this hard. With Deadboy—" Xander stopped, shaking his head. "Damn, I'm going to have to figure out another name for him," he said shaking his head.

"Try Peaches. He loves that, mate," Spike said as he tightened his arm around Buffy's waist.

"Peaches? Why Peaches? Is it because he's got—" Xander stopped and his head fell dramatically on top of the table. "Never mind, I know. Peaches it is."

Buffy couldn't help but smile to herself as she watched her friend turn an interesting shade of gray. So, that's how vampire's blush, she thought to herself. She knew why Spike called him Peaches. Angel was a pretty young man when he was turned. In other words, not all his body hair had filled before he had been turned. Some of it was more like peach-fuzz than real honest body hair. She had to admire Spike's ability to hit below the belt.

Another thing to love about him.

"So," Joyce said as she picked up the paper. "If the first line refers to both Angel and Faith, then the second line refers to Spike, right?"

"That would be my assumption. 'That of the dark has been lightened,' brings me to believe that Spike, not evil anymore, but still a demon, loyalty's have changed. Whistler once told me that the group of demons that he associates with call themselves the Gray Council, using the Tolkien reference as a guide."

Cordelia looked up from the table and sighed. "It also could mean Faith."

"Why?" Buffy asked.

Cordelia shrugged. "No matter how angry and hateful she is, she's still a slayer, Buffy. Think about it."

Buffy's eyes shut and shook her head. "I don't want to think about it. It's the bitch's fault that all of this happened—"

"Buffy!"

"Mom, it’s true! If she hadn't joined forces with the Mayor, none of this would've happened!"

"That maybe true, pet," Spike said, as he leaned over her shoulder to look at her. "But I know first hand how hard it is to go against your nature. If what Whistler says is true, it took me two incarnations to finally accept that I wasn't a card member of the demon's from Hell anymore. The other slayer may find that she can't follow through—no matter how angry she is."

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. But it couldn't seem to stop the raging hate that filled her heart every time she thought of Faith's defection. Her sister-in-arms left her. In some ways, Faith's abandonment hurt her more than Angel's. At least with Angel, he didn't have a choice. Faith made a choice. And if her visions had any truth in them, then Faith also would play a key role in her death as well.

How could she ever forgive that?

Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself out of Spike's arms and walked over to the table and picked up the piece of paper. "'The prisoner shall finally be free,'—that's got to be referring to Angel's soul. Since we now know that demons only dominate a person, not kick the soul out as we were led to believe, then his soul would be a prisoner is his demon-ruled body. If what this says is true, that means his death is pretty much a given. All this so he could die?" She shook her head. "It just doesn't make any sense."

Willow reached over and squeezed Buffy's hand. "I know, Buffy. I miss him too."

Buffy's eyes shut—ignoring that familiar stab of pain that seared her heart everytime she thought of Angel—and took a deep breath. "Well," she said, reading the last two lines of the prophecy. "Does anyone even care to guess what the hell these last two lines mean? 'What was will no longer be. What will be, has never been.' I've heard of vague-ing it up—but this has got to take the cake."

Giles took off his glasses and sighed. "As of right now, I'd have to agree with you, Buffy. It appears to be nebulous on purpose. It could be that we aren't supposed to know until it happens—if it happens."

"Then why write it?" She snapped, slamming the paper down on the table, causing nearly everyone to jump in their seats. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Okay, what else? We have Whistler's message to Spike and my dream."

"What exactly was the message, Xander?"

Xander sighed and looked over at the watcher. "He said to tell Spike that he should 'listen to his heart and remember his folklore.'"

"Anything else?"

"Sorry, G-man, that's it."

Giles nodded. "Well, since our enemies have such an intimate knowledge of our tactics, I do think it would be for the best that no one goes anywhere—day or night without a partner. That means you too, Buffy. Especially with your dream. Faith, unlike her companions, can go out during the day and I'm sure, they'll take advantage of that."

"Giles, what about school? Tomorrow is Monday."

Cordelia sighed. "You guys go ahead and do a round-robin. My parent's are out of town for the next week and you two can with me." She turned and looked at Xander. "And you too, if you want."

Xander smiled at her and reached over the table for her hand.

"Sorry about that love, but he's staying with me. Where ever the hell that is."

"Here, right Mom?"

"Buffy—"

Giles stood up and walked over to Joyce. "Will you all excuse us for a moment?"

At the various nods, Giles grasped Joyce's elbow and led her out of the room.

"Why does he have to stay with you?" Cordelia asked as she stood up.

"Because, pet, he's just a fledgling and until I feel he's ready to go out on his own, he's sticking with me."

Buffy watched Xander reach for Cordelia's hand and tug her back down to her seat. "He's right, Cordy. It's part of the whole now-Xander's-a-blood-sucking-fiend-package."

"Is he right? Is this is some vampire thing?"

Spike chuckled softly as he nodded yes. "Love, if he didn't need me to keep an eye out on him, I sure as hell wouldn't be angling to have him spend more time with me than necessary."

"Thanks a lot."

Giles and Joyce stepped back into the room with Joyce in the lead.

"Well?" Buffy asked.

"I'll be staying at Mr. Giles until this mess gets cleared up."

"Unfortunately," Giles said as he took his glasses off and began to polish them. "If Spike and Xander found somewhere else to stay, they wouldn't be protected by the invite rule. Until this is settled, it would be for the best if they stayed with one of us. And as the slayer, Buffy, you're in the best position to protect yourself, if the need arises."

Buffy nodded as she turned to her mother. "Thanks Mom, I know how hard that was," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joyce opened her arms and Buffy fell into her embrace, reveling in the feel of security that her mother's arms could bring her. Just for one second, she could forget everything and be the little girl with ribbons that wanted to be an ice skater when she grew up.

It was a shame that second always seemed to get shorter the older Buffy got.

Buffy pulled back and sighed. "I want to patrol. I'm sure, if Angelus is anything like he was last year, he's been busy."

"Take Xander and Spike with you. As for the rest of you—we need to do some research." Giles stood up and walked over to her mother, taking her arm and led Willow, Oz and Cordelia out of the house.

~~~~~~~
Faith tugged on the leather collar around her neck and stared at the front of the mansion.

She so did not want to go in there.

In the past day, she had begun to hate herself when she was around Angelus. It was like everything that she'd ever worked to be as person disappeared under a cloud of lust and pain—leaving only a shadow of her former self in its wake. And then she would glance at Druscilla and feel her stomach take a nauseous turn, fighting to rid herself of her last meal.

That could be her in a few years—if she lived that long.

How did this happen?

Even the mayor noticed the difference in her. He said as much earlier when she brought Wesley in to meet him. As planned the night before, he agreed to use some of his more obscure contacts to come up with a cover for the ex-Watcher's disappearance and made arrangements for him to be sent to LA that very same night.

Faith shuddered.

She hated her watcher as a vampire. Devious, arrogant and cruel—with none of the social restraints that kept him in place before losing his soul. Faith didn't think it was possible for one man to be more of an asshole than he had been before he was turned.

She had just been proven wrong.

After getting Wesley packed up and moved out, the mayor sat her down and had a heart to heart talk with her. How could a man that could be so malevolent and evil, care so deeply for her? Because he did. He asked her if she had eaten yet and when she told him no, he called out for some take-out Italian and prodded her for the next hour on what was going on at the mansion.

She avoided his questions, knowing that he would be furious if he found out that Angelus had been abusing her, but she just couldn't risk him being hurt. If she did talk and Angelus discovered her indiscretion, not only was she at risk, but the mayor as well.

She actually was afraid for Richard. Because deep down, she knew if anyone could figure out how to bust through his invincibility, it would be Angelus. She couldn't let that happen. Mayor Wilkins was the first person to actually take an interest in her—love her and only her—since her first watcher.

She loved him too much to lose hi.

So instead, she put on her best face and smiled at all the appropriate places, eased the older man's fears and left as quickly as possible.

He even accepted her explanation for the collar. She told him she had picked up months ago and only now, decided to wear it.

Chuckling softly, she shook her head.

She could only wish that were true. No, the collar was Angelus' gift to her and he had the only key.

After he woke up in the afternoon and tortured her with his sensuous touch and lively tongue and fucked her until her legs felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets—sending her into a blissful high that clouded every sensible bone in her body, she felt the collar slip around her neck and the click of the lock being turned.

"Faith, now everyone will know who you belong to," Angelus whispered in her ear as his fingers titillated her clit. Grabbing a hold of the chains, Faith's eyes shut—desperately trying to stop the tears that were slipping out as she felt her body tighten as yet another orgasm tore through her.

She didn't know who she hated more—him or herself.

~~~~~~~
"Xander?"

The young vampire looked up to see his best friend standing in front of him—concern marring her features.

He sighed. I wonder when I'll stop doing that? he asked himself as he watched her facial features change from concern to hesitant. Dread filled him, intuitively knowing what she was going to ask him. He could almost hear the words before they left her mouth...'how are you?...do you want to talk about it?...are you okay with this?...'

Every imagined question was like a stake in his heart—bringing up emotions that he had yet to weed through or even understand. How could he explain to her that he had no idea how he was doing? That two days ago he was worried about flunking that history test and now his soul was in a constant battle with a demon to control his blood lust and not drain his instinctual enemy and his best friend, the slayer.

How could he tell her any of this?

How could he tell anyone any of this?

He pulled his eyes away from her and looked across his shoulder at Spike and for the first time since this whole mess started he wished that Deadboy was still...Deadboy—the souled, angst-filled vampire that he had spent the last three years hating.

Angel would've talked to him and helped him.

Xander chuckled softly. The irony was rich. Here were two vampires, both sired by the same vampire and one yearns for the demon he was nearly a hundred years before and the other wishes with all his undead heart for Angelus' souled counterpart. Neither of them satisfied with the vampire as he was right now.

To coin a phrase Spike used – it was a bloody mess.

Sighing again, he turned back to Buffy and smiled down at her. "Yeah?"

Shrugging, she began kicking the gravel under her feet and suddenly she sighed. Pursing her lips in thought, she suddenly growled softly. "Why is this so hard, Xan?" She rolled her eyes. "I mean—I don't even know where to begin. And if I feel that way, I can just imagine how you feel." She began to wring her hands. "I can't help you with the I'm-a-blood-sucking-demon-with-a-soul-stuff, so I'm not even going to try—unless you come to me," she amended. "But your parents—can you or do you even want to talk about that?"

Of all the things she could ask, it had to be this one—the one subject that he'd managed to steer clear of since he woke up this afternoon. He shook his head. "I'm not really ready, Buff. Don't know if I'll ever be, you know? Close, bonding moments were not a norm at the Harris household. Drunken, screamed-filled nights were. Unfortunately, I can't remember feeling anything for either of them other than contempt for so long, I don't even know how I feel now that they're gone."

She squeezed his arm and nodded sympathetically. "Well, okay," she said as she dropped her arm and began pacing again.

"How are you doing?"

"Me?"

He nodded. "Yeah you."

She shrugged and looked over at Spike.

The vampire was staring off into the cemetery, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against headstone. A small smile curled her lips and Xander couldn't help but shake his head at his friend's choices for boyfriends. When he heard her yell out the night before, for a moment, he felt his world crumble. All that kept running through his mind was, 'not Buffy, please not Buffy too.'

He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed to discover that it had been a yell of pleasure and not of fear or pain.

"I'm all right. In someways, better than I've been in long time and others, not too good."

Xander nodded, thinking of the prophecy and her dream. He felt the air stir and looked up to see Spike head over towards them. He watched the vampire walk over to Buffy and wrap his arms around her and kiss her gently on the forehead. "Why don't we hit another cemetery, love. This place is dead," he said, grinning.

Xander rolled his eyes and groaned softly as Buffy pulled back far enough to playfully hit Spike in the stomach.

"That joke horrible the first time I heard it. After the thousandth, it just gets worse." Sighing, she bent her head back and looked up at him and smiled. "All right, I guess you're right." She lifted her head and glanced over at Xander. "Let's head out."

Xander nodded, picking up her slaying bag and followed the couple out of the cemetery.

It's going to be a long night, he thought to himself as he gave the cemetery one last backward glance. Make that a long unlife.


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

Chapter Fourteen





School.

Sighing softly, she stared at the entrance as Sunnydale High School and wondered if she had the strength to go inside.

Dread filled her—it seeped into every pore of her body—causing her stomach to sickeningly reject the English muffin she had manage to swallow down earlier.

Please don't let me throw up...please.

She so did not want to be here.

She didn't want to face the knowing glances of her schoolmates as the whispered about the Harris'—just loud enough for her to hear.

She didn't want to deal with the guilt that was sure to come everytime Harmony's name was brought up...

All her fault.

Ultimately, no matter how much Xander, Cordelia, Willow, Oz, Giles—now even Spike—tried to bare some of the load that fell on her taut shoulders—it really didn't matter.

In the end, it was her fault.

She failed when she allowed Angelus to live for the five months he did the year before when he had first lost his soul.

If she had done her duty then, Jenny Calendar would be still alive, Giles' hands wouldn't ache everytime the barometric pressure dropped, Xander would still be human, Harmony would still be alive and annoying—hell, maybe even Faith would still be fighting with her instead of against her.

The only good that came of Angelus' existence last Spring was the shaky alliance between her and Spike. The same alliance that eventually led him back to her nearly a year later—but this time to her heart.

And even that argument was questionable. He could've very well on his own decided to change sides...although most likely if that had happened, it would've been much later—long after Buffy was gone.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and turned to see a very concerned Giles watching her. "Buffy, we need to go inside," he said softly.

She nodded, grabbed her book bag and slipped out of the car.

Together, slayer and watcher headed towards the school doors.

~~~~~~~
Faith watched as Buffy and Giles entered the school together and found herself sighing in relief.

More time to put off the inevitable.

Obviously, Giles had decided to use his brains when combating Angelus this time. Since nearly 6 am she had been watching the Summers' home and was actually surprised to see the watcher's beat-up old Citroen pull up in front of the slayer's house. Seconds later, both car doors opened and Faith watched Joyce Summers and Giles exit the car and quickly slip inside her home.

Not even five minutes later, all three of them left together.

Guessing that they were going to drop off Joyce Summers first, Faith decided to beat the slaying team to school and see if she could see what was going on with the rest of the Scooby Gang.

Sure enough, after waiting only five minutes, she spotted Oz's van pull into the school lot and park. Minutes later, Cordelia, Willow and Oz stepped out of the van.

Together.

The Scooby Gang wasn't taking any chances. A part of Faith actually felt proud of her former allies—knowing that they were taking the Angelus/Faith combination seriously—not allowing themselves to be lulled by the apparent safeness of daylight.

But as proud as she may feel, she also knew they were making her job all the more difficult. And if Faith didn't grab Buffy within the next couple of days, the Slayer doubted she would survive the wrath of Angelus.

So, here she was—damned if she did, damned if she didn't and she had no idea what to do about it.

If she actually succeeded in getting Buffy to Angelus without getting mortally wounded in the process, it only confirmed Faith's dreams—which in turn made her death more real.

It's your choice, babe, her inner voice reminded her. You could still kidnap B, hand her over to Loverboy and go back to your apartment—let the Fates decided the future of the other slayer. Not you.

Although her voice was right—hell, it was always right—Faith didn't know if she could do that—just leave the other Slayer with Angelus and Dru—without her being present as a witness.

Whether or not they were on the same side didn't really matter when it came to honor. B and Faith were of the same ilk—they were Slayers. Out of five billion humans on this planet—there were only the two of them. Didn't she owe her sister—in some ways more true than if B were of the same blood—the common courtesy and respect due a slayer to be there during her death?

But see, there lies the crux of the problem, she thought to herself. If Faith stayed for those festivities, how would she not follow through with her own destiny?

The destiny her slayer dream had shown her?

Groaning, the dark-haired slayer punched the steering wheel, nearly bending it as her mind swirled around the issue. No matter how many times or how many angles she looked at it—she always ended up in the same place.

Her death.

So angry at her fate, the slayer didn't even notice the tears that ran freely down her face as she slammed the car into first gear and headed back to her apartment.

If she had, she may've just drove straight out of Sunnydale; Faith hadn't cried in nearly a dozen years.

Things were not boding well for her—not at all.

~~~~~~~
As Willow stepped into the library and stared at the empty seat that Xander used to sit in every morning before class, she stopped in her tracks. Her heart dropped into her stomach, her eyes filled with unshed tears as a deep, heart-wrenching pain filled her.

She recognized it. It was similar to the one she had when she realized Jesse was really gone—no longer there to listen to her moan about Xander's obliviousness, or her parent's absence.

An emptiness that had yet to be filled.

Unconsciously, she reached over and grabbed Cordelia's hand, somehow knowing that she needed the other girl's support—to know that someone was aching as much as she, and squeezed it.

Cordelia squeezed back.

"It'll be okay, Willow," Oz whispered as his arm tightened around her waist. "He may not be able to be here today—but tonight it's possible."

She nodded once, acknowledging Oz's voice of reason and looked over at Cordelia.

The cheerleader had yet to relinquish her hold on Willow's hand—her tan face washed out and pale, as she absently chewed on her bottom lip. "It's really real. I wanted it to be a dream. For me to walk in here—insult him about his clothes or his lack of coolness and be able walk away, my head up high with the knowledge that yet again, I managed to get underneath his skin." She let out a harsh laugh. "Guess who the loser is now—"

Willow found herself in the invariable position of defending Cordelia, of all things, against herself. "No Cordy, he always knew—and still does—that's just your way. It may've angered him sometimes—but it never changed his feelings for you." Willow took one last deep breath and looked over at the prom queen. "Besides, why do you need me to tell you that for? Didn't he want to stay with us last night? He wanted to be with you—just like he always has. Not Buffy and Spike, that's for sure."

Cordelia let go of her hand and straightened her shoulder as a small smile curled her lips. Willow could feel the other girl's gratefulness for changing the subject.

"Don't I know it. I mean, Spike—look at him! When do you think he's last changed his clothes style? And bleaching your hair white? How Loserville can you get?"

Willow heard Buffy's giggle before she stepped out of Giles' office. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to work on him about that. Even me, the fashion faux pas of Sunnydale, can see that Spike's wardrobe is definitely in need of rescuing."

Willow chuckled softly as she moved over to their table. "Well Buffy, considering your job is rescuing, you should be perfect for the job—the job that is rescuing Spike from his dated clothes closet."

"Closet? Does he even have a closet?" Cordelia asked as she sat down in her chair, placing her books in Xander's seat and pulled out a nail file.

Buffy shook her head in mock dismay. "Try a duffel bag of unknown origins...crammed with various sundries that I have periodic nightmares about."

"I don't know Buffy, but that seems a little worrisome," Oz said, his face expressionless except for his eyes which Willow could see were sparkling with humor.

"I'd have to agree with you under normal circumstances—but nightmares about the killer duffel bag are lot easier to deal with than some of the other nasties that like to visit my personal sleepytime."

"So, how was Xander?" Cordy asked, still filing her nails.

Buffy shrugged. "I checked up on him before I left and he was still asleep. I do know that Spike's planning on giving Xanman his first lessons on how to be a member of the undead community. Whatever that means."

Willow frowned, seeing the dark circles under the slayer's eyes, despite her forced cheeriness. "Are you okay? Any dreams last night?"

"Tired...regular, run-of-the-mill nightmares—but nothing like Slayer dreams. I'm okay, Will, I just didn't want to be here."

Oz chuckled. "Well, you're not alone. We three almost skipped until Willow reminded us that you would be here dealing with all this on your own."

Buffy's head dropped as she stared at her own nails. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"Well, you owe us," Cordy snapped as she stood up and grabbed her books. "Because the way I see it, I could've watched All My Children and at a pint of Ben & Jerry's today. I so do not want to deal with this!"

The slayer lifted her blond head and looked over at Cordelia. "You're right—I do owe you."

Willow scrambled out of her own seat—seeing a need to break the tension—and grabbed her backpack. "We better get going. We don't need to be late for first hour—on top of everything else."

She walked over to the door and stopped. "Giles, I'll be here during third hour—my free period."

"Oh right. Thank you, Willow."

"Bye Giles."

"See you later, Giles."

"Later!"

And all four of them left for first hour.

Willow only wished the rest of the day went as smoothly.

~~~~~~~

After popping his meal into the microwave, Spike opened the basement door and flipped the light switch a couple of times.

"Hey Xander—time to get up! If we're going to train, you need to wake up now!"

Spike heard a low-level growl echo through the basement and chuckled softly to himself. The whelp was not a morning person.

Or was that afternoon person now?

"Oh well, too bloody bad," Spike whispered to himself as the microwave beeped. After pulling out his glass mug filled with now warm blood, he stuck Xander's in it and once again programmed it.

Just as he was about to yell down the basement again, the phone rang.

Thinking it was Buffy or Joyce, Spike picked it up.

"'Allo?"

"May I speak to Joyce Summers please?"

Frowning at the official sounding voice, Spike inwardly groaned—just knowing that this wasn't good news. "She's not here, mate. She's at work."

"Would that be Summers Gallery in Sunnydale, California?"

"Yes...?"

"Very well, I'll try her there. But if I don't get a hold of her, could you give her a message for me?"

"Sure thing, mate," Spike said as he picked up the pen and paper by the phone, preparing to write it down.

"Tell her to please contact Lt. Richardson at the Santa Monica Police Department at 555-1500 extension 1320. Tell her it's of the utmost importance concerning Henry W. Summers."

Spike repeated the message to make sure he got it right and hung up the phone. With his hand still on the receiver, he turned to Xander, who was now drinking his breakfast.

"Let me make a guess and say that wasn't Ed McMahon calling saying Joyce won ten million bucks."

"Unfortunately no. What's the library's phone number?"

Xander rattled it off and Spike dialed it, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor as he waited for the watcher to answer.

"Sunnydale Library."

"Giles?'

"Yes, is this Spike?"

"Yeah mate, we've got trouble."

Five minutes later, Spike had his coat on and his breakfast downed as he tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Xander. "Hurry up, boy! We don't have all day!"

Grumbling could be heard as the youngster stomped up the stairs. "Are you sure it's safe for me to go there? I mean, everyone thinks I'm dead!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Come on, kid. Get real! The way people forget things in this town; no one will bat an eye if they see you. Besides, we're going through the sewers and entering through the back of the library. I seriously doubt if we'll run into anyone of the living."

"What about the unliving?"

Spike shrugged as he picked up two black blankets that he had carefully tugged off a couple of dining room windows and handed one to Xander. "You've fought vampires for how many years and you're worried now?"

Xander had the sense to laugh. "All right, you win," he muttered as he covered his head. "Now, if I remember right, there's a sewer entrance just in front of the house."

Spike nodded a knowing smirk on his face.

"You knew?

"Of course I knew. You think I didn't know every possible way to get to the slayer's house when I was itching to break her neck? Granted, back then she was still the slayer—even in my mind—but I tend remember things like that. Especially if I'm living here."

Xander sighed as he shook his head. "So much to learn..."

Spike chuckled softly as he walked past him and headed for the front door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to Xander. "Are you sure you want to come with me? Two days old and day traveling is not exactly conducive to a long unlife..."

"I'm sure. Let's get going before I do something like vampiric equivalent to pissing in my pants."

Spike nodded sunglasses in place and opened the door.

As they ran to the sewer entrance, all Spike could think was he was grateful he didn't hear any screams of burning death.

Maybe the day wasn't too bad after all.

~~~~~~~

"Oz and Cordelia will go pick her up," Willow said quietly as she rubbed her friend's back. "Giles, could you write them passes?"

Sighing softly, Giles nodded as he filled out two excuse slips. "I'll just run these down to the principal's office—"

"What about Schneider?"

The watcher pulled off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "I really don't care about Schneider at the present. If I have to deal with him, I'm sure I'll manage."

Willow nodded, noting a bit more of 'Ripper' coming out—more so than normal. She turned to Buffy and felt her heart break. There she sat on the couch, her feet pulled up and arms wrapped tightly around them as she rocked back and forth. Although she didn't hear the sobs, Willow knew if she was facing her friend, she would see the tears.

Buffy had a tendency—especially in the last year, to mourn quietly—as if she feared what would happen if she actually expressed her pain outloud.

Oh sure, there were exceptions. Her eighteenth birthday...when Angel's return from Hell was discovered...but they were in actuality, few and far between.

Which was what really worried Willow. Out of everything that had happened in the past three days, didn't this deserve the sobs?

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

Buffy could feel Willow's concern, her hesitant desire to comfort her, but she couldn't accept it.

She didn't deserve it.

It was all her fault.

The guilt, which seemed so horribly heavy this morning, was nothing like what she felt now. Now it felt as if her heart had been torn out and stomped on.

As her mother's words kept replaying in her head, it was all she could do not to go crazy—berserk—run out of the building right in Faith's waiting hands.

Just so she wouldn't have to feel this horrible thing stuck in her throat, clawing at her—desperate to escape.

Those idle words of her mother's...idle, because taken separately, they could mean so many different things.

But together, they destroyed her world.

I’m so sorry honey...pause...sniffle...but your father's dead...

Dead.

Just like Angel and Harmony.

Just like Xander.

Just like she was going to be in a few days.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead by vampires.

Dad. Angel. Xander. Harmony. Me.

All dead.

All my fault.

~~~~~~~
It was Willow who was waiting for Xander and Spike at the back of the library. As she leaned against the bookcase, tears slipping down her pale cheeks, she wondered if anything would keep Buffy from running out to confront Faith.

Goddess, Angelus knew where to strike and how to hurt her. If he had used this method the year before, the world would've surely been sucked into hell, because the slayer would've been dead or even worse, her spirit would've been shattered.

Much like it has now.

Biting her bottom lip, she jumped when she saw the door open and Spike and Xander step into the library. Xander immediately ran to Willow, wrapping a cool arm around her shoulders and kissed her gently on her hair.

For the first time since he'd been turned, she didn't care that he was cold. She was just glad he was there.

Willow grabbed Spike's arm before he began to walk away.

"What?" He snapped impatiently.

"She's really bad Spike. Please get through to her. I think she's going to run right out of here to Faith. I mean it." Willow added as she dropped her hand.

Spike nodded and took off towards the front of the library.

Maybe he would get through to her.

He had to.
 

Chapter Fifteen









When Spike saw his lover sitting in the corner of the watcher's office, rocking back and forth, hugging her knees so tightly that the blood had stopped circulating in her fingers, for a moment he flashed back to Dru.

How many times had he been faced with this type of situation with Dru, rocked emotionally senseless from the various voices of her insanity?

Too many to count.

Taking an unneeded breath in preparation, he stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. Slowly, he made his way to her, all the while racking his mind for something to say to her other than, 'it sucks, doesn't it love?' which unfortunately was the only thing he could come up with at the moment.

Because that's what it was—a sucky situation in which there were no real words of comfort other than the obligatory fate answer which really seemed a bit lame to him.

Why else was her father sucked dry and his dead body left sitting at the patio table in the backyard with his uneaten dinner in front of him? A small dinner alone in his backyard had become the playing ground for some vampire with his own dinner on his mind.

Or it was revenge?

Which of course, the slayer automatically assumed it was or she wouldn't be so distraught now.

Sighing softly, he sat down beside her, lit a cigarette and waited.



~~~~~~~
Buffy wasn't sure how long Spike had been there, sitting quietly next to her when it finally hit her that she was no longer alone.

So Buff, are you going to talk to him or not? she asked herself as she stilled her body and dropped her hands.

She turned to face him, really studying his angular profile and heard herself sigh appreciatively. And even as that thought managed so slip out, another bout of bone-jarring guilt slammed through her.

She didn't deserve to feel anything good. She failed. She was no slayer. If she had been the kind of slayer all those stupid watchers touted as law—her father would still be alive—Xander would still be alive—Angel...Angel would be dust and so would Spike.

Her chest tightened as her eyes filled with tears at the craziness of it all. No wonder slayers never lived long—the sheer grayness of her duty seemed to grow more with each day—leaving her so torn that she had no idea what her duty was.

What was it? Three years ago when she first found out about her fate? Barely fifteen years old and so naive. When Merrick told her all vampires were bad—she believed him. And why wouldn't she? They were ugly, they sucked the blood out from innocent's necks and they liked to play with their food.

It was so clear back then.

And it was still was clear until she met Angel. One of the most beautiful souls she'd ever met—who worshipped her, loved her and protected her like she was a goddess instead of a confused 16-year-old girl who just happened to kill vampires at night—and he was a vampire.

But at least Angel was cursed with a soul. Her world still could be divided into neat black and white sections. He was good because his soul was in control. Souls were good. Demons were bad.

That lasted until she began fighting with Spike.

First were the questions of how could a demon love someone so much that he would do anything for her—the way Spike loved Druscilla?

How, she asked herself repeatedly late at night when her mind wouldn't shut down long enough for her to fall asleep. Demons weren't supposed to love. Love was a soul thing—not a demon thing.

Then, as the months went by, she got to know him. And she actually found herself enjoying kicking his ass. He was brash, abrasive, fun-loving, intense, cocky, funny...someone that she could enjoy fighting for quite some time. A nice contrast to the dark and broody Angel.

Was that when she first began to feel something other than contempt for Spike?

Or was it those nights that she lay in her bed, missing Angel so much it was like someone cut out a part of her soul and she desperately needed to know that someone out there was feeling the same pain? And knowing that Spike must likely was...

But it could've been when Whistler introduced himself in Giles' townhouse, explaining to her that not all demons were bad—some of them worked for a balance. Not exactly a resounding claim for the good, but one that made sense nonetheless. And right on the heels of Whistler, had come Spike with his offer of an alliance of sorts—to save the world, save Dru and bring down Angelus.

Every reason Spike gave her—even the one with the happy meals with legs, was made from his heart—his feelings. From his love of Dru, hatred of his sire to his desire to see Manchester United win a World Cup and finally to his concern as to where his next meal was going to come from.

All of it came from his heart.

And now, nearly nine months later, the same Spike that told her that he liked this world was sitting quietly beside her, his concern nearly palatable as he waited for her to finally just give in to all those feelings that were running amok in her heart. For her to succumb to the pain—share it with him, so she could go on and be able to face the next day with her stake in hand and vampire dust floating capriciously about her.

She chuckled softly, her head falling on his shoulder as her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the unfairness of it all. To lose her soulmate, find love and lose her father all within three days was almost too much for her broken heart to take.

"Want to talk about, love?" he asked, lighting his second cigarette.

Buffy watched the smoke curl in the afternoon light—swirling seductively in the air and sighed softly.

"I—I don't know," she whispered. "I don't—I can't—I just hurt and feel so guilty..."

He reached for her hand and held it tightly in his cool grasp. "We don't know for sure he was killed by Angelus—"

She stiffened, immediately trying to pull her hand away as she felt the low ebbing anger that had been simmering underneath the guilt, seep through.

Spike didn't let go.

"You know I'm right."

Growling softly, she relaxed and closed her eyes. "Yes, I know you're right—but I live on the Hellmouth and coincidences don't happen. He killed my father because he couldn't touch any of us!"

Another exhale of smoke—adding to the dimming whirls in the air.

"And if he did? What could've you done, pet? Be in two places at the same—"

This time she did get free as she shot up on her feet. Ignoring the tingling in her limbs, she began pacing restlessly in front of him as her eyes stared at the walls around them. "I failed last year, Spike. That's what this is about, Spike. Don't you get it? Xander was right last year. I should've staked the fucking bastard the moment I realized he lost his soul! If I had, then everything would be different," she ended softly, with her hands on her hips, as she studied the linoleum-tiled floor. "Everything."

Spike dropped his cigarette and crushed the butt with his boot. Buffy looked over at him in time to see him shaking his head at her.

"What? You don't think I'm right? Didn't you come here three months ago with some drunken plan to kill Angel and me because I failed my duty last year? Didn't you?"

He snorted as he stood up and walked over to her, careful to remain out of the direct sunlight. "Love, I was pissed, drunk, angry, lonely and didn't want to accept that I didn't have the balls to kill him myself. A lot easier to blame you then it was to accept some of it myself.

"I sat there, in that bloody chair for two months longer than I needed to—just biding my time. Just like you were, love. I wanted you to do it—take him down because I didn't want to. Acathla is what got my sorry ass in gear. Just like you.

"I'm a bloody master vampire and I let that wanker fuck me over and basically pried my own cheeks open so he could do it!"

Buffy watched as his face morphed—his yellow eyes glaring at her—as he struggled to keep his anger in check and felt something crack in her heart. Maybe it was hearing of his anger and guilt being repeated back to her that made her realize that they were both victims of their heart. What made Spike unique as a vampire was the same thing that made her unique as a slayer—their ability to feel and do so deeply.

They fought and lived for their hearts.

Her chest heaved as a loud sob escaped her lips. Knees buckling, she fell down on the floor, as her whole body shook. Seconds later, Spike was there, wrapping his cool arms around her as he pulled her on his lap, rocking her back and forth as she cried tears for both of them.

~~~~~~~
Yawning, Faith pulled her car into SHS parking lot and drove to the side, careful to remain hidden, but able to see the door. She'd just turned off her car when she saw Joyce Summer's pull into the parking lot and hurriedly get out of the car and run to the front entrance.

Something happened.

Faith's gut told her so.

Was that a good thing or bad thing, she asked herself as she leaned back against her seat. Whatever happened, compelled Joyce to break her routine and risk traveling alone—so did that mean Buffy would take that chance too?

And if she did, what would Faith do?

Follow through with Angelus' demands and kidnap Buffy for him or would she ignore the opportunity and risk his wrath?

For two days she had been racking her brains trying to come up with an alternative solution—one that didn't send the world into a millennia of darkness and didn't get her killed and she had yet to find one. Sure, she could try and kill Angelus, but the opportunity had yet to come up. Whether it was because she was the slayer or that he fed from her, she didn't know. But whatever the cause, she had yet to be able to sneak up on him.

He always knew she was there. Even before she could sense him—he was there holding that damn key and grinning maliciously all the while whispering sensually all the things he had planned to do to her. All Faith had to do was hear his voice and she was fucked. Her stomach clenched, her sex became sopping wet and her knees weakened in lust.

He owned her and she had yet to figure out how to buy her soul back from him.

Forcing herself to unclench her teeth, Faith took a deep, calming breath as she tried to relax. It was an almost impossible task and had been since Angelus had returned.

What the hell was she thinking joining up with the Mayor?

It was going to get her killed.

~~~~~~~
"Where is she?" Joyce Summers asked as soon as she stepped through the library doors.

Xander sighed as he stared at Giles' office door. "They're in there," he said, pointing to it.

Joyce started for the door.

"Wait Joyce!"

She turned to him, anger in her eyes as she lifted an eyebrow. "What Xander?"

Running his fingers through his hair, he nodded at the door and shook his head. "She finally broke—a couple of minutes ago. I—I—"

Giles cleared his throat and walked over to Joyce, taking her hand. "Let Spike have a few more moments with her, shall we?"

Joyce looked back over to the door and then up at Giles' eyes and nodded slowly.

Xander watched the ex-watcher lead Joyce to one of the tables and pulled back a chair for her.

Once the older woman finally sat down, tears filled her eyes as her body collapsed—whether it was in exhaustion or pain, the young vampire couldn't tell. But if he had been married as long as Buffy's parents, he knew he would feel the pain. How can you not hurt when you lose someone you had once loved for all those years?

~~~~~~~
Joyce nearly jumped in her seat when she heard the office door click open and shut. Her head shot up and immediately saw Spike leaning against it, eyes shut, his face drawn.

A pair deep blue orbs searched the room and landed on her.

"Joyce, could you sit with her—"

Joyce shot up from her chair and ran across the library to Spike.

"—she's asleep right now, but I don't know how long it's bloody going to last—"

"How is she doing?" Giles asked as he stepped up beside Joyce.

Spike shrugged. "I got her to talk, if that's what's bothering you," the vampire said as he shook out a cigarette and lit it. "She's feeling guilty. Thinks she should've staked him a year ago and everyone will be a lot happier."

Joyce felt her eyes water as she thought of what Spike had just said. How can a 17-year old girl be forced to make choices like that? What kind of higher power would even place this kind of responsibility on girls as young as Buffy...and Faith.

It was almost as if they were asking for trouble.

Blinking back her tears, she reached over and squeezed the vampire's arm. "Thank you, Spike," she whispered and walked past him to Giles' office.

She had her daughter to take care of—something she hoped she would be doing for a long time—if she had any say over the matter.

~~~~~~~
Spike fell into the hard covered chair next to Xander and glanced over at the younger vampire. "How much did you hear, mate?"

The whelp looked up, his brown eyes troubled as he began to roll a pencil across the tabletop. "Enough," he said, looking up. "Enough that I want to run in there and beg for her forgiveness," he admitted softly. "A lot has happened in the past year."

"And?"

Xander looked up and met Spike's eyes. "I don't hate him anymore." He let out a harsh laugh. "Ironic, isn't it? He's gone for good—this time—and I can't even tell him that I'm sorry. Buffy did what she had to do—what she could do and still be true to herself. She couldn't stake him anymore than I could Willow or Cordy, if I were in her shoes. I did it once and I still have nightmares."

"Did what once?" Spike asked, curiosity peaked.

"Stake a friend once he was turned. You never met him. Darla turned him for the Harvest—nearly three years ago. Jesse was his name. He, Willow and I had been best friends since kindergarten."

Xander shoved himself away from the table and ran his fingers through his hair. "I've been thinking about him lately—with all that's happened with me and I can't help but think—what if, you know?" He shook his head, his eyes landing on the office door. "I wouldn't be alone anymore."

Spike shook his head, growling softly. "Were you in danger? Did you have a choice?"

"No, he didn't."

Spike nearly jumped at the sound of the witch's soft voice. "I wasn't there, but Buffy said it was a kill or be turned situation. Xander did what he had to do which I'm eternally grateful for. As well as Buffy, Cordelia—even Giles. Xander, you would've died that night and then who would've brought Buffy back that night she died? Or saved Cordelia when the Order of Takara came calling?"

"Or got me the bloody hell out of Angelus' torture chamber last spring," Giles added, as he placed his hip on the table. "

"Well, from where I sit, it appears that you didn't have a choice, Harris. Anymore than the slayer did when she sent soulboy to Hell." He shook his head as he remembered the guilt that filled her eyes and sighed softly. "Unfortunately, both Buffy and I did have a choice last spring, before Acathla and neither of us did anything about it. That's what tearing her up inside. She knows that Angelus' return, Faith's betrayal—those things and everything that happens because of them—even her father's death—she wasn't at fault. But if she had staked him the year before..."

"Then none of this would even have been an issue," Cordelia finished quietly. "Well, she's right—it wouldn't. "

"Cordy!" Xander snapped.

"But," she continued, obviously ignoring Xander's outburst. "After all that's happened—I don't condemn her. I finally know how she felt. I wouldn't wish last Spring on anyone."

Spike turned his attention to Giles and watched him rub his eyes wearily. "I must say, they never teach you how to deal with that. When the First came last Christmas, wearing Jenny's face, I had my own dose of what Buffy had to deal with. It wasn't pleasant," he added softly.

Spike snorted. "Bloody hell," he whispered, shaking his head.

"What?" Giles asked.

Spike shook his head, wondering how he could even begin to explain his feelings about Angelus' return. At first, he had been so happy to see his sire as he strode into the factory, that he never once considered how much damage the soul had done to his demon. It didn't take long for him to figure out that the Angelus of today was nothing like the Angelus of his younger days. The Angelus that he had loved with all his demon heart.

"Spike?"

Frowning, he leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. "Do you have any idea why I allied myself with the slayer last year?"

"Yeah, you wanted Dru back," Xander said, chuckling softly. "And we see how well that went."

Spike didn't even feel his face change as he glared at the whelp. "Harris—a little more tact, mate. Oh you'll be wearing my boot print on your ass."

Xander scowled softly, slinking in his chair.

"I know this one," Willow said as she sat down across from him and Xander. "You didn't want the world to end, you wanted to kill Angelus and get Dru back."

Spike nodded once, his eyebrow arched.

"Buffy told me—when she got back last fall."

"Well, for all the fighting against demons you all do, you don't know much about them, do you?"

"Meaning what?" Cordy asked. "That they're usually ugly and wear awful, outdated outfits and they want to eat us—present company in someways, excluded. What else is there to know?"

Children, he thought to himself. How did this group of kids beat my ass repeatedly?

That, he may never know.

"Well, as Whistler pointed out to Xander, there's a big difference between minions and childe's, right?"

Xander nodded. "He did, but he never explained how there's a difference."

"Ah, the blood exchange. How much did you drink from Angelus?"

"Mental image not pleasant," Cordelia mumbled to herself as she finally sat down on the other side of Xander.

Xander sighed, his eyes shutting in memory. "A lot right after I woke up. It seemed everytime I turned around, he was pushing my face to his neck or something. And if not him, Dru was doing it as well."

Spike's eyebrow shot up. "Did she drink from you as well, when you were still alive?"

Xander nodded.

That explains it, Spike thought to himself. With both Dru's and Angelus' blood running through him—no wonder he's so powerful for such a young vampire. "They wanted to make sure you were strong—that's why they did that. I've never sired anyone with someone else, but I've heard of it being done before. I'll bet she even added a bit of her blood to Angelus' right after he drained you." Spike dropped his cigarette and crushed the butt under his heel. "Well kid, how does it feel to have two sires?"

Xander visibly shuddered. "Not much better than one," he said, his head dropping.

"Well, back to my original point, like Xander, I was Angelus' childe. And until he became obsessed with Dru, I was his only childe. And he was my world. A childe's loyalty to his sire is unwavering—the exchange of blood does that.

"It wasn't a completely smooth ride, especially after Dru arrived, but in the end, we three became an unstoppable force." His eyes closed as he remembered those days. "He wasn't like he is now. He's the one that showed me the wonders of the world—enjoying all its offerings. He's the one that taught me about loyalty and yes, even love. Yes, he still loved to kill, feed and create havoc, but there was more to unlife than just that. The Angelus that returned last Spring was nothing like that," he finished, opening his eyes to find Red's intense stare on him.

"He changed," Willow whispered.

Spike nodded. "Yeah, he did. The curse did that to him. I don't know how or why—but it made the demon obsessive, angry—destroyed its ability to love. He treated everything around him with contempt. The only thing important to him was destroying the slayer and making my unlife pure hell." He chuckled to himself. "In a sense, he became to me what he became to you all—a hated enemy."

"Wow," Willow said in amazement.

"Well, this is all fine and good," Giles interrupted. "But what does this have to do with Buffy?"

Spike rolled his eyes at the watcher. "Everything, mate. You see, she wasn't the only who failed last spring. For two months, I played possum in that bloody wheelchair—frozen. Just like her, I knew he had to die and just like her, I did nothing and just bided my time—hoping that my sire would return, while she searched for a way to bring her Angel back to her. We both wanted him to live, hoping that he become someone else."

~~~~~~~
Buffy's eyes fluttered open and immediately she recognized her surroundings: she was lying down on Giles' couch in his office.

And she wasn't alone.

She turned her head and saw her mother sitting in a chair; her elbow propped up on the wooden arm of the chair as she rested her head on back of her hand—sleeping soundly.

Even with her eyes closed and face relaxed, Buffy could see the toll the last few days had taken on her. There were dark circles underneath her eyes—her face seemed more pale and drawn. Newly formed worry lines were decorating her forehead and once again, Buffy felt that stab of guilt.

All her fault.

No matter what Spike said, she couldn't blame him. He was a demon. He didn't even have a soul and it wasn't his duty to rid the world of vampires.

It was Buffy's alone.

And because she followed her heart and let her emotions rule her actions, one of the world's most feared vampires was free again to kill and maim—and most likely do it in Buffy's name.

He had to be stopped.

Now.

Before anyone else suffered his wrath because of her.

Careful not to make any noise and wake her mother, Buffy slowly sat up on the couch and looked out the window of the office. Sitting at the Slayerettes favorite table was everyone left in the world she loved—except her mother who was with her now.

Xander—leaning back in his chair—his once tanned face marred by the paleness of a vampire's. She watched as he glared at Spike. Buffy smiled to herself when she realized he was scowling at him.

Willow—sitting across from Xander—looking so much better now that Xander had been ensouled. No matter how much she loved Oz, it had always been apparent that to Buffy that she needed Xander. Xander was her touchstone.

Oz—quietly standing behind Willow—his hands resting on her shoulders. The stalwart guard—the protector—the lover—Willow was his world.

Giles—sitting at the corner of the table—nervously cleaning his glasses as he watched Spike. Impatience and anger seemed to be battling for dominance in his stance as well as on his face. It was a look that Buffy was all too familiar with.

Cordelia. She was sitting on the other side of Xander, much closer to him than she had allowed herself to be for months. No matter how much she may've protested—Buffy saw her love for Xander clearly in everything she did.

And finally, Spike.

Her chest tightened as she watched him growl at Xander—his eyes flashing yellow as a hint of the demon appeared. Even as her eyes filled with tears, a small smile curved her lips as she watched Xander's true face appear when he snarled back at the master vampire. Those two were in for some fun-loving centuries, she thought to herself. They may not see it yet, but they actually get a long—a lot better than Xander did with Angel.

How long has it been since Xander has had close, male friend? Wasn't it three years ago that Jesse had died?

Rubbing dry her face, Buffy realized that even her thoughts didn't want tread on her feelings for Spike. It was as if she knew if she examined them too carefully, she would never follow through with her plan—her heart—her hope—would stop her.

And she couldn't let that happen.

Especially in light of the slayer dream she had just had.

She knew what had to be done. The balance must be maintained or all would be lost.

Angelus must die.

And he had to die soon.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and clasped the cold doorknob in her sweaty hands. I can do this, she thought to herself. I've done it before—I can do it again.

She turned back to look at her mother—memorizing everything about her and sighed. "I love you, Mom," she whispered so softly she was knew she wouldn't hear and bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Once she was sure she wasn't going to cry, she opened the door, put on her best acting face and walked into the library.

As she felt six pairs of eyes land on her, she knew she could do this. She had to or everything she had fought for in the past three years would be for naught. Everything being her loved one's safety.

And she wasn't ready to let go of that hope—it was the only one she had left.

Minutes later, she left the library, supposedly on her way to the restroom, when she snuck down the hallway and headed for the door—careful not to make any noise.

She didn't need to be caught—she was on a mission.

She had places to go—people to see—by herself.

But then, that was always the way of the Slayer—now wasn't it?


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