Part 21:

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Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, picking at her fingernails, waiting for Willow to finish the spell. Impatient, she turned to watch her friend sitting on the bed next to her, in deep concentration.

"Are you almost finished?" she asked, quieting her tone when she realized how harsh she sounded, "I'm getting nervous." When she didn't respond, Buffy added, "Spike could be dead by now."

Willow opened her eyes and glared at Buffy. "I'm working on it . . . it doesn't help me go any faster when you're breathing down my neck."

Buffy cast her gaze to the comforter in front of her, embarrassed. "Sorry," she said meekly.

"Now, shush," Willow scolded, closing her eyes once more. The map in front of her lay still, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder if maybe the Wiccan was doing something wrong. 'Shouldn't the lights flicker or her eyes go all black or something? Or is that white?' she wondered, 'Not that I'm a pro at this or anything. Maybe I should have -'

"Aha!"

Willow's sudden proclamation startled the Slayer from her thoughts, and she hurried over to the other side of the room to see what her friend was 'Aha- ing' about. Willow was seated on the bed, looking at the map triumphantly. A single pinprick of light stood out among the carefully drawn streets of Sunnydale, and Buffy stared at it, confused.

"What's that?" she asked.

Willow glanced over at her and back to the map. "You asked me to find Spike, so, I found him. See that?" she pointed to the little light in the far right corner, "That's his exact location. At least we know he's in Sunnydale."

Buffy leaned over the paper to get a better look, squinting to make out the names of the roads. "Hmm . . ." she said, "It looks like he's in the . . . business district." She paused, thinking. "That's odd, I don't think I've ever seen Spike in the - the Factory!" she finished with a gasp, her face suddenly pale.

"The Factory?" Willow stared at the roads surrounding the twinkling light and wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why is he there? Isn't that place kinda filled with bad Drusilla vibes?"

"It is," Buffy admitted, biting her lower lip in worry, "This definitely doesn't feel right, Will." She paused, her mind flashing back to the previous night's events. "Shit!" she whispered, and Willow looked over at her, nervously.

"Buffy, what -"

"I should have remembered," Buffy chided herself, cutting Willow off mid- sentence, "I should have . . ." she drifted off, then addressed her friend. "Spike. Last night, at the Bronze, he was attacked. When I was leaving I saw these two vamps dragging him off . . . they had knocked him unconscious."

"It could have just been a bar fight," Willow offered, hoping to qualm Buffy's fears, "Spike isn't exactly the most . . . amiable person when he's drunk."

"No, I - he wasn't drunk. And it wasn't just a fight . . . I'm pretty sure . . . because otherwise they would've just beaten him up. But they didn't. They were trying to take him somewhere."

"The Factory?" Willow wondered aloud.

Buffy's heart leapt to her throat and firmly lodged itself there, her pulse racing. "Something bad's going on here, Will," Buffy said, her voice tinged with worry and regret, "and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen."

She stood up, making her way to the chest underneath her bed and opened it, removing a few stakes and a crossbow. Sticking the weapons into the jacket she had pulled on, Buffy opened the door quickly and strode out, a determined look on her face.

Willow peeked her head out of the room, worried. "Where are you going?" she asked the retreating Slayer, although she already knew what the answer would be.

"The Factory," she called out over her shoulder. Buffy stormed down the halls of the dormitory, fuming. 'If they laid one finger on him,' she thought, 'I'm going to rip their throats out, one by one. Nobody hurts my boyfriend and gets away with it.'

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Spike watched as Drusilla heated a poker over a bonfire in the middle of the room, humming happily as she rotated the pole for even heat. Absentmindedly he wondered if having an open fire in the middle of a crowded, highly flammable area was such a good idea, but he shrugged the thought off. One of her many minions had undoubtedly made it for her, knowing that, while it wasn't a very smart idea to make flames in the middle of the floor, it would be even stupider to disobey one of their Sire's orders. He watched drowsily as the flames licked at her face, and the embers popped a glowed, a few sparks landing on her skirts and dying.

'I hope the chit burns to death,' he thought with sudden malice, and the picture of a burning Drusilla filled his head. Spike chuckled humorlessly, wishing that he could just go back two years ago and tell Buffy to stake Dru, after all. 'Would save me a boatload of pain and anguish,' he thought, 'and singing. That damn singing.'

His weary eyes flicked over to the row of torture implements, neatly polished and shined for her pleasure. There were several vials of sorts, some filled with liquids he had yet to try out on him. Others were familiar, such as the near-empty bottle of holy water and the large can labeled 'gasoline', which Spike figured was less for torture and more for starting bonfires in the middle of the room. There were pokers and daggers, the used ones stained with him blood and the new ones cleaned and sharpened to perfection. Chains and nails (there were the only weapons left rusty), a staple gun (now -that- was a new one), and several boxes of matches.

'She always did love burning things,' he thought, 'What was it that the fire reminded her of? Oh, dancing. Can't get enough of the dancing.' He brushed his gaze over to the pile of whips lying in the far corner, none of which had been used on him yet. A particularly nasty one with nine knotted tails caught his eye, and Spike hoped now, more than ever, that Drusilla would have a change of heart. That, or catch on fire.

He was -really- hoping for the latter.

Drusilla had apparently finished with the preparations, because she started to approach him with the poker, glowing orange from heat. Her eyes shone in gleeful anticipation, and she held the red-hot weapon in front of her as if it were something precious.

Spike's heart gave a leap of joy when she fell to her knees, and watched with relief as the poker fell on the floor and rolled underneath a table. Drusilla moaned, pressing her fingers into the sides of her head, obviously having another vision. He watched her tensely, knowing that she would be seeing something about Buffy, more likely that not. 'If Dru's minions have done anything to her,' Spike thought, 'I'll stake the bloody bitch myself.'

"Ooo," she groaned, swaying from side to side, "Wicked girls are playing where they shouldn't go. The headmistress will be very firm with them if they don't watch for the crossing . . . the headmaster will arrive and will take back what is rightfully his."

Spike shook his head, confused. 'I guess you have to be insane to understand any of this,' he thought.

"Why does he scoff the methods which played in the fields with him? The years of blood soaked china and strawberries are useless now that they have rotted. He tossed them in the cabbage patch without even thinking of the consequence." A frown creased the girl's face, her brow furrowed. Drusilla stopped her ramblings and stood, finally, and left the room. Spike's chest was tight with anticipation . . . he had to know what was happening with Buffy, or he thought he might explode.

When she finally re-entered the room, he sighed with relief. "She's coming," Drusilla muttered, "to ruin the kingdom and scoff the princess. The knight will marry but the king shall be ever so cross."

She made her way over to Spike, still swaying slightly on her feet. "I will stop her," she told him, smiling wickedly, "I will stop the naughty girl from taking you. I can, the stars say I can. The moon agrees wholeheartedly."

"Buffy's coming?" Spike murmured, his heart swelling with anxious relief.

"Oh, yes, she's coming, dear heart, but we will stop her from taking you. She won't haunt you again. The minions will prevent the rising and all will be well." Drusilla looked at him longingly, before turning back to the table of weapons. Her grin turned to a frown again.

"Where did my poker go?"

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TBC . . .

Part 22:

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She ran to the business district portion of Sunnydale, hurrying as quickly as Slayer-ly possible. Buffy wasn't sure at first if she could remember the directions to the Factory, but she found her feet seemed to be carrying her of their own accord, her worry for Spike making her faster than usual and blocking out all other thoughts. All she could think of was: 'I hope he's alright', and 'I'm going to kill him if this is a joke.' The sinking feeling in her chest told her that this was no harmless prank . . . and so much had transpired between the two in the past month that Buffy was sure he wouldn't do something stupid like that anymore. Not to her, anyway.

The large, decrepit brick building loomed in the distance, and Buffy sped up. She stopped right in front of it, however, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she sensed someone's presence, and Buffy's hand went into her jacket pocket, clutching a stake defensively.

'Vampires,' she thought, her ears perking up to capture any sound her opponents might make, 'more than one . . . more than five . . . God, how many are there?' There was no doubt in Buffy's mind that someone had been expecting her . . . and that she had fallen into their trap. 'And I called Spike stupid for following a stranger in an alley,' she mused, 'This is almost as bad.'

To her right, a pebble scattered along the pavement surrounding the factory, and Buffy swerved to catch sight of whomever had kicked the stone. A sudden movement behind her startled the Slayer, and she turned to see two vampires rushing at her. 'A distraction . . . they were trying to call my attention away from them.' Grabbing one approaching vamp by the arm, she flipped him onto the ground and plunged the stake in his heart quickly. She turned to face the other vampire, but he took her by surprise by landing a punch square in her jaw and sending her sprawling. She rolled across the cement, softening the blow, and noticed a few of the stakes go flying from her jacket and onto the street. 'Shit!'

Getting to her feet quickly, Buffy pulled the vampire close to her and gave him a sharp uppercut, and then kneed him in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. Kicking the prone vamp in the back, she waited for him to fall to the pavement before flipping him over and staking him. 'Two down . . . some to go,' she thought, standing up straight and glancing around the street quickly. Her heart leapt to her throat as she noticed a group of vampires approaching her. They had been crouching in the shadows, watching her fight their companions, waiting for her to finish. She counted up the number in her head quickly, estimating her chance of winning. '

Thirteen,' she thought warily, 'I'm up against thirteen vampires . . . not the best odds in the world . . .' She was only thankful that they didn't seem to be exceptionally *powerful* vampires . . . minions, if her guess was right.

Reaching into her coat and retreiving the crossbow hidden their, Buffy loaded it, turning to face her opponents.

'This should be interesting . . .'

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Spike sat and watched as Drusilla stroked the doll's hair with a brush, gazing at it lovingly as a mother would a child. He was thankful that she had decided to take a break from the torturing, even if the display in front of him was nauseating enough to make him lose his lunch. That was, if he had eaten anything in the last few days.

"Miss Edith," she cooed, "Our knight has been naughty . . . he has been watching her without a peep, and shan't tell us about it. Even if we beg." Her eyes took on a wicked glint, and a devlish smile crossed her face. "But I'm sure I can get it from him, if I make him scream. Would you like to see him scream, Miss Edith?"

Spike swallowed. 'Looks like the intermission is over . . . time for the second act. The masochist's fantasy girl is about to 'play' again,' he thought bitterly, watching her as she set the doll down in front of him and moved to the weapons. 'And how she does love to play . . . I guess I've got Angelus to thank for that.'

Something seemed to strike Drusilla as funny as she started to giggle girlishly, bouncing up and down and clapping softly. He watched as she spun around, clasping a rusty railroad spike in her hands. 'Oh, the irony. Nothing escapes this one.' Spike was so exhausted from Drusilla's efforts that he couldn't even bring himself to care about the pain she would be causing him soon. All he wanted to do was go home.

"William . . . I have a gift for you," she purred, holding the spike out for him to see, "Where do you want it?"

'Lodged in your brain somewhere,' he thought, but kept the comment to himself, choosing to keep his mouth shut.

Drusilla watched him, sticking her lower lip out in a pouty manner. "Poor boy, don't you want to play anymore? Don't you want your princess to be happy?"

Spike closed his mouth, ignoring her, focusing at the roaring fire behind her. He was thankful that at least she had chosen not to set him ablaze yet.

"I'll choose for you, if you wish" she decided, walking over towards him and being careful to sidestep Miss Edith. Drusilla waved the spike over his chest as if she were deciding the best place to cause the most pain. Her hand stopped over his heart, smiling evilly. Spike's heart sunk to the bottom of his chest slowly. While staking him with metal wouldn't kill him, it would hurt like hell for a long time. He almost wished that it *were* wood. Grinning, she was about to plunge it into his chest when a minion opened the door behind them and walked in, clearing his throat.

Swerving around quickly, Drusilla dropped the railroad spike to her side and scowled at the minion that had dared to interrupt her torture session.

"Beg pardon, Sire," he began quietly, casting his gaze to the floor as she wandered over to him. Pulling the minion aside, he whispered to her in hushed tones. However, having vampiric hearing, Spike was able to catch what they were saying.

"Madame, she's taken down ten of the others, already," the worried minion was saying, "If we don't do something soon, she's going to break her way in."

"The Slayer," Drusilla hissed, "will not take my Spike away. I will see to that."

Returning her attentions to the prone vampire chained to the wall, Drusilla walked over to Spike, picking up the doll that had been watching over him. "Spike," she drawled, "Watch Miss Edith for me. I have matters to attend to. The Slayer wants to play."

Setting the doll into his wounded hands, she gave him a no-nonsense pat on the head, then walked out of the room. Spike waited until she was out of sight, then cocked his hand back and aimed for the roaring fire in the middle of the room. Getting just enough leverage, Spike gave a mad giggle as he watched Miss Edith land in the middle of the bonfire, the flames licking at her dress. He knew he would be paying for destroying Dru's doll when she returned from her fight. *If* she returned.

Sighing, Spike laid down on the cement floor, relishing the heat coming from the crackling fire. Letting his weary eyelids dropp, Spike allowed himself to relax, let himself rest. Drusilla had tortured him badly, yes, but had done so in such a way that he wouldn't pass out, giving him no possible refuge from the blinding pain. Closing his burning eyes, he decided that a little nap wouldn't kill him . . . even if Drusilla would when she found he had turned her most prized possession to ash. He figured he deserved a little peace, if only for a moment. His head lolling to the side, Spike smiled slightly and welcomed the darkness that enveloped his senses.

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Buffy panted, cradling one wounded arm against her chest, watching her opponent with a carefully trained eye. Sizing him up, she waited until he lunged at her, fangs bared, before she made her move. Throwing him to the ground next to her, she wrestled with him, punching the minion in the face, pleased when she heard the loud cracking of bones. Howling in pain, the vampire cupped his broken nose, failing to notice as Buffy raised the stake and pushed it down into his chest, peircing his heart and turning the vampire into ash.

Getting to her feet quickly, Buffy surveyed the area, watching for more vampires to approach her. When none came, the Slayer listened closely, carefully. 'Did I kill them all?' she wondered. The fight had happened so quickly, time seemed to run together for her, and the number of vampires she had dusted escaped her. Relief swept through her as she headed for the Factory door.

"Bad puppy," a familiar voice called out from behind her.

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, dread filling her system. 'Oh, God,' she thought, 'I hope this isn't who I think it is. Not today, not again.'

"Trying to take him away from me. From us," she hissed out, "Isn't allowed, this lack of judgement is upsetting. You should know he isn't for you to keep."

'Crap.'

"Drusilla," Buffy said, turning around slowly, facing her, "How are things? Still crazy, I see. That's a shame, because you can't see this from a sane point of view. Spike isn't anyone's to keep. Anyone. And my guess is that he didn't come to you of his own accord." She shrugged. "Just a hunch."

"He needs to be taught," Drusilla explained, "William needs to learn a lesson. Learn through blood . . . and pain."

Buffy bristled at those words. "Good thing you've been torturing my boyfriend . . . otherwise I'd feel really bad about this." The Slayer hoisted her leg up and smashed the vampire in the face, sending the girl sprawling to the ground. "Oh, and one more thing? He really hates being called William."

Drusilla rose to her feet quickly, glaring at Buffy and wiping blood from her mouth. Shrieking, she charged at her, punching Buffy in the face, then using her sharp fingernails to cut the Slayer's skin. Buffy reeled from the blow, but managed to deliver an uppercut to the girl's face. Moving to kick the vampire and send her to her knees, Buffy was caught off guard when Drusilla grabbed her foot, twisting it with deadly force. Crying out in pain, Buffy collapsed on the floor, and her opponent was on her in a second, pinning her arms to her sides.

"You should have left, you should have left us," Drusilla said, her voice filled with anger, "You should have let him be happy with me. "Now I must teach you, too."

Buffy struggled underneath the weight of the vampire, but she stopped when she saw the pillar of black smoke rising up from the building in front of her, her eyes widening. Drusilla must have sensed it, too, because she released the Slayer from her grasp, standing and staring at the Factory.

"My Spike," she whispered, before turning and running into the building. Buffy got to her feet, then cried out in pain and landed on the pavement. 'My leg . . . she broke my leg.' Glancing up at the smoking building, tears started forming in the corner of her eyes. 'Oh, God, Spike!' For once, Buffy was hoping that Drusilla would get to him in time.

That was when the building exploded.

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It's a commonly known fact that vampires don't need to breathe to live. When a vampire sleeps, however, it is also common for him to revert to his original human actions, like breathing and snoring. Therefore, it was the tangy smell of smoke that roused Spike from his slumber. Opening his eyes lazily, he surveyed the room around him, sitting up. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

'I was right . . . bonfires in the middle of the room? Bad idea.'

The fire, it seemed, had spread, as he believed it might. Flames had moved across the room, catching many of the flammable things on fire, filling the room with a blinding black smoke. Judging from the amount of damage done to the Factory, the fire must have spread quickly, very quickly. Spike struggled at the chains, tugging at the bonds that held him in a desperate escape to flee from the terrible flames. He grinned in victory when he felt one of the rusty chains break from his efforts, snapping under the pressure of his pulls. Now able to move more freely, Spike worked at the other manacle attached to his wrist, picking at the old lock that kept it together. Finally snapping it open with his free hand, he turned to leave. 'I'm going to make it.'

Spike watched in horror as the fire reached the vials on the weapons table. Reached the can of gasoline. Enveloped it with flames.

He wondered if he would die, after all.

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TBC . . .

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She lay on the ground, breathing heavily, the waves of heat from the burning building in front of her blasting her face. Sitting up, Buffy stared at the Factory, at the flames enveloping it, choking the air with black smoke. The tears that had been gathering at the corners of her eyes began to overflow in a salty stream, running down her face and dripping onto the pavement.

"Spike," she whispered, staring ahead into space, at nothing in particular. Dropping her head between her knees, Buffy pounded at the pavement with her hands. "Spike!" she screamed out into the night sky, her emotions overwhelming her, wrenched at her anguished heart. "You can't do this to me," she howled, "You can't leave me like this! I just, I - I . . ."

Buffy broke down in loud, racking sobs that permeated the air. "I love you," she murmured to herself, "And I never got to tell you that."

"Tell me what, luv?"

She stared at the figure that approached her from the shadows, partially hidden by the thick smoke that was enveloping the premises. Blinking in disbelief, her eyes widened when she saw who it was. Spike, walking with a noticable limp and dragging heavy chains behind him, his shirt tattered and torn, various bloody wounds covering his body. He looked like death itself.

And she had never been happier to see him in her entire life.

Buffy found herself crying even harder, sobbing with relief. Spike's eyebrows drew together in concern, and he rushed over to her. "Don't cry, pet," he cooed, "It's over, you're okay, everything's fine. You'll be fine."

Gazing into his eyes, Buffy threw her arms around him, hugging his body close to hers. "Spike, you're alive!" she sobbed "You-you're alive, you didn't burn, you didn't . . . I was so worried, I thought that I'd lost you! H-how did you -"

Spike winced as the Slayer gripped him even harder, but ignored his painful wounds. "If there's one good thing about being a vampire, it's the speed. I broke free of my bonds and got to the door right as the place blew sky high. Smashed me up a bit, a little worse for wear, but no major bodily organs missing." Sitting back on the ground, he pulled her away gently. "Basically I'm fine, luv, but what about you? You seem to have gotten some nasty bumps yourself." Glancing down at her broken leg, he frowned. "Leg looks broken . . . you need to get to a hospital. I'm gonna go find a phone so I can -"

"No!" she cried out, "I mean . . . I don't want you to leave. I . . ." Buffy trailed off, blushing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.

"I - I don't want to lose you again," she whispered.

His eyes softened. "Buffy . . ."

"For the past two weeks, ever since you told me that we should seperate, I . . . you're the only thing I could think about," she explained, wiping tears from her eyes, "Whatever I was doing, or who I was talking to . . . you were always in the back of my mind." She chuckled. "I even forgot my own birthday, if you can believe that. But I have been thinking about me, and you, and how . . . 'us' might not be such a bad thing." Spike stared at her in disbelief, but she continued.

"Even though I had been thinking about you, I didn't really . . . I wasn't sure of my own feelings. I knew that I cared for you, but I wasn't sure how much. If I was really willing to settle down in another vampire relationship, especially since my last one was so . . ." she drifted off, thinking, trying to put her emotions into words. "So I didn't know how I felt . . . until tonight. When I thought of someone hurting you, I just got so -angry-. I wanted to inflict the most violent death on that person possible. And when I thought that you died . . . I couldn't bear it. The thought of never seeing you again, never feeling you or smelling your cigarettes or, hell, even arguing with you! I couldn't bear it . . . and I realized something. Something important. And now that I'm finally being honest with myself, I think that I should be honest with you, too."

She gazed longingly into his eyes. "Spike . . . I love you," she whispered.

Spike felt his heart leap to his throat; he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Buffy -"

She pressed a finger to his cracked lips, moving to him. "No talking," she murmured, "Just kissing." Wrapping her arms around him, she met his lips with hers, giving him a sweet, chaste kiss. Pulling him to her, she kissed him again; passionately, this time. Exploring her warm mouth with his tongue, Spike's surroundings seemed to melt away into nothingness, and all he could think about was Buffy. Finally she pulled away, panting heavily.

"Need to breathe," she explained. Spike looked over at the wounded Slayer and felt as if his heart would burst; he hadn't been this happy in a long while.

"Buffy," he said softly, "you have no idea how much you mean to me. How much -this- means to me. And if you give me a chance to be with you, *really* be with you, heart and soul . . . I'll show you just how much love I have to give."

Buffy arched an eyebrow in amusement. "So, I see how it is now," she accused, "You're just tired of having only yourself to love every night, huh, Spike?"

The tender moment ruined, Spike snorted mockingly. "Yeah, well, at least I don't keep that . . . -box- under my bed."

She gasped, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "There will be no blackmailing," Buffy warned, "Or there will be no kissing."

Spike shrugged. "Fine, fine by me. I'll never bring it up again." He paused, thinking. "However, you could have told me that you had *another* Mr. Pointy."

"Worried about your competition?" Buffy teased, "I can see why. Still, you obviously get the better deal in our relationship."

"How do you wager?"

"Well, let's see. When you have me as your girlfriend, you get the whole Slayer package. Protection, strength, stamina, shiny blonde hair and a winning smile. When I have you as my boyfriend," she continued, "What do I get? Vulnerable," she pointed at his various wounds and burns, "emotional baggage, bad reputation, unknown past, and, hey, let's not forget that crazy ex of yours."

"Speaking of ex," Spike piped up, "what happened to Drusilla? Did you dust her?"

"No . . . she ran back into the Factory. Did you happen to see her by any chance? Tall, dark hair, stark raving mad?"

"No," he replied, suddenly worried, "I didn't see her."

Buffy smiled. "So, she got blown up. Good for her; it's a definite improvement."

"I can still beat you on this past-relationship thing hands down," Spike said, changing the subject, "Yeah, I may be disreputable, but at least I don't have what you do. Angel." He spoke the name as if it were something dirty. "You're not going to tell me that if the Poof ever comes back to Sunnydale for a visit, and you know he will, he's not going to try to ream me a new one for being involved with his ex-pet? Hardly. So let's see you beat that one, Slayer," he challenged.

She sat back on the concrete, thinking, at a loss for words. Finally, she piped up, a sheepish look on her face, "Oh, hey, my leg's starting to hurt again. I think you should probably go call an ambulance now, huh?"

It was Spike's turn to roll his eyes.

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THE END

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Meanwhile, somewhere in Sunnydale . . .

Drusilla sat on the bench, shivering and shaking, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself. She had seen it, what was going to happen, yet she still hadn't prepared herself for the devestating loss she had suffered.

'My sweet William,' she thought, 'has gone to the pastures with his maiden. But the milk will sour with the scent of ashes.'

Cool, salty tears ran down her pale cheeks and onto her old-fashioned dress, and she ran her fists across her face in a childlike manner. Hugging herself closer, the pale girl sighed, wallowing in her misery.

'I am alone. Grandmummy is gone, and the knight is lost . . .' her thoughts trailed off as the vampire sensed a familiar presence, one that reeked of home, of death and torture and pain and blood. It was lovely.

"My Angel?" she whispered, her voice filled with a hushed awe.

The tall, muscular man stepped out of the shadows, a wicked glint in his amber eyes. He approached Drusilla, moving fluidly and gracefully, like a lion stalking it's prey. He stroked her raven curls with one rough palm, entwining the silky strands around his fingers and grinning when his Childe whimpered and leaned into his touch.

"That's right," he purred, "I'm back."

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