Chapter 13:

Spike had never been afraid of the dark. Even when he was human and wandering around London in the barely lit streets wasn’t done—the lamps almost useless in illuminating the surroundings—he’d made a regular excursion outside to feel the coolness of the night. It fed his poetic soul, and inspired words he’d hardly suspected he knew.

After he was turned, the darkness fed him full stop. Gave him a playground the likes he’d never known. The words still flowed, but not to his soul. And instead of trying to capture the images on quality paper with quill and ink, he’d used his fists and blood, a pretty corpse his canvas. Instead of exploring for words of beauty, he’d trawled for ones of devastation.

As he wandered the night of Sunnydale, home of the most selfish Hellmouth he’d ever had the misfortune of living on, he felt all words desert him. Despite his decision to stay, to help fight and protect these Scoobies who were much more accepting of him than the original bunch, he was still Love’s Bitch, and the words he needed to fulfill his role in that area were suddenly completely wiped from his vocabulary.

He spied Buffy in a graveyard, and for the first time he thought hard about walking away. Leaving her to fight whatever demons she needed to gain the satisfaction that being with the poof—and releasing his alter-ego—would have left her with a need for. Angelus had only ever been interested in furthering his own pleasure. The thought that his bed-partner might deserve some kind of release in their little death was completely beyond the space his brain allowed.

But it hurt to watch her. Hurt to see the body that had so recently been touched by the great Poof himself, taking from Spike again the one thing that would complete his unlife. He felt so tired from always losing. His eyes felt sore from the tears that had squeezed the pain from his heart.

Watching her, wanting her, and knowing he had lost her was no sweet torture. He’d never felt whips and holy water that devastated him like this. None of Angelus’s wicked knives had cut him so deep.

All he’d done, all he had planned to do, and one attack against the King of Woe had catapulted Spike directly into the doghouse. Well, he was bloody fed up, and he wasn’t going to wallow in this depression, distancing himself from her.

He’d warned them about the curse.

She should have bloody known better, and whether she actually understood what it was she’d released, someone should put the silly chit in her place and point out the bleeding obvious.

Then get the hell out of the way of the steamroller effect of her devastated emotions, crippling her for bloody life—slamming up the barricades stronger than those at Fort Knox. Fuck that. What she needed was an enthusiastic belting. Tan her arse till she learned the lesson that Angelus was better caged.

Angelus.

Thoughts of the impending battle made Spike shiver. All the hurt and humiliation he’d been through the last time, and here was the prospect again. Homicidal rage welled within him lightning quick and before he knew it, his feet propelled him with speed to intercept the Slayer.

She looked up in surprise before greeting him with a happy smile. It dimmed abruptly as she was slashed with his frosty reception, the ugly curl of his lip indicative of his fury and the frozen expression in his eyes conveying a feeling of hate toward her that made her heart almost stop beating.

The coldness, the lack of affection for her held him still in front of her, his eyes watching her with an intent that brought terror to her blood. He reminded her of the one horrible meeting when he had predicted her death on Saturday, and Buffy found herself absently sifting through the days of the week to reassure herself that this was indeed a weekday.

“W-what…”

She got no further as his rage spilled forth and erupted from his lips.

“Don’t bloody make out that I should be alright with this. Must have been a two-minute skit if you’re out here seeking violence already. Washed up and ready to go. I shoulda known, no matter what I do, the old Forehead wins every bleeding time.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously and Buffy felt her eyes drawn to it, hypnotised by the small sign of his temper so that she wouldn’t have to admit how stupid she was in not knowing the cause of this flaying.

“So, how was it?” he spat at her, and she finally caught the subtle tones buried within the attack. Hurt. Jealousy. Betrayal. And none of them provided Buffy with questions she could answer. Unless he thought…

Oh…

Buffy had been thinking about the scene in Giles’s house all night, fighting as many vamps as she could, focusing abnormally on the female ones in order to temper her frustrations. Guilt caused her a mass of confusion. As she worried over the damage to her burgeoning relationship with Spike, monumentally regretting her decision to protect and defend Angel against him, she had almost forgotten about Giles. Not forgotten completely, just relegated him as not an issue that needed confronting because as soulless as Spike was, she knew he wouldn’t let her Watcher die. Her faith in Spike—as bizarre and unnatural as it was—was unwavering. It was the stability of the steadily building lust and boyfriendy stuff she had been terrified of losing all night. Not her Watcher.

Though the world could definitely stand to lose some nutbaggy Dru. No apparent redemption in that quarter.

Buffy had seen the hurt and betrayal reflecting in Spike’s eyes when he’d walked away from her, leaving her downstairs to face Xander and the truth. But he’d been controlled, not like this. Not like he was going to haul off and bite her any second.

Maybe…

No! Buffy felt the cold seep through her clothing and encase her heart. Maybe something had happened, something she had believed was the safe event the whole night. What if Giles hadn’t made it and she’d run away rather than face the consequences of her actions? And now Spike was furious at her for being so self-involved. For leaving Giles dead in his bed without even a token goodbye.

“Spike? How…”

“How do I know?” His voice was incredulous as he raked her with his eyes, burning her from head to toe with the animosity barely contained. The promise, her gift of herself and her blood to him on her birthday now lay in ruins around his heart and he wondered if he would ever be able to offer himself in love again.

“Felt it, didn’ I!” He felt harsh, boiling hatred for his kin and this girl well within him and he was desperate to wreak vengeance. But the control failed to slip, and he felt himself bound within the rigid guidelines of being someone changed for the better. All in the name of love.

Okay, felt it? He was there with Giles, what was there to feel about it? Buffy’s confusion deepened as the events of the night seemed to quickly bleed out of control.

“I admit you’re a bloody fast one on your feet— gettin’ out of there—and a better decision you’ve never made, but hell, you disgust me.” His snarl sunk in deep, resounding in her head like a clang of doom.

“Oh,” whispered past Buffy’s lips as her body took in the edge to his voice, suffered the penetration of his words. He was disgusted by her, and the pain she felt at that nearly brought her to her knees. Tears gathered and she blinked rapidly to try and prevent their fall, needing some strength to not betray how much it devastated her to lose this with him.

How had it all come to mean so much? Not much, everything. His good feeling toward her had meant everything; she’d planned her life around him, wanted him to exist in her life with an edge of desperation that was almost frightening.

She’d made the decision, the one that would bind her to him forever—or at least until she died. She’d asked him to bite her and make love to her on her birthday, and instead of continuously fanning that flame, she’d been off sharing her night with her first major boyfriend. Even though Buffy had called the whole thing—whatever it was—off with Angel, she had indulged his need for a night out and defended him without even asking why Spike felt the need to attack him.

She’d made Spike her boyfriend, offered everything she was to him, trusted her life to his fangs and repaid him with unwavering support against him for her ex. So, yeah, she disgusted herself.

Then that solid wall of strength disintegrated and the tears tumbled from suddenly waterlogged lashes. It hurt so much; being discarded by a soulless vampire who had stolen her heart, even if it was thoroughly deserved. Breaking up with Angel had not been the wrenching destruction to her heart that this aching torment was. And again, her trauma over her colossal mistake with Spike eclipsed her concern over the tragedy that was possibly Giles.

“Okay,” she managed finally, her voice clogged with her tears, her face glistening in the moonlight. “I’m sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’ mean to…you bloody bitch,” he exploded, completely livid as he began to pace, his fury finally animated. He turned back abruptly, staring at her with such raw pain that Buffy felt helpless as she took a step back from him.

“How could you offer…ask me to…and then go off and boff…” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t say the words that would cripple his heart and make her deed rock solid in his reality. He never thought it possible, once falling in love with Buffy, that he could ever feel such seething hatred toward her again. But overwhelming strength began to tease his muscles, begging him to jump, to claw, and in unwavering support his demon surged to the fore.

In one desperate attempt to alleviate the violent impulses, Spike stopped and breathed deeply through his nose, taking in the scent of her sweat, the intoxication of her fear and the one he loved most of all, the very faint scent of vanilla from her last distant shower.

The mesh of scent tickled his synapses to discovery, but the journey to a conclusion was slow. When knowledge hit it left him floored. The shock widened his eyes, and he looked at her miserable face, her wobbly lip and the tears that still flowed in unending sorrow.

“Oh Buffy,” he surrendered, falling to his knees and shaking with the sudden deflation of his mood. He could feel the tremble of relief as his hands found his face.

He was wrong; not Buffy.

Angelus was back, but not because of Buffy. She hadn’t betrayed him, hadn’t used him as a warm up to pleasuring the Poof. So awfully wrong, almost pushing himself into another smashing confrontation that might have ended with the same violent joining as the last time he’d been angry with his future Buffy. He could have fought her, pushed her into a defence that would render her hopeless against his demon, raised her pulse so far that the only release she could have reached was through either staking him, or him staking her.

But, been there, done that. Old hat that happened to be the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Taunting future Buffy into his bed—or everywhere outside of it as the truth actually held—had not been his brightest move. And yet, it was the same action he’d been about to embark on with younger Buffy, simply because he’d believed she’d given herself to Angel. Spike knew that the fight got her hot, could smell it every time she raised her fists and struck something solid. Despite his belief in her recent activities, his demon had begun to prepare to goad her into a similar outcome. It was misdirected rage—if Angelus got it, then he wanted some, too. Particularly when his heart had filed her under ‘tease’.

But the truth came through his nostrils loud and clear as he took in more and more of her heavenly scent. There was not a whiff of sex near her and Spike kneeled as he castigated himself for being a paranoid wanker.

“Spike?” The Slayer’s voice was weak as she prodded a reaction from him. Blue eyes met miserable jade and Spike was instantly on his feet, tugging her into his arms and holding her safe as the sobs tore loose from her throat.

“Oh baby,” Spike murmured, the reassuring lilt in his tone calming her more than the steady pressure of his arms around her shaking body. Touch couldn’t be trusted; did the feeling ever change? No, it was the voice, the thing Spike had aimed at her to thrust his animosity in her face, to relay his hatred out bare.

But in combination, the tone and touch gave her a smidgeon of hope that maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he didn’t want to leave her, that Giles was okay, and they had just wasted ten minutes together because of a giant misunderstanding.

As the emotions calmed within her and Buffy’s mind cleared, she determined that that was exactly what this was. As horrible as her judgement had been in siding with Angel over Drusilla’s deadly actions—albeit completely unknowingly—there was no way that Spike would tell her that he was disgusted with her. He’d be angry, sure. What new boyfriend wouldn’t have been by such a display of misguided loyalty? But disgust was so much stronger than what she was sure was going on.

His lips on her hair were more than soothing. It set the stamp on a healing that might have begun through awkward words and actions. But it set her heart beating back at the correct rhythm as she wound her arms around Spike’s back, slipping gently on the cold leather of his coat but holding him dear.

“What did I do, Spike? Tell me and I’ll make it better. I promise.” Buffy had thought the tears were finished with, but as the request to be told what her actions had cost her fell from her lips, she felt them teasing again at the back of her throat and continue the flow through ducts to her eyes.

“You didn’ do anything, sweetness. Was just me bollocksing everything up an’ jumpin’ to conclusions. Never could add up right.”

The smile in his voice caused her to heave a great sigh and a hiccup, relief pouring from her in great crashing waves. The comedown from the emotional tidal wave was momentous, and Buffy could only be grateful that she was cocooned within Spike’s strong embrace.

“I’m sorry I jumped in to protect Angel from you. It was reflex, and really, he deserved a good smack in the jaw.”

In all the horror of knowing Angelus was once again on the prowl, Spike had completely forgotten all about the earlier incident that had left Giles minus a lot of plasma and laid out on his bed.

“Oh bugger,” expelled Spike, gathering up enough courage to extend his senses and search for his sire and grand-sire in their immediate proximity. For the moment all was safe, and he jerked his head, indicating for Buffy to come along with him as he took a step back toward Rupert’s flat.

“Got a bit of a situation, pet. We’ll talk about it when we get to the Watcher’s.”

Buffy threw him an inquiring look but hesitantly took his hand, her eyes seeking his to confirm it was the right move. The gentle and encouraging smile she received bolstered her courage and she slipped her fingers from his and wound her arm around his waist, standing a little aloof until he pulled her in flush against his side.

“So, we’re good now? ‘Cause I don’t want to fight like that again. It was scary.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, still a lot unsure of herself and where she stood, not understanding anything of what had just happened but postponing revelations on faith.

Spike stopped walking to hold her away from himself and catch her eyes in an intense avowal of truth. The words tripped over themselves on the tip of his tongue, the need to profess his love so strong it took a Herculean effort to hold them back. Those words had done nothing but inflame in his future, rob him of essence every time they were uttered and not reciprocated. And despite Buffy’s all clear with the naked Angel fiasco, there was nothing yet that provided him with a precipice to balance on.

He was going to put them out there anyway when he balked, came up hard against a wall of insecurity that almost had him gasping.

“Nothin’ I want more right now than to get whatever this thing is between us right out in the open. Got bigger problems though, luv. Need to get back to the Watcher’s and sort out a plan of action.”

Buffy watched his face, tight as he tried to conceal his feelings. That little flash of something that made her heart pump faster was there, though, reassuring and calming her in a way she was happy to accept for now, suddenly hesitant to push the words that would set everything on a new level.

She was content to wait for the future weeks, mend what she had broken in her misguided attempts at protection, and then launch a full offensive into the love ranks. Reassure Spike and herself that what they had—that was developing out of any control—was something real, something genuine that made Buffy feel positive about her future for the first time since the Master left her drowning in a pool of water. Something Angel had never succeeded in doing.

They resumed their pace, rather quicker than a casual walk, and before she knew it they had made it back to the door of Giles’s apartment. It was there the hesitation gripped Buffy again, the memory of Xander’s nearly incoherent explanation of Giles’s brush with death and her own cowardly dash from the facts.

“Is…is he okay?”

There was fear blatant in her question, a need to know but a want to run and hide away from whatever reality waited in regards to her Watcher behind this door.

Spike paused in his answer. Oh, he knew the Watcher would be okay, the amount of blood drained from his body on the right side of catastrophe, but the potential loss that loomed in their new future stole all speech for a moment. The gypsy teacher’s life stood in the balance, and now that Rupert was bordering on being Spike’s friend—or at the very least was accepting enough of him to offer simple courtesies like room and board—Spike was determined that the death toll for this little group was going to be nil. Angelus would have to find his fun elsewhere because Spike was here to save the day.

Tucking Buffy under his arm, he opened the door while giving her a comforting squeeze. Buffy took a slow step over the threshold, her eyes falling with an uncomfortable focus on the stairs leading to the loft housing Giles and his bed.

“He’s good. Was sitting up and threatening me before I went out earlier. Jus’ a bit weak is all.”

Buffy let the news of Giles’s condition filter into her brain then lost herself to the sensuality of Spike’s voice. To her avoidy brain, Buffy was all decided that the bad had passed for the night, everything was once again alright, and she could get on with the fun of discovering the world of pleasure with Spike.

Right after she went out and staked that conniving ho Drusilla.

Spike led her up the stairs on more steady legs. Girl Buffy was secure in her world again, Spike hanging off her side like all good boyfriends should. Not once did it occur to her once they had appeared at the side of Giles’s bed that the show of mushy togetherness would be a new event or even a surprise to anyone.

The quick glance at their clasped hands brought her insecure shyness out to play, and instead of confronting Giles with happy, caring eyes, she lowered her head and studied the carpet while she inquired about his state of health and comfort. Offered her apologies for leaving him alone with a psycho ho bag and asked if there was anything she could do.

“It’s fine, Buffy,” he answered, a slight hint of amusement in a tone that calmed the reactions of the room. Buffy relaxed and finally looked at her Watcher, gasping at the pale composure that met her gaze.

“Oh Giles,” she called out as she slumped onto the bed beside him, engulfing him in a strong hug.

“Buffy, breathing,” he choked out and then collapsed back against his fluffed up pillows when she let him go, a subtle cough reminding her of her own strength better than words probably could have.

“So, Spike said there was a bigger problem. Er, a big problem,” she quickly covered, not really wanting to get into what else there would have been a problem with.

Giles looked at the vampire with a mix of curiosity and concern. The fear was so palpable even Buffy could feel it and she wondered what it was that Giles had to fear from Spike.

“I-I thought you said that Buffy…that Buffy caused…” And then he stalled, either not wanting or unable to voice the dilemma that now faced them with the return of Angelus. Not wanting to believe the true cause for the monster’s return.

“Yeah, well…kinda got that part wrong.” Spike took a turn staring at the floor, this time in something akin to bashfulness.

Buffy alternated watching Giles and then Spike, becoming more confused as the silence reigned.

“So what was it that Spike got wrong?” The Slayer’s voice had hardened, way past ready to find out what the big mystery was that had firstly caused Spike to jump on her and almost break her heart over a misunderstanding, and secondly prompted the little meeting of severe, worried faces aimed at her.

“Come on. Enough with the evasive and tell poor little Buffy what you both seem to think she did.”

“We thought you had…slept with the poof.” Despite his desire to not drag attention back to the earlier bitter confrontation, he found the words torn from his mouth through bitter impulse. It was a compulsion driven by a need to punish her, make a Buffy pay for the monumental mistake of taking Peaches to bed.

While the hurt from this Buffy was yet to be set in reality—cast in concrete—the Buffy he had known for years had made him pay for her mistakes with the ponce continuously. Had judged him by a faulty, inaccurate yardstick for the entirety of their acquaintance. Old hurts were hard to let go of.

When he finally raised his eyes from the riveting swirl in Rupert’s carpet, he encountered the frigid composure of the woman he professed to love. Past indiscretion dictated the cause of Angel’s loss of soul the first go round for Spike; to consider another cause of his Grandsire’s resurgence was totally unexpected.

Small moments with Dru hit him, her intent search of something as she looked deep within him during those first moments he had returned to this time. Moments he had shortened as much as possible through both a desire to limit her exposure to him and thus prevent her gaining too much insight of where he had come from, but also because he was desperate to spend every spare moment establishing something with Buffy.

Obviously one of those short moments had been enough.

“She used thrall?” The sound of Giles’s calm voice streaking through Spike’s frantic search for an answer halted him fast.

Spike’s lost stare lifted from Buffy’s arctic return and focused on the weakened man in the bed.

“Yeah, Rupes. Think she did.”

“Would someone like to fill in idiot Buffy on what the what is here? Cause right now? Crazy talk! Incomprehensible to those missing the majority of a clue.”

The two men shared a considered look, setting Buffy immediately on a path of defense.

“You know what? I’ve had enough. I broke up with Angel days ago. I’m sorry I stopped Spike from hitting him, but I was all Uninformed Girl, and right now, all the crossed eyes and moody silences are upping the wig factor. What the hell would make you think I slept with Angel? We did this talk ages ago. Happiness means no soul Angel. I’m not stupid…hello, no happy giving Buffy. Remember?”

She was met with silence, nothing in their expressions to either confirm or deny that they had even heard her. It gave her important seconds to think, to try and fit the puzzle together in a way that made more sense than the cryptic comments she’d received so far.

The underlying point was that they thought she’d slept with Angel. That meant that they thought Angel had gotten happy. Which by definition meant he could lose his soul. Which meant…oh crap!

“Angelus. You think I slept with Angel because he’s lost his soul.”

Neither of the men stirred, her conclusion late to their already resolved and enlightened stance.

In this new light, Buffy went over everything that had happened since seeing Spike earlier and being crushed by his attitude toward her. I felt it. At the time it had made as much sense as a pimple on a first date with the captain of the football team. With Angel being some kind of vampire family equivalent to a grandparent, Buffy suddenly didn’t want to know what other kinds of things Spike could sense or feel about his ‘family’ members. Or what they could tell about Spike.

“So, you haven’t seen him. Just sensed him. How do you know for sure?”

Spike looked at her as if her ignorance was way beyond believable.

“Taught your girl well on vampire lore, mate,” he said as he cast a dirty look at Giles. “Vampires share blood, Slayer, an’ the experience is mystical. It’s like a security device—so we can always find each other. The buzz kinda went out of it when Granpappy got landed with a conscience like a real boy, but the las…er, I mean, I just felt him come back. The signal is strong with immediate family members.”

Buffy decided that at this minute, knowing there were two strong, evil vamps out there, she didn’t really care to alter her lack of ignorance much. Too bad she knew ignorance made you dead.

“Okay, so I need to know about him. What will he do?” Buffy hardened her heart to the fact that the vampire she had thought was her soulmate such a short time ago was now an evil, probably vengeful killing machine.

“He’ll likely come straight for you,” Spike told her, his tone implying there was no question that that was exactly what Angel…Angelus would do. “He’ll be mad as hell you made him feel any humanity. He won’t try to kill you straight away. Our boy likes to play with his food,” he continued the lecture, completely missing the flinches of the two humans.

Though the topic was already as serious as a heart attack, the next clue Spike offered was in an awful and sombre tone, chilling the circulating blood in both Giles’ and Buffy’s veins.

“You need to warn the teacher.” Spike exchanged a look with the Watcher, more implied secrets bombarding Buffy with resultant irritation.

“Why?” Buffy barged in stubbornly. “Why does Ms. Calendar need to be in the know?”

Spike turned hard, determined darkness on her, his irises eclipsed completely by the pupils.

“She needs to know ‘cause she is the key to returning the bloody wanker’s soul. If you want him back, that is. He’ll know, and he’ll go for ‘er.”

Giles turned to him, his darting eyes frantic with sudden realisation.

“He’ll go for her?”

Spike didn’t confirm again, or deny. His mouth was set in a determined line, plans formulating behind his half-closed eyelids.

“She’d better move in here.” There was nothing to argue, though Giles offered a stunned gasp. “Gypsy girl needs to be safe, needs to never be alone and never be out after dark. No hanging out in school rooms while she’s tryin’ to finish translating the curse.”

“But—” Giles began but was turned on by a furious Spike.

“No bloody buts, Rupert. She’ll move in even if you have to sleep on the kitchen floor. We’ll find room for the bint. ‘S not safe for her to stay on ‘er own.”

With that first decision made, the room fell silent; plans of action already underway against the threat of a monster.
 

Chapter Fourteen

The two men sat lonely in the living room, Giles taking the sofa as it was the best place for him if his weakness dictated he rest.

Phone calls had been placed to warn Buffy's friends to stay indoors and to Ms. Calendar, strongly suggesting she pack and move in with Rupert for a time. Spike had even managed a call to the realtor to hurry along his sale, only to find out that the owner was more than happy with his occupation if he paid rent until the sale had been properly settled. So, there was no more need for the Watcher to get his knickers twisted about the lack of room, and Spike's own place could well be a useful refuge for any of the Scoobies should they need it.

That left them with too much time to fill in before Buffy's return. Giles lounged back on some pillows but watching Spike intently, completely wordless, waiting for the first sign of a crack in the determined silence. Spike sat irritably clinging to his secret, not wanting to reveal what had happened to these people in their future in relation to himself, but knowing that the little visit from Anya had stirred up too many questions for a curious bugger like Giles to ignore.

Still, he tried for stubborn. Lips clamped and eyes aimed firmly at the floor as he struggled against the scorching feel of Watcher eyes burning his intent. Knowing Giles, Spike hadn't bothered holding any hope that he could keep this under wraps. He even felt relieved that the burden of it wouldn't remain solely his. Problem was, he didn't want Buffy to know, and he was sure that once Rupert had the full thing of it, he wouldn't sit by and let his Slayer become overly close with a vampire. Particularly a soulless one.

Priorities had shifted now. No longer was this about keeping Buffy from becoming Angelus's salvation and allowing himself to apply for the role of everlasting soulmate. If nothing else progressed between them, he had at least prevented her from becoming emotionally stunted by having the wanker be her first experience of love.

No, the priority now was to keep them all alive. He'd been crippled and useless the first go round. This time he was not only fully capable, fully functional as far as the fight was concerned, he was also motivated by love and devotion.

Not all of it was for Buffy. This trip to his past had enabled him to see things that had never been open to him before. His relationship with Giles was unlike any other he had had in his entire existence. As a human, he had been a joke to all he'd come into contact with: a foppish fool who was incapable of even getting a woman to notice him. A romantic idiot succumbing to the promise of walking in a world that was glowing and glistening, and dare he bloody say it, he still wanted effulgent. He'd wanted it so bad, craved Dru's promise, and in Buffy it had come true. Only took a hundred and twenty odd years, but his Slayer existed in a glow that would never leave his heart.

Even the tentative camaraderie he'd established with Harris made him all thick in the throat with tears at the possibility of loss. He'd established so much, changed so much, and he thought for the better. But one word to any of them of the past four years of his own existence—still yet to be experienced by these not yet battle-weary soldiers of war—and he'd be packed up with the garbage and shoved to the side where he wouldn't be seen or heard of again.

Which in itself wasn't really a good plan, what with a vengeful master vampire roaming the city bent on revenge. He was already feeling the loss of Buffy from his everyday harder and more painfully than he had when she had discarded him in favour of death. It was all so tempting to deny it, be the evil self-serving bloodsucker Harris had always accused him of being and lie.

All it took was the raising of his head. Shades of blue clashed with hazel as Spike felt pulled back to the almost tragedy of earlier tonight. The Watcher still looked worn and lethargic, and far too pale as he lay hard against the pillows. Fatigue etched deep lines around his mouth and eyes and it made Spike worry. He wasn't used to these injuries. Either a victim was dead, or relegated to something more fulfilling than food. Never before had he really been left to worry about the survival of a victim. He was used to the injured being creatures that could heal supernaturally fast. This continued weakness bothered him and made him question whether he had done the wrong thing by keeping him out of the hospital.

But postponing the inevitable was futile when Giles had him pinned with determinate interest. No matter how much he wanted to run, to lie about what was really going on here, the game had changed with his failure to keep Angelus at bay. He had only one small hope left then. He could tell the tale, promise to leave Buffy alone as well as offer his help in taking Angelus down, but maybe Giles wouldn't be so hard and bitter as to rush right on and blurt the whole story to Buffy in a pique of irritation.

Was he too hopeful? Probably, but he had nothing left but hope. Not like he'd really gained Buffy's heart. Oh, he knew the intention was there, that she felt something solid and powerful, but no words had been spoken, on either side. For that he was grateful, so very thankful he'd controlled himself earlier in the night and not spilled his heart forth for Buffy to stomp on when she'd heard of his journey and trampled the black tissue into dust.

"How about we start with who that woman was?"

When the voice finally broke through the silence, it startled Spike to an uncharacteristic jumpiness. With a resigned sigh, he gave in.

"Her name is Anya. She's a vengeance demon."

Despite the dejected posture and the glassiness to Spike's eyes, Giles shivered at the evil implications of having a demon whose job it was to wreak vengeance in the name of those wronged so firmly and without invitation inside his house.

Yet she had sat beside him on his bed, a sad look in her eye as she worried about his state of health. How could he fear evil in someone who so obviously cared for him? Giles looked again at Spike. How could he indeed? This vampire, morose and conflicted, had been a welcome guest in his home now for weeks. Despite having no defences against the vampire if Spike should have felt the urge to go for his throat, Giles had no feelings of distrust toward him at all. Rather, Spike had saved his life. In his tired mind, Giles couldn't help but remunerate the turn with patience and consideration. His world had indeed become a peculiar place.

"What business did she have here? With you?" Giles asked quietly, almost wishing he didn't have to and could just pretend this cog had not been thrown into the works.

He felt that reluctance to know even more keenly as Spike struggled, the vampire's expression pained and defeated. But Spike finally parted his lips, poised on the edge of revealing the truth of a situation that would be too far-fetched for consideration by anyone that wasn't a Scooby.

"I never meant to do it," he started on a defeated whisper. "Should have known to keep my bloody mouth closed, but we were talking, right? Both had our hearts shattered, both commiseratin' like a couple of fools, and the words just popped out. Regrets, you know? An' as sorry as I am now that it's all about to hit the fan, I wouldn't take it back. That's why she popped in, asked me to take it back, but I'm stayin' put. Know you'll have problems with that, Rupes. But I've made a decision and it's not up for discussion."

Having taken so long to decide on what to say, Spike found that the words poured from his heart like a valediction. It was over; he knew it. But he wouldn't go down leaving an impression that he'd done it for all the wrong reasons, even if he initially did. His wish might have been potentially disastrous, which would be a mite more fitting than the pleasure he'd had in getting to know this fresh, unscarred Buffy, but he could still help. Could still redirect the train wreck into a siding rather than let it wipe out the town with its devastation.

"A, vengeance demon, wreaks their vengeance how exactly? Have you done something terrible to Buffy and the rest of us?"

Spike marvelled at the calm inquiry, wondering if a shoe was about to drop much closer to his head than he might have been happy with. A subtle sniff of the air revealed no build-up of fear, no panicked desire to have Spike leave the flat by the fastest route possible—the dusty one. And it did nothing but compound his confusion.

"A wish. I made a stupid wish, half way drunk." He raised his eyes to see if the Watcher was buying it and clenched his jaw at the obvious show of incredulity. "Alright, so I was more than a dozen sheets to the bleeding gale, but thought I was still pretty sensible, but she just kept plying me with the booze and whining over the Whelp, and I opened my big gob and shoved my feet down my throat."

Giles couldn't prevent the raised eyebrow at the creative imagery as the story unravelled.

"Made a wish, stupid mish-mash of words, wished I could do it all over again, do it different, an' next thing I know is I'm back in the school with my second chance. An' Buffy looking like the Angel she is." He finished by letting his weary head fall into his cupped hands, elbows propped on his thighs.

"Sometimes I completely forget you are a vampire."

Spike's head whipped up and Giles sucked in a surprised breath at the flow of tears the vampire had obviously been trying to conceal.

"Oh, Spike. You think I am going to condemn you, don't you?" Giles felt his own throat become slightly thicker with a lump of sorrow and sympathy, but he pushed it on, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery before Buffy came barrelling back in with Jenny trailing behind her.

"You wished to do things over. So, er, how far in the future were you?"

Spike considered the man inclining further and further into his makeshift bed on the sofa as each minute ticked by. "You sure you're up to this? Not a pretty bedtime story, and the more timely events for you aren't so happy."

But Giles didn't even need to make a shot in the dark. Puzzle pieces suddenly dropped into place like they did after staring at them for days and getting nowhere fast. The actions of Spike, and the clues he had dropped along the way...

"Something happened to Jenny in your reality, didn't it?"

Spike's eyes became deadly in their cold determination.

"My reality is right now, Watcher. Nothing is goin' to happen to your ladylove while I'm around. As long as you're both sensible, and get a bloody move on with workin' out that curse, we'll all be fine."

Giles nodded, finding that he couldn't really stomach the possibility of what he was positive Spike was implying through his neglect of report.

"You said you were commiserating with this Anya, that you both had broken hearts? I take it you weren't so successful in trying to form a relationship with Buffy in the future?"

The sadness in Spike's eyes eclipsed any comment Giles thought to make regarding the inappropriateness of a vampire/slayer relationship. His current attitude had been to allow the match, seeing the endless possibilities in the actions Spike had undertaken in order to ensure Buffy's extended future. He'd done more than allow it. In his heart he'd formed a small cheering section, joined he was sure by Willow and Xander. The brunette adolescent even more a member since his observation of Spike racing to Giles's rescue.

"Buffy was a broken girl in my future. Torn out of heaven; couldn't trust her friends, and wouldn't trust a neutered, soulless demon. No matter how much I loved her. Angelus ruined her heart, took all she had to give. An' you," he finished in accusation, and Giles flinched with the unexpectedness of the attack. Not only was he surprised by the tone, but the action he was being accused of was unpalatable, despite the conviction of truth in Spike's voice.

One thing clawed at his subconscious, wheedling its way to the fore, and as it rounded the final bend, Giles gasped. His heart felt a pang of pain he had stupidly hoped to postpone for many years to come after the experiences the previous year with the Master. But it was out there, whether intentional or not, Spike had left a revelation that he couldn't leave untouched.

"Heaven?"

Just one word, and by the way the tears resurfaced in the vampires expressive eyes, Giles felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Spike gave him a single nod.

"Oh Lord." Giles fell back the final distance, no energy able to hold him up any longer...not now he knew his Slayer died again.

"When?" He couldn't wait for the answer. "And how did she come back? Was it another drowning?"

But the misery that aged the young appearance of the peroxided misfit was enough of a clue to make Giles shudder in delayed reaction.

"In about three years. Hell god gets the better of us and she has to sacrifice herself to save the world." Despite the overwhelming grief that had rounded suddenly back upon him, Spike couldn't help but smile his pride. To him, Buffy would always be one hell of a woman, and he wanted her to have that chance to mature. Wanted her to have chances full-stop.

"An' how is she brought back? You're little red witch was all behind that. Bint's gettin' dangerous. But your teacher should be able to slow her down, teach her the ropes and get her proper instruction maybe."

The gasp from Giles was like a bullet in the silence, cracking with its impact.

"So that is why you are so determined she move in. Was it Angelus?"

Spike sighed, wanting to kick his own arse for not watching his words better. It was what had gotten him in this predicament in the first place.

"Yeah, mate. He's a right wanker and buggers up all sorts of...look, it's not productive to rehash all this. Just take it from me that the future is not a bunch of roses and be done with it. I'll move out tomorrow, an' I'll stay away as best I can, but I'm not goin' back. Can save lives an' hearts this time, an' I don't just mean mine. Not goin' to desert you lot with something like Angelus in the wings, jus' waitin' for the opportunity to eat you all alive."

"Indeed. No point in worrying unnecessarily. You've already sufficiently changed things I would assume?"

The bark of laughter lacked humour and set Giles's teeth on edge.

"Oh, I'll say. Buffy didn't have her heart torn apart by that vindictive bastard. An' with a bit of luck, she won't be too distraught about the situation and be able to kill him if the opportunity presents."

Giles looked confused. "I thought the aim was to have him resouled?"

The contours of Spike's face sharpened as he worked his jaw, anger and frustration opposing the commonsense that allowed a speck of affection for his grandsire, as well as the acknowledgment that the great lumbering git had a destiny to fulfill—was needed for the safety of more than just puppies and Christmas.

"The so-called aim is to prevent the wanker from killing you all. If your gypsy girl can't translate the curse soon, and even better get rid of the bleeding loophole, then we've got to be prepared. Las' time round some pretty heavy actions were needed. Your bird left behind the curse," Spike ignored the sharp intake of breath. "Left Red to do the mojo to put the soul back in our dashing hero, but it wasn' good for her. Too much magic way too soon, an' she's payin' the price for it now."

"I think I don't want to know much more. I'm feeling rather ill. But, I assume that in this other life, you and I are not..."

"Not close, you lot can't stand the sight of me. Happy to have me in a fight, to help protect you all when Buffy is dead, but any other time you'd all rather stake me than give me the time of day."

It was said in an almost wounding bluntness that made Giles feel immediately ashamed.

"And Buffy?"

"Slayer hates my guts though I love her till the end of the world. Would die for her, and probably will one day. Certainly been tortured to protect her enough times. But I won't take advantage, if that's what you're worryin' about."

"Actually, no. I find myself not worrying at all. Spike, the Giles and Scoobies you speak of are very different people. I cannot judge you on something I have not experienced. All you have shown us has been kindness and protective concern. I think you are truly a marvel for your species, and I would wish to discuss this with you another time. Particularly the neutered image you mentioned earlier. When this situation is dealt with, you can tell me more in depth about events as you've already experienced."

The relief had Spike sagging in his chair.

Just one more thing needed to be sorted, though, and he berated himself for lacking the courage to dive in and attack it head on. Evidently his struggle was obvious to his quiet observer and Giles broached the topic instead.

"I have no intention of telling Buffy any of this now. I won't interfere in what you are doing. You are welcome to stay here, though I acknowledge with Jenny, it could get a little crowded."

The men shared a smile of understanding, and Spike added a chuckle at the picture of Giles actually sharing his very masculine space with a woman. Spike sent a silent wish that the Watcher might even find the opportunity to fit in a quality shag in between his multiple cups of tea.

"Right, so no spilling the beans to Buffy. An' if she still wants to see me?" Shyness crept into his face at the last, eyes dropping to study nails with tiny flecks of black nail polish stubbornly sticking to the outer cuticle.

"I shan't interfere. I'm rather hoping I will be otherwise occupied."

Cocky grins bounced off each other as they sat back and relaxed, waiting finally for the Slayer to come back with her charge.

~* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Without doubt, this had turned into the freakiest night on Buffy record. What had started out as a normal patrol with Angel had quickly progressed into one of the worst nights of her life. And that was saying something when it had to stand up against being killed by the Master. But how could she expect anything less when her life consisted of two possible suitors of the vampire persuasion? How many other teenagers went to bed each night agonising over which vampire to keep as her boyfriend?

Before Spike, the choice had seemed simple enough. Except, well, there was no choice. But the rules were pretty straightforward. Angel had a soul, so he was a good guy, despite being a bad guy for the first half of his existence. There was that little thing about his only having a soul in the first place because he picked on the wrong gypsy tribe, but he was making up for it. Really, there was no question that Angel was the better choice, he was all souled and had been helping her save the world for a whole, well, year and a half. And before that? For the hundred years he'd already had his soul? Rats. Alleyways and rats and no to the world saveage.

Which is where the comparison to Spike not only became very deep and muddied, but also a whole lot of complicated. Because he was the outlaw, the troublemaker that bucked all the rules so all you could do was discard all your assumptions about life, about right and wrong, and start restructuring your beliefs from scratch.

Spike may have kissed his way into her life, winning her with massive sex appeal while cashing on teenage hormonal curiosity, but he was so much more than that. Buffy melted every time she recognised an emotion in his eyes, every time she was the recipient of one of those hot looks. Sure, there was an amazing attraction between them that she couldn't ignore, even if she had tried to. But there was something more meaningful there, something that treated them both with care as it carried them along a path toward each other. Something that paved the way for him to enter her heart and change her life so radically.

Spike was an evil demon; there was no argument there. He had no soul, no apparent moral compass to keep him on the straight and narrow. No obvious one, at least from what Buffy could see. Yet he was there, fighting with her, fighting to protect her.

And without struggling to make a choice at all, she fell in love with him.

The revelation was the first time she took the risk of admitting it to herself. The first time she allowed herself to recognise that it was possible to feel that way for something she shouldn't. What they had, this attraction, this burning need Buffy felt to be with him, seemed way too normal. Angel had taught her that love was all with the angst and the mystery and the abnormality with the bumpies.

But Spike wasn't like that. Most of the time, Buffy forgot that he was even a vampire. He rarely suited up, even in the most vicious fights, and certainly not from kissing her. She figured he had a tighter reign on his demon—either that or it was weaker in him and that was why he was so different.

But the night was way high on her wigged out scale. And Spike had featured strongly in all events. Evil, hurtful, scary events that made her fearful that, despite not really having that hard a decision of whether to belong to Spike or Angel, she'd almost lost the very thing she was anxious not to.

Tears threatened as Buffy replayed the bitter words, the stark fury and rage that had exploded from Spike the second he'd caught up to her. Having already built herself up to a high of self-castigation for making the mistake of supporting Angel against him, his attacking words had flayed her and left her fearful, so very terrified that he was about to punish her for the blunder by denying her of his presence in her life.

But it had all been a misunderstanding, which was good for her, but way bad for everyone in the long run. But the main point right now was that Spike was still her
...was Spike her boyfriend? The thought made her smile, so she sure hoped so. There was so much yet that she hadn't experienced with Spike, so much she wanted to be taught, so much she wanted to say to him...

But now Angelus was on the loose and for some reason that was completely a mystery to her, Giles was frantically following Spike's advice. Acting almost like he'd done this scene before. Which so wasn't possible. And yet, without question he'd assumed the role of leader. Admittedly he knew the foe firsthand, and Giles was weaker than a newborn kitten, but still. Wasn't she the Slayer?

The pout was childish, but after the emotional rollercoaster she'd ridden the whole night, she felt she should be forgiven for it in the let down. Still, the thing between she and Spike was settled for now...except for the fact that the idiot actually thought she'd left Giles's to go sleep the sleep of the lusty soul depriving with Angel. Funny how that scenario, once imagined with a regularity that was embarrassing, now made her feel slightly ill.

Buffy felt herself on the edge of an inner rant of gigantic proportions, but was unable to indulge it as she quickly closed in on her destination. The apartment building stood still and large, and mostly dark bar from the light spilling from one tiny window and the open door of a small cream VW bug. The trunk of the car also was propped open and Buffy could see a suitcase and computer equipment—the dead giveaway in her book that this was Ms. Calendar's car. She'd made it and no Angelus in sight. She only hoped there was some wood around so she didn't jinx herself. Looking around she became aware of the pointy piece sticking into her back, and smiled as she took it out and gave it a repeated bunt with her knuckles. Nobody could accuse Buffy of bringing hell to her heels with the jinxyness. Thanks to her trusty stake she was all jinx free!

The signs of hurried packing was another thing to add to Buffy's weird night. Okay, so they were all unsafe now that Angelus was on the rampage, or at least that was what Spike was implying. Buffy found it hard to believe, what with the example of Spike and the previous possession of a soul, that Angel's transformation to Angelus wouldn't be as evil and filled with terror as one might have first expected. So, wasn't it a little extreme for Spike to get all demandy about Ms. Calendar becoming Giles's newest houseguest? And Giles with all the agreeing?

Buffy shrugged and then jumped almost right out of her skin when a hand rested firmly against her shoulder. Instinct drove her and before she knew it she'd shoved her teacher against her car with a hand squeezing her neck. As soon as the recognition filtered through her brain, Buffy let go abruptly. She took a large step back and rushed in with her apologies.

"I am soo sorry. I was thinking...and well, you startled me."

Jenny Calendar rubbed her neck before allowing a nervous smile to touch her lips.

"Completely my fault, Buffy. I was taking my life into my own hands by walking up behind you."

They both sighed and almost simultaneously turned to scan the darkness of the night. When her gaze returned to the car and the dark haired gypsy woman, she noticed the light in the building behind was no longer shining.

"Ready, then?" Buffy prompted and they both got in the car.

"Has Angel been inside anyone else's house besides Rupert's?"

Buffy took a moment to think abut her friends, already knowing that her own house wasn't safe and suddenly grateful her mom had gone out of town on yet another gallery inspired purchase trip.

"Pretty sure he never made it into Xander's place, but I'm not sure about Willow's. And mine is a definite danger zone."

Jenny was nodding, already cataloguing the ingredients she would need to protect the other houses. She had enough in her satchel to disinvite Angelus from Rupert's house, but not for any others for what was left of the night.

The car pulled to a stop out the front of Willow's house and Buffy dragged Ms. Calendar along with her to retrieve her friend. She knocked on the door to Willow's room, glad not for the first time of the private access to her friend, and sighed from a pent up fear that she hadn't even realised she was feeling.

Explanations were swift, and only made marginally more sense to Buffy than they did Willow. While the danger was revealed, Willow went about packing a change of clothes and a toothbrush and then locked up behind her before following them back to the car. Buffy paused at the door, the hairs suddenly prickling at the back of her neck. She knew without a doubt that Angelus was here, and he was watching. Well, good! She was glad he knew they were on to him, although perhaps he didn't know that. And gah! Could things just slow down a little?

With a shiver of apprehension, she shooed the other two in the car and encouraged Jenny to put her foot to the floor and turn the car toward Giles'. She didn't know about anyone else, but exhaustion was making her limbs lethargic and she was more than keen to get home to bed. And if that bed consisted of a set of arms to hold her and keep her safe, then she was so gonna be the happy girl tonight

. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy heard the telltale voices of the two men as she approached the door. The watcher and the vampire. It was a strange combination, but get Xander in there and she would have all three of her favourite men in the same room. But when she'd left, Giles had been looking frail as Spike led him to the sofa. She'd never seen her Watcher weak, never seen him so close to death, and as her only parental figure that truly knew what she was, his near loss was frightening to her.

Willow and Ms. Calendar waited behind her—arms full with various bits of a computer—as Buffy shouldered her way indoors. The night had just dragged on forever and her muscles were burning with the need to rest. Gaining entry they came to a stop as Giles weakly attempted to struggle to his feet and both Spike and Ms. Calendar rushed to push him back.

Talk was minimal, Buffy participating in none of it as she used a mash of tired head jerking and pointed stares to tell Spike to move it and drive them home. Somewhere behind her haze of exhaustion, she heard Spike and Willow offer goodnights, and Buffy couldn't help but snipe internally about how so far, it had been the night from hell.

During the slow blink of her eye, the trio found themselves outside in the barely darkened sky and standing in front of a classic hunk of junk. Buffy hadn't experienced a ride in Spike's monstrosity that he so lovingly passed off as a car, but she was so tired right now she would have been happy to be driven home in a streetsweeper.

It was testament to the night so far, that as soon as Spike turned on the engine some repulsive mix of what she so did not call music came blaring from the speakers. It woke her up like a bucket of icy water wouldn't have.

"What the hell do you have against my eardrums?" she screeched.

The incensed look she had going on turned her face a becoming shade of pink—and Spike loved it. With the night they'd all had, he felt it important to focus on the love, the things about her that were special. As he clicked the tape deck off, cutting his favourite song criminally short, he felt an overpowering urge to show every living cell on her body how bloody much he thought she was special.

The trip was short but once the rusting pile of Detroit scrap iron clattered to a stop in the driveway, everyone clambered out and released tremendous sighs of relief. Door shut, Willow shown to Joyce's room, Buffy left Spike wandering around looking at pictures in the living room while she went to the bathroom. A shower was doing more than singing to her—rather it sounded like that bad screaming crap Spike called music. So, with a groan of satisfaction Buffy felt the pulsing needles of hot water massage her skin till she was almost completely lulled to sleep. It wasn't until the water sprayed her cold that she shivered and rushed to turn it off, climbing out and putting on her robe.

It hadn't been discussed where Spike was going to sleep, and Buffy felt a little disappointed that he hadn't followed her upstairs, even if she was thinking naughty thoughts that she couldn't possibly indulge in. The fact that she had gone so far already was pushed to the back of her mind. The point was, he hadn't followed her up. He was obviously planning on standing guard for the night, watching over and protecting her from a possible attack from Angelus.

With sleepiness edging back in and a feeling of dejected unattractiveness, she made it back to her room. As she turned and closed the door behind her, she was seized from behind and pushed up against the vertical surface. Not hard, but the body flush against her, holding her in place, was strong and steady. Determined to play.

"You naked under there, pet?"

Buffy shuddered at the hot tone, the cold tongue tracing a line up the side of her throat. She could feel his hands teasing the tie of her robe in the small space between her body and the door. His lips closed around the patch of skin his tongue had bathed, and he sucked. His teeth nipped and he sucked, the pressure growing until she could feel the sweet sting of pain as her blood was pulled to the surface.

She forgot language as his explorative fingers found the cooled skin of her belly, the tie falling away and the robe pushed slightly open. He rubbed his fingertips in a line up and down, from breastbone to pubis, blowing softly on the wet spot of her neck. Goosepimples tore to the surface and she felt herself shake under his touch. The desire to feel him, look at him was so strong, but he held her with determination against the door, having too much fun with the teasing.

Buffy felt the lust fairy perch on her shoulder and guided her. It told her that by pushing her ass into his crotch she would feel the slide of wetness as it escaped her pussylips, desperate for some kind of resolution. She rejoiced in his growl, began moving her body against his hand as he resumed the repetitive stroking, encouraging the boundaries to both go lower and higher.

A weeping cry tore from her throat as a finger brushed the swell of her breast and the softness of her curls. She braced her hands against the door, then began to rub her ass against his erection, tears coming to her eyes as his roughened fingertips finally scraped over her eager nipple, faintly swiped over her clit.

"Spike," she whimpered and at last he turned her around and slammed her back into the wood pannelling, bruising her lips with a fierce kiss that drove her out of her mind. His lips fell open, the softness her undoing as she searched for his tongue, sucking it into her mouth like she'd hungered for it for years. His taste was like a drug, so bitter from cigarettes that settled into a strong burn from alcohol. Separately they would make Buffy want to puke, but together it was a magical mix that convinced her she was a goddess, on the planet to do nothing but drink from him.

He was panting when he pulled away, watching as the blankness faded from Buffy's eyes and she was able to comprehend that she was standing essentially naked in front of him. A soulless vampire that she was falling over a cliff in love for. Though she wanted to be shy, protect herself from his sight and the possible rejection if she wasn't quite what he wanted, she made herself be courageous and do nothing. Say nothing. Hide nothing.

That he could be repulsed by any part of her was discarded almost immediately as her whole body flushed from his hungry gaze. His look of wonder elicited a response of preparation. Her nipples hardened, she gushed with wanting him in places new. She sucked in her belly to push out her breasts further, almost frantic now for his touch, for his mouth to take her in places he hadn't yet explored. Breath rushed from her lungs as his warm tongue circled a nipple before his mouth sucked it inside.

"Buffy," he hissed against the tautness of her bulging nub. Thought chased themselves around his brain, fears surfacing even now in this moment of bliss. Spike was terrified it would still be snatched from him, this skin never his to possess, to love and worship for the rest of their days. Paranoid that no matter what he did, she could never love him, would never want to join her life with his.

He buried his face against her flesh, licking the nipple and suckling like a newborn as tears welled in his eyes. It was urgent—the need to say the words, set himself in her favour forever more. The uncertainty was sending him mad as surely as the continual denials and fists of his future Buffy had done.

And only one question could settle it all, let him know his place, let him hold success or failure in his grip. The tears were held tight as he took a breath and kept his eyes squeezed shut, kept his face against her breast.

"Buffy," he tried again, his voice hoarse with his fear of repetition. "Tell me you're my girl."
 

Chapter 15:

“Tell me you’re my girl?”

Movement stilled as she took in the high those words gave her. The rush you got from knowing you were so important to someone that they were terrified of losing you. He wanted her, was afraid enough of her rejecting him to be nervous about the reality of their relationship. If Buffy was reading Spike right, he sounded so dejected about the possibility of her answer being in the affirmative, that he had hung his head against her breast in easy acceptance. Despite that confusion, however, anticipation was a curled fist against the curve of her belly.

Her lips parted to joyfully proclaim the right of him, to forever bind him to her, when a sharp, shocking slow clap breached the lustful romantic haze enveloping her heart. Spike’s head shot up from her breast with a start, he turned and allowed narrowed eyes to locate the intruder.

Buffy gasped on seeing Angel, her hands quickly going to retie the knot at her waist and shutting off the view.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” She held apology in her voice in a way that questioned her view on events, that she wasn’t comfortable with the private goings on that had been enacted behind closed doors and curtains. The brunette vampire had breached her boundaries and instead of righteous fury, she acted like a girlfriend caught being caressed by another man.

It didn’t go far in changing Spike’s view of his position in her life.

The grating clap had continued until she had spoken, and on hearing the quiet searching tones compelled from her throat, his lips took on the magnitude of a sneer, his eyes sharpened from recent death and pain. They glittered with pleasure, malice circling in a swirl of black hidden behind the depth of his expression.

But Spike saw it, and for the first time wondered what—or who—this incarnation of his grandsire would destroy. He had changed the playing field, and for the first time in his adventure Spike felt nervous about his lack of knowledge of where this situation could end up.

“Get out,” he commanded, voice held smartly in check so as not to reveal the bitter rage that was boiling just below his earlier plea. She hadn’t answered him; hadn’t beat him to the curb and rearranged the lines of his face either. But still the ambiguity of an entreaty gone without response took up most of his attention. Despite the presence of dark evil draped around her window frame.

“Now, William, don’t be rude to your family.” The cold smile of a killer flashed at him briefly before turning once again to the blonde whose bedroom he breached. “Ah, my little Buffy. And here I am thinking you’re my girl.”

The touch of hurt, the kicked puppy look so well utilised by soul and demon alike did it. Fooled her into acting without care to her safety or belief in the truths of Angelus. Before Spike could do anything to prevent it, she had run across the room and enveloped the darker vamp in a commiserating hug.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I didn’t want to hurt you, but we are broken up.”

She’d pulled a little away, her neck still in easy reach of Angelus’s descending fangs, and Spike finally found the will to move his feet. At the same time, Angelus spoke.

“Oh Buff,” he drawled as his hand stroked tenderly down her warm cheek. “That’s why it won’t hurt me when I do this.” And he backhanded the same cheek, sending her spinning into her cupboard hard. With a thump she hit resistance to her flight and crumpled to a pile of terry-towelling on the floor.

The room was silent, waiting to see if she would rise and what would be her condition. It really only counted off into seconds when she lifted her head, her gaze blurred a little from a combination of shock and dizziness, but the steely glint of fight was not yet there, causing Spike to curse from within. The hurt wasn’t quite devastating, but he should have known that—no matter what he had saved her from—Buffy would always find a sliver of heart for the clod in front of them that would dictate her movements away from quick decisive conclusions.

“Angel?” she delayed, her voice cracking even now the revelation was old.

“Not bloody Angel, you daft bint. I bleeding well told you the poof had left the building.” Spike’s tone rivalled his grandsire’s in the hauntingly cold derision that formed his words, irritation at both the interruption and the dogged belief of Buffy’s to not believe the truth about one she had supposedly loved. Loved still, from where Spike was standing.

“Not Angel,” he confirmed with an amused lilt, the brooding inflection completely absent from his tone. He spoke now with eager delight, with knowledge and freedom that had been repressed for over a hundred years. If Spike had been less than a vampire, he’d have shivered.

“So, William! You still trying to get someone to be your girl?”

The barb hit its mark hard, leaving Spike drained first of fight then of hope, succumbing finally to the cloud of futility he had suspected he would always have to carry.

“Hey,” shouted Buffy, but she remained ignored, the two vampires trying to establish rank against each other while standing in the middle of a girly bedroom—complete with frills.

“It’ll never happen, boy.” Angelus, as always, jabbed where he knew it would hurt most. “You’ll always be second best. Get there last. Lose the girl. You’re a loser, Will. But thanks for handing Dru over. She’s a very smart girl for getting Daddy back.”

His laugh inspired cold shivers down her spine and was the final incentive Buffy needed in order to put her stubborn schoolgirl memory of Angel aside and accept his evil alter ego was possibly everything Spike had warned her about.

Spike.

He stood with his head bowed, defeat hunching his shoulders in a way that a century of promising kisses and vows of love would be working uphill to shift. Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the dejected posture of the vamp she loved, the sense of devotion deepening in her heart every stolen moment she had with him. To see him apparently beaten, resigned to an existence without her reassurance tore at her like nothing else. More than almost losing her Watcher to death. Much more than losing her first crush to a soulless demon.

The security of his heart was all that mattered to her now. Fighting was for another day.

Buffy had already gained her feet, had searched out a stake from her dresser that had fallen unnoticed to the floor when she had taken a headlong dive into the structure. Her hand clenched around the comfort of the deadly stick of wood as she took one small step to the entity suspended in her window.

“Did you come here for a reason, Angelus?”

Both sets of vampire eyes focused on her change, the new acceptance of his rightful personality. Within moments she had found a hard resolve that banished the weak schoolgirl and left evil nothing to recognise but the promise of the Slayer.

“Of course, darling. I came to play. Imagine my surprise to not only find you allowing my worthless childe to feel you up, but that you’ve been warned already of my return. Ruined all my fun.”

Buffy could feel the skin over her lips tighten at his pout, the urge to do damage surging through her veins like an express train crashing through fire. The livid snarl she felt more than heard from directly behind her confused her senses for only a moment, her inner Slayer being able to distinguish almost instantaneously the one she needed to protect and claim.

“Get out of here. You’ve no business with her, and I wouldn’t let you hurt her even if you had the right. No marks; you didn’t take her in any way. Guess you’re shit out of luck there, Ponce!”

Buffy could feel the tense coiling of muscles in the predator behind her, her back to a monster that could never do her harm, and she felt safer than she ever had with him by her side. He wanted to strike at the threat, push it to a crashing fall out of the window and from the roof.

Deep down she wanted to let him, but the niggling thought that this wasn’t time for a fight kept hitting at her till she took note and reeled in her impulse to violence. But the enemy was in her room and the biggest goal right now was to get him right the hell out. Having him curled around her window frame, smirking and making her skin crawl with every leery look and slur aimed toward Spike, was pretty decent motivation to remove him. As he threw even more not quite so subtle barbs at Spike, her dander was finally up to full throttle and she let the anger spill forth.

“You know what?” Buffy almost shouted, gaining the attention of both sets of demon eyes. Angelus looked confused by the unscheduled derailment, but had not time to think of the point because Buffy was determined to make sure everyone was safe. At this moment, it meant saving herself and Spike. “You interrupted one of those really important moments, and in the process you took ten minutes of my life that I won’t ever get back.”

His cocked eyebrow and amused smirk had her inner eye flash with fire-engine red, her fury pumping the power through her body like no other emotion was capable.

“But the thing that really bugs me?” The pause had him leaning forward slightly, waiting on the wisp of a girl with the power to dust him to smithereens. “You have really stupid hair.”

At his indignant gasp, Buffy raised her foot and planted it squarely in Angelus’s chest, the force of the kick sending him whizzing through the open air until he was pulled up short by the neighbour’s tree. Buffy’s euphoric smile—inspired by the resounding smack of his head against the bark and the handful of leaves that lodged in his perfectly styled hair—slipped into a disappointed pout that he didn’t hit any protruding branches and put them simply out of their misery. She could hear Angelus’s grunt from across the street and as he turned to glare at her and intimidate her with the flash of his fangs, she pointedly looked at the lightening sky and tapped with purpose at her bare wrist, indicating the ticking of time. With another growl—resigned to having to return to the torment another day—he left in a swish of coat and faded quickly into the disappearing night.

After one last look, Buffy swivelled on her heel to face Spike, feeling no sense of repulsion as he showed her the reality of his face. She did the one and only thing she would have been able to. She strutted toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to within a hairsbreadth from her own.

“I’m yours, Spike. Soon, I will be completely yours. But for now? Definitely your girl.”

And she kissed him, soft lips brushing against surprisingly soft demon ones, not even an inkling of fear.

Absolutely was she his girl. One swift kick in the shin wrought the required ouch for it to end. “And stop with the stupid questions,” she pouted, and squealed when he latched on and made that lip his own.

Spike was in Buffy’s room, with permission this time around, with her hands seeking out his goodly secrets. All he could do was smile at something that seemed the key to his change in circumstance. It was all changed forever now, irrevocably altered and this time—for the first time ever—it was in his favour.

Buffy was his girl.



~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Willow was curled up within the bed coverings, a stake held tightly in her fist. She had shot to alert when a scratching on the outside of her window made her teeth vibrate against her jaw. Only once had she let her eyes fall upon the inky darkness greeting the other side of the glass, and she gasped in elevated fear as the pale leering smile of Angel peered in at her. He waved with his fingers, obviously looked over her shaking form as she trembled against the sheets, and then left.

His disappearance didn’t sooth her nerves, though it gave her enough presence of mind to climb from the bed and gain her shoes—in case she would have to run for her life. With her back against the door, she soon became aware of sound across the hall. A loud bang and the clattering of smaller objects to the floor queued her in to the possibility that the newly soulless vamp hadn’t gotten his kicks from frightening her and then just moved on.

The hairs on the back of her neck fought to leave her skin as she heard the deep voice in the other room while it taunted and decimated her friends. It wasn’t the first time Willow had thought of Spike as her friend, but it was a new feeling to find faith in his efforts of protection. In his deep desire to keep them all safe.

She could almost feel his pain across another room and hall, knowing that the vampire had some serious issues in regards to his confidence and choices in love. Resigned to not sleeping for the rest of the night—not that much blackness still clung to the air—Willow sank to the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and kept one ear out for the signs that would indicate the Slayer hadn’t been diligent.

Willow was quickly finding her breathing to be on a rapid incline to hyperventilation, little bubbling screams pushing at her throat and backed by her very healthy lungs. Each nasty taunt by the vampire they had all trusted for so long brought miserable tears to her eyes. The shaking wouldn’t stop, and her rump was getting both cold and sore with her cowering on the floor.

Finally she heard Buffy fight back with some very obscure insults of her own, and the thud of what could only be a powerful blow to someone. The fact that no impact rocked the house implied that someone had just been fiercely and abruptly ejected from the building. Low murmuring of a soft voice clued her in to Angel gone byeage, and she hesitantly pushed her way to her feet.

When the silence seemed more comfortable rather than terrifying, Willow flung open her door and dived headlong across the hall. Turning the knob to Buffy’s door seemed no contest as she found herself within the room, almost falling at the super-couples feet in the sweetest of relief.

“Oh Buffy,” she breathed through her fear derived tears. “He just stared at me…through the window…” she sobbed, her face buried in the shoulder of her friend.

Buffy and Spike shared a look above the redhead, one meant to be answering questions and offering their own form of comfort. However, Spike saw little but history repeating, and possibly forcing those he cared about to brook an even more destructive path.

It was all akin to a typical Spike plan. Try as he might, they never bloody worked. Never made it to the happy conclusion he was going for. Sure, he was good at deviating from the path if the outline was all wonky—if he managed to see it in time—but the potential for disaster that he always optimistically avoided, seemed always to catch him by the chin.

But this time, it was different. His other plans had been motivated by evil. Had been designed to take down the Slayer and reward himself with glorious benefits. Looking back now, he could see his heart had never really been in it; had in fact been more of a try to be as evil and deserving for his dark princess as he could. This time, he needed things to be changed. Needed to prevent Buffy from the emotional pain that blocked off her heart. Needed to prevent the hurt that would taint this group of people—his family—from accepting him.

This time, he couldn’t fail.

And yet, it seemed like he was. Keeping Buffy away from his poofy sire hadn’t been enough. He’d covered many bases—and lets not forget he was thinking on the fly, thank you muchly—but the odds were stacked against him when he had no warning of his sudden trip back through time. The reality of a more open Buffy, a new shot at having her love him…was it any wonder he had forgotten to watch himself around Dru?

And he was paying for it now. The bone deep fear he held that, no matter what he did, or who he stopped, something big was going to go down now Angelus was on the loose, and Spike was going to lose it all yet again. After being so close. After holding it all in his hands and seeing the spark of love for him in her eyes. Angelus was going to take it all away from him, because that was inevitably what Angelus was all about.

The spread of heat from Buffy’s words, her lips sharing a declaration he thought impossible to ever hear or experience, was too short lived as Red came barrelling through the door. Her obviously distraught state might have taken away his opportunity to bask in Buffy’s gift, but it also put him on alert and reminded him how serious life for them all now was.

“Right, tomorrow the teacher needs to put a disinvite on the house. Don’t want anymore bloody surprises like that one. Has Peaches been in your place before, Red? If so, disinvite there, too. Bloody hell, disinvites all round I say. Get the bugger right out of all our hair.”

The thought of hair brought a smile to his lips, distracting him momentarily from the seriousness of the night.

“Bloody brilliant comeback there, pet. Ponce never could get that his hair would stand up just as well without half the gel he uses.”

Willow raised a hesitant hand. “A-a-actually, I think he uses mouse.”

Buffy and Spike both frowned at her but she shrugged them off. “He asked me to buy some for him once.”

Girly giggles greeted Spike’s irritated eye roll. “So the big brooding git uses mouse. Who bloody cares?” In the next second he could have cursed himself as the haunted look chased away the playfulness in her eyes, and the redhead collapsed again.

He sighed, irritated at his brevity, but knowing that the mood, once lost in these circumstances, could not be adequately retrieved. No matter how hard he might want it to.

“You lot get some shuteye. Keep the door open, jus’ incase. I’ll kip downstairs after it gets fully light and we know he can’t get back in. Shouldn’t be long now.”

He gave Buffy a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering his ‘thank you’ in her ear, turned and made his way out of the room. A hand on his stopped him and he was directed to lie beside her on the bed, no argument rising in his head as to why it would be better to leave her.

In silence, the two girls lay on the bed, arms entwined for comfort’s sake, and drifted toward a restless sleep, Spike falling fast behind them.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Giles could do nothing but watch as Jenny went about the business of keeping a formally welcome vampire from being an unwanted guest and killing them in their sleep. The night had already been long, and with his added weakness from being almost drained, he felt quite unable to even stay sitting up against his pillows while she finished the incantation that would keep Angelus on the outside.

“It’s just bloody marvelous what magic can achieve,” he beat out tiredly, almost succumbing to the now complete lack of strength in his body. He perked up a little at her indulgent smile, but quickly screwed up his nose when she swapped her handful of mini crosses for a glass of juice and the first of many iron tablets. He took the offering without word, however, not wanting to insult her when she made the most beautiful nurse he had ever seen.

The bitter mouthful of juice revived him somewhat and he was able to take small notice of the wrinkle of fear around her eyes and mouth, and couldn’t help but shudder around his suspected knowledge from Spike. The words were not spoken, but the implications of devastation to his world were intense.

“It is imperative that we neutralise this threat of Angelus. We cannot have him and his consort loose on the streets of Sunnydale. Together they are too dangerous for even Buffy to take on, though the presence of Spike is a welcome support…” He stopped abruptly as she placed a finger over his lips and rewarded him with a tentative smile.

“I brought all my files so that I can work on the curse. Given just a little bit of time, I’m sure I can translate it and make him Angel again…” She stopped at Giles’s snort of impatience.

“I am not so certain that it is worth your effort.”

“He is not…”

Jenny jumped to her feet as the voice at the now open door flooded her with dormant feelings of responsibility and loyalty. Giles was still too weak to do more than struggle to a seated position, his brows crossed as he sorted out the effect of the rude intrusion and entry to his home and the strange subservient position of Jenny.

“Who are you? And how dare you break into my home.” His voice offered flinty reminders to the presence of his alter ego, and he inwardly cursed his lack of blood that kept him to the fringes of what could be a dangerous fight for their lives.

Until he saw Jenny drift forward and offer a warm but apologetic hug to the man that had not come more than a step into the flat.

“The Elder woman has felt it. The signs were too sudden, but she has felt the curse be lifted. How could you let this happen?”

Jenny backed up a step. “This could not have been predicted. I don’t even know how it happened. But I can get the soul back, place it inside him again so that he will continue to burn. I just need some time…”

“Time? Time for someone else’s cherished daughter to fall at his feet?”

Her head fell, defeat stamped into every part of her that could establish feeling. Face drawn, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast…she was the picture of failure.

Until one memory sparked her to fight, to offer her beliefs and struggle for their implementation once again.

“I promise you. Angel still suffers. And he makes amends for his
evil. He even saved my life. The right thing to do is to return his soul.” Her voice was strong, determined in her ability to both renew her vow to her clan, and make Angel what he was.

“So you just forget that he destroyed the most beloved daughter
of your tribe?! That he killed every man, woman and child that touched
her life?! Vengeance demands that his pain be eternal as ours is! How could you let him experience a moment’s happiness? He must be stopped.”

“Then returning the curse would appear to suit us all, then, doesn’t it! You get your continued bloody vengeance and we get a warrior for good. Now, on your bike.” Giles had stumbled to his feet, hand gone white from the grip on the sofa back he held to keep himself upright.

His words had no impact and he watched as Jenny seemed lost in a world he had no knowledge of but which consisted of deep loyalty to a group that had condemned the world to the eventual release of a monster. They may have prettied him up with a shiny soul, but providing a get out of jail card pressed beyond the boundaries of responsible tactics.

“I'm sorry. I thought...” Jenny shook her head slowly, gently as the gravity of her place drifted to encompass her.

“You thought what?! You thought you are Jenny Calendar now?! You
are still Janna, of the Kalderash people! A Gypsy.”

“I know... Uncle. I know.”

“I think you do not know. You’re watching failed. You were unable to prevent the monster’s return though it was your job. Now I find you here, alone with a man.”

“But he is ill; he was attacked…”

“Enough.” The raised hand before her halted her justifications and her head bowed once again, offering her subservience in the face of clan disappointment. “You are finished here, Janna,” he offered, his voice shades warmer than before, favour making a showing where before he was fierce. “You must gather your things and return with me at once.”

Her dark eyes flashed at him, projecting her dislike of the order as she battled with her inherent upbringing to obey. The deep clearing of his throat finally drew attention and Giles smiled warmly at her before turning a frosty glare at her uncle.

“Ms. Calendar will not be going anywhere.” His voice was hard and belied any of the weakness suffered by his body. “She is our only hope of reinstating the cursed soul. I believe it is her desire to both return Angel to us as well as help fight Angelus—to prevent some of the bloodshed that will be inevitable should she leave as you suggest. We would be left without a suitable weapon to counteract the situation. It is not any of our fault that Angelus has returned. This could not have been predicted, as your elder woman has already pointed out to you.”

The fury that bloomed on the darker faced man could not be missed as he turned sharply to his niece.

“Is this what you want, Janna?”

Giles could see the shake of her hand as she raised it to brush away invisible strands of hair from her face.

“I think it is what I must do, Uncle. I owe it to our tribe to stop him hurting more, for taking away loved ones from other families.” Her voice held a heavy plea for permission, for understanding that Giles could already see would remain absent from the one she called family.

“You owe these others nothing. The evil one is no longer your concern. Remove yourself from this place and we shall return home at once.”

The shake intensified as she prepared to do battle for her beliefs, allowing her spine to straighten and raising her eyes to relay the seriousness of her words.

“I cannot leave, Uncle. I will stay and translate the curse.”

“Then I cast you out,” was his furious rejoinder, at once rendering her null and void of blood. “See how the muló will like your taste now. It will be bitter with the taste of the unclean.”

“Oh, now that’s a bit harsh…”

“Rupert, please, no,” whispered Jenny through a throat choking on her own tears.

“I accept marimé, but will continue to undertake my duty.” Her voice shuddered around the words as strands of hair became caught in her rapidly moistened cheeks, face pale yet accepting of the punishment.

“You are not one of us; you have no duty to perform. Align yourself with these others you are so fond of and hope the beast does not hunger for your blood too badly. Farewell…Jenny Calendar.”

He was gone as suddenly as he appeared, and as Giles shook his head in bewilderment over the events that had barely just taken place, he used his last remaining burst of energy to catch his dark angel of mercy as she crumbled with grief to the floor.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Angelus hobbled back to his apartment just in time to turn his back to the subtle kiss of the morning. Dru waited for him, hanging limply from chains he had hastily erected high above his bed. Her body bled onto the innocent sheets and he felt wonderful about the prospect of revelling in someone’s agony before he claimed rest.

Bruised eyelids parted as he came closer to her figure, completely naked and marked with red and black and purple. He’d done quite a job on his dark childe, reclaiming every part of her body that she had given over to their progeny in his absence.

The way she had tricked him, admittedly to return her favoured Daddy to her, had reeked of manipulation and initiative that he hadn’t wanted bred into his women. William had done that to her, had let her think she was able to take command and call certain shots. He was grateful to her—make no mistake about it—but to let her go unpunished just wasn’t in Angelus’s nature.

His nature was of the most wicked, the most evil, and it was a nature that had captured his childe from the second of her rising. He had no Darla to enjoy anymore, no William to take out his ready frustrations on—yet! For now, his most beautiful Dru was his plaything, and playing with her was very nice and satisfying beyond his wildest dreams. Admittedly, he’d been held by a leash for so long that tripping an old lady struggling across the street would do it for him, but he had several steps above that in a tethered Dru to his stone wall, dangling above his virgin sheets.

Unable to stand the delicious promise of her canvas any longer, he stripped bare and located his toys lying unencumbered on the bed, right beside Dru’s thigh.

“Daddy, I’ve been so good,” she murmured through broken lips, and his smile blossomed into one that was thoroughly pleased with his childe’s behaviour.

“That you have, Dru. Now we’ll make sure you’re even better. Shall I?” he asked while holding up a wicked looking knife, the blade sharpened enough to slice hairs, carve intricate messages in cheese.

He swirled the tip around her nipple, delighting in her whimper as blood dripped over the swell of her breast. He quickly captured the flow with his tongue, using his now protruding fangs to add new slices along with the knife. His other hand remained annoyingly free, so as to not render himself bored, he wrapped a fist around his cock and squeezed, moaning around the suction he had on her nipple.

“You’ve been so bad, Dru. Being good now doesn’t take away the fact that you made me think I was fucking the Slayer.”

Her tortured cry was music to his ears as he dribbled holy water down her abdomen. It flowed to her pussy, burning at the hairs and causing a steam to rise and envelop him in the stench of burning flesh. Quickly donning on a thin silicone glove, he fiercely shoved his fingers into her hole, bypassing his own pain by protecting himself against the liquid of purity.

He jerked his fingers and twisted while biting her breast, leaving torn fang impressions in her milky white skin.

“Not good enough, babe. Daddy wants his precious to scream.”

He grabbed the whip and swung with a passion that cut deep grooves, rejoicing in the memory of damage and hate, and evil. He laughed as she opened her mouth to scream, happiness flooding him and imbuing him with a power he hadn’t ever known as he shoved his cock deep down her throat. Her choking meant nothing as he pumped his length against her tongue, holding a fistful of hair as he rocked her back and forth.

Her silent screams caused a pulse against the thick cord of his cock. It was excruciating; it was bliss. As he blew with violence down her throat, he grinned with pure malice and collapsed spent back on the bed. He rested for several minutes, reminding himself how lucky he was that she determined to be bad this one time.

“Tell you what, baby. I’m gonna forgive this transgression, and let you go. You can spend the day showing Daddy how glad you are I’m back, and tonight we can find a new hideout. Little Scoobies should be too busy scrabbling for today, and I’m betting they’d rather try to replace my soul rather than dust me, so for now we should be safe.”

He climbed up Dru’s battered and abused body to release the catch on the chains. She flopped forward and he caught her before tossing her roughly to the sheets. He stretched as he lay down beside her, staring at the ceiling where the ring for the chains now stuck out, and waited for her to start moving over his body with her hands and tongue. His hands were crossed behind his head as delicious thoughts of killing those who had thought him caught flashed behind his eyes.

“Show me how good it is to be home.”
 

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