Chapter 14: Happy Birthday Buffy

"Soooo!" Willow leaned over and gave Buffy an aggressive nudge with her shoulder.

Buffy gazed at her best friend, amused. "So . . . what?" she said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Day of birth. The big one-seven. A large stepping-stone in any adolescent’s young life, the day you are officially allowed into R-rated movies. No sneaking past any hapless movie ushers for you! A day of celebration all around!" Willow was nearly bouncing off the bench with glowing excitement and for a moment, Buffy wondered who’s birthday it actually was----hers or Willow’s.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Willow frowned, a disappointed little crinkle forming between her brows. "Buffy . . . aren’t you excited? I-it’s your birthday, a time of rejoicing, reminiscing, looking to the future . . . and cake."

Buffy laughed slightly but quickly looked down at her hands. "I am Willow, it’s just . . . I’ve got some heavy stuff on my mind." Willow understood and her face fell into sympathetic-best-friend mode.

"Angel?"

Buffy glanced up again, breathing a long drawn-out sigh. "As usual. What other heaviness would I be thinking about? Saving the world and defeating the forces of darkness seem like small-talk fodder in comparison." She somberly picked at her school bag in discomfort. "It’s been three weeks," she said, softer now.

"Three weeks since you’ve seen him? But isn’t that what you wanted?"

"Well no----I mean yes----I mean no!" She threw up her hands in frustration. "I don’t know what I want Willow. I mean, I thought it was for the best that I didn’t see him and he didn’t see me, especially with Spike around and everything but . . . it’s so hard. You can’t just turn off feelings like that." Guilt began coloring her face slightly, and again she ducked her head. "I went to see him the other night."

Willow’s eyes widened. "You did? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. He wasn’t there. His apartment was just . . . empty. Okay, it’s always empty, his idea of minimalism décor but . . . it looked like he hadn’t been there for days. And Willow---" her face was pinched with fear now. "The door was smashed in. What if he---"

"What if nothing. This is Angel we’re talking about. Big bad vampire? No way would some low-life thief just break in and take on Angel. He can take care of himself---"

"Not a thief I was talking about, Will," Buffy said, looking at Willow meaningfully. She lit up with recognition.

"Oh . . . o-oh you mean Spike? O-or Giles?" She pondered this for a second, growing a little more understanding of Buffy’s concerns. She shook her head uncertainly. "They wouldn’t do that. Okay, Spike would. But Spike is . . . otherwise engaged." She made a face, indicating that ‘otherwise engaged’ was the term for Spike and Drusilla’s relationship, which included abundant signs of public affection and thoroughly sickened all bystanders. "But Giles wouldn’t," Willow continued hurriedly. "You know he wouldn’t."

Buffy’s stared at Willow seriously and cautiously, her eyes glittering. "I do? Face it Willow, Giles was put in a pretty . . . un-Gilesy situation. Who knows what he could have done out of anger?"

"Well you saw him a couple of days after! He seemed fine. Not a big walking ball of vampire staking rage. Besides, he wouldn’t keep something like that from you, he knows how much Angel means to you."

Buffy sighed. "I feel like I should be talking in the past tense. Angel meant something to me." Her face was colored with faint tinges of sadness. "And now he’s gone."

"Who’s gone?" Xander approached them with Oz in his usual jovial manner, clapping his hands together briskly. Willow could see that Buffy wanted to change the subject, so she feigned a careless smile.

"Oh nobody. So hey guys, guess whose big day it is!" Willow leaped up, again alive with birthday cheer. Xander broke into a grin, sharing his friend’s overexcited mood.

"That’s right! I almost forgot, Ms. Summers turns seventeen today!" He straightened. "And you know what’s the tradition, don’t ya? The time-honored rite of birthday spanking! You don’t want to break with tradition! And I can assist in the non-breaking!" Xander’s face went comically expectant. Buffy grinned at her friend’s buffoonery.

"Then I guess I can’t break with my tradition of kicking ass of any attempt-ers of the aforementioned tradition." Xander’s face fell. He backed away with speed.

"Right well, tradition is such an overrated thing anyway."

"So Buffy," Oz spoke up. "Birthday bash tonight at the Bronze, right? A hoot with a little dash of nanny?"

"Yeah I guess. Just us right? I’d like just a little get-together, nothing big. Giles and Ms. Calendar are coming, which already takes over for the lack-of-cool factor, but that’s it. I don’t want any more guests." Willow twitched guiltily as Buffy said these words, prompting looks of consternation from the birthday gal. Willow tried to muster up an explanation helplessly.

"Not that many more---"

"Willoooow. . . how many more?"

"Just two."

Buffy groaned, already knowing which two she meant. "Willow, please tell me you didn’t---"

"I couldn’t help it!" exclaimed Willow. "With Giles coming, he told me I couldn’t leave out Spike! He wants to keep him included. A-and with Spike comes----"

"Drusilla," Buffy finished for her grimly.

Xander made a face. "Drusilla . . . is it just me, or is that girl just a little too . . . ‘Witchy Woman’ for anyone’s tastes? ‘Cause, y’know . . . she’s got that . . . ‘thing’. You know the thing."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah that ‘thing’. That ‘thing’ being I have no clue what she’s talking about most of the time. And there’s nothing to her, just dolls and Spike, and dolls and Spike."

"Look, I know Dru is a little . . . eccentric," Willow said generously. "But she’s nice and Spike seems to be permanently attached to her at the hip, so it can’t be helped."

"And we’re dying for Spike’s presence because . . . ?"

Willow frowned disapprovingly. "Buffy! I thought you were okay with Spike now. It’s been awhile, you said you gotten used to him. Hey, even Dawn likes him!"

"Ugh, don’t remind me," Buffy grumbled as she thought of her sister’s fixation for Spike.

"Don’t get me started about Dawn liking Spike," Buffy repeated.

"Well we still have to invite him. Giles asked that he was, he really wants Spike to make more . . . normal friends."

"So he dumps his son into the laps of a slayer and her demon-fighting cronies?" Buffy sighed. "Fine, whatever. Whoever wants to come can. It looks like this will be the best birthday ever . . ."

" . . . Happy birthday, dear Buffy, happy birthday to you! Yay!" Willow joyfully threw a handful of ribbons and confetti in the air, showering Buffy where she was seated at a table in the Bronze, surrounded by her friends. Spike was loitering a few feet away, whispering something to a giggly Drusilla. "Blow out the candles, make a wish!"

Buffy felt like a fool in this cone birthday hat Willow had forced her to don and she eyed the blazing candles despondently. Not likely to come true, she thought. Unless he suddenly showed up out of the middle of nowhere, which isn’t likely to happen. I just wish I knew where he was-------

"Buffy!" Willow cried, interrupting her thoughts. "Come on birthday gal, make with the wishes!" Buffy forced a grin at Willow and looked back towards the cake. Closing her eyes, she blew out all the candles in one gust, prompting all to burst into applause. She feigned a gracious smile as everyone, including a reluctant Spike and an indifferent Drusilla, wished her a happy birthday. Willow rushed into a corner and came back, bearing gifts. "Okay it’s prezzie time," she announced gleefully, and a mad storm of ripped paper and discarded ribbons and bows proceeded.

She hadn’t done too bad this year, present-wise. Willow had gotten her a sweater (the one she had been making nose smudges on the windows of Nordstrom’s for), Oz had given her a few CDs he knew she liked ("a little something from the Estrogen side of my music collection," he had said), Xander had given her a necklace, as well as the gag gift of edible panties (which Buffy threw back at him with the evil eye), Ms. Calendar had given her a pair of earrings (dangly ones, engraved with the symbol of her family’s Gypsy clan) and Giles had given her a set of centering and healing crystals and an antique, illustrated volume of the Legend of the Slayers (pretty, but glaring reminders of her obligations). "Thank you so much, she said, appreciatively, lost in a sea of colored paper. Suddenly, an unusually subdued Spike appeared, with much nudging by his father, bearing a gift of his own.

"Umm, you forgot one," he mumbled, throwing the box carelessly on the table.

Buffy stared at him in surprise. "You . . . you didn’t have to do this, Spike."

Spike tried to shrug flippantly, as if he was even trying to deny he had given a gift. "S’nothing. Just had some stuff lying about the house, figured you’d probably do better with it than me."

"Oh." Buffy was less surprised now. Still, a present from Spike was shock enough. No one could make the mistake, however, that it was a present from Spike, as it was encased in a shoe box, messily wrapped in newspaper and held together by what appeared to be butcher’s twine. But when she opened it, she couldn’t help but emit a gasp. "Oh wow, this is . . . it’s beautiful."

It was a stake made out of bright red wood, glossy and shiny and intricately carved with details of dragons and knights and ornate leaves and flowers on it. The wood itself was knobby and wavy-looking, give the carvings a more impressive air. She looked up from the present to Spike, amazed. "Thank you so much," she whispered.

"Yeah well . . . I whittled it m’self, it’s my lucky stake and all."

Buffy was even more astounded. "You’re giving me your lucky stake?"

"Well it’s just a sodding piece a’wood. It’s doesn’t mean nothin’. I’m not one for superstition anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck frantically and gazed at the stake uneasily. "But hell, if you don’t bloody well like it you can give it back---" He held his hand out, unsuccessful in disclosing his anxious desire not to part with it.

"No!" Buffy automatically held the stake to her chest, still marveling it. "I mean, I love it . . . it’s just . . . I can’t believe you would give me something that meant so much to . . . that you worked so hard on."

"It was a very generous thing to do," Giles told Spike, laying a hand on his son’s shoulder. Spike glowered at him and shrugged him off.

"Sod off, you were the prat who ordered me to give it to her! Doing clean-up and inventory of all my hunting supplies and such!" he yelled. Giles shook his head, indicating that a birthday party was a time that called for tact, but Spike glanced back at Buffy, angry to part with possession. For a moment it looked like Spike was about to demand the return of the stake, but he looked at Buffy in the eyes, stormy blue ones tangling with somber green ones. He suddenly detected a note of sadness there, as if he knew that maybe Buffy needed all the cheering-up she could get on this day. He was surprised that he even cared, but his face softened. He cleared his throat. "Well um, anyway . . . yeah, just make sure you take care of it," he said, less caustically. "And um, just to let you know . . . its name is Mr. Pointy."

Buffy laughed truly for the first time that evening. "It has a name?"

"Well you work damned hard on something, you sometimes feel inclined to give it a name. Y’know . . . fruit of your loins and that sort. Anyway . . . just enjoy it will you? Try not to break it or splinter it in some damned beastie’s chest?"

Buffy nodded, serious this time, seeing something in his eyes that was gentler than usual. "Thanks Spike. I will." He nodded back at her awkwardly and shuffled away, back to Drusilla.

"You give away Mr. Pointy?" Buffy could hear Drusilla whining to Spike. "That was Miss Edith’s favorite playmate!" She was stamping her foot like a petulant child as Spike tried to mollify her. "And I thought I you carved that specially for me! The black orchid carvings----that’s MY flower!"

"Look ducks, I had to. It was the git’s birthday and all----"

"But I thought that stake was you’re most prized possession-----besides me, that is!" she added skittishly.

"Baby, it was just a piece of wood. And besides, the girl’s havin’ a crummy birthday in the first place, look. She doesn’t deserve that." He gazed back at her while Drusilla gave an indifferent scowl. Buffy was pretending not to hear them, instead focusing intently on the empty space in front of her. She was slightly smiling at Spike’s words though. Spike, of all people, acknowledging what everyone else failed to see this evening and showing her a sign of kindness. Spike! And kindness! In the same sentence! It was enough to garner another true smile from Buffy for the second time this evening. "I mean, even dumb blondes deserve a good birthday," Spike added. Her mouth flattened back into a line quickly. Of course. Couldn’t count on that boy for more than seven seconds of decency. She turned quickly, despite her show of pretending to not listen, and meet briefly with Spike’s eyes. Again, a soft, uncharacteristic look was there, in spite of what he just send. She softened and found his brief look comforting, and at the same time unsettling, as if it was impossible to stay angry if you really looked at Spike. For an unintentional moment, she almost forgot she was even staring at Spike, she was so absorbed in the glance, as he seemed to be. So she hurriedly broke the gaze and Spike walked with Drusilla out to the dance floor.

Buffy sighed, absently playing with a stray piece of birthday ribbon as she sat, hands cradling her head disconsolately. Here she was, the girl of the hour, sitting alone in the Bronze looking as if her dog had been run over. She scanned the club for her friends, undoubtedly having a much better time than she was. Looking to her left, she saw Giles and Ms. Calendar conversing and laughing quietly over two cups of steaming lattes. To her right, Willow and Oz were cozied up on the couch, whispering and smiling softly at each other. In front of her, Spike and Drusilla were on the dance floor, slow dancing. Even Xander was halfway marching on the Couples Parade as he was struggling to mack on a girl near the pool table who only looked mildly disgusted.

"Seventeen, and already I’m hopelessly alone," she mumbled fretfully to herself, her face curling into a frown. What if it stays this way? What if I’ve already met who I’m supposed to be with and I just let him get away? Her face went aghast as she pondered the most horrifying thought. What if I die a virgin?! . . . Should I just save years of heartache and become a nun now? A sudden shake of the shoulder was enough to draw her out of her thoughts.

"Buffy, you okay?" Willow, as usual. Her face was full concern, but Buffy got up agitatedly from her chair.

"Ummm, actually I’m not feeling good," she said, donning a sickly, downcast face as she began rubbing her stomach in pseudo pain. "Must be something I ate. I-I think I’m just gonna jet."

Willow shook her head furiously with dismay. "Buffy! You can’t leave! I-it’s your birthday party, you can’t leave your own birthday party. W-we’re having so much fun!"

Buffy wondered how blind with best-friend enthusiasm Willow must have been, because it had been painfully clear just exactly how much fun she wasn’t having. "I know," she lied instead. "It’s a great party, it’s just . . . I’m just not feeling so good, okay?" She said it sharper than intended and Willow was a bit taken aback.

"Well o-okay, if you really aren’t feeling so good, just call me tomorrow and----"

But Buffy had already turned away and was rushing towards to the door.

She didn’t go home. Instead she was here, stepping over cracked lumber and ravaged splinters of wood as she crossed through the thresh hold. She stopped and peered across the blank room, taking a teary sigh. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she took a step into the room, edging near the sparse bed. Reaching down with one hand, she smoothed down the rumpled sheets wistfully, as if she was trying to get the essence of the one who used to sleep here from them. Shaking and weary, she carefully lowered herself onto the bed and wrapped herself in the blankets, noting how everything enveloping her still carried his distinctive scent. But then a strangled grunt and a sudden noise made her spring up and glance around the room quickly. She stopped when her eye caught a raggedy, bruised, hopelessly filthy figure standing in the doorway. His hair was dangling in his brown eyes that seemed filled with pain. And her heart skipped a beat and she gasped with unnecessary quickness.

"Oh my God. Angel."

Chapter 15: Innocence Lost, Surprise Revisited

Coughing violently, Angel stumbled into the door, his eyes fluttering helplessly from fatigue and hunger. Buffy rushed out of the bed and to his side, wrapping her arms around him and catching him before he could fall into an exhausted heap on the ground. "Oh God, oh God," she kept muttering as she surveyed him with wide eyes. "Oh God, what happened Angel?"

Angel looked up at her shakily; his head bobbing like it was too heavy for the rest of his frail body to support. He struggled to mouth words to her, but instead, he just keeled over from weakness. Buffy brought him to his feet and leveled his weight----much lighter than she remembered---onto her shoulders as she dragged him to his bed. As he lay writhing, she retrieved a pack of pig’s blood from his fridge and returned to his side, holding up his head as he began to voraciously gulp down the red elixir. Buffy sat, astounded and terrified to see him in such a state. He was attacking the pack like he hadn’t eaten for days, and his appearance certainly supported that theory. As soon as he finished, he sighed and looked back up at Buffy. "Thank you," was all he could murmur.

A tear fell from Buffy’s cheek to his hand, which was grasping hers. She wanted to respond with a gush of questions and answers, she wanted to ask him where he was and how he got like this and how he could have left her and why did he. She wanted to scream these questions, let go of all the pain and hurt and confusion she had felt for the past three weeks and now presently. But instead she just nodded. "Let’s get you washed up," she whispered softly.

They had gotten Angel out of the filthy rags he wore, and Buffy had waited while he took a shower and changed into cleaner clothes. He almost looked as if nothing had changed as he donned a pair of usual spotless pants and somehow got his hair to go back to the on-end shock it used to be. But they both knew that behind it all, something was different, horribly and painfully. And it seemed like it suddenly made everything they did, every casual and brief absent touch between their fingers, or an awkward glance into each other’s eyes seem more dangerous. So they just sat in silence on his bed while Buffy attended to the bruises and cuts on his bare chest. But finally Angel broke the gut-wrenching silence.

"It’s your birthday today," he said softly.

Buffy looked at him with pained eyes, but she tried keeping it light and concentrating at the task at hand. "Yeah, it is," she murmured, still dabbing his chest with gauze.

He was visibly struggling to make small talk. As if they ever were good at small talk. "Was it good?"

"What?"

"Your birthday."

Buffy twitched her lips. She couldn’t tell him how excruciatingly un-good her birthday was, and that he was the main cause for it. "It was alright, I guess."

He knew she was lying. "Did you get a lot of gifts?"

She brightened weakly. "Yeah, actually I did . . . I got a lot of great stuff, even Spike gave me something----" Her voice faded and she turned downcast when she realized that Spike was the last person they should have been talking about.

He paused, aware of the slip and straightened uncomfortably. A few minutes of silence as he pondered what to say next. Finally he motioned to his tattered jacket lying strewn over the table. "I, umm, got you a present too."

Buffy stared at him, shocked. He was obviously somewhere off starving to death and wasting away into desperate oblivion and all he cared about was remembering her birthday. "Angel, you didn’t have to----"

He kept nodding towards the jacket. "Just look in the left hand coat pocket."

She obeyed, getting up and searching the pocket until she withdrew a small black box. Flipping it open, she gave a little gasp as she viewed the shining little ring sitting in it. "It’s beautiful," she said, sitting back next to him.

"It’s a claddagh ring," he explained quietly. "A Celtic symbol of my people. The two hands sharing one heart. It means----well it should be pretty obvious what it means."

She gazed up from the ring to Angel and had begun crying softly again. "Thank you Angel," she whispered.

"Try it on," he directed, taking the ring from the box and slipping it onto one of her fingers. "If you put it on with the hands directed towards you, that means you have someone," he murmured. He was putting the hands so they directed her. It was enough to finally break her from self-imposed restraint.

"God, Angel, why did you come back?" she finally pleaded, not caring to draw her hand from his. "W-why did you come back just to give me this?"

He gazed guiltily at his hands. "I don’t know Buffy," he said with a hint of despair in his voice. "I . . . I tried so hard to stay away from you, but there was nothing for me, I couldn’t take it, I just had to see you, I can’t help it that I love you so much----" Buffy’s eyes widened, a wave of strange calmness washing over her. It was the first time he had said those three little words most important to any girls’ heart, and she felt everything around her stop. So she shut him up by smashing her lips to his in a long kiss. Startled, he backed away slightly, looking at her with slight panic. "Buffy-----," was all he said with caution in his voice.

Grinning with tears in her eyes, she pressed a finger to his lip and shook her head. Slowly she kissed him again, and this time he didn’t relent. He kissed her back and they sank backwards into the bed.

Buffy couldn’t make out what he meant, she only felt a mind-numbing fear for this demon in front of her, one who had replaced her boyfriend so completely. She sank her arm down, aiming for his chest, but suddenly he had disappeared, the vision of him dissipating into darkness. And instead, her stake landed in the chest of a shocked boy whose blue eyes were wide with pain. Spike. Horrified, she withdrew the stake from his chest quickly, but it was too late. Spike was dead and lying at her feet in a pool of blood. Turning around in terror, she again saw Angel to her right, still grinning perniciously. He nodded down at Spike’s limp form. "He has you to thank for that too," he murmured, smiling now wider than before.

Suddenly awake, she sat upright in bed, gasping painfully, wiping the sweat from her anxious brow. It was just a dream, just a dream, she thought, still with panic. She gulped slowly, trying to ease herself down, but automatically, her arm went to the other side of the bed for comfort. Grasping nothing but air, she worriedly sat up. Through the night’s shadows, she saw nothing beside her but rumpled sheets, still carrying the imprint of one’s body. Disturbed, she brought the bed sheets to her chest and searched the room for any other presence. But she was alone. Where was Angel?

Drusilla was unused to walking home herself, despite her London street upbringing. She always had a mate to accompany her, someone who Munitz always commanded to take her home. London streets were too dangerous for a lady like her to be ambling about alone, her brother repeatedly said. She was secretly always relieved. She was never one to take care of herself. She always had Munitz or Spike to do that for her. But tonight, both her caretakers had insisted on going off and getting drunk together somewhere, leaving her to fend for herself. Munitz reasoned that a town with a name like Sunnydale was nothing to be afraid of, and Spike was already much too drunk to point out otherwise. And it’s not as if anyone else from the party would offer to walk with her home; she rather disliked this Buffy girl’s mates, they all seemed insipid, and most of all, they thought she was strange as well. So she assured her brother and her boyfriend that she’d probably be just fine, it was a short walk from here to Giles’ condo and that she’d be alright by herself.

But now she was beginning to get nervous. She had crossed out of the neighborhoods with the friendly porch and streetlights. She was in some sort of alleyway and she was confused as to where she was headed. And she was always jumping at each sound, each small snap or cricket’s chirp. So she walked a little faster, her teeth on edge. Suddenly she heard the soft clack of male footsteps behind her and she nearly screamed as she turned around. A man, silhouetted in the shadows walked gingerly towards her. His pale face seemed full of concern and his brown eyes shone kindly. "Are you alright?" he asked, nearing her. "You shouldn’t be walking all alone this time of night."

She smiled a little, relieved but still a little jarred. This man didn’t seem like the harm that she feared. "I-I know, I thought I’d be fine, but . . . it looks as though I’m rather lost."

He cocked his head sympathetically. "Oh well, we’ll just have to change that, won’t we? I’ve been a resident here for awhile, why don’t I try to get you to where you’re trying to go?"

She grinned widely now. "Oh would you? I’d appreciate it."

"No problem. Here, I’ll even walk you the whole way there."

And so they set off. The stranger seemed nice enough and knew exactly where it was she wanted to go. He even politely and attentively listened as Drusilla explained why she had been wandering aimlessly at this time of night. " . . . And then my brother and Spike went off to go to some pub or something---"

He suddenly stopped and held his hand up. "Wait. Did you say Spike?"

She nodded proudly. "Yeah, he’s my boyfriend . . .why, do you know him?"

The stranger smiled, his smile getting broader by the moment. "Actually, yes, we go way back. I was very good friends with his mother."

She frowned puzzledly. "His mother died quite awhile ago, and you look rather young, so how is that?"

He shrugged carelessly as they continued walking. "Well our interlude together was rather brief, but I felt I got to know her pretty well . . . Anyway, enough about me, may I just stop and say that that is a stunning dress?" He paused and looked down at her bright red and black, long lace dress in appreciation.

She looked down at it shyly. "W-well thank you," she said, nodding her head gratefully.

"It really does remind me of the fairy tale----you know, Red Riding Hood?"

She laughed a little nervously. "I don’t think I know that one too well. It’s an American tale isn’t it?"

He frowned. "Oh I don’t think so. ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ is really a universal story, you see. A little girl, in this brilliant red coat is lost in the woods, trying to get to her grandmother’s house. And so this wolf comes along and he tries to trick her right? He tells her the long way to get to the house so he can get there first and eat the grandmother and hide in her bed so he can snack on Little Red when she comes."

Drusilla was becoming increasingly apprehensive now. She was entertaining thoughts that this stranger was a little too strange---even for her. "Sounds like a rather morbid tale to tell to children," she said uneasily.

But he just paced towards her all the while, a strange look of satisfaction crossing his face. "It’s actually very funny," he said, chuckling to himself, his head bobbing easily and recklessly from his neck. "Because she gets there, and there’s this whole conversation between the wolf and the girl, see? She’s going ‘My what big eyes you have, oh what big ears you have’ and so on like that. And the wolf is being clever saying ‘The better to see you with or hear you with’. And you know what Little Red Riding Hood finally asks?"

She shook her head with fear, visibly frightened now and she nearly tripped herself in backing away. Her throat was parched silent and her glittering eyes were wide.

He was still laughing, his laugh growing more boisterous. Suddenly he stopped and paused, looking at her now malignantly in the eyes. He shook his head, and suddenly his smooth features where changed into something that Drusilla had seen only once and twice before, but never by herself. "My, but what big teeth you have," he growled.

She screamed, a long and terror-stricken scream that once more filled the stranger’s ears with voluptuous joy, his siren song once more. She tried running in a full sprint from him, but she fell and struggled to get up. Suddenly, she was caught from behind, one hand lifting her up by the throat, leaving her kicking and flailing desperately. Snarling with laughter, the stranger surveyed her intently. "Really does remind you of the story, doesn’t it," he said, sweeping one hand down to finger the material of the red dress carefully, dragging one hand slowly across her upper leg. He winked at her as hysterical tears streamed down her face. He leaned in and inhaled the heady aroma wafting from under the pale skin of her long neck. "The better to eat you with, my dear . . ." he murmured to himself before he sank his fangs through.

Chapter 16: Lovers Lost

Sunlight flooded the Summers' residence in a stream of brilliant bright white, flecks of dust dancing in the warm morning air. It was the kind of morning that promised a cleansing new day filled with golden opportunity. But with her back to the light invading the hall foyer, Buffy wearily entered the front door, ignoring the prospect of a new day entirely. Her heart wanted nothing to do with starting anew on a fresh dewy morning. It wanted nothing more than to constantly reply the events of last night and erase the moments of the early morning.

Sighing, she leaned against the door and examined the house carefully. Funny how one night could change your whole perspective on life around you. Even this, the trusted haven of her house, looked---felt different somehow. Before, she would walk through the door, smelling the comforting aroma of baking brownies or the flowery scent of her mother's potpourri mix that she dispersed through the house and immediately feel calmed and just . . . well, at home. But no longer. The house seemed cold and foreign now. She had left her home of her lover's arms last night.

Or rather, he left her. After waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing, Buffy willed herself to go back to sleep, despite the incessant worry and nagging circling her head. She tried to tell herself that Angel had only left for some absolute necessary reason . . . hunger, restlessness perhaps. Still, she would have never left the bed, even if someone tried to force her from it, so a part of her was deeply hurt when she discovered his absence. It was even worse in the morning when she awoke to find the sheets still in the same rumpled state. Angel had never come home. Her heart silently broke with that, but she knew there was no point in waiting for him, though she hesistated to leave for that very reason. What was he going to do, stroll in the door, basking in the morning sun, smiling and carrying a bag of croissants and coffee? Both worry and hurt filled her heart: worry that something had happened to him and that he was injured or worse, hurt at the prospect that he had just left her after they made love. She wasn't sure which scenario brought her less pain.

Threading a tired hand through her hair, she tried making her way up the stairs as gingerly as she could, as to not bring attention to herself. She wasn't sure if her mom had noticed her absence for the whole night, but she wasn't willing to find out. Halfway up the stairs, her mother walked absently out from the dining room with Dawn.

"Ahh, Buffy you're home," she said brightly, grasping a steaming cup of coffee. Dawn's face peered up at her sister mischeviously, sticky from pancake syrup.

Buffy jumped slightly as she turned, wincing as she was found out. "H-hey Mom," she said with slight guilt edged into her voice. Her mind was racing furiously, trying to concoct a believable excuse for her rather tardy entry. She shrugged helplessly and opened her mouth to deliver some tripe about forgetting the time, her watch broke, the whole sense of universal time had escaped her in general. But luckily, her mother spoke first.

"Did you have fun at Willow's?"

Buffy tried to recover from the mixture of relief and momentary shock. "Huh?"

"Willow," Joyce repeated. "I thought you were spending the night at Willow's after the party."

Frantically, Buffy searched her short term memory. Had she said something about sleeping over at Willow's? As confusion colored her face briefly, she looked down absently at her sister who winked. Buffy widened her eyes, but Dawn just mouthed "You owe me" in return. Buffy heaved a sigh of relief and suddenly felt a flood of untapped love for her baby sister. "Right. Willow," she breathed with feigned casualness. "It was great, gossiping and major vegging out was had."

Joyce chuckled knowingly. "If that was the case, I'm guessing that much sleeping was not. You look pretty tired. Why don't you go up to bed for awhile?"

Buffy smiled wanely. "That sounds like a great idea," she replied, trudging up the stairs.

Entering her room, she felt a weight heavy as Atlas's forcing her into the downy comfort of her bed. Her weary bones, mind and heart compelled her to sink into the mattress and curl into a ball. She wanted to cry, but she felt far too tired. Besides, she was all cried out. For how much longer did she have to cry to express how messed up her world had suddenly become? She just wanted to drift into the soft sanctuary of sleep and wake up somewhere close to a hundred years from now. But of course the phone had to ring just then and her mother just had to call "Buffy!"

Irritated, she sat up. "Tell whoever it is I'll call them back!" she yelled back before plopping her head back into the pillows.

"It's Spike, dear! And I would, but he said it was important!"

Surprised, but not pleased, she frowned. Spike? What would compel Spike to ever call her? She was pretty sure Spike would have rather face death by small firearms than ever voluntarily talk to her. It must have been important. Sighing, she grabbed her phone.

"Hello?"

Spike's voice came across smaller and thinner than she had ever heard it before. "Buffy?"

"That would be me," she said carelessly, but she couldn't help straightening at Spike's unusually apprehensive tone.

"Um . . . y-you wouldn't have happened to see Drusilla around have you?"

Buffy paused. "No, not since last night. And I left the party early. Why, what's going on?"

His voice was tremulous now. "Well . . . the thing is, um . . . she didn't come home last night."

She wasn't the only one, thought Buffy to herself. "Maybe she's just . . . I don't know, with some friends maybe."

A humorless snort from across the line. "Friends? Drusilla knows exactly two people here, and it's the same two people who've been taking care of her for four years: me and Munitz."

"Well . . . when was the last time you saw her?" Buffy was slightly guilty for the lack of concern in her voice, but she was afraid that she couldn't get very worked about a missing Drusilla.

He sighed a shaky sigh. "Umm, last night, a little bit after you left the party. Munitz and I went off to get wasted and the bloody pillock I am, I just let her go home by herself." Buffy had to strain to hear it, but she could nearly hear him sweeping the guilty tears away. "This is all my sodding fault, I know it." His voice was so soft and broken that Buffy couldn't help but relate. Both their lovers were missing and they didn't know for certain that it wasn't their faults. Why was it that she and Spike, two people who could be so different, get into such relatable situations?

"M-maybe she got lost . . . maybe she'll find her way back home."

His voice was hard again now, incredulously disdainful at the prospect. "Please. Drusilla has never ventured past the street corner of her flat without getting hopelessly confused. She's never taken care of herself before. And umm, this is Sunnydale here. Center of bloody ugly mystical convergence, you told me."

Buffy bit her lip. He was right. Anyone who went missing for more than three hours in Sunnydale were presumed mangled or dead or mangled and dead. "Well, have you looked for her?"

"Everywhere. Me and Munitz have been scouring the city for her all morning. And nothing . . . I don't know what to do," he said despairingly, quiet again. "I feel like a part of my heart is lost and . . . hurting. I-I need to find her . . ."

Buffy paused, touched at his tender words. She didn't necessarily get Spike and Dru's relationship, it seemed kind of . . . well, bizarre from the outside looking in. But she couldn't deny that Spike was a true romantic with Drusilla, and that was an admirable quality. Not only that, but his words kept forcing her mind to turn to her own hurt. And as she was reflecting on what he said, her mind suddenly flashed with the mental picture of Spike actually in physical pain, a stake sticking out of his bloodied chest, protruding out of his heart. Her dream. Had it been prophetic? And did it somehow have anything to do with Drusilla? Her eyes widened with fear and recognition. She was so intent on remembering this that the pause worried Spike.

"Buffy?"

"Huh-oh. Um, I was just thinking about something. Anyway, how about this, why don't I meet you at the library with Giles and the rest of the gang. We can research this there."

"Research? What the bloody hell do we need research for?"

"I don't know! It's just . . . what we do. Anyway, just come okay? I'll meet you there in thirty minutes. She quickly dropped the phone down and rushed to the library. She actually wanted to get to there before Spike did. She had told him to be there in thirty minutes when she knew she could be there in ten. She needed to question Giles about this dream.

Chapter 17: Nightmares Realized

" . . . And that was the end of my dream," Buffy finished, shrugging uneasily when she was rewarded with looks of apprehension from her audience. Silence pervaded over the library as the Scoobies and Watcher struggled for a proper response to what Buffy had just told them.

Xander cleared his throat first, speaking with inappropriate alacrity. "Well, I think I speak for all Buffster, when I say . . . what the Sam Hill did you eat last night before going to bed? Because I’ll go out of my way to avoid such nightmare-inducing indigestion."

Willow tugged on a copper lock of hair anxiously. "So you think it’s a portent? A d-dream of the prophetic kind?"

Buffy continued to shrug ambivalently, but the hint of trepidation in her expression seemed to indicate that she did. "I don’t know," she lied weakly. "The dream was really . . . vivid. Not like my usual dreams . . . t-they were more like the dreams I had about the Master . . . of course, there is no way to be sure," she countered herself nervously, sneaking a glance at Giles, who cupped his head in his hand, eyebrows furrowed. She was mostly fearful about these dreams for his sake. With his son guest starring in her dream as the role of the slain, Buffy didn’t know how much fear Giles would invest in it. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause him more worry.

As if waking from a trance, Giles blinked twice and whipped off his glasses to grasp them irrelevantly in one hand. "Yes," he murmured, still thoughtful. "There’s no way to be sure if Buffy’s dream was a premonition, but there’s still cause for worry."

"’Cause’ being Angel acting the wacky or Buffy gutting Spike like a fish? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m kind of worry-free in the case of both scenarios." Xander retorted. Giles shot him a particularly severe look that silenced him immediately.

"I don’t get it, why would Angel act that way?" Willow asked, still frowning in confusion. "And why would you ever kill Spike? It doesn’t make sense."

"That’s the dream Wills, in all its baffling glory. Not meant to be of the real comprehensible. The Powers That Be just love to send me this kind of crazy prophetic stuff so I can kick myself over the head with all the decoding fun."

"Still, Willow is right, the dream isn’t connected to anything that’s going on currently," Giles observed quietly. "When you dreamt of the Master, Buffy, it was because we had been battling him for quite awhile. The augury you had was a forewarning, but it was also a result of events accumulating in the direction of your final confrontation. This dream is different in that whatever event this portent is connected to has not even occurred, nor is there any undercurrent to indicate its happening----"

"Well Buffy isn’t such a big fan of Spike," Xander pointed out, rather indifferent towards the whole prospect of Spike being killed in general. "Maybe that has something to do with it."

"Not so much that I’d ever want to kill him!" Buffy objected hotly.

"These dreams aren’t to be taken literally Xander, I doubt Buffy would purposely kill Spike."

"See?" Buffy nodded gratefully, but realizing that this statement inferred that she could kill Spike unintentionally, she exclaimed a loud, "Hey! I would never kill Spike at all, all our hostilities aside!"

"You did dream it, Buffy."

"I didn’t mean to!"

"Did you have an argument with Spike, any altercation or animosity that could have carried into your dream as the form of repressed aggression?"

Buffy snorted. "Animosity? Spike? That kind of defines our relationship right there. Still, it’s not enough so to make me fantasize about driving a stake through his heart."

Giles rubbed his chin pensively. "Well what about Angel? That seems puzzling enough."

Buffy straightened awkwardly. "What about Angel? Angel’s gone . . . he’s just . . . as gone as gone can be." She tried to keep an apathetic composure in case any one word gave her away completely.

Giles frowned briefly, not needing to be reminded of this, but continued. "Well his behavior in your dream as you described it seems totally out-of-character . . ." Giles paused when he realized that this inferred that Angel was generally congenial. And as the one who had forced Angel out of Sunnydale in the first place, Giles felt it his obligation to hate him and vilify him. For his son, at the very least.

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "He sounded very . . . un-Angel. Not Mr. Nice Broody Pants, more like . . . Mr. Evil Vampire Broody pants. Like he was suddenly of the non-souled variety of the undead."

"What was that?" Giles sat up in his chair, as if the Watcher mental light bulb had suddenly gone off.

Willow exchanged a mystified glance with Buffy. "Umm, Mr. Broody Pants?"

Giles had already swept out of his chair and was stalking the library aisles, scanning some texts. "No, no, about Angel not having his soul."

"Oh. Yeah, I was just saying----"

"Because that reminds me of something I read early on about Angelus in the watcher diaries."

"Angelus?" inquired Oz, who, being a relative newcomer to the Scoobies, still had a lot of catching up to do.

"The pre-soul, more unpleasant incarnation of Angel. He had a Gypsy curse placed on him long ago which supplied him with his soul---"

"And you’re saying that you think now the soul isn’t there anymore? It up and ran off on a whim?" posed Buffy, who tried to disguise her alarm at this idea. "You don’t lose a soul." After some forethought she added, "At least not humans . . . which Angel isn’t but . . . with the soul and all . . . you know what I mean!" She threw her hands up in frustration.

Giles had emerged from the shadowy shelves of the library armed with a voluminous book. "Well Angel could," he mumbled, peering down at the yellowed pages. "After all, he was given a soul, I’m sure it could just as easily be taken away."

"Sounds like rather shoddy curse-age on the part of the gypsies," voiced Xander. "Isn’t anyone concerned with the quality of the product nowadays?"

"Here it is!" Giles held one finger up in the air with his eyes still on the book. "It says that the curse placed on Angelus ensured that his soul would remain intact and torment him for the rest of his existence, barring one possible circumstance in which he would be relieved of it." He looked up at the rest, and placed the book on the table with a thud. "A kind of ‘clause’ so to speak."

"So . . . that ‘clause’ means that if a certain something happens to Angel, his soul is taken away from him?"

"That’s about the long and short of it."

"Well, what’s the clause? What’s the circumstance? What happens to Angel to make him lose his soul?"

Giles sighed, investigating the book more closely. "It doesn’t say. The curse is right here in the book, and I’m guessing that it would provide the explanation. Unfortunately, it’s in Czech, one of the few languages I’m not acquainted with. Perhaps I’ll let Ms. Calendar take a look at it." He gazed back up at Buffy. Pausing a bit, he finally asked, "Buffy, was there . . . was there something that perhaps you remember happening to Angel that could possibly have triggered this?"

Buffy’s eyes widened. "W-why . . . h-how would I know?" she exclaimed defensively. "I haven’t seen Angel in three weeks." Funny how true that nearly was, for it seemed years had passed since last night.

Giles cocked his head, getting the impression that there was something Buffy was not saying. "I only ask because you were the one who dreamt of him. Maybe some encounter---"

"Look, how many times do I have to say ‘I don’t know’?" Buffy exploded. "Because I don’t! I can’t help what I dream, I don’t know why I dream it, and I don’t know what it means! Which is why I come to you, watcher-guy, oh-bookish-Brit-with-all-the answers! You read the books! I slay the demons! You explain the confusing stuff and I go out and defeat it! And then I get a cookie! That’s the system!" Buffy was suddenly and mysteriously overwrought, prompting Xander, Willow, Oz and Giles to exchange worried looks.

Suddenly Spike stormed in, waving black duster in tow, halting breathlessly. "Well, here I am. I’m not one for the researching crap though, I just want to find Drusilla and want to find her now."

Giles approached his son in confusion. "Drusilla?"

Spike glared at Buffy in hostile surprise. "You haven’t even told them? What was the point of coming down here then?"

"I was getting to it!" Buffy snapped irately. Out of all the problems she currently faced, Spike was the one most annoying, ergo, the one she wanted to avoid the most.

"What about Drusilla?" Giles persisted. "What’s happened?"

Spike squinted at his father as the ravages of age had attacked Giles and left him irrevocably clueless. Sighing deeply, and obviously not in the mood to divulge into any heavy exposition, he barreled through explanations. "Drusilla’s missing. Want to find her. Can’t find her. Need help finding her."

Xander sat back in his chair and nodded towards Buffy, Oz and Willow. "He gets his brevity from his father," he remarked loudly.

"You mean to tell me . . ." Giles pinched the area between his eyes tiredly and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Drusilla’s missing?"

"By jove, I think he’s got it!" Spike exclaimed in a high Mary Poppin-ish accent before darkening again. "That’s what I said, Rupert."

"Since when has she been missing?"

"Since last night. Didn’t come home at all."

"And you’ve searched all you could for her?"

"Me and Munitz, all morning. Munitz is still out looking for her. This is all your fault y’know!"

Giles straightened self-righteously. "Me? Why is this bloody my fault?"

"You didn’t even give the girl proper directions home! Too busy snogging that prissy li’l trollop schoolteacher to even offer Dru a ride!"

Giles set his teeth on edge. "Excuse me my dear boy, but Drusilla is not my responsibility. I’m not your girlfriend’s caretaker."

"No that’s right, ‘cause you’re too busy larfing it up with this bunch! Face it, you had your mind made up to ignore Munitz and Dru while they were here, just the same as me. You don’t care shit about me and my friends, you’d rather waste your time with these kids and that slut you call a girlfriend----"

"Don’t you dare address Jenny like that---" shouted Giles furiously as he lunged towards his son, presumably to smack the adolescent, sanctimonious rebellion off his face. Buffy jumped up and restrained Giles solidly while Spike maintained a scowl towards his father.

"Look," Buffy sighed, still trying to keep a seething Giles from committing the murder of his own son. "Arguing is the last thing we need right now. "Why don’t we all cool off and focus on the task at hand. I’ll go with Spike and we’ll do some sweeps of the town, see if we can’t find Drusilla. Willow, Oz, you pull up some databases and see if you can find any missing persons reports that fit Drusilla’s profile. Xander, you search the Bronze, talk to anyone there who might have seen Drusilla leave last night. Giles . . ." She turned to her watcher and gave him a commanding nod. "You research that . . . thing we were talking about." Giles hesitated, but nodded wearily as Buffy dragged Spike out of the library.

"I bloody hate you," Spike muttered wrathfully under his breath as he swaggered next to Buffy through the moonlit park. She heard him, but continued walking in a confident stride, only acknowledging the comment with a slight shift of the head.

"Color me crushed," Buffy replied sarcastically, still a few steps in front of him.

"I’m serious. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this bloody mess."

Buffy stopped and turned, lilting her head, her eyes cold. "Got sick of laying the guilt on Giles, so you randomly turn it on me, do you?"

"Maybe. Whenever something goes wrong, the odds are, you’re behind it."

"A man of sound reason you are."

Spike continued to stalk through the park hatefully. "If it wasn’t for your bloody birthday party, I wouldn’t have gotten so festive and drunk and Dru wouldn’t be wandering alone out by herself----"

"Wait . . ." Buffy held one hand up in incredulity. "You’re actually blaming me? You actually think it’s my fault because, what . . . it was my birthday? What next, you gonna cut into my mother for giving birth to me, hence creating the day of celebration you could use as an excuse to get wasted? Were all the other excuses gone? Sick of using the one commemorating the days that end in ‘y’?"

"God, you think you know it all, don’t you?" Spike stopped and glared at her, anger overcoming and hardening his features completely. "Pretentious bint, thinks she’s got all the answers, that she can do no wrong----"

"It isn’t my fault you were too inebriated to baby-sit your loopy girlfriend!"

She had crossed a line, and the dangerous flicker in Spike’s eye made that apparent. "Don’t call her that," he snarled.

"What?" she challenged defiantly. "Don’t call her what? Clingy? Possessive? Codependently deranged? Face it Spike, that girl is more a doll to you than a partner. And you’re more like her lapdog than her boyfriend----"

"Shut your gob!!" Spike advanced near her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his anger steam off him, warming her body, already set in her fighter stance. He jutted his face a few inches from her, his hard cheekbones on edge and his fiery azure eyes flaming precariously.

She just shoved her face closer, unaware of how fast-paced her breathing had suddenly become, as if she was preparing to take on a legion of vampires in the glorious rush of battle. Her hazel eyes pierced vehemently into his. "Or . . . what?" she whispered huskily. "What are you gonna do Spike? Take on a Slayer? Just try me, and I’ll introduce you to a whole new world of ass-kicking you weren’t acquainted with."

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but to her surprise, faltered and just continued to stare at her, the blues of his eyes surveying her intently. Something wasn’t right here. She glared back at him, but began to feel prickly. Like she was suddenly aware of his close proximity to her, and how it suddenly felt . . . not as rage-inducing and abrasive as she thought it would be . . . although there was more than enough friction and anger to spare . . . but no, it felt . . . it felt . . .

"Uh-oh, looks like trouble in paradise . . ." A facetious voice cut into Buffy’s bewildered state and brought her back to life, forcing her to break out of the gaze she and Spike held. Looking to her left for the source of the voice, her heart immediately dropped to her stomach the moment she caught view of the speaker. Spike held the similar response.

Angel stood, grinning languidly. His arm was hanging off Drusilla, who had an unusually impish smile on her face. "Look baby," Angel purred, grazing his lips along the rim of Drusilla’s ear and along the ivory nape of her neck. "It’s our significant others."

Spike’s face was ashen, his face painted with shock. "Drusilla?" he whispered in a haze. "Drusilla, luv, what are you----"

Drusilla just continued to smile cattily, sweeping one hand along her neck to clear her hair away slowly. And then Spike and Buffy’s world stopped when they caught sight of the little two puncture marks on her neck, already scabbing over.

"Daddy’s just been teaching me some new tricks," she lilted in a voice floating above the illuminated clouds of night. Sensuously sliding one hand across Angel’s chest, she cocked her head and licked the edge of her teeth, two new fangs shining in the dusk. "Wanna play?"

Chapter 18: A Changing of the Guard

For the next several minutes, Buffy and Spike stared at the vision in front of them, trying to determine if it was real. The first coherent word Spike could form was a soft "No."

Angel lilted his head and an expression of mock concern passed over his features. "What is it William? Cat got your tongue?" He was speaking as if he was cooing to a child. Spike could not respond, his eyes intently alternating between the wound on Drusilla's neck to Angel's hand, which was sweeping across Dru's back in slow, lazy movements. Buffy was staring at the same thing and found it amazing that she was even standing. Her throat was a desert of confusion and panic but she somehow managed to utter:

"A-Angel?"

Sweeping his head grandly, he gazed at Buffy with a complacent smile. "Hi honey." His voice dripped with heavy and cloying mockery. Slowly withdrawing his arm from around Drusilla's waist, he tilted his head and approached her with a cocky leer. "What are you doing here?"

Buffy just stared at him. He sounded like he was asking a purely innocent question, like he was generally and vaguely interested to know. That wasn't like him. The Angel she knew wouldn't ask her "what are you doing here" in a bemused, pleasantly uninterested voice. The Angel she knew would ask her "what are you doing here" in a strangled voice, both dismayed and joyful to know that she was near him. The Angel she knew would be too conflicted and broody to ever give her the loopy grin he was presently administering. And the Angel she knew wouldn't ever have his arm wrapped around Drusilla. So it was established that this wasn't the Angel she knew. Why did that have such difficulty registering? "W-what . . . what are you doing here Angel? Y-you with . . . with Drusilla---"

"You look upset Buff, you okay?" Why was he speaking to her like he was her high school counselor? "Because I'm sensing that you're in pain. I-is this about last night? Because I was gonna call about that, really I was, it's just . . . I got tied up making some new . . . friends." His voice tapered off seductively as he turned back to Drusilla, who beamed in response.

"You son-of-a---" Spike started, his voice murderously sharp.

"Ah ah ah, Spike, no harsh words now, there are ladies present." His arm returned furtively to Dru's side.

Spike couldn't even conjure a proper response, so instead he turned to Drusilla, thinking that if he implored her long enough, this nightmare of a reality would disappear. "Drusilla . . . t-this is . . . it's not true, he didn't make you----"

"Daddy's opened a new world for me, Spikey, a brave new world . . . he's shown me the stars and they've all painted a picture for me and it's dancing, dancing in me head . . ." Drusilla waved one of her hands and her fingers threaded through the air gracefully as she swooped her head back and forth in all insanity.

Angel chuckled and looked back at Buffy and Spike in delight. He held Dru more tightly and possessively now. "Isn't she adorable?" he exclaimed. "My first fledgling! You would think in all my two hundred years, I would have thought of this sooner, but----"

"Get away from her," Spike growled.

Angel straightened and feigned intimidation. "Well gee Spike, you talked me right into it . . . but why we don't was ask the missus first?" He emphasized the word 'missus' by leaning his head down towards Dru and brushing his lips across her forehead. Buffy began to feel nauseous and desperately sick to the bottom of her stomach, the pain wrenching the tears from her eyes.

Spike clenched his teeth, ready to run screaming towards Angel with a battle cry and his stake raised. But instead, he found himself slowly reaching out his hand for Dru. He stared at her fiercely, his eyes intensely beseeching her. "Come on, Dru," he whispered, his hand outstretched.

Drusilla gazed at him haughtily in a face paler than china and backed away. "Don't wanna," she replied petulantly with a pout.

"Dru-----"

"It's a new world, William, Daddy's shown me the way."

"It is not!!" Spike screamed, whipping his hand down forcefully. "And he's not your fucking 'Daddy'!! You aren't what he made you, y-you can't be----"

"You're just jealous, my love," Drusilla crooned, spooning back into Angel's protective arms. "Daddy said you would be jealous. That you wouldn't accept the fact I'm a princess . . . that I can see the stars. And I can see them, William. I can see everything now . . . "

"You're a princess! You're a goddamn stargazing princess! You can be the damned Princess of Mesopotamia if you want to be, you just have to be it with me, and get away from him!!"

Drusilla cocked her head and pursed her lips like a sorrowful child. "Poor Spikey, it's hard for him to lose his Black Orchid Princess. But it's the way it has to be, dearest . . . don't you see? You always called me your groupie, Spike, and you always got center stage while I waited in the wings . . . but now," she turned her head to a smiling Angel. "I've found a groupie of me own . . . and it's my turn for the spotlight."

Angel turned to him derisively. "I think she's trying to say she wants to see other people."

Spike hardened and unbridled fury flared out from him like a forest fire. "You bastard-----" he cried before launching onto Angel with full force. Struggling to rouse him with a powerful uppercut, Angel easily deflected it and kicked Spike's feet out from under him. Spike tried to spring back up on his feet, but Angel spied the stake that had tumbled out of Spike's pocket and grabbed it, while securing Spike where he was with his foot. Leaning down, he grabbed Spike up by the collar and smashed him against a tree, bearing the point of the stake down onto his chest. His game face rising, Angel snarled brutally in a sickeningly sinister smile, and Spike gasped with pain as he felt the point break through his shirt, and through his skin. Suddenly, Angel lurched backwards, thrown off Spike by Buffy, who grabbed the stake away from him and trapped him on the other side of the tree.

It had happened so quickly that Buffy didn't have a chance to look at Angel fully in the eyes as she raised her stake. And she shouldn't have paused to do so either, because on swift swoop of the arm and she could have been done with it. But no, she instead had to catch her breath and lilt her head up so that their eyes met. And despite a foreign yellow hardness that flickered there, Angel's eyes were still meltingly brown, a shade of chocolate that always made Buffy's stomach turn. Angel smirked at Buffy as she strangled a gasp and murmured. "You like it rough, baby? You sure weren't singing that song last night. It was more vanilla for you, wasn't it?" His breath was disgustingly cold on her neck.

Repulsed, she shoved herself off of him with speed. Such horrible things coming out of the same soft mouth she once worshipped. The vision of him was blurred and clouded by the line of tears filling the lower rim of her eyes, but Angel prodded on. "You were good though," he whispered huskily. "There's no denying that, kiddo. I didn't think you had all those tricks up your sleeve for such a young one. That slayer strength came in handy too . . ." He leaned his head back a mimicked a pleasure-filled gasp. "That was some night, Buffy. We'll have to do it again sometime."

Her breath was catching up to her and her knees inwardly shook. She felt Spike's eyes suddenly bore into her accusingly as he began to understand what was going on, but she didn't vary her glance from Angel. "Angel . . . A-Angel you don't mean it," she heard herself say, as if she was still talking to The Angel She Knew, not this present monster.

"Mean what? That you're such a demon in the sack? Don't be so modest, Buffy, you are. I've had my fair share of women, but you . . . screwing a slayer was more than I dreamt it would ever be . . . " He smiled indolently as Buffy tried to resist the impulse to give way to her quaking legs and faint completely away.

Spike stared at Buffy and Angel with suspicion, but turned his attentions quickly with Drusilla. Now that Buffy had Angel somewhat preoccupied, this gave Spike and Dru a chance to escape. Grabbing Dru by the arm, he began to drag her away. "Come on, Drusilla, while we still have the chance," he whispered urgently.

Drusilla resisted with force. "You never want me to shine, Spike. You never want me to glitter and soar. Daddy's showing me how, my place is with him-----"

"He's not your place, Dru!" Spike insisted ragingly. "You're place is with me and Munitz and the gang and----"

Drusilla cocked her head curiously. "Munitz?"

"Munitz! You're bloody brother Munitz! The only family you know!"

Drusilla leaned back into Angel. "I'm the only family she'll know now," Angel sneered softly.

"NO. You will never be family. Me and Munitz, we're Drusilla's family, and there's nothing you can do to change that----"

"Oh, but I think I already have." Angel stepped aside and dragged out a limp form from behind another tree. He flopped it carelessly at Spike and Buffy's feet, and Spike opened his eyes wide with horror as he leaned down to inspect it.

"Spike---" a broken voice croaked. Munitz stared up at Spike and breathed in raggedy pants. A trail of blood streaked down from his neck and his eyes flickered with the last sign of life. Plopping down onto his knees, Spike surveyed Munitz, stricken.

"Oh God, oh God---"

"Dru wanted to turn him, but I really thought it was appropriate this way, you know? I mean, it's a spectacular example of déjà vu for one thing, isn't it? I killed your mother all those years ago, I thought, what better than to kill your surrogate father figure in the same manner? It comes full circle then, don't you see?" Angel laughed darkly at no one in particular, only relishing in the sordid humor by himself.

"No, oh God, Munitz, oh God." The poor boy was practically hyperventilating.

"God's not with him now, luv," Drusilla chirped coquettishly. "God's not with us at all . . . and that's where all the fun is."

Munitz was still gasping for air, reaching up to Spike to utter a few last words, and Spike desperately jutted his face near his mouth to catch anything he might whisper. But by the time he reached his ear to Munitz's mouth, he felt nothing, not even cold air, strike his skin. Gazing down at his best friend in all the world, he found Munitz staring back up with him in a blank, void gaze. Feeling the part of his neck left unbloodied, he found no pulse. He was dead.

Like Drusilla, this was something Spike was not about to gracefully accept. He just shook his head maniacally as his back hunched up and down despairingly. Clenching his teeth, he again felt blinding anger pulse through his veins, and he tried to clumsily get off his feet to attack Angel once more. Angel sniggered. "You don't ever quit, do you William?"

Buffy jumped up and solidly blocked Spike from getting nearer to Angel. "I know I don't," she quipped in a hard voice before she advanced onto him, stake raised high. With a cry, she jumped up and kicked him mid-torso, forcing him back. He recovered swiftly and smacked her across the face hard with his fist. Blocking more of her punches, his features turned again, displaying his true nature in this twisted game of violence. He delivered a powerful head butt that sent her reeling backwards, and Angel soon tried to force himself on top of her. But quick as lightening, Buffy rolled, which sent Angel sprawling onto his back in the grass. Soon he found himself trapped under Buffy's iron grip as she straddled him and pointed the stake down onto his chest. Just as she was about to ram the piece of wood into his unbeating heart, Angel's features shifted once more so that he was shining in boyish youthfulness. And she hesitated.

"Do it," he urged, snarlingly . "End it, right here, right now, Buffy. You started it, you end it. Dust your one true love and be done with it." Horrified, Buffy slowly lifted the stake, as if the words had numbed her. "You started it." What the hell did that mean? Because if that meant . . . the trigger . . . no. No, that couldn't happen, that couldn't be it---

Buffy was still frantically going over these words in her mind as Angel sneered. "You can't do it, can you? You can't kill me. You still think that I'm your weepy, blubbering, sniveling Angel, a noble knight shouldering the heavy burden of humanity. Well news flash, doll: Your boyfriend is dead. And there's been a changing of the guard. Expect new and better things." With that, he reached up and kissed her brutally, piercing her lips with his fangs, drawing blood. Buffy tried to squirm out of the hateful kiss, but Angel had already threw her to the side, smacked her hard across the face and ran into the night's darkness grasping Dru's hand. Still by Munitz's side, Spike dazedly looked up from his friend's corpse and stared at Buffy, who sat silent and stricken on the grass. She stared at the stake in front of her, and the rumpled grass where Angel had lay just a minute ago. It looked like rumpled sheets. Like the sheets from last night . . .

She was so intent on staring at the grass in front of her that she didn't notice Spike screaming. "You let him go!! You let him go, you bitch!! You had him twice and you let the bastard go!! D-Do you know what you've done?!!" His voice became increasingly strangled, so Buffy gazed back at him, breathing hard through tears. Spike had picked up his friend's limp body and began to stalk through the grass. "You've killed me, Blondie. You let him take everything and everyone that I loved. You've killed me." Broken and ambling, he began stumbling away, still carrying the body as it flopped around in his arms. Buffy stared at his retreating figure and realized, at that moment, that the prophecy had been fulfilled. And she was the cause of it.

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