Chapter 19: To Break and To Burn

Giles and Ms. Calendar shared a casual bout of laughter while absently leafing through some old volumes while Xander, Oz and Willow tried hard to stay conscious amidst all the rigorous textual perusing. Xander was about to fail miserably as his head was two seconds from falling to the table with a resounding thud, but a loud slamming of the library doors roused him awake. Everyone looked up in surprise as Buffy stormed into the room with a foreign stone expression on her face.

"Hey Buff, you’re back early. All anxious to hop in on all the research-y rowdiness? It’s the spectacular kind of fun that isn’t," Xander yawned.

Giles furrowed his eyebrows with perplexity. "Buffy . . . why, we certainly weren’t expecting you back so soon, have you found Drusilla already?"

"What’s the clause?" Buffy interrupted him, unsettling hardness seeping into her voice.

Giles just stared at her, her abruptness alarming him. He glanced to see if Spike was trailing behind her. "Where’s Spike?" he asked softly.

Buffy’s eyes betrayed a hint of something broken, but her outward demeanor refused to express the same. "What’s the clause?" she persisted, her voice remaining unrelentingly cold.

There was something not right about this, Giles could feel it. And it had to do with Spike. His son. Buffy was not telling him something, and the guarded, warrior-like acerbity she was displaying made him suddenly feel sick inside. So he stood up with the same rigidity and stared back at her. "Where’s my son, Buffy?" he asked her carefully.

Her eyes were shining and looked like they were about to brim over with tears, but nothing about her moved. She just stared and stared at Giles like she was seeing through him, past his figure into vacuous space. "He’s at the hospital."

Alarm gripped Giles like a tidal wave and felt like it had the power to knock him over, but the only action it incited was a whipping off of the glasses. He pinched the area between his eyes and said quietly, "Again?"

"He’s not hurt."

"Not hurt? So the prophecy didn’t happen?" asked Willow, sitting up.

Buffy tightened visibly as if the innocent words had struck a deep painful chord. "It did. It happened already. I was too . . . it’s too late."

Giles looked at Buffy sharply. "What? Then how is it that Spike wasn’t hurt?"

"He isn’t," she repeated.

"Then what is he doing at the bloody hospital?!"

"He’s there because . . . he rode in on the ambulance when they brought Munitz in."

Wide-eyes from everyone in the room. "Munitz? Why, what’s happened to Munitz?"

Buffy paused and a fluttering choke got stuck in her throat as she whispered it. "He’s dead."

"Oh my god," where the respective responses from Willow and Ms. Calendar. Giles seemed deadened with shock.

"How?"

Buffy finally looked at him fully, tears now evident. "Angel. Or . . . the us version of him, apparently."

"You mean----"

"Angel’s lost his soul?" Willow finished.

Buffy looked down at her hands and tried to brush off the wave of panic of fear and desperation and pain as she stood in front of her friends. "That’s about the long and short of it," she murmured, trying hard to feign calmness.

"Wait . . . w-what’s happened to Drusilla? Were you able to find her?"

Buffy sighed. "It’s not a matter of whether we found her. It’s . . . it’s how we found her."

"You don’t mean Angel . . . you know . . . too?" Willow let pregnant pauses and awkward hand motions convey what she wasn’t able to say.

"No. She wasn’t dead."

"Then what, Buffy?" Giles exploded impatiently. "Really, you must tell us exactly what happened."

"She’s . . . s-she’s . . ." Buffy was loosing her cool all could see it. " . . . Angel changed her." The name of her previously beloved felt like a barb in her throat.

"Dear god," Giles breathed, sinking into a chair heavily.

"Which is why I have to know more about this clause, Giles, I have to know what happened to Angel that made him this way." Buffy regained a little more strength when she was masked with initiative.

Giles was unable to respond as he cradled his head in his hand with disbelief, but Ms. Calendar got up carefully and handed Buffy a piece of paper.

"I translated the curse," she replied softly. Buffy picked the piece of paper up with a shaking hand. Ms. Calendar’s scrawled handwriting was messy due to lack of use since she favored typing more. But amidst the sloppy and unintelligible writing, Buffy could clearly make out one phrase, which was underlined boldly. "One true moment of happiness" it read, and her heart was immediately wrenched at the sight of it. Her worst fears realized. She had an inkling of understanding before, nominal enough to still maintain some denial, but now . . .

"It’s a little bit vague," Ms. Calendar admitted when she saw Buffy look up from the translation with a blank, aghast expression on her face. "The Czech was in a convoluted dialect that was hard to recognize, but that’s about the gist of what I could make out. I don’t exactly know what they mean by "one true moment of happiness", that could mean lots of things, but----"

It was only one thing to Buffy and she was aware of how much she was involved in bringing it about. So she turned, as abruptly as she had come in, and started to make her way out of the library, mumbling incomprehensibly under her breath.

"Buffy, wait!" Giles ordered. Grabbing her arm, he turned her so that she faced him. "Buffy, you have to tell us what’s going on. Tell us all you can. Where was Angel, what did he say to you, what did Drusilla----"

"I can’t," she whispered hoarsely in a broken voice, shaking her head tearfully in a daze. "I-I just can’t . . . I c-can’t deal with this, I c-can’t . . ." Moments before she erupted fully into tears, she turned back and ran out of the library before anyone could call out her name in protest. She stumbled blindly out the school’s doors and ran into the cloaked night, making her legs surge her into a stride that would not be broken until her lungs finally gave out, either from the exertion of running or the mad sobs that racked her whole body.

Angel had chosen the mansion on Crawford Street the night before, when he had first changed Drusilla. He knew that his own apartment was no longer a place he could stay----but it wasn’t because he was afraid that slip of a slayer that was so enamoured with him would track him there and stake him. It was obvious by now that he could take her. He could do more than that, he would destroy her and break her by the time he was done. But doing that required time to think and to plan, and he couldn’t very well do this with that lovesick schoolgirl always coming round to his apartment. Besides, the old crumbling mansion was more spacious, more his style. It was overrun with old foliage and dark enough to appeal to his gothic nature. It would be perfect for him and his new companion.

He was tickled and infatuated with Dru immediately. She was everything Buffy wasn’t----enigmatic, adorably dependent, and child-like. She made a fella feel needed. That was refreshing. With Buffy, he had been a soppy, broody do-gooder who had been so ridden with humanity that he felt grateful to just help out her and her sad, drippy friends. Not anymore. He would make that bitch pay for ever degrading him that way and he would do it all with Drusilla on his arm.

Drusilla spun around the main room of the mansion gleefully. "Oh Daddy, I adore it!" she cried, twirling faster and faster, her feet crunching the dead leaves scattered about the floor.

"I knew you would, baby, I’ll always know what you want."

Drusilla stopped and smiled lasciviously at him. "I want something right now," she purred, her eyes twinkling precociously.

Angel approached her in a seductive stride. "What is it you want, princess? You ask, and it’s yours . . ."

Drusilla giggled liltingly and low. Leaning into him, she brought her face near his ear and danced her fingers about his neck. "I want . . . food."

"Is that all? That can be easily arranged. I can get you anything your little unbeating heart desires, sweetness. I could get you pretty dresses, pretty girls in pretty dresses, anything you’d ever want." He snaked an arm around her waist in a way that made her squeal. Backing her up into the fireplace, the two brushed by a piece of paper that lay on the floor. Suddenly, as if it called to her, Drusilla reached down and picked it up, inspecting it. It was the paper from only two days ago, and the headline read: "Mysterious Artifact Found Near Sunnydale, Museum Authorities Researching It". A black-and-white-photo displayed something that looked like a massive, ungainly block with some sort of ancient writing on it.

"Oh . . ." Drusilla breathed with delight. "You can get me that . . ."

Angel peered at the photo with a frown. "That? A hunk of stone? What would you want with that?"

"It calls to me, Daddy. It fills me head with all sorts of glimmering voices. It pulls me close and whispers to me all sorts of delicious nothings . . ."

This was one thing he had to get used to. Her incessant ramblings. Half the time, he couldn’t figure out what the hell she was talking about, but sometimes he could hear something magical and forewarned in the words. He knew a few psychics . . . well ok, he had eaten a few psychics, and they seem to prattle on in the same way. Maybe he lucked out and chose a clairvoyant for a fledging.

"What kind of things does it say?" Angel whispered, his lips lingering along the outer rim of her ear.

Drusillia chuckled once more. "It says that Ms. Edith will have a party and everyone’s invited. And they’ll dance and dance and dance, even if they don’t want to. The King of Cups will see to it that they put on a show so grand that we’ll all shield our eyes from the burning. And they’ll burn and burn and burn."

This sounded interesting. "Who’ll burn?"

"Them. The ones with their games and their larks and their laughs and their light. Infesting the world with good, muddling it up with their righteousness. But they’ll be gone. Poof----like ashes of nothing, they’ll go asunder. " She blew out and flickered her fingers about to signify floating ashes scattering.

Angel smiled widely. This just got better and better. He couldn’t believe his luck. "And the rock told you all this?"

Drusilla nodded, tracing patterns on his chest. "Will you get it for me, Daddy?"

Angel shrugged with a grin. "Hey . . . whatever my girl wants, my girl gets."

AN: I knew I had to write another chapter or else you’d all fear whether I had fallen off the face of the earth. Wanted to make this chapter longer as usual, but I’m trying to wean off the habit of rambling. Lucky for you guys, this means an update will be coming your way pretty soon since I had to divide this chapter into two parts. Thanks to those who are still reading!

Chapter 20: All One Can Give

Charles Hathaway had worked at the Sunnydale Museum of History for twenty years. Antiquity and archeology fascinated him----more than that, it consumed him. It was his passion to pick apart seemingly meaningless pieces of aged and petrified stone and fossils until they finally gave insight into days past. He was a lonely, single man of 45 who spent long nights mulling over chippings of limestone and old chunks of earth, thinking that if he found out the secret of these old relics, the loose little pieces of his life would be filled. So when the huge boulder with ancient engravings arrived from an excavation outside of town, he was ecstatic and blind with excitement. It was the biggest fossil that he had ever seen. And obviously it held some sort of meaning, judging from the mysterious encryption covering the whole surface. It enraptured him so much that he was still at the museum at 1:45 in the morning, trying to decipher the meaning of the rock.

He was so intent on looking at close-up photos of the stone’s written code that he didn’t notice the slight stream of whispers that emanated from it. It was an unsettling, low whisper that filled the air with an ugly rumble. Suddenly his ears pricked up, sensing something, and he turned to gaze at it, a small spreading cloud of fear blooming in him. Slowly, he got up and neared the rock, bringing one hand to touch the writing on the surface. The quiet rumbling of voices got louder and louder, but Hathaway had the impulse to rest his ear against the stone and fill it with the frightening sound. Suddenly, a cold hand gripped him from behind with force. In horror, Hathaway turned, but another deathly chilled hand smothered his screams, and before he knew what was happening, a pair of fangs had lunged into his neck, drawing the coppery life force into a voracious mouth.

"Dru?"

Drusilla turned, her lips still stained with the mulberry-colored liquid while the limp body fell to the side. Angel surveyed his childe with satisfaction, then gazed with awe at the rock that seemed to fill the room. "Save some for Daddy," he clipped, nearing the rock and reveling in the storm of voices.

Buffy ran haphazardly into the cemetery with a stake hanging carelessly from her hand. She had been sprinting through the town without direction for a couple hours. She couldn’t stop her legs from running, even if she tried. She felt a burning despair rise in her chest and it seemed like it would only find relief if Buffy kept moving. To still would mean that Buffy would have to deal with maelstrom of emotions that felt like they could break her if she let them. So her legs kept propelling her forward.

She couldn’t go home. She didn’t want to face her mother and her gentle questions or her concern or slightly stern reprimanding when she arrived home late. She didn’t want to face the prospect of curling up into a fetal position on her bed and crying her eyes out for hours.

So she was here at the cemetery, praying that there were still a few stray vamps to dust. She needed to slay, now more than ever. She never felt so much pull to her calling than now. She had unleashed a violent demon to onto Sunnydale and it was all out of the selfishness of her own desires. She had to make it up to society. She had to make up for what she had created. She would stake ten vampires to make up for the one she didn’t.

And much simpler than that, she needed to kick ass. It was a release, it was way she could let out all the chaotic anger and pain without having to face it. So with an unsteady hand, she raised her stake, poised for a fight.

A slip of shadow darted from a tombstone in front of her. Edging it carefully, she gritted her teeth, rejoicing in the presence of prey. With feather-like, silent steps, she padded over to the tombstone, guarding herself on the other side of it. Suddenly with lightning speed, she reached her hand up over the tombstone and grabbed the vampire and flipped him up in the air so that he flew with his legs up over his head onto the other side of the grave. Getting up quickly, she straddled him in an iron-grip and held the stake to his chest. And then she realized it wasn’t a vampire.

"Bloody hell!"

Buffy whipped the stake up quickly. "Spike?"

"Of course it is, you bloody cow, get the hell off me!"

She scrambled off of him and knelt in the grass. "What are you doing here?"

"Prolly the same as you. Searching for some ruddy beastie to kill."

Buffy couldn’t speak; she had no idea what to say to him, after everything that happened. She half expected that his next move was to try and beat the crap out her for what she did----or more precisely, what she failed to do. "Have you . . . have you gone home yet?"

Spike looked down darkly. "What home?" he muttered. "Everything I considered my home’s been destroyed."

She knew it would come to that and again felt the seeping storm of guilt spread through her. "I . . . I’m sorry----"

"Save it Blondie," Spike interrupted, but not as harshly as she expected. "I don’t want to hear it."

Buffy shook her head through tears. "Hear what?" she nearly whispered. "That I’m the reason your best friend and girlfriend are---"

"I said I don’t want to hear it!!" he screamed with heartbreaking anger. He clenched his teeth and started pawing at the ground maniacally for no reason at all. "I was there too!! I know what happened!! You think I don’t?! I’ll know everyday, it’ll haunt me every fucking day!!"

"I-I’m s-sorry Spike, god, I’m so sorry-----"

"Yeah, so you’re sorry! What good is it to me?! Being sorry won’t bring Dru and Munitz back to me!! Don’t you understand?! Don’t you see that?! And I’m left with nothing!! Nothing at all! I’m stuck with a father who doesn’t care shit over me, I’m stuck millions of miles from my home and my true family, and most off all, I’m stuck with you!! The murderer of the two people who meant the most to me!!"

Buffy knew inside that it was true, but her mouth was forming resisting words of their own. "I d-didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to-----"

"It was you who turned him, wasn’t it?" he suddenly asked in an abrupt whispering tone.

Buffy straightened. "How did you----how did you know that?"

"I went to the library. I read the curse. I heard what Angel said to you. I put two and two together." He was shaking with the kind of quiet anger that scared Buffy, despite her normal steely stoicism. She had no idea she was so fearful of him at the moment. Maybe because she knew that his blinding anger was justified.

" I didn’t know---"

"Of course you didn’t. You slept with a demon and thought it was the most non-twisted thing in the world. Cheers."

"What do you want, Spike?!" Buffy finally screamed. She was tired of this. She was tired of him constantly kicking her when she was down. She was hurting too. God, she was hurting. "What do you want me to do?! You want me to go back in time to stake Angel the first time I saw him?! Because I would, god how I would! I would go back in time and stake him in 1989 before he ever touched your mother just to save you the pain! I’d do it! But I can’t! So what do you want me to do, what d-do you want me say?!"

Spike was shaking his head rapidly as he crouched in the grass. "I don’t want you to do anything . . . I don’t need anything from you . . . you hear me? Nothing. I don’t need anything . . ." But suddenly, he clutched his sides as if in pain. "But god, it’s not true . . . it’s not true . . ." He buried his head in his hands and Buffy sat shocked and stared at him. He had begun to cry. He was so hard and soft in the same moment. He was all the extremes in one choked sob. But he wouldn’t let Buffy hear it. His sobs were silent and choked and stifled. The only way she could tell that he was crying was the rise and fall of his sharp shoulder blades. Cautiously, she scooted slowly near him. He drew his head from his arms and he was beautiful, broken and harsh with his stormy blue eyes emitting reluctant tears. But there was nothing feminine about Spike crying. It was frightening and terrifying.

"I need to feel like it’s not a mess," he was rambling incoherently. "I n-need to feel like I can breathe again. I need to feel like the world isn’t ending. Can you give me that Buffy? Can you? I don’t think so . . ." he buried his head in his hands once more, and this time Buffy slowly enveloped his shaking form in her arms. At first stiffly, because she didn’t know if he would try to react violently to the touch. But no, he was still merely racked with sobs, so she relaxed him into her hold. A wave of shared sympathy and pain overcame her and made her feel like this was the only place for her. She never wondered how she and Spike, two people who had been such adversaries, had gotten to this point, crouched together in the middle of the night at a cemetery. She only smoothed his head like a mother comforting a child and cooed to him softly.

"It’ll be okay," she lied. "Shhh shhh, it’ll be okay."

Chapter 21: The Rise of a New Evil

Drusilla held her arms out blindly and spun around the room, waltzing with an invisible stranger. "It's so pretty," she chanted over and over in a childish litany. She paused and neared the huge stone structure that stood in front of the fireplace. With a little sigh, she wrapped her arms around it and put her face to the cold surface. "It fills my head."

Angel turned around to see his childe hugging the hunk of rock. He chuckled, turning his attention away from the book he was holding. This structure was many things; it was lethal, it was deadly, it was the deliverer of doom and misery and pain. It was a great many adjectives, but none ever coming close to "pretty". "That it is, sweet pea." Suddenly, his seductive purr hardened as he called, "Manny, Louis, come here!"

Drusilla released her hold on the rock as she watched the two vampire henchmen file into the room, each armed with crow bars. Grinning, she clapped her hands with delight. "Is Daddy gonna unlock my treasure chest?"

Angel cocked his head at the stone and the henchmen set to work on prying it open. "That's right, honey. It's a treasure." He turned and smirked at Dru, who gazed at him like a fawning teenager with a brat pack crush. "You know what this is, baby? You know what this will do for us?"

She glided serpent-like over to him, wrapping one arm around his neck. "It'll be a party, won't it?" she whispered into his ear. "It'll be a party that'll never end. Blood flowing like wine, bodies withering like flames, that's what you promised me."

Angel brought a thumb to caress her plump lower lip, still stained from breakfast. "And no one will ever say that I don't keep good on my promises."

A resounding thud and a slab of stone hit the floor. "It's open, Boss," one henchman announced.

Angel turned and gazed with satisfaction at the ugly horned statue that scowled at all the surveyors. Striding up to it, Angel slid one hand across the sword that protruded out of its chest reverently. "Acathla," he murmured with the utmost respect.

"Acathla will throw me a party," Dru chanted again, commencing a joyful jig. "Acathla shall throw me the grandest celebration."

Angel turned to Manny. "You've got the kid?" he asked harshly. Manny nodded and dragged out the gagged body of a teenage boy, writhing with fear in his constraints. He was just another anonymous Sunnydale adolescent whose sole purpose in life was to become a snack-able for those like Angel. He was stringy and lanky and probably had psychedelic, herbally-laced blood, but Angel didn't care. He wouldn't be needing him for food.

Angel took hold of the whimpering boy and brought him to his feet. Removing the gag from the boy's mouth, he suddenly gave the boy a sick smile that was seemingly warm and genuine. The boy continued sobbing uncontrollably.

"I s-swear man, take my money . . . m-my wallet . . . I only have twenty bucks in it, but take anything you want . . . T-the c-credit cards, the watch, anything! Oh G-God, just please don't hurt me!"

"Hey, shh, shhh, it's alright kid, it'll be alright," Angel comforted easily, shaking the boy to show some sort of camaraderie. "You know that don't you?"

Still crying silently, the boy shook his head.

"Well you are man, there's no doubt about that. You're gonna help make life what it should be. You're gonna help make history . . ." He gave a last little sneer. " . . . End." Suddenly, he changed as the boy gaped at him in horror. Before the boy could scream, Angel had already lunged his fangs into the boy's neck, drawing out a stream of blood. The boy convulsed against him and eventually went limp as Angel let the blood spill from the wound down his neck. He was careful not to drink the liquid. Retracting his fangs, Angel loosened his hold on the boy to smear one hand in the flowing blood. He then dropped the boy carelessly and approached Acathla.

He chanted solemnly the words as he had read them in the book and brought one hand around the handle of the sword. With an impatient smile, he tugged on it. It wasn't budging. His eyes widened when he began to grasp the sword tighter, struggling with it, but to no avail. The sword refused to move from its nestled position in Acathla's chest.

"Dammit!" he exploded with a wild growl. He kicked and smacked the statue with rage. Maybe he could pummel the apocalypse out of it. "Why the hell won't it work?! Why?!"

Manny and Louis cowered in fear. "I don't know, Boss," Louis mumbled. "Maybe . . . maybe we could try stealing some more books on Acathla . . . maybe ransack the library, see if we can find anything more about the ritual."

Angel suddenly brightened, gazing at Acathla with renewed inspiration. Shrugging an arm around Dru, he pursed his lips into thoughtful languor. "Yeah . . . or anyone."

Dawn showered Buffy with morning's warmth and sliced her closed eyelids with sunlight. Stirring, she shuddered and tried to rise from a bed of grass, feeling her limbs cloaked in numbness. The heavy weight of someone's head rolled off her arm, and she straightened, suppressing a cry of surprise. She blinked, gazing around herself in confusion. Expecting to see the secure, safe walls of her bedroom, she searched her mind, trying to find an explanation as to why she was greeted by cold tombstones instead. And then the events of last night came flooding back to her.

Sitting up, she grimaced and gripped her throbbing head. She wondered if it was possible to die from emotional hangover. If so, then this was probably what it felt like. Looking down, she saw Spike snoring softly into the grass right beside her.

She frowned and flexed her arm, which had apparently served as Spike's pillow for the night. She stared down at him with a critical eye. He lay with one arm splayed across his face, shielding his delicate white skin from the sun. Absently, she mused over the ivory, almost feminine paleness of his complexion. Guess the fog-ridden climate of London does nothing for a nice toasty tan, she thought, cocking her head at his still-sleeping form. Her eyes traveled across his face, noting how his hard, chiseled features seemed nearly boyishly soft when he was sleeping. His mouth that usually delivered biting epithets in a moment's blow was softened and slightly agape, puffing out little breaths. Restless curls of bleached hair fell downwards into his face, framing it in a way that made him look reminiscent of the etchings of Apollo Buffy had seen in English class. Buffy could tell why Drusilla used to swoon over him. He was handsome and unintentionally soft when he wasn't speaking or moving or fully conscious. Or when he was in pain, crying into her lap, like last night.

Suddenly Buffy became aware of what she was doing. She was actually looking at Spike in a favorable light. The way she was looking at Spike as he slept seemed to be filled with the kind of intimacy that characterized the afterglow, post-coitus. The kind of experience she was supposed to have with Angel. Blushing for reasons she couldn't understand, she roughly nudged Spike awake with her foot to break out of her self-consciousness.

He snorted awake crudely. Blinking away the morning sun, he propped himself on his elbows, yawning. He cleared his eyes of blurriness and frowned when he finally saw Buffy crouching in the grass in front of him, surrounded by a halo of light. He almost mistook her for an apparition with the way the light reflected off her golden hair into a myriad of sparkling highlights. He squinted and finally realized that the lovely angel staring at him was in fact that annoying, shrewish, blonde Slayer who thrived on making his life hell. So he sat up fully, clutching his head.

"Hey," she mumbled darkly in greeting.

He gazed around their sepulchral surroundings. "Where are we?"

"The cemetery. It looks like we fell asleep here last night." She suddenly turned a beat-red when uttering the innocent little sentence, as if it carried more innuendo than it was supposed to.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to get rid of the little stalks of grass that coated him after a night spent camping by accident. "Oh yeah. Right after you attacked me and nearly tried to impale me with a stake."

Buffy made an annoyed little scoff, narrowing her eyes. "No, it was right after you started blubbering like a baby in my arms."

Spike shot her a disgusted, offended glower. "Did nothing of the sort," he sniffed.

"You're kidding me, right? I was right here, you made for some major-blubbering action. You were one sob away from a total girly blub-fest."

Spike clenched his teeth and glared hatefully at her. "Not that I did, but I would say that the situation called for it, wouldn't you?" he spat vehemently.

Buffy immediately shrunk with guilt. Stung, she knew he was right. Of course he was right. He had poured his heart out and rightfully so. She herself planned to hole herself in a dark room for some length of time and cry her eyes out sometime soon. When he had sobbed into her arms last night, her heart wrenched with sympathy. So why was she making fun of him, deriding him in his pain? Maybe because Spike just . . . brought it out of her.

"You're right," she murmured, staring blankly into her lap.

"What's this? The prickly prat of a Slayer actually admitting that she's wrong? This will go down into the annals of history as a first."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy sighed, cutting into his intense tone of hostile sarcasm tiredly. "Is it possible to communicate with you like a human being without getting my mistakes thrown back in my face?"

"Depends on whether I like you or not. So I guess the answer is a world of damning and fiery "no"."

Despite the caustic banter between the two, Buffy was surprised with the generally benign tone Spike was addressing her in. The fact that he still felt inclined to verbally spar with her was surprising considering she was the one who had let her boyfriend ruin Spike's life. At the thought, her cheeks burned with a rising storm of guilt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered suddenly and abruptly, surprising Spike.

He cocked his head at her confusedly. "Didn't think my distaste for you would cut you that deep---"

"No, Spike . . . I'm sorry . . . I-I'm sorry for everything I haven't done . . . f-for not s-saving Dru and Munitz----" She could feel the ocean of tears start to fall in a deluge across her cheeks as she started to babble. Spike just paled, as if he had momentarily forgotten and had found peace in that split-second of forgetting. With her crying, he was filled with razor-edged pain again and his tumultuous blue eyes flashed. He quickly had gotten up on his feet and aggressively brushed the grass from his clothes. Then he stood, looking as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Buffy---" he mumbled quietly.

"No Spike, please . . . I know it doesn't mean anything, I know I've said all of this already and it won't ever, ever make a difference, but----"

"You're sorry, I know!" He yelled, kicking the ground futilely. Suddenly he looked down at her, his voice growing hushed and steely and poisonous. "You're right, it doesn't help. So you can stop your sniveling and whining and your martyr-ly do-gooding routine, 'cause I know what's behind it, Buffy. It's not even about me. I'm not fool enough to think that all these tears spilled and all this angst and hurt and pain is over me, one who's only served to annoy the hell out of you and vice-versa. You don't really care that I've lost the love of my life and my brother, the only family I've had----you think you do, but you don't. You just want to. You want to make yourself believe you care. Maybe if you do that, then you won't have to think about that murderer you screwed. The monster, that--that thing you let crawl between your legs. You think that by saying sorry, I'll just absolve you for fucking around with a killer . . . don't you?"

She just kept crying softly, shaking her head slowly as she crouched in the grass. Flinging himself back down on his knees, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly and savagely, screaming, "Don't you?!" She could have broken in his arms for she wasn't a slayer now, just a frail, defeated girl. He almost expected her to strike back at him with alarming force, sending him sailing into the air and across the cemetery, but she never raised a hand against him. Suddenly Spike paused and realized how her slight arms were shaking uncontrollably under his white-knuckled fists. Her day-old, caked makeup was running in black streaks across her face and in her eyes was a spark of pain that seemed even deeper than his. Her whole body was convulsing with sobs under his hands and it was then when he understood how his words, spoken merely out of anger, had struck a wounding, profound chord. So he loosened his grip and stared at her. He hadn't imagined that she could possibly even touch the enormity of what he was feeling, but she felt all the same things---possibly more. His hateful frown softened as he let her cry the way she had let him do the night before. He felt any anger towards her dissipate as she bowed her head and continued to sob. Conflicted, he bit his lip and didn't know what to do. But suddenly, he perked, as if remembering something and he grabbed Buffy's wrist abruptly. Surprised she gave a slight cry and tried to wrench away, but found him staring at her watch.

"9:45," he murmured, dipping his head back up to stare absently into space.

"Wha---" Buffy started in confusion as he sprang back up and grabbed his jacket. "What are you doing?"

"I've got 15 minutes to get down to the bus depot."

Buffy furrowed her brows in alarm. "Bus depot? What? Where you going?"

Spike shrugged his duster on carelessly. "The ticket's for somewhere off near the border. Think I can make it to Mexico by evening practically."

"Mexico? What's in Mexico?" She felt a panic surge within her and she didn't know why.

"Besides an abundance of man-size cockroaches, I don't rightly know. But I don't give a toss either way. All I know is that it's not here."

"B-But . . . what about Giles? What about Sunnydale?"

He gave her a cold look. "Does it look like Sunnydale's been all that good to me?"

She shrunk. "No," she admitted. "But Giles. Your father. Are you going to leave without telling him?"

Blankly, he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it expertly before drawing deep drags off of it. "Hadn't thought about it, but it looks that way doesn't it?"

"But . . . don't you even care? Don't you care that you might be hurting him or---"

"Look Buffy, it's been pretty obvious that me and the old man aren't the "let's go out for a rousing game of catch" father-son duo. He's never shown a sign of caring about me before, why would he now?"

"Maybe he doesn't because you won't let him! You keep shutting him out whenever something happens, you don't even give him the opportunity to show him how much he loves you---"

"Loves!" A contemptuous scoff. "Right, the old chuffer loves me. That's why he's ignored me for seventeen years. That's why he never bothered to call when I was cold and hungry and living in a one-room flat with my mum to see if he could make it better. That's why he's never sent a birthday card once, not once to show me he even remembers the day. That's love."

"But it goes both ways," Buffy insisted. "If only you could give him a sign that you even want those things, it would make a difference. Help him, show him that you actually do care."

"I think that's a great idea," a grim voice called from behind them. Turning around, Buffy and Spike faced a bruised and slightly bloody Xander with fear painted across his face. "Because right now, he needs all the help he can get. He's been captured by Angelus and Drusilla."

Chapter 22: Allies

"When?" Buffy asked, whisking through the halls of Sunnydale High as Spike and Xander trailed behind.

"Early this morning. Dru and two henchmen burst into the library, trashed it, and grabbed Giles before we could stop them. Willow, Oz, Ms. Calendar and I were with him the whole night, studying up on this Acathla character----"

Buffy paused before entering the library and turned to face Xander. "Acathla?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Xander went blank before realizing Buffy had been absent for most of last night's revelations. "That's right, you weren't there." He shot a dark sideways look at Spike to indicate that he was the unsavory cause for this. "Last night we got word from the museum that a huge artifact had been stolen by two vampires. One male vampire described as 'tall, dark and handsome'----"

"I'd like to contest to that," Spike muttered under his breath.

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy deadpanned without turning around.

"----And a girl described as pale, skinny and psycho."

Spike straightened and furrowed his brows tightly. "That's my Dru, all right."

"Dru and Angel at the museum? What did they want? What did they take?"

"Well after apparently going Dutch and splitting a tasty curator amongst themselves, it looks like they had their eyes on a big rock with the unfortunate name of Acathla. Giles went down to the museum and identified the missing artifact from all the pictures the curator had been studying."

"Okay . . . so . . . I'm guessing this oversized pet rock isn't all fun and games."

Xander nodded solemnly. "Try apocalypse and a whole demon dimension of pain. Apparently, the rock the dynamic duo stole contains the statue of Acathla, the guard and gatekeeper of a hell dimension. He's got this sword dealie sticking out of him. Whoever slides that baby out has unlocked whatever there is that keeps this dimension and the other from bleeding together. And from reading up, this hell dimension? Not the greatest place to make a permanent stay."

Spike leered at Xander. "Yeah, we sorta gathered that from when you said 'hell dimension', shagwit."

Xander ignored Spike. "All the righteous and good of the earth shall be smitten or enslaved while all the evil denizens get to party like its 1999."

Sighing, Buffy pushed back the doors to the library. "Okay, so your standard 'end-of-the-world' scenario. Got it." She stopped and surveyed the ruined state of the library grimly. "But why did they want Giles?" she murmured, still staring at the overturned shelves and ripped books. "Why did they take him?"

"I don't know. Probably since he's the go-to guy with the magic. Maybe they're having trouble opening the portal."

Buffy turned to Xander with a look of decision. "That buys us some time."

Spike stared down at the floor and shuffled darkly. "What do you think they're gonna do to him?" he mumbled in a small voice.

Buffy shrugged, trying to disguise fear with initiative. "Squeeze out any information Giles has about Acathla. Torture him until he talks. We've got to find him as soon as possible." She stared steadily at Spike, who nodded slowly in response.

"Buffy----" Xander started, staring down at his hands uneasily. "If . . . I mean when we do find Giles . . . what then? What are you going to do? Angel means business, you know. He's going to end the world----"

"I'm not going to let him!" Buffy replied, her voice unusually sharp, her eyes cold. "I won't."

Xander nodded testily, but squinted at her hard. "How?"

Buffy threw up her hands helplessly. "I don't know! I mean, I do know, but----"

"You knew Angel was in town, didn't you Buffy?" Xander's voice was soft and deliberate.

She spun around with her eyes wide. "What?"

"You knew. And somehow . . . you knew he was going to turn." He tried to make it sound like a question, but it came out as a statement. "You did. And you didn't tell us."

Buffy stood stock-still, overcome with guilt. "Xander-----"

"You didn't come to us. Your friends, your family. You didn't trust us enough to tell us about him. Why?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

Xander hardened and threw his hands up in the air. "Well great, Buffy. That's just great, you know? Because you kept this whole thing a secret from us, Giles' been kidnapped, Willow's in the hospital---"

Buffy stopped and straightened. "What? What is Willow doing in the hospital?"

Xander stared at her in a chilling, damning way. "One of the vampires knocked a bookshelf over and Willow was on the other side of it. She has a concussion and a broken arm. She's been knocked unconscious and she hasn't woken up."

Buffy paled. "Oh my god."

Xander nodded, as if this proved the point. "You see, Buffy?" he said in a harsh tone. "This isn't a game. Because you lied to all of us, lives are at stake."

"I know!" She knew all too well.

"You have to kill him Buffy, you know that."

Spike shrugged. "For once, I agree with the shagwit."

Buffy winced, knowing the truth in the words, but not wanting to hear. "Again, I know." In her mind, she thought about how this would take place. Would it just be like last night where she would have the opportunity, but lack the courage to finally end it? How could she murder the person she loved most in the world? Okay, so he was a apocalypse-aspiring, heartless demon. But somewhere inside . . . there had to be something left of her boyfriend. There had to be. "B-but . . . what if there's another way?"

"Another way? How can there be another way?" Xander demanded.

"I-I don't know. Maybe the spell . . . maybe Ms. Calendar could restore his soul through the gypsy curse. She translated it, why wouldn't she be able to do it?"

Xander squinted at her. "Oh I get it. All you care about is getting your boyfriend back, regardless of how many people he's killed or how many lives he's ruined." Spike clenched his teeth visibly.

Stung, Buffy stared at her best friend with dismay and anger. She could handle such words from Spike, but from Xander? "I'm just saying it's an option."

"No, I think you're saying that you're still too ridden with puppy-love to face the facts. Grow up, Buffy, this is real life!"

"I know real life! I'm the one who protects it everyday, not you Xander! I've grown up faster than you'll ever have to! You won't ever understand what it's like!"

"Oh that's right, because you’re the Slayer. Well news flash, Buffy: Just because you’re the slayer doesn't mean you get to go around protecting whoever the hell you want to protect just because he's your undead honey!"

"God Xander! Don't you get it? I've thought about this. Do you know what kind of risk it would be if I just barreled in and tried to save Giles? And who knows if Angel already found out the secret to opening the portal and is doing that as we speak?"

Xander shook his head firmly. "No. Giles would never tell."

"You don't know that. You don't know what they could be doing to him. Now if we restore Angel's soul as soon as possible, there won't be a chance of him opening the portal. He'd let Giles go. And we wouldn't even have to risk anything to stop it---"

"No, you wouldn't have to risk anything. Soon as it's all over, you'd go running back to Angel's arms like nothing happened. Who cares if he killed all of Spike's family, tortured Giles and put Willow in the hospital?"

"This isn't about vengeance! This is about the best alternative!"

"Yes, which is to send his King-of-Pain, brooding ass to hell!"

"And you say that I'm being immature? God Xander, I know your ego has been bruised a couple times by Angel, but this isn't about him stealing your high school crush, get over it!"

Freezing at her callous reference to her rejection of him last year, Xander clenched his teeth and shook his head in fury. "Right now, I can't even see what that was about. Angel can have you. I hope you both get sent to hell."

Buffy was shocked at her best friend's statement. Before her mouth could drop open as her eyes welled with tears, Spike stalked up to Xander and grabbed him by the collar. "Hey lay off, Harris, alright?"

This wasn't right. This was all topsy-turvy. Xander was the one attacking her and Spike was the one defending her? The world Buffy knew was slipping fast from her grasp.

Xander looked up at Spike with the same venom he directed at Buffy. "Why should I?" he asked sneeringly.

"Because she's the goddamn Slayer, that's why. The girl makes mistakes, but when it comes down to it, she's the only one who'll save all our asses in the face of the apocalypse. So maybe you should listen to what she thinks best."

Xander gaped at Spike in disbelief. "Spike, Angel practically killed your whole family!"

"Yeah, and I'm not willing for him to make it one more. He's got my father and God knows what he's doing to him. So I'll do everything in my power to get him back." At the last minute, he turned to Buffy, who was staring at him in awe, and said flippantly, "I still think you should kill him, though."

Buffy cracked a small smile, but her mouth straightened into a firm line when she gazed down at Xander. "Where's Ms. Calendar?"

Sighing, Xander slumped with quiet disdain. "At the hospital with Oz and Willow."

"Get her. Tell her the plan. Help her with the spell. Meanwhile, I'll will track down Angel and Dru and see if we can stop Angel before he opens the portal."

Xander widened his eyes. "You mean . . . you are going to kill him?"

Buffy started to go through the weapons box Giles had always kept in the library. "We need a back-up plan don't we?" She rummaged through the weapons box in dismay. "Dammit. There aren't enough supplies here. We have to go home, I've got more weapons in my room."

Xander cocked an eyebrow at Buffy. "Who's 'we'?"

Buffy glanced awkwardly at Spike. For some reason, she had come to think of him as a partner of sorts. Maybe it was because they had gone through the same things, maybe it was because they understood each other, and maybe it was because of his recent defense of her. Whatever it was, they felt like allies. No--more than that, they were. "Me and Spike. We'll stop by my house and wait for you to tell us if the spell worked or not."

Xander considered this and nodded dourly, finally making his way out of the library. Buffy glanced over at Spike with a resolute expression. "Ready?"

Spike's face held similar resolution. "Right behind you, Slayer," he said, following her out the library door.

Author’s Note: Here’s a nice long chapter to make up for my rather infrequent updates. Keep on reviewing, please! Oh, and I said it before, but some of the dialogue is taken directly from "Becoming, Part 2".

Chapter 23: No Turning Back

The atmosphere of the small, crowded hospital room was sterile, cold and grim. Ms. Calendar sat perched in a chair crying softly as Oz fought tears of his own by Willow’s bedside. He grasped Willow’s hand as she slept, desperately clinging onto her out the fear that she could slip away at any time. Usually non-emotive, he sat whispering despairingly, "Come on Willow, baby. Come on, come back to me." He implored her unconscious form so fervently that he didn’t notice a figure sidle up next to him and the bed.

"How is she?" Xander asked softly.

Oz didn’t look up as he smoothed Willow’s damp forehead. "The same," he murmured.

With Xander’s entrance, Ms. Calendar brusquely jumped out of her chair. "Have you found him?" she demanded, her face pinched white with worry.

Xander shook his head gently, still staring down at Willow. "Buffy and Spike are out looking for him." He looked back up at Ms. Calendar gravely. "They want us to perform a spell."

Ms. Calendar wiped the tears from her eyes and frowned. "A spell? What kind of spell? A spell for Giles?"

"No. For Angel." He emphasized the last name with harsh bitterness.

Her frown deepened. "A spell for Angel? Why?"

Clenching his teeth, Xander settled into a hospital chair. "That seems to be the question of the hour. For some reason, Buffy and Spike think they have their reasons."

"Well what’s the spell?" Ms. Calendar insisted impatiently. "If Buffy thinks it’s useful in helping Giles, then maybe we could try it."

"No, Buffy thinks it’s useful for no one besides herself!" Xander exploded, jarring everyone in the room besides the peacefully sleeping Willow. "All she cares about is returning Angel to his nice, sensitive-guy, soulful-schmoe package so they can go steady again!"

Ms. Calendar cocked her head and furrowed her brows. "She wants to restore Angel’s soul? That’s . . . oh my god." She suddenly turned from Xander and began pacing the room frantically. "Why the hell didn’t I think of that sooner?!"

Xander widened his eyes in amazement. "You actually think you can----"

"Well I had the spell translated in front of me all of this time! That whole time Giles was kidnapped, and oh God, probably being tortured-----I had it! I could have stopped this before anything had happened to him!" She gripped her head in guilt, but then fumbled through the pocket of her dress for a crumpled piece of paper. "Here! Right here, I had it!" She scanned its contents quickly. "Here, the directions and materials are all listed. An Orb of Theselus, a couple of funky herbs . . . Angel could have his soul restored by nightfall."

"But why?" Xander exclaimed severely. "Why should we restore his soul? He’s done nothing but cause pain as a vampire, and just nothing as a souled one. Why the hell should we even give him that kind of redemption when he doesn’t even deserve it?!"

"Because it could save Giles!" Ms. Calendar cried sharply. "If we restore Angel’s soul, then we know he’d let Giles go. And he would never open Acathla’s portal. It’s one of the best chances we’ve got!"

"One of the best chances?! One of the best?! How do we even know that Angel isn’t killing Giles and opening the portal right now?! Try no chance! You said yourself that the restoration wouldn’t work till nightfall! That’s hours from now!"

"I don’t know for sure. This kind of spell has been rarely done, and all cases vary. We don’t how long it’ll take for Angel to regain his soul, so if we do the spell, the sooner, the better."

"And why won’t an average staking work? ‘Cause last time I checked, lunging a piece of wood through a vampire’s heart? Very efficient way to get the job done."

Ms. Calendar shook her head firmly. "Angel’s from the Master’s bloodline, Xander. He has extraordinary power, the kind of power that surpasses any other vampire’s. Besides, I don’t know if Buffy could defeat him even if she tried."

"Buffy’s the Slayer. Chosen to protect helpless people like us who aren’t in a position to doubt her abilities. Why do you think she can’t------"

"She slept with him, Xander," Ms. Calendar stated flatly, causing both Oz and Xander to stiffen and stare at her.

Xander shook his head and began to fidget. "What are you talking about?"

"She’s in love with him. So she slept with him. And it turned him. It made him loose his soul. I figured it out. That was the clause, Angel’s "true moment of happiness". Don’t you understand? It was Buffy’s first time, the moment she finally let herself be with the one she loved most in the world . . . and he turned evil. It’s enough to destroy her."

Xander was shocked. He stared at the floor blankly as he tried to fight through the storm of confusion brewing within him. Finally, he gazed up at Ms. Calendar. "You think she won’t be able to take him?" he asked quietly.

Ms. Calendar sighed wearily and rested her chin in her hand. "I wouldn’t be able to."

Xander nodded slowly and gazed down at Oz. "What do you think, man?"

Oz still had his gaze fixed on Willow, his hand squeezing hers just a bit tighter. "I think . . . " He suddenly leaned over and kissed Willow’s forehead gently before glancing back up at Xander. " . . . I think that the most important thing is stopping this before anyone else gets hurt."

Staring down at his best friend, looking so small in her thin hospital gown, Xander swallowed hard before nodding again. After a few moments of silence, he finally asked Ms. Calendar, "What do you need?"

Perking up, Ms. Calendar sighed a breath of relief. "Here’s the list. You can find all the herbs at the Magic Box downtown, and there’s an orb of Theselus back in my classroom." She smiled sheepishly. "I’ve been using it as a paperweight."

With the restraint of a soldier, Xander took the list from her and started to exit to the room. "Got it," he mumbled, but Ms. Calendar soon called him back, prompting him to turn around.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?

She clasped her hands tightly together. "Hurry."

******************************

Buffy and Spike decided to make a pit stop at Willy’s before returning home. Under the threats of eminent beating and torture administered by Buffy as Spike sat back in amusement, Willy the bartender waveringly caved and provided them the address of Drusilla and Angel’s haven.

"The old mansion on Crawford Street," Buffy murmured as they made their way down Revello Drive. "I should have known he would choose that place as a hideout. He was always a fan of the whole Gothic architectural thing."

Spike leered and pursed his lips. "And you still refuse to question the poofter’s orientation? You must be thick in the head, Blondie."

Buffy merely responded by grimacing slightly. She was used to his playful insults by now. For Spike, it was like casual small talk. "I just hope Angel and Dru aren’t performing the ritual as we speak."

Spike curled his slender fingers around a cigarette in his mouth as he puffed out a curl of smoke. "We’d be able to tell, wouldn’t we? The atmosphere would suddenly go all "Ninth Circle of Hell", I figure."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And we want to stop things before it comes to that, brain-trust." She suddenly gazed at the Summers house they were approaching absently. "I hope I have enough weapons left in my room. I swear, if Dawn did her little explore-y thing in my weapons chest, her name’s Mud."

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stared at her steadily. "So we’re really doing this? You really plan to kill him?"

Buffy glanced up at him sharply and a little defensively. "We don’t know . . . I don’t know yet. It’s just a our fallback plan, nothing’s definite."

"Equipping ourselves with an armory seems a little extravagant for a fallback plan."

Buffy threaded a hand through her hair carelessly, stomping through her front lawn. "Well possible apocalypse calls for extravagant measures." Suddenly, she paused, reluctant to storm through the front door of her house so conspicuously. She hadn’t been home for more than twenty-four hours. Her mother had probably noticed her absence and was waiting for her in a parental rage. And the last thing Buffy wanted to deal with was her mother. So she edged towards the huge oak with the branches that hung conveniently near her bedroom window and began hiking her boots up the rough bark. Grunting as she struggled, she turned around as Spike stood at the bottom chuckling at her ineptness at tree climbing.

"So you can save the world, but you can’t climb a tree? I feel so much secure knowing the people has you as their protector."

Glaring at him, she hugged the tree only one foot up from the ground. "Well make with a chivalry and help, Sir Walter Raleigh."

Smirking, Spike brought his hands around her waist and lifted her up. She felt so slight in his arms, not a slayer, but the real, soft, well-shaped girl she was. And she smelled like vanilla. Holding her limber form as she ascended higher in the tree, he suddenly felt nervous and ill at ease. Backing away with speed, he waved a hand at her. "Umm . . . I think you can handle the rest."

He waited until she had made it up on the roof before he scaled the tree himself. Following her through her bedroom window, he grunted, popping his long legs in. Straightening, he wiped some leaves off his duster as she leaned down to grab some weapons hidden under her bed. "So you don’t think we’re jumping the gun here?" he said suddenly. "You don’t think we should wait for Xander before we even worry about weapons and that sort?"

Surprised, she glared at him, still crouching on her knees. "I don’t get you. First you’re telling me to dust Angel, now you’re for restoring his soul?"

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. I’ve been thinking about it is all. About this whole idea of a vampire with a soul."

She stared at him, mystified. "What are you talking about, Spike?"

He fixed his intense, sapphire gaze to her in a flash, sending an unsettling shiver down her spine. "If it’d work for Angel, it’d work for Drusilla too, wouldn’t it?"

Understanding, her eyes went wide. "You aren’t saying what I think you’re saying."

"You think whatever you damn please. I’m serious."

"You want to restore Drusilla’s soul? That’s insane!"

"What’s insane? Why the hell can you consider it and I can’t?"

"Because . . . because it’s different!"

"What’s different about it? You’re gonna restore your boyfriend’s soul so he’ll go back to being your boyfriend. Why can’t I do the same for Dru?"

"That’s not why I’m restoring Angel’s soul. I’m restoring it to save the world. This isn’t the semi-annul soul sale where we dole out souls to every vamp that comes a-knockin’. This is special."

"No, it’s special because it’s you," Spike sneered harshly. "Face it Buffy, you have some convoluted sense of moral superiority that you wield over the rest of us. You think that being the Slayer gives you a license to do whatever the hell you want. You make up your own idea of what’s right and wrong, even when it contradicts itself." He neared her, rasping out sharp words with a scowl. "You’re just a bloody hypocrite."

Her teeth on edge, Buffy glowered back at him. "I may be a hypocrite, but I’m the Slayer. And as the slayer, I’m saying that this isn’t even about Angel."

"It isn’t? So you’re telling me that you haven’t even thought once of what it’d be like to get your beloved poofter back after all the shit goes down? You aren’t thinking of how bloody marvelous it would be to have him back to his studly, brooding self, worshipping the ground you walk on? That thought hasn’t even popped in your head?"

Taken aback, Buffy twitched with discomfort. Spike had struck a chord. Which wasn’t so surprising. Damn him for being so damn intuitive. "No . . ." she said in an unconvincingly meek voice.

Satisfied, Spike laid back on Buffy’s bed. "Right. And here I was doubting you."

Buffy shook her head resolutely. "Still, Spike, it’s different. Angel is the main player in this whole impending Armageddon thing. This isn’t all about what I want. You just want to turn Dru back out of your own selfishness."

Incensed, his eyes went wide and his voice pitched up in anger. "My own selfishness? My own selfishness?! I’m not the one who caused this out of her own selfishness! I’m not one who unleashed a killer out on the world just because she gave her boyfriend a happy! I just want things back to the way they were! I want my life back!"

Buffy flinched at his attack of her, but didn’t relent. She maintained her even, adamant gaze. "But what about Dru? You want her to be back to the way she was, but guess what? She never will be. She’s a vampire, nothing will change that. You want to impose a soul on her. You don’t care how much that’ll torment her for all of eternity----"

"She hasn’t done anything wrong! She’s just been a pawn of Angel’s, she’s never---"

"She’s killed already. She’s tasted blood. She can never come back from that. And if you give her a soul, she’ll remember it forever." She shook her head solemnly. "That’s not fair to her. The guilt over what she did . . . and how she is . . . it’ll kill her, everyday . . . believe me, I know. You don’t have a relationship with a person like that. It’s too hard and . . . and heartbreaking. It hurts you almost as much as it hurts them." She paused, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t speaking to Spike anymore. She was taking the words from her heart, trying to convince herself of the truth.

Spike was still filled with quiet anger. "We’re both suckers for the pain," he mumbled softly, staring down at his hands. He glanced up at her pointedly. "Especially you."

She swallowed hard. "I don’t want to be. I----You have to know that this isn’t about how I feel for Angel. And it shouldn’t be about how you feel for Drusilla. They’re . . . the people we fell in love with are gone." The words fell like a heavy thud in the air and hung at the bottom, daring either one to speak. Spike stared at her and opened his mouth to say something, but instead fell to playing with the contents of Buffy’s cluttered bedside table. Flipping through strewn and scattered papers, he suddenly picked up a wavy piece of red wood.

"Mr. Pointy," he murmured, smiling a little as he turned it around in his hands. He looked up at her. "You kept it."

Buffy gave him a small grin and nodded. "I told you I liked it."

He sniffed. "I thought you would have used it for scrap wood."

She came to the bed where he was still reclining and took it from him. Sitting next to him, she held it with a bewildered little smile. "Why did you think that?"

He played with one of her throw pillows darkly, not facing her. "Well I dunno, we seem to have this thing between us, don’t we? This ‘hating each other thing’."

Buffy frowned, shifting her weight uncomfortably. "I don’t hate you. I never did. Unless you hate me . . ." she trailed off nervously, looking down at her hands. Looking up, she found Spike squinting at her with a soft expression.

"I should, shouldn’t I?"

Falling silent again, the two locked eyes in a lingering, serious look that contained something neither one wanted to recognize. The air was thick with something indistinguishable and it was making both of them nervous. But suddenly, the bedroom door slammed thunderously, breaking the moment of confusing unease. "What the hell is going on here?!" a voice raged.

Buffy turned around with lightening speed, widening her eyes in dismay. "Mom?"

************************************

"Quod perditum, inventieur . . . Not of the dead, nor of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call . . ."

Ms. Calendar sat with a bowl of herbs and a round, crystal orb in front of her. Her body convulsed as she whispered each word with her eyes closed.

Xander glanced worriedly at Oz, who gripped Willow’s hand at her bedside. "Is this supposed to happen?" he yelled through a sudden windy roar that ripped through the room.

"Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte . . ." Her breath was coming out in sharp, rough pants and her eyelids fluttered maniacally. Her body was slumping in her chair as she appeared to get weaker and weaker with every word uttered.

"Ms. Calendar?" Oz called out in vain, getting up to shake her.

Her head suddenly whipped back and her eyes snapped open, pools of terrifying ebony. Her voice suddenly came out as the howling cry of a banshee. "Nici mort, nici al fiintei . . ."

"Ms. Calendar!"

The words were tumbling out of her gaping mouth in a frenzied maelstrom. "Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-I va transporta, sufletul la el!"

"Stop it!" Xander shouted as a small circle of furious wind surrounded Ms. Calendar, shaking everything in the room in a mad rumble. Willow suddenly began crying in her unconscious state as the bed quaked beneath her. Oz covered her body with his own to keep her from falling off the bed. But Ms. Calendar continued on relentlessly, as if possessed.

"Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum! Acum! Acum!" The tornado swirling around Ms. Calendar suddenly spiraled together with a loud whooshing noise and streamed into the small orb on the table, causing it to glow. Her body still shook, but her head snapped back down as she shrieked her first understandable word. "NOW!"

Everything stopped. The wind died down like nothing had happened. Exhausted, Ms. Calendar sank into her chair as Xander and Oz looked around cautiously. Seeing that it was all over, Xander neared Ms. Calendar and shook her gently.

"Is it done?"

Her eyes opened again and her breathing slowed to normal. "Soon."

*******************************

"I said what the hell is going on here?!!"

"Mom it isn’t what it looks like-------"

"It had better not be what it looks like!! Because I’ll tell you what it looks like! It looks like you were about to have sex with Spike! In my own house!"

Spike sprang up from the bed in horrified protest, but Buffy clenched her teeth. "Mom, we were just sitting on the bed-----"

"You had a boy! Alone! In your room! And not only that, you’ve been gone for more than twenty-four hours! God Buffy, what the hell am I going to do with you?!!" Mrs. Summers paced the floor, gripping her forehead in fury. "Did you know that I almost called the police, Buffy? I’ve been worried to death about you! You don’t call, you’re out all hours of the night, and you bring boys up to your room! You’re out of control, Buffy!! How am I supposed to control you?! Tell me, Buffy how?!" She gave her daughter a hard, infuriated look with her arms crossed.

"Mom, I didn’t-----"

She threw her hands up in the air. "Don’t even try Buffy," she yelled. "Don’t try and give me another excuse. Because I’ve been struggling. I’ve been struggling to understand how I can try so hard to relocate my life in another town because you get expelled from school . . . for setting your school gym on fire!"

Spike stared at Buffy as he began to shake with laughter. "You----and----fire------school," he panted through gagging laughs, but soon quieted down when both Summers women glowered at him.

Buffy turned back to her mother. "You don’t understand."

"Damn right I don’t understand! I don’t understand how my daughter neglects to see how hard I work to give her a good life and instead runs wild with boys and------"

"Mom, I’m not like that!"

Mrs. Summers sighed, trying to regain her composure. "Buffy, I understand that you’re young and reckless and think you can get away with everything-----"

"I’m not young! That’s the point! I’ve never gotten to be young!" Buffy sprang up from the bed and faced her mother with the same fire she employed before staking a vamp. "I’ve been through things you’ve never imagined. I’ve had to put up with so much---"

"Buffy, I’ve read the parenting books. I know you think you’ve got this big teen angst cloud hanging over your head, but it’s no excuse to---"

"You don’t know anything! Don’t you get it Mom? Haven’t you ever even suspected?" Buffy was wavering, imploring her mother to see the truth so that she would not have to say it. "Didn’t you ever wonder why I have so many crosses in my room? And why I always slip away at night? Or why, every week, you have to wash bloodstains out of my clothes? Or do you just refuse to see what’s been staring you in the face all this time?"

"I’m not here to learn about what kind of crazy things you do at night, I just-----"

"Well I’m telling you, Mom. You don’t want to learn it, but here it is. I’m a slayer. Not ‘a’ but ‘the’. The Chosen One. In all the world, I was called to kill vampires-----"

Mrs. Summers shook her head with disgusted disbelief. "Oh God, Buffy, please! If you think this acts as a valid excuse for your behavior, you are sorely mistaken."

"It’s not an excuse! It’s the truth! I hunt vampires and save the world on a daily basis! I don’t have time to go running around with boys and set fire to gyms just because I’ve got a raging adolescent itch! And I’m sorry that it doesn’t say anything about the Slayer in all your parenting books, but it’s for real, Mom. This is what I am."

Mrs. Summers stared at her defiant daughter with a set jaw before finally shaking her head again. "No. No, I don’t believe it."

Buffy threw her hands up in the air. "I don’t care if you don’t believe it! If you don’t, there’s nothing I can do for you! And you know why? Because I have to save the world . . . again." Picking up a hefty axe, Buffy ignored her mother’s aghast shock and moved towards the door, but Mrs. Summers soon blocked her.

"Where do you think you’re going?" she stated in a cautionary, hard tone.

Buffy stared at her. "I told you. I have to save the world from the apocalypse."

Mrs. Summers laughed bitterly in Buffy’s face. "Don’t be delusional. Apocalypse, monsters, demons, vampires, they don’t exist. It’s just me and you, Buffy. You can’t run away from this."

"I’m not running away! For once, I’m finally not running away!" She tried to walk past her mother, but Mrs. Summers grabbed her solidly.

"You’re not going anywhere."

Buffy shrugged her mother off with more force than she intended, sending her sailing into her closet door. Picking up a sword and a bag of weapons, she cocked her head at Spike, who began to follow her out of the room. But Mrs. Summers stood up with a severe look of anger and said in a shaking voice, "You walk out the door, don’t ever expect to come back."

Buffy stared at her mother, her eyes welling with tears. But she put one foot gingerly in front of the other and walked out of the bedroom. Mrs. Summers heaved a heavy sigh and slumped back down to the floor, beginning to cry.

"You okay?" Spike asked gently as they descended down the staircase.

Buffy shifted the bag on her shoulder stoically. "Yeah," she lied. "I’m fine." Going to open the front door, she was suddenly advanced upon by Xander, who burst in.

"Buffy!" he gasped, slumping over on his knees.

"Xander?" She furrowed her brows at him. "What’s going on, what’s happened?" Paling, she gripped his arm seriously. "Is it the spell? D-did it work?"

There was something blatantly hopeful and expectant in her eyes that Xander couldn’t stand. He wished he could be a bigger person and see past it and be the bigger person. He wished he could forget about an ego that had been bruised a year ago, but at the same time, he honestly believed that this could be the right thing to do. He was helping the world, not harming it. Buffy was better off, Spike was better off, they were all better off. So he said firmly. "No. It didn’t work. I just came to tell you . . . to kick his ass."

Buffy’s eyes widened, but she willed herself not to crumble. Instead, she turned around and motioned to Spike. "That’s the cue," she said simply. "Let’s go."

Part 24:

Chapter 24: Illusions of Love

He sat, bruised, beaten and cut, still silent. His shirt hung open, displaying a number of bright red welts streaked across his chest, but still he wouldn’t speak. It had been hours----hours of threats, hours of fear, hours of pain----but never hours of disclosure. He refused to open his mouth and tell the secret. Even after Angelus had taken his hand and carefully broke each finger, Giles never uttered a word.

"Godammit man!" Angelus exploded with frustration as he leaned over a weary Giles menacingly. "Don’t you see how misguided this is?! Acathla is standing right there. Nothing you will or won’t say will change that. It’s only a matter of time till I find out how to open the portal . . . and if you won’t tell me . . ." Angel sneered and flicked out a small dagger from his sleeve. " . . . I’ll just kill you and find someone who will."

Giles gasped as the cold point of the dagger came in contact with his upper thigh, breaking through the cloth. "I . . . won’t," he haggardly sighed before leveling his hateful gaze at Angelus. "And you’ll never open it. Buffy will come and stake your sorry ass before it comes to that."

Angelus emitted a low chuckle. "Still think your little pink power ranger will come and save the day, do you? Who’s the sorry one?"

"I’d venture to say the vampire who can’t even break the mild-mannered high school librarian he went all out of his way to kidnap. And you call yourself the scourge of Europe."

A golden flash of anger ignited in Angel’s eyes and he grabbed Giles by his hair. "I do and I am," he snarled. "Don’t ever forget that." Jutting the dagger up against Giles’ jugular, Angel looked as if he was about to loose his cool before Drusilla came sweeping in with a grand smile.

"There, there Daddy, that’s not the way to do it," Dru purred, putting a mollifying arm on Angel’s shoulder. "One cannot make mincemeat pie out of our poor, poor watcher." She leaned down and curled a cold hand around Giles’ cheek. Giles was too dazed to notice the touch of death upon his face.

Angel eyed Dru suspiciously. "What are you playing at, Dru?"

Dru giggled. "Well we’ve dissected, trisected, vivisected ‘im. Miss Edith thinks we should employ . . . more friendlier tactics." She continued caressing Giles’ brow soothingly.

Angel began to smile with understanding. His childe constantly displayed useful talents every time he turned around. Siring her was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Although opening Acathla would soon edge that out of first place. "Can you get it, baby?" he murmured into her ear as his hands settled round her waist.

Dru nodded and gave a trilling laugh. "I know what he wants." Crouching down in front of him, Dru cupped Giles’ face in her hands and pierced through his eyes.

*********************************

He wasn’t hurting anymore. There was no more pain. The cuts and bruises and noise were gone. He felt like he was floating in a peaceful pool of white. Yet a nagging feeling remained. It was like he had forgotten to take the teakettle off the stove or the keys out of the door. Except this was bigger. It was hollow and black and terrifying. He had to remember. He had to stop it.

"Shhhhh, shhhh." A voice soothed him liltingly, it’s musical pitch distinctly feminine and young and familiar. She cooed to him as if she sensed his worry, trying her best to calm him. "Shhhh. Everything will be alright, Rupert. It’ll be fine."

Giles tried to clear the pale shrouded fog out of his eyes to reach her. And then he saw her. An angelic vision of gold and white, swirling right in front of him. She tilted her face upward to his intently. Her eyes were the blues of the stormy Mediterranean and her hair was a glittering cornfield of blonde. She looked so much like the other. The other . . . his boy. "It’s . . . it’s not you . . ." he panted. "It . . . it can’t be . . ."

"It is," she affirmed. "I know it’s been long."

"No . . . no. You’re . . . but you’re . . . gone . . . Emma?"

She smiled and stroked him affectionately. "Hello dear."

"You’re dead." His words were dulled and heavy compared to the lightness around them.

She nodded, still smiling. "You’re right. I am. I have been for a long time. But I’m still here. With you."

"It’s a trick . . ."

She shook her head. "No. I’m here to help you."

"But why now? Where have you been all this time?"

"I’ve always been with you. With you and William. I watch over the two of you all the time."

He crumbled and shook his head. "So you’ve seen . . . you’ve seen everything. The mess I’ve made of his life. The mess I’ve made of mine."

"You’ve tried your best."

His voice swelled and broke. "I haven’t. I’ve ruined him. He hates me, despises me. And I don’t blame him. I don’t know what to do . . ." He looked up at her earnestly. "I’m so sorry, Emma."

"Oh Rupert-----"

"No please . . . listen. I never should have left England. I was young and stupid and selfish and I abandoned you. I left you all along to shoulder the burden by yourself. And what’s worse, as I grew older, I was still stupid and selfish. Not once did I contact you besides the checks I sent. I didn’t even go to your funeral. I’ve done nothing but cause pain for you and our son."

She grew quiet and stared away from him. "The past . . ." she sighed.

"No it’s the present! He’s already hard and broken and angry and in pain because of me! I’ve been the worst father-----"

She looked up at him carefully. "Do you want to change it?"

He stilled and stared at her with the question. "Emma . . ."

"You still have time, Rupert. You can turn him around. You can show him how much you love him . . . how much you’ve always loved him."

He searched her face urgently. "How?"

"Tell me. Tell me what he wants to know."

He began to shake his head slowly, conflicted. "I can’t . . ." he breathed.

"I won’t tell him. I won’t ever tell him. I’m here to save you, Rupert. You and Buffy and the rest. And our son. Especially our son."

He didn’t know how to trust her. But he wanted to, badly. "Why do I have to tell you?"

"Because I’ll destroy Acathla. Because it’s the key to defeating Angelus. Because I’ll make sure William never has to hurt again. Because he’ll love you forever if you give me the secret."

He hesitated.

"Rupert, imagine. You and William. And there wouldn’t be anger in his face, only love. And he wouldn’t be resentful or in pain . . . he’d only be your son." She leaned forward gently, supplicating him with her beautiful eyes. "You and William and Jenny . . . you could be the family we never got to be . . ."

He couldn’t stand it. He wanted it so much, he was shaking. "Promise?" he finally asked.

She relaxed and grinned dazzlingly. She kissed him softly and chastely on the lips. "Promise."

He took a deep breath. "You must get Angel away from Acathla."

She was still absently stroking his cheek. "Why? Is he the key?"

Rigidly, he nodded and she stared back into his eyes. "H-his blood . . . he m-mustn’t . . ."

She stopped and gave him a wide smile that looked faintly like a sneer. "Whoever opens the portal must use his own blood . . ."

"Yes . . . but Emma . . . how will you stop this?" He deseparately needed to know. "How will you stop his pain and mine? How will it get better?"

Her lips feel into a smirk and for a moment, she looked exactly like her son. "By ending everyone’s pain. By ending everything." Her face contorted into a vile image of satisfied hatred then disappeared. And in that moment, Giles knew he was lost.

"No . . ." he murmured frantically before realizing that there was no white cloud around him and his hands were still chained to a rusty chair. "Oh god, no . . ."

*************************************

"My blood . . ." Angel repeated, staring down at his milky white wrists. "Of course . . . of course I’m the key." Turning to Dru, he grabbed her joyfully and spun her around. "Oh god, Princess, we’ve got it made now! We know how to open the portal! Now no one can stop us!"

"Notice whenever someone says that, someone else invariably comes along to mess up all his wacky plans," Buffy quipped, prompting Angel and Dru to turn around. She was standing in the door next to Spike with a sword in her hand. Before Angel could give her a deadly scowl, she winked and smirked. "Hey, lover."

Chapter 25: The Battle

"You," Angel leered. "I don’t have time for you."

"Well, make time," Buffy replied piercingly. "Because it’s just occurred to me that I never got the chance to properly tell you how peeved I was after you ditched me the other night. I was thinking we could sit down and talk maybe, have a little heart-to-stake." She held up Mr. Pointy derisively.

Angel chuckled humorlessly. "Clever. Sorry baby, but I’ve got more important things to do than shoot the breeze with you. I’ve got a world to end. So I suggest you get lost, ‘cause you’re a little in over your head here."

Buffy shrugged and didn’t move from her spot. "Being the world’s chosen safeguard against the forces of evil isn’t exactly pitching for the Little Leagues. I figure I’m right where I belong."

Angel swaggered to her slowly with a lazy smile. "Fine. Have it your way. Feel free to stay and watch the show. Too bad you won’t get to applaud at the end. With you roasting in hell and all."

Buffy shook her head. "Not going to happen."

Louder laughter rose this time. "Right. You really scared me good last time we met up. That non-staking thing you did was very intimidating."

She hardened and gripped the stake tighter. "You wanna see the other tricks I got?"

Angel gave her a deadly grin and neared her. "Give it to me."

She launched forward, her left leg sailing in to connect to his neck, but he caught her ankle and spun her around, throwing her ruthlessly to the ground, her sword and stake clattering down beside her. Spike lunged to him, surprising him momentarily with a powerful punch to the face, but Angel just shook his head out of a daze and stared at Spike appreciatively, rubbing his chin. "You’ve got your daddy’s spunk, Spikey," he cooed. "And I bet you have mother’s flavor." He licked his lips mockingly. "Let me tell you kid, she was one of the best I ever had. I couldn’t really enjoy her at the time, what with the whole oppressive guilt-of-the-world thing I had, but the way she tasted-----so fresh, young . . . scared . . .she was one of my most delicious victims."

Spike tightened and there was almost a flicker of yellow-ambered rage in his eyes fierce enough to rival a vampire’s wrath. "I swear to God, I’ll kill you----" he murmured in low, murderous tones.

"No!" Buffy had gotten up and separated the two, staring at Angel coldly. "He’s mine."

Angel winked at her. "Always and forever, duchess."

He punched her in the face, but she quickly recovered, blocking another swing and doling out one of her one. She brought her knee up and rammed it into his gut, eliciting a low moan from him. She kicked him in the face and he fell to the floor heavily. She stalked up to him, grabbing a spare piece of scrap wood and tried to fling herself down, aiming for his heart. Angel rolled out of the way and sent her sprawling. He tried to grab her, but she kicked up off the ground and punched him thunderously again. Grunting with each uppercut she administered, she had cornered him into a wall, but he blocked her punches finally and did a roundhouse to her stomach that knocked the wind out of her. Staggering back, she was soon locked into a henchman’s grasp. Spike tried to reach Angel, scrambling for the sword, but Drusilla shrieked and flew onto his back.

"Bloody ‘ell!"

"Stop ruining it, William! Stop ruining my party!"

He tried throwing her off, but her arms were like steel around his neck. "I don’t want to hurt you, luv," he panted through her tight grip.

She shrieked again, throwing her razor-like nails into his face, scouring red streaks against his cheek. He responded with a head-butt that knocked her into a daze as she fell to the floor. He looked down at her frail body sadly. "Doesn’t mean I won’t, though."

Meanwhile, Buffy delivered a head-butt of her own on the henchmen. Turning around, she staked him easily and Spike had already successfully staked the other henchmen. They turned to face each other for a split second, reassuring each other silently.

Buffy nodded. "Get Giles, in the other room."

He hesitated. "But you-----"

"He’s your father! Now go!"

He headed for the back room, and Buffy turned around, poised to kick Angel. But he had moved to quickly for her and wove his arm around her neck tightly. Her breathing constricted, she flailed helplessly.

"Can’t you leave well enough alone, Buffy?" he growled into her ear. "Little Ms. Slayer thinks she can cleanse the world of evil, but here’s a news flash. Evil? It’s gonna keep on coming. After I open Acathla, battling me will be the least of your problems."

She grabbed at his arm. "Don’t flatter yourself," she wheezed. "You’re the least of my problems now. You’re just a simple stake-and-go case."

He chuckled and brought his lips to her cheek, letting them drift down her neck. "Right, baby. Keep telling yourself that."

He kissed her on the neck tenderly, and for a second, she let herself forget that he was evil. The touch felt so intimate and familiar and evocative of the Old Angel. Her eyelids wavered closed, but she forced them open and delivered a sharp jab to his eye and kick to his gut. He yelled and she freed herself from him. She held up the stake again.

"I think I’ll let this do all the talking for me."

Spike meanwhile scrambled into the backroom and found Giles badly beaten and chained to a chair. His breath hitched up a moment, and he immediately grabbed a heavy axe and began to throw it against the chains. Giles seemed dazed and half-conscious.

"S-Spike?" He sounded so lost and broken.

He hesitated and flung the axe against the chair again. "Right here, dad," he assured him quietly. It was the first time he has said the word and meant it.

Giles swallowed hard. "You aren’t r-real . . . you’re not my son . . ."

Flinging up his head, he stared at his father, tensing up and clenching his teeth. "That’s how I feel at times, but it can’t be helped."

"N-no . . . you’re just a vision . . . a h-hallucination. Like Emma . . . like your mother . . ."

Tensing up again, he gaped at Giles, finally shattering the chains to pieces. "You saw my mother?" he whispered in disbelief.

Giles gazed up at his son blearily and nodded. "She said that she would protect you . . . she told me that we could be a f-family . . ."

Spike was silent, not knowing how to respond. His emotions were tumultuous and varied. All he could do was grab Giles, hoisting his weight onto one shoulder. "Come on old man. We need to get you home."

"No," Giles murmured. "Y-you need to stay . . . and help Buffy . . ."

Conflicted, he gazed from his father to Buffy, who still fought Angelus violently. Before he could loose himself in indecision, a solution presented itself. Ms. Calendar flung into the mansion, slamming the doors back.

"Spike! Buffy!"

Spike and Buffy turned to view the source of the voice. As Buffy turned, Angel, free from her pummeling, wiped his hand on his cut forehead and grabbed the nestled sword out of Acathla. He grinned menacingly and parried it in his hand. Ms. Calendar gasped and Buffy turned round in dismay. Her eyes widened.

"Oh God."

"The portal . . ." Ms. Calendar was shaking. "He opened the portal . . ."

Angel smiled and slashed the sword in the air. "This is where the fun begins."

Ms. Calendar was backing away, grabbing onto Spike and Giles. "I c-came to tell Buffy not to . . . A-Angel’s . . ."

"Not to what?"

She stared at Spike, torn. Finally, she took hold of Giles and eased him off of Spike’s shoulder. "You have to stay with her now," she directed firmly. "You have to help her fight. You have to help her stay strong. And whatever you do . . . you have to make sure she kills him with the sword . . . he’s the key, the only way to close the portal is to kill him."

Spike stiffened, but still squared his teeth. "An added bonus."

"And Spike" she continued insistently. "It’s very important that . . . well, make sure she does it . . . regardless of what happens. Whatever he says, whatever he does, make sure she kills him."

He stared at her mysteriously. What did that mean? Still confused, he nodded. "Get out of here," he said, flinging his head towards the door. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "Take good care of him."

Ms. Calendar nodded and dragged Giles away. At that moment, Dru awoke and screamed with delight when she saw Acathla, his hollow cavernous mouth growing larger and larger, as to swallow the whole world.

"Oh Daddy! You’ve done it! The celebration’s already started! Ms. Edith will be ever so pleased!" She barreled for Angel, but Spike blocked her solidly.

"As pleased to see me, pet?"

Buffy grabbed her own sword and swung at Angel, who ducked it easily. He quickly thrust the sword towards her and her own sword clattered to the floor. He advanced her and she backed away in response. He sliced the air around her and she fell when trying to duck. She scrambled into the atrium on her knees and he still followed her ruthlessly.

"Now that’s everything, huh?" he whispered with a demonic glint in his eye. "No weapons, no friends, no hope."

Buffy closed her eyes, imploring herself for some strength to guard against whatever was coming.

"Take all that away . . . and what’s left?"

Quick as lightening, he threw his arm forward, jabbing the sword into her face. Just as rapidly, she grabbed the sword between her palms and held it inches away from her face. She opened her eyes. "Me."

She shoved the blade away from her, shooting the hilt of the sword backward, Angel. He stumbled back and she took the opportunity to kick him in the chest. As he fell back once more, she grabbed her own sword and tried to thrust it at him. He parried it just in time and they exchanged several blows and blocks. Trying to spin around, she threw the sword at him from above and he managed to block it, but not without falling to one knee. She kicked him in the side and he fell to the ground.

At the same time, Dru stared up at Spike with intense scorn. "Let go. Mummy doesn’t wanna play right now. There’s a party. She’s got to attend to the refreshments."

He smirked and whipped a stake out of his sleeve. "I’m thinking the refreshments can wait, Dru."

Her eyes widened and she softened immediately. "Pet . . ." she began with a hint of supplication in her voice.

"Party doesn’t seem so important now, does it?"

She stared up at him, donning a soft expression. Her eyes turned imploringly puppy-like and her lips quivered helplessly. "You wouldn’t want to do that to your Black Orchid Princess."

The soft expression was not lost on him and he could feel himself weakening. "I didn’t want many things. And I don’t want this. But it’s the way it has to be."

"It doesn’t!" She placed a hand around his neck and licked her lips luringly. "It doesn’t have to be that way, William."

He willed himself to stay strong. "Don’t," he ground out.

"We can still be together," she cooed. "I promise we can. Don’t you remember how we were together? All roses and honey, it can be like that again."

He tried to wrench her hands away. "No."

"Remember that night when you took out that vampire’s nest down on Holloway and we made love there all night. It was the first time, the only time. It doesn’t have to be that way."

"You’re the vampire now," he murmured, the words still ugly and heavy to him.

She nodded and bit her lip as she smiled. "But it’s a beautiful world, pet. All those years fighting them, I could never see the stars the way I do now. I can see ‘em now and they sing to me." She leaned in and licked his neck sensuously. "Don’t you want them to sing to you?"

He stiffened. To feel his love’s body pressed to his, though it was cold, it was too much to take. The truth was he did want the stars to sing to him. Anything, no matter how crazy it was, he would do anything just to touch her again. Rigidly, he nodded slightly.

She grinned and stroked his neck gently. "That’s right, my prince. It’s what you want." Her eyes glittered hungrily as she closed in.

"Do you love me?’ he murmured, the words tumbling out of his mouth as if out of his control.

She didn’t even turn to look him in the eye. "You know I do," she replied, but her voice was altered and thick with hunger. It wasn’t her innocent, girlish voice anymore. It was a monster’s. It was then he knew that it was a lie, it had always been a lie. So he thrust out his stake again and hit her squarely in the heart. She gasped and jolted up, staring him in the face. As she began to crumble to dust, he clenched his teeth and answered:

"I love you too, Dru."

And then she was gone. All that was left of her was a pile of dust scattering about the floor. He felt his heart wrench and he choked a sob. He turned blindly to see how Buffy was faring, but she was still too occupied with Angel. She had raised her sword, ready to dispatch him, but of all a sudden, he let out a howling and shuddering cry and she hesitated.

A spark of light flashed in his eyes then went dark again and she lowered the sword carefully. Groaning, he fell to the floor again and clutched his sides in pain. She shook with fear. What was he playing at?

Hoisting himself on his arms, he got up and stared at her. His face, previously shrouded with hate and mockery, was now open with love and fatigue. "Buffy?" he whispered softly.

She widened her eyes and felt the tears start to drip onto her cheeks. No . . . no it couldn’t be . . .

"Oh God, Buffy." He was on his knees, reaching for her. "Oh God, I’ve been so lost . . ." he held his arms open and clung to her legs. And she could feel the love emanating from him. And she nearly screamed with joy and relief. He was back. "I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever."

She leaned down to face him. Spike still looked on in silence, too amazed to speak. "I know."

He stroked her cheek and kissed her. "Buffy . . . I love you."

She choked a sob and smiled dazzlingly. "I love you."

But then she saw past him to the growing blue glow that surrounded him from behind, filling the air with soft screams and moans of pain. This hadn’t changed anything after all. Acathla’s portal was still open. The world would still end if she didn’t do something. She knew what she had to do.

"Close your eyes," she said gently, urging him up. He did as he was told and stood, still holding onto her.

She gave him one last, lingering kiss and felt like she was going to die. But then she brought his own sword up from her side and slammed it into his chest. It was too quick for him to react, and it was only a few seconds later when he screamed.

She backed away and stared at her love, holding out his hand for her with a sword protruding from his chest. The hazy cloud of blue shot out of Acathla’s mouth fully this time and tugged Angel, drawing him into the vortex. He began to call out for her, but it was too late. She stumbled blindly back, and Spike caught her before she could fling herself into a wall. He held onto her tightly and she buried her face in his chest, unable to bear the sight.

With one last "Buffy!" Angel was gone. A flash and he swirled into Acathla’s mouth. The quiet settled again and all they were left with was a stone sculpture and a pile of dust. The birds chirped and flitted outside but they couldn’t hear it. All they could hear and see and feel was pain.

Buffy fell to her knees and started to cry. She didn’t try to restrain herself and just cried, trying desperately to relieve herself of what she had done. She had murdered her love. She was a murderer, not a slayer, but a murderer. They both were.

Spike let her cry, not knowing what to do. He tried to awkwardly pat her on the back, but she continued to sob. He stared at her, realizing there was nothing he could do to help her. He knew because he felt the same way. So he just stood silently, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was nothing to say.

Chapter 26: Leaving Home

He had walked her home to make sure she was all right. Well, not all right. More like, to make sure she was standing. Sometimes, he couldn’t tell if he was either.

He crept into his room through the upstairs window, as was his habit. He sighed and threw a stake on the bed, tearing off his shirt. It was still covered in dust. It was one of the few shirts he would ever burn after slaying. He didn’t ever want to think about whose dust it clung to it anytime he wore it.

He stared down at his bed vacuously. This place didn’t seem like home anymore. It never seemed like home to begin with, but now, he felt like he had no home. He felt lost and broken and confused and tired. But he didn’t want to rest. No, he couldn’t. So he went downstairs to see how his father was doing.

He could say the words "father" in his head easily now. If anything was gained from this whole mess, it was that. Faced with the prospect of loosing Giles, he realized that he still did want a father, very much. Even if Giles had been a crappy one at that. He worried about him panicked about him, readily saved him. It didn’t seem like much, but he supposed that out of all of this, having family was helpful.

He was climbing downstairs when he heard them talking in the living room.

"Oh bloody----oww!" He could hear his father wincing as Ms. Calendar applied the alcohol onto his cuts and bruises.

"Stop squirming, Rupert."

"Well it bloody hurts!"

Ms. Calendar sighed. "This is the least of your problems. You should be more thankful that apocalypse was successfully averted."

"With no help from me," he muttered sullenly.

"Way to sing the song of gratefulness."

It was Giles’ turn to sigh. "I am more than ecstatic that Buffy defeated Angelus. I had faith that she would."

"I know. I thought it would be hard, what with the soul curse and all, but I guess it never worked. Must have been a glitch in the translation."

Spike widened his eyes. Was that what that was? He had been too shocked and overcome with a storm of emotions to tell.

"The point is," Ms. Calendar continued, "that it’s over and we can get on with our lives."

He could almost hear his father stiffly turn to question her. "Can we?"

"Well of course we ca---what do you mean Rupert?"

"I saw her," he murmured quietly.

"Saw who?"

"His mother. Spike’s mother."

Spike stiffened and stood stock-still.

"Spike’s mother?" Ms. Calendar was shifting in her seat with surprise.

"Emma. S-she’s been dead many years of course and it was obviously just a hallucination Angel incurred on me to get me to talk but . . ."

"Well . . ." Ms. Calendar was forebodingly quiet. "What did she say in the hallucination?"

Giles paused and Spike tensed with impatience. "She said that she had seen everything. The way I’ve treated him, the way I . . . haven’t been taking care of him."

"Rupert don’t say that----"

"It’s true. I haven’t. I . . . I don’t think I even know how to, either."

"Oh Rupert . . ."

"I wanted so much more for him. I don’t want him to turn out like me. The path he’s headed on . . . I’ve been there. In my old Ripper days, I thought this . . . the world of monsters and demons and evil . . . I thought it was all fun and games. I toyed with power I had no right to."

"You don’t know he’s like that."

"I don’t and I pray he’s never like that. But I can’t take that chance. I don’t want him here with me."

Spike felt like the words were a blow to his head.

"Don’t want him here?"

He knew Giles was shaking his head. "No. It’s not safe for him here. I want to send him back to London to stay with his grandmother."

He clenched his fists in anger. Although Giles was speaking out of concern, it sounded to Spike like he was talking out of the same, old "I want nothing to do with him" attitude. It inflamed him with rage.

He had stayed for his father, to save him. But it didn’t seem to matter. Giles didn’t want him after all. His own son and he didn’t want to be with him. It was just like the years of neglect all over again.

"But Giles, he’s your own son," Ms. Calendar pressed, voicing his own thoughts. "Don’t you, as his father, want him here with you?"

Spike held his breath and waited tensely. "No," Giles said firmly.

That was enough for him. It made him sick inside and he didn’t want to hear anymore, so he barreled back upstairs, cursing his father under his breath slightly. He had moved so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to hear Giles add sadly, "As his father, I want him to live somewhere where all this ugliness and hurt can’t touch him. I love him more than anything, Jenny. I know he needs that."

****************************************************

She looked around the room and remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be there. And she didn’t care much. She felt like she didn’t belong anywhere. She felt dark and lonely and she knew that was the only place she deserved to be.

She had killed him. Her own soft hands had brought the death of the person she loved most in the world. It was like the mark of Cain was plastered on her forehead and exiled her away from everything else she cared about, away from her family and friends. But maybe it was just about running. It was easier this way. She was sick to death of having to be the one who saved everybody and everything, especially when it meant that she had nothing to herself in the end. So she wanted to flee from her destiny, never to touch it again.

She packed a bag, haphazardly throwing contents into a suitcase. She counted the money she had managed to slip silently from her mother’s wallet. She would pay her back one day. Whenever she forgave her for leaving.

It was enough for a bus ticket to L.A. She didn’t know why she was choosing L.A., but she had the faint idea it was because she would be a nobody there. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be a nobody, dwelling anonymously in her own pain.

As she finished counting the money, the winking claddagh ring, curled around her left middle finger suddenly drew her gaze. She stiffened and her eyes filled with tears. Hatefully, she dropped everything and tried to thrust it off, then throwing it, sending it sailing across the room. She choked back heavy sobs and continued packing.

She was about to leave the room, but she remembered she had forgotten two very important items. One was the photo taken last July of all of them, Willow, Xander and herself, all together and hugging in the park. She paused and gazed down at it, stroking it affectionately before stuffing it into her knapsack. The second item was Mr. Pointy, still lying on her bed. For some reason, there was a sense of security that surrounded it and made it a comfort to her. She couldn’t tell what it was, but she knew she had to keep it with her always.

She gently entered her sister’s room, watching her sleep peacefully. She edged towards Dawn’s bed and smiled when she saw her grasping her borrowed pink pig, Mr. Gordo, with all her might. She kissed her gently on the forehead and left the room.

She went to her mother’s room the same way, but didn’t kiss her. Instead, she just stared at her sorrowfully, knowing that Mrs. Summers would regret her words in the morning once she found Buffy’s empty room. But it had to be this way. Buffy couldn’t stay here and pretend to be happy when all she wanted to be was alone.

***************************************************

In all darkness, I feel like letting go

Spike stood cloaked in darkness, holding his thumb out to the empty road. Dim lights traveled down the stretch of concrete ribbon without stopping. Finally, one pickup truck with a load of boxes halted and an old man stuck his head out at Spike.

"Where you headed?"

Spike shrugged darkly. "Anywhere you are, mate."

"I gotta deliver these packages to L.A. by morning. I could drop you off there."

"Then that’s my destination." He hopped up into the cab just as a long Greyhound bus passed by in the same direction.

Buffy stared out the window, thinking she saw someone she knew, but was too despondent to care. She settled into her seat, clearing away the new tears that joined the salty trail of old ones. She gazed blankly as the headlights struck the sign, gaily wishing her a happy departure from Sunnydale.

"Now leaving Sunnydale!" it said. "Please visit again some time soon!"

For the two broken hearts, ambling aimlessly to the same destination, ‘never’ would be soon enough for them.

THE END

To be continued in "Summer Sanctuary"