"I'm nothing without her."
-Spike, Lover's Walk

Prologue

It took three months for one of the minions to get up enough guts to go in to see the master. And when Manuel Santiago finally did, things changed around the hacienda.

For the first month, Manuel, the Cuban vampire, ordered what he now believed were his minions to bring a live human into the bedroom, where the master laid, and slit his or her throat, so the blood would bubble forth. Then they would hold the dying human's bleeding neck to the emaciated master's mouth, forcing the demon within him to feed, until he was physically healthy once more.

The second month, Manuel forced his sire onto his stomach on the edge of the bed, then proceeded to fuck him. The master uttered no cry as his tender flesh was stretched and abrased by the intrusion. His pale face reflected no emotions, no consciousness, nothing.

By the third month, Manuel had become the new master, and the old one was kept locked in the bedroom. He was always nude, tended by a Eunuch vampire created especially for him. Every day, he'd been force-fed to keep him alive and healthy. Manuel wanted a creature of beauty to show-off to the other masters, to allow the other masters to play with.

Months turned into years, and the old master was a silent, beautiful plaything for the creatures of the night. He'd been fucked and beaten and sometimes brought out for curious eyes, but he never uttered a single word, a single cry, a single sound. And if, perchance, another vampire would look him in the eye, they would become limp and afraid and would leave shortly thereafter.

For there was no life in the old master's eyes.

There was nothing.

But one day, things changed. Manuel packed up his hacienda, including his toy, and announced they were moving to Norte Americano. To California.

To La Boca Del Infierno.

Part One

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Buffy Summers asked, peering through the small night- vision binoculars.

"That's it," Willow Rosenberg answered, looking down at the hand-drawn map in her lap. "‘X' marks the spot."

"Too bad all we get is a lot of dust, instead of buried treasure," the twenty-six year old, blond Slayer said. She surveyed the area around the large, Spanish-style home on the outskirts of Sunnydale. "I see three, maybe four vamps roaming around. Pretty weak security, for a master vampire of Manuel Santiago's reputation."

"Maybe he doesn't need much security because of his reputation," the hacker cum witch cum Watcher-in-training stated.

"Or they could be armed," Xander Harris said over the radio clipped to each member of the small team's ears. The radio was voice activated, with two microphones that rested on either side of the wearer's throat, attached by an elastic band around the neck. "Check out Thuggee number three. The one with the sombrero."

"That's not a sombrero, doofus," Cordelia Chase-Harris said, her voice ringing loud and clear over the radio. "That's a fedora."

"Sombrero, fedora, the guy's got a big hat," the dark-haired, ex-Marine replied.

"You're right, I see a definite high-projectile weapon," Buffy said. "Jot that down, Wills."

"Check. One definite high-projectile weapon, or ‘gun' for short," Willow said. Buffy glanced over her shoulder at her best friend and gave her a look. "Hey, not all Watchers are as stuffy as Giles."

"Giles is not-so-stuffed anymore, Willow," the blond replied, taking up the binoculars again. "Hasn't been since high school graduation."

"He was losing his feathers long before that -- right around the same time dear-departed Wesley arrived," Xander commented.

"Wow, Wesley Wyndham-Price," Buffy said, adjusting her sights. "I haven't heard that name in awhile."

"That's because Cordy's been keeping her mouth shut," he replied. "No more ‘Wesley this' and ‘Wesley that' and ‘Wesle--eipe!'"

Willow and Buffy both chuckled at their friend's sudden cut-off. "Serves you right, Xand," Willow said.

"So, have we seen enough, oh Watcher-type-woman?" Buffy asked, rolling onto her back and staring up at the clear, night sky. "I have a ton of orders to process." Her mind danced over the figures and her stock, and she reminded herself she needed to purchase more stone gargoyles for her ‘fantasy' mail-order business.

"I think so," Willow replied, looking at her notebook once more. "Security, perimeter, general layout, possible entrances and exits -- yup, looks like enough."

"Hear that Cord? We are outta here," Xander said. "See you babes tomorrow at 2100 hours."

"Bye Xand, bye Cordy," Buffy said, as she and Willow climbed to their feet. She pulled off the radio and shoved it into the bag of reconnaissance equipment. "When are we going to hit?"

"Depends on the blueprints," Willow answered, opening the door to the jeep. "I need to see where Santiago would mostly likely be keeping those people."

"Too bad we just can't fireball the place," the Slayer sighed. "It worked so well last year."

"Yeah, but it took the SDFD almost two days to put out the fire," she said. "Almost lost a fireman, too."

"Right, I remember," Buffy said. "No flammable objects for the Slayer."

The ride to Buffy's house was made in companionable silence, each girl thinking of the work they needed to do for their ‘real life' day jobs. Willow was co-owner of a small bookstore with Giles, which converted into Slayer Central once the ‘We're Closed' sign was turned. The redhead lived in a small, one-bedroom townhome with her familiar, Angel. Given to her by his namesake, Angel was a chocolate and black long-haired Chihuahua, who acted more like a four-legged human than a dog.

Buffy, on the other hand, lived in a sprawling, five-bedroom home with her very blond, blue-eyed cat, Spike. Given to her as a joke by the same vampire who'd given the redhead Angel, the three year old cat acted exactly like his namesake -- territorial, vicious, and completely loyal to the woman he loved, which in this case was her. Most of the house was used for storage of her stock for her business, and the basement was a fully-converted work-out room.

The other members of the small, elite Slaying team were spread throughout Sunnydale. Xander and Cordelia had recently purchased a three-bedroom ranch in Buffy's old neighborhood. Cordy owned her own boutique and Xander had taken over Giles' job at Sunnydale High School as librarian. He figured that someone out of the group should work over the center of the Hellmouth, just in case.

Giles still lived in his tiny home, and had a going-on-four-years, annoying roommate, Ethan Rayne. The two were the complete epitome of The Odd Couple, but, after a harrowing brush with death, Ethan was a new man -- sort of. The spell that Giles and Willow had cast to save Ethan's life prevented the man from ever using magick again. That didn't stop him, however, from creating mischief. His motto was "the world loves a spice of wickedness."

The final member of the small group lived in Los Angeles near Joyce Summers. Angel had chosen his new home specifically to keep an eye on the mother of the Slayer. He came to Sunnydale from time-to-time, helping out when needed, seeking help for the same reasons. And while it was painful for them to see each other, time did indeed help the heart heal, and Buffy and Angel had, at long last, become friends and nothing more.

It was with this rag-tag group of individuals that the world continued to turn, and the people of Sunnydale lived on in oblivion of the danger that surrounded them. The friends had gone their separate ways after high school, only to return stronger and more willing to aid the Slayer and the Watcher in their fight against evil.

For over ten years, Buffy had been the Slayer, called just before she turned sixteen. The oldest and best Slayer on record, she was eventually given free reign over the Hellmouth, while the second Slayer worked in other parts of the world. The Council basically left the team alone, only passing on pertinent books or information in regards to the tiny blond and her hometown. Giles liked it that way, because the Council members had no idea as to the trials and tribulations of the field.

Willow pulled her black jeep in front of Buffy's home, and the Slayer jumped out. "See ya tomorrow, Wills," she said, shouldering her bag.

"‘Night, Buffy," Willow replied. "Scratch Spike behind the ears for me."

"Will do," Buffy said with a grin. "Bye."

As the jeep pulled out of sight, the blond punched in the security code for her front gate and headed up the walk. She noticed that her lilacs needed weeding, and made a mental note to call her gardening service, as she mounted the few steps to her front door.

Punching in a second security number, Buffy let herself into her home and looked around the well-lit foyer. "Spike, I'm home," she called, opening a secret closet door and setting the bag inside with the rest of the weapons. Her cat came bounding into the entryway, his tail swishing back and forth, and he paused a few feet away to study her with his so-blue eyes.

"What, no kiss?" Buffy teased, bending to scoop the feline up in her arms. "Willow said to give you this," she told him, as she petted him behind the ears. The cat butted his nose against her cheek as she made her way into the kitchen, purring loudly. "I don't think so, buddy. You ate earlier. You don't want to be another Garfield, do you?"

The cat seemed to take offense by the question, and wiggled out of her arms. He hit the floor gracefully and, tail in the air, sauntered out of the kitchen. "You're pathetic, Spike," she called after him, grabbing a bottled water from the refrigerator. She paused, the bottle partway to her mouth. "Now why does that sound familiar?"

Shrugging, she took a drink, then ambled down the hallway to her office, the lights automatically going on as she went. The house had cost a small fortune, but Buffy's home business was flourishing, especially since she patented a few of the figurines she sold based off of some of the creature's she'd fought. Her life was perfect. She had her health, her friends, her business and her cat; she saved the world every other week and countless innocents every night; and she wasn't bad in the looks department, either.

Flipping on the stereo, she let the music take her thoughts away from slaying and the upcoming attack on the new Master of Sunnydale, and she got down to work.

Cos my heart is broken in pieces
Yes my heart is broken in pieces
Since you've been gone

"It would depend of if Santiago has the people alive or dead for food," Ethan continued, gesturing to the blueprint laid out on the table. "If they're dead, find the room with the biggest power outlet. That's where the icebox would be."

"Since when did you get so helpful?" Buffy asked, sharpening yet another stake into a fine point.

"Since the bastard took the woman I'd been working on from the hospital," the older man answered. "She was a ripe chit, too. And I had been all set to pluck..."

"Enough, Ethan," Giles said to his old friend. "We don't need to go into details."

"Just because you aren't getting any of the old slap-and-tickle, chap, don't spoil it for the rest of us," Ethan replied.

"Ok, so they're four possible rooms that the people are being held in," Willow said, interrupting the Watcher before he responded to Ethan. "The kitchen, the cellar, the room in the northwest corner and this huge room on the east side."

"I think that's a ballroom," Cordelia said, looking over the redhead's shoulder. "Xander, does it say anywhere in the database about Santiago holding parties?"

"Hold on, I'll check," Xander replied, quickly pulling up the correct file. "That's a big ‘yes ma'am' about the parties. Over the past six years, he's had a whole hell of a lot of vampire hoe- downs. Most of them were held in Cuba, starting around the millenium. Check this, the side notes indicate the Cuban's parties were attended by master vampires from all over the world."

"Why?" Buffy asked, setting the new stake down and picking up another piece of wood. "What does this vamp have that the others masters didn't?"

"A living statue," Xander answered.

"What?" Cordelia said, moving to sit next to her husband and read the computer screen.

"That's what the file says: ‘a living statue,'" Xander said.

"Search it, Xander," Willow instructed, marking a black-and-white copy of the blueprints to the Santiago lair with Giles' help.

"Searching...," he said. He glanced at his wife. "How come I no longer think it's weird there's a vampire database on the Internet."

"Probably for the same reason you think it's a slow night when we only stake twenty vampires," Cordelia answered.

"That could be why," Xander said, returning his eyes to the screen. "Here we go, one ‘living statue.'" The ex-Marine cleared his throat and began reading. "‘The living statue is said to be one of the most beautiful vampires in the world ever contained. The male, perfectly sculpted like white marble and perfectly silent like a statue, was once a vicious master vampire, sired by the ‘angelic one' himself. The living statue may be seen or used by permission only from Manuel Santiago.'"

"That it?" Buffy asked.

"That's all she wrote," he replied.

"‘Sired by the ‘angelic one' himself.' You don't think that means Angel?" Willow said.

"That is a succinct possibility," Giles replied. "I haven't read of any other vampires being described a-as ‘angelic.'"

"One of Angel's or not, he's still a vampire," Buffy said. "Which gives him a one-way ticket to Dustville."

"Alright, I think we have a plan of attack here," Willow said. The others, minus Ethan, gathered around the table as the redhead began the briefing. "We'll do a two team in, one team backup approach. Buffy, you'll come in the front doors..."

Part Two

"Team one, checking in," Buffy said quietly.

"Team two, checking in," Xander said, his voice coming over the radio earpiece.

"Team three, checking in," Willow finished the call in. "Team one, on my mark." The redhead looked at her watch. "Three, two, one, mark."

Buffy hit the button on her watch, then ran silently from her hiding place to the edge of the property. Dropping to the ground, she raised her high-power rifle with its night-vision scope to her eye, and took aim. "Target sighted."

"Team two, on my mark," Willow said. "Three, two, one, mark."

Less then a minute later, Xander's voice came over the radio. "Target sighted."

Giles' voice followed a few seconds later. "Target sighted."

"Fire on Team three's signal," Willow instructed.

Cordelia looked through the night-vision binoculars down at the security circling the yard. She waited until the fourth, uncovered vampire was in her sights, then said, "Fire."

Three silent shots whizzed through the night, the high-velocity wooden bullets piercing the hearts of the intended victims with perfect accuracy. The metal of their guns hit the ground with soft thuds, and the dust from where their bodies had been, sprinkled down on top of them.

"Team two G, target number for heading for your position," Cordelia said over the radio.

"Team two, copy," Giles responded. After a moment, he said, "Target sighted."

"Fire at will," Cordelia instructed. And the fourth guard was dust.

"Target eliminated," Giles said.

"Team one, approach the house. Team two, standby," Willow said.

"Copy," Buffy replied, rolling to her feet and shouldering her rifle. She hopped over the small hibiscus bush and ran, crouched low, towards the house. She darted silently up the front steps and positioned herself to the right of the door, repositioning the rifle in her hand. "Team one, in position."

"Team two, approach the house," Willow continued the plan. She glanced over at Cordelia, who was still looking through the binoculars. "Team three C, report?"

"Still clear," Cordelia replied.

"Team two, in position," Xander said over the radio.

"Prepare to enter on my mark, ten second delay on two, ready?" Willow said. "And mark."

Buffy moved in front of the door, and had it open with a violent kick. She took out the first two vampires inside the foyer before they had a chance to blink, then the third had half a yell out of his mouth before he was cut down, too. Her camouflage face-paint and fatigues stood out against the ornate, Spanish decor, as she swung her rifle at a charging fourth attacker.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw more vampires pouring in from other rooms into the foyer. "Alarm has been sounded," she said, ducking under a kick and firing another shot from her rifle, dusting one. Strap wrapped around her arm so she wouldn't loose the weapon, she pulled a stake from the sheath around her leg and plunged it up into the nearest opponent's heart.

More gunfire sounded from the direction of the kitchen, and she knew Xander and Giles had entered the house. The plan had been to get most of the minions within the house into the foyer, giving the two men time to enter and check the kitchen. Giles was then to proceed to the cellar, with Xander covering him, to search for the missing people.

Buffy dove and rolled into a side room, what looked to be a study, and fired off several rounds as the minions chased after her. She grabbed another stake and threw it, then another and another, all in rapid succession. Each landed on target, sending showers of dust into the air and onto the floor. She was in complete Slayer-mode, as were the other members of the Slaying team, for this particular mission. But that did not stop the comments she was silently making in her head with each shot or throw.

**Ooh, and another one bites the dust,** the Slayer thought, after dropping to one knee and picking the vampires off as they tried to get through the door. **I can't believe I just thought that. How cliche can I get?**

The clip was finally empty, and Buffy quickly shouldered the rifle. Getting to her feet, she dropped into a fighting stance, a stake in her hand from the holster. **Come and get it, boys,** she thought. **Or do I need to say it in Spanish? Um, come-o y lo get-o, amigos.**

With a snap kick, the vampire's head flew back, as the steel toe of her combat boot hit under his chin. She put her right foot down and used the forward movement to land a solid punch on him, before she spun and back-kicked another opponent. Her stake found its mark on the follow-up, and she didn't pause in attacking her next victim.

"Team three, coming in," Buffy heard Willow say over the radio. **Backup is coming in? Wonder why?** She staked another minion, moving fluidly and without thought. She grabbed another stake from her leg holster and threw it at the same time she sent a hard, side-kick at vampire.

"People coming your way, team three," Xander said.

"Got ‘em, team two," Cordelia replied. "Team three moving for interception and evacuation."

**Ah, not backup, pick up,** Buffy thought.

"Team two reporting, civilians clear," Xander said.

The Slayer continued to fight, and before she knew it, she was alone in the study, surrounded by piles of dust. "Team one, all clear," Buffy said, taking her rifle in hand again and inserting a new clip.

"Team three is clear, three C is transporting the civilians," Willow replied.

"Team two is clear," Xander said. "And moving out."

"Team one is going to make a sweep," Buffy said, peeking her head out the door. She darted across the empty hallway and checked the ballroom, then moved further into the house.

"Copy, team one," Willow replied.

Room by room, the blond Slayer searched for any other minions or humans, staking or shooting down the few vampires she ran across. She made it the entire way to the kitchen, then double- backed to go down a hallway that jutted from the main one. She didn't know if anyone had destroyed Santiago, and there was no way to identify the bodies, because there weren't any.

She got to the final door off the hallway, and she was surprised to find not only locked, but secured by an additional padlock. Not a single other door had been locked, not even the room filled with sophisticated computer equipment. "Team three, we have an anomaly, over," Buffy said quietly, shouldering her rifle to pull out her lock-pick kit from the breast pocket of her fatigues, part of the standard ‘gear.'

"Report, team one," Willow responded.

"Last door off the hallway, locked and padlocked," Buffy told her, as she worked the metal. "No signs as to what the room contains."

"Tread softly," the redhead warned.

"Roger that," the Slayer replied, hearing the distinctive sound of the lock turning under her pins. She dropped the metal to the floor, then went to work on the doorknob. It was manipulated easily under her expert fingers, and she smiled at her success. She put away her kit, the turned the knob slowly. "Moving in."

Opening the door, she went low, in case someone decided to try and blow her head off, and entered the room on a roll. Rifle in hand once again, she went up on one knee and searched the room with her eyes, ears, and other senses. There was one in the corner behind her and one sitting on the other side of the bed, bare back towards her.

"Por favor, senor, no matanza," the Cuban vampire in the corner said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Por favor."

Keeping her eye on the figure on the bed, Buffy leveled the rifle at the Cuban. "Team three, we have a language situation. Two bodies in the room."

"Copy, team one," Willow replied. "Tell him ‘repeta, por favor.'"

"Repeta, por favor," Buffy echoed.

"No muerta," he said, pointing to himself, then raising his hand again. "No muerta."

"‘No muerta,'" Buffy said to Willow.

"It means no killing," Willow said. "He doesn't want you to kill him."

"Instructions?" Buffy asked.

"Team two X will be at your position in T-minus three," the redhead answered.

"Copy, team three," she said.

Xander appeared, as told, his rifle leveled at the figure on the bed as he entered the room. "Team two in position."

"Team one, your call," Willow said.

"Team two, escort the Cuban," Buffy instructed. "I'll bring the other."

"Copy, team one," Xander replied, gesturing turning to the vampire in the corner and gesturing at him with the rifle. "Mova."

The Cuban kept his hands raised as he edged towards the door. Xander ushered him out of the room, leaving Buffy with the other occupant.

"Acquiring target," Buffy informed Willow. She rose and moved steadily towards the figure, who had yet to move or even acknowledge anyone was there. "Tu," she said in Spanish, slowly rounding the bed. "You, on the bed. Get up. Mova."

When the figure didn't respond, she got pissed. "I said get up! Ahora! Mova!" She got around the last corner of the bed, her mind taking in the fact that the person was naked, and she jabbed the rifle at the figure's side. Not even a flinch.

Frowning, she stopped moving and asked, "Language barrier again, team three."

"Team two?" Willow said.

"He says ‘no habla,'" Xander replied.

"No habla what?" Buffy asked.

"Just ‘no habla,'" Xander answered. "Your target doesn't speak, period."

"Copy, team two," the Slayer said. Shouldering her rifle, she pulled out a stake and moved until she was standing in front of who she could definitely tell was a male. She stared at the top of his long, white-blond hair, and had an eerie sense of deja vu. Reaching out with her left hand, she grabbed his chin and forced his head up. "Holy shit."

"Team one, report," Willow ordered.

"I found the living statue," Buffy said, staring at the familiar face, who's blue eyes reflected nothing. "It's Spike."

Part Three

It's all too easy
To take so much for granted,
But it's so hard
To find the words to say.

"Repeat, team one," Willow said.

"Spike," Buffy said, horror in her voice from the lack of expression in his face and eyes. "Willow, it's Spike."

"Bring the target out, team one," the hacker instructed calmly, steel in her own voice.

"Roger, team three," Buffy responded, her training over the years kicking back in. Dropping the vampire's chin, her eyes searched the room for something to cover him with, as she sheathed the stake. Not finding anything, she shucked her fatigue jacket and thrust it at him. "Put this on."

Spike didn't respond, his head still in the position she'd raised it in, his eyes dead. Physically wincing by his lack of acknowledgment that there was anyone even in front of him, she put the jacket on him. "Let's go, Spike," Buffy said, pulling the jacket closed around him and quickly buttoning it. She took a step back and studied him. "Come on."

He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't do anything but sit there staring blankly at her. "Oh god, Spike, what happened to you?" she said, bending and pulling him up by the collar of her jacket. When he was almost standing, she swore. "Put your feet under you, Spike, and stand up."

Whatever she'd said must have worked, because the blond vampire was upright under his own power. Deciding not to test his mobility, she put his arm over her shoulder and settled a majority of his weight against her. "Team one, coming out," she said, leading him towards the door. "Need transport."

"Team three is at the front perimeter," Willow replied over the radio. "Team two has taken the Cuban target back to HQ."

"Roger," Buffy responded. The trip from the room to the jeep was made quickly, the Slayer mostly dragging Spike with her. Willow gasped when she saw him, covered in nothing but Buffy's fatigue jacket which barely passed his thighs, and she opened the specially-made, third door on the vehicle. Between the two of them, they got him half-sitting, half-laying in the back seat, then hopped into the jeep for an exceedingly-fast trip back into town.

The question hung in the air between the best friends, as Buffy continuously watched the perfectly still vampire -- what had happened to Spike?

"He's Spike's attendant," Giles explained, his face still painted like everyone else's from the rescue mission. "From what I understand, Jefe feeds, bathes a-and cleans up any injuries. Santiago regarded Spike as-as a, er, plaything, something to entertain his guests."

The vampire in question was sitting in the corner of the room where Buffy and Willow had placed him. The only movement he made on his own was to turn and face the wall. The Cuban attendant, Jefe, was locked up in the basement of the bookstore, in a specially-made cage just for these occasions.

"Nothing else?" Buffy asked, her gaze constantly roving to the long-haired, peroxide-blond. "Like, who did this to Spike? Or how?"

"Nothing," Giles replied. "Jefe is only a-a-a servant, if you will. He was turned specifically for the job of taking care of Spike, nothing more. The only thing additional I was able to learn from him was that ‘la estatua vivo' was with Santiago when Jefe was turned, and the attendant has been with Spike for, uh, six years."

"Six years," the Slayer gasped. "He's been like this for six years?!"

"Yes."

One by one, the group gathered in the medium-sized headquarters turned their eyes to Spike. Not a single gaze was filled with hate or disgust, only sadness and pity. Memories filled their minds of the way the peroxide-blond used to be, and it was hard for each of them to believe the vampire sitting in the corner of the room was the same vampire of their past.

"We can't leave him like this," Willow said, always the voice of compassion and reason.

"I guess it would be a mercy killing," Giles said.

"Stake through the back," Xander said. "He probably wouldn't even notice."

"We should take that jacket off him first," Cordelia interjected. "Finding Buffy's size is not easy."

"Now that's a good idea," Xander replied. "‘Hey Spike, take off the jacket before we kill you, ok?'"

"No," Buffy stated, interrupting the beginnings of a fight between the married couple. She stood and slammed her palms on the table. "No, we are not going to kill him."

"But Buffy," Willow said. "Maybe it would be for the good, you know? Like putting your dog to sleep."

"Someone did this to him, Willow," Buffy growled. "And I want to know who and how and when and why and every other one of those reporter questions."

"Where and when," Ethan supplied, coming down the stairs with a dog in his arms. The familiar accompanied Willow to the store every day, his sixth sense ferreting out any undesirables who ventured into the shop. Why the dog liked Ethan was anyone's guess, but it more than likely had to do with the tidbits of food the man snuck to Angel while working on his paintings on the second floor of the bookstore.

"Shut up, Ethan," Buffy and Giles said simultaneously.

"There's no need to be rude," Ethan sniffed. Suddenly, the tiny dog squirmed out of his arms and ran across the room, his nails scrambling on the hard floor. "Willow, that dog is really quite...I don't think I'll finish that sentence."

"Good," Willow said, glaring at the man. Her head turned when she heard Angel start whining. To her surprise, and everyone else's, the familiar was pawing at Spike's bare leg, trying to get his attention. "Angel, no. Don't do that, you'll hurt him."

Angel stopped and looked back at the group, his large, doe-eyes conveying unhappiness. He then turned and licked Spike's leg, then laid down on the floor on one of the vampire's feet, watching the group watch him.

"What's he saying, Wills?" Xander asked. "I haven't brushed up on my Dog-ese."

"Angel likes him," Willow replied. "Although he's never liked vampires before, except for Angel." She grinned. "Angel likes Angel."

"Spike must be really gone if the dog isn't even afraid of him," Cordelia said.

"I'm going to get him back," Buffy said.

"Buffy, do you think that is-is wise?" Giles asked. "The Spike we knew wouldn't think twice about killing us."

"Giles is right, Buff," Xander said.

"Xander is right, Buffy," Cordelia added.

"I'd have to agree with Ripper on this one," Ethan chimed in. "Even though I've never met the bloke."

"Willow, do you have anything to add?" Buffy asked in a steely voice.

"Um, well, this is Spike we're talking about," Willow replied. "The vampire, not your cat."

Buffy glared at each one of the others in turn. "I am going to get Spike back. No one deserves to be like he is," she growled. "If you don't like it, tough shit. Deal."

Silence filled the room for several moments. Each person had their doubts about Buffy wanted to do, but the question of how a vampire, as energetic and passionate as Spike had been, could become the still figure in the corner was something they were all curious to know.

"Do be careful, Buffy." Giles was the first to condone to Buffy's wishes. "Especially since we don't know the cause of Spike's, er, con-condition."

"Where are you going to keep him?" Willow asked.

"And what are you going to dress him in?" Cordelia inquired.

"And feed him?" Xander said.

"Is he housebroken?" Ethan couldn't help but add.

"Ethan," Buffy warned.

"I know, I'm quiet," Ethan said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So, what's your plan, Buffy?" Xander asked.

"Um, Spanish speaking person," Buffy said, her mind whirling. "Find out from Heifer-"

"Jefe," Giles corrected.

"Yeah, Jefe," Buffy continued. "His daily routine. When does Spike get up? When does he eat? What does he do all day? That sort of thing."

"Very well," Giles replied.

"Call me when you get the information," Buffy told him, then turned to Ethan. "Ethan, do you have any black paint in your supplies upstairs?"

"Yes," Ethan said. "And I'll be happy to sell..." She gave him a murderous look. "Give it to you."

"Thanks, I'll need a brush, too," Buffy said. "Cordy, do you think you could pick up some clothes that would fit Spike tomorrow?"

"Sure," Cordelia replied, eyeing the vampire with a tailor's mind. "Anything in particular?"

"Comfy-clothes," the Slayer answered. "I don't think I'll be taking him out anywhere."

"Anything you want me to do?" Xander asked.

"Yeah, can you give us a ride back to my house?" Buffy replied. Xander nodded. "Wills, you might want to call Angel about this one."

"I'll do it as soon as I get home," Willow said.

"Ok, then," Buffy said. "I guess that's it. Unless you guys can think of anything else?"

"Sleep with a stake under your pillow," Xander replied.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Thank you for that bit of insightfulness, Xand-man. Now, come on. I have a layer of face paint still on my skin that I want to get off before I'm permanently green and black."

After a small amount of trial and error, Buffy found that Spike understood the words ‘stand' and ‘follow,' and she managed to get him to Xander's car with little difficulty. Twenty minutes later, she led the vampire into the only other room set up as a bedroom in the house. "Here we are," she said, gesturing with the can of black paint. "Your new home."

Spike had stopped walking when she had stopped, and he stood slightly behind her, as still as the living statue he was nicknamed. She looked back at him and saw him staring blankly ahead, his eyes completely without life. Normally, she'd think the way he was wearing nothing but a too- small camouflage jacket was funny, but in this situation, it saddened and angered her all at once.

With a sigh, she reached back and took his larger, cool hand in her smaller, warm one and pulled him to the bed. "Um, sit?" Buffy tried the command, having run a small gambit of similar words back at the bookstore. When he sat on the edge of the bed, she smiled slightly in relief. Now she knew how to make him sit, stand and walk. **Great, he's just like a dog,** she thought, her smile turning into a scowl.

"I'm gonna go wash my face, then paint over the windows, ok?" she said to him. She stared at him a moment, wishing that he would answer. When he didn't, she sighed again and set the paint can and paintbrush down, then left the bedroom.

"Hello?" Buffy said into the phone when it rang half-an-hour later.

"Buffy? It's Giles," Giles said on the other end of the line.

"Hey Giles," she replied in a tired voice. "I take it you got the low-down from Josser"

"Jefe, yes," Giles said. "The routine isn't much. Jefe f-fed Spike around sunset, then bathed him, then fed himself. He would stay out of the way until Santiago or whomever, er, finished with Spike, then clean any wounds and his duties were done until the following night."

"Sounds pretty simple," Buffy said. "What are we going to do with the Cuban?"

"Willow and I decided to put a tracker on him and release him," the Watcher replied. "Hopefully, if Santiago is still alive, Jefe will search for him."

"And we'll nail him," she said. "I'm liking that plan. Anything else?"

"No, that is everything," Giles answered.

"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow night before patrol," Buffy said. "Bye."

"Good night," Giles replied, then disconnected.

The Slayer hung up the phone, then returned to the bedroom where Spike was still sitting on the edge of the bed. "That was Giles," she told him, having decided in the shower that she should talk to him as much as possible. "He told me your routine. You won't be getting any more...what did you call them? Happy meals on legs? But the butcher shop has a pretty nice selection nowadays. Pig, cow, sheep, and a few other animals I'd rather not know about."

Opening the black paint, she stirred it slightly with the brush, then picked it up and began painting over the windows. "I'm painting these black for you. Good thing my neighbors can't see into the back yard, or they'd really wonder what was going on in here. As it is, they think I'm weird enough," she said. "I guess that's a true statement. I go in and out of the house at all hours of the night, I get big shipments from my suppliers -- which all come in crates or large, brown boxes - and I live alone in this great big house with no obvious means of supporting myself. Who knows, maybe they think I'm a drug dealer or something."

She stirred the paint a little more as she continued, "I'm not, though. A drug dealer. I have a mail-order business. Tacky, I know, but you wouldn't believe how good it is. I sell ‘fantasy' stuff -- dragons and unicorns, things like that. I even created a few of my own figurines." She chuckled. "Most of them are vampires. I did Lyle Gorch and Mr. Trick. The Master. Darla. A few others you may or may not have heard of." She looked over at him. "I even did you and Drusilla."

Spike didn't react, as she was starting to come to expect, and she went on with her one-sided conversation. "I wanted to do Angel, but he got all pissy. Said it was like pornography, only with clothes on," she said, and rolled her eyes. "I got a couple of prototypes of him in my originals case. Too bad Mr. Prude won't let me finish them."

Finished with the painting, Buffy recapped the can, then set it to the side. "That should do it. If we pull down the shades, too, there'll be no worries of you going ‘poof,'" she said, looking at him again. A sad frown formed over her features, and she walked over to stand in front of him, tilting his chin to see into his lifeless eyes. "What happened, Spike, huh? Why are you like this?"

She heard a loud noise coming from the other room and she issued a terse, "Stay here," before going to investigate. She realized how dumb it was to tell a vampire known as ‘la estatua vivo' to stay put, as she quietly crept down the hallway. Rounding the corner to the entryway, she heard the sound again and paused. It was coming from the hidden closet.

She stealthily got into position and yanked the door open, prepared to strike. Instead, she burst out laughing when she saw her cat peering up at her from inside one of her slaying bags. "Are you playing in here again?" she fake scolded him. Bending down, she dug him out of the bag and cuddled him to her, then closed the door. "I don't know how you manage to sneak in there. Is there a secret door to my secret closet?"

The cat launched himself out of her arms and took off down the hallway. "Spike, where are you...Spike!" As she ran after her cat, she couldn't help but laugh at the name confusion. Now she knew how Willow felt when Angel was in town for a visit. She entered the bedroom and came to a halt at the sight before her.

Spike, the cat was standing on Spike, the vampire's lap, his paws on either shoulder, rubbing his nose against the peroxide-blond's face. She had somewhat expected her cat to take a dislike to Spike -- the feline tended to avoid anyone but her - but the loud purring emanating from the animal said distinctly otherwise.

The only thing ruining what could have been a Kodak moment was the lack of response from the vampire.

Part Four

After depositing her cat in her bedroom, Buffy returned to Spike. "Sorry about that," she said, sadly noting that the vampire hadn't moved even an inch. "My cat is...my cat. He's never done that before. Spike's not too fond of other people. That's his name, by the way. Spike. Got him from Angel as a joke," she said, drawing the shades. "He does remind me of you...well, not now, but before... Anyway, he's a good cat."

She glanced at the clock on the night stand and groaned. "Ten til four already. Looks like I won't be getting up bright and early to get my orders processed," she complained. She looked at Spike, then at the made bed, before returning to the vampire. "I guess I'd better get you to sleep. The bed's all made up. The last person to use it was my mom, when she came up for an overnight visit. Not that the sheets are dirty. I put clean ones on after she left."

Rolling her eyes at her own babble, she turned down the covers as far as she could with Spike sitting there. Then she eyed the jacket he was wearing with a frown. "I need that jacket back, Spike, so I can wash it for the next time. It's not like you're unused to going without clothes," she said, moving to unbutton the fatigue. "Cordy will be stopping by sometime tomorrow with some things for you to wear. Knowing her, when I said ‘comfy-clothes' she'll think ‘Armani.'"

The jacket was off and he was naked before her once more. Forcing herself not to be embarrassed, she gestured to the bed. "Ok, you can get under the covers," she said. When he did nothing, she started on a list of words. "Uh, go to bed? Lay down?"

Buffy was startled when he laid straight back on the bed in conjunction with her second words. "If I tell you to roll over, will you?" she asked, then paled when he did exactly that. "Oh god, Spike, no. Sit up. You're not a dog."

Spike sat up, returning to his original position on the edge of the bed. The Slayer felt her eyes fill with tears and she had to bite her lip to keep them back. "How about go to sleep?" she said after a moment. When he moved at her words, she had to push down the urge to take him in her arms and hold him. He climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up over himself, then stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"Well, um, goodnight," Buffy said in a slightly choked voice. "I'll see you tomorrow...I mean, later today." With a final, sad look at him, she turned and quickly walked out of the room, shutting off the overhead light on the way.

Buffy spent a fitful few hours trying to sleep, but finally gave up around eight. Her cat bounded out of her bedroom directly for Spike's as soon as she opened the door. Following groggily, she entered the vampire's room and saw that his eyes were closed. Spike, the cat had made himself at home already on the peroxide-blond's covered stomach.

Walking over to the side of the bed, she carefully sat down. **How can I fix this, Spike?** she thought, studying the sleeping vampire. **You don't deserve to be like this, even though you are a vampire.** She refrained from reaching out to touch his face, not wanting to wake him. After a few minutes, she sighed and stood, then left the bedroom.

"Java, java, java, java, java," Buffy mumbled to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee maker, then picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number.

"Thank you for calling Bookends, Willow speaking," Willow greeted cheerfully on the other end of the line.

"You're too happy for this early in the morning," Buffy said to her, taking a grapefruit out of the refrigerator.

"Just call me Chipper-Charlie," the redhead replied.

"How about I just call you nuts?" Buffy said.

"You can do that, too," Willow answered. "How's Spike?"

"Sleeping," Buffy replied, cutting the grapefruit in half, then cutting the meaty center into pieces. "At least, I think he's sleeping. His eyes are closed. Hey, you want to know something weird?"

"Hellmouth-weird or weird-weird?" Willow asked.

"Weird-weird," she said. "Spike is sleeping on top of Spike's stomach."

"You're right, that is weird," the hacker replied. "How did you get Spike's stomach out of him?"

"Willow," Buffy groaned. "That was pathetic."

"I know," Willow said. She paused a moment. "I called Angel."

"And?" Buffy said, feeling the familiar slight pang in her heart at the mention of the dark-haired vampire. Willow was the only one of the group that spoke to Angel on a regular basis, keeping him abreast of the events in Sunnydale. Buffy and Angel may be quasi-friends, but even talking to each other on the phone was hard on both of them.

"He thinks you're the one who's nuts, not me," the redhead answered. "But he'll come up as soon as he can to check out Spike."

"Joy," the Slayer said with little enthusiasm. She took the sugar out of the cabinet and began to sprinkle it over the grapefruit. "So, is there anything new or exciting I should know about that happened between earlier this morning and now?"

"I got a letter from Oz."

Buffy stopped mid-bite on the first piece of the fruit. "What's it say?"

"Only that he'll be home next week after his debriefing," Willow said casually. Then she squealed in delight. "Oz is coming home!"

"About time," Buffy said, a large smile on her face, her heart lifting for her best friend. "He's been on this last assignment for how long now?"

"Thirty-nine days, twelve hours and fourteen minutes," Willow replied promptly.

Buffy laughed. "Sounds like you miss him."

"Oh yeah," she said. "I can't wait to see him. And hug him. And kiss him. And do other things to him that I can't say when I'm at work."

Oz Rosenberg, the only male the group had ever heard of who took the last name of the wife, was a counterintelligence officer with the CIA. Recruited specifically because of his musical skills, his constant cover was as a bass player for whatever band the intelligence community sent overseas to perform.

Gone for most of the year, Willow and Oz rarely got to see each other, but neither minded. Willow was constantly busy with her studies to become a Watcher, helping with slaying, and with the bookstore. Oz, at the same time, got to do what he loved -- play the guitar - while doing something he thought was worthwhile. It was an unconventional marriage, but what else could be expected between a witch and a werewolf.

"Congratulations, Will," Buffy said. "Don't forget to warn Giles, so he doesn't think something happened to you when you don't show up for work."

"He already knows," Willow replied. "It was kinda hard to hide my giddiness when I came in. Ethan even smiled once at me before he went back to complaining about the black paint."

"Ethan's up already?" Buffy asked, resuming her breakfast. "It's only eight."

"He said he had a breakfast date," she said. "Although he used some cruder words a lady doesn't repeat."

"You're not a lady," the Slayer teased.

"Look who's talking," Willow said. "Oops, customer. Gotta go. Bye."

"Bye, Wills," Buffy said, then hung up the phone. She finished her breakfast in a happy silence, glad for her best friend. When she finished, she tossed the grapefruit rinds, put her knife and spoon in the dishwasher, then went to throw some clothes on and get to work.

Several hours later, the Slayer was satisfied with her progress on the orders and had remembered to call her gardening service about the flowers. She was on her way to get more coffee when the doorbell rang. Knowing it had to be one of her friends, because only the small group had the access code for the front gate, she set down her mug on the hallway table and answered it. "Hey Cordy," she greeted.

"Hi Buffy," Cordelia replied, several shopping bags in hand. "I have a few more in the trunk."

"What, did you buy out the entire store?" Buffy asked as the brunette set her parcels down, then followed her outside.

"No, but I wasn't sure how long Spike would be with you," Cordelia said. "Besides, I like to shop."

"Understatement, Cord," Buffy replied, taking a few more bags from the trunk, which she had to juggle in order to reopen the gate. "We'll leave these in the hallway. I'll put them away later, after Spike wakes up."

"Has he said anything yet?" she asked.

"Not a peep," Buffy answered, taking her mug and leading the brunette Mrs. Chase-Harris into the kitchen. "Get this, Spike likes him."

"Who?" Cordelia said, puzzled.

"The cat," she replied.

"That beast likes a vampire, why am I not surprised?" Cordelia said, accepting the cup of coffee Buffy proffered.

"Spike is not a beast," Buffy said.

"Which one are we talking about?" the brunette asked with an arch of her perfect brow.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Maybe I'll rename the cat," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Oh hey, Oz is coming home next week sometime."

"Bet Willow is annoyingly excited," Cordelia said.

"She made Ethan smile."

Cordelia shuddered. "That's spooky. Before I forget, Xander won't be at the debriefing of last nights mission tonight. He has a staff meeting."

"Xander in a staff meeting as a respectable member of the faculty at Sunnydale High," Buffy said. "I think that's the strangest thing the Hellmouth could ever come up with."

"Xander was always unique," Cordelia shrugged. "He joins the marines to become a librarian. His favorite food is Cheesy Chips."

"He married you," the Slayer added with a grin.

"I got some dinner for you," Buffy said later that night, as she held out a container of pig's blood from the butcher. She had returned from running errands to find Spike awake and sitting on the edge of the bed, his head down, his long, untethered hair covering his face. "Here."

She tried to give him the Styrofoam container, but he didn't move to take it. Taking off the lid, she tried a second time by holding it under his face. "Spike, time to eat," she conned. Brushing his hair back over his shoulders, she could see that his ridges had formed because of the smell of the blood, but he made no move to take the container from her.

Buffy withdrew the container, then tilted his head up with her other hand. She put the edge of the container to his lips and slowly raised it until the blood started dripping down the sides of his mouth. "Come on, Spike, feed," she urged. Whether the word was conditioned into him, or the blood on his lips enticed his bloodlust, he opened his mouth and began to drink as she lifted the container higher.

"Now I know why you get a bath next," she said, wrinkling her nose at the red liquid that had run down his chin and along his throat. She was glad she hadn't bothered to try and dress him before he ate. When the container was empty, she capped it and set it on the night stand, catching sight of the clock. "We're going to have to hurry. I need to go on patrol in an hour and I still need to eat, too."

She told him to stand and follow, to which he complied, and she led him to the master bathroom. "So, did you take a bath or a shower?" Buffy asked, as she turned on the tap water in the large, jacuzzi tub. "I'd say bath, because I doubt good old Jeff would want to get in the shower with you."

As the tub filled, she rooted around in the walk-in linen closet for a towel, spare toothbrush and an unused, large tooth comb. "After you're clean, we can deck you out in the things Cordelia bought for you. Well, what she bought using the Slayerette petty cash fund. Did you know we've gone all government-like? I guess with a spook, an ex-Marine and Willow on the team, we were bound to go pro. I don't think you've ever met Oz -- he's the spook. CIA. He'll be home next week, so I'll have to introduce you to him."

Buffy set the things in her hands down, then returned to the closet to get a washcloth. "Anyway, tonight after patrol I'm heading over to HQ for the mission debriefing. Sounds pretty fancy, huh? Too bad it's nothing but a lot of work. Ever since Willow got married to a G-man, we've made records of our records. She's really gung-ho about making sure our work is written down in great detail for future use," she said, laying the washcloth on the edge of the tub.

"If you would've come to Sunnydale with Drusilla now instead of years ago, you would've been dusted really quickly," Buffy told him. "We tend to take out powerful master vampires in one big mission, instead of dealing with them one-on-one. And yes, that was a compliment to you, but try not to get a swelled head."

She double-checked the water temperature, shut off the tap, then took his arm and led him to the edge of the raised tub. "Hmm, how do I get you in here?" she asked herself, trying to think of the logical word. She briefly wondered why all the commands so far had been in English, rather than Spanish. "Get in the bath?" He stepped over the edge and sat in the water, the ends of his hair floating on the surface. "I'm getting better at guessing these things."

She dunked the washcloth in the water, then reached over and grabbed the soap, lathering the rag up. "I'm confused...big surprise there," she continued. "Why is it that you respond to certain words, but not others? What's that experiment with the bell and drooling -- Potsie's dog? Did something happen to erase the annoying vampire we all know and hate, and you got trained? Blech. I don't like the sound of that."

Gently, Buffy began washing the dried blood off of Spike's face. She avoided looking into his dull eyes, instead concentrating on her one-sided conversation. "Maybe Angel can shed some light on it when he comes up. Willow called him last night. We don't...we're not...Angel and I...blah, blah, blah. You probably know what I mean. You always had a knack for seeing what other people couldn't see."

She lifted up each arm, moving down both limbs with the soapy rag. "And you were right about that friends speech you gave that one time in that shop. I still remember that clearly, ‘cuz what you said really sucked, but it was true. Angel and I aren't friends, not really. More like strained divorcees. It blows," she said.

"Enough talk about my ex-honey. Too depressing. Plus, it's kinda odd to be talking about one man when I'm giving a bath to another one," Buffy commented. She wrapped the soap in the washcloth, then continued bathing him beneath the surface of the water. "And don't you go getting any ideas. This is a bath, nothing more. Even if I do think you have a great body, understand?"

Buffy was silent for several moments, involved in washing him. She eventually set soap aside and rinsed out the rag, then grabbed a plastic pitcher which she used to wash her own hair in the tub. With one hand, she pulled slightly on his shoulder until he was sitting upright, then tilted his head back, while she dunked the pitcher into the water with her other hand. "You know, I've never had my hair washed by anyone before," she said, carefully pouring the water over his long, peroxide locks. "Not in a haircut place, I mean. I've heard it feels really good."

She set the pitcher down and gently straightened his head. Taking the shampoo, she squirted a large amount in her hand, then added a splash of water before starting on his hair. "I like your hair, by the way. Hefty must have had a challenge keeping it bleached. I can't believe that you've let it grow so long, it's almost down to your waist. You've got that whole hippie-biker thing going," she said.

Buffy picked up the pitcher, tilted his head back again, and began rinsing out the soap. "I'll try not to get the soap in your eyes," she told him. "Although I don't think you'd notice. Your eyes look so dead, almost as if there was nothing inside you. Just like a living statue."

Sighing, she finished rinsing his hair, then hit the drain as she told him to stand. Grabbing the towel, she managed to prompt Spike out of the tub by telling him to follow, then walking away from him until he stepped out. She quickly dried him off, noting that he did have a terrific body, all smooth, lean planes and muscles.

After squeezing the excess water out of his hair, she draped the wet towel over a bar, then got him to sit on the toilet seat. No amount of words she could come up with managed to get him to brush his teeth, so she had to do it for him. It was an experience that was both yucky and sad. "Follow, Spike," she said after she was done. She led him back to his bedroom and told him to sit, then climbed behind him and began to brush his hair.

"Your hair is very soft," Buffy murmured, running the comb through it over and over again. "I'm surprised. I thought with all the bleaching, it'd be brittle. Maybe it's a vamp thing." She started to giggle. "Can you imagine? ‘Why do you want to become a vampire?' ‘Because they have great hair.'"

Forgetting all about the time, she continued combing his hair until it was dry. She hoped it was as relaxing for him as it had been for her. Once done, she moved off the bed, setting the comb down on the slowly-getting-crowded night stand, and opened the drawer. Earlier she had unpacked the clothes from Cordelia while he was still asleep, and had found that the ex-cheerleader had purchased several ties for men's hair.

Buffy took out a simple black one, then pulled his hair back with the tie at the nape of Spike's neck. Her cat, who had been hanging around the bedroom, decided to try and fit into the small drawer, while the Slayer moved to the dresser to pull out some clothes.

"I can't believe Cordy got you colored briefs," she commented, taking out a pair of navy blue ones. "At least she didn't get you any thongs, thank god for that." She slid them over his feet, then had him stand so she could pull them up. "Xander read off the vampire database that you liked to run around naked. Well, in my house, clothing is a rule. Too distracting otherwise."

She dressed him in a pair of lightweight khaki's, then struggled to get a t-shirt onto the vampire. His not moving wasn't any help to her. Finally, she re-fixed his hair and stepped back to look at him. "Much clothier. She got socks, but no shoes because she couldn't tell your size, which is really weird for Cordelia Chase-Harris. Maybe it was because she was too busy with eyeing the rest of your body. I know that both me and Wills always wondered what was hidden under that duster."

Buffy glanced at the clock and shook her head when she saw the time, but continued speaking. "What happened to that coat, anyway? It looked like you had it for a long time and never took it off. Maybe it's back at Santiago's place. I'll find out if we can do a tear-down, see if I can find it for you."

She took her cat out of the night stand drawer, then shut it. "I gotta get going. Patrol," she said. "Um, do you want to watch tv or listen to the radio? Probably not. I guess I'll just leave you here to your own devices with Spike." She set the feline on the bed, and he immediately climbed into the sitting vampire's lap and began to kneed his leg. "Don't have too much fun."

Impulsively, she reached out and brushed Spike's cheek with her fingertips. Then she pressed her lips together in a frown and left the bedroom.

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