by SoulVamp
Prologue
10 June 03
Serena Park, CA
10:00 pm PDT
It was deadly silent in the dark hospital room. The patient in the bed closest to the door slept fitfully, his eyes rolling under lids shut tight, brow furrowed in something like fear or sadness. There were no visible wounds on his body. His sort of injuries were not so easily discernible.
To find this patient, the tall man in black made his way down the corridor to the psychiatric ward, footsteps near-silent despite his size. He stood outside the room he sought, taking a deep breath. He placed a hand on the door as if to push it open, but instead peered through the small wire-covered window at the slim, pale figure that was his target.
"Hello, assface," he muttered under his breath.
He slipped inside the room and was pressing a pillow into the sleeping man's face only moments later.
Strong hands immediately gripped the assailant's wrists, squeezing tighter and tighter. When the patient felt the attacker struggle to release the pillow, he let go. The assailant staggered backward a few feet.
The patient swatted the pillow from his face, bolted upright and, moving with surprising speed, grasped the intruder by the shoulders. He gave him a violent shove, sending him flying into the opposite wall.
The man groaned as he stood up, fingering the back of his head, which now ached sharply. He glared at the patient, who met his eyes with both loathing and confusion.
The attacker took a step forward, and the patient shrank back against the wall behind his bed. He held out a hand in warning, and asked in a low, rasping voice, "What the devil do you want?"
The other man shook his head and smiled. "Gosh, you really are crazy if you can't figure that one out," he replied, taking a seat in a folding chair at the foot of the bed. "But then, maybe you're not so much crazy as just stupid."
The patient regarded him sternly. "No, I'd wager you were trying to kill me," he said simply. "I'm just not clear on the why."
"Aside from me, oh, I don't know, hating your guts?" the assailant asked with a brief shrug. "Well, yeah, there's a little more to it than that."
"What say you skip the killing me bit and just explain yourself."
The man peered at the patient, his eyes narrowing. "That's not part of the plan," he said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small, semi-automatic pistol. He pointed it at the man in the bed, who gulped.
"Look, mate, I don't know what sort of --"
"Can it," the other man ordered. He paused, then looked befuddled. "Why are you surprised by this anyway?" he asked. "You had to know there might be entities who aren't, shall we say, pleased about what's happened to you."
The patient raised an eyebrow. "That so? And what 'entities' we talking about here?" He cocked his head to one side and smirked. "Don't tell me you're back in league with those blokes what like to make with the pointless experiments, eh?"
The man laughed bitterly. "No," he replied. "I've gone freelance."
"Got to have a client, then. Who'd that be?"
"Someone who values their privacy."
"That so?" the patient asked. "How much would it cost me to walk out of here breathing? S'pose I'd have to beat their offer and whatnot, if you're working for the highest bidder."
The man shook his head. "Not gonna happen," he said. "Besides, you don't have the upper hand anymore." He released the safety on the gun and stood up, planting the muzzle on the patient's forehead. "No strength, no backup from my ex." He laughed softly. "How does it feel to be the weaker man for a change?"
The patient grinned broadly. "Bloody hell, Riley," he said. "You always were such a goddamned prat." Abruptly, he sprang from the bed, knocking the gun from Riley's hand, pushing him down to the floor, and pressing a sharp kneecap hard into his spine. "Nice to see some things haven't changed."
"How did you --"
"Somebody's not been doing their research like a good little soldier boy." He got off the fallen man and stood above him, then reached down and fished Riley's keys and wallet from his pockets. "And suddenly I feel the need for a change of scenery." He opened the door, looking left and right furtively before darting down the dark hall.
You can run, Spike, Riley thought, but next time I see you, I'm putting a bullet in your brain.
***
11 June 03
Cleveland, OH
1:00 am EDT
"B, would you just sit down?" Faith pleaded. "You're making me nervous."
Buffy paced the living room of the rented house, a knife in one hand and a worried look on her face. "They should've been back by now," she said.
Faith sighed wearily and tossed aside the magazine she'd been leafing through. She stood up and gently took the knife from Buffy. "They've been gone a half hour," Faith told her. "It takes twice that to cut through the rush hour."
Buffy nodded, but resumed pacing.
"Come on," Faith said. "You need to quit thinking that every time somebody's out of your sight it means they're getting their ass kicked."
"I know."
"So get your mind off it! Do something productive, for God's sake!" With a triumphant grin, Faith turned and plunged the knife through the tape on a nearby moving box, slicing it open. "First step toward recovery is to unpack!" She pulled out a coffee mug wrapped in newspaper and tossed it to Buffy, who caught it with one hand. "Well, at least you're still workin' those Slayer reflexes."
Buffy smiled weakly and took the mug to the kitchen, where she unwrapped it and placed it on the counter. She started to wad up the newspaper when Faith's voice from the living room made her drop it to the floor and come running back.
"Holy shit!"
"Faith?"
Faith turned to Buffy, shoving something back into a box. "Hey, what do you say we skip the unpacking after all and go grab a couple of beers, maybe find us some boys to torture for the night? I'm sure someplace is still serving."
Buffy's voice was tense. "What is it? What did you find?"
"It's nothing. Forget it."
Buffy walked slowly to the box and peered inside. "Oh," she said quietly.
Behind her, Faith cringed. "I didn't want you to --"
"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I just didn't know this was here, that's all." As she reached out a hand to the box, a single tear rolled down Buffy's cheek.
***
11 June 03
US Highway 101
2:00 am PDT
He was getting away, and fast, driving at breakneck speed. The stolen car ripped through the night as Spike, clad in too-large clothing swiped from another patient's room, deftly shifted gears, scanning around for something decent on the radio.
The wiry, taught muscles in his legs began to cramp up after sitting so long tensed behind the wheel. He pulled into a service station to stretch them out and refuel.
The fluorescents inside the store were a blue-bright headache of light. He squinted against their invasion of his sore retinas.
"Pump number three," he said to the sleepy dropout behind the counter. "Two packets of Marlboro Reds."
"We're out," said the kid. "We're out of almost everything tonight."
"Bugger." He settled for off-brand menthols, wondering how a convenience store could ever be low on cigarettes, if the crash and burn of Sunnydale had managed to permeate this far. Cash dropped on the counter, and he was back on the road.
He had no idea where he was going.
***
"Does it have to mean something?"
He looked at her with a mix of both hope and disappointment, his head cocked to one side, the candlelight playing across the sharp planes of his face. "No," he answered. "No, not right now."
"Maybe when --"
His voice was stronger, slightly embittered when he spoke again. "No, let's just... leave it." He moved to open the back door.
"Okay," she whispered.
He looked back at her, squaring his shoulders a bit. "We'll go be heroes," he said decisively. He gave her a little nod and the vaguest hint of a smile before he left.
A week later, he was dead.
Buffy looked at the black leather duster in her hands and held it against her cheek. It still smelled strongly of him.
Faith's voice, low and gentle, cut through her reverie. "Buffy... maybe..."
"It's all right," Buffy insisted. She dropped the coat back into the box and turned around. "You were right. We should go out, have some fun."
Faith nodded, but could see the tears glinting in Buffy's eyes.
***
He admired her from the doorway as she slept snugly amongst disheveled sheets, golden hair spilling out in a little fan across the pile of pillows. Her shoulder blades were budding wings, her lips parted slightly.
He thought about leaping from the door to the bed in one swift flash of lusty energy, but he didn't. He crept, instead, carefully, quietly sliding next to her, tenderly pressing his skin against hers.
He was glowingly pale next to her. His compact form seemed huge compared to this wisp of a girl.
Looks could deceive. She was no fragile doll, and he wasn't always tender.
He nuzzled the back of her neck, both wanting and not wanting to wake her. The decision was made for him when he felt her palm reach up to pull his mouth to hers.
"Is it morning already?" she asked.
He bolted upright. She was gone.
No, not gone. She had never been there. He looked around at the grimy hotel room and grimaced. I'll find you, he thought. Just got to make sure you'd be ready to see me.
Chapter 1
Audible bass rumbled the sidewalk a half a block away, and when he entered the place through a glass store front that had been hastily adorned with a thin coat of black paint, he found himself greeted by burgundy velvet ropes and effusive deep purple walls accented by silvery twinkles of Christmas lights. There were mirrors everywhere, though, and this observation made him twitch involuntarily, until he remembered it didn't matter anymore.
"ID?" asked the bouncer.
"Yeah." He handed him a falsified driver's license. "Good ego boost gettin' carded," he said with a chuckle.
The bouncer looked at him more carefully. "Well, it's dark in here."
"I'm older than you imagine," he muttered as he headed for the bar. Sitting down at a stool, he ordered a beer. "Busy night," he remarked to the bartender.
"Our regular guy just quit," the bartender replied. "I'm really the shift manager. We need somebody quick."
"I need a job quick," he said.
"Hmm," the other man said, considering him. "Can you come back and talk to me at two? No time 'til then to interview you."
"I can stick 'round," he answered. "Got no place else to be."
***
Hours, slowly drinking himself into a mild buzz, he sat watching the kids on the floor writhe together, all swathed in black lace and sweat, faces rendered white against blood-red lipstick and Manic Panic raven locks. Little gothlings, they were, youth enamored of decay and death, DJ rotating heavy industrial dreamtime: their drug of choice. These denizens of the witching hour slowly filtered out of the club as last call was announced.
"So, you know how to tend bar?" the manager asked him when their meeting time had arrived.
"Not rocket science, think I can handle it."
"Experience?"
"Not so much," he replied, "but I can start straight away."
"Well, we don't stand much on ceremony here, and we pay in cash." The manager looked at him closely. "Hell, I'm desperate, I'll give you a shot. Be here tomorrow night at seven to open, I'll show you the ropes."
"Brilliant," he said, standing up from his stool. "See you tomorrow, then."
"Hey, what's your name?" the manager asked. "I'm Randall." He extended his hand.
He paused, as if deciding something, and finally shrugged. Fuck it, he thought. I'm used to it, even if it doesn't quite suit me anymore. "Spike," he answered. He took Randall's hand and shook it firmly.
Randall looked at him oddly for a moment before snickering. "Hey, whatever floats your boat."
***
He struggled gamely against the handcuffs that bound him to the headboard, but couldn't help the delighted smirk that caught his lips. She hovered above him, teasing him, threatening to lift her body away and leave him there, helpless.
"Come on, pet," he begged. "Give us a break."
"Are you worthy?" she asked.
"Haven't I proven?" He rattled the handcuffs. "Either let me free, or put me out of my misery."
She descended upon him, but didn't let him enter her yet. Instead, she brushed her lips against his, not quite kissing him, trailed her tongue along the side of his neck.
"Where'd she get you?" she whispered. "Was it here?" She licked the skin, the taste of salt and alcohol and smoke now in her mouth. "Or was it here?" She moved to the other side of his neck, licked again.
"There," he grunted as she got the left side. She continued to kiss his neck, nipping gently.
"Careful," he warned. "Don't tease if you're not going for the follow-through."
She sat up, letting her head fall back, and finally pushed herself down on him. As he felt himself blessed with the sensation, he gave out a low growl.
The handcuffs beat out a percussive metal rhythm as she had him, used him, left him empty.
When he awoke, his wrists were thrust beneath the pillow, her dream-form gone back to the mists of memory. The clock radio emitted tinny pop music, all angst and guitars.
He knew it was time to enter the working class, but as he rose, a sharp pain in his abdomen swept him to the floor. He curled up on the rug, naked, fetal and slicked with sweat. The pang thudded. Something had been neglected, and it was screaming throughout his body. Breathing against the discomfort, he pulled himself vertical long enough to stumble under the hot spray of the shower, where he huddled until the sensation subsided. When he felt well enough to emerge, he wrapped a towel around his slim waist, rubbing another against his hair, and cautiously approached the small steam-covered mirror above the sink.
Slowly, tentatively, his fist smudged a clear spot. The wet surface reflected back a thin, pale face with deep blue eyes, wet hair showing inch-long brown roots beneath a mass of tangled platinum curls.
The pain ripped through his stomach once more, and again he fell, panting, to the floor. Hunger, he realized finally. And not for the stuff you got out of a vein.
***
Spike managed with some difficulty to make it through his opening night, sliding beer bottles and martini glasses down the oaken surface of the bar to the clearly under-aged clientele. His pocket filled with tips at closing, he meandered outside, grateful for the cool air after six cloying hours of sweat, stale perfume, and clove smoke.
He found a greasy spoon down the block, ordered his hamburger rare, and devoured it between cupfuls of oily black coffee. The place was empty except for a willowy brunette sitting across the room, spectacles perched on her pert nose as she leafed through a stack of papers and nursed an iced tea. She held his interest for a moment before his thoughts spun back to another girl, another time.
Burgundy cloth, the jagged sounds of dirty violins, and dust, musk, and heat held the room in an iron fist as blood red rose petals skittered across the floor.
"I'm a very bad man," he said as he roughly thrust himself into her. His icy eyes gleamed, glittering gold for an instant.
She arched her back, desperate to feel him closer, all of him, even as they were one, even as his arms trapped her in a cage of flesh, even as she swelled to her climax.
She wanted to blend herself into him, be absorbed. Her fingers clutched along his spine, her legs wrapped hard around his waist, pushing him deeper.
"I want to feel you," she purred.
When he rolled beside her, drenched and trembling, she started to rise. He gripped her wrist brutally, wrenching her back to his arms. "I'm not done with you," he said, pressing her into him for a deep, probing kiss. She turned into a spark of electricity, seeing spots of color bloom behind her closed eyelids.
But still she broke from him. "I have to go."
He jumped up forcefully, blocking her exit. "Not your toy," he told her firmly.
She shoved him aside. "I know damn well what you are," she replied bitterly.
Brutal memory, yet Spike smiled to himself, wondering what the Slayer would say if she knew what he was now. He glanced again at the brunette, who had taken off her glasses and began rubbing tired eyes.
Wonder what that one would say if that one knew what I used to be, he mused.
As if reading his mind, the girl looked up, her eyes locking briefly with his, then looked down again, sighing in frustration at her paperwork. Resolutely, she picked up a highlighter, and turned her attention back to the task at hand.
The waitress passed by and dropped his check on the table. "Anything else?" she asked. He shook his head, still looking at the brunette.
"No, think I've got most everything I need," he replied. "But how much to get her tab as well?" He pointed at the woman across the room.
The waitress rolled her eyes. "They don't pay me enough to play matchmaker," she told him. "Go ask her yourself."
Chapter 2
"Dude, you seriously fucked up," Gunn said simply.
Riley winced, but held his head high. "He surprised me."
"Surprised you? Jesus, you're an idiot. Our boy's weak as a kitten in there, and he surprised you?!"
"Now, hold on, in my defense, I think there's something we didn't count on."
"And what would that be?" came a voice from the doorway.
Gunn and Riley turned to see Angel, arms folded, an expression of disgust on his face.
"He's not weak," Riley explained as Angel came further into the room. "It's like --"
"He's human," Angel interrupted. "Ergo, it should've been easy to take him out."
Gunn chuckled. "Ergo? Boss, you been hangin' around Wes too long."
Angel shot him a look, and Gunn quietly turned his attention back to Riley.
"Well, yeah, he's human," Riley continued. "But his strength... unless he's been taking steroids in the loony bin, I think he was left with... something residual."
Angel grunted. "And he stole your car."
Riley nodded.
"The car that was on loan to you from Wolfram and Hart."
Riley nodded again and looked away briefly.
Angel turned to Gunn. "Pay him a quarter of it and have security see him out."
Riledy whirled his head around and glared at Angel. "A quarter?!" he asked indignantly. "Look, I can try again..."
"Clearly you're not up to the challenge," Angel informed him, turning from the room.
"Well, you heard the man," Gunn said. "Now let's get your useless ass outta here." He shook his head. "I told him we didn't need to hire from the outside for this job."
***
Fred took her glasses off again, resting them on the table before her and sighing. A shadow fell across her paperwork.
"Don't wear yourself out, pet."
She gave a little start and looked up quickly. The man she'd spotted across the diner was now standing in front of her.
"Oh!" She blushed and looked down, both hoping and dreading that he would join her, take her away from research that was going nowhere, even if it was just a momentary distraction.
He smiled softly and pulled out the chair opposite her, spinning it around on one leg and straddling it. "So what's a fetching bird like you doing in here 'stead of out on the town driving all the boys wild?" he asked.
Maybe this wasn't such a good thing to wish for, Fred thought. "Do cheesy lines like that really work?" she asked with a smile.
He shrugged. "Haven't trotted one out in a while, so you tell me."
Fred looked at him, the messy hair, clothes slightly disheveled. Cocky, maybe, but probably harmless. His accent made her think briefly of Wesley. But being attracted to him had just provided complications, and this man was a stranger. Maybe it was time for a change.
"Gears're turning in your head so hard I can hear 'em," he said. "Why don't I start over, make it a mite easier for you, eh? Name's Spike. Tend bar at Paranoia. Saw you sitting all by your lonesome, and wondered if you were as pathetically without something amusing to do tonight as I." His smile broadened. "Oh, and I'm a Scorpio."
Fred stifled a giggle. "Wow, that as actually fairly straightforward. You must not be from around here."
"You have no idea."
A little voice was telling her this might not be the best idea, but, then again, she'd been doing a lot of things lately that she might've thought unwise in the past. "You, um, want some real coffee?" she asked tentatively. "I know someplace a little nicer."
"How could I refuse?"
She could feel him watching her as she stood up and stretched, taking in the way her back arched slightly, lithe arms reaching ceilingward, small breasts perky beneath her sweater. He swiped her check from the table and drew crumpled bills from his pocket. "You're one up on me now," he said. "You know my name, but --"
"Fred," she told him as she packed up her things. She gestured toward the door to indicate he should follow her outside, where she headed for a sleek black sportscar.
"Nice wheels," he remarked.
"Company car."
"You must do something either terribly important or terribly naughty."
She cast her eyes downward as she opened the passenger door for him. "A little of both, actually."
***
Angel sat alone in his darkened office, a thick report bound in plastic on his desk. He tipped the cover up slightly with one finger, then let it fall closed again. Already know what it says, he thought. Don't need to torture myself again.
He stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the city lights. Behind him, a soft knock came at the door. "What is it?" he said without turning around.
"Just heard about Finn's little misadventure," the familiar throaty voice said. Angel could almost feel her sarcastic smirk and devilish eyes boring into the back of his head just by her tone.
"I suppose part of you is happy."
"No, not at all," she replied. "You're the boss now. You wanted the guy dead, the guy's not dead, so I'm decidedly unhappy." She took a step further into the room and sank into an overstuffed chair. "The only thing I don't get is why you want him out of the picture."
Angel laughed ruefully and turned to face her. "Oh, come on, you know what he took from me."
Lilah shrugged. "I know. I just don't see why you're so pissed off about it." Angel winced. Lilah stood up and looked at him, and he could see what passed for an attempt at sincerity in her eyes. "The way I see it, you've got the better deal. You're immortal and you have a soul. Yeah, maybe he saved the world and got to be human again, but he's still the one who's set to get old and die someday. Not you."
"You forgot the part where I still never get to be happy."
She smiled. "Haven't you gotten it yet, Angel? Happiness... hell, even being alive... not all it's cracked up to be."
"You saying I should call off the dogs?"
"Hey, like I said, you're the boss. You do what you want." She moved closer, speaking low, almost directly into his ear, "You do what you think is right." She smiled again and left the room.
Angel picked up the phone and began to dial.
Chapter 3
"So?"
She looked up, and her eyes were huge. "Wow."
"I take it that means it looks okay."
"Very much okay. God, Xander, I'd never be able to tell!"
"Seriously? Buff, you're not just saying that?"
Buffy stood up, putting herself nearly nose-to-nose with Xander, and peered at his left eye. "Okay, well, honestly, this close? Yeah, I can tell. The pupil doesn't dilate. But it's way, way better than I ever thought it'd be." She paused, and impulsively wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I'm going to be telling you every day for the rest of your life how sorry I am about that, you know."
He patted her back gently. "And every day I'll be telling you that it wasn't your fault."
Kennedy wandered into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. "Bonding. Cute," she observed, half sarcastic, half merely tired.
"You're one to talk," Xander said. "I could hear you and Will 'bonding' almost all night long."
Kennedy poured herself a glass of orange juice and tried to stifle her grin. "We're going apartment hunting today, you'll all be happy to know."
"Quite," Buffy said. "In fact, seriously? I'm hoping everybody starts doing that. I love you all, but after last year, Dawn and I are really looking forward to having this place to ourselves."
"Oh, come on, you didn't like having your house packed to the gills with screaming teenage girls?" Xander asked. "All those pillow fights and shortie nightgowns?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Your fantasy, not mine."
"So what's everybody else up to today?" Kennedy asked.
"Well, now that I'm the only man in Slayerville East nowadays, I reckon I should be earning some dough, little lady," Xander said, affecting a John Wayne pose.
"That mean you're going to support all six of us on your income?" Buffy asked.
"Uh, no, I was just trying to be --"
"'Cause that would be really helpful. Dawn needs to be able to get caught up with her schoolwork, and --"
"No, seriously, Buffy, I don't --"
"And Kennedy, Faith, and I really should start getting patrolly here. Get the lay of the land, Willow's already started to research this place, seeing what the local ick is --"
"You know, you could work part-time someplace and --"
"So, clearly, none of us have time to get jobs --"
"Buffy!" A vein was protruding from Xander's neck and he looked at her with abject fear.
"God, you're gullible," Buffy said, playfully punching him in the arm. "I'm hitting the pavement later today with classifieds in hand. Just wanted to get the house in better shape first."
Heaving a sigh of relief, Xander shook his head and grinned before heading off to take a shower.
"Just waiting for Willow to get back from the library," Kennedy said. She took her juice into the living room and turned on the TV.
Now alone for the first time all morning, Buffy finally let her smile fade and her shoulders sag.
After a moment, a hand came down on the back of her neck softly, and Buffy immediately sat up straight, smile painted back on.
"Don't pull that," Faith said quietly. "You can fool everybody else, but not me."
"Do you think anybody else knows?"
"Think Dawn's not stupid, but I don't think she knows just how much you're hurting."
Buffy sighed. "Is it ever gonna stop?"
Faith looked pensive briefly. "I've never been in love, B, so I dunno."
"I wasn't --"
"What'd I just say?" Faith interrupted. "You can fool everybody else. Not me." She smiled sadly. "Shit, maybe if I'd had a guy give up his life saving my ass, I'd be all over depressed, too. Consider yourself a little bit lucky, even if he's gone. At least you knew what it was like to be loved that much."
***
She was beautiful, he thought, all gangly limbs and big eyes, the sort of girl -- much like Red -- who'd got so used to being a brain that she'd failed to note she was also unfathomably attractive. Not knowing her own beauty made her all the more lovely, for she wasn't trying to cultivate it, wasn't a femme fatale or a snob. She might be a trifle on the nervous and high-strung end of the spectrum, but her sweetness and humor added to her charms.
Careful, he warned himself. What the hell are you doing playing at being a normal bloke out on a date?
And then it occurred to him: that was exactly what he was now. Maybe Spike's ultimate aim to find Buffy and ease back into her life wasn't the way to go. Maybe this second chance had been for a different reason altogether.
He remembered the determined look on Riley's face and the gun poked between his eyes. No, somebody wanted him dead, and he needed to figure out who and why. Didn't fancy dying again, and he had to have Buffy's help preventing it.
He realized she'd been saying something, and he grimaced with the knowledge that his mind had been elsewhere.
"I'm sorry, ducks, beg pardon?"
Fred smiled weakly and looked down at her coffee. "I know I - I'm not very interest --"
"Stop that right there! You're quite interesting, I'm just beat is all. Night shift. Been up far too many hours here. It's a testament to you that I'm still vertical." He smirked. "'Course, eh, not that if you'd got me horizontal it would be entirely bad..."
She blushed fiercely and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
He chuckled. "Not asking, it's just..." He leaned across the table slightly and lowered his voice. "You simply have the most irresistible set of --"
Her eyes grew huge. "Excuse me?" she whimpered.
"Eyes. Why, what did you think I was going to say, hmm?" His grin spoke volumes.
"You're terrible," she said.
"So I've been told. Also been told I'm rather good at a few things."
Fred cleared her throat. "Coffee. Friendly cup of coffee, that's all this is. I barely know you!"
"You mean you don't find me the least bit appealing? I'm wounded!"
"Well..."
Spike's smile softened. "Don't mean to put you on the spot." He shrugged. "Enjoy your company, that's all. Hope you'll let me take you out somewhere proper another night."
Fred looked at Spike closely, intently, her expression serious, her voice gentle. "I'd like that."
***
Willow flew into the room like a small hurricane, eyes flashing excitedly, arms full of dusty books "Buffy?!" she called loudly.
"Shh! Girl's dead tired. Catching a few winks," Faith informed her.
"Sorry, sorry," Willow said more quietly. "I just -- I found some stuff out today. Giles called with some more information about what the coven was sensing, and I got a lot of things nailed down about it at the library."
"My girlfriend the research queen!" Kennedy said proudly. She got up from the couch, drew Willow into a tight hug, and kissed her.
"Damn, why do I get no action?" Faith muttered in annoyance.
"What about Robin?" Willow asked. "Isn't he coming back to see you?"
Faith waved a hand dismissively through the air. "Nah, he went all apeshit when I asked him. Dude likes to talk big about helping us out, but deep down, think he wants to forget what went down in the Dale... and that includes me." She shrugged. "Let him stay in New York, cool his heels a while. Meanwhile, free agent. I gotta get me some fresh meat!"
"Uh, well, while that's a nice, um, project for later... there's big things... demony things that maybe you might want to focus on first," Willow said gravely.
"Lay it on me."
"Should we wait for Buffy?" Kennedy asked.
"Yeah, maybe we --"
"No," Faith said, somewhat more sternly than she'd meant to. "Blondie's stressed, in case you all couldn't tell. We let her sit this one out."
"Is that really fair?" Willow asked. "Maybe she just needs to do Slayer stuff to get her mind off... other stuff."
"I think she's been fine," Kennedy pointed out.
"No," Faith repeated. "Kennedy, what's the good in having us around if she can't take a breather? Jesus, she's been at this a helluva lot longer than any of us. Cut the girl some slack. She just saw her hometown collapse, friends die. Chill. We'll take this one on ourselves."
Kennedy eyed Faith skeptically. "You think we can?"
"We won't know 'til we get the intel. Will?"
Willow looked from Faith to Kennedy and back again. "We tell Buffy if it gets too hairy, how's that?"
"We'll see," Faith said noncommitally. "Now spill."
Chapter 4
She was eyeing him suspiciously. "What did I just say?"
"Knew it before you said a word, luv," he replied with a snarl. "I can smell it, taste it in the air around you every time."
"Oh, God, you're disgusting!"
He chuckled. "And you love it."
She started to push him off her, and he moved out of reach, planting kisses down her stomach, sliding his tongue along the outline of her hip.
"If you really weren't intrigued, curious, wanting it, then why're you ready for it, hmm?" He punctuated the question by abruptly sliding a finger inside her.
She gasped.
"Really don't want me to?"
"Maybe..." she admitted. "Maybe just once..."
He grinned and removed his finger, slicked with something dark, almost black in the dim light. He slowly wrapped his lips around it, eyes closing briefly, savoring the taste of her. "Always said that was an aphrodisiac... "
Suddenly it seemed her eyes were fearful, vulnerable. Her body tensed, and he leaned closer to her, covering her body with his.
"I won't hurt you," he assured her. "I won't even do it if you don't want me to."
She scanned his face, sincere and loving. She knew he loved her, but still she didn't trust him. And yet his cool, smooth body against hers, his cock nestled against her abdomen, strong legs straddling her, the mouth that was so deliciously close to hers...
She leaned up and kissed him hard, tasted her blood on his tongue, hot and piquant. She grasped his hair and pulled him from her lips.
"Do it," she commanded.
He descended immediately, mouth and tongue sucking, lapping, but gently, tenderly... as if he worshipped everything that flowed from her. And as he drained the wasted nourishment from her almost completely, she shuddered and came...
Buffy sat up straight, disheveled covers around her, nightgown damp and clinging to her back. Why the hell did I dream about that? she wondered.
Of course something inside her knew that had been one of their most intimate nights, a night even before Spike had gotten his soul back when she could almost begin to love him despite -- or even because of -- what he was. He let her revel in the dark side of herself, and in those days, she needed that.
There had been worse times later, and then better times long after that, and now...
She rose from her bed, hearing soft voices in the living room, but not wanting to face anyone right now. Instead, she padded softly into the bathroom and let the shower pelt down on her, loud enough to mask her sobs.
***
"So it's a cult," Faith said.
"Pretty much," Willow replied. "They worship this guy --"
"Yavil Regneast," Kennedy read from Willow's scrawled notes. "The hell kind of a name is that?"
"He's half demon," Willow explained. "A breed I'd never heard of before, a Notack. They're... uh, not exactly fluffy kittens. The followers grabbed him out of some kind of halfway-between-hell-and-earth kind of a deal, dimension-wise. The guy was pretty screwy when he was walking around in the human realm, and he was banished there by a witch in the twelfth century. The leader of this cult picked him out of a book in 1973 to be their anti-deity solely based on him being the nastiest thing they could summon."
"Well, shit!" Faith said excitedly. "Let's see this bad boy, Will!"
Willow handed her a Xeroxed illustration from a demonology text, and Faith laughed. "They thought this guy was nasty? Looks all regular Joe to me."
"Well, yeah, like I said, he's half human. But, um..." Willow swallowed nervously. "His, uh, his eyes shoot blood and fire, and he's fourteen feet tall. Plus, he's got this yard-long gross proby thing that comes out of his --"
"So don't want to hear the rest of that," Kennedy said, blanching.
"Yeah, well, that's how he killed the first cult leader." Willow made a punching motion. "Kinda... bored through him or something. But that was his last kill, until --"
"So what's the deal?" Faith asked, squirming impatiently. "Guy's been quiet since he offed the leader, just gettin' all warm and fuzzy from basking in the love of the brainwashed, right?"
"He was. Now he's wiping out people on the streets late at night. He's more powerful, more bloodthirsty now."
"What's different about now?" Kennedy asked.
Willow cast her eyes down. "He's been here for thirty years, but this rampage only started in the past month." She looked worriedly at her girlfriend and squeezed her hand.
"Oh, no," Kennedy whispered.
"What?" Faith's eyes darted between the two of them.
"He got stronger when the other Hellmouth was destroyed." Kennedy turned back to Willow. "Am I right? That's it, isn't it?"
Willow nodded gravely. "It's all concentrated here now. The coven told Giles they can feel Yavil, his strength is..." She looked up at Faith. "They think he's so strong that he can't be killed."
"Screw that," Faith said casually. She got up from her chair. "He hasn't gotten a load of us yet."
***
Wes was unshaven and bleary-eyed when he arrived at Angel's office. "This was so important I had to be roused from sleep?"
"Riley failed," Angel said.
Wes sighed. "I never liked this idea. I always said we should try to either bring Spike to our side or let him alone completely."
"I disagree."
Wes gave a strangled laugh. "Yes, that's bloody well obvious," he said. "If you really felt the need to... to 'take care of him,' as it were, why did you send an outsider? Someone incompetent for the task?"
Angel shook his head. "Riley's not an outsider," he explained. "He's probably the one person who has as much of a reason as I do to take Spike out."
Wes looked at him quizzically. "Is that so?"
Angel started to speak, then paused. "Sunnydale stuff. Buffy... stuff." He cleared his throat. "The details don't really matter anymore, and God knows I don't like Riley, but he's a trained soldier, a hunter. He's got experience with this kind of thing."
"So he failed because... why?"
"Something we didn't count on," Angel said. "I need you to find everything you can about the prophecy. We've got better resources now, I'm sure you can do it."
"I think we've found all we can --"
"No," Angel said sternly. "There's something more."
"Give me a clue, Angel. What am I looking for?"
"It never said specifically that I... he... would become human, did it?" he said softly. "Because I'm not sure that's what Spike became."
Chapter 5
They spoke quietly, but not quietly enough. Dawn hovered in the doorway. They were going to fight something, and they were going to do it without Buffy.
I betrayed her once, she thought. I'm not going to do it again.
She crept down the hall, knocking lightly on Buffy's closed door. "It's me," she said.
"Come in."
Buffy, clad in a bathrobe, was combing out her wet hair. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, but Dawn could still see clearly enough to find Buffy's smile a little forced.
"We need to talk," Dawn said.
"We also need to get you registered for school," Buffy said brightly. "You're already way behind, I just hope they don't set you back a grade. How do you feel about getting a summer job?"
"Oh, come on! Do I have to?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, but we're living on breadcrumbs here. Every little bit counts."
Dawn sighed. "Okay, but no fast food."
"Agreed. I would never inflict that on you."
Dawn smiled. "Thanks." She sat down on the bed next to her sister. "Listen, though, there's something going on that you should know about."
***
The sun rose, spreading its flames across the sky. Fred dropped Spike off in front of the hotel he was temporarily calling home, and as he climbed the stairs, her phone number burning a hole in his pocket, he couldn't keep from grinning. Would take her out again soon... want to kiss the tip of her nose, put my arm 'round her --
Stop that, he ordered himself. She's a sweet girl, but she's not the one you've got to get up the courage to find.
Still, really, what was the harm in taking some time to get used to his quite literal new skin? Nothing wrong with a spot of flirting, maybe even a little more... didn't mean shagging her, didn't mean betraying Buffy. Just meant...
A little space couldn't hurt things, could it? A little time?
She'd told him she loved him, after all. That couldn't change overnight. He hoped to God she realized when he'd dismissed that --
Spike swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. She knew what I was doing, he assured himself. Had to get her out of there, had to steel myself up...
He'd had to try to get her out of his soul. Ablaze with duty as it was, burning him and everything in its wake, he had to try to think of nothing that would tie him to that place and time, think only of forcing himself through what was the worst pain he'd ever experienced. It had felt like nothing he could've imagined... not like merely being on fire. Spike knew fire -- getting too close to the sun on occasion was unpleasant, but not anything he couldn't handle. At the last, though... that was searing, ripping, agony. Not just physically, either. The knowledge that he was dying, even in the first truly selfless and noble thing he'd ever done, going down fighting like he'd always wanted... no matter how hard he gritted his teeth and tried to take glory in it, laugh in the face of death, ultimately it was true what they claimed: it all flashed before your eyes as you went down. Seeing it played out like glimpses of a cheap gorefest, he'd realized that his life was nothing more than a bad horror movie awash in blood and evil and only the smallest tinges of love and forgiveness and her... seeing it, knowing it...
Well, that hurt like a motherfucker.
Rest, I need rest, he decided. Turn off the noggin for the day 'til work summons me back to the land of the living. Decide what to do about being hunted, needing help... can suss all that out when I wake up.
He put the matchbook on the nightstand, and stared at Fred's number scrawled across its cover.
***
"Huh."
"You don't seem upset. I thought you'd seem upset," Dawn said nervously.
"Actually, I'm kinda relieved. Well, I mean, I'm nervous and scared, and I should really tell them they're being stupid, but, hey, if they wanna try to take on some huge demon without my help, I bet they can. More power to 'em."
"Buffy, you're the Sl --"
"No, I'm not," Buffy said slowly. "I'm a Slayer, Dawn. I'm not the Slayer anymore. Leaving me out of the loop might be just what I need right now."
Dawn looked skeptical. "What if they get into trouble?"
Buffy gave Dawn's hand a squeeze. "That's why you'll have to be my spy. If it seems like they're getting in over their heads, you let me know. Otherwise, maybe this is something they need to fight on their own."
"What're you gonna do?"
Buffy stood up. "Find a job. Go grocery shopping. Help people move to their new apartments." Her smile turned more genuine, and she looked peaceful for the first time in months. "I'm going to be a normal girl."
Chapter 6
"Have you even slept?"
Fred shook her head, but she was smiling.
Wes was slightly unnerved. She hadn't been out with another man, had she? Not that it was any of his business, but still. Didn't they have something? Very new and possibly fruitless, yet it was something nonetheless.
He dismissed his jealousy. There were bigger things to deal with, and this was no time to be petty and immature. Besides, Lilah rather complicated things, to say the least, and Wes could swear Fred had been positively flirting with her new lab assistant, that Knox fellow. Was that who she'd been out with?
"You look a little worn around the edges yourself, Wesley," Fred noticed.
"Yes, well, Angel woke me to get on this." Interrupted a rather interesting dream, too, he added to himself.
Fred plucked a book from the conference table. "I thought that creepy Council guy gave you access to computer databases for research. What's with the low tech?"
"The shanshu prophecy pre-dates most texts," Wes explained. "I'm afraid we'll have to resort to the written word."
"Are we looking for something specific?" she asked, scanning an index she discovered all too quickly was written in Vlatovgnosch. "And hand me the dictionary."
***
The map on the kitchen table glowed. Willow pointed to the brightest spot, illuminating a side street not far from the lake. "I think there's a warehouse there."
"That's where they're holed up, then. The cult," Kennedy said. "What do we do, just bust in there?"
"With swords a'blazin'," Faith said. "I don't think these guys are the types you make an appointment with."
Willow looked uneasy. "I don't know. We know a lot about the demon, but we don't know what else the cult is into. They might be tapping into some dark stuff that could be pretty dangerous."
"You got a better idea, then share," Faith said. "Otherwise, I think that's our best bet."
"What about a stakeout?" Kennedy suggested. "We check it out first, see how many of them there are, and if it looks like we're not outnumbered..."
"Then we take 'em?"
"No," Willow put in. "No, maybe just get one of them alone for... for interrogation."
Faith laughed. "Yeah, break out the bright light." She sprang up and pointed menacingly at an empty chair. "Where were you on the night of June thirteenth?!"
Kennedy smirked. "Something like that."
Faith pointed at her. "You, good cop. Me, bad cop." She paused, considering. "No, other way around." She smiled seductively. "Sometimes I got a way with the persuasion that people aren't expecting."
"These are cult members, Faith," Willow said. "Not horny frat boys."
"Hey, a man's a man. They all got warm blood runnin' through 'em, don't they?"
***
She crossed the basement to him. "Everybody's asleep."
"Seems that way," he replied.
She reached out a trembling hand and caressed his cheek, the way she had the night before. "You'll do great," she said softly. "We all will."
He bowed his head, smiling. "Hope so, luv. Want to do you proud."
The First had called him her lover... her dead lover, but her lover nonetheless, and yet they hadn't been together in over a year.
What if this was their last night on earth? What if --
She wrapped her arms around him, embracing him, hugging him... something she'd never done before, not exactly.
He inhaled unneeded breath sharply, but his arms crept around her once the initial shock had worn off.
Then his lips were pressed to her forehead, and she looked up into the deep blue depths of his eyes.
"Spike?" she whispered tentatively. "Would you... could... you don't have to, but I'd like to make love to you."
His whole body seemed to sag slightly, and his brows shot up in concern. "Buffy, you don't need to do that."
"I want to," she said. "If you don't want to, I understand, but --"
He kissed her, his lips sweet and cool on hers. A small kiss, the sort shared between people who'd never kissed before.
"Not here, not in this darkness..." he murmured. He took her hand and led her upstairs.
"But all the rooms... there's people in all of them. I don't see where --"
"Shh. Wait here," he instructed when they reached the kitchen. He disappeared into the living room silently. When he returned, he had a blanket under his arm.
He led her out to the backyard, which was lit by the moon, the stars, and the flickering glow of a kerosene lantern resting on the porch. He scanned about 'til his eyes rested on a spot beneath the wide branches of a tall oak tree, and he moved toward it.
She followed, and he spread the blanket out, folding it carefully, kneeling down and patting it to see that it was soft, comfortable...
He stretched out and drew her down on top of him.
Buffy sighed, her eyes closed, almost feeling him moving beneath her, when Dawn's voice startled her.
"They're going. Tonight," she said.
"What?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Earth to Buffy! Faith and Kennedy are going to the cult's headquarters."
"Oh, right, right. Thanks."
"Do you want me to follow them?"
Buffy shook her head. "No, I think they'll be okay. They weren't gonna do anything stupid, were they?"
"I think they're just gathering info."
"Then they don't need help yet, if they will at all."
Dawn frowned. "Buffy, why don't they want you in on this?"
Because of Faith, Buffy thought. Faith knows my head isn't really here. She thinks she's being helpful. She looked up at Dawn. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe they just want to see if they can tackle something on their own."
Please buy that answer, Dawnie, Buffy thought. I really don't want to tell you the truth.
"Okay, well, if I'm not following them, and if you're not following them, you better hurry. You're gonna be late."
Buffy glanced at the clock. "Yikes! I almost forgot!"
"Good luck!" Dawn called after her as she dashed from the room.
***
"Nothing new whatsoever," Wes reported. "Fred and I --"
"Fred?!" Angel asked incredulously. "Fred's there?!"
Wes frowned, pulling the receiver away from his ear slightly and looking at it as though it had bitten him. "Well, yes, of course Fred's here. I needed help. Why shouldn't she be here?"
"I just... I haven't told everybody about Spike yet, it's... a kind of need to know thing," Angel explained. "You haven't..."
Wes turned slightly away from Fred, who was still hunched over a pile of texts. He lowered his voice. "I haven't explained the reason for the research, no."
"Keep it that way. At least for now."
"But why?"
Angel started to answer, then paused. "Don't worry about it. If there's no news, then maybe I'll take care of this situation directly." He hung up.
Wes folded his phone shut and tucked it into his pocket. Angel didn't want to tell Fred because he knew what he was doing was wrong, Wes thought. This wasn't being a champion of the people, this was a vendetta. Murder.
He looked across the table. "I think we're done here," he told her.
"You sure?" Fred asked.
"Yes," Wes replied. "We've got all the information we need."
Now might be a good time to ask Lilah just how binding their contracts were, Wes realized. This place was changing them, and he particularly didn't like what it was doing to Angel.
***
"Very punctual, that's good."
Buffy smiled, hoping it was smiley enough but not too smiley, not like insane smiley, just... eager. Friendly. But not too friendly. She didn't want this guy to think she was hitting on him. Oh, no, the skirt was a bad idea. It was too short, wasn't it?
"Just the two former employers?"
"What? Oh, um, yeah. Yes." Please let Robin give a decent recommendation. Please.
The man folded his hands on his desk and looked at Buffy with a kind of patronizing disappointment.
Here it comes, she thought. I didn't get it.
"It's second shift, you know," he said.
"I'm kind of a night owl."
"You don't exactly have the experience we generally look for."
"I learn fast, really!"
The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Summers, I just don't think this is the right position for you." He handed back her resume, and Buffy stood up.
As she left the building, she wondered if she'd managed to at least be gracious and shake the guy's hand. It was kind of a blur. When her bus arrived, she got on, slumped into a seat in the back, and hoped none of the other passengers could tell she was crying.