Chapter 4.06

"Oh, Willow!" Tara stood back to let the former Watcher see the jug of blood in the fridge.

"I see it," Wes confirmed. "I'm assuming the seal is Willow's mark."

The Wiccan nodded. She pulled the jug from the fridge, setting it on the counter. Then, she pulled open the salad drawer, revealing a few sealed bags of blood. They, too, had the same sickly green aura surrounding them as the jug, Willow's mark appearing on each one. She removed those, too, placing them next to the pitcher.

"I don't understand. Willow had gone before Spike even bought all this blood. She hasn't even been in the house."

"Are you sure about that? There isn't a spare key hidden somewhere outside in case someone gets locked out? Assuming, of course, that Willow would actually need a key to get in, or even that she would need to be here to do the magic. It's entirely possible that she wouldn't even need to be anywhere near the house."

"But if the blood's magically poisoned, shouldn't there have been some sign when we looked at, well, when I looked at Spike?"

"Not necessarily. She could easily have used magic to create a mundane poison. There are, in fact, certain similarities between Spike's symptoms and arsenic poisoning, for example. In the days when it was commonly available, almost all cases of arsenic poisoning occurred 'within the family' as the poison had to be administered at a low dose over a period of time before the target became immune to the emetic effects of the drug. Only then, could a larger, fatal dose be given. Spike said when he was ill during the party that he voided his entire stomach contents. After that he seemed to be almost his normal self. Last night, he managed to keep down a portion of what he'd drunk, and now he's running a fever and has bruises consistent with internal bleeding. None of this necessarily suggests that the toxin would have to be magical in nature. There are a few poisons which are effective against vampires. The poison's actual creation could be magical, but the substance itself obviously is not." Wesley picked up the jug, tilting it slightly to stare at the liquid inside before lowering his nose to sniff the contents. "Or that may not have been Willow's intent in the matter at all..."

Tara frowned in puzzlement as she watched Wes carry out his olfactory test. "I could be wrong, but if there was anything to smell, wouldn't Spike be the first to notice?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Wes countered as he pushed the jug over toward the young woman. "Nevertheless..."

* * * * *

Buffy came awake with a start and immediately felt bereft. There was no Spike in front of her. Her renewal of her claim on him was nothing but a dream. She began to wonder how much of the rest of the experience had been real as she realised that her slip had been pushed up far beyond her waist. Her thighs were damp and sticky, and as she flexed her vaginal muscles she realised Spike was still inside her.

"Morning, love." The voice at her ear was more croaky than his normal, husky whisper, reminding Buffy that he was ill and probably shouldn't have been doing what they appeared to have just done.

She moved to ease away from him so that she could roll to face him, but his arm held her to him with a strength that seemed at odds with his infirmity.

"Stay... please, love... for a few minutes."

Buffy relaxed back against him. "Oh-Kay. You can have a few minutes, Mr Snuggles, but after that I get to roll over and see how the patient is doing and make a start on my Florence Nightingale routine. I've not had much practice, but I learned from the best. And, bonus... if you make it downstairs, we can see how often we can make Giles clean his glasses."

"Don't you ever dare call me that in front of anyone else, pet."

"Giles? It's going to be your name. Actually, according to all the papers we have downstairs, it already is."

"You know exactly what I mean. Now shhhh. See, in my version of what just happened, you should be too knackered to move for at least half an hour and too high to get all chatty and torment your man for... well, days?"

Buffy sighed, easing their bodies apart and then rolling over. Before she could even speak, her shock at Spike's haggard, hollowed out features silenced her. Tears filled her eyes and instead of words she let her fingertips brush gently at his face as she bestowed a longing kiss on his fevered lips. "Spike, when you're well, I'll lie here, well, actually the bed itself would be more comfortable, but I'll happily spend hours, days even, basking in the afterglow of our incredible sex, real and imaginary, but I don't do sitting around watching the people I love die. I need to be doing whatever I can to help you get better. I need to go see if they've come up with anything, find out what's happening, see if we know whose butt needs kicking, yet. You understand?"

"Sure, love. But you're forgetting one thing. I already told you I'm not planning on dying."

"And I'm not planning on letting you."

* * * * *

"Heyyy, you two," Tara called as the couple made their way to the living room, accompanied by Rogue. The dog hadn't strayed more than a few feet from the vampire since the couple woke, following him around as he got dressed. The back door stood open to allow the egress of the smoke from the incense and Tara was in the midst of vacuuming up all the magic sand. "We were just about to send a search party to see if you were awake yet?" Tara did her best to look cheerful, but though the vampire didn't look worse than when she had seen him earlier, he certainly didn't look better. A sheen of perspiration coated his face, his eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head and were underlined by dark purple bruises and his cheek bones no longer looked sexy, but gaunt.

"Darn. Did we miss the start of the meeting?" Buffy looked round the room. Giles was still in last night's clothes, his glasses in one hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, a cup of black coffee in front of him instead of his normal tea. Dawn was seated next to him on the sofa. Her expression gave away little but the barely touched stack of pancakes on the plate in her lap said a whole lot more.

"What's up, Dawnie?" her sister asked. "Don't tell me you've gone off Tara's pancakes."

"If Spike can't eat, it doesn't seem right that we should."

"Rubbish, Bitlet. Get them down your neck before you end up lookin' even more like Kate Moss, or bloody Social Services'll think we're starvin' you and that dress'll fall off an' end up in a puddle round your ankles come Friday.

What'd you do with Junior Watcher? He gone back to his for some kip?"

"He's gone to get some things for breakfast," Tara answered gravely.

"Alright! What the bloody hell is going on? I gather since we had a visit from the Orb Fairy that somebody's been checkin' up on us, but you three are actin' like your damn dog died, which seein' as she's right here, doesn't make much sense."

"It's complicated, Spike. Willow seems to be involved-." That was as far as Giles got before Buffy exploded.

"Willow? She is so going to get her octogenarian butt kicked. I am gonna-."

"Buffy!" Giles shouted to get Buffy's renewed attention. "Willow would appear to have a hand in events, but as things stand, we don't know whether she is trying to harm Spike or aid him."

Dawn snorted. "Like she needed to use magic if she was on our side..."

"Dawn, there is such a thing as giving someone the benefit of the doubt," Giles insisted. "I can hardly believe that Willow would feel welcome here at the moment, or..." The Watcher put his glasses back on, pushing them up his nose with one finger before he fixed his gaze directly on the teen. "...That she would expect you to put your trust in any explanation she might give."

"Well," Buffy interjected. "Why don't you bring me and Spike up to speed, and then you and I can go and ask her?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I told you guys not to say anything before she had her second coffee."

"Before we do that, Buffy. I'm led to understand that Spike is manifesting more symptoms. I think it would be advisable, if you expect us to find out how this is being achieved, if we were to see what we're talking about."

"We know what they're doing, Rupert, and if you say Bathmorda's involved, what's the big discussion?" As the two men argued, Tara slipped into the kitchen unnoticed by anyone.

"That's where you're wrong. There is no sign whatsoever of any magic being used to directly affect you."

"So, I'm imagining it, am I?"

"That is not what I said."

"No, but then you've always been quite good at not quite saying outright what you mean. Or maybe I'm meant to be faking it, some huge ploy for attention, is that it? Or maybe... just maybe like I told you stupid buggers in the first place, vaudun doesn't work the same way normal magic does and maybe mon-sewer Cloutier's little acid trip doesn't work with it."

"You know if it wasn't for Buffy, I'd quite happily let whatever this is take its toll, but Tara assures me that the only sign of any magic to do with you was the visual manifestation of your shared dreams, and I choose to have faith both in her and a sorcerer of the highest renown in preference to one of your hunches any day."

Tara walked up to the two men who had somehow managed to end up nose to nose. "Stop it, both of you. Spike, have some blood." She pressed Spike's mug into his hand.

Spike hadn't even raised the mug above waist height when he frowned. "What in blazes did you put in this, Glinda? Essence of skunk? It smells like somebody's cess pit."

Tara took the mug from him again. "Thank you. Now, if I tell you that blood came from the same pitcher you were drinking from last night and I've added nothing to it, perhaps you'll sit down and listen."

* * * * *

"Everywhere?" Buffy asked.

"I've been to every butcher's shop and packing plant in town. They all say the same thing. When they got in to work this morning any stocks of blood that they were holding on the premises had curdled overnight. Everything else was fine, but they had to ditch all they had. In the end I had to wait while they butchered a pig at one of the plants and have them collect the blood there and then, but considering more goes over the floor than gets collected, I don't think that will keep him going for long." He held up a plastic carton, holding a little over a quart of the precious liquid, before setting it on the kitchen counter beside the box of doughnuts he'd brought.

Spike gave the Watcher a weary smile. "Thanks for tryin' anyway."

Wes grinned back at him. "As I was saying, I didn't think that would keep you going for very long, so I made a detour via the bloodbank, where I found that one of their employees was willing to be very helpful... for a small fee."

Wes pulled at least half a dozen blood bags out of various pockets, and Spike's smile ratcheted up a notch. "How much do I owe you?"

Wes shook his head. "Call it an engagement present. Heaven only knows when I'd have time to buy you anything else."

Buffy mouthed a silent "Thank you," over Spike's shoulder, before she scooped up the carton, pulled Spike's mug from the cupboard, filled it and put it in the microwave.

"So... curiouser and curiouser." Spike tilted his head on one side. "Seems to me, if Red was doin' some mojo that turned the blood rancid as some sort of time-delayed side-effect that she'd hardly bother goin' round all the butchers in town when she could achieve what she wanted just by tamperin' with our fridge."

"The same thought had occurred to me," Wes confirmed. "I believe that Willow deliberately made the blood undrinkable, and while it is possible that this is some sort of prank, I'm more inclined to believe this is a warning."

"Which begs the question, a warning about what," Giles commented. "What does Willow know that we don't?"

"Let's go find out, shall we?" Buffy asked, sliding off her stool. "Dawn, when that blood's heated make sure he drinks it. When he's drunk that one, heat some more and make sure he drinks that. Repeat until you run out of blood or we get back."

"Got ya," the teen responded, glad to have something concrete to do.

Spike followed Buffy as she went upstairs to fetch a jacket, Rogue still shadowing him as closely as if she were on a very short lead.

"You're not coming with us," Buffy told the vamp before he could argue otherwise.

"I'm not stupid, pet. I know right now if push came to shove I'd be a liability. I'm in even less of a hurry to get you killed than I am me, but if Giles is right, there's just as likely people after you at least as much as me." He loosened his belt.

"Now's not the time, honey."

"Ha bloody ha, pet," Spike responded as he slid the pouch that held the orbs off the leather strap and pressed it into Buffy's hand. "If the Watchers are readin' this wrong, or even if they're right, Red's not exactly in the most rational frame of mind right now. You want me to stay here and drink up, then you're going to have to take them."

"Spike, they could be the only thing that's stopped you keeling over already."

"Or they could be making no difference at all, but we know if there's a fight, or some bastard with a gun or a bow, then they will. Don't make me worry about you, love... please."

"Okay, but if you get worse I want you to call me on my cell."

Spike leaned in to press a lingering goodbye kiss to her lips, lifting her slightly so that they were closer to being level as the kiss deepened and became more passionate.

"Mmm," Buffy drew her head back for just a fraction of a second before the vampire swooped in to claim her lips once more. "Spike..." She pushed him gently away. "Gotta go. Wes and Giles are waiting and the quicker we find out what's going on, the quicker we can get you fixed."

She pulled open the door on one side of the armoire and grabbed the first jacket she could see, tugging it from its hanger as she turned to go. "I'll be back as quick as I can. Don't go anywhere." She paused briefly with one hand resting on the door, returning his gaze. "Love you, vamp-boy."

Spike waited until he heard the front door shut behind her before he allowed his legs to give way and fell back onto the freshly made bed. "Love you, too, Buttercup," he whispered. The vampire rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up as he clutched at his stomach. Rogue jumped onto the bed from the other side, crawling until her face was only inches from Spike's before she lay down, a soft whining coming from her throat.

* * * * *

Dawn muttered to herself as she carried the mug of blood upstairs. "Like it would have killed him to come back downstairs and get it." She pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

"Hey! You! You could at least answer when I shouted you."

"Buffy?" Spike's voice was little more than a dry whisper.

"No, himbo. Dawn. Buffy left, remember? Gone to see the Wicked Witch... Oh boy!"

"Shut up! She meant it... No! She changed, I changed, I can be-."

"Tara!" Dawn shouted downstairs. "I need you."

"No, I don't do that any more, Dru." Spike's eyes seemed to be following someone's movements around the room, only there was no one there. Even more strangely, Rogue now stood on the bed, hackles raised, and a low growl rumbled through her body as she bared her teeth in the direction that Spike seemed to be looking. "Can't have pretty girls. No, Dru, no. Hers." Spike seemed to paw at his neck, his fingers pulling aside clothing to bare what to Dawn looked like a recent bite mark, pulling at the healing flesh until it began to bleed. "Hers..." Spike seemed to be almost sobbing as Tara entered the room.

"Tara, what do we do? He was fine when Buffy left. Five minutes later... What's going on?"

When Tara noticed the vamp's eyes gleam with a hint of gold she decided to take no chances. "Dawn, go downstairs and find some straws. He should feed as a natural instinct, if we present it properly."

As soon as the younger girl left the room, Tara sent up a brief prayer to Morpheus, Lord of Sleep, asking him to claim the vampire. In his weakened state Spike soon succumbed to the effects of the spell, and when Dawn returned with a handful of plastic drinking straws, he was once again quiet. Thankfully, when the Wiccan managed to get him into a position where he could suck the blood in the mug through a straw, he started to feed without regaining consciousness. Tara only hoped that the blood Wes had managed to procure would be enough to allow him to heal himself. If not, she didn't know what they would do.

Chapter 4.07

Tara pinched her nose and rested her head against the PC's monitor. Wes had called up the Council's database on poisons using his father's ID and password. There were, as Wes had said, relatively few poisons that were effective against vampires, so you would have thought that her task would have been an easy one. However, it would seem that installing any sort of search engine was either beyond the Watchers' capabilities, or more likely, not considered an appropriate use of Watcher resources. Nevertheless, Tara was confident that she had found all the references to poisoning vampires. The problem was that none of the toxins listed seemed to exactly match Spike's symptoms.

Tara had a couple of theories as to why that might be. Either way she had more or less reached the limits of her capabilities. She could try to isolate the poison from the blood they had found in the fridge this morning, but freshman chemistry didn't really cut it and she had no idea if whatever Willow had done might have altered the poison as well as the blood. Tara tried a mental review of the people she knew from the Wiccan Society and from her dorm, trying to think of any chemistry majors she might be able to approach with a suitable cover story and coming up blank. Even if she did find someone who could help, without samples of the relevant materials to compare against, there was little they could do to identify the poison, assuming they could isolate it.

She supposed that at least they could now rule out a few of the possible suspects. She neatly added a few brief notes to her notepad on the last of the poisons she had found and switched off the computer. She could hear the microwave humming in the kitchen and made her way through to check with Dawn on how their patient was doing.

“How are things on your end?” she asked the teenager.

“No better than your expression says they are on yours... but Brandon's coming over. He said if nothing else he can at least keep me company.”

“Is he still drinking? ...Silly question, sorry. You wouldn't be heating more unless he was drinking it.” The Wiccan answered her own question before Dawn could. “He's still asleep though, right? You would tell me straight away if he woke up again.”

“Still asleep. Muttering away to himself... but as far as I can tell he's still out of it. At least Rogue's stopped growling at things that aren't there. This is the second to last pint of that stuff that Wes brought, though, and there's no sign of the fever breaking... So... what's with the database?”

“I guess I know a few things it can't be.” Tara's smile barely merited the name. “That's something, I suppose. The thing is I think they might either be using a cocktail of a few different things... or-.”

The phone rang before Tara could finish what she was saying and both girls dashed for the receiver in case it was Buffy or one of the others calling with some news.

“Summers' residence,” Tara answered as she put the handset to her ear.

“Might one inquire if I am speaking to Miss Buffy Summers?” the voice on the other end of the line asked in clipped, formal tones.

“I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Buffy isn't at home and we don't know how long it might be before she comes back.”

“No matter. It's not actually her who I'm trying to reach. I'm trying to contact Rupert Giles. The young lady he employs told us if he wasn't at his hotel to try this number.”

“Giles is actually with Buffy. Wes, too. I assume he was going to be your next choice...” Tara wished the Englishman would hurry up and get to the point.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce? His father never mentioned that he was in Sunnydale... Nevertheless, my message was supposed to be delivered to Mr Giles himself. Perhaps you could tell him that he was correct and that the Council is looking into appropriate action. They are most anxious to speak to him to ascertain how he came to know about this.”

“Well, when he gets back here, I'll be sure to pass on the message. Do you have a contact number Mr...?”

“Howarth. Everard Howarth. Mr Giles will know where he can contact me.”

* * * * *

Wes's eyes met Buffy's in the rear-view mirror. “Are you alright, Buffy?” The slayer looked somewhat paler than normal, and Wes remembered the story about the night that Spike had been kidnapped by Drusilla.

“I will be...”

Wes couldn't say he was happy with Buffy's answer, but he could see her point.

“Look, Wes, it's not like if it came to a fight any of us could do much against Willow's magic, anyway. You know how the link works. As long as it keeps hurting I know he's still hanging in there, and the fact that it seemed to get worse the second I walked out the door is just because I'm more aware of it when I can't just check up on him directly. It's just psychosomatic. It's not that bad ...really.”

Giles turned in his seat. “Buffy, you really should be careful. It seems as if you may be at a disadvantage until this thing is resolved.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Have I suddenly had 'Poor, defenceless female' tattooed on my forehead or something? I mean love you guys, all of you, but Spike's enough with the over-protective for all the women in that house, never mind little ol' me. So much so, that I'm the safest of all of us.” Buffy dipped her hand in the pocket of her creamy suede jacket, pulling out the pouch containing the orbs. “See, all protected and invulnerable. Now can we go do this thing so that I can get back home and give these back to the guy who actually needs them?”

Buffy clambered out of the car waiting for the two men to join her. “Willow's room has its own door. If we go round the back we should be able to get her to let us in without having to disturb her parents.” Buffy led the way around the side of the house, but what she could see through the patio door, caused her to revise her plans. The room that had belonged to her friend had been refitted. It now hosted a large desk, several bookcases and an armchair, but there was no sign of a bed or any of Willow's computer equipment. In fact, there was nothing in the entire room that she recognised as belonging to her friend.

“Change of plan. I guess we need to go to the front door. If Willow is living here, then she's not in her old room.”

Giles barely had time to ring the doorbell before a figure appeared on the other side of the glass expanse. It was obvious that she hesitated before she opened the door a scant six inches and took position blocking their way into the house. “Well, what d'ya know? Didn't think you'd have the nerve to show your face around here after your little display of solidarity with the undead...”

“Willow, we so don't have time for the amateur theatrics.” Buffy's tone warned all present that she was at the end of her patience.

“Willow?” Giles conveyed his astonishment at how much the witch had changed, even since they had brought her back from the clock tower. His dealings on the following day had been principally with Xander, Willow having stayed in the car outside Buffy's house, and her ongoing ageing had passed the elder watcher by. If the watcher hadn't known differently, he would have assumed the woman who barred their entry was in her late sixties. Her hair flowed to her waist, where it looked to have been hacked off fairly roughly, but the mass of hair had none of the lustre of the auburn locks she had sported less than a week before. Most of the hair looked a dull brown which caused the man to wonder if the girl had ever been a natural redhead, and the grey hairs that gave her a salt and pepper look outnumbered the Watcher's own. The witch's cheeks looked hollowed and when she spoke there were occasional gaps visible in her teeth. It seemed that Evie's curse took account of forty years worth of wear and tear, but not forty years worth of regular dental and hairdressing appointments.

“I think you would be well advised to invite us in,” Wes suggested in a tone that made it sound more like an order.

“And if I don't choose to?” the Wiccan asked, lines etched deeply into her face as her lips twisted into a bitter grimace. “After all, it's hardly as if you've made me welcome in your homes.”

“Will you get off the self-pity train for one moment and just consider how cranky I get when people mess with my boyfriends? And then multiply anything you've seen in the past by at least a factor of ten and you might get some idea of what I'm prepared to do,” Buffy warned. “...And the way I remember it, I made it perfectly clear that I still wanted to be your friend. I just couldn't keep putting our relationship above Dawn's safety, and as far as I could make out all Spike told you was to call first before you came round so that you didn't upset Tara or Dawn or the dog.”

“So now you're threatening me? Again? You have a strange definition of friendship. All over a vamp you've wanted to kill for more than half the time you've known him,” the witch sneered. “It's real good to know that I've got at least one friend who'll stand by me.”

For a fraction of a second Buffy was tempted to punch the twisted look off of Willow's gap-toothed face. Giles' hand resting softly on her shoulder was all that kept her from it.

“Willow, there's no point prolonging this display of petulance. The way I understand this curse to work, it judges your actions against your own standards i.e. the Wiccan code. 'An' it harm no other do as thou wilt.' Every minute that you keep us waiting out here, Spike is suffering, possibly dying and Buffy, Dawn and Tara are suffering because strange as it may seem to any right-minded person, they care about him and they have to watch. We already know that you intervened to prevent Spike from drinking any more of the blood that was at the house. We just need to know why you think it's tainted and whether you know who is behind it.”

“What makes you so sure that I think the blood is tainted? How do you know I'm not just going to see to it that Buffy's necrophilia-enabling sex toy starves to death?”

“Because people don't fundamentally change to that sort of extent. You may have made mistakes, but, so far, you've never been malicious, and I happen to feel that if you were to act in such a manner you would come to deeply regret it.”

Willow gave a sigh and stepped backward holding the door wide. “I suppose you better come in, then,” she told the group.

* * * * *

“I know you’re awake, my William. You can fool the little girl but mummy knows when her boy is faking. It’s not nice to try to fool mummy.”

Even with his eyes closed Spike couldn’t mistake the voice with its hint of the East End that no amount of elegant dresses or fine jewels had been able to hide. Even after a century away from the place of her birth, she managed to make girl rhyme with foil.

“Dru, go away, you’re dead dead. You can’t be here, kitten.”

“But I can. I am here. Look… Even the bow wow knows I’m here.” The figure at the bottom of the bed tutted at the growling canine and waved a finger, keeping the metal bedstead and several feet between her and it nevertheless. “Naughty doggy! …And I know what you need to make you better.”

“You’re dust, Dru. Dust an’ ashes, feedin’ the bloody jasmine in Peaches' yard.”

“I can still look after my beautiful boy. All this blood, but it won’t help. Like filling a bath with no plug in. Not good enough to fix my golden childe.”

Spike finally opened his eyes, unsure which would hurt more, his sire’s presence or her absence. The sight that met his eyes tore at his heart strings. Dru wore an elegant white blouse and skirt. Her hair was pinned away from her face, but then fell in curls over her shoulder. He recognised both the clothes and the hairstyle and could remember clearly the last time she had worn them, that long ago night in China when he had claimed his first slayer. His bloody hand prints on the white cloth had never washed out and the garments with their delicate lace trimmings had been discarded.

“Dru, love, s’always the blood. Never anything else. Now run along like a good spook. You belong back with him, now. You need to go. She’ll be back with more soon,” he almost pleaded.

“You think you can be good? When the pain is eating you from the inside as if you swallowed a live rat then my wicked Spike will come home. He’ll take the pretty peridot.”

“Kitten, it’s been a long time now since I’ve jumped through your hoops and worked out your riddles. You don’t own me any more, princess. My best night with you is just an echo of a whisper of the worst night with her. I’d rather her fists than your kisses.” Spike twisted his head as he spoke, trying to keep Dru in sight as she turned to pace the room, but weak and barely conscious he couldn’t keep up and in that instant the voice of his tormentor changed.

“Still so tender, William? At least you’ve given up on that poetic twaddle. That would be truly disgusting, wouldn’t it? To have you touch her pretending she was me, and to make her listen to your pathetic spouting while she waits for you to sink your teeth into her. Does she realise where she fits? A limp... sentimental fool indulging his oedipal urges on a trollop his own grandsire deflowered and who’ll only stay with him because no other man would want her…”

Spike watched aghast as his mother once more spouted the vitriol that had poisoned his unlife almost from the point he was turned. Like Dru she was dressed in white cotton and lace, this time the nightdress she had worn both times he had killed her. Her hair spilled around her shoulders like pale spun silk and as she turned toward the window Spike was horrified at how much it looked like Buffy’s luxuriant tresses before his remarks had driven her to cut her hair short. As if the thought had fed his dreams when the woman turned from the window she wore Buffy’s face and the white nightdress was a silken wedding gown.

“…How could I not know? You cling to me like an infant trying not to slip from that place between his mother’s legs. Or the other place between her legs. What sort of sick, twisted freak dreams of doing that to his mother? My dark little prince. You pretend… you tell yourself that you can be good, but when you feel it …when you know that all it costs is an image, you’ll do anything to keep fucking me and pretending it’s the one who got away…”

“Noooo! It’s not true. It was never true. It never will be true.” Spike wanted to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. He screwed his eyes up, determined not to look at the women who tormented him, but this just made it easier for them to switch on him.

“Really, I think I’m lucky that tumour came when it did. If I’d had to watch you with my daughters… Debasing one and pretending to care about the other so that you can paw all over her while she thinks you protect her…”

Spike pressed his eyes tightly shut and tried to cover his ears, but it was as if the words came fully formed into his brain, swirling pools of hatred and humiliation eddying unendingly around him in the voices of those he loved.

Chapter 4.08

Willow preceded the group into the house and Buffy took care to position herself between the bitter witch and her Watchers. Willow seemed to be helping them but Buffy didn't want to take any chances.

"I guess you're not in your old room, then?" the blonde asked.

"What gave it away?" Willow countered sarcastically, as she pushed open a door on the corridor that ran through from the front door to the kitchen. Pulling a cord to put on a light, she led the way down a set of cold, concrete steps into the house's basement. Looking around the cramped room, Buffy could see that much of the room's content had been hastily stacked against one of the walls, making barely enough room to accommodate the witch's old bed and desk. "Maybe it was the fact that mom told you she'd converted my room into a study when you came snooping round the other night, huh?"

"Actually, I'd kinda forgotten, or at least I thought if you moved back in they would shuffle stuff round again."

"Well, you thought wrong."

"Willow..." The blonde shook her head, at a loss for words. "Really, if the situation were different I'd love to sit here and let you vent and get whatever is bothering you off your chest, but right now I need to know what's going on with Spike. He's really ill and I'm scared I'm going to lose him and you seem to know more about what's going on than any of us."

"The mighty Slayer reduced to begging-," the witch drawled before Giles cut her off.

"Willow, this behaviour is-."

"Yes, Will, if that what it takes, I'll beg." Buffy overrode the oncoming lecture. "If that is what it takes I will get down on my knees and beg you to tell me what's wrong with Spike." To Giles and Wesley's shock, she matched gestures to her words, kneeling on the cement floor.

"Buffy..." Willow's facade of indifference cracked at the sight of her friend humbling herself in a way she should never have needed to and her tears fell like the first trickles of water seeping through the cracks in a dam before it disintegrates completely. "Buffy." the witch took her friend's hands and pulled her from the floor to a sitting position on the bed, taking a seat facing her. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I just don't know."

* * * * *

"Hi," Tara's greeting betrayed a certain nervousness. "It's Tara. We met last night. I didn't get you up, did I?"

"Not yet. The phone's next to the bed. What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

Bee groaned and pulled her quilt with its broderie anglaise cover back over her somewhat tousled head but kept the phone to her ear. There were whole mornings when the Barbie pink of her bedroom walls was too much to bear.

Rupert gave a small "rowl" in protest at being woken by anything other than breakfast before he settled back on the pillow opposite Bee's. "This isn't just about going out for a drink or helping you prep for your Art History, is it?"

"No, sorry, it's not. I need some help on the research front. So far, I haven't been able to come up with anything here and I wondered if perhaps you might have any books over there that might help."

"That watcher isn't there, is he?"

"Giles? Not at the moment... No."

"And it's really urgent? It couldn't wait until... say noonish?"

"Spike's been poisoned. He's hallucinating and running a fever. He's lost a good deal of his body weight overnight and however much we feed him it doesn't seem to help. I can't find an exact match for his symptoms in any of the references we have here, and Wes has gone with Buffy to check up on a lead so if he has any others we can't get to them."

"Give me the address. I'll be there in half an hour with any books I have that might help."

Bee pushed the duvet back and padded to pull open the room's white curtains which did little to block the morning sun in any case. Picking up a pencil she scribbled the slayer's address on the inside cover of a sketchbook that lay on a table. Rupert followed her brushing in between her legs until she opened the fridge, removed a braised chicken breast she had prepared the previous evening and sliced it up to go in his bowl.

She threw aside the black knee-length nightshirt she'd been wearing, tossing a pair of slacks and a tailored blouse on the bed. By the time Rupert had finished his breakfast she was dressed, wearing her trademark red lipstick and black eyeliner and had a stack of half a dozen books, ready to take with her. She jingled the metal on the strap she held in her hand and Rupert trotted over, waiting patiently at her feet as she made her final preparations to leave before he stalked downstairs at her side.

* * * * *

Rogue backed away as Buffy lay down on the bed. The dog kept her head down low, her growling more pronounced than ever and as she shuffled back her hindquarters nudged the fevered vampire further away from his mate.

"Shhh, you dumb dog!" The slayer held out a hand toward the growling bitch as if to let her sniff it and check her scent, but it did nothing to calm the beast, who backed away further, torn between her apparent fear of the woman on the bed and her need to defend her master. Buffy still wore the boots and jacket she had donned for her trip to Willow's, not even bothering to take them off before she made her way to Spike. "I'm not going to hurt him.

Will, you don't look good. How do you feel? Did the blood help any?"

"Buffy?"

"Right here, baby. I'd give you a hug, so that you could feel that it's me but your new girlfriend seems a bit jealous this morning."

"I'll get rid of her." Spike tugged at the dog's collar, but in his weakness, for every inch he pulled her back the dog struggled forward another so he couldn't shift her from her self-appointed guard post. "Sorry, love."

"It's okay. Nothing matters except making you better and I have to say you don't look any better."

"Sorta think that's a bit of an understatement, kitten."

"It's the blood. You need something stronger."

"Buffy!" The vampire's tone held as much exasperation as he could muster. "I already told you..." Spike's eyes changed to swirls of gold as his anger brought on the change to demon form that in his debility he was unable to prevent.

"Wait! Not me. Just listen... You can smell it, can't you? She's just the other side of that door, changing the dressing on her leg." Buffy nodded toward the bathroom, smiling like the cat that got the cream when Spike responded with a feral growl. "You said it sings. Her blood calls out to you to take it. She's made from me you said. It's not like you'd be hurting a real person. She's just a part of me, like an extra limb or something. Just slayer blood in human form. She doesn't even have a soul..."

Spike struggled to regain his human form as his hands reached up to cover his ears. For an instant as he shook his head in denial, he managed to shrug off the ridges that had risen on his brow. Mere seconds later, they returned.

"...Only real humans have souls. There's no way those monks could give her one. All she is is an extra bit of me. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for us. We should be free. You could show me the world while I'm still young enough to enjoy it. New York... Europe... Asia... a never-ending honeymoon. We could have it all if we didn't have to play mommy and daddy. She's stealing away my youth, just like she killed mom. They made her live and mom paid the price. The cosmic scales had to be balanced. I'm a slayer. There's almost no hope that I'll survive long enough to see her through college. We're never going to be able to have time for ourselves. If you don't do this my whole life is going to be used up looking after her..."

Buffy dripped one poisoned thought after another into his fevered brain, using just enough truth to stop him from being able to come up with a convincing argument against her.

* * * * *

"Perhaps you could tell us what exactly you do know, then," Giles suggested softly, taking over as Buffy seemed to have been stopped in her tracks by Willow's denial.

The onetime redhead looked slightly embarrassed as she watched her questioner through her eyelashes, gauging his response to her reply. "When Xander brought me over to pick up my stuff, I sorta listened in on what you were all saying inside... even after we left. I guess I was feeling... well... victimised. I was sure that you were all going to be talking about me behind my back, so I listened in... When you were talking about this guy from Willy's..." she clarified, noting their lack of comprehension as to what she was implying.

"I guess I probably wouldn't have bothered too much about what you were saying, but there's not a lot to do down here of an evening and I was bored. I guess it sort of let me test myself as well. I mean it wasn't much of a description but I managed to find your guy just the same." For an instant a look of pride settled on Willow's face before she saw the disapproving look both the former watchers treated her to.

"It wasn't all magic." The witch tried to justify herself. "He was mentioned in the council minutes and stuff. That's how I found his address."

"You have access to Watchers' Council minutes?" Wes interrupted, sounding slightly concerned at the apparent breach in security.

"Not the Watcher's Council. Sunnydale City Council. Robin Wood is Snyder's replacement. When the High School re-opens, he's going to be the one in charge. According to the minutes I read, his contract began early, to give him a chance to recruit the staff he needs over the summer. What I don't understand is how he managed to get the job, considering I can't find any record anywhere of him ever having got so much as a teaching certificate."

Buffy blanched visibly. "You mean I'm supposed to send my sister to a school where the principal has a grudge against my family?"

"Well, I guess with Spike helping out you could send her to Miss Porter's..." Wes suggested.

"I'm not sending my sister to some girls' school. She's a kid, not some proto-Watcher."

"Buffy... Perhaps for now we could hear the rest of what Willow has to say."

"There's not much more to tell. I thought I'd check the address from the council's HR records. They have him listed as staying at a motel not far from the centre of town and I thought he might have moved on. So just in case maybe he had found something more permanent I figured I should check it out. I was hoping if he was still there and he'd been going round bars checking up on Buffy and Spike that I'd see him when he was coming back. As it turned out I guess he'd been having a quiet night in. I'd almost given up when he decided to go for a midnight stroll." The witch shrugged. "I figured there could only be one reason why he would be visiting all the butchers' shops and packing plants when they were all closed for the night, but I couldn't risk getting close enough to see what he was doing."

Willow looked Buffy straight in the eye as she finished speaking. "I know since we started college we haven't been as close as we were in high school. I mean, Spike pulled all our strings back when he sided with Adam and we all said we were going to work things out and make things better again, but then with your mom and stuff and then... And well, me and Spike, not exactly best buds... especially the last couple of days, but it's not like I could ignore what he was doing. He Wood he, not he Spike he. And it's not like I could pick up a phone and warn you either. I suppose I was still ticked at Spike, too, so I didn't want you to know I sorta helped him. I mean Spike. I didn't help Wood. I mean with the making the blood go off so Spike wouldn't drink it.

It was only later that I realised whatever he was doing, it might not be the first time he had tried it."

* * * * *

Dawn had just finished taping down the fresh dressing on her leg when the shrill chirp of the phone had her dashing into the room now occupied by her sister and her boyfriend. Snatching the handset from its cradle without so much as a glimpse in the direction of the bed, she couldn't prevent her voice from betraying her anxiety and impatience.

"Buffy? Is that you?"

"No," a rich male voice replied. "I'm guessing by now that you've got one sick vampire on your hands. If you want to know what's wrong with him I suggest that he comes alone to 1570 Maple. You've got a hour and if anyone else interferes you'll never find out what's wrong with him... At least, I suppose you might eventually, but by then it'll be too late for him."

"Who-."

"1570 Maple. One hour. Him. Alone." The words were immediately followed by a sharp tone. Dawn looked at the receiver in panic as if it could provide an answer to her dilemma.

A squeaky mattress spring made Dawn turn as she called Tara's name. She stared straight into a pair of golden eyes from less than a foot away and the Wiccan's name died on her lips.

Chapter 4.09

Angel slid the envelope through his fingers. However, his mind wasn't really on it or its contents but on the previous night's futile search. Yet again, they had found a lead on the whereabouts of The Axis of Pythia, only for the trail to peter out far short of their goal. They had been looking for the axis for what seemed like months now. He couldn't believe that it was only a week since he had sought out Dinza, in hope of being able to locate Cordelia. He hadn't found the missing girl. He hadn't even managed to find the axis, which he had been told would help him find her. Yes, they knew where it would be in three months time. The picture on the front of the glossy auction house brochure taunted him. In three months, Cordy could be dead or worse.

Angel sighed and picked up a letter opener. Until they came up with a new avenue of investigation there was no more they could do for Cordy. If Wesley was right, which the vampire grudgingly conceded he normally was, she had literally disappeared off the face of the earth.

He pulled the thick pages from the envelope and read the words written within.

"What does it say... dad?" Connor still stumbled over the word but Angel appreciated the fact that he used it anyway. Some day, somewhere down the line he would say it without the hesitation, the way Angel had dreamed he would.

"Nothing. It's not important. He's gone for now. We can worry about him once we find Cordy."

Even Connor wasn't naïve enough to believe the vampire's platitudes. "Fine, Angel." The youngster turned and stormed from Angel's office, exiting the hotel in short order.

"You know, Angel-cakes, a big part of this whole family thing is trust. He's never going to accept you as his dad if you keep telling him you don't trust him," Lorne pointed out. "So what does it say?"

Angel hesitated for a second before tossing the heavy cream writing paper to the anagogic demon. "See for yourself." He jogged to the main door of the hotel, knowing he was already too late, but calling after his son from the doorway's shadow, just the same.

* * * * *

Xander rolled over in his sleep. The motion set off enough pain signals to his abused brain to end his period of blissful unconsciousness. He reached for Anya only to discover that her side of the bed was cold and empty. He reluctantly opened his eyes to look for evidence to explain her absence. The bright mid-morning sunlight made him roll instinctively, shielding his eyes with his forearm, as it streamed through the open blinds. This brought him face to face with the bucket Anya had placed on the floor next to his side of the bed the previous night. The sight and scent of semi-digested chocolate brownies mixed with both bile and the salt water Anya had made him drink after Buffy had left, brought on an attack of the dry heaves and refreshed his memory of the previous night.

Anya had been far from happy. Xander swiftly decided that his best course of action was to cultivate selective amnesia. Obviously, one of the other guests had slipped him some sort of Mickey Finn before loading his plate with the offending brownies. He had no memory whatsoever of searching Lily's cupboards for undemonised foodstuffs, or at least that was going to be his story when he spoke to Anya or anyone else for that matter. The tactic had already worked to get him out of one sticky situation when he was involved in that hyena possession incident. It would work again. Only this time, instead of possession, he would firmly blame the drugs... And who the heck mixed chocolate with other mood enhancing substances anyway? It all just went to show how right he'd been to mistrust these demon types in the first place. In fact, ten to one, if Anya hadn't got him out of there in time, some demon woman would have been forcing him to impregnate her before the end of the night. Xander Harris was like catnip to the demon babes after all...

The bedroom door pushed open and he heard his wife's voice gently say his name. "Xander, honey?"

"Ahn..." Xander whimpered in his own particularly nasal fashion.

"You're awake?" the former demon asked her voice solicitous in the extreme.

"Sure." As Xander's stomach recovered from its upset he decided to pre-empt any questions Anya might have. "What happened? I feel like I have the entire cast of a Buzby Berkeley musical rehearsing in my skull."

"You don't remember the party?"

"I remember going to the party. I remember meeting Spike's bella senorita, but that's about it. I think maybe someone spiked my drink. After that ... nothing. I coulda been doing the horizontal mamba with Clem for..." Xander paused as the image of him perhaps not getting naked with the wrinkly demon but certainly indulging in a manly hug returned to him. "...All I know."

"You poor thing. Let me take care of you," Anya crooned. "How about I make you breakfast for starters? ...I'll do all your favourites. You can have devilled kidneys, or maybe those kippers from the hamper Giles had sent from London. How about some blood sausage with nice fried tomatoes?"

Xander rolled over and tried to control his stomach once more as he clutched the pail with both hands out of reflex, even though he knew there was no more for his stomach to disgorge.

"You would do well to remember that I am neither an amnesiac nor an imbecile, Xander, and I do not appreciate it when my husband lies to me and besides you already admitted what you did last night. You embarrassed me in front of my friends with your gluttony and your bad manners. You should know better than to ransack someone's house when you are there as their guest. It's inexcusable. Your feeble story is insulting, both to my intelligence and to Lily and her guests. It's also in very poor taste given the current circumstances which I only hope you are genuinely unaware of because I'd really hate to believe that you were malicious rather than misguided."

Xander coughed a couple of times before he managed to ask, "What circumstances?"

"I don't know exactly. Willow might have poisoned Spike ...or not. Last I heard, Buffy and the Watchers were headed over to the Rosenbergs' to beat the truth out of her. Well, that's not exactly how Tara put it when I rang her to see if that other Watcher whose email I answered spoke to Giles, but you know Buffy when it comes to family..."

"What other Watcher? What do you mean family? Who's family?"

"Well, Spike, of course. You don't get much more family than a husband."

"She married him already?"

"No, silly, but I mean it's all over bar the ceremony. We all know Spike isn't going to do a disappearing act at the altar."

"Thank God!" Xander sighed his relief that Buffy's marriage was as yet not a fait accompli. "So how sick is he?" Xander failed to totally eradicate the glee from his voice. "Worse than I am?"

"No, Xander." Anya answered coldly. "I'm ashamed to say I don't think anyone could be sicker than you."

* * * * *

Bee and Brandon both pulled up outside the Summers' house within seconds of each other. Brandon cast an admiring eye over Bee's classic convertible. Its rich cream coloured curves effectively matched it to the same decade as the dress she had worn the previous night.

He let out a low whistle. "Nice wheels. Can't say I recognise the model, though."

"1953 Sunbeam Alpine Sports."

"Need a hand with those books?" Brandon asked as he saw the stack of reading material when Bee opened up the car's trunk.

"Thanks." Bee passed off the stack of heavy books to the boy, making him gasp at their weight before she walked round to the car's passenger side, lifting the end of Rupert's lead and opening the door for him to step out of the vehicle's passenger seat.

"You brought your cat?" the teen asked as Bee delicately shut the car's door behind the feline.

Bee sighed as if she'd had this conversation many times before. "I always take him with me when I'm working. I don't like leaving him on his own for long periods of time. He gets lonely. Besides he likes the drive."

"And he always comes on a lead?"

"Well, you don't think I'm going to carry him round in one of those silly baskets when he's perfectly capable of walking on his own four legs, do you? It's comparatively common for Siamese cats, you know. They're more intelligent than your average felines. Rupert knows that if we go somewhere, he needs to wear a lead or people will freak, but I'll take it off when we get wherever we're going. He doesn't mind... much. Well, he prefers it to being stuffed in a box."

Rupert led the way to the front door of 1630 Revello as Bee explained.

"I'd say you were insane, but judging by the car, I should say eccentric instead."

"Oh, the car was a birthday present from an adorable man who knows my tastes very well, but the truth is I spend money as fast as I make it, so feel free to say I'm a mad old coot."

"Mad maybe, but even from the dizzy heights of eighteen I wouldn't have used the word old."

"You're so-." Bee paused as a shrill scream rent the suburban Sabbath morning.

"Dawn!" Brandon dropped his cargo of precious books to the ground and dashed toward the front door, yanking it open when he got there. Bee skirted round the scattering of reference materials as quickly as she could in her high-heeled ankle-boots, following as closely behind the teen as she could manage. This still placed her third behind Tara in the dash for the stairs. Brandon rushed up the stairs three at a time, colliding full speed with Dawn as he reached the landing. Turning them, so that he was between her and the perceived danger, he watched along the corridor as he spoke.

"What is it? Are you okay? What happened? That scream scared the hell out of me."

"It was Spike. He's hallucinating and stuff. I don't think he knows what's going on or who anyone is."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No-o-o-o, Brand. Well, I guess my knee might bruise but you're not getting me. The scream? That was Spike! I kicked him, just like he taught me. Tara, we've got to get Buffy back here. That last phone call was from someone who says he knows what's wrong with Spike. He says unless Spike meets him alone within the hour he'll be dead before we can find out what's wrong with him. She is so going to kick this creep's butt."

* * * * *

"Glinda?" Spike groaned from his foetal position on the floor. Even in demon form Tara could see that the bruising she had witnessed earlier had spread to his face and extremities.

"It's me, Spike," the witch answered. "You know who I am?"

"Course I bloody know who you are, you silly bint. Where's the Bit?"

"She's just outside. Her and Brandon and your friend, Bee."

"Stubborn little madam. Get the kid to get her out. Now. She doesn't understand."

"Doesn't understand what?"

"That the monster wants blood. That he can smell her wounds and that he'll do anything to taste her. He knows her blood is strong enough to make him better, just like Buffy's. I can't keep telling her no. I can't fight the evil inside me and her as well. He has to take Bit away or I'll give her what she wants."

Unaware of the presence lounging on the bed, watching the scene and urging Spike along the path to damnation, Tara misinterpreted his words. "All she wants is for you to get better. That's what's important to her. That's all she wants."

Spike covered his ears, doing his best to block out what sounded to him like the gentle Wiccan bidding him to commit murder. "Get out!" he yelled at the witch. "Get out and get her out! Now!" Tara stepped back, more from shock at the vehemence of his words than out of any will to do as he said. She watched as Spike crawled along the floor to the armchair where he had left his duster the night before. Using the chair, he pushed himself to his feet and wrapped the leather around himself.

"Tinkerbell," Spike lowered his voice to somewhat less than normal conversational level, somehow making it seem all the more chilling. "Unless you want to share responsibility when I drain her dry, you will get that Andrew Eldritch wannabe that she calls a boyfriend to get her the hell out of the house, out of town and preferably out of the state before I leave this room. Am I making myself clear? You've got five minutes." He turned toward the bed. "And you know damn fine I'd do anythin' for you but will you take five minutes to think what Joyce'd have to say if she could see you now?"

Something finally clicked in Tara's brain as she saw for herself the way Rogue reacted to Spike's hallucinations. In fact, in retrospect even when Spike had been talking to her, Rogue had seemed to be trying to hold something or someone at a distance.

"Spike, if you feel that Dawn is in danger I will make sure that Brandon takes her away somewhere. Okay? But you can't go anywhere. You need to go back to bed."

"I got a place I need to be, luv. Seems I need to have a bit chat with some bloke."

"At least wait until Buffy can help."

"Buffy's got other things on her mind and this is my score to settle."

"Think about this. Dawn put you down on the ground."

"I'm not planning on letting the wanker kick me where she did."

"And you planned on letting Dawn do it?"

"Course, I bloody did. You think if I'd really let him out that I could have put him back in his box? I had to let her do it. Now tell that daft bugger of hers to get her the hell out of here before Buffy talks me into doing something we'll both regret come morning. You've got five minutes at most before I leave this room and I don't know if it'll be me in charge of this body or the demon so you better get a move on."

Chapter 4.10

"Brandon, take Spike's car and Dawn and just get away from the area."

"Isn't he going to be pissed when he finds out we took it?"

"Probably, but then you got the lecture about Dawn going on a motorcycle without the proper gear and he isn't exactly giving her time to change." Tara picked up the vampire's car keys from the hall table and tossed them to the teenager. "Go! I'll ring your cell when it's okay to bring her back."

"But," Dawn tried to argue even as Tara passed her a jacket and pushed her out the door.

"Until those wounds heal, sweetie, having you around is like waving double chocolate gateau in front of someone who's on a diet. It's not fair to test him like that when he's ill. Go with Brandon. As soon as he's well enough to cope or too out of it to be a danger we'll let you know. I promise."

Dawn gave up her argument. If the best thing for Spike was for her to leave she was already gone.

Tara turned her attention to the other woman. She picked up one of three cell phones which were sitting on the same table where Spike's car keys had been and passed it to the other woman. "If you go through to the kitchen you'll find a pint of blood in the fridge. I want you to stick it in the microwave for about a minute. That way, if the worst happens, at least he's as strong as he can be before he goes. While it's heating you'll find the number for Buffy's cell in the directory. Tell her what Dawn said about the guy ringing up to arrange a meet and tell her I'll talk to her once I finish upstairs or when she gets here whichever is sooner. I better go. By my reckoning we've got at most three minutes before he gets out of here, assuming Spike's patience can actually last five minutes."

"What are you going to be doing?"

"I'm going to be trying to put up a barrier spell strong enough to contain a desperate master vampire without him realising what I'm doing and leaving before I finish it." Tara whispered as quietly as she could before dashing back upstairs.

* * * * *

"Buffy?" Willow's voice sounded hesitant, knowing her friend was in a hurry and probably would prefer to save the conversation for another time. "Tara? Is she...? I mean-."

Buffy turned back to look at her friend standing in the doorway of her parents' house, and her heart twisted in her breast. She had been wrong, very wrong, but she had lost so much because of it. "She's hurting, Will, but we're all doing our best to help her through. She's made her choice. She's making a fresh start."

"B-but, I love her."

"Will, you can't keep hurting people over and over and always expect them to forgive you. If you really love her, you'll let her move on. You've broken her heart twice over. This time let it be a clean break." The sound of Wes turning over his car's engine drew Buffy's attention away from the witch as she realised that she was holding up their investigation. Turning back toward the house, Buffy hurriedly made her goodbyes. "Look, I've got to go. I'll try to call tomorrow after Dawn and Tara have gone. We can..."

"Go, Buffy. There's no point in both of us losing the people we care about." Willow twisted her face into a bitter-sweet half-smile and Buffy ran the remainder of the distance to Wes's car with her friend's blessing.

* * * * *

"Hi?" Buffy was slightly bemused when her caller ID said she was speaking to one of the spare cells she had brought back from LA. She couldn't understand why anyone at the house where she had left said phone, wouldn't be using the land-line.

"Buffy, it's Bee-."

"Bee? As in bumble? How did you get this number? How did you get that phone?"

"Tara rang, said she needed help with the research. I came. Listen, we've got a problem, a couple of problems. Tara says she'll speak to you when she finishes upstairs or when you get back here, whichever is sooner, but right now she's trying to stop Spike heading out on his own for a rendezvous with some guy who rang up and spoke to your sister."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Don't know if Tara does either. She packed Dawn up and sent her off with her boyfriend as soon as I got here. I'm not sure what the deal is with that. Tara seemed to think Dawn was in danger but from the scream I heard seems like she did a pretty good job of defending herself."

"Scream? Who screamed? Where's Brandon taking Dawn?"

"Yes. Spike. Away."

"Wh-?" It took a while for Buffy to put together Bee's answers with the relevant questions. When she had, the ease with which her sister had dealt with the vampire seemed out of place. "Bee, how sick is Spike? Put him on the phone."

"Are you sure? Tara was trying to do a barrier spell to keep him in without tipping him off. If I go up there now, it might give the game away."

Giles winced as he heard the tone Buffy took for her next comment. "Put Spike on this phone now."

Bee heard a scratching sound and looked over to see Rupert standing by the back door. With a muttered, "Already?" she pulled the door ajar before teetering towards the stairs.

When she saw Tara kneeling on the upstairs landing she hissed to the other girl, while covering the phone's mouthpiece, "Buffy wants to talk to Spike."

Tara frowned. "I'm not sure that would work right now. I'll take it."

The Wiccan rose to her feet, incanting a few words in Latin before she took the phone from Bee. "Buffy?" As the witch reached out a hand the air in front of Buffy's bedroom door shimmered and resisted her. She leant against the barrier with all her weight and when it didn't give she turned her full attention to the phone conversation.

"Tara? Where's Spike? I want to speak to Spike."

"Buffy, I don't think that's a good idea until you can get back here to do it in person. I think there's something or someone here in the house, playing with Spike's head. Just after you left he seemed to get a lot worse and he started hallucinating, or so we thought, only Rogue seems to be aware of whatever it is he's seeing, at least some of the time, so maybe he is hallucinating but I think there's something there, too. From what he said when I was talking to him, I think he thinks that something is you. I think it tried to make him hurt Dawn."

"That's ridiculous. I'd... I mean."

"Buffy. I know, and if Spike was in his right mind he'd know too, but he's not. He's running a fever so high that if he was human he'd probably already be dead, and I just don't think until you can actually get here in the flesh that you're going to convince him that you're the real you and whatever is in there with him and Rogue is the impostor."

Wes pulled over at the next intersection, waiting to see whether Buffy would want to head for Revello. He was stunned when instead of giving directions, Buffy pushed open her car door before he had even come to a complete stop.

"Buffy?"

"You guys find this Woody guy. I've got to go home. Spike's... The First is there and it's messing with him."

"But-." Giles tried to reason with her.

"I'll run. If I cut across a few yards it'll be just as quick as the drive." She raised the phone again as she scrambled out of the car. "Tara, I'm on my way."

* * * * *

Even as he made his final preparations, Spike used his full concentration to listen in on what was being said downstairs. As soon as he heard Tara banish Dawn and her boyfriend from the house he pulled Buffy's motorcycle helmet on, forcing it down over his head with leather-gloved hands. As protection went, it was by no means fool proof. Even this early in the day, he would have to keep his head well down to avoid his face being burned behind the plastic visor but Buffy had banished his scruffy, singed and slightly smelly blanket to the basement, so for the sake of a quick exit he would take his chances with what was to hand. He knew the others would try to stop him from going alone. This time, though, he had to clean up his own mess. Buffy might be joking now about always having to rescue him but if he let the trend continue he would be nothing but a millstone round her neck like Harris, a handicap, a vulnerability her enemies could rely on being able to exploit. Her gentle teasing would give way to scorn. Instead of love and desire, when they touched he would feel her discontent and eventually her hatred.

He opened the sash window as far as he could, but climbing out would still have been clumsy and time consuming and for all Glinda allowed herself to be overshadowed by her former lover, she was a powerful Wicca in her own right. In fact, Spike was willing to bet that in her purity of spirit the witch had access to far more power than she gave herself credit for, if only she had the confidence to use it. Willow drew the bulk of her power from the darker magical elements. Her magic was showier and more obvious. Spike believed that when his wild dove grew into her power, or when necessity drove her to test her own limits she would prove that though she wouldn't use her power to harm others, in every respect bar that, she was more than Willow's equal. He wound a black scarf around his neck, covering the last of his visible flesh before he let his demon take charge. Taking as much of a run-up as space would allow he dove through the window, somersaulting once before he landed on his feet just beyond the bounds of the strip of ground that Joyce had planted with roses and other flowers. Staggering slightly before he regained some semblance of his normally perfect balance he lurched off in the direction of the nearest sewer entrance.

Rogue jumped up, her front paws resting on the open windowsill as her master left her behind. She whimpered, trying to coax the vampire into coming back to fetch her, but when he didn't relent, she scrambled up onto the sill and then through the window, landing clumsily with her right front leg twisting under her. Her pained yelp finally made the vampire turn, trying to wave her back toward the house. He should have known better. Even favouring her injured leg slightly, the bitch seemed determined to maintain her vigil over what she regarded as her vampire. She covered the distance between them in a blink and Spike had to concede defeat rapidly or risk attracting Tara's attention, thereby causing the confrontation his ultimatum was designed to avoid. The whole point of telling the witch he would be coming out in five minutes was to give him the chance to sneak out the back in two, that and making sure Bitty Buffy got her arse out the way before anything happened. He swiftly returned to his original route with the puppy easily keeping pace with a three-legged lope.

Looking down from the bedroom window, The First Evil gave a satisfied smile. It would have been easier if those three bunglers had managed to stay out of jail and maybe, somehow the demon could have been reclaimed. Too bad that he would have to be sacrificed instead, but there was no way he could be allowed to remain with the slayer. Who would have believed that a soulless vampire could resist evil's lure, whilst humans with the full quota of free will were so easy to manipulate? It gave one last Buffy smile before folding in on itself, only to appear at Robin Wood's shoulder on the far side of town.

Chapter 4.11

"So, who's a gal gotta sleep with around here to get a bed for the night... or day?"

Angel looked up from the sketch he'd been working on, having been totally caught off guard by the woman's approach. The first genuine smile to grace his face in several days welcomed her to his office. "I'd settle for a hug."

The woman tilted her head to one side and gave the vampire a quizzical look. "If you're gonna go all fuzzy on me maybe it's time I was movin' on already." She picked up the legal pad and looked at the likeness there. "Still jonesin' for the cheerleaders, huh?"

"We-ell, it's..."

"Chill. Just makin' conversation. It wasn't meant to be Final Jeopardy. Now, not to be pushy but d'ya think you could point me in the direction of a shower and maybe some clothes that look less like I work in a garage? Oh, and you might want to get someone to ditch the car that's parked out back. I would have caught a bus but that would have been wicked conspicuous."

"Anything else you want?" the vamp asked sarcastically.

"I could murder a Big Mac and fries, but it'd get a bit wet if I took it in the shower with me. Feel free to have one waiting when I get out, though. Heavy on the pickle."

Angel shook his head with a wry smile. "I'll see what I can do. Here." He tossed her a set of keys, the room number inscribed on the tag. "It's mine so don't go getting too comfortable. Cordy left a couple of changes of clothes in her locker in the basement. She won't mind if you borrow something... Actually, she will. She'll probably tear me a new one if... well... when she finds out."

"I won't tell her if you don't."

The woman headed for the stairs.

"Faith?" The escaped felon turned back to see what her only friend had to say. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, well, thanks to the heads-up you gave me it seemed like a good idea to be seen. Come nightfall I better be on the move again. It's only a matter of time before they track down my only visitor other than my lawyer, even if you have moved up in the world since the last address they have for you... but I figured you'd get all grandma if I slid through town without saying hi."

Before Angel could think of a reply she was gone, bounding upstairs with an energy the vampire envied.

* * * * *

"Summers Residence, Bee speaking. Everybody that actually lives here is either really busy, not here or dying so if you'd like to leave a message after the tone, I'll scribble it down and if we get five minutes and it's important and I remember I'll tell someone. Beep."

"What?"

"Beep. Now have you got something to say or not? ...because I really have better things to do than answer the phone to people who don't speak English."

"Who's dying? And who are you?"

"Well who did you think you called? I really don't have time for prank callers." Bee stuck the phone back in its cradle and pulled open the back door. "Rupert? Rupert?" She looked all round the back yard and then balanced on tip-toe, trying unsuccessfully to peer into the adjoining yards. "Rupert! You better come back here now." She looked around again, checking the area for passers-by and then once she was sure that there was no-one who could see her she gave a shiver as if someone had walked over her grave and inhaled deeply through her nose. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she swore under her breath in a particularly guttural demon tongue before turning back to the house. The open bedroom window did nothing to alleviate her suspicions even though with her eyes half-closed she could see the faint shimmer of Tara's energy barrier, just inside it.

* * * * *

Spike ducked from one patch of shade to another until he could make his way underground. The fact that he was fairly certain that at present lifting a manhole cover single-handed was not within his capabilities complicated matters slightly. He had to make his way to a point where a storm drain let out into the river, and he was somewhat discomfited when he finally reached the shade of the sewer system to realise that he had not one but two animals in tow. Pulling off the uncomfortably tight helmet and placing it on the tunnel floor open side up, he turned to berate the animals.

"What the bleedin' hell do you mangy beasties think this is? A casting session for The Incredible Journey? Well, newsflash, I don't think we're goin' to meet Walt Disney. Bugger off, the pair of you!"

Rogue looked guiltily up at him, as if she assumed she'd done something wrong since he was shouting at her but didn't know quite what. Rupert showed his disdain for the vampire's tirade by sitting down and licking his genitals.

The blond gave a disconsolate sigh and picked what seemed like a marginally cleaner section of "wall" to rest against while he lit a cigarette and gathered his strength for the next section of the journey. This day was getting ridiculous. Followed by a dog was one thing, but followed by a dog that was followed by a cat... If this guy actually showed up he was going to have to kill him just to stop word getting out. As he drew deeply on his cigarette he noticed how Rogue kept one paw not quite touching the ground.

Tossing the half-smoked butt aside with a guilty look, he muttered as he knelt to check the dog's leg for broken bones. "Dr William bloody Dolittle an' I don't think."

* * * * *

"Tara?" Bee called out to the witch as she made her way back through the ground floor of the house towards the stairs. "Tara?"

The witch emerged from the dining room where she'd been looking through her notes again. "What's up?"

"You know that nice magical barrier you put up? Is there any way to check Spike's actually inside it?"

Tara dashed for the stairs even as she argued. "But he didn't come down. We'd have seen him."

"Only if he used the stairs and don't you think if he was still in here that there would have been at least a few 'Bloody Hell's... unless that barrier does soundproofing."

Skirting past the bedroom door, Tara headed for the bathroom. The connecting door there opened outwards into the smaller room and Tara had set the barrier on that wall so that it ran just inside the confines of Buffy and Spike's room. She pulled the door open and looked around. When she saw the open window she began the invocation that would dispel the magical energy. The barrier should have prevented Spike from being able to touch the window, let alone open it. He had to have gone before the spell was even cast.

* * * * *

Buffy lengthened her stride to clear the pile of scattered books that lay on and near the path. She pushed her way into the hall, darting toward the stairs just as her cell phone began to ring. She pulled it out of her pocket but let it ring until she had thrown the door to her room open, finding it empty except for Tara and Bee who was in the process of shutting the window.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I thought he was inside. I should have checked."

"He's out there? On his own? In the state he was in this morning?"

The Wiccan nodded. "Only he actually got worse almost as soon as you left."

"Stupid darn vamp... Hello?" She snapped impatiently at the caller on the other end of the line.

"Buffy? What's this about Spike and some voodoo curse?"

"Angel? Who told you about Spike? He's not-. We don't think it's a curse any more."

"Buffy, when I called before I got some madwoman. She said he was dying and then hung up. Then I spoke to his Quarnoth demon and she said he was ill but that he would be alright."

"We found out he'd been poisoned, but we don't know yet what the guy used. Except for the arrow wound, he had every symptom you had three years ago and then some. Look, Angel, he's gone AWOL and he's really not fit to be walking round, let alone heading into whatever trap the guy who poisoned him has set up, but the absolute kicker is that the spirit of Christmas past is back for a return engagement. Now's a really bad time to chat and Lily's only half Quarnoth."

"The First? ...Is after Spike?"

"I thought I just said that. Look, I've really got to go. If we don't find him before he walks into whatever this guy has planned, it might not be suicide, but it'll be close enough. I'm sorry, Angel."

"Buffy, whatever you have to do, do it. Just let me know how it comes out."

"Sure. Bye." Buffy was already dialling the number for her sister's cell before Angel had even replaced the receiver. It never occurred to her that she didn't know why Angel had called in the first place.

* * * * *

The more Angel went over his recent conversation in his mind, the more four words seemed to repeat in his head over and over. If there was the least chance that he was right, the last thing he wanted to do was tell Buffy under the present circumstances. On the other side of the glass that separated his office from the main reception Faith was chatting to Connor between bites of burger, getting the basics of his life from him in her usual teasing way. Angel couldn't quite work out whether she was actually flirting with his son or if she just didn't know another way to talk. At least the teenager had been on his quest to McDonald's when she walked into reception wearing nothing but a very short bath towel. As he pondered the reasonableness of his assumption, Gunn and Fred made their way back into the hotel via the garden, which meant that the car Faith had stolen had been dropped off somewhere out of the way. If it was still there in a few days, Angel would have to notify the police anonymously, but for now it was no longer a problem.

He picked up the phone on his desk and rang through to Lorne's room. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he waited for the demon to answer. "Lorne, I need you to hold the fort. The rest of us are going on a road trip."

Lorne hung up, wiped the sleep from his eyes and opened the room's curtains, blinking in the bright light. "A road trip? In daylight?"

* * * * *

"You're sure that's what he said?" Buffy quizzed her sister.

"I'm not deaf, Buffy. That's what he said. 1570 Maple."

"But there isn't a Maple. I've been all round this town on patrol and there is no street called Maple."

"That doesn't change what he said."

"Buffy..." Bee interrupted.

"What?"

"Not all the 'streets' in Sunnydale are on the maps. The signs are a bit more discreet as in near-invisible and they aren't in English or any other human language for that matter, but as far as Spike... or Clem are concerned they're just as much part of the town as the ones above ground."

"You're telling me that sewers have names?"

"To the right people they do. You can thank Mayor Wilkins for that."

"So where's Maple?"

"I said they have names to the guys who use them. I never said that I was a sewer rat. You want a guide to subterranean Sunnydale, talk to Clem."

* * * * *

Clem lay as still as possible trying not to awaken the woman in his arms. He found it difficult to believe that she had stayed. It was stranger still that he found himself pleased that they had done nothing more than talk and lie together, even though there was a not inconsiderable amount of frustration involved in being so close to an attractive female who was dressed only in her underwear. This wasn't meant to be just a one-night stand. Somehow, the more unhurried progression of their relationship promised a greater emotional intimacy and he told himself yet again that that was more important than any immediate gratification. All his efforts turned out to be in vain, however, when he noticed a gleam of amber through the darkness of her lashes and felt her stretch into wakefulness beside him.

"Hey, you." Ha Nath smiled shyly after greeting him, revealing teeth that were perhaps more pointed than those of an average human but straight and gleaming white, just the same. She ducked her head slightly in her nervousness so that she watched his face through the veil of her hair though she made no effort to move away from him.

He slid a gentle hand under her chin, tilting her head up so that he could press his lips to hers, letting her know she had nothing to be nervous about. "Morning."

Along with the uncertainty the tension left her body and Clem, all too aware of every toned but passive muscle that rested against him, had to remind himself, yet again, that while rolling them both over and screwing her senseless might seem like a reasonable idea, it wouldn't necessarily help the longevity of the relationship.

"You sleep okay?" he asked.

Her smile brightened and she nodded. "Sure. Seems like we fit together pretty good."

A small voice inside Clem muttered, 'if only.' That didn't mean that the answer he gave out loud was any less sincere. "Yeah... I think we do." This time when their mouths met, the caress was anything but chaste and as his fingers stroked the hollows between the folds of skin on her cheek he could sense her desire flare to more than match his own before she pulled back to search his face.

There was a mixture of hope and anxiety in her voice as she sought reassurance from him. "This... the talking and the dancing and the just being together. It means something to you, too? I'm not imagining it? I mean if we... if... I'm not going to look back tomorrow and think I've been some sort of incredibly naive slut. I mean I don't expect you to guarantee happy ever after or anything just-."

Clem placed a finger on her lips. "It-you mean something. I'm not planning on letting you go any time soon."

A slender yellow-skinned hand slid under his T-shirt and Clem found himself rolled onto his back, dainty white teeth nibbling at his ear and a cascade of shimmering mahogany hair smothering his senses as it surrounded him in its fragrant softness. A teasing whisper in his ear made his dick stand even more erect than before. "So, is your skin like this..." The hand under his clothes stroked softly over the folds of his stomach before reversing direction, lifting each fold one by one then letting it fall back into place. "...Everywhere?" Her gaze dropped below his waistline, her meaning, and its significance, very clear.

He gave a slow nod. "Everywhere." Her anticipatory smile was enough to drive him wild and with a growl he reversed their positions so that he could look down into her face, her hair spread across his pillows in disarray.

"Guess it's time I quit poker." He cringed inside as the thought slipped from his lips unbidden but instead of the incomprehension or the adverse reaction he more than half expected, her reply showed they were very much on the same wavelength.

"I'm feeling pretty lucky in love myself."

* * * * *

"So you want Clem to be guide to try find William before he meet this Robin?"

"Yeah, where's best to meet up?"

Lily concentrated on her son's half of the floor above for a few seconds. "I think best you meet me here. I take. I think Clem no need to be there."

Next