Prayers For A Poet

By fetchingmadscientist

Chapter Twenty

Drusilla knew that she had to wait for the right time. If she rushed, things would get all jumbled, and neither Miss Edith, nor she, would get what she wanted. Her Daddy had already promised to help her get back what was stolen from her, so that wasn't the worrisome part. The worrisome part was William. The sprite had burrowed so deep inside of him now, that it was hard to tell where she ended, and he began. Just how did one begin to separate the wheat from the tears, when they were all mingled into one? If she didn't wait until the stars aligned themselves, she might destroy the thing she hoped to save, and, that wouldn't do at all.

True, William would be cross with her, for a time, but he would come to see her way on things, he always had before.

---

"Bit, do you think you could call Red in here, for me?"

"What do you need, Spike? I can get you whatever you need," Dawn said.

"Normally, you'd be the one I'd ask, but what I have to ask about might bring back some unpleasant memories for you. I know the subject brings me nausea, so I don't want to bring you anymore bad feelings, in regards to me."

Dawn looked at Spike's eyes; they looked like they had right before Doc pushed him off the tower. Something clicked, and she understood, "You're scared, aren't you?" she asked, sympathetically.

Spike was chagrined. His Little Bit still knew where all his vulnerable points were. She still knew that, two minutes alone with her, and he was rolling over, like a sodding pup, and exposing his soft underbelly to her, "Yeah, Bit, I am. Drusilla's mind is so full of twists and turns that even I got dizzy at times. I don't like the idea of the Slayer going into this blindfolded, and with her hands tied. Drusilla can be incredibly cruel, at times; learned well from her Daddy, she did. I need to know how far Buffy will go, for me, if she's driven to it."

Dawn remembered the hollow, far away look in Buffy's eyes that day, on the Hellmouth. She'd tried to use humor, the tried and true Scooby way of dealing with staring into the face of Death, but the most she'd gotten out of Buffy was a ghost of a smile. The look on her sister's face made her heart hurt, and the fact that Buffy didn't speak, for hours afterward, only confirmed her worst fears: Spike was dead. Really dead; her best friend was dust, and he wasn't coming back. And she hadn't told him how sorry she was.

Dawn didn't want to tell Spike how Buffy had refused to let the bus move an inch, from the spot where it had stopped, until well into the wee hours of the next morning. She didn't want to tell him, how, after waking up, with a kink in her neck, from a fitful night's sleep, on the bus seat, she found Buffy climbing down into the crevasse, in the desert, that just that morning, had been a small town; had once been her home. Dawn found Buffy frantically digging in the earth with her bare hands. When Dawn called down to her, Buffy's face looked back at her, tear-stained, and anguished, "He could still be here, Dawn," she'd sobbed, digging further into the dirt and debris, "All I have to do is keep digging. Just a little deeper, and I know I'll find him. I know he's here," she whimpered, "He has to be. He promised."

"Promised what, Buffy?" Dawn asked, trying to soothe her sister, and trying not to show her sister how much Spike's death had really affected her.

"He promised he'd never leave me, Dawnie," Buffy's voice became a high-pitched wail of grief, but she never stopped throwing aside handfuls of sand and dirt, "I don't want him to have to dig himself out. I know what that's like, Dawn. I can't leave him here," in the moonlight, Dawn could see the black glow of blood on her hands. She'd dug until her fingers bled, trying to find a love her heart realized too late.

Dawn stayed there, along with her friends, who had gathered at the edge of the gap, silently sending her sister all the love she couldn't give Spike. She'd tried to coax Buffy out of the spot that had become Spike's grave, but she wouldn't come. A part of Dawn wanted to climb down and help her, because it was hard to believe that Spike was really gone.

It wasn't until the sun started to come over the horizon, and Buffy knew that there was no hope, that Buffy climbed out of the gap, sobbing, bleeding, and exhausted, and left him there to rest, forever.

By the look on Dawn's face, Spike could tell she was reliving some very painful memories. Her bright face had aged fifty years, just in the last thirty seconds, "God, Bit, I'm sorry," he apologized.

"No Spike, don't. It's all right," she smiled, "Now that you're here, it all seems like a bad dream."

"Could turn into a nightmare, if Buffy goes in blind. Drusilla may be crazy, but she's patient, when she wants something, she'll wear you down, use every trick in her arsenal, to bring you around to the point where the only way out is the way she's cleared for you. I don't like to think of the things Dru could cook up. Vengeance is her favorite thing. She dances in it," he sighed, "If Buffy's written Dru onto her dance card, in exchange for me, she needs to know the steps."

"Vengeance," Dawn was shocked, "Why would Drusilla want vengeance on Buffy?"

"For what Buffy did, without even trying, Bit," he smiled, sadly, at her, "Stole what had been hers, for over one hundred years."

Dawn nodded, her face matching his, showing a mixture of sadness and joy, at being together again, "You mean your heart, don't you, Spike?"

"Yeah, Bit," he said, "my heart."

"In that case," Dawn heaved a sigh, "Do you remember what you felt like, after Buffy died?"

He did remember. Only his love for Dawn had kept him from walking into daylight. He'd been numb. The only thing that let him know he existed was the nightly patrol, with that cursed Buffybot. And even then, having her image there, close enough to touch, and have it be a lie, ripped his guts out, every night. The thing was insipid, but in an Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole sort of way, he'd needed it with him. Some feeling was better than being numb.

"Yes," even saying the word, brought the pain back.

"You remember, you would have, you did, do everything in your power, to have her back again," Dawn said, "I know you, if you could have, you would have turned the earth, spinning in the opposite direction. Just like the superhero in that movie?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Magnify that by a million, and that's what Buffy, or I, would do for you," Dawn said, tears welling in her eyes, "To have you back."

"Oh God, Bit, I didn't know. If I had known..."

Dawn watched tears creep down Spike's cheeks, "It's going to be okay, Spike. Buffy will be all right."

"I'm terrified for her, Bit," he looked up at her, unable to keep the fear from showing on his face, "Truly terrified. Dru will kill her."


Chapter Twenty-One

Angel knew that it had been a dream. Holland hadn't really been there, but the things he'd said still hurt. And now, with Dru holding Spike's cure over his head, things just went from bad to worse. When he'd made that promise, he would have said anything, up to, and including, pledging his own soul, to Drusilla, just to get the image of Spike, lying on that cold stone, weak and emaciated, because of him, out of his head. And, Dru knew this and used it, to perfection. He smiled at the irony. She was truly Angelus's little girl, learned her lessons well. She was a true work of art, his Drusilla. He should have been proud, and the sick part of this was, his demon was in a corner of his mind laughing. A part of him was proud of her. Drusilla had constructed such an intricate spider web, that every possible move had been planned for, and countered.

Drusilla had the perfect weapon in Buffy's love for Spike. The more Buffy loved him, the more anyone around him cared, the tighter the snare became, until there was no way out. Drusilla was a true woman scorned. A woman with nothing to lose; and, that type of woman was dangerous.

Angel had been unprepared for the feelings the sight of William would evoke in him. Until the moment he'd laid eyes on his immobile, withered frame, Angel couldn't say he'd felt an ounce of kinship with him. The idea of Spike's demise had always been just that, an idea, in the abstract. William, in Angel's mind, had been, and would always be a fighter. He'd always been a nuisance. But, Spike was the kind of nuisance that, in fact, was never a nuisance at all. He was someone you only missed, that much more, when they weren't there.

It wasn't until that moment that he realized that Spike could really die. It was then that Angel realized, maybe for the first time, that he truly loved Spike, and Shanshu or not, Angel didn't want to see him suffer, not for his arrogance and greed.

Drusilla knew this, and she held Spike's existence hostage, in order to get him to help her lay, and trip, her trap for both Spike and Buffy. Without knowing it, Angel had become entangled in Drusilla's web. If he did as Drusilla asked, Spike would live, but Buffy, most likely, would not, and Spike, full of righteous anger and grief, would probably beat him to dust. If he warned them, Drusilla would let Spike slowly starve to death. Because even if Angel fed Spike nightly, until he was dust, nothing would really help, until the serum was cleared from Spike's system, and he was able to take in human blood again. And, that couldn't happen without Drusilla. If Spike died, once and for all, and Buffy found out he had something to do with it, she would stake him. And, surprisingly, he'd welcome it.

This morning, after Buffy had left the hotel to check on Spike's progress, Drusilla had come to him. It was then that Angel realized the scope of her madness.

---

Dawn held Spike as he wept. He was weeping out of fear, and hopelessness. She knew this kind of fear. She'd felt it herself, staring into that big chasm, knowing that the last words she'd said, directly to him, had been threats of violence, "Spike, she'll be all right. You know she will," she smiled, as he released his hold on her, to try and dry his tears, "She kicked your butt, up and down Main Street, more than once. What can Drusilla do, that you haven't tried to?"

He nodded, "But I pulled my punches, even from the beginning, because I didn't really want to see her dead," his eyes widened as his mind caught up with what his mouth had let slip, "And, if you tell her I said that, I will bite you, Bit."

She only smiled, and hugged him. Spike was surprised, "What's this then, Bit?" he asked, returning the gesture, as firmly as his weakened body would allow.

When he saw her eyes again, the adoration would have taken his breath away, "There you are," she said, "I knew you were in there somewhere," she said, as she embraced him again.

Spike closed his eyes, and surrendered, taking in the mixture of dime-store perfume, cherry scented lip gloss, and bubble gum, that clung to her skin, and hair. A scent that he'd taken comfort in before, and now, at this moment, thanked the heavens he could again, "I love you, Dawn. Until the end of the world," he whispered in her ear, and felt the warmth of her love's glow.

"Me too, you," she murmured.

---

"No, Dru, you can't ask me to do that," he hissed, her insane ramblings still ringing in his ears, "I won't do it."

"But, Daddy, you promised," she said, coldly, " And if you don't, Miss Edith still gets her prize," there was a wicked gleam in her eye, "But it will hurt William so much more," she shook her finger at him, and clicked her tongue, "You and I both don't want that. Neither does Miss Edith."

Angel looked at her, hoping there was a corner of sanity left, somewhere in her, he hoped he hadn't driven her beyond the reason of a mother's love, "But, Dru," he pleaded, "hurting him will taint Miss Edith's prize," Angel gave her a sidelong glance, "He'll leave you, out in the cold, if you do this. He'll hate you, and Miss Edith, forever."

"Only for a little while," she said, "He'll see that it was the right thing, in time," she told him, nodding to herself.

"And, how do you convince Buffy to let you do this," he asked, "She's the Slayer, Dru. She'll fight you."

"I know that. She thinks she loves William. I want to see how much. Does she love him enough to give up that precious mote of dust that keeps her floating here?" she paused, and tilted her head, listening to the air speak, "She's overstayed her welcome, and, that's not polite. It's time for her to say goodnight. Miss Edith just wants what was hers once. She was happy once," Drusilla whimpered, "She only wants to be happy again."

"When William knows the price. When he knows what you have done," Angel shook his head, dizzy from her madness, "He'll stake you, you know that."

"If he does, than I'll be with Miss Edith, like I should have been, a long time ago."

Angel paced the small room, "And, if Spike is strong enough to stop you," he pointed an accusatory finger at her, "What happens then?"

Drusilla's tone was confident, "Then we'll all see who it is that William loves, the best."

---

Angel listened to the cadence of her heartbeat, two floors below him, and slowly rising, in the old hotel. He had hoped that she would stay away. The longer she stayed away from Drusilla, and him, the less time Drusilla had to spring her trap. Angel was finally learning from Spike. This time, there really was strength in numbers. As long as Buffy stayed with Spike, and her friends, she was safe. If she were isolated, then Drusilla would make her move.

Buffy should have been with Spike right now, but instead, she was here, coming closer and closer to his door, until she was knocking on it, "Angel, you in there?"

"Yeah," he said, as he opened the door, "Come in."

Buffy walked into the room, then turned to face Angel, "Angel I want to ask you something, about Spike."

"Go ahead," he nodded.

"Angel, ever since the night of the battle, at times, I've been able to hear Spike in my head," she rubbed her temples with her fingertips, as if she were trying to call him up so that he could help her explain things to him, "Yet, I remember, when I had that telepathic ability, from the demon, you said that vampires don't cast a thought reflection," she shrugged, "So, what gives?"

He started pacing the room, "The nearest I can figure is that it's some sort of adrenaline rush," Angel looked at her confused face, "The nearest thing I can think of, in a human, is the rush a mother gets when she knows her baby is trapped under a car, and, who, suddenly has the strength to lift the car off of the child. She has superhuman strength; can do things that would, under normal circumstances, be impossible," he gave Buffy a sad smile, "And, you know, Spike. For him, nothing is out of reach. If any vampire could do what seems impossible, it would be Spike."

Buffy nodded, "I know. Thanks for telling me," she sighed, and turned toward the door, "Now, I'm off to bed, by decree of Spike."

Angel nodded, "You know not to let Dru into your room, right?"

She was incredulous, "Angel, you do know who I am, don't you? Plenty of sunshine to hide in, and she's not crossing my threshold any time soon."

"Good," Angel sighed, as he closed the door.

---

Spike looked at he nauseatingly bright rabbits that adorned his gown, and winced, "Bit," he said, "I realize that this was probably the only thing Harris could pinch, at hospital, but now that I'm a bit more myself, do you think maybe we could go for something a bit more, 'E.R.', and a little less vomit inducing?"

"Sure," Dawn winked, "I'll tell Willow to get you some nice, green scrubs," she shook her head, "Those bunnies were starting to make me sick, no offense."

"None taken," he smiled. "The only thing offensive here, is Harris's fashion sense."

---

Buffy opened her eyes to darkness. The air smelled of metal, and dust. The heat was oppressive. Her chest stung as her lungs drew in the stale air. She had smelled this smell before, felt this kind of heat. The last time she'd smelled this was when she was inside the old factory that Spike and Drusilla had used as a hideout back in Sunnydale.

As Buffy's eyes adjusted, she saw Angel, crouched on the floor, his face smeared with dust. He looked at her, his tears causing white streaks in the dark ash that clung to his face, and hands, "Buffy, I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry."

Buffy woke with a start, and raced the five blocks to Spikes apartment, with her heart in her throat, hoping it wasn't true. Her brain chanted the mantra, "He can't be dead. He can't be dead," in time with the staccato rhythm of her boots on the pavement.

She burst through the door, surprising both Dawn and Spike when she asked, "Spike, are you all right?" she was looking him over with wild, worried eyes.

Spike tried to soothe the emotions that he felt crashing off of her, with a smile, "Aside from this awful gown, I've got on?" he nodded when he felt her heart calm, "I'm fine, Slayer, no worries."

"Thank God," she sighed, in relief.

---

Drusilla smiled to herself, "Soon, Miss Edith," she said, "Soon, we'll make our move. The web is in place, now the thing to do is wait, just a little longer. And, Daddy will be so proud."


Chapter Twenty-Two

She had intended to give the Slayer a trip to the woodshed and then leave. But after seeing the images that ran through William's head, while she was nursing him, Drusilla had changed her mind. Now she wasn't going to be satisfied until she saw the Slayer's blood flowing. Nothing else would do.

She really had wanted to listen to Miss Edith, and make William well again, and leave him to fly. After all, a boy can't stay with his mother forever, no matter how much a mother loved her babies, they all must grow up, and leave the nest.

But then, those sticky sweet images started flashing in William's eyes, and Miss Edith got sad. There were so many things she couldn't have. She knew that. But William made it a little better; he was gentle, as he could be. But in all those pictures that hurried in William's brain, not one of them was of his dark princess. Drusilla had been with him for a hundred years or more, and in the blink of an eye, that sprite had made him forget her. The rage boiled up inside Drusilla. She would pay for wiping her from William's mind. Drusilla would make William remember her again.

That nasty little Slayer had just given her the upper hand. William knew better than to trust a desperate lioness, the little girl, however, had no such insight.

---

Illyria rushed in after Buffy, ready to defend her pet, from further harm.

"Easy there, Blue," Spike rushed to say, watching the murderous glow Illyria aimed at Buffy, "there's no fire, here. She wants to keep me as safe and sound as you do. Stand down, Highness."

"Are you certain," she asked, clearly wary of complying with the request.

"Yes," he nodded, " Leave us, for some time, all right? Take the Bit with you, when you go, would you," Spike looked at Dawn, and smiled shyly, "No, offense, Bit. See what Red can do about the wardrobe, would you?"

"None taken," she nodded, as she pushed Illyria, reluctantly, out the door.

---

Angel sank in his chair, his hand loosely gripping the mug of otter's blood. He shook his head again, trying to figure out when Drusilla had gone completely off the deep end. When he'd brought her to Spike, she seemed to understand that this wasn't about her, it was about Spike's health. Then, after the first feeding, she'd gone from angel of mercy, to screaming banshee of vengeance in a snap.

Angel still couldn't make sense of her murky quagmire of a mind. The only being, on earth, who understood her, was Spike. He wondered just where things had gotten so bad.

A comforting voice came from the doorway, "Yeah, things really seem to be circling the drain, don't they?"

He blinked, "Cordy, what are you doing here?"

She smiled a warm smile, "Come on, I had to keep my guy from imploding, didn't I? Angel, that vision was just supposed to be broad stokes," she was excited, "You weren't supposed to make it come true! It was just a warning, not an established fact," she shook her head, "Geesh, Angel, don't you have any imagination?"

"You know the answer to that question," Angel said, flatly.

She winced, "Yeah, I do. You're pretty much a paint-by-the-numbers kind of vamp," she brightened a little, "Still, this can still work out. You can still pull victory out of Wolfram and Hart's jaws. It doesn't have to be all gloom and doom, here, does it?"

He was too tired, "Cordy, have you been watching, wherever you are? Where's the silver lining here," he asked, "I lost Buffy," he ticked the points off, on his fingers, "I lost my son, twice, I lost you. I lost Fred, and Wesley, Darla and Gunn. And, let's not forget Nina," he shielded his eyes with his hand, "And now, God help me, I shouldn't even care, but I do, now I may lose Spike. I even lost my chance at the Shanshu," his voice betrayed the emotion stirring in him, "So, Cordy, please tell me, how can I make this better?"

She shrugged, "Search me," she smiled, "I used to be a cheerleader, so looking for the good part of a bad situation is sort of a habit," she looked at Angel's scowling face, "Doesn't mean there isn't one," she nodded, "We just have to put our heads together, like we always did, and find one."

---

"Good," Spike sighed, "that heartbeat of yours has gone from a rapid snare drum to a nice, steady base drum. Now, could you please let me hold you? You're shaking like a leaf, Slayer, I can see the gooseflesh from here."

Buffy shuffled over to the bedside, silently praying that he wasn't a dream, that the nightmare that started almost four months ago, with a rainy night, and a clandestine meeting, had finally ended, and that the soft baritone voice and those bright blue eyes were real. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a little voice told her to believe, but the image of Angel covered in ash, was hard to shake, "Now," she said, with a tone of disbelief, "it's my turn to ask you, are you a dream?"

He shook his head, "Nope, this part's real. Whatever it was that caused the stress on that little ticker of yours, though, was not. That, I'm almost certain of."

"Almost?" she asked, sitting, softly, on the bed.

"Well," Spike looked down, almost bashful, Buffy could have sworn he was actually blushing, "I've had a few dreams that would have set my heart racing, if it'd been beating, that is."

Buffy's face was grim, "Any of those dreams of yours feature Angel, in a starring role, covered in your ash?"

"Ah," he nodded, "Can't say I've had that pleasure. Wouldn't give the ponce the satisfaction, as my present condition will attest," he reached to stroke her cheek with his palm, "Slayer dream, you think?"

"Don't know," she confessed, "It scared me, though."

"Scared is good," Spike agreed, "Scared keeps you alive. Especially when it comes time to pay the piper," he said, his eyes level with hers, showing her that he knew what she had been trying to hide.

Buffy tried to evade his laser-like gaze, but he, gently, drew her eyes back to him with a push of his thumb, "Look at me," he said, his voice teetering on a whisper, "I know that Drusilla didn't just, all of the sudden, feel the milk of human kindness start flowing, in the soul I know she hasn't got, and decide to give the 'White Hats' a freebie," Buffy could see his strong gaze brighten a little as he looked at her, "It's you for me, isn't it? That's the 'deal' you made with Dru?"

Buffy nodded, afraid to meet his eyes, "Yeah," she choked, "that was the deal."

Buffy felt Spike start to shake, she didn't know whether it was from anger or fear, or something else, "Oh, Buffy," he growled, through clenched teeth, "If I didn't love you so much, I would let you go, like a lamb to the slaughter," his eyes were a swirl of both amber and blue, Buffy had never seen them like that before, "As it is though, I do love you. I love you too much to just kiss you and send you off to your death..."

Buffy was a little wounded, "Hey, Slayer here, you know!" she interrupted.

"Yes," Spike hissed, "But, you aren't the only one, now, are you? That has to have consequences. Magic always does. You may be just weak enough for Dru to slip in and have that, 'One good day' I shot my mouth off about. And," his eyes gleamed at her, "I'm not letting that happen. If a cage match was part of the bargain, then I'm helping you get ready. No one, not even Angelus, knows Dru better than I do," he nodded firmly, his mind set, "You and I, Slayer, are going to train," he smiled, "It'll be just like old times."

"But Spike," she said, not wanting to douse the fire in his eyes, "I hate to break it to you, but, you can't even stand up. You actually think we're going to go a few rounds with me at full-tilt, and you at...less?"

"What," he winked, "You never heard of a second wind? Well, I just got mine. All we have to do now is wait for Bit to come back with a change of clothes," he shook his head, looking down at the pastel animals on the gown he was wearing, and pinched the cloth out, so that Buffy could see it, then looked up at her with a sad, pleading, face, "Does Harris really hate me this much," he asked, then with a sigh, added, "I just cannot be the 'Big Bad' with a costume emblazoned with psychedelic bunnies!"

Buffy couldn't help it, the look on his face and the tone of his voice, reminded her of a sulking toddler. Buffy knew, that if he could, he would be stomping his foot right now. She tried to stop the tickle from rising in her, but by the time she knew it was there, it was already too late, she started laughing, and she couldn't stop.

"Oh, you'll die all right," Spike was saying, "Of sodding laughter! See, you're giggling already!"

"Sorry Spike," Buffy said, as she clamp her hand over her mouth to try and stop the laughter from escaping, "It's just that, I missed you so much," her eyes shone, "It's so good to have you back."

"That's right. I am back. And, I'm not letting Dru take you for me, so you can forget that, you hear?"

Buffy's mood suddenly dampened, "But, if she knows you're well enough to train, then, won't Drusilla want her payment? It is what I promised."

"Could be a few weeks before we cross that bridge, Pet," he kissed her lips, with a feather soft touch, that made her tremble against his hands, "But, at least now, you've got someone in the trenches with you," he looked in her eyes, and he thought he saw the beginnings of the glowing light he'd seen in his dream, in them, "I love you. You're not alone, in this fight. I've got your back, Slayer."

"That's good to know," she said.

Looking into Spike's eyes, it was easy to see why Drusilla had been attracted to him, all those years ago. The light, burning in his eyes, was so warm and inviting, so all encompassing, that Buffy would have done anything to have it. This was the kind of light that warmed you, even with it's dying embers. Now, she understood why Drusilla had turned the young man that William was, instead of just feeding on him. And, she silently thanked her. Without her, Buffy might never have gotten the chance to see what real love looked like. The kind of intensity she was seeing would be the perfect weapon. Those eyes could look into someone's soul, and pull out even the most well guarded secret, without even lifting a finger.

Buffy tried to swim against the waves of love she saw and found her voice, "How did you know?" she asked.

He sighed, "I know what I would have done, if it had been you," his eyes softened, as his voice gained strength, "After that night at the tower, I spent months, running up and down that infernal thing," he grimaced at the memory, "I must have done it thousands of times, over and over again, at times, until just before sunrise. There were times when Nibblet would have to talk me down, and get me to safety, because I wouldn't save myself. I was always trying to push myself, even though my bones hadn't healed from the fall, I didn't care. I had to find that fraction of a second, the time that I let slip through my fingers, I had to have it back, so that I could save you. I was desperate, for a long time. I didn't see how desperate I had become until I saw the reflection of it, in Bit's eyes," he gestured toward the closed door, "I saw that look, again, just now, in her eyes. I knew you were desperate enough to do almost anything," he nodded knowingly, "I knew from experience. I took an educated guess."

Buffy sighed and shook her head, giving up the fight against the tears, "I'm clear as glass, aren't I," she blinked to see him clearly, "I don't know why I even try to hide from you," she inhaled, gathering her courage, "You're right, I am desperate. I have been, ever since everything, and everyone," she felt the grief tearing at her throat as she fought to remind herself that he was real, and he loved her, " I ever cared about got sucked into a giant hole," she sniffed back the tears, and looked at his quicksilver eyes, "I can still taste the dust in my mouth. It made me sick to my stomach, but I needed it, because it reminded me of you."

Spike fell back against the pillows, suddenly overcome with revulsion at the turmoil he had put her through, needlessly, "Buffy, I'm so sorry," he gulped, " I'm sorry. I thought seeing you again would diminish me, and my sacrifice somehow, in your eyes."

"Diminish," she was aghast, "has the lack of plasma cooked your brain cells? Did coming back from the grave, after the tower," she swallowed hard, "Did that diminish what I did," her voice lowered to a whisper, "in your eyes?"

"No," Spike said, in a sad whisper, "Buffy, don't ever think that."

"Then why would you?" she asked.

"I love you," Spike confessed.

Buffy looked down, shyly, "Yeah, like I haven't heard that before."


Chapter Twenty-Three

Dawn came back from the uniform store, she didn't think Spike would let her steal anything again, after her foray into the world of larceny, even if it was for him, with Willow. There was nothing in the forest green family, so she'd chosen a robin's egg blue shade, that she thought matched Spike's eyes. And, it didn't have cartoons on it, so that was a plus.

She saw Riley, standing in front of Spike's door, watching to make sure, nothing happened to him, "Hey, Riley," she said, lounging against the aging brick façade of the building, squinting to protect her eyes from the sun, "How are things going?"

"All quiet, right now," he said, "But that's pretty much par for the course for vampires," Riley smirked, and looked over his shoulder at the door, "Vampires who aren't Spike, that is. There have been rumblings. But, no offense, I am not looking in there. The idea of Buffy and him being together," he made a face that reminded Dawn of how her sister looked the last time she cooked dinner, for the two of them. Buffy was sick for a week, "it still is disgusting to me."

"Then, why are you helping?" Dawn asked.

"Because, I owe him," Riley said, "not only did he save the world from being overrun by a sub-species of vampires, he also saved me from a pretty dangerous addiction. Though, at the time, I was more concerned with the fact that he'd ratted me out, to my girlfriend," he sighed, "Then, he proceeds to do things that I really don't want to know about, with the aforementioned girlfriend. Which, still gets my bile up. But, I do owe him," he shrugged, "So, here I am."

"Oh, life's funny, huh?"

"Yeah," Riley agreed, "it's a real laugh riot, Dawn. If you want to go in, I suggest you knock first."

She nodded, and knocked on the door, "Buffy, Spike, it's me, Dawn. I've got some brand new clothes for you, Spike."

---

Buffy reluctantly left to answer the door, "Thanks Dawn," she said, taking the bundle of clothes from her sister.

"No problem. They didn't have any green that wouldn't make you look dead though, Spike," she smiled, "so I went with the blues. I think it kind of matches your eyes. I got the ones I thought would fit. You're kind of...,"she felt the heat of his gaze, from the doorway, "smaller than I remember," she looked at Buffy, hoping she would see that she hadn't meant to upset Spike, but, it was the truth, " I hope they fit."

"Thanks, Bit, I'll be needing a loose fit anyway. Don't want to aggravate the skin too much, if it can be helped," the tone in his voice told Dawn that he understood, completely, "Now, if you'll call Finn in here, we can get down to business."

The look on Buffy's face, as she held up a finger, telling Dawn to wait, said that this was unexpected. Buffy shut the door, quietly, then turned and looked, sadly, at Spike, "If you need help, Spike, I want to give it. You don't have anything I haven't seen before, and in worse shape than it is now, I bet."

"Yeah," Spike nodded, "I know. But, like you said, before I couldn't argue. Now I can, and unlike the demon, the soul makes me a touch more modest," he closed his eyes, praying she would understand, and drop the subject, "And, I don't want you to see me like this. I need to get cleaned up, and this could take a while. I don't want you to see me struggling to reach the loo."

"Spike, I understand. Believe me, I do," Buffy sat on the bed again, so that Spike could see that she meant what she said. She took his hands in hers, and gave them a gentle squeeze, to show him how deeply she felt, "But I need to do this," she bit her lip, looking at his burned hands. The sight of his damaged skin, reminded her of her own scar; the one she'd received that morning, on the Hellmouth, in another fire, "I need to do this," she continued, "in case I can't later," she said, knowing he would understand what she was implying.

Spike's gaze, and voice turned as cold as blue steel, "There will be a later," he said, the chill in his voice forced Buffy to look up at him, "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she tried to soothe his nerves, with a quiet voice, "I know. But, later has never been a good time for us. So, I have to do this now," Buffy gave him a sly grin, "Of course, if you're afraid I might take advantage of you, we can call Riley in here."

"No," he sighed, in acknowledgement of his defeat, "that won't be necessary, Pet," he shrugged, indicating his total, and complete trust in Buffy, "I'm at your mercy."

"Oh," Buffy cooed, dreamily, "this could be fun," she said, looking into Spike's jubilant eyes.

---

Buffy turned off the faucet, checking to make sure that the water was cool enough for Spike. She didn't want the water to aggravate, or overheat his body. The water was pleasantly cool. Too cold for her, but for a vampire, it was perfect.

She straightened up and called out to Spike, "The water's ready, Spike," she appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, and looked at him, her face soft, "How do you want to do this? Do you think you could stand, and walk, or, do you need me to help you?"

Spike shook his head, and hissed in a breath, "Wish I could do this under my own power, but I'm worse off than I was when the First batted my insides around. I'm going to need you to help me. I don't think I'll be able to take baby steps until Dru gets here, at sunset."

Buffy looked at her watch, "Sunset is at 7:30," she said, " That gives us seven hours to make you a little more presentable."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dawn wanted to talk to Willow, but didn't want to take the chance of running into Drusilla, so she had asked Willow to meet her in Saint Benedict's. Dawn kind of liked the cool dimness of the sanctuary. It kind of reminded her of Spike's crypt. She'd felt safe there, and now that Spike was getting better, she was starting to feel safe again.

Dawn knew that Spike knew she had a crush on him, but like the weird vamp he was, he never took advantage of that fact. He never hurt her, intentionally. But she had; she'd hurt him, bad, and she'd done it on purpose.

She was so sorry for that she couldn't begin to tell him how much.

---

Buffy tried to be strong as she gently pressed the cool cloth to his skin. He had actually let the soothing circles lull him into sleep. She knew that this was the first real rest he'd had in months, and she was glad that she was able to provide him, even a little, comfort.

She tried not to pay attention to the discolored blotches on his skin, but they crowded her vision. His skin was a mosaic of different colors, all of which were unnatural, for him. Where the skin wasn't black it was purple and red, the kind of red that hurt, even to look at. The kind of red that comes from a wire brush, pressed too hard, and too fast, against sensitive skin. Some of the wounds hadn't closed properly, too long without human plasma, she supposed. She hoped that the rippling effect, in the water, caused by her movements, did not cause him any discomfort. Buffy had almost cried at the sight of him, but Spike had assured her that, after this evening's feeding, he would be back to a more appealing form.

She hated to wake him, "Hey Spike, time to get out, before you start to look like an old prune," she tried to let the smile reach her voice, but it didn't quite make it.

His eyes opened, "Give us a minute, Pet. This is very...soothing. Like what I remember from childhood. I may not cast a reflection, but I do have eyes, Pet," he sighed, and his shoulders rose, and fell, with the effort, "I know I look awful. Being wrinkled, like a prune, might be an improvement."

"Okay," she said, with a pout, "Just five more minutes and then I'm coming in after you," she teased.

"Promises, promises, Pet," he purred, "I noticed a few more scars on you, too, Pet," he nodded toward the hand that held the wet cloth, "Like that scar on your hand, where did that come from? Some nasty thing take a chunk out of you?"

"This," she said, as she rubbed the scar absent-mindedly, "came from Sunnydale. That day," Spike's eyes were intrigued, and bid her continue, "We held hands, Spike," his eyes widened, "Before I left, I held your hand, and it caught fire, like you did."

He reached over to take her hand in his, running his fingers lightly over the raised, white skin, that marred her golden tone, "We did that," he asked, in wonder, at her nod, his expression changed to one of mischief, "Told you we made heat, Pet. Now, here's the proof I was right, all along."

He stretched his neck up, and she leaned over to kiss him, "All right, 'Mister Heat Miser,' time to make you all pretty for Mummy."

"Will do, Pet," Buffy was about to leave, but Spike held tight to her hand, keeping her there, "Thank you, Pet. For this," he looked as if he'd just been given a gift he thought he didn't deserve to have, "It was...nice."

"You're welcome Spike. But, I didn't do all that much."

"You did, Buffy," he nodded, "You did more than you know. I love you," he smirked, "in case I haven't told you lately."

"Ditto, Spike," Buffy smiled, "until the end of the world."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Drusilla was no fool. She knew what the fates had in mind for her. She'd seen it, and she was not afraid. What had to be, had to be, and there was no hiding from it. Hiding only made the fates chase you down. Hiding only made them angry. She knew that, too, her Daddy was an example. He had been running from his fate for over a hundred years, and now, he was tired, and the fates were catching up with him, no matter how hard he ran.

She was only trying to be a good mother, and help her child get rid of the sickness that he had inside of him; a sickness he didn't know he had. The sickness made William blind to how weak it made him. Drusilla knew that she, and Miss Edith, could save him, even if the fates caught up with her soon after, some day, William would know she was right.

Miss Edith reminded her that she was neglecting her guest; it had been so long since she hosted a proper tea, she was a little out of practice, as to what was expected. She turned toward her guest, "It has been so long since I have had the chance to entertain visitors," she said wistfully, "The last gentleman caller that graced my parlor, was my William," her guest nodded, empathetically, "and he was so patient with me, that I could have had the most appalling manners, and he would not have said a word," Drusilla wrung her hands with worry, " Am I doing it right? It's been so long, sometimes I forget things."

Holland's voice was pleasant, "Oh, don't worry, Drusilla," he said as he sipped his cup of Earl Grey, politely, "the tea is just fine. And, I'm sure a lady, such as yourself, never forgets how to be a lady."

---

Dawn and Willow sat together, enjoying the way the light, coming into the sanctuary as people, carefully, came and went, chased the shadows, making beautiful lace patterns of light on the wall.

Dawn silently thanked whoever was watching after her, because the small shadow play on the wall, brought her the words she needed, "He's kind of like that. You know what I mean, Willow? Spike's both light and dark, at the same time. Taken separately, they both can hurt, but if they're mixed together, in the right way, they can be something wonderful. I don't understand how Angel can claim that the bad things that he did, weren't his responsibility. Spike's not a different person now; he's the same Spike he's always been. He's just Spike, with a soul; in fact, he wouldn't have that soul, if he hadn't realized that it was he who tried to do that awful thing to Buffy that night, and tried to make it right, somehow. Spike knew he was the only one who'd done it. How does Angel get off saying that the things he did weren't his fault? Angel and Angelus aren't two separate people, so why does he get a free pass?"

Willow took a deep breath before she jumped into that mess. For such a small girl, Dawn thought some pretty big thoughts. Maybe it was a side effect of being an eternal Key, "I don't know, Dawn," Willow said, wondering how to put this into words that didn't sound self-serving, "maybe making the things he did separate in his mind, made them easier to deal with," she held Dawn closer, "I know that, if I could I would pawn off what I did as dark-eyed Willow on someone else," she looked down, and whispered the rest, "but I can't. It was me, and I know that," Willow's voice got stronger, " I think Angel's been running from what he did, for a long time," she shook her head, in commiseration with Dawn's confusion, "But, no one can run forever. Sooner or later, it all will catch up with him," her mind went over the events of the past few months, "Maybe it's already started," she said.

---

Spike had said that if he wasn't careful, he'd get swallowed. And now, here he was, in the belly of a monster that was using him to do something horrible to the only family he had left, with no idea how to get out, or even if it was possible to escape. He had, indeed, been swallowed, and it had happened so slowly that he hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

He shook his head again, pacing by the curtained window, "Cordy, there's no way out of this," he said, grimly, "If I help, Spike could die. If I don't help, Buffy could die, and Spike could die. And, if he doesn't, he'll probably wish he had, and then he'll kill me. This is just like that cube puzzle with the different colors on each side, that you're supposed to mix up, and then put back together again. It's all so intertwined and mixed up that there's no way to put it back the way it was; no way to solve it," Angel sank back into his chair, exhausted and frazzled.

"Take it easy, Angel," Cordy said, trying to help him see that, maybe, there was a way for things to be all right. She didn't really see it, but that wasn't why Angel had brought her here. She was here to help him, and she was going to try, because that is what he needed right now. The Powers were counting on her to help Angel see the pinpoint of light in the dark fog that blocked his vision, "Maybe you're not the key here, Angel," she was saying, "Maybe Spike is the one we should be watching here."

Angel was flummoxed, "Cordy," he said, "right now, Spike couldn't even swat a fly. Just how is he going to fight?"

"You're right," Cordy nodded, "as of now, physically, Spike is weak. But, he's getting stronger the longer Drusilla's here. And, if it comes down to a battle of wits, with Dru, no offense, Angel, but Spike's the one I'd put my money on, not you," she smiled, as something just occurred to her, "Angel," she asked, "just who was it that you signed your life away to?"

"The Circle of Black Thorn," Angel answered.

She nodded, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, "And, how many members are there left?"

---

Buffy hated to cause him anymore pain, but he was right, he couldn't help her fight if he didn't feel comfortable. If being comfortable meant enduring some pain, she knew Spike could take it. After all, what's a little searing pain after nearly being incinerated...twice?

"Sorry, Spike," she hissed in sympathy, as she watched his face contort in agony as the cloth brushed lightly against his traumatized skin.

"It's all right, Slayer," he groaned, "A little pain," he gritted his teeth as Buffy guided his feet into the trousers, "cleanses the soul," he was calmed a bit by the rhythm that sounded through him as he leaned against her as she slid the trousers past his hips.

The little respite he had was shattered when she knelt in front of him to tie the drawstring at his waste. The demon inside was pounding in his skull; the man was dizzy with desire, her pulse pounded in his brain. The scent of her was driving him mad. He knew, that, if he hadn't been in such a weakened state, the demon would have overtaken him, and that night in her bath would have happened all over again.

He stopped that train of thought. No, he thought, you're the better man. You can control the beast. It doesn't rule you. He stilled her hands, "Pet," he said, gently, hoping she wouldn't notice how close he was to falling over the edge of reason, "best to let a man do up his own trousers, yeah?"

She looked up at him, with shimmering green eyes, "You're sure," she asked.

"It doesn't take all that much energy to tie a knot, Love," he sighed, "I think I can handle that much on my own."

"Well," she hesitated, but something in Spike's eyes told her not to push the issue, "if you're sure," she said, as she stood up.

Spike nodded, slightly, grateful that she had let the conversation drop, "Certain sure, Pet," he told her, "Thank you," his voice was suddenly weaker than he would have wanted it to be, an indication of the tumult going on within, " for trying to help."

"Don't thank me, Spike," she shook her head, at the way their roles had been reversed. There was a time, in the not-so-distant past that she had been the bruised and battered one, and he was her nurse. The only difference was, her injuries hadn't been as obvious, to anyone but him. "I haven't even begun to repay the debt I owe you."

Spike marveled at the tiny woman who held so much power, yet could be as fragile as fine crystal. He loved her so much it was hard to find the words to express just how much, "Buffy," he said, "whatever it is you think you owe me, please, consider the account pain in full."

---

There was a knock at the door. Angel looked at bedside clock, still an hour until sundown, this was unexpected. Anyone who knew he was here, knew better than to disturb him until just before sunset, when he would leave to escort Drusilla to Spike's apartment, for his next feeding. The only reason, he could think of, why anyone would be here, at this time of day, was if there was some kind of emergency.

The dread, of that thought, alone drove him to the door, "Is there something wrong with Spike?" he asked, as he opened the door.

Holland Manners shrugged his shoulders, "I honestly couldn't answer that question, Angel," he said, coolly, "But, isn't it strange how great minds think alike? Spike is just who I wanted to speak with you about," he said, as he pushed his way, without much resistance from a shocked Angel, into the apartment.

"If anything's happened to him," Angel fumed, "If you've done anything to him, I swear," Angel growled, grabbing Holland by the lapels of his Brooks Brothers suit, " I will find a way to bring you back to life, just so that I can have the pleasure of killing you all over again."

"My, my," Holland said, calmly, barely phased by Angel's show of force, "such fatherly protectiveness. How the worm has turned," he chuckled.

Angel tossed Holland against his leather sofa, "You came to talk," he bit out, "so talk. Then, get out, you disgusting parasite."

"Name calling does nothing to foster goodwill, Angel," Holland said.

"There's nothing good about any of this, Holland," Angel snapped.

"Ah," Holland said, smugly, "That's why I like you. You don't fuss around, right down to business. Now that we've gotten the idle chatter out of the way, we can get down to why I'm here."

"And, why is that?" Angel hissed.

Holland shook his head, "It's your wayward grandchild, Angel. It's Spike. Something has to be done, before he ruins everything we've built."

---

Buffy wanted to make him as comfortable as possible, as she placed him gently on his small bed, "You okay, Spike?" she asked.

Spike tried, unsuccessfully, to fight the wave of bitterness that swelled in him, at the indignity of being carried around, like a child, "I'd be better if I didn't have to have you cart me the five feet from my loo to my bed," he grumbled.

"Spike, I really don't mind," she said, patiently, "And, anyway, Drusilla will be here," she looked at her watch, "in about forty-five minutes. So," she winked at him, and put on a fairly decent imitation of his speech pattern, "no worries, mate."

Spike groaned, and covered his eyes, while at the same time trying to control the loud guffaw that threatened to take control of him, "Buffy, please, don't mutilate the English language any further."

Buffy stopped speaking. She was so quiet that Spike had to look at her, just to be sure she was still in the room. When he did look at her he found her grinning like the Cheshire cat, bouncing like a coiled spring, "I knew I could get a grin," she said, "Don't try to hide it. I know you want to laugh. Go ahead," she said, "This may be a one time offer. You may never get the chance to laugh at me again, without getting a punch in the nose. So, live it up, while you can."

"Oh, Slayer," Spike sighed as he let the laughter roll through him, "you say the sweetest things."

---

"So you see the dilemma," Holland said, "He's a wildcard. Unpredictable. The firm has tried to plan for every contingency here; but he's the one factor that's fluid in this equation."

"You don't control me," Angel hissed, eyeing him menacingly.

Holland smiled, an eel's smile, "That's where you'd be wrong, Angel. We've had, any threat you would have posed, to our operation, neutralized for some time. Now, don't you think it's about time you escorted the lady, Drusilla, to her engagement for the evening?"

---

"Just how will you keep Drusilla from knowing that you're going to help me prepare to fight her, Spike?" Buffy asked.

"That's easy, Pet. All I need do, is remind myself how Angelus took advantage of your desperation and grief, to try and claim someone whose heart doesn't belong to him."

Buffy's eyes widened, " Spike, I told you, I did that so that you wouldn't hurt me, when you were out of your head," her voice was gaining pitch, "Please, Spike, don't be angry."

"I'm not angry at you, Buffy," he assured her, "Angelus, however, receives no such courtesy," Spike looked at her stricken face, "Buffy," he said, "he took advantage of you, and of me. He used our mutual grief to keep us apart, for as long as he could. Then, when he couldn't keep us apart, he thought he would use the vampire pecking order to do it. All in the guise of being the benevelent Angel he thinks he is. Makes me want to heave," he said, with disgust, "Before this is over, he'll know who the real champion is around here, if he doesn't know already. You can be sure of that, Pet," Spike said, as he gave Buffy a reassuring kiss, "Now, no worries," he winked, "Put your game face on, Pet. Drusilla will be here soon, and she can be cool as a snake. Best not to get bit."


Chapter Twenty-Six

Drusilla watched from the safety of her hotel suite as the last blush of daylight faded into dusk. Her Daddy would be here soon. She flittered around the room, making sure everything was in place.

She ran her hands over the carved wood case that contained the bauble and opened it, to be certain that it was safe. She admired the rainbow of light that she could still see playing inside the small space. Drusilla still didn't know how this little, delicate thing was going to help bring her William back to her. The ether was a wicked thing. It was hard to grasp things that couldn't be grasped. But, Holland told her that this would help her be a mother again. He had been such help before that Drusilla saw no reason to disbelieve him, now. Just how this would work she wasn't sure. But, she knew that if she waited the unknown things would come to her.

---

Angel strode down the carpeted corridors of the hotel with purpose. How dare Holland imply that he was not his own man. How dare that little eel slither in here and tell him that he was a puppet. Okay, so there was that time that he actually was a puppet, but that was beside the point. No one controlled him. He was his own man. He was a champion, and before this was over, Holland would know it.

He arrived at the mahogany door, and knocked. A familiar face, adorned with an eye patch, answered the door.

"Come in, Angel," he said as he stood back from the door.

Angel came into the room and came face to face with a sea of faces. All of whom counted themselves as Spike's friends. Although, some of them did so more reluctantly than others, there was no denying that they were here because, in one way or another Spike helped them at one time. Now, they were just returning the favor.

He acknowledged them all with a curt nod, "Ready to do this?"

"Yes," Riley said, as he checked, and shouldered is tranquilizer gun. He led the parade of rag-tag people on the march down the hall to Drusilla's room.

---

"I've got a confession to make," Buffy said, her eyes downcast and her hand reaching into the pocket of her dungarees.

"What's that?" Spike asked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"I've had a kind of security blanket. I've used it for about a year now. Now that you know that I've needed something I haven't needed since I was a child," she looked up at him, "Still respect me?"

"I always did like Mr. Gordo," he said, "It takes a strong woman to admit she needs help. And, you are the strongest woman I know. What is this 'security blanket' of yours, Pet?"

Buffy was embarrassed. As she slipped her fingers around the object in her pocket, she wasn't sure how he would react to seeing it again. Let alone the fact that she had kept it with her after he was gone. She remembered shoving it into a box with Willow's candles, only to fish it out later. That day, on the bus, she had taken it out of the duffel of Spike's things. The duffel stayed, silently waiting for its owner's return. But, he never did. Seeing the little cloth bag, so forlorn without its owner, made her heart ache. So she decided to adopt some of his orphan belongings.

"This is my pride and joy," she said fishing the chrome plated lighter out of her pocket, "Or at least it was. Now that you're here, it's yours again." She placed the lighter gently in his hand.

Spike felt the weight of the lighter in his hands. It had been a long time since he held it in his hands, but his fingers closed around it as if it had never left. As if it was a part of him.

Spike's eyes tilted in contemplation of the lighter, and Buffy, "Is this..." he sighed, disbelievingly.

"Sure is," she nodded.

"Oh," he choked, "good to know my trinkets were safe."

---

Drusilla waited for her gentleman caller. He was to arrive at dusk, and she had just watched the last rays of daylight be chased away by the pretty shadows. Soon the stars would be singing to her, and she would be able to help her boy be strong again. Mr. Manners had promised.

The firm, strong rapping on the door brought Drusilla out of her reverie. With a flourish and a rustle of her skirts, she opened the door. There she saw her Daddy, looking stern, and cross.

"Daddy," she whimpered, "that sour face spoils the game before it's even started."

"Drusilla," Angel scowled, "I am in no mood," he grabbed her by the arm and hissed, "Let's get this done."

It was then that Drusilla noticed her armed escort. "My," she squealed, "all this pomp and circumstance for such a little girl?"

"It was the only way to make sure that Spike would get what he needs from you," Angel said.

"Tisk, tisk, Daddy. Do you really think I'd put William in danger?" she pouted.

Angel nodded to his companions, "They're here to make sure you don't."

---

"Well," Buffy smiled, "don't you look great! Almost as good as new."

"Almost," Spike smirked, "I have to admit, I never really gave the blue hues a chance. After one hundred years of black, it's just easier to go with what you know."

Buffy was finally beginning to relax a little. Things were going to get better. She was finally starting to believe. "A little more of that good old mother's milk, and you will be back on the prowl in no time."

"Let's hope so, Pet. This idleness is starting to make me stir crazy."

There was a very distinctive knock at the door. Buffy opened it to reveal Drusilla, flanked, on either side by the new and improved Scoobies.

"Well," Buffy said, over her shoulder, to Spike, "I hope your ready, because I think it's show time."

---

The sun had risen hours ago. Drusilla was taken weakened and paler than normal, from the stress of the feeding, by Angel and the majority of the others, back to her hotel room.

The blood had helped. Now Spike looked near to perfection. There was even some dark peach fuzz on his head that Buffy supposed would pass for hair. Who knew that Spike had honey brown hair under all that peroxide?

There were still some scars that hadn't healed. Buffy supposed that they were permanent. A kind of reminder of the journey he'd been through, as if she and he needed any reminders.

The others had retreated back to 'Scooby Central,' so now all that was left to do was wait for Spike to wake up.

As if on cue, Spike opened his eyes, that looked extremely rested, and looked at her. The mischief in his eyes was something she had missed.

"Hey," Buffy said, stoking his cheek.

"Hey, yourself," Spike purred.

"How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly well. Want to dance, Pet?"

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It didn't happen often in sunny Los Angeles, but it did happen. Storm clouds were gathering, in more ways than one. Angel could see the dark clouds swirling in the sky. He felt cold. Down to his core, he felt cold. The cold had been his only companion for so long that he didn't think he could recognize anything else.

That was until Spike showed up. Then, he began to feel something other than cold. He felt heat, boiling up from his toes and eating away at his heart. The heat should have warmed him but it only burned him through and through. He wondered how Spike could survive for as long as he had with a flame so bright inside of him that Angel could warm himself with just the echoes that he saw in Spike's eyes.

Angel had existed long enough that he'd seen that glow before. Spike wasn't unique. He'd tried to warm himself, long ago, in the shadows of Darla's light. He tried to bask in the borrowed light of Buffy, Fred and Cordy. But, that only left him shivering in the cold of their light's reflection. He had tied to find a resonance for his emptiness in the wake of the love of James and Elizabeth. But, all their love did was remind him of what he has been missing since he'd closed his eyes to Darla. He'd lost something he didn't even know he'd had until it was gone.

Spike wasn't the first, and Angel knew he wouldn't be the last to show him how incomplete he really was.

Outside, the thunder rumbled and crashed through the sky. Angel watched as lightening ripped a line of light through the darkening, grey skies. He watched as the droplets of water started their lazy path down the glass of his window. They came slowly at first, and then as the storm gathered strength, the water seemed to throw itself against the glass. It was as if the water wanted to do anything it had to, to escape the turmoil that Angel knew was coming.

Outside it rained. And, inside, Angel was cold.

---

Buffy pushed Spike gently in the chest, "Take it easy, Spike. You haven't used your muscles in months. Just rest for a little while longer. If you take on too much, and hurt yourself, you won't be able to help me fight Drusilla."

"And, if I wait," Spike closed his eyes in trepidation, "I don't even want to think about it. I don't have the time to be mollycoddled, Slayer," the weight of his words showed in his voice, and on his face, " I don't have the time. And neither do you. Now, if you don't mind," Spike was pushing his bed linens aside, and trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed, "help me up."

Buffy shook her head looking at him with pity, "Spike, just wait ten minutes..."

There was a flame of disgust in his eyes, "Don't look at me like that, Slayer! I spent months holding on to the memory of your eyes. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me from going mad. The idea that you were somewhere in the world; that those eyes of yours were, maybe, seeing the stars that I looked at every night kept me going, not just after the fiasco in that alley, but before. I remembered your eyes," his voice shook with emotion, " And, in all that time, on all those nights, I have never seen you pity me, until now."

Buffy was hurt, " Spike," she whimpered, trying not to let the venom sting her, "I didn't mean to..."

"I know, Pet," he hung his head, ashamed of his own anger, "just help me up. Please?"

Buffy knew that there was no use fighting him. Once he put his mind to something he wouldn't quit until it was accomplished. No matter how long it took and how much pain he had to go through to do it, if he wanted it bad enough, it got done.

"Okay," she conceded, " but you'll lean on me, if you need to, won't you?"

"Yeah, Pet. I promise."

---

A representative from the Home Office, if one cared to look back through history, was behind every despot and mass-murdering psychopath, as if there were any other kind, of any consequence. Granted, the handling of the Angelus file didn't mean upward mobility for Holland Manners, but someone had to handle this. Someone who could be subtle, who could deliver the death knell, with a velvet glove and deliver it in such a way as to be unnoticed until the hammer had long since fallen. Holland was certainly qualified. He'd been deep in this assignment for years. Getting killed didn't let him off the hook; it just made his job much easier. After all, who needed to plant listening devices when one of your best agents was, essentially, incorporeal and could slip in and out, at any time, virtually, undetected.

Of course Holland would accept the bonus the Home Office offered him for completing this assignment ahead of schedule. He would be a fool if he did not. Although, he had to admit, he would have done this, at no charge, just to see the look on Angel's face.

Holland checked the calendar and took note of the projected end date for the "Sisyphus Project," as it was called around the office, and nodded, silently pleased with himself. He put the slim leather volume back in his breast pocket, and said, "We're ahead of the timetable. Nothing works better than an 'unscheduled' apocalypse to move things along at a good clip."

---

Watching him slowly prowl the room, Buffy could have jumped for joy. He hadn't been on his feet a whole ten minutes and he was already networking. She was almost jealous of the recipient of that smooth talk and those honeyed words, "I couldn't be more surprised myself," he said into the phone, "You're a bit of all right, George. How soon can you hire it," the elevated eyebrow showed that even he was impressed, "You remember the address, don't you? That's right. See you soon," he said as he hung up the phone.

"George isn't some fat old guy, is he?" Buffy asked, suddenly remembering that that tone was reserved for persons of the female variety.

"No, she's a little girl from Wolfram and Hart's motor pool. She's a genius with an engine. She can make an auto do things you've never thought were possible," he stopped when he saw Buffy's eyes glaze over. When she looked like that, Spike knew it was time to shut up, "And, I'm waxing a bit too poetic about someone who's not you, aren't I?"

At least he had the decency to look sheepish, "Kind of, yeah," she admitted.

"Sorry. It's just that, when I was a ghost, I didn't have many friends, aside from Fred. She was someone who didn't mind me popping in to see her on occasion. She got sacked before all the ugliness started," he smirked devilishly, " Started her own garage, with my help."

Buffy hated to encourage him, but the look on his face was too delicious. She smiled to herself, now she was even starting to talk to herself like him, "I'm almost afraid to ask."

The smirk got bigger, "Good instincts. I nicked some of Angel's best cars for her to tinker with," he shook his head at how gullible Angel was, "I kept telling him I'd wrecked the ones he'd lent to me. He never asked questions, he just let me have another whenever I asked. It was like Christmas."

"And," Buffy asked, shyly, "George isn't some old demon, right?"

"No. She's human. A bit on the young side," he paused to take in the flush of Buffy's cheeks, "But then, I am over one hundred and thirty, so young's relative, isn't it?" he smiled, he couldn't help it, Buffy looked so sweet, all flushed like she was now, "Why do you ask," he grazed her cheek with the knuckles of his hand, "You know it's you I love, right?"

The look in his eyes told her he was telling her the truth, "Yes."

---

It had taken some time to get all the players in their proper positions. Some of the groundwork for this project had been laid centuries ago. It was finally all coming into place.

Holland opened his umbrella as he exited the limousine. Today was one of the few days that allowed him to engineer things in the daylight hours. Just a few more hours, and they'd all be in the right place at the right time. Then, the real play could start.

As he entered the hotel, he shook his umbrella dry, and headed for Drusilla's suite.

Holland had been concerned about the guard that would, most assuredly, be placed at her door. But, he needn't have worried. The sentinel had fallen asleep. And, there wasn't much chance of him seeing anything anyway, he did have only one eye, and that was tightly closed, in sleep.

He gently rapped on the door, "Drusilla," he called, "we must go now if we're to get there on time. Mustn't be late, you know."

Drusilla opened the door, clearly confused, "Holland? But, it's not moonrise yet," she rubbed her eyes, sleepily, "And, I'm ever so tired."

"I know. But, it's raining, so no need to worry about that nasty old sunshine, at the moment," he smiled at her, "There's a nice, fancy car, with dark windows, outside for you and I to ride in," he held his arm for her to take, "Come on."

"But," she pouted, "I'll get wet."

"I thought of that," Holland said, showing her his umbrella.

"Oh, that's so thoughtful," she said, taking his arm, and gliding past her sleeping watchman.

---

"Well, I'll be damned," Georgina said, as she hugged him, "I never thought I'd see you again! Not after that fireball. It took up a whole six city blocks!"

"Good to see you again too, George," Spike smiled, holding Buffy a little tighter, "George, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

The light of recognition shone in the mechanic's eyes as she looked at Buffy and nodded, No introduction needed. You're Buffy, right?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered.

Georgina shook her hand, enthusiastically, "It's nice to finally meet the legend. Are you sure you're not some movie star or something," she asked, nodding back at the door, "You need a passport, and a pedigree to get past that G.I. Joe at the door."

"No," she smiled, "I'm just me."

"Well 'Just me' ruined old Spike here for anybody else," she sighed, "Believe me, I did try."

"That you did," he agreed, "The reason I rang you, George, was to ask if we could borrow your garage for a few days. She needs a place to stretch her legs. My flat's a bit cramped."

"Sure Spike," she said, quickly, "I'm going on vacation anyway. You can have the run of the place for a whole week," she tossed Spike the keys to the car she'd driven to the apartment, "Here are the keys to the Viper. It's all gassed, and tuned, up and purring like a kitten."

"Thanks, George," he said.

"Where are we going," Buffy asked, as George left.

"Somewhere you can train."

---

"But where are we going?" Drusilla asked.

"Somewhere we can watch it all come together," Holland replied.

"But, I haven't even sent the invitations," Drusilla sighed, "How will they know to come to my party?"

"Not to worry, Drusilla," Holland smiled, "I'll be sending them out, soon enough."

Chapter Twent-Eight

Buffy watched as his face blanched and his knees wobbled. If it hadn't been for her Slayer training he would have crashed to the floor, "See, I told you to wait," Buffy was all but holing Spike up as she guided him back to the bed, "Now, sit down," her voice was stern, but her touch was gentle.

Spike looked at the gleam in Buffy's eyes, and didn't know whether to grimace or grin, "There's my Slayer," he decided to grin, "The velvet fist. Tough and soft all rolled in one."

"Yeah well, right now I don't know which will get through that thick skull of yours faster."

"Right now the only thing that's in my head is getting you ready to fight Drusilla," his voice tightened in frustration, "And, how am I going to do that, if I can't even stand for twenty minutes?"

"Exactly my point. I know it feels like you've been standing still for months," she caught the anguished look in his eye, "I know you think that, if you don't jump right in," she knelt so that her eyes were level with his, and took his hand, "and fight the next big thing that comes along, that I'll think you're weak, or something..."

Spike shook his head, "Buffy, that's not..."

She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him, "Let me finish. I don't think you're weak. In fact, these past few months have shown me just how strong you really are. You may not have been on your feet fighting, but you were fighting," Buffy swallowed hard, "The fact that you're still here proves that. Now you deserve a rest. And, so do I," she made a small concession, "At least until sundown."

Spike took hold of Buffy's wrist and slowly drew her hand away from his lips, "But Dru..."

Buffy sighed, " I suspect that Dru is a lot like her Daddy. Not in it for the quick kill," she knew that if it could, Spike's heart would have stopped cold, again, at the thought of her death. She could see the pain of the idea in his eyes, "Not that I would ever give her the chance to lay even a fingernail on me. She can wait," she smiled sadly, "It's my turn to heal."

At his questioning look, she gave him a soft kiss.

---

Drusilla marveled at the amount of space in the abandoned building. She had been so excited at the prospect of having her William home again, soon, that she and Miss Edith twirled like tops and raced to find every last niche that the building could offer. There were so many places that precious things could get lost in, and never be found again.

Mr. Manners had promised her that the game would be fun. And, she knew it would be. William would remember that her games were always fun.

"Oh, Holland," she squealed, "However did you find it? It's perfect. I can't wait for William and Daddy to come to my party."

"I'm so glad you approve, Drusilla," Holland said, "I spent years preparing to host your party. I just wouldn't feel right if you didn't appreciate all the work that went into making this just right for you."

"Oh, but I love it," she beamed, "When my William gets home, it'll be ever so much better," she stopped, a worried look crossed her face, "Have the invitations been sent out yet?"

Holland shook his head, patiently, "Now Drusilla," he said, "aren't you forgetting something? You're lucky I remembered and went back for it, or we couldn't have your party."

Drusilla looked puzzled, her face pinched in concentration, " What could I have forgotten? Oh, yes," she nodded to herself as Holland Manners opened his brief case, and showed her what was inside, "the trinket."

"Yes," Holland said, as he watched the prisms of light bounce in the dark space, "the Orb of Thesula. You can't have your party without that. Remember, I told you?"

"I remember."

"Good. Now, if you'll just wait a few more nights," Holland assured her, "I'll get word to all the guests where the party's to be held, and then you can play the game just however you like."

---

With that one, small kiss, Spike knew what it was that Buffy wanted. She didn't have to say a word. He was tempted to forget all that his soul had taught him. He almost let the demon get the better of him. He wanted her so badly. It had been so long since he'd held her, really held her, that if he let himself be swayed by his needs and desires, he didn't know if he could stop.

The demon in him understood what passion with her could be like. It was a fire that burned like no other he'd ever experienced. The demon had been willing to risk everything just to be close to her. It risked it all, just for the smallest crumb of love. But, the soul was different. He was different, now. He'd been burned before, and now he wasn't willing to jump into the fire again, without first knowing where he stood.

"Buffy, Buffy stop," he said, breathlessly, as he gently pushed her away.

She rocked back on her heels and looked at him with wide eyes and said, breathless herself now, "What, but why?"

Spike looked up at he chipped paint on his ceiling, both in search of the words that would express how he was feeling at this moment, and to somehow escape her large doe eyes. He huffed breaths as if he'd run a marathon, "Buffy," he shook his head, suddenly dizzy from having her so close to him, "you have no idea how much I want this. God, you have no idea." He could hear the rhythms of her body speed up, and he knew he was wrong. She did know, because she wanted it too. "But, it's different now, Love. The demon in me wants you just as much as it ever did. It always wants you. It never stopped," Spike finally calmed enough to look into her eyes, "You have to believe that. But, the man, the soul," he chewed his lip, unsure he should tell her, "Love, that's new. It's never... I mean I've never..." he let his words fall into the chasm between them, suddenly ashamed.

Buffy saw the want in his eyes. She saw the need that was matched only by her own. But, she saw something else, too. There was a certain shyness in them. A kind of newness she hadn't seen before, not even back in Sunnydale in those last days. She tried to remember back to when her own reflection, in the mirror, looked like what was staring back at her now. She hadn't seen that look since before Angel had gone homicidal. Not since the world came crashing down, the weight of it on her shoulders.

Buffy hadn't seen that look since before she'd become old, before she was twenty, and jaded by life. She remembered the light in his eyes, and she understood.

The swell of emotions threatened to burst forth in a torrent of giggles and tears. She had to use every power available to her to keep the breakers from crashing, and keep Spike's dignity intact; "You mean you haven't ...ever?" she was in awe, "With a soul, I mean?"

"No. I haven't. Not with a soul."

"Is that a danger?" she asked, her heart aching for him because of her need to know, and her reason for needing to know, "Is there some way you could lose the soul? Is that why you were so careful, back in Sunnydale?"

Spike fought the need to throw his head back and roar. He could feel the blood boiling inside him. The demon wanted to roar at her. Then, it wanted to tear Angelus limb from limb for being Buffy's only template to draw from as to how a vampire with a soul was supposed to behave. So far as he knew, there were only two in the entire world, and that wanker had to be her first. That tainted how she looked at everything, and everyone, from that day until this.

"No, Buffy," he said, trying to keep the flood of anger he felt from spilling out, "there's no way I could lose my soul, at least not literally, unless I tore it out of my chest," he tried to smile, and was surprised when he saw Buffy smiling back, "No little happy thought is going to make it fly away. It's my soul. And, it's staying where it is," he touched her cheek, and felt her lean against his fingers, "The reason I'm different, both back then and now, is because of what happened," he hated to bring back bad memories, "between us. I need to know that you love me."

She nodded. Buffy knew that she would start crying if she looked at him any longer, so she looked away to hide her tears.

At the slight turn of her head, Spike's throat seized. He didn't think he could finish asking her what he wanted to know. He was truly afraid of her answer. The lump in his throat made his voice weak. He drew her gaze back to his, "Buffy," he wheezed, then swallowed, taking a tiny bit of comfort in her warm, loving eyes, "Buffy," he tried again, this time the voice came stronger, "I need to know. Do you forgive me?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed, tears spilling out her eyes. Saying those two little words to him had somehow lifted the weight of worlds off of her shoulders, "I forgive you, Spike. And, I promise we won't do anything you're not ready for. Okay?"

---

The rain whipped outside his window. It was as if the universe sensed his mood, and gave it physical form so that he, and everyone else who cared to know, could see it. It was as if all the furies had chosen to unleash on Los Angeles today. The wind was so strong that it tossed the pedestrians who were foolish enough to venture out with their tiny umbrellas, like they were little toys, swept away as if by an unseen child in a fit of temper.

And maybe, when you got right down to the brass tacks of it, that's what they all were. Just toys to be used for a little season, and then forgotten about when they no longer held any interest for whatever cosmic brat was up there playing with all of them.

"Sad, really," Holland mused, as he appeared, up from the ether, next to Angel, "to think that your destiny might be in the hands of a child. Oh, I'm sorry," Holland's voice dripped with false concern, "yours really is. I'd forgotten. As a matter of fact, it's in the hands of two children, even as we speak, isn't it?" The Orb of Thesula appeared in his hands, "Your destiny," he said lazily, as he watched the colors swirl inside of it, "in Spike's hands," Holland shook his head as he tossed the crystal sphere, in small arches, into the air. Each time the delicate thing came to rest safely in his palm, "That has to be more than just a little nerve wracking, doesn't it? Gosh, I really hope he doesn't drop it," Holland pouted, "Now that would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

"Go away Holland," Angel growled.

"What, and miss Drusilla's party? That would be rude."

"Get out of here before I throw you out this window."

"You could try that," Holland's tone brightened, and he gave Angel a slap on the shoulder, "Wouldn't help, though. I'd just come back. But, don't worry, not all hope is lost. There's still Cordy's idea. After all, who cares about a little contract? Contracts are broken all the time. Court dockets are full to the brim with contract disputes. It's what greases the wheels of our judicial system. What's one more, in the scheme of things?" he paused, in thought, "But, then, doing that could just be what the Home Office needs to put you over the top, couldn't it? On top of that, you wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't tried to manipulate Spike's destiny like a master puppeteer. What's a vampire with a soul to do?" he hissed in sympathy, "I know I wouldn't want to be you," he sighed, "No sir, not for a king's ransom."

---

For the first time in a year, he wished the floor of his flat wasn't so cold. "Sorry Love," he said, wishing he could do something to warm the place a bit for her, "We do seem to be making a habit of not needing furniture, don't we?"

"Well, it's not like this apartment is set up to entertain ladies in, now is it," she teased, "There's nothing but beer and otter's blood in your refrigerator. Not even a cookie to be seen anywhere."

"Not much for biscuits, Love."

"There was that one time. Remember, Willow's spell?"

Spike smiled. Buffy Summers, how I do love you, "One polka dot biscuit does not a diet make, Love. Still, there should be something. I didn't feature still being here, so it didn't seem to matter."

"Hey, don't worry. I'm not complaining," at Spike's quizzical expression, she added, "Okay, so I am," she shrugged, "But that face of yours doesn't need to be all scrunched up with worry lines over me. I haven't seen that face looking so happy in a long time. I missed that face. I don't want to make that face worry anymore. Not if I can help it," she said as she smoothed his brow.

"This face will always worry for you. It comes with the territory of loving you, nothing a vamp can do about that. Ask Peaches," he smirked, "he had spies keeping tabs on you. But, if you spotted them, nothing could be traced to him. So, he could stay comfortably aloof about the whole thing."

"Really," Buffy watched the light in his eyes twinkle with mirth, "and how do you know this?"

"He told me. We were on a recovery mission in Rome..."

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise, "That was you? You were there?" she seemed to be replaying the events of that night in her head. She bit her lip, "Were you...? Yes, of course you were. I knew it. I felt it," at Spike's confused look, she explained, "You were in my apartment, weren't you?"

He nodded.

"I knew it," she sighed, tracing her fingertips over his eyebrows, dipping into the hollow of his scar and back over the curve of his earlobe, "I should have trusted it. My instincts aren't that rusty! Maybe I could have helped."

"No Love, don't think like that. What's in the past should stay there. The fates conspired to keep us apart, with a little help from my ponce of a Grandsire," he kissed the tip of her nose, "But, not anymore. Nothing, and no one, is keeping me from you. I swear it."

"Ditto," Buffy giggled.

"You have such a beautiful laugh, Buffy," Spike peppered kisses down the line of her jaw. He moaned with desire as he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, "I missed you. You smell so good, Buffy." He pulled his face away from her; afraid he would lose control, and closed his eyes. Suddenly the room was upside down. Spike tried to find the surface, find the air his lungs didn't need, but wanted if only to clear his mind and nostrils of the scent of her, "Your scent," his words were slurred. He was intoxicated by her, and he hadn't taken a drop, "It's making my head spin. You smell like vanilla and roses, Love. Did you know that?"

Buffy caught his lulling head between her hands, "Spike, open your eyes and look at me." When she was sure his vision was clear enough to see her, she asked, "You're hungry, aren't you?" Spike started to deny what his body was clearly telling her was undeniable, "And, don't even think about lying, not that you could, at this point. I know you are. You're practically passed out from hunger. Take some of mine," she smiled at him, "I've got rivers of the good stuff, right here. I couldn't possibly use it all. Take what you need," she tilted her chin to expose the vein.

Spike's eyes were suddenly clear, his voice crisp and precise, "No Love. You don't know what you're asking. If I lost control and took too much," he blinked away the thought, "I couldn't take it if I hurt you again."

Buffy smiled up into his worried face and pouted, "You see, there's that worry again. I can't be the cause of that. You're not taking anything, Spike. I'm giving. There's a difference."

"I want to. The man in me understands what it is you're trying to do. Love. But, Angelus really is a buzz kill here. The demon thinks you're his. His mark is like a big 'No Trespassing,' sign. It's got nothing to do with you," he sighed in defeat, "it's that blasted claim he's got on you."

"There is no claim, Spike."

He was gobsmacked, "Did I hear you right, Slayer?"

"If what you heard was that Angel has no claim on me, whatsoever. Then, yeah, you heard right enough."

"How?"

Buffy's eyes looked at the ceiling, trying to pull the necessary information out of her brain. Once she had it, she looked at Spike again, and with a smile in her voice, said, "Giles tried to tell me once how this claiming thing works. Let's see if I remember. In order for there to be a claim, a vampire has to drink from you, but, then you have to take some of the vampire's blood, too. Is that how it's supposed to work?"

"That's how it works."

Buffy grinned, "Well, then we're okay. Because, even though Angel did drink from me, on a couple of occasions, I never drank from him," she winked at Spike, "I have tasted you however, and may I say, you're really yummy."

Spike threw his head back and laughed, "I love you, Buffy," he sobered quickly, "You're sure?"

She nodded, and tilted her head to the side, "Yes, Spike. I trust you."

He placed a small kiss to her jugular and murmured, "I love you," before letting his fangs descend down into her tender flesh.

And suddenly, in one, bright brilliant flash he knew. He knew how her face looked as she was digging through the sand and debris, trying in vain to reach him. He knew exactly how many tears she'd cried, weeping for someone who was not dead. He knew how many different ways she'd saved him every night, when she closed her eyes to sleep. He knew just how many of her heartbeats he had missed. And he knew that he wasn't going to miss any more, not one, single, solitary beat would go unnoticed. He knew that not one thing about her would escape him. He would know it all. He knew everything. He knew he loved her.

And, by some miracle he had yet to comprehend, he knew she loved him.

He slowly withdrew his fangs, kissed her lips softly, and was lulled to sleep by her slow and steady heartbeat.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Amidst all the tiny little dots that passed for people crisscrossing his view, Angel saw one that drew his attention like a moth to a flame. He looked over at Holland's self-satisfied grin and asked, "What is Drusilla doing out?"

Holland craned his neck following Angel's gaze through the storm opaque glass, "Oh she's just been out on a little jaunt. Don't worry, she was chaperoned. No hanky-panky. She wasn't even missed. She'll be back, snug as a bug in a rug, before the boy even thinks to miss her. Doesn't do to miss curfew. All that does is make Daddy cross. She doesn't want that," he gave Angel a knowing smile, "And, neither do the people in the Home Office. That's why we've taken steps to ensure that everyone involved here is safe and sound as a pond. Of course, it would just take a quick memo from yours truly, to change that."

"Don't you dare touch one hair on Connor's head you sadistic son of a..."

Holland shook his head in disdain, "Finishing that thought would not be good for Connor. And, it would be a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, now wouldn't it?"

---

She heard the rumbling of the thunderstorm. She could see the flash and zip of the lightening as it raced the water down to earth. It was as if the weather had finally gotten the memo about the Apocalypse.

Better late than never.

Outside, the wind and rain could be whipping them all back with Dorothy to Oz or Kansas, or wherever it was she was from. Outside of this small, Spartan apartment, the gates of Hell could be opening and somehow, Buffy couldn't bring herself to care. She was happy here. Folded safely inside arms that, at this moment, did not resemble the muscular ones that once held her, she was safe. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Yes, there it was. She wasn't dreaming. It was all there, just like she remembered it. There was the earth and spice that meant, "Spike" to her. Her brain just couldn't wrap around all the things he must have gone through, to be here, now. She didn't know if it was enough to say, "I'm sorry." She didn't know if that would begin to ease the hurt he had had to endure. But, it was a place to start.

She let silent tears of joy fall as she listened to him breathe in time with her. She knew she was finally home.

---

"No," Holland mused, casually tossing the crystal sphere in the air as if it were a baseball, "as I said before, it's not you the Home Office is concerned with." He watched refracted light from the orb dance on the shadows of Angel's face, "You, as I said," he tossed the orb again into the air, eyes tracking it as it landed in his fingers, "have been neutralized for quite some time now. Spike, on the other hand, has not. That's why we needed you in the Circle," Holland paused, taking in Angel's dumbfounded look, "Oh, I am sorry. Did I speak out of turn? Yes, we needed you to believe you were in control so that your natural affinity for, shall we call it self importance," he nodded to himself, pleased with the words he'd chosen, "would do our work for us. Of course, there is always the possibility of enlightenment. Even for someone as dense as you are, there's always a chance that the light will somehow click on. So, we had to develop a 'Plan B.' That's why Drusilla was brought in. She can neutralize the danger, even if, at the last moment, you refuse to."

"How is Spike a danger?" Angel huffed, "He couldn't find his head with both hands. He's a fool."

"Is he?" Holland asked, "Who's the bigger fool, someone who does good without the foreknowledge of a reward? Or, is it someone who does good only because he knows, or thinks he knows, that he will be rewarded with his heart's desire at the end of it all? Is the real fool the one who does good things? Or is it the man who does good things only for his own gain, and for no other purpose?" Holland sighed in contemplation, "Tell me Angel. I really want to know."

---

Spike couldn't track Buffy's scent because of the sickeningly sweet smell that permeated the stale air. The air was thick with it. He could smell the heat of her, under that syrupy smell, so he knew she was alive. At least for now, and that was good. That gave him something else to focus on aside from that thick smell that clung to his nostrils, even when he didn't breathe it in. It was heavy, and nauseating. It smelled like molasses.

That smell activated a sense memory he'd rather have forgotten. His brain was telling him to flee, but his heart and his soul urged his feet further into this dark labyrinth. He had to find Buffy, or die trying.

He tried to push past his fear, "Buffy?" he called out to her again. There was still no answer. The place was so dark that even with his keen eyesight, Buffy could have been inches from him and he would not have seen her, "Love, can you hear me?" if Drusilla were close, she might not be able to respond.

He tried to be still and center himself. She was still alive. He knew that. He would sense it if she wasn't. She was here. He just had to dig down, past the fear that threatened to engulf him, and find that place of peace again. Find her. Find home.

He tried another tactic, "Drusilla, I'm here. It's what you wanted, right?" he slowly advanced along the abandoned maze of the factory. He spread his arms wide, in a gesture of supplication, "I'm not going to try and fight you, Dru. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm still a bit wobbly on these sea legs of mine. I haven't taken in nearly enough blood to be any threat to you," Spike knew it was hopeless. Dru was beyond reasoning with, "Dru," he drew in a shaky breath, "let Buffy go and you can have whatever you want."

Drusilla's voice sinsonged out of the darkness, "Do you mean it? Anything I want?"

"Yes, Dru," he begged the darkness, "Anything. Just let me know she's all right."

Before another word could be uttered, the unmistakable scent, the scent that first lured him to this place, filled the air. A scent that he had prized above all others, but that now drove him to his knees in fear and disgust. Slayer's blood had just been spilled. And not just any Slayer's blood, it was Buffy's unique vintage that sliced through the air and straight to his heart.

"Buffy!" Spike screamed in agony as he felt her body go silent in death.

---

The bloodcurdling screams that came from deep in Spike's soul woke Buffy instantly. The agony of them brought Illyria racing to her defense. It would almost have been comical if it weren't so heart wrenching.

She looked into his fevered, sightless eyes, "Spike! Spike, it's all right," she tried to hold him close, to let him feel her warmth, "wake up. It was just a dream. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The fog of nightmare lifted, "Buffy?" he asked, unsure of reality.

"Yeah, me," she assured, holding him tighter.

"Oh thank God," he sobbed into her shoulder, gently rocking her, "Buffy, it seemed so real. I thought Drusilla had killed you!"

"Well," Buffy soothed, "guess I'd better get to training if I don't want that to happen, hadn't I?" she pulled back from his embrace a little, "Nothing chases nightmares away like a good old-fashioned knock down, drag out, sparring session. Shall we dance, Sir?"

"No time like the present, Slayer." He thanked God that she didn't dwell on what he'd seen. If she wasn't going to ask, he most certainly was not going to volunteer anything.

But, the memory of that dream would stay with him until he really was dust.

Chapter Thirty

IN THE INTERREGNUM

The peace of this place had been disturbed by her unruly emotions. There was no reasoning with this child. Even the miracle of transcendence had failed to change her obstinate soul.

The spirit addressed her again, with infinite patience, "But child, it's never been done. Ever. We do not lower ourselves to mingle with..." the voice sounded as if it had been forced to ingest something rancid, "them. Not even for a purpose as laudable as this. The very idea is just distasteful, to us."

She threw up her hands in surrender, "Okay, so thinking outside the box isn't such a good idea here. I get that. Won't happen again, I swear. But, were you looking at that disaster? I know I broke the rules trying to give him a heads up. But, I honestly didn't think he'd join their side!"

"There are no sides, child. There is only a continuum by degrees. You should have been told this when you transcended."

"I was," she sighed, "I thought you'd make an exception in this case."

"He has been given everything he needs. He has made his choice. It cannot be undone," she felt a hand on her shoulder, "We understand your sadness and wish he'd chosen differently. We did have hope for that one."

The wheels were turning inside her head, "But, there is precedent for what I'm asking. You've done it before. I read about it once."

"That is true. It did happen, but never again in all the eons of time. And that was a special dispensation."

"Angel is a special case!" she pleaded, "You saw that. That wasn't a choice! That was desperation. You took everything from him. How did you think he was going to react?"

"It doesn't matter child, it's done. And, it cannot be undone."

"Please," Cordilia cried, "I'd get on my knees if I thought it would help. I know it's only been done once before and it probably will never be done again, but I know the Champion's still under all that hurt. You've got to let me help him find the reason again. Please?"

"What you ask will be extremely harsh. If we allow this, some who would not otherwise, will be unduly injured. The savior of their world might never come to be if we tamper with the forces that are in place now, because of that one's choice. What would you have us tell them, should they ask after the cause of their injuries?"

Cordilia was confused, "But you said the destroyer would be born. That's happened already. Believe me, I remember. Angel stopped Jasmine."

"That is not the destroyer we speak of. The destroyer still lives, as it should be. If one does not exist, then the other cannot come to be. This is how it must be. This is how it is. If you seek to toy with the fabric of the universe, how will you justify such folly? If the child is not, then the world will not."

"Stop talking in riddles! A person could get seasick from all this doubletalk. Has this dark ugly thing happened yet, or hasn't it?

"There is no future or past. Here, there is only the now."

"Great, more riddles. Look, if the cosmos ends up with egg on its face, tell whoever, or whatever's in charge of the whole mess that it was my fault, okay? I'll take the blame. I'm asking you for your help."

The spirit took pity, "Very well. It shall be done.

---

PRESENT DAY-LOS ANGELES

"Love," he said warily, "this is a Viper, not a station wagon. Are you sure you can handle having that kind of power under you?"

Buffy gave him a sidelong glance, "It's not like I'm not used to it. I rode this kind of power before," she smirked, "I made it do what I wanted. How is this different?"

Spike hadn't realized until now, just how much he missed her, "This is much different, Love."

"I know," Buffy said, "I was just teasing. Now, drink all that pig's blood. If we're sparring, I don't want you to fold after the first few punches. I have to be on top of my game. Where is this place anyway?"

"It's on Jennings. There shouldn't be much traffic. This weather tends to keep people in. It should be at the next crossroads," he strained to see past the driving rain and the messy smear of the windshield wiper, "There."

Buffy drove past the private property sign, nodded toward it, commenting, "At least Drusilla will need an invitation before she can ambush us here," and parked the car as close to the closed garage door as she could possibly get, and cut the engine.

Just as the engine stopped, the automatic door on the garage floated up to reveal George, sitting near the entrance with a smile on her face.

Buffy got out first, and greeted the petite brunette, "Thanks again for letting us use your place."

George smiled and shook her head, tossing Buffy the a key ring, as she said, "It's yours now. Gina's Garage has relocated to greener pastures.

Spike was surprised by this, "You sure, George? That's got to cost you quite a few quid."

George shrugged, "Hey, what can I say? I'm a trust fund baby. What good's millions of dollars if you can't waste it with conspicuous spending on real estate? Look at Donald Trump."

Spike shook his head, "George you shouldn't have."

"Hey, what am I gonna do with it? Besides, it's not a garage anymore," she gave Spike a wide grin, "Well, there is one car in there. The rest of the place has been converted into a dojo. For you to work out in."

"George, when did this happen?"

She shrugged again, "I've been busy these past few months. Spike, you know I only became a mechanic to piss my Dad off," she blushed a little, "I was hoping you'd be back, Spike. I'm an incurable romantic," she winked, "I knew you'd be back. People like us, we're too tough to give up."

Buffy and Spike slowly made their way into the garage.

Spike was really impressed by her attention to detail. There were a few touches that were George's but the rest of the décor came from his own memory. He remembered telling George about Buffy. He spent hours reliving how they had spent hours in the training room of the Magic Box. He told George every detail. Every weapon she used, how she moved, he told George everything.

And God bless her. She listened. She really listened.

In a fit of jubilance Spike spun Georgina's wheelchair around until they were both pleasantly dizzy, "George, you're the hottest thing on four wheels, you know that?"

"Take it easy Spike, or you'll be needing to sit down," she craned her neck back to look at him, "You haven't seen the car yet. After you see her, then we'll talk about which one of us is hotter, okay?"

"All right, Love. Just where is this little trollop?" he teased.

"She's in the next bay," she said, "She's not authentic, I added the necro-tempered glass, but she is as close to the real thing as I could get. So, if something's off, be nice, would you?"

"Always Love."

Buffy watched as Spike slowly limped through the breezeway that connected the two parts of the building, with George following a respectful distance behind him. She could almost feel his excitement as he beheld what was waiting for him.

"Oh, my God. George, where on earth did you find her?" he gasped as if he'd just caught sight of the most beautiful thing in the world. He turned slowly back toward Buffy, his eyes wide with appreciation, "She's perfect, Buffy. Everything about her is just like I remembered."

"Well, she should be," George grinned, "You certainly talked about her enough. Still won't tell me how you lost her. Maybe I could have salvaged her for you," she paused to study the boyish wonder that glowed through his eyes. He always got that look when he'd talk about that car. Or, when he'd talk about Buffy, "Of course, if you'd rather have the Viper, I can have Mike hook this one back onto the tow truck..."

" No! I don't want that sodding car! This is the perfect gift, George, really. As for telling you what actually happened to the original, I couldn't Love. It was too traumatic," a bona fide grin broke out on his face. A grin the likes of which Buffy hadn't seen since Willow's engagement spell. "Thank you, George. So much," he said.

Buffy was curious. Just what was there that could render Spike almost totally gaga in two seconds flat? She took the short walk to the next car bay. Her face almost hurt from the smile that spread across her face. That car held some strangely fond memories for her as well.

There, sitting in the bay, waiting patiently for her driver to slip her on like a faded pair of dungarees, was that giant of a car. Shining, as if it knew its true owner had, at last, returned, was that big, black, DeSoto.

---

Holland sighed, "I mean, really. Who does Spike think he is? He only saved the world twice, single-handed. How many times have you saved it?"

"Once. He saved it once. The other time was all Buffy," Angel grumbled.

"Silly me, I forgot about that scrap with Glory. Really must remember to send a thank you note for his help with that. She was a handful. Now let's think," Holland pinched his chin, "That brings his tally to four then, doesn't it?"

"Your math's a little off there, Holland," Angel sneered.

"No, I think yours is. Remember Fred?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Then you remember how you were willing to sacrifice thousands of people, just for her. If Spike hadn't talked some sense into you, well, Buffy could have been one of those thousands. You do remember her, don't you? She was the love of your universe. Or have you forgotten that, too?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Is she still?"

---

As Buffy circled around Spike, waiting for the split second when his guard would lower just enough to let her in, she decided to help it along, with a little meaningful chit -chat, "What is this black and white swirl on the floor?" she grazed it lightly with her stocking feet, "It looks like the Nike symbol."

"Nice try, Love," he purred, "but you're not making me give you an opening by looking down. Do you have some sort of shoe fetish that I wasn't aware of? The symbol on the floor is George's way of reminding me, us, that we're connected, you and I."

"That's sweet. But, what is it?"

"That is yin and yang, Love. The Chinese symbol for existence."

Buffy tried for a jab, but Spike easily stepped away, "Huh?"

Spike shook his head in disappointment, "You're not even trying. You were dropping your shoulder. I saw that coming. Existence. Dark and Light; Good and Evil; Man and Woman, take your pick. The point is, in order to have one, you have to take the other."

"Which is the dark half?"

"Hmm, well if the answer doesn't light a fire under you, nothing will. We can't stand here all day tracing circles around each other, Slayer. You have got to commit. Make a move! And, don't hesitate, or Dru will kill you! The woman, at least in Chinese philosophy, represents the dark half. She's cold, too," Spike sneered and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. His next comment would bring the fire out, he knew, "Real bitch. I'm sure you know the type."

That did it. Before he knew it he was sailing through the air, landing with a thud on the mat below. He thanked George for her forward thinking, as his head recoiled from the impact, to have them there. Without them, his spine would have snapped in two from her ferocity.

Spike stared up at her with eyes that he hoped didn't convey the fear he was feeling as the tip of her stake whispered against the skin that covered his heart. He saw her feral gaze bore into him as she straddled his hips and he hoped that he would be able to talk her down, before the stake was driven home, "I'll show you what a real bitch looks like!" she screeched.

"Easy, Slayer," he said, in a measured tone. He shifted his face back to its human form, "See, it's me," he panted, "old blue eyes," he could see that she had calmed a little, "Now, please, don't move that trigger finger, or I'm dust."

She came back to herself slowly. Buffy took in Spike's prone form, and his frightened eyes, as she let him up. He stayed on the floor even though she was no longer holding him down, until she had the time to gather her wits about her again. "Spike?" she whimpered, clasping a hand over her mouth in surprise at her own strength. She'd thrown him at least a hundred feet across the room and hadn't even been aware she'd done it until she saw his blue eyes staring back at her.

"Yeah, it's me Love," he said weakly, "That's the kind of fire you're going to need to get the upper hand with Dru. Give me a minute, Love," he said, as he struggled to rise from the floor, "then we'll have another go, yeah?"

---

Drusilla knew her boy was helping her. He was getting well and that was good. The sooner he was well again, the sooner she could play. And, the sooner he'd be home again, where he belonged.


Chapter Thirty-One

IN THE INTERREGNUM

In this place there was no future, there was no past, there was just the eternal now.

Holland had to admit he was surprised at this development. In all his time in the Home Office, he'd never heard of this kind of thing. But then, maybe that was why he'd been chosen for this assignment. Joint ventures weren't entirely unheard of in the world of law. Even so, this was a horse of a different color.

The more jaded among them might begin to think that their lives were playthings for the Powers' amusement.

The fact that his assignment was among the most jaded beings in any working dimension made what he would be asked to do all that much easier, and because of their history, just that much more fun.

If this assignment went his way, he would make Regional Director for sure. If not, the satisfaction would be, understandably delayed, but he would still be known as a rainmaker around the Office.

"I must say I'm more than a little surprised by this. A thing like this doesn't come down the pike very often. I'm here to confirm that this is a legitimate request before we commence work," he addressed the spirit with apprehension, "You understand our concern, I'm sure."

"We do. This is a legitimate request. The results through usual avenues have produced mixed results. This one's destiny is still in the balance. So many destinies depend on this one's choices. We need to know if we have made an error in our calculations."

"An error?" Holland checked the file again, and hissed in sympathy, "Yes. He does seem to be all over the map, doesn't he? Still, I thought the bugs had been worked out of the system? Why come to the Home Office with this?"

"If that one continues to be unfocused he could upset the balance even further, throwing this dimension and others, into chaos. That cannot happen. Then of course, there is the other."

Holland nodded, "Yes. They do seem to be on parallel paths at the present," he studied the file closely, "Have been for quite some time, according to this."

"Yes, and until that is resolved, that dimension will remain in a state of flux. The balance must be restored. You see our dilemma. We cannot interfere, yet for the sake of equilibrium, we must do so."

"I can see how that might be a conundrum," Holland agreed, "I will make the arrangements. We'll start right away."

---

PRESENT DAY- LOS ANGELES

"Close your eyes, Buffy."

"Why?"

"Buffy, for once, don't question. Just do it."

Buffy's eyes lit up, "Now who has the shoe fetish?"

Spike fought the urge to groan, "Slayer, will you please focus?" he slowly approached her from behind, whispering in her ear, "With Drusilla you can't trust your eyes. She'll use your eyes to lie to you. Now, close them."

She closed her eyes and listened. She reached out with her senses to try to find Spike. On the surface she listened for the rustle of his feet against the mats. She felt the wind rush past her as his body moved through the space between them. She knew he was in the room so it couldn't be this easy, there had to be more to this than playing blind man's bluff all day. This just couldn't be what Spike had in mind. "This isn't what you had in mind, is it Spike? Because, even though I think a game of tag could be very... distracting, I don't think it's gonna help with Dru."

There was no answer. Everything was quiet. Buffy was suddenly in freefall. She had no anchor, no compass. Just empty space with nothing to catch her. Where was he? She was panicked. Had he stepped out for a moment and been grabbed? Had Drusilla taken him? She tried again, "Spike?"

Spike could feel her skin vibrating with the fear in her. Could hear the blood rushing at a frantic pace because of it. In the dark of this room he could see the subtle change in her skin. He watched her skin slowly etiolating down from golden to bloodless and he wished he could reach out and hold her. This was torture for him, putting her through this. But, in order to fight Dru, she had to learn to get beyond her senses.

When she called his name out, he had to bite the inside of his cheek, so hard he nearly drew his own blood, in an effort not to respond. He hated doing this. He knew how he would feel if he were suddenly deprived of the comfort her presence gave him. But, it had to be done. He loved her too much not to prepare her in any way he could.

Buffy felt her skin tighten around her eyes as she fought the muscles that would have forced her eyes open. Okay, so this kind of felt like she'd been thrown into the deep end of the ocean, and asked to swim for her life.

But that was the point, wasn't it? This was her life. This fight was sink or swim and Buffy wouldn't have Spike with her in this fight.

Except she would have him with her, he was always with her and that was the point. She suddenly understood the importance of that symbol George had painted on the floor. They would be connected, always. He was her light in the darkness. He had been ever since she'd clawed up from the grave. Even though she couldn't feel his presence, she knew he was there. It had been, and always would be so.

It was as easy as breathing.

She found the safe place beyond the emotions that he had told her was there, but she had never seen before. She waited patiently for him to come to her. She knew he would, because no matter how far away it goes, a heart always returns to its true north. It always comes home.

The warmth of his voice reached out of the darkness to guide her to the light, "Now you're getting it, Slayer. Open your eyes."

---

"The rain seems to be stopping," Holland observed, "The sun should be setting soon. All that's left to do is send out the invitations. That is, unless you still want to talk things out. That's something you've always been good at. The talking part, I mean. Not so good with the action part though, are you? Something always seems to fall apart when it comes to that doesn't it?"

"Holland," Angel hissed, "stop being a gnat in my ear, and shut up!"

"No need to throw me out. I was leaving anyway. The lady Drusilla is entrusting me with seeing that her guests are informed of her party," he stopped near the door and turned back, "You do know that you're the guest of honor, don't you? You don't want to miss this play. It's quite a gripper."

"Holland, get out."

"I'm leaving. Remember what I said. Are you going to let Spike slide into your place without a fight?" he shook his head, "I really expected more from a Champion. See you there. Don't be late," he said as he vanished into the time and space of eternity.

---

Just as Buffy and Spike reached the path in front of his apartment, they noticed that no one was standing watch. Buffy checked the time. They must have arrived just as the Scoobies were changing shifts. Buffy looked around for the relief. She spotted Illyria walking swiftly toward her, "She's really lucky this is L.A.," Buffy said, "Normally, blue hair and body armor would get you noticed, if not arrested."

Spike wasn't listening to her. He was too busy looking in the other direction, his eyes following the black limousine that was creeping slowly down the street and stopping right in front of his door. A man in a charcoal grey suit stepped out just as his umbrella unfolded to shield him from the weather. The man walked right up to Buffy and Spike, smiled and said, "The lady Drusilla has asked me to extend an invitation to you, Miss Summers, to be her," he paused, searching for the right words, "guest for dinner," he smiled, "and the theatre tomorrow night. A crucible of sorts," he produced a small business card from his breast pocket and handed it to Buffy. "This is by invitation only," he glanced at Spike, "of course. The gentleman and his associates will be joining us at a later date. Please be at that address tomorrow night at eight, as per you previous arrangement. Don't be late. Oh, and to ensure that you're not, a car will be by to pick you up at 7:30." He smiled again as he ducked his head back into the limousine and it slowly drove off.

Buffy handed the card to Spike and almost immediately wished she hadn't. The minute he read the address on the card, his hands began shaking and he begged her, in a voice as desperate as she'd ever heard before, "Buffy, please don't go."

"What do you mean, 'Don't go'? I promised. We both knew that this was coming. There's no telling what could happen to you if I back out now. Aside from the fact that there's gonna be this big black mysterious car coming to pick me up tomorrow, we don't know if the poison's really gone out of your system, or if this is just some kind of remission or something," Buffy touched Spike's face and realized that the shaking was not limited to his hands. His whole body was shaking, "Hey," she nodded to Illyria, "let's get you inside," she tried to put him at ease a little, "What happened to the 'Jedi Master' thing you had going there? Really looked good on you."

"Yeah well, 'Jedi Master' wised up a bit and left 'Frightened-To-Hell- Will' in his stead."

---

The abandoned factory smelled of sweets and spirits. It was just perfect for what Drusilla had in mind. The Slayer would walk right into her trap because she thought she loved William. William would follow, because a boy always returns to his true north. He always returns to where his heart is. A boy's heart is, and forever would be, with his mother. William would see that the Slayer didn't love him, not when he was well again. She had proof of that. The Slayer didn't love her Daddy once he'd rid himself of the sickness he'd carried with him.

When Angelus wasn't maimed by the soul the gypsies put in his chest, like a cancer, the Slayer didn't love him. But she did. She loved them both and she wanted them both whole and well again.

They would see that she loved them. And she would see who loved her.

---

"Slayer, we can take the car. I don't need to sleep, and with the necro-tempered glass, I can drive around the clock," he was begging her, "Please Slayer, let's just go. Let's just leave. Please. I can't bear to lose you."

This was a side of Spike she hadn't seen. She wondered for a moment if he really had gone mad. Then she remembered what she felt like when Glory was going after Dawn with single-eyed, dogged determination. Buffy had fled out of her love for her sister. Everyone had thought she'd gone crazy, but to her it was the only thing that made any kind of sense at the time. It seemed to be her only way out and she loved her sister too much to see her hurt. If protecting her meant running away, then so be it.

"Spike, is there something about the address that," she bit her lip, "scared you?"

Tears slowly made their way down his cheeks, "Yes!" he snapped. He took a shuddering breath and started again, "I was in that factory once before. I don't want to be there again. The smell of it...even if I wasn't concerned for you, the smell alone might drive away my rational thinking ability."

"Why? Spike, what happened to you there?"

"Slayer, I was crippled there. Dana...she," Spike swallowed hard, "It wasn't her fault. She thought I was someone else, someone who'd hurt her. Slayer, she cut off my hands in that factory. I can't go in there. I can't protect you there."

She closed her eyes in empathy, "My God," Buffy gasped, gliding her hands gently down his arms, "I understand. But this is my fight. And, I'm not going in there alone," she touched her hand to her heart, "You'll be with me. Right here. Now, we just have until tomorrow night, and I don't want my thoughts of you, as I fight the fight of my life and yours," she kissed him lightly, "to be all about that worry face. Spike, will you hold me, please?"

---

The black car showed, precisely at 7:30 the next night. Holland gave a wry smile as he watched the two lovers embrace, saying their goodbyes.

"Don't worry Spike. You'll be seeing her again soon," he looked at his watch. "In twenty-four hours as a matter of fact," he took in the worried glances that passed between them, " I'll take you to her myself. The two ladies just need time to chat. You can give them that, can't you?"

Buffy hugged Spike tightly, not wanting to let go. His grip was surprisingly strong, "Don't worry, Spike. I'm a big Slayer," he brushed her lips lightly with his. She thought she tasted salt in that kiss. She wasn't sure if the tears were her own, or if they were his, "You'll be with me," she touched her heart, "Right here."

Buffy gave Spike a little smile as she entered the car.

Before the door closed, Holland looked up and smiled at Spike, "You know, Angelus will be given the same offer you will be. Did you know that there are some Higher Ups that are placing odds on you, Spike? I will be very curious to see how it all turns out. See you tomorrow night." He closed the door and the car slowly slid away into the night.

---

Buffy addressed the blackness, "Well Dru, no more hiding. I know you're here, you want to talk, and I'm ready for you. I had a good teacher. You want to fight? I can handle that too."

"Oh, Slayer," Drusilla laughed, "This was never about you."

Just then Buffy felt a pain in her skull and her vision went fuzzy and then faded to blackness.

"I want to play," Drusilla sneered, "And you are going to pay for hurting my William."


Chapter Thirty-Two

As he watched the limousine take her away there were two forces that buoyed him up. Two things that kept him from crumbling, just like the concrete, in a sobbing heap in front of Illyria and anyone else who cared to gawk.

One was love. The other was hate. He loved the way she felt in his arms. Loved the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled. And, the way her voice took to lilting, the way only hers could, when she talked about every little girl's fantasy, and secretly every boy's too, about a white dress and veil.

She'd described it in such detail that he could see it in his mind's eye. Nothing, not even the delicate lace of her gown was left unknown to him. And he was surprised, when the full picture came into focus, how closely it matched his own vision of her. A vision that was not the fractured light that shone through Willow's misguided spell. No, what she had described to him, for her, and by extension him, was a true vision of love.

And, somehow she would have it. That was his promise to her.

He loved how she mutilated the English language to the point that what came out of her mouth wasn't English at all, but instead was a language all her own. He loved that, even after years of being around her, and a year of being apart, he was only now beginning to decipher the subtleties and meaning of Buffy Summers.

They just don't make them like that anymore. And they shouldn't. She's one of a kind.

But the hate is what kept him standing. It kept him up, when all he wanted to do was fall. The idea that Angelus had anything to do with this, or that his actions might upset one hair on her head, made him positively shake with rage. The rage kept him warm. It had to, because the second Buffy left, he felt something leave his body. He wasn't sure what it was, but the space it left in him was a cold and hollow void in the center of his being and it was rapidly spreading, rendering his limbs numb and useless. The rage kept him up. It made him feel. It kept him warm when he was not, and he was thankful for it.

Illyria noticed the set in his jaw and the stiffness of the vampire's limbs as he slowly crawled up from the pavement. She had offered assistance but he disregarded her presence as though she had been a nuisance to him. He'd pushed her away as if she were nothing more than wind in his ear.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as he slowly walked away from her.

"To find Angelus."

The cadence of the vampire's voice, and the venom it carried with it, made Illyria fear for what he would do, should he find his quarry, so she followed.

"You cannot fight him," she said as she kept pace with him.

He stared ahead, "Can't I?"

"In your weakened state, he is sure to kill you."

He shook his head, still refusing to look at her, "I'm dead already. The body just forgot for a while. Maybe he'll finish the job," he sneered, "Or maybe, I'll kill him first. Flip a coin, Highness. Doesn't mean much to me, either way."

"But it means something to me, Spike."

The Texas twang forced him to turn, "Stop it!" he hissed, "You're not her so don't try and pull the heartstrings now," he spread his palm over his chest, "I hear tell this heart doesn't beat, anyway," his face was hard as a marble statue, "Never quite believed it, until now," he whispered.

"The heart in this cavity has also ceased its proper function," Illyria said, shifting back to her natural state, "Yet somehow when Wesley ceased to be, I felt a rage I could not contain. I felt a need to do violence that I could not explain. I understand some of what you feel at this moment. Yet, you cannot be the warrior your mate requires, if you are not. Fighting Angelus now, when your weakness is so pronounced as to be inescapable, is not only ill-advised but it is foolhardy."

Spike tilted his head in contemplation of her, and blinked, "Mate?"

Illyria combed over the words she had chosen. The syntax of the human language was clumsy and awkward, perhaps the words she had chosen did not convey the meaning she intended, "She is your companion, is she not, that is how she functions for you?"

"Yeah, just hadn't heard it put quite like that, before," he shook the cobwebs from his head, "Very well. What do you suggest?"

She slowly turned Spike back to his apartment, "No warrior goes into battle without rest, counsel and stratagem."

---

Buffy woke to a headache, stale air, heat, darkness and the taste of blood in her mouth. She moaned a little as her head swam in the syrup that hung thick in the air. The smell was so viscous that the weight of pushing air through her lungs caused pain.

Buffy cursed herself for forgetting everything Spike had tried to tell her in the first thirty seconds of the fight. It was stupid of her to think that Drusilla would fight fair. Drusilla wasn't Spike, who despite the occasional homicidal urge or two always engaged her on an even playing field.

No, this was Drusilla she was dealing with. With her, all bets were off.

She called out into the black, "Drusilla, I know you're here," she squinted at the hazy shadows that crossed her vision, "And I know you can see me. Got to say, this isn't your best move. Spike will be coming for me, soon. When he finds out you've hurt me," she smirked, "Things are gonna go bad for you, pretty fast. Let me go, and maybe he won't dust your ass."

"I know that. Miss Edith knows too. But sometimes a mother has to make sacrifices to bring her family together again. Miss Edith misses her William and I miss mine. If he wants you, all he has to do is give me what I want."

Drusilla stepped forward until she was face to face with Buffy. Buffy could see that Drusilla was holding something in her hand; the movement of it was creating little shimmers in the dark. "All he has to do is give Miss Edith a present. Then I can go be with her, and we'll all be a family again."

Something about her tone cut through the pain in Buffy's head. She tried to move but felt the heaviness of metal at her wrists. This was not good. How would Spike handle this? "Dru," she said, "this isn't very ladylike of you. What would Miss Edith say if she knew you'd treated a guest like this?"

"I know. But, it was the only way to keep you here until the guests of honor arrived," she produced a blade from somewhere out of the blackness. Buffy hissed as she felt the cold steel tip press against the skin of her throat and felt the wetness of her blood as it oozed over the blade, "Until then, I want to have some fun."

---

Angel went over that night again in his head. Holland had stood there, in the driving rain, and smiled at him. Everything he'd ever cared about was gone, or nearly so, and all he could do was stand there looking smug telling him that he was still the Powers' puppet. How could that be so? He'd done well. Taking over the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart had been a good move. So why was Holland still so smug.

Angel thought back to the conversation they'd had in that alley behind the Hotel:

"No need to threaten me," Holland said, "I'm already dead. I can't get much deader." Holland looked thoughtfully at Illyria as she carried the charred remains of Spike and sighed, "It really is too bad that you threw in the towel so soon, Angel. The Powers are still hoping that this turns out for you, really. The straightforward approach, you know, visions and such, didn't seem to be getting the message through to that incredibly dense skull of yours. They felt that a more non-traditional approach might be of some help. So they reached into their bag of tricks and pulled out a golden oldie," he smiled, "This one hasn't been used for millennia. But, I guess, when trying to get through to someone like you, one must be able to think outside the box."

"Does your yammering have a point? I've got things to do."

"You always were a pleasant fellow, Angel. Getting to my point, the Home Office was given carte blanche in its dealing with you, and your cohorts. The Powers wanted to see how you would respond. Think of it like a rat in a maze. The Powers wanted to see how you would react to their little psychodrama. I must say, the Home Office is impressed with your marks thus far, but the play isn't over yet. It still has a third act. Your colorful friend, there," Holland nodded his head in the direction of the church, "is the lynchpin. I suggest you do whatever you have to do to keep him alive, so to speak. He has a significant part in your redemption, Angel. In fact, he is the key to you getting everything you want."

"You expect me to believe that the Powers knew about what the Home Office was doing, and they did nothing to stop it?"

Holland rolled his eyes, "Oh, you really are one-dimensional aren't you? Angel, just as the office in Los Angeles is, or rather was thanks to you, a branch of Wolfram and Hart, the Home Office functions as a subsidiary, or branch, of the Powers. So, yes, they knew. And now, the cost of a building and several valued employees has to be added to my monthly expense report," he sighed, "I despise paperwork. I'd better get the nose to the grindstone. Take care, Angel," Holland said as he disappeared into the mists, "I'll be in touch."

---

"Thanks for coming, Bit, you too Red. It's nice to know that cooler heads sometimes do prevail. If it hadn't been for Blue, I don't think I would have been able to reach out and ask for your help with this. I'm not thinking clearly, and I need your help. That crypt keeper in the business suit took Buffy someplace that I wish she wasn't, and told me to wait for sundown tomorrow before I go after her. There are so many things that could happen to her between now and sundown tomorrow. Dru could have already," he shivered at the thought, "The things she learned from her Daddy..." He closed his eyes. For an instant he thought he was back in that nightmare. He could smell her blood, just as strongly as if Buffy were standing right in front of him. She was bleeding.

He opened his eyes to find Dawn staring at him with concern in her eyes, and no blood anywhere in sight, "Dru, she could..."

"No, Spike, don't think like that. There must be some reason Drusilla wants Buffy," Dawn said, "Can you remember how she used to think? I mean, you were with her for a hundred or so years, right? There must be some kind of sense in all her craziness."

"Her kind of madness seldom makes sense, Little Bit."

"But you did," Willow said, "In a weird loopy-loop kind of way. You made sense, when you were crazy. Maybe we just have to find a good translator."

"But Dru is no mastermind of evil. She doesn't think for herself. She can't. Angelus took that away from her. We have to know who's behind her, pulling the strings," Spike nodded grimly, "I was right the first time, Blue. We have to find Angelus. And, when I do, I'll take his head off."

---

Before Angel could comprehend what was happening, he found himself suspended in mid air, pinned to the back wall of his hotel room, held in place only by the force of Spike's grip.

"Thought I was weak as a kitten didn't you?" Spike hissed, his eyes shining with rage, "Thought you could take her and do the kinds of things to her that you used to do to me and Dru? I might take your head for even thinking it. But I'll let you tell me all about the master plan. Then, I'll take your head off. And, if I find out that she's even chipped a perfectly manicured nail, I'll take your head off again, just because I can."

"Not...my...plan," Angel wheezed, trying to pry Spike's fingers from his throat.

Spike's grip tightened, "Not yours? Whose is it then?"

"The Powers."

Spike let go of Angel and he slid down the wall in a heap, "Start talking, Angel. Now."


Chapter Thirty-Three

"Sweetie, can you hear me?"

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, Sweetie it's me. You okay?"

Buffy moaned, "My head hurts. Kind of dizzy," she ran her tongue along her lips, "Thirsty too. It's hot."

"Hang on Buffy. Help's coming."

"Why are you here Mommy? I miss you."

"I know. I'm always with you, Sweetheart. I'm here because I knew you would need someone with you until he came."

Buffy let out a weak sigh and slipped into the comfort of unconsciousness.

---

Angel was grateful that he didn't need to breathe because the pressure Spike had applied to his throat would have crushed the life out of him. He almost wished he had been crushed. By the look in Spike's eyes Angel knew there was nothing he could say that would keep him from following through on his threat. Angel winced at the heat of Spike's aureolin gaze as he towered over him. When Spike had grown that tall Angel wasn't sure, but he did not think it was a good time to be asking questions. Answers were what Spike wanted. And, although he had to admit he had more questions than answers himself, answers were what he would provide.

"I'm breathless with anticipation, Angel. Talk."

"I don't know much. All I know is what Holland tells me. And, he doesn't tell me much."

Spike's voice rumbled, "Well then, that puts you one step up from me," Spike's tongue grazed the tip of his fangs, "I think it's best for all concerned if you bring the White Hats up to speed. And, do it fast or I might forget myself."

Angel avoided the heat of Spike's eyes, "All Holland will tell me is that everything that happened last year was because of me."

"Well we already knew that, didn't we?" Spike yanked Angel to his feet by his shirt collar and shoved him, soundly, against the wall, "Tell me something new, oh wise and brooding one. I'll give you a hint. Who's Holland?"

---

Buffy tried to center herself. She knew that showing any kind of weakness would just play into Drusilla's plans, whatever those were. So she was a little thirsty, so what? She was a Slayer. She was the Slayer. She had fought hundreds of demons without breaking a sweat. She wasn't going to let a crazy vampire take her down like this. She was scared, yes. She would be foolish not to be. Drusilla held all the cards right now. But, Buffy also knew that there was a wildcard in the deck. Drusilla might know Spike, but there was one factor about him that Buffy bet Drusilla had failed to factor in. And that was that Spike had gone to Hell and back again to be with her.

There wasn't much that Dru could say, or do to her that would convince her that Spike couldn't, or didn't love her as much as he said he did. She only wished that she'd had this epiphany sooner. Maybe if she had, they could have avoided this whole mess.

Buffy summoned up all the courage she could and moistened her dry lips to speak, "Drusilla, time to come out of the shadows, don't you think?" her voice was stronger than she thought it would be. That was good because it meant she could, maybe, bluff Drusilla a little longer, "Really Dru, this isn't like you. You're not a coward. You're proud of what you do. You're proud of who you are. Come out where I can see you, and then we can talk this out. I just want to see whom it is I'm talking to," she tried to breathe and was greeted by stabbing pain. Drusilla must have wreaked havoc with her ribcage while she was passed out.

"Damn Drusilla," Buffy moaned, "You did a bang up job on my ribs, that's for sure. But you did it while I was asleep. That doesn't project power that projects fear. What's the matter, Dru, is the heat getting to you? Or is it something else? Could it be that something in that crazy head of yours knows that this is wrong? Could it be that you know that this is not the way to get your way? I mean, if you want to kill me, there are quicker, easier ways to..." Buffy noticed that her skin felt sticky and her stomach felt woozy, like she was going to vomit. She was almost certain that the fuzziness she felt climbing up her limbs was due to blood loss. Her courage was slipping. She had trouble holding a thought in her head, and suddenly her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth, making it hard to speak. What was it she was saying? When had she turned into a three-year-old? She couldn't remember the words.

She was dangling on the tightrope of consciousness again. On the edges of her vision, she could see Drusilla coming toward her, ready to push her over.

"That's it, child," Drusilla said, "you sleep. You'll need your rest for when William gets here."

---

Suddenly Spike felt his stomach lurch. He had to admit, that was a new sensation, because as a rule, vampires didn't feel the need to vomit. Still and all, there it was. And he felt as if he'd been ensanguined with Buffy's blood.

He dropped Angel in disgust, "Are you telling me that all of this, everything that happened, was just a test to see how the Powers' little pet vampire would perform?" Spike choked on the bile rising in his throat, "And that Buffy, Drusilla and I, even poor little Fred, are just pawns on a chessboard?" Angel started to answer, but the homicidal glint in Spike's eyes made him stop, "And that the man who has Buffy now, this Holland of yours, he ran the Los Angeles office of Wolfram and Hart until you locked him in a wine cellar with Darla and Dru, and rang the dinner bell?" As the picture became clearer, Spike felt more and more ill. It was as if hearing this had drained all the blood out of him, "And now Holland, who got a big promotion, to CEO of Hell, took on a new assignment?"

Angel nodded.

"And how does Dru fit into this?"

---

Buffy couldn't remember being this thirsty. Right now, she would have given anything for a little sip of water. Any thought bigger than that, her brain was too muddled to slog through.

"Sweetie," Joyce said, "Just hold on a little longer," her voice held a tinge of worry, "And, Buffy, no matter how tired and thirsty you get, don't drink anything Drusilla has to offer. Don't do anything she asks. Just hold on until Spike can get to you."

Through the haze that had become her existence now, she thought she heard her mother's voice calling. Her Mommy was trying to tell her something, something important. But she couldn't remember what that thing was. Why couldn't she remember? How long had she been here? She was tired and cold and her head was so heavy. She could have been here for hours, or was it days? She didn't remember.

Her Mommy kept telling her to hang on until he got here. She would do that, but she couldn't remember who he was. And she was so tired.

"Is he coming, Mommy? I can't remember." In her head the words rang loud and strong, but outside her own inner sanctum, she had lost her power of speech to the rivers of blood that had long since coated the concrete floor beneath her.

"He's coming, Sweetheart. Just hang on."

---

Spike's head was spinning. The horror of what Angelus had said was still palpable.

A choice that really wasn't a choice. It was made for him, the minute he'd watched Buffy slip into the night with that undertaker who called himself a lawyer. It was an easy choice.

Now all that was left was the goodbye.

He held Dawn as she cried against his shoulder, "But, it's awful, Spike. It's just awful," she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, "I just got you back, Spike. I can't lose you again."

"I can't let you lose Big Sis either, Bit," he gave her a small smile, tussling her hair a little, "You'll get over the tears," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "Before long, you won't even miss me," he choked.

"But I will miss you, Spike. I will," Dawn sobbed.

"Me too you, Bit," he tipped her chin up so that he could see her eyes. He saw the grief on his own face in the reflection in her eyes, "I could always see myself in your eyes; Buffy's too. In case I don't tell you later," his eyes went down, "or in case I can't, I love you Dawn. I really love you."

The use of her given name made her chin quiver with sadness, "I love you too, Spike. Never forget that."

"Are you daft? I could never, I would never forget that. It's hard-wired into this old noggin of mine."

The emotions in the room were making Illyria ill. The insanity that the vampire was suggesting was unacceptable to her. There was another way out of this quagmire. She had offered it, almost demanded that the vampire do as she required.

"Further discussion is pointless," Illyria announced, "The solution is obvious. It's so simple even a mind as miniscule as yours is, vampire, should grasp it. I go in your place."

His eyes bore into hers, "Thanks for your ringing endorsement, Highness. I've made the decision. You are not going anywhere. I am," he looked down at Dawn again, "Someone has to look after my Bit. In case Angelus comes away with the spoils. He's not nearly the people person I am. It could get ugly. And in case Buffy doesn't..." he stopped when he saw the fright in Dawn's eyes, and nearly bit through his tongue for even mentioning the possibility. He smiled, trying to reassure her, "But that won't happen, Bit. I promise. I won't let it."

Spike picked up the stake and the holy water just as the car pulled up outside his flat, "Well, off I go then," he turned and gave Dawn one last smile, "Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," dawn said as Spike slipped out the door.

He stepped with determination to the waiting car and ducked in without a word, "Let's do this thing, Holland. Buffy doesn't have all night. Once I've seen her and know she's all right, you can have what you came for."

As the door closed, Spike did something he hadn't done since he was turned. He prayed.


Chapter Thirty-Four

The ride to the factory was filled with memories and images of her. Thoughts of Buffy were the only things that kept Spike in that car. The image of her face was the only thing that kept the numbness at bay. Without it, Spike would be frozen with fright.

The cold kept his voice apathetic, "I see Buffy first. That's the deal. Then we do this."

"Certainly," Holland said, "Of course, it may not come to that. As I said, Angelus has been given the same offer. He might accept the terms."

Spike stared straight ahead, "Buffy's fate in Angelus's hands? Somehow, I'm not comforted by that."

Holland nodded, "Coincidentally, neither am I. But then, I've got seniority with the Home Office," he shrugged, "so I win however this turns out. Did you know that the Higher Ups didn't foresee you? You blindsided them," he sighed, "You threw the whole system into lockdown. We were troubleshooting for months. The overtime alone..."

Spike knew the man was talking, but he couldn't be bothered to listen. His imagination was getting the better of him. The things he knew Drusilla was capable of doing when she was given free reign blinded his eyes.

Even when he didn't have a soul, some of the torture she was fond of made him squeamish. That was why he never left her to her own devises for very long. He just hoped that Buffy would be able to hold out until he could find her.

Drusilla not only didn't have the conscience a soul would give her, she didn't have a rational mind that would stop her more depraved impulses. Spike knew that she would take Buffy through her worst fears. She could make the torturer wear a familiar face, just as her Daddy had before her.

He just prayed to whatever God would listen that the one inflicting the pain she was going through now wasn't wearing his face. He hoped it wouldn't be, but somehow he knew it was.

"Hang on Buffy. God, please hang on," he whispered, as he watched the buildings slowly stroll by the car's window and disappear into the night.

---

Something in her head screamed. No time to be the scared little girl, Slayer, buck up. Open your eyes. Buffy wasn't sure if she was dreaming or not, but the directive was her only port in a storm of confusion so she took it.

Buffy opened her eyes and saw the dark spot on the floor. It seemed like a living thing. It kept growing even though she wanted to scream for it to stop. She would have screamed if her throat weren't so incredibly dry. Her tongue felt like sand.

Maybe if she looked at something else? But how could she, when her neck felt like it had bricks tied to it?

Drusilla grabbed Buffy by the hair and brought her eyes up to see her, "Still awake? Oh goody. That means I can play some more."

Play? Oh, God, this can't be good. Her body felt like it weighed a million pounds. No surprise really, given the extremely large puddle of what Buffy assumed was her blood. Drusilla would have given the Ripper a run for his money. Buffy didn't know what to do. If someone was coming for her, someone was coming her Mommy had told her he was coming.

Someone was coming. She knew that, and she held onto it like a life preserver. Now, if she could just remember the name. If she could just reach back far enough into the dark and find the light. It was small, but it was there. There! She had it. She had the name. Spike, that was it, that was the name! He would come for her. He'd promised.

Spike had said something important to her before she left. What was it? That seemed so long ago now. But, it was important. Something she had to remember. Oh yes. I love you.

Suddenly her head was clear. It was still a little fuzzy but she knew enough to know that Dru was close. She was probably watching her. Best to strike when, and where, she could. There may not be another chance.

Spike had told her not to give Dru any opening. Not to let her see how scared she was. It had seemed so easy in theory. In practice however, things were slightly different. How could she keep Dru from seeing her fear when she was blinded by it, herself?

"Are we having fun yet?" Buffy sneered, through cracked lips, "Because... this is kind of ordinary. I thought my Watcher said you were..." her light-headedness made the words come slowly, but Buffy still had enough kick left in her to make Drusilla hurt, and hurt bad.

"Go on," Drusilla smiled, "What does your Watcher know of me?"

"That... you're...bent!" Buffy finished, with a grimace.

Her ears wrung from the impact of her fist. Buffy tasted her own blood in her mouth.

---

Spike watched as the warehouse loomed into view. His own personal House of Horrors, and Buffy was somewhere inside. And, knowing Drusilla's propensity for torture and sharp implements, she was slowly bleeding to death.

Well, not today.

"Buffy's in there?" he asked Holland, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. So are Drusilla and Angelus," Holland shrugged, "You may encounter them, you may not. That's not the objective."

"If you don't want me to fight Angelus, what is the objective?

---

YESTERDAY EVENING-8: 30 PM

"Well Angel, she's in play now. You can stop this. Spike doesn't even have to go through this. You can save him the pain you went through," Holland smiled, admiring the light as it bounced in the sphere, "All you have to do is give away something you were forced to take. How hard is that?"

Angel spoke with the voice of all his years, "I've already given up the Shanshu. What more do you want?"

Holland shook his head sadly, "Angel, that's where you're wrong. In order to give something up, in order to sacrifice, you must first believe in something. You don't believe in anything. Not even yourself. Therefore, you risk nothing. You give up nothing."

"If I give you what you're asking for, do you know how many people could die? How many I could kill?"

Holland nodded, "Yes. But that fact didn't enter into the equation when it was Winifred's life that hung in the balance, did it? Was Winifred more important to you than Buffy is?"

"No!"

"Well then the answer is simple isn't it? If you're worried about self -control, Spike is a shining example of what can be achieved with a little determination. If he can do without it, I'm sure you could. After all," Holland smiled devilishly, "you are the better man, aren't you?"

Angel slumped his shoulders in defeat, "Holland, I can't give you my soul."

"Well then, tomorrow night, 'William the Bloody' will be playing the part of Orpheus to her Eurydice'. Meet you in time for the overture, Angel."

---

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER

"Mommy, I've said I'm sorry. Why does he still hurt me so much?"

"You've forgotten, Sweetie. He told you she would trick you."

"He hates me, Mommy. I deserve it. Did you know I beat him up, just because he dared to love me?"

"He told you not to give up. Remember what he told you?"

"No Mommy. It hurts too much. I can't breathe. Mommy, why does he want to hurt me? I'm so tired Mommy. I just want to sleep."

Joyce kissed her temple, "I know Sweetheart. But you can't, not now. Not when there are still so many things you have to do. There are so many things he can show you, Buffy. You just have to trust him, and hold on."

---

"All I have to do is get Buffy out, and we can go on our merry way?" Spike squinted at Holland in disbelief, "What's the catch?"

"Clever man, there's always a catch," Holland said, "It seems, our Miss Edith is pining for something she lost. All you would have to do is give it back to her."

Spike thought about that for a moment. He nodded grimly as he prepared himself, and his few weapons, to enter his own personal Hell and pull Buffy back.

Holland found himself, strangely enough, proud as he watched Spike slowly limp into the darkness of the factory.

---

The oppressive heat and the overpowering scent of molasses hit Spike quickly. He had to remind himself that Buffy was somewhere in this maze or he would have let the fear take over. Not only was it dark as pitch in here but the smell stuck to the inside of his nostrils, mouth and eyelids, just as it had in the nightmare a few nights ago.

He had to shut his eyes tight against the thought. This was not a dream. This was all too real, and Buffy was counting on him. So, fear or not, on he would go.

Actually the dark was not really a hindrance to him, not here. Here, he could navigate the twists and turns blindfolded. He'd relived every nuance of this place since Dana had held him captive here.

If he were quiet, and reached down deep enough, he could find Buffy. There. Now, it was just a matter of following the humming bird flutter of her heartbeat and find her before it gave out.

"Buffy? Love, can you answer me?"

No answer. He swallowed and tried again, "It's me, Spike. Love, I know you're here. I'll find you don't you fret. Just hang on, all right?"

Spike heard a whisper of movement; movement so slight that it almost wasn't movement at all. That could only mean one thing. A vampire was near, and from the speed of the shadows in the room, he knew it had to be Drusilla.

"Drusilla, I'm here. I'll give you what you want. Just let the Slayer go," he tried not to let fear creep into his voice.

Her voice came out of the darkness, "Do you know what Miss Edith wants?"

He nodded in the black, "Yes. She wants William to go back to heaven, is that right?"

She sounded pleased, clapping her hands with joy, "Oh, my boy is so bright! He's almost blinding!"

Spike bellowed to the dark empty space, "Holland, did you hear that? Take the soul out of me, right now! Just give me Buffy back!"

"As you wish."

With that, Spike fell to his knees in pain and terror. He didn't hear anything though; all he felt was the pain of a vital part of him being ripped away. All he saw was Buffy, nude and drenched in blood, hanging by her manacled wrists, not two feet in front of him

Somehow instinct took over. It had to, because otherwise he couldn't have dealt with what happened next.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Drusilla stood behind Buffy's limp, lifeless body, with an orb in one hand and a stake pressed directly in front of Buffy's heart, in the other. Spike watched, as if in slow motion, as the stake penetrated the tender skin of Buffy's sternum. In that same instant, Drusilla's head reared back as if a bullet had struck her. Her body slowly faded into ash, revealing that it was Angelus who'd dealt Drusilla her death stroke.

As Drusilla's ash floated to the ground, the sphere that housed the soul of a poet was smashed into tiny shards on the concrete floor below, sending the soul back to the ether from whence it came.

The shock of what he'd seen, and felt, drove Spike into unconsciousness.

---

In Buffy's groggy state she didn't comprehend it all. What she did see as she slowly awoke was a grief-stricken Angel covered in ash.

He looked up at her with a tearstained face and said, "Oh, God Buffy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The smell of Buffy's blood roused him. At first it was comforting to him because it meant she was near. It was comforting until it overwhelmed him. The scent was too strong. There was just too much blood. Something had to be terribly wrong. It took a few seconds for Spike to remember where he was and what had just happened. The floor beneath where he had fallen was saturated with her scent, with her blood.

When that reality seeped into his conscious mind, his weakened limbs gained the strength they needed to propel his body back, in disgust, from the horrible sight in front of him. The shock of what he'd been through suddenly meant nothing to him. Nothing mattered to him but Buffy. The sight of her gave him inner strength he didn't know he possessed.

Buffy was suspended from a chain rigging in the ceiling. Her wrists were bound over her head, in manacles. Her body seemed to float and sway with her slightest movement. The weak attempts she was making to free herself only caused the weight and momentum of her body to spin her in slow, dizzying circles, adding to the disorientations that he knew she was experiencing. A feeling she was unable to stop because her feet were at least six inches off of the factory floor.

That was when he noticed Angel, seemingly frozen in place in front of her line of sight. Her head was hanging down and Spike could tell that she had lost consciousness, whether from shock or blood loss he didn't know, nor did he care. The only thing that his whole universe consisted of was the ever-fading whisper of her heartbeat.

Somehow he made his limbs move even though the clothes he wore were sodden and heavy with her blood.

"If you're not going to help her, Angelus, get out of the way!" he seethed as he tossed Angel aside and reached up to try and wrench the chain that held her, from the ceiling. He tried to position himself so that his body would absorb her fall and any jarring he would cause her. "Sorry Love. Let's try and get you out of here, all right?" he said gently as he pulled on the chain.

The rigging crumbled under his force and he gently held Buffy as he guided her body to the ground. Spike held her loosely in his arms, grasping her under her knees before she touched the floor because he didn't want her to have to awaken in a pool of her own blood.

He looked at the corner in which he'd tossed Angel, who was still staring dumbfounded, at him as he struggled to free Buffy. "Give me your coat," he said.

"What?"

"I said, give me your coat! Do you want Buffy to go out of here exposed to the elements! Now, hand it over."

Angel handed his coat over. And as Spike tenderly held Buffy in his arms, he wrapped her up in it. "There you go Love. This should help keep you warm."

Looking back over his shoulder at Angel he said, "Tell the others that I'm taking her to hospital. County General is closest. Tell them to meet us there."

Disregarding his own comfort, Spike carried her out of the factory as quickly as he could, the obstacles of the twists and turns, and the added weight of the satchel of weapons he carried forgotten in his urgency to get her to safety.

Once he was out in the open night air, he set her down on a little patch of grass near the building's entrance.

He looked her over with a concerned eye. Her injuries were too numerous to count. She had to get to hospital fast, but hospital would do her no good at all if she died before he could get her there. More than half of her blood volume was lost. The first thing he had to do was try to replace her lost fluids somehow.

As he reached into his satchel for the vile of holy water he carried, he thanked his father for insisting that he attend medical college for two years. The only reason he hadn't returned for his last year of schooling was that his father had died six months prior to when fate stepped in and he met with Lady Death, and he'd had to return home to care for his ailing mother. The medical knowledge he retained had made him a very effective killer.

And now he was finally using that knowledge for its intended purpose. With trembling fingers, he uncorked the small vile as he supported her head, "Here Love, drink this. It isn't much, but it will help until we get you to hospital."

Buffy's head weakly swayed from side to side, avoiding the water that he was trying to give her, "Love it's all I can give you right now. I'd take the manacles off, but I think your wrists are broken," his face was getting damp and his vision of her was a blur of red. There was so much blood, "And I don't want to hurt you anymore. Please take just a sip, Love. Then we'll be off, with eagle's wings, to hospital. Please?"

He strained to hear her delirious reply, "No..promised."

Spike could have howled with joy. His hold on her tightened a little, "Promises are good, Love, except in this case. You need it."

"Trick. Don't hurt me," her body was too dehydrated for the luxury of tears. Spike knew that if she weren't a Slayer, she would have been dead hours ago.

"I won't hurt you, Love. Not if I can do anything to avoid it. Please, just one little sip?" Spike ignored the natural instincts against self-injury, and placed the tip of the index finger of one hand at the mouth of the vile and tipped it over. The water stung his skin, but he paid it no attention. Buffy was more important to him than his own comfort. He brushed his fingertip against her dry lips, "Here, this should help," he nodded in encouragement as her tongue licked away the water droplets, "That's it. Bottoms up."

Buffy's eyes fluttered open. Spike knew from the look of terror that floated across her gaze that Drusilla had indeed invaded a place in her mind that had been safe for her once. He silently cursed Dru as he tried to comfort Buffy, "It's all right, Love," he smoothed her hair, "don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."

Spike shed the small cache of weaponry he had slung over his shoulder, leaving it on the grass as he rose from his knees, held her close to his chest, and ran with her toward the hospital.



Chapter Thirty-Five

Dawn was frantic with worry. She hadn't wanted to leave Spike's apartment for fear that he wouldn't come back. At least, she reasoned, if she stayed someplace that she knew Spike would go, eventually he'd have to be there. He would know to come back. If he didn't know where she was, how would he know to come back?

Willow had to remind her that Spike would probably stop by the Hotel too. So being here, instead of there, would be okay.

But that was hours ago. And he still hadn't been seen or heard from. The fact that there was no news only made her more afraid. She had good reason to be, she'd lived on a Hellmouth for most of her life. She knew all the things other people thought were just the stuff of nightmares were very, very real.

She also knew that if Buffy were hurt, Spike might not be able to get past that. She was afraid that he might just wait for the morning, and she would never see him again.

"Dawn, I'm sure Spike is fine," Xander was saying, "I mean, the guy was a walking charcoal briquette. What could be worse than that?"

The pain that was showing on her face made Xander wish the earth would open up and send him to his own private circle of Hell, "Okay. Not helping. Sorry, Dawn, sometimes my mouth outruns my brain, and then my brain has to smack my mouth around a little for getting away from it. But, I'm sure we'll hear something soon," Xander hugged Dawn, "Spike wouldn't let you worry long. We'll know something soon."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Dawn startled at the sound but rushed to open it as her heart suddenly took residence in her throat.

When she saw Angel, standing in the doorway instead of the vampire she had hoped for, she lunged for him. The surprise of her attack caught Angel unawares and he collided with the wall across the hall with an amazing force and speed.

Dawn was hurling accusations, and fists at him, "You son of a bitch! You killed him! I told him not to go. I begged him! But he wouldn't listen to me," if she had been a little older, the punches she landed would not only be bruising, but bone crunching as well, "Did you kill Buffy too? Did you? You tell me what you did to her, you evil, sadistic bastard!"

Angel waited for fatigue to slow down the blows that were raining on his head and face before he none too gently pushed Dawn off of him. He lay there, in disbelief, as the Scoobies had done nothing to stop the tiny torrent of fists and allegations.

"When I left, they both were alive," Angel muttered, "Buffy was barely holding on. She'd lost a lot of blood. If I hadn't been there, she would have died."

Dawn's eyes blazed in fire, her fists were clenched, "Where is Spike?"

"He took her to County General. He's there with her now. He wants you all to meet him there."

---

He must have looked like an axe murderer coming into the emergency room of the hospital covered in Buffy's blood.

"Nurse, you have to help me," he said as he rushed up to the triage nurse, "I found this woman wondering in the old warehouse district. She said she'd been kidnapped. Then she passed out, and I brought her here," it was at that point that all rational thought flew away, "You have to help," he begged, "I think she's been raped."

The nurse proceeded in a calm orderly fashion, having been witness to all manor of injury in her years of working as a nurse. She motioned for a gurney, "Do you know this woman?"

"Only by acquaintance," he lied, as he placed Buffy gently on the stretcher, "I think her name is Buffy Summers."

"Any known allergies, Mister...?"

"Dustin. William Dustin. And no. No allergies. Please take care of her."

"We will. I'm going to have another nurse look at you," she said as she hurried behind a restricted area with Buffy, "You stay there. The nurse will be right out. Sit down. You look like you might be going into shock."

That was hours ago. Or, it could have been merely moments. Everything that had happened since he'd awakened in a pool of her blood was just a nightmarish blur. The few precious moments of consciousness Buffy had had while on her way here were filled with desperate pleas for him not to hurt her.

The things Drusilla could have done to her made him physically ill to even imagine.

Drusilla. Oh, God. Drusilla was gone. His Dark Princess, the one he'd loved for so long that it had almost been as natural to love her as breathing had once been, was gone. She was nothing more now then a handful of dust.

Ashes to ashes; dust to dust. For dust thou art, unto dust thou shall return.

And now, because of her, Buffy might be so traumatized that she never may be truly his again. Buffy may turn out to be another of Angelus's victims. Another of his artistic creations, beautifully, brilliantly mad.

As he sat in the small hospital chapel, soaked through to the skin in Buffy's blood because he hadn't allowed that poor little candy striper to get within a kilometer of him, he plotted his revenge.

Angelus would pay for taking his soul, his Buffy, away from him.

---

As he sat there, in a place that made it clear he was unwanted with her life all over him, he was shaking with rage. The rage filled the void in his chest and cascaded over his limbs. The peaceful calm of this place was foreign to him. He didn't really fit anymore. He knew that. The one person that made him fit, that made him feel like he belonged, was dying. Even if she somehow survived the night, someday she would die. She would die, as all humans did. One day, he would feel a numbness that would never stop. He dreaded that day.

But that day was not today. And he would do whatever he had to for it not to be. Even if that meant bargaining with someone he knew didn't like him very much.

He wasn't sure how a thing like this was done. So, he started out with what he knew, "Okay," he said softly, staring at the cross on the wall, "I've never been much on the ritual. And I know this goes against every rule you've got up there. But, I've never been one for rules, either. I'm kind of a rebellious sort," he shook his head at the juxtaposition of two, seemingly, separate events.

When he'd first come to Sunnydale, he'd laughed at the old vampires, cowering before a God he was sure didn't exist. He'd been so sure that he'd tossed their Anointed One in a cage and hoisted him up to the sunlight to meet the one they all revered, and feared so much.

Now, all these years later, he was so much older now; he was embracing the ritual that he had once mocked. He was embracing things he knew would burn him, in hopes that someone, somewhere would take pity on this empty pantomime, and save her.

Except it wasn't empty. How could it be, when something in him still believed? "I guess the fact that I'm trying to plead my case just proves what a fool I really am. Always have been, I suppose. I know I shouldn't even be wasting the time asking," he hung his head, unable to look at the symbol that held so much promise, and pain, for him. And for her, "But, I'm asking anyway. Please, don't take her yet. She's so young," the dampness mixed with the dried blood on his face and made his skin feel like it was too tight. It made him feel brittle and old. Maybe he was too old. Maybe he was too old to be asking for any kind of consideration. But, he wasn't asking for himself, he was asking for her. Surely, for her, something could be done, "God, she's still so young. Please, don't take her. I still need her. I can't..."

The words were lost, and he began to sob.

---

Giles rushed up to the nurses' station followed by Dawn, Xander and Willow, "Nurse, someone named Buffy Summers was brought in here some time ago. Is there any news on her condition?"

"Are you relation?"

"No," Giles answered, clearly flustered, "but this girl is her sister," he said, as Dawn stepped closer to the desk.

"How is she?" Dawn asked, "Can I see her? Is she...?"

"Miss Summers, your sister is being taken care of. She lost a significant amount of blood, but we're doing what we can for her. It was a good thing that the gentleman who brought her in was able to get her here as quickly as he did. Your sister was in bad shape when he brought her in. She's still critical, but we're hopeful that we got to her in time, thanks to him."

Dawn looked around for Spike, but didn't see him, "The man that brought her in, where is he?"

"He's in there," the nurse said, pointing to the small room that served as the hospital chapel, "I'm more concerned about him than I am your sister right now, Miss. He won't let anyone near him, and he looks like he might be suffering from shock," the nurse shook her head, "He seems quite...agitated. And I must warn you, his appearance may frighten you."

Dawn smiled knowingly, "Somehow, I doubt that. Thank you. Will you come get me if there's any news about my sister, or when I'll be able to see her? I'm going in to thank him for saving my sister."

"Yes, of course," the nurse said as Dawn entered the chapel.

---

Buffy began to wonder if she were really dead. He hadn't been back in quite some time. The last thing she remembered was seeing his face. He was trying to give her water. She knew it was a trick. Her Mommy had made her promise not to drink, so she didn't. Drusilla could use every trick in the book if she wanted to. Nothing was going to make her break that promise. Not even seeing him again would make her break that promise.

She knew he was dead. He was dead, and this time there was nothing that would bring him back. She knew this because the nightmare she had, had come true. She'd seen it herself, before she'd passed out. There was Angel, just like in her dream, covered in his ashes.

She wanted to cry. But then Drusilla used that sweet face of his, the detail was so amazing she almost believed it was real, to make her drink. She knew better than to drink anything she had to offer. If she did that maybe she would wake up dead.

She wanted to see him again, even if it was a trick. Even if he wanted to hurt her like he had before, she wanted to see him. She missed him so much that when Drusilla softened the face a little, even going so far as to add tears in the eyes to make her trust what it was saying, she almost believed. She almost gave in. She missed him that much.

Then suddenly, even the small comfort of his face was gone and she was set adrift on a sea of faces she didn't recognize. She was listening to voices and sounds she didn't know. She was tired and hurt and she felt sick to her stomach.

She wanted him. He had to explain this. How could this have happened?

"Angel," she moaned, "Why, Angel? Why?"

The doctor who attended her noticed her stirring, "The intravenous fluid bolus and the blood transfusion she was given seem to be taking effect. She's coming around," the doctor was amazed by what he was seeing. With the number of lacerations and stab wounds this girl had, not to mention the blood loss, she should have been dead on arrival, "This is absolutely amazing. I'll go tell the family."

---

There was nothing in her eyes when she looked up at him. They were vacant. Nobody home. And he was afraid that the owner would never be back.

Why did he even care? He shouldn't. He should be wondering why there was a gaping hole in his chest all of the sudden. But somehow that didn't seem to matter. Not when all he could see, everywhere he looked, was her blood. It was in his hair and in his eyes. The scent of it was clinging to the inside of his nostrils and running into his brain. It was under his fingernails and on his skin. She was everywhere. Even in his mouth, she was there. There was no way to get clean. No way to get her scent off of him. There was nowhere for him to run.

The numbness he was feeling made no sense to him. There was no reason for it. He shouldn't even care. His Drusilla was gone. He should have been tearing the place apart. He should be raging. He should be a whirling dervish of rage. It should be unstoppable. But, it's not. Somehow, he found himself unable to move, unable to blink. He couldn't even think. He seemed frozen, and he couldn't understand why that was.

He was frozen. Numb. And, somehow he found himself staring at the odd rust color on his hands. He just couldn't take his eyes off of it. And no matter how hard he scrubbed, it didn't come off. It just stayed there, staring back at him. Screaming at him.

There was a little breath of a voice that came from the door, "Spike," it said, all sugar and innocence, "are you all right?"

Somewhere he knew that the sound he heard should have been comforting. But, what was comfort? He turned toward the sound and the demon slipped, "Get away from me, Dawn," it warned. "You don't want to be around me just now. Things aren't making sense. I could hurt you. Go away!"

Dawn had seen this before. They'd both been through the grief of losing Buffy once before. So she knew that he was serious. She knew that he was only warning her because he'd seen something horrible and he couldn't process it all. She knew that, in his own way, he was trying to protect her. And, she kept her distance.

She nodded her head and slowly stepped into the room, "It's okay. I won't make any sudden moves. I promise," she said as she sat down on the small bench, as far from him as the small room would allow her to be while still being in the same room with him, "Do you mind if I just sit here, and wait with you until it passes?"

The two just sat together, yet each felt totally alone, in silence.

---

The doctor approached the group as they were huddled in the waiting room, "You asked for an update on Miss Summers's condition?" he asked as he surveyed the group.

They all breathed a sigh of relief, but it was Giles who spoke for them, "Yes doctor. How is she?"

"She's conscious now. Though she is still a bit incoherent," he pulled Giles away from the others slightly and spoke in hushed tones so the others wouldn't hear, "Are you her father?"

"No. No, I am not. Though at times both she and I wish it was so. Her own father is out of the country. There is no way to get in touch with him. If something is wrong, if she needs any sort of treatment, I am authorized to give consent," Giles sighed, "if she cannot do so, herself. Is there something wrong, doctor?" he asked, suddenly feeling very old.

"She is awake and asking for someone called Angel. But, before anyone sees her, I thought you should be made aware that we've run some tests, and based on our findings, we had to notify the police."

"Good heavens," Giles breathed, "The authorities are only notified in cases of some type of... assault. Am I correct?"

"Sir, that woman was brought to this hospital with multiple stab wounds and lacerations. Our tests show that she may have also been sexually assaulted. It was our duty to call in the authorities."

---

Dawn just sat there patiently and waited for Spike to say something. She knew she could be in for a long wait. The last time something like this happened the only thing that brought him out of it had been her presence. If it hadn't been for her, the night Buffy jumped from that tower would have been Spike's last. Not even the impending daylight had made him move from her body. Only her plaintive cries had gotten through.

As she watched Spike, motionless and blood stained, her thoughts returned again to that morning.

They all gathered around the rubble, staring at her. They made no sound. They were all so shocked that sound and movement seemed out of place here.

The silence grew. It grew until it was so large that it became something that wasn't silence anymore. It was something new. It was something more terrifying than Glory, more terrifying than all the vampires in Sunnydale put together. What Dawn heard was the worst thing ever.

She heard a weeping sound that quickly turned into a gut-wrenching wail. That soon made a metamorphosis into this great rumble of rage that was so loud that it almost blew out her eardrums.

She looked to see what the Hellmouth could conjure up, what kind of monster could make that sound. She looked, and she saw what had made that sound. A sound that she wished she could make, because it sounded just like her heart felt. But she couldn't make that sound.

So, she did what she could to try and comfort the creature that was making that sound for her.

He had somehow dragged himself over to where she had fallen. His body was draped over hers, like a shroud. He was crying, begging her not to be dead. Dawn had never seen him like that before, and it scared her.

She tried to warn him. She tried to tell him that the sun was coming, but when she got close to him, he let out the most animalistic growl, as if he were mortally wounded. When she tried to move him physically, his body became as inflexible as granite. The only thing that saved Spike from the sun's deadly rays had been her pleas for him to stay with her and to take care of her, because that is what Buffy would have wanted.

It was the same now. There would be no moving him until he wanted to be moved. She was glad that the little stained-glass windows in this room would be able to protect him a little if he chose to stay here much longer.

There was a small knock at the door, "Dawn," Willow said, "Buffy's awake. The doctor says we can go in one at a time and see her, now."

Dawn was weak with relief, "Did you hear that, Spike? Buffy is awake! I'm going to go up and see her now. I'll let you know how she is and you can see her when you're feeling better, all right? Bye Spike. I love you."

---

When Dawn got off the elevator to the third floor intensive care unit she saw Angel coming out of a room that she assumed was Buffy's. She walked quickly up to him and with fire blazing in her eyes, asked, "What do you think you're doing here? Didn't you get the message back at the hotel, or do we have to go another ten rounds? I don't care if I break both my arms teaching you, but you will learn to stay away from my sister," she came up to him until her sneakers were on top of the toes of his shoes, "You got me?"

Angel almost laughed at this mini powder keg of a girl. If he didn't know that her sister was the Slayer, he would have taken it as an empty threat. He'd learned a long time ago not to take the Summers girls at face value. Still, all the bluster and swagger wasn't Dawn. He knew just who the influence was here, "I think you've been hanging around Spike a little too much, Dawn."

"And who else was there? You were never around. For three years Spike was there. He was there when I needed him. He was there when Buffy needed him. Where the Hell were you, Angel?" Dawn shook her head, "I so do not want to get into this with you right now," she nodded toward her sister, who was lying behind a glass door, hooked up to all sorts of monitors, beeping and whirring and making all kinds of sounds that Dawn didn't understand, "Did she say anything?"

Angel hung his head, "No, not to me. She just sat there with her eyes staring through me. It was like I wasn't even there. Like I didn't even exist. It was kind of creepy, even for me. I don't know if anyone will be able to get through to her now. It's like there's no one home in there."

"Just like Spike. He's in the chapel downstairs, and he's acting just like that. He's frozen," Dawn mused, "Like he'd been traumatized by something even he couldn't cope with. What happened in the warehouse, Angel?"

---

IN THE INTERREGNUM

Joyce was beside herself. In this place of peace, she was anything but peaceful.

"But you don't understand. When this happens he'll have nothing to hold on to. No peace at all. You saw what happened. You can't let them, you can't let him go through that alone. There must be something you can do?"

"We understand your distress, child. But there is nothing to be done for it. This thing is done. It cannot be undone."

"Fine," Joyce was determined, " I may not exist on their plane anymore, but I'm still a Summers. If a trial by fire is what you want, then that's exactly what you're gonna get! I'm not leaving my babies down there alone."

When the right stars were aligned, the flame winked into existence for the briefest of moments, then folded back into space. The exchange was made.

They wouldn't even notice it was there until they needed it.

Up in the heavens, mothers smiled. Everything would be all right. They had made sure of it. It had always been this way. For eons of time mothers had been the keepers of existence, the key to it, in fact.

---

The things Angel told her sent Dawn rushing, first to Willow to ask for her help if Spike needed it, then she found herself back on the third floor heading for her sister's room.

When she got there, she found a policeman standing by the door, "See if you can get your sister to tell us what happened to her."

Dawn tried to remember that the policeman was only doing his job asking her this, "Officer, my sister has been through quite an ordeal. I'm sure she'll tell you all the things you want to know. When she's ready. Until then, I'm not going to do anything to rush her. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd like to see if my sister feels like talking to me."

"Of course," he said as he left Dawn alone and disappeared behind the closing elevator door.

Dawn looked closely at her sister. If she understood what the machines were saying, then Buffy would be fine, physically. She might even be out of the hospital soon. This was one of the first times Dawn was glad that her sister was a Slayer.

Physically, Buffy was fine, or would be very soon. But her eyes were blank. It was like somebody had erased something but then forgot to put anything in its place.

She sat down in the chair next to the bed, "Buffy, Angel told me what happened in the warehouse. He told me what Drusilla did," Dawn bit her lip and continued talking, hoping that Buffy could hear her somehow, "He told me what happened to Spike there."

Dawn noticed as big fat tears started to roll silently down Buffy's face, "You miss him, don't you?"

Buffy gave a slight, but very definite nod.

"But Buffy, he's not gone. Not really. Willow can help him."

"No. He's gone. Dust. Just like my dream," Buffy sounded like she was underwater. She was slipping back to the place she had been in just after the Hellmouth closed. Dawn didn't want to lose her to that place again. Or Spike, either, if she could help it. Two people she loved very nearly more than her own life were drowning. Dawn had to save them both before they went under and couldn't come back up.

"No, Buffy, you're wrong. And, I can prove it. Just give me a little time," she kissed her sister's forehead as she left the room, "I'll be back soon, I promise, and I'll prove it to you!"

---

Angelus's presence in the chapel turned his granite limbs fluid again, "You said what?" his voice felt and sounded like it had been drug over a gravel road.

"I told her what went down in the factory."

"How could you do that? How?"

"She wanted to know, Spike. She's not a kid, anymore. She can be told these things."

Anger and rage that was millions of years old moved his petrified limbs to action. Spike was up and moving before he even had time to think about the consequences. He grabbed Angel's arm in a vice grip, "You, Angelus, are coming with me," he growled as his eyes flickered to amber, "because we are not discussing how much your ass is getting kicked, in a church with sick people all around," he paused, tilting his head to one side and grinned a grin that gave just a hint of menace as he pulled Angel out into the hall, down the elevator and into the underground parking garage, "Although I must say, there aren't many that are as sick as you are, Angelus."

As Angel felt himself being pushed, somehow he lost his footing and his head came crashing into the Porsche that suddenly took up his whole field of vision. The impact sent the alarm screeching. Angel felt sure that the prospect of being caught would stop Spike, or at least slow him down so that he could talk some sense into the boy. That wasn't the case.

The thud that sounded when his head hit the car only spurred Spike on. Next, Angel found himself being grabbed by the scruff of the neck and turned over so that he was starring into Spike's eyes. Those eyes had nothing guiding them. Nothing was going to stop him. Spike didn't have a soul that would tell him when to stop. All Angel saw in those feral eyes as they stared down at him was death.

"Buffy wasn't enough, was she Angel?" Spike hit Angel's chin with a left hook so hard that even he cringed when he heard the bones crack, "You just had to expose Dawn. Pure, sweet, and innocent little Dawn; you just couldn't leave her out of the fray?"

Angel's head was ricocheting off of the concrete floor. If he had been human, the back of his skull would have caved in from the force of impact.

"You just had to expose her to all the death and the blood, didn't you?"

Angel thought he could see tears mixed in with the anger and blood on Spike's face as it quivered in and out of his vision, "You just had to tell her that I couldn't love her anymore! You had to take that away from me, too! You took Drusilla," the blows kept up a furious pace, "Drusilla's sick, twisted fun house mirror vision hurt Buffy in a place I can't even know. She'll never be the same," Spike closed his eyes, giving Angel a brief respite from the crushing blows, "Her eyes are different. They're dimmer somehow. And that's because of you! The cuts and bruises will heal," Spike punched Angel until he heard his own hand crunch. The rage inside him needed an outlet.

He was in mourning. He was mourning Buffy and Drusilla. He felt the rage at the loss of the soul, something he'd fought so hard for, flowing out of him through his tensed muscles and clenched fists, and into Angelus, then shattering somewhere in the ether. He was mourning a little girl, too. He was mourning the love he knew he had lost, the love of Dawn, his Bit, when he lost his soul.

He knew she wouldn't understand why he'd done it. And he remembered that he promised that he would never hurt her sister again. When he'd made that promise he was sure he could keep it. He went and fought for his soul so that he would be able to keep that promise. But now, without that soul, Spike wasn't sure he could keep that promise anymore. If he couldn't keep that promise, how was Bit supposed to love him?

"But now, because of you everyone I love is gone." Spike grabbed Angel up again and stared into his battered face, his amber eyes still glowing, "Now, give me one good reason why I shouldn't tear your head off right here and dace in your dust."

He didn't hear an answer. What he did hear was a sweet, innocent little voice, "Spike, you can kill Angel later, if you want to. I'll even help you. But, right now Buffy needs you," Dawn said, "And, I think you need her, too."


Epilogue

She found herself walking on the beach at sunset. Or, it could have been sunrise; she couldn't really distinguish which one it was. The point was the sky was tuning that pretty orange color that only comes twice a day, at sunrise and sunset.

Buffy felt the softness of the sand as it cradled her feet. She could smell the salt in the air and feel the gentle mist from the waves on her face. It was cool and comforting. Like he had been.

"Buffy?"

She turned and saw a small flicker of light coming toward her. Sunset, she thought. It must be sunset here; otherwise there would be no need for candles.

"Mom?"

Her face glowed a little. Buffy wasn't sure if it was due to the candlelight or the fact that she was dreaming.

She was dreaming. But how could she have fallen asleep when everything was so horrible on the outside? How could she be so selfish? He wasn't here anymore. She shouldn't be dreaming about beaches and her Mom and candles, not when he wasn't there to share it with her.

Joyce smiled, "Oh, Sweetie he's here with you," she winked, "I made sure of it."

"But, I saw it. He's dust. I know it."

"Honey, let me show you something," she said as she knelt in the sand. Buffy watched as two large circles were drawn, one next to the other, in the sand, "You see the point where the circles overlap?"

"Yeah."

Joyce nodded, "They're separate but they're together, too. At that one point, they exist together. They need each other; otherwise the circles wouldn't be complete. Understand?"

"No."

Joyce sighed, "Okay, let's try it another way," she said as she blew out her candle.

"But, Mom, now I can't see you."

"Buffy, you don't need light to see me. It's always twilight here. Didn't he tell you not to use your eyes?"

"Yeah, he did," she whispered, choking on her tears.

"I know. That's good advice, Sweetheart. And that's why I gave you both a little gift," Joyce hugged Buffy giving her a little kiss, "I knew this was going to be hard, on both of you. So, I did what I could to help."

"What gift, Mom?"

"It's just a little surprise. You had your gift. I have mine. I love you, Buffy."

Buffy felt a kiss brush her cheek as her mother disappeared.

---

Spike paced outside Buffy's room. He wasn't sure what would happen once Buffy opened her eyes and saw him. Would she recognize him? Would she cry? Would she scream? Or, would she stare off into space, too far for him to reach? Had Drusilla's last act been to do something he had sought to do, but thankfully had neither the inclination, nor the strength anymore, to accomplish? Had Drusilla finally killed Buffy Summers?

He was unprepared for just how ill the idea of her death made him feel. As he stared at her diminutive frame lying in the bed with tubes and wires crisscrossing every which way, he tried to gather the courage to go in and see her.

At the factory he'd been running on instinct. It was animal fury that had driven him then. Even things he should have taken pleasure in, the throttling he'd given Angelus, had been without thought. If it hadn't been for Bit, Angelus would be dust on a concrete floor right now.

Spike wondered if Angelus knew just how close he'd been to crossing a line. He wondered if Angelus knew that Dawn had saved him. When Spike thought about it, he knew that Dawn had saved him too. It wasn't that far of a jump to just letting the fury take hold. If that had happened, no one would be safe.

As he watched the two girls he loved more than his existence, the ones he loved, and prized even more highly than his own soul, he wondered why he still cared for them. It didn't make sense to him since he didn't have a soul to tell him they mattered, but somehow they did. He still cared. And, if it were possible, he cared even more than he had before the soul stood in the place of his dead heart. Something in him still burned, like a tiny candle flame, for them. Something kept him warm. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that without it, he wouldn't be entirely whole.

Dawn came out of the little room. When had she grown up? "How is she, Dawn?"

"I think she's sleeping now. You can go in to see her, if you want to."

"I can't Bit," he choked, "not like this."

Dawn took hold of Spike's hand, which still had Buffy's blood on it, "I don't really think she'll care what you look like, Spike. Just go in and be with her. That's all that matters."

He shook his head, suddenly feeling exhausted, "That's not what I meant, Dawn."

The pain in his eyes made Dawn want to cry. She knew he was feeling the loss of his soul now. She could see that he was drowning, and Buffy was the only thing that would save him. But, he wouldn't take the safety she would give him for fear of dragging her down in his wake.

"Spike, take some advice from a girl who's even older than you are," she winked, trying to put on a brave face, "What you did for her proves, to anyone with eyes and even an ounce of heart, that you have more soul," she stopped when he lowered his eyes, "Hey, look at me," his gaze returned to hers, "What you did proves that you have more soul without one than that other vampire," she practically spat out the words, "does with one. Now, go in and see her. Just sit with her. She'll know you're there. You won't even need to talk."

---

Down in the parking garage, Angel was licking his wounds. He was glad Dawn came when she did. If she hadn't come at that moment, Angel was certain he would be headless right now.

"And, what does that say about you, Angel? The fact that he was able to control himself when he so clearly wanted to tear your head from your shoulders, I wonder, would you have been able to stop?"

"Holland, do you ever tire of pestering me?"

"It's a legitimate question, Angel."

"Angelus isn't me."

"Oh really?" Holland was incredulous, "Because lately, to be frank, the Home Office has had trouble differentiating the two. Angel and Angelus seem to be acting quite similar these days. That's why the Powers put on this little passion play. They wanted to see who really deserved the dessert at the end of the meal. Guess we all get what we wanted. The Higher Ups get their Champion," Holland sneered.

"But Spike doesn't have a soul. How does he end up with the Shanshu?"

"Oh, don't worry. He won't be getting the brass ring quite yet. But, he's on the fast track now. It won't take him long at all. Certainly not as long as it took you," he shook his head, "What am I saying, you still don't have it, Angel. And let's face it, you probably never will," Holland shrugged, "But who knows? Prophecies are such tricky things. I could be wrong, entirely. Somehow though, I doubt that I am. But look on the bright side, Angel; you'll have a nice cushy corner suite down in the Home Office just waiting for you. Nice doing business with you," he grinned as he handed Angel his business card, "We look forward to a long and, shall we say, fruitful relationship."

With that, Holland Manners disappeared.

---

He looked down at her sleeping face and wondered if the fairy tales could be true. Could he wake her with just a kiss? "Open your eyes. Please, Buffy. I need you to be all right," he took her small hand in his and kissed her fingers lightly. He didn't know what to say to her, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. It seemed crazy. She wouldn't go for it, he was sure of that. After all he didn't have a soul now. And, Buffy wanted to be a normal girl.

But then, what was normal anyway? Dawn was right, what he did proved he had something no one else did, "Buffy," he suddenly was unsure of his words, whether out of fatigue or just plain fear, he couldn't tell. But it was too late to back out now. The words were off of his tongue before he knew what he'd said, "Buffy, if you wake up, I promise to get you a beautiful circle of gold to fit on your beautiful finger. Just wake up, now."

When his brain processed what he'd said, he wondered where it had come from. As it turned out he needn't have looked far to find the answer, because at that very moment, Dawn and Willow were having a very enlightening conversation.

---

"Willow, you have to help Spike get his soul back."

"But, Dawn, he doesn't need it," Willow said, smiling, "He and Buffy already share one."

---

Buffy didn't need to open her eyes to know that Spike was there. And, somehow, even though she couldn't articulate just how she knew, she knew what he had done to save her. She knew just what he had lost. And she knew what he had gained.

She looked up into his tired beaten face, and asked, "You promise?"

The joy Spike felt at seeing her emerald eyes had to express itself, "Yes. I promise. As soon as you're well enough."

The reply was weak, "I feel like a million bucks."

"I love you, Buffy Summers," Spike said as he leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss.

---

Buffy looked at him with such sadness in her eyes that it would have taken his breath away, if he'd had any to take. He tried soothing her hair back and tracing tiny circles on her temple, "Hey, none of that now. The light was there a moment ago. I saw it," he kissed her temple, " Where did it go so quickly?" he smiled, "You haven't come to your senses yet have you? Because I was hoping to bask in your glow just a touch longer."

"No. Spike I..."

His brows knitted with worry, "Then it must be something else. What is it?"

"Spike, Drusilla she..."

The mention of her name caused a cloud to pass over the little ray of sunshine he had been bathing in, and he felt the cold, "No talk of her now. There's nothing to be done for it. You're all that matters."

"I'm sorry. I know you loved her," tears were coming, even though her body was too far beyond them they still came. Not for Drusilla, but for him. She felt the swell of grief in him. That grief was eclipsed by his concern for her. She didn't know how she knew, but she did, "and, I'm sorry."

"Did Dawn tell you what happened?" Spike asked.

"No. I just know."

"Then you know that I would give up everything I had," Spike's voice was strained with worry and grief, " I did give up what I had, for you." He shook his head as he watched tears coming down Buffy's face, "And, I don't regret it. I'd do it all again, if I had to, for you. Drusilla doesn't even matter one jot. All that matters," he wiped away the tears as they were falling, "is you. Nothing else. You're all I know about. And, you're all that I care about. Just you. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Good. We understand each other, then," he slowly rose to his feet, "You just do your job and get well again," he turned back to look at her before he left the room, "I'll take care of everything else. I love you."

Dawn was waiting outside her sister's room for Spike to come out. She couldn't wait to tell him what Willow had told her. She was sure it would make him happy.

When she saw him come out of the room, he looked anything but happy. He looked like he'd just been handed the news that another apocalypse was headed to town, "Oh God," a look like that on Spike's face did not mean anything good. She started to panic, " Spike, did something happen to Buffy?"

"No Bit," he whispered, "Nothing like that."

"Then what? You look even pastier than when you went in there. And, believe me, that's pretty pasty."

"I believe I just asked for your sister's hand."

Dawn was confused, "You don't already have two?"

Spike was giddy and frightened all at once. He felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his world and at the same instant that that happened, he felt that his world would stop if he didn't indeed wed her, and do it soon, "No, Dawn, I just asked your sister to be my wife."

Dawn grinned, "You did?" she bounced on her toes, ready to grab him in the biggest hug he'd ever had, "What did she say?"

"She didn't turn me down."

Dawn encased him in a bear hug, "Oh Spike, that's such good news! I can't wait to plan the wedding! Oh, and the reception! We should have a big band, with lots of trumpets. Buffy likes trumpets. You do like trumpets, don't you? Oh this is going to be so much fun! I love you, Spike!"

Spike was bemused watching that wonderful, whirligig of a girl, as she raced off down the hall to spread the news, "I love you, too."

---

Angel was smarting. Spike had beaten him before, many times. At least one of those times had been in recent memory. But, he'd never looked murderous before. Yet with all that rage flowing through him, he'd managed to stop, not at the point of a stake or a blade but at the behest of a little girl.

Angel wondered if maybe Holland had a point. If given the same circumstances, would he be able to control his demon? Could he pull himself away from the abyss? Was the key to gaining the humanity he'd lost, not in how many people you helped, but in something else, something that was more of an idea than an action? Something Spike seemed to have an intuitive grasp on, while he'd been flailing around for almost a decade trying to find the meaning and reason for his existence, had Spike found it, without even looking?

Could Spike really be the one? In the end, would it be him?

As Angel exited the hospital, the last vestiges of night were burning away. He had much to think about. And, it seemed, an eternity in which to do so.

---

SIX MONTHS LATER

It was raining again, but she didn't mind. She knew what she was doing, where she was going. This was the last thing to do before she walked down the aisle, or to be more precise, the park, tomorrow night.

As she closed her umbrella, she was happy to see him waiting for her. She walked up to the pew he was sitting in, and sat down next to him, "You sure you want to do this? You can still back out you know."

He looked at her with a cautious eye, "Not getting cold feet, are you?"

"No."

"No? Let's do this then. It seems right."

"Okay," she said as she and Spike prepared to light the candles.

"Ladies first."

Buffy was suddenly overcome with emotion. So overcome that she nearly couldn't light the small wick. Her voice seemed to fail her, "For William. May he rest in peace."

Spike gave her a little nod of encouragement, and William a moment of silence, before he set the flame to glowing on his own candle. In a voice hushed by a century of history, he said, "For Edith. May she find peace and forgiveness with the angels."

They both watched as the two flames seemed to melt into one.

---

THE NEXT NIGHT

This was supposed to be easy. People had been doing this for centuries. So why was she so nervous?

"Willow, please tell me he didn't pull a Xander and disappear? Please tell me he's going to be there when I need him. I couldn't take it if he wasn't."

Buffy must have asked her the same question a thousand times in the past thirty minutes, George, you tell her. My legs are still sore from running out to the gazebo the last time she asked."

"Buffy," George said, patiently, "Spike is down there, giving Xander fits, asking about you every five seconds. He's there," she smiled, "Trust me. There's nowhere he'd rather be right now. Besides, if he tried to skip out, Dawn would just drag him back here, by his ear."

"Do you think he'll like the dress? I went to five different vintage clothing shops before I found one in authentic Victorian lace. I really hope he likes it."

"Buffy, he loves you. Your dress is absolute perfection," George said, "and you're beautiful. But he would love you even if you were dressed in a burlap sack!"

"Really? You think so?"

George nodded.

"Okay, let's do this."

---

Buffy couldn't think. The minister was talking, she knew that. He was saying something important. But she couldn't take her eyes off of him. His eyes were so blue. Even in this dim candlelight, they were such a bright blue. So bright she was almost blinded by it.

She looked down at where their hands met. At the small rings they were wearing. His hands were so small. Almost too small to be as strong as they were. But, they were the perfect size for her. They would hold and caress her, and love her until she couldn't take the bliss she knew he could give her. They would protect her. They would catch her when she fell, and hold her when she couldn't stand.

A wife. She was going to be a wife to him. Something she never thought she'd get to have, she was going to have. In about five minutes she was going to be a wife to Mister William Alistair Dustin.

She almost laughed. Who knew he had a name like Alistair? No wonder he'd preferred "Spike."

The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. And it was the best kiss she had ever had, or ever would have for as long as she lived.

---

Later, at the reception, as they were dancing their first dance, Spike smiled and whispered in her ear, "See all those trombone players, Love? Count them. There are exactly seventy-six of them. Just like I promised."

"I love you," she whispered, as she kissed his lips.

"I love you too, Buffy. So much," he answered as he swept her away, dancing on a cloud of air.


~Fin~