To Make Much of Time

by Sangga

Email: sangga55@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Joss, you're my hero. I own nothing - a fake disclaimer is nobody's friend.

Characters: Ensemble - Buffy and Atvs cross momentarily.

Summary: The forces of Good and Evil are balancing the books. The threat of a new Armaggedon is keeping the Scoobies busy, but Buffy has other things on her mind...

Rating: NC-17

Category: Action/Adventure/Romance And Ensuing Angst

Spoilers: S5

Author's note: This is fic stands alone, but it might be more enjoyable if you read the one that comes before it, `Black the Sun'. This is kind of an AU piece - I've borrowed elements of Season Five plot and character action (eg: Dawn, Joyce's illness), but not necessarily stayed true to the show's development of those arcs. Lyrics by Ben Harper, Sinead O'Connor and Laika (paraphrased) are used without permission.

Thanks: Eternally, to Autonoe for beta-ing this.

Distribution: Sure, why not, what the hell - just mail me and let me know, okay?

Feedback: Always gives me a little tingly feeling.

To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,

The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry:

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick 1591-1674

PART ONE - Gathering Rosebuds

Friday

5.47pm

The road was smooth. There was a light headwind, but nothing she hadn't pushed into before. It was nice actually - enough to cool the sweat on her brow, the beading on her legs, under her arms.

The bike was light beneath her body - it was a good day, a decent ride, but her calves were sore all the same. She lifted up on her seat, letting her legs absorb the bumps on the road, feeling the bike kick under her like an animal.

In the old days it had been horses, and in days older than that, just the jarring of her sandalled feet on the ground as she ran. The bicycle was a new thing --oh, happy invention! - but it felt much the same to her, a sense of mount and rider becoming one, moving together in serene unity. She'd needed a special dispensation to get the bike - it was as close to a machine as she was allowed. No motors - no cars, no impressive Harleys. That was the Rule. This had to be done the old way, with effort, with hard-earned sweat. That was the Way, the only way for a Courier.

But the clothes were her idea - pilfered on the road, the long bike pants, the wind jacket, the sneakers. A pouch at her waist held essentials.

She hit a rise and lifted in her seat to begin the climb. The light was fading, and she was close to her goal now. The scent of her destination came on strong, and she pumped her legs harder, willing herself on.

oOo

Spike was dreaming.

He knew he was dreaming, because here he was, walking the streets of Sunny D with the sun on his face. Good ole sunny Sunnydale...land of the California doll, and the living dead. Bad enough that he was still here, let alone inhabiting the place in his dreams.

This is a dream isn't it?

He looked down at himself - dream-hands frisking over his dream-self. Arms and legs - yep, all the bits still in place, and nothing on fire. Reassured, he kept walking, listening to the hollow clomp of his footfalls on the asphalt, registering the warmth of the daylight on his cheek.

Feels...strange. Forbidden.

He brushed the thought away - it was a dream, he could do whatever he bloody well pleased, couldn't he. Couldn't he?

Well, here I am folks. Just strollin' down the streets of Sunnydale, in the warm dream-sunshine...

There was that slightly unpleasant sensation of dreams, of standing quiet while things move fast around you. And the sun wasn't quite so sunny... That was odd. It was kind of a subdued sort of sun - was it raining? overcast? But he distinctly felt a hotness on his skin. Peering skywards, he saw that there were clouds all over the place, boiling, thunderheads clashing in a fast-forward swirl...lightning flashed somewhere.

Just my poxy luck - get to dream about being out and about in the middle of the day, and the rain comes down. It'll be hailing next.

He held out one hand as the first drops spattered onto his palm. There were colours, yellows and pinks and greys, shifting across his skin...He blinked.

I'd forgotten what it was like - the way the light goes, just before a storm. Just before something really big...

He felt a creeping sense of unease in his gut. Something... He looked up - he was in the main street of town, he realised. He recognised the shopfronts, the faded trees, the park benches - but where the hell was everyone else?

He looked down the street - empty. Wind preceding the storm whistled down the street, blowing litter scraps into the gutters. He was the only inhabitant in the street. Just him. The hairs on his nape rose, and he whipped around to look behind - nothing. Nobody.

What the bloody hell?...

The unease grew, sputtered into flaring fear.

Something not right, not right, notright....

The feeling of anxiety gathered momentum, built to fever-pitch, made him gasp -

- and wake. His eyes bolted open, and he went limp on the bed, the bedspread twisting uncomfortably around his legs. He swallowed and unfurled his fists - he was gripping the sheet with one hand, he realised. God. What the hell was that all about? Dreaming about walking around in the sunshine...he hadn't dreamed of being out in the daylight for ages.

He felt the residual disorientation of being slammed from dream-life back into reality. Crypt-reality, in all it's dank, grainy hominess. Kicking off the bedsheets he rolled to sit up, fumbling for the cigarettes under his pillow.

That, my good man, is what is called a repressed sexual tension dream. What comes from sleeping with a pack of cigarettes instead of a woman.

He snorted to himself, and smoke puffed around his face. He'd be grinning about it if it wasn't so damned unfunny. But the situation wasn't about to be remedied anytime soon. He was here, in the crypt, and Buffy was...well, probably at home having her tea, or whatever people did in the late afternoon. But definitely not here. Spike sighed grumpily. There was a reason, of course. There was always a reason, but this happened to be a particularly solid one.

Soon after their last Egyptian-flavoured jaunt to L.A., Joyce's condition had taken a rapid turn for the worse. She'd been back and forth to the hospital for tests for the past month. It had put a general dampener on everyone's mood, and kept Buffy preoccupied and anxious.

And Spike was at a loss - human illness was something he was long unfamiliar with, and as for dealing with the possibility of Joyce's death...well, he didn't want to think about it really.

The Slayer had been a bundle of stress all this time.

Yeah, and fat lot of good you've been to her, he thought with a snarl.

Truth the tell, he didn't know what to do. Pat her on the back a bit? Make consoling noises? He felt frustratingly ill-equipped to help. And in all honesty, he'd been a death-bringer for too long for it to have the same impact as it seemed to have for the rest of the Scoobies. Joyce was a good person and he liked her, a lot - she of the cocoa and little marshmallows, and the sympathetic ear.

But that was just the way of the world. People died.

And what was he supposed to say, anyway? "Sorry about your mum, being on the way out an' all." Yeah, that was going to go down like a ton of bricks.

But she was - he could feel it. Joyce had the tang of death around her like a haze - it was faint, but he'd got a whiff of it. That sense he had inside, that told him when a mark was good - the blood flowing strong and pure - or drug-fucked, or ill, a bad choice for a meal. And she had it. That lump in her head, as draining as the chip in his...

The realisation had made him somber - he knew what was coming, and it wasn't going to be all Hallmark happy-endings. But everyone else was so busy being positive - blah, blah, everything will be okay, not to worry, etcetera etcetera...

Crapping on, as he liked to refer to it.

But with all the hearts and flowers and well-wishing going around, he could hardly be the sole voice of dissent. Even if he wanted to burst the bubble, hurt Buffy that way, she'd never hear it anyway.

Humans are like that, he mused - so good at lying to themselves.

So, in the absence of a useful role, he'd backed off. He felt bad, but he was stumped as to what else he should do. Buffy had other friends to lean on. She wouldn't want him getting in the way right now, he'd decided. Distracting for her, and she didn't need that. She had enough on her plate.

Oh, bugger.

He stood up, walked towards the telly, running his hands through his hair. It had sounded good when he'd first thought it through. Now he was just...uncertain.

He let his mind rewind and play over the first time they'd kissed. The memory of it stirred inside him, made his body ache, from balls to bones...

They'd hardly done more than snog a few times, but it had been incredible.

She'd been like...a little ball of fire.

His fingers curled with the memory. He'd had to pinch himself to make sure it was really happening - kissing the Slayer. Kissing Buffy - he'd had a few delirious fantasies, but they hadn't even come close to the delectable reality.

It had been strange, and wild, and energising, in a way he hadn't known since...well, since Dru. But it was like comparing a wintry moonlit night with a sizzling summer's day - contrasting perfections that didn't bear parallel.

Perhaps the oddest thing of all with Buffy had been the rapport. Once they'd both gotten through the initial strangeness of it all, and the pull of the physical, there'd been long periods when they'd talked - just sat and talked, like a pair of old friends. And somehow he'd really liked that.

Things had been going along swimmingly there for about two days, and then this disaster with her mum.

He sighed as he pulled on a t-shirt that he'd left on the arm of the sofa. This whole romancing the Slayer thing was turning out to be a lot more complicated than he'd originally thought. For starters, they never copped a break.

He was stretching when he heard the creak, from outside the crypt. Snapping back to reality, he narrowed his eyes and extended his senses - a visitor. And not of the normal variety...

He padded soundlessly in bare feet to the door, and waited to one side. No knocking, and no busting down of the door - it left only one option. He carefully eased the door open a crack and peered out into the sundown gloom.

There was a figure, in a bright jacket, sitting crosslegged on the grassy mound beside the crypt, concentrating on something in it's lap. A battered bicycle leaned up against a gravestone.

Spike's lips thinned. He opened the door a little wider, giving himself enough room to manouever if need be. He appraised the human figure on the grass - small, small enough to -

"Relax. I'm not here for your hide, although I've heard the rumours."

The figure looked up as it spoke, and Spike realised that he was being addressed by a girl with short hair, wearing a motley collection of cycling gear and worn sneakers. She was young-looking, but appearances could be deceiving - very deceiving, in this case, he thought. She wasn't human, but what she was he couldn't exactly put a finger on. A sense of age, though... Odd. He edged out of the doorway and leaned on the lintel, matching the girl's casual tone.

"And what rumours would those be?"

She looked up from her lap, gave him a sideways appraisal, squinted at him.

"You're walking a fine line, you know. Don't think that People haven't noticed."

Then she shrugged, and returned her attentions to her hands, which were rummaging inside an old leather pouch.

"But hey - it's none of my business. I'm just a messenger."

Spike was feeling a little out of the loop, which was irritating. His reply was curt.

"Fine. So what's the message?"

"Give me a second, huh?"

The girl continued fiddling with the pouch, and he realised that it contained papers and tobacco. She was rolling a cigarette. She brought the edge of the paper to her lips and licked, then smoothed it down over the slightly misshapen tube. Then, unexpectedly, she held the pouch out towards him.

"You want?"

He declined with a shake of his head, and fumbled another tailor-made out of the pocket of his jeans, and a book of matches. He lit his own cigarette, then tossed her the book - she grabbed it neatly out of the air.

"Thanks."

Flame flared inside her cupped hands, and a puff of smoke thereafter. She spoke out of the corner of her mouth.

"Prefer the taste of pure tobacco myself."

She took a deep draw with relish.

"Ah - this, this is nice." She looked over at him conspiratorially. "I had a pot of beer at Willie's too. On the house, of course. And that was really nice."

She was grinning. He noticed that her hair was unevenly cropped, like she'd done it herself with a rusty razorblade.

"Been teetotalling, have we?"

He kept his position by the lintel, still unsure of whether she presented a potential threat.

"Something like that." She took another reverent drag of her cigarette, then eyed him. "S'pose you want the message then."

"If it's not too much trouble," he replied drily.

She raised an eyebrow. "Bad-tempered, aren't you?"

Before he could retort, she ashed her smoke on the grass and went on.

"Alright then - the message is, it's time to Gather."

"Pardon?"

His eyes narrowed, and then a memory caught up with him. His expression flattened, and he suddenly went a little paler than usual.

"You...you're a Courier."

"Bingo." She winked at him.

Now he looked slightly amazed.

"I mean, I've never seen... I mean, I've only heard stories..."

She snorted, and nodded towards the bike.

"Yeah, well it's not as glamorous a job as it's made out to be."

"But...well." He collected himself. "A Gathering, huh?"

"Yep - getting ready for another Balance. The Down Below are gearing up for a big one this time."

He considered this with a feeling of dull astonishment, nodding. Then he had a thought.

"Well, what about the other side?"

She shrugged again.

"Not my problem. Upstairs have their own messengers - they're probably on the way." She grinned at him slyly. "You keep standing on the fence like this, you could get another visitor soon."

Spike raised an eyebrow, and blew smoke out of his nose. Unlikely.

"So, where is it then?"

The Courier pouted around at the quiet grassiness of the cemetary, and lifted her chin to the stone wall, and the town beyond it.

"Here. S'a good spot - nice and central."

"To the Hellmouth, you mean," Spike replied sarcastically.

"Whatever. Hellmouth, eh? It's appropriate then." She leaned back, stretched onto one side, propped up by her elbow, and waved her cigarette about.

He tilted his head, curious.

"So - that's the message?"

"Yeah - oh, there's a few more details." She examined him, like he was some kind of interesting novelty. "You're the last on my list, you know."

Spike replied derisively. "What - I was an afterthought, was I?"

"Something like that."

Her look, and that revelation, gave him an odd feeling in his stomach. She continued.

"The Down Below, they weren't sure whether you..." She cut herself off, biting her lip, seemingly amused with herself.

"Whether I what?" He had his back up now.

She shrugged - she was rather fond of that gesture, he noticed.

"Don't know. Not my place to say, anyway. Can't speculate about what's on the Boss' mind, now, can I?"

He looked annoyed. This hide-and-go-seek with information was beginning to drag. He sighed, and flicked ash onto the grass in her direction.

"Fine. So, what's the rest of the details?"

She noticed his irritation, and stood up, wiping grass off her butt.

"That keen, huh? Maybe they're wrong about you..." She took another drag, watching him. "It's the end of the week. Sunset - in Main street."

Main street - where he'd been in the dream...

She looked at him coolly.

"You au fait with Gathering manners?"

He made a moue as he tried to remember what he'd been told.

"I guess...just the `don't kill each other' bit."

"You got it. The Day is sacrosanct, so no old feuds."

She took a final drag of her rollie, watched the dying end contemplatively.

"Ah well, that was good, while it lasted." She looked at him with a wicked grin. "Guess you'll be saying the same thing soon."

Spike tried not to let the anxiety he was feeling show on his face.

"We'll see."

"You're right about that."

She tossed the pouch to him in a sudden gesture that would have caught him off-guard, if it hadn't been for his vamp reflexes.

"What's this?"

She stood looking at him, composing herself.

"All yours now, vampire. Don't smoke it all at once. I s'pose I should say good luck."

Then she folded her arms across herself and made an old bow - very old, a form so ancient he didn't even recognise it. When she stood up, she was smiling. Her teeth, he noticed grimly for the first time, where filed into sharp points.

"And see you in hell, vampire!"

And with a magnetic souf of air and power, she burst into flames.

Spike swallowed as he watched the girl burn quickly into nothing, watched the ash sift down onto the grass outside his crypt. He let out a long, trembling breath.

oOo

7.46pm

Ah, Summertime. Living is easy, the bar is full, and my shirt is rockin'.

The Host preened a few of the fuschia ruffles down on his chest, and swirled his blue cocktail with a genial smile as he watched the crowd inside Caritas. It was a good night, so far - no major brawls, for a full moon night, and the human/demon hybrid at the mike was giving quite a nice rendition of one of his favourite songs a la Joplin.

The cotton was high, and so was the till, which was always a pleasant state of affairs. He smiled again, broadly this time, as he watched the mellow mood infecting the club.

A bouncer approached to his left, a tall thick-set (weren't they always?) figure with a mostly human appearance, excepting the grey skin and the jutting lower jaw with the two tusks that protuded over his upper lip. Harry - and he looked worried.

Lorne gave a little sigh - there was always something needed fixing, that they just couldn't do themselves. A manager's work was never done.

"Ah, Boss?"

Harry sidled up meekly, and nodded towards a table in the corner.

"There's a girl over there, Boss, says she wants the mike."

The Host swept a hand out magnanimously, and sipped his drink.

"Well, that's what we're here for."

"Yeah, but Boss, she says she wants to play her own guitar."

The Host frowned a little at that, and peered towards the table Harry had indicated.

"Oh, geez - not another busker. Does she know it's covers night?"

"Yeah - she said she'd do something you'd like, but I thought I better ask you about it..." Harry trailed off, leaving the decision to his superior's discretion.

"Hm. Well, bring her over here, and I'll check her out."

Harry nodded, and strode off. The Host straightened his jacket and cuffs, and hoped that this poor lost soul wasn't going to be like the last one, who hadn't even realised where he was.

He looked up as Harry the bouncer led over a girl, one hand on her elbow to guide her around the tables to the bar.

The Host perused the new arrival up and down critically - young, he noticed, looked about eighteen human years. Nondescript face, long brown hair, a neat figure made little of by loose jeans, a dark t-shit and a brown suede jacket that looked like it had come out of a thrift store specials bin. He frowned at her, but his voice was mild.

"You know, you could've dressed a little, honey. We do try and make and effort around here."

"Sorry."

The girl pulled at her jacket.

"This is all I've got. I'm on the road."

The Host cast a glance over to her table, where a duffle bag and a guitar case lay propped against the wall.

"Oh, I get it - touring, huh? Right. Well, I'm the Host here, Miss?..." He extended a gracious hand.

"Joanne."

The girl put out her own hand. It was about a mile away from his. She was looking towards him, but in an unfocussed way...light suddenly dawned. He glanced at Harry, and nodded his understanding, then reached the distance to take her warm hand in his own.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Joanne."

"Likewise."

She had a nice smile, he noticed.

"So, what are you gonna do for me tonight?

The Host looked at her expectantly, wondering if this girl even knew what sort of club she was in.

"Oh, it's not an original, if you're were worried. I know it's covers only here."

Maybe she did know.

"Ookay. Well, in that case - Harry, why don't you take Miss Joanne here over to the steps, and I'll announce her."

He gave Harry a look - take care of this one.

Harry nodded. "Sure, Boss."

Joanne turned back to the Host - he saw how she followed the voices around her.

"Thanks."

"Oh, no problem. You go get your instrument, and maybe afterwards you can come over for a drink." He was in such a good mood, it made him generous.

She smiled radiantly.

"That would be great."

Then she lifted her hand, Harry slipped his arm beneath it, and they made their way towards her gear, well-positioned beside the stage steps.

Lorne stood, swallowed the last of his drink, and made for the mike, as the hybrid belted out the final strains of the Joplin song. This is going to be interesting, he thought. He leapt the low edge of the stage, the spotlight pinned him, and he broke into an enormous smile.

"Hey out there! I hope you're all having a superb time...you are? Fantastic. And now, we have a special song for you, by a lovely young lady who has graciously provided her own accompaniment...please give a big Caritas welcome to - Joanne!"

The girl had reached the mike, her guitar swinging off her shoulder by the strap. As she positioned herself, he adjusted the stand so the mike was her face height. He patted her on the back affably.

"Knock `em dead, sweetie."

She smiled in reply, concentrating on arranging her guitar.

He strode back to the bar and settled himself on the stool, waiting to hear what was going to come of all this.

Joanne peered into the gloom of the club - strange.

Almost like she can see who's out there...

She made a brief strum to tune, and then cleared her throat.

"Ah, hi. This is a new rendition of an old song. I hope it stirs some memories."

As the first chords cleared the air of chatter, the Host called for another drink, feeling a strange flutter of misgiving in his gut. Not like he wasn't used to weird shit, but this whole situation was kinda strange.

What was a girl like this doing here of all places? And how had she found her way down on her own? And there was something about the notes of the song...something familiar. The girl continued strumming and the feeling intensified.

His special talent kicked into action, telling him that something very out of the ordinary was about to happen. His senses came alive as the chords of the song twisted out into the air, and queasiness assailing him.

Something not right...

By the time she opened her mouth, his heart was pounding in his chest.

"It will make the meek man mighty/

It will make the mighty man fall/

It will fill your heart and hands/

Or leave you with nothing at all."

The Host's vision was blurring with presience, and his mouth was dry. He took a quick gulp of another cocktail, but it didn't help.

"It's the eyes for the blind/

The legs for the lame/

It will take love for hate/

And pride for shame."

He gripped the counter as her voice billowed out over the crowd - clear and warm, with a hint of huskiness. The usually busy floor was quiet, almost everyone focussed on the girl, listening. When she hit the old chorus of the song, which he now remembered, Lorne raised a hand to his head.

"Now that's the power of the gospel/

Yeah, that's the power of the gospel/

That's the power, the mighty power -"

Her voice dived an octave to breathe out the last line of the chorus.

" - that's the power of the gospel."

The Host looked up at the girl on the stage - she seemed so frail and small. But he could sense the energy now, sizzling under the skin. He wondered if anyone else had noticed - some of the patrons were shifting uneasily in their seats, as Joanne went into the next verse.

"Gospel on the water/

Gospel on the land/

The gospel in every woman/

And the gospel in every man."

He had it now - he knew. Oh geez... The message in the song was behind the words, beyond them, but he knew.

He needed another drink - he swilled back the last one, and motioned at Max behind the counter. Then he fumbled in his coat pocket for a cigarette. He rarely smoked, but this was a well-deserved exception.

"Gospel in the garden/

Gospel in the trees/

The gospel that's inside of you/

And the gospel inside of me."

She began the chorus repeat, and he lifted the cigarette to his lips with a shaky hand. This was big - oh boy, this was big. How long had it been since the last one? He hadn't exactly been counting off the years, but...oh well, it was irrelevant now.

"Now you may leave tomororrow/

Or you may leave today/

But you've got to have, got to have the gospel/

When you start out on your way/

Now that's the power of the gospel..."

He used a napkin to mop his brow as she finished off the song. Then, at last, it was over.

There was a short lull as the audience realised that it was finished, that the spell had been broken - then there was a thunderous round of applause and whistles. Harry emerged from the darkness at the side of the stage, and helped Joanne to descend. The Host nodded at the guy to bring her over, then gestured towards the stage manager to put on some soothing filler music. He didn't know about the patrons, but he sure as hell needed it.

By the time he looked back she was standing in front of him, staring up at him sightlessly, eyes fixed on a point a little to his right, somewhere between his head and the back of the bar. When she wasn't singing, the energy inside her faded almost completely, he noticed - his trembling now was only from the import of the message in her song.

He pouted at her crossly.

"Eyes for the blind, huh?"

Her smile was mischevious

"Yeah, I always liked that line."

She put a hand out towards him, sensing his anxiety.

"Are you okay?"

He used another napkin to dab the sweat off his upper lip.

"Sure honey, I'm fine. You make a heck of an entertainer though - really bring the house down, as it were."

She looked almost sheepish then

"Not literally, I hope."

He rolled his eyes

"Yeah, we all hope. But I guess we'll see about that."

"I guess so."

She said it with a tinge of sadness - he sighed, and gazed down at her sympathetically.

"So, where you headed now? Spreading the word around I guess, huh?"

She nodded.

"That's the idea. I'm done here in L.A. I'm heading for the train now - see where the road takes me."

And he could think of where, too. A sleepy little Hellmouth hamlet...

"Well, break a leg."

"Thanks."

She smiled at him, and reached out her hand again to shake. He took it, amazed by its warmth, its humanness.

"Thanks for the open mike. And good luck."

Lorne sighed, regarding her ruefully as he released her hand.

"Yeah - we'll need it. And I guess I should say thanks, for the warning."

Then they exchanged final smiles, and Joanne took the guitar and bag proffered by Harry and headed for the door. The Host noticed now how she weaved between the tables with ease. He snorted, and shook his head.

But now it was over, she was gone, and there were more important things to do. He gestured to Max again for the phone, and when it was settled on the bar he raised the receiver and hit the rapid-dial button. It rang a couple of times before a cheery voice sounded at the end of the line.

"Hello, Angel Investigations - we help the hopeless."

He didn't want to waste time, so his voice was curt.

"Hi, hon, it's me. Look I have some news - is Angel around?"

oOo

8.12pm

He didn't know what to do - as much as he wanted to avoid the place, it was probably necessary that he go by the Magic Box, see if Old Tweedman was still around. Spike sighed at the thought of running into Buffy. They'd be closing up shop there now, but there was still a distinct chance that she'd be hanging about.

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered, as he grabbed up his coat and left the crypt, carefully skirting the small pile of ash on the grass outside. He gave the bicycle a cursory glance as he passed - he could sell it off later to some hapless patron of Willie's, if he didn't get lucky and come back to find it stolen. The tobacco he would toss into the nearest bin.

The distance between the cemetary and the shop seemed very short, Spike thought, when he was contemplating meeting the Slayer at the end of the trail. He tried very hard not to let the idea get to him - but if he'd had a pulse, it would have been racing. This was ridiculous.

You're not a bloody teenager, mate. Just be casual. Hello, how's things...all that bollocks.

He reached the door of the shop and stood for a moment with his hand on the doorhandle, then took a needless but nonetheless reassuring breath before turning it. Head high, thoughts very much elsewhere, he nearly ran into Anya as she was leaving.

"Oh, hi Spike."

The ex-demoness smiled at him cheerfully. She was still shrugging on her coat, purse in one hand.

"We're, uh, closed - but I guess you know that. And Buffy isn't here."

Well, thank the gods for small mercies.

"Uh, yeah, hi. I was just stopping by.

He held the door for her as she struggled to do too many things at once.

"Actually, I was wondering..."

"Oh, Giles is still inside."

Anya nodded towards the innards of the shop, finally manouvering into her coat. She hitched her purse over one shoulder.

"He's busy with a little cleaning up. And I'd love to stay and chat, but you know, I do have a man to get home to and everything."

She smiled again, obviously pleased that she could say so.

"Uh, right - good for you, pet. G'night then."

Spike nodded politely. He was about to move around her and duck inside - Anya had shifted to the pavement for the walk home - when she suddenly turned and snagged his gaze.

"Ah, Spike... you know, I think you should talk to Buffy."

Her look was amiable, but meaningful all the same.

Here we go...

Spike nodded at her, trying to look contrite.

"Oh - sure. I'll have a word as soon as I see her."

Bloody hell - now I've got the Scooby gang giving me advice on my non-existent love life. Where does this sorry business end?

Anya peered at him through narrowed eyes.

"Great. But that'll only work if you stop avoiding her."

Spike looked taken aback.

"Pardon?"

The auburn-haired girl levelled her gaze at him.

"Spike, her mom's sick - she needs all the support she can get. Especially yours - god knows why."

She added the last with a raised eyebrow. She took in his perturbed expression, then shrugged and re-holstered her purse.

"You can figure it out. But I have to go now - see ya."

And she strolled off into the dark with a casual wave.

Spike watched her retreating back with a look that travelled from vexed, to confused, to downright disgruntled. Then he shook his head, and pushed through the still-open door.

The bell tinkled as it closed behind him, and he was back in the shop. He wrinkled his nose - granted, he'd been steering clear of the place for a while, but it seemed to have gotten even more musty-herb-smelling than he remembered.

He loped down the steps, casting around for Buffy's Watcher, then spotted him over by the back bookshelf, a weathered tome in one hand, which he was leafing through absently, and the handle of an equally worn broom in the other.

Giles looked up quickly when he realised that he was being observed. His mouth thinned ever so slightly when he noticed his observer.

"Hello, Spike. It's been a while."

Spike nodded in reply, taking in Giles' face and tone. There was a welcome there, but caution, and suspicion. He had a feeling that Giles had noticed the vampire and the Slayer sniffing around each other a month ago - they'd tried to be discrete, but Giles' Watcher-sense must have been alerted all the same.

Spike had recognised that look - the `I'm not sure what you're up to, but I'm going to find out' look. Either way, Giles must know that something was up, just on the evidence of Spike's absence and Buffy's bad temper, although the last could always be put down to the business with her mum.

Spike cursed himself now for being so stupidly obvious. He was known as a creature of habit, and when those habits changed, people were bound to notice. Bloody hell - even Anya had noticed, and she was as dim as an old lightbulb.

Inwardly, Spike shuddered. He didn't fancy having one of those talks with Giles - the ones where he played cagey, and the Watcher gave him those Ripper looks. But Giles would walk over hot coals for his blonde charge, and as much as he understood Giles' position, Spike was in no mood for negotiating the Watcher's fatherly impulses.

"She's not here - she's gone home with Dawn and her mother.

Giles closed the book with finality, punctuating his stiff words, and leaned the broom up against the research table.

Anticipating his question. That was a bad sign. Oh well, better to cover with a bit of a yack.

"Mum's still poorly, then."

It wasn't a query, but stated flatly. In spite of his tone of voice, Spike's face was sympathetic.

"Yes - her tests results aren't back yet."

Giles' expression stated plainly that he wondered what the vampire knew, or if he cared. Spike had been keeping his distance since Joyce's condition had deteriorated, which Giles thought was rather bad form. His voice was quiet.

"We're all hoping for the best."

But expecting the worst. Spike didn't think it would be a great idea to say it aloud. Instead, he nodded, as courtesy demanded.

"'Course."

Giles seemed to tire of the small talk. He sighed, and repositioned the book he was holding in it's space on the bookshelf.

"So, Spike, was there something specific you wanted, or...did you just come to chat?"

Spike gave a pained twist of a smile

"Right. Got some info for you actually, something I wanted to discuss with you. I've had a visitor."

"A visitor?"

The vampire's comment about a discussion put Giles off his guard.

"Yeah - of the flaming variety."

"Come again?"

In spite of himself, the Watcher's expression was frankly curious.

Spike moved to the research table, perched himself on the edge, and put one foot up on a chair. To Giles, it looked strangely like the vampire was nervous. He was focussed now on straightening a cigarette that he'd pulled from the seemingly never-ending supply in his pocket. He looked up at Giles with a serious face, his eyes dark.

"What do you know about the Gatherings?"

Giles frowned. What an odd question. He shrugged.

"Very little - only what's been written in the Council papers. It's a legend, isn't it?" If Spike had dropped by to discuss ye-olde-worlde vampire lore after closing time, he was going to be -

"Yeah, well I have a feeling it's a bit more than that. And I hope you know more about it than you're letting on, or we could be stuffed," Spike said flatly.

He lifted the cigarette to his lips and lit it. Giles noticed with alarm that the vampire's hand was faintly trembling.

"Go on."

Spike exhaled smokily.

"Well, I only know what I've been told - and pretty garbled stuff that was too. I guess I thought it was just a fairy story or something - y'know, Good and Evil, dicking it out in the big showdown..." He gazed off into the dark corners of the shop.

Giles was actually getting worried now.

"But you're saying - what, that it's real?"

Spike sighed.

"Ah, I don't know." He waved at Giles with his cigarette. "What does the Council say about it?"

Giles frowned, searching his encyclopedic mental store-house.

"Well, not much really. I don't remember exactly, I'll have to examine -"

He had started to go around the counter for the office, but Spike gestured for him to stay.

"Later. What do you remember about it now?"

"Let me think."

The Watcher removed his glasses, as if impaired vision helped his memory.

"A Gathering is supposed to involve all the supernatural forces from both sides of the spectrum, both Good and Evil. Basically, each force comes together en masse, and er, as you say, dicks it out." His brow was creased with concentration. "There's supposed to be some kind of early warning about it - portents of some kind, I expect. Messages are sent out..."

"Right."

Spike grinned humourlessly, and took another long drag from his cigarette.

"Well, you can cross that of your list."

Giles came closer, staring at Spike as if he'd suddenly grown three heads.

"Do you mean to say that you've had...a message?"

"Yeah - a message, a portent, whatever."

Giles straightened and re-fixed his glasses solemnly, staring at the vampire.

"Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

"Sure. You go fetch your little books and things - we can compare notes."

Giles nodded absently as he fumbled back towards the office.

He'd always been told that Gatherings were legends - apocryphal tales. But something in Spike's manner had him on alert.

The vampire wouldn't lie about something like this, he thought. And, with a chill, he remembered something else - supposedly, a Gathering was a pre-apocalyptic event. Giles reached out for the relevant books, noticing that his hands had gone cold.

He had a small stack of notes balanced on one hand when Spike's voice sounded out from behind him.

"And bring out that Scotch, and a glass, while you're at it. Don't know about you, but I need a drink."

Giles snorted, but added the decanter and a pair of glasses to his pile. If what Spike said was true, the vampire wasn't the only one who'd be needing a drink.

oOo

They were still poring over the books a few hours later, when Buffy rocked up.

She let herself in so quietly that Giles didn't notice until she'd walked up behind them. She watched the bizarre spectacle for a moment - Giles, in rolled shirtsleeves, a scotch glass in one hand, talking in low tones to Spike, who was leaning over the back of his reversed chair, duster in a neat pile on the floor at his feet, white hair gleaming in the dim light of the shop. He had his elbows on the table and was leaning on his chair-back, head resting on one hand, a cigarette in his fingers threatening to singe his split ends. Buffy closed her eyes briefly as a pain rose unbidden inside her.

Shut up - she told the pain furiously - just get lost. You don't care, you are an ice-queen - aloof and unaffected. Just get over it.

She composed her face and then her voice, edged with sarcasm, broke into a lull in the muttered conversation.

"Well, hello there. What's this, a bit of late-night cramming?"

Giles started in his chair.

"Oh, Buffy, it's you." He gave her a look, saying exasperatedly, "You really shouldn't do that, you know - it takes years off my life."

"Sorry."

Spike had known she was there, sensed it the moment she'd arrived. He tried to stay cool, turning to give her a civil nod. His first ridiculous thought, however, was that, in spite of the last few stress-filled weeks, she was looking pretty damn fantastic, even in and old pair of jeans and a loose sweater. His skin was prickling just from being in such close proximity to her. Settle down there, son....

"Slayer."

"Spike."

Buffy was being equally civil. But her voice held no warmth, and her eyes took in his presence with a steely glint.

"So what brings you here?"

He felt an odd sting inside somewhere at her blatant antagonism, but he kept his face neutral.

"Come to see your Watcher about something. It's important - you might want to park and have a listen." He nodded towards a chair on his right.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest.

"Thanks - I'll stand."

Spike only just prevented himself from rolling his eyes.

Ah, it's going to be like that, is it? Well, this is turning out to be just a jolly old day so far...

Buffy's frosty gaze passed over him to her Watcher.

"So, what's the biggie this time, Giles?" she sighed. "New demon? Hellmouth opening? End of the world?"

Her flippant tone altered when she caught sight of Giles' expression, the look that he and Spike exchanged.

"What - what is it?"

Giles pulled out a chair on his side of the table.

"Buffy, I really think you should come and sit down. This matter concerns you too."

With a frown and a reluctant look at Spike, the Slayer stalked forward and plonked herself into the chair.

oOo

Meh. Why did he have to be here? Buffy thought grumpily.

She'd come over to use the training room before patrol, hoping that Giles and everyone else had gone home. Dawn and her mom were tucked up in the living room, watching tv, but she'd felt a restless need to come and beat the crap out of something. Her angst level had been building up all day, and she needed the release.

Maybe Spike could volunteer to be the punch-dummy.

She banished the stray thought with a mental kick, and settled herself in the hard chair, drawing one sneakered foot up underneath herself. Giles was talking, and it was obviously important if Fang-face had roused himself out of hiding to come and chew it over.

Goddamn bleach-brained, gutless-wonder, vampiric son-of-a....

She sighed.

"Sorry, Giles, what were you saying?"

"I was saying," Giles went on, frowning at her, "- that we seem to have come up against something new. Or rather, not new, but definitely a problem."

Spike snorted into his scotch at the understatemnt. He was keeping his eyes down, away from Buffy.

"What kind of problem?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Giles said. He had loosened the collar of his shirt and removed his tie - it was hanging off the back of his chair. The look of frustration he was wearing now was aimed at the open pages littering the table.

"There doesn't seem to be much about it in the literature I have available. There's oblique references, but the Council seem to have either limited knowledge of it or they've expunged the records -"

"Records about what?" My god, Buffy thought, getting a straight answer from Giles sometimes was like trying to get blood from a stone.

Her Watcher sighed and turned to face her.

"It's called a Gathering. From what I can make out, it involves a coming-together of the forces of Good and Evil in a kind of final showdown. It's meant to be a test - but a test of what exactly, I... I don't know."

It wasn't the first time Buffy had seen her Watcher looking so serious, but this time he seemed to be genuinely confused. She softened her tone and sat a little straighter.

"But we've been through stuff like this before, right? I mean, the Hellmouth opening and everything..."

Giles shook his head.

"This is bigger than that Buffy. It hasn't occurred for hundreds and hundreds of years. It's something old - ages old, so lost in memory that I'm having a hard time locating information in written texts. And there seems to be some kind of prohibition about writing down records about it. All we have to go on are word of mouth accounts, passed down through history - second and third hand information."

She looked at Spike - he was being curiously silent, pretending to leaf through a book in front of him. She turned her attention back to Giles.

"So what do we actually know?"

"Only that the beings who stand for both sides are drawn together at one location, and that there's some kind of gigantic conflict when they meet."

Giles glanced at Spike, and back to Buffy.

"And that now it's happening in Sunnydale, on Friday."

Buffy reared back, eyebrows raised.

"Whoah there! Here? On Friday? As in, a week away?"

"Yes," Giles said. He gave a shrug, as if he was trying to apologise for not finding out about it sooner.

Buffy cast a look at the vampire and back.

"And how does he know about this?"

"Spike had information about it from vampire legends. And he received a message about it this afternoon, from some kind of demonic entity - a Courier. I've managed to find some record of the Couriers, actually."

"Good for you," Spike threw in, dragging on his cigarette. He'd resolved to shut the hell up, but he couldn't help himself.

Buffy leaned forward to see around Giles.

"Ah - it speaks."

Spike gave her a dirty look.

She chose to blow it off.

"So how did you get messed up in all of this again?" Her expression indicated that if Spike had something to do with it, then she heartily wished not to be involved.

The vampire leaned off the back of his chair, looking equally unhappy about the situation.

"Just like he said - got a message. I'm one of the bad guys, aren't I? Force of evil and all that."

That gave her a pang. The bad guys... it had been a long time since she'd thought of Spike as one of the bad guys. Sure, she was fully pissed off with him now, but - Spike as a force of evil? She had a sudden flash of memory: Spike in full vamp-face, roaring in triumph when he thought he'd had the chip removed, looming over her, fangs bared...

It hasn't really been that long, has it? He was a monster once. I'd just conveniently forgotten about it...

She suppressed a shiver, and turned back to her Watcher.

"So how come he gets a message and we don't? I thought you said it was an equal deal for both sides?"

"Well, that's as far as we know -" Giles began.

"You'll get a message, too, princess. It's just a matter of time," Spike cut in. His face was hard - had he been watching her, as she remembered? Buffy didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about him.

Giles frowned at the vampire.

"What makes you say that?"

"S'obvious, innit? The demons all trying to get the jump on the good guys - not that it'll make a hell of a lot of difference, when it comes to the Balance."

Buffy caught his eye, stared him full in the face for the first time since she'd sat down.

"What's the Balance?"

Spike breathed out a long plume of smoke into the air, ashed his cigarette on the floor and faced her reluctantly. He gave up his fears with a sigh.

"You got it the first time, love. It's the end of the world."

oOo

11.29pm

Giles closed his eyes in the dark of the car, listening to the windshield de-mist, feeling the warm air from the vent blowing around his ankles, and wishing heartily for a nice hot cup of tea.

Just a nice cup of tea. It's not too much to ask, is it?

He thought briefly of today's lunchbreak, and his quick stop at the Espresso Pump for a take-away coffee - he'd been looking outside the window, past the counter, and caught sight of something.

Nothing important, really. Just a man and a woman, both close to his own age, walking a small dog on the pavement outside, heading down Main street. It had been a terrier - or maybe a cross-breed of some sort. It wasn't important. But it had given him a strange feeling at the time, and now he knew what the feeling was.

Regret.

He might have been like that - once. Walking down the street, taking in the sunshine in the afternoon. There'd even been an opportunity for it, when the Council had sacked him. An opportunity for a normal life.

He opened his eyes, stared out into the night outside the car, and thought about what that might have meant.

Normal life. Marriage. Children. A job, of some description. Going to Majorca for the holidays...

He sighed, and snorted at his own imaginings.

Instead, here he was. Sitting on the Hellmouth. Guiding the Slayer. Constantly contemplating vampires, sacred duty, and magic. A kind of life where the only hint of normalcy was a nice hot cup of tea at the end of a long day banging out the problem of yet-another apocolypse.

He lowered his head and knocked it against the steering wheel a few times.

God. I'll be old and grey, and sharpening stakes in my rocking chair at this rate.

He almost laughed then, at the mental image, and let out a pent-up sigh. Enough. Time to go home. He was tired. It had, after all, been a very long day.

Which is why I'm sitting in my car in an alley, considering Majorca as a potential holiday destination.

He rolled his eyes, put the car in gear and eased out onto Main.

He'd offered to drive Buffy home, but she had declined, preferring to let out some energy in the training room. He thought about that. Something was obviously bothering her, apart from her anxiety over her mother, but she wasn't prepared to tell him about it. He had an inkling though, which had been confirmed by her reaction to Spike when she'd first arrived.

Some sort of spat between the two of them...

Lover's tiff.

He slapped the thought away, then changed gear as he rounded a corner, and forced himself to think back to it. Remembered Buffy's icy tension over the research table. Remembered Spike's seeming inability to meet Buffy's eyes, the way he'd excused himself after the round-table discussion to skulk back out into the night. Buffy's relief.

No - it couldn't be...

Yes, actually, it most definitely could.

Giles frowned into the dark, and thought some more. Had he noticed their behaviour changing? Yes, he had. And had he been studiously ignoring it? Reluctantly, he admitted that that was also true. Which, if he was supposed to be Buffy's Watcher, was a frightful lapse of judgement on his part.

Now he was frowning at himself. He'd seen the odd friendship developing between the vampire and the Slayer, but some part of him (probably the British part, he groaned) had felt strangely loathe to bring it up. Some lingering ethical part of his personality which felt that Buffy's personal life was her own business - and also a peculiar sense that he hadn't wanted to put thoughts into her head that weren't originally there to begin with. Buffy's feelings for the vampire (or lack thereof) had been an unknown quantity, and Giles had fervently wanted it to stay that way.

Because, after all, it was rather obvious how Spike felt about all this. Giles' brow creased, recalling the worrying looks he'd sometimes seen on the vampire's face when he was looking at Buffy. Irritation, certainly - even annoyance. But blended equally with admiration. And something else, which the prude in Giles didn't want to name but which was clearly spelt out.

Longing. Desire.

Giles shuddered.

The idea that Buffy might return Spike's emotions (if a vampire could be said to feel them, although that seemed to be rather academic) had been so far-fetched for so long that Giles had been happy to ignore any friendly alliance between the two of them. And Spike had been so useful as an `honourary' Scooby - although doubtless he'd hate the title - that he'd had let the whole idea slide.

He realised suddenly that he'd been outrageously careless. He'd actually started to think of Spike as an ally. In fact, he remembered, he'd risked his own life for the vampire, on at least one occasion. He'd been thinking about Spike as a friend - not as what he was.

Not as a vampire.

And now, he remembered moments. Only moments - bare fractions of seconds, when he'd observed Buffy and Spike together, especially in the days after L.A. Glimpses out of the corner of his eye. There'd been times then when he'd wondered, and brushed it away as ridiculous.

Looks exchanged. An incautious word. A brushing of fingers. Whispers.

His breath hissed out in the warmth of the car.

My god, I've been blind.

He took the next corner rather too quickly, and brought his foot up off the accelerator, which he'd allowed to drift down. If he'd been able to knock his head against the steering wheel at this point he would have. Gladly. It wouldn't have alleviated his feelings of guilt though.

I've been neglecting my responsibilities.

He was on his home street now, and steadied the car. Tried to steady his thinking about all of this.

Right. There was nothing for it but to ask Buffy plainly. It might prove to be uncomfortable, but he had to know what the bloody hell was going on. And if it was still going on, to put a stop to it.

How could he have let this happen? A vampire and a Slayer...it was not only unbelievable, it was downright inconceivable. Bad enough that she'd fallen so hard for Angel the first time - but at least Angel had a soul. Spike certainly had no such claim to fame.

However long this...this situation had been going on, it was impossible that he allow it to continue. And if Spike and Buffy were having a tiff of some sort, then all the better to sever the link now, while there was an opportunity.

It wasn't too late to remedy the problem - he hoped. Buffy would understand. She was doubtless conflicted about it in any case. And Spike - well, Spike had absolutely no say in the matter. And if he tried anything, he would have to get through Buffy's Watcher first.

If it comes to that, Giles thought grimly, I'll stake him myself.

He was nodding at his resolution of the latest quandary, so he nearly missed the flash of a pale shirt, and if he hadn't been slowing on the approach to his house, he might have plowed right into the figure crossing the road.

As it was he had to swerve and brake so hard he heard the tires screech.

"Bloody hell!!"

The girl caught in the headlights couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. She looked shocked at the near-miss, her eyes wide, mouth making a gasping `oh'.

Giles started to roll down the window, feeling his fingers faintly trembling at how close he had come to running this poor girl right over.

"Oh god - are you alright? Miss? I'm very sorry, I wasn't... Miss? Are you alright?"

The girl swallowed and nodded soundlessly. Then she placed a tentative hand on the bonnet of the car - as if realising how close she'd come - looked up at Giles with a strange expression, and moved away down the street.

Giles blinked. How odd. And how bloody alarming. He sighed.

God, he was really ready for that tea.

He ran a hand through his hair, started the car again, and very slowly pulled away. As the car nosed forward, he wondered briefly what a young girl with a duffle bag and a guitar case was doing out wandering the Sunnydale backstreets so late at night. On the other hand, he probably didn't want to know.

He ran the car into the garage, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, until he felt calm enough to collect his keys and gear and head inside. The kettle awaited - a fact for which he was, after a day like this one, profoundly grateful.

oOo

PART THREE - Old Time A-Flying

Sunday

9.37am

"Here - unfold it at the corner and pin it down."

"There you go. It should be big enough anyway."

The map covered most of the research table, the streets and topography of Sunnydale a neat maze of colours. Willow looked at it critically.

"Do you think there's enough detail?"

Tara gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Honey, if it was any more detailed you'd see the ants on the ground. It's fine - look, it's even got most of the sewer system marked in."

She leaned down and smoothed the paper with her hand.

"Anyway, this was the most detailed map they had."

Giles stood to one side, a teacup in one hand. He nodded at the map approvingly.

"This is very good. And if you can sort out the mechanics of the spell, the information about demon activity will be invaluable."

It was mid-morning, and Giles had decided to keep the shop closed until lunchtime. Sunday was always a slow trading day, and Anya wouldn't be in until late - she was still at home with Xander, probably holding his head in a bucket at that very moment.

"Well, we're pretty close," Willow answered. "As soon as Xander picks up the herbs we need we can give it a whirl. Right, Tara?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure."

The sun was merry outside. Tara looked longingly out the window and resigned herself to another beautiful day spent indoors.

Willow nudged her.

"Hey, earth to Tara..."

Then her eyes lit up with a brilliant thought. She turned to Giles, who had moved towards the counter and the stack of research material there.

"Uh, Giles - would you mind if we borrowed a few of the books we need and took off? Tara and me were thinking of doing some research out in the park."

Tara smiled at Willow in grateful surprise.

Giles nodded absently.

"Oh, er, certainly. There's no need for you to be here all day I suppose."

"Are you sure you don't need us for anything else? Cos, I mean, we can stay, if you want to..."

"Oh, no - no, that's fine."

Giles refilled his cup from the teapot near the till.

"I actually need to do some reading of my own. If there's anything else I can contact you, I'm sure."

"Great," Willow smiled. "Thanks Giles."

She and Tara looked at each other with excited grins and went to the counter, collecting a few books and stuffing them into Willow's knapsack. They made their goodbyes then whisked out of the shop, and into the embrace of the sun.

oOo

Giles smiled as the two girls walked outside, watching them grin with pleasure as the light hit their faces.

He sighed. It was a nice day - one could almost entertain the thought of a picnic, or a wander in the hills. Unfortunately there were more pressing requirements on his time. He sighed again, a bit disgruntled, and gathered up the books on the counter.

The bell tinkled, and Giles looked up, expecting to see Buffy. Instead, a tall dark figure stood inside the shop's entrance. Giles frowned.

"Er, hello. Look, I'm sorry, but we're still closed. We open at noon, if you'd like to..."

"My apologies." A soft American accent. "I saw the sign, but two girls came out of here just a moment ago, so I thought you might be opening for business."

The man moved down the steps, and Giles could see him more clearly. A tall black man, past middle age - he had a smattering of grey in his hair, and a calm open face. His clothes were neat but casual, and he wore a long black coat in spite of the warmth of the day.

"Oh - yes, those girls work here, actually."

Giiles really had better things to do than serve customers, but something about the older man's face and manner made him relax.

"Well, never mind. Now that you're here, I suppose you're welcome to browse. Just don't let the other customers know."

He smiled, and the other man smiled in return.

"Oh, I don't need to browse. I'm looking for something specific."

"Well in that case, how can I help you?"

The man approached the counter, his eyes travelling over the insides of the store. He veered neatly away from Giles' question.

"Nice shop you have here."

"Oh, yes," Giles answered, distracted. "We've been open for about a year now."

The stranger looked around contemplatively.

"Indeed. You certainly appear to be well-stocked."

"We try our best," Giles said, somehow pleased with the praise. He peered at the newcomer. "You're not a regular customer though, Mr...?"

"Salter. No, I'm not. I've just arrived here actually."

"Then I should say welcome to Sunnydale," Giles said, with a touch of irony. Why anyone not a demon or a fighter thereof would choose to live in Sunnydale he had no idea.

"And you would be the proprieter - Mr Giles?" Salter interrupted Giles' train of thought, extending his hand over the counter.

"Yes - pleased to meet you," Giles recited formally as he shook the other man's hand. Salter had a firm grip, strong and dry. It was strange... The man seemed to radiate calm, and Giles' Watcher-sense started to tingle faintly.

Salter smiled.

"Likewise. I wasn't sure that you could help me with my request, but now I've seen the store, and met you personally, I think there may be a chance after all."

An odd choice of words, Giles thought. But that brought the conversation back to the original question, so Giles took his cue.

"Oh yes - what was it that you were after exactly?"

"I'm looking for a book - it's quite old, and hard to come by now."

"Really?" Giles removed his glasses, his curiosity piqued. "What is it called?"

"The Apocrypha. It's a rather obscure text, a collection of forgotten books -"

"- From the Bible. Yes, actually I've heard of it."

Giles frowned and thought.

"I don't believe I have a copy in the shop, though. Let me check for you."

"No, no, that's alright." Salter seemed unperturbed. "Don't go to any trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble - that's my job after all."

Giles moved from behind the counter and went to the shelves where the more learned texts were scheduled. He skimmed through the collection.

"No - no, I'm sorry, we don't appear to have a copy in stock. I can order it for you if you'd like, or perhaps in my own personal library..."

"No, no it's fine. I wouldn't want to impose. Perhaps you could keep an eye out for me, though, if a copy comes in."

"Certainly. Would you like to leave a contact number?"

Once again Salter demurred.

"Oh, I'll just drop by the store, if that's alright."

He looked at Giles with an expression that seemed to contain traces of something warm - compassion, pride. But something else...pity? Giles swallowed. He had the strangest feeling...

"Well, Mr Giles, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your time. I'll just let myself out."

Salter nodded goodbye and walked to the door.

"Er, yes. Thank you for stopping by - and good luck with the book," Giles stammered.

Salter opened the door and stood for a moment, his figure haloed by the sunlight. He smiled back at Giles.

"Thank you. And good luck to you too."

Then he departed, and the bell chimed sweetly.

For some reason, Giles felt an odd sense of bereavement... Then he blinked and straightened. Oh well, it was nice to have another man of letters in residence in Sunnydale. Perhaps they could confer on occasion -

Then he came back to reality, and snorted.

Yes, perhaps we could chat about ways to defeat an influx of demons...

Giles sighed and shook his head, and gathered up his books again, setting his mind to the job at hand.

Thoughts of the other man dissipated as he made his way to the back office to collect a few other papers. He trailed his long fingers over the array of notes and leather bound tomes that he kept away from the general customers, searching for the other volume to -

Giles' fingers stopped and his eyes widened. Hang on. There it was. He pulled a short, vellum-covered book out of the pile and looked at it in amazement.

The title glowed in gold relief - `The Apocrypha'. How very odd. He didn't even realize he'd had a copy. What a pity that Salter hadn't waited for him to check.

Eyes and fingers tracing over the book, Giles made his way back to the research table, where he'd stacked the other books on top of the map of Sunnydale. Feeling his way into a chair, he flicked through the small volume in his hands. The pages settled in a random crease, and when Giles repositioned his glasses to examine the page, the lines before him seemed to leap out in response.

"After these things I saw another angel coming down from heaven having great authority, and the earth was illuminated with his glory.

And he cried mightily with a loud voice, saying,

`Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and has become a dwelling place of demons, a prison for every foul spirit, and a cage for every unclean and hated thing...'"

oOo

"Ah - this is so great! Thanks for doing that."

Tara leaned her head back to absorb the rays as they walked along, heading for campus. She smiled at Willow gratefully.

Willow grinned.

"Well, it was too nice outside to miss - and I saw that look you had...that `give me sun!' look. Giles didn't seem to mind anyway."

"Mmm."

Tara looked around at the summer glow in the air.

"God, the weather has been so beautiful lately - warm days, crisp nights. It's almost as if it knows...well, you know."

She looked a little abashed.

Willow glanced sideways at her.

"That it might be all gone by Friday? It's okay, you shouldn't be afraid to say it."

She hefted her knapsack and went on matter-of-factly.

"I guess I'm just a bit more used to this apocolypse routine - I mean, there's a part of me that's scared, but another part that is always kind of used to understanding that Buffy'll kick the bad guy's asses, and everything will be fine."

Tara nodded, uncertain.

"I guess so. You certainly seem to be more confident that the world will still be here at the end of the week."

"Sure. The Slayer always seems to win out in the end, kind of like a natural balance - evil rises up, and Buffy just pushes it back down again."

Willow looked over at Tara reassuringly.

"But, I mean, I still feel a bit weird - the whole `army of demons' thing..."

"Yeah," Tara sighed, "that's a lot of demons."

She watched her girlfriend's face as she spoke the next words carefully.

"And Will, I know you feel confident, but I keep thinking that Buffy's just one person."

Willow's face registered a kind of awkward righteousness.

"But we help - well, I think we help. And Buffy's outlived every other Slayer so far - that's a pretty good record."

"That's pretty long odds, Willow."

Tara's face was somber.

"Slayers die young for a reason. There hardly seems to be a break for Buffy between mortal-danger-type situations lately. And now, with being worried about her mom and everything - it's got to take its toll eventually."

Their pace had slowed, and Willow stopped now and turned to face Tara.

"You're worried about her state of mind..."

Tara's words were measured.

"I'm worried about how she'd cope if she had too many personal disasters to deal with, on top of the Slaying. Sometimes it's not the life-threatening problems which are the most dangerous - sometimes it's all the little things, the anxieties and daily stuff that wears you down, makes you tired...makes you careless."

Willow face suddenly looked a little frightened - then she frowned and looked over the approaching campus grounds contemplatively.

"I know that probably, one day, Buffy won't make it out of a fight. I think we all live with that thought."

Then her gaze resolved into determination and she looked at Tara firmly.

"But I just don't think that this is the time. With our support she can get through this."

Tara was thinking something different, but trying not to let her concerns betray themselves.

"You're probably right, Will." She nodded, attempting to affirm her decision to stay positive. "I'm sure Buffy will be okay."

They were walking across the campus grounds now, the sun making the warm grassy areas look inviting. Willow was still thinking about her girlfriend's words, but in another direction. She kicked the grass and mused.

"So...you think that this Spike-thing might be another problem? One of those personal disasters?"

She was interested to hear Tara's opinion - they hadn't really had a chance to discuss it yet.

Tara shook her head.

"Ah, the Spike-thing. God, I don't know - that's complicated."

"Well, there's obviously some kind of problem, considering that he seems to be avoiding her like the plague."

"Yeah, there's something..."

Willow looked at Tara with a trace of a grin.

"Then what is it, oh wise woman?"

Tara looked thoughtful.

"He's...scared of something. I'm not sure..."

"Scared of Buffy? Well, that would make sense -"

"No - I mean, it's not Buffy in a Slaying sense. It's more..."

The blonde witch looked out over the grass, thinking back on the vibes she'd picked up over the course of the last month.

"It's more how she feels, what she's going through at the moment."

"With her mom? What, he doesn't know how to deal with that stuff?"

Willow was genuinely curious now, and even more curious about Tara's heightened perceptions in these matters.

"Yeah. Well, maybe." Tara threw her hands up. "Ah, I don't know. I'm not exactly an expert on vampire psychology."

Willow's brow creased with a strange thought.

"You think...that he really cares about her?"

Tara face was nonplussed.

"Now that really would be scary." Her eyebrows raised at the idea.

Willow nodded.

"And not just for Spike. God, how would Giles deal with that..."

Tara shook her head.

"I can't even begin to imagine. Nope, don't wanna go there."

"Absolutely." Willow agreed vehemently. "Poor Giles."

They looked at each other, picturing the chaos that would ensue with faint grins.

"Poor Spike."

"Poor Buffy. Still," Willow looked thoughtful, "I can kind of understand the attraction. He is a bit of a hottie..."

"Willow!"

Willow bit back a laugh at Tara's expression, and tried to look serious.

"I mean, if you go for that sort of thing - which I don't, most definitely not."

Tara looked vaguely miffed - Willow grinned broadly at her.

"Oh, baby, I'm just teasing."

She put an arm around her lover's shoulders and pecked her on the cheek.

"I much prefer my wonderful, uncomplicated girl-love..."

Tara's eyes flicked over, then darkened as Willow moved her face closer. When their lips met, Tara felt a tingle radiate up her spine, a little shiver in her legs. The kiss was warm, tender - then it deepened, and Tara sank into the liquid softness. Willow's tongue slicked into her mouth gently, and she shuddered. The tingle spread lower...

"Mm." Willow broke the contact slightly, breathed against her lover's mouth. "Maybe we should find ourselves a place to sit..."

"Someplace quiet," Tara murmured. She nuzzled Willow's cheek then wrenched herself away to look around.

"Um, how about over there?"

The place she pointed to was a grassy spot half-hidden by bushes. It was a place they would have avoided at night - a classic necking spot that just screamed `vampire lunch here' - but right now, under the bright sunshine, it looked perfect.

They headed towards the spot, Tara relieving Willow of the heavy backpack for a moment. About to move around the bushes and plonk themselves down, they suddenly saw a ragged shape - a body wrapped in a motley assortment of tattered clothing, a battered-looking hat pulled over the face, and a pair of legs, with the grey pants wound up above the knees.

They both peered down at the derelict, unsure of what to do.

"Is he dead?" Tara whispered.

A deep snore suddenly sounded from underneath the hat. Tara could see wisps of greying hair emerging from the top now, and they both stepped back when the homeless man moved a little in his sleep.

"Guess not," Willow muttered. She looked around. "Kinda weird that he's here...campus security usually moves these guys on. Maybe we should call them or something."

Tara slipped her hand around Willow's arm.

"Oh, don't do that. He's okay there, we can find someplace else."

Willow looked unsure.

"I don't know, hon. It doesn't exactly give me a warm fuzzy feeling to know that there's strange men wandering around the campus..."

"Willow, it's okay, really," Tara said. She tugged on her girlfriend's arm, pulling them both away from the spot. "He's just looking for a quiet place to rest in the sun. I'm sure he's harmless. Come on - I think I see another place, over there."

Willow allowed herself to be led away, and the two girls wandered off in another direction, the warm sunlight restoring their languorous good mood.

Beneath the shade of the bushes, the man in the tattered clothing shifted the hat up off his face, lifted himself on one elbow. His weatherbeaten face was calm, and his eyes were clear and contemplative as he watched as the two witches move away.

oOo

11.02am

Absorbed in his reading, Giles heard the bell dimly, then lifted his head to see Buffy as she came through the door.

"Oh, good morning Buffy."

He checked his watch, then tilted his head towards her as she made her way down the steps and to the table.

"It is still morning, I think."

"Sorry Giles, I know I'm late - please don't beat me up about it."

Buffy sighed and sank into a chair. She looked rather deflated, and Giles narrowed his eyes.

"Is everything alright? Is your mother..."

"She's fine," Buffy stopped him before he could elaborate, "but I have to take her into the hospital for a check up this afternoon."

"Oh."

Giles felt bad now that he'd teased her about her lack of punctuality.

"Perhaps you'd prefer not to train right at the moment. Are you sure you -"

"I'm sure Giles - it's okay."

She rolled her shoulder in its socket gingerly.

"But what I really need right now though is some liniment and an elastic bandage."

Giles was immediately on alert.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm sore. My hand hurts. But I'm still in one piece."

She grinned wanly, then her expression darkened.

"Giles, it's starting - there were more vamps to deal with last night. A lot more."

Her Watcher nodded. He'd been expecting it.

"How many?"

"I've been trying to keep a count. I staked nine bloodsuckers and six demons - just on a short patrol. Looks like things are gonna get real busy between now and Friday."

She flexed her hand and winced.

Giles frowned at her.

"You've injured yourself."

"Oh, it's fine. Just some bruises. I'll heal."

She neglected to mention that she'd dislocated her thumb fighting the last demon. She didn't really feel like relating how she'd had to sit on the ground and pop it back in herself. The memory made her grit her teeth.

Giles had already gone for the first aid kit, and was now sitting in front of her, doling out liniment and other items.

"Here - this should help."

Buffy rubbed some of the hot ointment into the joint of her thumb, tensing at the tenderness there. Trying to wrap the bandage around it with one hand proved to be impossible, however, so she let Giles take over.

"Hold your hand out - there. And open your thumb, like that."

She watched as Giles worked on her hand. She was berating herself now for sleeping so late - she'd just been so tired from last nights dramas, and the busy patrol. She'd come home to find Dawn curled up in Joyce's bed, the house dark and quiet. But she'd been woken later by the sound of her mother retching quietly in the bathroom.

Suddenly, the threat of demon armies had seemed to fade into insignificance.

She had to keep reminding herself that time was short - there were only four days between Sunday and Friday. She had to stay focussed...

Giles was binding the thin elastic material around her hand, and had his eyes lowered when he started speaking again.

"So, Willow and Tara filled me in on your encounter with the Courier last night at the Bronze."

"Oh, yeah," Buffy nodded wearily. "The blind chickie with the guitar - she spun us a lovely little ditty, on the subject of `Bad Times."

"So I heard. I think I might have encountered her already - I nearly ran over a girl with a guitar case on Friday night as I was driving home."

"Really? And you had to miss?"

Giles raised his eyebrows at his charge as he wound the bandage.

"Hm - very droll."

Then he returned to his task, keeping his eyes studiously down. When he next spoke his words were carefully chosen.

"Buffy, I know this is a difficult time, but there's something we need to discuss, and I think perhaps you know what it is."

He looked up into her eyes on the final words, and she had to make an effort not to gulp. Oh boy. Dreading the conversation, she nonetheless tried to keep her tone light.

"Yeah? Well, I'm kind of a captive audience, so discuss away."

Giles nodded and went on cautiously.

"I've been wanting to talk to you for some time now about...your relationship with Spike."

Buffy sighed with what she hoped looked like relief, and applied her best good-natured smile.

"Oh, is that all? Well, that's easy - no relationship. Me, Spike - zip, nada, nothing. So there's nothing to discuss, right?" she added hopefully.

"Hm."

Giles finished with the bandage and taped it firmly.

"There - try that."

Buffy flexed her hand experimentally.

"That's great. Thanks."

Giles nodded in acknowledgment, but he wasn't to be distracted.

"So - this business I mentioned. You and Spike aren't..." He blushed a little at the idea of saying it aloud.

Buffy spoke firmly.

"No, Giles, we aren't. Really."

He examined her face.

"But there was..an...attraction..."

"No!" Buffy stopped and sighed. "Well, kind of - I guess. But, I mean, totally over it now - er, not that there was anything to get over..."

Giles winced.

"So - you didn't..."

"No - no way."

Buffy shook her head vehemently.

"And you don't..."

"No, we don't - I mean, I don't. Not anymore. Uh, not like I ever did."

Oh, this was confusing. She tried another tack - light and breezy.

"I mean, come on, it's impossible. And Spike - ew. And there's no way I'm gonna do the vampire boyfriend thing again, that would be crazy - right?"

Was that convincing enough?

Giles was frowning confusedly.

"Er, right."

She patted his knee reassuringly.

"So you don't have to worry, Giles - okay? There's no Spike-anything, and everything is just...fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Giles didn't look completely reassured, just dazzled by the verbal parrying. Buffy stood up quickly, before things got any more probing.

"Hey, I'm gonna do some yoga before training, okay?"

"Ah, certainly."

"So you don't want to talk about anything else? I mean, we should just, y'know, focus on this demon thing - like, um, how's the research going?"

Giles opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again.

"Ah, that would be no, I agree, and quite well. I think I may have discovered a few clues about the identity of your Force of Good allies -"

"Cool." Buffy nodded, then began moving off. "Well, you can fill me in, and if you don't need me right now, I'll be out the back. Thanks, Giles."

She walked briskly to the training room. Giles watched her go, his words trailing off behind her.

"Er, yes, and thank you for..."

...the discussion.

She was gone. Giles rubbed his head and frowned. He had a sneaking suspicion that he'd just been blown off.

oOo

9.46pm

Turn

And kick.

And knee.

No - watch out for the arm.

Punch his face, then flip.

Punch.

Again - and twist.

Again.

And -

Buffy drove the stake firmly into the vampire's chest, and watched him explode. Brushed off the dust.

There.

It had been vaguely satisfying, but it didn't help.

Goddamnit, this is supposed to help. Why doesn't it help?

She whirled to look for more attackers, but there were none. Only four piles of dust, and the aching pit in her stomach.

She stood for a moment to catch her breath.

Five hours later and it was still there in her nostrils, the pungent ammonia stink of the hospital. She could still see the doctor's faces - benign, blank, doughy and emotionless.

Oh, mom.

She felt her eyes sting and closed them, trying to get a grip.

God. Got to keep it together. This is too much - got to keep it together. Focus.

Wiping a hand roughly across her face, almost slapping herself, she didn't want to think anymore. There were better things to do than just think.

She turned, and headed into a darker part of the cemetary.

oOo

9.58pm

Hm. Now, there's cookies, and a muffin. And chocolate milk - always fun. And -

The doorbell chimed, and Dawn lifted her head from the refrigerator. She piled her stash on the kitchen benchtop, and went to greet the visitor. Maybe Willow and Tara had come to talk about magicky stuff. Cool.

She flung the door wide excitedly. And made a face.

"Oh. It's you."

Spike raised an eyebrow at the perfunctory greeting. Obviously he'd ticked off more than just one Summer's daughter.

"Well - good evening to you too."

Dawn glared at him.

"What do you want?"

"To come in, if it's alright with you." He tried to keep his tone light.

She wasn't having any of it.

"Why?"

"Why? Well, it's cold out here."

"Spike, you don't feel the cold."

He sighed - he could feel that kind of cold. He realised that he was going to have to go to a bit more effort if he wanted an invitation.

"Look, I just...I'm sorry, awright?"

It wasn't said with totally good grace. Dawn just crossed her arms and looked at him like she was waiting for more. He sighed again and continued in a rush. He wanted to get this over with.

"I mean - fine, I've been a bastard, and I haven't been about since your mum took ill, and I don't know why, but I'm saying sorry now, and...and...and Niblet why am I standing here on your front verandah prattling on like this?"

Dawn perused him up and down coolly, then made a face. His use of her nickname had worn her down. She held the door open wider.

"Oh, alright - Spike, come inside."

"Thank you."

They stood in the hallway frowning at each other for a moment. Then she whacked him on the arm. He let her - it was a weak-arsed punch anyway.

"Come on, you can do better than that."

Dawn tried to look superior.

"I can. I choose not to."

It broke the ice - they grinned at each other. Then Spike gave her a serious look.

"I am sorry, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Really."

Dawn snorted and frowned. He could be a dork sometimes, but she was glad he was back.

"Well, I believe you. But it's not me you have to convince. And Buffy's not here right now, she's -"

"- on patrol. Yeah, I know. Saw her heading out earlier for a bit of slam-dancing at the cemetary."

"So why are you here?"

Spike looked a bit non-plussed.

"Actually I've come to see -"

There was a slight noise on the stairs above them and they both looked up. Joyce Summers was standing above them in her nightgown, a robe pulled around her thin shoulders and a faint smile on her face. Spike blinked up at her.

"Joyce. Hi."

The sick woman's smile widened, and she examined Spike with a maternal air.

"Hello Spike. It's been a while."

"Er, yeah, it has."

He didn't know what to say. She was pale and washed out-looking, with dark circles around her eyes. In a word, awful.

"You look...good."

"Thanks," Joyce said drily, "but you don't need to give me post-operative compliments."

Slowly, she started edging her way down the stairs. Spike bounded up the short distance to lend a supporting hand.

"Shouldn't you be tucked up in bed or something? You shouldn't be wandering about now..."

She shrugged.

"I've been in bed all day. I was bored. So...do you want a cup of hot chocolate?"

He frowned. If she was going to be stubborn, he could at least take a load off...

"Sure. But how's about you let me make it?"

"Well, I was going to ask Dawn...but yes, that would be nice."

Joyce smiled softly. It was obvious that she was tired from the mere effort of making it to the bottom of the stairs.

Dawn's eyes travelled from the vampire to her mother and back, like she was watching a tennis match. She was waiting for her mother's reaction, and when there was none forthcoming she snorted with disgust.

"So that's it? Aren't you even gonna go mad at him or something?"

She frowned at Spike.

"I mean, you've been a ghost for weeks, and now you do the mooching-back thing..."

"Dawn..." her mother began warningly, then she let it go, catching sight of the goodies piled on the bench. "Were you planning on eating all that stuff yourself?"

The teenager blushed guiltily, and eyed her stash.

"Oh, I was just -"

"Well, why don't you give your mother a muffin," Joyce interrupted in a placating tone. "Put it on the tray with the hot chocolate and Spike can bring it up. He and I are going to chat upstairs."

Dawn closed her mouth at that, and she and Spike watched as Joyce turned and slowly headed back upstairs towards the bedroom.

Then Spike cleared his throat, and moved to the kitchen to begin an efficient amount of bustling about.

"Er, right. Hot chocolate. Where's that tray your mum was talking about?"

"Under the sink."

Dawn chewed her lip for a second, then began helping him put the tray together, making up a second tray for herself. It didn't take them long to sort out three cups of chocolate, and soon the aroma of cocoa and heated milk gave the kitchen a companiable warmth.

Dawn gave Spike a sideways glance as she set a muffin on plate and settled it onto the tray.

"So...whatcha gonna talk about?"

"Stuff."

He pushed the second tray into her hands and nodded her towards the living room.

"Now, off with you. The telly awaits."

"No one ever tells me about the important stuff," Dawn grumped.

"Your mum can fill you in later. Now shoo."

Dawn scurried off with a parting scowl, and Spike hefted the tray and made his way upstairs.

He balanced the tray on his knee to knock on the door of the master bedroom.

"Come in."

Joyce was sitting up in bed, supported by a sea of pillows at her back, the lamplight softening her features. He was struck yet again by how sickly she looked. It seemed like only the other day that she'd been a vibrant, healthy woman...he composed his face into a semblance of relaxed unconcern and moved into the room.

Joyce smiled at him, and inhaled with relish.

"Mm. That smells good. Thank you."

"No problem. Can't have you missing out on hot chocolate now, can we?"

He passed over the tray, and sat on the edge of the bed where she patted the coverlet. She handed him a hot mug, balanced her own in one hand and set the tray with it's muffin to one side. Then she looked at him thoughtfully as they both sat, blowing on their cocoa.

"So. What prompted you to visit Spike?"

He stared into his mug, holding it with both hands.

"Well, er, I wanted to see how you were..."

He worked up his courage and met her gaze at last.

"...and I wanted to apologise. I haven't been around much lately."

"I've noticed," Joyce replied with a coy grin.

Her calmness put him off.

"Um, yeah. I, er, figured you had. But, well, I just..."

"Couldn't deal?"

Her voice was wry, but didn't seem to attach any blame.

"Kind of."

He fumbled the ball then - it had been a while since he'd done anything like this, and the words didn't come easily. He looked at the ceiling for inspiration, but nothing was forthcoming.

"Ah, hell - I'm no good at this..."

Joyce smiled softly in encouragement.

"You're doing fine, Spike."

It was the impetus that he needed. He screwed up his resolve and looked into her eyes squarely.

"I'm sorry."

Joyce's smile became full and heartfelt, and she gave a nod of acknowledgement. She had a feeling that the role of prodigal didn't exactly come naturally for him, and she was appreciative that he made the effort.

"It's okay. I forgive you."

Her mischevious grin relaxed him, then she blew on her cocoa thoughtfully and shrugged.

"Anyway, you're not the only one who's been avoiding me. Most of my friends from the gallery have been more noted by their absence lately."

He snorted and sipped his drink.

"Right. Couldn't deal, huh?"

Joyce didn't appear to be overly hurt by it.

"Well, it's human nature. It's not easy - people don't know what to say."

Then she gave him a curious look.

"But I have to say that your reaction surprised me. I mean, it's not really like you, Spike - to be afraid of death."

His eyes snapped back to hers. She'd said it - and she was staring at him, daring him to contradict her.

"Don't say that!" His voice was strangled.

Joyce looked at him, with a mixture of openness and faint amusement - his response had been so strangely human.

"Why? We both know it's true."

She caught his stare and held it, stating the obvious firmly.

"The tumour - I can't stop, can't fight it. It just...is."

He was speechless. She knew, and she accepted it. She looked almost peaceful. The thought of Joyce calmly facing the prospect of her own imminent death gave him a sudden twisting feeling. Made him ashamed. His voice became a choked growl.

"Well, your not dead yet, so you can just stop -"

"What, talking about it? What's the point? Especially with you."

She did look amused now. She sat back on the pillows, examining his face.

"Nobody wants to discuss it - it's the great taboo. But at least with you I have some space to be honest."

Her face became serious.

"Spike, how long have you known that I was dying?"

He didn't know where to look, so he just stared mournfully into his cocoa, speaking quietly.

"Dunno. A while." He sighed - she'd said she wanted honesty. "Three weeks."

Joyce nodded.

"Which is when you stopped visiting. Hm."

She tilted her head.

"So why did you stay away? Was it me?"

No - she could see that wasn't it.

"It was the girls, wasn't it."

Understanding was emerging on her face.

"Buffy and Dawn, not knowing, or not wanting to know. And everybody trying so hard to act normal..."

"They're all being so bloody cheerful!"

Spike's face was contorted with anger and disdain - and frustration.

"Patting Buffy on the back and stuff, telling her and Dawn that everything will be fine, that it'll all work out peachy..."

"And you can't do that," Joyce stated. She was beginning to see the reasons behind his sudden absence.

"No."

He ran a hand through his hair and longed for a cigarette.

"I can't."

Joyce sat back on her cushions and regarded him serenely.

"That's not a bad thing, Spike. Everybody's hoping that I'll recover, that everything will be the way it was, and I can understand that, but - it won't ever really be like that again."

Spike was frowning, and looking almost apologetic.

"I know. And for some stupid reason, I just...can't lie about it."

He looked down at his mug with chagrin.

"Not to Buffy anyway."

"And you shouldn't," Joyce said firmly. "Buffy should hear the truth. I'm her mother, but I'm just a person. People die."

Spike jerked as his own thoughts were repeated back to him. God. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and blinked furiously, listening as Joyce continued.

"Buffy needs to hear that, you know. She needs to start accepting it. Or she won't be able to cope...later."

She was so...relaxed about it all - he couldn't help but be amazed at her strength. Humans! He snorted at the thought - it was like the frailer they were, the stronger they became. It intrigued him. He examined her face curiously.

"You seem so...calm."

Joyce shrugged.

"Oh, I'm not worried about myself. I'm only worried about my girls."

Her face went sad, and he rushed to reassure her.

"They'll be taken care of. Buffy'll look after Dawn, and the Scoobies will look after Buffy."

Joyce laughed softly.

"Well, I've tried to do that for twenty years, and she's not the easiest person to look after."

"Tell me about it." He rolled his eyes. "She's like a bloody turtle or something: pulls her head in, and won't come out."

"Right."

Joyce smiled and shook her head, thinking all the while: he's remarkably perceptive, for someone who makes such a point of playing indifference...

Suddenly she reached for his hand, and with a jolt of surprise, he let her take it. Her clasp was warm and dry, and she was staring at him unnervingly.

"Spike, I want you to do something for me."

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"First - I want you to come and visit more often."

And she smiled, to ensure that he understood that he was always welcome in the house.

"Oh. Sure."

Easily done. He relaxed a little, let his guard down.

"And second..."

Joyce pierced through him with her gaze - he felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.

"Spike, I think you know what I'm going to ask you."

He stopped.

"Oh."

Then he reared back, and jumped up from the bed like he'd been bitten.

"Oh no."

Joyce was still smiling at him, and nodding. Shit. He started pacing, short steps, up and down beside the bed.

"Oh god. Joyce..."

He tried to sound stern.

"Joyce, I can't."

She grinned at him, knowing that she'd already won. But she twisted the knife a little anyway, for good measure.

"You're going to refuse a dying woman's last request?"

Shit. His face twisted with conflict.

"Joyce, I'm a vampire! Y'know, fangs, and monstery, an' all that..?"

He could see he wasn't going to get too far with that line of defence.

"Joyce, I'm supposed to be her nemesis - not her protector!"

"Please, Spike."

She just looked at him - it was beneath her to plead, but she would if she had to. And he was fumbling for a way out.

"Argh! Bloody hell, I can't! It-it's against the rules!"

"What rules?"

Good question - what rules? He was running out of arguments, and resorted to looking petulant, knowing that he'd give in anyway.

"You know you're putting me in a very difficult position here..."

Joyce merely looked at him, her mouth upturned but her eyes serious. She decided that a bit of flat-out confrontation was needed.

"You love her, don't you?"

He jerked to a standstill, staring with horror at the Slayer's mother. Then he sank back down onto the bed, all energy deserting him as his mind raced.

Love. Was that what it was? The odd feeling inside him everytime he saw her, anytime her name was mentioned...strange in it's difference to the obsessive possessiveness he'd felt before, with Dru. Strange and painful. Strange and wonderful...

He blinked at the carpet. Love Buffy. God. It was mad, but it just might be true. But did he want to say it out loud?

"I-I don't know."

Joyce sat back onto her cushions with a satisfied grin, watching the play of his features.

"That's a yes. Good."

"What d'you mean it's..." Then her words filtered through. "It is?"

"Of course it is."

Joyce's unerring pragmatism revealed itself in a mellow smile.

"And I'm glad. She needs an equal."

He rolled his eyes and threw up his hands.

"Great. I'm an evil equal."

Joyce continued calmly.

"Some of the best relationships are built on conflict, Spike. Just accept it. You and Buffy...you're like two halves of the same coin."

"Bloody hell..."

He rubbed his face dejectedly and sighed. What a bloody disaster. He felt the faint touch as Joyce reached out to put a hand on his arm.

"You can help her be strong, Spike. I know you can. Promise me."

Her voice was low, and he knew that it was a pivottal moment. Reluctant and hating it, he sighed and whispered back his answer.

"I-I promise."

oOo

10.40pm

Buffy let herself in quietly. She could hear the hum of the TV, but decided to leave Dawn watching in peace, and headed upstairs to shower. She was sore in innumerable places, there was dirt in her hair, and...

As she topped the stairs she realised that there were voices from her mother's room. Curious, she rounded the corner - and stopped dead in her tracks.

Spike. Spike, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of her mother's bed. Joyce appeared to be holding his hand.

The icy shock that had washed over her dissipated as quickly as it had come. The residue left over was anger - and in the time it took for the two on the bed to notice her presence, her fury had grown and boiled to exploding point.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Spike startled and whirled, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Joyce's face was self-possessed, but there was surprise there at the vehemence of her daughter's words.

"Buffy -" Joyce began, but Spike intervened.

"Look, pet, I'm just visiting your mum. Now don't get -"

"You have no right! Get out!"

Buffy moved stiffly into the room and rounded on the vampire, oblivious to her mother's entreaties for calm.

"Buffy, he's -"

"I said get out! Now!"

Spike rose and extended a supplicating hand.

"Now, Slayer, don't -"

But before he could get any further, Buffy swung and punched him full in the face.

"Buffy!"

Joyce looked on in shock. Spike was holding both hands to his streaming nose.

"Blobby hell! Dad blobby hurd!"

"Get out! Get out!"

Buffy whacked him hard on the shoulder, and pushed him towards the door. He didn't attempt to fend her off - she appeared to be way past the reasoning stage.

He let himself be herded out of the room and down the steps, trailing bloody handprints along the bannister. At the door way, she gave him an unceremonious push out the door onto the porch, and he stood there for a moment, looking at Joyce on the steps watching in horror, at Dawn peeking out from the living room, and finally at Buffy, in full hysterical flight.

"Never come near me or my family again! And I mean never! Or I will stake you so fast you won't even feel it until I'm vacuuming up your remains - do you understand? And stay the hell out of my house!"

Then the door slammed in his face.

Buffy put both hands against the door, as if warding him off. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood for a second, then turned to face her mother's horrified expression.

"Buffy, what are you doing? Of all the crazy things -"

"Are you alright? He didn't try anything, did he?"

Joyce looked at her daughter in frustration - if she'd had the energy, she would have stamped her foot.

"No! Buffy, Spike and I were just talking! He came to visit me, for pity's sake!"

She faltered on the stairs, and Buffy immediately rushed to support her. Looking vaguely shamefaced, but still with a steely glint in her eye, she moved her mother towards the bedroom.

"Come on. Let's get you back to bed."

Mother and daughter walked slowly back to the room, and Joyce was soon settled again in front of the pillows. A dark head peeked around the corner - Dawn was perusing her sister with raised eyebrows.

"Geez - over-react much."

Buffy whirled, and skewered her with a glance.

"Dawn, did you let Spike into the house?"

Dawn's eyes went wide.

"Um, I'm gonna leave now..."

And she scurried away.

Buffy returned her gaze to her mother. Joyce was giving her the Mom Look. Her daughter suddenly felt a need to busy herself readjusting pillows and sheets.

"Buffy, look at me."

With a sigh, Buffy complied. Somehow she felt that this discussion wasn't going to weigh in on the side of her recent unreasonableness.

Joyce's face was stern.

"Buffy, Spike came over to apologise. He was invited in. And we were talking..."

Buffy's face screwed up.

"So, he can disappear just like that -" she snapped her fingers to demonstrate "- while you're sick, and now he rocks up for a social call?"

Joyce looked at her, trying to find the words to explain.

"Buffy some people...just need a little more time than others."

Her daughter frowned and folded her arms over herself.

"He doesn't have a right..." she muttered darkly.

Then to her surprise, she felt tears begin to sting their way out from behind her closed lids. She tried to sniff them away, but her mother noticed immediately. With a frown of concern, Joyce pushed the blonde wisps of hair out of her daughter's face, then pulled her in for a hug.

"Oh, honey. It's alright. Sweetheart, look at me. Tell me why you're so angry."

Joyce had a feeling she knew the answer, but she had to ask to make sure.

Buffy swallowed and tried not to blubber.

"Spike. He can't...he doesn't..."

"Understand? He does, you know. Better than you think."

"Then why doesn't he..." Buffy wailed, her words petering out helplessly.

Joyce smiled into her daughter's hair.

"Well, honey, Spike's still not very good at communicating..."

"Well, duh."

Buffy rolled her eyes, and hiccupped into the fabric of her mother's nightgown. Joyce smoothed the blonde head comfortingly.

"But he is improving. You know, you could do with a little work on the communication thing yourself..."

Buffy's sniffling tapered into silence.

"As for example," Joyce added drily. Then she caught her daughter's chin in her hand, and looked into her face.

"He really does care, you know."

Buffy stiffened in surprise. That had hit her for a whammy. Just the thought that... She sighed then, and looked guiltily grumpy.

"I've been a bitch, haven't I."

Joyce smiled and patted her on the shoulder.

"Never mind. You've had extenuating circumstances. You can apologise to Spike later."

Buffy hugged her mother and groaned inwardly. Great.

oOo

Part Four - This Same Flower

Monday

2.15pm

Why does Good Art always mean standing up? Why can't it mean `sitting comfortably on stools'? But noo, that would mean buying thirty stools for the Art Department, and that would be way too -

"Dawn? Is there something you need?"

"Uh, no, Miss Mackeltie."

Dawn rocked from one foot to the other in front of her easel, and tried to wipe charcoal dust off her shirt. Oh, great. Now she had an even larger black smear on her blouse, right near her boob. Shit.

"Are you sure you're alright there, Dawn?"

Dawn sighed. That's right, make everyone in the class look in her direction...

"I'm fine, Miss Mackeltie."

She pulled her cardigan over the smear, and then tried to focus on what she was doing. A bottle, some flowers, and a loaf of bread. This is Art?

Apart from the intrinsically dull subject matter, she hated working with charcoal - too messy. Everything she drew came out like a dusty black blob. She much preferred soft pencils, or even pastels. But she lifted her hand anyway, and resolutely tried to make the lines on the page smooth and clean.

A few minutes later, she had the rough outline of a blobby bottle, blobby flowers, and blobby bread.

God, this is boring.

"Have to agree with you there."

The voice came from behind the easel to her left. Dawn watched with amusement as a face appeared from around the corner of the paper - dark curly hair, olive skin and hazel eyes. Dawn knew him from class. She searched for his name while wondering if she'd really spoken her last words out loud.

"Uh - yeah."

God, what was his name? She was sure she'd met him before - geez, this was embarrassing.

"I think I prefer drawing stuff from my own head."

He was whispering for Miss Mackeltie's benefit, and she replied in kind.

"Me too. Bottles and bread and stuff...not exactly inspiring."

He snorted, and kinked one corner of his mouth.

"Yeah -this blows."

Dawn laughed in surprise, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Ack, too loud. She looked behind her, checking for their teacher.

"I could do without the Seargent Major always looking over my shoulder too," she murmured.

The boy nodded.

"Again, agreeing with. I always thought that art was supposed to be about freedom of expression."

He raised an eyebrow in her direction and Dawn's breath caught in her throat. Geez - cuteness. Why had she not noticed him in class before, and, more relevantly, why the hell couldn't she remember his name?

Pulling at her cardigan in a little flush of self-consciousness, she positioned herself a bit closer to his easel. Catching sight of the work that he'd already done she baulked in surprise.

"Hey - that's really good."

It was good - darkly shaded lines and slightly surreal angles.

"Oh." He looked embarrassed and shrugged. "Yeah, I like to draw."

"Well you're heaps better than me," Dawn pronounced firmly. She liked that he was so modest.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Nah, I don't think so. You're just not inspired by the subject matter."

Dawn grinned ruefully.

"Great. Can I put that on my picture when I submit it?"

The boy with the hazel eyes smiled and traced a finger over the lines that he'd drawn.

"If you want. And you can tell Miss Mackeltie you quoted me, if you like."

Dawn laughed again.

"Sure. Thanks."

With a touch of bravado, she straightened and plunged in.

"I'm Dawn, by the way."

He smiled at her warmly.

"Nice to meet you, Dawn - I'm Gabriel."

Gabriel - that was it. Right. She dusted her hands together and grinned at him.

"Well, Gabriel, do you have any more charcoal?"

"Sure. Here."

He passed her two pieces of soft blackness, and their eyes met in the transition. Dawn got goosebumps, promptly lost her cool, and dropped the pieces on the floor.

"Shit."

She dipped to retrieve them, and heard a voice sounding from somewhere near the back of the class.

"Dawn Summers, are you working on your piece or fooling around?"

"I'm working, Miss Mackeltie," she droned, and stood back up quickly.

She caught Gabriel's glance and rolled her eyes. He grinned, and then they each returned to their work in silence for a moment.

But a few minutes later, in a lull, she heard a whisper.

"Dawn?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, you have charcoal..." He rubbed a knuckle on his own cheek to demonstrate, and grinned.

"Oh - thanks."

Scrubbing at her face with the edge of her cardigan, Dawn groaned inwardly. God. Why did she always have to embarrass herself in front of the cute ones?

oOo

4.11pm

"...so then you say the incantation and boom! Instant demon-tracker."

Willow grinned and settled her hand gestures back down into her lap.

"Great. So as soon as you get the whatsit root you're set to go?"

Buffy had a sandwich in front of her, as did the two witches, and paper wrappings were strewn over the floor. She and Willow and Tara were having an indoor picnic, ensconsed in the witches' room in the dorm. It was cozy, sitting on the carpet with the windows open and the drapes drifting in the summer breeze.

Tara nodded in response to Buffy's question.

"Yep - as soon as Xander gets back with the herbs. Then it's `Thunderbirds are go.'"

Buffy chuckled at the image of Willow and Tara as two Miss Penelopes, taking off in a dinky little convertible. Then she shook her head, back to business.

"Well, I'll be very appreciative of the go-ness. There's so many demons in town right now my spidey-senses are always screeching - not so good for the tracking and locating."

She made a face.

"Well we could help with that too, if you like," Willow volunteered.

She lifted a book from the small pile near the bed and started riffling through the pages.

"I'm sure I saw something in here for sharpening perceptions of evil."

"You could do that?"

"I guess. Why not?" Willow looked at Tara, intrigued by the idea.

Tara shrugged.

"It's possible. But I think we'd have to work with Mr Giles on that one."

"Oh. Giles." Buffy sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I'm kind of giving Giles a bit of wide berth at the moment."

Willow frowned.

"How come?"

She grinned quickly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Wait - don't tell me. You disagreed over your favourite brand of crossbow bolts again?"

"Hah. I wish."

Buffy contemplated her sandwich and picked at it desultorily.

"Nah, he just got all parental on me yesterday. Wanted to have one of those Deep and Meaningful Conversations. I wasn't into it so -blech."

She deposited a slice of pickle onto the paper in front of her.

Tara and Willow exchanged glances.

Shall we?

Why not? - you first.

Gee, thanks.

Tara cleared her throat.

"Ah, this Deep and Meaningful Conversation wouldn't have had anything to do with, er, Spike by any chance?"

Buffy glanced up, surprised.

"Well - yeah."

Then she saw the witches' conspiritorial faces.

"Oh - oh great. First Anya, then Giles, and now you two. Come on, out with it. What has the Scoobie gossip machine been chattering on about behind my back?"

Willow shook her head vehemently.

"Nothing. Really. Buffy, it's not like that."

Buffy crooked an eyebrow at her.

"So, what is it like?"

Willow didn't quite know where to begin. She tried to aim for a relaxed approach.

"Well, just that you, um..."

Tara tried to help out. Between the two of them there was a lot of shrugging and looking around.

"That you and Spike were..."

"That you and Spike might have been...um..."

Buffy gave them both a exasperated glare. Obviously she was going to have to fill in the blanks.

"What? Getting icky? Doing the wild thing?"

Tara finally gulped up the appropriate word.

"Involved."

"Yeah, involved," Willow affirmed with relief.

"Involved, huh?" Buffy blew out noisily. "Well I'd like to involve Spike's head with a brick wall right now..."

Willow recovered herself enough to remember her sense of humour about the whole thing. She tilted her head towards Buffy with a sympathetic grin.

"He's driving you crazy, huh?"

"Argh!"

Buffy threw down her sandwich and buried her head in her hands, her muffled voice rising out from between her fingers.

"Does that answer your question?"

She looked up at them again.

"He's just so...argh! You know, he showed up at my house last night."

Tara looked surprised.

"Wow. I thought he was kind of...well..."

"Avoiding me?" Buffy supplied. "Totally. But then last night I came home from patrol to find him having cocoa and chitchat with my mom."

"Your mom?" Willow said confusedly.

"Yeah. She said he came to apologize. What a jerk."

Now it was Tara's turn to look confused.

"He's a jerk for apologizing?"

"No, he's not a jerk for apologising," Buffy sighed. "He's just a jerk."

She buried her head again and groaned.

"And now I feel like a jerk..."

Tara understood immediately.

"You argued with him."

Buffy looked shamefaced.

"You could say `argued' - I freaked. I punched him in the nose."

"You what?" Willow gasped, then she and Tara looked at each other and had to hide ther grins. Willow put her hand on Buffy's shoulder.

"Oh, Buf - you're not a jerk. Spike is - well, Spike can be...difficult."

"Very." Tara nodded in affirmation. "Spike rates very high on the Difficult scale."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Like a ten. No, make that eleven. God." She looked at the witches imploringly. "You can't make him just, y'know, disappear or something?"

Willow considered, eyeing her books.

"Well, I suppose..."

Tara gave her lover a glare and cut in firmly.

"No, we can't."

Buffy sighed.

"Shit. Goddamn Spike."

She snorted at memories - Spike sitting on her mother's bed; Spike sucking on his umpteenth cigarette; Spike at the research table, glowering at her, clenching his jaw that way he did... She shook her head, frustrated.

"He's just so...so..."

"Irritating?" Willow suggested.

"Aggravating?" Tara put in.

Buffy looked at them helplessly, like she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I was gonna say `cute'."

The three women were reduced to blinking at each other.

The phone rang suddenly, breaking the moment. Willow rose and brushed breadcrumbs off her skirt as she went to answer it.

Tara contemplated the situation, taking in Buffy's forlorn face.

"So...he came to your house to talk to your mom. It sounds almost...gentlemanly."

Buffy nodded, frowning in disbelief.

"I know. Like something Giles would do. Weird, huh?"

Tara shrugged.

"Kinda - but not so, in a way. I mean, he did grow up in the Victorian era and everything."

Willow interrupted.

"Buffy?"

She was holding out the phone receiver slackly, her face pale.

"It - it's your mom."

oOo

5.13pm

Giles and Xander moved as quickly as was decorous in a hospital, rounding the corner of the foyer. The sight before them couldn't have been more despondent - Buffy, her hand around Dawn's shoulder; Dawn, with her head buried in her sister's hair; Willow and Tara sitting on either side. All four of them looked anxious and depressed, and cramped from sitting in the hard plastic visitor's chairs ranged along the hospital wall.

As the two men approached Buffy stood, and Dawn with her, as though she was attached to her sister with glue. Giles enveloped them both in a hug. Xander patted their shoulders, glancing back worriedly at the witches.

The girls disentangled themselves, and Dawn allowed herself to be pulled back into her chair by Xander. He sat next to her, holding her hand as Giles and Buffy talked.

Giles didn't know what to say. In the end he opted for simplicity.

"Buffy - I'm so sorry."

She nodded and scuffed the floor at her feet.

"Thanks. Thanks for coming."

Giles glanced from Buffy to her younger sister with concern.

"Are you and Dawn alright?"

Buffy sighed.

"I'm fine. Dawn's still pretty shaken up. She was the one who dialled 911."

Giles looked around briefly at the hospital foyer, as if waiting for Joyce to appear from behind one of the doors. Then he realised he was being ridiculous, and returned his gaze to his charge.

"And where is your mother now?"

Buffy shrugged.

"We don't know. We're waiting for a doctor to come and talk to us. All I know right now is that she's in the ICU...and they say they're doing everything they can."

Her words, and the look of despair on her face, rammed the situation home; Giles felt suddenly overwhelmed. His mouth went dry, and his eyes clouded. But underneath the emotion, a nastily professional voice was biting at him - This couldn't have come at a worse time...

He shook the voice off, and did the only humane thing - he drew Buffy in for another hug.

"Oh god. My poor girl."

To his surprise, she jerked away, head low.

"Giles, I can't - I can't do this right now..."

Her face was stony, but the cracks were beginning to show. She smeared a hand roughly across her eyes, her face twisting with the effort of controlling her emotions. The internal struggle reduced her voice to a whisper.

"Just give me a second - talk to Dawn for me, okay?"

Then she bolted away, in the direction of the ladies' room. Giles watched her go, his expression one of undisguised anxiety. When he looked over to the group on the chairs, Dawn was talking quietly to Xander, Tara behind her. Willow had been the only one to notice Buffy's exit. With a look at Giles, the red-head rose quickly and made her way after her friend.

The door to the women's restroom was just hissing closed - Willow gave it a gentle push inwards and stepped inside. Buffy was standing hunched over a sink, splashing water on her face.

A few short steps brought her behind her friend. Buffy was rubbing her hands across her eyes, mascara streaking, looking about as far from her usual image of strong, confident, cocky Slayer as she could get. Pain radiated from her in awful waves.

And standing quietly, watching the scene in the huge restroom mirror, like she was outside her own body, Willow felt strangely afraid. Tara's words were coming back to her now - I'm worried about how she'd cope if she had too many personal disasters to deal with. Her own blithe assertion that Buffy had support, that she'd get through okay...

Willow swallowed.

That's us - that's me. We're the support. So unfreeze your ass, and get supportive!

The mental kick was enough to get her moving. She took a deep breath, reached out and place a hand on her friend's shoulder.

It was a little gesture, but it seemed to be enough. Buffy looked up, gripping the sink with white knuckles, staring at Willow's reflection in the mirror.

"I can't do this, Will. It's too much, I can't -"

Then her strangled voice dissolved into sobs.

Willow felt a wash of calm flow through her - a sudden strength. Mentally, she was scared, but emotionally she could deal with this. It was why she was there. Instinct took over, and she reached out her other hand, and drew Buffy in close. Her soft words cooed out from a deep internal spring.

"Shh. It's okay. It's alright. It'll be alright..."

oOo

Giles chafed his hands together, and felt ineffectual. Dawn was sitting beside him, biting her nails, and he turned to her gently.

"Dawn, I think it might be best if you and Buffy stay at my house tonight."

"No."

Dawn clenched her jaw, refusing to look at him.

"I'm staying here with Mom."

"Dawn..." Giles sighed.

"I said no. She'll want to see me when she wakes up. I want to be here."

Before Giles could make any more headway on the issue, Dawn straightened and looked up. A doctor was approaching. And older man, with thinning hair and glasses, he seemed to be accustomed to the anxious whirlwind of patient's relatives, and calmly took in Dawn's breathless rush towards him.

"Buffy Summers?"

"I'm Dawn, I'm her sister," Dawn stammered. "She'll be back in a second. Is my mom okay?"

The doctor nodded carefully.

"We have her stable now, and she's improving. I'm keeping her in the ICU for now, but we should be able to move her to a ward tomorrow."

"Can we see her?"

The doctor gave Dawn a gentle look.

"Your mother has been sedated for treatment, so she won't be awake for a little while."

"But can we see her?"

Dawn's stress-filled face made him consider, and then nod.

"I think that should be okay. Do you want to come now?"

"Yes - but my sister -"

"I'm here. Is she okay?"

Buffy spoke from behind the doctor. She looked pale, but together. Willow followed close behind her. The doctor turned to accommodate both sisters.

"She's fine. Would you like to come and visit now?"

"Hell yes. I mean - yes. Just give us a minute?"

She turned to the others, now standing behind Dawn.

"Will you guys wait here for us?"

Giles volunteered an answer on everyone's behalf.

"Of course we will. Buffy, I just suggested that perhaps you should both stay with me tonight."

She nodded.

"Good idea. Dawn, you can stay with Giles."

"But..." Dawn started with an annoyed tone. Her sister cut in firmly.

"No buts. The others will be patrolling with me later - is that okay?"

She looked up briefly to check - Willow and Tara were nodding, Xander gave the thumbs up. Buffy's expression was heartfelt.

"Thanks guys."

"Buffy..." Dawn began again.

"Please - can we talk later? Let's just go see Mom first."

Dawn looked pissed off, but conceded with a nod. Buffy looked back to the doctor, who had been politely ignoring the `family' exchange, and indicated that he should lead on. With a quick apprehensive smile back at the Scoobies, Buffy took Dawn's hand and they followed the doctor into the hospital corridor.

The solid walls of the wards gave way to the glass partitions and automatic doors of the ICU. Dawn saw their mother first - a fair-haired shape amidst an intimidating array of tubes and wires. She caught her breath, gave Buffy a quick quivering glance, then rushed forward to the bed.

With a look back at the doctor to ensure that it was okay, Dawn picked up her mother's limp hand in her own. Buffy felt her throat hitch again at the sight of her sister smoothing and petting their mother's hand, whispering a mantra of reassurance that was intended for them both.

"Mommy, it's alright. We're here now. It's alright, you'll be alright...."

The doctor left them in peace.

Buffy watched in silence. She rounded the bed, and went to her mother's other side. She didn't want to say anything - didn't want to touch her mother at all. Right now, Joyce looked like Snow White under the lid of

the glass coffin - pale, and bright, and suspended in medical animation. Buffy didn't want to break the spell. She didn't think she could maintain her control if she touched her mother's hand - and the last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of Dawn.

So she stood, immobile, beside the bed as Dawn petted and whispered softly over their mother.

Dawn straightened at last, and looked around at the paraphernalia - there was a breathing tube under Joyce's nose, and wires linked to monitors that threaded beneath the sheets. She wrinkled her nose at it all, wishing she could pluck it all away, take their mother back home where she belonged.

"She looks uncomfortable."

"Your mom's okay."

The two sisters turned at the sound of the new voice. A male orderly, dressed in nursing blue, was standing at the door of the room. Buffy watched him as he entered with a gentle smile at Dawn. He nodded towards the wires.

"I know all the tubes look bad, but she's okay - really."

Buffy looked carefully from the orderly back to her mother.

"Will she be out like this..."

"Until tomorrow, I think." He gave them another soft smile, trying to reassure. "You guys should probably go home and get some rest."

Dawn looked up in a little panic.

"But if she wakes up she'll want to see us..."

The orderly moved to the foot of Joyce's bed, focussing his calm on Dawn.

"She's alright. I'll be looking after her tonight, and I don't think she'll wake up, but if she does I'll tell her that you'll be back first thing in the morning."

Dawn nodded reluctantly, but she seemed comforted that her mother would have personal attention through the night. She leaned down to press her face against Joyce's smooth cool cheek.

Buffy swallowed, and squeezed her eyes against the threatening tears. She straightened and sighed, wishing this was all a bad dream.

"Your mother's a strong woman."

The orderly was looking at Buffy - he was an older guy, she noted. Red hair and clear, warm eyes. Buffy felt a little more confident. She nodded firmly in reply.

"Yeah, she is."

"And she has strong daughters."

That made her smile softly.

The orderly looked at her kindly, encouragingly.

"Now you should go home and rest. I'm sure you need it as much as your mom does."

Buffy gave him a grateful look.

"Thank you."

"No problem." He inclined his head towards her in introduction. "I'm Michael."

Buffy nodded a greeting.

"This is my sister, Dawn - and I'm -"

"Buffy Summers. I know."

Her expression was curious, and a little suspicious. He allayed her fears by nodding towards the bottom of Joyce's bed, at the hard-backed papers there.

"It's on your mom's chart - next of kin. Nice to meet you." He tilted his head towards the exit, with a kind look. "Now you better go - give your mom and yourselves a chance to rest. You can come back first thing tomorrow, around nine."

Buffy smiled courteously.

"We will. And thank you again."

Michael smiled in return as she encouraged Dawn towards the door.

"See you tomorrow."

oOo

11.45pm

"Xander, behind you!"

Xander dropped his head, and felt the wind whistle near his ear as the demon's fist swiped at the place where his face had been.

Oops - a little too close there...

He whirled out of the way abruptly as he saw Tara's intent, and rolled to allow her better leverage. With a grunt of exertion, the blonde witch swung the large tree branch she was holding, and it made satisfyingly solid contact with the demon's jaw. There was a heavy thump as the creature dropped to the ground.

Xander was momentarily distracted by the sounds of fighting behind him.

"Get out of the way!"

"I'm trying! Just give the axe to me, and I'll -"

"Anya, shut up for a second and let me -"

Willow pushed the ex-demon in the back, which effectively cleared her line of sight, and belted the oncoming demon they were fighting with the flat of the axe. The demon overbalanced and stumbled directly into Anya's path - only to fall over her legs, and topple face-first on top of her.

"Oh gross! Get off me, you hairy, smelly creature of the netherworld!"

With a heave, Anya pushed the stunned demon to one side, then scrambled for safety. This unfortunately left her trapped between a mausoleum and a tree, with the groggy-but-still-staggering demon right in front of her. The creature bared it's tusks menacingly.

"Ah, help! Buffy! Anybody!"

Buffy only had time to glance back briefly - her concentration was on avoiding the punches of a third demon, who seemed to be a little better at fighting than the other two. She swung puches and kicked it's ribs - or what she hoped were it's ribs - while she called back.

"Anya, I'm a little busy -" Kick "- right now, but -" Another kick. "- give me a -" Punch combination. "- minute, and I'll..."

She flipped over a gravestone, and righted herself into a solid block from the demon. Ow. She blinked to clear her vision, trying to parry with one hand.

"Anya!"

Xander was too busy looking at his girlfriend in mortal danger to focus - he only dimly saw the punch descending, and it only registered when it hit him on the jaw. His teeth rattled, and he slumped down with one arm supporting him.

It was enough for the demon to take the upper hand - ignoring Xander, it went for it's next target. Tara tried to wield the tree branch in an aggressive manner, but the drool coming out of the thing's mouth made her shudder.

"Oh...oh boy. Nice demon..."

She backed away, and the creature, sensing her confidence evaporating, charged.

"Anya, here!"

Willow tossed the axe through the air, and Anya still had enough presence of mind to catch it. Emboldened now with a weapon, Anya saw the second demon become wary, and decided to press her advantage. With a whooping cry, she ran at the thing with the axe handle forwards. It impacted right in the creature's stomach, sending it reeling. It staggered back against a gravestone.

Willow saw her moment. She extended one hand, and took a focussing breath.

"Ignis incendae!"

With a popping of air, and a bright whoosh, the demon burst into flames.

Anya veered away.

Xander recovered his breath, and rushed forward. Tara was in an impossible position, leaned over a headstone, the demon's hands around her throat. Xander made a pummel with his fists, belted the creature across the head, and then ducked to retrieve the fallen crossbow. He let off two bolts in succession, and watched as Tara pushed the creature away to die.

Buffy blinked a little as the demon behind her flared into fiery life. Appreciating the extra light, she grinned.

"Ah, that's better."

There was just enough momentary illumination for her to see her attacker's position - with a sudden motion she twirled, gripped the demon's head in both hands, and gave a mighty twist. There was a pleasing crack as it's neck broke. She dropped the body and stepped away, wiping the sweat from out of her eyes.

The rest of the Scoobies stood, recouping. Anya winced and scratched at her hair. Tara was rubbing her throat and looking relieved. Buffy looked around questioningly.

"Everyone okay?"

General nods - Xander was testing his jaw with his fingers.

"Was that nine? I thought I counted nine, but they came on pretty fast."

Buffy nodded tiredly and sighed.

"That was nine."

"Making a grand total of fourteen vamps and eleven demons over the last three hours - whew." Willow massaged her neck, and walked over to check on Tara.

Anya blew a strand of hair out of her face.

"That's got to be some kind of record."

Xander nodded, looking at Buffy with incredulity.

"Buf, I can't believe you've been doing this on your own for the past three days. You should have called us sooner."

Willow agreed, looking at Buffy with a delicate reproach.

"Yeah, Buffy - that's too heavy for solo-patrolling."

Buffy shrugged. She still looked a little unfocussed, her thoughts elsewhere.

"I guess - I haven't really been keeping count lately." Then she took in

their looks and gave an apologetic grin. "But you guys can consider yourselves on patrol-call from now on, is that okay?"

Tara raised a still-shaky hand.

"Fine with me."

The others nodded. Xander smiled broadly.

"Then it's a date - crazy fights-nights til Friday. Cool." He glanced over at Anya, who was grimacing at the ends of one of her pigtails. "You okay, honey?"

"I think Willow singed me."

She glanced accusingly at the red-head witch, who shrugged back helplessly.

"Sorry."

Anya conceded with a sigh. Then she turned again to Buffy.

"Seriously though, is that a record for Sunnydale?"

Buffy thought briefly, then shook her head, settling herself on a headstone.

"Probably not. But you're right - the number of nasties in town is off the charts. Giles made some enquiries back at the hospital - unexplained deaths have been rising way too fast, even for Sunnydale."

Willow's raised eyebrows contained a wealth of misgiving.

"Here comes the Gathering..."

"With a vengeance." Buffy nodded. "I just hope I can keep up the pace."

Tara smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, we can be Slayer's little helpers for a while, at least."

Xander pitched in helpfully.

"Yeah, Buf - we'll be your extra firepower."

Anya glanced at him.

"I think you mean cannon fodder."

Buffy smiled her thanks at them all, then looked at them with seriousness.

"Well, Angel will be in town by Wednesday, so you guys should just concentrate on staying in one piece if you plan on patrolling with me every night until then. Stay together, and remember to watch each other's backs -"

Her Slayer senses alerted her seconds before her normal senses registered the movement in the air - she jumped away as a huge axe came crashing down on the headstone that she'd occupied a few moments before. The stone shattered dramatically.

The demon wielding the axe didn't waste any time - it went straight into the attack. Buffy barely had a moment to square off before she was in the thick of another fight. Punching and kicking wildly, she had a second to think that she would've liked a minute to catch her breath between demons. But it was too late for that now.

Xander was the nearest. He tried raising the crossbow, but it was hopeless - the two figures were too close to get off a clear shot.

"What now?" he called back in frustration.

Willow's voice sounded in return.

"Ah, Xan - I think we have other things to worry about..."

And he heard the sibilant hiss reverberate behind her words. By the time he'd turned around, the new demon, an ugly reptilian, had already tossed Anya and Tara to the ground.

"Oh crap."

His shoulders slumped for a second, then he straightened and prepared to advance.

Buffy kicked high, aiming for the head. Damn, this one was strong. And bore a strong resemblance to Olaf the troll, axe included. Her next kick landed upside of it's neck, and she felt a nauseating roll in her stomach as it grabbed her foot and spun her over and backwards. Her head made thumping contact with the earth, and she grimaced, her eyeballs rattling in their sockets.

Before she could do anything, huge arms lifted her around the waist, and flung her back. Time seemed to slow ominously as she fell through the air.

Uh oh. This is gonna hurt.

And it did. Her back smashed against a gravestone, and she felt a million needles of pain spin through her. It made her dizzy for a second - long enough for the demon to surge forward and raise the axe high above it's head. She watched the axe swing to the limit of the creature's reach, found herself strangely fascinated by the instant when the weapon hovered in the air, the seconds before it found the momentum to return along it's path with added force, ready to blast into her at the moment of impact. She watched -

The moment never came.

The demon let out a deep gurgle, and the axe slipped from it's grasp on the downswing, drumming harmlessly against the ground. The demon reached up, fumbling at it's throat. Buffy frowned.

What the - ?

And then her eyes widened as the creature's head gently rolled off it's neck, and landed with a mushy plop in the gravedirt at her feet. Her eyes widened.

Well. That was unexpected.

She looked back at the swaying, headless body. It stood upright for a moment, then, as if finally realising that it was dead, it toppled sideways, swinging away like a theatre curtain to reveal a slim figure in black, short sword balanced at shoulder height, ready to make another parry if necessary. When he realised that it wasn't, Spike let the blade fall loosely - the tip embedded itself in the ground, and he leaned on the sword like it was a golf club. He cocked one eyebrow at her and tilted his head.

"So - who's watching your back, Slayer?"

She could only stare in astonishment. Now the sounds of fighting began filtering through from behind - she heard Xander groan. She shook her head to ease the confusion there, and pulled herself to her feet, using the gravestone as support.

"You right?" Spike asked with concern.

Buffy nodded, still feeling fuzzy.

"I'm fine. What are you...?"

She was frowning at him, questioning, but became distracted by the noises of battle to the rear. She held up a hand.

"Um, just...hang on a sec, okay?"

She reached down to grab the demon's axe, then spun and entered the fight with the reptilian. It took about five seconds, and mainly involved hauling Willow, Tara, Anya and Xander out of the way long enough for her to get in a decent swing. The axe was very sharp - she actually chopped the demon in half, more by accident than by design. Then she turned back to Spike, who was watching her work with an expression of professional interest, and gave the others a chance to regroup behind her.

"All done?" Spike flicked a glance over to the carcass.

"Um, yeah."

Anya wiped reptilian-demon blood off her coveralls with an expression of distaste.

"That was number twenty-seven."

"Yeah," Spike sighed, " demons in Sunnydale these days are like ants at a picnic."

Xander was peering at the vampire curiously.

"What's on your nose?"

Spike reached up automatically to finger the white tape over the bridge of his nose. He dropped his hand quickly and shrugged, his eyes flicking over briefly to the Slayer.

"Mm. Must have cut myself shaving again. Bloody cut-throat razors, eh?"

Willow and Tara exchanged a look. Xander just frowned with confusion.

"Pardon?"

"It got broken, you dolt." Spike rolled his eyes. "Forget about it. So... twenty-seven is the lucky number tonight, eh? Well, there'll be a lot more demons between now and Friday."

"How many, do you think?" Willow asked.

Spike shrugged.

"Dunno. A lot. More than you'll be able to kill in one night."

"Gee," Buffy added drily, "thanks for the encouragement."

"Not trying to rain on your parade, pet - just stating the obvious. I mean, it's a Gathering - every vamp and demon in the business will be partying here by the end of the week."

"So you're saying we don't stand a chance," Xander said, looking peeved.

"I didn't say that."

Spike tried to ease the tension his remarks had caused, wondering why humans always got their knickers in a twist over every little thing.

"I just meant that it's gonna get busy."

Buffy snorted, still trying to work out his motivations for lending a hand.

"And you've just decided that you want to pitch in."

"Well, sadly enough, I live here too y'know."

He pulled the blade out of the ground, and tested the edge with his finger, avoiding everyone's gaze as he mumbled out the next words.

"And I figured that you need all the help you can get."

Buffy's face registered a strange surprise - then she bit her lip, and softened her voice.

"Well - thanks."

Spike looked at her around the edge of the swordblade.

"I heard about your mum," he said quietly. "Is she alright?"

Buffy swallowed, then forced a nonchalant look.

"She's okay. We'll be going to check on her tomorrow. Dawn's staying with Giles."

Spike nodded his acknowledgement, and they both stood, looking solemn and fidgetty.

Anya smiled brightly.

"So have you two kissed and made up yet?"

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed, aghast. He looked up apologetically at Buffy, but she and Spike were both too busy ducking their heads and looking in opposite directions.

"What? I was just asking..." Anya began, hands raised.

Willow cut her off neatly.

"Well, as fun and, uh, painful as all this has been, I think I'll call it a night. There's still this little thing called an exam that I have to sit early tomorrow morning, so..."

"She still has to study for it," Tara added.

"Yeah, that's me," Willow sighed, " demon-killer by night, lowly college student by day."

Buffy, still fighting a blush, tried to look blas, if disappointed.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I was thinking of heading home the long way, maybe bagging a few more demons while I'm at it..."

She swivelled to face Anya and Xander, appealing a little.

"Ah...guys?"

Xander was grimacing from the hefty elbow in the ribs he'd just received. He glanced at Anya crossly, then returned his gaze to Buffy's faintly pleading face.

"Ah, sorry Buf - we can go as far as Main, but Giles is sending me on another supply run early in the morning, so..."

"And I'm sure you and Spike can manage without us," Anya added sunnily.

Buffy's face settled on Anya's with a look of ill-concealed irritation..

"Right."

Xander sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Then he swung the crossbow onto his shoulder and straightened for the march home.

"Okay. Let's get out of Deadsville."

With a smattering of discrete groaning, they all began the tramp towards the cemetary exit. Emerging back into the streetlights, Willow squinted and rubbed her shoulder.

"Okay. This is us. Campus here we come."

She grasped Tara's hand and they began to move off. Xander's voice arrested their bruised trundling.

"Hey - there's like, no way in the world I'm letting you guys walk back to campus at this time of night, with all the fun-loving yucksters cruising through town right now. My car is parked a block away. Come on - we'll give you a ride."

Anya nodded her agreement. Tara and Willow exchanged glances, then grinned at Xander gratefully. Hefting weapons, and nursing limps and sore body parts, the four Scoobies chorussed their goodnights to Buffy, and left her standing in the middle of Main Street - with Spike.

She turned back slowly to face him.

"So."

"So."

He broke the uncomfortable pause, waving her on down the street.

"After you."

Buffy rolled her eyes then led off, picking up a determined tramp along the asphalt. Spike groaned inwardly, then loped after her.

They walked in silence for a while, both peering around for distractions. But the street was empty; demons and humans seemed to have both made a sudden clear-out. Finally, with a series of glances back and forth, it occurred to them that they might have to actually talk to one another. Unfortunately, they had the same thought at the same time.

"So I wanted -"

"What were you -"

They stopped to glare at each other.

"You first -"

"You first -"

Buffy huffed out a sigh, and muttered sotto voce.

"This is ridiculous."

Spike's face took on resigned look.

"Yeah. It is."

He turned on his heel abruptly and started walking back the way he'd come. Buffy frowned.

"Huh? Spike, where are you going?"

He whirled to face her, hissing out his frustration.

"Away." He threw up his hands. "You're right - this is ridiculous. I feel like a bloody idiot. So, you win, okay? I give up. This is too hard."

He swung around and started gallumping off. Buffy screwed up her nose.

"Spike! Goddamnit, Spike, wait!"

He kept walking. Desperate measures were required - she heaved out another sigh, and called out.

"Spike... I'm sorry I broke your nose."

He slowed and stopped, then looked over his shoulder at her with suspicion. Buffy steeled herself and continued.

"And I'm sorry I threw you out of the house. My mom told me about everything - how you came to apologise, how you made hot chocolate..."

She trailed off, unable to think of what else to say for the moment.

He tilted his head and snorted humourlessly at the heavens.

"Yeah, that's right - I'm the caring, sharing vampire..."

God, he could be irritating. Buffy lost patience and took a confronting step forward.

"She also said that your `communication skills' are for crap."

Her face held a faint smile at the memory of her mother's words, and she inclined her head towards the vampire as she shared them with him.

"She said that you're kind of like a porcupine - you roll into a ball and stick out your nasty side when you...when you feel vulnerable."

He looked startled, then bemused.

"Well. I guess that's fair. I compared you to a turtle."

"A turtle?"

"Yeah." His mouth twisted into a reluctant grin. "Pulling your head into your shell at the first sign of trouble."

Buffy looked a little taken aback, then she regained a bit of dignity, lifting her chin.

"Well - I don't like to stick my neck out," she said softly.

"Right," he agreed, his face wry. "And I don't like to expose my soft underbelly."

"You have a soft underbelly?" she asked with an expression of confused surprise.

He grinned wolfishly back at her.

"Would you like to see it?"

"No!" she shot back, her colour rising. "I just...never heard you admit to having soft spots before."

Spike was quick to object, looking vaguely self-righteous.

"I have soft spots!" He ducked his head again, frowning at the asphalt. "I have a soft spot for you."

The muttered admission made them both look up at each other, full in the face, with matching expressions of shock. Spike, cursing himself immediately for being so lame, glanced away, avoiding her gaze.

Whoah. Too much. Stop. Slow down.

Buffy took a deep breath and spoke again, stumbling over words.

"My mom said that you...care about how she is. She said...that you understand."

Spike sighed, and narrowed his eyes at her, looking kind of sad.

"I do. And..." He straightened and screwed up his face, searching for the right words, and the guts to say them. "...I am profoundly sorry, that I wasn't around. For everything."

Buffy stared. My god - he really apologised. That must have come hard. Her face swirled with emotion - disbelief, curiosity, sympathy...and finally she smiled at him.

Spike felt something faint and delicate swim up from somewhere inside of him. Something that he recognised - something that might even be called elation....

"You know you're a doofus," she said, with a half-grinning, half-reproachful expression.

He rolled his eyes, looking contrite.

"Right. I'm a doofus. A doofus with soft spots."

Before he could say something even more stupid and break the moment, she cut in.

"Spike...I accept your apology. And thanks. But..."

He frowned at her confused face.

"But. But what, you still wanna break my legs -"

"No," she grinned, then peered at him. "I was just wondering...why did you go away?"

He shrugged, considering how much to tell her.

"I dunno. I just..." Oh just bloody say it. "...just couldn't really deal with seeing you so unhappy an' all."

"Oh."

She didn't know what to say to that. He fumbled to explain further.

"I think I kind of convinced myself that you didn't need me in the way, with your mum so ill and everything, so I just...pfft." He made a little flicking, disappearing motion with his fingers.

Huh. Buffy studied his face as he studied the ground again, then pronounced her words gently.

"Spike - you were never in the way."

He looked up with surprise.

"Yeah?" He considered her words for a second, then gave an embarrassed grin. "Oh."

She sighed. What a strange conversation. And man, he was strange, but at least they'd got that sorted out. Straightening and hoisting the axe onto her shoulder, she nodded her head towards him.

"Okay, come on - walk me as far as Oak Street, then I better go rescue Giles from Dawn."

"Sure."

They walked along in companiable silence for a while, watching for movement in the alleys. It was getting late, and the street was amazingly quiet. Spike tucked his hands in his pockets, and ventured a question.

"So, your mum's gonna be in the hospital for a few days?"

"Yeah, I guess,"

Buffy sighed, thinking that she'd almost forgotten for a second there.

"There's an orderly looking after her in the Intensive Care ward tonight." She paused, and then decided to fill in some of the more personal details. "Dawn found her, you know."

"That's rough," he replied, frowning at the thought.

"Coming home from school to find your mom unconscious on the kitchen floor? Yeah, that qualifies as rough."

Spike peered at her sideways - she was coping, but not that well, he thought. He watched her blink away the worry, then changed tack gently.

"So, Niblet's alright?"

"I guess. She's hanging in there, but she's anxious - we all are."

He nodded, chose his next words carefully.

"Seems like you've got a lot to be anxious about these days."

"Yeah," she agreed, raising her eyebrows. "The Gathering, mom...it never rains but it pours, y'know?"

He knew alright. But she went on quickly before he could say anything.

"But, hey - beating demon heads together seems to help."

He grinned at her.

"That's the spirit. I know killing something always makes me feel better."

She smiled at his interesting take on being supportive.

"Yeah."

They were halfway through town, getting closer to her turn, when he felt it happen. The mood changed - something imperceptible had occurred, and there it was, like a hum in the air. Nothing had happened - there'd been no contact between them, they were maintaining a respectable distance from each other...

But he started to feel a tingling tightness in his chest, and his skin was prickling. He cast a quick glance over to Buffy, and was surprised to find her looking at him - then they both rushed to look away, checking the streetscape again for something, anything.

He knew her heart was hammering because he could hear it. And her body temperature had risen - he could feel that, too, a delicate heat in he air. God, how could he be so attuned to her? It was crazy...

When she cleared her throat to speak, he almost startled.

"Spike..."

They both stopped and turned towards each other. She opened her mouth, and his eyes zeroed in immediately on her lips. Which made her lick them self-consciously, and he felt a jolting, agonising ache. She breathed in with a faint hitching, and tried again.

"Spike..."

There was pretty much only one thing that could have distracted him at this point - and there it was over her shoulder. Before she could breathe out another word, he grabbed her by both arms, and pushed her roughly to the side - barely in time to avoid the raking claws of a bear-like creature that was now lunging towards them.

"Oh."

Sprawled on the ground, her face went from angry to understanding as she watched him vamp-out and throw himself at the demon. As he whirled in for another kick, she did a neat hand-spring to standing, grabbed the axe, and went in for the kill.

Between the two of them, it was short work. A few parries, a bit of dodging and weaving, and she managed to get in one good swipe, that sliced through the thing's side. Then she watched in irritation as the demon casually reformed itself - damn these quick healers.

Spike caught the back of one of the demon's paws, and whirled to avoid another punch. The thing grabbed him - he did the only thing he could think of, and head-butted it in the face. The creature released him, slightly dazed.

Good old Liverpool kiss... He rubbed his forehead, de-vamped now, and heard Buffy call out.

"What now?"

"The head - the axe -"

He ducked for cover as the demon tried another wild swipe.

"Ah, bloody hell - you know!"

"Gotcha."

Buffy somersaulted to the other side as the demon advanced on Spike, and

hefted the axe, then swung it in a short arc. The creature's head separated smoothly from it's body, and landed about fifteen feet away. That gave Spike enough time to retrieve his fallen short-sword, and skewer the thing through the chest. It dropped like a stone.

Spike danced away from the body, backing into the alley from which it had come. Buffy veered around the thing kicking feebly on the ground, and caught up with him.

Her breath was gasping from the thrill of the sudden exertion. They were standing very close together, and suddenly she felt her skin come alive.

My god, she thought in an instant - he positively glows after a fight. Even in the dim light of the alley, Spike's white hair and pale skin, in addition to the frisson of tension in his body, made him look almost luminous with energy. She felt oddly dazed, and blinked up at him.

He was squinting at the creature's body, and checking his forehead, then he fumbled at the bridge of his nose, absently peeling off the white tape, and tossing it onto the dead demon. He looked back at Buffy, surprised to find her so near.

"That's twenty-eight, right?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Fine. What were you going to say before?"

She gazed up at him, eyes bright and focussed on his face, grinning.

"That I'm glad you're back."

He stared down at her for a bare second. Then the rush of their bodies clinching together took all thought away.

Kissing rapturously, bruisingly...his legs were having trouble staying steady, and he felt something sharp knocking the back of his head.

"Mm...ow, axe..."

Buffy realised she had been still holding the axe when she threw her arms around his neck.

"What? Oh..."

She distractedly tossed the weapon away into a corner, and then with nothing further impeding them they threw themselves at one another again.

The embrace was wild, uncontrolled - less like a kiss and more like an explosion. Fumbling, squeezing hands, punishing lips...Buffy's arms were around his neck and her hands were travelling through his hair, across his shoulders, her tongue smoothing the places she'd bitten, touching his face with her fingers, trailing her nails down his neck, down his chest. He groaned and stumbled, bringing them back up against the alley wall, putting her in a position of control.

Oh god...

He couldn't think at all while her lips kissed down the side of his face, her tongue lapped across his jaw and down his neck, then tickled back up to sear his mouth again.

He heard strange sounds, gasping, and realised that he was the one making them. She was making him breath enough to gasp... When he felt her hand slide under his t-shirt to smooth across the muscles of his stomach he growled and reacted automatically.

He slipped one knee between her legs and flipped her around, and she moaned as he put both hands under her derriere to hitch her up.

Better...

With her legs squeezing around his hips, and one hand on the alley wall for support, he had unlimited access to her front, and began the advance there, kissing down her neck, tasting the skin at her collarbone and down the vee of her tank, skimming and squeezing her waist with his other hand.

She gasped against his earlobe as he traced a line of cool fire down her neck with his tongue. Her hands slipped again under his shirt, making him shiver, but not from the night air.

Buffy arched into him as he nipped along the top of her shoulder, where he'd pulled back the tank top to gain entry. She reached for the waistband of his jeans, and it was only then that something registered dully in her mind.

Oh god, too fast, we're moving too fast -

Apparently the same thought had blundered into Spike's mind as he'd stretched the fabric of her top. Jesus, we're gonna fuck right here in the alley if we don't stop - With a moan and a mammoth effort of will, he pulled back.

They stared at each other, shocked by the intensity of it, Buffy panting, and Spike's chest rising in reflexive mimicry.

"Bloody hell."

"Wow."

The hoarseness in her voice weakened his resolve, and he dipped his head for another kiss. Her response was in her trembling lips - they tasted each other's mouths slowly, taking deep, sweet, sipping kisses. His tongue darted across her bottom lip and she shuddered and closed her eyes.

Then his fingers started to stray again, clutching at her bottom, and tracing down her neck, flicking away the strands of mussed hair there. Buffy hissed and tangled her legs around him. Two seconds later and she was already wondering why they'd stopped in the first place.

Then sanity rose again, and she reluctantly eased her head back. The way his long length was pressing her against the alley wall, and the closeness of his face, made it damned hard to concentrate.

"Oh god. Spike, I have to go..."

She couldn't help it, his lips were only inches away... she slid in for another kiss. His mouth was like the rest of him - smooth, with a glassine perfection that appeared to be hard and unyielding, but which, on contact, proved to be as soft and supple as...

Damn, she'd done it again.

She moved her head away, trying to speak, her body taking notes as he groaned in disappointment.

"Mm. No, really, I -"

Spike leaned in, and she forgot what she was going to say for a moment as he nibbled on the corner of her mouth. Then with a gasp, she remembered.

"Spike -" She put her hands on his chest to give herself room to think. "Spike - I have to go get Dawn."

Spike pulled himself together and nodded his head, releasing her from the tangled position they'd assumed. But they were still close enough for him to stroke his hands up and down both her arms, which he was doing almost unconsciously.

"Oh yeah, right." He cleared his throat, to make it sound more convincing. "Well, you better..."

Their eyes caught and held, and they inclined towards each other.

"Yeah," Buffy sighed, "I better..."

Reluctant to separate, Spike dipped his head, resting his forehead on hers and smelling the intoxicating scent of her arousal, her sweat and heat.

Buffy shivered, her mind whirling. How did it get like this? How did it get so strong?

"God."

She finally pulled her body away from his, giving them a bit of physical distance, enough for her to capture the thoughts racing like butterflies around her head, and stay on track.

"Okay, I have to go now, or I won't..." she trailed off with a sigh.

"You won't?" Spike looked at her mournfully.

"No," she breathed out, "I won't. Look, I'm gonna be between the hospital and the Magic Box all day, okay?"

He sighed, resigned to their parting now, even though he knew that it would be crazy for them to continue what they were doing before. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, just nodding his agreement. But he wanted to make sure of something first, to remind them both that it wasn't a dream. To hold onto the promise of more...

"Buffy - I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure," she nodded, then began a slow backwards walk to the entrance of the alley, keeping her eyes on his. Just before turning, she tilted her head towards him.

"And - Spike?"

"Yeah?"

It was the oddest thing he'd seen yet - the Slayer, with her familiar bravado, looking at him almost shyly...

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

He grinned back at her broadly.

"Sure, love."

Then with a quick, brilliant smile, she turned and dashed away.

Leaving him standing in the alley, staring after her, wondering whether the last few minutes had been some strange twist in reality. He ran his hand across his mouth, remembering the imprint of her kisses there. More than the imprint - he had a bitemark on his lower lip, which he knew would be gone by tomorrow, but which for the moment seemed to be the irrefutably honest evidence that he and the Slayer had just snogged each others brains out against an alley wall...

He felt faintly dazed. He leaned back against a nearby dumpster. Then a strange and sunny thought wriggled it's way up to him.

She kissed me back. She kissed me back...

He blinked, absorbing. The air seemed suddenly warmer. And the night sky seemed oddly sparkling with radiance. A faint grin began playing across his passion-bruised mouth.

Bloody hell - she kissed me back....

His grin widening, Spike dug through his pockets until he found a cigarette and a match, lit up with a jaunty air, and blew a celebratory plume of smoke into the alley. His smile was full-blown now. Stabbing a finger towards an imaginary audience, he pronounced his words firmly into the silence.

"She. Kissed. Me. Back."

Then with a spring in his step, he whirled around, took a hit from his cigarette and sauntered out of the alley.

There was quiet. Nothing stirred, and then - a figure stepped out from a shadowed doorway. A tall man, in a long coat, his skin reflecting an even darker sheen in the night than it had during the day.

Salter narrowed his eyes, perused the place where Spike had discarded his match, then looked over to the spot that Buffy had left bare moments before. He frowned thoughtfully.

Then, with silent footfalls, he strode off, down the length of the alley.

oOo

Part Five - Heavenly Glories

TUESDAY

10.42am

"...occultilis licere patesco..."

Willow was reciting words that she and Tara had worked out in advance and hoped would do the trick. Her eyes were closed, and there was a dull film of perspiration on her forehead. It was a long passage of Latin, and she prayed that she was doing it right. Otherwise, they could end up with a map that revealed the hidden locations of every frog in Sunnydale - spells were funny like that.

She also had an audience, which tended to bring out the worst of her performance-anxiety. Giles and Xander were standing a discrete distance away, near the door of the training room. Giles was sipping his tea at intervals, and through the heightened awareness that she'd cultivated to do the spell-work, Willow could hear every tiny slurp. She wished he'd put the cup down, or drink up and be done with it.

Then a firm hand clasped into her own. Tara's presence was like a warm and comforting blanket, strengthening her will, supporting her. They were sitting opposite each other, angled a little to allow them to hold hands, with the map of Sunnydale spread between them.

"...aviusum carpitum obscurationius conlucere..."

Tara's voice joined smoothly with her own. They were reciting the last part of the spell now, and here came the tricky bit.

"...noster augurationis armaorum animo..."

As the final words rang out in the quiet of the training room, Tara held out one hand, and blew onto it. A silvery dust spun out into the air - it seemed to whip into a little maelstrom as it hung suspended above the map, gathering and whirling, until it seemed like more than a handful.

Tara's other hand squeezed hers gently, and Willow knew it was the moment. She broke the contact quickly, and clapped both hands together The silver dust dropped, like the breeze that had held it aloft had suddenly disappeared, and it showered down onto the map, sparkling radiantly.

The two women looked at the map. The glittering sand seemed to slide and shimmer over the surface of the paper, like a living thing. At certain places the sand gathered and stuck, where it began to glow as it changed colour, from silver to deep red. The flow of sand was constant - Willow watched as a drift of the stuff slithered and coalesced over a place she knew was a vamp hang-out. She smiled with satisfaction, then looked up to meet Tara's pleased nod.

Giles and Xander came closer tentatively. Giles examined the map and it's sliding, glittering marker.

"Will it hold?"

"It should," Willow nodded, "We can hang it in a quiet place if you like, for future reference."

Tara motioned towards the map and gave instructions.

"The sand will move periodically - the areas it moves to and lights up should indicate places of demonic activity."

She glanced at Willow with an admiring smile.

"That was nice work."

Willow shrugged, and breathed out the tension she'd been holding in, expelling the last of the psychic energy she'd conjured for the spell.

"I was worried that I was doing it right. Didn't want to end up with a map of useless info."

Tara nodded.

"The great thing about Latin is that it's pretty specific - it's just a matter of getting the pronunication." She winked at her girlfriend. "You did good, honey."

"I agree," Giles added. He used his tea-cup to indicate the map. "This is very advanced spell-work."

"Well, I'm totally impressed," Xander threw in - and he looked it too. "You guys are bitchin' witches, you know that?"

Tara returned his smile. Willow shrugged again and tried to appear modest, in spite of the thrill she was feeling.

"Aw, shucks," she grinned.

Tara rose from her cross-legged position, dusting off her rear.

"Well, we couldn't have done it without those herbs Xander - thanks."

"Hey, it was my pleasure. I gotta say, the results are pretty amazing. Who'd have thought you could do something so cool with pond-slime?"

"You used pond-slime?" Giles' face bore an expression of professional curiosity.

"For the stickiness," Willow confirmed.

"Well, like Xander, I'm impressed. Excellent work, both of you. This map will be our most valuable asset over the next few days, I have a feeling."

With a nod and a smile, Giles wandered back to the front of the shop.

"How come he never hangs around for the cleaning-up part?" Willow mused, glancing over her shoulder at Tara.

Tara could only shrug. Xander was already standing, broom at the ready.

"At least I'm here - c'mon, you guys lift the map to someplace else, I'll do the janitor-thing."

It was an easy tidy-up - a few herbs here and there, and the ash from the censer, and the candlewax on the floor. Tara was scraping at that with a knife, on hands and knees, when she looked back at Willow again.

"What time does Buffy get back from the hospital again?"

"About noon," Willow said, as she put away matches and candle-ends into a shoebox. "She wanted to drop Dawn at school first."

Xander frowned as he plied the broom.

"She's making Dawn go to school? That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"Buffy didn't want her to be on her own in the house - she's worried about the excess-demonage in town at the moment."

"What, she couldn't have brought Dawn to the shop?"

"Well, Dawnie has less chance to mope around at school than if she came here."

Tara nodded, coming to standing with a stretch.

"I think it's a good idea. It's good for Dawn to stick to a normal routine."

Xander didn't look convinced, but shrugged anyway.

"If you say so. Hey, Will - speaking of things scholastic, how was your exam?"

Willow made a disgusting face, and flapped her hands, as if to shoo something far away.

"Oh, yeah, that - well, it's over with, anyway," she said, then shuddered. "Urgh. Xander, maybe you should've just let that demon kill me last night, save me the agony of exam-cramming."

Tara had gathered up a collection of books and was standing with a contemplative expression.

"And on the subject of demon-hunting, I'm wondering now how Spike and Buffy made out last night."

Willow grinned wickedly.

"'Made out' being the phrase I'd also use."

Xander grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, god, please - yuck."

"I think you'll just have to get used to the idea, Xander," Tara said with a smile.

"Even if you're right - and here's hoping you're not - I think I could live without the gory details."

"But it's the gory details that we're waiting to hear," Willow said slyly. She and Tara grinned at each other, relishing Xander's discomfiture.

"Please stop," he groaned.

"Xander, for someone who's dating a Vengeance demon -"

" - that's ex-Vengeance demon, thank you..."

" Regardless," Willow went on, "I think you're showing a real lack of tolerance."

Tara's expression showed that she agreed. Xander looked heavenward, and raised his hands.

"Oh, gee, I'm so sorry that I can't find it in my heart to forgive and forget Spike's earlier errors of judgement when he was attempting to kill all of us."

Tara could only shrug.

"People change."

Xander glared at her.

"People change, Tara - you're forgetting that Spike isn't people. He's a vamp."

"Oh, details," Willow said airily, waving a hand.

"Details? Will, the guy's a psychopath!"

"Well - apart from the psychopath thing - I think it's romantic."

Xander groaned, set his broom aside, and began walking back to the front of the shop.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Someplace where the atmosphere contains more reality, less Mills-and-Boon," he threw back over his shoulder.

Willow snorted and raised an eyebrow at Tara.

"Reality - sure, like he's really gonna get that around here..."

oOo

Anya waved goodbye as the young couple she'd just sold an `enflaming passion' spell to exitted the shop. Why they needed something like that, when they were both vaguely attractive and the spring weather was about, was anyone's guess. She shook her head at human foibles, and got back to the real work - counting out the loose change.

She was interrupted by the feel of Xander's arms sliding around her waist from behind.

"Hey honey," he murmured, kissing her on the ear, "How's the cash flow going?"

"Oh, fine. But, you know -" she said quietly, lifting her chin towards Giles where he sat, enveloped in the books at the research table, "I'm wondering if being the proprieter gives you an excuse to slack off on the job like that."

Xander glanced over at Giles - the guy was completely oblivious to what was going on in the shop, frowning at the pages he was poring over from three separate tomes.

"Come on, An, he's deep in research mode. Right, Giles?" he called out, knowing what response he'd get.

The Watcher looked up distractedly.

"Pardon?"

Amazed that he'd gotten a reply at all, Xander ventured a query.

"We were just wondering how the research was panning out. Any new leads?"

"Er, yes. I think I may have worked out who Buffy's allies will be for this Gathering business," Giles said, removing his glasses and cleaning them with the corner of his tie, and not looking at his shop assistant or her boyfriend at all.

"Cool. That's good news, right?"

"Yes - yes it is."

Giles thoughts suddenly coalesced, and he rose and collected his jacket off the back of the chair, still examining the books. Then he looked up at Xander and Anya, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Look, I need to go and get some supplies for something. Can you two hold the fort here?"

"Sure," Xander nodded.

"As usual," Anya added, sotto voce. Xander squeezed her gently, and her reproachful look changed to one of reluctant compliance.

"Thank you," Giles said. "I shouldn't be long. If Buffy arrives in my absence tell her to wait here for me to get back."

And he picked up a slim volume from amongst the rest, and strode out of the shop.

Anya swivelled around and looked up at Xander with a pained expression.

"Do you see what I'm trying to work with here?"

oOo

12.23pm

It was kind of a Giles-avoidance strategy, she knew, but what the hell. Buffy slipped down the alley behind the Magic Box until she came to the back entrance, then eased open the door a crack, checked that the coast was reasonably clear, then stepped inside the training room.

She felt...jittery. Weird. She'd spent all morning with her mom and Dawn, pouring her emotional energy into being with them, and coping with the hospital stuff, but frustrated by the constant battle she was waging to fight the split in her concentration. The events of last night were still playing over in her mind in voyeuristic technicolour, plus every time she got a memory flash her palms would start to sweat. Which meant that she was wiping her hands on her jeans like, every two seconds.

Spike apologising...the demon...Spike...

Being pressed up against an alley wall, his cool fingers playing over the skin of her neck...her stomach somersaulting, his eyes burning into her...the sound of him gasping, which turned her on like nothing she'd ever been able to imagine...

She gulped, and blinked to clear her head, as her eyes adjusted from the brightness outside. Feeling a crazy mixed-up mess of excitement, jubilation, guilt...

She sighed. It was gonna be a long day.

She suddenly realised that she wasn't alone in the room after all - Willow was standing over in the far corner, examining something. She took a breath - back to current events - and wandered over as casually as she could.

"Hey Will."

"Oh, hey!" Willow turned and smiled, then pulled her in for a quick hug in greeting. "How's your mom?"

"Better. Awake, at least. They wouldn't tell me much more than that, so...damn doctors, y'know?"

Buffy shook off the irritation with the hospital and decided to change the subject. She finally got a look at what Willow was examining, something that glowed and slithered over paper.

"Hey - is that the Demon Map?"

Willow looked happy with her creation, and smiled down at it.

"Yep, this is it. Tara's gonna help me hang it in a sec."

"Wow, this is great." Buffy peered at the map, curious. "So the glowy places are where the nasties linger, huh?"

"Yeah - we think it's pretty thorough."

"Well, there seems to be plenty happening in the sewers and cemetaries. And, oh, there's the Bronze - no real surprises there."

Willow nodded, and pointed out a few other locations.

"We think that some of these other places are warehouses - and then there's the woods, of course."

Together, they watched the sands shift and slither over the paper. There seemed to be a slow but steady trickle from around the rim of the map, moving inwards. Willow frowned and sighed as they both had the same thought.

"That's a lot of vamps and demons."

"You said it," Buffy agreed grimly.

In the pause, Willow cleared her throat discretely, and decided to take advantage of the opening.

"Ahem - speaking of vamps..." She looked sideways at Buffy inquisitively.

Buffy tried to frown reproachfully at her, but it came out all wrong. Came out more like an embarrassed grin. Under Willow's interested gaze, Buffy found herself blushing and looking away, unable to think up a witty riposte. Willow's smile only ripened into full-blown mirth.

"Wow. Is that an afterglow I see?"

"God, Will! No!"

Buffy couldn't help it, the heat rising to furious life in her cheeks. She tried to compose her face into a semblance of gravity, as befitted the situation. That didn't work either.

"No afterglow," she stated firmly, until self-consciousness took over again and she went on in a kind of mumbling confession. "More like a pre-afterglow-glow."

She looked over at Willow, shame-faced and somewhat wary of the reception she was going to receive. She needn't have worried. Willow's face was exuberant in it's pleased-for-her-ness.

"Well, hey, that's great. Really. I'm happy for you, Buf."

"But?"

Willow raised her hands.

"No buts - no anything. I'm glad. Less with the moping and pining is all good, in my books."

Buffy looked vaguely vexed.

"I wasn't too heavy with the moping and pining, was I?"

"Nah," Willow reassured, then cast her a mischevious glance. "Well, a little, but hey, it's fine. And you're happy now, right?"

"Yeah - well, I guess," Buffy said, looking flustered and pleased at the same time. "But still, kind of...bizarro, y'know? It's kind of confusing. I mean, it's Spike - and it's great, but it's still, y'know, Spike..."

Her hands made a muddled maze in the air as she tried to illustrate. Finally she stopped blathering, and sighed, giving Willow a look that conveyed a wealth of dizzy emotion. Willow shook her head and smiled at her, patting her friend on the shoulder.

"I think I get it. Just relax, Buffy - it'll work itself out."

"I hope so," Buffy breathed fervently.

Willow's eyes narrowed at her.

"Y'know, Buf," she said gently, "I have this funny feeling that he really cares about you."

Buffy stopped and stared a little at that idea. Then she grinned and snorted, bringing things back to a more elemental level.

"Well, he'd better - I let him growl in my ear in an alleyway last night."

"Really?" Willow's eyes lit up in giggling surprise. "Ooh, more details."

"Sorry Will," Buffy replied, shaking her head ruefully, "not yet. This all feels a bit too new and weird right now."

"I bet it does," Willow said with a grin, then she shrugged. "Ah well - but next time, all the goss is mine, `kay?"

"I promise. Oh, and please - nothing to Giles yet, okay?"

Unseen behind them, Tara grinned and tilted her head.

"Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?"

The other two women whirled and smiled at the sight of the blonde witch. Willow extended an arm in invitation.

"Welcome to the Mills-and-Boon-atmosphere room."

She took notice of Buffy's querying expression.

"Oh, just something that Xander said."

"And how's Xander taking this?" Buffy asked with a worried look.

Willow shrugged.

"Oh, Xander is...y'know, Xander."

"But don't let him bother you," Tara added with a grin. "The rest of us are cool."

"Except Giles, of course," Willow nodded, "but we'll leave that little conundrum up to you."

"Thanks," Buffy said drily.

Tara had walked into Willow's embrace, and was now looking at Buffy as she settled a box of thumbtacks and a hammer near the corner of the Demon Map.

"How's your mom?"

"Okay. Well, improved. She was awake this morning - she says to say hi."

"And Dawnie's at school?"

"Yep," Buffy nodded, "- and she put up plenty of resistance too. But I told her to come straight here after."

"Great."

"So," Buffy firmed her tone as she looked around at the training room. "What's on for now?"

"Well, Giles is out front," Tara said, "But beware - he's deep in the books."

Willow looked up from where she was opening the box of tacks.

"Oh, but hey - after we fix the map, we can go through all the new weapons that Xander requisitioned."

Buffy nodded enthusiastically, relieved to have something to take her mind of things.

"Cool."

oOo

3.17pm

The bell sounded brightly as Dawn slipped into the shop, and Anya looked up from the cash register.

"Hello - oh, Dawn, it's you. Well, hello anyway."

"Thanks." Dawn dumped her backpack in a corner beside the counter and moped on over. "How's things?"

"A bit boring," Anya confessed. "You caught me in the middle of the afternoon lull."

Dawn nodded, then peered around the empty shop.

"Where is everybody?"

"Buffy's out back, practising with the new weapons, and Xander's advising." Anya kept her head down, focussing on not losing count.

Dawn crooked an eyebrow at her.

"Xander's advising?"

"Well," Anya said, waving a hand, "he's in that puffy suit again, so I guess he's doing less `advising' and more `avoiding internal damage'. Willow and Tara have gone for snacks, they should be back any minute. And Giles is out. Somewhere. Again. He said something about getting a book."

"Oh. Okay."

Dawn shrugged a little and then, for want of anything better to do, she began picking at the bits and pieces scattered across the counter. Anya glanced at her, irritated that someone was fiddling near the place she considered her lofty domain - then she remembered. Her expression changed from annoyed to unassuming as she watched Dawn crumble a stray piece of mugwort into the small clay bowl that Anya usually liked to think of as her tips-jar.

"And I should ask you how you are. So...how are you?"

Dawn shrugged again, looking intently at her fingers.

"Oh, fine. I guess."

"Did you see your mother this morning?"

"Yeah," Dawn sighed, meeting Anya's gaze at last. "She was still a little dozy."

Anya tilted her head, watching Dawn's reaction.

"And did you feel better after you talked to her?"

"I guess."

"But you still seem worried," Anya said with a confused frown.

"Yeah, well..." Dawn looked up and confronted Anya's curious stare with a somber face. "She's pretty sick, you know."

"I know."

Anya nodded slowly, thinking about the discussion she'd had with Spike. She knew it wasn't proper to talk about things like that with Dawn - her lessons in human etiquette hadn't covered the topic of family grief, but she still knew that it would be wrong somehow. She thought about what an acceptable response would be, then she smiled at Dawn sympathetically.

"I'm sorry your mother is sick, Dawn."

It seemed to be the right thing to say - Dawn nodded quietly in response.

"Me too." Then she veered away from the topic. "So - can I help count the money?"

Anya's eyes widened - it was a breach of her normal protocol to allow something like that, but something in Dawn's expression told her that it wasn't totally out of order. The Slayer's sister looked like she needed a bit of distracting, and counting cash was certainly cheery, so...

"Sure."

Anya made room for Dawn as the girl moved behind the counter to take up a position beside her, and together they began fiddling companiably at the till., They were just beginning on the paper notes when Willow and Tara came back from their soda-run.

Willow's smile was broad, and she was juggling an armful of snacky things.

"Hey!"

Tara looked up as she closed the door behind her girlfriend, and grinned at the sight of Dawn and Anya behind the counter.

"Dawnie!"

"Hey guys."

Dawn came around the counter for a hug from Tara, while Willow put the bounty on the table.

"Here's supplies - what's happening?" Willow asked, looking at Anya questioningly.

"Oh, Dawn was helping me with the cash."

Willow raised her eyebrows.

"Geez - Dawn, you should consider yourself privileged." She added, in a stage whisper, "Just don't sneak any quarters, or she gets pissed off."

"That's true," Anya acknowledged with a shrug.

"How was the hospital?" Tara asked.

"Okay." Dawn replied noncommittally, then skirting the question she looked up at the witches. "So have you two made any progress with that Demon Map?"

Willow nodded as she took straws out of her backpack.

"Yep, we did it this morning - wanna come see?"

"Buffy's training," Dawn informed her.

"No I'm not - I'm here."

The others turned to see Buffy in a black crop top and yoga pants, puffed and sweaty, and swinging a large metal-tipped staff as she brought it upright. Behind her, Xander staggered into the doorway of the backroom, looking somewhat ridiculous in the fat suit, his hair plastered to his head with perspiration. He looked over at Buffy imploringly.

"Are we done?"

"We're done," she said, smiling at him.

"Phew." He pulled at the collar where the suit met his neck, scratching at the dark sweat stain there. "My god, this thing is hot."

Anya came around the counter, and started removing the lids from the soda bottles.

"Then take it off, honey. Come and have a soda."

Buffy snagged Xander's eye before he got distracted by the snacks.

"So, am I up to standard?"

"Well, I think you're doing great, but my standards are notoriously low. And hey, watch where you're swinging that pikestaff." He spied Dawn over by the table. "Hey, Dawnie! Wanna come punch Uncle Xan?"

"No, I'm cool," Dawn replied with a grin.

"That's probably a good thing - I think I have my quota of bruises for the day anyway." He glanced at Anya, trying to scrape hair out of his eye. "Honey, did you say `soda'?"

"Yes." Anya said, then made a wincing face as she waved a hand at him. "But first..."

"Oh - sure."

He trundled backwards awkwardly and headed off to change. Anya made a face again as she took a swig of her own drink.

"Always gives me the creeps when he wears that thing."

Dawn grinned and picked up a bottle.

"Then here's hoping he doesn't bloat out in his old age."

"Blech," Anya said, frowning. She began helping Willow pass out drinks and cookies.

Buffy leaned her staff against the display case, took her soda with grateful thanks, and pressed the cool side to her forehead, before gulping down half the contents. When she'd recovered a little she looked over at Dawn.

"Hey, how was school?"

"Oh," Dawn shrugged breezily, "okay. Short, so that's good. Can I go to school at lunchtime every day?"

"Ah, let me see..." Buffy looked up at the ceiling, pretending to contemplate the idea. "That would be a `no'."

"So, Dawnie," Willow threw in, enjoying the banter between the two sisters, even if Dawn did look a little glum, "any cute guys in your classes?"

"Or girls," Tara added, giving Willow a grin.

"Or girls," Willow amended.

Dawn put on her best expression of horrified shock for their benefit.

"Please!"

Buffy perched herself on the edge of the research table, and grinned at Dawn mercilessly.

"Oh, Dawn, don't give us that! Come on, spill. You know you want to..." she added in a wheedling tone.

"Well, there is one..." Dawn relented, her face colouring slightly at the memory. She looked up at Tara and Willow apologetically. "He's a guy though, sorry. In my art class."

"Mmm. Description?"

"I don't know," Dawn shrugged, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Curly brown hair, nice eyes, kind of intense."

"Sounds interesting," Tara said, sipping her soda and smiling.

"Yeah," Dawn acknowledged with a grin, "he has this kind of Heath Ledger thing going on..."

Buffy and Anya grinned at each other. Tara raised her eyebrows and looked theatrically at Willow, who proceeded to slap one dainty hand to her forehead, and gaze, moony-eyed at the ceiling as she swooned back into her girlfriend's arms.

"Ah, young love..."

Dawn, of course, began blushing furiously and protesting.

"It's not love! Ew! I mean, he's just...nice."

"Nice is good," Buffy said contemplatively as she sipped. "I go for nice."

She noticed the other women looking at her, and shrugged helplessly.

"Well, sometimes."

"Yeah, right," Dawn replied drolly, nibbling a cookie.

"I do!"

Xander suddenly appeared behind her shoulder, and unceremoniously swooped on the sodas.

"Ah, thank you god."

He slurped noisily as Anya brushed at his damp hair. Everyone looked up as the doorbell chimed, and Giles entered, walking quickly and looking a little flustered. There was a chorus of hellos, which he acknowledged with a nod, putting his books down on the table.

"Ah, hello - hello Dawn. What was I interrupting?"

"We were discussing Buffy's preference for nice men," Anya pronounced, grabbing a cookie for Xander and fielding Buffy's glare with a look of `What?'.

Giles just nodded absently.

"Ah, well, pleased to hear it."

He refused a soda from Willow and cleared a little of the debris from the research table so he had enough room to open one of the books he'd been carrying, a small but old text with a stiff binding and a brass clasp. He looked at the Scoobies standing gathered around the table, to catch everyone's attention.

"Well, now we're all here, there's something I wanted to discuss regarding Buffy's allies in the Gathering."

He stopped suddenly, and peered from Dawn to Buffy with an unspoken query. Buffy nodded, placing her empty soda bottle on the table.

"It's cool, I filled her in."

"Yeah, Buffy told me about the Gathering and the demons and stuff," Dawn said, reaching for another cookie, "Sounds like a shit-fight."

"Dawn!"

Buffy glared at her sister, thinking that she knew where Dawn had picked up that term.

"Well, it does," Dawn replied with an innocent shrug.

"Ah, yes, quite," Giles said, a little put-off, but getting back on track. "Anyway, apparently Buffy won't be completely alone in this, er..."

"Shit-fight," Anya provided.

"Anya!"

Buffy scowled again at the ex-demon.

"What? She said it first!"

"...upcoming battle." Giles stared them both down and then went on. "I think I've discovered who Anya's shiny people are."

Willow perked up at the news.

"Really? Are they ghosts or something?"

"No, not quite." Giles removed his glasses to clean them. "They're angels."

Xander snorted against the lip of his soda bottle, his expression disbelieving.

"Angels. You mean, with robes and wings, and little harps..."

"Not really, no," Giles countered, wondering why the idea of angels seemed so absurd, yet the concept of daily battles with demons, vampires and other supernatural entities was prosaic.

Tara frowned.

"I thought that angels were...well, religious icons."

Giles nodded, pleased to have the opportunity to explain.

"They are - angels are iconic in many religions. But although you may find the idea amusing," he cast a look at Xander, before addressing Tara again, "there seems to be a grain of truth in the old legends of angels as supernatural representations of the Forces of Good."

"Hence the shininess, I guess," Willow suggested.

"Yes. But we won't know for certain if my theory is correct until we summon them."

Buffy looked frankly incredulous at the notion.

"You wanna summon an angel?"

"Well, if Anya is correct, there should be angels, plural."

"So how do we do that?" Tara was captivated now, tilting her head in interest. "Do you use some kind of spell?"

"In this case, no." Giles picked up the book with the clasp. "Well, it's a kind of spell, but of a different nature. It's a prayer."

"We're praying now?" Buffy said, brows raised.

Xander cut in, gesticulating with his soda bottle.

"We should be praying - praying for relief from demon armies and apocolypses."

"I've been known to pray for customers," Anya threw in.

Giles cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, I've gathered the things I need, and I've had a chat with one of the local priests about the proper forms, so if we're all agreed we can proceed."

Buffy shrugged, echoing similar reactions from the rest of the Scoobies.

"Sure, I guess."

Tara was looking excited at the idea.

"So what do we need to do? Are there special herbs, or...whatever?"

Giles shook his head.

"No, Tara - I need holy water, and a censer, and frankincense...this whole concept is new for me as well. It's not like magic - when I said `summoning', I should have said `calling'. The prayer is a request for aid, and asks the beings to reveal themselves, but they aren't under any compulsion to come."

"So, these angels may be a no-show," Willow said with a frown.

Buffy' expression indicated that she was ready to try anything, at this point.

"Well, I guess we say the prayer-thingie and find out."

"Exactly."

Giles rubbed his hands together and began giving instructions.

"Alright - ah, Dawn, if you could get me some frankincense, and Anya - that censer behind the counter. Willow, the door sign - could you..?"

"Sure."

Buffy waved a small vial from over by the display cases.

"I've got the holy water."

They moved back to the center of the room, standing in front of Giles as he began a last-minute read-through of the text in his hands. Xander shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Okay - now what?"

"Now we, ah, form a circle."

"Do we have to kneel down?" Buffy said, waving a hand like she was in a classroom.

Giles shook his head, and took up his position, with the collection of items on the floor at his feet.

"Just a meditative posture is fine."

Everybody took their places, sitting in a rough circle on the cold floor of the shop. Giles lit the censer and added the incense - the heady scent of the smoke wound it's way through the Scoobies' nostrils. Buffy, sitting in cross-legged position, found herself a little dizzy with the smell, and the slow build-up of energy as each person's mind began to focus, and their breathing became strong and deep.

Willow cracked open one eyelid, to see Giles find his place in the book, and lift a hand to scatter droplets of holy water around the circle. Then he straightened his glasses, coughed nervously and began intoning.

"Nomine Dei, et Filius, et Spiritus Sancte. Ecce, Dei contueor adfulgere mundus..."

With a strange mental shift, Tara's awareness kicked in - she recognised the Latin. Giles' voice was even and mellow-toned, and his pronunciation was fluent, making a mellifluous stream of words, a lilting rhythm. Even as a part of her mind realized that she she didn't know the language well enough to understand, another part began a steady, mysterious translation.

"And lo, God looked down on the world created, and saw the people wailing. And they cried with a loud voice, saying `Lord, thou hast abandoned us to demons and foul creatures of the pit, and we have neither strength nor power of might except through thee.'

`And our need is great, for our enemies are many and dire, and without thy aid we will surely perish.'

So God pitied them, and called forth to the right hand, instructing the servants who sat beside the throne of heaven, saying `Go, and serve my people well, for their hearts weep in anguish.'

And the servants of God descended to the earth, carrying the power of the sword, and the light of the Almighty..."

Giles' voice continued, a steady warming hush of Latin, until finally he pronounced a concluding blessing, and then splashed holy water around the circle again to finish the prayer. Then he sighed out, releasing the participants from their reverie, and closed the book he'd been holding.

"It's finished - you can open your eyes now."

Dawn blinked as she peered around at the others.

"Wow."

Tara was nodding, and stretching her shoulders.

"That felt...powerful."

"A different kind of magic," Willow agreed, "but still magic."

Giles nodded his head, watching as the others emerged from their respective states of concentration, and began picking themselves up off the floor.

"Yes. Religious magic and prayer is very strong, when it's used and performed correctly."

"But it's operating on a different level to Wicca," Tara said. She was thinking about how she'd been able to understand the Latin, and the feeling inside her that the prayer had generated.

"Well, Wicca is about the balance of nature, and nature manifests forces of both Dark and Light. How the magic comes out depends largely on the forces called on, and the motivations of the practitioner. But the Church is bequeathed to the Light alone - it's a peculiar kind of one-sidedness. A bit too purist for me, actually. But I suppose you could say that it's balanced out by opposing forces in the world who are aligned to Darkness."

Xander was wiping dust off his jeans.

"So, when do the angels come?"

"Yeah," Buffy added, both of them looking more interested in the outcome than reverent of the procedure itself, "I want to meet who's fighting on my side. Y'know - talk artillery, and swap fighting styles and stuff."

Giles smiled at her gently, wondering if she'd ever learn any patience.

"Well, that's entirely up to them. Assuming that I conducted the prayer correctly of course."

"Oh. Okay. Bummer."

With a disappointed expression, Buffy picked up the pikestaff ffrom where she'd left it leaning, and shrugged at Giles before heading out back to return it to the training room.

There wasn't much else that anyone could add. It seemed like it was just a matter of waiting for the angels to show up - if they ever did. In the absence of anything more exciting to do, and as it was getting late in the afternoon, Anya began tidying up the shop in preparation for closing. She was poking around at the till, as Dawn came over with the censer and the jar of frankincense. Willow and Tara also wandered over to loiter.

"That wasn't very interesting," Anya said as she finished doing the till and began dusting, "I wanted to see the angels."

"Yeah," Dawn agreed, tipping the contents of the censer into the trash, "I thought they'd, like, pop out in the center of the circle or something."

Willow grinned at her.

"Wings a-flappin', huh?"

Tara put away the jar and the holy water, looking back at the overheard conversation.

"I don't think that's quite how it works, honey."

Giles was sitting at the research table, glancing at Xander as he swept up, and looking over the prayer again to check that he'd done everything correctly. Unlike Buffy, he'd had some experience of the cause-and-effect nature of such things, and knew that they might have to wait for a while. Still, he hoped that the prayer was effective. Hoped that it wasn't just a wild goose chase that he'd gone on in the afternoon, finding books and talking to priests...that would be more than disappointing, it would be a terrible waste of time. And time was the only thing that they had in short supply at the moment.

He sighed as he looked over the old prayer book. It was simpler when you just did the spell, and found out immediately whether you'd used white sage for common sage, and made soup instead of a potion...

The doorbell chimed, and he raised his head. There was a figure in the doorway - someone he recognized, in fact. The man from the other day, Mr Salter. Still dressed in his long coat and smiling congenially, he stood in the open door and looked around the shop for Giles' face.

Giles stood to attract his attention, and put the book down on the table.

"Ah, Salter - hello again. You've caught us out once more, I'm afraid - we're about to close."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, that's alright," Giles waved him to encourage him over. "I'm glad you dropped by actually. I found that book you were asking about, `The Apocrypha'..."

Salter, still standing in the entrance, inclined his head.

"I haven't come about the book, Mr Giles."

"You haven't?" Giles said confusedly.

Salter shook his head.

"No."

Then he held the door open wider, and Giles saw the figures standing behind him. They began to file into the shop, and suddenly the other Scoobies started taking notice.

Buffy emerged from out of the back room in time to see a familiar red-headed person wander through the door. Her eyes went wide, and the words tumbled out of her convulsively.

"You're from the hospital - the orderly, I remember..." Her words trailed off and a look of horror dawned on her face. "Oh god - is it...is it my mom?"

Michael looked at her compassionately, and shook his head to ressure.

"No, Buffy - your mom's fine."

Dawn heard the exchange, and looked around wildly, seeing the new faces on the stairs. She baulked and did a double take, then called out.

"Gabriel!"

A young man with dark curling hair and hazel eyes gave her a slightly self-conscious wave, and a grin.

"Hi, Dawn."

Tara had heard the chimes too as Salter arived - now she was staring at the figures, frowning. As the last man walked through the door, she nudged Willow with one elbow, whispering.

"Willow - the guy in the hat..."

Willow was nodding, watching too, and wondering what was going on.

"Yeah, I see him. The homeless guy in the park."

They looked at each other, then back at the group on the stairs.

Xander had stopped his sweeping, and was watching the play of events with confusion. When the four men formed a group at the top of the stairs, and closed the door behind them, his eyes narrowed.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Giles nodded, his face firming at the idea of possible danger.

"I could ask the same question." He looked at Salter, his voice low. "Are these people friends of yours?"

"More like...family," Salter answered, looking at him calmly.

Giles looked from the African-American man to the others and back again.

"Family." His tone was incredulous, distrusting. "Perhaps you'd better explain yourself."

Salter shrugged nonchalantly.

"What can I say? You called - we came."

There was a pause as Giles groped for understanding, then gaped. His voice came out as a shocked whisper.

"What?"

Salter straightened his shoulders, and took a step down, pronouncing words that Giles had heard before.

"'Babylon the great has fallen, and has become a dwelling place of demons...'"

"'...and a haven for every unclean and hated thing.'" Giles finished the quote softly, lookinng dumbfounded. He frowned at Salter. "You?"

Buffy was standing with hands on hips, a smile beginning to lift her lips.

"Ah, this is cool. You're them," she interjected, feeling unnerved but vaguely excited at the same time.

Xander's mouth dropped, and he blinked at the group on the stairs.

"You're them? The angel guys?"

"The servants who sat beside the throne of heaven," Tara murmured, her face softly amazed.

Salter moved slowly down the remaining stairs and took a step towards Giles.

"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves again." He extended one hand. "Uriel Salter."

"Salter..." Giles walked forward tentatively and took the other man's hand, feeling again the frisson of energy there. His mind was reaching...then he smiled as he remembered, a gentle grin of amusement. "Oh - you mean, with a `p'."

Salter smiled in return, and nodded.

"With a `p'."

Xander had moved around to a spot beside Anya and put down the broom. He frowned at the word-play between the two men.

"Come again?"

Anya glanced over at her boyfriend, way ahead of him.

"A psalter is a book of common prayer."

"Oh."

"Indeed." Giles looked again at the man before him - not a man, he remembered. "I never thought...I mean, rather, I just assumed..."

Psalter shrugged it off good-naturedly.

"I usually let people assume. It's easier."

Then he recalled the men standing above the steps behind him.

"But I'm forgetting my manners. This is Michael..."

The red-haired `orderly' came forward. He was dressed in non-hospital issue - jeans and a shirt - and he smiled at Buffy as he made his way down the stairs.

"We've met," Buffy said to Psalter drily. She narrowed her eyes at Michael, not sure whether she should feel gypped at the deception, or glad that her mother had an angel watching over her...

"I really was looking after your mom," Michael said placatingly. "It's okay though - someone's taken over my shift now."

"Is she alright?" Buffy asked, a little imploringly.

Michael seemed to consider his words before replying.

"She's...getting stronger. You should go see her this afternoon."

"You really work at the hospital?" Buffy said with a curious look.

Michael grinned.

"For the moment."

Psalter cut in, catching the eye of another of the group as he began moving down the steps - a casual lope, to match his casual look. He was wearing scruffy jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a brilliant tie-dye pattern in the centre. He smiled at Dawn as he wandered closer.

"I believe Dawn has already met Gabriel," Psalter said with a droll expression.

"Well, yeah," Dawn answered. She frowned at Gabriel. "No wonder I couldn't remember your name."

He shrugged and looked apologetic. Dawn had a sudden thought and peered at him suspiciously.

"Have you been watching me in school?"

Gabriel grinned at her.

"I've been keeping an eye out."

Dawn blinked, dumbfounded, and tried to fight the blush that was spreading over her cheeks. She looked away, and heard Anya's voice sound quietly beside her.

"Heath Ledger, huh?"

Dawn scowled and gave her a quick elbow in the ribs.

Psalter was already focussed on the last member of the group as the man raised his battered hat to his audience.

"And this is Ray."

"Hi all." He looked over at Willow and Tara, replacing is hat on his head and pulling at his grubby streetwear. "I didn't scare you yesterday, did I?"

"Not really," Tara replied with a smile.

Willow frowned and looked at the group of new faces, then back to the dumpy guy who'd just introduced himself.

"Wait a second - so that's Uriel, Michael, Gabriel and...Ray?"

Ray waved a hand in the air in a blas fashion.

"Short for..." He left it hanging, sure that somebody would have enough nouse to fill in the blanks.

"Raphael," Tara finished happily. "I get it."

"You got it."

Ray grinned mischeviously at her, fumbled a packet of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, and lit one up with an expression of relish.

"I didn't know angels smoked," Anya said, squinting at him in curiosity.

Ray shrugged.

"Whatever." He took a closer look at her. "Anyanka, right?"

Anya suddenly got nervous.

"Ah, yes. But I haven't been a demon for at least a whole lot of months now."

Xander angled in front of her protectively.

"That's right - she's with the Good Guys now."

Psalter spoke up and drew his attention.

"It's alright - we know."

"You've been observing us, I gather," Giles interjected. The older man looked back at him with a soft smile.

"Discretely - but yes. We know who you are." His eyes skimmed the room, stopping over each face in turn, starting over to his right. "Willow Rosenburg, Tara Maclay..."

"The Witches," Ray added with a conspiritorial grin.

"Anyanka, former Vengeance demon..." Psalter continued.

Anya straightened self-consciously.

"That's big on the `former'."

Psalter went on with his list, seemingly unbothered by the interjections. He skewered Xander with a serious look.

"Alexander Harris - Heart-Protector."

Xander pulled his shoulders back with a pleased grin, and looked over at Anya with his eyebrows raised - check me out, Heart-Protector guy!

"Dawn Summers," Psalter intoned.

Dawn looked up at him, then turned when Gabriel spoke.

"The Key," he said, looking at her with a speculative expression.

"That's me," she shrugged, trying to look casual, but obviously proud of herself.

Psalter's eyes travelled from the two young people back to Giles, who was standing with an expression of perplexed interest.

"Rupert Giles - the Watcher."

Giles's eyes were amused, and he dipped his head to one side in a gentile, old-world greeting.

"At your service."

Psalter nodded his reply, then cast his gaze around to settle, with an expression of finality, on Buffy. She was standing with her arms crossed, her usual posture of determined will, still vaguely sweaty from her workout. Psalter smiled.

"Buffy Summers."

She raised an eyebrow and unfolded her hands to rest them on her hips.

"Then I guess you know what I am."

Psalter inclined his head with a smile that checked her natural suspicion and disbelief.

"It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"Likewise," she nodded, conceding a grin. "So, you guys are working with me on Friday?"

"In a nutshell, yes. But we probably need to go over a few details."

Giles interrupted smoothly.

"Then perhaps you should, er, come in and sit down."

"If you don't mind," Psalter nodded. He looked back at the other three men, who began stepping closer to the center of the room, towards the table.

Giles stood, momentarily overwhelmed by the prospect of doing a huddle with a bunch of angels, then dithered between table and office.

"Right. Well, I'll just..." What do you offer to your guests when they're heavenly beings? His mind settled on the familiar. "...make tea."

Then he gestured for the men to sit, and headed towards the office, leaving the other Scoobies to bustle about in his wake. Anya moved around the counter quickly and dashed to clean up the remains of the sodas and snacks. She wiped the table down roughly with a counter-rag, exhibiting a faint house-wifely blush as she met Psalter's genial gaze.

"Sorry the place is such a mess..."

"It's fine," Psalter replied with a smile, trying to set her at ease.

She backed away, and bumped into Xander as he leaned in to whisper loudly.

"Do we have enough chairs?"

Willow and Tara pitched in to put things away, removing books and bottles, and Buffy began rearranging chairs. Ray plonked down heavily into a seat with a happy sigh, and cast his eyes around, his cigarette balanced in his fingers and threatening to spill it's debris onto the table.

"You wouldn't have an ashtray, would you?"

Dawn nodded towards him as she pushed off for the counter.

"I'll get it."

Grabbing an empty censer, she almost bumped into Gabriel on her way back. She looked up at him with a wry grin.

"So, I guess this means you won't be handing in your report on the Cubists to Miss Mackeltie tomorrow?"

"Sorry," he grinned in reply, with an apologetic shrug.

Dawn just shook her head, amused at the turn-around. She peered at him with interest.

"You're really an angel, huh?"

"Guess so," he replied, giving her the same curious look in return. "And you're really a ball of energy?"

"Guess so."

They stared at each other, weighing up and considering, then settled for just smiling. The moment was interrupted when Michael plucked the collar of Gabriel's t-shirt, and directed him to a seat at the research table, giving him a faintly reprimanding look in the process.

As it turned out, there were enough chairs for everybody - well, almost. Giles, Buffy, Anya and Xander took up places opposite Psalter and Michael around the table. Willow stole the armchair, and Tara balanced on the armrest. Dawn perched herself on the low bureau behind Buffy, leaving Gabriel to squeeze in next to Ray on the opposite side.

Giles had settled the pot of tea on the table and was busying himself making cups for himself and Psalter - everyone else had declined. With the tea ritual concluded, he sat himself back in his chair, blowing on the surface of his cup. Psalter helped himself to sugar and led off.

"So I suppose the first question is - what do you already know?"

"A good deal, actually - thanks to Anya," Giles said, nodding in the ex-demon's direction, where she beamed back at him. "She was at the last Gathering, in her...earlier capacity."

"So you understand the nature of the event?"

Giles nodded.

"As a point of confluence for the Forces of Good and Evil, yes."

"There are rules," Psalter pointed out gently.

"Yep, we know," Willow added. "No humans, no hybrids."

"That's right," Gabriel concurred. "Just demons, vampires, zombies, and non-ethereals."

"And the demons can't fight each other," Buffy slipped in, seeing that it was an open discussion.

"Correct," Psalter affirmed.

"So apart from Buffy being human," Xander said, "are there any other loopholes in these rules?"

"That we're aware of, no."

Giles sat forward, noticing his cue.

"But we still don't know the most important detail..."

"What's the Balance?" Buffy concluded for him, somewhat impatiently.

Ray was the one who replied, with a broad grin.

"Ah, right - you need a history lesson."

"Please," Giles nodded. "Educate us, by all means."

Ray looked at Psalter, as if asking permission to usurp the lead role.

"May I?"

The older man inclined his head gracefully, giving way. Ray turned to the group and rubbed his hands together, obviously enjoying the chance to exhibit his knowledge.

"Okay. Well, first you have to understand a few things about universal forces. There's three."

"Three?" Giles cut in quizzically.

"Right. I'm gonna use your terms here, so's you understand. There's the Powers That Be, which are aligned with Good, and the Down Below, which is it's Evil counterpart -"

"Making you guys PTB, presumably," Xander added.

"Guilty as charged - servants of heaven, etc etc. So, you've got the PTB and the Down Below. Then there's third force - Primordial Power..."

Anya leaned forward and raised a hand.

"But I thought Primordiality stayed out of things - like the Oracles, and things like that."

"Well, that's usually true," Ray contined, glancing at her.

"Why does it stay uninvolved?" Giles asked confusedly.

"Primordial Power is non-aligned," Michael inclined his head to explain. "It's neither Good nor Evil - it just is."

Gabriel caught Dawn's eye across the table.

"You're Primordial Power."

"I am?" Dawn said, looking both pleased and surprised.

Michael nodded.

"Pure energy." He glanced at Giles again. "It rises from the universe, and is the universe itself."

Giles looked contemplative.

"The energy that forms the matter of all creation..."

Everyone stared at Dawn, impressed. She just raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Ray leaned into the table again, wondering if anyone was going to let him finish.

"Exactly. So, anyway, you've got the three Powers, but Primordial Power is supreme."

"How come it gets to be the head honcho?" Buffy asked with a frown.

Michael took over the narrative again, to Ray's chagrin.

"Because Primordial Power contains both Dark and Light within itself."

Tara shifted on her seat on the armrest, and ventured a question.

"Then magic is Primordial?"

"Yes," Michael affirmed with a nod towards the witches. "Magic is unalloyed power, shaped by the one who wields it to good or bad purpose. There's certain magic that utilises aspects of Dark or Light..."

"But, that's a whole other topic, and we're getting away from ourselves here," Ray finished for him with a remonstrating glare. He shifted himself to assume the story again, looking around the table to catch people's attention. "So, as I was saying - at particular times, down through the ages, Primordial Power asserts itself to maintain the natural order. Hence the Gatherings. Both the PTB and the Down Below focus their forces in a place of ritual conflict..."

"I guess the Hellmouth qualifies," Buffy added, deadpan.

"Perfectly," Ray said, acknowledging her with a wink. "So, the forces Gather, and then at a certain moment, Primordial Power stops time to make it's assessment. That's the Balance."

"And how does it make such an assessment?" Giles inquired.

Ray shrugged.

"Hey, don't ask me - I just work here. I'm kinda low on the Power hierarchy."

Psalter gestured with his teacup.

"Can I interject? Thank you." He caught Gile's attention to explain. "Primordial Power has a totally black and white view of the world - it's the ultimate judge, because it's mercilessly impartial. When it stops time to make the Balance, it examines the division of power amongst the Dark and Light aspects of the Gathering. Depending on it's judgement, the world can go one of three ways."

"Go on," Giles prompted, feeling uneasy.

"The world can continue as it is, in balance. Dark and Light will continue their battle. Life, as you know it, goes on."

"Or?"

"The Forces of Good overwhelm that of Evil," Psalter said, smiling gently at the thought. "The world becomes a haven of peace. Evil is banished to it's old, earlier realm, an alternate universe. The earth is ruled by harmony - conflict ceases to exist."

"No demons?" Buffy queried, seemingly amazed by the very idea.

"No demons."

"Wow," Xander said, thinking of all the years they'd spent battling the baddies and looking flabbergasted, "it sounds like one long holiday!"

"And I haven't had a holiday in a very long time," Psalter nodded, grinning at him. He sat back in his chair, relishing the concept of peaceful world.

Of the whole group, only Anya's face bore a frown.

"So...there's no worldly conflict, of any kind?"

"Nada," Ray replied, "that's kind of the point."

"Doesn't that make life kind of...well - boring?"

"Well, that depends on your perspective," Michael said with a smile.

"I like boring," Xander added. "Boring works okay for me."

Giles nodded at him in agreement, sipping his tea.

"Yes, I must say a spot of boring would make a nice change."

But Willow had caught Anya's drift suddenly, and she looked at the angels with a confused frown.

"But I thought that...well, isn't life kind of motivated by conflict? Y'know, the ole inertia theory thing?"

Michael leaned to make eye contact.

"In this world, yes. But in a world of Good that's not how it would work."

"Life would be...static?" Tara said with a trace of disconcertion. The idea sounded okay, but she wasn't sure if it was the kind of world she wanted to live in.

"Exactly."

Michael, at least, looked keen on the prospect. He smiled at her, sounding very convincing. Buffy saw the look of unease that passed between Tara and Willow, and moved in smoothly to continue the discussion.

"Anyway, the third option is, presumably, a life in Hell."

"Pretty much," Psalter confirmed. "The world would be ruled by Chaos."

"So you're talking a world over-run by demons, in total Darkness," Ray reiterated, looking around the table to ensure that everybody was aware of how bad such a situation could really be.

"Well, that doesn't sound too hot," Xander mused.

Psalter nodded gravely.

"It would be a world lost to Evil."

The very concept sent a pall of silence over the entire group. Watching the Scoobie's depressed faces, Buffy huffed out a breath and straightened her shoulders, determined to break the mood.

"Alright. I think we've got the general picture now. So - what do we do?"

Psalter's gaze firmed as he looked at her resolute posture. Lot of spirit, this one - she'll do. The thought made him smile a little, as he returned her stare with a nod.

"We fight."

oOo

7.32pm

Buffy checked the windows as she collected her things, and indicated that Dawn should do the same. It was getting late, and she had stuff to do before patrol - Mom-stuff. She felt a frisson of guilt, that her mother had been relegated to second fiddle in the wake of all that was happening, but Michael's words earlier had reassured her somewhat.

She's getting stronger...

That had to be a good thing. She glanced over at Dawn, then at Willow and Tara, who were also preparing to leave. Michael and Gabriel had already disappeared, and Xander and Anya had gone home to drop off their stuff before their stint on Dawn-duty for the evening.

Tara was standing ready at the door, being entertained by some no-doubt off-colour joke that Ray was telling her as he stood nearby, hat in hand, looking incongruous in his scruffy threads. Willow handed her the backpack, then walked over to Buffy near the counter.

"So, we'll see you tonight?"

"At nine-thirty, at the Bronze - right," Buffy nodded. "You don't think Xander and Anya will mind staying with Dawn?"

"Nah - she's better with them at home than at Giles' place. Okay, we're gonna kick off home - sorry to bail on you, but me and Tara still need to eat."

"Will you be okay walking back to campus? It's already dark."

Willow shrugged and smiled reassuringly.

"It's cool - Ray has offered to walk us home."

She indicated the angel, who was putting on his battered hat and lighting up another smoke as he charmed Tara.

"I feel a lot safer with an angel at my shoulder," she said with a grin.

Buffy returned the grin.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you later."

Willow turned to go, then had a thought and swung back. She lowered her voice with a discrete look in Giles' direction.

"Uh, Buffy? Is you-know-who gonna be there tonight?"

Buffy's eyes also flicked over to Giles, but she tried to pass it off with a nonchalant shrug.

"I left a note outside the crypt this morning. So...yeah, I guess."

Willow's eyebrows raised.

"Should be an interesting evening then."

"Maybe," Buffy said, trying to sound indifferent. "Maybe he'll chicken out."

But her half-grin told another story. Willow rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Yeah, right. If he's as fired-up as you were telling me earlier..."

She caught sight of Buffy's warning glare, and the way the Slayer's eyes darted over to her Watcher,and took the hint.

"Oh, right. Well, like I said - interesting. See you tonight." She whirled to leave, glancing over at Dawn as she moved to the door. "Bye, Dawnie."

Dawn looked up, as she stuffed her sweater into her bag and closed the zip, hefting the bag over her shoulder smoothly.

"Oh, bye Will." She glanced over at her sister with a hint of impatience. "Buffy, I'm ready, let's go. Visiting hours finish at eight."

"Sure," Buffy countered, "I'm okay to go - just let me talk to Giles for a sec."

She walked over to the research table, where her Watcher was deep in discussion with Uriel Psalter. The two men looked up at her arrival.

"Oh, Buffy, you're leaving?"

"Yeah, we're stopping by the hospital on the way home. Michael said he'd let us stay a little late."

Giles nodded, the reminder of Joyce making his face soften.

"Will you give my love to your mother?"

"Of course I will, Giles," Buffy said with a warm and appreciative smile.

"And you're patrolling late, yes?"

She nodded in reply.

"With the others - we're starting at the Bronze and working our way out from there. Willow took some details off the map."

"Very good," Giles said approvingly. "Well, good luck, and I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."

Psalter leaned forward and caught Buffy's eye. He really did have an honest face, she thought - kind of like your favourite grandpa. And his words only made her feel more comfortable.

"You know, Buffy, that if you ever need us..."

"I know," she said with a grin, "- just put my lips together and blow. Thanks. Catch ya later."

With that, she spun on her heel and took Dawn's side, and the two of them made their way up the stairs and left the shop. Psalter contemplated her as she strode out, shaking his head at the enormity of her task as the bell on the door tinkled closed.

"She's an amazing young woman."

"She certainly is," Giles agreed with a small, proud smile. "She's the longest surviving Slayer, that I know of."

"And that must certainly be thanks, in part, to you," Psalter amended, looking at the Watcher with interest.

Giles shook his head, demurring quickly, as was his nature.

"Definitely no thanks to me. My part has actually been a very minimal one."

Psalter allowed him his modesty, then studied again the air through which Buffy had passed as she departed.

"It can't be easy - being father to such an independent daughter."

Giles' face took on a surprised expression - the man had fathomed so quickly the inherent condition of the Watcher-Slayer relationship, and what's more, accepted and understood it, in a way the Council never could. It was gratifying, and also a little unnerving, to be so perceptively judged. He shrugged, and tried to make light of the feeling.

"Buffy is a law unto herself. But I try my best."

"Handling a teenager can be difficult," Psalter agreed. He looked at Giles intently. "You don't worry about how her extra-curricular activities impact on her Slaying?"

"Pardon?"

Psalter leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.

"Well, she still a human girl, with human interests and desires - study, social life...boyfriends."

Giles met the man's gaze squarely.

"I prefer to leave that her discretion, and hope that she trusts me enough to let me into her confidence."

"Hm," Psalter nodded. He went on casually. "So, she's told you about the vampire?"

Giles started, but recovered quickly. He reached out to pour himself another cup from the cooling teapot, thinking about how to phrase his reply.

"Yes. Well, I believe there may still be some old attachment there, but now that he's in Los Angeles I think there's enough distance now for -"

"Los Angeles?" Psalter cut in with a frown. "Well, he's either relocated in a hurry or my eyes are playing tricks on me, because I'm fairly certain that I saw him last night."

"Last night? But -" Giles began, then he had a worrying thought and looked at Psalter sternly. "We are talking about the same vampire aren't we? Tall, broody fellow, dark hair..."

Psalter was shaking his head slowly.

"Lean, swaggering fellow with blonde hair..."

"No...no that's not -" Giles suddenly looked aghast. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure. She hasn't discussed this with you?"

Giles' face had assumed a quietly thunderous expression.

"Not in enough detail, apparently."

Psalter looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry - I thought you knew."

His mind stewing with unpleasant thoughts, Giles could only nod grimly.

"So did I."

oOo

9.46pm

Sweaty flesh, perfume, and dry-ice smell...Buffy inhaled it all with less than her usual relish, and sipped at her soda again. She and Willow were sitting on stools at a high table, waiting for Tara to get back from `powdering her nose', and trying to make themselves heard over the standard wail from the band.

The place was packed, somewhat uncomfortably, to the rafters. Almost like everyone had heard that the world was about to go up in smoke, and had decided to party on down to the last cymbal clash. Buffy cast her eyes around the place nervously, for the umpteenth time, and tried not to bite her nails.

"He's not coming," she muttered darkly.

"He's coming."

Willow rolled her eyes (also for the umpteenth time) and sat up straighter on her stool - damn things always made her feel like she was slumping. She heard Buffy's murmuring voice again, and prayed to the Goddess for patience.

"He's not coming. Goddamn wimp-assed..."

"He's coming. And I'll say it again in another five minutes. Finish your drink."

Buffy sipped obediently, and perused the stage. Just a normal band tonight - no weird blind girls with guitars and apocolypse messages. At least that was something.

"No sign of the Courier-chick," Buffy said, nodding towards the stage.

"I guess she said her piece," Willow replied, glad that the topic of conversation had changed.

"Guess so."

"Still, some funny vibes around tonight..."

Buffy nodded her head, agreeing with. Funny vibes...and where the heck did all these people come from anyway? Well, the management would be happy, booming business and all. It was a sight better than the usual `mysteriously disappearring customer base' - she snorted at the thought. Which only made her mind stray again to the obvious. She sighed, blowing bubbles into her soda with her straw.

"He's not -"

"He is." Willow's voice was a tad too emphatic - Buffy looked up at her. "Look, over near the back stairs."

Buffy turned - way too eagerly, a part of her mind warned - and looked in the direction her friend was indicating.

And there he was. Spike was in his usual uniform of black, but his tousled peroxide hair stood out like a beacon. He was threading his way rapidly through the crush of patrons, with a glowering expression that made most people move out of his way in a hurry.

Something was up. Buffy had some space in her brain to register the fact, somewhere behind the rest of the crazy mish-mash of thoughts that flooded in at the sight of him. Her heart started doing a funny little gallop, and she told herself to put a lid on it.

Spike made it to the table, nodded a perfunctory greeting to Willow, then leaned in close to make himself heard.

"Look, there's something dodgy going on -"

Buffy looked at him with a dry grin.

"Well, hello to you too."

"Sorry, pet, but there is." He gave her a querying look as he slipped a cigarette behind his ear. "Have you been on patrol already?"

"No - why?"

He shook his head, frowning and looking around the Bronze.

"I sniffed out three dead demons on the way here, and there's a mess of dust in the alley out back. If you haven't been out staking and baking, then who has?"

Buffy and Willow wore identical confused frowns.

"Yeah, that is weird," Willow agreed.

Spike ploughed on, nodding towards the back of the club.

"Look, I'm having a quick chat with someone - a demon-someone - who might have some info. I'll be back in a minute."

He pushed off the table to leave - Buffy hardly had time to do anything but nod. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, and blinked at Willow disappointedly.

Then she gave a sharp gasp, as Spike had a thought, and reached back to snake an arm around her waist from behind. He gave her a quick squeeze, and nuzzled her ear.

"Save us a chair, eh?" he murmured.

Then he was gone, as suddenly as he'd arrived.

Buffy turned back to Willow, and sighed happily, a stupid grin stretching across her face. She knew that stupid was the perfect description for it too, but she just couldn't help herself.

Willow's eyes were wide, and she looked impressed.

"I'd say `wow', but I don't think it would be a strong enough word."

"Hmm."

Buffy was busy revelling in the brief contact. She turned her head to watch Spike slip away, trying to decide whether the back view was equally as titillating as the front...

Willow was taking in her friend's face with a wry grin. Oh boy, she's got it bad.

"Buffy, your hair's on fire."

"Yeah," Buffy murmured absently, before returning her gaze to Willow. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

Willow's laugh met the smiling face of Tara as she finally managed to fight her way back to their table.

"What's so funny? Hey, Buffy, was that Spike?"

"You're looking at her and you need to ask?" Willow answered with incredulity.

Buffy gave Willow an ostensibly disapproving glare, and nodded at Tara.

"He's coming right back."

"Yeah," Willow added with a grin, " for some more nuzzling."

Tara looked suitably intrigued.

"He nuzzled?"

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and her mouth still smirking.

"Wow. What did he say?"

"He's talking to a contact - seems there's been a sudden increase in dead demons tonight."

"Not your work?" Tara asked, dipping her soda in Buffy's direction.

Buffy shook her head.

"Not that I know of. But congratulations to whoever it was."

"Maybe it was the angel-guys," Willow said speculatively.

Tara frowned at the idea.

"Do they do that?"

"Well, guessing they do - for the Gathering at least."

Buffy gave the whoever-it-was a short salute with her drink.

"No complaints here - that's a few demons I can cross off my list, anyway."

Tara still looked uncertain.

"But they've been in town a while now. They're just getting started with the demon-killing?"

"Maybe," Buffy said - then she stopped short. "Oh wait - Spike doesn't know. About the angels, I mean."

Willow shrugged.

"Guess you can tell him when he comes back."

oOo

The table was at the back of the club, in a suitably dark and gloomy corner. Spike had ordered a beer, and was absently picking the label off the bottle with one fingernail, trying to stop thinking about how great Buffy had smelled, trying to keep his mind focussed on the current task while the guy in front of him talked.

"...all I'm saying is that there's something funny going on. Us demons gotta stick together, under the circumstances, right?"

"Right."

Spike voice was droll. He perused his contact again - a young guy, tall, skinny, pale, wearing a loud satin shirt. The kid was watching the patrons hungrily, tipping his head at an attractive girl who passed the table, and a shock of blonde-tipped hair fell across his face.

Spike sighed and ashed his cigarette - all the demons these days just seemed so...immature. It made him feel like a bloody pensioner. He tried to catch the guy's eye again, wondering if this information would be worth the bother.

"What do you mean, `funny'?"

"Well, not `funny-ha ha', if that's what you're thinking."

The guy's eyes were a piercing green, and as he spoke, they blinked curiously. It wouldn't have been curious except for the fact that his eyelids didn't move. Instead, the nictating membrane on each side of his eyeballs flickered sideways, across and back.

"I mean, I don't really know anything, except what I've heard. Somebody new in town - arrived this afternoon. Well, at least, that's when the killing started. Heavy with the artillery, and works fast, you know what I'm saying?"

"Got it."

Spike nodded - he was having a hard time with the guy's accent. An odd lisping sibilance cluttered the words.

Bloody serpent demons, Spike thought with distaste. Can't trust `em further than you can throw `em. Which in his case would probably have been a fair way, but he ignored that fact. He sighed, and tried to focus the demon's attention away from the patrons.

"So, that's all you know - someone new who's hunting demons... Mate, I think I've already figured that part out. Piles of dead demons - kind of a giveaway, y'know?"

"Sorry," the young guy said with a shrug. "But the only other thing I heard is that it's a woman."

"A woman?"

"Yeah. And she really doesn't like our kind. Takes a sort of `kill on sight' approach. If I had any more details I probably wouldn't be here talking to you now, know what I'm saying?"

"Sure."

Spike was contemplating the concept of another demon-killer in town - above and beyond the one he was already familiar with. Interesting - and a little disturbing. His eyes returned to his contact to see the guy perusing the passing circus of Bronze customers once again. A particularly cute-looking brunette wandered past, and the demon's gaze swerved to watch the view.

"Mmm...these post-adolescent human girls are lovely aren't they?"

The demon hissed with enjoyment, sniffing the air. His face had taken on a dreamy quality.

"They smell like sex, and taste...delicious."

Spike watched with barely-disguised revulsion as the guy's forked red tongue flicked out quickly as he licked his lips.

A one-track mind...what a wanker. Spike sighed - this really wasn't worth the effort - and shrugged diffidently at his contact, looking away.

"If you say so, mate. I wouldn't know"

He butted his cigarette out on the side of the table, and rose to leave - this conversation was well and truly over.

But the demon wasn't about to let that slide. He looked up at Spike with a lascivious grin.

"That's not what I've heard..."

Shocked by the audacity, Spike simply stared at him.

"Come again?"

The demon was looking at him with a sly expression. He'd heard the gossip - about a chipped vampire, who'd wormed his way into the Slayer's inner circle. Word was that it was all a set-up - that he was just waiting for the right moment to sink his teeth in...

"Heard that you've got your hands on a tasty little morsel... So, what's the deal, friend - you biding your time or what?"

As the words tumbled out of the guy's mouth, Spike's brain barely registered a thought - in a smooth, instinctive movement he jerked out with one hand and grabbed the demon by it's satin shirt, moving his face in close enough to be threatening without causing a scene. His narrowed eyes cut through the other man like a razor, and his voice was low, each syllable enunciated with cold precision.

"Perhaps you'd like to rephrase that."

The demon's grin almost faltered - but he just couldn't help pushing the envelope.

"They say the blood of a Slayer is the sweetest."

There was a brief pause, as they looked at each other nose to nose. Then Spike snapped.

"Right - that's it."

He punched the demon in the face, fist moving like a blur, without disturbing the bottles on the table. Then on the recoil he reached out and grabbed the guy's tongue in a vice-like grip, pulling it out a good fifteen inches. His voice didn't change though - still cool, self-possessed. He ignored the gagging noises from the demon and spoke with a murderous grin.

"You're obviously new around here, so I'll go easy on you. But if you ever speak to me like that again, you'll wake up one day to find your tongue doing double duty as a neck-tie - capeche?"

The young demon nodded then, looking like he'd had an epiphany of judgement. Satisfied that they'd achieved an understanding, Spike released the guy's tongue, wiped his hands on his jeans with a disagreeable expression, and stalked off.

Wanker - bloody serpent-wanking demons...Insult me, would he?

He headed back to Buffy's table, mind still boiling from the altercation, just as a new band threatened to hit the stage. The lights began dimming even further, if that was possible, and a muted roar of applause and satisfaction rose from the crowd.

The joint was jumping tonight - it made him oddly nervous. Too many people, too little information...

A new demon-killer in town, and barely an idea what the bleeding hell it even looks like.

He felt strangely exposed. He knew very well that the best place to take a mark was in the middle of a crowded room - everybody distracted, attention unfocussed, noise, smoke...

The air was humming with energy and talk. Something was up, and he wished he knew what the hell it was. He slipped throught the crowd and made it to the table as the lights from the stage began to flicker.

The Slayer turned as he arrived, sensing his presence. He met her eyes as he squeezed in, squashed against the table by the crowd. For a brief moment, he felt a pure jolt of brilliant awe - Buffy's beautiful face, staring up at him, her eyes clear and focussed intently, questioningly, on his face. He felt her hand slip around his arm and forgot, for a second, what he was going to say.

"Hey, what happened? You get info?"

"Any good news?" Willow added.

Spike shook his head, a `no' to both questions. He decided not to tell them about the demon's insolence and give them the edited version.

"Not much. All I found out was that there's a new demon-killer in SunnyD, and it's a woman."

"A woman?" Tara looked at Buffy with a mix of query and fear. "Buffy - Faith's still in jail, right?"

Buffy nodded.

"As far as I know, she's still out of the picture."

"So, who's the new girl in town?" Willow asked with a trace of worry.

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," Buffy countered. "If she's taking on demons around here, we're bound to bump into her eventually."

She remembered something, and snagged Spike's gaze again.

"Oh, hey, there's something you should know."

"About the angels," Willow added with a nod.

Spike's face immediately went dark.

"Angel's here? Now?"

"Not Angel," Buffy said, shaking her head, then frowning. "Well, actually, he's due to arrive tomorrow, but..."

"Oh, joy," Spike said drily, rolling his eyes.

Buffy poked him in the arm good-naturedly - she'd deal with that situation when she came to it.

"But hey, not the point. Willow's talking about angels - you know, `angel' angels."

Spike frowned a little incredulously.

"Angel-angels? What, with wings and little harps?"

Buffy sighed and turned to face the other two women.

"Why does everybody always think that?"

"It's the Disney generation," Tara replied with a shrug.

Spike gave her a look.

"Not, as you already know - but, look, what the hell are you talking about?"

Buffy took over the explaining.

"Giles summoned the guys who are supposed to be my back-up in the Gathering, and they turned out to be angels. Real angels."

"Yeah?"

Spike raised his eyebrows, looking impressed at the idea. Willow grinned at him.

"Cool, huh?"

"So - no wings?"

"Not that we saw," Tara said, shaking her head.

"Hm. Pity."

Spike seemed almost disappointed. Then he switched his attention to their surroundings as people started to dance. The new band had a trancey feel - combined with the strange anxiety he was feeling, and the irritating memory of the encounter with the serpent-demon, it was making him antsy. His body started fidgetting, wanting movement, action. He looked around the women at the table again.

"So, you lot `bout ready to go hunting?"

Buffy stared hard into his face - Uh-oh. Spike had that hyperactive look in his eyes, which she knew was a sign that he was edgy. She'd seen it before, when he was over-bored, or over-stressed. She had a feeling that this time it was the latter.

Trying to chill him out a bit, she grinned up at him.

"Ready for some action, huh? Give us a sec - it's gonna be a long night, and these two want to do a bit of caffeine-loading first."

She nodded towards Tara and Willow, who were polishing off their sodas. Spike shrugged, appearing to be none too pleased about the delay. Buffy suddenly had a happy thought, and beamed up at him.

"Hey - you wanna dance? Give these guys time to finish up."

Spike lifted one shoulder diffidently - dancing wasn't fighting, but it was better than just standing around.

"Why not?"

With a sigh, he let her lead him out onto the dancefloor. Buffy's body started to sway against him before they hit the crush of the crowd - tantalising, very distracting, and a hell of a lot better than just standing around. The part of him that wasn't focussed on worrying about a new threat to his person suddenly woke up, and he realised that this dancing business was actually an excellent idea.

Bodies around them began pushing into his personal space, and he slipped an arm around Buffy's waist possessively. She was wearing the backless red halter-top which he secretly loved, and black leather pants - a tempting combination - and when she turned in his arms her eyes were inviting.

God, you're beautiful...

It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but when she smiled at him, all power of speech slipped away.

He was even more amazed when she slid her arms up around his neck, and pressed herself close, for all the world to see. This was beyond the earlier flirting they'd shared - this was blatant, open. She was stamping him hers, and he couldn't quite believe it.

He knew they were being watched, and not just by the witches. He was as aware of the gossip, as much as any half-formed serpent whelp...the chipped vampire, the Slayer's pet. And suddenly he just didn't give a toss. Buffy's face was aglow, grinning up at him, his body was responding in the most interesting ways, and his poor undead heart was leaping in his chest. He felt oddly bewildered, and awe-struck, and thankful...and strangely blessed.

And anxious. Try as he might, he just couldn't relax. He knew it was ridiculous, but his eyes kept flicking around the crowd. Looking for something...if he only knew what.

Buffy was as aware of him as he was of her - the tension in his shoulders, the darting of his eyes. She stared up at him, watching his face.

"You're jumpy."

Spike tried to shrug it off, then nodded.

"Yeah." He grimaced as he looked around them. "Something's out there...I just don't know what it is."

"Okay." Buffy inclined her head gracefully, then narrowed her gaze at him. "But if you need to focus then you should slow down - relax."

She moved her hips against him in encouragement. Spike looked down at her wryly.

"That's your advice, huh?"

"It usually works for me," Buffy said.

The tempo of the song was sultry, and their dancing had evolved into a sensual sway. She was close enough that Spike could feel her heart beating - it made him shiver. He was beginning to feel slightly dizzy with arousal, and he grinned down at her ruefully.

"This isn't exactly helping me slow down, pet."

"Really?" Buffy answered coquettishly. She batted her eyes at him. "I always find dancing relaxing."

They pressed closer, dancing practically nose to nose. Spike, still nervous, glanced around the crowd, feeling eyes on them.

"We're being observed."

"I know."

Buffy was ignoring the people around them, staring solemnly into his eyes, capturing them. Spike felt like a wave was crashing over his head - then a shocking blast of desire as she leaned in and slowly pressed her lips to his.

He felt like he was on fire. The kiss was soft, their lips kneading gently - his eyes closed in pleasure, and when the kiss deepened, mouths and tongues slicking together, his brain gratefully dissolved.

oOo

Willow tugged at her straw with her teeth, then baulked at the sight of Buffy and Spike on the dancefloor. She swallowed, fought a rising blush and cleared her throat to speak.

"Whoah. I mean, I knew they were both heavy with the old `Unresolved Sexual Tension' thing, but this is like..."

"Like you feel you shouldn't be watching?" Tara suggested.

Willow glanced at her girlfriend, returned her gaze to the dancing couple, then quickly dashed her eyes away as they began to kiss. She finished her soda with a noisy, distracting slurp and then, reluctant to raise her eyes and watch the hot-and-heavy scene on the dancefloor, she tugged on Tara's sleeve.

"What are they doing now?"

"They're pulling each other's clothes off."

"What!"

Willow's gaze jerked up, and met Tara's laughing face.

"No - I'm kidding, sorry. Actually, I'm watching something else..."

Tara's eyes were following something in the crowd, and she had a speculative half-smile on her face. Curious, Willow tried to follow her line of vision.

"What is it?"

"Not a what - a who. Wow. Now that girl's got attitude..." Tara said, her voice trailing away as she stared.

"Where? Let me see."

"...and a body to match," Tara ruminated. Her eyebrows were raised and her face was blatantly appreciative - then she glanced down to see Willow frowning up at her.

"Oh. Sorry, hon, I didn't mean..."

"Stop perving," Willow replied, a little waspishly.

"I'm not..." Tara countered, her eyes straying to the girl again.

Willow glowered, and searched the crowd. It wasn't like Tara to be so...easily distracted, but when she spotted the girl, Willow understood why. A slim, slight figure with a long cascade of dark hair from a high ponytail, the girl had Asian features and quite an ensemble - black leather everything, from the thick-soled knee-high boots, mini-shorts and halter-crop, to the fitted jacket that swayed into an elaborate fall of material at the back. Willow couldn't help but be grudgingly admiring.

The girl was moving towards the dancefloor rapidly, cutting a swathe through the Bronze customers. She was carrying something, but it was on her other side, and Willow couldn't quite see beyond the press of bodies around her.

Willow frowned. There was something not right about this...

"Tara, what's that she's..."

The girl had almost made it to the place where Buffy and Spike were dancing, oblivious to their surroundings. Her eyes fixed on them firmly, undistractedly, the girl's arm slowly rose as she pushed her way through the crowd, and Tara got a single dreadful glimpse of what was in her hand.

"Oh god - it's a sword! Willow!"

Too far away to do anything, Willow could only watch in horror - she found her voice suddenly, and called out.

"Buffy!"

oOo

She was smiling up at him, and he was so damn sweet and sexy, and out of the corner of her eye she saw movement over Spike's shoulder, and heard Willow's anguished voice...and holy shit. A girl in black was raising her arm to full height, with a massive sword, and then before Buffy could think, she swung it down with incredible force at Spike's unprotected back.

Instinct and anger flared into life. Buffy pushed herself and Spike sideways, away from the deadly sweep, onto the floor. The sword went wild, hitting someone else in the crowd - people began to scream, and there was a metallic scent in the air which Buffy recognized. Blood. The crowd on the dancefloor began a chaotic dispersal, to the sounds of more screaming, and the dropped chords of the band, who were still playing and hadn't had a chance to realise that their great gig had suddenly gone to crap.

Buffy rolled to upright, keeping her eye on their attacker, and then had to swerve sideways quickly to avoid another jab from the sword. She had a better view of the girl now as the dancefloor and the stage began a sudden clear-out - dark eyes, a silver nose-ring, long dark hair, and god, she was fast. Buffy took a punch in the face, and lost sight of Spike as she moved in for the attack, punching and whirling.

The girl moved so damn fast, she was like a blur - it was all Buffy could do to avoid being skewered. She let her instinct take over from her thought-processes - kick, punch, jab, all on automatic. She felt her muscles loosen as she fought, knowing that this was a better way to win - don't think, just do. There was even a lingering memory of Giles giving her that piece of advice, a long time ago, but it was back somewhere in her conscious brain, as another part of her took over.

She flipped over the sword, and high-kicked to get the girl in the back of the head, then whirled to land a punch, but found she was hitting vacant air. Wind whistled past her ear as she jerked her head away just in time to avoid another thrust - she looked up in surprise, and met the girl's kohl-dark eyes. They were intense, and emotionless.

Man, this chick is like ice...when their gazes separated suddenly, Buffy felt a cold gap in her stomach. She went to move in with a block and a punch, but suddenly the girl wasn't there anymore.

Hey, where did she...

She heard a slithering hiss behind her and swivelled, barely able to avoid the sword as it slid past her stomach. She gave the girl a look then - oh, you are so pissing me off now...

Willow and Tara were fighting their own battle - against the flow of the crowd as the Bronze patrons began to panic and crush each other in the rush to get out of the way of the two crazy combatants on the dancefloor. Willow stumbled, and would have fallen except for Tara's hand. She kept her eyes focussed on Buffy, though, and when she managed to right herself, immediately slipped the pack off her back and began fumbling inside for a weapon.

Come on, anything. Her hand closed over something solid and wooden, and she started pulling out the stake.

Spike scrambled to his feet, pushing people out of the way, feeling a faint prickling on the back of his neck. He reached behind - and touched a thin scratch across his nape. The smell of his own blood scented the air delicately, and his fingers, when he looked at them, were faintly stained with red.

Jesus - almost lost my head...

He looked up, watching Buffy and a strange, petite Asian girl going at it hammer and tongs. Buffy was giving it her all, but the girl was moving so bloody fast, moving like a flash of electricity, sizzling on the air. As he watched, Buffy came in with a barrage of punches, and the girl suddenly flipped, soaring over Buffy's head and coming up behind her, to kick her with full force in the back.

Better weigh in...

He heaved a body or two out of the road, and moved towards the battle. But before he could take two steps, the battle suddenly came to him - the girl had whirled away from Buffy, and threw herself through the air at him, both feet forward. Two thick bootheels connected sharply with his face. He staggered back, in time to avoid a swipe across the chest with the sword.

Goddamn it - too slow. What are you doing, fighting or sitting on your arse?

He tried to parry, but found that he was forced to move backwards and sideways to avoid cutting thrusts from the sword. His undignified retreat brought him up against a table - he ducked under it, then heaved it up into the air at the girl. It smacked her hard in the face and chest, sending her rolling back onto the dancefloor, into Buffy's arena. But he realised that it was the first contact he'd made since the fight began, and somewhere deep in his mind he worried.

Still, early days yet...

Buffy took over, not waiting for the girl to recover fully, but plunging in immediately with a series of kicks. The girl took it stolidly, her head whipping back with no discernible effect, and then she executed another cat-like leap, to begin a run of backflips that took her halfway across the room. When she came out, it was to emerge into a poised martial-arts stance - leaning back on one bent leg, one foot forward, balanced on the toe, her left hand outstretched into a warding posture and her other arm raised, sword pointed tip down, directly at the Slayer.

Buffy groaned and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh great - it's Kung-Fu Girl."

She heard Willow's voice calling from behind her.

"Buffy!"

She looked over quickly, and caught the stake that Willow threw in her direction, giving it a disparaging glance.

"Is that all you've got?"

"Sorry," Willow shrugged helplessly.

Well, it would have to do. Buffy returned her gaze to the girl, who had just performed a sweeping, no-hand cartwheel, and was now somersaulting back in her direction - nice. Buffy would have been more appreciative of the gymnastics if she knew she wasn't the intended target of the attack, but there was no time...stake in hand, she launched herself at the oncoming fighter.

Spike took a few rapid strides, which brought him to the edge of the dancefloor, watching for his moment to enter the battle. But it was like the girl knew he'd arrived - she suddenly spun away from Buffy mid-charge, and came screaming down at him, sword forward.

The abrupt assault put him off - he swerved and rolled to avoid the sword, and grabbed a broken chair-leg to parry. Blocking the sword brought him face-to-face with the girl, who glared at him chillingly. He narrowed his eyes at her, and his voice was gruff.

"Come on, love - it's not a tickling competition now, is it? Let's you and me have a little go..."

They broke apart, enough space between them for each to assume a fighting stance. Then the force of their clashing together seemed to send echoes around the room.

It was the wildest display of martial arts that Buffy had ever seen - stuff she wasn't even aware that Spike knew, a series of lightning-quick blows and ripostes. Punch, block, parry, kick, grab...a whirling exhibition of graceful, brutal combat. Spike's coat leather was flying behind him, and so was the girl's - it was like two black butterflies, dancing...

But in spite of his skill, he was being pushed back. He found himself trapped against a pillar, and sprang up in a glorious somersault over the girl's sword blow as it cut half-way through the wood. In the moment it took her to pull the sword free, he'd landed a kick to her back, but it was like she was made of stone - she simply turned, swung the weapon in a massive arc and attacked again.

Willow and Tara stood, awe-struck, on the edge of the dancefloor in the other corner, watching the furious battle and knowing it was way out of their league. Willow had a terrible feeling that Spike was out-matched.

"She's not even breaking a sweat," she murmured, eyes fixed on the combatants.

"She's not human," Tara nodded in reply.

"Thanks - got that," Willow said drily, then gasped at a near-miss. "Oh, Spike - look out!"

He ducked, barely in time, but couldn't avoid the sword's counter-strike - it glanced off his upraised chair-leg, splintering the wood into uselessness, and bounced onto his upper arm. With a cry, he rolled into a crouch.

Buffy saw what had happened, and took the moment to engage, throwing herself at the girl in an effort to distract her. Their desparate fighting gave Spike a chance to check his wound - the cut was deep, but his arm was still on. A lucky thing, though.

Ignoring the stinging pain, he jumped to his feet and launched into the fight from the other side. Between him and Buffy, the girl was being forced back. The question was whether she would tire before they did...and at the moment, she didn't seem to be tiring at all.

We've got to do something - can't just stand here... Tara groped in the backpack, and drew out a short crossbow. Her fumbling, nervous fingers managed to fix a bolt in place, and then she raised the weapon and aimed.

The first shot went dangerously wild. Spike jerked his head and snatched it out of mid-air before it hit him.

"Bloody hell!"

Tara winced in apology. Spike's quick glaring glance almost put her off entirely, but she was committed now, and she struck another bolt into place. The second shot hit the girl in the abdomen.

See, that's how I planned it... But then Tara's grin disappeared, and her face blanched, as the girl merely paused, reached down and pulled the shaft out of her stomach, throwing it down on the floor without a look.

Buffy and Spike, shoulder to shoulder, backed off. They exchanged a glance as the girl began advancing again, Spike's brow knitting in concentration.

"The sword..."

"I'm on it."

Buffy grabbed up a piece of broken wood from the floor - more chair-debris - as Spike began the fight. As the girl strode forward, he dashed in to deliver a few rapid kicks, a distracting manouever that opened the girl out. When she raised her sword to reply, Buffy was there, slamming her make-shift wooden club into the girl's sword arm. It was a full-power blow, and it had the desired effect - the sword spun out of the girl's grasp, her surprised eyes following it as it clattered onto the floor and slid away. Before she could make a dive for it, Spike lunged in with a barrage of punches and spinning kicks.

Buffy scrambled for the sword. It felt light when she hefted it up off the floor - strange, because it looked as heavy as lead. It was double-edged, with an undecorated hilt, and made of some odd metal that glinted matt-black in the lights of the club. Buffy frowned at it, swung it once to get a feel, then returned her attention to the fight, relieved that she now had a decent weapon.

But that wasn't going to help Spike any. He was staggering back from a succession of head-shots, the girl belting him across the face smartly with a final high-jumping kick that sent him tumbling to the floor. As Buffy watched, he landed flat on his back with a painful thump, and the girl sprang forward to jump on top of him, straddling his waist with her legs.

What the...

Before he knew what was happening, the girl was staring down at him. And in an instant, she'd slapped one hand down on his chest, over his dead heart. He grimaced, then -

Heat rose - he gasped. The girl's dark eyes were piercing through him, and he felt a strange surge through her hand. His heart, long inactive, gave a sudden agonising lunge inside his chest, as if under a defibrilating pad - oh god, that hurts...

The pain gushed through him in a massive flood, and he cried out and threw his head back. It drummed against the floor, and his mind flashed, a lifetime of memory rolling in front of his closed eyes...

...Dirt under his fingers, between his toes... "Playing in the garden again, William? Nurse will have to change your clothes now, you shouldn't -"

...ink-stains on his hands, reaching for the perfect phrase, scratching at the high, tight collar of...

...tears on his cheeks, and a tearing pain inside him, watching the gas-lights glisten on the hair of a girl who'd just...

...oh god, his neck was on fire, and the lips of the dark-haired woman feeding there, sucking rapturously, sucking him into a vortex, and...

...blood, all over him, tasting of salt, and sweat, and the Slayer muttered a phrase in Chinese, but he could only laugh, high on the energy, high and gloriously...

...and Angelus looking at him, like he couldn't believe that an impudent...

... blood under his tongue, stinging and sweet, and...

...Dru's high, giggling laugh, and he slid his hand lower, and touched her smooth, icy breast, and...

... blood, from his own lip as he bit it, and the blinding pain that sliced through his head as the Initiative doctors cut deep, and...

... the Slayer, bright hair twirling, a tiny bird of light, fighting like the warrior she was, and he grinned at her, and...

...blood, crimson rivers of it, oceans flowing away into the dusk, carrying him on a tide...

...and blood...

...and blood...

...and blood...

Buffy saw Spike gasp - he let out a strangled cry, then his body started convulsing on the floor. The girl above him had her hand pressed to his chest - something was drifting up, a waft of smoke rising into the air... For a terrible moment, Buffy couldn't move, a single thought crashing into her mind, the intensity paralysing her.

She's killing him.

Oh god, she's killing him...

A second time was enough. Her reflexes kicked in again with a choking breath, and she lifted the sword and ran at the girl with a crescendo-ing yell.

Eyes blazing, she swung with all her might, and as the girl was distracted by her task, she didn't have time to see it coming. The sword arced down, and sliced through the girl's side -

The girl looked up, dark straight hair falling around her face, and her hand moved in a blur, releasing Spike and with the same action reaching up to catch the blade after it passed through her. It was like the sword had hit a block of granite - Buffy felt a jarring in her shoulder, and could only stare down at the girl's hand, closed in a fist around the metal.

There's no blood. I know I hit her - why isn't there any blood?

There was only enough time for her eyes to widen. Then the sword was wrenched from her grip, and the girl favoured her with a single wintry glare, before she seemed to resolve something in her mind - then Buffy was pushed away as the girl flew up, leaping like a frog, high into the ceiling beams.

The girl cast down her eyes for the briefest moment, over-looking the scene, and the havoc she'd wreaked - then she sprang away, leaping from beam to beam, until she'd disappeared.

Buffy watched her go, shocked and breathing hard. Then her awareness returned - with a cry of anguish, she scrambled over, on hands and knees, to Spike's side.

He was unconscious, his body trembling in convulsive spasms, the smell of burnt flesh rising from his chest. Buffy reached out a shaking hand to touch his arm.

"Oh god, oh god - what did she do...oh god, Spike..."

She shook him gently, became angry when she felt the hot tears on her own cheeks, and swiped at them with one hand. Still shaking him, she dimly heard the rustle behind her as Willow and Tara came up to help.

Willow was looking up at the roof, still amazed by the girl's dramatic exit.

"Goddess..." she breathed.

Then she realised that the situation required more than just an audience. Buffy was huddled over Spike's body, and her attempts to wake him were becoming more urgent. Willow knelt down, looking over Spike's pale form quickly, and putting an arm around her friend's shoulders to still her.

"Buffy. Buffy, he's not dust. Come on - we have to get him out of here."

"Before she comes back," Tara nodded grimly in agreement. She glanced at Willow, concern etched on her face, and a query. "Giles?"

"Yeah - and tell him to hurry," Willow shot back.

Tara dropped the backpack at Willow's side, and sprinted for the phone.

oOo

To Make Much Of Time

Chapter Six - When Youth and Blood are Warmer

WEDNESDAY

1.31am

Giles sighed and frowned as he pulled the coverlet over Spike's still form. The blonde vampire was still unconscious, and looked pasty, his lips white and waxy. Giles imagined that if Spike were human, he'd be exhibiting all the other classic signs of shock - clammy skin, shallow breathing, short jittering pulse.

But in the absence of such obvious symptoms, it was hard to tell exactly what his condition was. For now, he seemed stable. The wound on his arm and the burn on his chest had both been tended to - not by Giles - and he was tucked up in the spare room. `Spare' being the operative word - the room was barely bigger than a cupboard, and suffered from a serious lack of furnishings, a camp bed and a chair about all that could be squeezed in.

Giles packed up his book and blew out the candle on the chair. He cast one last look at Spike - the vampire twitched in his sleep, and Giles knitted his brows, frustration and irritation warring on his face.

Things were a lot less complicated when he was just tied up in the bathtub.

Then he exitted the room, and walked back downstairs. Buffy, Willow and Tara were gathered on the sofa in the living room, huddled and talking quietly. When he cleared his throat, they all turned. Buffy stood up, and looked at him expectantly.

"How is he?"

Giles' face was reserved.

"He should sleep now. I think the convulsions are over, but he'll need rest."

"Thanks for doing the healing spell, Giles," Buffy said with a grateful look.

Her Watcher put down his book, keeping his serious gaze focussed on Buffy.

"It was against my better judgement. And we need to talk."

Oh great - here we go. With a nod, Buffy's expression hardened into stoicism.

"So let's talk."

Giles glanced over at Willow and Tara, who were watching the exchange nervously. Willow quickly stood up, pulling Tara with her.

"I'll, uh, make tea," she announced, then started for the kitchen.

"A-and I'll help," Tara added awkwardly, before following.

With the witches safely out of firing range, Buffy's gaze left their retreating forms and settled back on Giles. She decided she'd prefer to start this one - her face took on a placating expression as she spoke gently.

"Giles, I know you're angry..."

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it," Giles replied icily. But then his face softened into a frown. "Buffy, there was a time when you trusted me enough to be honest..."

Buffy met his eyes firmly as she cut in.

"I still trust you, Giles - you know that hasn't changed."

"Only enough to tell me superficial details, it seems. Buffy, I asked if you and Spike had an involvement, and you fobbed me off. Then Psalter tells me that he saw you both last night...in an alley."

His expression was both mortified and indignant at the thought, and the mental image that it produced. Buffy's face coloured hotly in response.

"It wasn't like that!"

"Then what, exactly, was it like?"

Buffy tried to recover some of her lost dignity, fumbling with the words she needed.

"Giles, give me a chance to explain. This thing with Spike...it wasn't...it isn't..."

"What? Another vampire boyfriend?" Giles said thinly, his face set like stone.

Buffy blanched at his blunt words, then put both hands on her hips. Her expression was frosty.

"That's low, Giles. And if you're relying on what this Psalter guy says instead of listening to my version, then it's not fair."

Giles frowned at her, getting a terrible sense of dj vu in the whole turn of the discussion.

"I don't think the position you're putting me in is very fair either." He tried to reason with her, feeling the hopelessness of it already. "Buffy, you're the Slayer. Spike's your natural enemy. He's not like Angel - he doesn't have a soul to redeem him. You don't know what his motivations or intentions are, and with his past history -"

"He's not like that anymore!" Buffy responded heatedly.

And she knew it was true. She just couldn't find the logic to explain how she knew - how do you explain a gut reaction?

"You can't be sure of that!" Giles' eyes narrowed as he glanced upwards towards the bedrooms. "I don't trust him."

"What -" Buffy said sharply, "Spike's only trustworthy when he's useful to us and keeps his hands to himself?"

Giles replied stolidly.

"Spike is chipped - that doesn't make him safe. You don't know what he's capable of."

"I think that's the whole point, don't you?" Buffy returned. With an expression of frustration, and an angry glance at Giles, she reached down for her jacket. "I still have to patrol. I'll see you tomorrow."

She stalked towards the door, passing Willow and Tara who were peeking out from behind the kitchen hatch, scoping for flying debris. She caught Tara's eye as she walked.

"Watch him for me."

Her voice was soft, but there was no question as to whom she was referring. With a startled look, Tara nodded in reply.

Willow edged out of the kitchen entrance, tray of tea things balanced in her hands, in time to catch Buffy as she left, slamming the door behind her. Willow's eyes strayed back to Giles tentatively, and she held up the tray at an awkward angle.

"Uh - tea?"

oOo

5.03am

When Buffy opened her eyes, she was standing in Main Street, in her pajamas.

Either I've started sleep-walking, or I'm dreaming. I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here and say dreaming.

A cool breeze lifted the material of her drawstring pants against her ankles, and she broke out in goosebumps.

Pretty damn realistic dream.

She rubbed her arms, trying to quell the chills, and looked down at herself - she was in the crop top and pants she'd worn to bed, after she'd come home and collapsed with exhaustion. She frowned down at herself.

Couldn't have dreamt myself a coat, I guess. Figures.

Was it night? The sky was dark, but there was a haze of sunlight - it seemed to be early dawn, but it was hard to tell. Thunder clouds obscured the view above. There was a yellowish tinge in the air, the prelude to a storm.

She stood for a moment, chafing her hands and pressing her top against her skin, trying to spread her body heat around. There wasn't anything she could do about her bare feet, and her toes were already starting to curl up from the cold.

Great - standing in the middle of Sunnydale in my jim-jams. This isn't going to be one of those Psych-class type dreams, is it?

Then she realised that there was no-one laughing and pointing - there was no-one around at all, in fact. The street was deserted, as though the town's population had been sucked into a vacuum.

She began walking tentatively up the street, narrowing her eyes at the empty shop-fronts, the vacant sidewalks.

"Hello? Anyone?"

Her voice was small, as though it was absorbed into the emptiness of the street. She was about to call out again, then thought better of it. Her instincts kicked in automatically - drawing attention to herself, out here, in the open, might not be such a hot idea. She was too exposed, plus no weapons.

An uneasy feeling washed over her.

Where is everybody? What's happened to the town? And hey, couldn't there be some slippers on the sidewalk for me or something?

She stood, contemplating the screwy physics of dreams for a second, and then she heard a voice, calling faintly.

"Buffy! Buffy..."

I know that voice...

She started towards the voice - it was there, a little way up ahead. She saw a park bench, and a pale figure sitting, calling out plainatively.

"Buffy!"

She sprinted the rest of the distance, heedless now of the cold. The figure on the bench was wringing it's hands, the breeze blowing the white nightdress against the too-thin body.

"Mom!" Buffy reached forward, touched her mother's hands to still them, and sat down gently beside her on the bench. "Mom, it's cold out here..."

Joyce's face brightened as she recognised her daughter.

"There you are! Honey, I've been calling for ages. Have you been out on patrol?"

"Um, yeah."

Buffy wrapped one arm around her mother's shoulders, trying to warm her, leaving aside the dream-logic of the conversation.

"I'm here now though, it's okay. But you might catch a chill out here - maybe we should go home, huh?"

"Oh, silly me!" Joyce exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled a touch too brilliantly, and Buffy felt a queasy fear in her breast. "Now, what am I doing out here?..." She looked around the park bench in confusion.

Buffy frowned and quickly helped her mother rise from the bench.

"It doesn't matter, Mom," she said firmly. "Let's get you home."

Buffy moved, and Joyce allowed herself to be led away, onto the sidewalk and down the street. Buffy cast furtive glances around the empty Sunnydale vista as they walked.

This is too weird. I better get Mom home, before...before...

Before...something. There was something, she knew. What was it again? She couldn't remember. It was important too. Damn.

Joyce was chatting as they walked, seemingly unaware of the strangeness around her.

"...getting Dawn ready for her geometry test. Or was it biology? Oh, I guess she can tell me. You'll have to help her more with her homework, you know."

"Yeah, sure Mom," Buffy reassured.

She quickened her pace, trying to get her mother home before Joyce got too chilled. She looked up, and got a tingling in her stomach. They were passing the stone wall of the central cemetary, coming up to the grassy entrance way, the intricate old iron gates always open.

"...and if you're lucky, I'll bake those brownies that you like, the ones with the nuts."

Joyce continued talking as they moved, Buffy nodding her replies absently. Suddenly her mother's feet shifted and she began veering towards the cemetary gates. Buffy brought them both to a halt. Joyce looked at her quizzically.

"Come on, honey - what's the matter? Aren't you going to come in?'

Buffy's face contorted. The uneasy fear in her gut was spreading like a disease.

"Mom, this isn't -"

But Joyce cut her off, pulled away and began walking towards the gates.

"Now, don't be silly Buffy. Dawn'll be waiting - we better get inside."

And she moved inexorably towards the cemetary, a cheerful smile on her face.

Buffy was rooted to the spot. She felt a wave of panic wash over her, colder than the breeze of before.

No, this isn't happening. It's a dream, a dream...

Her mother slipped between the iron, and vanished from sight behind a pillar crowned with a weeping child.

"Mom! Mom, no - don't go in there!"

She pulled against the fear that was paralysing her in place, and ran to the cemetary.

Oh god - no, not this...

She looked around - oh god, where had she gone? She'd been right there...

"Mom! Mom!"

Buffy heard her voice break as she cried out, stricken. Oh god, oh god... She searched amongst the tottering gravestones with her eyes - no white figures, nothing.

Please not this. Oh no...

Buffy's eyes began blurring as she moved quickly between the grey tombs. Her mother was here somewhere - she knew it. Maybe she was around the next headstone, or the next one. Maybe she was sitting down somewhere. She smeared a hand against her tear-filled eyes, her watery nose.

Just stop it. You're the Slayer - pull yourself together. She's here, somewhere. You can find her -

"Mom!"

She kept calling, as loudly as she could. Her mother would hear her, peek around the corner of a gravestone. Buffy would lead her home - everything would be alright.

Everything will be alright...everything will be alright...

But she was going deeper and deeper into the cemetery, and her mother still hadn't appeared. The sky was darkening ominously. Her voice was getting hoarse from calling, and the wind had picked up now, making her shiver. She started to cry now, in earnest, couldn't make herself stop.

"Mom! Oh mommy, come back! Mommy..."

She was sobbing with every breath. Every grave looked the same, and her mother wasn't behind any of them. She felt the wracking in her body and gave herself up to it, raising her hands to her face, crying out, sinking to the damp ground beside an open grave.

No, not this. I couldn't bear it - not this. Oh god, please...

"Mommy..."

But her voice was a whimper. She just couldn't get past the overwhelming emotions. She sat on her knees, letting her hair fall about her face, hugging her arms around herself.

It's so cold, so cold...

She keened softly to herself, and started rocking, a hypnotic, primal response.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy..."

Time slowed. It was just her, in a black hole of grief, rocking and crying, the wetness on her cheeks, the pain in her heart threatening to tear her to pieces. There was a noise approaching her, a clopping sound, but she ignored it.

Mommy, mommy...

"Slayer."

Someone above her, leaning down...

"Slayer, come on. Get up. Come on, you're worrying me now."

Someone was rudely intruding on her grief. She opened her swollen eyes, saw a shape - a hoof. A number of hooves.

"Slayer."

She raised her gaze, following the length of the horse's leg. A grey horse, she noted blearily, through a haze of tears. A grey horse, with a dark rider.

"Come on, are you deaf? Slayer, get up."

It was Spike. Spike, sitting bareback astride his shying mount with the ease of familiarity. Spike, in... Buffy blinked. Was that a tuxedo? An all-black tux, nonetheless - a black dress shirt, tie-less and open at the collar, under the unbuttoned lapels of the natty black formal morning coat. He had a red flower in his button-hole - a poppy? - and wore neat trousers and shiny dress shoes.

She peered up at him confusedly. He was controlling the reins with one hand, and reaching down to her with the other.

"That's the girl - come on, take my hand."

"Have you seen my mother?" Buffy looked at him, then around at the cemetery, disoriented. "She's here, somewhere - she came in, and then I lost her..."

"It's alright, love - don't worry. She's okay. But we need to get you out of here."

His hand was close - close enough to grasp. Buffy reached out and let him pull her to standing. But her face was still tear-streaked, her breath still hiccupping.

"My mom -"

He gazed down at her with dark blue eyes, still holding her hand.

"Don't worry about your mum, love. Come on, let's get you home, before you freeze to death."

Unable to think around the depth of the sadness, she nodded blindly. He slid his hand down her arm to her bicep to move her closer, then leaned forward, slipped his arm around her waist and hoyed her onto the horse like she weighed no more than a feather.

She was so cold. She shivered again unconsciously, as Spike reached around her to gather the reins. His body provided a windbreak, but no warmth - dead men don't have body heat, she reminded herself dully.

But her anxiety was fading - there was still a thick residue of sadness inside her; she remembered feeling an overwhelming grief... She looked around the gravestones as they moved out of the cemetary, bewildered.

"What - what was I doing here?" she whispered confusedly.

Spike's face was close, his expression gentle.

"You were looking for something, love. But it's okay now."

"Did I find it? What I was looking for?"

Spike grinned at her.

"I think it found you. Come on, you're nearly home."

When she looked around again, they were on Main Street. The horse's pace had slowed to a steady clip-clop. Buffy was lulled by the rhythmic movement beneath her - she leaned back against Spike's chest with a yawn.

"I'm tired."

"S'alright, love. We're almost there."

The wind picked up. Buffy felt the change almost at the same time as she felt Spike tense behind her.

"What is it?" she murmured.

She looked up into his face. The sky behind him was lightening, a strange orange glow in the air. Spike was frowning, and peering about the empty street.

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

Buffy followed his gaze, looking around the ghost town that Sunnydale had become, as the air coloured and the clouds began boiling over their heads.

"Something not right," she muttered.

Something not right...something building, an electricity crackling in the atmosphere. Her hair was whipping into her eyes - she brushed at it distractedly. She breathed in the charged air, felt it beginning a slow pulse in her blood. It energised her, but frightened her at the same time. Suddenly she was aware of Spike's hands on her shoulders, heard his roughened voice.

"You should get off."

"What?"

She looked up at him, surprised. But what alarmed her more were his eyes - they were yellowing by degrees. She tried to speak around an unreasoning fear in her throat.

"But I just -"

"I said get off!"

His voice had thickened - he was clenching his hands on the reins, his jaw tight. He looked like he was controlling something, pulling something in, his eyes closing and opening quickly. And suddenly she felt genuinely scared.

He's chipped - and he, he cares about me. He can't hurt me...wouldn't hurt me...

But the thought carried no reassurance, and Buffy let herself slip from the horse's back to stand in the street again, her cold toes twitching on the asphalt. She looked ahead, down the street - the view was obscured, like a horizon line shifting in the fog - and frowned.

Something up there - something I have to do...

What it was exactly she wasn't sure, but she knew it with every atom in her body. She was dimly aware of Spike sliding off the horse behind her, but her eyes were fixed ahead, her senses extended, trying to feel, trying to understand. So when Spike's voice sounded behind her ear, she jumped.

"You have to go."

"I know," she murmured back absently.

About to walk off, she turned her face to say goodbye. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Spike's face was twisted, shifting back and forth from his human face to his vampire visage in rapid bursts, like a bizarre two-form image. He tried to grip the reins, like he needed something to hang on to, but the horse was shying away. When his head whipped back to face her, it was the demon that uttered the thick growl.

"Go!"

She stared, in horrified shock, momentarily paralysed. Spike's face changed again, into the man she knew - the man she cared for - his expression agonised, the pleading in his eyes apparent in his voice.

"Buffy, go, now. You have to -"

Then he stopped. It was like he'd felt something shift dramatically inside his own body. His eyes went wide, and he barked a command.

"Run."

Oh no.

His low, flattened voice scared her more than anything else, snapping her out of her frozen pose. With a look of despair and horror, she stumbled away from him, turned, and bolted down the street.

Oh god, not Spike...not this...

She knew he was behind her - she could hear the clip of his dress shoes on the road. Her breath was gasping in her chest. She was running full pelt, but the end of the street never seemed to get any nearer. And he was overtaking...

She put on a sudden burst of speed, then chanced a glance back - it was her undoing. Spike's figure was menacingly close behind her, and he took advantage of her distraction to lunge, and tackle her to the ground.

Her head cracking on the asphalt was painful, but it was nothing like the pain of seeing Spike, in full vamp face, looming over her. He pinned her around the waist with his legs, and grabbed for her wrists, slapping away her attempts to struggle. His gaze was feral, and he stared down at her mercilessly.

"Spike - Spike, no, don't do this..." she whispered, too horrified to raise her voice, pleading with her eyes.

The demon above her leered in with a grin, then as she watched he shook his head, like a dog. And suddenly it was Spike again, looking at her with an expression of ghastly, age-less pain. His eyes were once again dark blue as he gazed down, then tentatively touched his forehead against hers. His voice was a whimper.

"Buffy - please. I can't..."

She heard his voice begin to coarsen. His next words gave her a chill.

"Oh god, love - I'm so sorry..."

Then he raised his head, and transformed before her eyes - reached forward to grab her hair, pull her head to one side, force his way down against her desperate struggles, and plunge his fangs into her neck.........

With a jerking, gasping cry, Buffy hurtled out of sleep, to find herself clutching the sheets with one hand, and her neck with the other.

oOo

7.12am

Dawn padded downstairs in her pajamas, yawning hugely and feeling distinctly bleary. She stretched on the last step, and was about to let out a groan when she remembered that Anya and Xander were in the living room, on the sofa bed - she restrained herself with an effort, and tip-toed into the kitchen. They'd been considerate enough to forgo crashing in her Mom's room, the least she could do was be careful not to wake them at such an ungodly hour.

She wasn't sure what had woken her so early - bad dreams... She frowned at foggy memories as she entered the kitchen. Something about feeling sad, then being chased by something...something nasty.

Shaking her head to clear her mind of the yucky after-taste of the dream, she made for the fridge with a grin. Nothing like chocolate milk to get rid of the flavour of morning-mouth -

She jumped and twirled as she registered the figure sitting at the far end of the bench. Then she relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Oh - it's you. Geez, Buffy, you trying to scare the hell out of me or what?"

Her sister looked up confusedly, as if she was having a hard time recognising her. Then her eyes cleared, and she gave Dawn a wan half-grin.

"Sorry. Just...thinking, I guess. Good morning."

"If you say so," Dawn replied lackadaisically.

She opened the fridge, took out the chocolate milk and began raising the carton to her lips. Until she saw Buffy's look over the rim of the carton. She brought the milk down and frowned.

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what? Why not?"

"You know why."

Dawn shrugged and was about to raise the carton again when Buffy's voice stopped her.

"Because Mom would have kittens if she saw you. If she were here."

Dawn sighed, gave Buffy a cross look, then rolled her eyes and clomped forward to get a glass.

"Alright, alright. Fine."

She filled the glass and took a long slurp, coming up with a milk moustache.

"Is that better?"

Buffy grinned a little at the sight.

"Better. Thank you."

Dawn lumped herself onto a stool, glass in hand. She perused her sister curiously as she had another drink.

"So - what's with the grumpy? And how come you're up so early? Didn't you have patrol last night?"

Buffy sighed and reached for her sister's glass, helping herself to a sip. Mm - cold.

"Yeah. A late one, too. Something came up."

"Apart from a demon army?" Dawn said wryly.

"Yeah, apart from that."

Buffy looked at her sister, then decided that Dawn needed to be filled in. Since the Dawn-slashing-up incident, she'd realised that a reveal-all approach was better than keeping her sister in the dark. Besides, Dawn was so nosy that she'd be bound to find out anyway. She sighed again, and began relating the story softly.

"We got attacked by some weird woman at the Bronze. Some new demon-killer - I don't know. And...Spike got hurt."

Dawn sat up at that, leaning forward with alarm.

"What do you mean `hurt'? Like, really hurt?"

"Like, almost dusted," Buffy admitted, the worry evident on her face.

Dawn looked shocked.

"Geez, Buffy - is he okay?"

"He was still out of it when I left Giles' place. Willow and Tara are keeping an eye on him there.""

Dawn was frowning, trying to take all this in. Then Buffy's exact phrasing filtered in, and she looked at her sister.

"Willow and Tara are watching him? But if he's at Giles' house, won't Giles..."

Buffy's expression stopped her. Dawn's frown deepened.

"You're worried about Spike staying with Giles...Buffy, why would Giles be a threat to Spike?"

Her voice was soft, coaxing an answer.

Buffy couldn't meet her eyes. Hesitantly, she began explaining.

"We - Giles and me - we...had a fight. About Spike."

"You mean, Giles found out about you and Spike," Dawn stated.

Buffy glanced up at her with surprise.

"Um, yeah - but how did you know about me and -"

Dawn cut her off with a wave of her hand, her eyes raised to the ceiling.

"Please - come on. I'm not blind. You and Spike have had the hots for each other, like, forever."

She stared at Buffy again, as if daring her to deny it. Her sister could only blush and blink. Dawn tried a new tack for more information.

"So, what, Giles flipped out?"

"Totally," Buffy groaned softly. "He said I don't trust him. Which isn't true - I do, really. It's just that this was...sensitive."

She slumped in her seat, searching for the right words.

"I mean, it's...it's hard to explain. I mean, I haven't even told Mom -"

"Oh, that's okay - she knows," Dawn added quickly.

Buffy gave her sister another astonished look.

"Mom knows?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, hello, what do you think Mom and Spike were talking about that night you came crashing in with your hell-bitch routine?"

Buffy's mouth gaped - she couldn't even think straight enough to berate Dawn for the remark. She digested the idea of Spike and her mom talking - about her - and coloured again.

Dawn went on with a dismissing wave.

"Anyway, it's okay, don't worry about it. Mom's cool. So,what about Giles?"

Buffy collected herself with an effort, then continued.

"Oh. Well, um, Giles is in total self-righteous mode, you know? `Spike's evil, and you're the Slayer' and blah blah blah."

Buffy sighed remembering the argument. Dawn took this in with a nod.

"Sure. Kind of understandable, I guess. Poor guy's probably having Angel-flashbacks."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah...I guess he is," Buffy realised. Then she heaved out a breath, as that awareness of Giles' mental condition sunk in, and went on. "Well, anyway, the gist of it all was that Giles doesn't trust Spike. Period."

Dwn tilted her head in comprehension.

"And so, now...you don't trust him. Around Spike, that is."

Buffy nodded in reply, looking more than a little depressed at the idea. She hugged her arms around herself, reaching for consolation deep inside, or at least the semblance of logic.

What the hell was she doing? Giles was her Watcher - she felt like she was betraying that whole bundle of implicit faith and unconditional trust and stuff that the relationship required.

And for what? A crazy, hormonal reaction for a vampire who could only nominally be called `reformed', who had tried to kill her on so many occasions in the past that she'd almost lost count, who'd proven his unreliability even more recently when her Mom fell sick...who attacked her in her dreams.

She hugged herself tighter and frowned.

Just a vampire. A vampire who apologised to me...who cares for my sister and my mother almost as much as I do...who makes me feel like a giddy, quivering mess every time he comes near me...

Dawn watched the split-second play of emotions on her sister's face, feeling sympathetic, wishing there was something she could do to make things better. Hey - maybe she could talk to Giles, tell him...on second thought, scratch that idea. He'd never take her seriously.

But she knew someone he would...

With a contemplative expression, she got up from her chair and moved around the counter to give Buffy a shoulder-hug.

"Hey - don't knock yourself out about it. Giles will come round."

Buffy just nodded automatically and shrugged.

"We'll see."

Dawn nudged her gently.

"Don't worry. Come on, we should get ready to go see Mom."

"Sure," Buffy said, rousing herself and straightening in her seat. "Hey - thanks."

"Dawn just shrugged.

"No big."

Buffy looked at Dawn with a gentle eye, tucking a strand of her sister's hair behind one ear.

"You're really maturing, you know that?"

"I guess," Dawn replied, looking bemused by the idea. Then she grinned at Buffy mischevously. "But it'll be a while yet `til I'm old and grey like you. Come on - race you to the shower."

"You go - I'll tell Xander and Anya that we're leaving."

Dawn nodded quickly, then dashed away. Buffy watched her go, then returned her gaze to the counter. The empty glass was still there, and the milk carton, making a small choclatey puddle on the counter-top. Buffy grinned and rolled her eyes - yep, it would still be a while...

oOo

9.15am

She entered the hospital room again to see her mother and Dawn huddled over the bed, fiddling with something. Her sister straightened quickly, fumbled something into her pocket, and glanced between her mother and Buffy.

"Hey. What's up?" Buffy said with faint curiousity.

"Oh, nothing," Dawn replied quickly. She smiled at her mother as she flipped her hair. "I'm just gonna get a can of soda. You want anything?"

"Not for me," Joyce said with a gentle smile.

Dawn glanced at Buffy, who just shook her head, then she headed out for the foyer. Buffy's gaze followed her for a moment, then she returned her eyes to her mother, moving to sit in a chair beside the bed.

Michael had been right. Joyce looked better, less pale, and the dark circles around her eyes were gone. She looks like Mom again, Buffy thought with relief. When her mother reached out to take her hand, Buffy felt a happy glow spread through her.

"Dawn's not giving you too much trouble is she?" Joyce said with a grin.

"Nah. She's fine. We've both just been a little stressed out, I guess." Buffy smiled back at her mother, pleased to see colour returning to her cheeks. Then she sighed.

"Anyway, Dawn is the least of my worries at the moment."

"I heard." Joyce rubbed her daughter's hand as she let herself sit back a bit on the pillows. "Dawn told me. And about the Bronze, last night."

Buffy gave a tight smile, and tried to shrug it off.

"Oh - yeah. Well...anyway, everyone's still walking, so that's a plus."

"You look tired," Joyce said evenly, perusing Buffy's face with concern.

"I guess."

Must be - haven't had much in the way of sleep lately. But she wasn't about to share that with her mother. She didn't want her mother worrying about anything except getting herself well. That was more than enough.

But Joyce had other ideas. She patted the coverlet of the bed near her lap.

"Come here, sweetie."

At her mother's urging, Buffy laid her head down on the bed. With a feeling of perfect happiness warming her, she relaxed as her mother began stroking her hair against the sheets. The familiar, comforting touch helped to loosen some of her self-imposed restraint. Her quiet voice floated up to Joyce's ears.

"Yeah - I guess I am tired. But it's okay. I mean, I've been so busy...I've hardly had time to think about it."

Joyce stared down at her daughter's face, angled sideways away from her on the bed, and a look of sad anxiety flitted across her features. She kept her hand steady as she stroked Buffy's hair, letting the warm-cool strands thread through her fingers.

"My poor girl," she said softly. "You never get a break from emergencies these days."

Buffy gave a muffled snort.

"Look at me. I should be the one comforting you."

"It's okay. Just rest."

Buffy let her mother's hand smooth her hair, smooth away her mental tangles. She sighed into the sheet, and enjoyed the feeling of solace and protection, and let her mind drift, closing her eyes.

Unseen above her, her mother blinked against the threatening tears, letting a few escape, to roll down in silent, salty trails on her cheeks.

oOo

10.12am

Perfect. It's perfect, and am I a total girl-wonder or what?

Dawn's mental crowing was so loud in her own head that she was surprised Buffy couldn't hear it. Actually her sister was giving her curious looks, so she started to think that maybe she should tone it down. But still, it was hard to wipe the huge grin off her face. Even the fact that Buffy had had to kill some big scaly thing with horns between the hospital and the Magic Box hadn't put a dampener on her mood.

I am a hero. Mom's the greatest. But man, I am super-cool!

She smiled broadly at her sister again, and was rewarded with a cocked eyebrow.

"Well. You're very chirpy now."

"Uh-huh."

Dawn nodded and grinned again, looking at Buffy's face and thnking how spun her sister would be if she knew that her Giles-problem was now over. This reflecting once more on her own super-coolness, of course.

"Mom say something to cheer you up? Besides giving you permission to beg off school, I mean."

"Kinda."

It took almost all her willpower to bite her tongue about stuff, but she managed. So focussed, in fact, was she on not giving her secret away that she almost bumped into Ray as he exitted the shop.

"Whoah - hey there."

He lifted an arm to avoid a collision, and flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter with the other hand. Dawn looked up at him with surprise.

"Oh - hey."

She gave him a half-voltage smile - still felt weird, his being all angel-ly and everything. But she liked Ray. He had a warm, contented sort of glow about him.

"Ah - Miss Summers, and Miss Summers. Good morning to you."

Buffy smiled at the man. Of all the angels, he seemed the most...well, real. He'd even doffed his hat to them, letting the breeze attack his scruffy grey hair. He had a little bald spot near the top, she noticed.

"Hi, Ray. We're just -"

" - on your way in. Yep, noticed that. Me, I'm heading out. Doing a recky," he said nonchalantly, replacing his hat.

"What's a recky?" Dawn asked blithely.

"Reconnaissance," Buffy answered for him. She nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah, it's gotta be hotting up near the outskirts of town. I'll be doing a day patrol later, so I might catch up with you."

"A day patrol?" Dawn said with a surprised frown at her sister.

"Yeah - need to. What, you don't remember? Xanthus demon?" Buffy took in Dawn's raised eyebrows and elaborated. "Big, scaly thing, with horns, near Lilydale Avenue?"

Dawn just shrugged - one demon looked the same as the next these days.

Buffy turned back to Ray with a sigh, as he regarded the interaction bemusedly.

"Anyway - yeah. Might catch you later."

"Okay. Great. So - see you round then."

He gave a little hatlift as he began to move off. Then he caught Dawn's eye with a wink, and leaned towards her.

"You too, Miss Sparkles. And y'know, you got a little glow of your own there, by the way."

Then he moved off down the street, chortling to himself as he went.

Buffy looked back into Dawn's slightly astonished face.

"What was that about?"

Dawn could only gape, and shake her head.

"Uh...nothing. Let's get inside, huh?"

And she grabbed the doorhandle and pulled, leaving Buffy perplexed, and regarding the open doorway with a sigh.

Oh boy. Okay. Better go face the music.

The inner gloom of the shop was a sharp contrast to the sunny streetscape outside, and she blinked her eyes. The door clanged shut behind her, and for the first time ever in her memory, it sounded vaguely doom-filled. Instead of the usual `ah, haven!' feeling, she experienced a sudden claustrophobia.

Shit shit shit. Okay - where is he?

She cast her eyes around the shop. Anya was over in a corner, serving customers. Giles was in his normal spot at the table. But he had company - Uriel Psalter and Michael (did he have a last name? was that really Uriel's last name? did angels even have them?) were gathered around the research table too, amidst countless books and papers. The three men were obviously deep in discussion, and Giles was scribbling notes as they talked. He'd just added another sheet of paper to the disordered pile at his right, and didn't even look up as the two girls walked in.

Well, that's a good thing. Maybe I can just slip through to the back, without attracting notice...

Dawn had moved over to the counter to dump her backpack, and Buffy used her for cover, discretely sidling past the counter and making for the back room.

She almost made it.

"Oh. Dawn. And - Buffy."

Giles looked up, pen in hand, with a distracted air.

"Buffy, do you think that we could -"

Buffy tried not to look so furtive, and fumbled for an answer.

"Uh, sure. Give me a sec. I was just gonna -"

The telephone brayed abruptly from the counter, and she seized her chance.

" - answer the phone."

She waved a hand in that direction, and quickly walked to the counter, catching Anya's relieved glance, and Giles' faint look of frustration. But he turned back to the round-table meeting as she picked up the receiver and put on her best receptionist voice, trying to remember if there was an accepted format for phone-answering at the shop.

"Uh, hi, you've reached the Magic Box -"

"Buffy, is that you?"

Willow's voice sounded quietly on the other end of the line, and Buffy sagged in relief.

"Yeah, Will, it's me. Just...hang on a sec."

She manhandled the phone off the counter, and trailed the extension cord into the tiny rear office. Dawn was hanging off the end of the counter - Buffy caught her eye, mouthing `Willow', and was gratified by her sister's answering nod and smile. Buffy pushed the door half-shut behind herself, and then settled into the hard wooden chair Giles kept in front of his desk-cum-personal library, pulling the receiver back up to her ear.

"Will - hey. I can talk now."

"Good. I almost forgot you were gonna be at the hospital, I nearly called earlier. How's things?"

"Fine," Buffy said, not wanting to spare the time with the details. She went on without preamble. "How is he?"

"He's okay - still a bit woozy. We're at the dorm."

"You're where? How did you work that?"

She could almost hear Willow's dry grin on the other end.

"Hey, we're resourceful, what can I say." Willow snorted into the phone, and explained. "We got a cab. Covered Spike up with a blanket, and told the driver that our friend had a hangover."

"Nice," Buffy replied with a grin of her own. Then she frowned. "But why the switch? Did you have problems at Giles'?"

If Giles had put the hard word on Willow and Tara, she was really gonna give him a piece of her -

"No - Buffy, it was okay," Willow reassured. "But Giles went out early, and we didn't want to leave Spike on his own. You told Tara to watch him, so..."

"Oh," Buffy said, feeling her indignation abate. "Yeah. Well, thanks. Thanks for everything, Will."

"No problemo. Hey, how's your mom?"

"Better. She's coming home tomorrow."

"That's great," Willow said with relief. Then her voice took on an impish note. "Hey - hold on, someone wants to talk to you."

There was a fumbling with the receiver, then Buffy heard a low, husky male voice.

"Slayer?"

She felt a flaring thrill, coupled with an odd, greasy fear in her stomach. She had a momentary mental flash - Spike, shaking his head and transforming, his fingers lacing through her hair to tug roughly, painfully, as he pulled her head to one side and...

"You there, love?"

She blinked and the image cleared.

"I'm here. Are you okay?"

"Improving. Still feels like I got hit by a truck. Any leads on that?"

There was more than curiousity in his voice - he was pissed off, she could tell. It wasn't in his psychology to get clobbered and then pretend that he didn't want to get up and clobber back. Buffy grinned, entertained by the idea that she and Spike really did have a lot in common.

"Sorry, but I just got here. That particular truck is still nameless. Apart from the info you got back at the Bronze, she's still `Demon-Killer Unknown'."

"Huh. Figures. Well, if you find out anything..."

"...you'll be the first to know, I guarantee."

"Ta. And thanks, y'know, for last night, by the way."

"For what?" Buffy replied, surprised. "For nearly letting you get dusted?"

"For saving my arse, and you know it. The witches told me."

Yeah, did they tell you I was a blubbering mess? she thought. Then she cast the thought aside, and tried to sound gracious.

"Well, that's okay... I mean, I wasn't gonna just stand there and watch."

"Anyway, I owe you one."

She could almost see his face as he said it - the wry grin spreading across his features, the twinkle in his eye. She smiled into the receiver.

"You don't owe me anything." You owe me a good dream... Then she shook her head, and made her voice sound business-like. "But look, if I get any more info on that girl, I'll call. Until then, I wouldn't go back to the crypt. You were definitely the target last night, and she might be waiting for you there."

She could hear Spike grunt as he stretched on the other end of the line - she winced at the sound of his shoulder joint cracking. His voice was droll.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere right now. In fact, I'm thinking of moving in permanently. I've got a nice little set-up, with the girlies - curtains drawn, blood in the fridge, running water, two nubile - ow!"

Buffy jerked as he yelled into the phone.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'. Just blondie changing the bandage," he muttered. His next words were muffled, as he spoke away from the receiver. "Hey, that hurts, you know..."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Spike. Earth to Spike..."

His voice rushed back into her ear.

"Yeah, love?"

"Spike, do me a favour and talk to Willow and Tara about preparing some protection spells for the Gathering. For the town, and for everyone in the group. And remember," she added, knowing that it would get on his nerves, but needing to say it anyway, "remind them that Angel will be with us. He's arriving this afternoon."

"And my life will be complete," Spike replied drily.

Buffy grinned, not needing to see his face to read the matching expression.

"Just tell them. And I'll...I'll talk to Giles about the demon-killer."

She screwed up her face at the thought. When Spike spoke again, she was surprised to hear a hint of judicious encouragement.

"You shake hands with Tweedman yet?'

"Not...not quite. Well, not yet. And how do you know anyway?"

"Little birdies told me. Look - you take care of that, and quick."

"I guess," Buffy replied with a reluctant sigh.

"'Guess' nothing - you do it."

Buffy was a little amazed at how emphatic he sounded, but his next words completely astonished her.

"You tell him..." A sigh. "...tell him, I'll stay away, if that's what it takes."

"You will not!" she shot back immediately.

But Spike was unequivocal.

"I will, if it makes the difference..." She heard him adjust the receiver as he leaned in to explain. "Listen, pet, he's your Watcher. You need him - a lot more than you need me, right now."

"Spike, there's no way -"

"Just...humour me, okay? The Gathering's day after tomorrow. You can't afford to start mixing it up with a demon army without His Holier-Than-Thou-ness behind you."

It was cool logic, she knew, but it stang all the same. The thought of not having Spike beside her on Friday wasn't exactly a happy one. But what he'd said was true - she needed Giles on side for this...

Spike took her silence as aquiesence.

"Okay, pet?"

Buffy sighed, then resolved something in her mind. Her tone firmed down the line of the phone.

"Yeah, I'm okay. And Spike, thanks for the offer. But listen, I'll play that card if I have to - but only if I have to. I'm hoping it won't come to that." She grinned shyly at the receiver, as though he was present before her. "I'd kinda like to have you in attendance too, y'know."

She could hear his answering grin.

"Glad you think so."

"Well, you're handy to have around," she countered playfully. In all sorts of ways...

"So, you could find a use for me then?"

She could hear his voice deepen a little as the banter turned flirtatious, and couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, I think I could figure out something..." Buffy's fingers strayed to her hair, and she twirled a strand around unconsciously, before realising that this was neither the time, nor the place. "Ahem. Well, okay, I gotta go."

"Right." His voice had also returned to it's usual brusqueness. "Well, be seeing you then...What? Oh, the witches say their cheerios."

"Back at `em. Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll see you soon," she said softly, knowing that he wouldn't reply - it wasn't his way - but knowing all the same that he'd catch the nuances. And that he would be grinning on the other side as he hung up the phone, just as she did on her end.

oOo

Good Lord, what is she doing in there?

Giles didn't want to speculate - speculation only lead to anxiety, and he already had his quota of that for the time being. He'd heard Willow's name mentioned before Buffy sequestered herself in the office with the phone, so he assumed that she was talking both to the witches and to Spike. He sighed, and glowered discretely at the door of the office. It didn't make Buffy emerge any faster, but it seemed to help.

He'd concluded the discussion with the angels on Buffy's arrival, and was now making up another pot of Earl Grey, as the other men continued to confer. They now had as complete a report on the Gathering and the Balance, and their respective workings, as anyone had ever managed to compile. He'd have to forward a copy to the Council, of course. No doubt it would result in some major kudos, not that he cared enough about that anymore for it to matter. But it was good to know that at least the next generation of Watcher and Slayer that dealt with this situation - whether it be in a thousand years time or not - would have more complete information to work with.

It should have made him feel happy, satisfied. But all he could feel right now was frustration - and yes, anger.

He looked at the office door again with barely disguised annoyance. He didn't know what hurt more - that she'd kept him out of the loop deliberately, or that she obviously hadn't trusted him enough to be honest. Maybe both.

Was it him? Something he'd failed to do, or say, or... Oh, it was impossible to theorize. He reminded himself again that Buffy was still barely out of her teens, and that certainly couldnn't have counted in his favour. Maybe it had nothing to do with him. Maybe...

Maybe, maybe, maybe - damnit.

He gave up hypothesizing, and put the lid on the pot of tea, letting the water warm the leaves inside as he turned the pot. Trying not to give in to unproductive feelings of irritation and anger again, he suddenly noticed Dawn as she sidled around the corner of the bookshelf and composed his face into a gruff smile.

"Hello, Dawn."

"Hey."

She was obviously trying to be casual about it, but she seemed to have made her way over with a purpose in mind. He nodded at her, thinking that Buffy had been about Dawn's age when she'd been called. The thought came with an unhappy twinge.

"So. You're, er, relieved of school today, I see?"

The brunette-haired girl replied with a shrug, her tone dry.

"Yeah. But it's cool - I got a note from my mother."

Dawn flicked something into his line of vision - a folded piece of paper, which she then thrust into his hand with a quick grin. Giles took it automatically, wondering why she was giving it to him.

"Oh. Er, thank you."

He looked up at her, but she'd already wandered away again. His brow creasing, Giles returned his attention to the paper. A short slip folded twice, he opened it out and was surprised to see Joyce's looping handwriting, addressed not to the school principal, but to him. With a blink, he read through the message, his frown deepening with every line.

"Dear Rupert -

Give Buffy some space with the Spike-issue. Just trust me on this. She's under enough pressure already, and it's not really the priority, is it?

Think about what it might mean to have Spike on your side...

Good luck and take care,

Joyce."

Giles sighed heavily. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now the Slayer's mother was sending him cryptic notes from her hospital bed...

But the thought conjured up a mental picture of Joyce. The bright eyes, warm clear face, gentle smile... And the practical, down-to-earth nature. He squashed for a moment the feeling that everyone seemed to be jumping into Buffy's camp, and read through the lines again.

It's not the priority...think what it might mean to have Spike on your side...

He frowned. She was right. It wasn't the priority, no matter how strongly he may feel about the issue. There were other, more serious threats to deal with right now.

And having Spike as part of the group could mean a great deal. He'd proven his usefulness before - he was erratic, true, and hardly tended to favour a team approach, but his strength and insight could be invaluable, if Giles could only allow himself to trust that the vampire would stay true to his word.

More importantly, a schism between Giles and his Slayer right now could be disastrous. Combined with Buffy's current state of anxiety about her mother, it could be enough to seriously distract her. And that would really be a problem.

Giles mulled over his own rationalising. It meant a compromise on his part, and he wasn't too thrilled about the idea. But he wasn't idiotic enough to dismiss the real danger that a division in the 'family' 'could produce.

Right. Oh well. There you have it. The gods are testing me.

With a sigh, he folded the note and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He looked over at the office again, but his expression this time was less annoyed, more contemplative. But he couldn't help a quick snort of exasperation.

What is it with this girl and vampire boyfriends?

His mind dredged up a memory of his father - the man who had a word for everything, including the last word in every argument he and his son had ever had, Giles remembered with a frown. But all the same, the phrase his father had liked to use in reference to Giles' propensity back then to attract `friends' of the most unsavoury sort still seemed to apply pretty well.

Bum magnet.

Giles imagined what Buffy's face would look like if she ever heard him use the phrase in reference to herself. That, at least, got him grinning.

oOo

Dawn was wandering around the back shelves, casting surreptitious glances at Giles, and making an effort to keep out of sight. She was pleased to see him read the note, then fold it away, with a faintly calmer air than he seemed to have before. She thought she could sense the storm-cloud above his head dissipating, and that had to be an improvement.

Go Mom!!

She allowed herself a quick, wide smile at the thought of her own part in the business - then folded that away too. Didn't look good to crow too much about your super-coolness, no matter how fantastic you were. And she had a feeling that Giles and Buffy would both be kind of disconcerted at the idea of her scheming around behind their backs... Better to leave it. With a deep happy sigh, she let it go, and scoped the bookshelves.

Now what to do...

She'd kind of hoped that the day might turn out a bit more interesting, but so far, apart from her message-bringing, she'd had nothing much to keep her busy. She'd already spoken to Anya, but it was made plain from the start that she wouldn't be allowed to serve customers or count the money - the ex-demon had resumed her usual bossiness when it came to dealing with the shop affairs. Plus, Xander was going to be away most of the day on a weapons run. Xander's absence tended to bring out Anya's most irritating side, Dawn noticed.

She trailed a finger along the books on the shelves near the back room, hoping that this day wasn't going to turn out more boring than school might potentially have been. If it was going to be this lame, she might even be reduced to doing her homework...

"Hey! Dawn!"

The stage whisper came from above. She looked up, and saw a familiar face peering over the side of the loft space over her head.

Huh. Gabriel. And he seemed to have free access to the `no-go' area, where Giles kept all the full-on magic books. Now this had potential...

"Hey. Whatcha doing?"

She grinned up at him, keeping her voice low. Looking at his face again gave her a weird tingly feeling.

He has such a nice smile - bummer that he's an angel.

"Come on up. I'm checking out some stuff for Friday."

Dawn took a quick look around. Uriel and Michael were still deep in discussion. Giles was at the table with them, still casting expectant glances at the office door, sorting out his notes and sipping his trillionth cup of tea. Anya was ringing up purchases for a couple of kids at the counter, and Buffy was - obviously - still yacking. No one around to see her ascend the ladder to the Forbidden Zone...

Before anyone could notice and object, she made her way up the ladder. Then she plonked herself down next to Gabriel, in a spot she knew would be a little out of visual range from the floor below. Gabriel had a dozen books spread around himself, and was sitting in a loose crossed-legged pose, having turned his attention from the heavy book in his hands to smile in greeting.

"Hey."

Dawn frowned at the collection of magic books scattered on the floor, then looked at him with curiousity.

"I didn't think you guys needed to use magicky stuff - aren't you kind of...well, above it all?"

Gabriel shrugged.

"It's not for me - for your friends. The blonde girl, and the redhead..."

"Tara and Willow," Dawn nodded in reply. "Yeah, well they'd fall at your feet if you could find `em a few decent tips for the Gathering."

"Well, Ray gave me couple of ideas, so..."

With a grin, he set a encyclopaediac-looking text in her lap. Dawn gave it a dose of eyebrow, and then glanced at him.

"You know, I'm supposed to be off school today."

Gabriel's face immediately fell, the corners of his eyes and his mouth turning down sadly.

"You don't wanna help?"

Dawn regarded him with a bemused expression.

Where do guys get that disappointed puppy-dog look? Is it, like, written into their genes?

She snorted, and opened the book in front of her at random to placate him.

"Hello - kidding. Of course I'll help, you dope. What are we looking for anyway?"

Gabriel smiled with relief, then shrugged in the direction of the books spread around them.

"Anything in reference to protection spells, or conjurable weapons, or...well, basically anything that sounds useful."

"Great. Something specific," Dawn said with a droll look. Then she caught his expression of helpless apology. "But don't sweat it, it's okay - we're used to it. Wild guesses and speculation are all standard procedure around here."

He returned her grin. The two of them set to work, and if a few Post-it notes got thrown around at the start, then nobody from downstairs noticed.

oOo

Buffy eased out of the office, fumbling the long lead and the cradle of the telephone back to their usual places beside the till. Smoothing down her white shirt-front, she slid out of Anya's way as the auburn-haired girl bustled around, packing herbs and a crystal into a paper bag for the two teenagers in front of the counter, and parrotting instructions.

"Now remember - if you don't focus the energy of the spell through the crystal correctly, your heads could explode. Then you could technically say that the spell hadn't worked. And keep in mind that if that happens, we can't really give you a refund on your purchases. "

The two teenagers glanced worriedly at each other, then turned back to Anya's cheery smile.

"But don't worry about it - I'm sure you'll be fine," Anya reassured them belatedly. "Anyway, that'll be eighteen-fifty."

Buffy grinned a little as they gulped, then reached for their wallets.

She stepped around the counter, and was still focussed on the material exchange, when she bumped into Giles, who'd obviously been waiting for her. With a little start, she conjured a tight smile, and tried to sound casual.

"Oh - hey. How did it go? The conference, I mean."

Giles nodded, and set his cup down on the corner of the counter.

"Well, I think. It was very useful."

Buffy tilted her head to look at his face - he seemed a little...mellowed. He was cleaning his glasses now, and watching her with an almost calm expression. It made a pleasant change. And encouraged now by his new attitude, and the remembrance of Spike's prodding, she decided that it was time to clear the air.

"Giles -"

"Buffy -"

Giles opened and closed his mouth, stymied by the conversational collision. Buffy held up a hand, asking for a moment.

"Giles, can I start this one?" she said tentatively.

"Please."

He looked relieved that she was making the first move. His expression dissolved the words she had planned to stumble through to begin the talk, and she blurted out the general substance of the matter.

"I'm sorry, Giles. I really am. I should have been more honest with you. It wasn't that I didn't trust you - I just didn't know how to explain it so that you would understand. But I didn't take into account how you felt, and it was unfair."

She sighed, the weight of anxiety about the situation dissappearing into the air as she apologised. Giles looked at her with a face that was gentle with acknowledgement.

"That's alright, Buffy. I don't think that fighting over this is very productive, and... I think I was too harsh." His expression creased as he reached for the words. "When I said that I didn't trust Spike, I meant -"

" - that you didn't trust him," Buffy said matter-of-factly. She grinned up at him. "That's okay. And I can understand why. But...things have changed, Giles. He's changed. I can't really describe it to you, but..."

It was Giles' turn to hold up a restraining hand as he took in her face, knitted with with an inability to express the right words.

"It's fine, Buffy - really."

Buffy shook her head. She really wanted Giles to know how she felt, not just give him a glib apology. He deserved more than that.

"No - it's not fine. I should have told you from the beginning. But it was only because I didn't quite understand it all myself." She frowned. "I mean, I still don't understand it all, but -"

"Buffy -" Giles cut in, trying to reassure her, "I accept your apology. But...only if you'll accept mine."

"You're apologising for doing your job as my Watcher?" she said, with a curious look.

"I'm apologising for over-reacting," Giles went on with a faint smile. Then he frowned at the memory of their argument. "And for not trusting you - your own instincts in the matter. I think you've proven, by this stage, that you have a - fairly - level head on your shoulders..."

"But?" Buffy added for his benefit. He was still looking a little anxious.

"But...I just...worry," Giles explained with a helpless shrug.

Buffy snorted.

"Yeah - well, I worry about me too sometimes."

The iciness between them had gone. Giles let his shoulders drop in relief. But he still wanted to make sure that he was clear on things - on everything.

"So you and Spike are?..."

"Yes," Buffy said firmly, meeting his eyes.

Giles frowned at the strangeness of it.

"And you say he?..." Cares? How was it possible?

"Yes," Buffy stated again, reading his train of thought. Her voice was gentle as she tried to clarify. "I really think he does."

"Right." Giles straightened, still looking a bit confused but more relaxed about the idea. "Well, I still haven't quite got my head around it all. But I'll be happy if we can lay it to rest for the moment, and deal with the matter at hand."

"The Gathering," she prompted.

"Yes," Giles nodded.

Buffy smiled, and took on her typical `off-to-battle-the-forces-of-darkness' pose.

"Okay - then let's get to work."

"Right."

They made their way over to the research table together, Giles retrieving his teacup and Buffy giving him a sly, sideways glance.

"By the way, that was a really bad pun, Giles."

He looked confused.

"I made a pun?"

"'Lay it to rest'? When I'm dating a dead guy? Come on, you have to admit..."

Giles grinned, realising as he mentally backtracked.

"Oh, yes. Well, put it down to a Fruedian slip."

Buffy smiled at him, then graced the other men at the table with the same smile. Uriel and Michael were looking over Giles' notes, and interrupted their muted discussion when the Slayer and her Watcher returned to the table. Buffy slid into a chair, pulling one foot up under her comfortably.

"Hi there."

"Hello, Buffy," Uriel said with a smile. He glanced between Giles and his charge, realising that things seemed to be smoother between them. A good thing.

Michael gave a little wave in greeting, and Buffy nodded at him pleasantly. But she had other more urgent matters to deal with, so she started the conversation swiftly.

"Look, before we get into anything else too deep, I need to ask you about something."

Giles resumed his seat after pouring himself another hot cup from the pot on the sideboard. He looked up at Buffy's introduction of a topic that he too had had uppermost in his mind.

"Your attacker last night - the demon-killer? I've been thinking about that - I've mentioned it already."

Michael nodded in affirmation.

"You said that there was a new threat?"

Buffy snagged his glance, as he turned back in her direction.

"Yep. But to Spike, more than me."

"Spike?" Michael sid with a querying frown.

Buffy looked at Uriel in reply - her expression was a tad droll.

"You've met him. Monday night - Oak Street?"

Uriel's face opened as he remembered.

"Oh - you mean the vampire."

"My vampire," Buffy said meaningfully. The words were out of her mouth before her brain caught up, then she could only gasp mentally at her own turn of phrase. My vampire? God, did I really say that?

"Your vampire?" Michael said, his confused look deepening.

Buffy waved a hand, trying to shrug off her own emotional whirling.

"It's complicated - you can meet him later."

"Uh, okay..."

"Anyway," Buffy firmed her tone and returned her gaze to Uriel. "So this girl who attacked us last night..."

"A girl?" Uriel looked quickly at Michael, then back to Buffy's face, his expression darkening. "Describe her to me."

Buffy thought for a moment, pouting as she remembered the events in the Bronze.

"She looked Chinese, I think. Kind of an S&M fashion victim, y'know? - black leather, long black hair, big sword..."

Uriel stopped her gently.

"What I should have said was that I need your impressions of her. Her physical appearance may be deceptive - it could have...altered."

"Oh."

Buffy thought again. Her eyes narrowed as she let the memories trickle back through, and when she spoke again her voice was grim.

"Well...then I'd have to say - mean fighter. Fast, incredibly fast - faster than a master vamp, which is saying something. She seemed...unstoppable. Like a machine - the Terminator on overdrive." Her words chilled as she thought of the moment she'd stared into the girl's emotionless face. "Cold eyes. And when I sliced her, I didn't see her bleed."

She saw Giles frown as she related, and crooked an eyebrow up at him.

"It was mega-weird."

Then she realised that Uriel and Michael had turned to each other as if following the same line of thought. Both of the men were frowning.

"Grace," Michael muttered with a sigh.

"It has to be," Uriel nodded.

Buffy wanted to click her fingers in front of their faces, but she knew it would be considered rude. She settled for brusqueness.

"Who's Grace?"

Uriel turned back to face her, and his expression was unsettled.

"A law unto herself. You've met the Powers' most formidable weapon. If she's been summoned..."

Giles cut him off as he leaned forward, looking amazed and confused together.

"She's an angel?"

"She's ...one of us, yes," Uriel admitted.

Michael caught Buffy's eye. Of the two men, he seemed the more transparent, and his face was now troubled with misgivings.

"She's called the Death-Bringer."

"The Death-Bringer?" Buffy repeated, incredulous. "Well that sounds lovely."

But Giles had been cogitating in his seat, and now put his teacup to one side, staring at Uriel.

"Let me try to get this clear. Grace is...the Angel of Death?"

"Yes," Uriel reluctantly revealed.

Buffy's eyes widened.

"I fought the Angel of Death? Man, no wonder she was so fast..."

"And she works for the Powers?" Giles interrupted. "You'll have to excuse me if I say that sounds a little incongruous."

"Grace is an...anomoly, of sorts," Uriel tried to explain. He shrugged, a little too off-handedly for Buffy's liking. "Rather like the black sheep of the family."

"But occasionally the PTB needs a little dirty work done, and she gets the job?" Buffy said pointedly.

Uriel stared into her face.

"Make no mistake - the job is a necessary one. Evil would be a stronger force in the world without Grace's presence. Think of Caesar, Trujillo, Hitler -"

"Grace knocked off Hitler?" Buffy gasped.

Uriel continued through her interjection.

"Grace is the instrument of the Powers - the sword in the right hand."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly, thinking. "Then - why is she after Spike?"

In the back of her mind, she wondered if Spike would get a stupid kick out of being on the same assassination list as Hitler. She banished the thought with a mental shake, realising that Uriel was looking at her curiously.

"I don't know. If the Powers have released Grace now, they must consider his presence to be a threat to the harmony of the Gathering."

Michael leaned in with a suggestion.

"There could be a concern...about the nature of your relationship with a vampire." His face indicated that he sure as hell had concerns.

Giles let out a breath, coming to understanding.

"They think that Spike could turn Buffy, and alter the Balance."

"Yes," Michael agreed.

Buffy sat back, amazed and frankly disbelieving.

"But...there's no way that would ever happen."

She looked around the guarded faces at the table, and her memory flared to life - pulling her hair, the asphalt scraping under her nape as he sank his fangs... She pulled up short, and fixed her gaze on the angels furiously.

"It won't happen. Believe me, I'd stake Spike myself if I thought for a minute..." But their expressions were still watchful. She turned to Giles, beseeching. "Giles, tell them. Tell them I'd die before I ever let it happen -"

Giles cut her off to nod at the men firmly.

"She's telling the truth."

In fact, Buffy's reaction to the whole idea made him even more certain that he'd made the right decision in trusting her judgement about Spike this time. He tried to let the confidence he felt come through in his words.

"Buffy would never let such a thing occur. It would be an abomination of everything she and I have ever fought for. And if it came to that, I'd...I'd wield the stake myself."

"Thank you," Buffy said softly.

He glanced down - she was looking up at him gratefully. Not quite the normal reaction when the closest thing you have to a father threatens to kill you, he thought, but he understood all the same.

"Please," Michael said gently, holding up a hand. "We believe you."

"So call her off!" Buffy snapped back. She looked exasperated now. "I mean, call the PTB up or something, and tell them -"

"We can't," Uriel interrupted quietly. When Buffy stared at him, all he could do was shake his head. "We have no control in the matter. Once Grace is unleashed, there's no returning until her purpose has been fulfilled."

"Until Spike is dead," Buffy said flatly. She threw up her hands. "Oh, this is just great."

Giles tried to find some light in the situation.

"Is there any way to fight her?"

"Not to the point of defeat," Uriel admitted. "I don't think that's possible. Each of us - Michael, Raphael, Gabriel and myself - has certain...gifts. Things we can do to help, or use in battle. Grace's gift is simple - more pure in a way..."

Michael sighed out the words, revealing more in a short sentence than Uriel could in a whole liturgy.

"She's the ultimate assassin." He looked at Buffy almost sadly. "Death is her gift."

Buffy snorted, and gave Giles a quick, frustrated glance.

"'Death is her gift'. Well, that has a familiar ring to it."

oOo

1.47pm

It was hot - really hot. The shop seemed to have a kind of natural air-conditioning, the brick walls absorbing the warmth of day, saving it for the afternoon, and keeping it's morning occupants ensconsed in cool, to the point where Dawn had had to put on her sweater. But outside in the sun, where she was now, it felt like the beginning of a heatwave.

Other wanderers in the street were wearing short-sleeved tops and bare legs. Dawn breathed in the haze off the asphalt, and stripped down to her tank, tying the sweater around the waistband of her jeans so as not to break her stride.

At last - something useful to do.

She was on a mission - stuffed full of information about Grace by Giles and Buffy, spellbooks in her backpack for Will and Tara, with a heavenly being acting as a personal bodyguard.

She glanced over at Gabriel. He didn't look much like a bodyguard, loping along in jeans and t-shirt and sunglasses, but Dawn figured that he could hold his own if it came to that. And he was nice company, she grinned. Almost easy to forget that he wasn't just a normal boy...

He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses, curious.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothin'." She mustered up her courage, and looked into his face. "Well, you. You're really an angel, huh?"

"Haven't we been through this already?" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. Then she peered at him. "But...it's still just - kinda strange."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he shrugged, then cast a quick glance back at her. "But, hey, what's so weird - I mean, you're -"

" - a ball of energy, yada yada - yeah, I know that."

"So...you're not completely human either," he said with a sideways smile.

"Sure," she admitted. "But I don't feel any different. I'm still just...me."

"Well, I guess that's kind of how it is."

Dawn squinted at him.

"But, you can do stuff, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're an angel," she prodded. "You gotta have a few tricks up your sleeve."

Gabriel smiled at her, as if letting her in on a secret.

"A few. But it's not really the stuff I think about."

"So, what do you think about?" Dawn asked.

He shrugged again, kicking at the loose dirt on the pavement as they walked.

"I don't know. School. Summer's coming up." He noticed her wry glance. "Well, maybe. Um, just general...stuff. Staying on Uriel's good side," he admitted with a grin.

"He's a bit of a major general, huh?" Dawn said, catching his drift.

Gabriel screwed up his nose.

"More like - the older brother who's always looking over your shoulder."

Dawn thought about...chocolate milk, and snorted.

"Hey, I know about that." She remembered something else though, and skewered his gaze again. "But you've done stuff on your own. I mean, I read about it..."

She thought back over what she had read - it was kinda freaky, really. Who he was: Gabriel. Archangel Gabriel. The.

"Ah," he murmured, "you've been doing a bit of research of your own."

"Well, sure," she said shyly, caught out. "What's the Internet for? There were whole pages..."

She thought for a second, then remembered a particularly relevant passage. The lyrical flowery words came back to her effortlessly, and she recited before she even let herself think about it.

"'Do not be afraid, for you have found favour with God. You will give birth to a son. He will be great...'"

Gabriel finished the quote for her, his voice soft.

"'...and will be called the Son of the Most High.'" His eyes stared away into the distance, darkening as he remembered, and after a pause, he spoke again, his tone contemplative. "Yeah. That was...a special time."

Dawn let her gaze roam over his face as he pondered. For a second, Gabriel's presence beside her seemed wildly surreal. When she recovered her voice, she spoke gently.

"Wow. That must have been cool."

He looked at her suddenly, breaking the moment with a shrug and a grin.

"Well, I was just a messenger. But - yeah, it was cool," he confided.

He turned and continued walking, and Dawn followed suit. They strolled in silence for a while, until Dawn's thoughts spun away to frighten her, and she was forced to speak them aloud.

"So - you think we'll win? On Friday, I mean."

She wasn't looking at him, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. Gabriel narrowed his gaze at her, then decided to tell her the truth.

"Dawn, I don't know. I hope so. But that's the thing about the Balance - it's a mystery, even to me."

"Gee," she countered abrasively, trying to shake off the shivers inside her stomach and thinking of Buffy with a twinge, "you make it sound almost fun."

He touched her arm gently to draw her attention.

"It's not fun. It's scary - and I know your sister's putting her life on the line, I understand."

"But, what - you like a challenge?"

He sensed that her irritable tone was a front for the anxiety she was feeling, and he didn't take it to heart. He looked at her meaningfully, trying to be encouraging without bullshitting her.

"I like the idea of change for the better. It could happen. Anything could happen - we just have to be as prepared as we can on the day."

Dwn stared up at him, her expression almost pleading.

"And...you think that these spells will help?"

"Yes," he answered firmly.

She nodded her understanding. It would help, but it was impossible to be sure of the outcome. Then her brow creased, and she resumed her walking.

"You know, these spells require a lot of power. I don't know if Will and Tara can summon that - especially that one for the whole town, that just seems..."

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Draining," Dawn admitted. "Using magic drains your energy, big time, and spells like this might be too much for them to maintain."

Gabriel thought for a moment.

"So - I guess they hold them as long as they're able."

"They could burn out." Dawn's voice held concern for the witches. "I've seen how this stuff affects them - well, Willow at least. It could be dangerous for them."

Gabriel frowned.

"I didn't think of that."

They mulled it over as they walked. Then suddenly, Gabriel stopped in his tracks. Dawn looked back in confusion.

"What?"

He looked like he was thinking something out as he talked.

"You said that these spells require power - and the witches may not have that within them..."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, Dawn..." Gabriel's eyes were brightening, and he was looking at her speculatively. "Did you ever think about your own energy? I mean, you're filled up with Primordial Power, and that's the stuff of magic."

Dawn looked aghast.

"You want me to do the spells? But, I'm no good at -"

"No, I don't mean that," Gabriel said quickly. Then he cocked his head to one side, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "But you do realise that you're basically a walking battery..."

Dawn gasped with the realisation. Her mouth dropped.

"They could use me as an energy source..."

Gabriel just grinned and nodded. Dawn blinked, trying to think about the mechanics.

"But, I don't know how they'd...what would I have to do?"

Gabriel shook his head.

"I'm not sure. But we should tell them about it."

Dawn straightened and smiled. This could be the answer to everything...and how super-cool would that be?

"Let's move."

After that, it was like a race to the finish line.

oOo

5.42pm

The demon lunged in quickly, and she countered with a kick, then a fast knee into it's abdomen.

It gave her enough time to cast around for another weapon - the cudgel that she'd brought along had unfortunately dissolved when it had come into contact with an earlier opponent's saliva. Yuck.

She still had any number of stakes secreted about her person, but it seemed kind of a shame to waste them on a weakened attacker like this one. She settled for a basic neck-break - that did the trick. One of the demon's horns came off in her hand, and she was left standing with an ikor-dripping horn, glaring at it distastefully while the body at her feet twitched in death.

Gross.

Having no inclination to take the souvenir back to Giles - although he could doubtless find a use for it - Buffy chucked the horn onto the body, and got ready to tow it into a darkened corner. Maybe the dumpster. She frowned. She was running out of places to put the bodies.

And they weren't all her kills, either. She grimaced at the fact that she'd had to clean up after what was obviously Grace's work more than a few times during the day patrol. The girl didn't seem to have any sense of propriety - just did `em and dumped `em.

Bad enough that she's trying to dust my boyfriend. Now I have to tidy up her messes as well?

Oh shit. There - she'd done it again. Called Spike...you know what. She mulled it over as she pulled the demon carcass over to the dumpster, and struggled to lump it over the top.

Maybe...maybe I'm taking this all a little too fast. I mean, it's kind of obvious where all the smooching and stuff is going, and it's nice, sure, but...

What? What was holding her back? It wasn't like they needed to be all secret about it anymore - in fact, she'd made it pretty plain at the Bronze the other night that sneaking around behind everyone's backs wasn't what she wanted.

So what did she want?

I defended him in front of the angels - in front of Giles. I called him `mine'. So why the angst?

Her eyes stared off, away, as she absently pushed a demon arm into the huge bin.

I guess it's just...new. Strange. I mean, one minute we're fighting, and the next minute we're kissing, and then, the minute after that, everybody knows and it's like we're practically engaged or something and it's just too...new. Weird.

Plus the fact that she was still getting these awful dream-flashes in her mind. Spike, vamping out on her, biting into her... She shivered. Trying to sort out her own feelings, when the memories of her dream kept encroaching, was proving to be too much like hard work.

There was something else about the dream, that she couldn't figure out. She remembered it had had something to do with her mom - there'd been sadness, pain... But she couldn't remember all the specifics, and thinking about it was giving her a headache.

But back on the subject of Spike again - she had to admit how she reacted when she heard his voice, saw him. Goosebumpy. Tingly. Like someone had poured a bucket of hot water over her head - a flush, and then a kind of an aching feeling that started in the pit of her stomach, and spiralled up and down through her body, and her skin started to get all sweaty, and warm, and...

Wait. Hormonal. Remember what we said about hormonal? Stop listening to your body, and pay attention to your brain for once.

Meh. This was difficult. Maybe it would be better if she and Spike just cooled off with the smoochy stuff for a while, until after the Gathering. Maybe that would clear her head. At least enough to deal with more urgent matters at hand.

We could just...hold hands, or something. Argh. Touching. Well, maybe we could just...stare longingly at each other...

She snorted.

Yeah, right, that's really gonna work. Or maybe, if he was in the other room...

Oh damn, it was pointless. She needed time and head-space to sort this business out, and she didn't have either. She frowned, and turned to leave the alley.

Can't stand around here talking to myself about it all day, at any rate.

Buffy headed out to the side road that led towards the Magic Box, and from there ducked down the alley behind the shop. She was tired. The `short' day patrol had turned into a three-hour marathon, and she wanted to freshen up before Angel arrived, and then she had to go to the hospital again, and then...

God. There's not enough hours in the day.

She'd almost made it to the back entrance of the shop, and was examining her hands - shower first, manicure...sometime - when she suddenly felt herself pushed sideways, the air knocked out of her lungs from the force of a blow. She slammed into the wall, hair flying into her face, and barely had time to flip before a huge, taloned fist smashed into the brick where her face had been.

She scrambled to her feet, brushed hair out of her eyes to have a good look. Man, this one was ugly - gnarled, warty face with decorative skin tears, oversized clawed hands, and where it's legs were supposed to be, two appendages that looked like the legs of a draught horse, hooves and all. The demon was snarling at her, it's red eyes gleaming, and it feinted out of the way as she tried out a punch-kick combination.

Swift. Okay...

She threw herself forward, then did a little dodge and twist of her own, managing to score points as her fists connected. But the demon was tough - it was wearing some kind of leather armour, and her knuckles smarted from the contact with the studs spotted over it. Then it kicked out, and she understood why it had let her get in so close.

Yeouch. Thank you very much but that hurts...

It had a long range with those horsey-legs - much longer than she wanted to test out, really. And the hooves were nasty, she could already feel the imprint of one on her bruised ribs. Any other day, and she would have beaten the thing up a bit, then cried `uncle' and gone home to nurse her bruises and do a little research before hunting it down later - but this wasn't that day. She couldn't afford to lose a single battle. There were too many demons in town to let any she managed to lay her hands on get away.

So, she grunted from the pain in her ribs, and put her head down and charged. Brute force sometimes worked on heavies like this, and this demon proved to be no exception. It wasn't expecting her to just plough straight in with a shoulder and a cross-cut - overbalanced, the thing tumbled off it's feet - er, hooves - and rolled heavily, tangling Buffy up with itself in the process.

Once she'd gotten it to the `knock-down, drag-out' fight stage, things seemed to improve. The demon worked better when it was upright, using it's legs as it's advantage. But on the ground, it was floundering under her punches. She jumped on top of the thing to smack away, and was almost at the point of reaching into her jacket for a stake when -

"Owww! Goddamnit, quit with the hair!"

She felt herself being dragged off, and quickly whipped up a hand to try and batt away the hand tangled in her hair. She got swatted by another enormous fist for her troubles, and found herself leaning woozily against the wall.

Great. Demon-pals.

The second demon - a matched pair for the first, maybe it's mate - launched a kick at her while she was regaining her feet. The pain in her back and the force of the kick sent her rolling into the alley, fighting for breath. She was still on the ground when the second demon kicked her again, across the jaw.

Ow. Broken jaw? No, not quite. Better...

While the demon was winding up for another kick, she got in one of her own - into it's crotch. The creature howled with pain, and stumbled over. It gave her enough time to rise, and knee it in the face. Then, without wasting any more time, she pulled the stake out of her cuff, and jabbed the thing through the back.

It's friend, Original Demon One, roared with anger, and pounced on her from the side. It had it's hand around her neck - all four fingers making the stretch easily - and she felt her lips purple as the air was squeezed out of her. Her feet were almost off the ground, and the toes of her boots scrambled for purchase.

Have to... get a hand up...

And then the fist around her throat fell away. She dropped to the ground, gasping, feeling the air rush back in in a cool flood. Her eyes were watering, but when she blinked and looked up, it was to see another shape, tall and dark, hammering at her attacker.

It took a few seconds, and then it was over. Angel let the body of the demon, curled over his arm, drop onto the alley dirt. Then he casually walked over and helped Buffy to standing.

The frisson of energy she'd expected to feel through his hand was there, but it was his face she was surprised by. He looked...calmer. More relaxed, or something. Maybe it was the fight, or maybe it was a personal change. She wasn't sure. But he looked a little different somehow.

But that was besides the point. He looked great. And he was smiling at her.

"Hey."

She coughed a little, and when her voice came out it contained barely a hint of post-strangulation raspiness.

"Hey. Thanks."

"No problem."

Buffy let a smile unfold as she took his appearance in. The usual dark, neat-tailored clothes (still wears `em pretty well too), and the unruffled hair, and the tallness - the usual Angel. Just the openness in his face was strange. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to work out what it was...oh well, never mind. She gave him a wry look.

"I guess I should say welcome back to Sunnydale."

Then, because it was kind of awkward, and because she wanted to, she stepped forward and gave him a hug. He returned it, and she felt warmed. It broke the odd tension, and left them both grinning.

"It's good to see you, Buffy."

"You too." Then she remembered her manners, and waved a hand toward the door of the Magic Box. "Hey, come on inside. You're officially invited."

"Thanks," he smiled, then frowned at the two dead demons at their feet. "You wanna?..."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes and shooing the sight away with one hand.

"Urgh - maybe later. I wanna catch my breath first."

Angel stretched his shoulders, then shrugged his jacket back into place, as they walked to the door.

"Well - that kind of helped work the kinks out of my butt after the drive..."

Buffy grinned.

"So, how's the dark and dirty city?"

"Still dark and dirty. Cordy's holding the fort with Wes and Gunn and Fred. I told `em that if things get too hairy they can go hole up at Caritas."

"I've really gotta go and check that place out someday," Buffy said wistfully.

"As long as you promise not to sing," Angel countered quickly, with a repressed smile.

Buffy put a hand to her heart, as if hurt, and gave him an indignant look.

"I have a fine singing voice, I'll have you know..."

"If you say so," Angel murmured, then gave a grinning yelp when she punched his arm. "Hey! Alright, alright - you have a fine singing voice..."

"And don't you forget it," Buffy replied with mock annoyance.

Then she was stopped short by Angel's expression - a kind of nostalgic forlornness. Which she could relate to very well.

"It really is good to see you," he repeated again softly.

She could only smile gently back. Suddenly, a dozen feelings that she'd thought were buried deep enough never to emerge came fluttering up into her throat. She swallowed, and retreated into courtesy, opening the back door of the shop.

"Angel...why don't you come in."

He ducked his head to go inside, and she followed after him. Walking through the training room was getting more difficult, Buffy noticed. Boxes of stuff, mainly weapons, but with other shop deliveries and various useful things, were piled up around the walls, and encroaching on the training area. She noticed an open crate with a few protuding axe handles, and nodded in that direction.

"Check it out - the heavy artillery. Xander must have unloaded it this afternoon."

Angel reached down, and pulled a longsword out of the crate, hefting it for weight.

"Well, it'll come in handy, that's for sure."

Satisfied with the feel of the sword, he settled it back into place, and followed Buffy to the entrance to the front-of-house.

"Come on," she said, waving him forward, "I'm not sure who's still here..."

"Where's Dawn?" Angel asked curiously.

"With Willow and Tara."

And Spike. But she didn't want to discuss that right now. She pushed the door and headed through, pulling Angel by the coat-sleeve.

She spotted Uriel, Giles, and Michael, with the addition of Ray this time, in practically the same position as when she'd left. But now they'd pulled the Demon Map from off the wall out back, and were huddled over it. Uriel was pouring imself a cup of tea, Michael and Raphael were pointing out things to each other on the Map, Giles was standing checking over his notes - all in all, a cosy little strategy meeting. Everybody looked up and straightened upon Buffy and Angel's arrival, and she waved a hand and grinned happily.

"Hey, guys. Look - I brought home a stray."

Angel looked over into Giles' face - the two men nodded at each other in distrustful greeting. Then Giles seemed to get a handle on himself, and cleared his throat.

"Hello."

"Hello, Giles," Angel replied softly.

"How are things in Los Angeles?"

Angel shrugged.

"Dead. Literally. There's been a mass exodus to Sunydale, considering what's going on."

"And your crew?" Giles added politley, gesturing with his teacup.

"Told `em to stay. Didn't seem much point in dragging everybody here - and I'm not sure that they would have all squeezed comfortably into the car for the drive. Besides, I need someone in L.A. to handle anything that might come up over the next few days."

With that explanation over, he perused the other unfamiliar faces at the table.

"So - what's happening?"

Buffy stepped into the breach, with an apologetic grin.

"Oh, sorry, I should introduce you." She turned to each face and indicated the different men with a hand. "This is Uriel, Michael and Ray. They're...helping."

Uriel was the first to disengage from the table, setting his cup down and walking forward to take Angel's hand.

The contact only lasted for a second - Angel wrenched his hand away from the shake with a hiss, and stepped back quickly, staring at the man with narrowed eyes.

"Ow. Nice greeting. Can I settle for just saying hi?"

Uriel was frowning, and looking between Buffy, who'd rushed forward with a look of concern, and the man beside her.

"You're..." he began.

"Angel," the vampire said, still shaking out his fingers from what had felt like an electric shock, or a burn.

"How interesting," Uriel went on drily, "So am I."

He looked between Buffy's frown and Giles's face.

"Another vampire?"

"Yes," Buffy said coolly. She turned to Angel again. "Are you okay?"

But Angel's eyes were still fixed on the three men before him, his face writ large with confusion.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Did you say you were..."

"Uriel Psalter," the older man said, completing the introduction with a faintly apologetic look. "Sorry about the hand, son. I didn't realise."

"It's nothing," Angel murmured.

He peered at Uriel closely, then at the other men in turn.

"Uriel. Michael. Raphael." His face cleared as he made the connection, and then he gave a wry half-grin. "Ookay. I think I get it now. So, where's Gabriel?"

"With Dawn," Buffy said.

"Really?"

Angel's expression revealed that he was still a bit disbelieving, until Giles nodded in his direction.

"Really."

Angel snorted and grinned, staring at the men in front of him like he expected them to sprout wings and flap away.

"Well. Whaddya know..."

But he was interrupted by Michael, who'd edged closer to stare. The red-headed man's gaze swept up and down Angel's figure, and he finally met the vampire's eyes with a disbelieving look of his own.

"You're...you're ensouled."

"Yup," Angel replied with an almost shy grin. "I'm that transparent, huh?"

Uriel was looking between Michael and Angel in confusion, then he blinked at the vampire.

"No wonder I didn't... Well. This really is interesting." He glanced over and narrowed his gaze at Buffy. "But the other vampire I saw - he doesn't..."

"Other vampire?" Angel blurted, before turning to Buffy. "Is he talking about Spike?"

Buffy gave them each a tight smile, turning to Uriel first.

"No, he doesn't." Then she looked at Angel. "And yes, he is. It's...complicated."

That word again. Giles sighed and redirected everyone's attention.

"It certainly is. Shall we, er, sit?"

With a gesture, he indicated the table, and everyone moved back towards it, with a little shuffling, and polite offerings of chairs. Buffy was the only one who seemed to be taking it all in her stride - she was too worn-out to be bothered with the niceties. She clomped over to the research table, assisting Ray as he moved the Map onto the floor to one side, and then flopped wearily into a seat. Giles took in her battle-sore attitude, and moved some papers out of her way as she put her elbows up on the table.

"How was the patrol?"

"Major - and there's a few bodies out in the alley, by the way, but I'll tidy later, `kay?" she sighed, before turning an accusatory look on the angels. "You know, if you could tell your assassin to clean up after herself it'd save me hours of work. She's dumping bodies all over town."

Ray grinned ruefully, chuckling as he pulled his pack of cigarettes out from somewhere under his jumbled clothing.

"That's our Gracie. She never was much for picking up the mess."

"Well, it's a pain in the butt," Buffy scowled grumpily. Not too grumpily - it was hard to be grumpy at Ray.

Angel, sitting beside her on a long bench, gave a curt wave.

"Uh, anybody want to fill me in on what's going on here? Who's Grace?"

"Oh. Right." Buffy turned to look at Giles. "May I?"

He nodded, pleased to relieve himself of the onerous task, and knowing that Buffy would do a more succinct job of it in any case.

Buffy turned back to Angel with a thoughtful expression.

"Okay, let me think... Well, in a nutshell - the Gathering's on Friday afternoon in Main Street, the angels here are going into battle with me, Grace is the Angel of Death - currently running amok in Sunnydale - and she's after Spike, who's helping us out."

She frowned back at Giles.

"Did I leave anything out?" Apart from the `Spike and me dating' part, which I think I'll save for another time...

Then she turned back to Angel, remembering.

"Oh, and my mom comes out of hospital tomorrow morning." She sighed up at the vampire, who was looking at her with a thoroughly flabbergasted expression. "All in all, just a regular week in my uneventful life."

"Wow." Angel's face went from amazed to concerned. "Is your mom okay?"

Buffy nodded, grateful that he'd asked.

"She's fine. Thanks."

Giles leaned over, deciding to continue at this point.

"So, as Buffy said, things are busy."

"'Busy' being ole Rupert's word for `manic'," Ray added with a grin, which Giles couldn't help but return.

Angel seemed to be finally getting his mind around it all. He had lived in Sunnydale, before, after all.

"Okay. So, what do you need me for?"

.

"Everything," Buffy admitted. "Well, I mean, we need as much help as we can get."

Giles nodded in agreement with her summation, but decided to add a few relevant details.

"Sunnydale is being over-run with demons and other entities for the Gathering. Buffy and these gentlemen here -" He tilted his head towards the angels, "- should be able to handle the Gathering itself, but basically we need to keep the town alive until Friday, and then afterwards."

Uriel leaned forward and took over smoothly.

"Even if the Balance is successful -"

"What's the Balance?" Angel asked confusedly.

Michael filled the gap helpfully.

"The moment when the Forces of Good and Evil meet - when Primordial Power makes the reckoning."

Ray picked up Giles' collated stack of notes, and let them thump onto the table in front of the vampire.

"Here - read this."

Angel winced at the enormous text.

"Sure. Maybe later - but I think I get the general idea." He looked up at the watching faces. "So, you need another soldier."

"Definitely," Michael agreed. "Buffy can't handle the current demon population alone."

"Well, hey, I've had help," Buffy interrupted. "And Grace has been doing her share too, even if she does rival Dawn for leaving things in chaos behind her."

She swung to face Angel, her expression suddenly serious.

"But Michael's right. I've been Slaying my guts out for over a week, and the demons just keep coming. And on the subject of Slaying," she said to Giles with a frown, "did Xander get more stakes in that new delivery?"

"Of course," Giles nodded, before looking over at Ray expectantly. "But perhaps you could share the other information that you gathered earlier..."

"Oh. Sure."

The older man lit up his smoke and pulled himself up from the table.

"Well, how's about you bring that map up here..."

With Michael's help, they slid the Demon Map onto the table, and then collected themselves around it. Ray immediately went into lecturer-mode, puffing away amiably.

"Right. Well, you got major nests in the hills here, here, here, here...and there," he said, pointing at the relevant locations with a grubby finger. "That's like, more than five hundred demons in each nest - and still growing. You can see that most of `em are still on the outskirts of town - that's to avoid any large-group skirmishes."

He cast a look in Angel's direction, explaining.

"Friday will be the day they band together, but clan-wars are still in force before then, so until the Gathering, it's still on for young and old, if you know what I mean."

Angel nodded his understanding, and Ray continued.

"I scouted some of the wooded areas, and there's loose families, and other more fluid groupings, in spots all over the place. There's maybe two or three thousand in that lot. The local hang-outs are in warehouses mostly, or abandoned buildings, the sewers, etcetera etcetera - see there, and there, for instance. Basically spread all over the show. Sunnydale sure has plenty of hidey-holes, don't it?"

"You're telling me," Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah. Well, there's about a thousand bad guys in town as we speak, although it's not easy to notice. And even the locals who have noticed seem to have some weird idea about bikie gangs or something..."

"...on PCP," Buffy finished drily. "Yeah, we know."

"It's a common misconception in these parts," Giles added with a humourless smile. "Sunnydale residents have the curious ability to see only what they want to see."

Uriel nodded sagely.

"That's the effect of the Hellmouth. A kind of glamour."

"I've suspected as much over the years," Giles mused.

Buffy rasied her eyes to the ceiling and sighed.

"Yeah, that's Sunnydale for you."

"Anyway," Ray cut in, wanting to finish his monologue, "this slow trickle into town is almost a river, and it's gonna be a flood by Friday."

He peered at Buffy questioningly.

"You've been killing, what...fifty, sixty demons a day?"

"'Bout that," she nodded.

Angel looked appalled.

"Are you serious? Buffy, that's crazy!"

She shrugged, and looked gracefully embarrassed.

"Well, like I said, I've had help." She caught Ray's eye as she turned. "And Grace has upped the count, remember."

He mulled this over, frowning.

"So, with this guy's assistance," He lifted his chin towards Angel, "you might have bagged about two hundred or so by Friday?"

"I guess. With Angel, and Grace on back-up, maybe three hundred - more."

Ray looked genuinely concerned then. He turned to Uriel, his brows knit in frustration.

"It's not enough." Catching Buffy's face out of the corner of his eye, he spun back quickly to placate her. "Hey, honey, I'm not criticizing - there's just one of you, so don't take it the wrong way. All I'm saying is that we need to start pushing the odds in your favour a bit."

Buffy did her best to look contrite.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I just...feel a bit outnumbered."

"Well, no wonder," Angel exclaimed with an expression of worry. "You've really been Slaying this many?"

"Yeah."

"So - when do you sleep?"

She shrugged, thinking about it. Sleep? A whole night's sleep? What was that?

"Lately, hardly ever," she admitted. Then she turned to her Watcher. "Giles, I've been meaning to tell you about that..."

Giles peered down at her, the concern in his face evident.

"Buffy, you really should try and rest when you -"

"But that's the thing," she interrupted quickly. "I'm too buzzy. I mean, part of me is really exhausted...but another part is like it's been turbo-charged or something."

She whipped around to face Uriel.

"Could that have something to do with the Gathering?"

"I'm sure of it," the angel nodded reassuringly, "And you've noticed a quickening of the reflexes, and your senses?"

"Yeah."

"It's a defence mechanism. A glamour of your own, if you will - one benefit of the Gathering, as the energy of the Balance moves closer."

"Well, that's a bonus," Buffy said with a sarcastic grin.

"But Rupert is right," Uriel went on with a warning glance. "You should rest when you can. You body still needs some nourishment in sleep."

Ray cleared his throat to interrupt, ashing his cigarette in an empty teacup.

"And right now, you've only been scraping the surface of the demon population. Most of the entities cruising around in the open at the moment are just riff-raff - outcasts, hired mercs, newbie vamps, that sort of thing. You won't see the real deal until Friday, when the serious clan-heads come out of the woodwork."

"Great," she groaned.

"So listen to your Watcher," Ray added, casting her a meaningful glance. "Save some of that energy for the big day."

"Right. So what about tonight?"

"You and Angel should patrol together," Giles suggested, obviously concerned by the information that Ray had revealed, and trying to cover all the bases.

"Can I make a recommendation?" Ray said. "Try here, and here, and here - that's gonna clear out some of the immediate danger for residents in those areas at least."

"Gotcha," Buffy nodded. She turned to Angel. "You okay with that?"

He made a expansive hand gesture, and grinned down at her.

"Fine with me. Just point me in the right direction. I've been looking forward to a good fight."

Uriel fixed him with a hard stare.

"Well, you'll get that - and maybe more besides." He inclined his head towards Buffy. "Michael and I will also be patrolling."

"You guys?" She grinned impishly. "What about peace, love, and heavenly thoughts?"

"We're heaven's warriors too, remember," Michael replied, grinning back at her. "Tonight our heavenly thoughts come with heavenly swords."

Buffy smiled at him, enjoying the thought of extra patrolees in the field.

"Well, pitch in, by all means. You won't see me complaining." She looked over at Ray with querying eyes. "You're not on Slaying duty too?"

He shook his head sadly.

"Sorry, got other fish to fry. Recon - again. I want to check out the tunnels under the campus, and a few other places."

Giles raised his teacup in Buffy's line of vision to attract her notice.

"And I'll be researching, with..." He sighed heavily, "...Xander and Anya. Mainly for more information on the spells we sent over to Willow, but I also want to prepare some things for myself."

He stared into her face, with a warm look that gave her a supportive mental boost.

"I'll be right behind you on Friday, in whatever capacity..."

Buffy reached out and put a hand on his arm with a soft smile.

"You're always at your best capacity, Giles."

Then she gave him a warning frown.

"But, let me say again that you'll be about two hundred feet behind me, with the others. I don't want a stray demon screwing up my magical defence. With the angels in front with me, and Angel and Spike on flank, we might be able to get everyone out of this alive."

Angel's confused voice sounded behind her.

"I'm still not sure what the hell Spike's doing involved with all this."

Buffy turned to meet his bewildered face, cast a quick glance back at Giles and the others, then tugged on Angel's arm, drawing him away from the table. Her expression was slightly nervous, but resolute.

"Let's...have a talk."

The other men watched for a moment as they moved away to the far end of the shop counter, then judiciously returned their attention back to the Demon Map, and further round-table discussion. Giles kept his head down, not wanting to watch the couple, and wondering for a moment how Angel would take the news. He didn't have to wonder long. After a period of muted muttering, Giles heard Angel's voice rise out of the conversation.

"You what?!"

Giles tried very hard not to grin, as he straightened his notes. It seemed that having Spike on side was going to provide some interesting entertainment value, if nothing else. His face still held the trace of a suppressed smile as he looked up at the other men.

"More tea, anyone?"

oOo

8.15pm

Dawn hung up the phone, and glanced back around the room. The crowded room, she amended. Willow was looking up at her expectantly.

"Is everything okay? What did she say?"

Dawn shrugged with her answer.

"Just hi to everyone, and she'll catch you soon. She's going on patrol now until late, with Angel." There was the sound of a disgusted snort across from her, but Dawn ignored it. "And Mom says hi, too. We're taking her home tomorrow at ten."

"Well, that's great," Willow beamed. Then she lifted her hands to wave Dawn back towards her. "Now come back on over here."

Dawn sighed melodramatically.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. Just let me try one more time."

"Okay," Dawn intoned cheerlessly, then took the few short steps over to the red-haired woman on the floor, lifting her feet over candles, Gabriel's legs, and other obstacles.

She sat down on the carpet inside the small witching circle, tucking her sweater under her. Gabriel was also sitting on the floor, outside the circle, a heavy book cradled on his knees. Once Dawn was in position, he leaned forward to help light the candles.

"Maybe you should try lighting some incense or something this time," he suggested. "You know, conjure the mood."

A low, disgruntled voice interrupted.

"You want to gas us all to death?"

Spike had pulled himself up to sitting on the bed, with the help of a few pillows behind his back. He was shirtless, and had a bandage around his left upper bicep. The large square of bandage on his chest, held on with surgical tape, made him look slightly ridiculous, but he was doing his best to try and maintain some dignity. `Maintaining his dignity' at this point in time seemed to involve him being particularly irritating, Dawn noticed.

Spike waved a hand at the confines of the dorm room, drily explaining what, to him, was the bleeding obvious.

"The room's too small - too many people exhaling."

Tara pulled her head out of the cupboard long enough to slip in a quiet retort.

"Well, at least you don't come into that category." She narrowed her eyes at him as he slid over to the edge of the bed, preparing to swing his legs over the side. "You're gonna try standing up on your own again?"

"So?"

"That's...adventurous."

Spike made a face.

"What's adventurous is being in a room full of young ladies with my nipples exposed. Have you found me a shirt yet?"

"I'm working on it."

She ducked back into the cupboard, rummaging through the contents.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and leaned in towards the two girls beside him.

"Is he always this grumpy?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Yes," Willow replied firmly. She lit a final candle and placed it between herself and Dawn.

Dawn leaned in confidingly towards Gabriel.

"Only when he nearly gets dusted by maniac Angels-of-Death," she said with a grin.

Spike, having heard the whole exchange, raised his voice to interject irritably.

"And I still think that you fellows might have thought to mention that fact before she showed up in Sunnydale."

"But, we didn't know she was -" Gabriel began.

"Ignore him, Gabriel," WIllow interrupted. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

She smiled at Dawn amiably.

"Okay, are you ready to give this another try?"

"I guess," Dawn shrugged.

"Good. Then just focus on my hand."

She held up one hand, palm up, in front of Dawn's face. The younger girl stared down into it obediently, like she was staring into a pool of water, or scrying from a bowl.

Spike, meanwhile, was still grumbling quietly on the bed. He'd managed to fold his long legs over the side, and was watching the magical goings-on with one eye, while keeping his other eye on Tara.

"Where's that shirt?"

"It's coming," Tara muttered. She emerged from the cupboard with a victorious expression, and a scrap of dark material in one hand, which she quickly tossed to Spike. "Here, try that on."

He snagged the t-shirt out of the air, and unfurled it against his chest. It was black - that was a good start. But then he saw the screen-printed stars, and the `Take Back The Night' logo. With an irritated glare, he stared back at Tara.

"Oh, ha ha. Well, I can't wear this."

"Why not?" It required all her effort not to grin. "You said something dark."

Spike groaned, and let himself fall back onto the pillows.

"Oh, for pity's sake... Why can't I just wear my own t-shirt?"

"Because, as I've already told you, it's filthy, and has a huge burned-out hole in the front. Willow threw it out."

"What?!"

Willow glanced up at him abruptly with a frustrated expression.

"Spike, will you please shut up - I'm trying to concentrate."

She returned her attention to the spell, composed her features, and began a low recitation of Latin words that Dawn didn't understand.

But whatever the words were, they felt right. Dawn closed her eyes involuntarily as a warm feeling of strange anticipation started to build inside her. The feeling grew, centred on her heart, and began to take on a burning sensation. Dawn gasped quietly, as she felt something like a current inside her body begin to move, to swell and coalesce.

"...alter vigoris concedere unitas...Dawn, open your eyes, honey..."

Although it felt difficult to do so, Dawn obeyed the gentle command, and found herself staring at Willow's upraised palm. It seemed to grow huge in her line of vision, filling her sight and her mind. The tiny lines on the surface of the skin, the rosy colour beneath, the pores, opening and closing with the breath, the life, the energy...

Spike, unobserved by the others - Tara was still trawling through the drawers - slowly edged himself forward. He'd stopped watching the action on the floor, fairly certain by now that this attempt, like the other attempts before it, would probably go cock-eyed again in any case.

He braced one hand on the night-stand, and one on the bed, and stared at a point somewhere between them. Okay, focus. Standing up unassisted - it couldn't be that hard anymore. After all, he'd done it a thousand, a million times before... Sure, it was easy. Just had to focus...

Ignoring the faint blurring in the sides of his vision that had started when he'd sat hmself up, he steadied his feet on the floor, and then made a leap of faith - or possibly, bravado - and pulled himself abruptly to standing.

There. Did it. See? - wasn't so...

The sudden wash of blackness that descended over his eyes took him completely by surprise. The nausea, however, was familiar. He realised that he was going to fall about half a second before it actually happened, and managed to stagger one hand behind him before wobbling sideways, missing the bed totally and crashing inelegantly to the floor. His left foot skidded out from underneath him, kicking out the candles on his side of the witching circle, and connecting sharply with Dawn's knee.

Willow and Dawn both gasped and jerked backwards, the soft bluish light that had developed between them sucking back quickly into each of their respective bodies. They both looked over at Spike's sprawled form with matching indignant glares, and their voices wailed in unison.

"Spike!!"

He raised his head weakly from the carpet, peering around confusedly.

"What?"

oOo

12.42pm

"Now - remember what Giles and Uriel said." Angel said quietly. "Rest. Save your energy. You need it."

"Right," Buffy said as she mounted the stairs. There he goes again, with the over-protective gig. She cast a quick look back at Angel, her expression wry. "Thanks for the reminder, mom."

"My pleasure," Angel returned with a grin.

Then, as Buffy put her hand on the doorknob, he gave her a strange, faintly apologetic look.

"And hey - what I said before...about you and, uh, Spike. I didn't mean -"

Buffy cut him off with an upraised hand.

"Don't worry about it, it's okay. I understand. Really."

Her voice was a bit weary - all this explaining, and apologising, and blah blah blah...it was making her head more tired than an all-night patrol. Too much effort, when all she wanted to do was shower and change into her comfortable (if old) Yummy Sushi pajamas and crawl into her own sweet bed...

The whole night had been like that. Angel, walking beside her, eyes downcast in his usual way, skirting certain topics of conversation, and trying to save her from throwing herself into the thickest parts of the fray, in a way she found increasingly aggravating.

Thanks, but I've been handling it just fine until you arrived, and the demons won't just close up shop after you leave...

She was beginning to wonder if this had been such a great idea. Sure, she needed the extra hands-on, but being with Angel again, all the baggage that brought to the surface - was it worth it? Having him around wasn't making things any easier on her, emotionally. And her headspace was already too screwed up as things stood. The Gathering, her mom, Spike...

Spike...

She gave a mental sigh.

Maybe I should make a door-sign - `one demon lover at a time please'...

Instead, she swallowed hard and gave Angel a stoic smile.

"I'm fine. Honest. But...do you mind if we just drop it?"

His answering expression was reserved, a little confused.

"Uh - sure."

"So, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?" She brightened her smile a bit to take the sting out of her stand-offishness. "Are you gonna be okay later? For a place to stay, I mean."

"Yeah, I'm good. But don't worry about me. Just make sure you get -"

"- some rest," she finished with a patient nod. "Thanks, I got it. Well, I better get inside, in that case."

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

She was about to open the door, then felt bad that she'd been so abrupt. Turning back, she noticed that he was getting ready to walk off.

"Uh - Angel?"

Her voice encouraged him to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

Buffy warmed her face, and her smile. He deserved that - more than that, in fact, but she just didn't have the energy.

"I wanted to say thanks - thanks for tonight. And thanks for coming. This thing is big, way too big for me to handle alone, and...I really appreciate that you're here."

It was a bit of an exaggeration, the last bit, for reasons all her own, and Buffy blushed a little, feeling like she was deceiving him. Not deceiving, she reminded herself, I really do appreciate the help. It's just...sparing him my angst.

But Angel either didn't seem to notice, or didn't mind if he did. His grin lit up the night, and he ducked his head in acknowledgment.

"No problem. Goodnight."

"G'night."

And at last, she was free to turn the handle of the door and step inside. She closed it behind herself and leaned against the wood for a moment, head down, loose hair falling around her face. Her mind was crackling. She couldn't bring herself to release the tension inside with a long breath. She felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders aching.

God. Intense - too intense. Maybe I should have a bath, try and -

"So, what's the count for tonight?"

Buffy glanced up and reached automatically for a stake, but then recognised the voice before her instincts to lash out kicked in. Dawn blanched for a moment to see her sister react - normally, Buffy would have let her guard down when she came in the door. Not tonight, though, it appeared.

Buffy took a look at Dawn's cautious face, and grimaced in apology.

"Oh - hi. Sorry - still on over-rev, I guess."

"No kidding," Dawn breathed. She frowned at her sister in concern. "Rough night at the office?"

Buffy puffed out a mirthless laugh. Rough night - rough life.

"Yeah. Lots of blood-thirsty bad guys. But hey -" she reassured Dawn wearily, " - we kicked their asses."

"Oh yeah," Dawn remembered, "you and Angel did the patrol together. Did it help?"

Buffy thought about it for a second, but had to concede a nod.

"Yeah, actually. He's a pretty mean fighter. Took out a dozen or so all on his lonesome."

It had been strange though, she thought, watching Angel work again. She'd forgotten what his style was like - workman-like, but with a smooth grace. She remembered the first time she'd seen him fight, really fight, taking on a group of vamps, killing them all with casual efficiency. At the time, she'd been awe-struck, wondering whether she'd ever get that fast and professional.

Tonight, she'd realised that she had. In fact, her fighting style had improved a lot - quicker, more creative, more powerful, with a sparkling glamour that she noticed Angel lacked.

Glamour. Remember what Uriel said - I've got my own glamour now.

That had to account for some of it, she knew. But only some. Whether her fighting style had been given a little boost by the Gathering now or not, she felt the difference in her work that could only be accounted for by maturity. She'd changed, grown as a person, and it was reflected in her style. Battling beside Angel tonight had revealed just how much.

I'm seasoned, now - and...I'm better than he is. If we fought now, I'd win.

The thought came with a pang, but with a little exultant thrill as well.

Because she knew it was true. And she knew how it had happened too - above and beyond the whole `older, wiser' thing.

It was from fighting with Spike. Sparring with him - to the death, or otherwise - had altered her methods, honed her rough edges to a brilliant sheen. He was a challenge, even when he wasn't actively trying to kill her, and he brought out her excellence, her innate competitiveness, and her perpetual desire to win. She'd even taken on a touch of his brutal finesse.

Guess it had to rub off. To become the best you have to fight the best.

She wondered, with an uneasy twinge, if her best would be enough for the Gathering.

Dawn was saying something, and Buffy returned to the conversation with an effort.

"Sorry - what did you say?"

Dawn smiled at her forbearingly.

"I said, must've been weird - goin' strollin' with the ex."

"Huh?" Buffy blinked at Dawn absently. "Oh - yeah. I guess. It wasn't too bad. We -we didn't really get into those vibes."

"Really?"

Dawn seemed interested. She was looking at Buffy's face, thinking something over.

"Really," Buffy affirmed with a nod. "Less strolling, more fighting, y'know? Guess we were just too busy to think about it."

"Huh."

Wow - there it is. She's really over him, Dawn thought with surprise. Even if she doesn't know it yet. But it was probably better to let Buffy figure that out for herself. Dawn shrugged at her sister affably.

"Well - cool. That's great."

Then she casually let slip the information she'd been waiting up to divulge.

"Oh, by the way, there's something you should know."

"What?" Buffy said, her eyes narrowing immediately.

"I, uh, brought someone home with me."

Buffy's frown darkened.

"Dawn, I don't think -"

"Don't wig out, okay? It's Spike."

"What?"

Dawn grinned at Buffy's double-take, then talked fast to ensure that her plans didn't get squashed.

"Come on, Buffy - where else is he gonna go? The crypt's not safe, Giles and Xander won't go near him, and Willow and Tara's dorm room is too small. Plus the fact that it might be a little uncomfortable, him bunking with a pair of lesbians - no matter how many suggestive comments he made to the contrary..."

Dawn rolled her eyes, remembering with a grin the saucy conversation that had gone on (over her head, supposedly) in the dorm room before she'd made her suggestion. And a good thing she'd offered Spike a bunk, too, she thought - as much as the witches had tried to be accommodating for Spike's benefit, by the end of the day Dawn could tell that their patience was fading fast.

Buffy was looking a little taken aback, but her expression said that she could hardly object.

"Right. Well...I guess it's okay. I mean, sure," she nodded.

Dawn's smile broadened immediately.

"Great. So, I put him in your room, and you can sleep in Mom's."

"My room?" Buffy squeaked.

"Well, yeah," Dawn shrugged. "He can't exactly take the couch - he's still recuperating. And Mom's room is free til tomorrow."

"Yeah. I guess."

Buffy breathed out a sigh.

Trust Dawn to engineer something like this...well, at least she told me before I walked in on him.

It was fine, really, but...well, it was just a little unnerving. It was Spike, in her room, in her bed. In the bed that she'd been in this morning when she'd dreamed of him vamping out and attacking her. It just felt a little...weird.

Plus the fact that she was still trying to get her brain around the whole `me and Spike/Spike and me' thing. Being with Angel during patrol, explaining the general situation with him beforehand, hadn't really helped either. He'd been disbelieving, of course - no, make that totally amazed, utterly confused, vaguely horrified.

And with good reason, I guess, Buffy sighed. Me and Spike. Spike and me. It hardly seems like a match made in heaven. More like a match made in Hellmouth...

But...whatever her brain might be saying, her body certainly wasn't listening. Whenever she and Spike were together lately - and even when they weren't, which was, possibly, worse - all she could think about was his hands, doing...interesting things, and his lips...

She pushed the thoughts away. Stay rational - they'd kissed a few times, that's all. Fine. And he was here, recovering from the encounter with Grace. Fine. It wasn't like he was moving in or anything. Any involvement they had was still strictly at the `recently acknowledged' phase, and surely they could both respect that while he was staying in the house.

So it was all fine. Spike and her could interract, like normal, non-kissing people, and Dawn was here anyway, and they could just talk at the door, and she wouldn't even...um, touch, or anything...and they wouldn't...oh...oh dear.

She shook her head to clear it.

No - it doesn't have to be like that. It can just be casual, relaxed. We can talk. That's right. Talk, and be casual. We can do that.

We can do that when we're not ripping each other's clothes off, and...

"Buffy?"

"Huh?"

She blinked at Dawn owlishly. Dawn had one eyebrow crooked up, and was regarding her with a bemused expression.

"Geez - you are totally in the zone tonight. So, look, I was saying that I gave Spike some fresh sheets, and I'm gonna crash. I was just waiting up to let you know about the sleeping arrangements. Okay?"

"Uh, sure."

Buffy nodded her head and tried to sound focussed. She caught Dawn's eye apologetically.

"Sorry, I'm just tired."

"S'okay. Me too." Dawn grinned at her. "Hey, I'm just getting a glass of milk before bed - you want any?"

"Uh, no - thanks."

"'Kay. Well, I'll see you in the morning." In whatever bed you end up sleeping in, Dawn thought with a mental grin.

"Yeah - g'night."

"G'night."

Dawn gave her a quick smile, then headed for the kitchen, the tie of her robe trailing on the carpet.

Buffy watched her go, frowning a little at her sister.

What a set-up. Oh well, guess I better check-in and see how our resident vamp is holding up.

She needed to collect her pajamas anyway. With an apprehensive thrill, which she tried very hard to stamp on, she began taking the stairs.

It felt kind of strange, to be knocking on her own bedroom door. She heard Spike's voice come softly in reply.

"Yeah? Niblet?"

She edged open the door a crack, not wanting to peek inside just yet.

"No - it-it's me. Are you decent?"

His grin was evident in his voice.

"Can't remember the last time I was decent, love. Come on in."

She rolled her eyes, but opened the door and took a step inside anyway.

Spike was sitting on the window-ledge, the window wide open. He was blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the night air outside, and was in the process of waving away the remnants of it - considering that it was Buffy's room at all. He turned to look over at her.

Buffy's breath sucked in quickly. He was shirtless, and barefoot, clad only in his usual black jeans. His torso gleamed in the soft lamplight from her nightstand.

Decent. Oh yeah, that's decent alright... She swallowed and tried not to blush.

Spike just smiled at her welcomingly.

"Hey - the mighty warrior returns."

"Hey yourself," she smiled softly.

Oh boy...casual, just casual, remember? She edged towards the dresser, waving a hand at it in an effort to be casual.

"I just need...um, pajamas and stuff."

"Oh - yeah, right. Well, help yourself. It's your room."

"Yeah."

My room - my bed... She suddenly yearned to explain things, the mess her brain was in, tell him about her dream, assuage the awkwardness. But the words dried up in her mouth, and she was reduced to shrugging and looking around helplessly.

He looked apologetic about it all.

"Look, sorry about this, but the Niblet insisted that -"

"No, Spike - don't worry. It's fine. Really. I can take my Mom's room."

"Right," he said, still looking oddly uncomfortable, mirroring her mood. "Sure. Still, I could crash on the couch if you -"

She held up a hand to stop him before he talked his way into sleeping on the back porch.

"Spike - it's okay."

"Oh. Okay then."

She shed her boots, and set them aside on the carpet, then knelt down to open the drawer and gather her things. When she looked up again, he'd moved - silent as a cat, as always - and was now sitting on the edge of the bed, nearer to the lamp. His chin was down, and he was examining his chest, with a bit of difficulty, one hand raised to poke at the burnt skin there.

It was the first time she'd seen the wound since the morning, when they'd dragged him into Giles' spare room. It was a nasty burn, only half-palm-size now and dark around the edges. His vamp-healing was kicking in okay, it seemed - the cut on his left arm was now only a vague red line - but the scorch-mark was still livid in the centre, and sore-looking.

She frowned, and stood up, coming over automatically to see.

"That still looks ouchy," she said, wincing sympathetically.

"It is."

He grimaced, and prodded it tentatively. It wasn't that easy to check it out - it was too high up on his chest, and a mirror was out of the question, of course.

She frowned at him disapprovingly.

"Don't pick at it."

"Can't help it. It itches."

"Wait - just..."

She pushed his fingers away, with a warning look not to touch, then opened a drawer in the night-stand to pull out a tube of aloe vera ointment from her first-aid store. She slipped off her leather jacket, slung it over the back of a chair, and pulled the chair over to play nursemaid.

Spike watched her unscrew the cap from the tube with suspicion.

"This isn't gonna hurt, is it?"

"No. Wimp."

The clear ointment was cold on her fingertips, and she began applying it to the wound with a carefully cultivated air of detachment. See? Just talking, and casual, and helping him out with this burn-thingy. And nothing else.

He had his hands down on the edge of the bed, and was playing it as coolly as she was.

"So - how did the patrol go?"

"Oh, fine. Busy - again. The angels were patrolling the other side of town, and Grace is still out there too, somewhere."

Oh dear - talking, and being casual, both at the same time. Have to watch out for a concentration lapse...

"Hm. Body count?"

"About a ninety, I think. I'm losing track."

Come on, girl - you're the ultimate multi-tasker. This can't be such a difficult thing, just casual talking, casual wound-tending, casual -

"Sorry I missed all the fun. And the Big Brood was a gentleman, was he?"

She caught the edge of suspicion (is that a little jealousy, I hear Spike?) in his voice, and grinned, keeping her eyes on the burn.

"Perfectly." She thought about it for a minute, then went on slowly. "He was fine. Just a little..."

"What?"

"Well, he was a little too gentlemanly, if you know what I mean. Kept trying to screen me - kinda got in my way a bit."

"Right," Spike replied neutrally, his mind ticking over. And she really hates that...

"And it really got on my nerves after a while," Buffy went on with a little grimace.

"Sure," Spike nodded evenly. The touch of her fingers on his chest was tickling, and making him think of all kinds of naughty things, so he kept his eyes on her face, and prodded a bit more. He could see there was something else.

"And?"

"Plus...um...well, how can I say this? He seemed a little...slow," she admitted.

Well, she had to confide in someone about it, and at least he would know what the hell she was talking about. As she expected, her revelation made his face blossom into a wicked grin.

"So - now you know, eh?" Spike shot back, leaning back on his hands with a look of undisguised delight.

"Know what?"

His smile was expansive, entertainingly arrogant, and he spoke the words with relish.

"That I'm the better fighter. Always have been. Angel's just too stingy to admit it."

"Geez - full of yourself much? And excuse me, but I think I was drawing a comparison between Angel and myself, not him and you."

Spike just shrugged, giving her a pointed look.

"And you've only been sparring with me for what, the better part of two years now, right? Come on, Slayer - give praise where it's due. The way I figure it, I score at least a few points worth of reflected glory."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help grinning back at him - he was right. And she'd been the one to bring it up, after all. She returned her gaze to his wound, and lathed on more ointment, then tapped the edge of the burn gently.

"Still didn't keep you from getting your ass kicked by Grace," she reminded him, deflating his ego a touch in the process.

He grimaced and reached for his shirt.

"Yeah, well if that angel-bint hadn't knocked the stuffing out of me I'd have been out there tonight. You'd have seen your little comparison test first-hand. You done?"

She nodded, replacing the cap on the tube, and sitting back on her chair. She watched him carefully pull on a white men's shirt that looked like it had been scavenged from somewhere, probably the dorm, and tilted her head.

"So, you sure you're okay?"

"Better," he nodded. "Almost up to scratch. Little Sis fetched me some bags from the blood bank - should help. I'll be right by tomorrow."

"Good."

There wasn't anything else to do, and all her excuses for still being in the room were used up. She put away the ointment, then turned to face him with a cheery smile.

"Well, I guess we should both get some sleep."

Would he sleep? It was still night... But it wasn't her concern, so she should just... She braced both hands on her knees and started pushing off the chair.

Spike reached out swiftly and grabbed one of her hands in a light clasp. She sat back down with a little thump.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?"

His voice was low and more than playful, and when she met his eyes, the blue of them magnetised her.

Oh boy. What about the smoochy-moratorium? Oh...oh...well, what would it hurt? Just a nice, casual goodnight kiss. And Dawn's right across the hall, so there's no chance of, um, anything...

She cleared her throat, and composed herself.

"A goodnight kiss...um, sure, okay..."

This isn't going to help clear your head, girl...oh, forget it. Just kiss him and get the hell out of here.

She leaned forward to meet him halfway, as he inclined his head towards her. With a little hitching breath, she inched closer and planted her lips on his.

It was light, tender - his lips were dizzyingly soft, faintly dry. She closed her eyes.

Mmm..nice. Extremely nice.

Too nice to be legal, in some states, she was sure.

Better check...

She opened her mouth just a little, and got a sudden buzz as she tasted the tip of his tongue. Wet, and supple...not intruding, just...waiting. She realised with alarm that her lips were trembling, and her breath was held tight in her throat.

And he'd hardly moved at all. He was just sitting, entwining the fingers of one of her hands lightly in his, relaxing into the kiss, not asking for more. Which was even worse - or better...or...oh dear.

When she pulled herself away, she was still holding onto her breath. And he was looking at her, through heavy-lidded eyes, watching her face as her colour rose, bare inches separating their lips. She was mesmerised by his gaze - so blue, so dark and inviting...

"This is the part where you toddle off chastely to your mum's room."

His voice was now deep, gravelly, and ever so slightly rasping. It was the only indication that their kiss had had any effect on him. But she could feel the silent hum in his body, and she shivered.

"Yeah."

Oh god, casual - what happened to casual? But the sight of his lips had transfixed her, and she felt herself lean in again.

Their lips shuddered together, and she inhaled against his mouth. Her movement seemed to break through a tiny chink in his control, and he pressed in more firmly this time, encouraging her mouth to open just a little further, to knead in just a little harder. She made a soft noise, that sounded suspiciously like a moan. When they broke apart this time, it required somewhat more effort.

He stared at her and grinned shamelessly.

"Goodnight."

His eyes were laughing, hers were wide and hungry.

"Goodnight."

But it sounded weak, even to her ears. And she hadn't moved a muscle to leave.

Then like a snake, unfurling slowly out of the basket to the strains of Indian flutes, she felt herself sink forward again. His lips were so close, and he was pulsing with energy kept in check, and it was intoxicating. And her eyes began to close as she slid towards him, and -

Stop. Back up. Reverse. This is not casual - this is about as far from casual as...as something very far away. So - Just - Stop.

And after a momentary struggle with her body, which for one alarming second had refused to cooperate, she did. She veered her head back, avoiding certain impact and, doubtless, insanity, and shook it, keeping her eyes closed, away from the sight of him. Then she held up a hand, as if it ward him off, and heaved out a breath.

"Right."

She cleared her throat, and forced herself to look into his face. He was wearing a bemused, faintly disappointed expression. She nodded to herself, affirming her own decision - good decision, intelligent decision - and swallowed around the dryness in her mouth.

"Right. Goodnight."

"Oh. Okay. Goodnight then."

His apparently-relaxed tone of voice made her narrow her eyes at him. Right. Oh. Oh damn, what did she care? Determined now, she pushed up off the chair and took a step away.

It all happened very quickly. She moved, then Spike moved to match her, reaching out swiftly to grab her by one trailing wrist, pulling her to him in a single smooth motion - she whirled into his embrace, seeking his mouth instinctively, and the kiss this time was electric.

His soft lips parted, to take her mouth at an angle, deep and drawing and langorously sensuous. His tongue was lathing the inside of her mouth, pulling her closer, and she was sinking into him, responding in kind with a whimper.

Their tongues entwined, and Buffy could feel the thick warmth radiating up through her middle, to pour out into every limb.

Like a bucket of hot water...

The tingle drizzled all the way down to her toes, her fingertips, and she moaned against his mouth as Spike deepened the kiss, tasting the back of her throat. It was the most voluptuous kiss Buffy thought she'd ever experienced, and she didn't want him to stop, ever.

She was standing between his legs, her hair falling loose around his face, one arm cradling his head, and one on his shoulders for support as her knees began to go watery.

Spike's arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, one hand reaching up her back to stroke between her shoulderblades, and every place their bodies met it was like she was on fire.

Something changed - her response hardened him, he drew back a little, making a hungry growl deep in his throat, then plunged his tongue forward again, the tenor of his kissing altered, picking up pace and becoming more ferocious.

Buffy countered with hunger of her own.

Oh god, I want this.

It was no use denying it - and with his lips and tongue ravaging her mouth, she had no inclination to do so. Instead, she let the tension sigh out of her, into his mouth, feeding her own fierceness, her teeth scraping his lower lip. And when he gasped, with surprise and delight, she thought she was in heaven, and her memory of everything in between faded to nothing, back to the last moment they'd been together, dancing slow, pelvis-to-pelvis grinding, on the floor of the Bronze...

Kissing, faster, more intense, lips moving in arcadian rhthyms, tongues thrusting, wanting, pushing harder...

It felt good, to release all the pent-up anxiety, and god, his hands on her waist, on her back, what he was doing to her mouth, just felt so goddamned good...

Her knees gave way finally, and she slid down, letting them rest on the edge of the bed between his thighs. Her face wasn't so high anymore, and she had better access to his mouth, pulling her hand against the back of his head to bring him closer, snatching at his hair.

Spike didn't need the encouragement. His head was already spinning from the intensity of the kiss, and he squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the feel of her mouth on his, and the firmness of her body under his hands.

Small, tiny thing - but passion like a bonfire...

Her hands were gripping him tight, and he dissolved into the ravening of their mouths.

God, my little firecracker.

The ferociousness of the embrace loosened the demon in him - he felt his eyes tinge behind his lids, and fought for control.

Don't want to frighten her, now. Ease back - there's time, and more fun to be had if we take it slow...

He pulled away - Buffy pouted disappointedly. But her pout turned into a glazed look of pleasure when he clasped both hands around her firm, round bottom, lifted her up smoothly and sat her down onto his lap. Her knees opened to embrace his hips, and her arms tucked around his neck.

She was playing with the hair at his nape.

"Comfy?" he murmured with a grin. Her fingers were tickling his neck, but other parts of him were tickling too, now that they were groin to groin.

"Mmm."

Buffy's eyes were hazy, half-closed, and she leaned back a little to push down onto his crotch. Spike sucked in an unneeded breath. When she looked at him again, her expression was faintly remorseful.

"Spike, I'm sorry. I've been -"

He put a finger over her mouth to quiet her.

"Shh. Later."

He wasn't sure of all the details, but he understood the gist of what she'd wanted to say - getting her head all in a muddle, probably. Fighting with the Watcher, and then Soul-Boy showing up.

But the situation was simple, really. Two stars, circling each other in opposing orbits - ice and fire, death and life, Vampire and Slayer. Complements, as Joyce had known and understood somehow. But Spike didn't want to talk right now, and there were easier, better ways to explain.

As for example...

He leaned forward, eyes lilting closed, and sipped at Buffy's mouth delicately to remind her of current events. She snagged his bottom lip with her teeth and tugged gently, and when he looked into her eyes, she was smiling again.

Better.

Her hands were pulling against his shoulders, keeping her body suspended, all the pressure at their conjoined pelvises, and the sensation was dazzling. He rocked experimentally, and was rewarded by her gasp, and the exquisite feeling of her weight against his crotch.

Buffy closed her eyes and let out a soft groan. Spike's bare shoulders, where she'd pushed back the fabric of his white shirt, were smooth and cool under her fingers, and she was already getting tantalising visions of how it would feel when they were skin to skin.

With another skittering exhalation, she initiated more rocking - oh, god...incredible. She could feel herself getting wet, dampening the denim of her jeans. Spike was hard beneath her, right under her, and she looked into his eyes to see the effect the motion was having on his face.

Jesus, this girl is a miracle.

Spike was trying with some difficulty to reign in his control, but couldn't stop the grin spreading over his face. He wanted more of her, and with Buffy's arms keeping most of her weight steady, his hands were free to roam.

He slipped a hand up, flattened his palm against her collarbone and spread the touch over the top of her chest, easing down to her decolletage. Stopped the movement over the skin above her left breast, feeling her heart hammering, a slightly awed smile on his lips.

Hot skin, and thumping under my hand. A miracle.

But while the sensation of Buffy's heartbeat was fascinating, there were other realms he wanted to explore. He met her eyes, and enjoyed her start as he twisted the first button off her shirt, then the next one down, then the next one, hearing the buttons pop and land quietly on the carpet. Then there was enough of her front exposed for him to grin at her, and dip his lips onto her skin.

Buffy moaned - he was lapping his way down her cleavage with agonising slowness, nuzzling at the material of her bra with his nose. His tongue finally came into contact with one erect nipple, sucking at her through the lace. She let out the breath she'd been holding in with a gasp.

More - oh, please, more.

Mind-reading, Spike moved his hand to pluck at the other nipple where his lips weren't, then swapped around. His cold fingertips on her breasts were driving her crazy, his other hand squeezing the side of her waist and making erotic strokes there with his thumb.

She leaned her head and body back, pushing herself hard into his groin, and watching fireworks going off behind her closed eyes as he sucked and licked his way down to her stomach.

When he returned to her breast, and peeled the lace away with one finger to draw her nipple fully into his mouth, she made a harsh, unintelligible noise.

That was what woke her up.

"Oh, crap. Spike, wait..."

"What?" Not second thoughts again...please, no - he'd be taking cold showers into the next millenium.

But that wasn't it. Buffy looked at him then at the door, her eyes lusty, but trying to focus.

"Spike - the door. Dawn."

"Ah." Thank god. Small problems he could fix. "Right."

But he wasn't about to let go of the wealth he had in his arms either. Ignoring Buffy's brief whoop of surprise, he lifted her ass, keeping her legs wrapped around him, and carried her to the door. Their combined weight closed the offending partition with a quick slam, and now she was pressed against the door, kept up in the air only by the strength of his arms, and the constriction of her legs around his waist.

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed with a helpless laugh, as she gripped his shoulders more firmly.

"What? Got the job done, didn't it? Now, where were we..."

He raised one eyebrow, perusing her dishevelled state, and then flicked his glance down to her breasts.

"Ah, yes - right about here...."

And keeping his eye on her, with a wicked grin, he reached up and undid the front clasp of her bra. He lowered his head slowly, teasingly down until he was staring at one pert nipple, then with a happy sigh, he let his lips envelope it.

Buffy gasped and her head went back to hit the door.

Encouraged, Spike blew a cool whisper of air onto his handiwork, then nibbled from one breast to the other, becoming more inflamed with each taste, using his teeth, licking hard, biting gently, then more roughly as Buffy's breathing came in short, sharp bursts.

When she started rocking her head back and forth against the door and moaning, Spike couldn't take it anymore and let her shivering knees slip down, so her feet rested on the floor.

He pressed the length of his body against hers, and their mouths met again, fusing and melting. Her exposed skin was furiously hot, and he could smell her sweat, and the maddening scent of her arousal. He growled, and flipped her around, letting her prop herself against the door with her extended arms.

Buffy's head lolled, her voice a thick murmur.

"God. Spike, what are you doing?"

He pressed his chest against her back, feeling the heat through the thin fabric of her shirt, and slipped his hands around to her front. Nuzzling at her neck, he could hardly think straight enough to answer.

"Want to touch," he muttered hoarsely.

He skimmed his hands up and down her body to demonstrate, turned on by the elicit feeling of slipping his fingers under material, over her silky skin, cupping her breasts in his palms, flicking her nipples with his thumbs and listening to her gasp in response.

Buffy's shirt was flapping free now, after Spike ripped the final section apart. He slid his hands over her hips, and tickled his fingers under the waistband of her jeans, stroking her stomach.

A smell of damp muskiness rose up to his nostrils suddenly, and he had touch her - now. Working the buttons of her fly quickly, he opened the denim like the pages of a book.

Tracing the skin above her panties softly, feeling her shiver under him, was enough to open another crack in his self-imposed restraint, and he reached his left hand down to cup her groin.

The lace of her g-string was soaked. An explosion went off in his brain, and with a groan he pulled the material aside with a rough thumb, and slicked one finger into her.

Buffy let out a noise somewhere between a cry and a moan, opened her legs a little wider, as much as her trembling knees would allow. Spike's finger slid deeper with the better access, and she let her head fall back onto his shoulder. When he eased another finger in, and then slipped his hand up to lathe her clit with her own wetness, she bit her lip to stop herself from yelling.

Oh, god - wet, so wet, and hot as a furnace...

His mind was running away from him, as he dipped his fingers into her tightness, further, harder. A small pool of wetness was collecting in the hollow of his palm - he opened his fingers and let the juices drizzle onto her curls, down her thigh. A few more circling movements, picking up speed on her clit and slicking in and out of her, and he could feel Buffy shuddering against him and humming her moan back into herself through tightly closed lips as she flowed into her first sharp climax.

Not enough. More...

He drew his hand away, and while she reached her head back to gather his mouth in a searing kiss, he turned her body around again, letting their joined lips merge together into a full-blown embrace, until their bodies were pressed together, intent and needy and flushed with desire.

When Buffy surfaced for air, her face was shiny with sweat, and red-cheeked. She stared into Spike's eyes, then let her gaze flick over to the rest of the room, searching for someplace close by, before kissing him again.

She pulled back long enough to whisper, her eyes on his lips.

"M-more."

Spike replied in shaking tones between sips at her mouth.

"You want more?"

"More. Want more. Want you..." she nodded through a haze.

God, I love this woman.

Spike smiled and eased back as she snuggled into the crook of his neck. Then he leaned forward quickly and scooped her up from underneath the knees.

Buffy gave a little `argh', but was happy to be carried. She wasn't sure if her legs would hold her anyway.

Spike began taking the few steps towards the bed, but she shook her head.

"Not there."

He frowned at her confusedly.

"Some problem with being in bed? It's the usual place, you know."

Buffy shrugged and grinned shamefacedly.

"It squeaks."

"Ah, does it now? Well then, I guess we'll just have to settle with..."

And he went down on his knees to lay her down on the carpet. He met her grin with a matching one.

"Now unless your floorboards are creaky, Dawn won't hear a thing."

Buffy felt her eyes glisten suddenly at his considerateness - How does he do that? How does he know what I'm thinking all the time? He's amazing...

Then her attention was distracted as Spike propped himself up on one elbow beside her, his rangy body lined up with hers, his own open shirt loosely clinging to his shoulders, and began trailing his fingers down her neck, along her breastbone, down to the dip and curve of her stomach.

She wriggled, sighing into the ticklish feeling, then turned herself onto her side too so that they were facing each other. She let her head rest on the carpet, her hair pooling around her face, and reached out a hand to touch him.

Spike grinned and tried to slap her fingers away.

"Stop that - I'm playing."

But she wasn't going to be distracted now, and the sight of him shivering as she traced her fingers under his ribs gave her further impetus.

"Uh-uh. My turn," she smiled coyly.

"Not yet, I want to - uhh..."

His voice died away as she brought her head forward and began kissing softly, lightly down his chest. Butterfly kisses - tiny nibbles and nudges. She blew on every spot she kissed, and Spike suddenly felt like all the nerves in his body had come back to life. He closed his eyes, and rasped out a whisper.

"Buffy, what -"

"Shh..."

Her lips on his silenced him, and he felt her give a little push on his chest, encouraging him to slip down onto his back. Then he let go of thought, concentrating only on the sensation of her mouth wandering over the landscape of his body.

She was being careful to avoid the burn, but there was plenty of other space to explore. She had lifted herself onto her hands now, and her arms were straddled across him, and Spike could feel her silky hair drift across the muscles of his chest and stomach - something he'd always dreamed about but hadn't experienced until now.

Buffy shed the remains of her shirt and bra hurriedly, feeling constricted, then went back to work, her tongue and teeth getting involved now, and her ministrations becoming more and more erotic. She looked up at him briefly, from her position near his ribcage, and felt a flush of sensual power to see him, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent `oh'.

She travelled as far as his navel, and dipped her tongue in lightly. His back arched, and the closer expanse of his stomach was way too tempting - she bit down gently, grinned as he gasped, then worked her way back up to his chest.

She gave him a look then of pure delight.

"You know, I've been fantasizing about doing this for ages..." she purred in a saucy voice.

Then without further ado, she bent her head and bit firmly on one flat golden nipple.

Jesus.

Spike had about a millisecond to form coherent thought before the facility completely escaped him. He arched convulsively, and groaned as she worked her tongue over his nipple, his hands squeezing into fists.

Buffy grinned, delighted to have discovered his sensitive spot, and drove in harder, alternating from one side of his chest to the other, letting her free hand roam over the ripples of his abdomen. By the time she relaxed her onslaught, and began licking down to the soft skin above the fly of his jeans, Spike's teeth were chattering.

Oh god - this is... this is...

One of his hands was kneading the carpet, and the other was gripping her shoulder tightly, heedless of the bruising he was causing - he was concentrating too hard on not losing control completely. The feel of her mouth, hot and wet, on his skin was enough to unleash the demon in him, and he felt his fangs elongate before he could stop himself.

Then he felt her fingers on his belt buckle, and jerked up with surprise.

"What?"

She was looking up at him, seemingly unperturbed by the sight of his demon visage. Feeling oddly self-conscious, he shook his head a little, and returned to his human face, removing her hand from his belt as he did so.

"'Cos..." he explained gently, fumblingly, "it's - it's...I can't keep it together if you -"

Buffy pulled away from his hands with a sly grin.

"But, Spike, I don't want you to stay together. I want to touch you, like you touched me." She leaned in, and slipped a sultry whisper into his ear. "I want to see you lose control."

Oh, Jesus - Buffy...

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, as she swooped on his lips and kissed him hungrily. The intensity of her mouth pushed him back onto the carpet, and he gathered the back of her head with one hand as she trailed her fingers down, unbuckled his belt and worked at the opening of his jeans.

Oh god...

They were still face to face, lip to lip, and she was staring into his eyes, as her fingers made first contact with the sensitive skin above his erection, playing lightly, teasing the soft hairs there. He whimpered, deep in his throat, and Buffy smiled.

"See?" she whispered again, watching his face, "What's the point of having self-control unless you let it loose sometimes?"

Spike's eyes rolled back, and he let out a thick groan, as her hand tickled over the crease of his groin and closed on the hard, cool length of him. Forgetting now all the reasons why he hadn't wanted her to do this, he arched his back and thrashed, bucking under her hand.

Buffy grinned, turned on and a little awed by his animalistic response.

I've never had a lover like this...

Angel, Parker, Riley - they all paled in comparison. There was no quiet desperation, no awkward fumbling, no cloying tenderness - it was just Spike, in all his wild, uninhibited, voluptuosly sensual glory.

She flung away the thoughts of past experiences to concentrate on the one she was giving him, right now. She increased the movement of her hand, using her fingers to tickle and tease, slicking some of his own juices down to increase the friction. Spike gnashed his teeth, head thrown back, moaning uncontrollably. Buffy's eyes darkened as she watched him.

He's incredible...primal...

She lowered her head to his chest, and snagged one of his nipples with her teeth, biting gently.

Spike let out a roar, and in a lightening-quick second, flipped her over onto her back. He was vamped-out, the glow in his eyes yellow and raw, his whole body quivering. As he loomed over her, holding her wrists down on the carpet, she felt a sudden rush of paralyzing fear.

Oh shit...when I said primal I didn't mean -

Then, in a move that made her jerk and flush, he lowered his head to her breast, and began licking his way down her body.

Oh...

Ohh...

Her limbs unfroze slowly - then she started writhing. His forehead ridges felt strange on the skin of her stomach, but...erotic. And his fangs, grazing her nipples, then nipping lightly all over her, were making her see little sparkles every time he moved his mouth.

Well...this is...uhh -

By he time he reached her crotch, she was wriggling like a fish. His cold hands stripped her jeans and panties down, and he used his nose to nudge her dark curls. Dimly, she heard his voice waft up, a throaty murmur.

"Mmm...my turn now..."

Then she gasped, and her back curved, as his tongue touched her, dipped into her, slicked into her dripping folds. He drew back for a second, only to lip softly at her clit, then apply his tongue there in dazzling, lingering circles. Buffy let her knees fall open, feeling her whole body shake, and finding it impossible to breath.

Spike closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of Buffy's body quaking under him, the taste of her juices in his mouth, savouring the thick musky flavour and the delicious scent. He realised his human face had returned, but it was only a vague awareness, he was too aroused by the shivering woman opening herself so completely to him now to notice.

Good enemies make great lovers...

The thought trickled in from somewhere, and he grinnned. But his mind was rapidly dissolving all thoughts as he began focussing on drawing out Buffy's pleasure, teasing her with lips and teeth and tongue, watching her gasp and squirm in ecstasy.

His own erection was straining, the brush of the carpet providing rough encouragment. He could keep this up all night, but he knew she couldn't - her climax was beginning, and he wanted to be inside her when it happened, to feel her hot sheath around him clench and tighten...

Buffy groaned, began to shudder, and he slipped up quickly to shed his shirt and writhe out of his pants before kissing up her body to her face, propping himself up over her body with his arms. She was panting, and a look of pain crossed her face.

"Oh god, don't...please, Spike, don't stop...so close, don't -"

"Shh, love - it's alright."

He kissed her quickly, then gathered their abandoned clothing in a rough pile, and slid it under her hips as a makeshift pillow. Buffy looked up at him, with a dazed, confused expression.

"Spike, what are you doing?"

He grinned, and leaned over to peck her on one breast.

"S'a surprise. Don't worry - you'll like it, I promise."

"What kind of a - ohh..."

That kind of a surprise. With her hips lifted high, she was presented to him like she was on a platter, and Spike had descended again to coax her to heaven. She twisted her fingers on his shoulder, making short, raking red lines, as he sucked her hard, then licked into her, deeper than she'd thought was possible. With a few long strokes of his tongue, she was almost at the point of orgasm again in a matter of seconds.

There.

He'd found the spot, unique to every woman, that sent needles of pleasure to the core of her. And he lifted himself up, watching carefully as Buffy gasped out hard, heaving breaths, reading the timing perfectly.

He readied himself at her wet entrance, reaching into himself for a last smidgin of control, knowing that it would be worth it. He leaned over her on one arm, and slipped his other hand down, keeping his thumb on her clit, rubbing delicately at the soft nub.

Buffy's face was flushed, her lips trembling as he kissed her.

"Buffy -"

Her head lifted towards him, her gaze glassy, and needy, and lost to sense. She grabbed his shoulder with preternatural strength, nails clamping down, drawing blood.

"Spike, if you don't fuck me right now I'm gonna die."

That's what I wanted to hear... The look on her face and the ferociousness of her words sent him over the edge. Unable to hold on anymore, he groaned, flung back his head and drove himself into her.

"Unhh!"

Buffy's head thumped back down onto the carpet as she climaxed. The first shockwave hit her like a lightning bolt, and her vision danced. She felt Spike draw out slowly, drawing the spiral of her orgasm out with him. His thumb was still on her clit, and she wanted to tell him to stop, it was too much, too strong -

Then he plunged into her again, and she came a second time. She clenched her hands as the force of it rushed through her, felt the scream building in her throat.

Again. Again. Drawing back, easing off, then - another climax, and oh god, she was burning...

Spike gritted his teeth, the muscles in his arms taut, fighting for restraint when all he wanted to do was move harder, faster -

So...goddamned...tight...

The sight of Bufy gasping and arching on the floor beneath him was something out of a fantasy, but this was real, and she was real, and her inner muscles squeezed around him again, and he couldn't contain himself. His hips began thrusting faster, and faster, and then as Buffy's voice lifted in a keening wail, he rammed deeply into her, threw back his head and bit down on his own hand to stop himself from screaming as he came.

Buffy's body curved like a bow with the final thrust, her mouth opening to yell, but no sound coming out. Wave upon wave of pleasure pierced into her, her eyes pinched tight together, and she felt her muscles cramp with the force of her climax.

When she opened her eyes, and remembered to breathe, she found herself gazing at the leg of the chair she'd sat on when she first came in. She was still rolled back on the crown of her head, and it was an effort to move.

Holy shit...

She felt Spike's hand under the small of her back, helping to ease her back onto the carpet, pushing away the pillow of clothing from underneath her. Beyond being able to assist, she could only stare into his face, with a look of astonishment and exhausted repletion. Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she found the strength enough to speak in a rasping whisper.

"Spike...what...what the hell...did you...do to me?"

With a deep sigh and a happy grin, he hunkered down over her, resting on his elbows either side of her chest. He leaned forward to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, his eyes dancing.

"Told you you'd like it."

Buffy blinked at him, then puffed out a giggle. Once she'd started, she couldn't stop - the laugh rippled through her, Spike watching with one bemused eyebrow raised as her breasts and belly shook.

"Oh god... oh god..." she hiccupped helplessly.

"What? What's so funny?" he asked with a grin. He liked watching her laugh - hadn't seen her do it in ages.

Buffy reached up with one still-trembling arm, hooked around his neck and pulled him down next to her. She peppered his face with soft, smiling kisses, echoes of giggling running through her.

"You. Me. Just...everything," she tried to explain. Everything that I wanted to tell you, but couldn't...

It didn't seem to matter now. She quieted, and cupped a hand to the side of his face as their bodies pressed together. Spike was running his fingers lightly along her bare flank, and she shivered, slightly awestruck that she still had the energy to feel a responding tingle in her body.

"Spike...that was...that was amazing."

He stared into her eyes for a reverent moment, silently agreeing, with a slight mental amendment - you're the one who's amazing, love. Then he couldn't help himself, had to grin with his usual air of bluff swagger.

"Yeah. It was pretty good, eh?"

Buffy giggled again at his mock self-satisfaction, swatted him on the shoulder, and pressed her lips gently to his cheek.

The single soft gesture seemed to stun him more than all her multiple-orgasms put together. He blinked and stared into her face.

"W-what was that for?" he whispered.

"For everything," Buffy replied in the same quiet tones.

For a moment, Spike didn't know what to say. Then he decided to say nothing, and kiss her instead.

When their lips reluctantly parted, the gleam was back in his eyes, and he ran a hand lightly over Buffy's breasts, giving her nipples a playful tweak. Her breath drew in sharply, which he was quick to notice - he grinned at her lasciviously.

"Wanna try everything again?"

oOo

TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME

Chapter Seven - Nearer To Setting

THURSDAY

8.27am

It was full morning, the light already chortling merrily through the windows, brightening the whole of the house. Buffy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and ran her fingers through her tangled hair as she thunked down the stairs, letting her weight drop onto each step with a lazy, comfortable feeling. She was in her bathrobe, and enjoying the airy swish that came from nothing underneath.

Swanning into the kitchen with a smile playing about her lips, she stopped short at the counter, seeing the fridge door open and a dark-haired figure leaning inside. Buffy pulled the front edges of her robe together quickly as Dawn emerged from the fridge, a carton of chocolate milk in one hand and a glass, amazingly, in the other.

"Oh - hey."

Dawn looked up at her sister, and poured herself a measure, then began knocking it back with noisy slurps.

"Good morning," Buffy returned. But she couldn't help herself - her brows creased together critically as she watched Dawn mid-gulp. "You're having that for breakfast? Again?"

Dawn shook her head and considered the air as she leaned on the open door.

"Nah - I thought I'd have a chocolate muffin for breakfast."

Buffy grimaced. Did her sister ever actually consume real food?

"Blergh."

Dawn took another slurp of milk, and nodded at Buffy thoughtfully.

"You should probably have one too. You probably need to re-fuel, after last night's circus."

To Dawn's immense satisfaction, Buffy's jaw dropped.

"Dawn!" she choked, before her face paled and she stammered out the obviously unnecessary question, "You - you heard?"

"Well, only the first three times..." Dawn explained, trying very hard to keep her face serious. If she hadn't been milking the joke for all it was worth, she would have rolled her eyes. Sis, I think half of Sunnydale `heard'.

Buffy was looking mortified.

"Oh god!"

"But then I got tired of covering my ears with the pillow," Dawn continued blithely. "Came down to watch some tv. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh god!" Buffy repeated. Her face was in over-blush, and she was covering her mouth with her hand. She stared at Dawn for a moment, until a thought came to her, and she dropped her hand and started to giggle.

"Oh, geez...we - we were trying so hard to be quiet..."

Dawn couldn't help but grin.

"Well, you failed miserably with that one. Next time, try sky-writing."

"Sorry."

Buffy looked contrite, around the smile, and Dawn waved her sister's embarrassment away amiably.

"Ah, forget about it. It's kinda cute. Well, gross - but cute. How's Spike?"

"Recovering," Buffy supplied drily, with a grin.

Dawn lifted an eyebrow.

"Does he want a chocolate muffin too, y'think?"

"Maybe."

Buffy's grin had become a full-blown smirk. Dawn didn't want to go there - she'd had enough of a demo last night. Instead, she looked out the window at what appeared to be the start of a truly beautiful day, a happy thought surfacing and making her clap her hands together gleefully.

"Mom's coming home today. This is excellent."

She looked at Buffy suddenly, with a belated realisation.

"Oh, crap - do you think maybe we should..."

Buffy was nodding as they both surveyed the rather untidy kitchen, and she finished the thought for her sister automatically.

"...clean up the house? Yes. But you go shower, I'll get things started, okay?"

Dawn grinned, recognising when she was copping a break. If her sister was always in such a good mood the morning after, Spike should come over more often.

Still, better to make hay...she abandoned her glass and milk carton on the kitchen counter, and ran for the stairs, before Buffy changed her mind. The fridge door was left swinging wide in her wake.

Buffy took a deep breath, and let it out as she looked at the kitchen disaster zone. She listened to Dawn's thumping feet on the stairs, and then, after a beat, a banging on an upstairs door. Her face creased, then broke into a grin as she heard the one-sided exchange pealing down, Dawn's irritated voice echoing off the walls.

"Spike, hurry up! If you use up all the hot water, things are gonna get ugly!"

oOo

12.42pm

"But if you say `unitas', that won't give you a re-charge. I mean, you could just end up being consumed by Primordiality - not exactly of the good."

Tara tapped at the pages of the book in front of her and Willow. Her face was sick of frowning - she felt like she'd been wearing a perpetually perplexed expression for close to twenty-four hours now, and it was beginning to drag. Nutting out the details of the spell for focussing Dawn's energy was proving troublesome, to say the least.

Willow's expression matched her girlfriend's, with an added dose of frustration.

"Well, I thought `unitas' would conjoin our energies - but, yeah, that doesn't sound quite like what we're after..."

She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face with a groan, then tried to reapply herself to the text.

"Anyway, I can't seem to find the word for `conjoin' - maybe there isn't one, not in translation...and dammnit, this is making me cross-eyed."

She sighed, blowing the pages together, and lifted her head to take a break.

The shop was cool and quiet, but there was a sense of things building up. Tara had questioned earlier whether it was wise to keep allowing customers to come in, and now Willow had to agree - the Magic Box had been turned into Gathering Headquarters, and even the most casual observer would be bound to notice that something was going on.

Giles had piled a small excess of heavy weapons inside the door of the office - supposedly out of the way, but of course they were constantly in Anya's way and she kept tripping over them. At the moment, he and Ray were sitting on a long bench towards the back of the shop, companiably sharpening axes and discussing demon groupings. Ray was wielding a whetstone with one hand, and had a cigarette dangling from his lips - he winked as he caught Willow looking at him, and she grinned quickly back at him.

Uriel was sitting at the other end of their table, learned tomes laying open dustily in front of him. He was keeping a watchful eye on Gabriel, who was lolling in the armchair, ostensibly helping with the research on conjurable weapons. But Willow noticed how Gabriel's eyes flicked over to the door every time the chimes sounded - she had a feeling she knew who he was looking out for. At the moment, the two angels were conferring on some detail - Uriel was speaking low, and gesturing discretely with his hands. Where his fingers passed, a delicate spray of sparks danced out into the air, and just as quickly faded.

The cash register sounded behind and to the right - Anya, dealing swiftly with another customer. She was becoming distinctly clanging in all the transactions, which was irritating, true, but she was forgiven for her thoughts being elsewhere. Xander was off on day-patrol with Buffy and Michael. Willow figured there'd be a respite from the clanging when he returned.

Willow forced herself not to be distracted, and let her eyes reluctantly return to the text in front of her. It was in Latin, too.

This sucks.

She looked up at Tara mournfully.

"Can't I just say `unitas'?"

Tara shook her head with a sympathetic grin.

Willow sighed and slumped her shoulders in a mock-sulk.

"Oh, alright... And here I was, getting all excited about doing some Primordial demon-butt-kicking..."

She snorted and got an answering snort from Tara in reply.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Willow, but you can't unite your energy with Primordial Energy."

"Geez. Not even just a little? How come?"

There was a brusquely cheerful interjection from behind.

"'Cos you'll fry your brains."

Both witches turnd their heads to look at Anya, who was standing a few feet back, rocking back and forth on her heels and swinging her arms like a bored teenager. Now that she'd gained their attention, Anya grinned and continued.

"Yup - uniting yourself with Primordiality is asking for a brain-frying. You couldn't survive it and still be you. Well, you might, but I doubt it."

"You mean, she'd be taken over by Primordiality," Tara suggested, interested in Anya's take on the matter.

The ex-demon nodded, pleased that someone was taking her seriously, and relieved to be getting a break from the dull work of counter-service. Handling the money was nice, but the customers were getting on her nerves.

"Basically, yes. I mean, you're calling up one of the basic forces of creation - pretty much the basic force. And once it's moved in, Primordiality generally doesn't like to leave."

"What do you mean?"

Anya had obviously been waiting for her chance to get involved - she immediately grabbed a chair and squeezed in between Willow and Tara in a way that made them both look sideways at each other.

Well," she explained in Tara's direction, "it's kind of like those crabs - you know, the ones on the Discovery channel? They move into a new shell, eat the owner, and then take over....oh, I forget what they're called."

Willow had forgotten what they were called too, but she wasn't liking the analogy. And the fact that she'd almost called up the uniting spell yesterday with Dawn was giving her a creepy feeling in the gut.

"We get the idea. But Dawn's got Primordial energy running through her, and she's still human, so how does that..."

Anya waved to cut her off.

"That's Dawn - she was created to be a vessel, so she's got space inside herself for it." She shook her head at Willow critically. "But not you, I'm afraid. Nope. If you tried it, and then the Power left you, you'd probably just wind up a vegetable or something."

She explained it so chirpily, both the witches had to raise their eyebrows. Then Tara sighed and frowned in frustration.

"Well, that still doesn't help us solve the problem. Unless you're saying that we can't use Dawn's energy for the protection spell..."

"Oh, no," Anya went on, "you can still do that. You just have to come at it from a different angle."

"And that angle would be..." Willow prodded gently.

"You have to siphon the energy through the channels that you normally use for magic."

Anya could see that her answer wasn't providing any illumination. With a quick frown, she grabbed up a pencil and flipped over the piece of paper that Tara had been using to take notes, and began drawing a lopsided diagram.

"Here. This is Dawn, lots of energy coming from her - and here's Willow. She's the channel, so she's being extra careful."

She fixed Willow with a piercing look.

"And I mean, extra careful. You don't want to give yourself over to it wholly, just direct it - otherwise...well, that would be bad, as we've already discussed."

Willow nodded at the warning, then looked at Anya's diagram.

"So who's..."

"That's Tara - behind you. She's the one who's really doing the spell, the one you use for drawing the energy." Anya looked at Tara with a slightly challenging expression. "You sure you're up for it?"

Tara swallowed the instant anxiety that came over her at the question, and tried to look professional, if not entirely confident. She nodded hesitantly, then more firmly.

"I guess...I mean, yeah, I think so. As soon as I get the Latin straight."

Anya's eyes widened in surprise.

"You're worried about the Latin? Well, heck - why didn't you say so? Here..."

And she began to scribble down a passage in a dead language that they'd been struggling over for the better part of three hours. Willow and Tara looked at each other over the top of Anya's bent head, wearing identical grins.

oOo

1.23pm

Dawn scraped the plates into the garbage, then quickly started rinsing. She'd only done one before she got impatient, and then she set the crockery aside and grabbed a dishcloth to dry her hands.

The housework could wait. Everything was pretty clean anyway, after the morning's whirlwind tidy-up. Her mom had been approving, but more just glad to be home. At the moment she was sitting tucked up on the sofa with a throw rug, and now that Buffy had gone on patrol and Spike had left (after poking his head around the corner to give his greetings) Dawn had time with her mom all to herself. And there was no way she was gonna waste that on washing the dishes.

"Dawn? Are you done sweetie?"

Joyce seemed to feel the same way. Dawn gave the counter a quick swipe with the cloth, then hurried back, flicking the cloth over her shoulder.

"Yeah, mom - I'm here."

Joyce looked up at her youngest daughter, taking in her sudden appearance with a fond smile. She patted the cushions beside her.

"Don't worry about the kitchen. Come and sit with me."

Happy to oblige, Dawn dumped the cloth on the coffe table, and slid in next to her mother, trying to avoid plonking herself down with her usual carelessness. She curled up with a grin as Joyce folded an arm around her and hugged her in.

"It's good to have you home, mom."

"It's good to be home," Joyce replied with a satisfied sigh. She stroked her daughter's long hair for a while, then looked down as Dawn stirred.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not tired?" Dawn's face peered up with a trace of worry, checking her mother for signs of peakiness. "I mean, maybe you should lie down in bed or something..."

"I'm fine," Joyce reassured blithely. "Really. And I've got a surprise for you."

With a little anticipatory lift of her eyes, she reached down the side of the sofa, then pulled her hand back up. Dawn frowned with curiosity --her mother was holding a book, over-large, with bright pastel illustrations on the front.

"What's this?" Dawn giggled. "You want me to read to you?"

"Uh-uh," Joyce shook her head. "I want to read to you."

Dawn couldn't stop the little run of giggles as she examined the book in her mother's hands. The drawings seemed vaguely familiar.

"Mom, this is a picture book."

"I know. And I know you're not a baby anymore, but..." Joyce's words trailed away for a moment as she regarded her daughter's sweetly upturned face. "Well, you used to love it when I read this to you."

Dawn gave her mother a grin, a multitude of emotions buzzing through her. By far the most important one was love. And then - bemusement.

"You know, technically, you never really read this to me..."

Her mother's face paled starkly for just a second, and Dawn had the briefest stab of panic. But before she could move, Joyce seemed to recover, shrugging and smiling.

"Then I guess we can enjoy it together for the first time - all over again."

Dawn felt a blush of relief, and let herself giggle her momentary terror

away.

"Well, okay."

"Shall we start?"

At Dawn's nod, Joyce settled herself back aginst the sofa, feeling the weight of her daughter's head against her shoulder, feeling the weight of the terrible question hard against her heart. How many sunsets? She cleared her throat, enveloping herself in the closeness with Dawn, letting it comfort her enough to open her mouth and speak in a voice that was quiet and unshaking.

"'One day, when I was six years old, I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called `True Stories From Nature'...'"

oOo

1.35pm

He used the edge of the knife that he'd borrowed from Buffy's store to poke the grille up and aside, careful not to burn his fingers. He had his duster and a blanket for cover, but it was the middle of the day, and he didn't want to crisp himself after all the trouble he'd gone to to get here.

The sewer entrance was past the patch of bush near the Summer's back porch - he considered himself lucky that Buffy hadn't gotten the witches to magic it up. Either she'd forgotten about it with all that was going on - doubtful - or she'd left it open for her own benefit. Or for his, a thought that brought a warming glow.

Nice of her, he mused with a grin, but he'd have to tell her to put wards up. The tunnels were crawling with demons - his normally casual stroll through the seamy underside of Sunnydale had turned into a major duck-and-dodge job. The smelly main stretch had become a thoroughfare. If it wasn't for the lack of light (aside from the odd scruffy campfire) and the occupants all looking so mangy and ugly, Spike would have thought he was at the mall.

Anyway, he'd managed to get to the Magic Box without incident, and now there was only the few steps from the tunnel exit through the alley to the back door. He pulled up his coat, swathed himself in blanket, and hiked himself up into the deadly light.

The quick run to the door was enough to make his skin prickle and his eyes wince, but the door was unlocked so he slipped through briskly and let the cool dark of the back room refresh him. Blinking to get his bearings, he picked his way through a collection of crates and boxes, and dodged the heavy punching bag, then came up short at the foot of a mattress of training mats, sniffing something familiar in the abandoned pile of blankets there.

Oh great.

Spike fished a cigarette and matches out of his pocket, lighting up with a sigh. He blew the smoke out in a long plume, and flicked ash onto the blankets for good measure.

"So," he began with a dry drawl, not bothering to peruse the black corners of the room, "it goes like this. A man walks into a bar with a dog, a raccoon, and a chicken under one arm, and the bartender takes one look at him and says -"

"Hello, Spike."

The tall figure in the charcoal dress shirt and neat pants unfolded out of the gloom on the left. Spike lifted the corner of his mouth, then went on with a considering expression.

"Well, noo, that's not what he said, but..."

He took in Angel's glowering face, how the other man stared at him, and his voice sharpened.

"...but I guess you never heard that joke. Hello, Angelus."

They stood glaring at each other for a moment. Angel was leaning against a pillar, his finger tucked into the pages of the slim book in his hand. His brows drew together as he stood, watching Spike smoke.

"I haven't heard the one about the soulless vampire helping out the Slayer either, but I guess I haven't been hanging out in the right places."

Spike shrugged one shoulder diffidently.

"Well, you've been shmoozing with the L.A. crowd, what do you expect. But I'll let you in on a secret anyway -" His face became deadly serious. "It's not a joke."

"I don't believe you."

Angel's flat response, and the way he dumped the book on the mattress with an air of finality, was enough to get Spike's back up. Hell, the guy's presence alone was getting his back up, but he tried to keep a handle on it.

"I don't care what you believe." He took another hit from his cigarette, and grinned thinly. "You wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit you on the arse."

It was like Angel moved standing still. Spike's head whipped sideways with the force of the punch, but he wouldn't let himself stagger for all the blood in the Northern hemisphere. When his head turned back around his face was still human, although his eyes were blazing yellow and his voice was dangerously low.

"I'll let you have that one on credit, but don't think it'll happen again."

His shoulders had dropped, a half-ready stance, and Angel just stared at him, as if daring him to make the first move.

"You'll betray her," Angel stated, the smooth certainty of his voice a surer goad. "If it weren't for that chip it would have happened sooner rather than later. And that's the last thing Buffy needs right now."

Spike stared at him for a beat, then exploded with anger.

"What the hell do you know about what Buffy needs? She's walking into the fight of her life tomorrow, and she'll be lucky if it all manages to break even! And now you come round, with your hangdog looks and your `poor me' attitude, and it's just...fucking pathetic, is all."

He tossed the cigarette onto the floor and ground it out with a look of disgust. He didn't want to look at the other man, couldn't - or he'd do something he'd regret, and now was most definitely not the time.

"And what do you care, Spike?" Angel challenged, his fists clenching together.

Spike's head shot up, a look of bright fury on his face.

"I bloody care, alright!?"

"That's impossible."

"Right," Spike snorted humourlessly, "And you're the bleeding expert."

Angel was shaking his head. This couldn't be happening, it was wrong, all wrong. His grandchilde, standing there, lying like he actually believed himself...

"It can't be true. I know you -"

Spike covered the step between them with the rapid speed of a snake, his face glaring up at the taller man.

"You don't know anything about me. And you don't know Buffy - not anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Angel frowned back in response.

Spike's mouth twisted, and a look of grief flitted briefly across his features.

"Her mother's dying - she didn't tell you that?"

Angel took a step back, blinked in confusion.

"What?"

Spike was nodding, his gaze tearing away quickly to watch images in his own mind.

"Buffy knows it, but she doesn't want to know it. Can't say as I blame her." He looked back at Angel darkly. "And now she's got the Gathering to sort out as well."

Angel opened his mouth then closed it again. A flash of Joyce, the way he'd last seen her, raced through his brain - the curling hair, the eyes... The pang of memory was gone in a moment, and left him looking at Spike's scowling face. This couldn't be right...there had to be something...

He straightened, and fixed the younger man with a wary calculating expression.

"So, what's your angle, Spike?"

The blonde vampire looked flabbergasted.

"What?"

"Well, " Angel shrugged, as if it were obvious, "I've never known you to do anything if you couldn't find profit in it for yourself somewhere..."

Spike could only roll his eyes at the gall of the man.

"Oh, Jesus - you're unbelievable."

"And you're predictable," Angel countered unequivocally. He stared at his grandchilde, trying to search out the reasons behind it all. "So, what is it? What's in it for you?"

Spike looked into Angel's eyes, then laughed. He couldn't help himself. The bloody fool was being given a straight answer and hadn't even realised it yet.

"You just don't get it, do you? Well," he shrugged, his eyes dancing away with amusement, "you always were thick as a post..."

The older vampire's nostrils flared at the insult, and it was enough to bring the scent of something he recognized, something that the smoke of the cigarettes had masked. His eyes went suddenly wide.

"You smell like..."

Then Angel realized. With a snarl, he lunged in with a fist. But the younger man weaved under the punch, and suddenly they were eyeball to eyeball, hands clenched in each other's shirtfronts, and Spike's gaze was intent, his voice a growling declaration.

"You bloody pillock. It's her - it's always been her. Before I even knew it myself, it was her. I'm a simple man, Angelus - I'm not trying to save the world. I'm just trying to get the woman I love out in one piece."

With that he pushed away, twisting out of Angel's grasp, leaving the other man staggering for balance. Spike shrugged his shoulders back into his jacket, straightened his white shirt, and spun to leave.

But Angel hadn't finished yet.

"Spike -"

"No." The blonde vampire turned his head to look back, a decisive expression on his face. "I've said my bit. It's enough."

And it was time to go. He walked quickly to the door, went through without a parting glance, leaving Angel standing in the dark of the training room, stewing in shocked silence.

oOo

Just...stay there. Don't chase me. Just...go. Piss off. Go to Willy's or something, take the edge off.

Spike stood in front of the door for a moment, trying to quell his shivers. With faintly trembling fingers he frisked for a cigarette, managed to get one to his mouth then looked in vain for his matches.

"Wanna light?"

The dumpy man standing a foot away, regarding him, had a hand stretched out. The pink plastic lighter in his fist was already emitting a feeble flame. Spike blinked at the offer for a moment, then nodded.

"Thanks."

He lit up, exhaled a shaky breath that evened out by the end, then checked out the guy on his second drag. His eyes narrowed, taking in the derelict clothes, the hat.

"You...look familiar."

The guy shrugged.

"I get that a lot. But yeah, I've been around." He looked at the vampire speculatively. "You must be Spike."

"Congratulations - got it in one." Spike frowned a little, feeling at a disadvantage. "And you are...?"

"Ray. Pleased to meet you. You won't mind if we don't shake on it, believe me."

Spike grinned faintly then as he recognised the name, and relaxed somewhat.

"Sure. So. You're, er, helping with this shindig tomorrow, eh?"

"Uh-huh," Ray nodded, before giving Spike a wry grin. "Must say, I'm kinda surprised at you pitching in though."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Ray's grin broadened. Then he straightened as he looked the vampire up and down, a light of understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Wait a second... Ah, I get it."

"What?" Spike's eyes narrowed, then he sighed as he figured what the angel was sensing. "Yeah, look, I can't hurt humans anymore, so if you think -"

"Nah, that's not it," Ray replied, shaking his head.

"Then what are you talking about?"

"You, son, of course." Ray tilted his head and smiled gently. "Kind of an unusual case, but she's a pretty girl, I can see the attraction..."

Spike seemed to be completely confused now. Ray crooked up an eyebrow at him.

"Geez, you don't know?" He snorted. "There you go - and I thought kids these days always move so fast with all that stuff... Anyway, why don't you come on over, we're just getting ready for a little strategy meeting."

He gave the vampire a genial pat on the back, and a gentle push in the direction of the conference table. Spike, still blinking, let himself be led.

He could see some of the figures populating the shop now - some he knew to be friendly, others he warily put in the `undecided' category. Willow and Tara were chatting in low tones to Anya over by the counter; he could see Rupert Giles in discussion at the table with the kid, Gabriel - not a kid, he reminded himself - and a tall black man with a serious, weathered face and a smattering of salt-and-pepper in his hair.

"Just an intimate soiree, huh?"

Spike's apprehension was kicking into action. Ray shrugged, trying to reassure.

"For the time being. We're just waiting on -" The angel seemed to sniff the air suddenly, and looked up towards the front door. Spike's own senses picked up a familiar tingle a beat later, as Ray's features widened in a grin. "Ah, here they are."

The door opened, and a small company traipsed in, Buffy in the lead. She was looking tired, but chipper - joyous, even. And to Spike's eyes, gorgeous as ever, even with an axe in one hand, a crossbow in the other, and what seemed to be a smear of demon-goo staining the front of her overalls. Combined with the white tank, and hair in plaits either side of her face, she looked like a five-year old just come back from a heavy session of sandpit-playing and tree-climbing. If you didn't know better. Spike struggled to stop the moony grin on his face from completely taking control.

Xander, then another guy with red hair were following close behind. The latter went straight for the conference table - Spike caught a glimpse of a broadsword in a waist-scabbard under the guy's coat. Huh - must be one of the white hats.

Xander's entrance was marked by a flurry of movement as Anya launched herself away from the counter to bestow a bevy of kisses and hugs, and to check him over for war wounds.

Buffy waved at no-one in particular as she struggled to get a back-pack off.

"Hey guys." Then as her face came up, she spotted Spike standing beside Ray, and her eyes lit from within. "Hey!"

Spike let the moony grin take over as he and Ray came up to the table, watching Buffy as she dumped her gear inside the door and moved down the steps in his direction, smiling. But before she arrived, Spike found himself being distracted by a quiet, familiar voice to his right.

"Hello, Spike."

Giles tipped his tea-cup towards the vampire in additional greeting. There was a cautious neutrality to his expression that made Spike oddly nervous. He nodded back, letting his grin fold into something more befitting

"Uh, Rupert - hey."

Then Ray was patting him on the back again, and focussing his attention on the other three men across the table.

"Hey, guys - Michael, Uriel, I don't think you've been properly introduced."

The red-headed man with the very blue eyes and the calm face turned away from the murmured discussion with the other man, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hello. I'm guessing that you must be -"

But Buffy had made her way through to the table and now barrelled into the vampire for a sudden bear-hug. Spike felt a rush of happiness, and grinned.

"...Spike." Michael finished the sentence unnecessarily, his eyebrows raised at the spectacle.

Spike just lifted a shoulder, and if he'd still possessed circulation he might have coloured.

"Uh, yeah." Then he looked down into Buffy's up-turned face with a quietly exultant smile. "Hey, love."

"Hey."

She was mirroring. But all the same, they were in company - still vaguely shy in front of their discretely observing friends, the couple were content just to squeeze, and rub noses fondly. Gabriel's voice was a subtle ice-breaker.

"So, Spike - you're feeling better?"

"Much. Thanks."

"I'm glad to hear that," Giles pronounced, and the pair turned to look his way. With a nod to emphasise his sincerity, Buffy's Watcher was giving his unstated sanction - it wasn't a blessing or anything, but Spike figured it was the nearest they were going to get at this point. Quite a turnaround... He didn't know what Buffy had said, but he was grateful for the breathing space.

Which was more than could be said for the old black guy, Uriel, who was eyeing off Spike warily, even as the rest of the company began to close on the table. There were waves and nodding acknowledgements all round, and a collecting of books and chairs, as Spike met Uriel's gaze.

"So. Mr...uh - Spike. You're committed to assisting us with the Gathering?"

Spike thought the answer was kinda obvious, considering that he was currently pulling out a chair for the Slayer.

"He is," Buffy returned firmly. She flicked back her plaits and rested her elbows on the table. But Uriel wasn't looking at her - his eyes were on the vampire.

"Yeah, sure." Spike didn't know what else to say - I mean, would it be more sincere if he did the Scout's Honour sign? "Well, o'course."

Uriel was still frowning. Spike rolled his eyes, not appreciating being under the microscope.

"Geez, look - what can I tell you? If you're wondering about my motivations -"

Then Ray was butting in, pushing a chair in his direction.

"Forget it, son - he's just being nit-picky." He scowled at Uriel for a second. "His motivations are fine. I mean, it's the oldest incentive in the book. Come on, Uriel - look at the guy, it's obvious. He's in love."

There was a collective double-take at the pronouncement. Giles choked quietly on his tea. Xander baulked and stared.

"He's in love?"

"Well, duh," Anya interjected quietly. "I've only been telling you for days."

Giles seemed to have found his voice. He stared at Ray.

"Spike's in love? As in `real emotion' love?"

Ray just shrugged and nodded, apparently confused by all the fuss. But even Spike was looking astonished.

"I am?"

He looked down at Buffy's face - she was gazing up at him with glowing eyes, seeming to be equally amazed.

Then the vampire checked back with Ray, his face whirling with confusion. How could it...how was it possible? No soul equals no capability for the higher emotions, right? I mean, thinking he was in love was one thing, but actually feeling it was something else...

"Are you...are you sure?"

Ray huffed out a breath and raised his eyebrows. "Geez... Yes, Doubting Thomas, I'm sure, okay? Like I said, unusual case. But you got it." He countered Spike's querying expression with another shrug. "Don't ask me how, I just work here, remember? But yeah - it's the real deal."

Spike felt a little dizzy. This was...god, this was big. All these years - saying it, not knowing whether it was just his brain screwing with him, some big demonic practical joke...or worse. A gut-feeling, not believed by any one else, only half-believing it himself. And it was all true. True enough for an angel to pick it up, to know it, to say it out loud...

Another sensation bubbled up through him. Relief. Vindication. Jubilation. He was in love with the Slayer. With Buffy. He was In Love.

He said it to himself once, to try it out.

"Love. I'm in love."

Willow was looking on, glancing back at Tara with a sentimental quiver in her lips.

"Oh, this is just so sweet."

Anya lifted an eyebrow at her.

But Spike was oblivious at this point. He thunked down into his chair, staring at Buffy.

"Did you hear that? I'm in love."

Buffy face was a mixture of total adoration and amusement. She had to swallow before she could speak, and even then it came out with less than her usual flippancy.

"With me, I hope."

Spike grinned then, reaching up to pull on one of her plaits.

"Of course with you." And he leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on her smiling lips.

Xander pushed back into his chair. "Oh god, I think I'm gonna barf."

He got a kick under the table from Anya for his efforts, and Spike and Buffy both looked up quickly.

"Do you mind?"

"Yeah - come on, you and your girly smooch all the time, and nobody says -"

Giles winced and interrupted hurriedly.

"Yes, well, Spike's in love, I think we've established that. So before this turns into an episode of `Passions' perhaps we could move on to the issue at hand."

It took a moment for Spike to tear his eyes away from Buffy's, but then he finally got himself together.

"Oh, yeah. Right." He cleared his throat and faced Uriel. "The Gathering - I'm on it. All committed and everything. `Cause, you know..."

"You're in love with the Slayer," Uriel filled in drily.

There was a second of sheepishness, which the vampire brushed away, then, with the courage of confirmed conviction, he met Uriel's eyes squarely.

"Yeah. I am." Clasping Buffy's hand under the table helped enormously.

"Well." Uriel scratched his head, a little perplexed. "This is all a little...irregular..."

"Tell me about it," Giles said quietly as he took a sip of tea.

"Well, I am," Spike returned, with a trace of bluster, "so you can just...get over it."

He caught Michael across the table grinning amusedly.

"What?"

Michael's smile opened as he shook his head.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking..." He considered for a second then recited. "'Oh, that I could a sin once see! The Devil -`"

"'- hath some good in him, we all agree.'" Spike finished the poem with a wave. "Yeah, yeah. Well, Herbert was a twit, but I appreciate the sentiment."

He felt Buffy's fingers lace together with his own quickly, and he caught her eye with a rueful grin. He still couldn't quite get his head around it. A night of passionate lovemaking, and believing he was in love with the incredible woman by his side, was pretty much the apex of his hopes, but ...real love. Real emotion. God...

Gabriel's voice cut in.

"It's good to have you on board, Spike."

"Thanks."

Spike favoured him with a nod, before glancing around the table with a grin. Willow was giving him a gleeful thumbs-up sign, and Tara looked equally happy. Anya was smiling amiably, all her foresight seeming to have come to fruition, and Xander was giving a concessionary shrug. Spike grinned again to himself as his eyes dropped to the wood of the table - all this comradely sentiment, he didn't know where to look... He settled for raising his eyes again to Buffy's, and giving her a dopey smile.

On his right, Ray clapped his hands together with a little impatience.

"Okay, well - now that's sorted out, how's about we get down to business." He turned his face towards Willow and Tara. "You ladies going along okay with that spell?"

Willow took the spotlight as all eyes focussed their way, and Tara's confidence melted slightly.

"Uh, yeah. With a lot of help from Anya."

The ex-demon beamed at the faces around the table before Willow continued.

"So, we think we've worked out a way to keep the town covered with a kind of protective shield."

"B-but it's only going to cover to the town's perimeter," Tara added meekly.

Ray nodded and waved her concerns away. "That's okay - we can run interference for strays."

"And we're gonna have to do a quick spell beforehand," Willow went on, "to encourage people to stay home."

Uriel leaned forward with a frown.

"That may be harder than you think - the energy of the Gathering is very unsettling for magic."

Tara swallowed and took over the explaining.

"Well, we're hoping that Dawn's power will provide a boost."

"How will you control it?" Giles seemed worried, the lines etched on his forehead seemingly grown deeper after the last few days. "Won't the use of Primordial Power endanger you both?"

The two witches exchanged a glance - the rest of the company suddenly understood that their own worries followed a similar path. Tara took a breath, and looked back at him

"We hope not. We've worked out a system to channel the energy, but we'll have to be extra careful." She flicked her gaze over to Anya in acknowledgement.

"I'm going to be the channel," Willow clarified. "I'll be moving the energy - but it'll be Tara who's doing the spell to draw and direct it."

Everyone looked up at the blonde witch in surprise. Tara gulped - somehow, her stage-fright was worse than her fear of doing the magic - and was about to look down when Giles caught her eye.

"Then Tara, I'll be your back-up. You'll have to explain the mechanics of the spell to me." He narrowed his gaze gravely. "I won't be able to take over from you if you weaken, but I might be able to provide you with a boost if you need it. And we need to ensure that the three of you are safe from demonic interference."

"Protecting the protectors, huh?" Xander mused.

"I believe I have a few magic tricks left. And if all else fails, I've still got my sword-arm."

Buffy was nodding her approval, and giving Tara and Willow a supportive smile.

"Apart from the whole `Dawn in danger' thing..." She shrugged, knowing that the witches would understand. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Tara smiled back gratefully. Then Spike broke the moment with a wave of a finger.

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking - how's this Gathering business gonna work? The demons stand on one side of Main Street, and we stand on the other, and then the bell rings and we all come out swinging?"

"In a manner of speaking," Uriel said, inclining his head.

Xander grinned. "The good ole Mexican stand-off."

Buffy grimaced and twirled a plait. "I don't know... It sounds too easy."

"I'm inclined to agree."

Ray was pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and hanging his hat on the corner of his chair. He looked towards Gabriel and Giles, indicating something on the floor behind them with his chin.

"Would you mind bringing that up here?"

With a quick nod, the two lifted the map off the floor and onto the table. Elbows and hands were lifted to make room, and then Ray was standing and pointing with his unlit smoke.

"Thanks - okay, here's the situation. You got Main Street here, but check out the lay of the land: buildings all along here, but lots of grassy vacancies all over the place."

Spike had also risen to standing, to check out the coloured topography. Now all the emotional outpourings were concluded, his expression was a study in professional interest. He poked the glowing, shifting sand over the paper with a finger.

"This is the Demon Map, huh?"

Willow and Tara smiled and nodded. Spike flicked off the red goo that had started crawling up his hand, and winced.

"Lovely. Well, Ray and Buffy are right - I don't think the Mexican stand-off thing is gonna work."

"How do you figure?" Gabriel asked, peering at the map curiously.

Buffy answered in Spike's stead. She'd already had a good look at the layout of Main Street.

"There's too much empty space."

"Right." Spike agreed. "And too many demons. You know, the countryside around Sunnydale is packed to the rafters. And the sewers are like the London Underground." He glanced the Slayer's way briefly. "You wanna put wards up near your house, by the way."

"Oh - thanks." She smiled in gentle appreciation at his thoughtfulness, then looked back to Ray. "So, I'm guessing we'll start swinging before we hit Main Street?"

Ray shrugged, and crooked a thumb towards the shop entrance.

"If I've been adding up demon numbers right, you'll be fighting off bad guys as soon as you walk out that door."

"Great," Xander groaned.

Michael had been watching the exchange carefully, and now stepped in to explain.

"The last Gathering was held in a field, on top of a hill. The township was in the out-lying surrounds, in the valley."

"This situation is different," Uriel nodded as he took over the narrative. "All the participants will be pouring into the middle of Sunnydale. I'm afraid the danger for the town's population will come somewhat before sundown tomorrow."

Willow baulked with the realisation.

"We're gonna have to do the protection spell sooner than we thought."

"Yes. In fact, you'll be the front line of defence."

Willow and Tara looked at each other and paled.

"How - how much sooner?" Tara stammered.

Ray considered the ceiling for a moment.

"Well...I reckon the best thing would be to set up the younger Miss Summers, and the ladies here, off the middle of Main Street, say...two hours before the event."

"Two hours?" The women gaped in unison.

Uriel watched them both cautiously. "Do you think you can handle that?"

Willow was forced to reply, as Tara's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Uh, yeah. I guess." She looked pained as she regarded her lover's face. "Ah, geez - I don't know. Two hours is a long time."

Tara swallowed and recovered, although her voice was very quiet.

"But...well, if you need us..."

Giles glanced up with a reassuring expression.

"Tara, you can do this. I've seen you work - you're a talented witch. And you'll have support."

She gulped again, her face losing a little more colour.

"I'm glad you're sure." But with a deep breath, she firmed her resolve. "Well...okay. Yeah. Two hours. That's...that's, uh, doable."

Willow squeezed her hand, which seemed to give her a little more encouragement. And Ray was looking on kindly.

"You'll do fine, sweetie. You got the goodies. And remember, you'll have people aound you. Rupert here, plus Mr Harris, and his lovely demon friend, will be running back-up. And Michael will take your station too."

Michael nodded and smiled at the witches reassuringly. Xander's eyes immediately brightened, and Anya grinned and straightened at the compliment - plus the thought that she and Xander were actually going to be doing something.

"We'll be right behind you," Giles confirmed.

Buffy made a mental note to give the two witches a pick-me-up pep-talk after the meeting, then glanced back to the angel quickly as he lit up his cigarette.

"So, Willow and Tara are on guard duty, and Giles and Xander and Anya are backing them up. And what do the rest of us do?"

Ray shook his head at her to dampen the enthusiasm a bit.

"Other stuff - but first, preparations." He blew out a plume of smoke and stabbed a grubby finger towards Xander and Anya. "You two - I got another job for you both. I want those weapons out the back stashed in places near where the main firefight will occur. Don't worry, I'll put up wards on `em so no-one can touch `em but us. But I don't want anyone reaching for an axe or something in the height of the battle and coming up empty-handed, okay?"

"Sure thing," Xander nodded, Anya following.

Ray glanced around at the other expectant faces.

"Right. So, the same time as the girls do their witchy do, the rest of us will meet here. Then I think it'd be good to have our helpful vampires make a clean-up in the vicinity of the shop before we emerge. Give us a clear exit."

Buffy frowned, remembering something suddenly.

"Speaking of helpful vampires...where's Angel?"

"Out."

Both Spike and Ray had replied in chorus - the two men glanced at each other. Spike grimaced and tried to explain.

"He's..."

"...taking the edge off." Ray finished for him.

Spike looked over quickly, as the words were taken out of his mouth, then turned back to Buffy as her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

Spike shrugged helplessly. Buffy's frown deepened.

"Did you two -"

Ray cut her off quickly. "Can you guys discuss it later? Look, don't worry about the big guy, I'll fill him in. But anyway, as I was saying, the boys can clear out any immediate threats here, before we take the it to the streets."

Buffy looked temporarily mollified, and nodded. Spike seemed grateful that the angel had run interference, but his attention had been taken by the man's last words.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great. But aren't we forgetting the little daylight issue?"

"Don't worry - we got it covered."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm real happy for you. But just so's you know, bursting into flames isn't exactly the high point of -"

"You'll be protected," Uriel interjected. He was leaning an elbow on the Demon Map, and had his eyes on Spike. "I can protect you both from the sun until dusk, when the Gathering occurs."

"Oh." Spike absorbed this with a curious, slightly confused face. The mechanics of the angels' abilities was still a big question mark as far as he was concerned. "You can?"

Uriel nodded, his expression dry.

"Oh. Okay. Well...great."

Ray ashed his cigarette carelessly in the vampire's direction.

"You happy now? Okay, then at about an hour before dusk, we leave the shop and head for Main Street."

"Fighting demons all the way," Buffy added.

"Yup. Hence the `early to the party'. Way I figure, even with the boys on flank, it'll take us an hour to carve our way through to the Gathering point."

"My word." Giles was looking incredulous, and frankly worried.

"Yeah," Ray nodded in his direction. "And don't think protecting the girlies there will be a walk in the park either. You'll be in the thick of things for two hours before we arrive. Hope that sword-arm of yours isn't too rusty."

Everyone was chewing this information over. It appeared that each and every participant would have their hands full at some point - no slackers. Spike sucked his lip as a thought occurred.

"So, it looks like our main problem will be...exhaustion."

Ray tilted his head, admiring how the vampire saw through to the heart of things.

"Hit the nail on the head. That, and staying together."

"That's another issue." Uriel swung a glance around the table. "I want everyone - and I mean everyone - in one place at sundown." He tapped a spot on the map. "Here's our meeting point. Dispose of attackers up as far as Cayman Street, but don't drop out of sight, and don't go down any back alleys, no matter how tempting it may be to give chase. Remember, there'll be plenty of demons to go round."

"Gotcha." Buffy nodded solemnly. "So, by the time we reach Dawn, and Will and Tara, we'll be in a rough vee formation?"

"Yes. Angel and Raphael on one side, Gabriel and Spike on the other, and you and I in the back centre. We come up here, and collect the others in the middle."

"Okay. So -"

The phone rang abruptly, the jarring tones breaking the collective concentration. Everyone looked up, and there was a pause. Then Anya groaned and pushed back from the table.

"I know I work here, but why do I always have to get it?"

She rose and gallumped off towards the counter. Buffy swung back around to look at Ray and Uriel.

"So that's the plan?"

"That's the plan." Ray ashed his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.

"Okay. It sounds good - let's hope it goes off without too many hitches."

Uriel smiled wryly. "In my experience, there's always the odd hitch or two. But if we keep to -"

Anya's voice had risen near the counter, and he stopped to look over.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to speak more slowly...look, whoever you are, will you please -" She sighed and held out the receiver impatiently in Giles' direction. "Giles, can you take this call, because I have no idea what this person is saying."

With a shrug, Giles stood and walked over to take the phone.

"Yes, hello..." There was a pause, and then his voice went suddenly low. "Dawn - is that you?"

The echo of his words seemed to resonate in the air. Buffy looked up, blood draining from her face. She pushed her chair away from the table, the screech of wood making a wincing punctuation.

"Dawn -" Giles listened carefully, and his eyes strayed over to Buffy's widening gaze. "Dawn, we're coming over right now. Just...just stay there."

She couldn't move. As Giles hung up the phone and turned, she tried to rise, but found herself staggering back. The feel of Spike's arms on her shoulders registered - a dim, cool touch. She felt her lips go dry - she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And then, the barest whisper.

"Oh god..."

Giles took in her white face, her arms hanging down limply, then took control.

"Anya and Xander, mind the shop. We're closed. Willow and Tara, come with me."

The witches moved fast, gathering their belongings. Giles snatched up his jacket, and Buffy's backpack, then stepped towards her, reaching out a hand gently.

"Buffy, come on, we'll go in my car..."

But she was shaking her head slowly, so pale, so suddenly small and frail, like her heart had stopped beating, and it made him ache to see it.

"No...no, it can't..."

"Buffy, you have to come now. Come on. Here, take my hand."

Spike was holding her up - his face was a mess of worry.

"I wanna come - I should be there -"

Giles shook his head quickly, focussed just on getting Buffy home.

"No, Spike, it's still light outside -"

"I should be there!"

Distraught now, the vampire growled instinctively. Giles looked at him squarely, taking things in hand.

"It's not the time." His voice softened, and he spoke quickly. "Spike, it's dangerous for you. Stay here - please. I'll call you, as soon as I can. I promise."

Then Willow was beside the couple, loosening Spike's grip on Buffy's arm with gentle fingers, peering up at him.

"Spike, he's right. Come on. Sunset is close, and...we'll need you then."

With a sharp grimace of frustration, the vampire relented. His hand rested on Buffy's shoulder, then slid slowly away as she turned to give him an imploring look of confusion, before allowing herself to be led towards the stairs.

All eyes followed in their wake. Uriel exchanged solemn glances with the other angels. Spike slumped where he stood for a moment, then fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, his eyes down. He searched one pocket, then the next, groped inside his duster for a second then, in a burst of overwhelming fury, spun and kicked his chair across the room. It splintered against the wall with a resounding crash.

oOo

8.30pm

The house on Revello Drive was very quiet - Xander motioned Anya and Michael to hang back a little as he made his way up the stairs to the door. He'd already seen Giles' car parked out front, but by this stage all the other vehicles - the ambulance, the coroner's car - had long since gone. From the outside, nothing seemed amiss. Maybe the lights in the house were a little dim, but Xander realised that it was really only his imagination that made the Summer's residence appear downcast, gloom-shrouded.

Not particularly looking forward to collecting Spike for the patrol, Xander made a wince before blowing out a sigh, and giving the door a tentative knock. A few moments later, just as he was thinking of knocking again, the door swung open halfway, and Giles' careworn face emerged.

"Hello Xander."

"Uh, hi."

He scrutinised the Watcher carefully - Giles looked like he'd been through the wringer. Xander didn't want to think about how Buffy and Dawn were looking right now. He let his eyes wander past the doorway, into the lamplit hall.

"Is, uh, everything okay?"

Giles nodded wearily. "Buffy and Dawn are...resting. Willow and Tara are with them." He looked slightly apologetic. "I'd say come in, but I don't think -"

"No, no - it's okay. It's fine."

The Watcher removed his glasses with a sad smile.

"Thank you. For understanding. And for doing this patrol - a necessary evil, I'm afraid."

Xander shook his head quickly. "No problem. Really - anything we can do." He cast a look around the hall again. "Is, uh, Spike -"

"I'm here."

The vampire had walked in quickly from the kitchen, and was in the process of putting out his cigarette in a coffee cup. Dumping the cup on the hall table, he quickly gathered his coat, eyes downcast.

"Let's go."

And he brushed past Xander abruptly, out into the night air, shrugging into his duster. Xander grimaced in his wake.

"Ookay." He caught Giles' gaze again. "Um, Giles, we'll stop by in the morning, is that alright?"

Giles nodded. "I'd say that would be essential. And call me here, after the patrol, fill me in on how it went."

"Sure." Xander was walking backwards off the porch, keeping an eye on Spike, who'd stalked past the others and had already started moving up the street. "Uh, talk to you then."

"Good luck."

We'll need it. Not just dealing with the demon hordes either - Spike in a funk was the last thing Xander really felt like coping with right now. The vampire had elected to go with them on this patrol as an alternative to teaming up with Angel, who'd joined up with Ray and Uriel, leaving Gabriel guarding the store. From his attitude, it had obviously been a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Xander gave Anya and Michael a nod, encouraging them to catch up as he made tracks, trying to keep up with Spike. The vampire was already a dozen long strides ahead. Xander made a face, and called out an appeal.

"Spike. Spike, wait up."

With a droop of the shoulders, the vampire slowed his pace, pulling out another cigarette listlessly, waiting for the stragglers.

"Spike! Hold up for a second."

Xander jogged the last few steps as the vampire turned to regard him, frowning.

"What?"

Suddenly, Xander was at a loss for words. Spike's face was haggard - he looked tired, drawn, like he was in physical pain, and Xander remembered with a lurch that Spike really did have feelings, just like the rest of them. It seemed an intrusion to ask, but Xander needed to find out what had been happening. His voice softened with the tentative query.

"How - how's Buffy?"

"How the hell do you think she is?" the vampire replied with a snarl.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

Spike looked away. "Well, her mum just died, so she's super."

Man, he really can be an asshole sometimes... Xander pursed his lips.

"Look, I'm trying real hard to be sensitive about your situation here, but you're not giving me much to work with."

The blonde man just made a face and rolled his eyes, blowing smoke. Giving concessions was the last thing on his mind at the moment. And if Harris wanted to be sensitive, he could do it all on his own.

Xander took in the look, the attitude, and blew up. The pressures of an afternoon spent sitting in the shop, waiting for the phone, waiting for news, and worrying for his friends, suddenly impacted in a heated explosion. He stabbed a finger in Spike's direction.

"We all loved Joyce too, you know!"

Spike looked up, surprised, saw an expression of grief that matched his own, and relented. He sighed into the night.

"Buffy's...she's catatonic. She won't speak, won't eat, won't sleep..." A look of exasperation and worry washed over his features. "It's scary."

Xander frowned at the news. As Anya and Michael came closer, he fixed Spike with a more mellowed gaze and tried to make his own reassurances come out with a sense of understanding, of rightness.

"She's grieving, Spike - it's normal."

But the vampire was shaking his head anxiously. "This is beyond normal - you could stab her with a knife and she wouldn't respond... Her Watcher doesn't know what to do..." He swallowed, and admitted, "I don't know what to do. What to say..."

"Well, I can relate to that." Anya had come round to stand at Xander's side. Her words were quiet, despite their irreverence.

"What about Dawn?" Xander asked.

"Sedated. Doctor gave her something to calm her down. Tara's watching her." Spike flicked away his cigarette butt, and caught Xander's eye grimly. "The doc didn't want to give Buffy anything. Said she was already too quiet."

"Ah, man..."

Xander let his eyes slip up to the stars above them. This was bad. Bad news. Understandable, from Buffy's point of view, but...what would happen tomorrow, if she was out of commision? He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder - Michael had stepped closer to give his encouragement.

"Give her time. She'll feel better after she's had some rest."

Spike's face transformed suddenly with anger, and he took a stride towards the angel, pushing himself into the other man's comfort zone.

"Well, time is the one thing we don't have. And you - telling her that her mum was improving, when it was all just bullshit -"

"I never told Buffy that her mother was getting better." Michael seemed unperturbed, his face its usual calm sea. "I said she was getting stronger - there's a difference. Joyce knew the end was close - it was her mind that was strengthening, preparing itself -"

"That is bollocks, and you know it." The vampire stared the red-haired man down witheringly. "You can be as pedantic as you like - it all boils down to the fact that you gave the girl hope when there was none."

"It was important that Buffy feel supported -"

"And where's your support now? When she's sitting up there in her room, half bloody comatose?" Spike waved his cigarette, disgusted. "Ah, you religious types are all the same..."

He whirled away and started walking off. Michael, looking torn, made to follow but Xander stopped him with a hand and a serious glance.

"I wouldn't. Just - give him a minute."

Being the one to intervene on Spike's behalf felt kind of strange, but in the interests of an argument-free patrol, Xander figured it was a good idea. He set the pace up the street again, watching the vampire's loping stride, and trying to keep a respectable distance. By his side, Michael seemed to be lost in consideration. Xander wondered if being a servant of the greater good was really all it was cracked up to be.

Anya was happy to walk briskly for a while, but after the first hundred metres or so, her shoes started to hurt, and she was beginning to think the whole night was going to be spent in gloomy contemplation and in-fighting. With a determined frown, and waving off Xander's entreaty to leave it, she picked up her steps and caught up with Spike. His brief acknowledging glare was enough to get her started.

"So. I thought you'd be used to all this by now."

"Used to what?"

Anya watched him light another smoke off the butt of the first, and wondered if smoking tobacco helped. Maybe she should take it up. Except for the taste - gross.

"Well, you know. People dying. It's not so uncommon, after all."

The vampire stared forward for a second, thinking.

"This is...different."

"Because you cared for Joyce."

"Yeah, I guess."

The ex-demoness frowned then. Was that what it was? This uncomfortable, gritty feeling she'd been experiencing? She grimaced with the effort of understanding.

"It's...depressing. I feel sad. I've felt sad all afternoon."

Spike gave her a melancholy look. "That's what grief is."

"When does it stop?" Anya scratched her neck, her arms, like the feeling might be expressed through the skin and washed away, with a little application.

"It doesn't." Spike looked almost bemused now. Never thought he'd be explaining feelings to...well, anyone. He clarified gently. "The sting fades, after a while, but...it never really goes away."

Anya pondered this for a moment. The prospect of this sad feeling, going on and on... She frowned at the idea. But it wasn't in her nature to become mired in pessimism - she shrugged in Spike's direction.

"Well, at least you can work off a bit of energy through rampant bloodshed."

Spike sighed. "Yeah - bring on the demon hordes, eh?"

If Xander had been in earshot, he would have groaned at the open invitation. As it was, he barely had time to gulp when two over-large and over-furry creatures suddenly emerged behind them. One of them wrapped an arm around his neck, and lifted his feet of the pavement. Michael whirled and drew his longsword, not sure which to attack first - the demon throttling Xander, or the one advancing on him with heavy, lumbering steps.

Anya and Spike, a fair way ahead and totally oblivious, chatted on.

"Maybe that's what Buffy needs - a little killing spree."

"Always tends to make me feel brighter," Spike agreed with a considering nod.

Xander felt his lips start to turn blue, and scrabbled for purchase on the arm at his neck. Michael was parrying the other demon, which had extended one hand, and blocked the sword with a flat, racquet-like palm.

"You're lucky you can still do it, you know," Anya continued blithely. "Now I'm not a Vengeance demon, many's the time when I've been relieved that I still have the opportunity to -"

"Urgh." Xander burbled. "Help."

Anya and Spike both turned at the interruption. The auburn-haired girl frowned quickly.

"Oh, crap."

"Right." Spike stepped forward briskly. "Allow me."

With a rapid twirl, he ran back, slipped behind the first demon and broke its neck with a sharp jerking twist, then grabbed the creature's arms by the wrists and wrenched them away. Xander, released from the stranglehold on his throat, dropped to the ground and hacked back a breath. Anya rushed to his side as Spike moved on to the next opponent.

But Michael had already gained the upper-hand, and was in the process of extricating his sword from the second demon's neck. The head plopped to the ground and rolled under a nearby bush. The angel looked up to check the first skirmish, then nodded his head approvingly at Spike.

"That was nice work."

"Ta." Spike shrugged - easy.

Xander had risen to his feet, with a little assistance, and was looking at his one-time attacker with distaste. His voice was croaky as he rubbed his bruised throat.

"Thanks. But did you really have to pull its arms off like that?"

"Felt like it." Spike cast him a faintly reproachful look. "Got the job done, didn't it?"

Xander had no choice but to lift his shoulders in agreement.

At least the attack had done what no amount of small-talk could have achieved - the company was walking together, maintaining a comradely watchfulness as they made their way throught the quiet streets. By the time they'd made their way up to Bellevue, Xander had almost started to relax. Spike and Michael were talking to each other, if largely monosyllabically on the vampire's part. But Xander didn't feel the need to keep walking between them anymore, which was something.

The next attack, by a couple of slimy things and a deformed hunchback with a tail, wasn't a surprise. By the fourth episode, the demonic interferences were taking on a kind of a boring rhythm - the demons attacked, and were quickly dispatched, mostly by Spike, who seemed to be enjoying the chance to rampage, but with equally efficient if less obviously bloodthirsty assistance from Michael. Anya even managed to score a few points for effort - her preferred choice of weapon appearing to be a maidenly blush, feigned shock, followed through with a side-swipe with her club.

In this more or less businesslike fashion, the group found itself at the corner of Foreman and the appropriately named Widow's Alley. They were in the process of deciding which turn to take next when Xander noticed the odd-looking jumbled piles in the alley. He walked forward to check, and found himself frowning above a dead demon body. He nudged it once with the toe of his sneaker. Yup, definitely dead.

"Huh. I didn't think that Angel and the others were working over this far."

Michael moved over to look. The body was one of several; maybe half a dozen dead demons lay in tangled disarray.

"They're not." The angel's brow was knitting together.

Spike was examining the first body, then the others in rapid appraisal.

"Neat work - single swordthrusts."

He looked up at Michael in consternation.

"I know this," Michael muttered, drawing his sword as he looked around the alley.

"Right behind you."

Spike had straightened, and was now back to back with the angel as they surveyed the alley cautiously. Xander watched their defensive positions and raised an eyebrow.

"What? What is it?"

Spike's nostrils were flaring, a look of dark concentration on his face.

"She's around here...someplace. I can smell it."

"Who?"

But before the vampire could reply, another figure appeared at the top of the alley. A girl, a tiny supple human-looking girl, pale all over, which made her shock of frizzy red hair, flaring around her face like a sunburst, even more of a contrast. She was wearing an assortment of bright-coloured clothes - a tie-dyed crop top, exposing a slim waist, and lycra hipster shorts in a glaring fuschia. She looked like she was dressed for an aerobics class, except for the cherry-red boots laced up to her knees.

And the huge sword, in the scabbard on her back.

"Grace."

Michael's voice was soft, a mixture of announcement and greeting. Even Spike felt vaguely surprised at the change in the girl's appearance - if it wasn't for his senses, he wouldn't have recognised the creature before him as his previous attacker. Chameleon-like, Grace had altered herself to make herself harder to spot - until it was too late.

The girl didn't acknowledge Michael at all, merely took a few steps closer to them. Xander was frowning. The girl didn't look like she could fight her way out of a damp paper bag, let alone take on and nearly kill a master vampire.

"This is Grace? But...but... She's so...little..."

As if she'd taken his words to heart, the girl suddenly moved closer, and reached back to draw her sword. The weapon was ridiculously big, looked too heavy for her to hold upright - but Grace managed it without difficulty, positioning the tip in their direction. Xander's hackles rose.

"Hey, watch where you point that thing, girlie."

Grace's eyes flicked over the company, lingering on Spike, then coming to rest on Anya. The ex-demoness felt suddenly nervous.

"Xander... Xander, she's giving me that look."

Straightening his shoulders, Xander took up a chivalrously protective stance in front of his girlfrend. He extended a placating hand towards the girl before them, beginning a stern, if slightly underconfident entreaty.

"Now, I know you could run me right through to get to her, but I'm telling you it's not gonna happen - I mean, come on, ouch..."

Spike and Michael had moved around behind Grace, and if the Death-Bringer felt uncomfortable about being hedged in she certainly wasn't showing it. Michael spoke smoothly, quietly, as if there was a large and dangerous jungle cat present, which might suddenly turn on them and bare its claws.

"You can't reason with her," he said in Xander's direction.

"Anyway," Spike added, in the same cool tones, "it's not Anya she wants..."

And now Grace's gaze slid away from the Scooby pair to fix on the vampire's face. Spike thought that if she could have showed emotion, she might have grinned.

"...is it now?" he finished, sotto-voce, a delicate invitation.

It was all that Grace needed. With a burst of speed that Xander found shocking, the girl launched herself towards Spike, bright hair spinning as she swept up her sword. Spike feinted just in time, and danced away to the open side, letting the confrontation space unfold.

Bloody hell. He'd been too slow again. The number of times he'd replayed the incident in the Bronze over in his head, and he still came up short when it came to assessing the deadly angel's swiftness. She was like a striking snake - had her fangs in you before you knew it. And her sword had taken a neat slice out of his white shirt as he dodged - it was now missing a button, in fact. But at least this time he hadn't had to experience the sting of her sword-edge on his skin. Not yet.

And this time he had a weapon. He let Grace's rapid thrust-sweep combinations roll him onto the ground, then grabbed the long, curved knife out of his boot and did a hand-spring to standing.

Whoah... He was forced to backbend halfway down again as a long swipe of her sword arced over his midriff - he'd miscalculated the rise, and it nearly cost him his head.

Have to get faster than this...

Trying to factor the girl's speed into his reaction times...the best way to do that was to engage directly. Spike shivered into his game face, and sprang forward with a roar. Grace seemed less prepared to take him when he came on the offensive - she was forced to give ground in an exchanged series of blows that took them halfway down the alley, dodging crates, demon debris, and Xander, Anya and Michael.

Xander was trying his best to keep the hell out of the way while watching the furious conflict, his face reflecting a state of mental confusion.

"Uh...lady? Hello? Hey, you probably don't know, and don't really care -"

He raised his eyebrows as the combatants threw each other off the alley walls, Spike narrowly deflecting a sword-jab.

" - but, uh, he's one of the good guys now. Y'know? The good guys?"

Spike was in the middle of pushing the sword away from his neck - Grace had him leaning back over a trashcan, one cherry-booted knee on his chest. He flashed Xander a disbelieving look, and ground out a reply through clenched teeth.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Xander grinned back, until suddenly the battle was heading his and Anya's way. "Hey!"

Spike had managed to push the angel away, and scooted off the trashcan for more open ground, sending Grace sprawling. She jumped back up quickly, and before he had cleared past Xander and Anya she was advancing on him - she looked like she'd be happy to barrel through a

few minor inconveniences, like a pair of humans standing in the way for instance.

The girl's sword was at mid-height, and set for a long thrust between the couple to get at her objective, the vampire passing behind them. They had to do something - Anya raised her club, but Xander realised that this would be a perfect excuse for Grace to skewer her, and suddenly grabbed the weapon away. His girlfriend frowned.

"Xander! Do you mind? I'm -"

Xander opened his mouth to reply, realised suddenly that he didn't have time and it was in any case, stupid, closed his mouth - he could explain later. With an apologetic look at Anya, and with perfect Keystone Kops timing, he whacked the club down on Grace's sword-hand as she jabbed through. The long blade fell to the ground, and the Angel of Death gave him a look that might have melted him on the spot, if he hadn't been in the process of running away, Anya in tow.

Spike was appreciative of the interference, regardless of how burlesque. And with Anya and Xander now safely out of firing range, taking shelter behind Michael, Spike had some room to move. He sprang off the wall, somersaulting over Grace's head, and went into a crouch, sweeping with one leg. He caught the angel's ankle, and the manouever might have sent her tumbling, except she used the sword as a prop, the point stuck down in the concrete, to take her weight as she transformed the spill into a jumping kick with both feet. Spike took the impact in the neck, and fell back heavily. But he wasn't about to let Grace do her little `jump on and burn out' trick - he rolled over and quickly parried as he rose.

In a strange way, it was satisfying - Grace was a more than credible combatant, and it was almost like fighting with Buffy. The purity of attack and defence refreshed him, burnt away some of the bitter-tasting sadness and worry inside him. This was familiar, comfortable almost - fighting for his life he could handle. And he had to stay focussed, match Grace's speed, parry, block, dodge, spin, return...

He let his body take over, let the movements become fluid. The motion of the fight began to take on its own life, and the sphere of action closed his vision - the sword, the girl, his knife, the alley wall, asphalt below, his own legs scissoring, the whipping edge of his coat, muscles bunching, loosening... The juice of grief and confused emotions trickled in, became a stream, a river - more fuel for the frenetic fire. He felt his mouth turn up in an ecstatic smile, the growl of a vaguely hysterical chuckle roll in his throat.

And before he knew it he was eating brick, slammed face-first up against the alley wall, his left arm twisted behind him, breaking his hold on the knife. He didn't have to look - he could see it mentally, Grace's arm raised, the sword-point ready to thrust through his back, straight through his chest, into his pale bloodless heart...

But at the moment of truth, the sword was stayed. He felt the hold on his arm release, and he flung himself around, back to the bricks, to see Michael watching Grace pick herself up from the asphalt across the alley. The angel turned his head for a moment to check on Spike, gave the vampire a wry grin.

"Hey. You wanna be careful, mixing emotion and energy - tends to upset your balance."

He turned back as Grace dove forward again, and blocked with his long-sword. Spike could only frown and nod.

"Uh, right."

But his reply was lost in the sounds of metal clashing as Michael and Grace began to battle. Spike watched the display as he recouped against the wall. He realised suddenly that he was sporting a dozen light scratches, where Grace's sword had almost got lucky, which dismayed him for a second - he thought he'd been on top of things.

But Michael had been right; he'd been feeding off his anger.

Come on, emotions are nothing new...

But he'd just never really had to acknowledge them as a factor before. Now, there they were, and they were just so...there. Blatant. Unavoidable. It was as though having other people admit that his emotions had substance suddenly made them real, even to him. Hard not to be tempted to put them to some practical use.

But it was no way to fight - good gas for the tanks, but dangerous. Like Michael said, unbalanced.

And since when has balance ever been my speciality?

It wasn't quite his style. He wasn't like Angel, like Darla, even like Dru in her madness - not dispassionate, but wild; not self-possessed, but feral; not cool...well, yeah, kinda cool, but hardly `collected'. More...undomesticated. And definitely not balanced. And so what? It'd worked alright for the last hundred and eighty years, hadn't it?

But Grace was a different kind of opponent, and watching Michael and his peer wage elegant war, Spike realised that this was a different style of fighting. One that he'd do well to take a few tips from.

Michael's face had assumed a kind of calm blankness - it didn't even look like he was exerting any effort. But his hands and body were a blur. Right-handed, he was in the process of tossing the sword back into his lead hand after parrying a number of long, vicious strokes with his left. Grace was floating around him, buzzing and swarming, legs and arms flashing. In fact, she really did resemble an insect that way - the same detached aloofness, uncaring, icy...

Michael didn't have quite the same air about him - it was more an equanimity, an acceptance of each action and reaction, each stroke and counterstroke. He seemed to be able to anticipate his opponent's every move, and be there to match it. It was like watching water flowing, watching him lilt from one manouever to the next. Spike felt oddly jealous - even at the height of his fury and power, he'd never mastered the speed and smooth proficiency that these two combatants demonstrated.

Well, der - that would be cos you're not an angel...

He was distracted by Michael's voice - the man had turned his head briefly to catch his eye. His words came around the sound of striking iron, as the swords clashed discordantly.

"Spike - are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Something sailed out of the air towards the vampire, and he grabbed for it - his knife. He looked up to see Michael's quick grin, the raised eyebrows.

"Come on, then!"

The vampire was taken aback momentarily by the invitation, then shrugged it away and straightened. He narrowed his eyes, judging his entrance, then took a few quick steps to move into an engaging position - he caught Grace mid-flight, as she was halfway round a leaping spinning kick. Spike's barrelling elbow to her torso made a solid sound as it hit her in the ribs, and she fell back inelegantly in a heap.

Spike had a half-grin on his face - try that on, you bloodless bitch... - but he wiped it away just as quickly. Think. Focus. Remember what Michael had said, fueling yourself with emotion won't help this time. With a glance at the red-haired angel to coordinate the attack, he took up a prepared stance on Grace's left, his fingers curling viciously around the bone hilt of his knife, and his shoulders drawing back.

Think. Focus. Instinct, not emotion.

Michael had angelic equanimity, but Spike was coming from the other side of the spectrum. His eyes began to glow darkly as he lowered his head, assessing the positions, watching Grace rise and melt into a multi-defence posture.

Instinct. Like an animal... Pure predator. No emotion.

No mercy.

From a number of feet distant, Xander felt Anya gasp and wriggle closer to his back as the three figures at the other end of the alley seemed to stop in time for a beat, then suddenly moved, all three at once, with weapons and fists and feet so fast that Xander's eyes could hardly move quickly enough to catch up.

Plenty of stuff I've seen...plenty of weird, impressive things...

But this had to match up with the best of them. An angel, who fought like a calm sinuous blur, and Spike, in what seemed to be all his demonic glory, facing off with a girl who moved like lightening, and purported to be the Angel of Death. He was trying to keep his eyes on the action, but it was like trying to watch a kaleidescope of movement - and Anya was poking him in the back.

"What's happening?"

"They're fighting - and you can watch now honey, I don't think they're coming our way."

They looked too engrossed in what they were doing to even be thinking of him and Anya in the background. There was a thrust, a parry - Michael blocked a sword blow, then spun to avoid a punch. Spike was dodging a kick, and using a particularly nasty-looking curved knife to open up slashing spaces in the girl's defence. Then she jumped up incredibly high, and came bearing down on both the men with a double-footed kick, and a long swipe with the sword. Xander watched Spike tumble to avoid contact, then lost some of the action when the figures moved too fast again.

It was hard to believe that this tiny girl was capable of taking on two obviously masterful opponents, but she was doing it - she was even making some ground. Her one weakness, from what Xander could make out with his once-trained eye, was her one-sided obsession with killing Spike. She seemed less focussed on defending or fighting off Michael's attacks than on just skewering the vampire as quickly as possible.

At one point she made a sudden, almost frustrated-seeming attack, swooping in with wide hacking cuts with the sword, then was forced to somersault back about four times to avoid a combined assault from the men. If Xander didn't know better - I mean, come on, she's the Angel of Death - he'd have thought she was getting pissed off.

Then suddenly she got the break she needed. Spike, who'd been fighting with a detached brutality that Xander had only rarely seen, suddenly lost concentration when Grace spun and kicked his head against the alley wall. The vampire let out a roar of anger, and punched forward with his knife, aiming for the jugular. The girl blocked his arm easily and ducked under it to deliver a raking slash with the sword that ripped through the back of the duster and buckled Spike's knees. The vampire cried out sharply, and his hand went up on the wall for support.

But before Xander could move, Michael had stepped forward to shield. The angel stood in front of the staggered vampire, shoulders square, sword held lightly in his right hand. He met Grace's gaze with a cool look of warning, and his voice was soft, but it carried.

"He's under my protection."

The girl was standing in a half-ready posture, sword up-raised and flattened out for the victorious run-through. But the point was directly facing Michael's stomach. She wasn't about to get her victory without going through her peer first.

Spike bit back a hiss and winced as he raised his head to look around Michael's coat. For the first time, he saw the girl's face change expression - her mouth was set in a line, and her chin seemed to tremble for a second, her eyes widening and brow knitting together. She was confounded in her purpose, and it appeared to be a wholly new experience.

Then Spike was shocked to see Grace's mouth open and a choked, inarticulate cry trail out - it sounded like a thousand rooks cawing, or a haunting caterwauling... But even more shocking was her sudden, furious movement. She stepped forward forcefully, and drove the point of the sword home in one vicious thrust. It went clear through Michael's abdomen, the tip emerging three feet out his back, so fast that Spike's head jerked away barely in time, the edge making a sibilant sound as it passed his neck. He gulped, eyeing off the sword - too close.

Michael had bent with the force of the sword-thrust, but then his head went up, and he grabbed Grace's wrist where it held the hilt of the sword, sliding under his ribs.

"My protection."

He held her gaze for a long second. Grace's face trembled again, then as quickly as she'd attacked, she pulled back, the sword drawing out with a harsh noise as Michael grunted and Xander grimaced. Grace took a step backwards, lifted the sword up in front of her darkened face in an elegant, olde-world salute, then before anyone could move, a fresh breeze swept through the alley, Grace springing up to ride it, bouncing up to rafters and pylons far above, scaling the alley wall...and disappearing.

Xander was left shaking his head, with his brain spinning. Then he realised that there were more pressing concerns than his own amazement. Michael was still half bent over, using his sword to prop himself up. Spike was kneeling behind him, leaning on a crate and rubbing his neck as though he was still feeling the tickle of the near-miss.

Xander came closer, Anya following behind, and peered at the angel.

"Are - are you okay?"

With a wan grin, Michael squinted up at him. He seemed to be trying to catch his breath or something - then he straightened gingerly.

"Mm. Yeah." He grinned again ruefully. "That stings."

Xander was blinking.

"But you... I mean, the sword went right through you..."

"Yeah." Michael agreed. Then he opened his coat to demonstrate. "I'm fine. Really."

Xander looked. The cloth was marked by a distinct rent, but there was no blood, no gore, no guts falling out... Weird. He looked up at Michael, who was smiling reassuringly, then back at what should have been an awful wound. Nothing. Nada. Wow.

Spike, who was carefully getting to his feet with Anya's assistance, raised an eyebrow at the display.

"Huh. That's handy."

Michael shrugged modestly, then nodded at Spike's back.

"You alright?"

It was a bit hard to see, being behind him and all, but Spike could feel the sting of the wound - deep, but not tragic; painful, but not incapacitating. The tender corners of the gash were already itching, which meant that the skin was beginning to knit together. It wasn't the first time he'd been grateful for the fast-mending facility.

"Nothing that won't heal," he reassured.

Well, no one got killed, and Grace was got gone - Xander felt relieved. He also wished that the patrol was over. It had been a busy enough evening already, and he was about ready for a nice hot cup of chocolate, or something sweet and not nasty, that wouldn't jump out of a dark corner and bite him on the ass. He heaved a sigh, still feeling slightly dizzy from the aftermath of the fight, then grinned at the two combatants, grateful that neither of them had lost any limbs, the responsibility kind of tending to fall back on him, after all.

"Hey. That was nice fighting."

"Thank you."

The two men, calm red-head and glowering peroxide, had answered in unison. With a quick surprised look at each other, they both gestured graciously for the other to take the credit. It all ended in a bit of amiable smiling and shrugging, until Anya sighed out a long, tired breath and stated the obvious in a dry, matter-of-fact voice.

"Well. This has certainly been...quite an exciting evening."

Spike snorted, then his face changed as he remembered why he was out here, listening to Anya's bon mots instead of Buffy's witty comeback lines. He surveyed the ruins of the alley - broken crates, dead demons, sword marks in the bricks and asphalt - and nodded grimly. His words were soft and heavy in reply.

"And a very long day."

oOo

To Make Much Of Time

Chapter Eight - Forever Tarry

Friday

5.24am

They were in the kitchen. Two angels, a Watcher, and a vampire - a whole circus troupe's worth.

It was impossible to say whether the angels ever needed to sleep. They always looked fresh, for some no-doubt heavenly reason. Even their clothes managed to maintain a recently-ironed appearance (except for Ray, but that was obviously a bit of window-dressing on his part) - creases stayed tight, collars and hems unstained and unfrayed, and there was a distinct lack of rumpling.

Lucky for some, Spike thought uncharitably.

But it didn't matter; what did he care anyway? Angels could go through the Almighty DryCleaners four times a day if they pleased, he didn't give a toss. He was both feeling and looking unpleasantly seedy, despite wangling a pitstop at the crypt earlier for a change of shirt, and was trying hard to convince himself that he'd rather be rumpled and seedy than angelically white-washed. Unfortunately, his current state of deshabille was a little too uncomfortable to be altogether convincing.

There was a crust of dried blood on the back waistband of his jeans, which kept scratching. And his back, which Willow had tended to briefly before she'd crashed out in exhaustion on the sofa in the living room, was itching like mad as it healed. The other cuts were almost closed over, but he still had black dried-blood streaks in his hair, on his face, all over the place. He needed a feed - not a major stretch, there was a leftover blood-bank baggie in the Summers' fridge - and he needed sleep, he realised. He'd been pushing it, catching catnaps here and there over the past week. What he needed was about three or four hours of uninterrupted.

But at least he was back to basic black. He'd chucked the white button-down away, given that it not only wasn't his style (or size) but, slashed up and covered in blood, it was by this stage little more than a rag anyway.

And at least he didn't look half as bad as Rupert. The Watcher was drawn in the cheeks, and unshaven grit darkened the now harsher planes of his face unbecomingly. He couldn't seem to stop cleaning his glasses - had them in his hand, rubbing the hem of his shirt over them at that very moment. Spike winced and looked away - presumably this obsessive-compulsive thing with the glasses was because Rupert was too distracted to remember such personal details as the fact that he'd only cleaned them five minutes ago.

The Watcher's eyes were red-rimmed. Spike wasn't sure if the man had been weeping, or if it was just exhaustion. Probably a bit of both, although Spike wondered when Giles had found the space and time to let out a bit of his own grief over Joyce's death, in between dealing with hospitals, and official types, and calling people, and extra guests in the house (even if some of them didn't get in the way or rumple much), and the Gathering business, and Dawn, and Buffy...

And Buffy.

Spike sighed quietly, and continued with what he was doing - standing at the kitchen sink, sponging blood off the back of his coat. The cut from Grace's sword was long, but very neat; he could get it repaired easily enough. But not right now. Too much...stuff. Stuff to do.

He blinked out the kitchen windows, face feeling stiff and set, mouth mired in a grim line. The light was coming - there was a rosy glow bleeding over the sky from behind the house, and the air had that tinted shade of blue that signalled an approaching dawn. It was like looking at the world underwater. If he extended his senses more fully - if he could be bothered - he would hear the tinkle of spoons in coffee mugs as the early-bird Friday morning risers prepped themselves with cocktails of caffeine, over-sugared cereal, and sunrise television for the nightmare entry into commuter-hood.

And they call a bit of pillage and murder `soulless'...

Something interrupted. Background blather.

"...didn't really seem happy about it, but she let him go? Spike, what did you make of it?"

"Hm?" He angled towards Giles with the red-tinged dishcloth in one hand. Not having really been listening, his reply was dry and a little short of helpful. "What? Oh, yeah. Grace. Near miss. But she choofed off at the last minute - hence the whole `me - not in a Hoover bag' thing."

Giles, who looked like he'd passed the point of being able to deal with pithy comments, merely sighed and turned back to Michael.

"It doesn't sound very typical of her, to get frustrated the way you mentioned."

Michael, who was sipping drip-filter coffee out of a thick-lipped mug, and seemed to be enjoying the change from tea, shook his head.

"It's not. In fact, I can't remember seeing her so obviously emotional in...well, a long time. But Spike is the objective, and she's been thwarted twice now." He swilled the coffee around in the mug and considered. "I think knowing that she's going to be forced to fight through her own kind to kill him has gotten to her. It must be confusing - we're supposed to all be working towards the same goals."

"In that case, I'm glad that your goals and Grace's have diverged," Spike said with a theatrically cocked eyebrow. He tossed the dishcloth back into the sink sans rinse, and began pulling his duster over his shoulders - mind the bandage. "I sure as hell wouldn't want to be fighting all five of you. One rampaging Angel of Death is ample, thanks." His forehead knit together as he rummaged for a smoke. "What I can't figure out is why is this bird still chasing after me? I mean, let's face it - Gathering's this arvo, there's like a million other nasties in town, and she's still getting all hot and bothered over yours truly."

Uriel was perched on a stool on the other side of the bench, still maintaining his permanent look of paternally frowning concern, but betraying something in his choice of beverage. A new carton of chocolate milk was open on the benchtop, and the angel was nursing a half-full glass.

"She's still so ferocious then?"

Spike snorted and turned his back, stretching to expose the long rent in the leather from shoulder to ribs.

"What do you reckon?"

For a moment Michael's eyes sparked with an invisible grin at the display, but he kept his face serious as he looked up at Uriel to confirm.

"I've never seen her so...intent. Her face, that sound she made...even her fighting style was off. And then she sliced right through me to get to him."

"Still pretty impressed about that, by the way," Spike noted with an upraised finger, head down as he helped himself to coffee.

Uriel was shaking his head, and examining his chocolate milk like it might hold a clue.

"It is strange. But Grace is such a single-minded creature..." His shrug was the closest Giles had seen to the angel admitting defeat on a subject. "I don't really know what to make of it. At the same time, we're not in direct contact with the Powers, and I don't think we can possibly understand all her motivations."

If there was one thing about Giles - and it was something that had stood him in good stead when he was fighting his way through the early machinations of the Council - it was his ability to read between the lines. Uriel wasn't saying much, but what he wasn't giving away was probably crucial. The Watcher squinted over at the angel, his head tilting as he thought.

"You think that Grace sees something more in Spike. Something important. His relevance to the Gathering, to the Balance, could be more -"

"I just don't know," Uriel interrupted with a sad headshake. "I'm sorry."

Giles let it drop - his face held an edge of curiousity and frustration, but there were obviously other things on his mind.

"Well," he sighed out heavily, "there's nothing can be done about it just now. And Grace's activities are not really of critical concern right at the moment."

"Speak for yourself," Spike countered with a glare.

"I mean apart from Grace being a danger to you." Giles clarified placatingly. His head dipped as he frowned. "There's other problems..."

The Watcher took a sip of tea, and removed his glasses - Spike turned his head to spare himself the sight of Giles' spectacle-cleaning ritual repeated ad nauseum.

Buffy...where are you woman?

His mouth twisted. He knew where she was - upstairs in her room, sitting on her bed, or maybe looking out the window, in whatever chair that Willow had put her in. Eyes hollow and sightless. Face closed. Expression a blank slate - dark, motionless, vacant, to the point where it made him want to rake his nails down that slate of a face just to get a reaction, something, anything...

Where Buffy really was was anyone's guess. And the hardest part was the rather sickening realization of how self-obsessed he was, because he kept thinking that he should be able to rouse her - he loved her, remember? Didn't that have any value? That a soulless demon could love her...surely that had to be earth-shattering, enough to wake her, to rumble her out of stupor. She should feel it in her bones, in her heart - the way he did, that painfulness ripping through him, tearing at each fibre, making him wince, his muscles twitching with the itch of it. Making him tremble, the way he trembled when he first felt her fingertips on his skin...

Spike remembered to take a final drag on his smoke before it ate itself away completely into a column of ash. More background blather.

"...tried everything?"

"Everything that I can think of, short of physical violence - and I don't think that would be productive at this stage," Giles said, with a quick cautious look at the vampire.

Uriel was trying to find the edge somewhere in the situation. "And there's no sign? Not even a glimmer..." He turned his gaze to Michael with an appeal. "Have you tried -"

But his compatriot was shaking his head, obviously having anticipated the question.

"I can't do anything for her at this stage. Buffy's locked inside her own mind right now - it's where she feels safe. She could come out tomorrow, or in an hour..." Michael's eyes softened helplessly as he took in the others' expressions "...or she could be there forever."

"Well she's not gonna be catatonic forever," Spike growled, thumping his coffee cup onto the counter in rather messy punctuation.

"You've spoken to her - " Uriel glanced at the vampire warily, "Will she respond?"

Spike was forced to give ground, shoulders slumping as he sighed, eyes drifting away towards the window as the morning light brightened the eaves outside

"Tried that already. Not had any more luck than Rupert or Michael there."

Uriel set down his cup of milk to run a hand through his springy salt-and-pepper hair. When he looked up again, it was with a renewed energy - but a grave, obstinately utilitarian energy that made Spike scowl.

"We need her back. Not tomorrow, not in an hour - now. The Gathering and the Balance depend on it."

Spike gave him a look of rampant disbelief combined with a generous helping of `fuck you'.

"I don't give a flying fuck about the Gathering -"

"Spike." Giles' face brooked no argument - part of it was that the man just looked so had it that Spike felt bad fighting back. The Watcher turned his gaze on Uriel with a mollifying look. "We'll keep trying."

oOo

6.13am

On a practical level, it was Tara who had the harder job.

Buffy, who was so grief-stricken that she was beyond consoling, at least gave Willow the opportunity to rest. In fact there wasn't a hell of a lot that Willow could do, apart from sitting beside Buffy's listless figure, talking a little, encouraging Buffy to talk back.

Dawn's coping mechanisms were much more external - the girl had never been one for retreat. Hysterical, her mother's body cradled in her lap when they first arrived on the scene, Dawn had see-sawed between bouts of crescendo-ing weeping and exhausted lapses into stillness and sleep. Tara was getting pretty exhausted herself - she had her hands full with trying to be on constant call, giving comfort as best she could, and discretely moving all the sharp implements out of sight.

It was hard, being there as a comforter - although it was a role she was well accustomed to, it was draining, feeling the raw emotions trilling in the air, unable to provide much more than a soft shoulder and a gentle voice. But maybe, Tara figured, that was enough. What more could anyone do, in this situation? Nothing - nothing helped, no words of advice or well-meaning platitudes about death and grief. Nothing was going to bring her back.

Tara remembered too well the dark, glowering presence of her uncle standing behind her at the coffin, one horrible leaden hand on her shoulder, reciting the passage from the Corinthians as she studied her mother's waxy face with a sense of disbelief, and a deep shocked detachment. `Blessed be the God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God...'

How she'd wished that he would just shut up...and something had coalesced then without her awareness, because Uncle Clay had pulled his hand away like he'd been bitten by a rattler, stammered into blessed silence, then turned and left her to contemplate her mother's face for the last time.

Dawn hadn't even been allowed that final contemplation - not yet. The last time she'd seen Joyce's face was as her mother was lifted on a trolley into the back of the coroner's car, and Dawn and her sister had stood on the sidewalk, hands clutching each other, faces blanched, staring and staring, before Giles ushered them both gently towards his car for the drive to the hospital.

Buffy was still talking at that stage, nodding and replying to the doctor's questions in a quiet confused monotone. It wasn't until they'd come home and she'd been kneeling on the living room carpet with a dishcloth, mopping up the drink that Dawn had spilled at the sight of Joyce on the floor, that she'd suddenly just...stopped. Like her clockwork had run down, all action and reaction slowing to nothing. Willow had noticed. tried to rouse her, and then just sat her up on the sofa, taken away the dishcloth gently...

Tara brushed her own hair out of her eyes and pushed up a from her chair as she heard the familiar sound of Dawn's crying. Poor, poor Dawnie...it's alright, it's okay... Exuding a balm of peaceful energy from her very pores, Tara moved and took her spot on the side of the bed, reaching out to stroke Dawn's hair, realizing that the girl was only half-awake - so hard, when there's no relief even in sleep...

The sobbing hiccuped away softly until Dawn was just staring into the corner of the room, dark hair spilling over the pillow so that her too-pale face was framed in a velevety background of glossy brown skeins. When her voice swam up, thickly and quietly, Tara thought it sounded like it was coming from a million miles away.

"You went through this, didn't you."

The girl was gazing away somewhere, nowhere. Morning sunlight was starting to drift in through the curtains. Tara considered the question briefly, surprised, but not disconcerted.

"Yes. Yes, I did." She felt her eyes soften a little as the memory filtered up...bubbles of pain. "It feels like a long time ago now."

"But...it's not that long ago, is it." Dawn turned her head for the first time to regard Tara carefully. "What - about five years?"

"About that," Tara nodded tightly.

Dawn gazed at the red-haired witch sideways, assessing, wondering. Then she seemed to gather something inside herself.

"And you couldn't...you couldn't do anything for yourself, back then."

Tara frowned. "Couldn't..." Understanding seeped through, and with it a whole new facial expression. The hand stroking Dawn's hair stilled. "No, Dawn - I couldn't. Not back then. Not even if it happened again today, I still couldn't. You can't just make it go away. That's not how it works."

Dawn's eyes teared again suddenly as her face contorted.

"You can't? Not even a little bit? Please, Tara -"

"Dawn." Tara stopped herself from sounding as stern as she felt, then grimaced a little as she tried to explain. "Dawn, I know - it hurts. It really hurts so bad... But the hurt has a reason. I know it sounds stupid, but...this grief, it helps you later, you know? It makes you strong -"

"You'll excuse me if that just sounds a bit too Oprah for me right now," Dawn interrupted dismissively as she rolled her face to the side again.

Tara let the frown take over as she looked down at the grieving girl on the bed. Better to stamp on this once and for all.

"Then think about this. The depth of your grief is a mark of your love and respect for the one you've lost. The depth of your grief...and how you get over it."

How long had Dawn been holding this secret hope? Of having her grief magically erased, or...worse? Tara watched Dawn's face as the hope, no matter how far-fetched or unwise, was smothered - the girl began to cry again in earnest, looking between Tara and the window.

"It's not fair! She just came home, and it's not...it's not fair...and I can't - I don't think I can -"

Tara leaned in as Dawn's arms went up helplessly, gathering the girl for a hug.

"I know...honey, I know. It's alright...shh, it's okay..."

Pats. Hair stroking. Consoling noises. Gentle voice. Tara let herself slip into the rhythm of grief, and felt less ineffectual, although she knew that her efforts were little more than a drop in the ocean.

But it's better than nothing. And it's better than magically erasing her sadness...

The muffled knock at the door wound itself through the sound of Dawn disjointedly mewling herself into quiet. Tara looked down to check - Dawn nodded slowly, pulling herself up into a seated position on the bed, and rubbing at her face with her hand.

That's good. She's becoming aware of people around her again, even if it's only through self-consciousness.

The witch lifted her eyes to the door.

"Come in."

The door handle turned, and the door moved - but only a fraction. Whoever it was was having trouble. Then there was another little push, and Gabriel was standing in the open gap, shoulder nudging the wood, a tray with a plate and two steaming mugs balanced awkwardly in his hands. With a tentative look from Dawn to Tara and back again, he lifted the tray.

"Uh, hi. Is it okay if I..." Flustered, he took a step back. "Cause, you know, I can come back if you -"

Tara smiled gently to reassure.

"No, it's okay, it's fine. Come on in."

"Hi, Gabriel."

Tara looked back at Dawn quickly. The girl's greeting was listless, but it was a definite improvement. Buoyed by the response, Gabriel took a step into the room and stood there fidgetting for a second.

"I got, um, hot drinks. And, um, cookies. If you want them, I mean. Michael said, maybe, you know, you both might like -"

He'll be stuttering as bad as me next. Tara nodded and maintained the smile.

"That would be great. Thank you." Watching the angel grin, then fumble and search for an appropriate space to set down the tray, she stood and swept the piles of used Kleenex off the dresser and into a trashbasket, nodding her chin towards the spot. "Here. Just...yeah, that's it. That's great. And hey, no spillage. Thank you."

She watched him fuss over the tray, handing out the drinks to herself and Dawn with a nervous gentleness.

Hard to tell how old he is. I mean, like, old, obviously - but in human years he could be anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. Sometimes the expressions on his face...

She watched him hand over Dawn's mug with a delicate care, and wondered if he'd really associated much with humans before, for any extended length of time. It was something she'd noticed about him that afternoon at the dorm. He knew the mannerisms, and he had the lingo down pat, but there was just this edge of...something. Youthful naivete? Like a human teenager, it was like he was...practising, was maybe the right word. Practising being real. Trying out, testing his limits, what he knew in theory but what actually worked in reality.

Interesting. Angel psychology.

Maybe just as interesting was Dawn's response. Tired, haggard-looking, she still managed to give him a quiet lift of the lips. She'd brushed her hair away from her face, and sat up to accept her mug. Whatever Gabriel was doing, it appeared to be helping. He was offering her a cookie, and she took one, even though Tara knew for a fact that she wasn't going to eat it. When he straightened to leave, Dawn looked almost disappointed.

"Okay, there you go."

"Thank you."

The little smile again. Tara watched the interaction with curiosity. Now the angel was flapping his hand towards the stairs, looking between the two women on the bed.

"Do you... Is there anything you need? Cause, I mean, I can get you anything you want from downstairs..."

"I think we're okay," Tara smiled.

Gabriel looked hopeful. "You don't want some breakfast, or something like..."

"I'm...not really feeling very hungry," Dawn admitted with a somewhat dispirited slump.

"Sure." Gabriel stopped the little blather-dance for a second, long enough to centre and take a breath, then he looked Dawn squarely in the face. "Dawn, I'm really sorry about your mother."

"Th-Thank you." But it was no use, she couldn't help herself - no matter how she steeled her insides it was still too new, and the tears came out hotly just the same. With an angry scrub at her face, she stared into her mug. "I guess you've seen all this a million times before. You've been around so long, longer than Spike - you must be used to it."

The angel blinked and Tara watched him bite his lip with a wan frown.

"You never get used to it."

"You guys are all downstairs talking about the Gathering..." Dawn smeared her hand across her face again, then began picking at the handle of her mug, as if she could scratch off the porcelain enamel with just her thumbnail. "You must think I'm a real baby or something."

Her face crumpled again, and Tara immediately stood to walk around the end of the bed and come to Dawn from the other side, wrapping her in a warm, one-armed hug.

"Oh, honey - you know you're not -"

But before she could continue, Gabriel had interrupted, propping himself on one knee beside the bed, looking at Dawn intently.

"We don't think that - I don't think that at all." He gave her a restrained smile as he reached forward to tuck a loose strand of long brown hair behind her ear. "I think you're being incredibly brave."

Dawn sniffed, then puffed out a tired breath.

"Right. For some reason, contemplating the end of the world was easier than this..."

She blinked suddenly, and her eyes got oddly large and bright as she turned her head towards Tara. The blonde witch got the uneasy sense of cogs rolling round.

"Tara...you still need me for the protection spell, don't you."

It wasn't a question. But Tara was already inclining her head and frowning.

"We don't have to use you, Dawn. I've been thinking about it a lot - it's dangerous, and you're tired -"

"I want to do it." Dawn cut in quickly, face firm. "I want you to explain to me how we're gonna do it, all the details."

Tara considered for a moment. Dawn was right - they did need her. But it was a risk too; the girl was young, and on shaky emotional ground. And Tara just didn't buy that whole `needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one' crap - sometimes the insignificant `one' ended up being the whole crux of the matter...

But it was difficult to say no, when Dawn looked more animated at this point than she'd been for quite a while. It could be important, not only for the Gathering, but for Dawn's recovery from this trauma, that she have a purpose to fulfill, a goal to focus her energies on.

Tara thought carefully, trying to weigh the balances. She gave Dawn a hard, assessing look.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

The girl took a deep breath in and met her stare bluntly. Any misgivings Tara had went a long way towards being erased.

"I want to. You need me anyway. The Gathering's this afternoon...and I'm sick of crying."

oOo

Too many bloody stairs.

The thought had occurred to Spike on other occasions, but it seemed particularly relevant at that moment. He was walking upstairs to go and sleep in Buffy's room, and he was feeling quite tired - inasmuch as vamps get tired. But this seemed to be more a part of the cycle of hyper/downer which seemed to be his own system, unique to himself, something that the demon in him had exacerbated rather than created.

After the rush, the comedown. After the ride, the slow, frustrating feeling of walking through treacle.

Sometimes, after a full night of activity, he could feel almost relaxed, and the slow-down that started at dawn would seem to spread through his body in a gentle glow, until he felt almost warm, and he would stretch, and roll into bed, and put his hands behind his head and close his eyes with a satisfying sense of repletion.

But other times were just like the bumming-out flatline of post-high - like you'd just fallen in a dizzying, exhilarating swallow-dive from atop the tallest skyscraper in New York...then hit the concrete face-first with a sickening, flesh-slapping thud, every muscle squealing in agony, the bones in your face crunching into splinters, driving slivers into your brain...

Which, night after night, could make you kinda tired.

And make the boots you're wearing clunk even more heavily than usual on the stairs.

He put his hand on the rail and tried to soften his elephant-tread, remembering suddenly that Dawn was supposed to be still in bed. She could be sleeping, or trying to get to sleep, or back to sleep, or something like that. The effort to stay quiet took him as far as the top of the stairs when he saw Gabriel, empty tray in hand, closing the door to Dawn's bedroom with the kind of exaggerated nervous care that Spike remembered feeling on odd occasions when he was first turned and barely understood his own physical strength.

And naturally his first flaring-red rection was `strange boy leaving Dawn's bedroom - kill first, ask questions later', but he managed to stamp on that in the space of a jaw-clench, remembering Tara's presence, and contented himself with giving Gabriel a suspicious once-over glance.

The angel countered with a polite, somewhat uncertain smile as he sidled past Spike, heading downstairs, and was completely taken aback by the grubby-looking vampire's question.

"She doing alright then?"

Gabriel wasn't quite sure what to say that wasn't going to sound too glib.

"She's...emerging," he said with a serious nod.

Spike just lifted his chin in acknowledgment, and Gabriel turned, feeling like he was being dismissed. Then the vampire's voice made him look back.

"I look out for Dawn you know."

The sentence was left hanging in the air, barely inflected, with a blank accompanying expression, but there was no mistaking the meaning, and Gabriel wasn't that naieve. But he wasn't completely gutless either. He met Spike's gaze evenly.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Spike seemed to approve of the response - he nodded his head once then turned away, too shagged to bother with the rest of the pleasantries. Gabriel lifted his eyebrows - this job just gets weirder and weirder - and headed down the stairs.

Spike, meanwhile, had made it to the door to Buffy's room with a sense of relief - at last, a chance to lie down - but waited for a beat with his hand on the doorhandle, hoping that he would walk in, and she would turn around, and her eyes would focus on his face, and he'd see that she had been crying but bloody hell she was awake, and then she would open her mouth and say -

Watch out for the light.

Which wasn't what she said at all, but it's what he wished she'd said. That way he wouldn't have singed his hand coming into the room. The shaft of light coming through the window was wide and, even so early in the morning, burningly bright, and Spike cringed and swore, and lifted the side of his coat up to cover himself. Then he staggered over to the window and pulled the curtains, cursing Willow's inanity and lack of forethought, but understanding why it might have seemed sensible at the time. Because Buffy was sitting in an armchair in front of the window, looking out as the Sunnydale landscape brightened, not registering any change of expression or even blinking, but at least she wasn't staring at the curtain like she was now.

He kneeled in front of her, watching her face carefully for any trace of conscious awareness, animation, but there was nothing. She looked like a waxwork at Tussaud's, which he remembered was just a perverse burlesque when it had first started, a titillating peep-show...

And this grief of hers seemed almost as perverse. Catatonia - who ever heard of such a thing? Snap out of it, you silly bint... But he understood, in a way. They shared a common sensibilty like that, which was bizarre, but there you had it. The same sensibility that came out with words like `effulgent'...

Because how would he act if she died?

A constant threat, which he still stubbornly and arrogantly refused to contemplate. He'd probably be the same way - catatonic. And then he'd probably go out and try to get himself a nice suntan...

"Hey, love."

Words felt like they were being sucked into a vacuum, but it wasn't an altogether pointless exercise. She was still in there. She could blink and wake-up right now. It was possible.

"Are you okay?"

He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb, his fingers drifting through the delicate hairs at her temple. Then he looked at the picture and frowned. Willow had changed Buffy out of the overalls and into a pair of loose sweatpants, had even wiped the demon goo off her neck and hands. But Buffy still had those plaits framing her face, lending a child-like helplessness to her blank expression that, though appropriate maybe, revealed a vulnerability to the world that she might not otherwise have liked.

He knew her understanding of vulnerability now, and it had been something of a shock to realise how closely it resembled his own - show people your vulnerable side and they tend to either pity you or play your weakness to their advantage. Neither of these positions was very comfortable, and whatever the problem it was usually better to just grin and endure it.

You are not vulnerable in any way. Ever. You're a superhero Chosen One, impervious to pain, no chinks in the armour.

Or, alternatively, you are Mad, Bad,and Dangerous To Know...

Yeah, he understood. And he appreciated that she might not like to still be sporting carefree kiddie braids in the wake of her mother's death. So he reached out a hand, and carefully unwound the hair tie from one side then the other, then let his fingers loosen each braid gently.

It was like unfolding origami - a kind of hypnotic over-under, in-and-out that smoothed the features of his face. And at the end, he was running his fingers through soft strands of her hair, a pale-yellow curtain, like the silk from an ear of corn. Funny how the hair retained the memory of the braid, kinking gently even after he released it.

The result was Buffy, vacant, staring eyes filling up a wan face, with a fan of blonde, wavy hair the frame. Spike let his hand fall away, didn't notice how it settled onto one of Buffy's as if seeking reassurance, and just allowed himself to examine his work. There - it was done, but he wasn't sure if it had had the desired effect. She still looked kind of exposed. But at least she seemed a bit less girlish, and possibly a little more comfortable with her hair out.

Hoping he'd done the right thing, Spike stood up with a slow sigh, and repositioned Buffy's armchair so that she had a wedge of open window in front of her. If she had to stare, better to be staring at something. Then he half-staggered to the bed, the bed that she'd been so reluctant to make love on only the night before, and let himself drop onto it, butt first, then collapsing backwards with an exhausted and totally unnecessary out-breath. There was an accompanying twanging sound.

Fancy that. It does squeak.

He kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his coat while still lying on the bed, then wriggled into a more comfortable position lengthwise. And then he was free to just lie there and look at her. And let his eyelids get heavy. And hope for the best.

oOo

Pinch.

Whack.

Pinch.

Whack.

Pinch -

"Will you bloody stop that?"

"Silly boy thinks I'm playing." A pouting frown. "Spi-i-ikey, it's time to wake up..." Wheedling now. He's no fun.

"Bugger off."

"Can't. I'm here to torment you until you awaken, so you get a pinch and punch for the first day of the month...or was that the last day?"

She's sitting on the side of the bed, frowning into the air at the question, doing her best Morticia impersonation. The dress is lovely, but archaic-looking - if you take a deep inhale, you can smell mothballs and cobwebs. Maybe that's why he never noticed, all those years. He wasn't breathing deeply enough.

But her hair and nails are immaculate. Can't criticize her there. And her face is exquisite, like one of those pale ceramics, all large eyes and smooth white planes and ruby lips, and if you don't get too close for comfort you won't see the fine spidery cracks, the threaded fault lines that reveal the instability beneath...

"So are you going to wake up?"

"No. I already told you, now sod off." Irritated now. Growling, eyes shut stubbornly, pushing a hand at her in frustration.

"But don't you want to know how the story ends?"

"Dru..." But a shred of curiosity is piqued. He's tempted. "What are you talking about?"

"Open your eyes."

"No."

"Tsk tsk. Grumpy. Then no story for you."

"You're talking through your hat. You don't know how it ends. Nobody does."

"Are you sure? `I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.'"

He's really tempted now. No denying it, she's always had the gift. But he's still not convinced.

"Bollocks. Let me sleep."

She can sense the edge of uncertainty and teases it out, like a bird with a long thin beak teases out the stringy innards of its prey.

"You do want to know. I can tell. Can't keep secrets from Mummy - lying is nasty, William." Her voice and expression become coy, artful. "Open your eyes, darling - a crack, a little bit? I'll tell you how the story ends, no fibs, I promise..."

And he's just about resolved to do as she asks when he feels another cool touch on his arm, a wry warmth in the different voice.

"Spike, I can't believe you dated that woman for over a hundred years. At least I had the sense to dump my ex after twelve."

Where one woman is dark, this one is golden; one a pale moonlit beauty, this a mature radiant sun.

He's disoriented now.

"I thought you said he ran off with his secretary?"

She sighs and shrugs affably.

"Well, that was the grand finale I guess. But at least I never took him back, all those times he tried grovelling."

He grins at the mental picture.

"Can't blame him. I'd grovel."

She grins in reply.

"But then, Spike, you would never have been stupid enough to run off in the first place."

"True."

He frowns in sudden confusion, remembering fault lines.

"So...where did she go?"

"Does it matter? She lost. She was cheating."

"She was?"

"You're surprised?" She waves a hand dismissively, then pats his arm again in that maternal way that he misses. "Anyway, it doesn't matter - you get some rest. You'll need it. You'll be busy again soon enough."

This seems to remind her of something and her face turns wistful, a little worried, as she glances towards the armchair in the corner. When she looks back at him he rushes to reassure.

"She'll be alright. It's been hard on her, is all."

She shakes her head gently.

"My poor girl. She needs a a kick-start. I wish I could be here for her, but..." She smiles softly, sadly. "...I'm afraid we just don't get everything we want."

He doesn't know what to say, apart from that he wishes she were here too. It's okay though - Joyce fills the pause.

"You have to get her moving, Spike."

"I'm - I'm trying."

"Try harder." She skewers him with bright serious eyes. "You have to awaken her. We're running out of time."

He swallows and nods.

"I'll do my best."

"Remember what I said, Spike."

"I remember." She's fading now, and he's grasping to hold onto the sight, her words, all of it, grieving again as the image of her face dissolves.

"You can help her be strong..."

He snaps awake, and knows what he has to do.

oOo

9.02am

Uriel looked at Rupert Giles with cautiously amused concern, then inclined his head towards the man with a thoughtful smile.

"What would you say if I told you that I could fix those glasses so you'd never have to clean them again?"

Giles glanced up, blinking, then took in his own methodical movements - handkerchief, one lens then the other, then back again... He stopped and replaced his spectacles over his wry expression.

"I'd say you could probably spare yourself the bother. I'm sure that within five minutes of any spell you performed I'd be back at it." He reached for his teacup with a weak grin. "I'm just relieved that I've found a healthy alternative to smoking or biting my nails."

He cleared his throat suddenly, as if to clear his own moroseness, and nodded at the papers on the kitchen bench before them, just a few sheets with some scrawled notes and diagrams that formed the basic battle plan.

"So, that's pretty much everything? There's nothing else we have to cover?"

"No. Well - yes, there's one other thing we need to discuss."

"And what might that be?"

"Hm."

Uriel poured himself another chocoloate milk slowly, then frowned when the dregs of the carton only made it halfway up the sides of the glass. He rose to fetch another carton from the refrigerator, and somehow managed to maintain his air of gravity even as he spoke over the top of the fridge door.

"Mr Giles, you've been a Watcher for some time now, so I'm going to assume that you know a thing or two about prophecy and pre-ordainment, and other such matters."

"Well, yes, I suppose." Giles was squinting at him curiously now, feeling a dull pang of misgiving at the turn the conversation was taking. "What of it?"

"I don't know if you're aware, but the Gathering operates in a kind of similar way."

Psalter was settled back at the counter now with his milk, making the ordinariness of pouring himself a drink, the common-placeness of it, filter down into his words. Trying to take the sting out.

"It's important that my friends and I be there. And it's important that other members of this company maintain certain roles, including you - although I'm still not quite sure what Mr. Spike is doing involved in all of this..." He scratched his head for a second then went on. "But when I said before that we need Buffy awake, I wasn't talking about her role in the battle. I was talking about her role in the Gathering itself."

Giles' expression flattened out.

"So you're saying that Buffy's presence isn't merely expected, it's essential."

Uriel was nodding seriously, finally meeting the other man's eyes.

"This isn't about her fighting prowess. She could stand at the front of this company and not lay a finger on a single demon, but what's important is that she's standing there."

"Oh dear. I think I'm beginning to understand." Giles sat back heavily and pressed his temple with his fingers, the gesture revealing a wealth of frustration. "I wish you'd told me this sooner."

"Would it have helped?"

"Well - well, maybe not," Giles conceded, then shot Psalter an irritated glance. "You might have told me all the same."

"I apologise." Uriel looked genuinely contrite. The milk-moustache could have contributed. "I just...didn't want to panic you unduly. But time is getting short, and if you know a way to wake Buffy up - traumatically or otherwise - I suggest you use it."

"I know a way."

The interruption of a new voice, so close at hand, made Giles start and both men glance up. Spike, still looking a little bloodstained, dusty and tired, was leaning against the kitchen lintel bonelessly, seemingly engrossed in the process of lighting a fag.

"Would you please not do that?" Giles said in wan remonstration.

"Made you jump, eh?" Spike glanced up with a hint of his usual spark, deliberately ignoring the possible reference to his smoking habits. He slouched towards the kitchen bench and pulled up a stool. "Still got the touch then. Light feet."

"And fingers," Uriel muttered, plucking the pink plastic lighter out of his hand. "Doesn't this belong to Ray?"

Spike shrugged.

"You want to know how to wake up Buffy or not?"

"We assumed you were getting to that," Giles said, eyes flicking over Spike with curiosity. Interesting how now she's always Buffy, not just `Slayer'.

"Yeah, well, I was. I am. I mean, I know how to wake her up." Spike ashed into a stained tea-saucer and gave Giles a careful look. "Don't know if you're gonna like it though."

Giles' hackles rose.

"And why is that?"

"Because he wants to Awaken her."

Another voice, from a different corner. Giles started again as Angel opened the basement door enough to slide through.

"Gah."

"Sorry."

Giles was genuinely pissed off now.

"Either of you pull that stunt again and I'm getting matching cow bells for your respective necks."

Spike had `just try it' written all over his face, but the expression was competing with a look of abject contempt as he watched Angel ease into a place on the opposite side of the bench. The expression was returned with equal venom. Both vampires were looking at each other like they were waiting for a siren to go off. Giles rolled his eyes and inserted his teacup in the intervening space, imagining the furious blue and red glow of Japanese fighting fish.

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind..."

Spike ignored him, smiling thinly at his rival.

"Thought you were at Willy's."

"I came back," Angel countered quietly. His hands were in his pockets as he leaned against the fridge. "You're still lurking around, are you?"

The corners of Spike's mouth dropped and his eyes went hard as marbles.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Of course - why wouldn't you be?" Angel's suave stare became piercing, and his voice was a subtle hiss. "Plenty of grief and misery for you to feed on, you must be having a ball -"

The words were hardly uttered before the blonde man struck. Giles felt a breeze pass him but hardly saw the blur, and only realised that Spike had lunged across the bench when the supposed-ashtray flew by his elbow to shatter on the floor. And by the time he looked back up, an interesting tableau was suspended over the counter, bare inches from his face - Angel, fangs bared, pulled halfway across the bench by the collar, his fists curled into the lapels of Spike's leather coat, the younger vampire blanched ivory with thinly contained fury, game-face contorting his features as his right hand throttled his rival and his left hand pulled back in a fist...

...and between them a distinguished-looking African-American man, calm and unruffled, with his right hand restraining Spike's blow and his left hand pushing back Angel's shoulder. Giles narrowed his eyes, mentally losing track of a calculation of exactly how fast you'd have to be to out-manouever two master vampires.

"Gentlemen." Psalter's tone was brusque. "End it. Right now. Or, if you prefer, I can show you both the door and you can finish this outside."

Spike's eyes broke contact with Angel's momentarily to flick to the curtained kitchen window and back. And the dark-haired man glanced at the rectangular pattern of sunlight on the wall high above Spike's head. There was a beat, and then by mutual agreement they released each other, lathing on the hate-filled glares but hands out and obediently open as they broke off and eased back into their separate corners. Psalter smiled, pleased.

"Excellent. I'm glad you both see it my way. Now -" He turned the full force of his clear gaze on Spike. "- how exactly were you planning on rousing Miss Summers?"

"Like he said," Spike muttered tightly, not looking at the other vampire, "I'd have to Awaken her."

Uriel looked over at Angel expectantly.

"And what does that mean, specifically?"

"Specifically," Angel spat out bitterly, staring daggers at the blonde, "it means that he'd have to bite her."

"What?" Giles sat up sharply, then frowned. "Wait...actually I know what he's talking about."

Uriel caught his considering expression.

"And this will help how?"

"It's...from what I know, it's a way of raising new fledgling vampires after they've been turned, when the transition from death to unlife is particularly difficult. It evokes a link between vampire and fledgling..." Giles was rubbing his forehead, obviously trying to dredge up a memory, but he still found time to scowl sideways at Spike. "And I'm not sure how it's supposed to help in this situation either."

Spike sighed, trying to be forbearing but finding the role rather confining.

"It's a calling back - don't you get it? The link is the key, but the bite is the trigger -" He shrugged, thinking about it. "Kind of like a psychic slap in the face, I guess."

Angel grumbled darkly near the fridge.

"I'll give you a - "

"Don't start," Uriel shot back, holding up a hand and keeping his eyes on Spike. "But Buffy's not a vampire - and I hope we've established by this point that turning her is out of the question."

The man's voice was so dry it practically crackled on the air. Spike just rolled his eyes, but he couldn't ignore the jibe.

"And I hope we've established by this point that turning her is the last thing on my mind. She doesn't need to be a vamp. It'll still work."

I think. He tried to mask a lack of confidence with sincerity. He really had no idea whether an Awakening would do the trick or not. He'd seen it done, heard about it...the rest was just luck and guess work. And a dead woman had visited him in his sleep to suggest the idea, so he figured that had to be good for something.

"But you have to bite her," Giles said flatly.

Spike took in the Watcher's grim expression, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. A ritual was a ritual - you didn't fuck around with that stuff like that. Things could get messy. As opposed to...

"Yes, I have to bite her."

"But you haven't shared blood," Uriel noted.

"No, but we've -" Spike straightened and stared at him pointedly. "We share something else."

"I think you're taking a few liberties -" Giles said with stringent emphasis, " - with the concept of psychic links between vampires and their kin. Not counting the already noted fact that Buffy's not a vampire."

"No, but she's a Slayer - she's already got the psychic mojo happening," Spike explained, waving a couple of fingers at his head in loopy demonstration.

He ignored Angel's continued glaring, and looked at the other two men with impatient expectation. Should've just gone and done it, none of this decide-by-committee rubbish... But there was always the chance that it wouldn't work, and he knew Giles too well to trust it to luck. Fighting off the apocolypse with one of those stake-sized holes in your chest could be a real pain in the arse. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgetting.

"So what do you think?"

"I'm...I'm not sure," Giles frowned.

Angel cut in abruptly.

"I think Spike's been trying to bag his third Slayer for years, and this is just an appetizer."

"Nobody asked you," Spike snapped back.

Giles squinted at Angel for a moment.

"Do you mean you think it's a bad idea generally, or a bad idea because Spike's involved? And I might ask how you knew that he would bring it up?"

"Cause he thought of it himself," Spike said, stating the obvious with an irritated growl.

There was nothing he could do to deny it, so Angel just scowled at Spike and tried to explain to Buffy's Watcher.

"It seemed like a possible idea. I checked a few books in the Magic Box as well. But," he amended with a black look at the other vampire, "I really don't think that Spike is the ideal candidate -"

"Oh, and you're such a prime specimen, are you?" Spike plucked a cigarette from his pocket and lit up with elaborate disdain. "Yeah, you do the ritual, that sounds great - right up to the part where you bite Buffy and that little raincheck clause kicks in, and then you turn into an obnoxious prick and eat all her friends."

Angel ante-ed up smoothly as he took a step closer.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about turning into an obnoxious prick - you're already there."

"And don't you forget it," Spike snarled.

"I'm confused," Uriel muttered wearily, stepping forward again with a sigh to part the combatants.

"It's a long story," Giles replied, looking equally tired. "Suffice to say that Angel can't Awaken Buffy without risk to his soul. Spike is in a better position to do the ritual. And..." Giles conceded gently, "...if what Ray said is true then Spike is the proper candidate in any case."

Spike's expression softened with the admission. He nodded at Giles in gruff appreciation.

"Why?" Angel said, bewildered.

"I'll tell you later," Giles waved at him, trying to control his sudden sense of fatigue. "At the moment, I think that if we're all in agreement then we've no time to waste. We should perform the ritual now. Uriel?"

The angel was already nodding.

"By all means, the sooner the better."

"Like right now?" Spike said, taken aback. It was one thing to have the idea, but...

But Giles was already repositioning his glasses and rising from his stool. He extended a hand from Spike to the stairs.

"After you, I assume."

oOo

For one thing, it was disconcerting. And secondly, it was...well, it was private, wasn't it? He didn't exactly need an audience. He might cop one of those blind-siders for his trouble - unlikely, but not out of the question, considering that he'd once had one just by thinking about whacking Harris over the head, so anything was possible. Or Buffy might wake up and go into convulsions or something - in which case having others on hand was probably a good idea, he reluctantly conceded. Or...or something else could go wrong, or -

Or what would more likely happen would be that his own knees would start knocking, and when his fangs sank into her neck every bloody person in the room would hear him moan in ecstasy...

God, it had just been so long. In fact, twenty-four hours on pig's blood was too long, but there you had it. And he wasn't a mindless idiot - he might not have tasted warm, living human blood for a long time, but he still had a modicum of self-control. Nobody was going to have to pull him off her. That was one thing he was certain of.

But...

He just couldn't be one hundred percent sure of how he would react. And they were all just standing there - Uriel, Rupert, and the big poof. He had to draw the line somewhere.

"Right. Everyone out. Into the hall, the lot of you."

"What's the matter, Spike - a touch of performance anxiety?" Angel murmured with a snarly grin.

"No," Spike returned acidly, "but you're giving me a headache."

"I want to be on hand for this," Giles raised his voice a notch. "I'm not entirely convinced it's going to be effective."

"You and me both," Spike clipped off. "And you'll still be on hand, just six feet further away."

Uriel shrugged and moved out of the room and into the hall; Angel tried staring Spike down for a second, but the younger man was having none of it.

"Get out. Give the lady some privacy."

Giles stepped into the breach and pushed Angel gently toward the hall, flicking his eyes at Spike in a way that read `this had better work'.

And if the blonde vampire's heart could have hammered, it would have been staccato-ing out morse code to the same effect. He turned his back to his audience with a deliberate twist on his heel, and stared at Buffy's armchair.

Right. Relax. Focus. Think about the ritual. Think about Buffy. The blood is a means to an end.

But his fingers were twitching more than a little as he took the few strides to the chair and stood in front of the Slayer with the gaunt, unfocussed gaze.

And it begins as a whisper...

There were no special invocations, no words of power. It was a simple cause-and-effect thing - focus, bite, extend your mind, call her back. And he had no idea how it was supposed to go, but he had to start somewhere. He took one of her hands gently and gave a delicate tug.

"Buffy...love, you have to stand up now."

And she did.

A sussuration that sounds like water running over rocks in a stream, or maybe the trickle of brandy splashing into a glass...

So he kept her steady with a hand on her tiny waist, the fingers of his other hand still entwined with hers. She looked so...listless. Deader than he was. Very vulnerable - the vulnerable again. He lifted the waist-hand and tilted her chin up gently so she was looking into his face

or maybe stew bubbling in a pot on the stove, or the hissing spin of a roulette wheel against the green felt - red-black, red-black, red-black...

and her eyes looked so utterly glassy that he almost despaired then, but he frowned to guard himself, and brushed her hair off her neck. His fingers were trembling, and even to him they felt icy cold.

or the thump of a bass beat in a club, flashing lights glowing and flaring in time, or...

His eyes strayed from her face to her throat, pulse drumming there, and it was his undoing: he moved as if entranced now, losing awareness of their audience, of the room, whether it was day or night, every extraneous fact that wasn't her skin, her scent, the heat that she exuded, the blue vein at her neck, the blood blushing there and

the steady thrum of a dove's wing flapping, and

his stomach clenching convulsively as his head drifted down, and his eyelids fluttered closed, and she smelled so intensely, deliciously wonderful that

the drip of saliva as your mouth waters

his fangs extend of their own volition, and he can feel his groin flare and harden as his lips brush against the soft vellum of her neck, and his hand on her waist is squeezing tight and her fingers in his must be bruising but he doesn't care

and the clip-clop of horse's hooves, in the days when people drove carriages

which feels like a kind of betrayal and makes him stop a hair's breadth from biting down, long enough for a lifetime, long enough to whisper hoarsely, "Buffy...love, I'm so sorry..."

or the insistent, penetrating heart, beating, and never stopping, and

before he opens his lips and sinks into her, that first gentle pop as the skin breaks, teeth sliding in smoothly and then that first wash, that hot piercing draught

like blood - flowing, dripping, cascading, hissing, drizzling down

gliding over his tongue filling the hollows of his mouth, and he lets it fill him, and groans, whimpers, it's so perfect, so rich and sweet and fuck

the taste dancing in your throat as you swallow

letting the fire burn all the way down

a ruby stain at the corner of your mouth as you

draw against the wound, suck another deep flood to wash you away

and the memory of your purpose escaping you entirely as your whole body shakes with pleasure

deep, rich red - velvet drapes, and firelight, and muscat wine, and

feeling the life-force beneath you, a still quiet line, like a blue stream, so dull and delicate you barely notice it, but

blood setting your belly alight, making your muscles tense and your cock hard, and filling you with energy

reaching out anyway, because you recognise something there, a flicker in the azure depths - snagging a tendril in red pincers, pulling it against you

and that's it, that's what you remember - even though your own name is lost in a crimson haze - that this tendril of blue strikes you with strange emotions, and you stroke it once to comfort, to reassure

and immediately energy jumps from you like a crackle of static electricity, and the tendril firms, strengthens, the colour deepens

and your eyes roll back in your head as the transfusion makes you jerk, and an involuntary moan

as you feel the blue line pull away, pulsing vein of energy

like the vein under your lips jerks, your fangs slide loose and you close your mouth just in time to catch the last addictive drops, throat swallowing on automatic

and body on fire, warmed by the contact with her heat

and he noticed the dull glow of daylight behind his eyelids

and the last stain was behind his teeth, and the taste still lingered

but consciousness was returning, and with it an awareness of two things: one, that Giles and the others had crossed the boundary he'd set and were now standing arrayed behind him, and two, that the steel cables around him were Buffy's arms, around his neck, around his back. She was panting. She was staring at him, but she was blinking, and her eyes were flicking all over his face. And she looked terribly pale, but alert.

And that was about all he had time to register, except for the explosive blazing happiness in his chest, before she moved faster than a snake, whipped back a hand and slapped him sharply across the face.

He let his head come back around slowly, taking in her expression. Shocked, scared, distraught - and awake. She looked wild-eyed at blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth - a blend of Spike's and her own - and burst into tears.

His first instinct was to grab her and pull her close, as close to his chest as he could get.

"Not quite the reaction I'd been expecting, love," he muttered roughly into her hair, "but it'll do."

oOo

10.09am

Hands moving evenly, fingers warm and relaxed on the plates, not fumbling, a kind of preternatural calm...

"You want mayonnaise?"

Dawn pulled the jar out of the fridge with an expectant look, to meet Buffy's answering nod, even though her sister had her hands too full of bread and butter knives to make eye contact.

"I want everything. The pickles too."

"I thought you hated pickles?"

"Today," Buffy said emphatically, "could be my last chance to like pickles. I'm giving them one final window of tastebud opportunity."

She kept buttering. It was soothing, in a warmly domestic way, in spite of the fact that she'd never really gone in much for the whole domestic deal. Giles had discretely inquired if she'd wanted him to go out and fetch takeaway but she'd objected, saying that she preferred to do it herself. For said reasons, as a calmative, but also in consideration of the fact that this could be her last meal on earth, and ergo, the banality of food preparation might soon take on the characteristics of a late lamented memory.

Even if it was only sandwiches. She'd offered the grilled cheese option - trying to satisfy everyone, Dawn's predilection for greasy toppings and Giles' preference for a hot lunch included - but everyone seemed happy with white sliced and cold cuts.

But she wasn't really cooking for `everyone' anyway. She'd dispatched Tara and Willow back to their dorm, after extracting a promise that they'd both get some sleep, Tara in particular. Then she'd encouraged Uriel, Gabriel and Angel away to the Magic Box. `Thank you's all round. Right now Giles was in the hall, phoning Xander and Anya to remind them that they had to meet Ray at the shop for weapons prep around town.

But the first thing she'd done - the first thing, after a mental absence of nearly twenty hours, and now suddenly feeling as clear as glass - was to let Spike shoo everyone out of the room, and then have a good bawl.

He hadn't said anything, just sat beside her on the bed with one arm around her, letting her water his t-shirt for the better part of half an hour. Occasionally he'd given her little pats, or rubbed her back, or made gentle rumbling noises that she took to be his version of `there there'. No `never mind, don't cry', or `it's alright', or `buck up, you'll be okay' - none of that crap, for which she felt a profound relief. And when the initial tsunami was over, she could still look him in the eye, feel dignified, see how her grief caused him some degree of pain...see that he missed her mother too.

Then it was just a matter of finding a sweater that covered the enormous Spike-induced hickey on her neck, and splashing some water on her face in the bathroom - a quick prepatory look at herself in the mirror: stocktake: Eyes - red, Face - haggard, Hair - still in hideous kinky mode from scarcely-remembered braids.

Her image had blinked back at her for a momentarily forlorn second.

You look like a woman whose mother has died.

She'd sighed at herself sympathetically. Not much point trying to get around that. Instead of a complete makeover, which she didn't have the heart, energy or time for, she settled for scraping back her hair in a ponytail and smoothing on a thin film of moisturiser. Then she'd kissed Spike to pink her lips (him, standing in the doorway, face an almost-blush of sudden pleasure and surprise) and made for Dawn's room.

"Dawn?"

"Buffy!"

Her sister's leap off the bed, an enveloping hug, and a brief saturation of tears. Buffy had led Dawn back over to the bed, taken in Gabriel's acknowledging smile as he politely and quietly excused himself from the room - Spike letting him out the door with a vaguely satanic darkening of the eyes - and met Spike's gaze in a brief theatre of meaningful glances and eyebrow movements -

What's his story?

Guess. But relax - no traumas. Me and Tara been keeping an eye out... She alright?

She'll be okay...

But by then Tara had caught her attention with an impulsive kiss on the cheek.

"It's good to have you back," the witch smiled.

"Thanks."

And Buffy let her gratitude for Tara's care show through in her reply. All the same, she'd kept the happy reunions short, and after a little time spent rocking in Buffy's hug Dawn had sensed her sister's desire to keep moving. Apart from all the preparations that needed doing, sitting still was dangerous. Too easy to get lost in contemplation again, and frankly they just didn't have the time. Dawn was blowing her nose as Buffy nodded gently towards the door.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'm gonna be," Dawn sighed.

"Well, we can eat first, battle later. We got a few hours."

Once downstairs everything went in pretty short order: direct Tara and Willow home to rest and prepare, over-ride Angel's objections and send him off to the shop with the heavenly hosts, butter the sandwiches. Lift the knife, scrape, spread, smooth... All very serene and methodical.

Except for...that.

An insistent scratching noise made Buffy look up. Spike, who hadn't strayed more than three steps away from her since she came to, was standing at the far end of the counter near Dawn, picking out the grouting from under the corner of the countertop laminate with the tip of a large, ugly-looking hunting knife. He had his bottom lip caught in his teeth, as if this activity was taking up all available concentration. The look Dawn was giving him indicated that she thought he could, quite possibly, be completely nutso. Her mouth was opening to speak when Buffy interrupted, her voice light and patient.

"Spike?"

"Hm?"

"Stop doing that, and do something for me instead?"

The vampire's head bobbed up obligingly.

"Sure."

Buffy elaborated as she buttered.

"First, I want you to go to the chest in the living room and do a complete weapons check. Weed out all the useless stuff, and anything too fiddly or heavy. I'm sure you'll know what to take and what to leave."

"Fine."

"Then," she went on smoothly, "go upstairs and check my room too - you know where my trunk is. And I want the crossbow under the bed, it's my favourite."

"No problem."

"One more thing," she pronounced evenly.

"What?"

She looked him square in the eye.

"Bathe. Please." Her voice was edged with dry humour. "For me. You need it, and we are going into an apocolypse after all. So, y'know - best foot forward and all that."

Spike, who was blinking at her request, now tilted his head in a sardonic bow.

"Anything for you, pet."

He tucked the knife into his belt and loped out of the kitchen, Buffy grinning at his departure and calling out.

"Towels are in the hall closet!"

Spike waved a hand airily without looking back.

Dawn was snorting as she artfully arranged cheese and iceberg lettuce on white bread.

"If Spike was wrapped any tighter around your finger he'd be cutting off your circulation."

Buffy grinned again and returned her eyes to the bologna she was doling out.

"I know. And it's funny, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Especially now that he knows he really loves me."

Dawn baulked.

"He loves you? Like, real love?" She took in Buffy's mild nod with a curious frown. "But I didn't think he could. I mean, doesn't the whole no-soul thing kind of get in the way?"

"Ray says not. He says it's, y'know - l-u-r-v-e."

"Wow."

Buffy was pinking up just a little now as she studiously applied meat to bread. Dawn smiled slowly.

"I mean, a big wow. That's...that's cool." Her smile widened mischeviously as she looked at Buffy's cheeks redden. "So, I guess it's not just that the sex is good..."

"Dawn!"

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Buffy, hello - fifteen here, not five. Plus, ya know -" She tapped her nose and cast a meaningful glance at the ceiling. "- not deaf or blind. I think it's great. He loves you, you love him..." She stopped and looked at her sister speculatively. "You've told him, haven't you?"

"Told him what?"

"That you love him," Dawn stated with a `duh' expression.

Buffy blushed again and checked the sandwiches.

"Well, I mean, I think he knows that..."

Dawn frowned.

"You should tell him."

"Tell him what?" Giles said absently as he walked in. He looked a little fresher in the face and his hair was smoothed back, as though he'd splashed his face with water.

"Uh..." Buffy gawped, then thrust a plate into his hands. "That all the sandwiches have mayonnaise. Hope that's okay."

After a beat, Giles took the plate with polite aplomb.

"I'm sure it will be fine."

He smiled at her, appreciating her sheer presence, and Buffy smiled back, before snatching a moment to glare quickly at Dawn, who was mouthing `Tell him!' behind Giles' back.

oOo

10.34am

Light steps on the staircase. The curtains had been drawn in her room - a gentle artificial night. Spike was sitting on her bed, damp hair sticking up in a wild white profusion, a towel draped around his neck, bare torso and barefoot in black jeans. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips and he was frowning deeply at the crossbow in his right hand, the fingers of his other hand fiddling at the top of the grip.

Buffy's thoughts were split between admiring the subtle play of his muscles as he worked, and lamenting the fact that he didn't appear to have changed his jeans in about a month.

"All done?"

He glanced up, eyes softening in welcome.

"Oh, hey. Yeah, pretty much. Just this bloody thing..." He aimed at the opposite wall and grimaced in annoyance. "The sight is off, but when you adjust it it keeps flicking back."

Buffy covered the few steps between them quickly and took the weapon from his hands. She made a brief show of checking the aim before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Hm."

Then she moved over to the desk and laid down the bow as she toed off her shoes. She could hear the tiny confusion in Spike's tone behind her.

"I thought that was your favourite?"

"It is."

"Oh." His brow creased a little. "Right. Well, all done downstairs then?"

"Yup." She strolled around the bed, stripping off her sweater as she went. For some reason, in spite of personal disaster and the imminent threat of global annihilation, she felt wonderfully light and relaxed. "Lunch eaten, plates in sink etcetera. I'm not going to worry about a few dirty dishes when the end of the world is nigh."

She pulled the curtain a little tighter, and began removing her sweatpants and tank. Spike had turned his head to follow her movements and by the time she'd shed the bulk of her clothes to stand in shadowed relief, wriggling out of her socks in her bra and knickers, his eyes were blinking and his mouth was ever so slightly agape.

Buffy came up behind him and slid the towel from around his neck. His gaze narrowed, but he still had to swallow before he could speak.

"Where's the Bit?"

"Magic Box. Giles took her. She has to prep for the spell." She tossed the towel into the corner before giving him an almost brazen smile. "Why? You feeling shy?"

He gave her his best `what do you think?' look by way of reply, before squinting at her again.

"So, everyone's on the job... What are we supposed to be doing?"

"Gathering weapons."

Buffy was kneeling on the bed behind him now, and ran her arms smoothly around his neck - a vast improvement on a damp towel, he noted. Although how she could concentrate enough to speak while her lace-covered breasts were brushing against his back he had no idea - the facility was almost beyond him, but she didn't seem to be having any trouble.

"We're gathering weapons here, and I'm having a shower and a change."

Her fingers were trickling over his chest and stomach, and Spike closed his eyes as she began feathering kisses onto the skin where his neck met his shoulder. When he tried to talk, his voice came out more than a little husky.

"Not much time then, eh?"

"Oh, we've got time," Buffy replied with a soft smile. His ear was tempting her now, and when she darted her tongue in delicately Spike let out little gasps, which was an added bonus. "I'm notoriously long in the bathroom."

oOo

12 noon

Last afternoon of the last day...

...any old where."

Anya watched, vaguely disconcerted by the impropriety, as Ray tossed a couple of swords and a mace behind a park bench. He was displaying a distinct lack of ceremony, or even interest, about the whole procedure and instead seemed more intent on practising his leering grins - on her. She frowned at him in vague reprimand and turned to Xander for support.

A pointless exercise - Xander was smiling happily and sinking axeheads into the trunk of a nearby tree, enjoying the prospect of being given permission to leave a flagrant mess. Anya sighed and her shoulders drooped.

Ray took in Anya's expression with another grin.

"Relax, honey. I'm gonna clean up after us."

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the weapons, and suddenly they weren't there anymore. Xander jumped.

"Wha..? Hey - hey, how did you...

\\\

...and the correction tumbled off his lips automatically.

"That's vasis, not vasa."

And winced as he said it, noticing Tara's grimace.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be," she sighed. "It's kinda crucial that I get this right."

Dawn rubbed her back sympathetically, unconsciously reversing their comforter-comforted roles of only a short time ago.

"Maybe you should take a break. You want a peppermint tea? Or I could get you a soda?"

Tara smiled at her. Goddess - what a diference a few hours makes. Was I this resilient at fifteen? Or is it a case of `made not born'?

But of course Dawn had never been born, Tara remembered. She blinked at the thought and her eyes came back to the...

\\\

...there."

"There?"

Her eyes closed and her head rolled back drunkenly so he could hardly hear her soft reply.

"Yes."

Tiny, imperceptible movements which meant a lot, and within a minute he could feel her muscles clenching uncontrollably around him, and he had to clench his teeth in response. And she rocked close, closer, gently, her breasts brushing against his chest as he rubbed his palms down the length of her spine, kneading her tailbone at the end of each pass.

The gentle rocking drew him on, lulling him towards release. Her mouth against his ear was like a startle, the smell of her hair and her humid breath.

"Spike?"

"Yes?" This time his answer almost imperceptible.

"Have I ever told you..." she whispered, then nipped down his neck. "I've been wanting to tell you..."

By the time her lips and teeth reached his collarbone his orgasm was beyond his ability to rein in.

"God. Yes?"

But she ignored him, smiling quietly and feeling him tense under her, enjoying the sensations as he groaned and let his head sink forward into the crook of her neck.

He was breathless, which was ridiculous, but he couldn't be bothered thinking about that at this point. He let his cheek slide down to rest against her chest, and trembled faintly with the aftershocks. There was a creak beneath them.

"I think this chair is going to collapse."

"I think you're right," Buffy returned with a sage nod, showing no interest in moving, and running her fingers through the hair at his nape. She sighed, a little too heavily, and Spike wasn't too caught up in listening to her thudding heartbeat to notice.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." She sighed again. "I should move. We should move. I'm supposed to be showering..."

"I know," he murmured, returning to listening to her heart sounds. The skin beneath his cheek was as hot as a skillet, and slippery with sweat.

"...picking out something suitably apocolypse-y to wear," she went on, frowning a little. She scratched on his nape gently. He was nestling, she realised with a grin.

Then she remembered something.

"Spike?"

"Hm?" Lazy, sated, warmed. This moment, this brief period of time - the calm before the imminent storm...

"Spike, you know I...

\\\

...before letting himself read on. And with each familiar line, the ire rose all over again, he couldn't help it, it was pathetic but there you had it. Something he should be able to control, something he should have let go of a long time ago, and all it took was a few smart-assed comments, and the look on her face, and Ray's gentle explanation, and it all started levitating inside him, bitter in his throat, choking and hot, like bile.

Which is where his eyes lost focus.

Never jealous...

He let the book with the specially-designed protective leather cover snap shut, and then sighed.

"Never jealous. Yeah, right." Sotto voce.

"What is?"

The voice from the right flank had made him jump, just barely, and Angel nearly berated himself before remembering.

They're not of the world - you can't sense what's not there.

It was disconcerting because Michael looked so solid. So real. The broadsword he was holding sure as hell looked real anyway.

"Love, right?"

"Come again?" Angel blinked.

"It's love," Michael answered with a smile. He seemed preoccupied with testing the edge of his blade. "I remember the quote - kind of an occupational hazard. `Love suffers long and is kind; love is never jealous, does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.'"

The angel pronounced it with such delicacy of tone and such a sense of victorious hope... There had to be a chance, Angel realised, that something good would come out of today's disasters. All of them.

It still didn't help his situation any. He nodded uncomfortably.

"Uh, yeah."

"Don't worry about it."

"Huh?" Confused now.

"Saint Paul's talking about the love of God," Michael explained with a shrug. "Kinda hard to emulate, considering that you're not a god."

Angel relented and smiled warily.

"Or human," he pointed out.

"Or human," Michael grinned in reply.

He swung the sword in a short, neat arc. Angel could tell he'd had practise. But something in the angel's manner made him feel like throwing back a little reminder.

"I was a man once, you know."

Michael's eyes flicked up, and then he nodded thoughtfully.

"I understand." Then he shrugged. "But either way, I've got another one for you."

Michael twirled the broadsword with one hand as his other rose in the air, and then there was a small book in his palm, pages opened appropriately, and he offered the book to Angel with a smile before wandering away.

It was such a casual piece of theatre that Angel couldn't help but give a snorting smile, then let his gaze drop to the proffered lines. And his smile gradually spread and lightened as the words began a mental echo:

`What, keep love in perspective?...

\\\

...take the other side, but you're not to move out until we give the signal. Just remember that protecting the Slayer is the priority and are you listening to a single thing I'm saying?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You're not. And stop looking at the girl - you know it's futile."

At which point Gabriel started to get riled, of course, which Uriel always found both interesting and vaguely entertaining. It wasn't like they could keep secrets from one another as a company, so it was all reduced to a kind of bantering `I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know' discussion. For some reason Gabriel insisted on maintaining an air of teenage rebellion about such exchanges, which at least provided a bit of spice.

"You can't say it's futile when you don't -"

"I can. It's futile."

"Will you stop saying that? You don't even know the Outcome."

"I don't have to know. There's only three options, and as far as maintaining a friendship with Dawn is concerned they're all bad."

"You don't know that. She's not even human."

Uriel placed the books down on the corner of the Demon Map and tried to speak gently.

"I understand. Really, I do. But it doesn't alter the fact that -"

"I mean, anything could happen. Everything might change after this afternoon. The whole order of things could change. The rules aren't set in stone, you know."

"Rules are rules, Gabriel."

"But if -"

"I think," the older man began flicking through a book, losing patience at last, "that you're getting a little too involved with your role."

Gabriel huffed, then plucked self-consciously at the hem of his t-shirt - a black lithograph of a samurai warrior on a psychadelic blue background. The t-shirt looked quite old, which it was, and so were the jeans and the sneakers. Like he'd been wearing them every day for a year. In fact he'd never laid eyes on them before this morning.

It didn't matter - he still felt justified in being indignant. He squared his chin.

"And what's wrong with that?"

oOo

12.10pm...

...was when Willow found herself, finally, at the front of the inexplicably long queue at the Espresso Pump counter. Maybe not totally inexplicable - it was right on the lunchhour. Or maybe people were having little precognisant feelings that this might be their last cappucino, ever...

But it was too late to contemplate it, because the waitress was standing right in front of her with that expectant look that waitresses use because it's more economical and less exhausting than saying `Can I help you?' for the sixty-millionth time. Only the poor girl had to say it anyway, in the gap between `expectant look' and `customer order', when Willow was caught short trying to remember if Ray had wanted a regular latte or a decaf -

"Can I help you?"

"Ah, yeah. I need to get a..."

And it was while she was trying to get the multiple orders straight in her head that Willow was distracted by the distinctive gluggy burbling of the coffee machine.

Gurgle. Belch. Splutter.

It took two glances because first up she couldn't quite believe she was seeing it. Then a few blinking gapes between the machines and the attendants shuffling behind the counter. The girl in front of her sighed forbearingly and began tapping her pen on the bench top.

"Would you like to order? Cuz -"

"Is there," Willow stammered, her eyes darting back to the girl, "is there something wrong with your coffee machine?"

The girl looked vaguely offended.

"Uh, no."

"Oh."

Willow just stared at the machine. The girl grimaced and scratched her temple with the pen.

"Um, if you're not gonna order, I'll have to ask you to...uh, miss?"

"Yes?"

A slightly dazed reply, but understandable given the circumstances Will thought.

I'm fine, but did you know your coffee machine is dispensing green goo?

Oodles of the stuff. Ropey, sticky strands of goo, looping into takeaway coffee cups, which the customers were blithely accepting, and which the staff seemed oblivious to, going through the motions of tapping out coffee grounds and frothing milk, pouring it into mugs to make a lime-coloured goo-milk mess, smearing gobs of the stuff on their aprons...

She looked at the girl in front of her, who was exhibiting all the classic signs of Waitress Impatience now, along with a hefty dose of `Help, Customer from Hell Alert'. The girl huffed once and made a final attempt.

"So, um, you gonna order or what?"

Do you know you have green goo on your shirt? But there wasn't much that Willow could do except offer a wan conciliatory smile as she backed away.

"Actually, I'm gonna pass."

oOo

12.32pm...

...is when Buffy realised that she might have set some sort of personal record for fast bathing and dressing, and now they were in the DeSoto - blackened windows and windscreen and a pervading stench of stale cigarette smoke -and Spike was wearing goggles because it was only just after midday

"Park in the alley next to the Magic Box."

"Way ahead of you, love."

"You're veering."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, because if you crash the car I'll be late for the apocolypse. See? You just swerved across two oncoming lanes."

"Pet, if we actually manage to survive the day, I'm going to teach you how to drive, and then you'll see how bloody complicated it can be."

"Really? You'll teach me how to drive? But...can we not use your car? Cos it kinda reeks."

But any reply Spike might have been formulating was cut off as both their gazes turned right simultaneously.

"Did you see that?"

"I told you the sewers were overflowing."

"Well yeah, but I thought you meant in a liquid refuse sense..."

"You ever see liquid refuse reach up and pull somebody into an open manhole before?"

"Not that I can recall."

"First time for everything then."

oOo

12.47pm...

...was when the barking got so loud that Henry decided enough was enough. He stood up, feeling his joints and hearing the creaks, and grabbed for his cane, then made his way down the steps.

"Clyde! Get here! I said get here, Clyde!"

But of course the damned animal wasn't paying him mind at all, and he had to walk all the way to the fence practically. But you had to admire Clyde's spunk - almost his owner's match in dog years, and still barking and carrying on. Obviously losing it in the brains department, if he'd taken to bawling out practically everyone who passed the gate, but all the same - spunk, no doubt about it.

"Clyde! Clyde, you crazy animal..."

Weathered hands on Clyde's collar and two pairs of rheumy eyes met. But only for an instant, because the street was no backwater, there's more traffic on the sidewalk than usual, and there was another passer-by passing by, grabbing Clyde's attention and the way the dog bared his teeth and growled you'd think he'd seen a bear. Henry got his arm jerked painfully as Clyde strained against the hold on his collar.

"Clyde! Clyde, what's got into you..."

Henry glanced up apologetically at the man strolling past, fighting a slight embarrassment as Clyde slavered and growled beneath his controlling hand.

"Ah, real sorry, you understand. Old dog, this one - gettin' himself all worked up over nothing, you know how it is."

"It's fine," the young man answered with a genial nod in return.

Funny lisp, that one, Henry thought. Probably on account of the tusks.

But the thought dissolved in the time it took to register, and Henry was nodding and smiling on automatic as the man walked away, and when he looked down at Clyde again he'd forgotten all about the man's tusks - and the piggy eyes, and the grey-brown skin, and the axe - and had resolved to tie the damn dog in the house.

oOo

1.06pm...

...found Willy in the ludicrous position of having to close shop early on the best trading day of his, and possibly anyone else's, life. It just wasn't worth it - for every dollar he made (or two dollars, or three, at the Day's inflated prices) he lost double in breakage. Some guy would order a drink, and then the guy beside him would realise that they were mortal enemies, and glasses would fly, chairs would smash, yada yada yada...really, not worth it. At the rate the demon population was going, he wouldn't have a bar at all if he stayed open.

For some reason, the possibility that he may not have a bar by the end of the day anyway hadn't really occurred to him.

oOo

1.29pm...

...was when the middle-aged storekeeper running the mixed business shop across the street from the vaguely crummy hang-out in Parkes Street found himself mildly surprised when an altercation between two patrons who'd stumbled outside was brought to an abrupt halt when one of them burst into flames.

Now you don't see that everyday.

oOo

1.55pm...

...was the exact time that the assistant packer over at the Eastern Sunnydale Meat Processing Plant forgot the `do not open' rule in force on Freezer Twelve, and discovered why exactly his senior supervisor only ever worked nights...

oOo

2.12pm...

...was when the grouchy man on Forest Drive, who'd always quietly referred to his neighbour's unruly brood of children as `demon spawn', found out how right he really was...

oOo

2.34pm

"So have we got everything?"

"I think so. I hope so."

"Spellbook, check. Herbs, check. Salt, check. Tara - relax."

"I believe I've got about as many weapons as I can manage here."

"Mystical Key Girl, check. Can I help carry anything?"

"You can carry this sword if you like."

"Xander, I think the idea is that you carry it in preparation for using it."

"Uh, check."

"I think I would feel better about throwing myself into the forefront of battle if I'd been able to have my mocha latte beforehand."

"Believe me, Anya," Willow muttered as she hefted a book and a jar under each arm, "you don't want to drink the mocha lattes the way they're making them today."

"If you say so," Anya sighed before lifting her crossbow and casting her gaze around. "Oh, honey, can you pass me those extra bolts?"

Dawn tried appealing to Giles again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help with that stuff?"

"Ah, no, I think not." The Watcher attempted to adjust his glasses and lift two broadswords and an axe simultaneously, nearly chopping off a finger in the process. "Well, perhaps. But only if your sister -"

"Sister says yes," Buffy inserted quickly as she stepped up to the group by the stairs. "In fact, sister insists. Plus, Dawn - here."

She thrust a small package into Dawn's hands, watched as the girl ripped off the newspaper pseudo-wrapping, then grinned at Dawn's squeal of delight.

"Oh, wow! This is - wow! My own knife! Thanks!"

Buffy's smile tried to be prim but came out lopsided.

"Hey, not me. As far as encouraging you to carry dangerous weapons is concerned, you know who to thank."

Dawn's bright eyes lifted and glowed at Buffy before shifting to the far corner of the room where another group of figures was deep in discussion. She unceremoniously plucked the thin dirk out of the leather sheath and waved it in the air. Fortunately, both Xander and Giles had the good sense to duck.

"Hey, Spike! Thanks!"

The vampire raised his head to wave and nod in return before he was recalled to the activities at the research table. Dawn sheathed the knife again and smiled broadly.

"Ah, this is the coolest."

"Glad you think so," Buffy said wryly, then conceded a tilt of the head. "Figured it might come in handy. But Michael has already promised me that you won't have to use it, and I'm gonna hold him to that."

She eyed off the angel warily, and he gave her a reassuring nod as he buckled on his sword. Michael's face was a sea of calm, but her stomach was doing flip-flops all the same.

It was still freaking her out, the idea of her baby sister being out in the thick of it all for two whole hours before she herself was even going to enter the arena... She gave Michael a tight acknowledging smile before turning back to Dawn and dragging her in for a brief desperate hug. Her voice was a strained whisper.

"Be careful."

"I will."

I can't believe I'm letting her do this. But she was, and it was necessary, and too late to object now anyway. Dawn had her own role to fulfill, and Buffy could hardly complain about Dawn being in danger when there was already that hefty dose of the guilts for leaving Dawn in the lurch by going all Coma-Girl...

But it didn't matter. It was done. Dawn had a job to do and Buffy had to believe that Dawn was capable of that - and capable of looking after herself. Or at least having enough sense to let better-qualified people look after her. Buffy pulled back and swallowed and repeated herself more firmly.

"Be careful."

Dawn nodded gravely. Buffy tore her eyes away from her sister and glanced at each member of the company in turn.

"That goes for all of you. Don't take any unnecessary risks. We'll be there soon - and I want to see all of you intact."

She felt the cool presence over her shoulder before she heard Spike's blunt appraisal.

"Yeah. Don't die - or you'll miss out on all the fun and games with the Balance." He squinted at Dawn and made an apparently flippant gesture with his cigarette end. "Goes double for you, girlie. Behave yourself, or I'll kick your bum."

Dawn grinned.

"In your dreams, deadhead."

Before the vampire had a chance to parry, Uriel swept up to stand beside Michael and survey the group. His tone was business-like, but his presence was somehow instantly reassuring as he gave small tokens to everybody - glancing, touching Tara's shoulder briefly, righting Anya's crossbow, and passing Giles' axe to Dawn.

"Your priority is the spell - you are Sunnydale's first and best line of defence, remember that. So stay together, and guard the principals."

He indicated Dawn and the witches with a glance, then he and Giles exchanged serious nods as the chain of command was established. Then Uriel turned to Michael and laid a large hand on Michael's crown as the angel bowed his head. Buffy heard a brief murmur, and Michael seemed to shiver. Raising his eyes again he seemed more substantial, more real somehow, like an animation brought to life - a trick of the light or something, Buffy thought, because he didn't look any different, just more...more something.

Only maybe it wasn't a trick because Spike appeared to have seen it too, taking a discrete step back as Uriel's hand lifted from Michael's head and extended over the rest of the company.

"Godspeed, all of you."

No formal blessing, but an old farewell - the company turned and started for the door.

"Right." Giles looked more comfortable now that he wasn't overloaded. "Then I should say, er -"

"Move out," Xander supplied helpfully.

"Er, yes. Move out."

oOo

2.48pm...

...Jerry Edgerton checked his watch, and took his wife Sophia by the hand to discretely direct her towards the carpark. The prospect of walking back into the mall again was giving him heartburn. Or at least, some sort of financial indigestion.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy shopping with his wife - sometimes he really had a good time. But Sophia's ability to spend vast quantities of credit and cash on household things which he could see no immediate use for was unnerving. Why did they need this stuff? And, perhaps more relevantly, where were they going to put it? He could see a newer, larger house somewhere on the horizon, and the whole concept was more than he could really bear to contemplate at the moment.

He was temporarily distracted by the sound of music off to his left. Not a portable stereo - this was live. A girl, young, wearing a kind of post-hippie ensemble of floral gypsy skirt and brown suede waistcoat, was playing guitar and singing beside the turn-off to the outside carpark, the open guitar-case in front of her inviting contributions.

Strange. He didn't think buskers were allowed in the area of the mall. Didn't that require a special permit or something? He'd never seen a busker at that location before, at any rate.

He was just squinting at the girl's tiny, black, Lennon-esque sunglasses when he felt the familiar tug on his jacket sleeve. Sophia was sending him little appeals with her eyes, her voice a stage whisper.

"Oh, honey - look. Go on. Give her something. She's probably been standing there forever."

Jerry felt an immediate initial reluctance, then shrugged it off and reached for his wallet. Taking out a few notes - what the heck, he could spare them - he tossed the money down, surprised by the girl's acknowledging nod and even more surprised when she strummed through a musical pause to speak.

"Well, thank you sir. Thank you very much."

Jerry was taken aback.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. No problem."

The girl smiled.

"Nice day, huh?"

Chit-chatting with a busker? Jerry frowned at himself but continued out of the natural urge to politeness.

"Uh, yes - it certainly is. Well miss, uh, good luck for the rest of the day and all."

"Oh, there isn't much time left in the day now."

The girl suddenly reached up and tipped down her glasses. Jerry was still crouched down a little, and blinked to see the girl's white orbs staring blindly back at him. It was a combination of shock and a sudden fear that kept him rooted to the spot as she continued in a quiet, calm voice.

"Nope, not much time left now. But you and Sophia make the most of it. And I'd get home, get in off the streets for the rest of the afternoon, if I were you. Do you understand, Jerry?"

Jerry nodded automatically.

oOo

2.49pm

A sense of power building, warmth of the afternoon sun combining with an internal heat that raises sweat at the hairline, in the armpits...

They'd arrived without incident, found a spot, made a circle. Now the others were arranged around the three women, the three centre figures, waiting for something to happen.

Humming buzz of language, honeyed voice enlivening the words, making real the meanings...

A bee zoomed near her knee, and Dawn had a vague sense of the surrealness of it all. She was sitting crosslegged on the grassy verge. There was a park bench a little ahead and to the right, and then pavement, with the occasional pedestrian casting strange looks in their direction. Xander was standing ahead and to the left, holding a short sword and scanning the area warily.

Letting the words tune and vibrate, feel the corresponding vibration in the universe echo and reply...

There was a delicate touch on Dawn's shoulders - Willow, kneeling behind with her palms resting lightly either side of her neck. Tara, behind Willow, standing and pressing the pads of her fingers gently on Willow's temples. Tara's voice, starting out a little shakey and nervous, but warm and more confident now, reciting and reciting and reciting...

H trs rs rogamus: Apr, sulc, proteg. gratia tua permitte vas accipere, ' potentia tua permitte eam purific, cum otii tus expl finem nostrum. Vs suppressus, iam solvutus, ductum ad nostrum propositum. Protegensis auelaeum ced--' Dian', ' Hecat, ' Kalin.

It happens suddenly.

And suddenly

a million points of light appear in Dawn's vision, so many she has to close her eyes to see them all

but through the light she can still observe, and now her gaze is absolute, three-hundred and sixty degrees in three dimensions - in all dimensions -

so she sees Rupert Giles' startled glance, and Anya's stumble-back as Tara continues to litanize, and

Willow's face pales, head dropping back suddenly as her mouth opens, blue-white incandescence streaming from her mouth, her eyes, her very pores -

A cleansing flood, a searchlight beam like someone has flicked a switch somewhere inside this Willow, turning on a 300,000 watt bulb, the light too strong for her meagre human skin to contain

Radiance too powerful to stare into, the way the sun -

blazes with the equivalent of a hundred million simultaneous nuclear explosions and if there wasn't a special kind of magic being exercised, poor Willow's eyes would have boiled in their sockets

in the first few seconds it takes for the power to spread, to span out, to jet into the sky and fan and sparkle and encompass, and Dawn would be laughing if she wasn't taken hold of, paralyzed -

in a frozen moment when she is all things, she is

everything, and her hair -

blows gently off her shoulders with an invisible breeze, and her face

is smiling and her eyes -

even while closed are

sparkling -

sparkling -

oOo

2.52pm

Buffy dumped an extra sleeve of crossbow bolts on top of the counter, straightened her blouse, checked her watch, bit her nails.

Watched the boys.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So it's nothing now, is it?"

"Whatever. Do you mind?"

"I can stand wherever I bloody well please."

Sigh.

"You've just got your hackles up because she -"

"Can we not talk about this now?"

"Just saying."

"Well I could live without it."

Pause.

"And I dunno why you're taking that."

"What?"

"That. S'too heavy. You'll never use it."

"Excuse me, but considering that I've been swinging a mace since before you were born, I think -"

"But it's heavy. Why don't you just take a nice garrotte or something?"

"Is it possible that you could, for one minute, mind your own business and shut up?"

"Geez. Now who's Mister bloody Sensitive?"

Buffy sighed. If they stayed some distance apart it was fine, but if they got within five feet of each other it was like a bad episode of `The Odd Couple'. She tried to keep well away, and pretended to ignore them, while making the occasional pained face.

She sighed again as Ray shambled over. He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"Gettin' to ya?"

"Were they like this the whole time I was...you know?"

"Pretty much."

"God."

"Worse, even."

She rolled her eyes.

"Can't you make them..."

"Not really. But hey, don't worry about it. It may not even be an issue in a few hours."

"Right. Putting up with two vampires bickering over me, or...the end of Life, As We Know It. These are my options?"

He patted her genially on the shoulder.

"Relax, Buffy. You just do your job, and let them do theirs."

And by fortuitous timing, Uriel chose that exact moment to step around the planning table and walk over to where Angel and Spike were haggling over a small pile of weapons near the stairs.

"Gentlemen..."

Both vamps turned at the approach of a potential umpire.

"Tell this idiot he -"

"You're bloody joking if you -"

"Gentlemen, shut up." The raised hand and the firmly serene tone silenced the pair in mid-complaint. Now he had their attention it was just a matter of focussing their collective energies elsewhere. Preferably in a less confined space. Uriel lifted a finger to punctuate his point.

"You both have an office to perform. By curious coincidence, it's the same office. You don't need to work together - but it might help. So please," Uriel let his voice soften gently "try not to allow your personal arguments get in the way of your work."

Spike and Angel exchanged a slightly embarrassed glance and made an effort to look more attentive. But their attention became suddenly more energetic when Uriel turned to wave Buffy over.

"Would you mind assisting me for a moment?"

"Uh, sure." With an uncertain nod she walked forward, standing beside the angel to cut off the chance of renewing hostilities between the two vampires. "What's up?"

Uriel turned to explain and was stopped short.

Look at this girl. This human girl... Half my height. Pale. Thin. Bereaved.

Fragile.

No - no, not fragile. Stronger, perhaps, than even yesterday, despite all she's endured. Forget the external illusion. Look closer...

Inner strength. In spades.

He knew it. He'd seen it. She would use it. He almost felt sorry for the demons.

He recovered quickly and continued.

"This `glamour' for Angel and Spike - it's complicated."

"You need me to help? I've gotta tell you that I'm totally hopeless with that stuff -"

"No, no, it's not like that. In fact, it's more an issue of...mechanics." As three pairs of confused eyes caught his attention, he inclined his head apologetically. "The blessing is a simple one, but the energy is still being generated from my source, and directed through me...well, you saw what happened when Angel and I shook hands."

"No, actually, I didn't... Oh." Spike narrowed his eyes and baulked back a little. "Oh. When you said your `source', you meant your `Source'. Well, that's not gonna work, is it."

Buffy grimaced on both vampires' behalf. "I'm thinking...ouch."

Angel frowned. "Is it an internal thing, or does the spell work kinda like sunblock?"

Spike cast a droll look from Angel to Uriel. "Well, I'm sure there's some of us who like to wallow in pain, but yours truly here-"

Uriel shook his head to silence a fresh tirade. "No, there's an easy solution. Buffy, if you could reach out and touch them both, if you don't mind..."

With a shrug, Buffy stepped forward and placed a small hand on Spike's, and then Angel's, respective chests. She looked up at them, keeping her face neutral.

"Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,

Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgement Seat;

But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends

of the earth..."

God, where did that come from? But she didn't have time to think, because Spike had started jerking back and Angel was shaking his head.

"Wait just a second -"

"Love, I don't think this -"

Before either of them could back out, Uriel clapped a hand on Buffy's head.

Circuit connected.

She felt a sharp, tingling shock buzz through her - she gasped. Both vampires made a short sound of surprise. There was a brief moment of paralysis - and then it was gone. Uriel lifted his hand from her crown, and Buffy stepped back from Angel and Spike, who both looked as if they'd been hijacked in some way but couldn't figure out exactly how.

"You two okay?"

"Fine." Angel still looked confused. He examined his hands for a second, then peered across to Uriel. "What the hell happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Buffy acted as a filter and a conduit - and a very fine one," Uriel said calmly.

Spike was still frisking himself carefully for any nasty lingering tinglies. "So...what? That's it? One little `zztt' and we're sun-proofed?"

"That's it." Uriel looked faintly amused.

"Great," Buffy proclaimed, giving her arms a little swing to clear them. She checked her watch. "So. You guys are up. You've got an hour to knock together as many heads as you can find between the Magic Box and Main. But don't stray too far, okay? The priority is to clear the vicinity of the shop, give us an open exit"

She gave them an encouraging smile. Angel sighed and nodded. Spike still looked skeptical.

"And now we just walk out into the bright sunshine? Hope for the best - is that it?"

Uriel concluded his contribution with a broad smile at both vampires, then without further ado turned back to the research table. Angel gave Spike a withering glance as he lifted the mace onto his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

"I think it's safe to assume that the spell worked."

"Oh, what, and you're the expert on blessings, are you? Well, I don't feel any different -"

Buffy cut him off with a quick peck on the lips when Angel's back was turned.

"If you two fight demons as well as you argue, I think you'll do fine," she murmured with a dry grin. She stood back and gave him his sword. "Good luck."

Spike looked like he couldn't decide whether to grimace or grin.

"Ta."

He finally decided to grin, in that pursed-lips, sucked-cheeks way he usually adopted when he was just a little unsure of himself. Now she knew the signs, Buffy thought, it wasn't so hard to spot. He turned for the stairs, where Angel was holding open the door and squinting out at the sunlit street, but then suddenly looked back to give her a brief cheeky salute with his blade.

"Back in a sec."

Buffy thought it was interesting, the way that Angel and Spike shared an equally apprehensive glance at the door. But even more fascinating was the way both of them unconsciously took a deep, needless breath before stepping out firmly into the light.

oOo

3.01pm

It was better if they worked in concert: she provided the bait, the distraction, then Xander bashed and slashed the demons a few times, and if the creature hadn't gone down by then Anya usually got to finish them off herself.

Despite having been a demon at one stage, she felt no particular sense of remorse about killing her former kind. For one, her own life and Xander's were in danger, not to mention the others. Two, there seemed to be something of an excess of demons, which she thought of as innately unfair. For some no doubt deeply rooted psychological reason, Anya found herself generally drawn to the weaker party, the underdog, the subjugated or outnumbered. Considering that there seemed to be about three hundred demons for every human inhabitant of Sunnydale at present, she knew which side she preferred.

This didn't necessarily mean that she didn't know which side her bread was buttered on. The demons were definitely the superior force - that was obvious - and it would have been quite an advantage to have re-declared her old demon affiliations.

But apocolypses were funny like that - you just couldn't know who'd prevail at the end of the day. And in any case (the third relevant point), she was human now - a fact which Anya never came up against without a feeling of mixed surprise, frustration, and still-novel delight.

Human.

Human likes and dislikes. Foibles. Strengths and weaknesses. Physicality.

Spit. Sweat. The musk of sex. Bad breath. Sticky palms. Smelly feet. Snot. Tears. Belly button cheese.

Blood.

"Ow."

She grimaced dramatically - it was a light scratch, but fuel for more self-righteous anger directed towards the annoying serpent demon she was fighting. What was ostensibly a young man with blonde-tipped hair and a lascivious grin weaved in front of her, cock-sure, brandishing a short dagger like he was some sort of master knife-wielder.

"Did he hurt you, honey?"

Xander frowned hard at Anya's serpent demon and smashed his sword handle into the face of the rather hairy thing he was fighting. The creature dropped abruptly - Anya was impressed, and doubly pleased by her boyfriend's attentiveness. She pointed at the blonde man.

"He scratched me."

Xander's face darkened. He stared at the blonde man with hardened eyes.

"Oh, you are so in trouble now, buddy."

His next step brought him menacingly closer and the demon reared back, confused.

"Hey, man - we were fighting. I didn't know she was your girl. Hey, what did you expect -"

Anya sniffed her disdain as the demon tried to parry Xander's attack, then lost interest a little. She looked to her right at the tableau there - it was kind of an insistent distraction.

Tara was reciting on and on in a low monotone, eyes closed, hair writhing gently, her face lit by the glow that was...Willow. The red-haired witch's head was thrown back in abandon, and a pastel-blue light was streaming out of her face, her extremities. Surrounded by a nimbus, she glowed with light. The light powered up into the sky and danced across the heavens, a blue-white dome that flowed from the fountain that spewed out of Willow, and darted to the very edges of Sunnydale.

And then there was Dawn. Anya found that, interestingly, she couldn't quite look at Dawn. For some reason, every time her eyes tried to linger something made her gaze flit away to look at something else. Curious.

She's looked over at the three women every time she could snatch a glance. They kept drawing her, which she recognised was an effect of the powers involved. And now her momentary chance to watch was gone again - she turned her head back quickly in time to see Xander duck under the serpent guy's knife and promptly skewer him through the guts. The blonde gurgled once, blinked the nictating membrane across his eyes a few times in surprise, then toppled backwards, dead as a post.

Anya grinned, then examined her scratched arm briefly, assuming a mock frown.

"Well, now. He just deserved that."

oOo

3.40pm

Crossbow. Bolts. Got my hair tied back - check. Sword in spine sheath, and the straps don't interfere with my arm movements or make my black sleeveless tank ride up. Good.

Have gone over plan a million times with Uriel etc - check. Have gone for a pee. Must stop worrying about Dawn. Must stop biting nails. Must stop asking where Spike and Angel are.

She worried a thumbnail and frowned at the air.

`Where the hell are they?"

"They're coming." Ray patted her on the shoulder. "Relax."

They were standing side by side at the research table, looking again at the Demon Map. Sparkling red sands now slithered thickly all over the map surface, whirlpooling in some areas - the sewers, a sidewalk verge on Main, the vicinity of the Magic Box. Although, looking at the red trickling patterns, it did seem that the space right around the shop was clearing somewhat. Every now and again, the occupants of the shop heard a shout, or a gurgling cry, from somewhere outside, and they all tried to avoid making their subsequent glances towards each other seem too significant.

They were all standing - it was asking a little too much to sit down. Gabriel was running a soft cloth over the blade of a long, gleaming knife that was too long for a dagger and too short for a sword. Uriel was at the counter, reading from a leather-bound book - Buffy couldn't see the title but she figured it was something liturgical.

She was glad she had taken up position beside Ray. He seemed comparatively relaxed, and his occasional fatherly pats and calm manner were pretty much the only things preventing her from pacing.

She adjusted the elasticised sleeve on her left forearm again, checking to ensure that all the spare crossbow bolts on the makeshift bandolier were firmly in place. The sleeve was an invention of Giles' - it slid up over her hand to the elbow, and had a strap which fitted into the junction of her thumb like a half-glove, and small bands along the sleeve to keep the bolts in position. Nifty.

She also had a belt-full of slim stakes slung low around her hips. The combination of excess weaponry, boots, leather pants and black top made her feel a bit like a videogame dominatrix brought to life. Gabriel had given her a quick grin, although Uriel had asked if she felt comfortable fighting bare-armed - didn't she want a bit of personal cover? To which she'd replied that a) in her experience, a wound was more easily inflamed by embedded fabric fibres and b) she didn't really have any spare kevlar lying around. She'd left out the bit that involved explaing that c) even if she'd had some she would probably have given it to Dawn. She knew that Uriel was a smart guy - she figured that he could do the math.

She quickly frisked herself again, hands moving on automatic. `Spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch' - ha. Check, check, check. Gnaw her thumb. God. Where were they?

She grimaced over at Uriel.

"Can we just go already?"

Before Uriel could answer, and before Ray could reach up to pat and reassure again, there was a resounding bang as the front door flew open.

"Yeah! Alright! Now that's what I call a fight!"

Four pairs of eyes lifted. Buffy gasped.

The two figures posed regally in front of the door, a dusty breeze swinging coat-hems and sunlight picking out the features of each man, lingering with an apparent delight on skin that hadn't seen day in centuries.

Spike looked like he'd had a bucket of blood, of varying stewy colours, tipped over him. He actually dripped. He was in game face, and the muck on his face contrasted sharply with the ivory gleam of his fangs and the whites of his eyes as he grinned. He lifted one gore-smeared hand to fish his cigarettes out of the top pocket of his duster, giving Angel a nudge with his elbow in the process.

"Come on. You can't say that wasn't a bit of alright, eh?"

The older vampire was similarly messy - hair, face, clothes liberally streaked with goo, although he'd managed to avoid looking like he'd jumped wholeheartedly into some sort of feudal moshpit. His own fangs were less of a glaring contrast, but the shock lay more in his typical neatness being so radically disturbed. And even weirder, he was smiling. At Spike.

"Okay, okay. It was...fun."

Angel was still grinning as he turned his eyes on Buffy. And she was grinning at the two of them. She snorted at Spike's wink in her direction, then looked over at Uriel.

"Well, looks like these two made it out alright."

The angel was staring at the pair, transfixed for a moment, and Buffy blinked. She was too used to this stuff. She was even getting a kick out of it, although much of that could probably be put down to personal history.

But they certainly made a cool tableau. Buffy grinnned again at the sight of Angel Spike in diorama on the stairs - two ancient creatures of the dark, two masters, revelling once more in the hunt but for different reasons entirely. Fists, fangs and physiques sculpted by years of the calculated sinuous grace of their state... Buffy grinned slyly. It was fun alright...

Spike shattered some of the elegant image by running his hand through his hair and then flicking the gory excess artlessly onto the floor. He was making his way towards the others, shaking back into his human guise and nonchalantly waggling the hilt and crosspiece of what had once been a sword.

"Oi. I need another sword."

"You need another shower," Buffy countered, wrinkling her nose and tossing him a clean shop dusting cloth, then throwing another at a grateful Angel. "What happened?"

"He had a run-in with a Knarf demon," Angel explained dryly, mopping off his now-human face and tousling his hair.

"A what?"

"Don't ask me what it was called," Spike replied with a puff on his smoke and a long-suffering roll of the eyes. "It spat at me and my bloody sword dissolved."

"Oh - that demon," Buffy replied with a grin.

"Here."

Spike looked up in time to catch the sheathed scimitar Ray had pitched in his direction.

"Thanks."

Uriel and Gabriel had moved over towards them now. Gabriel's sword-knife was balanced on his shoulder and his face was set. Uriel had a sword-sheath buckled to the left, under the drift of his long coat. Ray was standing to Buffy's left - no longer patting, she realised, but holding a long wooden pike staff topped with a short metal barb.

They were all looking at Buffy. She blinked. Oh god - it was that time.

"Are you ready then?"

Uriel's voice was quiet, but it was enough to make her blood freeze up a little.

Is that a trick question?

How can anybody ever be ready for this?

Which only made her think of her mother.

Mom...

She blinked again at Uriel, sighed out a prayer (...help me get through this?) and avoided the inquiry altogether.

"Let's go."

oOo

3.45pm

"Your right."

"Seen it."

"Giles -"

"Get over. Anya, wait -"

"There!"

"Behind you -"

...The shorthand that develops after a while. It's been an hour now and everyone is starting to feel it. In the beginning it started slow. One demon on the right. One behind. A pause to exchange glances. Another, with plenty of forewarning. Another.

Then it gradually starts to build up. They come in pairs. In groups. In a continuous stream. And now the sky is starting to yellow, and the ground is littered with demon parts and dead bodies and the odd pile of ash or mush or goo.

The four of them have been forced to spread out a little more thinly to guard all the access points to Dawn and the witches - the rainbow treasure at the circle's centre.

Giles fights with grim concentration, and his bow-tied, all-thumbs librarian persona has been happily dispensed with. It's more than book-learning - what a Watcher knows about the mechanics of combat is more than most world-class hand-to-hand experts. Giles wields both sword and axe confidently, with lethal results.

Michael is another story. What a Watcher knows about combat is what a warrior-angel has long ago forgotten. Michael holds a full half of the circle's circumference on his own, and fights with blurring speed and an almost frightening calmness.

Anya is warming up. She's not completely confident fighting one-on-one, but she dispatches demons with a crossbow very efficiently, dancing behind the other three combatants and aiming over their shoulders for the most sensitive spots. She's worried that her supply of bolts might be running low.

Xander fights with old-fashioned determination and an almost foolhardy gutsiness, which is acutally partly a result of plain old foolhardiness. It's not exactly elegant, but it gets the job done and isn't that the point? He takes a step, and then lunges towards his opponent as he lunges with his sword.

That's an error.

"Xander!"

Anya sees her boyfriend stagger and acts on instinct, shooting Xander's demon opponent through the eyeball. And then she's holding the crossbow slackly in one hand and trying to support Xander with the other. It reminds her briefly of his drunken stint at the Bronze (three days ago? four?) and she wishes for a moment that they were back there - herself, vaguely irritated, Xander, sotted but safe.

He has a hand clapped to the muscle at the top of his shoulder, and his face is starting to drain of colour. Anya takes a look at the blood seeping out from under Xander's palm, and the way he sinks to his knees, and promptly panics.

(human physicality)

"Giles!"

oOo

3.47pm

The first thing that had registered was that the sky was an odd colour - kind of yellow (where has she seen that before?) and if she moved her eyes fast, she could see the occasional flash of little sparkles.

The next thing she'd noticed was the atmosphere of tenseness, and the destruction, and the lack of humans on the streets. Sunnydale was a mess - garbage and small fires dotted the landscape, and here and there she could see the occasional overturned car. People's shopfronts and lawns were getting trashed.

When did all this happen?

Buffy had to concede that by the time she and Spike had made it to the Magic Box, streetlife had definitely started to devolve. But in the few hours since then, it was like someone had opened the floodgates, cracked the barriers, let all the monsters out...

The six of them had been fighting since they'd gotten a little way out of the Magic Box. The mess of body parts and dead demons around the outside of the shop had been testimony to the brutality of Spike and Angel's `cleaning house' attack. But even that hadn't put off the more hardcore devotees - emerging from the shop, they'd surprised a large cluster of demons approaching with armfuls of already-burning Molotov cocktails. The fight had been brief but fiery, in every sense of the word.

And the attacks just kept on coming - individuals, groups, hordes... Right now they were engaged with another motley crew of creatures who seemed to have overcome their differences long enough to fight together against a common enemy.

Buffy raised her bow and shot an approaching Fomulus demon through the throat, then spun to kick the body away. The quick turn afforded her a glance down the street - chaos, plus demons, demons and more demons. If Halloween was the night demon-kind stayed out of sight, then this was the complete reverse. She couldn't help but frown with worry.

At this rate it's gonna take forever to get to Dawn and the others.

oOo

3.49pm

"I've got him."

She felt her burden lift a little, then Michael was propping Xander by the shoulders, lowering him to the ground.

Anya fumbled her bow into the other hand. Michael was watching Xander's face carefully, the paleness, the lack of focus in the young man's eyes.

"Your shoulder," the angel stated simply. His voice was quietly pitched despite the battle raging around them.

Xander was nodding, slack-jawed and nauseated. "Uhhn. Ouch."

"Can you fix it?"

Anya was peering in like a flustered, frightened bird. Michael met her eyes firmly.

"Giles needs you."

Anya blinked a few times then nodded, stronger now, and got up off her knees. Giles did need her - he was trying to fight all four quarters on his own. The ex-demoness lifted her bow and shot out two attackers smoothly before re-entering the fray.

Michael turned back quickly to his patient.

"Move your hand away. This won't hurt."

Xander, his injury putting him too in shock to care, let his hand drop away from his shoulder. Immediately, he felt an enervating gush of warm fluid - blood, he realised dazedly, his own blood - spill into the crook of his neck.

But just as quickly, Michael had clapped a hand to the spot. There was no sensation, Xander thought - no tingling, no roll of thunder. It was just - one minute he was injured and the next he felt...normal. It had taken less than a second.

Xander frowned as Michael removed his hand, watching the angel's shadow of a grin. Then he was taking the angel's arm and being pulled to his feet, reaching up with his own fingers to feel the rent near the collar of his shirt, the smooth, unbloodied, unhurt skin beneath.

"Is it..?"

"Yes."

But before Xander could ask `how', Michael was giving him back his sword off the ground, and perusing him carefully for after-effects.

"How do you feel?"

Xander lifted his weapon, letting a slow, vaguely confused smile spread.

"Lucky."

oOo

4.11pm

The world is full of dust and ash and gore, and she pirouettes again, and she is in the Zone.

A kick, a punch, a cross. Stake.

Another kick, an elbow. Stake.

Punch, punch again, knee in the groin, elbow (tenacious, this one) and Stake.

She feels like she is alone. All the creatures keep coming and her movements are becoming so smooth and methodical that it's like slowing down. Jab and punch and shoot, and punch and kick and kick again, and spin and jump and... Like tai-chi. Relaxing, almost.

It's only every now and then that she maybe hears a noise, or thinks to glance around, and then reality revs once, twice, and

whoah, she's back in hyper-speed, and she can feel the bruises starting to form on her forearms and shins, and the streetscape about her on all sides is Main-cum-medieval-battleground. The demon hordes are obscuring the view up the street and she smells smoke and sees grime and tastes blood (her own, from a punch in the mouth received a while back).

And she's not alone. The vampires flank her a little way ahead, one on each side, fighting furiously, their respective styles radically contrasting yet complimenting.

Spike is brutal and roaring, and more of a showman - flashier. He gets himself a little bloodier in the process, but that's the price you pay for flair. His coat flips and whirls darkly behind him like a sidekick. In the moment Buffy spares to observe him, he makes a rather spectacular leap, one booted foot high on his attacker's chest, the other kicking away the demon's cudgel, and his left hand swoops down almost languidly with the scimitar to lop off the creature's head. Then he launches up and flips off the body to somersault back to standing, turning in the same instant to over-hand his tomahawk into the face of another demon approaching from behind.

Buffy blinks in appreciation and turns to shoot three bolts at three separate targets in succession.

She looks up again. Angel, on her right, is more efficient - ruthless. Watching him is more like watching a skilled farmer with a scythe, cutting down everything in his path with cool economy. He's making quicker progress up the street, attacking methodically, breaking every neck neatly, clobbering with the mace, stalking and staking with elegant aplomb. Buffy almost expects him to look up and casually shrug.

You could take this moment, take each vampire's picture now and affix a label above each one - Angel: this is too easy, and Spike: this is too much fun.

Buffy grins, then thrusts an elbow backwards to whack a Te demon in the mouth.

oOo

4.28pm

"...Goddess sustenance provide, and in this hour of need we beg, power channelled and energy maintained, protection by your Will through our unworthy flesh..."

She'd been sustaining the necessary concentration for about two hours now (more maybe?), and the unworthy flesh was beginning to tire. It was a little, but not entirely, like running a marathon, and Tara felt as though she was hitting the wall.

Her body was getting slightly limp; her tongue had that thick, heavy feeling she now understood was a consequence of talking aloud non-stop for a very long time. Her lips were kind of dry.

"...and opening completely in perfect love and perfect trust, this boon we ask..."

Underneath the tiredness in her body there was a sharp, laser-like thread of energy that fed through her - from Dawn, via Willow, Tara was aware - but this was only a baseline. Like a little reminder to keep herself focussed - not enough energy to draw from, and not intended to be so. When Willow had first thrown back her head, when the spell had `engaged', Tara had received a complimentary jolting rush...

"...Power - absolute and impartial. One to provide, one to channel, one to direct..."

And the thrill of it, the basking feeling she got just by being in the backwash, was enough to make her teeth chatter and her hands shake - but stop. Reminding herself sharply that it's not by her own naked will but by intercession that she can exercise direction. No time to go head-tripping now.

"...and that which lies beneath your wing might be preserved..."

In theory, they should all be asleep. The first part of the spell encouraged the inhabitants of Sunnydale back to their houses or to a secure place, and the other ongoing parts of the spell put them to sleep and made their residences demon-proof - a combination of three quite simple magicks, but ballooned out on a considerably greater scale than Tara could have ever imagined.

So it was amazing, and it was working, and Willow's skin under her fingers seemed to almost vibrate. But the glow and the buzz weren't quite enough - Tara inhaled again slowly, a dizzying breath of ozone and freshness and new-cut-grass smell that seemed to emphasise her own bone-weariness, and the feeling of her own skin trembling slightly, before her tongue began to coagulate over the words.

"..and giving each one protection in their - in their slumber..."

Her eyelids fluttered and her hands, raised to Willow's temples, felt indescribably leaden. And Tara felt the first stab of fear.

"...and Goddess...and Goddess, having a thousand names...and energizing this unsubtle body...we-we implore - always faithful in spirit, pure in purpose, acting in...acting in, uh..."

A tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye, and she couldn't help it, oh Goddess, please, she was weak - so weak, just like her papa used to tell her, always failing at the testing time... And Tara's eyes drifted down to Willow's shining face as her body began to numb -

- and that's when the large and heavy hand clasped her shoulder and the warm, low tenor cleared its throat and strengthened her tiny, now-whispered words:

"...acting in sincere love and trust."

Tara lifted her head and turned to meet Rupert Giles' eyes, his gently smiling, sweat-and-blood-streaked face. The blonde witch felt her chest rise with a new breath - balmy, with the vigour of a mellow male energy, and great kindness. Her first response was to warn him.

"You can't -"

"Not involving," he said quickly as his hand squeezed her shoulder, a comfort. "A support - a prop."

She nodded dumbly, and felt the strange new energy curl, waiting, beneath her breastbone, beneath her tiredness.

Giles gave her a purposeful look.

"Go on, Tara."

And it was enough to remind her; her eyes blinked twice, then she swallowed and opened her mouth to speak.

"...Acting in sincere love and trust, our work now approve - and thankful for enriching succour..."

oOo

4.41pm

She works with stake and crossbow, alternating until she runs out of bolts, and then she feels no regret as she dumps her favourite weapon and rolls behind a nearby trashcan to pick up another from a small pile there that none of the demons seem to have noticed. Then she's fighting with a Chinese sword, the red tassel dancing, marionette-like, with every slash and parry. A neat metaphoric echo - she dances too, mistress of her own strings, a flame, bright and flaring with energy, and the myriad tiny cuts and lacerations that have bled a red tint in patches on her skin only reinforces the impression...

The Angels are in another class altogether, and it was when Buffy spared the chance to look at them that they ceased to be angels and became Angels.

Because Gabriel, in his secular tie-dyed t-shirt and grubby jeans, now fights with the grace and ease of a knight - if she looks close enough she can almost see the armour and greaves he's wearing, the tumble of his brown curls emphasising his medieval beauty but clashing with the ferocity of his attack. He uses the long knife with discriminating strategy, fighting multiple opponents with a gleeful panache similar to Spike.

But Spike could never do what Gabriel can do when pressed - in the midst of a flurry of exchanges the young Angel slips his hand around the air in a rapid scooping motion, and suddenly he's holding and then hurling a ball of roiling fire. The fireballs, varying in size and completely under his direction, whizz through the field of battle to explode with devastating effect whenever and wherever they hit.

And he's not the only one with pyrotechnics under his command. Ray sizzles in the midst of the company, a strange electricity prickling on his skin. When the gaggle of the demon onslaught seems to particularly annoy him, he only has to tip his long pikestaff, point and shoot. In the sudden glare of the lightning bolts smashing demon bodies, Buffy thinks that Ray has pulled off quite a transformation. She hardly sees a glimpse of the mangy old man in the scruffy clothes and dirty hat, and wonders where this gruff-faced berobed wizard in front of her came from.

She spins to kick a stake into the chest of a an approaching vampire - they've started to crawl out and enter the battle now that the strange colour of the sky has begun to deepen. In the explosion of dust she sees the final member of the company, and no surprises there.

Uriel has always had a kind of majestic grace, and now he seems to rise to his full, considerable height, his black coat billowing behind him, theatrical and alive. Like the calm eye of the storm, he dispatches attackers with such rapidity and poise that even Buffy has trouble following his movements. He fights like an old-style swordsman, a musketeer, elegant and instinctive, with frequent refined flourishes that make it look less like slaughter and more like art.

And when an opponent becomes too frisky, he simply gives a reproachful glare and extends a palm - and the creature is suddenly thrust back with violent force, bowling over others behind like ten-pins. Buffy has a feeling that there's more to Uriel's power that he hasn't even released yet, but so far this is all he's giving away. Whatever else he has up his sleeve, she's looking forward to the demonstration.

Then a punch from another monster clobbers her sqaurely across the teeth, and she stops sight-seeing and stabs her sword through her opponent's guts and wonders how close they are to the others.

oOo

4.48pm

Michael sliced three broad strokes, and another demon fell to pieces, dissolving messily onto the asphalt. But he wasn't even watching the display - he'd turned to take on another opponent.

A quick look up revealed the state of play. Xander, with renewed energy, was hewing into a fresh attacker, and Anya was now fighting with a large machete, her crossbow-bolt supply having finally become exhausted. Between the two of them they were doing an okay job, but the circle of attack had become more shallow - everyone was now fighting just a few feet closer to Dawn and the witches than Michael thought was completely comfortable.

He chopped the head off a nearby vampire with barely a backwards-glance, then tried to catch Giles' attention. The Watcher was standing behind Tara, the blonde spell-caster, and had a hand on her shoulder. Tara seemed to be concentrating strongly - and Giles was now the one who seemed exhausted. His head was drooping, and his face looked particularly haggard. Michael would have liked to pass on some refreshing energy, but with the Watcher interlinked with the witch like that he couldn't get involved, without risk of contaminating the spell.

It was frustrating. He took out another three demons and frowned. Help was on the way, he knew, but -

"There - I see them!"

Michael looked up. That's -

oOo

4.49pm

Buffy's voice, pitched high, as she raised a hand and pointed.

"There - I see them!"

Maybe fifty feet away - maybe more. She could see the light on Tara's face - is that Willow? - and searched for her sister. There, on the ground. Maybe. It was hard to see very well.

And she did have these constant interruptions. One of the five vampires in front of her made a move and she lopped off his arms with a raised eyebrow - Are we just careless? Did you think it was going to be easy?

But she knew that it was just they were inherently sloppy. And possibly the remaining light was making them sluggish. The sun was a burnished disc, and the sky glowed as dusk approached. She wiped blood out of her eye and took a breath.

It's coming.

oOo

4.58pm

He spotted the Main Street group about fifteen minutes ago, and you'd think they'd have covered the distance between then and now. But although they're nearly there, it's horrendously slow-going.

It's like a sea of demons, a swarm, like ants - the space is filled with them and the ground is thick with their bodies. The stench, especially for one with his heightened senses, is unbelievable. Everywhere he looks, sprays of blood and mess and hacked-off limbs are flying - not to mention bright flares of fire and lightning, which is just downright fucking frightening. He's looked down at his own hands once, in a momentary pause - slippery with gore, and shaking.

But even without turning his head at any given moment in time and space, he knows where she is. Can't put his finger on it - it's like her scent, or her brightness, that he's aware of. Something like that. He'd glanced at her once, to check on her, and to watch her work - magnificent - but had found it hazardous to his health. Too distracting. Now, he settles for dispatching a couple more attackers and sensing her on the air.

Her. And something else.

It's coming.

Sure, right. It's coming. Whatever the hell `it' is.

He whirls and slashes. Another one down.

Her. And it. And...something else.

And he doesn't know what it is until he slices away the curtain of demons and vamps in front of him and sees a figure.

Human. A tall, slim black woman, hair a medusa's mass of braids. Black jeans and boots and eyes. A shockingly colourful bandeau halter. Bone jewellry.

An enormous sword.

Only by recognizing the sword, and trusting his instincts, does Spike manage to avoid the first sweeping thrust. He tumbles back, grabs a nearby vampire by the scruff of the neck and uses him as an undead shield. Grace's sword slides straight through, and the shield dissolves in a dusty puff of air. Bugger.

But he doesn't even have time to grimace, cos now he's parrying madly, pure defence, being pasted backwards with every stroke, stumbling over bodies as he goes.

He wonders if anyone else has noticed that he's now fighting the Angel of Death - again.

Grace somersaults over his head and he blocks another thrust - barely. This brings her glaring eyes and keen sword-edge up to his face. If he wanted, he could shave his chin. Bloody hell, this girl just will not let it go. His eyes dart around quickly with ill-concealed frustration and his voice is like ground glass.

"Will somebody get this bitch off me?"

oOo

5.07pm

Michael hacks his way through a half-a-dozen more bodies and then suddenly the obstructions tumble away. A corridor has opened up and Uriel is leaning towards him with a smile and an extended hand. Michael grins and returns the greeting clasp.

"Well met."

Uriel nods. "Indeed. And just in time, I think."

They look around the battleground. The witches are still protected - Angel has stepped in to fill the breach left by Giles, and Xander and Anya, though exhausted, are still on their feet.

To their right, Ray is clearing a bit more space with his pikestaff. At left, Buffy fights like she's possessed. And to the rear, Gabriel and Spike -

A dark figure with a riot of braided hair and a sword goes sailing over Uriel and Michael's heads. By the time they turn to look, she's already rolled to standing, sword up for the next attack.

Uriel frowns. "Damn."

Michael is nodding. "They're wasting their energy fighting her when they could be killing demons." He's rolling up his shirt-sleeves, preparing to engage. "Let me see what I can do."

"We don't have time for this," Uriel mutters grimly.

And he's right. The sun is sinking at the horizon line and the sky has the peculiar coloured brilliance that signifies an approaching storm. As Uriel glances up a low rumble sounds, but whether it's emanating from earth or sky he can't be sure. His voice drops to a worried whisper.

"It's coming."

oOo

5.09pm

Ray calls out to her from across the field of battle, but she can't make out the words.

The sky is lightening and darkening together - bizarre shifting patterns of colour flash across the heavens. Even the demons are beginning to look around in confusion.

It's coming.

Buffy grimaces and throws down her broken sword.

"What's coming?"

Uriel is suddenly there, thrusting a staff tipped with blades on both ends into her hand.

"It's the Balance. Are you ready?"

Why does he keep asking me that? How can I possibly be -

There's a crackle on the air, and everyone looks up.

The sun is setting.

oOo

5.11pm

Anya hears the deep rumble as it tickles through her stomach, and the numbness begins to creep from her feet up.

"Oh, boy. Here we go ag-

5.11pm

Giles wonders how much more energy he can feed to Tara without completely incapacitating himself. She's going to have to keep going with the spell long after -

5.11pm

Angel finds that he's starting to really enjoy this.

Is that a bad thing?

But he doesn't have time to contemplate, as another vampire attacks and he stakes it through the heart quickly and the sudden burst of dust -

5.11pm

If it had had higher cortical functions, the demon might have realized that throwing itself at the Slayer at this point was tantamount to suicide. But it didn't, so when the blade slid through its throat there was a look of surprise -

5.11pm

5.11pm

5.11pm

5.11pm

The first thing she notices is the quiet. She whips around for another opponent and there isn't one. The demons haven't disappeared. They've just...stopped.

She frowns. Everything has stopped.

Her last attacker has a paw pressed to its throat, where its head should be - but the body hasn't fallen, and the head is still mid-tumble, suspended in the air.

Nobody blinks. Or coughs. Or moves.

What the hell is happening?

"It's the Balance."

Uriel's voice from behind makes her jump and turn - in spite of his proximity he sounds like he's talking from miles away, or from the other end of a long, long tube...or the other side of the planet. He offers a smile. The outlines of his face and body seem to be a little blurry, like his realness is in flux. It's disconcerting. Buffy wonders if she's exhibiting the same symptoms. Uriel nods.

"It's okay. This is the way it goes."

She looks around. She's closer to Dawn and Willow and Tara than she thought. Tara's mouth is open to speak, strands of hair floating serenely around her face. Giles is at her side - he looks tired, Buffy thinks. Willow has her head thrown back and her mouth and eyes are wide open - but before, Buffy had seen a light, and now there's nothing...

Dawn is - something. Buffy can't see her properly, and finds herself looking away.

Ray and Gabriel are still moving - this is reassuring - and they're wandering closer, looking a little battle-weary but grinning.

She sees Angel - he's stopped too, a suspension of dust floating around his outstretched hand. Must have just staked a vamp. But why is he frozen and not -

"Bloody fucking hell!! Leave off already!!"

Buffy turns her head and Spike is suddenly sprawled on the ground a little in front, dust rising with a sweet souf of air as his coat-leather billows on the asphalt. He's on his back, grimacing, hands up, throttling a glaring, black-skinned girl who's wearing a slightly-dirty-but-still-fabulous outfit - as Buffy watches, Spike kicks up viciously and the girl tumbles over him to roll out nearly ten feet away. She jumps to her feet as Michael, sword drawn, rushes over to help Spike to his. Spike looks over at Uriel with an exasperated appeal.

"Don't just bloody stand there - call her off!!"

Uriel speads his hands, expression helpless.

Spike rolls his eyes.

"Oh, for fuck's sake-"

But the girl attacks before he can finish, and he and Michael have their hands full just keeping her at bay.

Buffy frowns. The whole situation is surreal. She points at the girl, whose braids twirl prettily as she does a spinning back-kick at Spike's head.

"That's Grace?"

"Yes," Uriel confirms as he wipes his rapier on his coat-sleeve.

"Uh, should I -"

"Nah," Gabriel says, shaking his head. He looks at her and shrugs. "S'not your fight."

Buffy riles at that. "And what's that supposed to mean? Considering -"

Ray butts in, clearing his throat and looking at Uriel pointedly.

"She might be right, y'know. We should intervene." He looks at the furious battle with an air of bored nonchalance. "I mean, you know what Grace's like: this could go on forever. Literally."

Spike and Michael choose that moment to make a joint push, heaving the serious-faced girl bodily into the air. She twists like a cat and lands on her feet near Dawn and the witches. Like an automaton, Grace rights herself, raises her sword and prepares to stalk forward.

"Hold."

5.11pm

Grace pulls up abruptly, stiff and motionless, a fly stuck in amber. Only her glaring eyes are excepted, flicking back and forth violently and wishing Spike dead.

Buffy recognises the voice. Her gaze darts up to see her sister get up from her seat on the grass and begin to walk over.

"Dawn..."

The name slips out involuntarily, but she can see that it's not - not Dawn. Not-Dawn. This isn't Dawn. Dawn doesn't move so assuredly, without facial expression. Dawn doesn't shimmer around the edges like the flickering insubstantial image in an old black and white film reel - here/not-here; real/not-real; being/not-being.

Dawn doesn't crackle and glow, doesn't command so absolutely with her sheer presence, doesn't have a voice that makes you simultaneously want to scream and cry, doesn't have blue-white eyes, nacreous, like a shell's innards...

Because Dawn is just a girl. Not Primordial Power personified.

Buffy feels feverish.

Dawn ignores her and walks directly up to Spike, who is still vaguely confused as to why Grace has stopped her onslaught. He blinks at the girl he thinks he knows.

"Niblet..."

"It's time."

Dawn's eyes are mesmerizing, whirling with clouds and shadows. Spike flinches and straightens at the next command.

"You must choose."

The vampire frowns. "Come again?"

Buffy hears a sharp inhale to her right and looks over to see Uriel, face aghast. He's staring at Spike - all the Angels are. Michael has taken a step back. Gabriel's expression is one of dawning understanding. Ray is just chuckling.

"You," Uriel stammers.

Spike's agitated face goes back and forth from Dawn to the Angels.

"What?"

"You must choose," Dawn/Not-Dawn repeats.

"Choose what? I don't even know what the options are -"

"Irrelevant." There's a trace of impatience there which makes Buffy clench her teeth. "Choose."

Uriel is still gaping at Spike. "It was you all along..."

"What is he talking about?" Buffy asks in a stage whisper.

Gabriel seems reluctant to take his eyes off Dawn.

"Spike is the One. The Moment. Uriel thought it was you - we all did. I mean, we just assumed..."

"The one what?" Buffy suppresses an urge to stamp her foot. "What does he have to choose?"

Then Ray is beside her, grinning broadly.

"Spike is the Balance point. Actually, it's kinda funny..."

"I'm glad you think so," Buffy mutters.

Dawn has fixed Spike with her blazing eyes. The vampire can't sweat, so he doesn't, but the overall impression is one of a butterfly freshly pinned onto a card.

"The Moment," Dawn says quietly. "The Conflux. A creature of division, in a world divided."

Spike blinks. Uriel looks as though he's thinking that he should have seen this coming. Dawn keeps staring.

"Good. Evil." And in a voice that brooks no opposition. "Choose."

"But how can I be... You want me to..." Spike is pale, stricken, stammering. He glances between Buffy and the Power commanding him. "I-I can't. I can't do this. You can't make me do this."

Buffy takes a step forward and musters her voice.

"Spike, you can."

"You must." Uriel is nodding. "You must choose."

"You must choose," Dawn repeats. "There is no choice except through you."

"Ah, fuck." Spike runs a hand through his hair, looks at Buffy and swallows before returning his eyes to Dawn. "Could you, er, repeat the alternatives maybe?"

5.11pm

"Choose Good."

The whole world resonates with her words, and it's like the clanging of joyful victory bells. The air feels warm - it's springtime, and somewhere, the scent of jasmine lingers.

Primordial Power blinks its eyes and continues.

"The universe becomes a haven of peace. The Servants of the Powers return to their Master." Her implacable opaque glance takes in the obedient nods of Uriel and the others --and then she looks at Buffy. "The Slayer finds ease."

Spike inclines his head. "The Slayer `finds ease'?"

"Her responsibilities come to an end. The world of demons passes away - so too the Slayer's sacred duty."

Spike looks intrigued, but Buffy is already frowning with suspicion.

"Wait a minute. You said the world of demons passes away..." Buffy feels the force of her psuedo-sister's direct gaze. She winces but stays on track. "So...what happens to Spike? I mean, he's a demon, so -"

Dawn's eyes burn into her. "All demons must pass. None may stay."

"So what, he just disappears or something? But that's not fair!"

Buffy's indignation is pinking her cheeks. Uriel and the Angels are exchanging startled glances.

"Buffy -"

"Well it isn't! I mean, is it just `Gee, Spike, thanks for saving the world and all, now off you go to hell' - or wherever he's supposed to be sent -"

Spike turns her chin with his fingers and settles her tirade with a rueful grin.

"It's okay, pet - not exactly loving the idea either, y'know." He looks back into blue-white eyes without cowering. "So, what's my other choice?"

Dawn's hair glows in the light of the time-stopped sun, then as a strange smile curves her full lips a shadow falls. The air cools and thickens.

"Choose Evil."

5.11pm

"Choose Evil," Dawn intones, and Spike has to lick his lips, because her voice makes the very ether vibrate with lush darkness and it tastes like blood, and honey, and wine...

He forces himself to concentrate on her next words.

"Demons hold sway. All beings burn beneath their command."

It's Michael, of all of them, who loses his self-restraint. He takes a step toward the vampire and his usually benign expression is tainted with anxiety.

"Don't do it, Spike. A world of evil - you'd be condemning all humanity to indescribable suffering -"

But Dawn's lilting, apparently toneless voice continues like a sussuration - the rustle of a raven's wing, the drip of absinthe from a bottle...

"You would be a king in such a world, vampire. A sea of blood -" She catches Spike's nervous gaze with her own. " - like honey and wine..."

He swallows to stop himself from salivating and the gesture restores his consciousness to the small, warm human at his side. He's suddenly acutely aware of where Buffy's bare arm makes contact with his - even through the coat-leather, he can feel it. He fixes Primordial Power with a frown.

"What about the Slayer?"

"The Good..." Buffy imagines she hears a mechanical clicking noise as Not-Dawn turns her head to stare at her and each of the Angels in turn. "All Good will perish."

Spike purses his lips.

"Yeah, well, s'not really much of a choice then, is it?" He huffs out an exaggerated breath and spreads his hands. "So is that it? Is that all you've got for me? Don't' tell me that you couldn't come up with anything better than -"

"Choose Stasis."

5.11pm

The air lightens to the pink glow of a lovely summer's day, although the clouds hanging high above threaten rain with their gunmetal underbellies. Buffy inhales, and the smells of the world are a bombardment - flowers and exhaust smoke, a baby's scent and the oily grime of a city street, fresh-baked bread and a garbage skiff.

"Choose Stasis," Primordial Power explains, "and this world continues. Everything will be as it was. No change but one."

Buffy blinks.

"What's the change?"

Dawn looks at her, then inclines her head towards Spike.

"The Balance rests on his division." Another step brings her up to the vampire's chin, to take in his startled eyes with an expression that is coolly judging, but almost...curious. "Not human - barely demon. No soul - yet compassion..."

But the girl's face returns to Buffy's with a stony look.

"He is an abomination. Thus the conflict with the Instrument of the Powers." She makes a faint gesture towards Grace's frozen form. "There can be no Stasis if the Balance remains."

5.11pm

Spike stands, looking bereft, a Greek tragedy. Buffy rubs her eyes.

"This...this is too hard. Spike has to die in order for him to choose Stasis? Sorry, but that sucks."

Gabriel steps forward quietly, eyes narrowed. He's looking straight at Primordial Power, but talking sideways.

"No, she said that Spike has to change in some way to choose the middle path." Then his words direct themselves squarely at Dawn. "So - you can change him." It's not a question.

The Power meets his gaze stolidly. "All things are possible."

"How?" Buffy's words and attitude are confronting. "How can you change him?"

Dawn regards the object under discussion. "He can be made pure demon - whole, complete."

Spike curls a lip. "Yeah, right - no thanks."

"He can be ensouled."

"Give me a soul?" Spike's eyebrows lift and he jerks a thumb towards Angel, a statue suspended in live action. "Like Mr. Glum over there?"

"No." Spike blinks and Primordial Power clarifies. "Not the same. The dark one is a servant of the Powers - his curse is a retribution. He lies outside this sphere."

"So, what, you give me a soul and I become -"

"Human. As you were before your turning."

The vampire is motionless except for his eyes, voice thready.

"Human." He turns to Buffy in confusion. "Human."

She looks at him, but she can't speak, can't -

"Wait wait wait wait. Hold it right there a second."

Everyone is suddenly staring at Ray who, to Buffy's alarm, is waggling a finger at Dawn like a parent at a naughty child.

"Now that's called applying the letter, but not the spirit of the law, isn't it? Also known as cheating. C'mon - it's not fair to the boy..." Ray turns to take in Spike's expression of flabbergasted frustration. "See, she was very specific - she said human, as you were `before your turning', so..."

Suddenly, to even his own surprise, Uriel interjects.

"He's right, Spike - it's a trick. Human before your turning would make you -"

Spike gets it in a rush and swallows sickly. "Nearly two hundred human years old..."

He turns to Buffy as she pales. "Spike, you'd melt into dust as soon as you changed."

"I think that's the point." His grimace is directed now to Dawn as he throws up his hands, all sense of propriety and awe giving way to sheer annoyance and anger. "Look here, missy, this isn't it a game, is it? How d'you expect me to choose when all the options are equally un-bloody-appealing? Listen - I'm not choosing any bloody thing unless I can stay me."

The vampire's anger washes over the flickering Not-Dawn with no discernible effect. Instead of returning his fire with one of her own, she smiles, Cheshire-like.

"Then...become a new creation. A form animated by this Power. A vessel, inhabited."

"Come again?"

"Do you understand the nature of this creature before you?"

Buffy gasps. "Like Dawn. You can make him new, like Dawn."

Spike frowns. "But Dawn's human -"

"No." Uriel's bass rumbles gently to one side. "Dawn is a vessel of Primordial Power, as you see now. Her human form is a shell -"

"But Spike, you'd still be you." Buffy interrupts, getting excited by the idea. "And you'd still be here."

"But...maybe I'll just get brain-wiped or something, no memory of me or anything else - another trick... S'not another trick, is it?" Spike glances at Ray for counsel, but the Angel can't offer more than a shrug - new territory.

The vampire frowns, but a deliberate breath seems to give him strength. His choice...god, his choice. Two disastrous options and one unknown...

When did the fate of the known universe come to rest on his shoulders? Christ - define irony...

He closes his eyes then opens them again. He's going for bravura, but he has an unshakeably nervous edge in his voice.

"Then that's it. That's my choice."

The blue-white eyes seem to crackle with lightening. Buffy feels the hint of a storm breeze.

"You choose Stasis?"

Spike swallows. His hair and skin gleam white in the sepia-toned light.

"I choose Stasis."

5.11pm

Buffy almost hears Uriel sigh. If she looks at the Angels now she would see the four men exchange glances, half-relieved, half-commiserating... But she only has eyes for the man beside her as he faces the judgement on his own self.

Dawn's long brown hair begins to strand and blow in the unseen breeze.

"You must be made new."

Spike winces. He doesn't like the sound of that. "Er, that doesn't mean you have to pull me into little pieces and reassemble, does it?"

"The form must be purified."

"So how d'you do that?"

The Power animating Dawn's body smiles. Spike finds the familiarity of the gesture disarming.

"Like so."

And she has moved, (did she move? so fast...) reached back lightly for Grace's sword, Grace suspended but her eyes exulting as Dawn's hand thrusts forward, before Buffy can even cry out to warn, step forward to block, and all she can do is gasp -

- and Spike has a sword through his chest.

Through his heart.

His chin drops as he looks down at the sword-hilt in surprise. Looks up at Buffy. Blinks.

And when she opens her mouth this time, her voice is a thin wail.

5.11pm

no oh no god Spike -

Buffy -

please god not two not together I couldn't -

Buffy relax it's okay just look -

5.11pm

not dusted but he should be -

watch carefully -

god what's she -

like all the molecules separating see it has to happen this -

5.11pm

gone now he's empty and now -

oh god oh I get it the sword -

has to come out or his renewal will be messy -

what was that like black barf -

haven't you figured it out yet? -

5.11pm

that really isn't Dawn at all is it -

no -

and she won't -

even remember kissing him but you know it's not what it looks like anyway sweetie -

it looks pretty damn -

there did you see that ? -

he -

yeah just a twitch -

5.11pm

I'm here now it's okay oh god he's hurt he's hurting -

no -

like he's drowning -

he's breathing -

what -

Buffy his lungs haven't been used for nearly two centuries -

5.11pm

what is she -

becoming Dawn again get ready for it -

but -

"Proceed."

Sometime...

Sometimes, when you're out swimming in the ocean, your grasp on the situation (breathe, stroke, kick, head up) will loosen. It only takes a bare moment, and suddenly the wave has you in its power, turns you, lifts you, pushes you down - dumps you, in fact (being dumped by a lover or by a big wave - lots of poetic imagery there).

You flounder, splash, feel a sting of salt in your eyes, the grazing pain of scraping the sea floor, sand up your nose, and which way is up? you have no idea. Breath is knocked out of you - you release it unintentionally, crying out underwater in a flock of bubbles when you mistakenly think you've reached the open air...precious resources wasted.

And then there's the burning demand for oxygen, the claustrophobia, the sudden clamour in your chest, an the fear and pain as the current slams into you again, and again, and again...

"...unghuh..."

"Lie still. It's alright."

When he opens his eyes a crack he immediately wants to close them again. The light seems hyper-bright. And he wishes he could close his ears too. Noisy. Adding the croak of his own voice sounds...odd.

"...what's happening?"

"Everyone's still fighting, but it's okay. They're pretty much on top of it now."

"Where's -"

"She's fine. She's out in the thick of things. Didn't want to go, but she's needed. And she figured I could help you more. How are you feeling?"

"...like death warmed up?"

"Hah."

"Where are we?"

"Well, it looks like this place sells wedding dresses, but they're gonna need pretty extensive renovations before start of trade tomorrow. No - don't try and sit up."

"Unh...whatever you say then."

"Still painful in the chest?"

"More like everywhere. Aches... Ah, I'm getting too old for this."

"You will be."

"Pardon?"

"I'll let the lady explain. She's on her way."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's time for me to go."

"What d'you mean `go'? Like `go' as in -"

"'Go' as in leave."

"Hey - hey. What's going on, your skin is...argh."

"Told you not to sit up."

"Michael, you're...fading."

"Like I said, gotta go. You know, Spike, that's the first time you've called me by my name."

"You're just gonna leave? Like that?"

"Sun's nearly up - it's time. Our mission's over."

"But Buffy -"

"Doesn't need any more help from us. It's okay, Spike - really. And congratulations."

"For what?"

"Saving the world and all that."

"I feel like I'm talking to a ghost..."

"Relax. I'm still a little bit here. And I've got a surprise for you before I go."

"...what sort of surprise?"

"Just a little internal alignment... It'll come in handy, believe me. Consider it a parting gift."

"Wait -"

"See you round, Spike."

"But ---

Author's note: It's okay, it's not a typo. That's the final chapter. And the epilogue will be up within two days.

Angel's bible quotation taken from I Corinthians 13. Michael's poetic reply from "In Perspective" by Robert Graves. Buffy's mental ruminations by Rudyard Kipling.

To Make Much of Time - Epilogue

One Year Later...

It was a year to the day, she remembered. The door closed shut behind her with a muffled, arhythmic clanging sound. Buffy winced.

Giles really needs to fix the door-bell - soon.

Only Giles wasn't around to remind. Giles was in England, in someplace called Bournemouth, according to the postcard, attending a Council Symposium. He hadn't really wanted to go, but there was no getting around it because he was the guest speaker.

Buffy knew that he'd been secretly tickled by the concept of the Council regarding him as an asset. But he was, after all, the only living Council expert on the Gatherings...he'd muttered something about having his arm twisted, but the Slayer had a feeling that Giles would have gone anyway, just to see the look on Quentin Travers' face. He'd left the shop in Anya's capable hands, with inducements not to blow the shop profits on any dodgy share investments until his return. Anya had, with some grimacing, agreed.

She and Xander were both doing okay - they had a few minor scars, but they were well and truly healed by now. They'd both scored a couple of injuries in the madness that was the aftermath of the Balance - Anya would have ended up in Emergency at one stage except for Michael's healing abilities. But now she and Xander were back making doe-eyes at each other, no problems. In a commemorative gesture, Xander had cut out all the newspaper headlines from the days after the Gathering, and stuck them up in the office. Stuff like "Freak Local Tornado Confounds Sunnydale Residents" was always good for a laugh.

At least Xander and Anya's wounds had been only superficial - and only physical. Giles and Tara had both been so completely exhausted post-Balance that they'd taken months to recover.

As for everyone else...Willow had been a bit `zoned out' for a while afterwards. Sometimes she would stop mid-sentence and kind of stare off into space, or you'd speak to her and she would blink and take a second to respond. But she normalised after about a week.

Examining herself in the dim sunrise on that Saturday morning, Buffy had realised that she was sporting quite a lot of minor flesh wounds, and some nasty bruises, and not much else. And Dawn... Dawn was fine - she just couldn't remember a thing after about three p.m. on the Friday.

But as far as a touch of memory loss surrounding her involvement in the last apocolypse went, Dawn was way too busy growing up to let it bother her. She had too much other stuff to think about. This week, it was a school social - Buffy had been cornered (not entirely unhappily) into the role of fashion advisor and credit-card holder in a pre-social shopping spree of mammoth proportions. It had been fun, raiding the mall, but Buffy's eyes were still watering from the bill. It certainly gave her a greater appreciation of how hard her Mom had worked to keep it together all those years, in the face of household expenses and two growing daughters (well, technically only one, yada yada - but still).

And that had been the main problem. After the dust had settled, and the heavenly hosts had dematerialized - she kinda missed Ray sometimes - and Angel had made his goodbyes, and life started getting back to normal generally...there had still been a big hollow place inside her that needed to be addressed.

The funeral had been intimate, and brief, and expensive all the same. Buffy and Dawn had finally had the chance to mourn, for real. It had hurt. It had hurt to remind herself about it, after the apocolypse was over and there was nothing else to occupy her mind. It had hurt to arrange all the formalities, and the family stuff, and other stuff. It still hurt. Times like these, when Dawn came to her for advice (about clothes and friends and, ye gods, boys), and Buffy felt like she was seeing a new change in her sister every day - these times were the worst.

But the stinging feeling wasn't as painful or as long-lived as it used to be. And, as always, the sight of the figure at the research table cheered her up immediately.

He was working. Papers were liberally strewn over half the table, and his head was down, deep in concentration. She grinned softly at the view, and took a few quiet steps inside, trying not to disturb him - she was happy just to watch, for the moment.

He'd changed - well yeah, obviously - but he was still Spike. He wore the duster sometimes, but those occasions were getting fewer and further between. He still favoured the black leather pants, and ass-kicker boots - he had one steel-capped sole up on a chair at that moment - but his tight long-sleeved t-shirt was dark teal, not black.

It complemented him better, Buffy thought, considering that his hair wouldn't grow back to its original colour. Something had happened to his internal chemistry that Friday when he'd been transformed. Now his hair was permanently white-blonde, not even able to take dye, as he'd discovered after some rather messy experimentation.

But he'd grown it out long, just for variety, and now kept it slicked back into a tight cue at his nape. Dawn was forever complaining that he stole her black hair ties. He'd been threatening to dreadlock it for the last few months, to which Buffy's reply was that she would absolutely and categorically leave him if such a thing ever happened. But she was kidding - he could do whatever he liked with his hair, it would suit her just fine. Although she liked it long - particularly when strands at the front slipped out, and he tucked them behind his ear, as he'd done now.

He was sitting in a position she was now accustomed to: leaning over the table, taking notes with his left hand, and propping up his head with his right, a curl of smoke rising from the cigarette end between his fingers - some things never changed. He still smoked like a chimney - she'd gotten used to the taste of Morley's on his lips. She'd also gotten used to the way he drove too fast, gunning the engine of the DeSoto (which he'd staunchly refused to sell) at the lights, dragging off the town motorheads with a wicked grin, something suitably manic (Iggy Pop's `Lust for Life' was a favourite) invariably blaring out of the stereo, while she sat with a mixture of terror and excitement in the passenger seat.

She grinned when she saw his face at an angle - he had his reading glasses on. Cute. Now that had been a surprise, but only one of many.

Not content to become yet another Magic Box helper - he'd rolled his eyes at the suggestion - he'd gotten a job at the UC of Sunnydale, fronting up to the administration there one day with a look of theatrical confusion, accepting their profuse apologies that his appointment details had gone astray, and handing over a very bona-fide-looking set of transfer papers from Oxford. The admin had been more than happy to have such a distinguished young linguist/historian on its staff ("Why don't we show you around the lecture hall, Dr. Graveson?") and of course, faculty hearts had been a-flutter from day one. She remembered that he'd gotten quite a kick out of that.

And she'd gotten a kick out of how impressed Giles had been at the discovery of Spike's previously unrevealed talents. He'd pulled her aside one day to tell her about it, looking slightly flabbergasted.

"You know he speaks nine languages? Nine. And five demon dialects. Good Lord, talk about the proverbial light under a bushel..."

She knew. She could tick them off on her fingers - French, Italian, German, Dutch, Mandarin Chinese (he'd confided that he'd made `a bit of an effort after 1900'), Spanish, Russian, Latin, and Greek. Benefits, he'd mentioned drily, of a classical education. The last two had gotten Giles terribly excited - he'd plied Spike with moth-eaten texts for weeks, trying to get his help with translations.

Buffy had been trying to persuade Spike about the dire need for her to learn Spanish, but so far they hadn't gotten any further than his poetry recitations - but that could have been the circumstances, of course...

("Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura,

la nariz soberana del arrogante rostro,

quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pestanas

y hambriento vengo y voy olfateando el crepuscolo

buscandote, buscando tu corazon caliente

como un puma en la soledad de Quitratue."

"Who wrote that?"

"Pablo Neruda," he'd chuckled, trailing his fingers down her waist to her thigh.

"And what does it mean?"

She'd smiled sleepily, anticipating the response already. She'd closed her eyes as he recited the words, enjoying the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and his low, husky tones.

"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

She'd gazed up at him limpidly, sighing with the rich flavour of the words.

"It's beautiful."

"And so are you," he'd said with a grin, coming in closer to kiss her...)

The linguist/historian job was useful. It wasn't like he needed the money - he'd discovered, to his considerable surprise, that investments he'd made as an afterthought back in the early 50's and 60's had matured to the point where he was able to live comfortably on the copious returns. But the job kept him from moping around aimlessly, and it was a good cover, even if he did complain about the paucity of intelligence amongst freshman tutorial groups. A part-time lecturer's position was useful if he ever needed an explanation for why he was often out and about after dark - lectures, or library trips - or why he made such regular forays into the cemetary - local research, ostensibly. And if Buffy accompanied him on his jaunts, then that was his personal business.

In fact, Spike had proved to be more than useful on patrol. He no longer had the speed and agility of a supernatural, but his muscles carried the memories of fighting styles and techniques that he found easy to adapt. It had frustrated him, at first. He kept trying to do things that were now beyond his capability (jumping off the cemetary wall, one painful example), and it had taken a bit of practise in the training room to work out where his limits now were. It had come as no great surprise, to Buffy anyway, to discover that he was still a fast and talented warrior - it was just that now, instead of being a graceful undead combatant, he'd had to resign himself to being, oh, probably just the best human streetfighter in the world.

And apart from the martial arts discipline he'd maintained, he had...other gifts. Gifts that he'd cultivated, with Giles and Willow's help - gifts that Dawn hadn't shown any propensity for as yet, much to her disgust. Giles couldn't explain why exactly, but Spike had a suspicion that it had something to do with Michael's `parting surprise'.

The first time, it had been purely by accident - Buffy had been getting thumped by a particularly brutal species of demon, and he'd been too far away to help, and the rage inside him had built to bursting point, blinding, ferocious, and he'd lifted his hands...

...and there'd been a blue flash, and a tingling smell of ozone, and one dead demon.

He'd just about knocked himself out in the process, that first night, but with a little work, he was now almost at the point of controlling it. It was still a little bit unpredictable - it seemed to depend quite a lot on how well he controlled his emotions, and being Spike, that wasn't easy. But Giles had set him some exercises to start with, and after much groaning and self-application, he was working out the boundaries of his new-found abilities.

In fact, he'd surprised Buffy one night with a demonstration. She'd been lying curled up beside him under the sheets, feeling sated and warm with afterglow, and he'd turned his head to catch her attention.

"Hey - you wanna see a trick?"

"I think I've just seen your best one," she giggled langorously. Then he narrowed his eyes at his hand, which he'd raised in front of her face, and she'd watched his expression as it took on a now-familiar look of concentration...

His fingers had made a tiny, twirling motion, seeming to gather something out of the air, and she remembered she'd gasped a little to see the delicate blue tone, like a mist about his hand. With a small exhalation of effort, he'd moved his fingers again, and they'd both watched as a tiny flower resolved itself from the mist. She'd felt the awed smile spread across her face, the little thrill, as the daisy-like flower opened gently to reveal a spray of thin white petals, and a red centre.

"Spike..." she murmured, her voice hushed. But he'd stopped her voice completely when he'd handed the flower to her with a soft grin.

"S'a present. That's your flower. First time in existence." He studied his creation a little critically. "It's not lopsided, is it?"

She'd turned to him, shock and amazement vying for dominance on her face. Her flower. He'd made a whole new thing, a living thing, for her... She made a soft sound, and threw her arms around his neck, and his expression of surprise and delight at her reaction had been as good as seeing the flower unfold.

That was only part of it, of course. There were times when she thought that having Spike around was going to drive her crazy - between him and Dawn there seemed to be an endless supply of small-time disasters that threatened to make her pull her hair out by the roots.

Like the fact that, in spite of being comparatively self-sufficient for a large part of the last century, his concept of household tidiness seemed to have been left behind in the Middle Ages. Ashtrays in the house - everywhere, overflowing, spilling grey drifts into the corners of the sofa. His apparent inability to understand the function buttons on the washing machine, and no Spike, I will not wash your shirt for tomorrow, you can do it yourself - which he would do by hand, messily, in the sink. That grungy car, parked in the drive and stinking up the front yard everytime he turned it over because the exhaust was shot and need repair.

But he kept doing these...these little things that made her stop, and suddenly she'd find herself smiling, or laughing, or there'd be a strange warm pain...

Watching him jerk sometimes, when Dawn opened the kitchen curtains too suddenly in the morning. The flare as his eyes widened, then the almost imperceptible exhale as he remembered, relaxed...

Waking up some nights to a cold spot beside her on the bed, and hearing the rummaging noises downstairs - knowing that he would be in the kitchen in a munchie fit, raiding the fridge for things that he could now taste properly and appreciate. And sometimes he would come up with a spoonful of peanut-butter-and-chocolate ice-cream or something, and push it towards her - "Look, taste this, it's wonderful." - and she would laugh and roll her eyes, but take the spoon anyway...

Seeing him dancing around the bathroom in a towel, freshly-shaved and gleaming all over, listening to some indie-punk tune on the radio and playing air-guitar accompaniment...

Lying next to him as he slept, watching his chest rise and fall. And rise and fall. And rise and fall - for hours, breathing so strongly and unconsciously, and really breathing. Feeling warm skin under her the pads of her fingers. Blushing. Sweat. Body odour - the works. The whole, messy, human-in-a-Primordial-Power-kind-of-way kit and caboodle.

It was so bizarre, and so amazing, and so real. They were living together, for pete's sake. What would her mother have said?

Probably, Buffy thought with a grin, something relevant.

As long as it makes you happy. And just make sure he does his own washing.

Buffy sighed a little.

I'm trying, Mom. She blinked back as her view of Spike watered. I really am.

"I can't hear you, but I know you're there."

Rounded vowels slipping on the air. He'd moved his right hand to ash his cigarette, but his other hand was still scribbling. Buffy smiled as she slid up behind him.

"Wow. And I was really trying to be sneaky. You're either very alert, or..."

He finally ground out his smoke, lifted his head and swivelled in his chair at her words. His smile was her mirror.

"...or I'm super-human. Right on both counts."

Warm lips, soft, and gentle pressure. The comfortable arrogance made her grin as he wound an arm about her and pulled her into his lap. She nodded at the paperwork.

"More marking?"

"Exams are a bitch."

"For students and teachers both."

He grinned again at her empathetic pout, then looked at her more closely.

"You alright?"

She picked at the collar of his t-shirt. "I visited Mom today."

"She doing okay?"

"Yeah. I replaced her flowers - made it nicer."

"She'll like that."

She loved that he still talked about Joyce in the present tense. Apart from Buffy, Spike was the only one who did. She figured he had a slightly different concept of dead than most people.

She smiled, then frowned, glancing around the shop.

"Where's Anya?"

"Down in the basement with Harris." He rolled his eyes. "They're `stocktaking'. Frankly, I'm loathe to imagine."

She slid his wire-rimmed glasses off, still finding it amusing that she could do so. His eyes were flashing behind the lenses, while she tried to look speculative.

"'Stocktaking'...mm. Is that like `gathering weapons'?"

"I think it falls into the same category."

"Sounds like fun."

"Hussy."

"You can talk."

"'Scuse me - forgetting, aren't we, which of us was raised in the Victorian era?"

"Yeah - but I think your two hundred years of debauchery kinda cancels that out."

"Really. Well, at least when I'm in the throes of passion I don't yell out -"

- and he whispered in her ear, grinning shamelessly, and she smiled and forgot that she'd been melancholy. The kiss helped as well. She tore herself away with a tiny sigh.

"We should go."

"Mm." He was feeling quite comfortable exactly where he was.

Buffy jumped up and started closing books. "Come on - you can finish this at home."

"I can?" His turn to look speculative.

"Funny. C'mon, professor."

"Niblet home tonight?" Too casual.

"No, I think she's having dinner at Janice's..." She stopped helping him pack up to meet his eyes with a pixie grin. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

But his lips were quirked up at the sides - Buffy smiled and nudged him as he hefted the bag over his shoulder and they headed for the door.

"Hey, you wanna hear something weird?"

"Thrill me."

"At the mall with Dawn last night, when we were in HMV - don't ask - I was sure I saw Gabriel."

Spike looked openly disbelieving. "Rubbish."

"Scout's honour."

Buffy held up a palm to demonstrate her honesty. Spike squinted at her.

"He see you?"

"Don't know - it was just a glimpse. I mean, I might have been wrong. What do you think?"

He couldn't quite bring himself to be convinced, even though he trusted Buffy's instincts on the matter.

"I dunno. After a year..."

"It's possible," she said, trying not to let her own puzzlement colour the words.

Spike thought about it. "Dawn talk about him much?"

Buffy shrugged. "She's been known to mention his name - from time to time."

"Then...I s'pose it's possible," Spike admitted.

"I guess."

Spike regarded the door as they walked up the stairs slowly, as if the images in his head were engraved in the wood.

"An Angel and a mystical Key..."

Buffy had the same slightly wistful look in her eye.

"Almost as bad as a Slayer and a vampire..."

They snagged gazes, and their grins and words were simultaneous.

"Sounds complicated."

"Sounds complicated."

He opened the door suddenly to counterpoint, and the light blazed in as the two of them strolled out.

Author's note: I want to thank everybody who has been following this story from its inception - particularly those who wrote words of encouragement. This fic would never have been completed without you! My heartfelt thanks also to Boo, who was a mainstay, and Yensha, who will get to read it all someday.

Apologies to David Eddings, from whom I shamelessly plagiarised a wonderful idea in order to add a nice touch to this epilogue. And this is a final disclaimer - all quotes and lyrics herein are gratefully borrowed, please don't sue. Thanks to Joss Whedon, for letting me play with the coolest characters in fandom.

And this story is dedicated to Ben, who let me write; Geoff, who'll probably laugh; and Bump - I wanted to finish this before you were born.

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To Make Much of Time