Falling Backwards

Author: Jami

Parts: 41 -49

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~Part: 41~

From his seat in the Rosenberg living room, Xander Harris could see the sun sink down the sky slowly until finally disappearing beyond the row of houses he could see in the distance.

The day had been long and awkward, filled with silences and tentative daily routines. He had been awake since seven in the morning, unable to fall back asleep. He knew he should be at school, at least make a token appearance so as not to arouse suspicion. Neither he nor Willow had spent much time in classes lately and since they were technically still high school students it probably would have been smart to show up every once in awhile, try to pass a few tests and quizzes. But school was the last thing on their minds and Willow had expressed no concern, so he didn’t let himself worry about it. Besides, his redhead was a top rate hacker and all around computer gal. If they got desperate, she could always forge their grades. Principal Snyder was scary, but the First won hands down when it came to who was the biggest evil. If he had to miss school to work on a way to stop the First, then so be it. Although this was one of those rare occasions when he almost preferred schoolwork.

His passing thought of attending good ole Sunnydale High was dismissed when he realized that Willow didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave the house that morning. If she wasn’t going, neither was he. After the night they all had last night, they deserved a day off. Buffy was probably cutting class today too. But she cut class a lot, so who’s really keeping track anyway? Giles would probably be the only one responsible enough to show up that day, but he didn’t really count considering he got paid for going.

If they actually paid students to attend class, Xander had to admit, he might actually show up on occasion. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.

So he spent the day at home, or rather at Willow’s home. His parents couldn’t care less where he spent his days and nights so long as he made an occasional appearance and Willow’s parents practically lived out of a suitcase, so they were never here to lecture their daughter for letting a boy stay over.

He ate breakfast, a modest bowl of Fruit Loops and a glass of orange juice. He watched television. He said a brief, somewhat stilted hello to Willow when she finally came downstairs, looking more rested but still a bit worse for wear. She slipped into the kitchen and he presumed she too had something to eat if the dishes in the sink were anything to go by. Then she disappeared upstairs once more and he heard the shower running. The only other time he saw here was when she trudged downstairs for lunch. The rest of the day she spent hidden in her room.

Xander sighed and reached for the remote laying next to him on the couch and turned off the television, the screen flickering before going black. One final look out the window told him that, yes, it was now after sundown. While he had no problem ditching school in the morning, he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities now. Buffy, Giles and, he thought with a grimace, Angel would be waiting for him. Tonight they needed to work on strategy before they went out in search of Ethan Rayne and, in turn, the First.

Pushing himself up off the couch, he absentmindedly brushed down his crumb laden Hawaiian shirt and grabbed the house keys on the end table, placing them in his pocket as assurance that he wouldn’t accidentally lock himself out of the house.

He paused at the front door, a hand running through his clean but messy dark brown locks. Should he call out a goodbye? Leave Willow a note before he left? Or just walk out the door, knowing that if she wanted to find him, she knew where he would be?

It saddened him to realize that they had come to this. That his best friend in the whole world, the girl that knew him in and out and that he knew like the back of his hand, were so uncomfortable around each other now. He shouldn’t even be considering how or if he should say goodbye because she should be going with him. But she wasn’t coming to the library with him and even the thought of hugging her goodbye seemed weird, like she might not welcome the gesture.

Ignoring that voice in his head that told him just to yell goodbye and walk out the door, he climbed the stairs, stopping in front of her closed bedroom door and, after a deep breath, knocking on the thick planks of wood.

There was a moment of silence then he could hear her moving about inside, her footsteps getting louder as she headed for the door.

It swung open a second later and Willow smiled up at him, shaky but genuine. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans and an orange t-shirt and was just putting on a lightweight black jacket as she peered up at him, waiting for whatever he was here to say.

“Hey,” he smiled tightly.

“Hi,” she returned, voice low and hesitant.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m about to leave,” Xander informed her, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I have to meet Buffy and the gang at the library.” Even saying that felt off. ‘The gang’. They weren’t ‘the gang’ anymore. Not without Willow.

“Okay,” she nodded, leaning on the doorframe.

“You know,” he said casually, “you could come with. I know you have been feeling left out and I’m sorry about that, Will. But we really could use you--”

“I can’t,” she apologized softly.

“Please Will,” he tried again. “Just tonight. If you don’t want to come back, that’s fine. But could you give it a try, for me?”

“I really can’t Xander,” Willow murmured. “I--it’s just--” she stammered, looking away nervously before bringing her gaze back to him. She sighed heavily, mentally preparing herself for a possible rant. “Spike’s coming over. So I’m sorry Xander, I really am, but I can’t.”

She could see he was doing his best not to yell. She had to admire his restraint knowing that, when it came to vampires and Angel and Spike more specifically, he was quite vocal with his displeasure. His face was getting a little splotchy and she was pretty sure he was biting the inside of his cheek, but he remained quiet.

“So…Spike?” he drawled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor.

“We’ve been over this Xander,” Willow sighed, running a hand over her face and looking at him pleadingly. “You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is. He and I have a deal and we need all the help we can get.”

“What’s the bleached wonder got that I don’t?” he griped. That sounded petulant and pathetic even to his own ears, but her association with Spike, evil, chipless, soulless Spike, irked him like nothing else.

“Connections,” she listed blandly, “minions, fangs that scare the hell out of people, you want me to continue?”

“Not necessary,” he mumbled. He checked his watch and licked his lips anxiously. “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “If you and Junior get done early, you know where I’ll be.”

“Bye Xander,” she dismissed with a whisper before she slipped back inside her bedroom and shut the door firmly.

“Bye Will,” he murmured, turning on his heel slowly and starting down the stairs, his steps slow and forced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy had a bad feeling. She didn’t know what was causing it but it had pervaded her dreams the night before and hadn’t left her since. It was a feeling of foreboding, a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t lessen, but persisted until she could ignore it no more.

Sitting in the library with nothing but a book and a preoccupied Watcher to keep her company certainly didn’t help. She had tried to distract herself by studying her nails, reading magazines, at one point she had even resorted to studying, but none of it helped.

Giles seemed too distracted to notice whatever was bothering her, his nose firmly planted in one of many books.

The clock struck seven and she found herself looking to the double doors in front of the library, still sitting idle. Angel should be there any minute now, not to mention Xander. They had pretty much given up hope of Willow joining them anytime soon. Xander was still trying, bless his heart, but the redhead was stubborn. Willow wanted to be by herself.

Except she wasn’t by herself. No, Willow was with Spike. The thought brought a disgusted grimace to her lips. After they had left Willy’s, Xander had tried, even though he looked just as disgruntled as she, to make her understand where Willow was coming from. Why Willow would even think of teaming up with Spike, of all people. But there wasn’t anything he could say to make her understand. Spike had no redeeming qualities in her eyes.

Part of her was worried about the problems Spike might cause. He was a loose cannon, a variable they didn’t need in this fight, and most definitely wouldn’t be welcomed in their group. But Willow had decided she didn’t want to fight beside them so Spike could be her concern. Buffy was washing her hands of it.

But if it even looked like he was double-crossing her she’d stake him in the blink of an eye and apologize to Willow later.

There was a soft noise that brought her attention to the now swinging doors of the library, he countenance brightening as she sat up straighter, hoping Angel would be walking through those doors.

Xander pushed the doors aside and stepped inside the rather barren library, giving Buffy a small smile as he dropped his bag on the floor by the counter and made his way over to table in the center of the room.

Her shoulders had slumped a bit when she noticed it was him. It wasn’t that Buffy wasn’t happy to see him, she was, but she had been hoping the vampire would be there the moment the sun had set. They still weren’t on the best of terms, but they were slowly getting better, rebuilding what they had, and she always looked forward to spending time with him. Patrol wasn’t the same without him.

“We getting started?” Xander whispered as he leaned over his chair toward her, being quiet for Giles’ sake.

“Soon,” she murmured, eyes going to the clock.

The next time her gaze drifted toward the wall clock above the doors an hour had passed.

Still no Angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow was seated on the steps of her porch, her tiny form illuminated under the yellow porch light. Her knees were tucked close to her chest and her jacket wrapped firmly around her to stave off the cool night air.

“Sitting by yourself at night in Sunnydale,” tsked a low, husky voice, the soft accent familiar. “You’re either really brave or really stupid, pet.”

“I prefer the former,” Willow grinned lightly as she rested her chin on her knees, looking up at the sinewy, black clad vampire who slowly made his way out of the dark and toward the porch. “But it’s probably the latter.”

Spike smirked and joined her on the steps, stretching his legs out and leaning back, resting his weight on his elbows. “Xapper here?”

“No,” she said softly, regret lacing her voice. “He left a little while ago.” There was a stretch of silence and Spike eyed her studiously.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked curiously.

“He tried to get me to come to the library with him,” Willow admitted, staring off into the distance even though she could feel Spike’s gaze on her. “But I told him no. I just--I feel like I’m letting him down, you know? Like I’m letting them all down.”

“They let you down, pet,” he murmured quietly.

“Maybe I overreacted,” she hedged.

“Having regrets, Red?” he nearly sneered, his defenses on high. “Sorry you made a deal with the devil? Want to run back to the Scabby gang?”

“No,” she denied with a hard glare. “Remorse, guilt, ever heard of those? Us humans feel that every once in awhile. They’re my friends and I’m shutting them out. I just feel bad, okay? I won’t mention it again,” she assured him stiffly.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and sitting up straighter, turning to face her. “Look Red, Willow, I’m--oh bollocks, I’m sorry,” he spat out with a grimace.

She couldn’t help but smile a little at the look on his face when he said that, loathing and disgruntled, but he had said it and she appreciated the effort. She nodded silently, a sign that it was forgiven.

He grunted as he situated himself on the porch steps, adjusting his duster so it lay smoothly as they observed yet another moment of silence, this one not so tense.

“You ready to go?” he wondered, seeing her still staring off into space. He had planned to hit a few bars, see if anyone had seen hide or hair of Ethan Rayne. Willow had mentioned that they guy lacked subtlety when it came to hiding out. Someone in town had to have seen him. The sooner they tracked down where he had been, they could find where he was.

“In a minute,” she mumbled, taking a moment to just gather her thoughts.

Spike bowed his head, allowing her this time with her thoughts. He sat beside her, watching as her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a slow breath. Whatever had been going on with her and Xander since he had left her the night before was taking its toll on her.

He saw his hand leave his side, as if he had no real control of the movement, fingers threading their way through her hair in slow, smooth strokes, a comforting motion and she, without much thought, leaned into the touch.

“Well…” drawled a highly amused, dark voice. “Isn’t this cute?”

Spike’s hand dropped back to his side and Willow’s head shot up, ignorant of the sneer that crossed the blonde’s face as their unwelcome guest made his way out of the shadows.

“Peaches,” Spike growled scornfully.

Willow took in the clothes, the silk, the leather, and the smirk pasted across the face of her onetime friend and the breath was stolen from her body. This wasn’t supposed to happen, more importantly, how the hell did this happen? He and Buffy weren’t even together! She was coming to the conclusion that the Powers that Be hated her. “Shit.”

~Part: 42~

Willow was on her feet in the blink of an eye and Spike followed her movements with curious, disdainful eyes. Gaze narrowing until his eyes were just icy blue slits glaring at anyone who dared look upon them, Spike slowly copied her earlier movements, gracefully lifting himself off the porch steps. While his eyes were on Willow, who was looking strangely much like a deer in headlights, all his attention was on Angel.

The Poof certainly had no business here at the Rosenberg house, not that it had stopped him before. Angel was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something, and he had been dying to know all of Willow’s secrets since it had become apparent that she was hiding things from her little gang. A boastful smirk almost blossomed on his lips when he thought of that. She didn’t trust any of her pathetic little friends with her secrets, at least not the ones Xapper hadn’t forced into light, but she told him everything. Not just all the changes that happened in this reality, not just about the spell and the First, but she confided in him, told him how she felt, things she could never tell her friends, hell they were usually the problem. But he reigned in his impulse to throw that in Angel’s face, for two reasons really. One being that Angel wasn’t really one of her friends, not this time around, and the second being that Willow looked a smidgen worried, and that alone was cause for alarm. She hadn’t been scared of his sire before, had even slammed a door in the prat’s face once. Why the sudden change?

“Gee Spike,” Angel drawled, the secretive grin pasted on his pale face grating on the other vampire’s nerves, “I never thought I’d find you comforting some human, one you didn’t plan to eat that is…not really your style.”

“Bugger off,” the bleached blonde snarled, his posture straightening at the attack on his character, “You’re one to talk. At least I’m not snogging them, and the slayer no less, Paingel.”

Willow stifled the urge to remind him that just a few nights ago they had been making out in the back of Willy’s like some horny teenagers, which technically she was, and merely settled for glaring at him halfheartedly in exasperation, before remembering just where they were, and more importantly, who they were with.

“He’s not Angel,” she announced blandly, proud that despite the knot in her stomach, she had managed to say that with nary a tremble of fright or worry.

Spike turned toward her, his expression one of incredulity. ‘You’ve officially lost it,’ his face said, from the widen eyes to the arch of his scarred brow, ‘can’t you see that prig standing right in front of us?’

Angel’s expression, in contrast, was one of contemplation and curiosity, but the almost proud smile that played at his lips puzzled her. It was almost as if he admired her for being able to figure it out so quickly.

“Uh, pet?” Spike hissed warily, trying to keep his eye on both his loathsome sire and the apparently crazy redhead at his side.

“He’s Angelus,” she informed him dryly, her gaze focused wholly on the dark vampire, too tired and annoyed of Spike’s doubtful expression. Those looks were more reserved for Drusilla and she found herself almost resentful of being the recipient of such a pathetic, piteous stare.

Spike was readying to argue when a simple question tumbling from Angel’s mouth shut him up with a start.

“How’d you know?” the formerly souled vampire wondered, honestly curious. Spike looked from his smiling sire, to the expressionless, hard-looking redhead, and back, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. His now soulless sire was standing here, having a nice little chat with one closed off witch. Gee, maybe *he* was the crazy one.

“Come on,” she nearly tsked in disappointment, her arms crossed protectively across her chest, hip cocked to one side, hair falling loosely at her shoulders as she stared down the rather sharply attired demon. “The silk shirt, the leather pants, that smirk,” she listed in a bored tone. “Were you trying to be obvious, or are you that oblivious?”

The almost amused grin that had been across Angel’s lips fell as he scowled, not taking the insult lightly. Seeing the anger on his sire’s face, Spike found himself instinctively stepping in front of the tiny redhead, affording her a little more protection in case Angelus decided to unleash any of his legendary wrath.

Angel’s scowl turned into a grimace of disgust at Spike’s protective display and he shook his head in repulsion.

“You playing knight now, Spikey?” he taunted in revulsion, his expression utterly disdainful as he decided to ignore the witch in favor of his errant childe. “I had heard rumors, but I never thought I’d see the day when you were house broken,” he sneered.

“House broken?” Spike growled, his eyes flickering a dangerous amber. “Better than being the slayer’s bloody lap dog, eh Peaches? That’s just pathetic.”

“At least I had an excuse, Blondie,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “I had a soul shoved down my throat. What’s your excuse? You want to talk pathetic? How about William the Bloody becoming the personal errand boy to some little girl? Now that’s pathetic. Or are you actually getting something out of this little arrangement?” he wondered with a conspiratorial whisper, a large smirk snaking its way across his face. “Is she really that good of a lay, Spikey?”

It took Willow’s surprising strong restraining hand to keep him from flying across the front yard and pummeling the prat until he couldn’t open his bloody mouth anymore. Spike just had to settle for growling menacingly, giving up any pretense of his human mask, allowing his demonic features to appear with that swift, slightly sickening noise of bones moving and shifting.

“I guess that’s a yes then,” Angel chuckled darkly.

“Shut up,” Willow warned him, voice low and threatening, but he took it in stride, a little amused by her display. The redhead glanced at the still seething Spike who she was now nearly completely pressed up against in an attempt to keep him in one spot and hissed an urgent, “Calm down!”

He didn’t look down at her, or acknowledge her at all other than to force down his demonic ridges and retract his fangs. It wasn’t much, if the fury in his eyes was anything to go by, but it was something.

Willow’s attention turned back to the vampire standing at the edge of walk to her porch, who found himself watching her curiously as she almost studied him. “How did this happen?” she asked, honestly confused about that, voice steady but lost.

“That’s the $64,000 question, isn’t it?” Angel smirked as he uncrossed his arms, letting one hand trail suggestively down the line of his torso, gliding effortlessly over the slick leather, before coming to rest on his belt. “Went to bed, all good and souled, woke up in pain, and then it’s gone. All gone. Thought you might know something about it…”

“Me?” she questioned as Spike eyed her almost suspiciously.

“Well you are the resident witch,” Angel reminded her with that same irritating smile. “And lets be honest, nobody trusts you. Angel didn’t, Buffy and Giles don’t, and even Xander doesn’t know what to think about you anymore.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve got enough problems right now without your not-so-better half running around, and frankly I just haven’t had the time to un-curse you, so sorry, it wasn’t me,” she informed him tightly, the shake of her voice barely detectable.

“No need to get testy,” Angel backed off with a low chuckle, “I just wanted to know if I had you to thank for this. No harm, no foul, hmm? Personally, I really don’t give a damn who did this, as long as this change is of a more--permanent nature.”

“Trust me, you really shouldn’t get too comfortable Angelus,” Willow warned ominously. “You won’t be in control for long.”

Angel’s dark eyes narrowed at the blatant threat but there were no other outward signs of his displeasure. His hands still remained lazily seated upon his waist, that smirk permanently etched across his face.

“You been practicing gypsy curses, little girl?” he taunted, becoming aware of Spike once again as the blonde reasserted himself between him and the girl, not liking the threatening glares Angelus was sending the redhead’s way.

“Hear that Spikey?” Angel turned his attention to his prodigal childe, still maintaining a calculated distance between himself and the couple on the porch steps. “You might want to watch out for that one,” he said with a flick of the head toward Willow, “get her mad and she might stick you with a soul.”

Spike couldn’t help but blanch at the thought but Willow just rolled her eyes in exasperation at Angelus’ typical melodramatic fashion.

“Although,” Angel contemplated with a darkly pleased grin, “if you could curse a vampire with a soul, it would come to question why you haven’t done it already. Not to me,” he clarified, “but to Spike here. I’m sure he would be much more--pliable--with a conscience.”

Willow shifted anxiously and Spike glanced down at her, seeing the nervousness that she had fought this whole time finally come to the surface.

“But since you haven’t turned my childe into a simpering fool, or at least more of one than he already is,” he added, thoroughly enjoying Spike’s angry snarl, “that tells me that you don’t have the curse. That you’re all talk and no follow through, and that’s just disappointing Willow,” he admitted with sincere regret. “I almost wish you did have the curse, it would definitely make things more interesting.”

Angry at herself that he had seen through her bluff so easily, Willow failed to think of any sort of comeback, her eyes falling from Angel’s to the dirty ground below her feet. It hadn’t been much of a bluff, she had to admit. But what Angel still didn’t know was that she hadn’t meant that she was going to be the one who had the pleasure of ramming his soul down his throat; no she would leave that to Miss Calendar. And she certainly had no intention of letting that little piece of information slip out. Although, that entire plan rested on the notion that the computer teacher still had some of the old gypsy writings. There had been numerous differences between the old Sunnydale and this new and not so improved version and if that had changed as well, Willow wasn’t sure what she was going to do first, have a nervous breakdown or scream.

“Don’t look so sad, Will,” Angel mocked, voice low and inviting at the same time. “It was a valiant effort, really. If I didn’t know you better, I might have fallen for it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him, her cold tone matching the icy expression on her face, “I’ll find a way to bring Angel back.” While she and the souled vampire weren’t really on speaking terms at the moment, at least he didn’t spend his evenings planning her untimely death. Or at least she hoped he didn’t.

“I’m sure you’ll try,” he shrugged nonchalantly; “you’re all kinds of resourceful. No matter, it will just make the game more fun,” he grinned salaciously. “But I should let you in on a little secret,” he added, leaning in conspiratorially, “I never lose.”

“First time for everything mate,” Spike chimed in, sick of being left out and eager to jump into the verbal fray.

“You’re still here?” Angel sighed in irritation as his dark eyes slipped to the tightly-wound blonde. “Don’t tell me Spike, you’re going to be the little witch’s knight in shining armor? Keep her safe from all my nasty, nefarious plans?” he chortled.

“Not usually one for saving the damsel in distress, but why not? Might be fun, not to mention the added bonus of kicking your pasty arse,” he snarked, cocking his head to the side in amusement.

“I’d like to see you try,” Angel returned with a sneer, “I taught you everything you know, boy.”

“Learned a few things while you’ve been gone,” Spike warned him with a cocky smirk, “It’s been a long century. Even got me a couple of slayers, don’t see that anywhere on your resume, Peaches.”

Willow couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the purely male posturing and even Angel seemed rather unimpressed by Spike’s taunting.

“As fun as this is Spikey,” he glared at the shorter blonde, “I’m feeling a bit peckish and I haven’t had a decent meal in centuries,” he groaned in earnest, garnering a bored but mildly disappointed look from Spike, he had been hoping for a good brawl after all, and a disgusted grimace from Willow. “I think I’ll get a bite to eat and then…who knows?” He pondered with a sly smile, “Maybe I’ll pay Dru a visit. I’m sure she’ll welcome me properly.”

“Stay away from her, you prat,” Spike growled. Obviously Drusilla was still a sensitive topic with him and Angel definitely knew how to push his buttons.

“Now, now Spikey,” Angel sighed with a cluck of his tongue. “You can’t be everyone’s protector. Dru or Willow, can’t be both. You could try though, do your best to watch over them both, but you’ll have to leave sometime, and Red here will be all alone. That’s all I need.”

Spike couldn’t even form words, the anger within him so violent and for the first time in a long while Willow found herself nervous in his company. But Angel’s words had rung true within Spike and it was becoming apparent to him that he would have to choose, her or Drusilla. Willow wasn’t surprised, and honestly she knew what his decision would be. She knew he’d pick Drusilla, and she was fine with it. She was a witch after all; she could take care of herself. Besides, she had lived through a few Angelus rampages in her lifetime, she’d be just fine. Hopefully.

“Are you done?” Willow spoke up, both vampires snapping their heads in her direction. “’Cause the empty threats are getting a little tired. Trust me; it takes a lot more than your egomaniacal bluster to get my knees a-shaking.”

“So confident,” Angel simply chuckled as he began to slowly back away from the low light of the porch, his form growing darker and more indistinct with every step. “I’ll definitely being seeing you, Will,” the wink he gave her was obvious even in the poor lighting. “And give Buff my regards, will you?” he called out; voice almost jovial as he disappeared and they simply watched him go.

They stood there, her and a still fuming Spike, for a long moment after he had vanished into the night. The anti-climax that their encounter resulted in left her feeling more than a little at a loss.

“What do we do now?” she murmured, almost numbly.

“Guess shaking down the locals is off for the night,” Spike sniped, voice low and tense.

“I-I need to go to the library,” she decided, talking more to herself than anyone else, still caught up in a post-adrenaline rush and slight shock. “I need to tell them--to warn them.”

“Come on,” he grunted as he started suddenly, shoving his body away from the porch and striding with impatient steps down the walkway and onto the sidewalk, Willow rushing catch up with him, the closed expression on his face not giving her any clue as to his thoughts.

“You’re coming with me?” she asked, trying to discern his actions. Was he actually planning to come with her to tell her friends, friends she hadn’t had kind words with in who knows how long and were extremely resentful of his presence in her life?

“Can’t let you walk alone now, can I?” he snapped, obviously more bothered by Angelus’ threats then he let on earlier. “I’ll take you to the bloody library.”

So he was staying with her. It was an interesting thought, one she hadn’t really considered. She had expected him to drop everything and run to Drusilla. They may not have been involved this time around, but they shared a close bond, she knew. She never dreamed he’d choose her over his childlike companion. It was a weird feeling, but she reluctantly had to admit, it was kind of nice; warm, almost familiar, but strangely nice.

They reached the high school after a walk in complete silence, the tension in his shoulders making him look stiff and intimidating. “You okay to go in?” he asked, tone still icy, but there was obvious concern there.

Smiling weakly, knowing that it was better if he didn’t come in with her and glad that he appeared to know that as well, Willow nodded. “Yeah…”

“Good,” he said shortly, eyes suddenly distant and distracted as they hovered outside the double doors to Sunnydale High. “Your pals can walk you home, I’ve gotta…go.”

“Oh,” Willow nodded dumbly, watching as he patted himself down in search of a cigarette and his lighter, taking a drag and releasing a calming puff of smoke before he offered her a curt nod and turned on his booted heel, leaving her alone on the steps.

That nice feeling that had come over her disappeared as quickly as it had come.

~Part: 43~

This was a weird feeling, Willow admitted to herself as she lingered outside the closed library doors. There was murmuring on the other side, assuring her that Xander, Buffy, and Giles were there. It was probably Xander who was talking up a storm in there; he did that kind of thing. Chatter on just to avoid the silence. It was a habit she probably picked up from him when they were little, hence her signature Willow-babbles.

She had tried to walk in once already, but her feet stopped mere inches away from her target and her hand, once outstretched toward the doors, fell back to her side. She couldn’t remember a more uncomfortable feeling than standing there, just a stone’s throw away from the people she called friends, people who either looked at her with eyes full of guilt or betrayal these days.

But this was no time for dawdling; she reminded herself as she straightened her back, stiffened her shoulders and clenched her fists, almost as if she was preparing for battle. Her petty insecurities paled in comparison to everything that was going on and more than anything Buffy deserved to know what she would have to face soon enough. The Slayer was having a hard enough time dealing with Ethan Rayne and the emergence of the First, but she was handling it. But the revelation that Angel was no longer in possession of a soul, was no longer the man she had come to love had the potential to eventually push her over the edge and they simply couldn’t afford that. How she was going to keep that from happening she wasn’t sure, but even if it required more secrets she would do it. She was willing to play the villain of the piece.

There had never been a more deafening silence than the one that fell over the occupants of the library when the double doors swung open and the tiny redhead walked inside, slightly hunched over and wrapped up tightly in her coat, the garment appearing as almost a shield in front of her.

Giles stopped mid-pace, book still open in his hand, glasses hanging precariously between two fingers as his attention was brought to the door and lips parted in surprise when he noticed who the newcomer was. Eventually, he realized staring wasn’t exactly proper and he straightened, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly and slipping his glasses back on.

Buffy appeared to be just as taken aback as her Watcher. From her seat atop the counter, the Slayer sat up at attention, eyes wide but her mouth remained shut as she seemed to study the witch lingering in the doorway. After what felt like forever, there was a slight slouching in her posture, her shoulders more relaxed, and she attempted a small, if a bit strained, welcoming smile.

It took Xander a minute to get in the game but soon enough he was smiling, tight but hopeful, from his seat at the large table in the center of the room. “Will…hey,” he greeted her as he dropped the book he had been pretending to read and focused all his attention on his recently distant best friend. “Come to join the party?”

“Doesn’t look like much of a party atmosphere,” she half-smiled, her reply awkward and stilted.

“You just missed all the fun,” Buffy joined in, rolling her eyes at Xander, “it was raging in here like five minutes ago.”

“Damn,” Willow mumbled with a teasing grin and at the sight Xander began to relax. It felt like old times right then, and it had been so long.

“Well stroll on over, find a seat, and crack open a book,” he advised, patting the seat beside him eagerly. “The night is young and we can’t leave for patrol until Deadboy moseys on over,” he confessed, completely missing Willow’s look of panic. “Seriously, I’m buying him a watch…and a bell. A watch and a bell, that way he’ll be at the library on time and he won’t be able to sneak up on me when he gets here.”

“Xan, I don’t think Angel tries to scare you on purpose,” Buffy sighed in exasperation as she once again had to defend her sort-of-boyfriend to Xander.

“You *have* met Angel, haven’t you?” he retorted with a bored expression. “I think he gets his jollies from scaring the crap out of me.”

“Guys--” Willow interrupted, knowing an argument like this could go on for an eternity, her eyes firmly planted on her scuffed shoes as she tried to work up the courage to explain to them why she was really there.

“Hey, what’s with the face, Will? You look like someone ran over your puppy or something.”

“Ew, thanks for that image Xander,” Buffy grimaced and even Willow had to second her response.

“Um,” she stammered a bit, unsure where to start, “when was Angel supposed to get here?”

“Sunset, about an hour ago,” Buffy shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant, but Willow could see the worry and paranoia that practically surrounded her. “But he’ll be here, he probably just ran into a little trouble on the way,” she tried to reassure them all, but mostly herself. Even Giles sent his Slayer a sympathetic look. “He’ll be here.”

“No, I don’t think he will,” Willow said, her voice anxious and tense.

“W-What? Why would he not come here?” Giles interjected with a concerned glance toward Buffy, whose eyes were wide and worried. Xander shared in their concern, but watching the redhead carefully he knew something was up, and more than that he wasn’t going to like what she was going to tell them.

“Angel is--gone,” she stumbled over her words, frowning at her rather inept response and inwardly cringing at Buffy’s now terrified expression. Good going Will, she chastised herself, make the girl panic, that will make everything better.

“Not *gone*, gone,” she rushed to clarify, her eyes darting between Xander, Buffy, and Giles at a frantic pace, hoping to calm them. “I mean, I just saw him so he can’t be *gone*. He’s just…not himself at the moment…and…”

“Will!” Xander interrupted her ramblings, sliding out his chair and taking slow, calculating steps toward the flustered witch. “Take a breath; you’re freaking us out here. Now, are you saying…?”

“I’m *saying* he’s not *Angel* anymore, Xander,” she replied, stressing her words purposely and carefully. Her green eyes, wide and urgent, met his and she saw the beginnings of realization bloom in his dark eyes.

“Oh,” he mumbled numbly, stumbling backwards and falling back into his chair, exhaling sharply. “How?” he eventually asked, staring up at his best friend solemnly. “Wait! You two didn’t make with the--” he yelped with a sickly glance at Buffy.

“Xander!” Willow stopped him with an anxious squeak, giving him a pointed look. “Focus.”

“Right,” he said soberly, “um…”

“Hey, care to share with the rest of the class?” Buffy jumped in, sliding off the counter and landing with a solid thud, the heels of her boots hitting the tile floor harshly. Her expression was irritated to say the least, but Willow couldn’t blame her. This was Angel they were talking about, Buffy’s soul mate and all around love of her life; she had a right to be a little pissed off. Not to mention she obviously wasn’t going about this whole thing in the best way.

Even Xander seemed to be reminded of the severity of the situation when he caught the look on Buffy’s face, a combination of anger, frustration, and undisguised panic.

“Buffy…” Willow sighed softly, taking a step toward her friend. No matter their latest riff and the uncomfortable encounters between them, she knew this was going to be hard on the slayer and she would trade places with her and deal with the pain herself if she could have.

Xander and Giles watched in almost rapt attention as the anger drained out of the blonde’s face as she truly began to comprehend the sadness and pity on her rather distant friend’s face. This was serious, she was beginning to realize. Life changing even.

“Buffy--I--saw Angel tonight but--” the redhead stammered and stuttered, knowing there was no good way to put it.

“Like a band-aid Will,” she whispered, encouraging the only way she could to just get whatever it was over with. She couldn’t stand the not knowing any longer.

“His soul is…gone,” the witch admitted roughly, a truly sympathetic pained expression crossing her pale face.

There was a long beat of complete silence, not even the low sound of breathing could be heard in the wide expanse of the library. Xander’s head hung low, shuffling his feet awkwardly, hardly surprised but at the same time it was hard to watch his friend in pain.

Giles was struggling to form words, his jaw slack, glasses teetering precariously in the grasp of his fingers as his lips tried their best to create words but he still remained silent. He was alternating between disbelief and shock, but utter denial and disbelief seemed to be winning out.

Buffy’s reaction was completely different than all the others though.

First there was nothing but total, devastated silence. But not a heartbeat later laughter filled the air. It started off small, a tiny, tentative chuckle of disbelief and it steadily grew into full, throaty laughter that echoed off the walls.

“Buff…” Xander stepped in; sharing a worried glance with Willow as he slowly approached the now quieting blonde.

“No,” she stopped him, raising a hand in front of her to keep him from approaching any further.

“Buffy,” Willow tried, not moving from her spot but looking to her friend with pleading eyes. “I know you don’t want to believe me but--”

“No,” she denied tightly, her lips thinning and her eyes glassy as she obviously struggled to hold in tears. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” the redhead swore vehemently, never breaking her gaze with the slayer. “You know I’m not.”

“It’s not possible, he was *cursed*,” she swore, holding on desperately to her belief.

“Yes,” Willow agreed softly. “But curses and spells can be broken. You know that. You’ve *got* to believe me,” she pleaded, praying that she would listen and understand the warning in her voice. “I don’t know how it happened, honestly, but it’s true. Angel…you can’t even think of him as Angel. He’s…” she took a deep breath before continuing on.

“There’s no soul left Buffy,” she sighed raggedly. “He’s a killer; he’s more dangerous than you know. You can’t…thinking of him as Angel will only get you killed--eventually. He likes to play games first…”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Buffy murmured, an almost bitter tinge to her tone. “More secrets Will?”

“I’ve dealt with him before,” she admitted with a solemn bow of her head.

“*We’ve* dealt with him before,” Xander corrected her, taking his place beside his childhood best friend, displaying the solidarity between the two of them that Willow had been so worried was lost forever. It was a move that almost made the tears welled up in the witch’s eyes to spill over.

“In the *other* Sunnydale…” Buffy surmised tonelessly.

“Yes,” she acknowledged quietly.

“So this happened before?” the blonde pressed, not even bothering to hide the tears making their way down her cheeks. There was no use denying it, Willow wouldn’t lie about something so important, wouldn’t toy with her emotions like that. If what she said was true, Angel was gone. And apparently Willow should have seen it coming. What happened to all the so-called prophetic but oh so cryptic statements the girl used to make with when evil was afoot? They had one fight, a big one she would admit, and that was it? Did she keep this from her out of some sense of spite, payback?

“No,” Willow denied without missing a beat, straightening at the accusing tone in the girl’s voice. “It happened before…Angel lost his soul, yes, but it wasn’t because of some spell.”

“How?” she whispered brokenly.

“Buffy it’s not important, what’s important--” Xander attempted to calm her.

“*How*?” she demanded, voice rising to a near yell, shocking even her still stoic watcher.

“His curse has a clause,” Willow revealed reluctantly, taking heed of Xander’s worried glance her way and choosing to forge ahead. “If Angel were ever to experience even a moment of true happiness, then as punishment he would lose his soul.”

“Sort of the gypsy equivalent of the good ole one fingered salute,” Xander murmured, earning him a raised brow on behalf of Giles, the girls paid him no mind.

“A moment’s happiness? That’s how it happened before?” Buffy asked, more to herself than Willow. “How--what did it?”

“Buffy--” she tried to stave her off, but the slayer would not be denied. “You and he were…together,” she explained awkwardly, “in the uh, biblical sense,” Willow cringed at her own reply and Giles couldn’t contain a bright blush.

If anything Buffy looked more devastated.

“I know you’re upset--” Willow tried to soothe the girl, but it backfired.

“Upset…upset!” Buffy shouted, anger taking the front as she shoved her sadness to the background. “This is all your fault,” she declared, including Xander in her hard glare when she spoke the damning words.

“I didn’t do the spell,” Willow fought to make her see the entire picture. “I swear I don’t know how this happened--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy interrupted her with a fevered glare, the pain the shone in her eyes difficult for Xander and Willow to bear. “You did that spell, you messed with everything and thanks to you I’m knee deep in the First Evil, and now my boyfriend has joined the ranks of the evil undead. It doesn’t matter that you weren’t the one to take away his soul, if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for your damn spell, this would never have happened.”

“Angel lost his soul the last time too,” Xander reminded her, stepping up when Willow failed to form words, her throat tight with emotion.

“But at least I had the memories!” she cried, her true pain shining through. “At least then we were together, and he knew I loved him, and I could remember what it was like to--be with him. This time I don’t even have that,” she finished bitterly, sniffling as her face slowly turned a blotchy red.

“Buffy…I’m so sorry--” Willow rasped, her throat closed up painfully.

“Did you fix it, last time?” Buffy demanded, cutting her off without apology. “Fix him?”

“We were able to find a way,” Willow replied tentatively, “but it took a lot of work. To be honest Buffy, I don’t even know if the spell still exists…and even if it does, until I know how this happened, how his--soul--was removed, I don’t even know if the spell would work at all.”

“So that’s it, huh? We just--give up on him?” the blonde asked brokenly.

“No,” Willow denied swiftly. “No one is giving up, but it won’t be easy--”

“Stop!” Buffy shouted, taking deep, heaving breaths as she tried to calm herself, eyes red and tears still dotting her face. “Just…stop. I…can’t…” she broke off, unable to listen to anymore, and she grabbed her jacket hastily before practically running out of the double doors of the library in a rush to get away from the news of her loss of Angel and the friends who had delivered it.

All eyes focused on the swinging doors that were slowing to a close. Willow’s gaze was distant, hurt as she bowed her head and closed her eyes tightly.

“She, uh, shouldn’t be alone out there,” the implied ‘not with Angel lurking around’ was unneeded. Sadly, she knew that her presence, and most likely that of Xander as well, would not be welcome.

“I’ll follow her.” The twosome nearly jumped out of their skin when Giles spoke up, alerting them to his presence after they had practically forgotten he was in the room. She and Xander nodded silently as the Englishman hurriedly gathered his things, most importantly a stake, and headed after his charge.

As the doors swung shut once again, Willow and Xander were left standing alone in the middle of the library, closed off expressions on both their faces as they tried to take everything in.

It seemed almost surreal, as Willow took stock of the situation. She and Xander, side by side. No Buffy, no Angel, no Spike or Giles, in the end they were the ones left standing in the aftermath. No matter what else happened it always seemed to come full circle, that startling revelation that the only ones they could truly depend on were each other.

It was both comforting and absolutely devastating.

~Part: 44~

The Rosenberg living room had seen many a stoic silences as of late, but none were more strained than this evening’s. Willow was curled up in her father’s worn in recliner, knees tucked to her chest; chin resting atop them as if the very effort of holding her head up was too much.

Xander, from his vantage point on the couch, watched his best friend with a worried gaze from the corner of his eye. He avoided blatantly staring at her, although he may have wished to, knowing that even now when she seemed at her lowest she was liable to smack him for it.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His declaration, the first words either one of them had spoken since they had left the library together, for the first time in months, in complete silence, rang through the lowly lit room as if he had shouted it.

Willow didn’t even flinch.

“You didn’t curse Angel,” Xander kept on, plowing on despite her ignoring of him. “You aren’t responsible for what someone else did. You aren’t the one to blame for all this, no matter what anyone else says.”

“You mean no matter what Buffy says?” she countered softly. “She wasn’t wrong, Xand.”

“Will--,” he interrupted quietly, but found himself at a loss for words.

“No,” she stopped him, her voice more forceful than he had heard in a long time. “She’s has a right to feel the way she does. She’s allowed to be angry, she’s allowed to blame me…us. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. Maybe life wasn’t perfect, wasn’t even close, but it was the natural order of things. We changed it all and they all are allowed to be mad. If we were in their shoes we would feel exactly the same way and you know it.”

“So what now?” he asked, looking lost.

“We don’t exactly have a lot of options Xander,” she reminded him unflinchingly.

“So we’re on our own then? Is that what you’re saying?” he asked without anger or pettiness, just a soft utterance.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” she mumbled, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. Xander didn’t respond, knowing she had a reason for feeling the way she did and that he had a hand in making her feel that way to begin with.

“Buffy hasn’t trusted me since she found out about the spell, neither has Giles, I’ve gotten used to it,” Willow admitted emotionlessly. “But she won’t abandon her fight against the First, even if she wanted to Giles wouldn’t let her. She has a duty; she won’t walk away from it.”

“She has before,” he interrupted her sharply, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be. “Or did you forget the last time Angel went psycho killer on us and Buffy had to fight him to save the world? How is it going to be any different this time, only much, much worse?”

“She killed him Xander,” Willow said, giving him a small glare. “Maybe she didn’t dust him, but she ran him through with a sword and sent him to a hell dimension. No matter her feelings, no matter how much it hurt her especially since he had his soul,” she added with a stony glance. He still harbored a little guilt for that, for lying to Buffy, to Willow, and apparently Willow, who normally would have overlooked his part in sending Angel to hell since everything had eventually worked out in the end, was less forgiving or forgetful these days.

“Buffy will fight the First,” she stated with absolute certainty. “And if she had to, she’d kill Angel. We both know this; you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“This isn’t stubbornness, Will,” he whispered almost shamefully, finally tearing his eyes away from her.

Willow studied him closely, eyes gleaming with realization as she uncurled her body and in a few movements joined him on the sofa, hesitating for a moment before running a tentative hand through his slightly unkempt hair, fingering his locks gently in that soothing, Willowly manner only she seemed to possess. Xander’s eyes fell shut and he let out a hollow sigh.

“You’re scared,” she said quietly, her voice matching the somber attitude that had replaced the anger and bitterness.

“Well this *is* me we’re talking about,” he reminded her with a humorless laugh. “Aren’t I always the one who advocates the running and hiding method of dealing with the big evils we come across?”

“It’s okay to be scared Xander,” she assured him, letting her hand fall and her arm drape comfortingly around his shoulders as she scooted closer to him and gently rested her head on his sweater covered shoulder.

“The situation is…bad,” she admitted reluctantly. “But we’ve been through worse. We survived the First at its most powerful, and won.”

“And look what it cost us,” he murmured softly. “Anya and Spike died, so many potentials too, we barely escaped before the entire town collapsed on us…” he trailed off, his eyes looking dazed.

“Do you ever wonder…?” he mumbled, voice coming out like a breathy sigh. “Do you ever wonder how it would have turned out? If I hadn’t convinced you to do this spell, to send us here?”

“Sometimes,” Willow said so softly he barely heard her.

“We could have been happy, I think. Eventually,” he continued, thinking out loud more than making actual conversation. “Maybe you and Kennedy would’ve been together, traveling the world.”

“Maybe even other dimensions,” she added with a distant half-smile. His lips crooked into a barely there grin.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Maybe I would’ve spread my wings a bit, you know? Explored? Maybe find a nice girl, who was not and never had been a demon of any sort, and settled down. Maybe had kids. I think I’d be a good dad, you know? I’d be the cool one, the one who all my kid’s friends wish they had…”

“Xander,” Willow sat up slowly, seeing the truly despondent expression on his face. He turned to her and she could see the rare glimpse of tears gathering in his eyes.

“I screwed up,” he rasped, his throat tight, making it hard to swallow and speak.

“You can’t take all the blame Xander,” she stopped him, raising a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away any moisture a stray tear may have left.

“But I let you, didn’t I?” he admitted regretfully, a look of disgust crossing his face, twisting his features. “I should never have told them about the spell, not without you there. I panicked and…I should have trusted you. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me and I let you take all the blame. I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, like you couldn’t come to me. Maybe you were right…”

“You can’t do this Xander,” she shook her head sadly, sitting up straighter and gathering his hands in her own. “You can’t keep wondering ‘what if’. You can’t keep looking for somewhere to place the blame. It’s not going to get you anywhere. Trust me, I speak from experience,” she gave him a pained smile.

“To be honest, I try not to think about the way things used to be,” Willow divulged, her gaze falling to her lap. “It doesn’t always work,” she added with a wry expression, “but it took me awhile to really realize that it’s pointless. I spent a lot of time being angry and hurt, and scared,” she admitted. “Not of the bringers, or the First, or Angel. I felt like we lost something when we did the spell, when we came here. Not just you and me, but all of us.

“We used to be best friends, all of us; you, me and Buffy. We trusted each other completely. Giles was like our dad, our stuffy British dad but…” she added, hoping to get him to smile, and was relaxed when he let a hint of a grin turn up at the corners of his mouth. “But it’s not like that here. Buffy is more isolated, more wary, not that I blame her. So is Giles. And…*we’ve* changed Xander. Sometimes, yeah, I wish we could just reverse it and go back to how it used to be. But we have to face facts Xander. We made this choice, *we* did this, looking back only causes pain. We have to focus on here, on now. Now is all that matters. It’s you and me, Xan. You and me against the world.”

“So what do we do now?” he asked, looking blatantly to her for all the answers. For once in a long while, it didn’t bother her that he was depending on her, because he finally trusted her. Looked to her for guidance without apprehension.

“We trust Buffy and Giles to do their part,” she began, squeezing his hand before releasing it from her grip. “We don’t abandon them, but we give them their space. They…they’re going to need it and if that’s what it takes to fix things, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Okay,” he nodded soberly.

“You’re probably not going to like this next part,” she warned him, seeing him automatically tense at her words, “but I…I think it is necessary, so no angry but concerned brotherly lecture, okay?”

“I make no such promises,” he disagreed, causing her to roll her eyes, a rather absurd expression among all the seriousness.

“Figures,” she muttered almost playfully, smiling tightly up at him. “I’m serious Xander though,” she sobered. “We’re going to need all the help we can get, and that means making some…alliances…that you may not approve of, but could be invaluable.”

“You’re talking about Spike,” he muttered, his jaw clenching. There was more to his hostility towards Spike than just the fact that he was a soulless vampire. It was a combination of things really if he cared to admit it. When he saw the bleached blonde, he also saw the person he had become, the man with a soul who made the ultimate sacrifice for love and honor. He may not have liked him, but there was respect there. To see him now, to see that soulless killer that he used to be, it was just a constant reminder of the damage he had caused. How one simple, pleading wish had returned the man he had become into the thing he fought so hard to leave behind.

There was some resentfulness as well, he couldn’t deny that. Spike, a creature who killed for sport, was the one Willow had turned to during their rift. She had preferred to spend her nights in the company of a vampire with no soul than her friend. And the clincher, she had trusted Spike, when she believed she couldn’t trust him. That thought alone felt like in a kick in the stomach. And he wished he could blame her for it, be angry at her, but he couldn’t and it really sucked.

“Yes, I’m talking about Spike,” she repeated firmly, cutting off any protestations he may have made before he could open his mouth to utter them. “The situation is going to be more difficult now that Angel is playing for the other team, but we can count on him. I know we can…we have to,” she trailed off, her voice losing its earlier surety.

“What happens if Angel decides to step up, take over in Spike’s place?” Xander wondered, legitimately worried.

“Then…we’ll have to get creative,” she grimaced, knowing it was a rather pathetic response. “If he isn’t in control, Spike will only have so much pull with the minions. Honestly, I never really counted on them to join in on the fight, but Spike was pretty sure he could corral them. If he isn’t in charge, then it’s safe to say he’ll be the only vampire on our side.”

“Will he?” Xander thought out loud, holding a hand up to stop her upcoming arguments. “I didn’t mean it like that Will, I just…you’re asking him to basically turn his back on the rest of his kind to jump to our aid. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be Spike, if that were the case. Even if we managed to win, he’s going to be considered a traitor. And you know Angel wouldn’t shed a tear if Junior got dusted, soul or not. It’s…suicide.”

“I’m not going to make him help us,” Willow murmured, Xander’s words swirling in her head. “But if he is willing to, I’m not going to refuse him. Besides, he has risked everything before, turned traitor to stop an apocalypse.”

“Our Spike has, because of Drusilla, because he was so in love with her he couldn’t see straight,” he agreed solemnly. “But *this* Spike hasn’t. He had a reason to save the world before, but this time around he’s not even in love with Drusilla. I know he cares about her, but…I’m just saying, you’re expecting him to sacrifice everything and for what? He’s still a demon, Will. Which means no matter how nice and accommodating he can be he’s still selfish and self-serving. What’s in it for him? Why would he risk everything to help us?”

“Because he promised me he would, we made a deal,” she said firmly. “Because I trust him.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it, Xander sighed inwardly. No matter what he said, no matter how valid his arguments were, Willow trusted Spike, don’t ask him why, and she wasn’t willing to abandon her belief in the vampire. He really, really hoped her trust wasn’t misplaced.

“I’ll take care of Spike,” Willow said with a short nod, pleased that he wasn’t truly fighting her on this.

“And if Angel makes trouble for everyone?” he wondered. “If he becomes Master?”

“We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” she replied with false confidence, trying her best to look pulled together amidst the worry, stress, and panic building inside her.

“I guess this is where I am supposed to say ‘duh’,” he grunted. “How?”

“That’s where you come in,” she smiled shakily as he perked up. “I wasn’t lying to Buffy, until I find out how Angel lost his soul; I won’t know exactly how to fix it. That doesn’t mean that the curse I used last time won’t work.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” he asked when he noticed her hesitancy.

“In theory, yes,” she answered tentatively. “Except for the fact that we don’t *have* the curse, yeah, it’s good news.”

“Where exactly do I come into this?” Xander pressed.

“I’ve got to deal with Spike and find out how Angel managed to become soulless sans happy, I don’t have the time to find the curse, let alone translate it,” she explained.

“Ah, this is where all those childhood gypsy lessons come in handy,” he snorted in disbelief.

“I’m not asking *you* to translate them,” she glared at him halfheartedly. “You barely passed English Xander, you really expect me to believe you can translate ancient Romanian? Miss Calendar can, hopefully,” she grimaced. “As long as that hasn’t changed.”

“So how exactly does this involve me?” he wondered.

“You know what happened last time,” she whispered, throat tight with emotion as the memory swept over the both of them. “Your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. When I said it was just you and me now Xand, I meant it. No one else can know about the curse except us and Jenny, not Buffy, not Giles, not even Spike. It would only put everyone in more danger. If Angel found out…”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded pensively.

They sat there, on the couch side by side; taking everything in for a long moment before Xander once again took the initiative and broke the silence.

“Will…” he sighed, sounding tired and much older than his years, “do you really think we can pull this off?”

“We have to,” she replied, voice just as ragged and aged. “We don’t have a choice. We changed everything; it’s our job to fix it.”

Licking her dry, chapped lips, Willow turned on the sofa to face Xander once more. Glancing at her he extended his arm and she smiled tiredly, sliding closer and tucking herself under his arm, just breathing in the comforting scent she always associated with Xander as she lay her head on her best friend’s shoulder.

“Tomorrow you’re going to see Spike?” he mumbled, voice soft and sleepy.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by the material of his sweater. “Tomorrow you’ll talk to Miss Calendar?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

It was getting closer, the end. They both could feel it. The battle was drawing nearer, their long fight coming to a head once more. Tomorrow they would be on their own. Willow would find where Spike’s loyalties lay and get to the bottom of Angelus’ mysterious reappearance. He would confront Jenny Calendar about her true purpose in Sunnydale and do all he could to protect her as she deciphered the writings of her ancestors to put an end to Angelus’ reign. They had their missions, and soon they would stand side by side with Buffy, no matter how fractured their alliance and friendship was, and do what they had to fix the mess they made.

But they still had tonight left.

“Will?” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion from the day’s events started to overcome him. He felt her move, her head shifting on his shoulder so she could see his face as she curled up more comfortably on the couch. “I love you, I just wanted you to know that,” he said softly.

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was smiling slightly, just a tiny, pleased tilt of the corners of her mouth that would draw small smile lines on her face. Her arms tightened around his waist as she squeezed him, her head shifting once more to snuggle to his side.

“Love you too, Xand,” she whispered, letting her own eyes drift shut as sleep called to them enticingly.

Tomorrow was soon enough to be on their own. Tonight neither one felt the need to leave the comfort of their embrace.

~Part: 45~

His rather rickety old Citron made various strange, but not unusual noises as it chugged along down the empty streets of Sunnydale, the passenger in his car remaining completely silent as the streets of downtown turned into those of the suburbs and the surroundings changed from concrete to grass. Eyes staring blankly out the windshield, face expressionless, Buffy just sat, letting the rumbles of the car lull her into a numb state, slowly replacing the shock that had taken hold of her earlier that night.

Glancing over his shoulder, Giles frowned, his expression troubled as he turned back to focus on the road ahead. She had been like that, silent and nearly catatonic, since he had spotted her walking along the sidewalk outside the high school, head bent and tears stifled but still flowing.

After telling Xander and Willow that he would dutifully follow his Slayer and make sure she got home safely, he had climbed in his car hurriedly and rushed to meet up with her. Buffy was already nearly two blocks away by the time he reached her. Pulling up along side her, he slowed the car to a near halt and swung the passenger side door open. With a quiet entreaty of ‘Climb in’, she slipped inside and buckled her seatbelt. After that she seemingly collapsed into the position she currently remained in, shoulders hunched and eyes blank.

He had never seen her look so defeated.

Turning on to her street, he slowed the car until they reached her house. Parking his car along the sidewalk, he shut off the engine, his hand lingering on the keys in the ignition as he searched for something, anything, to say. Everything that he thought of, everything that came to mind seemed woefully inadequate as he looked at her face, the normal spark ever present now diminished.

“You have a right to be angry,” Giles murmured, leaning back in his seat and turning his head to focus on her better. Buffy still remained silent.

“I know…things are difficult right now,” he attempted elegance in his speech but just knew he must have sounded indelicate. “I know you are…upset about Angel,” he cringed at his own words. Upset didn’t even begin to describe how she felt and he knew it.

“But you cannot forget—”

“My duties?” she finished for him, the lack of bitterness, of emotion in its entirety more stinging than any words she could have flung at him in anger.

“There will be time for grief, but the situation is…dire. This…complication—”

“He isn’t a complication,” Buffy cut him off with a whisper. “Don’t. Don’t talk about him like that, like he’s a—a thing. He is…was…a person. He has feelings and thoughts and he loves—loved me. He isn’t a complication. He’s Angel.”

“Buffy,” her Watcher stammered in apology, a little taken aback but more than understanding. “I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not just giving up on him, Giles,” she said vehemently and he was relieved to see some sort of feeling in her eyes once more as she turned to face him. “I’m not grieving, I can’t. If I do that means that I, that some part of me, is acknowledging that he is gone. That he is never coming back. And I can’t do that. Willow said there was a way to bring him back—”

“Willow said there *might* be a way to bring him back,” he reminded her gently.

“There is a way…there has to be,” she whispered brokenly. His heart broke for her and Giles placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Buffy,” his voice rumbled in a low, consoling manner, “You know I want nothing more than for that to be true, but…”

“Are you saying I should just give up now?” she snapped angrily, eyes blazing, but glassy from unshed tears. “That I should just resign myself to Angel’s fate now and stop all this useless hoping? ‘Cause I can’t do that Giles, I can’t just give up on him. He deserves better.”

“That’s not what I am saying,” he stopped her sternly. “I know you can’t give up on Angel, I am not saying you should. But there is something you must realize. Under normal circumstances, you would have every right to grieve, to be angry, to do whatever is necessary to either bring Angel back or to stop him, but these are not normal circumstances. And you, Buffy, are not just anyone.

“You are the Slayer,” he said with compassion. “I know you children hate when I give this speech, but that does not make it any less true. You are not normal. You are more than normal, better than normal. You are the chosen one, and with that comes responsibility. And yes, it is hard, and it is unfair, but life has never been easy or fair. You are not allowed the luxury of grief. You must suppress it, fight it, and defeat the enemies before you. Don’t allow this to get the better of you, Buffy. Take your anger, your fear and sadness, and use it. Use it to fight the First…and Angelus, and then, when the battle is won; you can let yourself grieve as you rightfully should.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured heartbrokenly. “I don’t know if I can look him in the eye and not see Angel.”

“You’re not alone in this,” he assured her in a rough, gravely voice, pulling her into a tentative and slightly awkward one-armed hug. Buffy just sniffled and allowed herself to rest her head gratefully on his tweed covered shoulder. “You won’t face this, him, alone. I will be with you at every turn. And whether you want their help or not, I do believe you can count on Willow and Xander to remain stalwartly at your side. If there is a way to save Angel we will find it,” he declared resolutely.

“And if there’s not?” she asked with uncharacteristic weakness clouding her voice.

“Then we will stand alongside you and see to it that Angel is…stopped.” Buffy fell mournfully silent again and Giles made no move to prod her inside her house, allowing her to simply gather herself for as long as it took before she eventually climbed out of the passenger seat, waving a halfhearted goodbye as she trudged up her driveway.

Giles watched her walk away, a deep sense of worry settling in the pit of his stomach. If she fell apart, if she couldn’t face the reality that Angel was no longer the man she had known and loved, much more than her life or the lives of the people closest to her were at stake. The fate of the world depended on her ability to repress her pain and fight to the bitter end.

It was far too big a responsibility for just a teenage girl.  

~~~~~~~~  

He had watched her with a hunter’s eye as she sat in the piece of junk her Watcher called a car, looking shaken and withdrawn. He wasn’t surprised; Willow would have gone running to Buffy the second she could to tell the Slayer about his reappearance, it was to be expected. In fact, he had been counting on it.

There was only so much fun one could derive from torturing someone if they didn’t know who they were dealing with. Certainly it would have been delicious, seeing Buffy squirm as he twisted her mind under the loving guise of ‘Angel’. But while mind games were always fun, and he hadn’t ruled them out, he had been eager to witness the scene that was playing out before him.

Screams and begging were delightful, but nothing gave him more personal pleasure than seeing silent, stubborn tears coursing down a pretty girl’s face. Drowning in the immeasurable pain that swam in her eyes. There was nothing that gave him more of a rush, a high even, nothing more beautiful than the suffering of a woman.

Eventually Buffy gathered her wits about her and Angel watched from his darkened perch in her tree as she stumbled carelessly up the porch steps and let herself inside with a quiet click of the door. He couldn’t resist a smug smirk when he heard the tell tale sound of the deadbolt sliding into place.

If she thought a flimsy bit of metal was going to keep him out, she had another thing coming.

He observed as she met up with her mother in the kitchen, murmuring something indistinguishable at her mother’s concerned gaze, before retiring to her bedroom upstairs. He idly wondered if she had even bothered to warn her mother about the danger that was lurking that night, but he found himself doubtful. Joyce didn’t even know she was the Slayer and he didn’t picture Buffy just blurting out the existence of vampires, and more importantly that she was dating one. One who would like nothing more than to see her dead.

Angel shifted his position in order to get a better look. Buffy, ignorant of the piercing gaze following her every move, gathered a change of clothes and stepped into the bathroom before closing the door.

When she returned to her bedroom she was dressed in a loose lavender tank top and polka dotted pajama pants. Angel couldn’t resist a chuckle. It seemed so amazing and at the same time absolutely absurd. This *child* was responsible for ‘world save-age’, as she so eloquently put it. He was deeply ashamed of his kind.

It was hours before she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. Buffy had lay there, eyes staring unseeingly out of her second-story window as the night grew old, and Angel was almost sure at times that their eyes were meeting. But still she refused to stir, so he knew she had not noticed his presence.

Eventually her eyes had fallen shut and her breathing evened out until she could no longer fight it and she gave in to slumber’s tempting beckoning. He had given it another half hour before he dared to move, wanting to be sure she would not wake when he made his move.

Climbing expertly with unnatural grace, he moved silently from the tree branches to the sturdiness of her roof, allowing his palms to glide across the cool wood casing of her window before pressing his hand against the pane and pushing gently upwards. At first the window did not want to budge, but soon enough under his constant pressure it gave in and it opened up to him readily.

Stepping inside, putting his right foot first as he slid into the darkened bedroom, he paused as he was halfway through, waiting to see if she stirred at all. When her breathing didn’t even hitch, he knew was undetected and he continued inside.

He pondered her sleeping form for a second, allowing a small smile to cross his face when he noticed the stake and holy water sitting on her bedside table. Even handy little tools like those wouldn’t do her much good if she was asleep.

Tempted to abandon his original plan, he shook the thought off and moved away from Buffy, walking out into the hall and sauntering slowly toward the only other occupied bedroom in the Summers’ household.

Two hours passed before he returned to Buffy’s bedroom. Her position had changed, once lying on her back; she now rested on her side, almost curled into a fetal position. Angel strode across the room, his footsteps unheard, as he reached the head of the bed.

Slightly rough fingers trailed across the blonde’s forehead, brushing hair absently away from her eyes, before moving down her cheek. The touch, once contemplative, became almost fond and Angel pulled his hand away as if burned. A disgruntled look crossing his face, he decided to get back to business.

Taking out a slip of thick paper, folded up teasingly, from an inner pocket of his duster, he left it tauntingly on her bedside table, having the audacity to place it under the stake Buffy had laid out for protection.

With a whisper of a kiss across her lips, Angel prowled toward the window once more and swiftly exited the house with his duster billowing dramatically in the breeze.

His swift and undetectable escape was thwarted unexpectedly by, of all things, and older Englishman leaning against the trunk of the tree outside the Summers’ front yard. Arms crossed nonchalantly and a small smirk that spoke of pride and amusement on his weathered face, the tension in his body didn’t increase even a fraction at the sight of the master vampire, if anything he seemed pleased by his arrival.

“I was told I might be able to find you here,” the man declared in a conversational tone, pushing his body away from the tree with his shoulder and brushing off any traces of dirt and bark from his dress shirt.

“Really?” Angel said skeptically, eyeing the vaguely familiar man curiously. “And why would you want to do something like that?” he wondered with a hint of laughter. He was used to people running from him in terror, he certainly wasn’t accustomed to people wantonly seeking him out. It proved a welcome distraction.

“Me personally?” he returned with a highly amused snort. “I don’t want to be anywhere near your snarly self, mate. But I’m under orders, and well…my boss is scarier than you.”

“And you are?” Angel asked dryly, his blank expression unchanged.

“You know, I’m hurt,” he groused, honestly a bit offended. “I know I haven’t been around much, but I really expected you to remember me. Come on now, Eyghon, Chaos…work with me, chap.”

“Ethan Rayne,” Angel remembered, a curious gleam entering his eye.

“Well thank you,” Ethan snapped, openly annoyed.

“Now, don’t be offended,” Angel smirked as the Englishman appeared disgruntled. “This is the hellmouth. Face it, after the Master, Spike, the First…Me, you’re just small potatoes.”

“This is what I get for just following orders,” he grumbled, “bloody unappreciated, I am.”

“And what were your orders?” Angel asked, his previously playful tone decidedly darker and more serious.

“My boss wishes an audience,” Ethan stated in the courtliest manner he could manage, which even he seemed to find amusing.

“I don’t really play well with others,” Angel declared with a disdainful sneer. “Why don’t you tell your boss thanks, but no thanks.”

“Yeah, and I have a death wish,” he snorted. “I’ve got to say mate, you’ve got some brass ones, I’ll give you that. Not many people would have the balls and the backbone to deny the First Evil.”

“Well, your boss isn’t exactly corporeal, so he can’t touch me,” Angel listed with a pleased smirk. “And if you’re the best he’s got, then he’s about to get his ghostly ass handed to him by the Slayer. Balls and backbone have nothing to do with it.”

Angel gave Ethan a dismissive glare and he continued on his way down the front lawn and toward the sidewalk. But he was brought up short by Ethan’s casually thrown out words.

“He just thought you might want to know how you lost that pesky soul of yours,” he shrugged with nonchalance. Angel turned slowly on his heel, studying the man with a keen eye. “No worries then mate. I’ll just tell him you aren’t interested.” Ethan half smiled and started down the driveway, hands resting casually in his pants pockets.

“That won’t be necessary,” Angel called out, causing Ethan to stop in his tracks as the vampire sauntered slowly toward him, the curiosity returning to his gaze. “I’ve…reconsidered,” he declared, with a tilt of his head.

At Ethan’s pleased grin, Angel felt his lips quirk up in amusement. “So…take me to your leader.”

~Part: 46~

“Well,” Angel drawled unimpressively, his lip curled up in disgust. “Isn’t this a homey little…cave.” Ethan didn’t bother to respond, but continued leading them through the darkened tunnels of the First’s hideout, though Angel needed little help navigating the pitch black corridors. “Nice digs.”

“I’m glad you approve,” announced a sweet, lilting voice as the pair entered the main chamber. Bringers were encircled at the center of the room, the blinded men kneeling on the dusty ground, chanting softly, their voices filling the room with a pleasant hum.

Angel’s eyes searched the room for the owner of the familiar voice and couldn’t resist a smirk when he noticed the petite figure stepping out from the shadows. It was Buffy in every physical way. Long blonde hair brushed past her shoulders, eyes wide and alert, dressed sleekly in a black tank top and midnight blue leather pants. But in every other way it was obvious that this wasn’t the Slayer. The cocky smirk that graced her pretty face, the arrogant stance that Buffy herself rarely used unless facing off with an enemy, a devious glint in her bright eyes, still it was an impressive copy.

“And you must be the First,” he concluded dryly.

“Your abilities of deduction are astounding,” the First replied, earlier humor replaced with a bland, emotionless tone.

“Now, now,” he tsked, giving her an indulgent grin, “no need to get testy. You called, I came, can’t we play nice?”

“The great Angelus never plays nice,” she returned tonelessly. “Or have you gone soft in your old age?”

“You know, one insult I might let slide, since you’re the big evil in these parts and all, but two is pushing it,” he warned. “I’m here because your Nancy boy there,” his head jerking toward Ethan, “aroused my curiosity. But my patience is not infinite. Keep boring me and I walk, after I eat him first of course,” he grinned as Ethan’s face perceptibly whitened.

“You won’t do anything of the sort,” the First called his bluff with a confident sneer.

“And why is that? ‘Cause the way I see it, I can do whatever I damn well please and your ghostly self can’t do a thing about it. Nasty bit of business, that whole non-corporeal thing,” he snapped.

“I might not be able to touch you,” she acknowledged, the smug expression never once leaving her face, “but they can,” she gestured to the still murmuring bringers. “They will do anything I command them, including impaling you on numerous pointy objects. So we will continue having a civil conversation and you will leave my associate alive and well.”

“Not even a nibble?” he taunted as Ethan began to grow more confident.

“Not yet,” the First allowed, ignoring Ethan’s incredulous glare, “he still has his uses.”

“I guess we should get down to business then,” Angel declared, clapping his hands together in mock anxiousness. “Puppet boy there said you know how my soul flew the coop.”

“Of course I know how,” she replied with a small chuckle. “I was the one who ripped it from your body.” Angel raised a mildly surprised brow, as if silently asking for an explanation, but she seemed little inclined to indulge him. “The details are unnecessary. My bringers have more than enough power between them to perform such a spell. The intricacies are pointless. But it was my conclusion that you were more useful to me without the burden of a soul, so I took it away.”

“How…anticlimactic,” he huffed. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be more grateful for the magical mumbo jumbo you pulled, really, I appreciate it. But I’m no one’s errand boy. I don’t work for people, they work for me. And I’m not about to become the lackey to a freaking ghost and its sightless sidekicks. I’m not right hand to the big evil, I *am* the big evil.”

“So much arrogance for one so young,” the First sneered, Buffy’s face wrenched into a grimace. “Don’t misunderstand me Angelus; I said you were more useful to me without a soul. That doesn’t mean that I won’t hesitate to kill you if you fail to live up to my expectations. Or better yet, I can always resoul you. Maybe permanently this time,” she considered as Angel’s face became stony. “Imagine that, trapped inside Angel’s body for all eternity, never to see the light of day, to gain control. You would be a helpless prisoner inside your own body, Angelus. You will spend the rest of your life saving innocents, averting apocalypses, and loving the Slayer. Seems a fitting end, doesn’t it?” she mused with a fond grin.

Angel remained silent for a long while, but the barely caged rage that shone in his eyes told her more than any words could. He was furious, but he was wisely considering her words carefully. He had no doubt she could and would follow through with her threats. Death would almost be a welcome alternative to another eternity spent as Angel’s inner voice. She had him over a barrel and he knew it. He hated her for it.

Swallowing deeply, resignedly, Angel cleared his throat roughly. “Maybe we could work something out…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning sun rose and with it awoke Buffy Summers, reluctantly leaving the comfort of slumber when her bedside alarm flared to life, blasting ungodly loud music into her ear. Lying face down in her bed, she flung her arm out, her hand grasping about absently as she searched for the snooze button, pausing when her hand brushed an unfamiliar piece of paper. Bypassing the foreign object, she finally hit the button on her alarm and reveled in the silence for a moment before forcing herself up into a sitting position, her back resting against her wicker headboard.

Her eyes flickered to her nightstand and her head cocked to the side curiously as she saw the folded piece of parchment paper resting there innocently. That hadn’t been there the night before, had it?

Reaching out, she grasped it and slowly unfolded it, her eyes widening in surprise and then unmitigated fear as she gazed upon a drawing of her sleeping mother’s face.

Tossing her covers off hastily, she jumped off the bed, flinging open her bedroom door and racing down the hall. Reaching her mother’s door, she didn’t bother knocking but instead threw it open in a panic. The sheets on her bed were rumpled but empty and there was no sign of her at all.

Fear seizing her, Buffy ran wildly down the stairs and anxiously into the kitchen.

Joyce Summers stared at her daughter with a distinct expression of concern and worry as she watched Buffy, who had just barreled into the kitchen; take deep breaths to calm herself, her hands clutching her pajamas nervously. Putting down her mug of coffee, Joyce’s brow furrowed and her mouth turned down into a frown.

“Buffy, are you okay?”

“I…uh,” she struggled for a coherent thought as she tried her best to calm her racing heart. “Nightmare,” she finished lamely.

Joyce’s face screwed up in comprehending concern and stepped around the counter to place a comforting hand on her daughter’s forehead, whisking away the stray locks of hair that had fallen onto her face. “Must have been pretty bad if it got you this worked up,” she murmured with a frown.

“I…I thought you were gone,” Buffy admitted, hating that her voice trembled slightly.

“Oh sweetheart,” Joyce sighed sadly, pulling the petite blonde into her arms and mumbling words of consolation. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Joyce pulled away but still kept her in her embrace. “I’m right here. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” she assured her soothingly but it did little to placate Buffy’s fears.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” her mother asked, placing a hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature. “Maybe you should stay home today. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“No, I…” Buffy denied, thinking back to the sketch now lying on her rumpled bedcovers, “I have to go in. I just had a bad night, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” she smiled tightly, knowing that her mother wasn’t buying it, but was unwilling to press her any further.

“Okay, if you insist,” Joyce agreed almost reluctantly after a moment. “You should run up and take a shower then. I really need to get the gallery soon, you don’t mind if I head out while you are upstairs?” she asked in concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy smiled, a little more honestly this time. “It was just a bad dream.”

“Alright,” Joyce finally grinned, kissing her daughter one last time on the forehead and stepping around her to grab her now cooling coffee. “You have a good day.”

“Of course,” Buffy nodded, turning her back on the kitchen and heading for the stairs.

A good day was easy, a promise she was almost sure she could keep. After all, the monsters didn’t come out until night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giles’ quiet morning came to an abrupt end when his Slayer bounded into the library of Sunnydale High with a murderous look in her eye and a voice pitched with fear. Her hands were clenched so tightly that the paper she held in one of them began to crumple from the force.

“Buffy, what—?” he fumbled for a proper response or greeting but needn’t as she cut him off before he could formulate a thought.

“He was in my house!” she nearly growled, the unspoken terror prominent in her wide eyes.

“Who?” Giles replied dumbly, still feeling a bit lost as he removed his glasses and began polishing them in a nervous manner.

“Angel,” she snapped, slamming the piece of drawing paper onto the center table, revealing Angel’s work to Giles’ shocked and surprised gaze. “He was in my house last night. He left this on my nightstand.”

“Oh,” he murmured, at a loss for words as he picked up the discarded drawing and studied with an almost morbid fascination.

“That’s all you have to say? Oh?!” she responded incredulously. “He was in my mother’s room! What am I supposed to tell her? I have to tell her *something*. She looked at me like I was crazy this morning when I came downstairs after finding that picture. I thought she was dead!”

“Buffy, you must calm down,” he hissed, eyes darting about to make sure no one had come in and overheard her ranting.

“I have to do something,” she continued on, her gaze pleading and utterly heartbreaking as her earlier anger and fear seemed to finally settle, leaving her feeling drained and completely helpless. “I can’t just…he can’t…Angel can’t…” she nearly whispered, her breath coming in short gasps as her situation began to overcome her. “Angel,” was her final whimpered plea as her eyes filled with unshed tears and Giles gently led her to chair, fearing that she would fall to the ground without its assistance.

“Shh,” he hushed her, lowering himself to his knees and wrapping her in an awkward one-armed embrace, allowing her head to rest against his shoulders as she fought to regain her composure, not caring about the questionable picture they presented to anyone who may happen to stumble through the library doors.

It only took a matter of seconds for her cool and calm demeanor to finally resurface for the first time that day and Buffy sat up straight, and Giles in response leaned back and slowly stood, watching his Slayer carefully. Wiping away a stray tear that had escaped her eye, Buffy remained seated as she looked with blank determination off into the distance.

“You are right,” Giles began softly, not discouraged when she failed to meet his eyes. “Your mother does need to be told something. But I don’t wish to frighten her more than is necessary.” Buffy nodded idly and a frown blossomed on his face as he silently wished he could say or do something to make this all go away. “We *will* find a way to fix this Buffy,” he said forcefully.

Something akin to a wane smile tugged at her lips while her gaze remained unfocused and distant. “We always do.”

“We will,” he repeated, placing a careful hand on her arm, finally garnering her attention, her eyes sharply fixed on his face now, reading his earnest expression and responding in kind.

Amidst the pain, trust shone in her eyes, unrelenting and complete. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Xander was having a bad morning.

When he had woken, with a painful crick in his neck, on the couch of Willow’s living room an unpleasant feeling crept up on him when he noticed that the redhead was no longer resting with him. In fact after a thorough search of her house, he found that she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

He wasn’t worried for her safety, at least not at the moment. But he had hoped to wake up and share one last reassuring moment with his best friend before swallowing the nervous lump in his throat and facing the day. But alas it was not to be.

They each had their missions that day, both equally important and potentially dangerous. And while her duties would take her to a far more dubious location than his, he still couldn’t hold down the wave of nervousness that swept through him as he headed toward his destination.

Sunnydale High School was a place he had always feared. Whether it was because of exams he hadn’t studied for or pop quizzes that he undoubtedly bombed, or even a vampire raid and the opening of the hell mouth, it made little difference.

As he ascended the steps outside the school, his eyes flitted about, eventually setting on frantic movements at the far end of the hall he entered. Seeing a familiar flash of blonde hair before the double doors of the library swung open, he couldn’t resist taking the automatic steps forward, pausing just outside the doors.

He couldn’t bring himself to actually go inside. Though he wanted to walk right in and see what was going on, what had happened that had caused such a violent reaction in Buffy, he resisted. He wouldn’t be welcome, by Slayer or Watcher alike. He would truly be the outsider he had always proclaimed to be. But he couldn’t simply turn his back on her, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Pushing open one of the doors ever so slightly, Xander leaned in close, listening as best he could to Buffy’s panicked tone and Giles’ confused replies. And that sinking feeling that had filled him that morning appeared justified. He remembered this, when Angel played stalker. It really wasn’t a time he wanted to repeat, but he was left with little choice.

His reflections reminded him of his whole reason for even stepping into the hallowed halls of Sunnydale High that day. Shutting the door quietly and unobtrusively, he headed down the opposite hall, trying his best to ignore the sounds of Buffy breaking down that swam in his head.

Taking a deep breath, he found the door he was looking for and knocked softly, knowing that the classroom was empty since first period wasn’t going to start for another ten minutes. After a soft ‘come in’ was heard from inside, he turned the doorknob and poked his head inside.

“Hey,” he offered with an awkward tilt of his head.

Jenny looked almost startled by his presence, which he could kind of understand considering how long it had been since they had spoken, and he had never before specifically sought her out.

He stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him as she blinked at him in surprise. “Miss Calendar…we really need to talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow had woken almost as soon as the sun had risen, a move that was somewhat uncharacteristic but not particularly noteworthy. Pulling herself out of Xander’s arms carefully, she felt too distracted to even bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead she decided to simply take a quick shower and nibble at a breakfast muffin before finally giving up and throwing it away in favor for some dry toast.

Trying her best to slip out the front door quietly, Willow found herself climbing in her parents’ station wagon that was sitting unused in the garage and driving around aimlessly for a short while.

She knew what she had to do that day. As she and Xander had discussed the night before, they each had important things to do, all in the hopes of defeating the first, and at the moment saving Angel’s soul. She had debated silently whether or not to bite the bullet and follow through with her end of the plan then, or put it off and wait until nightfall. Undoubtedly Spike would probably be a little less cranky if she approached after dusk instead of waking him in the morning. Only a little less, though, considering it was Spike after all.

But in the end she found herself unable to wait. She was particularly looking forward to this conversation considering how he had just left her alone with Angelus on the loose and the fact that what she was asking of him was huge, could even cost him his life let alone his position as Master in Sunnydale.

Driving into the warehouse district of Sunnydale in the light of day was slightly surreal. It looked so unassuming, so common in the sun. But at night it became something else, something more. It was a place to be feared in the shadow of the night. But in the rays of the sun, it appeared almost…boring.

Parking her car a good distance from the factory, well away from the shadows that surrounded portions of the building and provided for possible habitation for hungry vampires, she walked with a small amount of trepidation toward the doorway that would, if she remembered correctly, lead to a set of stairs overlooking the main factory floor.

She didn’t bother knocking, figuring absently that a nest of vampires wouldn’t really give a damn whether she was polite or not, and instead pushed the door open, which open inwards, and stared warily into the forbidding darkness.

A low rumble of a growl sounded not too far from the open door and the shine of eyes appeared almost in front of her, but Willow stood tall and smartly remained out of arm’s reach. The unnamed vampire took a bold step forward and she was able to make out more of his features, tall, gaunt, dark hair, golden eyes.

“Somebody order take out?” he smirked, lips curling up around pointed fangs. His amused and dangerous grin faded abruptly as a spare bit of bit, with a notably sharp, pointed end, lifted and hung threateningly in the air just to the side of the redhead at the door.

“Move and I’ll dust you,” she warned him ominously. He remained silent and appeared almost indecisive but before Willow could continue with her demand to see his Master, the vampire of her thoughts appeared.

“Now, now pet, no need to go offing the help,” chided a soft, but still amused voice from the darkness. The stranger at the doorway faded back into the black and the familiar form replaced him, compact, strong, blonde and blue eyed. Spike.

“Can’t say I was expecting you,” he admitted, staring at her curiously. “Especially at this bloody god forsaken time of day,” he snorted.

“Sorry to wake you,” Willow offered with little feeling behind it.

“Well I’d come outside so we could have a private chat,” Spike sighed with a lift of his brow, “but it’s still a bit too sunny for my taste. Come on in, love.” He stepped aside and she took a hesitant step forward, her eyes adjusting to the dark and realizing that the lower level was not nearly as pitch black as the stairs, illuminated by soft lamps and candles. A couple of minions lingered about, looking at her hungrily, but a warning growl from Spike caused them to slink into the shadows.

“I’m surprised,” she admitted as she followed him downstairs. He turned slowly on his heel when they reached the floor, eyeing her contemplatively.

“Why’s that?” he murmured, tilting his head to the side and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You…just inviting me inside your lair?” she grinned tightly. “I don’t know. I expected more of a fight from you.”

“You come here, in the middle of the bloody morning, threatening to stake my minions, obviously wanting something,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say, I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she reminded him with a tense smile.

“Yeah well, sod the cat,” Spike dismissed with a grunt before his face became deadly serious. “What’s this all about, Red?”

Willow’s expression sobered up immediately and she matched his serious manner. “We need to talk…”

~Part: 47~

“What brings you here Xander?” Jenny asked curiously, darting a confused glance at the young man as she stood from her behind her desk, shuffling some papers awkwardly.

“This is kind of important,” he admitted, mouth down-turned and demeanor subdued. “Can we talk?”

“I have a class to prep for,” she hedged, glancing up at him from her stacks of homework she had yet to finish grading. “And first period is about to start,” she said with a pointed look at the clock. “Don’t you have a class of your own to be attending?”

“Forget about class, this is serious,” he sidestepped her hesitant attempt to get rid of him.

“How serious?” Jenny frowned, finally taking a moment to study him earnestly.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “world’s ending, Angel’s psycho, and we’re all about to bite the big one.”

“So the usual,” she replied in bemusement, earning a short nod and a small smile from him. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Buffy about this, or Giles?”

“Buffy doesn’t want much to do with me or Will right now,” Xander revealed with a pained expression, looking away when a hint of worry and pity began to shine on her face. “Distance is sort of the theme of the day. Besides, this concerns you.”

“Have a seat,” she relented, returning to her chair and waving a hand toward one of the students’ desk in front of her own. Pausing only to lock the door behind him, which garnered a raised eyebrow in surprise from the computer teacher, he took a seat before her, his fingers tapping anxiously on its surface uncontrollably.

“What is this all about Xander?” Jenny broke their tension filled silence as the bell rang for first period, frustration plain on her face.

Xander let a small, ironic smirk cross his face as he looked her in the eye, taking her by surprise as he casually drawled “Been studying up on your Romany these days?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You said we need to talk,” Spike purred, eyes steely as he dug a pack of cigarettes out of his duster pocket and lit one, taking a long drag as he studied her form, the anxiety she was feeling clear in her eyes even if her body posture seemed almost casual. “So talk.”

It wasn’t a request.

“Has Angel made any appearances here yet?” Willow asked, ignoring his demand for the moment, her question of equal importance.

“Shockingly enough, no,” he smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke and raising a scarred brow. “So far I have been spared the theatrics that would inevitably accompany Angelus’ return to the evil set. Maybe there is a God after all…” he pondered with mocking amusement.

“So you still have complete control over your minions?” she confirmed, feeling a tinge of relief at that.

“The boys listen to me, yeah,” he agreed, nodding slowly as he strolled over to the grandiose table in the center of the factory floor and slid up to sit on its surface. “And they always will. Not about to let Paingel stroll in here and take over,” he sneered. “Even if he finally grew a pair.”

“Why do you think he hasn’t shown up here at all?” she pressed. “I mean, isn’t that the logical thing to do? Reintroduce his self to the demonic world, make his presence known? At least that is what he did before.”

“That is typical Angelus,” Spike agreed, “Ego maniac to the bloody end. But I’m not going to question my good luck. If the sod wants to stay gone, than all’s the better.”

“You don’t think it is strange?” she finally asked the question that had been plaguing her.

“I think the prat is as strange as it gets,” he grumbled, “but I doubt you came here to listen to me psychoanalyzing my grandsire…so why don’t we get to point, love? Some of us need our beauty sleep, eh?”

“You made me a promise,” Willow said, hating that her voice was shaking, that her nerves were getting the better of her.

It wasn’t Spike himself that inspired such anxious feelings. She wasn’t particularly worried about her immediate safety. Spike wouldn’t kill her; at least she was willing to bet he wouldn’t, not after everything they had been through. And he wasn’t about to let any of his boys touch her. She was safe as houses, as he would say. Or as safe as one could be inside a vampire den.

Despite knowing all that fear and worry still flooded her. She wasn’t afraid of Spike. But she needed him, and that scared her beyond belief.

“I came to see if you’re going to keep it,” her eyes focusing on his, studying the tense look on his pallid face.

For a moment she wondered if he knew what she was talking about, the look of pure concentration and seriousness on his face one she wasn’t accustomed to, but when he spoke she had no doubt that he followed her thoughts exactly.

“I’m a man of my word,” Spike replied solemnly, taking one last drag off his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, watching the ashes smolder against the cold concrete floor.

“No you aren’t,” Willow countered, a tiny hint of a grin on her face. “You’re not a man at all.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked smoothly, raising a brazen eyebrow at her flutter of amusement.

“You’re a demon, Spike,” she replied dryly. “And you made a point of reminding me of that fact at numerous intervals.”

“True,” he conceded, cocking his head to the side and cracking a slow grin, which faded almost as quickly as it came. “Doesn’t make what I said any less true, though. Don’t break my promises,” he murmured, sliding off the table with ease, feet planting on the ground with a hushed thud.

“I…I can understand if you want to back out,” she said, giving him an easy out. For all that they were technically on opposite sides; he had become something of a confidant, a friend even as troubling as that thought was. She didn’t want to see anything horrible happen to him. “You’re risking a lot here—”

“No more than you,” he interrupted softly, taking slow steps in her direction, icy blue eyes never leaving her face. Green met blue and her mouth closed in a tight line as he licked his dry, nicotine laced lips. “Besides,” he offered her a crooked grin as he reached up and brushed away a few stray strands from her face, “I like this town. Nice weather, perfectly oblivious population, not about to give that up to some ghost.”

“Good to know where your priorities lie,” Willow smiled weakly as she took a tiny step back, his hand falling back to his side carelessly.

“While this little chat has been…interesting,” Spike said after a beat, acknowledging the imposed distance and showing no emotion either way, just merely slipping his hands into his duster pockets and eyeing the darkness that surrounded them. “This isn’t really the best place to discuss our little coup.”

“Right,” she nodded fervently. “Um…”

“I’ll stop by tonight,” he offered as a compromise and Willow agreed silently, subdued.

Taking a bold step forward, a concerned expression on her face and her mouth down-turned in a slight grimace, “Uh, it is just that—we won’t—I mean, Xander will be there, probably. Most likely…okay very likely. In fact there’s not a chance in hell he’ll stay away knowing you’re there.”

“I’ll play nice,” he conceded, face screwed up in a mask of distaste. “So…you two pals again?” he asked in a tone that hid all emotion. “You and the boy wonder kiss and make up?”

“Something like that,” she agreed with an uncomfortable smile. “Only, you know, without the whole kissing part.”

“Good to know,” he grimaced. “So that’s it? All’s forgiven?”

“There’s an apocalypse coming,” Willow reminded him pointedly, lips pressed into a hard line and her tone defensive. “Now didn’t seem like the time to be petty. Besides…we’ve been through a lot together.”

“Please, stop. I’m about to heave,” he groaned, putting a stop to her heartfelt utterances.

Opening her mouth in indignation and annoyance, she eventually snapped it shut, considering her words carefully. “Just—behave,” she demanded, straightening her back and tugging at the hem of her shirt unconsciously. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I can hardly wait,” he muttered as she turned her back on him and started up the stairs toward the exit. He knew she was mindful of the rest of his kind, her eyes darting back and forth as she strode as confidently as she could manage to the door. Only when the heavy metal door opened and sunlight streamed into the darkened factory did her shoulders slump in complete relief and her steps become lighter.

Though she appeared all at ease as she stepped into the light, he was left feeling dissatisfied.

There had been a moment, when he had initially heard the commotion she created when she stepped into his lair and the reaction of his boys, when he stepped into her sight and sent all others scattering off into the dark, when it had just been the two of them, that he had felt almost content.

For so long he and Drusilla only had each other to depend on. It didn’t bother him so much. Company was overrated. But ever since coming to this one horse town and having his life turned upside down, he had come to rely on the unlikely companionship of this waif of a witch. He spent most of his time completely infuriated with her, but there were moments he could glimpse some of himself in her, her desperate need to please, her determination to the point of headstrong stubbornness, her pain and heartache, and undoubtedly the darkness that tainted her but she had managed to not allow consume her.

That was where they differed greatly. When his fork in the road had appeared, he walked into the path of darkness, albeit blindly, and embraced it wholly. But when she was forced to make the same choice she fought her way back to the light. There were times when he reveled in the darkness. Times when he hated her for doing what he failed to do. Times when he pitied her for being burdened with a conscience that he had the fortune to abandon centuries ago. Times when he was reminded that his conscience wasn’t completely lost.

Their partnership was uneasy and complicated. Based on her feelings of abandonment and his desire to know everything she had changed, and yes, even punish her for it. That was how it began at least. From there it had warped into a strange mixture of trust and mutual necessity.

And yes, the demonic part of him, the part that was obsessive and possessive loved the fact that she turned away from her friends and turned to him to confide in. As much as he couldn’t believe she trusted him, could be that naïve, he reveled in it. Loved that she trusted him above all others, especially her friends.

He supposed that was the reason for his rush of irritation when she mentioned that she and the boy had made up.

It certainly wasn’t jealousy.

“Bloody hell,” Spike grumbled, running a hand through his blonde hair and then over his face as his gaze finally left the door and turned to the fathomless darkness that shadowed the corners of the vast factory floor. He would occasionally spy another pair of eyes watching him curiously and was reminded of why he needed to step carefully around her. Prying eyes were everywhere and he wasn’t about to look confused or weak because of some human.

His hair began to curl lightly around his face, making him look young, but the weight on his shoulders made him feel his age. Tonight would be the beginning of the end, and he knew it.

Despite what he told her, the confidence he displayed, he knew the chances of getting his minions to fight with them against the First Evil were slim to none. It would just be the two of them and the remnants of her beloved Scooby gang in the end, he was sure of it. He would turn traitor, help the white hats, and if they managed to survive, then what?

He would be a pariah among his kind.

But if he were honest with himself, chances were he wasn’t going to survive the battle. He would be sacrificing himself to save mankind. That thought left a taste of bile in his mouth, his demon appalled by the thought.

Still, there was a small part of him, a remnant of the man in him that he fought to deny but was unable to, that felt almost…proud.

That sick feeling filled him again and he shook his head in disgust. This is what he got when he attempted deep thought in the morning. He turned on his heel and stomped off, falling into bed with a grunt, waiting for night to come.

All the while ignoring the eyes that followed his every move.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“So let me get this straight,” Jenny drawled slowly as she eyed Xander incredulously, “You’re telling me Angel lost his soul, you don’t know how, and you want me to just…miraculously find his curse, the one that was used once in centuries, translate it, and curse him again.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And it might not even work. Willow says until we know how he lost his soul we can’t be sure cursing him again will do anything. Other than make him angry,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“And how does this sound like a good idea?” she shook her head and stared at him like he had grown a third eye.

“It’s not,” Xander admitted, the tapping of his fingers growing more rapid on the surface of the desk, “but it’s all we’ve got. Plus, who knows? It might actually work.”

“I’m not even sure if I can find the text,” she hedged, leaning back awkwardly in her chair.

“Yes you can,” he said without hesitation. “And you can translate it on that nifty software you’ve been working on.”

“How…did you know that?” she asked warily.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled wryly.

“I really should talk to Mr. Giles about this—” Jenny stumbled on her words as Xander shook his head fiercely.

“No, you really shouldn’t,” he denied with a frankness that took her by surprise. “Look,” he leaned in a little closer, his expression shuttered but his eyes completely serious, “the less people who know about this the better. Giles and Buffy have enough to worry about without wondering whether you might be able to get her fangy boyfriend back. She doesn’t need to get her hopes up. And we don’t need Angel getting wind of this either. We’re in enough danger already.”

“But—” she objected, only to be cut off again.

“You know you died in our reality, right?” Xander reminded her urgently. “Angelus killed you, when he found out you figured out how to curse him again. Trust me; if you enjoy breathing it would be in your best interest to be discrete.”

“He killed me,” Jenny repeated numbly. “And knowing that, you’re asking me to do it all over again?”

“Things are different,” he offered, knowing it was little consolation. “The curse wasn’t why he lost his soul, so he may not think he can be recursed, I don’t know. Plus there is a good chance, if we keep it quiet, like silent as the grave, he might not find out about it until it is too late.

“I know it’s not much, but Willow and I would do our best to make sure you’re safe. I know she may not look like much, but Deadboy’s got a force to reckon with in Will. And we would be the only ones to know about the curse. No Buffy, no Giles, for their own safety as much as yours,” he said, letting out a deep sigh.

“You could look at it this way,” Xander shrugged, offering a smile that paled in comparison to the real thing, “between the First and Angelus, we’re as good as dead. This might be our only shot.”

“So I get to choose between definitely dead or possibly dead,” she grimaced, her head coming to rest in her hands.

“More like definitely dead and probably dead,” he amended unhelpfully, “but that’s life on the hellmouth.”

“I…need to think about this,” Jenny mumbled, licking her lips nervously and looking at him with a plaintive gaze.

“That’s fine,” he assured her as he slid out of his seat and ambled slowly toward the closed door. “But don’t take too long.”

Smiling crookedly, he opened her classroom door and checked his watch with a muffled groan. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to first period English, where I must pay penance to Mrs. Hart for my tardiness. She better not give me detention. I can’t be late meeting Willow tonight. The fate of the world might depend on it,” he smiled ironically, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

A tight, tense smile crossed Jenny’s lips at his last words.

The fate of the world, indeed.

~Part: 48~

Jenny remained at her desk, as still as a statue and a blank stare, well into the night.

Students were long gone, even Giles was no where to be found, she had heard his telltale footsteps nearly an hour before as he trudged to the school’s parking lot. The hallways of Sunnydale High were darkened, with only the security lights that surrounded the entire building in an eerie glow. She hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights in her classroom, despite the loss of the sunlight that had provided earlier illumination. It was too much effort, the weight on her mind so oppressive that she couldn’t manage the smallest of tasks.

Xander’s plea for help that morning left a bitter taste in her mouth, her stomach churning tumultuously as she thought over what he had asked of her.

Jenny Calendar wasn’t a noble person. She never claimed to be.

She had come to Sunnydale because she was ordered to; she befriended these people not because she naturally gravitated to them, but because it was her job. That didn’t mean she hadn’t learn to care for them, even love some of them, but it certainly didn’t make her actions more palatable.

She had sinned. She was a liar. It would be only natural to desire penance, and desire it she did. They may not know the truth, but she did and it was a heavy burden to bear. Just looking into Rupert’s eyes was painful. How disappointed he would be if he found out. Yes, she wanted nothing more than to make things right.

But was she willing to die for it?

That was the real question. Was she prepared to sacrifice her life as penance for her sins?

It was a moot point really. There was an apocalypse coming any day now, death was looming over all their heads. Being a coward now wouldn’t change anything. No one could run away from destiny, Jenny knew that well. She had tried to escape her past, forget the fact that everyday she looked into the faces of people she cared for and lied. Still, the fact haunted her constantly.

Angelus’ wrath was something she would just have to risk. The other her, the Jenny from before who had died at the hands of that monster must have known the risks as well. Yet she still did her duty, what was needed of her. If she could face down death once before, she could do it again.

She had to.

Her shoulders slumped, as if the imaginary weight of her decision landed squarely on her, and she let out a soft, slow breath of resignation.

It was the sound of a soft, muted whisper of cloth outside her classroom that caught her attention, waking her from her silent revelry.

She barely heard it, but instinct and her years spent in the tutelage of her family made her duck under the cover of her desk, hiding in the darkened crevasse. Slowing her breathing to the point of almost inaudible, she fought to see what might be wandering about the halls, hidden by the cover of darkness.

It was ridiculous to think Angelus was out there, looking for her. No one knew she had a connection to the Romany except for Xander and Willow and they weren’t about to let him know about it. Besides, Xander had just come to her this morning with his plan. She had barely started on the endless research it would take to find a spell to restore his soul. Still, for a moment she was filled with dread as she looked out the bit of window on the door she could see, expecting to see his tall imposing figure lurking just outside.

There were no vampires to be seen, but her frantic heartbeat refused to slow as she caught a glimpse of black robed figures rushing past her door, their movements nearly silent. If it wasn’t for the barest whisper of the course fabric of their robes brushing the metal of the students’ lockers, she may have never known they were there.

Until it was too late, at least.

They disappeared from sight swiftly, but her body refused to move. Adrenaline pumped through her, urging her to move, her muscles protesting her unnatural stillness. Yet she was too terrified to do anything more than to sit, stare and hide.

No more noise could be heard. She peeked up from her desk reluctantly, only to find no one staring back at her. If it weren’t for the fleeting glimpse she caught of them she would have thought the school was just as empty as it had been only moments before. But she knew better.

Fingers shaking, she pushed her wheeled, wooden chair away from the desk with careful effort to make sure it made no sound. Slowly she climbed out from her hiding place, remaining in a crouch for a second, waiting.

When no sound came and no one burst through the door to capture her, she gently attempted to stand. Jenny couldn’t bring herself to go to the door and look in the hall. It would be reckless and foolish and she was none of those things. She was cautious, calculating. Recklessness got people killed.

Licking her dry lips, she looked around the classroom, eyes finally settling on the large windows that lead to a set of bushes and the small patch of lawn just before the cemented faculty lot.

Navigating the room carefully, she flinched as she turned the lock on the window and pushed it open, cringing at the slight squeak it made. Still no one came to investigate. She gently lifted herself through the wide hole and slid awkwardly onto the grass, pausing there before glancing around the shrubbery and seeing the coast was clear, sprinting to her parked car feet away.

By the time her car door was shut and her engine revving, Jenny’s heart pounded at an almost unnatural speed, driving out of the lot so fast she was pretty sure there would be skid marks left on the ground.

She wanted nothing more than to go home, to curl up into a ball and pretend that she was safe. That nothing bad could happen to her, but it would be a lie. She was sick to death of lies. It was time to tell the truth, to come clean no matter the hefty price.

As the distance between herself and the school grew, her breathing began to slow, her pulse no longer throbbing. But the churning dread in her stomach refused to abate. That had little to do with the shadowy figures in the hall and more to do with the man she was about to see. This couldn’t wait any longer. She had to find Rupert, to tell him…anything, everything.

But most importantly, she had to tell him that there were bringers at Sunnydale High.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did she take it?” Willow wondered, glancing up at Xander in between bites of cereal. Lucky Charms wasn’t the healthiest of dinners but considering Xander couldn’t cook and the only thing she could make were cookies; that was the best they could manage. Besides, money was growing tighter and trips to the grocery store were less frequent.

“Pretty well considering I basically told her she’ll probably die,” Xander admitted with a shrug. “Is it sad that people in this town don’t freak out when they find out there’s a good chance they’ll bite the big one?”

“This is the hellmouth,” she reminded him, “death doesn’t exactly take a holiday around here.” There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of Xander’s rather loud crunching of his food. “Do you think she’ll do it?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at the kitchen table. “It’s her duty. She’ll do it. I don’t think she really has much of a choice. It’s Jenny’s job to keep Angel on a leash…she’ll come through for us.”

“Good,” she nodded, exhaling sharply and pushing her bowl away from her suddenly, her appetite completely gone. Xander still chewed away.

A pounding on the front door startled them both and Xander jumped up, knocking over his already unsteady chair. Willow’s reaction was far less dramatic as she stood slowly, silently signaling him to relax, although the anxiety in her eyes still worried him.

“Um, just…stay calm, okay?” she begged, bringing a look of confusion to his face.

“You expecting company?” he drawled slowly, brow furrowed.

“Well…” she mumbled, managing to look guilty and concerned at the same time. It took him a minute, one in which there was another loud rap at the door, but he finally connected the dots.

“Oh no,” he shook his head fervently, taking a step toward her. “No, Junior is not coming in this house. No.”

“Xander—” she sighed, bringing a tired hand to rub at her now pained temples.

“I don’t want a vampire—Spike—in my house!” he barked, looking incredulous as she merely observed him tiredly.

“We need his help,” she reminded him sharply. “You know this. And not to get technical here bud, but this is my house. If I say he can come in, then he comes in.”

“Well then open the bloody door already!” came a muffled but obviously annoyed shout from the porch. Resisting a roll of her eyes at both of their childish behavior, Willow started for the front door, muttering a pleading “Behave,” to Xander before flipping the latch and opening the door.

“About time,” Spike muttered, foot tapping impatiently as he glared at Xander hovering in the background. Willow opened the door wider and he gave her a disgruntled stare.

“Oh, sorry,” she flushed, “Come in,” she mumbled, stepping aside as Spike brushed past her, closing the front door quietly after him. “Xan, why don’t you go watch TV?” she offered helpfully as Spike stood uncomfortably in the middle of her living room, observing everything with a calculating stare.

“I’m fine here,” he declared with a tight smile, eyeing Spike warily as he flopped unceremoniously onto the couch. “I see you even think about taking a nibble, I’ll stake you,” he warned the blonde bluntly, expression hard.

Spike just scoffed. “Like I’d touch you with a sodding ten foot pole, git,” he snorted, looking to Willow incredulously.

“Hey!” Xander barked in a mixture of embarrassment and indignation, “I’ll have you know I’m a tasty morsel!”

“Okay, that’s it,” Willow announced with a roll of her eyes, “You,” she ordered, pointing authoritatively toward Xander, “upstairs.” He didn’t look pleased, but after a moment’s hesitation he did as she said, watching Spike the whole time he climbed the stairs.

“You, stop smirking,” she demanded, turning her attention to a greatly amused Spike, who didn’t look the least bit contrite at her reprimand. He just raised his hands in deference and stepped further inside the living room, purposefully taking Xander’s seat on the couch and throwing his feet up on the coffee table.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes before joining him on the couch, placing distance between them and garnering a raised brow from the vampire. “So…has Angel made any appearances yet?”

“No,” he replied shortly, his earlier amusement vanishing at the mention of his grandsire. “There have been rumblings, just rumors about the great Angelus, but he’s keeping a low profile. I don’t like it.”

“Me either,” she commiserated with a sigh. “This isn’t like him. In the old days he would have announced his comeback with a big ol’ bloodbath and replaced you as Master in a heartbeat.”

“Hey!” Spike growled, “I’m not so easy to replace, thank you very much. That bastard’s got another thing coming to him if he thinks I’ll just hand it over.”

“But he’s not even attempting to take over,” Willow shook her head in confusion.

“I know,” he muttered, reluctantly agreeing. “He’s bloody well up to something, and I’m going to damn well find out what it is.”

“Good,” she nodded faintly, eyes distant. “You said your minions were still loyal?”

“Yeah, they’ll do as I say,” he acknowledged, a hint of wariness in his voice. “But what kind of fight are we talking about, pet? You keep mentioning a sodding war, but what kind of battle are we walking into?”

“I don’t know,” she frowned, sinking farther into the couch, paying no attention as he scooted just the barest inch closer. “All I know right now is that the First has the bringers and Ethan, of course. Bringers can fight, hard. But it didn’t use them in battle last time. I—I suppose anything is up for grabs.

“Last time it used these…ubervamps. Turok-Hans,” she remembered, eyes glazed and mouth set in a grim line.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and grimacing. “I thought those things were supposed to be myth. They’re like the bleeding boogeyman to vampires. All instinct, no finesse.”

“They’re real,” Willow murmured, glancing at Spike’s drawn face from the corner of her eye. “But things are different this time. So different. I mean really, what are the chances the first could resurrect them again?” she scoffed with a nervous, shaky laugh.

Spike gave a half smile, looking just as anxious as she, “Right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Angelus grinned as he stepped into the bowels of Sunnydale High, smirking at the sight before him.

Bringers, numbers of them, were gathered in a circle chanting, settled in the dust of what was essentially a dirt floor. In the middle of the circle sat a young man, no more than twenty, disheveled and obviously terrified. Shaking uncontrollably, his clothing torn and tattered, his eyes flew about the room, searching for any sign of help.

At the sight of Angel in the midst of all the robed, disfigured men, his gaze beckoned to him for aid. The vampire only laughed at the display and continued on.

“You beckoned,” he smirked as he spotted Ethan standing off to the side, doing his best to separate himself from the ritual taking place, his eyes never straying to the panicking boy in the middle.

“Your presence was requested,” Ethan drawled, meeting the vampire’s eyes momentarily before focusing on some dark corner of the basement.

“Gotta say, I like the new digs,” Angel grinned. “A change of scenery is always nice. Besides, the cave was getting a little cramped, no?”

“I’m glad you approve,” the First murmured, stepping into view in the familiar guise of the Slayer.

“You called, I came,” he acknowledged with increasing impatience, his smile growing thin. “What do you want?”

“I thought you might want to bear witness,” Buffy smirked as she ambled toward the gathering as the sound of the bringers united chanting increased in volume. “You’ll be in for a treat.”

“Not to knock it, but this isn’t my first human sacrifice,” he grinned darkly, following her easy steps, looking dark and deadly cloaked in black and draped in shadows.

Buffy raised a hand, silencing him as her attention remained rapt on the scene below and Angelus unconsciously stepped beside her, eyes glued to the deathly frightened boy. A small smile blossomed on her face as one of the bringers stepped forward, wickedly sharp dagger in one hand as he approached the quaking man. His pleading noises made through the gag in his mouth were ignored as his hair was taken in a harsh grip; his head pulled back roughly, neck exposed.

Knowing what was coming, Ethan turned away from the sight completely, discretely covering his ears to mute the sounds of struggle and suffering. He was no saint, but even he had his limits. He had requested not to be present this night. The First took great pleasure in denying him.

Swift movement preceded the sound of miserable gurgling and the two spectators found themselves unable to look away from the sight. Blood flowed onto the ground beneath as the bringer released his death grip on the boy, letting his limp body drop unceremoniously.

Two others moved quickly to drag the body away as a great rumbling began. Angelus took powerful steps forward, looking over the heads of the gathered men to see what was happening. The First followed at a more leisurely pace, a pleased smile on her face.

“Well, well, it’s…a satanic manhole cover,” he snorted with a raised brow, glancing over his shoulder.

“The seal of Danthalzar,” she declared with a droll roll of her eyes. “And if you knew what lies beyond it, you would not mock and make stupid jokes. You would kneel before it.”

“And what exactly is it hiding down there?” he wondered, decidedly under-whelmed.

Buffy was in no hurry to answer, merely gracing him with a devious grin and signaling with a bob of her head to the bringers behind him that were now dispersing.

A fierce growl erupted from Angelus as arms came around him, three bringers fighting to restrain his arms, a swift, hard kick to the back of his knee forcing him unwilling to kneel before the First.

“I told you Angelus,” she said, voice delightfully pleasant as she waved them away and they dragged the still struggling body of Angelus toward the newly uncovered seal. “I have use for you. Just…not in the way you thought.”

Still on his knees, he was forced to lean forward, his upper body hovering over the seal. His black silk shirt was ripped open with little care and he snapped violently, fangs at the fore, but was unable to do more than struggle as he was held down.

“I’m so tired of vampires these days,” she sneered, sidling toward him and crouching down to face him. “They’re so independent; always want to be in control. They think above their station, don’t understand the hierarchy. You aren’t the big bad here, Angelus. You’re a pawn. It’s a shame really. You have such potential, but you…your kind, don’t seem to understand that you’re not the top of the food chain. But relax,” she murmured with a sweet smile, enjoying his furious growls. “I’m not going to kill you.”

His struggles intensified and he appeared rabid as a dagger drew deeply across his exposed chest, his blood dripping onto the seal in a steady flow.

“I told you, I wanted you to bear witness,” she declared, voice harder, losing its melodic quality as she stepped back, the bringers dragging his now tired form away from the seal and dumping him on the ground with a thud as the ground began to shake and the seal, once dormant, began to move, to open before their very eyes.

“It’s time you see what a real vampire is like.”

~Part: 49~

Having discarded his traditional button-up shirt and tie and opting for a more casual wool sweater, Giles puttered quietly around his modest kitchen. The teapot, sitting under flame, began to whistle and he turned off the burner on his stove and carefully poured the now steaming hot water into a Kiss the Librarian mug that Buffy had given him the year before as a gag gift, plopping a tea bag in unceremoniously and letting it steep.

There was a knock on his door, firm but not loud, and he glanced up from his counter in surprise. He navigated the twists and turns of his living room, all the while a curious, puzzled expression on his face. No one should be paying him a visit, at least not at this hour.

Peering through the peephole, he pulled back slightly, taking a moment to smooth down his slightly rumpled sweater and running a hand through his hair before opening the door widely, a pleasant, welcoming smile on his face. A smile that died the instant he caught sight of his visitor’s pallid face.

“Jenny,” he murmured in concern, stepping aside and waving her inside. He had long since lost the habit of extending a verbal invitation, especially in the dark of night.

“I—I hope I’m not interrupting,” she stammered, hands shaky as she wandered into his living room, gaze flitting about anxiously.

“Of course not,” he admonished gently, guiding her slowly with a hand on the small of her back to his couch and sitting her down. “Are you all right?”

“I—” she began, her expression troubled as she tried to think of what to say to him, how to explain everything and all that she had seen that night. She wished she knew how to explain everything to him. To explain how she had lied to them all for months, that she cared for him, maybe even loved him, to tell him about Xander and the curse and the bringers. But the words wouldn’t come and she found herself stumbling clumsily over them.

If only it were simple, but the truth was never simple. There was always a price to pay for complete and total honesty.

No Buffy, no Giles, for their own safety as much as yours.

Xander’s ominous warning came back to her with startling force. As Giles sat there, staring at her in concern, she felt like a fool. He trusted her implicitly and she wanted, desired to earn what he gave to her so freely. But something was stopping her.

Fear, complete and utter terror.

She could be noble and say it was only because she would be placing his life in danger if she revealed all her secrets. She could swear that it was all for his own good. And that was partly true. But she was also afraid of what he would think of her, that he would hate her, and that was almost as overwhelming as the other.

Either way she would lose him. At the hands of Angelus or because of her lies, either way he would be gone, out of her life.

Jenny was a woman who prided herself on fulfilling her duties, living up to others’ expectations of her, but she had moments like these, loathsome as they were, when she was undeniably selfish. Moments where, when she looked back on them, she would realize she was undeserving of the trust and love given so freely. But even knowing that she couldn’t bring herself to utter those damning words.

Losing Giles, his life or his love, was unacceptable.

She would keep her secret, not out of loyalty to her clan, not for Xander, but because in the end she loved him, and that deep love inspired the most selfish of actions. And as Xander said, it was for his own safety. And hers.

“Jenny?” His voice was like a splash of cold water and she jumped, her eyes closing tightly in remorse as his arm slid gently around her shoulders and he pulled her into a comforting embrace.

“I, uh,” she sniffed, discretely wiping away a guilty tear as she slowly pulled away to look him in the eye. “I was staying late at the school…g-grading papers,” she admitted, a hitch in her voice as more lies left her lips, “and there was this noise. I barely heard it. But I hid and when I took a look into the halls to see what might be there—bringers.”

A sharp inhalation was Giles’ only response and she rushed on.

“There were bringers. I-I don’t know how many. I didn’t want to do anything that might get their attention. I waited until they were gone and t-then I snuck out through a window. I knew I had to tell you,” her hurried ramble slowed until it dropped off completely and she was left feeling surprisingly empty.

Hands clenched into fists, Giles stared blankly at the floor before standing abruptly, Jenny’s gaze following him the whole time. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair and fingered his glasses nervously for a moment before seemingly collecting himself and rushing to the phone.

“Who are you calling?” she wondered numbly. His reply was terse.

“Buffy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice rang out as she unlocked the front of door of her house and ambled inside, glancing around for any sight of her mother.

There was no reply as she wandered into the kitchen, dropping her backpack on the counter with a thud, her eyes drawn to the lone paper stuck on the refrigerator door. Snagging the post-it she smiled, a bit relieved when she realized it was just a note from her mother saying she was working late and wouldn’t be back until the morning. Thank god for pretentious artists and their elaborate gallery openings. She found small comfort in knowing her mother wasn’t home. At least tonight she wouldn’t have to worry about her falling prey to Angel while they slept.

Having returned from her first patrol of the night Buffy grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with tap water and taking a long swallow. She was already exhausted, mostly due to her Angel-induced insomnia, and she had no desire to patrol for another two hours. But she had promised Giles and no one could do a guilt trip better than Giles, not even her mother.

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder once more, she took the stairs two at a time, heading for her room. She needed to fill up on supplies before she headed back out.

Her room was pitch black as she pushed open the door, only moonlight streaming through her window. She dropped her bag on the floor and turned toward her closet where her weapons trunk was hidden when she noticed the curtains fluttering, a soft breeze from outside making them dance. Her heart beat so fast she was sure her next door neighbor could hear it.

She didn’t leave that window open.

Spinning around, automatically in a defensive posture and her trusty stake whipped out from her back pocket Buffy prepared herself for a fight. One that never came.

Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the lack of light and she noticed a figure, bent over and silent as the grave, in the corner of her room by the vanity. It cast no reflection in the mirror and she had no doubt who it was, after all there was only one vampire was an open invitation to her house.

Angelus.

But Angelus wouldn’t be sitting calmly and quietly in her room. He’d be taunting her, terrorizing her, trying to kill her. The vampire, hunched over and far too compliant, was not the Angelus she had grown used to. It almost reminded her of—

“Angel?”

The pained hope in her voice was immediately snuffed out by the sound of a furious growl. Her grip tightened on her stake as she carefully reached for the lamp at her bedside and flicking it on, tense and taut.

The first thing she noticed was the blood. Dried, almost caked on, it covered his hands and as he leaned back slightly, dark eyes glaring menacingly at her, she could see it was all over his chest and thighs as well. His shirt, once impeccable silk, was torn and bloody.

“G-Give me a reason not to stake you here and now,” she demanded, trying her best to sound threatening despite the conflicting emotions churning inside her. He was obviously hurt badly and she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to clean him and comfort him and assure them both that he was okay. But he wasn’t her Angel anymore.

Her attempt to appear cool and in control was met with strained laughter, mocking and loathsome. Buffy grimaced. Obviously he didn’t buy it.

“Would you believe I come in peace?” Angel smirked as he tried to sit up straighter, fighting down the growl that instinctively welled up in him at the movement.

“Not really,” she countered dryly, stake still poised firmly to strike. She couldn’t quell her worry and concern and she wavered, catching herself before she took a step forward. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing in response. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice was filled with compassion and Angel sneered at the sound of it.

“The First,” he replied, managing to completely take her by surprise with his frankness.

“You’ve been working with the First,” Buffy murmured, a mixture of anger and sadness in her tone. He could practically see her disappointment and found a little solace in that.

“Yeah well, I’m a winning team kind of a guy,” he grinned as she glared at him balefully. “And sorry Buff, but you and your sidekicks aren’t it.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked bluntly. “And make it quick, you’re staining my carpet.”

“I may be a winning team kind of a guy, but I do have certain standards,” he grimaced as he stood, smirking tiredly as her muscles tensed, almost shaking from the exertion. “And I draw the line at blood sacrifices to awaken some demonic pothole. Normally I wouldn’t mind it, I mean, what’s a little blood sacrifice between friends? But not when I’m the damn sacrifice.”

“Demonic…pothole?” Buffy repeated in confusion. At least now the whole covered in blood thing made sense. Sort of.

“The Seal of Danthalzar,” he rolled his eyes. “And that’s the least of your worries.”

“W-Why are you telling me all this?” she stammered, fighting her urge to move to his side.

“Are you deaf?” he growled and all that nasty compassion she had been feeling was suddenly knocked down a peg. “I’m not a pawn! Not yours, not the First’s. I will not be played.”

“So you’re coming to me? To help you get—revenge?” she summed up incredulously.

“Well I’m not here to kiss and make up,” Angel sneered. “You want to destroy the First; you’ll need all the help you can get. It’s your lucky day, I’m feeling generous.”

“You mean vengeful,” Buffy countered with a raised brow.

“Whatever,” he dismissed her with a halfhearted wave of his hand. Taking a smooth step forward, slowly closing in on her, he noticed her hand twitch on the stake she held in a death grip. “You need me,” Angel murmured, voice soft, low…tempting. “We can fight side by side again…you want that, don’t you? To be with me again.” His movements were purposely slow as his hand reached for her own, gently caressing her soft skin. He could see her grip on the weapon in her palm slacken and he moved in a little closer.

Buffy wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and savor the feeling of Angel, nearly pressed up against her, so close and yet so far away. But closing her eyes in the presence of a soulless demon was akin to a death wish and she was not that far gone.

She could see the barest hints of a smug smirk tugging at the edge of his lips and it pushed her over the edge. Without any warning she swung, her balled fist hitting him squarely in the face and wiping that pleased grin off his mouth as he sailed a few feet across the room, landing with a loud thud on her bedroom floor.

“That a no?” he chuckled darkly as he brought a hand to his mouth and seeing fresh traces of his blood on his fingertips.

Raising her stake threateningly, she took a daring step forward only to be distracted abruptly by the shrill ringing of her phone. Her gaze darted to the offending object before returning hastily to the prostrate vampire, her stomach sinking when he was no longer at her feet.

Looking around franticly, she could see no sign of him. She ran out of her still open bedroom door in time to hear the front door close. The adrenaline rush that had hit her moments before had finally peaked and she was feeling its effects. Her heart was still pounding wildly and she was beginning to get a headache, the muscles in her body sore and strained.

Distantly she recognized the sound of the phone still ringing and she numbly retraced her steps into her room, reaching for the receiver beside her bed.

“Hello?” her voice sounded foreign to her, soft, tired and far too old. “Giles?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You sure you won’t get in trouble for sneaking out of the house, pet?”

“I didn’t sneak,” Willow retorted with a defensive glare at Spike. “I told Xander we were leaving.”

“You left a note,” the blond smirked, hands deep in the pockets of his duster as they strolled along the nearly deserted streets of Sunnydale.

“I just didn’t want to fight with him,” she sighed. “He wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at the idea of you and me going for a stroll. He doesn’t really trust you.”

“He shouldn’t. I’m the Big Bad,” he declared proudly.

“Of course you are,” Willow murmured, soothing his occasionally surprisingly fragile ego. “It’s just that things are finally good with Xander again. I don’t want to get in a stupid fight with him over nothing. Not that you’re nothing,” she added when he looked annoyed. “But we’re in a good place. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re breaking my unbeating heart,” Spike groaned, making a disgusted face.

“Look, as much as I would love to continue with the witty banter portion of the evening, there really isn’t time for it. This whole thing,” she sighed, waving her hands about, “with the First, it has to end and soon. And we—I need your help. Xander doesn’t like it, Buffy and Giles don’t even know it, but we can’t do this without you.”

“What are you thinking, pet?” he asked softly, reluctantly moved by her declaration. He had always been a sucker for being needed, whether she knew it or not.

“The First isn’t up to full strength,” Willow shrugged as they wandered into Restfield Cemetery, keeping eyes and ears open for any unwelcome visitors. “At least I don’t think it is. I think that our best bet might be to, you know, cut it off at the pass. Stop it from getting stronger.”

“How do you plan on going about that, love?” he wondered, raising a curious brow. “The sodding thing isn’t corporeal. Going to give it a nice tongue lashing?”

“Funny,” she replied dryly. “The First is evil to the max, but it is following a pattern. Last time there were more of us and it lost, this time with fewer numbers on our side, it thinks it has a shot at winning. Everything so far has been preparation. When the First releases the Turok-Hans, that’s when it really gets started. So...” Willow drawled, pensively biting her bottom lip, “we stop that from happening.”

Spike’s face was blank, no real hint of comprehension in his expression, and Willow slowed her pace, turning to face him.

“In the basement of Sunnydale High there’s this thing, the Seal of Danthalzar,” she tried to explain as simply as she could. “The First used it to bring the Turok-Hans here. If we can find a way to destroy it, or maybe permanently close it, well…I don’t think that will completely stop the First, but at least we’ve taken their big guns out the equation.”

“So we need to seal the seal,” Spike repeated awkwardly, coming to complete stop amongst the headstones and giving all his attention to the young witch.

“That’s the thing,” she huffed in utter frustration. “I mean, can you even seal a seal? Isn’t it, by definition, sealed?”

“So we destroy the bugger,” he argued, the strength of his voice not giving away any of his doubts.

“And if it is magically protected?” she countered.

“Bloody hell,” he ground out, eyes flashing, “do you have to play devil’s advocate? You do your research book thing and if nothing works then I’ll do what I do best and make with the mayhem. If both of those don’t work we’ll start over. You at least gotta try first.”

“Well that was almost…encouraging,” Willow grinned as Spike rolled his eyes and let out a low, disgruntled growl.

“You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know that?” he grumbled. “Encouraging…bloody witch,” he snarled.

“Okay,” she interrupted his annoyed musings with an amused smile, “ruined reputations aside, we have a plan. An incomplete, slightly reckless, most likely crazy plan; but a plan nonetheless.”

“Right,” Spike nodded sharply. “So, you know, chin up and all that rot.”

Willow’s light laughter was cut short by the sound of a deep, menacing growl and two pairs of eyes darted up to see what made the sound.

Looking feral and absolutely deadly, its grey and veined skin stretched tautly over bone and muscle and thin lips curled back in a fierce snarl, fangs at the fore, the seemingly prehistoric vampire regarded them with a mindless vicious glare.

“Oh god” and “Bloody hell” muttered simultaneously, they regarded the predator in front of them, wholly unprepared for this. Willow jumped slightly when she felt a tight grip on her arm. Looking up into the unusually frightened eyes of Spike and feeling a minute measure of relief when she felt him squeeze her arm.

The standoff wouldn’t last long and Spike could feel Willow shaking under his tight grip. He wasn’t sure what the hell that thing was but he wasn’t in the mood to find out. His human façade had long since disappeared and he and the intruder stared threateningly at one another, a deep warning growl coming from Spike. It was met with an angry snarl. Willow’s balance, already precarious, faltered and she took an almost imperceptible step backwards.

But it was enough to end the stalemate as the Turok-Han lurched forward and a terrified scream tore through the night. 

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