Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer and Angel, the characters and universe is the property of Joss Whedon, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only, however, the plots and original characters are all mine.

As for the previous novel, all seasons of Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel is canon, with some aspects but not all of the comics appearing as well. This comes about three years after the end of Angel, four years after the end of Buffy. Like all my work, this isn't edited at all, so mistakes abound, sorry! I release chapters as I have them, if I took the time to edit everything I wouldn't get very far. This is Book two, so if you're just starting here, you're likely to be very, very confused :p. This continues directly where Catch My Fall ended. Thank you to everyone for reading, your support helps so much and feel free to let me know what you think!

1

He halted at the bottom of the stairs. Then when he got to the car. Then again when he started the bloody thing. Just sat there, keys in the ignition. Three times he nearly went back. Paused. Looked up, knowing he couldn't see her anymore. Three times.

But he had to do this, didn't he? Been a tough bloody decision. He hadn't thought of much else. Just stewing, a little poncy boy caught indecision. Poor little William who was never loved by anyone but his mum now had two Slayers to contend with. One alive, one dead, but the differences between them were so bloody boundless that it was hard to compare. Wasn't like he was holding two packs of smokes, trying to decide which one he should smoke. No, it was so much more sodding complicated than that. The whole thing. Wasn't a left or a right. Was a Alice down the rabbit hole or stepping through that glowing jelly thing that Jade informed him was a 'Stargate', and from one of her favorite shows kind of choice. A whole new territory he had no idea how to navigate.

It was simple once. Oh too bloody simple. He had the hots for Buffy. Spitfire Slayer with the world on her shoulders. A ball of flame, of fire when she moved, when she fought, when she danced. Been a might terrifying awakening when he'd realised he was in love in her, but later he'd think on how it was inevitable. He was drawn to her like a bloody moth to the light. That was how he did the whole love thing. Got pulled in, an irresistible force he couldn't turn away, and it sure as hell didn't leave him unscathed. Fire was a vampire's weakness, and he should have known bloody well by now to stay clear away, but each time, love burned him.

But Buffy was to be the last. Set his sights on her. An unattainable goal that eventually, he thought could only be reached one way: get himself a soul. So he'd done it. Bloody hell, what a mistake that'd been. Thought Angel was a ponce for carrying one 'round for a good hundred years, well he'd done it on purpose. Didn't expect the baggage that came with that little thing, now had he. But through it all, all the torment he'd been forced to relive and all the terrible things he'd done, his love for Buffy hadn't wavered. But any thought that he'd ever earn hers was further and further from his mind. Then she'd said it. Their hands on fire—burning, bloody love again—she'd told him. Hadn't meant it, the bird felt pity for him. But he'd died, and it was over.

Then he was back again. First a ghost. Then a man with the whole world to see, but he'd hesitated. Wasn't sure how to see her again. Had eventually happened, o' course. First thing off the bat she tells him is that she'd known for a while that he was walking the Earth again, but she'd had other things to do. Hit him right in his heart, but he'd delayed seeing her too. Still. Wasn't because he was 'busy' or had sodding other things on his mind. There had always been Buffy, just Buffy. He'd hesitated because like always, he must not be worth it. That maybe he'd made up what she'd said to him, or she'd laugh at him for thinking she meant it. Still, she hadn't wanted to give herself up to him, had her own dynamic, bloody thank you, and there was no room in it for him, less he was a nice, reliable little Scooby and she'd come to him in her own time, maybe.

Hard to live with, harder to accept, but he'd accept it. What else was there in the world for him? Angel'd offered to let him continue on with his merry little band, but Spike'd shrugged off the offer. No thank you. Didn't need Peaches' charity.

Then he'd fled to Haven. Haven, the little dump of a town he was leaving now. Leaving now, and he only looked back once more, at the somewhat ramshackle Apartment building that he'd left her in. There was a screech from his wheels as he tore away. Fast, too fast. If he stayed here any longer, his resolve would crumble again. He tore a cigarette from the package, noting his fingers trembling and cursing at himself for it. After dropping the –buggering—thing once, he jammed it haphazardly into his mouth. He was equally clumsy with the lighter, flickering the damn thing again and again and finally managing. Took in a long draught, let it curl 'round his tongue. Bloody hell, been too long without these. He'd craved for them as nearly much as the blood he'd downed. Bit more convincing was needed to convince Vi that they were just as much an essential, and after she'd rolled her eyes and told them not to smoke them 'round her girls, she'd relented and gotten him a couple packs.

He sucked in an unsteady, smoky breath. He didn't open the window this time. It was sodding cold, and he didn't have to worry about choking on the scent. Bloody no-breather here. And plus, it helped dampen her scent, what still lingered there in the passenger seat. And course he looked over more than once, imagining her being there. But he'd left her. Left her because it was the right course o' action. If there was a right one. Bloody hell, if only there was a right one. An easy, 'oh, this is what you're supposed to do. Here's the sodding layout, take a look at how it's going to change your unlife.'

'Course, nothing ever was that simple.

And life before hadn't been grand. He'd been burned by Buffy one too many times, decided to hole himself away in Haven, a sanctuary for the demons who didn't quite fit in with the sodding, madding crowd. Decided to surround himself with booze, smokes and blood until his annoying soul twinged at him again.

Then he'd met her. Jade. Hadn't exactly been an overwhelming attraction, like a force he couldn't wrench himself away from. She wasn't an unforgiving turbulence of energy. She was just strong, with one of the softest hearts he'd ever seen. She waded through the waters; she didn't overturn the Earth. It didn't burn him just to stand in her wake. And she was a fighter. Yearned for the blood and pain of the battlefield, just as he did. She was gentle of heart, but she was a warrior still.

And she was kind. Silly, sometimes, with all her lacking of self-confidence. Had no thought of self-worth either, although he'd learned that it was her Watcher sister who was mainly to blame for that. She was far from a whole thing. She had her sharp edges and missing pieces. She was a little broken too. Like him. And it wasn't a pull he couldn't resist, but a gentle nudge that he'd assumed was his own decision anyway. And by fate and fights, the easy separation had become less easy.

He wasn't quite sure when they'd crossed the line to becoming something more than acquaintances, to being a pair, like a smaller web of the squads Buffy'd divided her girls into. Tinier squads of teams that were used to fighting together, used to each other, worked well together. He wasn't quite sure when it was obvious Jade'd become his. The only squad he'd needed, a single partner that tagged along. He didn't know when the bonds between them had become hard like steel and expansive, growing roots that dug deeper and deeper.

Wasn't sure if it was when she'd fought just as hard to save his life as her own while her barmy bint of a sister pulled the strings.

If it was when she'd put her own wellbeing to the side so that Dawn could have one last chat with her long-dead mum.

When he'd lashed out at her, due to his own paralyzing fear of Dana, of losing his arms again, how she'd comforted him and not only confronted his nightmare, but tamed it.

If it was when she died, knowing, to save all the Slayers.

Hell, there were so many instances now. He couldn't pinpoint 'the one', the one moment where it was clear and obvious.

He didn't want to call her an infection. She didn't worm her way in. She wasn't a torrent of unstable, rushing passion. She was a slow ebb, gentle and building in her own slot piece of piece. She didn't have to break anything off to make herself fit. She just slid onto the side. Not expecting a thing, not demanding.

And she was in love with him, somehow. He should have known it long ago. He wasn't used to that sort of blind, devoted loyalty. Didn't expect it. He'd been a demon for over a hundred years, and a few years with a soul didn't reset the slate. Be a long time before he could erase that self-loathing that still haunted him. If ever he could. But she didn't remind him of his sins. He didn't see it in her eyes every time he looked at her. There was nothing but trust, unending and unbending. She never looked at him like he was a monster, and maybe he was beginning to believe he could be the man.

So he had two loves now. He had Buffy. The One. The chosen One, even now. She was the first of this generation. She would have been the last, to him. One girl, one woman. Multi-faceted and as merciless as fire. She was a force of nature, and he felt privileged to just be in her presence. But adoration, blind, bloody adoration, that didn't help him stand on his own two feet. It just helped her hash out whatever she wanted from him. Be one of her generals, be her lover, be her fan. Whatever she wanted. That's all he knew from love, whatever she wanted, and let him be ground to dust in the meantime.

As for Jade. Didn't want to say it was love. Not 'til he was sure. But there was substance in his heart that he couldn't deny, that glowed when she was near and withered when she retreated. Or like now, when he left willingly, his wheels bouncing on the road. He opened the window a crack and flicked out the stub, a bit more graceful this time with the next one, no lull and then the cigarette was between his lips again, but it wasn't helping with the whole distracting bit. He was on the precipice of the edge. He'd either slip off or Buffy'd throw him off. The Buffy he was rushing back to at full speed. Or rushing to get it over with so he could find his way on the pavement again, in the opposite direction. Getting back to the girl who loved him, who he'd asked to wait so he could see Buffy.

He was a bastard. Seemed that way every way he turned. Thought he could be faithful, be true. Hadn't realised how far he'd was equally in the hole as Jade was until her unlife had been threatened, her safety had been threatened. That she was thrown down into the abyss and crawled her way back out. With broken, bloody arms, no less. But how did he deserve her any more than he could ever not deserve Buffy. Both of them were out of his sodding league.

How lucky for him. He slapped on the radio, hoping some tunes would blare the thoughts from his head, but the words he knew, could sing along to, were just white noise. Slipping past him, even the songs he liked, he didn't mumble more than a few words and then he was off again, staring sullenly out into the dark. Further away from Haven with every turn of the wheel.

He'd thought she might have been embarrassed. The truth was out, Jade loved him, and now that it was in front of his face, Spike could see it clear as day. Should have realised it since their snogging session, if he had any wits about him at all. That'd been a good moment. Still fresh off the euphoria of battle and fighting, she'd been a graceful storm of movement and motion, a liquid fire in the battlefield. Normally, she was so damn composed, so careful. Kept it all bottled up. But she'd been smiling, laughing. Energy that snapped in the air. And he'd been near delirious with the ecstasy of it, still caught up in the fight that it had felt natural to pull her to his arms and kiss her, the way she'd been leaning against that wall with her eyes blazing a hole through him, her pale skin splattered with crimson red making up an artist's palette. He hadn't made a conscious decision to kiss her, just going through the motions, and she'd responded with the same fervor of battle.

And he hadn't regretted it. Later, he'd chocked it up to them still being in the throes of euphoria. That it hadn't been more than that. That it was a kiss, and she wouldn't hold it to more than that. Because the thought of it scared him. It was just a snog, leave it at that. And he'd prayed that that was all it was, because Buffy had called not a day later, and like a wanker, he'd gone right to her. Love's bitch, love's puppy crawling on back to its master. Feeling the appropriate giddiness that she decided to love him, to try it again, because that meant he was fulfilling his purpose. And he'd tried to push all memories of that kiss away. Sometimes he'd convinced himself it'd never happened, or it was just one of the other pecks they'd picked up along the way, that was necessary for some reason or another.

'Course it'd broken her heart. And he hadn't wanted to confront himself with that possibility, the guilt, and maybe even the regret that would come after. He'd tried to pin her distance on being ticked about being a vampire again. He'd allowed himself some cognizance of what it really was, but not much. And it wasn't about regretting his kiss with Jade, it was that he might have done it wrong, after. Picking Buffy. First, hadn't seemed like a choice. Just the next logical step. Now he knew better. He'd chosen.

And he thought he'd chosen wrong.

Spurning Jade's unselfish love 'cause of a promise he made, a hope that if he could make Buffy happy, safe, alive, loved, he'd work out his own redemption, but what kind of a reason was that? He loved Buffy. Always would. But she shouldn't be an obligation. She deserved better than that.

And so did he.

He'd realised, at the hands of Elijah and the other wankers, that he couldn't stand to lose Jade. Could barely stand to see her tortured, either. It tore him up inside. Had been such a bloody awful thing to witness, like it was happening to him too. And he'd been mad as hell, finding out about her love that way. Realising that he might have made a mistake all along, thinking there was nothing like that between the two of them, just because it didn't threaten to burn him alive. Because it soothed instead of pained him. Like it was weaker, somehow because the agony wasn't there.

What kind of buggering logic was that? Yet it was all he'd known. Spurned by Cecily, led on a leash by Dru, and scorned by Buffy, that was his bloody experience with the lot. How was he supposed to know that it could be gentle and slow, healing and giving.

All the little touches he'd stolen from her, pulling her into hugs, touching her hair, pushing it back behind her ear, like he was the nice, helpful bloke. Hadn't been just for her benefit. Plenty of it had been for his. Hard to keep himself away from her, hard not to touch her more, hard to have an innocent explanation for it all. She fit into him so perfectly. Relaxed, like she was clay to be moulded. That was Jade. For Jade. The one who'd snuck on him in plain sight, the one who was so obviously there, and that was where she wanted to be. Didn't have anything else more important on her mind.

Helping her in the shower had been a bloody task. Being so close to her, yet he couldn't hold her because it wasn't right. Couldn't wrong Buffy. Couldn't tease Jade, not without something more concrete to offer her. But he wanted to. Wanted something concrete, something real. She deserved that much, and a hell of a lot more.

Hell, the last time he'd been this twisted was when he'd been caught between Dru and Buffy. But he hadn't loved Dru anymore, back then. Offered to dust her for Buffy, but he hadn't got anything but disgust from the Slayer. So much for a heartfelt gesture.

And now, now. He couldn't deny that he wanted them both. There was Buffy. The bane-of-his-bloody-existence and the fire-that-burned-him-up Buffy. The chit that'd wormed her way into every bit of him. Who'd refused him for so bloody long, yet he'd always kept coming back, ready for punishment. He'd been so affected by her, so taken with her. Felt blessed with every second. Then there was Jade. A light in her own way. Something good, and something his. Something he didn't have to share with the others. One who'd gladly get staked a thousand bloody times for him. Do nearly anything for him. Would let him off with Buffy to keep him happy. Yet, she was no sodding pushover either. She'd been angry at the thought of him pitying her love for him. She didn't want handouts, and she wasn't pathetic like he had been in love, making up dates and stealing Buffy's clothes to get a whiff. Though, in his defense, he hadn't had a soul. Hadn't known how to do it properly.

Still didn't. Didn't know the right way to do this bloody thing at all, but one step at a time.

Leave behind the girl who'd do anything for him. An' tell Buffy. Tell Buffy that it was over, til he figured this whole thing out. That he couldn't do this. Had to see what was between Jade an' him first. And that's what he'd stewed about over the last day, though he hadn't made a real, actual decision until they'd nearly missed the exit to Haven. He cursed himself for being a coward and had veered over. Probably scared the crap out of Jade, and he hadn't missed her winces of pain when he rocked those arms of hers. He was a git, no doubt 'bout it, and he'd told her that he was leaving her behind. In that dim lit hallway, he'd left her. Could see how her bottom lip trembled, ever so slightly, her eyes locked on his as she stood up as straight as she could manage, still undeniably short. There was reluctance, but not distrust. She'd let out a breath she didn't need. Second time she was letting him leave to go see Buffy.

But it was different this time. He wasn't leaving the poor bird like this. He was coming right back. After it was right. No thoughts of Buffy, of the rights and wrongs of it. Just the two of them. That's what she deserved. He deserved it too. If he could just get his spine together and stop trembling at the thought of it. Never wanted to hurt Buffy. Sometimes he did, out of spite. Couldn't control his mouth that well, and why should he. Was no rug to get stomped over, though it happened plenty. He could love Buffy and not worship every dumb thing to come out of her mouth. And now he could just love Buffy, without needing to be with her. He'd needed to move on. Been told that. Knew it himself. Hell, Andrew had told him as much. Andrew, little scab that he was, told him he should move on from his infatuation of Buffy. But sod was right, wasn't he? He deserved that much. Couldn't hang around forever, waiting. Wasn't healthy. Just because he felt like he owed her.

Just had to move on. Had something waiting for him. Someone. With the brightest blue gaze, and the kindest sodding heart. She was waiting, so he'd better buck up and get a move on.

He drove faster. Still a long, bloody drive to get to San Francisco, and his smokes were nearly gone by the time he'd gotten there, gone in a bundle of nerves. He knew this was the right thing to do but bloody hell, it wasn't easy. He parked the car in the parking lot of the big Slayer's hotel, their headquarters. Taking a page out of Angel's book, but who was he to judge. How else to hole up this many birds in one place. He slammed the door behind him. Stood in the parking lot for a minute. Was cold, and he missed having his duster. Would have to get one from his collection. He'd put most of them in the room he'd shared with Buffy, but in the room that was "his" on the first floor, he had some left.

Yeah. Needed that first.

The building was surprisingly quiet. Not too many birds scurrying 'round. Maybe they were out on patrol, or maybe—God willing—they were just learning to be quiet for once. He felt a little bad for the undead of the San Francisco population. Was a little training ground for the chits, and who could—or wanted to—manage a perfectly evil lifestyle with young chosen ones combing the streets every night. Be near bloody impossible.

He strode up to the glass door and pulled, stepping easily in. The lights were on, though the lobby was damn near silent.

But not empty.

Soon as he cleared the door, a warning arrow shot was fired to the left of him. Better have been a warning shot, since it had both missed and was aimed at him. He didn't like very much being shot at, and if the Slayers were shooting, they sure better not miss. He'd taught them better than that. But he didn't much more time except to release a shocked and aggravated, "Bloody hell!" When then there was a wooden stake pressed to his heart.

"Stand down!" One of the girls yelled. "It's Spike. It's just Spike." Kennedy. She had been aiming a crossbow at him, but she wasn't the one to shoot the misfire. But bloody hell, there was a right fancy haul of girls here, all decked out in full, bloody Rambo fashion. What the hell had he missed?

"What the buggering—"

"Spike. You have a lot of explaining to do," Kennedy looked pale. Something'd right buggered her. She looked on the teetering edge between royally brassed off and frightened. What had frightened this bird? He didn't think much could, although he remembered then that her honey was in some nether world, and maybe she wasn't so put together as she might think she was.

"I have a lot of explaining to do?" Spike snapped back indignantly. He twinged the missed arrow with his finger and thumb. "Since when do you shoot at a bloke when he's making a house call?"

Kennedy opened her mouth and closed it again. Closed was a much better look. Her eyes burned into him. "You don't know?"

"Know what, freckles?" Spike snarked, brushing past the Slayers who'd all crowded up to him, ready for a fight.

Kennedy's mouth set in a firm, straight line. "Come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Then the Slayer was off, turned on her heel, 'specting Spike to come running after her. Which he did, a bit reluctantly, casting another look 'round the room. Eyes stared back at him, reminding Spike of a whole war-torn expression. What the hell had happened? He'd only been gone six, seven hours, with the detour, since he and Jade had left Vi's house, and hadn't seem like anything had been up the duff at that point and time so what the bloody hell had changed?

She led him to the meeting room, which was manned by more Slayers, equally as armed. They snapped their eyes to him, widening in surprise, but before he any time to snap out an answer from someone more pliable, the doors were opened and they were stepping through.

Hadn't seen the ol' general room so filled in months, since Mandy had been on the rampage, and Slayers had gone missing, with a bunch of them like cockroaches falling over each other trying to figure out the answers. But hell, if it weren't the whole sodding parade. Andrew was missing, but Giles was there. Xander. Illyria. sodding Peaches was there, and a familiar pang of jealousy rose up in his chest when he saw how close Angel was standing near Buffy, the possessive part of him still wanting to growl a she's mine, despite himself. Despite the main reason he'd come here, which hadn't been just to inform the troops. Still, old rivalries took a lot to bloody die.

Buffy was sitting at the head of the table, a far cry from the confident woman he'd seen her as last, staring blankly at the surface of the table. A map was spread out on it, with Rupert busy sticking thumbtacks in it. Buffy tucked a piece of hair back away from her ear, then repeated the gesture although no more hair was out of place. Angel was saying something to her, and her lips twitched into a grimace rather than a smile. Something'd gotten her bloody down, and a worry resounded in his chest. Had something happened to the Bit? He glanced at Xander, who looked somber, but not heartbroken. What, then?

"Buffy," Kennedy declared. "Look who's here."

All the heads turned, looking at Spike like he was some sort of a ghost. Which he had been, once. Bloody hell, it hadn't happened again, had it? He patted himself just to be sure. Still solid. Maybe he should try to walk through the door again? Might give himself a nose bleed for the trouble. Again. Still, he was mostly definitely sure he was the same undead vampire he'd been an hour ago, and it didn't explain to the shocked, and then relieved looks he we getting from the crowd.

"We thought you had been annihilated," Illyria said first, in the same cold, dead voice she normally used, although she still managed to display her displeasure. She rarely often admitted to affection for anyone, seeing them all as below her, but she'd taken to Spike like he was a pet to entertain her, and the same relief was reflected on her face as the others.

Relief that he was alive, apparently.

"What? No. Didn't you get the heads up from Violets and her little band? We made it out of Vampire town just fine, thank you. No annihilation bloody here. What's up with all of you?"

"Spike," Buffy said, sounding choked. Then her brow furrowed, and she stood up, a shaking mess of fury and energy as she crossed the room in swift, dynamic strides. Was she about to snog him? Hug him? He found himself tensing at the thought. Like it was a betrayal to Jade if he accepted it without so much as a word in say so, although now was probably not the best time to have a heart-to-heart.

He didn't have to worry about any of that, however.

Her hand connected with his cheek, a loud clap hitting the air as his head turned half-way around.

"Ow!" Spike exclaimed. "Bloody hell woman. 'M not all healed up yet. What are you—"

"Spike, you idiot!" Buffy snapped back at him with barely contained anger. Not contained at all. His cheek could attest to that. "You couldn't call?"

"For a six hour drive?" He looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. Maybe they'd all gone barmy while he'd been away. And bloody hell he was getting tired of the shared, silent looks between all the spectators in the room. "I don't have the bloody phone anyway, they only gave Jade one." Not that he had wanted it. He'd been forced to carry it a time or two but the bloody things always went missing, and half the time they didn't even seem to work. Jade had a handle on that newfangled technology, she could deal with the phone.

There were looks exchanged around the room again, and it was really pissing him off. What the bloody hell was going on? Buffy looked at him, and he noticed, startled, that there was a glimmer of shine on her eyes, like she was close to tears.

"I thought you were dead, you bleach blonde moron!" She yelled then, every semblance of the teenager girl she'd been once, and not the mature general who lorded over a bunch of teenaged girls. She realised his outburst, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking down at the ground in an attempt to gather herself.

"I am dead." Seemed like the reasonable answer, but from the way Buffy's head snapped back up at him, furious, he realised it probably wasn't.

"Bloody hell, people. 'M obviously out of the sodding club, so you blokes want to tell m'what's going on, then? Why would I be dead?"

"Where's Jade?" Angel asked. His voice was quiet, reflective. His eyes bore into the two of them, after lingering just too long on Buffy. Was the first time Spike had seen the git since it being official between him and Buffy, but he didn't feel like celebrating now, or even a little goading.

"She's in Haven." Right, that hadn't been part of the plan. Spike shrugged. "Jus' stayin' with her friend for a night or so. She's still healin'. Broken arms, an' all that. Wanted to give her a rest." Half-arsed answer, but hell he hadn't expected to explain everything to the whole squad, sitting there and taking notes. "What?" He snapped then, irritable, when he saw another exchange of looks, Peaches and Ex-Watcher looking at each other. Buffy didn't meet his eyes.

"What?" He demanded, again. "Bloody hell, spit it out."

"Lorne called your cell-phone two hours ago." Buffy answered first. "The one left with your stuff in my room." Whatever scared little tantrum she'd had had peeled away. The gaze that met his was resolute, and just a little bit sympathetic. She looked all the Slayer now. "There was a fire in Haven. At the orphanage."

"Kiddies okay?"

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip before shaking her head. "No. Most of them didn't make it out."

"Did it spread anywhere else—" Panic flared up in him. "Did, was Jade there? Did she get hurt?" Be just bloody like her, trying to be a hero even with no bloody arms. Be just bloody like her. He reached out, grabbing Buffy's arm, wanting to shake the answers out of her. "Did she bloody get hurt?"

"I talked to Lorne as well," Angel said instead, sober. "The orphanage wasn't the only place to get torched. Lorne's bar. Again. He was fine, got out in time. Jade's old boss' house had been demolished. Like someone hit it with a wrecking ball." He spoke cautiously, slowly. But bloody hell, none of it answered Spike's one question.

"What about Jade?" He all-but roared. "She was stayin' at her stupid demon friend's apartment. On Second street," He added, desperately. "What 'bout that one? Was she hurt?"

"We don't believe so," Rupert answered this time, clearing his throat as he played with his stupid spectacles. He met Spike's eyes. They'd never gotten along, those two. The watcher had made no attempt to hide his distaste of Spike, and that was something Spike could only reciprocate with full enthusiasm. But now he sucked in the information like water would a sponge. They thought Jade was fine.

"Then why'd you bloody think I was offed?" Spike demanded. "Give me a bloody cell, I'll call her myself."

"We don't believe she was injured in the… attacks," Rupert continued, "Because we think she is the instigator."

The room was so quiet a bloody sparkle could have dropped and he could have still heard it. "What?" He growled. "What are you on about? I left her four hours ago. She didn't suddenly decide to play pyromania. Her sodding arms are broken. This is the most ridiculous thing—"

"Spike." Buffy's voice now. Clear, cutting. "From what we've heard. The children didn't just die from the fire. They were massacred."

Her hands reached out, touching Spike's chest. He brushed them away. Wasn't right. Having her touch wasn't right. Buffy straightened her lips into a flat, stern line, her green gaze blazing up at his, searing, unapologetic. Determined to get this out.

"Spike. We think that Jade's the one who's been doing this. She's lost her soul."