Author's Note: This gory little story takes place after the events depicted in "Innocence."

Angelus and Spike sat in the dining hall of the mansion, setting up a game of poker. Nearby, a chorus of pathetic mewls issued from a sack full of kittens. As Spike cracked the seal on a fresh deck of cards, Angelus said, "Spike, my boy, I don't want to see you bottom dealing, or false shuffling, or any of that other bullshit. If I catch you cheating me, I promise you'll never get up out of that chair."

Spike grinned jauntily, but inside he was sick with the fear of eternity as Rollerboy. "Don't need tricks to take your money, Peaches."

"Deal the cards, cripple," Angelus snarled.

Hours passed, and true to his word, Spike won a great deal of his grandsire's fluffy currency. Angelus seemed distracted, his expression distant, as if his thoughts lingered miles away. About four and a half miles, I'd wager, thought Spike, the distance from here to Buffy's quaint little abode on Revello Drive.

Eventually, Angelus spoke. "The slayer and her merry little band, they certainly handed us our hats, didn't they?"

"That they did. And our arses."

Angelus stewed a bit longer. "What shall we do about that, Spike?"

"Oh, you know, murder, mayhem. The usual."

While the prospect of bloody adventures certainly called to his demon, Angelus was growing tired of "the usual." Besides, it just wasn't the same without Darla. Though Angelus would never say so, he missed his maker terribly.

"Our family," he mused, "is not what it once was. There are only three of us now." Glancing at Spike's chair, he amended, "Well, two and a half."

"Fuck you," Spike growled.

"As if you even could," Angelus sneered.

They were silent after that. Within a few hands, Angelus had run out of kittens. Spike puffed up his chest. "I guess there's a sucker turned every minute, eh Gramps?"

"You're a funny guy, Spike. Not as funny as a cripple on fire, but then, what is?"

Spike blanched.

Angelus returned to his musings. "You know what I want most in this world, Spike? I want to break Buffy Summers. I want to crush her spirit. I want to destroy her will. I want her to look upon me and despair."

"That's a rosy picture you paint, Angelus, but it'll never happen. She's a born fighter, that one, and she'll go down fighting, no matter what. It's written into her mystical slayer DNA."

"I think you're wrong. I think she'll fight only as long as there's something in her life worth fighting for."

"Nope. It's a compulsion. Can't be turned off, ever."

"Shall we bet on it?"

"With what? I already got all your kittens, you bleedin' ponce!"

"Double or nothing says I can break the slayer without laying a finger on her."

"Ha! This I gotta see! You're on, gramps. So, what's the plan?"

Angelus smiled wickedly. "We'll start with a visit to The Bronze…"

***

It was Friday night and The Bronze was hopping. Angelus, Spike, and four of their meatiest minions pushed through the line outside, sending more than one teen sprawling on the pavement. When they reached the doorman, he stood up, crossing his arms. The man was clearly intimidated, but he still managed an impressive degree of false bravado. "Don't need no trouble makers here," he growled. "Fuck off."

Angelus adopted his most obsequious tone. "But sir, my friends and I aren't looking for trouble. We merely seek a good time in your fine establishment."

"I said fuck off!"

"I see. Well, then…Spike? What should I do about Killjoy the Doorboy here?"

Spike grinned. "Remember Bangkok rules?"

Angelus chuckled. "Remember them? Hell, I invented them." He pulled a large gold coin from his pocket and showed it to Killjoy. "Heads or tails," he said and tossed it up in the air. As the bouncer followed the spinning arc of the coin, Angelus slugged him hard enough to cave in half his face. The human collapsed to the ground, dead. The partygoers in line quickly and noisily fled the area.

"That bit never goes stale," Spike chortled, rolling through the entrance with a portable radio on his lap.

Angelus gave a whistle and two more brutes materialized from the alley carrying large metal drums. "You, dance floor. You, bar," he directed them. He turned to the other four vampires. "Your job will be to barricade the exits. Allow no one to escape."

The minions nodded and moved into place. Satisfied with his preparations, Angelus stepped into The Bronze.

***

Inside, the lights were strobing and the DJ was spinning some kind of new age crap. Both stimuli offended the heightened senses of Angelus. He decided the sooner this was done, the better. He grabbed the radio from Spike and wove through the press of bodies, making his way to the stage. After climbing up onto the raised platform, he grabbed the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen." Tap tap tap. "Ladies and gentlemen!" TAP TAP TAP.

Nothing. Nada. He shrugged and carried the microphone over to amp. The resulting squeal cut through the din of the club, and suddenly every eye was fixed on him.

"Much better," he purred. "Ladies and gentleman, we interrupt your regularly scheduled techno shitfest for this very important announcement."

Holding the radio at chest level, he pressed play. The speakers blared "Burnin' For You" by the Blue Oyster Cult.

Burn out the day

Burn out the night

I can't see no reason to put up a fight

I'm living for giving the devil his due

And I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you

I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you

Angelus turned off the radio. "That is all. Thank you for your cooperation." He left the stage and the stunned crowd parted for him. At the door he turned and signaled. His minions nodded and punched holes in the drums, allowing the contents to spill forth over the floor of The Bronze. Once the patrons began to realize what they were standing in, a mass panic gripped the club, causing a mad rush for the exit. The drum bearers ran interference for Spike and Angelus, beating the crowd back, allowing the two elders to savor the moment.

"Spike, it's time."

Spike nodded and retrieved a zippo from his pocket. With a flick of his finger, it was lit. With a flick of his wrist, it was flying into the giant pool of gasoline. Grandsire and grandchilde were out the door before the flame touched down.

There was a whoosh, followed by the most horrible screaming, followed by nothing but the roar of the fire. Neither vampire looked back.

"Think that will get their attention, Spike, my boy?"

"And then some."

"That's what I'm counting on."