Yes, I changed the summary for those of you few people--whom I love for reading this by the way--that have read my story. I know, I know, everyone has done the whole "Post NFA" thing, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and this was the best way I could think of. Maybe, if I get around to sequel, the rest of the gang will come back.

It was over, done, gone. The fight—the war—had been over for hours now, but Spike barely noticed. He'd been wandering around the dusty, semi-empty alley and side streets ever since the bright light from the amulet had vaporized the enemy. Discarded weapons were the only evidence that a fight of epic proportions had gone down in the area.

Dust though, happened to be Spike's problem. Angel had worn the amulet and now Angel was gone. Spike was the last one left. Gunn, Illyria, Wesley, Angel, they were gone. He was left and he was human, never to turn to dust again. Now, he searched the alley for the one thing left of his sire. The amulet was all he had and he would be damned again before he left it to rot in this godforsaken place.

He stopped when his eyes alighted on a tarnished bronze chain half-covered in light gray soot. He sprinted over as fast as his shaky, tired legs would carry him. Spike fell to his knees beside the pile and frantically scraped away the demon-dust. A clear, octagon shaped diamond encased in tarnished silver heralded the end of his hysterical search.

Slowly, as if not believing his eyes, he grasped the chain of the amulet and stood. He knew better than to touch the jewel. He didn't want to release Angel from the amulet yet. No, Spike wasn't going to bring him back as a ghost. He was going to bring Angel back the way he should be, not the way he could be. Great men deserve rewards for their service after all.

A

Two months later…

Spike let out a loud sigh as he tossed his keys onto the small table in the entrance to his little apartment. He didn't have a job, but between the money he'd embezzled from the now demolished LA Wolfram and Hart, and the two of Angel's sports cars he'd stolen, he had enough to last ten years if he used it wisely. Thus, he dumped half in savings and used the rest to fund his two bedroom apartment.

He trudged into the living room, set the bag of books he'd bought on the coffee table, then fell back into a boneless heap onto the couch. He leaned forward after a moment and rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He stared intently at the stack if books on the coffee table. This time had to be it. The answer had to be in these books. He was running out of options and time.

Spike sighed, momentarily distracted by the notion that—yes, he did have to breath now—then reached out and took the bottom book in the stack. The cover had a symbol on the front that was close to the amulet. He pushed his hope away to the back of his mind, took a deep breath, then cracked the cover. The front page was an old inked picture of the book's front cover.

He turned to the next page and frowned. It was in Latin. He could barely get by in Latin. Why couldn't it have been Klingon? He sighed again and began reading, only understanding about sixty percent of it. He read for hours, then stopped to take a much needed break. He'd swiftly come to the conclusion that eye strain sucked. He stood up and rubbed his eyes as he paced the small living room. As he passed the coffee table he glanced down at the book.

There, on the middle of the page, was the phrase he needed.

It took a moment to sink in, but once it did, Spike leapt over the coffee table to the other side and snatched up the book. He frantically read the paragraphs three times to be sure of what they said. After the last read through, he grinned.

"Score one for the good guys." He muttered happily. He turned his face to the ceiling, a sneer on his lips. "Take that you omniscient bastards!"

A

Three hours later…

Spike set the last flaming ivory bowl at the highest point of the pentagon. The shape was painted in sacred ashes, holy water dipped salt and a cup of his arterial blood. At each of the points was a small ivory bowl that fit in the palm of his hand. The magicked incense burned an eerie blue, but Spike didn't care.

He set the amulet in the center and laid a circle of the incense around it. He took a match and set to burn. He stepped back and stood at the point of the pentagon. He lifted the book and opened it to the correct page. The book may have been in Latin, but the incantation was in an old demon dialect that was long since dead. He steadied the book in his hands and began to read.

"Nian tio rectos esi nomnu ey rocan eith nien doth cai. Rictos moreda norie aptum cesti gathya!" Spike shouted the last part, getting into the ritual. He took a deep breath then repeated the phrases.

The ground began to shake and the air felt electric. Spike could feel the spell's power tingling along his skin. This power, he thought, was either going to kill him or work. The ground began to shake even more violently and Spike nearly lost his footing.

"Hey!" He shouted at the pentagon. "No need to kill the spell caster!"

As abruptly as it had come, the shaking stopped. Spike stood there supremely confused. He could still feel the spell's energy in the air so why had—

"Whoa!" A blinding red flash erupted from the amulet. Spike ducked and covered his eyes. When the lights on his eyelids stopped doing the disco, he pried his eyes open.

What he saw was not what he wanted. The amulet had been shattered and the pentagon was painfully empty. Spike felt all the air leave his chest as if someone had hit him. He dropped to his knees, gasping in shock. He stared blearily at the shape and his broken hope before pushing to his feet and walking away.

So," he said softly to an uncaring night, "this is the end, then?"

A

He shot awake with a strangled gasp. He rapidly blinked his brown eyes in an attempt to clear his vision and looked around. It was cold, dark and damp where he was, and he had no idea where said cold, dark and damp place was so conveniently located. He rubbed his eyes harshly and shakily pushed to his feet. He wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the cold and stumbled to a pile of blankets.

The shirt and pants were old and ratty, but he pulled them on anyway. The shoes had a hole in one of the heels but he donned them too, regardless. He brushed as much junk out of his hair as he could then stumbled down the sewer tunnel in search of food.

A

Three weeks later…

Spike ducked under a sloppily thrown punch and plunged the stake into the vampire's heart. He roundhouse kicked another one, knocking it off its feet. He thrust the stake through its heart and the last vampire looked at him with wide yellow eyes, then booked it as fast as its legs would carry it.

Spike made a show of dusting his coat, then turned to leave the empty alley. He was about to take a step towards the exit when he heard a distinctly frightened whimper. He froze and listened as hard as he could with his now human ears. The sound came again, from the left.

There was a stack of rotting wooden boxes and Spike moved then to find a boy, a teenage boy no older than fourteen, if that. He knelt in front of the scared kid and attempted a friendly smile. The boy didn't seem reassured. His brown eyes were still wide and his breathing was still coming in quick pants.

Spike held in a sigh and extended his right hand. "C'mon now, pet. 'M not gonna hurt you."

The boy flinched back and tried to become one with the wall. Spike cursed, the teen blinked at him. Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation and tried again.

"Look, mate, 'M not gonna hurt you, I just want to help." The kid just looked at him, but the boy's breathing seemed to be returning to normal. "'M not what they were. I won't hurt you."

The boy just jerked his head in a clear "No" gesture. Spike growled impatiently. "'M not gonna sit here all night, my knees will cramp. Now, either you let me help you, or 'm just gonna get up and leave your ass here."

Just as Spike was about to take back his hand, the boy grabbed it in an iron grip. Intense brown eyes locked onto surprised blue. Carefully, Spike pulled the boy up to stand with him. He gave the kid a small smirk.

"Great!" He exclaimed sarcastically. Spike pulled the boy out of the alley. "Time to head on home."

"Who are you?" The boy demanded after they had walked a few feet out of the alley.

Spike nearly tripped, the boy's question—and the fact he had spoken—catching him off guard. He shook his head to clear it. "Name's Spike."

"What kind of name is 'Spike'?" The boy questioned, genuinely wanting to know.

"Nickname." Spike answered shortly as they began walking again.

"Oh." The boy answered with raised eyebrows.

"What's your name, then?" Spike asked out of sheer boredom.

"Liam." The kid answered shyly.

"Irish. Means guardian." Spike answered without thinking.

"It does?" Liam asked, impressed. He smiled again. "Cool."

"Yeah, guess so." Spike answered, mentally kicking himself for his earlier comment.

He wasn't supposed to get attached, dammit! He was supposed to find the kid a home then leave and never think about him again!

"Tell you what," Spike started, "tell me where you live and I'll drive you home."

Liam stopped next to Spike at the former-vampire's old, used car. He frowned. "I, uh, well—I don't exactly have a, uh, place to stay." At Spike's look he hastened to add. "Yet! I'm in the market, as it were."

"Want me to call you 'Captain'?" Spike threw out on a whim.

"Huh?" Liam looked confused.

"Never mind." Spike waved a hand in the air. "Look, just, get in the car. You can stay with me 'til you find a place."

Liam gave Spike a grateful smile as he walked around to the passenger side. He opened the car door. "Thanks."

"No trouble." Spike muttered darkly under his breath as he got into the car. He was gonna pay for this, he just knew it!

A

One week later…

Liam pushed up his too long shirt sleeve and got to work on Spike's book. Once the older man had figured out Liam spoke fluent Latin, he'd set the teenager to work on translating the amulet book. No matter how many times Liam asked what the book was for, Spike still wouldn't tell. The last time he'd asked he was colorfully cursed at, and after that Liam had made up his mind to never ask again.

Besides, once he finished translating, he'd know exactly what it was for. He couldn't read it because every time Spike caught him, he'd end up doing some dirty cleaning job. Liam rolled his eyes at he thought of Spike's impromptu spring cleaning. Wasn't that supposed to be done in spring? Liam gave a snort and refocused his attention on the book.

He had a feeling he was getting close to the meaning of it, the book that is, not the spring cleaning. He knew the meaning of the cleaning. Liam snickered at his lame rhyme. The meaning was; Spike was restless and impatiently waiting for Liam to finish his translating job.

Liam didn't understand why Spike was in such a hurry to read a book, he really didn't. It didn't make sense. Of course, if Liam thought about it, the fact that he himself was fluent in Latin didn't make sense either. He had no recollection of learning the language, yet he knew it. He knew better than to tell Spike this, though. His Good Samaritan read too much into stuff like that.

Spike was obsessed with prophecies. He was constantly checking for new ones, particularly ones that dealt with vampires. After only a week of living with the man, Liam knew that Spike was looking for someone and he was using crappy prophecies to do it. As if any of them will come true, Liam thought condescendingly, magic is one thing, especially since you can see it working. Prophecies are just cosmic jokes on paper.

Liam rolled his eyes at himself. He was supposed to be translating, not going off on thought tangents. He once again pulled his focus back to the book on the coffee table in front of him. Spike didn't own a kitchen table. He just had a breakfast bar with two stools to sit on.

Liam gently turned the old, yellowed page and focused on the first few sentences.

"Reparo animus per cruentus sacrificum usus forma astrum, sal necnon flamma. Declamo hoc lucuna. Hoc nutus renovo animus ut quid illud usus ut existo."

Carefully, on a separate sheet of paper, Liam wrote the rough English translation of the words.

"To restore a soul through bloody sacrifice use the form of a star, salt and also fire. Speak loudly these words. This will restore the soul to what it used to be."

Liam frowned in contemplation at his translation. It all seemed a bit odd, he thought. Why did Spike want to restore a soul through blood? Furthermore, whom did he want to restore? This, to Liam, brought into question Spike himself. Was his new friend good or evil? Could Liam even judge this with his limited knowledge of the world? Did he himself even know the difference between good and evil?

Liam found himself afraid of the answer. He honestly didn't know. The vampires that had attacked him sure seemed evil, at any rate. Spike had killed them to save Liam…right? But, if he didn't kill them to save me, then why did he? Liam thought, confusion taking over. Why else would Spike dust those vampires if not to save him?

Perhaps, Liam found himself thinking, Spike did it for personal fame. Maybe, he was racking up a count of nasties to give himself some sort of convoluted reputation? Liam shook his head. Part of him thought Spike may have done that in the past, but now he just "helped the helpless" like he'd said. Liam put his pen down, leaned back in his chair, then ran his hands thought his unkempt hair and over his face.

Nothing makes sense anymore, Liam thought bitterly. It made sense five minutes ago, now it doesn't. He sighed heavily and righted himself in his chair. He grabbed the paper and pushed up off the couch. He walked back towards Spike's room and knocked softly on the closed door.

"What?" Spike's irate bark was muffled by the door.

"I've translated something I think you might want to see!" Liam shouted at the bland, white door.

The door was flung open almost immediately after Liam had finished his sentence. Spike stared back at him red-eyed, hair askew and clothes obviously sleep rumpled. The older and blinked his red, dry eyes and thrust out a hand for the paper Liam held in loose fingers. The teen handed Spike the yellow legal paper without comment.

Spike stared down at it for along moment, a frown marring his chiseled features. He ran a hand absently through his hair, then looked up at Liam. A strange emotion lit the older man's eyes.

"Are you sure this is what the bloody book says?" Spike asked slowly.

Liam nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what it says." He paused. "Why?"

"Doesn't matter." The brit answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Look, I know you have no reason to trust me-"

"Damn straight-"

Liam gave Spike a frustrated look at the interruption. "-but I think I deserve to know what you're goin' to do with that spell. I mean, blood sacrifice generally indicates black magic, but that amulet sounds like light magic so you can see-"

"I get it." Spike cut off the question. He sighed wearily. He looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I already tried the spell-"

"You did what-"

"But it didn't work!" Spike hastened to add. He seemed more depressed than usual. "The amulet shattered and nothing happened."

"No, that can't be right." Liam muttered thoughtfully. "The book said the breaking of the amulet meant the soul had been restored. It doesn't make any-"

"You're sayin' this worked?" Spike waved the paper in Liam's face. His blue eyes came alive with hope. "You mean to tell me after all this time the poof was alive and I didn't know it?"

"I, well-" Liam was once again cut off.

"I have to find him—we have to find him!" Spike ran into the entry hallway, grabbing his coat and keys. He stopped at the door and turned to glare at a stunned Liam.

"Hurry up already!"

Liam hurried to join him.

A

They'd been trolling LA for hours now. The sun had gone down about an hour ago, but Spike refused to listen to reason and return home. Liam knew the vampires were out, he'd told Spike this. The peroxide brit had pointedly ignored him and valiantly continued his search. At this point, Liam was just stumbling after him, not caring if they found this "poof" or not.

He'd never walked so much in his life! His legs hurt and felt like they were made of lead. His feet were nearly numb and he was fairly sure he couldn't feel his toes. How could Spike possibly keep going without stopping for a few minutes, seconds even? He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even more unkempt. It curled over his forehead and stoop up in tufts in the back.

Liam's tired brown eyes blearily surveyed the street. For some strange reason, he was almost absolutely sure that Spike wouldn't find "the poof" on the streets of LA. Something told Liam that this man Spike was looking for did not want to be found. Leastways, not yet. He was sure of it.

But, Spike was seemingly immune to commonsense, thus, he trudged wearily on dutifully after his rescuer. He did owe him after all, Liam reasoned. Spike had saved his life; he owed him more than a few painful hours walking around a dark city.

"Spike," Liam said carefully, "what's this guy's name, I mean this 'poof' you're lookin' for?"

Spike chuckled lightly at the nickname. "His name's Angel." He answered with a strange sort of fondness. "Despite bein' a terrible ponce, he was a good man. Now, he's all I've got left."

"How so?" Liam inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Spike spun on him, his eyes bright with anger. "None of your damn business!"

Liam recoiled in shock, eyes going wide. The look on Spike's face was vicious. Liam had the strange feeling that if Spike were a vampire, he would have been in gameface, snarling for all he was worth.

"Geez!" Liam threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It was just a question. Sorry I even thought it, much less asked it!"

Spike seemed to back down in the face of Liam's obvious fear. He looked strangely apologetic, yet didn't bring himself to actually voice the feeling. He simply turned on his heel and continued his futile search for his missing friend.

Liam took in a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. It had little, if any, effect. He straightened his shoulders and continued wearily on. This was going to take all night, he was sure.

A

Three weeks later…

It'd been over a month since Liam had moved in with Spike. The blond had stopped his nightly search for Angel roughly ten days ago. Liam had felt a weight lift off his shoulders when Spike had announced this little gem of information.

A few days after the search had ended; Liam had found himself in school. Spike had told him it was a necessary evil, but Liam suspected it was more to get him out of Spike's bleached hair than anything else. He picked up his pencil and idly doodled on a sheet of notebook paper. School was boring. He found he knew nearly everything that was being taught already.

It was yet another oddity of his that he didn't confess to Spike. The other was his obviously enhanced hearing. He could hear things his classmates couldn't. He'd quickly learned not to mention those things to them either. The crazy looks he'd gotten the first time had been one time too many for him and sufficiently enough to teach a lesson. In high school, do not advertise the fact that you are different, no matter what.

So, in light of this rule, he kept his mouth firmly shut and everyone forgot about him. That is, everyone but Kira and Josh. Those two had elected themselves his friends and, if he were honest, he didn't really mind it. It was nice to talk to some one his own age and not Spike and his many, unpredictable, mood swings. One minute, Spike is semi-content, the next he's in a snit, then suddenly oppressively depressed. Liam was beginning to suspect some sort of bi-polar disorder.

Well, either that or menopause.

He snickered aloud at this thought and Josh—who was sitting on his left—threw him a strange look. Liam just shook his head, tacitly saying, "Don't ask."

The teacher droned on for another thirty minutes, then the bell ran, signaling the end of history class. Liam gathered up his notebooks, not bothering to inspect the picture he had absently drawn on a sheet of paper. He turned to Josh and the two walked out of the class amidst a throng of other freshmen. Liam looked over at his friend and finally noticed the concerned look he was getting from the other boy.

"What, Josh?" Liam asked with a smirk. "Are you tryin' to scare me or somethin'?"

"I'll take or something." Josh replied, dead serious. His green eyes regarded Liam with worry. He pointed at the notebook, which was open to the page of Liam's doodle. "Dude, look at your picture. What the hell is that?"

Liam frowned and did just that. His eyes went wide. It was a vampire…only, he recognized the face behind the demon's.

It was his.

A

Liam barged through the door of the apartment he and Spike shared. He dropped his backpack on the floor and slammed the door shut. His history notebook was clutched tightly in his right hand and he opened to the page of his frightening drawing. His heart was doing the tango in his chest and his breathing was keeping time.

"Spike!" He shouted the panic obvious in his voice. He'd pushed the picture aside during school as that wasn't the place to have a nervous breakdown. "Spike!"

"Stop shriekin' me name!" Spike shouted back as he stalked into the living room. He froze when he met the full force of Liam's panic.

"Look at this! Look at this!" Liam thrust the notebook at Spike, who had to catch it before it fell.

The once-vampire looked at the picture and his jaw dropped. There, staring back at him in full artistic detail, was Angelus. Spike had seen that face enough to be able to identify it anywhere. He stood there slack jawed, nearly oblivious to Liam's hysterics. He frowned, then fixed Liam with a look.

"Where did you get this?"

"-and Josh started freakin' and I didn't know what to do and-" Spike's question brought Liam's rambling to an abrupt halt. He stared at Spike in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawned. He swallowed hard. "I-I drew it."

"You what?" Spike's voice was dangerously soft.

"I told you, I drew it." Liam answered, getting himself back under control. "Why?"

"This," Spike held up the picture, his eyes glinting dangerously, "is Angelus."

"Who?" Liam asked before he could think the question through. A light went off inside his mind. "That's Latin, it means…" Wide brown eyes looked into dark blue. "…Angel." He gasped and pointed at the picture. "That's Angel? A vampire?"

"Yes, it is." Spike said, his voice flat.

"You released a vampire from the amulet?" Liam demanded, the fact that he had been the one to draw the picture in the first place temporarily forgotten.

"Vampire with a soul!" Spike defended. His eyes darkened even more. "Let's not forget now, Liam, who drew this lovely piece of art."

It was Liam's turn to be slack jawed with shock. "How-how could I have possibly-"

"I don't know!" Spike snarled, finally loosing his cool. "But you did! Explain it to me!"

"I can't!" Liam shouted desperately back. He gestured wildly at the picture. "When I first saw it, I thought it was me! I still do, for that matter!"

Spike was gob smacked again. He blinked, blinked again, then abruptly tore the likeness in half. He fixed Liam with a look that spoke strangely of finality. "It's not you. Don't mention it again."

Yahoo. Well, that was the end of chappie one. Feed the starving writer reviews!