Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.


2.

Spike was close, he could feel it. Bloody month and a half he'd spent turning over Angelus' old haunts and thrashing his old acquaintances, and all for naught. But today, today that was all going to change. Today was the day he got something on the bastard; he could bloody well taste it.

His break came in a seedy little demon bar in Ireland, home of Angelus and about a hundred thousand other worthless, whoring, bastards over the years. The bar hadn't much to recommend it, didn't even serve real Irish brew, let alone a decent spot of blood, but what it did have was a reputation for being the favored haunt of an old demon who was known for his information acquiring skills. An old demon Spike had heard Angelus speak of back in the day.

He didn't have to lean on the blighter much (just a few cracked ribs and the threat of a broken arm) before the demon told him that Angel (because apparently that's what the Great Git was going by now) was rumored to have been spotted in the United States. What the hell Angelus was doing in the Colonies Spike didn't know, but he wasn't really interested in what Angelus' motives were at the mo', just his whereabouts.

Sadly the demon didn't have any more details. Not even the arm wrenched tight behind his back at an awkward angle could wring more out of him. In the end the stammering demon could only tell Spike that there was a coven in Eastern Europe – out Slovakia way – who might be able to help him out.

It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had yesterday.

~.~.~.~

Coming home was… awkward. She'd hardly written her friends all summer, in part because thinking of them led to thinking of the Master and her death, and partly because thinking of them and her death reminded her of the danger she'd been putting them in all this time letting them get to know the slayer part of her life. She didn't like that; it made her feel like a bad slayer, a bad person.

Of course, it also made her feel like a bad person to blow them off. Which she had been doing since she got home. And even when she was with them she found herself pushing them away, saying things she didn't mean, things that sounded more like Cordelia than her. That didn't make it any easier to stop. Every time she looked at them all she could see was all of them dead at the feet of the Master.

Especially when she realized that her recent Slayer dreams meant that the Master was coming back.

~.~.~.~

Spike had forgotten how much he hated traveling long distances. There were only so many ways a vamp could travel farther than a few hundred miles and not be exposed to the sun. He hated stowing away with the cargo like so much junk. For one thing there was no bloody room to move and Spike was not the sort to sit still. No patience, him. 'Course patience was a virtue and demons hadn't much use for virtues, now did they? Except forced to sit still like this he had far too much time to think. Nothing to do but think for hours and days, first on the boat and now on this bloody train.

The last time he'd traveled like this he had his ripe wicked plum to keep him company. They wiled away the hours in the most delightfully wicked ways. But now he was alone.

He tried not to think about it.

Trouble was he'd spent the last seven weeks not thinking about it, but now, coming back so close to . . . well, coming near-on full circle like this was bringing it all back to mind.

Had to focus on the task at hand. Find Angelus. Make him answer for his crimes against Dru.

It was the only thing that kept him from going mad.

~.~.~.~

She was just so mad. Mad at the Master for killing her. Mad at herself for not being stronger. Mad at Giles for making her go. Mad at Angel for finding that stupid prophecy. Mad at her friends for caring too much. Mad at everyone else for caring too little. Mad at the Universe or the Powers or whatever the hell had decided that she win the Slayer lottery two years ago.

Just mad.

And stupid. She felt so stupid for taking it out on everyone around her because it wasn't their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. That was the problem.

So as she smashed the Master's bones to bits she let all that rage, all that stupid, stupid anger fly apart with them. And when she was finished she felt spent. No longer angry now she was tired. Sad. And she poured that sadness out in tears, bundled securely in Angel's arms, until it was no more. And the next day no one said anything about it. They didn't say anything about her anger, or her stupidity, or her tears. Instead they welcomed her back with open arms and a seat at their table for lunch and she thought that this was why she saved the world every night – for moments like this.

~.~.~.~

It wasn't hard to find the Slovakian coven. It was a little more difficult to convince them that he was worthy of helping – after he managed to convince them that he wasn't going to try to kill them, of course. Unfortunately even after they conceded to assist him there wasn't much they could do. He wasn't exactly carrying a lock of Angelus' hair on his person, or any of the berk's personal effects. Without one or the other a locator spell was apparently right out. They did, however, do a scrying for him. A scrying which sent him here.

Spike had spent a great deal of time since July in bars, demon or otherwise. Rank, filthy, hole-in-the-wall places, most of them were – demons weren't known for their refined tastes and the humans who tended to associate with them weren't much better. This one put the rest to shame. A Star Wars quote came to mind, but he refused to even fully think it. "Wretched hive of scum and villainy" indeed.

Spike took a moment to wish they'd at least told him who he was supposed to be looking for. Eventually he decided to just take a seat and wait. He chose a darkened corner away from the hustle and bustle. Being around this many unwashed humans made his fangs itch and he didn't want to cause a scene and risk missing his man.

He ordered a whiskey, neat.

He was on his fourth when a man in a well-worn cloak joined him. Spike couldn't make out the man's features, shadowed as they were beneath the depths of the cloak's hood. Not that it mattered.

The man reeked of humanity. And magic.

He'd barely settled in the seat across from Spike when he said that he'd heard Spike was looking for Angelus – and he wanted to help. But first he wanted to know why Spike was searching for his Grandsire.

To rip him a new one, that was why. Not that it was any of the bloke's business. He told the man both, and almost threw in a two finger salute for good measure before he remembered that he wanted the bloke's help and refrained.

Never let it be said Spike didn't have self-control. When it suited him.

And it was going to suit him as he rang every last sobbing apology from Angelus.

That put a smile on the bloke's face. No amount of shadow could hide that curl of lips from a vamp's gaze.

Maybe it was the accent, or the fact that Spike's eyes had finally adjusted to the dim and he could make out a bit of the bloke's features, or maybe it was just the fact that the bloke seemed to take so much pleasure in the thought of pain coming Angelus' way, but Spike was beginning to suspect this man might have a bit of the Romany in him. The tribe whose curse had sent Angelus into such depression at the turn of the century? Spike had no way to know, but he hoped so. Gypsies were known to hold a grudge; they were probably more than happy to point an angry Spike in his grandsire's direction.

He would take whatever help he could get.

Which was how he found himself on yet another bloody boat, in yet another bloody cargo hold, headed for Sunnydale, California.

At least the wanker wasn't in L.A. Wouldn't that have been the ultimate conceit? Angelus in Los Angeles. Spike wouldn't have put it past him.