A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Here's a nice big chapter, followed by another chapter, to make up for the wait! :-)

I can't really take credit for the end of the last chapter. The stuff I had as being in the girl's journal was straight from the graphic novel. Really chokes me up whenever I read it, which is why I felt it should be included.

And here we get to the first part of this fanfic that crosses over with Angel. I have merged the episode "Damaged" with the BtVS comic "No Future For You" into what is hopefully a coherent whole. So, read, enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!

(Note: Some dialog taken directly from the BtVS graphic novel "No Future For You" & AtS episode "Damage.")

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon.

"Someday, you might find a way to forgive each other.

But it won't ever be like it used to,

'cause that pain never really fades away."—Faith Lehane

As head of the new Watchers Council, Giles received weekly reports from the leaders of the ten squads scattered across the planet. How they submitted these reports was up to them; most emailed, some faxed, and a few chose to phone in. Buffy was one of the latter, partly because she absolutely hated typing up reports, but mostly because it was the easiest way for her and Giles to keep in touch. After they got the official stuff out of the way, they usually spent a few minutes just chatting about this and that. It did them both good, and prevented them from drifting apart due to the hectic turn their lives had taken.

This time around, Buffy could tell there was something Giles was working himself up to telling her. There was a tension in his voice she remembered all too well from some of the dicier times in her teen years. Buffy knew the best way to get the unpleasant info out of the Watcher was to keep prattling on about nothing important until he was finally ready to spit it out. Thankfully, the less-than-patient Slayer didn't have long to wait.

"Buffy, I have some rather unpleasant news to convey," Giles began in that pompous way he reverted to when he was anxious, "A new threat against you has been brought to my attention. I, er, delayed in telling you until I was certain the matter could be effectively dealt with."

Buffy propped the phone's receiver against her shoulder while she busied herself with pouring a soda. She capped the bottle and shut the fridge with a bump of her hip. "So, what're we talking here?" she asked, taking a sip from the glass, "Nisanti demon? A Buski golem?"

"A Slayer."

Buffy coughed, dribbling soda down her chin. She hastily put the glass down on the kitchen counter and grabbed a paper towel to wipe her face. "What—Huh?"

"Her name is Lady Genevieve Savidge," Giles explained, "And according to every augur in my employ, including the Great Bearded Wizard of Northampton, unless she is terminated before Fall's end, she will usher in—"

"Lemme guess," a sardonic Buffy interrupted, "The end of the world?"

"I'm afraid so."

The Slayer heaved a weary sigh. "Great. Yet another apocalypse to avert." She chewed her lip, troubled. "Are you sure we have to take this Genevieve chick out? I mean, she's one of us..."

"I am fully cognizant of how unpleasant this situation is," Giles commiserated, "But I assure you, if there was any other alternative, I would not even consider such a...permanent...solution."

"Yeah. I-I know."

"I am already seeing to the matter," Giles informed her, "This is merely to keep you in the loop. For once, your direct action is not required."

"That's a relief," she muttered, "So, who's the lucky assassin?"

There was a brief hesitation. "Faith."

A long pause. "Faith. As in the barely-reformed murderer Faith? You're asking her to kill a human being?"

"I realize how this sounds," the Watcher replied in a reasonable tone, "But she understands the risks involved and has agreed to take the assignment."

Buffy leaned against the counter and ran a hand through her hair. "Giles, I don't wanna sound like I don't trust your judgment, but are you sure this is a good idea? From what I hear, Faith's having a hard enough time adjusting to life outside of prison. Won't this be a huge backward step for her?"

"I offered her an 'early retirement' in return for completing this...assignment. She'll receive a generous annual stipend and safe passage to the nation of her choosing to live out the rest of her days as she sees fit." Giles's voice softened, "If I didn't believe she could handle this, I never would have asked. I have already spent the past few weeks training her and I have confidence that she can accomplish this task."

Buffy frowned slightly. "What kind of training?"

"I am teaching her how to fit into high society," Giles explained, "Lady Genevieve is throwing a fancy dress party for her nineteenth birthday, and I am...mostly confident that Faith will be ready in time to attend the celebration."

Buffy snorted, trying to imagine the extremely plain-spoken Faith blending in with the high-muckety-mucks of British society. "Not sure I share your confidence, Giles. But I trust you. If you think Faith can do this without goin' all hatchety-murdery again, I'm willing to take your word for it."

"Thank you," Giles responded with the right balance of warmth and sarcasm. Buffy heard him take a breath and realized he was about to lay even more bad news on her. "There is another situation you should be made aware of. I received a call from Angel earlier today."

"Oh." A swirl of mixed feelings came over her at the mention of her former lover. Buffy had been upset and deeply disappointed when she found out that Angel had unexpectedly become the new CEO of Wolfram & Hart's LA branch. She didn't think he'd gone evil, but the fact that he was now in bed with one of the worst demonic corporations in the world meant that she could never really trust him anymore. It saddened her, and worse, it felt like he'd betrayed her.

Giles waited patiently for Buffy to get control of herself before she dared ask, "Um, what did he call you about?"

The Watcher repeated what Angel had told him; a young woman had escaped from a mental institution after slaughtering several orderlies and guards. The woman's name was Dana. Fifteen years ago, at the age of ten, her family was brutally murdered in her home and the girl was abducted by the killer and tortured for months. She was eventually found wandering the streets, naked and bleeding. She had been catatonic ever since, until several months ago when her condition suddenly changed. She showed increasing levels of agitation accompanied by explosive outbursts of inhuman strength.

Hearing all this, Angel naturally assumed that Dana was possessed. But then a nurse showed him some videos the doctor had made of their sessions. In them, Dana ranted in a variety of languages, including Romanian, which Angel happened to understand. He said that Dana kept yelling about destiny and being chosen. And that was when he realized she wasn't possessed; she was a Slayer.

Buffy gawped. "A psycho Slayer? Holy crap!"

"Indeed," Giles drawled, "I promised Angel that I would send the member of our group best suited to retrieve her."

"And who would that—Oh!" Buffy exclaimed in understanding, "You wanna send Spike."

"It's the most logical choice," the Watcher reasoned, "He has a great deal of experience at fighting Slayers. And I think it is safe to say that Dana will not be terribly cooperative."

Buffy knew Spike should be able to hold is own. Still, she couldn't help but worry. An ordinary (so to speak) Slayer was dangerous enough, but one that was also insane might very well be damn near unstoppable.

"M-Maybe I should go with him."

"No," Giles stated in no uncertain terms, "As far as Angel knows, you are currently in Rome. I think it's best that he continues to believe that."

Buffy was about to argue when movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention to Spike standing in the kitchen doorway. He'd doubtless been drawn by the her emotions roiling through the link. From his expression, Buffy guessed he'd overheard enough to understand what was going on. He met her gaze and silently shook his head. Buffy also felt his resolve; he wasn't going to accept her help on this one, and no amount of arguing was gonna change his mind. Buffy's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fine," she huffed into the phone, "But if anything happens to Spike I'm kickin' your ass."

"Fair enough," Giles agreed amiably, "Give everyone my best. My love to Dawn."

"Yeah. Bye." Buffy ended the call and looked at her boyfriend. "I guess you heard all that."

The blonde vampire nodded, a bemused smile on his face. "Just tryin' to wrap my lobes around it. A psycho Slayer."

"I know, right?" She threw up her hands in dismay. "Who could've seen that coming?"

Spike strode over and rested his hands on her waist. "Guess this means I'm on the next flight to sunny California."

Buffy placed her hands on his chest, her expression worried. "You sure you can handle it?"

"I killed two Slayers with my own hands," he pointed out with no small amount of boasting, "Think I can handle one that's gone daft in the melon."

In spite of her anxiety, an amused smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "That's not really what I was talking about. You sure you can handle seeing Angel?"

Spike sobered a little at the mention of his grandsire. He attempted a careless shrug. "Not lookin' for a barney, if that's what you mean."

"If 'barney' is some weird British word for fight, then yeah," Buffy flashed a brief smirk. "Just...focus on finding this Dana girl, okay? I know you have your reasons for hating Angel, but can you please put all that aside and come home in one piece? For me?"

Spike pretended to consider. "Depends. What's in it for me?"

This time, Buffy's amused smile was genuine. "Well..." she turned her eyes ceilingward in thought, "I haven't worn the cheerleader outfit in a while."

A lascivious grin stretched across the vampire's face. "That'll definitely motivate me."

"I thought it might." She pulled him into a kiss.

It didn't occur to them until they were at the airport that this would be the first time they'd been apart for any length of time since Spike was abducted by the First Evil almost a year ago. It didn't matter that the Claim would enable them to feel each other even from opposite sides of the ocean; the thought of not being together still hurt.

Spike and Buffy said a prolonged goodbye at the gate. This involved a great deal of kissing and some repressed tears on Buffy's part. It wasn't until the final boarding call sounded that they reluctantly pried themselves apart.

"I love you," Buffy managed to keep her voice steady.

"Love you, too, pet," Spike mustered an optimistic smile, "See you in a few days, yeah?"

She smiled back, "Yeah."

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Spike forced himself to turn away and walk over to the gate. He handed the smiling attendant his ticket, gave one last parting look at the petite blonde over his shoulder, then finally boarded the plane.

The flight was uneventful. Spike whiled away the hours listening to music on the iPod Buffy gave him last Christmas and trying to get a buzz off the tiny bottles of booze provided by the flight attendants; an impossible task, given his vampiric constitution. When he finally landed at LAX he discovered that Kennedy was waiting to greet him. Kennedy was one of the original Potentials Buffy had trained and was now in charge of the squad based in San Francisco.

"Kennedy," Spike nodded, "Long time no see."

"Got a phone call from Giles," she told him, "He filled me in on the sitch. I've got twelve of my best girls here ready to back you up."

The vampire smirked. "Thanks, but I can handle one daft bird on my own."

"That's not what the backup's for," Kennedy replied.

Spike's scarred eyebrow rose, then he nodded in understanding. "They're here in case Angel decides he doesn't wanna hand the chit over."

Kennedy nodded. "He's Wolfram and Hart's new poster boy. We can't trust him."

"I never trusted the ponce," Spike's lip curled in disdain.

The Slayer handed him a cellphone. "Number's on speed dial. Gimme a call when you want me to send in the girls."

"Thanks." He pocketed the phone.

"Need a ride to the evil lair?"

"Nah," Spike nodded towards a man in a chauffeur's uniform coming towards them, "Looks like they got the transpo taken care of."

Kennedy gave a terse farewell and walked away while Spike went to meet the approaching driver.

The ride turned out to be a stretch limo. Bloody showoffs, Spike thought as he relaxed in the leather seat. He wondered if the windows were necro-tempered. He'd heard that Wolfram & Hart had all the windows at their LA branch refitted with necro-tempered glass for Angel's convenience. Probably gave the wanker a penthouse apartment and all the virgin's blood he could drink as well.

It'd be easy to think that Angel had been bought off with all those luxuries, but as much as Spike loathed his grandsire, he didn't believe the man had gone over to the dark side. More likely Angel convinced himself and his comrades that they were changing the system from the inside. Stupid gits. Didn't realize that if you try to change the system from the belly of the beast, you just wind up getting digested.

But this wasn't about Angel, Spike reminded himself. This was about retrieving a deranged Slayer before she killed anymore innocent bystanders and making sure she didn't wind up in Wolfram & Hart's clutches.

Spike took a gander at the limo's mini bar. He picked up one of the decanters, pulled the stopper, and got a whiff of its expensive contents. Eh, what the hell. He poured himself a generous drink.

After what felt like an eternity of fretful tossing and turning in a bed that felt way too roomy without Spike to share it, Buffy gave up on sleep altogether. She tossed the blankets aside with a groan, shoved her feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, and shuffled out of the bedroom. She wandered aimlessly down the castle's labyrinthine halls until a noise drew her towards the room being used for a gym.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one having a restless night. Buffy stifled a laugh as she watched a shirtless Xander pummeling the punching bag. It wasn't his fighting style she found amusing so much as the running commentary he rattled off between punches.

"Fear my awesome power! For lo, like Kurt Russell before me, I am a formidable eyepatch-clad opponent. And lest you think I refer to Captain Ron, let me assure you that the one-eyed character of which I speak is none other than the mighty Snake Plissken, who taught me the very ass-handing I'm about to deliver unto you!"

"Careful, Xander," Buffy teased, "Your gonna taunt that poor bag right off its chain."

"Buffy!" The startled man ducked behind the swinging bag. He peered at her with an embarrassed grin. "Sorry. Heh. Thought I had the ol' danger room booked for the whole late-night slot. So I could be alone with my, y'know, sweaty...shirtless...shame..." his voice trailed off in a pathetic mutter.

Buffy smiled and wandered over to the nearby window seat. "So, what inspired this sudden training montage?"

"Oh, uh," Xander grabbed his T-shirt from where he'd draped it over the weight machine and began to pull it on, "Renee asked if we could be sparring partners tomorrow, so I figured I should reacquaint my body with non-Dance Dance Revolution- related movement first."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "'Sparring partners'?"

Xander waved an admonishing finger. "Don't arch your eyebrow at me, young lady. Renee and I are just pals. Our workout sessions will be as non-physical as pugilistic-related activities can possibly..." He frowned in concern when he noticed his friend's glum expression. "Buff? You okay?"

She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the blackness outside the window. "Sure. I mean, my boyfriend's on another continent chasing down a psychotic Slayer while dealing with my possibly-evil ex, Faith's going undercover to snuff out another psychotic Slayer, and Uncle Sam's declared war on us because of this whole Twilight thing I'm supposedly gonna be responsible for. Other than that, everything's great. I should be sleeping like a baby."

Xander patted her shoulder in sympathy. "Trouble in slumberland?"

"Not used to sleeping by myself anymore," she muttered, staring down at her slippers.

"I know what you mean," he sat down beside her, "After Anya and I broke up, I didn't sleep right for a month. Of course, the extreme gut-churning guilt might've also been a factor." A rueful smile twisted his mouth.

Buffy laid a comforting hand on his arm. "You can't beat yourself about it forever," she said, "Anya's forgiven you. You should move on. Take a chance. Ask Renee out, for Pete's sake!"

Her friend threw her an uncertain glance. "You think she'd say yes?"

"Are you kidding?" the blonde exclaimed, "She's been giving you moon-eyes for months! Apparently you're the only one who hasn't noticed."

Xander grinned, half embarrassed, half hopeful. "Alright. I'll ask her. Just as soon as I work up the nerve," he added under his breath.

"Good."

"Now, c'mon," her friend stood, "Let's go heat you up some warm milk and I'll see if I can bore you to sleep with a detailed description of my favorite comic books."

Chuckling, Buffy got up to follow him.

Angel was in a foul mood. He'd managed to track Dana down in an abandoned warehouse and tried to keep her occupied until W&H's security force could arrive and subdue her. Unfortunately, he underestimated the girl's abilities and would up getting thrown out of a fourth-story window. By the time the shock troops arrived, the wayward Slayer was long gone.

Gunn encountered him as they were both headed for the conference room. The muscle-turned-lawyer took in the vampire's battered appearance. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Nothing," Angel grumbled, "Just thought I'd see what it was like to bounce off the pavement."

Gunn winced in sympathy. "Any ideas on what our next move should be to catch this wack-job?"

Angel nodded. "Wes contacted Rupert Giles. He sent in his top guy to retrieve her."

The two of them entered the conference room to find the rest of the team already seated around the oblong table.

"Angel," Wes's expression was strangely tense, "We were just about to—"

The chair nearest to the door swiveled around, revealing the casually slouched form of a platinum-blonde man in a long black leather coat. Angel's entire body tensed, his fists clenched at his sides. He hissed through his gritted teeth, "Spike."

"Spike?" Gunn's eyes widened in surprise, "The Spike?"

Fred's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Who's—"

"Blondie Bear?" Harmony peeped around the door. When she saw the familiar bleached blonde, she squealed and trotted into the room. "Omigod! It is you!"

"Bloody hell." Spike threw Angel an accusatory look. "You hired my ex-tumble as your secretary?"

The ditzy vampire huffed, "Uh, assistant, thank you very much."

"What the hell are you doing here, Spike?" Angel growled.

"Who's Spike?" Fred's voice cut in.

Wes sighed and answered, "William the Bloody. One of the worst recorded vampires in history, second only to—"

"Me." Angel glared at the other vampire. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."

"You didn't get the memo?" Spike grinned smugly, "Hero of the people now. Got a soul. Got my girl. Saved the world—"

"Buffy's not your girl," the older vampire snapped, "Last I heard she was in Rome and you were nowhere in the picture."

Spike shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "Had her longer than you, anyway."

"Oh, my god!" Harmony cried, drawing everyone's startled gazes, "You and the Slayer actually... I mean, I know you had that creepy obsession about her, but... Ugh!" She grimaced in disgust. "That's just... Ugh!" She marched towards the door, paused and raised an admonishing finger, "I... Ugh!" With that, she turned and flounced out of the room.

Spike chuckled, shook his head. "Harmony. Eloquent as ever."

"Can we please return to the matter at hand?" a beleaguered Wes sighed.

Angel and Gunn seated themselves, Angel scowling at the peroxided vampire. The others were obviously curious about the history between the two—especially Fred, who was dying to learn more about this second ensouled vampire—but they all kept their questions to themselves and allowed Wes to resume his interrupted talk.

"As I was saying," the former Watcher resumed, "we were just about to bring everyone up to speed on Slayer mythology." Wes cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and began, "Eons ago, on the dark continent, three wise elders devised a way to fight back against the demons. They took a young girl and imbued her with the power of a demon. Sadly, the existence of a Slayer is often brutal and short-lived and this first Slayer—or the Primitive, as she's sometimes referred—proved no exception. However, the elders had foreseen this inevitability and devised a way for her power to live on."

"In every generation, one is chosen," Fred quoted.

Wes nodded, "Precisely. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of Potential Slayers per generation. Each of them experiencing vivid dreams, some say nightmares, of the heroics of past Slayers. But only one can be Chosen."

"Wait," Lorne interjected, "So, if there's only one Slayer, what is Little Miss Whack-Your-Head-Off doing scampering around?"

Spike answered the green-skinned demon, "A little Sunnydale surprise. 'Bout six, seven months ago, when we were fightin' the First Evil, Buffy had her wiccan gal-pal make with the mojo. One light show later, all the Potentials became Slayers."

"An army of Slayers," Wes declared, impressed, "Brilliant stratagem. But with the Watchers Council destroyed, how will these new Slayers receive their necessary training?"

"Rupert started up a new Council," the blonde vampire informed them, "We've been trackin' down the new Slayers, taking 'em to different HQ's all over the world, and givin' them all the training they need. But this Dana bird's an anomaly none of us expected. Tortured, traumatized, driven insane by god knows who."

"And then the dreams of demons and superpowers she's always had suddenly become real," Angel deduced.

Wes agreed, "The dreams of Slayers are usually just that; dreams. But Dana's mental instability may be making them seem more real."

"She's already killed half a dozen people," Angel murmured solemnly, "We need to figure out where she's going. Witnesses said she seemed to be looking for something, and when I confronted her she was in the industrial area."

"Maybe she's trying to find the place where the kidnapper held her," Gunn theorized.

"Where's this place you last saw her?" Spike asked.

Angel hesitated, reluctantly told him. Spike rose from his seat and headed for the door. "You corporates go ahead with your talky-talk. Anybody needs me, I'll be out catchin' a Slayer."

Angel jumped up and followed him into the hall. "Spike. We're the last two people that should be confronting her. She's a Slayer. She has every reason to hate us, and she's unstable. In her mind, there probably aren't any good vampires. She exists for one reason, to destroy creatures like us."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Dance of death. Eternal struggle. Right. Got it."

"You will when she's staking you in the heart," Angel declared, almost smug-sounding.

"What do you want me to do?" Spike rounded on his grandsire, "Go all boo-hoo 'cause she got tortured and driven out of her gourd? Not like we haven't done worse back in the day."

"Yeah, and it's something I'm still paying for."

"And you should let it go, mate," the younger vampire chided, "It's startin' to make you look old."

Angel glared at his grandchilde's retreating back, then returned to the conference room to hash out a plan with his team. Now that Spike was here, he was more determined than ever to bag that deranged Slayer himself, if only to show up that platinum blonde idiot.

Meanwhile, eight time zones away, the castle was bustling with activity as the majority of its residents started off the day. Buffy spent a great deal of her morning getting the latest security system set up. Thanks to the Watchers Council's impressive bankroll, the Slayer HQ was able to afford the very latest surveillance gadgetry. Everything from motion sensors to thermal imaging. The tricky part was figuring out how to get it all up and running.

Buffy threw herself into the work. It kept her mind off of Spike's continued absence and her worry over the what-ifs that could happen to him.

When they hit a snag with the new radar system, Buffy sent Renee out to fetch Willow. "Tell her I need laptop-geek Willow, not broomstick-action Willow. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." The Slayer promptly marched out on her errand.

Buffy sighed, "One of these days I'm gonna send out a memo telling everybody to stop calling me ma'am. I mean, I'm still in my twenties, for cryin' out loud!"

Xander picked that moment to walk up and shove something into her hand. Buffy frowned at the paper-wrapped object. "What's this?"

"A chicken caesar wrap," the former carpenter replied, "It's almost eleven and you haven't even had breakfast."

Buffy's surprised gaze flew to the wall clock. "Wow. It's that late already?"

"Yep." Xander watched her peel back the paper and take a generous bite of the wrap. "Maybe later, if you're feelin' especially adventurous, you can try going outside. I hear there's this stuff called 'fresh air.' Supposed to be good for you. You oughta give it a try."

Buffy rolled her eyes, mumbled around her mouthful of food, "Okay, got it. I'll slow down on the whole Workaholic Girl thing."

"Just a friendly suggestion," her friend grinned.

After finishing her quick meal, Buffy wadded up the wrapper and tossed into the closest trash bin. "So," she flashed a sly grin at the eyepatched man, "You ask Renee out yet?"

"Uh... Willow!" Xander's face lit up, relieved for the interruption, "Just in time. We're in need of your technical wizardry."

"So I heard." The redhead rolled up her sleeves. "So, show me where the problem is."

After sending Xander a look that told him the discussion wasn't over, Buffy directed Willow over to the device that was giving them trouble.