Xander thought that they should have at least given Giles a heads-up of where they were going, in case things went south. He knew how often things went south. But Buffy was adamant that there wasn't any time. And what Buffy said usually dictated the way things went. Tonight was no different. But at least Xander had tried to be the voice of reason—in the absence of Willow, of course.

If he died tonight—and let's face it, death was a distinct possibility going toe-to-toe with Spike; last time they'd met, Spike had knocked Xander over the head and left him to bleed to death—but if Xander died tonight, at least it was in the service of saving Willow. It would be a fitting end.

He occupied himself as he and Buffy neared the factory entrance with daydreams of his eulogy. "He was brave," they would say. "Brave and loyal to the end. And hot. Like, really, really hot. We'll regret forever that we overlooked Xander Harris, the most attractive, brave, loyal guy Sunnydale has ever seen."
"As if," Cordelia's strident voice interrupted. She curled her lip and spit on his casket.

Xander jerked out of his fantasy so rudely derailed. He deserved nothing less than Cordelia's utmost contempt, but must she intrude on his happy place? Familiar eddies of guilt rolled through his gut, followed by a strong longing for Cordelia's bossy, infuriating presence. You don't know a good thing 'til it's gone, right? It was so typical Xander, so typical Harris to screw up his own happiness. Self-sabotage. That's what's he'd done. He was a regular self-sabotager. Saboteur?

He could still see the look on Cordy's face when she'd walked in on them: shock, anger, hurt. She'd looked so vulnerable, so stripped of her careful layers of sarcasm and perfection.

Alrighty then.

Daydreams were not the better alternative to facing down impending death. Xander shook away thoughts of Cordelia and focused on the task at hand: watching Buffy kick in a door. Not for the first time, Xander marveled at her strength and was grateful he wasn't on the receiving end of her fury. Although…maybe a swift kick to the head was exactly what Xander needed to start making better decisions.

The door finally left its hinges and fell with a clatter.

"Quick," Buffy said, "someone will have heard that."

"After you," Xander gestured. He gazed into the yawning hole Buffy had created with apprehension. He had to admit, he was pretty reluctant to go back in there now that he was so close to the scene of the crime. (Which crime? The romantic betrayals? Or Spike's assault and abduction? Did it even matter at this point?) Maybe this was the reason he'd wanted to talk to Giles first. Maybe Giles would have talked them out of it so Xander didn't have to face…a lot of stuff he'd been punning and quipping about for the last week.

Buffy had stepped over the threshold by now and turned to him with a questioning head tilt.

"Just—uh—girding my loins," Xander said.

"Get girding, then. We've gotta save Willow." Buffy pulled a stake out of her handbag and held it aloft. She disappeared into the darkness of the building.

"Consider myself girded," Xander muttered. He followed her into the dark.

Howling. That's what you call this sound. Howling. Like the wind on a cold night when you haven't got a fire to warm yourself by. It's the sound mothers make when they find their babies dead in the crib. It's the sound, it's the sound—the sound is me. Spike realized this in fragments. Who is me? Why am I a howl? A taut rope of pain being wrung out on a torture rack? Is this hell?

What did you do? Someone asked. The words were familiar. Spike knew the language. He didn't know the voice though. Or else, the voice was distorted by this howl.

Another voice. I think it worked.

Were you trying to burn him from the inside out?

Kind of.

Then nothing. Spike must have passed out. Or maybe, really died. Hell was only a fiction and the end was nothing. But the howl persisted, muted but there. Lurking, waiting to roar. Waiting to tear him apart.

Oz stared at Willow with a mixture of horror and awe. She had just done some extremely powerful magic. One second she was chanting away in Latin, the next Spike had fiery light pouring out of his eyes, nose, and mouth and was screaming like no grown man should ever have to scream. The light had been so bright Oz had closed his eyes and when he opened them, both Spike and Willow lay crumpled on the ground.

He scrambled for Willow and clutched her to him, inspecting her for signs of life. He could feel her human warmth, even the faint thud of her heartbeat came in loud and clear for his werewolf senses. She was alive. He relaxed his grip somewhat, so he could see her face. A thin sheen of sweat covered her pale skin. Maybe the spell had taken too much out of her.

And wasn't the spell supposed to yank out Angel's soul. What had she done to Spike?

A clatter at the end of the room announced the arrival of Buffy and Xander. Buffy held a stake in one hand and a broken pipe in the other. Xander was weaponless, but clearly ready to lay down his life.

Buffy took in the scene and ran to Willow. She placed two fingers to Willow's throat and tears came to her eyes. "She's not—?" She couldn't bear to finish the thought.

"No," Oz said. "Just weak."

On cue, Willow's eyes fluttered open. She found Buffy's face and smiled. "Buffy," she sighed. She wiggled into a more comfortable position and realized she was back in Oz's arms. "And Oz." He smiled at her and she felt a familiar swoop in her tummy.

Xander stepped into her line of vision. "Hey, Will," he said.

"Xander," she said.

Buffy wiped away at her tears. "Now, that roll calls all done," she joked.

Everyone laughed tearily.

"We were worried about you, Will," Xander said.

"You too, Oz," Buffy added. She looked around the room again. "We heard screaming. We thought, I thought," Buffy turned to Oz. "I thought Spike was hurting you."

Oz shrugged. "Me? I'm fine."

Xander raised a quizzical brow at Oz who was bare-chested, engulfed in a black, leather coat. Spike's coat, to be exact. That raised a whole host of uncomfortable questions best left avoided.

"What'd you do to Spike?" Xander asked. It was a safer question and probably a more pressing one. "And how come he isn't dust?"

"He isn't dead," Willow said. Her voice was a dry whisper, as if she had spent the last couple nights screaming. Xander shuddered. Who was to say she hadn't? Screaming for help, screaming from torture. Although…she looked okay to him. Better than Oz, who had dark, purplish rings around his eyes and some visible cuts on his chest. Willow was a bit pale, but unmarked.

"You okay?" he asked anyway. Sometimes pain wasn't on the surface.

"Just tired," she rasped. She leaned against Oz, who put an arm around her and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

So, they've made up, Xander thought. Good for them. A strange mix of emotions accompanied this news. Gratefulness that Willow had gotten what she wanted. Jealousy that he wasn't what she'd wanted. Respect for Oz's big heartedness. And again, that damn pang for Cordelia. He didn't realize he was staring at the couple until Oz had trapped him with a level, green stare.

And a look of understanding passed between them. It was primal and loaded. Oz was forgiving Xander, extending forgiveness that Xander didn't deserve, but behind the mercy there was a steeliness. Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, his look said. Xander looked away, anywhere but at Oz, who had suddenly become very scary. 5'4, human, and more threatening than he'd ever been as a werewolf.

All this happened in seconds, though it felt like minutes to Xander.

Buffy pretended not to notice. "So, um, Oz, why are you wearing Spike's coat?"

Oz smiled. "It was this, or nudity. I thought you guys would be happy to see me, but I didn't think you wanted to see all of me."

And just like that, everyone relaxed, came down a few notches on the tension pole.

Xander smiled. "And why were you naked, again?" he asked.

"Werewolf," Oz answered.

"Right," Xander murmured, not sure how that explained anything.

Buffy was now nudging Spike with the toe of her designer boot, but he didn't respond to her touch. It was like he was dead, but in a human way. "So, what are we supposed to do with Spike?" she asked. It felt like cheating to kill the guy while he was down. Then, again…

"I say, dust him," Xander answered. He had no moral dilemmas about taking advantage of the situation.

"No complaints from me," Oz agreed.

Buffy looked at the vampire's prostrate form. He'd looked a lot less evil when he wasn't walking and talking. She held her stake uncertainly.

"No," Willow whispered, barely louder than a leaf skittering across the sidewalk. "You can't kill him," she said weakly.

The gang stared at her, confused.

"But, Will—"

"You can't be serious—"

"Why not?"

"Because…I—" she swallowed. "Because he has a soul. I gave him back his soul."