Sorry this chapter took me a while to post. With the holidays I did not have much time for writing, and this chapter was giving me all sorts of problems (as you can probably guess by just how long it is; it refused to be any shorter than this). I'm going on vacation for the next ten days, so I won't have an update for a while. But I do hope you enjoy. As always thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review the story, subscribe to an alert, and/or add it to their favorites. And hope everyone has a happy new year.

New York 2009

Buffy was going to slay her alarm clock. It was an evil soulless thing, and she was going to kill it until it died. She felt like she had just snuggled into Spike's arms and drifted off to sleep. There was no way it was time to get up. Especially because she was warm and cuddly and safe with her vampire, and if she didn't get up she could pretend that she did not have a world full of problems waiting for her outside that bedroom door.

Except that she did have to get up and get to class, because who knew how many classes she might miss during the next apocalypse, and if she ended up failing Giles would give her the I'm-not-mad-I'm-just-disappointed-look, which she really so did not want pointedly thrown in her general direction. Again.

It wasn't fair. Slaying was way easier when you didn't have an attendance policy to worry about. Now that she thought about it that was probably why she had dropped out of college in the first place. Because evil really did care about whether or not she made it to class on time. Or at all. And she couldn't exactly use "averting an apocalypse" as an excuse. Not one that her professors were likely to believe anyway. It was right up there with "dog ate my homework" on most teachers' bullshit scale.

At least being the Slayer meant that she didn't really need sleep. It helped, of course. But she didn't really need it. Not the way normal people did. She would be looking haggard enough today. But she would be able to handle whatever the day and the night could throw at her.

Three hours was enough sleep. Or was going to have to be.

And she had gotten used to being tired. So tired. No rest for the wicked equals no rest for the ones who fight the wicked. If only wicked would take a nap every once in a while. She could so use the snoozage.

She started to disentangle herself from Spike arms, but as she wiggled out of his grasp his hold on her grew tighter. "Not allowed to get up yet, love," Spike murmured. His voice thick with sleep and, frankly, really really cute.

"Have to." She sighed.

"Why?" he demanded. Pouting. His eyes still half closed. God, he was not making this easy for her.

"It's another duty thing. Not a sacred one. But still. English class calls. And as much as I might want to spend all day in bed with sexy boyfriend, I can't. So stop with the pouting. You know that that's not playing fair. And I'm pretty sure it's evil."

"Bollocks. What about when you pout?" he demanded.

"It's still not playing fair. But it means I win. So, I'm kinda okay with it."

"Your logic never ceases to baffle me Slayer. Guess I'm going to have to let you go then, yeah?"

She kissed his forehead softly. "Only for a little while. I only have one class today. And a little poking around. I'll be back before you know it. Maybe even before you're fully conscious."

"Love you, Buffy." He tightened his arms around her for another second before letting her go.

She got out of bed, stretching slightly as the cold air hit her skin. She quickly pulled on a sweatshirt that had been lying on the floor. Opening a draw, she pulled out a pair a sweatpants and another sweatshirt, and grabbing a tee-shirt, she put the clothes on top of her dresser. "For Rae," she explained to the half asleep vampire.

He opened one eye and observed the pile of sweats. "That's sweet of you, pet," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Yeah well. She is probably feeling pretty grimy at this point. Or will be when she comes to. Hopefully at this point she isn't feeling anything at all."

"Those meds will probably have her knocked out for a while, yet. Good thing too that. Bird needs a bit of rest."

"Good thing some of us are getting some."

Spike apparently was not too tired to raise an eyebrow. "I'd say you've been getting plenty love," he smirked seductively.

Or at least he was going for seductive. That was his seductive look. The one that made her go weakish in the knees and wettish between the thighs. But with his curls tousled and his eyes heavy with sleep, he looked really adorably disheveled rather than actually seductive. Still, it was, well, charming, and definitely did make her want to hop right back into bed with him. "Some rest, Spike. Actually not something I get a lot of with you around."

He lowered his eyelashes, "Not entirely my fault, Slayer."

She laughed. Giggled might be more accurate, but she didn't like to think of herself as a giggler. She had gather up an outfit to wear to class and was ready to get cleaned up before heading to campus. "Fine. Not entirely. But mostly," she smiled. "Now get back to bed your silly, sleepy, vampire head." He opened his mouth, probably planning on making another lewd comment, possibly about vampire head, but she cut him off. "And behave yourself while I'm gone."

There must have been something significant in her tone or her facial expression. Because he was completely awake in an instant and holding her again in the next one. "Buffy. I would never.." he began.

"I know," she cut him off again. "Just don't okay," she said softly, smiling sadly up at him.

"Promise, love. With everything that I am. I may be a bloody berk sometimes Buffy, made a lot of stupid mistakes and stupider plans. But I love you."

"And I love you. And I trust you, Spike. Which for me is kinda a huge deal. But you have way more than earned it."

She kissed him and let her body melt into his for the minute that their lips were locked. Then she broke off the kiss and looked up into his eyes. "We're going to be okay, Spike. We'll be okay."

"'Til the end of the world, pet."

"Well, I'll just have to keep it from ending then."

Spike had gone back to bed once Buffy had left. She had popped in one more time to say goodbye and to let him know that Rae was still off in the land of nod. Best let her get a bit of kip now. She was going to need her strength when she finally came to. They were going to need to figure out the answers to a couple of bloody tough questions.

He had reckoned it would be best to keep in bed himself. No need wandering around the apartment while the bint was trying to rest. Not much for him to do anyway. It wasn't long before her heard Rae wake. She did so with a start and a gasp. The events of the past nigh probably hurling at her like a bloody sledge hammer.

"How's the leg?" he asked, walking into the main room of the apartment.

"Better," she managed, trying, but failing, to keep the tremble from her voice. She looked past him, obviously expecting to see Buffy.

"She went to a class," he answered her unasked question. "Let's have a look at that cut, yeah? Then you can get cleaned up."

She nodded. "It hurts much less. Although that could just be residual painkilling from whatever the fuck it was that you gave me last night."

"That's good news, pet." She sat up and pulled her leg onto the couch. She was moving it much more easily, Spike noted, the stiffness of pain apparently lessened. She loosed the bandages, let them fall, and they both stared. Her leg was completely healed. Where yesterday there had been a gaping wound, today there was only a thin, silvery, crescent shaped scar. That was it.

She looked at him, her eyes full of horror. "Spike.." she choked on his name and began to sob.

"No need to cry pet. This is a good thing, right. You're all healed up."

"All healed up," she repeated absently, her eyes empty and vague for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I'm all healed, Spike. But what the fuck am I? Not even you heal like this. So, what the fuck?"

"Not going to lie, pet," he said, "that is kinda the sixty-four thousand dollar bloody question." He kneeled in front of her. "But we're going to answer it. We'll find out what you are, kitten," he murmured and kept murmuring as she put her head on his shoulder and started sobbing again.

When she had cried herself out, red nosed and blood shot eyes, she asked him if she could take a shower. "Sure thing, pet. Buffy left you some clothes. Figured you'd want out of those togs." He got up, moving toward the bedroom.

"Spike," she stopped him mid-stride, and he turned to face her. "Thank you. You save my life last night."

He shrugged. "Us anti-heroes have to do what we can, pet."

"What's with the sudden burst of modest and the weird inferiority complex?" she asked. "I mean your champion creds check out, and you do have a really useful habit of coming to the rescue. Something, I might add, that you pointed out to me. A lot. And pretty much any one else who would listen, even if they had to because you were punching their head. So, you're hardly the second string superhero you make yourself out to be now that Buffy's back. You're kinda the real deal when it comes to heroics."

"No, I'm not, Rae. But I can do my best, yeah," he ran his hand over his curls. "Now let me fetch you those clothes so you can get cleaned up. We've got a lot to suss out today, not the least of which is the mystery of exactly what you are, love. No need to spend any more time debating what I am."

The water pipes screeched as Rae turned the water on as hot as it could go. She had always loved hot showers, Spike remembered. He had taken his fair share of them with her. The bathroom filling with steam, the air thick and heavy around them, their skin scalding from the water.

He heard her step into the shower. Hopefully this would relax her a bit. She was too cagey, and there was plenty of unpleasantness yet to come. She had tensed up, freaked out, anytime he had asked her about or alluded to her attackers. Now was about time for her to spill the bloody demon beans.

Darling, give me your absence tonight
Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white
Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside
And don't bother leaving the light on

Her voice filled the apartment. Soft and timid at first, and then swelling outward, flooding entire space. She always sang in the shower. Sometimes he doubted that it was even conscious half the time. More habitual, automatic than an actual performance.

But it was beautiful.

'Cuz I suddenly feel like a different person
From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion
And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion
A vacancy that just did not belong
The child is gone

He hadn't been lying to Buffy when he had told her that Rae was a talented musician. She had an uncanny knack for picking out the notes of songs she had only heard once. An amazing ear. And he also hadn't been lying when he had said that he was a piss poor pupil. He had playing with her, but he hadn't been able to keep up. Not only had he had lost the dueling bloody banjoes, he had never had a chance of winning.

Honey help me out of this mess
I'm a stranger to myself
But don't reach for me, I'm too far away
I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say

But none of that had matter much. Because it was worth it just to hear her sing. The way her voice caressed each word, like honey, sweet and slow and viscous. He had heard drunken grad gits tell her that she sang like an angel, but that wasn't right. Not even close. She sang like an old sinner. Or a siren. Velvety. Sultry. Seductive. Fucking sexy. Definitely not like any angel he had ever encountered. Not that he knew many. But he doubted the sounded like sex dripping with molasses or hot fudge.

How could he have helped but fall in love with her once he heard her sing?

So my
Darling, give me your absence tonight
Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside
'Cuz there's no kind of loving that can make this all right
I'm trying to find a place I belong

When they had gone to her friends' parties or had people over to her place, she would eventually pull out the guitar and start singing. Once she had enough to drink or smoke and had gotten over her initial inhibitions. Some nights she would cajole him into playing too. But it had never been about him. Even when she insisted that he take the lead. They would watch her, enraptured, enthralled. Taken in by the magic of her song.

And bloody hell if he hadn't been one of them.

And I suddenly feel like a different person
From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion
And I ran my hand over a strange inversion
As the darkness turns into the dawn
The child is gone
The child is gone

She came out of the bathroom, dressed in Buffy's old sweats, which were a bit tight around her hips and across her chest. Her hair pulled back in a loose bun, small curls escaping and framing her face.

"Thanks. That makes me almost feel human again. Almost," she laughed dryly.

"Pet, you don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"You know the bitter irony routine. This thing, it doesn't change who you are. Only what you are."

"Isn't that pretty much the same thing."

He laughed harshly. "Maybe to some. But you happen to be talking to a vampire who fought one hell of a nasty fucker to win his soul so that he could be as human as he felt."

"I don't even know if I have a soul. I mean I thought I did… before… but now, how can I even know."

"Fuck Rae, how did you know in the first place? I mean, I know I have mine because I know what its like to be without one. But hell girl, if you don't have a soul you don't bloody need one. You've got the morality thing down, and you're almost too empathetic. If you don't have one then you can skip the soulful lightshow, that's for damn sure."

"But you had said that part of what makes demons evil is their souls, or conspicuous lack there of," she challenged him. "No soul equals no conscience equals evil. Does that pretty much sum up the existential equation?"

"Buffy and her chums might think like that. Sometimes. But even she knows there are more shades of grey in this world than there are any rules that are hard and fast. She might forget it at times, but she knows. The rules are only there to make the choices we make easier. We take comfort in them, but they fucking fabricated for that very reason. So that we can live with ourselves. So that we don't spend every bloody moment second guessing ourselves."

"So, they are just functional lies?"

"Pretty much. Comforting, functional lies. The blinders that help us fumble through existence without going bleeding barmy with doubt."

"Do you have any whiskey?" she asked abruptly. "Or really anything with alcohol. Or THC. I'll take mouth wash if you have it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bit early to be hitting the bottle isn't, pet?"

"I…" she began, "I don't think that I'm going to be able to make it through today without some kind of chemical crutch. I wish I could. I wish I were stronger. But, I'm not. I'm just not, Spike," she continued, her voice strained with the tears already threatening another deluge.

He got up without saying a word and grabbed a bottle of jack and two glasses. He poured a generous measure. "Breakfast of Champions."

"Does it count if it's martinis?" she asked, gulping down half the whiskey, the glass clinking against her teeth. Spike refilled her glass.

"Take it easy, pet. Don't need you passing out. We've got some things that need talking out. But you ought to call the department and cancel your class today. Don't reckon that you be making it in." He picked his cell phone up and handed it to her, "You're in no condition to teach. And you'll be in less of one once you finish off that bottle." He handed her his phone.

She nodded. "I'll give Chris a call. He's usually on campus. Maybe he could fill in for me."

Chris was her dissertation director and the department chair. Spike had actually been jealous of the guy after the first few times Rae had come home gushing about how brilliant he was. But he was married: wife, three kids, dog. The whole happy family deal. And he seemed like a decent bloke. Still, he had been jealous, if only a bit. Especially after the department diner when Chirs, his voice thick and heavy with scotch, had cornered Spike and confided in him exactly how much he admired his girl.

Rae dialed the number, and Spike went into the kitchen and started banging around some pots and pans, not doing anything useful, but not wanting to ease drop on her conversation. He would hear what she was saying, that he couldn't help even if he went down the hall, but he could at least try to avoid listening in on the whole bloody thing.

"Hello. Chris. It's Rae…. Oh, this is Spike's, er William's phone…. Oh, no, no. No, I was attacked by a dog last night…. No. It's fine… Yeah, I know. Weird. And Sp—William, happened to be leaving campus. And he found me and took me the hospital… Yes. Very lucky…. Yes. I'm positive we're not seeing each other again… Yeah… The thing is I don't think I'm going to be able to teach today…. Yeah. I'm in pretty bad shape. I think I'll need the weekend to recover…Actually, now that you mention it, I was going to ask you for something. Do you think you could take my class today? I know it's a lot to ask, but I was only going to show them the film version of Landscape… Yes, the one directed by Peter Hall… Mmhmm, with Peggy Ashcroft and David Waller…" She laughed. "Yes, it's a VHS… Thank you so much Chris, I owe you one… No, really thanks. I'll make it up to you. I promise… Okay… Yeah… Bye."

As she hung up the phone, Spike moved back into the room. "So how long have you been sleeping with him?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

"What?" Rae asked. "I'm not… I am not sleeping… with him. No."

"You are also not a very good liar."

"Fine. You know what. I am. But it's really none of your business, is it?"

"You're better than that cliché," he said gently.

"Well, maybe it is cliché. A little too 'Don't stand so close to me.' But we don't have any illusions. He was bored. I was lonely. He drove me home under the pretense of the rain. I invited him in on the pretense of coffee to fuel his drive home to Long Island and his wife and his kids. I might be trite and it scripted but you don't get to say anything about it. You left me, Spike. Granted I kicked you out. But you were gone way before that. And you used me, Spike. Not the whole time we were together. I know that. But in the end, you used me. Do you have any idea how that makes a person feel?"

"Yeah. Actually, I do. And I'm sorry for it, pet," he looked down at her hands.

"Fine. I know. Let's just drop it. Dwelling on this shit is not going to make anything easier for anyone. Now, I'll tell you whatever you need to know that doesn't involve who I am fucking."

"I figured we start by talking about Daddy dearest."

"My father?" she asked blankly. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Well, seeing as he worked for Evil Inc, and they don't take much of an issue with hiring demons, I reckon it's as good a place as any to start with," he leaned back in his chair.

"Alright. Well. He's dead now. And I didn't really know if that well. I think I told you, I didn't meet the guy until I was a moody pubescent. And most of the time I lived with him I was an even moodier teenager who had been uprooted form her home by a man who had been little more than a sperm donor to her and whose mother had taken off and disappeared. Wasn't exactly a recipe for father daughter bonding, you know."

"Did you ever notice anything odd about him?"

"Odd?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You know the usual stuff: horns, tails, fangs, scales, a face that went all bumpy when he sneezed."

"No, no, no no, and ew. No, there was nothing demonic about him. If anything he was just kinda a stiff in a suit."

"Like dead man stiff."

"No, like working stiff," she corrected. "You really suck at this, you know that?" she said with a small smile.

"Never claimed to be a detective. That's Angel's L.A. noir gig. Right. So, nothing demonic, then."

"Not that I can remember. Like I said, I kinda avoided him like he was the plague. Not that there was anything really plaguey about him. Not raining toads or bloody rivers or death to the first borns or anything. He just seemed like a boring middle aged deadbeat dad."

"So, serious daddy-issues, huh, pet. Reckon that's why you're sleeping with a guy old enough to be your father."

"Says the vampire who celebrated his centennial a quarter of a century ago. You're old enough to be my great great grandfather Spike. Should we waste more time psychoanalyzing that one? I said I don't want to talk about it.

"Sorry, Rae. Just don't trust it, is all," he said softly.

"And I already said you don't get to have an opinion about it. Now get we get back to talking about my apparently demonic dad, seeing as how we have figured out precisely nothing."

"No matter. The sodding scoobies will get to the bottom of this."

"How the fuck are they going to do that when I don't know a damn thing?" she demanded.

"They have their ways. Just need a name pet."

"Joshua Knoxen."

Buffy took a deep breath as she stood outside of Spike and Rae's office. She so did not want to go in there. The smell of blood was already making her feel slightly icky, and she knew that once she opened that door it was going to be even worse. You would think that after all her years of doing this she would have gotten used to it. But not so much. Why, she wondered, had she volunteered for this super gross recon?

Oh, yeah, because if Spike couldn't come here, not for a few hours at least, without doing his flaming vamp routine. And Rae was in no way stable enough to come back here. She probably wouldn't have any idea of what to look for anywhere.

Not that Buffy did.

She did have her instincts though, which had helped her to solver her fair share of monster mysteries. She had a knack for picking out which details might be important. She had no idea why they might be important, but she was good at picking them out. There wasn't anything scientific or systematic about it. Just her feelings, really.

Except this time she really hoped that her feelings were not going to get in the way.

She hated the fact that she had had to leave Spike alone with that woman. And she hated herself for hating it. God, why did she find it so difficult to trust anyone. Even Spike, who had never betrayed her. Hurt her. Yes. Betrayed her. Never.

It hadn't helped, of course, that her English class had been spent discussing romantic triangles. More specifically the one in the book they were reading, The Age of Innocence. The one where this guy, Newland, which by the way was a wicked stupid name, cheats on his boring blonde wife with a more exotic, more interesting woman. The class' condemnation of May had given Buffy chills. How natural, it seemed, that Newland would prefer Ellen to May. May never even had a chance.

But she wasn't a fucking May Welland.

She was the Slayer.

And Spike wasn't Newland Archer. He would call Newland a pounce or something. One of those weird British Spikisms. And he would not betray her.

She just had to keep telling herself that.

She unlocked the door to the office and covered her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. She so was not going to last long in here. Demons she could handle. The grosser the better. But this was too much. She was the Slayer. Not CSI. True, they both dealt in death everyday. But totally different vibes. She did not like dead things. Or things that reminded her of dead things. Unless, of course, she was making them, you know, deader. And then bring it on.

There wasn't much to see here anyway. The furniture was all messed up. But that was probably just from Rae's attempt at a barricade. The attack, the struggle, hadn't taken place here. And whatever it was that had attacked her, it hadn't followed her here.

At least she could grab Rae's backpack and jacket. Make this whole thing a bit less of a compete waste of time.

Just as she was about to leave the office, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

1 new message: Spike. Wow. She didn't even know he knew how to text. Angel was so completely hopeless when it came to technology. She had just assumed that all vampires, especially the really old ones, all sucked at it. One more reason, Spike would tell her, that she shouldn't base her ideas about vampires all on 'Peaches.'

R's dad: Joshua Knoxen. Have Red get on it.

Good. So he had made some progress. Even if that was, admittedly, the easier part of whatever kind of integratey Dr. Philness he was doing. At least it was something.

She dialed Will's number. Not even sure what time it was wherever Willow might be.

Luckily, Willow answered. "Hey, Buffy." Her reception was bad, but not terrible. "How is everything with school? How are the Spike smoochies?"

"School, well, is school. And Spike smoochies are, well, Spike smoochies. Which means tingly amazingness. How about you? How is Kennedy and everything?"

Willow hesitated for a moment. "Good. Everything is, you know, good. Kennedy has been really busy training the new girls and the demony stuff and stuff, but she is good. Really good. Sometimes I come along. But, sometimes she asks me not too. I'm too powerful, she says. The girls need a chance to make with the fightingness on their own. Which, hey, makes sense. They are Slayers. But, yeah, everything is good."

"Usually when someone says 'good' that many times in a minute, it means that they are not," Buffy said, concerned.

"No. I'm good, Buffy. Really. Really good. Scouts honor."

"I didn't think you ever were a scout."

"Well, I wasn't. But, still, honorable as a scout."

Buffy laughed. "Fine if you insist Willow. I actually need to ask you a major favor."

"Shoot. Need some help with the magics?"

"No. It's actually you other, more computer hackery powers. I need you to find some information about a man. Joshua Knoxen. Worked at the Chicago Wolfram and Hart. Think you can help?"

"I'm your geek. What do you need to find out?"

"Whatever you can. But we kinda need to know what sort of demon he is."

"Why? What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Willow," she paused, unsure of how much to tell her friend. Willow was her best friend. She should be able to tell her anything and everything. But she didn't want Willow to start hating Spike. Again. Not when she was finally tolerating him. She swallowed. "It's a friend of Spike's. She was attacked. And she healed wicked fast. And the doctor said that her blood wasn't human. And we really need to figure out what we're dealing with. This Knoxen guy is apparently her father."

Willow didn't respond right away. "I'll help Buffy. You know I will. But this 'friend,'" Buffy could hear the airquotes, "she wouldn't happen to be what Anya called an 'orgasm friend,' would she?" Willow's voice was suspicious, unsure.

"She was," Buffy answered. "But not anymore. He… he broke this off with her to be with me."

"And you trust him?"

"You know what, Will. I really do."

"Alright, pet, so that was the softball portion of this event. Now you've got to tell me what happened last night," Spike said, pouring more Jack in Rae's glass.

Rae swallowed audibly. "I know," she closed her eyes. "Okay. So, out with it. I was on campus late," she began, "doing some work. And then Chris stopped by my… our… office. He had been campus late, too. Grading papers. He said that he didn't want to go home. That he had been having a lot of problems with her, his…uh… his wife. He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink. But, I… I told him that I had too much stuff to do," she looked down. "And then he started kissing me. And he told me that he couldn't stop thinking about me. About my…my body. About how I made him feel. He told me that he thought he was falling in love with me. I told him that he wasn't, but I fucked him anyway."

"Bugger that. You shagged him in our office? You know I'm the one who has to smell that shit." He said, wondering how it was that he hadn't noticed the other man's scent all over her last night. Probably the smell of her, her fear, her blood, overwhelmed, completely drowned out the man's scent.

"Spike, can we please not do this. You asked what happened. I'm telling you."

"Fine. Alright. You and the professor took a roll in the hay. Then what?"

"He left."

"He left?"

"Yeah. Started feeling guilty and had to get home. I stayed for a few more hours. Then I left. I wasn't far off campus when I heard this voice calling my name. I ignored it, because it was seriously freaking me out. So, I kept walking toward the subway. But then, then I saw them. There was this old man. Like emaciated. Almost I don't know. Skeletor. His eyes were like, I don't know, like fire," she was trembling and practically hyperventilating.

"Calm down, love," Spike placed his hand over hers. "It's all right. You're safe."

She did not speak for a few moments as she focused on slowing her breathing.

"His eyes, pet. Were they flames?" Spike asked gently once Rae seemed sufficiently calmed.

"No. Like coals. Like smoldering. But in an on fiery non-sexy kind of way."

"And his togs?"

"Togs?" she asked, her nose wrinkled in confusion for a moment. "Oh, his clothes. He was wrapped in a black cloak that, like, jingled when he walked. And he moved toward me. And he said that it was time for me. That I was ripe."

"Balls. You mentioned something about that last night. Right before you passed out. Bloody fucking hell," Spike muttered.

"What does it even mean?"

"Bugger if I know. Bloody demons fancy these bleeding riddles. Got a real love for sodding similes and metaphors those do. We'll ask Giles bout it. Bloke's got a real love of symbolize. What happened next?"

"I shook my head. And started to back away. And I turned around and I saw it. Them."

"Was it an it or a them, pet?"

She was shaking again. "It was both. I mean. It had three heads. And it snapped at me. Three mouths with gnashing teeth. I never really understood the whole gnashing thing until last night. And I screamed and started to run and it pounced at me and one of its, their, heads got a chunk of me and somehow I got away. I don't know how. And the old man was calling after me that I couldn't run from them. That they would find me and bring me home. To my parent children. And I ran back on to campus. And for some reason they didn't follow me. But I didn't stop running. Not until I got to the office. And then I tried to block the door. But my leg hurt so bad, like it was about it burn off. And I felt so weak and so afraid and certain that I was going to die. And then I called you. Why do you think they didn't follow me? I was hurt they could have caught me. Killed me."

"It's a Jesuit school. Ground might be hallowed. Some demons don't do so well on sacred soil, that sort of thing. Doesn't keep all the nasties away, but it does afford some protection."

"Oh," she said, nodding slowly.

Spike leaned back in his chair. "And this three headed thing? What kind of heads might they have been?"

She paused for a moment. "They were… they were like dogs."

"Bollocks. Fuck. Bloody fucking hell. Sodding balls." Spike swore. "Then tipping up the bottle he emptied the bottle of Jack into both of their glasses. "Might as well drink up, kitten. Fucking bloody hell."

Buffy entered the room. "Spike, what the hell is going on here? I heard you swearing from down the hall." She looked at the now empty bottle. "Are you drunk?"

"No. Wish I was though. Know how we were talking about the end times, pet?"

"Yeah. Spike."

"They're here," Spike said.

"What makes you say that," Buffy said, the color draining from her face.

"When the fucking ferryman takes the fucking guard dog out for a walk in New York City, love, the word's longetivy is not looking so hot. Expiration date is past and all. We're talking apocalypse now, Slayer."

"It's always apocalypse now, Spike. It's never been apocalypse later. Apocalypse in a little bit. These kinds of things are always kinda urganty. Now what's got you so freaked out."

"Remember Glory."

"Pyscho slut of a hell god who I died to stop? Of course."

"Glory is small time, Buffy. We need to talk to Giles, but I think we've got a whole bunch of nasty big bad demon gods heading our bloody way."

Buffy did not speak for a minute and when she did "Shit" was all she could manage to say.

Song credit: the song Rae sing's in the shower is Fiona Apple's hauntingly beautiful "The Child is Gone."