DR2 - The Cross of Changes by Nick Midian, Book II, part 6 of 8

Written by Nick Midian

Content beta-reading and storyline suggestions by Duncan
English grammar, spelling, slang, Highlander continuity and general corrections
by Theo
French slang, content beta-reading and storyline suggestions by Mash
French slang by Alan


EMAIL: jcaballero@euskalnet.net

WEBSITE: http://www.angelfire.com/tv2/thedarkages

SPOILERS: For Buffy the Vampire Slayer: 3rd season, BUT no Xander/Willow kissing
and no Lover's Walk (welcome to the wonderful State of Denial, Land of
'Shippiness). Hmmm, I've messed with the third season's timeline to accommodate
it to my necessities. Let's just say that 'Band Candy' happened a lot later than
it did, around the first days of February, OK?
For Highlander: None really, the characters of the TV series and films are only
tangentially mentioned. You just need to know the basics of Highlander-style
immortality, BUT I've always thought that whole 'Immortals have no parents and
are found in a little basket' is a... um, the Spanish word for it is 'chorrada',
so let's just ignore it, OK?
KEYWORDS: Romance, Angst, Action-adventure, Violence, Alternate Universe,
Crossover.
RATING: PG-13 with some mild R parts for violence and sexual innuendo.
DISCLAIMER: This story has been written with no intention of profit, merely for
the pleasure of writing and sharing it.
The concept and characters of BTVS (Buffy, Angel, Cordelia, Xander, Willow, Oz,
Giles, Joyce, Spike, Drusilla, Snyder, Faith, Harmony, Lyle Gorch, Quentin
Travers and the rest) are intellectual and legal property of Joss Whedon, Warner
Brothers, Mutant Enemy, etc. Also, the concept of Highlander and the characters
mentioned here (Duncan MacLeod, Amanda Darieux, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson and the
Society of Watchers) are the property of Panzer-Davis and Rysher Entertainment.
Michael Deveraux, Rachel Curran, Crystal Parker, Kyle White Owl, Robert
Coltrane, Elvis the Dog, Broderick Egoyan, Damon Frost, Mr. Smith, the World
Committee for Civil Defense and the rest are my own creation.
All the songs and lyrics here are used without permission, they are copyright of
their respective rights owners.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please, understand that English is not my native language, so
any grammatical or spelling errors are my fault, not of any one of my wonderful
beta-readers. If you're thinking of sending any flames, please be kind with me.
I'm a grown man, but I still can cry like a child, believe me.
Additional Author's Note: The songs performed by Oz's band are 'Loli Jackson'
and 'Serenade' by Dover. It appears courtesy of Subterfuge records. All rights
reserved, yadda, yadda, yadda...
SUMMARY: After the events in 'Dark Reflection' a new threat menaces both the
Slayerettes and the Archangels as new and old enemies come to Sunnydale, merging
past and present. This time, it's something personal - ta-da-da-dam!!! (sorry,
but I just had to say that)

And now, on with the show. Fasten your seat belts ladies and gentlemen, because
it's going to be a long, hard and jumpy ride...

~~~~~~

The cast for Book II


Nicholas Brendon as Xander Harris
Charisma Carpenter as Cordelia Chase

Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy Summers
David Boreanaz as Angel
Alyson Hannigan as Willow Rosenberg
Seth Green as Daniel 'Oz' Osborne
Anthony Stewart Head as Rupert Giles
Kristine Sutherland as Joyce Summers

Matthew Perry as Michael Deveraux
Paula Trickey as Rachel Curran
James Marsters as Spike
Nikki Cox as Crystal Parker
David James Elliott as Kyle White Owl
Elvis the Dog as Himself

Eliza Dushku as Faith Adams
Donald Sutherland as The Old Chess Player, Broderick Egoyan
Sebastian Spence as Damon Frost
Avery Brooks as Mr. Smith

Mercedes MacNab as Harmony Kendall
Armin Shimerman as Principal Snyder
Amy Chance as Aphrodesia
Persia White as Aura

Alan Rickman as Conrad Swann
Wesley Snipes as Talon Pantera
Dennis Rodman as Rush Pantera
Tom Berenger as Colonel Cabbot Ashe
Michael Ironside as the Sergeant
Trevor Goddard as Backlash
Shaquille O'Neal as Beast
Jet Li as Bushido

with

Kevin Spacey as Robert Coltrane
Nicholas Lea as Jonah Whalls
and
Catherine Zeta-Jones as the Lady in Red

~~~~~~

The werewolf moved around, inside his cage. He was nervous, excited, and,
somewhere inside his hairy body, quite angry. He growled and scratched the
ground with his talons, drawing long scars on the wooden floor that passed
almost unnoticed between the web of old ones that extended along the interior of
the cage like a rugged tapestry.

For a moment, he stopped his slow pacing and, leaning his sharp snout against
the wire-enclosed fence, looked at the couple in the adjacent room with his
yellow eyes.

There was something wrong going on with them, and he could feel it.

Of course, in his actual state under the effect of the full moon, Daniel Osborne
wasn't really able to conjure rational thoughts that were beyond what his
limited animal mind could manage. But as true as that was, he could feel other
sensations that no human could ever perceive.

His nose, his ears, his eyes... they were sharp and edged, and they were able to
tell him a thousand things that would pass unnoticed to any mortal man.

And he didn't like what his senses were telling him at that very moment. Not at
all.

There was his mate, the one that he had chosen to be his life companion, his
partner in the hunt and the bearer of his brood.

And she was with another male. One that wasn't himself.

The werewolf growled softly, slightly baring his long and ivory-white canines at
the couple. Her heart was beating faster than what should be normal, and he
could smell the bittersweet aroma of their perspiration in the air, mixed with
something that was raw and more primal.

Pheromones. Floating in the air, singing a siren's chant that called the members
of the opposite sex to take them out to the big ballroom in a complicated dance
of seduction and conquest.

That wasn't right.

She was his. His companion, his mate, his bitch.

Wolves mate for life.

If someone wanted to take his chosen, the wolf would have to put him down first.

And he intended to fight for what was his with teeth and claws.

~~~~~~

"What's up with 'im tonight?" Spike asked, while sending a curious look towards
the werewolf in the cage. "He's lookin' at us... again."

Turning her head around to look at her werewolf boyfriend, Willow shrugged
softly. Crouched in the center of his cage, the mythic animal seemed to stab her
with his magnetic golden eyes and she couldn't help but shiver, feeling the soft
hairs at the back of he neck standing up.

"I don't know," she whispered, turning back to the bleached-hair vampire at the
other side of the table. "He looks a little upset, but I can't figure why."

Spike frowned, and directed his patented leery smile at her. "Maybe he's in the
middle of his coupling stage. Y'know, I could turn around for a while. Promise I
won't look."

The red-haired apprentice of Wicca looked at him murderously and, taking a new
item from the interior of the box, practically threw it at her vampire friend.
"Shut your big mouth, and identify this."

Smiling, Spike sent a last appreciative look towards her, intense enough to make
her avert her eyes and blush a little, before fixing his state on the object in
his hands.

"Puaggh," he growled with a grimace of disgust, making the glass flask turn
around between his hands. "It's a, uh, it's some bloody kind of huge lizard
conserved in some bloody kind of yellow liquid."

"It's a triton," she corrected him while writing a new entry in Giles' notebook,
"it's an amphibian, not a reptile, like a big salamander."

"Whatever ya say, Red," he told her, still looking at the viscous animal
floating inside the flask with disgusted fascination. "And what's this supposed
to be used for?"

Softly knocking with her pen on the surface of the notebook, Willow half-closed
her eyes with a thoughtful expression, as if she was directly reciting from a
textbook. "The different parts of the triton are used for casting different
spells, and the liquid in which it's bathed has, uh, invigorating properties."

"Invigoratin'?" he asked, with a frown of confusion.

She nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, y'know, for the... the... you know."

Spike blinked repeatedly, before looking back at the flask and then once again
at Willow. "You mean, ya drink this and then you..." he whistled softly, and
made an unmistakable and quite rude gesture with his fingers.

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, " that exactly."

"Wow." He gave a last look to the floating reptile (or amphibian, or whatever)
and left it aside with the rest of the already catalogued items, shaking his
peroxide-blonde head in wonder. "Y'know? All these things make me think o' Dru,
she'd 'ave loved all this stuff."

Willow looked at him with surprise. It was the first time in the past few weeks
that she'd heard him mention his lover's name. And it surprised her even more
that, when he did it, there was no trace of resentment or pain in his voice.

"You miss her?" she asked softly.

Spike shrugged as he took a new item from the interior of the box, this time a
little and very ornate silver box, and made it spin between his fingers, using
it as an excuse not to look straight at the redhead.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I think about 'er, about 'er laughter and the way she
touched me and I 'ave this strange sensation 'ere," he said with a low and
almost intimate tone, patting softly the beginning of his abdomen, "as if I 'ad
somethin' warm inside. Other times, I remember some of the things we did
together and I..." he shook his head, his lips tightly pressed together.

"Sometimes, I 'ave nightmares," he finally confessed with a weak voice.

Reaching out over the table almost with an unconscious gesture, Willow covered
his cold hand with her own, squeezing it comfortingly. "Hey," she whispered to
him, "it's in the past now, OK? You're a different man now."

Spike looked at her through half-closed eyes, and with an uncertain expression.
"Are ya sure?"

Her smile was sincere and powerful enough to melt the vampire's frozen heart.
"The Spike I know can't be the same one that did all the things I've read about.
That Spike was a monster, and you're a man, William."

"Don't call me that," he whispered, taking his hand away from hers. Getting up
from his chair, he started to nervously pace. "You dunno what you're talkin'
about, luv."

"Then why don't you explain it to me, William?" she insisted, using his real
name to get to him but not trying to get up from her chair, so he wouldn't felt
harassed. Nevertheless, she decided to go to the heart of the matter. "Tell me
why don't you want me to give you your soul back."

"Don't go there," he warned her with a vicious hiss. Near them, the werewolf
growled menacingly, baring his fangs.

"Why not? What is it you fear so much?" she gently insisted.

"I don't fear anything in this world," he remarked stubbornly, "you just don't
understand. Ya can't, Willow, you're only human."

With a grunt and putting on her Resolve Face, Willow jumped from the chair and
made him stop his pacing by the radical method of stepping into his path and
grabbing him by his elbows, so he had to look straight into her sea-green eyes.
"Explain. It. To. Me. William."

"I'm not William!!" he exploded almost with rage, extricating himself violently
from her arms. "Why can't you get that through ya thick head? William Bledshoe
is dead 'n buried!!"

He paused a moment. "He was a weak kid, so scared of everything, of people, of
life, of being alone... that he consented – no, he begged a demon to kill him.
He committed suicide, Red. He was a coward, and I'm not him," he practically
growled, leaning close to her as he let his human mask vanish and his game face
appear.

"This 'ere is who I am, and who I wanna be. I'm Spike, luv, and if you cast your
little magic tricks and you make that loser's soul return... you'll be helpin'
him, but you'll be killin' me."

Willow shook her head in denial, not the least bit scared by his enraged and
vamped-out face. "I refuse to believe that, and I think that deep down so you
do. Things aren't as easy and simple as that, Spike. I don't know what happened
that made you different, I don't know what the reasons are that make you so
special, but you know that you're not a normal vampire."

She shivered briefly. "I remember Angelus – he desired things, he wanted and he
envied. He was your sire and he was obsessed, but he wasn't able to feel love.
And you do, Spike. You love. Period."

He shook his head, closing his golden eyes in stubborn denial, and Willow
grabbed him by the lapels of his unbuttoned crimson shirt, making him look
straight at her.

"You can fool everybody else, Spike. You can even try and fool yourself, but not
me. I know you."

The intensity of Willow's gaze was so strong that Spike felt himself drowning in
the twin pools of ocean water that were her eyes. There was a moment of silence
between them, and he was certain that if he'd had a heart that was beating, it
would've stopped dead at that very moment.

They were closer than what he'd thought and he felt the wonderful warmth of her
body next to his, like he had done that very morning. Her heart beating against
her chest with fast, furious steps, and her ragged breath coming out in short
whispers that caressed the cold skin of his neck.

Not really knowing what he was doing, the bleached-hair vampire leaned even
closer to her, his arms reaching out shyly to take her and his mouth descending
on hers almost in slow motion.

Willow's eyes opened wide with a sudden and unexpected mix of surprise, fear and
even excitement. Her breath was cut short on her lips and her heart skipped a
beat, as the realization of the fact that he was going to kiss her hit the
redhead like a ton of bricks.

Yet, she wasn't able to do anything to stop him. She couldn't even decide if she
wanted to stop him or not.

Closer and closer, their mouths came together as if by their own volition until
there was nothing more than a mere inch of warm air between their lips.

And just then, when they were about to make final contact, the roar of the
beast, loud enough to make the walls tremble, shook them to their cores and made
them jump apart as if they had been hit by an electric shock.

They turned around as one, only to see the werewolf growling at them with wide
open jaws that were spraying white foam and thick saliva everywhere around him,
as he slammed full force against the wire-trimmed door of the cage. His golden
eyes were exactly like twin blazing fires, nailed to them with enraged and
furious expression.

"Oz!!" Willow exclaimed, feeling her mouth going suddenly dry. "It's, uh, it's
my..."

"It's your boyfriend," Spike whispered, passing a hand over his face. Shaking
his head as if he was coming out of a trance, he turned around and grabbed his
discarded duster from the back of the chair. "I better go now."

The werewolf seemed to calm down noticeably when he saw the bleached-hair
vampire walking away from the young woman, and he remained quiet with his nose
glued to the wire-trimmed fence, growling in a low and nerve-breaking tone.

Feeling as if her mind was being rocked by a myriad of thoughts and emotions
that she wasn't able to assimilate or even understand, Willow let herself fall
onto the nearest chair. It was just too much in too little time.

She had been about to kiss Spike, for God's sake.

"Spike!" she called him when he was just about to abandon the room, making him
stop dead in his tracks. "Don't go, please. We have to talk about this."

The bleached-hair vampire sent a short and uncertain look towards her, over his
shoulder. "I-I... I don't think this is the right time."

"Spike..."

"No," he shook his head and began to walk again to the door, "I just... later,
OK? Just later."

The redhead felt her shoulders slump down in defeat, and let out a long sigh as
she watched the vampire's retreating back. As the bitter sting of tears came to
her eyes, she hid her face between her slender hands as she chastised herself
for her weakness and stupidity.

=Stupid, stupid, stupid... what have I done?= she thought.

Not very far away from her, Spike sent one last look at her. Feeling a thick
knot forming in his throat, he walked away of the store as fast as his undead
legs could carry him, biting his lower lip not to scream.

All the way, as he crossed the front door, practically opening it with a furious
push, and as he walked over the asphalt to his car, opened it and got into it,
Spike kept his hands closed. Clenched with so much strength, that his nails dug
into the tender flesh of his palms. Almost to the point of drawing blood.

=Stupid, stupid, stupid... what 'ave I done?= he thought.

Closing the door of the car with so much violence that the impact rocked the
whole vehicle, the bleached-hair vampire hit the steering wheel with his closed
fist once and then again, until it was about to break under his supernatural
strength.

=Stupid, stupid, stupid... =

He leaned his forehead on the wheel, and let out a long sigh. Why things
couldn't be a little easier?

~~~~~~

"Well, are you going to tell me or not?" Rachel asked him as they moved softly
to the rhythm of a slow song. "Who called you and made Spike introduce his
bleached head into my shower?"

Letting the corner of his mouth rise in a crooked smile, Michael shook his head
and he allowed his hand to travel sensuously over the brunette Immortal's waist.
"You know, I should be angry at him, but I understand the guy. Who could resist
this?"

"You," she stated deadpan, "for almost seventy years. And don't try to change
the subject."

The French Immortal just offered her his patented roguish smile, and winked at
her. "It was a woman, setting a date for lunch."

She raised an eyebrow with incredulity. "Someone I know?"

Michael's smile grew wider if possible. "Oui, blonde, brown eyes, mature but
very well-developed..."

Rachel's eyes held no amusement at all, and the French Immortal decided that the
fun of making her squirm wasn't worth the pain of a more serious discussion. "It
was Joyce."

"Buffy's mom?" she asked with surprise, barely managing not to show her relief.
Rachel would never admit it – but after witnessing years of Michael's flirtings
with other women that weren't her and his endless list of female conquests,
sometimes she felt a little unsure.

She knew that he loved her, but she feared she wouldn't be able to keep him by
her side. "And what did she want?"

Michael shrugged. "Just to have an... exchange of impressions, I think she
called it. She just wants to be informed about Buffy's training and evolution."

Rachel shook her head in wonder, smiling softly. "Like an Immortal PTA reunion?"

"Something like that. I must admit that it is, je ne sais, kinda..."

"Weird?" She sighed and tilted her head to one side, considering it. "Well,
she's her mother. It's normal for her to be worried about her daughter."

"It's not that, it's the whole scenario," Michael said, with a grimace and
slight shrug. "I mean, have you ever heard about an Immortal going back home at
night and telling his maman how many heads he has chopped off during the day?"

Rachel giggled softly, getting more comfortable in her lover's embrace. "We're
just not made for a stable life," he finished up.

The brunette looked at him with surprised eyes. "I can't believe my ears,
Michael. That doesn't sound like you at all."

He opened his mouth to answer to her but then, the reflection of a ray of light
on some metallic edge hit him squarely in the eyes, making him blink repeatedly
and shake his head in surprise as he turned his dark blue gaze to the source of
the light.

At first he saw everything unclear and confused, as he automatically raised a
hand to protect his eyes. Time slowed its pace and the bodies moving around them
in slow motion parted like the Red Sea for a brief moment, forming a tunnel
between them and the edge of the dance floor.

And then Michael saw him.

He was standing at the very limits of the dance floor, looking at the dancing
couple with his head slightly tilted to one side, his black eyes half-closed and
the corner of his lips risen in a crooked smile.

With the fingers of his left hand he was playing with a wooden Catholic rosary,
slowly passing the dark polished beads one by one.

As the breath was cut short on his lips and his heart skipped a beat, Michael's
dark blue eyes were captured by the movement of the silver crucifix at the end
of the rosary, slowly rocking from the young man's hand. It felt like being
hypnotized.

The blood froze in his veins, and the French Immortal's lips formed a name
without actually pronouncing it.

Then his vision was clouded as an unfocused dancing figure passed in front of
his eyes. It lasted for only a second but, when the figure passed away, there
was an empty spot where the sandy-haired young man had been a mere moment ago.
It was as if he had never been there.

"Michael?" Rachel's voice called his attention and he shook his head, trying to
come out of his momentary trance. "What's going on?"

"I just saw..." They had stopped dancing and Michael took a step back, passing a
hand over his face as he grimaced as in pain.

"I thought I was seeing Damon," he told her with a weak, almost guilty voice.

"Oh, good Lord," she whispered. Immediately, Rachel enveloped him into a fierce
embrace, letting his head rest in the crook of her neck as she rocked him
softly. "It's OK, Michael. I understand, we were talking about stable lives and
you remembered. It's OK."

Softly whispering to him the soothing words, Rachel accompanied him back to
their table, practically guiding him to his chair and sitting next to him. She
never let his hands go, feeling them suddenly cold and trembling between her
smaller ones.

She remembered along with him and something uncomfortable and bitter was born in
the deepest corner of her being, but the brunette Immortal did her best to
ignore it. Putting the memories and her own feelings aside, she focused on just
helping the man she loved more than her own life.

"I miss him too," she told him, squeezing his hands with her right one as she
cupped his chin with the left and gently made him raise his eyes to hers. "It's
OK to remember him, Michael. And it's OK to cry if you want, I know you loved
him."

Michael shook his head painfully, taking the hand with what Rachel was cupping
his cheek into his own and keeping its warm palm against his skin.

"It's not fair," he whispered. "It was my fault, it should have been me."

"Don't say that," she practically hissed with pain, squeezing his hand tightly
as she leaned closer to him, tears coming to her own eyes. "Don't you ever say
that."

"Why not?" he asked her, with pained and heavy eyes. "He didn't deserve it. If
he hadn't followed me into this... madness, he would be alive now to have that
normal life we were talking about."

Rachel shook her head and sighed almost in resignation, as she rolled her warm
brown eyes. "What's with you men and guilt? I mean, you should talk to Angel and
Xander and, between the three of you, you could start up a club or something."

He looked at her in silence from under his brow, and finally managed a soft
smile that she shared. When she spoke to him again, her tone was low, intimate
and comforting. "He took his chances and made his own decisions, Michael. He was
a grown up, a man who knew what he was doing; he decided to follow us of his own
volition even when, more than once, you tried to talk him out of it."

"I should have insisted more," he said stubbornly.

The brunette Immortal practically groaned at hearing this. "Michael..."

"Please, don't, ma chèrie," he cut her, softly kissing her knuckles and shaking
his head. "We're not going to get anywhere this way, n'est-ce-pas? He was my
chance at a normal life, I loved him and now he is dead. There's nothing I can
do about it, no matter how much I would like it to be otherwise."

Rachel nodded slowly and leaned closer to him, so she could place a soft kiss on
his lips.

"Sorry for ruining the mood," he excused himself with a half-smile.

"Don't worry," she told him, getting up from the chair to sitting down on his
lap, "I knew from the beginning that loving you was going to be a dirty job."

"But somebody had to do it?" he asked with a risen eyebrow, his usual charming
smile returning to his lips.

"Better than that," she whispered, surrounding his shoulders with her arms and
kissing him once more, this time longer and deeper. "Hey, I have an idea."

"What?" he asked, feeling her arms abandoning his body as she got up from him.
He moaned, offering her the lost puppy look. "Can't it wait till later? After
some smoochies?"

"Wait, this will be even better," she told him as she walked away.

Michael growled, making a face. "Somehow, I doubt it."

Not very far away from them, Xander and Cordelia observed the developments
between their two Immortal friends as they kept on dancing at the slow pop music
played by the Bronze's DJ.

"Do you think they're alright?" Cordelia asked the young vampiric Immortal,
watching how the brunette woman walked away from her lover.

Xander shrugged softly, shaking his head. "I hope so. Anyway," he told her as he
turned his head to look straight at his own lover, "they're old enough to know
what they're doing."

"And you?" Cordy asked him. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Leaning his forehead against hers, the young vampire smiled widely. "I'm dancing
with my baby," he whispered to her, "and I'm thinking of what I'm going to do to
her afterwards. Although I'm not very sure I'm going to be able to contain
myself."

As he got even closer to her, Cordelia was able to notice what his intentions
were when he let his hands travel from the curved small of her back. Until they
were cupping her perfect buttocks through her short miniskirt, and she got an
even clearer impression of what was on his mind through the rough fabric of his
jeans.

"You're a naughty vampire, Xander Harris," she told him with a wicked smile.
"We're in a public place."

Xander wiggled his eyebrows at her. "That's why they call it a public display of
affection, Cordy. You know," he kept whispering, "I could use my hypnotic powers
with all these people, they wouldn't even know we're here."

She giggled, feeling a little self-conscious, but quickly lost all shame or even
conscience of the people around them when he kissed her fully on the mouth,
parting her moist lips with his and interlacing her tongue with her own in a
deep and hot kiss.

"Xander," she moaned in pleasure as he broke away from her to trace the line of
her jaw and her throat with his warm mouth, "we're giving a – oh my God! – a
show..."

The young vampire's response was just a mere and deep animalistic growl that
rocked her to the core, and made her whimper with a little aroused yelp. He sank
his face into the crook of her neck, tenderly holding her head with one hand as
he sucked and lapped at her pulse, giving her one hell of a hickey.

"Xander," she moaned again as a flick of his tongue traced a particularly
sensitive spot right under her earlobe. Then, he finally abandoned the warm
crook of her neck, all the way placing soft kisses on every inch of her skin he
was able to find, and kissed her again on the mouth.

Cordelia let her hand wander over the smooth surface of the crimson velvet shirt
covered his broad and hard back, tracing an idle pattern as they traveled south
to the small of his back...

...and touched a hard bulge that protruded under his untucked shirt.

"What's this?" she asked with a grimace of surprise, breaking the kiss and
looking at him as her hands investigated the strange bulge. "A gun?"

Xander looked at her with wide eyes, and shushed her. "Sshh, do ya want
everybody to hear you?"

Cordelia just raised an annoyed eyebrow at him as her slender hand slipped under
Xander's shirt, and touched the warm surface of the gun's butt with her
fingertips.

"You brought a pistol to a date?" she asked him with incredulity, but in a lower
voice. "Where's your sense of romance gone to?"

The young vampire just gave her a forced smile. "As long as Faith's around, I'm
not going to take any chances," he told her, his face turning grim at the mere
mention of his sire's name. "I'm sorry that doesn't fit with your idea of what a
romantic guy has to be."

The brunette just looked at him, with her mouth twisted into an annoyed
expression before finally allowing it to show a smile. "It's OK, I don't mind.
But what are you packing?" she asked, patting again the bulk and putting on a
thoughtful expression. "Mmm, polymer frame and grip... high-capacity magazine...
external hammer... the H&K USP again?"

Xander nodded slowly, not knowing very well what to make of that. "Yeah..."

Cordelia sighed and shook her head, puzzled. "How is it that you still carry
that? The safety's crap and the nose tends to point down as you empty the
magazine during a firefight. I think you should change over to a Glock or maybe
a Beretta, if you prefer a more regular trigger. Hey, a stainless M92 would look
good with the kind of clothes you use to wear!"

Putting on his best 'are we on Candid Camera?' expression, Xander looked at his
girlfriend, completely horrified. "What?" he squeaked.

"Well, you know the dark colors and the-"

"Cordy!" he exclaimed, amazed. "And you were calling me non-romantic? Baby,
you're spending way too much time with Kyle!"

The brunette just shrugged, giving him a sweet smile. "What? Can't a woman have
a hobby?"

Xander said nothing, he just smiled in amazement and shook his head as he rolled
his eyes as if saying 'what am I going to do with you?'. "One of these days,
you'll have to tell me about this new side of yours."

Cordelia looked at him, with a little uncertainty reflected in her hazel eyes.
"You don't like it?"

"I'm still getting used to it," Xander told her with a reassuring smile. "I
mean, it's still hard to separate this daring, brave and wonderful woman you've
become from the spoiled, self-centered and also wonderful girl you were when I
left. It's just very..."

He shook his head as he searched for the correct word, "...new. But then fair's
fair, and I've also changed a lot, so I guess that puts us at the same level.
It's just that I would've liked to have been there to be with you through the
change."

The brunette got closer to him, molding the soft and warm curves of her body to
his strong and hard planes and rested her head on his shoulder, breathing that
head-lightening aroma that was so his and kissing him on the side of his neck.

To say that this man was able to take her to the outer limits of ecstasy, was
just a mere understatement.

They had slowly and without noticing gone to the edge of the dance floor and
Xander, wrapping one arm around her waist, gently guided her to their table,
sitting down and gently placing her on his lap.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear as she surrounded his shoulders with her
arms, and leaned her head close enough to kiss him on the lips.

After sending a brief look towards Michael who, seated on the other side of the
table, was idly playing with the straw of his drink as he marked time until his
girlfriend returned, Xander hugged her against his chest, and pressed a soft
kiss against her temple. "And I love you back," he told her with an equally soft
whisper.

They looked at each other for a short moment of silence and then, at the same
time, they closed their mouths together in a fierce and passionate kiss,
forgetting the music and the people around them.

Forgetting about anything that wasn't them and that moment of shared passion, as
their tongues dueled in a wet and smooth battle in which quarter was neither
asker for nor given.

They were young. They were in love. They didn't needed anything else.

On the other side of the small rounded table, Michael Deveraux stopped trying to
hold the thin plastic straw in equilibrium over his upper lip. And, turning
around and muttering something about hormonal teenagers, he tried to locate his
own girlfriend and not to look so out of place amongst all these way-younger
people.

That was when the music stopped, and the lights went out.

With a reaction that was born from centuries of experience, the French
Immortal's hand immediately went to his neatly folded coat on the chair next to
his, slipping under it and closing around the handle of his rapier.

"What the hell?" he heard Xander's muffled voice behind him. "Michael?"

All around the interior of the night club, the sudden darkness was filled with
all the possible different versions of 'what's going on?' and 'turn on the
lights!' as the teenaged crowd tried to figure, indeed, what was going on and
why nobody turned on the lights.

Somewhere a chair fell to the floor with a clattering sound, and a girl squeaked
a little yelp that was a mix of fear and excitement.

Barely five seconds before the lights had been switched off, a potent focus was
lit, creating a perfectly circled column of bright light in the middle of the
dance floor. And standing in the center of the spot of light Rachel Curran
smiled at the trio, her hands leaned on her narrow waist and a deliciously
wicked expression on her face.

Somebody in the darkness outside her little spot of light let out a loud and
appreciative whistle, but the brunette woman simply ignored him, her eyes only
interested in the man with the dark blue eyes and charming crooked smile.

Then, the music began to play, slow and haunting and the whole crowd around the
dance floor remained silent and quiet.

"Things haven't been the same
Since you came into my life
You found a way to touch my soul
And I'm never, ever, ever gonna let it go"

Very slowly, Rachel raised her right hand from her waist and pointed at Michael
with a finger of perfect manicure. 'You.'

Looking around himself with an expression of faked surprise, Michel tapped his
own chest with his finger as if to say, 'Me?'

Rachel nodded slowly, curving her finger and motioning at him to join her on the
dance floor. 'Come with me.'

"Happiness lies in your own hand
It took me much too long to understand
How it could be
Until you shared your secret with me"

As he sent a smile and wiggled his eyebrows at the younger couple, Michael stood
up and walked slowly and suggestively towards his lover, wanting nothing more
than slap his lips against hers and kiss her senseless till the end of time.

Nevertheless, just when he was about to take her into his arms, the brunette
stopped him by going further than an arm's length by laying a hand flat on his
chest. Michael raised his brow in surprise, but Rachel just shook her head
slowly and smiled at him with that wicked, almost perverse expression.

'Not yet, baby.'

Michael raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. 'Then what?'

"Something's comin' over, mmm mmm
Something's comin' over, mmm mmm
Something's comin' over me
My baby's got a secret"

He sighed and leaned his hands on his waist as she began to walk around him,
tracing a slow circle around his figure. Her arms crossed on her chest and her
head slightly tilted to one side, she was looking appreciatively at him.

At his elegant swimmer's body encased in those dark blue jeans, and v-neck light
blue sweater that looked so good on him.

"Like what you see, ma chèrie?" he asked her over his shoulder, when she stopped
at his back.

Getting closer to him, she smiled and whispered in his ear, "Not bad... not bad
at all."

And then, she began to really move.

"You gave me back the paradise
That I thought I lost for good
You helped me find the reasons why
It took me by surprise that you understood"

All the people in the Bronze, from the first waiter to the last customer,
couldn't help but to stare in astonished amazement as the gorgeous woman moved
smooth and seductively around her lover, dancing a sensual dance of seduction
around him.

Her hips were swaying at the rhythm of the music as her hands traced the
contours of his body, her fingertips the only part of her that really touched
him now and them.

"Wow," Xander heard Cordelia whispering, sharing her own amazement but with a
warm and knowing smile crossing his lips. "Now, that's what I call hot."

The truth was, it was making her remember an incident from long ago, involving
her own lover and certain blonde Slayer.

Only that, where Buffy's action had been foolish and cold, Rachel's dance was
pure fire; and it was managing to communicate all the passion she felt for that
light-brown-haired and handsome man beside her, to the entire crowd of the
nightclub.

Seeing her dancing, it was impossible for anybody not to think that she loved
and wanted that man to the point of madness.

"Just wait a second," Xander whispered in Cordelia's ear. "The best part is yet
to come."

Feeling his warm hand taking hold of her waist when he placed it flat and
possessively on her belly and stroked her sensuously, Cordelia stifled a moan of
pleasure, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the couple in the middle of the
dance floor.

She barely noticed the slow movement outside the circle of light enveloping
them, as the people there also began to dance at the rhythm of the song, the
dark and almost shapeless shadows of their waving bodies creating an almost
dreamy background against the figures of Rachel and Michael.

It was getting really hot inside the Bronze that night and, as she felt Xander's
mouth beginning to run over her neck, lapping and sucking at her pulse, it
became almost impossible for the brunette young woman to imagine how it could
get better than this.

And then, Michael began to move along with Rachel.

"You knew all along
What I never wanted to say
Until I learned to love myself
I was never ever lovin' anybody else"

Sensual, slow, gentle, tender. Dark blue lost into chocolate-brown. Hands
moving, tracing soft curves and hard edges without really touching. Just a
whisper of air between them, a distance that was at the same time too close to
comfort and like being a whole world apart.

It was like having sex with your clothes on.

"Happiness lies in your own hand
It took me much too long to understand
How it could be
Until you shared your secret with me"

With her back to his chest, one hand reaching over her shoulder to capture the
back of her neck as her hips moved in a sensual round motion, she nuzzled him,
teasing his most sensitive part with her perfect behind as his hands lay on her
waist.

His fingertips slipped under her white blouse and began to do wonderful things
to the exposed warm flesh of her midriff, feeling her silky softness, caressing
her in a way that only he was allowed to do.

Her hand ascended from the back of his neck, to lose its fingers between the
short strands of his hair.

Tilting her head to one side, she offered the smooth and silky skin of her own
neck to her lover. Drawing him closer to her until his mouth closed around her
fast-pacing pulse, making her grunt and moan with a kind of pleasure that only
he was able to give to her.

"Something's comin' over, mmm mmm
Something's comin' over, mmm mmm
Something's comin' over me
My baby's got a secret"

Xander got up from his chair, practically throwing Cordelia out of his lap and
the brunette young woman would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't taken her
into his arms at the last possible moment.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked in surprise, as he practically carried her in
his arms to the dance floor.

"I'm tired of looking," he growled at her wolfishly, "I want some action."

The brunette raised an eyebrow with incredulity. "Xander, I've seen you dancing;
if you begin doing your... movements, we're gonna look like idiots at their
side."

Xander just looked at her sideways, allowing a crooked and almost arrogant smile
to come up to his lips. "Once again, sweetheart," he whispered huskily at her as
he placed her feet on the dance floor, "you're thinking about the old Xander."

"What do you-?"

The words were cut short in Cordelia's mouth, when he possessively placed his
hands on her sexy hips and began to move. Making her sway along with him in a
way that, although not as overtly sexual as the one of their two friends, was as
intimate and full of sensuality as it.

Making an effort to close her mouth at Xander's sure and sensual movements,
Cordelia leaned her arms over his shoulder and began to put her two cents into
the dance, quickly getting into the rhythm that her lover was marking.

Moving along with him, a soft smile curving the corner of her lips as her
precious hazel eyes lost themselves in his usually enigmatic and intense brown
ones.

She saw passion there, and desire, and deep, almost overwhelming love.

Sex with their clothes on? That wasn't enough to describe it.

They were making love to each other. With their eyes, their hands, their hips...
they were loving each other.

Yep, she had been wrong. After all, things could get better.

"Happiness lies in your own hand
It took me much too long to understand
How it could be
Until you shared your secret with me"

The people began to surround them and soon they were all dancing as the lights
came up, and the whole dance floor was bathed in a glow that seemed to be born
from the living pulse of the crowd that danced, jumped and laughed like a
single, exotic entity.

Damn, it felt good to be young and alive.

Hugging his lover strongly to his chest, laughing and enjoying his time as he
had rarely done before, Michael Deveraux made her spin around, the pearl-like
sound of her own laughter echoing in his ears like the most beautiful music ever
created by god or man.

Both in his mind and the young vampire's one, the bad clouds were dissipated by
the joy of loving those women brought to them and by the happiness that only
their love and affection could make blossom in their hearts.

Gone were the nightmares of young and deranged vampires, of blood-ties and
hurtful pasts, of sandy-haired men dying in a explosion of fire and smoke, of
cries in the darkness of the night and days full of nothing more than sorrow and
pain.

There were no space for those memories, only for the moment of shared
friendship, for the joy of living and loving, for the laughter and the love. For
them.

They were young. They were alive. They were in love. And nothing really mattered
beyond that.

"Mmm mmm, my baby's got a secret
Mmm mmm, my baby's got a secret
Mmm mmm, my baby's got a secret for me
Mmm mmm, mmm mmm, mmm mmm"

But, as with everything in life, it had to come to an end, and for both couples
it came when the music finally faded away and they stopped their dancing, each
woman in the tender embrace of her male lover.

Both lost in each other's embrace as if the crowd around them, who was madly
clapping and cheering, celebrating a moment that would surely pass to the annals
of the Bronze, didn't really exist.

Xander brushed his lips against Cordelia's. Rachel brought her mouth against
Michael's. The two couples, a perfect mix of light and darkness, kissed long and
hard like only lovers do... with the heart.

Yes, it felt good to be alive.

And then something hit Xander on the shoulder, making him break his lip-lock
with his loved one.

"Hey!" he exclaimed with annoyance, as he turned around to face whoever had
interrupted such a wonderful moment so rudely. "Watch it!"

The man looked at him with hostility, a bulky biker-like guy with long hair and
leather jacket. He was practically dragging away a petite and giggling blonde
with his arm around her narrow shoulders and who looked to have taken
one-too-many beers.

"Watch yourself, asshole," he growled at Xander, practically spitting the words
at him when he spoke.

The young vampire looked at them through half-closed and inquiring eyes, tilting
his head to one side. "I'm sorry," he told the biker softly, "I wasn't paying
attention."

"I can guess why," the biker said, throwing an almost obscene look towards
Cordelia's body.

Xander felt his girlfriend stilling in his arms and couldn't help but smile as,
out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed her sullen expression of disgust at
the man's visual groping of her figure.

"Come on," the blonde girl told the biker, the words slurring out of her mouth
with alcoholic difficulty. "Dis place is gettin' boring, take me fer a ride..."
Yanking at his leather jacket, she tried to take him away from the still-hugging
couple, giggling senseless and hiccuping now and then.

"A ride, sure..." The man sent a last couple of looks towards Xander and
Cordelia and, surrounding the blonde's shoulders again with his arm, began to
walk away from them. "I'll give you the ride of your life, babe."

"Is it what I think it is?" Cordelia asked softly at Xander's ear and he nodded
slowly, his eyes glued to the biker's broad back as the unlikely pair walked out
of the local establishment.

The brunette sighed with resignation. "Is it going to ruin our night?"

Before Xander could answer her, he noticed Michael and Rachel getting closer to
them, still locked in a tight embrace but with both their faces covered by
grimmer expressions.

"Something wrong, mon frère?" the French Immortal asked.

"Vampire," Xander said simply, pointing to the couple with a sharp nod of his
head.

Rachel sighed, leaning her head on Michael's shoulder. "Never a night without
its share of fun," she growled. "Do we play rock, paper, scissors?"

"Non," Michael grunted, reluctantly extricating himself from his lover's arms
and giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" Xander asked him.

The French Immortal shrugged half-heartedly. "Oui, this is your night after
all," he told him with a wink as he began to follow the biker and his date. "And
besides, after our little dance if I don't let off some steam I will end up
embarrassing myself; and you know, I have a reputation to maintain."

"And we don't want that," Rachel said with a wicked grin. "Remember that we have
an... appointment later."

Michael just winked an eye to her. "I do, mon amour."

Finally turning around, Michael lost himself in the crowd, in time to see the
biker guide the blonde girl out of the Bronze by one of the side exits. He
hurried his pace, following their path.

Near him, Chuck was attending a table, taking the young peoples' request on his
notepad with a long number 2 yellow pencil. When he passed them by, Michael
reached out with his hand and slipped the wooden pencil out of the waiter's hand
with his nimble fingers.

"Hey!" Chuck protested with a frown. "That's my pencil!"

"Sorry, kiddo," Michael smiled at him, slipping the pencil behind his ear. "It's
a homework-related emergency."

Flashing a last maniacal smile to the young waiter, as he looked at him as if
Michael was the craziest guy on the whole planet, the French Immortal walked out
of the nightclub.

Taking a look around, he wished he had the metabolic control of his vampire
friend, so that the coldness of the December night wouldn't freeze him like it
was doing right then.

"Come on," he growled, hugging himself and clenching his teeth together not to
shiver. "Why did I leave my coat inside?"

Somewhere not far away in the darkness of the alley, a moan that was a mix of
pain and pleasure resounded on the dirty walls. "Oh, because of that."

Michael rolled his eyes and began to follow the sounds for some tens of meters,
until he finally located its source behind the bulk of a rusty and awfully
smelly dumpster. Two shadowy figures were struggling in the dim semidarkness of
the alley, one much more larger than the other, a mix of growls and groans
coming out of them.

Sighing with resignation, the French Immortal shook his head and walked calmly
to them. "What's up?" he asked aloud. "The message was not clear enough?"

Before either of the other two could react, Michael spun around as he smoothly
jumped in the air, connecting a perfect roundhouse flying kick with the face of
the blonde girl and making her fly backwards and away into a large pile of
sticky trash.

The French Immortal landed smoothly on his feet and, sighing once more, looked
at the fallen woman, shaking his finger at her in reprehension and annoyance.
"We don't like your kind around here, ma chèrie!"

As the girl growled like an animal, trying to regain her feet, Michael turned to
the biker who, with large and horrified eyes, was looking at the whole scene and
about to have a deep attack of panic as he held his neck with his hand. "What
the-? That damn bitch... she bit me! She..."

The woman finally got up and hissed at the two men with a vicious snarl, her
face now turned into a twisted and edged parody of a human one. "Jesus Christ on
a friggin' sidecar!! What happened to her face?!?" he exclaimed.

"Well, somehow I don't think it's acne," Michael quipped with a risen eyebrow.
"Can you walk?"

The biker, pale as a ghost, looked at him in astonishment. "Yeah," he nodded.

"Then run," the French Immortal told him succinctly as he covered him and faced
the blonde vampiress with an evil grin, adopting a comfortable fighting posture
with his body slightly turned to one side and his knees flexed.

He heard the quick footsteps of the biker at his back, and didn't need to turn
around to imagine the large man running as fast as his legs allowed him.

"I like the innocent girl act," he told the vampiress, "do you use it a lot?"

She flashed him a grin, full of pointed fangs. "Whatever works is fine with me."

Michael just smiled. "Mmm, a practical girl, I like that too."

Without any warning, the blonde female vampire jumped forward, tracing a
roundhouse kick with her extended leg directed at Michael's knees. The French
Immortal avoided the kick by jumping up and to the side and, leaning his right
foot on the edge of dumpster, propped himself up on it.

The French Immortal then spun around like a twister, violent kicking her in the
face with so much strength that her head twisted to one side and a thick spurt
of blood came of from her mouth, raining down on the sticky asphalt of the
alley.

"Bastard!" she growled at him, backpedaling in pain. She spat more blood and
saliva, and tested one of her fangs with the point of her tongue, finding it
loose and weak. "You're going to pay for that!"

He smiled smugly, shaking his head in amusement. "I would love to see this
happen."

With a growl of rage, she slashed the air with her elongated claws, trying to
get to his throat, but Michael just leaned backwards, letting her fingertips
pass a couple of inches from his flesh with a sharp swoosh of ripped air.

Losing her equilibrium because of the violence of her movement, the vampire
collided painfully against the dumpster. Before she could regain her composure,
Michael grabbed her by her loose blonde mane, yanking at her hair, bringing her
head back and smashing her face against the metallic surface with all his
strength.

The blonde grunted in pain and, not being able to hide a grimace of repugnance,
the French Immortal smashed her face again against the dumpster, folding the
metal with the force of the impact.

"You know?" he asked her, as he took a good hold of her head with his two hands.
"I hate hurting a woman," he kneed her in the gut, a moan of pain escaping from
her lips.

"I think a guy has to be really sick to do such a thing," he hit her face with a
backhand punch and threw her against the wall, taking the borrowed pencil from
his ear and pointing at her with its sharpened point. "But in your case, I'm
going to make an exception."

The vampiress roared, and launched herself against him with her golden eyes
blazing with rage and hate. Michael just stepped aside and, tracing a perfect
arch with his arm, stabbed her in the heart with the pencil. She moaned in pain,
her blood wetting his fingers as it flowed out from the wound on her chest.

Michael closed his eyes and, clenching his teeth, tore the tiny piece of wood
out of her. The pencil came out, followed by a thin spray of blood; she jerked
as if she had been hit by a lightning bolt, letting out a sharp squeak of pain
that was like the one of a tiny animal. Then, after a second of silence, she
just exploded into ashes.

The French Immortal opened his dark blue eyes, just in time to see the last
vestiges slowly falling to the ground like flakes of dirty snow. Looking at his
bloodied fingers and the equally sticky pencil, he let out a sigh that was
almost of pain.

He raised his eyes to the front of the alley, where the biker had run away, and
then down to the pile of dust on the ground.

"I'm sorry," he said painfully, "I wish I could have been there for you, too."

Then, shaking his head, he threw the pencil into the dumpster and walked to the
lateral exit of the Bronze, losing no time in getting into the warm refuge of
the interior of the club as he wiped clean his fingers with the aid of a white
linen handkerchief.

"And my pencil?" Chuck asked the Immortal when he passed by him, while walking
to his friends' table.

With an expression of annoyance, Michael took out a five dollar bill from his
wallet and stuffed it into the waiter's breast pocket. "Buy a new one."

As Chuck took out the five bucks and checked its authenticity with a suspicious
expression, Michael finally made his way to the table and sat down, allowing
Rachel to immediately slip onto his lap and surround his neck with her arms as
she pressed a soft kiss on his temple.

"Everything alright?" Xander asked him with worry.

Faking a smile, the French Immortal nodded at him and arched his brow. "You
know, the pen actually was mightier than the sword."

"Well," Cordelia sighed, sitting on her own lover's lap, "it wasn't being a bad
night until now."

"And who says it can't still be?" Rachel looked around until she spotted the
waiter and called his attention. "Hey, Chuck! Be a good boy and bring us some
beers, will you?"

Knowing that they were the ones that usually gave the bigger tips, Chuck lost no
time in serving them four bottles of classic, cold and golden American beer.

Taking a hold of his cold one, Michael just made a grimace, sticking the rosy
point of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Budweiser? Have you ever
heard about Heineken? San Miguel? Carlsberg?"

"Hey," Xander warned him with a playful smile, "stop complaining, buddy. And
welcome to the good old US of A."

"Well," Cordelia said with a smile, raising her bottle, "what do we toast to? I
say to the Scooby Gang and the Archangels."

"To friends," Rachel offered, lifting her own.

"To lovers," Michael suggested, doing the same.

As all the stares centered on Xander's figure, the young vampire raised his
bottle to the center of the small table and smiled warmly to the three of them.
"To us."

Smiling and shaking their heads, the four friends clinked softly the necks of
their bottles together. "To us!" they cheered with joy, once again forgetting
about anything that wasn't the moment and the shared feelings of love and
friendship.

After all, they were only human.

~~~~~~

The radio was blasting some kind of loud rock music, filling the interior of the
car with the striking sound of clashing electric guitars and sharps screams that
could be the voice of a singer... or not.

But the truth was, Spike couldn't have cared less about it.

He was too tired to even keep on thinking. And so, as he had been doing for the
last few hours, the bleached-hair vampire just continued driving in auto-pilot
mode without any real destination or purpose. All the while, a cigarette
consumed itself in the corner of his mouth, a cloud of blue-gray smoke coming
now and then from his nostrils.

Just like his own life. Without destination or purpose, consuming itself more
and more with each passing second and turning into a cloud of smoke that
vanished into the air.

=Why'd things 'ave to be so bloody difficult? Why couldn't they be like they
were in the old days?=

Everything had been so easy back then; get up really late, go out, kill
somebody, drink some blood, have some mindless sex with Dru or whoever was
available at the time... just acting like any normal Master vampire would have
done.

Why did he have to stumble upon Xander, on that cold and wet night in Seattle?
Why did he have to see something inside the boy, that had begun a slow but
unstoppable change inside him? And that change, was it for good or not? Good for
him? Was he really doing the right thing?

And Willow... what was happening to him with her? What was that strange
sensation in his stomach, any time he was close to her? Was he really... falling
for her, in a deeper way than what he'd thought possible for someone like
himself?

As the realization of what was happening to him hit Spike with the full force of
a pile-driver, the bleached-hair vampire opened his eyes wide and slammed his
foot on the brake.

Making his blue and rusty Monte Carlo stop, with a screech of punished tires in
the middle of the lonely street.

He was brooding.

"Oh, shit!" Spike exclaimed even when there was nobody around to hear him,
leaning his forehead on the steering wheel.

The irony of the situation was too strong to ignore, and the bleached-hair
vampire found himself chuckling bitterly. "I'm turnin' into me bloody sire!"

=What's gonna be next? Leather pants? Ridiculously large amounts of gel in me
'air?=

Spike leaned back in his seat. =The whole situation's plain stupid!= He sighed
deeply (a thing he did really well for a guy that had no breath), passing a
tired hand over his chiseled features.

Yeah, he had been about to kiss her, but so what? It wasn't as if he had thrown
her onto the table and ripped her clothes off, exposing her soft and milky white
skin so he could run his lips over each inch of it and then...

=OK, so maybe things are a little more serious, after all.=

He couldn't get the image of her out of his mind, how her heart had beaten
against his chest, how good it had felt having her warm and petite body in his
arms, how her lips had looked so soft, so promising as his own mouth descended
towards them...

Yeah, he had a crush on her, but did that mean that he was in love with her? He
wasn't sure about that.

But what Spike did know was that in the last few weeks, as the young redhead
managed to worm inside his being, inside his heart, she had accomplished what no
one else had been able to do.

She had begun to expel Drusilla's shadow out of his heart and mind.

It had all begun in that dark and twisted underground tunnel as she had remained
by his side, soothing and helping him while Henri Duprè's spell tried to corrupt
and take control of him; she had been so... different, from everything he had
known before...

Drusilla would have laughed at the scene, at the weak vampire lying in the lap
of the petite apprentice of witchcraft as she soothed and calmed him with her
sweet voice. She would have called him pathetic, a worm, a thousand different
names, each one more painful and full of hate and venom than the last.

Exactly like she had done, before he'd staked her.

Spike had dusted her two years ago, but it hadn't helped him to get free of her.
Her spirit still plagued his dreams and his moments of loneliness, the memories
of her were still like a dagger stabbing his heart.

And, more than once, Spike had wondered if he would ever be able to get rid of
the ghost of the vampiress he had loved more than life itself.

And this was no figure of speech. Once, she had asked him to give his life for
her and embrace death and darkness. And he had happily obliged.

He had thought that it was love.

Now, as he dared to explore his feelings towards certain petite redhead, he was
beginning to question that belief.

The honk of a car startled him, bringing him out of his thoughts and making him
jump in his seat as he let out a very unfitting yelp of surprise. A boxy pick-up
passed by his car with its driver leaned out the window, directing at him a
hostile expression. "Move it, asshole!!"

With a growl, Spike stuck his head out of his own window and showed him his
extended middle finger. "Screw you, asshole!!" he told him off. "Bloody 'ell..."

With a frown, the bleached-hair vampire threw the ember butt of his cigarette
out of the window and took a hold of his keys, turning them violently around as
he tried to start the car.

The engine of the Chevy coughed uselessly like a sick animal, refusing to wake
up. Spike growled and insisted with the key, as he slowly pumped on the gas
pedal.

"C'mon, don't do this to me..." The engine finally came to life and roared, as
the bleached-hair vampire closed his fist and made an unmistakable gesture of
victory. "Yeah!"

Deciding to go to a bar he had found a couple of days before which suited his
mood perfectly, Spike stepped down on the gas as he searched for a new cigarette
in the pocket of his duster.

He brought it to his lips, humming at the tone of the hard-rock song that the
radio was playing. It was a night as good as any other to get drunk, maybe even
better than most.

The Chevy stopped dead with a sudden shake and Spike was propelled forward, his
forehead colliding painfully with the steering-wheel and the still-unlit
cigarette flying from his lips.

As he let out a grunt of pain and caressed the small bump growing on his head,
the car seemed to be victim of a sudden collapse, the engine going dead and
silent as did the radio and all the lights.

"What the f-?" he growled with confusion.

And then, without any kind of warning, the suspension lost all its strength and
the frame of the car suddenly fell to the ground.

Leaving a bewildered vampire floating in the air for a short second, until the
roof hit him on his pained head and ripped another grunt from his lips, pushing
him down onto his seat.

=What's goin' on 'ere?=

As if the aged Chevrolet had been possessed by some kind of playful poltergeist,
the frame began to bounce up and down wildly and without any kind of control as
the lights switched on and off in a maddening pattern.

The radio came back to life and searched for a new station as if by its own
volition, not seeming to stop at any one of them.

"Oh, Lucifer!" Spike exclaimed as he tried to take hold of something so he
wouldn't hit his head on the roof with each wild bounce of the car. "I'm gonna
be abducted?!"

And then the radio began blasting out lyrics, as the interior of the car was
filled by colored fluorescent lights whose source he wasn't able to find.

"La cucaracha, la cucaracha
Ya no puede caminar!
Porque le falta, porque no encuentra
Las dos patitas de atrás!"

Spike looked at the radio in astonishment, as the loud mariachi music filled his
head, threatening to make it explode.

Then, the proverbial light-bulb lit up over his head. "Those sons of..."

"La cucaracha, la cucaracha
Ya no puede caminar!
Porque le falta, porque no encuentra
Marihuana que fumar!"

With a final shake, the car seemed to take one last breath and then collapsed
down with the force of a ton of bricks. All the windows exploded into tiny sharp
pieces of glass, and the hood opened up like the mouth of a dying beast. The
doors fell off their hinges to the ground.

The whole structure trembled as if in an earthquake, the axles broke and the
four tires rolled away from the car.

And then, everything finally remained still and silent.

Thrown about in the front seat like a discarded cigarette butt, with one leg on
the dashboard, the other one over the back of the passenger's seat and his head
somewhere under the steering wheel, Spike calmly patted the floor until he found
his lost cigarette.

He brought it back to his lips, slowly lighting it with his lighter and then
taking a long and deep puff of smoke into his undead lungs. "Somebody is gonna
die for this," he growled.

Awkwardly managing to crawl out of the now-ruined car on his hands and knees,
the bleached-hair vampire stood up and walked slowly and methodically around the
Chevrolet, shaking his head at seeing the ruined wreckage it had turned out to
be.

"Somebody is so gonna die for this."

With a growl of rage that grew to a roar that shook the entire night around him,
Spike kicked the front bumper with all his strength once and again and yet
again, making it fold under the impact of his supernatural vampire strength.

=Great way to end a perfect day!= he thought with sarcasm as his right foot rose
to kick it once more and a colorful insult escaped from his lips. =Well, at
least it couldn't get any worse.=

"I think the poor fella is already dead," a voice told him at his back, "stop
torturing him, would you, Spike?"

With his eyebrows arched in shock, the bleached-hair vampire turned around in a
flash. =Surprise, surprise... it did get worse, after all.=

"You," he growled at the female figure in the darkness of the walkway,
immediately allowing his human mask to vanish and his real face come to show as
his claws and fangs became long and sharp. "Faith."

The former Slayer came out of the shadows that plagued the empty street and
walked closer to the bleached-hair vampire with a feminine gait, her hands
behind her back and a wicked smile on her lips. "I'm honored you recognize me,
even when we've never met before."

Spike managed a tight smile at her, and a growl of warning when he considered
that she was getting too close to comfort. "I've 'eard a lot about ya, luv."

"Nothing good, I hope," she smiled sweetly at him. At the bleached-hair
vampire's lack of response, Faith sighed dramatically, showing her back to him
and examining the ruined blue car. "I gather you've had a little... accident."

"Nothing that can't be repaired with a little of superglue and some
imagination," he quipped, examining her through half-closed eyes, wondering what
she intended, wanted or pretended.

"You know?" she said, leaning to look at the interior of the car and still
without looking straight at him. "I've read a lot about you. Well," she
shrugged, "not that reading is one of my favorite ways to spend time, but I like
to learn from the best."

She turned her head slightly, sending him an appreciative look and a soft smile.
"I always thought you were one of them, but this doesn't seem to really fit in
with what I know about you..."

Choking down a growl, Spike crossed his arms over his chest and sent her an
expression of annoyance. "Well, what can I say? I been 'aving a bad day."

"And how is that?" she inquired, walking once again closer to him. "Did you get
up on the wrong side of the coffin?"

"Ha, ha," he said without humor, "very funny, Faith. Now tell me, do ya want
somethin' in particular from me, or can we just skip to the part where I rip ya
lungs out and make ya swallow 'em?"

"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head, "don't be a naughty boy, Spike. You should be
nice to me, because..." she smiled at him, getting so close to his body that he
was able to smell the natural perfume of her skin, "...I want to be nice to
you."

The bleached-hair vampire raised an eyebrow with incredulity. "Really? Meself I
think it'd be smarter to French-kiss a cobra."

Faith sighed, rolling her brown eyes. "What's up with you, Spike? What's
happened to the vampire whose name was feared all over Europe? What would
Drusilla think of you if she saw you right now?"

With a growl of rage, Spike jumped on her, grabbing the former Slayer by her
neck with a steel-like grip and pushing her roughly against the ruined blue
Chevy. "Don't you ever dare to..."

He looked at her eyes and the voice died on his lips, as something seemed to hit
him squarely in his gut. They were bright and almost feverish, and Spike wasn't
able to find any trace of fear there.

There was excitement, rage, and a good dose of madness – he was too familiar
with it, to not recognize it at first sight. They were exactly like Drusilla's
eyes.

"To what?" she asked with a rough and forced voice through the bleached-hair
vampire's grasp. "To pronounce her name? To tell you the truth?"

Half-closing his golden eyes, Spike applied a little more pressure on her
throat; maybe he wouldn't be able to suffocate her, but the strength of his hand
was almost enough to turn her vertebrae into thin bone-dust. "Don't speak about
stuff you dunno anythin' about."

"Oh, don't I?" she managed a sarcastic chuckle. "It's so damned... well, I don't
know if it's ironic or just plain pathetic. All your life as a vampire trying to
come out of Angelus' shadow, trying to demonstrate to everybody that you were
better than him. More ruthless, stronger, eviler, crueler... better. And now
look at you..."

She shook her head, as if in pity. "You've ended up being exactly like him: one
of the Slayer's lapdogs. And you don't even have the soul excuse."

Spike growled in rage, her words touching a deep part of him in a way he hadn't
believed she could. He let her neck go, slapping her with the back of his hand
so hard that her head was violently twisted to one side, and the former Slayer
fell to the ground.

"Ooh, look at this," she said from the cold and wet asphalt, looking up at him
from behind the silky veil of her tousled brown mane. There was a thin stream of
blood running down the corner of her lips, and Faith stuck out the point of her
tongue to lick it with a twisted smile.

She raised her torso, leaning on her elbows and playfully crossing her long and
bare legs. "Am I wrong, Spike? Is there anything more to you than what meets the
eye?"

"You can be sure o' that, luv," he growled, towering over her with rage-blazing
eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, the former Slayer got up from the ground, propping herself
up with her shoulder-blades and smoothly landing on her high-heeled shoes. "You
should begin rechecking your priorities, handsome. It's a shame to waste all
this... talent you have."

"Are you askin' me to betray my friends?" he asked with incredulity.

"Friends?" she laughed out loud with sincere amusement. "Those people are not
your friends, Spikey-Boy. They can't be."

"You don't know 'em."

"But I know you," she stated, almost with rage. "Stop lying to yourself, Spike.
You're not like them. You can't be like them. They're nothing more than humans
or human-wannabes, and you're a god of the blood. A vampire. A killer. You're
like me."

Spike clenched his teeth together and, closing his hands into tight fists, the
bleached-hair vampire leaned dangerously close to her. "I ain't like you, ya
psycho bitch!"

Faith smiled smugly and then, before he knew what was happening, grabbed him by
the back of his neck and slammed her mouth against his almost violently, parting
his lips with hers and slipping her cold tongue inside the equally cold cavity
of his mouth.

She kissed him long and deep, and all that Spike was able to think was that she
tasted like Drusilla. Dark, cold, immensely erotic...

She slid her tongue over the point of one of his fangs, and the taste of her
blood filled his mouth like some kind of maddening ambrosia.

"Stop fooling yourself," Faith growled, breaking away from him. "We're not pets
with fangs, baby; we can't be domesticated."

Then, she placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed him with all her
strength, sending him flying backwards onto the slightly opened hood of the car.


Spike landed on the metallic surface with a grunt of pain and, before he could
even think of getting up, the former Slayer began to walk away from him, sending
him one last wicked look over her bare shoulder.

"Think about what I've told you, Spikey-Boy," she said with that perverse grin
that was so hers. "Oh, and don't worry about my neck," Faith caressed the
slightly crimson marks that his fingers had caused on the smooth pale skin of
her throat, "I like it rough. See ya around there, handsome. Take care!"

Spike stood quiet and motionless on the hood of his ruined car, his golden eyes
wide open and bewildered; the flavor of her blood was still flesh on his lips,
as he watched helplessly how the former Slayer disappeared into the darkness of
the night.

"Boy," he groaned, leaning his head on the edge of the roof and raising his eyes
to the full moon above, "me life is sure gettin' complicated!!"

~~~~~~

Barely containing her laughter, Faith jogged with a relaxed pace along the dark
street until she reached a dark alley and walked into it, shaking her head with
amusement.

The headlamps of the shiny silver Aston Martin switched on, bathing her in a
bright aura of gold. The former Slayer raised her hand to protect her brown
eyes, as the roar of the British sport car's engine reverberated through the
walls. Smiling, Faith walked to the passenger side and, opening the door,
slipped into warm interior of the car.

"Was that what you had in mind?" she asked Damon, as she made herself
comfortable in her seat.

The young hit man smiled at her, and raised a sandy-haired eyebrow. "I couldn't
have done it better myself, baby. Especially the part with the kiss."

The former Slayer smiled back at him broadly. "Well, it was certainly my
pleasure to help, toyboy."

Stepping down on the gas and taking the car out of the alley, Damon shook his
head. "I'm sure it was."

~~~~~~

To be continued...