Chapter 1: A Family Affair

Three weeks later.

Spike had to watch the young blond woman carefully, ever since she'd come into Sunnydale on the evening train from LAX. She carted a small suitcase on wheels behind her, a small saddlebag of a purse slung across her back. Her figure looked good, but there seemed to be a few inches about the hips that refused to go away. A scarf was tied around her head to keep her short hair out of her face. She continuously consulted a scrap of paper through the gold wire-rim glasses perched on her nose, seeming completely oblivious to her surroundings as she hummed the theme to The Godfather

He thought she might as well be sporting a sign announcing, "I'm O-pos and won't fight back. Drain me, please."

Sure enough, just as she was passing one of the town's many graveyards, a dirt-covered fledgling decided to do just that, springing out in front of her from the bushes.

To Spike's surprise, she didn't even cry out in alarm, let alone scream for her life. "Oh you have got to be kidding me!" she said in a tone of supreme exasperation. The fledgling stopped, looking confused at her lack of fear. "I'm not even in town a half-hour, and you decide to try picking up the helpless newbie human? Guess what, I'm unimpressed."

Then the fledgling lunged and grabbed her arms, only to get a stake shoved through the heart where she'd hidden it up her jacket sleeve. She spit out the dust that had gotten into her mouth. "Serves you right."

Spike smiled to himself at this woman, who was obviously not a Slayer—even though he'd been expecting a third one since Buffy had died months ago. He knew she was no Slayer because she never saw or heard the second vampire creeping up behind her. Spike took his cue and dusted him before he could even come close.

The blonde turned quickly, stake in hand, just in time to see the vampire disintegrate, revealing Spike standing behind the particles. She looked him over with a quick, critical eye, one corner of her mouth turning up in a small smile. "Thank you."

Spike shrugged, tucking his weapon away. "Gotta watch out for the ones that try for a sneak attack."

She slipped the stake up her sleeve again. "I'll keep that in mind." She was about to turn away to continue on to her destination, when she stopped and faced him again. "You're not a native, but do you know your way around town?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Lived here almost two years now. Why d' you ask?"

The little smile appeared again. "Well, I'm severely new, and I need tantamount to a guide. I'm willing to pay—"

Spike held up a hand to stop her. "Don't bother. Where d' y' need t' go?"

"A place called the Magic Box."

He considered her carefully. She had a very open, unassuming face. She knew where she was, where she was going, and most importantly she knew about vampires and other things that went kill in the night. But she would probably get killed just because she didn't know her way around. Best to have Big Bad looking after her.

He finally nodded just when she was beginning to think he'd turn her down. "I know the way. C'mon."

Her small smile was replaced with a bigger grin. "Thanks."

He stayed still, terrifyingly still, holding the knife blade in one hand, waiting to strike.  He summoned all his control and concentration into that one point.  Without warning, he threw his brand-new throwing knife into the target. 

A knock sounded against his door.  He turned, the frown of concentration replaced by a tiny, almost omniscient smile.  "If that's Willow, you can come in."

After living there for over two months, he'd gotten accustomed to never accepting visitors after dark without being very specific about who he invited in. He knew Willow's knock by now, but he liked being cautious anyway.

The cute redheaded witch walked into the room, as shy as ever, her smile as unsure as 20% of the words from her mouth.  The hair was cut short, almost curling around the neck and the shoulders, staying above the nape.  He didn't like to think of advertising dinner to vampires, but he wasn't up on the latest in fashion, so he let it go.

"Hi.  You busy?" she shyly asked.

Never so busy that I can't stop for you, he thought loudly.

The redhead simply smiled and nodded, used to him playing tricks with her telepathy.  Behind Willow was someone he was even more interested in.  He wanted to say her eyes were a marvelous steel blue, but he couldn't swear to it, since she was in the darkness of the doorframe, with the hall lights silhouetting her slender frame and long blonde hair.  The light inside his dorm suite wasn't as high as possible (he liked to work in minimal light for his knife throwing) so her face was in general darkness.  Only those marvelous eyes stood out.

"Um…" Willow said nervously, worried about her friends liking each other.  She introduced them. 

He smiled his charming smile and stepped forward, one hand forward in friendship.  "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. Summers.  I'm sorry I haven't been able to go out on patrol, but I've been busy lately."

Buffy Summers stepped into the light of his room and gave her hand.  He seemed familiar in some way, although she couldn't pinpoint where they could have met.  He smelled familiar, and even looked familiar.  "I've heard quite a bit about you from Willow here.  She's been quite excited.  She gets that way sometimes."

He nodded and squeezed her hand firmly, but not enough to hurt.  "I've noticed.  Might I say, Ms. Summers, that you make an absolutely beautiful corpse?"

Buffy hesitated, unsure of what her reaction even should be.  She had been dead once before, but only for a handful of minutes, not months.  "Willow told me about you.  I thought for a moment that she could've been wrong, now I see she was right."

He cocked a brow.  "Coming from Willow, that must be only good."

"She thought you're a pain, but you're worth having around."

"That's a good thing," Willow said.  "I'm not sure it all came out right, though," she added meekly. 

He laughed heartily. "Good, Willow, you're showing taste! Yes, Ms. Summers, I am the epitome of a human hemorrhoid," he declared with pride.  "We have yet to decide whether or not I'm your hemorrhoid."

Buffy cocked her head, wondering about his response.  "Huh?"

"You could find me useful.  It all depends on what you want in a man."

She lowered her head slightly and peered at him with a look that asked if he was serious.

"A… body… man?"  He could see it was a bad choice of words.  "One of your band of Slayers."

"He means a Scooby," Willow translated.

He flinched inwardly at the term.

Buffy's eyes froze open for a moment as a kind of shocked embarrassment took over.  "Oh… Yeah…  I would've gotten that… And how to you want to show you're my type?"

He smiled broadly and arched his eyebrows suggestively.  "Let's roll around a little." 

As they walked, Spike gleaned a few details about this stranger to the Hellmouth. Despite her good enunciation, he could still hear traces of Brooklyn in her voice. Her bright blue eyes were darting around, keeping track of where they were going. He could still smell the sugar and caffeine rushing through her blood and see the fleeting longing in her eyes when they passed a bakery window.

Fat girl trapped in slim woman's body, Spike thought. He looked her over once more in appreciation. It's still a nice body.

She felt his eyes on her, but chose to ignore him. She still felt a little embarrassed that it took her a month just to burn off the pounds that she had. She still didn't like that her hips still stayed so curved. Stop it stop it stop obsessing! she scolded mentally. You're here to see him and that's it!

They finally arrived at the Magic Box, seeing Anya count out the till for the last time before locking up for the night. Her blond head whipped up to see the vampire and the young woman walk in the door, setting off the chime. She gave him a little smile. "Hi, Spike. Everyone's in the back room."

Spike nodded, and motioned to the woman, whose name he still hadn't gotten. "She was on her way here. Thought it might be best if she had someone t' watch her back."

Anya turned her smile on the newcomer. "Hi. What can I do for you that has nothing to do with business, because we're officially closed?"

"Is Marco Cattalano here please?" she asked in return.

He ducked and sidestepped the right cross and hammered his thumb into her shoulder, numbing the muscle.  He slid back before she could deliver a kick that could collapse his chest.  By the time he made it back to his starting point, the effects of his blow wore off and she came at him again.  She delivered a snap kick aimed high, and her foot landed in his waiting double block.  He pushed.  She fell backwards, landed on her hands, and flipped back onto her feet.  She pivoted to deliver a reverse back kick, but he dropped to one knee while she was still in mid-pivot and let the leg fly over his head as he sprang into her like a lineman breaking the other team's line.  His shoulder landed in her stomach, and he wrapped his arms around her in the same motion.

His impact sent her off balance, and added to his next move.  He held onto her as he threw himself backwards, dragging her with him.  It would have made an impressive throw if he had the impetus to do it, but the awkwardness of the move made him turn it into a wrestling slam against the mat, which would have worked had Buffy not slapped her hands against the mat and jerked her legs from his grasp.  He fell to the mat as she pulled her legs over her head in a handstand.  Before he could move, she back flipped and landed over Marco's chest, straddling him, his neck between her knees.

Marco blinked, a little stunned.  "Wow."

"That's what most people think," Willow said.

"Right before they go ahhh," Xander added, the sound a pseudo-shriek.

Buffy smiled at Marco and patted his chest.  "That's only for baddies. Don't worry about it."  She slid off of him and into a standing position with the grace of a cat.

"I never worry," he replied as he took her offered hand. 

She lifted him to his feet without any effort on Marco's part.  "That's good.  No worries make for no gray hairs, and that happens a lot around here."

He slid his charming face over his eyes and lips like a mask, because it was part of him, and sincerely felt. "Assuming I live so long, of course."

Spike recoiled. He still didn't like the blond upstart from New York. If it weren't for the chip in his head, he could and would have very happily torn Marco apart long ago. "Bloody hell!" he muttered. "You're here t' see him?"

She nodded as Anya called Marco's name.

The college student, all nineteen years of him, strolled out of the back room set up as a small gym. He was a full head taller than the woman, also blond and blue-eyed. He looked over the woman critically, his face carefully neutral. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my long-haired, overweight sister?"

She scowled in return, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, I could ask you who you are and what did you do with my manic-neurotic brother?"

They stared at each other for a moment as the vampire and ex-vengeance demon watched, wondering what was going on. Marco's face softened into a little smile and he strode over to the woman. "Hi, Cassie."

The joke over, the woman allowed her smile to break free, too. "Hey, Marco."

They drew together in what could only be called a sibling-type hug. Spike noticed Marco's arms tighten and heard her gasping slightly. "Marco…oxygen…need it."

Marco grinned and released her. He then turned to the others. "I'd like you to meet Cassandra Cattalano, my sister.  Cassie, I'd like you to meet the…" he glanced at Spike with a furrowed brow of memory recall.  "What was that term you used?  Oh yes, the Scooby Gang," he said, emphasizing the capital letters.  "I've been adopted, you see."

"By a gang of two?"

"The rest are right here," said a blonde coming out of the back room, wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants.  She was drenched in sweat, beads dripping off of her hair, which was pulled back to a tightly wrapped ponytail on the upper back of her head. She was followed close behind by Willow, Tara, the blond fellow witch that was her girlfriend, and their dark-haired, Xander-shaped friend.

Cassie looked at the sweaty Buffy, then Marco, and he caught her eye.  "The first dirty thought that comes out of your head will be your last."

She cocked her eyebrows, all innocence. "Did I say anything? Just be the gentleman you claim to be and introduce us."

Marco pointed to each gang member. "You've met Anya and Spike. That's Xander Harris, Willow Rosenburg, and Tara Maclay." He paused dramatically, gesturing to the sweat-soaked blonde. "And Buffy Summers."

Cassie paused, starting at the name, flashing back briefly to the scene Allen Francis Doyle had made on the roof of their apartment building over three months before. "The Vampire Slayer?"

No, the Queen of the Damned…Of course the Vampire Slayer! Marco thought.

The blonde nodded, smiling, and strode forward with a welcoming hand. "Nice to meet someone who's actually related to the hemorrhoid, and pleasantly surprised that you don't seem the same."

Cassie shook herself out of her reverie, and smiled, taking the offered hand. "You're calling him that already." She cast another glance at her younger brother. "You make friends everywhere, don't you?"

Marco shrugged. "It's a gift."

"Sorry if I seemed a bit shook," Cassie said, "but I was under the impression that you were… well…"

"You can say it," Buffy said kindly. "I was dead."

"Nobody's perfect," Marco said. "I should know, I'm the poster boy for imperfection…Then again, I'm a guy, so that's redundant."

Buffy and Cassie turned to him.  "Shut up, Marco," they said as one. They looked at each other.

Buffy grinned. "I like you already."

"Same here." Cassie returned the grin.

"So, what brings you to Sunnydale?" Willow asked. 

Cassie thrust her finger at Marco. "Him."

Spike took out a cigarette.  "Sure as hell wasn't for the company."

Marco held up a hand to his temple, as though rubbing away a headache, and he glared at Spike, shielding his eyes from Cassie.  His sister didn't have the first clue as to what he was capable of, and all of that reflected in the glare he gave Spike.  The vampire, to his credit, didn't seem to give a damn, even though he would be slightly scared of Marco even without the chip.  The glare was full of meaning Spike easily translated—he'd seen it reflected in Angelus' eyes enough times. He wanted to call it predatory, but Marco never acted like a predator.  He never seemed to go looking for fights, although he enjoyed it once he was in one. 

"Spike," Buffy said, "I was dead for a while, I'm still cranky.  Don't get on my bad side."

The vampire looked genuinely shocked.  "What did I say?"

"Spike," Marco said, "even I respect people and things that can kill me."

Cassie sighed.  "Marco, what have you been up to now?"

"Practicing with Ms. Summers here," he replied. 

"And kicking some demonic ass," Xander put in, pride coloring his voice. He remembered how Marco had handled the rage demon nicknamed Bob only the month before.

Cassie sighed yet again, her eyes smiling though her lips weren't. "Here or home, you always seem to attract the bad things in life."

Marco just smiled his omnipresent smile and Cassie wondered how active he was in "kicking demonic ass."

"I truly haven't been up to much," he lied.  The last time Cassie had seen him fight anything, it had been a three-hundred-year-old master vampire, and he didn't kill that one, though not for lack of trying.  The number of vampires he'd killed since then and the—at least—one-thousand-year-old creature he'd wiped out was a closely guarded secret from his sister. 

"Really?" Buffy said, looking at him strangely.  She glanced to Cassie and back, wondering why he would hide his successes from his own sister.  It was something to check later.

"I hope he hasn't made too much of a pain out of himself," Cassie said, her smile in place again. She herself knew Marco was, with certain people, the most inoffensive person on Earth.

"Oh, no," Willow piped up.  "He's been really helpful.  Especially when he got the liquid—"

"—mercury for the chemistry lab," he cut in.  "I acted as knee breaker with the supplier."

Marco looked at Willow, and the redheaded witch cast a slightly timid gaze at him that Buffy hadn't seen on her for years.  Willow had developed a backbone with a diamond-hard firmness to it, yet she seemed slightly worried about Marco.  Worried?  Was that the word?  Intimidated, even?  Can't be.  Marco was just human.  And if he really meant her harm, she'd simply drop him somewhere in the middle of Tokyo, or wherever she thought of.  But still, there was something between them she'd missed. 

"Let's get you settled somewhere," Marco said.  "It's late."

While Cassie had gained (and early on earned) her reputation for being oblivious, she only carried the façade for so long before one of her observations prompted her to act. So far, those actions only carried to her friends, not her family, and especially not her brother. Like Buffy, she'd seen the look exchanged between Marco and Willow. It gave her something to think about, and something to ask her brother later (or his new friends if he refused to answer). 

She took Marco's words and nodded. "Yeah, I didn't even get a place to stay just yet. Let's go."

She turned, and Marco's hand locked down on her shoulder like a construction claw grabbing a piece of iron.  "Before we do, let me make the last introduction."

Cassie flinched, but tried not to complain.  Her brother never overreacted, so something had to be wrong.  He patted her shoulder and said, "Stay.  Ms. Summers, may I talk with you a moment?"

The Slayer nodded with authority, as though she were a general granting an audience to a captain.  The two of them walked back into the training room.  Marco towered over her and met her eyes, but didn't look down on her.  He always considered most women his equals, if not his betters.  She was definitely a better.

"What's the what?"

He frowned in thought for a moment, until he said, "I take it that's the vernacular for 'What's up'?"

"Yeah… Like, what planet do you come from?"

"New York," he said with a straight face.  "And I know I'm on planet California at the moment, and I should play by local customs, but no one deigned to give me any information on the plane here.  Do you think it would do irreparable harm to Spike's ego if I informed my sister that he's almost as bad as an IRS agent?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose.  "IRS?"

Marco shrugged.  "Different degree of bloodsucker."

She nodded.  "Gotcha…. Spike's harmless.  He can't do anything, so no sweat.  I wouldn't tell her about Willow and Tara, or Anya, even."

Marco's eyes went cold and as dark as arctic skies.  "Fine.  But if she gets hurt because of him, I'll ram a piece of wood into his fourth vertebra, paralyze him, then cauterize the wound with holy water so he'd be a paraplegic vampire permanently and then bury him undead in a casket somewhere Willow would never be able to find him." 

His eyes flickered back to their gentle blue state, and he blinked.  "I apologize for the melodramatics, but the sentiment stands."

Suddenly serious, she asked, "Why tell me?"

"Because you're the boss, and you don't need dissention among the ranks when you don't expect it.  I don't know if I'm good enough to be around you, or strong enough or quick enough.  I don't even know if you want to be bothered with me.  Only thing I know is that I am reliable.  You'll know where I stand every minute, and the general stance is simple: I kill the first thing that touches you, or anyone else in that room."

"Even Spike?" she asked neutrally.

"As long as he's on our side."

"If he's not?"

"Then I kill him."

They locked eyes for a moment and Marco could see her think.  "You won't tell your sister about Spike?"

"No."

"…'Kay.  You're in."

Marco got Cassie to a motel without incident.

"So, I'll go let you sleep." He handed her a slip of paper. "That's a direct line to my dorm room if you need me."

He turned to go out the door when he felt her hand on his arm. He met her eyes, full of curiosity and a slight bit of worry. "Marco, what's going on?"

He sighed. "Well, Willow did a spell to—"

"I'm not talking about that, but I'll ask later. I'm talking about why you're being so evasive about your actual demon hunting."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A small smile twitched across her lips. "Marco, you once told me I was piss-poor at lying," she reminded him. "You're just as poor at acting dumb. So don't try, because I know better. Please tell me?"

"I'm not acting.  I'm male, therefore—"

"Don't try it."

"Try what?"

"Acting cute."

"Me? Cute?  Never!"

"Marco—"

"Cassie, what could I hide?"

"I don't know, did you kill someone?"

Marco's face didn't change.  He had gotten good at that.  "Only vampires.  Aside from that? Who's there to kill around here?  I haven't seen a mugger since I arrived.  I think the vampires ate them all."

"I saw the way Willow looked at you, she was scared."

He cocked an eyebrow and turned his amused smile upwards a little.  "Really?  You could tell that from someone you just met from a five-second glance.  Yeah, right, and I'm a two thousand year old master vampire.  Good night, Cassie."

She dragged him back forcefully by his shirt. "No! No 'Good night, Cassie'!" She was shocked at how loud she'd almost screamed.

Marco merely looked down at her hand on his shirt as though it were some inconvenience. He grabbed her hand, digging his thumb into the fleshy part between thumb and index finger, and moved his hand like a lever, pulling her off him. 

She hid her surprise, and her pain. She began again softly. "Marco, I know what I saw. I've actually worked very hard at sharpening my observations while you've been gone. And I have observed that Willow's not acting like herself around you, judging from the surprised look on Buffy's face." She drew herself to her full height (which didn't help considering how much taller Marco was) and locked eyes with him, daring him to look away. "I know you're not telling me everything. I'm supposed to be your sister, and I'm asking you to talk to me."

Their eyes held, neither of them giving ground. "Cassie, you are my sister.  You're right, I don't tell you everything, and I never will.  There are things that are private.  This is one.  Also realize I don't tell you some things for very good reasons.  Good night.  Don't let the vampires bite."

With that, Marco left.

She opened her suitcase, pulled out a nightshirt, and bounced a little on the spacious bed. One problem: she wasn't tired. Her mind was too full of concerns and questions to which she had no answers. She hated when she didn't have answers. She also hated when her brother was hiding something.

Cassie blew out some of her frustrations. There was only one thing to help clear her head: a walk, outside, in the night air.

Marco settled into his bed, in t-shirt and underwear, tossing the sheets over his form, and he gently closed his eyes, ready for sleep. 

The knock came so suddenly a wooden knife was in his hand before the sound waves had finished vibrating.  "Who is it?"

"Me," Buffy said.

Marco cocked an eyebrow and absentmindedly tossed the blanket aside, standing.  "Twist the knob gently right, left, right again, and tap on the door twice."

On the other side of the door, Buffy wrinkled her brow and did as he instructed.  The door popped open and she walked in on him.  He stood in the center of the room in a t-shirt and boxers the way any other guy might stand in a full tuxedo, like a dancer with his hands at his side.  A knife lay on the bed, completely ignored. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

He smiled that smile she found so irritating.  "Not in the least.  I was about to sleep, but I require so very little nowadays, your resident demons have made sure of that.  Will you sit?"

"Um, thanks," she said, still a little uncertain what planet he was from.  "Where?"

"Desk, chair, or bed, makes no difference."

"Chair, I think."

Marco reached over and pulled a chair from the desk and turned it toward the bed.  He held it for her as she sat down, and walked around to the bed, still standing.  "Now, what may I help you with?"

"…Are you going to sit?"

He nodded casually.  He sat and deftly crossed one leg over another.  She wondered how he managed not to flash her.

"Now, I haven't been back long," Buffy said, "but I've heard plenty of good things about you…in terms of fighting, that is.  Socially, you seem…"

"Obnoxious and disliked?" he suggested.

Buffy smiled slightly. "To put it mildly… Everyone but Willow and Dawn seems to think that you're a pain, a nuisance, and even Willow's a little shaky on that now.  Every time Willow mentions you in the past, she gets all, well, Willow-y.  But I've barely even seen you since I came back, and after that time, she stops talking.  Why?"

"Bringing you back was wrong," he answered plainly.  "I told Willow as such, but she refuses to believe me.  I'm trying to separate her actions from herself, but I haven't gotten there yet."

Buffy sat there in shock for a moment.  "You think… bringing me back…was wrong," she echoed flatly. 

He waved a hand through the air.  "It's not that I don't like you or Willow, quite the contrary, but we both know what happened to you, and she doesn't want to believe."

The words reopened the wound in Buffy's heart.  The hollowness gaped inside her like a vacuum calling out for the happiness she had known. 

"What happened?" she asked in shock.  "I was in… Hell.  I was—tortured." The effort to lie was almost unbearable. 

"That's what you told them, but I know better, and so do you," Marco said.  "I can't imagine the strain of past weeks on you.  I think—"

Buffy stood and moved toward the door.  "I have to go."

Marco was at the door ahead of her, blocking the way.  "You don't have to worry about me telling Willow.  I've already told her, and she wasn't having any of it. We had a fight about it, right here, about a day or two after you came back.  I can't even begin to imagine what you're feeling, but—"

Buffy reached past him for the door.  "I need to go."

Marco's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.  "Let me finish, please."

She looked up at him, eyes filled with pain.  "Get out of my way," she insisted weakly, bordering on tears.  She needed away from him, now.

"You need someone to talk to, confide in," he replied, loosely gripping her. "If not me, then talk with Spike, if need be.  I don't mean just now, I mean anytime you need to.  If you can stand talking with Spike that much, then please feel free.  If not, then I offer myself to your service."

She blinked, and tears rolled down her eyes.  He let go of her wrist and slid the hand under her arm and around her torso, drawing her gently to him.  She didn't resist.  There were plenty of things that she wouldn't have resisted, but he merely held her. 

After all, there were rules about such things. 

Buffy held onto this stranger for reasons unknown.  His scent was so familiar, and oddly comforting.  She knew she had met him before today, yet she had never seen him before.  Right? 

Buffy regained her composure and stepped back from Marco.  He offered no resistance and let her go.  "I'm sorry, I…I don't do this on a first-day basis.  I usually have to know someone for a few weeks before I go all wet faced in front of them."

Marco nodded, his smile returning.  "Understood.  I'm sorry I can't help you more, I haven't been resurrected lately—" He stopped at a thought and his smile grew.  "Although I know someone who has been.  If you'd like to meet him, I'm sure you can swap stories."

She closed her eyes and held them so for a moment.  "No, I don't think so."

He stepped in front of her and cupped her chin in his hand, making her opening eyes meet his. "Come on, it may be fun. You can compare notes, chat a bit.  Granted, he was totally vaporized, but I don't hold that against him.  He's also Irish, but I hope you don't hold that against him, either."

She smiled, though she didn't know why.  He wasn't that funny.  Maybe she needed to laugh as much as she had to cry.  Needing people, or things, never was her strong suit.  Maybe now things would be different.  It's not as though they weren't already.

"Did I show you some of my wood working?" Marco asked.  Without waiting for a reply, he strode over to his headboard and withdrew a foot-long wooden blade.  He flipped it onto his middle finger to show that it was perfectly balanced in the center.

"Throwing knife," he said.  "I don't like up close and personal with something ten times stronger than I am if I don't have to."

"Can you throw well?"

Marco scooped up three knives from the nightstand (they had looked like letter openers) and tossed them at the bulletin board in a triangle, and ended by smoothly taking the foot long knife in hand and throwing it into the middle.

He stood dancer-straight, and shrugged. "You could kinda say that."

She was on the run, silently thanking her stars she had taken up running to get in shape. She needed it to escape the vampire chasing her.

And I wanted to take a walk through the crisp night air, she cursed at herself. Why didn't anyone tell me this was a favorite hunting ground for vamps?

Cassie cried out as her ankle betrayed her yet again, twisting as her foot caught in a hole someone had carelessly left hidden in the long grass of the park. She landed hard on her belly and rolled onto her back, just as the vampire caught up and tried to descend on her. She used her good foot to kick at him, to keep him away from her, but he knocked it to the side, and pinned her body with his as though he was about to rape her.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," he hissed, going for her throat.

The vampire was suddenly yanked away from her. "Not as much as I am," Spike said, right before ramming wood through his heart.

Cassie turned her head away as the vamp exploded, feeling dust particles brush her face.

Spike held a slender hand down to her. "You all right?"

She took his hand, nodded. "I'm okay." She winced a little at the twinge in her ankle as she put her weight on it. "Damn, that hurts."

He smiled slightly. "C'mon, let's getcha off the battlefield. Walk y' back t' wherever y're stayin'."

"Thanks. You know, you'd think having a few months of practice would've made me better vampire bait," she groused, limping slightly. She glanced at him. "I mean, victims are supposed to run, right?"

"Victims, yeah. Not little girls who kick back."

She mock-glared at him. "And who are you calling 'little'?" For a split-second, she thought he was making fun of her body.

Spike held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not sayin' you don't have a nice body, pet."

Despite herself, she grinned. "So you were looking at my body when you walked me to the shop."

He tried desperately not to leer at her, turning it into a smirk instead. "I never said I was dead, luv." Not totally.

"And if Marco found out, you would be. But you'll have to tell me why you're called 'Spike'. Don't you have an actual name?"

Spike nodded, debating whether or not to actually tell her. "Yeah, but it's a nancy-boy name, so I just go by Spike."

Cassie sighed. "Look, I promise I'm not going to laugh or poke fun. Besides," she gave him a sincere look, "I owe you my life twice over. That kind of gratitude doesn't just fade into taunting."

He looked at her and knew she was being completely serious, and decided. "William," he said. "My name's William."

Marco yanked out a crucifix and stood, feet apart, his forward foot perpendicular to his back foot.  He held it before him a moment before lunging forward, as with a foil, and ramming the sharpened bottom point toward Buffy, stopping inches from her heart.  He felt fortunate that she didn't beat him to death with his soon-to-be-ripped-off arms. 

Buffy looked at his feet.  "Do that again."

He did.  "You look like you're fencing," she told him.

Marco went dancer-straight.  "Four years of it in high school."

He went over to his closet and opened the door.  From the bottom, he withdrew a polished wooden box.  He turned to her on the ball of his foot and presented it to her.  Inside was a finely polished cavalry saber. 

Her eyes widened.  "Wow.  Nice toy.  Where'd you get it?"

Marco smiled.  "Turn around a minute."

Before she could, he had his shirt off, and Buffy wondered if Marco had even 1% fat on his body, and then, how he looked so ordinary.  He seemed to have an armor of muscle beneath the skin, but she hadn't even guessed he could have anything under his shirt. 

He was in mid-reach for an item in the closet when he stopped and said, "Turn around."

"Why? Afraid I'll see something I haven't before?"

"A surprise."

Cassie smiled. "I like it. Doesn't fit with what I see, but I like it." She put on a puzzled frown. "But why 'Spike'? I mean, it fits with the clothes, but so does 'Billy'. I don't know, like Billy Bob Brown, meanest bloke in the whole darn town…" She paused as she reconsidered. "No, wait, that was something else…."

Spike grinned again. "Thought y' meant Billy Idol. But my other nickname's 'William the Bloody'. Didn't jive with the clothes either."

"'William the Bloody'? Why in God's name did you pick that out?"

"I didn't," he snarled, making her jump at its ferocity. He softened his voice again as the pain from his past as a human started to show. "I was called that by others…'cause m' poetry was so bloody awful."

She jumped in front of him and began to awkwardly walk backward so they were facing each other. "You wrote poetry?" At his nod, she smiled. "I'd like to read some."

He shook his head, his jaw clenching. "Burned most of it. Haven't written in a long time."

Cassie saw the hurt in his voice, in his eyes, and was desperately curious about what had happened to him to keep him from writing. But, she liked to think of herself as compassionate, so she let it go. "If you could reconstruct some of your stuff, I'd like to read it."

Spike felt his lips twitch in a small smile. "I'd like that. Poetry buff?"

She shrugged. "Of a sort. I read The Tempest for the first time with Marco and my dad. Got me into Shakespeare at the very least." She smiled again, shaking her head. "For a while, it made me wish I was named Miranda."

Spike laughed at last. "Y' wanted t' be a princess exiled with her da' on a deserted island? Where's the fun in that?"

"I don't know, having a dad who could call storms seemed pretty cool to me."

"You can turn around."

Buffy sighed, turned, and opened her eyes. Marco had been replaced by a soldier in a navy blue military uniform with a white cap atop his head and the cavalry saber at his side. 

Marco spread his arms. "What do you think?"

Buffy bit her lip for a moment, wondering what to think. "Not bad."

"Xavier High School, class of '99. ROTC. Comes with the uniform and saber. They taught me how to fight, shoot, and use this." He patted the hilt of the sword. 

"Oh," she said flatly. "Cool."

He scanned her and sighed. "I'm still not sure how they could have considered you were being tortured. You seem half-dead." And that's why whatever dark demon Willow evoked to drag her back was proud to do it: the suffering Buffy's going through is more than any of them could have suffered combined.

He glanced at his watch. "Look, it's rather late, would you like me to see you home?"

"No. I can make it there myself."

He nodded, and reached for the white military cap on his skull. 

"Why is Willow scared of you?"

The hat hovered halfway off his head. "Why does everyone think that? First Cassie, now you."

"But I know Willow. She's terrified of you. She's a powerful witch who could probably destroy half of Sunnydale, and she's scared of you. Why? And why don't you want your sister to know about that demon you killed?"

"Because odds are I could cut Willow's head off and not feel a thing," he stated. "I only really killed one human being, a mugger who pulled a gun on me. We had vampire troubles in Brooklyn, and when this moron came point blank and pulled a gun on me and a friend, I treated it automatically like a vampire problem, and ran him through. As I told Willow, I kind of enjoyed it. Cassie doesn't know about it, and she won't find out, if I have anything to say about it."

Marco walked up to Buffy and stopped a foot away from her. He met her eyes and let his own go dead of life and emotion. "This is what I don't want her to see."

"Mind if I ask you something?"

Spike looked at her a moment. "I guess so. What?"

"Did something happen to Marco since he came here? And what was Willow really going to say before he interrupted her?"

He stopped and looked at her. "He didn't tell you?"

"He hasn't told me anything!" she exploded. She sighed and ran nervous fingers through her hair, remembering painfully Marco's fingers prying her hand away. "I know he hasn't told me everything since we were younger. But right now, he's going out of his way to hide something from me, and it is so—damned—frustrating!" She was dangerously on the verge of screaming again.

Spike gently pulled a hand from her hair. "Easy, luv. If he won't, I will. If you're up to it."

Cassie nodded. "Damn straight I'm up to it. Please tell me."

"Well, it started with the World Trade Center thing." He paused. "Your brother, he, um, didn't take it well."

"Translation: he decided to vent on the local undead," Cassie remarked. She smiled at his shocked expression. "Marco may project the image of cool, calm, and mature, but he can be just as volatile as the next guy if he lets himself. It seems natural enough."

He looked at her a moment. "What about you, pet? How'd you take it?"

She shrugged, her smile lessening. "Kinda numb for a while, until the clinic started flooding with overflow from the major hospitals. Then I didn't have time to be numb, or angry. I put all my energy into helping my father, the patients, tracking down family. Not fun." She shook her head, clearing her throat to stave off the tears, the memories of people who'd lost someone in the attack. "Anyway, please keep going. Marco started hunting. Then?"

"I found him just before a demon could tear him t' pieces. Turns out the demon followed 'long patterns of rage. While the rest of the country was numb or afraid, Marco lit up like a beacon." Spike may have been a demon himself, but the waste of life at the Twin Towers had appalled even him. "This wanker had a long history of turnin' the world on its head. And he actually flew one of the planes that did a kamikaze in your town.

"Marco used himself as bait the night he was taken down. We shot him up with metal arrows and electricity, courtesy of the witches…. Willow and Tara," he elaborated off her questioning look. "Marco started lobbin' these homemade grenades at him. When the demon started fightin' back, Marco's face"—he struggled with words for a moment, trying to describe what he had seen—"it kinda switched t' neutral, like he'd gone numb. Tears were streakin' his face before he attacked the demon by himself.

"Marco dragged him all the way to the docks on a motorcycle, then froze 'im with a canister o' liquid nitrogen." He shook his head at the memory. "Just before he shattered him, Marco told him that Sunnyhell didn't belong to his kind anymore. That there was a light here what would be defended." He smirked slightly. "He thought the demon'd killed Willow, that's why he was cryin'."

By the end of the narrative, her eyes were wide with amazement. "Whoa," she breathed. "That's what he meant when he said he had a job here. I had no idea what he was talking about." And he cried, she thought. He hasn't cried in… a long time. Willow must be an incredible person to provoke tears. "And that stuff about Sunnydale being protected, he said that in front of you all?"

He cleared his throat, searching his mind for a convenient lie to explain himself. "I've got—very sharp hearin'."

She smiled. "Sharp for a human—or for a vampire?"

He stopped again. "You—you know I'm a vampire?"

She couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face. "Spike, you're talking to a girl who shook hands with the former Scourge of Europe. I think I know what a vampire feels like."

"It could be low blood pressure, luv," he tried bluffing his way out. He knew that humans with low BP had hands cool to the touch.

Cassie smiled at the attempted ploy. "Sorry, but my dad has low blood pressure, and even then I can feel a pulse in his fingertips. I couldn't feel anything in yours."

Spike sighed again, having been caught out. "Well, now that y' know 'bout your brother, what are y' gonna do about it?" he asked warily.

She looked at him, her smile dropping. "For the time being, nothing." That earned her a surprised look, at which she shook her head. "He has a good reason for almost everything he does, and he never goes into a situation without being fully prepared for it. He'll tell me eventually, hopefully with an incredibly good reason." They finally arrived at her motel and she smiled again. "Thank you, for tonight and walking me back."

He returned the smile. "Sure thing, pet. See ya about."

"When did you go all predatory?" Buffy asked.

Marco's eyes softened, melting into a kind of gentle kindness Buffy expected to be alien to his face, though it fit well with the rest of the features. 

How that happened, I'll never know.

"Not predatory," he replied. "I enjoyed an instance of self-defense. I'm still not sure whether or not I enjoyed the kill itself, or the simple knowledge that I took out a bad guy. Serial killers take people out for fun. I hope I just enjoyed doing what I had to. Until the time when I kill something a little more human—Bob doesn't count—I doubt I'll really be sure."

"And you're not worried?"

"I never worry."

"Ah…and how do you manage to stand that uniform?  You wear it like you wore just your underwear, completely comfortable."

Marco shrugged.  "As for my underwear, flesh is flesh, and rather irrelevant.  The uniform itself…I've always felt more comfortable in decent clothes than in blue jeans and a tee.  You can look fine in casual wear, mainly because you'd look fine in…just about anything."

She rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, I hear that from most guys."

"Hmm…pity, I always considered myself to be slightly more attuned to reality than most men.  But I suppose that beauty such as yours must serve to smack them in the face with the force of a hammer blow."

She looked at him for a moment and said, "You know, you don't talk like anyone I know…except maybe Giles, and he's not really your style."

"Yes, I know. Refreshing, isn't it?"

After Buffy left, Marco undressed again. He thought a moment about a friend from a few months ago, a man his sister had brought home after being dumped into a back alley in Brooklyn.  His hand hesitated over the phone, then he thought "to heck with it" and made a call to Los Angeles.

After five rings, he was about to hang up when someone on the other end of the line fumbled up the receiver. A winded brogue sounded in his ear. "Angel Investigations, we help the hope—"

"Skip the song and dance, Doyle. It's Marco. And you are hopeless."

In the abandoned Hyperion Hotel in Los Angeles, Allen Francis Doyle grinned at the familiar voice. "Marc! Good t' hear from y'. How's Cassie?"

"She's good. She's here, in fact. In Sunnydale." 

"Sunnydale!  Why'd you allow her t'—"

"Doyle, the last time I was able to make her do anything was when a master vampire was about to eat her. And making her defend herself isn't exactly a choice."

"True.  And how've y' been enjoyin' the place?"

"Nearly being eaten on a regular basis isn't exactly my cup of tea, but it's exercise."

"'Cup o' tea'?" he asked in amusement. "Y' sound like Wesley."

"I didn't call to be insulted by a bad Barry Fitzgerald impersonator."

"Who?"

Marco rolled his eyes.  Doesn't anyone watch The Quiet Man anymore?  "Never mind, you cracked Mick.  Have the vampires eaten anyone interesting over there yet?"

"Nah, not really. There've been some real nasties t' contend with, but no real harm.  What can I do for you this early in the morning?"

"What was it like being dead?"

He was answered with a silence more pronounced than any flat line.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I heard y', Marc.  Why're y' askin'?"

"Because I have a Slayer who's come back from the dead.  If you know anyone else who's done that, please let me know and I'll talk with them.  If you don't remember being dead, let me know and I'll give up."

"Well, I don't remember, but hold on a sec, okay?"

Before Marco could say no, he was greeted with the sound of a mellow, slightly confused voice.  "Hello?"

"Hi.  I'm Marco Cattalano, I hope Doyle's told you about me?"

A pause.  "Oh, yeah, the slightly crazy one from New York. Tell me, exactly what were you thinking when you went up against Mikhail?"

"Who?"

"The master vampire you fought in Brooklyn."

"Oh, something along the lines of 'Let's play.' "

"Ah…. huh."  He was suddenly glad Marco hadn't been turned.  Making someone with that mentality a vampire would've been a true nightmare…again.

"You knew the guy?" Marco asked.

"Huh? Yeah, back sometime in the 1880s. He was always a stiff, and very territorial. He had a thing for big nests. He'd establish one, secure the terrain, and move out again. You don't know how lucky you are. He'd killed more Slayers than anyone I knew. Four, at least."

"Who trained him, do you know?" Marco asked, suddenly curious.

"Someone from Ulster, I think.  A real old vampire.  She'd probably be, sheesh, eight hundred by now."

"Hmmm."

"So, why did Doyle put me on the phone?"

"Depends, who are you, first of all?"

"Angel."

"Ah.  How well do you remember dying?"

After a moment of undead silence, "Which time?"

"Both."

"The first time I don't remember.  The second…why do you want to know?"

"Because I have a half-dead Slayer here that…. no, check that, she's not dead, and that's the problem. She's about as emotionally numb as a rock. What happened when you came back the second time?"

"I'd rather not discuss it.  This conversation is over."

"No, you arrogant snot! The love of your unlife is up here with no sensations, and I'm surprised she's holding up as well as she is! So if you have any post-resurrection tips that you can share, I bloody well need to know!"

"It won't work for me, damnit!" he bellowed back. "She sent me to Hell that time, and…." The voice trailed off as Angel realized he'd just said too much.

Marco blinked.  "So you know, too? She told you?"

"Yes.  When we met."

"So between the two of you, we wind up with two-thirds of Dante's Commedia… Doesn't anyone remember purgatory?" He sighed. "Perfect. Sorry to bother you, then."

"Why do you want to know? You're not—"

"Dating her? He…. ck no! Wouldn't dream of it in her current state. Or even in the state next door, for that matter. I think I'm the only other person who knows about where she spent those months, so I'm obliged to help her get through however long she has to live."

"That could be a while…. Thinking of marrying her? She could live that long."

"I may be smarter than your average bear, but I don't think that far ahead. Besides, I could always be eaten tomorrow. You know what the neighborhood's like."

"Yeah, I do."

"All right, thanks for your time."

"No problem."

Eduardo ran quickly through the streets of Sunnydale, cursing his slowness.  Ever since his one-time trial of the local vampire cult chapter, he never stayed out after dark, where he became lunch.  He carried crosses, stakes, holy water, just so he'd never be caught unawares.

Eduardo ran into a tall redhead and bounced off of her chest, onto the ground.  Barely looking up, her said, "Excuse me.  Sorry."

She reached a hand to pick him up.  When he reached for it, she lunged past his arm and grabbed the front of his shirt.  The redhead lifted him off the ground, her vampiric eyes alit in the darkness.  He reflexively grabbed a stake and jammed it into the vampire's heart.

She looked down and up again, smiling.  Her face was the most deformed of any vampire he'd ever seen.  And he had seen more than enough to suit his entire life.  Without blinking, the vampire grabbed the stake and slowly pulled it out of her heart.

She tossed it away, and then fed like a vicious animal.

The slayer is next!