Chapter 18: Working Together

Buffy stood in the chilly, piercing silence of the graveyard. She was standing all alone, hearing the wail of a small, indistinct voice of a child far off in the distance. As she tried to whirl around, her stake raised in hand to find the source of the cry, she suddenly saw Angel off in the distance, holding a wailing Conner. Angel looked up from Conner and smiled at her mysteriously saying," Why weren't you there Buffy? This . . ." he held up Conner, "this could have been yours. You lost your chance. Conner will never be yours." Buffy, perplexed, tried to move towards him, but found herself unable to move past an invisible barrier separating the two. She called to him, pitching her head up in confusion.

"Angel! What do you mean?" she screamed, but he continued to smile, walking slowly backwards into the mist. Just that moment, Buffy could detect the bright sheen of Spike's hair, bobbing into sight from the darkness. He strode up to Buffy and cocked his head at her while he smirked. Buffy merely gaped at him, trying to ease an explanation out of him. "Spike, what's going on, what's happening?"

Spike laughed harshly. "Hate to agree with Ol' Poofter, pet, but you lost your chance for explanations . . ." Suddenly shifting into game face, he lunged towards her, sinking his fangs into Buffy's neck as she tried, but to no avail to scream out. Dropping her to the ground, he continued smirking, wiping her lingering blood off his face lazily. He walked over towards Angel and both gazed down at her with laughing pity, as she looked wide-eyed towards them with horror. "You're right Peaches," Spike was saying, laying a causal arm across Angel's shoulder. "The only way to kill her is to love her . . . and leave her."

Buffy sprang up in bed, panting roughly and covered with a cold sweat that left a damp outline in her sheets and on her skin. She ran one shaking hand through her hair as she tried to calm her breathing. Still overcome with gasps, she went downstairs to get a drink of water.

She walked into the lighted kitchen, surprised to see Tara up, a steaming mug in her hands, looking down at a thick book. "Tara, what are you doing up?" she yawned.

Tara looked up gently. "Buffy," she said, surprised, closing the large volume with a thud. "I'm up, just looking over this ritual." She cocked her head, concerned. "What's your excuse?"

Buffy sighed as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "Just thirsty," she lied, not wanting to think about her nightmare. "So what about this ritual anyway, I mean I know we talked about it tonight, but I think we were all a little more focused on the intense fun of blazing awkwardness."

Tara smiled sympathetically. "Was it that bad?"

Buffy plopped into a chair. "If by bad you mean gut-wrenchingly nerve-racking and conducive to nausea, then yeah." She sighed. "I just don't know how to feel about Angel being back. I mean, I know I just saw him, but . . . that was no picnic in itself you know?" her voice lingered and faded with apprehension. She looked up and gazed at Tara absently. "And Spike . . . I just don't understand why he wouldn't tell me about something as important as this" Her eyes hardened with anger. "I mean, how could he hide something like this from me?"

Tara shrugged. "I got the feeling he and Angel are not the best of buds."

Buffy nodded knowingly. "That's putting it lightly. I don't know how I'll handle both of them at the same time. After all of this is over, I'm expecting a mess of dust scattered all over my front lawn."

Tara laughed. "Yeah well, I hope they can stand each other enough not to ruin this ritual." Her face turned more serious. "Because from the looks of it, it seems like we're going to need as much cooperation between those two vamps as we can get."

Buffy frowned worriedly. "Well how serious is this whole thing going to get?"

"Well for one thing, it's assumed that Rack's powers have gotten stronger the more chaos ensues in Sunnydale. So it will be all that harder to find his coven. He'll use his powers to make in incredibly difficult for even a demon to sniff out. So we'll need both Spike and Angel on that one." Buffy groaned. "And the actual ritual itself will be dangerous enough as it is. Angel was right when he said that any ritual involving an ingredient as obscure as the blood of a vampire with a soul is bound to have risks a'plenty."

"Risks being?" Buffy's frown burrowed deeper.

"Well . . . a person being currently possessed by Rack will have to be present . . ."

"Willow."

Tara ducked her head and replied softly, "Yeah. Willow will need to be there for spirit transference. And the ritual has to be done at a particular time, the moment Venus rises in the sky due East. If the ritual is done wrong or at the improper time . . ."

Buffy's eyebrows raised in concern. "Tara?"

Tara sighed deeply. "Willow could die, Buffy."

Buffy was silent at her words. "She could die now Tara, if we don't do something," she reasoned softly.

Tara got up from her chair and neared Buffy. "No---not only Willow . . . all the others Rack has touched. And Rack will remain unharmed. He'll be better than unharmed. He'll go from sorcerer to . . . a god."

Buffy gaped at her. "A god . . . a god like Glory?" Tara nodded seriously.

"He'll after that will never be able to be touched and he'll have more than enough power to open the Hellmouth, causing Hell on earth."

"Not again," Buffy muttered. "I just went through this like, months ago." She sighed. "Tell me again why we're choosing this potentially Hadean kicker of a spell anyway?"

"It's the only one we could find for a situation like this," Tara explained, looking deeply into Buffy's eyes. "This is the biggest chance we have for saving Willow." Buffy recognized the look of pure fear and shaded optimism in Tara's eyes and nodded slowly.

"Okay," she sighed. "So what do we do?"

"Well this is something that we again need both Spike and Angel for. If Rack has any idea what we're doing, he'll try to call his legion to him to fight us. Spike and Angel will have to make sure this doesn't happen or it will complicate the spell immensely."

"And we don't kill them?" Buffy asked critically.

"No," Tara agreed. "We do have to keep them under control though, it will be hard to fight them, with Rack making them incredibly, super-human strong and all."

"So I can take care of it," Buffy said insistently, slightly anxious at the prospect of Spike and Angel working side by side.

Tara shook her head with concern. "Buffy, you're going to need all the help you can get. These wiccans are going to be really powerfully possessed. Remember Willow?"

Buffy sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. So when does this ritual go down?"

Tara spoke grimly. "I've looked up the next sighting of Venus due East. It begins tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" squeaked Buffy. "That doesn't give us much time."

"Exactly. Which is why we have to start preparing now."

Buffy looked lost in contemplation. "Tara," she suddenly piped up, "Will you make sure Dawn gets to school this morning?"

"Sure. Why, what are you going to do?

Buffy was tugging a long coat over her skimpy nightie and heading out the door. "I'm going to find Spike and Angel."

Spike growled fiercely as he sat up, basking in the midnight glow of radiation emitted from his idiot box. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate on his favorite infomercial, spouting on and on about the virtues of the Thunderstick blender. His mind kept turning to the sight of Angel and Buffy, arms clasped around each other. Each time he remembered the sight, he felt as if a stake had been plunged into his chest, the wood splintering his unbeating heart. He had tried to drown his memories in a couple pints of Jack Daniels, but it just made him drunkenly antagonized.

Finally, out of rage, he threw an empty bottle at the T.V., causing it to shatter and spark. "Bloody hell," he screamed. "Why the hell did that wanker have to come back after all?!!" He got up, swaying and pacing about his crypt. "Ohh," he slurred to himself. "It's cause you called him, you wanker." Groaning he collapsed onto his sarcophagus and sunk his head into his arms. "God, Spike, what 'ave you done? Ish is all your fault y'know. He's goona get back together with her, she'll get back together with him, and they'll have plenty o' namby pamby, beautiful buggers, and live in a 'ouse with a picket fence . . . She and he'll be smilin' like bloody shiny happy people, and you'll be dust in no flat, him and 'er standing over yer remains, cackling and laughin' their bloody love-addled heads off," he mumbled incoherently.

Shaken, tears were rolling down his slack face as he stumbled up and grabbed an empty bottle of whisky, desperately trying to seek the dregs at the bottom of the bottle. Finding no relief, he screamed again, throwing it to the wall and stumbling again when he heard it shatter. "This is no good," he sighed, "If I need to get m' mind off of 'er, maybe a little killing is called for." Grabbing a stake and dagger, he crookedly walked out of his crypt, leaving the door swinging. He floundered across the graveyard, grabbing onto any tombstone for support. He tripped and was about to collapse completely if it wasn't a leather-sleeved arm to catch him and hold him steady. Spike bobbed his head up to gaze up at the helpful stranger and his glazed eyes met Angel's dark, fiery ones. Spike chuckled, forcefully pushing off Angel as he staggered back and collapsed on his butt onto the grass.

"Spike? Drunk? I guess some things never change." Angel glared at Spike.

"Anshel," Spike garbled. "Just the bleedin' pooker Ish wanted to see." Spike struggled to get his shaky legs under him but he stumbled again, steadying himself by placing a hand on Angel's chest. "You n' me, Peaches, we're gonna duke it out, see?"

Angel laughed louder, more harshly. "Fight? Fight for what?"

Spike cocked his head. "Oh right, like you dun know."

Angel amusedly shook his head. "Poor desperate Spike. I guess this about Buffy huh? I heard you've been pining for her all these months." He pushed Spike off of him again, sending him flailing onto the ground, his duster billowing out behind him. Angel glowered over him. "You called me Buffy-whipped? Look at you. A sniveling, powerless vamp who doesn't have a soul but can't even hurt a fly anyway."

Spike flew at him, grabbing fistfuls of Angel's shirt to hold him up. "I could 'urt you mate. I could stake you into neat little piles."

Angel once again shoved him off. "You're so pathetic Spike. Groveling over Buffy who will never want you."

"Much you know 'bout it," Spike muttered smugly.

"What?" Angel was taken aback but tried not to show it.

Spike straightened himself up. "That's right Peaches. Anyone coulda convinced me months ago that Bwuffy woulda never giv'n me a second look if only to stake me when she got back . . ." He smirked. "But that ain't the case now is it?"

Angel grabbed his duster collar. "What the hell are you talking about Spike?

Spike chuckled harder, his head swinging from side to side. "I hope the irony isn't lost on you, Soul-Boy. You took Drusilla from me, what was I supposed to do but 'it you were it hurt?" Angel gaped silently at Spike for a few minutes before launching upon him, seizing him by the collar and throwing him across the graveyard into a tombstone. Running up to him, he picked up Spike again and punched him across the face. Spike just spit up blood and smiled crookedly at him again.

"I knew that get you, Peaches. Course I figured you knew 'bout us the moment you stepped out o' the door. You can be as intuitive as I am, y'know." He grinned fiercely when Angel winced in reaction to that little word---us.

"Spike, what have you done to her?" Angel growled. "I swear, if you've hurt her, I'll kill you so fast---"

"Relax Poof," Spike drawled, backing away. "I haven't done anything to your Princhessh." He scowled as he said the words. "Thought I could handle 'er, but I did the most unlikely thing." He turned and looked Angel squarely in the eyes. "I fell in love with her."

Angel, uncomfortable backed away slightly, removing his glance from Spike's. "Spike . . ." he said, with hints of rage in his voice.

Spike sighed painfully, as if his lifeless chest suddenly got tight. "You don't have to say it. I couldn't hurt Blondie if I tried. But God" he said, shaking his head, " . . . the number she's done on me."

Angel laughed harshly. "You expect me to feel sorry for you?"

Spike gazed at him again, a surprising expression of sadness and weariness coloring his face. "Not sorry. Though sometimes I feel sorry for you."

Angel was beyond shocked. "You feel sorry for me?"

Spike shrugged as he sank down to sit against a tombstone. "I 'ate you more than anything Peaches. But at least we 'ave somethin' in common."

Angel recoiled from his words. "We have nothing in common, Spike. I'm nothing like you."

"Apart from an inclination to the finer palate o' plasma, I didn't think so neither. But we do, you know. It's that bloody bitch Summers. She's in both of our systems, eatin' away at it, poisoning everything in us. Until there's nothin' left . . . only 'er and her bloody shining hair and her insipidly beautiful smile," Spike shook his head, by now ignoring Angel. "In all my years of unlife, I never felt so dead before as when she was gone." Pursing his lips, he gazed back up at Angel, who stood above him, conflicted and confused. "You know what that's like. Face it Peaches . . . the moment we both fell for Buffy Summers, we were plagued for the rest of soddin' immortality." Spike felt around in his duster for a silver flask, which he promptly opened and gulped deeply from.

Angel was speechless. He had never seen Spike like this. The thought of Spike and Buffy together revolted him beyond belief, but he had to admit that something in Spike had changed. He had to have changed to even think of calling Angel back to Sunnydale. And the fact that Spike as yet hadn't done as much as roughed Angel up a bit certainly spoke volumes. But more than that, Angel understood the reason Spike had drunk himself into such a stupor. He understood the pain of loving Buffy. Surprising both himself and Spike, he collapsed next to the blond vampire. "Give me some," he grumbled motioning to the flask, which Spike handed over in a surprised haze. They sat there awhile, exchanging the flasks back and forth in a strange, sulking camaraderie as they both thought of Buffy.

"So you and Buffy huh?" Angel said testily.

Spike snorted. "I wish." He turned to Angel. "You know you'll always have her bleedin heart at your disposal, Poofter." Angel looked down at his childe, not knowing whether he wanted to hear this or not. Suddenly, Angel could detect a flash of golden hair in the moonlight as well as the sheen of two honeyed legs stalking up to where he was.

"Angel!" Buffy yelled as she approached the two. Angel, still alert sprang up and walked over to her in concern.

"Buffy what is it?"

"Have you seen Spike?" she asked, but before he could answer, she had looked over her shoulder and saw Spike, collapsed on a headstone with blood on his lip. She backed away from Angel in anger. "What have you done to him?" she demanded.

"Wha—Buffy, I haven't done anything!" he insisted, but was promptly cut off with Buffy's fist connecting with his nose. "OWWW!"

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Ok Angel, this is the second time you've shown up here and roughhoused my . . ." she paused panickedly, trying to chose the appropriate words. "One of my friends," she finished weakly.

"Since when is Spike your friend?" Angel scoffed, but Buffy's attention was drawn by Spike calling for her meekly.

"Buffy is that you?"

"Spike!" Buffy walked over to him and leaned down to inspect him. "Are you okay? What did Angel do to you?"

"Wha—Angel did no---" Spike eyes widened before his face fell into a smirk. "Oh Angel here beat me up real bad," he whined. "No provocation on my part, he just showed up here and tried to beat me into a bloody pulp."

"What?!" Angel exploded. "Buffy that's not true! Besides what do you care if Spike dies, much less gets a boo-boo?!"

Buffy placed her hands on her hips, baring her scantily clothed body from her long leather coat. "Look you two---" she firmly started before noticing Angel and Spike's wide eyes and longing stares at her form. She abruptly wrapped the coat tight around her, breaking their glances. "I don't need you guys throwing temper tantrums and getting into hissy fits, especially now. We have something incredibly important to do, and we need you guys to cooperate. This ritual that we are going to do tomorrow---"

"Tomorrow?" both Angel and Spike said in surprise.

"Tomorrow," Buffy continued. "The ritual requires that you two work together. NO fighting."

"He started it," Angel mumbled. Buffy turned to glare at him.

"Enough." She exclaimed angrily. "You two WILL work together or you'll have to answer to me." With that she turned and stalked back into the night. Astounded, both Spike and Angel looked in her direction with admiration.

"God," Spike sighed, shaking his head with amazement. "Is that not the most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" Angel gazed back at Buffy, her billowing coat still visible. The whole while, he was thinking of Cordelia and the way she always looked soft and glowing when she held Conner. Snapping back to attention, he turned to a still transfixed Spike and grabbed his flask away from him.

"Let's go Spike," he snarled, walking away with Spike soon to follow.