"The hardest trial of the heart is, whether it can bear a rival's failure without triumph." – Conrad Aiken

Xork peeled a blue fruit with one hand, crunched into it with his teeth and began noisily munching the slippery fruit inside the rind. "Well, Mr. Speck, that didn't go at all well, did it?" he mumbled, his mouth full as he slobbered, bits of sticky flesh dripping onto his fur.

Spike was once again slouched in the chair in front of that self-important weasel while Xork evaluated his efforts. "No, it didn't, thanks to you."

A spectacular burp burst from the chewing lips. Then Xork peered at him quizzically. "I, Mr. Speck? How did I ruin things?"

"You set me right down in the car while I was driving! What if I'd wrecked the car? Could have bloody killed me, you ponce!" He scowled furiously at the unapologetic hobbit.

Xork belched again and shrugged. "You said you wanted to return on the day of your first appearance in Sunnydale. You were none too specific about the details."

Spike could tell nothing from Xork's face as to whether the creature was winding him up or not. "So I take it nothing changed," he groused. He looked away in disgust as the creature took another bite. Judging by the number of rinds in the garbage and the half-full basket beside the desk, the hairball had had a number of the unidentifiable fruit and wasn't done yet.

Xork finished the fruit and threw the remains into the garbage. He let out a sonorous burp, the stink from his breath wafting across the desk into the vampire's face. Picking up another fruit and peeling it, he said, "On the contrary, quite a great deal changed. Your warning served to get the vampire you hated out of town. He was fearful of the harm his presence might cause the Slayer should his dreaded demonic half become dominant. So he left her in spite of all her protests and pleas."

At that news, the vampire grinned, a fierce gleam lighting his eyes. "That's the best news I've heard in ages, Mork. Every coffin has a silver lining, I always say."

The ears waggled amid the barren expanse of scalp. "Mmm. But without him the Slayer was left vulnerable for the Teraka assassins."

"What? Them? Wait, I remember them. Dru and I called them to take down the Slayer. If me and Dru got staked, then they should never have come to Sunnydale. What the hell are you trying to pull, Xork!?" Spike took up a menacing stance over the desk.

Those beady red eyes stared at him, completely at ease, unruffled by his anger. "You and your crazy girlfriend were not the only demons who got the bright idea of hiring mercenaries to do their dirty work. The assassins managed to do what you could not. Even with the help of her friends, the Slayer was too demoralized to do her job properly." Xork took a big bite and the slurping noises filled the room."You mean…those bastards killed her?" Spike's throat closed up and then he shook his head in negation. "No, no. That couldn't have happened. She was too tough to be taken by the likes of them even without the poofster by her side."

Xork didn't speak for a moment as he digested his meal. Discarding the rind from this one, he wiped his fingers on his fur and belched, an unexpectedly raucous sound in the small chamber. "You're quite right. They didn't manage to kill her. But they injured her severely. She was already demoralized by the loss of her champion and after her injury, something inside her never quite recovered. She was eventually replaced by the next Slayer in line, a very able-bodied Slayer indeed. But, alas, she didn't work well with others the way the last guardian of the Hellmouth did. She was killed in her second year's tenure as Slayer. So the Slayer you knew was forced to take the reins again."

"That's my girl," Spike said. "So, if Buffy took over again, then everything turned out okay, didn't it?" The grave expression on Xork's face didn't waver and his heart sank within him again.

Xork shook his head. "I'm afraid not. She died facing Glorificus, just as she did in your timeline. When she was brought back, she died once more facing a member of that triad—what was his name?" He typed up something on the screen. "Warden Meyers."

Spike was beginning to wonder if his ears were going or if the oversized rodent just had a problem with proper names. "That's Warren Meers."

"That's what I said," Xork snapped.

Spike closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them and speaking again. "That's even more impossible. She fought off hellgods, supernatural assassins, enormous reptiles and demons only to get offed at the hands of that little twat? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. It seems that when she first fought him he had magical orbs that gave him super strength. She was informed about them by one of his own henchmen and smashed them, destroying the source of his power. After that, she defeated him quite handily. However, in the altered timestream you created, the mortal who would have saved her life with his warning was no longer there. No mortal aid, no intervention. No intervention, dead Slayer. The First rose as it had in the original timestream only this time there was no Slayer to meet it. It unleashed its army and now Hell reigns on Earth."

The red eyes were gazing steadily at him; Spike almost couldn't bring himself to go on. "W-who was the bloke who warned her?"

"I believe you know him as one Jonathan Levinson." The way Xork pronounced the name made it sound like Jambalaya Leek Soup. Then he said something that completely floored the vampire. "You killed him on your first journey back."

"I did?" Shit, he remembered. The little twerp he'd dragged into the alley, the one who'd smelled faintly familiar—he was one of the guys he'd met when he'd had Warren test his chip. He had forgotten all about the insignificant little blighter. "Are you telling me because I killed one miserable waste of a human being that the world's been destroyed?"

"It wasn't just one 'miserable waste of a human being' as you so crassly put it, Mr. Speck. There were two, were there not?" In spite of the fur surrounding his eyes, Xork managed to look quite forbidding. "As I believe I told you before, it's all one big tapestry. Unravel one thread and any number may come loose as a result."Spike sank into his chair. "So I destroyed the world this time?" He couldn't avoid the thought that it was more than Angelus managed to do.

If Xork saw that on the screen, he made no comment about it. "Actually no. The world was not destroyed, Mr. Speck. Your interference caused a great deal more damage this time around but that alternate reality truly exists. It is an ashpit and demons reign supreme there because the First arose but it does exist—or rather it would have. The higher powers can wipe it out and send you in for your second try if you wish." Xork shifted in his seat and let out an explosive fart. He grinned sheepishly in Spike's direction. "Sorry about that. Those pralixian pears really pack a wallop."

This time the stench didn't concern the vampire, not after the news he'd just been handed. Spike sat down, trying to keep his hands from shaking. That was alright, then; he still had four tries to fix things and make it square with the higher muck-a-mucks running this joint. "Why didn't you tell me that before then? That I can't kill people?"

"Because that's not true. You can kill people, Mr. Speck. Can as in you have the ability to do so. As I said, you were returned with all the faculties you possessed at the moment of re-entry. As a vampire you are perfectly capable of taking a life. There is nothing in the rules about acting according to your true nature. In fact, part of the evaluation process is that we see you in your true colors—all of them." Xork flashed one of his toothy grins, this one tinged with a distinct air of satisfaction.

Spike wasn't about to rise to the bait. He needed help if he was going to come out on top and avoid becoming the bitch for every demon with a yen to pound vampire flesh. So he pressed Xork for more info. "But I'd better not kill a human 'cause every one I take might muck up things further down the line, is that it?" "That would appear to be a logical conclusion." Xork let out another blast of gas from his nether regions. "However, some humans would have a greater impact on the timeline than others. I doubt very much whether the life or death of one delivery boy would matter much in the grand scheme of things. Yet since few people remain in the service of fast food delivery all their lives and go on to other things, there's no telling what the removal of any one such person might do. It's all a gigantic ripple effect, you see. Every action has consequences—especially murder."

The vampire's jaw clenched at the prissy explanation and the nasty smell. "Then why the hell didn't you say that before I went in the first time!?"

"You didn't ask. And I assumed it would be a natural assumption for you to make, seeing as you're so intelligent and all…at least, you're intelligent sometimes." Xork settled back into his chair and began humming tunelessly as if this line of conversation no longer interested him.

It took all the vampire's will power not to wrap his fingers around that hairy throat and squeeze. As soon as he found an opportunity, he was going to vent his rage on a convenient item of furniture or piece of public property. When he finally spoke it was the exaggerated care of someone who was nearly at the end of his tether. "Fine. I'm going in again, then."

Xork flexed all twelve of his fingers. "Very well. What's your next time stop?"

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." - Sir Walter Scott

Spike was certain this plan would work. He had all the elements on his side. It was Halloween. The Slayer and her friends would be certain to believe vampire activity to be at a minimum and wouldn't take the proper precautions. He knew where he could find the Slayer and that her friends would be pretty much useless given what they were wearing.

Now, all he had to do was find and intimidate one pesky sorceror…

"C'mon, pet. Tell me," he murmured coaxingly. Drusilla was much more compliant this time around. But she was still pretty addled, losing her train of thought and mumbling about how Miss Edith needed her tea. Honestly, if the doll didn't make her happy most of the time, he would have given in to his impulse a dozen times over to chuck the bloody thing into the ocean.

"Tell me what makes the Slayer weak, pet. Anything that weakens her makes things better for us. Don't you know that? I'll bring her down. I'll carve your name into her back. You'll wear her intestines as a necklace, my sweet." He was getting sick inside just thinking of doing stuff like this to his beloved Buffy. But he had to sweet-talk Drusilla into giving up the location of that sorcerer if he was going to use the man as he wished.

Finally, after an endless round of singing and playing teatime with that stupid dolly, Drusilla had told him what he needed to know. He wasn't given an actual address; his poor addled plum was too softheaded for that. But there had been poetic references to various landmarks that he recognized. Finding this character should be a breeze. Then, with his costume, he'd spirit away the Slayer and take care of that meddling ponce Angel once and for all.

Ethan had closed up early and made certain the door was locked. He didn't want the ceremony to be interrupted. The god of chaos was fickle at best and needed constant, unwavering devotion if he was to gremain true to his followers. And Ethan Rayne prided himself on being true servant to his dark lord.

He knelt down in front of the statue and picked up his knife. Suddenly there was a loud, persistent knocking at the door. "Oh, for the love of—!" He cried out petulantly. The ritual needed absolute absorption and concentration. He didn't want to wind up nicking a vein. He sat back on his heels and waited for the would-be customer to take the bloody hint and go away.

But, if anything, the drumming became louder and more persistent. He could hear the wood rattling in its hinges. Whoever was out there was certainly determined. He sighed and then jumped to his feet in alarm as he heard glass shatter. What the hell? Was he being robbed?

He picked up a heavy bat and shrank silently behind the door. Ethan Rayne wasn't necessarily a coward. All right, he was a big fat coward and he knew this town's reputation. He didn't think monsters were a threat on Halloween but perhaps it was merely a human mugger. In which case, if he just stayed out of sight and kept mum, the man might content himself with rifling the cashbox and not bother investigating the rest of the store.

He strained his ears but he couldn't really make out any noise. For all the hullabaloo this person had made at the front door, they were being unnervingly silent now. He risked a peek around the door only to be confronted by a bleached blonde male with a knowing smirk plastered on his mug.

"There you are. Was wondering when you were comin' out. You're Ethan Rayne, ain' cha?" The man pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and nonchalantly lit it in clear violation of the "No Smoking" sign posted.

"Um, y-yes, I'm Rayne. But as you can see, we're closed."

"Not any more, mate." The creature gestured breezily towards the front entryway. Rayne stepped out to the front of the store and halted in dismay. The door had been torn practically off its hinges. He swallowed hard and looked at the deceptively small man. The other bloke grinned at him. The expression wasn't particularly reassuring.

"Sorry about the door. But I've heard such wonderful things about this place. I just had to take a look-see for myself." He swung an arm around Rayne, paying no attention to the mortal's cringing. "See, I've heard this rumor goin' round that your costumes are special, that they bring out the inner you. Know whut I'm sayin'?" He puffed smoke into the air and Rayne was emboldened enough to protest.

"Excuse me, you really mustn't smoke. These costumes…" Hse waved his hands at the various fabrics swaying in the air. "Well, they're flammable, some of them. Wouldn't want to start a fire, would we?"

The man gave him a speculative look as if that was exactly what he'd like to do and Rayne felt his skin crawl slightly. "Hmm. Guess that would be a problem. I'll keep it in mind." He dropped the lit cigarette to the floor and ground it out deliberately on the tiling. "Now I'd like one of your costumes only I want it done to precise specifications, you unnerstand? In short, I don't want to lose my memory of who I am like everybody else."

The crawling sensation of his skin increased. Somehow this creature knew everything: who and what Rayne was and what delicious trick he'd had planned for tonight. Was this man a foe or a potential ally? His manner was slightly ingratiating but with an edge that said he was fully capable of unleashing violence if he was crossed. He hedged, playing ignorant, stalling for time. "Um, magic c-costumes? You want a tuxedo and a trick cane? I've got those along with a magic kit if that's your thing."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Don't waste my time with the playing dumb crap, Rayne. I know who you are and what your pretty clothings do. I want to give me a certain costume and I want you to alter the spell slightly. You waste my time…" and he yanked Rayne towards teeth that had grown elongated into fangs and glared at him from yellow eyes. "…and I'll show you firsthand how I got the nickname Spike."

Spike raced lightly through the streets. Sod it to hell, he hoped none of his demon mates saw him in this ridiculous getup. Green was definitely not his color. It tended to make him look pale, washed out and sallow. Also, the memory's of the costume's character were riding uneasily on the top of his own, making for an unsteady mix at best. The legend's innate decency and temperament were at war with his own savagery and he had to fight down the urge to feast on some of the delectable teens he saw strolling around in their skimpy costumes.

However, it hadn't prevented him from ripping into the sorcerer's neck and feasting on his blood when the spell was complete. He didn't believe Rayne's death would cause any significant alteration of the timeline. He'd heard ole Rupert natter on hatefully about the man once when Rayne had turned him into that Fyarl demon so he knew Rayne was more of a petty mischief maker than a serious wheeler and dealer of the black arts. He was truly insignificant. What damage could his death do?

He'd also nicked that statue of Janus and hidden it in one of Sunnydale's many handy crypts just to be on the safe side. Giles would be a long time finding it, if ever. Unfortunately, with the statue stashed away, Sunnydale's demonized tots would wreak mayhem. It was a shame really (not that he had any real problems with little demons running amuck in Sunnyhell), but it was only for one night and, when his task was completed, he'd break the statue himself and everything would be all sorted. By that time, Buffy would be alone and he'd be well underway to being her comforter and protector.

Spike heard a scream as he neared Buffy's house and smiled to himself. "Right. Showtime." He ducked into the bushes in time to see her come flying out of the house. She was positively scrumptious in that low-cut dress and didn't she look the picture holding up the hem so that her stockinged legs could run unimpeded? He waited until she came charging blindly past his spot and reached out to catch her around the waist and clapped his hand over her mouth.

"Mmrghggh!" Her hazel eyes, wide and shining with terror, looked up into his and he smiled reassuringly at her. She struggled in his grip, however, maddened beyond reason.

"Do not fear, lady. You are safe now."

She wrested her mouth away from his hand. "Please! Good sir, we must away. There is a monster, a fiend from hell, in that house and, if we linger, it shall surely devour us both!"

Boy, she was just too cute with that antiquated language. Choking back a smirk, he answered as formally as he could. "Fear not, my lady. I have arrived to rescue you and keep you from those who would harm you."

"You have?" She took a closer look at his garments and her brows scrunched up in the familiar Buffy look of confusion. "But you look…you are…"

"I am, fair one. I am Robin Hood, at your service." Releasing her, he sketched a short bow and began pulling her gently but insistently away from the house.

"Robin Hood? How can that be? My wet nurse told me he was but a legend of olden times, existing in the 12th century and this be the 18th—I believe." She looked perplexed as she surveyed her surroundings, so at odds with the memories her costume imposed on her.

Huh, he hadn't expected her to be familiar with his costume's history and he thought quickly for a lie that would appease her. "You speak truly. I was walking in Sherwood Forest when a mighty wind picked me up and hurled me to this place. I fear some bewitchment has occurred." He smiled at her in an attempt to reassure her. "However, I have my trusty bow with me and you shall not come to harm if I can possibly aid you."

"Buffy!" Angel had left the house and Buffy shrank behind him.

"There he is! The—" Spike clapped his hand over her mouth again. He knew how sharp vampire ears and sense of smell were. Motioning her to be still, he pulled her through Sunnydale's streets, managing to avoid both monsters and humans alike.

Soon she pleaded fatigue. It wasn't really surprising given the heaviness of her garments and her impractical shoes that were not really suitable for long walking. But the Buffy he knew wouldn't have gotten so fagged out after only ten blocks. Still, it made her nicely dependent on him. She leaned more and more against his side until she was practically falling into his arms. "Please, brave Sir Robin. I cannot take another step. I must rest," she begged.

It was odd. He was starting to feel a little tired as well. He brushed aside the sensation to concentrate on the lovely lady with him. "Very well. I think we have lost the monster for the time being." In the distance he could hear screams and the sounds of glass being broken. The chivalrous nature of his costume was screaming at him to fly to the aid of men and women in need but he ignored it. Robin Hood had been about scoring loot anyways, not being a bloody do-gooder, and Spike didn't give a damn about the others. Who did this costume think he was?

"I am so famished. Might there be some food nearby? I don't suppose you could forage in the woods for sustenance? I wouldn't mind a rabbit." She smiled coquettishly at him and he smirked—er, smiled back at her. She was being wheedling, like Dru when she wanted him to play dollies with her, and it was simply adorable. However, he hoped she wouldn't be too demanding. He was going to need all his concentration for the job at hand.

"Maybe I could double back, see if I can score me some candy, luv."

He realized his mistake when she frowned at him. "Robin? What happened to your voice? It became rough and uncouth for a moment. Are you afflicted with the ague?"

He struggled to recover his more posh accent. "Ague? Nay, I do not believe it to be so. Perhaps it is a part of the bewitchment." In order to divert her attention, he asked, "Do you know, lady, in the midst of all this cursed confusion, I did not think to ask your name?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Lady Sophia Huntington of Shropshire." She extended her hand and he caught it and kissed it, looking into her eyes all the while. Buffy flushed and smiled back at him. He could hear her heartbeat pounding faintly—wait, why was it faint? Was she getting sick from hunger?

He shook his head. "Tell you what. Let's duck into a deli. I'll pick up some munchies."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Deli? Munchies? I don't know these words."

He patted her on the hand and smiled reassuringly. "Trust me, lu—lady. I'll take care of you." She rewarded him with a tremulous smile and took his arm.

Spike didn't want to be in the open like this. Every moment they spent around people ran the risk of exposure. Buffy might run into one of her friends or somebody else who knew her. But she clung to his arm so tightly as they stood in the store, staring fearfully at everything around her.

"I don't like this place, Sir Robin," she complained, her voice shaking as she looked disapprovingly at the teenagers in their skimpy clothes. "The people are so oddly dressed and talk so strangely. I want to go home to my parents."

Spike smiled at the man behind the counter. The guy was squinting at Buffy as if he thought she was off her nut. Luckily he had remembered to carry cash when he changed into this outfit so paying for the food wasn't a problem. He quickly paid for and snatched up the bags of pretzels, chips and peanuts.

They walked through the streets, although he was swift to pull her aside when he smelled or saw trouble. Buffy stayed tightly by his side, shrinking, whenever a demon or monster came into view. Most of them were harmless since their costumes had come from somewhere else than Ethan's shop. But he didn't see any need to tell her that.

Finally, he pulled her into one of Sunnydale's many parks. She collapsed onto a bench and then stared in puzzlement at the shiny bag he tossed her. "Robin, what are these things? What am I to do with it?"

"You peel it open, like so." Taking the bag from her he demonstrated. "Then you just reach in and eat." He held up a chip and popped it into his mouth, grinning at her as he did so. Hesitatingly, she followed his example. Her face twisted as she chewed. "Summat the matter, luv?"

"I-I don't know. It tastes familiar and yet does not. I don't think I quite like it. But I am starved so I suppose it must do." She ate another chip with the same queer grimace. Then she looked at him silently.

Finally her gaze made him a little antsy. "What? What's the matter, Bu—Sophia?"

"I don't know. This entire night has been so strange. You've been above kind to me and I don't know how to reward you."

Well, nice to see that Buffy understood the meaning of gratitude even if she was laboring under the delusion of nobility. "That's all right, luv. Being with you is reward enough." Taking a chance he sat down next to her and wound an arm around her shoulders. "You don't know what this means to me—being here with you like this."

Her eyes widened again. That sweet, guileless expression was melting his heart. In his mind, he wondered how much harm it would do to keep her like this. He recalled that other Slayer he'd met when he'd strung that git Angel up to cure Drusilla. Surely they could always bring her in to sub for Buffy if things got too bad. And he'd get to keep this blushing lovely with him.

Buffy had stiffened and pulled back from him slightly. "Sir Robin, I know things may be different in Sherwood. But I must protest such familiarity. We've not been properly introduced and you haven't met my parents—"

"I know all that, luv. But ever since I've met you, I've felt this connection as if we had known one another in a different time or place."

"But what of your Maid Marian? All the stories tell me she is your true love," Buffy pointed out.

"I rescued her, yes, and cherished a fondness for her. But it didn't always feel right, you know? But here and now with you, I can't help but feel drawn to you. Do you, could you, perhaps hold any feeling in your heart for a homeless outlaw?" Spike smiled, the kind of ingenuous, open smile he practiced to get people to invite him into their homes.

Sophia's eyelids fluttered and her breath came faster. There was something delightfully thrilling in the idea of running away with a famous outlaw. He was quite handsome, too, with his fair hair spilling out from under his green cap and his shining blue eyes that looked on her so lovingly. She didn't think she knew any man so captivating. And he had saved her from the beast after all and procured her food.

"I-I don't know," she answered, biting her pretty lip. "I barely know you and we have only just met." Her protests became feebler as he drew her closer and died away completely as he kissed her.

If there was one thing Spike had learned to do well in his 120-odd years, it was kissing. He lipped all around her mouth and teased it open with the barest tip of his tongue. He didn't do anything too aggressive. After all, Buffy was still playing the shy maiden. It wouldn't do to frighten her, would it?

He could feel her heart pounding against his and her whole form trembling delightfully in his arms. The kiss deepened and she was melting into him. For several breathless moments, the whole of Sunnydale faded away and nothing mattered except this wonderful, darling creature he'd managed to snare right from the noses of her loved ones.

"Buffy? Buffy, where are you?" The words didn't immediately register. Then he lifted his head with a snarl of disgust. Just then Buffy gave a muffled squeal of fear and pointed a shaking finger. Shit, it was Angel. His head held high, the friggin' ponce loped through the night, his head casting back and forth as he tracked Buffy's scent. Even worse he had the Donut Boy with him.

Spike cursed and pulled Buffy into the shadows, raising his bow. Damn, how had Angel and the whelp gotten so close without him hearing them? The street behind them was wide open and quiet. They could try to make a run for it but the vampire would surely hear and catch them before they got too far, especially burdened as they were with Buffy's outfit.

Sure enough, Angel's eyes widened and his head swiveled towards the darkened corner of the park where they were hiding. Motioning Buffy to be quiet, Spike raised his bow and pulled back the string.

Angel was coming closer, having scented Buffy. There seemed to be another odor with her but it was off, not immediately recognizable. He heard Xander stealthily moving behind him, questioning him in a whisper about the oddly dressed civilian female. What was going on? Buffy was acting like a cringing cowardly female and Xander like a commanding officer. He had to admit the boy exuded a surprising confidence. But where was it coming from?

He turned his head slightly to tell Xander he'd scented Buffy and Spike let the arrow fly. The shot was true and the wooden projectile buried itself neatly in Angel's back between his shoulderblades. The souled vampire stiffened and Soldier Xander watched in shock as the man he'd been following burst into powder and scattered on the wind.

As the ashes blew away he saw the culprit. A man dressed in a ludicrous green jersey with spandex tights was wielding a bow and grabbing the defenseless, crazed female he'd seen earlier. He wasn't sure what had just happened. He only knew one of his comrade-in-arms had been killed before his eyes. He brought up the M-16 and sighted along the barrel.

To Lady Sophia, the evening had been one long hideous nightmare. The only true thing she'd known was the chivalrous gentleman who had rescued her and protected her from the monsters. The musket the other man in green was holding in his arms was unfamiliar in shape but still she knew it was a weapon.

"NO!" She screamed and threw herself in front of Robin Hood just as Xander pulled the trigger.

"Buffy!" Spike yelled. The gunshot was startlingly loud and he saw her body jerk backwards before she crumpled into his arms.

She peered down at her dress in stupefaction as blood began to pour out of the small bullet wound. "Oh, Robin. Forgive…me." She coughed and he watched helplessly as small sprays of blood shot from her mouth. "I'm…I could not let him harm you after…" She quivered and her head lolled lifelessly against his chest.

Xander Harris cursed himself. He hadn't meant to shoot the female only the armed male with her. Why had she jumped in the way like that? She'd struck him as being rather crazed but he hadn't known it would go this far. The next moment, the man dressed like a Renaissance fair reject leaped up snarling and charged him. His face was twisted with savage hatred. Harris could see the urge to kill in his eyes and this time he didn't miss.

Spike laughed as the bullets ripped into him. Sure, they hurt like hell but he wasn't going to let a little lead stop him. Then blinding weakness swept through his body and he staggered and fell to the ground. What? Why couldn't he stand? He tried to take a ragged breath and realized he needed to breathe. Pressing his hand to his chest, he was shocked to feel the blood pulsing out of him for all the world as if he had—

A heartbeat. He could feel it surging under his palm, throbbing under the red tide rapidly leaving his body. But how could that be? All too late he realized. It must be the costume. When he'd assumed the Robin Hood personae, he'd taken on the mortality as well. That damned sorcerer had tricked him. Shit, if Spike hadn't killed him already, he would have tracked him down and tortured him as slowly and as painfully as he could.

Damn that Angelus, damn him to hell. He'd sought to get rid of the threat of that monster and wound up losing his beloved. The world was wavering in and out of coherency, the screams in the distance getting fainter as Spike struggled to drag himself back to Buffy's corpse. She lay crumpled on the dirt where he'd left her, her pale arm flung out as if trying to reach for him. He extended one trembling hand and collapsed, unable to reach her fingers.

Ghost Willow ran up to Xander and stared, aghast, at the grim sight in front of her. "Xander? Oh, god. What did you do?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. She just jumped in front of the gun. Damn stupid thing for her to do." Soldier Xander sighed heavily and turned from the ugly spectacle of the man and woman lying on the ground.

Tears welled up in Willow's eyes. She hadn't realized she could cry in this form. She hadn't seemed to be able to do anything except walk through walls and bark orders. She heard more screaming and bit down on her bottom lip hard. She couldn't help Buffy. But maybe she could still help the others. Giles was searching for that Rayne guy even now. Until he found him, it was up to her and Xander to try and keep the peace.

"Soldier, I-I'm afraid there are civilians who'll need our help. We'd better get going." There, her voice hardly stuttered at all. Pausing for a moment, she added gently, "I know you don't remember that woman. But trust me, she was a friend. We should find a secure place to store her body until it can be properly buried."

"What about him?" he said, gesturing to the other.

Willow looked at the man in lincoln green and walked around to stare at him. Recognizing his face, she said, "Spike?"

"You knew him? Was he a friend, too?"

"Hardly. I don't get it. G-Giles told me vampires hate Halloween. Why is he dressed up?" She peered closer. "And why is there blood? He shouldn't be bleeding o-or dead." She looked fearfully at Xander. "H-he is dead isn't he?"

"As a doornail, ma'am. He tried to attack me and I shot him. He also killed the man who was with me. He shot him with an arrow and the guy just turned into dust. Dammedest thing I ever saw."

"He killed Angel?" Willow noted the bow and arrows lying discarded near Buffy's body and her eyes hardened. "That asshole. Fine. Just leave him here. Buffy's the only one we need to worry about."

No, her voice hardly shook at all. They would get through this night and restore order. For Buffy's sake, they had to. If the Slayer were around, that's what she would want them to do and, now that she was not, it was important that they carry on without her. Willow held her head up as Xander carefully cradled Buffy's limp body and she marched along behind him. If her eyes were blurry, if tears were shed, they never hit the ground or stopped her steady march.

They were only ghost tears, after all.

"But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,

Now thou art gone and never must return!" – John Milton, Lycidas

TBC

"Spike Multiplied" The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, ch. 3 of7

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