CHAPTER 14: CASCADE

Welcome my friends to the odyssey bathed in my blood.
Cash in your credits and banish your demons, and come this way.
Bookmark your pages and slip through the ages and give yourself to me
for just a little while.

Welcome my friends, leave your egos and doubts at the door.
I'll never tell if you drop your defenses and beg for more.
Suspend your reality high above reason and give yourself to me
for just a little while.

            ~U.V., 51 Peg
______________________________________________

There came a flurry of movement from the shadows beyond the area where they all stood. "Mistress! The Slayer!" one of the vampire minions cried belatedly, throwing himself at Buffy, presumably in an attempt to save his mistress' life.

Buffy turned and grinned at him with a smile so wide it seemed almost inhuman. The vampire stopped dead in its tracks, staring at her warily, as if wondering why she didn't run or cringe before its obviously superior strength. "Come on, big boy," she said, almost seductive as she tilted her head, exposing her neck. "You know you want it."

The vampire stared at her, lost in its confusion, and then backed away from her quickly, almost stumbling over its own feet as it retreated.

Buffy sighed with mock despair. "In the end, they all run away from me."

"Strange," the Master commented, squinting at Buffy with obvious scrutiny. "You sound exactly the same." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "But you're not, are you?"

"Oh, believe me. I've been through some changes," she agreed with perilously fragile smile. She folded her arms over her chest and began to stalk around the perimeter of the Master's boundaries, almost as if she could sense where they were.

"Why would you help us?" Daeonira asked, narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

Buffy stopped pacing and fixed the woman with a gaze that was frighteningly aware for someone who seemed so… unhinged. "Smart as you are and you haven't figured that one out yet? I mean come on, you bled me to bring him back, you know how dead I ought to be." She held out her hideously scarred wrists for Daeonira to see. "But I'm not."

"Of course. The spell your friends performed to bring you back keeps you tethered to your body so long as they all…" She broke off, stunned as the enormity of the implications hit her. "As long as they all live."

"All right. Cookie for the big brain," Buffy said condescendingly, rolling her eyes. "So, the way I figure it, it's either kill them all or end the world." She paused, considered what she'd said for a moment, then shrugged. "Actually, I guess there could be an 'and' in there." She shook off the stray thought. "But I know these people. Intimately, you might say," she said with an odd little smirk. "And I'm thinking, ending the world? Probably a lot easier to accomplish."

"So you want to die?"

For a moment Buffy seemed lost, confused, eyes going distant and far away as she considered. Voices scurried and whispered eagerly along the corridor of her mind, and she shook her head to clear it, frowning. "Where I was… when I was… dead. It was better than this," she said quietly. And then her voice grew stern, rising in volume, stubborn in its determination. "I want to go back."

"And so you shall," the Master said delightedly, almost capering to the edge of his barrier.

"You know we're going to kill them all?" Daeonira asked, matter of fact.

Buffy shrugged one shoulder coldly. "If that's what it takes."

Daeonira shook her head, baffled despite herself. "I don't understand… You sacrificed yourself for these people when you died. Why would you go back on that now?"

"Let's just say I've learned a few things. Buffy's got a brand new bag."

Buffy's got about half a deck, Xander's voice whispered in her mind, and she smiled, because that was true, as well.

The Master tilted his head at her even more, a strange smile twisting his lips. It was thoughtful, gentle, and it looked completely out of place on his hideous visage. "Her soul," he hissed. "It's fractured. Shattered. Alien." He paused, considering the entirety of that. "Delicious," he decided.

Daeonira took a step forward, looking Buffy over as if seeing her for the first time. "That's because it isn't all hers. Her friends gave her a piece of each of themselves, and there they all remain, twisted into a patchwork of consciousness."

"And yet, there is something of her in there," the Master said, still thoughtful.

"Yes. It is her body. And they did reclaim at least part of her soul during the ritual. But I suspect the stress of sharing her mind with the consciousness of others, and her seeming desire to return to her afterlife has driven over the edge of sanity. It is an interesting persona… abrasive as it may be," Daeonira added distastefully.

"Hello," Buffy spoke up, raising a hand. "Standing right here."

"What do we do with her?" Daeonira asked, truly perplexed.

The Master clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his chin upward with pride. "We use her, of course."

All right! End of the world, girlfriend. Let's party! Faith whispered inside her head. Buffy grinned so wide that the corner of her dry, cracked mouth welled with blood.

"I thought you'd never ask."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

The sun crept over the horizon, illuminating the ruined face of Sunnydale with light far too bright and cheerful for such a scene of devastation.

Some people struggled to make sense of the chaos, others simply packed up whatever possessions remained to them and left town, and still others wandered the streets, seeming dazed and lost.

Tara turned away from the window and shook her head slowly. "I feel like we should be helping them," she said, and Willow shot her a sympathetic glance.

"We have more important things to do," Faith said sternly.

"Yes. Such as sleep, perhaps?" Giles inquired, mildly sarcastic.

Faith cut him a hard look, but it was Xander who spoke up, speaking, perhaps, for all of them.

"I'm thinking sleeping today? Not really an option."

"I can't sleep, knowing she's out there," Dawn said, quiet but resolute.

Giles sighed. "I know. But we need to be certain we're prepared. We can't afford to make any mistakes."

"I think we've already made our share," Xander, self-deprecating.

"Yes, and what about the impending apocalypse?" Anya asked.

"You're right," Faith agreed. "I need to go back down there, find out what's going on. And we need to find Buffy."

"No," Giles declared mildly, and Faith turned on him in disbelief. "Faith, you're terribly wounded, you need to rest. The rest of us are more than capable of going out in a search party during the day time. If she's out there, we'll find her. As for what may be going on below ground…" he hesitated.

"None of you can go down there," Faith snapped. "There's no way. I have to be the one."

"Faith," Giles said more gently. "We've all been taking care of ourselves for a long time now."

"No! Giles, I'm not going to let any of you walk in there and get killed. That's my job!" She hesitated, realizing what she'd said, then backed off her posture a little. "You know what I mean."

"I'll go," Spike spoke up, sounding disgruntled. "I can take the sewers. It'll be easier for me to go alone than have the lot of you tromping around like a herd of elephants. Slip in and slip out. They'll never know I was there."

There was silence as everyone mulled that over for a moment. Then Faith sighed, biting down on her lower lip and finally relenting. "Fine. I'll stay here and… just. Be useless."

"We'll need you tonight, Faith. Until then, rest. We can handle this."

She ran a hand through her tangled hair and sighed. "I know. I just… I don't think I can sleep."

"Try," Giles prodded gently.

She started to say something more, then the room swam sideways and she stopped, nodding reluctantly. She turned, striding away toward the back room before her tongue could get the better of her.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

She lay on the arrangement of mats, one hand curled under her cheek, and listened as they made their plans and went out into the light of day.

At least it's daytime, she thought. It was strange, this need she felt to suddenly do everything on her own. With the danger so clear and present, she found herself wanting to shield them from it. Could that be? Was she actually feeling protective? It seemed ridiculous, but there it was, and there it remained, staring at her like a baleful, lidless eye.

She turned her face into the mats and let her hair fall over her face, closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep. Almost instantly, her eyes fluttered open again as her mind picked persistently at the train of thought, and she sighed.

The door to the room creaked open slowly, and suddenly she realized that there was at least one other person who hadn't been included in the day's activities.

"Faith?" Angel asked, hesitant and quiet, as if he didn't want to wake her.

"Yeah," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart seeming to catch in her throat and hang there.

Her body was turned away from the door, and she listened as he walked across the room toward her, felt the weight of the mats shift as he sat down on the edge of them. For a long moment, he only sat there, saying nothing, and she could see his face in her minds eye, handsome and troubled, eyes dark with thoughts he didn't quite have the heart to express.

There were dozens of things she wanted to say, a thousand things she wanted to do, but each of them fell short of her will. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and she swallowed, glib words rising in her throat. She felt she would say anything to keep him from simply sitting there, his silence like a confirmation of all her fears.

Her lips parted, and she was about to speak, some inane, unimportant quip, no doubt, when his hand fell upon her shoulder, startling the words into silence.

She wondered if he could feel the sudden trembling, like a resonation through her soul.

"I'm okay, Angel," she said softly.

She felt the pressure of his hand hesitate, as if he were debating on drawing it away, and then it settled again with comforting weight.

"No. You're not," he answered, his voice so gentle in the quiet of the room. "But you will be."

"Here's hoping," she said and sighed. Then slowly, she turned her body toward him not letting his hand slip from her, hair falling away from her face as she looked up at him. She blinked, shook her head once, too tired and confused not to ask the question that burned in her mind. "What are you doing here?"

He gazed down at her, face so handsome and fragile all at once, and for a moment, she almost felt bad for asking. Then he smiled faintly.

"I love her," he said simply, and she blinked, surprised by his directness, then nodded. It hadn't ever been a question in her mind. "I would do anything to save her, anything to make it better." He hesitated, and she could see the thoughts swirling in the depths of his eyes.

"I know." Oh, how easy the words were to speak now. Emotion seemed at once so close and so very far away, the extent of her blood loss and injuries making everything surreal. It seemed she viewed her feelings through a window of frosted glass, everything dimmed, dampened, numbed.

He didn't seem to hear her, only shook his head as if he were uncertain.

Uncomfortable in the face of his sudden vulnerability, she retreated slightly and shrugged one shoulder, wincing as the slices the Angaturan demon had made down her side muttered in pain. "Hey Angel, I get it. Really. Everything's five by five." Okay, that was an overstatement. She was still a long way from being anything near okay when it came to her feelings for Angel, but she knew how she was supposed to feel, knew what she was supposed to say. Eventually, she supposed, it might even be true.

"Is it?" His face clouded and didn't seem to be speaking to her so much as goading himself. "Sometimes… I don't think it is. All I ever did was hold Buffy back, kept her from the life she wanted to have." He swallowed heavily. "Sometimes I think I'm doing the same thing to you, just by being here."

"I'm not her," she said, voice sharper than she'd intended it to be. "Angel…" she almost laughed, rolling her eyes up toward the ceiling. "All I've got is being the Slayer. I don't have any family, any friends. I'm not real big with the wanting or planning, either. I'm pretty much a seize the moment kind of gal."

He shook his head again and looked away. "I don't have that option. I have all these… feelings that I can't act on. I had them with Buffy… I have them with you. Even after everything that's happened, even after knowing that Buffy's alive…" He broke off and turned his head away even further, as if he were ashamed, struggling with the words. She could almost see them writhe at the edge of his lips, dancing like demons in the flames of hell. "When you came back tonight, bloody, broken and hurting… all I wanted to do was hold you in my arms and make it right."

Her breath caught in her throat with her heart, and she nearly choked.

"I still love her…" he went on, voice low and laced with the trembling passion he always held onto so tightly. "When I thought she was dead it was easy to romanticize it, to put it in the past, glorify what it was and cherish the memories." He paused again, mouth working to form the words. "But now… she's alive again, and as much as I want to see her face, much as I still love her, there are other people in my heart."

She stared at him, not able to speak.

"I was never allowed to put all my heart into her while we were together. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, holding back my happiness with her. And when we were finally apart and she was still alive, I always thought 'maybe someday'… and then when she died I thought, maybe, that I could finally love her the way I was supposed to. That maybe in death she could finally have what I cheated her of in life." His voice was so intense, so tinged with quiet pain and regret that Faith nearly winced at the sound. "I thought if I could love her like that, I could finally do it right." He slowly shook his head, as if he still couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying. "But I couldn't even do that. I wanted to… but life went on and… things changed." He spread his hands for a moment in a helpless gesture.

"What do you mean 'things changed'?" Faith asked, frowning. What was he saying? Because if he was saying what she thought he was saying…

"I mean that the minutes turned into hours, and hours into days, and every second she was gone I missed her more than anything. But those hours and days break down into moments, into events and shared experiences, and even though I missed her, even though she was always first in my heart, those moments crept in like time on cat's feet and wedged their way into my heart."

"Okay," she commented airily, still frowning, growing more frustrated as he seemed to dance around the subject. "You wanna ditch the poetry and give it to me straight?"

He sighed, seeming slightly frustrated, himself, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I mean that I care about you, Faith. A lot more than I probably should."

He said it softly, sounding almost depressed by the prospect, and she turned her head, giving a bitter snort. "Wow. Way to sweep a girl off her feet," she said sarcastically. "I mean, God forbid you should forget how to brood for a second."

He stared at her, seeming almost helpless. "What do I have to be happy about?" he asked, eyes intent on hers, so sad and desperate that her heart suddenly lurched in her chest. "I've got nothing, Faith. Less than nothing. I've got people I care for, I've got a son now, but I can't be as close as I want to be, to him or to anyone. The gypsies made sure that the second I got any real happiness it would be gone."

She felt anger rise up uselessly in her chest and grit her teeth, disgusted. It wasn't his fault, but damn. Rage, sadness and more tender feelings all warred for precedence, and then realization washed over her like a bucket of cold, sobering water. Her expression hardened and she shook her head almost disbelievingly, raising an interrogating brow at him. "Why are you suddenly true confessions guy?" She was suspicious now, mistrusting.

He sighed, a gentle, rustling sound that was filled with reluctance. His hands twisted in his lap, long fingers twining round each other in a never-ending dance that could not quite be called fidgeting.

"Why are you telling me this, Angel?" she prompted again, voice growing harsh.

"So you can know how I really feel." He looked down at his hands as if gathering strength from them. "So you can know that I think you're beautiful, and worthy, and stronger than you give yourself credit for. So you can know when I'm not there that I want to protect you, and when I turn away it's because I want to put my arm around you. So you can know the truth and move on." He looked her dead in the eye, making sure she understood the gravity of his next words. "Because no matter what I want, I can't be with you. No matter how I feel, you deserve more than I can ever offer you."

She took a moment to soak all that in, gave a startled laugh and shook her head. "So that's it, huh? Gee, I like you and all, but we can't be together, see ya later." She surged toward him, arms pushing off the mat, eyes flashing angry fire. "Why even bother?"

"I know," he agreed, not flinching from her gaze at all. "It isn't fair."

"Yeah, no happiness allowed, right?"

"Right." He agreed with a brief nod.

"You know what I say?" she burst out abruptly, the words escaping her before she had a chance to think. "I say fuck that." She yanked his hand out from under him, pulled him down to her with her other arm, and kissed him.

He stiffened as their lips met, almost pulled away. This wasn't part of the plan; this was not supposed to happen. But the scent of her, the feel of her, his want for her… he felt like he was on fire, his whole body tingling with the touch of hers, nerves straining, yearning with want. He drew a deep, unnecessary breath, breathing in the scent of her sweet, smooth skin, the salty tang of hot blood just beneath. For just an instant, he allowed himself the indulgence of her, letting her surround all his senses, taste, scent, touch, sound. He ran a hand through the silk of her hair, brushed a thumb just below the swell of her lower lip, circled her tongue slowly and thoroughly with his own, glorying in the sensation of the moment.

She shifted her body beneath him and the slight friction was delicious, almost perilous, and he felt himself sliding inexorably down the steep hill toward loss of control.

His lips hesitated against hers, trembling with indecision, and she rose, capturing his lower lip expertly between hers, drawing him in again.

"You know," Angel breathed, suddenly breaking the kiss and drawing away. "This is the part where I start getting into trouble."

"I like my men with some trouble," she said with a grin.

"Not this much trouble," he said, looking at her so sincerely that she felt her heart swell painfully. Damn him for getting to her like this. What the fuck was wrong with her anyway? Had she really lost that much blood?

"I shouldn't have talked to you about this," he said, easing away from her by painful centimeters. "And I shouldn't have…" He glanced away, almost winced. "It's probably only going to make things worse for you." He started to pull away, to rise. "I'm sorry."

She grabbed his hand, pulled him back to her. "No way. You don't get to end it this time. If we're gonna talk about this, let's do it."

"Faith," he shook his head, at a loss. "There's nothing else to say. No matter how much I care, my duty to redemption comes first. It has to. If it doesn't, my soul goes out the window. And even if it didn't… even if it didn't, I'd still have to make amends for what I've done."

"Yeah," she agreed with a nod, surprised at her own candor. "Me too. But does that mean we can't take whatever we can grab along the way?"

"It does if it means I go soulless again," he said with a simple finality that belied the pain in his eyes.

"Well, duh," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Angel, we could die tomorrow. If we live long enough, if we save the world, then maybe we can sort out all this soap opera crap. But for now, can't we just, you know, live a little?"

He paused, thoughtful, torn. She didn't know what he was thinking, but his strong white teeth tugged at his lower lip, drawing it just barely inside his mouth, and she felt a rush of heat surge through her at the sight. Fuck, but he was sexy as hell when he was tormented. And damn, what kind of twisted crazy ass attraction was this, anyway?

"Faith… I… I can't. It wouldn't be fair to either one of us."

She sighed and shook her head. "You are the original King of Pain, you know that?" Their fingers still lay slightly entwined on the edge of wanting, neither quite willing to draw away. For all his talk, he wanted to be there just as much as she wanted him to be there, and neither of them was willing to admit it.

She bit down on her lower lip, avoided his gaze. "Just… stay here. Just… can you do that?"

He hesitated a moment, as if debating, and her heart sank, anger rising rapidly in its place. She started to let go of his hand, shaking her head, dismissing him. "Look, never mind. I just—"

He hesitated a moment longer, then slid down the length of the mats, slowly, ever so gently, body moving up behind hers, seeming to cup her and hold her of its own accord. He strengthened the grip of his fingers through hers and laid his head against her shoulder, his words a comforting breath as they flowed over her ear.

"No. I can do that."

She froze for a moment, feeling suddenly naked in his embrace. Her mind scrambled to remember the last time anyone had held her this way, and came up blank. Her instincts, like an animal caught in a trap, screamed at her to pull away. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. He felt safe. He felt like… home.

The thought was terrifying, but then fatigue rose up suddenly and won its flagging battle with her at last. Her eyes slipped shut, and in moments she was asleep, the reassuring weight of his body pressed against hers

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Oh, Angel, I lurve you soooo much," Spike mocked under his breath as he made his way through the tunnels, imagining all too easily the scene between Faith and the master poof in the absence of everyone else. "Bloody stupid gits."

He didn't know why he was bothering to think about it anyway. It wasn't like he cared all that much about her. Besides, where he was going was more important. And the fact that Buffy might be alive out there somewhere…

Buffy… alive. His unbeating heart ached with the mere thought; she was alive… and she was out of her mind. Not that it mattered to him; he'd had a lot of experience with women who were out of their minds. But he found he couldn't lay the miasma of insanity over Buffy's image. She'd always been so… determined. Human, but focused. It was part of what Spike had loved about her.

Still loved about her?

Probably. Buffy had been a realization for him, a turning point in knowing the depth of his heart. And chip be buggered; he knew how he felt. Buffy had been an exception. And yet… he couldn't quite banish Faith's face from memory, couldn't quite cut her annoying visage out of him. There were things about her that made him want to rip her throat out, and yet she excited him. She challenged him. Her fire and ice, her unpredictability, her wild, free way of living, and the nobility that lurked somewhere deep inside, buried far beneath her tough exterior.

She wasn't the completely noble hero who knew her duty. Not the one who knew her destiny and saw vampires only in shades of black and white. Yes, Buffy had trusted him in the end, but she hadn't cared for him. He sensed that this girl could. And even though he didn't want to care, he couldn't quite drive the idea from his mind.

He grunted and shoved the annoying thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on them. He was getting deep into enemy territory now, and he needed to focus.

The caves narrowed around him, and he entered through the same small room they'd entered before, passing by the empty iron cells that gaped like yawning mouths. He made his way carefully through the ensuing tunnels, remembering the vampires that had guarded them before, but they were almost conspicuously empty this time. Soon, he found himself at the lip of the great cavern, and he ducked just inside the cave opening at its edge, peering out cautiously.

He'd come down here prepared for the end of the world, for an army of vampires ready to rally against the upper world, for fire and death, possibly even his own. And yet, nothing prepared him for what he saw.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"So if you're done with the waxing nostalgic," Buffy said with a pointed look at Daeonira, "I think I've got an idea."

"Really?" the woman asked, raising one brow in contemptuous interest.

"Yeah. You're still all super connected to the Council, right?"

Daeonira shrugged. "I know what buttons to push, yes."

"And yet, you still haven't figured out the obvious answer to getting the Super Friends off your back."

The Master inclined his head approvingly toward Buffy, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by the Bringer.

"Pray tell, young one," Daeonira said viciously. "Share your shining wisdom with the rest of us."

"Oh, it's not shining wisdom, really. Just common sense," Buffy shot back with a nasty grin. "I think one well placed phone call would take care of that problem."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Spike hadn't been human in over one hundred and twenty years, but he recognized the queasy feeling in his stomach after only a moment of confusion.

His first urge was to stalk down there like the self-possessed bad-ass he was, snatch Buffy from the arms of evil and deliver her home. It was such an overwhelming feeling that he nearly broke then and there, pushing himself away from the alcove and starting forward. And then the particulars of the scene became completely clear to him. Buffy, sitting upon a jagged piece of debris, so near to the Master that they might have been friends, hunkered down for an afternoon chat on a park bench. Daeonira pacing within mere feet of the Slayer, earning perhaps her contempt, but not inciting the urge to kill that he knew a Slayer would have instinctively felt.

Indecision was something new for Spike. He was mostly a creature of instinct; saw what he wanted and made it happen one way or another, and the consequences be damned. Consequences were for other people less powerful and skilled. But looking down there, he saw Buffy's insidious glee, saw Daeonira and the Master's thousands of years of experience, and knew that only death awaited him below. He could go down there and die… or he could carry what he knew back to the sodding Scoobies and hope that they could come up with some way to save Buffy from herself.

Bugger that.

He pushed away from the alcove and strutted off down the walkway, keeping one eye on everyone with his peripheral vision, so as not to be obvious. After all, he was a vampire, wasn't he? He had every right to be here, and he strode forward like it.

"Well, well," drawled the Master, sighting him first. "What have we here?"

"Spike!" Buffy wriggled down from her seat on the rock, and God help him, he felt his heart jolt in response. She ran to him with a smile so wide he almost didn't recognize it on her face, and didn't stop until she'd thrown her arms around him in an exuberant hug.

"You're here! And here I thought I'd have to have all the fun by myself."

"Couldn't have that, now could we, luv?" he asked almost stoically, eyeing Daeonira and the Master as he spoke, not trusting either of them. And still, for all his resolve, he felt his heart melting inside. Buffy… dear God… just as beautiful as she'd always been, alive and human and pulsing and all around him with her scent and body, and she was excited to see him!

"I know you," Daeonira said, her voice low with warning.

"Then you know better," Spike said with a deliberate arch of his dark brows.

Daeonira sniffed and turned away, as if he were beneath her notice.

Buffy smiled up at him, arms still snaked around his neck in an intimate embrace. "I'm so glad you're here. We were just plotting how to end the world." She paused, thinking about that for a beat. "I mean, I know you're not fond of that and all, but they'll probably keep some humans around to breed and feed on. I know how you love your Happy Meals on legs."

Oh, God, it was her. The shock of it, the truth of it seemed to hit him all at once and squeeze him in its embrace like a vice grip. Even when she'd hugged him—especially then—he hadn't quite believed it completely. He looked down at her, his world narrowing to the touch of her hands, the beat of her heart. "Right."

"You don't seem excited." Buffy extended her lower lip, pouting as she pulled back from him a little.

He stared at her, mesmerized by the jut of her lip. "Well, it is all a little sudden, you being on the side of the big bad and all."

"I know, isn't it exciting?" she asked with a delicious shiver against him. Her eyes locked on his with slow, deliberate knowing. "I know it's what you always wanted, Spike. Me and you on the same side."

"Oh yeah, luv, it's got me all… hot and bothered," he said cautiously, casting another uncertain glance at the others. "But maybe we could celebrate somewhere more… private?"

She grinned so wide he thought it might break his heart, then grabbed his hand and led him away. Neither the Master nor Daeonira said a word, though they watched carefully, the woman's eyes calculating, the Master's bemused and discerning. He got the distinct feeling that they were aware of Buffy's sincerity, aware, too, of how susceptible he was to her. And he could see all too clearly that they could both see the benefits of having a vampire of Spike's reputation and caliber on their side. No, they wouldn't try to stop him. Not unless he opposed them.

Buffy drug him down a few side corridors, chattering all the while. Amazed by her temerity, her seeming good spirits, the bizarre contrast of her perky attitude mixed with her want for destruction, the whole moment seemed surreal to him. He tuned her out without meaning to, trying to get his bearings, trying to believe what was happening to him. That he was here, with her, and she wanted his company.

"I mean, I know the Master's trapped again and all," she went on, snapping Spike from his fugue state. "But we'll figure it out. Plus, he's got this idea that—"

"The Master's trapped?" Spike interrupted, frowning.

"That's what I said. Weren't you paying attention?" Buffy turned toward him with a playful, dark smile, and he nearly shivered at the sight—though with delight or horror, he wasn't sure.

"Faith did it when she caved in the cavern. But we'll figure it out." She stopped, grabbed his hand and pulled it down to her side, forcing him close to her. "And," she grinned up at him, teasingly inching her face up toward his. "None of that matters right now. Because here we are. All evil, and together and alone."

He hesitated, looking down at her with mixed emotions, his desire for her almost overwhelming despite the trepidation. "Buffy…" Good Lord, he could see what she meant to do, and he wanted it, oh yeah, wanted it so bad he was damned near salivating at the prospect, but that wasn't why he had come here. He hadn't come to take advantage of her, or join forces with the bad guys. "Buffy, I didn't—"

Quicker than he could follow, she spun him around and pinned him against the wall, lips suddenly pressed against his, hot, heavy, wanting. Her hips nudged up against his and rotated, teasing him before thrusting hard against him, shoving him into the wall. He moaned into her mouth without meaning to, overwhelmed.

"This is why you wanted me alone, wasn't it Spike?" she asked, voice sly, eyes sparkling.

"Buffy," he breathed, trying to find the will, the words. "Much as I want this, this isn't you. You're not in your right mind. Come back with me, we'll fix it."

"Come back with you?" she asked, her face going blank as she tried to process that. For a frightening moment she reminded him of the Buffybot. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because it's where you belong, luv. Not here, in this place. This is… this is beneath you."

She frowned, his words seeming to disturb her. "And why would you want that? The way I feel now is good, isn't it? I mean… I want you, Spike. Doesn't it make you hot?" She asked, fluttering almost innocent eyes up at him.

He hesitated—and all was lost.

"See? You don't want to go back," she said with a devilish grin, pressing her hot mouth to his again. His intentions drained away like wet sand through his fingers, and he kissed her back, barely managing to keep himself from ravaging her then and there.

"You want to stay here… with me," she breathed, falling to her knees and beginning to unbuckle his belt. Deft fingers unsnapped his jeans and slid them down his legs, and before he even knew what was happening, her warm mouth engulfed him, driving away all sense of rational thought.

"Oh… God… Buffy…" he moaned, hands dropping to caress her hair, her head, drawing her tighter against him.

He'd barely gotten out the words before she'd shed her own clothing and mounted him, gasping as her heat sheathed him, pinning him against the wall as she rode him.

"This isn't… isn't right…" he breathed.

"Oh, but it feels so right, doesn't it?" she asked breathlessly, teasing as she slid up and down his length. She fluttered her inner muscles, tightening them around him, and his world narrowed to that one moment, that one sensation, and he exploded inside her, crying out into her mouth helplessly.

When it ended, he lay on the ground and she sat astride him, grinning even as she began to move again.

"You're mine, aren't you Spikey? Here you are, and here you'll stay."

He arched up into her body and nodded, mind on fire, all senses screaming yes, yes, yes! This and only this. Buffy, loving him, caressing him, fucking him, forever.

Oh yes.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith woke up alone—but then, she'd expected that on some level. Her eyes snapped open the dim light of evening as the others returned, and she could tell by the sound of their voices that they hadn't found Buffy, low and subdued as they were.

She lay there, languid, savoring the few moments she still had left before she joined them, letting her thoughts drift. She felt considerably better; wounds nearly healed, only itching in that dull way that healing had. Her head still pounded and thrummed with the rhythm of chaos, but she felt like she might actually have a grip on the merry-go-round of insanity. Nothing made sense, and hey, if she couldn't hold on to anything else at least she had that.

She gave a bitter smirk and rolled over.

Angel stood there, leaning back against the vaulting horse, baby Connor cradled in his arms. As she turned, he glanced up and smiled sheepishly.

"I had to feed him," he said quietly, as if that should explain everything; the absence of him at her side, the faint ache in her heart at waking without him—and ache she'd sooner die than admit.

And somehow, it did.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Okay," Faith said, running a hand through her hair as she tried to orient her thoughts, pacing back and forth before the Scoobies. "We break into teams. Two by two."

"Where is Spike?" Giles asked, glancing around the room.

"He… never came back," Faith replied, suddenly realizing it to be true.

Giles hesitated. "Then we must assume the worst."

"He may have had to pretend to be on their side," Faith said, almost offhand. She almost believed it. It seemed more likely than imagining Spike as dust. "At any rate, we split off, two by two. Angel, you're gonna have to bring the kid, we need everyone in on this. Willow and Anya go together, Angel and Xander, Tara and Dawn, me and Giles. That way everyone has a heavy hitter on their side."

Angel opened his mouth as if about to argue, but Xander beat him to it.

"Why do I get stuck with Dead Boy?"

Faith shot him a look but didn't reply.

"I—I don't know if I'm really a heavy hitter," Tara demurred, as if worried.

"You've got more magic than the rest of us," Faith declared. "Just focus on looking and protecting Dawn. Anything beyond that, you radio us." She tossed Tara one of the walkie talkie's Giles had picked up for them earlier, then proceeded to pass them out to everyone.

"Got it?" she asked with one last raise of her brows.

Everyone nodded.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Giles and Faith strode through the moonlight, Slayer slightly in the lead, Watcher following closely at her side, both holding their weapons poised. They made their way through the first graveyard without speaking, acting in a tandem that was instinctive and old as time.

When they again reached the open expanse of grass, Faith made a face and lowered her crossbow. "Too much to hope they'd be in the usual places. Maybe we ought to swing over by the tomb with the entrance to the tunnels, see what's happening there."

"Of course," Giles agreed with a nod. Then he made an odd expression and tilted his head at her. It took her a moment to place the look on his face, perhaps because she didn't encounter it very often; concern. "Faith… are you all right?"

"Sure," she shrugged with feigned brightness. "Five by five. I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

"A lot has happened, almost too much. Your Watcher… you mourned her," he trailed off looking at her, as if hoping to prompt her into speaking.

"Hey, it's not a thing. I mean, considering my track record, it seems fair."

"There's nothing fair about any of this," he declared, dark and somber.

She lowered her eyes, feigned cheerfulness draining away. "That's not what you were supposed to say."

"Really? What was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know. Something witty and British, probably."

"Well, I have a penchant for not doing what I'm supposed to, you know."

"Really?" she asked, looking at him with a faint grin. "Nah. You?"

"You might be surprised," he replied mildly, and then proceeded to simply look at her until she grew uncomfortable enough to speak.

She shifted and frowned, not enjoying his scrutiny. Folding her arms, she drew herself up with a sulky slant of her shoulders. "I know what you're asking me. You're asking me if I think I can do this. If I can hold it together with the apocalypse and all the craziness happening."

"Am I? And here I thought I was asking you how you felt about your Watcher."

She stared at him in surprise, realizing that he was really waiting for an answer. "Look… it's… I…" she faltered, searching for words she wasn't quite sure how to form. "I cared about her," she finally settled, voice much harsher than she felt. "But she never existed. Or if she did, she doesn't anymore."

"That's right." He nodded carefully. "Whatever she told you Faith, however she made you feel, you can't trust any of it."

"I know that," she said, too sharply, then caught herself. "I just… I thought maybe someone finally really cared, you know? You start thinking like that and you start seeing home." Her voice grew far away and her eyes took on a distant look, as if she were looking back through time. Angel's face flashed through her mind, reminding her of the feeling she'd had when he'd held her last night. And then, quick as a snap the look disappeared as she cut off the thought, replaced with her usual expression of angst-filled boredom. "I should know better by now." She shrugged again.

"Home is where you make it, Faith. You carry it with you."

"If that were true, then this would be my home," she said, cynical.

He didn't comment on that, and it wasn't until later that it struck her that what he didn't say might have been more important than what he had.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Xander demanded sarcastically as he stalked through the grass just slightly behind Angel.

"Because Faith told us to," Angel responded, surly and direct as ever.

"Right. Because if we do manage to find some vampire wandering around out here, he's just going throw himself at our feet and start spilling out the Master's plans."

Angel paused, cocked his head to one side. "No, he won't spill his guts willingly. But he'll spill. And we're not going to find him out here," he declared as they arrived at an underground tunnel, beginning to descend into it.

"Oh, great," Xander muttered, rolling his eyes, then followed behind.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Tara tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled awkwardly at Dawn as they walked through the park. "Are you okay?"

Dawn gave her a mirthless look, shoved her hands in her pockets and strutted with pronounced teen angst. "No."

"Sh-she was only trying to do what she thought was best," Tara replied, voice meek and mild, as if she didn't quite believe what she were saying.

"I don't want to talk about it," Dawn said abruptly, raising her chin.

Tara nodded and looked down at the ground, continuing to plod through the damp grass.

They walked in silence for a few minutes longer, and finally Dawn dropped her posture, shoulders sloping, head drooping, eyes blinking thoughtfully, seeming almost sleepy. "Do you… do you think she's out here?"

"Buffy?" Tara asked hesitantly. Dawn nodded and she glanced about, uncertain. "Well, if she is, we'll find her." She smoothed her hair back with both hands and looked at Dawn semi-anxiously. "We'll get her back."

Dawn made a derisive sound and turned away. "I'm not a little kid," she said vehemently. "You don't have to humor me."

"Dawn…" Tara stepped up to her, slipped her hand into the younger girl's. "I'm not."

Dawn stood rigid for a moment, resisting, then slowly leaned her head in against Tara's shoulder. "I just…"

Miss her, need her, want her back, Tara's mind filled in helpfully, and she nodded. "I know."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Willow plodded along in a daze that felt more like a nightmare than daydream, guilt consuming her so utterly and completely that she felt as if a giant hand had locked around her heart and begun to squeeze. In the background, Anya nattered on about the inconvenience all this searching was causing her, complaining bitterly about having to close the shop all day and then go out again all night with no sleep. Willow bristled at the ex-demon's words, wanted to make a nasty retort about how important this was, but she couldn't quite muster the will to say anything.

In her secret heart of hearts, she hoped fervently that they wouldn't be the ones to find Buffy. Knowing that she was the one responsible for this… Magic had wrought this, her magic, she thought with blackened self-condemnation. Her fault. The weight of it weighed so heavy on her soul that it seemed she could barely move her feet.

And yet… there was the voice at the back of her mind that whispered to her, insisting that if magic had made this, then magic could fix it. She willed the voice away, locked it up tight and barred the door, but she could still hear the insinuations whispering around the cracks of its edges. And she worried.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Spike came back to himself sometime later, Buffy dozing lazily at his side, and he turned instinctively, covering her with one of his arms. In her sleep, she smiled and snuggled against him, and he found himself again without rhyme or reason, unable to understand what had happened or how he had come to be here.

And did it matter? He had her. At long last, he'd laid claim to her heart, which was all he'd ever wanted. She needed, and she'd turned to him for her needs. She was using him for shelter, for familiarity, almost certainly, but she was his. She wanted him.

He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her. How could he ever want more than this?

And yet… he did.

Somewhere out there, Faith and the others undoubtedly worried for him and Buffy both, wondering at their fate. But why should he care about their stupid, petty human concerns?

He shouldn't.

And yet… he did.