CHAPTER 16: SEEKERS

You look into the bedrock and listen to the bells
calling liquid lust,
call for solid white
I see the stalker in your face
the secrets in your skin
I keep the wisdom that you need
the password that you want
I feel the stalker in your mind
the fire in your veins
no hope to be released
I'm a multitude of travels to the other side

            ~Stalker, Covenant
______________________________________________

For a moment, Spike was confused.

"Well, this is impressive. Weren't we just standing in front of the Times building?" He looked at the building with angry impudence, pissed off that it continued to stand there. "What the bloody hell? I thought the portal was supposed to—"

"Wait," Buffy said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Look."

The building looked almost identical to the Los Angeles Times building they'd just gone under, but studying it for a second, Spike saw that it was slightly different after all. The same two portals were carved in the stone above the entryway, but the giant eagles that had been there moments ago had now grown the hindquarters of lions. Griffons they were called, if he remembered right. The stone was also slightly darker and the edges of the building were trimmed with gold—that was something you'd sure as hell never see in LA. On either side he could still see the city, all tall dark buildings and glimmering lights, but it seemed blurry, indistinct, as if viewed through a cloudy lens. Neat trick, that.

And then… the stones themselves seemed to melt, to shift and move, bleeding together into one malignant mass—he blinked. The stones shifted back, if indeed they had ever moved, and it was just a building again, brick and mortar and glass. He shook his head to clear it, wondering what the hell that was all about, and took another look. Dark stone seemed to swell and breathe with a life all its own, its body crouched low against the horizon. The twin portals above the entryway blazed violently red for an instant, a pair of predatory eyes that dared—no, begged for them to enter. He blinked and the lines of the building straightened again, forming a solid, unassuming stone structure.

"Did anyone slip mushrooms into that last bit of Taco Bell we ordered?"

Several lackeys frowned and blinked in incomprehension, protruding brow ridges rendering their faces infinitely dull and stupid. They wouldn't have had the savvy to feed him drugs if someone had paid them and given them written instructions with diagrams. And Buffy… well, Buffy didn't need to feed him drugs, now did she?

"Right then. Well, this must be the place," he said with a nod.

Drawing himself up, he took a step forward and mounted the wide stone stairs.

That was when everything went straight to hell.

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

The sun had barely broken the horizon in Sunnydale when Giles hung up the phone and returned to where everyone was just waking.

"Yeah, so what'd they say?" Faith asked.

"They won't listen to reason, of course," Giles said with a tired sigh. "Not that I expected them to after sending in the assassins," he added with distaste.

Faith shrugged and gathered up the rest of her gear, shoving it casually into her backpack. "Whatever. It's not like I expected much from the 700 Club anyway."

Giles smiled slightly, despite himself. "They said a great deal more than that, though, Faith," he went on, smile fading from his face. "They've specifically ordered that you not interfere with the Black Ops team."

Faith froze. Slowly, she turned to look at him, her eyes so furiously cold he nearly shivered beneath their gaze. "Good for them."

"Yes, quite," he agreed with thick sarcasm. "However, the fact remains that they are the ones who negotiated your release from prison. If you don't cooperate with them, there's no telling what they may do."

Her eyes grew even colder, if that were possible, but there was a look of mistrust in them now. Giles was surprised to find how much that troubled him.

"Are you gonna tell me not do this?"

"Me?" He was astonished. "Good Lord, no."

"Good." She shrugged as if the matter were finished and turned to finish packing her things.

"But Faith…" His voice caught her in mid-turn and she glanced at him again with those dark, resolute eyes. "The fact remains that they do have a claim to you of sorts that they never had with Buffy. They got you out of prison, and they could likely put you back there if they decided you were too troublesome. Or worse," he added, suddenly reminded of their recent visitors.

"Gosh, you don't really think they'd do that, do you?" Xander asked with sarcasm so heavy it almost sounded sincerely pleasant.

"Considering the number of times Quentin Travers repeated those very words to me, I'd say it's a sure thing."

"I'd like to see them try," Angel said.

Faith, however, said nothing for a moment. There'd been a time, not long ago, when those kinds of threats from the Council would have worried her. Now, they left her cold, unmoved, and she only had to look around her to see why she was no longer frightened. She wasn't alone anymore.

Damn. I have friends. Okay, not really. But sort of. When did that happen?

"I don't give a damn about the Council or the Sean Connery wannabe," she spoke up, brisk and impatient. "If the Master had his finger on the button they'd have to huff and puff and take a meeting."

"Faith…" Giles' eyes searched hers. "Are you certain? You don't have to do this. We could—"

"Are you scared of them?" she asked suddenly, almost accusing.

Giles looked mildly offended. "Of course not. I merely—I, I just… I don't want to put you in any unnecessary danger."

Her expression softened slightly, and she smiled a crooked, half-cynical smile. "Being Danger Girl? Kinda my job."

"Yes, but—"

"Shut up, Giles," she said almost kindly. "Thanks for being a gentleman and all, but I'm doing this, and I'm doing it all the way."

Words hung poised on the tip of Giles' tongue for an instant, then slowly, he gathered himself, nodded slightly and drew back.

"I know," he said with a small smile that creased his face like well-worn leather.

"Besides," she went on, zipping up the backpack and slinging it onto her shoulders. "It's not like I'm breaking any rules yet. Donner gave us twenty four hours."

A rustle of uneasiness passed through the Scoobies. The charge of emotions in the room was very palpable, like electricity, black and yellow and buzzing all around them like an angry swarm of bees.

"Now if we only knew where to look," Willow said ruefully.

Faith glanced at her, hesitated a moment as she gauged the emotional storm cloud. "I do."

The swarm erupted in a squeal of static electricity.

"What?"

"Where?"

"How?"

Faith looked down at the toes of her boots, words leaving her mouth reluctantly. "She's down in the tunnels. She has to be."

"No." Willow shook her head vehemently. "No way."

She tossed her hair back and switched her shoulders, uncomfortable and impatient. "Come on Red. Think about it. I'm Buffy. I'm pissed off at my friends for bringing me back and I can't die until they're all dead. I wanna kill them, and I'm crazy to boot. Where do I go?"

"She could be anywhere," Willow argued heatedly. "You don't know that!"

And she sympathized with Willow, she really did. But that didn't change what she knew. "Spike didn't come back, either. He went down to check on the bad guys, and I can only think of two reasons he wouldn't come back. A, he's dead, which I don't believe for a second, or B, he found Buffy. You all know how he felt—feels about her."

"What?" Angel asked, blinking.

Faith shook her head and didn't answer, still focused on her thought. "I should have thought of that before we sent him down there."

"Or C, he got a better offer than we were giving him," Xander spoke up. "It's not like Spike's the most loyal guy around."

"You really think he'd just join up with the Big Bad and leave Buffy out there to fend for herself?"

"If the price was right," Xander agreed.

"No." Dawn shook her head slowly and looked up at Xander. "No way. He'd never do that. He loves her."

"Dawn—" Xander began.

"He wouldn't. You know he wouldn't."

Xander sighed and looked away, defeated.

"Loves?" Angel asked.

"Much as we would like to believe that Buffy would never ally herself with the, ah, forces of evil, we can't ignore the facts. It bears checking out, at the very least," Giles said, sounding much more reasonable than he felt.

"Loves?" Angel asked again.

"Right," Faith agreed with Giles. "And that's why I need you all to stay here."

The room exploded in a chorus of voices, and she let them run their course before she spoke again.

"I need to know what's going on down there before we all go in. That's why we sent Spike, remember? And I need all of you on research, anyway."

"But Buffy—" Xander began to argue.

"Wow, they couldn't have come up with a better way to distract us from the apocalypse if they'd tried." She rolled her eyes. "Look. I know we need to find Buffy, and we will, but we also need to know what we're up against. We still don't even know what kind of vampire Daeonira is, or how she keeps such a grip on her followers. How am I supposed to fight her and stop the apocalypse if I don't know anything about her?" She stopped, blinked. "And when did I become the voice of reason around here?"

"She's right," Giles said after a heavy pause.

"I'm not staying here." Dawn's voice quavered with emotion.

Faith sighed, her expression of impatience fading slightly. "Dawn. I know you want to find Buffy. I'll find her, or we all will, one way or another. If I don't find her when I go down, then we'll all go look when I come back. Besides," she said with a grim smile. "Your sister would kill me if she knew I was taking you down into the enemy's lair. I'm so not gonna deal with that when we get her back."

Dawn stared at her, green eyes wavering and mistrustful. "And if you don't find her we all go together?"

"Swear," Faith said, holding up one hand.

Dawn folded her arms over her chest and flopped down into a chair, staring up at Faith moodily. "If you screw this up, I'll kick your ass myself."

Faith raised her brows at the girl and gave her a half-smirk. Girl had balls; you had to give her that. She might have been created by monks—at least, according to what Giles had told her—but she was Buffy's sister through and through. It was there in the stubborn set of her jaw, the obstinate glare in her eyes.

Fair enough. Faith straightened the backpack on her shoulders, then turned. "You ready, Angel?"

"Wait a minute," Xander said, holding up a hand. "How come Angel gets to go?"

Angel favored him with a condescending smile. "Because I'm special."

Faith shot him a look that said she could handle this herself, then looked back to Xander. "Because Angel can take care of himself, and I need some kind of back-up."

"Oh really?" Xander asked, oozing sarcasm. "And it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you're mooning over him?" Faith's lips thinned and her eyes went hard as stone. Xander smiled unplesantly. "I'm sure Buffy will be touched by your loyalty when you find her."

Faith's jaw tightened and a muscle twitched beneath her left eye. Okay, maybe she could handle this with a hard right to Xander's smirking mouth. That would work, right?

Angel shifted inside his coat and shot Xander an annoyed glance. "Maybe you missed the memo, but Buffy and I haven't been together for a long time now."

"And I'm so sure she'd be okay with you and Faith getting together."

"I don't think that's any of your business," Angel contradicted darkly.

"Xander, we're all worried about Buffy." Giles cleared his throat and gave Xander a look of mild reproach. "Don't be an ass."

"What?" Xander turned on Giles, eyes uncomprehending. "Giles don't tell me you think—"

"What I think doesn't matter. Angel's right; it's none of our business," he said quite seriously. "Getting Buffy back and stopping the apocalypse are the only things that are important now." He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and turned his attention to Faith, nodding briefly to her. "You'd better get going. Time is wasting."

She stared at him for a second, then the corner of her mouth quirked up in the tiniest hint of a smile. For a second, he swore he saw a flash of something grateful in her eyes, and then she turned, vanishing through the door to the basement. Angel followed behind her without a second glance.

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

The sound of wrenching stone was deafening. For a moment it seemed to come from everywhere, crashing and whirling all around them like the gale winds of a tornado—and then Spike saw something move.

One of the stone griffons gripped the edge of its portal with sharp, gray talons. Tiny cracks spread out from the holes each talon pierced in the stone, and the brick seemed to bubble and bulge beneath the strength of its grip.

"That—that wasn't like that before," stuttered out some nameless lackey from behind him.

"No," Spike said, voice soft and musing. "It wasn't."

The other griffon's head turned slowly in their direction with the same deafening sound of thunder, vicious beak parting to reveal a pointed, alien tongue. It hissed at them, stone feathers rising on the back of its neck.

"I think we'd better hurry," Spike said, grabbing Buffy's hand and pulling her up the stairs two at a time.

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

Faith and Angel moved through the sewers in uncomfortable silence. The sounds of dripping water echoed and resounded all around them, evoking a distant sense of nostalgia in Faith, which was followed instantly by cynical distaste. It was sad, really, when you thought about how many of her recent emotional memories were tied up in this place—or underground in general. Not exactly the most romantic setting she could imagine. But then, she wasn't much on romance.

She slid a surreptitious sideways glance at Angel and wondered how true that still was. She'd always been about fire, about want and need. Sex was like a force of nature housed in the small frame of her body, one that moved her like a tempest, caught others in the storm and left them gasping in wonder as she discarded them and left them behind. But that had been a different girl… hadn't it? She didn't have any idea who she was anymore, and this, whatever it was between them, was playing for far higher stakes than she'd ever imagined. She felt as if she'd been swept up in the tempest instead of being the one who drove it. And she wasn't sure if she loved it, or hated it.

And either way… did it really matter? She'd played the odds and lost often enough to know what they were.

As if he could read her thoughts—and sometimes she wondered if he really could—Angel spoke. "Don't let him get to you. I can't remember the last time Xander had anything good to say where I was concerned."

A short breath of laughter escaped her. "Yeah. Me neither." She shook her head, hesitated over the next words. "But he's right."

Angel hesitated in mid-step, and she cut him another look out of the corner of her eye. In the dim blue light of her glow stick, his face was troubled. "Do you feel guilty?"

She thought about it, shrugged. "A little." She cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable, and followed the admission with a casual, "I know, imagine that, huh? How about you?"

"A little," he agreed quietly, and nodded.

She said nothing after that, and he let her lapse into silence, perhaps caught up in his own thoughts. It wasn't like there hadn't been doubt before this. There was the whole soul deal to think about, and the thin line they were dancing along was sure to fall out from under them sooner or later. If… when they found Buffy, and they made her right again, that line was bound to snap and leave them both twisting in the wind. She'd known that from the beginning.

So why'd you let it get this far? asked her ever-cynical conscience.

Even her smart-assed argumentative side didn't seem to have an answer for that.

She paused as the tunnel dropped off and waited as Angel swung down onto the rungs of the ladder below. She waited another moment, then grabbed the glow stick between her teeth and swung down after him. Damned chemistry. She was so aware of his every move, the comforting bulk of his presence, the tingle of electricity that his nearness sent through her body. And what the hell? It wasn't like she was a school girl, was it? There'd been plenty of guys and this was just—

Her hand slipped on a slimy rung, and still caught up in her thoughts, she didn't move quick enough to catch herself.

She fell backward, instinctively spitting out the glow stick as she lost her balance, and for a moment there was a feeling of vertigo as she twisted, readying herself to roll when she hit the ground—then strong arms caught her around the waist and spun her around.

Her feet dangled several inches from the floor, and the glow stick hit the ground just below the soles of her boots. In its feeble light, she found herself almost eye to eye with Angel, her lips within centimeters of his, bodies pressed tightly together. He held her just high enough that he had to tilt his head back slightly and look up at her. She felt her heart speed up as she looked into his eyes, a bright spark of heat igniting in her belly and streaking off through every nerve. For an instant, the veil that always fell across his emotion was torn away and she could see his desire for her burn in the depths of his dark eyes.

His lips parted slightly and he took a quick, unnecessary breath.

And despite the moment—despite how much she wanted to give in to her instincts and kiss him until they were both writhing on the floor—she only smirked and shook her head once.

"We are so doomed."


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

Anya wiped down the shelf filled with exotic spices, wrinkling her nose at the cloying cacophony of scents they exuded. She was bored; utterly bored, nervous and slightly afraid. It was a combination of emotion that filled her tummy with a queasy sensation she didn't enjoy very much, and the overwhelming smell of spice wasn't helping. She'd hoped that cleaning the shop, which always made her feel happy, peaceful and productive, would still her whispering doubts. But so far it had only seemed to intensify them.

She sighed, threw the rag down impatiently and folded her arms over her chest. Stupid human emotions. She didn't think she'd ever get used to them. Like the feeling that she got whenever she glanced down at her blank ring finger, for instance. It looked so empty, so bereft without the beautiful diamond Xander had bought for her. Just looking at that smooth, unadorned skin filled her with an unhappiness she couldn't begin to untangle or overcome.

Her mind picked up speed as it seized on this familiar train of thought. Oh, she'd tried to get Xander to let her tell the others, but he'd insisted that everything was too sad with Buffy gone, and then it was because everything was too uncertain with Faith there, and now there was the apocalypse. Just thinking about the unfairness of it all set her skin on fire with anger.

Why couldn't he tell them? Was afraid of her? Ashamed? She knew what he had told her, but her stupid, wondering human heart hadn't been able to accept it at face value, tormenting her with the idea that she wasn't good enough, wasn't… human enough.

How the hell did people live with these kinds of thoughts all the time? No wonder humans were so neurotic.

She cast a pinched, backward glance over her shoulder to where Xander sat with the others, all of them pouring over books that had so far told them nothing. As if the way she felt weren't bad enough, there were all these… circumstances going on that made Xander act as if her feelings were unimportant. Yes, they were having another apocalypse, but so what? There would always be another impending apocalypse. This was the only time they would be engaged and get married.

Why couldn't he understand that?

She sighed, picked up the dust rag again, and moved on to the spell components shelf, where the smell was less cloying and muskier. She supposed, in a little while, she would go over and help them research some more. Brave little toaster, doing her part. She rolled her eyes and smirked at her own sarcasm. She did care about the apocalypse; just not as much as she cared about Xander and their future together.

Of course, stopping the apocalypse would ensure they had time to have a future together…

She paused in her dusting as this strange new thought occurred to her.

Perhaps she'd go over and help them right now.

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

Willow sighed as she typed, pulling up all the files related to Daeonira and the Master that they'd found so far. She doubted going over them again would offer them anything new, but Giles had asked her to try, and try she would. Besides, it kept her mind off of other, more ominous things.

She wiped her hands on her jeans as she waited for the last file to finish opening, and wrinkled her nose in disgust as it popped up. Ugh. She'd almost managed to forget about this in the midst of everything else.

The face of Jane Doe in all her grisly glory stared back at Willow, making her squirm in her seat. Normally they would have investigated such an unusual death, but things had been too crazy lately to focus on the small stuff.

Her fingers hovered over the keys, about to move on.

Except…

What if it wasn't small stuff?

The beginning of a thought that was more like intuition took hold, gossamer pattern forming in her mind.

Her fingers fell on the keyboard again, and an instant later she sat back, somehow unsurprised at what she'd found.

"Giles… I think you'd better take a look at this."

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

The screeching sound of stone on stone faded behind them as they leaped into the entry way of the building and the doors slammed shut behind them. Buffy was on her feet almost immediately, eyes and cheeks bright with excitement, spinning and looking back toward the closed glass doors.

"They can get through that," she said, sounding as if she actually relished the thought.

Spike rose and dusted himself off, arching a brow at her. He opened his mouth to speak—and whatever he'd been about to say was lost forever as he watched the glass doors waver like they were caught in a heat wave, surface running like melted plastic and hardening.

A moment later, they were staring at a solid wall of stone.

"Or… not." Buffy glanced around, looking uncertain for the first time.

"We—we're safe," stuttered out the lackey, sounding like he'd probably just wet himself with relief.

Spike stared at the smooth, seamless stone and didn't speak, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that they'd been safer outside.

Whatever it was that awaited them inside… it wanted them all to itself.

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

"This is the place?" Angel asked, voice so low it was almost a whisper, but not quite.

Faith glanced at the twin metal boxes and almost shuddered at the darkness within. "Yeah."

Angel paused, contemplating the depth of the prisons with a dark look. "They kept them in there."

Faith nodded, knowing he didn't really require an answer. After a moment, he looked away and moved on, but she could tell that the instant of looking and knowing where Buffy had been had affected him. It was clear in the set of his face, and she marveled that she could tell.

She thought she could feel the thin wire beneath them sway.

They slunk nearer to the outer ledge, concealing themselves against the sides of the opening, and peered around.

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

"Do you feel that?" Buffy asked, her tone hushed but still carrying the flush of excitement that lit up her face. She took several steps inside the entryway, gaze transfixed and far away.

Spike turned slowly, trying to focus on everything around him. And suddenly he was back in the sixties, blood of the flower people running through his veins. The chamber wasn't just lit; it was alive, and it pulsed, it thrummed in his head like the beat of a heart, pounding through his undead veins with the memory of living blood. This wasn't just tripping, this was the good stuff; the kind you could only get back when Jimi and Janis were still alive and strumming. His limbs felt weightless, filled with liquid light that moved like mercury. For the first time in recent memory he felt at peace with himself, filled with tranquility and a sense of fulfillment, a sense of purpose.

"Yeah luv. I feel that." He moved, each step taken like one through molasses, traversing a million miles in a single step.

"What is it?" she whispered, sounding reverent.

Light filled his mind, bright white and perfectly pure, exploding like a supernova. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him, trying to remember the last time he'd felt anything like it. And nothing compared.

--Come—

"It's what we came for," he said, eyes opening with the knowledge.

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

In the chamber within, the globe flared to life, white light filling the room and obscuring everything on its surface, suffusing everything around it.

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

Faith craned her neck around the edge of the opening—

And a huge fist slammed into her face like a comet, exploding in a shower of stars.

She hit the ground hard, head slamming against the ground and setting off another shower of sparks behind her eyes. For a terrible moment, she was paralyzed, unable to right herself, and she shook her head violently to clear it.

She heard Angel move, felt the whispery breath of his trench coat pass her as he engaged her assailant. There was the hard sound of flesh against flesh, and she felt as much as heard the hard thump as Angel hit the ground nearby. Whoever it was, they weren't fucking around.

She blinked, fireworks clearing from her vision, and forced herself up from the ground, barely aware of the blood that trickled from her nose. She grimaced at the hulking vampire that stood before her, thinking that he looked vaguely familiar, and paused to take in the tall mass of him. He was dressed in black vinyl and actually rather handsome despite sporting a multitude of piercings no human would ever subject themselves to. Sneering, she drew back her fist and readied herself.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" she asked, and spit as blood trickled into her mouth.

"I am Zhaad," the creature said with more than a modicum of pride.

She wiped at her mouth with one fist and grinned with blood-filled teeth. "You got a 'General' to go with that?"

The creature blinked, genuinely taken aback. "I serve my mistress."

"Right." She drew back and appeared to consider, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "Hey. You're not expecting me to kneel are you?  'Cause I only do that for guys I like."

The creature's confusion clenched into a frown, then bloomed with hatred. He came at her with a fist the size of a ham.

"Somebody's been watching too many Superman movies. That's all I'm saying," she said and ducked.

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

Spike thought he was still just tripping when the stone knight detached itself from the elaborate wall carving. It was a hell of a hallucination, he thought with distant admiration, watching as the ridiculously sized sword detached with a thick, sucking sound from the serpent it had impaled.

He enjoyed the realistic quality of it right up until the point where the blade sliced within centimeters of his face.

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

"That all you got?" Faith asked, thrusting up from her ducking position, fist slamming into the creature's midsection with a satisfying crack. She went with the momentum, rolling beyond the vampire, coming up and spinning to face its back. She lashed out again, catching the creature in what would have been its kidneys, had it been alive. "'Cause I'm thinking General Zod was scarier than you."

The creature roared and spun on her, face morphing into monstrous ridges.

"Sexier, too," she added and punched him in the nose. She followed the hit with a rapid spin, foot catching him in the upper ribs and sending him sprawling.

"Oh yeah," she said, grinning down at him. "I'm bad."

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

Spike barely dodged back in time, and then Buffy was there, Slayer rhythm carrying her across his field of vision like a dancer. She knocked the sword aside by its flat with the edge of her palm, and turned to Spike with a bloody, hungry look that made him squirm with desire.

"I got this one, honey."

And she did.

She struck with the precision of a cobra, fists like venom as she ducked and dodged and lunged around the strikes of the knight's sword.

"Snails move faster than you, Galahad," she quipped with a quick breath, spinning into the stone monstrosity and coming up inside the arc of its sword. Grabbing the creature's arm, she twisted, pivoted with one foot, and spun, using the creature's momentum to bring the sword around against itself.

Its stone head hit the floor with a crunch and rolled by Spike, helmet revealing nothing of its expression.

A second later the stone body fell to the floor with a crash, leaving a smiling Buffy standing in the dust of its wake.

"That was fun."

When the wounded serpent detached itself from the wall, Spike only shook his head and smiled.

"My turn," he said, smirk settling into a sneer.

"Uh-huh." Buffy nodded and grinned.

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

Faith ground her teeth and shoved with all her might, trying to push the much larger vampire off of her.

"I broke your ribs before, Slayer," Zhaad spat with a malefic grin. "This time I will break more than that."

Memory shifted and slid, the scent of smoke filling her nostrils, flames flaring all around her, vampire driving its fist into her ribs as she tried desperately to reach her Watcher.

"You," she hissed, though the word had no sibilants.

"Yes," he agreed, smile broadening as he grabbed her head in his hands and prepared to twist.

She straightened her fingers and jammed them into his eyes, pushing past the bursting feel of them, not caring as blood gushed out over her hands.

The vampire screamed and reeled away from her.

She had plenty of time to get to her feet and draw the stake from the small of her back.

Angel stood there, looking amused. "You need any help?"

"Nah. I got it," she said and slapped the stake into her right hand.

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

The serpent lay, stone tongue protruding from its reptilian mouth at an even odder angle than its head hung from its body.

"That was fun," Spike commented, licking a stray trail of blood from his forearm.

The stone doors before them fell open and pale brilliant light filled the room.

--Come—

They turned from where they stood, and come they did.

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

Faith turned from the pile of dust and brushed herself off. "Think anybody heard that?" she asked Angel with a smirk.

"Probably." He nodded, returning the smirk in kind.

"Damn. So much for being sneaky. Guess we're just gonna have to go down there and kick some ass."

Faith strutted out onto the ledge with a clear sense of purpose. Somehow, she felt incredibly free, as if the tussle with the Council, the situation with Buffy and her relationship with Angel had brought everything into clear focus. Or maybe it was simple battle lust, she didn't know or care. All she knew was that she'd had enough of taking the shit life was dealing her and she was ready to share some pain. It was time for payback and a whole lot more.

Everything was quiet, and that disconcerted her. She'd expected everyone to come running after all the noise General Zod had made. But the ledge was clear, and below, she saw only a few scattered followers leading up to the candle ringed circle that contained the Master and Daeonira.

"Looks like the troops have been decimated," Angel said, voice low.

"Yeah," she answered thoughtfully, hand flexing around the stake she held in her hand. She wanted to go down there more than anything, wanted to stake the Master and Daeonira both and be done with it.

Daeonira… Beatrice. Faith had mourned her Watcher's death, and the woman had played Faith for a fool. Vengeance, quiet with all the noise of strategy and planning, now flared like a red rage around her heart.

"Let's do this." She stepped forward.

Angel reached out and laid a hand on her wrist. "I want to kill them as much as you do—"

"Oh, I doubt it," she retorted, spinning toward him.

"But," he went on resolutely. "If they don't know we're here, we should use the opportunity to find out what we can."

"Screw that. I'm dusting some vampire ass. Stay here if you're scared," she huffed and turned away.

He grabbed her wrist more forcefully this time and spun her back. Despite the situation, despite her burning need for revenge, she felt the rush of his nearness, found herself caught in his gaze.

"You said yourself you don't know how to fight Daeonira," he said seriously, eyes mesmerizing her. "And I don't see Buffy down there. Do you?"

Her eyes flickered to the side and she actually stopped to think about it. Always a mistake.

"No," she hedged. "But we've got a chance to end this now, Angel."

"Maybe," he agreed with a tight nod. "Or maybe we go down there and get ourselves killed. How many prophecies have you heard about being preempted?"

"We don't even know if the prophecy will come true now that he's trapped," she argued heatedly.

"And if there weren't still about fifty or so of them down there, I'd probably agree with you." He blinked, giving her a resolute look. "We can't do this alone Faith."

"The hell we can't," she snapped.

He only looked at her, and she gnashed her teeth angrily. "Dammit Angel."

"We can't do it alone, but we can do it. Just not right now."

"Stop making sense!" she spat, tossing her hair back over her shoulder in annoyance. "God I hate it when you get all logical. Can't we just go throw down without all the drama?"

"We don't have time to waste. We've got the Council on our backs."

"I don't think it'll take very long," she said with an arrogant glance at the scattered minions below.

He paused, steadied himself and raised his shoulders. "Don't make me have to carry you out of here."

All the vampires laid out below her were instantly forgotten, and she drew herself up in kind, shoulders rising as she leaned forward. Her lips curved in a smirk that was deceptively pleasant; the smile of a predator. "Think you can take me?" He'd definitely diverted her attention.

"If I have to," he said, calm and steady, and she felt a tickle of anticipation rise in her chest. Damned chemistry. Even this was turning her on.

She studied him for a minute, eyes and mouth twitching with varying levels of amusement. "You wish."

Angel held his ground a moment then seemed to shrink beneath her stare, chest deflating. "You know…" He shuffled his feet, glanced downward. "It'd be really embarrassing if you did kick my ass.

"Damned right it would," she said with a self-satisfied grin.

"So I was hoping we could skip that part?" he asked, raising his brows hopefully.

"Hah! I knew you—" She stopped, tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing as she caught on to something in his tone.

"You're flattering me to get me out of here," she said wonderingly.

"That was my plan," he admitted, almost sheepish. A beat, then, "Did it work?"

She flexed her grip on the stake one last time, eyed him suspiciously, and finally relaxed. He was right; there was nothing to be gained by grandstanding right now. Her anger, her lust for revenge had gotten the better of her, like it usually did, red hood falling down over her eyes and obscuring everything else. And he'd reached right in and defused her like a pro. Clever. Almost too clever. She was going to have to watch out for him.

Or maybe it was already too late for that?

She shook off the thought and looked at him speculatively. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're being a wuss."

"Part of my charm," he agreed.

She gave him one last glance up and down, then turned. "You know I could take you, though," she said as she walked back toward the tunnels, away from the ledge.

Angel slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and said nothing, smirking as he followed behind.

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

The chamber was lit with cool azure light that played over blue-veined marble and light colored-stone. The air itself seemed to curl with the eddy and flow of water, swaying Spike's body gently back and forth as he moved. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn he was walking beneath the ocean. It was comforting, peaceful, and if it weren't for the details catching at the corner of his eyes, it would have been perfect.

All around him there were carvings, pictures of peoples from all times throughout history, some of races he didn't recognize. They flitted like uneasy shadows over the walls, and he was distracted by their movement. Fascination turned to awe and something like horror as he met tiny, empty eyes and realized that the carved people were looking back at him. They rippled and swayed, blue waves distorting their faces as if they lay beneath the surface of the sea, and they, too, might have been peaceful save for the terrified looks fixed upon their faces as they scurried and fled across the stone landscape of their backgrounds. Like a pearl from an oyster, the globe at the center of the room seemed to shed its shell and glow even brighter, the most precious treasure among this seabed of history. White light flooded and replaced blue, and the stone people shielded their eyes as if to shun it. He almost imagined he could hear their screaming voices as they fell where they stood, rendered helpless by the suffusing glow.

It occurred to him that they feared this beauty; their strange, alien eyes unable to gaze upon it and understand its glorious transcendence, and he tilted back his head and laughed. His voice was lost upon the light, as if the globe had swallowed it greedily whole. He didn't mind. The light had given him peace; it was entitled to whatever it liked.

Buffy moved at his side, eyes skittering about the room as she took in the totality of their surroundings. She gazed upon the blanching people scattered over the walls and frowned, coldness touching her heart for these who could not comprehend the greatness at work here. Light flared and she looked to the pedestal, gazed into the orb centered in its gold and silver bed, and saw her destiny cradled within its encompassing embrace. For the first time since she'd been brought back to life she felt real, whole, at peace with herself. Heaven, if that's where she'd been, had been like this. If she'd felt like this from the moment she'd woken, instead of screaming and scratching at her coffin, perhaps they wouldn't be here now.

The voices of everyone in her head lay silent, dormant, as transfixed by the light as she was, and for the first time since she'd drawn breath again, she suffered a moment of doubt.

"This isn't right," she said suddenly, running a shaky hand over her brow. "We shouldn't be here."

Spike turned, surprised by her words, still caught in the rhapsody of feeling. The light seemed to dwindle and recede, its song becoming less urgent as he fell into the green-gray pools of her eyes.

"Buffy?" he asked, like a dreamer waking from deep sleep. For an instant, she was the enigmatic girl who'd so terribly infuriated him and so effortlessly broken his heart, whose shoulders were tiny and strong and filled with the weight of the world. For an instant she was the young, perky bitch he'd wanted to kill, and then the light rippled, changed, and she became the older, sadder girl he'd fought beside—the one who'd gone so nobly to her death and left him in tears. The one who'd treated him like a man.

For that instant, the light ceased to matter.

She blinked at Spike as if seeing him for the first time, her eyes clear of the fog of insanity he'd already grown used to seeing there.

"Spike? Have you… did we…?" She broke off and looked away, eyes widening as the enormity of everything hit her. "Oh my God," she said softly, one trembling hand rising to cover her mouth. Memories hit her like a freight train, and she thought the suffocating weight of them would crush her. The pain was crippling and complete, radiating from every nerve in excrutiating detail, threatening to break her. She clasped her small hands to her face to hold back the tide of tears and almost hoped that it would.

"Buffy?" Spike asked, moving toward her, one hand rising to touch her.

She looked to him with the wide eyes of a child, tears welling helplessly. "Oh God. Please help me," she whispered.

He felt tears rise in his own eyes, moved to embrace her. She was so fragile, a dark shadow of her former self, hands pressed against her face as if they were all that was holding her together. The pain he saw in her in that moment was unbearable, and the moment he saw it, he recognized that it had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface. He could feel the veil of ignorance he'd cast over his own eyes begin to rise, baring ugly truth like flesh laid open to the bone.

Dear God… she was really in there. And she was suffering. A stranger in her own body, soul tattered and bloodied around the edges. He could see the shape of her there, trapped inside a poisoned, rotting mind that cruelly mirrored her own; a tiny glimmer of life held prisoner inside a cold, dead heart. She was in there… and she wanted out.

He reached for her.

The globe exploded with light so bright and blinding that they both fell to their knees, hands rising to cover their eyes. The lackeys behind them, who had been so focused on the prize at the center of the room that they hadn't heard a word exchanged, fell to the floor and convulsed like dying fish.

--COME!—

The word vibrated, echoing in their minds like an earthquake. It smashed and destroyed every other thought, slicing through rationale with one quick cut.

Spike and Buffy rose to their feet, eyes as blank as glass, and walked to the globe.

One of Spike's hands fluttered out, not quite daring to touch its brilliant fire.

"So beautiful," Buffy whispered, forgotten tears still drying on her cheeks.

--Now—it whispered –together—

Spike's hand trembled like a tree limb caught in a hurricane's fury, and Buffy's rose beside it, even less steady. Their fingers touched, and Spike felt a moment of heat, electricity racing through him and filling him with anticipation. An old memory flickered through his mind; the image of a young boy crouched in a wheat field, holding his breath and tasting ozone on the air as lightning cut viciously through the sky, caught unprepared by the storm and praying it would pass him over. Was it his memory? Did it matter?

Beside him, Buffy ceased to breathe. Their hands overlapped, little fingers intertwining, and the world itself seemed to cease spinning. There was a moment of silence so complete that eternity rushed to fill it—and they placed their hands on the globe.

The world was filled with white hot light that consumed everything. Spike was nothing, he was everything, he was everywhere and nowhere at all, trapped inside this stupid undead shell and alive with singing blood, abandoned and found all at once.

"My… God…" he whispered, strangled.

Hello, William, it whispered, voice like an insidious caress through his mind.