EPISODE SIX
"Action and Consequence"

Buffy's head hurt.

The lump above her ear had already healed a little, but it had also left a colorful spray of bruising that fanned all the way out along the top of her cheekbone. She looked like she'd been well and truly battered. Whatever Spike had run into out in LA had to have been pretty hard to mark her like that, and whatever he'd hit straight afterward had resulted in a similar pattern across the middle of her back.

She was sort of mad that he'd endangered Seth by being reckless, but also weirded-out by the fact that she hadn't sensed any real danger. She'd just got the same surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline she normally got from him when they patrolled, so whatever it was he was doing it wasn't life-in-peril stuff.

The worst part was that on top of the headache, she couldn't ever remember feeling so depressed; a depression so deeply ingrained that she couldn't discern whether it was his or hers. She felt like there was a huge weight pulling her down. Not the literal, dragging kind that she occasionally felt with Seth, but an emotional heaviness, a great big black cloud of something.

She missed Spike. That was part of the problem, at least. He had always been a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy existence, had always sparked something elemental in her, something raw and powerful. He made her feel alive. Without him she felt dead and listless and, despite being surrounded by her friends, utterly alone.

"I miss Spike," she said suddenly, causing her companions to turn and look at her. "Is that wrong?"

"No! No, of course not," Willow hurried to assure her. "Don't ever think that. It's completely understandable. He's... he's the father of your baby, for starters."

"He's your soul mate," Tara put in. "Your true partner. You feel incomplete without him, inadequate. Like part of you is missing."

Buffy gaped at her, tears welling in her eyes. "God, that's beautiful. You should, like, write that down or something."

Tara smiled softly. "You said it yourself, remember? Way back when Mr. Giles tried to sever the link."

"I did?" Buffy frowned. "I... did. How could I forget something like that?"

"You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately," Willow commented. "It was just small stuff to begin with. You know, not picking up milk on the way home, or calling us about patrol, but now you're..." She bit her lip, not sure whether she should continue.

"I'm what? What am I?"

"You're forgetting the people who mean the most," Willow blurted. "You never talk about your Mom anymore..."

"She's dead," Buffy inserted bluntly. "What's to talk about?"

Willow crumpled slightly, upset by her friend's callousness, but struggled on nonetheless, "...a-and you hardly ever check in with Giles. Now you've shut Spike out, and he's the closest person in the world to you. It's like, nothing matters except for Seth."

"Well, he's important!"

"We're not saying he isn't. He's precious, a miracle even," Tara said kindly. "But he's not... he's not the only one you have to worry about." She took a deep breath. "Have you even thought about what you could be doing to Spike?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy, think about it. If you keep pushing him away, he's eventually gonna run out of away room." Willow scowled at her own verbal inadequacy. "I mean, it'll get to a point where he's got no more room to go."

"And again, I say 'Huh?'"

Tara came to Buffy's rescue. "What Will's trying to say is, how far can you push before the link snaps?"

"The link can't... snap...? Can it?" Buffy's eyes got really big. "God, what if the link snaps? He'll die, won't he? Spike will die." Buffy spread both hands across her belly as though the motion itself could quell her sudden twinge of panic. Her face drained of color, to a point where the witches thought she might faint. "I could kill him."

"Yes, you could," Tara agreed, glad she'd gotten the Slayer to at least contemplate the risks of the estrangement. "But that's always been true. We all know it won't ever happen."

"I hope not," Buffy's reply was little more than a whisper. She bowed her head to stare at her hands, still molded to the distended contour of her stomach, and didn't recognize herself anymore.

Xander and Anya chose that moment to emerge from the direction of the basement - he gallantly toting a carton filled to the brim with an assortment of jars, and she trailing disinterestedly in his wake.

After he'd deposited his cargo on the counter, the ex-demon sighed loudly. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do you feel manly enough yet?"

Buffy perked up, welcoming the distraction of someone else's relationship problems. The witches exchanged curious glances but said nothing, each of them loath to ask the inevitable question. Luckily Xander leapt to his own defense.

"Hey, manly here! I have extreme manly man-ness. I just..." He shrugged self-consciously and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I was just wondering you know, why the feeble fairy name? Gladius is a sword and Falchion is a sword. How come I don't get to be sword-guy?"

"His manhood is all threatened," Anya told them, pulling the herb-filled jars one by one from their box and positioning them on the shelves behind the counter.

"And what, the whole fairy part of that didn't concern you?" Willow struggled to hide her grin.

"Huh? No! No, it doesn't seem very... macho. It's all, 'Ooh, Leal doesn't need a weapon because he's so cute and funny and ...and non-heroic.'"

"Bollocks," Buffy sneered.

Xander blinked at her. She'd sounded so uncannily like the absent Bleached Boy Wonder that he was positive she'd channeled his spirit or something; almost like when the link stuff had first happened. If she started talking to invisible people they were in serious trouble.

"Great Spike impersonation there, Buff," he offered. "Fun at parties and big with the scary. You can stop any time now."

"That was total load of bollocks," she went on, as though he hadn't spoken at all. "As in 'crap', as in 'utter baloney'. Sure, you're cute and funny, but you're also one of the most heroic people I know."

He smiled; a wide, goofy caricature of a smile that went beyond pleased and almost split his face in two. "Really?"

"Come on, you've been a Scooby for how long now? You help save the world all the time, and you do it because you're you. Because you're special, and not in a Chosen One kinda way. You don't have the mystical super-powers or anything; you're just a regular guy fighting the good fight. Can't get any more heroic than that." She paused for effect. "Plus, I need someone with some semi-heroic qualities to be my designated Slay buddy and this means that you therefore qualify."

Anya eyed her doubtfully. "You need a Slay buddy? What for, and why does it have to be Xander?" She drew herself upright indignantly. "You can't have Xander. He may become dead or dismembered. I need his member fully intact. You know, for sex," she added, just in case they hadn't clued in to her clever innuendo.

Buffy decided to ignore that part, Anya's insinuations regarding Xander usually only served to make her queasy. "Since Spike's incommunicado in LA, I need someone to back me up," she admitted and folded her hands on the shelf her belly provided. "Nipper's not exactly tag-team material yet. And I sorta leave the high part out of high-kicks these days."

Willow scowled. "You never let on..."

"That I was having trouble keeping up with the slaying?" Buffy smiled ruefully. "Can you blame me? Slayer here. Not of the good if I can't cut the mustard." She hesitated; mimed a slicing-with-a-knife motion, then gave them a quizzical look. "Can you cut mustard?"

"Mustard-cutting aside, I'm all for helping out with the patrol," Xander volunteered. His cheeks were flushed an unflattering crimson from both Anya's color commentary and the Slayer's praise, but he was standing just a little bit taller because of it. "Just consider me the swarthy Ricardo Tubbs to your dashing, pastel-clad Sonny Crockett. We'll walk the beat, make the rounds, run down some evil and nail its ass to the wall..." He stopped. "Okay, that last part, not so much. I kinda ran short on the Miami Vice analogies."

"What are you talking about?" Anya demanded, staring at him in bewilderment. "I never understand any of your obscure popular culture references. I feel very left out." She pouted and folded her arms.

Xander rolled his head back, either popping-out some frustrated tendons or beseeching a higher power for assistance, it was hard to tell. "Sorry, Ahn," he mumbled. "I keep forgetting that history is nothing but a vast vengeancy blur for you."

"Hey!" Anya defended. "I'll have you know the nineteen-eighties was a productive decade for me despite all the big hair and shoulder pads women tortured themselves with." She sniffed. "Men were often the least of their problems."

Buffy exchanged a horrified look with Willow and Tara. They all shuddered. "Look, can we not revisit that particular era?" she pleaded. "Some of us have traumatic childhood memories."

"And I'm suddenly having sandbox flashbacks," Xander said. "In which I am made to swallow copious amounts of said sand. Tell me again why I'm a hero, Buffster. Boost my oft-bullied ego."

Buffy snorted. "Oh please!"

"I'm not kidding!" Xander insisted. "I mean, even Giles gets to be Mage the wise and powerful. His fairy looks like Gandalf with wings."

"Oh pooh!" Anya dismissed that with an airy wave of her hand. "There's absolutely no resemblance. Gandalf has that unruly facial hair. All the mini-Giles had was that funny pointed hat."

"To match his funny pointed ears," Buffy chirped.

"And his pointy magic wand," Willow added, then wrinkled her nose. "How stereotypical was that? Nobody uses a wand to do magic anymore, it's the height of corny."

Tara gave her a lop-sided grin. "Snob," she teased.

"Yes, she is," Anya agreed matter-of-factly, giving Willow a stern look. "You're in no position to be condescending. All the best wizards use wands. It's the done thing. Perhaps you could control your spells better if you did use one. They're really quite simple to construct when you know how..."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'control your spells'?" Willow fumed. "I've never... I mean, I only occasionally lose..." She folded her arms, dropping into a sulk. "I have lots of control."

Buffy absentmindedly massaged her lower belly. Stupid cramps. "Sorry, Will. I have to side with Anya on this one. Remember that whole 'do thy will' thing featuring Blind Giles and the Demon Magnet?"

"Hey!" Xander piped up. "Didn't they play the Bronze last month?"

Willow ignored him, and frowned at Buffy. "Why are you bringing that up? I thought that'd be listed under a big 'fond memories' heading now, what with the Spike smoochies and all."

Buffy concentrated hard on her stomach, evading the witch's probing gaze. "Okay, bad example." She was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod, as if making a decision and hauled herself upright. "I'm gonna go hang 'round the headstones for a while. Coming Xand?" She aimed for exit, not waiting to see whether or not he followed.

Xander gave her retreating back a long, probing look and then turned to Anya, brows raised. When she merely shrugged, he trailed after the Slayer. "And I'll see you ladies later."

The door closing behind him was like the starting signal for discussion.

"You see what I was talking about?" Willow was all but wringing her hands. "With the standoffish? Something is seriously wrong. We have to find out what it is so we can help. We need to help."

The three women gazed at each other, at a loss as to just how they were supposed to do that.

~[*]~

Angel and Spike stomped through the newly restored rear courtyard of the Hyperion, quibbling over tactics as they went.

"We're coming back for reinforcements because I don't have a great blinding death wish," Angel explained through gritted teeth, fast-losing what patience Spike hadn't already eroded away with his abrasive presence. "Jumping feet first into a crowd of demons twice well, your size is not my idea of fun."

"What is, watching paint dry?" Spike paused at the bottom of the stairs leading indoors and scowled at his Sire's back. "And I do not have a death wish," he grouched. "The whole point about this trip was my not dying."

Cordelia was already waiting by the weapons cabinet when they came inside. "I felt the Warrior-on-a-mission vibe coming from a mile away," she told Angel, all business. "What do you need?"

Spike was impressed. He'd never seen this side of the girl. Had guts she did, not unlike a certain Slayer of his acquaintance. "Couple o' medium sized axes should do it," he told her. "Want to come off threatening, but not so over-laden that we look to be lily-livered."

"The whole 'I'm too cool for these weapons' method of intimidation," Cordy surmised. "Which might work if you were actually cool or intimidating instead of a scrawny stack of neither."

She tossed a broadsword toward Angel as she spoke, which he caught without looking and swung over his shoulder, stalking past into the main office.

"That didn't look much like an axe," Spike commented dryly.

"It's his favorite," she confided in a none-too-subtle aside. "I think it's a security blanket sort of thing."

"I heard that, Cor," Angel said mildly, wandering back out into the lobby. He glanced at the stairs, frowned, and then looked back at Cordelia. "Where's Wes?"

"He and Fred went out for 'ice-cream'." She made little air-quote marks with her fingers.

"Uh huh." Angel just nodded, taking her words at face value and completely missing the significance.

Cordy exchanged a look with Spike. The younger vampire seemed almost as fondly exasperated with Angel's continued ignorance as she did. She smiled. "Gunn's out on a case with her, if you're wondering."

Spike didn't know whether to be offended by her dismissal of Drusilla or not. He cocked his head to the side and peered along his nose at her. "Not a fan of Dru's then?"

"No more than I was of you when you were at her stage of moral development," she shot back.

He grimaced. "Don't ever remember us doing anything to you personally," he mumbled, his tone caught somewhere between self-justification and embarrassment. "Me or Dru. We conveniently taking the blame for something or what?"

"No." Cordelia's flinch contradicted the hasty denial. She was suddenly having flashbacks to Dru's ill-timed Spike dumpage and the consequent 'Cordy-kabob with an extra helping of painful'. She cast a pleading gaze toward Angel, seeking a means of escape from the hole she'd unwittingly dug for herself.

He was of no use whatsoever, staring distractedly into space.

"Hello?" she called. "Earth to Angel..." She broke off into a lighthearted cackle. "Jeez, how lame does that sound?"

The corners of Spike's mouth took on a wicked curl. "You want an honest answer?"

"God, will you just SHUT. UP!"

They gawked at Angel, startled by the outburst.

The older vampire scowled at his Childe, chocolate-colored eyes simmering, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How can you keep acting so goddamn blasé?" he demanded. "Are you so selfish you can't see that this is affecting more than just you?"

Cordelia took a step toward him. "Baby, what's -?"

"No. No, forget it." Angel waved a dismissive hand. "Let's just... go and get this done. The sooner he goes back to Sunnydale the better."

They were just about to head out when Wesley and Fred came in. The couple had been holding hands, but sprung apart on seeing they had an audience.

"Spike!" the former Watcher greeted warmly. "What brings you out here?"

"None of your damn business," Spike returned. His tone was just as warm even though he was still slightly miffed at Angel for saying he was selfish. What a load of bollocks that was... Him? Selfish? Humph. He wagged his brows at Fred. "Nice to see you've dispensed with the sackcloth and ashes ensemble, pet. Does wonders for you."

"Really?" Fred beamed, pleased by the complement. She tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and then straightened the hemline of her floral shift dress with nervous fingers. "Thanks. You look great too! I mean, not that you didn't before... You kinda look exactly the same actually." She frowned at that, her mind ticking over. "Do you age now or not? I forget that part."

Spike pursed his lips, hollowing out his cheeks to an almost skeletal degree. "Now there's a thought. Never got a proper instruction manual to go with the big humanity hookup, so I couldn't rightly say."

Wesley brightened at the prospect of some hands-on research. "I could carry out some tests while you're here?"

The blonde vampire eyed him skeptically. "Had enough of the prod 'n probe to last me, thanks all the same." He pointed toward his head, making a quirky trigger-pulling motion with his finger. "Unpleasant little incident involving government types and cunning chip-shaped implants?"

He wasn't being dishonest, technically. The chip was still floating about in his skull, large as life, but there was no way that he was gonna tell them that it wasn't working anymore. Angel would definitely stake him then. Hmm, possibilities there. Maybe telling wasn't such a bad idea after all...

Spike contemplated the merits for a moment, conveniently forgetting his earlier protestations about having a death wish. While in the midst of a particularly gruesome scenario, he had another link attack. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and light-headed and his nerve-ends twitched like he'd been electrocuted. He could hear someone calling him, but they sounded a long way off.

He struggled to find his equilibrium, and finally glanced up to realize that he'd zoned out and they were all staring at him. "Sorry. What? Did you say something?"

"Just another babbled apology from the babble twins," Cordy reported. She fluttered a hand to indicate Wes and Fred, but remained focussed solely on him. "Are you... okay?" The question seemed wrenched from her of it's own accord and she frowned as though wondering where it came from.

Spike ignored her concern, blinking at the former Watcher and his twig-figured girlie, and then turning an assessing look back on Cordelia and Angel. "You know," he said speculatively. "You're severely lacking in blondes around here. Need one?"

"Are you and Buffy gonna come to stay?" Fred asked, then paused. "Wait. You said 'one'. One blonde, not two."

Spike once again found himself the center of everyone's undivided attention. Everyone that was bar Angel, who was gazing longingly at the door, wrapped in his own thoughts.

They were never going to get to the warehouse before sunrise at this rate, and they really needed to get this stupid fairy stuff over with. He got the feeling that the longer Spike and Buffy were apart, the worse the situation was going to get. As stubborn as they both were, 'worse' was not a good place to be. There may be no coming back from 'worse'.

He sighed and began to tap the point of his sword against the floor, making little triangular notches in the linoleum. Wonder if bashing their hard heads together would make any sort of impression?

He let out another, even deeper sigh when Gunn and Drusilla entered from the direction of the basement. Oh great, more distractions, just what Spike needed...

"...One for the team," Gunn was saying, using the back of his sleeve to mop at a trail of clear slime dribbling down the side of his face. "Those Vuntarks didn't stand a..." He halted, realizing that the lobby was exceptionally full. "And we've got more than the usual number of vamps in tonight. Hey Spike."

Spike found he could do little more than nod in acknowledgement, stunned into silence by the sight before him.

After nearly a hundred and fifty years, Drusilla had finally moved with the times. Her hair was cut in a short and sassy bob, her slender form shown to best advantage in brown suede hipsters and a cream bulky-knit sweater that seemed to have shrunk at some point, stopping several inches above her navel.

"William!" she gushed, the swimming-pool-blue of her eyes limpid with pleasure. "So nice of you to visit. Especially when I've got such grand news." She tucked a possessive arm through Gunn's, neatly avoiding the slime. "My dashing Knight Gallant just killed himself a nasty swarm of Vuntarks."

She was bragging, Spike knew, recognizing the tone as the same one she'd used when he'd done away with that Chinese Slayer all those years ago. He recoiled from the memory, and from Dru. Any changes she'd made were merely window-dressing, then. Same as ever she was.

Angel had clearly recognized her tone as well, spinning around to pin them with his imperious gaze. "What did you call him?"

Dru blinked, a tiny frown forming between perfectly sculpted brows. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's Liam now, isn't it?"

Spike pulled a disgusted face, not wishing to be reminded of that while in the presence of his Sire.

"No, not him," Angel stalked toward them, training his sword at Gunn's head like a laser-pointer. "Him."

"Knight Gallant," Cordy reflected before Dru could comment. "Just like the fairy. Coincidence? I say 'nay'."

"No such thing," Spike agreed. He cocked his scarred brow at Dru. "Star's tell you to christen him with that?"

"I don't remember," she pouted.

Angel redirected the sword, targeting Drusilla this time. "Try."

The vampiress was wholly unconcerned by his posturing. "Is it especially important?" she inquired curiously; lashes lowered to sleepy half-mast, the chin of her heart-shaped face set a-tilt.

Spike squinted at her. He definitely recognized that expression. Those cat-like features were suddenly looking all too smug. He shook his head and set about lighting a cigarette to distract himself from asking her how the canary had tasted.

"Been callin' me that long as I've known her," Gunn said. "This not-so-crazy kick-ass version of her anyhow." He gave Angel a hard look. "And put the sword down, 'less you want me to shove it somewhere painful."

The elder vampire narrowed his eyes at the threat. "My, my. Protective aren't we?" he mused silkily, sounding so much like Angelus that Spike shuddered. "Something going on I should know about?"

Cordelia stepped in, slapping Angel lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, back off, Daddy Smallbucks," she chided. "Little Orphan Vampy can take care of her own self." A sharp look of her own this time, directed at Dru. "Right?"

"Certainly." Drusilla's smile was polite, almost demure, which usually meant she was trying to think of the best way to kill you.

No love lost between those two. Spike resolved to keep well out of their way. "Much as a cat-fight would amuse me just now, thought we were off to terrorize some Keratos." He glanced around, his brows raised in invitation. "You did mention reinforcements. More the merrier and all that."

Angel grunted, backing away from his stare-down with Gunn. Spike was right. He hated when that happened. "Okay. Gunn, you and Dru take your ride, back up only. Cordy, Wes, you're with me and Spike." He paused and tipped his chin at Fred. "You're up with all that computer stuff, right?"

The young physicist darted an apprehensive glance at Wesley. He smiled at her reassuringly. "Um, yeah? It's been a coupla years, but I reckon I can still... Why?"

"Can you chop into the DMV database and track down a number plate for me?"

"Chop?" Fred blinked rapidly, each flutter seemingly connected to the cogs whirling in her brain as she processed what he was saying. She seemed awed that he was even speaking to her in the first place, let alone asking her to do something of import. "Oh! Oh, you mean hack. Well, sure. I could do that. I think. Whatcha got?"

Angel moved to the counter, scribbled some numbers on the back of one of the business cards and handed it over. "It's only a partial, but it belongs to a black transit van. Older model, but the guys in it were young. Early twenties maybe."

Spike let out a disdainful snort at his Sire's performance, twin streams of smoke blasting from his nostrils. He sauntered toward the courtyard doors; one of Angel's prized fighting axes perched insouciantly atop his shoulder, black leather flowing behind him like the cape of some perverse superhero.

"Linger on and play Sam Spade all you want, Peaches," he declared. "Gonna go raid me a bloody warehouse."

TBC...