A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+!: The last chapter was longer than I originally anticipated, but that's good. I hope I can continue the trend...

Title: Red Hot Chili Peppers, with 'Soul to Squeeze

*****

"So you have no idea why he... brought her back?" Giles asked when Buffy finally came down after her shower, wearing clothing that had been brought from her house. The entire crew was gathered in Michael and Faith's apartment, since Buffy's home was still lacking windows and a front door.

"He didn't say anything about her," she replied, sitting down next to her once-vampire. Spike still wore a small smile, one that hadn't diminished since he had returned.

"She seems to be perfectly fine," Willow added from the kitchen. "I haven't found anything wrong with her."

"Yet she still won't wake up," Giles stated wearily, cleaning his glasses again. They were discussing Jenny Calendar's unexpected return to the living.

"She has been through a lot," Buffy said. "It's not often someone returns from the dead."

"Present company excluded," Michael said wryly. He was waiting patiently for Faith to finish in the bathroom, needing to hold her after what had almost happened. "Give her some time to rest, I'm sure she'll recover after some time." Giles merely nodded.

"So," Xander said from his seat by the kitchen, "I'm wondering why we're not with the big happiness. We won, right?"

"It isn't over," Michael and Spike said in unison, glancing at each other briefly. Michael continued, "We killed the body he was using. He's still, well, undead."

"Ain't that bloody easy to kill a lich," Spike added. "I'm still not sure what the bloody hell we can do against 'im."

"I have the answer to that one," Giles said suddenly, his pacing stopped. "There is a passage that refers to something known as the 'Faith of the Fallen', and states that with it, the Necromancer can be defeated."

"That's good news," Buffy said. "Where do we get it?"

"Well, Angel and I discussed this briefly," the ex-watcher explained. "Four of you must go to Ireland, to a place of the old power, and face the four guardians. Then, you will possess the Faith of the Fallen."

"Four of us," Buffy pondered briefly. "Which four?"

"That, too, was being discussed."

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go," Michael said. "Which means Faith will go too, and Buffy stays in Sunnydale."

"Well luv," Spike said, his arm pulling her closer, "Looks like we get to spend some quality time together." She smiled and leaned in, giving him a quick kiss.

"I'll go," Willow volunteered.

"So will I," Xander added.

"Then it's decided," Giles said. "I'll get flights booked for early next week."

"So," Spike whispered into Buffy's ear, "What does a bloke 'ave to do to get some time in bed 'round 'ere?"

*****

They walked home quickly, trying not to touch each other too much. It had only been a few days, weeks in Spike's case, yet it seemed like a lifetime since they last felt each other. Things were not the same now, and both felt it was for the better.

They made it just inside her bedroom door before his arms pulled her close, and their lips met. Tongues battled for supremacy with their familiar need, hands roamed flesh that was remembered so well.

"You're warm," Buffy breathed against his throat when the kiss was broken. Her chest heaved with her quick breaths, matching his perfectly.

"So are you," he said, his hand reaching for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head quickly. "So bloody warm...." His lips marked a trail from her lips. Every inch of skin he uncovered received gentle ministrations from lips no longer cold. She sighed, arcing her back and pulling him to the bed as fast as her weakening legs could support.

They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs, clothing flying as soon as hands could remove them. For the first time, the heat of his body matched hers, and the change was not unwelcome. Every time he touched her, moved over or insider her, felt so familiar, yet so different. And it felt so right.

"Buffy," he breathed, her name rolling off of his tongue as if it was a prayer. Perhaps it was.

*****

Later, they lay in each other's arms, content to rest, sated. She knew it was time for to talk, to find out the answers to small questions that whispered in the back of her mind.

"Spike?"

"Yes, luv," he said, his voice a hair's breath from sleep.

"Are you Spike, or William?"

"Say again, luv?"

"I know this sounds weird," she said quickly, "But, when Angel got his soul, he was different from the demon. I just wanted to know, are you? Are you William, or Spike?"

"I dunno," he answered honestly. "Some things 'aven't changed, others 'ave. I'm startin' to think that me an' my demon, we were alike from the start. I'm still Spike, but I've always been William."

He felt her relax against him, and he knew that was what she needed to hear. And, for the first time in years, he was glad the truth was enough.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna turn down a spot o' violence," he added with a small grin. "Just because I've got the warm an' fuzzies don't mean I'm not the Big Bad."

"Keep telling yourself that, baby," she said with a chuckle. When she saw his stunned expression, she couldn't help but laugh. He smiled at her, and held her even tighter.

"'Bout time I got a nick," he murmured, before kissing her again. For the second time that night, words ceased to matter.

*****

Four hours of rigorous spell casting would tire anyone, and the Necromancer was no exception. He willed away the weariness, spurred on by the fact that his goal for tonight was well within reach. He paced before his chained captive, summoned by dark rites and blood sacrifices.

"I'm disappointed," he said, amused by the fear and anger rolling off his captive, "I've heard so much about you, yet the reality pales in comparison."

"Fuck you," the captive spat.

"No thanks," he answered with a grin, his pacing ceased. "I liked you much better years ago, in Europe. I've got to say, this new and improved you.... sucks."

When his started chanting again, his captive struggled against the chains with renewed vigor. The struggles were to no avail, for the Necromancer knew well the limitations of even vampiric strength. He finished the spell long before the steel gave way. His captive doubled over in agony, screaming.

Long moments passed before the screams abated, the vampire's lungs heaving for the much unneeded air. Now yellow eyes regarded the Necromancer skeptically, not knowing what to think.

"How do you feel now?" the Necromancer asked finally, a smirk pulling his skeletal face into a death grin.

"Like I want to tear your fucking throat out," he growled, his demonic visage at the fore.

"Now now, Angelus," he chuckled, "We're supposed to work together here."

"Why?"

"I've brought you back with one purpose in mind," the spell caster began pacing again, "To face the Slayer you failed to kill years ago."

"So let me go and I'll deal with her."

"Not quite yet," he replied. "I'll release you, but you need to avoid her for a few days."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Angelus asked, his demon visage fading away, leaving his human face filled with wariness.

"I've yet to summon other allies to this battle," the Necromancer replied, sitting on a decaying throne. "You are not strong enough to face all of her allies at once. So, I'm calling in the cavalry."

The vampire considered for a brief moment, before his mind recalled the Slayer's friends, both old and new. When his face finally split by an evil grin, the Necromancer returned the grin and undid the chains binding the vampire.

"So, we are agreed."

*****

Michael stood by the street outside the apartment, his sheathed blade held by his side. His eyes scanned the darkened streets of Sunnydale, searching for some visible cause to the darkness he felt within his heart. Something big was happening, and he wasn't happy with it.

"Something on your mind?" came the voice of Giles from behind him. In truth, the Englishman had snuck up on him, so complete was his attention focused on the unknown evil. Another might have jumped in surprise, but he had long ago trained himself to quell some of his natural reactions.

"My spider sense is tingling," he answered, trying to hide his unease with a small joke. He didn't expect the older man's slight laughter, and his surprise was evident on his face this time.

"Buffy said the same thing some years ago," Giles explained. "I didn't catch the reference at the time, but I have done my 'research'."

Michael gave a small smile before turning his gaze again to the streets. Giles stood beside him for long moments, his gaze also on the deserted suburbia. When he spoke again, neither deviated from their futile watch.

"You know, I never got a chance to ask you something fairly important." Michael's small murmur spurred him on. "Everyone seems so content now, quite out of character for all of them, I might add. Spike and Buffy, for instance..."

"And this has something to do with me?"

"Don't play the ignorant role," Giles cut off suddenly. Michael suddenly got a small taste of who Rupert Giles had been many years ago. The Ripper, a cold, calculating son of a bitch who was very capable of violence. Giles had long ago put chains of restraint upon that anger, and the fact he could harness it for a controlled purpose made him that much more formidable. He was suddenly very glad that the man was his ally. "I want to know if you influence emotions in any way."

"It is a small thing really," the younger man sighed. "My father explained it to me years ago, and in truth, I haven't thought about it much over the years. By virtue of my presence, I do tend to ally fears and misgivings. In battle, fear is... reduced. I don't know what I do by my presence in everyday life. You realize, it's how I live. I know no different."

"I see," Giles said, removing his glasses and cleaning them, quite unnecessarily. "You didn't tell any of them about this?"

"Didn't see a need to," Michael answered firmly. "Whatever they do, it was in their hearts the entire time. Just now, fear, anger, and hate have less to do with their decisions."

"And for some, those emotions protect them from future hurt."

"For some," Michael conceded. "For others, it hampers their growth and happiness."

They stood silent for some moments after those words faded on the cool night air, each lost in their own thoughts. It grew into a comfortable silence as each digested what the other had said. Finally, when Giles turned to leave, Michael spoke again. This time his words were tinged with a small amount of fear. And given his previous revelations, the implications were dire indeed.

"It's the Knights of Gavalon. They've come to Sunnydale."

"What?"

"An order of Dark Knights dedicated to the destruction of everything good," Michael explained quickly. "All half-demons, all gifted with blades forged in the deepest pits of Hell. My opposite; my equals."

"Good God," his retreat into the apartment stopped as if he hit a brick wall.

"He's got nothing to do with them."

"But... you've faced them before?" He felt the question had to be asked. In fact it did, in hopes that the response would be a positive one.

"Yes, once I faced a lone knight," Michael answered, the grip on his blade tightening. "I almost died that day, but he did. I faced one, and was almost beaten."

"And now...?"

"I'm stronger now, but there is definitely more than one in Sunnydale."

*****

Willow and Xander had returned to his home some time ago, and retreated to the sanctity of their now-shared bedroom. They went with full intentions of a restful night's sleep, but thoughts kept turning in their minds, born of the last week's strange turns. Finally, Xander broke the silence with an amazing insight.

"I'm used to fighting evil," he started, "Avoiding the end of the world became a regular occurrence years ago. But this... we're not gonna get out of this the same, are we?"

"We'll try to," Willow answered, resting her hand over his heart. "We always do."

"What scares me now is that might not be enough."

A long time passed before either finally found sleep. It was not a restful sleep, as they had both hoped for. This sleep was plagued by fears neither could banish, fears intent on driving the last vestiges of innocence from their hearts.

******

A/N: For those of you paying attention, Gavalon is remarkably close to Avalon in spelling, and for good reason. I'll be explaining that in the next installment. And, the meaning behind Jenny's return will come to light. And Angelus... I didn't much like him the first time he was 'bad', but the way I'm looking at it is such: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but what about a powerful vampire who finds out his grand-childe is sleeping with the object of his obsession? Hehehe....

I'm sorry it's taking so long to get the installments up, but my 'puter's been givin' me bloody hell.