The Ghost and Ms Burkle

by Kat Leon

Fred will do anything to make Spike corporeal - even take her work home with her! Set after "Hellbound," Angel Season 5

3. Part Three Aftermath

[Just a note to thank all of you for reading thus far and for enduring these brutally long parts that take an eternity to load. As soon as I can code like a champ, I'll reformat with shorter chapters. Now on with the story!]

Part Three "Aftermath"

"Spike..." Fred moaned and stirred in his arms.

He pulled her head out of his damp shirt, looked into her face. "Win, you're all right, aren't you?" She brought her head up groggily and recognized his arms and body wrapped around hers.

"Look!" Fred thumped his chest with her hand, beaming excitedly.

"I'll be damned. Round and firm and fully packed," he noted. "Like the finest smokes." He stared at his own body in amazement.

She couldn't stop looking at him, holding on to him. The whole room spun before her eyes and she felt completely drained of energy.

He patted her hair with a clumsy hand and she realized how unfamiliar touch must be to him. "Any chance that mighty scanner of yours can tell what the hell happened to us just now?" he asked.

Fred looked over to the floor where she had left the scanner and saw instead a twisted glob of melted plastic and warped metal. "Nope. Looks like it's pretty much toast." She fingered the dust on her arm. "I'm stuck between wanting to take a sample of this stuff and wanting to jump into the shower as quickly as possible," she said, sniffing her fingertips and grimacing.

"Lovely thought, that shower," Spike murmured into her hair, kissing her cheeks, her closed eyelids. She watched his body come to life, his cheeks flushed with new color. "Why the doom-and-gloom, love? You've done what I knew you could do! You bloody saved me. Let's fire up the pomp and circumstance. We've earned it, don't you think?" He sat up and took her hand.

"Wait," she held him back. "I don't think it's that simple. I'd love it to be, don't get me wrong, but I don't even know what kind of energy this was. Something that melts glass, pops light bulbs, but does nothing more to us than," she fingered the grainy dust. "Get us dirty? I want to know what this was." She looked dismally around her ruined apartment. "After I repaint. And replace the carpet. And do something about my window. I'm going to be paying off my security deposit until I'm a hundred."

"That's not all of it," he frowned, pointing at the charred desk and smoldering chair. A fine plume of smoke curled from the laptop computer, its screen folding limply into itself like a ripe cheese. "Got an abacus stowed somewhere?"

"Oh, no," she groaned. "All my equipment, my reports! How am I ever going to find out what's happened to you?"

Spike rolled her gently over onto the floor and pulled his leg possessively around her. "You'll have to take me for a test ride," he whispered and bent his head to kiss her.

The apartment door shuddered with heavy pounding.

"There's still a bloody door?" he exclaimed.

A voice echoed from the hallway. "This is building security. Please open up."

Her face was wracked with terror as the events of the evening registered. "What am I going to do?"

"After all this, you're sweating a bloody rent-a-cop? Here," he moved off of her. "I'll get this git sorted." She stood up carefully, the weakness in her knees coming from either the explosion of energy or from Spike's body, she couldn't tell.

"No, this is my apartment. I can deal with this. Besides, what if he can't see you? Then I'll have even more explaining to do." She brushed some of the dust off her clothes. "It's dark, maybe he won't notice." She reluctantly opened the door.

A forbidding middle-aged man with gray hair trimmed in a military cut stood before them. The auxiliary power lights in the hallway gleamed spookily behind him.

"Oh, hello there, thanks for coming by, sir. Sure nice of you to check in on us, uh, on me. So what's all the trouble here, officer? Did the power go out or something?" she rambled nervously.

"Among other things," the scowling man replied. He lifted up his large Maglight by its stem and dangled it before her. He stepped forward and flicked the flashlight on, assessing the damage before him.

"I can explain, sir, you see, it all started when I brought this Bunsen burner home one day and..."

"Jesus. What a mess in here, some kind of party. Mind if I come in? You're not one of those Heaven's Gate nut jobs are you? Get some kind of disaster; they think it's time to welcome home the mother ship. You ain't one of those, are you miss?"

"Pardon? I mean, no, no I'm not...--" She looked nervously over her shoulder when the beam of his light continued to inspect the room's debris.

"I always ask, you never can be too careful in this city. Jeez," he whistled again as the flashlight paused at the hole in the wall. "I'll send up Maintenance with some plastic for that window. You're the worst hit I've seen tonight. From what I can see, that is." He continued to shine the light over her peeling walls, her blackened carpet, and finally over Spike.

"You should have backup power for lights. Try flicking a switch?" The guard walked over to her circuit breaker behind her front door.

"No, the light bulbs all--"

"Exploded?" he finished for her.

"Well. Yes. How, how did you know that?"

"Been through a few of these. Back oh, fifty years ago, you might notice a spark or two. But all the electricity folks pull these days. You wouldn't get hit this hard if people could do without all their little toys," the older man sighed, took off his hat and scratched his balding head.

"Hit by what this hard?" she asked in a small voice.

"By the earthquake! Rocked our transformers right off their hinges and sent out a surge twice the size of what they put out! But you'll be up and running in no time. You sit tight, you'll ride it out." He smiled past her to the man standing behind her. "Live on love, eh kids."

Spike stepped up behind her and put his arm around her astonished shoulders. "Absolutely. Best idea I've heard all day. Or second best, come to think of it."

"Kids?" she echoed unbelievably, slowly coming out of her reverie.

The chastened man held up his hand. "Ah, I'm sorry miss, I guess the correct term these days is young people. To an old guy like me--"

"No, you said kids, kids, plural, both of us. You can see both of us? Me and him?" Fred earned a jab in the ribs for that comment. "It's important!" she told both of them earnestly.

The guard warily backed up towards the door. "Lady, this ain't war of the worlds and that quake tonight wasn't no invisibility ray. Sure I can see both of you." He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and held it out to her. "Here, make sure you fill this out for the insurance company, it's on their dime. Wouldn't want you to foot the bill for all that swanky computer gear." The man, looking much more tired now, spoke loudly and slowly. "You've got renter's insurance, right miss?"

She nodded dumbly, staring blindly at the insurance form he stuck in her hand. Spike squeezed her.

"Good," the man sighed, watching her cautiously. "In the meantime, you might want to bunk somewhere else tonight. I got more units to check on. And son," the guard pulled him over for a moment, speaking in confidential tones. "Look after the girl. She acts like she took a good knock to her old melon, if you know what I mean."

"I'll take the best possible care of her," Spike promised grandly, and closed the door.

"Ready to play doctor?" he smirked, returning to her side with open arms. She moved into his embrace, sniffing his neck, behind his ear, the hollow of his collarbone.

"Enough with the truffle hunting, what do you think you're doing?"

"You smell fine," she said thoughtfully.

"There's a comfort," he retorted.

"Stinky, but not undeadish." She looked at him in wonder. "How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Hungry."

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, of course."

She stumbled to the kitchen on an uneasy mission. Her cracked pane of glass was gone; all the panes of glass in all the cabinets were gone. She ransacked her kitchen drawers and pulled out a tiny flashlight. She went to the bathroom, which was disaster-free compared to the other rooms of the apartment, and shined the beam of light around cautiously. She saw that the explosion had smashed the mirror, the sink basin strewn with pieces of glass. With a touch honed by adjusting slides under the microscope, she gingerly picked up a shard of the mirror.

He came up behind her. "What are you on about, love?"

She tilted the reflection over her shoulder. What she saw caused her fingers to shake abruptly around the glass and jab it through her forefinger. She turned quickly back to him to confirm the mirror's revelation and saw his eyes affixed on her hand. He cupped it gently and stared.

She glimpsed there the memories of thousands of feedings flash at the scent of her blood: how he would wade his tongue into the open well of blood and lick thickly, wear out his teeth on the firm delicate flesh, gnaw on the warm meat of skin, and feel the soft crunch of bones under his bite. But her arm relaxed under his grip. No evidence of the demon emerged to rear up and claim its prey. Spike's reflection danced in the bloodied piece of mirror she still held.

"You're not," she began.

He shook his head briefly. With warm fingers, he pried the glass out of her fingers and dropped it into the sink. "Let's get you cleaned up," he whispered gruffly.

He pulled the cold tap of the sink on with a rusty squeak but squeezed out only a splash of water to clear the wound on her finger.

"They'll have turned the pipes off," she pointed out.

"Right. Emergency lockdown, where's the alcohol?" She pointed under the sink and he retrieved the first aid kit.

Spike cleaned off her wound swiftly and she cringed when the disinfectant reopened the cut, setting forth a fresh stream of blood. He grabbed a washcloth from the rack next to them, pressed it into the gash, and held her arm above her head. She watched his techniques in amazement.

Holding the tiny flashlight between his teeth as he worked, he bandaged the finger quickly and skillfully. He placed the flashlight on the edge of the sink when he finished. "Knew those slayer lessons would come in handy. Although next time you want to revisit dissection class, would you give me a bit of warning?"

Fred looked away in shame. "Sorry."

He cupped her chin and met her eyes. "That little paper cut could have been bloody dangerous. If I had even a drop of vamp in me, I could have snapped you in two. It was rash, it was thoughtless, and it was no end to stupid. This guinea pig has fangs, love," he finished. Fred felt her chin tremble and steadied it, holding his worried gaze.

"Had them, you mean," she said quietly.

"Well. When I say I'm hungry, I'll have to be more specific," he added with a lopsided grin.

"We needed to get your reflection. When I saw the glass in the sink. I had to take a chance."

He tilted his head at her curiously and she felt nervous again. "That didn't bother you? Win, I could've killed you."

"Oh, I don't want to die," she said, looking away to adjust the tape of her bandage. "I did a quick analysis. I tried to think of all the possibilities, like I'd run any compound through the empirical formula."

"That would be you, going all empirical on me," he joked affectionately.

"Look at you," she marveled. "All stinky and human." She patted his cheek with a timid hand.

"Because of you," he whispered, turning his head to kiss her fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. "Thank you, love. Thank you for bringing me back. In every way."

"I really didn't do anything," she stammered. Her cheeks burned and she retrieved her hand, the fingers moist with his kisses. She gestured to the sink. "How do you look? I mean, how do you think you look?"

Spike smiled faintly and dipped his head next to hers. He held up one of the bigger pieces of glass and caught their reflection together in the moonlight. "Like this?" he asked. "As bloody lucky as I feel."

His presence loomed huge beside her, seemed to pull all of the air out of the room. Her smile trembled next to his.

"Hey, do you feel up for another experiment?" She held out her hand to him. "I've got a whole refrigerator of food about to spoil."

He choked on the bread that he said tasted like sand in his mouth, the flavorless fruit, even the bland steak she cooked over her Bunsen burner. Still, he wolfed down whatever she put in front of him.

"How is everything?" she asked him, popping another handful of grapes in her mouth.

"God fucking awful," he answered, his mouth full. "Don't waste any gourmet grub on me, couldn't tell the difference from garbage."

"Thanks, I'll cook for you often," she said with a smile. They sat cross- legged on the scorched kitchen tile and candlelight flickered across the room.

"Kind of a let down really," he said thoughtfully, dropping the last crust of bread onto a plate. "Thought my first solid meal as a solid bloke would be more of an occasion."

"Oh, if you want we can go out, but I don't know what's open, and I don't know what you like, maybe the Szechwan Garden?"

"Love, there's no place I'd rather be than with you right here and now," he moved closer to her and squeezed her hand. The minor touch sent shivers through her and her stomach turned over with butterflies.

"Well, maybe someplace a mite softer. Like here," he kissed one cheek. "Or here," he kissed the plump swell of skin along her jaw. Spike dipped his head down to hers and rubbed his forehead against her temple.

If she listened to her body and her heart, Fred would fall into him. Alone, a midnight picnic by candlelight, this was what some couples called romantic. She felt his body heat radiate through her pores. No question he wanted her, possibly more than any man had, and unlike any other man in her history, this one was prepared to stake his claim completely. But she couldn't turn off her brain. She imagined the biology of a man who'd recently acquired a body. Food wouldn't be the only thing he'd want. She would be here to fill his needs now, but how long would it be before he would seek out the woman he truly loved? She swallowed nervously as her palm began to sweat inside his. Without a body, he'd remained safe; now she was terrified.

"How are you feeling?" she heard herself ask in a strange, high-pitched voice. "Since the equipment's gone, I'll have to rely on you for my clinical notes. Everyone's going to be so surprised. And, and pleased, when we go back to work."

She felt Spike freeze beside her. He dropped her hand back into her lap. "So, you're back to the noble pursuit of science? I'll make a fine little project for you to display under the glass. Show off your handiwork to all your friends? Now that you've gotten your little rebellion out of the way."

She shook her head and moved away from him. "I don't know what you mean." The fear clutched her throat and held her bound.

He shook his head sadly and got up from the floor, running his fingers through his hair. "That makes two of us buggered, then, doesn't it? God," he panted, rubbing his chest. "Can you hear that? Is that my breathing? You can't hear that?" He began to pace the kitchen anxiously. She sensed his growing panic, but remained frozen to the floor.

"I thought that this was what you wanted, me, whole again. Well, I'm here, pet. What haven't I proven to you? Fuck, I can feel it, I can feel everything! No, I can't do this. Not again, not with you," he choked. He tore out of the room.

"Spike!" she cried.

She tripped down the stairs of the hallway in an effort to catch him before he disappeared into the night. She stood at the flagstone path in front of her apartment complex. He was gone.

"No," she breathed. There was only one person she could call who could help her, but how? She hurried to the pay phone around the corner and found it lying on the sidewalk like an uprooted tree. At that moment, the devastation around her came into focus.

The whole block was dark save for the dim illumination of a few emergency lights. Sirens wailed and bleated in the distance. Strings of electrical and phone lines hung limply from their poles, some had been ripped out from their fastenings and strewn across jagged fissures in the road. Fire hydrants sat next to dribbling pipes of water like popped champagne corks.

"How could I?" she whispered. "What have I done?"

"Hey pretty lady!" A young man's voice called out to her.

She spied the blonde surfer neighbor from the bungalow across the street cooking on a gas grill. Fred crossed the street, hopping over the wires and the deep cracks.

"Hi, do you have a cell phone I could use? Mine's a little fried."

"Sure, but I've got the town's best quake-party, right here. Soy dogs, fresh off the grill."

"No, no thanks. Just a phone that works."

"Here," he pulled the phone out of his pocket. "All juiced up and ready to go."

Fred moved into the lawn and quickly dialed Angel's number. In a rush, she explained what had happened.

"You stay put. I'll go out looking for him," Angel said.

"I should go. He'll think I don't care."

"No, there's a city curfew until 7 am. I'll send the guys over for you. Bolt the door until they get there." He hesitated on the phone. "You did it," he added gently. "Not that I had any doubt."

"Yeah, I did it," she said faintly. The alarm of a fire truck blared loudly as it barreled down a side street. "I sure did."

Lorne pulled up to the apartment building in a chauffeur-driven company limousine and found a dejected Fred waiting on the front stoop of her apartment building.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "Where is everybody?"

His smile flashed sympathy and reassurance. "Your boy wonders are sitting out any dance that has Spike in it, sweets. Angel said you should recoup at the penthouse."

She began to back out of the limo. "Oh, no, no way, I'll go back upstairs, I can't go to Angel's. Spike, he won't understand."

"Easy there, Sweetness and Light," Lorne said. He pulled out his cell phone, conducted a brief, hushed call, and flipped it shut. "Driver, change of plans. The Regent Beverley Wilshire."

"I can't stay there, Lorne, the whole town's probably booked."

Lorne helped her into the car. "Big-wig in the biz owes me one. Can you believe someone would actually consider selling his soul to make 'Pretty Woman, Part 2?' I mean, hello, why mess with a classic? Besides, I don't know of anyone more in need of a perk than you, kid." Lorne patted Fred's knee. "We'll tell your fella where you are. Boy, there's going to be one tidal wave of a Sea Breeze for me when this day ends."

*** Leah skipped down the broken pavement on the way to Caritas, enjoying the electrical sparks from the charred lines above her and relishing the sound of sirens and smell of fear that permeated the streets. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Leah hummed to herself.

The power outage from the quake successfully short-circuited the previously impenetrable security system of Lorne's apartment. Leah wasted no time in replacing all of his personal bottles of vodka with a clear ethanol/alcohol combination she concocted. She felt a chill of excitement in engineering the surprise of it all – no one knew when the sickness would hit him, not even her.

She next entered the deserted club, expecting no staff or customers to interfere with her replacement of the bar bottles of vodka. Instead she saw an unconscious man passed out on one of the stools. She walked over to him and pulled his head back.

"OK, buddy, time to go," she began and then caught sight of his face: the Wyndham-Pryce guy, Lilah's lover.

"Well, what do you know?" she whispered, imitating Lilah's husky teasing purr.

Wesley's eyes fluttered open. "Lilah? It can't be."

"My poor baby," Leah crooned. "What have they done to you? Let's get you home and into bed."

"I'm dreaming," Wesley muttered, reaching drunkenly for his glasses. Recognizing that he was not as drunk as she'd hoped, Leah hauled back and punched him out with a solid right hook.

"Not dreaming yet," she said, dragging him to his feet and over her shoulder. "But you will be."

***

Depression in paradise; there's probably some kind of sin for that, Fred thought. Another morning of breakfast on a silver platter, another red rose garnish, another sleek company vehicle whisking her to work and back, it all meant another day without Spike. She'd allowed the old collar of fear to hold her back on more than one occasion, but never with such devastating consequences. When she thought about all the things he must have been feeling with his new body, the strangeness of it all, coupled with her rejection, it made her sick to her stomach. I abandoned him, she thought, because I couldn't believe he could touch me. No, he had already touched me. I couldn't bear to have him stop.

Numb to the lush surroundings of the hotel, Fred bumped sluggishly through her life while the construction crews rebuilt her apartment. She launched herself back into the routine of work hoping to dull her sadness. Sensing her inexplicable grief, the lab associates stepped around her carefully and spoke only of science – even Knox. Research provided no solace; her safest shelter, the lab, only reminded her what she'd lost.

"Fred, I'll keep going out until I find him," Angel promised her on the third night of searching. "I'm bound to pick up his scent."

"Thank you for trying," she shrugged. "He's probably already gone."

He pulled her into a hug. "If that's true, and I'm not saying it is, then isn't it for the best? You gave him an incredible gift. If he can't see that, then he doesn't deserve it."

"I know he appreciates that I got his body back. I didn't need to be thanked."

Angel stroked her hair. "I wasn't talking about his body. I was talking about you."

Fred broke down in sobs and buried her face in his chest. "I'm so unhappy! I miss him so much."

"I know," Angel said grimly. "I'm going to do whatever I can to change it." He kissed the top of her head and returned to the night.

Angel caught the familiar essence of Spike emanate from one of the rougher sections of downtown LA. He turned down a deserted warehouse district and found Spike weaving down the alley, mumbling and sipping from a fifth of bourbon.

"Bloody clinical. I'll write your fucking clinical. The head bone's connected to the heart bone that always gets broken in the end. Bitch brings me back to kick me down the stairs. FUCK!" He screamed and smashed the empty liquor bottle against a brick wall. "Thought this time it was different. Felt different. Felt the best ever."

Angel appeared out of the shadows. "You're easier to track now that you're drunk. All I had to do was follow the sweaty trail of leather and --" Angel sniffed the air. "Whiskey? Where'd you get that? You have money?"

"Angelus, you've so soon forgotten the best part about a good skirmish in this city? All the lovely looting?" Spike smirked.

Angel looked at him with what he hoped was all the loathing he felt. "You looted a liquor store?"

"I didn't," Spike argued. "I helped myself after the mob stole the till and torched the place." He unscrewed the cap on another fifth. "Let a fine malt of this age go to waste and that's alcohol abuse, is what that is. Cheers," he held up the bottle and took a gulp, wincing as the liquor made contact with a cut in his lip.

"I'm so glad to see how much this gift of a body has changed you for the better," Angel noted with a roll of his eyes.

"Nothing's changed. A lady crushes my heart and you're on cue as usual, mate. Middle of my bloody misery and you show up. Go ahead," Spike pulled off his duster and tossed it on the cement. "I'm as down as I can get. Let the kicking begin."

"I came here to help," Angel started.

"You know how you can help me? Riddle me this: Why can't I find a nice bird, a nice bloody bird who won't go stark raving nutters on me?" Spike yelled into the alley. "Oh, tell a chippie some ponce like you wants her and she laps it up and rolls over begging for more," he continued to mutter. "When it comes to me, she says, oh no, I'd rather take a case of the rabid boils thank you very fucking much."

Angel cleared his throat, trying to remain patient. "Spike, I think the senior partners are trying to run some kind of divide-and-conquer on us, divert us from some other plan. We have to stick together," Angel said. "All of us. Especially you." He gulped back his disappointment and forced himself to say the words aloud. "You know, the prophecy. You being, uh, human."

Spike's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Earned some respect, have I? Wish I knew that sooner, I would have had that buggering shaman book me on the upgrade plan. He could've made me a sad sodding heap of bones with a soul and a pulse."

"Could you sober up enough to cut the stand-up routine for a minute?" Angel yelled back, losing his struggle for calm. "This isn't all about you. I've got a broken hearted girl on my hands and I want to know what to tell her. Fred thinks you're leaving to find Buffy."

Spike shook his head sadly. "Can't leave. Not even to chase down the slayer. There was a time when that's all I could think about. But it's faded since then; do you know what I mean? I love her but we missed our time." He sipped pensively. "There's only one girl in my heart, if you haven't noticed. I've nipped at her heels for weeks."

"All Fred knows is that you left her. What I want to know is why you haven't left town. Is it some affect of the amulet?"

"No, it's not the amulet, damn it. I can't go any farther because, because I love Winifred, God help me. I can't leave and I can't go to her. She doesn't want me," Spike muttered.

"She does want you, though I can't say I see why," Angel said dryly. "She needs to know where you stand. Am I going to have to do that too? Or are you coming back with me?"

Spike stared at him for a moment. He tossed the liquor bottle into an open dumpster. "I'll get my coat."

Fred heard the knock at midnight, which meant Angel checking in with more bad news. She almost dreaded opening the door.

Angel stood in the hallway, struggling to hold up a barely conscious Spike. "Last stop," Angel muttered. "Veranda Suite, cute girls and hot showers."

"My God," Fred gasped when she saw them. She took Spike's other arm and helped him into one of the chairs.

"'Allo Ducks," he slurred, nuzzling her neck. "Give us a kiss." His head slumped forward as he blacked out.

"What happened to him?" she asked. Spike's left eye was bruised and swollen shut, a matched set with his cut and bloodied lip. Covered in a layer of city grime, grease streaked through his hair, and his face shadowed with the beginnings of a beard.

Angel smiled sympathetically. "I think he was testing out the whole 'beat some sense into yourself' theory."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"He's been on something of a bender, Fred. He was pretty lucid when I first found him, but he faded fast once I got him into the car. You have to remember, we've been without human bodies for decades. The sensory overload itself could drive you crazy," Angel explained carefully. "It definitely helps to have someone around to ground you."

She felt overwhelmed with guilt. "And I took care of that when I turned my back on him." She knelt down in front of Spike. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

His good eye opened and he patted her head weakly. "S'alright."

Angel leaned down and handed her a brown shopping bag. "Some extra clothes, first aid kit." He hesitated. "He only talked about you, Fred. Take care of each other. Keep me posted." He stood up to leave.

Fred flung her small body into his arms and hugged him. "I'm sorry to you, too. Thank you for bringing him here."

"It's where he wants to be," Angel answered, releasing her. "I just showed him the way."

Fred then launched into full medical alert. She called room service for crackers, broth, and steamed vegetables, the most nourishing and hydrating foods she could think of. She pulled two bottles of water out of the suite's refrigerator, putting one in the bathroom and another by the bed. She grabbed the bag of supplies.

"Oh, boy, here we go," she grunted as she heaved Spike to his feet. The weight of him nearly brought her to her knees but she managed to get him into the large walk-in shower and situated on its built-in bench. Spike leaned his head back against the wall of the shower, sighing in what sounded like relief and she watched his chest heave with labored breathing. Fred sat beside him and started the bottle of water down his throat. He thrashed weakly, gasped, spit the first swallows out and then gulped in earnest when he found his thirst.

"More," he gasped when he finished the bottle.

She took a deep breath and found the scientist and the woman merging into one complete person. Stripping off his filthy clothes with a careful hand, she realized that his body didn't frighten her anymore. Neither frightening nor separate, but a body raw and beautiful and beloved—she already knew him, what was a little skin and bone? Her fingertips brushed over the bruises on his ribs and one on his hip, softly checking the muscles for trauma and swelling. She bathed his wounds delicately, oblivious to the warm shower that soaked through her nightgown.

"Bet you do this for all your guinea pigs," he mumbled.

"I do when they're this dirty," she replied, shampooing his hair vigorously. "The laundry may burn your clothes instead of washing them."

"Don't let them get the coat, love. Keep the coat."

She wrapped him in one of the suite's terrycloth robes and assisted him to bed. She set to the next task of feeding him, and after a few mouthfuls of food, the color returned to his face and the spark to his eyes, which watched her cautiously.

"Oh, you're loving this, aren't you?" he asked scornfully.

She shoved a forkful of carrot into in his mouth with a jerk. "What? Seeing you hurt? I hate it, actually."

"Not the hurt. The helplessness, like a little kitty in a basket. What happens when the tiger comes out and wants to play? You hurrying back to the lab to take my big scary body away again?" he mocked.

Fred pressed her lips together and offered another spoonful of broth, her hand trembling slightly. "Eat your soup."

He took the bowl and spoon and placed it on the nightstand. He reached up and fingered a lock of her hair, tucked it behind her ear. He continued more softly and kindly. "I spooked you, didn't I love? More as a man than as a spook, it turns out. You're a flipped bit of pence, aren't you?"

She shrugged tiredly, feeling as though she had lost him all over again. "I guess."

"You best be sure now," he said mildly. "Our kind has to stick together." She looked up and saw him smiling. "Now my bright penny: Heads or tails?" She reached up to touch his face and he took her hand, knitted the shaking fingers through his own.

"Heads it is then. But let me," he whispered. "You've had a turn. Now let me touch you. How I've wanted to touch you."

She caught her breath and forced herself still, allowing him to explore her. He traced her jaw line with his thumb, pinched the pudge of her chin gently between thumb and forefinger, and tugged gently on her lower lip. Her tongue darted tentatively against the tips of his fingers and his eyes blazed with fresh interest when she nibbled his pads of skin. She shivered as his moist thumbnail grazed the upper edge of her lip, while his other hand cupped her cheek and drew her slowly to him. She closed her eyes and opened her lips, his warm breath stirring against her skin.

"This all right?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes," she breathed.

"Winifred," he said softly, moistening her dry lips with tentative teasing licks.

She peeked through her half-closed lids. "Uh-huh?" she asked guardedly.

"If I have my way, that's the longest you'll ever have to wait to be kissed again." He moved his mouth over hers, first testing the pliancy of her lips before pressing down, crushing her lips against his. He held her face delicately between his hands and leaned forward to sip at her mouth again, drinking the long, slow draughts of a loving cup.

He spent hours loving her mouth, kisses long and deep, tracing the inside of her mouth with his warm, thick tongue, nipping her jaw and sucking on her lips until her whole mouth felt crimson hot and swollen. Just when she thought that they would stop, a fresh burst of desire rose up and claimed them again. He spread her body on the sheets, pulling the nightgown over her head and running his hands up and down her shivering frame. He stretched her arms gently over her head and knitted her fingers with his own. The robe long abandoned, he lay on top of her, easing his own sweaty flesh onto hers. She rose up to meet him, stroked the back of his calves with her toes, winding herself around his cords of quivering muscle and jutting angled bone. Her hands clenched against his palms restlessly.

"Spike, please," she whispered. "You're driving me crazy." She squirmed beneath him and against him in silent need.

"Mmm-hmm," he grunted. "That's it, that's my girl. Make sure this is what you really want."

"It is," she gasped. "Please. I want you to..."

"Want me to what, baby?"

"Spike..." she rested her forehead against his shoulder and bit her lip. "Make love to me."

"Sure now?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," she answered, feeling the pleading in her voice. "Please."

"Ah, so pretty to beg. My sweet girl knows how to say please, knows how to ask for what she wants. You going to make me beg, too? Want to hear me say, 'please, love?' Hmm?"

"Yes," she gasped, her whole body flushing. "Oh, God, Spike. Yes."

"Please, Win," he groaned, pressing against her. "Please let me take you, sweetheart."

"Yes, I want you to, I'm not afraid."

He smiled at her lovingly, delighting in her frustration. "Who said anything about being afraid?" He tightened his grip on her fingers and pressed her harder into the mattress. "Just want to take things nice and slow. Good and slow for my good lovely girl."

When she thought that she could not bear being held down much longer, he released her hands and she grabbed his back, pulling him against her. She made the most of his temporary weakness and rolled on top of him.

"Not that slow," she told him.

He reached back and dug his fingers into the back of her scalp, clenching the damp strands of her hair in his fist. He pushed her head down to his and locked her aching mouth against his kiss.

Much later, with him spooned behind her, the skin that seemed once so alien to Fred, she could no longer distinguish from her own. She reached back with her hand to caress his face, feeling him suck and nibble the soft pillow of her palm. He pulled her around to face him and kissed her again.

"Did we sleep?" she asked lazily.

"I hope not, I'll kill myself if I'm dreaming," he said, kissing her neck and shoulders.

She bent her head so that he could get behind her ear and saw a fresh bruise on his chest. "What did that?"

Spike grinned and pointed at her. "Me?" she asked, staring at the bite mark. "No, it couldn't...well," she considered, remembering the passionate events of the night before. "Maybe."

"No maybes about it, love," he confirmed. "Looks like I'm not the only one with teeth." She shoved against him playfully.

He sat her up to face him and she felt a flutter of nervousness at seeing his grave expression. He stroked her matted and tangled curls, his eyes alighting over her features. "I love you, Winifred. All of me that's here is yours."

Her eyes filled slightly, blurring the image before her of him -- his hair plastered curly flat and rumpled, his bluest eyes affectionate and anxious, all of him so beloved to her.

"You love me?" she asked, savoring the sound of her own voice repeating the words. "Really?"

Spike snorted. "Well, yeah, that's alright, isn't it?"

She smiled back. "That'll do," she giggled.

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. "Probably should have said that before I shagged you through half the Kama Sutra. Truth is, I loved you when I first saw your face. You were the only part of being here that made any sense; the only one I had to hold on to. The only one I want to hold on to."

She kissed his forehead. "I love you, too. Promise me you'll never run out on me again."

"Don't shut me out again," he grumbled.

"Deal," she whispered and pulled him back under the covers.

"Piss off," he mumbled into the phone when it jangled the next morning. He then bolted upright. "Where the hell are you? Yes, come up, but give us about thirty minutes. I don't know; charge a breakfast to our room. Not like we were expecting you." He hung up the phone. "Bloody hell."

"Who's that?" Fred asked with a yawn.

"One Willow Rosenberg, Wicca-about-town at our service. Angel called her in for consultation," Spike held out his hand. "We've got half an hour. Fancy sharing a shower?"

"We have two bathrooms so there's really -- oh, wait. I get it. Yes," she giggled taking his hand.

"God, is this where all of you stay?" Willow asked in awe when she arrived at the suite. "Are you hiring?"

"Oh, no, this isn't like the Hyperion," Fred explained. "This is just temporary. My apartment's trashed from, whatever happened. The city called it an earthquake. Only I'm the one who quaked the earth in the first place. How do you apologize to people for that?"

"Fred, it's the science, you know that: for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Creating Spike's body took in a lot of energy; there was a lot to release," Willow said.

Fred smiled crookedly. "It's a lot nicer when you say it. The lab won't even let me fix the coffeemaker."

"Yeah, they think she's all bad-ass. Squires the Evil Dead and rocks the world to boot," Spike announced, coming out of the bathroom to wrap his arms around Fred.

Fred registered Willow's look of surprise. "Spike, wow, hi. So. You. It's all – you. You're doing the human thing. I have to say I'm curious. How's it working out?"

He thought for a moment. "Get pissed a hell of a lot quicker. I itch all over, feel like I'm burning up with fever, and can't taste for shit." He lit up a cigarette and took a deep inhale, only to erupt in a fit of coughing. "Lungs work though," he croaked.

Fred gently shoved him towards the open door of the balcony, waving the smoke away.

Willow rolled her eyes. "It might be time to quit."

"There ain't a nicotine patch big enough, love." He stepped outside.

"Did Angel give you what they salvaged from my apartment?" Fred asked, sitting down at the suite's table.

"Yeah, which isn't much. Nothing left from the readings on Spike during the transformation. But they found the setting from the amulet mostly intact. I wanted to research it for a couple of days and really make sure I understood it." Willow sat beside her.

"And?" Fred prompted impatiently.

Willow took a breath. "It's a biggie. From what I can make out, this had nothing to do with the Shanshu prophecy."

"What?" Fred asked.

Spike poked his head in. "How?"

"Under the stone, there's an inscription about a release from a spell, your average, garden-variety soul-binding spell." Willow saw their looks of disbelief. "Or your average malevolent force ripping through the cosmos garden-variety soul-binding spell. I'll go either way," she added.

"Fred, you were right – the dust that covered you was amber, from the original jewel. See, based on what's left of the markings on the setting here, this is from maybe the Middle Ages. The text is pretty easy to make out," Willow explained as she pulled out the remains of the amulet and a high-powered jeweler's eye loupe.

"What, Made in bloody Taiwan?" Spike asked, throwing his cigarette over the side of the balcony.

"'Tiger's Soul,'" Willow translated. "It's another name for amber. The rest of the markings tell the story of a celebrated knight who craved the king's power and wealth, and was offered immortality by going to the dark side, a trick set up by the king to test the knight's loyalty. The knight got all the strength and immortality he asked for, but without his human side, the ability to feel, to love, to be loved. The king doomed him to fight battles for eternity as a punishment for the knight's betrayal. The amulet held all of the knight's humanity, his soul."

Willow paused to let the legend sink in. "It also held the power for him to finally die. At the Apocalypse, the amulet would protect his soul. It would give him the power to withstand the forces of darkness and save the souls of the righteous before the rapture consumed them. He would finally earn an honorable death."

Spike learned over her shoulder and squinted at the tiny writing illegibly scratched onto the metal.

"You can get all that plot from that little chicken scratch there?"

Willow shrugged apologetically. "You kinda have to read between the lines."

"When I closed up Sunny-Hell, I didn't die and I didn't live. What happened to me then?"

"That's where I need your help," Willow replied. "Did anything happen then, when you -- "

"Burned in fiery torment and sealed the hell mouth?" he completed. "Not much. My plate was rather full."

Fred got up and squeezed his shoulders. "This is important. Think." He turned from her and paced the room pensively.

"She, grabbed onto to my hand, knitted her fingers through mine. And then, there was this burst of flame but it surrounded us, didn't consume us," he said hesitantly.

"Buffy did this? She held on to you?" Willow clarified.

Spike glanced at Fred. "Until I told her to leave before she became slayer flambé."

Willow pointed to Fred. "When he took the amulet off your neck, you wrote in your lab notes that the stone transformed into a gaseous state, with all Spike's physical signs suggesting a human man burning to death, and you--"

"She threw herself at me," Spike blurted happily. "Sorry. But you did." Fred blushed.

Willow looked at all the information on the table. "Spike, Buffy grabbing your hand before you were supposed to die must have hit the big rewind button on the spell. All that energy came out so that you could do the saving of the souls and it burned up your vampire body, but the amulet stayed intact because it held your soul inside. The touch of Buffy, her human essence, combined with the amulet, reanimated you as a type of spirit."

"Both times, I was being pulled apart inside. That bloody thing wasn't trying to save me; it was trying to destroy me," he argued.

Fred put aside her thoughts about Buffy and returned to scientific mode. "I think I get this. The return of your soul would have been too much for your spirit self. You would have gone up in smoke like, like a cornhusk, a dried carcass, an empty rotting shell."

"Please, easy on the sweet talk, I'll blush," he said sarcastically.

"I think she's right," Willow nodded. "Fred picked up the rest of the spell and provided the rest of the human essence to fuse with your soul. Her body blocked the destroying properties and gave your soul something to hold on to. This time you didn't have a human holding on to you for only a minute. Fred here kept her hands and arms inside the car until all parts had come to a full and complete stop." She smiled faintly. "Ha, ha, little roller coaster humor there."

"I didn't enjoy the ride," Fred answered. She smiled at Spike. "But I did like the prize I got afterwards." He took her hand and glanced at Willow.

"So, I'm not the prophecy, he's not the prophecy, that thing would have destroyed me without Winifred, which means--"

"Shanshu, Shampoo. This is a whole different mystical sphere," Willow finished.

"But they said that that one, the amulet that Spike had, that it was The One," Fred frowned.

"Who said?" Willow asked.

Spike gave a sardonic laugh. "Oh, merely the spokesmodels for the evil of the world. Wolfram & Hart would never lie!"

"So they set Angel up. They were trying to get rid of him. Permanently," Fred said softly, gripping Spike's hand tighter.

"But, but they didn't! Guys? Can we bask in the glow of the happy face for a minute?"

Spike nodded quickly. "Red's right. They've bollixed the job offing several of us, must mean they're losing their touch. Gives us a chance to come out swinging."

"But that means the amulet for the Shanshu is still out there," Willow noted.

Spike stuck his chin out stubbornly. "Can't think of anyone else better suited to find it than our crowd, can you?"

Fred spoke up. "Can you stay, Willow? Long enough to tell Angel?"

"Sure. I need some help from you. Maybe we can do some old storming of the brains," Willow hesitated. "But do you think they have more rooms here? I don't know if I can go back to that Holiday Inn after seeing this place."

Fred released Spike's hand and walked Willow to the suite's door. "Go check in and be sure to charge it to the helpful associates of Wolfram & Hart. You've got the head of the science department here to sign off on it for you." She closed the door and leaned against it, her mind reeling from the influx of information. She felt Spike's eyes on her and walked out to the balcony, eager to feel some space around her. She watched the city move below her, nearly silent from the safety of their perch. Spike came up behind her and leaned his chin on her shoulder.

"I used to love watching the city like this, you know, from a distance, where it can't hurt anybody. But that's not the real city up here, is it?" she reflected.

She turned to face him and took his hands, rubbing his palms with her thumbs. "I can't believe I'm thinking about this. So many other more important things than what I'm stuck on. I always knew that Buffy would be a part of you. I think I avoided you because of that, not because you weren't corporeal. And she saved you. Willow gave me the proof."

He tipped up her chin. "She got me part of the way here. Isn't that what a past is meant to do? You picked up the rest. This body I'm in came from you. We're part of each other, Red told you that, too. Is that enough proof for you? Because all the proof I need is that I know I love you."

It was all the invitation she needed to wrap her arms around him. The force of her affection took him momentarily off balance. He returned her hug.

"You see, I found out how that ended. I'm much more interested in how this begins," he said softly.

"Like this," she whispered and looked up to be kissed.

***

"Well," Angel said, his expression impenetrable – more so than usual, Fred thought. She watched him lean his palms against the necro-glass of his office and stare blindly out into the city. Although she could not begin to grasp what the news might mean to him, she hoped she'd given him something, something in return for what he'd done for her in getting Spike back.

He pulled out of his daze and turned back to the three of them. "So much for a group meeting," Angel muttered. He hit the speakerphone to Harmony. "Any word on Lorne?"

"He called in sick again, Boss," she trilled. "Thinks he's got the flu."

Angel sighed. "Lorne's down, what about Wesley? Any word from him in the past day?"

"Just that email about going to England," Harmony answered. "You want me to call him again?"

"No thanks." Angel turned back to Willow, Fred and Spike. "Sorry, Will. Thought you'd have a better audience for this news."

Willow gave him a tentative smile. "Hey, you know me. Not making big with the speech circuit thing."

"Angel, are you okay?" Fred asked.

He nodded slowly, rubbing his forehead and looking very tired. "Yeah. I love the thought that there's another apocalypse out there and that the real amulet's MIA. What's next?"

"Willow's mystery slayer at large," Spike replied, keeping his eyes downcast.

Willow took her cue and opened a manila folder in front of her. "Oh, right. Here goes. The watcher's council wanted Giles to look into a potential slayer accused of killing her parents and put into a prison for the criminally insane. Well, the council blew up before he got any more information, other than her psychiatric profile name, Lucy Morrow. Patient Lucy Morrow killed a nurse with a hypodermic, strangled a guard with her nightgown, slit her own wrists, and made multiple escape attempts. Then after our slayer-awakening spell, she kicked her doctor across the room and," Willow winced. "Kicked her way through his skull."

"Um, I think that's worse than my headaches," Fred grimaced. "She succeeded in escaping after that, I take it."

"A Lucy Morrow checked into some fleabag motel here in LA on the date after the doctor's murder, and then she disappears," Willow said.

"So where does Amsterdam fit in?" Fred asked.

"You think your earthquake was bad? Here's the flip side of my spell: there are all these girls out there, all ages, all backgrounds with slayer powers. Germany's got a huge demon hunting market. There are sort of demon bounty hunters who are trying to get a hold of them, use them," Willow explained.

"Make slaves out of them!" Fred exclaimed angrily.

"Indiana Jones as a sick evil sugar daddy," Spike noted grimly.

"Brave new world, huh," Angel replied. "So you think this girl somehow got lured to Europe to get sold into demon hunting?"

"A young girl, coming off major league anti-depressants, imprisoned for years, running away from psycho-prison? You bet I do. Besides, I got a big tip from a friend of Giles' in international airline security: a woman got stopped at the gate for a flight from Amsterdam to Los Angeles for carrying wooden stakes. Worse still, no one's seen the guard who frisked her since," Willow said.

Angel shook his head. "Too many unanswered questions. Where's she getting money? ID? Clothes? She's killing for all of this stuff? Willow, you're jumping into an abyss of unknowns here. You need some back up. Let me call Gunn."

"Don't put it to him as an order there, Captain," Spike advised. "He hates you these days."

Angel glanced at Fred and Spike. "Don't you think hate's a little strong?" He sighed again. "Okay, but he's also dying to get his hands dirty again." He turned to Willow. "We're not keeping you from anything if you leave tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Nope. Gives me one more day to enjoy my big bubbly tub at the Wilshire."

"Fred, you see how the lab's doing. Spike, we'll work on getting clues to the real Shanshu amulet. As soon as I hear from Gunn, he and Willow can check out this missing slayer. I could really use an extra pair of hands here. But you're the only ones left," Angel finished. Fred noticed that he didn't say anything about being the only ones he could trust.

***

"Nice save," Spike said finally, breaking their silence of study.

Frustrated, Angel pushed one of the translation volumes across the table. It slipped over the edge and fell to the floor with a bang. He strode over to the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come off it," Spike chided, pushing his chair back. "You love that you've got another shot at it. Or maybe you just want to turn flips over the fact that it's not me who's your prophecy."

Angel slammed his hand against the glass. "I want it to be over, dammit. Now it's not, not by a long shot."

"Join the fucking club -- I'm not only its president, I'm its charter member," Spike answered bitterly.

Angel looked at him with contempt. "You got something out of it. You're human. Your journey's over. Mine hasn't even begun."

"Over?" Spike repeated incredulously. "You're telling me we've got another big bang to look forward to and you're fixing to snuff out the fires this time. Go bloody on then. You'll do it alone."

Angel gave a rueful snort. "Great. You'll fiddle while I burn."

"Seems I've gone from hero to Nero in a blink of your eye," Spike retorted. "Don't you get it? I couldn't hold the torch if I wanted to. If you're right, if there is another fight ahead of us, if we're all in it, I won't even be able to save..." His voice trailed off and he looked away, troubled. "I won't be able to do a fucking thing," he said softly.

Angel remembered the last day he'd been human. It was an accident, like Spike's; only his was the result of mixing his blood with that of a Mohra demon. Angel gave in to the pull of the memory, to recall what it meant to share humanity with Buffy – the joy of it, but also the fear that he couldn't protect her or even fight alongside of her. A fear so strong he'd thought nothing of giving it up when called– allowing her memory of it to be erased in exchange for saving her. He saw that Spike shared these same concerns over Fred.

"You'd give it up?" Angel asked him quietly. "Go back to being a vampire?"

Spike walked towards the door. "I don't spend much time pondering on the what-ifs and might-have-beens," he answered. "You might consider doing the same."

"Thanks," Angel replied sourly, letting the subject drop. So much for bonding with Spike. "Now where are you going?"

"I'm due for a coffee break," Spike announced. "Humanity perk."

"So that's four cigarette breaks, three bathroom breaks, and a coffee break in what, an hour and a half? How did you get any work done with Fred?"

"Listen, boss-man. Way I see it, you're getting off easy. I'm not even a dent on your payroll, who are you to say what hours I'm to put in?" Spike grinned, Angel thought lewdly. "Besides. Never all work with Winifred."

Angel cringed. "I don't need the details."

"Good. I'm not giving them," Spike said indignantly. "But I am in her life, we are together, and you'd better bloody get used to it."

Angel thought about all he really wanted to say to Spike. Then he thought about Fred, about her symptoms of his latest group memory loss, the deletion of all their memories of his son in exchange for Connor's safety. Her headaches and her isolation from the group, which led to her willingness to help Spike, all seemed a less equitable exchange than he'd first imagined.

"How is she doing these days anyway?" Angel asked quietly.

"I thought you didn't want details," Spike said.

"Her headaches, Spike. What's going on there?"

"She still gets them if that's what you mean. Why?"

Angel counted his friends' symptoms on his fingers. "Fred's got headaches, Wesley's not sleeping and Gunn, well, he's more than happy to get away from me. Spike, if I tell you something, do you promise not to say anything to Fred?"

"No. I don't," Spike answered immediately.

Angel looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you at least going to think about it before you decide?"

"All right then." He skipped a beat. "No."

"You've got her, Spike, OK? No contest. All I'm asking for is one confidence kept. I don't have anyone I can talk to about this."

"Got nothing to do with you. I'm just not your man, not if it means hiding something from my girl."

"Oh spare me," Angel groaned, rolling his eyes.

"No, I won't spare you. Down that hall is possibly the finest human being I've yet to meet on this earth, and at over a century, that's saying a bloody lot. You don't have to tell me I don't deserve her, I know I don't. But I'm not about to let anything fuck my chances with her, not you—not myself for that matter. Sure as hell not another apocalypse," he added. "I won't take sides against Fred. But I'll do whatever else I can. Which I'm warning you, because of the way I am now, won't be much." He glanced at Angel uneasily.

Angel considered Spike's offer. "Well, that's something I guess. Although I wish you'd had the crisis of conscience on secret keeping towards the end of the week. But I get it."

"If you've something to say to her, you'd best find a way to say it. I'm no one's go between. I'm off," Spike finished, walking out the door.

"Could you get me a cappuccino?" Angel hollered. But Spike slammed the door on his question.

***

"Just remember," Fred told Knox at the centrifuge. "One of the best chances we've got for future evidence of string theory exists in the idea of superpartners in particle experiments." She smiled at that word "superpartners" and felt the back of her scalp prickle. Despite Spike's recent corporeality, she could still sense when he was nearby. As if on cue, Spike breezed through the lab entrance and straight to her side.

He clapped his hand firmly on Knox's shoulder. "Girl looks a bit crowded there," he smirked.

Knox moved away quickly. "Oh, sure, hi Mr. Spike." He darted into the next room.

Fred poked Spike's stomach with the end of her pen. "That wasn't nice."

"No, but it was fun. I do enjoy watching that boy squirm. But not as much as I enjoy watching you, my beauty." He gazed lovingly in her eyes. "Let me treat you to a coffee, pet?" he asked, leaning into her.

Her cheeks flushed hotly. "Oh, yes please!" She made a few more notes on her clipboard and flashed him a smile. He took her hand and led her out of the lab.

She glanced at him from behind her dark bangs and found him already staring at her, amused, aroused, mischievous. The possessive grip of his hand on hers made all the lonely days of walking alone in hallways worth this thrill. She delighted in the surprised glances they provoked from her more conservative co-workers and the proud swagger of his walk as he escorted her.

She paused in front of the lab's supply closet and unlocked it. "Let me grab some things first."

"Of course."

They entered the closet and fell into each other.

"How's your day?" he asked breathlessly, pulling off her lab coat and kissing her neck.

"Oh, a little slow. How's yours?" she panted, running her hands down his back.

"It's looking up, thanks for asking," he murmured, picking her up and wrapping her around him. He held her like that, slowly pressing and rubbing her warm body enticingly against his. She savored the swell of desire they created between them and nipped his ear.

"Think that'll keep you until lunch?" she whispered.

"It'll have to, won't it?" he said, kissing her once more and backing up from her. "I've half a mind to take you right here, but then I do love you like this, wanting me, waiting for me..." he teased. She leaned her head back against the wall and smiled at him, holding out her hand.

He hooked her fingers with his own. "Something I need to tell you, love. Angel thinks he might have a cure for your headaches."

Fred looked up at him. 'What does he think it is?"

Spike squeezed her hand. "Ah, you know Angel. He's not going to go into any detail with me. But it's in the works. I wanted to tell you up front."

She leaned over and touched his cheek. "I love that. Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To talk to Angel."

"Win!" he protested.

"No, this is ridiculous. I'm getting this settled once and for all."

"Are you sure that's what you really want to do?" he purred.

Before she could move, he grinned wickedly and dropped his head to her hand. With infinite slowness, he flicked the tip of his hot tongue in wet circles across her open palm and around her thumb. Each warm, sensuous lick pulled her closer towards him and further from the demands of the day.

"You're stalling me," she mumbled, closing her eyes and surrendering to the warm insistence of his mouth.

*** "Come on baby," a girl's voice crooned, smoothing the stiff bangs away from Wesley's sweaty forehead.

Wesley opened one badly swollen eye. Restraints around his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles bound him to an otherwise comfortable easy chair. His left arm itched and he saw the lines of intravenous feeding tubes snaking out of him and into the clear liquid filled bags suspended from their metal supports. He'd slept finally, he knew that much, the heavy narcotic still filling him with lassitude. Other events in the past few days registered only foggily in his brain. Lilah came for him and caused an earthquake. Somehow Lilah looked younger and deader all at once. He'd awoken a few times with this strange girl in this strange place and she'd flown into random rages followed by sweet regret. Then Lilah would return with the hypodermic syringe and blissful sleep would claim him again.

Wesley saw the girl lounging on the plush sofa. She glanced over at him and smiled. He motioned at the I.V. "You did this?"

Leah smiled proudly. "Sure did. Couple a weeks ago, I couldn't even follow that E.R. show. Check my shit out. I can keep you living for a long time if I want to." She turned the remote to the giant television. "Now shut up. It's almost time for Jeopardy and I got my championship to defend. Already up to 50 grand this week."

Wesley remembered a fragment of a previous conversation, something about this wild girl and all her knowledge, where it came from. "It's not real, all that information you've got in your head. You didn't work for it. It's merely planted in there," he mumbled.

Leah rummaged into a box of Captain Crunch and stuffed a handful of cereal in her mouth. "It's real enough for me. You know what I knew before this? I knew that a ton of people were gonna die, even my parents. Nobody gave a shit until mommy and daddy bit the bullet for real. Then it got to be my fault."

"Visions," Wes said.

"Fuck yeah, visions. You know what they do with you when you tell 'em vampires killed your parents? They fucking lock you up in the crazy house and throw away the key. Our sweet Lilah was the only one who believed me and fucking a lot of good she did," Leah paused and walked over to Wesley, straddling him on the chair. "And you fucking killed her."

Wesley dropped his head and steadied himself for the blow to come, for no matter how he tried to explain himself to this girl, their conversations always came to this. Always back to Lilah and the things he did with her, did to her. At this point, the girl would either beat him or drug him. Tonight, however, she licked his bruised mouth.

"I see you ain't gonna let me watch my show," she sighed. "So I got a show for you." She jumped off him and turned to the huge media cabinet next to the television, clapping her hands with glee.

"I fucking love this shit. I never even knew how to program a VCR. What did I need with that, ya know? Now let me see. Oh, yeah, here we go. I caught this today when you were having your afternoon nap." She flipped a few switches and the film of a security camera flashed on the screen.

He realized that the feed came directly from Wolfram & Hart. First he saw Angel and Spike in Angel's office, surrounded by books. He next saw Spike in the lab, squeezing Fred's hip and escorting her down the hall. Fred opened the door to the supply closet and fell into Spike's arms, allowing him to undress her under the watchful eye of the hidden camera. Sickened, Wes looked away.

Leah looked over at him and laughed. "These two been going at it all over that office. Bunnies got nothin' on 'em. Awww," she droned in mock sympathy, sauntering over to him. "See what happens when you fuck with the Morgan sisters?"

He looked up at her. "Sisters? You're, you're Lilah's sister." Suddenly, the face, the rage, even the muffled recollections of what she did to him after she drugged him, all fit into place.

"Well, duh," Leah answered. "I'm Leah. Almost like Lilah. You don't gotta learn a new name for me, baby."

"And," he thought of her strength, the story about the vampires, the visions. "You're a slayer. That's why she didn't keep in touch with you; she knew that if she brought you here that they'd use you. Leah, she didn't leave you, she was trying to protect you. I used to be a watcher," Wes tried to explain, but she belted him across the mouth and he tasted hot blood run down his throat.

"Shut up!" she hollered. "It doesn't fucking matter because I'm gonna make that bitch burn. You killed her and I get to damn her. Once I finish these jobs, I get to see her one last time and make sure she fries."

He shook his head and struggled to think against the pain and the grogginess. "Leah, it doesn't work that way. She's already damned. She signed a contract. Don't you see? Wolfram & Hart are using you. I'll help you, just let me go."

She picked up the syringe on the coffee table and inserted it into his I.V. "But sweetie," she protested patiently. "You are Wolfram & Hart. What a fucking buzzkill. Here I thought for once you were gonna be a little more fun," she muttered.

He felt the wave of the drug course through his veins. Must be a morphine derivative, he thought weakly, I'm starting to crave it. "They'll come for me," he struggled to tell her as the darkness overtook him. "My friends, they'll find me."

"Come tomorrow, I'll be the only friend you got left, baby," she whispered in Lilah's voice and shoved her tongue into his slack mouth.

*** "Come on, love. You know Angel's not a top batter with pitches coming out of left field," Spike said, following Fred down the hall to Angel's office the next day. "He won't be expecting this."

"Well, good! Maybe I'll get the truth then. I would've done this yesterday, if it weren't for your smoochy powers of persuasion. Made my head all woozy and forgot what I was doing," she said, trying to sound grumpier than she actually felt.

Spike moved in front of her, pressing his chest against her breasts. "Home run, love. Crowd went wild as I recall." She maneuvered around him and headed for the door.

Harmony stopped them. "Sorry, private meeting," she sang. She took a breath and looked ready to burst with news. "But you won't guess in a million years who it is."

"Rather negates the whole concept of a 'private' meeting, don't you think, Harm?" asked Spike.

Harmony ignored him. "It's Lilah Morgan's sister!"

Fred's mouth dropped open in shock. "Sister? Wait, you know about Lilah?"

Harmony rolled her eyes. "Like, duh, it's all anybody could talk about until he came along." She glared at Spike. "Anyway, the girl showed up this morning looking for Lilah, like she's going to pop out any minute with her head still on."

"Ouch," Fred said.

"Eve's in there too, so you'll have to take a seat," Harmony said, returning to her desk.

Angel and Eve came out of his office arguing.

"The girl's an innocent, I'm telling you. She looks like a choir girl, for God's sake," Angel began.

"It's a bad idea, especially with the demon not here to read her," Eve said.

"This girl didn't even know her sister was dead twenty minutes ago. She's in a strange city, no money, no job, and no family. I'll find some work for her to do. She can help around the office."

"Boss!" Harmony pouted. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

"So give her a few dollars and send her on her way," Eve advised, squinting up at him. "You're thinking with your heart again. Sure this isn't a little misplaced guilt for the ones who got away?"

"What would you know about heart, Eve?" Angel retorted. "The girl stays for as long as she needs to. You got a problem with that you could take an early lunch. Or an all-day lunch. Your call."

He picked up his coffee mug waiting on Harmony's desk and slugged deeply from its contents. Suddenly, he clutched his throat and sent the cup tumbling to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked, running to his side.

"Dead. Blood. Dead," Angel gurgled in response, the little color left in his face fading to pasty white. He tumbled to the floor. Fred struggled to prop him up.

Spike picked up the cup and sniffed it. "Balls, I can't tell. If it is dead blood, he needs to feed and fast. Do something!" Spike yelled to Eve, who watched them curiously.

Eve shrugged, suspiciously nonchalant about pulling out her cell phone. "I'll get a medical team on its way," she said briskly. "But there's nothing more I can do. Harmony brought that cup straight from this morning's first delivery. If the whole company's blood supply is poisoned, we've got more trouble on our hands than our champion there." She walked swiftly away from the office with the cell phone glued to her ear.

"Bloody fucking lot of help she is," Spike muttered. "He's bad, isn't he?"

Fred snapped her head up in realization. "The lab. I have fresh blood in the lab, for experiments, it isn't the same supply."

Spike took Angel's body from her hands. "Go. But be safe about it."

Fred ran from Angel's office and saw the entire building erupt into chaos before her. Medical personnel ran through the halls with transfusion equipment. A steady stream of business-suited associates darted around her and hurried towards the emergency exits. She tried to ignore the insistent buzzing of the pager in her lab coat pocket.

"The whole department wants out of here," Knox told her when she reached the lab. "Vampires are dropping like flies all over the building and some of them are feeding to save themselves. It's only a matter of time until they find our stash."

"Then it is the whole blood supply," Fred whispered helplessly. She needed to save Angel, she needed to help her department, and she needed to find the cause of this horrible attack.

"Oh, boy," she muttered. "This to-do list is officially over my head." She took a deep breath. "Go. Anyone who wants to leave can go. Locking down the whole building would be a death sentence at this point. Be careful." She went to the cooler and pulled out all the bags of blood, placed them in an insulated bag and shut it in a leaded supply chest. She headed for the door and ran into Eve.

"Looks like you're in charge. What do you want to do?" Eve asked, holding a walkie-talkie. "Lockdown?"

Thoughts raced through Fred's mind, all competing for what to do first. "No, only the science lab and the medical floor," she answered. She finally reached for her pager as it went off again and saw that ten messages waited for her.

Eve raised her eyebrows. "Really? You'll risk letting the cause of this whole mess waltz out the door?"

Fred threw the pager on her desk. "I don't know what else to do!" she blurted. "Spike's with Angel. I have to call Charles, get him back here."

Eve's expression turned solemn. "I take it you didn't check all your messages yet?"

Fred's mouth turned dry. "What?"

"There's been an accident, Charles and Willow. This morning, two of their tires spun off while they were on the highway. They're alive, don't worry, but Willow's got a concussion, Charles has a broken leg, and the Benz is totaled. I'd make arrangements to send them here to the medical floor but we're a little full at the moment."

Fred sunk into a desk chair. "No, no, they're safer in the hospital. My God, what's happening here?"

Eve placed the walkie-talkie on Fred's desk. "This will put you in touch with whoever's left on the company's security team." Next to it she laid a silver pistol. "This will put you in touch with your own personal security team."

"What are you doing?" Fred asked, taking in the picture of the radio and the gun. They each represented some unknown horrible choice, neither of which she wanted to make.

"I'm getting out of here, sweetie. Sorry. I know you bunk with an ex- vampire but I don't find biting all that kinky," Eve said dryly.

Fred stared at the pistol, its metallic surface capturing her distorted reflection. "A gun won't kill vampires."

Eve shrugged. "Who said you needed to kill any vampires? Like I said, you're in charge. Don't think your SuperSpike's going to be all that helpful – now that he's human, his superpowers got a pocket full of kryptonite."

Fred glared at her. "And why should I trust you?" she spat.

Eve smiled and stalked out the door, pausing at the doorway. "Who else do you have?"

Fred felt her cell phone vibrate in her other pocket and she wanted nothing more but to smash it against the wall, scream, and run away. She clenched the edge of the desk to steady herself. She didn't even glance at the number before answering it.

"...She didn't give me enough, Fred, I need it."

"Wesley? Where are you?" Fred asked in surprise.

"She knew how to administer it, but she didn't know to increase the dosage. Never underestimate the power of an addiction," Wesley continued drunkenly.

"Wesley, you're not making any sense. I thought you went to England, what's going on?" She pulled the phone away and looked at the unfamiliar number on the phone's display. She jotted it down on her memo pad with a red Sharpie marker, and his name beside it with a huge question mark.

"Is she there? Lilah's sister?" he gasped.

Fred's hand stopped its nervous doodling. The memo paper bled with red ink. She suddenly remembered the mysterious visitor in Angel's office, who entered when all of this craziness began. "Yes."

"Find her. I need, one more shot, then, then I can help you---" She heard the receiver of the phone bang to the floor.

"Wesley!" she screamed. She put her hand over her mouth. She'd left Spike back at Angel's office, both of them alone with that girl.

With shaking hands, she ripped the memo paper off its pad and wrapped her cell phone around it, placing both in her pocket. The security announcements blasting from the walkie-talkie slowly died away and the emptiness of the building yawned over her. She picked up both the radio and the gun and locked the lab doors behind her.

He strained to bring himself back to consciousness, recognizing his prone body on what felt like a stiff hospital mattress. He first heard the desperate static messages through what sounded like a radio: Centcom breach, repeat centcom breach. Hostile attack, repeat, hostile attack, abort defense... He squinted weakly through blurred vision and saw a bloodied two-way radio on the rough blanket that covered him. The radio's former owner, a dead body in a security uniform, lay in the corner of the room with several arrows protruding from the chest. He realized that he lay in Cordelia's room of the WRH medical ward, his bed beside the still- unconscious woman. He tried to move his arm and found his muscles non- responsive, temporarily atrophied from the tainted blood he'd consumed. His eyes flew open in alarm when he registered Spike standing over him. I'll kill him for this stunt, Angel seethed. He won't get a second chance to kill me.

"She'll kill me if I stain this," Spike muttered, rolling down the sleeve of his blue shirt and buttoning the cuff back around his wrist. He noticed Angel's responsiveness and frowned. "Don't look at me like that. Spike's Buffet of Blood's officially closed for business."

Angel swallowed and recognized the aftertaste of human blood on his tongue. "You?" he managed to gasp in surprise.

Spike shrugged. "Until our go-to girl gets back from the lab with a fresh batch, that's all you'll get from me. Wish she'd pick up already." Spike shook the radio, flicked knobs and spun a few of its dials. One channel elicited a man's gurgling scream. "Misery after bloody misery on every station. Pity there's no soothing polka for you," he added wryly, setting it back on the bed.

Angel nodded towards the dead guard. "Who?"

"That was your security detail. Looks like I'm it now."

"Phones?"

"Dead like every other bloody thing."

"The girl?"

"Yeah, except for her. She's disappeared, although I wouldn't be surprised if she's what they're calling the hostile attack. Not your best judgment of character on that one," Spike said.

Angel groaned and closed his eyes, willing his strength to return. "Got –to—get –up."

He felt Spike steady his bicep that vibrated with the effort of trying to move. "You can't. She poisoned you and every other vamp. Enough to put you down for the count and let her wreak bloody chaos."

Angel sunk back into the mattress. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"She's a hired hand, I suspect. Nothing like a little outsourcing to test out the champion, see if the weeble will wobble but won't fall down," Spike started. Angel managed to shake his head.

"No, you. Saved me."

"Oh, that," Spike replied. He picked up the radio and flipped another dial. "Keep it to yourself."

Fred tore through the empty hallways with the secured cooler of blood, cringing at every corner before racing past, silently praying that nothing would divert her from her mission. She heard the radio hiss and crackle in her hand as she made her way to Angel's office, unsure what she would find, and if she'd have anyone left to save. She paused to flip another switch on the radio and heard Spike's voice clear as day.

"What are you doing in here?" she heard him ask.

"You're not going to save him sweetie," Fred heard a girl's voice tell him. "You're going to kill him and then the girlfriend. I'm gonna watch and so's your science girl. Be sure you smile pretty for that camera over my shoulder. She'll need proof why you need to die. Maybe she'll even do it for me." Fred's heart pounded in alarm when she realized that the girl had trapped them all in Cordy's room on the hospital floor.

"You don't know me, ducks," Fred heard Spike answer. "I don't take orders very well."

The click of the release and whirring fire of what sounded like a crossbow blared across the connection. Fred wavered in one of the hallways in shock at hearing the sound.

"Slayer wanna-be are you? Killed two slayers in my day, love. And you know what they say. Third time's a charm." Tears of relief sprung to Fred's eyes when she heard Spike's response. She heard a scuffle and the clatter of the radio as it hit the floor.

"Spike, oh no, what are you doing?" Fred whispered. "You can't take her, you're not strong enough any more." But if Lilah's sister could find a way to the medical floor, so could Fred. She raced up the back stairwell.

The door to the ward stood wide open, despite Fred's call for a lockdown. She realized that the body of a dead guard kept it propped ajar. Trying not to look at the body, Fred placed the radio on the floor of the hallway and crept cautiously through, her hand never leaving the cool steel of the pistol in her pocket. She left the container of blood next to the door of Cordelia's room.

She peeked through the small glass window of the door, seeing Angel in a bed next to Cordy. He caught sight of Fred and his eyes flashed at her warningly, staring pointedly down at the floor and back to her. Fred drew a deep breath and eased open the hospital room door. Spike lay sprawled on the floor, writhing and gasping for air, while Lilah's sister straddled his chest. She banged his bloodying head against the gray tile floor and squeezed his neck with both hands. Fred saw Spike's face beginning to turn blue, the girl's grip around his throat turning the skin purple with constriction.

"Like being human, baby?" Lilah's sister asked through clenched teeth. "You got to breathe these days."

"You don't," Fred muttered. "Ever again."

Hearing the voice, the girl whipped around to look behind her and Fred advanced, steadying the gun in her hands. The girl lunged towards her and Fred applied steady pressure to the trigger of the gun, emptying the cartridge into the girl's chest, feeling each shot shake her with the release of the gauge. She watched the bullets leave her hand and disappear slowly between the folds of lace appliqués of the girl's conservative white blouse. The force of the shots threw the girl's body backwards.

"Lilah," the girl whispered, her eyes glazing over with death as the arterial blood drenched through the lace.

The pistol still clicked uselessly in Fred's hand. For Spike, for Angel, for Gunn, for Wesley, for Cordelia, for Jasmine, for Seidel, for Connor... Connor? Who, what was Connor? Then the headache pierced like bright sunlight through her eyes, tore pain through her head. She forced her eyes open to look at Spike, whose hand closed over her hand that fired the empty gun, whose lips were moving but made no sound. She slowly considered the gun in her hand and flung it across the room, watching it spin muzzle over trigger before splitting against the wall.

She turned blindly back to the door and heard herself say, "We have to save Wesley now."

Her words sounded deep and liquid, echoing in her ears behind the searing pain. She tried to concentrate on Spike's desperate expression, tried to make words out of the meaningless movement of his mouth. Dully, she felt his hands grasp her shoulders, felt him shake her. She watched him grip her arms and expected to see her own blood spurt from beneath his fingers from what she knew must be deep pressure. She reached for the door handle and the room tilted wildly on its side, while Spike's face zoomed away from her through a frame of darkness.

"It's okay," she said calmly, feeling the cool tile of the floor connect with her cheek. "I'll be right back."