Strange Bedfellows
by Alixtii

"What's more real? A sick girl in an institution? Or some kind of super girl, chosen to fight demons and save the world. That's ridiculous. A girl who sleeps with a vampire she hates. Yeah, that makes sense. "

—Buffy, in "Normal Again"

Los Angeles, California—December 2002

Lydia held her cross tightly as she made her way through the darkness. With the sun blotted out in L.A., people had been leaving in hordes, and the place had become overrampant with vampires and other demons who enjoyed the constant cover of darkness. But what she needed was in L.A. She would have braved as many hordes of demons as necessary in order to find out what she needed to know.

Here was the building she wanted: the Hyperion Hotel. She entered.

And who should she see but Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. She should have known this wasn't going to be easy. "Lydia," he greeted her without any warmth.

"Wesley," she echoed in the same intonation. For a moment, they just looked daggers at each other, and then Wesley spoke.

"As you can see," he said, "we are far too busy right now for the Council to interfere. We have a...situation on our hands."

"An apocalypse," Lydia corrected. Wesley nodded, accepting the term. "The Council is gone, Wesley—destroyed," she told him. "Haven't you heard?"

Wesley looked up at her, in shock. Then he seemed to gain control of himself and his features regained their granite impassivity. "As I said, we have been busy, Lydia."

Still, Lydia could the see the question which played across his face, as impassive as he tried to make it. And the struggle he was going through to not ask it.

So Lydia answered it for him. "Your father is fine. He wasn't in the Council building when it blew." Wesley didn't say a word, just looked at her expectantly, to explain her own presence. "But I was. I was standing mere feet away from Quentin Travers, and now there is nothing left of him but dust and ash. He was vaporized in the force of the explosion. All of them—destroyed utterly. Except me."

"And you want to know why you were saved."

"Krevlornswath, he's here. I need to see the Anagogic."

"He's not seeing clients currently. As I said, we have other concerns that—"

"Wesley," she let her voice display some of the desperation she felt, "I need to know. I came all the way from London, through that interminable darkness out there, to find out. You can't turn me away, now."

"Don't worry, sweetcheeks," came a voice from the stairs. "Ol' Wes won't turn you away. After all, we help the helpless. That's what we do, isn't it?" Lydia turned with relief to see the green-skinned demon descending from the steps.

"Miss Chalmers is most certainly not helpless," Wesley pointed out.

"Sure, but everybody needs a little extra help sometime, right? Why don't you sing a little something for me?"

Lydia nodded, with relief, and began to sing in a soft voice which came from her lower registers:

"One Tin Soldier" words and music by Dennis Lambert and Brian Potter. Lyrics deleted due to this site's policy.

The demon nodded. "Classic survivor guilt. The Powers intervene to save your life, and you wonder 'why me?'. Why not—Quentin Travers?"

Lydia nodded. "My mentor," she explained.

"Well, I can't tell you why you lived and this Quentin chap died. Why the Powers choose who they choose—not my business. All I know is they have plans for you, and they didn't involve you blowing up in a building with a bunch of stuffy British guys. No offense to you or Wes."

"None taken," said Wes as he continued to do whatever he had been doing.

"And what are those plans?" Lydia insisted. "Do they want to use me for good, or ill?"

"Well, that's where you come in," explained the demon. "A pesky little thing humans have. It's called free will. You want my advice, don't go around looking gift horses in the mouth. Sometimes, they bite. You're alive—take advantage of it." Suddenly, he turned somber. "It's been coming to you, hasn't it?"

Lydia nodded. "The First Evil. It's been taking his form. Telling me—" She paused, then began to speak again. "He told me that he's what saved me. That I was going to destroy the world. Is it true?"

Lorne looked pained. "Look, I don't know exactly who it was upstairs that engineered your little not-dying thing. But if it was this First Evil, it's up to you to make sure that it gets more than it bargained for." He sighed. "You know, I think you would benefit from a talk with the broody guy."

A Watcher taking council from a vampire? It was absurd. To her surprise, however, she found herself agreeing. She wasn't a Watcher anymore, anyway, and her world had already been turned upside down.

Los Angeles, California—December 2003

"Is something wrong, honey? You look worried."

"I am worried," said Eve. "What if they find out about Spike, about what we did? What then, Lindsey?"

"They?"

"The Senior Partners," clarified Eve. "If they found out, you know what will happen."

Lindsey stood up and walked over to eve, put his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "They won't find out," he promised her. "This is what we wanted to happen. They're taking notice. That's good."

Eve pulled away, breaking free from Lindsey's embrace. "They've noticed. The Shanshu plays a large part in their plans—whatever those plans are—and we've interfered with that. And now there's a third ensouled vampire."

"A third?" The incredulity in Lindsey's voice was apparent.

"Another Aurelian," explained Eve. "Angel's childe; Spike's sire."

"Drusilla," Lindsey said. There was a hardness, an edge.

"You know her?" asked Eve.

"She revamped Darla," answered Lindsey, letting it stay at that.

Eve frowned. Darla. Although her name was seldom mentioned, Eve kept on coming into contact with the vampire's shadow. Even after the events on Hallowe'en, which neither she nor Angel had any real control over, she had heard all those whispered quips about how it was always blondes.

"She has a soul now," Eve told Lindsey. "The Senior Partners want me to—I don't even know what it is they want me to do! But they're keeping an eye on me, and on Spike. They are going to figure something out. Or else Drusilla will do what they don't want her to do and I'm going to take the fall."

"Don't talk like that," said Lindsey. "The Senior Partners don't own you, not any longer. Whatever happens, I'll protect you."

But as Lindsey held her in his strong arms, Eve wondered if even he could protect her from the wrath of the Senior Partners. Whatever Lindsey thought, whatever Eve wanted to believe, the truth was, they did still own her.

Somewhere in Africa...

"Riley?"

"Finally, you're awake," Riley said with relief. Catelyn had scared him; he knew she had been weakened from Yr-a't-kr's energy-sucking thing and had feared she would not wake. Catelyn was his friend, and he did not want to see her come to harm. Besides, she was his only link to Sam now, the only chance of expelling the demon who now controlled his wife's body. "Drink this," he said, holding a flask of hot tea to Catelyn's lips. It was a special blend that Sam and he had learned to make while on operation in China.

Catelyn drank it, then coughed. She tried to get up, but Riley put his hand on her shoulder, suddenly very conscious of the physicality of the gesture. "You're still weak," he told her. "You need to rest."

"Where's Sam?" Catelyn asked.

Riley gestured towards the wall of fallen rock. "Still behind there, I would guess," he said. "I don't know how long it's going to hold her—it."

"I need to perform an exorcism, get that thing out of Sam," Catelyn insisted. "Before it gets any stronger."

"You won't be doing anything until you get stronger yourself," Riley answered. "You're in no condition to exorcise anything. Here, have some more tea." He handed her the flask, and she drank a long sip from it.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling herself up—then stopped mid-gesture and laid down again. "Okay, maybe not," she admitted. "My head is swimming. What did that thing do to me?"

"I don't know," answered Riley. "But whatever it was, it can't get to us—yet. You should take advantage of the lull, we don't know how long it'll last."

"Sound advice." Catelyn looked at him. "You happen to have any food?"

Riley nodded, pulled a ration bar out of his backpack, and handed it to her. She looked at it and made a face, but ate it anyway. "Wouldn't want to have to perform the exorcism on an empty stomach. Let's just hope the demon gives me 15 minutes to digest, or I might get the bends." Catelyn looked at him again, and then let the mock-happy face drop, her features softening. "I appreciate this, you know," she said.

"What?"

"Looking after me like this," she said. "Caring for me."

Riley looked at her, in surprise. "Of course," he said. "It goes without saying. What are friends for?"

Catelyn only smiled and lay on the floor, regaining her strength.

Los Angeles, California

Faith emerged from the bathroom dressed in a pink bathrobe. In response to Spike's incredulous eyebrow-raise, she shrugged. "It's the hotel's," she explained.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," said Spike, raising his arms. "You're an adult. You can wear the color of marshmallow bunny rabbits if that's what you want. Just don't expect me to be intimidated."

Faith shrugged. "I'm off-duty. Only vamp I care about right now is in my hotel room and has a soul."

"You're keeping the ponce in your closet?"

Faith smiled, sat down on the hotel bed, made a show of looking at the alarm clock the hotel had placed on the nightstand. "You know," she said, "if you leave now you can probably get to Harmony's in time for a good shag."

Spike shook his head. "She's starting to complain. How I take her for granted, and how I'm only thinking of Buffy whenever I make love to her. Which is true, of course. How I should feel sorry for the way I used her when we were going steady—"

"You were actually dating her?"

"That was before I got my soul," explained Spike.

"Ah. I see," Faith said, then laughed. "Doesn't appreciate the value of the stress-relief shag, does she?"

"No," agreed Spike. "She's a clinger. Dependent."

Faith shrugged. "Maybe you should find someone who does. Not everyone minds being used, especially by someone as good looking as you. Being beautiful doesn't have to be a curse--believe me, I know."

Spike only shrugged back. "I don't know. Dru and me, we were soulless, amoral creatures. We took what we wanted when we wanted, only somehow we kept up coming back to each other. Until Buffy, of course. And then everything changed. A shag doesn't mean to me what it used to mean."

"That's what I told to myself. I mean, long incarceration, not many options other than Celia the Cellmate. And then I got out, told myself I was turning over a new leaf, going to devote myself to one guy at a time…Robin was driving me crazy by the second week. It seems a leopard can't change its spots."

"At least you know it's spots," Spike muttered to himself.

"Excuse?"

"Nothing," answered Spike. "Just something Harmony said."

"Look," said Faith, "I know you're all reformed and all, but then, so am I. Just because we're not evil anymore doesn't mean we have to get married before we fuck. At least, it better not mean that, or I'm turning evil again."

"We did get the better tunes then, didn't we?"

Somewhere in Romania…

"What is it, Amanda?" Dawn asked.

"We need to get away from here," said Amanda. "Remember? Drusilla is after us."

"We need to find Buffy," said Dawn. "Get her to help us."

"There's no time. We need to get to L.A. Now."

"Right now?"

"If we could."

"I can get us there, if we have to."

"You can?"

Dawn nodded. "A teleportation spell I saw Willow use. Don't tell anyone; they don't let me use any magicks, and teleportation spells are stronger than most. I know I can do it, though."

"You do."

Dawn nodded, a mischievous look on her face. "I might have used it to slip out of the house once or twice."

Amanda smiled. "What a wicked girl. You can do it now?"

Dawn nodded. "I can. Discede!"

And there they stood, in a hotel room. Faint, Dawn collapsed on the bed. Amanda sat down next to her.

"That will do," she said.