One image continued to play itself over and over in Spike's mind.

It was driving him mad, but he couldn't tell Fred.

Not that it wasn't something she should be told, but she looked so peaceful in her sleep that he dared not disturb her. Last time he did that a little bit of Ilyria had come out, and he really didn't want to chance bringing back old blue. Not only, he felt, would the demon God be supremely pissed off, but he suspected that it wouldn't allow Fred to continue existing… if it really was her at all.
This was another thought that was playing through his one-hundred and something year old brain – Ilyria had been able to emulate Fred before, what if this was just some manifestation of the demon? Could this be a ploy to gain his trust, to deceive him, or maybe the demon had reverted to her personality to protect itself somehow? I might be hiding… these were fairly deep and philosophical-psychological stuff and nonsense that Angel and his little band of followers seemed better equipped to look into.

Unfortunately, it appeared that he and Fred were the only ones left.

And the image came back to haunt him – the pain accompanying it made his head spin and agonizingly empty stomach reel.

He definitely needed a drink.

An inhuman shriek ripped the air in half, bursting the aching silence of the darkness, followed by cruel, hysterical laughter. The sound of a whip rang out and another cry was torn loose of the chained and bleeding captive surrounded by his pitiless tormentors.

Gasping for air, he struggled to remain upright, to defy his captors, to keep his dignity.

They could make him scream, and they could make him bleed, but they could never make him do what they wanted him to do. He wouldn't. He couldn't. But they didn't believe that – they knew that every being has their limit, everything has its price, and it's only a matter of being patient and let the beast within devour.

He would break, he would mewl, and he would do their bidding.

The demons around him were just getting started, and their entertainment would prove to be just that – entertaining.

Very good entertainment.

She could hear Spike talking to himself. Well, not really talking, more like muttering and strange sobbing sounds. It was pitiful that he should show such weakness.

Fred stopped – had she just thought that? How could she think such a thing – showing grief for the loss of Charles and possibly everyone else… how was that a weakness?

It was just this amnesia that was messing with her head.
She needed to find out what had happened to her – with that Ilyria virus that had taken hold of her – and to Wesley.

Her heart broke remembering how wretched and forlorn he had looked as she lay in that hospital bed slowly dying, watching her deteriorate into that thing. He had promised her that he would bring her back, that he would find her and be with her forever, in this life or the next one. She believed him.

"… Is mine, I want it – but it won't come for me… it's pointless… see?"

Fred looked over at Spike – his hands were anxiously pulling at his hair, his face hidden from her view. He was speaking nonsense still… he had mentioned once to her, in private, that he spoke to things that weren't there when he went crazy after getting his soul back. Was he wigging out again?

She smiled slightly at the phrase; it was one of Gunn's favourites.

The smile quickly turned to a sniffle of sorrow.

'But now he is gone – it is irrelevant what his words were. It is desirous now to commit much violence to avenge him and Wesley,' said a strange and powerful voice.

'Avenge them… yes. No! Wesley isn't dead.'

'Of course he is – he died in my arms, looking upon your face.'

'What?'

'He was happy. He did not die needlessly – he killed the sorcerer. He was brave.'

'No, no no no no! Wesley isn't dead.'

'This blubbering and wailing will not avenge him nor bring him back again.'

'Shut up!'

'If you raise your voice louder someone will hear.'

'He can't be dead.'

'Or are you planning to awaken his soul with this pathetic salting? Quiet!'

'Shut up, you, shut up!'

'Why can you not accept his death,' the voice asked softly.

'Because I love him – not that you'd understand.'

There was a pause, 'I believe that is not true. I felt substantial and overwhelming sorrow at his passing. He was my guide. I…enjoyed his teachings.'

Fred gulped and lapped into silence.

The only sounds were that of creaking, rodents squeaking, and the incomprehensible muttered poetry of Spike.