Devlin and Spike deal with the morning after. A flashback to when Jeta was sired. And Wesley worries about moles at W&H.

"I saw you kill her!," Debbie screams, pushing Devlin away.

"Kill who?"

"That Slayer."

"Hilda? You saw me kill — I was just dreaming about the exact same thing."

"So that's how it works? Once asleep, you go back to being your same old evil self?"

"I was a different man then."

"How did it make you feel? Right now, how did it make you feel?"

"Ashamed. And proud." Debbie reaches for the door. "I'm being honest! Should I have lied and said I was completely repulsed? Is that what you want to hear?"

"No. But it was what I needed to hear. I can't believe I've deluded myself."

"Our relationship is not a delusion. The past five months are not a delusion. They're real. We're real."

"So was Hilda."

"She was business."

"Bullshit! The way you tortured her, raped her - none of that was business. You were making her suffer, and having the time of your life doing it."

"Those were tactics meant to scare the enemy. Buffy's Slayers are prepared to die. But they're not prepared to die like that. Word gets out, and girls start thinking of dropping out."

"On some level, maybe. But at that moment, you were having fun. You got off on doing some really sick things."

"You've always known about my past."

"But I've never experienced it," she says, trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears. "When you did those things to her, you also did them to me." Dev hangs his head and steps back.

"Those bastards. Those fucking bastards."

"What bastards? You can't make excuses about this one."

"They made you dream it. They put it in your head."

"Who?"

"Buffy and Willow. It's her way of getting back. They want to separate us."

"With the truth. How devious," she sarcastically comments.

"This is playing dirty. This isn't fair. Buffy's enemies didn't make her experience Spike's or Angel's bad deeds. She didn't get raped and killed by them in her dreams. If she had, well — it's one thing to know, it's a whole other to experience. And if you walk out that door, you'll be letting them win."

"I don't believe it. You won't even take responsibility."

"I'm not that man. I've changed."

"Apparently, not enough." She leaves and slams the door.

Claire wakes up and notices the bed's empty. She figures Spike left before sunrise. Then she sees him across the room, just standing there with her back to him. He has on his pants, but no shirt. "What are you looking at?," she asks, knowing he can't look outside. Spike turns around.

"Not you. Too worried about getting tempted." She smiles and walks over.

"Why? You weren't worried last night."

"That's not wut I meant, luv."

"Oh." She looks worried. "Y-y-you wanted to bite me? It's okay. I can see how biting and fucking could become juxtaposed and confused. But the important thing is that you didn't."

"Cuz I wus over here. If I had stayed in bed. God, you smell great." She smiles and puts her hands on his chest. Spike can tell she's turned on by the danger.

"When was the last time you ate? Or, drank. Blood."

"I dunno. Yesterday afternoon."

"That's it! You were just hungry. There's a butcher a few blocks from here. I'll get you some . . . what kind?"

"Pig's blood'll do."

"How much?"

"A litre."

"Okay. Wait here." She laughs. "Like you have a choice."

"I can do it myself. Just give me one of your blankets."

"You think I'm gonna let you leave? Go shower or something." She smiles and bites her lower lip. "Yeah, that sounds nice." She puts on a pair of her jeans and grabs his black t-shirt. "You mind?" She puts it on and grabs her wallet. "You can have some of my pot while you're waiting. Can you get stoned? I know you don't breathe, but then again you smoke." She shakes her head at this seeming contradiction and leaves.

After their argument, Debbie went and played the slot machines, while Dev hung around the roulette table before heading out. He had a pre-planned pre-dawn meeting to attend. Three expensively and flamboyantly-dressed vampires approach Dev. Each of them has an assistant who remains about thirty feet back. "That was quite the lucrative mess you made tonight," Chip tells Dev.

"How lucrative?"

"Lucrative enough for us to play nice with you, even though you're going after our own kind," Gomez responds.

"That sounds like a threat."

"You wanna step on up?," Muggs asks. "We ain't afraid of your Slayer. Hell, we already got two in this town. Hasn't even cramped my style."

"Because you're smart, and they're naive. I don't swat flies. I don't save damsels and leave the big dogs kicking back safely in their crypts. I go to the source."

"Now THAT sounds like a threat."

"She knows where you sleep during the day. Need I say more?"

"Hey guys, settle down," Chip cautions. "We're all businessmen."

"Ten thousand. Each," Dev requests. They blanch.

"Maybe if you take out those two Slayers," Gomez suggests.

"I thought they weren't a problem?"

"Not yet."

"Then call me back when they are. In the meantime, I'd like my cut. Bubba controlled five casinos. That's a lot of dues-paying vampires. Not to mention protection money from houses to keep those dues-paying vampires on a leash."

"I can go up to seven," Muggs reports.

"It's a long way down to the ground from your room. About nine stories, if I remember correctly. There's a window washer who comes by every day around 2:15. Debbie shouldn't have much trouble requisitioning it. Smash and dust. Not to single you out. Chip, I hear your doorman Barry is very susceptible to bribes. Slip him a c-note and he'll send anyone up without even a warning to your guards." The vampires look at each other and decide it's not worth calling Devlin's bluff. They also look suspiciously back at their assistants, wondering who in their organizations are snitching to this guy.

"Consider it a gesture of thanks," Gomez replies. "Provided you never return."

"Truth be told, I've never liked this town. Too much illusion, but not enough make believe." This confuses the vampires. "Here are the routing numbers for the accounts." Dev hands out slips of paper, and everyone's on their way. As the sun inches above the horizon, Devlin meets Johnny under a bridge. "Did you have a good night, Johnny?"

"Definitely. It was a little tough to turn on Bubba, but I landed on my feet. All these years paying bosses, and now they're paying me."

"How much?"

"Enough."

"Five?"

"No. Three."

"Three times three plus one is ten thousand. How bout pushing a deuce my way?"

Johnny laughs. "What's the matter? The big boys stiff you?"

"What they gave me's real money. The kind that goes in a bank. I need some walking around cash."

"That wasn't part of the deal." Dev puts his left hand around the vampire's throat and picks him up.

"You're lucky I don't ask for all of it." He tosses Johnny to the ground. Johnny slowly gets up, brushes himself off, takes off his money belt and counts out two thousand dollars. He chuckles. "I figured you for a pushover. What vampire with any balls would let a Slayer lead him around by the neck?"

"The kind who's got the balls to kill one."

"Is that how it works?"

"They gotta respect you." Dev takes the money, which happens to be twice what he paid Johnny to betray Bubba. That's why Devlin insisted on squeezing out what to him is chump change. That, and Dev needed something to do to pass the time now that Debbie didn't want to be around him.

David enters Claire's room, carrying a package in his right hand. He hears someone in the bathroom. "Claire?" Spike walks out, completely naked. David's jaw drops.

"Can I help you?"

"Ahhh, ahhhh, i-is Claire here?"

"She went to the store. She'll be back soon."

"Ahh, okay. I'll leave this for her." He drops the package down on the bed. Spike puts a towel around his waist.

"How'd did that funeral go without the body?"

"Fine. They didn't notice the difference. Tell Angel thanks."

"You can tell him yourself. Didn't he leave his number?"

"Uhh . . . I guess. I suppose he did." David momentarily lost his train of while imagining a naked Angel emerging from the shower.

"Okay then. Cheers." Spike turns around, takes off the towel and dries his hair. David tilts his head and watches Spike walk into the bathroom before leaving. He sees Claire outside.

"David. You look . . . flush."

"Something came for you. I left it in your room. Which, to my extreme surprise, contained a vampire."

"Spike wasn't rude to you?"

"Hardly. He was very, open. But it was quite a shock."

"I met him at the reading last night. He writes poetry."

"Oh. How, strangely sensitive." He had pegged Angel as the sensitive vampire of letters.

"It's just a thing. We're not dating." Though, given her previous breakups, going steady with Spike couldn't end worse unless he actually killed her.

"I know I'm something of a hypocrite for saying this, but have you thought this through?"

"What, you've also spent the night with a vampire?," she jokes. He doesn't laugh.

"I've been reckless, too."

"What is reckless about Spike?"

"He's a vampire!"

"He's a good vampire." She laughs. "Can you believe we're having this conversation? If someone told me a week ago we'd be talking about these things, I would've thought they were on crack. David walks into the main house, wondering what exactly his sister is on. She enters the garage and runs up the stairs to her room. Spike has his pants back on. She takes a plastic jar of blood out of a brown paper bag and hands it to him. "The guy behind the counter looked at me kinda funny when I ordered this." Spike takes the lid off and gulps about a pint down. "Hold right there," Claire orders, grabbing her camera. "Put down the blood. Perfect." She starts snapping away. Spike's bumpy, with a trickle of blood coming down from the right corner of his mouth.

"You selling these to the tabloids?," he jokes, hoping he is joking.

"I'm an artist. Right now, I'm capturing a powerful symbol of mankind's primal hunger." He face changes back. "Damn."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't worry. I'll tell people it was makeup and dentures. Besides, you look much better this way. I need to take more shots of you."

"Which side?"

"Your human side. What's this?" She opens the package and screams.

"Good news?"

"The Stevenson Gallery wants to display my work!" She screams again and hugs Spike.

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I had nothing to do with any of it." She looks at the bed and sees Spike's stain. He feels quite embarrassed. "I can explain." Actually, he'd rather not.

"I thought you were all tapped out," she jokes. "If I had known - " She grabs Spike by his pants, pulls him onto the bed, gets on top and takes off the shirt she borrowed from him.

"Claire," Spike says, not quite expecting this level of eagerness.

"What? It's not like you have anywhere to go." She seems disturbingly turned on by the idea that Spike is her prisoner.

On a cold, windy day in April of 1943, Jeta is herded off the cattle cars and into Auschwitz along with hundreds of others, including most of her extended family. She clutches her two year-old son Harman in her arms. A camp for Gypsies has just been opened next to the pre-existing camp for Jews. Over the next seventeen months it will be the final destination for over a quarter of a million Gypsies from across Europe. Jeta yells anti-Slavic epithets at new arrivals from Yugoslavia. She is still a proud German, even if the current Germany has abandoned her. She is the seventeenth generation of her family to reside in northwest Germany, a member of the Sinti tribe that entered central Europe in the mid-fifteenth century. Her family scorned the Romani, who migrated in large numbers from the Balkans into Germany only in the past hundred years. They were foreigners. And, at first, the government saw it that way, rounding up Romani and other recent arrivals while allowing the Sinti — who were German citizens — to remain free. Her husband Stefan fought in the victorious French campaign, and was serving with the occupation forces in Holland when he and other Sinti in the army were rounded up a few months ago. Her older brothers Walther and Marko were part of the Russian invasion when it began nearly two years ago. They haven't been heard from in over a year. She doesn't know if they died in battle, were executed by their fellow Germans, or interned in some camp. While others feel fear at this moment, Jeta feels betrayal. Her family doesn't belong here with the rest of these undesirables. They're different. They're desirable. At least at one time they were.

Jeta curses at a guard who looks Polish, taunting that he should be on the other side of the barbed wire, as should she. Jeta's mother tells her to pipe down, if not for her sake, then for the sake of her child. Jeta obeys and simply glares at the guards and the fellow prisoners alike with her coal black eyes. In the cramped barracks, she ruefully explains to other prisoners that she's in a bad mood because this is her first trip outside of Germany. At dinner, she gives her meager rations to Harman. As the hours pass, anger slowly gives way to despair. Jeta accepts that she's never going to see her husband again. She accepts that there's a good chance she'll never leave this place. But perhaps there was a future for Harman. That was the one hope she clung to. That night, she sang songs to the frightened, disoriented child, trying to reassure down. He fell asleep in his mother's arms.

The next morning, when the men and women are separated and grouped into units for hard labor, Harman is ripped out of Jeta's arms. She screams and cries and tries to attack the guard walking off with her darling son, but is restrained once more by her own mother, who has seen others acting up that morning get a bullet in the back of the head. For the next week, Jeta tries to forget about her psychic pain by focusing on her physical pain, because it hurts so much less. Her mother tells her they are lucky. They've all caught glimpses of the bald, emaciated Jews in the adjacent camp. Jeta says they look worse because they've been in this hellish place longer. Her mother reports a few things she's overheard the guards talking about. The Jews are separated into male and female barracks. The Gypsy families are housed together, and not broken up by gender. The Jewish children are taken away on the first day. Their parents don't get to have a final night, as Jeta did. It's not much. In fact, it's downright perverse to be thankful for these "privileges." But Jeta lives in perverse times.

On her eighth day at Auschwitz, when the women are lined up to be marched off to work, soldiers pick out twenty young women, seemingly at random. Among the chosen are Jeta and her younger sister Ina. This group is taken away to what the guards refer to as the "lab." A doctor they refer to as Joseph arrived at the concentration camp a month before the Gypsies started coming. What he does with his test subjects the soldiers don't know, and don't care. Fewer bodies for them to process. The doctor casually points out which women will be used for which experiments, then stops most of the way through to consult with a tall, burly man in back. He has a reddish-brown beard, and appears to Jeta to be Russian. Perfect, she thinks to herself. The Nazis are conspiring with the hated enemy while killing German patriots. No wonder the war has not been going well as of late. Being a victim of prejudice has not caused Jeta to abandon her own prejudices. She'd love to be part of the Aryan super-race, if only Hitler would let her. After all, as a Gypsy, descended from people in northwest India, she's more Aryan than any blonde-haired, blue-eyed German could ever dream of being. Unbeknownst to Jeta, Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS, agreed with her. He wanted to spare the Sinti while exterminating the Romani. A bewildered Hitler overruled him and elected to kill them all.

The filthy Russian is staring at Jeta. Joseph has her separated from the others and handed over to Ivan. She looks forlornly at Ina as Ivan drags her off. It's the last time she'll see her sister, or any member of her family. They pass through an area where experiments are being performed on creatures that don't quite look human. All are strapped to tables and undergoing various physical ordeals that would kill a human. One subject has all the skin on his right leg removed. Another has no skin on his left arm. Another has been scalped. Brain surgery is being performed on a fourth. A fifth has his chest cavity pried open, but is still conscious. "You is lucky. They not," he says in clumsy German. Seems that everywhere she goes, people tell her things could be worse. She spews various profanities and anti-Russian epithets at Ivan, most of which he can't understand. But he can tell she's feisty. And he likes that. Ivan leads Jeta out the back door and hops into a covered wagon. She is ushered into a windowless van containing five other Gypsy women. They can't see that they are being driven out of the concentration camp. When the door opens, they find themselves in a barn. Before them stand four women, Ivan and another man. They discuss matters, and take their pick. Ivan is adamant that Jeta is his. They each grab a girl. Ivan slings Jeta over his shoulder and carries her up a ladder into a room on the upper level. Two of the female vampires watch.

"I don't want another mouth to feed around here," one complains.

"He just wants her for some fun," the other one concludes hopefully.

Ivan asks Jeta to sit on his bed. She chooses to stand. He runs his right hand through her hair. She slaps his face. Ivan smiles. "I like to fight."

"Take me back, or I scratch your eyes out."

"What is your name?"

"Yetta."

"I am Ivan. Yetta, I have roamed the earth for nearly a century. Rarely do I find a woman of your beauty. And spirit." This was more eloquent than his other broken German. She thinks it's a practiced pick-up line. Except he doesn't know German numbers well, since he mention being nearly a century old.

"You have no gun."

"I do not need a gun."

"I will kill you. You will die screaming, in agony. Unless you let me go." Ivan slaps Jeta with the back of his right hand, then punches her with his left fist. She falls onto his bed. Ivan gets on top, pins her arms and spreads her legs. She cries for help, but can only hear the screams of the other women. Ivan kisses her face and neck. She feels his whiskers scratch her skin. Soon she feels something far worse as Ivan starts to rape her. She struggles, but he is extremely strong. She begins to cry, and begs him to kill her.

"Not yet. Not yet." To be touched by a gadze, or non-Gypsy, is taboo. But to be violated by one is social death. Back home, such a crime would make Jeta an outcaste. Her husband would leave her. She'd have her child taken away. The only way to preserve her honor and her family's good name would be suicide. That, and the obligatory acts of vengeance against her attacker. Now, of course, her family is powerless. As Ivan climaxes, he puts both hands around Jeta's throat and chokes her. This gives Jeta a dual hope — of quick death, and of retaliation. She scratches Ivan's face with the nails on her right hand and digs into his neck with the nails on her left. "More," he requests while continuing to thrust into her. She sticks the nail on her left index finger half an inch under his skin. But when she tries to gouge his left eye out with her right thumb, he grabs both wrists and pins them down. Her flailing legs only seem to increase his pleasure. Left with no other recourse, Jeta spits in his right eye. Ivan's face changes. Jeta screams as he leans in to bite the right side of her neck. When he's had his fill, Ivan lowers his neck onto her mouth, bringing the wound Jeta made to her lips. She doesn't know why, but she wants to drink.

Wesley enters Gunn's office late Saturday afternoon. Charles's desk is strewn with law books. "I hope you're not too busy for a fight."

"Hell no. I've been looking forward to Vegas all week. We're taking the jet?"

"Yes. But to Phoenix."

"What happened to Las Vegas?"

"I just got off the phone with my agent. Last night, Bubba and his gang were brutally slain. As well as an unidentified large green demon, whose entrails were strewn all over the vampire's headquarters."

"One less bad guy. Why isn't this good news?," he asks the worried-looking Wesley.

"We've been compromised."

"Nothing new there."

"My own organization. My inner circle. Only a handful of people knew Bubba was responsible for the werewolf attack on Deborah."

"You think Devlin did this? Bubba must've had other enemies."

"Every vampire in Las Vegas is convinced this was Devlin's work. In addition, he's been seen around town bragging about his latest victory."

"What about the computer people? We already know he's infiltrated them."

"This information was never entered into any computer. It was on a piece of paper that never left my office."

"I don't get it. What can he offer them that's worth risking their careers, and their lives?"

"Quite true. But they're not working for him. They're working against us. From day one, this has been a company in sullen rebellion against its leaders, waiting for the moment to strike."

"Even Angel's never sounded that pessimistic."

"Angel only looks above, at the Senior Partners who want to corrupt him. If he looked town, he would see a work force that doesn't give a fig about compromising a Champion's morality, and cares only about their own power and influence."

"Where's this pessimism coming from?"

"It's been gradually building. Then Fred asked me the other week how we would react to a full-scale mutiny. I had no choice but to agree with her that we'd be powerless against such an insurrection." Ironically, this idea had been put into Fred's head by Devlin.

"We'll find out when that day comes. Until then, there's bag guys to kill."

NEXT: Nina takes Oz to a gallery show, where they meet Claire. Spike talks to Angel about his Slayercide dream. And Elektra makes her way towards Los Angeles.