Chapter 3

Giles was rifling through the groceries Andrew had liberated alongside the Potentials who'd stayed behind when the Buffy patrol returned.

Anya, Xander, Willow, and Dawn walked in, and Giles swallowed down his Jaffa Cake. Andrew asked, "Did you find Buffy?"

"No," Xander told him, frustrated.

"But you did that spell with the little lights," Andrew pointed out. "The locator."

"It crapped out on us," Anya said.

"No it didn't … exactly," Dawn reported.

"It just took us to the mansion on Crawford Street," Willow explained to Giles, sad and worried. "She must have moved on already."

Giles took that in. Then he said, "Well, I'm afraid there's rather worse news here." He glanced toward the Potentials, then led the core group off to the side for more privacy. Andrew was there.

"Faith hasn't returned with the other girls," Giles informed them. "Something's gone wrong."

Andrew nodded soberly. "I've been keeping morale up, because that's important."

"We have to go to her," Willow said.

Xander nodded. "Guess so."

There was a slight commotion as the back door opened, and Buffy entered gripping her new scythe tightly. "Come in," she said somewhat formally, and both Giles and Willow smiled and sighed in relief as Angel walked across the threshold.

Dawn squealed, "Angel!" and rushed over to him. He dropped his bag and threw his arms open wide.

"Hiya, squirt," he said, as he folded her in a big hug.

Buffy carefully put the scythe down on the kitchen counter. She walked over to Willow and stiffly hugged her. "Thanks for the spell, Will. That means a lot to us."

Buffy stepped away from her, to be replaced by a much livelier Angel. "Throw out all those old Gypsy curses," he said softly, so the Potentials wouldn't hear. "That new spell?" He pulled back and gave her a saucy wink. "It made me really happy."

Giles frowned, and so did Willow, but then she got it. "Oh my Goddess! You're … you mean you two…"

Buffy beamed and nodded. Angel came over and put his hands on her waist, kissing the crown of her blond head. "Where's Faith?" he asked, getting down to business.

"She took some of the Potentials and they went to scope out the arsenal the First is guarding."

Angel and Buffy looked alarmed, and they traded worried glances. "It's a trap," she said to him, dead certain.

"Yeah. Where does Spike keep his stash?"

"Fridge door." She rushed into the living room and headed upstairs.

Angel opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of whisky, and also pulled a pack of blood out, hiding it from the Potentials. He didn't want a fight with them on his hands. He pried open the bottle of whisky and drank from it, bending over his bag. He armed himself for another demon fight, this time putting his stakes in his wrist launchers.

Buffy re-entered the kitchen and handed him a sword, which he put in his extra scabbard. "Where are they?"

"Sewers," she replied. "I know where."

"What fun," he said, standing and throwing out the empty bottle. "You ready, my fearless leader?"

"You bet."

"Buffy-" Giles began.

"Save it, librarian," Angel growled. He ushered Buffy out ahead of him.

Oddly enough, they ran into Spike on their way to the sewer entrance. Angel let Buffy pull ahead and walked next to his Grandchilde, biting into the blood bag.

"What'd you say to the wankers?"

Angel smirked, and licked his lips. "I said hit to Dawn, thanks to Willow, and told Giles to shut up."

"You didn't hit anybody?"

"Wasn't there long enough. Maybe later I'll bash Xander's face in."

"No you won't," Buffy called over her shoulder.

"He deserves it," he called back. He drank a little more, then offered the bag to Spike, who took it and began feeding.

"They all deserve it," Spike mumbled softly to his Sire, blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Well, not quite," he replied. "They were wrong," he said quickly, as Spike almost spit the blood back into the bag. "They were wrong to force the issue. But look at it this way. If the three of us were a clan," Angel said, spinning his finger in a circle to include them, "and I was the Master, and every decision I made for weeks got her injured," he pointed at Buffy, "you'd be thinking of ways to get rid of me."

"Damn right."

"Because you'd hate seeing her get hurt for nothing."

"You bet yer bloody arse."

"So how would she be any different from those innocent Potentials? And I'm Buffy, making mistakes, and all Faith – you – can see is that she keeps getting hurt."

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it as the logic set in.

"Now, if I hadn't let you try your hand at running this little family, you'd be ready to kill me to get me out of the situation."

"And then you vow to take Buffy with you," Spike provided, filling in the analogy, "'cause you wouldn't stand for lettin' me have her."

"That's the real mistake Buffy made. Refusing to let Faith have a chance to lead the group earlier on. They wanted to stop dying, and the only solution they saw to that was a change of leaders."

Spike shook his head. "Dumb."

"As it turned out, yes. Because she was right all along. But with a little … diplomacy, it wouldn't have come to that. So, everybody's at fault."

"'Cept us."

"Right. 'cause we weren't there." They grinned at each other, and the weirdness was born.

Buffy stopped, and glared at them both.

"What?"

"Angel," she said, exasperated, "Faith's in trouble."

"Oh, right. Where's this sewer entrance again?"

Kennedy grabbed up one of the Bringers' weapons on the mucky floor of the sewer and held it up, protecting the others, poised to meet the enemy. The Ubervamps, their mouths dripping gore, rushed the girls, backing them up against the wall.

The first Turok-Han ripped her blade from Kennedy's hand, slapped a long-fingered hand around her throat, and lifted her off the ground, as if she were weightless.

'Oh, God, Willow. Willow, I love you,' Kennedy though wildly, preparing herself for death. She was beginning to suffocate, and she hoped to God she went out that way.

Then a loud crash of cement, mortar, and dust startled the creature, as a metal grate behind Kennedy collapsed. Light streamed in from the hole above.

It was Buffy, surrounded by light, and holding her scythe. With her were Spike and another man, one light and one dark, both armed with swords and stakes.

The three warriors made short work of the Ubervamps. With a team like that, the odds were ridiculous.

Once the battle was over, Buffy looked below her from the pile of rubble to see the Potentials staring up at her with awe and reverence. Cathedral-like streams of light backlit her, adding an aura of holiness to her heroic stance. In direct contrast, as though painted by the hands of the Powers That Be, her two comrades melted into the shadows, eyes watching everything.

For Amanda, it was especially hard to catch more than a glimpse of tall, dark, and handsome – he didn't have the same swagger or "look at me" attitude Spike did.

Then he visibly tensed, and rushed forward to help Faith. As he passed into a patch of reflected light, the shadows danced and receded from his face. Amanda felt herself flush and her eyes widen. This was a fine specimen of male hunk.

Where Spike's blond looks had that bad-boy feel, this man was chocolate. His brooding, soulful eyes and dark spiky hair gave off a wholesome, yummy feel.

He took Faith's unconscious body in his arms, but then immediately staggered and leaned against the wall of the sewer.

"Angel?" The worry in Buffy's voice was colored with something Amanda had never heard before.

He shook his head at her. "I'm all right. Just didn't take enough time to heal."

She smiled sadly and nodded, then turned and addressed the Potentials. "Get the wounded," she said. "We're leaving."

Kennedy ventured, "Are there more?"

"There's always more," Buffy retorted. "Let's move."

The wounded were transported back to Revello Drive; everyone else got back on their own steam. Dawn bandaged injuries while three unconscious girls lay on make-shift pallets. Spike passed a girl with a terrible stomach wound, paused, and then called out.

"Willow, you've got a bleeder." As the redhead turned, he pointed down.

She brought a cloth and pressed it hard over the wound. "Got it," she said.

The front door opened, and Angel brought Faith in. She was unconscious, and Spike stepped over to join him and Buffy. "Yer mum's room is ready for 'er."

Angel nodded and, cradling Faith to his chest, took the stairs two and three at a time.

"Hope we're in time," Buffy said quietly, to Spike.

Kennedy and Amanda trailed in after the elder vampire, though neither of them yet knew Angel was a vampire. Their faces were pinched with weariness and exhaustion, and their bodies were covered with injuries. Kennedy's neck had been bandaged in the field.

"Is she okay?" Amanda asked. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Kennedy soothed. "Right?" she asked Buffy.

Buffy stopped in the entryway with the girls, calling to Angel, "I'll be up in a second."

"Bring whisky!" His voice trailed downstairs.

Buffy looked up after him, watching, worrying, trying to tamp it down while she dealt with what – or who – was in front of her – wounded, frightened, worried warriors, home from battle.

"You guys heal fast, right?" Kennedy asked. "You Slayers?"

"Yeah," she said absently.

"So, she'll be okay?" Kennedy pressed.

"I don't know," Buffy told her honestly. Now was not the time to lie about things. Morale or no, they had to know what was going on.

Caridad gestured to Buffy's weapon and said, "What's with the scythe?"

"I took it from Caleb," Buffy said, unable to stop looking up the stairs. "Might be important."

"Let's hope," Vi murmured.

Amanda blurted, "I think we got punished."

That got Buffy's attention. She looked at Amanda and said, "What?"

Kennedy dipped her head. "We … we followed her, and it was …"

"It didn't work out," Vi finished lamely.

Buffy shook her head, Angel's logic reverberating in her mind. "That wasn't her fault. It was a trap. I've fallen for traps, too. I was just lucky no one was very seriously hurt because of my mistakes."

She had been walking to the kitchen, girls following her, to grab the bottle of whisky Angel had requested. Buffy abruptly turned, pointed at Xander and his eye patch and said, "Scratch that. See Exhibit X over there? I goofed big time, and look what happened to him."

Caridad took that in. "So… are you … are you, like back?"

Buffy smiled, recognizing that she hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd taken advantage of Angel's presence and used the opportunity to push away some decisions. She said, "I don't know. I'm not leaving this time."

Kennedy clearly liked that answer as she nodded, satisfied. Then she pushed on and said, "So we got a plan now or anything?"

Buffy headed upstairs, calling back, "Yeah. Stop the bleeding, take a deep breath."

She went into her mother's old room, to see Angel and Giles tending to Faith. Three more Potentials stood watching, moving out of Buffy's way as she came into the room.

"Is she breathing okay?"

Angel nodded. He was so concerned over his patient. Buffy smiled to see it. She knew, if it had been her, he'd have been flipping out right now. But he looked at Faith like a little sister, or a distant cousin.

"Still not conscious, though," Giles reported.

Emotion welled up inside Buffy, but she steeled herself and said, "We've still got work to do."

She was trying to catch Giles' eye, but Angel looked up at her instead. He rushed over to her, gruffly said, "Hold it." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully pushed her into the hall for a brief moment of privacy.

She hit the wall, and he covered her entire body with his. He roughly kissed her, stealing her warmth and trailing his hands over her back. When he finally let her up for air, she was flushed and panting.

"I needed that," Angel confessed, his forehead resting on hers.

Buffy gave him her smile and admitted, "I needed it, too." She lifted the bottle of whisky.

He took it from her, saying, "I need that next." He took it in the room, setting it on a nightstand. He made a motion to Giles, who rose and followed Buffy into Dawn's room.

While they, plus Willow, conferred over the scythe, Angel worked to help Faith. Biting her would sure as hell wake her up, but it would also piss her off.

He shook his head. She already had a Scar from him. No more.

He drank from the whisky bottle, deadening the pain of his own wounds, while he thought of ways to wake up Faith. He snapped his fingers, remembering some of the items in his overnight bag.

He grabbed a vial of holy water from it, and walked over to the window. He pulled a strand of garlic off the wall, his fingers stinging, and stood in front of the dresser.

He smashed the garlic and added it to the holy water, every once in a while taking a swig of whisky from the other bottle. When he had enough, he put the cap back on and shook the mixture.

Heading back over to the bed, he held the bottle close to Faith's nose. He unscrewed the cap, and the strong, pungent odor of garlic fled its confines of glass.

Her nose twitched, then she snorted, coughed, and took a deep breath – inhaling garlic fumes. She gagged and began thrashing about, knocking the bottled concoction away.

Angel set it on the nightstand and grabbed her hands, pinning them to the bed. "Faith, it's all right! You're all right! It's Angel."

She stilled, coughing, and opened her eyes a bit. Fortunately, the vampire had left the lanterns off, and she was able to see without the pain of the light. "Angel?" she muttered quietly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Heard maybe you needed a hand." He grinned, letting go of her wrists. "Thought I might save the damsel in distress."

She snuck in a quick jab to his injured ribcage, glaring at him. He covered the wounded area, saying, "Ow." He leaned slightly away from her.

"Serves you right," she retorted.

"I know, I know. You're-"

"Not much of a damsel," they finished together.

"Got your share of distress, though." He continued, pointing at her face.

"And then some. The girls, are they…?"

"Shh. Don't worry about that just now. Let's get you back to strength." He held up the bottle of whisky. "Think you can keep this down?"

She smirked but nodded, and he handed her the bottle. She took a swig, grimacing at first but then relaxing against the pillows. "That's good stuff," she said, offering him the bottle.

He took it and drank a swill. "Spike always did have good taste in liquor."

She chuckled. "Does he know you stole from his stash?"

"Yeah." They passed the bottle back and forth between them. "He prefers bourbon, anyway."

"Good, then. Bastard hit me 'cause the rest of the gang didn't want to follow B."

"She and I already talked about that."

"She was right."

"You can't look at the situation in black and white, Faith. There's more to this conflict than that."

"How would you know?"

"I got coverage on the whole thing. Very gripping, needs a first act."

She shook her head, amused. "You have to leave LA."

"Can't. Not yet. I got sucked in on this deal." He broke off, helping her readjust the pillow so she could sit up. Buffy re-entered, having spoken with Giles and Willow, and given Xander his instructions. She was holding the scythe and a flashlight. "I'll tell you about it later," Angel finished.

Faith frowned, worried, brown eyes following him as he stood and hugged Buffy.

"You all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You should get looked at, though."

"Nah, I just need a nap. Wake me in an hour?"

"I'll come find you." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, then shut the door behind him.

"'Bout time you two stopped getting' your wires crossed. He sticking around for a while?"

"I know he'd like to," Buffy said, as she brought the scythe over to the bed. "I may not let him. I don't know quite yet."

Faith placed her hands on the hilt and closed her eyes. Buffy stood by the bed, watching as she got lost in reverie. "You feel it too, don't you?" she said, as Faith opened her eyes.

The dark-haired Slayer grunted. "Damn. And damn. That's something."

"I know."

"It's old. Strong. And it feels like… like it's mine," she finished, a slight mixture of shame and resentment in her voice. "So I guess that means it's yours."

"It belongs to the Slayer," Buffy corrected her.

Faith shrugged. "Slayer In Charge. Which I'm guessing is you."

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed. "I honestly don't know," she admitted. "Does it matter?"

Ever Five-by-Five girl, Faith replied, "Never mattered to me. But somebody has to lead." She perked up. "Let's vote for Chao-Ahn! Harder to lead people into a death-trap if you don't speak English."

"Angel might do it. He can be the general, and flip a coin to choose which Slayer will lead. He'd also tell you it's not your fault," Buffy insisted.

Faith gave her her patented tough woman stare. "Really not looking for forgiveness. What do you want me to say? Your boyfriend already started this conversation. You were right, and I blew it."

"You didn't blow it," Buffy repeated. "You were probably doing a smashing job right until that bomb went off."

Faith laughed shortly. Her ringed, swollen eyes were haunted, her bloody mouth stretched back in pain. "Tell that to the-"

"People die," Buffy cut in. "You lead them into battle, they die. No matter how smart you are, or how ready, war is about death. Needless, stupid death."

Faith looked at her for a moment, and then said, "So here's the laugh riot. My whole life, I've been a loner." She fell silent.

Confused, Buffy asked, "Was that the funny part? Did I miss …?"

Faith said with effort, "I'm trying to…"

"No, no. Sorry." Buffy inclined her head. "Go."

Taking another moment, Faith started over… and did not flinch. She went through her thoughts, and not around them. Not this time.

Not this close to death.

"No ties, no buddies, no relationships that lasted longer than … well, I guess Robin lasted pretty long." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Boy's got stamina."

Buffy's eyes got wide. "Principal Wood? And you? And on my bed?"

Faith cocked her head. "Don't tell me you two got wriggly."

"No, no!" Buffy said, flustered. "We're just good friends." She hesitated. "Or … mortal enemies, depending on which day of the …" She looked back at Faith. "Is this the funny part?"

"Okay, the point?" Faith said. "Me, by myself all the time, and looking at you, everything you have, and … I don't know, jealous. And there I am, everybody looking to me, trusting me to lead them …" Her eyes softened, and the haunted look came back. "I never felt more alone in my life."

Buffy gazed at her, felt such a connection, yet still felt the distance. She and Faith – what an unlikely pair. "Yeah," she said.

"And that's you every day, isn't it?" Faith pressed.

Someone understands. Someone gets this gig.

"I love my friends," she said, "and I'm grateful for them, but yeah. That's the price. Being the Slayer."

"There's only supposed to be one." Faith looked at her questioningly. "Maybe that's why you and I can never get along. We're not supposed to exist together."

"Also, you went evil and were killing people," Buffy reminded her helpfully.

Faith nodded thoughtfully. "Good point. Also a factor."

"But you're right," Buffy said. "I mean, I guess everyone's alone, but … being a Slayer. There's a burden we can't share."

"And no one else can feel it." A beat, then Faith grinned and said, "Thank God we're hot chicks with superpowers."

"Takes the edge off," Buffy agreed.

"Just comforting," Faith added.

"Uh huh."

While all that discussing was going on, Xander was busy trying to get Dawn distracted enough so he could take her to safety, per Buffy's orders.

Angel, meanwhile, had been trying to find a place to catch a nap.

Faith was in Willow's room, meaning Willow had relocated to Buffy's room. Dawn had been forced early on to share her room with the Potentials, and sunlight made the living room impractical.

As the CEO walked through the house, the girls that were up grouped together, whispering. They looked at him, pointing and giggling, and he smoothed a hand over his hair self-consciously. The last time he'd seen his reflection had been when Marcus switched bodies with him, and he thought his hair had looked goofy. Angel wondered if his gel had backfired and left him with a cowlick.

He passed Xander on his way to the basement. "Really glad you're here, Angel," the young man said. He'd just knocked out Dawn and put her in his car for the trip away from the Hellmouth. Now he was getting a bottle of water and the note Buffy had left for her sister.

Angel stopped, looked long at the teen who'd once, briefly, been the bane of his existence. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and pushed his right hand across his chest, extending it towards Xander.

The former construction worker shook it, his grip firm. There was a little tension, but that was the point of the handshake. Men could get a lot done over a pair of clasped hands.

Finally, Xander pointed to the basement door with the bottle. "Spike's got a cot down there, and the rest of us leave him alone. You'll have to put up with Spike, but you did that for forever, and at least the Potentials will leave you alone."

"Yeah. Thanks." The vampire headed downstairs.

Spike looked up from his cot. "Nancy Boy," he said dryly, nodding in Angel's direction.

"Captain Peroxide," he shot back. He began taking his shirt off, so he could self-administer first aid.

"Angelus, the Ponce of Europe," the blond continued.

"William the Bloody-Awful Poet," Angel returned, settling into their arguments of yesteryear.

Spike glowered at him for a while, then said, "You won the girl this time. Buffy chose you."

"I didn't come here to take her from you," he defended. "I came here to help, to tell her that my soul was permanent, and that I was ready to try again if she was. It was her choice, Spike. Everything down to … my Mark on her again." He pointed a finger at his Grandchilde. "Which I'm still pissed at you for ignoring."

"Sod off." Spike flipped him the bird and turned back to his reading.

Angel moved to a rack of shelves, spotting disinfectant and bandages. He didn't need to fight off infection, of course, but a clean wound healed faster than a dirty one – even for vampires.

He patched himself up, then looked around the basement. He dragged his duffel bag over to a clear patch of floor, then grabbed some extra blankets and spread them out.

As he lay prone, staring at the ceiling, that odd moment of bonding from a few hours ago came back. Spike asked quietly, "Did it hurt? … When you got your soul?"

"Yeah," he finally replied. "It felt like Darla's first bite all over again, only the pain went through my whole body – not just my neck and my bloodstream."

"Mine felt like … it felt like that soddin' idiot what got himself killed by drinking holy water – I felt like I was burning from the inside out. Didn't help that the First waylaid me on the way back to good old Sunnyhell."

"Buffy's friends didn't take too kindly to you when you came back, huh?"

He snorted. "Nope. Giles tried to distract her while that Robin fellow tortured me."

Angel turned his head, frowning at Spike, who explained. "Second Slayer I killed was his mum."

Angel nodded and turned back to staring at the ceiling. "Did he know you have a soul now?" He asked eventually.

"Giles did. Pretty sure Wood knew, too."

A black rage spread through Angel. Now that Darla, Penn, Elizabeth, and James were dead and Drusilla was happily insane in Who-Knew-Where, he and Spike were the only ones left of a family that had reigned in Europe for 150 years. The blood ties between the two vampires were hard at work over the Hellmouth – Spike found himself deferring to the elder man, and Angel felt increasingly protective of his Grandchilde – almost as much as he'd felt for Connor.

And then, there was just something about an ensouled vampire.

Like Slayers, they were rare. Also like Slayers, there had been only one for over a hundred years. Though forces and time were working against Buffy and the Potentials, things seemed to be working in favor of the Aurelius cast-offs. Perhaps it was because, ultimately, they had all the time in the world.

So, while this strange bond of brotherhood grew between the two souls, a similar one was fostered between their two demons. Both were outraged at what their vessels had been reduced to – brooding husks of weepy emotion.

Spike's demon, of course, had been mad at itself long before it had gotten stuck with a soul. Angelus was to pitied. Here was a demon that had no control over the curse – a true and proper punishment for it if ever there was one – and thus, no control with its sudden conscience. But Spike had gone from evil to pathetic in a year and a half – all from "exposure" to the Slayer.

Like Angelus had discovered, much to his dismay, Buffy got inside the mind of a vampire and stayed there. They became obsessed with possessing her or killing her.

Both of the mend in the basement of 1620 Revello Drive had dealt with these conflicting emotions. Now, they were reacting on behalf of each other.

Like a true Patriarch, Angel was pissed at the ill-treatment of his Grandchilde.

He roughly got to his feet and threw on a loose-fitting shirt. "Giles, you said?" he directed at Spike, who snapped to attention and swung his feet to the floor. "And which one's Wood?" Angel continued, heading for the stairs.

"The black one," Spike replied, hurrying to catch up with his Sire and catch the whole showdown.

The door from the basement banged open as Angel yanked on it. The girls just on the other side jumped, squealing in sudden fear. The two warriors stalked through the house.

At the foot of the stairs, they stared up at Giles and Anya. Angel climbed up, his pace deliberate, his hands curling into fists.

"Angel?" Giles asked, warily.

The elder vampire punched him in the gut, but only with enough force to wind him. Knowing the Englishman had an extra pair lying around somewhere, he forcibly pulled off Giles' glasses while he was doubled over.

A simple closing of his fist caused the wire frame to bend at the nose and snap in half. Angel let them fall to the floor and stomped on the pieces, cracking the lenses.

He pulled Giles up roughly and said softly in his ear, "Because Buffy's always looked to you as a father, I won't give you much more pain than this. But you're supposed to be one of the good guys, and torturing an innocent soul for something a demon did while wearing his face stinks of something our enemies would do.

"Think on this, Rupert: How would you feel if you were in my shoes, and Willow decided to torture you for things you had no control over? It would be a terrible injustice, and that's what you let Wood do to my Grandchilde.

"I ever catch you giving Spike flak for any of the things he did before getting his soul, I'll come back and rip out your spleen." He pushed Giles back to lean against the wall and turned to head back down the stairs. He tossed a lazy salute to Anya, who jumped back, away from him. Smirking, he and Spike made their way back to the first floor.

They found Wood in the kitchen with Andrew. Spike gleefully made the introductions:

"Angelus, this is Robin, Nikki Wood's son, and Andrew. You can beat Blondie to a pulp and no one would care, if you like. Wood, this is Tall, Dark, and Fore'ead. He's got a soul, too."

"Don't we all," Angel remarked casually. Then, "But I hear that doesn't mean shit to the likes of you."

Robin never saw the right cross that caught him on the jaw. Andrew yelped, and Angel stood straight, rubbing his knuckles. "I don't have time to give you a proper warning to stay away from my family, but I don't think you'll really need one … do you?"

He turned away without waiting for the principal to get up. Spike grinned down gleefully. "Oft when gazing at the demon's face," he recited, his voice rising and falling in cadence, "the penitent man is filled with dread. His heart will pound and his blood will race, in the midst of the path Angel treads." He followed his Grandsire downstairs.

"That wasn't half bad," Angel remarked.

Spike dealt with his pride by dealing out an insult for his elder. "That just 'cause it was about you."

Angel humphed as he reclaimed his spot of floor. "Shut up and let me catch some sleep. There'll be hell to pay when she gets down here, and she's less likely to yell at me if I'm unconscious."

Spike thought about that. "You're right. Good point," he said, and he rolled over on his cot and tried to sleep.