Starved, hunted, preyed on, Spike staggered through the dark woods with a tattered blanket thrown over his shoulders. He was running on the last fumes – two or three days more and he would be a shrivelled, dry mummy. And wherever he went, there always seemed to be a team of camouflaged soldiers either tailing or trying to ambush him.

Any attempts at attacking a human had ended in the same overwhelming pain as his first tries with the red-headed Witch. The butcher shop was off-limits as well as there seemed to be a permanent patrol stationed around the premises. He could only hope that Harmony was still at their old hideout because the only other option he had left he wouldn't even consider until all hope was truly lost. But now he needed to rest first, as painful as that would be.

A short search found him a fallen, hollow log. He crawled inside, feet first, trying to gather as many dry leaves as possible to block and hide the entrance without it looking too obvious. Maybe five minutes later he heard the sound of approaching heavy boots.

"Man, I'm beat," Graham groaned as he, Forrest and Riley were nearing the end of their second sweep of the forest. He kept moving their thermal camera around in a wide arc, but it was picking up nothing. If the Hostile had been able to guess their method for tracking him, all he had to do was stand still in the darkness and they'd never know if they passed within ten feet of him.

"We'll do one more pass, then cash it in," Riley informed his team, eliciting another groan from Graham.

"Man, I still gotta pack tonight," Forrest joined in the groan-chorus. "You got a flight?"

"Tomorrow night, Sunnydale Municipal – Des Moines International," Riley nodded. "Dr Walsh wants me to stay for the debriefing tomorrow."

"That's cutting it pretty thin," Graham shook his head. "You won't make it back to Huxley before Thursday noon at the earliest."

"Hey, with Hostile 17 still on the loose, we're lucky to be going home at all."

"It's neutered," Forrest repeated exasperatedly for the millionth time. "The implant works great. He can't hunt a single living thing."

Riley shook his head. "As long as he knows about the Initiative, he's a threat. We do this Dr Walsh's way."

"Mama's boy," Forrest coughed theatrically.

"That's a nasty cough you got there, Lieutenant," Riley commented dryly. "You might need to spend the holiday in quarantine."

"Oh, no," Forrest tried to placate the captain. "I'm done coughing."

"I just don't want anyone getting sick," Riley winked and clapped Forrest on the shoulder. With that the trio moved on.

Having heard the soldiers' discussion from his hiding place, Spike realized that the dragnet tightening around him would have gaps and holes in the few upcoming days. That gave him a small amount of comfort. With the hunger pangs shaking his whole body in irregular intervals, he eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.

"Buffy, tell me again why we're not doing this at your house?" Giles asked exasperatedly as the Slayer kept rummaging through his carefully ordered cupboards.

"With Mom at Aunt Darlene's this year, this is the only way for me to get a Thanksgiving," Buffy answered with her head and shoulders inside the cupboard where he stored his pans and kettles. "Do you even own a turkey pan?"

"Well..."

With a loud huff, Buffy stood up from where she had been on her hands and knees on the kitchenette floor. "Giles, if you would like to get by in American society, you're going to have to follow our traditions. You're the patriarch. You have to host the festivities or it's all meaningless."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "And this is in no way an elaborate scheme to stick me with the clean-up?"

"We can borrow ours," Buffy cut in hurriedly.

Torched.

Spike looked at the interior of their lair in absolute disbelief. The fucking bitch had torched the place. The bed was a charred mass of wood, metal and fabric. All other furniture was either smashed to pieces or burned to cinders.

Falling to his knees in defeat, he tried to scream in frustration but his dry throat was willing to produce only a pitiful squeak. Pretty soon he would be desperate and/or delirious enough to bite his own wrist even though that would only worsen his condition.

Then he smelled it – fresh blood. Snapping his head around, he spotted a rat skittering along the far wall of the lair. Its tail had been badly bitten, leaving a bloody trail on the ground.

Spike, the killer of two Slayers and, as a member of the Whirlwind, feared all over the Old Continent, crawled on his hands and knees to where the red trail started and began desperately licking it away off the dirty ground.

'You're pathetic,' a mocking voice echoed in his ears. "No!" 'You're not even a loser anymore. You're the shell of a loser.'

In his mind's view a blonde girl and an amber-eyed demon were laughing at him... all the time laughing with Dru, his Dru smirking behind them, in the shadows, unseen. Was it only last year...?

Having reached the end of the red line, Spike keeled over and lost consciousness again. 'One more chance,' was his last semi-coherent thought before blackness overtook him.

"I can't believe Giles didn't even know what a turkey pan was," Buffy huffed as she switched the uncomfortably large bag containing the item in question to her other shoulder.

"Well, now we can firmly classify him as an uneducated barbarian," Willow deadpanned. "What's on your list?"

"Whipped cream," Buffy checked.

"But you already have it. I saw it in Giles' fridge earlier today."

"Canister," Buffy shook her head. "You only get it right if you whip it yourself."

"Yay, and then we can churn the butter and... Riley?"

"Churn Riley?" Buffy asked uncomprehendingly.

"Hey, Buffy!" The TA in question sprinted quickly across the street to where they were standing.

"Oh, Riley! Ha-ha-ha. Where did you come from?" Buffy asked and looked around. "I didn't see you at all."

"Oh, just across the street," Riley pointed. "And a couple of blocks down," he continued more quietly. "Hey, Willow," he greeted the redhead, who was grinning from ear to ear and bouncing slightly in place.

"Hi," Willow greeted back with a small wave. "Well, I'm just gonna let you two... Oh, look. They're selling coffee in a coffee shop. Yum!" With that she twirled around and hurriedly entered the Pump.

Outside, to Riley's delight, he and Buffy were having another conversation.

"It'll be just like when I was a kid," Buffy explained brightly. "Only without me building a fort out of my mashed potatoes."

"Sounds like fun," Riley smiled.

"It will be," Buffy nodded. She sensed an uncomfortable silence rising its head, so she continued with the first thought that came to her mind. "You know, if you don't already have plans, you should come. I'm a great cook – in theory. I've eaten a lot."

Briefly cursing internally for this missed opportunity, Riley pursed his lips together. "That sounds so great. But I'm outta here tonight. I got a last-minute flight back to Iowa."

"Iowa," Buffy furrowed her brow in a way which Riley thought was ridiculously cute. "That's one of the flyover ones, right?"

"Well, not in this case," Riley laughed. "My folks are there, and we always do Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house. A little farm outside Huxley."

"Sounds nice," Buffy smiled. "Well, have fun at the homestead."

"Always do."

The next day, with the turkey finally in the oven, Buffy let out a relieved sigh. The success of their Thanksgiving dinner was now very much in higher hands. She was just about to take a well-earned five-minute break when someone knocked on the door. With Giles and Willow fully occupied with potato peeling, she went to open.

"Xander!" Buffy exclaimed happily at one of the newcomers. "And Anya," she greeted the other one less enthusiastically. "How charming."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Buff," Xander replied with what he hoped was his most disarming smile.

"Thank you for letting me participate in this ritual sacrifice," the ex-demon offered eagerly. "I love ritual sacrifices."

"Anya, we discussed this," Xander hissed in slight embarrassment. "This is not really one-of-those."

"To commemorate a past event, you kill and eat an animal," Anya explained like to a five-year-old. "It's a ritual sacrifice – with pie."

"We brought rolls," Xander interrupted quickly.

Buffy was whipping cream when there was yet another knocking at the door. She looked around questioningly, but the others appeared to be just as baffled. Everyone invited was already present.

"You don't think Faith or Rowan could have...?" Willow was suddenly grinning from ear to ear. At the mention of the first name, Anya's face suddenly darkened but no-one else noticed in their enthusiasm.

Flanked by Willow, Xander and Giles, Buffy opened the door. There was no-one outside.

With a frown on her face, Buffy stepped outside and peered quizzically around. She was immediately rushed by someone wearing a threadbare blanket over their head. "Help me," the apparition had time to request before she pushed it backwards into the paved courtyard. The blanket flew aside and revealed the absolute last person she could have expected to see in broad daylight now that the Gem of Amara was dealt with.

"What part of 'help me' do you not understand," Spike whined and desperately attempted to get himself back under his makeshift sunshade.

"The part where I help you," Buffy stated flatly with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come on," Spike pleaded with a quick glance at the cloudless sky. "I'm parboiling out here."

She raised her hand over her shoulder, palm up, and like they had been in an operating room, a stake was planted in it like a surgical instrument. "Want me to help make it quicker?" she asked brightly.

"Invite me in!" Spike practically begged. He was already smoking quite alarmingly.

"No."

"Very unlikely," Giles agreed.

In desperation Spike lunged at the open doorway and – as expected – hit an invisible barrier. He bounced back with the blanket once again flying aside. "Damn it!" he groaned and hastily draped it over his head. Once again somewhat protected, he rushed at the partial safety by the door.

"Look, I'm safe," he coughed feebly. "I can't bite anyone."

"Erm... what are you saying?" Giles asked curiously and leaned on the door jamb.

"The soldier boys at the dorm the other day... They are all part of it. I've got the inside scoop."

Buffy and Giles exchanged a questioning look and then included Xander and Willow who just shrugged.

"Come on," Spike groaned through clenched teeth. "What have you got to be afraid of?"

"Now, about that information...?" Buffy asked, dusting her hands. She had used all her rope-skills to tie Spike tightly to a chair. "Tell me everything you know."

"I'm too hungry to remember everything," Spike countered.

"We can always take this outside," Buffy reminded the vampire and smacked him upside the head.

"Do you know what happens to vampires who don't get to feed?"

"You know, I've always wondered about that, actually," Giles cut in sarcastically.

"Giles! Plates, please," Buffy prompted.

"Living skeletons, mate. Like famine pictures from those dusty countries. Only not half as funny."

"You can have gravy," Buffy offered as an attempt to keep the peace. "That has blood in it."

"You know what else has blood in it?" Spike asked. "Blood."

"Do I have to gag you?" Buffy snarled and threw a stack of napkins on the table. "Because I won't listen to you whine all through my dinner! It will be a nice, quiet, civilised Thanksgiving dinner."

Spike kept his mouth shut.

"Turkey came out rather splendidly," Giles sighed in satisfaction several hours and helpings later and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, it was yummy," Willow agreed readily.

"Oh, yeah?" Spike snorted. "You all had a fine meal. But me..."

"Didn't hear you say no to the gravy," Xander reminded the vampire.

"Normally I wouldn't touch that kind of swill with a..."

"Good work, Buffy," Giles interrupted hastily.

"Thanks," Buffy smiled in relief.

"You should be very pleased. You arranged what was in all accounts a perfect Thanksgiving."

"Yeah," Xander nodded and patted his bulging belly. "Seemed kinda right to me. A bunch of anticipation but now we're all full and sleepy."

"Hey!" Anya snapped and slapped Xander's shoulder.

"Well, maybe not that sleepy."

Buffy was feeling far too relaxed to argue. "And they say romance is dead," she grinned and then sighed in satisfaction. "First Thanksgiving on my own and we all got through it."

"Well, you know..." Spike cleared his throat.

"Shut up!" everyone around the table silenced him.