A/N: I can only (hah!) give this an M rating, but it's so hard to know where M goes sailing off into MA. I definitely don't want to get smacked down by the shiny black boots of authority so, for Bob's sake (and mine), let me know if this strays into dangerous territory- I'm not trying to write porn here- and I'll rework it.

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Spike found Buffy, curled up into a ball and lying on her side, behind some boxes in the farthest corner underneath the stairs. She'd obviously been back there for a good bit. Spike could smell the ammonia tang of urine and unmistakable stink of feces underneath the overpowering stench of decomposition. He crouched down next to her and gently pushed lank hair back from her face.

Her beautiful green eyes were wide and unfocused. Gone away again, just like she'd done when Dawn had been taken by that evil bint Glory. Well, that would just make his job that much easier then.

Spike carried Buffy out of the basement and up the stairs to the bathroom. He sat her down by the tub and turned the hot water all the way open. After he checked to make sure there were wash cloths and soap, he took three towels and laid them on the counter. Buffy still hadn't moved on her own or made a single sound.

"Alright, love," he said, voice echoing strangely off the bathroom walls, "we've got to get you cleaned up a bit. Don't know if you can hear me or not, pet, but…" He trailed off, unnerved. He'd already seen every inch of her but this just felt wrong somehow. She should be staking him with a look or rolling her eyes at him or-or something. She shouldn't be just sitting there where he'd put her, placid as sheep. "Right then, let's get this over with."

Spike adjusted the temperature of the water as the room filled up with steam. He turned the shower on and pulled the curtain halfway closed before turning back to Buffy. Her clothes would have to come off, and probably be burned, and there was only him left to do it; no matter how wrong it felt.

Once he'd removed both their clothes, he picked her up again and stepped under the spray of water, closing the curtain behind him. Spike lowered them both down until he was sitting with Buffy turned sideways in his lap. He tried to be as impersonal as he could but…it was still Buffy he had naked and wet in his arms, in his lap, and she effected him just as she always had. The brisk scrubbing slowly changed to comforting, soapy caresses.

He squirted shampoo into his hands and rubbed them together before threading his fingers through her wet hair. He'd always loved her hair. Spike knew it wasn't her natural color (that was more than a bit obvious just now) but he still loved the way her hair always shone, like she had trapped a bit of the forbidden sun.

"My little Goldilocks," he whispered to her damp temple.

When she was as clean as he could get her, and her skin was flushed pink from the hot water, he levered both of them up and out. He grabbed the towels as he passed by them and took her into her bedroom, laying her down crossways on the bed, legs dangling over the side.

He wrapped one of the towels around his waist and knelt at her feet with another one. Spike slid the towel up and down both her legs and in between her toes, wiping every drop of water off her skin. It wasn't until he sat beside her on the bed that he realized he was in more trouble than he'd thought.

The cool air had made Buffy's skin tighten and goosebump. It had also caused her small pink nipples to runch up into hard little nubs. Tiny droplets of water were clinging to her curling pubic hair and damned if he could dry her off there without his stomach turning sickly. Wasn't right to touch her when she couldn't either punch him in the nose for it or jump squirming into his lap for more.

With slightly shaking hands, he dried her arms and her stomach. He kept his eyes firmly on her face, looking for any reaction from her. Hell, he'd be happy if she suddenly sat up and reached for a stake.

Spike breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally done and could wrap the last towel around her wet hair.

"Now," he said, prattling like a complete twit as he got up and started to search through her dresser, "we just have to get you into something comfortable."

Spike found some sweat pants and a cotton top and spent a frustrating fifteen minutes maneuvering Buffy into them. When he'd finally gotten her clothed, he arranged her on the bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. She'd be fine like that until he'd done what he needed to.

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Giles paid the driver and watched the cab drive off. He hefted his suitcase and squared his shoulders before turning to survey the house in front of him. It looked just as it always had, from the outside at least. The grass was perhaps a little longer and there was an air of disuse about the place that couldn't be put solely to lack of yard maintenance.

Anya was sitting on the steps waiting for him. "I don't know why you wouldn't let me transport you. It's a much faster and more efficient way of traveling," she said when he stopped beside her.

"I'm sure it is. I've also heard that hang-gliding is quite invigorating, but I don't plan on doing that any time in the near future either." He nodded to the front door. "Have you gone in yet," he asked, his voice grave and weary.

Anya stood and led the way to the front door. "I haven't been in since the day you called me." She looked at him for the first time since the cab had let him off in front of the house. In that moment, face shaded from the sun by the porch, he looked every one of his years. "I don't know what happened Giles, but it was bad. Whatever it was, it was bad."

"And you haven't heard from anyone? No one's called you?" After a bit of frantic patting, Giles took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door.

"No, no one." Anya wrapped her arms around her waist and looked back towards the street. "I haven't been able to find any of them," she whispered. "The demon community has figured it out, too. The streets aren't safe after dark. The Hellmouth is unguarded again."

They both stood, unmoving and with nothing else to say to each other, in front of the unlocked and still closed door.

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Fred suddenly awakened with a start. Gunn was standing beside her in the hotel lobby looking at Angel. "The Destroyer," she said as everyone turned to look at her. "I remember…the Destroyer's coming."

Standing on the other side of Fred beside Groo, a slightly disheveled Cordelia said, "Right. We got that. Any idea when?"

Fred had just opened her mouth to reply when the lobby doors crashed open and a smoking form leapt inside. The blanket covering it slipped off to reveal a man with platinum blonde hair dressed completely in black and carrying a woman in his arms. The woman's hair was across her face and one arm dangled limply.

"What the… Spike!" Angel clenched his jaw and took a menacing step in the other vampire's direction but was interrupted by a large display of electricity and a boom of thunder in the middle of the lobby.

"Now," said Fred apprehensively as everyone turned to look at this new development.

A large two-horned monster suddenly dropped out of the rippling orange air. Groo pushed Cordy back and raised his axe, ready to protect his princess with his life, as Lorne and Gunn took an instinctive step backward. The monster let out an enraged roar just as something else hurtled out of the dimensional tear in a blur of limbs.

"Oh, balls." Spike sighed and shook his head, looking down at the woman in his arms. Should've known.