"Die die DIE!"

"There's more behind you Andrew!"

"Haven't you bleeding imbeciles ever heard of VAMPIRE HEARING?" Spike's annoyance had reached the point where he was forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths just to keep his face looking human.

"Sorry Spike!" Xander and Andrew said in unison, before immediately screaming at the screen yet again.

"This is hell." Spike mumbled, head in his hands. "I'm cursed to live in hell with these stupid nancy boys as penance for my sins."

It was no sooner than the moment had Xander put his car in park that the clouds had finally parted, letting the afternoon sun beam down. Spike had been forced to retreat into the boys' apartment, where he'd already been stuck for what felt, to him, like days. Already in a foul mood over Buffy's inexplicable anger towards him, he busied himself with searching for any drop of booze he could find, cursing them both for only stocking the house with three lousy beers. Lite beers, at that.

"Goddamnit! Those little-" Xander was screaming again, Andrew mirroring him, jumping up and down like an excited puppy.

Spike had enough. "Give me that," he snarled, ripping the controller from Andrew. "I'll show you how to win this bitch."

An hour later, Spike's cocky smile lit up the room as the boys howled, egging him on. Xander in particular couldn't believe how much fun they were having. Spike had agreed to let them join in after lazily beating the level they'd been stuck on all afternoon, then proceed to teach them cheats he'd never heard of and wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen them in action.

Still chortling after their latest win, Xander stood, grabbing his keys "Beer run! Any requests?"

"Yeah!" Spike's mouth was full of chips, crumbs scattering as he hastily swallowed. "Get me some whiskey, will you? I need something that burns."

It wasn't long before the training area was looking fairly full, from what Buffy could tell, nearly Lindsay's entire class had shown up for their extra training days. Around twenty girls in total now stood in rows facing her, as she led them into several different warm-ups and stretching exercises. Angel had poked his head in after around ten minutes; it hadn't taken him long to worry, but they waved him away, and he returned to study with Giles. Buffy's primary instinct had been to ask him to join them, still trying to alleviate some of the tension between them, but with Willow in such a fragile state she'd decided against it.

Lindsay's stretches began simply, starting with arms, waist, shoulders… By the time she'd moved on to the more complex leg stretches, Willow was again beginning to look uncomfortable, the faint pink color rising in her cheeks. Lying with one leg stretching behind her, and one leg tucked beneath her, Lindsay took a deep breath, looking up to meet Willow's eyes with a wide smile.

It was too much for Willow. Blushing furiously, she made a run for it, slipping out the side door and into the parking lot. Watching her go, Buffy decided to give her some air. I'll check on her in a few minutes.

Lindsay had been watching too, and Buffy saw her trying to shake off concern and confusion. And hurt. Buffy couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of affection for Lindsay, as well as a touch of relief. Willow's 'little crush', to use her words, was definitely not one-sided.

Outside, Willow was grateful for the rush of cold air. The sun was out, but it was bitterly cold, and the wind was swift and piercing. She took several deep breaths, letting her heart rate slow and her cheeks cool. The temperature was soothing for a few moments, but within seconds she was shivering violently. Clasping her hands together, she drew them apart slowly, a large orb of heat and light forming between her fingers.

She smiled, looking at it fondly. This is one of my better ones. She was still working on perfecting her portable sunlight idea, but lately, she'd taken to using it as a portable heater. It always seemed to make Giles nervous, however. He claimed he just 'didn't like the habit', but Willow could tell he was still wary of any 'unnecessary' magick use on her behalf.

She was only able to relish the magick for a few minutes before she was forced to extinguish it. Someone was approaching, too old to be a student, too young to be one of the parents, and definitely not a staff member. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, dressed in a short red skirt, tall black boots, and thick tights. She was short, shorter than Willow, and moved enticingly. Willow's eyes slid over her body, noticing her ample curves.

"Willow, hard day?" She pushed curly black hair behind her ears, smiling brightly.

"Have we met?"

She gasped as if offended, plainly teasing, but there was something cold in her eyes, almost predatory. "Of course, my dear. But I'm not surprised you don't remember me."

Before Willow had a chance to run, the woman put her hands to Willow's forehead, and Willow's eyes glazed over, her face completely blank.

The woman smiled again, an almost feral smile, closing her eyes. "My name is Renata," she whispered. "But I'm not going to let you keep that memory, darling. I need your memory for other things." She hummed to herself softly. If this is the one, dear, you may not have to see me again.

Buffy, never a patient person, watched Lindsay's class for almost ten more minutes before jumping onto her twitching feet, determined to find Willow whether she wanted to be found or not. Lindsay followed the movement, and quickly instructed her class to practice independently for a few minutes. Her long legs put her at Buffy's side within seconds.

"Buffy, wait!"

"Willow wasn't feeling well, so she stepped outside… I'm going to go look for her." She tried to speak as gently as she could, not wanting to give Lindsay any unwelcome impression, but didn't meet her eyes. Lindsay's hand caught Buffy's shoulder, forcing her to turn and look at her.

"I'm coming with you." It wasn't a question. Lindsay looked determined. She had a stubborn set to her jaw that even Buffy found slightly adorable. I see it, she thought sadly. I get why this one reminds her of Tara.

Buffy shrugged. "Fine." The last thing she wanted to do was push Lindsay away from Willow. She hadn't known her long, but Lindsay was clearly the kind of person who wore their heart on their sleeve. It would be good for Willow, and her confidence, if she were to allow a person like that into her life again.

Stepping out into the cold, Buffy's eyes took a moment to adjust to the scene in front of her. Lindsay reacted first, shrieking like a harpy, running headlong at Willow's attacker. The two were enveloped in a smoky blue cloud, crackling with energy, and Willow was now slumped, unconscious, against Renata. Before the smaller girl had time to react, Lindsay had flipped her over her hip from behind, sending her sprawling, and diving to catch Willow in the same motion.

Buffy took off running, nearly slipping on the loose gravel. The blue cloud had vanished the moment Renata had lost contact with Willow, but sparks were forming between the witch's fingers as she stood, her face contorted in a sneer.

"Good luck, my dear." Buffy leapt towards her, but caught only air. Renata was now ten feet away, splitting the air with condescending laughter, sparks dancing around her. She pulled a crystal from her blouse, hanging from her neck on a thin leather cord. The moment she touched it, she was gone again, leaving only smoke behind.

Furious and panting, Buffy turned back to Willow, who had opened her eyes. Lindsay was cradling her, petting her hair, speaking soothingly.

Buffy knelt down beside them. "Can you carry her?"

Lindsay nodded, picking up the semi-conscious Willow as if she were no larger than a pekingese. "Where are we taking her?"

"The library please, tell Giles we found our witch."

It had taken some convincing, but Buffy and Giles were finally able to talk Lindsay into finishing out her class, and letting them take Willow home to rest. The nerves seemed to have been shaken right out of their beloved redhead; she was quite flirtatious when she realized she had been carried back to the library, and even more so when Buffy continued to embarrass Lindsay by telling an embellished rescue story, to everyone's amusement. The energy between the two had relaxed substantially by the time they said goodbye, both promising to reunite again soon, under less tense circumstances. Sometimes all it takes is a good ol' fashioned life-or-death experience.

Giles was trying to keep up a good front for Willow, but he was clearly dying to question her, and his face was tight with fury whenever he thought they couldn't see him. Her 'symptoms' seemed consistent with the other incidents; she was left with a nasty headache, and couldn't remember the past ten minutes or so before coming to in Lindsay's arms. Before they left, Giles stopped to pull a couple books on 'memory magic' from the shelves, scoffing at Buffy's quip about 'signing the books out first.'

Willow had fallen back asleep by the time they arrived at the house, and was again carried by a Slayer, this time up to her bedroom. Giles buried himself in the books he'd brought and a few from his own personal collection, locking himself into his study while Buffy tucked Willow into bed, kissing her forehead, lost in thought.

Buffy was as eager as Giles was to help Willow, but she was used to taking action very differently. This witch was not something she really knew how to fight; in a time like this, they would be turning to Willow herself for assistance. Walking down the stairs, she felt her helplessness increase. This was not her domain, and she hated that. She also missed Spike bitterly, which only added to her confusion and frustration.

She was so lost in her jumbled thoughts that she almost didn't hear Angel coming in from the kitchen. Gently, he led her to the sitting room, silently offering her a few treats he'd stolen from Giles' pantry as they shared the couch. They sat like that for several minutes, Buffy not feeling up to speaking, and Angel not wanting to press her.

Finally, her wandering mind reached a question she couldn't answer on her own.

"Why would anyone be after Willow?"

"I thought about that when Giles first called, and honestly I'm surprised it even took this long," he admitted. "She put a target on herself when she activated the Slayers. That's the most powerful magical achievement this world has seen in centuries. There are things in this world that would love to use that power… not to mention, she's bound to have made enemies by being the one responsible for the activation of an anti-demon army."

Buffy nodded her understanding, leaning back against the sofa, to process his words. I guess that's my fault.

"So, I would imagine it's the first option… or that witch-bitch would've just killed her." She shuddered, it wasn't a pleasant thought. Remind me to never let Willow out of my sight again.

"Very likely."

They settled into another bout of tense silence, until Buffy's thoughts slipped into another tangle, one that Angel might be able to settle better than others.

"Angel… What was Spike like when you knew him?"

Angel winced. "Buffy, we can't talk about that."

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't serious."

He stared at her for a few moments. A small jealous voice in his head was screaming to ruin them, but he knew how wrong that was. The battle in his head was still raging on as he slowly began to speak. He started with small stories; he'd never met William Pratt the human, but Spike in the beginning was very different, still more human than anyone he'd ever seen after losing their soul. Her face was calm, surprisingly so, so he continued, explaining the slow evolution into the Spike she met in Sunnydale; the obsession with Slayers, and the competition between them that fueled it. She nodded through the stories she'd already heard, but her chest was getting tight as he moved on from familiar stories, speaking faster as the stories got more and more violent, describing Spike's growing lust for blood. For a while, she tried to keep track of the bodycount of the events he was relaying, but gave up somewhere in the thirties. She hadn't thought about Spike that way in a long time, and her breathing grew shallower and shallower as she tried to equate the monster to the man, that psychopath to the person that had held her all night for many nights now. Her head began to spin, and she withdrew farther into the sofa cushions.

"Buffy, are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Somewhat remorseful, he put a hesitant arm around her. When she didn't push him away, he pulled her closer, until her head was resting on his shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.

He tried again. "Buffy?"

She shook her head against him. Pushing down his feelings of guilt, he let himself enjoy the contact; with the exception of their awkward hug the other night, he hadn't been this close to her in months. He'd missed her smell, the feeling of her heat, her breath and heartbeat through his clothes. Her outline burned into his body, and he relished it, holding her tighter, gently stroking her hair. His hands moved slowly from her hair to her arms, until he was holding her hand, still stroking her gently.

Sucking in a breath, she pulled her hand out of his in a sharp motion.

"Angel what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry…" He tried to shake them off, but the feelings of longing were still there. He wanted her to come back, to put his head on his chest again. "I didn't mean anything by it."

She saw through him instantly, anger breaking through, and shoved him hard, using the momentum to send herself flying off the couch.

"Like hell you didn't. You're still stuck on this, aren't you? I tried to give you space, made it as clear as I could that I just wanted us to be friends, and you keep doing this." Her speed increased, thinking of the other slights that she had previously tried to forgive. "You were going to hide Spike from me when I came to visit, and you showed up with roses. What were you trying to do?"

"Nothing Buffy, I swear." He jumped to his feet as well, adrenaline pumping. "I just wanted to give you something, anything, a nice evening… just talking, and… you know what, I don't feel guilty about that. I feel guilty about a lot of things in my life, but not that. You were mine, before you'd ever met him. I was there first."

She laughed. A furious, empty laugh. "Are you trying to tell me that you're in the right because you had DIBS? You are hundreds of years old, and you're acting like a child!" Men really don't grow up, do they?
"Maybe." His anger was building too. "But you're one to talk, choosing him. What is that, some ridiculous Billy Idol fantasy? At some point here you're going to have to get over this little bad-boy phase, and when you do, you'll realize I was right. He's not good enough for you."

Buffy glared at him, but her mouth couldn't settle on any of the hundreds of angry retorts pouring through her mind. Sick of words, she pulled back a hand and slapped him square across the jaw, putting as much of her strength behind it as she could muster.

Before Angel had a chance to respond, she turned and ran back up the stairs and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Angel watched her go, still shaking with fury.

Giles' door flew open. He paused for a moment at the door to the bathroom before rushing down the stairs, finding Angel pacing the living room in full game-face, still wringing his hands.

"What on earth is going on? I heard screaming."

"Ask her. She asked me to tell her about Spike, I just answered her questions. It's not my fault that her boyfriend is a mass murderer…" Angel took a deep breath, trying to regain his human features.

"You did what? Angel…"

"Don't look at me like that, it isn't anything she hasn't faced before."

Giles frowned. "Angel, you know well enough that Spike concerns me, but you have to find a way to settle this as adults. Buffy is not a toy for you two to fight over, she's a grown woman."

"Exactly!" Angel's pacing resumed, still inhuman. "She's a grown woman, and all I did was tell her some of what Spike did. He's killed people, some of them recently, and she deserved to know the details. She's a big girl, she should know what she's getting into."

"Angel." Giles touched his shoulder. "You saw Buffy after the Hellmouth closed, she was distraught. She's not the girl you remember. I think she's still recovering."

I'm going to break this door by the time I leave… Buffy checked it for damage ruefully, hoping Giles would understand. Small cracks were visible at the hinges, wood showing through the white paint. Nothing compared to some of the damage I've caused before... Maybe I can ask Xander to help me fix it before he notices.

Turning to the sink, hoping that a splash of cold water would cool some of her temper, the stories Angel had told her came rushing back, detail after gory detail. She'd heard stories like that before, but something was different this time. This time they bothered her. Not only that, they made her sick.

She knelt down. They were in her head, all of them. Screaming, dying, begging for mercy from the one person she was trying so hard to trust. It was too much, and the nausea overtook her like it had on the plane. Giving in, she waited for it all to stop, and then pulled off her blouse and jeans. Crawling into the shower still half-dressed, she sat on the floor of the tub and closed her eyes.

Downstairs, Giles' words were slowly sinking in for Angel. His anger fading, it was replaced by overwhelming guilt. Angel stood, looking at the window; it had finally gotten dark enough for him to leave on foot. With an understanding nod from Giles, he rushed for the door, nearly running over Spike in the doorway.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry," Angel mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Spike watched him flee, shaking his head. He looked around curiously as he entered the house. It was still early in the evening, but the house seemed so… asleep? He could smell Buffy and Willow, but he couldn't hear them, and the only person he could see was Giles, still sitting awkwardly on the sofa.

"What happened in here? This place is like a funeral home. Don't tell me somethin' happened to Red." He joined Giles on the couch, kicking up his feet.

Giles didn't answer. In the silence, Spike picked up another sound, barely perceptible over the rush of water: crying. Buffy?

He jumped to his feet. "Where's Buffy?"

Giles attempted to gently pull him back to a seated position, but Spike shook him off roughly, already turning towards the stairs.

"Spike, DON'T-" Giles called after him, but Spike wasn't listening. He reached the bathroom door in three bounds, listening for a moment before trying the knob. It wasn't locked.

Buffy was curled up on the floor of the shower, her head tucked between her knees. Spike could feel the pain radiating from her.

Pulling off his shirt and jeans with one hand, he crawled in with her, pulling her to his chest. She tucked her head into the crook of his arm, still shaking. The water was too cold, he couldn't tell if she was shaking from emotion or just the chill of it, but the knob to adjust it was slightly out of reach, and she was leaning on him heavily. Instead he wrapped her in his arms tightly, covering as much of her skin as he could. He wished intensely that he could offer her some body heat, but it seemed to help her slightly either way. Slowly, her shaking stopped.

"What's wrong, love?" He whispered it into her wet hair, repeating himself softly when she didn't respond for over a minute.

"It's too much." She whispered back. "It's too complicated, I don't know what's right and isn't anymore. I just want things to be normal."

Spike sucked in air. "I can't offer you normal, Goldilocks. But if this is too hard, and you need me to go, just say the word. You know I'd do anything for you." Even if it kills me.

She pulled away to look at him, and he took advantage of his chance, leaning farther over her to turn up the temperature. The sudden increase in heat, combined with the familiar smell of his chest, sent a soothing tingle through her body, bubbling into her extremities. She didn't want him to go, but after everything she'd heard that evening, a low voice in her head spoke more prominently than her own need. Soulless Spike, the killer, was in there somewhere. She put her hands on his chest, pushing herself out of his arms.

"Buffy, what are you doing?" Confused, he reached for her again on instinct. Panicking, she shoved him again, harder, slamming him into the wall. He felt a moment's rage, reaching for her again, then froze. Another memory hit him harder than she ever could: their last fight in a bathroom. Overwhelmed by the memory and fearing his own temper, he fled, shrugging back into his clothes on his way through the doorway.

Some part of Buffy had needed him gone, but the moment he was, she felt his absence as a dull ache. Turning the water off, she wrapped herself in the nearest towel, walking across the hall to crawl into bed, still damp and puffy-eyed.

It was too early still to sleep, and a half-hour or so later when Giles knocked on her door, she was still very awake. He took a place on the bed beside her, setting a second cup of tea on the bedside table, and taking a long sip of his own before speaking.

"Buffy, I'm not going to get involved with this, not again." He promised. "But as I told you once, I love you like a daughter, and I will be right across the hall if you need me."

He kissed her forehead gently, and then he was gone. Buffy lay still for a few minutes, reaching for the tea when the warmth of his comforting words was beginning to fade. She felt the warmth return as she drank, and before long, had finally slipped off into sleep.

Spike opened the door as silently as he could, but even a practiced predator's step was too heavy for a Slayer in fitful sleep. The moment his foot landed inside the room, she shot up in bed, staring at him in the dark. The only thing she could see for a moment was his blonde hair, practically glowing in the small amount of light from the windows in the hall. As her eyes adjusted, he came into slow focus, and she could just barely make out the color of his eyes.

"Don't mind me, pet." He whispered. "I'm just here for dry clothes, then I'll be right out of your pretty hair... it's snowing out there. I'll take Peaches' spot on the couch."

"No." She whispered back.

"No?"

"Stay." Her voice was so small, it tugged on his heart. "I can't sleep without you."

Spike slipped out of his wet clothes, pulling on a dry pair of black sweatpants before obeying her, tucking himself around her under the blankets. Normally, he preferred to sleep without clothes at all, but given Buffy's unpredictable moods of late, he didn't want to risk upsetting her in any way. It was clear fairly quickly that it would not likely have bothered her, however. She pulled off her still-damp bra, and tucked her hands into his waistband along his lower back, pulling him closer to her so that more of their skin touched.

Relieved, but still somewhat confused, he was almost scared to ask the question, but he couldn't hold it back. He'd spent hours already wondering as he wandered around, trying to cool off.

"Buffy, please tell me what happened today."

She sighed. "Angel and I… got in a fight."

Spike tensed. "He made you feel like that? I'll kill him, I will. I'll bloody well enjoy it, soul or no soul."

"No, don't." Buffy smiled weakly. "It's not all his fault. I asked him to tell me stories… about you. I don't know what I was expecting, but some of the things he was telling me just got to me…" Spike didn't answer, but didn't relax either, just listened intently. "He noticed that it was bothering me, and tried to comfort me, tried a little too much actually… and we got in a fight about it. He still doesn't like us being together, which is fair I suppose, but I told him to leave it alone. I shouldn't have asked him to talk about it though, I know it put him in a weird position."

"Prat." Spike shook his head, still tense. "We called a truce, you know. On the plane. Said we weren't gonna be fighting over you anymore… Figures he'd drop that when it suited him most."

He moved his hands tighter around her, finding the wet towel still wrapped in the sheets, and throwing it off the bed unceremoniously. Buffy giggled, snuggling closer.

"Why would you even ask about that?" Spike asked.

She hung her head. It all seems so silly now… "I don't know… I guess I got worried that you might be missing the old days? Being here?"

Spike laughed outright. "You crazy bint!" Buffy elbowed him hard, a hit that would've winded him if he needed to breathe. Regardless, it did somber him a little, and he sighed. "Actually, if anything, being here makes me feel soft. Especially being here with you… I was starting to worry that if we stayed too long, I might not be rough n' tumble enough for you anymore. I couldn't take it if you thought I went all 'kittenish' like Captain Cardboard… Every girl I ever loved thought I was too soft for her in the end."

"Riley wasn't-" Buffy stopped herself. Not the time. "Spike, that isn't going to happen with me. After everything, I am relieved when I see your softer side."

Spike grumbled. "I don't know, sweetheart. I think if you'd met William Pratt the human you'd never have looked twice at him."

"William PRATT? That was your last name? You were just destined to be a pain in my ass, weren't you?"

In answer, he growled animalistically, flipping her over on the bed and kissing her neck and shoulders mock-ferociously. Buffy cried with laughter, clapping a hand over her own mouth; it was past midnight, everyone else was probably asleep.

From the study across the hall, Giles smiled to himself. It was nice to hear Buffy laugh.