Previously: With the support of the mysterious "Council" the US Military have managed to temporarily contain the Outbreak: a wave of killing and destruction that has spread throughout California from the infection point of Sunnydale. But when your allies seem to have as many secret agendas as your opponents, and just as few morals, is the enemy of the Army's enemy truly their friend? Lieutenant Finn has his doubts.

Meanwhile, in the former home of the woman who's very presence practically destroyed both their lives, an ex-Watcher made the Rogue Slayer a proposition she didn't refuse…

Chapter Four: "Blunder is a Technical Term."

"Oh yes! Like how the cow and the chicken come together even though they've never met. It's like Sleepless in Seattle if, if Meg and Tom were, like, minced." – Buffy Anne Summers
"BFE, here we come," Ellis muttered as he lit another cigarette, his third of the journey so far. He lost grip of his match and the LUV bounced a little as he swerved the wheel. Lieutenant Finn groaned the soldier's incompetence, but saved any remarks he wanted to make for later. He had the feeling that the young woman seated beside him was just looking for another reason to think the Army useless. It was the way the Council was.

"BFE, Sergeant?" Mrs Osborne asked curiously. "Army code, I take it?" She pulled her sunglasses off her face and watched Ellis as she waited for him to respond. Finn wished the man would have the common sense to keep his mouth shut for once, but it seemed he had no such luck.

"Yes, ma'am," Ellis replied respectfully and Finn hoped he would just leave it at that. Instead the man who was notorious for avoiding any explanations that was longer than a headshake forged on, spelling out the contraction for the woman. "Bumfuck, Egypt. Middle of nowhere type thing." It wasn't a prescribed Army acronym, of course, but the recruits always found new ways of stirring things up between themselves and the more traditionally focused lifers.

"Ah," the redhead said, before returning to the pile of files that sat on her lap. Even though Finn had relinquished his seat in the front for her, so she would be where the wind sheer was less, the occasional strong breeze gripped the papers that she held, threatening to scatter them across the desert. "So, Lieutenant. What is your plan?" The woman asked, redirecting her attention away from Ellis.

Amusement sparkled in the woman's green eyes, and Finn was unsure whether she was laughing at Ellis' dirty comment or how stupid the Sergeant made the Army look during wartime. He leaned forward to make sure she'd hear him. "We've got four 5-tonners tailing us, forty-plus men and armaments. We aren't going for subtly here. We just want to get our people back," Finn said, emphasizing the word "our" with a little growl. After all, it was the Council who had borrowed the soldiers that accompanied the Slayer into the OC in the first place.

Mrs. Osborne seemed to be mulling something over in her mind. She made a little humming noise, and then nodded. "Yes. That could be a problem." Her eyes caught Finn's and the Lieutenant frowned a little. He was certain they had been a brighter shade of green before. "Well, what do you suggest?"

"We don't have many options ma'am. We're outnumbered and intelligence suggests out-gunned as well." The redhead nodded, that information coming as no surprise. "They aren't expecting reinforcements?"

"No."

Finn waited, but the woman decided not to further speculate. He let out a little sigh of frustration. "Our best bet is to surprise the enemy, grab our people and make a run down the coastline to San Fran where the 6th and 8th Divisions can provide us back-up if necessary."

"For that kind of strategy to work, Lieutenant Finn, the Slayer and the soldiers would need to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time."

"Right," Finn said, a little annoyed at the woman's insight. "Two hundred clicks south of Laguna Beach on the highway, oh-five-hundred hours tomorrow."

The woman tilted her head to the side and thought about what he was saying for a moment. Her long calculations perplexed Finn. "How do you suggest we inform the Slayer of that location, Riley?" she asked, her tone a little more secretive, a little less commandeering. Like she didn't know whether or not she should be saying that. Finn was startled for a moment. He wasn't aware that the Council had files descriptive enough to reveal his first name.

Finn, in a moment of brief empathy for the woman and what position she was in, gave the redhead the easy way out. No explanations needed. "Why, Mrs Osborne. You'll be the one who has to do that."

She frowned, the delicate crimson brows furrowing. "Indeed," she muttered, as she resumed her long estimates while staring aimlessly out into the desert, ignoring Finn completely.

The LUV went over a crack in the asphalt and Percy bounced off his seat, cursing as he landed practically on top of the orange haired soldier next to him. "Fuckin' Army," Percy murmured to the short man beside him.

Oz gave his friend a sardonic grin. "Chill," he muttered, running a hand over the number-two length hair that covered his scalp. The last thing he wanted was Percy acting up and starting something with all these soldiers. What had happened was a tragedy, but it was hardly the Army's fault, and if his friend kept picking fights it could hinder Willow's efforts.

A dark haired soldier with twinkling brown eyes began to laugh, slapping his knee and pointing at the young man Percy had practically sat on. "Looks like Finn had it right about you, Bennet."

Bennet scowled, his face blushing a shade darker than his hair. "Fuck you, Ridgie."

Oz.

Willow's voice entered his mind suddenly, and he fought with his natural instinct to not react to the sudden intrusion made by his wife. Oz turned his gaze out the window, ignoring the small argument raging in the back of the 4x4 and focused his mind on the other one that occupied his head. Yeah?

The Lieutenant doesn't like our odds, she whispered inside his thoughts, silently requesting his advice. Or his help. It seemed lately that Willow could bring herself to ask for neither. He seems to think we're going into this blind.

Then ask him what he sees, the man told her simply, and Willows presence was gone for a few moments as she, he supposed, took his advice. The desert passed by in a blur of yellow ochre and burnt sienna. Oz sighed. Everything was beginning to seem so dark lately.

Willows words interrupted his thoughts again. He has a location he wants Buffy to meet us at, she communicated in a breathy way, like she was distracted at the other end. He's hinting that I should tell her. That I can tell her.

Hint back.

Again she was gone, and Oz looked up just in time to dodge an elbow flying at his face. "Percy!" the shorter man yelled, getting out of his seat and pulling the other man back. "Sit down," he growled out, letting the wolf have a little say in the matter as well. Percy's eyes grew a little whiter and he did what he was told. Oz turned to the soldier, Bennet. "You too." The boy nodded and sat a little further away.

Oz, Willow came back, again without announcement. The Lieutenant just as good as flat out told me to tell Buffy.

Oz growled, and a few of the men near him moved closer to the walls of the vehicle. Better do it then. We have no choice.

He could feel Willow sigh, and it saddened him that he wasn't able to comfort her. I know. I'll try and contact her when we get to Ridgecrest for the evening. But it felt like something was blocking me the first time…

Sorcery? There was no response beyond the feeling of wounded pride, so Oz thought that he had hit the nail on the head. Do your best, he began, as every reassuring husband should. You said it would be easier for you to find her once we were closer. I know you can do it.

A few moments passed, and he felt her tenacity hardening. He could just imagine her "resolve face" taking form as she thought. All right. I'll do it when we stop. Then she was gone again, as if she had never been.

Oz blinked, coming back to reality. The soldiers were staring at him, wondering why he was still on his feet. He nodded to the young guy, feeling a little bad for snapping at him and then sat back down next to Percy. His head was tingling a little after Willow had left his mind. The wolf hadn't like it much either, and now he felt edgy, and wanted out of this moving tin can.

Taking a deep breath the man tried to calm himself. It was getting him worked up lately, the amount of magic Willow was using, and the things that she was using it for. She was becoming very powerful very quickly out of necessity, making herself valuable to the effort, but at what cost? She wasn't the woman he had married anymore, that was for sure.

It was the magic. It was consuming her, and killing him.

The large sword arched down toward the blond girl's head as she dodged left. Her hands snapped out, lightening quick, and clapped together on the flat of the sword. The vampire wielding the blade hissed as she snapped his weapon in half before launching a front kick to the undead creature's face. His head cracked back and she took a moment to re-centre herself before delivering a destructive sidekick into the vampire's side. The creature made a noise like a deflated whoopee cushion and dropped.

"That looked kinda funny," she commented automatically, but even then it still felt forced. "Think you can do it again?"

"YEARGH!" The scream that one soldier emitted as his left arm was torn from his body was awful. Buffy winced and hurled the broken blade at the scaly demon. It wedged itself into the demon's arm, knocking the scaly creature off balance and stunning it long enough for the little blond to break the creature's neck with a solid uppercut.

"Shit!" Buffy yelled, pulling her injured hand close to her chest. The demon's hide had been thicker than she had anticipated, and the tiny bones in her hand paid the price for her overzealous action. Some sixth sense urged her to turn around and she managed to dodge the spear throw aimed at her chest just in time. The weapon stuck into the body of the vampire she had beaten down earlier, dusting it conveniently. She picked up the long missile and moved to return it to its former handler.

The whole thing had been an ambush. Whether or not that was Willow's fault the Slayer didn't know. It wasn't her problem to know things like "can demons intercept mystical telepathy?" If they couldn't then there was a leak somewhere in the system, or worse, a double agent. Buffy really didn't have time to think about that as she charged at a large, white, hairy yeti-demon with the spear tucked under her arm like a javelin.

Blood, thick and yellowish, oozed out of the deep gash the spearhead had torn into the yeti's abdomen. The beast roared and grabbed at the shaft of the weapon with both hands and swinging the wooden rod high into the air. Buffy held tight to the peak of the arc and the dropped down onto snow-coloured shoulders, wrapping her legs around the yeti's neck. Her upper body continued it's descent towards the ground and she squeezed the muscles in her thighs taut, smiling grimly when she heard the satisfying snap of the yeti-demon's spine snapping.

Her shoulders hit the asphalt and she rolled to her feet, moving on to the next foe before the yeti's corpse had even hit the ground. Another of the Army's finest, a blond farm-boy who had made an unwanted pass at Buffy, let out a yell and fell to the ground with three vampires descending on top of him. Their rendezvous point had quickly turned into a slaughterhouse.

Across the blood-splattered highway, struggling with some kind of feathered demon, Lieutenant Bruce caught the Slayer's eye and let her know in a look that he blamed her for the situation they were in. It had been tough convincing the older soldier to move the men out into the open of the highway on her guarantee that there would be reinforcements meeting them at five am that morning. Every minute their back up was late caused another life to be lost, another soul Bruce was laying on the Slayer's blond head. It was her fault they were in so deep in the first place.

Ten minutes up the highway the cavalry was not without its own problems.

"AMBUSH!" Lieutenant Finn called out the obvious as Ellis swerved the wheel, plunging the LUV into the barrier at sixty miles an hour. Before him a massive scaled demon that reminded him more of a dinosaur reared on its hind legs and let out a monstrous bellow. When its large cloven feet slammed back down onto the road the tar seal cracked and shattered into thousands of pieces. Atop the raging beast rode a muscular example of a Type 63. The creature's horny face curled up into what Finn thought was a grin, and that was when the sandy-haired soldier noticed the two other dinosaur-beasts lurking behind the first, as well as some kind of Type 63 contingent.

The redhead in the front seat groaned and squinted through the black smoke that was leaking out of the crushed front remains of the vehicle. Several bright read streaks of blood ran down her face from her hair. "Chaos demons," she muttered, catching sight of the enemy. "Of course no vampires, this close to dawn."

"And the big'uns?" asked Ellis, shaking his helmet straight and quickly removing his seatbelt before moving to unbuckled Mrs Osborne. His hands worked quickly to unclip the mechanism. The air reeked of diesel, and the small sparks the mangled engine was emitting was not at all encouraging.

"Those," the woman said, pressing her fingers to her temples and making a face of pain. The dinosaur-thing bellowed loudly again and she winced. "Those are new."

"Ma'am?" Finn asked, already knowing the answer.

"Concussion," she stated, shaking her head a little. The redhead was tough; he had to give her that, even if she was Council. She wiped at the blood that was steadily dribbling down the side of her face, as head wounds tended to do, only succeeding in smearing the crimson liquid across her pale cheekbones. "Some people can't drive."

Finn ignored the last part and pulled the woman free of the belt. "We need to get out of here before this thing blows." Throwing her over his broad shoulders in the standard fireman's carry, despite her vocal and mildly physical protests, Finn raced to the opposite side of the highway, across the enemy line of fire, using the thick ebon smoke that billowed from their destroyed LUV as camouflage. The two soldiers and the civilian crouched behind the highway's side barrier, clutching at their weapons tightly.

A small group of lightly armed 63s, scouts in Finn's mind, broke off from the larger group and made for the three humans at a breakneck pace. Their weapons, more tribal than technological, rattled with the strain of their speed. Finn could see them salivating as they approached, fangs gnashing in anticipation. With territories tight and restricted as they were the demons had to share meals with the vampires. The 63s saw the soldiers as free food, and subsequently marched on their stomachs.

Ellis raised his rifle and took careful aim, like his daddy had taught him. His first bullet found a home in between one of the demon's eyes and his second knocked another monster off its feet when the hot lead buried itself under the scaly collarbone. Beside him Finn's three shots all struck gold, eliminating half of the lightly armed group. The demons hesitated in their charge when their numbers dwindled suddenly.

"No mercy," Ellis muttered, barely loud enough for his own ears to acknowledge. He repeatedly squeezed the trigger of his weapon, annihilating the remainder of the 63 scouts. His sardonic smile did little to reassure his commanding officer.

The 5-tonners had been at cruising speed nearly a whole mile behind the scout LUV and had luckily stopped short of the crash site. Finn could see Valentine organizing the RL. "Shit," Finn cursed, the word sounding strange coming from his mouth.

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm not sure-" Finn began, before being cut off but a shout of surprise from Mrs Osborne.

"We need to move further away. Now!" The tone in her voice brooked no argument and both men dragged her to her feet and proceeded at a half-jog toward their reinforcements just as a reddish streak blazed though the air only a few feet above their heads.

Percy was one of the first out of the back of the rig, his weapons at the ready. Oz followed closely behind. "Oz-man?" Percy asked, his voice grim as he caught sight of the inferno that was the remains of the leading vehicle. He pulled a pair of binoculars out of the LUV's surplus and scanned the crash site. Both men were silent for a moment, until Percy caught sight of shadowed movement racing through the smoke. "They're over there!" he yelled, elbowing the shorter man. Oz nodded sombrely. "Now what?"

"Now, you boys step back and let us do our thing," one soldier answered. The butter-bar that sparkled on his collar gave the learned boys a clue as to his status, which was in charge of everyone else with them. "Ridge, Bennet," the dark haired 2nd Lieutenant commanded. "Break out the LAW."

The soldiers in question nodded and then disappeared for a moment, returning with a short wooden case. Oz grunted. "Seen one of those before." The black cylindrical weapon was extended to its full length and then placed on Ridge's shoulder. The smaller, more compact rocket launcher looked like a toy compared to the one Buffy had once wielded against the Judge. The ginger haired Bennet loaded the M72A4 for Ridge, before flicking switches up the side of the weapon. He gave their commander a thumbs-up.

"Target the remains of the LUV. Help the fuel tank to a quick end, boys."

"They're too close!" Percy whispered urgently into the shorter man's ear. From the side of the highway were Willow and the soldiers were situated the redhead couldn't see the danger.

Oz let out a little growl, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Run, damn you."

The air seemed to be sucked from all around the weapon when Ridge pressed the release button, triggering the magneto, and heat and light and energy pushed the group away before the resulting boom deafened those near it for a few moments.

Her second skin no longer fit. That little truth, though not unexpected, irked her more than any other factor. The armour that had protected her for years, years and years before anything had ever been this heavy, had betrayed her by not recognising her body when she slipped inside it once again. Faith pouted and tugged at the zip of her leather pants. So she had slimmed down a little. Didn't mean her rugged-wear had to hang funny.

The white wife-beater proved little protection against the Californian night air as she waited at the bus station for the wonder-wimp. Watcher boy had been unusually twitchy. Granted she had tried to kill him and all of his idealistic little hero-wannabe tea party chums a couple of times about eight months or so ago but, gee you would think he'd get over it.

Whiny Brit.

He had returned, as promised, some time after sunset with some meager supply of food and a bag of Faith's own clothes. As if the fact that Wesley had handily stored away some of the Slayer's own threads for such an unlikely situation wasn't enough to get her suspicion ticking over, the damn man wouldn't eat. It was a minor detail, and it wasn't like she particularly cared to share –hungry Slayer after all- but his actions were making her suspect he had poisoned the crackers or something. And it wasn't like he didn't look like he needed the food himself. The man looked drawn, and had lost a lot of weight on his already scrawny frame.

The vehicle Wesley had bundled her into looked like it had seen better days. Or months. Or years. Actually, the damn clunking thing reminded her a hell of a lot of G-man's old Citroen. When they had pulled up outside of the Santa Maria bus station Faith had thought that they had broken down, until Wesley had informed her that she would be spending the day laying low inside the former transport hub while he attended to some "resistance affairs," and that he would return some time during the evening. Even this far out of the small town of Sunnydale Faith's Slayer-sense was still ringing bells and whistles, so the girl knew the problems were deadly serious.

"Unless, of course, you'd want to help?" The offer had been made in a strained and defeated tone, and both parties knew the answer before the Slayer had even began to chuckle. Shortly after helping with a painstaking perimeter check the man had disappeared, leaving Faith with little to do but sleep the day away and contemplate her situation in life. Neither of which was an activity she much enjoyed.

She stood there for several minutes shivering in the cold night air and wishing she had the common sense to wear something warmer than a white cotton singlet. When the Slayer had hurriedly dressed the previous evening she didn't exactly prepared herself for a night outside a bus station in the middle of nowhere. Faith didn't really know what to prepare for at all, she had just acted without thought, as usual. But that was while she was still in the relative warmth and safety of the abandoned Summers' home.

Now, as she hunched over and hugged herself in an effort to keep warm, she silently cursed every person she could think of that had influenced her in any way into this situation. Her vocabulary of cuss words reached its end and Faith began to kick at the dirt aimlessly, muttering stuff about nothing.

The Slayer's mind wandered as her body shivered again and goose bumps materialized on her forearms making the small hairs there stand on end. Subconsciously she rubbed her arms and considered what her move should be. The heavy shuffle of boots echoed around the parking lot and her body unwillingly went rigid as the noise halted directly behind her. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she mentally chastised herself for not being more careful. One lapse in focus was all it took to get killed. Her breath caught in her throat when a familiar tingle ran up and down her spine.

"You look lost," a deep voice drawled from behind her.

She spun around to find herself looking at a maroon-clad chest. The girl's eyes darted to the visage of what would have once been a fairly handsome man. Now a demon stood before her in full vamp-face, with not a care for who saw, and was currently occupied with leering at the neckline of her singlet.

He didn't have that sour smell older corpses had, and his clothes were at least current, so Faith figured he was a fresh fang and might actually be stupid enough to think she was a random human victim waiting around at a dingy bus station to be somebody's breakfast. I can work with that. She flashed him a flirty smile. "I don't know. It looks like you've found me."

His eyes shot up to look at her face and her gawked at her in shock for a few fleeting seconds. Realization spread across his face and he grinned at her response. Not many meals liked to play lately. "Guess I have." The next comment was just as intelligent as the previous. "Do you want a ride somewhere?"

Faith felt as if she were reading the script off some B class porn movie. She resisted rolling her eyes and instead favored him with another seductive smile that would have made a pumping heart skip a beat. "That depends," she said in a low throaty voice. "Where do you wanna take me?" Her hand gestured behind him to the empty parking lot.

"Wherever you wanna go, babe." He smiled suggestively at her and this time she did roll her eyes. Idiot…

Moving toward him quickly the girl rabbit-punched the vampire in the face. His nose shattered instantly. Before he could react to her initial attack she launched a solid kick into his chest and grinned wickedly when she heard his ribs crunch like dead leaves. Wounded now, with his sternum imploded, he collapsed face down onto the asphalt. The vamp moaned pitifully as he clutched at his fractured ribcage.

A look of disgust formed on the Slayer's features as she checked him out from top to bottom. He wheezed in a pained manner and crimson blood flowed steadily from his nose. The damage wasn't severe but the vamp still writhed like a kicked puppy. She sneered at the squirming vampire, disgusted by his weakness.

"Aren't you going to finish him off?" Faith flinched and hoped her reaction went unnoticed. Eight months of comatose slumber hadn't dulled the effect that particular nasal British voice had on her.

The Slayer smirked at the man, and lashed out with hours of the day's boredom and frustration lacing her words. "Let me borrow that massive flagstaff rammed up your ass, Princess. Sure that'll get the job done." She raised one of her dark brown brows in question. "Unless, of course, you wanna leave it where your daddy put it?" The Slayer was knowingly digging herself deeper into her hole. But it was cool and quiet and dark down there and Faith didn't really want to leave.

The crack of a man's fist hitting the face of a woman echoed across the car park.

The louder snap that accompanied the breaking of both the ulna and radius bones soon followed.

Parker Abrams was lucky to be alive. Well, lucky to be undead, but as he raced toward Sunnydale Town Hall he didn't feel the need to debate semantics with himself. He had bumped into the Slayer. The Slayer, not that wannabe blond thing causing the forces of darkness so much aggravation, but the real Slayer, the one nearly every member of the underworld was searching for. He had bumped into her, faced her, stood up to her, and lived.

Parker wondered what kind of reward he would get.

A pale hand shot out from behind a nearby tree and wrapped around the racing vampire's neck. Stopped short Parker's feet refused to support him at the angle he was being held and he sagged, only to find himself held up by the strength of the pale hand. The fingers squeezed, and though the vampire didn't need to breathe the sheer pressure against his trachea made black spots dance before his eyes.

"Well, well. Little Porker. Running from the big bad wolf are we? Where's the fire?"

"Oooh, shall we set him aflame, my naughty boy? The stars are calling for me to dance in his ashes."

The vampire swallowed at the sound of those familiar voices, and Parker found himself wishing that he had remained in Santa Maria with the Slayer. "Spike," he nodded to the bleach blond vampire, keeping his voice as steady as possible. The older vampire grinned and squeezed a little tighter before releasing him. "Drusilla," the young vampire wheezed, with a half bow. He, like many of the new breed, was all too aware of the destructive nature of the slender vampire's' insanity.

"How polite," Spike ground out. "Now answer the question, boy." The palm of his hand smacked Parker in the back of his head.

Options flashed through Parker's mind, and greed won out over self-preservation. "N-no fire, Spike. Just… eager to start the working night."

The smell of woman's perfume and the soft shimmer of silk next to Parker terrified him. "Horrid little child. They can smell your lies." Her nails clawed into his cheek. Three angry red tracks had been engraved down the side of his face, deep troughs that looked like they should bleed but did not. Parker didn't bleed much anymore, not since his blood had stopped flowing permanently. Instinctively his hand flew up to the injury and he backpedaled away from Drusilla.

Coming to stand beside his sire, Spike pulled out a cigarette and sparked it up, taking his time with the motion and obviously evaluating the mess that Parker was. His arm slithered around Dru's waist and pulled her in close. "An' if "they" didn't tattle on you, even a blind man can see someone's run you through the ringer."

"I swear, I don't know what you're talki- ah!" Spike finished grinding the cigarette into Parker's right eye and released the struggling vampire's shoulder. Parker fell backward onto the sidewalk. A viscous white substance mingled with blood dribbled down the side of his face. The boy howled and squirmed away from the merciless vampire. His eye was gone, popped like a grape within its own socket, and left the flesh around the hole that remained feeling like it was on fire.

"Yeah? I think you're being a bloody lying Yank. You're keeping secrets, and that's not what friends do." Thin gray smoke was exhaled little by little as the vampire spoke. He relit the crushed and bloodied fag and puffed again, this time keeping it in his mouth by his teeth. "Aren't we friends, Porky?"

"Spike…" Parker tried hopelessly, panting and holding the remains of his eye against the wound with the palm of his hand. There was little blood around the wound but the pain alone was enough to make the boy feel nauseas.

"Do you know what happens to a little boy that lies like a dog?" Spike's smile was none too friendly. "He gets thrashed like one."

Behind him, halfway between Sunnydale and her own little world, Drusilla spun, raising her arms in the air to dance beneath the light of the moon. "Beat him! Beat the wicked little boy, my William." She twirled closer to Parker before ceasing her spinning and crouched before the dead man. Her tone was dead serious. "But Miss Edith needs new eyes, and red is her favorite color." She hissed and flicked her fingers at Parker's face. That was the final straw that broke the camel's back. Parker broke down, spilling the beans in a half sobbing voice.

Spike grinned and flicked the remains of his smoke onto the concrete between Parker's legs. The brown-haired man sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "So, it's true. The other one's awake then."

"Mummy told you, love," Dru whispered, her voice twittering excitedly. "The wind… it worries about her. Like butterfly wings."

"Yes, pet. You told me. You and every other demon this side of the equator," Spike grunted. He looked annoyed, and glared at Parker. "Who else knows about this?" The undead youngster didn't respond fast enough and found himself hauled to the eye level of the shorter vampire. "Who else knows? And don't go telling fibs again." The vampire's icy blue eyes seemed to dare Parker to try, just so Spike could make good on his threat.

"No one. Just you and Dru," Parker bit out. Spike shook him a little and morphed to vamp face, growling. "I swear! Spike, I'm telling you the truth!" Mere moments after his ardent exclamation had Parker realized what a foolish error he had made. He had known something Spike didn't want to share, and now the older vampire knew he was alone in that knowledge, with the exception of Drusilla of course. Parker wanted to slap himself.

Spike did it for him. The younger vampire spat out some blood and probed around his broken fang with his tongue. Snapping a picket free from a nearby fence Spike twirled the wood in his hands. The bleach blond vampire frowned. "Who exactly sired you?"

Parker was taken aback by the question, but his eyes never left the wooden plank in Spike's hand. "Harmony did," he said, before continuing somewhat embarrassedly. "She said it was because pretty people should live forever."

"And that they should," Spike agreed, before putting the younger vampire out of his misery. Parker Abrams let out a girlish yelp before his body deteriorated into ashes. "Figures Harmony would have made that mess. Girl's got no standards." He grinned at Dru, looking for concurrence. The willowy woman stood off to the side, grinning and waving her hands through the sparkling remains of Parker that leisurely made their way to rest on the earth. The site of her acting out such innocent play in such a morbid setting made Spike smile, and he was content to let her be for a while.

"So, that wanker Wesley has the bird, eh? Best be doing something about that."

Continued in the next chapter: "Jostling the Minor Pieces."