Watching Your Back (Part 6)

Previously ...

Faith has returned to Sunnydale, apparently intent on reconciliation with Buffy and her friends. Initially suspicious of the brunette slayer, the gang has slowly begun to accept her again. Other matters also began to claim their attention: principally a substantial change in Buffy's behaviour, and a threat from Tara's past.

Faith's return could not have come at a better time, as Spike has been plotting to cause a flood of demons to come to Sunnydale. Aware that the vampire had some plan afoot, the gang formed a counter-plan. Unfortunately, Buffy's erratic behaviour led to the plan going awry and to Riley Finn's death. Now, the blonde slayer has vanished, and the others are left to wonder why …

Chapter Sixteen

Faith slammed into the side of the dumpster.

The vampire that had hold of her jacket swung her back, obviously intending to repeat the favour, but she drove the heel of her hand into its shoulder, then wrenched free of its grip.

"Pretty girl likes it rough." The vamp grinned, running his tongue over his teeth. His two friends laughed, the three of them working together to hem her into the dead-end alleyway.

Faith tried to remember where her stake had fallen, but her head was still ringing from bouncing off the dumpster. This is not going well. She'd seen the three vamps drag their victim into the alley, and thought it would be a simple matter to deal with them. Either they are tougher than the average vamp, or I'm still weak from that fight in the bay.

At least the girl they'd been trying to grab had got away. Though if she didn't think of something soon she might just end up being an even tastier replacement snack.

"What are you pups doing out?" she taunted, "I thought Spike kept you on a short leash?" Perhaps, if she lived through this, she could learn what the British vampire was up to.

"Hiding time is over, sweetness." The talkative vamp replied, still grinning. "We're going to rule this town."

"Really?" Faith shrugged, "Pity you'll be dust by then, isn't it?" Good talk girl, but what are you gonna stake 'em with? Your razor-sharp wit?

Then Buffy hit them.

The blonde slayer came out of nowhere, dropping onto the middle vampire from the rooftop. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn the last time Faith had seen her, but by now they were crumpled and covered with leaves and dirt. She must be hiding out in the woods.

Buffy plunged a stake into the vampire's back with a feral snarl. As it dusted beneath her, she surged to up, driving one of her bare feet into the jaw of the left hand vamp.

The third undead tried to grab the blonde, but she knocked its hands aside easily and drove the stake into its chest. Its dust was still drifting to the ground when the third vampire joined its comrades.

The blonde slayer crouched amidst the dust, sniffing the air.

"Buffy?" Faith said, taking a tentative step toward the other girl, "Are you -"

The blonde turned and snarled, baring her teeth. Faith stepped back instinctively. There was no sign of recognition in the other girl's face. There was nothing in the expression to remind her of Buffy. It's like someone else in B's body. Which was a thought that gave her guilty recollections of her own jaunt in the other slayer's shoes.

The blonde gave another, lower snarl, then turned and ran off into the dark.

For a long moment Faith stood in the alleyway. If the vampires were back on the streets, she should continue with the patrol. But I really need to talk to Giles about this.

Pausing only long enough to find her stake, the brunette set off through the streets for Giles' apartment. She stuck to open, well-lit streets. There was no point in risking a confrontation when she had other business to attend to.

The journey took only a few minutes: although still not at her peak after the injuries she had sustained three days earlier, Faith could still run with the best of them. Not that running is high on my list of priorities.

Giles answered the door with the chain on, then let her in. A cross and a vial of holy water sat on the table next to the door. The ex-Watcher obviously wasn't taking any chances.

"I saw B." she announced immediately the door was closed.

"Really?" his face brightened momentarily, then grew concerned, "How was she?"

"Wild." Faith struggled to think of the right words, "Feral. She was dirty, and her feet were bare. You know how B normally is with her appearance. This wasn't her at all. Except that it was."

Giles nodded,

"I've just had a phone call from Willow," he explained, "she and Tara have come to some sort of arrangement with the spy. Willow seemed distracted, but from what she said, it seems likely that the first Slayer has taken possession of Buffy's body."

"But why?" Faith asked, puzzled, "B's a great slayer. The best."

"Not in the eyes of the first, it seems." Giles took off his glasses and started to clean them, "Did Buffy tell you about the dreams we all had after we defeated Adam?"

"Not a whole lot." Faith admitted, "Just that you were visited by the first slayer, who was upset that B had used your help." She paused, "Oh. I see what you mean."

"Yes." Giles put his glasses back on, "we had assumed that the first slayer would give up after Buffy defeated her in the dreams. But now it appears that we were wrong. She has taken a more direct involvement in the issue."

"I still don't get it," Faith threw herself into a chair with a sigh, "why would the first slayer care how B beat the bad guys, as long as she did? That's what slayers do."

"Not necessarily." Giles said quietly.

"What?"

"For the last thousand years, the slayer has served as a champion against the darkness." He explained, "but records before that are sketchy. Those we do have suggest that the slayer was not always an agent of … well, 'good', for want of a better term."

"So I guess I wasn't exactly the first slayer to go rogue, then?" Faith sighed bitterly.

"Not even the first this century." Giles took a seat opposite her. "Though it has been quite rare since the Council became properly established."

"So we know that the first slayer has taken over B's body." The brunette said softly, "What do we do about it? It's not like we can swap them back … we don't even know where B's soul is."

"I suspect that it is still within her." Giles tapped a heavy, leather-bound book that was lying on his table, "That is the case with most possessions. Your … experience … of body-swapping was the exception, not the rule."

"So do we just call in a Priest and exorcise B or what?"

"Unfortunately, things are not that simple." Giles sighed, "this is not demonic possession. Indeed, we may have inadvertently assisted the first slayer to possess Buffy's body through the spell of joining that we used."

"Damn." Faith threw her head back and swore, "so what can we do? B bailed me out against some vamps tonight, but she wasn't exactly in the mood to play nice with me, either. We need her, Giles. Spike still has that Gem."

"I know." Giles thought for a few moments, tapping his spectacles against his teeth. "If Buffy's soul is still within her body, then we may be able to get through to her in some way; help her to overcome the force that is possessing her."

"You mean a spell?"

"Well naturally we will begin research on that possibility." The Englishman put his glasses back on, "but it could take days or weeks to develop the right incantation. I meant rather that one of us should try and speak to her; break through to the real Buffy."

"She didn't seem in a very talkative mood to me, Giles."

The ex-Watcher paused, and Faith could see that he was struggling to find a tactful way to reply.

"I get it." She rested her head in her hands, "You mean someone she trusts."

"No." he corrected her gently, "but perhaps someone who she has a longer relationship with, such as myself or her mother?"

"No way." Faith shook her head, "I saw the way she took out those vamps, tonight. If she decided to get violent with one of you, there's no way you'd survive."

Giles studied her face for a moment, then nodded reluctantly,

"If you are certain?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life." The brunette rubbed her hands on her thighs, "Hell, I'm not sure I would get away if she came after me, at the moment."

"There's only one choice, then." Giles said, without much enthusiasm, "Someone who might get through to Buffy, but who might also survive an attack."

For a moment, Faith looked at him in confusion. Then she made the connection,

"Angel?"

"Angel."

Xander stood outside the gym, waiting for it to open. It was just before nine, and he had arranged to meet Faith for a training session. They had switched to mornings because Faith had begun attending all of Buffy's classes; which were mainly in the afternoon; and taking notes for the blonde slayer. Xander didn't know whether to feel admiration or sympathy for Faith's adamant refusal to admit that Buffy might not come back.

"We could be in bed right now, you know."

Xander sighed,

"I told you I had to train." He said quietly, not looking at Anya, "You could have stayed in bed. You didn't have to come."

"It gets cold in bed without you." She replied, ignoring the fact that it very rarely got cold in Sunnydale at all, let alone in late summer. They had had sharp words when Anya insisted in coming to watch him train, and he had relented only when she suggested that he was merely using the sessions as a cover for an affair with Faith. Xander had heard her revenge stories. He felt it was a matter of urgency to prove that nothing illicit was going on. The alternative did not bear thinking about.

"When does this place open, anyway?" Anya complained.

"Five minutes."

"And when will Faith get here?"

"In about twenty."

"Why do you get here so early if she doesn't?" the ex-demoness asked suspiciously.

"What, now not being with Faith is suspicious?"

"It just seems odd." Anya answered, defensively.

"I go in first, set up the mats and do some warming up." Xander explained with forced patience, "I'm not a slayer. If I just start fighting from a cold start I pay for it in a big way the next day."

"Oh." Anya was silent for a moment, then spoke again, "I'm sorry."

For the love of God, would she leave it alone. Xander blinked suddenly. Did she just? He turned to his girlfriend,

"What did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry." Anya shrugged uncomfortably, "for being so suspicious of you and Faith, I mean. I know you wouldn't really cheat on me, but I get jealous when you spend all your spare time with her."

"Well, I am sorry about that. About not being with you, I mean." He paused, "It's just that, Faith was the first person to actually give me a chance to really help out. That meant a lot to me. And with Buffy vanished and all these demons on the way. Plus what happened to Riley …" he tailed off slowly, then grimaced, "They're going to need me even more."

"Maybe I could get Faith to train me as well." Anya suggested, and gave an experimental kick.

"You could ask." Xander knew better than to reject the idea . Nothing would be more certain to make Anya determined to do something, "But you're really good at helping Willow and Tara. Giles said he thought you really made a difference at the loading bay."

"He did?" Anya brightened considerably, "Well, of course I am more suited to the magical than physical skills. Perhaps I should concentrate on them."

"If you think it's best." Xander said agreeably. Living with Anya was easy enough, once you worked out how to keep her in a good mood.

"You're a good boyfriend." She announced suddenly and hugged him. After a moment of surprise, he hugged her back.

The hug somehow blended into a kiss, and suddenly he could feel Anya's hands beginning to wander.

"I don't think that's a very good idea." He chuckled into her throat.

"Mmm?" she all but purred in response, "We could go down the side of the gym …"

"That was not the warm up I had in mind." He kissed her again, "Tempting though it is."

Anya pouted,

"You never have any time for me." She whined playfully, her fingers digging into his sides.

"I'll be out of here in two hours." Xander promised, drawing her closer, "And then I'll have all the time you want."

"Promises, promises." She nibbled his ear lightly, then kissed him on the lips, "don't bother to shower after your training."

"But I'll be -"

"Able to shower when you get home." She said pointedly, a smile creeping around her lips, "You have a nice shower at home. Very spacious."

"Yes …" there were definite advantages to having Anya as a girlfriend, "… I'll be able to shower when I get home."

Anya laughed softly, then kissed him one more time.

"They're open." She nodded at the gym, "Go warm up, lover."

"Why are you doing this, Angellus? Running back to her again? You don't owe her anything." Despite the hurt and frustration she was feeling, Darla's voice was calm, almost amused. However old she might be, she remained the child of a time that had scorned displays of strong emotion.

"Don't call me that." His answer was mechanical and distracted as he packed some clothes into a heavy canvas bag. It was black, of course. Her efforts to expand his wardrobe had so far met with very limited success.

"You just can't give her up, can you?" she snapped. She was proud of her self-control, but Angel had always been able to get under her skin. I let him get too close to me.

Angel didn't answer. He always retreated into silence when he grew tired of an argument. Or when he knows he is wrong. Instead, he pulled the zipper of the bag closed sharply, then moved the bag from his bed to a chair.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she had herself under control again now, "There is no point leaving until this evening. You won't get far before the sun rises, now."

For a moment, he glared at her. Then his expression softened and he sighed.

"I have to go, Darla. I know you don't … can't … understand that. But I have to go." He shrugged, as if acknowledging the illogical nature of his actions, "Buffy needs me, so I go. That's the way it is between us."

"She didn't help you six months ago." Darla moved closer to him and laid a hand on his chest. She knew she was sending mixed signals, initiating physical intimacy whilst reminding him of the things she had done to him then, but he was not responding to logic.

"I didn't ask her to." His tone was cool.

"You should have," she purred, kissing his neck lightly, "she could have done what you couldn't, and finished it between us."

He grabbed her wrists suddenly. Despite herself, she winced.

"Don't make me choose between you, Darla." His voice was stern, "You'll lose. Again."

She shook her head sympathetically,

"My poor Angellus. Still in love with the slayer." His hands relaxed slightly, but she did not try to break free, instead looking at him through her eyelashes. "Why do you hang on to your misery so strongly? If you could just let yourself be happy, all the pain would go away, forever."

He swore and released her hands,

"You know I don't want that."

"Why not?" she asked, with just the faintest hint of a taunt, "Give in to it, Angellus. You know you can never have her, the way things are. But if you accept who you are, we could turn her together. She could be yours, eternally."

He didn't answer immediately, and she smiled, deep within herself. She knew him. He might deny it, but the thought was always in him. His darkest fantasy, hidden from the world. But he couldn't hide it from her.

"She'd never drink me." He snapped, pushing her back. But he didn't deny the attraction of the idea.

"She would." Darla purred, caressing his cheek, "You just went about it all wrong last time, my love. You helped her to hate you. To destroy you. You wasted that love, when it could have been your greatest weapon."

"No." he shook his head, "We're not having this conversation, because I'm not going to do it. I'm on the right side in this fight, Darla, and that is more important than whether or not I get to be happy."

"So self-sacrificing." She let the mockery in her tone come through strongly. "So noble."

He opened his mouth to reply, but as he did they both heard the sound of the office door opening.

"Angel?" Cordelia's voice, calling from above.

"I'll be right up." He called back, his eyes never leaving Darla. She returned his gaze coolly, concealing her satisfaction that their argument had dragged on so long.

"You should leave." He said quietly, "through the a sewer exit."

"In this dress?" she smoothed the elegant white gown she was wearing, "what's she doing here this early, anyway? Your eager young Watcher I could understand, but her?"

"Both Cordelia and Wesley come to work as soon as the sun is up -"

"How sensible of them."

He ignored the comment,

"They both work as late as necessary as well. They know how important our work is."

"How conscientious they both are."

He frowned,

"You could wear something else." Rather than respond to her comment, he changed the subject.

Darla shook her head, savouring Angel's discomfort,

"You won't let me keep clothes here, my love." She reminded him, a slight note of irony in her voice, "And we are far from the same size. Unless your lovely assistant could offer me something?"

Angel's frown deepened,

"Stay away from Cordelia." His tone brooked no argument, and Darla lowered her eyes, knowing she had pushed him as far as was safe.

"As you wish."

For a moment he paused, as if surprised by her compliance. Inwardly, she smiled. It was a dangerous game she was playing; balancing his instinctive desire for her against his disgust at what she represented. A false step might mean her death, and there were still scores to settle.

And the risk is what makes the game worth playing. The thought made her smile as she silently watched him climb up stairs to the office.

She had known from the start that he would choose to go and help the slayer. But now, when he did, the thought of all he had given up for her would be fresh in his mind. Thoughts of the pain, the betrayal, the impossibility of their being together. Thoughts of turning her. Thoughts of what other choices he could make. Thoughts of me.

So he would go. And despite all these things, he would help Buffy Summers. And then the slayer would turn him away again. And I will be there to offer him solace, when he least expects it. He will at last begin to remember who he truly is. It would be nice to visit Sunnydale again. She had a lot of catching up to do.

"I still can't believe you did that."

Willow was lying in bed, watching the light slant in through a slim gap in the curtains. She could hear Tara's soft breathing behind her, but she did not roll over to face the other girl. It was too hard to look at her and talk at the same time.

"I had to." The blonde answered in her soft voice. "He would not have agreed to d-delay taking me any longer than a month."

"We didn't have to let him take you at all." Willow replied bitterly, feeling tears already begin to thicken her voice, "He was our prisoner."

"We needed the information he had." Tara's voice was sad, but steady. "We have to help B-Buffy."

Buffy. Willow sniffed, miserably. The slayer was her closest friend, and she wanted very much to help her. But I can't bear to lose Tara.

"I love you." She mumbled into her pillow, "How can you leave me?"

Tara didn't answer, and Willow felt her dead weight in her chest growing colder and colder. Then the blonde's hand touched her gently on the shoulder.

"I can't." Tara whispered.

"But you said you would -"

"Only if he still wants me too."

"Which he will."

"Not if we find a w-way to change his mind."

Willow frowned, then rolled over slowly. They were now lying almost nose to nose.

"How?" She asked, trying not to hope too much.

Tara bit her lip,

"I don't know. We can't use magic to influence him."

"We could try."

The blonde shook her head,

"It wouldn't work. Even if it did, it would be wrong. We m-made an agreement. That's important among my people. I may be a renegade, but I can at least still live up to my p-promises."

"Then what can we do?" Willow asked, plaintively. "I think we should talk to Giles."

"No."

"But -"

"No." Tara raised her voice for the first time Willow could remember, "Telling outsiders about our people is forbidden."

"But you told me. And you learned human magic."

"I know." To Willow's surprise, the blonde looked ashamed. "I n-never meant to. But I fell in love with you. I j-just couldn't say no."

"But now you can, even if it means leaving me behind." Despite her best intentions, Willow knew she sounded bitter.

"I must." Tara closed her eyes, trapping tears that had started to well within them, "You are already at risk. I cannot endanger anyone else by telling them about my people."

"Endanger them?"

The blonde nodded,

"Our laws are strict. We should both be killed for what I have done. The Elder could have insisted on bringing you for justice, as well."

"That's barbaric." The redhead exclaimed angrily.

"No." Tara shook her head, "my people do not see human death as an end. You are eternal, through your souls. By k-killing you, they would protect our secret, without doing any wrong."

Willow laughed nervously,

"Death sounds pretty end-y to me."

"The Elder m-made no mention of you." Tara continued, "B-but if we told anyone else what was happening, he would be forced to t-take action."

"I hate this." Willow sat upright in the bed and slapped her hand on the quilted cover, "I hate that I might lose you. I love you too much, Tara."

"We have a month," the blonde touched Willow's arm gently, drawing her down again. "We'll think of some way to persuade the Elder."

They kissed slowly, neither wanting to speak for a few moments. But eventually they drew apart again. Willow laid her hand on Tara's cheek, trying to think of some way to get themselves out of the situation they were in.

If only we could tell Giles. Though he did not regularly practice magic, the Watcher had an excellent theoretical understanding, and a very sharp mind. Or Angel. Giles had said that the vampire would be coming to Sunnydale to try and help them find Buffy.

The vampire.

Her breath caught, as an idea began to form in her mind.

"Your people sometimes work for vampires, don't they?"

"Yes." Tara nodded, her expression confused, "The Elder was w-working for Spike."

"How much do the vampires know about your people?"

"S-some of them know what we are." The blonde said slowly, "Why?"

"We have this friend." Willow explained, "Angel. I told you about him, remember?"

"Yes." Tara frowned, "He used to be Buffy's b-boyfriend?"

"That's him." Willow could feel her excitement building, "the thing is, he's a vampire. That means we can tell him about you."

"A vampire?" Tara looked horrified, "that must be terrible for Buffy."

"What? Oh. No, you don't understand." Willow sat up, too full of energy to remain lying down, "Angel's always been a vampire. But he's not evil, because he has a human -"

She stopped. Rosenberg, you're an idiot. With a squeal of glee she turned and kissed Tara on the lips. The blonde's look of confusion deepened.

"Buffy was dating a vampire?"

"Yes." Willow waved her hand impatiently, "But the thing is, he has a human soul. Some gypsies cursed him with it. And I know the spell. We could give you a soul as well."

Tara frowned, then shook her head,

"I don't have a soul, Willow. Angel did, and the spell gave it back to him. It won't work for me."

"Oh." The redhead felt just like a balloon that had been suddenly deflated. It had suddenly occurred to her that even if the spell had worked, Tara would have lost her soul again as soon as she became happy. You really are an idiot, Willow.

She slumped back into the bed and stared at the ceiling. There has to be a way. At least her first idea could still work.

"We could talk to Angel about your people." She said, slowly, "He is a vampire, not a human."

Tara nodded hesitantly,

"That would be permitted."

The redhead continued to stare at the ceiling, letting her mind wander. In high school, she had always tried to keep her mind focussed, and logical. But learning magic had taught her that sometimes intuition could be more helpful. So she let her thoughts roam. The ceiling was cream. They had a nice house. It was a pity Buffy had never seen it. But at least Angel was coming to try and help them. They would need him and Buffy if these Jeneth demons turned up in town. As if Spike and his vampires weren't bad enough, attacking people and drinking blood. Though Buffy had done that too, the last time she saw her. Tara's Elder had said something about it.

# Blood is a vital fluid. It contains the very essence of a living thing. Some creatures can absorb or analyse that essence by consuming blood. #

Absorb. Essence. Blood was a powerful idea, even to humans. Blood-debt. Bound by blood. Blood-brothers.

She frowned. It couldn't be that simple.

Slowly, the frown faded into a smile. It wasn't that simple, of course. In fact, it would be extremely complex. But she knew spells even the gypsies had thought lost, and Tara could draw on all the lore of her people. They would find a way to do it.

The image on the screen was a little rough and unsteady, but the picture was clear enough. A demon with leathery skin and slightly cat-like eyes, walking slowly along a dark street.

"Looks like somewhere out on the west side of town." Harmony remarked, looking up from her fingernails for the first time in almost ten minutes.

Spike grunted. He was much more interested in the demon. It stood a little hunched over, but moved smoothly, with a suggestion of power. The creature's head, slightly broader than a human's, swung back and forth regularly, observing the street. Not stupid, then.

"Definitely a Jeneth?" he asked at last, flicking an extinguished cigarette out of his fingers.

"Definitely." Aleister nodded, "the first we've seen so far, but others can't be far away."

"Any chance they'll try anything?"

"Not yet. Not against us, anyway." Aleister paused the tape and pointed to a mark on the creature's arm, "That's a clan crest. The picture isn't good enough to make it out, but I'd say we're looking at a scout for one of the major Jeneth leaders. It's just doing reconnaissance. In a day or two, the clan leader will move into Sunnydale. He'll contact you himself. The Gem is too important to leave to a lesser member of the clan."

"No chance of a rogue?"

"None." Aleister shook his head, "the Jeneth are extremely organised."

"Is it our boy, do you think?" Spike lit a fresh cigarette.

"I couldn't say for certain," Aleister hedged, "The picture -"

"Make an educated guess, man." Spike's tone was impatient.

"Yes. At a guess, I would say it is probably the Clan of Tor'Kol." Aleister was obviously unhappy with having to venture an opinion.

"Tor who?" Harmony looked up from her nails for the second time. Bloody amazing. Suddenly she takes an interest. Spike ignored her, a sour expression on his face.

Aleister, however, cleared his throat,

"He is the most powerful clan leader in the country. There are others closer to Sunnydale, but they will have been warned off by his people. As Spike instructed, we contacted his clan immediately we had the Gem."

"Why?" the blonde's question was directed at Spike.

For a moment, he thought about telling her the truth, just to see the expression on her face. But then he quashed the impulse. Not yet. Not where anyone else could hear.

"Because he's the toughest and the richest, Harm." The British vampire gave a cocky grin, "And I intend to get everything I can for this little trinket."

"Oh." For a moment, he actually thought Harmony sounded suspicious. Then she smiled, "Does that mean you'll have lots of money for dresses?"

Spike snorted,

"Yes, pet. Lots of money." Not that you'll see a cent, you stupid cow.

Chapter Seventeen

Faith swung open the door of the dorm room.

"Hey." she stepped back. "Come in."

Angel moved into the room slowly, then dropped a large canvas bag on the floor.

"Sorry to come by so late." He nodded at the darkness outside the window as Faith closed the door, "but I only just got into town."

"No problem." Faith shrugged, leafing idly through an open book on her desk, "I was up anyway."

"Just back from patrol?"

The brunette shook her head,

"Haven't gone yet." She yawned suddenly, "Got a paper due tomorrow. Wanted to get it done first."

The vampire walked over and looked at her work,

"Management theory?" he raised an eyebrow, "Not something I would have expected."

"B takes it." She muttered, not looking at him.

He paused, then said gently,

"We'll get her back."

"I hope so." She turned and gave him a sad smile, "Her grade point average needs her."

He couldn't help but notice that she was looking tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her clothes were rumpled, as if she had been sleeping in them.

"When was the last time you got some proper rest?" he asked. "You look terrible."

"Thanks." She snorted, "Still know how to make a girl feel good there, big guy."

He laid a hand on her shoulder,

"You can't keep living two people's lives. You're almost out on your feet. And you were badly hurt a few days ago. You need to rest."

"I don't have time." She whispered, "And I'm still a slayer, Angel. I can get by."

He sighed.

"Punishing yourself won't do any good. It wasn't your fault to begin with. Buffy will need you when she gets back. We need you now. If you keep driving yourself like this, you'll end up dead."

Faith laughed harshly,

"Don't punish yourself. That's pretty good, coming from you, Angel." The brunette thrust her hands in her pockets and turned away from him. "Mister self-inflicted, himself."

"I -" he began, then stopped. I don't know how to answer that.

"I told her, Angel." The words were a whisper; barely that. "About the prophecy."

He felt his world lurch. Buffy knows.

"Why?" the word sounded harsher than he had intended, and he asked it again, more gently, "Why?"

"It was an accident." Faith walked away from him, stared out of the window, "She asked me why I didn't like Riley. I screwed up; let slip that I thought she should be with you. B wouldn't let go of it. Made me tell her why."

"You think we should be together?" he blurted the question before he could think about it, stunned to hear the words from her lips.

The brunette turned to face him, a mixture of surprise and anger on her face,

"Jesus, Angel! I have to think that!" her voice was thick, and he realised she had been crying ever since she turned away from him, "B stuck a knife in me. She said it was for you. If you aren't the true love of her life, then I gotta ask myself why else she would do that. I gotta face that she did it for hate. That she just wanted me dead. How do you think I could live with that?" by now Faith was half-shouting, half-whispering, her voice strained and harsh.

Angel didn't speak, just folded his arms around her and hugged her to him. For a moment, Faith froze, then reciprocated, burying her face against his chest as she did so.

"It's okay." He told her quietly, feeling her body shudder as he held her. "It's okay."

"No. It isn't." she pulled back and gave him a wan smile, "but we can fix it. You going to look for B tonight?"

"Yeah." He confirmed, "Giles told me what you said, and I think you're right. She must be up in the woods, somewhere. I'm going to look there first."

Faith nodded,

"Get her back for us, Angel."

"I will." He rested his hand on her shoulder,

"Now; you should skip patrol. Get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." She didn't look at him.

"Good." Angel could see she was lying. But it won't do any good to argue. He picked up his bag and walked to the door, then paused. "Faith?"

"Yeah?"

He looked back at her, over his shoulder,

"Be careful."

The brunette gave him a surprised look, then smiled bashfully.

"Thanks, Angel."

He nodded silently, then slipped out through the door. It was time to look for Buffy.

Thirty minutes later, Faith left the campus grounds to patrol.

She knew that Angel was right: that she needed to get more rest. She was pushing herself too hard and slowing down her own recovery. But sleep would not come: not unless she exhausted herself, first. Perhaps after patrol she would be tired enough to be able to sleep. And I am feeling a little better. Stronger than yesterday, anyway.

The words sounded hollow, even in her own mind. They were true enough; she did feel stronger; but they had nothing to do with her decision to patrol. The fact was, a horde of demons was about to hit the town, and with Buffy gone wild Faith was the only one with a chance of facing up to them. God help her, it was her duty to face up to them. The thought brought a sour smile to her face. Maybe she and Buffy weren't connected in quite the way they had once thought they were, but Faith had picked up at least one of the blonde's traits. I've got myself a prime case of slayer guilt.

The brunette slayer slipped her hands into her pockets as she walked along the sidewalk. There was a chill in the night air, unusual for a summer night in Sunnydale. As she did so, Faith reflexively pressed her arms against her sides, checking for the reassuring shapes of her weapons under the jacket. She was carrying two stakes and her knife. The knife. Buffy had given it back to her just two days before the night Riley died. There had been no special fanfare or comment: just a quiet, uncomfortable offer from the blonde and an equally uncomfortable acceptance from Faith. I didn't even realise she took it when we left the motel room.

At the time, the brunette had almost refused to take the knife. It seemed a symbol of everything that had gone wrong before. And it couldn't harm a vampire: just people. Now, she was glad that she had accepted it. It hadn't felt like it when Buffy made the offer, but Faith realised that the return of the knife was a gesture of trust from the other slayer. That meant more to her than she wanted to admit. And we won't just have vamps to worry about, soon.

Faith stopped suddenly. She could sense something was wrong, but she couldn't tell what. Slowly, she scanned the street. It was practically deserted: other than herself, the only person in sight was a shuffling hobo about twenty yards away.

There was a twinge from the brunette's slayer instincts, and her eyes drifted back to the hobo. He was still shuffling toward her, muttering to himself, his head down. He wore a long, baggy coat and a shapeless wide-brimmed hat. There was a faint smell in the air: hot and dry, a bit like pepper. Frowning, Faith took a half step backward.

It saved her life.

The hobo suddenly leapt toward her, swinging a spiked club from under his coat as he did so. The head of the club flashed mere inches from Faith's face: had she not moved, it would have smashed into her skull.

Faith threw herself backward even further, opening up some space between herself and the hobo. The hot, dry smell had grown stronger now. She fought an urge to sneeze. The hobo also stepped back, and the brunette narrowed her eyes. There was something not quite right about the way he moved; a kind of fluidity that was more than human.

Ears straining for the sound of anyone else approaching, Faith circled left, staying out of range of the spiked club. She slid a hand inside her jacket, grasping a stake. She didn't think she was facing a vampire, but she could be wrong. And a stake to the heart will kill most things.

Her opponent crouched, slowly swinging the spiked club back and forth. The slayer scowled. The club was nearly three feet long, putting her at a substantial disadvantage for reach.

"So what's this about, handsome?" she asked, "since I don't think you want me to spare you a dollar."

The hobo didn't answer, but he did straighten up enough that Faith caught a glimpse of his face. Its face, more accurately. Leathery skin, heavily seamed. She remembered the drawing Giles had shown them. A Jeneth demon. It's started.

The creature approached slowly, club at the ready. Faith feinted forward, and the demon swung the weapon in a whistling arc. As it checked the swing, the slayer stepped forward, striking at the Jeneth's hand.

If the blow had landed, the creature might have dropped its weapon. Unfortunately, it was able to jerk its hand out of Faith's reach, then swept back with the club. The brunette ducked under the blow, but the time she needed to dodge gave her opponent the chance to open some space between them, restoring their original position.

Damn, he's fast. Faith frowned. She was feeling almost back to full strength, but the Jeneth had a longer weapon and obviously knew how to use it. Once, she would have attacked, regardless. But people were relying on her, now. She couldn't afford to be seriously injured while defeating the demon. I need a plan. The brunette tried not to think about how her last plan had turned out.

Catching sight of several garbage cans in an alleyway, the slayer circled again, moving very slightly backward as she did so. The demon turned with her, but did not otherwise move from its position. The gap between them widened by about a foot, putting Faith well clear of the club's reach.

She turned and ran for the alleyway.

A moment later, she could hear the running steps of the demon behind her, but a moment's start was all she needed. Snatching up the lid from one of the cans, she threw herself forward, then whirled with the lid in front of her, dropping low as she did.

The Jeneth, unable to halt its charge, leapt high into the air. It cleared the slayer's head by nearly two feet, landing well beyond her. Faith got quickly to her feet as the demon turned to face her once again. The hat it had been wearing was now lying on the ground, and she could see its cat-like eyes narrow as it faced her.

Here it comes.

The demon surged forward, club swinging in a vicious arc. Faith met the charge firmly, blocking the swing with the lid of the garbage can. As she had expected, the soft metal lid buckled and wrenched out of her hand, stinging her fingers. But it slowed and deflected the club enough that she could duck under the blow and stab the Jeneth with her stake.

Unfortunately, the wooden weapon skidded off the creature's thick, leathery skin.

Oh shit. Faith had just enough time for a moment of impotent fury before the Jeneth dropped its club and grabbed her in a powerful, crushing hold. Within moments, she could feel agonising pressure on her ribs.

Her arms trapped, the slayer kicked at the demon's legs with her booted feet. It grunted, but held firm. Better hope it's male. She slammed her knee into the Jeneth's groin.

The creature's grip loosened slightly, and the slayer squirmed furiously, working one hand free. Then the Jeneth recovered, and the pressure on her ribs re-doubled. She tilted her head back, feeling a moan escape her lips, and the creature smiled.

Faith smiled back.

As the Jeneth's eyes widened, she thrust with her freed hand, driving the knife into the demon's side. Unlike a wooden stake, the steel blade punched easily through the leathery skin. Warm blood, smelling of copper and cloves, seeped over the slayer's hand.

The creature staggered, but tried to tighten its grip further. Faith stabbed again. Then a third time, driving the knife in deeply. At last, the hold loosened and she fought free. Dark red blood was soaking the demon's coat; had even stained Faith's own clothes; but the Jeneth still lurched toward her, hands outstretched.

Dodging the weakened blow, Faith struck back twice, plunging the blade into the demon's chest. It sagged to its knees, then crumpled to the ground. Slowly, the brunette drew in a shuddering breath, feeling her constricted lungs twinge with pain. She put her hands on her knees and coughed softly, taking a few moments to recover.

Straightening again, she stared at the corpse for a few minutes, hoping that it would dissolve or otherwise vanish. It remained depressingly solid. It would have to be buried, then. At least she could be sure that would leave her exhausted enough to get some sleep.

With a sigh, the brunette levered the demon's body into a trash can and put the mangled lid back on top. At least that would be less conspicuous than carrying a corpse down the street. The slayer winced as she lifted the can, her bruised muscles complaining at the effort.

I just hope the Jeneth aren't all as tough as this one. Two of them at once would be real nasty.

"We shouldn't d-do this."

Willow sighed softly. At least Tara was no longer arguing that it was too dangerous.

"Tara, if we don't…"

"It's wrong. My people -"

"- think that everything we have together is wrong." The redhead reminded the blonde, laying her hand gently on Tara's arm. "How much worse could this make it?"

"W-what would Giles or Buffy say?"

"We're not going to tell them."

"But what would they say?"

"Giles wouldn't say anything." Willow hedged. He'd be too upset with us. "And Buffy … the sooner we do this the sooner we can start looking for a way to help her."

Tara sighed,

"You're not going to g-give up on this, are you?"

"No." Willow shook her head, "I've got my resolve face on now."

"It's v-very dangerous. You could die."

"I know. But you've been my anchor before. I know you'll keep me safe. You've read my notes on the ritual. Do you think it will work?"

Tara nodded reluctantly, and Willow smiled, trying to look more confident than she felt.

"Then let's do it."

The two wicca settled cross-legged on the floor of their room, facing one another. Miss Kitty immediately leapt up onto the bed, where she could watch them both. A smile tugged at Tara's mouth, and Willow laughed softly,

"See? Even Miss Kitty knows that we should do this."

The blonde took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt over her knees,

"Are you r-ready?" she asked, fear and anxiety clear in her face. The most difficult part of the ritual would fall on her shoulders, though it would be Willow who was in the most danger.

"Yes." The redhead nodded, running her hand over the Orb of Thesulah that lay between them. It was the centre of a small circle of magical artefacts she had assembled. Then she put her hands on her knees, took a deep breath, and began the chant.

At first, the ritual was identical to that which they had used to help Buffy get her body back from Faith. Within moments, both witches could feel the building aura of power around them. As before, Willow leaned backward, body arching as the magic washed over her. Tara formed her anchor, linking her spirit self to the physical world.

Now the ritual changed, Tara's voice speaking the flat, muted sounds of her people's magic. Willow's anchor vanished, and her spirit began to drift away, helpless. But then glittering lines of magical force formed a cage, completely enclosing the two of them. The redhead's spirit recoiled from them, unable to escape.

Willow's body shot upright, her voice joining Tara's. Seeing this from outside herself was an eerie experience for the redhead, but she forced herself to concentrate. The blonde's chant had changed again, increasing in complexity. Caught in the grip of magic, Willow's own body mouthed the words in perfect unison with Tara. A shimmering field formed between them: invisible in the physical realm, it was almost blinding to the spirit-Willow's eyes.

She felt the magic reaching for her from both bodies, let it envelop her. Immediately, there was pain: more than she had expected. The redhead's spirit screamed silently, writhing in the grip of the magic. It took every ounce of control she had to stop struggling against the pain. Every instinct demanded that she fight back, but Willow pressed them down.

It felt like a thousand hooks were in her, slowly tearing her apart. And then her spirit-self did tear, blue fire streaming down, flowing into each of the two bodies. For a moment, her consciousness was inside both, and she could see through two sets of eyes. Then Tara spoke a harsh word of command and Willow was only within herself, though blue fire still burned within the blonde.

The redhead took up the ritual again, chanting stiffly at first, finding it difficult to recover her control of her body. Then the words came more smoothly, and her voice grew stronger. The spell was similar to that which had cursed Angel, but at the same time very different. For one thing, it was born of love, not hate.

The blue flame guttered within Tara, then flared as Willow's voice rose to a crescendo. A wave of dizziness and nausea struck the redhead, then passed. She drew a shuddering breath, realising suddenly that both she and Tara were covered in sweat from the exertions of the spell.

"Did it work?" she asked the blonde, her voice quiet and afraid.

"We can see together." Tara took Willow's hands in hers, then let the redhead share her heightened perceptions. The room seemed to swim with the fading colours of the spell they had performed, but they both had their attention fixed on the dim, frail fire that still burned within the blonde. We did it. They had drawn part of Willow's own soul into Tara, and bound it there by magic.

The flame seemed to flicker, and she felt her heart constrict. What if it goes out? But the fire recovered, continued to burn.

"It worked." She felt relief, happiness and a little surprise. She hadn't been sure.

"Yes." Tara agreed, looking down at the soul that now nestled within her. "I can f-feel it. It's already changing, Willow. And it's changing me."

The redhead started,

"What? But … how is it changing you?" What if something happens to Tara?

"It's okay." The blonde smiled, a look of radiant disbelief on her face, "It's making me human, Willow."

Angel picked his way through the woods outside Sunnydale. He felt ill at ease. Even before he became a vampire, he had preferred the city to the countryside. The two centuries since had served only to reinforce that preference.

Most vampires favoured cities. It meant they were always close to food. And to shelter: cities had hotels and public buildings, which could be entered without invitation. Those facts probably had something to do with why the slayer had come here to lair.

The vampire was making very slow progress through the undergrowth. Despite his care, he was unable to move with the stealth he could have displayed in the town. He was coming to the conclusion that it had been a mistake to venture into the woods. I probably should have waited for her in town.

He jerked his head up suddenly. The woods seemed still and quiet around him, but he could sense something. It was just vague sensation, like an itch at the back of the neck. For a moment he stood completely still, listening. Nothing. But that itch was still there.

Slowly, Angel took a step forward, ears straining. There! The faintest sound of movement, above and to the left. The vampires spun in that direction, trying to peer through the darkness.

A shape plunged out of the trees toward him, and Angel just barely twisted aside of the main impact. Something scraped across his arm, tearing a shallow cut in his flesh. The collision knocked the vampire backwards, and he went with it, rolling smoothly to his feet.

His attacker was already crouched in a fighting stance, a stake held loosely in one hand. She seemed poised to attack, but for the moment neither of them moved.

It was Buffy. Or rather, the slayer. The blonde's usually immaculate hair was matted and grubby, whilst the feral snarl on her lips was entirely unlike any expression Buffy had ever worn. There was death in her eyes, and a hunger for it that he had never seen there before. Not even when they had fought before Acathla.

"Buffy?" he asked gently, whilst warily watching the blonde. "It's me, Angel."

She tilted her head to the side, as if surprised that he had spoken to her. Slowly, he stretched out one hand, palm toward the slayer.

"Buffy." He used her name again, "I know you're in there. It's Angel. Your friends need you, Buffy. I need you."

The slayer remained crouched, unmoving. Her nostrils were flared, her eyes dark. But she did not attack. Angel allowed himself to hope.

She crouched. At first, she had been sure this thing was prey. But now that she was close, it seemed strange and different. This place had too many things she did not understand. She remembered the not-prey from the last hunt. It had smelled almost like her. But she was the only one of her kind. Always alone.

The strange thing reached out to her, talking softly. She remained still, unsure. Was it prey?

Then the wind carried the scent of its blood to her, and she remembered wounding it. Slowly, she raised her weapon. Dark blood gleamed on the tip.

She tasted it, feeling the rough grain of the wood beneath her tongue. The blood was thick, and stale, and dead. Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

Prey.

The slayer's tongue licked delicately at the blood on her stake.

"Buffy?" Angel asked, feeling hope fade as suddenly as it had come.

She attacked.

Angel threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding the plunging stake. This slayer was fast, much faster than either Buffy or Faith had ever been. Each blow came closer than the one before, and he had no time to even think of striking back.

He ducked another swing of the stake, then fell to a sudden leg sweep. Twisting violently, he felt the stake thud into the ground mere inches from his chest. Angel cursed, more out of reflex than intent, then scrambled to his feet. The slayer's hand hooked around his ankle, tripping him again, but he kicked free and threw himself forward, feeling fiery pain explode in his right calf as he did so.

Staggering to his feet, he ran, feeling his leg wobble dangerously as he did so. The pain was intense, and he realised that the slayer's stake had damaged the muscle there. The injury took some edge off his speed, and he could hear her crash through the woods to his left, moving in front of him.

Trying to cut me off.

He veered left off the path, aiming to cut across behind the slayer. The sudden change of direction took his pursuer by surprise, and he gained several precious yards.

Angel ran, throwing everything he had into the bid to escape. He did not even think of fighting. This slayer was faster and stronger than any he had ever faced. Even if he could have beaten her; and he doubted he could; the body was still Buffy's. He could not risk killing her.

He plunged onwards through the woods, feeling branches tear and snap as he ran on, heedless to the bruises and welts he was collecting on his face and arms. There was a creek only a few hundred yards away. The slayer seemed to rely heavily on her sense of smell. If he could reach the water, he might be able to lose her.

Angel's knee twisted, and he fell, smothering a howl as the pain from his calf flared ever higher. Gasping, he staggered to his feet and limped onward. But his speed was gone now, and he could not recover it. The slayer was catching him too quickly.

Changing direction again, he hoped to gain a few seconds. But the slayer was not so easily fooled a second time, and was instantly moving to intercept his new trail. Damn.

The ground began to rise, and Angel cursed again, realising that his change of direction was taking him up onto the ridge that ran to the south of the creek. The ground there would be clearer, making it more difficult for him to hide. And it would take longer to reach the water.

He tried to turn toward the creek, but the slayer had out-distanced him; was now closer to the water than he was. If he went that way, he would run right into her. Though even if he didn't, she would catch him as soon as his leg gave way again.

Less than twenty feet from the crest of the ridge, it did just that. Angel fell, tried to rise, and felt a heavy weight slam him back to the ground again. He twisted by instinct, and the slayer's stake slid off his ribs; cracking two as it tore through his side.

The vampire grunted, tried to throw the slayer from his back. He was half-successful: she fell backward, but their legs were tangled, stopping him from getting free. Angel kicked out as best he could, feeling his boot catch the slayer on the hip. She kicked back, finding his injured calf, and he felt a rush of dizziness from the pain.

The slayer's kick had untangled their legs, however, and the vampire was able to roll away and start scrambling toward the top of the ridge again. He moved on his hands and one knee, unable to rise to his feet.

Hands clamped onto his injured leg and twisted it sharply. He howled, kicked back with the other foot. The slayer's grip slipped for a moment, and Angel reached the crest of the ridge. Beyond, he could see a fifty-foot slope leading down to the creek.

The slayer leapt on top of him, knees driving into his back as her fists slammed onto his collarbone. He felt it crack, fought the urge to pass out. At least she seemed to have lost the stake.

Angel swung his elbow back, knocking the slayer off him, then threw himself over the crest and down the slope.

He did his best to keep his arms over his head and his legs straight as he rolled down the slope, bouncing and sliding over rocks and through bushes. Then suddenly he landed in the water, and sank quickly into the cold depths.

Spike watched as the Jeneth approached. Tor'Kol was an intimidating sight. Fully seven feet tall, he moved with grace and power. Snappy dresser, too. The demon wore a suit-jacket and pants, plus a white shirt. Given the demon's height and powerful build, Spike knew that the clothes must have been tailored specifically for him.

The Jeneth had brought five others with him: four were obviously guards, nearly as large as Tor'Kal and just as well dressed. The fifth was shorter and slighter than the others, and wore a hooded cloak.

"Welcome, Tor'Kal." Spike rose from his chair, keeping a confident smile on his face. It would not be wise to show weakness. There were nearly twenty of his people in the chamber, but the five Jeneth looked capable of overcoming them all.

"You are Spike?" the demon's voice was deep and slow, but precise.

"I am." The British vampire nodded, walking slowly toward the Jeneth leader. Two of the guards stepped in his way, but Tor'Kal growled softly and they moved back again. Spike walked between them, stopped when he was only a yard or two from Tor'Kal. For a second, the vampire and the demon stared at one another wordlessly. Then the Jeneth spoke again,

"You have the Gem?"

"I do." Spike agreed, "It's in a safe place."

"What payment do you require for it?"

"Let's not rush this, mate." Spike spread his hands and gave a false grin, "We can talk terms later. For now, take some time to get to know the town. See the sights, meet the slayers. Once you're settled in, we can talk trade."

There was a low rumble from the Jeneth, and for a moment Spike tensed, expecting trouble. Then he realised that the demon was laughing.

"I was warned you were a bold one." Tor'Kal peered down at the vampire, who barely reached his shoulder. "I see the warning was accurate."

Spike shrugged,

"Can't help my nature, mate."

"Very well." There was still an edge of amusement in the demon's voice, "We will 'get to know the town'. I have heard much of these slayers. It would be interesting to face one."

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience." Spike said agreeably. Tor'Kal laughed again,

"For them, perhaps."

The demon looked around the chamber.

"I have forty of my people with me." He rumbled, "Do you have any suggestions where they could be quartered?"

"We have room here." Spike replied smoothly, "You're welcome to it."

"A gracious offer." The Jeneth nodded, "And one I will accept. And since you have been a generous host, I should be a polite guest, and introduce my consort. I believe you know her."

The robed figure stepped forward, pushing back the hood as she did so. Dark hair spilled out, framing a pale, lovely face.

"Hello, Spike."

The British vampire felt a surge of elation, like fire in his blood. Putting a false look of surprise, he gave a rakish half-bow. At last, all the pieces were in place. My black queen is on the board.

"Welcome back, Drusilla."

Chapter Eighteen

"Angel?" Joyce looked shocked and half-asleep. He couldn't blame her.

"I'm sorry to wake you." The vampire leaned heavily against the frame of the Summers' front door. His clothes were still wet and heavy from the creek, and he was streaked with grime and blood. "I went to try and speak to Buffy. It went badly."

"Come inside." Joyce took his arm gently and helped him to the living room, pushing the door shut with her foot as she did so, "How badly are you hurt?"

"I'll survive." Angel grunted, "Could you call Giles in the morning? Let him know what happened? I need to get back to the mansion before dawn."

"Nonsense." Joyce said firmly, taking a good look at him, "You look terrible. You can stay here: I have a spare room."

"Joyce -" he began, then stopped. She had a tilt to her jaw that he had seen many times from Buffy. I'm not going to win this one. He sighed. "Thank you."

"What happened?" she asked, as she helped him up the stairs to the spare room. The desperate energy that had allowed him to escape from the slayer had vanished now that the immediate danger was over. Even vampires could suffer from a post-adrenaline crash.

"I went looking for Buffy." He answered shortly, "Tried to get through to her. It didn't work. She chased me down to the creek. I fell in, then crawled along the bottom until I got to town. Vampires don't need to breathe. A fact that has saved me more than once before."

"You need to get out of those clothes and take a bath." Joyce decided. "I'll find you a robe. After, you can sleep in the spare room. Should I call Rupert now?"

Angel considered it.

"No." he paused, "But you could call and tell Faith what happened."

"Faith? Will she be awake at this time of night?"

The vampire sighed,

"Yes. I think she probably will."

Joyce gave him a puzzled look, then went back downstairs to make the call.

Forty minutes later, Angel lay in the spare room; his shoulder, calf and side swathed in bandages. Joyce Summers evidently did not believe in doing first aid by halves.

The door of the room clicked open and he suppressed a sigh,

"I'm fine, Joyce -" he began, turning his head toward the door.

"Hello, Angellus." Darla smiled sweetly, gently closing the door behind her. "Things went well with the slayer, I see."

"Go away, Darla." He rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling, then frowned and sat upright sharply. The sudden movement sent ripples of pain through his side and shoulder, but he suppressed any reaction beyond a slight grimace. "How did you get in?"

"Don't worry, your little nurse is tucked up safe and sound in bed." The blonde vampire sat delicately on the edge of the bed, giving him a slightly mocking smile. "She let me in to the house four years ago. It seems the invitation still stands."

"What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously, settling back into the bed. "I thought you didn't want me in Sunnydale?"

"I thought it might be fun to visit old haunts." She answered playfully, "What happened to the High School?"

"Don't give me that, Darla." He caught her wrist in his hand, "what are you up to?"

"I came to make sure you were okay." She replied, the teasing lilt gone from her voice.

He paused, momentarily surprised into silence.

"Darla, we can't…"

"I know." The blonde shook her head, "but I can't help what I feel. You know you can't be with the slayer. It doesn't stop you loving her, does it?"

There was no answer to that question.

For a long, silent moment they stared at one another. Then Darla leaned down to him, and their lips met hungrily.

The kiss deepened, and his hands gently curled into her hair. Lost in the taste of one another, neither of them heard the door open.

"Angel." The voice was husky, rough with shock and too little sleep.

Oh no. He pulled Darla away from him, ignoring her soft moan of complaint.

"Faith." His own voice sounded as strained as hers. The brunette was standing just inside the room, her hand still on the door handle. There was a look of horror on her face. "It's not what you think."

"It's not?" the slayer's face grew hard and angry, "Then what the hell is it, Angel?"

Without another word, she ran from the room, and the door slammed shut behind her.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Willow asked Tara for the third time since they left the house.

The blonde gave her a tired but indulgent smile,

"I'm fine. Really."

"I'm sorry." Willow looked contrite, "It's just that I only expected the ritual to give you a soul … not to make you human."

"This is better." Tara said contentedly as they walked to Giles'.

"But your powers -"

"Aren't important." The blonde interrupted, placing her hand over the redhead's mouth. "I don't need them to see the beauty inside you, Willow. None of your friends do."

The redhead blushed deeply.

"Well, here we are!" she announced, gesturing at the building in front of them. "Giles' place. Which is good, because that's where we wanted to be. It wouldn't do to be at Buffy's house, instead. Not that we wouldn't want to be at Buffy's, it's just that's not where we were going."

Tara silenced the babbling redhead with a gentle kiss.

"My." Willow murmured when their lips finally parted. "That was nice. And public."

Tara smiled slightly,

"I don't have to hide who I am, anymore." She said quietly, gesturing for Willow to knock. "It feels good."

Giles opened the door, a cup of tea in his spare hand,

"Good morning." He greeted the two wicca, "Come in."

Willow and Tara entered the apartment, closing the door gently behind them, then settled onto the couch, their hands automatically clasping together.

"Do you want something to drink?" the ex-Watcher asked, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't removed his glasses, and they bobbed up and down on the back of his hand. Willow stifled a giggle. It really wasn't that funny, but she felt positively giddy this morning. It was almost like she had been drinking coffee. Then she felt Tara's fingers press gently on her own, and knew the real cause of her good mood.

"No thanks." She said, realising that Giles was looking at her and belatedly remembering his question. "We're ready to get straight down to business."

"I wish there were more business to, uh, 'get down to'." The Englishman said with a sigh, "I spent most of the night reviewing my texts, but I haven't found very much that could help us with a possession like this. If we were dealing with a demon it would be different, but as far as I know the first slayer has never done anything like this before…"

"Did Angel have any luck?" Tara asked, her voice clearer and less hesitant than it normally was.

"No," Giles shook his head briefly, "he did meet … Buffy … but she didn't respond very well to his attempt to communicate."

"Is he okay?" Willow could tell there was more to the story.

"He was injured." Giles replied vaguely, "but he will recover. When I spoke to him he seemed more concerned about Faith. Said he didn't want her to do anything rash."

"Angel said that?" Willow frowned, "Why does he think Faith would do something like rash? Well, I mean, beyond her general Faithiness."

Giles sighed,

"Faith is trying very hard to fit in. Possibly too hard. What happened to Buffy … and Riley's death … upset her a great deal. She's putting herself under a lot of pressure."

To her surprise, Willow felt a stab of guilt for not being more supportive of Faith. It took her a moment to realise that she was actually feeling sympathy for the brunette slayer. It was not an emotion she had ever expected to feel for Faith. I guess that means I'm even starting to like her.

"Then we should make a start as soon as possible." She said decisively. "Maybe magic could help us where your books couldn't, Giles."

"A ritual?" the ex-Watcher adjusted his glasses nervously. Even after all this time, he wasn't entirely comfortable with Willow's pursuit of the magical arts.

"Yes." The redhead considered for a moment, "perhaps the Auguries of Deimos?"

"Or Patharus' Rite." Tara suggested, "And there m-might be some spells we could try from that, uh, new magic I've been showing you."

"New magic?" Giles asked, frowning.

"Yeah." Willow racked her brains for a convincing cover story.

"I got that spy to show us some of his magic in return for releasing him." Tara said smoothly, "some of it might help."

"So these soulless have a unique magical tradition?" Giles mused, "Intriguing. I wonder why my books make no mention of them."

As the ex-Watcher drifted briefly into a distracted silence the two girls shared a conspiratorial smile. Now if only they could help Buffy as readily as they had been able to help themselves.

Faith landed heavily on her back, a startled grunt bursting from her lips.

"You okay?" Xander offered her a hand up, "That's the third time I've flipped you today."

"I'm five by five." Faith gave him a fake grin as he helped her to her feet.

Xander briefly considered letting it drop. Faith doesn't like to talk about stuff. Then he remembered how miserable he had felt when he hadn't been able to talk to anyone about his need to contribute to the team. Faith had seen that. Had offered him a chance to do something about it.

"Look," he said quietly, "you can kick my ass for saying this; though I'd prefer you didn't; but you're a bad liar, Faith. You haven't been focused since we started sparring. Something's bothering you, and I think it'd help if you told someone about it."

The brunette gave him a black look,

"I don't do the sharing thing, Xander."

"Maybe you should." He folded his arms and did his best to look stern. It didn't work, but it at least caused a smile to glimmer at the corners of her mouth.

"Christ, Xander." Faith kicked at the ground and half turned away from him, "Why do you people keep trying to get inside my head?"

"Well let's see." He pretended to ponder, "It could be our love of rejection. Or our desire to visit strange new places." He snapped his fingers, "Or hey! It could be that we're your friends!"

"Friends, huh?" the slayer jammed her hands into her pockets, "Well, speaking as a friend, Xander: butt out."

"If that's the way you want it." He raised his hands in surrender, "You ready to go again?"

She nodded,

"Let's do it."

Xander kicked low. She blocked, a little slowly, and countered with a left hook. He ducked under it, grabbed Faith's jacket, and yanked sharply. The brunette took a step forward to regain her balance, and Xander scythed his leg between hers, throwing his weight forward in a sacrifice fall. The two of them toppled toward the mat.

In mid-air, Faith somehow twisted them about, and it was Xander who landed on the bottom, his breath exploding out of him as the brunette's weight landed squarely on his chest.

"See, Xand?" she grinned, still lying on top of him, "I haven't taught you every trick I know."

"Apparently not." He agreed weakly, releasing her jacket. Faith's hair was spilling down around her face. It smelled of apples. Gently, he pushed it back, away from his nose.

As he did, his fingers brushed her cheek.

Her eyes were so dark. So lonely.

They kissed.

Faith's lips were warm and moist on his, hungry yet gentle. Her rolled her onto her back, and the brunette slid her hands round his shoulders. Her body was soft yet firm beneath him and her breath was sweet in his mouth. His hand cupped her breast.

Anya.

He jerked back suddenly, scrambling off the slayer. He could still taste her on his lips. Shit, Harris. What are you doing?

"Xander?" Faith was propped up on one elbow, a worried expression on her face.

"I'm sorry." He blurted, even though he wasn't sure if he had started the kiss or not. "But I can't do this. I blew one relationship this way already. I won't do it to Anya, as well."

"Hey Xand, it's no biggie." The trademark Faith grin was back in place. "It didn't mean nothin'. Just figured you might like a little uhh." She grunted and made a suggestive hand gesture.

"No, you didn't." he shook his head, "I've been with you when you just wanted a little 'uhh'. This wasn't like that."

For a second, her grin froze in place, then crumpled completely. Faith rolled onto her back, hands covering her eyes.

"Dammit, Xander." She cursed miserably, "Why do I have to screw everything up?"

He touched her shoulder gently,

"Hey. It's not like that."

"Yes it is." She moved her hands, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes, "I come back to Sunnydale and what happens? B gets possessed. Her boyfriend dies. Angel scores with some vamp slut. And now I've gone and screwed things up with you as well."

Angel?

"Faith …" he paused, "were you … and Angel?"

The brunette blinked, then laughed bitterly.

"No." she shook her head, "But I always thought it was Angel and Buffy, all the way. Guess I was wrong. Guess I was wrong about a lotta things."

She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the gym, leaving Xander kneeling on the crash-mats, alone.

Faith tossed her bag onto the bed and then threw open the doors of the dorm room closet. There wasn't much to pack: the closet was all but empty. Just like my life.

She was already wearing her most comfortable Docs, so she dropped the other pair into the bottom of the bag, then added her battered old sneakers as well. Black jeans on top of that, then the lighter pair of leather pants. Then her shorts: the only blue denim she owned.

She was halfway through stuffing her shirts into the bag when the door clicked open and Angel walked into the room. The slayer flicked a glance through the window. Bright sunshine.

"How'd you get here?" she grunted, drawing the zip of the bag closed. Three of her shirts were still hanging in the closet, but now that Angel had shown up she just wanted to bail as fast as possible.

"Sewers." He answered quietly, "There's an access point in the basement of this building. Going somewhere?"

"I'm getting the hell outta Dodge." She slung the bag onto her shoulder, "Before I screw up anything else. Why? You gonna try and stop me?"

"Couldn't even if I wanted to." The vampire pulled back the collar of his shirt to show a swathe of bandages over his shoulder. "But I've got to say I'm disappointed. I really thought you'd changed, Faith. I told Kate you were done running."

"Well you told her wrong." Faith muttered, wanting to walk away from him but not able to bring herself to do it.

"Joyce told me about your dance costume." He leaned against the door. Figures. He won't 'stop' me leaving, but I'll have to push him aside to do it. "You know Wyatt Earp cleaned up Dodge, right? If that's so, then why are you leaving?"

"I didn't go as Earp." She snorted, "I went as Holliday."

"Holliday never ran, either." He reminded her.

"Holliday was dying. He didn't have anything to lose."

"Whereas you just have your friends."

Faith scowled. Angel never fought fair.

"They were doin' just fine before I showed up, deadboy."

"Sure," he shrugged, "and if you want to blame yourself for things you had no control over, go right ahead. But I did it for a hundred years, so believe me when I say it doesn't help."

"What about the things I did have control of, Angel?" she snapped, "Poisoning you? Stealing Buffy's body? Kissing -" she broke off a moment before blurting Xander's name.

Angel misinterpreted her sudden silence.

"Faith, I know seeing Darla and I must have come as a shock." He paused, "Especially after what you said here last night."

"Yeah, well I guess I was wrong about you and B."

"No. You weren't." he rested a hand on her shoulder, "Faith, there won't ever be anyone like Buffy. Darla and me … is complicated. It feels all wrong, but it also feels good."

The brunette nodded. It sounded uncomfortably familiar. Like me and the Boss.

"What were you doing at Buffy's last night, anyway?" he asked gently.

"Mrs S. said you were hurt." She shrugged uncomfortably, "I came to see how you were doin'." The last five words slid into an embarrassed mumble.

"Well I was doing okay." He stepped away from the door, taking care to remain in a shadowy part of the room, "Until I heard one of my friends was leaving town."

"Pretty lame, Angel." Faith smirked, eyeing the door.

"Yeah." He agreed. "Did it work?"

Faith sighed and threw her bag back on the bed.

"At least till we get B back."

There was a low buzz of discontent amongst the vampires of Spike's court. Jeneth demons had been filtering into the tunnels in ones and twos throughout the day: there were nearly forty of them now, taking up almost half of the vampires' lair. Only two things prevented the discontent from going any further than muttering. The first was the confidence and strength of each Jeneth: even the youngest cubs could sense the power of these new visitors.

The second factor was Tor'Kol's consort. The beautiful, peculiar vampire known as Drusilla. She sat now at the centre of the main hall, and already a circle of admirers had formed around her. There was something in the dark-haired vampire's eyes. A glint of malice. Of power. Of madness. It captivated those who saw it.

Only two vampires seemed immune to this effect. The first was Spike, who lounged in his chair at one end of the hall, a cigarette in his hand and a soccer magazine in his lap. Drusilla's eyes kept drifting to him, even as she laughed and talked with her would-be suitors. Each time she looked at the British vampire, she gently stroked the head of the doll she held in her arms. For his part, Spike appeared oblivious.

Harmony snorted to herself. Oblivious my ass. It was glaringly obvious to her that Spike was acutely aware of Drusilla's sidelong glances. But then, she was the second vampire who didn't find the newcomer captivating. Just creepy. What is with that doll, anyway?

She glanced at Spike. There it was again. That smug, self-satisfied smile that slipped onto his face every time he got distracted. Oh yes, he knew Drusilla was there. The bastard planned this somehow. It's all been about getting her back.

Before she became a vampire, Harmony Kendall's academic performance had been average, at best. Books and school bored her. But there had been one thing at which she was a straight-A student: popularity. And she knew exactly what Drusilla's sudden return meant. I'm about to become yesterday's girl.

Her mouth firmed into a hard line. Well, High School had taught her a few lessons about dealing with situations like this. As Spike and Drusilla would find out. There was no way Harmony Kendall was going to tamely let herself be shunted aside.