Spike stalked slowly through the crowd, trailing the Slayer at a distance as she darted around in a frenzy. She was fighting herself, that was easily seen, but he knew how strong the demon inside could be and he had the feeling that it was only a matter of time before blood was spilled. And he was going to be there to see it.

His lip curled into a nasty grin as he skirted the bar, heading towards the dark hallway Buffy had ducked down, the one that led to the alley behind the club. The one where he'd first met her. Oh, the sorts of delicious mischief he could start into motion if he could only just….

Spike froze mid-step just inside the shadow of the corridor as a sudden lead weight dropped into his stomach. Ice ran through his veins as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, all of his senses on alert. Something was tugging at his memory, the idea of a scent, the shadow of a warning that he hadn't felt in years. Jerking his collar up to cover his face, he walked to the stairs, taking them three at a time until he gained the balcony. Clutching the rail with white-knuckled anger, his eyes rapidly searched the crowd below.

And there he was. Angelus. Back in bloody living color and making his way through the crush of dancers, his steps intent on the hallway. Intent on Buffy. Bloody fuck, how had… the Poofter had been all souled up just a few nights ago! Spike bared teeth gone long and sharp, his blood boiling. Oh how he wanted to pummel that bastard, to tear him apart one piece at a time, to…

Spike shook his head, slipping back into the human mask he had unconsciously slipped out of as his anger flared. Angelus had disappeared into the hallway, easing his violently intense focus on the older vamp. He had to get out of here. Blood sucking Slayer aside, if Angelus was back it was time to haul ass in the opposite direction. It was one thing to think he could browbeat Angel into curing Dru, this was something else entirely.

'It's not running,' He assured himself as he shoved roughly towards the front doors. If it were just him, he'd face Angelus, jump into the brawl without a thought like he always had, or at the very least just ignore the bastard. But he had to think of Dru. If she were to learn that her Daddy was back… well she'd be insufferable until they were reunited, and that was the last thing Spike wanted. If he was lucky he could get them out of the state, maybe even out of the country before her sodding stars let the secret slip. He had to get back to her, had to put some distance between them, had to… God, he just had to think!

Out on the street, he threw a curse and a glare skyward before taking a deep and heady breath of cool night air. The rain had come and gone, a brief but heavy downpour that had soaked the earth but hadn't washed anything away. He could still sense the barometric pressure of the storm weighing him down to the earth, could feel the clotted trash of the gutters and the dirt of the streets pushing in on either side. He felt confined, constrained, backed into a corner. He remembered this, from before. From when they had all lived together in a nest. It was the feeling of waiting, of knowing something was coming but not knowing what or how or when, and only wanting to leap forward with fist and fang and get it over with. Spike was not a vampire of patience, not a vampire of planning. He lived for the fight, but with Dru in his corner he felt trapped, forced into making moves that didn't fit his style. It wreaked havoc on his nerves.

Agitated, he looked up and down the street, deserted except for some slutty red-head passing beneath a streetlamp. The party raged in the club behind him, and once, twice, three times he started to go back inside, but didn't do it. Because what kind of a choice was it, really? If he killed Angelus Dru would never forgive him, and he would lose any chance of her ever really loving him. And if he didn't… well, he remembered what it was like to have Angelus pissed at him. Torture sessions, broken bones, whips, knives, chains… worse, when he took Dru away. Course there was no guarantee he wouldn't kill him straight out, and then where would his Princess be? Alone, weakened, unable to fend for herself…

Snarling viciously, Spike broke into in a run, tearing up the street for the factory.

"Soddin' Angelus!" he growled.

Buffy couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there, had to get away from all those warm, pulsing bodies, those beating hearts. Had she really been about to…? Slapping a hand over her mouth, she bent at the waist and wretched, dry heaving until she felt like her stomach had turned inside out. Standing slowly, she wiped cold, clammy sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. What was happening to her?

Suddenly an icy tingle tripped up her spine, and she straightened, her stance widening as her feet found a fighting balance. Without thought, without conscious effort, the dark passenger she'd just fought off slipped back into the driver's seat; her eyes going amber in the black of the alley, her hearing sharpened, tuned to the click of the tumbler in the door at the back of the club. Two sets of instincts, Slayer and vampire, screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something! She waited.

Behind her the door swung closed again, the presence of a Master Vampire abruptly looming red and dangerous and far too close for comfort. She thought she might know this one. Like she might've felt his presence before…recently. Only it was… different. It was like, like softly glowing coals that had been fanned into flame. Worthless to her; the shadow was flammable and had no use for fire. Buffy sneered, whipping around to face the demon who stalked slowly towards her.

"Angel," she sniffed derisively.

The big brunette smirked at her, chuckling softly under his breath as he sauntered forward, forcing her back. She only half-recognized him; the hair, the clothes… and some small part of her wept.

"Not Angel," he scoffed. "Not anymore." The mockery in his voice, the predator's gait, the violently cruel set to the corners of his mouth, those were all new. Those were the things that burned at her nerves endings, the things that she focused on as they circled each other. She steeled her spine. "I'm Angelus."

"And I'm not interested," she replied.

He called her bluff. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he threw her roughly against the bricks of the alley wall, crowding into her space and using his body to block her. "You need to learn some manners, bitch!" he snarled, bearing sharp fangs as his eyes flashed angrily. "Not very nice to leave a man alone in his own bed."

A sudden flash back. A heart beating furiously in fear and excitement. Skin on skin, sweetly soft kisses, red silk sheets sliding over sweat-slicked bodies. A quick burst of pain – her first time… her first love.

Buffy growled quietly under her breath.

Infuriated by her insolence, Angelus reached out a lightning-fast hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisting it viciously and wrenching her head back. "I wasn't quite done with you," he whispered ominously in her ear. With brutal strength he forced her down, her hair still snarled in his fingers. The cobblestones cut into her knees as she stared up at him with violent hatred burning in her eyes, stared up at him as he smirked back down at her, working his belt buckle with one hand. Then she smiled.

Reaching up confidently, she began to loosen his belt herself. Angelus grinned toothily, letting his head fall back as he left himself to indulge in the hot little hands and mouth that had been so timid before. He was going to kill her, he knew that, drown in the blood of this strange Slayer-creature, but he was going to get his satisfaction first, one way or another. His eyes drifted shut in anticipation of the blood-bath that was to come, among other things. Consequently he didn't see Buffy's fist ball at her side, never saw the strike coming. Putting her whole body behind the swing, all of her weight, she drove her fist upward hard and fast.

Angelus dropped like dead weight.

Gasping in agony, he curled over his knees, hands between his thighs in a useless effort to staunch the pain. A tiny smile flickered around the corners of Buffy's mouth as she watched him whimper with the indescribable torture of having his balls crushed. Grabbing a handful of his short brown hair, she wrenched his head back and to the side, just as he had hers, and leaned in close to his ear.

"I'm not quite done with you either," she whispered.

She struck like a viper, quickly and powerfully, burying sharp fangs deep into the thick cords of his neck. He hissed when her teeth broke the skin, but she barely heard, her heartbeat pounding against her breastbone as dark coppery red exploded on her tongue. Gasping, holding him close with gripping fingers as she pulled strongly at his throat, her vision went black and spotty as she drank, gulping, lapping, drinking down the hot, salty thing that she so craved. Suddenly, a sharp, violent pain pierced her chest and she released him, sucking in a great gasp of air as she threw her head up towards the stars. Something was wrong; something inside her shifting as something much older and darker than a simple spell took hold. A Slayer had been transformed this night, a vampire's blood spilled.

A damp, chill wind breezed through the back of the alley, lifting Buffy's hair and carrying her soul away.