I think my last intro confused a few people. That was not the last chapter, I've just finished writing it out. Here is the penultimate chapter, almost done typing in the final chapter and the epilogue, but I think I left my notebook on the airplane. Heartbreaking, but at least it's all fresh in my mind and shouldn't take too long to rebuild (again). I hope to have it all posted by Christmas.

Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with me through this way-too-long process. I probably would have given up a long time ago if it weren't for all the great reviews.

It goes without saying that all characters and the Buffyverse are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Chapter 22 Rude Awakening

Spike pulled into what remained of the mansion's garage. His house-hunting had been less than promising. The empty warehouse he had been scoping out was no longer empty. Someone had had the nerve to fill it with crates. It wasn't a total loss though, he was able to nick a couple of those new DVD players and sell them to a demon fence he knew. Of course he had to skirt the cops who were swarming over Kakistos' lair, but that just made it interesting.

He had checked out a few caves, but they were too dank. Plus he needed electricity, not only for the tele, but now he needed to have an icebox to keep his blood fresh. Tomorrow night he'd check out a few crypts. It wouldn't be hard to tap into the lines that power the lights in the cemetery and he could probably divert some water too.

Getting out of the car, he looked at the sky. It was just beginning to turn pink. He snorted, most vampires would be running for cover about now, but he always liked watching the sun peek over the horizon before turning in for the day. He waited, squinting at the first rays before entering the house. Seeing the sun reminded him of Buffy with her golden hair. When he saw her as she was leaving the school that afternoon her hair shone in the sun. Each strand catching and reflecting the light. He hadn't let it register then, he was too worried about her going after Kakistos. But now the memory was breathtaking.

She was made for the light, she carried it within her, brought it to him. He had always called Drusilla his "dark goddess", but she was a pale shadow to his sun goddess. Buffy was...effulgent. The word popped out of his memory, from his last night as a human and his clumsy attempts at poetry about a woman who felt nothing but pity for him. He knew Buffy felt more than that, she hasn't sorted it out just yet, but he could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in her touch.

At the thought of her touch his skin began to tingle, he wanted her again. The more he had her the more he wanted her. He entered his bedroom and took off his coat. He started to toss it down on a chair and stopped. He held it up, picturing her in it, her tanned skin peeking through as she moved. He had almost ruined it. For, while she agreed the past was the past, he was pretty sure if she knew that the coat was a trophy from one of the Slayers he had killed she wouldn't have worn it.

Not that he wanted to keep secrets from her, but some information would be more hurtful than helpful and damn, she looked sexy in it.

He reached into a pocket for his cigarettes and found the little box Buffy had entrusted him with. He stared at it for a second before rummaging through the coat pockets for his smokes. Dropping the coat, he walked back into the main room as he looked at the box. Setting it on the mantle he took a moment to light his cigarette before picking it up again. He blew the smoke up and away as he pondered it.

He knew this was a big step for Buffy. She was severing her connection with Angel through this gesture. Whatever was in the box symbolized everything Angel was to her, meant to her. By giving it up she was admitting that it was over, really over, that she was ready to move on.

As much as he hated his grandsire, and as much as he hoped that this meant she was committing herself to him he wondered if he should have tried to talk her out of it. No matter how much it galled him, Angel had been her first and that was important to a girl, at least so he'd heard. Would she regret parting with the physical reminder of that relationship?

It struck him that he was doing the same thing he had accused her Watcher of: not trusting her to know her own mind and make her own decisions. With that realization, he decided to follow her instructions. But one question remained, what was in the box?

He replayed the exchange with Buffy. At no time did she ask him not to open it, he was sure. But was she expecting him not too? He mulled it over. Should he open the box? Probably not. Would he? Probably, especially if he had to keep sidestepping it as it lay on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Might as well get it over with." he muttered out loud as he opened the box. When he saw that it was a ring inside he clenched his teeth. Had Angel proposed to her? Had she killed not only her lover, but her fiancé to save the world? His admiration of her resolve and pity at her lot in life grew. He lifted the ring out of the box and scoffed.

"Really mate?" he asked the air around him. "The best you could do was give her this quaint Irish garbage? Did you find it in a junk shop or at celtic-crap-R-us? She deserves to be dripping in diamonds and jewels. She deserves to be weighed down with gold. She deserves better than this, and she deserves better than you, soul or no soul." He put the ring on the mantle and stared at it as he took a long drag on his cigarette.

"That's the only reason she loved you, you know, that soul that you never wanted and hardly used. Close to a hundred years you had it and what did you ever do with it other than mope and brood?" He started pacing, yelling at the ring. "Before she came along did you ever do anything during all that time to make up for the harm you did? A single act of charity, of contrition? Hell, I've been a better man without a soul than you ever were with one. Taking care of Dru for the last hundred years, there's an act of charity for you right there. You, you just wallowed in self-pity.

"I was so evil, I was a monster." Spike said in a mocking voice.

"Damn straight you were." He answered himself. "I'm just glad the gypsies cursed you before you could finish turning me into the same sick monster you were. 'Killing is an art' you said. You'd torture someone for days as art when it was really just how you got your rocks off.

"Killing is just a fact of our existence. A good hunt, a chance to get the appetite up, a spot of violence for the fun of it sure, then dinner. Everything else is just wanking." He started to walk away, then spun to address the ring again.

"I know what you were trying to do, you know. You were trying to drive her mad like you did Dru. But she was better than you, smarter. Everything you did to break her just made her stronger. You wanted her cowering and alone, but alone she was still strong enough to take you down.

"And if you think you won because of how hurt she was, you didn't. She hated you so much at the end. It was only because Red did the spell to put your pathetic soul back into that body. That little spark that you always despised is what she loved."

He picked the ring up from the mantle and stared at it in his hand. "The world is well rid of you mate," He said with finality. He chucked the ring into the fireplace, it ricocheted around until it bounced out, coming to rest right where the statue of Acathla had stood. He took a final drag on his cigarette, dropped the butt on the ground and ground it out with the toe of his boot as he turned back to his room. "and so is she."

Despite it being past dawn he had trouble falling asleep. Anger at all his grandsire had done to him, to Dru and to Buffy kept him tossing and turning for hours.

He only realized he must have dozed off when he awoke fully alert. He listened to hear what roused him so suddenly. He heard someone in the house. Or maybe it was a something, he could make out growling as whatever it was thumped around in the main room.

He stood silently. His bare feet making no noise as he walked to the door. He didn't bother to dress, whatever it was could get an eyeful before he killed it.

He slowly turned the doorknob as he listened. The intruder was on the wrong side of the room for Spike to be able to see it by just cracking the door and peeking out. Listening for another moment, he was sure that despite the racket it was making there was only one creature in the room. Vamping out for both the extra strength it gave him and the intimidation factor, he yanked the door open and jumped through. He landed in a defensive stance facing the source of the noise. "You picked the wrong hou..." he began, than his jaw dropped and his body went slack in surprise. "What the bloody hell?"

Anything else he was going to say was lost because the next moment he was tackled around the waist by a growling, naked Angel. The impact doused the surprise of seeing his resurrected grandsire and kindled his fighting instincts. The force was enough that he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his feet under him, but he was able to turn them in the fall so that he landed on top. He roared as he felt the reborn vampire's teeth sink into his side on their way to the floor.

Hitting the ground ended the bite and Spike tried to pin Angel down by sitting on his chest. For a moment Spike got a look into Angel's eyes. There was no recognition there, just a wild savagery.

Angel thrashed about under him like an animal trapped. No finesse, no skill, just raw instinct. Not that Spike was at all happy about the miraculous return of his grandsire, but he tried to get through to whatever part of Angel might still be in there.

"Angel, what the hell man?" He asked just before the feral vampire managed to throw him off. Spike used the momentum of the throw to roll several feet away. He stood quickly and resumed a defensive stance, "Angelus, it's me, Spike, snap out of it."

Angel just growled and launched himself at Spike again, his hands held like claws instead of fists. No longer surprised, Spike easily side-stepped the attack. Angelus might always have been stronger than him, but Spike had speed on his side. As he dodged several wild lunges and rushes Spike continued trying to coax a verbal response other than a growl from the other vampire. But no matter what he tried – reason, taunting, threats – he just couldn't get an intelligible response.

"So now what?" he pondered aloud. He couldn't let Angel go, not like this. He would wreak too much havoc. Plus Spike couldn't let Buffy see her first love. Not that he was worried if she saw him she would go back to him. But she would blame herself for his current state and she had just come to terms with his fate and her role in it. And she had to kill him again... No the thought of her in that much pain was too much for him. He would take care of this.

His mind made up, he went from simply side-stepping the attacks to inflicting damage. On the older vampire's next charge Spike pivoted to the side, clasped his hands together and brought them down hard on Angel's back in a "Kirk-fu" strike. The force of the blow caused Angel to stumble, but he remained on his feet. Angel became cautious now that his prey was fighting back, Spike was wary too, a cornered animal was always dangerous and since it was still light outside there was no place for Angel to flee to.

Despite his increased caution, Angel did not fare well against his grandchild. Spike had over a century to develop his fighting skills and had worked hard to hone them so he could hunt the most dangerous prey, Slayers. Angel had avoided Slayers and any fight he wasn't sure he could win. He was plenty bloodthirsty, but he preferred weak victims, then took joy in tormenting them for hours or days. But now he didn't even have those pitiful skills. With every scuffle Spike did a little more damage until Angel was staggering. Making him all the more desperate. He made a wild attack and Spike used the momentum to flip Angel onto his back, as he tried to get up, Spike again pinned him down by straddling his chest, his knees on Angel's hit his grandsire across the jaw.

"I'd say I was sorry about this peaches, but I'm not." He said as he continued punching. "Like I said before, the world's well rid of you and so is Buffy." At her name Angel roared surprising Spike.

"Oh you remember her do you?" he asked resuming the pummeling. "Don't know who you are or me, but Buffy you remember.

"Well I got news for you mate. She's over you. She killed you, soul and all. She gave up that cheap trinket you gave her." he punctuated each sentence with his fist. "But best of all, she's mine now." He delivered a final cracking blow that knocked Angel out. "And she's gonna stay that way."

Spike stood and padded over to the fireplace and the stack of wood there. He picked up a broken chair leg. "I hope you enjoyed your little day trip from hell. Don't come ba..." his voice trailed off as he saw the outline that must have appeared with Angel, in the middle lay the ring he had hurled at the fireplace.

"Bugger."