Okay, just in case some of you haven't seen "Lovers Walk" recently, I'll remind you of the scenes I'm skipping because they're still the same as in canon in my version and to include them would be fairly redundant. Buffy discussed college with her mom and then Giles (but not Angel, what with the whole him being in a dungeon in London thing), Xander and Willow continued to spaz about how they won't be able to hide their secret make-out sessions for much longer, Willow decided to do that de-lusting spell, and she was working on it with Xander in the chem lab when they were attacked and dragged to the old factory by Spike, who then threatened Willow until she agreed to do a love spell to bring Drusilla back to him. Also, the Mayor heard Spike was back in town and sent a gang of vamps after him.

Well, this night was sure destined to be fun, thought Buffy sarcastically. Giles was at his retreat thing in the forest, Oz, Willow, Xander, and Cordelia were doing double-date bowling, and her mom was still in her overbearing euphoria about the excellent SAT scores Buffy had achieved, and would undoubtedly want to parade her in front of yet more extended family members she hadn't seen in years or point her out to far away colleges she'd never heard of. All in all, not the recipe for Buffy's best evening ever.

Her only even semi-appealing option was to train in the library, and she was about thirty seconds into her solitary workout when she remembered that there was someone she hadn't thought of who might want to share it. After thinking about it for a moment, she decided that she was bored enough to bury the hatchet. Predictably, Faith was keen enough for violence to do the same, and had soon joined her.

Perhaps their workout looked more like Buffy versus Faith: Round II than a normal sparring match though, because when Oz and Cordelia came bursting into the library, their already worried expressions became even more alarmed.

"Uh," said Oz, looking from one Slayer to the other.

"We're not interrupting a death match, are we?" asked Cordelia.

"What?" said Buffy, whose fist had been about to collide with the side of Faith's head. "Pfft, no. That was just regular sparring!" She dropped her fighting stance and (with what seemed to be much greater reluctance) Faith did the same.

"Yeah," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "We're cool."

"Good," said Oz. "Something's up."

[o]

The "something" turned out to be evidence of witchcraft and foul play in the science lab, which would have been the meeting place for the double date, except that there was no sign of Xander and Willow. Starting to get seriously worried, they split up; Oz and Cordelia leaving to get Giles, and Buffy and Faith returning to the library to stock up on weapons before they would hit the streets to look for the missing pair.

Faith was just tossing Buffy a stake from the cabinet to throw into the bag with the rest of the arsenal they'd already crammed into it, when the phone rang. Buffy seized it at once. "Giles?"

"Hi, Buffy." It was her mom. "You still working out?"

"Uh, no, Mom, actually—," Buffy began, only to be cut off by the aforementioned overbearing euphoria she'd come to the school to escape.

"I was hoping that we could schedule a college talk later tonight," she said eagerly. "I admit I…overreacted before. You don't have to go all the way across the country. I, um, picked up some brochures from some nearby schools, okay?"

"That's great, but now's really not a good time...," said Buffy, while Faith gestured urgently at her from the weapons cabinet.

"Hello, Joyce," came a familiar and very unwelcome voice from the other end. Buffy's eyes widened in horror, and she dropped the phone.

"We have to get to my house now," she said. Faith nodded and shouldered the bag of weapons, and together they sprinted from the room.

[o]

When they arrived at 1630 Revello Drive, Buffy was momentarily incapacitated by the entirely unexpected sight of Spike and her mother having hot chocolate in the kitchen. Once she had convinced herself that she was not hallucinating, however, she burst into the room with Faith hot on her heels, seized Spike by the front of his shirt, and slammed him down on the counter.

"Buffy! Faith!" cried an alarmed Joyce, "He—you—what's going on?"

"You shouldn't have come back, Spike," said Buffy.

"I do what I please," he sneered.

"Okay, I-I'm confused again," said Joyce, moving to stand by the sink. Spike attempted to grab Buffy's arm, but Faith caught his wrist in a vice-like grip and pinned it back to the island, while Buffy snatched up a wooden spoon and raised it over his chest to stake him.

"Willow!" he said hastily, eyeing the end of the spoon with fearful apprehension.

"You took Willow," said Buffy, interpreting his plea correctly.

"Doesn't do much for his chances, does it?" Faith asked Buffy derisively.

"You do me now, you'll never find the little witch," said Spike.

"Willow's a witch?" asked Joyce, more confused than ever.

"And Xander?" asked Buffy.

"Him, too," said Spike.

"What? Xander's a witch?" said Joyce, but she was still being ignored by all three of them. "I—"

Faith grabbed a fistful of Spike's shirt and pulled him closer. "Where are they?" she asked.

Spike shoved her off. "New Slayer, huh? Well, it doesn't work like that, love." He looked at Buffy again. "Your friend's gonna work a little magic for me. She does my spell, I let them both go."

"You're not famous for keeping your promises, Spike," she replied coldly. Never coming back to Sunnydale, for one, she thought.

"Well, you two wanna tag along, that's fine. But you get in my way, and you kill your friends."

[o]

As they drew nearer to the magic shop, Faith leaned towards Buffy, her eyes on Spike. "Too bad the guy's dead, 'cause, talk about lickable, right?" she said appreciatively, nudging Buffy in the side and raking her gaze up and down Spike's figure in an alarmingly hungry fashion. Spike smirked. Buffy, on the other hand, looked completely revolted—something he did not fail to notice.

"Don't give me that," he said, scowling. "I don't recall you objecting much with Angel."

Faith raised her eyebrows interestedly as she looked from him to Buffy, whose expression became several degrees more murderous. Spike, being Spike, plowed right ahead anyway. "You wouldn't happen to have seen Peaches around lately, would you? Thought I might get in a spot of revenge while I was waiting on that whole love spell thing to come together."

"Great," said Buffy flatly. "Well, you missed your chance for that. Angel's dead." Her glare faltered and she swallowed painfully.

"Shows what you know," he snorted. Off Buffy's sharp look of angry confusion, he continued to scoff. "Oh, please. You think I wouldn't be able to tell if the poofter'd been offed? He's my bloody grand-sire! It was the same thing with the Master and Darla. Would Dru and I have turned up in this sodding town in the first place if we hadn't known they were dust? Not bloody likely."

"Go to Hell, Spike," said Buffy bitterly. "You'll have to if you want to get that revenge."

"Oho," he said, grinning wickedly, "so that's where he's gone. Makes sense. Sending him through on the end of that sword wouldn't have killed him." He snickered. "Even better."

He had finally crossed a line, and was too busy being delighted at the thought of Angel in Hell to see Buffy's fist headed directly for his face. It made very audible contact, and Spike staggered back.

"Does this mean we're skipping to the part where we dust him?" asked Faith, raising her stake.

Very reluctantly, Buffy refrained from hitting Spike several more times. "No. We still need him to find the others."

Spike wiped blood from his freshly split lip and glared at them. "Bloody right you do."

[o]

When Wesley entered the cell that day, in addition to the usual cargo of bottle, lantern, and keys, he was carrying a rather battered-looking old book beneath his arm. He quickly hung the lantern on the hook just inside the door and put the keys in his pocket, then walked over to trade bottles with Angel.

"Thank you," said Angel.

"You're welcome," said Wesley, now holding up the book. "I took your advice," he said before Angel could ask, and began to pace the length of the cell. "The stack I found this on in the Council's library was so thickly coated in dust that it hardly looked like a stack at all. There were even a couple of mouse skeletons on the bottom shelf. Apparently, Watchers don't generally set much store by Gypsy magic, and when a book only mentions the spell, rather than actually giving the ingredients, incantation, and ritual required to perform it, they tend to disregard it completely. Having read it myself, however, I find that this was a rather foolish move on their part."

Angel was quite impressed that Wesley had already had this much success with the suggestion he gave him. He watched him expectantly, but said nothing. "In eighteen ninety-eight, the Kalderash clan was plagued by a series of attacks from the same four vampires. They tried unsuccessfully to keep them at bay for some weeks, until the eldest daughter of the clan leader was abducted. The following day, they found her body, which had been brutally violated and drained of blood, displayed in the very place from which she was taken."

Angel closed his eyes, grimacing as the vivid memories rose to the surface. This reaction did not go unnoticed by Wesley, but he continued his paraphrased account as though nothing had happened. "The passage doesn't identify the vampire responsible or any of his three companions by name, but anyone who has troubled to pay attention when reading about you would recognize the modus operandi immediately. The girl's fate ignited the vengeful wrath of the rest of the clan like nothing else could."

He stopped pacing and looked directly at Angel. "And as a result, they ensured that you would live out the rest of your immortal days in guilt-stricken anguish. In other words, they restored your human soul." When Angel opened his eyes, Wesley thought he could see the centuries of weariness behind them. His grip on the book's frayed cover tightened. "The Kalderash should have been drawn and quartered for what they did to you," he said angrily.

"What?" asked Angel, who was sure, in spite of his preternatural hearing, that he had misheard.

"They weren't punishing the demon responsible for their daughter's death; they were punishing an innocent human being who'd had nothing to do with it!"

"I was no innocent," said Angel in tones of self-disgust.

"You were no monster, either, but they still forced you to take the memories and responsibility for a century and a half of unspeakable sadism and depravity that would inevitably turn your very mind into your own personal Hell. They must have been absolutely barking mad to view that as an appropriate revenge!" Wesley's voice had grown steadily louder and more outraged through the entire outburst, so that by the time he fell silent, he was positively quivering with indignation.

Angel simply stared at him. He'd never looked at his situation from that perspective before. After all, it wasn't as if it was easy to dismiss everything he'd done without a soul as being not his fault, when he had first person recollections of all of it. The sight of faces white with terror. The tangy smell of fear curling like perfume from human pores. The smooth metallic taste of the blood of countless victims. The feel of bones snapping like twigs beneath his fingers. The sound of the screams of men he tortured, the sobs of women he ravaged, the whimpers of children who were forced to watch what he did to their parents before he did it to them.

No. He very much appreciated that Wesley could defend him so fervently in spite of his past, but he could not see himself the same way. As far as he was concerned, he deserved Hell. Ironically, he had been sent there by the only person other than Wesley who had ever thought otherwise—and who still did, if the dreams were any indication. The question now was why he was back.

Not knowing what to say in response to Wesley defending his character more adamantly than he would defend it himself, Angel changed the subject. "How long before they start to wonder upstairs why you're still down here?"

Wesley looked horrified. "That would be about now." He hurriedly caught up the lantern again and pulled out his keys. Before he was out of the door, he turned. "Would you like me to bring you something to read tomorrow?"

"As long as it's not the Divina Comedia," said Angel with a completely straight face.

Wesley gave something between a cough and a snicker, which momentarily ruined his air of poise and dignity. "No, I don't imagine that one would interest you much."

"Got any Sartre?"

This chapter's title, as almost all of the others, makes me happy. Anyway, check it out! Angel made a joke! And, incidentally, in the canon "Lovers Walk", he was actually reading La Nausée by Jean-Paul Sartre. Also, what with the upcoming battle against like twenty vamps at the magic shop in spite of the absence of Angel, I thought Buffy and Spike would need some extra help, so I worked Faith into the story. I figured that Buffy calling Faith up to work out would be a reasonable deviation from canon, considering her extra loneliness from the continued lack of Angel, and once the action started, there was no way Faith wouldn't want to be in the thick of it. Now then, Wesley! If there was one area he was always competent at in canon (except when trying to find out about the Ascension), it was research. I love that he cares more about the badness that's happened to Angel than Angel does. It is very frustrating that I cannot hug him.