Marcus watched his Joy and her family as they moved around him. In all his visions, he had never seen them like this. They were relaxed and comfortable despite the looming threat. There was so much love in this room. The unity and simplicity of it pulsed within him. He rubbed absently at his chest.

There could be no redemption for those that were hunting this group. He watched Sophie grin and splash water at Spike as the blonde vampire explained for the umpteenth time about the dishwasher. Giles and Buffy were leaned over a map of the town with the young werewolf, arguing over the best places for their upcoming battle. The young witch rested against the were, lost in thought with a spell book open in her lap. Even the young, annoying humans were helping by whittling stakes and sharpening weapons. Their dark heads bent to their tasks.

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. He was unused to this. Caring about all of them was unexpected. He had come for his Joy, but, now, he was caught in a trap of emotions.. He loathed his lack of control. He had led countless battles, sent legion upon legion of foes to the next life, and, yet, he was unsure how to insert himself here.

He was the font of this misery, but he was also delivered by it. He closed his eyes. He had ruled an empire and now he was reduced to this lesser status. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. These children gave him life again.

His Joy, with her warm gaze and gentle hands, smiled at him as she brought in laundry and started to fold it. Her movements were measured, thoughtful. She put such care into everything. Vesta, the goddess herself, could do no better. He swallowed.

He could see the strength of them, in each of them, but the fear was there as well. They were confined in this lush prison. It was comfortable and safe, but their freedom was an illusion. Rage burned inside him. This family deserved more.

He was the cup from which this misery sprung, this tortured necessity. He rubbed the back of his neck, and stepped back from the room. Visions shot through him. He gritted his teeth and considered these disparate futures, trying to determine his best course. He leaned back against the wall and growled.

"So, thinking this is all your fault?" Spike's voice broke through the visions.

"I am the first Aurelian." Marcus spat the words out. "I am responsible."

"Well, we're gonna fix the problem, and because of you we have the power to do it." Spike sighed. "I'm better with my fists than my words, but you need to understand this. You are not to blame for bloody Angelus. He's an enormous prick. Darla turned him because he was on an evil path, and the silly bitch wanted to see how far he would go. It wasn't pretty."

"You were part of his core family."

"Yeah, I was the whipping boy and babysitter, and I was perfect for the job." Spike shrugged. "It wasn't so bad."

"Then why are we here?" Marcus whipped his arm around in a wide arc.

"It wasn't so bad, but it wasn't where we belonged." Spike picked up a picture of Buffy and her friends, all of them laughing. "I hated her and wanted her. I loathed her and dreamed of her. It was torture. She was so beautiful in battle. I love a good fight. I love her. I think I always have done. I was looking for her and your blood, your curse was my path to her door, long and twisted, but mine."

"Let's all hold hands and sing about long and winding roads, shall we?" Marcus sneered. "You have no concept time, no idea what a long time truly is. I have spent more time contemplating dust than the paltry years you have amassed."

"What a bloody waste of your time." Spike snorted. "You made yourself a little nest in your beloved city and let the world pass you by. You gave up the present for a vision Of the future. Hell, that's pathetic. Maybe it's a seer thing. You're all a bit daft."

Marcus sprang for Spike with a deep, rumbling growl. He heard the clatter of chairs as the family reacted to his attack, but he would not stop. Spike slipped passed him with a fluid backflip and a chuckle.

"It would seem you have a temper, oh mighty, haughty one." Spike bent at the waist and twirled his hand mockingly. "Time to give up the ego, my lord. You aren't the baddest vamp in town anymore."

"You are an infant." Marcus moved to the side.

"I've spent the last century fighting, not holed up in some villa wrapped up in silks and feeding off whores." Spike snickered. "Redemption is a tricky bitch. You have to want it with all you have."

"I do." Marcus snarled. "My destiny is this, now."

"Then why were you heading toward the door?" Spike spun and knocked him back.

"I am redeemed, but would they know that?" Marcus raised one eyebrow. "I could take out most of them on my own."

"Go down fighting, make it easy on us?" Spike tossed his head back and laughed. "All those centuries in that prissy city of yours have wasted your instincts."

"My sacrifice would buy you victory."

"No, it would give Angelus a hostage." Buffy slid quietly into the room. "He would sacrifice anyone of his people, hell, all of them, for a chance to make us weak. You would be nothing but a pawn to him. Suicidal missions are a no go here. Get it?"

"Suicidal missions are a no go?" Willow snorted. "Since when? Every mission we go on is a suicide mission."

"Living on the hell mouth ain't exactly smart." Xander smirked. "Could be a death wish all on its own."

"Angelus knows me." Buffy rubbed her chin. "He remembers all the nonsense I've pulled in the past."

Giles looked at her and they smiled widely.

"Time to put on a show." Buffy grinned. "Marcus you have to kill my mate."