The First Apocalypse (Book Three of the Reunion Trilogy)

by MCorey1317

The end is coming. Not the end of one world, but of all worlds, forever. And only Buffy Summers has a chance of stopping it.

11. Chapter 11 -- The Flip Side of the Coin

Six months ago, when she'd first returned to her home dimension … as she'd jokingly begun to refer to it … there not only hadn't been a business open at night in downtown Sunnydale, there had been barely any businesses still in operation at all. Countless patrols, a lot of dead vamps, and a few too many near misses later, and she allowed herself a certain amount of pride in being able to walk through an open air shopping center that featured functioning neon signs, strings of bulbs lighting the walkways, intact windows and doors, and fountains sparkling with clear, flowing water.

In another life, I'd be strolling through these shops in brightest day wearing a cute little sundress with white sandals and trendy, but not-budget-breaking, shoes and a matching handbag. My friends and I would complain about our college classes, giggle at how young the high schoolers looked, and stare at stuff we could never afford. Instead, I'm stalking around at night with my demonic boyfriend and a bunch of angry, vamp-hunting orphans.

Still, it was worth taking a moment to savor how far they'd come. Vampires no longer congregated openly in the city streets, the most obvious of the nests had been eliminated, and the Master hadn't been seen in months. Life was returning to what passed for normal in Sunnydale. Heck, the newspapers had even started to run stories speculating that their military virus fake news might be genuine.

People believe what they want to believe, and conspiracy theory explanations are more palatable than accepting the existence of vampires.

She'd be able to appreciate their progress even more if the constant furtive glances of her compatriots towards the roofline of the buildings lining the plaza didn't represent a persistent distraction.

"And you sure it wasn't someone on patrol?" she asked as she also shifted her gaze upwards. "Or maybe Spike?"

I'm not sure why Spike would be on the roof.

Xander kept his eyes fixed on the roofline and his hand on the wooden stake hung from his belt as he shook his head and replied, "Spike's still checking out that department store."

Another White Hat?" she asked.

Xander pointed at the gap between two of the buildings. "Whoever it was could jump that."

Buffy eyeballed the distance and concluded it had to be at least fifteen feet. "Kendra?"

Xander frowned, brushed away a dark strand of hair that had fallen across his eye, and shot her an incredulous look. "Buff, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't need to hear her over-the-top accent to recognize Kendra. Plus, whoever it was had about a foot of height on her."

Oz stepped nearer. "Xander's right. They were tall. Way taller than Kendra."

Xander and Oz didn't have much in common besides wanting to kill vampires, so the fact that they were in agreement removed any doubt from Buffy's mind.

Someone new is offing vamps. That could be a good thing, I guess.

"Maybe a resident of Sunnydale decided to try to take back their town?" she suggested with a shrug. "We do get new recruits every once in a while."

"Someone as strong as you or Spike and can jump from rooftop to rooftop?" Xander asked.

Yeah, it's probably not a concerned citizen

She squinted against the glare of the neon lights, searched the sides of the buildings for an easy way up, and spotted a rusted metal ladder attached to the side of a particularly intriguing shoe store that she would have to visit in daylight."

"Found a way up," she said as she pointed at the bottom of the ladder. "Time to investigate."

"Not alone, you're not," Spike called out from the open second story window of a luxury boutique. He swung his feet out the opening, jumped, and the sound of his boots thudding against the concrete echoed throughout the plaza as he landed.

Really? You couldn't just use the stairs?

Buffy frowned at Spike, and her frown intensified when she noticed the polished, stainless steel band of a new watch encircling his left wrist.

I'd like Spike even more if he didn't so often engage in petty thievery. I'm going to have to talk to him about this … he can't be burglarizing every building I ask him to check for vamps, it isn't fair to people trying to make a living.

She knew what Spike would say when she brought it up. He'd argue that they needed money to live, none of them had the time to safely work other jobs, and her best response to all of that would be to remind him that watches were not a necessity for slaying.

"I agree with Spike," Xander said as he eyed the ladder. "We should all search."

"Guys," she interrupted before any of the other half dozen or so White Hats could chime in, "I wasn't suggesting that I chase down the creepy kangaroo-jumping vampire-killer by myself. Not that I couldn't handle it myself, because I could, but I wouldn't do that because we fight things as a group and it wouldn't be smart for me to go alone." When she finished, she realized everyone was staring at her in confused silence. "I'll go first, though," she added.

She moved past the White Hats and towards the shadowed alley. There were dumpsters near the ladder, and of course there would be, because what was a patrol without her having to deal with at least a few instances of absolutely noxious odors?

"How many vamps were on the roofs?" she asked as she maneuvered beneath the lowest rung of the ladder. "Before our mystery vamp-killer staring dusting them?"

Xander again brushed away a lock of hair and replied, "Three."

He needs a haircut. Between the months of weightlifting with Larry and the new kill-em-all-and-let-god-sort-'em-out attitude, Xander probably is liking the stares his new look is getting him.

"Only one of them got away," Oz added.

"Shall we?" Spike asked as he gestured upwards.

She nodded, leapt, and reached for the bottom rung of the emergency ladder … and cringed when her fingers brushed against the pitted, corroded metal and slipped off.

"Want a boost?" Spike asked in a mocking tone as he formed a basket with his hands, leaned against the wall of the store, and held out his arms.

"Very funny," she muttered as she gathered herself again, pursed her lips to a thin line, and ignored his mocking grin. On the second jump, her fingers found purchase on the rung, and with a clattering, clanging sound the ladder slid down with her hanging from it until she was standing once more on concrete.

"Xander, Oz, Spike, with me," she said as she began to climb. "Everyone else, keep an eye out down here."

She paused, waited until she heard murmurs of agreement, and then resumed climbing.

"Not a bad view," Spike mused as he stared up at her clad-in-black-polyester-yoga-pants bottom while climbing behind her.

"Ugh, Spike," she muttered. "Not on patrol, not in front of everyone."

His only reply was a short, barking laugh.

"I'm serious," she said in a louder, more firm voice.

"Kind of like how I'm serious that we should be carrying some of that glowing Mohra slime with us?" he asked. "I chopped off the damn thing's arm, don't I have a say?"

"Not again, Spike," she said with a shake of her head as she climbed over the lip of the roof and reached down to help him up. Spike clasped her hand with one of his, placed his other hand on the black tar covered roof of the building, and neatly boosted himself off the ladder. Spike took in the view while she helped Xander and Oz, and when they were all safely standing on the roof she turned to Spike. "We've been over this," she reminded him. "We're not going to carry around emergency save-the-day medicine for us while we're staking vamps that we could be saving. If Giles needs the Mohra blood for study, then that's what it's for. If he doesn't need it for study, we're going to use it to turn people back into people, not saving it for ourselves. End of discussion."

"Spike's right," Xander said. "Eventually, one of us is going to need it, we won't have it, and that'll be that."

Oz nodded. "It can't bring us back from the dead, or heal anything chopped off, but it can keep us from dying."

"We can't keep something like that just for ourselves," she explained yet again. "At least, I can't … not if I want to sleep at night.

Spike, Xander, and Oz exchanged glances.

"I guess that's why you're the hero," Xander informed her without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Thanks, I think," she replied. "Now, how about we get back to searching for our mystery guest?"

All four of them tried to pierce the darkness and spot what might be waiting for them on the neighboring roof, but Buffy couldn't make out anything besides enormous air conditioning units and gleaming metal tubes that appeared to be vents for industrial-sized restaurant ovens.

"See anything?" she asked.

Spike shook his head. "Nope. Maybe folks' imaginations are running wild."

Oz and Xander both opened their mouth to voice angry protests, but before they could say anything a scream sounded from the far side of the other rooftop.

"Time to jump," she said as she backed away from the edge.

Spike groaned and stared up at the night sky. "What is it with you and jumping from high places?"

She ignored the question, sprinted about a dozen paces, and leapt. At the apex of her jump, she felt weightless, suspended in air as she sailed across the alley below. An instant later her feet struck the white paneling of the roof and she rolled forward, stake in hand, to somersault into a crouch. A few seconds later Spike landed with considerably less grace next to her.

"Stay there," she called out to Xander and Oz once the cursing, sprawled Spike had managed to stagger back to his feet.

Oz yelled back, "We weren't planning on trying to follow you, Buff." He and Xander exchanged a glance then, as if by unspoken agreement, they unslung super soakers filled with vamp-frying holy water from their shoulders and walked to opposite corners of the roof.

They're keeping watch … we're starting to look like we know what we're doing.

"We're not done talking about that healing demon blood," Spike whispered to her.

"Not now," she hissed. "And yes, we are done talking about it."

Spike made a non-committal hmphing sound that she cared for not at all.

"Hands off that blood!" she scolded him.

Before Spike could argue the point further, they heard another scream, and this time they were close enough that they could detect a pained, frantic edge to the cry.

Spike produced a long-handled, double-bladed axe topped with a wooden point from somewhere in his black leather coat and stalked by her side as they crept along the shadows that clung to the tall vents and air conditioning ducts. They heard the sounds of a scuffle … or perhaps struggling … as they neared the far end of the roof, and with hurried steps they closed the distance and leapt around the last of the vents.

A tall figure in a long black coat held a vampire by the collar of his jacket and was dangling him over the edge of the roof. His other hand was drawn back in a fist, and from the looks of the vamp's face, it had taken a beating already.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike said as he stood up straight and let the axe hang by his side. He gestured towards the figure. "Count Forehead is back."

For a moment, she wanted to voice a disagreement. The figure had Angel's dark, spiked hair, but he seemed too large, too menacing to be the dispirited, shrunken man she'd last seen two months ago.

Then he turned around, she recognized the dark brown eyes, large brow, and wide, chiseled jaw, and she gasped in surprise. "Angel!"

That vamp has to weigh a hundred and fifty pounds … how is he holding it like that?

Angel fished a thin, wooden stake from a loop inside his coat, the vamp widened its eyes and opened its mouth to voice another scream, and with the crunching sound of broken ribs Angel thrust the wood into its heart. The vampire vanished in a cloud of dust and Angel tucked the stake back in his coat, brushed the dust off his coat, and stepped closer to them.

"I thought I saw some of your people down there," he said. "I would have said hello, but I noticed these vamps trying to avoid your perimeter using the roofs."

"It looked like you were torturing him," she observed in a quiet voice filled with doubt.

Angel winced fixed her with a rueful expression. "Just a little … and he didn't know anything."

Just a little torture … no big deal … is something wrong with Angel?

"We don't go out on our own," she reminded him. "I seem to remember that was, like, the very first thing I told you after you healed up from the Master's torture squad."

Spike crossed his arms and shook his head. "That's right, we don't." He made a tsk'ing sound and continued. "Since you can't play by the rules, guess you'll have to leave."

Angel stepped closer, and she reached out, grabbed Spike's elbow, and pulled him with her as she moved back.

"What gives?" Spike asked.

"Look at him," she said as a growing fear began to curl within her chest. Angel's skin was even paler than normal, as though he hadn't been exposed to the sun for weeks. His stride was heavier, his body seemed to occupy more space, and the menace that had vanished when he'd become human had returned with a vengeance. Her eyes moved to his neck to check for a pulse, and she realized that Angel had the collar of his long coat turned up … something she had never seen him do before.

Oh, no … please, no.

"Angel," she said in a determined voice as her right hand tightened on the stake. "Why are you covering up your neck? Also, you may be a big guy, but you shouldn't have been able to hold someone off the ground with one hand like that." She took a deep breath. "Angel, are you … have you turned back into …" Her words trailed off and she realized that she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Spike caught her meaning and immediately uncrossed his arms and raised the axe. She didn't need to look to know that she'd find Spike's pale blue eyes wide with excitement at the prospect of having a righteous reason to kill Angel.

Angel quickly held up his hands in a calming gesture and shook his head. "Buffy, I'm not a vampire. I was coming back to the school to talk to you, but like I said, I saw these vamps on the rooftops and … well … they're vampires."

"If you're not a vampire then show me your neck," she said. "I want to see a pulse and check for bite wounds."

The searing pain in her heart intensified when Angel hesitated instead of complying with her request.

"Angel," she said as she raised the stake and shifted her feet into a bladed stance, "how did this happen? Is there any part of your soul left?"

"I haven't been turned!" he cried out. Angel sounded sincere enough, but the sight of him pulling his coat higher so that the collar hid even more of his skin did little to reassure her. "I'll tell you what happened, but not here."

"Why not?"

"It's private, and I'd rather talk to you alone about it," he explained in an entirely unsatisfying fashion.

"Fat chance of that," Spike muttered.

When Angel's face tightened in anger at Spike's comment, she braced herself to accept the reality that she might have to help Spike kill Angel. Assuming they couldn't subdue him, of course.

"Your cross!" Angel exclaimed as he snapped his fingers and pointed at her chest. He made a beckoning gesture with his fingers. "Toss it to me."

I should have thought of that.

She reached one hand behind her neck while holding the stake steady in front of her. Her fingers worked the clasp, she pulled the heavy silver chain free, and then she tossed cross and chain across the roof towards Angel.

When he snatched the flying jewelry out of the air, his hand moved too quickly for him to be merely human.

"Did you see that?" Spike asked.

She nodded and raised the stake higher.

"Look!" Angel said as he held out his hand, palm upright, with the cross sitting upon it. No smoke rose from his flesh, there was no sound or smell of sizzling skin, and Buffy realized that she was actually surprised.

"Huh," she said. "Okay, you're not a vampire." She fixed Angel with a suspicious glare. "But something has happened to you."

"Like I said, can we talk about this back at the school?" Angel said as he cautiously stepped forward and handed her back the cross. She tucked her stake back into her belt, refastened the chain around her neck, and shot Spike a meaningful glare. He frowned at her as he slid the axe beneath his leather jacket.

"Fine," she said. "The three of us are going to head back to the school. Now. As in now, now. Right this second."

"Sure," Angel said as he stepped closer. "But …"

She darted forward, grabbed Angel's wrist, and grasped it tight until she felt a heartbeat thrumming beneath the skin. When she released her grip, for a fraction of a second it felt as though her index finger brushed against something warm … no, not warm, hot … on Angel's wrist.

What was that?

"You could have just asked," Angel said with a reproachful expression on his face as he pulled his arm back.

"I had to be sure," she informed him with no hint of apology in her voice. "I'm sending everyone else on patrol home, and the three of us are heading to the library. When we get there, I want some answers."

"And they'd better be good ones!" Spike added while he jutted his jaw and angrily pointed his index finger at Angel.

. . . . . . . .

Angel wiped water off his face with the sleeve of his coat and frowned at Larry. "I'm not a vampire anymore, remember?"

Larry lowered the squirt gun and grimaced. "Sorry, it's just that you looked so … vampire-ish."

"Well … I'm not," Angel spluttered as he walked past Larry and through the swinging doors of the library.

She and Spike entered the library right behind Angel. Immediately, she sat herself on the edge of a table, folded her arms across her chest, and fixed Angel with a determined expression. "Answers," she said, and the clipped, loudly spoken word echoed off the high ceiling and reverberated throughout the room. "Angel, what is going on with you?"

"Angel, you've returned," Giles said in surprise as he emerged from a back office. He had ink smudges on his face, his sleeves were rolled up, and for once, he wasn't wearing a jacket. "I have to admit that after all these weeks none of us were quite certain that we would see you again."

"Yes, what a surprise to see you in Sunnydale again," Wesley added as he joined them in the library. "Whatever have you been up to?"

For a brief moment Buffy thought that Wesley's words sounded rather forced and insincere.

In a similar fashion to Giles's, Wesley's face and hands were also smudged with ink.

They're copying parts of my phone diary again … I need to take some time and be more careful about which files they're allowed access to. People should get to live their lives without the burden of knowing what might have been. I know what that's like, and it sucks.

"Angel is about to explain everything," Buffy informed Giles as she stared at Angel with an expectant look on her face. "Right?"

"Buffy," Angel said while he rubbed at the back of his neck, "I was hoping we could chat in private."

Larry raised his hand. "I'm happy to be off guard duty early."

She rolled her eyes and gestured towards the exit. "Go," she said.

Almost before the word had left her lips, Larry's tall, muscular, crew-cutted form had vanished through the swinging doors.

"I do not think we should be keeping secrets from each other, Angel," Wesley said in a scolding tone as he walked towards the library table Buffy was sitting upon. He leaned upon the wood and fixed Angel with a reproachful stare.

"I had no idea you were so against keeping secrets, Wes," Angel said in a near-growl, and to her surprise Wesley turned pale, stammered some incoherent reply, and ducked to the other side of the table so that the wood was between him and Angel.

What's going on with the two of them?

She focused her attention back on Angel and said, "You've been gone just about two months, without saying goodbye, I might add. Where the hell have you been, and what happened to you? Start talking."

"Buffy, I had to find a way to help," he replied. He strode closer, and as he neared the pallor of his skin shocked her.

Angel hadn't been that pale even as a vampire.

"I tried to patrol, I tried to accept my new body, as you put it," Angel continued, "but Buffy, I couldn't stand to live like that. I had to do something."

Giles removed his glasses, set them on the book counter, his eyes turned cold. "What exactly did you do?" The words were precise, clipped, and she couldn't help but notice that the usual polite, patient geniality Giles adopted with them had vanished entirely.

I never knew Giles could be scary when he wanted to be.

"What he said," she announced as she pointed at Giles. "Out with it, Angel. What insane thing did you do?"

To her surprise, a flush of excitement had come over. Angel had done something dangerous, and reckless, and magical … and all those things had a tendency to …

What the hell am I thinking?

She shook off the rising sense of anticipation in her body and focused on the business at hand. "Telling us the truth is not going to get any easier the longer you wait, so just come out with it."

"It would be easier if I showed you," Angel said as he opened his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Larry's going to be upset that he missed this," she whispered to Spike.

Spike scowled at her and made no reply.

She bit her lower lip and held her breath while Angel unfastened the buttons one by one. Wesley and Giles pressed in closer, and she moved to the side to make sure she had an unobstructed view. Spike may have snorted in irritated derision at the obviousness of her interest in Angel's efforts to disrobe, but her focus was elsewhere.

Angel pulled open his coat and shirt to reveal the v-taper of his abdomen, the pale, muscled flesh of broad chest and flat stomach, and …

"Angel!" she exclaimed in surprise as she stared at the sinuous tattoos that covered much of his torso and stretched upwards to flank the sides of his neck. The ink was black, but as he shifted on his feet, the light struck the markings at odd angles and flashes of iridescent red sparkled along the edges. An enormous emblem that looked like a curved cross sporting scythes on the tips bisected his pectorals and stretched downwards to his belly button, script written in an unfamiliar language traced towards his shoulders and vanished beneath the shirt, and myriad occult symbols had been etched into his flesh to create a rather intimidating display. The tattoos rippled and writhed like living things, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and run her fingers along one of them.

"Wow," she said before she thought to stop herself.

Spike made his irritation at her comment known with a rather loud, offended-sounding snort.

"How many of those do you have?" she asked.

"A lot," Angel said as he let his shirt drape closed. Buffy bit her lower lip in disappointment when his shaved, muscular chest vanished from view. "And before you ask, the answer is yes, it really, really hurt to get them."

And I imagine took weeks to finish.

"Enochian protection runes," Giles said, and if anything his voice was colder and angrier than it had been a few moments earlier. "Exceedingly difficult to correctly inscribe, exceedingly dangerous if inscribed incorrectly, and there are possible side effects that I imagine Angel cared absolutely nothing about before he embarked upon this reckless and idiotic course of action."

The volume of Giles's voice steadily rose as he spoke, and Buffy realized that she was quite glad not to be the focus of his ire.

Damn, he's pissed.

"I'm sorry, did you say Enochian protection runes?" Welsey interrupted as he grabbed a pad of paper off the library table, extracted a pen from the pocket of his ink-stained white shirt, and began to scribble notes. "I cannot say that I'm familiar with the term."

"Oh, c'mon," Angel snapped at Wesley.

"You know, if you're jealous, you could always get some wings on your shoulders," Spike murmured into her ear. "Maybe a butterfly in the small of your back?"

With a shake of her head she replied, "Slayer healing, remember? Gotta keep the earrings in or my lobes heal, tattoos fade if you didn't get them before you were called, all that good stuff."

Spike leaned in closer still and when he spoke his breath was warm against her ear. "The needles just have to go deeper."

A flush rose to her cheeks as his words generated a tendril of excitement deep inside.

"Do you have any idea what might come of imbuing your body with that much chaos magic?" Giles continued. "If any of those runes were improperly formed, that energy might leech into your body." A vein in Giles's forehead appeared ready to burst. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that this," Angel said as he gestured at his tattoo-covered torso, "will let me help. Like I used to." A dark, cold smile settled over his features that Buffy found quite appealing. "And they do help."

"Where did you get this idea?" she asked.

"There's a drawing of a man in your journals, from that other world," he explained.

Goddammit, I need to lock that phone up … also, who was the drawing of?

Angel continued, "The guy in that drawing had these tattoos, and on the same page was a list of the abilities they granted him … the exact kind of abilities I needed."

Spike raised his hand. "So you got inked, what did that do for you, exactly?"

"You're vampire-strong again?" she asked.

Angel shrugged. "Close enough. I'm a bit faster than I was, though, so it evens out. Also, and this will sound weird, but I'm pretty sure the tattoos get warm and tingly when I'm around magic." He gave her a meaningful glance. "Like slayer magic."

Interesting … sounds like these tattoos are hot in more ways than one.

Spike rolled his eyes so ferociously that she was pretty sure she could hear them rattle inside their sockets.

"Anything else?" Giles asked.

"A few other tricks," Angel replied. "I can't be found by spells, which might come in handy."

"Unless we are the ones who need to find you," Wesley pointed out.

Angel scratched at his chin. "I hadn't thought of that."

The muscles of Giles's jaw stood out in hard lines as he gritted his teeth and asked, "Is that all?"

"Just this," Angel said with a smile. He looked around the room, then grabbed a half-filled bottle of water off the book counter and set it at the far edge of the library table, away from where they were clustered.

"Is it too much to ask that you all throw your trash away?" Giles muttered as he stared at the water bottle.

Buffy ignored the question and waited to see what Angel would do next. With an overly theatrical swirl of his black coat he turned away from the water bottle, moved about ten feet towards the library door, and extended a hand.

"Watch," he said as he made a fist and then yanked his hand back towards his body.

A book flew from the bookshelves behind the bottle and landed upon the floor.

"So you're like a really bad wizard now?" she asked as she scrunched up her forehead and stared at the still-standing water bottle."

"Not a wizard," Angel explained, "just a bit of telekinesis. I need to practice."

"Oh, a little bit of telekinesis, is that all?" Giles asked, his voice dripping with scorn and acid-laden sarcasm. "Surely no harm could come of that." Giles stepped closer to Angel, glared at him, and pointed an accusing finger at his chest. "I don't think you thought this through at all. Should I even ask where you found a mystic strong enough with chaos magic to aid you? Or what price he wanted?"

"It was a warlock from England," Angel explained. "He didn't seem happy that I found him, but when I told him I could pay, he was willing to do it."

"What did he want?" Wesley asked.

"Money," Angel replied. Buffy blinked in surprise at the banality of the price. "A lot of money."

"Wait just a moment," Spike said as he smacked at the library table. "If you had cash to your name, why'd you take five Ben Franklins from Jeeves," he pointed at Giles, "so you could go antique shopping and decorate your flat?"

Giles nodded in agreement. "Spike knows that I absolutely detest that nickname, but he does raise a good point."

"I had money hidden in an old hotel in L.A." Angel explained. "I wasn't sure if it was still there, but it was … I barely managed to grab it and get out the front door with my life."

"I'm sure it's quite a story," Giles replied in a disinterested tone. "And the name of this warlock who helped you?"

"He said his name was Ethan Rayne."

Buffy's heart skipped a beat, the room spun for a moment, and a torrent of stories, most of them horrific, about Ethan Rayne rushed to the forefront of her memory.

"Ethan Rayne?" Buffy asked as she walked over to Giles and grabbed his arm. "I know that name, and you do, too, don't you?"

Maybe he's a nicer guy in this universe?

Giles slowly shook his head at Angel for a long while before he said, "If you had talked to us, if you had behaved like a teammate instead of like a child whose ego had been bruised, I could have warned you that Ethan Rayne is a dangerous man who cares about nothing and no one except himself. I would have told you that those runes may grant you power and protection, but that they are also exceedingly dangerous. Instead of seeking our counsel, you rushed off and dabbled in magicks you do not understand and which may extract a price that you are unprepared to pay."

"Rupert, how did you come to know this Ethan Rayne person?" Wesley asked in his warbling, reed-thin voice.

Giles glanced over at him. "An acquaintance from my misspent youth."

"Then the Ripper stories are true," Wesley murmured at a nearly inaudible volume.

Giles's face purpled with anger and she could tell that he was fighting to keep from screaming at Wesley.

"Giles, I think you're exaggerating," Angel interjected. "It's been about a week and I feel fine." He smiled. "Better than fine, I feel great."

"Exaggerating?" Giles asked in a terse fashion. With aggressive, angry movements he first removed the cufflinks from his sleeves and then proceeded to unbutton his shirt.

"When Larry finds out about all of this, he really is going to be so pissed," she whispered to Spike. He scowled at her again and shook his head.

Giles removed his shirt, extended his left arm, and inscribed just above the crook of his elbow was a symbol somewhat reminiscent of the letter Y … or perhaps a pitchfork made of twisty eels. The ink of the tattoo was black, but the edges glittered with the same red sparkles as Angel's markings.

"The Eye of Eyghon," Wesley said in a reverential voice of near-awe as he moved around the table to get a better look. "Why would you have that tattooed?"

"I thought you were unfamiliar with magic-imbued runes?" Giles asked in a sharp, biting manner.

Wesley spluttered, removed his glasses, and retreated back to the other side of the table.

"You've got one, too!" Angel protested as he pointed at Giles's arm. "And you're fine."

Giles did not reply until he'd put his shirt back on, re-buttoned it, and re-inserted the cufflinks. "I am not fine, as you put it," he replied. "And people are dead because of this mark." He held up a solitary finger. "That is one rune, one, and the power nearly destroyed me and people I cared about."

"Can we remove them?" she asked.

Angel shook his head and moved towards the door. "No!" he said in a near-yell. "I am telling you that I feel fine. Once you see me back out there, on patrol, you'll realize that now I can actually help."

She ignored Angel and asked Giles, "Are the tattoos safe? Is Angel going to be okay?"

He considered the question then shrugged. "He hasn't gone stark raving mad, and they seem stable enough for the moment, but he'll have to be watched. Closely."

I won't mind taking on that job.

"I'm standing right here," Angel reminded them. "I can hear you."

"Just one more week and I was going to get all his stuff," Spike grumbled in a disappointed tone. "And our plucky ex-vampire witch was looking forward to moving into a room larger than a broom closet."

"You were going to give away my room?" Angel asked her with a hurt, wounded expression on his face. "And my things?"

"It's not like you left a note!" she explained. "The school basement is off limits to the public, and that means all of our rooms down there are vampire-proof. That's valuable, safe, real estate that we weren't going to keep empty indefinitely on the off chance you might come back."

"But my stuff …" Angel whined.

"Get over it," Giles snarled at him.

Angel frowned for a moment then appeared to mentally move on from the betrayal-that-hadn't-even-happened. "It's been a really long day, and I'd like to …"

"Go to bed," Buffy instructed him. "And don't take this the wrong way, but we need to talk about you behind your back and make some decisions, and until we do, stay in the basement."

She expected an argument, or umbrage, or some level of discomfiture, but instead Angel grinned and said, "Sounds fair. When you're ready, put me back on patrols."

"You'll actually pay attention to the schedule this time?" Wesley asked.

Buffy turned towards Wesley. "Kendra is still out there on her own every night and she's barely said more than two words to me at a time for months. How about you convince your slayer to get with the program, Wesley Wyndam-Price?"

Wesley sat down, slunk against the chair's back, and made no reply.

. . . . . . . .

"I get that you're sorry, I really do," Oz said in a calm, placid tone. "But that doesn't help me forget the things I saw a vampire wearing your face do."

Tara shook her head and put her hands on her hips. "Oz, Willow is trying to reach out here."

Willow put a hand on Tara's shoulder. "No, I get it. I really do. I was there … I remember what happened, and I know what I was like." She stared at Oz with sad eyes. "What can I do to make you separate the fanged, goth monster from just plain ol' me?"

Willow had wanted to have this conversation basically anywhere except within the bowels of the Sunnydale High School basement, but Oz, unfortunately, had proven quite adept at avoiding her. Eventually, she'd resorted to keeping watch through the open door of the closet that served as her room until she'd spotted him alone.

"Like I said, I get it," Oz replied. "But it doesn't change the way I feel." He moved to the side so that he could circle past them, then he paused and stared at her.

"What?" Willow asked.

"There is one thing you could do for me."

She nodded and did not try to hide her eagerness. "Anything, just name it."

Oz paused a moment, then said, "Maybe just stay away?"

Tara opened her mouth to voice an admonishing protest, and Willow once again patted her shoulder. When Tara had calmed down, she said, "But I want to make things right and try to help."

"I just told you what would help me," Oz informed her. "I guess I'll have to see if you respect that." Without another word, he moved around them and continued towards his room.

Well … I tried.

She took in a deep, sobbing breath, and before she could exhale Tara was hugging her close. "I'm sorry."

Willow rested the side of her face against Tara's shoulder and wiped at her eyes. When she'd composed herself to a sufficient extent that she no longer feared she would break down sobbing, she stepped back. "You know," she said with shuddering words, "I don't really feel up for heading out tonight."

Tara grinned at her. "That's fine. Want to go watch Xander try to teach Wesley about guns?"

Willow shook her head. "No thanks."

"We could see what Spike and Buffy are up to?"

"Not that either," Willow replied as she blanched and stuck out her tongue for a moment. "Spike will either want to be doing the bar scene or be doing Buffy, and we'd just be cramping his style."

They both giggled, and Willow found herself gazing happily into the blue of Tara's eyes. The moment lingered for a time, and then Willow cleared her throat and said, "We could practice magic? I know I'm not learning all that fast, but I actually got the candle to wobble and fall over last time."

"Sounds great."

. . . . . . . .

"You gonna be okay with Angel being back?" she asked as she shoved a pile of laundry off their pleather-upholstered easy chair that she hated the look of but loved to sit in. After she'd settled into the seat, she crossed her legs beneath her and waited for Spike to reply.

He stared at her with an aggrieved expression. "Me? Why the bloody hell wouldn't I be?

At least he isn't completely useless now."

She shook her head for a moment. "I don't know why he would do something like that."

"Cause he was useless," Spike informed her as he lied down on the bed. He kept his boots off the comforter and sheets, she'd managed to housetrain him on that topic at least, but he hadn't even bothered to take off his jacket.

We need more space.

Nearly a third of what little square footage they had was taken up by the king-size bed. Spike had insisted that they buy a quality mattress, and she had no complaints on that front, but it barely left enough room for chairs, a desk, and a few cabinets. They hadn't bothered to put up wall decorations, the rug was starting to wear thin already, and every day the ceiling seemed to lower a bit more.

"Now I have to worry about his tattoos driving him insane?" she mused aloud as she rubbed her eyes and tried to wipe the day's events from her memory. "As though trying to keep everyone alive, finding the Master, patrolling, worrying about Xander's violent streak, making sure Willow and Tara don't descend into PTSD psychosis, Kendra refusing to play well with others …"

Before she could continue with an oration of the problems plaguing her waking thoughts, Spike interrupted. "I'd wager that this won't be the first time one of your monster squad dabbles in the hocus pocus where they shouldn't, so you'd best get used to it."

She groaned and buried her faith in her hands. "There's always something else and it never stops. How did she do it for all those years and not only stay alive, but not go insane?"

Spike didn't bother asking who she was talking about. Instead he sat up in bed and glanced at his gleaming new watch. "It's Friday night. Well, Saturday morning, actually. You and I are going out."

"What?" she said with an incredulous expression. "It's one in the morning."

"Yeah, and we go to bed a few hours after sunrise, remember?"

He has a point.

This sleep schedule is going to mess me up for life," she informed him an aggrieved tone.

Spike ignored her complaints and moved towards the door. "Come on, then. I know a place that's open. A few drinks, then we'll move on to the main event."

"We could just stay here," she near-purred while raising her arms in a languorous, protracted stretch. Spike stared in appreciation at her bare stomach, and when she was finished with her stretch she nodded towards the bed. "I'm sure you and I could think of something to occupy our time."

Spike, surprisingly, shook his head and waggled his finger at her. "We had a deal," he reminded her with a twinkle in his eyes and a leering grin on his lips. "And a wager. You're not backing out of either."

"Tonight?" she complained. "With Angel back and everything else on my plate?"

"There will always be something," Spike said as he leaned against the door. "You asked me a lil' bit ago just how she dealt with the stress, and the nightmares, and all of it? Here's the answer." Spike leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. "Gotta blow off some steam every once in a while or you'll explode."

"Fine," she muttered. After shooting a pout in Spike's direction, she began rummaging through the drawers of a cabinet in search of something clean. "Why do I put up with you?" she asked as she pulled a light blue, satin miniskirt and a white, sleeveless, button-up top from the bottom drawer.

Spike put a hand on her shoulder and she let herself be rotated around so she could see him smiling down at her. He bent over, parted his lips, and she felt a current of heat twine through her body as he kissed her. She leaned against the cabinet, laid a hand on Spike's arm, and when the kiss was over she peered up at him with half-lidded eyes and her most provocative come-hither expression.

"Sure I can't change your mind about staying in?"

Spike kissed her forehead then shook his head. "Nope. You need to go out for a walk."

"Ugh," she said as she removed her stretch pants, shirt, and windbreaker. For a moment she considered keeping on her athletic-style bandeau bra, then she tossed that aside as well. She wriggled into the miniskirt and top, slid a pair of brown, slingback, open-toed leather boots onto her feet, and finally pulled on a jacket the leather of which came reasonably close to matching the boots. When she'd finished dressing, she stood and stared at Spike. "Well, let's go."

Spike stared at her with an unreadable expression on his face and a faraway look in his eyes.

"Hey," she said as she snapped her fingers in the air. Spike blinked and focused his eyes on her. "When you do that, it totally feels like you're thinking of someone else … which you know I hate."

"I'm not!" Spike protested. "Honest!"

"Spike," she replied. "I know you."

Spike winced, nodded, and pulled open the door. "Sorry, it's just weird to see Buffy Summers back in Sunnydale, hell, it's weird to be here myself … after all, I died destroying this place."

His comment reminded her of a question that she'd been meaning to ask for quite some time. "Spike," she said in a thought tone, "you sacrificed yourself, but things still went bad between you and everybody. Why?"

"Too many reasons to count," Spike said, and his evasiveness was so transparent that she had to roll her eyes at the attempt.

"C'mon," she admonished him. "I'm super huge on the no secrets concept, remember? You closed the Hellmouth, you fought against the Circlers of the Black Thrones …"

"Circle of the Black Thorn."

She waved off the correction. "Whatever. Tell me what happened."

Spike hung by the open door for a moment, then he asked, "If I tell you, can we get out of here?"

"Yes," she said with a nod.

"Lord Charles Carroll III happened," he replied with a serious expression and a grave voice she hadn't expected. "I mean, not everyone got along with everyone else all the time over the years, me included, but everything went to sheer bollocks after he showed up."

"Why do I know that name?"

Spike glanced away as he replied, "I'm sure he's in Buffy and Giles's diaries and photobooks. He was a big bad, as big and as bad as they come. Guy was already old when the Americas were just colonies. Which is how they should have stayed if you want my opinion."

"And?" she prodded him.

"And he was the worst type of baddie," Spike continued. "Obsessed with eternal life, omnipotence, all the big no-nos. Anyway, I didn't realize what he was … what he really was … right off. Or I didn't want to know. I made a bad call, but thankfully I came to my senses before it was too late. Saved the day and all that, but it was after I nearly got everyone killed. Most of them held grudges. Buffy held a grudge. Can't blame them, I guess. I should have known better."

Interesting.

She pondered Spike's rare transparency about his past, then said, "This Lord Carroll guy must have offered you something big."

"Can we drop this?" Spike asked with an extremely unfamiliar note of pleading in his voice. "Forever?"

"Fine," she said. "New world, fresh start, and I promise you that we're done talking about it." She joined him by the door. "Different topic then, why don't we …"

Spike bent down and kissed her again, and she very much wished for Spike to get out of his clothes and into her.

The kiss lingered for a long time, and with casual movements she began to tug Spike away from the open door and towards the bed. When he realized what she was doing, he leaned back, shook his head, and said, "Enough." He tapped her nose. "You deserve a night out. Let's go have some fun."

"Can't we please just stay here," she pleaded with a forlorn expression.

Spike shook his head and began to firmly guide her towards the door. "No way. Drinks first, and then you've got an appointment in the library that you won't be wiggling out of. No more stalling."

"Fine," she said with a sigh as she followed him outside their apartment door. The basement seemed deserted, but she knew better. Most of the small rooms would be filled with all the White Hats who had turned in for the night … or found other ways to amuse themselves. "A deal's a deal, but next time, it's your turn."

Spike winked at her. "Absolutely. Heck, it might be nice to not have to do all the work for a change."

"Hey!" she protested as she smacked him on the shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Spike said as he chuckled at her discomfiture.

Spike gestured for her to take the lead climbing the stairs, but she knew better than to think it was a chivalrous gesture on his part.

He wants to look up my skirt. Well, let him. It'll remind him that we could have just stayed home.

"After I win our wager, what'll be my prize?" she asked as she opened the fire door at the top of the metal stairs.

"You won't win."

She frowned at the confidence of his tone. "Hypothetically, what if I do?"

"Whatever you want," Spike assured her.

"Interesting," she said with a smile as they walked side by side past the rows of lockers and towards the front doors of the school. The boarded up windows had been replaced, broken wood had been fixed and missing doors replaced, and with a fresh coat of paint the school would look good as new. "Whatever I want? Really?"

"You won't win," Spike repeated.

"Maybe I'll have you get some tattoos," she said in a thoughtful manner while pressing a finger against her chin.

Spike narrowed his eyes at her. "You're going to pay for that."

"Looking forward to it," she said as she fought back the nervous sensation that had just begun fluttering in her stomach.

. . . . . . . . .

"Just feel the power flow from the room, into you, and then into one of the candles," Tara said in a low, calm voice. "You don't make the power, you don't control it, you just guide it."

Tara's room was lit only by the red candles they had placed on a small wooden tray in the center of the space. The floor was covered in thick, shaggy rugs, every square inch of the walls and ceiling were covered in multi-hued, patterned sheets, and the only furniture consisted of a bed, table, and two wooden chairs.

Willow narrowed her eyes and focused on the nearest candle. Sometimes the flame seemed to connect with whatever power inside her Tara was trying to help grow, and sometimes it was just a candle.

For a moment, just a moment, she felt the flickering sensation of something greater vibrate against her mind, and in that moment the candle lifted a few inches off the tray, wobbled, and then fell over to land upon the rug. Tendrils of smoke began to rise and an acrid odor filled the air.

"Yipes!" Tara squealed as she quickly extinguished the candle with the press of her thumb. A small black mark appeared on the rug where the fibers had been burnt, but of more immediate concern to Willow was that Tara began to flutter her injured hand.

"Oh no!" Willow exclaimed as she reached out and grabbed Tara's wrist. Instinctively, she raised Tara's hand and tried to salve the angry looking red mark on her thumb by laying a kiss upon it. Her lips pressed against the spot and Tara's eyes flashed with mirth as she laughed and pulled her hand back.

"Willow!" she said through splutters of laughter.

Willow could not help but join in. When the laughter died down, she set the candle back upright and leaned against Tara's pillow-strewn bed. "Well, at least it moved," she said.

Tara nodded. "You're getting better."

"Your turn," Willow said as she nodded towards the candle.

"I feel like I'm showing off," Tara admitted as she stared downwards and hunched her shoulders forwards.

Willow shook her head. "Absolutely not!"

Tara relit the candle, folded her legs into a lotus position, and rested her hands, palm up, on her knees. She inhaled deeply, her body stiffened, and the candle rose into the air and began to loop and dive in precise movements.

I can feel the magic.

Each time they practiced, it became easier for Willow to sense the eddies and currents of power that swirled in all directions. In time, she expected it would become easier for her to control them … or guide them, or whatever … as well. Tara set the candle back down, slumped forward, and wiped the back of her arm against her sweat-soaked forehead.

"That took more out of me than I thought it would," Tara said in a hoarse whisper.

Willow grabbed a bottle of water off the table, handed it to Tara, and nodded in agreement. "Considering that we're just sitting here, magic sure feels like hard work."

"I think I'm done with practice for the night," Tara announced. "Do you want to try again?"

Willow shook her head and fought back a yawn. "I'm pooped."

Tara stood and turned on the overhead lights while Willow used a small brass candle snuffer to extinguish the flames. She set the tray of candles on Tara's table, sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to think of something to say.

"Guess it's time to go back to my closet," she announced in a mournful, solemn tone.

Tara laughed. "Will, I think the cat's already out of the bag on that one."

"What?" Willow asked as she furrowed her brow in confusion. When the meaning of Tara's comment struck her, she threw her head back and laughed uproariously. "Yeah," she managed to splutter through loud guffaws, "I guess it is."

Tara sat down next to her. "You should really get a new room, Will. About the only thing you have room for in there is claustrophobia."

"Where?" Willow asked. "All the vamp-proof rooms in the school are spoken for, the home I grew up in has new occupants, and I'm as broke as broke can be."

Tara stared at the floor, pressed her toes against the thick woolen fibers of the rug, and reached out to take Willow's hand. "I have room."

"What, we'd be roomies?" Willow said as she shot Tara a mischievous grin.

Tara grinned back, and the sight warmed Willow's heart. "Sure. Something like that." I've been putting this off long enough ... I have to ask.

"Tara," she said, "there's something I need to know."

Tara affected a hoarse, gruff, low voice. "With such a serious tone, this must be a dark and

ominous question."

"It kind of is," Willow admitted. "What Oz said, it reminded me … well … how can you stand to be around me? I know you get the difference between vampire and human, but still, it was my face, my body doing those things."

Tara turned away and stared at the wall thought, then turned back to Willow. "Being the vampire brought out the worst parts of you, and I'm still here. That should tell you something."

"I don't know what to say," Willow said as a lump formed in her throat and tears threatened to begin falling from her eyes.

"There's more," Tara continued. "Something I haven't mentioned yet."

"More?" Willow asked with piqued curiosity as she wiped at her nose.

Tara nodded. "When Buffy and Spike found me, I didn't trust them. In order to get me to believe that they were friends, Buffy showed me a picture."

"A picture?" Willow asked with a frown.

"A photograph, actually," Tara explained. "On Buffy's phone, the one from the future."

"We should patent that thing and become trillionaires," Willow remarked, and not for the first time. "One look at it would blow the mind of any engineer who …"

"Will," Tara said by way of interruption.

"Right," Willow said as she apologetically patted Tara's knee. "What was the photograph

of?"

"Buffy, Xander, you, and me," Tara explained.

"But how … oh," she said when she reached the obvious conclusion that the photograph was of their other-world counterparts."

Tara reached out, intertwined their fingers together, and rested their joined hands on her knee. "Will, I don't think Buffy realized it, but in the photograph, you and I were holding hands. It seemed like it meant something, like it was right, if that makes any sense. I liked the way I felt when I saw us together, and I liked the way you looked when you weren't a sadistic vampire." She winked at her.

Willow groaned. "I'm glad we're at the joking-about-it stage. It's a lot better than the I-want-to-throw-myself-off-a-roof stage."

"Even when you were a vamp I could see flashes of what you'd be like as a person," Tara explained further. "Besides, it sometime felt like your heart wasn't in it … like you were a bit too try-hard at playing the femme fatale succubus."

"Try hard!" Willow protested with an agape mouth and audible gasp. "I was a completely evil vampire!"

"Willow Rosenberg," Tara said with an arched eyebrow. "Really?"

Right," Willow said with a frown and a shake of her head. "Not something to brag about." A thought occurred to her. "We could just ask Buffy. You know that, right? She'd tell us what we were to each other in that other world."

Tara reached up her other hand, curled delicate, gentle fingers around the side of her face, and pulled her head close.

"I'd rather we just decide who we are to each other in this world," Tara whispered. Willow shivered at the warmth of her breath.

Tara leaned in and pressed her lips against hers. It happened fast, yet so slowly it felt like the entire world had ground to a halt. Tara's kiss was soft and gentle in a way that simultaneously healed and excited, and Willow closed her eyes and let the peace of the moment envelop her. When the kiss ended, Tara leaned back, smiled, and tightened her grip on her hand. Willow smiled back, but what she would have really liked was for them to get back to kissing.

"That was my first smooch as a person," Willow said. "I think that's a milestone, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Tara said as she leaned forward to kiss her again.

. . . . . . . .

The green shaded lamp on his work desk provided the only source of illumination as Giles stood on one end of the large red rug that occupied the living room of his apartment.

Jenny Calendar remained standing near the front door, on the other end of the rug.

"And you're sure it isn't too late?" she asked.

She'd tied back her dark brown, nearly black hair, but left a few strands dangling to frame her face in a style that he'd had always found appealing. The dark leather coat seemed new, but the knee length skirt and conservative top were familiar. He'd taken in the details of her appearance so many times he could probably have described most of her wardrobe from memory.

When he realized he'd been staring for quite some time, he cleared his throat and replied, "I was just happy to hear from you at all. Besides," he said with a wistful grin, "you know that I keep rather odd hours."

"I've also noticed that Sunnydale seems to have a lot fewer vampires as of late," Jenny observed. "You guys have been working hard."

"One less vampire, in particular," Giles said, and he tried not to sound overly reproachful with his words. "Angel."

Jenny stepped closer, but remained several arm's lengths away. "Angel," she repeated back at him.

"The irony of only discovering the truth about who you really were, and why you were in Sunnydale, when Angel was on the cusp of being returned to humanity is not lost on me," he informed her. "A few more weeks and it would have been a moot issue, so to speak."

"You're still mad," she said. "Should I go?"

"I am not angry," he said as he raised an imploring hand. "And please, don't go. I've been trying to reach you for weeks now."

"I had a lot to think about," she replied. "Not least of which is whether any of your people might hold a grudge."

Giles shook his head. "They do not," he assured her. "Buffy Summers is not that sort of leader, and Angel has a weird victim complex that compels him to believe that he deserved to suffer." He smiled at her. "I'm glad you finally called me back, and I'm even gladder that you came tonight."

"And I'm glad you admitted on the phone that you knew who I really was instead of springing it on me after I got here," Jenny confided. "You told me the truth even though you knew it might frighten me away. I respect that."

He removed his glasses and set them on the work desk. "I think the truth would serve us better than more secrets, don't you?"

"I do," she said in a barely audible whisper. "How'd you find out who I really was?"

"Buffy told me," Giles admitted with a rueful grin. "She has insights beyond her years." With careful steps, he moved closer to her, and he was heartened when she did not flinch or shy away. "Jenny, I won't pretend that I'm not hurt. You lied to me, and more importantly, you assisted in persecuting a soul who did not deserve the curse inflicted on him."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really am. It feels weird to admit that, but part of me thinks I've been fighting on the wrong side for a long time."

"I accept your apology," he said. "And now that we've put that business behind us, let me tell you again how happy that I am that you stayed in Sunnydale."

"Something kept me here," she replied. "I kept finding reasons to put off heading home."

"The weather?" Giles prompted her with a smirk. An unpleasant thought occurred to him and the smirk vanished. "Angel?"

Jenny held out a hand and shook her head. "No, I thought he was dead by then. I assumed the Master killed him."

"By we, you mean … ?"

The Kalderash," Jenny replied. "My people."

"I do not want your people coming after Angel," Giles said. "Or us."

He deliberately left ambiguous whether by us he meant the two of them or Buffy's White Hats.

"It's my uncle we need to worry about," Jenny said.

"Your uncle?"

"Enyos." She voiced the name with a thick accent reminiscent of the Romani of central Europe. "Uncle Enyos is obsessed with Angel, with making sure he suffers under that curse. He will eventually scry for him, and when he finds him, he will …"

Giles made a hrrmph sound and interrupted her. "A locater spell?"

"A variation," Jenny explained. "Gypsy magic."

A wide smile erupted on Giles's face. "Angel's reckless foolishness may have saved his life."

Jenny furrowed her brow and shot him a confused look. "I don't follow."
"Angel is warded from locater spells," Giles explained. "Permanently."

"You're kidding."

Giles shook his head.

"You're not kidding," Jenny said in surprise. "Well, that's convenient."

"Maybe the Powers are looking out for us," Giles suggested in a facetious manner. An instant later, he frowned and considered for a few moments whether that might actually be the case. With a shrug of his shoulders he refocused on the woman in front of him. "Do you intend to stay?"

"To help train those witches?" Jenny asked with an arched eyebrow. "I already quit one teaching job, Rupert. An offer of private employment isn't what I'm looking for."

"Your expertise would be invaluable," Giles continued. "After all, Jenny, you know …"

Jenny squeezed his hands and interrupted him. "My real name is Janna, but I do prefer Jenny. I thought you should know."

"Thank you for telling me," he said.

"Rupert," she said as she squeezed his hands again. "Do you want me here? Not for teaching witches, not for running computer searches, but do you want me to stay in Sunnydale?"

Giles found himself at a loss for words.

"C'mon, Rupert," Jenny said. "It's nearly two in the morning. I'm in your apartment, and we've both come clean on a lot of different things. Now is not the time to play coy or be shy. You were always bumping into me before and after the endless student-safety meetings. We had lunch together every day, with you every so often leaning in as if you wanted to give me a hug. There would be countless hallway conversations where we'd talk about literally anything except us, and then, when the vampires started to get bad, at first you invited me into your life and then you froze me out of it right when I thought we were on the cusp of something."

"We were fighting a war and losing," he explained. "I decided that it wasn't right to involve you, or anyone, in my life."

"You're still fighting a war," she pointed out.

He nodded. "That's true, but matters are different now. Slayers are with us. Buffy is, well, she's inspiring in many ways. And most importantly, we are winning."

"Do you really believe you can win?" she asked, and he could tell that she was trying her best not to sound skeptical. "Take down the Master? Save Sunnydale?"

I know we can," he replied. "Stay. Help us. Or, just stay for any reason you want, so long as you stay."

"What am I to you?" she asked with earnest, questioning eyes.

He decided it would probably be easier to kiss her than to try to explain it. They did that for a time, then they talked, and then they kissed some more. He was on the verge of leading her upstairs to his bedroom when a White Hat disastrously chose that exact moment to call.

"Really?" Jenny asked as she pulled her top back over her shoulder. "You're taking a phone call, now?"

"This is the work line," Giles explained as he picked up the phone. "It might be urgent."

"Oh right," Jenny said with an apologetic expression on her face.

Giles listened to what the voice on the other end of the line had to say, asked a few questions, and then hung up the receiver.

"I have to say something that pains me more than you will ever know," he admitted to her. "I need to go."

She nodded. "Hey, it's not like I'm leaving town. They both smiled at each other, and she continued, "I'll let you do your business, and we'll chat tomorrow?"

"That's a promise," he assured her.

. . . . . . . . .

"You going to stick around until the Master is dealt with?" Xander asked as he stepped out of the laundry room.

Angel flinched then attempted to hide his surprise by turning sideways in the corridor and leaning against the concrete wall. "What?"

"You heard me," Xander replied. "The Master. Wrinkly old vampire, strongest around? Going to help us kill him?"

"That's why I came back."

Xander wiped the hair out of his eyes and fixed him with a flat, appraising look. The teen looked older than his years, in part due to the long black hair, and in part due to the sullen, angry expression he wore most of the time.

"That the only reason?" Xander asked. "Or is there a blonde one, too?"

"So what if there is?" Angel asked. "What do you care?"

"I don't," Xander replied as he stepped back into the laundry room.

. . . . . . . .

He's got me good.

She'd tried everything she could think of and nothing had worked. Spike had cuffed her hands with her palms facing outward, an awkward position that made it difficult to bend her arms and bring her strength to bear, and the leather-lined, thick steel of the manacles were fitted so closely on her wrists that she was unable to twist her hands within the bindings. She'd hunched forward and tried to maneuver the cuffs past her hips and legs so that they'd at least be in front of her, but with only three or four inches of chain connecting the restraints it had proven impossible to slide her hands past her bottom.

The heavy-duty padlocks securing the steel encircling her wrists shifted with every jostling movement, but they were attached in such a manner that she couldn't bend her fingers to reach them … though it wasn't as if she'd be able to tear them free even if she could. Eventually, when wriggling hadn't worked, she'd resorted to brute slayer force and realized with a mixture of terror and tingling excitement that the cuffs and the thick links connecting them were forged of something quite a bit stronger than police-issue steel. Breaking the fetters was out of the question.

I'm really stuck … it's like Spike's damned monogrammed shackles were designed specifically for slayers. Oh god, they probably were.

She blew away a few wisps of hair stuck to the sweat beading her forehead and frowned at Spike. He was sitting at one of the library tables, shoes resting atop the wood and hands clasped behind his head, grinning like a madman.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked, and even though she'd agreed to this particular extracurricular activity, she couldn't keep a note of petulant irritation out of her voice.

Spike lowered his feet, put his hands on his knees, and stood up. "You have no idea," he informed her with a wink. "We should have recorded that absolutely heroic effort for posterity. Come to think of it, I think Jeeves has a camera around here somewhere."

"Don't you dare!" she scolded him as she flexed against the unyielding steel trapping her arms behind her back. "That isn't funny."

He removed his black jacket, slung it across the back of a chair, and stepped nearer. The glint in Spike's blue eyes had a hungry aspect to it, and she felt the simmering kernel of warmth in her core grow hotter. The skin of her face flushed, her breath quickened, and when she realized that she was continuing to pull and struggle against the cuffs, she forced herself to stand still and let her arms dangle behind her.

"You give up?" Spike asked as he drew close enough that she could feel the heat of his body rippling off him. The interplay of the muscles of his jaw and the lithe, coiled manner of his movements was as fascinating to her now as it had been when they'd first met. She wanted to pluck at the front of his shirt, and maybe pluck at other thing as well, but of course, she could do no such thing until Spike decided to uncuff her.

"I give up," she confirmed. Her face was coated with a sheen of sweat, the inside of her thighs were slick from arousal, and she was definitely ready to move on the next stage of the evening. She moved closer to Spike and eyed the handcuff key looped on a chain around his neck. "You win … they're slayer-proof." She felt the locks jangle as she shrugged. "Happy?"

"Could you be any hotter?" he asked as he grabbed her hips, moved her close, and bent down to kiss her.

"Actually, no," she said as she turned away. "How about a sip of that beer?"

She'd already had a few cocktails at the dive bar Spike had taken her too, but the ineffective struggling had managed to thoroughly parch her throat.

"Sure," Spike said as he grabbed the half-finished bottle he'd been drinking. He held the bottle to her lips, tilted it up, and with long swallows she finished the beer. The flavor was malt-forward with notes of burnt caramel and toffee, and most importantly, it quenched the thirst she'd built up over the past fifteen minutes of ineffective squirming.

Spike set the empty bottle down on the wooden table and Buffy frowned at him.

"You know that's going to piss off Giles," she told him as she eyed the metal trashcan sitting not more than ten feet away. "You could throw it away right there."

"The bloody housekeeping concerns of your prissy-pants librarian is not what I'm thinking about right now," Spike said as he put his hands on her hips and moved her backwards until her hips struck the book counter. Her pinioned hands pressed against the edge of the counter and she couldn't help but pull yet again against the cuffs. "And it shouldn't be what you're thinking about either."

"What should I be thinking about?" she asked as she tried to blow away from her eye yet another strand of hair that had drifted free of her ponytail.

Spike brushed the lock away, leaned near her ear, and growled, "C'mon now, slayer. Tell me how you really feel … like you promised you would if you lost our bet."

She rolled her eyes and forced a fluttering, frightened quaver into her voice. "Oh, Spike, I cannot resist your sinister attraction. I know I should be afraid of you, but I'm not."

"You should be scared," he snarled at her. He licked her neck and she tried to keep from giggling. "I'm bad. Very, very bad."

Spike's last words were uttered with such sincerity that she couldn't help but start laughing.

"You're spoiling the whole thing," Spike complained at her. "Take this seriously!"

"Sorry, let me try again," she said with a cough as she straightened back up. "Oh, Spike, I'm helpless against you, you fiend," she said in a breathless, desperate manner. "Better?"

"Much."

Spike leaned in to nibble at her ear, and she only had to half-fake the puzzled tone of her next question. "Why do I let you do these sorts of things to me?"

The kernel of heat in her abdomen increased in intensity as he grabbed her jaw, twisted her face towards him, and kissed her long and deeply. When he'd finished, he stared down at her with hungry eyes and kept his hand locked on her chin.

"If I ever get loose, you'll pay for this!" she threatened with a stamp of one of her booted feet.

"The stomp was a nice touch."

"Thank you," she replied with a placed his hands on her bare waist, kissed her again and ran his fingers with light, darting touches up and down the sides of her body. He pressed against her, wedging her between the counter and his chest, and she wanted … no, she needed to hold him, but all her hands could do were flutter helplessly behind her. A thick, hard length jutted into her waist, and she was certain that Spike didn't have a stake in his pocket. She wanted to reach into Spike's pants and encourage him towards more vigorous efforts but she could not, of course, do anything of the sort.

After a minute of such treatment, her body was dripping with need and she was pressing her thighs together in an attempt to ignore the growing want between her legs. She came up for air and murmured, "Don't forget, next time it's your turn, and I will definitely be holding you accountable for whatever happens tonight."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," he sneered at her. "Now, knock it off and get back in character."

She ignored the throbbing pulse between her legs that ached in time with her heartbeat and moaned, "I give up, Spike. I'm entirely at your mercy. Where do you want me?"

His hands tightened on her waist and a moment later he'd hoisted her aloft and set her on the book counter. The blue satin of the miniskirt bunched high on her thighs, her dangling fingers could just reach the white Formica of the countertop, and her eyes were level with Spike's gaze.

"Maybe I can make you feel better that you lost tonight, slayer," Spike said in a thoughtful tone. "How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds great," she said with a smirk.

Spike ran his hands up one of her thighs, teased her by dancing his fingers along the edges of some very sensitive areas, and grabbed the waistband of her panties. "Never much cared for this library, or this school, or this town, I suppose," he admitted as she raised first one side of her bottom, then the other, so that he could slide her panties down. "Though it's starting to grow on me." His fingers worked swiftly, she straightened her legs to make his job easier, and in short order she was wearing nothing beneath the light blue satin of her miniskirt.

"I'm going to want those back," she informed Spike as she watched him tuck her underwear into his back pocket. "I mean it, I'm tired of having to buy new ones so often."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Spike said with a wounded expression on his face. He patted the inside of her thighs, and she obliged by spreading her legs and scooting forward so that she perched on the edge of the counter. She leaned back, braced herself with her cuffed hands, and stared expectantly at Spike.

Spike had just begun to lower his head when they heard the sound of a key rustling in a lock.

Spike straightened, stared in shock at the entrance to the library, and appeared at a complete loss as to what to do. She hopped down from the counter, shimmied her skirt into place, and turned around so that Spike could reach the locks securing the cuffs around her wrists.

"Get these off me!"

Spike gripped her shoulders, guided her to a chair set by the long wooden table in the middle of the room, and said, "No time!" He grabbed his long black leather coat, draped it over her shoulders, and pushed the chair in as she sat. She crossed her legs, leaned forward over the table, and resolved to stay as still as possible.

Spike sat down next to her, opened two books at random, and set one in front of each of them. No sooner had the second book come to rest on the wood than the swinging doors opened and a rather harried looking Giles stepped inside. He froze when he saw them, and she tried to stare back at him with an innocent expression as she hunched down further in the jacket to better conceal her restrained arms.

"Why was that door locked?" Giles asked as he pointed at the library entrance. "I had thought I left it open."

"My fault," Spike said. "Just force of habit, I guess." He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

With cautious, suspicious footfalls, Giles stepped closer to the table at which they sat. "What are you two up to?"

"Research," she immediately replied as she nodded towards the book in front of her. She couldn't read the language and the symbols looked like sheer gibberish, but hopefully Giles wouldn't examine it too closely. "Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd do something useful."

"A book on enchantments written in Babylonic cuneiform?" he asked as he arched a skeptical eyebrow in her direction.

"I thought the drawings were pretty?" she replied, and she was fairly certain that the comment had sounded like a question.

"I was checking out these monsters here," Spike said as he gestured towards his own book. "Never know what you might have to kill."

Giles walked around the table, reached for the book, then flipped it around. "You were reading it upside down."

"Those are legs!" Spike exclaimed as he pointed at one of the pages. "Ah, that makes a lot more sense."

"Yes, quite," Giles said as he removed his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed at his forehead. "I have some information that could not wait," he informed them as he slid the glasses back onto his nose. "Take a look at these." He drew an envelope from the pocket of his coat and laid it in front of Buffy. "Those photos are from a security camera only a few blocks from the school, the ones the AV club put up that are trigged by movement."

Giles waited expectantly, Spike stared at the envelope with a blank expression, and when it became clear that Spike had forgotten the predicament he had placed her in, she loudly cleared her throat until he got the message.

"Oh, right," Spike said as he opened the envelope and began fishing around inside.

"Are you cold?" Giles asked as he eyed the leather jacket draped over her shoulders. "Should I turn on the heat?"

"I'm fine," she assured Giles with a smile.

Giles's eyes turned back to Spike. The blond former-vampire was leaning back in his chair and flipping through the photographs with a numb, dispassionate expression.

"Well?" Buffy asked.

"I think this one captures my profile the best," Spike replied as he set the photographs in front of her. The one on top was of Spike.

No, that isn't Spike. At least, it isn't my Spike.

Even in black and white, she could see the subtle differences. The feral anger hadn't been smoothed into something polite company could tolerate, the sneer carried with it a promise of violence, and she had a feeling the smears on his face were someone else's blood.

"We knew this might happen," she said softly as she stared at the photograph. "Spike came to Sunnydale when I arrived here … I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon."

Or at all.

"Maybe he and I could have a chat?" Spike said he crossed his arms over his chest. "Try to work out our differences?"

"No," she immediately replied. "I'm not sure what we're going to do, but that won't be it."

She tried to reach for the stack of photographs and was instantly reminded that her arms were locked behind her back.

Giles stared at her. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"I need to talk to Spike first," she replied. "And then we'll brainstorm what our options are."

"I'll head back home, then," Giles said as he began to move towards the door. "Would you like me to lock the door when I go?"

"Yes," she and Spike replied in unison.

Once the door was locked, Spike pulled the jacket off her shoulders, hung it on a coat rack next to her own brown leather coat, and pulled back her chair so that she could stand.

"Of course Giles would want to talk shop when I'm shackled and half undressed." She fixed Spike with an irritated stare. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

"Come off it, slayer," he scolded her. "You are loving every second of this."

He moved in as if to kiss her, but instead ran his lips down the side of her neck and flicked his tongue against a particular sensitive spot along the collar bone. The shock of Giles's arrival had distracted her from her growing arousal, but as Spike nuzzled her body it returned in full force.

"Spike …" she moaned, and he obligingly raised his lips to kiss her again. Her fingers splayed in the cuffs and she tried to bring her hands around to grasp the waistline of his slacks, but with her palms turned outwards she couldn't bend her elbows enough to reach around her own body. "Maybe I do love this," she admitted. "A little. Just a little."

"So you can say the 'L' word after all," Spike said as he opened his eyes wide in an expression of mock surprise. "You should try it on for size now and then, you might like it."

I should tell him how I feel.

Truthfully, she should have revealed the depth of her feelings for him a long time ago, but it had never felt like the right time. Besides, Spike had always seemed so assured that she would eventually love him, so entitled to the inevitability of her affection, that it made her feel somewhat like a hooked fish to admit that he had been right.

Spike's hands returned to her waist. "Just try it on one time," he said. "Three little words, see how they feel to say to me."

I'll tell him, but not when I'm practically under arrest.

"Maybe if you do a good enough job," she said in a prim, headmistress-y fashion.

Spike nodded absent-mindedly, and she realized that he was staring at the photographs on the table. "Hey," she said. "I won't forget who you are if I meet who you were."

He didn't seem convinced.

"Spike," she said in a firmer tone. "Promise me you won't rush off and try to deal with this yourself?"

He turned away from the photographs, smiled at her, and distracted her quite effectively by cupping her bottom with his hands and kissing her quite thoroughly. When they separated, she eyed the key to the cuffs on the silver chain strung on Spike's neck and fought back an impulse to try to pluck it free with her teeth.

"Enough about some other bloke that ain't here and ain't me," Spike said as he rotated her towards the offices tucked into the side of the library. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

"Music to my ears," she said as Spike marched her forward. She stretched taut the chain between the cuffs and wiggled her fingers. "Taking these off would increase my comfort level quite a bit."

"Not yet," Spike informed her.

He ushered her into the largest, and tidiest, of the offices. She evaluated with a practiced eye the leather couch, padded lounger, desk, and wooden chairs spread around the room.

Definitely the couch.

"Cozy," she said.

"It's about to get cozier," Spike informed her as he closed the door and locked the deadbolt. Spike's nearness in the confined space sparked a whole new series of cascading thrills down her spine.

"Not to be a broken record," she said, "but I could participate a lot more effectively without these cuffs." She lowered her voice to a throaty murmur. "I could promise to do all sorts of things with my hands if you let me go."

"Slayer," Spike said as his eyes drifted around the room, "your pride keeps making you ask, but you and I both know that you'd be terribly disappointed if I unlocked you."

I hate that he's probably right.

She pulled a face and did her best to hide the molten flare of excitement his words triggered.

Spike held her by the shoulders, kissed her forehead, and said, "You don't have to hide who you are or what you want from me, not ever. You can trust me."

"I know I can trust you," she assured him. "I mean … if this whole scenario doesn't scream 'I trust you,' nothing does."

Spike kissed her forehead again. "You can also trust this, you're going to enjoy every second of being my prisoner."

She bit her lower lip, pressed her thighs together to keep the slick wetness from spreading any further down her legs, and nodded.

Spike moved to the couch and proceeded to grab a folded blanket resting on one of the arms and spread it over the cushions. When he had finished that task he proceeded to stack all of the couch's throw pillows upright against the center of the backrest.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Makes it easier for you to sit," Spike replied.

Thoughtful.

Spike moved towards her, and she parted her lips expecting a kiss, but instead he sidled past her and reached for a suit that was hanging from a hook screwed into the back of the door. Spike plucked a long, black woolen scarf from the collar of the suit and moved behind her.

"And what do you plan to do with that?"

"You'll see," Spike said as he raised his hands. "Or you won't see, as it turns out." He wrapped the wide band around her head so that it covered her eyes. The soft, thick wool settled an inch or so down her nose, reached nearly to the top of her forehead, and did an excellent job of rendering her sightless. She imagined that the black fabric contrasted nicely with the golden tresses of her hair, though of course she had no way of knowing.

"Really?" she asked. "I wasn't already defenseless enough?"

Spike knotted the blindfold tightly behind her head in some fashion more complicated than a simple overhand tie. There was no available method to confirm her suspicion, but she was reasonably certain that the blindfold had been secured behind her head with a large bow. The barest hint of faint, hazy light trickled in from the edges of the scarf, but not enough for her to make out any objects or see what was in front of her. She made a few test movements of her head, wrinkled her brow to try to loosen the fabric, and when the blindfold stayed put she concluded that she wouldn't be seeing much of anything for a while.

Spike coaxed her forward, and a tremor of nervousness settled over her. "Spike," she said, "I'm not sure about this." She found her situation simultaneously unburdening but also frightening, though perhaps not unpleasantly so.

"Relax, Buffy," Spike whispered, and the soothing tone of his words calmed her immediately. "The folks on patrol arrived home safe and sound and are all asleep or up to stuff we don't want to know about. We've got lookouts on the roof watching every way into this school, and there are two locked doors giving us all the privacy we need. I've watched you carry on your shoulders the weight of this world for months now … for a few hours, let it go and just enjoy yourself."

That sounds absolutely wonderful.

"You're not leaving me much choice," she whispered as he turned her around and helped her sit on the couch. The stacked pillows provided a comfortable cushion that made it easier for her to keep her hips and bottom towards the front edge, and she smiled when she imagined what use Spike might make of the seating arrangement.

"Even saviors need a night off every once in a while," Spike informed her while he unbuckled her boots with slow, steady movements and slid them off her legs. The tile of the floor felt cold against her bare feet and she wriggled her toes as she waited to see what Spike would do next.

To her disappointment, she heard him stand up and move away. She tried to decipher by sound what he might be doing, but all she could discern was the rustle of fabric by the door. She waited in anticipation while he walked back to the couch, laid a hand on her knee, and crouched in front of her. She flinched when his hand gripped her right ankle, and Spike made sure she had calmed before he bent her knee and raised her leg. He positioned her foot so that it rested on the couch off to the side, a placement that left her legs spread rather wide in a fashion she imagined Spike found appealing to look upon.

She smiled to herself at Spike's efforts, then the smile wavered when she felt him, with deft movements, wrap a leather belt around her right leg. He looped the belt twice so that it linked her upper thigh to her ankle and buckled it snug. The cool metal of the buckle slid against her skin as she tried, and failed, to straighten her leg.

"That's to keep you from kicking me in the face during your throes of passion," Spike said, and she could feel his smirk through the darkness of the blindfold.

"Safety first," she murmured as she raised her left leg into a matching position. With her satin skirt bunched around her waist and her panties still in Spike's pocket, she felt very much on display, available, and needy.

Hurry the hell up, Spike.

She heard the sizzling sound of leather on fabric that she imagined stemmed from Spike removing his own belt, then she felt a band wrap around her left leg in an identical fashion to the right. After the second belt had been buckled, she tested the restraint and found it to be reassuringly secure. With a surge of muscles and an excited flurry, she tried a final time to tear free of the cuffs and break the belts, then went limp against the cushions after confirming that her hands would stay in the small of her back and her legs would remain folded on either side of her hips. Paradoxically, with each new restriction on her freedom, she had felt the endless litany of worries that clouded her every waking moment grow more distant and unimportant.

Her miniskirt apparently hadn't been hiked quite high enough for Spike's liking, as she felt his fingers grasp the hem and nudge upwards. She helpfully raised and wiggled her bare rump until the skirt was nothing more than a rumpled band of fabric wrapped around her waist. Cool air wafted against areas usually covered by clothes and to her embarrassment she realized that she was shivering in anticipation. Apparently satisfied at last with how her body was arranged, Spike kissed her, ran a hand along her inner thigh, and seemed quite amused when her quivering intensified at his touch.

"Look at you, you're trembling," he whispered in her ear. "You should have let me talk you into this a long time ago. I knew you'd like it."

She tried not to think about the unspoken explanation as to how Spike knew that she'd enjoy being bound into a neat little blindfolded package.

He kissed her again, and when the kiss finished, she said, "This isn't the first time I've mentioned this but let me reiterate just how completely unfair it is that you always know exactly what I'll be into."

"You're the beneficiary of that knowledge." Spike whispered as he nibbled at her ear and traced a finger from the point of her hip to just below her belly button. His tickling touch made her legs flex out of instinct, but the belts kept her feet securely in place.

"I hope you aren't going to tease me all night," she whispered.

Spike chuckled, and the sound sent a thrill down her spine. Her hips twisted and her bottom ground against the couch while she closed her eyes beneath the blindfold.

"I just might, pet," he murmured.

"Oh, no," she immediately replied, "do not call me pe … ohhhhhhhhhh …"

Her indignant words turned into incoherent moans as Spike reached between her legs, ran his index finger up her cleft, and then lingered with the lightest of touches on the small bundle of need that was right there. She vibrated within her bindings and felt her hunger continue to build.

Spike kissed her and used the hand that wasn't at work between her legs to undo the buttons of her top. In short order her shirt was spread open to expose her chest, and she arched her back and moaned as his lips nuzzled and teased her nipples into hard points. He caressed the soft skin of the underside of her breasts with one hand while the other never stopped probing and teasing along the edges of her sex. She realized almost immediately that his intention was not to provide her with release … at least, not yet … but to work her into a frenzy.

And he's succeeding.

Though she tried to stay still, she could not help but quiver and thrash with helpless movements while with deft hands, nimble fingers, and knowing lips Spike worked all of the sensitive and yearning places of her body. After a few minutes, when she became convinced that the towel on which she crouched was thoroughly soaked, Spike withdrew his hand from between her legs, kissed her again, and when the kiss finished, she pouted from behind her blindfold and nodded downward.

"Get back to work," she said, and she was embarrassed at how raw and pleading her voice sounded.

"Slayer, I have never seen you this worked up."

Spike gave her a kiss, then with light, grazing touches he moves his lips in a steady line down her chin, her neck, her torso, and finally to her belly. A faint mewl escaped her lips when she realized the eventual destination of his mouth, and she spread her legs even wider and tensed against the belts.

If the rest of Spike's occasionally scary-sounding private-time ideas are as fun as this one, we'll be trying them all.

Being this vulnerable with Spike, with anyone, would have been impossible for her to contemplate a year or two ago. Heck, she had been ready to die. Now, more than ever, she wanted to live.

And not be alone.

Spike's tongue darted into her bellybutton and then, to her horror, he stopped.

"What are you doing?" she pleaded. "Keep going!" She thrust her hips forward to remind him of the part of her body that urgently needed his attention.

"Gotta say the magic word, pet."

That nickname again? Fine, call me whatever you want, just get to it!

"Please," she moaned as he cupped her breasts and tweaked her nipples. Saying the word triggered a warm, tingling thrill down her core, and she tried and failed to keep her hips from twitching in Spike's direction. Her fists clenched, her shoulders bunched, and the muscular tension generated by her pointless struggle against the inescapable steel was a distracting pleasure all its own.

"Have your way with me already!" she informed him, and she did not care that she was openly begging.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, slayer," Spike said with mock formality. "First, I'm going to make sure every nerve ending on your body is on fire. After that, I'm going to spend some time helping you relax. Finally, after I've taken your edge off, then I'll have my way with you." A soft, keening sigh escaped her lips when he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "More than once, and afterwards maybe I'll let you out."

Spike's litany, by itself, was almost enough to push her over the edge

It sounded heavenly, and she couldn't wait to get started, but an unwanted, niggling worry intruded on her thoughts.

Spike dodged my concerns earlier tonight … I need him to promise me that he won't go hunting for his alter ego.

"Spike," she said. It was difficult to sound stern given the compromising circumstances in which she found herself, but she did her best to project a commanding tone.

She must have succeeded, for Spike immediately realized that something was wrong.

"What?" he asked. "Are you comfortable?"

"Strangely enough, I am," she confirmed. "Before we get too distracted, I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

"I think I know what I'm doing down here," Spike said with a laugh as he ran his fingers in a tickling motion along the side of her body. She squealed and tried in vain to maneuver away from his hands. When he stopped, she barely had time to regain her composure before he reached between her legs and cupped her mound in one broad strong hand. It felt like every blood vessel, every nerve ending in her body was melting with a wet, throbbing beat into Spike's fingers.

"Do I not know how to make you happy?" he asked

I need to get him to promise while I can still somewhat think.

"You absolutely do know how …" she gasped as his fingers with nimble movements stroked their way inwards, "but that isn't …" she threw her head back, bit off a howl, and managed with wheezing words to say, "… what I'm talking about."

"What then?" Spike asked as he lowered his head between her legs.

"Don't rush off like an idiot to find your other self," she said, and the flickering torrent of lights that were exploding behind her eyes and the overwhelming sensations being generated in her crotch made it almost impossible to focus enough to speak.

"This is what you're thinking about?" Spike said with a hint of irritation behind the words. "Now? After I put all this effort into making sure your mind was on anything except the job?"

"I'll stop thinking about it once you've promised me you won't go after the vampire-you and get yourself ki … oh … oH … OH …"

Spike curled two fingers inside her, made a beckoning gesture that rubbed against exquisitely sensitive, velvet-soft flesh, and with his other hand, he gasped her earlobe and squeezed in the exact same rhythm with which he was probing her warmth. She opened her eyes wide beneath the blindfold, her entire body spasmed, and she yanked and pulled against the cuffs trapping her arms behind her back. The pressure throbbing in her groin grew to an unbearable intensity and she completely lost the ability to voice coherent sounds.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Spike ignored her gibbering pleas and kept her on the edge with slow, teasing movements. The cuffs, the belts, and the blindfold were intolerable restraints, yet wondrous at the same time, as they forced her to focus all of her attention on Spike playing her body like a musical instrument. She felt on the verge of losing her sanity when she felt the heat of his breath between her legs.

Just before Spike's tongue became otherwise engaged, he gave her the promise she'd asked for … although his words barely registered as she tried to control the bucking of her hips and stop her pleading whimpers from turning into full-bore screaming.

"I promise I won't do anything stupid, as you so insultingly put it," Spike assured her. "Cross my heart and hope to die."