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.

3. Chapter 3- Through the Looking-Glass

The black, crystalline shards of nothingness that clung to her body melted away as she and Spike burst through the far side of the portal. Spike's weight drove her downwards onto the asphalt of the highway and his shoulder slammed into her diaphragm with so much force that she wondered if she'd ever be able breathe again. Her head bounced off the pavement, and as she stared up and tried to regain her bearings, it took her a moment to confirm that the stars she saw were in the night sky and not caused by a concussion.

Spike groaned, extricated his arms from around her waist, and rolled away to lie on the road next to her. "That hurt," he said.

She lay on her back and let the waves of pain wash over me. "It hurt me a lot worse than it did you," she moaned. "You knew this was a one-way trip, so why the hell did you tackle me through that portal?"

"Why do you think?" Spike asked as he sat up and rubbed his jaw. "Where you go, I go. I think I've said something like that before."

She put a hand on the ground and with unsteady, agonized movements raised herself upright. Below them, the highway undulated in a series of gentle bends through suburbs and towards Sunnydale. She'd heard so much about the city over the past year that it felt like she should know every road and building, but of course that wasn't the case. It had been a different Buffy Anne Summers in a different world who had come to Sunnydale.

But I'm here now.

She was tempted to call for an Uber, but her cell wouldn't work on any of the networks of 1999. When she realized what year it was, she had to steady herself against the shock.

I'm back in my world. And I'm alone.

Spike slowly climbed to his feet beside her.

Well, not alone.

"Spike, you shouldn't have done this," she said.

He brushed off his jacket and didn't bother meeting her eyes as he asked, "Why?"

"Because," she spluttered, "I wasn't done saying goodbye, because messing with realities caused a whole bunch of problems, because …" Her words trailed off and she couldn't continue.

Spike put a hand on her shoulder, and though she bristled at first, the truth was that his touch was a comfort. "Say it," he urged her.

"It's too much pressure, Spike." She spread her arms wide in a gesture of perplexed irritation. "You left your world for me? Really? What am I supposed to do with that?"

"It wasn't my bloody world," Spike explained. "Not anymore, not when you weren't in it. My world is here. With you."

Dramatic, much?

She shook her head. "Spike, hey, what we have, it's amazing, but I'm nineteen, and I'll probably die young. How could you do this?"

"If we don't make it, at least it'll end with me having done everything I could," he said, and for once, he actually sounded sincere. "What can I say, I've always been a fool for love."

His words frightened her perhaps far more than they should have, and she had to look away. "I told you on Halloween that I wasn't ready to hear you say things like that."

He shrugged and smirked at her. "You asked why, so I'm telling you."

"Don't expect me to say anything like that back," she snapped at him.

He laughed and appeared not in the slightest bit concerned. "I won't. Not till you want to, at least," he said with a wink.

"You're the worst."

He nodded in agreement. "I know."

She turned her eyes skywards, breathed in the cold, crisp air, then exhaled an exasperated sigh. "I told you that I needed for us to slow down a bit, and instead you hurl yourself through dimensions after me? If I get tired of you, how the fuck am I supposed to break up with you now?" Spike threw back his head and laughed yet again, and his laughter went on so long that she could feel her temper start to rise.

"I'll take my chances with your affection, my bonny lass," he informed her as he looked about. "Now, if you're done whining, let's find us a ride and …" He stared at her with a quizzical expression. "You know what? You're this world's slayer, and I'm the interdimensional party crasher this time around, so what's the plan, love?"

That's right … I'm the only slayer here.

"Dammit, Spike," she said as she moved in front of him.

He bent forward and kissed her, and his lips were so warm, and the embrace so soothing, that she didn't care that it was the middle of the night and that they were standing on a highway. When he finally pulled his mouth away, she wished the two of them were somewhere more private. Her spirit had begun to freeze and die inside at the notion of having to be alone again, and Spike's presence was more than merely a comfort, it felt like a lifeline. She wished she could find the strength to tell Spike how much his being there meant to her, but it was too raw, and would make her too vulnerable, and she just couldn't.

"We need a car," she announced. "Then we have to find Giles … this world's Giles."

He'll be younger, and he won't know me.

Spike glanced at a nearby row of houses. "I'll see what I can do."

. . . . . . . . .

"Do I even want to know how you got the keys?" she asked as she stared out the side window of the mud brown van Spike had procured in a nearby stretch of suburbia.

"Nope," Spike replied.

She decided to inquire no further on the topic and instead focused on the sight of Sunnydale. Roughly a year ago she'd been here, of course, but she'd been cranky from the flight in from Cleveland, pissed at her newest Watcher for sending her, and not particularly in a mood to sightsee.

Far too many streetlights were broken and way too many houses seemed unoccupied, but otherwise, Sunnydale looked much like any other city. That was a tad disappointing, as she'd expecting fiery hellpits, maybe a giant demon or two … she'd had enough of dragons, but one flapping through the dark clouds that obscured the moon wouldn't have been out of place in her imaginary vista.

The last time she'd been here she'd skulked her way to Giles's apartment, then traipsed through back alleys in an attempt to avoid the roving hordes of vamps and demons, and after a rather pedestrian brawl, Spike had found her.

I'd have died here if not for Spike … or merged into the other Buffy, or whatever. He trusted me enough to let me put a stake to his heart when we didn't even know each other.

She looked over at Spike, smiled, and then her smile vanished when she realized that he wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, he seemed to be ducking his head periodically out the driver's side window.

"Looking for something?" she finally asked.

He nodded but made no other reply. They had left the suburbs of Sunnydale and were now working their way through the city proper. Houses had given away to apartments, storefronts … many of which were boarded or shuttered … and office buildings, and as Spike made turn after turn, seemingly at random, he continued staring intently out the window of the van.

"Want to clue me in?" she asked.

Spike grinned ear to ear, howled in eager excitement, then he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes. The air rushed out of her lungs as the seatbelt tightened across her waist and chest, and when they'd skidded to a stop with a squeal of tires, she turned to stare at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled.

Spike opened his door, paused a second, and glanced at her. "I thought I remembered the road Xander took when we were here last … you don't tend to forget a gigantic green tornado of death expanding behind you."

"So?" she asked.

Spike unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out of the van, then leaned back into the interior for a moment. "You threw something of mine out the back of that convertible, and it's still sitting right here on the road.."

He left the engine running and the door open as he moved out of sight for a few seconds. She wracked her brain trying to think of what Spike could possibly be talking about, then he reappeared, sat back down, and tossed her something that jangled as it flew. She snatched the object out of the air and stared in shocked bewilderment at a set of leather-lined steel manacles connected by a short length of heavy chain. Distaste welled within her as she realized that the leather of the cuffs featured Spike's name emblazoned in decorative cursive.

"You cannot be serious," she said with mouth agape as she stared at him with wide eyes. "Sunnydale is a hell version of itself, Giles and his white hats, or whatever they're called, have been fighting without a slayer for years, and you took us on a detour so you could grab these?" She shook the shackles at him.

Spike shrugged, put the van in gear, and accelerated back into motion. "They were custom," he explained, as though that justified the detour. He glanced over at her and smiled. "Also, unlike those ones you broke, I guarantee you that these are slayer-proof." His eyes shone with a wicked light and his jawline pulsed in a most appealing fashion as his grin intensified.

"Down boy," she muttered as she fought back a tremor of excitement and leaned back against her seat. "I suppose I shouldn't ask how you know they're slayer-proof?"

Spike's answer came far too quickly for her liking. "You definitely do not want to ask."

She dropped the cuffs near her feet and hid her blush by staring out the window. Desperate to change the topic of conversation, she asked, "Are you sure you know how to get to Giles's place?"

"The apartment you described sounds like the one he had in the real world," Spike replied. "And, yeah, I remember where it is." He patted her on the knee. "Once we find him, then what?"

She shrugged. "Regroup, get the lay of the land, tell him and his friends to stop getting themselves killed, rescue some people. Basically, we do for Sunnydale what I was always supposed to do."

Spike said nothing.

"What?" she asked. "What did you expect me to say?"

"Kill vampires," Spike replied.

She chuckled. "That goes without saying."

"We could be bloody rich, you know," Spike replied. "Sporting events, stock market, that sort of thing."

She considered the notion. "We'll have to look into that … though an old saying about power tending to corrupt is coming to mind."

Somehow, I suspect that the Powers might object … then again, screw them. I have a feeling they consider people like me replaceable.

A notion occurred to her, and she immediately reached for the pocket of her windbreaker. With eager fingers she withdrew the black, shining smart phone, pressed the side button and powered on the phone.

"Do you get a signal?" Spike asked.

She shook her head as she began to thumb through the files on the phone. "No, but I've got something better."

"I'm all ears."

She held the phone up and wiggled it. "Buffy's and Giles's journals, their notes, a lot of their research … it's all on here. I don't know if chargers exist yet that'll work, but all this research should give us a leg up on the competition."

Spike whistled and tapped thoughtfully at the wheel. "That'll come in handy."

She tucked the phone away and resolved to find a safe spot to hide the device. "Absolutely."

"Anything in there that'll help you kill the Master … again?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "But first things first."

He shot a curious glance in her direction. "And what's the first thing?"

"We get help."

. . . . . . . . .

A nondescript gray car that looked vaguely European sat outside the yellow, tile-roofed apartment building that Buffy barely remembered from her one, brief visit. The night had grown late, the air had progressed to a cold so deep that she could see her breath when she exhaled, and they'd driven by … and ignored … at least half a dozen roving gangs of vamps on their way here.

They stepped out of the van, Spike tugged at his leather coat, then he nodded towards the building. "Shall we?"

She reached out and grabbed his arm. "Spike, I think you should stay out here and let me talk to Giles alone for a few minutes."

He tensed and scowled at her. "And why is that?"

"He's on edge," Buffy explained. "He thinks this is a cursed version of the real world, that everyone is under a demonic spell, and he's been fighting a losing fight for nearly three years. The last thing I need is for him to see your blond hair, recognize your name, and go nuts."

Spike looked away for a moment, she was sure he was going to argue, then he relaxed. "This time, I'll wait outside." He leaned over a bit. "But we're not going to make a habit of this, alright? Fresh new world for me, fresh new start. You understand me, slayer?"

"Of course," she replied as she let go of his arm. "Just give me a few minutes to get Giles prepared for what he's about to hear."

Spike walked over to the painted cinder block wall that separated the apartment building's courtyard from the sidewalk and leaned against it with folded arms. "Fine," he said as he gestured towards the walkway leading to Giles's home. "Go smooth things over."

Nostalgia panged at her as she strode through the courtyard towards Giles's door, and she rubbed at the scar bisecting the right side of her mouth and let the memories washed over her. The last time she'd been here, she had thought Giles was crazy and that her trip to Sunnydale had been a waste of time … after all, the Master was just another vampire. She'd dust him and his followers and be back on her way to the midwest lickety split.

Truthfully, I didn't care if I ever made it back to Cleveland … I was ready to die.

Thankfully, she wasn't that person anymore, but it had not been long ago that she'd felt nothing except hopelessness, anger, and despair.

The fountain in the middle of the courtyard wasn't working, and what little water remained had turned green with algae. Giles's door had geometric shapes engraved on the surface and a small, arched window on its left. Trusting that instinct would help her find the right words, she rapped the heavy metal tumbler, waited a few moments, then rapped again.

When Giles opened the door, the sight of him shocked her.

"You're young," she said as she glanced up and down. He wore brown slacks, a light colored shirt with a brown coat, and while it was still Giles, of course, he looked so different.

He looks good.

Giles tilted his head, shot her a perplexed look through his round spectacles, and then ran a hand through his brown hair. "Well, thank you, Ms. Summers," he said in a hesitant manner as he smiled at her. "And might I say how nice it is to discover that you're … well … that you're alive."

"Should I not be?" she asked.

When he didn't answer her question, a quiver of nervous fear ran up her spine.

Giles didn't expect me to come back.

"Come in, we have much to discuss," he said.

He gestured her inside, and she followed.

The green painted walls, the thick, warm-looking rugs, and the wooden furniture were as she recalled. In the center of the room sat a wooden desk that sported a number of mystical-looking objects, books written in languages she didn't recognize, and a wooden lamp featuring emerald-colored, stained glass. Though the room was cold, the fireplace was unlit.

"Ms. Summers, I thought that you were …"

She interrupted him. "Going to fight the Master?" With a shake of her head, she continued, "I got interrupted along the way, which is what we need to talk about."

"I'm afraid you came all the way to Sunnydale for nothing," Giles said as he cast his eyes downward, almost as if in embarrassment. "I was wrong, you see. It was not …"

She held up a hand and interrupted him again. "Giles, please, call me Buffy."

He turned back to her. "If you prefer, Buffy, I will …"

She lunged forward, he froze in surprise, and she wrapped her arms around him and sunk her face into his chest. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, Giles." She tightened her grip, and he wheezed a bit as she squeezed air from his lungs. "A familiar face is just what I needed … even if that familiar face is a few decades younger than it should be."

"I have to admit to a certain degree of confusion, Ms. Su … Buffy," Giles said as he worked to extricate himself.

She released him, stepped back, and wiped away an unshed tear. "We have so much to talk about."

Giles leaned against a nearby couch. "To be candid, whether you succeeded in single-handedly slaying the Master or not, I did not expect to see you again."

"Why?" she asked in what she hoped was a tone of charming insolence. "Cause I'm reckless, headstrong, bloodthirsty, and suicidal?"

Giles removed his glasses, began to clean them on his shirt, and the familiarity of the gesture almost made her weep. "Well, you can add surprisingly self-aware to that list, yes."

She glanced at the books on the desk, ignored the unreadable gibberish of a dozen dead languages, and her eyes were drawn to a familiar diagram. More than recognized, in fact. If she wished, she could pull out her phone and find a digital version. She walked over, tapped at the illustration, then looked at Giles. "Anyanka and her talisman."

He nodded and stared at her thoughtfully. "You were listening. I rather thought that you considered me crazy."

"You weren't crazy," she informed him. "You weren't crazy at all."

Giles shrugged and let out a deep, mournful sigh. "Maybe not, but I was wrong. I summoned Anyanka, she was rather enraged about being commanded by a man, and then I smashed her talisman. That dispelled her presence, but …" he made a broad gesture towards the walls of the apartment, "the world did not change. I was wrong about Anyanka, about this reality, about bringing you here … about everything, really."

She shook her head, walked over, and rubbed his arm. Giles stared down in surprise at the gesture. She smiled and said, "You weren't wrong at all, but a lot happened that made that talisman-hulk-smash you tried go sideways."

"I don't quite take your meaning, Ms. Summers."

She winced at Giles's formality. "Please," she said in a high-pitched, plaintive manner. "Please call me Buffy. You have no idea how much it hurts to hear you call me Ms. Summers, as though we were strangers to each other, as though you haven't been there for me every day for the past year."

Giles did not bother hiding his bewilderment. "What?" he finally asked.

"I called you Jeeves, when I was here last," she said. "That was rude, and I know now that I absolutely should have put my faith in you." Giles glanced down, and she realized that she had been rubbing his arm nonstop for the past half minute. She pulled her hand away and continued, "You were right about there being a better world than this one. I've seen it, I've been there, and you were right."

Spike didn't bother knocking, instead he opened the door and stepped inside.

Goddammit, Spike.

She reached out and grabbed Giles's wrists. She didn't want to do things this way, but Giles had been living on edge a long time and she had no idea what sort of magical death-dealing gizmos he had stored about.

"What the …" Giles spluttered in a loud, angry fashion as he tried to pull his arms away. She held her grip fast and kept him from moving. "Ms. … Buffy …. what are you doing?" he asked. "Do you know this person?"

"It was rude of him not to knock," she growled as she shot Spike a venomous look that promised that they would discuss this later.

Spike crossed his arms. "I've known Giles a hell of a lot longer than you have, love." He glanced about. "This place is just as depressing of a miserable turn-of-the-eighteenth-century bachelor pad as I remember."

"Who are you?" Giles asked as he continued to tug at his wrists.

"He's …" she started to say.

"Name's Spike," Spike replied. "Gotta say, Jeeves, you look a lot better young." He stared Giles up and down appraisingly. "Well, young-ish, at least."

Giles's efforts to extract his wrists from her grip became more intense, and she had to dig in her heels and squeeze more firmly. "Giles, eyes on me," she said in a firm, loud voice. When he had complied, she switched to a more conversational tone. "You know Spike, or you know of him, at least."

"I do?" Giles asked as he narrowed his eyes at the former vampire lounging by his front door. An instant later, they widened in recognition. "I do!" He yanked at his arms, and she had to grip them rather tightly to keep him from pulling free. "Buffy, I have no idea what this monster has told you, but we are in terrible danger. William the Bloody is one of the worst …"

"Giles!" she shouted. "Did you invite him in?"

"He's … well …" Giles's voice trailed off in spluttering, nonsensical syllables. When he'd regained some measure of composure, he admitted, "No, I did not."

"Think for a second, Giles. You didn't invite him in, and he and I obviously know each other." She glanced over at Spike. "There's a cross hanging around my neck, show Giles that you can touch it."

Spike walked over, grabbed the silver links of her necklace then held the cross out on his palm.

"I don't understand," Giles said as he stared at Spike's hand. After a moment, when he was certain that smoke was not going to begin rising from charred flesh, he swiveled his gaze to Buffy. "What is happening here?"

Spike dropped the cross, Buffy shook Giles's wrists slightly, then she replied, "What's happening is that I need to make sure you don't go all wanna-be Van Helsing on my boyfriend, who happens to be very much alive and also very not much a vampire."

"Boyfriend?" Giles asked with an incredulous look on his face that slowly transformed into a stare of disapproval as he gazed at Spike.

"We're going steady," Spike announced. "Rounded third base and everything." He made a circle with the thumb and middle finger of one hand and then began to thrust his index finger through the hole thus created.

Giles's look of disapproval intensified, and Buffy kicked Spike in the shin.

"Ouch!" Spike howled as he stepped back. "Love's not supposed to hurt!"

Buffy pulled Giles closer and looked up at him. "We've got a lot to talk about, and my having to stand here slayerhandling you would be a really unfun and totally awkward way to have that conversation. That being the case, I'm going to let you go, you're going to get some wine, and we're going to have a very long and at times very confusing discussion, during which you at no point will try to kill Spike. How does that sound?"

Giles nodded.

Buffy pulled him closer still. "I really need you to not go nuts about Spike being here. He isn't what you think … at least … not anymore."

"I will not 'go nuts,' as you so elegantly phrased it," Giles promised.

"Okay." Buffy released Giles's wrists, then hesitantly stepped back.

Giles raised his hands in a placating gesture, then demonstratively settled his arms at his side. "I think you'd better start from the beginning.

"This is going to take a while," Spike muttered.

Buffy nodded in agreement. "Wine first."

A few minutes later, she was pleased to discover that this Giles was not nearly as rigid when it came to slayers consuming alcohol.

. . . . . . . .

Giles rapped his fingers on the table as he stared first at Buffy, then at Spike, then back at Buffy.

"It's a lot, I know," she said. Her throat was a bit raw from talking, and at times she feared that she'd perhaps laid slightly too much unbridled emotion on Giles, but it was Giles. It wasn't her Giles, of course, but it was still him. If they were going to have any semblance of what they once had, there had to be trust, and she had to be honest.

"From a certain point of view, I suppose you saved all of our lives," Giles finally said as he reached for his wineglass, realized it was empty, then sat back against the dark wood of the chair. "Me, everyone I know, all of us would have just ended when this realty's timeline was restored to its proper course."

Spike laced his fingers behind his head, leaned back, and nodded in agreement. "That's right. This lovely little Sunnydale you've got going here, it would have been gone, like a fart in the wind."

She and Giles ignored Spike, and she reached out and patted his hand. "Hold onto that perspective, it'll probably be a big comfort."

"Another perspective is that we're all trapped here in this alternate reality," Giles continued.

She winced. "That isn't quite as comforting."

Spike did not bother to hide his yawn as he glanced Giles up and down. "I thought you'd be all Ripper the Bad Ass in this world, but you seem pretty much the same."

Giles shot her a flat, expressionless stare, and she could feel her soul curdle the teensiest bit when she realized that Spike and Giles were already getting off on the wrong foot.

"Sorry," she whispered to Giles.

He hmphed at her, then resumed rapping at the table. "You seem to have learned to play well with others."

She nodded. "With your help."

"Yes … about that," Giles replied in a hesitant, halting fashion as he pushed his glasses farther back on his nose. "I hope you realize that, while you seem to know me quite well, from my viewpoint, you and I just met today. You've had months, and I've had minutes." He pursed his lips. "Not altogether pleasant minutes, either, I might add."

"Just give working with me a chance," she said. "You were supposed to be my Watcher, after all."

Spike started in his chair and nearly toppled over backwards. "Not that shite again," he complained.

"I'm not a Watcher," Giles said. "And I won't be rejoining them."

"Good," Spike interjected. "They're assholes."

"Well …" Giles stuttered for a moment or two, "yes, you are in fact, quite right." He shot Spike a piercing glare. "I suppose that in the other world, the real world, you and I were friends?"

"Absolutely," Spike replied with a beaming smile filled with sparkling white teeth and insincerity. "The best of chums."

Giles raised a suspicious eyebrow, then stared at her. She forced a smile, and Giles's brow furrowed with skepticism. Sensing that this line of dialogue would not be productive, she cleared her throat and redirected the conversation. "I've been working on a plan."

"A plan?" Giles asked.

She nodded. "Absolutely. We can't go running half cock, or any degree of cock, really, at the Master, until we know what we're facing, how to beat 'em, and how to get out of there when we're done." She put her palms flat on the table. "And we're going to need help. Not that you and your high school trainees haven't done amazing all things considered, but we're going to need a bit more oomph."

"Oomph?" Giles asked as he raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean."

She fished her phone out of her pocket, turned it on, then found the hastily assembled list she'd composed while Spike had driven them to Giles's apartment. When she'd found the file, she locked the screen, set the phone on the desk, then rotated and pushed it towards Giles.

"What is this?" Giles asked as he picked up the cell.

"People we need, things we need, and stuff we need to watch out for," she explained. "It's not exactly an exhaustive effort, but it's a start."

He turned the phone over in his hands as he replied, "No, I mean what is this device?"

"It's a phone," Spike interrupted. "Just a few decades ahead."

"Remarkable," Giles said as he stared enraptured at the screen. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Welcome to the future," Buffy said in a slightly impatient manner, "now, take a look at those names."

A frown appeared on Giles's face as he read. "Most of these references mean nothing to me, a few, such as the cult of Glorificus, I know of only as vague legends, and you've listed several people who have been turned and are now vampires." He tapped at the phone then looked at her. "I assume you mean to slay them first?"

She shook her head. "No, we need to save them."

Giles set the phone on the desk. "Buffy," he said in a familiar, pedantic tone that brought a smile to her face, "they're vampires … it's too late to save them, we can only save others from them."

"Like it was too late to save me?" Spike pointed out.

Giles had no reply to that.

"I know they're vamps, and that's why we need to rescue them." She retrieved her phone. "And after we rescue them, we need to find a Mohra demon, and we need to do it soon."

"Yes, I noticed that reference on your device," Giles replied. "Mohras are rather rare, and I'm not altogether certain where to find any … why do you want one, again?"

"Kill it, steal its blood," Spike explained in a perfunctory, matter-of-fact manner.

"Spike, please!" she protested. "Giles, we don't necessarily want to kill the Mohra demon, we just want to borrow some its blood."

"Unless the demon says no, in which case we kill him," Spike added.

She gritted her teeth and tried to stomp on Spike's foot, but he was too quick for her and snatched his leg away.

"Its blood, of course," Giles said in a tone that made it clear he had no idea what she was talking about. "And … if I might ask … why do you want a Mohra demon's blood?"

He's wondering when anything I say is going to start making sense, and that might be a while.

"We'll worry about that later," she replied as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. "The Master and all his honchos are at some sort of factory, and that means his dungeon at the Bronze is, hopefully, only mildly guarded. We're going there."

Giles leaned forward with a look of concern. "Weren't you just telling me not half an hour ago that you weren't going to take on the Master all half-cocked, as you so American-ly put it?"

"This is a rescue mission, and we're going where the Master ain't," she hastily explained, "and that's it. We're in, we're out."

"Little bit of the old in and out," Spike said with a laugh.

Could he please stop being annoying for one second!

"And you believe that you'll be able to rescue people who can help us?" Giles asked, and a note of hopefulness had crept into his voice. "I have to say, it's been difficult these last few years, especially as of late."

Her heart almost broke when she realized how hard it must have been for Giles to hold himself together without the help of this world's slayer.

"Hey," she said as she stood up, walked around the table, and hugged him close. She could feel him tense … she was a stranger to him, after all, but she held him, nonetheless. "I'm here now, and things are going to get better."

He relaxed somewhat, then patted her arm in what she imagined he thought was an affectionate manner.

Spike stood up as well. "Got any weapons?" he asked.

. . . . . . . . .

One moment she was kneeling in a circle with the most annoying people she had ever met in her life … though fondling her own human self's tuchus had been a singularly delightful experience … the next she was standing next to a series of cages containing deliciously frightened humans while an assembly of vampires stared at her in stunned silence. Willow blinked a few times, smoothed the black leather of her pants and top, and did her best to smile at the Master.

The factory looked much as she remembered it from the exceedingly boring tours that she and Xander had been subjected to on more than one occasion. A high ceiling sported a dazzling array of fluorescent lights metal surfaces gleamed on the machine that occupied the center of the space, brightly buttoned panels, tubes and wires and gizmos were everywhere … it was all exceedingly dull.

Except for the drinking blood part … she really liked that part.

"Willow," the Master exclaimed in surprise. He blinked his red eyes a few times, then he gestured at two vamps who had been in the middle of manhandling an Asian girl into the hollow tube of the enormous metal apparatus. The vamps nodded in acknowledgment of the Master's command, then shoved the crying female back into a cage with the other mewling wretches. The Master beckoned her closer and said, "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you appear out of nowhere."

"I told you something crazy is going on in this town," Xander exclaimed as he pointed at her. He was all vamp-faced, and the sight of his protruding brow, fangs, and angry heat boiling off him made her want to kill and drink and fuck. "I ran into myself, but human, Willow is teleporting all over the place … it's the goddamned Twilight Zone up in here."

Every yellow-eyed, scowling, bloodthirsty vamp turned to the Master. Sometimes she hated how much he held all of them in the palm of his hand, but sometimes … especially when he amused himself by making her do things to herself and others, she loved it.

"Perhaps I was hasty in believing you delusional," the Master admitted to Xander as he continued to stare at her.

"Oh, I saw Xander's human double," she exclaimed. "He was all pathetic and simpering and sad."

"Hey!" Xander protested.

She continued, "And there was a Sunnydale, but it was all goody-two-shoes, and that slayer, Buffy, was there, and I had to dress in this horrible pink, wool outfit, which I strangely kind of liked, actually, and then they zapped me back here."

"Who did?" the Master asked.

She gestured about. "Like, other versions of all of us. Not you, I think you were dead there for some reason, but Xander, and me, and some of the people I knew in high school that we killed, and … oh!" Her hands fluttered in excitement. "That white hat leader, the library guy that I know you're totally going to kill, but so far he's kept escaping at the last moment, he was there, too."

The Master considered her for a moment, then his long fingernails glittered in the lights as he snapped his fingers. "The factory opening will have to wait."

There was an assortment of unhappy moans, wails, and hunger-fueled complaints, but the Master screamed for silence, and everyone immediately complied.

"Take these two to the lair," he said as he gestured towards her and Xander. "And put them in a cell."

The first vamp that grabbed Xander's arm received a smashing fist to the face, the second a kick between the legs, but the next two grabbed his arms while a third wrapped his arm around his neck.

"What the fuck!" Xander screamed as he kicked and thrashed.

The Master raised a hand in a casual, almost effete gesture. "It's only temporary," he said in a soothing tone. "I can't reach Wilkins, or that lackey of his, and you two are talking about twins, and other worlds, and all manner of things that concern me quite a bit." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "With you two in cages, for the time being … just for now… I'll know if I see either of your faces, it'll be versions that I need to kill." His eyes narrowed and the pallid, death flesh of his face crinkled. "That's assuming you two are versions I should keep alive."

"Another cage?" she complained as vamps grabbed her upper arms. "I was just cooped up in one, like, an hour ago, and it was no fun at all. I like it better when the food is in the cages." She stiffened and considered fighting the vampires, then glanced around, realized just how outnumbered they were, and decided to bide her time. After they had dragged Xander near her, she said, "At least we can have some quality time together. It might even be romantic," she purred.

"Separate cells!" the Master called out.

Her mouth hung open as she replied, "Now that's just mean."

. . . . . . . . .

Spike seemed surprised when she didn't remember the Bronze, then she reminded him … in an extremely vehement fashion … that she was not the Buffy that had lived in Sunnydale. He almost always remembered, but every once in a while, it slipped his mind.

"This place used to make the greatest onion dish," Spike said. "Assuming they haven't eaten the chef, I'd like to try sampling it with living tastebuds."

She shuddered when Spike made a slurping sound.

"Must you talk about eating when we're surrounded by this?" she gestured about. Cages hung from the ceiling contained corpses whose necks had been torn apart to reveal purplish tissue and dull white spinal cords, gore covered a large percentage of the floor, and the pool table, countertops and chairs featured an assortment of crimson splashes. A stage in the largest room had an assortment of bodies arranged in a tableau so disgusting that she had to turn away. Spike twirled his gleaming silver sword in a steady arc, and she tightened her grip on her stake as he headed towards a door set along one of the walls.

"Shouldn't we check for any more vamps?" she asked.

Spike shrugged. "If there were any more here, they would have come when those ones we dusted started screaming, wouldn't they have?"

I can't argue with that.

She tucked the stake into the back of her pants, Spike slid the sword into a sheath that hung down his back, and they proceeded through the door and down a musty stairway. Cracked, ancient plaster covered the walls, crates, kegs, and storage containers of all types were spread about, and the basement smelled of death. Not the antiseptic, decaying death you might find in a morgue, or the cold, fetid death of a cemetery, but the blood-red, sharp death of a vampire lair.

Not just any vampire either, this was the Master.

"We get who we came for, and we leave," she reminded Spike. "I mean it, no sidetracking."

"This whole bloody thing is a sidetrack if you ask me," Spike muttered as he stepped onto the cracked concrete of the pavement floor.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him around. "Don't do that," she said. Spike tried to wrench back his arm, and she gripped it more firmly. "Let me remind you that you followed me to my world. Spike, if you want us to be together, ride or die and all that jazz, and try to really make things work, then when we're on slayer business, what I say goes. I don't want you complaining about rescue missions or who we work with, and I especially don't want you making crude jokes about our relationship in front of Giles. Do you understand me?"

He smirked at her. "Is that what this is about? Were you bothered by a bit of R-rated humor?"

She pulled him closer and squeezed.

"Ouch!" he complained. "Fine, I got it."

"Good," she replied as she released his arm. "I don't want to die, you don't want to die … I think … and we need help. You were talking about a fresh start, so maybe think about taking it?"

"Whatever …" he muttered.

She put her hands on her hips, gave him her most piercing glare, and waited.

"Fine!" he conceded as he raised his hands. "I'll dial it down and follow your lead."

She nodded and let her arms drop by her sides. Spike followed as she maneuvered through the storage space, down a short hallway, and into a series of well-decorated rooms. The floors were covered with thick rugs, upon the rugs sat ornate chairs and tasteful wooden furniture, a variety of expensive looking decorations hung from the walls, and there were a surprisingly large number of mini-fridges … the contents of which she decided she'd rather not become familiar with.

"Where is everybody?" Spike asked.

"At this mysterious-factory-where-I'm-pretty-sure-something-horrible-is-happening," she reminded him. "That's why I figured the Bronze would be deserted, remember?"

"Oh, right?" Spike replied while he grabbed from a nearby table a blood-soaked bundle of cash. He wiped the money on a black satin tablecloth then tucked the wad into his jacket.

Really?

"And how'd you know we should go to the Bronze?" he asked as he opened a small chest and began rummaging through the contents.

"Because I paid attention to what Giles said, and I actually read Buffy's journals," she replied in an exasperated tone. "That other Willow, the vampire one, she knew about the Bronze, and she knew about who the Master had chained up in the Bronze's basement."

"And why do we think we can trust a vampire version of Willow?" Spike asked as Buffy opened a wooden door and stepped into a grim, concrete room divided in two by a set of iron bars.

She gestured towards the cell on the other side of the bars. "Because vampire Willow was telling the truth?" As soon as the words left Buffy's mouth, she realized she'd made a mistake. Angel wasn't locked up in the cell. Instead, a young woman with long, light brown hair, blue eyes, and delicate, pale features huddled in the corner. Thick leather mittens were padlocked around her hands, she wore a rough-woven brown wool smock, and her feet were bare. Her eyes were red and wet, and judging by her whimpering, she was frightened out of her wits. On the concrete floor of the cell were chalk markings that appeared to consist of a variety of arcane symbols, including a lopsided pentacle, and the wooden table in the room was covered with molten wax and smudges from what she guessed were spell components.

"Buffy …" Spike said as he stepped closer. "Did vamp-Willow tell you about this?"

She shook her head. "No, she didn't. Who …"

She was about to ask who the piteous figure on the other side of the bars might be, but then the answer came to her. She'd seen the face only a few hours before, when the First had worn it to torment Willow, and she also remembered the solitary photo that Buffy had included in her slayer journal … and she could tell by the terse, clipped sentences and the matter-of-fact nature of the notes that her other-self could barely bring herself to write that particular entry, but she recognized who it was.

Tara.

She extended a hand and pointed towards the woman. "Is that …"

Spike interrupted her before she could finish the sentence. "Tara," he said. "Honestly, I don't remember her last name."

"Maclay," Buffy replied. "She's Willow's … you know what they were to each other."

Tara had barely reacted to her own name, but upon hearing Willow's she glanced at them in surprise, then she covered her face with her hands and pressed herself harder against the wall.

Buffy realized that a thick iron collar was locked around Tara's neck and that a heavy chain linked the collar to a bracket sunk deep into the concrete. She moved closer so she could better see through the bars of the cage, and as she neared, she noticed that Tara's legs and arms were covered in scratches and abrasions. Tara wiped her nose and tried to shy away from her gaze.

"You knew her," she said to Spike. "Maybe you can get her to calm down? Talk to us?"

"Yeah, I knew her," Spike said with a nod. "In a lot of ways, the ways that maybe should matter the most, she was the best of your little clan … but I don't think she liked me all that much."

Did anybody like you besides me?

Buffy continued to stare at the forlorn, sad figure on the far side of the bars. "I read about the Tara that you knew."

"She died," Spike replied with a nod. The woman flinched and huddled further back in the corner. "At least in my world she did. Here, well … there she is." He gestured into the cell. "I scarcely recognize her."

Buffy reached for the bars of the door to the cell. "I'm sure once she isn't a vampire's prisoner she'll feel more like her old self."

"If Willow were here, she'd be going nuts right about now," Spike said as placed his hands on the bar she was already gripping. "Not the vampire bitch of a Willow that lives here, of course, but the other one. The much scarier one."

"How long until you think she's back to normal?"

Spike shrugged, then braced one of his feet against the cage. "Can't say for sure, but she's stronger than you think."

Buffy nodded. "Let's get her out of there."

They both tightened their grips, braced themselves, and pulled. Separately, they couldn't have done it, but together, millimeter by millimeter, they bent the metal until, finally, the frame had crumpled enough that they could scrape the bolt free.

Tara let out a frightened howl, then curled into a ball and began to rock back and forth.

"Should I grab her?" Spike asked.

She put a hand on his chest and shook her head. "Absolutely not. Let me try talking to her."

She approached to what she hoped was a non-threatening distance "Tara, we never met, or maybe we did, sort of, but anyway, we need to get you out of here. I'm the Slayer, I kill vampires, and this is Spike, he also kills vampires."

Tara peeked her eyes up. "Spike? Buffy?"

"Maybe you think they're silly names," Buffy conceded, "but we are seriously here to help. You can trust us."

Tara glanced at the door, fear washed over her, and she pulled herself further away.

Buffy immediately guessed what had frightened Tara. The only superpowered people she knew were vampires, and she and Spike had just displayed they weren't quite human. "Like I said, I'm the Slayer," she repeated. "I'm stronger than I should be, for my size, and so is Spike, but we aren't vampires. Sometimes people have abilities." She gestured towards the chalk markings on the floor. "Like magic? You can do magic, right? A slayer is like that, we're strong so that we can dust vamps."

Tara bowed her head and began to sob. She pawed at her face with the leather mittens locked around her wrists, and Buffy found that she couldn't tolerate the sight of the woman's fetters for a second longer.

She stood and prepared to step closer. "I'm going to get those things off you," she said as she gestured at the chains.

"No, you can't!" Tara cried out in terror as she pawed at her hair. "Don't you see, I'm evil … a demon … I have to be here, for everyone's protection!"

What?

None of this had been in Buffy's journal. As crazy as Tara's story sounded, she couldn't discard the woman's words out of hand. After all, this was a different reality, and who knew where the timelines might have diverged. Still …

She doesn't look part demon.

"Oh, not this again," Spike said as he rubbed his forehead. "I am not punching her this time."

"What?" Buffy asked. "What the hell is going on?"

Spike gestured towards Tara. "Her parents are loony psychos with a demon-complex." Spike raised an index finger to his forehead and made a twirling motion.

"My family must think I'm dead," Tara whispered.

"You're better off with them not looking for you, if you ask me," Spike informed Tara. "Your mum and dad tell all the girls in the family that they've got demon blood, or something, and that they'll turn evil when they're an adult, am I right?" Spike tilted his head back and sighed. "They're lying, or they're just plain assholes. Tara, you aren't part demon, you're a witch. You won't turn evil, or anything even close to it, and you're rather a nice person, actually. Too nice, it got bloody annoying after a while. Oh, and you're a lesbian, in case you haven't figured that out yet. Not much use for tallywackers, and all that."

Buffy covered her eyes with her hands. "Spike!"

"Who are you?" Tara asked.

Curiosity is good … her asking questions means she isn't crying.

"Like Buffy said, my name's Spike," Spike said. "Now, we're going to get you all unlocked and you're going to come with us."

Tara unwound from her huddle and rose to stand on unsteady legs. "Why should I believe you?"

That stumped her for a moment, then an idea came to her. She opened her phone, turned it on, and quickly began thumbing through files.

"Maybe check your texts later, Buffy?" Spike suggested.

She ignored him and kept maneuvering through entries until she found what she was looking for.

It isn't me in the photo, but Tara won't know that.

She turned the phone around and pointed it at Tara. The young woman came closer, step by frightened step, then stared at the screen.

"How did you get that?" Tara asked as she gestured with her mitten towards the cell. "And why am I with you, and … and her?" Tara shied away from the image, and Buffy deactivated the phone.

"We're your friends," Buffy said. It wasn't a lie, not really … she already considered Tara a friend. "We want to help you." A thought occurred to her as she slipped her phone away. "You recognized Willow in the photo. How?"

"She was there when I was taken," Tara explained. "They came out of the shadows, killed everybody else, and … and …" the woman's words trailed off into sobbing for a moments before she was able to continue. "I see her down here, a lot of the time. She's … she's …"

Buffy turned to Spike. "Why would the Master's goons not kill Tara?"

He rubbed his chin for a moment. "Good question. I'll ask him when I run into him next."

Tara stared at her face, then said, "You don't have that scar in the photo."

She rubbed at the jagged slash carved across her lip and smiled a grim smile. "No," she replied. "That me was luckier."

Tara stared at her with a confused look on her face as she tried to parse that comment.

"Buffy," Spike said as he tapped at the spot on his wrist where a watch would be, if he was wearing one. "I get why you want to be gentle, but we can't stay here all night." He cracked his knuckles. "Unless you've changed your mind about that showdown."

"You're not evil, Tara," Buffy said, "and we have to get you out of here. If Spike and I take those chains off you, will you come with us?" Tara did not respond for so long that Buffy began to fear that they'd have to carry her. Finally, she gave a nod of the head.

She grabbed an iron pry bar set on a crate on the far side of the room, then she and Spike moved forward.

. . . . . . . . .

"Buffy," Angel said. "Buffy Summers … it's you."

"I know how you know my name," Buffy replied. "You were waiting for me here, Angel, waiting to help me." She and Spike approached the bar of the cell. "You can spare me an explanation of your destiny and your tale of woe, I already know all about it." Tara hung back near the doorway with her arms folded, and Buffy did her best to try to ignore the frightened young woman's nervous twitching.

"You know about me?" Angel asked as he staggered to his feet, walked forward, and half-collapsed against the bars of his cell. His shirt was open to the waist, and she could see the deep, half-healed wounds lining his torso and stomach. Other than the scars, she had to admit it was a rather nicely muscled, flat stomach. "How?"

When did Angel get so tall?

She re-focused her thoughts and was just about to answer when Spike stepped next to her.

"Angel," Spike said as he looked him up and down. "You've seen better days."

"Buffy, you have to listen to me," Angel said in a half-growl as he gripped the bars of his cell. "I know that you have no reason to trust me, but this thing … this vampire … is dangerous. I don't know what Spike has told you to keep you from staking him, but he will not hesitate to kill you. Please, believe me."

Spike smiled and gave a mocking half-bow. "Angel, you're embarrassing me!"

Angel rattled at the bars of his cell, and the effort exhausted him to the point that he almost fell to his knees. "You touch her, Spike, and I'll …"

"You'll what? Spike asked as he folded his arm and sat on a keg on the side of the room. "Spit on me?" A look of revulsion washed over his features. "Actually, don't do that, it would be gross."

"Spike, must you?" she asked.

He gestured towards the half-dead appearing Angel. "Well … yeah … it's Angel. We annoy each other, it's what we do."

She stepped closer to the bars and reached out to grip Angel's hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Spike bristle, but thankfully he said nothing.

Angel blinked in surprise at the touch of her fingers against his. "You're not … you're not scared of me?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You know I'm a vampire?" he asked.

She nodded. "I do. I know about the curse, I know about Angelus, and I know you're on this unending mission of atonement for the terrible things you did when you didn't have a soul and a demon was running the show. I know it all."

Including how happy the other-Buffy gets whenever you put your arm around her and the way your ass looks in those tight black slacks you wear all the time.

"Did I just about cover all the most important points of your life story?" she asked.

Angel stared at her, blinked a few times in surprise, then asked, "How do you know all this?"

It was then that she realized that she was going to need to repeat everything she had already told Giles. "I should have tape-recorded myself a couple hours ago," she complained. "It's going to get really old re-telling this story over and over again."

"We could just leave him in there?" Spike suggested.

Angel tightened his hand against the bars and bared his teeth.

Tara whimpered, and the mood of the room grew cold and still. "They … they hurt him," Tara said in a quiet, small voice. "They hurt him much worse than they hurt me."

Buffy turned back to Angel, and her eyes drifted downwards to his exposed chest. Angel snatched his hand away and began to button the shirt closed.

"Don't leave him here," Tara said.

"Spike didn't mean it," Buffy assured Tara, then she turned back to Angel. "Spike and I are going to let you out, and then the two of you are going to get along."

Angel stepped back from the door of the cell and said nothing in reply.

"Angel," Buffy said in an ominous, warning tone, "I'm going to need you to confirm, with actual words said aloud, that you heard, acknowledge, and are going to respect what I just said."

"He's a monster," Angel warned her.

Noble of him to tell me what he thinks is the truth even though it means I might not let him out. Stupid, but noble.

Spike laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "Let me try."

She stared at him with skepticism evident on her face.

"Trust me," Spike said.

Oh, Spike …

Spike turned to Angel. "Angel, pal, the truth is that you and I have never met."

Angel tightened his hands into knotted fists, clenched his jaw in anger, and snarled, "Are you crazy? Is that what's happening here?"

"Smell me."

What?

Angel's eyes fluttered at the comment. "I'm sorry?"
"You heard me," Spike said. "Smell me. With your oh-so-sensitive-vampire-nose."

Angel considered the request, then sniffed at the air, once, twice, then finally with a deep inhalation, a third time. His nose wrinkled as he stared at them with a confused look. Spike, what the hell did you do to yourself?" He glanced him up and down. "What have you become?"

Spike shrugged. "I'm not a vampire, not anymore, and that's all that matters. Got a soul and everything. Also, I'm not from this universe. You know some other Spike, looks like me, talks like me, but not the real thing."

Angel sat down on the thin cot in the corner of the room. "I'm the one who's gone crazy. That's what's happened, my mind has finally snapped."

"Maybe," Buffy conceded, "but we're getting you out of there anyway. Don't touch Spike, don't start any fights, we're leaving."

Angel leapt to his feet so quickly that she retreated from the bars. "Buffy, the factory," he exclaimed. "The Master is going to kill people there, a lot of people."

"The one that's opening tonight?"

Angel nodded.

Shit.

She looked at Spike, then at Angel … Angel was in no condition to fight, and she and Spike wouldn't be enough. Even if they had Giles gather up everyone, they'd be going in blind against every vampire the Master had assembled in Sunnydale.

"We will burn that factory to the ground," she promised Angel. "But I'm going to need your help, and none of us will be able to help anyone if we're dead."

Angel considered what she'd said, then nodded. "Regroup and gather strength … smart."

"Thanks," she replied with a smile.

Spike's spine stiffened again, and she could tell that he did not care to see her smiling at any version of Angel.

Good … maybe this will encourage Spike to not feel so entitled about me.

The pry bar made short work of the lock to Angel's cell, and though at first it looked like he might need their help to walk, Angel eventually managed to stumble in behind them. Spike and Angel exchanged wary glances, but they managed to avoid attacking each other as they made their way out of the room.

She was just about to head back the way they'd come when she heard the sounds of an argument down a nearby hallway. She turned towards the voices, and Spike immediately stepped into her line of sight.

"In and out, remember?" he said. "Buffy, we can't stay here."

"I just have to see what that is," she said as she moved into the corridor. Spike, Angel, and Tara followed as she crept down the narrow tunnel.

. . . . . . . . .

"You have got to be shitting me," Spike exclaimed when they entered another room, one mustier and far danker than the rest, that featured two cages on either side of the space. The bars of the cages were thick, but the interiors were so small that the occupants could stand or crouch, but not lie down. "What are the chances the exact two vampire we were about to searching for would be sitting here all boxed up neatly and ready to go?"

"Maybe the Powers threw us a bone," Buffy said with a shrug.

Tara began to scream the second she entered the room. Spike snatched her close and covered her mouth, then in a rather comforting fashion said, "I don't want to do this, I really don't. But we can't have that kind of noise." He waited a moment, then when Tara nodded, he moved his hands away and stepped back.

"These two we definitely need to kill," Angel said as he pointed at the leather clad, angry, vampiric versions of Willow and Xander that stood in the two cages.

Buffy turned to look at Angel. "Listen real close, because I only want to have to say this one time." Angel's face was turning purple with rage as he looked past her and eyeballed the vampires.

"Hey!" she yelled as she snapped her fingers. "Pay attention here, slayer talking!"

Angel's gaze fixed on her, and the heat and intensity of his smoldering fury was exciting in a way entirely out of kilter with their surroundings.

Get a hold of yourself!

"What?" he asked.

"We're not killing them," she said. "Willow and Xander have got this whole complicated backstory, just like you do, and we're not slaying them. In fact, unless I say different, just assume I don't want you killing anyone for the time being."

"Wait a second, I know this one!" vamp-Willow howled as she reached through the bars and pointed at Buffy. "She was in that other world, the one I was telling you about." She narrowed her eyes. "But she didn't have that scar." A leer that Buffy found rather repugnant crossed Willow's face. "Come here, let me kiss it and make it better."

Xander, whose white shirt, black pants, and black coat lent him a violent, dangerous aura quite different from the human version, gripped the bars and stared at her with a hungry expression. "She'd be kinda pretty if it wasn't for that slash across her face."

"Oh, golly gee," Buffy replied. "I've never heard that one from a vamp before. You're really breaking new ground here, Xander."

"How do you know my name?" Xander asked.

Willow's eyes flitted past her, then her face contorted into an exaggerated expression of concern mixed with something hungry . "You let my pet out?" she asked. "And without her mittens? You need the mittens to keep you safe, don't you pet?"

Tara made a fluttering, frightened cry, but it was Spike who responded. "You're even more gay here than you were in the real world."

"This is the real world," Xander growled.

Spike shrugged. "Doesn't matter now, cause it's the only world we've got from here on out."

"Okay, we're not killing them," Angel said. "Never mind that they tortured me, slaughtered countless people, and they're, you know, vampires, we're not killing them. What are we doing here, then?"

Buffy briefly explained what she wanted.

Angel's jaw hung open in shock as he stared at her in mute silence for an uncomfortably long period of time. "She's insane," he muttered to himself. "We've got an insane slayer on our hands."

"We're going to rescue you," Buffy announced to Willow and Xander as she stepped past Angel. "Whether you want to be rescued or not."

Willow clasped her hands and emitted an unsettling squeal of glee. "It's always been a dirty little secret fantasy of mine that a Slayer would try to rescue me." She grabbed the bars. "Want to know what happens next in my daydreams?"

Buffy ignored Willow's question and said, "I'm going to give you one chance to do this the easy way … turn around and put your hands behind your back so I can tie your wrists."

"That's the exact opposite of what I imagine happens next."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, psycho," Xander said as he stepped back as far as the bars allowed. "Except maybe to my bedroom, with your corpse." He laughed, then immediately stopped laughing when he realized everyone in the room, including Willow, was staring at him with a look of revulsion.

"What?" Xander asked. "We're trash-talking here!"

Buffy pulled the stake from behind her belt, then gripped it backwards so that the heavy hilt could be used as a billy club. "Oh, Xander," Buffy said as she tapped the stake against her other palm. "I'd really prefer not to do this the hard way."

Willow opted for the easy way, Xander did not.

. . . . . . . . .

Not bothering to be gentle, she tossed Xander's limp form into the back of the van. There wasn't quite enough space between the back seats and the door to lie him down, so she moved his tied hands out of the way, bent him at the waist and jammed him against the brown felt that lined the interior. Xander's eyes were rolled back on his head and the gigantic knot on the side of his head explained the reason for his insensate condition.

I did offer him the easy way …

"Red somehow managed to find a way to scratch the hell out of my arm despite being bound hand and foot," Spike complained as he none-too-gently hoisted Willow off his shoulder and plopped her in the back of the van next to the comatose Xander. "I'm thinking you should knock her out, too."

Willow stared at them both with venomous, angry eyes, and Buffy could see the muscles of her arms and shoulders working as she tried to loosen the ropes binding her wrists together. "You both think you're playing rescuers? The second I get free, and I will get free, you're going to die screaming … and it'll take a while." Her face contorted in an instant, yellow eyes blazing from her head and jagged fangs dropping from elongated jaws, and she lunged forward to try to bite through the denim of Buffy's jeans.

"Hey!" Buffy yelled as she jumped backwards. "I guess you want the hard way, too."

She pulled her stake from a holster at the small of her back, flipped it around so that the thick, wooden knob at the hilt-end faced outwards, and swung it downwards with tremendous force.

Spike re-arranged Willow's now unconscious form so that she lay next to Xander, they checked the ropes to make sure they were tight, then slammed closed the van's cargo doors.

"What if they wake up?" Buffy asked.

"It's only a few minutes to the school," Spike replied. "We'll be fine.

"We can't find a Mohra demon fast enough," Buffy muttered.

Angel, who had been noticeably quiet ever since they'd subdued Willow and Angel, limped into view and fixed her with a confused look. "Did I hear you right?" he asked. "Why do you want a Mohra demon? At some point is anything you say going to start making sense?"

Spike opened the driver's door and climbed inside. "Just get in the van, Count Poof."

Angel pointed at Spike while he looked at her, "I'm telling you, he really does sound just like the Spike I know."

"Not the same guy," she reminded Angel for roughly the tenth time.

She guided Tara into the passenger seat, then climbed into the middle row next to Angel. Spike clearly hadn't considered who she'd be sitting with, as she could see his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he stared at her in the mirror.

She turned towards Angel and was startled to notice that he cast no reflection in the window behind him. Nor did he breathe, she realized, and when she watched his neck with a careful gaze, there were no telltale pulses of blood flowing from a living, beating heart through warm veins.

"What?" Angel asked as he glanced down at his body then back at her.

She realized she had been staring and turned away. "I never knew you when you were a vampire," she explained, "and honestly, it's a bit weird for me. When we met, in the other world, you were like Spike."

Angel leaned forward and having him so near sent a very-much-unwanted tingling down her spine. He was so dark and … brooding … and she had a feeling that he was a powder keg of barely suppressed emotions just waiting to explode.

"Just what is he?" Angel whispered as he nodded towards Spike.

"Not a vampire anymore, but I've still got the vamp-hearing," Spike interrupted. "And we don't have time for you to hear my biography." He gestured towards the passenger seat where Tara sat, rocking back and forth. "We need to get Tara somewhere safe before any more screws come loose."

"Let's get going," Buffy said. "Giles has to be waiting for us at Sunnydale High School by now."

Spike pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the road.

"At first I didn't understand why you'd possibly want to keep those two vamps alive," Angel said, "but now I think I get it. You want to torture them for information?" His face twisted in a near-feral rictus and his eyes gleamed in a dark, ominous fashion. "Do they know something we need to know? Do you need my help making them talk?" His hands twitched into fists.

"Man, Buffy really sanded off your rough edges in the real world," Spike exclaimed as he maneuvered through the dark, grim streets of Sunnydale.

Buffy nodded in agreement. "She might have sanded off a little too much."

Angel glanced at Spike, then at her. "Aren't you Buffy?"

I need to bring Angel up to speed in the immediate future before this gets too annoying to bear.

"Never mind," she said as she waved off his question. "For now, all you need to know is that we are not killing or torturing Xander and Willow."

Angel rubbed at his eyes, and as he moved, she could see the angry purplish wounds that twisted up his chest towards his neck. " We're just taking them with us," she explained in as patient a manner as she could. "I do have a plan, but we need to get them, and us, somewhere safe before we can have a long chat about what that plan is."

"Trust her," Spike said. "She knows what she's doing."

"Okay," Angel said as he sat back against the seat. "I'll follow your lead."

"That's the spirit," she told him.

. . . . . . . . .

"Buffy, you're the Slayer, you obviously have seen and done amazing things over many months while, for me, only a few hours passed, but this …" he gestured towards the prone form of Xander and the murderously angry, and now-awake, Willow, "this is going to be very difficult to explain to Larry and Oz. We lost someone tonight, someone close to us, and they're not going to be happy keeping two vampires alive."

"I don't know Larry," Buffy replied, "but I know Oz, and he'll understand."

He'd better, cause that's Willow sitting there.

She tested the padlocks securing the chains wrapped around Willow and Xander's necks, then stepped back out of reach.

"You're just going to leave us here?" Willow asked as she examined the thick, heavy pipes to which she was shackled. "In a high school basement?"

"For now," Buffy replied. "Spike and I are going on a roadtrip to L.A., and when we're back, you've got a date with a hypodermic needle."

Willow's brow wrinkled as she slumped against the wall. "I'm starting to think you might be crazier than I am."

Spike opened his mouth to reply, she reached out and grabbed his arm, and he closed it immediately.

"Shall we go upstairs?" Giles asked. "I have a number of questions."

Angel laughed, and it was a harsh, barking sound with no mirth behind it. "You're not the only one."

Angel flicked the light switch off as they climbed, she was about to scold him for his casual meanness, then she remembered the horrific wounds on his chest and decided to let it go. They made their way through empty corridors, past rows of lockers and boarded up windows, and eventually Giles unlocked the swinging doors to the library so that they could step inside. She thought the library would be larger, somehow, and more … evocative. It featured so prominently in all the old war stories her friends had swapped in Moonridge that she was expecting a grand, gothic, cathedral-like space.

Instead, it was fairly small, somewhat cramped even, and decidedly commonplace. Wooden bannisters supported a railing that ran the entire upper level of the library, the rows of books sat in neat shelving, the heavy, rectangular tables in the center of the room featured chairs stained a deep yellow, and a book cage, book counter, and suite of offices occupied one side of the space.

Spike plopped himself down in a wooden chair set alongside the table in the middle of the room, Angel glanced about and hung back near the swinging doors, and Buffy moved towards a couch that had been dragged next to the book counter. Tara, thankfully, hadn't budged from the couch they'd left her seated on.

Giles made a vague gesture downwards, towards the basement of the school, "I'm to keep those two monsters, vampires who have killed people I care about, alive until you return? Is that what you are telling me?"

"Yup," she replied. "And Giles, if I come back and you've taken matters into your own hands, even though I totally love you and owe you so much, you and I are going to have big, and I mean really big, problems. Just leave 'em chained up till Spike and I get back."

When Giles did not reply, she walked over to him. His jaw was clenched, his back was ramrod straight, and she could tell he was not at all happy.

"Giles," she said, "are we on the same page here?"

He removed his glasses, set them on the book counter, and then nodded. "Very well," he said.

"Did you get what I need?" she asked.

Giles reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out an index card, and handed it over. "The address and directions to the decidedly non-demonic, ordinary office building that you asked me to find for you." He pointed at the card. "If what you told me is true, that may be the lair of the last Mohra demon left on this plane, Buffy, so …"

"Don't screw it up," Spike said. "We got it."

"And why do you think he'll be tempted to attack?"

"You know how the Mohra hunt for those who work on behalf of the Powers-That-Be, right?" she asked.

Giles nodded.

Buffy pointed at Spike, then at herself. "He'll show up."

Giles folded his arms and stared at her. "I did some checking in the Book of Kelsor, and I found no reference to the Mohra that might be of use to us in the slightest."

"Trust me," she said.

Giles pursed his lips and frowned.

"I should go with you," Angel said. "You have no idea how many demons there might be, or what you might find."

"Mohra fight alone, it's an honor thing with them," she informed Angel. "And you're in no condition for a brawl."

Giles scowled as he stared at Angel. "A vampire, wandering in Sunnydale High School … I'll have to try very hard to keep my people from attacking you on sight."

"He has a soul!" Buffy reminded Giles. "And he's my friend, and yours, even if neither of you realize it yet."

Giles nodded, but his face remained skeptical. "You have said all that before … many times, in fact over the past half hour. Some might say ad nauseum."

"What can I say," she said with a shrug. "You've got that vamp-killing look in your eye, Giles, and Angel is one of the good guys. Really, he is."

"I am," Angel confirmed.

Spike snorted, but thankfully said nothing.

"And this young woman is a witch?" Giles said as he gestured at Tara. "I'm thinking that she might be in need of a psychiatric evaluation."
Tara shook her head and drew her knees up to her chest.

"She'll be fine," Spike said. "She's a hell of a lot tougher than she looks."

Tara smiled at Spike, and the sight warmed Buffy's heart.

Maybe she will be fine.

"Okay," Spike said as he slapped his knees and stood up. "If we want to be back by tomorrow morning, we'd best get a move on."

"Stay here, keep an eye on Tara," she told Angel. "Try to make friends … trust me, it'll make things a lot easier."

Angel walked towards her, and though he tried his best to hide the severity of his injuries, she could tell how much pain he was in from the ragged steps of his gait. "I still think I should go."

She shook her head. "Angel, the Master has a whole bunch of people captive, this town is infested with vampires, and I'm going to need you healthy and whole to help. I was late arriving, but I'm here now." She pointed at the couch. "Sit down, keep Tara company, and try to convince Giles to stop reaching for that stake he has hidden under his coat."

Giles yanked his arm from beneath his jacket and stared at her with a sheepish expression.

"I must say," he informed her, "you are not at all what I expected, Buffy."

"The first time we met, I wouldn't have been much use to you," she admitted. "A great teacher helped straighten me out."

Giles smiled at her, and Spike audibly groaned. "If this gets any more cloyingly sweet, I'm going to grab some pepto bismol on the way back."

She shot Angel a pointed look, then gestured to the couch. With a hangdog expression and reluctant movements, he sat down next to Tara.

"That's the spirit," she informed him with a smile.

She and Spike made their way to the swinging doors, Spike exited, and she hovered in the entryway and said, "I mean it, Giles. Please, please, please don't have me come back and find my friends dead … and that includes the ones who are currently chained up in the basement."

"Very well," Giles said. "I promise."

She was about to leave, then she decided not to depart without having said certain things that Giles absolutely needed to hear. "And call Olivia."

Giles stared at her in shock. "How do you know that name?" He frowned as he immediately realized that he already knew the answer. "Of course, I needn't ask, I imagine you met her?"

Buffy nodded. "Yes, and I don't think you should keep her waiting for so long this time around. You asked me to help you avoid making the same mistakes, so when Sunnydale has quieted down a bit, call her."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Giles asked.

"Because while I expect to come back, I might not," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "This is important, so I'm making sure you hear it."

Giles's face fell, and he glanced down at the floor. "I expect that your heart is in the right place, but Olivia is happily married. She met her husband about six months ago, and it was a rather whirlwind affair, or so I hear."

Oh.

Another thought occurred to her. "Jenny Calendar, then."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had made a mistake. She couldn't be sure Jenny Calendar was alive, and more importantly, they didn't need any revenge-obsessed gypsies hanging around Angel.

Giles turned bright red, and she giggled at the sight.

"What can I say," she said with a shrug. "You got around."

"Well, those memories might be pleasant to have," Giles muttered.

Spike ducked his head into the library. "Trust me, Jeeves, you don't want old memories of Jenny Calendar. Make new ones."

"Spike!" Buffy scolded him, and he retreated back into the high school hallway.

"Umm," Giles said, "I will see if she's still in town."

Buffy nodded. "Don't call her too soon, we need to fix Angel first."

"Fix me?" Angel asked. "Who is this Jenny person?"

So many goddamned questions.

She waved them off. "Spike and I have to hit the road, but trust me, I will eventually answer all your questions."

"Buffy!" Spike yelled from down the corridor. "Let's go!"

"Gotta go," she said as she ducked through the swinging doors. Her last sight of the library was of Angel, Giles, and Tara uncomfortably glancing at each other.

. . . . . . . . .

"Pity there are no windows down here," Oz said in a low voice that Giles considered uncomfortably close to a growl "I'm thinking their dispositions would improve with some sunlight."

"I don't think this one likes us very much," Willow said as she shifted as much as the chains wrapped around her neck allowed. "I'll especially enjoy watching the light go out of his eyes when I eat him."

"Fuck him," Xander snarled.

Oz turned to face the rather haggard and tired-looking Giles. The younger man seemed older than his years, almost as if his short-cropped red hair should be lined with gray, and a stake was tucked into a holster slung beneath his khaki jacket while a large knife dangled from the leather belt looped around his jeans. "Those two monsters have killed our friends, Giles … have you forgotten?" He pointed at Willow and Xander. "Nancy's body is probably still warm, and we've lost how many over the past few years? A dozen? More? Heck, half the town is either dead or left. Why are we keeping them alive?"

"Because Buffy …"

"The Slayer!" Oz yelled. "You've got to be kidding me. After years of you going on and on about her arrival, now she finally shows up, when everything has gone to hell, and we're supposed to do what she says?" He pointed again at the two vamps chained to the pipes embedded in the wall. "If you can't do it, I'll stake 'em myself."

"Just come a little bit closer and give it a try," Willow growled.

Xander tried to stand, then winced when the chains brought him up short. "You're really not playing the part of the tough guy very well, Tiny."

Giles interposed himself between the vamps and Oz and raised a hand. "I understand why you're upset," he said, "and I can assure you, bringing these two vampires here was not my idea. That being said, Buffy was quite insistent, and I have to admit that she seems knowledgeable in ways that are quite beyond me."

Oz crossed his arms. "Knowledgeable about what?"

"How to turn vampires back into humans, for one," Giles said.

Oz's face turned white, and he shuddered for a moment. "You're serious?" A haunted look came into his eyes. "You told us all, for years, that there was no cure. All the vamps we staked, we could have saved them?"

"I didn't know," Giles explained. "Nobody in this world knows … but Buffy says that she can do it."

"Bored now," Willow muttered as she stared at them with a sullen expression and a dim, yellow glow in her eyes.

Oz ignored Willow and asked Giles, "And you believe this Buffy?"

Giles nodded. "I do."

Oz considered the answer, then tilted his head and asked, "What the hell kind of name is Buffy, anyway?"

"Nickname for Elizabeth … though she isn't named Elizabeth, come to think of it, it's just Buffy."

Quiet footfalls echoed behind them, and Giles and Oz turned to find Tara descending the metal stairs with hesitant steps. When she reached the bottom, then rapped the metal railing and stared at them.

"I thought you were asleep," Giles said. "You have to be exhausted."

Tara crept closer. He'd found a jacket for her, and the rest seemed to have done her good, but he had a feeling she'd be frightened and cautious for a long time. Maybe forever.

"I wanted to see them," Tara said. "I had to see them."

Giles didn't quite understand, but he nodded anyway. "Only for a few minutes," he said.

Oz gestured at Tara. "She should be in a hospital, Giles."

Giles nodded. "I agree."

"But Buffy says no?" Oz said, and impatience and irritation dripped from every word.

Giles nodded again.

Tara moved close and stared at Xander and Willow.

"What do you want?" Xander snarled as he clicked his teeth.

Tara turned white but did not retreat. "Some answers."

Willow smiled at Tara and pulled her neck to the length of the chain. "This chain makes it difficult to talk, maybe you could loosen it?"

"She stays where she is," Giles said, and Tara shuddered a bit at the harshness of his words.

"Then what do you want?" Willow asked Tara. "Come to gloat? When I'm out of these …" she shook the chains locked around her neck, "maybe next time I won't be so nice."

Tara cleared her throat, then continued, "I was visiting UC Sunnydale … campus tour for incoming students … and you took me. You didn't kill me, you didn't drink my blood, you just took me to your Master. Why?"

"Because you're a witch," Willow explained. "The Master thought you might be of use." She smiled. "And you were."

Oz looked at Giles and mouthed, a witch?

Giles mouthed back, yes.

Oz took a few steps away from Tara.

"How'd the Master know?" Tara asked. "I mean, I there were the Wicca clubs, and the candles, and all of that … but I didn't know any of it was real."

"Oh my god," Xander moaned. "The midget staking us might be better to having to listen to any more of this shit."

Willow leaned forward until the links padlocked around her neck had pulled taut. "Don't mind him," she whispered to Tara. "He always resented what you and I had."

Xander grabbed the chain securing him, put his feet on the wall, and yanked as hard as he could. The pipes did not so much as flex, and he began to thrash wildly, howling in anger as he did so. At some point during his convulsions, fangs erupted from an enlarged jaw, his eyes began to glow a sulfuric yellow, and his brow grew ridged and prominent. When Xander realized that he could not possibly break the chains or the pipes that restrained him, he reached with taloned hands towards the three humans clustered across the room and clawed impotently at empty air.

"When I get out of this, and I will get out of this, you will suffer for hours!" he roared. "Medieval on your ass? Oh no, I'm going to go a lot more primitive than that. More like … caveman on your ass!"

Willow stared with distaste at Xander. "I hate it when you get all dramatic."

Tears began to roll down Tara's face, then she turned and rushed away. She stumbled on the steps, then scrambled upwards and out of sight.

"I'm going to make sure she's okay," Giles said as he turned to go. He hesitated, then stared at Oz. "Oz, while I'm gone …"

Oz waved off his concerns. "Hey, I get it. What the Slayer says, goes."

"Don't leave us alone with the little man!" Xander snarled. "He might jump up and hit me in the kneecaps!"

Oz frowned. "Maybe just a bit of holy water?" he asked Giles.

Giles shook his head, and Oz's frown intensified.