A/N: What up, peoples! Yes, I am back, and ready to rock! Welcome everyone to the 9-year anniversary of Bring Me To Life! As some of you who read the first chapter know, I started this story during a really tense time in my life, which coincided with the end of BtVS and the 4th Season of Angel. I never actually intended for it to take this long, but, well, I didn't have a laptop and the lack of problems I had then, either. But whatever, this puppy's still rolling and gearing inevitably towards an end (promise!)

Special shout out to my awesome beta, the Invincible Starway Man (PS, read his latest fic, Shattered, right here on FF dot net; you'll love it!) for his help. Theo, may the Force be with you! And thanks to everyone who reviewed, including : valforeverblue, teamtiva, Jason Barnett (welcome back! Haven't seen you since 2003!) wingster 55, neoearthqueen30, Geoff, angelplusbuffyequals4ever, Angellufy, spyagent001, Fools and Worthless Liars, Alkeni, DarkVizard 447, xxdawnbreakerxx, EmeraldWings90, David Fishwick, ShayleeAlf, and of course, my good buddy Ashes at Midnight. You guys Rock!

The following lyrics within the chapter belong to Celine Dion (Nothing's Broken But My Heart) and Lady Antebellum (Just a Kiss), and are not owned/affiliated with the author in any way.

Well, enough of all that—ladies and gentleman, grab your soda, have a pizza and grab a comfy chair, because without further ado, I present to you, still going strong after 9 years, the latest chapter of…


Bring Me To Life - A Buffy The Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 26 - Old Wounds


Hyperion Hotel - Lobby

Now


Robin Wood was no amateur; he had been aware of the 'real world' for a long time.

When he was twelve, the Watcher named Bernard Crowley had begun training him in the art of demon-hunting and fighting vampires, just as he had taught Robin's late mother, the Slayer named Nikki Wood, before her death at Spike's hands.

And ever since Robin had turned seventeen, he had actively hunted vampires, obsessively perusing the obituaries section of newspapers for any signs of vampire-related deaths, then meeting newly-sired bloodsuckers in the graveyards head-on in battle. At last count, he had dusted 296 vampires over the last thirteen years of his life - a number that would have earned a nod of respect from far more accomplished vampire hunters, such as the deceased Daniel Holtz.

If there was one thing Robin Wood knew how to do, it was how to kill vampires. He did it well. And he enjoyed it.

And yet, there was no joy or excitement of an adrenaline-fueled battle that coursed through him as Wood thrust his stake at the vampire who had indirectly facilitated (sire of the sire of the vamp whodunit) the death of his mother, all those years ago.

No, if Robin had to describe the feeling that drove him now, it would be something akin to…vindication.

For himself. For his mother. For his life.

Yet at the very last moment, a mere millimeter from the torn silk shirt covering Angel's chest, the vindication that was his stake stopped just short of penetrating the undead flesh above the heart…on account of the vise-like grip unexpectedly clamped around his wrist.

A grip that belonged to a steely-eyed Buffy Summers.

Her hand had shot out with inhuman swiftness that only the Chosen One was capable of, moving almost before her mind could comprehend her action.

Surprised by the move, Robin stared in combined bewilderment and anger at the tiny blonde eying him with a steadfast and resolved look of determination. What the fuck is she...

And then, the click-clack sound of a crossbow being fired—a noise Angel was thoroughly familiar with—registered in the ensouled vampire's supernaturally-enhanced ears.

With reckless abandon, Kennedy fired the crossbow down from her spot on the stairs towards the three fighters in the lobby, aiming for the vampire's heart now that Robin's attack had been thwarted. See you in hell, vampy...

The trouble was, Buffy's quick movement had taken her right in the path of the arrow leading to Angel's chest…and with her back turned, the blonde Slayer could not see the arrow zipping with lethal speed towards her unprotected back…

With an invisible blur of movement, Angel managed to shove both Buffy and Wood out of harm's way with his left hand…while catching the deadly arrow with his right, the wooden projectile stopped a mere three inches from his chest.

Immediately pissed off, Kennedy let out a determined yell as she sprinted down the stairs, a stake now in her right hand as she charged towards Angel.

Trying to take advantage of the distraction, Wood pushed Buffy aside and again lunged, stake in hand, towards the dark-haired vampire. But the blonde Slayer, recovering quickly as she'd been trained rigorously to do over the last eight years, retaliated with a quick side-kick that slammed Robin against a nearby wall.

There was no cognition, just instinct as the Slayer attacked her boss at Sunnydale High and kept him at bay—while the Potentials either stared in shock, or continued to scream at the sight of Angel's vampire face.

While vaguely aware of Kennedy's pending attack on Angel, Buffy was more than sure that her boyfriend (former) could handle an inexperienced brat like Kennedy. So, she opted not to pay the angry Potential any mind and focus on the bigger threat—Robin.

"Listen," Buffy tried to reason with the black man calmly. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Robin, but I gotta tell you—you really don't want to do this!"

"Get out of my way, Buffy," Robin responded, his voice filled with a menacing kind of calm as he got up off the floor.

She responded in kind. "Sorry. Not gonna happen."

Almost immediately, Robin lashed out at Buffy, his stake slashing wildly in the air. Against a normal human, or even a vampire, Robin's attack would have had great chance for success. Against a Slayer, however, he was like a child having a temper tantrum in front of an unamused adult.

In a flash, Buffy caught Robin's wrist, squeezing it so hard that he dropped the stake down to the floor. With two hard, successive kicks to the abdomen, Buffy stunned the high school principal long enough to grab him by the shirt and shove Robin hard against the wall. And then, grabbing a large fistful of his clothes, lift him six inches off the ground in an impressive display of supernatural strength.

Oh, God… this is so notgonna do my chances for keeping my job any good at all, is it? Buffy sudden realized as Robin dangled helplessly in her grip...

...while Kennedy ran with all possible speed at Angel. But even at her top speed, to the much faster vampire in question, it was as if she was moving in slow motion.

There were seven, maybe eight different ways Angel counted offhand through which he could easily dispatch her, and at least three of them were lethal. Angel even mused briefly at how the young woman's lack of training showed in opting to meet a much taller and stronger opponent head-on, rather than initiating another projectile attack; very foolish.

Seeing no signs of her stopping as Kennedy barreled towards him, Angel had to stifle the urge to chuckle at how clumsy she looked compared to the more seasoned combatants he knew, like Buffy and Faith. Hell, even Cordy would have posed a more serious threat these days, after everything he'd taught her.

So, while Kennedy's confidence grew as she saw Angel standing there stiffly in the face of her imminent charge, she had no idea that she had already lost this battle.

"Dad..." Connor started to move forward, before Dawn's hand gripping his own drew the young man's gaze to hers…and communicating silently, the young man understood his girlfriend was telling him not to worry, that Angel would be fine.

Indeed, Angel merely waited until the last second…and then, with a move too swift to comprehend and too smooth to stop, he suddenly had Kennedy's arm pinned behind her back, twisting painfully so that she dropped the stake before he wrapped a powerful arm around her midriff and lifted her in the air.

As Kennedy thrashed in his grip, he twisted even harder on her arm, causing the girl to cry out in helpless pain. Still in vampire face, Angel growled, furious with her; the attack on him had been annoying enough, but the arrow from her carelessly fired crossbow would have hurt Buffy—perhaps worse—and for that, he would teach this upstart Slayer wannabe a lesson she would never forget…

"No, Angel, don't!" shouted a female voice…a voice that belonged to Willow.

The redhead's eyes had gone black, and the ensouled vampire turned to witness Willow warning him not to do anything that he would ultimately regret. "Just…don't. Okay?" the witch commanded more than asked.

Oz quickly moved to Willow's side, watching her with as much fascination as everyone else in the lobby - the Potentials, as well as Lorne, Whistler, Lindsey, Kate, Gunn, Fred, Giles, Connor, Dawn, Andrew and Anya. Ignoring a stirring of jealous longing, which came from knowing that the woman he still loved was so concerned over another, Oz couldn't help but to understand Willow's actions as well.

After all, if it was Willow in Kennedy's position, he'd feel the exact same way.

Thanks to Willow's look, and the faces of surprise and shock from his son, friends and allies, as well as the rest of the Potentials, Angel relented, forcing himself to calm down as he shifted his features back into his handsome, yet scowling human visage.

"Let go of me!" Kennedy shouted furiously, struggling futilely in Angel's grasp.

"Sure, and then you can try to kill me again?" Angel asked with a slight snort. "On second thought, pass."

Throwing a brief look over her shoulder to make sure that Angel was okay and Kennedy was taken care of, Buffy returned her hard, glaring gaze to Robin. "Just so you know, I've had a really bad night. Like, somewhere in the top five on my 'Worst Night Ever' list. And it's only because I owe you for the job you gave me six months ago…and that, up 'til now, you've been pretty cool…that I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you and Little Red Maniac Hood over there shouldn't have to eat through a straw for a month. So, my advice? Start talking."

"Angel," Robin snorted bitterly, as he was still being held fast against the wall. "You told us that that was his name, right? And yet according to my information, it's Angelus."

Buffy's face went slack in surprise, a small shiver crawling up her spine at the mention of her ex-lover's diabolical alter ego. Across from her, with Kennedy still firmly trapped in his grip, Angel's eyes widened in surprise as well.

The night before, while searching for Connor, Buffy had confessed to Angel that she had intentionally kept the truth about the undead detective's less-than-savory past a secret to part of her group; specifically Robin, Andrew, and the Potentials.

Aside from having very little time for detailed explanations, it was largely because the Slayer knew that they just wouldn't be able to trust someone that was once the deadliest, most ruthless vampire on the planet, or tell the difference between the noble Angel and the cruel, vicious Angelus.

The good Lord knew how, despite fighting at her side for seven years, Xander still couldn't do it. And Buffy knew she could never trust Andrew with that kind of secret. That kid had a bigger mouth on him than Angelina Jolie, and his penchant for fanboy story-telling just totally got on her nerves.

Besides, bigger picture scenario in terms of the end of the world; so, Buffy had figured that the less they knew, the fewer questions and distractions she'd have to deal with.

While Angel had disagreed with her rationale—knowing all too well from a century of experience how people reacted to that particular secret, once it inevitably came to light—he'd reluctantly agreed, if only to keep everyone on the same page while they dealt with this latest apocalyptic threat. 'Prioritize' was the name of the game at this point, after all. But he'd be a liar if Angel said that he hadn't seen this particular development coming.

Buffy swallowed, her strength ebbing. "How did you…?"

"Kennedy told me. Plus 'Vampyre: A Florigelium of the Undead, Volume 193'. That book contains information on all the members of the Order of Aurelius," Robin spat, his eyes filled with accusatory anger. "Teachers and books. Go figure."

Slowly, Buffy loosened her grip on Wood before she lowered him to the floor, the school principal batting her hands away brusquely as he created distance between them.

A heavy sigh escaped from Buffy's lips, knowing that things had gotten even more complicated. "Angel…let her go."

Not hesitating for a moment, Angel—already tired of Kennedy's annoying squirming and kicking—unceremoniously dropped the Potential to the floor, the young woman landing painfully on her tailbone.

As he caught sight of Kennedy's poisonous scowl, Angel, having had more than his fill of this girl for one night, issued her a cold warning. "Don't even think about it. I took it easy on you this time, for Willow's sake. But try that again, and I'll see to it that you won't be able to use that hand for a month. Maybe even longer."

Despite her indignant anger, the cold look in Angel's dark eyes gave Kennedy pause. In spite of her pride, deep down the Potential knew that Angel could have easily killed her just now. Fucking undead bastard...

Kennedy got up, and caught sight of Oz standing alongside Willow. Her fury only increasing at seeing the human mutt in such close proximity to her girlfriend, Kennedy was subsequently stunned to see Willow - whose eyes were now back to their normal color - glaring at her accusatorily. What the hell is that about?

Straightening his shirt in a huff, Wood likewise glared at Buffy. "You should have told me, Buffy. About your 'friend.' But instead, you lied to me—to all of us. Just like you did with Spike. For God's sake, did you really think that you could hide the truth from us forever?"

Well, that's what I was shooting for, yeah, was the thought that popped into Buffy's mind at first. Realizing that that response would not go over well, Buffy tried a more tactful approach. "Robin…look, I didn't lie to you; technically. I told you the truth..." She sighed. "Just…not all of it."

"Understatement much, oh Fearless Leader?" Kennedy snidely retorted, redirecting her anger towards Buffy. "Now, why don't you fill the rest of the girls in on everything you've conveniently left out until now? You know, how this guy…" she gestured disdainfully at Angel. "…this big hero you said would help us, was, in reality, not only a vampire—but the worst vampire ever? That he was actually Angelus, the Scourge of Europe? Not to mention the fact that you slept with him?"

While some of the Potentials had blank faces, as that name meant nothing to them, the more well-read of them recoiled even further and gasped in fright at hearing the name 'Angelus'.

Angel's heart fell as he saw the terror in the eyes of those girls. Those who didn't already fear what he was looked absolutely petrified now that they knew who he was…or rather, who he used to be. It was the same thing he'd had to deal with for more than a century after he was cursed, but it never got any easier…knowing that he may look like a man, but he could never fit into the human world.

Forever an outcast. Forever alone.

Buffy's temper was dangerously close to snapping; this was so not how she had planned to end this already horrible evening. Fighting to keep it together, she only offered Willow's girlfriend a terse, "You've got it all wrong, Kennedy. This isn't what you think it is—"

"Oh, so now you care about my opinions?" Kennedy was on a roll, and she had no intention of stopping. "You want to know what I think? I think you're a complete fraud! I mean, you lied to Annabelle and Chloe when you said you'd keep them alive, you lied to us about why we came here, and you lied to everyone except your inner circle about who this monster really is! So what else have you been lying to us about, huh?"

Buffy's vision was turning red, and she swore she could literally feel her blood boiling within her veins as she took in Kennedy's ranting and raving. The loss of Annabelle and Chloe, two young Potentials that she had tried to protect, still stung very much. Even though Buffy had learned long ago to accept that—for all her great power —she couldn't save everyone, it didn't make that kind of failure hurt any less.

And Kennedy's caustic reminder of those girls she failed to save was like having salt poured into a painful and bleeding wound.

"I mean, how can we sure that this chick's even who she says she is, any longer?" Kennedy directed her question to the Potentials. "How do we know that Buffy's not somehow connected to why the Potentials like us and their Watchers have been getting killed?"

She took several steps forward, pointing accusatorily at Buffy. "In fact, how can we be sure that she's not working with the First? How do we know that she didn't set up Annabelle and Chloe to get picked off—one on the streets with only her word for how it happened, and the other conveniently dying in her own house? And now, she's brought us here, to the hotel where the most evil vampire in history lives? How do we know that Buffy isn't planning to feed us all to her undead boyfriend as a way to get in good with the First, so that she can—"

But Kennedy's sentence was viciously cut off as the hard knuckles of Buffy's fist smashed brutally into the right side of the teenage girl's cheek, sending her staggering backwards before she fell to the floor, dazed and bloody-mouthed.

Buffy was practically shaking in rage as the others looked on in shock. To her credit, Kennedy, shaking off the cobwebs faster than expected, growled in anger as she stood up and prepared to launch herself at Buffy in an all-out attack…

… only to cry out in confusion as she suddenly rose up off the floor, dangling up in the air as a black-haired and black-eyed Willow gestured at her in an almost offhand manner. Kennedy saw what she was doing and demanded, "What the hell—?"

"Kennedy? You really need to shut up. Right now," Willow commanded forcefully.

"Damn it, Willow, what are you doing?" Kennedy yelled, as she rose higher and higher towards the ceiling before being turned upside down.

"What am I doing? What did you think you were doing? I told you to keep what I told you about Angel a secret!" Willow replied in a hollow, empty voice distorted by her magickal power. Her once-melodious voice was now a frightening, echoing howl. "I trusted you with one of my secrets, and this is what you did with it?"

The witch subsequently made a slashing motion, and Kennedy fell like a stone, her face smashing against the hard floor of the hotel lobby, and giving the young woman one hell of a bloody lip.

The gasps from both the white hats and Potentials could have sucked the air right out of the room.

Wide-eyed, the trembling Kennedy stared up at Willow; who was staring down at the girl with an expression that chilled even Angel's already cold blood. The last time he had seen that kind of look was on Buffy roughly three years ago; when he had, barely, defended an unstable Faith against her sister Slayer.

But unlike with Faith, he had no reason at all to step in this time. Kennedy had overstepped her bounds, in his mind, by accusing Buffy of being a liar; and worse, a murderer, even though the Potential likely knew how Buffy had risked life and limb to protect these girls.

Oz was stunned, his lycanthropic senses allowing him to actually feel the immense power and rage emanating off of Willow. He had heard the stories from Whistler about how powerful she had become - but up until now, he couldn't truly believe that his sweet, helpful Willow could be capable of such power. Or such rage.

Oz had no trouble believing it now, though.

"Willow," he said in his calm, steady voice. "Take it easy. Breathe…just relax. It's okay. It's okay."

It took her several moments before Willow's dark roots faded back into their natural fiery red color, the young witch sagging somewhat as Oz gently put his arm around her upper torso, allowing her to lean on him as he supported her.

Still shaken by how far she had nearly gone, Willow quietly mumbled, "Oh God…what did I…Oz, I almost…"

"Shh, take it easy, you're fine," Oz whispered quietly, comfortingly. "It's fine."

Lorne could see the anger rolling off Buffy's aura in waves, and he listened to her words being spat out, syllable by syllable. "Say that again, Kennedy, and I'll see to it that you'll never eat solid food for the rest of your days."

Turning her attention back to the Slayer, Kennedy spat out the blood in her mouth and wiped her lips clean. "What? You can't take the truth, Buffy?"

Her fists still balled at her sides, Buffy mentally counted backwards to rein in her temper. Using her fists wasn't going to win over the girls or Robin; using her brain, however, just might work in this case.

"A little tip, Kennedy—you're young. And very, very stupid," Buffy replied crisply. "So try not to make assumptions on what you think you know, compared to what I actually know. It's that kind of game plan that's going to get you put in the morgue. Or get the crap kicked out of you, whichever."

Turning to address the Potentials and Robin, she began to plead her case. "Look…yes, it's true. I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you. All of you. All I can say in my defense is that I didn't have time for detailed explanations, and I had my reasons for doing what I did. I meant well with them, but that doesn't make what I did any less wrong. I should have been more honest with you. I wasn't, and I apologize for it."

Taking a deep breath, Buffy continued, "As you saw, Angel is a vampire. And judging from those of you who've read that Slayer handbook that someone decided would be of no use in my case…" She turned to throw a small smirk at Giles, who had the good grace to flush in embarrassment.

"…obviously, you know the stories about who Angel used to be. And the fact is… they're all true. He was Angelus. Key word here, being was. Past tense. The man you see here now is not the Scourge of Europe. He has a soul. Like Spike does."

"And that's supposed to make us trust him?" Kennedy demanded, feeling the tide of public opinion beginning to turn from the looks on the SiTs' faces.

"No, what should make you trust him is the fact that, even though you tried to kill him, Angel didn't hurt you…simply because Willow asked him not to," Buffy said with a straight face, even if she privately relished the look on the bleeding brunette's face. "He feels the weight of all of Angelus's crimes every day, and it haunts him in ways that I hope none of you will ever have to understand. And I know this, because I've seen it. I've seen his remorse and his torment over what Angelus did, being forced to remember it all as if he did it himself. But more importantly than that, I've seen his struggle to atone, and make amends for what his demon did. Angel's saved more lives in the last eight years than you could imagine. Even if you trust nothing else I ever say to you, trust me when I say this—he's on our side."

"It's true," Angel interjected at this point. He offered the Potentials an apologetic look. "I've done things that I'll never be able to apologize enough for. Terrible things. Things that would give all of you just cause to hate me. But I was different then, and I...look, I don't know any of you, and none of you know me. But I promise you this…if I have to, I'll lay down my life for any one of you if it means keeping you alive."

Buffy threw him a grateful look, her heart practically melting as she took in his soft-spoken, heroic words. It was at that moment that she realized how foolish she was in thinking that any of the men who came after Angel could ever compare to him. Shaking off that thought, Buffy returned to the issue at hand as she talked to the Potentials. "Believe me, if I thought Angel would harm any of you—"

"I have a question. What about those vampires he, or Angelus, or whatever you want to call him, sired?" Robin cut in coldly. "Where do they fit into this 'champion of the people' thing you're trying to sell us?"

Buffy paled as she realized what her boss was talking about, while Angel could only stare in confusion. Angelus had sired only a handful of vampires in his time, and most of them were dead now—Margaret Landry, Sarah Holtz, and Penn, among them. But Drusilla…was still alive...

"Robin, wait…" Buffy pleaded to no avail.

"No, I think your 'friend' needs to hear this," Robin icily cut her off, his eyes smoldering with a toxic loathing as he sized up Angel. "He needs to hear all about how my mother, a Slayer…someone who was a real hero…someone who gave her life, every waking second of her existence to protect others— how she ended up dead in a New York subway car twenty-six years ago."

In his mind Robin could still see the evil smile on Spike's wet face in that rainy Central Park bike path as he pummeled his mother, the brave young fighter desperately trying to keep him at bay. "Do you know what I'm talking about, vampire?"

As the detective took in the man's last name—Wood—his race, and the tale of his mother's demise, recognition, and a growing sense of dread, slowly began to form on Angel's face. "Nikki Wood. I heard about her, decades ago. According to rumor, she was Spike's second Slayer kill," Angel frowned, ignoring the gasps from some of the Potentials.

"Yeah. My mother died because of the bleach-haired piece of garbage that your crazy Childe Drusilla created back in 1880." The anger in Robin's voice was palpable. "Your bastard grandson even kept her coat afterwards. Like it was a damn trophy or something!"

The surprise and regret that appeared on Angel's face was plain for all to see. While he'd been living on the streets after that horrific diner shooting had forced him to cut off ties with the human world, Angel had heard rumors here and there about how William the Bloody had bagged himself another Slayer during 1977. It had never occurred to him that whoever that young woman was, she could have had a family.

And now, standing here in front of him, was this angry man filled with bitterness and hate that the murder of a loved one would cause…because of Spike.

Because it was Angelus that had turned him onto the idea of hunting Slayers as a status symbol. Because it was his own offspring, Drusilla, that had created him. Because it was Angelus that had helped mold and groom an otherwise clumsy vampire named William into the vicious, remorseless, animalistic killer that was Spike-slash-William the Bloody.

Another life I helped to destroy, Angel thought, as guilt flooded him. It seems like every time the tab for my sins comes, others end up paying the price.

The vampire struggled for the words as his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "I didn't know, I…God, I…I'm so sorry…"

"Don't you apologize to me," Robin shot back, his voice nearly choked with emotion. "That won't bring her back. And it won't change the fact that Spike got away with her murder, thanks to Buffy saying she'd let him kill me if I ever tried to stake him again. My mother's dead because of what you started, vampire. What you and your demented offspring helped create."

"Robin," Buffy interrupted, her voice a little more angry than she had intended, the petite blonde torn between being sympathetic to Robin's loss and defending both Angel and her actions. She couldn't help noticing some of the Potentials, who had barely begun to relax, were now looking at her with combined fear and anger. Damn it, I don't need this right now...

"Look, I told you before, I understand your pain. I know from personal experience what it's like to lose your mother. It's a wound that never really heals…but that's all in the past now.

"Look, we just had us a visit from a different branch of Team Evil, and apparently our problems are a lot worse than we ever dreamed. End-of-the-entire-universe worse," Buffy's voice hardened in resolve. "And while I'm sorry about what you're going through, you have to understand this—if you make another move on Angel or Spike or any of my allies, they won't kill you. Because I will. Without hesitation. This isn't about grudges or revenge. It's about saving these girls, and saving the world. Saving…everything."

"The mission is what matters," Robin parroted Buffy's words back from when she'd found him, after his attempt to dust Spike in that garage. "Nice speech. But you withheld information that I had a right to know—that we all had a right to know—before you dragged us here to this damned hotel."

A beat. "You lied to us. To me. You used your own agenda as an excuse to pull the wool over my eyes. And you want to protect your vampire lovers so much, that you're actually willing to murder me now? You're a disgrace to every Slayer that's come before you, and the two who came after you. All of your predecessors would spit on you, Buffy, if they were here right now. Including and especially my mother."

Robin felt used at this moment. He could understand how, from Buffy's point of view, he would make a useful ally. He could fight, and fight well. He had connections, and access to large-scale transportation. He could offer her a day job so that she could pay the bills, and be able to do her real job after hours. His experience with a Slayer mom and a Watcher foster father was invaluable, given the current situation where training the Potentials was needed.

But it was for exactly those reasons that he'd expected Buffy to be honest with him, not to lie to him—and certainly not to make death threats against him.

Buffy's eyes briefly widened, not expecting to hear that sort of vitriol hurled her way. Even though, deep down, she suspected that she had definitely screwed up where Robin was concerned.

Because she had lied to someone who was supposed to be an ally, lied by omission if nothing else. And while strategically her decision was almost certainly the correct one, given the current multiverse-ending situation…in the moral batter's box, Buffy knew she was coming up with the big goose egg.

Having had enough, Wood let out a disgusted snort as he headed for the hotel's main doors. "I'm outta here."

"Robin, wait!" Buffy called out as she reached him at the doorsteps. "Look, you're pissed, and I'll admit you have a right to be. I'm sorry…and I'll keep you in the loop on everything from hereon out, I promise. But, like I said, the First is planning something even bigger than we ever imagined, and we need all the help we can get. These girls need you." She gestured back to the young and confused Potentials. "We need you."

While Buffy's words were enough to give him some pause, ultimately, Robin ended up shaking his head. "I'm heading back to Sunnydale. I still have a job to do at the high school…but you don't. Consider yourself officially fired. Have Mr. Giles or that other Slayer, Faith, contact me for anything related to the apocalypse—but quite honestly, Buffy, I don't ever want to see your face again. Because if I do, don't be too sure which of us is going to end up dead."

"Robin, damn it, just hold on a second—!"

But Buffy's plea fell on deaf ears, as the door swung open and Wood stalked out into the rainy night.

"Well, this is interesting," Kennedy sneered at the Chosen One. "I gotta ask, Buffy— how's it feel becoming unemployed, just like that?"

"Kennedy?" Willow spoke up way too calmly; in spite of her struggle to control her anger, it wasn't hard to guess what she was thinking right now. "Do me a favor and shut up."

"Or else what?" the Potential Slayer demanded belligerently, despite knowing that their relationship, if not officially over, was now on serious life support.

"Or else, I will personally throw you out of my house and onto the streets," Angel told her coldly. "The First's Bringers are probably out there, right now, looking for every Potential they can find in order to kill them. So, tell me…just how long do you think you could survive out there, alone?"

Kennedy glared impotently at him, before stalking off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Wow," Andrew breathed in semi-awe. This would make for such an amazing comic book storyline...

"That is one angry young woman," Anya shook her head. "You people should watch out that she doesn't get a visit from one of my old colleagues in the vengeance demon business!"

"Not the time," Oz shook his head as he glanced at Willow. "Willow…are you—"

"Fine," the redhead muttered, shaking her head as she took in another deep breath. Managing a shaky smile, she returned her gaze to the werewolf rocker. "Sorry you had to see that. Y'know, with the black hair and the magickal crankiness…"

"Well, hey, fair trade," Oz quipped with a small smile. "At least you didn't try to eat me after you changed…something I'm definitely guilty of."

The pair exchanged a small chuckle as a wave of high school nostalgia swept over them.

But their brief amusement was short-lived as they took in the sight of a stressed, tired and now-unemployed Buffy slumping against a nearby floor column. The Slayer had been having a miserable night, and it seemed to be getting worse by the second.

"Well, this top five night is starting to inch up a few slots on the 'Worst Night Ever' list," the Chosen One dejectedly mused.

Angel felt yet another rush of guilt flood him as he saw the woman he loved in such desperate straits. Because of him. Again. Even if he hadn't been directly responsible for what had happened to Robin's mother, he was still feeling the burden of her death, Robin's grief and Buffy's resulting stress on his soul.

It was yet another cross he had to bear. Yet another time he had managed to hurt the people closest to him, simply because he was who he was.

Slowly crossing towards her until he was at her side, Angel offered her a stare filled with apologetic penance. "This…this is all my fault. Buffy, about Spike—"

"Angel, please…don't," she interrupted him, which almost made the Champion shrink into himself at the thought that she was angry with him, until he saw a small half-smile on Buffy's face. "Don't try to shoulder the load on this one, Atlas. My lie, my screw-up, my fault. End of story."

Still, Angel pursed his lips as he could not shake the feeling of responsibility for the current outcome. After all, he and Drusilla were responsible for Spike and everything he'd done. "I just wish I could do something to make this better."

"You're here," she smiled at him. "See? Already getting better."

The small, somewhat guilty but still tender smile that Angel was giving her was short-lived as a concerned Giles crossed the threshold and spoke.

"Buffy, could I talk to you and Angel…alone?" Giles asked. "The fact is, we've just lost a valuable ally; and we need to decide what to do, concerning Mr. Wood."

Nodding slowly, Buffy and her ex-boyfriend accompanied the British man to the vampire's private office, closing the door behind them…

…just as a soaked and bedraggled-looking Cordelia helped the limping Xander enter the hotel.

Willow took in the appearance of her two old classmates in concern. "Xander? Cordy? You guys okay?"

Looking over at the solemn, mascara-streaked face of Cordelia, Xander forced a smile upon his face as he addressed his best friend. "Uh, I think we're getting there," he offered guardedly, after which Harris could feel Cordy's grip on his waist tighten slightly. They had already agreed not to mention her half-hearted attempt at suicide to anyone else, at least not for the moment.

As she caught sight of the Seer's arm around her ex's torso, Anya's lips tightened as jealousy ripped through her like a speeding bullet. With a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, the centuries-old woman immediately stamped upstairs in a huff, snapping, "Get the hell out of my way!" as she brushed past the Potentials.

Gunn frowned in confusion. "What's her problem?"

"Anya's problem? You got a few hours to kill?" Willow smirked, which earned small chuckles from Dawn, Oz and Fred…although, expectedly, Connor was left to wonder in puzzlement at what was so funny.

"I, uh, excuse me..." Andrew stammered, before he chased after Xander's ex upon seeing that no one else was planning to do so.

Between his tending to a still-shaken and possibly suicidal Cordelia, and witnessing a visibly furious and seething Anya depart so abruptly, Xander inwardly grimaced as he realized that this uncomfortable situation between him, Anya and Cordy was rapidly reaching new levels of ridiculous awkwardness. Damn it, I don't need this right now-!

Getting caught in the middle between his ex-girlfriend and his ex-fiancée was the last place he had expected to be when he arrived in LA. And while there was once a time when Xander had dreamed about being the prize in a competition fought by two incredibly hot girls, the unexpected fulfillment of that particular fantasy was bringing him anything but satisfaction right now.

Suddenly, the doors of the Hyperion swung open again as a wet Spike stepped in through into the hotel, a similarly drenched Faith walking about a half-step behind him.

"Hey," Faith greeted the white hats neutrally. She wasn't exactly perfectly happy, as the last part of her date with Spike was definitely on the suckish side, but the race back to the hotel—which she'd won by a nose, to Spike's dismay and her delight—and Spike's close company had made up for much of it.

"Top of the early morning, all," Spike drawled.

"Hello, Spike. So nice of you to show up, just in the nick of 'too late'," Xander sniped.

The peroxide-blonde vampire rolled his eyes, even as he noticed the Seer holding onto Harris a mite too tightly just to keep him from falling down. "Don't start with me, Peg Leg Pete. Not in the mood for your bloody prattle."

"Where the hell have you guys been?" Willow demanded, annoyed. "Faith, Wes sent you a text and everything, like, ages ago!"

Spike and Faith exchanged serious glances before the vampire returned his glance to the witch. "Got here as quick as we could, Red, but thing is - we had ourselves a little problem. Of the eyeless, slashy, kill-you-dead evil minion variety."

Oz frowned in realization. "Bringers?"

Faith touched her nose. "Bingo. And they brought a friend. Looks like Spike's undead ex-squeeze is back in town."

The remaining Scoobies exchanged puzzled glances. "Harmony?" ventured Dawn.

Spike shook his head. "Not quite, Nibblet. Think older, darker hair, a few hundred ticks more crazier."

It took a moment before the words registered in a shocked Willow's face. "Drusilla?"

Faith nodded, with a slow sigh. "Yup. Decked out like some kind of Morticia Addams knock-off. Skankarella and the Seeing-Eye Dog Squad damn near killed me, too." With a grateful, although somewhat reluctant smile, she eyed her date. "Fortunately, Spike had my back."

The corner of Spike's mouth turned upwards in mirth. "You're welcome, luv."

The shocking news was still reverberating among the group, even the Potentials who were now whispering and muttering amongst themselves. The more literate among them passing the information along to the less informed of their number, which resulted in quite a few panicked-looking SiTs.

"Drusilla's back?" Cordelia uttered, stunned.

"Damn. That crazy chick's here?" Gunn added to the growing sense of confusion and dread.

Fred was confused. "Wait, you mean Drusilla, the vampire that Angel sired when he was..."

"A soulless, evil bastard? That's the one," Xander shook his head in dismay. "Great. Just what we needed; Angel's evil whackjob love child showing up. Child with an 'e', that is."

"Dru's back? And on the First's side, to boot? Well, this night just keeps getting better and better," Lindsey muttered, recalling his meetings with Drusilla two years ago.

Oz frowned. "Sounds like you know her."

Lindsey nodded. "I once had the pleasure of her making me fear for my life, in a wine cellar-slash-slaughterhouse. Lilah and I were the only survivors."

Kate shivered slightly as she recalled the crime scene photos of Darla and Drusilla's night of terror inside Holland Manners' estate. She had seen some pretty grizzly stuff in her time; but even she, a seasoned LAPD detective, had been unprepared for the brutality and gore that those pictures had showcased.

Willow shook her head. "Oh, this is bad. Very, very bad."

Spike shrugged, trying to make light of the situation, despite the fact that Dru's sudden appearance had thrown him for a loop as well. Of all the apocalypses in all the towns in all the world, she just had to walk into his. "Look, I know it looks bad, but it's hardly time to hide the kiddies and stash away the good silverware. So, Dru's back; I say, big deal. Just one more stone to toss on the pile."

"Don't be too sure," Fred sighed, tiredly. "You weren't here just now, when we got a late night visit from Lilah."

The name didn't ring any bells with Spike, but for Faith, it rang one huge gong. "Lilah? Lilah Morgan? What're you talking about, Fred? That bitch is dead, you guys told me that the last time I was here!"

"Well, apparently, they don't kill 'em like they used to anymore," Cordelia absently muttered, Lilah's pitiless taunts still reverberating in her head.

Taking pity on the new arrivals, Willow quickly filled Spike and Faith in on the rest of the details. The return of the Beast, Jasmine's departure, and how the First's true goal was to eradicate the entire multiverse within three weeks. And, as an afterthought, she added in Robin and Kennedy's failed attack on Angel before the high school principal had left the hotel in a rage.

Good riddance, was Spike's first thought concerning the last part. While he had felt some remorse over Nikki's death since his soul was restored, quite honestly, it had been Slayer against vampire in a fair fight to the death back then—and, ever a warrior, Spike wasn't the type to regret that he'd won against an enemy that would have killed him without hesitation, if she'd gotten the chance. Plus, Wood had gotten on his nerves lately; Spike hadn't forgotten how he'd ambushed him inside that garage two weeks ago, so quite frankly, he was glad to see the git go.

Spike also couldn't help but to notice how Faith had tensed at the mention of the Beast. In the earlier part of their date, she had told him that particular tale of when the rocky juggernaut had nearly beaten her to death weeks ago, before Angelus had stepped in with an unwitting save.

But the rest of the news was equally disturbing.

"Cor blimey," Spike muttered, stunned as he mulled over the other, universe-ending implications. "A bloke can't even step out for a beer around 'ere without everything going to hell straightaway."

"Erase all of existence?" Cordelia blurted in wide-eyed surprise. "The First can really do that?"

"Lilah seems to think so," Kate shook her head.

"And unless we find a way to stop it, everyone everywhere has only got three weeks left to live," Connor grimly added.

"Well, at least ol' Firsty doesn't discriminate," Xander quipped half-heartedly. "Not just one world, but all worlds. Sharing in one big, fiery doom. MLK would be proud."

Faith snorted. "Thanks for the analogy, Ghandi. Of course, it doesn't answer the one burning question—how the hell do we stop it?"

"Well, we do have one thing in our favor," Dawn piqued up. "The bitchy Lawyer Lady gave us some shiny crystal doohickie called the Keystone. Said it's supposed to open up this Eye of Creation, when the big moment comes."

"Got it right here," Lorne said as he upheld the metal suitcase that Lilah had left. "Got to say, for something that's supposed to end the world in a flaming flash of death and mayhem…it's kinda pretty."

Xander limped over with Cordelia's help to have a look at the Keystone, as Lorne opened up the metal suitcase for them to peruse it. The injured young man heard an almost-inaudible intake of breath from his ex-girlfriend, as Cordy held the Keystone in her hands with an odd expression on her face. Wonder what that's about?

Gunn yawned at that moment, the long night starting to take its toll on him. "Hate to break up a debriefing, but can we go over this again in the morning? Pretty sure the world's still gonna be in danger by the time breakfast rolls around."

Oz rolled his sore shoulders. "I am a little on the sleepy side myself."

He looked to Willow. "I'm gonna escort the girls back upstairs. If you wanna talk after…"

Willow smiled, but shook her head. "Kinda tired for chatting. And I've got a lot to think about, especially what just happened with Kennedy. But…in the morning?"

The werewolf nodded in understanding, giving her a soft smile in return. "No prob, Will."

With that, Oz began to shepherd all the Potentials back up to their rooms, Willow's eyes fixed upon him as he ascended the stairs.

"What a mess," Whistler shook his head as the frightened and confused teenage girls followed the werewolf numbly. "I'm outta here, kids; got to check with the Conduit, see if the Powers have any new orders for me. I'll see you in the morning!"

The balance demon left through the front doors, after which Lorne offered, "Might I also suggest we all adjourn for the night? Boys and girls, it's been a long day…yawn…and I for one could do with some shut-eye!"

Dawn yawned, nodding. "What he said." She gave her boyfriend an intense hug and a quick kiss, before heading upstairs to her assigned room, Lorne following not too far behind after surrendering the Keystone into Cordelia's care.

His hormones surging, Connor barely resisted the urge to follow her and drag Dawn into his own room for the night; instead, he headed down to the basement, to check the cage that had been constructed to hold Angelus. He didn't know for sure, but after what had happened with Kennedy, the Miracle Child thought it might be needed again soon...

Gunn and Fred stared at one another uncomfortably. "Well...good night," the brunette woman said, unable to meet Gunn's stare.

"Night, Fred. See you in the morning," the black man muttered, staring at her for one long, painful moment before the former couple went their separate ways to sleep.

Kate just shook her head as soon as she saw Lindsey staring longingly at the place where Darla had disappeared, after she'd gone chasing after Wesley. Jesus, I really have wandered into the middle of a freaking soap opera...

"Come on, Lawyer Boy. You can start obsessing about the woman of your dreams again first thing in the morning," Kate said contemptuously, yanking Lindsey along with her up to the second floor of the Hyperion.

Deciding that she may as well turn in herself, Willow was about to head upstairs when she stopped short and turned to Spike, somewhat concerned. I have to warn him, after everything that's happened tonight...

"Uh, Spike, do me a favor?" the witch asked. "If you can, could you…sorta avoid bumping into Angel anytime soon?"

Spike was caught offguard by Willow's unexpected request. "Well, it's not like I was plannin' to get all chummy with Captain Forehead anyway, Red—but mind if I ask why you want me to head the other way if I see 'im?"

"Some stuff came up tonight during the whole Robin thing, and…well, I just think it might be a good idea for you to be somewhere tonight that's, y'know, not near him," Willow explained.

"Might I once again suggest the scenic isle of Timbuktu?" Xander snarked.

Spike just shook his head. "Timbuktu's an in-land town in Africa, you blood dunce. I knew you were dense, but just how bloody stupid are you, Harris?"

"Okay, stop it!" Willow interrupted their pending insult-fest; she'd already had more than her fill of that crap for tonight. "Xander, get Cordy to take you upstairs, you still shouldn't be up and around. Spike, just stay away from Angel until the morning, and Faith? Could ya make sure everyone goes to bed, already? Spike, Xander, you two can rip each other's heads off after breakfast tomorrow for all I care, but tonight - just get some sleep!"

Surprised by the redhead's outburst, Spike and Xander reluctantly backed off. Both had learned by now not to mess with a cranky Willow.

"Xander?" Cordelia said his name softly. "Wanna go upstairs now?"

Taking note of the brunette's tired and vulnerable expression, Xander's face softened as he nodded silently. Harris subsequently allowed himself to lean on her as they slowly trudged up the stairs, the Seer holding the suitcase which contained the Keystone in her other hand.

Willow turned back to Spike, a serious expression on his face. "I'm serious, Spike. I want your word that you'll keep away from Angel until tomorrow. Okay?"

A bored, breathless sigh was Spike's response. "Fine, Red, I'll keep my distance from that lumbering oaf. Got better things to do, anyway."

"Good," she sighed in relief. Willow then paused for a moment. "Oh, and if Kennedy shows up asking about me? Tell her that I'm sleeping alone tonight. And that it's none of her damn business where."

With that, she finally walked up the stairs and out of sight…leaving Spike and Faith alone.

"Well, bugger me. Hell of a night, eh?" Spike asked in sardonic amusement.

"No kidding," Faith snorted. "TV writers couldn't come up with this kind of stuff."

"Well, in all fairness, they try," Spike replied with a grin. "Passions has some pretty decent storylines." Off Faith's raised eyebrow, he quickly amended. "Er, uh, so I heard…not that I'd ever be caught dead watching that crap! Well, deader than I am now, anyway."

Faith chuckled for a moment, before her expression became more serious. "Um, seriously…I, uh, just wanted to say thanks again, for, y'know, that whole thing with Drusilla back there. You really did save my ass, Spike."

Spike shrugged it off, offering a smile. "Well, you kinda bailed me out when Dru had me by the throat. So, I reckon we can call it a fair trade."

"Right," Faith nodded, hesitantly. "Well, um…thanks again for tonight. I…I, uh, had fun, at least most of the time, so…"

"Yeah," Spike agreed, somewhat clumsily. "Me, too. Fun…fun's good. Well, apart from the having to fight for our lives near the end."

Faith smirked. "Are you kidding? That was the highlight of the night, for me!"

A smooth smile appeared on Spike's face. "Then you obviously need to see yourself dancing."

Her smile was smoldering. "You weren't too bad yourself, Blue Eyes. Damn, next time, warn a girl before you get down like that!"

His smile grew wider as he drew closer to Faith. "So…is that an invite for another date, then?"

Faith's smile slightly faded, as she put a hand to his chest and gently held him at bay. "Tempting…but I think I'll have to say 'thanks, but no thanks' on that one. For now, at least."

Spike frowned. "But I thought you said you had fun, luv. And in theory, if ya had fun the first time, the sequel should be a hoot."

"Sure, it was fun…right up until you mentioned B's name. Y'know, when you started on about your big majestic love for her," Faith shrugged, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice.

To his chagrin, Spike found that he really had no comeback for that.

Taking his silence as an unspoken admission that she was correct, a disappointed Faith continued, "Look, Spike. I…I like you, okay? I like you a lot. But I'm not into sloppy seconds, and I'm done with settling for second best. You say you want to go out with me again, and yet half an hour ago, it was B who was on your mind? Dude, I'm just not into that shit; no self-respecting girl is. So, you've got a decision to make—you want to keep pining after Buffy, or do you want to give 'us' a chance?"

A frustrated pseudo-exhalation escaped Spike's lips. He hadn't meant for things to get this bloody complicated! And he hadn't expected to have to make such a huge decision so quickly, either. Yet, to his everlasting chagrin, here he was. How did I get meself into this mess?

For so long, all he could see was Buffy. He had changed everything that made him who he was, at the expense of his pride and his heart, all for her. Only for her. She was the sun around which his world had revolved, for nearly three years; and while Spike had never really thought he had a serious chance with her, even before the rape attempt, there was always the glimmer of hope that one day, somehow, Buffy would admit that she was his...and over the past six months since he won his soul back, that hope had been growing stronger and stronger after the Slayer had rescued him from that Turok-Han, and had even consented to holding his hand in public.

And yet, at the same time, Spike could not deny that whatever was going on between him and Faith…it was powerful. Palpable. Sensual. Electric. Real. And it was impossible to ignore any longer…

"C'mon, luv, do you actually expect me to choose between you right now?" Spike demanded incredulously.

Faith shook her head. "No. But I do expect you to think about it. Give me a serious answer…soon. And hey, if you decide you still want Buffy, no harm, no foul; far as I'm concerned, we'll still be cool."

The dark-haired Slayer paused, trying to find the right words; it wasn't every day that she put herself out there like this. So vulnerable, so open to the familiar sting of rejection that she had fought to shield herself from all these years. "But if you decide to take a chance…and you don't mind putting up with someone who's a little on the emotionally damaged side, eats like a horse, has a major attitude problem, but promises that she'll never give you a dull moment…and that there's no one else she'll ever have eyes for…"

Slowly, tentatively, Faith reached up and gently squeezed his right bicep, trailing the grip of her fingers down the smooth sleeves of his black leather duster. And even though he couldn't technically feel her touch, Spike would be damned if he denied that he could literally feel the electricity of her touch making the hairs on his arm stand at attention.

"…then I won't be too hard to find," Faith finished up with a small smile. "Just look for the hot brunette with the leather pants and the nice right cross that loves property damage."

With that simple declaration, the Slayer turned around and walked up the stairs - leaving Spike dumbfounded, enraptured, frustrated, thrilled and confused at the same time.

Bloody, sodding, shitty hell! Spike knew that he now had one heck of a decision to make, and these were questions that were not going to go away. Sooner or later, he would have to give Faith an answer; and most likely sooner rather than later.

But how could he be expected to choose so quickly on something so hard? Buffy was the one he'd wanted for so long, but could he truly compete with Angel and the steep, angst-rich history those two shared, that Anne Rice forbidden romance crap that bound them together? Spike was pretty sure he could, given how those two lived in two different cities now and the memories could sustain you for only so long, before you had to wake up and face reality. Or, at least, that's what he was banking on…

But if he did choose his golden-haired goddess, could he really live with himself if he let Faith slip away? Never knowing what might have been, if he had just given her - given them - a chance? Could Faith possibly be the one that would truly love him for who and what he was…without his Grandsire's ghost constantly between them...the one that could make him happy?

A frustrated hand ran through his peroxide-blonde locks as Spike stalked into the kitchen. Bleeding heck, where's a fight to the death when you really need one? At least there, the only heartache I'd have to worry about would come from a chest wound

Popping into the kitchen as he swiftly grabbed a beer to chug down on the way up to bed, Spike almost missed a sulking and angry Kennedy, standing in the corner of the kitchen as she held a paper towel to her still-bleeding lip.

As he cracked open the Heineken beer can, the ensouled vampire couldn't help but to smirk at the bloody-lipped Potential, as Kennedy had been his least favorite of the Slayer wannabes. She's got a mouth on her, that one...one that looks like it's been smacked around a bit tonight...

"So what happened to you, Fiesty? You look a right mess, you do," Spike said disdainfully, before turning around and leaving; failing to see the angry middle finger salute that a livid Kennedy responded with.


Hyperion Hotel - Angel's private office

A few moments previously


As Slayer, Watcher and Vampire-With-A-Soul, version 1.0, stood around within Angel's office, the mood was thick with discomfort.

Giles was still processing the unfathomable size to which this apocalypse had grown, while Buffy was reeling from the fact that she was once again out of a job, and Angel was still brooding over both his limited connection to Nikki Wood's decades-old murder and the role he'd inadvertently played in having Buffy fired.

"I…I must say, this situation has gotten out of control in - something of a hurry," Giles mused, cleaning his glasses. "Even more so than usual."

A wry smile made its way to Buffy's lips. "And the 'Understatement of the Year' award goes to…"

The British man merely rolled his eyes, having long become accustomed to Buffy's sarcasm over the better part of a decade. "Be that as it may…our list of allies is starting to grow thin. And given the situation, the loss of Mr. Wood's help - someone with past experience and knowledge of the Slayer-Watcher dynamic needed in training the girls - is only going to make things that much harder for us."

The blonde Slayer sighed heavily, taking in Giles's assessment. I should have seen this coming... Frankly, in hindsight Buffy was surprised that Robin had stuck around after the whole garage attack thing with Spike; everyone had a breaking point.

For Robin, Angel was that breaking point. Or else Buffy's threat to kill him, if he ever attacked either Spike or Angel again.

"You're right," Angel finally spoke up, his brow creased in thought. "But between you and Wes, Giles, we've still got enough sources of Council knowledge to be able to bring the Potentials up to speed. And with Faith here, that gives them another Slayer to learn from, aside from Buffy. Plus, Gunn and Connor are pretty good fighters; I'm sure they could pick up any slack, teach those girls a few pointers."

Buffy, silently weighing Angel's suggestions, suddenly felt a little less stressed. This was where the advantages of superhero team-ups came in handy; strength in numbers. If they were still in Sunnydale, they would have been pretty much screwed with Robin's sudden withdrawal from the group; but here, there was some extra talent available.

Buffy had already been feeling the grind and stress of playing trainer to the girls while trying to figure out how to stop the First's rampage, before they'd arrived in LA. Fortunately, Angel and his crew could provide much-needed help in spades on a myriad of levels.

"Plus," Buffy added brightly to the ensouled vampire, "there's always you. I mean, training with you helped me develop, like, gangbusters way back when. And if we're gonna train those girls to be ready to become Slayers, who better to help teach 'em a thing or two than the most badass formerly evil vampire on the planet?"

Despite a small swell of pride at Buffy's compliment, Angel could not take in the full pleasure of it. "Buffy...we'll have to work me in slowly. Judging by what the Potentials thought of me just now after they saw my real face, I don't think they'll be so much concentrating on training if I'm around, than they would be shaking in fear of their lives."

"They'll get used to you, they same way they did with Spike in Sunnydale," Buffy insisted. "They'll have to. The First is making its final move, so we don't have time to hold anybody by the hand anymore. We need them to get better now; and besides, once they get to know you -"

"They already know me…well, of me, anyway," the undead hero interrupted, looking down in shame.

Buffy quickly jumped to his defense. "No. No, Angel, they only know what they've read about you, not the real you."

The familiar shroud of guilt wrapped around Angel. "Yeah, well. Tell that to your ex-boss..."

Giles felt more than a little uncomfortable being present now; it was as if he was intruding on what was evolving into a private conversation. But be that as it may he, better than most, understood just how difficult it was to separate the man from the monster whenever it came to Angel.

After the nightmarish year that was 1998, learning how to forgive Angel had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. Giles had truly come to hate the demon wearing Angel's face both for gleefully torturing him for hours, and murdering his beloved Jenny. But he had eventually done so, mostly for Buffy's sake, but also because Giles had also known what it was like to have blood on his hands - after his actions had caused unintended consequences.

After all, it was he and Ethan who had introduced the idea of summoning Eyghon the Sleepwalker to their circle of friends back in the 1970s; and for that, Giles had taken full responsibility for the death of his friend Randall, as well as the others when Eyghon had begun to hunt them down decades later - ironically enough, only to be vanquished by Angel himself.

So, despite his own feelings on the matter, Rupert remained silent as he watched his Slayer and the souled vampire continue their discussion.

"Angel, c'mon - you can't blame yourself for what happened to Robin's mother," Buffy argued. "You weren't even the one who killed her! Spike was the vampire who did that."

"You think that matters? Or that it matters to Wood?" Angel countered matter-of-factly. "I don't have to have been the one to have killed her to be responsible for her death, even partly. She's dead because I created Drusilla, and she Sired Spike. Take me out of the equation, and both Spike and Dru would have been passed away decades before then…which means, his mother wouldn't have been killed that night."

"Or, she would have ended up getting killed by another vamp, anyway - and Robin would still hate you just for being what you are," Buffy replied frankly. "Us Slayers aren't exactly known for our long life spans, remember? I mean, look at me - 'Queen of the Dual Resurrection' talking, here."

Angel shook his head at her naïveté. As much as he loved that aspect of Buffy, he could not deny how that was always her biggest weakness; how she always saw nothing but the good in him, almost to a fault.

Yes, indeed. And as much as his beloved knew about his past, there were still so many horrible things that he was far too ashamed to tell her.

"But it wasn't any other vampire, Buffy - it was Spike," Angel pseudo-sighed. "You may think know what he's…what we're…really capable of. But I know the real truth - because I made him, after Dru turned him. I built Spike from the ground up, taught him just about everything he knows about the hunt. How to think, how to move, how to trap a victim, just the right way to break them before they die…there was a time we were as close as brothers; if only you knew all the terrible things we did together…"

Angel could not prevent the torrent of dark memories drenched in blood flash before his eyes, hear the screams from the victims of his and Spike's tandem hunts echoing in his ears. Crashing high society weddings in London and turning happy days into hideous, blood-caked nightmares. Raiding orphanages in Munich and snatching children into the bowels of the night, their young faces etched in terror as they disappeared forever.

Him and his 'grandson' laughing and bonding over ale, blood and the tears and screams for mercy of whatever fetching young lady they would pick out of a crowd to torture, rape and murder to round off their Wednesday night fun in Paris - while Darla and Drusilla were off doing the same elsewhere…

"...wasn't you, Angel. It was him…Angelus," Buffy's fervent voice brought him back to reality. "You - the real you - wouldn't do any of those things. I know, because I know you. You're nothing like Angelus! And you never will be."

"She's got a point, you know," Giles' voice surprised the both of them. His wisdom-filled green eyes met Angel's stunned brown-eyed gaze. "Angel…you and I have our own history, and we both know that, all things considered, it's not exactly a pleasant one."

Off Angel's guilt-ridden, downcast gaze, the Watcher continued, "However, I learned long ago that, that while there is a demon inside of you that's capable of terrible, apocalyptic things…I-I-I've also come to understand that there's also a man in there. And, over the years, as I've seen you risk life and limb to protect Buffy…who's the closest thing I have to a daughter…"

The corner of Rupert's mouth turned up as she could see Buffy's eyes begin to mist with tears at his words. Yes, all right, I admit it's true...

"…and sacrifice your own love for her to ensure her protection, as well as hearing of what you've done to protect the innocents h-here in this city…I, I've come to respect that man. Plus, for reasons that go beyond what I can understand, the Powers chose you to fight as their Champion. Now, I-I can't predict the future, but I know this…if we're going to win this war, then we'll need you at your best. No doubts, no, um, second-guessing yourself. In war time, one does what one must; a-a-and know that, whatever else has come before, I'm glad to have you on our side."

The smile that appeared on Angel's face was reluctant but genuine. He had always respected Giles, and to have his endorsement, despite their past history, meant the world to him. "Thank you, Giles. You…have no idea what that means to me."

"Yes…well," Giles began, only to be cut off when Buffy quickly launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a big hug.

While briefly surprised - especially with the way the Slayer had cut him out of her life, after that failed attempt to distract her while Wood was dealing with Spike - Giles quickly returned Buffy's hug with one of his own, tenderly embracing the young woman that he had come to care for more than he could have ever thought possible. Good Lord, but it's been a while...

While Quentin Travers and the Council had understood what sort of bond developed between field Watchers and their Slayers, they had expressly forbidden it, and once fired Giles because of it; they preferred for their operatives to keep a cool head and not to get attached to a girl who was merely an instrument of war for a higher cause, in their eyes.

But then, Giles mused, none of them ever had to deal with a girl quite like Buffy Summers.

As she pulled back, Buffy stared up at the Englishman with a grateful spark in her blue-green eyes. "You're amazing; you know that, right?"

His own eyes felt watery for a moment, as Giles quickly stifled the urge to sigh…well, mostly. "As I've been trying to convey to you for some time, yes," he joked lightly.

As he gently extracted himself from her arms, Giles slowly put his glasses back on. "So that being said, I-I think I'll be turning in for the evening. There'll be much to do tomorrow, and, um, uh, I think we'd all be best served with a good night's rest. So I, I'd advise you to go to bed, Buffy. Good night, both of you."

With that, the former high school librarian made his exit from the room, leaving Angel and Buffy alone in his office.

"Maybe we should take his advice," Angel suggested, as he took in Buffy's tired appearance. "You look like you could use some rest."

Buffy frowned playfully. "I don't know whether to think that was really sweet, or slightly offensive."

"You look fine," Angel insisted, with a charming smile. "No, better than fine - beautiful. You always do."

As her knees became slightly wobbly, Buffy felt a smile of her own spread on her face. "Flatterer. I know that if I look into a mirror right now, I'll see someone who looks like she was on the bad end of a ninety-percent-off shoe sale on Rodeo Drive…but points for trying."

The tender moment between the former lovers was suddenly broken, as Buffy realized there was one crucial detail they still had to cover - Spike. "Angel…look, I know the last few days have been tense…but…about Spike. What you've learned just now concerning Robin - I need you to, you know, not kill him or anything for it, okay?"

The smile vanished from Angel's face, as he heard the name of his repulsive Grandchilde coming off of his sweet Buffy's lips.

Off his dark scowl, Buffy grimaced. "Oh, God. Why does that face not offer me any assurances that you'll do what I ask?"

"I still think he's dangerous, Buffy," Angel argued. "And if what you told me about the First using Spike as an unwitting pawn is true—"

"That's over now," Buffy said immediately, and forcefully. "That trigger-y thing-y was deactivated, long before we got here. He's clean."

The Champion snorted. "Spike's a lot of things, Buffy…but he'll never be clean, anymore than I will."

"Doesn't matter," Buffy replied with a definite hint of annoyance. "We still need him. Apart from you, me, Faith, and possibly even your son, Spike's the strongest warrior we have. And if the First is really planning to pour a big bottle of bleach over all of reality in three weeks, then we're going to need to throw everyone and everything we've got at it in order to survive. That's why I need you to keep it together, whenever you encounter him. Okay?"

Recalling what Buffy had confided in him about her twisted tryst with Spike - particularly the part where he had tried to rape her last year - Angel felt a wave of anger and jealousy rise within him that he found very difficult to repress. Does she really understand what she's asking me to do?

His eyes beheld Buffy for a moment, analysing her body language. "You sure that's your only reason for keeping him around? Not something else?"

Buffy, surprised and angry, beat back the urge to hit her former lover in the face for that remark. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, since the Angel I know would never make such a stupid schoolyard remark…something that's completely beneath him."

"I've gotten more progressive in the last few years; not even remotely mature," Angel wryly added, before he dropped the attitude upon seeing the quickly developing anger on Buffy's pretty face. "You're right…I'm sorry. That was out of line. It's just…"

The vampire balled his fists in frustration. "…after everything you've told me. Knowing what he did…what he tried to do to you…I'd want to tear apart anyone who did that. But knowing that it was him…how am I supposed to just sit back and let Spike simply walk around my home, with that damned smirk plastered all over his face, and not put my fist all the way through his skull?"

Relaxing for a moment, Buffy reached up and gently touched his face. "Because I'm asking you to. And because you're better than that.

"Look, that thing with me and Spike was…complicated." Off the jealous spark in his eyes, she hastily amended, "Just like I'm sure what's developed between you and Cordelia, is just as complicated! But Spike's different now. He has a soul, like you. And like you, he deserves a chance to show that he's changed. But even putting all that aside, we've now got one hell of a battle on our hands…and if what we had ever meant anything to you, trust me. Please, for me…just try to keep things peaceable between you two."

Damn it, was the first thought that entered Angel's mind as Buffy looked up at him with those perfect, expressive blue-green eyes of hers. Logically, he knew she was right; but every instinct blaring within Angel's mind wanted to seek Spike out and pound him into dust, rip him apart and hear his agonized screams fill the room like music. It's what he deserves; both for what he did to Buffy, and to Wood's mother.

But Angel could never deny Buffy anything, especially not when she looked at him like this…even after all these years, all it took was one look from those pretty eyes of hers, and he'd be ready to walk barefoot into hell for her.

Taking a long moment, Angel finally, and slowly, replied, "Things will never be peaceable between me and Spike, Buffy…but, if it means that much to you, I won't try to kill him."

Buffy sighed in relief, gently stroking his face. She knew that was the best concession she was going to get right now. "Thank you."

"I…I just think I need to be alone for a bit. As long as I can avoid looking at the guy right now, I think I'll be alright," Angel managed to say, alternating between controlling his rage at the thought of Spike and enjoying the sparks of pleasure arising from Buffy's soft touch. "I'll take a minute to see if I can make any more sense of whatever Jasmine plugged into my head, and then I'll head off to bed."

The smile Buffy gave him was soft, sweet and chaste. "Okay," she said, standing on her tip-toes and giving him a quick kiss on the lips…one much too brief for either of their preferences.

"Just don't work too late, Sherlock," Buffy smiled teasingly before she slowly walked out and closed the door behind her, leaving Angel in a semi-daze as he took in the enthralling traces of her vanilla scent…and in aggravation as he mulled over just how exactly he was going to last an entire three weeks under the same roof as Spike without dusting the follicle-fried idiot like he deserved.


Hyperion Hotel - Wesley's old room

Fifteen minutes earlier


As the rain poured down outside the window, falling in transparent, cascading rivulets, Wesley stared desolately outside into the dark landscape of the City of Angels. The City of Lonely Hearts.

Hearts made after his own broken one.

He took another swig from the flask of whiskey he had secreted here in the hotel room, long ago when he had belonged here. Not that he needed it - the days when he had taken comfort in finding the bottom of whatever drink he could get his hands on, after the Connor kidnapping debacle, had now passed. This time last year, in the depths of his self-loathing and despair, Wesley would have gladly welcomed the death that the bottle would have given him; so that he would be free of his loneliness. His pain.

But these days, Wes had preferred to keep his head clear and sober. He'd needed his wits about him while running his own demon hunting operations. Just like now, with the fate of all the worlds out there hanging in the balance. His help was needed to avert Armageddon.

Or, at least, that was what Wesley had convinced himself was true. And that knowledge was all that stood between him and the edge of the abyss.

Unfortunately that purpose, that function that drove him to shove his inner demons back into their box and focus on the task at hand, to focus on saving lives…was now hanging on by a thread. After all, it wasn't all in one night that all of his failures, all of his demons, had all been gathered together in one room at the same time.

Connor, full of angst and rage, his childhood lost to Holtz and Sahjhan's manipulations, because of his grievous faith in a false prophecy.

His former friends carrying on, living, loving, caring for one another…without him in their lives. Cast away as a traitor, an unwanted pariah among the only people whose opinion ever mattered to him.

And the final, icy kiss of death…her.

Lilah.

As if on cue, a song on the radio Wes had almost forgotten he'd turned on began blaring out a familiar tune; one of Lilah's favorites, which he had used to poke fun at her during their post-coital pillow talks…

I've been over you for some time now baby
I don't miss your kiss like before now anymore now
If you asked me how I'm doin' I'm fine
All I needed was a little time

And all at once, Wesley could see Lilah's eyes light up in his mind's eye. That night where what had once been meaningless sex…had become something more…

"It's not a secret."

Lilah's raspy, sultry tone interrupted his idle musings as they lay in the afterglow of yet another one of their late night trysts, Celine Dion music playing softly in the background.

Wesley knew that he would probably regret asking this. After all, the way their…arrangement…worked was simple: meet up. Have sex. Leave. Lather, rinse and repeat as required. No talking needed…or wanted.

But his family and the Watchers had created an ever-inquisitive mind, so he was just too curious for his own good. "What isn't a secret?"

Lilah's eyes were still half-closed, a calm, blissful look on her face as she lay entwined in his arms, her lovely naked form glistening with sweat under the sheets of his bed.

"Us. The firm knows that we're...doing…this."

As Lilah's soft, delicate hand trailed down his lean, sweat-matted chest, he could've sworn that he felt the sparks from her touch. Loathe as he was to admit it - but never aloud, and most certainly never to her - he was beginning to enjoy their amorous activities in bed. And on his couch. On the coffee table. In the kitchen. In the shower. In the elevator. In the stairwell of his apartment…and her apartment. Behind a nearby church one time. (Now that one was quite a tale, he thought to himself with some hint of…amusement.)

Yet, he couldn't help but notice that something between them was…changing. And that surprised him. After all, they weren't married. They weren't dating. They weren't friends with benefits. Hell, they weren't even friends. It was more akin to…mortal enemies with a sex-filled time-out zone.

He knew…they both knew…the risks. That what they were doing was as unnatural as oil and water mixing. At heart he was still a Watcher, trained to be a steward of Good, of the Light. She was from Wolfram & Hart, bred to be an agent of Evil, of the Dark. They were at war…and on opposite sides. Opposite lines on that perpetual battlefield.

And yet, whenever they'd met over the last few months, whenever their lips would clash, tongues duelling for dominance, their bodies colliding in an angry, heated, grinding embrace, those lines weren't blurred…they were obliterated in a supernova-like explosion of sex and hate and salty skin.

Lilah's skin, its velvety softness and its fair countenance, was something he had grown rather addicted to, as of late - trailing one of his daft, nimble fingers down the sensitive flesh of her shoulder.

His British-accented voice was low, rumbly…distant, yet somewhat warm. A microcosm of the enigma that had become Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, as of late. "Isn't it their job to know this sort of thing? The sordid details of their employees' lives?"

A sigh escaped those lovely lips of hers. "Mmm...yeah, I just thought I should tell you." A mischievous smile spread across her face. "Sordid. Rrreow," Lilah laughed with a sultry, catlike sound that actually drew a small chuckle, filled with genuine amusement, from him.

Her smile faded as she leaned against his chest, her silky mane splayed across him. "Angel knows too."

Lilah was testing him. He knew how her mind worked. Trying to gauge his reaction to that unexpected statement. Typical lawyer strategy. So, he employed a classic Watcher move—using logic as his weapon. Logic…and truth.

"I don't work for Angel anymore," he said simply, quietly. Not a trace of emotion present. He sounded almost bored. "And I could care less what he thinks."

Her soft laughter caused his eyebrows to rise in curiosity. "You faker." Lilah's voice was soft, teasing…and somehow well-meaning.

Strange, he thinks to himself, even as those skilled fingers of hers trace the scraggly scruff of his five o'clock shadow along his chin. "That's what you said when he was sleeping with the fishes. We both know how that played out."

Yes, he knew. It had taken two and a half months of torture before he could break Justine to get Angel's location. The bitch was stubborn, he gave her that, but in the end, even the most fanatical zealots have their breaking point. Renting the equipment needed to haul Angel out of the Pacific Ocean hadn't exactly been cheap, either. Yet, he'd done it, and without much consideration of the consequences.

He had told Lilah afterwards that Angel was necessary in the overall scheme of things. Which was true enough, and it was what it was; it didn't mean he had to like it or understand it. He just had to accept it. And as a Watcher, or a former one, anyway, he held one rule in particular close to his heart: respect the natural order of things.

"That was… different," he replied somewhat guardedly, before letting out a tired sigh as he brought her in closer to him, nuzzling her hair as the smell of Dior peppered his nose. "So Angel knows about our relationship. Big deal."

Oops, he realized his slip-up a moment too late, though not as quickly as Lilah shot up out of bed and hopped onto his lap, a beaming, giddy smile on her face.

"A dollar! You owe me a dollar."

He groaned in apparent dismay, though he couldn't fight back a slowly budding smile. "Oh, damn!"

"You called this a 'relationship,'" Lilah declared in ecstatic victory, planting a soft kiss on his temple, a tender gesture and…very sweet. Very unlike the cold, viper-like, cutthroat lawyer that had delighted in being a thorn in Angel Investigations' side. No -this woman, this person was someone far different.

"You lost the bet. You said it first." The woman at this moment, who singsonged these words with those soft, mirth-filled green eyes and that enchanting smile, wasn't a lawyer, wasn't a pawn of evil, or a seductive agent of discord and darkness. At this moment, she was just…Lilah. And she was beautiful.

With a warmer smile than before, Wesley took out a dollar from his wallet. Well played, he thought as he handed her the paper note.

Lilah held up her hand, still as giddy as a schoolgirl. "Sign it first, as proof."

"Proof of what?"

Her eyes softened even further, revealing an even more vulnerable side of someone he had rarely seen any type of vulnerability. "Of now." She caught his eyes with that tender gaze of hers, gently nuzzling his nose.

"Of this."

And as their lips met, not with the heated fire of lust-hate that had spurned them on in their previous encounters, but with something different…something real…he felt a spark of warmth in his chest, that for so long had been filled with an icy distrust and melancholy.

Whoever would have thought it? That of all people, of all the women in all the world, it would be Lilah Morg…no, just Lilah…that could bring that out of him?

Theirs might not have been a perfect or conventional relationship, or even a healthy one. But it was real. And it was theirs…

Wesley shook his head, thinking that he should have known how nothing lasts forever. Those were the words that his now-dead father had once told him when he was seven years old, and he had tried to revive a dead mockingbird in the gardens of his ancestral home with the aid of a scroll that he had stolen from his father's occult library.

"Nothing lasts forever, boy."

Nothing, indeed. Not love…or whatever it was that he and Lilah had shared. Not the bonds of friendship. Not the ties of family. Misery, guilt, resentment and heartache, however, seemed to have an enormously large shelf life. Still, they too wouldn't last forever…just until the day he died.

Oh baby,

Since you left me you might think that my world's been torn apart

But if you see me,

Baby, you'll see that nothing's broken

Nothing's broken but my heart—

With a deep, tired sigh, Wes took another swig of alcohol from the flask as he tiredly shut off the radio, trying to numb the pain. Another routine for him in a life that had become filled with such things during the last year or so. Wake up alone, eat alone, keep an eye on Angel Investigations from afar alone, have all manner and types of sex with a woman he was supposed to hate, watch her leave and end up sleeping again…alone.

Wesley hadn't thought about suicide for quite a few months now. Oh, he had considered it many times in the first few weeks after he was released from the hospital last year, especially after a round of very heavy drinking - only for him to sober up during the last few moments before the gun in his mouth could discharge, or he could let gravity's deadly grip embrace him from the ledge of his apartment building's rooftop.

Because even in the depths of despair Wes had felt he could still somehow do some good in this world, that he could still serve some purpose in the larger scheme of things.

But after everything that had happened…after Lilah's return, his father's death, Fred's cutting words, his exile from his friends, all of the bitter images of failure, betrayal, and darkness within him came rushing back to the forefront of his mind, cruelly taunting him...

As Wesley ran his fingers along the long scar etched across his throat, he could easily imagine the bliss of permanent release that death at Justine's hands would have offered him - had he not fought to live quite so hard that night. Just to let go, drift away into the afterlife, not having to know what he now knew…to just let go…

The knock on his door interrupted his morose musings. But the depressed Englishman was not in the mood to entertain any guests at this hour.

Yet after ignoring the first two knocks, the third was louder and more annoyingly insistent. Damn it...

"I'm busy," Wesley snapped brusquely, hoping that would discourage whoever was on the other side of the door, not knowing or caring who it was.

"Wesley…it's me, Darla," came a breathy, soft female voice from the other side.

That gave Wes momentary pause. Of all the people who could have possibly been at his door, she was the last person that he would have expected at the moment. They hadn't had the chance to talk much since the night before, since that…amazing…kiss they'd shared before Darla had joined Buffy inside Cordelia's mind. And while he was well aware of her presence during Lilah's unexpected visit, for obvious reasons, he was too distracted to pay her any attention.

The more pessimistic side of Wesley's mind had half-expected to see her tomorrow morning with Lindsey's hooks firmly embedded in her, actually. After all, despite the man's dubious alliance with the white hats, McDonald still had more to offer Darla than Wesley did, at least in his mind. Lindsey was free-spirited, self-assured, unburdened by the shackles of regret and self-loathing that held down Wesley's spirit. While he, on the other hand, had become someone that could offer little to a woman searching for a stable man in her life.

After a moment, Wesley sighed. "Darla, I'm afraid this isn't a good time. If you could come back in the morning—"

"I just want to talk to you for a few moments," the blonde's airy voice beseeched him. "Wesley…please."

The pleading note in her voice tugged at the strings of his battered heart, forcing Wes to mull over his decision. He really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right now; but still, it was Darla…

After a brief moment of indecision, Wesley finally gave in to his more optimistic side as he slowly walked to the door; opening it to reveal a beautiful, and very concerned-looking, Darla.

"Hi." Her greeting was soft-spoken, somewhat timid, yet caring and tender at the same time.

Wesley's hard eyes softened as he took in her beauty. "Hello," was his simple, hesitant greeting.

Darla's eyes flickered to the room behind him. "May I…?"

Realizing what she meant, Wesley snapped to his senses, ushering her in. He didn't issue a formal invitation out of well-ingrained habit, but Darla took his hand gesture in stride as she entered the room.

And as she passed him, Darla's newly heightened senses could pick up the scent of sadness, anger and alcohol permeating from the ex-Watcher; the smell of self-loathing. It's worse than I thought…

Taking in his rather haggard appearance, Darla felt her heart begin to ache as she realized just how hurt, how lonely this man really was. "I-I'm sorry if I interrupted…"

"No, no, it's fine," Wes waved her off, pausing for a brief, but painful moment. "I'm fine."

Darla didn't need her skills in reading body language to tell that the truth was a far cry from what Wesley was saying it was. "Are you?" her question came out softly.

Almost immediately, Wesley's shields went up. In the last year or so, he had gotten very good at shielding his heart from danger. It was the only way that he'd been able to survive.

Thus, Wesley's response came out a tad more sarcastic than he had intended. "Is that why you came up here? To play the part of my therapist?"

Her reply was patient, having expected that he wouldn't be quite as receptive to a helping hand as she might have hoped. "I came because I was worried about you."

"I don't need anyone to worry about me." The ex-Watcher's reply was quick, almost cutting. Wes felt that he still had his pride, such as it was, and he was not the sort of man that would willingly seek out help concerning his personal life.

Sensing his anger, Darla tried to salvage the situation, despite being somewhat put off by the British man's attitude. "Okay, fine. Forget the worry. Perhaps we can just talk for a little while—"

Wes abruptly turned away, his voice adopting the same cold tone he had used earlier when he'd rebuffed his friends' sympathy over Lilah. "Darla, it's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do. But if you came here expecting me to open up and talk about my feelings, then I'm afraid you're wasting both your time and mine."

In an instant, Darla's patience abruptly came to an end. She might have developed a kinder, softer side since her return to the mortal plane - but human or not, she had broken the spines of men in half for saying far less than what she was getting here.

"Alright, look," Darla snapped, grabbing his arm tightly and turning the morose Englishman back to see her angry blue-eyed stare. "I didn't come up here to play your shrink. But I'm sure as hell not going to stand here and be your punching bag, either! I could be in a number of different places right now, most of which could use my attention…but instead, I'm here. With you. And while that might not mean much to you...to me, it means a hell of a lot - because I've never been someone who wastes time on pointless endeavors. So, I'd appreciate it if you drop the attitude and act like the gentleman that I know you can be, before this lady ends up kicking your ass!"

While noting that Darla's grip was stronger than he remembered it being yesterday, Wesley fought to stifle the strange sense of intimidation that the much-smaller woman suddenly seemed to be radiating. Odd, definitely...

"I wasn't aware that a lady used vernacular such as 'kicking ass,'" Wes replied dryly.

The blonde beauty merely snorted. "Yes, well…I said I was a lady, not a duchess."

Neither one flinched as they traded determined, icy glares…until suddenly, both of them began to chuckle at the absurdity of the moment.

Shaking his head, Wesley let appear a faint smile upon his face; which warmed Darla's heart to see, in spite of how he was feeling. "You're right…forgive me, Darla, that was rude of me." He looked down for a moment, his smile dimming. "As you've probably guessed, I'm not exactly having the best time of it tonight."

"Lilah. I know." Wes wondered briefly if it was inappropriate that he found the way she bit her soft, plump lower lip adorable, and the way those flawless blue eyes of hers filled with empathy so…hot. "I can't imagine how hard that must've been for you."

The brief spark of desire within him died down at the memory. Even if he closed his eyes, he could still smell the Dior of Lilah's scent, taunting him, haunting his every waking step…

"Yes, well…after you've decapitated a loved one, generally you don't expect them to come walking back through your front door," Wes absently mused as he found his way into a nearby chair, resting his elbows on his lap as he wrung his hands, his brow furrowed in tortured thought. "And yet, in our world, sometimes it happens."

Realizing that she was on the verge of making progress at last, Darla softly prompted him, "Loved one?"

His eyes flickered toward her as he realized his slip, and Wes quickly tried to cover himself. "Figure of speech."

But Darla was not fooled. "You sure about that? I may not be a psychologist, Wesley…but I know a Freudian slip when I hear one."

The ex-Watcher began to fidget uncomfortably, looking as if he wanted to find a way out of his conversation. "Darla…"

Seeing his obvious discomfort, Darla cursed herself for her lack of subtlety and hastily began to amend her mistake. "No…wait. I'm sorry, that came out wrong - I didn't mean to push, or pry..."

The blonde woman struggled to find the right words. Despite her efforts, this was still a new role for Darla; offering soothing words of comfort to souls in need. She never had to do that…before. She didn't remember much about her mortal life before she'd been Turned, not even her real name - except that it had been cruel and harsh, and there was never time for love or tears…there was only the struggle to survive, no matter the price.

After all, she couldn't remember her mortal parents or the life lessons they must have taught her; so Darla simply wasn't sure how to offer the aid and comfort that Wesley needed now.

Lying here with you so close to me
It's hard to fight these feelings
When it feels so hard to breathe
Caught up in this moment
Caught up in your smile

"Wesley, I'll be honest with you…I don't know the first thing about comforting people. Mostly because I've spent the last four hundred years making people as miserable as possible. And half the time, I have no idea what to do to be a good mother to Connor." Slowly, she pulled up a chair and sat opposite the handsome Englishman. "Still, I can offer this much - I'm a great listener, I won't judge…and tonight, I've got all the time in the world."

Oh, but how Wesley wanted to believe her. How he wished it was that simple. But how to let go of months upon months of isolation that had walled his heart closed, how to overcome his now-natural distrust of people? He just didn't know how.

I never open up to anyone
So hard to hold back
When I'm holding you in my arms

But one look into Darla's eyes, those soft, tender blue irises of hers, and something around the icy walls of his heart began to melt…and then the pain began to seep out into Wesley's words.

"It's funny…how things start out," the dark-haired man mused as memories of Lilah sprang to life in his mind, his gaze looking far and away to another time and place. "A kiss here, a one-night stand there…you think you can just walk away from it afterwards. That it won't mean anything. And initially, it doesn't. But when you least expect it…"

"…it suddenly means everything," Darla finished for him, somehow understanding him completely.

Wesley's eyes widened in surprise, as he realized that she actually got it. "Yes," he murmured. "Or, at least, it ends up meaning much more than you ever bargained for."

"Wartime romances," Darla replied knowingly. "I've gone through a couple of them myself."

"It was more than that," Wes argued, before he turned away. "Or, at least, that's what I told myself at nights. And, on some days, tried to deny. Because whatever Lilah meant to me, there was always this nagging feeling that I'd made a wrong turn somewhere that had led me into her bed."

"Wesley, I heard it first from the Kalderash clan of gypsies, so long ago: sometimes the heart wants what it wants," Darla sagely offered. "And it's not always the smartest or healthiest choice. But to open up, to take a chance at loving and being loved…isn't it worth a few bumps and bruises along the way, if that'll take you to where you ultimately belong?"

A bitter laugh escaped Wesley's lips. "Ah. I fear that's where our opinions diverge, Darla. Because I've opened up my heart that way a number of times in my life…and each time, it's been ripped out and crushed underneath a woman's heel." The bitterness of the past welled up in his throat. "Virginia, Lilah…Fred…even the woman to whom I lost my virginity, God rest her soul…all of them, just one disappointment after another. And you know as well as I that in wartime, emotions only complicate things…the heart clouds the mind, leaves you vulnerable and irrational. Love only gets in the way of you making the right decisions."

Darla shook her head, refusing to accept that statement. "I don't believe that for a minute. And I don't believe that you believe it, either. Otherwise, why would you have bothered to come back here? Why bother fishing Angel out of the ocean, or fight alongside the others -"

"Because this world, and all the worlds out there, is on the brink of Armageddon," Wesley cut her off at once. "And as far as Angel is concerned, despite personal feelings he's prophesized to play a key role in the final apocalypse. I've done what I've done ever since Justine slashed my throat open because, whatever else I've become nowadays, I once took an oath as a Watcher to protect this sorry planet from that which seeks to destroy it. And oddly, I find that I'm still a man of my word."

"Because you still care," Darla corrected softly, her eyes sad as she beheld the bitter man before her. "You say that you've stopped caring, that you've closed off your heart…but it's still there. You aren't an emotionless robot; anyone can see that. You're hurt because you care, no matter how much you may not want to. Wesley, you're not who you are in spite of your heart…you're who you are because of it."

Wesley snorted, disbelievingly. "And who am I, exactly? A man who couldn't even get his father to tell him that he was proud of him, even once? A Watcher too incompetent to keep his job? A failed demon hunter? A man whose romantic relationships with women never lasted longer than a few months? A man who's at least partly responsible for ruining the life of his best friend's son?"

Abruptly realizing who it was standing across from him as he took in the pained look in her eyes, Wes felt self-loathing bubble up inside him as he hastily apologized. "Oh…Darla, I haven't even told you how sorry I am for—"

"No, don't apologize," Darla shook her head gently, reaching out and taking his hand. "Wesley, it's okay…if what you're looking for is forgiveness with regard to what happened to Connor, I give it to you. Don't get me wrong, every time I think of all the years my son spent in that horrible place along with Holtz…it breaks my heart…"

Gently, she raised his chin to meet her gaze as she looked into his pained blue eyes. "But the fact is, if it hadn't been you doing what you did…it just would have been something else."

Wesley frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The First Evil has been planning to destroy the multiverse for a very long time, remember? It needed that Power, Jasmine or whatever her name really was, to give birth to itself in order to steal its body and become corporeal. And to that end, it also needed Connor - or his seed, at the very least. But what are the odds that the First's plan could have remained undiscovered and intact, for all the years it would have taken for my son to grow up in this world? What's the probability that Connor would have been killed before he was capable of fathering children, by Wolfram & Hart if no one else?" Darla asked, as Wesley's eyes went wide. "No. You were duped by Sahjhan, and I can't fault you for that. You were trying to do the right thing."

"For all the good it did," Wes bitterly replied.

"You did what you thought was right," Darla insisted softly.

Her words offered him little consolation. "And it resulted in disaster."

"Everyone fails on occasion. That's just the way the world works," the blonde woman argued, this time a little stronger, but keeping the tone in her voice as gentle as she could. "All we can do afterwards is try and make up for it. And you are. Everyone can see that."

Wesley's eyes flashed in anger. "I don't want pity."

"Don't mistake love for pity. There's a big difference," Darla replied patiently. "What your friends - your family - feel for you right now, it's not pity. It's love. It's worry. And, maybe even a little admiration."

As much as Darla's gentle words soothed the ache in his chest, they also wounded Wesley, given his inner demons were whispering in his head that it was all lies. That he was still a failure, as pathetic as his father and the Council always believed him to be.

"Admiration, Darla?" Wes then gestured to himself. "I'm sullen, alone, a borderline alcoholic and I hunt demons by dealing with unsavory individuals on a daily basis in a constant game of compromise…I'm hardly a shining example of all things good and pure, of someone to admire."

Darla's grip around his hand gently squeezed tighter, her eyes still shining with unwavering faith in him - and for the life of him, Wes just couldn't understand why she was still here. What was it that she saw that he didn't?

"You see someone who's sullen and alone, but I see a man who carries on despite his mistakes, trying his damndest to do the right thing; no matter how much he hurts inside. You see a broken man, but I see a man with a broken heart, who nonetheless still has enough strength to fight for what he believes in. I've been alive a long time, Wesley. And I learned how to be a pretty good read on who people really are, even when they can't see it. You can deny it all you want, but it doesn't change the truth. No matter how much you try to hide it, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, I see you for who you are - a hero."

At that, Darla reached out and softly began to trace the rough and mangled flesh of his throat where the scar lay embedded. And he'd be damned if he couldn't feel the goosebumps that her soft touch gave him.

"And you're a good man. You may think you're alone, Wesley…but you're not. Not if you don't want to be…not if you let someone in."

But we don't need to rush this
Let's just take it slow

Wes felt the breath in his throat catch once more at the way Darla's blue-grey eyes looked at him, her hands slowly reaching up to either side of his face.

"Just trust me." Her voice was a soft caress, as gentle as any kiss. "I won't do anything you don't want to…"

And before Wesley knew it, his mouth tingled with the sensation of Darla's soft lips once more. Their kiss slowly became more passionate, more heated…

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright
I don't want to mess this thing up
I don't want to push too far
Just a shot in the dark that you just might
be the one I've been waiting for my whole life
So baby I'm alright with just a kiss goodnight

…until Wes broke it off, standing up abruptly and walking away from her, towards a nearby window, leaving Darla confused and somewhat hurt.

Wesley fought to catch his breath, a sense of shame manifesting in his psyche. "Darla…wait…we shouldn't be doing this…"

Darla's eyes betrayed her confusion. "Why not?"

For someone literate in twelve languages and more than two hundred demonic dialects, Wesley found the words hard to come by. "It's not that I don't want to…God knows I do, if you only knew how much…"

Darla licked her lips, and she could still taste the tang of his salt on her mouth. "I think I can guess…"

I know that if we give this a little time
it'll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find
It's never felt so real
No it's never felt so right

Wesley looked away again, unexpectedly ashamed of himself. "I just…I don't think this is a good idea. If we don't stop now, we'll regret this…if not now, then, in the morning."

At once the British man's words pushed Darla's buttons the wrong way, as she was reminded of how rich men had treated her disdainfully way back as a 17th century prostitute. "What are you saying, Wesley? That you won't respect me in the morning, should if I give you my body tonight?"

Surprised by her question, Wesley immediately frowned. "What? No! No, of course not, I wouldn't do that. It's just, this isn't the right time for...that."

"Then when is the right time, Wesley? In three weeks? If we even have that long?" Darla argued.

"That's part of it, yes…but it's more than that. It's…I mean…look at me, Darla. I'm barely even sober right now, and I'm just so…I don't want to use you, just to make myself feel better. I'm not looking for another Lilah. You deserve better than that…you don't need that from me."

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright
I don't want to mess this thing up
I don't want to push too far
Just a shot in the dark that you just might
be the one I've been waiting for my whole life
So baby I'm alright with just a kiss goodnight

A sense of understanding and acceptance filled her, banishing the recent negative emotions. Slowly, Darla stood up and headed towards him, crossing the distance between them.

"I'm not Lilah, Wesley. I'm not looking to use you, or to be your rebound girl. I'm here for no more and no less reason than that I want to be. And I'm not here as a friend, or as Connor's mother, or whatever other role other people would define me as having. Right now, I'm just a woman who's putting herself out there - risking some personal humiliation, by the way - in the hopes that a man she finds to be good, and kind, and…irresistible…would want her company for a little while."

No I don't want to say goodnight
I know it's time to leave but you'll be in my dreams…

The sad gaze in Wesley's eyes spoke volumes concerning his hesitation, his reluctance to trust her, his unwillingness to let himself be vulnerable in such a way once more. Again, Darla took his hand in hers, trying to convince him of what truly lay in her heart at the moment.

Tonight…

"You're scared of letting me in. I get that. But you don't have to be. Wesley, please…let go of the past. I have," Darla promised him, reaching up again to touch his scratchy, shadowed and handsome face. "Please, take a chance…just this once…and I promise—I'll do the exact same thing."

Tonight…

Despite everything he believed, despite the logic in his brain, Darla's words, her scent, those oh-so-convincing eyes and persuasive lips had Wes teetering on the brink. He was ready and somehow willing to believe her. "Darla, I—"

Tonight…

"Life is risk." Her voice was even softer, as Darla cut off the man's half-hearted protests. Her eyes met his in a poignant, deep stare. "But when it comes to love, the risk is worth winning something so infinitely precious. Wesley, trust me…I want this. And I know you do, too."

And so, briefly cursing himself for being all kinds of a fool, Wesley let go of all his hang-ups…and he fell. Fell into her lips, her eyes, her arms, the sweet nape of her neck. Into the fragrance of jasmine and something pure, something cleaner than he could ever hope to be, that permeated from every inch of her being.

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright
I don't want to mess this thing up
I don't want to push too far

And as Darla's tongue slid into his mouth, her legs suddenly wrapping around him as their moans and sighs melded together in a chorus that, to his ears, was more vivid and awe-inspiring than even Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons', all of Wesley's logical arguments, his doubts, and his issues were kicked out the window and plummeted to the streets below.

This was insanity, but Wesley didn't want to think about it. Sheer madness, but he just didn't care. All thoughts of Lindsey and Angel and even Connor were forgotten; there was only the beautiful blonde woman in his arms.

Just a shot in the dark that you just might
be the one I've been waiting for my whole life
So baby I'm alright…

All that mattered now…as Darla tore off his shirt in a haste, and his nimble hands made quick work of her blue jeans before they smoothly slid off the straps of the beige satin bra covering her beautiful bare breasts, reveling in the warmth of her mouth, savoring the sweet taste of her lips, feeling skin softer than any fine silk he had ever touched as they somehow ended up in his bed…was this moment.

Yes, Darla…oh dear God, I do want this. Just for tonight…let me lose myself in you. Let me believe in something again. Just for tonight…let me dream I can be more…let me forget. Let me live. Let me love.

The ancient rhythm between two human bodies began, and as they let wave after wave of passion sweep over them in a sea of limbs, lips and heat, just for a moment…he did.

After all the failures, all the mistakes, and the broken hearts and shattered friendships and disappointments during the last twelve months that his thirty-odd years of life was mired in darkness, for the first time in what felt like forever…Wesley Wyndham-Pryce could see the light.

For the first time since Connor's kidnapping…he could dare to hope. Dare to dream.

And he did that night. He dreamt of love.

He dreamt of Darla.

Ooh, let's do this right, just a kiss goodnight

With a kiss goodnight

A kiss goodnight…


Hyperion Hotel - Angel's private office

Now


Timing is a funny thing. Being at the right place and the right time can mean an incredible change for your entire life…and the exact same thing could be said about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, of course.

It hadn't been long since Buffy had left, and Angel had begun to try and scribble down some of the strange glyphs and symbols hardwired into his brain by Jasmine. But try as he might to find some kind of hidden clue that could be key in defeating the First, the Irish-born vampire's normally focused mind could not stop thinking about what had happened to Robin Wood's mother.

Guilt had begun to plague and haunt him, almost as badly as if he had done the deed himself. Despite Buffy's assurances that he'd had nothing to do with it, he knew better.

After all - it was all because of him (or Angelus, whatever), that Spike had become so obsessed with hunting Slayers in the first place. Angel…Angelus…had known exactly what he was doing when he'd told his thrill-seeking, violent Grandchilde about the Chosen Ones when they were stuck at the bottom of that God-forsaken mineshaft in Yorkshire, back in 1888.

It had been the fifth time that the Whirlwind had been forced to flee an angry mob back then, all because Spike - as he had taken to calling himself - had been making it a point to drive rusty railroad spikes into the heads of his victims before he drank them dry; and then, leave the bodies out in public for all to see…instead of following the careful disposal procedures that Angelus and Darla had explicitly laid out for them in order to avoid detection by the human rabble.

While Drusilla had followed their orders like a good girl, William the Bloody had had other ideas, wanting to revel in his newfound power and immortality in a way he never could - not when he was just poor old simpering William Pratt.

Not surprisingly, Spike's antics had drawn a firestorm of attention from the newspapers and police wherever they went; the fool had even left eyewitnesses alive for police to draw sketches from, Angel recalled, resulting in him and his makeshift coven having to flee. Barely escaping with their lives in London, before they'd ended up hiding in Yorkshire. Not exactly the nicest place in the world, too, or so Angelus had thought at the time.

It was at that point that Angelus decided that Spike had become a liability and needed to be disposed of, before he got them all killed. It had been...tempting...to simply stake him in that mineshaft, but the Scourge of Europe hadn't wanted to deal with his demented daughter's wails and screams afterwards. So he'd figured that 'casually' throwing the story of the Slayer in front of Spike would serve that end; knowing the less-than-a-decade-year-old British vampire well enough to realize that, being an adrenaline junkie, William wouldn't be able to resist a tussle with the Chosen One.

Angelus, already having achieved legendary status among the ranks of the underworld, knew better than to get involved in such a foolish hunt. But for Spike, the temptation would be too much, and would lead him right onto the business end of a stake and out of the elder vampire's life for good.

Of course, Angelus had never anticipated that William would actually survive for another entire decade without encountering the Chosen One, or that he'd be able to kill her around the time of the Boxer Rebellion. Anyway, by then, Angelus-with-a-soul (even after two years, he hadn't quite become 'Angel' yet) had no longer cared about whether Spike lived or died, given his new problems of crushing remorse and agony for all of his crimes.

Giving up on the whole Jasmine thing, it wasn't long before Angel found himself perusing the online archives of New York newspapers, searching for stories about Nikki Wood. The 1977 headlines summarized the story fairly well: 'Young Mother Murdered in Subway Car.' 'No Leads in Subway Slaying, Police Say.' 'Police Offer $5,000 Reward for Info on Mother's Murder.'

Angel had to pause for a moment as he found a tabloid site, and he saw a quite gruesome picture of Nikki Wood; her eyes wide in death, staring lifelessly at nothing while the CSI cops secured the murder scene. The first thing that struck him about the black Slayer was how young she was…barely in her early twenties, so the vampire figured she must have given birth to her son as a teenager. Angel silently admitted to himself that he had rarely noticed, before Sunnydale, exactly how young these fierce and powerful young warriors were.

And as much as he tried to block it out, the thought refused to be silenced in Angel's mind - this girl could have been Buffy.

And it wasn't for lack of trying, either; Angel could easily remember how obsessed and driven Spike had been to murder the blonde Chosen One when he'd first burst onto the Sunnydale scene five, nearly six years ago. It was all Spike could think about, even when he was temporarily crippled; caring nothing for the fact that Buffy had had a mother and a sister and friends and people who loved her, whose entire worlds revolved around her.

All she was to Spike then was another potential Slayer notch on his belt, another way to cement his already-terrible legacy.

It was part of the game, Angel knew that, the eternal deadly dance between Slayers and vampires; but when it came to Buffy, it wasn't a game, it was personal. No. It was war…

All at once, with vivid and unwanted detail, he could visualize Spike throwing Buffy against the wall of her bathroom. His sweet, trusting Buffy…bleeding and helpless and at the mercy of a loathsome creature that, out of misery and loneliness, she had begun to trust, had allowed to touch the temple that was her body; only to have her trust betrayed in the most vile and horrible of ways. Sobbing and begging him for mercy, a concept completely foreign to Spike as he clawed at her robe, at her sun-kissed skin, grunting in animalistic pleasure as he forced his way inside her as she screamed in teary-eyed agony…

In a flash, an enraged Angel growled in fury as his temper hit boiling point, standing abruptly and lifting over the heavy desk in his office, sending papers, his computer, books, and all matter of office minutia scattering all over the floor.

Angrily pacing the room, hands opening and closing in repeated, frustrated fashion, it was all Angel could do not to storm out and find Spike, and then beat him to within an inch of his life; make him beg for mercy the way that Buffy must have begged him, before he tore his head off inch-by-agonizing-inch and left only the ashes behind.

No. Damn it, I gave her my word. If I don't keep it, Buffy will never be able to truly trust me again. Shaking his head, Angel knew that he had to calm down. Somehow, some way.

Stewing in anger at this point was only going to build up the rage to the point where he could no longer control himself; he had made Buffy a promise about not deliberately going after Spike, and, as much as it pained him, Angel was not the sort of man who would deliberately break his promise. His old-fashioned sense of honor would not allow it…no matter how much Spike deserved to strung over a vat of boiling oil, and then dunked into it…

Deciding that he needed another distraction, Angel began to head upstairs to the library. Maybe a little quiet reading time could soothe the savage beast within…


…unfortunately, Spike had been having exactly the same chain of thought.

After finishing off his beer, Spike's mind had been consumed with thoughts over Faith's ultimatum. Namely, choosing between her and Buffy.

Between Buffy and Faith. Blonde and brunette. Hot chick with a business-first attitude to life versus hot chick with the devil-may-care spirit modeled after his own undead heart.

Both were challenges. Both had bodies to die for. Both were great kissers. And both had enough baggage that, while time-consuming, could at least keep his interest as he figured things out with them.

Add that to the drama of his insane Sire/ex-center-of-his-entire-existence, and it was all so very, very confusing for him…

…and at the same time, Spike's curiosity was piqued regarding one other thing Faith had mentioned - this prophecy about Angel. This Shampoo nonsense, or whatever it was she'd called it. What was all that about?

Was it specifically about Angel? Or was it about any vampire-with-a-soul…say, someone like him? A prophecy about a vampire with a soul playing a key role in the apocalypse…Well, that would explain a lot, Spike thought.

All this time, since winning his soul back, he couldn't help but to wonder what all of it meant; if there was something meant for him that went beyond Buffy. After all, Spike had already privately acknowledged that one day, she would be gone from this earth for good. And he had no intention of turning Buffy into a vampire one day, and getting Red to restore her soul so they could spend eternity together.

That no-longer-timid little witch would almost certainly flay all the skin from his body and then fry him, first.

So, after Buffy was gone, then what? What was he supposed to do afterwards, with this burning spark in his chest, twisting and searing within him? Turn into a broody ponce like Angel, whining and crying about his past all the time, for all the good it would do? Walk forever between the worlds of demon and man, but never really belonging to either one?

Or was there some other reason for it? Spike asked himself, did he have a purpose beyond that? Could he make himself count for something, and for once, have the one thing he had been lacking in 123 years of his immortal life - direction?

There was only one way to find out…hit the books.

Which was how Spike found himself in the library of the Hyperion Hotel, rummaging through several stacks of books, each one carelessly discarded in various places on the floor. Research wasn't really his area of expertise, and for a moment, Spike wished he had someone with a little more book savvy along with him…Dawn or Giles, for example. Hell, he'd even settle for Dalton, sniveling little cockroach that he was.

All he could think of was searching for books on prophecies, and boy, was that ever a collection - 'Prophecies', 'Visions and Clairvoyant Dreams', 'Ducard's Compendium of Foretold Prophecies', 'The Predictions of Nostradamus', and…how bloody charming...'Prophecies for Dummies'. Yup, it's a right educational experience, this place is.

At that moment, Lorne - decked out in purple pajamas and a rather silly looking night cap, in Spike's view - happened to wander through the door of the library, the anagogic demon distracted by the sight of the vampire on his way to his hotel room.

"Hey there, Slim," Lorne greeted in his typically friendly fashion. "Kinda late to be hitting the books, isn't it?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. One of the Big Pouf's little band of Care Bears. Which one are you again - Tacky Bear?"

Lorne merely shrugged off the barb; he'd been called much worse during his time on Earth…and even worse than that by his own mother. "Hey, let's dial it down a notch, shall we? Calm down, Billy Boy, I'm not gonna narc you out to the Angel-cake about your need to play story time."

The peroxide-blonde vampire grimaced at the nickname, realizing that it was another play on that Billy Idol crap that he'd been getting ever since that wanker became famous in the 1980s - by stealing his look. "Oh, ha ha, I get it, the Billy Idol thing, right? For the record, I don't do Billy Idol; that tosser does me! The ponce stole my bloody look back when I was in New York decades ago; but who got to cash in and make millions out of it? He did - ought to sue the ruddy bastard for copyright infringement!"

"If you say so, Spikester," Lorne replied teasingly. "So, whatcha doin'?"

"Well, if you hafta know, tryin' to figure out something about a destiny," Spike started to say, before he realized that, as a card-carrying member of Team Angel, Lorne might already have the inside scoop on the situation. "Oy, Jolly Green; you ride with Angel on occasion, right?"

"Indeed, I do," Lorne replied, somewhat proudly.

"Right then, what's the story on this prophecy 'bout the big wanker? That…Shawshank whatsit about Angel becomin' a real boy, after he cashes in all his chips for the Big Swingies hanging out Up There?"

Lorne frowned for a moment, before he caught up with Spike's colorful way of expressing himself. "Ahh, you mean the Shanshu prophecy. Now that's a heck of a tale, my friend. Vampire with a soul, cursed to atone only to find his purpose, fighting for the fate of the world and regaining his humanity after the final apocalypse." He chuckled in mirth. "Hollywood couldn't come up with anything better. I know; I mean, I actually paid to see 'Battlefield Earth.'"

Lorne winced in distaste before adding, "But in my defense, that was after one Seabreeze too many and a busy night, so…"

"Yeah, thanks for the critique, Siskel, but I'm not looking for what's hot on the big screen this week," Spike impatiently snapped. "The prophecy. What do ya know about it?"

"Well, beyond that…not much, I'm afraid," Lorne shrugged. "That's Wesley's department; apparently he's studied that scroll top to bottom. You could try asking him in the morning, if he's done with giving Angel a run for his money for this year's 'Brooder's Cup' award."

Spike cursed his luck; figures that he'd get the wrong lackey for the job. "Bloody priceless."

Lorne regarded him with slight suspicion. "Gotta ask, Blondike Bar, just out of curiosity; what's gotten you all interested in that prophecy all of a sudden?"

Spike gestured to the books briefly, before guardedly replying, "Just something I heard, is all."

"Well," Lorne said as he leaned lazily against one of the book case. "Any chance I might be able to help?"

Spike snorted, more to himself than his demon companion. "Unless you have the mojo needed to fuse two incredible girls into the perfect one, then odds are…you can't."

"Ah, I see," Lorne replied knowingly. "Look's like William the Bloody needs a visit from the Love Doctor."

The vampire shrugged. These were the kinds of problems that one would normally talk to friends about; which would be fine, if he actually had any. Well, apart from Dawn, of course. Still, he couldn't talk to the Slayer's little sister about this, even if he did need to talk to someone… sadly, Green Horn over here was the only one around right now.

"Is it that obvious?" Spike frowned.

"Oh, it's splattered all over your aura, amigo," Lorne smirked. "You've got girl trouble like Angel's got reflection issues."

"It's just…it's all buggered up and complicated, you know?" Spike began, throwing up his hands in the air and finally getting it all off his chest. "I mean, you think you got it all figured out, when you meet someone, and they drive you crazy, and you just want to kill 'em most of the time, but then you're head's so bloody filled with her that you can't see straight, and then you change, you try to change and nothin's ever good enough for the bird, even when the scarabs are nesting in your skull for trying to win back your damn soul...

"And then, for a while, things start changing, she holds your hand and doesn't think that you're a disgusting piece of sludge, she starts saying that she believes in you even when you're running out of places to hide the bodies. But of course, she goes running back to her bloody first time the second the stupid sod can't tie his shoelaces together, and then, out of nowhere, here comes the kind of girl you could see something real happening with. The kind that can make you laugh, piss you off, and get you hot at the same time, the type of bird that can help you fly if you just treat her right, you know?

"And now, you're in a right mess, you are, because she wants you to choose! And how the hell do you choose? On the one hand, the first bird's all you've wanted, she's the only damn thing that's ever made sense, but on the other hand, there's the second bird, and she just makes you feel like…like you might be good enough, for once. Like you can actually fit in somewhere without having to feel like you're in the Pouf's shadow all the damn time, and just fit…me, right? And you just know that whatever happens, you're just gonna screw it all up anyway, because that's just how your soddin' luck goes, and it's all going straight to hell! ARGH! DAMN IT!"

Lorne regarded the angry and frustrated vampire with a quizzical eyebrow. "Don't be coy, pal; tell me what's really on your mind," the Pylean demon joked good-naturedly.

His shoulders slumping for a moment, Spike's face revealed his confusion. "All my life, mate, I've never had any kind of plan. Never needed one, since the night Dru turned me. Just played it by ear, lived for the moment. Never feared the consequences. Figured it all out along the way, and it all pretty much turned out alright. But now…now for the first time, I've got no idea what to do…and I'll be damned if I've ever been more scared than I am now."

Taking pity on his undead companion, Lorne offered, "Well, ain't that the story of growing up. Heard that one a lot in my time, bubba. But if there's one thing you pick up serving Vodka martinis, tequila shots and blood spritzers to businessmen, vampires and three-faced Qu'Varol demons over the years, it's this - there's nothing scarier than love. There's no bigger risk, and nothing even remotely close to hurting you more. The only way to really figure it out…is to roll the dice. Take your chances one way or the other, even if you have to flip a coin if you can't make up your mind who your heart belongs to. Worse case scenario, you might learn something about yourself. And, hey, every now and then…maybe the bones will roll in your favor."

Mulling over the demon's words, Spike gave voice to the question at the heart of the matter. "I'm just so damn sick of feeling like this, mate. I'd just like to know…where I belong. What I'm supposed to do." He shook his head. "Who I am."

Lorne could only nod in empathy at the British vampire's confusion.

"I'll tell you who you are," came a low, cold, angry voice, drawing Spike and Lorne's surprised gaze to the door…

…where stood a furious and eerily still Angel, his large frame engulfing the doorway.

His brown eyes, Spike noticed as he felt himself tense defensively, looked calm at first glance…but that was only on the surface. All it took was a look - a real look - to see how they held a deadly, raging fury that was both as cold as death and as searing as hellfire at the same time.

The words Angel spoke next were so calm, so collected, but tinged with just enough cruel malice so that there was no doubt of how serious he was:

"You're a dead man."


TBC…


Next: C'mon…you know it had to be done. The confrontation you've all been waiting for…

Angel. Vs. Spike.

Two Vampires. Only One Winner.

Place Your Bets!


Well, that's a wrap! Be sure to check out the story next month for what happens next. And like me on Facebook, send me an PM, and reviews? YES! YES! YES! (please?) lol

See ya!

Jean-theGuardian