"Right. So. What have we got?"

Buffy let the Magic Box's door swing closed behind her, catching her breath for the first time in what felt like a week.

The revelation that they were, in fact, up against a hell god had hit the group hard. The books were out, the weapons cataloged, and Dawn and Joyce were holed up at Giles' flat while the Scoobies took over the back of the shop.

Willow glanced at the multiple nervous faces around the table, lingering on Tara's. And then finally at Buffy. "We might have something. But it's sort of a long shot."

"Tentative, at best," added Giles.

"Okay?" Buffy persisted. "And the bet-it-all-on-black option is?"

"I-it's a premonition spell," Tara answered. "A-ancient. Kind of…"

"Unpredictable," finished Anya. "And sort of gross."

"Already not liking this," sighed Buffy, carding a hand through her hair.

"It's a spell to see the future. What there is of it. If there is any of it," Giles said. He swallowed, and visibly pulled away from the grim last thought he hadn't meant to utter. "It'll hopefully give us the upper hand in whatever we're about to face. Maybe allow us to glean some vital clues or show a tactical advantage we might otherwise miss."

"So far not seeing any downsides," Buffy answered, nodding encouragingly. "And the gross?"

The group shuffled awkwardly.

"It's called Cassandra's Ring," said Willow. "In Greek mythology she was a Trojan priestess to the god Apollo. And given the gift of prophecy. The prophecies can be summoned… and um… and held in… in uh—"

"A blood ring," cut in Anya, rolling her eyes that the tactful delivery was being pockmarked with so many pauses. "You say the right words, do the magic mumbo jumbo, then you bite someone, someone bites you, and poof: future visions."

"Oh boy," Buffy muttered.

"But the visions only last for as long as the biters can maintain contact. O-or consciousness. Blood loss could be a problem," added Tara as Buffy's face paled further.

"Oh. No kidding on the gross," Buffy mumbled. "Okay so… who? And maybe an additional how?"

The group's collective tension deepened, and Buffy rolled her eyes. "We're on the clock here, guys."

"We need a vampire," said Giles, quietly. He met Buffy's shocked expression, interrupting the protest about to tumble out of her mouth. "To have the best chance at seeing as much as you need to, it needs to be someone who can stomach blood for that amount of time."

"Your Slayer-y resolve should get you through it," added Willow, "but anyone else might pass out. Or throw up."

Buffy wet her lip, nervously. "Angel…?"

"We've been trying to get a head start on contacting him," piped up Xander without enthusiasm. "So far no response."

"Crap," huffed Buffy, hating that she'd kicked off the conversation with 'we're on the clock' because now it was ticking. "Try again?"

"We've been calling all morning," said Willow gently. "I know you're still adjusting to the idea of a plan A but we think it's time to go to plan B."

"Which is?" But she knew it already from the eclectic collection of expressions on everyone's faces. Concern, revulsion, dejection. The name didn't need to be spoken. "He can't bite," she argued. "The chip—"

"Willow's got a solution to the chip," answered Anya, pushing a book towards Willow with her fingertips. She picked it up.

"I can generate a sort of… I guess an 'anti-electronics' force field?" she said, flipping to presumably the right page, but everything was becoming a blur to Buffy. "It'll interfere with anything inside it that has an electric pulse. It'll be small, but enough for you both to kneel in."

"Kneel?" Buffy repeated, her skin pricking. This spell was getting more overwhelming with every passing minute.

"Just think of it as cozy," interjected Xander. "And maybe be grateful you don't have a pacemaker," he added as Buffy slumped behind her arms.

Kneeling with Spike.

Biting with Spike.

Oh God…

The glow of sunset was just fading into twilight as Spike made his way down Revello Drive, the summons held lightly between two fingers.

It had been left on his chair where he couldn't miss it. A scrawled note from Buffy that gave nothing away but made very clear his presence was needed and that 'no' wasn't an option. So he'd thrown on his coat and taken the quickest path through Restfield.

His hand was on the door handle before he remembered the impenetrable anti-Spike wall he was about to walk into.

He cursed. And rang the bell. Its cheering chime made his skin crawl.

He waited.

Waited.

He was about to press it again before he heard footsteps on the other side racing down the stairs.

He swallowed.

When the door finally opened he tensed, throat tight around all the words he'd wanted to speak for days now with no opportunity to get them out. Too much to say. Not enough time in the world to say it all.

"Hi," she said, and all the words lurking in his lungs evaporated. He nodded in greeting.

"Got your summons." He held up the piece of paper like she might have already forgotten about it. The corner of her mouth twitched in acknowledgement and he lowered his hand again. He waited a beat before giving voice to the dread curled in the pit of his stomach. "Is everything… is your mum… Dawn…?"

"They're fine," Buffy answered, and a girder of tension fell from his shoulders.

Good.

Bloody hell… Good.

"I need a favor," she added, shifting against the door, crossing her arms as his eyes found hers.

"Business as usual then," he smirked, but it didn't get any kind of smile out of her. Buffy's lips were a thin line, her stance rigid and tight.

"Come in, Spike," she said, low and quiet like she was unsure of the words and whether she meant them.

He paused a moment, letting the invitation sink into his very bones, then tucked her note into his pocket and stepped across the threshold.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, until she pushed herself off the door and closed it.

"Upstairs."

She didn't wait to see if he would follow. He trailed behind her, eyebrows furrowed as she led him to her room.

Spike stopped in her doorway, unsure if this was really where he was supposed to be going, really what he was supposed to be doing, until she raised an eyebrow at him. With a nervous sigh, he followed her in.

"What the bloody hell is that?"

A large square had been chalked out on her floor, just big enough for someone to lie in with their head and feet touching the edges. Incomprehensible runes peppered the inside of it. Bolts of lightning were drawn in the corners, and arrows pointed outwards from the center.

"This is the favor," said Buffy quietly.

"What, you want me to get out the vacuum?"

She didn't answer, but glanced nervously at the door. Spike tensed. Girl was already checking the exits. Not a good sign.

"Do you know about Cassandra's Ring?" she asked after a pause.

His eyebrows furrowed deeper, taking another look at the runes on the carpet. "She a mate of yours or something?"

"It's a spell." Buffy bit her lip and his stomach dropped. This wasn't going to end well. "It's a 'see into the future' spell."

"That right?" He tucked a hand into his coat, striving to emulate the nonchalance he wasn't anywhere close to feeling. "Why am I getting the feeling you're not after next week's lottery numbers?"

She swallowed. "This whole… Glory thing. I need to get ahead of it. I need… something. Anything. To give me an edge. I need all the information I can get. And I… I need you to get it."

Whatever quippy comebacks he might have had dissolved under the pleading look in her eyes. Despite the potentially suicidal ramifications that were building up on the sidelines, he found himself tilting his head in intrigue.

"Alright." Another glance at the box. "How?"

He could see her practically vibrating from nerves now, but she fought them down, her jaw hardening along with her resolve.

"I have to bite you."

He blinked. He'd misheard. He'd definitely misheard. Maybe whatever magicked-up crap was decorating the floor was interrupting his brain waves.

"What?" he uttered around a disbelieving chuckle.

"And you have to bite me," she added. Her cheeks were starting to flush with color now as if her blood was instinctively trying to move itself away from her neck. "Anya, super graphically, called it a blood ring."

"Buffy," he attempted to regain a foothold on the situation, shaking his head. Surely she realized what a completely and utterly insane thing that would be. "I don't want to be the downer at the party, but this is off-your-rocker, white-jacket-with-straps-daywear mental."

"You see me very much not hopping around with joy, right?" she answered tightly. "This is the best shot we've got. And, currently, it's the best out of nothing else."

"Well, not to burst your bubble but it might have to stay nothing. Think you're forgetting a certain sparkly little something lodging in my gray matter."

"That's what this is for," she replied, gesturing to the square chalked into the carpet. When she had his unblinking attention she held her arm out away from her. She was wearing a watch, and Spike wondered to himself if he'd ever seen her wear one before. As she lowered her arm towards the floor the second arm ticking away shuddered and froze.

He nodded. "Neat trick," he muttered.

She lifted her arm, and the seconds started ticking again.

"Nothing electrical works from like… here-ish," she said, gesturing at waist height as though he hadn't noticed.

"Oh so, we're not gonna be playing with your easy bake oven after? Shame."

The jibe seemed to relax her shoulders somewhat. Maybe the fact that he'd said after, as if he'd already signed on the bottom line, skimming past the fine print.

It was there though, and he couldn't ignore it.

"What if I take too much?" he asked, and the tension restrung in her shoulders. Because he'd thought about it. Of course he'd thought about it. Thought about what it would be like... to have her with him forever. To have her as his own. His childe and his bride. His, full stop.

But all the way down to his marrow he only ever played with it as a fantasy. The reality would be sickening.

"I'm counting on you not to," she said firmly, and that seemed to be as much discussing-the-potentially-fatal-ramifications as she was going to do.

"Oh, ye of unlimited faith," he huffed under his breath. "Where?" Buffy's eyebrows knitted, pointing to the floor like he was a simpleton. "Where on you?" he clarified, and her cheeks burned harder.

"The neck, I guess. It's easiest."

"It's intimate."

That made her flinch, but she barreled past it.

"Well, I'm sure you'll say the wrong thing in the moment," she parried. A silence stretched between them. She broke it. "Where on you?"

"Haven't said yes yet." She glared, and he glared back in amusement. He preferred her angry. This nervous ready-to-bolt response rolling off her was making him feel agitated. "Say 'please'."

Buffy scoffed. "With sugar on top?" she goaded.

He grinned. "Save the world and bite the girl? The deal's sweet enough, pet."

She sighed. It was obviously intended to sound aggravated, but the slight hint of relief was unmissable.

"Get in the box."

Spike straightened his back, and after a last calculating look, crossed the chalk line.

"Kneel," she commanded and he sucked his teeth, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm definitely gonna say the wrong thing." But he did as he was told. Something shivered in his head. A last dying pulse of the chip and suddenly there was a stillness in his brain. An end to the electrical buzzing that he had never really noticed was there, but damn if he didn't relish its absence. He massaged his fingertips over his temples, savoring the feeling.

"Comfy?" she asked, as she crossed to her bedside table.

"No complaints here," he purred.

She flicked off the bedside lamp and the room pitched into darkness, ignited again by the flare of a match, the yellow glow flickering across her face as she touched it to a candle.

She brought it back with her, along with a piece of paper clutched in her hand. She crossed the chalk, and after a brief pause, sank to her knees, shuffling awkwardly until she had her back to him, her legs out in front of her and her hips cradled by his thighs.

"Okay," she muttered, and flattened out the paper. There were words written phonetically on the page, but not in a language he could decipher.

Buffy reclined against him, and instinctively he moved her hair off her neck, brushing down the strap of her top to bare her shoulder. She stiffened minutely but didn't stop him. He raised his free hand in front of her, and she took it, bringing it closer to her face.

"When the candle goes out," she whispered, and he nodded his understanding, his head swimming as he tried to keep every single urge in his body in line. They were all making themselves known, and restraint was a tenuous thing as the scent of her crowded his senses.

She cleared her throat.

"Sas kaloúme, Cassandra," she started, leaning back further into him. His cheek grazed hers as he lowered his mouth, lips brushing her neck, feeling her swallow. "Daneíste mas to dóro sas," she whispered, stumbling only slightly over the words, her eyes focused on the page. "Párte óti échoume. Aíma gia tin alítheia."

The flame vanished. Spike bit at the same time Buffy sank her teeth into his wrist.

[Spell translated: We call on you, Cassandra. Lend us your gift. Take what we have. Blood for truth.]