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Xander stepped alongside Spike, almost tripping on his uncoordinated feet in an effort to keep up with the graceful and determined vamp. He was still encased in that hazy world that was busy denying he was actually only an arm away from the incarnation of evil, and semi-enjoying himself. It was a great world. One with rollercoasters and rides on the ever popular raft going down the infamous river De-nile! Oh, it was pretty…no demons, no weirdo types sitting in his science class, no savage dog attacks…no Spike.

His happy came to an abrupt conclusion. No evil, then no Buffy to fight it. And that would be so much bad he didn’t want to even think about it. Thinking was power, and he didn’t want it.

So instead, he had this quandary beside him, dragging him from one property for sale to the next. They only spoke to each other when necessary, throwing the odd derogatory comments back and forth almost as if it was just a tired requirement. But even so, Xander was kinda enjoying himself. Felt nice to do something with another male for a change. Last time he had this was with Jesse…which brought him back to the vampire part of the equation and his confusion jumped a notch.

But it was still way up high on the scale of wig. Not to mention a lot scary. Here he was, trotting alongside a supposedly ex-evil vampire that glowed with his new undustable status, like he did this thing every day. He was taking a lot here on trust and he just hoped that Buffy—not to mention himself and the other Scoobies—didn’t live to regret it. Or not live to…whatever. He hoped that Spike didn’t prove to be a killer. Or at least, not prove it by killing them. Specifically Xander.

“So, Whelp.”

Xander jumped in surprise. They hadn’t really talked while they made their way to each place, the intermittent journeying shrouded in almost comfortable silence. In light of that, Xander eyed the white-haired vamp with suspicion.

“Yeah?”

Spike looked at the boy hard, seemingly struggling with the desire to say something but failing to get his tongue around it. Opting for something else instead.

“So, what’d you think ‘bout the last place? Comfy? Was it airy enough? You think Buffy might like it?”

Xander’s eyes were huge in his confusion. “You’re asking me?” He shook his head as he thought. “Sure, it was real nice, Spike. I’m sure Buffy would love it. But it had two bedrooms. Whatcha need two for?”

Spike watched the conflict as it battled across Xander’s face, and felt a funny twinge of affection for the teenager.

“You know, in case someone might need a place to stay?”

Their eyes clashed and Spike seemed to hold on for dear life, for the first time eager to convey some kind of honesty with the Scooby bane of his existence. He caught the subtle shudder of Xander’s body and then his determined pull away from the stare.

“Yeah, that might be really good to know.” Xander kept his eyes lowered, almost afraid of how he was going to react if he found even the slightest glimpse of insincerity.

But he couldn’t stay downtrodden for long and at last he looked up, and was floored by the concern the vampire seemed to hold deep within those blue eyes Buffy tended to rhapsodize constantly about these days. Xander felt uncomfortable and raw, feeling like someone knew his secrets when they couldn’t possibly have a clue about them, but reassured all the same. Spike couldn’t know about how it was in his house, the truth about his family. Not even Buffy or Willow knew much about how he lived. He couldn’t see how it would come up between Buffy and the vamp. If he was a betting man, Xander would lay heavy odds that the only thing coming up in that relationship was…well…this raft was such a smooth lovely ride…

Xander shrugged it off, having zero tolerance for pornographic images of Buffy with anyone but him, even if Spike was strong and mysterious and sort of compact, but well muscled.

His eyelids seemed to explode into the retreat to the eye sockets, back on the raft and paddling back out to the middle of the river. He DID NOT just think that about Spike. But he gave him a sideways look just the same.

“So, you leaning towards a house or an apartment?” Xander rushed back to the first topic, thinking over all the places he had checked out with Spike today. It was getting dark now, and he felt all manly for walking out in the night, implicitly under the protection of a badass vamp. But safe, no matter what was by his side.

“A house might be a bit of maintenance. Won’t have much time for that sort of thing, in between the sleepin’, the patrollin’ and Passions.”

Xander shot the vamp an incredulous look and Spike returned it with a worried arch of his brow.

“What? You think Buffy might like a garden or something?”

Xander just laughed and clapped Spike on the back with a good old fashioned slap. “Nope, don’t think the Buffster is the gardening type. She likes her nails too much. And no stylish yet affordable boots would stand up to the perils of dirt. Nah, go with the apartment. ‘Sides, elevators are fun! All those little buttons with numbers on them…stopping on all the floors.”

It was Spike’s turn to spear the boy with incredulity. The strength of his tolerance—or what could easily turn to a lack of it—effectively stopped Xander’s joking and they set back to walking.

“So, you got a preference, Whelp?”

Xander felt his heart thud loudly in his chest. Nobody really asked for his opinion on things, or made out like it mattered to anything. Well, no one other than his friends —and even then not so much.

“Er, that place in that big white building was kinda nice. Big, open. You want to buy, right? Cause they had one down the hall for rent.”

Spike turned away so Xander couldn’t see the twinkle of knowledge in his eye; the smile on his lips. He found it very interesting that out of the ten places they had checked out during the day, the place at the top of Harris’s list was the one the boy would choose to live in with Anya in the future. In a strange reassuring way, it made Spike happy.

“The one for rent’s no good. Only one room and a tiny thing like a cupboard. Not really big enough to be a second room.” The implicit invitation for Xander—should he ever be in the position to need it—was almost given without thought, the generous offer of support a part of Spike that he no longer consciously fixed upon.

Thought began to tick away in Spike’s head, images of the future blending naturally with the reality of his now. He could see Anya and Harris actually making it down the aisle, one day maybe having kids, and could see how the gift of a two bedder in a place he knew the teenager would one day come to love could be seen as a really generous and thoughtful thing for Spike to do.

With Spike’s new circumstances—his success in beginning a relationship with Buffy—happiness was a thing almost bursting from his chest. He wanted to spread it around, and right now, he felt so indebted to Anya for giving him the chance, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she and the fool she fell in love with didn’t muck up their bloody wedding.

“Right then. That’ll be the one. Let’s go get a bite to eat, perhaps a pint and I’ll call the agent.”

Xander grinned, feeling a lightness in his step as he willingly, almost excitedly made his way alongside a notorious vampire.

Man life was weird!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Giles was hanging up the phone, his face looking stern and impatient, when Buffy burst through his front door.

“Hey, Giles. Is Spike around? I thought we could do an early patrol tonight.” The responsibility suggested in her plan was lost amidst her hot, flushed face and Giles raised his left eyebrow in question. Rather than challenge her eagerness for slaying, he let it go and shook his head in the negative.

“He and Xander went out together much earlier today. Spike is looking for other accommodations.”

Buffy was too stunned to move.

“Xander?”

Giles nodded slowly, not sure which of the five questions he could think to accompany the inquiry would be the one she was actually asking.

“Spike?” Again he consented in mystification.

“Whoa. Never saw that coming.” And she flopped down on the sofa, waiting for Giles to offer some kind of conversation or suggestion of how she could fill in her time.

Before speech, he nodded at the phone, his hands busy with polishing his glasses.

“That was Angel on the telephone before you came in. He was just asking if I would mind keeping an eye on Drusilla for him. He says he needs a break.”

They watched each other, silent smiles cracking open toward laughter as they shared amusement of Angel’s whining need of a break from his charge, almost like he was an overly frazzled mother that needed time-out.

Once recovering, but with a giggle still floating through her voice, Buffy asked him, “So whatdya say? Did you agree?”

“Well, he was rather insistent.”

The humour vanished from Buffy’s face and concern twisted her lips.

“She’s pretty dangerous, though. Do you think it would be safe? And then she’d have access to your home.”

Giles jammed the glasses back above his nose as he took a step away, turning his face to suddenly become engrossed in a closed text.

“If worse comes to worst I can do a disinvite spell. I do know some magic from my pre-watcher days.”

Buffy looked at him with interest, obviously impressed.

“Cool. Way to go Giles! Remind me to get you to spill that little story one day soon.” Her wink was simultaneous with the loud, almost desperate rap at the door.

Sharing a returned smirk, Buffy went to answer it.

Standing outside was Angel—his face already perfectly molded with miserable apology—and the dark-haired vampiress. Her eyes were darkened with evil intent, and Buffy felt her body quiver. She didn’t feel fear exactly, but a sense of foreboding made her senses dull and her body freeze.

The burning hatred was completely transparent; the monster Angel wanted Giles to babysit made no effort to conceal it. Buffy couldn’t even pretend to understand what sparked it, having had nothing to do with the vamp except on the occasional meeting under the moon. The first of those two times had been rather tainted by Drusilla’s energetic effort to kill her.

“I really don’t think this is such a good idea, Angel.” Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the brunette beauty. She exuded an aura of innocence completely in contradiction to her existence, yet Buffy couldn’t shake it. And couldn’t tear her eyes away from the swirling brown of the vampiress, not until Angel took her arm and she looked down at the pale fingers holding her tight.

“I need this, Buffy. You have no idea what it’s been like. Just tonight. We can chain her up or something. Giles will be perfectly safe.” His eyes were so sad; big brown puppy dog eyes imploring her to let him have this rest happen.

“Why?” Buffy countered. “Whatcha gonna do?”

She watched him closely, wondering at his expression and feeling distaste for his broody personality for the first time. The dark, mysterious persona was so over for her, she thought a little testily. Everything about Angel seemed cloaked in a silent despair that Buffy recognised now to be more than a little frightening when she saw him together with his Queen of Midnight Insanity all up close and personal.

Not for the first time did she feel herself start the comparisons between this ensouled vampire and the one who was almost constantly attached to her lips. Spike was upbeat, hopeful and sexy—often surprising her with small acts of thoughtfulness and little kisses that broke into her mind and blew it away. His passion made her forget everything, except for him. Made her forget her own name and who she was. Made her forget that she was becoming more and more intimate with a creature who shouldn’t be able to feel emotion for her, who was supposed to be evil, not out looking for accommodations with her best friend.

The best friend who hated Angel from the start, and who hated vampires with a furious animosity. Buffy knew she should be concerned about Xander, walking the streets with an invulnerable vampire. Should be terrified that Spike had been all along just trying to get her to lower her defences so he could kill them all.

But Buffy didn’t feel afraid. She felt the security warm her, knowing that Xander was out in the dark with the only other person other than her who could adequately protect him.

She couldn’t even imagine Xander going out and spending down time with Angel. Angel was impenetrable. He may have been slowly uncovering himself to Buffy, but for the most part he held himself back, kept the secrets of himself locked securely away and frowned at any attempt to get too close.

Angel was a permanently closed book whose motives and actions would never make sense to Buffy. In contrast, Spike wore his heart on his sleeve and his love in his eyes. The sense of right in that was overwhelming to Buffy. It meant she could give him her trust, and in the past few weeks he had more than earned it.

Seeing Angel silent, watching her while Drusilla stood beside him, an evil smug smile stretching her lips taut, Buffy just shrugged a little apprehensively and stepped aside.

“Er, we need Giles to invite us in.”

Buffy stepped back in minor embarrassment and allowed Giles free reign of his door while she looked around at Angel’s hands. They held nothing.

“Did you expect us to already have chains here? ‘Cause, babysitting evil vamps? Not something Giles does every day. We are usually in the business of staking them. Kinda impossible to chain up dust.” Buffy returned the evil smirk with a smile of pure malice and felt a little satisfaction as Dru shrunk back away from the doorframe.

“Er, yes Angel. Though I am not in the practice of …er…minding.” His eyes strayed to the evil beauty before him. “I do believe I posses a set of chains that might be useful.”

Buffy raised a scandalised eyebrow and made a big show of zipping her lips.

“Don’t wanna know,” she said instead and moved further back into the apartment, leaving Giles flushed and shuffling at the door.

“Giles,” Angel nudged. “We need to be invited.”

“Yes, yes of course. Come in, Angel. Drusilla.”

Buffy was back the second Drusilla launched herself at Giles, fangs barley missing the snack of his neck. She sailed back into the arms of her sire after the violent connection of Buffy’s fist to her jaw.

“Can’t you control your children, Angel?” Buffy fumed, her hands curled tightly into fists, prepared should Drusilla make another break for it and Buffy would need to belt her into restraint.

“Obviously not,” he shot back, whipped into his own fury. “If I could I would have been able to keep Spike the hell away from you.” His voice was tainted with irritation, seemingly oblivious to the real state of the interaction between his slayer and his grandchilde.

“She’s out of control. You can’t leave her here with Giles.”

“If we chain her up, it’ll be fine.” Angel shunned Buffy’s angry rejoinder and turned instead to the legal inhabitant of the abode. “Where do you think might be the best place to restrain her?”

“The…the bathroom perhaps might be the, er, safest option. There are the pipes.” Giles was obviously shaken but too proud to back out of his agreement.

Buffy shook her head, exasperated at the mindless effects of testosterone and instead stomped toward the bathroom to inspect said pipes for strength and security. Behind her she could hear the steps of Angel as he struggled to force Drusilla into the hallway, whispering words of pleading and reassurance on his way as the vampiress jerked and fought the passage. Giles came rattling up a safe distance behind them, his arms laden down with very strong, very sturdy chains.

Buffy’s eyes widened as she took them from him and met his eyes, the teasing coming back slowly.

“Ooh, shiny.” And they were. Not worn but new, the silver almost blinding.

While her back was turned, Angel had impatiently thrust Dru into the tub, her wailing and screeching wearing gratingly on Buffy’s last nerve. She showed no sympathy as she slapped the chains around her body and attached them to the pipes, winding them round and round till she felt secure that the vampire would be staying put. She deftly avoided the snapping, snarling jaw that made bites in the air—rather too close to her neck for comfort. When she finished, she gave the attached chain a petty tug and felt like sticking her tongue out at the monster with a beauty’s face, even with fangs protruding.

“So now what?”

Buffy stood waiting for Angel’s reply, hands on her hips as she looked back down the corridor. Anywhere but at the female vamp that inspired too many questions that she so didn’t want answers for.

“I could patrol with you,” Angel offered, his voice soft and encouraging. Yet to Buffy, it sounded whiny.

She didn’t rush into an answer, slow to give up her fantasies of patrolling with Spike, ones which she had invested a lot of time in developing that day. Without any intention, her eyes finally fell back on Dru and one of the questions teasing the edges of her mind forced itself to thought.

This pariah had been Spike’s lover for over a century. She’d shared everything with him, had been his key to the world of depravity and death. She’d opened up worlds that Spike would never be able to sample again if he remained by Buffy’s side, and again his lack of soul became an issue.

How could she possibly reconcile all she knew of vampires—of their hunger for the weakness of human flesh, their feral desires that decimated lives—with the reality of Spike and his pursuit of her? This was a world Buffy was meant to eradicate, not perpetuate by being choosy about who she let survive. Angel was a special case; he had a soul. Spike and Dru didn’t, and even though one was being forcibly controlled and the other had chosen a different road, was her teaching so wrong and so open to interpretation that she could leave off this decision and save her the ache developing in her heart?

“Sure,” she answered finally, turning with a final glance at Spike’s ex and heading out of the apartment, all the while cringing at the calls of hatred that were aimed at her retreating back.

Angel followed along behind her in silence, barely the thud of his footsteps audible as they made a brisk pace through the town to the first stop of the night. The vampire found it to be companionable, while Buffy felt it strained. The little moments they had shared in the past, the intimate little smiles and glances…they were all gone now. Evaporated on the winds of change as if they had never existed.

Buffy looked at Angel now and saw a stranger. When she first met him, she had been sucked all the way in by his enigmatic personality, fast becoming addicted to dark and mysterious. The problem was that once they had become close, begun to share time and saliva, nothing had changed. This vampire with a soul was as much of an intriguing puzzle to her now as he was then.

Except the kind of puzzle you admired the picture of but wanted to leave the pieces in the box.

The kind of puzzle you shrugged your shoulders over while declaring it way too hard and time-consuming.

The first vampire of the night took Buffy head on, jumping out unexpectedly from behind a tree. The Slayer threw her first punch as she eyed the male frumpy looking vampire with a note of disdain.

“Tell me you weren’t actually hiding from us behind a tree?”

The vamp nodded his head fearfully, then took to his heels and tried to run, bursting into teeny tiny dust particles seconds after a stake lodged itself deep in his back.

“Well, that was way too easy.” Buffy smiled at Angel. He returned it with a quirk of confidence as he moved a little closer to take her hand.

“I’ve missed you so much.” His eyes were round and imploring, yet completely unseeing.

Buffy’s flinch went unnoticed, her waning smile ignored as he lifted her into his arms and gave her a breath-stealing hug.

“I’ve been going crazy holed up with Dru all this time. I hope Spike has been a help.”

“Oh yeah. Big with the helpful. Helpful Spike. That’s exactly what he’s been. That’s what we call him these days.” Buffy abruptly pulled herself from the arc of Angel’s arms and stepped quickly a few steps away.

“So, Dru’s all big with the crazy, huh? I thought you were supposed to be helping with that.” Her innocent statement met eyes gone deep with remorse.

“As much as I would love to help her with that, I don’t think it’s possible. She had her sanity compromised before I sired her.”

Buffy stopped in complete surprise. “She was already nuts when you vamped her? Why would you want a psycho vampire in the family?”

She watched his head hang lower, his hands gripping tight the stake in his hand and the jaw clench in guilt inspired self-anger.

“Angelus sired her, Buffy. He wanted the benefits of her sight, but thought it amusing to break her mind before he took her eternally.”

Buffy watched Angel separate himself from his demon, and felt nothing but irritation. After experiencing so much with Spike—the care and affection, the consideration and respect—she found it difficult to draw such a distinct line.

If gaining a soul split the being into two, what on earth could be left of Spike if he gained one? Sure, he still retained the rough edges, the darkness of being evil. Buffy could feel the strain sometimes of Spike’s efforts to exert control on himself. Occasionally though, she welcomed the glimpses of the monster. Spike’s demon had never once tried to hurt her, make her submit. In fact, the few times Spike had allowed his evil side to show, the tenderness had been beautiful.

“But you’ve been helping her? I thought that was why you took her on,” Buffy asked as she walked away, checking recent graves for the signs of vampire raisings. Angel followed dejectedly behind, hmphing intelligently.

“I’ve been helping her regain her strength.”

Buffy spun on her heel to face him, her face stuck in a show of stunned surprise.

“’Cause that’s what all Sunnydale citizens needed to make them feel safe at night. A fully healed, strong loony vampire.” Buffy’s seething sarcasm made him wince. “Why on earth are you looking after her? Just hand her over to me and I’ll dust her if you guys can’t?”

Horror replaced his miserable acceptance of her mockery. “She’s my childe, Buffy. She’s my responsibility.”

“She’s nothing but a soulless killer.”

“What? Like Spike?” Angel stood confused as he watched Buffy’s face harden in determined denial. Instead of asking for an explanation behind her stubborn attachment to the peroxided vamp, he continued. “I am helping her,” he grit through his teeth in the face of her condemnation. “She will change. Just give her a chance.”
Buffy’s disbelief stretched on the air and instead of answering, she resumed her path, allowing Angel to continue to tag along while she sought out some more of those evil killers she could actually dust without an unlife saving argument.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Xander had been to Willy’s before. More than once even. But it had never been like this. Never before had he walked in and encountered an atmosphere of fearful respect. A room full of baleful looks, yet belonging to those too afraid to make issue and come and tear his head from his shoulders. Nope, this time he visited Willy’s he was safe as houses. For he had Spike at his side. And could he sound any more superhero geeky if he tried?

“So, what’ll it be, Whelp?” Spike’s lazy drawl brought a smile to Xander’s face.

“I trust you, Spike.”

The vampire’s eyebrows got lost in his hairline as he pinned his least favourite Scooby with an inquisitive glance. He searched for the insincerity and was knocked sideways when it wasn’t there. To all intents and purposes, Harris’s smile was genuine.

Spike couldn’t speak. He’d never taken the time to contemplate how acceptance from this friend of Buffy’s would feel—he’d never thought the possibility anything but miraculous, and being evil and all, miracles weren’t exactly handed out for the likes of him.

“A beer then, mate?” Feeling an uncomfortable prickle in his eyes, he decided to forgo the boy’s reply and went hastily toward the bar.

Xander watched him go with a confusion that he found disconcerting. Stating a trust in an evil undead creature of the night had started out as a mere slip of the tongue, but the moment the sentiment passed his lips, lost itself within the other words in the air as said, he found himself agreeing. Not strongly perhaps, but he certainly had never felt the need to run for his life even once in the whole day.

And that allowed Xander to grin. He sat back in the booth, his hands behind his head, elbows bent in a manly show of strength. And waited for his beer. The grin bared major teeth. God, he felt happy. On the edge of major excitement. A beer. This being buddies with the evil object of the Buffster’s affections might not be so bad after all. Certainly not intolerable.

Xander sat up straight as a mug of beer was thumped down in front of him, and he grasped the handle in eager thirst. The first mouthful frothed in his mouth, leaving a little moustache around the outside of his lips that he licked off with a goofy giggle. The taste was kinda dull, the smell a bit like piss, but he could push past it. He was a man. And Spike was buying.
They drank in companionable silence, the occasional eye clash during their many looks around the room. The demons were on edge, periodic roars making Xander jump in his seat, spilling the flow of his mug a little down the front of his t-shirt, while Spike stayed still—as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Or a vamp, cause hey, kinda cool. In the undead, no heartbeat to pump the blood through the body kind of way. And the black leather and snow white hair was all of the coolness too, thought Xander as he took a generous sip of his third mug of beard.

Xander let his mind fumble over the realisation, and as the words ‘Spike’s cool’ banged the sides of brain, he let a small increasingly inebriated giggle wheeze past his lips.

“What’s there to laugh about, Whelp?”

Xander stopped to try and think; had he laughed? And if he had, at what? While he thought about it, his eyes fell on the mussed up curls on the vamps head and he giggled again.

He pointed at Spike’s head and let out a hearty laugh. “That is just so cute.”

Spike’s eyes widened so fast and so with the width that he thought maybe his eyeballs had exploded…which would explain the sudden red haze behind his eyes.

“Right, then. I’m cuttin’ you off,” Spike told him, his voice strict and uncompromising.

But Xander was full of the funness; all the jollility he’d mushed into his day. All the pavement beating and agent ass-kissing with Spike on the look-out for the perfect space for a formerly evil Big Bad to take up residence. The concept was so hilarious that Xander felt unable to help the rush of giggles that had him collapsing on his table, the tears flowing like a river over the formica bench top of their booth table.

Spike watched Harris collapse in a very girly display of uninspired laughter. The bar had been quiet—no jokes, no chaos demons. Seriously nothing in there for the idiot to laugh about. Spike watched him, holding a tumbler of Jack half filled of which he had managed to slug back a mouthful or two while he was busy deciding whether or not to be pissed off about this inept display of manhood by one who yearned to grab the title but was years off the mark.

Feeling uncomfortable about the intimate setting, sitting opposite the whelp without a scrap of conversation to offer, Spike almost involuntarily let his eye fall on the back door and sighed in relief. It was closed, so obviously a game was in progress. Right then, a diversion, and something he could teach Harris that might help him out financially—keep him off those bloody hideous odd jobs he was bound to retry after he finished up his schooling.

“Come on, then.” Spike jerked his head to indicate the door in back. Xander returned a goofy smile but got to his feet obediently.

“What’s back there, Spike? Or is it a surprise?” And he rewarded Spike’s sobriety with an inebriated and exaggerated wink, making Spike take an anxious step backward.

“No bloody surprise, Whelp,” he almost shouted, though with a major squeak in his tone. “Just a game of cards. Nothing lush.” Spike paused, gathered his manly courage and took a step closer to the brunette and whispered his intent.

“’s poker. Thought I could teach you how to cheat, yeah?”

Xander’s face lit up like the dragon cracker in Lord of the Rings.

“Poker? Demon poker?” The enthusiasm saw no boundaries, shocking the other patrons in the bar with its lightness, its insensitivity to the dark, evilness of the room.

“Yeah,” Spike responded with a smirk. “Play for kittens an’ all. Jus’ don’t tell the Slayer.”

And Xander’s dubious walk into the world of ‘moderately evil turned redemptive’ began, aided by the tipsy confidence instilled by a few bottles of glorified hops.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Giles was ready to go outside and feed himself to the first demon he came across, just to stop the sound of voluble discontent before it completely blew away his eardrums. He hadn’t left his sofa—ears shielded with cushions pushed hard against them—since Buffy and Angel had left for patrol. His skull was reverberating in an alarming manner and he could feel every single cell on his skin screaming in an enervated protest to run hard and fast away from the extreme sound. At least every five minutes his eyes were drawn to the stick of knobbly wood lying just to his right. He was bloody positive his ears were bleeding internally.

He’d taken up humming, at first low but gaining in volume until he rivalled the unholy racket echoing in the space between his eardrums. It took minimal time for him to come to a crashing halt, the crescendo of the buzz of his own voice added to the banshee wail of the vampiress chained to his water pipes making him rapidly conclude the folly in such an action.

Just as it got too much—right as he was bound for the kitchen to retrieve a knife to slash his own wrists—the noise ceased. The change made him reel, left the man in him slightly off-balance while the watcher part of his person started to gather weapons in apprehension.

Hesitant steps bound him to travel the short path to the bathroom, his heart pounding an erratic dance as he made to face off with the vampire who’d tried not that many hours ago to make holes in his neck.

She was stretched out gracefully in the enamel tub, an act thoroughly incongruous to her surroundings, and yet she achieved it. Her eyes were fixed on him, and as he stopped in the frame of the door, he felt swept away by her raw beauty. Without decision he almost swayed toward her, the stake in his hand clattering against the tile floor. He felt eager to please her, make her comfortable as her voice soothed the ache that was his head into a pleasant numbness; an accepting calmness that left him kneeling by her, the key to the chains hovering over the lock and his throat exposed to her fangs.

The second the chains released her from their grasp she pounced, extra sharp incisors digging hard into his flesh, the hazy veil that had obscured his mind of all rational thought rushed back to the fore.

But the weakness hit him like a ton of bricks, and his legs buckled more, leaving him almost hanging from her jaw. The rush of his blood through his veins toward his neck was a roar of the surf, deafening in its power. He heard nothing but his life as it gushed out of his throat, his arms hanging weakly at his sides while his eyes fell uselessly on the abandoned stake.

“Bleeding fuck.” The feral outburst broke through the fog and he felt the slice against his skin as fangs tore their way out. His blurred vision picked up an image of white fury as it spun on the floor, a fistful of dark hair tangled as he reefed the head attached to his neck back violently.

Giles struggled to process that Spike, the evil vampire and visitor to his home, had just saved his life and gained his unwavering support.

And then he collapsed and everything was dark and cold.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Spike was on him as soon as he walked through the door. The first punch left crumbling plaster and a wary Buffy on the edge, about to jump in. Another uppercut had her enter the fight, mindless of Giles’s belongings as she threw Spike across the living room and took up a protective stance in front of Angel.

The room stilled in an electric silence, an emphatic statement of sides washing over the vampire that had just saved a life. Disbelief caused Spike’s eyes to turn pale as he watched Buffy, shades of his Buffy—full of loathing and disgust as she flayed him undead with her pain of Heavenly rejection—shining through until he could do nothing but straighten his lips in angry resignation.

So he did what he had to so as to not break down in front of them.

He ignored her, too much hate for her clawing a hole in his belly.

“What kind of a…would leave a crazy…” His eyes burned hot as he stared straight through her to his grandsire. “Half-starved and angry vampire with a human without even fucking telling him she could thrall him into letting her go?”

Angel mumbled a denial, shock keeping his tongue largely unresponsive.

“You great thumping moron. What did you think she’d bloody well do? All chained up in a bathtub. You haven’t let her hunt for ages and you actually thought she’d be alright with that? You’re a bigger wanker than I thought. Vampire, mate. Thought you knew that.” His voice cut flesh, tore it fresh from the bones as the implications of his words sank in and the disgust washed over them.

Buffy’s body tensed even more as the scenario gained an image in her mind, and her watcher became the new victim.

“Giles?”

“Is sleeping the sleep of the nearly drained dead,” shared Xander as he came down the stairs from Giles’s bedroom and took a supportive position next to Spike.

“Get Drusilla, and take her the fuck away from here. You let her come near the watcher again and your dust will be floating on the not so sunny breeze.”

Spike turned away and stomped to the bathroom, returning almost immediately with the unconscious brunette, the cause of so much trouble. No care was given in the exchange, Dru thrust into the arms of her sire with a not so subtle shove toward the door, Buffy standing quietly aside as she stewed in her own guilt.

“What’s thrall?” Buffy risked, her voice low and a bit scratchy as she contemplated how it looked that she had shown support of Angel against Spike.

Spike looked incredulous as he turned his back to her, tearing up the stairs away from her and to check on Giles. She was left with Xander, and for the first time she noticed how pale he looked.

“It was like Jessie all over again. The fangs, and the neck, and the fangs…and Spike? God, I thought Batman was a superhero, but he saved G-man’s life. Smelt the blood on the walk outside and…man…I never knew they could move so fast. It was like…and the fangs…and Spike?”

Buffy looked at him again as the story began to repeat, and as she caught his tears falling against pasty cheeks, the knot lodged in her throat loosened and hurt.

She’d backed the wrong horse. She’d allowed Angel to wheedle his way back into her thoughts by sharing her night with him, and instead of supporting the vampire she’d wanted to be with, wanted to do dirty things with while they dusted off monsters, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. She’d thought the attack was jealousy based and juvenile; punching Angel into the middle of next week was so not the way to handle things and she was no one’s possession.

As her eyes climbed the stairs slowly, one excruciating step at a time, she could feel Spike as he hovered over her watcher. Could feel him as he retreated from her emotionally. While it left Buffy feeling confused and frightened—the near death of Giles left her feeling numb.

Without checking on Giles, without saying a word to Xander or Spike, she bolted from the apartment, sobs breaking through her restraint and drowning out the calls from her friend to stop.

A/N...I am extremely grateful for all the support I have received while writing this story. It is all finished so hang on for the ride.





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