Gentle Whisper of Souls

"Figures."

Buffy pressed the button and crossed her arms. They were still crossed when the doors opened again, revealing the bustling work environment of Wolfram and Hart. She spotted him immediately. He was in deep conversation with Wesley, but before she could say a word, Harmony appeared at the mouth of the elevator, staring at her with her mouth agape.

"Oh my god! Buffy, you look ... well, actually you look kinda ... "

Buffy held up a hand, her eyes still on Angel. He had turned toward them when Harmony shrieked her name. Gripping the battered demon by the arm, she pulled him along beside her, dodging Harmony and ignoring the people who had suddenly grown very quiet. Pausing a few feet away from Angel, she shoved the demon hard, sending him flying straight into the vampire. Angel had to drop the papers he was holding to catch him and even then, they both stumbled against the wall because of the force Buffy had used.

Calmly, she said, "The next time you want to send a spy my way, why don't you pick one who doesn't sing like a bird after three minutes of me whipping his ass."

Angel quickly righted himself and Mort, the demon, studying his injuries. "If it only took three minutes then why does he look like this?" he asked, just as calmly. But his jaw was tight and when he looked at her again, his eyes were narrowed.

Buffy shrugged. "Three minutes to sing. The rest was just for shits and giggles."

"Is that so?" Angel asked, but didn't wait for her to reply. Putting a hand on Mort's shoulder, Angel turned to Wesley. "Take him to the infirmary."

"That bitch is crazy, man," Mort said with a groan. "Crazy! Tied me up, broke my jaw, kicked me when I was down. And then she took a shot at my mother’s origins. It was a complete mind fuck. Complete. I’ll never get enough therapy. She’s insane!"

When the demon was well on his way, Angel bent to retrieve his papers and then looked at Buffy again. Her arms were crossed over her chest again and there was a fire in her eyes that he had never seen before. "You want to come into my office?"

"Oh, yes, Principal! I'd love to!"

With a nod of his head, he indicated that she should follow him. She did so, not bothering to acknowledge the whispers around her.

Angel waited for her to enter the room completely, then he slammed the door, very hard, behind her. "What the hell was that about?"

Buffy whirled on her heel and marched up to him. "What the hell were you doing in Italy?"

"What are you doing with the Immortal?"

"Since when is that your business?"

"Since when is it not?"

"Who do you think you are?"

"Who do you think you are, Buffy? And what gives you the right to beat the hell out of people who aren’t hurting you?"

"Since when is that thing a person?"

There was a light tap on the door and Harmony stuck her head in. "If you two just keep shouting questions you won’t get answers."

"Get out!" Buffy and Angel both roared.

Harmony shut the door quickly and Angel turned back to Buffy. "What has happened to you?"

"You did!" Buffy shot back. "You happened to me! And you keep happening! Angel, why would you have people, no ... things watching me?"

"To make sure you're okay!" he said.

Buffy pointed at his desk. "There's a phone! Pick it up, dial the numbers. I'll tell you if I'm okay!"

"Look," Angel began, holding up his hands as if in defeat.

"No, you look." Buffy cut him off. "I'm not a little kid who needs a Watcher and even if I did, you're not exactly the person I'd want. I mean," she indicated the room at large, "you're not exactly on this side of good are you?"

"From the looks of things neither are you!" He indicated her clothing, pointing at the tattoo on her arm. "You look like you're playing dress up in a body that doesn't fit you anymore!"

"Look who's talking, Mr. I'm So Swanky In My Armani."

"You don't even sound like the same girl."

"That's because I'm not a girl. Contrary to what physical impediments you have, I am growing and evolving."

"Really? I kinda thought you were regressing into a rebellious teenager," he said. "What with all the make-up, the late night clubbing, and the fact that you've turned your back on your friends."

Buffy's eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh, I get it. Giles told you that I'm a bad, bad girl so you decided to use your extensively stupid resources to get a good look for yourself. Let me guess, you heard the version where I was overcome with jealousy at them deciding that Faith was the new It Girl and I rushed off the Italy in anger. Or possibly it was-"

"It was Giles telling me months ago that he was worried about you. That you and Dawn had separated yourself from the others. That you were shirking your duties and pulling further and further away until finally you announced that you'd gotten a job offer in Italy."

"Yes, I did."

"Funny, my sources can't seem to locate that job, Buffy."

"Well, your sources aren't that great, to be honest. Your spy? He openly lurked."

"How does the Immortal fit in?"

"Not that you deserve to know the answer to that, but he's my boss. I met him in London and he offered me a job."

"In Italy?"

"All signs point to 'duh'."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Buffy's fury resurfaced and she felt the blood rush to her head. "You don't get to ask me that!"

"God damnit, Buffy!" Angel yelled. "Just a few months ago I was in Sunnydale helping you and things were fine between us so what the hell is this about?"

"You knew that necklace would kill Spike!" Buffy accused, wondering where that had come from. "You knew I'd give it to him and you knew it would kill him!"

Angel's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What!?"

"You heard me!"

"Buffy," Angel began, then stopped and ran a hand through his hair. "Think what you want."

"You hated him. You hated him for being a part of my life."

"No, I hate him because he's Spike."

"And you certainly took care of him, didn't you?"

It took Angel a second to realize that she still had no clue that Spike was back. He was alive and well and probably somewhere eavesdropping. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down."

"Then stand there, but hear me out."

Buffy sighed and nodded her head. "Fine."

Angel searched for the right words, but stumbled every time he thought he'd found the best way to let her know about Spike. He was about to lay it all out when the door opened and the vampire in question walked in, eyes cast down at a clipboard in his hands. "Did you see Mort? Someone beat the shi-"

Spike froze when he looked up and saw her standing there. Her skin was bronze, her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, brushing her narrow waist. The pants that clung to her like a second skin were riding low on her hips and the cut of her tank top showed a tantalising amount of skin. The sensation that he was flying hit him at once and the clipboard tumbled from his fingertips. "Buffy -"

Time stood still in that moment. Buffy's mouth was suddenly too wet, then too dry. Her ears began to ring, her skin burned, and her heart felt like it had sunk into her stomach. Spike took a step forward and Buffy took a step back, like a rehearsed dance that had no partner.

Angel watched the myriad emotion play over Buffy's face and shook his head at Spike. Clearing his throat to get her attention, Angel said, "I was trying to tell you..."

"How long?" Buffy whispered, her voice so low that both vampires leaned forward to hear. "How long!?" she half shouted when they didn't reply right away.

Angel began to speak, but Spike cut him off. "Months. I've been back for months." He smiled and started toward her again. "God, Buffy-"

But Buffy side-stepped. Her eyes met Angel's briefly, long enough for him to register the hurt there, and then she ran out the door.

Once again, the people in the foyer of Wolfram and Hart stopped what they were doing to observe Buffy. She rushed toward the elevator, but it closed before she made it. Spike shouted her name behind her and she turned, looking for any escape. Any route to avoid the pain that had rushed up to grab her by the throat.

She saw the stairwell and ran to the door, yanking it open. Her brain was screaming words at her. Betrayal. Lies. Defeat. Hurt. Pain. Agony. Why did he stay away from her? Why?

She could hear someone above her in the stairwell. She couldn't face him. Not yet. Not when the knife was still sticking into her heart, piercing her to the core. No, she had to escape. Had to get out. Away.

It felt like forever before the door appeared that indicated the parking deck. By then the betrayal had given way to bold, uninhibited anger. She drew in deep, agonizing breaths that caused her lungs to protest. She would not cry. Buffy had spent a lot of time mastering the concealment of the emotions that always burned beneath the surface. She would not let either of them see that she was anything other than furious.

Her eyes burned, reminding her that she was, after all, lying to herself about her composure. She longed to break down, to give in to the tears that were so close to brimming over. "No!" she angrily admonished herself. "The serum stops these emotions. It stops it. I won’t feel a thing. I won’t!"

She dug through her pockets as she caught her breath, and promptly dropped the keys which fell just out of reach under the car. She swore loudly, dropping on all fours to retrieve them.

That is where Spike found her when he burst through the door behind her. And a second later, that's where Angel found her as well, when he rushed from the elevator.

They said her name in unison, but she acknowledged neither. Both vampires stood their ground, watching her. After several seconds of dallying, pretending that she didn’t have her keys firmly in hand, she got to her feet.

"I’m not doing this," she said quietly.

"Buffy, I didn’t know-" Angel spoke first. "I didn’t know that the necklace would hurt him and I had no clue that you weren’t aware that he was back."

She couldn’t turn to look their way. She couldn’t look at Spike’s cheekbones, at his familiar duster, at the way he would likely be tilting his head as he studied her. "I- I have to go."

"You just got here," Spike told her, the tone of his voice so familar to her.

"You didn’t." Buffy stared at the ground in front of her. "You didn’t just get here, did you? Months? Is that what you said?"

"I did." He nodded, even though she had yet to make eye contact. "But I can explain every last bit of it, Slayer."

Her skin positively vibrated when he called her that. At once she was taken back to their time in Sunnydale. Back when things were complicated, but comfortable. Always comfortable. The bickering, the sex, the name calling, and the put downs. All of it was indelibly inked into her heart and she wore it on her sleeve for anyone who dared look close enough.

"Buffy?" Angel glanced at Spike, who looked as lost for words as he did.

Finally, Spike ignored the part of his brain that told him to keep his distance. He went to her with confidence, ignored the sound of protest that escaped her throat, and wrapped her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, luv," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Buffy fought the tears, refused to show an ounce of emotion. Refused to show her weakness. "Why didn't you come and find me? Why didn't you call?"

Spike met Angel's gaze and tightened his grip. "I started to." Closing his eyes, he bent his head low, inhaling the familiar, fresh scent of her hair. "God, I've missed you."

"Spike-" His name escaped in a whisper and she wrapped her arms around him.

Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the spot where Angel had been.

The spot was empty.

***

"So, that's it?" Buffy asked. She turned to look at him, where he sat in the passenger seat of her rental car. They were still in the parking garage, sitting inches apart, but feeling like the Grand Canyon rested between them.

"That's it." Spike nodded. He had told her everything. How he came back, how he had been a ghost, how he had longed to find her. Everything. Most of all, how he had missed her.

Buffy swallowed hard. "Okay."

Spike covered her hand with his. "I thought it was best to let you get on with your life."

Buffy stared at their joined hands for several seconds before she tugged hers away. "I'm so tired of vampires deciding what's best for me."

"Fair enough," he replied. An awkward silence enveloped the car. Finally, he said, "What now?"

"I think I need to go to my hotel and take a hot shower. And sleep." Her grip on the wheel was so tight that her knuckles were turning white. She must have missed a dose of the serum. She must have. Why did the pit of her heart have such an irritating ache in it when she had made sure she was immune to all pain?

"Are you alright?" Spike put his finger under her chin and turned her to face him. "Are you staying in town a while?"

"I'm fine. This ... this will take some getting used to." Buffy turned the key in the ignition and the car purred to life. The air conditioning was a welcome relief and she breathed deeply, the cool air calming her slightly.

"You didn't answer me," Spike said. "Are you staying in town for a while?"

"I'm supposed to be seeing my dad while I'm here. So, I don't know. I may hang around a few days and meet up with him."

"Will I see you again before you fly back to Italy?"

She met his eyes and held them. "I hope so."

"Where are you staying?"

Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. "I’d rather not say." Noting the look on his face, she quickly added, "I need to process this. Spike, surely you understand how this feels. I mean, you’ve been there with me, right?"

"Right," Spike replied, remembering the night he had walked into her house to see her descending the stairs alive and well, when she had been dead for over a hundred days. "But I didn’t want to run away from you."

"I’m not running," Buffy said. "I’m driving a few blocks away, but I’ll call you and we can get together again. That’s the best I can do."

That was enough for Spike. He gave her a small smile, then let himself out of the car. He watched as she drove away, shaking his head. It hadn't gone the way he had dreamed a million times. He had anticipated that she would rush into his arms, the world would melt away and the two of them would find themselves lost in one another.

No, it hadn't worked out properly at all.

****

Buffy drove straight to her hotel, a highly recommended establishment, and was peeling off the hot, thick, leather pants before the door had shut completely behind her. As her skin luxuriated in the crisp, cool air, she saw the flashing light on the phone, indicating a message.

She pressed the proper buttons and listened intently, expecting to hear her father's voice. Instead, it was Angel, telling her how sorry he was about everything that happened and asking her to come to his place that evening to talk and have dinner.

She slammed the phone back onto the cradle before the message finished. How the hell had he found her that quickly? Was there no safe haven to get away from the prying eyes he forced on her?

Yanking open her bag, she removed a small case that held several vials of liquid, each of them a glowing pink. She inserted the hypodermic into one of the bottles, drew out a small portion, and pinched a mound of skin on her thigh. The bliss was immediate and she leaned back against the pillows of the bed to let it wash through her.

And finally, the pain was dull, just a whisper in a soul full of disregard.

The shower that she stood under a while later was almost unbearably hot, yet she allowed the jets to pound her skin until she was convinced that the baggage of the day had been swept down the drain.

Afterwards, she had room service bring up a bottle of Cognac and sat on the balcony towelling her hair dry. Having been in Europe for so long, she had almost forgotten the small nuances of California. The eternal sunshine, the smell of the ocean on every breeze, the gulls, the yellow sunset, the sound of rushing waves in the distant.

So much came pouring back to her as she leaned against the railing of the balcony and closed her eyes. Angel and Acathla. Angel dying. Spike taking a beating from Glory to protect Dawn. Spike dying.

And somehow both had come back. Back from the dead, back from the abyss and both had chosen to stay out of her life completely. It stung. It stung more than she would have liked, but she had to acknowledge it, nonetheless.

She was stunned to find the bottle of cognac half empty when she went for more. With a hiccup, she put the stopper firmly back in place and perched on the edge of her bed. She was mentally exhausted, but physically, her body was aching for release. She wanted a fight. She wanted demons to snap beneath her thin fingers. She wanted blood.

An hour later she had deftly maneuvered through Grant Park, and lifted a grate on the edge of a thicket of trees. The sewers of California, she thought. Home to many of my fondest memories. Not.

She absently brushed her palms on her jeans as she dropped off the ladder that had granted her access to the tunnels beneath Los Angeles.

There was nothing in Europe that could compare to the disgusting aroma of these tunnels. And nothing that fit quite so nicely around her as the nostalgia of once again sloshing through familiar ground.

She smiled when she recalled the times that Willow and Xander had accompanied her on patrol in the sewers of Sunnydale. Xander's endearing commentary, Willow's fascinating facts. She remembered her first few weeks of school in Sunnydale when Jesse had been taken into the sewers and how Angel had warned her against going in.

How Xander had followed her in and how they'd almost died.

How she did die in the Master's lair and Xander had saved her life.

Xander with his missing eye. Xander blaming her, even now, for Anya. For his loss. For everything.

She thought then of Willow. Willow on the internet, Willow comforting her during the prom fiasco, after Angel had dumped her... in the sewers no less. Willow bringing her back from the dead and then shattering when she found out that Buffy had not been in Hell, but in some dimension of Heaven. And sweet, innocent Willow, standing beside her when most people would have left Sunnydale screaming after seeing what they had seen.

And Willow taking Kennedy's side when Kennedy came up against Buffy in a clash that could have killed them both if Faith had not stepped in. Buffy’s hand moved instinctively to the scar on her side where Kennedy’s knife had plunged through her skin. But Willow didn’t comfort her that day. No, she took Kennedy and headed into the city for three months before she even called to see if Buffy had survived.

Her thoughts moved on to Giles as she sidestepped the body of a dead dog that came bobbing past her in the shallow water. She smiled sadly, recalling the band candy incident with he shared with her mother. The way he had been fired for loving her as a father would. He never denied it. Once or twice after she’d come back from the dead he had told her with great frequency that he loved her very much.

But then he told her that she was, quite honestly, not the best role model for the new Slayers any more. 'They know too much, Buffy, about your mishaps. About Spike, Angel... Perhaps we should allow Faith to guide them for now.'

That wound had yet to heal even though it had happened months ago. But she suppressed it well enough with the serum that the Gypsies had given her. She numbed herself, made herself hard, so that only the barest flicker of emotion would rear its head from time to time, but never enough to break her resolve.

It was a nice distraction when the vampire attacked her out of nowhere. At least it erased the image of Giles from her mind and brought her firmly back into the present.

She relished every move, the tightening of her body, the quickening of her pulse. She loved the sound of contact, of cracking bones, of witless barbs bouncing forward and back. She blocked, punched, kicked, and finally a stake driven neatly through the heart.

Dust.

Blood scented dust.

The smell of home.

<<>><<>>

Angel rushed forward when the doorbell rang. He paused to straighten his clothes before he opened the door, expecting to see Buffy on the other side. He gave a loud groan when Spike brushed past him, making a great show of billowing his duster as he flopped onto the sofa.

Mumbling quietly, Angel shut the door, then turned and glared at Spike. "What?"

"We’ve made a right mess of things."

"No, you’ve made a mess of things and as usual I’m going to have to clean it up." He knocked Spike’s feet off the table and sat down across from him. "Buffy’s coming for dinner. Why don’t you get lost?"

"She’s coming here?" Spike sat up straighter, staring angrily across the coffee table. "Why is she coming here?"

"Because I wanted to apologize to her so I invited her to dinner."

"Oh, that’s rich!" Spike shot to his feet. "What are you going to do? Get her drunk and play on her weaknesses?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "I’m not like you."

"Yes, you are! You’re chock full of bad intentions! You reek of bad intentions!"

"You must have caught a whiff of yourself."

Spike glanced toward the dining room, noting the fresh flowers and the champagne that stood chilling in a silver bowl. "What’s that then, huh? And why are the lights so dim? And what the hell is that music playing? You want to put the girl to sleep?"

Angel stood, brushing past him and making his way to the kitchen. Donning the oven mitts, he pulled the pan from the oven and sat it on the counter.

"What is that smell?"

"Roast."

Spike sniffed, then snarled. "Roast what? Possum? Skunk? It stinks."

Angel frowned and lifted the edge of the foil, gazing inside. "It does, doesn’t it?"

"I think I like this idea. She’ll come here, you’ll turn her stomach, and I’ll -"

"You’ll shut up," Angel snapped. He was going to say more, but the phone gave a shrill ring and he had to be satisfied by glaring at the blond. "Hello?"

"Angel? Wesley. I think we have a problem."

"What?"

"Buffy’s slaying."

"Where?"

"We lost a couple of coverts down in the sewer, but Max eluded her. And Lorne called to say that she was putting the kibosh into that monthly gathering that he goes to down on the beach. According to him, she’s killed most of their book club."

"Book club?" Angel shook his head. "Is she still there?"

"I think he was going to try to reason with her, but after seeing what she did to Mort I’ve called for backup."

"I’m on my way."

<<>><<>>

Buffy had grown bored in the sewers and made her way to the beach. For a long time she sat just out of reach of the waves that lapped at the shore, then she shucked her shoes, hiked up her pants, and waded out as far as she could without getting soaked. She had brought the remainder of the cognac with her on patrol, safely tucked in her bag, and as she paced through the waves, she drained the bottle completely. She giggled as she stumbled and almost lost her footing, then hiccuped loudly, and burst out laughing.

Anything to keep from crying, she thought as she moved further into the water. It amazed her how close to the surface those emotions were. Hadn’t she spent the past few months closing herself off from everyone? Even Dawn? Not that Dawn noticed since she was always out somewhere with Diego, her newest infatuation.

Buffy was up to her mid-calves when she noted the plethora of small boats rowing ashore a small distance down the beach.

Her senses were on fire and she left the water, not bothering to dry her feet before she stuffed them back into socks and boots. Keeping to a row of dunes, she inched closer and closer to the spot where the inhabitants of the boats were forming a circle. Squinting, she watched as they lit a bonfire, and she shook in anticipation as she saw their demon faces. She quessed that there were twenty demons and as their low murmuring reached her, she assumed that they were summoning something grotesque.

She did what came naturally. Ducking low, she reached into her supply bag and pulled out the neccessary tools, then she crashed the party in true Buffy fashion. She climbed the doon, sprang into the air, and landed next to the fire on her bottom instead of her feet, sending a sand storm flying that blinded the closest demons to her.

Those were the first to die as soon as she found her footing.

Lorne, who recognized her from a photo Angel kept in a drawer, speed dialed Wesley and filled him in. When he hung up, he noted that the Slayer had wiped out most of the group and was making her way closer and closer to him. When she dispatched the Thornx demon closest to him, he held up both hands. "I work with Angel at Wolfram and Hart!" he shouted as she pulled a fresh knife from her boot. "You’re Buffy, right? Angel has told me all about you. All about life in Sunnydale and how you live in Italy now."

Buffy noticed a pulpy orange demon turn and run toward the boats and she threw the knife in her hand, catching it in the back, not bothering to watch it fall as its scream rent the air. "Let me guess - this was a Wolfram and Hart sanctioned meet and greet?"

Lorne shook his head. "No, this was a book lovers meet and greet. We meet once a month to discuss Oprah’s book club." He surveyed the demons around him. "I guess I’ll never know what they thought of ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’."

"It was probably depressing as hell," Buffy replied absently. She belched loudly and followed up with a hiccup.

"Are you drunk?" Lorne asked.

"You know I think I could be." Buffy shrugged and took in the scene around her. It was hard to believe that she had killed so many in such a short span of time. But then again, she understood her power moreso than ever. Something had awakened when all the Slayers were activated. Somehow she was stronger, faster, better than she’d ever been before. It felt good. It fed into the misery and patched the lonliness that surrounded her. "But not nearly enough."

Lorne studied her closely, mistaking the look on her face for sorrow. "It’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it. It was an honest mistake."

"Mistake?" Buffy laughed cruelly. "The death of a demon is not a mistake. It’s a fucking symphony. It’s a religious experience. It’s an orgasm of brutality. It’s good."

"Riiiight," Lorne said, eyebrows arched. "Well, I’m surprised you’re standing at all right now. You’re knees should be buckled, your hands clasped in prayer, and your ears ringing with the good music of death."

"I’ve still got a couple to go." Buffy eyed him through glassy eyes. "Then I’ll bask."

Lorne took a step back. "I work with Angel. Remember?"

"That doesn’t rank highly on my list of good qualities. So you," Her vision had blurred and suddenly there were two demons where Lorne had stood. When she spoke again, her voice was slow, slurred, and drawling. "and your twin can just hold still and not make this harder than it has to be."

Lorne glanced behind him, expecting to see someone there, but they were alone. The Slayer was definitely intoxicated and he watched as she staggered and stumbled, patting her pockets and then her boots. He almost felt sorry for her when she stood and addressed him again. "Did you see my bottle of cognac?"

Lorne was forming a reply when a tiny red dot appeared on Buffy’s neck for a split second, only to be replaced by a dart in the next moment. Her eyes widened and she made a move to pull it out, but her hand fell limply at her sides and her legs crumpled beneath her. Lorne caught her before she landed in an unceremonious heap on top of the Thornx demon and looked out at the water as three of his co-workers emerged from the surf, one of them with the tranquilizer gun slung over his shoulder.

"You do know who you just shot, right?" he asked.

"Yep," the man replied.

"I hope you don’t mind unemployment." Lorne tilted his head to his right, where Angel and Spike were making their way down the beach. "Running would not make you a weak man."

The men all exchanged looks, then moved back into the water. Lorne could hear them swimming noisily to the boat that drifted a short distance off shore. Looking down at the small woman in his arms he was struck by her beauty. He could easily see the physical attributes that caused not one, but two vampires to fall madly in love with her. It was what she had upstairs that made him doubt not only her sanity, but theirs as well.

Spike and Angel both began to run when they saw Lorne on his knees cradling someone. When they were within earshot, Lorne shouted that Buffy was okay, but the realization that it was Buffy caused them both to put on a burst of speed. Angel reached them first, kneeling in the sand. "What happened?"

"Tranquilizer gun."

"You shot her!?" Spike yelled at Angel.

"Yes, Spike. I pulled an invisible gun out of my invisible ass and shot her while I was running here with you!"

"Your ass is far from invisible since it sits on your shoulders. Dickhead." Spike growled. "What the hell did you authorize that for?"

"I did not authorize anything!" Angel put his fingers on her neck, checking her pulse. "Wesley must have-"

Spike morphed into his demon visage, stomping agrily. "He signed his own death warrant! That’s what Wesley must have done!"

Angel and Lorne both ignored him. For the first time, Angel took notice of the scene around him. Demons of various shapes and sizes had been gutted, beheaded, disemboweled, and chopped to pieces. "She did this alone?"

"She did this in about five minutes." Lorne felt her shift lightly in his arms and passed her off to Angel. "I think she’s waking up."

"She can’t be. That stuff would drop an elephant for about three hours."

"Well, she’s fidgeting." Lorne pointed at her hand, which was clenching and unclenching. "She’s really pretty and all, but I think maybe she has a few screws loose."

Spike, who had been pacing back and forth, closed the distance between himself and Lorne in three menancing strides. "You’re fixing to have a few limbs loose if you keep talking like that."

"She’s dangerous." Lorne stood up, brushing sand off his yellow slacks. "That’s all I’m saying. Power like hers should be controlled."

"That’s why they have Watchers, Mate." Spike leaned down, checking Buffy’s pulse for himself.

"She doesn’t have a Watcher," Angel reminded them both.

"Maybe that’s the problem," Lorne said with a sigh. "Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"She’s not corrupted!" Spike yelled.

Angel shifted her slightly as she moved her head from side to side. "She’s had a rough day."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "Very rough."

"Stop making excuses for her!" Lorne shouted.

"She’s Buffy!" Angel and Spike both said at once, then glowered at each other.

"Fine," Lorne grabbed the bag he had brought with him. "I plan on being several miles away by the time she wakes up. You two weren’t here when she said that killing, no murdering the way she did, was a religious orgasm!"

Angel and Spike both watched Lorne depart. "A religious orgasm?" Angel asked.

"Must be a Slayer thing." Spike felt her pulse again. "She’s clammy."

Angel brushed the hair off her face, pressing against her forehead. "She’s hot, too."

Buffy whimpered, then moaned. Her eyes opened, remained out of focus for several seconds, then she cried out and was limp again. "Let’s get her back to the office."

Spike made a move to pull her out of Angel’s arms, but the older vampire shook his head. "I’ll carry her. You drive."

"I don’t want to drive." Spike moved to take her again and Angel pushed him away. "Hand her over!"

Angel struggled to get to his feet, then gave Spike a reproachful look. "Can you help me up?" When Spike shook his head, Angel added, "She’s sick! She could be dying."

Using every foul word he could think of, he hefted Angel to his feet and followed, frowning at the way Buffy hung limply in Angel’s arms. "Support her head, you idiot!" he called out, rushing to catch up. "Do you want to break her neck?"

"No, but I want to break yours. Does that count?"

They arrived at the car still bickering. Angel paused by the passenger door and cleared his throat as Spike made his way to the driver’s side. They stared at one another over the top of the car. Angel sighed and said, "Spike, open my door."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike came around the side of the car, yanked the door opened and pompously bowed. "At your service, my lord asshat."

He waited until they were securely in the seat, then he slammed the door, causing the entire car to shake.

On the bright side, his anger caused them to arrive at Wolfram and Hart in record time.

Buffy stayed unconscious through the entire adventure, but Angel was decidedly paler and walked on slightly shaking legs as they entered the elevator, then deposited the Slayer firmly in the infirmary.

<<>><<>>

"No! No! No! Absolutely not! Why don’t you shove me out the window!? It’ll save her the trouble when she wakes up! Get her out of here!"

Loud shouting reverberated through her head, pulling her through the blessed calm and making her keenly aware of the pain that was screaming through her various body parts. Her head throbbed, her neck was so stiff and swollen that it hurt to breathe, and the little patches of light she could see through her fluttering lashes caused her eyes to burn and water.

"Get her out of here!" Mort shouted again. "I was here first! Doc said peace and quiet was intergral to my recovery and -"

"Then shut up!" Spike bellowed, yanking the curtains around the demon closed. He rejoined Angel at Buffy’s bedside just as the Slayer opened her eyes all the way. "Buffy?"

Buffy tried to sit up, cringed, and slowly laid back against the fluffy pillows propped against her back. "What happened?" she croaked, rubbed her throat, and accepted the water that Angel was holding in a styrofoam cup.

"Angel shot you!" Spike replied before Angel could speak.

"I did not shoot you, Buffy." Angel tried to hit Spike across the bed, but missed. He settled with pointing a finger in his direction in an attempt to be menacing instead. "You were tranquilized."

"Why?"

"Because you were out of control."

Buffy remembered the beach then and shook her head. "I was doing my job, Angel."

"You were about to kill Lorne."

"The green demon guy?" Buffy asked.

"She’s got a thing against green demons, the racist!" shouted Mort from behind his curtain. "The evil racist little troll!"

Ignoring the outburst, Angel said, "We had to bring you here for the antidote."

She finally realized where she was. An IV had been inserted into the back of her hand and various pieces of medical equipment dotted the room. "You brought me to Wolfram and Hart."

"You had a reaction to the serum."

"Since when is it okay to shoot a Slayer for doing her job?" Buffy massaged her neck, which burned with every movement.

"That wasn’t slaying ... that was a massacre." Angel put the cup of water back on the table and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Buffy turned her face away. "Where are my clothes?"

Spike, who was grinning because Buffy had pulled away from Angel, indicated a closet behind him. "In there. But you have to stay for twenty four hours."

"Like hell!" Buffy forced herself up, ignoring the ache in her throat as she did so.

"Let her go!" Mort shouted. "I have to have surgery tomorrow and I need sleep."

"How does eternal sleep sound to you, you freakin’ idiot?" Buffy shouted, yanking the IV from the back of her hand.

"Ahhhh!" Mort screamed. "Are you guys holding her back? She’s not going to stop until she’s killed me dead! Coffin dead! Cemetery dead!"

Spike shot Angel a look and inclined his head toward Mort. With a sigh, Angel moved behind the curtain and talked quietly to Mort while Spike leaned closer to Buffy, lifting her hand and gently blotting it with a washcloth. "You’re bleeding. And now they’ll have to stick you again."

"I can not believe this day," Buffy mumbled, more to herself than anyone.

"Tell me about it," Spike agreed, squeezing her hand. "You scared me to death, Slayer."

"Well, it’s not like anyone around here stays dead so I wouldn’t sweat it." Buffy snapped, pulling free and tossing the washcloth aside.

Spike stood up straight and stared at her. "What the hell are you so mad at me for?"

"I don’t know! Because you’re here!" she yelled. "And you’re in my way!"

Pushing him aside, Buffy yanked open the closet door and pulled her pants and shirt from the hangers. Spike jerked both items out of her hands and threw them onto the floor of the closet and slammed the door. "You’re staying!"

"I am not!" The shout ripped from her throat and she groaned, flinching at the pain it caused. She clutched her neck for the millionth time and glared at the blond vampire. "Shit! Get out of the way!"

The doctor chose that moment to enter the room. "Well, I figured she was awake with all that shouting."

Buffy shot him a dirty look. "I wouldn’t be shouting if this demon loving cult you call an employer hadn’t put me in here!"

Moving closer, the doctor held out a hand. "I’m Gideon Spencer, Miss Summers."

She crossed her arms and glared at him, ignoring the fact that he had the most penetrating blue eyes she had ever seen. Or that his hair hung fashionably around his handsome face. Or that a dimple creased each cheek when he smiled at her display of anger. Clearing his throat, he withdrew his proferred hand and flipped open the clipboard her was carrying. "You had quite a bit of alcohol in your system tonight."

Angel, who had stepped from behing Mort’s curtains, put his hands on his hips. "You were patrolling while you were drunk?"

"I was not drunk. I was tipsy and there is a difference."

"Have you lost your mind?" Angel asked.

"It’s not like I didn’t handle the situation. What was it you called it? A massacre on the beach?"

"You’re lucky to be alive," Gideon interjected. "The tranquilizer that was injected into you doesn’t mix with alcohol well."

"It didn’t mix with my neck well, either." Pressing the tender area on her throat, she grimaced. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

"The entrance area is where the most concentrated levels of the tranquilizer are released. Since your blood was so thin from the alcohol, it’s safe to say that it settled there briefly before it began to circulate into your system." Consulting the chart again, he glanced back up at her. "How tall are you?"

"Five foot three."

"Do you know that you’re underweight for your height and build?"

"You can never be too rich or too thin."

"And you’re anemic, your blood sugar is low, and your white blood cells are elevated. Have you beed sick recently?"

"No."

"Hmmm, this is baffling."

"You deserve to be baffled for taking my blood without my permission." Her heart had begun to beat faster. Hadn’t the gypsies told her that the injections were safe, undetectable? Hadn’t they promised that there would be no ill side effects. She could not stay here and submit to more tests.

Gideon ignored her. "I know that your composite may be different than other people since you’re a Slayer, but I think you should stay here a few days, let us give you some intravenous antibiotics and then check you over again."

"She will," Angel said matter of factly.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Buffy counted to ten, then exhaled loudly. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I am not staying."

"Buffy, you don’t know what’s going on-" Angel began.

Spike interrupted. "And you don’t know what kind of reaction you’ll have. Or if it’s even out of your system."

She wasn’t in a position to bargain. If she didn’t get back to the hotel and inject soon, there was no telling what would happen to her. "Tell you what," she said with mock cheer. "I’ll come back every day to have this antibiotic thing, but I really, truly can not rest at all in a place like this."

"And people can’t rest with her here!" Mort cried. "Think about poor little old me! I’ll have to sleep with one eye open! I’ll need a weapon! A bodyguard! I’ll need --- are you guys holding her back? What is she doing? Why is it so quiet? Oh my god, she’s about to kill me!"

Buffy could only shake her head and glare at Angel. "You sure can pick a winner."

Gideon cleared his throat before Angel could reply. "If you go, Buffy, you will need to come back here about every six hours for a treatment."

"Fine, fine," Buffy replied absently, making her way to the closet where she grabbed her clothes off the floor. She moved into the empty bathroom and quickly dressed. When she opened the door again, the doctor was gone and Angel and Spike were standing side by side waiting for her.

Her skin felt like it had become too tight when she looked at them there. Darkness and light. Both of them wearing identical pained expressions. It tugged at her heart and that just wasn’t possible.

Wordlessly, she grabbed her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. "I’ll see you later."

"Buffy?" Spike called.

She darted around the corner and out of the infirmary like she hadn’t heard.

Spike glanced over at Angel. "You get the feeling that she’s hiding something?"

Angel stared after her for a long while and then he said, "We need to call Giles."

<<>><<>><<>>

Buffy made it back to her hotel before daybreak. She threw her bag into a chair and went straight for the small case that held the serum. Her hands shook as she filled the needle and inserted it into the vein where the IV had been. The relief was immediate. There was no pain, just anger, resentment, and purpose.

When she had met The Immortal she had been so swept away that one look at him made her legs weak. Of course, she hadn’t known that he was evil then and when she found out, how she found out, still made her sick at her stomach. That was the first time that Alyanna had come to her, telling her the key to killing the Immortal was inside of her all the time.

The Immortal could read minds, know your thoughts before you did, force you to submit to his will. The Gypsies gave her the serum to deaden her soul, deaden her heart, make it impervious to outside interference so The Immortal would never know her mission. She had watched as he slaughtered a child and sucked the soul from the lifeless body before it had a chance to move on.

He was immortal, yes, but he had to feed on human souls to exist and little by little, he had taken particles of hers. She hadn’t thought twice about leaving her friends, her duty, her place with the others. He had taken the piece of her that belonged to them, that belonged with them.

The key to killing him was to enrage him enough that he would take her soul, a soul dampened by the serum so much that it was incapable of emotion, and once it was inside of him, he would die. He would burn from the inside as his dead soul fought with hers ... a warrior’s soul.

It seemed very simple when it was explained to her. Of course, now that she was taking the serum regularly, she rarely felt anything at all except for rage. It weakened the good in her and strengthened the bad. She saw the world in black and white.

Until today.

Seeing Spike there had moved her to the point of tears, but she had fought them back, kept herself together.

Glancing at the serum, she wondered if maybe she wasn’t taking enough.

Because a long forgotten ache had begun to rise in her.

Swallowing hard, she filled the needle once more.

Then fell back against the bed and let it drop to the floor.

<<>><<>>

The phone rang far too early. Opening one eye, Buffy glared at it, wondering why there wasn’t a law that prevented telephones from working at all until the afternoon. Grumbling, she pulled herself loose from the jumble of cover around her legs and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Buffy?"

"Uhm," she felt her heart constrict when she heard his voice. "Giles?"

It had been so long since they had spoken that she had begun to wonder if they ever would again. They had parted ways on such bad terms that she doubted they would ever have the easy relationship they had enjoyed before, but it was still Giles and he had called her.

"Hello, Buffy," he said quietly and wondered if she could tell by his voice that his eyes had gotten incredibly misty. "How are you?"

She wanted to tell him everything in that moment. She wanted him to know that she hadn’t meant the things she said, that she was not involved with the Immortal in the way he believed, that she was about to move into the final phase of her plan to kill the demon, but she couldn’t. "Fine. You?"

"I can’t complain. Things are going well here. The girls are all learning and doing a fine job with their training. Some of them are more devoted than others, but that’s to be expected with teenagers."

Buffy knew it was her turn to talk. She scrambled with something to say. "That’s nice."

"How is Dawn?"

"Okay." Biting her bottom lip, Buffy listened to the silence for as long as she could. "What did you want, Giles?"

"Mostly to hear you. But also to see if you needed anything."

"No."

"Do you want to talk?"

Her jaw clenched as realization dawned on her. "Which one of them called you? Or was it a conference call that let all of you talk shit about me behind my back at once?"

"Angel called me last night. Said you’d been hospitalized and -"

"And you’re suddenly interested in what goes on in my life? I mean, other than judging my every move."

"I didn’t call you to exchange harsh words again."

"I have a tendency to exchange harsh words when I’ve been kicked repeatedly while I’m down."

Giles sighed loudly on the other end of the phone. "So this is how it’s to be between us? You can’t get past your anger long enough to have a civilized conversation?"

"If you want conversation why don’t you talk to Faith? Oh wait, you said civilized and convicted felons are seldom civil. Hmm, that leaves Willow. If she can get her head out of Kennedy’s ass long enough maybe she’ll talk."

"Kennedy was killed two nights ago."

Buffy couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her. "Miss Bad Ass herself was killed? I hope it was long and painful. Since you’re in the mood to talk why don’t you give me every last juicy detail of it."

"Good Lord, Buffy! What are you thinking?" Giles said, his shock evidenced in his tone. "I had hoped that we could talk with one another and come to an understanding, but I can see that you’re still being unreas-"

Buffy put the phone back in its cradle and stood, running her hands through her hair as she paced across the room. It was so hard to get used to the ways that the serum affected her. How could she have said that about Kennedy? The other Slayer wasn’t her favorite person, but Kennedy was dead.

And Willow? Poor Willow.

Before Buffy could feel one ounce of pain over her friend’s loss, she collected the serum and retreated into the bathroom for a long shower and an end to her agony.

<<>><<>>

"Well, she hung up on Giles," Angel told Spike as he put the phone back on the hook. "He says that there has to be something more than just anger motivating her at this point. She was happy that one of the slayers was killed."

Spike put a hand to his forehead, massaging the headache that had been plaguing him most of the day. "What does he think it could be?"

"Apparently he has gotten some new information that suggests The Immortal feeds on people’s souls. He thinks maybe Buffy has been losing bits of her soul for a while. Something similar happened to her during her Freshman year of college. A roomate of hers was taking her soul while she slept. Giles says that her behaviour is reminiscent of that."

Spike said nothing for several seconds. Then he shook his head. "I’m so tired of the word ‘soul’ that I could scream. What the bloody hell is wrong with the lot of us? Your soul, my soul, her going around getting her soul sucked on! I say you get happy, I get exorcised, she loses hers altogether and we go wreak havoc someplace."

Angel glared at him. "Your mind is terrifying."

Spike rubbed his head again. "It’s also very painful. Headache. I think it’s stress."

"We have to find out what’s happening."

"We could ask Fred."

Nodding, Angel picked up the receiver and dialed Fred’s extension. When she answered, he asked her to come to his office and bring along any reference material she could find about The Immortal or demons that had the power to remove pieces of a soul.

Spike and Angel both had their lunch, identical bags of plasma from the Red Cross, in his office and by the time they were finished, Fred had arrived laden with several books, three manilla folders full of documents, and a laptop.

Angel helped her relieve herself of the baggage and then she flopped into a chair next to Spike, blowing her hair out of her eyes. "I never would have thought that The Immortal would be so well documented. Or soul eating demons. I mean, I always thought that vampires held the trophy for taking human lives, but apparently soul eaters or Vespara Gorbathians, have been widely speculated to cause more-"

"Fred," Spike interrupted. "Fascinating as this is, we need to focus on The Immortal. What is he?"

"From all accounts," Fred paused, riffling through one of the folders. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Spike. "He appears to be some kind of hybrid demon. Part Vespara Gorbathian, part vampire, and part warlock. Or well, he was a warlock before he became a vampire and I guess you retain a lot of what you were as a human."

Spike shot Angel a look. "Then you must have been a real dickhead as a human."

"And you were a doormat." Angel took the paper from Spike and scanned over it. "How did he become a hybrid?"

"His mother was a full blood Vespara. So before he was turned, he was already part demon."

"That’s physically impossible." Spike picked up one of the books and thumbed through it, thinking aloud. "I couldn’t go turn, say, a Bantha demon into a vampire. The breeds are distinct and separate. He can’t be both. It’s either or."

"His father was a human." Fred rifled through another folder and produced a family tree. "The dad was some kind of genius scientist who was trying to invent a new breed of demons. Apparently he was a demon groupie or something. Once he found out about the different breeds of demons he was very interested. Several different theories abound that he used his own son, Gabriel, or The Immortal, as a guinea pig."

"That was how long ago?" Angel asked.

Fred scanned the papers again. "Gabriel was born in the sixteen hundreds. From the looks of things he was around twenty-five when he actually became a vampire. And the reports of his sexual escapades and prowess really start to surface in the eighteen hundreds. Apparently he’s beautiful and really charismatic."

Angel and Spike exchanged a knowing glance, both clearly remembering the fact that The Immortal had seduced both Dru and Darla. At the same time.

"Anything about soul sucking?" Spike growled.

Fred nodded and opened her laptop. "It’s so neat that Mr. Giles and Willow were finally able to create a demon database. I was able to cross reference some material and found out that Vespara demons, especially the women, will take the souls from dying or dead infants before those souls can pass this plane. It makes them impervious to harm and their beauty becomes enchanting, more seductive, with each infant that it takes."

"What about the men?" Angel moved around her so he could see the laptop screen.

"They’ll also take the souls of babies, but fully grown women seem to be the soul of choice. Most Vespara men will enchant their mortal women and remove particles through a whisper."

"A whisper?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It’s what the Vespara calls the process of draining the soul through the body of a living person. It comes out in a whisper. The human never feels it and it’s never very much of the soul, but it’s enough to keep the woman entranced and the Vespara impervious to death or even pain."

"Why? Why does it need souls?" Angel glanced at the screen and then went back to his seat. "Do we know?"

"As a matter of fact, we do. I just got off the phone with Willow and she enlightened me. She’s sending me an email attachment of the research they found about The Immortal. The basic principle is very simple. The same way a vampire needs blood to sustain immortality, a Vespara needs souls to sustain it. Human souls. That soul lasts for about three weeks and then the Vespara is drained, starved." Fred smiled triumphantly. "Get it now?"

"No, brainiac. We don’t get it. How does a soul sustain anything?"

"A Vespara is drawn to humanity. It’s drawn to innocence and passion. That’s the why behind the babies and the lovers. It lives off stolen emotion ... everything a soul feels. As long as they are given a constant supply, they can’t be harmed because human emotion is quite possibly the most powerful thing in the world." Fred shrugged her slender shoulders. "It drives us to kill, to love, to betray, to lie, to hurt in ways that we think aren’t possible. When a Vespara finds someone with all that in them? They’re set for six to eight weeks."

"Buffy has all that and more." Spike glanced at Angel. "She’s suffered. Her soul likely screams inside of her all the time. She probably feels like she exists without reason and rhyme."

"That’s really poetic," Angel mumbled. "How do we kill The Immortal?"

Fred frowned. "You can’t."

"No one is really immortal, Fred." Angel replied. "A vampire is only immortal until you put a stake through his heart."

Spike stood up, walking toward the window and staring out at the bright sunshine. "It stands to reason that if we can walk around in the sun inside this building and not die then the same people who put this defense up should be able to bring his defense down."

Fred glanced thoughtfully at the windows. "You could be on to something there."

"What kind of mojo is on these windows? In the cars? What keeps the sun out? That same mojo could keep the soul out of him. No food. No nourishment. If the Vespara part of him is dying that leaves the vampire and then a pointy little piece of wood ought to kill him dead.." Spike was beaming, clearly proud of himself.

The corner of Angel’s mouth lifted up. "You may be useful after all, Spike." To Fred, he added, "Find out what they did to make this place vampire friendly. Find out who was responsible and when you do, bring them to me."

"How will you get The Immortal here? He’s so elusive." Fred said.

"Have you met Buffy yet, Fred?" Spike asked.

Fred shook her head.

"No one, demon or not, would be able to stay away from her if she called."

<<>><<>>

Buffy was about to make her way out of the hotel when the phone rang again. She glared at it, contemplated breaking it into two pieces, and then determined that she didn’t want to be kicked out of the hotel just yet. The short walk across the room felt like the last walk of a convicted felon to her. On the fourth ring she picked it up, absently massaging her leg where the latest injection seemed to be more potent than the last.

"Hello?"

"Buffy?"

"Yes."

"It’s Spike."

"I gathered that by the whole recognizing your voice thing."

"I can see that you are still just a right ray of bitter sunshine."

"Okay. What do you want?"

"You didn’t come here for your treatment. The doc said you should have had two already. Every six hours and whatnot."

"I feel better. And I have an aversion to freaky doctors who work at freaky offices that have freaky infirmaries in them."

"You gave us your word."

"Yeah, sucks to be you. Hah, no pun intended."

"Buffy," Spike said gently. "Can we just get together or something? Talk? I mean, this is getting ridiculous. You’re mad at me for coming back and not telling you, and I get that, but I want to know why you’re mad at the rest of the world."

"You’re right. I am angry at the world." Buffy checked her watch. "But the world has a way of making it up to me every few hours like clockwork. See, the sun goes down, the uglies come out, and I get to release some agression by stomping a hole through their asses. Free therapy. And the sun is setting so I should get out there and start my session."

"You’re slaying? After last night? Angel said -- "

Buffy chuckled, more to herself than him. "Once upon a time, a very annoying Angel told me that Los Angeles was his town. Guess what? He was just evicted."

"Buffy," Spike wearily said. He heard the click on the other end. "Slayer? Buffy? Shit."

Slamming the receiver down he glanced at Angel. "She’s heading out to slay. And she really hates you, by the way."

Angel adjusted his duster, which he had just pulled on, and shouldered a tranquilizer gun. "Ready?"

"Have you lost your sodding mind?" Spike growled and made a move for the gun. "You won’t be shooting her."

Angel shoved him backward. "If she’s losing her soul, if she harms a human being, she won’t be able to live with that. You and I both know it. If we can’t get through to her ourselves then this is our alternative."

"You saw the way it affected her. What if it kills her this time? What then?" Spike shouted.

"It won’t. Fred gave it to me. It’s just a sedative. She won’t even go under."

"And then what?"

"Then we find out if her soul is fucked up and we use her to lure The Immortal here."

"Oh, so she gets to become the bait? Is that it? We guinea pig her and then offer her up as some kind of lure?" Spike laughed sarcastically. "You really are a piece of work."

"I’m saving her from herself."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Angel threw the stake he was holding across the room where it embedded into the wall. "I have her best interest at heart. I think you have a piece of ass in mind. See, that’s the difference between you and me. Buffy was my soulmate! She was my everything and I loved her in ways that you will never begin to understand. That’s why I *can* do this. I know her inside and out and I know that if she’s losing it, she would want to be stopped. You look at her and you see --"

"I look at her and I see everything!" Spike yelled. "I see the sun rise. I see my soul! I see goodness and purpose and more than you could ever imagine. I see the girl that I love. The girl that I loved even when I had no soul, was without conscience, and without remorse. I see the girl that looked at me and saw past the monster. And yes, I see her writhing beneath me, calling my name. MY name a million times. Not yours! Never yours! Your soulmate? You murdered your soulmate a million times before I got there! I fixed what you broke. And-"

"Guys!" Fred shouted from the doorway. She was staring back and forth from one to the other in shock.

"What?" Spike fairly screamed.

"The whole place can hear you."

"You people can fix this place so that vampires can walk around in the sun, but you can’t spend some money for thicker walls? Bloody poofters," Spike snarled.

Angel stalked across the room and pulled the stake out of the wall. It promptly crumbled in his palm and he sighed. "Why is anyone still here? It’s after seven."

"I’ve got several volunteers helping me look into the whole defense theory. We’ve commissioned the shamans who performed the rituals on the windows and they should be here sometime after midnight to go over the material we have about The Immortal." She glanced from one vampire to the other. "You guys have to focus. If this Slayer is losing her soul or if she’s lost it she could be more dangerous than anything we’ve ever faced. I mean, that kind of power with no moral code?"

"We know, luv," Spike replied through gritted teeth. "What the hell did you give him a sedative for?"

"It’s okay, Fred." Angel threw the stake into the trash and rifled through his desk for another one. "We’ll figure something out."

Fred gave them both a weak smile. "Just ... don’t think of her as Buffy. Think of her as someone who could potentially be dangerous and stuff. Because she’s making everyone -"

"You’re not helping." Spike told her as he walked out of the office.

Angel squeezed her hand as he passed her. "I know you’ll figure out your end."

Fred watched them as they boarded the elevator.

It was going to be a long night and she wasn’t even convinced that Buffy was worth the trouble. Sure, Buffy was a legendary Slayer, but anyone who could cause two creatures of the night to totally forget what was important was clearly not a very good person.

<<>><<>>

The music inside the club was vibrating. Buffy could feel it thumping in her chest as she sidled up to the bar and motioned for the bartender. He gave her a smile and leaned closer. "What’s it gonna be?"

Buffy glanced at the bottles lining the wall. "Got stuff to forget. I want something strong."

"My name is Trevor," he told her, grabbing a bottle of Hennessey off the wall and putting a shot glass in front of her. "And this is guaranteed to lighten the load."

Buffy downed the shot and motioned for another. After downing that one, she plucked money out of her wallet and told him to leave the bottle. He complied, but informed her that he’d call her a cab later if she wanted, then he moved down the bar to help someone else.

Bottle in hand, Buffy made her way to an empty table on the edge of the dancefloor. Thirty minutes later she had drained half the bottle and was beginning to lose the edge that had been with her the entire day. She even found herself smiling at a handsome man who gave her a flirty wave from across the room.

Her smile was enough encouragement for him. He made his way through the pulsating bodies and paused across from her. "This seat taken?"

"No, it’s not." Buffy kicked the chair lightly and he caught it before it could tip over. "Sit down."

"You new in town?" the man asked, settling in the chair and peeling the label on his Budweiser.

"No."

"I just haven’t seen you around before."

"You think you see everyone in Los Angeles? It’s a big place."

"That’s true," he replied, then extended his hand across the table. "I’m Derrick."

"Buffy," she said, taking his extremely cool hand in hers. "Wow, you must have poor circulation. You’re really cold. Almost like a dead person."

Derrick smiled and she noted the tiny points on his canines. "Well, I get nervous around a beautiful girl."

"How sweet!" She forced a giggle and took several long gulps from her bottle. She relished the burn as it flooded into her system and welcomed the light headed feel that accompanied it. "What do you do for a living?"

"Oh, you know. Movie producer."

"Oh!" Buffy feigned enthusiam. "Wow. I’m an actress."

"Really?" Derrick leaned in closer and gave her a dazzling smile. "I knew you had that look about you. I could get you a role in the film."

"Is it a scary movie?" She played along, all the while noting his entire lack of a reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall.

"It’s a vampire movie."

Buffy gasped enthusiastically. "I love vampire movies. And you know what else?"

"What?"

Leaning so close that their noses were almost touching, she said, "I’ve never had sex with a movie producer, but I’m thinking that we could step out into the alley and have a really, really good time. I could teach you things that would make you blush."

Derrick had the temerity to look shocked. "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"

Finishing off her bottle, Buffy stood and motioned for him. He followed along closely. She could feel his eyes on her body and added a delightful sway to her hips with every step she took. Giving the pocket of her jeans a pat to reassure herself that the stake was indeed handy, she glanced behind her. He was still there, still grinning like a lovestruck teenager. She made her way to the exit and walked a short distance down the darkened alleyway.

"How do you like it, Derrick?"

"Any way you want to give it to me," he replied, grabbing her arms and pinning her back against the wall. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "You’re hot as hell."

Buffy grinned, licking her lips. He watched her tongue as it darted out and his was an exact mirror image. "Tell me more about your movie, Derrick. Would I be the heroine?"

"I’m thinking victim. You know, slow, painful death." His grin widened as he tightened his grip on her. "Maybe in an alleyway. Maybe with teeth as deep in your neck as the cock in your pu --"

"I don’t do victim well," she cut him off. "You know what I could do, though?"

"What?" He caught her earlobe between his teeth and lightly nipped it.

"I could be a vampire slayer." She felt him tense and he slowly pulled back, still holding her arms. "You know, slow, painful dusting in an alleyway just like this? With my stake further in your chest than your little dick could *ever* think of going."

She watched his throat constrict as he swallowed. "A Slayer?"

Batting her eyelashes innocently she gazed up at him. Then she brought her knee up between his legs so hard that she could have sworn she heard a bone crack. He howled and fell unceremoniously, sprawling on his back. Buffy pulled the stake out and straddled his waist, making every effort to grind her pelvis into his to cause as much pain as possible. "Do you still think I’m hot, Derrick? Still think I have the look? Think you can get it up one last time?"

"Buffy!"

She stopped gyrating and glanced behind her. Angel and Spike were both standing at the mouth of the alleyway. Rolling her eyes, she stared down at Derrick. "Sorry. It would have been the ride of your life."

She brought the stake down in one fell swoop. He dusted beneath her and she settled on the ground, still on her knees. Brushing dust off her shirt and jeans, she waited for them to arrive before she glanced up at them.

"Buffy," Angel said, staring down at her. "What -"

"Were you fucking him?" Spike spat out. "That’s what it looked like. You were fucking him!"

Buffy grinned. "Yes, my amazing crotchless pants allowed me to have sex with him while fully clothed."

"What the hell were you doing?" Angel asked her, reaching to help her up.

With a shrug, Buffy got to her feet, swayed a little, then kicked the wall lightly with each foot to rid her shoes of the excess dust. "I was fucking *with* him. It gets so boring to just stake and go. Besides, a little play never hurt anyone."

"Are you drunk again?" Angel stepped closer, sniffing the air around her.

"Just in case no one has ever mentioned it," Buffy glanced up at him. "That’s really unsettling. You’re like a dog. Always sniffing blood and sniffing liquor. If I see you sniff someone’s ass then all bets are off."

Laughing at her own joke, Buffy leaned back against the wall. "I missed California. The ocean, the vampires, the Slaying of the vampires. Oooh, you know what we should do? Go for a swim in the ocean."

Angel picked her bag up off the ground and handed it to her. "I don’t think you’re in any shape to be swimming right now."

"Please," Buffy replied. "I can hold my liquor."

"I’m sure you can," Angel told her, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder as she stumbled and regained her footing again. "Let’s go grab a bite to eat and we can all talk."

"Talk, talk, talk. That’s all you ever want to do." She put the bag over her arm and began to walk toward the road. "Have you ever seen a night so beautiful?"

Spike and Angel followed her closely and Spike said, "Not really. A million stars out."

Buffy paused and glanced up at the heavens. She had noticed the tranquilizer gun that was dangling off Angel’s shoulder and knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Deciding to play along, to buy herself some time, she said, "Let’s go someplace dark and just watch the sky."

"Okay," Angel told her, taking her elbow and leading her toward his car.

"Some place dark and quiet," Buffy replied. "I just want to be quiet."

Angel exchanged a look with Spike as he helped her into the passenger seat of the car. Spike nodded and slipped into the backseat, where he contented himself to watch the streetlights play in her hair.

<<>><<>>

An hour later they pulled into an overlook where the city twinkled below them and the stars glittered above like magnificent jewels. Buffy finished the last of her fries and wadded up the paper, putting them into the bag. "Fast food. The food of champions."

She grinned and stepped from the car. Angel and Spike both followed her, flanking her sides. "You like the view?" Angel asked.

"It’s perfect. I came here once. Before I was the Slayer. I sneaked out of the house to meet a boy named Tyler and he brought me here on the back of his motorcycle." She pointed to a small patch of grass beside the protective railing of the cliffs. "I got my first kiss right there on a plaid blanket that smelled like mothballs. I thought that was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me."

"How old were you?" Spike asked.

"I was fourteen. And he had just turned seventeen. He broke up with me a week later and a month after that he wrapped his bike around a telephone pole and died instantly." She seemed to realize that she was letting her guard down and shook her head. "People are disappointing that way."

"How do you like Italy?" Angel asked her.

"It’s Italy," Buffy replied. The food had killed her buzz and her head was beginning to throb. "They speak funny and eat a lot of carbs."

"Are you happy there?" He watched her closely. Her eyes had a distinct out of focus look to them. Something beyond the alcohol.

"Is anyone ever really happy?" Buffy pushed off from the hood of the car, where she had been reclining, and walked to the edge of the cliffs. "I would be happy if I could fly." She stretched her arms out to the sides and relished the feel of the wind in her hair. "I’d never land."

"I’m sure Dawn would take exception to that." Spike joined her, instinctively moving between her and the mouth of the cliffs.

"Dawn is with a very handsome, very perfect guy named Diego. I doubt she’d notice."

"Well, then I would take exception," Spike replied.

"You didn’t seem to take exception to me not knowing you were back," Buffy answered sweetly. "Not that I can even be surprised. Like we established. People are disappointing."

Clenching his jaw, Spike stared down at her upturned face. "You got stuff inside of you that you need to let out."

"I really don’t." Buffy moved away. She glanced over her shoulder at the two of them and exhaled loudly. "You guys are going to attempt to psychoanalyze me. Aren’t you? That’s your mission."

"We just want to help." Angel took a step toward her, but she held up a hand, stopping him.

"Is that tranquilizer gun you tried, and failed, to hide in the alleyway supposed to be of service in this version of helping Buffy?" She didn’t wait for a reply. "Because I gotta be honest, I’m not loving the after effects of whatever that crap was and I’d like to avoid the whole being shot thing."

"I just brought it to -"

"Save me from myself?" Buffy queried. "That’s probably your reasoning, but it’s flawed, Angel. See? I’m kinda a lost cause. You don’t realize that yet, but you will. And I really hope that I don’t have to see you when you do piece it together and realize it because that would kinda suck. I might actually feel something for you besides anger and resentment and I just can’t have that."

"Why?" Angel replied. "Why can’t you feel?"

"It’s such a bother." Buffy glanced up at the sky and watched a shooting star blaze across the horizon. "It’s such a waste of time. You spent eons brooding and thinking and feeling and in the end it didn’t accomplish anything."

"I did." Angel told her. "I accomplished a lot. I learned how to love you."

With a very loud snort, Buffy crossed her arms. "You loved me so much that you left me. Left town, even. You couldn’t be far enough away from me. And then Riley left. Giles left. And Spike." She looked at the blond who stood a little straighter. "You left me, too. So why should I feel anything good about any of you people when you’ve been a constant, say it with me now, disappointment?"

"Life is disappointing, love." Spike moved to stand next to her. "But we take what lessons we can get and move on."

"That’s what I’m doing. I’m moving on."

"Without your friends?" Angel asked.

"That was their choice." Buffy turned to look back out over the city. "You heard Giles’s version of events. Wanna hear mine?"

"I’d love to." Angel sat down on the railing so he could watch her, his back to the city. Spike sat a few feet away.

"Oh, a captive audience." Running her hands through her hair, she sighed. "Where do I start?"

"What happened with you and Red?" Spike asked.

"Willow chose Kennedy."

Spike gave her an incredulous look. "You wanted to be a lesbian with Willow?"

"No, idiot," Buffy shot back. "Kennedy and I never saw eye to eye about *anything*. She hated me and I hated her. After a few weeks of grating on each other’s nerves we came to blows over something so stupid and trivial that I don’t even remember what it was. But I was so mad that I kicked her ass. Faith broke it up and by then I realized that it had gone too far. I mean, Kennedy was kinda hurt. So, I turned around to get the first aid kit and Kennedy stabbed me in the back." She lifted her shirt, revealing the scar. "Willow saw the entire thing and instead of helping me or saying anything, she took Kennedy and left. For a long time. I left Italy before she came back. And if either one of you try to say that she was right to do that, this conversation ends."

"Fair enough. What happened with Giles?" Angel asked.

"He forgot every single thing I ever did that was good. He told me that I wasn’t the best person to be leading these girls, the new Slayers. In an instant he took all of the glory out of what I’ve done and diminished it down to just the mistakes I’ve made. He chose to put Faith in charge and she’s done way more bad shit than me!"

"Buffy, in his defense, he thought you needed a break." Angel stated in a low voice. "He said that you were very distraught over the whole Kennedy thing and he felt like you jumping another Slayer in front of everyone was out of line."

"Yeah, but I didn’t jump her. Spike, tell him how they all kicked me out of my house! My own house!"

"I have." Spike shook his head. "You see that I’m not the pansy ass defending them. If you hate them, I’ll hate them, too."

Angel smacked him hard on the back of the head. "Grow a pair!"

Spike got to his feet and hovered a second over Angel, who looked bored and made a show of yawning. Turning, Spike joined Buffy and said, "We could shove him over if we did it quick like." He moved closer to her when he noticed how pale she had become. "You okay, love?"

Buffy reached up and touched the scar on his eyebrow. "Did it hurt? When you got it?"

"Like the dickens." Spike traced the scar with his own fingertip. "Left a big scar, huh? I wouldn’t know. I can’t see it."

"Mine are inside. They used to hurt like the dickens, too." She brushed past them and retrieved her bag from the car, fishing a flask out of the bottom. Draining the contents, she wiped her mouth off on her sleeve and gazed at the two of them. "Is there anything else? What more do you need to know before you either shoot me or take me back to my car."

"Is your soul okay?" Angel asked her point blank. "Or has The Immortal whispered out pieces of it?"

Buffy raised her eyebrow in shock. "Apparently you’ve done your homework. If you got that far then you must know the answer."

Spike felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. "Can we get it back?"

She looked at him through glassy eyes, her face a mask. "The question is not whether or not you can get it back. The question is why would I let you?"

<<>><<>>

Angel moved around the car and gripped her upper arms, shaking her harder than he probably should have. "Tell us! Stop playing games and tell us if your soul has been tampered with."

Buffy, who had been very cautious because of the presence of the tranquilizer gun, felt rage began to build inside of her with every rough movement he made. "Let me go!" she finally yelled, shoving him so hard that he landed on his backside near the mouth of the cliffs. "You son of a -"

"Hey!" Spike shouted, grabbing Buffy as she lunged toward Angel.

Without thinking at all, Buffy tossed him easily over her shoulder and he landed with a loud thud right next to Angel. Grabbing her bag, Buffy made a move to run, but she was tackled and sailed through the air, landing hard on her elbow and knee. She cried out, more from shock than pain, and rolled onto her side.

A shadow fell across her and she saw Angel standing there, hand extended. "Get up," he said.

She deftly kicked his feet out from under him then brought her leg down hard, catching him across the face with her boot. His face changed immediately and he grabbed her as she stumbled to her feet, pulling her back against his chest. "Stop it, Buffy!" he growled, low in her ear.

"Let go!" Buffy screamed, jerking her head backwards into his nose and mouth. He grunted loudly and released her. She spun and kicked out again, this time sending him flying toward the small patch of grass she had indicated early.

Her bag was lying near the back tire of the car and as she limped toward it, she heard a click, then felt a sharp prick in her leg. Glancing down, she saw a small dart and she reached for it. But before she could pull it free, her legs buckled.

Angel shot to his feet and pinned her back against the car before she could hit the ground. He watched her head roll backwards, her eyes close, and glanced over at Spike. "We’re not shooting her, huh?"

"I figured she’d kill me when she was done with you. Survival instinct and all that rot."

"Bastard," Buffy mumbled, unable to push Angel away, unable to free herself. At once her body felt like it had been thoroughly massaged. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so completely at ease, so completely relaxed.

Angel held her easily, all the fight apparently gone from her body. He pinned both of her arms at her sides and held her there. "You’re going to tell us exactly what happened with The Immortal, Buffy, and you’re going to start right now."

"Sleepy," she replied, leaning her head forward against his chest. "I want to go home."

"Not until you talk." Angel picked her up and told Spike to open the car door. He slipped her into the seat, grabbed her bag and waited for Spike to crawl into the back before he made his way to the driver’s side. Once inside, he regarded her for several seconds. "How did you meet The Immortal?"

"I already told you. In London."

"What did he want from you?" Angel grabbed a napkin from the bag that Buffy’s food had come in and held it to his lip, which had been cut in the fight.

Buffy glanced over at him. "You’re bleeding."

"Yes, I am."

"Good."

"What did he want from you?" Angel said a little louder.

"He offered me a job. I already told you that, too."

"What kind of job?"

Buffy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. "He needed a secretary."

"Bull shit," Spike said, leaning between the two bucket seats so he could see her. "Why would he need a secretary?"

"Why does Angel need a secretary?" Buffy asked. "Because The Immortal can’t do jack for himself. That’s why."

"What did you have to do?" Angel pressed.

"You know, file his papers, balance his finances, kill his enemies."

"You killed for him," Spike snorted angrily. "What, the big bad has no balls of his own?"

"A Vespara demon is full of purity and goodness when it feeds." Buffy stared out the window, wondering how long she would feel like she was floating outside her body. "They can’t kill on their own. Not even another demon. They don’t have it in them unless they haven’t fed on a fresh soul and then they only do it to replenish themselves. He has enemies who would do anything to kill him. I took care of that problem."

"So you were his bodyguard?"

Buffy regarded Spike over her shoulder. "What? Aren’t you Angel’s bodyguard? Didn’t you just shoot me for your man?"

Spike narrowed his eyes, but before he could form a reply, Angel interrupted. "Did he whisper your soul?"

Buffy stopped scowling at Spike and tried to focus on Angel, who seemed to be floating in a circular pattern in front of her. "Yes. I - I know he did at least once, but I don’t know if that’s all. I was never really sure if he did or if it was me building up walls against my friends. Either could be true."

Spike asked quietly. "Is that really why you cut your friends out of your life?"

"They cut me. Remember Sunnydale? They kicked me out of my own house. They chose Faith as their leader. I didn’t do that."

Spike nodded. "I remember, Slayer, but I also remember that you all fought side by side afterwards. That counts for something."

"I don’t care." Buffy closed her eyes again. "I’m dizzy."

"If you know that he can take your soul then why are you still around him?" Angel said.

"I can’t talk about this, okay?" Putting her face in her hands, she tried hard to gain some kind of control over whatever it was in the tranquilizer gun this time that had her ready to spill her guts. "You gave me some souped up truth serum. I know you did!"

"You never could lie to me," Angel told her, laying his hand on her shoulder. "I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to get upset. Whatever it is, we can fight it together."

Spike rolled his eyes heavenward. "Just can’t keep your hands off .." he mumbled under his breath. Angel shot him a look, so Spike cleared his throat and added, "He’s right. We can help you."

Buffy turned in the seat and regarded both of them. For so long Angel had been her life, her everything. Looking at him now she could easily remember pouring her heart out to him about everything from school, to homework, to her mother’s boyfriend. She could even remember what it felt like to curl into his lap and cry against his chest, his big, strong arms wrapped tightly around her. She could almost feel his lips against her ear as he whispered that he would always be there for her.

She turned her attention to Spike, wishing she could trace the cool plane of his cheek, rub her thumb over the his high cheekbone and fall asleep with his hand on her hip, the way they used to do. She remembered the way he took care of Dawn, the way he had held her wounded hands in his the night that she had clawed her way from the grave. She remembered the ecstasy in his arms, the way he knew every curve of her body. The way he held her that final night, telling her over and over again that it would be okay.

They were both her champions. Both were her salvation at different times in her life. Both would have died for her to save her a second of agony and here they were again, pleading with her, ready to fight The Immortal for her.

And she was fighting them every step of the way.

The pain was surfacing. Becoming something tangible. She needed the serum.

Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath. "I’ll tell you everything. I just need to go to my hotel room first."

"No," Angel and Spike replied together.

Her shirt felt too tight across her chest as her heart constricted painfully, flooding her with beautiful reminders of why she would trust the both of them with her life. With Dawn’s life. With the fate of the world.

"Don’t," she shied away when Angel reached for her again and fumbled with the door. "I- I have to get some air."

Angel locked the door, but cracked the window. When Buffy turned to look at him, there was a pleading in her eyes that had been absent since he’d seen her. For the first time since she had come to Los Angeles, the dead, vacant look was gone from her face and her eyes actually sparkled with unshed tears.

"He’s going to be able to find me if I don’t stop it." Buffy said quickly, her voice cracking. "I have to stop the emotion. I have to stop the pain. Please take me to my hotel. Please! He’ll come and I’m not ready for him to come."

"What do you mean stop the pain?" Angel asked.

"You just have to trust me. I know that I haven’t given you a reason to, but Angel, I know what I’m doing. Take me to the hotel and then I’ll tell you everything. I swear. But you have to take me right now." She leaned across him and started the engine, then squeezed his hand. "You can shoot me again if you need to."

The tears threatened to spill when he gently caressed her hand. "Please," she cried. "He doesn’t know I’m here. He can’t find unless he feels me and he feels pain."

"I think we should go," Spike said, staring at their entwined fingers.

Buffy gave him a look of gratitude as Angel put the car in reverse and began the descent into the city.