May 23

The three of them drove back to the Summers’ house, but didn’t enter; instead, Angel lifted Dawn onto the lowest branch of the tree that grew right outside Her room. Helping Dawn climb the tree in her black dress and heels, Angel settled her beside him on the roof. Spike moved up after them, and quietly took his place on the other side of Dawn, still flanking the young Summers.

“We used to sit out here,” Angel said in a quiet voice, “And talk. Or watch the stars.” Or kiss, holding hands as She planned their future, and Angel listened. It was a wonderful future, without death, without slaying, without demons or darkness. With Her…with Buffy.

“She told me,” Dawn admitted with a little smile, brushing her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She smiled at Spike when the vampire handed her a handkerchief. “Or maybe it’s the memories the monks messed with. I don’t know, but I remember that she loved that time.”

Angel just nodded, holding Her sister closer to his side, afraid to let her go. His last tangible link to Her, to Buffy. Dawn stretched out between Angel and Spike, resting her legs on the blonde and her head on Angel’s lap, holding his hand tightly as they sat on the roof. She sighed, feeling comforted and loved, and…guilty.

God, she felt guilty. Guilty that she lived when Buffy died. Guilty that she was here with Angel and Spike when Buffy was…she was… Dawn hiccupped on a sob, clenched her teeth together, and squeezed Angel’s hand tightly. Buffy was dead. Buffy was dead, and it was all Dawn’s fault. If Dawn hadn’t been the Key, if Glory hadn’t wanted her Key, if, if, if.

If Buffy hadn’t tried to save her, then Dawn would be dead, would have done what she was created to do. She’d have been the one to die instead of Buffy. Her beautiful, loving, and giving sister would be the one here with Angel and Spike, not her. Buffy would have lived, she’d have gone on to do great things, slayer things, woman things.

She’d have been a wonderful president, Dawn thought as she closed her eyes, allowing the weariness of the past days to overcome her. Buffy would have been so good at that. Or an actress…well, no, not that. Dawn still remembered the talent show from the first year they were here. Okay, no acting for Buffy.

But there were so many other things in the world that she could have done, and done so very well. An astronaut, a deep-sea diver; she was the slayer, she could have organized all the fighters for their side and wiped out all of the evil that crossed the planet. Yes, Dawn sighed as she drifted in that in between state between waking and sleeping.

Buffy could have done that. She was a natural leader, she was a great fighter – some of those moves Dawn still couldn’t get, and she’d practiced for hours. Buffy was the all around Renaissance woman, whatever that meant. She’d heard Giles and Willow discussing it once: the Renaissance man, and how Leonardo DaVinci was the ultimate one. Well, if he could be one, then Buffy was the ultimate Renaissance woman.

She would have wiped out all the evil on the earth, and then they’d have partied. They’d have celebrated Buffy’s victory, crowning her queen or something. Dawn smiled, mentally laughing at the image of Buffy in a long white toga and crown, confetti strewn all over the place in one of those open cars as she rode down street after street, and the people flocked out to see her.

But that’d never happen. Because Dawn was alive, and Buffy was dead.

“With the slayer…gone,” Spike said eventually, breaking the silence between the three, “Sunnydale’s gonna need help.”

“Will you stay here?”

“Yeah,” Spike nodded, absently patting his pockets for a cigarette. Or a drink. “Got nowhere else to go.”

“Can you take care of Dawn? I’m not going back to LA, Spike,” Angel said, one hand absently caressing Dawn’s hair as the girl finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

“You’re not?” Spike demanded, looking at his grandsire with skepticism. “You’re staying here? Now?”

“No,” Angel said softly, still looking out, still looking into the night. “I’m leaving the country. I can’t stay here if…if She’s not.”

Nodding, Spike again reached for his cigarettes. Again stopping himself before he pulled them out, he said, “She could have used you, you know.”

“I would have been here,” Angel told his grandchilde, anger and guilt in his voice. Anger at himself, guilt over his inactions. “I didn’t know; she said everything was fine and that I shouldn’t worry.”

“She always says that.”

“I know that, too,” Angel nodded. “Why didn’t you call me, William?”

A shiver worked its way up Spike’s spine at Angel’s tone. It wasn’t the Poof who said that, but Angelus. Angelus was closer to the surface than Spike had first suspected, or maybe Angel – the soul – was just too tired and was letting the demon out to play? If that were true, then…well, then a lot of things would be different, so that wasn’t the case.

“She didn’t want you to know,” Spike sighed, keeping a wary eye on the elder vampire. Now Spike knew what had been bothering him since Angel drove into town. The martyr was gone, and in its place was something else. Not Angelus, but not the Poof, either. It was weird. And more than a little scary.

“Said that you’d only risk your life, and hers was the only one she was willing to risk.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Yeah, well, you try talking the slayer out of something she wants done. Try reasoning with her when her loved ones are in danger. Giles…” Spike paused, and looked down at Dawn. Meeting Angel’s eyes, he mouthed, ‘Later’ and finished with, “And the others should be getting back bout now. We should head inside.”

Angel nodded but made no move to leave the roof. So much of his time with Her, with Buffy, was spent here. Here or in the mansion by the fireplace. He could still picture Her hair as the moonlight shone down on them, how it sparkled white gold. How Her eyes changed from green to something deeper, less fathomable in the moonlight, Her skin, usually so tan from the sunlight She seemed to crave, became milky white, glowing with a luminescence all its own.

“Dawn,” he said finally, waking the girl from where she lay between them. His voice was low and gentle. “Wake up, sweeting; we have to go inside now.”

Opening bright blue eyes that glimmered with tears and grief, Dawn shook her head. “I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to go in this house ever again.”

Angel just nodded. “Is the mansion still usable?” he asked Spike.

“Yeah,” the other vampire nodded, refraining from telling Angel how Buffy often went there to relax from the pressures of her dual lives.

“Leave a note for the others,” Angel said, as he helped Dawn to stand. “And bring whatever Dawn might need. I’ll meet you there.”

Without another word, Angel lowered Dawn to the ground and quickly followed. Spike entered the house through Buffy’s window, doing his best not to breathe in her unique slayer scent, or see her things still scattered around the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

May 24

“Tell me again why we didn’t bother to get those two crazy kids together again?” Lilah demanded of Gavin, though she didn’t expect an answer from the pointless lawyer. She missed Lindsey, he was so much better at the evilness of their work. Always with a comeback or snarky remark.

Gavin was just a bore.

“And now it’s too late, damnit!” She sighed, and closed the file on the now-deceased slayer. How the hell were they going to turn Angel into Angelus now that the one – and only – proven way to do it was dead? They’d have to find another way. “Why didn’t we try to push them together?” But the question was quiet as she tried to sort it all out.

Okay, Darla didn’t work out…that was a shot they had to take, even if it did, ah, bomb. It was something that could have worked, based on certain files…okay, okay, files that obviously didn’t have all the facts straight.

They tried to corrupt Cordelia, but that didn’t take. Why, Lilah didn’t know, the seer’s soul was corruptible enough, but…she mentally shrugged. Well, sometimes people surprised her – not often, but occasionally they managed to. Maybe Angel really did have an influence on those he saved. He managed to convert Faith, after all…

“If he’s so crazed over her death,” Gavin started, “Then why don’t we use that to our advantage?”

“How?” But she wasn’t really interested in the answer. No, she was more interested in the view from her office than what Gavin had to say.

“Buffy Summers was his link, right? She was the reason he fought so hard, let alone at all.” Gavin paused and Lilah turned to look at him. “So if she was the reason he stayed good, then with her gone, he’s lost his drive.”

Smiling, Lilah nodded. “You know, you might not be all wrong. And that in itself is just wrong.” But it wasn’t a bad idea, and Lilah wasn’t above using it for her own ends.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s Angel?”

The question startled Dawn out of her own thoughts, and she looked up to see Willow and Cordelia standing there. They weren’t asking her, however, but Spike whom she leaned against. Forcing her attention on the conversation, Dawn nonetheless went back to staring ahead, her head on Spike’s lap as he played with her hair.

They were at the house…THE HOUSE, as Dawn had begun to think of it. She had to be here, apparently, Spike insisted she be here so that Giles, at least, knew she was okay. Reluctantly, Dawn had agreed – but only for a few hours, and only in the living room.

“Left around midnight,” the blonde answered in a monotone voice.

“Where’d he go?” This was from Willow, and Dawn wondered why she cared.

None of them cared. Not about Buffy – except that she was supposed to save them. Not about Angel – they’d been the ones to drive him out of her and Buffy’s life in the first place. Not about her – if they did, then they’d realize what a toll this had been on her, losing her mom to something that no one could stop, and God, that hurt. Losing Buffy to something that was supposed to kill her, not her beloved sister.

Losing Angel to a grief Dawn couldn’t even begin to understand. He hurt in ways she couldn’t even imagine, in ways Dawn hadn’t been aware existed. She’d never looked past herself before, not really. she’d been spoiled, she could see that now; through her own memories and the stupid monks’ manipulation, she could see that she’d been so wrapped up in her own life, in her own aches and travails, that she couldn’t see what was really happening.

Shifting a bit on Spike’s lap, she wondered if that was because the monks hadn’t wanted her to truly realize what had happened. Did they think that if she wasn’t wrapped up in herself, then she’d see the inconsistencies in this brave new life?

“He went to remember her,” Dawn said, and was surprised when the words came out of her mouth. She hadn’t planned on saying them, hadn’t planned on saying much, really, but there they were. Hanging in the air as if she could grab them and take them back. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t take back anything that had happened. Buffy’s death. Her sacrifice for Dawn. Angel’s leaving.

Spike’s hand continued to stroke her hair. With a sigh, he nodded. “He couldn’t stay here; too many memories.”

“He hasn’t been here,” Cordelia stressed, waving a hand to encompass the Summers’ house, Sunnydale, the Hellmouth, everything but their separate world made in LA, “For two years.”

 

Dawn sat up then, on the couch her mother had died on, on the couch her sister had consoled her on. Eyes blazing with tears and fire, she let loose. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” she raged in a quiet voice. All her strength had left her when Buffy jumped, and now she only had raw emotions begging to be set free.

“You know nothing. You don’t know how he was here for mom’s death; how he comforted Buffy at her grave. How he snuck into the house and held me while Buffy did whatever you people demanded she do the day she buried her own mother!”

Shrugging off Willow’s comforting hand, eyes blazing with anger and hatred, she hissed, “Don’t touch me. You don’t know what they went through. I have memories I know I’m not supposed to have, the monks messed up, and I know all about them! I know how he came to see her, to apologize over the Faith incident, and how he’d call just to hear her voice.”

She was openly crying now, and didn’t object when Spike gathered her in his arms. “He loved her more than anything in this world. His whole reason for doing anything he did, anything, was her, and all you can think of is that he hadn’t seen her in two years, so he should be over her. Neither of you know nothing – your too selfish to know.”

She stopped her ranting, but only because she hiccupped on a sob. “Spike, I want to go home. I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to be in this…I can’t be here. Please, don’t make me stay here.”

“You are home, Dawnie,” Willow said in a small voice, tears poling in her own eyes. “You can stay here. Tara and I will move in, and we’ll…”

“I don’t want you milking anything, anymore,” Dawn said in a tired voice, eyes closed. “You’re not welcome here. You’ve done nothing but feed off Buffy since you met her. At least Tara knows her limits, knows what’s really in Buffy’s heart. Was,” she corrected herself in a whisper, the tears starting again as she heard the past tense of a life.

“Was in her heart.” She shook it off and glared at the redhead. “My God, Willow. You know nothing. You’ve never understood, you’ve never really got what your best friend always tried to tell you.”

Spike stood, suppressed his chuckle of glee at the so-called Scoobies getting what they’d always deserved, and picked Dawn up. “Come on, bit, I’ll get you home.”

Cordelia waited until the pair left before turning to Willow. “What did she mean, Angel was here?”

“Don’t know,” Willow shrugged tiredly. “I didn’t know. Cordelia,” Willow looked up from the couch she’d gone to comfort Dawn. Stark fear, gapping absence, pain, and despair clear in her eyes. “What am I going to do now?”

Sitting next to a woman she’d never considered her friend, Cordelia wrapped her in her arms. “I don’t know Willow,” she whispered. “But it’ll be okay,” she promised, “You’ll figure it out.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel looked out at the clear night. The freighter he’d taken from Sunnydale had been at sea for three days now, and was expected to dock in Sri Lanka in another two. No one had bothered him, since he’d boarded, yet Angel hadn’t noticed.

Buffy filled his thoughts the way She always had, crowding everything and everyone else out. Her scent, Her laugh, Her eyes…Her body. Moving under him, wrapping around him as they made love, or as they slept. Holding onto him even when they were forbidden each other.

His ultimate happiness.

Angelus was silent within him, the demon not having the strength to bother taunting Angel about anything.

Mate. They’d lost their Mate. She’d loved both of them, soul and demon, human and vampire. She was the only one to accept them, the only one to care whether he lived or died.

“What happens now?” he asked the night, the whisper floating over the vast ocean.

The night didn’t answer him, God gave him no sign, the Powers ignored him, and Angel wasn’t surprised. He was, however, when Angelus said in a quiet, not at all normal for him, voice, “What does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Angel admitted, no longer talking aloud, but to his other half. It was the first time since the gypsy curse over a hundred years ago that they’d bothered to listen to each other when they talked.

“But I think somehow it should.”

~~~~~~~~~~

September 29

“I don’t understand, where is he?” Fred asked in a small voice, as she rocked in a corner of the room she hadn’t left since arriving in this new place.

Cordelia looked at her in exasperation. What was she, Mother Theresa? “He’s gone, Fred,” Cordelia said for the dozenth time. “Angel’s gone. He’s someplace else, not here.”

“But the handsome man saved me,” Fred insisted, and looked at Cordelia with wide insistent eyes that clearly said she was insane. Cordelia wanted to shake her, but resisted. “He saved me; he saved me from the bad men. He changed, and I didn’t care, and I wanted him to stay with me, and he saved me. He said everything was going to be fine now.”

“And it is!” Cordelia countered in an overly cheerful voice. “See? No more cave, though if you don’t leave this room soon, it’s going to start looking like one. No more people hunting you, all the food you want. What more is there?”

“Angel,” Fred said in a pathetic voice. Giving up, Cordelia threw up her hands, and left the room. She didn’t bother to close the door, maybe if she left if open Fred would get the hint. Besides, that room stank – all the food wrappers, the unbathed occupant, and the piles of unwashed clothes. Cordelia shuddered – how could anyone life like that?

Returning to the lobby, she sat on the red round couch with a huff. “I give up,” she mumbled. “Someone else can try.”

“She’s still not leaving her room?” Wesley asked, but didn’t look up from his reading.

“No, hiding in that corner like a mouse, insisting Angel is about to ride in and save her.” Shaking her head, she stood and wandered to where Wesley was still reading. “He’s not coming back,” she insisted, looking over his shoulder at the pages of text that so weren’t in English. What was that…gypsy magick? Odd he’d be looking at something like that. “And the sooner she realizes that, the better.”

“Angel might return,” Wes insisted, turning the page. “He’s in mourning. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Besides, he has his redemption here. He has to return.”

Cordelia shot him a look that said he understood nothing; Wesley missed it completely. “Of course,” she said instead. “So if that’s the case, then where is he?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The he in question was already on his way back from Sri Lanka.

It hadn’t held the peace he’d craved, wasn’t the sanctuary he looked for – half the monks were demons bent on taking his soul to bring back Angelus for Wolfram & Hart. He’d killed them, that wasn’t the problem – okay, he’d killed them after several long weeks of not even realizing that they were demons, that they were after him, and that they’d killed several dozen in the tiny village just to get his attention.

“Face it,” Angel laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “We’re getting old.”

Angelus snorted. “Speak for yourself, buddy – I only grow stronger with age.”

The silent conversation, one of many they’d had since returning from Pylea and finding their Mate gone from this world, did nothing to make either demon or soul feel better. But speaking with the only other being capable of understanding helped…in some small way. Maybe not through the grief, grief that still weighed heavily on them both, but it helped to know that there was one being in this world who mourned Her passing just as desperately, just as deeply, as the other.

It wasn’t a conscious decision they’d come to, not something that Angel said to Angelus, or that Angelus badgered Angel with; no, it just happened. Maybe it was as they’d held Dawn the night they’d…that night. Maybe it was seeing Her sister broken from her own grief.

Or maybe it was tiredness on both their parts, neither caring any longer what happened that brought them to this strange understanding. Who cared if they received redemption? Angel didn’t care if he Shanshued, it was unimportant now that She was gone. Angelus didn’t care if the soul ever disappeared again, what was the point when His Woman wasn’t there to welcome him back.

“The ship will dock in Sunnydale soon,” Angel needlessly reminded Angelus, “Two days at most.”

“Yeah, so? You want my permission to return to those saps in LA? I don’t give a shit, soulboy. Do whatever you want.” Angelus, deep within Angel – or maybe not that deep anymore – folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall his cage consisted of. He was tired, beaten, unable to care what happened.

Angel didn’t reply, too depressed to make up his own mind, or to much care.

~~~~~~~~~~

October 2

Spike was there to greet him, though both Angel and Angelus were surprised at that.

“Spike,” Angel nodded, hefting his bag over his shoulder and disembarking into the warm summer night. He breathed deeply, scenting the air as he often would when She lived. It was air. Nothing more, nothing less. It held all the scents air should in a moderately booming town such as this.

But it didn’t hold Her.

“Peaches,” Spike nodded, lighting a cigarette as his grandsire stood before him. “Heard you were coming back.”

“Word travels,” he shrugged, falling into step with Spike as the pair walked down the dock to Spike’s beat-up, DeSoto. “Why are you here?”

Revving the car, Spike took off for the mansion before replying. “Don’t know,” but then he laughed. “Yeah, yeah I do. The lil bit…she’s depressed, Angel. Beyond normal grief, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her.”

“You left her alone?” Angel demanded, hands itching to reach across the seat and strangle the boy. Dawn was all he had left of Her, the only tangible reminder that She existed.

“Had to,” Spike insisted, squealing around a corner at speeds the car wasn’t meant to turn on. “After she kicked everyone out of the house and sold it, Dawn barely talked anymore. She doesn’t want anyone else there; all mad at them because she insists it was the Scoob’s fault.”

They pulled into the mansion garage, exiting as quickly as they’d arrived across town. “I would have come here,” Angel said, but they all – Angel, Angelus, and Spike – knew he was lying. “Or you could have left a damn message, Spike,” Angel growled as he opened the door.

“Yeah, and the chances of you listening to the messenger and not killing-”

The both of them stopped dead just inside the doorway. The overpowering scent of blood hit them first, and they shifted into their vampiric faces. And then death.

It was recent, overly strong despite that, and familiar.

Dawn.

She lay in a pool of blood by the fireplace. Arms splayed on either side of her, eyes closed against the heat of the blazing fireplace. For a moment, neither vampire could move. She, Dawn, She…the last of Her was gone…

Sprinting into the room, Angel gathered the frail woman…girl, she was just a girl, into his arms. Lifting her off the blood stained floor, he carried her to Spike’s car, where the younger vampire already waited to take them to the hospital.

It was useless and they both knew it.

It didn’t stop either of them from taking Dawn there, rushing into the ER, and demanding help. It didn’t stop either of them from nursing that one tiniest of sparks, that small hope that maybe…

“I’m sorry,” a doctor said not too long later. “She’s lost too much blood…” he trailed off when it became clear neither man listened to him. It was a common reaction, and one he’d seen often enough in grieving families. He wasn’t sure what these men were to the child, but it was clear they cared for her.

“There are some questions that need answering,” he told them in a caring voice.

Despite the softness of his words, for the two vampires, it was still loud and harsh, and they stood, leaving the doctor to shout questions after them, leaving all those precious questions unanswered. 

Angel was beside himself in rage. Dawn killed herself, the reason She sacrificed to begin with, the reason She jumped off that tower and into the portal, sealing it instead of Dawn, was so Her sister could live.

“And this,” he seethed, unaware that he’d began speaking aloud halfway through a thought. “This is what She gets. Dawn kills herself. She deserved more, She deserved a better legacy.”

Was this what he, himself, sacrificed his life for? Was this what turning back the day bought Her? Barely eighteen months? Was that what Her life meant? Was that what Her life was worth? Months, only? Was that what Her life meant to Dawn? Nothing?

Roaring his grief, Angel didn’t notice Spike standing there, shock holding his pale limbs immobile as he watched his grandsire shout his anger and grief. This was his fault. This was all his fault. Dawn was his responsibility, and he’d failed. In an effort to cheer her up, in an effort to bring her Angel, to not be the only one there to grieve with, he’d killed her.

“I killed her,” he whispered into the night. Tears pooled in his bright blue eyes, dull with grief and pain, and his heart ached at the knowledge that he’d done this. He’d killed Dawn. Angel looked at the boy, eyes yellow with rage, and attacked.

Spike didn’t put up any fight. He accepted every blow Angel rained down on him, accepted the pain that exploded in his face, along ribs and chest. This was his fault, this was what he’d meant to save, meant to protect. He only wanted to take care of Dawn, to watch over her for her Sister’s sake. And she’d killed herself the moment he left.

Angel slumped to the side of the building, all his rage spent; in its place existed nothing more than a hollow, gnawing emptiness that grew with every passing moment. It was no use when Spike didn’t fight back; when his grandchilde accepted whatever punishment the Sire meted out with nothing more than a hiss of pain.

“What now?” Spike asked, eventually, long, long minutes after Angel stopped pounding on him. Why he stopped, Spike couldn’t say, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted Angel to stop. If Angel hadn’t stopped, if he’d kept going, if he’d killed him, then…then this pain would stop, too.

“What now? What’s the point?” Angel demanded in a tired voice. “She’s dead, and now Dawn is, too.”

Dawn was dead because Spike had left her when he promised he wouldn’t. Their last conversation had been entirely one-sided; He’d had told her he was going to pick Angel up from the docks, and he’d be back within an hour, ninety minutes at most. She hadn’t said a word. He’d assured her he wasn’t leaving her, that Angel would be thrilled to see her, and that then the three of them could…stay here, live here, plan out a future.

With no answer reassuring him, Spike had gone out anyway. Dawn was often quiet, unresponsive, and depressed. Spike hadn’t realized that the only thing she looked for anymore was that one chance. The one chance to end it all, to take her own life, and to not feel anything ever again. The one chance to leave this world, to not worry about anything anymore, not hear those still alive, not think about those dead.

What was the point?

“With the slayer…gone,” Spike said eventually, breaking the silence between them. The moon was setting, and dawn was a faint glow on the horizon. They’d need to get inside soon, and yet neither vampire bothered to move. “Sunnydale’s gonna need help.”

It was the second time he’d voiced those words, but this time, Spike wondered what Angel’s answer was going to be. Or even if either of them cared anymore. There was no link to this town, not anymore. Not with Buffy’s death, not with Dawn’s. Nothing to keep them here…except a promise to Buffy made long ago when they’d each agreed to help her.

“We can get Faith out of jail,” Angel said eventually, eyes glued to the stars. Angelus was silent within him, and Angel wasn’t sure if it was because he felt as the soul did over Dawn’s death, or another reason.

That her death was pointless, and that the girl had thrown away everything She had sacrificed for her. If Dawn wanted to die so damn badly, then she could have jumped off that scaffold and closed the portal, and She would have lived. She’d have been alive in this world, and Angel…he’d have been with Her.

“She wouldn’t have died,” Angelus pointed out, but it wasn’t a taunt, it wasn’t an insult. It was a simple statement of fact. “If we’d have killed Dawn first,” She wouldn’t have died.

“True,” Angel agreed with his demon, but couldn’t help the stab of pain at the thought. But then, was anyone else’s life worth Hers? No. She was most important, she was all that mattered. If he’d have had the choice, then…would he have? Yes. Yes he’d have tossed Dawn over the edge, and saved Her.

“Faith? That other slayer?” Spike nodded. “That’d work, sure.” He patted his duster for a cigarette, pulled the half used pack out, but stopped short of lighting it. Dawn didn’t like it when he smoked around her. Said the smell was awful. But then she was gone…he forced his mind away from the thought.

“Are we doing it the old fashioned way?” Spike asked as he returned the pack to his pocket, regret heavy in his heart. “Or are we doing it the legal way?”

Angelus snorted, and Angel agreed. “The old fashioned way. I don’t think the legal one will help us anytime in the near future.”

Spike nodded to that, but didn’t voice his surprise. The Big Poof himself not doing something the right way? Not doing something the legal way? Unheard of. Inconceivable. Implausible and ludicrous. What had happened to Mr. I’m-going-to-do- what’s-right-and-to-hell-with-everything-else?

Interested, Spike wondered just what the hell losing Buffy had done to him, or what kind of bad blood he’d had in wherever the hell he’d been the last few months.

“Visiting hours are over by eight,” Angel continued, unaware of Spike’s thoughts. All he could hear was the blaring emptiness where She should be. “We’ll have to be careful with the sunlight, but it’s doable.”

“Well,” Spike laughed, but it lacked his usual humor. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

“I’ve got nothing planned.”

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