The Problem
by Esmeralda 
Part One - Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen

Part Seven  

“So what’s the plan?” Xander tried not to sound impatient, but the 
clock was still ticking on Spike’s memories. 
“We find ourselves a lawyer, ask some questions, get some answers,” 
said Angel bluntly. 
“*Ask*?” Xander felt vaguely disappointed.
Spike grinned evilly at him. “There are lots of different ways of 
askin’ someone summat, Pet.”
Xander failed to quite suppress a shiver, hearing that affectionate 
term without its usual rough warmth. “Do you think they’ll know 
anything about the Aruubus?” he asked hopefully.
“If they do, we’ll find out,” said Angel simply.
“So…Can I help?”
Angel glanced at him, his gaze thoughtful; he nodded. “You can 
help.”
Xander wondered if he should be worried about the happy little buzz 
that prospect gave him. 



********************************

They arrived at the offices of Wolfram and Hart an hour or so before 
dusk. It was pretty unremarkable to look at – just another looming 
tower of glass, steel and concrete. 
“Do we wait?” Xander asked.
Angel didn’t answer; turning the Cadillac sharply, he drove toward 
an underground car park.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Xander muttered. At least it was a cloudy 
day. They stopped twenty feet or so from the entrance. The buildings 
on either side cast the whole area in deep shadow; all the same, 
Angel and Spike drew their coats over their heads and walked 
quickly. They concealed themselves behind a large concrete pillar 
just inside the entrance. Directly ahead was a ramp leading down to 
the first level. At the bottom was a security guard’s hut. A 
uniformed man sat inside reading a newspaper; nothing very unusual 
about that, what was less usual was the tall-cloaked figure standing 
directly behind him.
Spike suddenly tilted his head and sniffed the air; he growled, his 
features shifting, lips furled back baring his fangs. Angel acted 
quickly; he took a firm hold of Spike’s chin and drew his childe to 
face him. “Will, you have to calm down,” Angel commanded softly. 
“You need to keep a clear head, okay?” When Spike just blinked at 
him Angel grunted in exasperation before briefly shifting into his 
own game face. Drawing a fang across the fleshy base of his thumb he 
pressed it to Spike’s lips; the younger vampire instantly closed his 
mouth over the wound.
Xander watched all this wide-eyed. He surmised that Spike’s 
freak-out probably had something to do with the giant Jawa. He 
rubbed the nape of Spike’s neck, knowing it would help to calm his 
lover. “What’s wrong?” he hissed. 
“Furataugh demon,” Angel explained, now back in human guise. Spike 
was also slowly regaining control – blue eyes emerging from behind 
the gold. “They detect other demons. They’re sometimes used to hunt 
them.”
Xander looked at his lover, who was now lapping at the thin stream 
of blood trickling down Angel’s wrist. “Spike’s run into them 
before?” he guessed.
“We both have.”
“I take it the outcome wasn’t fun?” Xander subconsciously moved 
closer to Spike, who nestled back against him.
“Let’s just say I’m in no rush to re-exchange pleasantries,” said 
Angel.
“So what do we do?”
Angel thought. So did Xander. 
“You said they can detect demons?”
Angel nodded slowly, and then shook his head as he caught Xander’s 
meaning. “You’re a Consort. I don’t know what it might sense from 
you, and the guard’s probably armed.”
“I wasn’t planning on challenging them in armed combat. I only need 
to get close enough to give the guard this.” Xander held out his 
hand. In the center of his palm was a small spherical object; it 
looked like a large green marble. Judging from Angel’s expression, 
the vampire had recognized it as a beshulaa globe – a sort of 
charmed gas grenade, very useful against demonic entities.
“Where did you get that?”
“Spike. He said it was for emergencies. I think this probably 
qualifies. Don’t you?” Xander grinned.
Angel wasn’t so confident. “Maybe it would be better if we wait 
until someone leaves. We can tail them home, pick them up there.”
“We don’t have time,” Xander insisted. “Besides, who’s to say these 
guys won’t have their own personal demon-proof security system.” 
It was a valid point, but still Angel hesitated.
Xander was getting impatient. “So, will this work on a 
Furat-whatever you called it?”
“I don’t know,” Angel admitted.
“Then wish me luck.”
“Xander, wait.” Angel’s urgent whisper went unheeded as Xander 
darted out from behind the pillar and jogged down the ramp. Angel 
swore and grabbed Spike’s collar, holding his Childe back when Spike 
would have blindly followed. Spike whined and tugged until Angel 
shook him and growled a warning. Spike’s expression turned sullen, 
but he stopped struggling. They both watched anxiously.



***********************

Xander tried to appear casual as he approached the guard’s hut. “Er, 
hi.” He smiled nervously. The man set down his newspaper and 
glowered at him.
“What do you want, kid?”
“I erm…found this.” Xander briefly held out the globe, careful not 
to allow either the guard or the demon to get a good look at it. He 
pretended to take another look at it himself. “It says it’s the 
property of Wolfram & Hart, so I just thought maybe I should drop it 
off in person. You know, in case there’s a reward or something.” He 
shrugged. “It looks kinda valuable. I’m betting someone’s really 
pissed they’ve lost it.”
The guard was leaning forward, trying to get a better look at the 
globe through his security screen. The demon didn’t move and Xander 
was suddenly stuck by the thought that he wasn’t supposed to be able 
to see it, and had he still been fully human, he probably wouldn’t 
have been able to. With that in mind he did his utmost to ignore it. 

The guard’s curiosity soon won out. “Let me see it,” he instructed.
Adopting his most innocent expression, Xander slipped the globe 
through the small opening in the security screen. He watched the 
guard pick it up. 
The guard turned the globe over and over in his hand. “Hey, this 
doesn’t say anythi-“
“Bang,” Xander whispered. The globe was enchanted to respond to his 
command. It exploded silently, sending out a steady stream of thick 
green smoke. The guard collapsed instantly. The demon flexed its 
claws, shuffled forward a step... and than sank limply to the floor. 
Xander released the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you, Q,” he 
muttered in his best James Bond voice. He summoned a cocky smirk as 
Spike and Angel rejoined him. “Hey, what d’ya know. It actually 
worked.” Xander was more than a little used to his plans backfiring 
– he’d almost expected the demon to be invulnerable to the smoke, 
and he wasn’t about to admit how grateful he was to have been wrong.
“Good work,” Angel admitted. “But no more Lone Ranger stuff, okay? 
Just because you don’t have an Aunt Cordy, doesn’t mean that I won’t 
lock you in you room until all this is over.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Angel shook his head despairingly and hiked Spike back by his 
collar; his childe was straining to get to the security hut, 
growling at the fallen Furataugh.
“Spike.” At the sound of Xander’s voice, Spike stopped struggling 
and fell silent. “Come here.” Xander held out his hand. Angel 
relaxed his grip; Spike wriggled free and took Xander’s hand, 
whining softly. 
Angel tried to hide his concern. Spike was showing a growing 
propensity toward such feral behaviour, as his natural command over 
his wilder inclinations became more and more fragile. It was as if 
the mortal Will simply couldn’t cope with what was going on and had 
surrendered control to the demon. Fortunately, Xander seemed unfazed 
by it. To Angel it served as a further reminder that they were 
running out of time.
In the event, ‘collecting’ a lawyer proved easier than they had 
anticipated. They found a suitable candidate unlocking the door to 
an expensive looking Mercedes. His blandly handsome face barely had 
a chance to register shock as Angel swept down upon him, grabbing 
him – none to gently – and hauling him off to the Cadillac. His 
frightened squawks were reduced to strangled moans when the sight of 
Spike’s golden eyes closed his throat in terror. 

*******

Angel drove; Spike and Xander sat either side of their terrified 
‘guest’. They left the city behind them, finally stopping the car on 
a deserted stretch of track just off the road.
“Okay, kiddies. Everybody out.” Angel waited until Xander had 
clambered out before dragging the terrified lawyer out by his leg, 
dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. 
The lawyer had found his voice again. “M-money? Do you want money? 
I-I have money. Here, take it. Take it all.” He fumbled for his 
wallet, opening it to reveal an impressive number of bills before 
tossing it toward them, desperation screaming in every move. 
“Gee,” said Angel thumbing through the bills. “This is an awful lot 
of cash to be carrying around. I guess Wolfram & Hart must pay 
really well. Tell me, what kind of work does a guy have to do to 
earn this kind of money?”
“Wh-what?”
“Work – what do you do?” Angel’s face was cold, his voice deadly: 
the threat behind the apparently innocuous question implicit.
“I…I’m a lawyer. I practice law. Real estate.” He glanced nervously 
at Spike who was crouched beside him. Spike snarled and bared his 
fangs. The man jumped and flinched back. “He’s a…a…a-“
“-Vampire.” Xander supplied helpfully.
The man nodded, staring transfixed at Spike. Obviously, Wolfram & 
Hart was not your run of the mill law firm if one of its employees 
could recognize the undead and not be too taken aback by its 
existence – terrified yes, surprised no. 
“I guess you’re probably wondering why we brought you out here.” 
Angel waved his arms to encompass the surrounding dirt track. “The 
thing is, we’ve been having a few problems.” Any one who knew Angel 
would recognize that his conversational tone meant trouble. Angel 
pinned the shaken man with a hard look. “And we think you’re just 
the fellow to help us out.”
“I…I… d-don’t understand.” 
Angel hunkered down, putting his face close to the lawyer’s. “How 
about I make it nice and clear for you. An Aruubus - I think your 
people set it onto us. I want to know where it is.“ His features 
shifted. Gold eyes glared balefully. “Or I crack open your bones and 
start feasting on your marrow.”
The man looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. He pressed back 
against the Cadillac whimpering in terror, eyes darting helplessly 
between Spike and Angel, looking for an escape. His desperate gaze 
fell on Xander.
Xander shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m with them.” Devilment made 
him turn to Angel and add: “Never had marrow, what’s it like?”
“Sweet,” said Angel softy. “Very sweet.”
Spoken like a man who knows, Xander thought with a faint shudder.
“I did a troubadour once,” Angel recalled. “Back in the day. Started 
with his toes and worked my way up to his skull.” He rapped his 
knuckles on the lawyer’s head for emphasis. “He lasted for most of 
the night. How long do you think you’ll last?”
Xander decided to join in. “My guess is not long. All that snapping, 
cracking and sucking.” He pulled an ‘eeuw’ face. “That’s got to be 
pretty painful, yes siree.”
The lawyer looked like he might faint or throw up – in either order.
Spike growled, a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat.
The man whimpered. A damp patch appeared, spreading across the front 
of his trousers.
Xander looked on impassively. He thought of Spike, he thought of 
Doyle, and he failed to dredge up any sympathy whatsoever for the 
man cowering in the dirt. 
“The Aruubus?” Angel repeated.
The lawyer closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He re-opened them and 
nodded. “I’ll…I’ll tell you, just please, please, don’t kill me.” 
His voice held a whiny desperation.
“Talk,” Angel ordered.
The man talked. “The senior partners, they…they wanted to distract 
you. You kept interfering in things. Some major plans went wrong 
because you got involved.”
“Plans? What plans? I’ve never had any dealings with Wolfram and 
Hart.”
“Maybe not directly, but we don’t always advertise our presence. 
Some matters are carried out…ah…discreetly, and no one knows we were 
involved.”
“So no one can trace back the effect from the cause,” said Angel 
grimly. 
“I don’t get it,” Xander interjected. “I mean, no offence” – he 
glanced at Angel – “but why all this effort just to distract you? 
Why not dust you, get rid of the problem permanently?” 
Angel appeared equally interested in the lawyer’s explanation.
“They can’t kill you. There’s some sort of ancient apocalyptic 
prophecy. I don’t know the details.” The man raised his hands at 
Angel’s dark look. “Please, I’m telling you the truth.”
“Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear a lawyer say,” 
Xander muttered. “Least, not so I’d believe him.”
It appeared that Angel believed the lawyer too. Terror could be a 
powerful truth serum. He nodded for the man to continue.
“The senior partners don’t want to interfere with the prophecy.”
“So they brought Darla back to do what? Mess with my head? My curse? 
What?”
“D-Darla?”
“Don’t play dumb.” Three little words that promised a world of hurt.
The lawyer caved. “Yes, all right. We brought her back. Only I-I had 
nothing to do with it. The decision was made way above me. The ones 
that did it…they used some kind of summoning spell, really powerful 
stuff. All I know is, she was supposed to distract you. They even 
brought the crazy one in on it, to bring her over again.”
“What?”
Something in Angel’s tone made the man hesitate; a growl from Spike 
got him talking again. “Darla, she - The spell. It brought her back 
human, so they got the other crazy one to change her.”
“Crazy?” Xander felt his stomach tighten surely he didn’t mean-
“-Drusilla, that’s what they called her. Drusilla, yes, that was 
it.” The man sounded both pleased and relieved to have remembered.
Angel seemed shaken by this latest development. Xander thought maybe 
he understood why. Angel seemed to regard the whole ‘turning’ thing 
as a pretty major deal. From what Xander could gather, Angel hadn’t 
exactly gone big on newbie-vampire making during the last two 
centuries; Penn, Drusilla, and Spike were apparently it. Then there 
was the fact that Angel had only ever known Darla as a vampire. The 
idea that she had been a living, breathing woman - however briefly - 
must be more than a little unsettling.
Xander was feeling somewhat shaky himself. Drusilla had turned 
Darla? That meant Darla could have been spying on them for months – 
certainly since before Drusilla had taken her tumble into the 
Hellmouth. That was just too creepy. Not to mention hearing 
Drusilla’s name, without even a flicker of recognition from Spike, 
was just plain weird. All in all, Xander had a severe case of the 
wiggins.
The lawyer continued to babble, clearly too blinded by terror to 
pick up on the dangerous undercurrents. “She was supposed to seduce 
you, keep you from interfering. But she said something wasn’t right. 
They brought in a shaman, to ‘read’ your curse. He said it had been 
changed, that your soul had been secured. She just went nuts, 
ranting and raving. They couldn’t keep a check on her anymore. She 
took off. We’ve had nothing to do with her for weeks.” 
Angel’s gaze narrowed. “You’re telling me you don’t know where she 
is?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t.”
“He’s lying.” Xander wasn’t sure how he knew. He just knew. The 
faintest change in infliction in the man’s voice, the increased rate 
of breathing, the sharp escalation in the acrid scent of fear. A 
quick glance told him both his companions had sensed it too. Spike’s 
steady rumbling growl took on a more threatening note and Angel’s 
cold, humourless smile turned truly nasty as he morphed into his 
vampiric visage. 
In flurry of motion, Angel suddenly shot forward, seizing the lawyer 
by his throat. The man struggled uselessly, legs dangling, hands 
clawing at Angel’s fingers. Golden eyes banked with rage regarded 
the lawyer with murderous calm. “Let’s have the truth now shall we.”
Xander placed a hand on Spike’s shoulder, holding his snarling lover 
back with a simple touch. He recognized that Spike wasn’t exactly in 
control right now, and as gratifying as it might be to unleash him, 
the lawyer wouldn’t be able to tell them anything if he was 
scattered about in itty bitty pieces.
Angel squeezed slightly. The man’s eyes bulged. Angel maintained his 
grip for a fraction longer…and then let go. The man dropped to the 
ground, noisily sucking air into his oxygen-deprived lungs. Xander 
watched dispassionately. 
“B-beach…house,” the lawyer croaked. “The rumour is, Lindsey’s got 
her stashed in his beach house.”
“Lindsey?”
“Lindsey MacDonald. One of the junior partners. A real slick 
asshole. Stupid son of a bitch thinks he can do whatever he likes.”
“Where’s this beach house?”
The lawyer told them. He also told them that Mr. MacDonald had it so 
bad for Darla he’d do pretty much anything for her – including 
enlisting the aid of the company’s demonic resources.
“He got her the Aruubus.” Angel guessed.
“Probably.” The lawyer had a ring of finger shaped bruises rising 
round his throat. He massaged them gingerly. “We’ve got one on the 
payroll.”
Xander couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Pay roll? You’re paying one? 
You know where it is?”
Despite his obvious fear, again the lawyer hesitated; apparently 
loathe to divulge any more of his company’s secrets. Before Angel 
could intercede, Spike sprang forward. The younger vampire pinned 
the terrified man to the ground and with a growl he brought his 
fangs to the already abused throat. The man emitted a high-pitched 
shriek as Spike sank his teeth into the exposed skin, gnawing at it 
a little. When he drew back his mouth was spattered with gore. 
Xander crouched down and addressed the nearly insensible man. “Okay, 
this is how it is. We want the Aruubus. Now you can make yourself 
useful and give him to us. Or you’re tonight’s entrée” He nodded 
toward Spike meaningfully. “The choice is yours.”
Sobbing brokenly, the lawyer told them everything. It seemed that 
the Aruubus could be summoned whenever Wolfram & Hart required the 
use of its ‘talents’. 
“How does this summoning work?” demanded Angel. “And don’t try 
telling me you don’t know.”
The lawyer got to his knees. With a shaking hand he drew a crude 
circle in the dirt, and then intersected it with seven strange 
symbols. He looked up at Angel uncertainly. “You want that I should 
do this now? Summon it here?”
Angel threw open the Caddy’s trunk and took out a bastard sword and 
an axe. He handed the latter to Xander. Then he motioned for the 
lawyer to continue. “Go ahead.”
Xander wasn’t certain what language the lawyer was mumbling. Latin 
maybe? He just hoped the guy had retained enough brain cells to do 
this right. The man finished chanting. Xander waited. Nothing 
happened. His fingers tightened convulsively around the axe handle. 
He opened his mouth to snarl something at the lawyer – suddenly 
eager to try out the sharp edge of his blade.
Angel shook his head. “Easy. Just wait a minute.” 
Spike whined and moved closer to Xander as the air around them 
suddenly seemed to energize, as if it were electrically charged. It 
felt like an approaching storm. Xander felt the hairs on his arms 
and the back of his neck prickle.
“Step back,” Angel cautioned, moving away from the circle.
Xander followed suit, Spike remained glued to his side. The lawyer 
scrabbled backwards. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Xander 
raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the glare. When he 
lowered it the circle was no longer empty. 
The Aruubus regarded them warily, yellowed talons held aloft and 
ready. 
“Tell it to step out of the circle.”
The lawyer obeyed Angel’s order. “Genfaa bemna mushca.”
Still wary, the Aruubus shuffled out of the circle. Then it blinked, 
comprehension dawning as it recognized Spike from the alley. With a 
shrill whistling cry it charged forward, launching a swift…and 
ultimately brief attack. Angel’s sword completed its arc and Xander 
watched the Aruubus’ head roll away into the dirt. The creature’s 
trajectory carried it forward to land in a crumpled heap beside the 
hysterical lawyer; its severed neck still spewing brackish coloured 
blood across the ground. For one brief, frozen moment, time seemed 
to stand still. Then, almost as one, Angel and Xander turned to look 
at Spike.
Spike stood, staring down at the decapitated corpse. He seemed to 
realize they were watching him and he glanced up, meeting their 
concerned, expectant gazes with a frown. 
Xander would have moved closer to his lover, but Angel drew him back 
with a shake of his head and an unhappy Xander let him. They 
continued to watch. They didn’t have long to wait. In a grotesque 
replay of the night in the alley, Spike’s eyes rolled back and he 
collapsed to the ground. 
”Spike!” Xander shook himself free of Angel and dropped down beside 
his lover, drawing Spike’s head onto his lap. He stroked a cold 
cheek with trembling fingers and looked up at Angel. “Is this 
supposed to happen?”
Angel looked on helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Let’s 
just give it a minute, okay.”
Xander clutched Spike tightly. “Come on, don’t you dare quit on me. 
Come on, Spike. Come back to me.” Tears crept into his voice. “You 
promised,” he whispered. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.” His voice 
broke and he pressed his cheek against the ruffled blond waves. He 
felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest…then he felt 
something else. The smallest of movements, barely a twitch. He sat 
up. “Spike?” 
Nothing. 
Xander held his breath and waited again. 
After what seemed like an agonizing pause, the figure in his arms 
shifted slightly and groaned.
“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, bringing an arm up to cover his face. 
“Fuck,” he added, with some feeling. He lowered his arm and blinked 
in a somewhat dazed fashion; his face relaxed back into his human 
guise. The blue eyes were pain-filled and annoyed. He saw Angel 
first, as the older vampire was crouched in front of him. “Peaches?” 
Spike groaned again and slammed the flat of his palm against his 
forehead. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Angel just grinned. Which did nothing to alleviate Spike’s obvious 
confusion.
Xander wet his lips nervously. “Spike?”
Spike rubbed at his eyes with the balls of his fists, like an 
overtired child.
“Spike?” Xander repeated desperately.
Spike tilted his head back slightly, looking up into the upside down 
face of his lover. 
Xander’s heart skipped a beat at the blinding smile that spread 
across Spike’s face and the softly whispered “Pet” sent any 
lingering fears scuttling back into the shadows. The hand that 
reached up and cupped the back of his neck gently but insistently 
drew him down: in the next instant he was being kissed to within an 
inch of his life. Xander opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, 
drowning in the taste and feel of his lover. He could have happily 
continued for hours, if not days, but they had more pressing matters 
on hand so reluctantly he pulled free and sat up. 
Grumbling, Spike followed suit. He sat in the dirt, cradling his 
temples.
“What do you remember?” Angel asked.
“Dunno. I think maybe all of it. ‘Cept it’s all bollocked up at the 
moment. Though I do seem to recall the mick pulling a Houdini in the 
bathroom. This the wanker behind that?” Spike nodded toward the 
cowering lawyer, wincing when the action caused him additional pain.
“N-No.” The lawyer shook his head frantically. “I…I helped you. I 
got you your memories back.”
“Yeah,” said Xander dryly. “You’ve been a big help. Don’t know what 
we’d have done without you. Oh, wait…that’s right: we wouldn’t have 
had to do any of this without you.” He glared at the man.
“We’re wasting time,” said Angel. He hauled the lawyer upright. 
“You’re with us.”
“Where are we going?” Spike asked, allowing Xander to assist him to 
his feet.
Angel threw the whimpering lawyer onto the back seat. “Darla.”
“That bitch did this?” The sentence ended on a growl.
Xander got into the car, sitting beside his lover, who’d jammed the 
lawyer up against the door. Now why didn’t he think this was going 
to be a fun family reunion. 

Part Eight  

The beach house was smoothly expensive. Only the blackout blinds 
situated at every window detracted from its stylish opulence. 
Immediately following their arrival there was a brief but intense 
argument. Angel wanted to go in alone but Spike slapped down that 
idea. So then Angel and Spike were going together, except there was 
no way Xander was letting his lover out of his sight. Xander also 
pointed out that, since this was Lindsey’s home, they’d be needing 
his services as token non-dead guy to get them past the front door. 
Desperate to find Doyle, Angel abandoned the argument after less 
than a minute. As he walked up the drive Spike and Xander were right 
behind him. The problem of what to do with the lawyer was solved by 
Spike – who simply slugged him and left him slumped across the back 
seat.
Spike grabbed hold of Xander just before they reached the door. 
“Remember. No heroics. You stay behind me an’ Peaches. Way behind. 
Things look like they’re goin’ bad, you run.”
Xander recognized the emotion behind the blue-gold eyes. Fear. Spike 
was afraid. He tried to choke back his own burst of panic. “Right. 
Gotcha. Way, way back.”
The door was locked; it was also impressively sturdy – but not 
sufficient enough to withstand the combined force of two powerful 
vampires. Xander stepped over the splintered remains and invited 
them in. “So I guess we’re not going for the softly softly 
approach?” Spike’s look told him it wasn’t worth it. Xander guessed 
that Darla was more than capable of sensing their arrival, if 
nothing else she had to be able to detect his heart pounding madly 
against his rib cage.
“This way.” Angel led them upstairs.
Walking quietly on the plush carpet wasn’t a problem, even for 
Xander. However, no one expressed any surprise when they opened the 
double doors to the master suite and Darla turned to face them with 
a smile.
“Angel, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get here.” She 
tutted. “You never used to be so slow.” She turned to Spike. “And 
William, still following behind like a dog.” She noticed Xander and 
smiled cruelly. “And you brought me something to eat.”
Spike interposed himself between Darla and Xander. “You stay the 
fuck away from him, bitch.”
“Where is he?” Angel’s quiet voice cut through the opening 
hostilities. He aimed a lethal glare at his former lover.
Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion and anger. “How 
could you? How could you sleep with that, that…mongrel?” 
Angel responded with a vicious backhand. “His name is Doyle.” He 
spoke through gritted teeth. “And I want to know where he is. Now.”
Xander jumped at the sound of fist and face connecting. Darla, by 
contrast, seemed barely to notice the blow. However, as Xander 
watched her features changed – the fragile English rose replaced by 
something far more predatory. 
“So you want your precious Doyle back. What are you going to do if I 
won’t tell, Angel? Push another stake into my heart?” Darla opened 
her satin dressing gown to reveal the flimsy slip beneath. She 
stepped closer to Angel, her face reverting to its former pale 
beauty. “Go on, lover. Push it in. Bury it deep.” She was pressed up 
against Angel now. The tip of a pink tongue peaked out to moisten 
her lips. “Drive it into me. Go on, lover. Do it.” She laughed when 
Angel violently pushed her away; a harsh humorless sound tainted 
with contempt. “You can’t can you?” she taunted. “Your soul’s made 
you weak, Angelus. You’re nothing but a sad, pathetic, crippled-“
“Shut up!” It was Spike, not Angel, who interrupted her vitriolic 
tirade. He started forward, but Angel’s outstretched arm held him 
back. Darla was apparently too immersed in her own anger to notice 
the silent exchange that passed between the pair. 
Xander – who was observing all this closely – was not. He was unable 
to decipher Angel’s sphinx-like expression, but he caught the 
flicker of comprehension that crossed his lover’s face and the cruel 
glee that followed it. Clearly Angel had a plan and Spike was now 
privy to it. Xander could only watch and wait. 
Spike backed off. Angel now held all of Darla’s attention. “I want 
Doyle.”
“Go to Hell,” she hissed. Her mouth twisted into a malicious smile. 
“Because that’s where you’ll find him.” She began to laugh again.
Xander felt as if someone had stuck a knife into his gut. 
Doyle…Doyle was dead? No wait, that couldn’t be right. Why would 
Doyle be in Hell? Doyle was one of the good guys.
“You spiteful fuckin’ bitch,” Spike snarled. 
Xander was struggling to think. Okay, Hell - a.k.a. the Demon 
Dimension. Angel had been there and from Buffy’s brief report, a 
good time had not been had by one and all. Oh, God, she’d sent Doyle 
there. He was alive…and hurt…and oh, God. He looked at Angel, who’s 
expression was no longer sphinx-like.
“You’ll never get him back.” Darla sounded triumphant. “Now what are 
you going to do, lover?”
“*Don’t call me that*.” Angel’s voice was tight and clipped. “I am 
not your lover.” He seemed to be fighting for control. “But you’re 
right,” he added softly. “I won’t stake you.”
//Huh? // Confused, Xander turned to his lover. Spike’s attention 
was focused on Angel, and when Angel held out his hand, Spike threw 
him a bottle from a small drinks cabinet.
Angel caught it easily, glancing at the label. “At least Lindsey has 
good taste in scotch.” 
Xander was bewildered by Angel’s conversational tone. He watched 
Angel toss the bottle from one hand to the other. Almost quicker 
than the eye could follow, Angel suddenly struck it against the 
metal bedpost, smashing the neck. With a flick of his wrist he 
showered the contents over Darla, who spluttered as the amber liquid 
trickled down her face and chest, soaking into her nightgown.
“No,” Angel continued, his voice soft and dangerous. “I’m not going 
to stake you.” He held out his hand again: Spike tossed him his 
lighter. Angel lit it, eyeing the fluttering flame for an instant 
before he threw it. “Goodbye, Darla,” he murmured softly.
Xander watched as Darla’s face was surrounded by a halo of flame. 
Then the whole of her body was alight and her disbelieving 
expression turned to one of pain and rage. With a shriek she hurled 
herself at Angel, who – to Xander’s horror - stood as if rooted to 
the spot. She never reached him. Spike snatched up a nearby 
footstool and threw it at her. It struck her in the chest, making 
her stagger back. She had no chance to resume her attack: the flames 
had her now. She flailed her arms, screaming as she burned. Xander 
could feel the heat from the inferno upon his skin. He took a step 
back and found Spike beside him, a cold little smile playing around 
the corner of his mouth. Xander had the impression that for Spike at 
least, this moment had been a long time coming. 
It seemed to go on and on, but in reality it was over in seconds: 
her cries abruptly silenced, as she suddenly became a figure of 
glowing ash that in turn, disintegrated into nothing.
Xander stared at the blackened smudge on the otherwise immaculate 
faun carpet. Nothing else in the room had been touched. There was no 
lingering odour of charred flesh. No scrap of burnt clothing. Darla 
was simply gone. Xander felt a frisson of unease: the reality of his 
lover’s insubstantiality suddenly striking him. He tried to shake it 
off. 
Spike was ready to go. “Come on, Peaches. No point hangin’ about 
‘ere.”
Angel didn’t move.
Xander gave his lover a nudge and hinted that Spike should say 
something a little more encouraging. 
Spike rolled his eyes. “Oi, Angel. Doyle. Missing. Hell. Remember?”
That worked. Angel was suddenly all business again, stalking out of 
the bedroom without so much as a backward glance. Spike and Xander 
hurried after him. 
They caught up in the hallway. “So what now?” Xander asked.
“We need a portal spell.” Spike glanced sideways at his Sire. “Not 
easy to get them, mate.” 
“We’ll get one.” Angel's tone brook no argument.
Spike shrugged easily. “Fair enough.”
“How do we ‘get’ a spell?” Xander wanted to know.
“Scrolls.”
“Scrolls?”
“The powers trapped in the words,” Spike explained. “All you have to 
do is read ‘em. But portal spells are hard to come by. Expensive 
too.” He addressed Angel. “You know anyone selling scrolls on the 
cheap?”
Angel didn’t answer, but the tightening of his jaw implied no.
They’d reached the front door. Spike’s eyes suddenly took on a 
speculative gleam. “I might be able to sort us something.”
“Let me guess,” said Xander. “You know where to get your hands on a 
portal scroll?” Sometimes Spike’s ability to supply on demand could 
be downright eerie.
“No.” Spike grinned wolfishly. “But I know a bloke who does.”
Xander followed his lover’s gaze – past the ruined, broken doorway 
and down the drive – to the figure just getting out of his car.
“Lindsey.” Angel hissed the name like it was a curse. Lindsey chose 
that moment to look up from locking his car. He saw the three 
figures framed in the shattered doorway and his eyes widened in 
shock. Then he was fumbling with the car keys trying to reopen the 
door. 
“Spike, bring him to me.” 
Xander shivered at the sound of Angel’s voice: a Master vampire 
commanding his Childe.
Spike obviously heard it too, for instead of snapping back a 
sarcastic refusal, he shot forward like a hound on the hunt. Lindsey 
had only just succeeded in opening the car door when Spike was upon 
him. Lindsey’s struggles were almost comical as Spike half-dragged, 
half-carried the man by the scruff of his neck. Spike slapped 
Lindsey once when Lindsey tried to kick him. Spike dropped the 
cursing, fighting figure at Angel’s feet and stepped back, 
effectively blocking Lindsey’s escape. 
Lindsey looked up at Angel defiantly. He had guts, Xander had to 
give him that. Either that, or he had more balls than brains. Xander 
was beginning to think that the people at Wolfram & Hart weren’t too 
smart. Striking out at Angel’s nearest and dearest wasn’t so much 
strategic as suicidal.
“Where’s Darla?” Lindsey demanded.
“Oh don’t worry, mate. She’s upstairs keeping things warm for you.” 
Spike’s smile turned nasty. “Least she was.”
Lindsey looked angry and confused. And afraid, Xander thought: so 
not completely stupid then.
“Darla! Darla!” Lindsey yelled, trying to get to his feet. Spike 
placed a hand upon his shoulder and pushed him back down. Lindsey’s 
face tightened in pain as Spike’s fingers dug into bone and muscle. 
“Where is she?” the lawyer gasped.
“Persistent little bugger, ain’t he?” Spike crouched down behind 
Lindsey and moved his hand so that it gripped the back of Lindsey’s 
neck. “You know, I could just pull your head off like this.” He 
tugged slightly.
“Spike.” Angel called his childe off. Sporting a sullen pout, Spike 
gave one last squeeze, then let go and stood back. Angel eyed the 
man at his feet coldly. “You’re Lindsey MacDonald?”
‘Lindsey’ didn’t answer. Spike kicked him. “Yes,” the man growled. 
“I am. What of it?”
Xander raised his eyebrows. He revised his initial opinion of 
Lindsey: the guy definitely had more balls than brains – and was 
apparently unaware he was in imminent danger of losing both.
Angel’s answering smile was truly terrifying. Lindsey paled 
slightly. “You supplied Darla with a portal spell.” It wasn’t a 
question and even Lindsey recognized that much and stayed silent. 
“So I guess you’re the man to see if we’re in the market for one.”
Lindsey frowned. “You smashed my door in because you want to buy a 
spell?” He sounded slightly incredulous.
“No you moron. We kicked your bloody door in, ‘cos you’ve got more 
fuckin’ money than brains.” Spike shook his head, as if despairing 
of the man’s idiocy. “Darla? You got some kinda death wish. Cos you 
know, I’d be more than happy to help out.” He shifted into his 
vampiric visage, golden eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.
“You’re…you’re vampires?” Lindsey glanced quickly from Spike to 
Angel and Xander, before eyeing a piece of broken doorframe on the 
floor.
“Ah, ah,” said Xander, kicking the wood well out of the man’s reach. 
“That would not be smart.”
Angel suddenly reached down and grabbed Lindsey by the throat, 
dragging the man upright and slamming him into the wall. “I don’t 
have time for this. I’d just as soon kill you know, but we need 
something from you first. A portal spell. Now I know you gave one to 
Darla, and you strike me as the sort of guy who wouldn’t give away a 
one of a kind possession. So I’m guessing that you have a few more 
stashed somewhere.” He hit Lindsey against the wall a few times for 
emphasis. “Now where?”
“S-screw…y-you.”
Angel’s face shimmered, his demon coming to the fore. He yanked 
Lindsey’s head to the side and sank his teeth into the struggling 
man’s throat. He didn’t drink; he simply bit down, hard. Unable to 
stop himself, Lindsey howled in pain. Angel pulled back: teeth 
bloody. “Talk, or I tear out your throat. No more chances.” He 
released Lindsey, who slumped against the wall clutching his neck: 
blood seeped between his fingers. Spike eyed it hungrily.
Lindsey didn’t miss Spike’s ravenous gaze, or the murderous glint in 
Angel’s eyes. He didn’t want to die. “Safe. I have a safe upstairs. 
I keep them in there.”
“Good boy.” Spike patted Lindsey on the head, then ran a finger 
under his chin, catching a little of the blood. 
Lindsey watched with a combination of revulsion and reluctant 
fascination, as Spike sucked the digit clean.
“Well, what d’you know. Lawyer’s don’t taste half-bad, considerin’.
“Come on.” Angel gave Lindsey a shove in the direction of the 
stairs. 
Lindsey led them into the bedroom, where he paused at the sight of 
the broken stool and the blackened carpet.
Spike strode over to the burn mark and looked down. “Guess she 
couldn’t wait, mate. Don’t worry, I’m sure a bit of bleach’ll get 
her out.”
Lindsey blinked. The stunned look was rapidly replaced by one of 
distraught rage. “You, bastard. You killed her! YOU, BASTARD!” He 
flew at Spike who knocked him back without effort.
Xander realized that Lindsey really had felt something for Darla. 
//Poor shmuck. // He shook his head.
Spike had Lindsey pinned on the floor by virtue of a well-placed Doc 
Martin. “Safe?” 
Lindsey had clammed up again.
Angel had run out of patience. He dropped down beside the squirming, 
shouting lawyer and grabbed hold of an arm, stretching it out. He 
took hold of the hand and wrapped his own around it and squeezed. 
Lindsey’s shouts changed to sobs as bones gave way beneath the 
crushing force. 
Xander pulled an ‘euck’ expression. Which became a ‘double euck’, 
when Angel let go and Xander caught a glimpse of mangled, bloodied 
flesh – red intersected with the startling white of bone.
Angel took hold of Lindsey’s other hand.
“N-NO!” 
It was, Xander thought, with evil satisfaction, a pretty girly 
scream.
“Over…o-over by the b-bed.”
Spike went to look.
“M-move…the…c-cabinet.”
Spike picked the bedside cabinet up and casually threw it aside. Its 
absence revealed a small safe set into the wall. “Combination?”
“6, 4…3…8, 9, 1.”
Spike was already stabbing the numbers into the keypad to open the 
electronic lock. On 1, the safe door opened with a soft click. Spike 
went to put his hand in, then hesitated. “What else is in ‘ere?”
Angel squeezed Lindsey’s hand encouragingly.
“Ju-just a few s-scrolls. They’re…safe to…h-handle.”
Spike frowned, but cautiously put his hand in and pulled out a 
bundle of papers. He quickly discarded those they didn’t need. 
Though he raised an eyebrow at one of them. “Got a problem keepin’ 
it up ‘ave we?”
Lindsey shot him a hate-filled look.
Spike just bared his fangs in a mocking smile and went back to his 
search. “Got it,” he finally announced, waving the much-wanted 
scroll and dropping the rest onto the floor.
“Let’s go.” Angel was already at the door.
“Hey,” Spike called. “What do you wanna do about this?” He gave 
Lindsey a kick.
There was a brief silence. Then a soft: “He’s all yours.”
Xander shot his lover a startled look, but Spike was too delighted 
to take much notice. He threw Xander the precious scroll. Xander 
caught it with fumbling fingers and watched as Spike hauled Lindsey 
to his feet. Xander found himself trapped by fear-glazed eyes as 
Spike plunged his fangs into the lawyer’s neck. 
In a somewhat abstract fashion, Xander knew that Spike still fed on 
humans, albeit now only on the bad guys. It was something they’d 
discussed, sort of. However, Spike had always been fairly 
circumspect in the past and Xander had never witnessed anything like 
this before. He could actually feel Spike’s pleasure as the stolen 
blood sang through the vampire’s veins, spreading with it the 
illusion of warmth. He shifted uneasily, suddenly experiencing an 
uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. What the?…He was getting 
off on this?!
A dull thud cut into his panic – the result of Lindsey’s lifeless 
body hitting the carpet. “He’s…ah…ah?”
“As a doornail,” said Spike cheerfully. He stepped over Lindsey’s 
corpse and took Xander’s hand. His face shifted once more into its 
human guise: blue eyes wary and somewhat worried. “You okay with 
this?”
Xander nodded mutely. Spike kissed him. Xander responded 
instinctively but then recoiled as the metallic tang of blood hit 
him: Lindsey’s blood. He would have jerked away, but Spike’s hand 
cupped his head and held him fast. Xander had little choice but to 
continue the kiss: his uncertainty fading with the gentle onslaught 
of lips and tongue. 
When Spike drew back his expression still held a lingering concern. 
“You okay now, Pet?”
Xander nodded again, this time more definitely. “I’m good.” He was 
surprised to realize that it was true. Seemingly satisfied, Spike 
took his hand. 
“We’d best not keep Peaches waitin’. He’s liable to burst 
something.”
Sparing Lindsey’s corpse one last, mildly disturbed glance, Xander 
allowed his lover to lead him away.

Part Nine  

Spike kept a surreptitious eye on his lover as they walked to the 
car. He’d felt Xander’s flair of panic as he’d fed and knew the 
whelp was still troubled. Unfortunately, comfort-sex and 
explanations would have to wait until they’d sorted out the rest of 
this mess. He bit back a gasp as a stab of pain sheered through his 
skull. Fuck, that bitch. Torching had been too good for her. He dug 
his hand into his pocket and pulled out his hip flask, taking a long 
swig. He offered it to Xander but the boy shook his head. Spike took 
another swig and replaced the flask in his pocket. His head felt 
like someone was practicing trepanning on it…from the inside. His 
thoughts were still jumbled. Angel had given him a terse recap 
during the drive out to the beach house. Spike knew an Aruubus had 
attacked him and he’d lost his memories as a result. Spike could 
put together some blurred bits and pieces of the past four days, but 
none of it made much sense. In typical Spike fashion he pushed it 
aside for now. He could sit down and sort through it all later. 
When they reached the car Angel drew their attention to the open 
trunk. 
“Get what you want, we’re going now.”
Spike glanced about him. “Bit out in the open for spell castin’, 
ain’t it?” Spike knew that people tended to mind their own business 
in these kind of neighbourhoods, but he’d learned a valuable lesson 
when he’d almost lost Dru to the mob in Prague: sometimes it was 
better to be discreet.
“Then we’ll go back to the house:” was Angel’s only concession.
Spike helped himself to a couple of daggers. He didn’t have Angel’s 
knack for swordplay and he preferred to fight in close quarters 
anyway.
Xander reached for the axe. Spike knocked his hand away. Xander 
frowned. “What?” 
“That would be no. No way. And, not a bloody chance.” Spike stared 
his lover down. No way in Hell was he taking the whelp to…well…Hell.
“He’s right, Xander. You really don’t want to come.”
Spike was about to snap at Angel to mind his own fucking business 
when he caught the haunted look in his Sire’s eyes. He’d been privy 
to some of the nightmares that had followed Angel back from his 
little sojourn into Hell and his gut twisted with something akin to 
sympathy. It only hardened his resolve. Xander could give him those 
hurt ‘puppy-eyes’ all he bleeding wanted. He was not taking the boy 
into Hell with him and that was final. He wasn’t all that keen on 
going himself. Sure, he loved a good fight, but he’d heard enough 
about the demon dimension to know it wasn’t a place he was in any 
hurry to visit. However, he knew his Sire wouldn’t let a little 
thing like Hell fire and a hoard of demons keep him from doing his 
white knight bit and rescuing the mick…and Spike decided he’d better 
go along to make sure the pouf didn’t bollocks it up.
Xander was still protesting as they walked back up the drive. 
Spike snapped as they re-entered the house: he grabbed an arm hard 
enough to make Xander wince. “*Shut up. * Just shut up. You aren’t 
coming and that’s fuckin’ final.”
Xander blinked at him, his expression startled and hurt, but he 
didn’t say anything more.
Angry – with himself, Xander, Angel, the whole fucking mess - Spike 
stormed after his Sire. 
Angel was in the dining room. He’d pushed the chairs and table to 
one side and was preparing to read the scroll. He directed an 
impatient look toward Spike, who ignored him. Angel turned to face a 
subdued Xander. “Once we’ve gone, go back to the apartment and stay 
there.”
Xander nodded.
Spike shelved his anger and caught his lover’s eye. A tumult of 
emotions passed between them: want; need; desire; regret; love. So 
much love it left Spike a little awed. He managed a smile - more 
bravado than anything - and knew Xander had recognized it as such. 
Spike was slightly put out. He didn’t expect or want a tearful, 
clingy farewell, but a quick kiss wasn’t too much to ask, was it? 
Then the room suddenly filled with a white swirling mist as Angel 
finished chanting, and it was too bloody late. Spike tried to put 
everything he felt for Xander into one last look: knowing it was 
impossible. Then he followed his Sire into the black abyss.



*****************************************

“Ughn.” Spike tried to stand but his legs wobbled and he collapsed 
back into the dirt. He spat the foul tasting earth out of his mouth 
and eventually managed to roll onto his back. A groan to his left 
made him turn his head. Angel was trying to raise himself into a 
sitting position. Spike found the strength to laugh as Angel’s arms 
gave way and he too fell back to earth. 
Angel finally heaved himself over onto his side. “I hate portal 
travel.” 
It was said with some feeling and for once Spike found himself in 
complete agreement with his Sire. Portal travel was for wankers. Now 
he had the rubbery limbs and the churning guts to go with his 
pounding head. 
“Spike.”
Something in that one, low hissed word put Spike instantly on guard. 
He struggled to lift his head and look past Angel. Trying to see 
what it was that had so alarmed the other vampire. What he saw made 
him stiffen in shock. Disbelief rocked him. No…No…There was no 
way…*NO*. He shook his head in helpless denial, but the vision 
didn’t vanish with his refusal to accept it. There, sprawled in the 
dirt a few feet from Angel, lay Xander.
Spike pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to his lover, 
dropping down in the dirt beside him. He reached out and touched the 
dark hair, feeling the soft strands slide between his fingers. The 
strong, steady pulse of the boy’s heart did little to alleviate the 
sudden blinding terror that had gripped him. He shot his Sire a 
deadly look. “What the fuck did you do?!”
Angel shook his head, confusion and distress plainly evident upon 
his face. “He must have jumped after us. Before the portal had time 
to close.”
Spike’s gaze didn’t soften, but deep inside he knew it made sense. 
Angel knew enough about magic not to have accidentally roped the 
brat in with the portal spell. “You stupid, brave little fuck,” he 
muttered: his fingers tightening reflexively on the dark waves.
The result was a dull groan.
Spike released his grip on Xander’s hair and gently patted a warm 
cheek. “Come on, idiot. Time to wake up. Rise and shine. Before the 
locals come an’ find us.”
Angel was already standing – albeit relying rather heavily on the 
support of his sword.
Spike blew in Xander’s ear. Xander flapped a hand weakly at it. 
“Hmngh?”
“Wake up.” 
Xander opened his eyes. “Unzzit?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Spike muttered: helping Xander to sit upright.
After shaking his head a few times, Xander was able to take stock of 
his surroundings enough to offer his lover a sheepish grin. “I guess 
it worked?” Spike smacked him on the back of his head. 
“Yes it worked. And don’t think this is the last you’ll be hearing 
about it. You and me are gonna talk.” Spike stood up and released a 
long-suffering sigh. He held out a hand to Xander. “Come on, get 
your arse up. We’ve got us a demon-boy to find.” Angel glowered at 
him before moving off, taking point. Spike followed at a slower 
pace, supporting his wobbly-legged lover.
After a little while Xander stopped shaking and was able to walk 
unaided. He looked around: his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “This is 
Hell?”
Spike just nodded. He was still silently fuming. 
Xander eyed the arid landscape. “I guess I was expecting something a 
little more…flamey.” 
Spike shrugged. “Depends on the dimension. Some of ‘em are hot 
enough to melt your eyeballs.”
Xander was even more confused. “There are different Hells?”
Spike tried to explain. “They’re dimensions, Pet. They take up the 
same space. They’re not so much different, as different aspects of 
the same thing.”
Xander looked blankly at him.
Spike rolled his eyes. He really didn’t feel like offering 
instruction in ‘Hell Dimensions: 101’. His head was still pounding 
and anxiety for Xander had tied his gut into a tight, sick knot. 
“You know what a kaleidoscope is?”
Xander nodded. “One of those twisty things you look through, right?”
“Yeah. Well think of Hell as one of them. It’s all the same place, 
but how you twist it changes what it looks like.”
Xander thought about it. “Okay, I get that…sort of. But then how do 
we know this is the right ‘twist’?”
Spike nodded his head toward Angel, who was still walking up ahead. 
“Peaches might be a tedious arse, but he knows his mojo. He’ll have 
directed the portal spell to take us to Doyle.”
“Oh.” Xander fell silent again.
Spike could feel the young man’s fear. “You shouldn’t ‘ave come,” he 
muttered.
“I had to,” Xander whispered softly.
Spike nodded. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. 
He held out one of his daggers. “Here, you’d better ‘ave this.”
Xander accepted it with a soft: “Thanks.”
“Just stay close,” Spike instructed. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get 
the mick and go home.” He spoke as much to reassure himself as 
Xander. Xander offered him a wan smile and they walked on in 
silence. 
After a short time, Xander asked: “You still mad at me?”
“Fucking livid.”
“Oh.”
“But I reckon I’ll get over it.”
Xander’s mouth twitched happily. “Good,” he mumbled.
Spike let his own mouth settle into a wolfish grin. “’Course, we’re 
gonna ‘ave a little chat about discipline when we get ‘ome.”
“Discipline?” It came out as an undignified squeak.
Spike was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Peaches has got the gear. 
I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending us a little something.”
“Gear?” It was clear that Xander’s imagination was doing cartwheels.
However, Spike had little trouble detecting the subtle nuances in 
his lover’s emotions. Behind the fear and the uncertainty he could 
sense excitement and lust. He gave himself a mental pat on the back 
for taking Xander’s mind off his worries. “Maybe if I paddle that 
behind of yours bloody, you’ll think next time before doing summat 
stupid.”
Xander raised his hand. “Hey. Already thinking here. And I’m 
thinking I like my behind without the bloody part.”
Spike seemed to mull this over. “Fair enough. I’ll just use my hand 
then: smack it ‘til its nice and rosy.”
“R-rosy?”
Spike took the opportunity to goose Xander, who yelped and jumped. 
Spike leered at his lover, letting the teasing glint show in his 
gaze. Xander swatted him on the arm.
“Bad.”
Spike was unrepentant. He caught hold of Xander’s hand and placed a 
kiss in the center of the palm. “Mine.”
Xander swallowed. “Yours,” he whispered hoarsely.
Reluctantly, Spike released Xander’s hand and they quickened their 
pace to catch up with Angel, who was still single-mindedly marching 
ahead.

Part Ten  

Sometime earlier…
Doyle had no idea how long he’d been unconscious but as he took in 
his surroundings he decided it hadn’t been long enough. He pulled 
himself into a sitting position, trying to quell the uncontrollable 
shaking that had stricken his limbs. //Well, Toto, I guess we aren’t 
in Kansas anymore. // Above him the sky was cloudless and 
oppressive: a pale shade of brownish-ochre. The earth beneath his 
fingers was dry and crumbly, devoid of life. However, despite the 
emptiness of his surroundings he didn’t think he was alone. From 
somewhere far off, cries rang out.
Agonised and prolonged, they made the hairs on the back of his neck 
stand on end. As he sat, trying to gather himself, the cries would 
occasionally stop: only to start up again, even more heartfelt and 
anguished than before. 
He pressed his hands over his ears and tried to shut them out: 
without success. Unable to decide where the sounds were originating 
from, Doyle picked a direction and began to walk. There was nothing 
to aim for and no place to go, but he felt marginally better on the 
move than he did sitting in the dirt. Besides which, he had no food, 
no water and no weapons. He was wearing the clothes he’d been 
sleeping in: an old sweatshirt Xander had left behind and a pair of 
Angel’s pyjama bottoms – he felt ridiculous. He was just grateful 
that he’d been suffering from cold feet and so he was wearing two 
pairs of socks.
As he shuffled along, tightly clutching the drawstring of his black 
pyjamas, Doyle tried to figure out what was going on. He’d already 
guessed that someone had used a portal spell to transport him out of 
the apartment. The one hundred dollar question now was to where? He 
might have hazarded a guess at some desert-type spot, if not for the 
eerie cries and the singularly worrying lack of sun. That, he knew, 
was just plain…wrong. There were no clouds. It appeared to be 
daytime. So where the fuck was the sun?
It threw up the prospect of some troubling alternatives. Either he’d 
been flung forward in time to an age when there was no sun – an 
implausible and unpleasant notion. Or he wasn’t anywhere on earth 
exactly. There were numerous other planes of existence out there. 
Most of them not the kind of place you’d pick to visit. Doyle felt a 
wave of hopelessness crash over him. He was lost: utterly, totally 
and irredeemably lost. He stumbled and tripped over his too large 
pants: landing hard on his knees. He tried to stand, and then 
abandoned the attempt. Falling forward onto his arms, head bowed, he 
wept softly – grief, rage and despair draining the last of his 
strength.
He must have drifted into an uneasy sleep at some point because he 
awoke with a start when someone shook his shoulder. He cried out in 
surprise, rolling over onto his back. He forced open gummy lids and 
looked up. Correction, not someone: something. “Aargh,” he cried 
again and tried to scuttle back. It reached down and grabbed his 
ankle. Doyle kicked out with his free leg. He might as well have 
been striking at granite. The creature eyed him with what appeared 
to be amusement and a look Doyle couldn’t quite place and didn’t 
much care for.
“Sympathila musee bashj?”
Doyle heard the question but had no idea what the creature was 
asking. He shrugged as best he could from his position on the 
ground. “Look sorry, but I’ve no idea what yer sayin’.”
“Human?” the creature muttered. It leaned down and sniffed. “Not 
human.” It decided.
“Hey, I’m human enough.” Doyle felt vaguely affronted.
“Speak human?” The creature was understandable, if you didn’t mind 
your consonants sounding as if they were being ground out through a 
mouthful of broken glass.
Doyle nodded warily. “Yeah, I speak human.”
“You mine.”
//Huh?// Doyle didn’t much care for the sound of that. “Er..let’s 
not be hasty.” He tried to pull his leg free. The creature – it was 
some kind of demon he decided – let go, but only in order to right 
him and grab hold of his arms. Doyle regretted breathing in when he 
got a waft of the thing’s breath. “Okay,” he tried again. “First of 
all. I think mebbe there’s been a misunderstanding here. See, I’m 
not really supposed to be here at all, an’ well, I don’t plan on 
stayin’ that long. So if you could just point me in the direction of 
the nearest town-“
The demon looked at him.
“You know – town? Place where you guys hang out? I’m looking for 
someone who knows a bit of magic. I might have a little business to 
put his way.”
The demon tightened his grip. “Mine.”
“I don’t really under-“
The demon extended a long blue tongue and licked Doyle’s cheek.
Eyes wide with panic and revulsion, Doyle found himself nodding. 
“Ok-kay. Now I get ya. Yours…right.” This was bad. This was very 
bad. A clawed hand yanked at his pyjamas, pawing him roughly. Doyle 
closed his eyes and bit his lip to withhold a whimper. This was the 
bit where he woke up, right? The hand withdrew. Doyle opened his 
eyes. Not a dream. The demon was giving him the once over. Its 
expression could be described as lascivious, though Doyle wasn’t 
sure whether it wanted to devour him or ravage him. Neither seemed a 
pleasant prospect. 
The long blue tongue flickered out again; it stroked across his 
other cheek and despite his violent flinch, slithered wetly across 
his mouth. Doyle felt the thick slickness of saliva and tasted the 
creature’s foul breath. He gagged. The demon however, seemed well 
pleased. “Good,” it grunted. Then it relinquished its grip on 
Doyle’s arms and shoved him down, non-too-gently. Doyle’s legs 
buckled and he fell back into the dirt. He had no time to gather 
himself for flight or fight. The demon straddled him, removing the 
sweatshirt with a few swipes of its three-inch claws. They grazed 
Doyle’s bandaged chest. The demon eyed the dressings 
dispassionately. “You bad?”
“B-bad?”
The demon’s face showed frustration. “Bad?” It struggled to find a 
more suitable expression. “Hurt?”
Doyle hesitated, then decided a sign of weakness probably wasn’t 
going to make much odds at this point. “Yes. I’m hurt.” 
The demon gave a terse nod. “Not hurt,” it mumbled.
Doyle felt a bubble of hysteria well up. It was going to be gentle 
with him? However, it seemed that was what the creature meant. It 
tugged at his pyjamas, rather than simply ripping them away. It even 
peeled off his socks and underwear. Naked and shivering, the gravity 
of the situation suddenly hit Doyle. This thing was going to do what 
ever it wanted to him, while he lay here, helpless. He was simply 
too tired, sick, and sore to fight it. Self-pity and self-disgust 
warred within him. He was ashamed of his inability to act, even 
though his rational mind told him it would be useless. The demon had 
to be close to seven feet tall, and was broad with it; it could 
crush him with one squeeze of its six-fingered hand.
Though right now, crushing him seemed to be the furthest thing from 
its mind. Its long blue tongue unfurled like a grotesque flower. 
Doyle bit down on his lip, drawing a bead of blood, as the sticky, 
slippery tongue lapped at his body, prying into all his most secret 
places, stripping him of his remaining defences. As the wet tip 
probed the entrance to his body, Doyle gave a sharp cry of protest 
and kicked out desperately. His foot connected with the creature’s 
head but it barely moved with the blow and simply took hold of his 
leg. Eventually gripping both of his ankles and holding them apart. 
Humiliation seared through Doyle’s body like a scarlet flame. His 
nails cut crescent moons into his palms as he clenched his hands 
into fists. This wasn’t happening…this could not be happening. He 
tried to conjure up his lover’s face, but it seemed too much like a 
betrayal. Angel would never take what he wanted this way. Even when 
they got a little rough with one another, Angel was always 
thoughtful and considerate of his pleasures.
He swore and then lost it on a sob as the creature’s tongue pushed 
slickly into him. It pressed onwards, deep, relentless. It didn’t 
hurt, at least, not physically, but as it sank into him it slowly 
ripped his soul to shreds. Tears and curses fell ineffectually. 
Unable to bear this invasion of his being, Doyle made one last 
fierce, frantic attempt to break free. The demon swatted him back 
without effort, pausing only to place a clawed hand upon Doyle’s 
belly by way of warning. Doyle read the silent message. If he fought 
this - it would eviscerate him. Doyle felt the pulsing muscle 
driving deeper into his body and he made his choice. 
He sent a silent prayer to ask his lover’s forgiveness, and another 
that Angel might never find his desecrated corpse. Though that at 
least, seemed unlikely. Then he dug down into the last reserves of 
his strength, bringing his own demon to the surface as he began to 
buck and struggle and scream and fight. He’d anticipated that it 
would be brief. It was, but not in the way he was expecting. The 
creature suddenly arched back with a choked cry and then slumped 
forward across Doyle’s legs with what appeared to be a tusk, or 
maybe it was an antler (?) protruding from its back. Too stunned and 
exhausted to move, Doyle lay shivering. His rescuer easily dragged 
the demon’s body aside. Doyle blinked, trying to get a better look 
at the slender form silhouetted against the sky. It spoke: its voice 
smooth and strangely melodic.
“See, Miss. Edith. See what happens when you’re naughty.”

Part Eleven  

It took Doyle’s dazed brain several moments to realize that Miss. 
Edith was the piece of cloth-wrapped bone clutched in the young 
woman’s left hand. The young woman who was currently regarding him 
with huge, liquid-dark eyes: her head cocked to one side like a 
bird’s.
“You’re Daddy’s friend.” She stated confidently.
Suddenly aware of his nudity, Doyle reached for the torn remnants of 
his clothing. He hurriedly pulled on the pants, resolutely directing 
his gaze away from the demon’s corpse. “Er…Daddy?” He glanced around 
but the strange young woman was alone.
She crouched down in front of him, bringing the bone to her ear and 
making a show of listening, as though it were telling her some 
closely guarded secret. “Miss. Edith says you shouldn’t be here. 
Daddy will be cross if you get lost.” She sounded as though she was 
reciting a lesson learned long ago.
Doyle was shaken and confused. Something about this young woman set 
his alarm bells ringing. The answer came with a sudden flare of 
panic. What was it with him and weird lady vampires? However, even 
in his shell-shocked state, Doyle could slip into silver-tongued 
mode faster than most: especially when his life might depend upon 
it. “Well…ahm…Miss. And Miss. Edith. It’s a real pleasure to make 
your acquaintance.”
The young woman’s face broke into a dreamy smile. “Pleasure is blood 
and pain and screaming. Daddy used to make us scream.” Her face 
saddened. “But then he went away. He came back, but he was still 
gone.”
No way was Doyle touching that. So he just nodded and made what he 
hoped was an appropriate: “Uh huh” noise.
“My Spike brought pretty things to make me smile.”
//Spike?// Doyle stiffened. He really didn’t believe in 
coincidences. “So…ah…Spike took care of you, then?”
“He’s my sweet prince.” 
“Is he here?” Doyle asked casually.
She shook her head, dark ringlets tumbling. “My Spike loves the boy 
now. He has to be with him. I saw it in a dream.”
That more-or-less clinched it for Doyle. He wiped his hand on the 
remains of his sweatshirt. “Where are my manners? I’m Doyle.” He 
held out a grubby hand and got a coy look in return as slim white 
fingers closed over his. The cold made his scratches throb.
“Drusilla.” She made it sound almost musical.
Doyle dredged up a shaky smile. “Hey, Drusilla.” At least now he 
knew where he was: since it seemed unlikely she could have found her 
way out of whatever Hell dimension she had fallen into. He felt 
scared and sick, and sure - he was grateful for the timely rescue, 
but he could do without companionship if it meant he’d just swapped 
one attacker for another. Though she didn’t look like she had any 
designs on his blood supply, and she had killed that thing before it 
could…Okay, not going there right now because if he did he was 
pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to deal, and he couldn’t afford to 
lose it just yet. Not while there was still the remotest chance that 
he could find his way back to Angel.
Angel ~ the very thought of his lover left him near desperate with 
longing: a raw painful ache that made his chest hurt. He knew that 
his sudden disappearance would have made Angel even more determined 
to find Darla, and the idea of a distracted Angel going up against 
that psychotic ho made his desire to get home all the more urgent. 
He tried to think: a portal had brought him here; the Hell mouth led 
to here. So somehow, somewhere there was probably a way back, right? 
Or maybe not. This was Hell after all. Full of unspeakable nasties 
and things that went more than bump in the night. They weren’t 
supposed to have the run around. This place was probably sealed up 
tighter than Uncle Billy’s wallet. Though he had managed to wheedle 
the odd copper out of that as a kid. So not completely hopeless 
then.
He sighed and pulled on his socks. Drusilla was no longer watching 
him and despite his resolution not to look at his ex-attacker, Doyle 
felt compelled to see what she was doing. She was dipping a long, 
slender finger into the pool of blood congealing on the creature’s 
back. She sucked the bloodied digit in a manner that somehow managed 
to be both obscene and erotic - in a really disturbing sort of way. 
Drusilla’s forehead furrowed and her nose wrinkled delicately; 
evidently the demon’s blood was not to her liking. She turned to 
face him wearing a forlorn, mournful expression that made him think 
of doe-eyed orphans and abandoned puppies. Get a grip. She’s a 
vampire for Chrissakes. Somehow the knowledge didn’t lessen his 
pity: it just tempered it with a healthy dose of fear. 
He was sharply reminded of Spike’s grief at her supposed passing. Of 
the memories and guilt that Angel had shared with him. Doyle gave a 
mental shrug: what the heck ~ she’s practically family. “Hey…I…Look, 
what d’ya say you and me get out of here?” She regarded him 
silently. Doyle tried very hard not to squirm under that strange, 
too-seeing stare. He tried out a smile: it wobbled a little. “Mebbe 
Miss. Edith would like to take a walk? You know. See a bit of the 
world?”
Drusilla walked slowly toward him. She seemed to glide across the 
uneven ground. As she leaned over him, Doyle sucked in a breath.
“We should find Daddy,” she announced gravely. 
Doyle nodded with relief. “Yeah, that’d be good. That’d be 
greatness.” He stumbled to his feet. Surprised when she steadied him 
with strong but gentle hand. He shot her a quick grateful smile and 
got an odd look in return. Not quite a smirk but enough to make his 
heart stutter. He tried to appear calm. Though the little voice 
telling him that if she did turn on him he was dead didn’t help. 
“So, you have any idea where to go?” he asked inanely. She gave him 
an indecipherable smile and crooked a finger at him. Doyle found 
himself drawn forward until he could almost taste the scents that 
lingered on her pearly skin. The sharp cut of earth, the metal tang 
of blood and the faint scent of flowers? Lavender and Lillies.
“Miss Edith knows.” 
A low conspiratorial whisper that made him shiver. “Right…Miss 
Edith. And will she show us?”
Drusilla shook her head. “She’s being very naughty. Shall we punish 
her?” Her eyes gleamed faintly at the prospect.
Doyle edged away slightly. “Er, mebbe later, yeah. We should 
probably try and find ‘Daddy’ first. Don’t want him getting’ mad.” 
Thankfully, she seemed to agree with him and as she turned and 
walked away, Doyle followed.

Chapter XX
“You know if you’d stopped poncin’ around and claimed him, it’d have 
made findin’ him a bloody sight easier.” The only visible result of 
Spike’s sniping was a slight stiffening of Angel’s back and 
shoulders.
“Hey,” Xander whispered, placing a hand on Spike’s arm. “Go easy on 
him, okay? I think he’s wound pretty tight right now.”
Spike shook his head in disgust. “Pair of ‘em have been dancin’ 
round one another for months.” He raised his voice again as he 
added: “I thought the whole point of fixin’ your soul was so you 
could have him? What’s the problem? He’s good enough to fuck but not 
good enough to be your Chosen?” Angel came at him so fast he was a 
dark blur. Spike tensed but held onto his sneer even as Angel’s 
hands tightened around his throat. “What’s the matter? Truth hurts?” 
The words came out rough and choked, ending in a slight hiss, as 
Angel pressed harder.
“Stop it!” Xander glared at them both. “Doyle. Remember? Isn’t going 
to get found with you two acting like a couple of infants.”
Angel gave Spike one last shake and released him. Spike rubbed his 
throat - eyes bright and knowing. “Thought so.” His voice was 
slightly hoarse. “You’re afraid to take him.” He shook his head. 
“Pratt.”
“Huh?” Xander had the feeling he’d missed something important. 
Angel’s anger seemed to ripple the air around him. 
Spike was utterly unfazed. “What? Do you really think you’re doin’ 
him a favour? Poor bastard’s so confused it’s a wonder he can walk 
straight.”
Angel took a threatening step forward. Xander quickly jumped in 
between the pair. “Hey. Time-out, remember?” He made a cutting 
motion with his hands. “Jeeze, what is it with you two?” Spike 
opened his mouth: Xander slapped a hand across it before he could 
speak. “No. No more. We find Doyle and go home. Then you two can act 
like the anti-Waltons. Okay?”
“You’re right. This isn’t the time.” Angel still sounded pissed but 
he looked marginally less like he wanted to rip Spike’s head off.
Xander sighed his relief and waited for Spike’s response. He got a 
mumbled agreement and a wet tongue lathed across his palm before he 
lowered his hand. Xander waited until Angel had walked off a ways 
before turning on his lover. “What the fuck are you playing at?” he 
whispered furiously. “He’s this close to losing it” - thumb and 
forefinger displayed the miniscule distance - “ And you’re trying to 
get him to whale on you? Do you want to lose a body part?”
Spike looked insulted. “Hey, I can-“
Xander wasn’t in the mood to listen. “Enough with the ‘who can take 
who’. Read my lips - I don’t care. I just want to find Doyle and go 
home.” His voice wavered a little on the last part, but he knew that 
Spike could sense his fear so what was the point in trying to hide 
it?
Spike’s gaze softened. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Pet.”
Xander tried to hang onto his anger. It wasn’t easy with Spike 
looking at him like that. “I know. It’s just…I’ve only just got you 
back.” He stroked a finger down one sharp cheekbone and his voice 
dropped even lower. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
Spike turned his head and nuzzled the finger before folding it 
within his own and squeezing it gently. “Won’t happen, Pet.” 
He spoke as one who knew this for a fact, and even though Xander 
knew that was impossible, Spike’s easy assurance lessened the ache 
around his heart. He was still haunted by how close he’d come to 
losing this, and the prospect of another close call was more than he 
could handle right now. Cold fingers tugged him forward and Spike’s 
free arm curled around his waist, drawing him tight against that 
lean, hard body. The sharp, sweet musk of smoke and leather tickled 
Xander’s nose and stirred the interest of other parts. But it was a 
slow, sulky interest. Now was not the time and this was definitely 
not the place. Besides which, he was too stressed and wired. Though 
that didn’t stop him rocking his hips gently against the sharp dip 
and curve of Spike’s, glorying in the fit.
Spike made a sound that was almost a whimper and Xander had to 
swallow against a sudden dizzying rush of want. He pushed away 
gently. “Later,” he promised, his voice sounded strained and husky 
even to his own ears. He brushed his lips against Spike’s and 
repeated the promise softly. Spike looked a little dazed when he 
drew back.
“Right, yeah. Later.” 
Xander liked to think that the croaky roughness wasn’t entirely due 
to Spike’s brush with strangulation. Certainly, he doubted that was 
why Spike needed to adjust himself before they set off.
Then again…………but that was a thought for another time.

Part Twelve

Exhausted in mind, body and spirit, Doyle found himself trailing 
further and further behind Drusilla. He had tried to occupy his 
thoughts by watching the tattered hem of her gown as it fluttered 
around her ankles. The surrounding scenery offered no distractions, 
leaving him instead to dwell on the hopelessness of his situation. 
The scrapes and scratches from the attack were starting to itch, 
making him worry about the possibility of infection. That would be 
the final insult. It wasn’t enough that even his bruises had 
bruises, now he was probably going to catch some gross skin disease. 
He wanted to sit down and cry. He’d been struggling to maintain his 
stoic facade for Angel’s sake; determined not to let his lover know 
just how scared and hurt he was really feeling, but he’d been 
holding it all in for so long it was choking him. 
His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been some time since 
he’d eaten: though the very thought of food made him nauseous. He 
was thirsty, but the parched earth suggested that water was a seldom 
visitor to this particular dimension. Great, so if an incurable skin 
disease didn’t kill him, dehydration or starvation would probably do 
the job. Hysteria bubbled in his throat and he gave a short, 
strangled bark of laughter – startling himself. He knew he was a 
hairs breadth from full-blown panic and he was losing the fight to 
contain it. He stopped walking, closing his eyes and drawing in a 
few deep breaths to try to steady himself. 
The vision hit without warning.
Doyle gasped and collapsed to his knees, shaking like a man in the 
grip of a fit. He tried to cry out, but the pain was so intense it 
robbed him of his voice. When finally it passed he lay curled up on 
his side, shivering. Awareness came with the feel of smooth, cold 
fingers gently stroking his face. He blinked, trying to clear the 
tears from his eyes. The blurry face of Drusilla slowly came into 
focus. Her eyes radiated a solemn understanding. He knew that he 
should move away, but the cool touch was like a balm.
Finally, he felt able to sit up and he gently moved her hand away. 
“Thank you.” He offered a tiny grateful smile.
Drusilla’s expression remained solemn, but liquid-dark eyes 
glittered with an intense madness. “Did the stars sing to you? Did 
they send you blood and dreams?”
Doyle struggled to recall what he’d seen. It always took him a 
moment to set aside the pain and concentrate on the imagery. When he 
did, what little colour he had leached away. “Oh, God. Angel.” He 
tried to stand but his legs buckled underneath him. He found himself 
gripping Drusilla’s arms, his panic now full fledged. “We have to 
find him. They’re going to kill him. Oh, God. Oh, fuck.” Words faded 
into broken sobs. The vision had been of Angel. He’d seen his lover 
about to walk into a trap – with lethal results. He let go of 
Drusilla and slammed his fists against the ground. Then he raised 
his face to the sky and screamed: “What do you want me to do?! You 
want me to save your champion?!” He grabbed handfuls of dirt and 
threw it uselessly at the sky. “How can I?! How the fuck can I?!”
He slumped forward, pressing his hands against his face, rocking 
mindlessly. “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “Oh, God, Angel. I’m so sorry.”
Drusilla watched for a moment. Then she reached forward and put her 
arms around him, holding him as he wept.

Chapter XXII
“Where the fuck are we headin’?” Spike snarled. “We’re probably 
goin’ round in bleedin’ circles.”
Angel didn’t want to admit it, but he silently acknowledged that his 
Childe might be right. With nothing in the sky, and no visible 
landmarks, it was impossible to work out the direction they were 
traveling in. It was all too possible that they had been walking in 
a circle for the last few hours. Spike’s patience – never the stuff 
of legends – was nearing its limit, and Xander looked close to 
dropping. Lines of exhaustion adding to the worried creases already 
etched into his face. However, Angel was at a loss as to what else 
they could do. He had tried to direct the portal to take them to 
Doyle, but portal spells were notoriously fickle. What if he’d 
screwed it up? What if this wasn’t even the right dimension?
Nagging doubts didn’t improve his temper and he growled at Spike 
before increasing his pace. He should have known that wouldn’t shut 
him up. Even back in the day it usually took more than a verbal 
warning to bring his Childe to heel.
“Sod this.” Spike stopped suddenly. He grabbed Xander and pulled the 
young man to a stand still. “We’re taking a break,” he announced.
Angel wanted to deny them, but another look at Xander’s pale, weary 
face made him relent. “Okay. A few minutes.”
“Yeah,” Spike muttered. “Cos it’s gonna make all the difference if 
we hurry.”
“Spike,” Xander hissed.
“What? We might as well be marching on the bloody spot for all the 
fuckin’ good were doing.”
“Not helping here.” Xander jerked his head toward Angel. Trying to 
indicate that Spike should shut up.
“He knows. The pouf’s just too much of a sorry-arse to admit it.”
“Fine. Whatever. But maybe, Mr. Negativity, you should spare us the 
unhelpful pessimism.”
Angel watched and listened with an aching heart. Even as the pair 
sniped and bickered, they exchanged wordless comfort. Hands touched 
and petted: not sexual, just reassuring. Their obvious togetherness 
only served to reinforce his sense of loss and regret. When Spike 
silenced Xander with a gentle kiss, Angel looked away. 
Suddenly, his reasons for holding Doyle at arms length seemed 
senseless. He’d known his actions had left Doyle upset and confused. 
But he’d told himself it was for the best: that he was protecting 
Doyle. He’d thought he was right. Now he wasn’t so sure. Even more 
painful was the knowledge that he had purposefully refused to talk 
it over with his lover, and for that he had no excuse - except, 
perhaps, his own cowardice. He’d been afraid that if he gave Doyle 
his reasons, Doyle would try to offer arguments against them, and 
Angel knew he would be too weak to resist. Was he wrong? Was it too 
late to change things? Only if Doyle was…
Angel couldn’t bring himself to complete the thought. Doyle was 
fine. He had to be.
He turned his attention back to the landscape, squinting into the 
distance. Something dark could be glimpsed on the horizon line. It 
was hard to make out. Even in his human guise, his eyes were still 
relatively light sensitive. He knew that of the three of them Xander 
had the best chance of identifying it. “Xander, what do you see over 
there?” 
“Umm. I’m not sure. Maybe mountains?” Xander shadowed his eyes. It 
wasn’t particularly bright, but the heat made things shift and 
shimmer. “Or buildings. It could be buildings.” He shrugged 
apologetically. “Sorry, I really can’t see more than a big, dark 
blur.”
“Then we check it out.” Angel was already walking.
“Hey!” Spike scrambled to his feet.
Angel glanced back over his shoulder. “You have a better idea?”
Spike’s sullen pout said no. And the three of them set off again.

**************************
Right now, Xander decided he would give a lot for a long, cool drink 
of just about anything. A fierce wind had blown up out of nowhere, 
throwing dirt, grit, and dust into their faces. Spike had removed 
his shirt - handing it to Xander to use against the choking clouds. 
Xander wrapped it around his face, leaving only his eyes and hair 
visible. The latter quickly turned a yellowish-grey as the dust 
settled in it. Spike and Angel held their arms up as a barrier 
against the stinging wind, trying to shield their eyes as best they 
could. At least they didn’t have to try and breathe in it. Sometimes 
being human sucked. Even with Spike’s shirt, all he could taste was 
grit and dirt, and it was beyond foul - like something had died in 
his mouth. He hoped they were still walking in the right direction, 
because he for one couldn’t see a thing. Only his ability to sense 
Spike kept him on track.
This place had made him more aware of the changes in his physiology. 
It was nothing his human senses could pick-up on, but his other 
senses were zinging all over the place: like a warning claxon going 
off inside his head. Occasionally, he’d thought he’d heard cries. He 
was pretty sure Spike and Angel had heard them too. However, they 
seemed to come under the heading of ~ ‘disturbing things, best not 
talked about’. He certainly didn’t want to think about who, or what, 
was making them…or indeed, why. This was Hell after all, and some 
things were just better left unknown.
The wind died down as abruptly as it had started. Leaving Xander to 
unwind the shirt from around his face, and try to hack up the half 
ton of dust that seemed to have lodged in his lungs. Wiping the dust 
out of his eyes he realized something else: they had arrived. Though 
that strange, unidentifiable blip on the horizon wasn’t all that 
much more identifiable close-to. Roughly dome-shaped, it appeared to 
have been hewn out of wet clay, and unlike the rest of the landscape 
it was a dark, rich, reddish brown. By Xander’s estimation, it was 
about ten feet high and maybe thirty or forty feet in diameter. 
There was also something strangely…off…about it. Xander couldn’t 
quite put his finger on it, but something about this thing made his 
skin crawl.
Angel and Spike seemed equally uncertain; neither got too close and 
when Xander went to touch it, Spike pulled him back with such force 
his feet left the ground.
“Don’t go pokin’ at things you know nuthin’ about.” 
“Yes, Dad- Ow.” Xander rubbed his ear where Spike had flicked it.
Spike just gave him a ‘behave yourself’ look, before walking over to 
Angel. “What do you think?”
Angel shook his head; his expression said he was as nonplussed as 
they were. “I don’t know. It doesn’t fit in with the rest of this 
place. Maybe somebody built it?”
“For what? Therapy?”
“Maybe someone lives in it,” Xander suggested. His ear still stung, 
so he was careful not to shift from the spot where Spike had put 
him. When the other two gave him puzzled looks, Xander pointed out 
what they had both failed to notice. “There’s a door.” He directed 
them towards an opening on the far side, about two feet from the 
ground. “Or maybe it’s a really low window.” Xander grinned. “That’s 
it. It’s a munchkin house.”
“Now I know we’re in Hell,” said Spike dryly.
Angel looked lost.
“Oh come on. You must have seen it,” said Spike. “You aren’t that 
lucky.”
“The Wizard of Oz,” Xander supplied helpfully. “It’s a classic.”
“It’s bloody awful, is what it is.”
“Says the man who knows all the words.”
Spike fairly sputtered his indignation. “Oi! That’s not my fault. It 
got me subliminally or something.“ 
Xander began to sing slightly off-key. “Oh, we’re off to see the 
wizard…” Spike grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his hair, 
sending out clouds of dust. When Xander started coughing, Spike let 
go and gave him a ‘helpful’ slap on the back. “Thank you,” Xander 
croaked, glaring at his lover. Spike smirked unrepentantly.
Angel had already left them to go and investigate. Cautiously, he 
placed one hand next to the opening, bracing himself as he leaned 
forward to peer inside. It looked empty. “I don’t think anybody 
lives here,” he told the others, who had come over to join him.
Spike took a look. “Well it ain’t exactly life-styles of the rich 
and famous. But then we don’t all have your taste in poncy decor.”
“Does anyone else think it smells funny?” Xander asked.
“This whole fuckin’ place smells funny.”
“No. He’s right. It smells…odd,” Angel agreed.
“Look, are we going in or not?” Spike demanded to know. “Or are we 
just gonna stand here yakking.”
“Go in?” Xander asked. “As in ~ in there?” His night vision was 
pretty good, but it still looked very…well…dark.
“I’ll go,” said Angel. “You two stay outside and keep watch.”
Xander was torn. Part of him was relieved that he apparently 
wouldn’t have to crawl through that black opening, but another part 
of him didn’t like the thought of Angel disappearing through it 
either. “Why does anyone have to go? I mean, Doyle’s not in there. 
Is he? We’d know if he was, right?” He didn’t want to voice the – 
even if he’s unconscious or dead.
“No, he’s not in there. But he might have been here. Or there might 
be something else.” Desperation coloured Angel’s voice.
Xander understood. In this landscape of bleak nothingness anything 
was worth investigating. It wasn’t like they were tripping over 
clues here. He watched unhappily as Angel slipped noiselessly 
inside. Spike immediately stepped up to the entrance; trying to keep 
an eye on his Sire as Angel moved deeper into the gloom.
“Something’s not right,” Xander mused aloud. “Am I the only one 
getting seriously creeped out here?”
“Yeah.” Spike looked worried. “I think you’re right.” He leaned into 
the opening. “Oi, Peaches. You’d better get back out here. There’s 
something funny about this.” There was no reply. “Angel? Oi, Angel!”

Doyle would have remained where he knelt, lost in a grief-stricken 
stupor, but Drusilla had other ideas. She pulled him to his feet and 
made him walk. With one arm around his waist, and the other hand 
clutching Miss. Edith, she led him like a child. Doyle hadn’t the 
will to object and stumbled onward. 
He had no idea how much time had lapsed, when Drusilla suddenly 
stopped. Doyle blinked dazedly. Coming out of his fugue, he followed 
her gaze. Ahead, still some distance away, was a dark shape. 
Something about it tweaked a memory…a very recent memory. His 
vision.
Here? It was here? But then that would mean Angel was…
Doyle began to run. Drusilla effortlessly matched his pace. They’d 
covered maybe half the distance when she seized his arm, forcing him 
to stop. Doyle cried out and tried to break free, but her grip was 
like iron.
“Stars are the eyes of the sky,” she whispered. Then she let go.
Doyle was still struggling and almost fell over. He shot her a 
confused look and then began to run again. Finally he reached it – a 
strange, rough-hewn dome. There was no sign of anyone but he heard 
voices from around the other side. He recognized them at once. 
Racing around the structure, Doyle stumbled into Xander, who yelped 
and raised his arms defensively. Doyle all but collapsed and Xander 
quickly lowered his arms to catch him. 
“Where’s Angel?” Doyle demanded breathlessly.
Xander suddenly realised who he was holding upright. “Doyle?!”
A concerned looking Spike came to stand beside them. “He’s in 
there.” Spike pointed to the dome.
Doyle’s face contorted in horror. “Get him out. Now!” 
Spike didn’t waste time asking questions. He sprinted back to the 
entrance and was about to dart inside when the wall shifted. Spike 
stumbled back. “What the-?” As the structure began to heave and 
split he scrambled back, drawing Xander and Doyle with him..
“Too late,” Doyle whispered.
“Gaea’s children have woken, and now the party’s spoiled. The King 
of Cups won’t have his feast.”
Spike jerked around to face the speaker. “Dru?”
Xander stared at her, before glancing worriedly at Spike, and then 
back at the heaving, groaning mass in front of them. He was still 
more-or-less holding Doyle upright.
As they watched, the dome separated into five rough shapes, some 
seven feet or so high, and almost as wide. As if they were lumps of 
clay being modelled by invisible hands, limbs began to emerge. Huge 
arms, with hands the size of pumpkins; thick, squat legs, and 
toed-feet. And finally – arising from their barrel chests – heads 
with lumpy, misshapen features. Like a boxer who’d spent way too 
many years in the ring. 
They shuffled into a circle; Angel’s motionless form was revealed in 
their midst.
Doyle cried out and broke free from Xander’s grasp. He managed to 
stumble forward a few paces before Spike grabbed him by the waist, 
lifting him up and carrying him back. “Lemme go!” Doyle kicked and 
struggled uselessly. “Angel!” 
Spike sat him down. He kept a hold on Doyle’s shoulders: fingers 
biting just deep enough to hurt. Doyle barely felt it. Eyes wild, he 
strained to reach his lover. “Angel!”
“Shut up,” Spike hissed. “You go in there an’ they’ll stomp you into 
a red smear.”
Doyle didn’t listen. His attention was focused on Angel. 
Spike shook him gently. “Look, he’s all right. He’d be dust 
otherwise. Now you sit ‘ere. I’ll get him.” He released Doyle, 
muttering something about Angel tearing him a new one if he let 
anything happen to the younger man.
“Spike?” Xander sounded scared.
Spike grinned cockily. “Don’t worry, pet. It’ll take more than these 
uglies ‘ave got to take me.” 
He approached with a confident swagger, masking his own uncertainty. 
He’d never come across anything like these creatures before. He had 
no idea what their particular vulnerability might be: or even if 
they had one. He also had no idea if they knew how to kill a 
vampire, but if they twisted off his head he guessed they would find 
out pretty quick. As he drew close, one of them turned to face him. 
Its mouth opened and its jaw appeared to unhinge, dropping down to 
reveal a massive gaping maw, filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. 
Nice. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about them twisting his head 
off, not when they could just bite through his neck.
He watched them closely, trying to gage their speed and reach. Their 
limbs were relatively stumpy, but their overall size more than made 
up for it. In addition, Spike wasn’t convinced that their current 
form restricted them. His guess proved accurate when he stepped a 
little too close and one of the creatures reached out for him – its 
arm stretching like play dough. Spike ducked and rolled, avoiding 
its grasp. This was going to be tricky. He tried to see past them to 
get a good look at Angel. He was beginning to stir – moving his head 
groggily from side to side. Spike guessed they’d cold-clocked him. 
Angel would be fine in a few more seconds.
Sure enough, Angel lifted his head, his gaze searching out Spike’s. 
It clearly said what the Hell?
“Friends of yours, mate?” 
Angel sat up. Very slowly. “Think perhaps I should have knocked 
first?”
Spike grinned. His Sire was always cool in a crisis. “Nah. They’d 
probably ‘ave thought you were feelin’ ‘em up.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “Any idea what they want?”
“Dunno, but from their dental work I think maybe they want you for a 
toothpick.”
Angel nodded. “How long have I been out?”
“Not long. Few minutes maybe.” Spike wondered if he should mention 
Doyle. He decided against it. Angel might be cool in a crisis, but 
when he was emotional he got sloppy. There’d be time for touching 
reunions when they were out of this mess.
”So. Any ideas?” Angel asked hopefully.
“Not a clue, mate. You?”
Angel stood up. He froze as one of the creatures stomped forward, 
opening its mouth and howling directly into his face, before falling 
back into line with the others. Angel blinked hard. “Nope, can’t 
think of a thing.” 
“Try edgin’ past ‘em.” Spike suggested.
Angel didn’t look happy about his chances, but he gave it a try. 
However, no sooner had he put one foot in front of the other, then 
the creature moved to block him, baring its teeth in a threatening 
fashion. Angel backed away. “I don’t think they’re going to go for 
that.”
“Guess we do it the hard way then.” Spike stood, poised and ready. 
“You set?”
Angel’s eyes flickered toward him. Do it.
Spike let out a blood-curdling cry and aimed a drop kick at the 
closest creatures leg. It absorbed most of the blow but staggered 
slightly. Spike rabbit-punched the second one. Distracted by the 
leather-clad tornado darting in and out, the creatures broke rank, 
leaving a gap wide enough for Angel to slip through. Enraged at the 
loss of their quarry, the creatures began to howl and flail their 
mighty arms. Spike narrowly avoided a massive fist – saw his Sire 
was free – and decided it was high time to make a run for it.
He caught up to Angel, who had suddenly stopped upon seeing Doyle. 
Spike jabbed his Sire in the back. “Don’t stop you pillcock! Run!” 
He grabbed Xander’s hand and pulled him along - checking to see that 
Drusilla was with them. She was, her eyes shining with excitement. 
He glanced back. Noting with relief that Angel had picked up Doyle 
and was racing after them. The creatures gave chase, breaking into a 
strange, lolloping run. 
“Where are we going?” Xander gasped between breaths.
Spike hadn’t got a clue. He just hoped these things weren’t in it 
for the long haul. They didn’t look like distance runners.
Drusilla laughed excitedly. Spike grinned, letting out a wild whoop. 
Xander’s look said he thought they were both unhinged…but he joined 
in. The three of them ran, laughing and yelling. Angel and Doyle 
sped along silently beside them.
Perhaps it was the prospect of their prey carrying some strange 
mental affliction that discouraged the creatures. Or maybe they 
simply tired of the chase. Whatever the reason, they stopped: slowly 
turning and ambling away, until only the occasional disgruntled howl 
could be heard in the distance. The five ran on for some ways, 
before stopping too. Drusilla clapped her hands with girlish glee, 
bouncing on the balls of her feet. Spike eyed her uncomfortably. He 
was happy to find her safe and well, but he was more concerned that 
she didn’t screw up things between him and Xander. 
She was no longer his sweet plum. The dark goddess who made his 
blood sing. The most he felt for her now was a sort of filial 
affection. But did Xander understand that - and if he didn’t - how 
to make him see it? Right now, Spike opted for showing where his 
affections lay. He kept a tight hold of Xander’s hand and maintained 
a respectable distance from his former love. 
Doyle had passed out. Angel gently lowered him to the ground and 
knelt beside him. He tenderly stroked the young man’s face. Doyle 
moaned softly.
After a moment or two his eyes fluttered open. His gaze fell upon 
Angel. He raised his hand weakly and his fingers brushed Angel’s 
face. His eyes widened. “You’re really here.” There was wonder in 
his voice.
Angel nodded, unable to speak.
Doyle flung himself forwards with surprising speed. Wrapping his 
arms around Angel he burrowed his face against the broad chest.
Angel closed his eyes as he held onto his lover. Lowering his lips 
to Doyle’s hair he placed a reverent kiss upon the younger man’s 
head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Spike decided it wouldn’t hurt to give them a minute. He drew Xander 
to one side and turned away from the pair, affording them what 
little privacy he could.
“Is Daddy happy?” Drusilla asked.
Scanning the landscape for any sign of their lumpy friends 
returning, Spike answered absently. “Yes, pet. Daddy’s happy.” The 
affection slipped out without thought. Spike could have bitten off 
his tongue. He turned at once to his lover. “I didn’t mean nuthin’-“ 
and then he stopped, suddenly realising how that might sound. He 
called Xander pet all the time. Fuck this. He drew Xander into his 
arms and kissed the boy with everything he had. Skilfully stealing 
Xander’s surrender with teeth, lips and tongue. Nipping, sucking, 
licking, biting. His emotions flooded the link between them and 
Xander swayed under the duel assault.
Spike was equally lost. Drowning in Xander and everything the boy 
felt for him. Spike had to force himself take a step back: either 
that or take Xander here and now. His self-control wasn’t aided when 
he got a look at his lover. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, pupils 
dilated. Lips wet and swollen from the kiss. So fucking do-able 
Spike wanted to forget all about self-control. He growled and 
reigned himself in with effort.
“Oi.” He called out to the lovebirds still kneeling in the dirt. 
“Mebbe we should get back, yeah?”
Angel nodded, getting to his feet and assisting Doyle. He took the 
second portal spell out of his pocket. Following his recital the 
mist appeared, swirling and writhing around them. Then the portal 
itself – a black chasm floating just above the ground. Angel lifted 
Doyle into his arms. The young man flushed.
“I can walk,” he insisted. But it was a token protest.
“Humour me,” said Angel. He had no intention of letting Doyle go.
Spike glanced at Drusilla and hesitated. The corner of Xander’s 
mouth quirked up in a wry smile and he nodded. Spike held out his 
hand. “Come on, baby. Time to go home.” Drusilla smile and took it.
“You’re the Prince of hearts,” she told Xander.
Xander raised his eyebrows at Spike.
Spike just shrugged.
Angel stepped up to the portal. “Let’s go.” 
He went through and the other followed.

Part Fourteen  

Xander could feel something cool and damp wiping his face: it felt 
wonderful. His lips curved into the trace of a smile.
“Xander? Pet. You awake?”
“Hmmph,” said Xander.
“Come on, pet. Open your eyes. That’s it.”
Reluctantly, Xander opened his eyes…to see a concerned-looking Spike 
hovering over him, a wet washcloth in his hand.
Spike literally sagged in relief. “About bleedin’ time. That’s it. 
No more portal travel for you.”
“Wha-?” Xander tried to speak. His mouth felt like it was stuffed 
with cotton wool.
Spike dumped the washcloth into a bowl. “You’ve been out of it for 
hours, luv.” 
Xander heard the worry in Spike’s voice and knew he must have given 
his lover quite a scare. He lay a hand upon Spike’s arm and squeezed 
it gently. 
Spike gave a nod and a brief smile, before adopting a suitably 
chastening expression. “I mean it. No more fuckin’ misbehaving. You 
do as you’re told from now on. When I say stay, I mean stay.”
”Woof,” said Xander weakly and he sniggered. He couldn’t help it. He 
jumped when the bowl suddenly went sailing across the room – 
smashing into the wall. Water and broken china scattered everywhere. 
Wide-eyed, Xander looked at his lover. 
Spike stood, hands clenched into fists. He was shaking. 
“Spike?”
Spike turned. His expression was equal parts rage and distress. 
Though Xander didn’t need to see it. He could feel his lover’s 
turmoil and he cursed himself for being an idiot. “Sorry,” he 
offered quietly. Spike just stood there, staring at him. Xander made 
his wobbly legs obey him and got up. He wrapped his arms around a 
trembling Spike, and rubbed his face against the black t-shirt. “I 
mean it. I’m really sorry. You have my word. From now on I do 
exactly as you say.”
“No you won’t.” Spike’s voice was affectionate.
Confused, Xander raised his head from Spike’s shoulder. He looked 
questioningly at his lover.
“Sometimes you’ll listen, an’ sometimes you won’t. And whichever, 
you’ll still do your own bloody thing. You’re nobody’s yes-man.” 
Spike pushed back a stray black curl. “You’re your own man, pet. 
That’s what I love about you.” He grinned. “‘Course, you still 
belong to me.”
Xander felt his heart quicken upon seeing that smile. “Yours,” he 
whispered, tightening his hold.
Heat flared in Spike’s gaze. “Mine,” he agreed. Walking them 
backwards he tumbled them both onto the couch.
“Ooof,” said Xander, as he landed with Spike on top of him. He got 
comfortable and wrapped his legs around Spike’s thighs. “I think I’d 
like to fuck you.” His matter-of-fact tone was incongruous with the 
desire in his expression.
Blue-gold eyes glittered. “That could be arranged.”
“Now?” Xander asked hopefully, grinding his hips against his 
lover’s.
Spike sat back and almost slipped off the couch. He growled. “Not 
enough room,” he muttered. Without another word, he picked Xander up 
and slung him over his shoulder.
Xander winced as his zipper pressed into his erection. “Huh? Hey. 
Where are we going?” 
“Home,” said Spike simply.
“Oh.” Home was good. Home meant bed and space and privacy. The 
latter made him suddenly remember something. “The others-“
“-Are fine,” Spike finished. He’d taken them over to the trapdoor. 
He swung it open and dropped down into the darkness – still carrying 
Xander.
“Aargh,” Xander croaked.
“You okay, pet?”
“Mmmm.” Xander’s voice was almost an octave higher than normal, 
alerting Spike to his not-so-little problem. 
“Want me to take the edge off?” Spike asked.
Xander could practically feel his lover’s smirk. “We are not doing 
it in a sewer,” he said firmly. He’d lost most of his inhibitions 
since hooking up with Spike, but every guy had his limits.
“Here, grab hold.”
Except Spike, apparently. 
It took Xander a second or so to work out what Spike wanted him to 
do, and then it took Spike another moment or two to get them both 
into position. Xander found himself with his back pressed against 
the rungs of the sewer ladder. His legs were hooked over Spike’s 
arms and his groin was now more-or-less level with Spike’s mouth. At 
Spike’s insistence (though admittedly it didn’t take much), Xander 
undid his jeans and took himself out. He had to reach up and grab 
the rungs above him for support when Spike wrapped cold lips around 
his straining flesh.
“Oh, god. That’s…that’s…Oghmphf.” Xander lost the ability to form 
coherent speech as Spike’s tongue probed the weeping slit. He arched 
his hips forward, trying to push himself in deeper. Spike relaxed 
his throat and swallowed Xander down to the root. Xander gave a 
choked little gasp and began to thrust frantically. Spike simply let 
him, while continuing to play Xander with his tongue. It was times 
like this when Xander really appreciated having a lover who didn’t 
need to breathe. His thrusts grew more erratic and his moans more 
desperate. Then with a final cry he came, flooding Spike’s eager 
mouth with his seed. Feeling his lover swallow again and again. 
Xander banged his head weakly against a metal rung, trying to keep 
himself from fading out. He whimpered as Spike suckled gently on his 
softening length, lapping up the last of his cum with a clever 
tongue. He raised his head and met his lover’s smug gaze. “I hope... 
you’re… not …expecting me… to… walk now,” he mumbled breathlessly. 
Spike just gave his now lax flesh once final loving lick, and then 
gently tucked him away. He swung himself up past Xander to yank the 
trapdoor closed and then lifted Xander back onto his shoulder. 
“Home, James,” Xander muttered, closing his eyes.
Spike smacked his backside sharply.
“Hey,” Xander protested. “We agreed. None of that.”
“We did?” said Spike innocently.
Xander wasn’t buying it. “No. And no way. We are not taking 
advantage of the young man in the post-coital haze.” Spike bit him 
through his jeans. “Yow!” Xander tried to rub the offended patch but 
Spike grabbed his hand. “Ow, Ow and Ow. Do we need to get you a chew 
toy? You know, I think there’s a squeaky rubber bone in one of those 
boxes of junk we sorted.” 
Spike pretended to be hurt. “Is that anyway to talk to the nice man 
who’s just blown you?”
“Is this anyway to treat the nice man who’s going to fuck you?” 
Xander countered.
Spike released Xander’s hand and kissed the bite-mark. “All better 
now?”
“Getting there,” said Xander, affecting a pout.
Spike smiled and lowered his lover to the ground, pushing him back 
against the wall. “Got anything else you want kissin’ better?” he 
leered. 
Xander grinned. 
Spike sealed his lips over Xander’s smirk.
When they broke for necessary air – necessary for Xander anyway. 
Something had slipped into Xander lust-fogged brain. “Drusilla!” he 
exclaimed. 
-Distracting Spike who banged his teeth against Xander’s. He drew 
back swearing. “Fuck! What?”
Xander rubbed his own mouth. “D-oo-illa,” he mumbled. He lowered his 
hand after wiggling his front teeth to check they were still firmly 
attached. “Where is she?”
“Does it matter?” Spike asked exasperated.
Xander gave him a well duh look. “That depends. Is she planning on 
getting reacquainted?”
“With who?”
“You!”
Spike shook his head. “She’s gone, luv. She knows how it is. She 
might be mad but she’s not crazy enough to try an’ come between me 
and you, pet.”
Xander stared. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it?
Spike seemed to sense his bewilderment. “You wear my claim on you 
like a brand,” he explained. “I told you, luv. There’s no going 
back. This is it.”
Xander did understand. Up until a few weeks ago he could still have 
walked away – albeit with some major withdrawal in the offing. But 
the grace period had passed. The link between them was complete. It 
would continue to grow stronger and deeper, but only the death of 
one or both of them could break it. Spike owned him heart, body and 
soul…literally. And the knowledge made him warm from the toes up. 
“Come here,” he instructed.
Spike closed the space between them and let Xander turn him around – 
back pressed against the sewer wall.
Xander began to cover his lover’s face in kisses: cheeks, brow, jaw. 
Intersecting each with a soft: “Love you.”
Spike closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure, baring his throat to 
Xander’s questing lips. 
Xander bit down hard, drawing blood. He suckled as Spike moaned and 
writhed against him.
Spike’s features shimmered. He opened his eyes. They glittered 
cat-like in the darkness. He grabbed a handful of Xander’s hair and 
wrenched the youth’s head back. Xander’s lips were smeared with 
blood: his eyes gold. Spike snarled and captured his lover’s mouth, 
kissing it roughly.
Xander finally broke the kiss, guiding Spike toward his throat. He 
shivered as Spike licked along the column of his neck. Then cried 
out in wordless ecstasy as Spike sank his fangs into the tender 
flesh. As Spike drank, Xander came for a second time. His hips 
thrust lazily as his pleasure pulsed from his body, hot and sticky.
Their surroundings were forgotten as they drifted in a private world 
made for them alone.

Part Fifteen

Angel watched a sleeping Doyle, thankful beyond anything he could 
express to have the young man whole and in his keeping. He offered 
silent thanks to the magnanimous deity that apparently did watch 
over vampires and their lovers. 
He had directed the portal to return them to the apartment, but 
Doyle and Xander had emerged on the other side unconscious. It 
appeared to be a side effect of portal travel. He and Spike were 
left feeling sick and weak. Xander and Doyle suffered more acutely, 
probably because they were still alive. Angel had carried his lover 
into their bedroom, while Spike laid Xander on the couch. Angel had 
removed what remained of Doyle’s clothing – frowning at their torn 
and tattered state. 
His concern increased when he noticed the fresh scratches marring 
Doyle’s arms and chest, and the crescent shaped cuts on his palms. 
They weren’t deep but they showed early signs of infection. Angel 
cleaned and dressed them carefully. Whilst he was finishing off, 
Drusilla came to stand beside him. She eyed Doyle’s still form 
speculatively.
“He’s different.”
Angel nodded cautiously. 
“He has a gift.”
“Yes.”
Drusilla whimpered and clutched her hands to her chest. “It hurts 
him.”
Angel swallowed hard. “Yes…Yes it does.”
Drusilla raised her hands, knuckles resting against her temples as 
she swayed. Her wide-eyed gaze was eons away. “So much pain. The 
stars weep with it. But I see a union of blood and soul.” She seemed 
to come back to herself and she reached out a slender hand to cup 
Angel’s cheek. Her eyes were free of their usual insanity as she 
smiled at him. “Be happy, Angelus.” 
Angel watched her walk back to Spike: kneeling and whispering 
something to him. He saw Spike’s torn expression, and then watched 
as the pair kissed. Angel knew they were saying a final goodbye. 
Spike’s parting smile was bittersweet as Drusilla placed a last 
tender kiss upon his forehead. Finally, she touched Xander’s cheek, 
as a mother might a child. Then she was gone. 
He felt the momentary wrench of loss, but knew that he didn’t need 
to be overly concerned for her welfare. Perhaps Drusilla was… 
broken. She was also intelligent, cunning and powerful. Possessing 
gifts that had saved them all in times past, and would no doubt 
continue to guide and protect her. Despite the evil that resided 
within her, Angel hoped that they would.
Hours had now passed. Doyle had murmured occasionally, but showed no 
other signs of waking. Angel maintained his vigil and tried not to 
panic. He’d heard Xander wake, followed by the sound of muffled 
voices and something breaking, before the pair had eventually left 
through the sewer tunnels and silence had fallen again. 
Finally, after what felt like forever, Doyle opened his eyes with a 
groan. “Oh, God. What the hell was I drinkin’?”
Angel smiled his relief and held out a glass of water. Doyle reached 
for it with shaking hands and Angel quickly stepped in to help – 
steadying the glass and holding it to Doyle’s lips. Doyle drank 
greedily. When he’d finished, Angel placed the glass on the bedside 
cabinet. The blanket covering him had slipped down and Doyle eyed 
the white dressings on his torso with a grimace.
“So much for this being a really bad dream then.”
Angel brought his chair closer to the bed and sat down again. Doyle 
fiddled with the edge of the blanket and studiously avoided his 
gaze. Angel stilled the nervy gesture by covering the slim fingers 
with his. “What happened?” he asked gently.
Doyle tried to shrug: it was a somewhat aborted motion, owing to the 
wince that overtook it. “Look, it was nothin’ much. I met a demon. 
Drusilla helped me out.”
“She did?” Angel was surprised and pleased. It wasn’t often any of 
his Childer did something that could be construed as the right 
thing. He allowed himself a tinge of fatherly pride. 
Doyle saw it and smiled. “Yeah, she did good. I’ll have to thank her 
properly. I didn’t really get the chance before.”
“She’s gone, but it’s okay. I think she knew.”
“Gone? When? How long have I been asleep?”
“About eight hours. And you weren’t really asleep. You were 
unconscious for most of it.”
“Uncon-? How long have you been sat here?” Doyle seemed to notice 
Angel’s haggard, rumpled appearance for the first time.
Angel mumbled his reply. “Maybe eight hours, give or take.”
Doyle shook his head in fond exasperation. “And I don’t suppose you 
got any rest during those eight or so hours?”
“I’m fi-“
“-Fine, yeah. You look it.” Doyle patted the space beside him. “Come 
here before you pass out, an’ I find meself trippin’ over you.”
Angel clambered carefully onto the bed and stretched out beside his 
lover. “You haven’t told me yet.”
“Huh?”
Angel lightly traced an uncovered shallow scratch. “What happened?”
“Oh. That.” 
Angel wasn’t about to be fooled by the dismissive tone. “Doyle-“ he 
began.
“-All right.” Doyle snapped uncharacteristically. “The demon wanted 
me, okay.”
Angel’s expression darkened. “You mean he-“
“I mean in the ‘would you take your clothes of so I can fuck you’ 
sense of the word,” Doyle snarled. He rubbed his bandaged hands over 
his face. “Oh, God. I can’t do this.”
//No// Angel pleaded silently, genuinely terrified that Doyle might 
consider ending things between them. “Doyle, I-“ He struggled to 
find the words, not knowing how, or if, he could put this right.
“Hold me?”
Angel responded to the faint whisper without thought; setting aside 
his bewilderment to gently wrap his lover up in a comforting 
embrace. Doyle snuggled against him with a sigh.
“Damn you’re good at this,” Doyle acknowledged happily, his words 
muffled against Angel’s chest.
Angel was confused.
“I want to tell you,” Doyle continued. “I just…I can’t do it with 
you lookin’ at me. This is easier.”
//Oh// Relief flooded through him, along with understanding. “Okay,” 
he whispered into the younger man’s hair.
“I didn’t know where I was,” Doyle began softly. “I just thought 
mebbe I was somewhere else, you know. Like Australia. Guess I should 
have been more clued in. I mean a psycho bitch like her isn’t gonna 
pack me off on a free holiday is she. I didn’t really know until I 
found Drusilla. Or it was more like, she found me.”
“You said she helped you? Was that when-?” Angel couldn’t say it.
Doyle nodded, his head rubbing Angel’s chest. “Yeah. He…he wasn’t 
takin’ no for an answer.”
Angel had been rubbing his hand in a soothing circle on Doyle’s 
back. He paused, fingers temporarily tightening into a fist, before 
resuming. “Did he hurt you?” 
“Yes. No.” Doyle sounded tired. “I don’t know. I guess, mebbe a 
little. It was more what he was doing.” He paused. “Are you sure you 
wanna hear this?”
Angel cupped Doyle’s face, guiding it to meet his concerned gaze. He 
brushed his thumb lightly across the young man’s mouth. “I can hear 
anything you have to tell me. Do you need to say it?” he asked 
gently.
Doyle gave a nod and lay his head back upon Angel’s chest. “I think 
mebbe I do.”
“I’m here,” Angel whispered. 
“Always?”
Angel’s hatred for the creature intensified with the uncertainty in 
that word. “Always,” he assured.
Doyle began - describing the creature and its assault upon him in a 
quiet, halting voice. By the time he finished his body was shaking 
with fine tremors.
Angel choked back his rage and guilt, crushing it ruthlessly. It 
wouldn’t help. Instead he gently drew Doyle’s face level with his 
own. The young man’s eyes were shut. “I love you.” Angel followed 
this heartfelt declaration with a kiss to Doyle’s left eyelid. “I 
love you,” he repeated, kissing the right. “I love you.” Over and 
over he said the words, an outpouring of his soul. Tears fell as he 
whispered them, wetting his lips with salt. When he chastely kissed 
the corner of Doyle’s mouth, a tentative tongue stroked after it. 
The taste of Angel’s grief seemed to unlock something in Doyle, and 
he began to weep too. Tears that were interrupted when he cried out 
suddenly: “Why?! Why don’t you want me?” Raw voice, splintered with 
hurt and anger. 
Angel flinched. “Oh, Doyle. No. No. I never meant-”
Doyle didn’t let him finish. “-Then what the fuck do you mean? What 
do you want, Angel? What is it? I’m good enough for now, but you 
don’t wanna be innit for the long haul?”
“No!” 
“Then tell me.” Doyle all but begged. “Talk to me, cos I’m drownin’ 
here.”
//So am I// Angel cried silently. He sat up and swung his legs off 
the bed onto the floor. Turning away he studied his hands as if they 
held all the secrets of the universe. “I never meant to hurt you.” 
//Please believe me.//
“I know,” said Doyle softly. “But you are. You hafta know that.”
Angel did and the knowledge tore at him. Interlocking his fingers, 
he squeezed them together until the bones grated in protest. A 
slender bandaged hand slipped over his.
“Stop it. Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that crazy head of 
yours.”
“I’m afraid,” Angel admitted reluctantly. 
Whatever Doyle had been expecting, this apparently wasn’t it. 
“Afraid?” he repeated, surprise colouring his tone. “Of what?”
“You. Me. This,” said Angel succinctly. “Mainly me. What might 
happen if things go wrong.”
“By things, I’m guessin’ you don’t mean us fightin’ over who 
squeezes the toothpaste the wrong way?”
Angel smiled sadly. “No.”
Doyle propped himself up against the pillows. He tugged on Angel’s 
hand until Angel turned to face him. “So this is the ugly spectre of 
Angelus hangin’ over us?”
“Partly.”
Doyle’s expression said he wasn’t going to accept that as an answer. 

Angel continued hesitantly. “If I made you my Consort, there’d be no 
going back. Once the binding is complete, it can never be broken.”
“And you don’t want that.” Doyle’s voice was soft and sad.
Angel shook his head, speaking hurriedly. “-No. I want that.” 
Emotion clogged his throat. “I want that. I’ve never wanted anything 
more.”
Some of the hurt left Doyle’s face. Then confusion clouded his 
features again. “So what’s the problem here? You’ve got your soul. I 
want this. You want this. What’s stoppin’ us? You think I’m gonna 
wake up one day and have a revelation.” He feigned a shocked 
expression ~ “Oh my God, that..that’s a vampire, and…ah, no,…it’s a 
guy.” 
“You were married. You wanted children.”
“You know, the key word there is ‘wanted’. Yeah, I used to be pretty 
keen on the idea of havin’ a few little Doyle’s runnin’ about the 
place. But I think maybe that had something to do with the problems 
me and Harry were having.” He registered Angel’s surprise. “What? 
You thought me and Harry were the original Hallmark couple until I 
went all demony on her?”
Angel had, but he didn’t say anything.
“Believe me, what we had was definitely not all hearts and roses. 
I’m not sayin’ it was all bad either, but we were young. More in 
love with the idea of being in love than anything, I guess.” He 
shrugged and then winced as it tugged something.
“I’m sorry-”
Doyle waved him off. “-Don’t be. I had some good times with Harry. 
I wouldn’t go back and undo her and me, even if I could. But it 
wasn’t the forever deal. I think I probably knew that then, and I 
sure as hell know it now.” He paused and stroked his thumb across 
the back of Angel’s hand. “This ~ This is the forever deal for me. 
You’re it.” He wouldn’t meet Angel’s gaze as he softly added: “I was 
kinda hopin’ I was it for you.”
Angel leaned forward until his forehead rested against Doyle’s bowed 
head. “You are, never doubt it.” 
“Then why?”
Angel struggled to explain. “A Consort - once they’re fully claimed 
– forfeits the right to make certain…choices. They can’t ever leave 
the vampire they’re bound to. If they do, they die. They need the 
vampire’s blood, but it’s more than that. They need the vampire’s 
attentions to survive. That’s one of the reasons Consorts are seldom 
made. Most vampires don’t want the responsibility. A neglected 
Consort will simply give up on life. It’s not a conscious choice on 
their part. It’s just the way it is. They can’t ever take another 
lover – not unless the vampire permits it. Lastly, if the vampire 
should be destroyed, the Consort dies too.”

************

Angel drew back just enough to meet troubled green eyes. His own 
darkened with self-hatred. “Back in the day, I owned people. They 
were possessions. Toys for my amusement-“
“-But that’s not how you see me,” Doyle cut in.
“No.” Horrified tone.
Doyle smiled gently. “It wasn’t a question, love. I know you don’t 
see me like that. I was just checkin’ we were both on the same page 
here.”
“I don’t know where I am,” Angel confessed miserably.
“Then how about I lay it out for you? You just step in if you think 
I’m gettin’ it wrong?”
Angel nodded warily; he wasn’t certain where Doyle was going with 
this.
“The way I’m hearin’ it, you’re not comfortable with the idea of me 
not havin’ a choice. Since back when you were misbehavin’ you didn’t 
exactly allow a free reign. Second. You’re still edgy about this ‘is 
my soul permanent’ thing. On the grounds that if your evil alter ego 
makes a comeback, I’m pretty much history?”
Angel winced at the bluntness, but nodded again.
“So far so good. On to the final point then, yeah? An’ this is the 
real biggie. The ‘I was evil, I was cursed by gypsies, an’ now I 
have to suffer for all eternity.’ An’ this one has an added bonus. 
The ‘everyone I’ve ever cared for is either ~ evil, mad or dead.’ Or 
mebbe even all three. Though that kinda excludes Buffy. I guess the 
whole knowin’ you experience has just mentally scarred her. So, have 
we covered all the bases?” Bitter anger had crept into Doyle’s 
voice.
“More or less,” Angel conceded quietly.
Green eyes blazed. “Right, well. Forgive me for being blunt here, 
but that’s a crock of shit. What you have are commitment issues. An’ 
I should know. I don’t exactly come from good stock myself. My Da 
couldn’t even hang around long enough to welcome me into the world. 
An’ me an’ Harry didn’t exactly go the distance.”
“Doyle, I-“
Doyle made a slicing motion with his hand. “Let me finish. We’re 
gonna take this one major obstacle at a time, okay. First this 
ownership thing. Am I right in thinkin’ it swings both ways? Yeah, 
I’m stuck to you like a burr, but you can’t exactly let me off at 
the nearest bus stop. You get the same addiction, just with a few 
extra bells an’ whistles.”
Angel nodded hesitantly.
“Right, Scratch that then. Onto number two. Is your soul gonna slip? 
Okay, fair enough, there are no guarantees attached to this one, but 
we’ve done okay so far. An’ is it just me, or is the way we’re 
carryin’ on now not just as detrimental to my health? I mean, 
Consort or not: I share this bed. It won’t be your pillow that buys 
it if you do a complete 180.”
Angel couldn’t even find an answer for that.
Doyle licked his finger and made two lines in the air. “Two down. 
Now last, but by no means least, the ‘I have to suffer ‘cos so is it 
written.’ Again. Crap. There’s a world of difference between penance 
and purgatory. You’re doin’ your part. You’re helpin’ the poor lost 
saps out there who haven’t got a fuckin’ clue just how dark this 
life can get. You say this curse was meant to keep you miserable? 
Well you know what, no disrespect to the dead an’ all, but fuck ‘em. 
Who are they to say how things should be? You’re not tellin’ me they 
foresaw you workin’ for the Powers?”
The fire in green eyes crept up a notch. “They were hurtin’. You 
took one of theirs an’ they wanted you to suffer for it. They gave 
you your soul to make you feel guilt. They wanted you all remorseful 
an’ tormented for eternity. Well guess what? Goal accomplished. I 
don’t somehow think you bein’ with me is gonna make a much of a dent 
in it.”
Angel looked at him.
Doyle sighed. “Well, okay. Mebbe bein’ with me does help some’. But 
remember, I’m the guy who sits an’ listens when it all goes wrong. 
Don’t be tellin’ me you don’t still feel guilt. You put good 
Catholics to shame.”
“I don’t mean to put it all on you.”
Doyle’s mouth tightened in annoyance. “Not the point I’m makin’ an’ 
you know it. I’m here for you. You know that. I want to be here for 
you. Fuck, you couldn’t cut me loose with an axe. But, shit. You 
think I’m not scared. You think I don’t wake up some mornings 
thinkin’ is today the day he’s gonna start wonderin’ what the hell 
he’s doin’ tyin’ himself to me. Now you an’ Buffy I could see. She’s 
beautiful. She’s a Slayer. She’s got power an’ class. Me, I’m just a 
hard drinkin’ half-breed with issues.” He’d barely got the last 
sentence out when Angel reached forward and grabbed him by the arms. 

“Don’t ever talk about yourself that way. You’ve got more guts and 
more heart than anyone I know. You care about people, Doyle. Even if 
you pretend you don’t. You made me see the mistakes I was making. 
You carry the burden of your visions and you never complain, even 
though I know you still suffer the pain from them hours after 
they’ve passed.” 
Angel released Doyle’s arms and brought his hands up to cup the 
young man’s face. “And do you have any idea how much I love you?” he 
finished softly: a tinge of wonder to his voice.
“Mebbe half as much as I love you?” The corner of Doyle’s mouth 
twitched in the suspicion of a smile.
“Not possible,” Angel whispered. Closing the space between them, he 
kissed Doyle deeply. 
“So, is that a yes?” Doyle asked, a touch breathlessly.
“That’s a yes. If you’ll still have me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” The weak humour did little to hide the 
young man’s obvious relief.
Angel settled back, drawing Doyle into the close shelter of his 
arms. After a few minutes, Doyle jabbed him sharply with a finger.
“You ever pull anything like this again an’ I will show you up close 
an’ personal what a pissed off Brachen demon looks like.”
Angel nodded meekly.
Doyle pretended to be satisfied, but he’d caught the glint in his 
lover’s eye. After a brief pause he added: “So you think you can 
take me?”
“In a heart beat.” 
When Doyle tried to tussle, Angel caught his hands and held them 
fast. 
“No fighting. You’re hurt. You need to rest.”
“No,” Doyle’s voice was husky. “I need you.”
“I don’t think-“
“Then. Don’t. Think.” Doyle pushed up with his hips. 
God. He wanted him. But- “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” So sure. Green eyes alight with passion and need.
Angel did the only thing he could do. He surrendered gracefully. 
Releasing Doyle’s hands, he reclaimed the young man’s lips, kissing 
them with aching sweetness. Doyle responded eagerly, opening his 
mouth and deepening the assault, drawing tongues into the battle. 
Angel gave a soft moan and ran his fingers lightly over the softly 
furred chest, carefully skirting the bandages, scrapes and bruises. 
The sheet slipped away, and a fully naked Doyle pressed against him: 
one leg hooking over Angel’s.
Gradually, Angel became aware that Doyle was trying to say something 
– he was mumbling into the kiss. Reluctantly, Angel broke it.
“You’re overdressed,” Doyle explained breathlessly. He tugged 
impatiently at Angel’s shirt. “Off,” he ordered. “Off now.”
Angel didn’t bother with the niceties of undressing. He ripped the 
shirt free from his body and, with a little more effort, did the 
same with his pants. Socks and shoes had been dealt with earlier. He 
hadn’t worn underwear. Doyle made a happy sound and wrapped himself 
back around his lover. The kissing resumed. Angel paused briefly, 
when an unguarded touch elicited a gasp other than passion.
“Stop, and I’ll kill you.” Doyle told him fiercely.
Angel proceeded, cautiously at first. But soon lost himself again in 
the taste and touch of his lover. He suckled gently on the sensitive 
skin on the underside of Doyle’s throat, making the younger man arch 
and gasp against him. It was time. He drew back – resulting in a 
whimper and a curse. When Doyle tried to tug him down again he 
resisted. “Wait,” he instructed softly. He watched green eyes widen 
as he shifted his features. Slowly, deliberately he sliced his fangs 
across his wrist, biting deep, until the blood flowed freely. He 
brought the bloody limb to Doyle’s lips and cupped the young man’s 
head with his other hand. “Drink.”
Doyle needed no second bidding. Until now, Angel had only permitted 
minute tastes – knowing the power he carried in his blood. Now he 
offered it without restraint. He felt blunt teeth graze the torn 
skin around the wound. A tongue – muscle and heat – probed the 
bloody slit. Then Doyle began to drink. Angel watched with gold, 
unblinking eyes. Doyle’s hands came up to hold him, nails biting 
deep. 
Angel let his head fall back, his lips curling away from his fangs. 
He rumbled softly. Seconds ticked by. Doyle was all but gnawing at 
the wound, trying to summon more blood. Angel smiled beatifically 
and caressed the short, dark hair. Eventually, he threaded his 
fingers into the soft tufts and tugged. “Enough.” 
The young man mewled and tried to wiggle away from the grip without 
breaking contact with Angel’s arm. Angel tightened his hold and 
pulled. With what sounded suspiciously like a growl, Doyle 
relinquished his claim. He fell back, lips and teeth a rich scarlet. 
Angel’s smile widened and he brought the young man’s mouth to his; 
lathing his tongue across it before exploring it in a very thorough 
kiss. 
He felt Doyle change – the brush of soft spines across his skin, the 
raw silk of inhuman skin. Angel left Doyle’s lips and drew his 
tongue across the blue spines, rumbling appreciatively. Crimson eyes 
met his own, filled with almost painful need. Angel slipped his hand 
between their bodies and stroked the hardness he found there.
Doyle cried out and thrust helplessly. Angel trailed his tongue to 
the curve of an ear. “Can, I?” Rough voice. Tightly wound control. 
Losing the battle.
“Anything…anything…pl-please.” Doyle rocked against him.
Angel took the bottle from the bedside cabinet. He struggled to 
maintain control as Doyle writhed and whimpered with need. With 
trembling fingers and the utmost care, he tenderly prepared his 
lover. Doyle’s words had faded to nonsensical ramblings. Angel 
turned the young man onto his side, applied the assistance of some 
hurriedly positioned pillows, and settled behind him. He sank 
forward slowly, listening to every breath and moan – seeking 
assurance that Doyle wanted this as much as he did. Afraid he might 
inadvertently hurt his lover. 
Any lingering doubts vanished when Doyle drove back, impaling 
himself with a sharp exhalation of pleasure. “Oh. God. Yessss.”
Angel began to move. Slowly at first, savouring the tightness. The 
cling and give of wet, silky heat. But the rhythm built rapidly, 
movements becoming erratic and jerky. Angel felt the need for 
release coiling within him: urgent, relentless. He gave a choked 
howl and sank his fangs into Doyle’s shoulder - at the point where 
the spines gave way to velvety smooth, green skin. Brilliant copper 
exploding on his tongue, senses overload, the coil unleashed. 
Growling, arching, pounding. Driving into Doyle: who cried and 
clawed with his own release, shooting streams of cum across the 
bedspread.
They stayed joined together as they recovered. Doyle cocooned in 
Angel’s embrace, breathing hard. Angel purring loudly: a deep, 
rumbling sound of contentment. He lapped at the bite mark on Doyle’s 
shoulder, soothing it with his tongue. “You okay?”
Doyle shook with a tremor of laughter. “Okay, doesn’t even cover 
it.” 
As much as Angel didn’t want to leave his lover’s body, he needed to 
see Doyle’s face. He withdrew slowly and carefully. Doyle gave a 
murmur of protest. “Sssh.” Angel whispered. He eased himself over 
and around Doyle’s recumbent form, laying down again face-to-face. 
Lines and ridges smoothed back into human guise. 
Doyle closed his eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. Then he 
gave his head a little shake, and the spines and green hue vanished. 
To be replaced by flushed skin, shadowed with faint stubble, and 
eyes, bright with unrestrained happiness.
“I’m good,” he assured a worried looking Angel. “I’m better than 
good. I’m…” He grinned and shrugged. Lost for a word to express how 
he felt.
Angel felt his concerns melt away. He nuzzled Doyle’s face and 
resumed purring, feeling the soft ‘huff’ of Doyle’s laughter against 
his skin.
“You know, you guys would lose a whole mass of points on the 
scariness scale if this ever got out.”
“Hmmwhazzit?” Angel mumbled happily.
“You. Big bad teeth. Purring,” said Doyle. “Do all vampires do it?”
“Don’t know,” said Angel, wriggling down slightly so he could lick a 
nipple. “Don’t care.”
“Umm. Wha-? Ohhh.” Any further questions were lost in a medley of 
happy sighs. “God. I feel good,” Doyle murmured. “Better than high.” 
He came back to himself slightly. “Not that I’d know, I mean…”
Angel just raised his head and gave him an amused look. 
Doyle flushed. “Hey, I was young.”
Angel nodded with a knowing grin. Then he explained. “It’s my 
blood.”
“Better than a sack full of happy pills, yeah?”
“Something like that.”
“So…?” Doyle’s voice trailed off and he ducked his head. 
Angel knew what the younger man wanted to hear. “Yes.” He kissed 
Doyle. “I’ve claimed you. It’s begun.”
Doyle was grinning so hard his face had to be aching from it. “Good. 
An’ I want more. But right now-“ he snuggled closer “-I wanna 
sleep.” He mumbled, voice already drowsy. “I’m buzzin’ an’ 
crashin’…weird….”
Angel used the remnants of his shirt to wipe them off and then 
snagged the sheet that had slipped onto the floor, drawing it over 
them. He wanted to watch Doyle. The young man was practically 
glowing; it was a good look on him. But exhaustion finally caught up 
with him, and he quickly followed his lover into sleep.

TBC