The skinny kid with the long leather coat sat silent in the corner of the pub, his depression hung about him like a cloak. He'd been nursing his drink for over an hour now; it had long since gone flat. It was the third night this week that he'd sat there, slowly drinking himself into a stupor. Emma grabbed the two glasses standing forlornly on the empty table next to him and slapped down a fresh ashtray. Immediately a hand to her left reached over and snatched it away, plunking it down on a table already overflowing with twelve empty pints glasses and three ashtrays. "Hey luv, can we get some service over 'ere?"

"This isn't a restaurant; you bloody well wait until I get to you," Emma snapped back, grabbing a couple of the empty glasses off the offending table. She marched back to the bar, dumping the glassware at the kitchen on the way, and headed straight for the end section of the bar, ducking to avoid the overhanging Valentine's Day decorations along the way. {{Stupid crap,}} she thought, swatting an overhanging Cupid. {{Get rid of the Christmas stuff and immediately we gotta stick more of this tinsel stuff up. It's sickening. Anyone'd think we're a sodding department store.}} "Hey, Mary!" She yelled, waving to the barmaid standing in the corner. "You think you could pull a pint with any more head on it?"

"I wouldn't mind some head, darling," the bloke she was serving leered, passing her a fiver.

"I would," Mary muttered, stomping to the cash register. She returned a moment later with the change. "Here's your three quid sodding thirty-five. Enjoy Happy Hour," she said through gritted teeth. {{I hope you choke,}} she added mentally.

Emma finally reached her at that point. Mary glared at her friend. "You couldn't put that any other way, could you?"

"Hey, sorry," Emma said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender and looking anything but. "But, come on, business ain't *that* great, despite the rugby. I reckon we've still got a few more months to go until the proper matches get going before we get some interest. These friendlies are a bit of a laugh."

"Well, that's *great*, Em, I'm glad you think so. But did you really want to discuss rugby with me?" Mary said, switching the empty Bacardi bottle for a freshly opened one.

"Naah; I wanted you come help me clear up the rugby table. I ain't going over there without backup." Emma leaned forwards, her eyes glittering with amusement. "Plus, if you help me with them, that means I can go chat to Mr Mystery over there," she tipped her head to indicate the silent stranger.

"Christ, Em, you're just looking for trouble, ain't ya? Getting a piece o' rough doesn't work if you're a piece yourself," Mary said pointedly, nodding at their surroundings. It was true. You wouldn't work at "Finnegan's Wake" unless you seriously needed the money.

Emma dismissed this with a shake of her head. "Yeah, whatever. Besides, he doesn't have to be a rougher. He could be a student or something. You know, does physics or whatever at Imperial, then legs it over here for a quiet pint."

"He's only been here for three nights, Em," Mary pointed out. At her friend's resolved expression she sighed. "Okay. But you owe me one..."

"Sure!" Emma promised cheerfully and dragged her back into the main section of the pub. Mary busied herself cleaning at the various spills that marked the rugby players' ownership of that particular table, while Emma smoothed down her short skirt and strode purposefully towards the corner booth.

Spike looked up into a pair of very blue, very clear eyes. "Yeah?"

"'Scuse me; you done with your drink?"

He started at her for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open. Her accent was as thick as his; he hadn't realised that his many years in the States would make him unused to hearing that coarse speech again. He looked the barmaid over more carefully. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail... those startling blue eyes... a nice enough body, when you thought of it. Maybe a bit on the skinny side, but the breasts were great. He was pretty sure that she was the type to want to be a Page 3 girl - real gutter-trash.

Like him.

"Yeah..." He stood, enjoying her brief moment of panic as she glanced nervously at the door. Ah, so the girl didn't want him to leave, did she... He headed for the bar, the barmaid close at his heels. Dragging a stool over, he slumped himself down and flashed a quick grin. "Can I 'ave a pint o' Carling, please luv?" He pulled his wallet out.

She quickly pulled the pint, careful to keep the head to a minimum. "One sixty-five."

Handing over the cash, he thought it over... one sixty-five.... that was only twice what a pint had cost him here last time he'd been in England. It was probably still Happy Hour. "Here you go luv. You can keep the change." He smiled at her slowly. "Don't expect you girls get much in the way of tips around 'ere."

She laughed. "From *that* lot?" Twisting slightly, he turned to stare at the rugby table. They were discussing the latest scandal over players' wage increases. An hour ago they had been singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" as England triumphed over the All Blacks. Pity it was only a friendly. Then again, rugby wasn't really his sport.

"I can see your point. I always preferred football, myself. At least they're honest about their hooliganism." He took a sip from his beer. Good, strong beer - how many years ago had he had a pint that tasted this great? Too many.

"You play footie?" The girl looked at him sidelong. Her expression wavered between calculating and panic-stricken. "Married to the game, are yer? Pity."

He laughed at this, truly amused. God, it had been so long! This was heaven. "Naaah. Truth is, I've been out the country for a few years. Haven't had a chance for a kickabout in ages. Got through my addiction then. They don't have "Match of the Day" over in the States."

She smiled at this. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. If I gotta talk to one more bloke with only the game in his head, I think I'm gonna scream." On impulse, she stuck her hand out. "I'm Emma, by the way. Pleased to finally meet a bloke who isn't gone in the head."

He smiled and accepted her hand, moving to shake it until something - inside - stopped him. Very slowly, very deliberately, he raised her hand on his mouth, gently pressing cold lips to her skin. "Pleased to meet you, Emma. I'm S-Bill." He released her hand. It was killing him to hold it so close to his lips, to hear and feel the pulse underneath his fingers, and to not be able to take what he wanted. {{Damn, she smells good...}}

"S-Bill?" She was laughing at him.

{{All right.}} "Well, everyone in the States called me Spike. But it'd make me sound like a bit of a ponce if I went around introducing myself like that, don't ya think?" He raised an eyebrow. She really was quite pretty... especially her eyes.

"Yeah, I reckon. Bill's a nice name, though. Solid." She leant over the counter, elbows carefully resting on the coasters protecting her from the stickiness that seemed to coat the entire bar. "So, d'you like the States? Sounds like you got somewhere there."

He shrugged and took a drink from his pint. "Naaah. There was this girl... she was a right bitch.." He took another drink, this time a deeper gulp than before.

"She was your girlfriend?"

Spike choked on his drink. "Fucking hell!" He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Bugger it... that's half my pint gone!" Emma swiftly pulled him another and handed it to him.

"Here you go. It's on the house. You gonna answer my question? Were you two an item or what?"

He shrugged. {{That's one way of putting it...}} "Well, we were engaged at one point. Worst mistake of my life." {{Ain't that the truth,}} he thought miserably. That whole humiliating episode had hammered home his helplessness and dependency on the Slayer and her friends. He took another swig of his beer.

"So you came back home." It wasn't a question. Spike nodded slowly.

"Yeah.... wanted to see what had changed since I left. See if I could still get a decent pint down here. Meet old friends." He took another drink. "Get rat-arsed."

Emma laughed. "Well, I don't know about the sightseeing and meeting old friends part, but I've been pulling you pints here for three nights. I reckon if you didn't like them you wouldn't have come back after the first one. And..." She smiled at him, her expression impish. "I get off work in an hour. Less, if I get my mate Mary to cover for me. Getting rat-arsed sounds like a great idea to me." She raised an eyebrow, her mouth turning into a pout for the sheer hell of it. "You up for it?"

{{What the hell.}} Spike drained his glass in one large gulp. "Sure luv. I'm game."

*****

"Hey luv... what's a nice girl like you hanging around with a wanker like this for?" It was the stink of alcohol that warned Emma of trouble. Three rugby lads were swaggering towards her and the cute bloke, Bill - Spike - whatever his name was, and they were eyeing both of them like they were a piece of meat.

"Look, guys, my boyfriend an' I are just out fer a quiet drink... we don't want any trouble." She instinctively stepped closer to Bill as the largest of the lads shuffled forwards. He belched loudly.

"Well luv, thissis the way I see it... this wanker ain't good enough for yer. I mean, come on, you look at him and the whelp will break." He looked her over hungrily. Emma suddenly wished that she'd worn a longer skirt.

Spike slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, moving to stand between her and the three men. "Bugger off, before I shove yer head so far up yer arse you'll be spitting shit for a month," he suggested helpfully.

The bloke looked him up and down. "You talk big, for someone yer size. But when it comes down to it, I don't think you'll be walking that little bird home." He smiled and stepped forward.

Emma paled and immediately dove into her handbag, reaching for her rape alarm. Spike pre-empted whatever action the mugger was gonna take by stepping up real close to him and - doing something with his face. It was late and the street lights weren't all that good, so she couldn't be sure exactly what happened. But the next moment, the muggers were nowhere to be seen, and Spike's hand was closing on hers, keeping her thumb away from the buzzer.

"'S okay, luv," he said, putting an arm around her. "The fuckers have gone. You can even report them if yer like. The station should still be open, I reckon. If not, there's bound to be a patrol car abouts here someplace."

"No..." she shook her head. "There's nothing to say. They left. But...." She pulled out of his grasp. "What did you do? How did - you scared them off bad enough fer them to beat it. How'd you do that?"

She looked at him warily. Okay, he was cute, but if he turned out to be some psycho rapist, she was gonna kick his arse all the way to the Met.

Spike laughed. "I told them I was with the Old Bill. Even have the badge, too." He moved as if to open his duster, but didn't quite get around to it. "I didn't think they'd risk getting it in the neck." He smiled again, showing the points of his teeth.

Emma shivered involuntarily. "Okay..." Still unconvinced, she tugged on her skirt, trying to somehow make it longer. "You wanna go to a club, or - or something?" She suddenly didn't feel like wandering the streets alone with this man.

He shrugged. "Yeah. Whatever. There's a nice place up Charing Cross Road called "The Borderline". Plays Britpop from the mid-90s and some punk, too, or so my mates 'ere tell me." He raised an eyebrow. "You fancy it?"

That *did* sound appealing. "Yeah, why not. Charing Cross Road.... that's near Tottenham Court Road Station, right? The Tube's still open... the closest station's Embankment, I think." Besides which, the underground was a lot safer than getting a cab anywhere.

He offered her an arm and she took it after an initial moment of hesitation. What the hell, it was only half-eleven. Still plenty of time to get to know this bloke.... intimately. She relaxed a touch. {{Fuck, what's wrong with me; he chases muggers and probably gang rapists off, and I'm looking at *him* like he's Fred West? Sort it out, girl... he seems like a diamond geezer.}} She smiled up at him. {{Yeah.... This'd be fun.}}

They hurried off down the back streets, heading for Embankment station, oblivious to their observer. Wearing a scruffy sweater and stained blue jeans, she looked too much of a state to be taken any notice off. Probably a homeless person. She smiled at Spike's retreating back as she shifted into game-face and took off in the opposite direction. *****

The club was situated in a little alleyway just off Charing Cross Road. There was no sign up announcing its presence, no people handing out flyers around it. The queue stretched out behind, rather than in front of it, effectively completing its camouflage. To those who did not know it's presence, "The Borderline" did not exist.

Spike grabbed Emma's arm as they neared the alleyway. "Ignore the punters," he whispered.

She blinked. Punters? {{Shit, we're just off Soho,}} Emma realised with a sinking feeling. The clubs around Soho - from Regent Street, and carrying on across to Charing Cross Road - were not exactly reputable. In fact, the whole area, apart from the theatre district governed primarily by Shaftesbury Avenue, was best avoided after dark. "Bill," she hissed as he pulled her into the alleyway, "where the fuck are we going? I thought you said this place was on Charing Cross Road?"

"Just off it. Down here, then to the right," Spike said, barely even looking at her now.

Emma's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She couldn't see an end to the alleyway... she wasn't going down *there* with some bloke she didn't trust! Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she shrugged out of his grasp.

Spike looked at her in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"I ain't going down there, Bill. I don't see no club down there. Don't hear one either." She stamped her foot childishly. "I want to go somewhere fun.... come on, lets go down the Hippodrome."

"Hippo-what?" Spike looked at her blankly. {{Must be after my time...}} He thought wryly, running a hand through his hair. He was starving; he hadn't eaten in two days. Normally, if the girl showed the remotest sign of common sense, he either dumped her or dragged her with him anyway. Now - {{Bugger it. I just want to dance,!}} "C'mon, luv, I ain't no psycho-killer," {{on this particular night, anyway,}} he added silently. "I just want to go someplace cool - lots of fit birds, decent music, some beer... I have no designs on you *or* your fair young body," he finished, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Who was she kidding. If he wanted the bitch in his bed, he wouldn't have to force her there. She crawl by her own volition.

The barmaid seemed to realise this too, but a niggling sense of self-preservation still made her hesitate. "I don't hear a club...."

"It's in the basement. Come on, it'll be fun..." This wasn't getting him anyway. {{Let's try it another way.}} Stepping closer to her, he reached out to catch her hand. Holding her wrist very gently with both hands, his fingers traced small delicate circles into her flesh, causing it to prickle. His thumb pushed up under the sleeve of her heavy jacket, rubbing at the warm flesh of her inner wrist, slowly massaging the pulse underneath. Emma swallowed heavily. "It'll be a *lot* of fun..." He whispered, almost silently, smiling a lazy smile as he brought her hand up to his face again. Instead of kissing it, however, he turned her hand over, so that the wrist faced upwards. He could see the delicate blue veins threading through beneath the skin. He inhaled deeply, savouring the smell of blood. Delicious. He couldn't bite her, though he wanted to... though *she* wanted him to. Couldn't.

Instead, his lips parted and his tongue traced the path of her veins. He could almost *taste* the blood beneath his lips.... her skin was salty, slick with a sheer layer of sweat. He swallowed dryly, lips closing on the wrist bone to nuzzle the nub hungrily, sucking as if he could make her come by that alone. His other arm had somehow been brought down to encircle her waist and hold her tightly against him, tightly enough for him to smell the life in her, watch the veins in her beautiful long neck throb with each beat... {{I'm going insane,}} Spike thought, feeling as though he was watching himself from afar. His head span from the bottle of Tequila the two of them had consumed to celebrate their victory over the muggers. {{I'm standing in front of "The Borderline" kissing the wrist of a girl I should be eating...}} The thought almost made him moan. {{God I'm so hungry...}}

It didn't matter, though, because she was moaning too, her hand reaching to tangle in his short hair, yanking his head back to kiss him hungrily, tongue plunging into his mouth to taste him brutally. Teeth, wetness and tongue... all freezing cold, plunging into her... she shivered. Luscious. His tongue sought hers out to tease for a moment, growling when she dug her nails into the soft skin at the nape of his neck. She smiled at this, pleased to have a reaction, and dug in as hard as she could.

It was too much. He bit her.

Not hard, not shifting to game-face, and thus not resulting in a splitting headache. Just reacted out of instinct, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Then - ecstasy as the saltiness hit his tongue. It was, indeed, food to a starving man. He sucked hungrily, tongue proving deep into the wound. He was dimly aware of the girl - Emma? Was that her name? He couldn't remember... - moaning and pressing herself against him, but that didn't matter because he was feeding, and Christ on a crutch, it was amazing. He could die like this, in perfect bliss.... he didn't care if someone shoved a stake in him right now. The rich red elixir spilling on his tongue was all -

"Oy oy! You kids doing a floor show, or what?" Some idiot in a car had decided to test his luck. Spike growled deep in his throat, still firmly attached to Emma's lower lip. She pulled away to look him in the eyes.

"Ignore the punters, remember?" She said softly, all imp again. Her blue eyes seemed almost luminescent in the streetlight. She deliberately pushed her hips forward to brush against him. "So, you up for some dancing or what?"

He smiled at this. With his left hand he reached out to give the punter an eloquent signal of exactly what he should go and do with himself; with his right, he pulled Emma in for one last brief taste. The small bite was already healing; his human teeth couldn't bite much harder without causing serious discomfort. His lips trapped the tender flesh gently, stretching out her lower lip to prolong the kiss - and take away with him the echo of her blood. "Okay luv," he whispered to her hoarsely. "Let's go dance."

A little unsteady on their feet, they made their way down the alleyway.

The club's exterior matched it's level of advertising. There was a plain black board tacked above what appeared to be rip-off of an American Box Office, upon which was written in small white writing, "The Borderline". The queue was relatively short, and no wonder; who'd *want* to go to a place that looked like it was somebody's basement? Those who didn't know about the club didn't venture there. Those that did were willing to wait patiently. Spike ignored the queue and took Emma right up to the Box Office, where a red headed, middle-aged woman sat, checking in the clubbers. The doorway to the club was blocked by a human barrel. They both stared at Spike in shock.

"Evenin', Jack, how're you doin'?" He winked at the bouncer. "And you, Mairie, luv, you know I missed you something rotten... didn't think you'd still be with the 'Line....."

"Christ on a crutch!" The woman said, crossing herself. Emma felt Spike wince and wondered at this. "Spike, you son of a bitch, you haven't aged a day!" She beckoned the bouncer closer. "Jack, have a look at him, would you... he hasn't aged a day! What's going with this?"

"My secret, Mairie, I'm willing to share with you," Spike leant in conspiratorially. "A twenty year-old beauty every night, and you'll stay young forever." He winked again. Beside him, Emma shifted from foot to foot. So Bill knew the bouncers. Big deal. When were they going to get in already?

The woman seemed to be reading her thoughts. "Looks like your lady friend here wants to dance, luv. Off you go inside. Don't get in any trouble or I'll have to come sort you out..."

"That a threat or a promise pet?" Spike called over his shoulder as Jack silently ushered the pair inside the darkened archway.

"Where the fuck are we, Spike? This place looks whack..."

"Whack?"

She shrugged, moving closer to him. "Whack. American word, means crap. Or something. My brother's into all that. I gotta keep up with it or I won't understand a word he says. Whack, da bomb." She shrugged again.

"Da bomb." Spike tried this out on his palette. {{Mmmmm..... da bomb... that bird is so fit, she's da bomb.... it takes her five seconds to get going, and then she explodes.}} "I like it." They came to a door that was slightly ajar. Through it, smoke and noise streamed through, although not much light followed. Spike pushed the door open, pulling Emma in behind him.

"Christ!" Emma stared, open-mouthed. "What the fuck *is* this place?"

Inside, "The Borderline" was just as wayward with it's policies. Instead of playing mainstream dance remixes, they played toned-down classic punk, early and mid-90s soft rock, and a lot of 'alternate' Britpop. That meant angry, irreverent 'Elastica', confused and moody 'Suede', and even some... shit, yeah, it was. 'Garbage'.

"Why are they playing this music?" She yelled to Spike. The blond man was already shouldering his way over to the bar.

"What? You don't like it?" He sounded surprised.

"No - I love it! Classic 'Garbage' - before they did that stupid James Bond deal. Just didn't think that anyone played alternate classics in clubs anymore..." {{Or served you a vodka orange with a maraschino cherry.... when was the last time I got a cherry with my drink?}} She giggled. {{Right about when it popped.... Christ, I'm pissed.....}} "I better lay off the drinks if I want to stay standing," she said by way of explanation for her abandoned drink.

Spike shrugged and turned to the bartender. "Pint o' Stella."

"Two quid." Spike handed the man three pounds. The bartender promptly reached up to drop one of the pound coins into the bucket propped up on a shelf above the bar, then grabbed for the bell that was suspended from the ceiling. He rang it loudly twice before moving onto the next customer. Puzzled. Emma watched as several more barmen dropped money in the bucket and rang the bell.

"What's that for?" She asked as Spike took her arm and led her down one level to where a small dance floor was being mauled by several people who either didn't know how to dance to alternate Britpop, or really didn't care one way or the other.

"What was what for?" Spike took a sip from his drink. He'd missed this place. Only place in the world he could get a decent pint of Stella.

"The bell an' bucket thing."

"It's tips. You get extra money as a tip, you put it in the bucket and ring the bell. At the end of the night they split what they have." He took a deep gulp of his beer then set it to one side. "Wanna dance, now?"

She followed him out on to the dance floor. It was the end of a song by some band that had probably been a one-hit wonder.... she strained to remember the name of the group. 'Menswear', or something like that. Crap, in any case. They danced, their bodies barely touching in the scarce light, hardly looking at one another as the song ground to a halt. Then, it was different. 'Garbage' were on, with "Queer".

This, they could dance to.

As the sultry discordant notes that passed for a rhythm slowly throbbed through the dance floor, Spike met Emma's gaze steadily, placing an arm around her waist to draw her in closer. His hips were nearly brushing hers as she reached up to twine her arms around his neck, burying her face on his shoulder. The song pulsated, suggesting they roll their hips, wring their hands through each other's hair.... shag each other senseless on the dance floor.

Emma laughed throatily. Spike's head raised like a panther scenting blood. "What?"

She giggled. "Have you listened to the lyrics? The queerest of the queer..... " She reached up to give his lower lip a teasing lick. "One of my rules... always check that the bloke is not - that way inclined - before you ask him out. I didn't with you... just assumed." She giggled again.

Spike opened his mouth to answer that, but a voice from behind beat him to it. "The problem with that, luv, is that it doesn't work to ask if they're queer if the geezer swings both ways." A dark-haired woman with brittle eyes moved to place a hand on Spike's shoulder and pull him gently away from his dancing partner. "Like Spike here. How are you doing pet? How's Dru?" Emma stared at her in disbelief. Spike just gritted his teeth and looked at her askance.

"Hello Liz. What the fuck are you doing here?"

The woman's smile was enigmatic. "I'm here to kick your arse all the way back to Portman Square, of course."

{{Portman Square....?}} Emma turned to ask Spike what the hell the bitch meant. She managed to catch a glimpse of a blonde head disappearing into the archway just before the door swung closed. {{Fuck! Trust things to go screwed! I didn't think he was the type to do a runner....}} She turned back to give the strange intruder a piece of her mind - and fist - and saw that she too had disappeared.

Emma sighed. {{Great.}} Reaching into her coat pocket, she grabbed her Travelcard angrily and stormed out. {{Just .... fucking.... *great*.}} She had a feeling that Spike - or whoever he was - wouldn't be coming back to "Finnegan's Wake". {{Oh, sod it. I'm going home.}}

*****

The cab stopped outside a nondescript building deep in the heart of Mayfair as the evening approached twilight. Willow was the first to clamber outside quickly, hugging her coat close to her as the late evening chill threatened to creep inside it. Her short red hair was pinned back by a myriad of tiny clips, all blue, and all in the shape of either a butterfly or a flower. The redheaded witch fiddled with the nearest clip as she gazed up at the building with the air of those less than impressed by what they saw. She turned back to help Xander drag their backpacks onto the pavement.

Less restrained by some common courtesies such as respect for the vampire's dwelling, Xander took one look at the building and frowned, disappointed. Although Victorian in style - and thus encased in an air of elegance not easily dismissed by modern standards - the building was nonetheless quite dilapidated. "Erm, Angel, I hate to break this to you, but your home here is condemned..."

Angel handed the cab driver his fare and went to join them. He seemed curiously out of place in the luxurious surroundings; even his slightly 'dated' air paled next to the stark contrast of concrete on the pale grey sky. "I guess that's one way of looking at it," he murmured quietly, eyes roving over the rest of the estate. Far from being rundown, the surrounding buildings were all in excellent condition - the doors gleaming with their fresh coat of black paint, the brass knockers bright even with the telltale streams of rain dried into them. Even the trees were stronger, bigger, now. How many years ago had he last been here? He turned to look at his former home. {{Too many...}}

Willow frowned at Xander's comment. She didn't understand why he disliked Angel so much - okay, yes she did, he wanted Buffy and Angel had had Buffy but had not liked Xander, and it was a whole big Buffy-orientated thing - but he didn't have to be so *rude* about it! "I think it's a *nice* house," she said defensively, knowing full well that she herself had been mentally commenting on the shambles of a building they were about to enter. Was it even safe inside?

Moving to stand next to her, Angel was silent again. Too silent for Willow's liking. Okay, he could go about and brood and stuff whenever Buffy was around because they had this whole 'lost love' thing going for them, but here they were, almost back home for Angel, and all he could do was brood again. A sudden thought struck her and she halted the hand that had involuntarily sneaked out to touch the vampire. {{Bad memories....? Maybe this is where he met Spike... Or where Angelus met Spike... or whatever.}} "Angel?" She asked gently. "Are you okay with this? I mean, us being here and all?"

The vampire exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah," he said, not sounding certain of this. "I was just.... surprised at how much time had passed. It seems so - old..." His voice faded into nothing. Willow hesitantly took his hand in hers.

"I'm here if you want to talk, you know, Angel..."

"And I'm here if you want to drink," Xander interjected, coming up behind them and throwing an arm around the witch and the vampire. He grinned at Angel, deliberately exercising his annoyance abilities to their full capacity. "So, are we gonna go inside before it falls down, or what?"

"Sure thing," Willow said, her smile frozen on her face. Her narrowed eyes informed Xander that there would be hell to pay later for his cavalier attitude. "Angel, why don't you show me around your home." With that, she grabbed the vampire's arm and dragged him inside playfully, giving a small gasp as the strong wind tried to snatch her coat away.

Abandoned on the pavement on his own, Xander stared down at the three heavy backpacks that lay in front of him and wished he could have called his words back. {{I swear, I do myself an injury, I'm gonna kill someone,}} he groaned as he hefted his own bag onto his back. Picking up the other two bags, he made his way up the steps into the building in an excruciatingly slow manner. {{I'm gonna kill the bleached Deadboy incarnate.... gonna kill him.... kill him.... kill him....}}

Chanting his comforting mantra under his breath, he finally made it up the steps to the main hallway. This would do. He dumped the bags in the middle of the floor and ran up the large staircase to the first floor, where Willow's delighted squeals informed him of the presence of - something - a woman would find delightful.

The 'something' was a suite of bedrooms, all inter linked. Each was furnished in an early Victorian style and coated with about three inches of dust. Willow stood in the centre of the foremost bedroom, where a large canopy bed jutted out of the pink-and-shell wallpaper. Xander shuddered. This was a nightmare...

"Isn't is *beautiful*?!" Willow whispered, her eyes very wide. She had dumped her coat in a nearby chair and was busily inspecting the room for delightful relics.

{{Women!}} Xander thought disgustedly. {{What can she possibly find beautiful in *this* pink-and-shell nightmare?}}

"This was the Drusilla's room." Angel's voice intruded. Xander spun around and stared. The vampire had taken off his long coat and was standing in the doorway in just his leather pants and a black shirt. That wasn't the remarkable part, however. His expression was different - softer, somehow - different enough to make him blend into the furnishings like he, too, had spent over a hundred years accumulating dust here. His hands hung loosely by his sides; Xander didn't think to find this unusual until he realised that most men tucked them into the pockets of their trousers. Angel didn't simply *look* different, he stood differently too - it was as if the house was absorbing him back into the fabric of his former life. Angelus' life.

Xander shivered.

"Really?" Willow, too, seemed slightly put off by the vampire's sudden change. "It's very pretty..." She picked up one of the dolls lying abandoned on the dresser.

"Yeah, Will, that's a good point." Xander's eyes grew crafty as he stared at the vampire. "Isn't this room too nauseatingly sweet for dear old Dru? I mean, we *are* talking about the same lovably insane psychopathic vampire, right? You know, assembles righteous people-killing monsters, wanders around in some *very* strange clothes, and generally has a strong affinity with all things black and deadly?" He waved a hand at the sugary sweet decor. "This ain't exactly her style, you know."

"It was," Angel said, moving to sit on the bed. The springs creaked as if they hadn't been used in years - which was true, of course. "Before she went to Prague with Spike - the three of us lived here. Just like in that Anne Rice book," he laughed softly. "The three vampires living in the very heart of society... it was a beautiful coven. Drusilla was insane, yes, but still a child in her mind. She wanted pink wallpaper and dolls and a canopy bed..." he shrugged. "And so Spike and I got them for her." He moved towards the large windows, all of which were covered with heavy draped curtains. With a quick angry tug on the heavy fabric, he brought the curtain rail crashing down. A dust cloud rose in the room that sent everyone breathing into a coughing fit. Angel quickly opened the windows and the two humans leaned out gratefully.

"Well, do you suppose you could, um, dust this place a little while we're here?" Xander asked, planting his hands on the window ledge to get a better view of the green that stretched out over the road. "I'd hate to choke to death..."

"I'll get someone on it immediately," a voice called out from behind them. The trio turned immediately, squinting in the dust-leaden room. In the doorway of the room stood a female vampire, game-face on.

Willow immediately dove for her coat while Xander paled and took a step backwards, stumbling into Angel.

The female laughed and morphed back into her human face. "Ya don't have to scatter like birds. I ain't here to eat ya. Couldn't anyway, 'cause of him," she nodded in Angel's direction.

Suddenly glad of the vampire's presence, Xander took a step forward. "What do you want?" He demanded.

"Yeah!" Willow joined in, stake in hand. "And - h-how did you get in the house?"

The female vamp shrugged fluidly. "The door was open." She looked beyond them to Angel, who stood silently in the background. "This how you treat guests, Angelus?"

Willow's eyes narrowed. "He's not Angelus," she said, waving the stake. "He's Angel. He's - he's a good guy now, and he's not on your side and won't help you eat us, and he's not going to eat us, and we know all about dusting vamps too, so you better talk.... right?" She looked back to check on Angel. Once before she had taken his 'good guy status' for granted and had nearly been bitten for her trust. She was a little more careful now.

Noticing Willow's worried look, Angel nodded reassuringly. "Right," he confirmed. "I didn't think you'd come all the way out here, Kathryn," he said, walking around Willow to block her view - and aim - of the new arrival. "Isn't Mayfair a little out of the way for your usual East End haunts?"

The female vamp - Kathryn - laughed at this and sat down in an armchair, swinging her legs up to drape over the armrest. Her blue jeans were ripped and soiled, and her sweater looked like it had seen better days - namely in a dumpsite somewhere. She stank of alcohol and urine. "I get tired of doing the 'homeless' thing occasionally," she said, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and lighting one almost carelessly. "I mean," she gestured with the cigarette, "you prey on the helpful and eat the kind. You have your fill of innocent blood." She took a long drag on the cigarette. "But, on occasion, you feel like tarting yourself up and going out in society. You know, mingling with the rich and traitorous. Doing the 'posh' thing." She flicked ash on the carpet and took another drag on the cigarette. "Besides, I figured you'd be back here. I've been waiting for you - legged it all the way here from Whitechapel's "Finnegan's", then had to wait a bloody hour. What, your cab decided to take the scenic route or something?"

"We needed to check in with a few contacts along the way," Angel said, curiosity plain on his face. He squatted down next to her. "Why did you want to see me, Katie?"

The vamp laughed. "I didn't just want to see you, luv. I wanted to see all of you." She pointed at Willow and Xander, who had overcome their fear and were regarding the vamp with curiosity. "Liz told me that you'd be bringing a couple of humans with you..."

"Really?" Angel's voice was deadly soft. He leant in closer. "What else did Liz tell you?"

Kathryn shrugged, a smug look on her face. "Liz tells me lots of things," she boasted.

Angel's arm flashed out faster than the eye could see. In an instant, Kathryn was up against the wall, a hand pinning her throat. Her feet dangled in the air. Angel held out his other hand behind him and Willow slapped a stake into it. His eyes were dark and angry. "Don't play with me, you little bitch," he hissed. Willow's eyes grew wide with fear; she had never heard Angel use such language - except when he had been Angelus. Xander moved to stand by her side, putting a protective arm around her shoulders. "*What* did Liz tell you? Why are you here?"

The vamp's eyes widened at the sight of the stake. "You're not Angelus, are you?" She asked, fear evident in her voice.

Angel shook his head deliberately. "I'm not Angelus. And I don't really know you that well, either, do I? So I have no qualms about dusting you right here if you don't start talking *right now*." His grip on her throat intensified.

"Okay!" Kathryn help her arms up, partly as a gesture of surrender, and partly to brace herself. "Liz told me that you and two humans had arrived at Heathrow this afternoon. She'd gotten one of her human 'friends' to keep an eye out on arrivals by the names of either Angelus or O'Casey." Her slight smirk at the word 'friends' indicated what she thought of Liz's choice of companions. Angel brought the stake close to the woman's face, delicately dragging the edge down her throat and between her breasts. She swallowed hard and rushed on. "Anyway, she just wanted me to keep an eye out - she'd had people keeping an eye on Spike for a while now, so she knew where to send me to look. Truth be told, he wasn't that difficult to locate - he was running off with some human bitch towards Embankment station. My guess is, she'll never arrive." She smirked slightly at this.

Angel thought this over, then released her. She fell down with a 'thump' and rolled to her feet immediately, moving to stand near the doorway. "So it's not common knowledge yet..." He murmured to himself. "He's all right for the moment." He turned to glare at the woman. "Get out of my house. If I see or hear that you've been back here, you're dust." She nodded quickly. "And tell Liz that I don't need her minions butting their noses in. She either looks for Spike herself or she leaves it up to us." As the vamp fled, Angel turned to look at Willow. "The *last* thing we need is people with no clue butting their noses in!" She nodded in understanding.

"What are you talking about?" Xander asked, oblivious that the aforementioned 'clueless people' comment had been partially aimed at him. "What's not out on the streets yet? Who's this Liz? Why do I get the feeling you aren't telling me something?"

"He told us everything, Xander!" Willow protested, sitting down heavily on the bed. "I just think that you were in the bathroom at the time."

{{Uhuh,}} Xander thought. {{Trust Deadboy to choose *that* time to divulge important information.}} "Well, care to go over it again?" He asked sarcastically.

Angel ignored him, striding out of the room. Willow followed at a respectful distance, calling Xander to her. "Liz is the woman we heard on the tape," she said in a hushed tone. "She's worried that if the vampires here learn that Spike can't kill humans they'll lose all respect for him and try to kill him. There's already a price on his head, but so far they've all been too afraid to challenge him."

"But he can still hit other vamps, right?" Xander asked, feeling confused. "He can defend himself from vampires and other soulless buddies of his."

"Not if they get people like Ford to attack him first," Willow said. Her tone was ominous. Suddenly, everything clicked for Xander. Ford was the boy from Buffy's old school that had wanted to be a vampire - and so had done what the vamps wanted to be given the chance to join them at some point. Naturally, there would be such people here, too. If they attacked Spike - and he struck back... the other vamps could easily finish him off.

"Major *bad*," Xander said, his expression worried. {{Okay, so Deadboy Mark II's annoying, but Giles'd be pissed if he got dusted. Besides which, he's okay once you get over the blood-drinking, Slayer-hating, psychopathic-killer parts of his personality.}} "That's why we're here to find him? Not because Soulboy misses his little diddums?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "Xander Harris, you are a real poophead sometimes. This is *not* the time to be nasty to Angel!" She hit him playfully on the arm. "Besides which," she continued, her sparkling eyes belying with her solemn tone, "we owe it to Buffy. He *was* her fiancee, after all." She giggled.

"*Now* who's being mean?" Xander asked. But he laughed all the same. The pair went to join Angel in the middle of the main hallway, where he was rifling through his bag. "What're you looking for?"

"My address book," Angel informed him. He found it - a small black leather-bound volume - and stood. "I need to make a phone call."

*****

Angel rifled through the old notebook, his searching fingers finally coming to rest on a page near the back of the book. Standing on tiptoe next to him, Willow over past his shoulder to read Angel's ornate script, "Liz. London. Mobile no.: 07956 502 844".

"You're going to call Liz?" She asked, sounding a bit unsure if this was a very good or very bad idea. "She's - still a vamp, right?"

"Yeah," Xander pitched in, snatching the book from Angel's hands and flipping through it idly. "Doesn't sound like the smartest idea to associate with non-soul-possessing demons from hell... why would they want to know you, anyway?"

"We're business partners," Angel explained, reaching out a hand from behind Xander to snatch his address book back. "If you have the money, no reason why they shouldn't deal with you. Besides," and his smile was definitely bordering on a smirk at this point, "you hung out with Spike, and I don't remember my childe getting back his soul at any point...." {{Not that it would have made much of a difference,}} he added silently. Spike had grown up on the streets of London during one of its most dangerous periods - the industrialisation. For him to survive to adulthood meant that he had to come up fighting in every encounter.

"Well - that's different," Willow said, immediately rushing to what she perceived to be Buffy's defence. "I mean, Buffy couldn't let someone helpless die out on the streets, could she? It would be - inhuman!" She sounded scandalised at the very idea.

Angel rolled his eyes. "Then I guess she's heavily involved with homeless shelters and finding teenage runaways, right?" He asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice. Willow looked visibly hurt and retreated without further comment. Her mouth clamped tightly to form a thin unyielding line and she angrily studied the space three inches above Xander's left eyebrow.

The vampire sighed but didn't apologise; he'd spent half his life handing out death and immortal life without much discrimination and he prided himself on being able to see beyond the minutiae into the big picture.

"Anyway," he said, pulling a mobile phone from his backpack, "this is all beside the point. Liz's the only *trustworthy* contact we have in London. We *have* to contact her if we're to have any hope of finding Spike."

"B-but - earlier you said..." Willow stuttered, wringing her hands, "you *said* that we could do this without Liz's help! You did! Xander didn't he say that? And why would he say that if it wasn't true?"

Xander just shrugged, watching Angel. He had an inkling that there was something very strange in the already incredibly weird relationships these undead demons from hell had.... {{Why would Liz not turn Spike in for the reward?}} he wondered idly. "Bluffing?" He asked aloud.

"Damn right," the vamp growled, raising the phone to his ear. "London's too big a place to search for a moving target, and anyway, we -- oh, hello Liz. Long time, no see." He paused, "Uhuh. Got your little messenger. Sent her packing. No," he laughed, "I didn't stake her! No reason to... I just don't want minions sticking their noses in where they don't belong. Word will leak out that way...." Again, he paused, moving to walk past Willow. She moved out of his way, but in an instant he was back again, pacing in the other direction.

{{Deadboy paces when he's nervous?}} Xander thought, inwardly smirking. It was a rare occurrence for him to see the vamp this agitated - and he was going to savour *every* moment of it.

"Shit, Liz!" Angel hissed, almost too quietly for the others to hear. Instinctively, they leaned in closer. "Why the fuck didn't you just *tell* me about this? We could have been there in ten minutes! No need to -" He sighed again. "Yes, okay. That sounds all right. Approach him, but not in a public display of affection or anything. He'd bolt immediately at that. Try and get him down to..." His brow furrowed. He couldn't ask for Spike to come and visit his old home - he'd know immediately that something was up. No, where could he go without attracting too much attention..... "Try and get him down to Home House. Willow and Xander - the two humans - are tired and jet lagged anyway; they can get some rest there. I can network and socialise for the Agency. You can do some work." He smiled and laughed. "Yes, I know. What can I say - he was always a challenge. Anyway. Speak to you later Liz. Take care." He flipped the mobile closed.

"Well?" Willow asked eagerly. "Did she find him?"

"Yeah," Angel said, squatting down next to their luggage and opening all three bags. "She found him. Now, did you bring a dress?"

*****

Home House, when they reached it, appeared to be fairly uninspiring at first. The two Americans had learned by now, though, that things were not always as they appeared in London. Thus, as the heavy door was shoved open with ease by Angel - now clad in an impressively identical outfit to the one he had changed *out* of - they were not too surprised to see the lavish decor inside. A marble fireplace dominated the far wall, surrounded by two young women whose legs went on forever. Xander's eyes got larger and larger as another stunningly attractive woman, her dark skin seeming to gleam under the half-light of the oil lamps, emerged from the far door and sat down next to the fireplace. "Uh, Willow," he said without moving his lips, "am I hallucinating, or did Naomi Campbell just sit down in front of that fireplace?"

Willow fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress. "Of course it isn't her, Xander," she hissed at him, clutching his arm for reassurance. "I mean, Naomi Campbell wouldn't be here...." The kneeling woman turned slightly and the light hit her face. "Ohmigosh," Willow breathed. "It *is* her!" She looked up at Xander. "Do we ask for an autograph? I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when you mean someone famous, isn't it? I've never met anyone famous before, and no one will ever believe me if I just *said* that I'd met her..."

Xander looked puzzled. "Why not? It's not like you'd lie, Willow..." He reached over to tap Angel's shoulder. "Uh, I don't mean to intrude on your customary brood in the middle of the hallway, but, um, is that *Naomi Campbell*?!"

Angel scrutinised the woman. He shrugged. "I guess so." He left Xander mouthing "I guess so?!" in disbelief, and made his way to the centre of the hall, where a heavy mahogany desk had been set up. A beautiful Asian woman with large doe-eyes smiled at him.

"Good evening. Are you a member or a guest?"

Angel smiled at her. "I'm a member. Although - I guess that should be an absentee one. I haven't been here for - a long time." He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her.

The woman - obviously some kind of receptionist - swiped the card through a credit card swipe set up next to her computer and handed it back to him. "This is strange," she frowned at the screen. "This says that your account was set up in - 1874?" She turned to look at him, her eyes wide.

Angel smoothly slipped into his cover story. "Yes - that was set up by my great-grandfather, I think. His name was Angelus, too. In fact, it's been a bit of a tradition, that name - first-born son and all that. Terribly self-centred, if you ask me." He feigned stifling a yawn behind his hand. The woman smiled at him delightedly and motioned for him to continue. "When he first set his account up, and my grandfather took over, they had a bit of trouble with the names - so they just transferred the account. It became a habit, after a while." He smiled again. That had been his standard cover story for any establishment he hadn't visited in a while.

"Impressive. And I understand about the parents thing - all about traditions and all that." She leaned in conspiratorially. "I think it's become worse since they got rid of the peers. Methinks someone's feeling threatened and looking out for their status!"

The vampire smiled back at this, while Willow and Xander stared on, obviously clueless about all that had just been said. "Yes, I can understand that.... In any case, I'm visiting the House with a couple of guests tonight... I hope that is all right." He waved a hand to the pair standing off near the door by themselves. It suddenly occurred to Angel that Xander had not been his usual cutting self so far this trip. Maybe he'd grown up a touch since the last time he had seen him...

"Yes; he's showing us around dear old London. We're on a business trip, actually, and what with visiting past homes and clubs and having words with murderous women, why, we haven't had a chance to breathe! We're hoping to relax here for a while and wait for things to drop in our laps."

{{Or maybe he's progressed from the annoying but funny to the annoying and rude,}} Angel thought. He plastered a smile to his face and ushered the two through the far door. "Xander," he said quietly. "Please don't speak. *Ever.*" He didn't think that there was much point in warning Willow to behave herself. She'd behave or she wouldn't, and since it all stemmed from a desire to be as helpful and wonderful as she possibly could, there wasn't much he could do about it. He smiled slightly at this. It was appealing in a way. She was a nice person - all sisterly concern for everyone, even undead fiends. He put an arm around her shoulders.

Xander saw this and nearly bit his tongue off to keep from commenting. {{What am I, pot roast? Xander, don't speak. Xander, get the bags. Xander, that shirt is way too thin; you'll freeze. He's worse than my parents and Giles and Cordelia combined!}} He gritted his teeth. {{And to top it all off, he's making moves on Willow! *My* Willow! - Well,}} he amended quickly, {{maybe she's not *my* Willow, but she sure as hell isn't *his*! What? He wasn't satisfied with Buffy? Now he wants every *other* girl I find remotely attractive? I mean, he even got Cordelia, for crying out loud!}} The fact that Angel had plainly *not* 'got' Cordelia was firmly ignored. {{Damnit... I gotta do something...}}

They emerged into a large hallway, where a marble staircase spilled down from the first floor. {{*After* I have a look around this place! Man, Cordelia would have a *fit* if she knew that she'd missed this!}} He fairly ran up the spiralling steps.

Willow seemed similarly enthused. "Wow, Angel, this is *beautiful!*" She started to skip up the steps, holding onto the brass railing for support. Three steps up, she suddenly froze. Her whole body tensed, her shoulders slumping. Angel saw her grip on the railing tighten, her knuckles going white. He quickly stepped up to put an arm around her waist and pull her away from the railing.

"Ignore it," he murmured in her ear, too quietly for anyone else to hear. "I'll explain later - when we're somewhere a little more private." Willow's mouth was drawn in a tight line. Her eyes darkened in fear, she looked up at him hesitantly and nodded.

"Okay," she mouthed, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Later."

The vampire led her cautiously up the steps to the main drawing room. He shouldered past Xander, who stood at the head of the staircase, his dark eyes smouldering in anger.

{{Too much. Soulboy is dead meat.}}

*****

The first room they walked through animated Willow more than a hug or flowers ever could. Formally luxurious Victorian surroundings warred with the upbeat modernity of the room. A mahogany chess set was set up on a nearby glass table; next to it, a computer - already logged online - whirled happily.

"A net-ready computer!" Willow breathed, as if she had discovered America. Angel smiled and pulled her forcibly away.

"Later. Explanations about horrible things on the staircase, remember?"

"Oh - yeah," Willow said, her face falling. "'Cuz, like, that takes priority.... but maybe we could look for Spike on the net!" At Angel's dubious face, she frowned and gave in. "Or not....."

They walked through the double doors on the left. Again, the two Americans were more than a little shocked. Behind them was the formal luxury of the Victorian era - all leather armchairs and mahogany panelling. In this room, Edwardian elegance combined with modern convenience. In other words, a cream couch was pushed up against a wall, with a polished wood table in front of it. Beanbags were dumped around the table as the extra chairs.

"Beanbags!" Willow squealed and launched herself at the nearest one. Angel smiled and lounged back on the couch. Even Xander unwound from his bad mood enough to mostly disappear in a "Thomas: The Tank Engine" beanbag. "Angel, I love this place! I didn't think the British had beanbags!"

The vampire shook his head, bemused. "Neither did I. Looks like 'House has made some changes since I was last here..."

A red head emerged from the "Barbie" beanbag for long enough to peer at him suspiciously. "So, you gonna explain the mega bad vibes I got? I mean, we walk into this posh place that Giles would *love*, and Naomi Campbell is here - and so is Matthew McConaughey! I saw him go past in the other room! - and, well, I get that this is a private members' club, but it's full of vamps! I could feel them from the metal - all that power!" She disappeared into the pink nightmare that was "Barbie's" princess carriage.

Xander looked at her doubtfully. "You sure, Will? I mean, nothing against you, but your spells do tend to go a bit - off. Are you strong enough to sense that?" {{And trust Deadboy to bring us to a vamp club! I *knew* we shouldn't have trusted him....}}

A solitary green eye emerged from the pink monstrosity. It seemed that Willow was having a bit of trouble mastering her beanbag. "Of course I'm sure!" The beanbag insisted. "I may be more likely to make soup than a love potion, but, well, you saw my truth spell worked - kinda - and anyway, that's got nothing to do with it. I can sense a very very strong *bad* thing about this, I can!" The beanbag directed an extremely dirty look towards Angel, who had hidden his smile behind the menu. "And what are you smirking at! You *knew* this was a vamp club, don't deny it!" The beanbag ran out of breath and panted for a second. Then it eyed the menu suspiciously. "What's on that?"

"No blood on it, don't worry," Angel said, setting it down next to him. "You bring your own blood if you want some."

Xander raised an eyebrow and laughed nervously. "And, uh, did *you* bring your own blood?" His hand stole towards the crucifix in his pocket.

Angel noticed his gesture and smiled humourlessly. "Don't worry Xander, you're not going to become an appetiser. Home House is - well, it's off limits for those wanting to feed."

The beanbag rolled forward a couple of inches. "Like, the vampire bars in that Anne Rice book? You didn't feed in them either..."

Angel nodded. "Right - but for completely different reasons, I'm afraid. If you can afford to get membership to Home House, you're rich and powerful enough to want to do something more than just feed a lot. Maybe you want to destroy the world; maybe you want to take over London. Whatever. You're going to need connections in case things go bad and you need to cover your ass. Like the Mayor in Sunnydale - the more prominent a figure you are here, the more silent support you have from the mortals. It isn't good etiquette to eat one's business partners."

Xander looked confused. "But do they know they're dealing with vamps?" 'Cuz, I mean, *I* wouldn't deal with a vamp...."

His barb didn't go unnoticed. "Oh, that's right; you just share a room with one," Angel said dryly, raising his hand to attract the attention of the maitre d'.

Xander bristled. "That was out of necessity. And you didn't answer the question. Are these people dealing with you up front?"

The bean bag nodded. "You know, like a Faustian pact?"

The maitre d' arrived and Angel held back his answer. "I'll have a glass of red wine, and my two companions will each have a diet coke and a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel," he instructed. The maitre d' nodded and, taking back the menu, disappeared from sight.

"I don't like salmon!" Xander protested. The beanbag nodded in agreement.

"You will like *this* salmon," Angel said, in a tone that brooked no dissension. "In answer to your question, no, the humans here don't know that they're dealing with vamps. Just some rich foreigners that have - questionable connections. And those connections come in useful at times. Like now."

They food and drinks appeared as if materialising out of thin air. Angel took a deep drink from his wine and sighed. Gorgeous. Xander, encouraged by the fact that he was safe here, looked around more openly. There were only three other people in the room, sitting together in the far corner. He flashed a smile at one of the women. She frowned at him, muttering something to her companion that Xander correctly guessed to be "child!", and turned her back. {{So much for exotic Brit. girls,}} Xander thought, and attacked his bagel. Angel was right, it was surprisingly good. "So, what's happening with Spike?" He asked between bites.

Willow had managed to partially extract herself from the beanbag and leaned her elbows on the table to better reach her drink. Angel leant forwards, his tone hushed. "Liz said that she'd try and get him to come here. You guys needed somewhere to rest, anyway, and I'm not sure how safe my former home is at the moment. I'd had a spell cast on it to keep other vampires out without an invitation, but if Kathryn got in, then I'd say that the spell has been lifted or broken somehow. I'm going to get us some rooms above the club; they should be safer than anyplace else in London. Basically, if she can't bring Spike here, she'll turn up in person herself and give us an update. Then...." he shrugged. "Then we go out ourselves and comb the East End."

Willow looked at him doubtfully. "Isn't that an awfully big place? You said that we couldn't find him, before.... wouldn't a locator spell work better?" She done one of those on Buffy, before, when she had disappeared from Sunnydale a year ago. She'd never mentioned it to anyone - especially since all her spell managed to tell her was that Buffy wasn't on the earth. Of course, she had been in Hell at the time - but all Willow could glean from this was that her best friend was dead.

Maybe it would work better here....

"It won't work," Angel said, shattering that particular hope. "London's - different from Sunnydale. Things are a lot more basic here. Everything's under wraps - and most of the vamps that operate here are a lot more nasty than those in Sunnydale, which are mainly fledglings. To survive in London you have to be smart and strong. And if you could be found with a simple locator spell, you wouldn't last long." He shook his head. "No - the old ones got rid of that possibility years before I was turned. Locators don't work here. The magicks blocked them too effectively."

Willow got her notebook out. "What other cities don't they work in?" She asked, writing all this down. Xander guzzled his coke.

Angel sipped his wine. "I don't know. Cities powerful years ago, I should think. Nothing in the States, probably. Paris, London, Rome... maybe a few places in Russia. Haven't heard of that many vamps in Russia, though, so I don't know. Didn't think there was much interest there."

Willow nodded and wrote all this down. She'd e-mail this to Giles immediately - the more information the Watchers had on foreign vamp activities, the better. Besides which, one thing they would all have to guard against would be links springing up between various powerful vampires. In a place like Home House, plans could be made to open the Hellmouth - powerful plans, with the sanction of powerful people. Much harder to fight than rogue vamps.

Xander, oblivious to all this, thought about how pretty Willow looked in this light. All fire and commitment. {{Yeah,}} he thought somewhat bitterly. {{That could be the motto of the Slayerettes - Everyone needs to be committed to something. We fight evil. Join us: commit yourself now, or get a loved one to do it for you.}} He finished his coke and started on Willow's. {{Man, I hope this Liz person gets here soon with Spike; there's something *very* strange going on.... Soulboy's not being very helpful here. Is he gonna share this past at all or is Willow gonna have to drag it out of him bit by bit? Not that I want to know, of course...}} He placed Willow's empty glass down on the table and started on her bagel. {{Just curious as to why Deadboy Mark II hates his dear Daddy so much.... aside from the obvious question of the hair, of course...}}

*****

Spike was halfway to Oxford Circus Station before Liz caught up with him. The brat sure could run. He made an impressive figure, too - black duster streaming out behind him, blond hair glowing platinum in the scarce street light, his ivory skin - the only telltale preternatural sign about him - almost incandescent. {{Absolutely luscious,}} she thought, an instant before she got close enough to make a grab for him. He'd just swerved to avoid a black cab - the driver of which swore at him angrily and waved a fist in his general direction - and so his roll out of the way wasn't quite fast enough. Liz came down on him hard, knocking him backwards on the pavement. Her knees hit the concrete and she winced, scrambling forwards to pin him down with her bodyweight.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Liz, get off me!" His eyes glowed hotly, his mouth twisted in a snarl. She could see he was on the verge of going into game-face - right here, in the middle of the street, with a curious crowd already gathering.

"Peace, Spike," she gasped, rolling off him. He jumped to his feet quickly, putting some distance between them. "Don't bolt, 'cause I'm just gonna have to catch you again, and then, luv, I don't think yer not gonna like me much." She frowned and climbed to her feet slowly. Her tights were ripped, her skirt was wet, and she was fairly sure her hair looked a state. {{This is ridiculous. Why am I doing all this again? Oh yeah, so Angelus dear owes me one.}} She offered the blond vamp a hand. "C'mon Spike. Pax, okay?"

He stared at her suspiciously. "Pax," he said after a moment, shaking her hand. "D'you wanna get away from here? Only I don't reckon meeting the local coppers 's gonna make my night."

She laughed. "All right. Walk?"

They ducked down Regent Street, heading towards Hanover Square and the nearby park. The streets were still busy, even in the dead of night. And still stranger - hardly any vamps were about. She inhaled deeply. Yeah, her and Spike were the only undead for at least a mile around. Strange....

She looked at the young vampire sidelong. Young, hell. He was nigh on two hundred years old. Yeah, that's be about right - Angelus had turned him, what, during Old Boney's time, so that figured.... Still real pretty though. His cheekbones as sharp as ever - well, bone structure wasn't likely to fade with time - but so were his eyes. Real sharp, like they'd seen too much. She hadn't seen much of Spike after he, Angelus and Drusilla had left London; she had heard they'd headed off to Romania, for Drusilla to 'explore' herself. She had no idea what that meant; all she knew was, a few years later Angelus had disappeared, and Spike and Drusilla had made their way into the heart of Europe. They'd run into some trouble in Bonn with some vamps that took exception to their existence, and had legged it to Prague. There, of course, the mob had nearly killed Drusilla. The pair had boarded a boat to the New World and had not been heard from since.

When Liz had first heard of the Hellmouth from the Master at Sunnydale, she'd guessed that that's where Angelus' childer would head for. Their Master would return there. And return Angelus had - in a spectacular fashion. If the Slayer hadn't stopped him, Liz had been fully prepared to do it herself - covens had no place anymore. Certainly no covens like *that*. Angelus had been... vicious. Evil in no way she could fully understand. She was, herself, a vampire, a killer long before Angelus' human birth. Still, she killed to survive. The demon inside her hadn't been especially strong, but it had been smart - very, very smart. She'd survived longer than she'd cared to remember - and she still felt as though she hadn't lived a fraction of Spike's lifetime. He seemed to fairly *exude* life and vitality, as if he'd drunk so much blood that it now ran permanently through his veins. She wouldn't have been too surprised if he had - if anyone could find a way to 'cure' vampirism, it would have been Angelus and his childe. They were the ones who would survive, adapt. Angelus himself - he'd adapted *so* well, she had been astounded when he had contacted her. Work for good? What a novel idea.... But it made sense. A soul was a soul, you couldn't do much about it. And Angelus was - Angelus. Even as Angel, he had steel inside him. And it had always been Angelus' steel she had admired - craved - not his viciousness, not his bloodlust.... hadn't it?

Here, in his childe, she could see that same resolve. Angel's reluctant admission of Spike's vulnerability had amused her at the time. Hell, it would amuse her now if she could ignore the way his skin was taut around his eyes - a subtle sign of discomfort she'd noticed about him long ago - if she could ignore the hungry way he watched all the mortals around, as if he could drain them dry with simply a look. When was the last time he had fed? She'd lay odds that he couldn't remember. Then again, where could you find fresh blood in London, if you didn't get it from humans? There were no animals to speak of - the occasional cat that was more trouble to catch than it was worth; maybe a dirty pigeon or two that you could catch some serious shit off. Not worth the risk, really. Blood bags? Not in London, mate. No butcher shops here - it was all imported. No hospitals to break into - everything was under lock and key. Blood was a valuable commodity in this day and age, and they weren't going to risk some idiot with a shotgun walking in and taking it all. And they conceivably could - people would steal anything they saw guarded. Again, the risk wasn't worth it. If you couldn't bite - you couldn't drink.

Spike ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed at his eyes tiredly. He couldn't have slept for long, either, Liz realised suddenly. You could stay in a cinema all day, maybe... a museum, an abandoned building... but you couldn't sleep there. Anyone could walk in and stake you, or pull the blinds back... You'd have to be on your guard always. How long had he been in London? Three days.

Liz reached out a hand and laid it carefully on the sleeve of his duster. "D'you fancy a bite to eat?" His eyes lit up. She nodded, pleased. "All right, then. Come on." She headed for the nearest bank. There would be, she knew from experience, at least a couple of teenagers there, sleeping rough.

There. Barclays Bank. Sure enough, there were three scruffy kids curled up in sleeping bags and duvets. She motioned for Spike to wait behind. His face tightened in understanding, but he nodded.

Liz stuck her hands in her coat pockets and strode up to the cash machine one of the kids was sleeping under. Pretending to withdraw some cash, she stepped over the sleeping teenager, only noticing him as she turned to go. His hand touched her ankle hesitantly. "Any spare change, missis?"

Liz smiled. "Yeah, got a couple of quid." She pretended to look him over. Yeah, he was dirty and stank of piss, but he seemed appealing enough, "What'd you say to my buying you a drink down the local."

The streeter looked at her, shocked. This didn't happen, even in movies. Slowly, he nodded, climbing to his feet. He followed the vamp back across the road, where Spike waited, sizing up his meal. Suddenly, there was a tight hand at the teenager's throat, turning his face around. He looked back in horror to what he thought had been a woman - her face had changed to something.... something. He bit back a scream. Her eyes glittered like gold chips in the night. "Mmmm, you taste nice," she whispered, licking his neck. He shivered. In the next instant, she flung him hard against the man, who caught him and instantly set him down on the wet grass.

Spike glared at his fellow vampire. "Listen, Liz, I really appreciate the gesture, but maybe you missed the point. I haven't fed in days not because I'm on a diet - but because I bloody well *can't*!" He spun away from her. His voice sounded strained. "Some government goons caught me - did something. Every time I try and bite someone, I get a splitting headache. I can't even hit a bloody human anymore." He turned back to her, eyes blazing. "So, I really appreciate the free meal, but, as you can see, I'm going to have to pass." His eyes narrowed angrily. "And don't you go getting any ideas about getting that bonus on me, either. I can still make mincemeat of any vamps an' all."

Liz laughed, wringing a hand through their prey's T-shirt to bring him up her mouth. "Listen, kid, if I'd a' wanted you dust, you'd be pollutin' the Thames already. And I figured you couldn't bite; I ain't without my sources, ya know. Word on the street is, you turned soft. My suggestion would be, don't let anyone know you *can't* bite - let them think you *won't*." She bit through their victim's neck, tearing the artery open. He didn't even make a sound as the blood cascaded down his neck. Liz held him out to Spike. "Come on luv, eat up 'afore he gets cold."

*****

Spike dropped the corpse on the floor and sat back, satiated. "That was - great," he said quietly. "Thanks, Liz, I owe you one."

She grinned at him as she finished yanking off her ruined tights. "Don't mention it. Can't have you dropping dead from hunger on me, now, can I?" She cast an appreciative eye over his lean frame and laughed coyly. "Oops, too late."

He grinned too. "So, d'you do all this just to snatch a moment of my company? Getting lonely in yer old age, are we Liz?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Watch your mouth, brat. I'm still old enough to be one of your ancestors." They made an incongruous picture, the two of them. The body had been rolled onto a nearby park bench where he wouldn't be disturbed until morning. And who'd suspect the young couple sitting on the wet grass ten meters away? Him, with his long black coat and white-blond hair, looking as if he'd lived half his life on the streets and the other half on the catwalk. Her, with her long tangled hair, smoky eyes and quick grin, more child than woman.

She'd been turned young; but then, in those days, you had to be. If you waited too long, they got ill, quickly enough - and no one got turned after they were thirty. You just never knew what they had. The wasting sickness - what was now diabetes - was the most common, followed closely by TB. You didn't want to risk their bringing that into your blood stream, did you? And you could smell the death on them, if you got close enough. To eat, but not to turn. Liz had been turned when she was at best fourteen years old. Amazing how she got in night clubs and pubs no problem. You grew up faster, then, though. Filled out quicker - and the ID she had was first class. No one could fault her that. She was permanently nineteen years old, just as he'd always be twenty three.

They made an attractive pair, sitting there, chatting. Their conversation might have even rung true for humans - she'd told him about her life without him, making do with when things got rough. In return, he told her about Drusilla, and how he'd missed her every day, now. He wouldn't talk about why she'd left, but it was pretty obvious to Liz. Angelus strikes once again. {{Damn him, he was one fucked up vampire,}} she thought angrily. {{You don't turn on your own kind like that, it's stupid! There's few of us around as it is - especially the old ones! Bloody idiot, always did let his dick lead him into trouble... never ever learned to share, that was his problem...}}

She brought herself around to what Spike was saying. "What was that, pet?"

He shrugged. "I said, after the marriage business, I left." He plucked idly at the grass around him.

Could she blame him for leaving? No. "That's rough, luv. Real rough. Not just the spell part, but - the whole thing. It sucks." {{No wonder he's pissed,}} she thought, moving to lean against him. His duster smelled of old leather and cologne. She inhaled deeply. The scent tickled her. {{Mmmm... he smells nice. Yeah, I'd have left too... I'd have staked myself, given a flat out choice. Fuck, what a mess....}} No wonder Angel had been so worried. No wonder Spike wouldn't go back. "I understand you, luv. I hear ya. It sucks, real bad, but why'd you come here, of all places? Almost anywhere else would 'ave done, 'xcept mebbe Rome or Paris. Bloody hell, even Prague's cleaned up nowadays. Why London?" {{And why "The Borderline"?}}

He shrugged again. It seemed to be all he could do. "I dunno. I missed it, I guess. Haven't been back in, what? A hundred years? That's a long time, Liz. I mean, I've been over here for a little while in between, an' all, especially when Drusilla wanted some of her old things back. But never really to be me." He laughed, his voice high-strung and brittle. "I dunno. I guess I felt safe here - 's my old home, yer know. Not-" he waved a hand airily, "not with Daddy dearest and Dru. I mean, back 'afore I was turned. Back when I was Bill."

She smiled reassuringly, rubbing his arm. "I know. I was there, remember? I miss it too. 'Twas a nice time. But..." she reached up to kiss his cheek softly, nuzzling the cold skin. "It's in the past, pet. You can't expect things to be the same - in any life. Yer ain't William no more - and yer certainly ain't no Spike 's far as I can see."

He looked at her sharply, his eyes glinting, and tried to pull away. She clung to his, keeping him in place easily. Young girl's body she may have, but an ancient vampire's strength ran through her veins. He was no match for her. "Don't freak on me, childe. I know yer - and I know Angelus. I've known yer all yer life - fuck, even 'afore it! Spike was a brat, pure and simple. William the Bloody was a little kid, trying out all his new toys. They were both children - yer went from the demanding William to th' angry Spike. Now..." She sighed, her breath cold against his cheek. "Now, I dunno, luv. I dunno what yer are. But yer don't want no one ta be lookin' after you. Yer don't want no one to know yer helpless. Yer don't want to live with people who'll look out fer yer - even if it means yer get dusted, yer want ta be on yer own."

He looked at her with a strange kind of respect. "Assume I believe yer, Liz. What's that mean fer me now?"

She looked up at him, her smile wolfish. "Fer yer? I dunno. I ain't no seer, ducks. But lemme tell yer something peachy..." She leant in, until her lips were brushing his. "I reckon Angelus has lost his childe fer good."

His tongue slipped past her open lips easily, seeking her tongue to tease. She moaned into his mouth, her hands reaching up to grip his hair tightly, falling against him. His own arms were around her, pressing her to him, relishing her coldness as he had relished Emma's warmth. Her lips were cold, so cold, but deep inside her mouth was vivid heat, life-giving heat, boiling through her veins. Sensing his need, Liz bit her tongue easily, letting the blood spill down his throat, pushing him back against the soft wet grass to better let him drink. Spike's teeth, still human, were sharp enough to open the wound more, and he drank deep, his hands curling into fists on her back. She cried out as he shifted abruptly, yanking her down against him sharply to part her legs and settle her across his hips. She could feel him through his jeans and the thin fabric of her knickers. She braced herself on his shoulders to buck her hips slowly once - just to hear him moan. And moan he did, releasing her tongue to let his head fall back, baring that beautiful throat. Ah, she could practically *hear* a heartbeat, if she strained. He was still glowing from the kill, the smell of salt and blood fresh on him. There was nothing she wanted more than to unzip his jeans here and screw him in the middle of the park - with everybody watching.

With a reluctant sigh, she slid off him, pulling him up to a sitting position with one hand. {{Ah, the sacrifices I make for dear Angelus,}} she thought bitterly.

"What's wrong?" His eyes were wide and perhaps a bit wounded.

"I -" she sighed again. {{Shit. I don't wanna lie to him...}} "Nuthin' darlin'. But I reckon this ain't the place for this... anyone with half a stake could come by and finish us both of with nary a thought. What d'you say we go get a room somewhere?"

He looked at the ground, the fresh blood of his victim staining his cheeks in a beautiful blush. "I'm broke. I used up the last o' my money gettin' here. I stole enough fer food an' a drink, but I ain't got enough fer a room at London rates."

She smiled. {{Perfect.}} "Don't worry, pet. I still got me a room at Home House. We can always go there - if yer still not gonna bolt when I say that, that is," she added, taking in his sudden panicked look.

He sighed. "Sorry, Liz, I won't run. It's just - bad memories. Angelus turned me there, ya know. I never liked that place - all them stuck up vamps, trying ta be human. Mixing with their food." His nose wrinkled in disgust. "Making *deals* with *things* we should be eating!"

{{And that,}} Liz thought, {{sums up my objections to the Home House crowd perfectly. Make deals? Puhleeze. We're gonna eat them, right? What's up with the big 'let's end the world' thing? Where will our food come from then? Pricks.}} She stood up, staring down at Spike calculatedly. "I hear ya, luv. I hear ya. But it's the only place safe fer ya at the mo'. An' I don't fancy fighting off some idiot with a stake while I'm screwing ya through the mattress, ya know?"

He laughed and got to his feet. Falling into step beside her, he threw an arm around her shoulders. "That's what I always liked about yer, Liz," he said as he lit a cigarette with one hand. "You have a way with words."

*****

{{Well, fuck me,}} Spike though incredulously as they finally reached the club. {{It ain't changed a bit in two hundred years. Reckon it still stinks o' Cuban cigars and brandy as well.}} Stepping inside, he inhaled deeply. {{Yep; I was right. Angelus was always a stupid prick. I hate this place.}} He turned to Liz. "All right, where's our room so we can screw, luv?" He ignored the shocked look the receptionist threw him. "I 'ate this place."

Liz slipped a hand into his, tugging towards the main staircase. Her burnished hair swept off her shoulders, her skin looked pale enough to be marble here, in the lamplight. She looked older than she had a right to be. Abruptly Spike shivered. Something wasn't quite right.... this place didn't smell right. "C'mon," Liz said, dragging him upstairs. "I wanna check on something first. I was meant to meet someone here a while ago. I wanna know if they're still here." With that, she yanked him inside the drawing room.

Everything was different here - all the decor had been changed. The windows, though, were still heavily draped with thick curtains to keep out the light. {{Still vamp-friendly after all these years,}} Spike thought with disgust. He could spot them, too - the threesome curled about each other on the single beanbag in the corner - both women and the kid trying to be a man were turned. Recently, too. He could still smell the blood in them. There was someone else here, though, someone strong.

As if in slow motion, Spike turned to look at the dark figure sitting on the couch. Dark eyes gleamed. The two human figures sitting on the beanbags - one brunette, one red - were barely noticeable next to the fury in those dark eyes. Spike was dimly aware of Liz next to him, whispering in his ear. "He came all the way from LA. to find you, pet. Talk to him. I think he deserves at least an explanation. And the others - the humans - they came too. They..."

{{Humans! He brought those bloody kids here!}} For the second time that night, Spike reacted instinctively. He simply turned tail and ran.

Angel stood rock-still for precisely three seconds, staring open-mouthed at the blond vamp's sudden exit, then, at a quiet word from Liz, he too bolted.

The heavy double doors slammed shut after him.

*****

Willow had her drink halfway to her mouth when she spotted the two figures entering the room. "Ohmigosh," she swallowed quickly. "Angel, it's Spike!" {{And some other woman who is most likely a vampire, and why do I get the feeling that he's going to leave us alone with her? Not good, not good, not good....}}

She felt, rather than saw, the vampire sitting next to her tense up. Hurriedly putting her drink down, Willow squirmed in her seat, trying to look at both Angel and Spike at the same time - Angel, who had gone even paler than his normal deathly white, and Spike - who had taken one look at the three and had run for dear life.

{{Does he really hate us that much?}} Willow thought sadly. {{I didn't think we'd given him a reason to - hate us....}} The thought troubled her more than she had thought it could. They had been *so* certain that Spike had run away because of something - terrible. Maybe a curse, a prophecy. Maybe he had even wanted to go home to - die. That, she could understand. That, she could accept. {{No,}} Willow thought, tears threatening to show, {{he ran away because he really, really hates us. He's not dead. He'd just rather risk death than stay with us.}}

The thought hurt, stabbing into her ribcage. She could only imagine what Angel must feel - Angel, who had had to fight against his childe on countless occasions. He was standing, stock still, his face expressionless. The woman - {{child?}} Willow thought; she looked younger than them - who had come in with Spike walked up to him and touched his arm gently.

"Go after him," she instructed in a low tone. "You want to. I know. Go after him now."

Angel darted a quick uncertain look at her in the instant before his frozen body sprang into action, catapulting him from the room and through the far doors before he even realised what was happening. In the anteroom, the carved mahogany chess set was on the floor, pieces flung over the woven throw-rug. The far door slammed shut angrily and Angel raced past, ignoring the shocked looks of the two players staring at their ruined game in disbelief.

The marble staircase spiralling down only served to increase his speed, sending him hurtling down the curved stairs with the force and drive of a messenger from God. He saw Spike's duster flaring out behind him as he ran out the open door, and a small part of his mind reeled at the deja vu - stalking him, watching him run, loving the hunt and its inevitable conclusion. Could he catch his prey now? He wasn't so sure. Spike was fast - maybe too fast for him. Liz had caught him, that much was obvious - but then, Liz was Liz. Was there enough of Angelus left in Angel to do this?

{{Headed back to the green,}} Angel though breathlessly, ten meters behind the black form in front of him. {{*Serious* deja vu...}} Spike seemed to realise this too, and suddenly swerved away, running off down Havoner Square, headed for Hyde Park. {{Where no one can see us,}} Angel thought, unsure of whether to be relieved or worried by this. Evidently, his childe thought he might be caught, and didn't want his capture to be a public display. {{I didn't think I was fast enough to catch him...}}

The locked gates posed no problem; Spike vaulted over them effortlessly, racing along the gravel path towards the distant lake. Angel grabbed the wrought iron spikes and launched himself over the top, hitting the ground running. The trees planted around, their branches still bare and black from the winter, cast sinister shadows across the path by the bright light streaming unfiltered from the now not-so-distant Hyde Park Lake. The swans croaked noisily, their dirty cream necks stretched out as if in curiosity at the two black-clad figures seeming to dance across the path encircling their home. Then the two rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Angel fought to regain breath he didn't need. The field around him blurred into a green haze, broken only by the slim black form in front of him.

Three more steps now. Just three more steps and he could reach out and touch the edge of that black duster, such an integral part of Spike now that he doubted his childe would part with it even if it meant having to talk to his sire. Two more steps, just a couple more steps to reach him....

Spike stopped, still, in the middle of his run. Angel crashed into him and sent both of them down into the soft wet grass. Early morning dew - was it four o'clock already? - stroked Angel's cheek and he sighed. He could just forget it all for a moment, here, couldn't he? Lying here in Hyde Park, his childe beside him in the dead of night, he could forget being Angel and everything that had happened at Sunnydale.

"You *fucking bastard*!" Spike hissed, rolling away from him to climb to his feet. Angel also stood, albeit more slowly. Spike's eyes were angry and hard, glaring at his sire with a rage the elder vampire had never known he possessed. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You're as bad as bloody Angelus, and believe me, I didn't think that was possible!" He ran a hand through his short hair, turning his head to spit derisively in front of Angel's feet. "You just couldn't stay away, for *once* in your worthless existence!"

Angel stared at him, wordless. {{Does he really hate me that much?}} He thought numbly. How would he know unless he asked? "I - didn't think that you hated Angelus that much, Spike. I'd always thought you and he were two of a kind." His hands clenched at his sides, unnoticed by either man.

The blond vampire growled deep in his throat, taking a threatening step forwards. "Don't you *ever* say anything like that to me again!" His brow furrowed in anger. "I don't give a *shit* what you think, peaches! I never have! And I don't care what Daddy dearest thinks either! I don't know why you're here - frankly, I don't care. I want you to *go away*! I want you to *leave me alone* before I do something I can't turn back from!"

It might have been almost amusing, Angel would think afterwards, at how his response to this simple demand could have come from the most clichéd of all hack writer responses. "I can't do that, William," he said, moving slowly forward.

Angel's eyes cooled suddenly, making him blink as if in shock at the almost palpable ice that radiated from them. Angelus' eyes in Angel's face. It was Angelus' mouth twisting in that angry snarl - Angelus' strong arms tense and rigid at his sides. It was Angelus looking at his childe as if he were a meal. And since this was Angelus' childe, didn't Angelus have a right to put his arms around him? Arms that had once held him as the life drained out in a slow trickle of crimson blood... didn't they have a right? And didn't Angelus' eyes have a right to look at his childe with fondness and hunger; didn't his mouth have a right to kiss the cold lips he himself had cooled?

And didn't Angel, from whom Angelus had sprung, have those same rights?

Angel didn't want to harm Angelus' childe. {{Don't be scared.... I'm not a monster. I just want to talk to you.... explain - ask why you left... We have so much to talk about...}} His gaze travelled over the smooth cheekbones, down past the bunched muscles of Spike's jaw to where his Adam's apple jutted out angrily. {{I don't want to hurt you.... I'm not Angelus anymore... I just want to talk....}}

He didn't know why he was here, why he was doing this, but it seemed the only thing he *could* do - the only way to prove to his childe that he wasn't going to harm him. It was plain that Spike didn't fear Angel; it was his sire, Angelus, that he sought in Angel's dark eyes, his sire that he wanted to run away from.

{{I'm not Angelus anymore!}} A part of Angel cried out wretchedly before it was shunted aside, flung out of mind and out of sight. The dark eyes sharpened to steel chips glinting deep set in the stony face; the mouth twisted to a grotesque caricature of a smile. {{God, stop me! Save me from him!}} No one else could do this; no one else could bring him out of himself so much.... {{I am not Angelus!}} His mind screamed out in fury.

{{No,}} a soft taunting voice in the back of his head informed him, {{you've *always* been Angel...}}

And then - he was. Himself, but not himself. Angel - not Angelus - smiled lewdly, his tongue darting out to lick his half-opened lips. {{Damn you, William, for making me what I am....}} Ah, he was so close to Spike now, he could *smell* his fear and confusion. {{Damn you for making me forget myself.... damn you for your fear and your hatred...}} He unclenched his fists forcefully, keeping his hands relaxed by his sides. {{Damn you for making me into the monster Angelus was borne from....}}

A secret part of Angelus had always adhered to an old philosophy: Want. Take. Have.

And now, as Angel, he wanted.

He reached over to grab a handful of soft hair and brought his mouth over his childe's lips in a bruising kiss. Cold lips met his own, lips easily parted by force he was more than willing to provide, now. {{Buffy's Angel would never do this,}} his brain reminded him somewhere high up in his exhilaration. {{But I'm not Buffy's Angel,}} he thought without rancour. {{That Angel only exists when I want him to. And right now...}} he groaned into Spike's mouth, yanking the slim body against him roughly, hands slipping down to grab his waist and pull his hips close, yes, Angel would never do this either, would he? But Angel wasn't here.... {{Right now, he can go fuck himself. I am what Angelus sprung from. I am what my *childe* sprung from. *My* childe. Want. Take. *Have*.}} His hips grinding against Spike's, he smiled when he heard his childe moan at the sensation. {{Mine...}}

And what of Spike? Did he care? {{I want to know...}} A part of him insisted. {{Very well,}} he sighed, moving a hand to cup Spike's chin, rubbing at the stubble he found there, stroking downwards to caress his bare neck. Shock? Yes. Shock at his sire's actions; shock enough to keep him still, frozen enough for Angelus to come back from the dark recesses of Angel's mind. Shock enough to make him press forward instinctively, his tongue searching out his sire's and warring with him in a battle for dominion. Ah, yes, this was beautiful. {{I missed this,}} Angel thought, hearing the same thought echoed in his childe's kiss. {{Missed me, yes, I wanted you to. Wanted you to want me, to crave me, me, me, me...}} He tightened his hold on Spike, crushing his lips to him brutally with the strength of one decades older. There was strength in the slender form he held, too, lean, angry strength, making him push back, probe deeper into his sire's mouth, deeper, deeper, deeper...

Until realisation hit him like an ice shower. "Bloody hell! Get the fuck off of me, you bastard!" Suddenly granted the strength of sheer panic, Spike swung blindly, the punch connecting with Angel's jaw by sheer luck. Angelus screamed in fury and was thrown back into oblivion again. In the next instant Spike's knee connected with Angel's crotch, and the elder vampire went down, gasping. Angel's vision swam as he desperately fought the urge to cradle his injured parts. {{Begone, foul demon, begone!}} His brain chanted. No more ghosts there, no more Angelus waiting. He had hidden himself again, hiding from Angel's wrath, but he'd come out soon. He had to. Spike always brought him out. And now that Angelus was gone - that meant that Spike too....

Angel groped on the ground blindly for a bench, a lamppost - something to lever himself up with, all the while painfully aware of the retreating steps that took his childe farther and farther away from him. He found neither; just more soft wet grass giving way to his brutal fingers. His hands curled into fists around the clumps of earth with the effort to control himself.

By the time he could stand and guarantee that it was himself, and not a monster, that would be looking out of his eyes - a mere five seconds by human standards; a vampire's eternity - Spike was nowhere to be seen.

*****

He took the long way back to the House. He really, *really* didn't want to face Liz and the others. Besides which, he had some thinking to do. {{How do I tell them that Angelus returned?}} He thought idly, hating himself for the lie. His traitorous brain was more truthful.

{{How do I tell them that I'm capable of far worse than Angelus could ever conceive?}}

*He* had assaulted his childe - out of rage, confusion, love... out of everything buried deep within himself, he had been able to raise a hand to his own flesh and blood. {{But it was *Angelus* who did those things...}}

{{And was it Angelus who was here? Was it Angelus who thought about biting his neck open just to watch him bleed again?}}

{{No clean slate.... no fresh start where Spike is concerned.}}

{{Bastard.}}

{{Yes, that's right, blame your childe for your mistakes. Blame him for the monster you were. For the monster you *are*. Oh, he'll think it was Angelus taking control again. What a convenient way to get out of claiming responsibility.}}

{{Angelus couldn't do half the things *you're* capable of doing...}}

He ran.

Past the House, past the green, past where anyone would be watching. Concrete blurred with the thunderous sky overhead; he felt the spatter of rain across his face as he ducked underneath the underground station canopy. A soft morning shower would give London its customary heavy dew.

{{I don't know myself,}} he thought, eyes wide open to watch the rain lash the canopy overhead. {{I don't know myself.... if I can't trust myself, why am I even here? Why am I here to break him again? I'll do worse than Angelus ever managed...}}

{{No wonder he's running....}}

*****

It took him half an hour to compose himself again, watching the rain slow to a drizzle and finally stop. Half an hour to convince himself of the sudden reappearance of Angelus and the danger that put his soul in. Half an hour in which he decided that he would be better not mentioning Angelus' name to the others waiting at Home House because {{they wouldn't understand.}} Best just talk about the past. That was all that was really relevant, anyway.

Somehow, he made his way back to the House with barely a glance at his grey-upon-grey surroundings. {{I hope Liz has been behaving herself,}} he thought somewhat anxiously. {{I'd hate to have to explain a Xander casserole to Buffy....}} He pushed the double doors open and peered inside the drawing room. Willow was still encased in her beanbag, but Xander was sitting on the couch next to Liz, talking animatedly. When he saw Angel's return, he shut up, a blush staining his cheeks.

Liz turned to see who had arrived. "Angel, luv. What happened?"

*****

Xander watched with a raised eyebrow as Angel took off after Spike hurriedly. {{I was right... You don't do that for someone you can't stand,}} he thought, a smile beginning to form. {{Deadboy's a poof, just like the Bleached Wonder said!}}

"There's history there, luv; don't judge 'afore you know the whole of it," the new arrival said, throwing herself down on the couch in a less than ladylike fashion. She lit up a cigarette and regarded the pair humourlessly. "So, you two the human kids Angelus' been carting around with 'im?" She pursed her lips and blew a smoke ring.

The beanbag keeping Willow prisoner looked at the vampire fearlessly. "Yes. Although he's not Angelus now; he's Angel. But he's just as strong as he was before," {{so don't get any ideas!}}, "and anyway, shouldn't you introduce yourself?" {{Yeah, Willow,}} she thought a touch nervously, {{why don't you ask the big bad vampire where her manners are? This definitely falls into the realm of things not to do in London if you don't want to be dead. Or undead. Or whatever.}} She looked the new arrival over more carefully. {{On the other hand, she *does* seem to age well.... no! Bad Willow! Bad thoughts! Cleanse! Think of sunbathing and - and - looking at yourself in the mirror and - and - other things vamps can't do..... like breathing! Breathing's good...}}

Liz blinked at her, startled. Then she smiled, very, very slowly. "Yeah, I reckon I should. I'm Liz, an old friend of the brat." She licked her lips as her eyes settled on Xander's exposed throat. "But don't worry, ducks, I promised Angelus I ain't gonna eat ya." {{Yet another thing he owes me for,}} she thought. {{Oh, these smell strong... Slayer's scent all around them. What, she's been hugging them every day or what?}}

Xander's hand instinctively reached up to do up the top button on his shirt. {{I'm gonna live in polo necks from now on!}} he vowed and swallowed dryly. "That's, um, appreciated." He managed to take a step backwards without ever leaving his beanbag.

The Willow-flavoured Barbie beanbag, however, was shuffling forwards in recognition. "You're the woman who called Angel! You were the one who told him where Spike was!"

Liz shrugged. "Yeah, I reckon so." Then, "but I also reckon I ain't the only rude one sitting 'ere. All I know of you is that yer human, yer smell very nice, and I ain't allowed to eat ya." She mock-pouted. "Help a little old lady out here by making friends. Harder ta eat friends than ta munch on my wards."

{{Wards?}} Xander though incredulously. He waved a hand in Willow's direction. "That's Willow. She's a witch. And I'm Xander. And... I'm not."

Liz raised an eyebrow. "You're Xander and you're not a witch?" A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Why do I get the feeling that you've yet to settle on a definite career path?"

Xander scowled at her while Willow looked at Liz with undisguised adoration. Vampire she may be, but boy, she was.... {{Okay, funny is a strong term here, and we are *not* going to start befriending vampires, right? That's Slayer's prerogative. Bad, bad, bad.}} "Xander's still... deciding," she contributed. Xander glowered at her for the comment - {{I was only trying to help!}} - and Liz tipped a smile down at her.

"An' how do you two know the brat, then?" She didn't really need to ask; her sources had had all the information together on the 'Scooby Gang', as they called themselves, long before they had boarded their plane. Liz preferred to be prepared. She'd rather they volunteered the information, though. {{Useful ta know how naive they really are...}}

"Um...." Willow managed to look a bit confused by this. How *did* they know Spike? "Well," she started out, "he's tried to kill us several times..." That didn't sound right. "And, well, after *you know what* happened to him, we were the only ones who could protect him. So, he sorta..... um, moved in." She cringed knowing how bad that would look to the vampire. One of her own consorting with the Slayerettes.

"Ah," Liz commented. "Well, I'll be sure to mention this to the kid once or twice or thirty times when we find him..."

Willow - who had been berating herself for perhaps letting too much slip and thus sabotaging their chances of finding Spike - perked up at this. "You mean you'll help?" She sounded as if that was too much to hope for.

Liz almost laughed at her youthful enthusiasm. There was something about this little witch.... something very determined and fiercely protective. She'd have to quiz the other kid, Xander, about this later. "Yeah, I promised Angelus I would, didn't I? Besides, I was always one to have me heart bleed for the young an' innocent." She took a deep drag from her cigarette and exhaled the fumes slowly.

Xander smiled at this. {{Spike's never going to live this down, if I have anything to say about it...}} "Young and innocent? You can't be talking about our beloved Bleached Wonder, right?" On impulse, he stood from the beanbag and plunked himself down gracelessly next to the female vampire. Angel had said that she wasn't going to harm them, right? "D'you mean to say that you're, what, Deadboy Mark II's baby-sitter?" {{Spike is going *down*,}} he thought with glee. {{Never is he gonna prance around *my* basement with impunity again! And - whoa! Major Giles word there! Cleanse, cleanse, cleanse! Soon, it might be anal-retentive much!}} He shuddered.

Liz misinterpreted his shudder. "Yeah, well, what can I say. He's the kind you want to look after...." She leaned back on the couch and propped her booted feet on the edge of the table. "Real innocent, like, even when he was first turned. Bratty as fuck, but what d'you say to fledglings that think they can destroy the world? You gonna have to let them try or they're gonna kill you to leave the coven."

Xander looked at her with the air of one who has no idea what has just been said but would rather die than admit it. "Ooookay," he said, sounding as if he agreed completely. "I'll remember to remind Spike of that later. Now..." he smiled and leant closer. "I'm not going to ask what the deal is between you and the dear fluffy bunny you seem to think our resident evil undead vamp is. *But* - and there is always a but - I am only doing so because I don't want to lose my neck or any vital parts. So I feel perfectly safe in asking what the deal is between the fluffy bunny and our *other* resident undead vamp, currently known as Deadboy, Soulboy, Angel, Angelus or fluffy bunny mark 2. Am I right? Do I get the gossip?" He grinned. {{Oh, the opportunity! The digs! The sly little asides! Spike isn't gonna know what hit him!}}

The Willow beanbag swatted him on the leg. "Xander, that's rude! You only want to know so you can tease them! *I* want to know so Giles and I can put it in the vampire codex."

"Yeah," Xander agreed instantly. "So the Buffster can tease them!" He swatted the beanbag back.

Liz blinked at the by-play. They wanted her to tell them Spike and Angelus' personal history so that they could use the knowledge to eventually destroy them? {{God, they really *did* send me children....}} Then again... {{They don't look like they're out to kill.... Angelus doesn't live around them anymore; no reason for them ta chase afta him. And Spike...}} She sighed. {{Spike'd be in more danger living with our kind than with theirs....}}

Xander was continuing in his crusade to shock Willow. "C'mon Will, there's something of a very definite 'ewwwww!' nature going on between those two. Repressed attraction much?"

"Ewwwww!" The beanbag immediately retorted, half a Willow emerging immediately to pout at him. "Xander, that's not a nice thing to call them just because they're nice to look at! You just want anyone who's any competition - not that they are, because they're undead and mostly evil, and, well, my best friend's property, kinda - but anyway, you want anyone who is any competition to be gay!"

Liz looked at her, puzzled. She didn't know? {{My, my.... Angel and the kid really *have* kept a low profile... no wonder Angel's been so crabby.}} She smirked slightly. {{Someone's not gettin' any....}} She feigned innocence for the maximum shock value. "But - they are. Well... occasionally."

Two heads turned to look at her so fast the vampire was sure they'd get whiplash. "What?!" Xander was the first to speak. "I mean - I knew it! I knew it! It was the hair! They are both *so* fixated on their hair!" He paused for breath then carried on again. "It *was* the hair, wasn't it! I knew it!"

Willow's face crumpled for one brief moment before she retreated back into the beanbag, an unreadable expression on her face. Xander filed that information away for further study. "But - what about Buffy? And Drusilla? I mean, they were involved with them...." Willow's voice was very soft and very confused. Inside, she was not very far from reaching over and hitting Xander Harris very hard for provoking that revelation. {{It's not fair! He's always trying to mess up any chances I have with nice blokes.... like Oz.... or himself.... or even....}} She froze. {{God, Willow, you really *are* missing Oz, aren't you? *Cleanse*! Bad thought! Bad!}} She buried her face in her hands. {{This is very, *very* bad.... and not even a spell to blame it on!}}

The vampire sighed at Willow's posture. {{Oh, what a perfect picture of middle America.... frightened of anything remotely different.... best not let them stick around for the Gay Pride parade then!}} "Look, just because they like girlies don't mean they don't like blokes as well, you know. Holy Christ, I don't know what kinda vanilla life you kids 'ave led, but things here a little more loosed up when it comes to these things." She took another drag of her cigarette, mostly to assure herself that she wasn't dreaming such naiveté.

"Besides, with those two it's different. They don't go for other blokes, 's far as I know. Only ones they were involved with is each other. They stick to girlies the other times."

"Each other?" Xander squeaked. His face seemed torn between a leer and simple disgust. "You mean the two dead guys... all this time we were worried about them thinking up some horrible plan to destroy the world after Angel turned bad again - they were just fucking each other's brains out?" A sudden thought occurred to him. "And Spike was in a wheelchair! Oh, ewwwwwww!!!!!"

"I don't think so," Liz said, sharing a long-suffering look with the Willow beanbag. {{Is the kid always this excitable? Damn me for promising I wouldn't eat him.... he'd be all nice and crunchy as well, I reckon. At least the other one's coping better.... thank all that's holy for witchcraft, bisexuality and other mind-expanding activities!}}

"I don't reckon Spike was willing. Then again, knowing Angelus - the real Angelus - I dunno if that woulda stopped him. He's very into the whole 'me me me' thing." She shrugged. "Then again, I wasn't there, so I can't say. But I reckon that your Angelus there, he's feeling a bit guilty over what 'e did to Spike when the brat was still a fledgling, and is trying ta make him into a good guy - make him human again, I reckon. Stupid sod never knew a good thing when he saw it."

Liz quirked a grin, reaching for the remains of Willow's salmon bagel. "Spike's much better off as a 'bad-ass vamp', as he calls it, than he would be as a snotty-nosed human whelp." She wolfed the last bite down then licked her lips.

Her eye-teeth were extraordinarily long for a human, Xander noticed suddenly, inching away slightly. But he couldn't keep his mouth shut for long.

"So, you knew Spike before he was turned? Before he was even William the Bloody? What was he like? And Soulboy? What was he like, too?" {{I think that Buffy might be interested in one or two of these observations,}} he thought evilly. {{Her ex-boyfriend - and her ex-fiancé - were involved with each other. That should be enough to put her off dead guys - if not all others! - for life...}}

"I dunno," Liz said, calling the waiter over. She snatched a glass of water from his tray and guzzled it down hungrily. "I never knew the human Angelus. As a vamp he was a right bastard, though. In a good way, I reckon. Lived for getting rat-arsed and torturing some poor helpless kids 'til they begged for death. Liked to have fun with their families, too. He did that with Drusilla; d'you guys know her?"

"Yeah," Xander said, shuddering at the memory. "She was one fucked-up bitch."

Liz nodded. "Angelus did that to her 'afore he turned her. Killed her family slowly an' made her watch. Left her with a knife and locked them all in a room together - she 'ad to kill them to let them die quickly. Otherwise they coulda bled for days. 'Course she did it, and walked outta there with these eyes - I swear, I 'ave never been so scared in my fucking life as when I saw 'er walk out. Real calm, like, still carrying the butcher knife she cut their throats with. You couldn't reach 'er after that, though, could ya.... she'd gone off the deep end permanently. Then Angelus turned her, and she quietened down for a while, I reckon. Spike - though he was just William then - looked afta her; made sure she didn't do anything too crazy."

She stubbed her cigarette out angrily on the ashtray, lighting another one almost immediately. "Well, that was Angelus to a T.... although, by the time he got around to Dru, he'd already worked something out. You see, Spike was his first-born; d'you guys ever know that?"

It was Willow who spoke up. "He told us before we left to come here. Said that he - loved - him." Her voice sounded tiny.

The vampire laughed harshly at this. "Yeah, maybe your Angel loves 'im. It's mostly guilt, though, I reckon. He knows what he did as Angelus, 's that what yer saying?" Two heads nodded solemnly. "Well then I reckon he's goin' through some serious hell for what 'e did to Spike. 'Ates him too, I should think, for daring to be around to remind 'im of that..." She shrugged.

"That was always what Angelus was like. So full o' grand schemes and plans and thoughts... never gave a thought to what happened to those around 'im. Spike was a decent sorta bloke 'afore he got mixed up with Angelus... I take it yer Slayer was an all right kid 'afore he screwed up 'er life too?"

The beanbag finally regurgitated a very surprised Willow. "How did you know what happened in Sunnydale?" Her narrowed eyes told her that, vamp or no vamp, there would be hell for Liz to pay if she didn't provide a decent explanation of why her best friend's love life was the talk halfway across the world. Her expression darkened even more as she realised that if they knew about all that, they would have to know about... {{me! What are they doing spying on me?!}}

Liz just shrugged again. It seemed to be her patented gesture; she did it with as much style and panache as Angel did his 'brooding' look. "People talk. Vamps talk. Everyone knows who the Slayer is over 'ere. I reckon anyone down South - the world, I mean, not the UK - might be a little clueless 'cause the jungles and wars and that tend to break down communications a bit, but aside from that, all on the North know fairly well. Angel turned psycho on her after they shagged, is that right?" They nodded solemnly again. Liz cackled with a malice that sounded incongruous on her young frame. "Yeah, sounds like Angelus all right. Bloody wanker, on occasion. Went a bit off 'is head after her turned Dru, if yer want the truth. Was a bit shocked she'd come out so well. Was a bit angry with himself for not doing the same to Spike, I reckon, but I think he did worse to that boy than he ever did to dear old Dru." She frowned, a small line forming on her otherwise perfect forehead. "I can't forgive 'im for that; I dunno how he expects Will ever to."

"But 'e's - I mean, he's - not here to ask for forgiveness or whatever. I mean, I don't see anyone ever respecting him if he has to crawl after his childe," Willow said, then paused. Xander figured she was thinking over that image, and smiled; it *did* seem strangely appropriate..... he shook his head. Anyway. "In any case, we're only here to try and convince Spike to come home with us." Tears pooled immediately at the corner of her eyes again but she bit her lip and refused to let her expression. "I guess he doesn't want to come back, though."

Liz cocked an eyebrow at her. "Did you honestly think he would? Doesn't sound like Will to me, to be honest."

Xander sprang to Willow's defence. "Hey, he's practically helpless out there. Frankly, we're his only protection, and I think he needs to show a little gratitude. Buffy took him in when any other Slayer would have staked him in the street, and all he can do is just - run away." He took a quick gulp of his drink to calm himself. Damn the woman for getting under his skin so quickly. "He's a coward for doing that, and you know it. We *know* he's not out here to d-die," he stuttered slightly on the word, then rallied his strength and plunged on, "or anything like that. He just disappeared from my room one night, not even with the courtesy to say thank you for having me, or anything like that. Deadboy Mark I had the same habit - disappear whenever he wanted, and forget that people may be worried about him." Realising how that sounded, he hurriedly added, "not that I cared in the slightest, of course. It was all the women...."

"Of course," Liz agreed, biting back her smile. She stretched luxuriously on the couch, her short sweater riding up to reveal a perfectly toned ivory stomach, with a child's sweet little bellybutton dipping in on it. All of a sudden Xander was powerfully aware of how old she was, despite her child's look.

"You all just look after him, feed him from - what? A glass? A mug? - protect him from people he could have handled with his hands tied behind his back normally, make him sleep at one of your houses.... yeah, what a life he turned away from." She grabbed another drink from the many grouped on their table and finished it off. {{Mmmm..... bourbon. At least Angelus' tastes in alcohol hasn't disappeared.}} "I ain't surprised he ran. Word got to me of that crazy little stunt your little witch pulled." She fixed Willow with a deadly look. "And I guess that'd be you, right?"

The redhead blinked and retreated back inside her beanbag. "I didn't mean to!" The beanbag wailed dismally. "I was trying to make him tell us the truth - and the next thing I know, Giles is blind and Spike and Buffy are getting married!"

"Don't forget my turning into a demon magnet!" Xander reminded her acidly. He still hadn't forgotten the horror of finding not just one, but *countless* demons after him.... without a time out, or *anything*. "I didn't mean to!" The beanbag wailed again. "And - besides, I didn't think he'd take it that hard. I mean, Buffy got over it quickly, so..."

"He was going to marry the *Slayer*, little girl!" Liz hissed. Her expression made her seem suddenly centuries older. Xander wondered dimly exactly when she had been turned, in between his brain screaming for dear life. "Not only is he forced to rely on the *Slayer* for protection and *food*, for fuck's sake, he was also forced to fall in love with her! And you don't think this hammered home his helplessness?!" She threw up her hands in disgust. "I woulda staked myself pronto, in his position. You're lucky he just legged it over 'ere!"

The beanbag looked like it was going to cry. Undead or not undead, the threat of suicide was a powerful one to hold over anyone's head. "But I didn't mean to do anything like that! I mean, I wouldn't *want* them to get together anyway! They'd kill each other within the week!" {{And how - *why* - do you know about all this? Giles is gonna freak! Some vampires halfway around the world are watching our lives as if they were prime-time TV! I suddenly feel so..}} she shivered deliciously. {{Exposed... whoa! Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! Liz is *such* a bad influence!}} She gave the vampire a dirty look. {{Yeah.... bad influence.}}

Xander did a double-take on her comment - and the look she favoured Liz with. The fact that an ancient and apparently very strong vampire knew so much of Sunnydale life managed to skip right past him unnoticed. There was something more important at hand that he had to think about - something scratching at the corner of his mind, something unbelievably clever and insidious.... one more second and he'd reach it...

Angel pushed the door open with all the force of someone very, very angry.

The unbelievably clever and insidious thought slipped away. Xander gritted his teeth and looked at Angel in annoyance. Liz joined him, frowning discreetly. "Angel luv," she began. "What happened?"

Angel scowled at them and stalked over gracefully. He flung his tall form down on a nearby chair and continued to brood. "He left," was all he said. Xander decided to break the ice.

"So, Liz tells us that your old big bad self was buttonholing Peroxide Boy," he began. Angel's head snapped up.

"What?" he asked dangerously.

The female vamp grinned at him with the air of one who knows they can say what they please and get away with it all. "Xander and I were discussing Spike and your shared pasts. He wanted to know why you were so concerned about your childe, when most other vamps just turn their fledglings and leave 'em to it. I told them that Spike was your first, and you'd turned him for a very specific reason..." She trailed off. This last bit was an outright lie, but she preferred for Angel to confess a few home truths.

Angel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, he was my first," he said quietly. "Damn it, he was gorgeous as human.... nearly as gorgeous as he is as a vampire. All life and fire and lust... I - Angelus - had to have him." He looked up at them, willing them to understand the sacrifice he was making by telling them this. But Liz knew already, and the others would find out at some point.... best he tell them. Best they be prepared for the horror that was Angelus.

"What Angelus did to Buffy.... it was nothing. He was angry with her, angry enough to want to destroy her. But with Spike - William - it was different. At first, I - A-Angelus - just wanted him. To tease, to destroy. And what Angelus wants, Angelus takes. But - there was no family to destroy, with William - hell, he killed them all himself later on, without any problems. He didn't care about them, and they didn't care about him. No use doing anything to them to get to him. And I wasn't very adept at this at the time, you realise; I didn't even know I was going to turn him until.... well, I couldn't very well let him die, could I. I'd hunted him for..." his eyes closed as he struggled to remember.

Willow watched him, very obviously torn between understanding and utter revulsion. Xander watched Willow watching Angel. "I don't know, really. It must have been close to a month. He was nearly dead from exhaustion, anyway. I finally decided to do it here, in Home House - upstairs in one of the bedrooms, even though it wasn't allowed. It would attract too much attention. I didn't care.... I didn't care." He opened his eyes to look across at Liz.

The other vampire nodded silently at him. {{Say it, damn you, Angelus. Tell them what you did to him!}}

"I took him there. Drank him nearly dry. He - he ran, at one point, almost all the way to the green over the other side before I caught him. I dragged him back inside the room and nearly broke his neck with the beating. Then I fed. A lot.... he was minutes away from death...." He swallowed dryly. "Shit, I can't believe I'm telling you all this..."

Liz's voice lashed out in the silence. The others inside the room had long since left. "Tell them, Angelus. Tell them everything, or I will. And then they will leave Spike here, and they will not help you. Tell them, and let them decide."

He took a deep breath. "He was beautiful. When I was Angelus I - I wanted him. I hadn't done nearly enough to him, I thought... I couldn't do much when he cared for so little. I'd beaten him, destroyed all his friendships.... done everything I could to break him. And it wasn't enough. I wanted to do more, to break him so much he'd be mine forever in death - but he was already dying in my arms. So Angelus -" he faltered again, then gritted his teeth. He sounded like a condemned man confessing a crime.

{{I don't want to do this!}} A part of him screamed for attention. {{I don't want to tell them this! I don't want them to know it was me that did all that!}}

{{It was Angelus!}}

{{It was you! Say it! Say it was *you* who did that! SAY IT!}}

Xander saw the tightness and pain in his eyes and wondered what had happened when the dark vampire had caught up his childe. Rejection. Could the human Spike have angered Angelus the same way?

Angel could barely speak." I - I - I turned him. I turned him and made him mine so I could destroy him and prove to myself that I'd won. T-that some kid off the streets hadn't won over me by dying before I could destroy him. I turned him, and I loved him from the moment his eyes opened and looked at me with complete horror.... "

He looked at Willow and Xander in turn, seeing not them but a girl with long curly black hair, and a boy with so much composure it was like talking to dry ice. The ghosts of the human Drusilla and William stared at him with loathing and contempt. {{It was *me*...}}

He shook his head. {{Don't start hallucinating, now.... tell *Willow* and *Xander* what they came all the way here to learn...}} "I loved him for his fear and his hatred, and I loved him for conquering that fear. His hatred.... I think it just grew. He couldn't forgive me for anything. Hell, my disappearance would have been just the break he needed - get Dru out of Romania, out of the coven, and live on their own. But....." {{Shit....}} "Even now I want him back. I'm still... tied to him, somehow. Even with a soul - maybe *because* of a soul - the ties are stronger now...."

"And what right do *you* have to choose?" It was Willow, not Liz, who had spoken. Xander looked at the witch in surprise. She'd finally managed to disentangle herself from the beanbag and looked at Angel with fury in her green eyes. "What right do you have to try and tie him to you? We came over here because... because we were concerned about him. We didn't want him to be hurt - although Goddess knows why, he's caused enough damage. But everything we did - was for *him*! If he didn't want to come back - well, we wouldn't try and force him to!

"When Buffy left - I mean, I did a locator spell and everything, but that was just to make sure she was all right, and when she wasn't, yes, I was worried, but when she turned up and I thought that she was leaving again I tried to talk her out of it, but I couldn't have physically kept her at Sunnydale! I couldn't keep Oz in Sunnydale, Oz, my ex-boyfriend, who I desperately wanted to stay, because if he didn't want to, then I had no right to ask it of him!"

She paused to draw breath, and Xander reached over to pat her shoulder comfortingly. She threw the hand off. "No, it's not right! I don't want to take Spike back with us just so Buffy can pick on him because he can't defend himself and you can make him miserable! He may not be a child, but he is very vulnerable to both of you, and neither of you have treated him right, and Buffy I can sort of excuse because she's the Slayer and it says in the Slayer handbook - even though she only read it three months ago - that Slayers are not meant to be friends with vampires, which means that she made an exception in your case, and you're not being very nice about it!" She took another shaky breath. Her cheeks had flushed, and her hair was in disarray. Xander had never seen her more impassioned about anything before. Even when she had thought that Angel had treated Buffy wrongly, she had kept quiet, leaving her friend to stick up for herself. But Spike wasn't around to stick up for himself, and evidently Willow saw herself appointed as defender of his honour and choices.

Xander smiled evilly. *Now*, his insidious thought had formed. Angel deserved a really, really bad break. Spike evidently deserved a decent one - though he wasn't willing to admit to it to anyone aloud. Willow hadn't been this energised since she had had to defend Oz from the werewolf hunter. {{Ah, the perfect simplicity of it all,}} Xander thought, mentally rubbing his hands together in evil glee. {{Get both of Angel's objects of affection away from him by thrusting them into each other's arms.}} He grimaced at the mental image. {{Or something like that.... Xander Harris, matchmaker extraordinaire.}} He threw a quick look at Liz, and was surprised to see the vampire's knowing smile. {{Looks like Mummy dearest has had the same thoughts...}}

Meanwhile, Willow was continuing in her attack on Angel, who was slowly coming to pieces in the upholstered armchair. "... And I know that you keep saying that it was *Angelus* who did those things, but you yourself said after I saw myself as a vamp that the demon was similar to the person, and that makes me really worried, and if it was *Angelus* who was so horrible to Spike, why are you coming after him? You know that it would just hurt him, but you're coming after him and dragging us along, and he probably hates us now if he didn't before and we just want to help him..."

{{So do I!}} The thought formed before he had a chance to stop it. {{I wanted to help him - I so wanted to hold him to me and erase the last two centuries!}}

{{Liar. You just wanted him down on the floor, helpless, as he had been at his rebirth.}}

{{I wanted to help him! He's my childe! I love him!}}

{{LIAR!}}

He shook his head to clear it of the violent voices that warred with him.

"And help the brat you shall," Liz broke in. This had gone on for long enough. Angelus had the air of one talking to himself. {{Got a few ghosts, there, Angel dear?}} She strode over and picked the witch up with one hand, silently handing her to her companion. Willow shrugged out of her grasp angrily.

Liz then turned her attention to Angel. {{Careful, here...}} "Angelus, darling," she said softly. "I want you to find Spike. Explain that you are not here to try and get him back. Then let him make the choice on his own. He won't be coming back to you. You won't get the coven back, and I'm not entirely sure you want one now. I hear you are doing well in LA. Try and convince Will to listen to these kids - they care for him. That's enough, sometimes." He nodded slowly, defeated. The deadly storm in his dark eyes - Angelus - was firmly locked behind a cage. She was satisfied. {{Good.}}

"Okay, kids. Here's the deal." She sat down in Angel's lap, stroking the nape of his neck. "Angelus here will help you find your friend - although whether he is your friend is questionable. He'll help, anyway. If he steps out of line and hurts the brat in any way, I'll dust him myself. He knows that. You, too, will know this. Ask him if he wants to come back. See if you can help get that damned curse or implant or whatever off of him. If he can't feed he'll starve to death."

Her eyes were narrowed and the pupils dilated, indicating a strong emotion. Unfortunately, Xander couldn't tell if that emotion was anger, lust, or something else.

Willow simply looked at her blankly, radiating stoical acceptance. Either she had adjusted to the new information a lot more quickly than Liz had expected, or she had simply filed it away somewhere to go over - and stress about - at a later date. {{Will she tell the Slayer?}} Liz wondered. {{Does it really matter?}} Another part of her questioned. The Slayer was the Slayer. She'd be gone soon, and another will take the place. {{And these brats will go with 'er, an' all....}}

"If he doesn't want to leave, send him to me. I'll see what I can do. In any case, I reckon you'll be able to find him in Whitechapel, probably kipping in a cinema or theatre or something for the day. I doubt you'll find him before daylight tonight, so don't even try. Tomorrow, the three of you will go and find him. I have some business to take care of here." Her voice dared them to ask what that business was. Unsurprisingly, not a peep was heard from the three of them.

She stood and stretched. "Good. Glad that's all been sor'ed out. Now, I'm off to find me a snack and kip down. Don't follow me if yer know what's good fer yer." She gave Angel a chaste kiss on the cheek and stalked out of the room. {{That should keep 'em out of trouble fer a little while...}}

They stood in silence before Xander finally spoke up. "Well - *that* told us."

Angel looked at him with a glint of humour in his dark eyes. "Don't sound so put out. She may look like a kid, but she's older than the White House."

Leaving the two humans to ponder this, he went upstairs to call Giles and inform them of the night's events.

*****

It was almost sunrise when Spike stopped running. Five o'clock, and the first rays of morning light about to appear in under an hour. {{Shit!}} He'd come to another green, all mud and torn turf and broken glass. {{I'm such a fucking coward!}}

He fell down on his knees in the mud, sharp pieces of glass cutting through the fabric of his jeans to rip at his tender skin threateningly. {{Shit.}} Rolling onto his back, Spike panted for breath he didn't need. Above him, dark clouds hid the moon and cast angry shadows through the deadened tree branches stretching out above. Everything in this place was dead; the trees were black with decades-old soot, the grass destroyed by countless football matches, even the sky above was smoky and dark - almost sinister in its patronage. Spike stretched out, arms reaching above him until they met with the firmness of the tree trunk. His feet ached and his mouth hurt and his eyes were closing and...

Damnit, he was tired. Tired of running, tired of being on his guard *constantly* - and most of all, tired of being shocked. {{Damn you, Liz,}} he thought savagely, his jaw clenching. {{You *knew* they were at the House! Bloody hell, I bet you were the one who suggested it. I can't believe you'd sell me out like that!}}

The accusation wasn't fair and he knew it. Liz had never promised him anything - hell, she'd just been trying to help. Probably Willow - or, more likely, Angel - had asked her the favour. Hell, maybe they had both asked. He could see that happening. And Xander had just shrugged and eaten their food and not cared one way or the other....

{{Trust Daddy dearest to get those kids involved,}} he thought, gritting his teeth. The few early morning birds the Docklands supported screamed out the approaching morning in a perfect accompaniment to his mood.

He concentrated on his anger at their presence, slowly building a pyre with it for any hopes he held to be left in peace. {{Tenacious little fuckers they are too, aren't 'ey,}} he thought, closing his eyes tiredly. He could rest here for a little while, right? Who'd come to this green anymore?

{{I can't believe they came all this way just to try and get me to go back...}} The thought made him angry in an irrational but highly vivid way. {{I bet it was Peaches who made them come... with a little help from the bloody Slayer. God, a man can't even go home anymore without her running after me ta 'make sure you're all right'. Fuck it! I'd be a whole lot better if she'd sodding well stop playing nursemaid!}}

His hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. Fumbling with his jeans' pocket, he hurriedly withdrew a cigarette and lit up. {{And that silly little witch is just as bad. Ever since her bloody spell, she hasn't stopped mothering me... and God, could she have thought up anything more ridiculous? Me and the Slayer, for crying out loud!}}

He flicked ash with his index finger, watching it land and sizzle briefly on a small earthworm exploring the soil nearby. His mind was focused on the anger he felt towards Willow; and it was a calculated, forced anger. He *wanted* to feel angry with her, blame her for all his problems. Blame the government goons that had captured him and treated him like a slab of meat. Blame the Slayer who treated him more as a pet, now, than as the deadly enemy he had once been to her.

His lip curled in anger. {{Fuck you, Angelus! Fuck you for walking into my life and screwing it up again!}}

Fuck his sire.... wasn't that the problem? His head spun in confusion. Fuck Angelus, anyway. {{And fuck Angel, with his holier than *bloody* thou attitude, and his sodding poncy soul, and that stupid expression, all tortured innocent, oh, yeah, I know all about that, peaches! You think you fool me with that act? You might not be Angelus 'nymore, but you're just as big a fucked-up wanker as you ever were. All you think about is yourself!}}

That part he could at least think with a clear conscience. All he wanted was for Angel - or Angelus, or whatever he decided he was - to die a slow, painful death. Was that too much to ask? {{At least get the fucker away from me...}}} He reached over lazily and dug into the soil, long fingers searching for the worm. He found it and pulled it out, careful not to rip it in two. {{I just want him to leave me alone; Jesus, Mary and Joseph, is that too much to ask? I know I've screwed up - being a demon from hell doesn't exactly put you in the 'good' camp, but I swear, you kill him painfully and I won't kill another human again.}}

The fact that he couldn't eat a human now, even if his life depended on it (he had an inkling that unfortunately it did), slipped his mind completely.

He brought his small captive up to his face, watching it carefully. Its body twisted in his grip, trying to wriggle away and find the safety of the dark earth again. {{No... no safety for you tonight, I don't think.... you get to live this out with me, you see?}} Spike closed his eyes, lashes fluttering down to shadow his cheeks. He tipped his head back and opened his mouth, feeling, rather than seeing, the worm dangling in his fingers. {{Lips my sire has kissed...}}

He half-smiled as he swallowed the earthworm. {{... shall never be holy again.}} He stood up then, tongue stealing out to lick the drop of mud staining his lips. {{No more William...}} His eyes glowed hotly.

{{And you could never handle Spike, could you?}} A panther's golden eyes stared out into the night.

There. Behind those trees. One vamp, one girl.

Perfect.

He licked his lips again, tongue suddenly harsh against the elongated canines. {{Fuck you Angelus. Fuck you.}} Time to feed.

*****

"Don't worry luv, there ain't anyone around 'ere. 'Specially at this time o' night. I reckon we got a' least a couple more hours 'til we get the kiddies runnin' about." He smiled at her winningly. Fuck, this one was tasty. He could practically taste her already.

She looked at him, scratching the tip of her nose nervously. Her straightened hair appeared to be painted onto her head; the heavy afro curls cascading down from the nape of her neck further encouraged the idea of her as a painted doll. "If yer say so. I still reckon we shoulda stuck to the Thames, though. Safer there. No knowing what kinda creep you'd meet down the likes of 'ere." She thrust her hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket and tried not to shiver. God, her mother was gonna kill her if she skipped school again....

Her companion - a heavyset man that seemed to wear an inhuman amount of jewellery in his teeth - grinned back at her. {{Yeah.... no telling.}} Time to feed....

His face hadn't even begun the morphing when what seemed to be a disembodied hand came out from behind the nearest tree and grabbed his throat in a deathly grip. At the same time, another hand stole down inside his jacket and yanked out the heavy throwing knife tucked into his jeans.

The girl paled to a creamy cocoa as she stared in horror at the apparition before her. A long black coat swirled in the early morning breeze; a tall, lean body was partially hidden inside it. The hair was bleached blonde - obviously some mod from the city, or maybe a punkster still into mohawks and all that crap. That didn't trouble her. She knew self-defence - well, she'd gone to three lessons - and was fairly sure she could take down a man twice her body weight.

The trouble was, glowing yellow eyes and savage canine teeth informed her that this was no man. She turned to run.

"You run, bitch, you'll have this pretty trinket in your back," the thing hissed. Strange that he'd have an East End accent... She whimpered, her hand rising to her mouth. She bit her knuckles and closed her eyes.

She wasn't going anywhere.

That established, Spike turned his attention to the struggling fledgling in his arms. "Listen very carefully," he whispered in his ear, his grip tightening to draw blood from the vamp's throat. "I want you to do *exactly* what I say, or I'm going to leave you in a worse state than the Crystal Palace record for the last ten years. Am I making myself clear?"

The vamp shuddered. That was indeed a threat and a half - but he wasn't doing anything until he had a few things straight. Like, "who the fuck are you, you sodding tosser? We don't walk in on another's feeding here!"

Spike smiled and licked his captives neck delicately. "Um.... I'm from outta town. No finesse, no manners, us Yanks, yeah, I know what you're thinking. Lemme tell you something, mate...." he bit the licked spot gently, just enough to pierce the skin so he could have a taste. "I ain't no Yank. M' name's Spike, and I'm gonna show you why unless you do what yer fucking well told." He bit again, this time more deeply. His captive shivered at the loss. "You get me?"

"Y-yes...." {{Spike?! As in Liz and Angelus? And the whole thing with the - spikes...... oh shit....}} "What d'you want me to do?"

Spike smiled at this. {{Result!}} He released the vamp and stepped back, pulling a small handmade stake from his coat pocket. "I want yer to kill this little bitch here." He gestured with the stake. "Rip her throat open then break her neck." He hefted the knife if the girl tried to run.

Of course, she didn't. She was too busy praying to God and the saints who couldn't help her now. Rigid with fear, she made no protest as the vamp pulled her into his arms. His face shifted, eyes glowing dully in the darkness as he brought his face down to bite her. Then, she screamed at the top of her voice, standing stock still in his embrace - just screaming her prayer out.

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "Yer just want me to bite her? That's all?" He looked back at the elder vamp claiming to be the infamous Spike.

The blond smiled savagely. "Just that. I want to - watch." He folded his arms expectantly.

{{Sodding voyeur.... coulda just asked me, but noooo, he has to prance about like a bloody poof....}} He bit through the soft skin covering the girl's jugular, covering up the soft wet moan that escaped her lips with his hand. One heartbeat.... two heartbeats.... three heartbeats...... he snapped her neck. {{Now I get to go hungry....}} He whirled angrily, shoving his meal towards the vampire watching. "Here's yer bloody meal. I expect yer want to finish her off? Fine. I don't care. Just sod off and let me hunt, okay?" He turned to go, footsteps heavy in his anger.

Spike smiled slowly at the dead weight in his hands. He shifted the girl a little to free his left hand, still gripping the stake tightly. "Cheers, mate. I owe yer one."

The vampire was dusted almost before the flung stake touched him.

Spike looked down, lips parted and tongue flickering out, savouring the smell of fresh blood. {{Why didn't I think of this before?}} He wondered dimly. Sunnydale had dulled him, lulled him into a false sense of security. The moment he'd gotten into a spot of trouble, he'd ran straight to the Slayer. {{No more...}}

He dragged the girl back across the green, sitting down underneath the tree where he had consumed the earthworm. {{Lips my sire has kissed,}} he thought viciously. {{I'm not helpless.}}

Bringing the torn neck of the swiftly-cooling corpse up to his lips, he prepared to feed. Morning would be here soon, and he had to find a cinema to sleep in before the wintry sun found him. As the blood hit his tongue he sighed contentedly. {{Fuck my sire,}} he thought, and began to feed in earnest.

*****

Giles groaned quietly at the feel of icy fingers around his throat. Things were not going well....

The fingers tightened until his head span. In fact, things were going rather badly indeed. He had taken things for granted, and now look where he was - he had been used to Buffy watching his back, and had slipped up. When he turned around, she wasn't there - instead a vampire, his lips pulled back to expose yellow elongated fangs, stood snarling. After the brief moment of shock and horror - {{Dear God, where's Buffy?}} - he'd remembered that she was safely at home and hefted the stake to finish the vamp off.

By that time, of course, it was far too late.

The vampire had knocked the stake off to the side somewhere, insisted that he made the acquaintance of a headstone in a very hurried manner, and was now embracing the former Watcher. Cold hands wrapped themselves around Giles' neck, yanking back the starched collar of the shirt to bare the vulnerable throat. Giles groaned again, raising a hand to his throbbing forehead to take it away and stare, surprised, at the slick of blood he found there. {{Get away from him... fast!}} His brain instructed.

Instincts born of years of training kicked in. Giles slumped in the vampire's grasp, throwing himself fully into the embrace. The surprised vampire widened his stance, fighting to keep his balance and his meal. That was all Giles needed.

In the next instant the Englishman's knee drove up, hard, connecting with his assailant's groin to make that peculiar squelching sound that signifies grievous bodily harm. The vampire managed to pale significantly and dropped the Watcher, taking several unsteady steps backwards. His vision swam and his hands itched at his sides. His entire body crumpled into a ball involuntarily, and he had to fight just to remain standing.

Giles, for his part, fetched up hard against a nearby headstone and clung to it for support, trying to focus. The headstone seemed to be trying to rotate out of his line of sight. He grabbed it firmly, keeping it in place by sheer force of will alone. The fact that the vampire was still very much undead and right in front of him was but a hazy fact somewhere in the back of his mind. Right now, all that existed was the headstone, his blood-covered hands - and the piece of ground he would fall headfirst onto if he lost his balance.

The vampire was having similar difficulties. {{Not worth it...}} He thought, already having half-decided to leave the Watcher be and find easier prey. At that same moment something warm and heavy hit his back and made him stagger forwards a step. Long dark hair swept his cheek roughly and the scent of vanilla pervaded his nostrils. The girl.

{{I'm insane!}} Cordelia thought wildly, wrapping her arms around the vamp's throat in her best imitation of a crushing grip. {{My secretarial training didn't cover vamps!}} She wrinkled her nose in disgust as the vamp turned his head to snarl at her. "Oh, do you *all* have to have such bad breath? I mean, I get the teeth and all - although with all your robbing and mugging and pillaging you'd think you'd be able to afford an orthodontist!" She yanked a stake out of her jacket pocket and propped it against the vamp's neck. "But, come on, exactly where do you think you're going to get with breath that can knock out a rhino? I mean, let's be serious... I'm probably doing you a favour here...." She tried to slide the stake down his chest to reach his heart without letting go of his neck.

It was a mistake.

With an enraged snarl, the vamp twisted in place and snagged a hand around Cordelia's neck, pulling her off him and throwing her as far away as he could. Her long-legged alabaster form hit the wall of the nearby tombstone and lay perfectly still on the muddy ground where she had fallen. {{Stupid bitch.... I'll finish her off later.}}

All thoughts of leaving his prey abandoned, the vampire skulked quietly to where the Watcher lay, still gasping against the headstone. The blood on his brow seemed to gleam with a life of its own. {{Damn, he smells good...}}

Giles, for his part, was completely unaware of how appealing he smelled - or, to be more accurate, his blood smelled - to the approaching vampire. He was more acutely aware, however, of the fact that he couldn't seem to make his legs stay in the proper position for locomotion, or indeed anything approaching it. The feral expression on the approaching vampire's face did nothing to calm his jittery nerves. {{Think.... Think! He hit the stake out of my hand; that means it must be on the ground here somewhere...}} He groped blindly on the ground, half-hoping that he'd find his glasses instead - in whatever condition they may be in.

He found neither. As cold hands once again closed on his lapels and lifted him off the ground into a crushing embrace, Giles gave a thought as to what would happen were he to sudden disappear from Sunnydale life... he blanched at the sudden grotesque vision of endless mini-malls and shoe shops that assailed him.

And then - teeth were closing on his neck to break through his skin, and it was as if his mind was exploding behind his eyes when he felt something warm and sticky cling to his neck and slip slowly down. He shuddered, arms unconsciously wrapping around his assailant with an urgency that bordered on panic. {{Get a grip, Rupert my boy,}} his brain scolded humourlessly. {{Snap his neck or something!}} Yeah.... snap the vamp's neck... he could do that, right? If only he didn't feel so tired.... so....

He hit the ground with an audible thump, landing on his back with legs splayed in one of the least dignified positions possible to man. Gazing up at his saviour, he tried not to be too surprised. "C-Cordelia?"

Cordelia - nursing the skinned knee her fall against the stone wall had given her - hefted the stake she held and looked around the deserted cemetery threateningly. "Did you see any others appear while I was out of it, Giles? Or can we leave now?" {{My knee hurts!}} She wailed inwardly. Before, she would have immediately fallen to pieces. Now --

{{I'll be damned if I let Doyle baby me!}} She thought stubbornly, momentarily forgetting that Doyle wasn't here to do his best and charm her away.

The former Watcher coughed discreetly and pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket, running it over his wet face nervously. Ashy blood and sweat drenched the cotton and he threw it away with a small sigh of disgust. "I-I think that he was the only one... he must have been strong enough to hunt on his own."

Cordelia sighed and immediately dropped out of her mock fighter's stance. Collapsing on the grass next to the prone Englishman, she proffered him the stake and sat back, examining her nails. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, her curiosity finally got the better of her. "So? Aren't you going to ask me? Aren't you even a *little* bit curious?"

"About what?" Giles was unsuccessfully trying to push himself up on his elbows. Somehow, though, he couldn't get all the moving parts co-ordinated. With a defeated groan, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"How I managed to dust a vamp without even breaking a nail... or is that moving in on the Slayer's territory?" {{And if he starts praising that self-absorbed, poor excuse for a student *again*, I'm leaving.}} Cordelia thought, pursing her lips and dusting ash off her skirt. Something hideous caught her eye and she paled suddenly, her lips thinning to one straight line in her rage.

"Well, yes, but I'd assumed that perhaps Angel had taught you self-defence or perhaps a martial art..."

"It's ruined!" Cordelia wailed, not paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Giles opened one eye to peer suspiciously at her. "What's ruined?"

"My *skirt*! He got *blood* on it!" Cordelia pointed to a tiny speck of redness marring her short cream skirt, all thoughts of Buffy's annoyance-factor forgotten in this unimaginable catastrophe.

Giles regarded it with the cautious air he usually reserved for vampires, sp iders, and other denizens of darkness. "Um - cream soda?" He tried to be helpful. He also tried to focus his mind on something - anything - apart from the fact that a certain Ms Cordelia Chase now seemed to be trained in deadly arts. {{God help the world,}} he thought.

Cordelia looked at him like he had just suggested a ritual sacrifice. "It's *suede*!" She hissed slowly, as if to an imbecile. Dropping the wrinkled hem, she covered her face in her hands. "And it's *Gucci*!" Her plaintive wail could have woken up any other slumbering vampires in the cemetery. She bared her face to scowl at Giles threateningly. "Oh, this is such an ubersuck! Trust a stupid ordinary vamp to ruin a skirt that has survived a chaos demon! I was too merciful, staking him that easy! I should have dragged his death out.... made him beg....." Her eyes misted over in her dream of revenge. {{Made him date Buffy! The worst fate of all... no wonder Angel's so freaky....}}

Giles tapped his fingers impatiently. Or at least he presumed he tapped his fingers. From where he lay he couldn't see his hand, and somehow moving his head to a better advantage point was more difficult than he had anticipated. "Um - Cordelia.... I don't suppose we could actually leave the cemetery before the rest of the vampires return?"

She stared at him, an eyebrow on the rise. "Well, *you're* the one lying on your back, Giles. Gee, d'you think you could that's any more suggestive or gross? It's worse than Doyle." Her nose wrinkled delicately. {{And considerably less attractive! Whoa - girl, where did *that* funky thought come from? Cleanse, cleanse, cleanse!}}

Giles fought the urge to use a few choice - and thankfully culturally unrecognisable - swear words. "I'd be delighted to get up and go home. Only..."

"Yes?"

"Could you possibly help me to stand up?"

*****

"Buffy? You there?" Cordelia rapped loudly on the door then opened it anyway. Half dragging, half carrying Giles, she dumped the Watcher heavily onto the couch, carefully keeping his head still, then went to investigate. At the entrance to the large garden she paused, suddenly unsure of herself. Buffy sat at the small garden table with her back to the glass door, tapping her pencil nervously on one of the seemingly countless numbers of books piled around her. {{She looks... smaller than I remember...}} "Buffy?"

"Yes, Cordelia?" Buffy inquired without turning around. Her tone of voice could have been used to chill out Martinis.

Cordelia frowned at her back. {{Ah, Miss Personality still...}} "Giles and I are back from patrol."

The Slayer's pen-tapping increased a notch. "Really? Well, that's very kind of you to tell me, Cordy, I'll be sure to note it down somewhere." She made a short and sarcastic show of rifling through papers on her table to find something to write on.

Cordelia folded her arms over her lavender top and scowled. "Well, while you're writing things down, how about writing us a convincing injury report? I think Giles has a concussion."

There was a long silence at this, then the loud scraping of iron against stone announced the Slayer's surrender. She stood wearily and faced Cordelia, her eyes shadowed and her face bruised. She folded her arms to match Cordelia and scowled back. "Well, this is all my fault... I should have known not to let you two out on your own like that..... it's dangerous." Her eyes travelled over the bruises that seemed to cover every inch of Cordelia's body. {{How did she get those? On patrol? 'Cause she would have complained about them by now...}} Her gaze rested briefly on the skinned knee and she winced involuntarily. {{That's gotta sting...}

"Duh!" Cordelia studied her nails again. Her index finger would need re-polishing. She cast a quick glance at the Slayer, taking in the ugly bruise on her wrist and the cut just above her ankle. {{Are those still from graduation? Or is college really *that* rough?}} "I'm a Sunnydale bitch, born and bred, remember? I know all about the ooglies. They bleed all over you, then they dust all over you, and occasionally they leave really nasty hickeys - like the one Giles is sporting right now. He also made friends with a headstone, so I think you'd better call a doctor or something."

Brushing past her, Buffy stalked into the living room, almost tripping over the footstool in her effort to reach her former Watcher. "And say what? Hi, we have a problem here with a crushed skull and, oh, someone also seems to have carried off all his blood, d'you think you might give us some to replace it? Yes, I realise that this is the third time I've brought you someone with half their blood missing, and that I have a rather lengthy police record, but I assure you I'm just a concerned member of the community...." She laughed humourlessly and pressed a hand against the Watcher's forehead. "Giles? Can you hear me? It's Buffy."

"Well, if *you* can't - or rather *won't* - do anything, *I'm* going to take action!" Cordelia stomped over to the phone, almost pulling it off the desk in her haste and anger. {{God, she could at least try!}}

"Buffy?" Giles stared upwards into a halo-ed face. Intellectually, he knew that that was just a trick of the light falling onto his Slayer's blonde hair - but she really did look like an angel. "Is it really - I mean," he managed to cut himself off, "are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, puzzled but touched. {{Trust Giles to worry about me when *he's* the injured one...}} Casting a worried glance to his bleeding forehead, she quickly stripped off her cardigan and, rolling it up into a ball, pressed it carefully against the wound. "Rough night, huh?"

"That's - certainly one way of putting it," the Watcher gasped. His vision swam again; he fought to stay focused. "There were a lot of - things out there tonight, Buffy. Not that many vampires, but certainly a lot of demons. But they all seemed to be hunting on their own - trying to avoid others of their kind."

"It's a miracle you ran into so many then; seeing as you had Cordy with you, they should have stayed well clear..." Buffy smiled.

Cordelia managed to scowl at the back of her head while she spoke pleasantries to the nurse on the phone. "Yes, please hurry.... he says his vision is funny, and he's very whoozy. No, he hasn't had anything to drink; he just got hit really hard. There were these muggers and... yes, I'll hold." {{Great. This is getting to be as bad as LA.!}} "Buffy!" She called out, covering the mouthpiece. "Make sure he doesn't fall asleep! Angel says that if they have a concussion they're supposed to stay awake!"

"Yes, Nurse Nightingale," Buffy muttered, quickly unbuttoning Giles' shirt. {{Oh, so Angel has been playing teacher, has he? Bastard.}} She thought, resentment bubbling up again. {{Bitch. They deserve each other.}} She poked the pale skin balefully, quickly scanning for any green areas. {{Hmmm..... well, doesn't *feel* like anything's broken...}} As if to prove her point, Giles winced and hurriedly moved to sit up and get away from her fingers. "Hey, hang on, not so fast there! You have a concussion! No moving about until the nurse comes!"

Giles cast a glance upwards. {{Indeed,}} was all he could think. "Um, Buffy.... I-I think that I'll be fine... I'll just go sort myself out and I'll be fine. Yes..." He hurriedly buttoned up his shirt again and stood heavily. Amazingly, his head *did* feel clearer, although whether that was due to the fact that his injury was the mildest that he could possibly sustain, or whether he was simply eager to get away from his Slayer in his half-clothed state was a matter of debate. {{Calm thoughts; clear mind; a nice cold shower.}}

He locked the bathroom door behind him.

*****

Cordelia sat on the couch and stared at the back of Buffy's head. The nurse had arrived, pronounced Giles alive if unsteady, told him to stay at home for a day or so, then she had left. Giles had had several Irish coffees - double liqueur, Cordelia noticed - and gone up to bed. Buffy, who seemed to have free run of Giles' apartment, had decided to stay over and 'watch' him - {{I bet *that* raised an eyebrow when she told him!}} Cordelia thought wickedly - and had made herself at home in his garden. She had resolutely sat down with all the determination of an inexperienced student, and had begun to study.

That had been three hours ago. It was now fast approaching twelve, and Buffy had yet to take a break. She had even refused to speak to Angel when he had rung to inform them of the day's progress - or lack there of. In fact, the mere mention of his name seemed to infuriate her all the more, and she buried herself in her book. Cordelia squinted; she could just about make out the title..... "Moving Beyond Boundaries: Black Women's Diaspora."

{{Huh?}} Cordelia thought. {{What's a Diaspora? And, more importantly, why is Miss Airhead studying *that*?}}

As if in answer to her question, Buffy flung the book down with considerable force and muttered something about killing Willow.

{{Ah! So Modern Lit. isn't the flyby course she'd thought it would be...}} Cordelia stood, stretched lazily, and made her way out into the garden. The air was fresh and cold with late winter's frost and she inhaled deeply, savouring the freshness. {{Gotta say *one* thing for Sunnydale... at least the air's great for your skin. No fumes or smog or cars like downtown LA. ... well, at least the slime demon population's the same.}} She sat herself down in front of Buffy and fixed her left braid with the 'evil eye'. {{C'mon , Buffy, I need a reaction here!}}

Buffy took her time in supplying one. "What are you doing?" She inquired after a sizeable pause.

"Examining your roots. I think you're beginning to show." Cordelia carefully picked up several books in front of her and dropped them carelessly by her side, clearing herself some space. She then leant on her elbows on the steel-worked table, smiling at the Slayer. {{I know why I don't like you, and I know why you don't like me. Now, admit to it with a modicum of dignity and let's get back to the slaying already!}}

Buffy seemed less than grateful for the observation. "I," she said, sounding as if she was speaking through clenched teeth, "do *not* dye my hair. I am naturally blonde."

"Of course!" Cordelia agreed heartily. "And I'm naturally this shape." She patted her flat stomach. "So, Buff," she moved on, "what are you writing? Not that I'm remotely interested, I'm just..... interested. It can't be that bad.... nothing could match the boredomage of Ms Arnold's classes." She smiled again.

Buffy picked up her essay title and read aloud, "Discuss the use of identity and memory in Toni Morrison's fiction, paying special attention to oriki and other naming forms, and post-traumatic shock syndrome." She looked up at Cordelia, her face expressionless.

The brunette smiled weakly. "Oh, okay, I was wrong. Gilesy much?"

Buffy chewed on her pen cap. "You have *no* idea. And he won't even help me with it! Says modern female black writers aren't really his 'forte'," she scowled. "What's a forte, anyway?"

Cordelia shrugged. "No idea. Giles speak 101 wasn't my major, remember?" She sighed dramatically. "Anyway, school's so passé. The real world doesn't need you to know any stuff like that... you just need to be able to type, to keep your mouth shut and to kick demon butt." Inwardly, she smiled. {{Ah, bitching. The fall-back position for girl-bonding...}}

"Which would pretty much put you out of the running, I take it?" Buffy raised an eyebrow.

{{Oh, for goodness' sake! I do *not* have to put up with this!}} Cordelia glared at her and stood up. "Oh, get *over* your traumas already! Live in the *now*, Buffy! I didn't steal your boyfriend, so you can stop treating me like a social leper. I wouldn't want him anyway - tall, dark and twisted is so totally not my thing." She moved to stomp off, then remembered something and turned back. "Oh - and I may not be able to type, but I *can* take care of myself, even without Superman-inspired strength. Unlike *some* of us!" {{There. That should do it. If she doesn't do the bitching, cat-fighting, ice-cream eating and "Friends"-watching thing *now*, there's no hope for her.}} She chewed on her lower lip. {{God, Buff, stop getting silently jealous; get mad and get over it!}}

With one last significant look, Cordelia stalked off.

Buffy stared at her retreating back for one speechless moment, then got back down to writing. {{Yeah, yeah, protest all you want, Miss Royal Bitch of Sunnydale... you're *so* gonna pay for Angel. You can do what you want to *me* - but you *don't*, *EVER*, try and steal my boyfriend!}}

Her fist clenched, snapping her pen cleanly in two.

*********

end