Drusilla was growing impatient. No one wanted to play - not even Miss Edith or the other pretty dollies.

Bored, she waltzed in a circle and then abruptly stopped. She tilted her head as though listening, her gaze moving toward the ceiling. A smile spread softly across her face.

"And it begins," she whispered.

~*[+]*~

Angel stood on the porch outside Buffy's house and peered through the window, trying to get a glimpse of her. He found that a preview was always best, then he could get on with business without falling in a sobbing mess at her feet.

The sight that confronted him made his head snap back in shock. He narrowed his eyes and looked again.

No, he wasn't seeing things.

Spike was sprawled on Buffy's sofa, flipping through television channels with a remote control. An unbleached, barefoot Spike wearing faded denim jeans with one knee torn out and a wrinkled red T-shirt. A half-consumed mug of blood sat on the coffee table. He showed all the outward signs of being completely at home.

Angel glanced down when he felt the windowsill crack off in his hands, and half-heartedly tried to repair the damage. When he looked back up, Spike was grinning at him through the glass.

"Hi Dad!" he mouthed, blue eyes twinkling gleefully. He actually waved.

Angel snarled, wanting to punch through the glass and knock the younger vamp out.

Spike was suddenly wrenched backward and Angel wasn't surprised to see Buffy standing behind him, her hands on her hips. What did surprise him was the complete lack of animosity she showed toward his troublesome Childe, not to mention the tender smile she gave him before waving Angel toward the front door.

"Angel," she greeted him. "Is something wrong?"

Angel frowned. "Other than that?" He gestured to the still-grinning Spike who lurked in the background. He was barely able to restrain himself from rushing in and pounding the guy senseless.

"Oh, that's not wrong. Well, it is, but..." Buffy sighed. "It's one of those long, involved, and not-especially-interesting type stories." She shot Spike a quelling glance as though he'd said something disparaging. Angel hadn't heard a thing.

Spike caught her glance and held it, widening his eyes pointedly. They stared at each other for a moment until Spike's smile tightened and became a resigned grimace. He glared at Angel and then returned to his channel surfing. He still hadn't uttered a word.

Buffy put on a happy face and stood back to invite Angel in. He hesitated and stared after Spike. "Did I miss something?"

"A chapter of that longish story I mentioned."

"Is he ... living here?"

"Yeah, kinda." She spied Angel's appalled expression. "God, not like that!"

She screwed up her nose, but a speculative gleam lit in her eyes and that worried him.

"Buffy, you realize that the last time I saw Spike, he had me tortured with hot pokers?" Angel felt compelled to point that out.

"He did?" She shrugged, not particularly concerned. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"Not sorry 'bout that, Peaches." Spike's voice came from the end of the hall where he was padding his way to the kitchen. He tapped the side of his nose. "Evil vampire, you know."

"Shut up, Fang-face," Buffy chided. She indicated the now-empty mug he held in his hand. "Rinse that before you put it in the dishwasher."

Spike saluted, smirking. "Yes, Ma'am."

Angel squinted at the mug. It had a little skeleton on it, and the words 'I'D RATHER BE DEAD...'

"Buffy?"

She dragged her eyes away from Spike as he disappeared into the kitchen. "What?"

"When did Spike become your domesticated housemate?"

"It's only temporary," she told him, leading him into the lounge. "Because of Dru." They stopped in front of the sofa and she paused to stare at the TV, noticing that the final credits for 'Passions' were rolling. She smiled indulgently, picked up the remote and flipped the set off.

"That's why I'm here, actually." Angel hunched his shoulders and gazed at her earnestly. "Cordelia had a vision."

"She did?" Buffy was suddenly distracted. She frowned in the direction of the kitchen. "How's that going for her?"

"Painfully." Angel's brow furrowed. "Buffy, I'm trying to be serious here."

"You're always serious," she said. She gritted her teeth. "Stop it!" she muttered under her breath. "He is not a Nancy boy."

Angel only heard what she said because of his enhanced hearing. "Nancy boy?" he asked.

Buffy looked at him, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget and say stuff out loud."

"Would you just explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"It's to do with some El-Pogo snake thing that Spike caught in Mexico."

"Snake thing?"

She nodded. "Like the 'flu. Only not."

"So, you're sick. And it makes you like Spike?"

Buffy laughed. "That's funny."

"And true for the most part." Spike reappeared in the doorway and lounged against the frame, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

"It is not," she protested. "I don't just like you because of the link."

"'Course you do. If it wasn't for the bloody link, you'd never have known how I felt. It softened you up."

Buffy snorted. "That's like saying the only reason you love me is because of the chip."

"Bollocks." Spike glowered at her.

"Link?" Angel asked, at a loss. "Chip?"

And love? When had that happened? He suddenly felt nauseous.

Buffy and Spike were doing their silent staring act again, but this time Angel recognized that they were communicating telepathically. They were connected. Some of what he'd picked up fell into place.

"Okay, I think I get the link part. But what's a chip got to do with anything?"

Spike peered at him curiously. "Been out of the loop a while, haven't you?" he asked. He swung back to Buffy like she'd hit him. "What?"

"Would you please talk normally, you're giving me a headache." Angel sat on the sofa and put a hand to his forehead. This was too much to take in all at once.

"That's what Giles says," Buffy noted. She remained standing, her arms folded.

Angel blinked. Giles. The vision. Cordelia.

"And we're back to why I'm here in the first place."

"What's that mate?" Judging by his tone, Spike wasn't exactly interested in the answer.

"Cordelia had a vision of Giles as a vampire." Angel paused to let the announcement sink in.

"Is that all?" Spike sneered. "Hell, I could've told you that."

Angel focused his attention on Buffy. "Giles has been turned?"

"Sorta," she hedged. She exchanged another loaded glance with the younger vamp. "And Spike ... well, he's sorta human."

"What?" Angel's voice grated from behind his clenched teeth, his fingers closing into white-knuckled fists.

"Only sorta!" Buffy hurried to clarify. "Jeez, it's not even the real deal."

"Still got the muscle power, the pesky sunlight allergy, and the liquid diet," Spike corroborated. "But hey presto! Got a beatin' heart to go with it."

Angel stilled, listening. Sure enough - there were two heartbeats. He hadn't noticed it before because they were beating in complete synchrony. One was almost an echo of the other.

"He's got your heartbeat," he told Buffy, amazement permeating his voice.

She frowned. "Huh?"

"Spike's heart has got exactly the same rhythm as yours. It's just a fraction behind."

Spike's eyebrows shot up and his head tilted a little to the side as he contemplated Angel's observation.

"And a homerun for the Soul Boy," he confirmed after a moment.

"You haven't got that back as well, have you?" Angel was suddenly apprehensive.

"Nah. You're still one-up there, mate. Although I'd like to have a bit of a chat about it later." There was something in his gaze that was close to dread.

"He thinks he's keeping a secret from me," Buffy whispered to Angel. "I let him live the delusion."

Spike growled and stalked away into the dining room.

"You're very ... close." Angel watched Spike's retreating back. He couldn't disguise his uneasiness at the situation.

"Part and parcel of the whole linky package," Buffy reported. "It's weird. But it's not like he's, you know, horrendously evil or anything."

"Buffy..."

"I know. It's Spike. People keep pointing that out." She sighed and met Angel's dark gaze. "He's different now."

"How?" Angel stood and gently brushed her hair back off her shoulders. "He's bad. He always was. It's been the one constant throughout his unlife."

Buffy pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the coffee table. She hated when he towered over her like that.

"Don't you talk to me about bad," she snapped. "I saw what you did."

Angel managed to look confused and hurt at the same time. He excelled at the expression. "What are you talking about?"

"The torture," she hissed. "The way you used to treat him."

Angel's eyes closed in resignation. "It was a long time ago. I didn't have a soul."

"Would it have made a huge difference if you did? You give that damn soul so much credit for making you good. What does it do anyway? What is it?"

"It's ... a feeling. A part of me that knows right and wrong and has a conscience."

"Spike has that."

"But he..."

"But nothing. I can feel it. I know. There isn't an argument." Buffy began pacing a little. She got a surge of affection from Spike and stopped to let it flow over her. It had an instant calming effect.

Angel noticed the change and his face grew even darker. He was definitely going to kill his errant Childe one of these days.

"What happened when he was turned?" Buffy asked suddenly and he blinked at the change of subject.

"What?"

"Spike. Turned. What happened?"

"Doesn't he remember?"

"Well, I was dead," Spike said from the doorway. "Tends to blur things up a bit."

He strolled back into the lounge and stood protectively at Buffy's shoulder. She leant against him for a second, almost taking comfort in his presence, and Angel felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He recalled how she'd pulled away from him, how she'd distanced herself. She never would have done that before.

Angel swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've got to get out of here."

"But, you haven't..." Buffy started to protest until Spike interrupted.

"Go," he said to his Sire. "No doubt we'll be havin' that chat some time soon."

Angel nodded and left as though the devil was at his heels.

Buffy frowned at the door as it slammed behind him. "Well, that was a whole stack of reuniony fun."

"He's a bit on the upset side, love. Best to let him have a brood and work it out."

"And when did you get so understanding?"

"You need to ask?"

Buffy exhaled and rubbed a tired hand over her face. "I guess not."

Spike raised his own hand. It hovered for a split second, uncertain, and then ruffled her hair companionably. "Buck up, Slayer. It didn't go so bad, considerin'."

~*[+]*~

Angel's next stop was the Magic Box.

He wanted to see for himself that Giles was coping with the whole vampire situation. And he especially wanted to ask the Watcher about Buffy and Spike.

He tapped on the front door and entered without waiting for an invitation. Public places were handy that way. The bell informed the sole occupant of his arrival.

Willow was sitting at the study table. She spotted him and bestowed him with a wide smile. "Angel, hi." She was delighted for a moment and then seemed to realize that his appearance in town had to been connected to something nasty. "Is there something wrong?"

"Is that my standard greeting now?" Angel asked.

"Oh. N-no, not really," Willow became flustered. He tended to do that to her anyway. Nice to see that some things didn't change. "It's just ... I mean, have you seen Buffy?"

"Oh yeah."

Angel thrust his hands into his coat pockets and stared at the tiled floor, still trying to rid himself of the image of Buffy and Spike looking so cozy.

"Whose idea was it that Spike should live at her house?" he asked.

"Buffy's. Giles tried to argue some, but she wouldn't back down."

Angel nodded and met Willow's curious eyes. "I don't trust him."

"Well, none of us do." Willow's brow furrowed. "E-except Buffy, I guess. I don't get it but it seems to work for her. He ... makes her happy."

"And I didn't." It wasn't a question. They both remembered the angst and utter wretchedness that defined his and Buffy's relationship.

"Hmm." Willow turned away uncomfortably and flipped a page of her book.

"Have we gotten to the awkward silence thing already?" Angel tried a smile.

"Yeah," she admitted. "U-unless you want to talk some more. I could listen or ... or maybe help. I'm good with the helping..."

"It's okay Willow, I'm not going to force you into a conversation. Is Giles around?"

"No," she blinked at him in that affected innocent way she had. "He's out checkin' on Apollyon."

"Apollyon?" Angel frowned again.

Why did that name sound familiar?

"Wanna sit?" Willow asked reluctantly. "He shouldn't be too long and I could, like, fill you in on the sitch if you want, I guess."

Angel hesitated and then joined her at the table. "First, I need to know what a 'chip' has to do with anything."

The witch stared at him blankly, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. You don't know about the chip."

"Willow..." Angel ground out, beginning to feel frustrated.

"Spike's chipped," she informed him. "He's got this little government microchip in his head that stops him hurtin' any living thing. Oh, except demons ... and plants maybe. I guess it's more like a 'can't hurt humans' thing."

"You mean he can't feed?" Angel was stunned.

"Nope. Can't feed, can't even point a gun at someone without gettin' all ... brain-zapped. It's kinda cool. I-In a totally scientific sort of way, of course."

Angel considered that. It was unthinkable really. He remembered his Childe's penchant for mayhem and gore, and the idea that he was neutered by a worthless piece of plastic...

Wait. That was Angelus talking. Spike's inability to kill was a good thing. Especially since he was now living with Buffy.

"How did he end up at Buffy's?"

"Well, um, that's sort of complicated. And probably better coming from big ol' Giles and not a defenseless witchy-type person." She smiled worriedly.

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"Oh, I know." She hurried to placate him. "It's just that ... you did before. But, but its not like I don't trust you or anything..."

"Willow," Angel leant forward slightly, his voice soft and reassuring. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Okay." She still didn't appear convinced and backed up a little.

"Are you like this with him too?"

"Who him? I mean, him who? Spike?"

"Yes Spike. He's hurt you before."

"Not really. And Buffy said he didn't mean it. If he'd really meant to hurt us we'd have been dead by now. We'd be pushin' up the daisies. Oh, plus, with the chip, it's a physical impossibility these days."

"But, you already said you didn't trust him."

"Did I?" Willow scowled. "Sounds wrong when you hear it back like that."

"So you do trust him?"

"Probably," she mused. "Haven't had a chance to try it out."

"Willow, how many times have I saved you?"

"It's different. I mean, even when Spike was bad, he wasn't nearly as bad as you were. He even helped Buffy stop you back then. Without being chipped."

"For selfish reasons."

"Everybody's motivated by selfish reasons, Angel," Willow said, being insightful. "Spike's just more up-front about it."

Angel's lips twisted ruefully.

"So, when did you get so wise?" he teased.

"I kinda grew into it." She shrugged. "It happens."

~*[+]*~

When Giles had entered the crypt, he'd had every intention of engaging the Keratos demon in conversation. It was a rare opportunity to even see one of these beasts, let alone speak to one.

Apollyon, it seemed entertained other ideas.

No sooner had he come inside and unraveled its bonds, than the demon had latched on him with its prehensile tentacles.

Giles felt decidedly ill. And not altogether ... well, together.

His semi-inherited vampiric traits had bubbled to the surface and he had a distinct urge to rip the beast's throat out. The urge was becoming positively insistent and the Keratos seemed to sense this, retreating suddenly enough to send Giles reeling backward, the tentacles disconnecting with a pop.

The Watcher gasped for breath, his eyes golden in the crypt's dim interior, ridges evident on his brow.

"Good not anger," Apollyon burbled at him.

Giles bared his fangs as a threat, stalking the demon.

Apollyon's dual tongues flicked nervously. "Control must, Slayer-guide," he soothed, even if his Kera-speak was less than compatible with the tone.

His words seemed to have some effect though, as Giles straightened and stared at him.

"Well, that was most unpleasant," he noted finally, his cultured voice at odds with his fiendish vamp countenance.

Apollyon merely canted his head and peered at him, still doubtful of the Watcher's motives. "Dark is heart," he gurgled, interpreting his earlier reading. "Rage release or forfeit Slayer."

"Excuse me?" Giles' human features slipped back into place. "Are you saying that I have to let go of my animosity or I'm going to lose Buffy?"

"Precise," the Keratos confirmed.

"She'd choose that ... damnable Spike over me?"

"Ordained," Apollyon said. "Meant."

"They're supposed to be together?" The Watcher's incredulity deepened, then he frowned. "Ordained by whom?"

Apollyon shook his massive head slowly. "Utter not."

Giles growled low in his throat and smiled at the demon's wary step back. "Rather effective when put to proper use, isn't it?" His smile disappeared. "Now," he said, softly menacing. "Can't say ... or won't?"

~*[+]*~

Buffy stared at the inside of the microwave and sighed. The appliance was adorned with splatter-patterns of varying shades, from deep red to black. The black ones had formed a sort of crust.

"Spike?"

She sent the call despite already knowing exactly where he was. The link had been progressing into new territory and they'd discovered this radar-like awareness earlier.

"What?" he grumbled. He was downstairs in the basement, having by this time converted it into his crypt-away-from-home. "I'm tryin' to get some shut-eye here, Slayer."

"Have you been experimenting with the pre-set heating menu on the microwave?"

The pang of guilt gave him away before he could even voice the denial.

"No."

"Well, okay then." Buffy smiled.

"Huh?" She'd confused him now. She had to know it was him - the blood splats were a dead giveaway.

"I said 'okay'. I'll clean up the mess myself."

"Right. You do that."

Buffy waited and began to count. "One. Two. Thr..."

Spike strode into the kitchen.

"Where's the sodding dish-cloth?"

She had it ready and slapped it into his hand. "You might need some cleanser on the caked-on bits," she advised as he set about scrubbing.

Buffy leant back against the breakfast bar and admired him as he worked.

"Don't," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Don't watch me do this." Spike straightened a little, but his head remained bowed. He fidgeted with the bottle of cleanser, staring at it fixedly.

"I'm a Master vampire, Buffy," he said, his voice serious. "Renowned, feared by my own kind. I've been around for over a century, survived wars and all. This is just..." he sighed heavily. "It's humiliating."

Buffy frowned at his back. "You're still a..."

He turned on her, angry and frustrated. "No. I'm not." His eyes blazed, bright with tears he refused to shed. "I'm a bloody joke."

Buffy's eyes welled up on his behalf, feeling all the bottled-up anguish he'd somehow been keeping away from her. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

Spike went completely still, convinced that his newly restored heartbeat was about to stop. One of the tears he'd been holding back rolled down his cheek, but he was too afraid to wipe it away in case he scared her off.

He awkwardly positioned his arms around her, returning the embrace despite having a dishrag in one hand and a bottle of cleanser in the other. He contemplated the situation for a moment and then dropped both items to the floor, repositioning his hands on Buffy's back. He rested his cheek on her hair and inhaled her scent.

Seconds and then minutes ticked by with neither one willing to break the unexpected intimacy.

Buffy murmured something against his chest, shifted back to say it aloud, but then changed her mind and used the link instead. "This is ... nice."

Spike grunted, not sure he was capable of putting together a coherent thought. He was running on instinct, logic had no place in it.

Buffy began toying with the belt-loop at the back of his jeans. Then she moved her hands up under his loose T-shirt to tickle the smooth skin of his back.

Spike jerked away like she'd thrown holy water on him. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Buffy stared at him, confused. "I just..."

"Thought you'd toss a few crumbs to the pathetic non-vamp?" His words were angry, but she could sense the hurt behind them. "I've told you about these sympathetic tendencies before, Slayer. I don't want that from you."

He stalked out into the hallway, grabbed his duster from the hook by the door, and left the house.

It was time to have that chat with Angel.

~*[+]*~

Spike wriggled his bare toes and smiled ruefully.

"Stormed out before I realized," he explained. "And I didn't want to wreck my dramatic exit by sneakin' back in, so..."

"You came all this way without your boots." Xander shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought you were nuts before." He gestured at the Magic Box's front window. "It's freezing out there."

Spike sighed. "If I weren't linked to Buffy, I wouldn't know the difference."

"Ah, the wonders of the human circulatory system," Xander mused.

Spike looked at him like he'd grown another head. Bloody idiotic...

"Do you want me to bring your boots?"

Buffy's voice resonated apologetically in his mind and he sensed her determination to come after him.

"No."

Xander frowned at him. "Are you talking to-?"

"Give a bloke a bit of space, love? Got things need ponderin'."

"...Buffy." Xander finished. He flashed Spike an oddly understanding smile and departed.

Angel and Willow entered from the basement just as the danger room door closed behind him.

"So, that's the grand tour and ... oh, Spike's here." Willow cast an anxious glance at Angel. "And, um, Xander and Anya are still out back so I'll just be..." She realized that neither vamp was paying her any attention and discreetly exited.

"Gonna thump me?" Spike asked candidly.

"I was thinking about it." Angel smiled evilly, his hands flexing. "I've given it quite a bit of thought actually. Entertained a few scenarios."

"Well, have at it then. Bear in mind, though, that if you're hurtin' me, you're hurtin' her."

"Buffy feels your pain?" Angel shook his head, defeated. "That is just..."

"Bloody weird? Should try it from this side, mate."

"I wish I could."

They stared at each other.

"So, how long?" Angel asked after a moment.

"How long what? Not bein' real specific there."

"How long, Spike?" Angel growled. He was in no mood to play games.

"Bloody forever."

The guttural admission startled the elder vampire and he gaped at his Childe, completely flabbergasted.

"Happy now, Peaches? Loved her from the second I saw her, same as you. Finally managed to lower myself to your standards. Even lower, if that's possible."

Spike began pacing back and forth, never having been able to stand still while on a roll like this. "Tried to live down to the glorious Angel mantle my whole unlife, but I can't compete with you, can I? Oh no, can't have that. Angel's better. Better at bein' evil, better at bein' good. I was always second fiddle. Even in Dru's eyes. Loony bint."

Angel frowned. It was the first time he'd ever heard Spike insult Drusilla and sincerely mean it. He normally used them as terms of endearment.

"Shut it, Slayer." Spike stopped pacing to admonish his link-partner. "Thought you'd backed up to give me a bit of room."

"Buffy can hear us?" Angel was so surprised at this point that his face lost all expression. If Spike weren't so pissed off he'd have been laughing.

"'Course she bloody hears us, you pillock." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, she can hear me. All the stuff coming from you is ... filtered through yours truly, I expect."

"So everything she gets of this conversation is tainted by your point of view."

"Somethin' like that. Right quick on the up-take aren't you?"

"I shouldn't be here," Angel said suddenly. He wandered past Spike and sat down at the study table, looking dazed.

"So why are you?" Spike pulled out his cigarettes and tucked one in the corner of his mouth. "She don't need you to be Mr. Overprotective now."

"No. Looks like she's got you for that."

"Hey, girl's endowed with Slayer-strength. I don't treat her like she's made of glass. She appreciates that." Spike patted his pockets, searching for his lighter.

"Sure she does." Angel bowed his head and caught Spike's feet in his peripheral vision. He looked back up. "Where are your boots?"

Spike gave him a cocky grin. "Under the Slayer's bed." He reeled back as though someone had struck him, his unlit cigarette dropping to the floor. "Ow! Bloody hell, it was a joke."

Angel realized that Buffy had somehow managed to reprimand Spike without actually being in the same room and he was both pleased and disconcerted by the discovery.

"Oh, now that was cute." Spike complained to Buffy, aggrieved and all but oblivious to Angel's pensive stare. "A stroke of genius, really."

Angel's countenance took on a tinge that was decidedly green. He gasped and collapsed forward onto the table, his hands pressed to his temples.

Spike finally noticed his Sire's discomfort, taking in the sickly cast beneath his already pale skin, and frowned. "Oi. You okay there?"

He'd never seen a vampire faint - the whole lack of blood-flow thing not being a major issue - but Angel appeared as though he was about to change that.

"No, he's ... fine," Spike assured Buffy via the link, squinting at the elder vamp. Her concern was passing through into him and it was an unusual sensation. He'd never previously been especially concerned about Angel's welfare. Hell, the deader his Sire was the better.

He felt the sharp sting of the Slayer's displeasure and winced. So, wishing Angel dead wasn't approved by the Buffy Summers Board of Right Stuff, he could work around that.

Angel straightened, grimaced and peered up at him. Spike was shocked to see blood-red tears in his eyes.

"I think I just got some sort of message," Angel said, his voice shaky and distant. "From Drusilla."

Xander was confused.

He'd like to say that it was an unusual position for him to be in after all these years fighting Sunnydale's rampaging evil, but he was still the one guy who was always stumbling through the dark. Things just didn't seem to collate well for him.

"So, Angel got some kind of psycho-telegram from Dru?" he asked, just to clarify, and everyone looked at him wearily.

"Yeah, we said that already." Willow frowned, but it wasn't like she hadn't been doing a whole lot of frowning anyway. "A sort of flashy-pictured mind-warpy thing. What we've got to work out is what she was trying to say."

"Good luck, Red." Spike snorted and went back to watching the Magic Box's front door. He was waiting for Buffy to arrive. "Daffy bloody woman," he muttered. "Off her bleedin' scone."

Angel looked at him, still not able to equate this Spike with the violently protective vampire who'd stayed loyal to Drusilla for a hundred years. He didn't mention the outburst, but asked something else that was troubling him.

"Where's Giles?"

"I really don't know," Willow answered. "I haven't seen him since he went to check on Apollyon. And that was, like, hours ago."

"Y-you don't think something ... happened to Mr. Giles?" Tara asked. "I mean, it's not like him to leave the store for this long without putting someone in charge."

"I'm in charge," Anya declared. "I'm the in-charge person when he's not here."

"That's great, honey," Xander assured her. "But again, what's this message thing?"

Angel sighed and shrugged tense shoulders. His eyes were puffy, closed almost into slits, and ringed by dark purple bruises. And his head ached. If this was what Cordelia had to endure with her visions, then he'd have to remember to be more sympathetic. "I'll explain it more when Buffy gets here. She's got a starring role."

"She does?" Spike swung back to stare at his Sire. "And you didn't feel the need to share that earlier? She's only comin' in on her own, Peaches. Some nasty thing could grab her on the way." He shifted a little where he sat on the counter, fighting the urge to dart out and find her.

"She can look out for herself, Spike. You told me that, remember?"

"Yeah, but..." Spike frowned and returned somewhat sulkily to his vigil.

Damn it, he hated having his own words thrown back at him like that. That Angel was right didn't count. Besides, he could feel that she was okay, and he'd know if something were happening...

Spike doubled over sharply, his newfound breath leaving his body in a whoosh. He groaned and fell forward off the counter.

"You alright, pet?" he asked breathlessly, sitting up and gingerly testing his ribs. "Still in one piece?" He nodded and then turned to the Scoobies. "Vamp in the cemetery," he reported. "No big."

"Okay, that was funny." Xander said, a huge grin splitting his face. "Here's hopin' a whole fleet of fledglings are rising tonight, 'cause I'm all for the bumbling Spike show."

"That's only gonna happen when she gets hit, Harris. You really pushin' for a round of Kick the Slayer?"

"Uh, no. I guess not." Xander became subdued and was immediately on the receiving end of a thorough Anya-hugging.

Spike watched the couple for a moment.

He was actually feeling jealous of the whelp's relationship now. Monkey-boy loved the former vengeance demon for who she was, regardless of her nefarious evil-doing past. It wasn't an issue for them. That was exactly what he wanted from the Slayer.

Acceptance.

Spike wanted acceptance - and not because of some daft accidental link either.

He sighed heavily and returned to his countertop lookout. His attention centered on the front entrance an instant before the door opened.

Buffy sauntered in, his wayward boots dangling from one hand. She didn't appear any the worse for wear after her encounter in the cemetery, the only evidence of it being the light coating of dust on her clothes.

She immediately gave a mental heads-up and tossed his footwear at him.

"Ta, pet." Spike pulled on the sturdy leather boots and began appreciatively swinging his legs, enjoying their familiar weight. His heels thumped rhythmically against the counter and he reached a grand total of three bangs before the Scoobies collectively ordered him to stop. He slipped in another for good measure, earning a scathing glare from Angel, and hopped off the counter to stand at Buffy's side.

"What's with Angel's face?" she asked him via the link, after instinctively grabbing his hand.

"Dunno, love. Personally, I've always thought his looks were overrated. That whole caveman-brow thing doesn't do it for me."

She didn't bother rolling her eyes at him, but he grinned as if she had anyway. "Dru side-effect," he told her, speaking aloud this time. "Makes me glad she didn't get into this noggin when she tried."

Buffy tilted her head, taking in Angel's injuries. "I don't know, I kinda think you'd look good in purple."

"Well, I've got a recent addition on the old ribcage that's gonna be decorative."

"Yeah," she twisted to peer at him, her brow furrowed. "That was wiggy. You got the full brunt of it, too. I haven't got a mark on me."

"Truly?" Spike feigned gratitude. "Hey, that's just dandy. So honored to be your linky punching bag, Slayer. Fancy another go?"

"Idiot," she muttered, and then turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "So, guys, what did Dru have to say for herself?"

Angel had been observing the Buffy and Spike interplay, thinking that he could be more objective now he'd had a chance to get used to the idea of their connection. Oddly enough, they seemed even closer than they had before. It was sickening. It was more than sickening. He'd felt sickened plenty of times before and this was much worse.

"It's hard to explain," he said carefully. "It was like a slideshow. The first one was Giles as a vampire. Which, by the way, was exactly how Cordy described her vision."

Buffy blinked. "You call her Cordy?"

"Slayer," Spike gave her a mental nudge. "Cheerleader girl's not the focal point here."

"Right. Vampy-Giles. Psycho-bitch. I'm on it." Buffy took a deep breath. "So, how does Dru know about Cordy's vision?" She gave the name a derisive twist, causing Spike to grit his teeth to keep from laughing.

"I'm thinking that Dru probably sent it to her," Angel offered. "Same way that she sent mine. Though Cordy-elia," he stumbled over the name, "Did say that Dru was actually in her vision."

"Stands to reason, I guess," Willow commented. "It would have been around the same time as Apollyon cranked up the screamy-fest."

"Yeah, I'll pay that, but it doesn't explain how Dru knew about the Watcher's condition in the first place," Spike remarked. "She didn't know about the Slayer 'til she tried the mystical prod n' probe on me."

"Maybe the moon told her," Buffy suggested dryly. "Or one of those stupid dolls she carts around."

"Miss Edith," Spike and Angel supplied synchronously.

"Th-they all have the same name?" Tara asked, her eyes wide. "That's just weird."

"Everything about Dru is weird," Xander explained. "She's the certified, card-carrying Queen of Insano-ville."

"Hey," Spike protested, glaring at him.

The glare rapidly lost its heat as he realized that he didn't have to jump to Drusilla's defense anymore. "No, wait. Who am I kiddin'?" He shook his head. "Lad's right."

He didn't understand how it had happened. How had he gone from worshipping the woman to thinking she'd be better off dusty?

Buffy squeezed his hand and he scowled at her. She was doing the 'Poor Sad Spike' bit again. He could feel it.

"What?" she asked, confused by his reaction.

"Don't play the dumb-blonde card now, Summers. I'm onto you."

"Oversensitive much?"

Buffy pulled her hand away from his and Spike was immediately regretful. He really was being unreasonable about the sympathy. And sorry-touchy was better than no-touchy.

He gave her a tentative smile and offered his hand back.

Buffy ignored him. "So, what came next?" she asked Angel, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"Oh, uh..." Angel was caught out by the question. He'd been watching the couple and dreaming up imaginative ways of having Spike disemboweled. "You did."

"I did what?"

Buffy began drumming her fingers against her folded arms. It was the only sign that she was annoyed, apart from the burning intensity in her eyes.

"The next thing I saw was you being tortured. I don't know by who or what, but the torturer-person felt ... familiar?"

Spike had walked away from Buffy the moment she rejected his hand and was behind the counter, randomly pulling objects off the shelves and pretending to look at them. He dropped the opaque crystal globe he'd been holding at Angel's revelation and it rolled noisily across the hard floor.

"Torture?" He felt the fear slam into him like a sledgehammer - a combination of Buffy's and his own. "Of the pointy variety? Or the not-so-pointy?"

"It was hard to tell. I got the impression of something being cut so there might have been some kind of knife involved."

"Oh, and that's so incredibly helpful," Spike jeered. "You might ask that chatty Girl Friday of yours to give you a lesson or two in vision analysis, mate."

"Whoa, calm down there Pulse Boy," Xander interjected. "Unless you and the Brood King wanna take the macho posturing outside? Some of us more mature types happen to like the productive thing, you know."

Buffy pursed her lips to keep from laughing at Angel's dumbfounded expression. Xander had never stood up to him properly before - not in an honestly unafraid way. He usually kept to bravado in the elder vampire's presence. He'd always given Spike a hard time, though. Theirs was a relationship based on mutual non-admiration. It had respected boundaries.

Spike glowered at the lot of them and stalked out the side door into the alleyway.

Bugger it. He didn't need the aggravation. Buffy was being a bitch and Angel's smug face always rubbed him the wrong way. Okay, so it was amusing to see him looking all raccoon-like with his eyes bruised, but that didn't make it any easier to be in his company.

He only made it out as far as the second dumpster before he realized that he'd never got around to bringing up the subject of his turning. Well, that sucked. He'd have to go back now, just to satisfy his curiosity.

He pivoted around to stare at the door. Buffy already knew he hadn't gone anywhere, but he was risking having the Scoobies laugh at him. Though why he was even concerned about that had him stumped.

Spike sighed. The only way he was going to find out was by swallowing the last bit of pride he had left and asking Angel about his history.

As he took a step back toward the store, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye - something trailing from the partially open dumpster. He stopped and peered at it.

A long piece of industrial-strength cable.

Was that? Nah, it couldn't be. Could it?

Spike opened the dumpster's lid. He was still dragging the rest of the cable from it as Buffy came out to join him.

"Hungry?" she asked as she reached his side, evidently no longer mad at him. "'Cause I thought you were past the foraging-in-garbage stage. We could order a pizza."

Spike triumphantly held up the other end of the cable and gestured down its length toward the accumulated coil at his feet. "Recognize this?"

Buffy blinked. "Are you adding to your rope collection, or is that -?"

"Apollyon's halter top."

"How'd it get -?" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Why am I asking when I already know that you don't know?"

"Habit," Spike suggested. "Or maybe you just love the sound of my voice."

"I do," Buffy admitted quietly and he gaped at her in surprise. "When you're not being all obnoxious. Which is hardly ever."

Spike frowned. "I'm never obnoxious," he said. "I'm a bad ass villain, a thorn in the side of life, I'm a ... I'm just..." He made a rumbling noise in his throat, a low and frustrated sound. "Sod it. I don't know what the bleedin' hell I am anymore."

He kicked the dumpster savagely, creating a huge crater in its side.

"Oh ... bloody hell. Sorry."

"Hey, it's not my dumpster. What do I care?"

Spike smiled at her, pleased that she cared enough to try and lighten his mood.

Buffy slung a companionable arm around his waist and gave him a friendly squeeze. "Besides the obnoxious thing, you can be pretty stupid sometimes, too."

"Way to be supportive, Slayer."

"No, I mean, you know that we have the link thing, but you try and ignore it. You treat it like it's not real or something. How come you can't accept my feelings like I accept yours?"

"You didn't," he said. "Not straight off. It took the tellin' of it to get it to sink in proper. Didn't feel all that real before that, did it?"

Buffy gazed up at him and was instantly lost in his eyes.

Those clear, pure blue eyes.

She had a flashback to that night in the cemetery when he'd first come back to town. The night that she'd first realized how beautiful his eyes actually were.

"It was before," she said suddenly, still staring at him.

Spike reached up to brush back a strand of her hair. "What's that?" he asked, his voice soft.

Buffy pulled back a little and searched his face. "It was definitely before. Why didn't I remember that?"

"You're gonna have to expand on that statement, love," Spike said. "Apart from the fluttery stomach and increased pulse-rate, I'm gettin' bugger all from you."

"I felt some sort of connection to you before you tried the mind-reading thing," Buffy explained. "Before the Serpiente. Before the link."

"Bollocks."

Spike wrenched away from her, he didn't want to hear this. He bent down and began looping the cable over his arm.

"Okay, now you're doing the stupid avoidy thing again. What is that?"

"Protection," Spike muttered. He stood up and indicated the roll of cable. "And this has priority now." He headed back toward the shop.

"Spike?" Buffy called his name aloud, not wanting to use the link for this.

He halted, but didn't turn around.

"I really do care about you. It's not sympathy or pity. Whatever this is - it's real."

She felt, more than saw, his spine straighten defensively. He looked back over his shoulder at her, as though gauging her sincerity then nodded once and went inside.

Buffy smiled and followed him. It takes the telling of it...

~*[+]*~

Angel peered up at his Childe as he strolled in from the alley and deposited a huge roll of cable onto the study table.

"Productive trip?" he asked sarcastically. He leant a little to one side to watch Buffy as she followed Spike in.

Spike snorted and folded his arms.

"Hey, is that -?" Willow stared at the cable as if it were a venomous snake. "It's not, is it?"

"The same," Spike said. "It was in the dumpster out back."

"Oh man, I don't like where this is going." Xander reached out to toy with a section of the cable.

"It is going Grr?" Anya demanded. "Because if it's going Grr, I'd like to know what will happen. Would I be the in-charge person on a full-time basis? And would that mean that I get more money?"

"So what's interesting about this?" Angel asked, gesturing toward the coil. "Is it significant?"

"Way significant," Buffy informed him. "It's practically dripping with significant-ness." She paused and wrinkled her nose. "I wish I hadn't used the word 'dripping' there," she said to Spike.

The younger vamp's lips quirked, but he didn't smile. That reaction or lack thereof, conveyed the situation's seriousness to Angel.

"This has to do with Giles," he said.

"And Apollyon." Spike sucked at the inside of his cheek, thinking.

There was that name again.

"Who is this guy?" Angel wondered aloud.

"Oh, he's not a guy," Willow said. "Well, technically he is, but..."

"Keratos demon," Spike supplied. He threw one arm upward. "Yay tall. Green. Scaly. Right royal pain in the..."

"He's also the reason that we're up to our necks in the deep stuff," Xander said. "Ground Zero infectiony guy." He pointed back and forth between Buffy and Spike. "The reason for the loopy type thing between the deadly duo there."

"I think I saw him," Angel disclosed. "In Dru's slideshow."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "So he's alive then?"

"Yeah," Angel drifted a moment, trying to remember. "Unless he's already lost one of his claws?"

"Nope. He was all intact the last time we saw him." Buffy rested her weight against Spike and he automatically threw an arm across her shoulders. "How does he lose it?"

"I couldn't see that part."

Angel gritted his teeth, wanting desperately to leap to his feet and forcibly split the couple apart. He was wearing his forearm stake-sheaths - one good flick of the wrist...

"Was it the same person you saw torturing me?" Buffy asked. "The familiar-type person?"

"You think its Giles," Spike said suddenly, picking up her train of thought. The arm across her shoulders flexed protectively. "Look, there's no way that the Watcher would harm you." He smiled tightly. "Now, me, on the other hand, I'd be way up there on his to do list. "

Angel shifted in his seat. All this talk of Spike and torture was getting uncomfortable. Especially since he'd actually done it before, and had recently been daydreaming of repeating the performance. Sometimes his demon was just a bit closer to the surface than he would like.

"He wouldn't hurt you either," Buffy said. "Not now. He knows I would protect you because of the link."

"Yeah, right. With the link. Without it I'd be linin' the inside of his Dust-Buster."

Buffy frowned and responded with one of his favorite retorts.

"Bollocks," she said.

"Watch your language, pet." Spike admonished. "There are kids present."

"Where?" Xander peered around the store. "Oh, you mean us."

Spike smirked at him.

"Oh God," Buffy detached herself from his side, putting on an exaggerated show of disgust. "You're so incredibly OLD!"

Spike pinched the skin of her arm and she nudged him with her hip.

"How come you can pick and punch each other like that without feeling the other's reaction?" Angel inquired.

Buffy and Spike peered at one another.

"Buggered if I know," the younger vamp replied. "Think it's got somethin' to do with the intent of it."

"Hmm," Willow contemplated the suggestion. "It probably works on the same basis as the chip does. You know, only activating when you really mean to hurt someone."

"That's how I did him damage when I wasn't here," Buffy revealed. "I tapped into his head and make him think he was gonna hurt me."

Spike glared. Then he got a speculative glint in his eye. He blinked and appeared to lose focus for a moment.

"Ooh, ow!"

Buffy jerked back and put a hand to her forehead, her eyes getting teary. She cuffed him soundly on the shoulder, pushing him away.

"Aha!" Spike chortled, ignoring both the blow and his own chip-based twinge of pain. "Works both ways!" He pointed at her triumphantly. "No more of this long-distance discipline, Slayer. Not unless you want a bit o' retribution."

Anya looked at them carefully. "You should have sex," she announced.

Everybody stared at her, shocked.

"Well, they should. I mean, there's always been this suppressed lust between them. They just ... dance around each other and avoid the subject." She seemed to suddenly realize that she was speaking to a dumbstruck audience. "What?"

"Ahn, I thought we discussed the whole 'thinking before saying stuff' thing," Xander looked mortified. And more than a little disturbed.

Angel stood up and walked out of the store.

"Think it upset the vision getting guy," Xander said. "Major clues leaving the building."

"Let him go," Spike sneered. "Don't need him."

Buffy scowled, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He tucked his thumbs in his waistband and angled his chin, determined to put in at least a token protest. He arched his eyebrow and then turned and followed his Sire.

Buffy got the message. It was his idea to go after Angel - not hers.

"'S okay," she told the others. "Spike'll bring him back."

~*[+]*~

Spike stepped out of the store and ran straight into Angel's back. He grunted and edged around to stand alongside him.

"Havin' a soulful moment?" he casually inquired. "Wanna be alone? Right then, I'll just be on me way..."

"Stay," Angel said, so quietly that Spike was glad he'd retained his vampire hearing.

"Why? So you can regale me with your stunning wit and let me know that Buffy'll never love me? News flash, Poncey, I already realize that."

"So..."

"So, what? Why bother?" Spike huffed and lit up a cigarette, staring off down the street. "I'm not like you," he said. "I don't leave the people I love. Ever. I can't."

"You left Drusilla."

"Hey, Mr. Font of Knowledge, she left me. Granted it was because of Buffy, but that's just semantics."

"You're telling me that you would have stayed."

"Would've stuck with the minx 'til she up and staked me for spoilin' one of her little tea parties or somethin'." Spike shrugged. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Angel folded his arms and stared evenly at him, his gaze not wavering once. "Tell me about Buffy."

Spike returned the gaze for a beat, then bowed his head and tossed his half-smoked cigarette onto the footpath. "What's to tell? Fell in love with the chit, got chipped and decided to hang 'round and help out."

He scuffed the tip of his boot against the ground. "That was brilliant for a time, but it didn't last. I wanted more. I wanted the whole sodding enchilada. It wasn't gonna happen, and I figured I could get over her if I left, so I bailed out to Mexico for a few months. Met up with Apollyon, got a few tips on mind readin' and had the brilliant brainstormin' idea to try it out on the Slayer. See how she felt."

Angel nodded. "And that's when the link kicked in."

"Like a bloody mule, mate." Spike shook his head. "You've no idea."

"You're not happy about it," Angel observed. That was the confusing part about this. He would have thought that Spike would be taking everything he could while he could.

Spike took on a demeanor that could only be described as guilty. He searched his Sire's face for a moment and then seemed to decide something.

"I need her to love me for who I am. Not because of some random mystical thing," he confessed. "I'm a pitiful romantic sap. Always have been."

"Yeah, I know." Angel smiled crookedly. "I used to hate you for it."

"When? Before your miraculous soul-infusion?"

"Umm. It was strange. When we turned you, you didn't just retain the memories of your former self, you kept ... I don't know, an emotional memory - a kind of moral sense or something." He laughed derisively. "I mean, it was almost like a part of your soul was still there."

"Did you say ... part of my -?" Spike stared aghast at Angel, his secondhand heartbeat pounding like the full percussion section of an orchestra, timpani drum at the forefront.

"My soul?" He stumbled away to sit on one of the wooden benches outside the store, a hand pressed against his chest. "My bloody soul. Oh God, no."

"What?" Angel demanded. "I didn't mean literally."

Buffy was suddenly at his side, the Magic Box's front door slamming behind her. "What did you do?"

"I ... nothing." Angel turned to her with his hands held up. "I didn't touch him."

"Not physically, dumb-ass," Buffy snapped. "He's hurting on the inside."

She sat alongside Spike and captured the hand he had clutched to his chest. They locked eyes for a moment then she leant forward and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. She swiveled back to Angel and the protective fierceness in her eyes surprised him.

"Soul?" she asked, her voice deceptively soft.

"Oh, you got that part." Angel tried smiling - it didn't quite come off.

"So did he, apparently," Buffy drawled.

Spike glared at his Sire. He shot to his feet and angrily shoved Angel backward. "Tell, you self-absorbed bastard," he challenged. Another shove. "Tell me what happened to make me like this."

Angel reflexively knocked the younger vamp to the ground, where he sprawled in a heap, his duster spread beneath him. The spontaneous action found him on the receiving end of Buffy's powerful right cross.

"Hey, what the -?" Angel rubbed at his smarting cheek, not understanding what all the fuss was about. Spike didn't really have a soul, did he?

Buffy confronted him, standing over Spike's prone body like a mother-bear defending her cub. Angel was startled to see a kind of electric spark in her eyes.

"You never lay a hand on us again," she announced. "Ever. Understand?"

Us? They were an us? That was new.

So was that sparkly thing in her eyes.

Buffy turned her back on him to attend to Spike, crouching at his side.

"Are you -?" she reached out and tenderly cupped his cheek.

"Right as rain, love," he laughed humorlessly. "For a bloke who just found he's most likely got a semi-soul on top of a semi-human thing and a chip that makes him useless."

"Not useless. Unique." Buffy smiled gently. "Uniquely unique, remember?"

Spike snorted and batted her hand away. "Rot," he mumbled, getting to his feet.

"Okay, just stop!" Buffy shouted in his mind. "Stop with the trying to push me away." She moved to stand directly in front of him and set a restraining hand smack dab in the middle of his chest. "I'm a part of this too, you know."

Spike's head snapped back and he watched her distrustfully, the absolute despair in his eyes tearing at her. She could sense him withdrawing into himself. He seemed to get all introspective when he was hurting the most. Not that he'd ever admit to it.

But that was also when he was at his most outwardly violent. He loved to take his suffering out on other things - demons mostly, though anything handy came a close second.

"Uh, Buffy?"

She'd actually forgotten that Angel was there. That was a first.

"Stay out of it," she warned, not even turning to look at him.

"But..."

"Spike and I need to work this out now," Buffy told him. "Or we won't be able to help Giles and Apollyon."

Angel nodded. She was right. But then, she usually was. "Okay. I'll go back inside until you're ready." He lurked for a few minutes, not sure if he really should leave.

"Angel?" Spike lifted his eyes to the older vamp - the pain in their blue depths was astonishingly alive. "Piss off."

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