Spike became more and more nervous as the elevator ascended towards the guest quarters. Buffy seemed to have forgiven his earlier actions, but he was unsure what she expected from him this time. If anything, she seemed as nervous as he was, and when they reached her room he hung back by the door, shaking himself out of his distraction and realizing that she was babbling.

"...and it's not long till daylight, and I need some rest." She looked over at him, and her gaze softened. "Come in, Spike. You don't have to hover."

He nodded and followed her in, looking out of the windows so he wouldn't have to look at the couch, the scene of his most recent shame. She seemed to sense his mood, because she followed him to the windows to stand beside him and look out at the city.

"It's so weird," she murmured. "Here I am, in L.A., standing next to one of my recently resurrected exes, in the building of an evil law firm run by another one of my exes. This definitely wasn't in the Slayer manual."

He looked at her. "There's a manual?"

She laughed. "Yup. Except that Giles figured I wasn't a manual type of girl, which I know is hard to believe. I finally got a look at the thing over the summer, when we were trying to reconstruct the Council's records." She snorted. "And I thought Giles was one for rules and regulations. I made them file it in the history section."

He grinned in return, and when she didn't object he took her hand and, cautiously, raised it to place a soft kiss on the back. He froze when she tensed up, but she didn't withdraw her hand. After a moment she moved to face him, raising her other hand to cup his cheek. He couldn't help leaning in to her warmth, closing his eyes briefly at the sensation.

"It was too soon, last time," she said softly. "I know you weren't ready, and...." Her gaze dropped. "This time, I don't know if I am. And I don't know what you're expecting, because I don't know what the rules are this time around. And you're not making it easy for me, not that you ever really made it easy for me."

"Hey," he interrupted. "No expectations. No pressure. I'd like to be here, in any way you want. And if you want to get some rest, I can wait out here and keep an ear out for Wesley's call."

She stifled a yawn. "A nap would definitely be of the good right now. But you don't have to wait out here. It's a big bed."

"Is that right?" He curled his tongue behind his teeth and raised his eyebrows. "Sure you trust me? Sure you trust yourself?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed at him. "Oh, please. I think I can manage to control myself around you." She tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him into the other room. He joined her on the bed, hesitating briefly before moving to curl himself around her with a hand on her stomach. After a moment she turned toward him slightly, tucking her head under his chin and sighing.

"Is this okay?" she asked.

He nodded. More than okay, actually. He could hear her heartbeat and smell the sweetness of her shampoo, and if he concentrated enough he could swear that he was able to detect the rush of her blood under his fingertips. "Never thought I'd be here again," he said hoarsely. "It's perfect."

She yawned again, momentarily burying her face in his shirt, and when she pulled back she tensed slightly. "What is it, Slayer?" he asked cautiously.

She wouldn't look at him. "Do you blame me?" she asked softly.

He was honestly bewildered. "For what? Can't see where you've done anything wrong."

She pulled him tighter against her, and it was a moment before she spoke again. "For leaving you there. In the Hellmouth."

"Told you to go, didn't I?" He couldn't believe she was thinking about this, after so much time. "Course I don't blame you."

She sighed. "I thought about it, after you were gone. I kept wondering whether I could have done something. If I'd been a little faster, or grabbed that thing off your neck and forced you outside." She gave a shaky laugh. "You want to know the worst part? I wondered if maybe you'd died thinking I didn't care enough to try to get you out."

"Hey now," he said quietly. "Not a chance." But she was on a roll.

"It's not like I sat around moping about it for months. In the daytime, everything made sense, and I knew you did what you had to do. But at night, I would sometimes have these dreams." Her voice was thick, and he knew she was holding back tears. "Sometimes you were there in the cave, and sometimes you were in the school basement, or in that chapel, hanging off a cross. And each time you asked me to stay with you, and I always ran away. And when I looked back you were going up in flames, or turning to dust or something. Sometimes you told me it was my fault, and sometimes you didn't say anything, and just looked at me. And then when I woke up you were really gone, and I started to wonder if I could have done something more, all those times...." She trailed off and sniffled, wiping her nose on his shirt.

"You did everything you could," he said gently. "I know what it's like to second-guess -- I did it myself plenty of times, after you...." He cleared his throat, curving his hand around her waist to pull her closer against him. "I think...I think things happened the way they were supposed to. I'm not a big believer in fate, but down there in the Hellmouth? At that moment, everything seemed so clear. I knew what I was supposed to do. And it hurt like hell, but at the same time I was at peace. For the first time in...forever, I think."

She nodded. "That's what I felt, up on the tower with Glory."

"And do you blame me for letting you jump?" She shook her head, and he continued. "There's no blame here either. I was doing what I had to do. I had to finish what I'd started, and I was glad that you were out of it. So don't go thinking on the what-ifs. Maybe it had to happen that way for us to wind up like this again."

"Maybe," she said, and fell silent for a moment. "You were...I don't know how to describe it. It's like you were seeing things that weren't there. You were standing in front of me, and it was as if half of you had already gone somewhere else. You were...glowing."

"Well, yeah. That would have been the rather fatal fire," he said, trying to lighten the mood, and she gave a sobbing laugh before hitting him in the chest. "Except that maybe I would have asked you to stay and die with me if I knew that you were going to spend the next year buried in Council records and shagging The Immortal." She was laughing outright now in between sniffles, and he joined her. After a moment she turned her wet face up to him, and her eyes shone wide and bright.

"In case I haven't told you? You're still an idiot, but I'm glad you're back."

"That right?" He focused on her mouth. "Think a little kiss is allowed, then?"

She nodded. "Oh, yeah. Kisses are definitely allowed."

He lowered his head, and her mouth was soft and warm against his. He was able to taste the salt of her tears, and she took in little snuffling breaths as he gently kissed her. When she pulled away to breathe properly he watched her lick her lips and sigh, and he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He raised his head when he sensed a change in the lighting, and opened his eyes to find the sun rising beyond the necrotempered glass. He stared at it in awe for a moment. The sight was still unusual enough that he had to repress his subconscious instinct to pull away from the light. He glanced down to find that Buffy's breathing had deepened and her eyes were half closed.

"Go to sleep," he whispered, and kissed her on the forehead. She nodded drowsily, curling up next to him, and he held her in his arms while he watched the sun come up.

 

Wesley's call came four hours later, and Buffy rolled over and blinked at the ceiling as Spike hung up the phone.

"Time to go?" she asked.

He nodded. "In a bit. We're supposed to meet in Angel's office in half an hour."

"Good. Time for a quick shower. I hate confrontations when I'm feeling grimy." She disappeared into the bathroom and he smirked at the closed door. When she came out they wandered down to Angel's office. Wesley let them in, and Spike looked around and raised his eyebrows.

"Thought we were having an intervention. Where's the victim?"

"Out," Wesley said shortly. "And I can't confirm where, but I have a feeling he'll be back here very soon. I thought it best to set the stage so that we begin with the upper hand." With that he picked up a shotgun he had placed on the desk, and Spike noticed for the first time that Gunn and Lorne were armed as well.

"Good think I always carry my weapons," he said, and held up his hands. Wesley nodded and turned to Buffy.

"Do you need anything?"

She shook her head and pulled out the dagger that she'd tucked into her jacket. "Still armed. But do you really think this is necessary?"

"We don't know," Wesley said evenly. "But I believe in this case that it's better to be safe than sorry, at least until we get some answers." He nodded at the conference room. "We'll be over here," he stated, and he and Lorne ducked behind a wall. Spike rolled his eyes.

"More cloak and dagger bullshit, is what this is." He looked over as the main office door began to open. Gunn yanked Buffy behind the opening door and gestured for Spike to duck down, but Spike merely shrugged, and used the element of surprise to catch Angel as he entered and drop him with a blow to the face. Gunn hurried to shut the door.

"That'll work," he muttered, and gripped his sword tighter as Lorne and Wesley came out from the conference room to join them in surrounding Angel.

"You might want to stay down," Spike threatened.

"Or what?" Angel rose to his feet fluidly. "Careful. You don't want to get yourselves hurt."

"We know what you've been doing," Gunn snarled. "Giving up the baby to the Fell Brethren, working for Senator Bitch, trying to take out Drogyn to cover up what you did to Fred. And for what? To get in bed with the Circle of the Black Thorn?"

In the end it came down to a fight, as Spike suspected it would. He hadn't anticipated that, even with Buffy's help, it would end with Angel's arm around Lorne's neck. He was confused when Angel pulled a crystal out of his coat.

"Let's finish this," Angel said. "Involvere."

There was a flash of light, and as Spike blinked he saw Angel release Lorne. "All right. We have six minutes."

Spike exchanged a glance with Buffy. "Till what?"

"The glamour collapses," Angel explained. "As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, we're still at each other's throats."

Wesley looked unimpressed. "Aren't we?" he asked cooly.

Angel was beginning to look flustered. It was the first crack in his armor that Spike had seen in days. "Look, we don't have a lot of time here, so I'm gonna have to make this short. Everything you think you know, everything you've heard, is a lie." He looked around the room as if for support, but Spike could see nothing but skepticism in the faces around him.

"Why should we believe you?" Buffy asked.

"Because I'm the one who told it." He glanced at Wesley. "Read any good books lately?"

Wesley looked startled. "You sent us the message?"

Angel nodded. "And the assassin to kill Drogyn. I told him just enough to lead Drogyn to think I played a part in resurrecting Illyria. The Black Thorn needed to believe my own people didn't trust me anymore. Including you." He looked over at Buffy. "I'm sorry about what I said. It was the only way to gain their confidence."

Gunn squinted at him. "So, all that power tilts the scales crap...?"

Angel began to pace. "It's true. We are weak. The powerful control everything...except our will to choose. Look, Lindsey's a pathetic halfwit, but he was right about one thing. Heroes don't accept the way the world is. The Senior Partners may be eternal, but we can make their existence painful. We're in a machine, and the Black Thorn runs it. That machine's going to be here long after our bodies are dust, but we can bring their gears to a grinding halt, even if it's just for a moment."

Wesley nodded slowly. "You want to take them on."

"About time we got our hands dirty," Spike muttered.

Angel wheeled around. "Let's be clear," he said firmly. "We do this, the Senior Partners will rain their full wrath. They'll make an example of us. I'm talking full-on hell, not the basic fire-and-brimstone kind we're used to." He turned to Buffy. "And that's why you have to leave."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me? You don't get to tell me what I do. Is this some idiotic excuse to try to protect me?"

Angel glanced quickly at the clock on the wall. "I'm asking you to do what you asked of me: hold the second front. In all likelihood this is going to end badly for all of us, and the Senior Partners might not be interested in stopping once they finish with us."

"But if I'd known earlier, we could have helped," she protested. "The Council has resources...."

"I couldn't risk them knowing," Angel interrupted. "Look, I'm almost out of time. You want to help? This is the way. Use those resources to keep fighting the good fight. You're the only one who can do that." She nodded slowly, and Angel looked around at the rest of them. "Power endures. We can't bring down the Senior Partners, but for one bright, shining moment, we can show them that they don't own us. You need to decide for yourselves if that's worth dying for. I can't order you to do this. I can't do it without you. So we'll vote. As a team. Think about what I'm asking you to do." He glanced at Spike. "Think about what I'm asking you to give."

Spike looked over at Buffy, her face pale and eyes bright, and for a moment time stood still. He had the chance to have it all, both the girl and the mission. He could see a vision of himself going on with Buffy to continue the fight. If he stayed...it would be an almost hopeless endeavor, wouldn't it? And couldn't he do more good, in the long run, by choosing the smart battles? He saw himself at Buffy's side, fighting her, loving her, living out the years with her, doing his bit for the forces of good. And he wanted it, he wanted it so badly he could taste it. His previous doubts were gone; he knew he loved her still, and this was his chance to do it right this time. Time to take off the amulet and follow her out of the hellmouth. Hadn't he done enough already?

Once upon a time he would have made the decision in a heartbeat, but he found himself frozen. His conscience was screaming at him for even considering taking the easy way out, the bloody useless thing. You know what you have to do. You have to finish what you started. His insides twisted, and he wanted to scream to the heavens at the unfairness of it all. He'd been given a second chance at life, at love. Why should he give that up for what was sure to be a quick and ultimately meaningless death? The clarity of purpose he'd once experienced in the moment when he'd felt the brightness of his own soul was muted and muddled, and he writhed with indecision.

But even as he agonized, he knew what he had to do. He had to go with his gut, like always, although part of him was shrieking at himself for being a fool. Time to make a choice. Except that he'd really already made the choice, hadn't he? When Fred had died he'd chosen to stay and fight. It was simply the right thing to do, and he still marveled that he was able to come to that realization. Without even realizing it, during the last year Buffy's pride in him had translated into pride in himself, in his ability to actually do the right thing at the right time. That's right. Pretty justifications aside, you know what to do. If you don't, you know you'll end up hating yourself. Fight the fight you've been given. Setting his jaw, he closed his eyes and raised his hand.

"I'm in," he said softly.
 

They ran through the garage on their way to the sewers and back to where Illyria had been left at Spike's apartment. The news that Angel had actually killed Drogyn had spurred them into action, and Wesley in particular looked grim. When they reached the sewer entrance they ducked inside. After walking for several minutes, Buffy stopped and grabbed Spike's arm before he could follow the rest of the group.

"This is stupid," she hissed. "What does he think he's doing?"

Spike shrugged. "You heard him," he muttered. "Taking the fight to the enemy and all that. I seem to recall you did it yourself."

She flushed angrily. "That was different. We didn't have a choice. And we had an actual plan. This? Is suicide." She started pacing, ducking under a low-hanging pipe. "This is such macho bullshit."

"Can't say I'm crazy about his methods." He rolled his neck in an attempt to loosen his muscles. The news that Angel had actually killed Drogyn had left him tense and vibrating with anger.

"He's deliberately provoking these Senior Partners, or whatever they are," Buffy continued. "Why now? Is this some kind of revenge for what happened to Fred?" She kicked at some debris on the floor. "Did he even bother to think through what happens afterwards? What if I wasn't here? Who would clean up his mess? Or did he figure that, once he'd pissed them off enough, all the rest of it was out of his hands?"

"Buffy," he began, but she interrupted him.

"So, what, he's sick of playing games? Wants to just go out in a blaze of glory?" She stopped in front of him and looked him in the eye. "Is that what you want? Is that why you're doing this?"

"No," he said firmly, grabbing her arms before she could begin pacing again. He found himself calming as Buffy's temper mounted. "It's not about revenge. Look, you haven't been here this year. You haven't seen what's been happening. Fighting from within the enemy's camp sounds all very well and good, but it doesn't work all that well in practice. People change. They become corrupted." He looked down at his feet. "Sometimes they die." He stroked his thumbs down the side of her arms. "Not that Angel's corrupt, mind you, but I can see it happening. This place will change you, despite your best intentions. Road to hell and all that." She smiled slightly. "Best to deal with it now. This Black Thorn group? They're the real players around here. Taking them down would be a real blow."

She leaned into his space, resting her hands on his hips, and her voice was soft. "But does it have to be like this? The fight doesn't have to end here. You can come with me. There's still work to do." She sounded so hopeful, and he had to close his eyes and turn his head away, as the temptation to just leave the sewers and follow her became nearly overwhelming.

"I can't," he whispered. He glanced down hurriedly when he felt her tense. She was biting her lip, and he hastened to reassure her. "Buffy, it's nothing to do with you. Nothing I'd like better in the world than to be with you, but...I have to do this." He had no idea how to further explain his earlier decision, and he was afraid that it would merely seem like abandonment to her. He shrugged helplessly. "I'm not saying Angel's got a perfect plan. But for me, this is the right thing to do. I have to stay, see it through as best I can."

After a moment she nodded, resting her head against the front of his shirt. "I get it," she said, and her voice was muffled. After another pause she sniffled and gave a shaky laugh. "Fine time for you to grow a conscience. And can you blame me? Last time you decided to do the right thing like this you ended up dead. Deader." She looked up at him. "I wish I could stay and help."

He smiled. "Would be nice, no argument there."

She sighed and released him, moving to the opposite wall and hugging her arms around her torso. "I still say Angel's being a major ass, but he's right about me going. Just in case..." she trailed off and bit her lip again. "It would be good to have a backup plan, since he's apparently too lame to come up with one himself." She lifted her chin, and the steel was back in her eyes. "Remind me to kick his ass when all this is over."

He laughed at that. "That's the spirit," he said, and leered at her. "Wouldn't mind watching, that's for sure. You know what seeing you fight does to me."

She snorted. "You're a pig, Spike." He saw her glance down the tunnel where the rest of the group had disappeared. "Okay," she said briskly. "Time to do this." She grabbed him by the ears and dragged his mouth down for a quick, hard kiss, releasing him before he had time to put his arms around her. She stepped back, and held him at arms length when he tried to pull her closer. "If I don't leave now, I won't be going at all." She looked him firmly in the eye. "I'll see you later."

It wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway. "Yeah, later. I promise." He took one last long look at her before pushing her in the direction of the Wolfram & Hart garages. He blinked at the entrance to the tunnels after she had exited, and he felt again the wild temptation to chase after her, get the two of them safely out of there before the whole thing went to hell. Contrary to what she might think, he had no death wish, and he shook his head at his own stubbornness. "Great. Fine time to be all noble," he muttered. Instead of following her, he clenched his jaw, straightened his shoulders and ran off towards his apartment.

 

He'd made his decision, and Buffy had made hers. He thought it was the right choice -- it had certainly seemed so at the time, all those hours ago -- but naturally, as soon as changing his mind was no longer an option, he began to have his doubts. Spike sat at the bar nursing his beer, an untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. It wasn't his first choice for how to spend what might very well be his last day, but it wasn't like he really had a better option at this point. He'd told Wesley where he'd be, just in case they needed him before the agreed-upon meeting time. Wesley had nodded absently and gone back to tending Illyria, and Spike had disappeared out his door without a backwards glance.

Buffy was gone. He had hoped that he'd see her one last time, but when Angel had arrived at Spike's apartment he'd told him that she'd taken her bag and disappeared from Wolfram & Hart, presumably on her way back to either Rome or London. It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? His mind kept circling back to that question, and he firmly silenced it with a final swallow of beer. No use anymore in dwelling on it. He picked up the whiskey and saluted the bartender before taking a swallow. As he did, someone in the crowd pushed him from behind, shoving him into the man next to him. Spike glanced around and looked back at the bartender.

"Nice crowd," he said dryly.

The man shrugged and refilled his glass. "It can get pretty ugly in here, I gotta warn you."

Spike slammed the shot back, giving an appreciative wince at the burn of the alcohol. "What I'm after. Couple more shots of courage, and I may make my presence felt."

"Your funeral," the bartender grunted, refilling his glass one last time.

Spike gave an almost manic grin. "Well, I never had a proper one." The bartender didn't bat an eye at that, and Spike turned in his stool to face the makeshift stage. Right. Time to put some ghosts to rest.

He took his glass with him as he made his way up to the front, elbowing past the burly biker who had just exited the stage. He was just buzzed enough to take the edge off, give everything a pleasant glow, which of course disappeared as soon as he sat in front of the microphone. He gave an internal shrug. Not like this lot would see him again, after today. Taking one last sip for courage, he closed his eyes and leaned into the microphone. The room settled down into something approaching quiet as he began to speak.

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,
Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,
But soft...behold! A sunlight beam
Cutting a swath of glimmering gleam."

So far, so good. He didn't know if the crowd remained silent out of respect or out of horror, but it was too late to back out now. Taking a deep breath, he hurried a bit through the final lines before he could lose his nerve.

"My heart expands,
'Tis grown a bulge in it,
Inspired by your beauty..."

He cringed at the last word.

"...Effulgent."

For one heart-stopping moment there was complete silence. And then, before he could work up the nerve to open his eyes, he heard applause. Actual applause, a standing ovation, no less. He cracked his eyes open and looked at the crowd nodding respectfully.

"Yeah!" some random patron shouted. "That was great, man!"

He couldn't help the smug grin spreading across his face. Bloody awful poet, huh? He'd like to see the wankers who gave him the title face this particular crowd. He stood up, feet apart and chest out.

"Thank you!" he called out. "That was for Cecily. All right. This next one's called..." He trailed off as he got a closer look at one of the applauding figures.

Buffy was leaning against a pillar near the edges of the crowd, eyes sparkling, grinning from ear to ear. For a second he froze, then tried to shove the microphone back in the stand, fumbling and almost dropping it. A few eyes turned to see who he was staring at, and some of the applause began to be directed her way, some people clearly assuming she was the Cecily of the poem. Spike rushed off the stage and hurried her into a corner of the room, nodding at a few of the more vocal members of the audience.

"Slayer?"

She hadn't stopped grinning. He'd forgotten what an absolutely blinding smile she had.

"Wesley told me you were here." If possible, her smile got even wider. "Did you really write that?" She frowned. "And is 'effulgent' a real word?"

He thought briefly about lying, but just nodded his head and winced. "Yeah. And I know it was an arse job, so you don't need to say it."

She shrugged serenely. "I dropped out of my poetry class. What do I know?"

He couldn't help grinning in return, and for a moment they just stood smiling at each other like idiots. He wondered briefly why she was still in L.A., but at the moment he didn't much care. He dragged her against him, and she let out an undignified squeak before he covered her mouth with his. She moaned and opened her mouth, twisting one of her hands into his hair, and he pulled her closer. She tasted like beer and sweat, and his hands roamed freely over her back and ass. She didn't stop him, instead squirming in his arms and rubbing up against him. When she pulled back to breathe he latched on to the side of her neck, sucking hard, and she let out a guttural moan.

"Get a room, buddy!"

She leaned back, panting hard and blushing at the passerby who'd shouted at them. "What do you say?" she asked, looking up at him. "Your place, or...well, your place?"

He couldn't stop staring stupidly at her lower lip. "What? Yeah, okay." She nodded and started to walk away, and he tightened his grip on her wrist, pulling her back. "Wait, not okay. Wesley and Illyria are there."

She shrugged. "Not anymore. They were on their way out when I ran into them, looking for you." She started to walk away again, and again he yanked her back. "What now?" she asked impatiently.

The cloud of lust was starting to clear a bit from his brain. "What are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not getting any younger, clearly. Come on," she insisted, tugging on his arm. "We'll talk about it on the way."

He followed her outside and into the nearest sewer, still holding tightly to her hand as they walked briskly in the direction of his apartment. They strode along in silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke.

"I got as far as the airport. I had this plan: get to London, find Giles, plan a defense. And then I realized that what I needed was right there in front of me."

He squinted at her. "You found a weapon?"

"Of sorts." She grinned. "A pay phone. I called Giles, filled him in on everything. It turns out he wasn't too surprised, actually. He's been keeping tabs on L.A. for a while now -- I don't think he trusted Angel, especially while he was at Wolfram & Hart. He didn't know what Angel was planning, of course, but he's been making preparations in case something happened here."

Spike gaped at her and slowed to a stop. "Is he going to help, then?"

She sighed and tugged at his hand. "Keep moving, it smells in here. And yes, he's going to help -- if he can. At the very least he'll be able to get the backup ready. As far as Angel's battle?" She shrugged. "He's not sure. He said something about a group of Slayers training about forty miles away, and mentioned a witch or two nearby. But nothing for sure." She crooked a smile. "He wasn't too happy about this, let me tell you. His voice did that pinched thing he does when he gets good and pissed."

"But Buffy...shouldn't you be there?" He held up his hand in defense when she glared at him. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, because I am. But I thought you said that Angel was right that you should go."

She was silent for a moment. "I was planning on it," she said quietly. "And when I got to the airport, I realized two things. First of all, do you know how long it is to fly from L.A. to London? I'd be stuck for hours, not being able to do anything. The best thing to do was get in touch with Giles and get the ball rolling."

"And the second thing?" he prompted.

She squeezed his hand but wouldn't look at him. "The second thing is that I remembered what I am now. Or more importantly, what I'm not. I'm not the only Slayer anymore. It isn't my job to be the sole defense against evil or anything, not now." She looked up at him, and her eyes were bright. "That's what you did for me, when you died. You set me free. Not that I don't fight anymore, but I can finally choose my own battles." She squeezed his hand again. "And I'm choosing this one."

He stared at her, unable to say a word, and her face flamed under his scrutiny. "If you come up with some crap about sending me away because it's safer, I swear I'll kick you in the teeth," she said defensively. "For so many years I've felt trapped by this calling, by being the Chosen One. A year ago I'd probably have run right to Giles and started planning. But I've done the general thing before, and I don't think I'm that good at it." He couldn't help smirking, and she smiled ruefully. "I did it because I had to, because I was the only one. And now? I'm not the only one. They don't need me, not for this, and I can't tell you how good that feels."

He sighed. "I don't know what to say. Part of me wants you here, no question." He smirked at the direction her eyes took on his anatomy. "And it's not just that part, either. But, Buffy...." He forced her to stop and face him, raising his hands to cup her face. "I want you here," he whispered. "I'll always want you. No helping that. But more than that, I want you safe, and I want you happy. You're free now. No early expiration date anymore. So don't go throwing it all away." He lowered his eyes. "I couldn't bear it."

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, holding him tightly. "Spike," she whispered in return, "there are no guarantees, not about anything. And I'm not throwing anything away. I'm here to help, because this is where I'm needed. You can use an extra pair of hands more that Giles can use my organizational skills."

"Don't do this for me," he pleaded. "If that's why you're here, don't."

She fixed her eyes on him. "And if I was? You're worth it." He blinked at her in awe and shook his head. She sighed and raised her hands to his cheeks, mirroring his gesture. "I'm here because I made a choice. I respected yours, now you have to respect mine. Got it?" He nodded. "Good."

"Good," he echoed. "So let's go then, unless you'd rather stay down here." She shook her head fervently and let him lead her down the sewer. Within ten minutes they had made it back to his apartment.

Wesley and Illyria had indeed left, and a glance at the clock told him that they had over four hours until Angel had asked them to reassemble. Buffy peered into his eyes, then pushed him gently back against the door.

"Are you here with me?" she asked solemnly.

He nodded. "I am."

"Good." She hesitated slightly. "I mean, if you just want to talk, or something..." She gasped as he spun her around so her back was against the door.

"Not a chance," he said growled. "I've got you right where I want you, Slayer."

Her brilliant smile was back as she leaned into him and fixed her mouth on his neck. He gasped like a fish while she sucked on him, his fingers grasping her shoulders tightly, his erection back in full force, and when she pulled away from him she licked her lips sultrily.

"There," she said. "Now we match."

He stared at her for a moment, and her eyes widened at the look on his face before he grabbed her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She yelped in surprise as he walked across the room, and she was laughing by the time he dumped her on the bed.

"Caveman much?" she asked with a smirk, blowing her hair out of her eyes. He gave her a leer in return.

"You know it, baby." He leaned over and started to crawl up the bed towards her. She scooted away playfully and he grabbed for her and rolled her on top of him. Unfortunately, he forgot how small his bed was, and before he knew it they were tumbling over the side and crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

"Ow!" he groaned, sitting up gingerly, and he noticed Buffy's shoulders were shaking. "Slayer, you alright?" he asked in alarm.

She turned to face him, and he saw that she was laughing, an intense, silent laugh that left no room for sound or air. He raised his eyebrows and she began to laugh even harder, wheezing and gasping as she forced air into her lungs. He had no idea what was so funny, but it was so infectious that he started to laugh as well. Within a minute they were both gasping with laughter, shaking and crying with the force of it. It took a few minutes before they had calmed down enough that he could ask her.

"What...what's so funny?"

She shook her head, unable to stop smiling. "I have no idea."

He rolled his eyes in amusement and pulled her over to him, kissing her forcefully. She kissed him back passionately, still laughing as she pulled away to breathe. He couldn't stop smiling in return, and he realized that he'd never had this with her. Sure, they'd done just about every position in the book, but he'd never had this easy intimacy with her. They'd never laughed together during sex, and he found that he liked it more than anything. He ran his fingers over the crinkled skin at the corner of her eyes, and pressed kisses to her smiling lips. She was touching him in return, running her fingers through his hair and finally reaching up inside his shirt to scratch at his chest. He jerked when she hit a sensitive spot, rising to his feet and pulling her back on the bed.

"Let's try this again," he said, and she nodded breathlessly before diving back onto his mouth. In between kisses he wrestled her shirt off, and she did the same for him. He couldn't believe how warm she was as she squirmed on his lap, her chest flushed and wet where he'd run his tongue over it. He leaned back so he could watch her as he used his fingers to tug on her nipples, and she stared in his eyes as her breathing deepened. There were no voices in his head this time, no more doubts and insecurities, and his face hurt from smiling at the sheer joy of it. He rolled her onto her back and began to tug at her pants at the same time that she reached for his. Naturally they got in each other's way and started laughing all over again, and he had to stop and kiss her as a result. He laced his fingers through hers, and she arched her back and rubbed her breasts against his chest.

"Yeah, that's right," he muttered hoarsely. He moved down to take one of her breasts in his mouth, and she gasped and began rocking up against him, rubbing her thigh against his erection. He had to close his eyes and bite his lip in an effort to regain some control. Damn it. He had to stop before he made a fool of himself. He wanted to make it good for her, wanted to bury his tongue between her legs and make her come a few times, and he wouldn't be able to do that if she kept rubbing against him like that. He was trembling with the effort to control himself, and she pulled her hands free and wrapped her arms tightly around his back.

"It's okay," she soothed. "This is perfect. I want you, Spike." He kissed her gratefully, and realized that she was right. It was perfect. Not because of the surroundings, or because of any fancy moves he was using, but because she was there with him, fully and completely. In that moment he was so happy he felt like his heart would burst from his chest, and he knew exactly what it was that had caused Angel to lose his soul. Before he could think about that mood-killer any longer, she had pushed him onto his back and yanked his pants down. She tugged her own jeans off and straddled him, rubbing herself against him but not letting him penetrate her yet. He threw his head back with a groan, twisting his hips desperately and digging his fingers into her thighs. He raised his hands to massage her breasts, pinching at her nipples until she finally, finally grabbed him and lowered herself onto him.

"Oh!" she said in a high, breathy voice, slamming her eyes shut and tilting her head back. He almost came at the sight, but he managed to wrap his hands around her ribs and grind up at her as she pushed down on him. She felt indescribable. The usual words -- "hot", "wet" and "tight" -- were certainly applicable, but paled in comparison to the actual woman that moved on top of him, smiling down at him. Part of his brain was babbling in confused awe that she was even there with him, but the other part was at peace. He knew he was right where he belonged. His scattered thoughts were interrupted when she tightened around him, smiling wickedly, and in retaliation he clenched his stomach muscles and sat up suddenly.

She groaned and bit at his shoulder at the change in angle, winding her legs around his waist and her arms around his back. "That good?" he gasped, and she nodded frantically. He held her tightly against him and began to rock her -- he didn't think he'd ever been this close to her before. He reached down between them and pressed his thumb against her clit so she could rub herself on him, and she scrunched up her face and began to keen. If he didn't know better he would have thought she was in pain, but she dug her fingernails in his back and moved faster against him. And he knew the one other thing he needed to do to make this absolutely perfect.

"I love you," he said hoarsely. She had time to give him one blinding smile before her climax hit. She tightened around him almost to the point of pain, clenching her teeth, throwing her head back and stiffening her entire body, and he followed her with a load groan.

They leaned against each other when it was over. Buffy was panting hard, splayed soft, loose and wet in his lap. Spike rested his head on her shoulder and rubbed her back with arms that felt like wet noodles. He continued to rock her gently as they calmed, pressing kisses to her shoulder and the side of her neck. "I love you," he kept whispering over and over. He felt like the words had been bottled up for years, and he was almost frantic to let them out. After a few minutes she lifted her head and cupped her hands around his shoulder blades.

"I love you," she said in return, looking him in the eyes. "And you'd better believe me this time."

He nodded and leaned forward to kiss her gently. "I believe you," he whispered, and he did. She had left him with no other choice.

 

They had time to play a bit longer and shower before the rest of the group reassembled at the appointed time. Angel arrived first, and he gave a slightly sour look as he entered, sniffing the air and frowning. Spike knew the scent of them must still be heavy in the air, and he had to bite back a smug look. He figured it must be obvious even without the smell. Buffy was glowing, and he knew he was probably grinning like an idiot in return. Angel looked confused.

"Buffy? You're here."

She nodded. "Yup. Backup plans are taken care of, so I'm here to fight."

Angel hesitated, but Buffy repeated herself firmly. "I'm here to fight. And I know you can use the help."

After a moment Angel nodded. "Just please tell me I'm not early," he said.

Spike couldn't resist digging the knife in just a bit. "Why? Afraid you interrupted something?"

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy shot at him, but her voice was teasing. Angel looked profoundly uncomfortable, and more than a little tired. He let out a sigh of relief when Gunn and Lorne showed up a few minutes later, followed shortly by Illyria and Wesley. Buffy placed a couple of kitchen chairs next to the couch, and Angel waited for them all to get settled down before speaking.

Spike was grudgingly impressed at how Angel had managed to divide up the tasks, taking into account the strengths and weaknesses of the rest of the group. It appeared he had put considerable thought into this, and the thought of having a detailed plan eased the knot in his stomach a bit. Angel finally turned to him.

"Spike," he started.

"Right." Spike rose to his feet. "First off, I'm not wearing any amulets. No bracelets, broaches, beads, pendants, pins, or rings."

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Fine. All you need is a rattle."

Spike blinked in confusion for a moment before he remembered. "Ah, the baby."

Angel nodded. "And a legion of the Fell Brethren." He looked over at Buffy. "You're with him."

"Done and done," Spike replied as Buffy nodded.

"So I guess we're not going back to the office after this?" Gunn asked as they all got ready to leave.

Angel shook his head. "The alley just north of the Hyperion. Everyone who makes it meets there. If we do any damage at all, the Senior Partners are gonna rain hell on us. So be ready."

Lorne was the first to leave after pulling Angel aside quietly for a moment, followed by Gunn, Illyria and Wesley. Spike walked up to Angel as Buffy went searching for her coat.

"What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo? If we make it through this, does one of us get to be a real boy?"

Angel crossed his arms. He looked more tired than Spike had ever seen him, and he seemed to have aged ten years in the past week. "Who are you kidding?" He gave a twisted smile. "We're not gonna make it through." He glanced back at the bedroom where Buffy was digging for her coat. "I didn't want her here," he said quietly. "I want her safe."

"So do I," Spike said in a low voice. "And I'll do my best, but she's the Slayer. How about letting her watch your back?"

Angel shook his head and sighed. "Just take care of her, whatever happens. And I think, right now, the Shanshu is the least of our concerns."

Spike raised his eyebrows. "Well, as long as it's not you," he said, but Angel didn't take the bait. "Right then," he said, and walked to the door. He turned to wait for Buffy, and saw that she had taken Angel's hand and was whispering to him. He was mildly surprised that he felt no stab of jealousy, but at the moment the certainty of having Buffy's love left no room for doubts. He stepped slightly outside the door to give them more privacy, looking at the floor when he saw Buffy stand on her toes to give Angel a gentle kiss. He looked back up and tightened his shoulders as they came towards him.

Angel straightened his coat and nodded at both of them, but kept his eyes fixed on Spike. "I'm glad you're here." And he walked past them without another word, his coat swirling behind him. Buffy sighed.

"He certainly likes to make a dramatic exit," she murmured.

Spike smirked. "That he does." He took Buffy's hand and rubbed his thumb softly over the knuckles. "It's gonna be pretty bad out there," he said gently. "Last chance to back out."

Buffy shook her head, reaching up to straighten his collar. "Too late for that." She squeezed his hand and gave him a crooked smile. "Come on. Let's go be heroes."

 

The lair of the Fell Brethren was not difficult to find. It turned out to be located in a converted warehouse only ten blocks from the apartment. Spike crouched down low on the roof of the building opposite, Buffy next to him. She was squinting at the entrance.

"I see two guards," she said, pointing.

Spike nodded. "Looks the same to me. One robe for each of us -- very handy, I have to say. That'll make it easier for us to get inside."

They climbed down and, after a brief struggle, were in possession of a robe each. Spike led the way inside, falling into line behind a procession of several of the brethren. He had no idea where they were headed, but he figured it looked better than wandering aimlessly. He surreptitiously sniffed the air for the odor of human, doing his best to ignore Buffy's distinctive scent. As it turned out, luck was with him. When he passed by one of many closed doors he heard an infant's cry. Falling behind the group, he ducked into the room, Buffy close behind him.

Buffy reached into the crib and picked up the baby, giving a worried look when he started to whine quietly. "Here," she said, handing him to Spike. "I don't think he likes me."

Spike took the infant from her with an eye roll. "Scared of a baby, are we, Slayer?" He looked down at the bundle he held. "Hello, Junior, the name's Spike," he introduced himself. "And lucky for you, I'm on a strict diet." The baby quieted instantly, giving a toothless grin. Buffy gaped at him.

"How did you do that?" she whispered fiercely. Before Spike had the chance to answer, the door to the hallway reopened to show several of the Fell Brethren.

"Place the holy vessel back in the bassinet," one of them ordered, drawing a sword. Spike looked at Buffy, and as one they shrugged off their robes and leapt into the fight.

It was a short battle, and when it was over, Buffy stared at him. "You actually held the baby while you were fighting?"

Spike looked down at the baby. "What? He's fine, isn't he? And you'll notice those brothers aren't eager to hurt him. Probably the safest thing to do is keep hold of him."

They made it safely out of the warehouse after disposing of the rest of the Brethren, Spike stopping Buffy at the entrance to the nearest alley.

"Look, I'll take him to the foster family. It's a one-man job at this point. We can meet at the alley."

She nodded, looking upwards as thunder rolled threateningly. "I'll catch up with Gunn. He sounded like he might be able to use some help."

"You remember where he is?"

She nodded and ran off just as a heavy rain began to fall. Spike gave the sky a sour look. "Great," he muttered, wrapping the infant in one of the discarded robes and heading for the main thoroughfare.

It took almost an hour to make his way to the alley once he'd disposed of the baby, and he had a moment of panic when he realized that he was the only one there. He cursed himself for his stupidity in separating himself from Buffy, and he had just made up his mind to go in search of her when he saw Angel run up, bleeding from numerous cuts and carrying a large sword.

"Boo," Spike called, stepping out of the shadows.

"Anyone else?" Angel asked, looking around.

Spike shook his head. "Not so far."

"Buffy?"

"With Gunn. You feel the heat?"

Angel nodded. "It's coming."

Spike straightened himself up. "Finally got ourselves a decent brawl," he said, but was distracted by two figures entering the alley. Gunn was running towards them with a stagger, and Spike could smell the blood on him from a distance. Buffy was running slightly behind him, as if ready to catch him when he fell.

Gunn lifted his axe in salute. "Damn! How did I know the fang boys would pull through? You're lucky we're on the same side, dogs, 'cause I was on fire tonight. My game was tight." His voice trailed off and his legs gave out. He almost collapsed before Spike and Angel were able to lead him to a crate. Now that he was closer, Spike could see the numerous wounds covering his body. He seemed to be losing blood at an alarming rate. Spike gave a quick glance at Buffy.

"He was hurt before I got there," she said in a low voice. "He'd already taken care of almost all of them." She gave Gunn a measured look, warrior to warrior, and nodded in respect.

Spike studied his injuries with concern. "You're supposed to wear the red stuff on the inside, Charlie boy."

Gunn merely shook his head. "Any word on Wes?"

At that moment Illyria jumped down from the top of the chain-link fence, landing lightly on her feet. She was drenched from the rain, and she looked shaken, if it were at all possible.

"Wesley's dead," she stated flatly. Spike looked down in shock. He knew that the danger was there, but he had somehow maintained the faint hope that all of them would make it through. He hoped that the man was finally at peace. He saw a look of anguish pass over Angel's face before he was able to control his features. Buffy lowered her head. Illyria still looked shaken and confused. "I'm feeling grief for him," she said, as if surprised by the emotion. "I can't seem to control it. I wish to do more violence."

It was then that Spike noticed that a background hum that he'd taken to be nearby traffic was growing progressively louder. He turned his head to the entrance of the alley to find an enormous crowd assembled. There seemed to be countless hordes of demons of all shapes and sizes; the narrow alley prevented him from making a good estimate, but he would guess in the hundreds at the very least. He only recognized about half of the assembled creatures, and he wondered how many of them originated from another dimension. He caught sight of an enormous flying demon with scales and wings pass overhead, and he turned and watched it for a moment before focusing on the approaching crowd. He almost laughed, partly in defiance, partly in despair. For the first time, he felt like he actually had something to lose.

Gunn stood on shaky legs. "Okay. You take the thirty thousand on the left...."

"You're fading," Illyria said bluntly, but with a note of something that might be compassion in her voice. "You'll last ten minutes at best."

Gunn smiled. "Then let's make 'em memorable."

They fell into a rough line behind Angel as the hordes began to move towards them. Spike was suddenly distracted when he felt Buffy twist her fingers in his shirt and pull the collar down.

"What are you doing?"

She let him go as if satisfied. "Just checking to make sure you're amulet-free." She caught his glance, and he saw the same mixture of excitement and regret in her eyes that he was sure she was seeing from him. He wanted to kiss her one last time. He wanted to spend the next ten years telling her that he loved her. A part of him desperately wanted to pull her out of this alley, but he held his ground. She looked back at him and grabbed his right hand with her left, lacing their fingers together. His throat tightened as he recognized the gesture, and he nodded and squeezed her hand briefly before releasing it. There was no need for words. He knew exactly what she was trying to say.

The demon hordes were getting closer, and Angel had tightened his grip on his sword.

"Anything in terms of a plan?" Spike asked.

Angel didn't look away from the approaching mob. "We fight," he said tersely.

"Bit more specific?" Spike clarified sharply. The demons were almost a stone's throw away now. He saw Buffy out of the corner of her eye glancing up at the surrounding rooftops, as if expecting last-minute help to appear out of the heavens. He didn't know what old Rupert had tried to do, but it looked like he hadn't been able to come up with anything in that short a time. They were alone, five against hundreds, possibly thousands.

Angel glanced back quickly, and Spike caught a slight smile. Even with the howling mob in front of him he looked to be at peace. "Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon." The horde rushed towards them, and Angel raised his sword. "Let's go to work."

Spike felt his face burn and shift as his true features emerged. He heard Gunn yell defiantly even as he bled his life away, and watched through the pouring rain as the dragon flew overhead. He saw Angel's muscles tense under his coat, and he could smell the odors of the various demons that approached them. He threw a last, fierce smile at Buffy and saw her grin in return, and then the battle was upon him.

 

THE END