Sunnydale, CA
The Bronze

It happened so fast, that for the first time in his immortal life, Spike was helpless.

He knew this day would come. He raged against it, fought it, denied it and ignored it—but somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew she would die.

It was destined; she was the slayer.

But not that evening.

That night she was his mate, his lover—his date, as the eight of them met at the Bronze to celebrate not only Cordelia's and Xander's two year wedding anniversary, but as the last time the eight of them would be together—as friends and so much more—for Willow and Angel were leaving the next day to see the world.

There were no prophecies of doom or portends implying the end of the world—they were free to go out and have a good time as only people who faced death, destruction and evil daily, could.

It was a happy night.

No one was fighting—which in itself should've been an indicator to Spike that something was off. Xander and Angel weren't snipping at one another; marriage had softened Cordelia, so her snide comments were something of the past. Long ago, Willow and Oz had accepted their break-up and both were happy that the other was with someone that loved them. Amy, once uncomfortable as her role as lead witch in this ragtag group of 'white hats', was now in her element—at ease with not only her role in the ongoing war, but with herself as a witch and Oz's lifemate.

And of course, Willow and Buffy's relationship was still as strong as the day they realized they were best friends. Men never could interfere with a friendship as strong as theirs.

And we couldn't forget Spike and Angel. For years, Spike only managed to tolerate his sire for Willow and Buffy's sake. His anger and hatred never dimmed with the reappearance of the souled Angel—some times, it was even reinforced everytime the bloody asshole would pull some self-righteous stunt on Spike. Not even a day after Methos has left Sunnydale five years ago, Spike had Buffy do the ritual to revoke Angel's invitation into his home.

He had yet to invite Angel back over. That in itself irked the dark-haired vampire to no end. Which, until recently, only made Spike giggle with child-like glee at the thought of his ability of getting underneath Angel's skin.

But that was changing. It happened so slowly that Spike wasn't even sure when he realized that he was actually started to like the arsehole. It wasn't until Buffy pointed out—quite righteously in fact—that he and Angel actually had been joking with one another at neither one's expense, that it occurred to him that his hatred was lessening.

After a lot of thought, he realized she was right and knew immediately that he had Willow to thank for it.

As he watched her bounce in her chair that night—as if she were a little girl—as she talked of all the places she and Angel were going to visit, and observed Angel's easy grin at his love's expense, Spike swore he could see the former brooding vampire change before his eyes.

How could Angel not love her?

Willow was so much like Mike in that way. Like Mike had done with Methos and himself, Willow had taken the broken, guilt-ridden vampire and healed him with her soft heart and warm acceptance. And in the process, had somehow managed to bring out a playfulness and contentment that Spike instinctively knew hadn't been there since he had been turned. It had taken her nearly six years to do so, but somehow, Spike believed that he was finally getting to know Angelus O'Malley—the man underneath the vampire.

For years, Spike had watched, observed and studied his sire and now he finally figured the bloke out. The soul-filled, guilt-ridden Angel had so much darkness in him caused by the pain of his actions, that inadvertently he was much more like his demon counterpoint than anyone wanted to believe.

Willow single-handedly seemed to do what no being had been able to do before; exercise Angel's inner demons.

The affect was mind boggling.

Instead of the self-righteous prick that had been the bane of Spike's existence for over 200 years, there sat a vampire that could laugh, love, joke and even, Gods forbid, have fun.

Wonder's would never cease.

Spike actually liked the bloke now. Something, in all their years together, Spike never had done. Lusted after him—yes; feared him—yes; hated him—definitely. But like him? As Buffy would say, 'Get real.'

But it happened and Spike had Willow to thank for that. Just because she was herself, Spike now had a family.

If giving him his sire—the closest thing a vampire has to a father wasn't enough—there was always the gift of light she bestowed on him earlier in the week.

For five years, after finding out from Methos when he had been there, that there was a protection spell for vampires enabling them to go out during the day, Willow searched for it.

Ironically, it was an easy, small spell, that had been buried and hidden for thousands of years by an obscure sect of long dead sorcerers, because of its potential for evil. It had only taken Willow a little over a day to get all the necessary ingredients and her and Amy performed it in less than fifteen minutes, with Angel and Spike waiting nervously in front of them.

That same morning, Spike tested it by sticking his hand out the door.

When his hand didn't burn, he slowly inched out the door, with Buffy on his heels—every ready to save his life in case it failed, and together they say saw the sun.

Spike cried for the first time since Mike had left him that morning.

The spell was only good for two hours a day and worked best when the sun was low in the sky—but to Spike, it didn't matter. Two hours were like an eternity to him.

The following day, they spent the morning at the beach—watching the sun rise. They made passionate love in the sand—getting those irritating granules just about everywhere and then went on a morning swim in the ocean, washing themselves off.

Spike felt reborn that day. Closing his eyes, he could still see the sky—that deep violet that slowly turned into the most wondrous blue he had ever seen.

Buffy told him that morning that that the blue-gray-violet which had taken his breathe away, reminded her of his eyes.

All he could think of when she said that was, 'My eyes look like that?'

He still couldn't believe it.

As he leaned back and lit a cigarette, watching everyone laughing—seemingly catching Willow's good mood, he couldn't help but feel good. He was happy.

Who would've thought that William the Bloody, one of three that made up the Scourge of Europe, would ever be so content—so bloody in love and glad that he had mortal friends—that he wouldn't trade them for anything. Not him. Ten years ago, without a moment's consideration, he would've killed whoever had dared to say that to him.

He felt someone squeeze his knee and turned to Buffy. Her green eyes were filled with mirth as she slid closer to him to whisper in his ear. "Penny for your thoughts."

He leaned back and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her small, but deadly body onto his lap. She squealed in delight as he felt six pairs of eyes turn on them.

"Get a room, junior," Xander said, grinning. There was a time when he had said those same words to him, yet with anger and hatred. Now all they did was make Spike laugh.

"Are you sure about that, mate? From what I hear, you could use some pointers."

"Spike!" Buffy swatted him playfully on the chest.

Cordelia blushed.

And the most amazing thing of all, Angel laughed full-heartedly.

Which caused Spike to grope the warm woman in his arms even more— eliciting even more comments from nearly everyone at the table.

Yes, all was right with the world.

Which was why it had to go to hell so soon afterwards.

~~~~

Buffy's last squeal, caused by Spike's cool hands caressing her bare stomach, was interrupted by a eerie change of the air—much like an electrical charge. He stopped mid-grope, his eyes instantly scanning the area. Buffy's body stiffened and she pulled herself out of his grasp to stand up. Her body instantly stiffened; his lover, mate and date disappeared and the Slayer took her place as she stood on alert—battle ready.

Spike glanced over at Angel and his sire nodded as they both stood up and walked up to Buffy. Spike heard a small growl and intuitively knew that Oz had shapeshifted into his wereman form—a strange combination of both wolf and man that ironically reminded Spike of Michael Landon in the movie, I was a Teenage Werewolf. The magic in the air rose, clueing Spike in that both Willow and Amy were readying themselves to help with whatever was coming...

All this happened in less than thirty seconds.

His last thirty seconds spent with Buffy at his side was in preparation of a battle.

He had never even gotten to say good-bye.

Then out of nowhere—this huge demon materialized right in front of his lover. Buffy jumped forward, ready to fight. He and Angel were quickly on her heels—but the demon, over eight feet tall, with four sets of tentacles—reached out and scooped the slayer off the ground and threw her across the room against the brick wall before Spike could even grab her arm.

It was fast.

Faster than him.

Spike knew the sound of her breaking neck would haunt him for an eternity.

Then, behind him, he heard a soul-wrenching scream and half-way turned to see Angel collapsing onto his knees, crying out for Willow.

A bright blue light flashed in Angel's eyes--.

--then the vampires came.

A dozen of them rushed into the Bronze, grabbing anything mortal—killing those young teenagers on sight.

He heard Willow cry out and turned around to see her trying to pull herself out of Angel's grasp.

The demon that killed Buffy disappeared in a flash of white light.

Tables were turned over as Xander and Oz began tearing them apart to use the legs for stakes. Pockets were emptied of various holy items—spells were being invoked by Amy—

And Cordelia screamed, "Angel! Don't! Oh God, please don't!"

And Spike heard a laugh that had haunted him for years and would do so forever—a laugh that he thought was gone for all time.

Angelus was back.

Spike turned, stake in hand to see Angelus scoop up Willow's broken body into his arms.

Spike did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Save Willow. Dropping the stake, he flew at his sire, fangs dropped, eyes red in fury and yanked the witch out of his grasp—praying that her limbs would stay connected to her body. He didn't think she would want to live an eternity without any vital body parts.

Angelus fell back stunned at Spike's strength—and the blond vampire felt a cruel grin form on his lips.

Cordelia, surrounded by a protection spell, watched the altercation with horror. "Get the others and get out of here—my house!"

"But—but Buffy—"

He growled, his eyes flashing. "Just do it, Delia!"

She nodded once and watched Spike take off into the air—straight through the skylight and disappear into the darkness.

He heard her yell for Oz and felt a small part of himself sigh in relief. At least they'll be alright.

He didn't stop until he was at his front door.

~~~~

With the phone in his hand, he tried dialing the Summers-Giles home at least a half-dozen times before he managed to get his shaking under control enough to dial the number through its entirety. So distraught, he finally hyper focussed, ignoring everything around him—even the scent of fresh blood that drifted through the air—or the picture of Buffy's dead body slumped lifelessly against the wall—and tried preparing himself to speak to Giles.

Gods, he prayed that it was the watcher that answered the phone and not Joyce.

He couldn't handle Joyce right now—because he failed her and Buffy—by letting the slayer die.

The gods must've listened to him and Spike sent out a silent thanks as he heard the Englishman say hello.

Gods, give me strength...

"Rupert? It's Spike."

The Watcher must've known something was wrong. Was it that infamous link between the Slayer and her Watcher that clued him in? Or was it the tone of Spike's voice? Or maybe it was the pain wrenching way he uttered the man's name?

"Wh—what's wrong?"

Spike took a deep breath, his eyes staring blankly at Willow's body that laid dead on his couch. "Buffy's dead."

He heard the mortal sob quietly and sound of him sinking into a chair. "What happened?"

"A demon. A huge, piss-ass ugly thing that just appeared out of fucking thin air in the Bronze. We only had about 30 seconds warning. And it was only us that had preternatural senses that knew something was happening." His voice caught, as he saw through his mind's eye the three of them, standing side by side, waiting. "She had barely taken a step forward when one of its tentacles whipped out and snatched her into its grasp. Giles, it was so quick—I didn't even catch it moving. Not even two seconds later, she was dead.

"It threw her across the room—she hit the wall. Her—her—neck—bro—broke."

"Oh Lord."

"There's more, Giles. Gods help us, there's fucking more.

"Angel's gone."

"Dead?"

"Worse."

Silence. "Go on."

"He hurt Willow."

Spike heard Giles take a deep ragged breath. "Is she going to be alright?"

Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. His hands shook so hard, it took nearly a minute.

"No Giles, she isn't." He took a deep drag off of it, silently praying the nicotine would sooth the pain, anger and hatred in his heart. And the sorrow. The deep gut-wrenching sorrow. "She's a pre-Immortal and she died tonight. "

"How—how did you know? Or Angel for that matter?"

He blew out a lungful of smoke. "Mike told me. And Angel. Bloody hell, Giles, she actually sat Angel down and told him everything because even back then—before they were together—it was pretty bloody obviously how much in love they were.

"Giles, he tried to take her away. And I know it wasn't to play with her. He was going to take her head!"

"Oh heavenly Father," the watcher whispered, tears evident in his voice. "Are you going to call Mike or Richie?"

"Right after I get off the phone with you." Spike stabbed out the cigarette in the clean ashtray and wandered over to that blasted picture window he hated and nervously watched for his guests. They should be here by now. "And Giles, I think Dru and Morden are back. I felt something."

He turned around and leaned against the window sill and closed his eyes.

"Spike?"

"Yeah mate," he answered, his voice so tired—so utterly weary. Was it just an hour before that he was happy—groping Buffy purposely to tease Xander? An hour ago when Willow was jumping up and down in her seat, talking of how her and Angel's first stop in their travels was to be Egypt—where she and Angel could watch the sun rise over the Great Sphinx?

"We'll be right over."

"Be careful."

The vampire hit the disconnect button only to have it ring, causing him to nearly drop the bloody thing.

"What?" he growled into the receiver.

"Will?"

His knees collapsed and fell down onto the floor.

Mike.

It was Mike. Gods help him—it was Mike.

"Are you alright? Is Buffy okay?"

Blood tears ran freely down his face. No, he shook his head. He wasn't alright. He'd never be alright again.

"Where are you, luv?" he asked, his voice ragged and low.

"Seacouver."

"Can you catch the next flight down? Willow needs you." Finally a sob broke loose. "I need you."

"I'll be right down."

He closed the phone and folded his long body in half, clutching his stomach as finally succumbed to the sorrow that had been threatening to over power him. He'd done his duty. He saved Willow. Fuck everything else.

Gods, he'd never be alright again.

~~~Chapter Two~~~
by
Lisa Y. Drexel

~~~~~~~
All beginnings start with an ending
~~~~~~~

Seacouver, WA
Joe's Blues Bar
Same night

"Oh, come on, you've got to be shitting me—there's no fucking way he's still alive!" Richie said, shaking his head dramatically right after downing the last of his beer.

Javier Vachon just shrugged his shoulders coolly and tipped his head in that infuriatingly sexy way that Mike secretly believed the vampire developed hundreds of years before as a way to entice mortals into becoming his next meal. Even after all Mike and Vachon had been through, that one gesture not only caused her to squirm in her seat, but also tended to provoke a wide range of emotions beginning with feeling like a poor fly caught in a spider's web and ending with her wanting to whip out her sword and just kill herself and him and any other poor soul that got in her way.

As usual, she ended up responding just by shifting uncomfortably and ignoring the rush of heat that centered around her sex. She glanced at Richie as the Immortal poured another glass of beer from the fourth pitcher they had drunk that night. He then looked up and their eyes met and the unspoken question passed between the two: Is he bullshitting me, or not?

Mike just shrugged.

She really had no idea.

Even after all the blood sharing those two had done, Mike still only knew what the vampire wanted her to know. Who knows, maybe he was telling the truth.

Maybe.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"What do you think?"

The red-head Immortal shook his head as he scowled. "I think you're yanking my chain. I mean, Jim Morrison? That's like saying Elvis Presley really did get abducted by aliens!"

Mike eyebrows raised at that. "I never heard that. Are you serious? People actually believe that?"

Richie's eyebrows creased in irritation. "Where the hell have you been, Mike? Of course they've been saying that. Or they said that. Not anymore. Alien rumors have died down a lot in the past few years."

Mike couldn't help herself. She started giggling. It was quick, hard and uncontrollable. Remembering what she had been told by Alex Krycek, she couldn't help but wonder maybe that's why the aliens fled—pollution of the gene pool or something...

She felt Vachon's eyes on her and she glanced up, still shaking as low, chuckles rumbled out. A picture of an overweight, wasted Elvis Presley shot through her mind as he tried picking himself off the toilet stool to greet the visitors from outer space...

Another loud cackle escaped.

"Querida," Vachon admonished, desperately trying to keep his face expressionless. He was failing miserably.

"I'm sorry—" she then stopped, her laugh dying with her voice. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had ripped out a piece of her soul. She gasped loudly and shoved back her chair, tipping it over. Stumbling, she turned and ran to the restroom, not even acknowledging the woman she almost ran over or her two friends that were calling after her.

A heavy, black shroud of pain seemed to encompass her whole being as she leaned against the sink, steadying herself. Distantly, she realized that blue sparks were igniting around her, but she couldn't wrap her mind around it. All she felt was pain. And what she saw, broke her heart.

Though nothing was coherent—just a jumble of emotions and images that flashed quickly through her heart mind: Buffy —dead, Spike—devastated, Willow—dead, and Angel—Angelus.

And then she came back to herself—and promptly fainted.

~~~~

Everything hurt.

This was so not right, Mike thought to herself, idly wondering where she was.

Her brain actually ached. Her body sang in discomfort. All her senses were off the scale and so eschewed, she had no idea what was where or who.

As she lay there, she realized she was hearing voices, whispering urgently in the background.

"I felt it, Joe. It was like a mini-Quickening. Why do you think I barged in there?" Richie said, his voice laced with worry and concern.

She heard the Watcher sigh. "Richie, what you're saying is impossible. At least I think it is."

"I felt something too," Vachon interjected. "Not a Quickening though—more like a shadow of a presence—a vampiric presence."

Is that why I can hear them now? she asked herself.

The watcher sighed and Mike heard him rub his face. She knew that gesture well—Joe always did that when he was tired—emotionally tired. "So, what was it, boys? A Quickening or a vampire?" As calm as Joe Dawson's voice sounded, Mike could actually feel the frantic thumping of his heart...

Calling her...

Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and began those mental exercises that Cassandra had taught her over five years before.

Then it hit her.

The link.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, wincing as her neck screamed in agony. What the fuck is going on here?

"Mike! You're up," Joe said, as he quickly came to her side and sat down beside her.

"At least I think I am," she said as she carefully turned her head to meet his eyes. "I need a phone."

"What happened?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Were you attacked?"

"I felt a Quickening?"

"Was it a vampire?"

Ignoring both Vachon and Richie, she repeated her request for the phone.

One appeared in front of her. Dialing from memory, she called her old phone number in Sunnydale and prayed that Spike was there.

She would know if he died, wouldn't she?

On the fourth ring, he answered. "What?"

She nearly jumped back at the loudness of his growl. His pain was nearly palatable through the phone. Hell, who needed a link? she asked herself.

"Will?" A thousands questions were on her lips, but the moment he heard her voice, the link, that for the most part, that had been dormant for over six years, opened completely.

She almost fell over from the pain.

"Are you alright? Is Buffy okay?" Stupid questions, but she had to hear it verbally from him. She had to know that she wasn't crazy and this wasn't a form of Immortal madness.

She almost wished it were.

no, i'm not alright—never be alright again... "Where are you, luv?"

She felt his soul scream. Gods, how can he even speak? "Seacouver."

"Can you catch the next flight down? Willow needs you." Finally, the tears that were flooding his heart and soul, came out in a huge, pain-wracking sob. "I need you."

You don't even have to ask...oh goddess, willow...buffy...where's angel?

Silence. Just deafening pain.

"I'll be right down."

hurry, luv...please hurry...

He hung up.

For nearly a minute, she sat there on the couch, hugging the receiver, wishing it were Spike as she felt his heart splinter into countless pieces. Each emotion was loud and encompassing: abandonment, helplessness, loneliness, anger, rage, hatred, and horror.

Someone pulled the phone out of her grasp causing her to jump in response. She glanced up to see Joe holding it, worry etched across his aging face.

"Buffy was killed tonight. I saw it—through Spike—" her throat closed and she coughed, trying to find her voice. "At the Bronze—and Willow—she needs us now," she finished as she glanced at Richie, hoping that he understood.

"Not that?"

"I saw a flash of Willow. She did die tonight." Mike frowned as she tried to figure out where Angel fit into this. A part of her wanted to ask Spike—but she didn't dare until she could hold him in her arms. A broken, rage-filled vampire was not something the rest of the gang needed in Sunnydale right now. The emotions flying around his sire were so intense: love, hate, and concern. "And something happened with Angel. Something bad."

"Dust?"

She carefully shook her head, still feeling that ache in her neck. "No, something else." She absently touched the tender spot on her neck and nearly jumped at the pain. just ignore it for now she thought as she stood up and walked over to Vachon. "Can you fly me down there now?"

His eyebrows creased and Mike could tell he was trying to read her—tap into her emotions. "Fly?"

She nodded slowly.

"Mike, what's wrong with your neck?" Richie asked as he stepped up behind her and lifted her hair up. She heard a sharp intake of breath. "Holy shit—where did you get that bruise? From the sink? It should be gone by now!"

She brought her hands up in a defensive position. "Not now. We don't have time." Besides, how do I tell them that it's not my bruise—its Buffy's. And that somehow when Buffy died—I felt it physically. How do I tell them that this link included the Slayer? Or anyone else that Spike chooses to be intimate with? Or that if Spike was of sound mind right now, that he would know much more about Vachon than either vampire would ever care to?

She couldn't. It was too crazy.

So, she didn't.

"We need to go now. I'm okay and it will go away. Trust me," she said as she clasped Richie's hands into hers. "What I need from you, is for you to book a flight to Sunnydale. Right after you do that, I would like you to stop off at our hotel room and pick up some luggage that we won't be able to take with us. Just pay the extra to take it with you." She turned, still holding one of Richie's hands and silently begged the vampire. "So, will you?"

He nodded, carefully keeping the expression on his face neutral even though she could feel a whole host of emotions flying out from him. Damn vampires, she silently cursed. I don't even have any room for my own feelings...

"Good, then everything's set?"

Both of them nodded. Mike dropped Richie's hand and leaned over and gave Joe a small hug and kissed him on the cheek. "Sorry about this. Will you tell Mac when he gets in? Also, I'll call you and fill you in."

"Sure thing, Mike," he said as kissed her forehead. "Be careful. Sunnydale is—"

"Sunnydale," Mike finished for him. "I know and I will. Let's vamoose, peoples," Mike said as she took a deep breath, silently hoping her legs had the strength to actually walk somewhere. That, plus she felt her emotional control was iffy at best. She hoped that she could maintain what little hold she had on her feelings until her and Vachon were well on their way to Sunnydale.

Then she would collapse—when Vachon was already holding her tightly.

~~~~

Unfortunately Vachon had too many questions to ask to keep his silence once they were alone. Although Mike had to give him credit where it was due; he didn't lay into her until they were in their hotel room. But the moment the hotel door closed, he suddenly had her in his arms, his grip unwavering, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Querida, speak to me. I know you're not telling me everything."

"Jav—"

"Don't Mike! I know that tone. That's the 'just trust me—I don't want to get into it' tone. Tough shit. Get into it or I'm not going anywhere," he said as he dropped his arms and nearly flew to the bed, flopping down dramatically—laying on it lengthwise.

Mike sighed loudly and did the only thing she could think of—lifted the hair off her neck—offering her blood as the explanation.

"No," he said adamantly. "Not now. Too much weird shit's happening because of bloodlinks to add me and you into the mess."

"Shit, you're right," she said as she picked up her suitcase from the closet and set it on the corner of the dresser, balancing it precariously. "It's just that I don't know if I can right now. I've got so much swirling around inside of me. The link—it's open—it's wide open now. I can feel and hear everything that's going on with Spike right now. I'm also picking up some of your stuff—plus my own. I loved Buffy? How could I not?"

"That's what I don't understand." He got up off the bed and picked up his duffel bag.

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't feel a bit of her in me everytime you drank from me? Especially after a Quickening? Remember that first Quickening? He was right here—and so was she—inside me. What happened tonight was she came back—that part of her that Spike gave her when he drank from her came back to me. And that, plus his pain. That's the only logical explanation."

She began to laugh. Logically. What a fucked up term to describe bloodlinks. She turned back to the dresser and began stuffing her clothes into the suitcase, ignoring the near dozen times it nearly fell. Once she cleaned out the dresser, she went into the bathroom and began gathering their bath items. Shampoo, creme rinse, toothbrushes and toothpaste. Once her hands were full, she dumped those items into the suitcase and then quickly zipped it up.

After that, she picked up her backpack and silently thanked herself for not unpacking it and tossed it onto the bed. Vachon's duffel bag soon followed and finally he joined her on the bed among all their luggage. "Aren't you glad we didn't have a chance to really unpack?" she asked him as she turned on her side.

He nodded. "I guess I should call LaCroix and tell him, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, you should."

Minutes later he was off the phone and staring at her. "Mike, bloodlinks aren't supposed to be like this, you know? I've never had heard of anything so convoluted as you and Spike's link."

"I know. It's the demon-vamp—Immortal thing. I'm surprised no one else has ever really investigated it. It's gotta have happened before us—obviously it did or you wouldn't be here. But I feel like we're constantly swimming in uncharted waters here. Everything that happens just becomes another piece of a puzzle that's never finished." She yawned loudly. "Gods, I'm tired. Are we going to be alright? Do you think we'll make it?"

"Yeah, it will be cutting it close though. It's early—not even ten yet. It should only take us six—maybe seven hours. Like I said, it'll be close. And I may end up needing to feed from you—at least once—if not more while we're up there. You do realize that?"

She grinned. "Yeah, so much for keeping our bloodlinks straight, eh?" A feeling of sadness hit her. She glanced over at Vachon and saw a flicker of pain cross his face. "I'm sorry—what a way to end this between us. I never wanted to hurt you, you know?"

"Querida, I know that. I knew that you would always be his first and then Methos' and finally me. It was enough—because you're not just a lover to me. You're my heart. The sex was incidental. I love you in a way that only another vampire could understand. Urs and I were lovers for years—but she was my childe first and foremost. And when we weren't lovers—she still was my childe. I don't know if I'll ever bring someone else across again—but you're my childe." A blood tear slid down his face. Mike caught it and brought it to her mouth. His pain for her. His love for her. Her control finally broke as a torrent of tears ran down her face.

He wrapped his arm around her shaking body and held her close to his chest. Mike hung onto him—his cool body giving her the strength not only to let go of him, but in the coming hours, be the strong one in Sunnydale. She prayed that he understood just how important he was to her—despite the changes that were going to occur with them.

He was her teacher, her trainer, her lover and her friend.

He was her sire.

And just knowing that he would always be there for her was enough to help her stand on her own.

She just hoped he knew that.

~~~Chapter Three~~~
by
Lisa Y. Drexel

~~~~~~
Everything Changes Now
~~~~~~

Seeing a broken Spike was not something Xander ever wanted to witness.

In the eight years he had known the vampire—first as an evil witty demon, then a year later, as a souled one, he had observed Spike in his many faces: hopelessly in love, heartbroken, angry, disabled—but never broken.

The vampire that was curled up on the floor under the window was just that—broken.

And if that hadn't been enough to crack Xander's own fragile control, the broken, dead body of his best friend on the couch would surely do the trick.

Why did Spike bring Willow's body back to his house, yet leave Buffy's at the Bronze?

The Slayerette sighed and went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of bloodwine out of the refrigerator. With that in hand, he kneeled down in front of Spike and gently shook his shoulder.

"Spike."

The vampire looked up and Xander had to bite the inside of his cheek not to back away at the sight of yellow, inhuman eyes that met his. Instead, he carefully handed him the bottle of bloodwine, forcing himself not to flinch when his cool fingers touched his.

Spike took it, oblivious of the red streaks decorating his otherwise pale countenance and ripped the cork out with his fangs.

He drained the bottle in less than a minute and handed it back to Xander.

"Need another one?"

He nodded. "But no—no wine. In the back. It's labeled Spike's Special," the vampire said, his voice so low it was wavering on growling.

Xander turned and nodded to Oz to go and get and it. The werewolf disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why did you bring Willow back here?"

Spike shook his head and reached for the bottle Oz was holding. The werewolf handed it to him and then nervously glanced at Willow's form.

"Yeah Spike, why?" Oz asked quietly.

The vampire's eyes shut as he struggled to control himself. "Because she's a bloody Immortal or at least will be as soon as she revives."

Xander heard his wife suck in a deep breath. "That's why Angelus killed her," she whispered as she kneeled in front of Willow's body. "Amy, we need to clean her up."

The witch numbly nodded and reached for Willow's dead hand. "I'll meet you in the spare bedroom."

Cordelia nodded and watched as Amy transported herself and Willow out of the room.

"Oh Jesus," Oz said as he fell back into a char. "You're saying that he knew?"

Spike pulled himself off the floor and grabbed the now nearly empty bottle of fermented blood and uncaringly flopped down on the soiled couch. "Yeah, the wanker knew. Mike and Richie told him back in St. Louis when Peaches and Willow were searching for me."

"But to kill her?" Oz asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Xander snapped, feeling the horror of the evening settle on top of him. "Angelus is back and I'll bet he wants to kill anyone who has the power to bring soul-boy back. And Willow, she's a threat on two fronts. Not only does she know the curse, but her Immortality itself is a threat." He turned to Spike, his mind churning as he tried to remember Spike's words nearly six years before. "What was it you said about Mike? That you found a demon's dream come true in her? Blood freely given. Better blood than you'd ever had before and best of all, the well never dried."

The vampire nodded. "I'm sure Angelus looks at me and thinks I'm whipped. Bloody hell, I know I'm not the same vampire I was when I first came here with Dru. But my soul didn't change me near as much as being in that wheelchair and having to live with that pillock for five months."

Xander nodded sympathetically. Of all the demons and uglies that they as a group faced in the past nine years, no one instilled as much horror and terror into the group as Angelus did. Not the Judge, Acalthla, or even the Master.

Nope, Angelus had the prize in that category. And even though Xander knew why, it didn't make it any easier to deal with; Angelus knew everyone—almost intimately—and used that knowledge to instill terror and his own perverse sense of fun—causing countless nightmares to follow for years afterwards.

"Giles and Joyce are here," Oz announced softly as he opened the front door and waved them in.

Joyce stepped inside first and Xander immediately noticed that her face was still red and blotchy from crying. But, like her daughter, she still possessed a quiet, inner strength that seemed to radiate a sense of calm that affected everything around her. When Joyce was like this—Xander would find himself wanting to run over and hid behind her skirts, just like a small child would when under the protection of his mother.

That's what Joyce had—that mother lioness aura—the same one that Buffy possessed.

Giles, on the other hand, appeared devastated. Xander hoped it wasn't an indication of things to come because he really needed the Watcher to be strong.

Hell, they all needed Giles to be strong.

Joyce let go of her husband's hand as her eyes landed on Spike.

She immediately walked over and sat down across from him on the coffee table.

"Spike?"

The vampire raised his head, obviously unaware of the red streaks of dried blood tears that painted his pale, marble appearance. His face was still vamped and Xander wasn't surprised. He knew enough about vampires to suspect that Spike didn't even realize it; the pain and agony of the night was too fresh and intense for him to control his vampiric state.

"Oh Joyce," he moaned, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. It was so fast—I couldn't—I didn't even get a chance to try!"

He suddenly pushed back from her gentle touch and pulled his body over the side of the couch and went into the kitchen. Xander heard the refrigerator door open and slam shut.

He felt Giles eye's on him and turned while holding up three fingers, knowing what the Watcher was asking him; how much so far? How many until they had a drunken and devastated vampire on their hands with the only two people who could possibly control him not available.

Buffy and Mike.

But Joyce seemed undeterred as she rushed to follow him into the kitchen. Although Xander didn't follow them, he heard what she said all the same.

"Don't you dare, Spike! God damnit, quit it! Cry. Mourn. Even get mad, but don't you dare start blaming yourself for something we all knew was just a matter of time: Buffy was going to die!"

Her heard the vampire moan and suck in an unneeded ragged breath. "But not tonight. Bloody hell, she didn't have to die tonight!"

Xander couldn't help but agree with the blond vampire. Yes, they all knew that slayer's lives were on a mystical timetable—ready to end at any given moment. But that didn't mean that Xander didn't secretly believe that Buffy would beat the odds—like she had done so many other times. Her unorthodox methods had earned her added years to her shortened lifespan.

Years that he was sure everyone was hoping would turn into decades.

It just wasn't so.

Xander sighed and leaned against the bookcase that doubled as a room divider separating the kitchen from the living room and ran his hands through his hair. He was exhausted and worried about Cordelia as well as Willow and Spike. He even felt weight of Angel's loss as it settled on his heart. Like Spike, it had taken nearly the whole time since the vampire had been rescued by Willow from Hell, for Xander to begin to trust him again, and now that he had, the vampire was gone. Sure, he knew that Angel could return; they had the curse as well as Willow's Immortality—but something told Xander that Angelus wouldn't be too keen on allowing soul-boy to be on top, so to speak, and inwardly feared that Angel was gone forever this time.

God, he hoped not.

Especially for Willow's sake.

His best friend was no longer the shy, computer nerd of their childhood, but her heart was still as vulnerable as it had been when they were fifteen. And she had given Angel her heart long ago—probably before he had lost his soul the first time and now Angelus held it in his cold demon hands like a cat ready play with its food.

And if Angelus' previous actions were any indications on how vindictive and cruel he could be, Willow and the rest of them by proxy, were not in for a good time. Xander could only hope that Spike's present vampiric state, with the addition of Vachon, Mike and Richie, would be enough to be able to not only protect themselves but to somehow capture and contain Angelus.

Yeah, and my wish list isn't too big, is it? he said to himself as he watched Amy stick her head out of the bedroom door.

"Xan, get Giles. She's awake!"

He turned towards the watcher only to see the elder man rush passed him and make his way down the hallway. Xander followed, only peripherally aware of Oz right on his heels.

As he stepped into the bedroom, he saw Willow sobbing on Cordelia's chest. "Wh-what happened? Angel? Where's Angel? Where's Buffy?"

He started to move forward only to be pushed aside none-too-gently by Spike. Biting his lip against the caustic comment dying to slip out, he watched the vampire make his way over to the bed where Cordelia and Willow sat.

The vampire held out his hand for Willow and Xander watched his best friend pull herself out of Cordelia's arms and reach for it.

It was then that Xander noticed that for the first time since the craziness of the evening had begun, that his vampiric visage was gone.

"Spike? Where's Angel? Or Buffy—" she asked as she shakily stood, clasping Spike's hand so tightly that Xander noticed her fingers were turning white.

"Willow—" Cordelia began.

"Where's my clothes? What the hell is going on here?"

Spike grabbed her other hand and pulled her in front of him. She finally looked up and gasped loudly. She freed one hand and lifted it to his face, tracing the red stains caused by his blood tears. "You're crying...?" A look of horror crossed her face. "Oh my Goddess—" Her knees buckled and he caught her easily. She wrapped her arms around him and moaned into his chest. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Spike nodded, dipping his head to muffle his sob in her hair. "I'm sorry, pet."

"And Buffy?"

He just nodded again. Grimacing, he looked over her head and his eyes landed on Xander. The vampire tipped his head towards the door and Xander nodded. He then reached for Cordelia, who, once Willow pulled away from her, had got up from the bed and went over to stand next Xander. Together turned towards the door, knowing that the rest of them would follow. Everyone understood that Spike was what Willow needed now.

Within a minute, the six of them were back in the living room, silently staring at one another. Partially in shock—partially from exhaustion. Xander pulled Cordelia tightly against him and rested his hands on her abdomen, silently praying that everything was alright. He watched as Joyce spied the blood-stained couch and sigh heavily. Xander saw her control begin to wane and noticed that whatever self-induced stupor that Giles had been residing in, disappear as soon as he realized that Joyce needed him. He walked over and put his arm around her and then turned to Oz. "Oz, see if he's got any coffee or tea, will you? And Amy, can you go and get a couple of towels from the bathroom so we can cover this up?"

"Sure thing, Giles," Amy said quietly and disappeared down the hallway.

Xander moved over to one of the easy chairs and flopped down in it, pulling Cordelia down onto his lap. With his arms tightly wrapped around her, he listened to the familiar sounds of coffee of being made and tried not to think of all the things that he had lost that night.

It only made him less appreciative of things he still had.

And he was never going to make that mistake again.

~~~~

"Dead?" Willow whispered. "Really—not just almost?"

Despite everything that had happened that night, Spike almost chuckled outloud at her question. Only on the Hellmouth would such a question ever need to be asked. "Really, Will."

"Why am I not dead then?"

The vampire pulled back and sat down on the bed. He patted a spot next to him and she scrambled up and sat closely next to him, unconsciously taking comfort from his vampiric state—so like Angel's.

"Pet, you're an Immortal," he said quietly, his arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

"What? Since when?"

He shrugged. "Since always, I presume."

He glanced over at her, watching as she chewed on her bottom hip. "He knew, didn't he?"

Spike nodded. "Mike told him. That night when she first met you—at Wolf's Bane."

"Did anyone else know?"

"Not until tonight when I told them. Everyone was a bit curious as to why I grabbed an obviously dead Willow out of Angelus' arms, but left Buffy—"

"Because you knew that Buffy really died—" she stopped mid sentence as a sob escaped. "Oh Goddess, Spike, I'm so sorry."

"Oh love, there's nothing to be sorry for," he said as he wrapped his arms around her small, shaking frame. "After all the things you've done for me—I couldn't let that bloody wanker destroy you."

She lifted her head, her green eyes wide and shocked.

"Besides, I promised Mike. And believe me, it was a promise I had no problem keeping," he added softly.

She nodded slowly as she pulled herself out of his arms and rubbed her wet face.

"Immortal, eh?"

He smiled at her.

"That means I can save him, doesn't it?"

He nodded once. "Or you could curse him, then save him."

She bit her lip again and shook her head. "Nope, no more curses. There's a limit," she let out a harsh laugh. "Can you believe that? Apparently a body's not supposed to lose its soul once—much less three times. If I tried cursing him again, I'd destroy both Angel and Angelus. No, I'll have to do this the hard way.

"We'll have to do this the hard way. You're not alone with all this. You have everyone in this house ready to stand with you—to fight for you. As well as Mike, Richie and Vachon."

She turned as a small smile slipped out. "Mike's coming?"

"I talked to her tonight. She and Vachon are flying down as we speak. Richie's taking the human route and booked a seat on the first available flight."

Spike closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so drained that all he wanted to do was slither into his bedroom and crawl under the covers and hide for about a week.

"Spike?"

He looked up to see a very earnest Willow standing next to him by the bed. "She really loved you. You do realize that? I mean, just a couple of days ago, she to-told me that you—you were the love of her life—not Angel. But you."

Spike felt his undead heart clench at her words. A flame. She was my hot burning flame. "Thank you. Willow."

The redhead sighed softly as she shuffled her feet and looked downwards. "You know what the hardest part of this is? I really wish I could talk to Angel about Buffy. And Buffy about Angel. I lost both of my best friends tonight...and now, he's out there," she said as looked up and met his eyes.

Spike nodded, ironically feeling the same way. With both Buffy and Angel gone—he felt a hole in his heart that he wondered if it would ever be filled. For the first time in over 100 years, he needed Angel and the son-of-bitch wasn't there. "Bloody hell, I knew I shouldn't have trusted that bloke!"

He felt her eyes bore into his head, but he refused to look up, wanting to revel in his anger. It was easier this way. Anger was always easier than heartache.

"Spike! Angel really worked hard for that trust! Don't blame him for the demon's action. Hell, you can't even blame him for losing his soul. There was some powerful magic at work tonight," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her stomach suddenly growled loudly, causing her to jump.

"Wh—what was that?"

Spike finally looked up, chuckling softly as he shook his head. After standing up, we went over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sweat pants from one of the drawers. He tossed them over to her. "Luv, why don't you finish getting dressed and meet me in the kitchen. You need to get some food in that stomach of yours. Dying takes a lot out of you."

"Oh," she said and glanced down at her bare legs, blushing, much like the same innocent Willow that he had gotten to know so many years before. Her hands touched the hem of the extra large tee-shirt that hung down well past her mid-thigh and made a face. "Okay."

Spike grinned at her unease and opened the bedroom door to leave, only to be stopped by her voice.

"Thank you, Spike," she said so softly that if he hadn't been a vampire, he doubted if he would've heard her.

"You're welcome, pet. We'll just be out there, if you need anything."

"Okay."

Spike closed the door and took a deep, unneeded breath, preparing himself to face the rest of his friends. Gods, I wish Mike were here, he thought to himself and almost immediately he heard her reply in his mind.

We're coming, hun. Flying over Oregon as we speak...

He sent her a silent thanks and began the short trek to his living room, not at all ready to face a household full of anxious, mourning guests.

~~~Chapter Four~~~
by
Lisa Y. Drexel

~~~~~~
And so it begins...
~~~~~~

Willow barely managed to remain standing long enough for the door to close. Her knees buckled as the pain of the evening crashed down on her.

Random scenes of the night flashed through her mind: Angel and her in bed, wrapped tightly in one another's arms as each of them reveled in the wonder of their love; the pillow fight—Willow won only because she used magic, but her defense to her sputtering lover was she needed all the help she could get; dinner—Angel sipping his, Willow gorging on hers, Angel teasing her about her appetite—Willow playfully retorting that she had to keep up her strength if she wanted to keep up with him; the Bronze—as she talked of the Sphinx and the pyramids, barely able to contain her happiness and love all the while feeling her lover's eyes on her—soaking in her appearance—almost as if he was memorizing it for future reference; Cordelia's news—whispered conspiratorially to Buffy, Amy and her while the four of them went to the restroom—she was pregnant.

Willow felt a pang of remorse, knowing that she could never have children with Angel, but knew there were ways around that.

"Oh Goddess," she moaned outloud, as she pulled her legs up and hugged them tightly to her chest. As she rocked back on forth on the floor, she remembered: Immortals were infertile—she could never carry a child herself.

And then the air changed around them. Angel, Spike and Buffy stood up and Willow glanced at Amy and pointed to Cordelia. Together they wove a powerful protection spell around the former prom Queen, guaranteeing her and the life inside of her, safety.

The horrible cracking noise of Buffy's head connecting to the brick wall.

The soul-wrenching scream of Angel's.

And the evil laugh of Angelus' as he raked his claws down her chest and then punched her—damaging her heart.

The last thing Willow heard before she slipped into unconsciousness was Cordelia's scream: "Angel! Don't! Oh God, please don't!"

And then she woke up here, in Spike and Buffy's home, in a tee-shirt, with Cordelia and Amy hovering over her.

"Angel, I miss you," she whispered into the air as stared at the floor. "I miss your cool hands as they hold me and tell me everything will be alright. I miss your laugh—your gentleness—your love—and how when you're around, everything feels like it should..."

She shut her eyes, biting her bottom lip, relishing in the self-induced pain. "And Buffy—I could use some pointers, ya know? In 50 words or less, how to deal with Angelus. Gods, I'm so scared. I don't know how to use a sword. I don't want to live forever if I can't have him by me. I already feel like I lost something I'll never be able to get back—your love and loyalty and friendship. And Spike, you should see him. It's taking everything out of him just not to collapse. He's worse now than he was when Mike left. At least she was still alive—he could feel her presence if he chose to. I don't think he's ever lost anyone he's loved before—at least not as a vampire. "

Her voice drifted off, as she remembered the shaking of his body as he told her about Angel and Buffy. He's devastated, she thought to herself. And yet he came in here to help you...

Willow unwrapped her arms around stretched out on the floor, studying her long legs.

Immortal.

She bent over and studied a scar on her knee, remembering the bike accident she had when she got it; she had been with Xander and Jesse and they were going to the movies—to see the matinee showing of Rocketman. They were eleven years old and inseparable. Even then, Willow believed that with Xander and Jesse around, she was complete. Her best friends. Although she knew that it was unusual that she hadn't any girlfriends like Cordelia or Amy had, she didn't care. Jesse and Xander were all she ever needed: they were loyal, caring, fun and since they had met in kindergarten, they were the three musketeers.

Except that I was a girl, Willow added ruefully.

But they didn't seem to care. Both of them took care of her, like big brother's would of their sister, showing her with their actions, that they loved her. Something that had always been seriously lacking at her own home.

She shook her head. Adopted. "That explains it," she said outloud. "I was a whim and once they got me—they didn't know what to do with me."

Her finger rubbed the edge of the scar thoughtfully. "No more scars—at least the physical kind."

She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. "If Spike can keep it together, then so can I," she said as she reached down and picked up the previously discarded pair of sweat pants. "It's the least I can do for Buffy. He needs someone to take care of him until Mike gets here."

If it were possible, she would have sworn she felt a nod of approval coming from her best friend. "Thanks Buffy, I needed that," Willow whispered into the air.

~~~~

Vachon shifted Mike's lifeless body in his arms and sighed. What a crazy, fucked up mess, he thought to himself, as he flashed upon on the influx of images that were passed to him with the intake of her blood.

If there had been any other way to guarantee him making it to Sunnydale that evening, he would've avoided drinking from her. Her link with Spike was in full force and for a second, he felt a flash of red hot anger from the other vampire, as if Vachon were encroaching on the blond vampire's property.

Well, in a way he was.

But as quick as the anger had been present, it dissipated. Vachon heard Mike send a calming message to Spike, explaining why it was necessary. Vachon decided to add his two cents worth and apologized as well.

The other vampire conceded but Vachon felt his restlessness—his need to claim what was his—despite the emotionally pain he was so obviously suffering.

Or maybe it was because of that same pain.

Vachon knew what it was like to lose a mortal love. Even though he hadn't been there when Tracy had died, the anger and helplessness was still there. And Vachon had instinctively searched for those who were blood bound to him, to burrow in the safety of the ties that were timeless and for ever.

Unfortunately for him, he had no one left then.

And now he had Mike and all the baggage that came with her.

"Lucky me," he whispered to himself with more than a little sarcasm. He bent his head and gently pressed his lips on Mike's forehead. "Yeah, lucky me."

~~~~

It wasn't until Willow had dressed and combed her hair, did she realize she was feeling a strange sort of need and desire—that didn't seem to be a part of her, yet did. Focusing inward and using Wiccan techniques of meditation and self-protection she had learned long ago, she quickly zeroed in on spot inside of her where they were coming from.

She gasped outloud.

It was what she had dubbed seven years ago, as her 'Angel' spot.

Not long after performing the restoration spell on Angel, she began to have nightmares filled with pain and agony, heat and Hell, with Angel in the leading roll.

It was those dreams that prompted her to investigate the possibility he was still alive, so to speak, and in Hell.

She never understood their link; it wasn't as elaborate as Spike's and Mike's; they couldn't read each other's thoughts, feel one another's exact feelings or experience each other's experiences.

It wasn't even one of a typical vampire and its kept human.

No, Angel's (and Angelus', she added ruefully) and hers connection was one of proximity, subtleties and impressions. Shadowy intentions and obscure thoughts that swirled about her heart, mind and soul—nudging her into just 'knowing' what his plans were—or visa versa.

And it was all because of the curse. She restored his soul and now, as long as she lived, they were bound in a sick, symbiotic link of want.

"How?" she asked herself as she sank down on the bed. "I thought it was our souls that were linked..." she whispered quietly as she closed her eyes and concentrated on it.

Anger. Need. Desire. Hatred. Blood. Death. Desire. Lust. Passion.

"Oh Goddess, I'm linked to him too!"

Horror filled her as he curled up tightly in a ball while her body shuddered in response.

Why Angelus too?

Gods, she despised Angel's demon half. She hated its viciousness and lust for cruelty and pain. It was almost as if the demon relished in destroying and mocking all the things his souled half held dear to him.

But it was enticing too, she had to admit. The chance to know your enemy. She uncurled her body and closed her eyes, once again focusing on him—the demon. Maybe this way, she would be able to figure out his next move.

Save her friends.

And keep her head.

~~~~

All it took was a glance into his bedroom, and whatever control Spike had over his fragile emotions, was lost.

He slipped into his bedroom, and shut the door behind himself, and fell back against it. Scattered images and memories flooded him, from the first time Mike and he christened their new bed to the night she told him she was leaving him.

And then quickly following those, came all those time with Buffy.

The Slayer and he made love the first time in this bed as well.

They fought and screamed in this room, laughed, joked and traded stories about their friends and experiences in this room.

Spike's 'first mini-Quickening' as he dubbed it, was also experienced in here.

He remembered when Buffy performed the uninvite spell, to keep Angel from appearing in his home unannounced, right on this bed, with him beside her, lighting those horrid herbs.

He slid down the door as a sob wracked his lean frame.

He knew it was going to hurt—losing her.

He just had no idea it was going to hurt this badly.

Angrily, he wiped his face and stood up. I don't bloody have time for this, he thought to himself as he opened the door. Later, I'll do this later...

He stepped back into the hallway and nearly walked right into Amy.

She held out her hands to catch him, giving him a small smile. "Okay?"

He nodded as he closed his bedroom door. "Can I get you something, pet?"

He was surprised to hear his voice working so well.

Amy's earnest face looked up at him. "How is she?"

He rubbed his tired face and sighed. "Confused—angry. And determined to save Peaches."

Amy nodded, obviously not surprised. "But not until she trains, right? I mean, if Dru's really here, that means that other jerk may be around—"

"Morden?" he asked, not shocked to feel the familiar clenching of his gut everytime he thought of that Immortal pillock.

"Yeah, that's him. Isn't he Immortal?"

Spike nodded. "Richie, Mike and Vachon are on their way down right now. I doubt if she'll get much say-so as to when she confronts Angelus with them around."

"Hey Spike! Do you have any food around here?" Xander asked, sticking his head into the hallway from the kitchen.

"Whatcha see is what we got. Buffy hadn't gotten—" he broke off, realizing what he was saying. "Shit!"

Amy squeezed his arm. "I'll take care of it," she said and turned to Xander. "What do you want, Xan?"

"Not for me. It's for Cordy and Willow. I remembered how hungry Mike and Richie were everytime after they revived and Cordy, well..."

Spike found his interest peeked, despite himself. Delia eating at this hour? Never. And suddenly, his mind flashed back to when they were at the Bronze. Her heart beat—her heart beats...

Spike shook his head in wonder. "Son-of-a-bitch—Xander is going to be a papa," he whispered to himself. He didn't even get a chance to feel the wonder, when the enormity of their situation crashed down on top of him. Never before had he felt so alone and so desperate to keep a handful of mortals alive as he did at that moment. For Delia and Xander—Joyce and Giles and Oz and Amy.

He needed them to live.

For his sanity.

For his heart.

~~~~

Trance-like, Willow stared out the window into the darkness, searching for him.

Waiting.

She could feel him getting closer. His glee and elation...

Her mind swirled. Glee? What would he be happy about?

And then it hit her.

He knew.

He knew where they were.

He was coming.

She shot out of bed and ran to the door, yanking it open. Spotting Spike in the hallway, she called for him.

"He's coming! I can feel it. Spike, he knows where we all are! He'll burn us out!"

"Shit! Are you sure, Will?"

She nodded, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. The fear as it seeped into her bones.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her as he went into the kitchen.

~~~~

As they entered the kitchen, he stopped.

There stood all of them. Every mortal he's ever cared for in the 200 years since he's been a vampire.

Every mortal that Angel loved.

"Bloody hell, why didn't I think of that?"

"Think of what?" Joyce asked, looking up from a plate she was filling with a variety of foods. "Willow honey, this is yours," she said as she handed a dazed Willow a plate of food.

Willow took the plate with a blank look on her face. "Th-thanks Joyce. But—not—not now."

"Rupert, there's a weapon's chest in our bedroom. Get it. The fucking pillock plans on burning us out." He dropped Willow's arm as he began to pace. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. He knows that I would insist that everyone come here tonight." Spike shook his head, silently berating himself. "Amy, can you teleport Joyce and Delia out of here? Even if it's just next door? The wanker's probably asleep and as deaf as a bloody doornail—"

"I can. One at a time."

"Do it! Start with Delia and Joyce."

Giles returned with the weapon's chest. "I don't know why I didn't think about it myself. It's just the last time, he was so busy reveling in his demon, he didn't bother us for a few days."

Xander grabbed a crossbow and a handful of arrows and stuffed a cross in his jacket. He turned to Cordelia and Amy and leaned over and kissed his wife good-bye. Seconds later she disappeared just as Joyce had done minutes before.

Spike turned to Willow, silently asking her to go.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She walked over and grabbed the other crossbow. "He can sense me. I need to stay here."

Spike nodded and silently urged Mike and Vachon to hurry.

He didn't want to lose anyone else that night.

~~~~

Angelus didn't disappoint them.

Willow was the first to feel them.

She sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her head, moaning. "What the hell?"

Spike leaned over and pulled her hands away from her face. "Willow—it's Morden. You're feeling an Immortal."

She glanced up, her green shining with tears. "Morden too?"

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Sorry luv, it's the Hellmouth."

Biting her lip, she nodded. "I'm okay, Spike." She stood up and grabbed the crossbow. "I'm ready."

"Is the spell holding?" Oz asked Amy, watching her close her eyes in concentration.

"Yep. And as long as no one attacks us magically, it should hold."

"Good," Spike said, issuing a silent prayer to the gods for giving this group not just one, but two witches. As long as the protection spell held, there would be no fires in or around his home that night. He turned to Giles. "I'm going upstairs to the attic, and slip out there."

"Sounds good," the watcher said. "Spike," he called out, grabbing the vampire's arm. "Be careful. I'm sure he hates you even more than before."

Spike nodded and took off down the hallway and pulled on the attic door, causing it to come down, complete with steps.

As he climbed the steps, he off handedly noted the dust and realized he hadn't been up here since packing away Mike's things. And that was over six years ago.

When she had gone to St. Louis, she left boxes filled with books and other knick-knacks that she had inherited from her father. She knew he would take care of them and considering this was her only real home, he didn't mind.

Shaking his head, he quickly reached the window and with a just a bit of juggling, opened it and pushed himself out and into the air. Floating nearly 50 feet above the ground, he easily spotted the dozen or so demon-vamps that were splashing gasoline onto his house.

Instantly his fangs emerged and he issued a soft growl.

Those bloody pillock's. Burning down my home.

Then he saw Angelus, standing off to the side, with an evil grin on his face.

Spike quickly listened for a heartbeat and turned in the air in time to see Morden picking up a rock and aiming it for that blasted picture window.

Without thought, he swooped down and scooped the rock out the air before it could hit the window and threw it at the Immortal with vampiric strength.

The Immortal died instantly.

"Enough of this shit," he thought to himself as he flew over to Angelus.

It wasn't until he was nearly on top of his sire, did the demon-vamp look up instead of around. By that time, Spike was standing in front of him.

"What the bloody hell do you want, prick?" he asked calmly, as he lit a cigarette.

If Spike hadn't known Angelus so well, he wouldn't have caught the flash of surprise in his eyes. Taking a bit of comfort from that, he began circling the demon-vamp.

"I mean—you're back. You don't have your soul and you know you can't be cursed again, so what the hell do you want?" He stopped standing directly in front of him.

Angelus tipped his head, grinning at Spike. "Spike, my boy, how the hell are you?" He slapped the vampire on the back in a mock greeting. "Oh wait, Buff died tonight. I'm sorry." He said with fake sympathy.

Spike said nothing, smoking silently, with his human face still intact.

"Ah come on, my childe, don't you have anything to say to your papa?"

Rage filled him. Careful to keep his face neutral, he tossed his cigarette aside and moved in even closer to Angelus. "I am not your childe, Angelus. Not anymore."

Angelus smiled as he lifted his hand and gently touched cupped Spike's face. "No, I guess you aren't, are you?" His grip tightened. "You're that Immortal whore's childe. But don't forget your first sire, my boy. I made you and I can destroy you."

Willing his eyes back to normal, Spike shook his head, yanking it out the other vampire's grasp. "Maybe, maybe not." He stepped back and shrugged, noting movement to his left. "Druscilla, is that you trying to sneak up on me?"

The dark-haired vampiress stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, my Spike. Miss Edith tells me you are sad tonight. Are you sad?" she asked, touching his cheek.

Rolling his eyes, he shrugged her hand off. "I don't know why the bloody hell Miss Edith give's a rat's ass about my emotional state. Do you, Dru?"

"He's angry, my Angel. Are you sure we can't get my Spike back? Like I got my daddy back?"

Angelus wrapped his arm around Dru all the while his eyes still glued to Spike's. "I don't think so, Dru—"

"Master!" a vampire called out, running over to the three. "The fire won't catch."

Spike chuckled softly. "Another time, maybe? When you think about your plan of attack better."

Angelus growled softly, and turned to Spike, his demonic features flashing in the moonlight. "My childe, I want Willow. Tell her, one way or another, we'll be back for her head."

Spike shook his head in disgust. "Like a bloody broken record. Different words, same damn tune. Why the hell are you so afraid of her, Angelus? They're all over the place. Who's to say you aren't going to play with another Immortal and become hooked on them? Might as well get down with the one you know."

Before Spike could react, Angelus was in his face. "Let's get one thing straight, okay? In no way shape or form is that damn soul coming back to this body. It's mine. Not his. He gave up rights to it over 250 years ago and it's about time someone somewhere realizes it!" He started to turn away, but stopped and swung back around with his fist.

Spike stumbled backwards, reeling from the contact. Wiping the blood off his mouth, he grinned back at Angelus. "Let me tell you something, dear ole daddy. Show your face here again and Willow be damned, you'll fit in my dustbuster before you can say, 'hello.'" He turned to Druscilla. "And the same goes for you, pet—nothing's changed in the past seven years. If you value your unlife, leave." He was about to leave when he felt a familiar heartbeat. "Oh and tell Morden, if this is another rouse to get to Mike, he can kiss his head good-bye. Rumor has it, she's a bit more adept at the sword since the last time he faced her."

Shaking his head in disgust. "I've had enough of the lot of you. Get the fuck out of here," he said, rising into the air. He quickly flew to the top of his house, and stood there, watching as Dru ran over to Morden and helped him up, all the while cooing insanely in his ear. For just a moment, he actually felt a pang of sympathy for the Immortal, but quickly shrugged it off. "Better him than me," he muttered to himself as he watched the impromptu attack force disappear into the shadows. Minutes later, he no longer felt any of their presence.

Mission accomplished.

But he couldn't help but wonder what the hell it was all about. It wasn't like Angelus to give up so easily.

Shrugging his shoulders, he slipped inside the attic window and returned to his friends.

~~~Chapter Five~~~
by
Lisa Y. Drexel

~~~~~
Even sad reunions can be good
~~~~~

"Querida, we're almost there," Vachon whispered in her ear, waking Mike from her restless slumber.He felt her bury her face even deeper into his neck and shudder. "Jav, do we have enough time to stop somewhere? So I can get my bearings?"

"Yeah, Mike. We've got an hour until sunrise."

"Thanks."

"Anywhere in particular?"

She shook her head. "Just some place where everyone isn't." She pulled back and glanced at him, squinting through the darkness. "How much farther? So I can tell Spike."

"About ten miles out of Sunnydale."

She nodded and closed her eyes. As the minutes ticked away, Vachon could literally feel her mood change from apprehensive to fearful. He just tightened his hold on her, silently wishing there was something he could do to lighten her load, but knowing this was something she had to work through herself.

Links and love was a pretty heady combination to begin with, much less the strength of the one Spike and Mike shared. To feel each others emotions as well as hear their thoughts meant that there wasn't much privacy in either of their minds. That was why both of them had decided to damper it as much as possible six years before. But much to their dismay, the link was much more resilient than either of their emotions. It prevailed-despite the lack of telepathic and empathetic communication. It influenced one another feelings and in turn, actions, without either of them being aware of it at the time. Even with LaCroix's lessons as

well Cassandra's teachings, neither of them could shield themselves or each other from themselves.

As Spike would say, 'It was a bloody mess.'

And it was.

Unfortunately, it took both of them to make the 'damper' work and as they found out when Mike took her first head and experienced her first Quickening, there were times when it was impossible to do. Which is why even now, when the last thing Spike would want to share with Mike—his pain over losing Buffy—was impossible to stop. He simply did not have the mental energy to continue the dampening. And, Vachon suspected, he was unconsciously seeking her out—to share that pain with her-needing her stability and her love to keep him balanced.

That was how links worked.

He silently sighed as the outskirts Sunnydale appeared below him. Spotting a warehouse, he began his descent, all the while wondering why Mike wanted to stop. If he had been in her shoes, he would've wanted this reunion to get over and done with. Prolonging unfounded insecurities was going to do nothing but make her more nervous and skittish.

She had to know how Spike felt.

Hell, he knew, and it wasn't linked to the other vampire. All he did was drink from Mike and he felt Spike's protectiveness and love.

"Women," he muttered quietly as his feet touched the roof. After extending his senses for any life-undead or otherwise and found nothing, he shook her again. "Mike."

He slowly released her legs while keeping a hold of her until she got her legs back. He expected her to pull back, but she didn't. Instead she pulled him tightly against her, all the while clutching at him.

"Querida, what's going on?"

She sniffled as she dropped her arms and stepped back. After she wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach, she looked up at him and gave him an embarrassed smile.

"I'm scared," she whispered as she turned around and stared off into the dark sky.

"Of what?"

"Him."

"Spike?"

She turned back to face, shutting her eyes, but failing to stop the tears that escaped. She wiped at them angrily and groaned.

"Tell me."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "What if he doesn't love me anymore? Like that?"

Vachon stopped himself from rolling his eyes and instead just shook his head. "Believe me, Mike, he still loves you. He may not drag you into his bed tonight-but that doesn't mean that there isn't a large part of him that won't be tempted to."

"Really? How do you know?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Trade secret."

She frowned at him as she began playing with her long braid, twirling the loose hairs at its end. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped and clamped it shut.

"What?"

"It's silly."

"I doubt that."

She dropped her braid and reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. After taking a drag off the cigarette, she turned to face him. "It's silly, Vachon. I'm a shrink. I know silly when I see it. I even know why I'm feeling all these 'things', these insecurities, and yet my heart isn't listening to my brain. My heart's too worried about being 40 years old and feeling that I'm a fool to believe that he would want me, an old woman in comparison to Buffy, back. Like how can I compete with her? Dead or alive?" She shook her head ruefully as she flicked her half-smoked cigarette away. "And I feel petty and awful for thinking all these things. It's just that I left my heart-my soul with him—when I left him and I don't think I'll ever be right without him."

She groaned loudly shaking her head, ignoring the newest stream of tears that flowed down her face. "We better go. You need to get you inside."

She picked up her backpack and slipped her arms through the straps.

Vachon watched her silently as he thought of what she said. He never believed she was petty or cruel. He always believed that her leaving Spike was one of the most bravest things he'd seen anyone ever do. He knew he wouldn't ever be able to leave her totally. Granted he lost his lover that night, but he still had her friendship and love. He knew from the beginning that this day would come. When Spike would need her and she would go to him.

He knew it before he even took her to his bed.

And yet, he couldn't regret the last six years. This beautiful woman, somehow filled that aching hole in his own heart left by Urs and Tracy's deaths. As his constant companion for the last six years, she helped him find himself and he knew, if he had to, he could leave her now and not lose that sense of self that he worked so hard to rebuild.

But he also knew he wouldn't.

Because, he still had her-just not as a lover.

And that was okay, because long ago, he had decided that first and foremost, he would teach her and guide her like he would his own children and he could live with being her 'sire' or father, far better than not having her in his life at all.

Now, as long as Spike can deal with it, we'll be okay, he thought to himself as he stepped up to her and caressed her cheek. "You are not an old woman, Mike. You are an Immortal. You died when you were thirty not eighty. And I don't care what you think, you still look as if you're in you're maybe 25 years old. How much you want to bet, those kids that we met seven years ago are going to look as old as you. And I hate to tell you, but you're in much better shape than you were in when I met you. And even then, you still took my breath away."

She blushed, looking downwards as she shuffled her feet. "Then why do I feel like an awkward teenager getting ready to go on her first date?"

He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Because, nina, you're finally seeing Spike after six years of loneliness."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, pressing a finger on her lips. "Shhh, listen to me. It's true, Querida, your heart is his-just as his is yours. Buffy and I were only borrowing them for awhile. We both knew we'd have to return them. I'm just sorry for you, that it had to be her death that forced all of us to realize it."

Her eyes flooded with tears as she nodded in agreement. "So do I. I really liked Buffy. Even loved her as a friend and admired her strength and courage. I feel like I'm some fucking scavenger, scoping out the remains. And yet, I can't stop myself from wanting him."

"You're no scavenger-you Mike-Spike's soul. Remember that, Querida, and don't be ashamed of your love for him. It's too beautiful of a thing to push back."

She nodded as she gave him a small grin. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so glad that you're here. Thank you," she whispered as she pulled him into her arms and hugged him tightly.

He hugged her back, and then scooped her up into his arms, preparing to leave. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Hang on."

And they ascended into the air, heading to Mike's house-where Buffy and Spike had been calling home for nearly five years.

~~~~

It had been that last and final mental check-in from Mike that did Spike in.

Before that, he had managed to delegate all thoughts of Mike to the 'I-can't-deal- with-this-now' spot in his mind-where, as the night wore on, he found, was growing exponentially. A part of him wondered just how much more unpleasant feelings he could stuff in there before he exploded and became a wild vampire-just waiting to be staked.

He shook his head and pushed that thought into the same bin with Buffy and Mike.

It had been nearly two hours since Angelus and company's visit and everyone had settled in for the rest of the night-waiting for dawn to come.

Luckily for them, it was late in the spring and after Day-Light Savings Time, so, even though no one would be heading for bed until way past six am, even after six hours of sleep, they would have enough time to get the things done they needed to before nightfall.

And it was a lot of things.

Amy, Giles and Willow (along with Richie and/or Mike) had to go to each of their houses and not only revoke Angel's invitation but cast the same type of protection spell against fire they had on his home.

That alone would probably physically drain the three magic practitioners.

They had to contact Faith and her watcher and ask if the slayer could return to the Hellmouth.

Giles had to call the Council to inform them of Buffy's death and to search for the next slayer.

Joyce had to go down to the morgue and identify her daughter, call Hank Summers and begin funeral preparations.

It just went on and on.

And then there was Angelus.

Spike knew he hadn't given up. If the last time wasn't enough to show him that Angelus' demon was just a bit nuts, tonight was. The demon-vamp wasn't going to give up until either Willow was really dead or his demon was banished forever by the same change Spike went through seven years before.

It was just that simple.

That, added with Dru and Morden's reappearance, made everyone just a little nervous. Was there a prophecy that they missed? Any portends they ignored? Or was this just one of those random Hellmouthy things that popped up periodically in Sunnyhell?

All this just pointed to research.

Tuning out Giles, Joyce and Xander, he began looking around the room – anything to take his mind off of Mike and Buffy. He noticed that Delia was still asleep, curled up in her husband's lap, not unlike a small child would instead of a mother-to-be.

Oz was sitting on the floor, next to Xander's chair, strumming on Spike's guitar. He appeared to be picking out a new song-its tune as melancholy as everyone's mood.

Amy and Willow were sitting over in the corner. Periodically, Spike would hear one or the other cry as they talked of the evening events and the future plans that were no longer possible.

And of course, there was Xander, Giles, Joyce and him-they had spent most of the night making the lists that everyone would follow the next morning.

Spike sighed, inwardly wondering when that human characteristic had become a normal habit for him. Probably came with the bloody soul, he thought to himself as he turned his head to glance down the hallway, his eyes instantly drawn his closed bedroom door.

Could he go in there in the morning and sleep, even though the bed would be cold and lonely? And that the only company he would have would be the ghostly memories of Buffy?

Could he?

Suddenly feeling anxious, he stood up and lit a cigarette. Glancing at Delia, he mumbled something about checking the outside and slipped out the front door.

The cool spring air welcomed him and he found himself smiling as a hundred- year-old memory of Druscilla popped up.

She loved nights like these. After they would finish hunting, she would drag him up to this hilltop where she would twirl about-her arms up, soaking in the moon's essence.

It was moments like those that had bewitched him to her.

As a human, he'd never been in love. He'd seen it as a weakness. All he had to do was pull up an image of his mother-a beautiful, innocent and trusting commoner who had the misfortune of giving her heart to a nobleman-who ended up devastated and penniless because of that love.

The irony of it was Spike was the spitting image of Sir William Atkinson-his father. From the prominent cheekbones to the sable brown hair and dark brown eyes.

Yet, his mother and him were forced to leave her village and family and ended up in a tenement in London.

She tried to find legitimate work, but scandal seemed to follow her wherever she went. Finally she was forced into prostitution out of necessity and after that, little William's life was forever changed.

From an innocent loving boy, he grew into an angry, tough, sociopath with enough intelligence to keep him one step in front of the law. He earned the title of William the Bloody long before he had become a vampire.

And once Angelus brought him across, he found his demon was one who had lived off extremes-hate, sex, blood, anger, and finally, once Druscilla entered their lives, love.

Once he had Druscilla, the bloodlust became focused-less erratic, more precise.

He found purpose-to keep her safe.

And for nearly 90 years, it was enough.

Sometimes he wondered what would've happened next, if Angelus hadn't returned and Spike never had to make the choices he made: Angelus or the world; Angelus or Buffy and Druscilla.

Would've he progressed on his own to the point he was seven years before when he had met Mike? Or was Spike's present life just random effects of strange causes?

He tossed his cigarette aside, disgusted with his brooding and flew up onto the roof of his house. From there, he extended his senses, quickly pinpointing the three minions that Angelus and Dru had left to watch the house.

One was in a car, parked three houses down on his street. Another was in the old coot's backyard, most likely trampling the human's prized begonias and the last one was standing on the other side of Spike's back fence.

Gods, he missed Angel and Buffy. Not only did he lose his sire and friend and lover, but he lost the other members of the slaying team. It was them, Angel, Buffy and Spike, that did most of the slaying. With them, they could've easily dispatched the three fledglings. But alone, even though Spike was a Souled-One, it would be more than difficult.

Maybe he should just wait for Mike and Vachon. Mike could get the one in the car and Vachon and Spike could flip for the other two.

Feeling a bit better, he flew back down to the door and slipped back nside.

As he flopped into his waiting chair, Xander cleared his throat.

"What's it like out there?"

Spike told them.

"Do you think we should dust them?"

Oz stopped strumming.

"Nah, mate. I'll wait for Mike and Vachon. Everyone here is beat."

The strumming continued.

"Spike, if I may ask, is-is the link active?" Giles asked him.

Spike nodded and closed his eyes as he made a tentative mental touch. "She's asleep right now."

"Asleep?" Xander's voice cracked. "How the hell could she sleep while lying like that?"

"Cool," Oz interjected. "That means she feels safe. This Vachon guy, what's he like?"

Spike grinned as he turned to Oz, mentally noting the green hair. "A musician- like you. Been in a few bands. Though, I'm not sure he has in the past eight or ten years. He's laid back, but when something means a lot to him, he's intense, loyal. Not a bull-shitter. I think you'd like him."

Oz nodded. "Yeah, I'm kinda sorry I missed out on all that fun that summer. I would've loved to've met him then. A whole different view on the supernatural and being in a band thing."

Spike shook his head, chuckling softly. Oz was one of the most unique beings he had ever met—

Spike?

Spike's eyes instantly shut as he mentally greeted her. Hey, luv. Where are you?

About ten miles away. We should be there in a few...

Okay, I'll let the others know...

An uncomfortable silence.

Okay, see ya.

Until then, luv.

And then it hit him.

Mike was coming.

After six long years, he was finally going to see her again and for the life of him, he had no idea what or how to feel.

Growling softly, he stood up and headed down the hallway. He stopped and turned. "Giles, they're about ten miles out of Sunnydale."

The watcher nodded and Spike turned back and pulled the attic steps down. And for the second time that evening, he went up there-this time to welcome his guests.

~~~~

Spike met them on the roof.

Standing there, looking as beautiful as he did the day she met him, clad in a pair of old blue jeans and a worn, black tee-shirt with a his duster billowing out behind him, Mike felt her heart lurch upwards—somewhere close to her throat.

Gods, he was magnificent.

Untangling herself from Vachon's arms, she turned to him and suddenly stopped-afraid.

"Will?" she whispered, asking so many things with that one word. Can I hug you? How are you? Do you love me? Are you going to be okay?

Although his face was expressionless, his emotions and thoughts were anything but that. Awe, excitement, pain, sorrow, anger-all plundered her heart as a running dialogue filled her mind, Cor, she's beautiful—I've missed her so much-more beautiful than I remembered...

And then an overwhelming sense of completeness seemed to fill them both.

I'm home

I'm home

Mike broke her self-paralysis and ran up to him, flinging herself at him—instinctively knowing he would catch her—that he always would catch her—as his arms did catch her. As he had done so many times before in those mere nine months they'd spent together that changed both their lives irrevocably.

Ah luv, I missed you. I missed this.

I did too. I missed you so much I thought I'd die...

I love you.

And gods, I love you.

~~~~

Spike rained kisses on her face, poignantly aware that her tears were for him and his loss. He gently pushed her head to the side, his fangs aching to just taste her—to be with her. Her beautiful, pale long neck called to him as her essence teased an ache hadn't even realized he had. As he kissed her pulse point, he felt her body shudder in response as a wave of sexual arousal hit him, reminding him of almonds and coconuts and wild, spring flowers.

As his fangs broke her skin, slicing into the cateroid artery and her blood filled his mouth, a thousand thoughts, feelings and visions filled him. Her bottled blood held none of the magic that this did. Her heard a loud moan and vaguely realized it was him as he felt her body buck against him. Retracting his fangs, he lazily licked the blood around the wound as he held her tightly to him.

Home.

He was finally home.

And then, a picture of Buffy flashed through his mind and whatever peace he had found in Mike's arms and in her blood, disappeared.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, stepping back, as he watched her eyes focus on him, without condemnation or recriminations.

"It's okay. I understand." She reached up and traced his scar. "I know how you feel. How can I not? It's going to take time. I'll be here when you're ready." She tiptoed and kissed him chastely on the lips and pulled away. "Now, don't you have some demon-vamps you want to get rid of?"

He yanked her back into his arms, and hugged her tightly to him and glanced over at Vachon, who stood and watched their reunion. Thank you, he mouthed to the Spaniard, knowing that the other vampire was responsible in no small way for Mike still being alive. "And thank you, luv," he whispered in her ear.

He felt her chuckle in his arms and for the first time since the events at the Bronze earlier that night, he knew he might actually survive the next few days—

Because he was no longer alone.

~~~Chapter Six~~~
by
Lisa Y. Drexel

~~~~~~
Old friends…New Problems
~~~~~~

It had been nearly six years since Xander had last seen Mike Evans.

She looked the same.

Even her hair was the same length.

It was one thing knowing about Immortals and a whole other thing seeing it with his own eyes.

Sure, Angel and Spike—even Vachon—didn't age—but they were vampires and vampires were immortal. Even before he knew that such beings were actually real, he knew that. But there were no tales told to children at bedtime about an Immortal race of beings that looked exactly like you—got hurt like you—ate the same foods as you—but never aged and rarely died.

It was unnerving and almost chilling in a whole different way than dealing with vampires were.

He switched his attention to Spike and found himself letting out a sigh of relief.

The change was remarkable.

Ever since Xander had seen the vampire curled up on the floor, desolate and broken, an unwarranted fear had slowly been trying to grown within his heart. He could remember with absolute clarity the horrors the vampire had inflicted on him and his friends before Angelus had returned, and even with the knowledge that Spike's soul was still there—he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the vampire lost himself in a blood haze of pain.

He actually didn't have to wonder. He could almost see it. And without Buffy, he had no doubt Spike could kill every last person in the room—except maybe Willow and not even realize what he was doing until all of their bodies were cooling—empty of blood.

Ignoring the shudder that the image produced, he had to say Mike's presence was definitely welcomed. The vampire's grief was still apparent—the light that had been in his eyes at the Bronze, was still somewhat dimmed—but at least it had returned. Also, his shoulders were straighter, as if the burden of Buffy's death and of Angelus' return was no longer in danger of breaking him.

Yes, Mike was a good thing.

Although he had talked in length with Buffy about Spike and Mike, he still didn't quite understand what was so powerful about bloodlinks and bonds. His friend didn't seem too worried about Mike, knowing that the Immortal woman would physically keep her distance, while Spike and her were together. When Xander asked her how she knew that, she smiled while squeezing his shoulder.

"Because I can feel it," she said. "Every time Spike drinks from me, I can feel Mike. I can feel her love for him, her caring for me and I know that she wouldn't ever allow herself to come in between us. She firmly believes that since her and Spike have an eternity, that I should have him for now."

Xander felt his eyes water and those tears of grief that he had been holding back, threatening to overpower him. He already missed Buffy so much, he wondered if life would ever be the same. She was his first lust, love and the first person he had saved from death. Her ability to bring light and laughter into all the dark corners of her existence had more than once, given Xander the strength to survive and become someone when nothing else had.

He bit his bottom lip to stop the tears and silently promised himself a good cry when he and Cordellia were alone. This was not the time or place to break down—knowing that if he did, everyone else would follow.

And no one needed to collapse when they had so much to do.

Xander looked back up to see Mike squeeze Vachon's hand and step into the living room—heading straight for Joyce.

~~~~

It was like stepping into a time warp—seeing all those people that had been so important in her life all those years ago. As her eyes traveled around the room, she found herself agreeing with Vachon. He was right—everyone with the exception of Giles and Joyce, now looked the same age as her.

Willow, her red hair now much longer with beautiful waves that curled around her face, had grown into a lovely, breathtaking woman.

Although she had only met Amy a couple of times during her stay in Sunnydale, she too looked as if the years had been kind to her.

Cordellia, wrapped in Xander's arms on his lap, was sleeping the sleep of innocents. It seemed pretty apropos now—although six years ago she would've disagreed.

Xander, his hair cut styled and neat—along with the rest of his attire—seemed to reflect Cordelia's tastes more than his. But the change looked good on him. He looked every much the writer he was.

Oz, with green hair and two earrings, was the only one on the outside that hadn't appeared to change—but she knew better. The werewolf was no longer a musician that played when his schedule with school permitted. He was now a successful recording artist, with Devon, still playing the lead singer.

And then there was Giles and Joyce.

She felt her breath catch as she noticed how the sorrow had taken a hold of the Watcher. He was so much more than Buffy's watcher. He was her friend, comrade in arms and surrogate father all rolled into one. The lines in his face were more pronounced—his shoulders were slumped and his eyes were filled with such sadness that Mike felt her eyes water in empathy.

He lost his purpose.

And probably the only thing that was keeping him together was his love for his wife and the other 'children' he had adopted so long ago.

But Joyce surprised her.

Mike had heard how she had reacted to Buffy's revelation that she was the Slayer. Of all of her attempts during the Slayer's senior year in high school of normalizing her daughter. She had stopped by the time Mike had left, and when she discovered that Spike and her daughter were in love, she finally accepted it—her daughter was the Slayer.

But now, Joyce stood tall next to her husband. Mike could see the pain in the woman's eyes, but the strength she radiated was mind-boggling. This was a woman who once she accepted her daughter's fate—she accepted it all—even Buffy's death.

All this time Mike had believed Buffy's success as the slayer had to do with her friends and their support.

Now, she may have to change that assessment.

She could finally see what Spike saw in Joyce Summers all those years before—a fiercely strong woman who could not only love with all her heart but also withstand the pain of life's heartbreaks.

Mike couldn't help thinking of how proud Buffy would be of her mother, if she could see her now.

It was Joyce that Mike first approached. After wiping her wet face, Mike walked over to the woman and took her hands in both of hers and looked up at her, suddenly unsure of what to say or how to say it. Somehow I'm sorry was so inadequate, but yet appropriate. That plus, she worried that Joyce would think that Mike was insincere in her feelings; Buffy's death did mean Mike and Spike would get back together. Would she believe Mike when she said that she was sorry?

Mike sighed and squeezed Joyce's hand. "All of a sudden, I don't know what to say." She stopped and pulled her hands away as she closed her eyes, remembering the rush of thoughts and feelings when she experienced her mini-Quickening in the bathroom. That was Buffy—coming back to her. "I really cared about her—loved her even." Mike grinned to herself as she looked over at Joyce. "She taught me so much in that six months that I was here. How to fight and stay alive. How to be tough and how to love at the same time." Mike could see Joyce's eyes fill with tears and took her hand and held it. "She taught me how to accept your fate, even when you think the Fates were really off their game in choosing you. I was so young back then. Barely Immortal for two years and for most of that time, everyone else was making decisions about my future. I don't know if I'd ever had the courage to become my own person if I hadn't known her.

"At eighteen, she knew that life was sacred—love was precious and well worth fighting for. She had more courage than 20 of me and she was almost half my age. Pretty humbling experience."

Joyce nodded, smiling through her tears.

"And she'll be missed," Mike added softly.

Joyce broke down as she pulled the Immortal into her arms for a quick hug. "Yes she will, but with all of us to remember her, she always be here," she said as she pulled away and touched her heart.

Mike couldn't help but agree, because wasn't that where her father was—still to that day—in her heart?

The ice broke, Mike was quickly engulfed in a huge hug by Xander, soon followed by the rest of the Scooby Gang—tears running rampant as everyone felt a bit of the heaviness of the night dissipate.

Mike had never felt as grateful to the slayer's mother as she had at the moment—she broke the ice and gave Mike her blessings.

The Immortal couldn't ask for anything less.

~~~~

As Spike watched Mike approach Joyce, he felt his control slip as it sunk in how much she had changed in the years they were apart. Although the differences were slight: the tightening of her buttock's, how she held her head up higher now, the wariness in her eyes—the muscles in her legs that rippled when used—all of it was a testament to not only how much time had passed, but of how much he missed as well.

And still, things hadn't changed that much. He could still feel the pull of her soul as it called to him—even now, when his own pain was nearly overwhelming.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me? he asked himself as he turned to Vachon, catching the other vampire as he too watched Mike.

It wasn't until he felt his fangs cutting into his lip, did he consciously realize how jealous he felt. The Spanaird had six years with Mike—five years and three months more than Spike. Vachon knew Mike's body better than Spike. Understood all those idiosyncracies she had that Spike had forgotten about, during his time with Buffy.

Growling softly, he grabbed the other vampires arm. "We need to talk," Spike whispered so softly that only another vampire could hear him.

Vachon nodded knowingly. "I need to feed. You have something that I can bring it back with us?"

Spike nodded, unable to hide the small smile that curled his lips. Vachon continually amazed him. Did anything ever faze the other vampire? Here Spike was ready to tear his lungs out seconds before and Vachon just shrugged and offered to get him a drink.

Leaning against the hallway wall, his eyes shut and head back, Spike wondered when he would ever feel in control again. Just when he had a handle on things, Mike shows up and everything was eskewed again. How could he help Willow or Angel if he couldn't keep his fangs or hormones in check? So many feelings were swirling through him, he didn't have the energy to sort through them. Why couldn't they just come one at time? Why couldn't he mourn for Buffy for a just a bit with some peace—and then he could reclaim Mike as his and this time never let her go, Methos be damned. They could share her, as far as he was concerned. He did it with Dru and Angelus for years. He could do it again if necessary.

He was never, ever going to let her go again.

Feeling the other vampire's presence, he opened his eyes and pushed off the wall, and headed to the back bedroom—the same one that Willow revived in. The smell of the young Immortal's blood filled his senses and he shook his head and ushered the other vampire out and over to the back bedroom.

"Too distracting, mate. I'll see if Mike can clean it up later," he said as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Sitting on the bed, he watched Vachon pour two glasses of bloodwine and took the one he handed him. "I'm fucking losing my mind, mate and I have no idea what to do," he whispered through his fangs—the call of the blood was stronger than anything that he had felt since Mike left him six years before.

"It's the link, Spike. Mike feels it too."

Spike nodded, finishing his drink and carefully placing it on top of the night stand. "And the reason a part of me wants to ring your bloody neck—is that part of the bloody link too?"

The dark-haired vampire nodded yes. "You want to reassert your position and your importance in her life. I was the one that filled that spot—so of course there's a part of you that wants to destroy me."

Spike chuckled humorlessly. "Said so calmly. So tell me, mate, why aren't you worried?"

Vachon shrugged. "Well, I am—a little bit. But I know something that you don't."

"And that is?"

"That I'm not in love with her. And that my relationship with Mike is far more akin to a childe-sire one than the lovers that you two have." Vachon sighed and walked over to the wooden chair sitting next to the wall by the door. He picked it up with one hand and walked over to the bed, placing it so the back faced Spike and sat down, leaning forward on it. "You know, I do know about some of what happened to you that brought to you to St. Louis and into Mike's life. What if I told you that you weren't the only that pretty much lost everything and found hope in her eyes? She gave me that, Spike. She let me take care of her, train her, watch over her—things that I needed to do to heal myself. And all she asked for in exchange was after that first Quickening that I help her find herself.

"Man, it was bad. You know that. Although, it was worse for her because you'd moved on. Don't get me wrong—she wanted you to go to Buffy and be with her, but that didn't mean that it didn't tear her apart. She experienced through the link and the Quickening—everything that happened between you two in Sunnydale. Every look, every sigh, every touch—every declaration of love. I know, because the only way she could anchor herself was for me to drain her to the death—so, when she revived, the intensity of your connection was diminished. So, I got those memories too," Vachon finished, looking up from his nearly empty wineglass to meet Spike's eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't sleep with and make love to her for completely altruistic purposes. I, too, missed and needed what she could give me. The only woman I ever truly loved was mortal and died about nine years ago—before I could ever tell her.

"Mike reminds me of her. Her heat, her sense of humor and practicality reminds me of Tracy. Mike also reminds me of my childe, Urs, who died about the same time that Tracy did. Urs hated being a vampire. Urs hated being alive—be it as a mortal or as an immortal. The one thing that kept her from killing herself was she loved being depressed even more than she hated being alive. Mike has some of those tendencies. When she gets depressed, she likes it a bit too much. So, through Mike, I felt like I could make it up to both of them."

He reached for the wine bottle and filled both their glasses. After placing the bottle back down on the floor, he looked back up at Spike.

Spike met his eyes and knew the other vampire was telling the truth. To be honest, he didn't need to look into Vachon's eyes to know that. He trusted him—despite his sudden desire to rip his head off and throw it across the room. Shaking his head, he broke eye contact and stared down at the carpet.

"What about this link? What the hell is going on?"

"I'm not sure what it's like for demon-vamps, but for us—when something emotionally traumatizing happens, we are always drawn to those who share our blood, because they can feel our pain and know our heart. It helps us heal and stay strong. Although she didn't initially bring you across, her blood transformed you. And because of that transformation, she the closest thing to a sire you'll ever have—from now on." Vachon finished his second glass of bloodwine and stood up. "Don't fight the link, Spike. It's probably the only thing that's keeping you sane right now. I wasn't connected to Buffy like you and even Mike was, but I have to believe that she knew and accepted Mike's role in your life. I don't think she would condemn you for turning to the one person who not only understands your pain, but can help heal it as well. Not if she loved you."

Vachon turned back to the door and slipped outside, leaving Spike to his thoughts.

~~~~

"So, when's Richie coming?" Xander asked once everyone had settled back down in his or her seats. Mike had sat down on the floor, in front of the coffee table and had a glass of half-drunk orange juice in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike grab Vachon's arm and felt a rush of anger and posssessiveness fill her her mind. She shut her eyes and inwardly sighed at Spike's jealously over her relationship with Vachon.

She just hoped Vachon could calm him enough that the dark-haired vampire could explain the intricacies of bloodlinks and why Spike was feeling so torn at the moment. Although she could tell him what she knew, there were some things that her lover needed to hear from Vachon that couldn't come from her.

Spike needed to understand her and Vachon's convoluted relationship before someone ended up with a stake in their heart. She shook her head, once again wondering how her life could get anymore complicated and turned her attention back to Xander and Cordelia and gave the couple a small smile. "He took the first flight out. I'm not even sure what flight it was, but I know it was the red-eye. I'd say dawn—the latest about 8am."

Xander nodded as he rubbed Cordelia's back soothingly. She watched the prom queen's eyes shut—exhaustion evident in her drawn, pale face.

Mike frowned, thinking that everyone needed to get some shut eye and decided they needed to figure out sleeping arrangements and soon, before everyone fell asleep where they were.

Deciding to give the two vampires a few more minutes of privacy, she allowed herself to get lulled by the easy, lighthearted discussion taking place in the living room.

"We were going to wait and but, what the hell," Xander said, with a small smile on his lips. "We got an unexpected present this year for our anniversary—Cordy's pregant."

"Pregnant, man? That's wonderful," Oz said, as squeezed the former Prom Queen's arm in affection. "How far along?"

Cordy yawned. "Six weeks," she whispered. "Willow and Amy say it’s a girl."

"You told them already?"

Cordelia nodded, smirking at her husband. "They've known all night. I told them at the Bronze—when we all went to the bathroom. Remember, honey?"

Xander's eyes widened as it sunk in. "So, Bu—Buffy knew?" He didn't seem to notice the stream of tears that were running down his face.

She cupped is face and smiled gently at him. "Yes, she did. She cried and gave me a huge hug and congratulated us."

"She did?"

Mike felt her own eyes water as she felt a flash of elation run through her. damnrightIcongratulatedthem! a whisper of Buffy's voice floated through her heart. She looked up in time to see Xander finally breaking down and crying as Cordelia held his head to her chest.

Her eyes scanned the room and realized that everyone seemed to be affected by the news. Exhaustion does wonders for everyone's emotional control, she thought to herself. Sighing, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and mentally called out to Spike.

Spike?

Hmmm?

It's getting kind of hairy out here. Did you know that Cordy's pregnant?

I figured it out earlier this evening. Luv. Pretty wonderful, eh?

Yeah, it's pretty amazing. She paused, wiping her own wet face and then continued. Well, she's pretty exhausted—how 'bout letting her and Xander take your bed? You can take one of the spares...

No—

Spike?

She and Xander can have the back bedroom. Joyce and Giles can take the other one. We can ask Amy if she can 'zap' a couple of extra cots for Willow, and Richie when he gets here. There's already a room set up in the basement that's for Vachon—

What about—

You, luv?

Yeah—can I sleep on the floor in the bedroom?

She felt his mirth. No love, you're sleeping with me in our bed—

Abruptly, she stood up, suddenly feeling seven pairs of eyes on her. "I'll be right back—excuse me," she mumbled to herself as she scampered out of the living room into the hallway, passing Vachon on the way.

"Back bedroom, Mike!" Vachon whispered to her back just as she saw him open the bedroom door and step outside into the hallway.

Seconds later, she standing in front of Spike, not knowing if she should hug him or scream at him for screwing her insides up like he had.

His face expressionless, he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the bedroom. He kicked the door shut and pushed her back against the door. With his arms on her shoulder's, his body pressing up against hers, his dark blue orbs sparkling with passion and pain, held her in his thrall.

"I need you. I was wrong up there—in the attic," he said, his eyes filling with bloodtears. He dropped his hands, pushing off her and began pacing in front of her. "I need you to help me help them. I need you to hold me and tell me its okay—I need you to love me just as she loved me when you left. I can't let myself fall into that bloody hole that I fell into when you left. We've got to help Willow—Angel needs us now. I—" he stopped and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't worry about offending their sensibilities—not at the expense of me losing it, love.

"My control is shaky at best—"

She grabbed his hand, stilling him. "It's okay, Spike. I understand. I just didn't think you did."

He chuckled humorlessly. "I maybe slow on the uptake tonight, luv, but I finally get it."

Mike shrugged. "Then, let's get to it. And get everyone to bed. We've got a long day ahead of tomorrow and," she stopped and yawned, "I don't know about you—but I'm exhausted."

She walked over to the door and left the room in search of Amy.

~~~~

Willow couldn't remember ever being this tired.

Not even after waking up from a coma in time to re-soul Angel.

Not after opening a portal to Hell and summoning Angel back home.

Not even after studying for finals week her junior year in college—when she had foolishly taken too many hard classes in one semester.

Nope, this beat them all.

And it was because of Angel.

She missed him. It was like this aching hole in her heart, mind and soul that just stood there—simmering in its own pain.

She hated it.

And right now, she was feeling a lot of very un-Willowy things—like anger, resentment, jealously and envy at her friends and their happiness.

She found herself especially angry at Spike.

How dare he latch on Mike like she was the lifeboat in the sea of his misery? Where the hell was her lifeboat? Willow was supposed to be wrapped in the safe cocoon of Angel's arms as they slept their last night away in Sunnydale before leaving for Europe tomorrow.

Instead, her lover was gone, floating around the aether waiting for Willow to bring him back once again—all the while she had to deal with being Immortal and alone by herself.

Why did it happen?

And why was she so angry?

When Mike first came in, standing in between Vachon and Spike, all Willow could think was, 'Thank the Goddess—we may survive the night.' She could see how tenuous Spike's control was and knew that Mike would anchor him—doing whatever it took to keep Spike's bloodlust in check.

And now that the other Immortal was doing just that, all Willow could feel was resentment.

Chuckling softly at herself and her foolishness, she made both her and Richie's cot, all the while thinking of the conversation she and Mike had once Mike managed to disengage herself from the rest of the gang.

It was then that Mike explained to her that Richie was going to be her mentor. Willow nodded, wishing it could be Mike, but knowing that the other Immortal wasn't ready to be a mentor yet. Mike still wore her Immortality with unease—even after all these years. Yet Richie, only Immortal for a two additional years, was much more comfortable with his preternatural existence than Mike had ever been.

Although Willow never asked the Immortal woman why that was so, she knew it had to do with the fact that she had been a Watcher and grew up in a Watcher's family. That fact alone had probably set the tone for at least the first fifty years or so of Mike's immortal life. She'd come from a family where Immortals were to be watched and observed and suddenly to find herself become the very thing she had been told that was only meant to be watched and observed, had to be a bit disconcerting.

Especially in Mike's world—where Immortals were the only preternatural beings she had been aware of—and never secretly carried a fear that she could become what she had been studying all those years.

That wasn't true with the Scooby Gang.

They all knew the risks of involving themselves in the supernatural world of vampires, werewolves and witches—that they could become what they fought against for all those years.

It was an unpleasant side effect of their duty.

Very unpleasant, she thought to herself. And now, she not only had to train but figure out a way to trap Angelus without endangering herself in the process.

She had to get Angel back. An eternity without him was just not acceptable. Without him at her side, Immortality seemed more like a nightmare instead of blessing.

And more than anything, Willow wanted it to be a blessing.

It would make everything else that came along with it, much easier to deal with.

Like the killing...

"Don't do it, Rosenberg," she muttered to herself. She knew if she walked down this path that night, she might just lay her head down in front of Morden and say the hell with it.

And she couldn't do that to Angel.

She would survive.

And so would Angel.

Anything less was just not possible.

~~~~~~~~~
Friends, Comrades and Angst: A Beautiful Combination
~~~~~~~~~

It was the horrible pounding in her skull that pulled Mike out of her deep sleep. Groaning, she opened her eyes as she felt the telltale singing in her head. Instead of just Willow's signature—there were now three distinct Quickenings.

Luckily, for everyone—she recognized the other two.

"Shit," she moaned, as she tried to sit up, but was restrained by a pale arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

Spike...

"Honey...let go of me...I have to get up," she whispered as tugged on his hand.

She heard his deep voice groan softly. "Gods below—we just fell asleep!" Instead of releasing her, he rolled over on top of her, pinning her underneath him. "Who is it?" He asked, growling softly.

"From the throbbing in my head, I'd have to say its Richie and Mac," she said grinning as she watched him try to open his eyes.

He lifted his scarred eyebrow questioningly once both eyes were open. "So, I finally get to meet the great and wonderful Duncan MacLeod?"

Mike groaned as a low chuckle escaped her lips. "Oh, this is going to be so fun," she said, groaning softly. Mike lifted her head and kissed him chastely on his lips. "So, are you going to let me go?"

"Never," he whispered right before his lips descended down onto hers, stopping her from protesting as his tongue slipped inside her mouth and danced with hers.

He gently broke the kiss and smiled down at her. "Never Mike, never again."

Tears filled her eyes and she nodded in agreement. "Never again, Spike."

He bent down and kissed her wet face, his tongue lapping at her tears and finally rolled over, freeing her.

She sque