Spike’s Way
by Oracleholly

Well, he had disposed of his task rather quickly; a little disappointing actually, he was expecting a nicer brawl. Still, not bad work with Junior handicapping him by one arm, cute little tyke actually gurgled as he was slashing through the Fell.

Spike’s Way

Chapter 2: It Rages On…

(Beta’d by always_jbj.)

“Faith, what the bleedin’ hell are you bints doin’ here?” Spike shouted as he was fighting two rank smelling demons. Sometimes vamp smell could be a pain in the arse. “S’not that I’m not thrilled at seeing you, Rogue, but it’s that ya brought Tender Roni and the recently released psychotic slayer who hacked off my hands with you. T’was nice of ya to ‘pop’ in to visit with your lovely toys though.”

“It’s five by five, Studly…but let’s bash now, chat later,” Faith said as she went off somewhere down the alley.

“Yeah, Faith, what are you doing here.” Gunn hollered after her and panted, “Who’s the fine honey with the dreads?”

“Honey, never call me honey, cue ball. Name’s Rona. Duck.” Rona ordered as she swung her sword over Gunn’s head.

Rona glanced over at Spike, “Hey Billy boy, I heard what you called me,” smiling, “I missed you too. Don’t die again.” Rona plunged back into the fray.

Spike located Angel. He did not know whether Peaches had seen their unexpected backup arrive. Angel had climbed up the fire escape to the top of the building and looked as if he was preparing to dive onto the approaching dragon. He did have to have all the fun, didn’t he.

Spike’s forearms screamed at him to flee. He turned to see that Dana had approached him from behind. She had killed five demons he had not seen.

In the short time the slayer trio had arrived, Dana had already become the most bloodied but not with her own. Bollocks if she wasn’t a vision right out of “Texas Chain Saw Massacre.” Blood covered her hair that was drawn into two pigtails, her ‘Hello Kitty’ t-shirt, jeans and pink sneakers. It was the pink sneakers that probably wigged him the most. The sneakers had those little friendship pins attached to the shoelaces he remembered seeing popular in the Eighties. As if their last little dance didn’t prove the lass had gone daft in the melon, the sight of her decked out like some anime babe on LSD sealed the deal.

“Hello, Luv, fancy seeing you again,” he said cautiously holding the katana in a non-threatening position, but still having it at the ready.

“Spike…I know now it wasn’t you. Sorry I cut off your hands. I know you’re not a bad man anymore. I help you now,” she said drawing out the sentences much as she had before, like a little child.

Dana then leaped at Spike grabbing him by his duster. She stopped, smiled and then squeezed him in a quick hug only to then run off giggling.

Spike stood stock-still. The psychotic little chit just hugged him. What was his unlife coming to? Had he been shifted to an alternate universe? He remembered Red talking about the world where the Great-Great Grand Dolt had made both her and the Whelp vamps. What poor taste, a vamped Whelp…he barely stood him in Sunny-D…how could he have fared with the possibility of an eternity with that brain trust?

He needed to stop his musings and get back to the smash and bash. He would figure this all out later.

~ ~~~~~~~~~
Thirty minutes later.

Spike could only roll his eyes. Great, now the Poofter had gone and done it.

“Good show, Peaches…or should I just call you Angel the Dragon Slayer now. I tell you it brings a tear to the eye, it does,” Spike teased over the fray.

“Shut up, Spike. My one dragon, for how many hundreds for you…don’t tell me. I know you’re keeping count.”

“Well, yeah.”

Spike had re-accessed their situation. Hundreds of the thousands had been slaughtered. Angel had downed the dragon. Everyone still was on his or her feet more or less.

Angel had acquired an axe somehow and was helping a demon shed those unwanted stomach pounds. Gunn had been rushed to a side alley by Tender who was using her Hellmouth learned medic skills to bandage the boy, while keeping any of those too interested in turning Charlie into a meal, sorry to have looked his way. Psycho was happily slicing and dicing and singing her way through the melee. Blue Thunder was living up to the name coined by Gunn, by leaving destruction in her wake. Rogue was a little worse for wear but holding her own, her leather jacket had seen better days though.

Spike motioned to Angel looking over at Faith. Angel nodded. They both fought their way over to Faith helping her get rid of some hulky stone-like creatures. Spike noticed that both Angel and Faith looked like they had dealt with their kind before.

“Spike, try to tear out a piece of their skin…it’s the only thing that kills them,” Angel growled.

“Right then. Ok Mr. Rocky Horror, how bout giving me a little chip off the ol’ block.”

Angel groaned, “Spike, you have got to be kidding me with that one.”

Faith just smirked, “Gotta say, damn, Bleachy I missed you. No one appreciates my catch phrases. I’ve been trying out a few in honor of your unpassing.”

~~~~~
Ten minutes later.

The battle still raged on. Spike had, by now, lost count of his kills. Not that it mattered. They still seemed to keep coming. Even he had started to tire.

When Faith had asked Angel about Wes, Faith seemed to gain some second wind upon learning of his demise. He had heard of her homicidal tendencies, but had never seen them in action. Bluebell had sensed Faithy’s incredible pain for Wes and begun to fight by her side.

At first, Spike noticed Faith had to overcome her initial shock of Blue’s appearance. Illyria morphed briefly into Fred and back again, so Faith would not attack her by accident.

“What the hell happened to you Fred?” Faith asked.

“Winfred Burkle or Fred is no longer. Fred as she was called is the shell in which I have been sentenced to live out my existence. Wesley loved Fred. Wesley was helping me learn to live in this world despite how I entered it. I feel grief for him like you. More violence must be shed for him. My wrath is not yet complete,” explained Illyria.

“For Wes,” Faith whispered and followed Big Blue slaughtering tens of hundreds in their vengeance.

~~~~~
Five minutes later.

Spike’s patience was wearing thin. Dana had been fighting by his side, humming some vanilla pop princess’ song that was making him want to just let the hulking purple lion-faced demon have at her. “Shut it you silly bint,” he growled.

“Music helps me. My Watcher told me you liked her songs. To sing them to you when I saw you. My apologies,” she said.

Dreading he knew the answer, he ventured, “Who’s your Watcher, little one?”

“The great Xander,” she beamed proudly.

Spike thanked whatever powers in the universe that were responsible for his lack of humanity at that moment, for he would have surely keeled over dead from that declaration. Bloody Xander the Great, my arse.

“Well, Pinky, lay off that rot. Now you can hum some White Stripes if ya’ like, that’d be alright.”
~~~~~

Twenty minutes later.

Spike sensed it before he realized what had happened. Then he heard Charlie cry out from the alley and Faith screaming. Something had happened to Peaches. Something bad.

He asked Blue to watch over Dana. He had already begun to overlook their previous dalliance. Yes, Pinky was starting to grow on him. It had to be the pigtails.

He rushed over to where it appeared Faith was vomiting. That wasn’t right. Rogue never got sick on a mission. She looked up at Spike with tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t get to him, Spike.”

Rona had used her jacket as a pillow under Angel’s head. Gunn was crying; his bandages peppered with bloodstains. Angel looked like he had been put upon a rack and then gored. Rona looked up at him with questioning eyes.

Guilt washed over his soul. He had lost track of Angel in the brouhaha. Angel had been off somewhere northwest of him, out of the alley and into the street. Some nasties had torn off his arms at the sockets and used something large to stick through his middle. Angel was bleeding too much to survive these wounds, despite Roni’s expert bandaging. The bleeding wasn’t stopping.

“Got ya with Holy water?” Spike asked softly. Angel nodded grimacing in pain.

Behind him, someone landed heavily on the pavement. That scent. Damn. He was not supposed to be here.

“Father?”

~~~~~~
tbc

Spike’s Way

Beta: The splendiferous Always_jbj.

A/N: Warning: Chapter contains character death. Dialogue taken from ‘Origin’ & ‘Just Rewards.’

Chapter 3:

“Father,” cried Connor as he stood from the crouched position he had landed in, Spike followed Connor’s trajectory from where he had landed. Superboy had leaped from atop the roof of the Hyperion. First Blue, now the boy, he really needed to work on his entrance. He suppressed the tickle of pride he felt for the boy. Peaches had said his nephew wasn’t going to be here.

****FLASHBACK****
Two weeks ago…

Standing in the shadows under the stairwell opposite Angel’s office, Spike had watched the boy enter Daddy’s office. He had sensed something had been off with the lad, when Peaches introduced him the other day, but he had dismissed it. Thought he had received too many punches in the nose from little Shiva to account for the scent.

The schoolboy smelled of Darla and Angel, and he just knew that couldn’t be right. Just before Peaches and the boy had entered his ‘Thunderdome,’ the filthy harlot had knocked him clear out of the room and into the hallway.

But watching the Poof, he saw an Achilles’ heel he’d never known existed. The Poof was actually unsure of how to react around the boy. The kid held all the power. From all his time with Angelus, he knew that if he had still been truly evil…had it not been for Buffy…this would have been something to exploit.

He had regained memories of learning about Connor when some box was destroyed by the ex-Watcher. He had learned that from Bluebird. Apparently, Wes had questions about Angel and Fred and had thought the box had something to do with Fred’s death. It was worse than that. Much worse!

If Buffy had known all that Peaches didn’t tell her, she would have staked him herself. Peaches knockin’ up Great-Grandma-now-Sis, Darla staking herself to save the babe, Wes thinkin’ some balls-up prophesy of ‘the father will kill the son’ applied to Peaches, Wes nabbin’ said babe and getting his throat slashed for his trouble, then the baby getting carried away to some alternate universe by the Step-Dad from Hell who just happened to have a personal hard-on for Angel.

Fast forward a few months, boy coming back a parent’s worse nightmare, a bloody teenager. The lad sleeping with evil Cordy an’ the two of them making this sodding Jasmine bitch. Then top it all off with Connor threatenin’ to detonate enough C-4 to create ocean front property for Death Valley. His head ached. Damm, he needed a stiff drink.

He remembered hearing from Dru about her turning Darla. Thinking that her coming back was not of the good. He smirked at his inner Buffy. Red had mentioned Connor after she came back from re-souling the Poof. Ruddy Angel…always losing his soul…such a nasty habit of his…need to tie a chain around it.

Buffy had not permitted herself to react to the news at all. She had been too busy being the little Miss General for the potentials.

And now he realized that when ‘tall, dark and forehead’ had come round to the Hellmouth that last time, Peaches had already had the memory spell in place. Neither he nor Buffy had remembered him having a son. What a bloody wanker!

Over the bustle of Wolfram & Hart’s employees, Spike heard Connor tell Peaches, “I need to take care of my parents. This isn’t their world. They really don’t feel safe here. You gotta do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father.”

He fell back further into the shadows to watch as Connor prowled out of the Poof’s office, with a predatory glint in his eye, to the elevator. Angel was watching his sprog walk away from him. He could not see it, but the boy had turned his head toward Angel causing some sort of reaction. He had to find out what that was about.

After the elevators doors closed, Spike approached Angel, “So, that’s my nephew, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Angel said, sighing wearily, “I did all this to protect him from those memories, what he did, what he almost became…and it was all for nothing. I did it all for nothing.”

“Ah mate, s’not like he looked devastated by the revelation. Seemed like he’s coping with it and all that.” Spike shifted uncomfortably. He had come into the room to poke fun, but what was the point if Angel was just pathetic. No fun to be had.

He asked, “Is he going back to the Mum and Dad? Do they know who he is?”

“No, he wants it that way. I’m… no we’re going to respect that, okay. He wants to be able to lead a normal life and except for the fact that he has super strength, he is completely human.” Angel stared directly in Spike’s eyes using his old Sire link to emphasize his point.

“Fine, s’not like I care. Don’t know the brat anyway. Just as long as Connor made the decision about his life this time, and not you. You tend to bully people into choices they didn’t want to make simply because you think it’s best for them.” Spike counted knowing that Peaches would cringe at his reference to Buffy.

“I had no choice last time with Connor’s memories Spike…you weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t. Now, I am on the piss. And no, you aren’t soddin’ well invited.”

*************
Back to the Alley…

Spike noticed that while he was being concerned for Angel, the perimeter had been broken. Something needed to be done quickly.

“Roni, Blue, Pinky…I need you three to stay alert. Try to back them out. We’ve got to end this quickly. Faith and Gunn will be joining you soon. Keep it off us as long as you can.” Spike ordered.

Blue paused and stood before Angel and Connor. “You will not persist much longer. A poison designed to kill the dead and sprinkled with that noxious water of the newer God has damaged you. As a leader, you had betrayed Wesley, but he remained loyal to you. I shall abide by that loyalty and avenge you when you pass from this existence.” She then went in pursuit of her next kill.

Spike walked over to Faith, cupped her chin making her look him in the eye, “Faith… Rogue, I know you tried. I lost track of him too. He’s my Grand-Sire. Don’t ya think I feel that? No more tears, he would not want to see that. Go make your peace with him.”

Spike walked Faith over to Angel’s side. While Faith knelt beside Connor, Spike hovered over the three. He looked over at Gunn who was having trouble breathing. Damn.

“Spike. I think I can save him,” said Faith with hope in her eyes.

“What are you on about, pet?”

“Illyria said Angel’s been poisoned with the ‘Killer of the Dead.’ I  used that on him before. That’s why Buffy allowed him to bite her…in order to save him. He could bite me. Slayer’s blood is the cure for that,” Faith offered.

“No, Faith, you can’t,” whispered Angel. “It won’t work this time. It’s too late. It wouldn’t be enough. It would take an army of slayers and an ocean more to save me now. All your slayers couldn’t do that, and I would not ask you to sacrifice yourself. Besides, they sprinkled just enough holy water to start the burn inside…only enough so I could feel myself being eaten away.”

“Father, there has to be something we can do!” Frustration and grief taking over Superboy’s stoic façade, he snapped, “Stop being such a girl! Weren’t you supposed to be the ‘Scourge of Europe,’ some major bad ass? If Holtz taught me anything, it was that Angelus always planned an escape. Come on, Father think of something to help you instead of just lying there and giving up.” He turned away to compose himself for a moment; turning back to his father he spoke once more, in a more subdued voice, "I'm sorry."

“Connor…son…I know. It’s okay. I am happy to see you, even though you aren’t supposed to be here. Spike if I didn’t know better I’d think you had a hand in his growing up.” Angel tried to smile through the pain.

Spike shrugged, “Ta’ about time the lad had a proper role model, peaches.”

“Connor, you remember Captain Peroxide here, he’s your uncle…long story and he can explain it to you. Listen to him. I love you Connor…I want you to get Gunn into the Hyperion. I’ve already had it blessed with a protection spell as a precaution. Get him safely inside. Be happy, that’s all I ever wanted for you. Don’t be angry that I’m dying okay.”

“Okay,” Connor answered quickly with a smirk. “Come on, Father, with our history, you know I had to do that. And I want you to know that I understand what you did. I love you too.” He bent down to whisper in his father’s ear, “I’ll protect them all. Bye, Father.” With that Connor touched Angel’s cheek, and then went to help Charlie inside the Hyperion’s back entrance.

“Cute kid, he’s sardonic, I like him. It’s hard to believe he’s yours and Darla’s tyke,” he said as he rolled his tongue behind his teeth and smiled.

“Yeah, he listens as well as you ever did.” Peaches muttered, “I have some things I must tell you, and we don’t have much time. In the hotel office safe, there are papers. You need them. I knew coming into this fight tonight, I wouldn’t be coming out of it. Earlier in the day, I signed away the Shanshu…”

“You what…you bleeding idiot…”

“William, shut up…it was never going to be mine. I had already realized it. And after Rome, I realized what I should have known a long time ago…she’s yours. I’ve seen the marks you’ve tried to hide, Spike. (He had slipped into his old brogue) Why do ya’ think I was so bloody angry, me boy?”

Spike was gobsmacked. The Poofter had seen Buffy’s bite marks on his neck but had never let on. Blimey. But now he recalled the glower on Angel’s face when he’d spat out “You got no idea what we had;” he realized that when he was doing his Casper impersonation Angel must have seen them.

“Angel, mate. What are you asking?”

“First, I want your blood oath to protect my son. As much as it kills me to admit this, you protect the family. You protected Dru from me at times, and I know that you keep your word. That’s who you are, William. Do this for me.”

Spike had never seen such sincerity and dare he say, love, shining in the ninny’s eyes-ever. Well there was that one time. His soul and demon were touched by such trust from his Grand Sire.

He took an unneeded breath. Slipping back into vamp face, he bent down to nick a cut in Angel’s neck wary of the poison. He then sliced a cut on his palm placing his cut over Angel’s neck. Letting the blood intermingle, Spike invoked, “Upon my word, as your Childer and as a member of the Order of Aurelius, I vow to protect your son ‘til I’m ashes.”

“Now William me boy, I need you to do me one last little favor. And as the Sire of your Sire, ya’ can not refuse me this,”

“What do you want me to do, Angel?” Spike responded in a hushed whisper realizing that just as Angel had slipped back into his Irish brogue, his voice had regained William’s intonations.

“Stake me, end me torment. I cannot take the pain anymore. My innards are been eaten away by both the water and the poison. Please, William.”

Angel’s sorrowful gaze tore at his soul, while his demon wanted to release havoc. But havoc could not be released just yet. Sadly he nodded, whispering his agreement. He reached inside his duster for a stake. The crazy thought of that old American Express advert flashed in his head, except his would say, “Wooden stake, never leave home without one.”

“You’re still a dick, ya’ know. You shite, here’s what I have been bleeding dreaming about for a right long time, an’ you have to soddin’ ruin this moment for me by goin’ and serving yourself up to me on a ruddy silver platter. Bollocks. You know, she’s goin’ to be brassed off at this…an’ you aren’t goin’ to have to witness the fallout, you bloody wanker. No, don’t look at me like that, I’m getting’ round to it.” Right then, he positioned the stake over Angel’s heart. “Goodbye you right miserable bastard, would say it’s been a pleasure…but you’d know I’d be lying.”

With that said, Spike plunged the stake into the bane of his unlife and felt bloody wretched about doing so. As Angel turned into dust, Spike could see him form the words, “Thank you.”

~~~~~~
Flash of a rain-soaked alley filled with hideous demons. Flash of a dragon being slain by an unseen hero. Flash of a blue leather clad woman smashing holes in the faces of demons as she prowled through the horde. Flash of an image of Faith, Rona and that new girl smiling at someone. Flash of a hauntingly familiar leather duster with a hint of white blonde hair. Flashes…faster…more flashes of great battle being waged. Final flash of a bloodied and broken Angel asking someone to stake him, seeing Spike put and end to his pain.

“Angel! Spike!?!” the blonde awoke from her mid-afternoon nap. “No it can’t be. He died in Sunnydale. How could he be with Angel? Angel? Angel! Can’t be.”

Too late, Buffy felt her slayer senses scream at her. Two strong arms grabbed her from behind holding her back down on the sofa. Before she had time to seriously put a hurt on the offending party, she felt a needle being stuck in her neck. Her eyes searched for who was doing this to her and why.

As her mind began feeling fuzzy, Buffy’s heart ran ice-cold as she heard, “It’s done. My bella is ready for transport. Si, the money was received into my account. Grazie.”

The Immortal! Buffy had been sleeping with an enemy. She had to get out of here, but she couldn’t feel her arms or legs anymore. What had he given her?

“Ah, my bella, do not fret. Had you not awakened from your nap earlier than planned, you would have not had have to endure this fright.” He frowned. Why was he frowning, she thought.

“But you see, both your former pet vampires have made trouble for certain associates of mine. They have started something that is distasteful, and unfortunately for you, you must now play a part of that game.”

Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, but she managed to ask, “My pet vampires?”

The Immortal gazed upon her as if she were a little child, “Why, yes, your Angel and Spike of course.” He turned his gaze to whatever goon was behind her. “Now take her to the Wolfram & Hart office.”

‘Spike’s alive…and with Angel?’ was her last thought before the darkness completely enveloped her.

~~~~
End of Chapter 3.
Chapter 4:

Beta’d by Always_jbj.
Thanks to Q for her awesome help with Faith.


The sound and smell of the battle been being waged had all but disappeared to the recesses of his mind. He just kept staring at what remained of Peaches…just dust. After a hundred twenty-four years, the biggest pain  of his unlife lay scattered before him. Funnily enough, he felt angry and abandoned by old broody pants.

Looking around for a can or box, Spike felt Connor just approach him. Ignoring the lad for a bit, he grabbed a metal box and began gathering Angel’s dust in it. At least the lad would have them.

“Are ya’ going to stand there or are you going to help me here?” He asked without looking up.

“Yeah, then I’ll take my revenge. He wasn’t theirs to kill…only I could do that.”

“Sorry Junior but I claimed dibs on him long before you were even the an idea in your Da’s knob. Everything’s all sixes and sevens. I know that. But let’s get him sorted and then we can dance, right.” Spike needed to take Junior under his wing…he had a promise to keep. Yeah, ‘and miles to go before I sleep,’ sod Frost.

Together they gathered the rest of Angel into the box. Spike tucked the box inside the pocket of his duster. Bloke would not want to miss the rest of the action.

Grabbing the trusty katana…he was going to have to keep this nice little toy, Spike watched as Connor picked out a battle-axe. A change had come over the boy. Even though Junior was still wearing Abercrombie & Fitch preppy wear, he looked remarkably different from when he had last seen him…this must be how he appeared as the ‘Destroyer of Quor-toth.’ Glad that the lad was on his team. Sparky was a tad scary… now he could see Angel-face in him.

“Uncle…” smiling creepily as if he was testing out a new word on his lips, Connor said, “You called it a dance…I like that analogy.”

“Okay Destructo-boy, ready to rumble?”

“Yes, just don’t get in my way…I remember seeing some of these demons in Quor-toth. I’ll make quick work of them. They’ve forgotten me…they’ll be sorry they did.”

Spike’s soul beamed with pride as he fought side-by-side with his nephew. The Destroyer and William the Bloody had cut a swathe through fifty demons in three minutes. Heads, limbs, other questionable parts had all been dismembered.

And Spike’s demon was relishing the violence. Fangs bared, fists flying, katana singing through the air…he felt as though he was almost waltzing. One…slice, two…turn, and three punch…four push. By God, it was intoxicating.
~~~~~
Spike sought out the positions of the rest of his band of merry soldiers. They needed to regroup. He knew that the sun would be up in about an hour. They had to hurry and finish this if he still wanted to be a part of it.

“Rogue, Tender, Blue, Pinky, Sparky… to me, in a V…fight and talk strategy…same time.”

Pinky was actually skipping to join him. Silly chit. Faith and Connor exchanged nods as they battled their way to meet. Blue just steamrolled her way through any idiot demon that thought her tiny size meant easy pickings…had they just arrived? Roni had tied her dreads back in a knot, blood on her brow…she was using the Docs on her feet to stomp the bloody hell out of some miserable bugger. Good girl.

“Sun’s coming up soon…an’ I have a serious aversion to being crispy…ideas are welcome…one time offer.” He said.

Rogue got a wild look in her eyes. “Girls, I think it’s time, don’t you. This party’s starting to blow…aren’t you guys getting bored?” Roni and Pinky exchanged secretive smiles.

Before he could respond, Blue beat him to the punch, “You are a strange one. You speak in riddles. You are tiring, your body weakening. This battle is too much for you, even though you three humans have more power than most. I find it tiresome that you trifle with such amusement. You three have joined our battle, but were not invited to it. It is distasteful that you mock this war. Wesley and now Angel have fallen victim to it. You mock their memories. Spike has my loyalty…he showed me Crash Bandicoot…took me outside. Angel’s son and Spike will not be mocked….”

“It’s alright, Blue…” Spike stopped her before she decided to use Faith as her new play toy. “You’ll learn that’s just how Rogue is, she didn’t mean any harm by it. An’ I took no offense.” Turning to Faith, he asked, “But I would like to know just what in the bloody hell you are on about? Time for what?”

During Blue’s diatribe, Roni and Dana had taken defending positions in front of Rogue. All three relaxed at the question. Faith nodded at the other two, who then retrieved two backpacks they had stowed behind some boxes near to where Roni had earlier placed Charlie.

Looking questionably at Faith, he asked, “What have you chits got planned, Rogue?”

“We brought some extra goodies… that Dana’s Watcher thought might come in handy.”

Spike was sure that Rogue didn’t know Pinky had let on earlier that Xander was her Watcher…for some reason she was keeping that fact under wraps. What “goodies” did the Whelp have them bring? Donuts? Snacks?

Roni opened hers first. Pulling out a portable flame-thrower, Tender put it together and lit it up, “Do you like, Billy boy? It has a range of 15-feet, and it’s collapsible so I can fold it into my backpack…neat, eh.”

“Bloody hell. Why didn’t you bring that baby out to play earlier? We could have been out of here long ago.”

“It doesn’t stay lit for very long, Spike. I’m sorry. It’s still just a prototype and can only be used for like five minutes tops. It’s for backup only,” Roni answered softly.

“S’alright…I see now.” he turned to Dana, “What’s in your bag, Pinky?”

That sound…. he’d heard it a year ago…it sings. No it couldn’t be. He closed and then reopened his eyes; he had to be to be sure that what he was seeing was real.

In Psycho Slayergirl’s hands was the deadliest weapon he had ever come across…Buffy’s Scythe.

He vamped, “What did you bints do to her? That’s Buffy’s.” He could feel Junior holding him back from attacking Dana, whose smile had turned into a confused frown. “She’s not dead…I’d feel it…so you had to do something to her to have that now. I’ll ask again…what…did…you…bints…do…to…my…Slayer?”

“B’s five by five, Spike don’t sweat it, I promise. She gave me this baby when she went to Europe. Rona and I felt terrible about what went down that night, what with throwing her out and all. But after…well you know…I took over Cleveland, and well, the scythe, it came with the package. I’m not arguing that it’s hers, man, damn straight it is! When she wants it back, it’s hers…no question! I’ll give it to her. Come on, you’re making Precious cry.”

Spike calmed a bit, noticing that in fact Pinky did have tears in her eyes…still holding the scythe like some prize she’d won at the fair. He was such a tosser. Never could stand to watch a bint cry.

“S’okay Con, you can let me go now.” Moving over to Pinky, Spike patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, his fingers protesting loudly. “Hush now ducks, no need for that…’twas a bit of a shock that’s all. Now, are you going to show me what you can do with that?”

“No toys for you, Rogue?”

“Nah, you know me, Bleachy…I like to get my hands dirty.”

“Right then, enough of the blabber…let’s get this done…we’ve got Charlie waiting for us inside the hotel. Now off with you lot.”

~~~~

With the additions of the Slayer’s scythe and the flame-thrower, the remaining hundreds of the horde were quickly culled. Battling the last remaining dregs, Spike’s senses tingled with the onset of the sun’s rising. He had to get inside and soon. No sooner than he’d thought that did he realize that the demons were beating a hasty retreat.

“They must be allergic to the sun as well.” Faith panted next to him. “We’ve got to get you inside. It looks like the shows over out here anyway.”

Spike followed his merry little troop to the back entrance of the Hyperion hotel.

~~~~~~
Interior of the Hyperion Hotel

The place could have used a good cleaning. Apparently, Peaches had not kept the place decent for company since signing with the Evil Lawyers-R-Us. Papers were strewn across the floor, cobwebs decorated the nooks and crannies, and there was an odor…sewage…a pipe must have burst. Not that he minded, place kind of reminded him of his old haunt the Factory…now that place exuded atmosphere.

As Spike was taking in the ambiance, the others had gone to work. Rona, with Connor’s help, had set up a makeshift medic station on the circular couch in the center of the room. Faith had taken out crystals from her bag and had gone about setting them at all the entrances. Brilliant-extra layer of protection, he thought. Dana was out of her sneakers and was busy cleaning the scythe and other weapons. Blue was observing Charlie, who was resting on a sofa that Connor must have pulled out for him earlier. Charlie’s heartbeat had strengthened; he was going to make it.

“Glad to see you still this side of the living, Charlie boy,” Spike teased after he had walked up to Gunn’s prone form and sniffed, “But you could use a wash…the entrails don’t suit ya.”

“Well Sid Fangless, I always considered you a winter…but that green slime does nothing for your complexion,” Gunn parried.

“Sod off you twit, you have the luxury of not having to wear it…Roni here is going to check up on you …oh and Blue here too.”

“Yes. I am happy that ‘Roni’ arrived in time to counter the damage you have received. I would have not been pleased to have witnessed your death,” added Illyria.

“Thanks, Blue Thunder…I saw you kick some righteous demon butt before I got hustled in here. Wesley would have been proud.”

“Gunn, Blue…ladies…I need to chat with Junior for a bit. Won’t be long…and then you’ll explain everything to me,” Spike stated, staring meaningfully at Faith.

“Junior…step into the office.”

~~~~~

Spike followed Connor into what appeared the office. Bookshelves, desk and chairs were still arranged as if the room had been waiting for its owner to reclaim them. He needed to clear the air with Junior, make sure no resentments would be coming back to bite him in the arse.

As he started to speak Connor rushed forth, “Uncle Spike…I’m glad he asked you. It’s strange. The memories are still so twisted, but I remember that I had wanted him dead…had actually come close several times to dusting him when I first returned. Do you know about the ocean?” He asked sheepishly.

“No, he didn’t tell me about that…just that you had issues. But what father and son don’t have ‘em.”

“I left him to die at the bottom of the ocean…sealed in a crate provided with a barred window, so he could watch the fish.” Junior kept his eyes focused on his feet, “I was so angry…I didn’t understand. It was time wasted.”

Spike couldn’t help it…he laughed. First time, in a long while he’d been able to do that. Oh, his sides were hurting…blood tears were forming. Noticing the lad’s shocked reaction, Spike quickly wiped away the tears and tried to calm the laughter, “Sorry…Con…it’s just that…bloody hell…I would have brought popcorn and paid kittens to see that. What a show and I bleedin' missed it! And you had him down there…’swimming with the fishes!’ Come on…tell me that’s not funny.”

Finally, Spike saw Sparky crack a smile. Knew he had it in him. The boy had potential, alright.

“Now,” sobering up, “Peaches told me there were some paperwork in a safe somewhere in here…you know where that might be?”

“Yes, this was my Father’s, and then Wesley’s office. The safe is over there…I still know the combination…and do I want to know why you called him Peaches?” Connor blabbed as he moved to the safe, opened it and removed its contents.

“No, you really don’t. Let’s see what me old Sire, your Da has left for us to find.”

Sorting through the papers, Spike found two envelopes addressed to him and one envelope addressed to Connor. The twit had been spot on in the alley when he said that he had known he wasn’t going to survive the battle. And he was holding the proof. Handing Junior his letter, Spike examined his.

Ever the controlling tosser, Peaches had marked ‘Open First’ and ‘Spike, Open the Other One First’ on the envelopes. Shaking his head at the nerve, Spike ripped open the second envelope. Peaches bloody knew him so well:

Spike:

I knew you couldn’t resist one last defiance, at times you were so easy to predict. If you are reading this, then Cordelia’s vision has come to pass, and I am done with my part in the bigger picture. I know you don’t cater to any Powers That Be…but they chose you for a reason. Though I am loathe seeing why. You are still a pathological, idiotic, limey piece of crap who never knew when to shut it, but you are without a doubt a brave hero.

Don’t get your knickers in a twist…this will stop being sentimental right now.

The defeat of the Circle of the Black Thorn was the sounding bell. The battle that was just waged was just the first skirmish. Lindsay was correct in that the fight is ongoing. You have some time before the major battle will be fought.

In the other envelope are copies of deeds to this hotel, some other properties, bank account numbers with pass codes and the deed to the jet. Ask Gunn. We secretly arranged the purchase of the jet under Hamilton’s not-so watchful eye. Both you and Connor are the new proud owners of my estate.

Take care of him and tell Buffy that I don’t want her to take it out on you. Be a champion, William.

Angel

Spike re-read the letter one more time then looked over at his nephew. Connor was shaking with grief. Bugger all, and the lad had been holding up so well.

“S’alright Connor…now let’s find out to what we owe the pleasure of the company of the Slayerettes.”

He waited a moment while Connor composed himself. The lad really was impressing him. Together they strolled back out into the lobby.

~~~~
“Right then Rogue…let’s cut to the chase shall we. Enough time has passed. What brought our little problems to the attention of the Slayerettes and how in the bleeding hell did you ‘pop’ in here?” Spike demanded, fixing his attention solely on Faith.

Faith began, “Well it started when a seer at the Coven got a message from Tara….”


~~~~
End Chapter 4


************
Chapter 5:

Beta: by the lovely always_jbj

(Lobby of Hyperion Hotel)

“Glinda? But she’s…” shock was overtaken by a sliver of fear, “Is the First back?” Spike stammered. Glinda. His undead heart mourned for the blonde witch…the only one who had seemed to really accept the possibility of a relationship between him and the Slayer. He growled, “Rogue, you better be quick with this ‘cause I’m feeling a bit peckish an’ right now I might be willing to overlook that I’m a soddin white hat now!”

“Chill out man…it’s cool. First’s not back. This Seer checked everything out, crossed all the T’s and dotted all the Is. ‘Cause you know everyone’s still on the alert for any sign of The First. So this Seer-witch happened to be in Cleveland, had a nasty bit of business, nothing we couldn’t handle of course…anyway she was in my backyard. No really in my backyard.”

He raised his eyebrow. As long as he had known Faith, she had only lived out of cheap motels or behind prison bars.

“Hey, I’m a homeowner, what of it? We have a benefit package. Geez, do you want to hear this or not,” she huffed.

“Go on, S’not as if I’m stoppin’ ya is it?” he snarled.

“So yeah Tara was allowed by the Powers That Be to serve as their messenger on this one. And her message was a doozy too. Tara said that ‘those of the light’ had been worried about Angelcakes ever since Cordy up and died, breaking their link. Yeah, even though they had Cordy give him some vision dream or something they still didn’t know what side he would choose. Already had that little issue about him and Acathla and then something about Junior and Jasmine. Who’s this Jasmine chick by the way? Nah, never mind. Hey get this Bleachy…man they’ve been watching you since before Drusilla got a hold of you. Yeah, you’ve always been special to them. Some kind of master plan. Ain’t that a kick in the ass,” Faith paused a second before continuing, wearing a big smile with a smudge of mustard yellow goo on her brow.

Feelings of surprise and anger began to overwhelm Spike. He was not some plaything for some blasted Powers. To be kicked around, manipulated into doing their biding. Sod it all, he was William the Bloody, Spike! And no one, be it demon, human or God would tell him how to run his life. But he had to reign in his emotions and listen to the information Faith had to share. The Powers had used Glinda…and Glinda at least he would listen to.

Faith was continuing her explanation, “Okay so Tara told this Seer chick that she needed to tell Dana’s Watcher to help Spike. That what his time was now, whatever that meant. That Angel and Spike would be striking a blow against Evil Inc. but they would need the help of three slayers to last through the first battle. Tara okayed me, and Dana and Rona volunteered. Boy when I heard you were alive, I wanted to get my ass to L.A. to do a couple of shots. But Tara’s message also contained a warning. Those of us trusted with the message could not tell Giles, Buffy and Dawn. Telling any of them would put their lives in immediate danger. Tara told us to be here, we’re here. Seer-witch knew a translocation spell and how to focus it. Got a few of her coven to help her with the mojo and after a nice shower of glitter we ‘popped’ in here. But now that we’ve done what we were sent here for, let’s get the hell out of L.A. ‘Cause gotta say Cleveland is looking better and better, and that’s tragic.”

Spike’s attention focused on the warnings about Buffy and Dawn and about those who were trusted. “Rogue…so you say this ‘Seer’ chit who happens to be in Cleveland with you gets a ‘message’ from Glinda, given to her by those Wankers That Be sayin’ to bring yourself and two slayer pals with you to help me an’ the Grand Poof strike a blow against Evil Inc. And you wot…thought ‘slamming good time’ let’s ‘pop’ on in? And Rona…you volunteered? Come on…you (pointing to Rona) never liked me in good old Sunnyhell and Pinky here…well let’s just say my fingers still tingle from our last meeting.” His anger had reached its peak, his voice reverberated throughout the walls of the old hotel, as he continued hammering away at all the holes he saw in her explanation, “You talked about some secret message from Tara to Pink’s Watcher…but who is yours Faith and yours Roni? Just who in the bleeding hell was trusted with this ‘message’…that was the brain trust behind this operation?”

Dana had scooted forward during Faith’s explanation. She looked as if she wanted to add something to the conversation, but was too shy to do so in front of all the different people. Strange that she been so carefree out slaughtering the demons outside, but in here with her fellow Slayers and other normal people, scratch that…one regular person with artificially enhanced lawyer knowledge embedded in his brain, one offspring of two master vampires and one master vampire with a soul…she seemed almost tongue-tied. Pinky was shuffling her bare feet and twirling a finger around one of her ponytails.

“Err…umm…Spike,” Pinks stammered, “could you…umm…come over here?” She motioned her head to a corner near the stairwell away from the others.

“Alright, give me a second ducks,” he cast a warning glance at Faith and Rona to stay put before he went to see what troubled his hand-removing psycho-slayer. The fact that neither Faith nor Rona named Dana’s Watcher raised the hackles on his neck. They were still playing close to the vest, better to see what Psycho wanted to tell him and play it from there.

“Right pet…what is it you want to tell Ol’Spike?” he asked softly.

“When I was confused and hurt you and the Angel one stopped me. Mr. Andrew came with others like me. It was very hard. Brown walls. Yellow walls. No one understood me like you tried to do. I didn’t understand that I was seeing through the eyes of those that came before me. But then came Mr. Eye Patch and he made jokes. He painted my room at the Council lavender and made me a blue weapon’s chest. No more brown. No more yellow. I told him about you. He didn’t believe me. Thought I was seeing the other two …before you were good. Then one day, he came to me and said he believed me. He was going to be my Watcher and would I like to come live with him. He helped me become me again. I know I am still not whole. I am trying. Then he sent me to Faith…said he had to go check out something about a beautiful necklace. When he came back, he told me that he ‘might be able to help Spike’. That his Ahn would want him to. He cries over his Ahn at night when he doesn’t know I am awake. He will be waiting for us.” She poured out in a hushed whisper still very child-like in her delivery.

So Xander wanted to help him for Anya’s sake. And the Whelp had apparently made some discovery about the nifty little amulet that had allowed him to bring the bloody Hellmouth down. First Glinda and now Monkey boy. Perhaps the blonde witch was trying to tell Xander something in her little message to him hidden within the bigger one. Bugger all, his life was getting complicated.

“Shush now Pinks, not to worry. I’m not angry with you,” he whispered to her surprising himself that in fact it was the truth…he had forgiven her. “Now let me ask you, do you know why Faith and Rona haven’t told me who your Watcher is?”
“Nope. But he said to tell his old roommate he has a box of Wheetabix ready for him in Cleveland with some marshmallows,” she said looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

He had already been shocked more times tonight than he had in probably the last thirty years of his unlife, but to learn that the glorified construction worker and snack obtainer, regular dog’s body, had not only purchased him a box of Wheetabix but had extended an invite through his slayer was too much. The Whelp…the cantankerous sore on the arse of humanity…in truth the only one who probably hated Angel more than he did…had reached out a friendly hand.

Connor had walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Uncle are you alright?”

“Ta, Connor,” he said appreciating his nephew cared about his well-being. Noticing Pinks heartbeat has increased since Connor had approached them and a slight flush was appearing in her cheeks, he smiled inwardly at the crush the slayerette had on his nephew. “Connor have you met Dana, no…well Pinky here survived her own ‘hell dimension’ so to speak…brave chit she is…got the best of me…not many alive can say that. Well Junior, the two of you need to wash up…will you show here where she can get the blood off.”

“Sure, Uncle Will, come on Dana, I’ll show you the best rooms in the hotel.” He watched their progress up the stairs before turning back toward the rest of the room.

“Charlie my boy…ya think you can make it up the stairs or is there a place down here where you can get clean?” he asked wanting to clear the lobby of all but him and the two remaining slayers. While he was anxious to rid himself of the noxious scent of the blood and fluids of those he had slain, his need could wait. As a Master vampire, he had had to endure much worse than the inconvenience currently presented.

Gunn who was never one to be slow on the uptake, and for that Spike was pleased, answered, “Yeah Spike, I can make it to the second floor. My old room is not too far. Be glad too get into some fresh gear. Don’t be too long yourself…got to take care of your duster. That’s your trademark.”

Blue cocked her head to the side and said, “I will stay here. You wish to speak with these two ‘slayers’ alone. There is no wisdom in this. When once I walked with my Old Ones, there was a demon who was without form but very powerful. It craved violence. It was but an insignificant gnat. I have sensed that demon resting inside those three ‘slayers.’ While this one you call Rona has been helpful in healing Gunn, the one you call Rogue has been withholding information. If you would wish it, I would take pleasure in playing our game with her.”

Faith had the common sense to look scared. Spike tried not to smile. Their bloody game. When Illyria first arrived, it had been left to him to find out what her physical attributes were. In the blinding white room that still gave him unpleasant reminders of the Initiative, they faced off like two gladiators of old. Blue had just suggested that she square off against Faith to learn all.

“S’okay Bluebell. Stay if you like. Faithy and Roni are gonna answer my questions, if they want to leave here at all.”

Rona jumped at the cue first, “Spike…I want you to know. I did volunteer. Look, you’re right. In Sunnydale, I was still just a potential, scared that I was going to die like Eve and Chloe. I was supposed to be a vampire slayer and yet Buffy said you were off the hit list. And all she did was lecture, I was young…I didn’t understand. That night was real messed up. You came back and she was gone…then when you both were back, nothing was said. Buffy told us how you saved us all. That’s why I am here, Spike.”

“This one does not deceive you.” Blue started.

He interrupted, “I know Shiva, vampire here remember…heart rates…I’m a bloody polygraph. Apology accepted Tender…why don’t you go find Pinks and wash up.”

“Thanks Billy boy,” Rona smiled, “I am really happy that I could help here today.” With that she ran up the stairwell in search of her fellow slayer.

“Now Faithy…it’s just you, me and Blue here. Why don’t we start off real or nice an’ easy…who’s your Watcher?” he asked.

“Wood,” Faith let out the breath she had been holding, “he and I are still together. Really against the rules, but when have I ever been a follower of the rules. We hold down Cleveland. Got a second Council HQ there…sort of home-away-from-home for some of the girls.”

“So Wood knows that you are here and about the message, right?”

“Well yeah, Robin helped secretly arrange Rona’s help. She’s usually in the Chicago area. Her Watcher is someone you’ve never met. His name is Adam. He was a retired Watcher in another division who returned after the bombing to help rebuild. Yeah, apparently Watchers don’t only watch us slayers.”

“And who is Dana’s Watcher? And why do you call her ‘Precious’?”

“You’re not going to like it, Spike. Man, this is why I didn’t want to tell you…cause you know the guy and you two hate each other. Okay…it’s Xander. And why don’t you look, you know, surprised?”

“Pinky told me during the battle…was waiting for you to tell me, ducks. So Xander’s a Watcher…must be loving the research.”

“When Andrew brought Dana to the Council, Xander was in Africa. No one could get through to her. Xander had come back for a visit. Went right in to see her and it was like she was completely changed. Yeah, I always had him pegged for being the fool, but with her, man you would have been amazed.”

Buzzz….buzz….buzz…buzz….

“Hold on…that’s my phone,” Faith rifles through her bag and hurriedly answers, “Hey babe. Yeah I’m five by five. Girls are good. Angel not so much. Spike is still undead… he’s… oh… okay… hold on… (to Spike) he’s handing the phone over to Xander who wants to talk to you.”

Holding the tiny red cellphone, Spike could hear Wood’s breathing, some shuffling, and finally the Whelp grabbing the phone.

“Spike…are you there? Hey Bleached Wonder…come on …(to Wood?) no one is there…Spike I need to tell you something important…it’s about Buffy.”

“What about Buffy? Does she know about me?” he growled into the cell gripping it tightly.

“Spike get your undead ass to Cleveland. I don’t care how you do it, but do it. We can’t teleport you back here, so maybe a plane or something. If you still have that old piece of junk you called a car, get in it and drive like the bat out of hell you are and get here. She and Dawn have been kidnapped. It looks like Wolfram & Hart…inside job…maybe the Immortal. Slimy piece of work, but I was in no position to tell her that.”

“Whelp if I got on a plane why in the bloody hell would I stop in Cleveland if Buffy’s somewhere in Rome? I’ve got to help her. She’s my…” he stopped himself. Was she still? Until it was proven otherwise he was going with yes.

Xander kept prattling on, “I know…but you have to come here first. I have something that you need. I can’t talk about it over the phone. This is Buffy and Dawn…come on you know despite anything, when it comes to them… well, I put them first. Spike, I can help you help them. Just get here. Put Faith back on.”

“Shut your bleeding gob, you git. I’ll be there, but I’m bringing mates. Got to make them comfy like. Three more. I own a plane now….yes, I’ll load them all up. Oh, by the way mate, your slayer is full of beans…she did good.” For some reason he wanted the Whelp to know Pinks was fine, especially after what both the bit and Faith had said.

“Thanks Spike…see you in Cleveland…now let me talk to Faith.”

Handing the phone over to Faith, Spike pulled Blue to the side. He needed both of them cleaned and ready to go. He didn’t know what she required in that direction. She seemed to sense what he was trying to ask her.

“I require minimum maintenance. I will find an appropriate place to address my wounds and remove this filth.” And with that, Illyria headed up the stairs.

Nodding over to Faith, he head motioned up the stairs indicating she should freshen up after finishing the phone call.

Once up stairs, he hollered down the hallway, “Right you lot, in fifteen minutes we’re leaving and heading for the airport. Be ready. No stragglers.”

+++++++++++
(Rome, Italy)

It was dark. She was cold. She was hungry. And she was pissed.

Upon awakening Buffy realized she had regained some of her Slayer senses, but they were still too weak. Her friendly, neighborhood kidnappers had provided her with such luxury accommodations she thought sarcastically. No light, no heat, just a mattress with a thin blanket.
She had started yelling for help when she realized that the metal walls seemed to muffle her voice. They had soundproofed the room.

A buzzer sounded. A voice, female with a heavy Italian accent, started giving her instructions. “Ah, Miss Buffy, you are awake I see. Good. Please be so kind as to move to the back wall. You will be moved to a much nicer room where you can join your sister.”

Dawn? They have Dawnie. She will find the Immortal and all who are doing this to them and slowly torture them. She wasn’t supposed to kill, but for this she might make an exception.

“Ah yes, we have your sister. She is quite comfortable, but she is so worried for you. I think it would be best if you were to join her. Now, step to the back wall.”

Buffy followed the commands, biting the inside of her cheek. She was feeling her strength returning, she might be able to make a break for it now…but without knowing where Dawnie was she couldn’t risk it. Better to play along. Hiding a smirk by looking at her bare feet, Buffy thought Spike would be impressed at her restraint.

Tears threatened to form, but she held them at bay. Not yet, have to tell Dawn. His Nibblet. She rubbed the marks at her neck. His marks. She knew it was silly, but just touching his mark made her feel safe. He would come for her and there would be hell to pay.

The door opened. Two men in Italian suits with guns pointed stepped in the room. A third man stepped inside holding handcuffs.

Wordlessly, she held out her hands in front of her. Seeing if they would be stupid enough to cuff her in front. If they did, it would be helpful information in the future. They did. The guy obviously hadn’t dealt in law enforcement or in the military.

The voice came to life again, “Do not attempt anything Miss Buffy. We have our guards on your sister as I speak. Just allow them to take you to her.”

Buffy nodded to the voice wherever it was coming from, and silently followed the goons.

As she walked down the corridor, she noticed the logo for Wolfram & Hart. Angel & Spike must have done something huge to have forced W&H to dare make such a move. Recalling her Slayer dream, she knew it was a huge battle, but she wasn’t sure what had caused it. Maybe Spike cheated someone in kitten poker, a half-smile forming on her face.

Eventually they came to a room. A steel door was unlocked and opened. Inside was a plush completely furnished room complete with kitchenette and bathroom. But most importantly, on the bed curled up into a ball was her sister.

Once she was uncuffed, she ran to her sister pulling her into a tight hug. Mindful of Dawn’s non-slayerness, Buffy eased up on the hug…caressing her sister’s hair. Together, she thought…we’ll get through this together.

“Come and find us, Spike…we love you,” she whispered closing her eyes and falling asleep next to Dawn.

+++++++++End Chap 5


Chapter 6
******

(On the newly christened Love’s Bitch flying from Los Angeles to Cleveland)

“Charlie boy, are you sure about our pilot. The bloke looks a bit like a duffer.” Spike asked rolling his eyes to the front of the plane. It had been a harrowing experience just trying to get everyone exited from the Hyperion via the sewer access to where he had stored his precious Desoto, cram everyone into his baby and then burn asphalt until they reached the LAX private airstrip hanger. Then, the cloak and dagger of Charlie doing birdcalls to some previously unknown codger who probably hadn’t flown since Korea to sneak on the jet.

“Just chill Fang. Rufus knows his stuff. He used to work for our former employers, but only doing light transport. Luckily for him, he wasn’t one of those made to sign on the blood oath dotted line. Besides he owes me a few favors…bailed his granddaughter out of a sticky custody mess with a Brachen demon a while back.” Gunn assured him.

The plane had taxied down the runway without a hitch. However, they had to file a false flight plan to throw off any unwanted welcoming committees. Apparently Rufus had come up with a few ideas of his own. Once they had cleared the tower and had been in flight for an hour, he made an emergency call to a nearby airport requesting a change of flight plan, while at the same time switching some beacon emitting their jet’s code to air traffic control. To anyone who was watching, it would appear that the jet had crashed somewhere over Wyoming.

Spike had turned his attention to his passengers, recalling that the last time he had been on this plane it had been with the Great Poof on their way back from Rome and the disastrous ‘head’ affair. Rome…and Buffy, with her bouncing hair in that nightclub dancing, like the first time he had ever seen her. Knowing that she had been kidnapped and he was trapped half way around the world made him feel as useless as he had when he was first chipped by the Initiative. He needed to get his mind off Buffy, and what they might be doing to her, in order for him to not completely tear up his smashing new jet.

Everyone had freshened up and changed clothes at the hotel. Well Blue was in her regular armor attire, he wasn’t sure what she had done to address her wounds. Gunn was wearing his street gear, a jeans jacket with dark blue jeans and a red tee. Faith was in her typical red leather pants, black cami-top, black leather jacket with heavy makeup and black boots. Rona was adorned in a style familiar to him from Sunnydale – jean overalls, purple tank, docs and a green bandana wrapped loosely around her dreads. Pinky’s style was, even in his opinion, adorable – wearing cropped faded jeans, pink high-top sneakers, a white t-shirt and pink sleeves emblazoned with the logo ‘I’m a brat!’ she had her hair again into two pigtails but instead of leaving them to hang had taken two long pink ribbons and wrapped them around to have her hair similar to the ‘Witch Hunter Robin’ anime chit. His nephew, the Destroyer, had changed out of his preppie wear to a nice respectable street punk look – black jeans, dull green t-shirt and brownish-green jean jacket. Of course, Spike was in his usual attire, spiffed up slightly for the occasion with a touch of color, under his black duster he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and red button-up shirt. Yeah the red shirt…he had not worn that in a very long time.

“So Slayerettes, give your old chum the news on the rest of the gang from our days in Sunnyhell,” he queried, suppressing the small growl that had threatened to escape.

Rona decided she would take on Spike’s question, especially since there was one Slayerette in particular she wanted to pass along the word about. “Well Spike, I gotta give you the 411 about the pushy bitch from hell, Kennedy. Faith is no longer the textbook definition of a rogue slayer. Kennedy has decided she wants the Bad Ass Backstabbing Murdering Bitch Slayer crown all for herself. She went as she describes it “a little overboard” and slaughtered five innocent humans two of which were children. Children…Billy boy…little boy and a little girl not more than six years old. All because they happened to get in her way. Well the bitch is in a secured prison in South America where even her rich daddy’s money can’t bail her ass out. And unlike Faithy, we have Kennedy locked away behind enhanced steel bars…she’ll never get out…ever.”

All in the small cabin of the jet felt her vehemence over the betrayal of the calling. Gunn moved over next to her offering his shoulder to lean on if she wanted it. Spike smiled inside looking at the interesting development that was taking place between the two street-wise and world-weary soldiers of their merry little gang.
Faith spoke up at this awkward moment, “Umm well, I still say I am the original Rogue Slayer, and I broke the mold after the Powers made me. So K will have to buy her own damn crown.”

Good on Rogue to try to lighten the mood Spike asked, “What about Red?”

“Red? Oh the Goddess is sad that her honey went all dark slayer, but really who better to understand how that could happen, right. But Wills, no, she read her aura or something and just left. Said she couldn’t help her. Went back to the main Coven in Westbury. She’s all single girl now…being all Mary Tyler Moore ‘she’s gonna make it after all’ or whatnot,” answered Faith.

She continued, “Giles has been heading up the Council HQ in London trying to reestablish old contacts, working on recruitment, all that administrative stuff that just screams to those who wear tweed. Since Seer chick vision-o-rama, our little branch has not been sending the ‘A’ book reports to G-man. So not sure what G knows right now. Robin will know when we get home.”

“Let me ask you this…where was Andrew assigned after dropping Pinky off with you?” he knew he had seen the little tosser in Rome, but they didn’t know that. Besides if his Slayer and Nibblet were kidnapped where was Andrew during all this?

“Well at first, he was in Rome with Buffy and Dawnie. But we haven’t heard from him in over two months now,” Rona replied.

“Me and Peaches saw the budding filmmaker in Rome on business, had stopped by to see the Slayer who was out with her latest, and then the little wanker takes off with two Italian belladonnas, him acting all James bloody Bond.” Spike grumbled.

Faith and Rona exchanged confused looks. Faith asked, “Have you been hitting the Jack again, Bleachy? Cause man, Andy is gay – you know light in the loafers. Last we heard he was dating Dorian, some art student at the same school as Dawnie.”

“Wait a bleeding minute…you mean to tell me that our Andy is the Poofter I always thought he was. Okay…but if that’s true then who the bloody hell was that in Buffy’s apartment that chatted all nice like with Peaches and me? ‘Cause mates, the arse that was there was straight as a board. And you haven’t heard from Andy in over two months?” Spike mulled this over in his mind. If Andrew in Rome was not the real Andrew, then who was the bastard? And how long had he been planted in his Buffy’s apartment, watching her and manipulating her?

He raged on, “The sodding bastards! We got to get this sorted! What did you chits know about Buffy and this Immortal wanker?”

“Oh Guido,” Rogue piped up, “Yeah, man well, never met him. B though just keeps on raving about the guy. Umm sorry Blondie. He answered the phone once when I rang her up, had this nasally sounding voice, rude as hell when I didn’t fawn all over the phone, and after me basically threatening to come to Rome to kick his ass, he put B on the phone. She just acted like nothing had happened straight out of Stepford man. And Dawnie is just as bad. Lil Sis acts like she did when she was twelve crushing on the Xan-man.”

“Yeah I got that too Faith, when I had to call about some thing Adam asked me to report about. D was all the Immortal this and the Immortal that. Made me want to just throw up. So what…Spike, you think something is up with that? Does Xander think the Immortal helped bag Buffy and Dawn?” Rona added.

He feels gutted. It was all there right under his bloody nose! But he had been too busy pissing around with General Grumpypants that he missed all the blatant clues.

Connor interjected sensing his uncle’s anger, “Ladies, it appears we are almost to Cleveland. I suggest that we hold off on making with the plans until we find out what more has been learned. We have about probably another forty-five minutes left; so I suggest if you can get a quick nap, reserve your energy. We don’t know what lies ahead.”

The Slayerettes nod in agreement. Faith moved back to her seat more towards the front of the cabin. Dana stood to move with her, but before she left, she stopped giving Spike’s hand a tight squeeze for support. Spike looked up at Pinky with thanks. Gunn and Rona took the seats in the back of the cabin where Gunn could stretch out his legs helping his injuries heal. Blue stayed near the front of the cabin with Faith and Dana to observe their nature.

Connor stayed in the seat across the aisle from his uncle.

With a bit of humor, Spike realized on his last plane ride, he and Angel had been in the same seats.

“Ta Junior,”

“None needed, Uncle Will.

“Boy, no one calls me Will…not even her and certainly not some brilliant sprog like yourself. Call me that again, you will know why they called me Bloody.”

“Sure…as long as you stop calling me Junior. My name’s Connor not Liam so I am not his junior.”

“Right then. Con….” Spike’s left hand grabbed his neck; his right fisted his armrest, “Con…”

“Uncle…what’s wrong?” Connor turned in his seat to better help his uncle who appeared to be weirdly enough trying to catch his breath. “Uncle…”

“It’s Buffy…I felt her…just barely. I haven’t been able to do that since I’ve been back.” A slow smile crept along his face, “Ah, Vicious, she’s right brassed off. My girl’s gonna make ‘em wish they’d never been born.”
******

(Landing strip at Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport)

Love’s Bitch had touched down on the runway at the Burke Lakefront Airport that caters to corporate and private aircraft, relieving air traffic from the hectic Cleveland International Airport. Spike wondered how hectic could Cleveland International be; and who the bloody hell would want to come to Cleveland that didn’t have to be here? Oh right, the bleeding Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was here.

As the plane taxied to its hanger, he noticed a limousine awaiting their arrival. Had it not been for the Whelp and the Principal standing outside of the limo, he might have eaten the pilot.

Spike watched as Rogue ran down the jet’s steps and pounced into the waiting arms of Wood. Made him want to heave. Connor made his way down next, followed by Charlie. They stood off to the side. Neither of them had met Captain Ahab or the Slayer Spawn, so they just observed.

Dana hopped down the steps and ran to her Mr. Xander who patted her on the shoulder. Spike paid special attention to how the Whelp acted around the psycho slayer. Perhaps the chit reminded him a bit of Demon Girl.

Rona followed Pinky off the jet. He did not see any watcher type greeting her. Maybe this Adam bloke had business elsewhere.

Blue marched down the stairs and took position beside Gunn and Connor.

He turned to Rufus, the pilot, and said, “My little band of misfits appreciated the lift, mate. Ta. Have her at the ready. We may be needing her sooner rather than later.”

With that he disembarked from the jet.

As his feet hit the pavement, the door to the limo opened. Out stepped a man wearing a long camel colored duster, brown pants, with short brown hair. As the man turned his face, Spike saw the dark brown eyes and the Romanesque nose.

Without thought, Spike shifted into game face, pulled out his katana, and surged forward.

Nothing else existed for him at that moment except that sodding bastard standing before him.

Every other person stood watching Spike’s attack in shock. No one understood, nor could they comprehend what they were seeing.

Spike leapt forward with his sword only to be met by his foe’s Ivanhoe sword with bronze hilt in defense stance.

“You’re dead, you miserable bastard! I watched you die in 1927!” Spike exclaimed.

“As you are as well, you prat! Will you lay off with the violence for a bit, William?”

“Spike! Hey bleached wonder what do you think you are doing attacking Adam like that?” asked the Whelp

He shifted his gaze to the Whelp and snarled, “S’not human, Ahab. Saw him die from a gun shot wound to the heart over 77 years ago.”

“What?” was heard collectively.

“William or as you like to be known, Spike, allow me to reintroduce myself. I’m Adam Pierson, Rona’s Watcher. Unfortunately, you have just blown the most carefully crafted cover I’ve had for decades. Ta, you sodding prick. I would have rather discussed this privately with you, but since you have chosen to hold me at a standstill, swords drawn, I will admit that I am an immortal – one of a few who are left.”

Spike backed away from Adam, stashing his katana in his duster, observing Adam doing the same. So he shifted back to his human guise, “You still owe me money…and I’ll be collecting the soddin’ interest.”

Spike heard Connor ask, “So is this guy the same kind of ‘immortal’ as the Immortal?”

*********
End Chap 6


Spike’s Way
Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Adam Pierson, much to my chagrin. He is the property of Davis-Panzer Productions who own Highlander: The Series. He also goes by another name, which will be revealed later on…but telling that now will spoil it for those who aren’t in the know.
______________________________________________________________________________

Spike heard Connor ask, “So is this guy the same kind of ‘immortal’ as the Immortal?”

Spike watched as the man who called himself Adam Pierson just smiled at his nephew’s question.

“Well quite frankly, yes, we are of the same species; however, I would ask you nicely to never again put us in the same sentence. As if he is the ‘only one’ who can call himself ‘the Immortal!’ Righteous bastard is more like it. A cad, a cheat, a fool, a drunkard, a …I’m getting ahead of myself. I apologize.” Adam tipped his head to the side, reminiscent of a trademark of Spike’s, which everyone noticed.

Spike felt everyone’s eyes on him. However, he was lost on thoughts of times past.

***Flashback****
(Paris, France May 20, 1927)

The bloke before him little resembled of the drunken gambler he had met back in 1927 in Paris. Dru had had visions of the pretty blue-eyed flying man. At first he had thought she had gone on one too many vision quests and this was the result. A flying man, indeed. But then he killed some poor bugger while overhearing a radio broadcast in a bar, about how some Charles Lindbergh had successfully departed on May 20th from near New York City in an airplane. Apparently, the tosser had blue eyes.

Looking around the bar, his eyes fell on a rather drunk dark-headed fellow bellowing out that he would bet that the Lindbergh chap would crash into the ocean never to be heard from again. Knowing that Dru had foreseen blue-eyed bonnie Charlie’s landing, Spike felt this fellow was ripe to not only be his meal the following night, but also help add to his rapidly depleting purse.

The dark-headed chap was speaking French but with an English accent. Good I can play the part of the fool, a fellow countryman who just happened to fall into some inheritance to come to France for a holiday. Perfect. He smirked. He knew that as Spike this wanker would piss off and not fall for his act. Have to play William for a bit. Bugger all.

“Pardon, monsieur. Parlez vous anglais? Je parle très peu le français. I dare say, but I do believe that I detect that you are a fellow Englishman far from home such as myself, are you not?” Gnashing his teeth into an innocent smile.

The dark-haired bloke lit his eyes on what he perceived as a bumbling, mama’s boy, English gent and smiled. “Why yes, indeed, I am that. So good of you to come over to my table. Please, would you care to join me in a round of cards? I was just discussing with these fine Frenchmen about this American Charles Lindbergh. My name is Ben Adams, pleasure to meet you.”

“William. William Drayton. I would be delighted to join you. Thank you.” He nodded cheerfully to the other chaps. All nice and friendly like. This was too much fun. “Yes, I heard you say something to the effect that Mr. Lindbergh might perish during his flight. Pray tell, why do you think such a way, sir?”

“Oh, my good man,” Ben laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder, patting it twice, “let me order you a beer, or as they say here une bière. Garçon! Est-ce que nous pourrions avoir deux bières? C’est ma tournée!”

“So my new friend, what brings you to this little bar in Gay Paree?” asked Ben.

Spike lowered his lashes almost seductively, “I’m on holiday. My sister has accompanied me but has retired for the evening. Our dear father recently passed, and we came into a little sum. I thought she would like to see Paris. My sister is not well either you see. Forgive me, I do go on.” He had noticed that when he spoke of the inheritance, Ben’s eyes sparked with mirth. The fly had fallen prey to the spider’s web. Excellent. “You were saying, sir, about the American flyer?”

“Oh yes, of course, Lindbergh. Well recently I’ve traveled to America. Fascinating place. You ever been? No. Someday if are able, you should try to go, perhaps take your sister. Some places, I hear, are quite beneficial for ill health. I digress. I’ve seen some designs for these so-called aeroplanes. I really doubt that the fellow will make it across the Atlantic in one piece.” Ben answered smugly.

“Sir, you cannot possibly mean that he will perish, that the poor man will have effectively committed suicide. Has he not a wife?” Spike made sure he sounded quite perplexed, and the very air of concern.

“No, I do not think he does at the moment.”

The waiter or garçon arrived with two frothy beers.

“Cheers!” said Ben.

“Merci,” answered Spike as he sipped his beer, faking a frown at the taste. He was supposed to be the delicate gentleman.

“Oh William, if you must dwell on the demise think upon it thus, he will die a hero’s death. In the name of science, he flies to further the possibilities of reaching the Heavens. Really who wants to live forever anyhow?” The wanker winked at him. If he only knew that he was sitting all cozy like with a vampire who, by his very nature, is immortal in his undeadness. Hmmm contradiction in there somewhere, the mix of the beer and the fresh kill still flowing through his undead veins was sending his senses reeling.

“I have just wagered mes amis here a small sum concerning the Yank’s flight. Would you care to join in a friendly wager?”

Spike about choked on his beer. He didn’t even have to do a lot of work for this tosser to ask him. Perhaps he should pull out his William during certain kitten poker games. “I do not know Ben. Surely you’re not suggesting a wager on whether the gentleman lives or dies?” Using his wide-eyed innocent look. Made him want to heave.

“Why yes, I know it’s a tad morbid. But do not let the unpleasantness keep you from a spot of fun dear William.”

“If I were to wager any amount of my purse, I would care to place my chances on him surviving and landing his plane. I would much rather think of positive thoughts.” Spike countered reeling his prey in some more.

“Brilliant. Care to say £6?”

Feigning sputtering, Spike stuttered, “£6! Why that’s outrageous!” Even though secretly he was quite pleased to know that he would be winning such a huge sum of money, the thought that this bugger thought he was going to rob him blind, only fuelled his enthusiasm. “Our housing in Pimlico alone…pardon me. I forgot where I was there. Do forgive me, sir.”

Looking through his lush lashes while he sipped on his beer, in the appearance of composing himself, he watched as this Ben assessed the moderately well to do suburb of London that he had just mentioned. This bloke was falling for his play. Ben had nodded to his two French companions, both of whom Spike had not paid any considerable amount of attention to prior to the nod. His vampire senses were on high alert just in case the Frogs decided to get bouncy. Having already savored one delicacy of French cuisine this evening, he might as well take home dinner for Dru.

Ben was speaking to him in cautious, coaxing tones that made him want to just rip his throat out right there. However, no one in their right mind carried that sort of capital on their person. He would have to be smart, win the bet, and collect it at wherever the pilot chap was to land tomorrow evening.

“William…I certainly did not mean to cause you any distress. Perhaps the amount is a bit excessive?” Ben began.

“No, no…that’s quite alright. I am quite settled now. The shock overwhelmed me initially that is all. The amount is of no consequence. It is fine. Since I prefer to pray that Mr. Lindbergh will fly with success, that God himself will alight under his wings and carry him here to Paris, I feel that it is a safe wager. How will we find each other sir? Do you know where he is to land supposedly?” He had almost choked on the invocation of God during that little speech, but since he was not dust…no brimstone had struck him, he thought maybe the blighter liked his performance too.

“One moment please, and I’ll find out where he is to land.” Ben turned to one of the Frenchmen, the one with a pug nose and asked, “Savez-vous où Lindbergh sera obligé à atterrir demain?”

Pug nose answered, “Oui. Il est supposé pour atterrir au Champ de Bourget de L'un jour autour de 10 du soir s'il le fait.”

“Merci, Luca.” Ben turned back to Spike and translated, unknowing that he was not in need of the translation, “He says that Lindbergh is supposed to land at the Le Bourget Field around 10:00 tomorrow evening if he makes it. Why don’t we meet there? I suspect a crowd will be there as well, should be quite a spectacle.”

“Splendid, I shall have my funds ready just in case, and you do the same, agreed.” Ben nodded. “Thank you for the beer. I really must be going. I have stayed longer than I had intended, but your company sir has been a pleasure. My sister is expecting me you see, mustn’t keep her waiting. I bid you a good evening.” Spike even did his stupid, pratty, little bow.

“And good evening to you, William. I shall meet you at the Field tomorrow!” Ben’s voice carried after him into the night.

He loved creating mischief. The Poofter would have been amazed at his acting this evening. Damn Angelus. Running off to New York of all places. Darla had gone off to the Master who quite frankly was a little too old, stodgy, and controlling for the likes of him. No, now it was just he and Dru. But still Dru longed for her Daddy. Someday soon though, he thought, she would stop yearning for her Sire and be content with just him. Someday. Shaking off his thoughts, he grimaced. Too much acting like William tonight cannot be good. Leads to bad thoughts. He continued down the street.

@_@_@_@_@_@_
(Le Bourget Field, May 21, 1927, 10:10 P.M.)

Spike was standing amongst a sea of people. Approximately 100,000 others had gathered to witness the bonnie blue-eyed pilot from America fly into Paris to land in this overcrowded field at night. Dru was off somewhere circling the masses. He scented the air for Ben’s scent which was sort of woodsy but old at the same time. Something he just couldn’t quite explain.

Ah he smelled the bloke. Putting on his William spectacles that he didn’t need, he lowered his head in a coy-like manner as he shuffled through the crowd. He wanted to appear to run into him sort of unexpected like. With a bump into the chap’s shoulder, a muffled “Oomph,” he knew he scored a successful hit.

“Oi, watch it there mate, oh, hey there William!” Ben grabbed his arm through his coat. “William, here you are. Been looking for you, mate.”

“Mr. Adams, so sorry to have run into you like I did. My apologies.”

“William, call me Ben…remember. We’re mates now. Well it looks as if you might win this, if he lands without crashing. I cannot believe so many have come out to see this pilot.”

“You know I was thinking the exact same thing. I do hope no one gets injured. If the plane crashes as you say, then what about all the people? I cannot believe they arrange to have such bright searchlights out and ready and these rockets! Oh look another lighted parachute. And if it lands, do you think the crowd would contain itself behind the iron fence? I, myself, am glad to be on this rooftop out of the way.” He almost could not hold in his snicker – a vampire worried about humans getting injured!

“I’m here with Pierre and Luca, you remember them from last night?”

“Ah yes, bonsoir.”

Pug nose and bland boy nodded and replied.

It was now 10:15 P.M., and the roar of an engine could be heard above his head. His eyes flashed amber briefly; he could make out the outline of the plane better than most. The plane circled overhead and turned. A few minutes passed. At 10:22 P.M., a great shark-like nose came into his view gliding down to the earth, alighting on the field. Two seconds later it seemed a swell of humanity teeming at the high iron fence surged forward and broke down the gate, swarming the field. Spike could picture the rotor of the plane tearing into the lovely flesh of the stupid mob running toward the plane. Ah Dru would think it such a lovely party.

In his fascination with the landing, Spike had almost forgotten the presence of his soon-to-be meal and profit for the evening. However, once the plane touched down, he turned to gloat to the bastard. Unfortunately, Ben had fled through the crowd. Spike observed Luca and Pierre chasing him shouting obscenities. Damn welsher! With that thought, he gave chase.

When he caught up to the group, he was stunned. Luca and Pierre were aiming pistols at both Ben and another tosser, but did not seem to know just who to really aim at. Ben was in the middle of a sword fight with another strange looking blonde-haired git – well not really a sword fight. Ben had a sword; the other guy had what looked like a medieval battle-axe. They were speaking in what sounded like some Scandinavian language, but he didn’t speak it, so he could not be sure.

Dropping the pretense of William, Spike hollered, “Oi! What are you blokes doin’? You welshing on a bet, Ben? Who is this nasty buggah?”

Without looking his way, which greatly impressed him, Ben shouted, “William, don’t know about that accent of yours, but this is none of your concern. I’m not a welsher. I just have to take care of a little something.” Nodding to the fellow attempting to strike a blow to his head and countering with a block and sucker punch to the gut, “Could you do your fellow Englishman a favor and get the Frenchies off my back? Guns are not a good item to bring to this little soirée.”

Wanting his money and really intrigued that a human would actually sword fight in the early 20th century? The modern era for blood’s sake! “Right then.” He grabbed Pierre hauling him away from the fracas, twisting his neck before returning for Luca of the pug nosed clan.

Just as he returned, Ben stabbed Blondie in the gut. Apparently, Luca was displeased with this turn of events. Right, the bastard must work for the Axe-Wielding Swede. A gunshot went off. Smoke from Luca’s gun plumed from the barrel as Spike jerked him backwards. Too late, he saw that Ben had been shot in the heart by the Luca’s gun. Vamping he drained Luca who had a decidedly bad taste.

Afterwards he searched Ben’s pockets and found not one quid to the tosser’s name. Bastard.

***End of Flashback***

(Private hanger, Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport)

“So Adam now is it. Interesting how that was your surname our last go round.” Spike said coming out of his reverie.

“Like you are one to talk there, William. Imagine my surprise to find out that you were a demon, a vampire no less.” Adam countered.

“Can I just say whoa and Holy Bazooka Joe! Okay wait just a second here. Adam is an immortal, but he has a heartbeat, right? Is an immortal some sort of demon?” asked a flustered Xander.

Adam cracked a smile, “Immortals are not demons. Well not really. Some of us are evil though; some of us are good. We are born, without a mother; somehow, I don’t quite understand it myself. Anyway, we are human until our first death. If our first death is from an act of violence and not a natural one from old age, then we are re-animated; I guess you could call it, at that point. Spike is correct. He saw me suffer a gunshot wound to the heart. However, at that point, I had already been around awhile. That was another immortal that you saw me fighting with by the way.” Nodding to Spike. “Soon after he must have left the scene, I awakened in that damned field free to continue my existence.”

Rona walked back up to her Watcher staring him intently in his eyes. Then she turned back around, getting a permissive smile from Spike, spoke, “Well ain’t that something. I’ve got the coolest Watcher. One that I can kill in training and everything! Cool man!”

With that, everyone relaxed. The entire troop piled into the “let-us-not-announce-our-arrival-limo.”

“Hey, Ahab.”

“Hey, Bleached Wonder?”

“I thought I told you that we didn’t want to go around announcing to the world that we had arrived here in Cleveland. This limo just screams ‘subtle’ to me,” Spike quipped.

“Well, Ode to All Things Peroxide, we had to fit all of us into one vehicle, and seeing as how we were coming from a private hanger, I did not think a beat up Honda would say, ‘Yeah we can afford the parking, storage, and the costs of a private jet.’ Come on man, lay off. Wait until we get to HQ.” Xander pleaded.

Spike observed his charges and the rest of the group. Next to him on his left sat Connor, tense but heart rate steady just like a warrior. He was observing as well, but also looking out the tinted window. On his right was seated Illyria.

On the side seats next to Connor sat Gunn and Rona. They were whispering and flirting. Perhaps Gunn should stay in Cleveland with Rona to heal when he departed for Rome. Be good for the lad. He had heard that Gunn and Fred had been a couple long before she and Wes had started having feelings for each other. It was good to see him at least approaching a happy smile. And Rona who had never cracked a smile, except after that potential excursion when he and Buffy left the girls to fend for themselves in the crypt with the newly risen vamp, was showing one through her eyes.

Opposite them sat an obscenely snuggled Faith and Wood. She was draped over his body like he was the dark chocolate to her vanilla, making them one of those Hersey Hugs or something. Could he give it a Buffy and Dawn ‘ewww.’ He now could appreciate what Rupert felt like during the whacked out ‘Will Be Done’ spell that Willow had cast those many years ago. Unfortunately he wasn’t blessed with Rupert’s blindness, and as for his hearing. Bloody hell.

Xander was sitting on the opposite end, back facing the driver, on the same seat as Dana and Adam. Xan was pulling on Dana’s pigtail bobs or whatever those things stickin’ out from her head were called. She was beaming at him and relaying all the carnage that she had brought forth in Los Angeles. Watching the way the whelp brought out the playful side of the formerly deranged murderer softened his undead heart just a tad for his former roommate.

Adam was staring out the window seeming to pay no one any attention whatsoever. However, Illyria, he noticed was staring intently at the Immortal Watcher. Her face conveyed a look he had not seen since the Time Bomb incident when she thought they had sought to destroy her completely.

He whispered, “What’s wrong, Blue?”

Without removing her stare, Bluebell whispered back, “That one. I know that one somehow from when I laid entombed in that well with others of my kind. At times when violence reigned, images floated around me. That one and three others riding horses brought destruction and terror wherever they played. He made even demons tremble in fear. He rode a white horse. He was Death. Apes, such as you, had only begun to cluster together in what you now call cities when that one began his reign of terror.”

Adam shifted his gaze to Illyria seemingly having overheard her whisper even though no one else had; either that, or he felt that they were discussing him. He quirked a cocky smile and nodded at the Goddess.

Spike contained his shock. He knew that Grandma was around during the last great demon age, which what over 8000 years ago. She could not possibly mean that the being sitting so casually across from him was thousands of years old. No she must be mistaken. For if she was correct, he shuddered at the thought of his young vampiric-self trying to match such an old one. But then again he wondered if any vampire had ever attempted to turn an immortal. Something he would definitely have to ask later.

The limo had arrived at some suburban street. As it turned the corner, he looked out onto the houses that lined the street. The car slowed, and Spike took in an unneeded breath. Both Blue and Con looked at him strangely. But they didn’t understand what he was seeing.

Before the car had come to a complete stop, he leaped from the car, unmindful of the sun’s deadly rays. Thankfully, Con or someone threw a blanket on him and rushed him to the porch. It was Xander. Hastily saying, “You’re welcome to my home, Spike,” thereby shattering the barrier keeping him out, Xander rushed him in the house.

Inside he remained gobsmacked. Too many shocks to his system in the last twenty-four hours. His mind could not take much more, he thought. For here he was standing in the exact replica of 1630 Revello Drive down to his tree in the front yard and the furniture layout inside.

Faith had appeared beside him. “I know it’s freaky, with the whole déjà vu thing and all, but you get used to it, Bleachy. Everything’s five by five.”

**end chap 7**

A/N: In 1906 a pint of beer cost approximately 2 pence (2d). 240d or 240 pennies = £1. 12d = 1s (shilling) and 20s = £1. A guinea is 21 shillings. An upper middle class gentleman (not landed gentry) would approximately earn roughly £700 yearly. So to estimate £1 would pay for approximately 120 pints of beer for Spike back in the 1920s! Credit for this information: http://www.victorianweb.org and http://www.victorianlondon.org. For the information regarding Charles Lindbergh’s first solo flight: http://www.charleslindbergh.com/history/paris.asp.

Chapter 8


Spike was standing in the foyer with Slayer’s den just to his left. Without turning, he knew if he looked to the right, he would see the dining room table and chairs that many a dinner was served in a destroyed Sunnydale. Before him lay the exact same stairs; where he could almost envision the sight of Buffy, newly returned from Heaven, wearing her white button down blouse. Over there was the spot he had cornered Buffy during their secret relationship, well to him it was a relationship, while the Scoobs were in the next room only to be interrupted by Glinda.

He heard Faith, but his mind was not registering any of them. As he moved into the den that had the same color scheme, the same furniture layout, the same fireplace, more memories flooded his mind. Babysitting Dawn, watching Passions, even that first sit down with Joyce when she had learned of Buffy’s calling and his true nature.
However, he did notice that the pictures he was expecting to be displayed weren’t. Still, this was all wrong. This wasn’t Joyce’s house. This wasn’t Buffy’s house. Everything was destroyed and rested in the bottom of a crater once called Sunnydale.

Eyes flashing amber, he turned angrily on Xander, grabbing him by the arms. “What the bleeding hell, have you done Harris?”

He felt both Rogue’s and Con’s hands on him, trying to restrain him. Much to his displeasure, Ahab was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Calm down, Fang breath. Ease up will ya? It’s my house, and I wanted a reminder of the only place that made me feel at home. Don’t tell me this doesn’t make you think ‘home.’ I know that it does.” Xander calmly responded.

Jerkily releasing him, Spike huffed unnecessarily not wanting to give Xander the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

Xander continued, “Besides I wanted to make sure that these future Slayers knew where it all began, well sorta. Once you look around, you’ll see that really it isn’t the same. I have more rooms in the back and on the second floor, which comes in handy for any emergency Scooby crisis. And that’s good for you…‘cause you’ll be staying here for the night.”

“S’alright Con. Rogue, let go of the leather.” He refocused on the rest of the group. Charlie and Blue had moved in behind him while Rona, Dana, Adam, and Wood skirted around the edge more into the center of the room behind Xander. Unconsciously, the two cliques had once again separated into their camps, and Spike had to inwardly smirk at this.

Regaining his cool, he decided to give the replica house a closer inspection trying to keep his emotions in check. He had remembered Pinks telling him about her Watcher crying over pictures of his Ahn, and once he cleared his memory-vision, he noticed several pictures of Demon Girl. How had the whelp recovered these? Spike walked over to one, feeling the Whelp’s eyes on him the entire time.

“She was a right bird. Miss hearing her prattle on about money and vengeance.” He looked over at Xander, who was focused solely on the photograph. Bloody hell, first the house and now the pictures of the Demon bird…Harris was making a shrine to Sunnydale. Bloke was wallowing in his grief, and no one was seeing it. Just like Willow after Oz that time.

Xander seemingly shook himself out of whatever thought he was having and responded with a goofy grin, “Yeah, my beautiful Ahn. And wouldn’t ya’ know my stupid girl died saving Andrew. Anyway, welcome to me casa. Dana can show you to your rooms later. Right now, we need to catch up on a few matters, don’t you think.”

As everyone was placing the baggage in the dining room, Gunn moved in close to Spike and whispered, “So this is what the Summers’ house looked like? I always wondered you know. I never made it to Sunnydale. LA was always my scene.”

“Yeah, Charlie boy. Bloody shrine’s what Harris has done. I’d say in all my dealings with the First, this about tops that. If the First would deign to appear as a house, I would almost think I was back in its bloody clutches.” Spike confided.

Gunn placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’m here if you need perspective, Spike. But for now I’ve got me a fine honey to cuddle up to on that sofa in there. Excuse me.”

Spike smiled as he watched Charlie saunter back in the direction of the den. He felt a presence at his side. Adam.

“I need to speak to you privately before the main festivities. I have some information for you that the others do not know and can never know.” The Immortal Watcher dourly eyed him. “Come, I’ve already told Xander that I need a moment with you, before he begins. He will detain the others.”

“Where do you propose we talk in private in this house? I know this house, nowhere is actually private.” Spike asked, careful to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. The whispered words of Illyria were still replaying in his mind. Who was this bloke, really?

“No, you knew the other house. Harris from what I gathered has changed a lot of the back of the house. Just these front rooms copy the one from the pre-Cleveland Hellmouth days. Come, there is a study.”

With a shrug, Spike followed. Adam was not lying. After the stairwell, the rest of the house was designed differently. They entered a study…the Whelp has a study…that was obviously a Watcher’s oasis. He could have easily pictured Rupert here, but Ahab was an entirely different matter.

Xander had amassed quite the collection of dusty tomes; a fully complete Watcher starter set, but in the corner displayed proudly behind glass, and backlit, were his Star Wars Action Figures and Babylon Five Collector Plates. Either Xander had shipped them out before the final days, or had restarted his collection afterwards. He had remembered Xander being so proud of those damned plates when they had been forced roomies after he first got the chip and he had worn out his welcome at the Rupert’s. Ah, the smelly, fruit rollup basement, with the plethora of Hawaiian shirts. Brando said it best, “The Horror.”

“Ahem,” caught his wandering attention. He turned his focus onto the other individual in the room. He found him propped up against the desk, having removed his camel colored long overcoat that had previously hid his sword. If Spike believed in all that color mojo, then he would have suspected someone had switched the playbook without telling him, sneering internally. For he here was wearing all black – a good guy, as if that wasn’t worth a chuckle; and then there was Adam over by the desk was wearing a white-Heather cable knit sweater with khaki pants – the quintessential white hat but was he really? That was the question of the moment?

“Ah, yes, I see, you’ve noticed our host’s priceless collection. What Americans consider art these days! Although I do sort of appreciate watching Star-Gate on occasion.” Pausing for a moment, Adam continued, “I need to tell you about Kristophe, how I know about him, what else I know, and lastly who I really am. First let me assure you, that in this matter, I have my own reasons for wanting in on this hunt. No, I personally have never had the pleasure of meeting either Miss Summers or her dear sister, but I have had the pleasure of correspondence with Dawn. She is really quite the intelligent, young lady, a voracious researcher.”

“Whoa there, Ben, Adam, whoever the bleedin’ hell you say you are. Just because we shared a few pints back in Paris don’t mean I’m gonna let you go on about my Nibblet. So shut your gob about her.” He wasn’t about to let this ‘immortal’ bugger even discuss his Dawn. He didn’t have the right. Arrogant prick.

As he began to pace the floor of the library, his questions kept on piling. “Alright, you mentioned a Kristophe. Who the bloody hell is Kristophe?”

Adam looked dumbfounded. “Why, he is the one you call ‘the Immortal,’ of course. Kristophe is his given name. He has had several throughout his lifetime actually, as have I.” At that statement, he cast a smile back at Spike. “However, Kristophe is his real name. He is an Immortal, and there is but one true way to kill him. Unfortunately, you will need me to do that for you.”

“Sod off you gormless tit! That bastard apparently helped the Senior Partners get a hold of my girls, and mate, that makes him mine.” Spike practically screamed this demand back at Adam.

“An Immortal must kill another Immortal.” He sighed as if he was teaching a remedial pupil in school and had given this lecture time and time again. Spike figured he probably had. Adam began to mutter more to himself, “True, a human or I guess another being, such as yourself could get lucky and kill one of us the proper way, but the quickening is lost, and that is entirely unacceptable at this stage of the game.”

“Quickening? Game? Is that it? Are we some lesser beings here to be toyed with while you Immortals play your games? You shite!” He was putting a sword through this guy’s heart…just for the pain of it, knowing it wouldn’t kill him, but it would make him feel a lot better.

“I wish Duncan were here, he could explain it better. Of course you two, would both go in balls to the wall after the damsels without a plan, which is why he needed me, why my former brothers needed me til I betrayed them for Duncan.” Spike noticed that the Immortal Watcher stared off into some haunted past from which he was still trying to recover. His voice was almost timid, alarming Spike at first, “I’m sure you can appreciate this, as I’ve read your tale in what Rupert has written, but also the unofficial accounts from the potentials, Andrew, Dawn, and Faith. You’re born. You grow up in a hard existence, not quite fitting in, and not really understanding why. Three older boys suddenly start to take an interest in you. Sure you are the smartest of the four, and you figure that is why they need you, but you don’t really care as long as they need you. It feels good to be part of something. They teach to ride, to do unspeakable acts and enjoy them. I was a Horseman. I became the Most Feared, for I rode the Pale Horse, and I was Death.”

Adam paused. Spike felt he should keep quiet, because he knew he would be continuing his story soon. “We raided countless villages, laid waste to thousands of communities, raped and pillaged and looted. We took, because it was all ours, don’t you see. The life of a horseman. Until she came. Cassandra. We had rode into her camp, destroyed her entire people, including her. She of course was one of us. I waited for her first rebirth to immortal life; you know what that is like. Feisty wench tried to stab me right off! Fiery green eyes that matched her disposition. For some reason, I did not treat her the way I normally treated our other spoils. I kept her for myself, and she in turn began, I believe, to care for me. Unfortunately this move of mine did not go unnoticed, Kronos made his move. In order to not be killed myself, I had to deny her, and she was taken out of my care immediately. She escaped. Funny thing, for millennia, I thought she was dead. Then she appears at Duncan’s, sees me, goes into vengeance mode, and tries to do me in. Bloody women! Further complicating matters, Kronos had reappeared along with my other brothers, Silas and Caspian, both of whom I had long thought were dead; unfortunately they weren’t, and Kronos released them. The Four Horsemen rode again!”

He snickered, “You thought Angelus cornered the market on being a right bastard, just know he could have been properly schooled by Kronos. He saw Duncan as an obstacle to their getting me to return to their ways, and the bonus that Cassandra was in town was too great an opportunity to pass up. Had to play both sides close to the vest, fortunately I chose Duncan.”

Methos, ‘Death’ stalked over to the bar cabinet, opened up the mini-fridge, took out a beer, raised his eyebrow in offer to grab one for Spike, threw one to him, and then moved to a comfy chair to sit. “My real name is Methos. Please do not let anybody in the Watcher’s Council know that Methos and I are the same.” Spike nodded in agreement, for he felt like when would he ever tell the Wankers’ Council anything anyway. He twisted off the top of his imported beer, impressive choice of Harris, must keep it on hand for Adam…Methos. Feeling the cool liquid soothe his throat, he felt better just having the bottle in hand, if nothing else, he could beat the bloke over the head with it once it was empty.

Now that he was Methos, his demeanor changed, and Spike could see the inner warrior that had waged war millennia ago. “So mate, how old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“Working on 5000 years, give or take a few years.”

Drawing an appreciative whistle, “So what’s with all the secrecy about being Methos? Hell of a better name than Ben or Adam.”

“Well the Council has it in their minds that if I really existed, being that I’m the oldest, living Immortal, I would be quite the find. Furthermore, imagine the embarrassment having me under their bloody nose for years without any of them being the wiser. In 1984, as Adam I graduated from their Academy to study Immortals and to become a Watcher. I maneuvered myself into the task of compiling the Methos Chronicles, to separate fact from myth, as many of my colleges who are now dead, due to the Immortals/Renegade Watchers Wars and then the Caleb explosion, believed he (I) was a hoax. With this plum assignment, I was able to control what information flowed about me. However, the Cassandra and Kronos debacle blew not only my human cover but also my Adam Immortal identity as well to those in that division. Here’s some bitter irony, I had my own Watchers assigned to me.”

He had closed his eyes for a second. Spike figured that whatever had happened must have been bad. His past dealings with the Council proved they were a bunch of Wankers; Travers was no great loss to him. So for this guy to have infiltrated the lot, knowing his chance at exposure could bring him a world of trouble raised his estimation of him slightly. What surprised him was that the Council has this supposed separate division he never knew about dedicated only to immortals. Who knew? And here, the tosser Kristophe, what a pouncy name, was holding himself out to be the only one. Right bastard!

Methos’ continued, “I had severed my official dealings with the Watcher’s, but those of us that were part of the Immortal section bore these tattoos.” He raised his sleeve slightly to show a blue Celtic-looking circle contained a weird W. “If you see this, you know it is one of us. However, there are still some of the renegades out there, so we have to be cautious. Years went by, I went sort of underground, only keeping contact with a certain trusted member of the Council – no before you ask, not Rupert. Anyway, after the bomb that destroyed HQ and incidentally my three Watchers, my friend contacted me. He informed me what Rupert Giles was trying to establish and how I could be of assistance. When I came here, Rupert knew of my research skills, and he needed trained watchers, fortunately the records containing the information about my expulsion were in the building and were never recovered. I had a clean slate again, until you threw a spanner in the works.” The last was said with a smirk.

“My heart bleeds for ya, truly.” Finding a chair of his own to settle in, he sat and asked, “So Methos, tell me about the tosser Kristophe and what else it is that you know. I plan on lettin’ the kiddies rest the night, but I don’t intend on wasting my time dawdling here in Cleveland while Evil Incorporated is holding my girls. So get on with your tale.”

“Spike, before I tell you more about Kristophe, let me put your mind at ease about one thing. I have a friend watching out for Buffy and Dawn.”

“Wot?”

“Hopefully, if all goes to plan, he’ll be making contact with them soon. Then he’ll give me a status update. I expect to here from him within the next few hours.”

---tbc--

Chapter 9

A/N: Inner thoughts are in italics. Dialogue credited to BTVS: ‘Chosen’ and my own ‘Poetry Slam.’ This chapter contains sexual situations, so purely NC-17…but then again the whole fic is rated that, but I wanted to emphasize this.

~@~@~@~@
(Rome, Italy)

Curled up on the green plush chair in the makeshift sitting area, Buffy reflected on the past 24 hours.

When Dawn had first awoken, she was still drowsy from the drug these ‘lawyers’ had given her. Buffy had scoped out a medicine cabinet and found some aspirin, but she wasn’t about to trust any medicine they put forth. Instead, she found a washcloth, wet it, and used it to cool Dawn’s forehead hoping to prevent any headaches.

Dawnie, of course, wanted to seriously put a hurt on anyone and anything when she became fully aware of what had happened. Learning that the Immortal helped kidnap them royally brought her Summers’ temper in; full force. Her eyes flashed with a hurt that looked so much like Spike’s it tore at her heart even more.

Neither of them liked him at first. They had moved to Rome for Dawn’s studies. Buffy had been emotionally numb since Spike’s death, well romantically at least. She did feel free to do things she never thought she would be able to do, like travel, and see Europe. The only downside to having that freedom was she didn’t have Spike by her side.

She tried to put on a brave front like she always did. Only Dawn really knew how she cried at night; how the nightmares of repeatedly seeing his hand ignite in hers and him telling her, “No you don’t. But thanks for saying it,” haunted her, night after night. But even Dawn didn’t know about that last night, the night before she lost him.

***FLASHBACK***

Standing across from him in her basement, he stood before her. She knew that he would be happy to merely hold her for the night as he had the past several nights. As he stood there, she could almost picture the man he once was, the man he had become, and the man he was destined to be, and it astounded her. He had done it for her, to be hers, to be given such a gift, and only now here at the end to really appreciate it. But still he stood there, anxious to see what her move would be. Here stood the man, yep, no longer just a vampire to her, a man who pieced her back together the other night and helped her regain her confidence when she so desperately needed it, he was always there. He never left, only that one time, when he went out to get a soul for her.

Standing there, she realized that yes, she loved him, the whole package, and tonight she would show him.

Buffy had caressed his cheek, then moved her fingers to the curls on the nape of his neck, “Kiss me.”

He had smirked before pleasuring her with one of his knee quivering kisses. God, he could kiss. She had learned that during Willow’s ‘Will Be Done’ spell but foolishly tried to deny it for so long afterwards.

Pushing him back onto his cot, she removed her white sweater. She hissed as she felt his cold hands rub her nipples through the material of her simple cotton bra. And just like that, a flood of wetness dampened her panties. He could arouse her in the simplest of ways, sometimes with just a look, sometimes watching him fight, and now here with his touch.

He leaned forward nuzzling her stomach and growling, causing wicked sensations throughout her body but especially to her most sensitive.

“Spike,” she moaned. Leaning down, she nibbled his earlobe, which always drove him to distraction.

“Slayer,” he sing-songed back to her. Using his hands, he swiftly undid her pants, and she kicked them somewhere to the side. Then he ripped her underwear from body.

Damn. Oh well, if she died tomorrow, she wouldn’t need to shop for more anyway. She tugged at his black tee shirt that seemed permanently attached to his rock-hard body. Whimpering got his attention, and he complied by raising his arms for her to remove his shirt. Oooo…delicious. She bent down to taste the skin on his chest, teasing one of his nipples.

At that, he flipped her onto the cot causing her to momentarily lose her breath. While she recovered, he had already removed her bra and had one nipple in his mouth tweaking the other between his thumb and finger. His demin-clad cock was hitting her clit. Damn! What are his jeans still doing on!

As much as, oh yes, that felt good, she really wanted to feel more of him, but he wasn’t pushing the issue due to what had happened last year. Trailing her fingers down his back, to his waist, she manipulated his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans, releasing his cock into her ready hand. He stopped with a questioning look in his eyes. In answer to his question, she began to move her hand on his cock, to use her feet to push down his jeans, and eagerly press her lips to his in a hungry kiss.

When she broke the kiss for much needed air, he moved to kiss and nip at her neck and breasts. Again he gazed up, but this time his face contained a demon’s mischief. Oh, she was in for it now! Even though his lips were cool, her skin seemed to sizzle with each kiss as he moved further down her torso.

The menace teased her with that talented tongue of his, swirling it in ways that reminded her of Heaven. Pulling on his bleached locks, she locked her knees around his head, so happy that he didn’t need to breathe. She had so missed this! Trembling, she found herself coming hard into his waiting mouth. Of course, he had to smirk at her, coated with her juices.

Jerking him back to her lips, she kissed him tasting herself. Before he could get settled, she flipped him to where she was on top. Smiling wickedly, Buffy grabbed his cock, positioned herself over him, and then slowly inched herself down onto him. His girth stretched her walls, and his length reached her in places no one else ever had reached.

His eyes had rolled back in his head, and his hands strayed to her hips urging her to move. Varying the pace, she started to ride him quicker placing her hands on his chest for support. Spike shifted his hips, raising himself to a seated position, and kissed her lips.

Sitting astride his lap with him nuzzling her breast, a sudden urgency overwhelmed her. She needed more. She needed to tell him, show him, and give herself to him. Purposefully slowing her rhythm, Buffy waited for him to turn his sapphire eyes up to her face.

Studying his face, wanting to savor each moment, she whispered, “I want you to make me your girl.”

For a moment, he eyes shone, but then dulled. “You don’t mean it, luv,” he replied.

His expression echoed the same one he had after she told him she was just using him after she had helped blow up his crypt. God, could she have been any more a bitch. Watching Spike quickly cover his true emotions, Buffy realized just how emotionally scarred her vampire really was, and her heart felt heavy with the guilt of her contribution to those scars.

Inspiration struck. The words came to her; she suddenly knew what to say. She urgently whispered, “Yes, I do. I want it more than anything. This may be our last night. I am yours, William. I am yours, Spike.”

Keeping her slow rhythm, Buffy watched as Spike shifted into his beautiful game-face. She had always secretly thought that for some reason he always had the most beautiful vamp face, even when she first met him.

“Tell me you love me,” he pressed as his pelvic bone hit her clit.

Could he read her mind? Did he know that she had just thought of that moment too? Should have known he would have that memorized, but she’d surprise him by showing him that she did too! Not able to stop the smile forming on her face, she replied, “I love you. You know I do.”

“Tell me you want me.”

As she said this, she allowed the truth to fill the words, she hoped he picked up on it, “I always want you. In point of fact…”

“Good enough.”

Buffy felt his fangs enter neck where it had been marred by the Master and Dracula. Even though her Slayer instinct should have been screaming at her for allowing him to bite her as it had the three previous times, this time her Primal Slayer self arched closer to his fangs.

After she felt out him pull her blood from her body, he demanded, “MINE.”

None of her previous bites had been anything like this. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, in time with pace of their bodies joining, his cock hitting her cervix. Spike’s hands seemed everywhere at once – her arms, her breasts, her back, her hair, her ass, her stomach. All the while his tongue lapped more blood, each time causing a deep pull in her loins.

What? Her Primal Slayer instructed her. Licking her lips, she latched her teeth onto his alabaster skin. Biting harder than probably necessary, she smiled inwardly when his blood pooled into her mouth. Swallowing a bit, she removed her mouth to clearly state, “MINE.”

Spike growled in her ear, and her womb quivered in responding climax as his filled her. Her inner muscles squeezed and milked his cock for the last of its spendings. Meeting his stare, she found love in his sapphire depths.

***End of Flashback***

Later that night, she had coaxed him into marking her over Angel’s bite. Now she rubbed both sides of her neck through her black turtleneck sweater.

The first few hours after being rejoined with Dawn, she went into recognizance mode. Searching the prison apartment, she discovered hidden cameras and microphones. When she had ripped out the first microphone, Miss Voice had immediately squawked that she stop removing them. Two burly, but Italian-suited goons entered the apartment, guns drawn, with a techie-type, who replaced the mike.

Earlier, she had also found one camera in the bathroom, which she promptly had obliterated into a million little pieces. Now it was a safe place to at least shower and pee. No one was going to tape her Dawnie using the bathroom. That was just too much!

When Miss Voice had come on, she let her have it with both barrels. Asking Miss Thang if she would like her own lawsuit about taping an underage girl basically in the realm of pornography, not to mention additional damages of taping her without her consent. She had listened to Willow rant about child internet pornography many times, that it she guessed had soaked into her brain, because legal jargon spewed out of her mouth, enough that Miss Voice, Miss CEO of Evil Lawyers, Inc. shut the hell up and didn’t replace the bathroom camera. Score one for the Buffster, Buffy the Evil Lawyer Slayer!

Still microphones were embedded in all parts of the furnished prison apartment, so they had to be careful about their conversations. If they truly wanted a private conversation, they went to the bathroom and turned the water on full blast, but nevertheless keeping their voices lowered.

Buffy came out of her reverie as the door to their cell opened, and two men entered. Both men were different from those who had come before; however, that wasn’t unusual. One pushed a food cart; he was heavy set, and looked stupid, in an old black-n-white movie comedy ‘stupid crook’ sort of way. He obviously deferred to the other one who walked with a cane.

Mr. Cane had salt and pepper hair cut messily short with a beard to match. Unlike the others at this firm, this guy wore a worn heather-gray wool jacket and jeans. Also unlike the others, he looked straight at her. This drew her attention even more to him, which made her realize that it wasn’t a limp that caused him to walk with the assistance with the cane; he wore prosthetics on both legs.

“How did you lose your legs?” she couldn’t resist asking. She knew that all her conversations were monitored and that these ‘helpers’ were directed not to speak to her. None of them had, so she just had to see if she could get this one to.

“Little lady, now that was a rude question.” He hobbled over toward her. He then motioned to Stupid to bring the cart over to him. To Stupid, “Wait for me at the door, I need to correct Miss Summers on her rudeness.”

Buffy at first couldn’t believe that he responded to her question and then got suspiciously angry at what he implied to Stupid. Dawn had noticed the unusual interaction and had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to a defensive position behind her. Good.

“Miss Summers, and ah, I see your sister has joined us.”

“Leave her out of this, don’t speak to her,” she interrupted him.

“Of course.” He lowered his voice noticeably; “Damn it girl, wise up and play along. You think just anyone here would speak to you.” Louder, “Miss Summers, it is rude to address me in such a manner. And here I am to serve you a nice dinner of your favorites.”

Buffy closely observed as he raised the lids to one of the entrée plates, his wrist sleeve raised just slightly showing a weird looking blue tattoo with a Celtic looking circle enclosing a blue W, but more importantly inside the lid cover was a note. She looked up into Cane Man’s face and saw an urgent but kind expression on his face.

Opting to play along as if she didn’t see the hidden note, she coyly said, “Oooo goody. Look Dawn at the yummy goodness, aren’t we fortunate! So how did you lose the legs?”

“Vietnam.”

“Oh, sorry.” Buffy actually felt a little tinge of regret, but then again this guy was working here for her abductors. Regardless of what he said in the lowered voice, she’d been played too many times in her recent history to just listen to someone who told her too. Yep, Rupert would be proud. Heh, Spike would be even prouder. Spike. Her heart ached for him; but now was not the time to dwell on what she would like to do when she finally saw him again. Well, if he’d let her that is.

“Well, you’re highness, you and the princess will be so happy to know that I’ll be your regular server from here on out. Franz, who doesn’t speak any English,” he said with a nod, “will be assisting me. You can call me Joe.”

“So Joe, what d’ya know?” she giggled.

She couldn’t help it. His name just brought out her inner Xander, and God what an awful image that conjured in her mind. Yuck. Oooo, Snoopy dance. I wander if Spike would do a naked Snoopy dance for me…yummy naked Spike parts, dancing.

Her mind felt a definite sharp rebuke, as if Spike was telling her, ‘No bloody way in hell!’ about the Snoopy dance. Well, that was certainly different. Okay no time to focus on what that meant, back to business. Be serious Slayer Buffy now.

Joe and Dawn were both looking at her strangely. She must have zoned out there for a second. “Sorry, must be the low blood sugar. You were saying?” Dawnie kept giving her a weird look, so she tried to signal to her to leave it alone for now.

Joe continued, “Like I said, I’ll be by later to collect the plates. My ‘boss’ will be happy to note that both of you look well.” Buffy again felt that when he said ‘boss’ he wasn’t meaning Wolfram & Hart or Miss Mysterious Voice. She had to find a way to read that letter without the monitors catching her doing so.

“Oh yeah, confinement just does wonders for our complexions. I hear it’s the latest spa treatment. Don’t you, Dawnie?”

“Umm, yeah, Buffy…what you said.”

“I will see you later, Miss Summers.” With that Joe departed.

“Buffy, what in the world….” Buffy brushed her bangs away from her face, interrupting Dawn. That was their signal to stop any conversation until they got to a safe spot.

“Dawnie, let’s just see what exactly we have to eat first, okay.” She gave her one of Joyce’s best ‘I want no arguments young lady’ looks. Dawn immediately took the cue, realizing the seriousness of the look and the request behind it, and joined Buffy at the food cart.

Carefully lifting each lid off their respective plates, Buffy saw that each dish contained either her or Dawn’s favorite foods. She did not flip the lids to look underneath them in case the hidden cameras had zoom lenses. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to covertly feel under them either to see if any others possessed a note. Stacking them could ruin ink possibly, so she took each one over to the bed. If Dawn found that odd, she didn’t let on, because Dawn was already digging into one of her dishes.

“Ummm, Dawnie.”

With her mouth full of food, so typical Dawn, even more mature, “Mm…yeah?”

“I’m just going to eat on the bed tonight, okay. I don’t feel like eating at the table. I’ll be sure to clear off any crumbs.”

“M’okay.” Said Dawn, taking in another forkful of food.

Buffy helped herself to a small plate of her favorites and settled herself on the bed. She made a big production for the cameras of arranging the lids to serve as a makeshift food tray, which enabled her to feel underneath each one. Those that didn’t have a note underneath, she stacked on top of another.

Two had notes. Those she surreptitiously slipped into her long-sleeved black sweater. Hey, she did learn Spike’s slight-of-hand! Fake stretching; she made sure they stayed in her sleeves, while she ate.

Finishing her food as quickly, but as unsuspicious a manner as possible, which was extremely hard to do, Buffy made her way to the bathroom.

Opening the first note, she gasped in surprise. Quickly flushing the toilet to cover her gasp, she began to read.

The heart that now only sees half of everything sends his regards.
Friend of Eve’s husband.

I’m one who records & keeps a diary.

That note ended due to length of paper, she quickly unfolded the second.

Remember Cleveland Rocks!

An Observer

Turning on the sink, Buffy began to cry. Xander! This guy, if this wasn’t a trick, was sent by Xander and Adam and on top of all that was a Watcher. She and Dawn were no longer alone here. Relief filled her body, as her tears ran down her face.

Upon hearing the sink, Dawn came into the bathroom.

“Buffy, are you okay?” she said loudly for the microphones in the other room.

“No, Dawnie, I think I have an upset stomach. Too much good food.” Buffy responded equally as loud. She handed over the notes to her to read.

Wiping away her tears, she watched as Dawn’s face went from incredulity to barely contained elation. Nodding after Dawn mouthed in question, “Xander? Adam? Watcher? Joe?” She ran and hugged Buffy tight.

Drying her tears, Buffy signaled to calm down. Running water over the notes, Buffy wet the paper and swallowed them in order to assure herself that no one would find them. Putting her arm around Dawn, together they returned to the main room more hopeful about the future.

--tbc--

A/N: Here I officially disclaim that I do not own Joe Dawson. He is the property of Highlander: The Series and Davis-Panzer Productions.
.






Chap 10

A/N: Much thanks & patience to my beta Always_jbj. Stephi & Jesse this chapter’s dedicated to you both. Thanks for keeping me encouraged to write even when I felt like curling under the covers and sleeping.

(Cleveland, Ohio)

Methos cell phone buzzed from his coat pocket, he crossed the room to retrieve it as he said to Spike, “Hopefully, this will be news.” Answering the cell, “Pierson, ya? Good. So made initial contact…how did they seem? So the contact worked getting you inside. Wonderful, well he owed me a huge favor. (Smiling) She asked what? (snickering) Right. Straightforward isn’t she!?, Too bad, old man; she’s way too young for you. Besides a certain vampire would take offense, Dawson, if you tried your rock-blues musician play on her. He’s got that whole punk rock idol look going for him old man.”

Spike arched his brow listening to Methos’ description of him to some guy who was in contact with his girls. Earlier he had felt her have the most revolting, disgusting thought ever, and he had been an author to a few in his hundred plus years. First he had clearly received the image of the Whelp doing that hideous Snoopy dance of his, which then sickeningly morphed to a naked version of him doing the exact same dance. No bloody way in hell! He felt he needed a shower, just at the thought of being so closely connected with anything Xanderish, especially whilst naked. Fuck!

Tuning back into the conversation Methos was having with this ‘Dawson’ person, he focused intently on the relieved vibes he picked up from Methos. Clearly whatever Dawson was telling him was good news. This meant that Buffy and his Nibblet were at least physically unharmed. However, he was royally ticked off that he had to learn about his girls from others, instead of just relying on the Claim.

Since he had been hit with that first real feeling of connection with Buffy on the plane, he had been testing out their link through the claim. True, it had been well over a year since they had claimed each other. It was weak. Hell, he hadn’t even known until then that it still worked! Like a muscle that had atrophied from lack of use, the power of their claim just needed to be exercised. So he began trying to just feel her, reach her in some way. And what does he get for his troubles…an image of Xander’s Snoopy dance and then him performing the same dance naked! Bugger!

“Thank you, Joe. Talk to you in say two hours. Alright.” Clicking off the phone, Methos shared a tiny smile that Spike supposed he’d used to woo his women throughout the centuries. “That was Joe Dawson, the only Watcher that I trusted for a solid decade before throwing in with you lot.”

“And he’s the one you were hinting at earlier, the one who told you about Giles and whatnot?” Spike asked.

“Yes. Joe is, well you’ll be meeting him, so you’ll see…he’s quite unique…not the typical Watcher by any definition.”

“Well Ripper didn’t turn out to be Travers’ pride and joy either, come to think of it neither did Wesley.” Spike countered, unsure what Methos was trying to imply. Although he really didn’t understand why he rose to defend Rupert like he had. He was still right cheesed off at Giles for slamming the phone down on Peaches when they were trying to save Fred. Habit? Must be being in this damn replica house.

“Quite. I only meant, in our little circle, Joe was never to have revealed himself to his charge, which was Duncan. He did. He also plays a mean blues guitar, and owns his own club. You’d really enjoy it.” Methos seemingly glided from his chair to the door to the study. “The others will have started to wonder about us by now.”

Tilting his head, Spike had picked up angry snippets from both Connor and Gunn just a few moments earlier. Sensing Illyria and Connor approaching the door quickly, he cautioned, “I’d open the door now if I were you, Adam.”

Methos quickly heeded his warning, throwing open the door and jumping out of its way, right as Connor ran shoulder first into the room almost tripping on the rug. Illyria stood stoically at the entrance to the study examining in turn Connor, Methos, and then Spike.

Laughing, “Brilliant technique, Connor! I give it a 7.5 on execution, but full marks on comedy effect. Blue? Something we can do for ya?”

Spike swore for a brief moment Illyria’s skin suit flickered a deeper blue as if warning him of her anger. Shifting her icy gaze at Methos, Blue said, “Connor seemed agitated that this Immortal kept you separated from him. I too felt this alien sensation you refer to as concern. It makes my skin crawl like little ants marching. I did like it. These new humans are strange. The one you call ‘Rogue’ keeps exchanging mouth fluids with her companion. ” Cocking her head to the side, “You say you are Adam. You are not. I have seen you fill fields with the blood of innocents and ride the mount of Death.”

Spike saw Methos pale and start to back away from Blue towards his sword. Connor had risen to his feet, confused but ready to battle. Fuck, things were going to get all bollixed up quickly if he didn’t stop it now.

“Bluebell. Everything’s aces, luv. Adam and I have an understanding, and yeah, I know who he really is now. No need to get all ‘Old One’ over me, though I do appreciate it. Could cause a bloke to get all sentimental. Now Con, you haven’t known me long, I realize that, but use that noggin of yours boy. Don’t be all like your da. Barging in here, not knowing the full situation. Could have gotten yourself killed, and that would have been just brilliant now wouldn’t it?” he said trying to look scolding but couldn’t quite pull off the look. Hell, who the fuck did he think he was he kidding? He’d gone into to situations knowing a damned sight less.

He added, “Now Illyria, please close the door. Adam, my nephew and this Old One can be let in on your secret. If you don’t want the others out there to know, that’s fine with me, but if you’re going with us, then I insist that these two know. Gunn, I’ll worry about later. He’s going to need to stay here. He won’t like it, but he won’t have a say.”

Spike could tell Methos didn’t like it, but he didn’t give a shit. Behind the closed doors of that study, Methos retold Connor and Illyria his own tale.

**** 10 minutes later ****

Emerging from the study, the four of them reentered the den area. Gunn and Rona had snuggled on the couch. Dana was sitting on the floor doodling on a pad of paper. Xander was in a green comfy chair talking to Gunn. Faith and Wood had pulled in extra seating from other rooms it seemed just to accommodate the extra people.

Connor took a seat beside Gunn on the couch. For some strange reason now that Methos had confirmed his identity, Blue appeared to exhibit actual fascination, an emotion he would never have thought to see expressed by the usually impassive goddess. Perhaps it was Methos being the next oldest person in the room, or perhaps he saw a spark of Fred’s old scientist instinct. Spike watched as she followed Methos if not physically at least with her eyes as he purposefully found a chair opposite her.

Spike simply leaned against the wall, as was his habit of late. “So, Xander, you’ve been all promoted to big Watcher now. That little Slayer of yours was a right surprise in LA. So were Roni and Rogue.” Pinky smiled brightly at him. Chit still gave him the shivers. “Ta for them helping out and all, but unless you’re going to help us on our way to Rome, I’m not clear on why we’re here.”

Xander slow smiled in response, “And now I remember how much I hated you. Well, Mr. Formerly Evil Dead, I’ll accept your thanks, cause hey I know how much you hate saying it to me. But how I feel about you and how you feel about me isn’t important right now. Buffy and Dawn, they’re the important ones. Now, I’ve got some information about this Immortal and more about Buffy & Dawn’s kidnapping.”

“Right then. Go on, tell me who I need to thrash.” Spike said slowly.

“Okay. First off, the Immortal was up to his Gucci shirts in this. Adam has a contact who hacked into the Immortal’s bank records. Guido received a sizable wire transfer from the Lobo Corporation about three hours before Dawn was grabbed at school and Buffy was taken from her apartment. The sleaze actually took part in Buffy’s…” Xander began.

Before Spike could say anything, Adam piped up. “For those of you who don’t know, the Immortal has a name. Kristophe. He makes like he’s the only one of us running around, but to the rest of my kind he is a joke. He shies away from others of our kind, which is why he is still running around at the moment. Also the Lobo Corporation if you haven’t guessed is a shell company for Wolfram & Hart. Lobo, of course, means wolf. The arrogance of this firm astounds me. They haven’t really even tried covering their tracks. My informant traced back other transactions between Lobo and Kristophe. He’s secretly been receiving payments for some time; especially in the last six months, ever since Buffy came into his sphere of influence.”

“That bastard! He accepted euros to court my Slayer?” Spike began pacing the floor, his anger coming off of him in waves. “First he made me a cuckold with my Dark Princess, and now this indignation! Who the bleeding hell does he think he is?”

“Easy there Uncle, we will all make this Kristophe pay for his audacity.” Connor’s hands on his shoulders stopped his pacing. When he looked into his nephew’s eyes, Spike saw fire and anger there. His nephew actually cared that his ‘uncle’ had been made furious. In such a small amount of time, this boy had decided to love him unconditionally, and his undead heart swelled with that realization.

“Ta, Con. That we will.” Spike smiled and ruffled Con’s hair.

“Watch the hair!” Connor fussed, trying to tamp it back down into place.

“Oh no! Not another one! First we suffered through the Master of Hair Gel, then the Bleached Wonder, and now here’s the Miracle Son who must have that ‘I’m misunderstood and complicated scamp hair,’” cracked Xander. Just like old times, Xander had come to the rescue by delivering the perfect remark to break the tension in the room. Slowly the Slayerettes began to giggle, the laugh that Charlie boy had tried to suppress bubbled forth, Methos was smiling even though he hadn’t known Peaches, and even Wood cracked a smile in his stoic façade.

“Mr. Eye Patch, you’re so funny,” said Pinky as she held her stomach laughing way too hard. Poor bint didn’t know good humor; he’d have to fix that. Bugger, when did he start liking the psycho?

“Pinky luv, Captain Ahab has sheltered you. You poor girl, having to listen to his feeble attempts at humor.” Spike joked.
“Bite me.”

“Ummm. As tempting as that may be, you’re not my type, monkey boy.”

Methos cleared his throat, “Yes, well this banter, witty such as it is, does not get us closer to Rome now does it. Now, I’m sure that Spike and Xander can go round and round with this, but really now, wouldn’t our time be better suited to planning the rescue of the Senior Slayer and her sister?”

Spike suppressed the urge to sarcastically retort, and apparently Xander silently agreed to do the same. Xander immediately sobered his expression and continued, “We believe that the layout of all the Wolfram & Hart offices are the same. Spike, when you and Angelboy went to Rome, was that the case?”

“Yeah, Whelp it is. How did you know Peaches and I traveled to the Eternal City?”

“After the G-man sent for Dana, he kept tabs on Angel’s whereabouts. You know he never really trusted Angel after Ms. Calendar. Learning that Soul Boy was heading up Wolfram & Hart didn’t exactly give any of us warm fuzzies. However, his info wasn’t great, cause he didn’t know about you. Well then again, if he did, he didn’t tell us. But I think that the Big G was as much in the dark as the rest of us. He just reported that Angel and some associate traveled to Rome. I think whatever guy he had on Dead Boy had no clue about who you were.” Xander explained. “It wasn’t until later that I figured out just who the mysterious blonde associate was. Which I’ll go into later.”

“I think ol’ Rupes knew about me, especially after Fred.” Spike huffed. Yes, when all this finished, he would have his moment with the ‘Big G.’ Now though he had to focus on his Goldilocks and Nibblet. “Layout should be the same. Gunn, do you still have any knowledge left that the Senior Partners crammed into that skull of yours?”

To his credit, Gunn looked startled and embarrassed at the question. “Yeah. I don’t believe they can take it away after what that doc did to me. Rome branch might have resourced their bottom floor different than Los Angeles. But the Senior Partners demand conformity, that’s why all branches look the same. If we were to enter Hong Kong, Berlin, Moscow, or any other branch… the set up would all be the same.”

Spike tried to recall all that he could remember about the law firm’s lowest level. “Wasn’t the basement where Peaches locked up that tosser Pavayne?”

“Yes. Angel made a special storage unit for him. You know I believe other rooms were down there, but that place creeped me out. Even living on the sewers of LA is better than that. Oh sorry man. I’m sure they are okay. Ilona wouldn’t harm them. They’re assets in what she probably deems are ‘negotiations.’” Gunn offered.

Adam interjected, “My friend has seen first hand that Buffy and Dawn Summers are in perfect health. He’s managed to charm ‘Miss Hell in High Heels’ as my friend calls her. He making sure that nothing happens to them while they are there.”

Faith piped up, “Good. Nothing better happen to B or the pipsqueak.”

“Faith, calm down. Xander and Adam haven’t finished. Buffy is strong. Dawn’s feisty. Everything will work out,” soothed the Principal running his hands over Rogue’s arms. Spike watched their display with revulsion. Rogue could do so much better than that wanker. For now though Rogue had calmed.

“So Monkey boy, not that this little get together hasn’t been delightful, but I could have been well on my way to Rome right now had we not had to stop to listen to you blithering on.” Spike felt his irritation grow. He needed to be moving, doing something. He wanted to rescue his girls, and then yell at Buffy for being so bleeding stupid. Not that he hadn’t learned some helpful morsels about the Immortal, but he still wasn’t closer to his Slayer or his Nibblet.

For just a moment Spike noticed a shift in the ponce’s attitude. The hairs on the back of Spike’s neck started to tingle. Whenever Xander had that look, trouble only followed, at least that had been his experience in Sunnyhell. What he knew for certain was, he detested that gleam in the whelp’s eye.

“Oh, Captain Peroxide, I’m so sorry that returning the slayers here inconvenienced you on your way to probably storming into Rome’s office and getting everyone killed. Your plans always worked out so well in the past, didn’t they?” The whelp rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered, “Ahn give me patience.”

What Ahab said next shocked Spike to his very core. “Look Spike, you’re really going to hate what I’m about to tell you now. I believe I know how you are back from the ashes.”

@@@@






Chapter 11



Silence engulfed the entire room.  Had a pin dropped, it would have been the loudest sound in the room.  Apparently, Harris had kept this morsel all for himself.  Yes, he was shocked by the self-satisfied look on the Whelp's face, but his brief scan of the room soon told him that none of the rest of the Cleveland gang knew about this either, except for Dana.



"Harris, I'm not some bleeding naïve bloke that can have the wool thrown over my eyes…" he began.



"After Dana was assigned to me, she kept rambling about some blonde vamp and crying out William.  At first I still thought she was reliving the visions from the two slayers you had killed." Xander briefly looked guiltily over at Robin. "Sorry man," he said, nodding to Robin.



"S'alright.  Spike and I have come to terms about that." Wood said, very coldly.



"Oh that's what you're calling it now. Hmmm." Spike bit back sharply.  As far as he was concerned what he'd said after Wood tried to kill him in that bleeding shack of a hundred crosses held true still.  He would rip out that bastard's throat if he ever tried anything again.



"Down boys. Let's not get off point, I for one am dying to know all about Xander's story," Faith inserted, tying to cut the visible tension in the room.  Spike noted that while everyone from LA appeared visibly upset and ready to spring at the first sign of any action from Wood, the ones who had been back in Sunnyhell - Rona, Faith and Xander - all seemed desperately resolved to putting that sordid chapter behind them.  Only Dana and Methos looked confused as to what was the problem.



With a slight nod to Xander, Spike let it go for now.  Rogue was right; he wanted to hear what the Whelp thought he'd found out.



Xander began again with one of his most serious expressions. "When I became concerned that Dana was not getting her marbles back, I contacted Andrew.  Or rather I should say I flew to Rome, cornered him and threatened to shred his "The Living Daylights" poster, you know how he worships Timothy Dalton.  Andy was pretty quick to spill the beans about your resurrection, and what exactly Dana had done in LA.  Let me tell you, I was more than a little upset to hear that you were back… thought I would never have to see your mug again.  Then to discover that you were willingly working with Angel, well, I thought for sure that even if you were back in black, you weren't the same.  No way the Spike we knew would be anywhere near Deadboy much less working with him."



"Yeah well, that's another tale, Ahab." He was itching to hear what Harris had to say, but he didn't want to let the whelp know he was so eager.  He needed to appear calm despite every instinct in him fighting to break free and rip that 'I know something you don't' look off the bastard's face.  "Harris, before we get on with this fantasy of yours, I don't s'pose it'd be too much to ask for a cuppa would it?  I'm feelin' a bit peckish.  You seemed to have planned our being here, did you happen across some O-neg for your dear ol' roomie?"



"Even have that disgusting Wheetabix you like to spice it up with, Blood-breath.  Rona, would you mind? The Wheetabix is in the top right cabinet, first shelf on the left. Make sure to heat it for 30 seconds," Xander instructed.



Holding his hand over his non-beating heart, Spike played it brash, "I'm touched. Truly. You remembered." Inside, however, Spike couldn't believe that not only had the Whelp remembered how to prepare his blood, but also bought actual Wheetabix to add to it.  But he just couldn't show that to Xander.



"Anyway, Andy told me of your connection to that amulet, how first you were sort of all ghostie, and then pop, solid again. So I began trying to find out just what the deal was about that amulet.  I know, research, me… but I wasn't doing it for you.  Ahn would have wanted me to do this.  And as much as it kills me to say this, they need you.  Somehow I stumbled across one piece of the puzzle, in one of the Council's old tomes that survived Caleb's bomb fest.  Some archives had been buried - well the ones that Travers felt were too dangerous - in a crypt once owned by the Council.  This book held the diary of two different Watchers; both were considered renegades in their time.  The book is divided between the two; I guess the lack of paper caused the Council to put both together.  Anyway the second one had only a short reference to an amulet that would bind the wearer.  Apparently this Watcher had come across this some time in the early 1100s or something.  There also was a mention of a wolf, a ram, and a hart." Xander paused.



Xander rose from his seat and moved toward a bookcase he'd obviously built.  Drawing out a very ancient looking book that smelled weirdly of patchouli and lemon.  Spike could tell that Xander held it reverently.  Wanker had gone into full librarian mode. He opened the book to a much reviewed page; one that held a drawing of the amulet Buffy had given him on that last night in Sunnydale.  The text appeared to be in Latin.  Lost in the picture of the amulet in the book, Spike temporarily lost the trail of the conversation.



"Spike," Xander's voice regained his attention. "Do you happen to have the amulet with you? I just want to see if some markings match up according to this book.  I want to see if your amulet really is this one.  Don't worry I'll give it back.  I know how you like to accessorize." Ahab held out his hand as if he fully expected Spike to produce the mystical amulet.



"Sorry whelp, have it safely tucked away for now.  For argument's sake, wot does the renegade Watcher tell you in his story?"  Rona had returned with a nice mug of blood, handing it to him, she smiled.  Spike sipped some of the precious concoction, testing it, and then nodded his thanks as he continued to listen to Xander.



"He writes of how the Wolf, Ram, & Hart stole an amulet from its rightful protectors, somewhere around the time of the Crusades.  The recorder of this story used lots of coded words, 'cause remember this was a time of great suspicion and religious hoo-hah.  We believe we've translated this word here (pointed to some gibberish) to mean Guardian.  And I'm thinking, hey Guardian, wonder if this doesn't mean the Guardians, you know, of Buffy's Scythe. Okay, so anyway, it looks as if maybe Wolfram & Hart used this one battle in the Crusades to mask their true aim - to go after the amulet. So there was some great battle.  This recorder had wanted to join forces with the guardians to retrieve this amulet, but was denied by his superiors at the time.  They didn't trust either WRH or the Guardians, probably because it was a bunch of women."  Xander flipped a page.



"Hold up, there." Spike flinched looking at the next page.  On that page where symbols similar to what he remembered Lindsey wearing both as Doyle and when fighting Angel, and also as the symbols he decorated his safe haven with.  "These markings… I've seen some of these… what do these mean?"



"I'm not sure.  They haven't been deciphered.  These are not known in any language database I've been able to uncover.  I even surreptiously sent one to Dawn, you know how she was getting so good at ancient languages.  But even she was stumped.  She suspected the one I sent her was related to ancient Sumerian, but she told me she would only be guessing."



Methos peeked at the markings.  Spike noticed his jaw tighten, but the immortal remained tight-lipped.  Perhaps he could decipher it, but given his secret, he would only be able to do so later.



"So does this medieval watcher have anything to say about these symbols?"



"He only refers to them as 'power,' 'hide,' 'secret,' and from what I could gather possibly 'invisible'. But he doesn't say much.  Whatever these are worked against WRH, but when they learned of them, their mystics countered it."



"Yeah." Spike remembered Angel breaking Lindsey's spell tats and Hambone breaking through to Eve-o-rella's apartment.  "So Harris, what else does your diary of a wanker say?"



"I'm getting there, Bloodbreath.  It says, well some parts are still not readable, but it says that the wearer of the amulet would be at the mercy of its possessor, and the soul of the wearer would be lost in the great void.  That only a great love would protect the wearer from losing his soul.  Ironic huh?  Buffy does have a way with souls, doesn't she?" he laughed nervously.



"You're wrong."  Spike turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.



*****



He stood at his tree, well not his tree, his tree had probably incinerated in the downfall of Sunnyhell.  But this one would do.  Yes, it would do nicely.  Having lit up a cigarette, Spike pulled the toxic chemicals into his dead lungs, blowing out streams of whispery smoke.



The Whelp had it wrong.  Wolfram & Hart had intended that Peaches wear that amulet.  He was the original vamp with a soul that all the prophecies had been about.  Evil Inc. had wanted their new CEO to wear the amulet, so that the tossers could make Angelus again and bring him out for parties.  If Angel's soul was lost forever in some great nothingness, he would have to deal with the Supreme wanker again.



It didn't add up.  He wore the amulet; when that amulet released him, he was like a ghost, but not, and he still had his soul.  Fred had said he wasn't really like a ghost.  Something about ecto-whatis was not right.  Amulet didn't make him lose his soul.  So that medieval watcher was wrong.



Still, if Angel had worn it?  The short time he stalked the halls at the ol' Evil lawfirm, he'd learned that they usually know all the loopholes.  They had to know that Angel would turn to ashes, like he did.  Meaning that they knew whatever spells it took to release him.  It didn't make sense otherwise.  They had Peaches right where they wanted him, by the shorthairs with Connor and Queen C and in charge of their LA branch.  They must have wanted to be able to control when Angel had a soul and when Angelus was let out to play.  Some grand scheme for their Apocalypse.



He knew they had access to Soul Retrievers.  Hell from what he heard from Red when she got back from her little jaunt to LA complete with bonus gift of Faith in tow, Percy had gotten one to perform the soul-ridding in order to get rid of the Beast.



Nah, that wasn't right.  They wanted Angelus, so he could sign away the Shanshu?  Was that it?  No, cause in order to sign away the Shanshu, he would have to be Angel.  Can only sign away what you have, and Angelus meant no soul.  The renunciation would be invalid.  Hey, he'd learned something from Charlie boy.  To paraphrase the Great One, "the soul's the thing."*



Starting to come together a little bit, maybe.  If Angelus was in the driver's seat, that took out Angel as a player in the apocalypse.  No Angel equals free reign.  Angelus wouldn't have cared, unless they intended to screw his own plans.  Bastard was funny that way.  However, if they 'controlled' him by the amulet… no, Angelus would have wormed his way out of that.  He didn't like anyone telling him how to run his unlife.  Perhaps an insurance policy?  That had to be what those blighters were thinking.



So okay, they had not planned on him wearing the trinket.  Buffy screwed their plans.  Smirking as he blew out another whirl of smoke - didn't she always?  Whether she meant to or not.  His girl had a nasty habit of storming in and mucking things up.



A hand on his shoulder caught him by surprise, so lost in his reverie that he hadn't noticed someone else join him out by the tree.



"I know.  I hate saying this.  All that time I denied it.  I refused to see it.  I didn't want to see it.  Not with you.  Not after Deadboy.  But I was there after Sunnydale sunk into the pit of hell.  I saw how she became.  She closed off, she would hide it, but she had shut down her heart.  Then I went to Africa, I couldn't see anyone from Sunnydale.  I had to make sense of Anya's death.  I knew Andy had lied to me.  She probably died in some stupid way that wasn't fitting to her at all.  But I held onto what Andrew told me.  I had to.  Just like Buffy had to.  Whatever you said to her down there, she held onto it." Xander paused.



Spike couldn't speak.  He didn't turn to look at Xander as he moved beside him.  He could still see the look on her face as he said; "No you don't, but thanks for saying it." His last words to her.  He just wanted her to get to safety.  He didn't believe her, but he loved her enough not to let her sacrifice herself in that pit.  She had Dawn and her friends and all the new slayers to find.  Xander's words scorched his non-beating heart.



Xander had started talking again, "…so yeah I went to Africa.  With Dana I saw a way to help.  She reminded me so much of Anya.  She acts so young, but she's not really that young you know.  Hopefully in time, she'll grow out of this stage of dressing like a teenaged anime babe.  When I found that book and started learning about the amulet, I had to face some hard truths.  I knew that you loved her.  I thought it was some sick obsession, but now I know that you really loved her.  What was harder to swallow was that for the amulet to act as it did with you, Buffy had to love you too."



"She didn't mate, you're wrong.  It's wrong," he whispered, his voice barely a crack.



"No, you idiot, you're wrong.  Haven't you learned anything?  Didn't you hear what Lucius said in his diary?  Okay let me ask you this… you still have your soul, don't you?"



"Yes."



"Well that proves it right there.  You would have come back all non-soul-having had her love not protected you, if you had come back at all.  I'm still not clear why you came back all less than solid, and how Lindsey, was that his name, played a role in all this. It's possible that this Lindsey had learned some things during his time at Wolfram & Hart.  I overheard Gunn just a bit ago tell Rona about Wesley's books being able to call up texts long destroyed or forgotten and translating them on site.  Man that would be neat.  And maybe he took those secrets with him.  Somehow that amulet arrived at Angel's feet and you emerged from the locket.  I hear you were tied to that place while you were ghostie.  That tracks with the control part of the amulet.  It was the property of Evil Inc. at the time.  How he was able to give you your body back, I'm stumped."



"That makes two of us."



"But you missed the best part. And man, you and Buffy like to storm off, don't you?"



"What?"



"Well just the part that finally nailed the coffin of my denial about you two."



"Spit it out, whelp." Spike finally turned to look Xander in the eye.



With a stupid grin on his face, Harris said, "Ever hear of a little thing called destiny? On the next few pages in the diary, Lucius tells of a 'slayer' who goes against her calling and loves a 'champion of the night' and together they… well do you want to know the rest?"



"That could have been about the Slayer and Peaches."



"No…no…no, you're just not getting this are you?  I know it took me a while to come to terms with it.  But even I accept it now.  I don't have to like it, but I accept it. The rest of it gives some weird details that only fit you and Buffy.  It was meant for you.  Except…"



Hope had started to rear its ugly head in his heart.  Sure she was technically his mate, hell technically she had claimed him too, but that didn't mean she loved him. Had the Powers-that-like-to-fuck-you really wanted them together all along?  "Except what?"



"Except that it says something about a mating ritual, something about blood.  I say something because whatever it was had to have been so shocking that even Lucius tried to obliterate it. But I think it means that you guys have to be married or something."



Spike couldn't believe his ears.  But he had to ask, "Wot happens if Buffy and I do this ritual?"



"Oh now you're interested.  She becomes I think either immortal or invincible, couldn't really make out the word, and you are to be her greatest protector.  Each stronger because of the other. Oh, and some great battle with evil… but, as G-man always says, there's always a battle with evil in these things."



Breaking into a huge smile, Spike clapped Xander on his shoulder.  "Ahab, you and your slayer just bought yourselves a ticket to Rome."



 

Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13

(Rome, Italy)

Joe Dawson had never been a laid-back kind of guy. Sure, he liked to believe he was, and at times, he almost passed as one; but the cold, hard truth of his personality was that he couldn't just sit back and watch as injustice and evil happened in front of him. Hell, that's what made him a terrible Watcher: he just couldn't ignore what had been happening to MacLeod, and had to get involved. Looking back now, he couldn't decide whether that had been a good thing or not. Still, he could reasonably call Mac his friend, even though their friendship had been pushed to the breaking point many times.

As he rode the slate-nickel gray elevator to his destination, Dawson asked himself for the hundredth time, - How in the hell did he get suckered into this? Perhaps it was an after-effect of being tempted by the demon Ahriman for the return of his legs: it was as if his sensitivity to the supernatural had been heightened, like some internal switch in his brain had flicked on. Now this place raised the hackles on the back of his neck, and his left hand swiped it to try to chase away the chill that had made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end.

The elevator doors opened to the top floor - well, not really the top floor - of Wolfram & Hart. Composing his features, Dawson strolled out of the elevator. He really needed to go back to Paris and say a thank you at the grave of that bastard, Horton, for teaching him how to suppress his emotions. James Horton had been his friend; hell, Horton was his brother-in-law. But he had also started a corrupt, covert group of Watchers who believed that the Immortals were a threat to humanity, even though that most Immortals never cared to get involved in mortal matters. Dawson had doubted MacLeod about Horton's involvement with that group, and especially the allegation of him working in conjunction with Xavier St. Cloud; that had not only almost ended his friendship with Duncan, but had also nearly caused his execution by his fellow Watchers.

Making his way through the den of evil, Dawson observed devil demons making deals with … well, he didn't know what they were exactly, except that they were purple with what appeared to be steel spikes in their chins and foreheads. Sometimes, he longed for those halcyon days where he only knew of the existence of Immortals. Good times.

He nodded to the receptionist, who was on the phone, and queried, "Is she in?"

A smile and a nod later, Dawson opened the door to the office of the CEO of the Rome branch of Wolfram & Hart. Before he was fully inside the office, he was grabbed and hugged by the tiny but strong Italian woman. He heard the door close behind him, and felt his ass being raked by very long fingernails.

"Joe! I was just thinking about you, darling. You are the perfection of timing." Ilona's heavily accented English filled the room.

"Ilona… I was coming up to invite you to lunch. You haven't eaten yet, have you?" Joe asked her. His skin crawled at her touch; but, apparently, the bitch thought that was a positive response.

"Not as of yet, my darling. You know how it is, work…work. But now is time for play, yes? I shall ring my chef." Ilona turned to head back to her desk, her heels briskly moving across the plush carpeted floor.

He couldn't let her eat in today; he needed to get her outside. Inwardly cringing at the saccharine in his voice (Mac's so going to owe me several favors; Methos too) Joe protested, "Ilona, my sweet," - he never called anyone 'sweet' - "it's a beautiful day out, the weather is mild. Come with me, out to lunch. There's a bistro not far from here that I've been wanting to try. Come out to play; a little sunshine and fresh air would do you good. You work too hard." He continued to press the right buttons.

Joe watched as an internal debate waged in Illona's head. She was good, he'd have to give her that. Had he not learned and studied her well, he'd never suspect she was trying to make a decision. The same look in a boardroom full of lawyers would have revealed nothing. Or perhaps he was deluding himself, thinking that he had successfully broken through to the ice-queen of Rome.

She smiled, which to him looked as lethal as her talon-like fingernails. "Yes! That sounds lovely. Let me tell my assistant." Watching her buzz some connection, he listened as he thought through all the steps of today's agenda.

*****

Buffy and Dawn stood side-by-side in their shared cell suite. Fierce looks of concentration marred the young women's lovely faces. Both wore their own sweats; apparently, their wardrobes had been raided when they were kidnapped and brought here. Both were taking deep breaths, their legs planted slightly apart, knees bent.

Buffy blew out a deep breath, "First."

Both girls brought their left fists forward, punching the air. "Second." Their right fists took up the places where their lefts had been a moment before. They were training. Buffy knew she was a little out of shape since coming to Rome. Both needed the exercise, and both agreed they needed to be prepared to fight when the time came. Buffy felt a little like she was back home in Sunnydale, training the Potentials before the battle with the First. No; this reminded her of that peaceful summer before, while Willow was in recovery in England, when she had taken Dawn under her wing and had begun to train her to survive on the Hellmouth.

After twenty minutes of martial arts basics, Buffy and Dawn took a breather. Joe had not come with their lunch today; the other goon had. He was on Buffy's list. That guy gave her the creeps, the way he eyed Dawn; just the thought of him made her growl.

"Buffy, did you just growl?" Dawn asked, surprised at the noises coming from her sister. Did they slip Buffy something?

Buffy shook away her thoughts. "I think I did, Dawn. It's strange; I've been feeling a little weird since learning that Spike's alive." Unconsciously, Buffy fingered his marks on her neck. They'd faded in those months immediately following the destruction of Sunnydale, but for the last few months they'd started to reappear. She didn't know why before; now, maybe she did. Or at least, she hoped she understood. Especially since the other night, when she thought she could actually feel him in her mind.

"You okay?" Dawn asked.

"Yeah, just making a mental list and 'grrr-ing' at it twice. Making sure I guess who's been evil and … well, evil." She laughed. It felt good to laugh. She'd be damned if she'd let those W&H bastards break her spirit.

Dawn laughed with her, and Buffy casually appreciated the changes in her sister. She had been growing up since before the fall of Sunnydale, but now, a year later, Dawn had matured into a beautiful, responsible, independent woman. Buffy knew their mom would have been so proud. See, Mommy. See how beautiful she is? Buffy thought she heard Joyce whisper back, "Yes, both of my girls are beautiful and strong. We're Summers women."

"So, Dawnie, you up for a game of Scrabble?"

"Sure."

"Let's shower first; I'm all smelly. Though, not as smelly as you…"

"Yeah, right. Dibs!" Dawn squealed, as she raced to the bathroom.

"Don't use all the hot water!" Buffy yelled after her. She picked up a pretzel left over from her lunch and began to munch on it. Buffy hoped nothing had happened to Joe; he was usually ever-present during their meals, and she had started to like the guy.

To the monitors videotaping their every move, Buffy knew she would appear to be simply sitting and munching on a pretzel. In reality, she was mediating, as Giles had taught her - tuning into her senses and trying to open up whatever remained of her connection with Spike.

Whether the claim still worked as it was supposed to, Buffy didn't know. Despite what others sometimes thought, she wasn't a neglectful Slayer. After having been bitten by not one, not two, but three vampires - well, at the time, it had only been three - had she not researched possible effects and what the bites meant, she would have been crazy. Dracula and his bites' effects had sent Buffy sneaking off into the restricted section of the Magic Box's books to look up vampire biting and rituals. With fondness, Buffy remembered stumbling across the chapter on claims and mating, and how turned on she had gotten reading how vamps mated.

So, in their last night together, Buffy had known exactly what she was asking of Spike. She had wanted him to claim her, to show him her true emotions without putting them into words. Her Slayer self instructed her, pushed her. Upon completion of the mutual claim and mating, Buffy felt Spike's confusion and surprise at her acceptance flow through here; then, she'd fought back tears as images of both William's and Spike's pasts flooded her psyche.

Poor Spike. Never in his life or unlife had he known true love. Other than the familial love he felt for his mother and, to some extent, Dawn, he'd never comprehended what true love felt like. Sadly, Buffy realized that Spike didn't grasp what he was feeling through their link from her. She'd vowed that, every day following the defeat of the First, she would teach him love, and make sure he knew he was loved.

Buffy's heart broke when she realized he didn't believe her when she'd told him she loved him. Time stood still for her as their entwined hands burst into flames; it began again when he ordered her to get out. Her stubborn self kept telling her as she ran that Spike would be okay; he never left her, and he never would.

Chasing the bus across the rooftops, Buffy could still feel him. However, once she leaped onto the roof of the bus, she'd felt the claim break. Grasping for a hold on the bus, Buffy had gasped as the emptiness overwhelmed her. Only thoughts of Dawn had kept her holding on; what she really wanted to do was to race back and find him.

Later, standing on the edge overlooking the crater that was once the Hellmouth, Buffy heard Dawn ask her, "What are we going to do now?" A small smile had crossed her face then, tears in her eyes. Her friends never knew why she smiled. In that brief moment, she'd almost believed she'd felt Spike kiss her cheek then whisper, "Live for me, love."

It had taken her a couple of months to get accustomed to the emptiness left in the aftermath of Spike's death. Before the claim, Buffy always felt alone. 'Til those few hours, she had known what it meant to be complete, to be truly whole. The marks had faded for those two months, but then they'd started to come back. She had never shared that with the others, not even Dawn - it was something only between her and Spike.

So, she sat and reached out with her senses, trying to tap into whatever remained of the link between her and Spike. It was like he was there, but just out of her grasp. At least she could sense him now. When his emotions got really strong, she could feel him more. She couldn't wait to be back in his arms again.

Buffy breathed out and focused on sending her love to Spike. She hoped that he would feel her and reach back. It was like she was nudging him - like how Dawn used to try to get her to wake up. There! Keeping her outward appearance calm, Buffy's heart leapt for joy.

'Spike! Spiiike, hey Big Bad.' Buffy imagined purring in his ear.

'Buffy? Pet? You okay?' she heard her vampire reply.

'Yep, Dawn and I are fine; well as fine as two highly angry Summers women can be in the belly of some evil lawfirm,' she retorted.

'I love it when you're all brassed, luv.'

'Stop with the sweet talk; not going to let you get of the doghouse just yet. You are so going to explain why you didn't tell me you're al…well undead again.'

*****

Joe sat across from Ilona at an outside table at the bistro he'd suggested they try for lunch. He watched out the corner of his eye as the short waiter approached with their after-meal coffees. The waiter soundlessly placed their cups in front of them then cleared their plates and other glasses.

Ilona grimaced at her coffee and looked at Joe. Joe picked up his cup and sipped the rich, black coffee. Apparently satisfied that he wasn't about to keel over and die, Ilona smiled and began sipping hers. Fortuitously, an acquaintance of hers happened by, allowing Joe to look around. He gave a half nod to the waiter, then watched as the young man surreptitiously slipped Ilona's water glass into a satchel.

Joe motioned for the bill, and the waiter arrived shortly thereafter. All this took place while Ilona was discussing the latest Dolce & Gabbana fashion show with her female friend. The bill satisfied, the waiter disappeared - never to be seen serving at that bistro again.

*****

TBC

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