He found a poker game in a vast expanse that used to serve as a dining room. Now it looked more like a bar, but without the order. Loud, smoky. Brawls frequently breaking out. Blood splattered everywhere. Humans were chained in a row to the back wall, weak and helpless, their bodies covered in bite marks. Spike's mouth watered at the site, but he simultaneously felt a wave of revulsion, his stomach doing a slow, nauseating roll. Damn you and your conscious, Slayer, he thought. Can't even think about biting a human without worrying about what you'd think. He deliberately looked away.

Soon after, Spike had settled in at a table with three other vamps, his back to the human buffet, a pile of chips in front of him, which meant little, of course, since the Big Man had outlawed actual gambling. They played only to pass the time, the chips merely a means of keeping score. One of his tablemates offered a beer, but he passed -- as much as he wanted a drink, he needed to stay sober. He dealt the cards.

"So, William, how long have you been here?" asked the only female vampire at the table. Her hair and heart-shaped face reminded Spike of the witch, so he dubbed her Red.

"Since last night," he replied, then looked at his cards. Pair of Kings. "How about you?"

"A week."

"And you guys?" Spike asked the other vamps.

"About the same. A week. I read about this on the Net and rushed over from Las Vegas," said the second one, whose hair was gray at the temples. He muttered a couple of curses as he fanned out his cards. Not much for the poker face. He must have lost a tidy sum in Vegas.

"I've been in this hell hole for a month," said the third, bitterly. "Cooped up in this dank place, taking orders from a kid who could probably kill everyone here just by looking at 'em. He promised an apocalypse, but all I've done so far is run away from the Slayer a few times. Man, I want some real action. The destroy-the-world variety."

Spike's ears perked up. He tried to looked uninterested and said, "The Slayer, huh? You've seen her?"

"Yeah. Tough little minx. I watched her take out an entire patrol a couple of nights ago. I barely escaped." His mouth twitched as he examined his cards, then he threw a couple of chips into the center. "Ten to start."

"Call," Red said, then added, "I heard she's like the Terminator. You know, no emotions. Like a robot. Just keeps coming and keeps killing. That's what everyone is saying -- those who have escaped, anyway, and there aren't many."

No emotions ... like a robot. Spike closed his eyes against the pain that washed through him at those words. He couldn't let it show. Not here. But hearing what had happened to Buffy, that she had mostly likely shut down after he left ... it's what Whistler had wanted. That she would only rely on herself, not give in to her emotions. But his Slayer deserved better than that.

"Call," Second said.

"Call." Spike threw in his chips, then gave out new cards. He said, nonchalantly, "So what about this apocalypse? Is it going down anytime soon? Because I don't bloody well want to stay here any longer than I have to."

"Don't know," Third said, shrugging. "They don't tell us anything."

"Tomorrow night," Red said confidently.

They all looked at her, and Spike said, "You sure about that?"

"Yeah. I overheard the Big Man talking about it with one of the generals last night. I mean, I wasn't trying to listen in, but it's kinda hard not to when they're standing right there. Anyway, Big Man says 'Is everything ready?' And the general says, 'Almost. The Slayer's still a problem.' And Big Man replies, 'No matter. She won't stop what is foretold. Two nights hence, the world will end.'"

"Wow," Second said, so dumbstruck that he inadvertently lowered his cards enough for everyone to see. "That's just ... wow."

"I second that," Third said, nodding. "Finally we get some action."

Spike grunted his agreement, but his mind whirled elsewhere. Two nights? He had to find Buffy, and fast. He needed to give her the information, or maybe he could get her and her sister out of town. No, that wouldn't work. The Slayer in her would never allow it. She would say something about her soddin' sacred duty and then march in to get killed, like in his dreams. Buffy, motionless in the dirt, her blood pooling around her and staining the earth red. Dawn crying over her body, glowing green eyes staring up at him in scathing accusations. Won't happen, he thought. Not ever. Not if I can help it.

"So are we going to play or what?" Second asked curtly.

Third cleared his throat. "Oh, right. Um ... ten." He tossed his chips into the center.

Red said, "I see your ten and raise you five ..."

So it went around the table, and ended with a larger heap of chips in front of Spike. They were ready to start a new hand when two bouncer-sized vampires appeared seemingly from nowhere and stood behind Spike's chair. Their massive bodies cast shadows over the table, and Spike twisted around to look at them.

"William," one of them said, staring right at him. "Come with us."

Spike's fellow poker players regarded him with wide eyes as he shrugged, threw his cards on the table and stood. "Sorry, mates. I'm out. Got other places to be."

He followed his guards from the room like a good little minion -- nervous, head bowed, shoulders hunched -- but inside he was grinning. He had new information, and now he was on his way to see the Big Man. With any luck, he would be out on patrol this evening, on the pretense of killing the Slayer, leaving him free to pass on intelligence and save her cute butt once again.

Willow spread out the street map of Sunnydale on the thick carpet, smoothed it flat, and simply stared at it, as though hypnotized, lips set in a thin, tense line. Dawn noticed the same tension in her shoulders, and the tiny vein that popped out in her forehead. Willow licked her lips, took a deep breath and kept staring.

"Are you OK?" Dawn asked gently, although she already knew the answer. Willow hadn't done any magic recently, except for that fiasco during the crypt fight, and she hadn't been too thrilled when Dawn had suggested this spell. "I mean, if you don't want to help, I could probably do it on my own. I did before."

"No," Willow said quickly. "No, it's too dangerous for you to do alone. And this is the best way for us to find Spike. So we need to do this. Now. We need to do this now."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

Willow grimaced. "Maybe I am. It's just -- I've been staying away from the magic thing since the whole memory spell went kablooie, and ..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook herself. "Never mind. Can you, ah, hand me the herbs, please?"

Dawn obliged, and Willow spread the powdery substances over the map. She picked up her Charm of Atlas and rubbed her thumb over the tiny jewel embedded in the hilt. "Now, Dawn, remember that I'm taking the bulk of this on myself. I'll say the chant and do the spell. All you have to do is think about Spike, so we keep the magic focused on him. Got it?"

"Yeah, I know. You've only told me a zillion times." Dawn reached out slowly and closed her fingers over Willow's free hand. "Are you ready?"

For an answer Willow dangled the charm over the map, closed her eyes and recited the spell. Dawn concentrated hard on Spike, thinking about the night they had broken into the magic shop. The two of them, cross-legged on the cold floor, hunched over Giles' notebook. She focused on hearing his voice ... so they sent the Key to her in the form of a sister... That had been a tough night. Earth-shattering. After that, nothing had stayed the same. But she was glad, looking back, Spike had been with her when she had learned the truth.

Dawn became so absorbed in her memories that she only vaguely noticed the tiny whirlwind form on the map, and the jewel that glowed brightly, casting a eerie green light over everything. Just like before, the charm shot across the map, and it pointed at a spot just outside downtown. The whirlwind continued to spin madly.

"Crawford Street," Willow muttered. "Of course, at the old mansion."

"The what?" Dawn asked.

"Where Spike, Dru and Angel lived after Angel turned. Remember?"

"I actually wasn't around then, but, yeah, I remember." Dawn nodded at the pendant. "Is it supposed to do that? I mean, just stay there? When I did the spell, the herbs went poof, and then there was the whole stink factor ..."

"This is what's supposed to happen," Willow said with a small smile. "If you keep your energies focused, you can hold the spell for hours. But that's, well, kind of unnecessary in this case cause we've found him now and --"

"Willow, look!" Dawn pointed frantically at the map. "The pendant. It's ... it's moving!"

Willow looked, and it took all her magical discipline to stay focused and keep the spell from exploding. Dawn was right. The pendant was slowly making its way up Crawford street. They watched, mesmerized, as it inched across downtown, passed the old high school and entered the town cemetery.

Dawn licked her dry lips and said, in a small voice, "The cemetery? Didn't Buffy say that's where she would be patrolling tonight?"

The fight quickly became strenuous, her opponents more skilled than in several weeks, their attack more coordinated, their punches hitting home with more frequency. She stumbled back into a headstone and tumbled over it backward, but her quick reflexes allowed her to roll to her feet with fists up.

Now this felt good. The pain and struggle, the thrill of edging so close to death. The intoxicating scent of vampire dust and her own blood, mixed with the cemetery's sterile fragrance of death. Something dark inside her sang out and pushed to the surface, overtaking her senses, bringing everything into sharper focus. She became so aware of everything. Every blade of grass, every leaf.

She didn't fight the battle haze as she had in her younger days, when she feared losing herself in its seductive freedom. No, now she welcomed it. It's why she patrolled every night, for hours on end ... for a few seconds of this blissful release from her gray reality.

"Come on, then," she taunted her attackers. "Unless you would rather run away."

The vampires, five of them, took her up on her offer and charged all at once. She sensed a sixth vamp behind her, but he hadn't moved in several minutes, preferring to watch under the cloak of darkness. She would worry about him later.

Buffy ducked under the first vampire's swing and stabbed her stake upward into his heart. Two others got behind her and grabbed her arms, holding her immobile while a third advanced with a leer. She kicked out with both feet at that vamp, then rammed her arms together, bringing her captives with her. They banged into each other head first and fell limply into the grass. She staked them both. Three down...

The last two charged her from either side. She stepped back at the last second, and they collided where she had been standing, their arms and legs entangled. She staked one, but the other slammed his fist into her face. Blinding pain exploded behind her eyes, and she reeled. The vamp punched again, and she fell onto her back, dazed, and she felt her stake being wrenched from her hand.

So this is how it ends, she thought with calm detachment, as the vampire raised her own weapon, ready to plunge it into her chest. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to move. Finish it. Send me back now. Please.

She closed her eyes, ready for her second release from life, but it didn't come. Instead, she was assaulted by a lungful of dust, and her stake dropped into the grass by her hand. Buffy's eyes snapped open, to see the sixth vampire, the one who had been watching, leaning over her, holding out his hand.

Suddenly released from her immobility, Buffy's fingers closed around her stake and she grabbed the vampire's wrist, only to throw him to the ground. He grunted at the impact. She rolled over to straddle him and stabbed downward.

"Buffy, no!"

The words startled her. She knew that voice. Buffy stopped her killing thrust just as the stake pierced his skin. Blood welled around the wound, soaking into the black T-shirt, but neither vampire nor Slayer noticed as she finally met his wide blue eyes. At first, the words wouldn't come. She could only stare. Unbelieving, shocked, the only sound between them her ragged breaths. He looked so different, with the dark brown hair, and through her battle haze, she hadn't recognized him. Then he groaned in pain, his eyes squinting shut, and the spell broke. Buffy found her voice, small and far away to her own ears.

"Spike?"

Chapter 8
"I cried over you"

Spike?

That one word passed her lips so quietly, Spike wondered whether he had imagined hearing it. She stared at him, disbelieving, her lips working silently, like she wanted to say more but couldn't. He knew how she felt. After so many dreams of her straddling him, then staking him, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't fallen asleep again. Moments from now, he would awake at the mansion, or in his car, and she would vanish like a star in the sunrise.

Then again, maybe not. The stake buried halfway into his chest was real enough, as was the scent of his own blood soaking into his shirt. One wrong move might drive her weapon into his heart -- but he wasn't dead yet, and that fact alone convinced him this was reality. In his dreams, Buffy didn't pull back on her killing thrust.

"Yes, luv. It's me." He winced as her hand trembled, and so did the stake. "Do you think maybe you could pull that out now?"

"Oh! Sorry."

She yanked it out, and Spike clenched his teeth to keep from yelling. Don't be such a baby, you soddin' poof, he berated himself. A little hole in the chest won't kill you.

He said, "Now, if you would move, pet, we could --"

Buffy cut him off by leaning over and smashing her lips against his. That certainly qualified as moving. Not exactly what he meant ... but, hell, he wasn't complaining. Spike's eyes drifted shut, and he returned the kiss with enthusiasm. He reached into her hair, pulling out the elastic band that held back the soft waves. Her legs clenched harder around his waist, and her pelvis starting moving in interesting ways. Spike groaned. He coaxed her mouth open with his tongue.

Gods, it had been so long, and it was so good. The taste of her, the feel of her hot, human body pressed against him. She smelled of sweat and blood and something distinctly her own; her hair, falling around his face, carried the familiar fragrance of her shampoo. He wanted her. No, needed her, like he needed to feed. How could he have ever given this up?

Spike bucked his hips suggestively. Buffy moaned into his mouth, then stiffened and pulled away.

"Spike? Is it really you?" She ran her hands through his dark hair, shooting pleasurable sparks straight to his groin. "You look different."

"It's me, Slayer," he said huskily. "I thought we already covered this."

"You came back," she said, amazed, then in a more thoughtful tone, "You're really here. After you vanished, I thought ..."

Her expression suddenly changed, eyes narrowing in that angry, better- than-thou-Buffy way that he knew so well. Spike's ardor drained away as surely as she had pulled a plug. Oh, that familiar look. He knew what came next.

Buffy's open palm smacked his cheek.

"Ow!" Spike yelled, rolling his jaw. "I think you broke my face!"

"Bastard!" Buffy screamed, then punched him in the nose.

"Ow!"

"You stupid, arrogant, self-righteous, pig-headed vampire!" she spat, and with every word, she punched him again. Then she stopped and simply glared at him, arms crossed.

Spike rubbed his mashed nose. "Have you run out of insults yet? Because I don't think my face can take much more of this."

"You left me."

"Yeah, I did. To save your life, you stupid bint. And now I'm starting to rethink the whole thing."

She blinked. "What?"

Spike sighed. "Look, why don't we go discuss this in some place a little less public. If any vamps come by and see you straddling me, they're going to report it and I'm dust."

"Oh my god," Buffy said, horrified. "You're not working for the Big Man, are you? I can't believe this. You abandoned me to go work for a crazed vampire who wants to destroy the world?"

"Buffy, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" she asked curtly.

"The sooner we find a more private place, the sooner you find out."

"All I can say, Spike, is that it better be good, or you won't have to wait for the Big Man. I'll stake you myself."

She picked up her weapon from the grass, tucked it into her coat pocket and stood up, not even bothering to offer him, the injured vampire, a hand. Typical. Buffy had gone into bitch mode. He knew he deserved it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Fine. Two could play this game. Instead of jumping to his feet, Spike lounged out in the grass and took his time appraising her, inch by inch, head to toe. Her lips were slightly swollen from kissing, her hair mussed, and her coat smeared in blood from where she had pressed against his chest wound. And she had lost weight, Spike noticed. Hardly more than a stick, like he could break her over one knee. Despite that, she still looked like an angel. His warrior angel.

The longer he looked, the more she shifted from foot to foot. A flush reddened her cheeks, and she looked away nervously. Spike couldn't help but smile, her reaction giving him hope. She might act the part of the superior Slayer, but deep down, she couldn't hide that she was happy to see him.

After a moment more of simply watching her, Spike dragged himself to standing, one hand pressed to his throbbing chest. "That crypt over there," he said, pointing. "Should be good for a chat."

The crypt was empty of vampires, which irked Buffy a bit. She needed to kill something. Having Spike here, watching him settle onto the sarcophagus in a manner somehow both relaxed and predatory, had unnerved her. He didn't look right anymore. The brown hair just didn't fit, and he had forgone the leather duster. He still moved with the same menacing grace, though. And he hadn't given up his cigarettes, either, obvious from the rectangular lump in his back pocket.

His new look shouldn't matter at all, though, because in the world according to Buffy, Spike had vanished for all time. He had left her and wasn't coming back ... and yet, he had returned. That knocked her off kilter, yanked her from her safe, familiar playground and dumped her into a new place. She didn't know how to behave here. Hence the kissing and punching and screaming, all reactions she hadn't been able to control. Buffy Summers hated losing control.

A good bout of violence would restore her equilibrium, but as she hadn't run across anything worth killing, she would have to settle for the next best thing: taking out her anger on Spike.

"All right," she said, her tone clipped and indignant. "We're in private. Now talk. Why did you leave, and why are you back?" She held up her hand, cutting him off as he prepared to answer. "Wait. Let me take a guess at the first part. After I left that morning, you got a visit from Whistler, who fed you some crap about how Slayers and vampires aren't supposed to mix and that if you didn't leave, it would end with one of us in the ground. And you bought it. Hook, line and sinker."

Spike blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Good guess, luv. Except the part about it being crap."

"That is such bullshit, Spike. How could you believe him? You didn't even say goodbye! You just left a pathetic little note." She pulled it from her coat pocket, unfolded the wrinkled paper and read. "'I hate goodbyes. It's better this way.'" She wadded it up and threw it at him. "You have no right to decide what's best for me."

Spike picked up the paper from where it landed beside him, smoothed it out and stared dumbly at the smeared ink. "You kept this?" he asked quietly, his eyes darting between the note and her. "You carry it with you?"

"I -- I, um -- I forgot it was in that pocket until I put on my coat this evening," Buffy stammered, then hated herself for it. He wasn't supposed to get all tender, taking her anger away. She wanted a fight, not affection.

He saw right through her lie, of course. Buffy could tell, from his strange expression, that he couldn't decide whether to be amused by her backtrack or awed by what it meant. As he looked at her like that, with those candid blue eyes, she suddenly ached to forget the past and throw all caution aside. Allow him help her forget her fears and mistrusts, if only for a while.

Damn. The anger had gone, at least for now. She sighed.

"All right. So I kept it." She slid beside him onto the sarcophagus and tried to ignore its cold through her thin pants. He scooted over to give her more room. "Did you even consider the consequences of what you did? Did you think about how it would affect me? Or Dawn? She loves you like a big brother, you know."

Spike sighed and shook his head. "I'm -- I'm sorry, Buffy." The words stuck in his mouth. "It seemed like the best thing to do at the time, and I didn't have a thought for the Nibblet. I guess if I could do it over--" He stopped, pondered that for a moment and looked up at her frankly. "I won't lie to you, luv. If I could do it over, I would do it the same."

"What?" she sputtered. My god, had she heard him right? To think only seconds before, she had been ready to forgive him. Buffy jumped off the sarcophagus and backed away, her righteous anger soaring gloriously to life. "You would do it the same?"

"You needed it, pet," he said firmly, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cold stone beneath him. "You needed to relearn how to depend on yourself instead of on others. First you turned to Giles, and then when he left, you turned to me. But it was wrong."

"Is that what Whistler said?" she spat.

"Yes. But it happens to be true. You needed to find your own way, without Giles or me or anyone else. And it wasn't going to happen until you were forced into it."

"I cried over you, you heartless bastard!"

Spike's shoulders slumped a little. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I know I'm a bad man. But it had to be that way."

"So what now? Hmm? Lesson learned ... all's well so you come prancing back like nothing happened?" She stalked up to him and yanked at the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer, meeting him eye to eye. "I have news for you. I will never trust you again. I opened up to you once. I gave myself to you, and you betrayed me."

"You threw yourself at me. There's a difference, pet. It's not like I was asking for it."

"But you took it."

"Damn right I did. Woman I love, puttin' on a strip show and begging for sex? A bloke would be bloody stupid to pass that up."

"I beg for nothing."

"You did that night, Slayer. You wanted it. And you still do."

They stayed like that for a moment, but it felt more like an eternity, eyes fixated on each other, close enough that any movement would bring them in full body contact. No, no contact. Contact bad, Buffy scolded herself, but she couldn't help it. After all that had happened, she knew he was right. She yearned for him to pull down the walls she had so painstakingly constructed, to make her human again. He was still the only one who could do it, who could make her feel something besides this soul-numbing cold.

No. I can't make this mistake twice, she thought, while another part of her screamed out for surrender. But, as always, her will won out over her heart. I won't let him hurt me again, or hurt Dawn. It's better this way, if she never knows he was here.

"It doesn't matter what happened between us," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep calm. "Because it won't happen again." She pushed him away. "I want you to leave Sunnydale and never come back."

Hurt flickered across his expression -- stabbing at her own insides, as well -- but it vanished quickly enough, tucked securely behind a facade of trademark Spike cockiness. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "Too late for that, pet."

"I'm warning you, Spike ..."

He snorted. "What? You gonna kill me? I don't think so. Not when you hear what I have for you."

"And what's that?" Buffy asked, folding her arms slowly, deliberately. "Maybe some more heartbreak, along with a little sarcasm and a few insults on the side?"

He ignored the barb. "How about information on the local vampire infestation."

Silence. He blew out a long column of smoke.

Finally, Buffy found her voice, and it trembled even more than before. "So you are working for the Big Man. I should have known."

"Believe what you want, luv, but don't go passing judgment. I have my reasons." He flicked ashes onto the floor and sucked deeply on his cigarette, taking his time, making her wait. "The point is I have information that could mean the difference between you defeating this wanker and his army of vamps, and the deaths of all your chums." He grinned smugly. "Seems to me like you need old Spike around after all."

"Yeah. Like I need a hole in the head."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. Just don't go blaming me when you have to bury all your friends."

He snuffed out his cigarette, dropped the butt to the floor and sauntered toward the exit. Buffy dug her fingernails into her palms. She wanted desperately to tell him to wait, but he had to make the next move. Spike had to prove that he still deserved her trust. He had taken so much from her when he left, and now he had to give something back.

Maybe he realized that, too, because he stopped in the doorway and, without looking back at her, said, "It's gonna happen tomorrow night. At the Hellmouth. Big Man will have enough vampires there to fill Times Square on New Year's Eve and enough hocus pocus to pull off just about anything he wants."

"And that's all you know?" Buffy said contemptuously. "We've figured out that much on our own. I knew you wouldn't be of any help --"

"Du Lac."

She stopped in mid-insult. "What?"

"Josephus du Lac. Into a lot of black magic, especially dealing with vampires. I bet Red would know the name."

"Spike, what are you talking about?"

He twisted around to fix her with a frustrated stare. "Do some research, Slayer. Pull out your soddin' books. Connect du Lac to the Hellmouth, and I'll wager you've found the key to saving the world. Again."

With that, he left. The silence afterward almost deafened her.

She suddenly felt drained, like after a major battle, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the shivers. Had the crypt been this bitterly cold the whole time? She hadn't noticed; maybe Spike had. No, vampires didn't react to heat and cold as humans did. Their bodies adjusted to match room temperature. Riley had told her that once. Riley. She hadn't thought of him in ages. Wondered where he had ended up. Probably in a jungle somewhere, happily blasting demons apart with ray guns and other fancy government toys. Or maybe he had ended up as dinner for some pretty vampire girl. Ah, dinner ... now that sounded good. A big, greasy piece of fried chicken with mashed potatoes ...

Buffy's mind continued to drift, flitting from one random thought to the next like a butterfly; touching on each tangent only briefly before fluttering on. She couldn't concentrate. Couldn't think. It was all too much to absorb.

Had Spike really been here? Sitting on the sarcophagus, dragging puffs of tobacco and watching her with those unguarded, beautiful blue eyes? Or had her starved imagination invented the whole thing? Her eyes roamed the empty room, landing on nothing, seeing nothing until she noticed the cigarette butt on the floor. Immediately, everything pulled into focus.

So it's true, she thought numbly, hugging herself tighter. Spike is back. He's really here. I wonder what Dawn will think ...

But had he returned for good, or would he now vanish again? Buffy felt her lungs contract painfully when she thought of him leaving a second time. She had ordered him to go, but she hadn't meant it. Not really. Spike never obeyed her, anyway. So maybe he would come back, like in the old days, showing up at the most annoying times, bringing her information to defeat the bad guys.

Oh, yeah. Information. He had mentioned a name before leaving. What was it? Think, Buffy. Think. Um, Julian, Jonathon ... or Joseph- something. Du Lac? That's it. Joseph Du Lac.

Finally, a solid lead.

Chapter 9
"It's a matter of trust"

Buffy marched home in a trance, feet moving automatically along the well-trodden path. Her mind, however, wasn't on walking, or home, or any of her usual thoughts -- the ones that kept her from obsessing over her bland existence. Dawn's homework, Willow's breakup with Tara, wedding planning for Xander and Anya. Vampires. Demons. Whether Anya would go through with her threat of dressing her bridesmaids in blood larva.

Instead, she allowed herself to indulge in other thoughts, more pleasurable and painful at the same time. Spike had left ... then returned... but for how long? She had missed his distinct aroma of smoke and alcohol, and of musty leather. She had missed losing herself in the taste of him, still fresh in her mouth from their interlude in the cemetery. Could she allow herself those escapes again, give herself to him when he might vanish at any time? It all came down to trust, and Buffy didn't know whether she trusted anyone that much anymore.

Her thoughts carried her to the front door and back to the kitchen, where she found Dawn pulling a pan of brownies from the oven. Her mouth watered at the scent. Just like Mom used to make them.

"Hey, Buffy," Dawn said while pulling off her cow-print mitts. She flipped off the oven. "Want a brownie? They're a little burned but still full of chocolaty goodness."

"Um, yeah. That sounds good. Is Willow around?"

"Nah. She went over to Xander and Anya's about half an hour ago."

"And she left you here alone?"

"It's OK, Buffy. I can stay out of trouble by myself. Willow trusts me, even if you don't."

Buffy held back her retort and instead just slid onto a stool and watched her sister struggle with the pan and a knife. She would talk with Willow later about her irresponsibility -- she should know better. They all had experienced the crisis that came of leaving Dawn to her own devices. After a few more seconds of fiddling, Dawn carried over a mass of crumbled brown stuff piled on a napkin. She shrugged at Buffy's raised eyebrows.

"So, I'm not as good a cook as Mom. I can never get my brownies to come out perfect. But they still taste the same, if you eat around the charred parts."

"They're fine," Buffy said graciously.

"So how was patrol?"

"Oh, the usual," Buffy said between bites. It did taste good. "Vampires. Fighting. Them getting dusty."

Dawn climbed onto a stool next to Buffy, with her own napkin full of brownie. "And how was your conversation with Spike?"

"Oh, you know Spike. He was being ..." She trailed off, realization slamming home. She went rigid, and Dawn shrank under her gaze. "How do you know about that? Were you following me? Because I swear to God if you were..."

"I wasn't following, Buffy. I promise," Dawn blurted out. "Willow and I sort of did this spell, and we figured out where Spike was. And then we did it again to figure out where you were. And it was in the same place. Don't be mad, OK? I just wanted to surprise you by letting you know he was back, but then I was too late, and ..." She gulped, and continued in a small voice, "You're not mad, are you?"

Buffy knew she should be mad, and lecture about the dangers of magic and ground Dawn until the next Doomsday. The anger, however, didn't come, now matter how she tried to coax it. Something else took its place, all unexpected as she watched Dawn's fingers play with the hem of her turtleneck. It was something Buffy had been holding back since the night of Spike's disappearance. It started small, like an ache in her belly, and quickly grew and spread. In that moment, Buffy finally was able to identify to it, that tiny thing that had been holding her back, shutting her down, making her less than human. Fear. Fear of abandonment, of allowing herself to live again. Her fear had made her little better than dead.

Once she named it, she felt her universe shift. She couldn't vocalize the moment to Dawn, who still watched her, waiting for a well-deserved chewing-out. In fact, Buffy couldn't speak at all. Her throat constricted, and emotion welled up, in her watery eyes and runny nose. She blinked to clear her vision, to hold herself in check, but she only succeeded in releasing tears into little streams down her cheeks. A sob built in her throat.

She heard Dawn's voice from far away: "Buffy, are -- are you OK? What's wrong?" Her sister seemed so small, like Buffy could pinch her between her fingertips.

Dawn set her hand over Buffy's, and the last shred of control melted away. She pulled Dawn off her stool and into her embrace. Comforting arms wrapped around her, and she cried into Dawn's shoulder, every sob wracking her entire body. Dawn wisely stayed silent, waiting for Buffy to find her voice.

"Th -- the night before Spike ... left," Buffy choked out between sobs, "I went to his crypt. I was so tired of -- of life and feeling nothing, and I knew -- I knew Spike was the only one who could help me." She pulled back a little, set her hands on Dawn's shoulders. Dawn deserved to know, and Buffy had to tell someone before this secret sucked her dry. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said, "I knew he loved me, and I trusted that he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. So I -- I gave myself to him."

Dawn blinked. "You what? You mean you ... had sex with Spike?"

Buffy nodded, a fresh river of tears welling forth. "I thought he could help me feel again. Feel human. And for one night, it worked."

"And then he left." Dawn hugged her tight. "Buffy, I'm so sorry."

"Now he's back, and I -- I don't know what to do. I want him to stay, but ... I'm scared. God I am so scared that he'll just hurt me again. Leave me like Angel and Riley and ... and I can't take it anymore. I don't even belong here. It's like I'm afraid to love anyone because all I'm doing is waiting to die again." She thought back to earlier that evening, the vampire standing over her with her own stake, how she had given up. "I've been full of so much fear that I don't remember how to live."

"But you are alive. You're alive, Buffy," Dawn said, unwittingly repeating Spike's words from that blissful night, so many ages ago. "You're alive and you're here, and I love you. And Spike loves you. And the only reason he would leave again is if you pushed him away."

"We don't know that," Buffy said, shaking her head.

"I know that." She set her open hand gently against her sister's heart. "And in here, you know that, too."

"The reason he left before was ... a pathetic excuse." Damn Whistler, she thought. If I ever get my hands on him ... "I didn't push him away then. His leaving had absolutely nothing to do with anything I did."

"If you'd only give Spike another chance ..."

"I don't know if I can, or if he wants one," Buffy said with a sigh. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, and smiled weakly. "Thanks. I needed that. I mean, I needed someone to listen."

"Sure. Anytime. And I mean that, Buffy." Dawn squeezed her hand and smiled back. "So, um, what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna stake him, that's what. I'm gonna pound a stake into him so fast that he won't know what hit him. I was OK with him being back in town. I could deal. But for him to come anywhere near our Buffy ..."

"Xander, um, maybe that's not such a good idea," Willow said, trying to be tactful. "I know you have this ... thing against Spike, but --"

"Gee, could that maybe be because he's tried to kill us about a zillion times?"

"But maybe we should give him a chance to explain first. Before you -- you know ... turn him into a big, non-talkative pile of dust?"

"Yes. Talk is good. I'm all for the talking." Anya smiled brightly and set a plate of blackened cookies on the kitchen table, between Xander and Willow. "Would anyone like some dessert? They're cajun style."

Xander poked at one, like it might suddenly grow jaws. "I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but cookies don't come in cajun."

"They do if you live in Louisiana."

"And have you ever been to Louisiana?"

"Of course. I traveled all over, back in the day. I remember this one time, there was this guy in New Orleans who was cheating on his wife with some voodoo mistress of the dark. I still can't believe how many men fall for that routine, with the woman all evil and mysterious. It's so obviously an act. Anyway --"

Willow pounded the table. "Can we please stay focused here? Spike following Buffy around. Kind of a big deal."

Anya grimaced and slid onto her chair. "Sorry, but I don't see how it is a big deal. I mean, the two of you sit here arguing over whether to stake him, but your opinions don't matter at all. What's really important here is what Buffy wants. He's a vampire. She's the Slayer. It's her choice."

Xander looked ready to retort, but then changed his mind and slumped back in his chair, thinking things through. "So, what you're suggesting is that we let Buffy decide."

"Yes," Anya said. "It's a matter of trust. You ask yourself how much you trust Buffy. And we already know the answer to that, so just leave it up to her."

"Now there's a novel idea," Xander said.

Willow added, "But if they've already seen each other, then chances are that Buffy's already decided, and he's either dust, or ... or not."

"Which makes this whole conversation pointless." Anya smiled brightly and started munching on one of her cookies. "So, who's up for a game of Monopoly? I get to be the banker."

Spike normally made a point of keeping his cool. It fit well with the overall image he worked so hard to cultivate. Losing his temper, letting that little bitch of a Slayer worm her way inside, was something he generally avoided. No matter how many times she attacked him, insulted him or degraded him, he responded with a cocky quip or some insightful comment on her obvious inner turmoil. She got mad; he saved face. It always worked.

And it had worked tonight, too, right up until he had left her. Then the anger had spilled out, and Spike found himself brooding with the best of 'em. She kissed him, then hit him. Yelled, then chatted conversationally, then ordered him to get out of town. Girl was like a bleedin' roller-coaster ride, worse than before he had left. She needed to decide what she wanted, and right quick, before it pushed her over the edge.

He had other problems besides an erratic Buffy, though, as if she wasn't enough already. He'd have to explain to the Big Man why his team of vamps got dusted and the Slayer was still alive, and it better be a bloody brilliant speech because Spike needed to stay in good graces. Buffy would need his help tomorrow night. Much as he hated her, he still loved her. He wouldn't let her die again.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his legs carry him quickly across the cemetery, back toward the mansion. Mist hovered at the tips of tombstones and obscured everything more than a few feet away, but it didn't hide the sky, speckled with stars. It was a beautiful, mild night... but a deceiving one, nevertheless. One sniff at the humid air, and Spike knew a storm was coming.

Up ahead, on a street corner, he spotted a figure leaning against a lamp post. He got closer, made out who it was, and threw up his arms. "Can't you bloody well leave me alone? Don't you have your own life to live?"

Whistler shrugged. "My life is serving the Powers, and right now that means keeping an eye on you. It's not like I want to be here. But you're so stupid that you need someone to hold your hand and keep you on the right path."

"You try to hold my hand and I will pummel you into the pavement." Spike swept passed him and into the street, knowing that Whistler would follow. "So, you're here to dispense more orders, right? Tell me to leave while the getting's good? I have news for you, mate: It's not going to work this time."

"Actually, I'm here to congratulate you."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. You tracked down the bad guys, infiltrated their organization, gathered information and passed it on to the Slayer. All without getting yourself killed. Very impressive."

"All right. What do you want?" Spike asked, exasperated. "There's no way you're heaping on the praise without some sort of catch."

"No catches. Cross my heart." Whistler jogged a few steps ahead and turned to cut him off, force Spike to stop walking. "But I do have a warning."

"Now why am I not surprised?" Spike pushed him out of the way and set off again, cutting through a rank, garbage-strewn alley at the edge of downtown.

Whistler's voice chased him from behind. "You go back to the mansion and you'll end up dead."

OK, that was it. Last bloody straw to break his back. Spike whirled around in midstep, grabbed Whistler by his fancy coat collar and shoved him against a wall. "Where in the bleedin' hell to you get all this? Some crackpot crystal ball?"

"Visions," Whistler croaked out, barely audible. His face was turning tomato red. "Powers ... send me visions."

"Well, they're wrong."

Spike released him, and Whistler crumpled to the pavement, holding his throat and pulling in raspy breaths. "Vampires," he muttered. "I gotta tell ya, all this violence is not healthy. You maybe want to think about using diplomacy sometimes, especially with people who are trying to help you."

Spike could only stare in disbelief. Help him? Since that morning he had found Whistler in his crypt, his entire existence had been one traumatic event after another. Now, to top it off, the woman he loved would probably never trust him again. By leaving, he had blown his shot with Buffy. But it saved her life, he firmly reminded himself. Either way, with her pissed off or dead, he didn't have a chance of earning her affections. Not now.

Hell, who was he kidding? A Slayer and a soulless vampire. Together. Happy. It was doomed before it began. All I wanted was to hear her say she loved me back. Just once. And to make her smile. But will never happen...

"I'm going back to the mansion," Spike said, resigned. "If I end up dead, that doesn't matter. Just as long as Buffy and her little sis get through this thing OK. I don't have anything left to live for anyway. Not without her."

Whistler's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you don't have a soul?"

Spike walked away and yelled over his shoulder, "Don't come near me again, got it?"

Whistler didn't follow, much to Spike's relief. He passed a couple of people near the movie theater, but the streets were otherwise deserted, as though the residents of Sunnydale knew something was coming and thought it safer to stay in their homes. Even the town's demon population was keeping a low profile, and they usually had nothing to fear. Spike's stomach growled when he spotted a vampire feeding on some hapless woman on a nearby park bench. His mouth watered, but he kept walking.

"The Big Man wants to see you." The mansion's door guard stood aside as Spike approached. "Immediately. He's in the usual place."

The usual place was the sitting room, where Spike had walked in on the Big Man and his cronies for the first time. In the old days, Drusilla had spent most of her daytime hours there, playing with her dolls. She would blindfold them in red velvet, one by one, then set them on the mantelpiece, except for her favorite dark-haired beauty who always sat in the corner. Do you see, darling, Dru often said in her light, drowsy voice. Miss Edith is being very bad today and cannot play with the others.

Spike half-expected to see her as he entered the room, eyes lit with madness, but all he found was the Big Man, lounging in a easy chair, watching the crackling fireplace. He looked so young, and innocent as the child he had been when turned. His legs dangled inches above the floor, too short to reach down. The other chairs were empty.

"William, come here," the Big Man said, with the ease of one used to being obeyed, and Spike walked over. The seeming-child turned his ageless eyes on him, and Spike shuddered. "William. That's such a nice name. Regal, royal. But it doesn't fit you. Perhaps we should give you a nickname."

Spike snorted. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'William the Bloody.' How does that sound?"

Spike blanched.

"No?" The Big Man smiled grimly. "Perhaps a different one, then. How about 'Spike'? Does that suit you better?"

This time, he didn't hesitate. With supernatural speed, Spike turned and tore from the room, bowling over a group of vamps on his way down the hall. The Big Man knew. How could he have possibly figured it out? Had he had Spike followed when he met with Buffy?

No matter. The most pressing urgency was to get out of the mansion. He was breathing heavily, despite the futility of it, as he pounded toward the staircase that would lead him to the front door, the closest exit. An army of footsteps hounded him from behind. He was being chased. But they were too far behind to catch him before he could reach the door. Spike couldn't help but grin. This was just like old times, with Drusilla, Angelus and Darla, running from an angry mob, adrenaline pumping. God, he had missed the chase.

At the bottom of the staircase was another group of burly vamps, all in their game faces, waiting to cut off his escape. Some carried stakes. When they saw Spike, they started up, fighting each other to get to him. Vampires at both ends of the stairs -- no escape that way. So in one smooth movement, Spike vaulted the wooden railings and landed catlike on the floor below. He sprinted passed his surprised posse, reached the front door, threw it open and ...

Collided with the biggest vampire he had ever seen.

Spike hardly reached the vampire's shoulder. He might as well have run headfirst into a wall. He rebounded onto his back, then found himself being hauled to his feet by a mob of grasping hands. His arms got pinned behind his back, too tight to wriggle out. Not for the first time, he wished he had a bigger, stronger build, more capable of breaking free.

"Hey watch the hair," he said as someone pulled on it from behind. Someone else -- or perhaps the same anonymous vamp -- slapped his butt. The others laughed, and Spike's felt his face heating.

He looked up to see the Big Man descending the staircase, one tiny hand gliding along the railing. Behind him walked another vampire, one that Spike knew he knew from somewhere. Then it clicked. It was Chubby. The vampire he had pummeled outside a bar, the one who led had him to Carlos in London. The one Spike had spared. And now that moment of mercy was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"I knew I should have killed you!" Spike yelled while straining against his captors. "You bloody well betrayed me! You better watch out, because when I get outta here, you're dust!"

Chubby smirked.

"Now, now, Spike, that's no way to talk," the Big Man said. "Charlie here trailed you this evening, on my orders, to see how you would handle your first set of instructions. I told you to kill the Slayer. Instead, you gave her information. I'm very disappointed."

Spike's captors drove him to his knees, on level with their leader. One of those tiny, smooth hands reached out to cup his chin and force his face upward, to meet deep brown eyes. Spike expected anger, but he saw sadness. It left him without words.

"I had hoped you would be what you said," the Big Man continued. "But instead you chose to betray me. Normally, I would simply have you killed, but I must know what you told the Slayer."

"What, you mean Chubby here wasn't listening in?"

"Tell me, Spike. And I'll make your death quick and painless."

"I suppose then, that if I refuse, I'm in for a night of hot pokers?" Spike forced a grin. "Right then. I told her we were all having a cake party. Balloons. Streamers. Those little candles that don't go out when you blow on them."

The Big Man sighed. "You will talk, Spike. I promise you that." He stepped away and waved to his minions. "Take him to the courtyard and chain him up. The sun will rise in a few hours."

With that, they dragged Spike away, down the familiar passageways and through an ornate door. A light film of clouds had drawn over, obscuring the stars. And the beautiful greenery and night-blooming flowers that Drusilla had loved so much were absent, dormant for the winter, but their brown vines crawled down the walls like spiders' legs. The vampires chained Spike in handcuffs against such a wall, hands above his head, vines poking into his back. All of them left, except for two guards, one at each door.

Well, Spike didn't like to admit it, but Whistler had been right. Coming back had been a gamble, and he had lost. He didn't know what the Big Man had planned, but he knew it would be unpleasant. Maybe even enough to make him talk --

No. No, that would never happen. Glory hadn't been able to make him to spill, even when she had smashed glass in his face and poked her fingers into his heart. He had withstood a god, and he would withstand this. Until the sun rose. And then it would be over.

Chapter 10
"Do you love him?"

They came for him at sunrise, when his muscles were quivering, and the vines against his back cut like razors. He felt raw. Every bit of his body ached, and all he could see was the thin line of death creeping toward him -- the line between sunlight and shadow.

For hours he had had no company at all except for the stars, which ignored him thoroughly and then went to hide behind a thick veil of dark clouds that soon would bring rain. After that, all he had was himself, and his thoughts, which naturally turned to Buffy. He wanted to see her one last time, before they tortured him to death, or let the sun kill him, or whatever diabolical plan they had in mind. He wanted to see her, and tell her ... tell her what? That he loved her, certainly.

Their time together had been bad. Oh, so very, very bad. Two years of foreplay, followed by a few desperate kisses, and one stolen night. He had hurt her in so many ways over the years, and she had hurt him back. Yet through it all, he still felt for her. It was impure, tainted and lustful. But it was love.

Then came the sunrise, when the clouds turned from black to gray, and an edge of dim light sliced across the stone wall above him. He craned back his neck to watch it creep down, inching closer, promising an agonizing death. Before it could reach him, though, three figures entered the courtyard, hooded under deep cloaks. They unchained his shackles. Spike's useless muscles clenched as his arms dropped, and he would have fallen if one of the anonymous figures hadn't caught him under his armpits. They dragged him inside, away from the hideous light.

The three shed their cloaks at the door. Two other guards joined them, armed with stakes. They needn't have worried. Spike could hardly force his arms and legs to stop shaking. Hours on the wall, dangling by his cuffed wrists, had taken their toll.

No one spoke, but one gestured for him to stand up. Spike didn't even try, partly from his distain for them -- and anyone who would challenge the Slayer -- and partly from his physical weakness. Two vampires grabbed his arms and started walking, with the others following. He wondered, as they dragged him across dusty tiled floors, what new torture the Big Man had in mind. More bodily torments, perhaps, or maybe the Big Man would now resort to magic.

Strange. They had left him outside for hours, and no one had come to ask about Buffy, or what information he had given her. For one so eager to know how much Buffy knew, the Big Man certainly was playing it cool.

They reached the stairs, and Spike had recovered enough to pull himself up, step by agonizing step. He refused to touch the railings, or lean on his captors. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. With every moment, he felt more in control of his body. A few more minutes, and he would be strong enough for another dash toward the exit -- assuming he lived that long.

The Big Man sat at his familiar place beside the fire. Spike's captors threw him at their leader's feet and circled behind him like a wall. With the Big Man in front and a crowd of vampires behind, he could see no hole for escape. That meant he would have to play along. For now.

"William, I trust you slept well," the Big Man said, as though he were greeting his best friend. "Are you willing to talk now?"

Spike said nothing.

"That's what I thought." The Big Man sighed. "It is strange that a vampire, famed for his unusually ruthless and violent nature, would become so loyally attached to a Slayer. You've killed two, haven't you? Yet you befriend this one. What is so special about her?"

Still, Spike didn't speak. He glared in a way that had made even the toughest of demons cringe, but the Big Man didn't so much as blink.

"I could use my magic to kill you, or to make you talk, but I prefer to save myself for tonight. I will need my energy then." He nodded behind Spike. "Or I could have one of them stake you. But ... you know I won't do that. Yes, I can see in your eyes that you know, but not why. I have a better use for you than death, William."

"What's that?" Spike asked, his voice weak and hoarse to his own ears.

The Big Man smiled. "You'll soon find out."

The Scoobies had been at the books for hours. Xander had called in sick to work, Willow had skipped her classes, and Anya, with great reluctance and many complaints about lost money, had agreed to close the magic shop for a few hours. Buffy still forced her sister to go to school, despite Dawn's sulking. But now Dawn had gotten out of class for the day and had rejoined the team, and still they had found nothing to hint at the impending apocalypse.

"This is useless!" Xander said, slamming shut yet another dusty old book. "You know, it's times like this I really wish Giles was here. Cause without him, we're never going to find anything on this ... this du Lark guy."

"Du Lac," Willow corrected, without looking up from her volume.

"How do we know that Spike was telling the truth about this guy?" Xander asked. "We don't know if du Lac actually even exists. Maybe Spike is just leading us on some wild goose chase. I mean, he's a vampire and hence not big with the honesty."

"Xander," Willow warned gently, with a pointed glance at Buffy, who sat on the stairs, staring at nothing, chin propped up in her hands. She didn't look to have heard Xander's comment.

"Sorry. It's just ... I mean ..." He shrugged. "I don't know what I mean. But I still think we could be spending our time more productively."

From Xander's side, Anya piped up. "But Willow's heard of this guy. Right? He really does exist."

"Right," Willow said. "I know we're run across him before. I just can't remember where."

"You keep looking then," Xander said. "But I need a break."

He got up, stretched his arms overhead, and went over to join Buffy. She didn't acknowledge him as he sat beside her. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she hadn't slept in a while, and her hair, usually immaculate, was unbrushed. She also had neglected to put on any make-up that morning.

"Hey, Buff," he said gently. "How are you doing?"

Her head snapped up, as though she were waking from a dream, and she gave Xander a blank stare before answering. "Fine. I'm fine."

"Come on, Buffy. After all these years, I know you better than that. You're not fine. You haven't been fine for weeks. Something big is going on with you, and you can't just keep it all inside." With no response, Xander laid a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you. You know that. Right?"

She worried at her lower lip and didn't respond. Xander followed her gaze, past the round table, to Dawn, who was at a shelf, busy hunting for yet another book. He put the pieces together.

"You ... talked to Dawn. Whatever it is, you told her?"

Buffy quickly looked away. After a pause, she said, "Yeah."

It made sense, with Buffy and Dawn being sisters and all, and it was good that Buffy felt comfortable enough to talk to someone. Still, Xander couldn't help but feel a little hurt. He and Willow were her closest, most trusted friends. They had shared everything, for years. Now with her refusal to confide, Buffy had built a wall between them -- a big, tall one, with barbed wire across the top. If she wanted to hide behind her wall, though, he could do nothing to change that.

"Fine," Xander said, resigned. "I guess, if I'm not needed over here, then I'll go back to the books."

Before he could stand, he felt a small but strong hand on his arm.

"Xander, wait. I'm sorry. I --" Buffy bit her lip again. "I'm just having trouble figuring out what I want, or what I should do, or ... or any of it. It's hard to talk when I don't even know what to say."

"It's about Spike," he guessed, and she drew back in surprise. "Not that hard to figure out. You started acting different after he left." He paused to gather courage, to ask the question that had been bugging him for weeks. "Do you ... love him?"

At that, her eyes started to water, and she looked at him plainly, with the most unguarded expression he had seen in months. "Maybe. I don't know." A tear fell down her cheek, and words began to rush out. "Before you say anything, Xander, I already know that you wouldn't approve. You didn't like Angel, and he had a soul. Spike doesn't even have that, but --"

"Buffy," Xander said, cutting her off. "Whatever you want, you have my support. I know that sounds strange coming from me, but I decided it last night. I decided that I just want you to do whatever will make you happy, even if that means having a relationship with Spike. You deserve that, to be happy." He quirked a smile. "Who am I to judge, anyway? I'm about to marry an ex-vengeance demon."

She laughed through her tears, and pulled him into a bear hug. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

"I found him!" Willow exclaimed, and the others crowded around her. "Look here, he's in this book on vampire magics. It says here that du Lac mostly specialized in spells on vampire restoration, bringing a weak vampire back to full strength. That sort of thing."

"Drusilla," Buffy said, shaking her head at her own stupidity. How had she forgotten about that awful night? "That was the spell Spike and Drusilla used, the one where they tried to kill Angel."

"I knew I'd heard that name before," Willow said smugly.

Anya said, "But what does it say about opening the Hellmouth? Anything at all?"

Willow flipped through a few more pages, then stopped and pointed. "Here. It's a spell to bring hell to earth, which can only be performed once every hundred years or so and has something to do with the alignment of the planets. If what Spike says is correct, then the conditions will be right tonight. The spell itself involves a focal point -- one person to channel all the energy through -- and at least a hundred vampires. The more vampires, the more powerful the spell. ... Oh, and a sacrificial blood-letting."

"There's always a sacrificial blood-letting," Dawn muttered, and Buffy squeezed her shoulder.

"So how do I stop it?" Buffy asked.

"You have to disrupt the focal point."

"Sounds simple enough."

"Not really," Anya said. "I mean, first you have to get to the focal point vamp, who will probably be in the middle of all the other vampires. And considering the number of vamps you've been staking recently, I'm guessing there's going to be a lot more than a hundred of 'em at this thing."

"A hundred vampires?" Dawn asked, astonished. "How do you fight a hundred vampires? They'd just swarm around and kill you before you hardly got in the room."

"We need a plan," Xander said. "And fast. It's only a few hours to sunset, and I'm guessing they're not going to wait long to start the party."

"Here's what we do," Buffy said. "Xander and Anya, you start working on ways to take out mass numbers of vampires -- that means fire, holy water, whatever you can get your hands on. Willow, I know that you're doing your best to stay away from magic, but I think you're going to have to abandon that for one night. We're going to need protection that lasts long enough for me to take out the leader."

Willow got wide-eyed, like a cornered rabbit. "I don't know Buffy. I mean, I'm kinda out of practice on that sort of thing. Remember what happened at the crypt? One spell knocked me out, and it wasn't even that tough of a spell. What you're asking for ... it's big."

"What about Tara then?" Xander offered, then gave Willow a sympathetic look. "I know that you and her aren't on the best of terms right now, but she could ... you know ... do the magic thing. Help us out."

Willow shook her head. "She's not strong enough for this."

"Besides," Dawn added. "She's out of town. Visiting her aunt in Chicago over Christmas." The others looked at her in surprise, and Dawn shrugged meekly. "We've been keeping in touch."

"That settles it then, Wil," Buffy said. "I'm sorry, but it's going to have to be you."

"And what about me?" Dawn asked, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

"You are going home to do your homework."

"What?! We need to stop the world from ending, and you're sending me home to do algebra? No way am I doing that!"

"I don't want you to be in danger--"

It's not like I haven't been in danger before, Buffy."

"I know," Buffy said gently. "But if you're there, then I'll be worrying about you. And I need to be able to focus completely on stopping the bad guys. Do you understand? The most helpful thing you can do is go home and be safe."

Dawn snorted. "Fine. But I don't like it."

"All right, then," Buffy said to them all. "Everyone knows their tasks, and we're on a deadline. Let's get to work."

Chapter 11
"Now we're in trouble"

While Xander, Anya and Willow remained at the magic shop and brainstormed on ways to defeat a vampire army and thus avert an apocalypse, Buffy walked Dawn home. Rain sprinkled, not even hard enough to get them wet. Dim shadows of trees stretched like elastic across Rodello Drive, and the sisters walked, hand in hand, in silence. Buffy didn't mind the lack of conversation. Spending this time with Dawn, knowing that it might be their last together, meant more than any words.

Dawn's hand felt small and warm. Buffy squeezed her fingers lightly, and they smiled at each other. Then they reached the front door and went inside. Dawn threw her backpack on the couch and wandered back to the kitchen as Buffy pulled out the weapons chest. Before she could even open the lid, she heard Dawn scream and went running.

She found her sister behind the kitchen island with a spatula in hand, facing a small man in a grey tailored suit who looked not in the least bit fazed by Dawn's reaction. Buffy groaned. It was Whistler. What was he doing here, in her own house? And how had he gotten in? The refrigerator was open behind him, and he was tossing a bottle of water from hand to hand. Buffy squeezed Dawn's shoulder, and Dawn relaxed but didn't drop her spatula.

"You're raiding our refrigerator," Buffy said blandly. "Now this looks familiar."

"Your fridge is worse than the Watcher's." Whistler made a show of sneering at his loot. "What is this? Water? Water is for bathing, not drinking. Where's the good stuff?"

"We don't, as a rule, keep alcohol in this house," Buffy retorted. "We also don't make a habit of having over weaselly demons who convince boyfriends to skip town."

"Feel the love in this room." Whistler snorted, returned the water to the refrigerator and shut the door. "You should be thanking me. If it weren't for my intervention, you can guarantee that you'd have been running to the vamp at every turn, letting him do your dirty work. That path leads to only one place: Back to the grave." He grinned. "But look at you now. You've worked through your issues. You're all tough and Slayer-y. Ready to beat the crap out of me. Just like the old days."

Dawn looked perplexed. "Who is this guy?"

Before Buffy could answer, Whistler stepped forward with hand extended. "I'm sorry. I forgot my manners. I'm Whistler, demon extraordinaire and a messenger for the Powers. You must be the Key."

Dawn scowled and folded her arms in a pointed refusal to shake hands. Buffy grinned. That was her sister, all right. Stubborn and sullen to the last. Whistler withdrew his hand with a shrug.

"What makes you think I'm the Key?" Dawn asked.

"For one thing, you're practically radiating power. More so than even your red-headed wicca friend. Only the Key could have that much mystical strength. And for another, you weren't here a couple of years back, when the whole Acathla thing went down ... but, you were. I'm remembering it both ways. It's very confusing."

Dawn smirked. "Well I'm happy to be the source of your confusion. I'm sure I could generate some more if you'd like."

"Funny, kid. But we don't have time." He set both palms on the counter and leaned toward them, all business. Dawn's shoulders tensed under Buffy's hands. "You have about an hour, give or take, until the beginning of the end of the world, and you're still missing some information."

"But I'm sure you're here to fill me in," Buffy prompted.

"There are three parts to du Lac's spell. First, the spell itself. There's gotta be a focal point, a vampire who channels the magic through himself and into the Hellmouth."

"The Big Man," Buffy said. "And you're wasting our precious time with things we already know."

"Second," Whistler continued, ignoring Buffy's barb, "there are the other vampires. They're there for two purposes, to provide energy for the spell and to serve as food. Whatever comes out of the Hellmouth is going to be hungry, and if it doesn't feed quickly, it will die of starvation. Flesh of the undead makes for a good meal for things like that."

"Eew, gross," Dawn muttered, echoing Buffy's thoughts.

"So what's the third?" Buffy asked.

"The blood-letting. The gateway won't open unless a vampire is bled dry and all that blood is fed into the Hellmouth. Of course, the lucky vamp turns to dust when nothing is left in his veins, so there's a very short list of volunteers for that job. I bet you can guess who drew the short straw."

"Spike," Buffy answered, and Whistler nodded. She sighed and rubbed her hands over her eyes. Spike had risked his life to bring her vital information, and instead of thanking him, she had pushed him away, right into the hands of the enemy. Her own selfish, holier-than-thou attitude was about to get him killed -- the man who had protected Dawn, who had loved Buffy even when she had rejected him. He had made Buffy feel again for the first time since her resurrection.

Funny how only a couple of years ago, she would have gleefully held the knife that slit Spike's wrists. Now the thought of his death brought an acute sadness, and an anger that he would dare to leave her again.

Dawn turned a fierce glare on Whistler. "We won't let Spike die."

"That's the whole idea, kid."

"Hold it," Buffy interrupted, and faced Dawn. "There is no 'we' in this. You are not coming anywhere near the Hellmouth. Remember, we already covered this at the magic shop."

"That was before, but they're going to hurt Spike. Now it's personal."

"I won't put you in danger."

"Come on, Buffy. I'm as old as you were when you were called to be Slayer. Plus, I'm the Key. Remember? Just a second ago, Whistler was talking about how powerful I am. Even more powerful than Willow. And I've been doing spells. I worked with Willow on that locator spell to find Spike."

"This is way more serious than a locator spell."

"With Tara gone, Willow will need other backup. She hasn't channeled heavy magic for several weeks. She told me what happened while you guys were cleaning out a vamp nest only a few nights ago. She can't do this on her own." Dawn grabbed hold of Buffy's shoulders, as she only did at her most serious. "Admit it, Buffy. You need me there. You can't risk failure just to keep me safe because if you lose, I'll die anyway."

"She has a point," Whistler said.

"Oh shut up." Buffy rubbed her eyes again. She was definitely developing a headache. "Fine. You can come, Dawn, to help Willow with whatever she needs. But you stay close to her, and at the first sign that things might be falling apart, you run. Got it?"

Dawn grinned. "Got it. Um, what about him?" she asked, nodded toward Whistler. "Is he gonna fight the good fight, too?"

"Hey, standing right here," Whistler said. "And for the record, I'm not allowed to join in the battle. I've done all I can. Now it's up to you." With one last smirk, he retreated to the back door and stepped outside, then looked back at the two sisters. Behind him, the rain fell, but still the western sky seemed on fire in brilliant reds and oranges. "Get the vamp out in one piece, OK? He's evil and annoying, and the cockiest bastard I've ever met, but he has one redeeming trait -- he'd do anything for you two, and that puts him in the good guy camp. He'd die for you. I hope you'd do the same for him."

With that, Whistler was gone. Dawn looked blankly at the door, then at Buffy.

"He said Spike was evil. I don't think he's evil."

Buffy pondered that for a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right. He's amoral, and he's done downright stupid things, but he's not evil. Not anymore."

"Not since he fell in love with you."

"I guess that means I'm a good influence," Buffy said with a lopsided smile. She felt like laughing and crying, all at the same time, but held it in. The past 24 hours had been a roller-coaster of emotion, ever since Spike's return to Sunnydale. How had he wormed his way inside her, after she had spent so much energy and so many years pushing him away?

Dawn asked, in a small voice, "Do you love him back?"

This time, Buffy couldn't contain her laughter, and it exploded forth with a touch of the hysterical. "You're the second person tonight to ask me that."

"And?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. He left town before I had a chance to find out. And if he dies tonight ..."

"He won't," Dawn said firmly. "We're getting him out."

"Right. We will get him out." Buffy pulled Dawn into a fierce hug, wiped away a couple of tears, and said, "Let's get our things and head out. The others are waiting."

At sunset, the first packs of vampires left the mansion. They moved out in different directions in groups of four or five, small enough to escape notice, all headed to the old high school. The Big Man hung back until the last of his horde had left, and he kept his main generals and his most precious prisoner with him.

Spike lay face-down on the numbingly cold floor in handcuffs. He worked his raw wrists at the metal but couldn't squeeze his hands through. He felt flushed, coursing with life from the blood they had given him not an hour ago. Human blood. He had grown accustomed to pig blood from the butcher's shops, but it tasted like ashes when compared with the real thing. Ambrosia is what they had fed him. It made him feel strong, powerful. Yet still unable to free himself of the damned handcuffs.

"Get him up," the Big Man ordered, and two burly vampires lifted Spike by his armpits. "We have a date at the Hellmouth. I would hate to be late."

As before, Spike refused to cooperate and allowed his muscles to go lax, forcing the vamps to drag him outside into the rain. They threw him in the back seat of a black SUV and took their seats on either side of him. He had no chance for escape there, cuffed and trapped. The Big Man took the front passenger seat and another slid into the driver's seat.

The trip took only a couple of minutes by car, but it seemed even shorter. Before he knew what was happening, Spike found himself being pushed out to face the burned-out school. The crumbling walls, once so pristine, now were scorched black, and scraps of metal and wooden beams littered the muddy ground. Vampires milled around like so many ants and, one by one, entered through a hole that gaped like a black mouth, but it might have once been a real doorway. Spike's guards dragged him toward the same entrance.

They passed the charred skeleton of an enormous serpent, turned a corner, and entered the place Spike recognized as the former library. He remembered the last time he had been here. Buffy had averted an apocalypse that night, too, but he remembered the event more for his discovery that despite the chip, he could still harm demons. Buffy and the gang had faced only three nasties that night. Now the room was filled past capacity, all the occupants in game face, waiting for the final act.

Spike's guards uncuffed him and chained him to a wall near the jagged chasm of the Hellmouth, then left, giving him plenty of time to get his bearings. Several portable battery-powered lamps were planted around the room, creating more than enough light. He could see far enough to notice that the cavelike expanse had only once exit, not counting the numerous holes in the roof. Rainwater dripped in like a fine mist, falling on everything and making it glitter in an unearthly way.

Somehow, the scene looked familiar, like he should know this. Rain, leaking through the roof, spraying across the crowd ... his dream. He had dreamed this, but it had been at the Bronze. Dawn, with her eyes glowing emerald green, had cast spells; and a seductive Buffy had danced with him, her wet dress clinging to all the right curves -- before she had staked him.

What did it mean? Had the Powers been warning him? Spike thought the danger of Buffy killing him had past with the near staking in the cemetery. But perhaps the worst was still to come.

And where was she? The Slayer should have been there by now, busting in on the party and making all the bad guys dusty. Then again, she did tend to wait until the last second, appearing in a nick of time. Bloody annoying it was, but heroes did things like that.

Spike watched as the crowd nearest to him parted and the Big Man walked in, a mammoth-sized book tucked under his arm. With his back to Spike, he laid the volume on a flat outcropping of rock, opened to a specific page and glanced at his watch.

"Well now," he said with a smile over his shoulder for Spike, "I think it's time we begin."

The gang had been surprised to see Dawn return with Buffy to the magic shop, but the tension left Willow when she found out she would have backup, and Dawn puffed out her chest in pride. She had finally earned what she had yearned for, after so many years. She got to be an official Scooby and help save the universe, instead of contributing to its destruction.

After Buffy relayed what Whistler had said, Xander and Anya went back to gathering supplies, and Willow drew Dawn away to talk magic. Buffy couldn't tear her eyes from the pair, huddled close at the table. Nightmare scenarios raced through her mind. What if something happened to Dawn, and Buffy couldn't reach her in time? What if they saved the world but Buffy lost her only real family? Such a victory would never justify the price.

As she watched, feeling as though her little sister was about to lose her last shred of innocence, broad hands spread over her shoulders from behind and started to massage. Buffy sighed and leaned into the touch, her concerns forgotten for a few treasured moments. Xander had such soothing hands.

Buffy murmured, "Better hope Anya doesn't see you touching another woman like this."

"Anya is busy collecting holy water and stakes. I was just getting in her way." He dug his fingers into her muscles. "You're so tense. Worried about Dawn?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"She'll do fine. I mean, we all survived years of demon slaying ... well, except for you, and we brought you back so that doesn't count."

"Oh, thank you so much," Buffy said in mock sarcasm.

Xander chuckled. "My point is that Dawn will get through just fine, especially as she's with all of us. Willow and I will stay close. I promise."

Buffy smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Xander."

"And what about Spike?"

"What about him?"

"I don't mean to push, but if ... no when we get him out of there, what then? Are the two of you going to start ... dating, or something?"

Buffy smiled grimly. "That thought just scares the crap out of you, doesn't it?"

Xander's hands stopped for a moment, then continued to work their magic. "Yeah, I guess it does. I mean, I'll deal with whatever you want. I meant it when I said that earlier. But he's still a soulless vampire who has tried to turn us all into a meal on several occasions. It'd take some getting used to. But Dawn seems to like him, and so does Anya. Willow's on the bubble, but she'd support you, too. That's what friends do."

"What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?"

"Just keep being Buffy, and that's enough."

Buffy couldn't think of how to answer that, so she simply turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder. Then with a regretful sigh, she stepped away and addressed the group. "We can't waste anymore time. We have to get going. Wil, are you and Dawn ready to go?"

"We're ready," Willow said, and Dawn gave the thumbs up.

"Anya, got everything you need?"

"Holy water ... stakes ... combustible, vampire-charring powder. Check. Check. Check." As she ticked off each item, she heaved another backpack onto the floor, each one puffed up like an overstuffed pillow. "It's all there, just like you asked. But I'm not carrying it."

Their trek across town proved uneventful, if not dry, much to Buffy's surprise. The muddy, debris-strewn yard outside the school also was empty of vampires. Buffy, with stake in hand and Dawn at her elbow, kept scanning the scene, trying to see through the rain and the dark. If the Big Man had Spike as his hostage, he must have guessed the Slayer would show. So where was the trap?

"No guards?" Xander said, while tossing a small bottle of holy water between his hands. "This is creepy. And wrong. This is very wrong."

"They must all be inside," Willow said. "I mean, the Big Man is going to want everyone he has by the Hellmouth."

"I guess," Xander answered, but he didn't sound convinced.

They approached the building warily and entered. With its wrecked roof, the interior provided little shelter from the storm. Buffy's soaked clothes clung to her in uncomfortable ways, but she tried to forget that and focus on the important things: Apocalypse, Spike, saving the world. Yet again.

Chanting echoed down the halls, the words muffled through so much concrete and rock. The seductive rhythm of it sunk into them, and Buffy noticed her friends walking in time to its beat.

"I wish they'd shut up," Dawn said, and wrapped her arms around herself.

No one answered.

They passed the body of the mayor, and Buffy knew they were close. The chanting had grown to a deafening level. They huddled together.

"You all know what to do ... are you ready for this?" Buffy asked.

They all nodded nervously. Anya opened their packs and passed around their weapons. Willow gently lifted a small, opaque orb from her coat pocket.

"Remember, Buffy," Willow said, "We'll only be able to hold your force field for a few minutes at most. Our own will hold just fine, but because you'll be moving farther away from the orb ..."

"I know. I'm on a deadline."

Willow nodded and licked her lips.

Buffy looked at her sister. "Ready, Dawn?"

For an answer, Dawn engulfed her in an embrace. "Be careful. And get Spike out in one piece, OK?"

"I will." Buffy stroked Dawn's hair for a moment, then pulled away. "All right then. Let's do it."

They marched around the last corner and into the rocky expanse that used to be the library. Light flooded even the deepest recesses, making the room bright as day. Buffy blinked to adjust her vision, then gaped. Vampires packed the room, wall to wall, numbering well over the hundred Willow had predicted. None had noticed the Scoobies yet, as they all faced the jagged crack in the rock, chanting and swaying in time. Green mist spilled from the Hellmouth.

Then, through the mass of bodies, Buffy spotted her target. Not a few feet from the Hellmouth, Spike was immobilized against the wall. His eyes slid toward the group and met Buffy's for an instant before darting away. Despite the bad situation, Buffy felt a wash of relief. Spike was still alive and seemed in possession of all his blood. They weren't too late.

Behind her, Willow and Dawn finished chanting their own spell, and around them Buffy sensed a wall of energy that make the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

"Force field is a go," Willow said, her voice strained.

But Buffy hardly heard. Her attention riveted to a small man standing before Spike ... no, a child. Buffy shivered as she recalled the Anointed One. The boy held a knife in his hand, raised it above his head and yelled out something Buffy couldn't understand. Then he slid the knife across Spike's neck. Blood began to flow, dripping onto the floor, sliding toward the Hellmouth as though drawn by a magnet. Spike slumped forward.

"NO!" Buffy screamed.

The chanting stopped. All eyes turned toward them.

Behind her, Anya said, "Oh, now we're in trouble."

Chapter 12
"It was a team effort"

For one interminable moment, no one moved. Buffy couldn't take her eyes off Spike, who slumped against his chains as blood spilled from his neck wound and into the Hellmouth. The rest of the Scoobies stood paralyzed under the gaze of hundreds of vampire eyes. The vampires, for their part, stared in dumb amazement at the party-crashers, unable to comprehend that a rag-tag group of humans dared to challenge them with nothing more than holy water and stakes.

The moment stretched on, until the Big Man broke from his fury and surprise at the interruption and yelled, "Kill them!"

The words released Buffy from her immobility, and she dived into the mass of undead. Willow and Dawn's force field pushed bodies out of her way before she could pummel them. They went sprawling after colliding with the field, opening an easy path. She took advantage of it and raced across the room toward Spike.

Dawn half-watched her sister's progress but worried more about the sudden rush of vampires coming at the rest of the group. They huddled together under the second force field as vamps clawed at the invisible wall and roared in frustration. Dawn screamed as one jumped at her from the side and was halted only inches from her shoulder. Willow had taught her a smaller defense spell at the magic shop, how to spark a fire; she wanted to use that now but the necessary words had flown from her head.

So she clung to Willow's hand, the only thing keeping her grounded, and fiercely concentrated on the primary spell. Her job was to supply energy and power, and it seemed to be helping Willow keep up her strength against the onslaught. Still, the color had drained from Willow's face, and she seemed to be standing by determination alone.

"Can we throw things at them through the force field?" Anya yelled over the din.

"Yes!" Willow said through gritted teeth.

"Right then. Here goes."

Anya and Xander started hurling vials of holy water. The vampires that were hit clutched at their blistered faces and bodies and ran screaming. But where one was defeated, another took his place. When the holy water ran out, Xander grabbed a small pouch and waited for Anya to spark it with a lighter before he lobbed it into the fray. It exploded and set fire to several vamps, who bumped into others and spread the flames. A couple of the more unfortunate vampires quickly burned into nothing.

Anya did a little hop of satisfaction. "That worked well. Let's do it again."

At Anya's side, Willow cried out and dropped to her knees. Dawn followed her down and held her steady.

"Can't ... hold ... it," Willow rasped. "Buffy ... too far ... away ..."

Dawn looked out and caught a glimpse of golden hair. Buffy had almost made it to Spike, but the vampires were hardly paying her any mind now. They seemed more interested in running from Xander and Anya's flying fire bombs. Dozens of undead were fleeing past the Scoobies and toward the exit.

"Just a few more seconds!" Dawn said. Once Buffy reached Spike, Willow would have to drop the force field anyway so Buffy could free him.

"I'm trying ..."

Willow doubled over, her breath coming in short gasps.

Dawn strained to re-locate her sister but couldn't. "Xander, where is she?"

"She's reached Spike!" he answered as he let loose another fire bomb.

"Now, Willow," Dawn yelled. "Let it go now!"

Buffy felt it the moment the force field went down, right as she stood at Spike's side. Thank God Willow had held on that long. She hated to think what the effort had cost her friend and her sister, but she didn't have time to worry about it right then. Spike's chin lolled forward onto his chest, and he didn't look to be conscious. Blood still flowed from his neck.

"Spike!" she screamed, and kicked at a vampire who rushed her from behind. "Spike, can you hear me! Look at me!"

He didn't move. She slapped his face, and his head jerked up. He looked even more pale than usual. Almost translucent.

"Buffy ..." he murmured, then passed out again.

"Dammit!" Buffy kicked back at another charging vampire, then grabbed hold of the chain around Spike's chest and pulled. The metal gave slowly, and finally one link broke and Spike fell forw