Spike didn't like seeing the watcher passed out on the cement floor.

The man's weakness encouraged in Angelus a smile of pure evil intent, and with the big hunk of rock shadowing all in the room, seeing the watcher helpless and unmoving was a curling fist in Spike's gut.

Before the human could stir, there was Angelus, lying eager on the floor and facing his quarry. The elder vamp's eyes sparkled with a manic hate, an evil desire to catch up on all the inflicted pain and torture he had missed the past hundred years.

Spike cringed when the watcher released his first groan; it allowed Angelus to build his excitement for the play.

"Mm....ooh..." Giles pushed himself up a little, just a very little as he struggled to grab hold of sense.

"Hi, Rupert. I wasn't sure you were gonna wake up. You had me worried."

Angelus bounced back to his feet, the thrill of the night painted in the pleasure he wore like a fiery yet satisfying death.

"What do you want?" squeezed past the watcher's lips as he slowly hauled himself to his feet.

"I wanna torture you. I used to love it, and it's been such a long time. I mean, the last time I tortured somebody, they didn't even have chainsaws."

Spike watched as Angelus strolled to the chunk of boulder, a whopping great sword poking out of its chest. The watcher's eyes were similarly drawn, and Spike's lip curled in distaste at the evil happy the alpha vamp had going on. It had been too long a time since Spike was on the viewing end of Angelus and his torturous personality. Truthfully? He hadn't missed the great clod even the littlest bit.

"Oh yeah. Acathla. He's an even harder guy to wake up than you are. I mean, I performed the rituals, said all the right phrases...blood on my hand. Got nothing. Big donut hole for my troubles. I figure you know the ritual. You're pretty up on these things. You could probably...tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Spike's muscles tensed as Angelus retraced his steps to the already beaten watcher.

"But honestly, I sorta hope you don't. Cause I really wanna torture you."

Dread crushed Spike into an awkward huddle in his wheelchair. He could see the strength in the watcher's face start to shutter, as if it wasn't quite so certain about the determination to withhold the secret. But Spike knew. He knew Angelus and he knew Dru. Even if he himself suggested they use Dru to thrall the secret out of the human—if just to delay the inevitable death—he knew that the rest of the ritual was coming out somehow. This Giles was human...and Angelus had broken some far more determined than him.

Dru, just to name one.

And when the last thing was known, it would all come down around him, raining fire and ash. And, being a bloody vampire, he was sure to burn! Idiot Angelus hadn't worked out that part of the plan. His furious rage at the slayer made the git sloppy, made him forget the bigger picture. And Dru! Well, Dru was insane, what could she know?

Watching them together was even more sickening than knowing the watcher was gonna let it all out. And yet, there was more. More that made him want to string himself up and be impaled with fifty swords.

More.

Anger curled like an infuriated snake in his gut as he watched their laughter, watched their security as Dru's fangs sank almost viciously into her sire's throat, gulping down master blood in a thick, continuous stream. Spike sat helpless in his wheelchair—helpless at least in their eyes. Forced to watch the flow of blood from one family member to the next, preparing Dru for the power of being one of the instigators of hell on earth.

Spike could see the strength surge through his dark princess as the veil of insanity shifted the indifference from her eyes and the true cruelty of the demon slipped into place.

They were ready.

And Spike was starting to panic.

In the other room now, beaten and dishevelled, was the Slayer's watcher, worked over by shifty parlor tricks—shamefully suggested by himself-- into giving up the final clue to letting loose the great lump of rock. Spike wanted to stride in there, haul the clueless git to his feet, march him over to the ugliest stone statue ever, and bash his bloody brains out against it. But that could be blind panic talking.

He needed a plan...and one that wouldn't be completely bollocksed up the second he got out of the mansion.

For the first time since Angelus arrived back at their doorstep, Spike felt gratitude that the great hunk of poncy hair gel was off boffing his girl. It got them out of the way. Let him escape from the nightmare of weakness being stuck in that bloody repulsive chair brought on.

The cold night air against his face was a silent relief. He didn't know that much about hell dimensions, having blocked those tidbits out whenever Angelus would start on his stories of world domination. Only back then, the poof wasn't into anything so grand in scale. He just regaled the thwarted efforts of others.

Spike headed to the centre of town, following the sound of sirens. He knew that on a night like tonight, something beneficial could well be on the end of that police call. Better yet, if there was supernatural carnage afoot, it would likely lead him to the Slayer. As much as it galled him—and here he clenched his jaw to emphasise just how bloody much it did—she was the only one who could help him prevent the world being turned into an evil little cesspit for Angelus's best playmates.

Which Spike would obviously be neglected from the invite list. He was the bleeding invalid of the piece, stuck in that rotter of a chair for months on end...if anyone needed sire's blood, it was him! But oh no, got to make loopy Dru the Queen of the Damned. It really ticked him off.

Spike turned down a street and saw the commotion; a Slayer against an officer of the law, and not in a side-by-side combat deal. She was being arrested, gun held to control her flight. Well now, perfect opportunity to get the girl indebted to his favour. Might encourage the stupid bint to go along with his plan, such that it was.

As the Slayer raised her arms, a very real fear of the gun pointed straight at her body shadowed her face, leaving Spike with an uncomfortable ball of something in the pit of his stomach. It was unworthy, taking out a warrior with a hunk of metal that could rip holes into flesh. Where was the skill in point and fire? Where was the satisfaction of taking out the likes of her with such a brainless weapon?

"Bloody hell!" he chastised himself as in a blur of speed he'd disarmed the officer with a kick and slammed him unconscious into the hood of his own patrol car. With that small success buoying Spike's flagged spirits, he turned to the pretty blond he needed to make his plan work. Her eyes were wide with surprise at his presence, and out of the chair. He stood a little taller with pride that he'd done it; worked hard enough on his recovery to throw the chair away permanently.

But all he could see now was her. And he'd found her.

"Hello cutie," he smiled.

That voice. How could she do anything more than stand like an idiot on the way to a heist, what with the beanie and everything, while Spike stood and did her in with that voice? And, did he just call her cute? As in, he liked her looks? Buffy almost grinned, but then she remembered who she was thinking about and frowned. He may be gorgeous, but it would be stupid to fall in with any head games Spike might be playing. Even though that was more Angel's thing. Angelus! Evil, evil vampires, that must be stopped, dusted, ridden from this planet.

But he looked so cocky and sexy, and...Buffy clamped down fast on her rampaging thoughts, bringing back the grief that had plagued her since Miss Calendar's murder and now Kendra, her beautiful sister-in-arms was gone, all at the hands of Spike's own crazy girlfriend.

And just like that, the fire of hate and duty flowed back to her senses.

But he was here, seemed to have sought her out, and had saved her from the evil policeman with the gun. Saved her so she could go and kill her even more evil ex-boyfriend.

Buffy rolled her eyes...the last thing in all the world she needed right now, was Spike. And not invalid Spike, but Spike up on two legs, making with the walky while she was on a bit of a timetable, what with hell being released on earth by her psycho formerly ensouled boyfriend.

Best thing was to just remove his interference quickly and continue on her way.

The punches had very little effect, and she pouted in annoyed failure while he outlined why they needed to join together.

"You want to go around, pet, I'll have a gay old time of it. You want to stop Angel...we're gonna have to play this a little differently."

"What are you talking about," Buffy asked him as she caressed her stake, reassuring herself that her weapon was handy. Sexy vampire, maybe, but he was still dangerous.

"I'm talking about your ex, pet. I'm talking about putting him in the bloody ground."

Buffy was unnerved. She'd never heard of a vampire turning traitor on his kind before. Well, except Angel when he had killed Darla for her. But he had a soul, so that made it all of the good. Still, how did she know this wasn't another trick, another attempt to distract her so another of her friends or family could be taken down?

"That has gotta be the lamest trick you guys have ever thought up." Still, in her hesitance about the situation, the unliklihood of Spike being here to enact some devious plan himself...was...well, unlikely!

"He's got your watcher. Right now, he's probably torturing him."

It was Giles's name that had swayed her to listen. His obvious hatred toward Angelus lent his attempted mutiny a subtle touch of truth, and seeing no other supernatural volunteers to helping her take the demonic Angel and his transferred ho out, she was inclined to take the risk and let him tag along.

And was the attempt to eat the officer a test, cause hello? Slayer! Not happening.

Buffy couldn't believe his audacity as he smirked at her. Except, it was kinda sexy the way he tilted his head to the side...and...BAD BUFFY! Focus!

The walk to her place was a revelation. Spike liked the world as it was. Who knew? If he could band together with the Slayer to save the world this time then maybe...no. He was intent on recovering his 'princess' so he could be on his merry way.

"You're pathetic," burst from her lips as she thought about the attractive but lethal brunette.

Spike stopped on the spot, thankfully keeping them hidden in the dark of yet another cemetery in the middle of her home and Angel's apartment, the last place she had been before encountering Spike. The place she had fled after receiving Whistler's more than cryptic advice.

His jaw twitched, and she could almost hear the grind of his human teeth. Ready for the tongue-lashing that just might be successful at separating her head from her body, Buffy was stunned and pleased when all that came out of Spike's mouth was a tortured, "Why?"

Buffy blinked. Did she have the guts to tell him why she thought he was pathetic? Did she even have the courage to admit to herself why she even cared?

"Why do you want her back so bad?" she almost whined, cringing when he tilted his head to the side and gave her a not so subtle look from head to toe. "I mean," she rushed on, heedless of the dangerous ground she was encroaching. "She's been macking on Angel for how long?"

The sadness that suddenly shadowed Spike's eyes seemed to strongly affect her heart. Her hands tingled with a need to touch him, if only to just cup his cheek.

"She's been doin' a lot more'n that."

Buffy watched him, a quizzical turn to her brow. His body strained in a controlled rage, hurt screaming out to anyone who saw. Then he sank to his knees and told her the secret, the thing he feared.

"He's been havin' her feed off of 'im, no other blood but his. Makin' her stronger. Preparin' her for when Acathla's all open and 'takin over the world' like."

Buffy felt understanding hit her; she'd lost Angel for good, whether he got back his soul or not.

"He's made her his. Completely his," she said aloud, hurt eyes seeking out the matching pained blue from something she should be kicking and beating to pulp. Instead, she fell to her knees beside him and they clung together in the damp grass, tears tickling the dryness of both their eyes.

Finally the comfort waned, and Buffy felt the telltale increase of her heartbeat that indicated a change of focus. But as the warmth of something new began to spread throughout her limbs, Spike gently set her from his embrace and gave her his sweetest smile.

"Best go save the world, sweets."

Buffy took his hand and continued their trek to her house, annoyed to encounter her mother in the urgency of her mission. It was the night that secrets all got blown out of the water. What had she been thinking trying to convince her mom—the mom who knew everything except that Buffy was the Slayer—that she was a drummer in a band? Or that Spike could sing? Pshyeah! Like an evil bloodsucker could sing!

But any effort had been wasted when one of Angel...damn, Angelus's minions rushed them from a bush. And Spike helped her fight. It was a new experience that set her heart beating fast again. It was satisfying. And dare she say it? Enjoyable.

The heart-to-heart about her role in the world's cosmic joke of secret society super villains was not so hot on her fun-o-metre. The short episode of connection with Spike had been pushed out of the moment, concentration on her current sticky situation eclipsing the warm fuzzies he seemed to inspire when he wasn't trying so hard to be an ass. So, the pretence must be continued and she turned to him, relief that Willow was going to be fine, and worked out how this would go.

"All right, talk. What's the deal?"

Spike looked at her, his eyes searching for the reason behind the chill in her voice. And he showed hurt. Like someone else he had let down a defence with had kicked him when he least expected it.

His spine stiffened and his lips hardened into a determined line.

"Simple," he ground through clenched teeth. "You let me and Dru skip town, and I'll help you kill Angel."

Both of the super fighters ignored Joyce as she exclaimed several questions in confusion.

Buffy felt guilt crawl up her back with icy hands to perch on her shoulder, whispering nasty things to her she both wanted and didn't want to believe. Or accept. But Spike had set the scene earlier by telling her what had been happening under his roof.

"I thought you said she could never be yours again?" Buffy whispered, her breath caught as she waited for his answer, admitting only deep down that she wanted him to agree-- wanted him not to want Dru to be his anymore.

Spike could feel a softness enter his heart, a sense of duty battling with his desire to stay in this town, with the tiny slip of a blond facing him off about the availability of his Dru.

When he finally spoke, his voice held all the strain of the past few months and an edge of futility.

Of duty.

Just like her.

"She's my sire, Buffy. I have to protect her."

"Even if she is so strong now she could tear you apart? Destroy you like she did Kendra?" Buffy was a little mortified, fighting for the sense to return to a vampire that she should be jumping up and down for the opportunity to kill. Instead she had apparently added him to her list of 'vamps emotionally difficult to dust'.

Spike's burning blue eyes held her tight, begging for alternatives.

"What else can I do? I can't kill her. We have to destroy Angelus, protect the world. I'll take her away. There's no other choice."

"But..."

Buffy got no further as the build-up of his emotion burst its restraints.

"Stop you're bleedin' blubberin', Slayer. We have a world to save. Forget about the nit pickin' and let's get this wagon rollin' already."

Buffy flinched as she heard his heavy boots stomping back to the front door.

"You comin' or not?" he called back, impatience a knife in her heart.

Buffy wallowed in thought briefly before slowly walking toward him.

"Where are you going?" demanded Joyce, frantically looking between the two of them. "The police need to be told about this, Buffy. They think you killed that girl; they need to be set straight." Her eyes expanded as another idea occurred to her. "Tell them about this Acatharte thing; maybe they can help you fight it."

Buffy stood in the foyer, stunned at the simplistic understanding her mother had clung to out of her explanation of who and what the Slayer actually was.

"If you get the police involved, they'll likely get done in." Spike, the so not voice of reason, cut in. "Best leave this kind of business to us, Joyce. You let us destroy the big evil, get a bit of kip infront of the Telly, and I'll make sure Buffy gets back to you all nice and safe, like."

Buffy heard the words, the gentle condescension to a woman just learning about a world of nasties for the first time, and she yearned. Yearned for the consideration he'd just found so easily to be turned and showered upon her.

But another vampire? She couldn't go there. All the experience in the world couldn't have prepared her for Angel going bad, but she'd learnt her lesson. No matter how sexy, or good an actor they could be, vampires were off limits as far as having mushy feelings for.

Joyce watched them, exasperation following on their heels as they left the house and hurried to the mansion on Crawford Street.

"They don' know I'm out of that bloody horrible chair, pet. So'll have to sneak in and get back into it. With a bit of luck they're still shaggin' each other blind."

"But, what if they've noticed you were gone?" Her small hand clutched at his duster sleeve, eyes wide with a concern that floored him.

"It's a risk," he admitted reluctantly and her grip only became tighter.

Neither of them could speak, Buffy's heart thumping a mile a minute as she realised she was back there again. About to embark on another life-threatening mission. Her hand suddenly slapped at her neck, rubbing the mark left by the Master's fangs as he paralysed her to death.

Spike had mentioned that Dru was gaining strength by feeding on master blood, sire's blood. Angelus was strong, yet Spike was only just regaining his mobility after so much time being stuck in a chair. Not fighting, not feeding properly. He could go down in a fight as quick as Xander facing a fully loaded box of Krispy Kremes.

The thoughts she was entertaining had her terrified. But everything here was a risk, and if she failed, the world would be consumed by darkness and despair. Her decisions this night could be the deciding line between right and wrong.

Life and death.

Good and Evil.

Balance.

But it could mean her death, and seeing the way Spike tore into her with his eyes, searched her deeply for everything she was and could be, she wondered how she could doubt him. He was unpredictable, but honest. She was sure she could trust him.

"You need strength, Spike. You should take some blood from me. You need it to be strong enough to fight."

His eyes were large with shock, yet he licked his lips in such a hungry way that it made her nervous. But then he shook his head in rejection, attempting to back away from her.

Buffy didn't think, just grabbed and hauled his face to hers and smashed her lips desperately against his. He attempted to pull back, until his hands gripped her waist and he began to taste the flavour of her lip-gloss. She was succulent and soft, and in one unneeded breath he was lost.

When they broke apart, Buffy panting softly against his lips, he nodded.

"I need you strong. Its too unpredictable in there for you to not be one hundred percent." Nothing further needed to be said and she tipped her head to the side, offering him what she had never thought she would give to any vampire voluntarily.

She swallowed her small cry of fear as his sharp teeth sliced through her flesh. But as he gulped she could feel the bubbling of desire, of her own strength roaring through her veins. It was not in objection to letting a filthy demon feed from her, but from some sense of joining with her equal. Her body loosened and she fell against him with a groan, thankful when his arm around her waist held her to him hard. Through some need for contact, she latched her own lips on his neck and sucked, nibbling the cold flesh like he was something unbelievably delicious. And tasty...mmmm, very with the tasty.

She was still avidly nibbling his neck when she realised he no longer had his teeth in her skin, that his tongue licked her neck and kissed her over his mark, finding his way to her jaw as his hands searched her top for the hem. She pulled away reluctantly, her eyes glazed with new truths, and a happy grin crossed her lips—just for him.

"Wow," she breathed, lost in the sensual pleasures that came from something that should have meant her death.

When Buffy finally focused her eyes, she could see the same dopey smile reflected right back. Too soon reality filtered back, and the moment receded. She let go of her hold on him and turned toward the door. Spike was silent as he left her side and took his place within.

Buffy gave him twenty minutes before sneaking in after him, oblivious to the figure trying to catch up to her before she got too far. Xander caught her just inside the door, and she quietly instructed him to get Giles out and then leave. This battle was totally up to her and she had no space for saving those that shouldn't be here. She was harsh, but she was a warrior.

It took hardly any time at all for everything to go to hell.

Literally.

Buffy held in her hands the sword that she had been told was the only key left to stop all this. Her run in with the funny little guy—Whistler-- said she would need it to make Angel bleed, push him and his blood back into hell with Acathla. The ferocity of the act, the final solution to the Angel/Angelus problem stirred within her a sadness so profound. But not debilitating. Whatever power she had gained from Spike's bite, from his lips, allowed her to deal.

The fight wasn't so easy. Angelus battled her with skill and she soon found herself no longer watching for Spike to join her, but wondering how she could still save the world on her own. As he was about to strike the final blow, skewer her to the wall, his dust sprinkled softly down on top of her. Buffy blinked in confusion until she saw Spike through the particles, a great yawning void opening behind him.

"Oh God." She flung herself into his arms, panic beginning to make her shake. "What can we do? It needed Angel's blood. He opened it; he needs to close it. Dust doesn't bleed, Spike." She was scared, but comforted by Spike's terror as he crushed her to his body.

Buffy watched as he frantically searched the room, eyes widening as they settled on the figure of Dru pulling herself furiously to her feet and launching herself at him. The vampiress's screams and growls were inhuman and made Buffy cower in an unslayer-like way behind Spike. Buffy felt tears fall as he was torn to ribbons, his sire's nails tearing at him, enraged.

Spike was flagging, but turned to check on Buffy and spied the sword in her hand. She'd said the vortex needed Angelus's blood to close, and what was Dru if not full to the bloody brim of sire blood? With a desperate burst of strength, Spike shoved Dru away and launched himself at the sword. Snatching it out of Buffy's slackened hands, he ran back towards Dru and shoved the sword through her chest.

Everything seemed to still: time, space, life.

Wonder crossed her face; surprise and pride in her only childe.

"I'm so sorry," he told her, his tears suspended in his throat as he struggled to understand what he had just been compelled to do through instinct alone.

The pull increased and Dru was finally yanked back. She disappeared in a flash of light within the stone statue of the creepy looking demon. Spike fell to his knees and buried his grief-ravaged face in his hands. No matter what he did, he was always following in Angelus's footsteps.

The childe dusting the Sire.

Only Spike had done them both, leaving himself without family or friend.

He felt trembling arms wrap around him and a small amount of warmth spread through and thrilled him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the comfort of Buffy. Enjoying the existence of Buffy. Turning he wrapped her in his arms and dragged her down into his lap.

He'd wanted to save the world, but right now he felt like he had the world in his arms. She cooed at him as she rocked gently, and he buried his face in her chest, the tears finally falling to saturate her top. He felt her soothing hands in his hair, and he couldn't help but shake, feeling the confusion twirl around his insides. He didn't know whether to laugh or sob himself to dust. He'd sent the woman who'd saved him, made him what he was, to Hell. And now he cuddled with his enemy in his lap.

Life was a never-ending cosmic joke.

He felt numb, except for the vital parts of him that recognised what had been happening with the Slayer all night. He was attracted to her, sure, had been since the night he'd seen her shaking it on the dance floor. But her strength, both physical and emotional. Her trust when she could have ignored him and staked him. He wasn't so delusional to think he could have taken her in a fight.

She'd given him her blood and in return she'd stolen his heart.

He pulled his head back and found himself beholden to her beauty, captured by her sparkling emerald eyes. Found himself once again poetic in the face of a woman.

His lips found hers and he shared with her a gentle kiss. It allayed his current fears, and sparked off his hopes. He didn't plan—not wanting to cock anything up. Just immersed himself in the bliss that was her mouth, poured his grief into the kiss until it changed. Turned into the passion of one entranced. Turned into the caress of hope.

When she needed to breathe, she smiled.

"If you stay," she began, her voice gravelly and scared. "You'll belong to me."

He nodded and new tears sprung to his eyes, tears of relief and promise.

He'd found it all in the figure of a girl who was Chosen to kill his kind.

But for some reason, he felt like he held Heaven in his arms.