Chapter Twelve - THAT EXPLAINY BIT AT THE END

Drusilla was lost. All her lovely work was coming undone. It was torn and ragged and unraveling and Daddy didn't even care. He wasn't really her Daddy anyway. Not anymore, never again.

"You're not my Daddy," she said.

Angel turned his head to look at her. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa where she was lying. "No."

"You weren't ever my..." she trailed off and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was oddly lucid. "I was played for a fool."

Angel gaped. "Dru?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

"A cloud has lifted," she told him. "It is as if all the threads have been respun." She smiled.

"So you're not unstable anymore?" Anya peered at her. "No more nuts?"

"What do you mean, no nuts?" Xander asked, strolling into the room. He threw an arm around Anya's shoulders. "Of course she's nuts. The nuttiest fruitcake in the whole bakery."

Angel had moved to crouch next to his Childe.

"They fixed her," he murmured, stroking his hand across her forehead. "The PTB. They've made amends for using her, for setting up the link." He turned to look at the young couple. "She's sane. She's still a vampire, but she's sane."

Xander raised his eyebrows. "And that's good because -?"

Not receiving an answer, he scowled. "Hey, I'm just saying. Psycho-Dru was bad enough, but imagine the stuff she could do when she's tack-sharp."

"Maybe she got a soul, too," Anya suggested. "To balance it out or something."

"They don't go handing out souls to vampires willy-nilly," Xander said. "They're for the special editions only."

"Did you hear that then?" Spike asked as he and Buffy guided Giles into the room, Willow and Tara behind them. "Spike's special. I'm touched, Harris, really." He grinned when Xander glowered at him. "So what's all this crap about souls? Bloody epidemic now, is it?"

"She hasn't got a soul," Angel said. He stood, jamming his hands into his pockets. "But I didn't think you had one either, and I was wrong."

"Well now, color me gob-smacked," Spike quirked his eyebrow at Buffy. "Y'hear that, pet? Hair Boy was wrong. Never thought I'd live to witness it. A sodding miracle is what it is." He smiled sarcastically. "Brings a tear to your eye."

Angel sighed. Oh yeah, Spike's demon was well and truly back, and on top form. He wanted to kill him already.

"Hello my William," Dru said quietly. She was sitting up now, her bound hands resting on her lap.

Spike jumped, startled. He'd forgotten that she was there. Odd.

"Dru," he said cautiously. "Alright, love?"

"I'm very confused," she informed him. "Everything in my head is silent. The pixies are all gone. But there's screaming, William. Faint screaming ... a long way away in the past."

Spike stared at her then, a hard searching stare. Then he blinked and turned to Angel. "Is she -?"

His Sire nodded. "Yeah."

"But no soul?"

"No. I don't think so."

"What the hell are the PTB thinking?" Buffy asked. She had picked up what was happening from Spike - she could sense his shock, and a warped sort of joy. "She's still vampy. Isn't she just gonna go back to killing people?"

Strangely, the thought of staking Drusilla hadn't occurred to her until right then. Spike's influence, no doubt.

"Don't figure she'll be skippin' off for a lovely rampage anytime soon," Spike said. Buffy frowned at him and he gestured at the sofa.

Drusilla was crying. "It hurts," she whispered, rocking a little. She'd tucked her feet up so that she was hugging her knees. "All the children hurt and I am one with their pain. One and all."

"Okay, if all her marbles are back, why is she still with the insano-speak?"

"Thinkin' the second-sight deal's still in effect," Spike tipped his head, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. "She's goin' on about her victims, I reckon. Feelin' a tad remorseful."

"No soul," Angel stressed. "She doesn't feel remorse or regret or any of it. She isn't capable."

That stymied Spike. He did the Giles-like landed-fish thing, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. The Watcher rescued him.

"I have a theory, if you're interested."

Spike pinned him with an intense stare. "And when did you have time to formulate a theory?" he asked. "Thought you were all intent on your little game of Let's Kill Spike."

Giles' expression was pained. "I believe I have apologized for that."

Spike grunted and then sprawled onto the sofa next to Drusilla. He patted her back automatically, the comforting gesture second nature.

Buffy smiled. She knew he was just being Spike. She didn't feel the least bit threatened by his closeness to his ex. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. But if Dru kept cozying up like that, she'd better watch herself. Nobody messed with her ... boyfriend?

Now there were two completely unmixy words - Spike and boyfriend. It sounded so lame. And besides that, there was nothing boyish or friendly about him. He was too... too... Her mind went blank.

Un-categorisable, that's what he was, sitting there all smug and unique in his ... uniqueness.

Spike looked over at her and raised his brows, his tongue doing that obscene little curling thing behind his teeth. She wanted to hit him.

"Go on," Angel prompted.

Buffy blinked. It took her a second to realize that he was talking to Giles and not giving her permission to manhandle the younger vampire.

"Yeah. Go on then," Spike echoed. He hadn't taken his eyes from Buffy and was obviously directing the provocation her way.

He winked and turned away. To everyone else, it looked as though he was focusing his attention on Drusilla. Buffy knew different.

Spike head snapped back sharply, banging against the back of the sofa. "Aargh! Bloody hell, woman," he complained, wincing in pain. "Are you tryin' to give me a meltdown?"

The Slayer scowled and plopped down into a nearby chair. "Pig," she muttered under her breath.

"Chip-abuser," he retorted, rubbing at his forehead.

Drusilla gazed at him. "You're hurting, my sweet," she crooned. "Do you want me to make it better?"

He suddenly wanted to be anywhere other than where he was.

"Uh, no," he mumbled, pulling away from her and trying to stuff himself into the corner of the sofa. Distance, mate, as much distance as you can get.

Buffy grinned broadly, enjoying his discomfort. "So, Giles, fill us in on the sitch."

"Of course," the Watcher said. Like the others in the room, he was aware that there were undercurrents explaining the way Buffy and Spike were acting. Link undercurrents. They would have to get used to the exclusion, he knew, and to the fact that the couple would always be connected in a way that was beyond their imagining.

He cleared his throat. "Now, I believe this can be traced back to the medieval physiology of the spirit..."

"Should we have popcorn for this?" Xander asked. "'Cause popcorn and Giles-length lectures? Way compatible. Not to mention all the buttery goodness." His stomach growled and he was rewarded with a collection of pointed stares. "Sorry."

"It was believed that the soul consisted of three separate parts - the animal, natural and vital spirits," Giles continued. "Each of which controlled certain functions of the human body."

"Galen," Buffy blurted.

"Y-yes, quite," the Watcher peered at her in amazement and she shifted under the scrutiny.

"Hey, don't look at me," she grumbled. "Spike thought it."

"Greek bloke," the vampire interjected. "Physician, or something. 'Round about the second century." The amazed looks moved on to him and he scowled. "What? Think I don't know research?" He snorted and dug into his pockets for a cigarette. "Wankers."

Giles was flustered for a moment, but went on. "The, ah, animal spirit controlled motion and sensation, thought process. The natural - other body functions like nutrition, generation and growth. And the vital spirit was responsible for breath and heat, for life. It was also believed to be the basis of emotions."

"I think I see where you're headed with this," Angel said. "When a vampire is turned, it loses that vital spirit, right?"

"That is the theory," Giles confirmed. "They retain the sense of touch, they move and eat and think. But they have no body heat, no breath and, well, no morals whatsoever."

"Fascinating stuff," Spike drawled. "Really. I'm on the edge of my seat here." He inhaled of his cigarette. "Is there a point?"

"I am of the opinion that this vital spirit can also be broken down into its separate parts. A fragmentation, if you will, and that this is what happened to you."

"Yeah?" The vampire beamed, impressed. "Neat."

"PTB left that moral thingy behind, huh?" Buffy asked.

"Is that what that is?" Spike appeared interested now. "That whole bloody conscience bit?"

Giles nodded. "In effect, though, there are still certain sections of your soul missing."

"But they aren't," Willow said suddenly. "Missing, I mean."

"What are you on about, Red?"

"She means Buffy," Angel explained, understanding what the witch meant. "That's why you've got human qualities now. The demon is still in your body, so you have it's strength and the need to drink blood, but the link with Buffy has given back the missing pieces. Heat, breath ... life. She completes you. She is part of your soul now."

Buffy and Spike stared at each other, overcome.

"Wow," she whispered and he gave her a big sappy grin.

"Always said you made me feel alive," he commented, then puffed out his chest, pleased. "How right was I?"

"Pride before a fall," Drusilla noted absently, gazing at her bound wrists and fiddling with a loose tie.

Spike rolled his eyes, oblivious to the pure Buffyness of the expression, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "So what's with the Dru-regression then? She get unfragmented or what?"

"That about sums it up actually," Giles said. "I'm theorizing that in order to maintain her mental cognizance, the Powers have restored the very same portion of spirit that was left behind when you were turned, her emotional center."

"So she is feeling guilty," Angel observed. He shook his head. "Weird."

"If Spike had his morals on board for the big vampy voyage, how come he didn't get all broody like Angel?" Willow asked. "'Cause no offense, but he doesn't seem all that guilt-ridden."

"He's not," Buffy said. She frowned. "Well, sort of. It's hard to explain. It's a whole thing about colors and shades and shades of colors..."

"Grey mostly," Spike muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the arm of the sofa and batting out the material when it caught fire.

"Shades of grey?" Giles did the flying eyebrow routine, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Isn't that a little ... cliched?"

"No," Buffy defended. "Not cliched. Just ... used a lot."

"Quit while you're ahead, love," Spike relayed via the link, his gentle smile verging on indulgent.

"Don't get all patronizing," Buffy snapped. "I hate that. I'm not stupid."

Spike kept his mouth shut, being sensible for once. He tucked his hands behind his head and slouched down against the sofa cushions, ostensibly gazing at the ceiling. He could feel how defensive she was about this, and he knew she understood a lot more than she let on most of the time.

Buffy stared at him, trying to stay annoyed. He looked so masculine and inviting all spread out like that, she wanted to run over and sit on his lap. Her eyelids lowered dreamily as she followed that thought...

Spike abruptly sat back up, shooting a scandalized look in her direction. She must have roused William's repressed Victorian sensibilities. Cool.

He got to his feet and began pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

"Right," he said. "Let's cut the long story. I did feel guilty about stuff, but not enough to try and interfere in what the demon wanted." He pointed at Giles. "You know how hard that is."

"Indeed," the Watcher mumbled.

"And then came the chip. All zap and blinding pain, forcing the demon back and lettin' William out of his shell." Spike stopped and scrounged about for another cigarette. He came up short and sighed. "Got quite Peaches-like there for a bit. It was horrible. I wanted to stake myself."

"Yeah," Xander agreed, remembering. "In my basement, in my favorite shirt. And tell me again why we stopped you doing that."

"Ooky," Willow supplied absently, not really listening.

"Uh huh." Xander wasn't certain that it was even a word, but good enough. Especially since Spike was glaring at him like he was considering tearing out a good portion of his throat. You had to hand it to the guy - he could be pretty damn intimidating when he wanted, chip or no.

Spike continued staring for a minute, and then strolled over to stand in front of Buffy, a muscle working in his jaw. "And then there was you," he said.

Buffy smiled up at him. She already knew this story.

"Buffy Summers," he reached out and tenderly stroked her hair. "Who I've loved for as long as I can remember. And probably even before."

"Before time and beyond all earthly bounds," Drusilla confirmed. She watched them, her gaze clear and sharp. "I could see his terrible love, you know. My sweet boy had a head full of dreams and all of them were you - glorious dreams of hearts and music, as bright as the day. It covered him." She shook her head. "Sad. So sad."

"You knew?" Spike turned on her, his fingers flexing like he was crushing something. He was imagining that it was her neck.

"I've always known, William. Always and forever to be joined. I remember what they told me." She drifted for a moment. "I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory ... You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine..."

"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, shooting to her feet. "I've heard that before. Why have I heard that before?"

"That's what she told me when I was turned," Spike murmured. "You're picking up my memories again, pet."

Buffy reached for his hand and held it. This was getting too karmatically weird. Everything that had happened up to this point was creepy enough, but finding out that Dru had known what was going to happen all along...

"Is anyone else severely power-freaked?" Xander asked into the silence.

Anya thrust her hand into the air. "Ooh, me!"

"Yes, how very surprising," Giles drawled. He frowned at Spike. "So, you're expecting us to accept that Drusilla was aware of what was to transpire when she changed you? That the Powers allowed her to know this?"

Spike shrugged. He didn't bother trying to explain any further, Dru's ramblings were enough for him. He'd learned to trust them over the years and she'd never once been wrong, never led him astray.

"She's never been wrong before," Buffy stated.

Spike glanced at her and she squeezed his hand supportively. She could feel his certainty and that was all the impetus she needed to back him up.

"Even so," Giles went on, "The inclusion of some portion of her vital spirit may not be enough to keep her in line. I had my entire soul intact and I was still unable to control myself."

"You should have come to me," Angel said. "I've been there and having a soul isn't the be-all and end-all when it comes to controlling the demon. It's not that simple. It took me a hundred years to work through that." He sat down next to Drusilla, taking up the spot that Spike had vacated. "I don't think Dru's going to kill, though. Are you?"

"Oh no," Drusilla looked horrified. "Enough. It's done for. Innocents suffer at the hands of death." She shot a glance sideward at her Sire. "I don't wish them to suffer as I did."

Angel grimaced. "I'm sorry, Dru. For what happened."

She smiled at him shyly. "You've never once said that and truly meant it, my Angel, but I choose to believe you this time."

Spike snorted, backing into the chair that Buffy had abandoned and pulling the Slayer onto his lap. Her earlier speculations about the position had given him a start, but he could see that the idea had its merits.

She curled her legs up and lay her head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of their heartbeat. It was a comforting sound.

"Guh-goong," she whispered, patting her fingers against him in time with its rhythm. "Guh-goong."

Spike scowled. "Have you gone soft, love?"

"'Dirty Dancing'," she said, as if it explained everything.

The vampire's scowl deepened as he tried to work out what she was referring to. The girl's brain was a puzzle to him. She seemed to be able to read him like a book, but unless she was thinking something directly he couldn't figure her out. He reckoned it was a generic female thing, they were all unfathomable.

And who the hell was Patrick Swayze anyway?

"So," Xander piped up. "What are we all hanging around here for? Giles is all recovered, right? And Not-So-Dead Boy can't make like a crispy critter, so I'm thinkin' ... back to the Xan-man's humble abode? And pizza, maybe? A little video session to unwind?"

"Pizza?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. They stared at each other, horrified, and then tore out of the room at full speed, clambering up the staircase.

"I didn't think they'd be that opposed to the idea," Giles commented. "I was quite looking forward to it actually."

"They've remembered the boy," Dru said softly. "I'd forgotten, too."

Angel winced. She had someone upstairs? He should have known that. She'd always shared his predilection for torture. It was one thing that Spike could never stomach, usually making his kills for food only. He'd never understood why until recently.

"We're still here because it's light out," he muttered. "Spike might be able to gallivant about in the sun, but Dru and I can't." He tried not to sound resentful, he really did.

Xander mouthed a silently exaggerated "O-Kay" and gave Anya a pointed look.

She stared at him blankly, before catching on. "Oh. This is a sensitive subject, right?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I get it. No blabbering on about the sun when Angel's around. Not from me, no sirree."

Xander shook his head. He didn't know why he even bothered.

And besides, he loved her directness. She wouldn't be Anya without all the inappropriately candid observations. It spiced life up a bit - kept him entertained.

"Has anyone got a cell-phone?"

Buffy's breathless question interrupted any further discussion while Angel called the hospital for an ambulance.

~*[+]*~

Spike took a swig of blood and began sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. He tipped his head back...

"You start gargling," Buffy warned, coming into the kitchen, "And I will stake you."

The vampire barely managed to keep from spraying her with his breakfast at the comment. Well, he was calling it breakfast. It was just past sunset outside, but he was still operating on vamp-time.

"Don't think that'll work now," he said, swallowing and grinning at her.

"Ugh! You have blood on your teeth!"

Spike ran his tongue across them, wiping away the pinkish residue.

"And what do you mean stakes won't work?" Buffy moved past him and opened the refrigerator.

"Just what I said. The heart beats now, love. Rammin' a pointy stick in it'll probably hurt like hell, but I won't go 'pfft'." He flicked his fingers upward to demonstrate.

"Sunlight doesn't work anymore either," Buffy lamented. "That's no fun. What can I threaten you with now?"

Spike pondered that. He wandered over to the breakfast bar and put his mug down, absently swirling his finger in it and then sucking on it.

"Decapitation?" he suggested.

"Too messy," Buffy slammed the fridge shut and joined him. She had a carton of orange juice in her hand. "How about fire? Vamps are pretty flammable. Bet you'd still light up like a Christmas tree." She put the carton down and clapped her hands together in a simulated explosion. "Whoosh!"

"Charming," Spike drawled. "Good thing I've not got a delicate constitution like the whelp. I'd be flat on my back by now."

Buffy tipped her head at him. "I like it when you're flat on your back."

He snorted. "Control freak."

"You love it." She leant across the bar, smiling seductively.

"Do not." Spike cupped her chin in his hand and leant down as if to kiss her, but veered off course at the last second and attacked her ear instead - a spot where he'd noticed she was especially sensitive.

Buffy had just closed her eyes, enjoying the attention, when there was a knock at the kitchen door. "Aargh!" she protested. "Go away."

Spike pulled back, smirking. He shot her a wink as he abandoned his ministrations to answer.

"'Lo Peaches," he greeted. "What brings you to Casa Del Slayer?"

Angel stared at him, expressionless, and Spike belatedly remembered what he was wearing. He grimaced. Hard to be all Big Bad with your Sire when you were clad in nothing but a pair of 'Looney Tunes' boxers.

"Nice shorts," the older vampire said drolly. "Tweety's my favorite too."

"Jealous?"

"Absolutely."

Spike scowled. He couldn't tell if Angel was kidding or not, so he stood back to let him inside.

"Hi Angel." Buffy had returned the orange juice carton and was rinsing out Spike's mug.

"Hey, I wasn't done," Spike complained.

"It was cold," she informed him. "When it gets cold, it gets all lumpy and sticks like glue."

"I know," he whined. "I like it that way. The clots are the best bit."

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, so not needing that image right now."

Angel watched them with a heavy sense of resignation. They'd already slipped into a routine. They were being all domestic and coupley. He was happy for them, he really was, but it still hurt. Much more than he expected.

"I'm leaving," he said quietly. "Going back to LA."

"Good then," Spike nodded. "See ya." He pulled a fresh bag of blood from the fridge and set about wrestling his mug back from Buffy. "Give it," he growled.

She held it behind her back. "No."

There was a slight skirmish, with neither willing to give in. Angel sighed and snatched the mug from Buffy's hands where she was holding it above her head. He handed it to Spike.

"Party poop," the younger vamp muttered, padding away.

"You taking Dru along with?" Buffy asked Angel, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Yeah. She's not strong enough on her own and I figured I could keep an eye on her. Teach her control and stuff." He shuffled his feet a little. "Cordy's not gonna be happy." He sounded suspiciously like a browbeaten husband.

Spike glanced up from pouring blood into his mug, his eyes narrowing in speculation. So, the Great Poof and the Cheerleader, huh? Now there was something that was almost interesting. He quirked an eyebrow at Buffy and she shook her head at him.

Not the time for ridicule, then? No worries, he could wait.

"Giles recovering?" Buffy inquired. She was semi-wigged by the devotion Angel apparently harbored for Cordelia, but she also knew better than most how tight he could clam up when it came to the personal stuff. They'd have to hold off until he was ready to make with the confessions on his own. "We haven't checked in on him yet."

"He's coping okay." Angel replied, utterly unaware of the subject drift taking place beneath his perception. "Apologizing a lot."

"Tell me about it," Spike snorted. "It's gettin' bloody monotonous. If he keeps on when we go visit, I'll truss him up and gag him."

Angel's lips twisted at the image that popped into his head. He'd love to be a fly on that wall. "How's that pizza kid doing?" he asked.

Buffy and Spike had handled the paramedics earlier and then followed on to the hospital. They felt guilty for forgetting about the boy, and for not getting him out at the first opportunity.

"He'll be fine," Buffy said, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Can you believe they're calling it a mugging?" She shook her head. "Gotta love the Sunnydale PD - they've got fudging the weird stuff down to a fine art."

Both vampires shrugged. They were used to authorities turning a blind eye, having lived through a few lifetimes worth of cover-ups.

"No sign of your demon pal?" Angel directed the question at Spike but Buffy answered as if he'd spoken to her instead. It amazed him how easily they'd adapted to link-life. Another sign that it was meant to be, he guessed.

"Disappeared right off the face of the earth," she related, rolling her eyes. "Will someone please explain to me how a gigantic lizardy thing in a psychedelic van can go completely unnoticed by like, anyone?"

"Same deal as the coppers, pet," Spike said. "See no evil and all that."

Buffy leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You know, you never did say why he owed you a favor."

He canted his head to the side and eyed her skeptically. "Oh, right. Like you haven't ducked in to see for yourself."

"We agreed not to do that without asking first."

"So we did," Spike acknowledged. He didn't elaborate.

"Doesn't mean I won't though," Buffy cautioned. She suddenly grinned and straightened up, her eyes widening with realization. "I've just figured out what I can threaten you with." She turned to the other vampire. "Hey, Angel, did you know about..."

She was cut off as Spike jumped up and slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Fine," he gritted between clenched teeth. "I'll spill."

"Loser," she chortled via the link, nibbling at the skin of his palm and then licking it. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time. It was kinda yum-worthy.

Spike wrenched his hand away. "Yum-worthy?" he thought. She gave him a satisfied smirk and he stared at her incredulously. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Here's the thing then. It was in the late '60s. 1968 or 69?" He frowned as he tried to get the memory straight, turning and wandering back to the breakfast bar. "New Orleans, I think. Or was it New York? It was New something..."

"He never was any good at figuring out where he was," Angel interjected. "He was always getting lost."

Spike glowered. "Was not."

"Were too."

"Don't get all school-yard on me, you guys," Buffy scolded. "Just tell."

"Apollyon was a bit hard up back then," Spike revealed.

"For cash?" Angel was surprised.

"For birds." The younger vampire actually looked embarrassed, a slight flush creeping along his cheekbones. "It was the 'Summer of Love' and all that hippified flower-power crap." He gazed fixedly into his mug. "The Keratos weren't exactly swarmin' about in plentiful numbers, them bein' so rare and all, and he was lookin' for a mate."

"You hooked him up with a honey," Buffy giggled, picturing him playing at vamp-cupid, complete with beads and long hair. "That's ... pretty damn funny."

"Don't know that you'd call her a honey," Spike grimaced, ignoring her merriment. He could see the retro-Spike picture she'd created in her head and, as tragic as it was, she wasn't too far off the mark. "Keratos females are even bigger than the males, and if you thought Apollyon had a bad case of the uglies, well..." He shuddered. "Let's not go there."

"And that's it?" Angel asked dubiously. "That was the big favor?"

"Yeah. Saved their sodding species, didn't I?" Spike puffed out his chest, defensive. "It was all about procreation, you arrogant git. To go forth and bloody multiply. They had quite a few litters of offspring as I recall."

"Ew! Scaly demon babies," Buffy's lips turned down in distaste. "So not cute."

The smile that was beginning to spread across Angel's face stopped and he turned to Buffy as a thought occurred to him. "Spike's more or less human now, right?"

She frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"So? Babies, Buffy," he prompted. "You could have a child now."

"Well, not right now," she began, then realized what he was saying. She turned to Spike, her eyes huge. "Oh-my-God."

Spike simply grinned at her and then noisily slurped his blood. He'd already thought of this.

Buffy pulled a face. "That is just..." She seemed to shake herself. "I mean, we're not even..."

"We're not?" Spike's grin shifted into wicked leer mode. "What do you call what we did all afternoon then?"

Buffy blushed furiously, shooting a mortified glance at Angel. "That was sleeping together," she hissed. "In the literal, slumbery, Land-of-Nod sense. Not, you know, sleeping together."

"Not yet."

"And I'll be taking that as my cue to clear out," Angel muttered, feeling ill. He had no idea now why he'd brought the subject up in the first place. What was he, some kind of glutton for punishment? Did he have 'shmuck' stamped on his forehead?

"Yeah, okay." Buffy slipped off the counter to give him a hug. She was still reeling from grouping the words 'Spike' and 'baby' together in the same thought. They just didn't match - it was a great big unmeshy thing in her head. And it brought up a whole heap of other issues that she didn't want to deal with just yet.

"Shrinkin' violet," Spike noted softly, as perceptive as ever.

The hushed comment cast her memory back to earlier that morning when he'd told her to hit him if he got too pushy. She sent him a smile.

Angel bent and planted a kiss on her forehead, drawing her focus back to the present. "Be careful," she instructed, giving him an affectionate squeeze.

"I will."

He backed away and thrust his hands into his pockets, the movement hunching his broad shoulders. He stared uncomfortably at his Childe, feeling that something needed to be said but unsure as to what.

Buffy took the opportunity to observe the two loves of her life. Vampires both, and yet their contrasting natures couldn't have been more pronounced than at that moment.

Dressed entirely in black, Angel radiated gloom and doom. Combined with his powerful frame, dark countenance and unnatural stillness, it made him seem like some kind of imposing statue, carved from stone and hidden in the shadows.

Spike was all bright hair and alabaster skin, a full head shorter than his Sire and whipcord lean in his ridiculous cartooned shorts. His restless energy was palpable as he shifted from one foot to the other, unable to stay idle for even a second.

He scrutinized Angel carefully, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Drop it," he said, realizing what was up. "No speeches necessary. You're forgiven, all right? But I'd prefer if I didn't see you anytime soon."

Angel bowed his head, turning his attention to his shoes.

Spike grinned smugly, eyes twinkling with devilment. "And tell your vision girl not to give you too much of a happy."

"What?" Angel blinked at him. How the hell had Spike known about that?

Spike gave him a shrewd look and wagged his eyebrows suggestively, curling his tongue behind his teeth. Then he flinched and shot a pained look at Buffy.

"Would you quit that, Slayer?"

She folded her arms, an ingenuous expression on her face. "Quit what?"

He scowled and dug his thumb into his temple, massaging the spot through sheer habit - it never helped much. "Sodding chip," he grumbled.

Angel's mouth twitched as he tried to stifle his amusement. "As much as I enjoy seeing you in pain, Spike. I can't hang around." He moved to the door and opened it, peering back at the younger vampire over his shoulder. "You'd better make her happy," he warned. "'Cause if you don't..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.

Spike nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from.

Buffy waved a hand. "Hello? Still in the room?"

Angel merely smiled and walked out into the night.

Buffy and Spike followed to watch from the open doorway as he got into his convertible. He had the top down and Drusilla was sitting in passenger seat. She gave them a timid wave.

"So, is this the part where we live happily ever after?" Spike asked, wrapping his arms around Buffy's waist. He rested his chin on her hair.

"Oh please!" she scoffed. "In Sunnydale? Not bloody likely."

"You know, you're gonna have to stop nickin' my colloquialisms, pet," he told her, deliberately picking a fight.

"Like you haven't started using mine?" she retorted, knowing what he was doing and loving the normalcy of it. "Since when do you say 'hippified'?"

"Now, that's a commonly used turn of phrase I'll have you know," Spike defended. "You Scoobies don't have the market cornered on slang. Expect your Watcher will back me up there."

"His name is Giles," she stressed. Stupid nicknamey vampire. "And he'd agree with anything you say right now because he's all regretty and guilt-ridden."

"Was there a point in there, Slayer?"

They turned to go inside, their argument drawing their attention away from the street as Angel's car pulled out.

As the door closed behind them, a van rolled into sight. A garishly painted neon-pink mini-van with tinted windows and a yellow smiley-face on the door. It was quite obviously following Angel.

Buffy and Spike were too engrossed in each other to notice.

Whether Angel realized he had a tail or not is another story.

~*[ THE END ]*~