Return to Me

He had to run, he had to go faster. He could hear them, crashing through the trees, and yelling. They weren't worried about being quiet, because they were convinced they'd catch him before quiet had to be a factor.

He didn't know which way to go, and he couldn't stop to focus and decide. The sounds and scents of the night closed around him, confusing him, but he didn't stop. He'd been locked up in that metal room for so long, he couldn't tell time or direction any longer. Logical thought no longer rolled through his brain, it was now replaced with images and sounds, and smells. None of it nice.

He pushed himself again when he saw the fence up ahead. Freedom, it screamed. If he could get over it, he'd be free, and he could go home. Not that he could really comprehend the word anymore. But every time it was said to him, in those low, taunting tones, the colors gold, red, mahogany and brown flashed across his mind's eye, comforting him. When that happened, he could retreat further into himself, away from the pain and torture, and the violation they bestowed on him.

He could pretend he was safe, until they forced him back to reality, making him lose another strip of his mind.

As he sped through the night, the colors of home threading around him, urging him on, he focused on the fence. He was weak and hungry, and didn't honestly know if he could clear it, but he knew he had to. They were closer now, their voices a constant buzzing in his ear. With a final burst of speed, he threw himself at the chain link, using a rock as a spring board, and launching himself over it. He hissed with pain at the electric shock that jarred through him when his foot hit the top of the fence. He managed to tuck and roll, sliding to his feet with a fraction of his usual grace.

Joy lanced through him, threatening to cripple him and get him captured again. He shook it off, instinct telling him to keep moving, he wasn't safe yet. There was also the added threat of the fast approaching dawn, the promise of its coming making his skin itch. He didn't let himself worry about it, or the people behind him, as he took off in a blind run into the trees surrounding the complex. Home. He needed to get home. Then he would be safe, then he could rest. Home.

~*~*~

"Alright, I'm coming!" Buffy shouted, bounding down the stairs. Annoyance was evident on her face at being woken so early. Didn't people realize she had been up all night, searching for one wayward vampire and protecting the streets of Sunnydale so their children didn't get eaten?

Well, no, she supposed they didn't, which caused her scowl to deepen as she yanked open the door.

"Somebody better be. . ." She trailed off at the sight in front of her, not wanting to say the word for fear that it might be true. She dropped to her knees, oblivious to the neighbors who were getting ready to go to work, who were staring at the odd young woman in a tank top and flannel pajama bottoms, trying to rouse the slumped figure on her porch. They shook their heads, and got in their cars, wondering once more about the woman that kept late hours, and had the punk boyfriend who was never seen during the day.

"Oh my god," Buffy gasped, carefully gripping a wickedly thin shoulder to turn the figure onto his back. Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of his gaunt face, his once perfect, alabaster skin now a sickly pale, and pulled tight over his skull. "Oh my god," she said again, carefully picking him up, and taking him inside the house, away from the deadly rays that were sneaking up the porch. He must have used the last of his strength to beat on the door, to wake her up.

She placed him gingerly on the couch, after making sure the drapes were pulled. She took a long minute to stare down at him, her heart threatening to break in her chest at how. . .dead he looked. Alright, he was technically dead, but he never looked it. He was so full of a vibrant energy that seemed to seep from his pores, even in sleep. The tears dripped down her cheeks, her eyes staring in disbelief at the vampire she had finally started to call friend after she had been so rudely ripped from heaven.

*Get it together, Buff,* she told herself, wiping the tears away and turning to search for a blanket. She pulled a throw off the back of a chair, and arranged it around him, mentally reeling from how thin he was. *Blood, he needs blood,* she told herself next, reluctantly leaving him so she could go to the kitchen and get some for him. She went straight to the fridge, and pulled out two of the bags she and Willow stubbornly kept there, not wanting to believe he was gone. Now, she was thrilled they had been so bull headed, even when Xander was telling them to give up.

She set about warming the blood, concentrating on that task, and not thinking about anything else, afraid she would melt into a weeping pile of uselessness if she did.

*Just make the blood, Buffy. Don't think of anything else,* she told herself. When the microwave dinged, she pulled out the bags and grabbed a mug out of the cabinet, then placed it all on the center island and went to work on pouring the blood into the mug. She fingered the knife when she was done, looking at the glinty steel, then down at the crimson contents of the mug. Without another thought, she raised her wrist over the top, and sliced it quickly, barely flinching at the pain. She contemplated the stream as it slid out of her, and into the mug, slowly coming to a stop as her slayer healing kicked in.

"A little dose of Slayer goodness should have him feeling better in no time," she said with a nod, turning to bandage the already healing wound, and then picking up the mug to return to the living room. The tears welled up again as soon as she saw him, huddled under the blanket on the couch, so thin and still. Taking a determined breath, she moved towards the couch, and put the mug on the coffee table, then sat carefully next to him.

"Sp. . ." she started, laying a hand on his chest. She could feel his ribs, even through the barrier of the blanket and filthy green medical scrubs he had on. Horror flashed through her, and she almost lost her hold on her tears. Fighting them back with the reminder that he wouldn't get better if she broke down, she gave him a light shake and tried again. "Spike?" There, just saying his name made it real, even though she was having a hard time reconciling the Spike of old with this creature in front of her. "Spike, come on, you have to wake up. I have blood." She picked up the mug and dipped a finger in it, then held it under his nose. He didn't stir. "Spike. Please. It's chock full of Slayer vitamins. I'd give it to you from the tap, but you have to wake up." Her voice had taken on pleading quality, a harsh laugh coming out with at the old joke. He'd never drank from her directly, but she had given him her blood before.

With a grimace, she slid the blood slicked finger between his slack lips, the parchment paper feel of them making the tears threaten once more.

"Come on, Spike. You have to wake up so you can tell me who did this to you. It's ass kicking time, and I can't do that until you're back to your old charming self," she teased, as she rubbed her finger over his tongue. A smile bloomed on her face when he started to suck on the digit, the pressure light, but THERE. "Yeah, that's it. I got a whole mug of the stuff here, waiting for you." She pulled her finger free and redipped it, quickly moving it back to his searching mouth. "Course, if you eat it this way, you'll starve." She chuckled, then flinched, at the joke, realizing that he was indeed starving. She needed to get this into him faster, but aside from slitting her wrist again, she didn't know how. Then, a memory surfaced, and she got an idea. "I'll be right back," she told him, not waiting to see if he would answer, knowing he wouldn't. She put the mug down and sped into the kitchen, searching the cabinets until she found what she was looking for.

"Aha," she said in triumph, brandishing the bendable drinking straw like a sword. She then sped back to the living room, thanking the memory of Spike in Giles' tub, chained and forced to drink from a 'Kiss the Librarian' mug, just after the Initiative had chipped him.

She sat back down next to him, and put the straw into the blood, dipping her finger in again to coat the tip, then placing it between his lips. He immediately latched on and started to drink, reflex and instinct kicking in to make him take the sustenance. She was surprised he didn't vamp out, but she didn't dwell on it. He was eating, and that was enough to calm her nerves for the moment.

As he fed, she took the time to study him, her anger at whoever did this to him burning brighter. From what she could see above the blanket, he was pretty messed up, and she was loathe to see what lurked beneath the clothes. She could see faded, silvery scars on his neck and just under his hairline. A nearly faded bruise bloomed across his throat. His nose had been broken again, recently. His hair was grown out, and he had the look of a backwards skunk. It was matted, and dirty, and she just knew he was going to pissed about it when he woke up. He was the most vain vampire she knew, and his appearance being less than precise was going to tick him off. If he woke up.

With a frown, she pulled the now empty mug away, and put it back on the table. She then turned back to him, risking a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Spike, please wake up," she entreated, running a thumb along the sharp edge of his cheek. She saw his eyelids flutter, and plastered a bright smile on her face. "Hey," she said quietly, when those eyes opened a crack. It faltered briefly when she saw how dead they looked, how faded from the normal brilliant blue. She didn't see recognition in them, and that disturbed her more than she cared for it to.

She just kept smiling at him, her thumb never breaking its soothing rhythm, even as her anger threatened to consume her again. She gave a startled jump, when the hand she hadn't even realized had snuck out from under the blanket, circled a lock of her hair around his fingers.

"Gold," he rasped, the word harsh on his under used voice.

"What?" she asked softly, her brow scrunching into a frown. What did the color of her hair have to do with anything?

"Gold," he said again, his hand falling back to the blanket and his eyes drifting closed. Tears slid from her eyes as the second word he uttered reached her, and she nodded in agreement with him.

"That's right, Spike. You're home."

Chapter 1

"The subject escaped last night." The young scientist who had been volunteered to tell the Commander of the break out shivered with the cold fury that laced the statement. The man across the huge conference table turned away from the window he had been staring out of, and faced the younger man, his eyes frigid.

"Y-y-yes sir. It happened after feeding time." The scientist, whose name was Johnson, just barely managed not to shiver in fear. This man across from him was scary, in the 'blow up your babies because I was ordered to' type of way. He had been placed in charge of this particular facility because of his past dealings with the creatures they studied. In particular, the one that had escaped. The vampire had been almost like a pet project to the commander, and he was often present at the sessions. Johnson thought it odd that he would have so much personal interest in the creature, but he guessed it was because he was the one that got away. Hostile 17.

"I take it he played possum, and let you think he had fed on the drugged blood?" The commander walked around the table and stopped in front of Johnson, towering over the man by at least a foot. Cool blue eyes met brown, and the taller man cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

"Yes sir. He managed to surprise one of his guards and subdue him. He then used him as a shield to get out of the building," Johnson explained, bracing himself for the tirade.

"The behavior modification chip didn't activate?"

"Yes sir, it did. But it didn't seem to phase him." The commander nodded his head, and rested his hip on the table.

"That would make sense," he half mumbled.

"Sir?" He looked back up at Johnson, wondering again how this man became a scientist.

"After so many years of getting shocked, a wild animal will learn how to work around, or through, the pain. That is what Hostile 17 did. That was one of the reasons he was picked back up. He needed a stronger chip put in, and a few. . . modifications. Has the homing device been activated?"

"Er, y-yes sir." Johnson blinked at the change of subject, suppressing another shiver at the way the other man said 'modifications.' "He seems to have stopped in a residential area about an hour from here. That's why we haven't sent any troops out to retrieve him. We don't want to rouse the residents of the neighborhood." He explained quickly, hoping to forestall the explosion he was sure was coming. Confusion clouded his face when the commander merely threw his head back and laughed. "S-sir?"

The commander looked over at the confused and slightly terrified man, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Don't you see? He went home. To her." He started to chuckle again, and got up to walk back to the window. "Don't worry about sending out a retrieval team. I'll go myself with four soldiers," he said, dismissing the other man without another look. Johnson stared at the rigid stance of the commander for a minute, before it sunk in that he had been allowed to leave.

"Yes sir," he muttered briefly, before turning on his heel and escaping the room, wondering just what had made Riley Finn so vindictive towards Hostile 17.

~*~*~

By the time Willow and Xander showed up, Spike had gained consciousness twice more. He obediently latched onto the straw and drained the mug Buffy held each time, his dull eyes studying her, and his fingers playing in the ends of her hair.

As he drank his Slayer blood cocktail, she tried to ask him questions, but he was either too tired or too traumatized to speak again. She was frustrated, her need to pummel whoever had hurt him palpable. She didn't want to push him, however, so she switched to gossip, telling about the demons they'd encountered since he'd been gone, how Dawn's first year at U.S.C. was going, and the goings on in Willow's and Xander's lives.

He listened intently to her, his eyes trained on her face. After he'd drained his third mug of blood, she pulled it away and set it on the floor. When she looked back up at him, she noticed he was fighting to keep his eyes opened.

"It's okay, Spike. Go to sleep," she said softly, a small smile on her lips. He shook his head slightly, and his fingers clutched for hers desperately. Buffy took his hand and laced her fingers through his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere. You're home, remember?" He gave her a slow nod, his other hand coming up to touch the softness of her hair. "That's right. Now go to sleep. You're exhausted." He gave a small nod, and finally allowed his eyes to drift closed.

Buffy waited a few minutes before slowly moving her hand, her eyes watching his face to make sure he didn't wake up. When she was done, she stroked the brittle skin of his hand, reassuring herself that he was real, before getting up. She had just pushed to her feet to take the cup into the kitchen and clean it up for the next feeding, when Xander and Willow burst through the door.

"Oh, thank Goddess," Willow gasped, her eyes immediately searching for and finding the emaciated vampire. Those same eyes filled with tears once she saw him, and she paled. Buffy could sympathize, even though he looked tons better than he had, thanks to her blood being mixed in with the human blood she was feeding him.

"Well, Junior's back," Xander said, the snark of his words belied by the relief in his face.

"Come on. Let's go into the kitchen. He just went back to sleep," Buffy said quietly, moving past them. The two friends lingered a minute longer, making sure Spike was indeed really there, before turning to follow the Slayer.

"Has he said anything?" Willow asked, as soon as they entered the room. Buffy shook her head from where she stood by the sink. Her hands were fisted on the counter, her chin dipped to her chest as she fought the barrage of emotions that hit her.

"No. Not since the first time he woke up." She turned towards them when she was sure she was in control, Slayer mode firmly in place. She'd indulge in a good cry later. Now wasn't the time.

"What did he say?" Xander asked, sliding onto one of the stools at the table. Buffy sighed, and rubbed a tired hand over her brow.

"Nothing, really. He grabbed some of my hair, said 'gold', then 'home', then passed out again." She waved a hand in the air, then dropped it like a weight to her side. She felt helpless, and she hated feeling helpless.

"So, he thinks your hair is home?" Xander was beyond confused. So many months of looking for the vampire, wondering, worrying, and now he was back. And they had no idea WHERE he had been.

Buffy shot an annoyed look at her friend, then turned to pour herself yet another cup of coffee. A glance up at the clock told her five hours had passed since she found him on the porch. Sighing again, she turned and went to join the other two at the table.

"It's not her hair," Willow exclaimed, looking like she had found the cure for cancer. "It's the color. Gold. He used it as a symbol for home." When Buffy had called her at work, relief flooded through the redhead that Spike was back. That relief had deflated when she laid eyes on him, to be replaced with a simmering anger for whoever had done this to him. Her brain was struggling for something to latch onto, anything that would help her get past the shock of seeing her strong, cocky, self-assured friend, reduced to the near skeleton on the couch.

"He doesn't recognize me," Buffy said quietly, her voice wavering a bit with the words. Xander and Willow's eyes met, surprise evident on their features. If Spike would have recognized anybody, it damn sure would have been Buffy. He'd never said the words once she had been restored to earth, but all of them knew he was still in love with the Slayer.

"A-are you sure? I mean, he recognized your hair. He came here. That must mean something."

"What? That they should make 'Homeward Bound' with vamps instead of dogs?" Buffy snapped.

"And a cat," Xander inserted, ducking his head when both women glared at him. Willow placed a comforting hand over Buffy's and gave it a light squeeze. She wasn't angry that the Slayer had snapped at her, knowing it was born out of worry, not anger.

"Look, he's exhausted and malnourished. I'm sure as soon as he's filled up and slept out, he'll be fine. He took on a Hell God, after all, and lived to tell the tale."

"Yeah, repeatedly," the brunette muttered. The girls chose to ignore him that time. Buffy just shrugged a shoulder and offered the witch a tight smile.

The three friends lapsed into silence then, not knowing what to say, all thinking about the last night they had seen the vampire.

It had been Halloween of all nights, which meant all demons and the Slayer had the night off. The Scoobies had all converged at the Summers', Spike, of course, bringing the beer.

They'd sat around and talked, while Spike cleaned Xander out of his paycheck playing poker. The girls had ignored the good natured arguing between the males, and listened to the visiting Dawn talk about her latest crush. They'd gotten pleasantly buzzed, laughing about the demon that had crashed Anya and Xander's wedding, the ONLY one that hadn't been on the guest list, apparently.

Willow had then decided to shock them all by telling them she had met someone. After Tara left, the Hellmouth being too much for the sensitive girl, they'd all watched while the redhead seemed to fold into herself. It had been a year, and even though Willow had seemed to have gotten over it, they still figured it would be a good long while before she would even consider dating again. So, it had been a surprise to say the least.

Then, she had topped herself by revealing that it just happened to be a MALE someone. The room had fallen into a heavy silence as they all tried to digest the information. Then, Spike had slapped a hand against his leg, and said something about 'Pay up, whelp. Told you she was bisexual'. Xander groused loudly about losing even MORE money to the bleached blonde vamp. That had Buffy, Willow, Dawn and Anya dissolving into a fit of alcohol induced giggles.

The brunette had shot Willow a glare, and she'd managed to stutter out an apology.

It hadn't been long after that, that the party broke up. Xander and Anya had driven Dawn back to her dorm, and Spike had headed off to his crypt, his eyes lingering over the Slayer like they always did. Willow and Buffy had gone to bed, none of them knowing that by the next night, their very strange lives were going to take a turn for the stranger.

It had been 8 months, 1 week, and 3 days ago, that Buffy had stormed into the crypt, ready for a night of slaying with her favorite partner. The only thing she had found, were the signs of a struggle, and his bloodstained duster lying on the floor by the sarcophagus. When she had finally managed to breathe again, she'd snatched the leather off the floor and taken off at a full run to the Magic Box. Anya took one look at Buffy's stricken face, and the all too familiar duster clutched in her hand, and picked up the phone.

In less than an hour, the Scoobies were assembled and the search had begun. Only to be wound up at dawn, with nothing. It had been the same every night since then.

Calls to Giles in England and Angel in L.A. had garnered nothing as well. It was like Spike had just fallen off the planet.

Buffy refused to believe that any of the dust covering the crypt was Spike. She considered herself an expert on vamp dust, and NONE of it fit the bill. She'd wigged on her absent watcher, when after five months of no leads, he'd gently suggested that she give up. No, she'd said. Spike hadn't given up on her when she'd come back from heaven, therefore, she wasn't going to give up on him. She couldn't count the number of times the blonde had saved her form slitting her wrists, or just letting some random vamp drain her. She wouldn't let him down now.

Willow and Dawn had stood by her, their hope never faltering. Anya worried and helped, but she was always more able to see the possibility that Spike was gone for good. After a thousand years of wreaking vengeance, she could tell you, with a certainty, that total disappearance did not equal good. She wisely kept her opinion to herself for once. Besides, she really didn't want to say the words out loud.

Xander had been the only one who had doubted, and verbalized that doubt. Besides Giles. He'd spent two days trying to defrost the ice that had been shot his way by the trio on Revello Drive.

And now, as inexplicably as he had disappeared, the vampire had returned.

"Have you called Dawn yet?" Willow asked, plucking aimlessly at a paper napkin.

"Not yet," Buffy answered, staring down into the cooling contents of her cup. She didn't want her sister to be upset by Spike's state. "I will. The same time I call Giles and Angel. After the shock wears off."

"Do you think. . ." Xander started, hesitating because he knew he was about to become very unpopular, but he felt that SOMEBODY should be the voice of reason. "Do you think we should leave him like that?" Buffy stared at him quizzically, clearly not getting his meaning.

"I'll get him cleaned up when he can stay awake longer than five minutes at a time," she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Buffy." Xander waited until she looked up at him again. "That's not what I meant. What if he doesn't come back to his senses?"

"Stop right there, Xander," the Slayer said, her hazel eyes turning to ice. Xander sighed and quickly apologized. He didn't like the idea any better than she did, but someone had to voice the unpleasant. Just once, he wished it would be someone else, so he could take a turn at being appalled at the suggestion.

They dropped into a tense silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

A loud crash from the living room had them bolting from the table. They skidded to a stop in the foyer, the sight of Spike writhing in the middle of the remains of the coffee table making their hearts stutter. His hands were fisted in his hair, and a silent scream twisted his face. They could see the ridges trying to form on his forehead, but he seemed to be forcing them back.

"We've got to get him off that table before he stakes himself," Buffy said, approaching the vampire cautiously.

"You want me to. . ." Willow raised her hand in the air, palm side up. Buffy gave a quick thanks to the powers that she had a witch for a best friend.

"Yeah. But not far. We don't want to freak him out more. Xander, when she lifts him, help me get the wood out from under him." Xander nodded and tensed his well honed muscles, preparing to spring and help clear away the danger. The two friends gave Spike a wide berth, and flanked him. Buffy nodded to Willow once they were ready, and the redhead began whispering, her eyes riveted to Spike.

As soon as he started to rise, Buffy and Xander hit their knees, frantically pulling the remnants of the table away, ignoring the splinters they got in their hands. The second it was cleared away, the Slayer motioned for him to be let down.

"Spike. SPIKE! Wake up." She grabbed his wrists and tried to pull them away from his hair. Giving up on that, she clasped his face, and forced him to look at her. She bit back the gasp at what she saw, concentrating on getting his eyes trained on her. Her heart broke when she saw the horror in his wide, unseeing eyes, and she forced him to focus on her. "SPIKE!"

A hand shot out of his hair and dove into hers, rubbing it roughly through his fingers.

"That's it, Spike. You're home. Nobody's going to hurt you here." She flinched a little in pain when he pulled his hand away from her gold tresses and grabbed Xander's, tears leaking from his gold flashing eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey. Easy on the 'do there, man," Xander said, keeping his voice light. He hissed when Spike snatched his hand away, his frightened gaze searching. Willow knelt beside him and clutched his grasping hand, bringing it gently to her hair. The whimper he let out nearly had their hearts shattering again. Emotion clutched their throats as he turned on his side and curled up into a ball, relief evident on his face.

Buffy curled up next to him, her fingers tracing over the lines of his face.

"Willow, could you get him some blood, please?"

"Sure." The redhead was off like a shot, tears pouring down her face.

"Xander, could you clear that wood out of here?"

"Yeah." The carpenter stood, his eyes lingering over the thin, frail form of the master vampire. He then took a deep breath and went to gather up the destroyed coffee table.

Buffy stayed on the floor, her eyes searching the now calm face of her friend. Anger began to burn anew as she allowed herself to acknowledge what she had seen when she had been talking to him. He'd vamped once, fully, the pain in his face immense. His lips had curled back with it for just a second, but it was long enough for the Slayer to see what had been done. His fangs had been removed.

Or, more to the point, broken off, and the sleeves they rested in must have been sewn shut, so that each time they tried to come out, the jagged edges would cut and tear the newly healed flesh, causing him excruciating pain. It had to have been done recently, since his vampire healing ability would have kicked in, and grown a new set.

"We'll find them, Spike," she whispered, anger and shock making her voice vibrate. "We'll find them."

~*~*~

"Angel?"

"Buffy? What's wrong?" Angel sat down at his desk, and smiled at the exiting Cordelia. He heard the shaky sigh his ex-girlfriend heaved, and knew immediately that it had to do with Spike.

"He's back," she replied, so quietly that if not for his enhanced hearing, he would have missed it. After all this time, he had been prepared to get the call that his childe was dead. He wasn't prepared for this, and his relief was crippling.

"Thank God," he gasped, a harsh chuckle following the sentiment. Who thanks God for the life of a soulless demon?

"Can you come?" Buffy asked, without further small talk.

"Buffy, I.. ."

"Please. You can bring Cordy and Connor. I don't care. Please. I think he's really going to need you." She finished in a rush, hating that she sounded like she was begging.

"I'm not so sure about that," Angel said, running a hand through his hair.

"Angel, please." Her voice was soft and pleading, her worry for the vampire thick. Angel sighed heavily, not really wanting to know how bad his childe was, if she was asking him for help. They didn't exactly go out of their way to see each other anymore. Too many bad memories.

"I'll see what I can do. Might take a couple of days," he warned, mentally ticking off the cases that HAD to be finished before he could leave, and the ones he could leave in the others' hands.

"Whenever you can. Thank you," Buffy said, then hung up.

Angel stared at the phone for a long minute, before replacing it on the cradle. He didn't look up when he heard the door open, knowing already that it was Cordelia.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly as she rounded the desk, and perched on the edge. He was silent a moment longer, not sure how to answer that question.

"He's back," he decided to say, feeling that said it all. "She thinks he's going to need me." Cordy's brows shot up in surprise at that.

"Wow. It must be bad if she said that. You and Spike aren't exactly the poster children for a happy family. More like the Hatfields and the McCoys." He chuckled at that, then sighed again. "Oh God, no, no, Mr. Broody vamp. This isn't your fault."

"I know that, Cordelia. I'm just. . ."

"Worried?" she supplied, picking up one of his hands from the desk, and holding it between her own.

"Yeah."

"Are you going?" she asked quietly her dark eyes searching his face. She already knew his answer. He nodded slowly, finally bringing his eyes up to hers.

"Want to go with me?" Cordy gave him a bright smile.

"I'll follow you anywhere in the world, Angel," she started.

"Except Sunnydale," he finished for her. He didn't blame her. It wasn't exactly his idea of a pleasure trip.

"That'd be about right." She looked at his sullen face for a second, then slid off the edge of the desk and into his lap. He immediately wrapped his arms around her to steady her. "I love you, you know?"

A smile bloomed on his face at that, and he leaned in to accept her kiss.

"I love you, too," he said, when he pulled back. "You'll hold down the fort?"

"Don't I always?" she asked, with her patented 'duh' expression. "If you need me, call."

"I always need you," he replied.

"Good. Now, are you going to take Connor?" Angel shook his head.

"No. I don't want him to see that side of me." He scrubbed a hand over his face, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"Oh, as opposed to your other vampy side?" she asked, arching a brow.

"It's one thing to see me in demon face. It another to see me deal with my childe. Rules are different."

"Angel, he's nineteen. He's dealt with having vampires for parents. Don't hide from him," she interrupted.

"No. Not this time. I'm not going to be able to deal with them at the same time," he said firmly, closing the subject. She rolled her eyes, but didn't press further. Angel had to get over this on his own. Connor knew what his father was, but he would never know who he was, until Angel stopped hiding his demon side from him.

"Alright. When are you leaving?" His brows shot up at her quick agreement, but decided not to question it. He sighed again, and gathered her closer.

"In a few days." She rested her cheek against his chest and nodded.

"That gives you just enough time to give me a proper goodbye," she said, smiling. Angel's own smile spread, and he tilted her chin up to look at her.

"Should I get started now?" he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. The heat in his eyes made her breathless.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," she managed, before his mouth claimed hers, wiping all thoughts of Spike, Buffy and Sunnydale from her mind.

Chapter 2

You could have heard a pin drop when the tall, dark man stepped into the bar, and a collective, tense silence settled over the room. All eyes riveted to him, nervously waiting for what was about to happen. He was human, and in theory should not have been feared in this place. But one look at the long, muscular form, encased in well worn jeans, black t-shirt, and long, black duster, sent a shiver down the biggest demon's spine. He carried himself in a way that brought to mind stories of the old west and gunslingers. But instead of a leather holster slung low on his narrow hips with two six shooters at the ready, he had two nine millimeters strapped to his sides, one loaded with silver bullets, the other loaded with specially made wooden ones. A crossbow could be produced from the folds of his coat in less than a second, and a long, wicked looking knife was strapped to his calf, hidden by his boot.

His hair was long and inky black, his angular face hinted at his heritage. Cold eyes, the same shade as his hair stared out from beneath long, silky lashes. A cigarette dangled unlit from his full mouth, and a day's worth of dark stubble lined his jaw. Along the edge of that jaw, on the right side, was a thin, jagged scar, a testament to the fact that he was not invincible. A long-fingered hand cupped the end of his cigarette, shielding the flame from any breeze that might blow it out.

With a snap, the lighter closed, and he took a deep drag. It was then, he started to walk, the occupants of the bar half expecting to hear the jangle of spurs as he moved. He had the grace of a predator, and he was no less dangerous than any of the night creatures surrounding him. The demons knew who he was, loathed and feared him as they did the Slayer. In fact, the only difference between him and the Slayer was a simple badge the man carried. And if you weren't on his list, he left you alone. Unless you were fucking with him personally, and that was just foolishness.

He moved in an unhurried fashion, a confident swagger to his gait. The smoke he released from his lungs swirled around his head, forming a mock halo. The tiny man behind the bar watched him approach, his eyes nervously darting around the room. It was bad enough that the Slayer liked to crash in here whenever she wanted. Now, for the last eight months, he'd had this guy. Willy was surprised he was still in business.

"Now, listen, Mr. Lynch. I don't know anything, so you're wasting your time here," Willy said, starting to turn away. He squealed when he felt vice-like fingers grip his neck, and pull him back.

"Willy, is that any way to treat a customer?" Mark Lynch asked casually, his mild tone belaying the violence singing under his skin.

"Y-you want a drink, go to the Bronze." The little man stuttered, terror sliding through him. He shivered when the man chuckled, the sound not in the least pleasant.

"Don't want a drink and you know it. Where's the Slylock?" he asked, his deep voice commanding, and telling Willy not to try to hand him any of his shit.

"Do you know how bad it is for business to snitch out the customers?" Willy protested, whine threading into his voice. Mark sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"Am I going to have to punch you?" He sounded annoyed at the prospect. He hated all this double dealing just to get a little information.

"I-I t-thought the Slayer was looking for the Slylock," the bartender tried to hedge.

"Slayer's taking the night off. I was asked to fill in. Now, where is the goddamned demon? Maybe I'll leave this dump in one piece." He was tired of playing, Willy could hear it in his voice.

"Punch me," he whispered, fear of the pain coating each word. Mark sighed again, but did so, the movement quick and sure. Willy howled in pain, and grabbed his nose, blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes.

"In the back," he gasped, stumbling when Mark released him.

"Thanks, Willy. Always a pleasure." The smile that split the dark face was pleasant, and he slapped a companionable hand on the smaller man's back.

"Fuck you," Willy said, grabbing a towel to staunch the bleeding. Mark chuckled and walked towards the back, his skin itching with the anticipation of a fight. He slowed as he neared the door, tilting his head, and listening. Voices drifted out to him, speaking in a multitude of dialects, only one or two he understood. He recognized the words 'joker' and 'wild', and grinned.

"Looks like I'm going to be liberating some kittens tonight," he said to himself, snorting. He reached out and clasped the doorknob, prepared to burst into the room. It wouldn't take long for them to realize he was there, and he wanted to get in before his target had a chance to bolt. He counted to three in his head, then swung the door open, a huge grin on his handsome face.

"Hello, boys. Miss me?" he asked, yanking out his crossbow and holding it in a deceptively relaxed position at his side. The six demons that had been playing poker were staring at him, each wondering if they had prices on their heads. "Now, everybody except," he trailed off, his eyes touching each demon, until he reached the one he was after, "you, can leave." The others didn't need more encouragement than that, and soon the scraping of chairs sliding back and the pounding of feet was all that was heard.

Only one remained, besides the Slylock. A vampire, who looked like a reject from a discoteque. He eyed Mark with bloodlust, and wondered just what the hell the others were running from.

"Excuse me, I said leave," Mark said, his voice low and menacing. The crossbow twitched in his hand, indicating he had an itchy trigger finger.

"I don't run from humans," the vampire spat, rising to his feet. Mark regarded the creature, sneering at the light blue lounge suit, white wing tips, and greasy black hair.

"You should run from me." Mark told him, a nasty smile splitting his lips. He was speaking to the vampire, but his attention never left the slimy, green demon still seated at the table. The thing's two mouths were gaping open in surprise, and its yellow, pus-colored eyes never left the man in front of him. The fine, dark hairs on his arms prickled with fear, and his scales were turning a dingy brown color.

"You're not the Slayer," the vampire growled, tensing to lunge. Mark rolled his eyes, and quicker than a blink raised his arm and released a bolt straight into the heart of the obnoxious demon. The vampire had the nerve to look at the bolt in surprise, the second before he exploded into dust.

"Vampires," Mark muttered, with a glance up at the heavens. He then brought his cold gaze back to the Slylock demon. "Now, as for you." He reached out and pulled a chair to him, turning it, then straddled it to sit down. "The Slayer wants you to move your nest. It's too close to the construction site and your wife has attacked a couple of the workers. Now, she understands it's because of the noise and she's just protecting her eggs, but the Slayer's duty is to the human population first," he explained, placing the crossbow within easy reach on the table.

"I am sssory. Mrina isss a bit tessty right now," the Slylock explained, shuffling the cards he was holding nervously in his hands.

"I know. But she can't go around breaking people's bones because they're doing their jobs. Now, one of the Slayer's friends works on that site, and deal or no deal, he gets hurt and Mrina's going to find herself in a shitload of trouble. Alright?" The Slylock nodded and started to rise. "Maybe she'd be a bit less testy if you stayed home with her, instead of hanging out and playing cards with the boys," Mark suggested, giving the demon a pointed look.

"Yesss. You are right." The corners of his two mouths lifted in what Mark guessed what a sheepish smile.

"Alright then. I can tell the Slayer you'll be moving?"

"Yesss. Right away." The demon then moved around the table, nodding its massive head in farewell. Mark chuckled and grabbed his crossbow off the table, listening to the slight squishing noise the creature made as it left.

"Offering marriage advice to the demon populace? Who knew you had so many hidden talents." The soft, lightly teasing voice caused a wide, genuine smile to spread across his mouth. He turned to face its owner, casually tucking the weapon back into its hiding place as he did so.

"Yeah, well, maybe I should start a column," he replied, walking over to the tiny redhead, his eyes running appreciatively over her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, leaning down and kissing her gently.

"Had to pick up some blood. Saw all the dumbfounded looks out there, and just knew you had to be here," Willow told him, before stepping into his arms.

"Blood? Last batch go bad?" Mark asked, pulling back to look down at her. He saw the sadness that always seemed to be in her eyes, and sighed. When he first showed up in town, almost nine months ago, searching for a vampire that owed some money to a man Nevada, he'd stumbled across this woman. He'd been at the Bronze, waiting for his prize when he saw her walk in. To Mark, it had seemed as if everything else had melted away, and there were only the two of them in the crowded bar. She'd glanced his way, and he could have sworn she felt it too. But then, she had turned away and walked to the bar, never looking back at him. He'd nursed his beer for a few minutes, gathering the courage to go talk to her, when he saw the vampire. He was currently talking to the girl who had so enraptured Mark, and that angered the brunette beyond reason. He started to push his way through the club, cursing when the pair made it outside before he could reach them.

As quickly as he could, he burst through the throngs of people and out the door, his gun resting comfortably in his hand. He turned and stalked down the alley, hoping beyond hope that he found them before she died. When he did find them, he stumbled to a stop, shock freezing him in place. The tiny little redhead was standing in the middle of the dark alley, a cloud of vampire dust billowing in the air in front of her. No weapon was in sight, save for her raised hand. She'd whirled on him when he called to her, and for the briefest of seconds, he saw that her eyes were pure black. He blinked, and when he looked back at her, they were clear green. She'd walked over to him, eyeing his gun nervously, until he put it away and introduced himself.

She'd smiled and did the same, then turned to leave. She stopped when he asked if he could see her, a slight blush staining her cheeks, and hesitancy in her eyes. Then, after a moment's consideration, she nodded, telling him to meet her there the next night.

It had been a week after that, that she had told him of their friend's disappearance. It only took her another week to admit that friend was a vampire. By then, he had told her of his profession, and offered to use his resources to help find him. That's when he met the rest of the Scoobies. And the Slayer.

Always having been a loner, it was odd for him to witness the way they worked so fluidly together. He was shocked when he met Buffy and calculated her age. He mumbled something about her being a little old, to which she smiled and told him she'd died twice. He'd managed to say she looked good for a twice dead person. She'd laughed, barely hiding her worry for the vampire in her eyes. The other Scoobies accepted him fairly well, even though he sensed it was mainly because of what he did. Which made it hard for him to understand why they were looking for a vampire, and the reason was NOT to kill him. Dawn had taken it upon herself to tell him why, and when she was done, Mark found himself impressed. This Spike was one hell of a character.

And so was his Willow. It didn't take him long to fall for her, and decide Sunnydale was as good a place as any to set up shop. He hadn't regretted a minute of it.

"No, not bad," she answered, plucking at a string on his shirt.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing should be wrong, but. . ." She stumbled to a stop, her eyes filling with tears.

"What is it, baby?" he asked, tilting her chin up so she would look at him again. She took a deep breath, and let it go.

"He's back." Mark blinked, wondering if he heard her right.

"He's back?"

"Yeah. Just showed up at Buffy's this morning. That's why she needed you to do this. She's taking care of him." The way she said it, told Mark the vampire didn't show back up unscathed.

"How bad?" he asked, running a soothing hand over her back.

"He's so thin, and he has bruises and scars all over his neck and face. We haven't seen what's been done to his body yet. And. . .his fangs." She whispered that last part, still not wanting to believe what had been done.

"What happened to his fangs?"

"They were broken off. And the flaps. . .they were sewn shut. Every time he vamps, it hurts him so bad." Tears leaked from her eyes, just as they did when Buffy told her and Xander after they had gotten him back on the couch.

Mark grimaced in sympathy, while a memory struggled in the back of his mind to come to light. Something that happened when he'd been in Brazil, about three years ago. He couldn't seem to get it to come to the forefront, but he thought it was important. He fought with it for a minute, before putting it aside to think about later.

"Did he say what happened?"

"No, he can't or won't speak. He has said a couple of words to Buffy, but nothing about what happened to him," she answered, resting her cheek against his chest. She inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the smell of tobacco, soap and sandalwood. After Tara had left, she didn't know if she would ever fall in love again. She certainly hadn't expected it, and CERTAINLY hadn't expected it to be a man. But, when Mark looked at her, it was like she was the most important person in the world, and it made her feel like she could take on anything. He was a mix of Oz and Tara, with just the right amount of Spike thrown in. He was beautiful, inside and out, and he was hers.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered into her hair, placing a gentle kiss on top. She smiled, and closed her eyes, taking a minute to be girly, before she had to go back to the house and help Buffy.

"Angel's coming," she said softly.

"That's good, right? He should be able to help Spike." Mark had met Angel once, when he and Willow had gone to LA to take some books of Giles' to Wesley.

"I hope so. I don't know. He's so out of it. Xander thinks we should stake him if he doesn't come out of it." Mark made a noncommital noise, not sure what to say to that. In his profession, he didn't make emotional attachments to those he hunted, but this was different. He understood and respected what Xander had said. Even agreed with it. But, it wasn't his decision, or his place.

"What did Buffy say? Or do I need to ask?" She giggled a bit, and he was happy he could make her laugh.

"No, you don't. She's determined to get him well so she can beat up whoever did this to him." Mark chuckled at that, liking the way the Slayer thought.

"Well, then, let's get that blood back to the house. I'm always up for a good ass kicking. And Willy's probably more than ready for me to leave." She giggled again and then sighed, stealing herself for going back.

"Okay," she said simply, pulling out of his arms and walking out of the room. He followed her, his expression a cold, hard mask, warning all in the place that he wouldn't tolerate anybody bothering the lady. It was a pointless effort, since none there wanted to mess with the witch anymore than they wanted to mess with him or the Slayer, but it made Mark feel all manly.

After Willow had bought the blood, and paid Willy, she turned and left the bar, knowing Mark would follow. She never did any public displays of affection when they were around demons, knowing Mark didn't want to lose his edge around them. And she didn't mind. He more than made up for it when they were alone, or just sitting around with their friends.

Once they were outside, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. They then turned together and walked into the night, destination, Revello Drive.

Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the Spike free chap last time *cough*Silver*cough*. But, I wanted to introduce Mark with a bang. Tee hee. Glad to see you guys still want him around. Snicker. Anyway, on with the show. Lisa

Spike's eyes snapped open with a start and wildly searched the room. Recognition was there, but couldn't be comprehended as he searched, looking for her. Pictures and words threaded around his brain, making him whimper in fear. He needed . . . home, he was home. That's what she said. Gold said he was home, he told himself frantically.

Evil, stupid vampire. She'll never love you. None of them will. Spike squeezed his eyes shut when these words looped through his head, and tried to push them away. You're nothing but a convenience for them. You're SOULLESS. No use to them. Only a matter of time before they stake you. Nobody wants you. Not your sire, not Druscilla, and certainly NOT her. *SHUT UP!* he screamed mentally, trying to draw the colors around him. The colors would block out the voice and make the pain stop. She could never love you. One day, they'll wake up and just kill you. Because you're NOTHING. Not a man, not a vamp. In fact, you're too pitiful to kill. Why waste the energy? You'll just wake up one day, and they'll all be gone. Because, they all leave you, don't they Spike? One day, you'll be alone.

Spike flinched as phantom pain accompanied these words. White hot pain that made him scream, pain that ripped through the blanket of colors and made him hear the words again.

You can't feed, can't hunt. What do you need these for? That question had been followed by the worst agony Spike had felt yet.

*Nonononononono!* his mind screamed, and he was rolling off the couch onto the floor, tucking into a ball to try to avoid the imagined blows and electric shocks. Burns, burns were the worst, because they lingered, they sang under his skin driving him half mad.

Quiet, he had to be quiet. They'd forget about him if he was quiet. Don't talk, don't scream. Cease to be, and they'll leave you alone. No, don't want to be alone. Always alone. The colors, colors. Make it stop, makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop. Gold, he needed gold. She would help him.

Spike blindly pushed up onto his hands and knees and tried to clear his mind, so he could find her. The harsh words kept buzzing in his ear, making it hard for him to concentrate. *Talk, call her, she'll come,* he told himself. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. *Shut up, they'll hear, they'll come.*

The vampire sobbed in confusion. He wanted Gold to come, but not them. But they weren't here, Gold promised. She'd said nobody would hurt him here.

With tears coursing down his thin cheeks, he started forward, fear a living thing under his skin. He crawled slowly through the living room, eyes not seeing his surroundings, ears trying desperately to find her. His sensitive nose picked up a scent, a scent he recognized. Moving a little quicker now, he entered the foyer, ignoring the pain in his knees as he went. Everything hurt if he stopped to think about it, and that wasn't an option. Had to go, had to keep moving. Had to find her. Spike grabbed the door frame to the dining room and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain again. *Ignore it, don't think about it,* he ordered himself, nearly sinking back to his knees.

He stumbled through the living room, grabbing the chairs to help him along. Everything, everything hurt. And he was dirty, could feel the dirt caking his skin, his hair. He was a filthy, ugly beast. MONSTER. He shook his head, trying to dispel the word from his brain. No, he was home, Gold said so, Gold said so.

There, voices in the kitchen. He forced himself forward and caught a glimpse of the person in the kitchen. Not Gold. It was Red. But Red was good too, Red meant home too. She was gentle and could take the pain away with a whisper. He wished she was Gold, but Red was good too.

One more staggering step, and he was in the kitchen.

"Spike. You shouldn't be up," Willow said lightly, moving to take his grasping hand. She had been making tea and putting the blood away, when she'd turned to seen him standing in the doorway. He looked so skinny and lost, so vulnerable. She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes, and took his hand, bringing it to her hair. It was then that he noticed the other person in the room.

Spike's wild eyes landed on Mark, and terror slammed into him. Somebody he didn't know, he would take him back, back to the bad place. Spike stumbled back, unwittingly pulling some of Willow's hair, and landed hard on his butt. Mark didn't move, realizing the vampire was afraid of him.

"Spike, it's alright. This is Mark." Willow tried to soothe, crouching down to his level and talking softly. Spike just started to scramble backwards, away from the stranger. He didn't stop until his back hit a chair. He whimpered when he realized he was trapped, and crossed his arms over his face, trying to protect himself. "Mark. Go outside and get Buffy," Willow told him, keeping her voice even. She crawled slowly to Spike, half listening to Mark get up and head out the back door to get the Slayer. Buffy was outside talking to her sister, trying to prepare the girl for what Spike had turned into.

"Spike, it's okay. It's Willow. See?" She gently pried one of his hands away from his face and brought it up to her hair again. He looked around blindly, searching for the danger. "He's not here to hurt you," she told him, reaching out to take his other hand. "Remember the night you . . . left? When I said I'd met someone? Well, that's the someone. His name is Mark Lynch. He's a lot like us." She didn't think saying the words 'demon hunter' was a good idea right now. She also didn't like reminding him of that night, but she hoped reminding him of the party would spark something inside. Something happy.

Spike's eyes shot to the door when he heard it open, relief so evident on his face that it nearly broke Willow's heart all over again. He pulled his hands away from Willow and scurried across the floor to the outstretched arms of the Slayer. Gold. Her.

"It's alright Spike. You're alright," Buffy whispered, letting him half fall into her lap. She pulled him into her arms and held on while silent sobs wracked his body. His fingers clutched desperately at the cotton of her tank top, his face buried in her stomach. Her scent, so achingly familiar, filled his nose and he started to calm. She kept whispering softly to him, barely looking up when the door opened again. She knew it would be Dawn and Xander. Mark had decided to stay outside until they calmed the vampire down.

She glanced up at the pair as they walked around her, her sister's face stricken. She offered her a tight smile, then looked back down at Spike.

"Spike, Dawnie's here." She motioned for the girl to come closer, hoping she wouldn't make it worse. But Spike had seemed comforted by the three adults, or their hair more to the point. There was no reason for her to think he wouldn't associate Dawn with home as well. The young woman didn't need to be asked twice, and she lowered herself next to them.

"Spike? It's Dawn," she said, hating the tremor in her voice. Buffy pried one of Spike's hands away from her shirt and brought it to the girl's hair, helping him rub his fingers over it. He turned his head and peered at her with wide, blue eyes. His hand fisted around the lock of hair he held, the fourth color. His fractured mind recognized it, and it finally hit him, he was home. All the colors were here. They were here, and they'd keep him safe.

Mark silently let himself back in, his eyes falling on the group just inside the dining room. Spike was draped across Buffy, his hand buried in Dawn's hair. Willow and Xander flanked them, each touching him in some way, forming a shield around the vampire. He recognized they were trying to save him from the horrors in his mind, trying to make up for not protecting him eight months ago. The guilt and anguish was evident on all their faces, their eyes filled with sorrow at the sight of their broken friend.

With a sigh, Mark let himself back out, finding that the cigarette he'd just had wasn't enough.

~*~*~

"Are you okay, now?" Buffy asked, tucking the blanket back around Spike's shoulders. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, as if trying to decipher her words. She smiled when he finally nodded, smoothing a hand over his hair. She blinked in surprise when he jerked away from her touch. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said, confused. He shook his head, and fought to get a hand out from under the blanket. Once he did, he opened his hand, palm up. She looked at it, trying to see past the cross shaped scar in the middle. "What is it? The scar?" He shook his head again, and stressed his hand again. "Sorry, Spike. The only other thing I see is dirt. Oh, the dirt. You want to take a bath?" He nodded, blinking back the tears that filled his eyes. "Okay. Try to sleep some more, then Xander will help you get cleaned up, okay?" He looked a little hesitant at first, but then nodded. "Good. Get some rest," she urged, returning her hand to his hair and stroking lightly, ignoring him when he tried to avoid her touch.

"Spike, I walk around in graveyards at midnight. A little dirt doesn't bother me," she said, her voice teasing. He settled down after that, and let his eyes close. She waited a minute before getting up and going into the kitchen to join the others. She suppressed a sigh when she saw Dawn, sitting at the table, her face in her hands and sobbing. Willow had her arm around the girl, trying to calm her. Mark and Xander were sitting on either side of her, looking at a loss.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize he'd freak if he saw me," Mark said to her as she crossed to the coffee pot. She'd drank enough coffee today to float a ship, and now she was drinking more.

"It's alright. We didn't expect him to move off the couch. He seems to be understanding better now. Can answer simple questions. I don't want to push him about where he was until Angel gets here," she told them, talking around her sister's tears. It wasn't that she didn't care about Dawn being upset, she just couldn't stop, or else she'd be sitting right alongside her, hysterically sobbing herself. "Xander, when he wakes up again, can you help him get in the bath?" she asked, turning to face them. The brunette nodded, his eyes trained on the table.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Dawn asked, bringing her tear reddened eyes to her sister.

"I hope so. This is Spike. It takes a lot to take him down," Buffy said, hoping her voice sounded more positive than she felt. She gripped her mug and stared into the dark contents, grimacing before taking a sip.

"Do you think maybe we should talk to him? Remind him of things that have happened. Good things, so that, maybe he'll remember us. O-other than our hair. Like, I could tell him how he took me to the prom, and made me the envy of the Senior class." Dawn brightened at that idea, and looked at Buffy for permission. The blonde smiled and nodded.

"I don't think it could hurt. Nothing bad. No reminders of Glory, or where he's been. And definitely no reminders of me jumping off that tower," she finished with a shudder. Spike considered her having to jump his biggest failure, and she didn't think it was something he needed to hear, yet. Hopefully, his memories would return on their own, soon. Hopefully.

"Do you mind if I go sit with him?" the younger Summers asked, hope glimmering in her azure eyes.

"No, go ahead. Let us know when he wakes up again. He's kinda freaked out with how dirty he is."

"You know, for a guy that lives in a crypt, that's kinda funny," Xander said with a snort. Buffy rolled her eyes, but really couldn't argue.

"Thanks," Dawn said, wiping away her tears with her hands and getting up to leave.

"What do we do?" Willow asked, walking over to Mark and leaning into the arm he held out.

"I don't know. I'll call Giles, see if he has any ideas, then I guess we wait for Angel. He should be here in a couple of days," she said. They'd already been through the books they had at her house, and had even called Anya to see if she knew anything about vampires and their reactions to torture. Nothing. They all knew how to kill a vampire, but there didn't seem to be anything to tell them how to heal one.

"Do," Willow started, her eyes worried. "Do you think we should try to find Druscilla?"

"No!" Buffy answered, not believing Willow would suggest such a thing. "Don't you remember what happened the last time she showed up? He was inside a bottle for a month." Druscilla had breezed back through Sunnydale about a year before, causing trouble and trying to become the new master of Sunnydale. She'd kidnapped Dawn in an attempt to get Spike to join her again. He'd gone, making them all think he had turned back to his old ways. When Buffy had stormed into the vampiress' lair, she'd resolved herself to staking him if she had to, but was relieved to see that it had all been a ruse. She found him, next to a terrified Dawn, lying in a pool of blood. After they had gotten him home and bandaged, she'd tried to find out what happened from him. He'd told her, none too nicely, to get out. Then, he'd cracked open a bottle of JD and stayed there. Dawn told her later that Druscilla had a done a good job of messing with his head, making him believe he had killed Dawn and Buffy, even Joyce. Didn't matter that their mother had been gone for the better part of three years by then. She'd made him believe it, not realizing her antics were going to turn him against her, instead of bringing him back. Even then, he couldn't kill her. The stake he had lunged at her with wound up imbedded in the middle of her chest, nowhere near her heart. He'd told her to get out of Sunnydale, and to never come back, or he WOULD kill her.

Then, with Dawn screaming at him that she was alright, he'd turned a stake on himself, convinced he had killed three of the people that had mattered most to him. Luckily, she had reached him in time, and instead of his heart, the point jammed into his shoulder.

"I j-just thought she might be able to help. With her being all psychic and all." Buffy shook her head again.

"No," she said with finality, not even wanting to consider dealing with Druscilla. "She'd only make him worse. Angel's better. He's Spike's sire." That seemed to put an end to it. Willow nodded, and didn't say anything else about it.

"So, we wait. What if whatever had him tries to find him?" Xander asked. Buffy looked at each of her friends, her hazel eyes hot with anger.

"We don't let them," she answered simply, turning and putting her cup in the sink, then striding out of the kitchen, leaving the others to figure out just how they were supposed to that, when they didn't even know WHAT they were fighting.

~*~*~

With a tired sigh, Riley Finn let himself into his apartment, giving himself fifteen minutes to get what he needed together. As he moved around the barren living space, he found himself falling into memories of when he was younger and weaker. He'd been blinded by love. Love for a woman who hadn't been worthy of it. She'd been tainted before he met her, and he figured it was his youth and inexperience that didn't allow him to see it. She was the Slayer, a warrior of light, who seemed to have a soft spot for the things she was supposed to be slaying. Well, two in particular. And they just happened to be Sire and Childe. And the banes of his existence.

He'd given up everything for her. His career, his life. Everything. And she'd tossed it all back at him like so much garbage. All because of Hostile 17. If he hadn't brought her to that house, she never would have known.

No, no regrets. Because if she had never found out, he would probably have stayed in Sunnydale, instead of going to Brazil and remembering who he was. What he was. He was a soldier, a soldier in the fight against evil. She may have forgotten that once evil, always evil. But he hadn't. He never would.

He'd spent two years in Brazil, fighting demons, exterminating them like the vermin they were, when the orders came through for him to be transferred. He'd resisted at first. He didn't care about the promotion, the increase in the pay, or the fact that he would get to go back to California. He wanted to stay in Brazil, or go somewhere else and continue what he had been doing. But, his choice soon became to take the transfer, or be released from duty. That wouldn't do. So, he'd taken it and became the new Commander at the Initiative-like facility.

He really hadn't been interested in the scientific study of demons. He'd already been through that with Maggie Walsh. And her failure had been a part of why he had lost everything. He was interested in their termination, not putting in little devices that kept from causing harm. They were an abomination, and they had to be destroyed.

Riley had followed the stuttering head scientist around, bored out of his mind, and not really paying attention. Until they went into the detention area. That's where he found the one that had been instrumental in his downfall. Hostile 17. William the Bloody. Spike. He had been there three months, and was still as brash and smart mouthed as ever. He'd taken one look at Riley, and started mouthing off, about Buffy, about Sunnydale. About how he had been there to help her fight off a Hell God, while Finn was out in the wilds of Brazil, running like a pup with his tail between his legs. How the Slayer and her crowd called him friend. And boy would Goldilocks be pissed when she found out White Bread was behind this.

It had been Riley's pleasure to take on this case personally.

Spike had been a challenge from the start. Strong and resilient, smart and not easily intimidated, even with the chip in his head. He was one of the more clever demons the scientists had come across, and they didn't really know how to deal with him. Riley did. Breaking him would be his best accomplishment. And most rewarding.

The fact that the vampire had managed to escape didn't surprise the soldier in the least. In fact, he had been expecting it. It had happened once, and Spike was a survivor. Of course, it was stupid of him to head straight back to Sunnydale. But, he was half out of his mind when he fled.

"Well, just going to have to go get him," Riley said to himself, zipping up his duffle bag, then slinging it over his shoulder. "And if Buffy gets in my way, well . . . that just wouldn't be very beneficial for her." He gave one last glance around the apartment, before shutting the door, his chuckle echoing behind him.