Willow’s mouth twisted into a seductive grin as she brought her hands up to caress Spike’s wrists.  His grip on her hair didn’t loosen, but his outright aggression withered, replaced by aroused wariness.  “Don’t try to play with me, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deadly.

“Oh, no?” she cooed.  “Well, then why don’t you play with me?”

There was no mistaking her intention.  He knew she was attempting to manipulate the situation to her best advantage.  She apparently thought being his lover would be to her advantage.  Maybe it would.  Assessing her body like a piece of meat, Spike’s lips curled back into a snarling smile.  She was one beautiful bitch.  Emphasis on bitch.  Regardless of how attractive she was, under normal circumstances Spike wouldn’t have given her a passing glance.  She was too callous, too politically motivated, too unpredictable - in short, too much like Darla.

But these were not normal circumstances.  Spike hadn’t had a decent shag with a vampire of his own calibur in years - not since Dru was grievously wounded by that mob in Prague.  While William the Bloody was often summoned to Darla’s bed, there was no pleasure to be found for him.  That thought made him growl uncontrollably.  The bitch was a goddamn whore in life and she couldn’t even be bothered to try and make it good for him.  No.  More than that.  His GrandSire went out of her way to make sure it wasn’t good for him.

He released Willow, stepping back a few paces to look at her lean body.  She smiled again and before his very eyes, her expression morphed from sadistic amusement to coy.  She looked like a life size china doll, complete with porcelain skin – that is, if you ignored all the bondage attire.  She knew her assets well, knew how to become whatever was necessary for the situation.  Just like Darla.

But where Darla was forced into playing damsel in distress to appear weak, Willow could hide behind a childish veneer.  Without the ever present bored and deadly affectations, Willow resembled what she had been when Nest plucked her - young and unspoiled, just on the verge of womanhood.  In life, Willow wasn't the hardened whore that Darla had been.  She was a child.  Spike laughed to himself.  Willow excelled at the one ruse Darla could never master - innocence.  Darla was an accomplished actress and seductress.  She could don any number of guises easily, but purity was not numbered among them.

Spike knew instinctively that Darla would hate her sibling with unmatched passion.  The thought of Darla's rage and jealousy excited him.  Hauling Willow roughly against his chest, Spike’s tongue plunged between her still smooth teeth.  He smiled against her skin.  Smart one, playing meek, making sure she wasn’t in demonic form.  Willow knew the rules of this game very well, though he doubted she had spent much time on the subservient end of things.

Twining his fingers through her hair once again, Spike used the hold to shove Willow to her knees.  A leering smile told her exactly what he expected her to do in that position.  Keeping her eyes downcast, Willow obediently reached to unbuckle his black leather belt.  A shiver of anticipation tingled through Spike.  How often had he longed to do this very thing to Darla?  Now he was getting the closest thing he could to it, her female sibling, a creature created by the same Sire to serve the same purposes.  How convenient.

*****

Angel woke to find himself draped over Buffy’s tiny back.  She was awake, but unmoving.  He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.  The previous evening had been uncomfortable at best.   After taking her to the bedroom and crawling in bed, they had both stayed on their respective sides, not speaking.  Fortunately, they had both been so tired that they had fallen asleep almost instantly.

Apparently sometime during the night they had shifted around.   Not that Angel didn’t like where he was, but he hadn’t intended to invade Buffy’s personal space.  He merely woke up curled protectively around her body.  “It’s almost sunset,” she said quietly.  And it was.  They slept through most of the night and all of the afternoon, a testament to how exhausted they were.

Deciding against conversation – because it usually seemed to get him in trouble, Angel took a deep breath.  Buffy was either going to accept him or she wasn’t, but he wanted her.  He was completely willing to play dirty to keep her if he had to.

Slowly, he parted his lips, wetting them with the tip of his tongue.  His entire body tightened in anticipation.  Gently, he kissed the nape of her neck.  He felt Buffy tense under the gentle pressure, but not one to be dissuaded, he continued his tender assault until she began to melt, pressing back against him.  Rolling her over to face him, Angel said seriously, “I missed you.”

Silencing him with a deep kiss, Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until their bodies were in full contact from head to toe.  She hadn’t intended for this to happen.  She wanted to keep him at a distance until she sorted everything out for herself.  Be that as it may, he was so obviously miserable, she felt guilty ignoring him any longer.  Well, that and she couldn’t have kept her hands off of him if she tried.

Angel wanted to sing for joy when Buffy kissed him.  He was so terrified that he was going to lose her and by all rights he would have felt he deserved the punishment.  Buffy should have banished him from her life.  Nothing could ever make up for all of the horrible things he’d done in his past, nothing.  But for some reason Buffy was still here.  She was undeniably upset, yes, but she was still kissing him passionately.

*****

“That’s it,” Oz said, placing the last of the ingredients on the small stone table.

“Well, ah, yes.  Let’s begin things,” Giles replied, picking up the ancient spell book and stepping into the large chalk pentagram that had been created on the dirt floor.

Angel looked at Buffy.  All of her attention was riveted on Larry who was bound to a chair several feet in front of Giles.  He was thrashing about wildly, trying vainly to free himself.  Knowing that from here on out, Giles was on his own, Angel walked up behind Buffy, wrapping her in his arms.  The distracted Slayer leaned back against him without hesitation, allowing the comforting embrace.  Inwardly, Angel sighed in relief.  Their earlier kisses had been wonderful, but there was still a lot of issues.

Standing behind the Watcher, Oz began mixing noxious herbs into a marble mortar.  Just as Giles ceased his Latin chanting, there was a small burst of light.  When the smoke cleared, Larry looked around, obviously dazed.  Everyone held their breathes in anticipation.  Staring down at his bound form, Larry asked, “Somebody want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Larry?” Oz asked excitedly, or for what passed for excited with the stoic werewolf.

“Yes,” Larry said slowly, like Oz had gone completely mental.

There was an audible “ooofff” as Buffy broke free of Angel’s embrace and threw herself at the bound man with enough force to knock both him and the chair backwards onto the ground.  Larry looked around wildly, afraid the Slayer had finally cracked up.

*****

“So you don’t remember anything?” Giles said, mildly disappointed, as he handed Larry a mug of tea.

“No,” Larry answered seriously.  “Last thing I remember is heading out to run a few errands before Cordelia’s party.”

“What about Willow?” Angel asked, speaking up for the first time since they arrived at Giles’ apartment.  “Do you remember her?”

“Who?” Larry asked, confused.  He turned to take a proffered blanket from Oz, proceeding to wrap it around his shoulders.

“The vampire that took you,” Giles elaborated, “the former Willow Rosenberg.”

Larry seemed to be searching his jumbled memory.  “No,” he said dejectedly.  “I mean, I remember who Willow Rosenberg was, but I don’t remember her taking me.”

“The important thing is you’re safe now,” Buffy said quietly.  “That’s all that matters.”

*****

“I suppose you want to talk now,” Buffy said, shooting a cautious glance at Angel who was walking at her side.  He nodded slowly, meeting her gaze.  The two finished walking Larry home and were now headed out to patrol cemeteries.  “What do you want to talk about?” she asked in a deceptively casual tone.

“About my past and your feelings about it,” he answered evenly.

She nodded.  He wasn’t going to beat around the bush on this.  She took a deep breath.  This wasn’t exactly a conversation she was dying to have.  “Darla and Drusilla,” she said calmly.

“What about them?” he asked, trying not to be defensive.

“You were with both of them for a long time,” she said quietly.

The uncertain tone of her voice made him want to grab her and shake her.  How could she not realize the inherent blasphemy in her being threatened by those demons.  “Darla is my Sire,” he said bluntly.  “I was with her from the time I was turned in 1753 until I received my soul a little more than a century ago.  You already read all about Drusilla.  She was with us for about forty years.”

Turning to look at him as they walked, Buffy said, “I saw pictures of them.”  Angel grunted noncommittally.  “They are very beautiful.”

Angel stared at her, shaking his head a bit.  “They are monsters, Buffy.”

She nodded in agreement.  “Beautiful monsters that you were with for more than a century, that probably knew you better than I ever will.”

Angel stopped walking, sighing audibly as he closed his eyes.  Buffy stopped as well, turning to face him.  Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her.  "Buffy, I had no soul.  I was a demon.  They were demons.  What we had was sick and perverse and I don’t miss it.  The memories I have of the things we did ...  They make me ill.  How can you feel threatened by those disgusting creatures?”

Much to her own shame, she felt tears well up in her eyes.  Thankfully, they didn’t stream down her cheeks.  “Angel,” she said calmly, “my last Watcher was a lot different than Giles.”

He stared at her blankly, confused by her rapid subject change.  “And?” he prompted.

“Part of my training was reading the journals of Watchers whose Slayers fell in battle.”  Angel nodded slowly.  He was shocked and rather horrified that Crossgate would have done such a morbid thing, but he still didn’t know what that had to do with their current situation.  “They tend to make an impression, ya know,” she said quietly.  “Reading about your colleagues dying ... I can’t do algebra to save my life, but I could tell you in excruciating detail about two dozen former Slayers and their deaths.”

“Buffy, I don’t understand,” Angel said desperately

“There was a Slayer in China at the turn of the century.  Her name was Ming Huang.  She died during the Boxer Rebellion,” she said, looking at Angel intently.  Angel swallowed visibly, unsettled by where the conversation was heading.  “She was killed by a vampire known as William the Bloody,” she continued.  “He wasn’t an ordinary vamp.  He came from a line with a lot of power.  He wasn’t alone either.  He was there with his mate, Drusilla, their Sire, Angelus, and his Sire, Darla.”

“Buffy ...” he started, but found he didn’t know what to say.

Blinking back tears, Buffy started pacing.  “Giles doesn’t know about it,” she said in a near whisper.  “He hasn’t read that particular journal.  I didn’t connect you with that story until after I found the other references to Darla and Drusilla.”

“I was ... Darla was ... “ he trailed off, frantically searching for an explanation.

Ceasing her pacing, Buffy looked straight into his eyes.  “You were with her, your beautiful disgusting monster.  You were with her when you had a soul,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

She jumped, startled, as he roared in frustration.  She watched as he paced between her and a parked car, thirty feet away.  He stopped, placing both of his hands on top of the car and taking several deep breaths.  More composed, he returned to stand before her.  “Seven days,” he bit out.  “I was with her for seven days after I got my soul back.”

Buffy looked at him startled.  She hadn’t been expecting his explanation.  Grabbing her hand, he led her over to a stone bench and sat down, pulling her with him.  Still holding on to her hand, he turned to face her.  “I was so lost, Buffy.  Nothing made sense to me.  I had all of these demonic memories.  I was ... am still undead.  Soul or no soul, I still have to feed on blood to survive ... But I couldn’t kill, can’t kill – at least not innocents.  Part of me wanted to return to her, wanted her to take me in and make me forget.  I wanted to be finished with the pain and the guilt that my soul brought.”

“And she took you in?” Buffy asked through dry lips.

“I wandered for two years after I was cursed, roaming the European continent aimlessly.  I lived off of rats and other vermin, avoiding all contact, human and vampire.  I didn’t know what I was, there was so much pain and confusion,” he admitted quietly, not meeting her gaze.  “I tracked Darla to China, during the revolution.  I wanted her to do anything to end my hurting, kill me, take me in, anything.  She didn’t kill me.”

“You two were ... lovers again?” Buffy asked meekly.

Angel shot her a wry look.  “Not really.”  At her confused expression, Angel explained, “I was sick, Buffy, or at least as close to sick as something that doesn’t live can be.  I did what I could to bring her pleasure, to repay her for taking me in.  She cleaned me, gave me clothes, fresh blood, a place to sleep.  We weren’t lovers, not in the sense you mean.  She was asserting her dominance over me, I played submissive for a while.”

Slightly mollified, Buffy asked, “What happened?”

“Darla found out I wasn’t killing indiscriminately," he said.  "She knew I was feeding only on criminals.  The real breaking point was when I helped a missionary family escape her.”

“What did she do?” Buffy asked, studying his pained expression.

“She went back for them,” he whispered, as if he were reliving the moment.  “She killed them.  All except for the baby.”

A look of horror crossed Buffy’s face.  “What did she do with the baby?”

“She brought it home ... for me," he said, his voice thick with disgust.  "She wanted me to feed from it to prove to her that I was the demon she remembered.”

Unsure she wanted the answer, Buffy asked, “Did you?”

“No,” he stated plainly.  “I wanted so badly to feel at home with her again ... but I couldn’t.   I knew it wasn’t right.  I took the child and ran.  I haven’t seen her since.  I thought she was dead.  I thought this was finished.”

Buffy almost winced at the despair in his tone.  Despite the fact that Darla was undeniably beautiful and that they were together for a century and a half, it seemed that Angel felt no warmth towards his Sire.  Had she overreacted?  Buffy didn’t think she had, but now in light of his confession, the specters of Darla and Drusilla didn’t seem as overwhelming.  Buffy leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips.  “I’m glad you’re not lost anymore,” she whispered against his mouth.

He kissed her passionately and then pulled back to look at her.  “I’m not lost because I found you, Buffy.  You make me want to be a man, be good, make a difference.  I do it all because of you.”

*****

It was near sunrise when Spike made his way back to the lair, an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Sunnydale.  Darla was waiting for him when he arrived, staring with a bemused smile as Drusilla writhed on the floor in agony.  “What’s wrong with her?” Spike bellowed, rushing to his love’s side, cradling her in his arms.

Darla didn’t answer, she merely smirked and took a large drink from a goblet of blood.

“Bitch!” Spike snapped.

His tantrum was cut short by Darla’s foot, as it connected solidly with his chin.  Yelping, Spike recoiled, blood running from his split lip.  As he leaned forward, pressing his wounded face into the front of Drusilla’s dress, Darla came around to stand behind him.  She crouched down, digging her nails deeply into the skin at the nape of his neck, wrenching his head back at an awkward angle.  “Do not speak to me in that tone, William,” she said in a deadly voice.

Fighting against the overwhelming urge to yelp in pain, Spike managed to choke out, “What is wrong with her?”

Releasing him abruptly, Darla stood once again, walking over to a large chair and seating herself.  ”I don’t know,” she said carelessly.   “She’s been doing it for hours, probably a vision or something.”

“You didn’t hurt her?”

“No William,” Darla said in a mocking tone, “I didn’t hurt your beloved ducks. What the hell would be the point in that?  Then I’d just have to listen to her whine.”

Spike was breathing hard, glaring at his grandSire with barely repressed fury.  He swallowed his pride.  He might survive Darla's rage, but Drusilla would not.  “May I take her to bed?” he asked, understanding that right now being as supplicant as possible would be the best course of action.

“Oh William,” Darla cooed sarcastically, “all worried about Drusilla.  You weren’t worried about her when you were out fucking your little bitch.  Who was she?”

Spike silently cursed himself.  He should have showered before returning home.  “Willow,” he replied obediently.  “She runs what’s left of Nest’s crew.”

“Really?” Darla purred.  “I have a little sister.  Tell me, William, did you hurt her?”

Through clenched teeth, Spike managed to say, “A little.”

Darla laughed, a full throaty sound of genuine glee.  “Good boy,” she said, her eyes glittering with sadistic mirth.  “You may take Drusilla and put her in bed ... and then you may come to me.”

“As you wish,” Spike said, careful to keep his voice devoid of emotion.

*****

After a very thorough patrol, Buffy and Angel headed back to the mansion, barely beating the rising sun.  It was late and they were both tired, but there was still some unfinished business.  Sitting on the couch, Angel pulled Buffy down next to him.

“What’s it like?” Buffy asked, looking up at Angel.

“What?” he asked, pulling her more closely against his chest.

“Having a soul," she elaborated.

He smiled at her lovingly and said, “Buffy, you know exactly what it’s like to have a soul.”

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder.  “You know what I mean.  What’s it like compared to not having one?”

He sighed, his brow furrowing as he gave the question serious consideration.  “It’s complicated,” he said seriously.  “Being a demon is easy.  There’s no conscience, no morality, nothing to get in the way.  It’s just base desires; hunger, lust, greed, domination.”

Her brow furrowed.  “But having a soul makes you good?”

He laughed lightly.  “I wish that were true,” he said ruefully.  “There are a lot of bad people with souls.  Having one means that you have the opportunity to be good.  It has to be a conscious decision.  It’s a lot easier to do the wrong thing than the right.”

“Then why do you do it?” she asked, aware that she was partly playing devil’s advocate.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “Chicks dig it,” he said smugly.

The comment quickly garnered him another smack on the shoulder.  “I’m being serious,” Buffy chided him.

His expression changed from playful to serious, and he pulled her fully into his lap, facing her.  “Seriously,” he said quietly, “I do it because of you.  I’ve lived for a long time as an ensouled vampire and as one I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.  I wasn’t evil necessarily, but I definitely wasn’t doing anything to further the cause of good.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy said, her brow furrowing.  “You were trying to save humans in Sunnydale, right?  That’s why the Master and Willow had you locked up.  You were good before you met me.”

He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t be upset by his stalker like behavior.  “Before I met you, yes, but not before I knew who you were.”

She narrowed her gaze at him.   “Cryptic much?”

“I saw you in Los Angeles," he admitted.  "The night you were called I was there.”  She didn’t respond, looking at him quizzically.  He shrugged self-consciously.  “A demon – a good demon – named Whistler approached me several years ago.  It was definitely one of my darkest periods.  I was living as a vagrant in New York at the time.  He told me that I needed to decide if I wanted to be someone.  He said there was a girl and she would need help.  He told me I could be the one to help her if I became a person.”

“It was me, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said, meeting her gaze.  “Whistler took me to L.A.  He showed you to me,” he laughed quietly.  “You were standing on the steps of your high school, sucking on a red lollipop, talking about some boy named Tyler.”

She gasped, clearly remembering the day he was talking about.  “You were there?”

He nodded.  “I saw you.  I wanted to help you.”  He leaned forward, burrowing his head into the space where her neck met her shoulder.  He breathed in her scent for several long moments before continuing, “I loved you.”

Instinctively, Buffy wound her arms around his check, holding him to her, saying his name quietly.  After sitting there for several minutes, a thought hit her.  “Angel, why were you in Sunnydale?”

He pulled back, looking at her, his eyes slightly red rimmed.  “You were supposed to be here,” he said evenly.  “I came here and I waited, I did what little good I could, but you never showed up.”

“I was in Cleveland,” she said lamely.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.  “You’re here now.”

*****

Spike made his way back to the room he shared with Drusilla.  He was angry, unsatisfied and slightly wounded.  Darla had never been much into S&M games, not the way Angelus had, but on occasion she dabbled.  He tenderly felt the lash marks on his back.  For a dabbler, she was pretty a fairly adept Mistress.  As he entered the room, he was relieved to see his princess sleeping.  He crawled into bed next to her, pulling her against his exhausted body.

“You smell like her,” Drusilla spat unexpectedly, startling Spike.

“Of course I do, Pet.  I just came from her room,” Spike answered patiently.

“Not grandmummy,” Drusilla clarified, “her nasty little red headed witch of a sister.”

“You know about that?” Spike asked warily.

“The stars told me,” she said dreamily.  “And you smell like the bitch,” she hissed, soundly startling lucid.

[End Chapter]

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