As Spike saw it, there were both advantages and disadvantages to living in a crypt. The main advantage being that he was front and center for the slaying; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a rising fledgling when he first came out every night. On the other hand, one of the disadvantages was the blatant lack of parking spaces. And that was why, cigarette hanging from his lips and determined stride in his step, he was on his way to the Crawford Street mansion.

He hadn’t needed the car since the previous summer and the trip to the beach he had made with Buffy. For a while, he distracted himself with the memory. They had had a lovely time, picnicking under the almost full moon before a bit of ‘I dare you’ skinny-dipping. Normal things that, he supposed, normal people did. They were like a normal couple sometimes, or so he wanted to believe. They argued like most couples did. They made up. They laughed. They talked. They worked together. They watched movies and drank the sinful hot chocolate Joyce made. Normal, if you overlooked the fact that one of them had a Destiny with a capital D, and the other lacked a pulse.

Sometimes though, normal didn’t even begin to cover what they had. In a normal relationship, there was no need to debate killing an ex-girlfriend when she resurfaced. There was no need, either, to wonder if an ex-boyfriend had suddenly lost his soul and was about to pillage and rampage, and in general make more of a nuisance of his brooding self than he usually did. And that was exactly why Spike went to the mansion, retrieved the DeSoto in the garage, and sped off toward Los Angeles. He wasn’t worried about Dru anymore. But he was, more than ever, about Angel, as he had explained to Buffy a little while earlier.

“Dru, sun’s down, time to leave. And remember, no coming back this time.”

His voice sounded calmer than he felt inside, and Spike had no clue how he had managed that. He just knew it was necessary, both to let Drusilla understand that he wasn’t joking and had meant everything he had said earlier, and to impress on Buffy that he knew what he was doing. In truth, he had no doubt about his actions. He would have killed Drusilla if it had been necessary, but it wasn’t, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. But he doubted Buffy would see it quite that way. Even now, with his arms wrapped around her waist and Drusilla walking around them and toward the door, she was tense, ready to spring in action, and he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t. He struggled not to tighten his hold on her. If only Drusilla would hurry out…

“Poor Spike. So lost. Even I can’t help you now.”

There was a true sadness in Dru’s words, and Spike wondered if she was sad that he had refused to go with her, or sad that he had refused because of the Slayer. She finally left the crypt with a last glance at him, and he held her gaze, saying a silent goodbye, until she turned away again. They might meet again, some day.

“I hope you never have to regret this, Spike,” Buffy murmured.

“So do I, luv. But she won’t be back. I told her I’d dust her if she did.”

She sighed, and Spike knew she wasn’t convinced, far from it; yet, she had allowed Dru to leave. He hesitated, but in the end he couldn’t help himself and needed to know why she wasn’t fighting his decision.

“Maybe you shouldn’t question me so much,” she replied, sounding very serious despite the hint of a smile on her lips. “I might change my mind if you do.”

Spike’s arms tightened around her, just a little, as if he could stop her if she did decide to change her mind; she let out a quiet laugh, soon muffled against his chest.

“I’m tired of arguing with you,” she murmured after an instant. “I just don’t want to argue about her, too. There’s so much going on… it looks like every other day something new is coming up. No need to let our exes mess things up even more.”

She paused for a brief instant, then added, sounding almost resigned: “I know I’ll regret it later. I let her walk free, and she’s going to kill, and it’ll be my fault when she does…”

“Luv, please…”

“And I’ll face the guilt when I have to,” she continued, ignoring his interruption. Spike didn’t know how to reply. She couldn’t save everyone from vampires. By the sheer numbers alone, she’d never be able to. Some day, she would need to understand that, before it destroyed her. In the meantime, there was something else that needed dealing with.

“You said we can’t let our exes mess thing up,” he repeated quietly as he tilted her face up to him with a finger under her chin. “I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I need to go to LA.”

Her frown made it all to clear that she understood where this was going. “Angel?” she breathed.

Spike nodded. “From what Drusilla said… I’m not sure whether it’s Angel or Angelus. Looks like Red’s spell might not have been foolproof after all. And the last thing we need on top of Glory and your friends the knights is Angelus coming back to town for a bit of fun.”

“I’m coming with you.”

The determination in her voice made Spike want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. “No you’re not,” he replied. “Dawn needs you here. I can take care of him if it comes to that.”

Her eyebrows twitched and he could see that she hesitated about saying something. He snorted lightly.

“Humor me, luv, and at least pretend to believe I can take him down if I need to.”

She blushed faintly but did not try to deny that she was having doubts about his abilities to win a fight over Angelus.

“You’re not exactly at your top form,” she said cautiously. “Maybe I…”

“No,” he cut in. “I’m going by myself and there’s no arguing about that. For all we know, Angel is just fine with his bloody soul still pestering him.”

She wasn’t happy about any of it, he could tell as much; but whatever doubts or reservations she still had, she kept them to herself and simply asked him to be careful and to come back soon.

Even pushing the DeSoto to its limits had not been enough, and the sun had been about to rise when Spike had finally made it to LA the previous night. He had spent his day chain-smoking and keeping out of the sun, waiting for sunset to finally be able to approach Angel – or Angelus. He had thought a lot, too much, probably, about what he would tell his grandsire, what he would do exactly, and now that he was in front of Angel’s home, he didn’t know anymore.

He had been standing across the street from Angel’s hotel for a little while now. Angel always had a weakness for imposing accommodations; some things just didn’t change. Spike had noticed no movement since he had arrived, and he wondered whether Angel still worked with the humans he had mentioned the last time they had talked. Were they inside or was Angel alone? It was late, so they might have turned in already. On the other hand, Angel might not even be there.

Realizing that he was delaying the moment when he would find out which version of Angel they now had to deal with, Spike gritted his teeth. He certainly wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated. If it was Angel, he deserved a serious ass kicking for what he had done to Dru. Strangely enough, Spike wouldn’t have been so upset if he had simply staked her. It was his method that angered him. However dysfunctional, they were supposed to be a family. Setting her – and Darla, but who cared about the freakishly-brought-back-to-life-and-vamped-again-bitch – on fire without even sticking around long enough to make sure they were dust had been nothing but cruelty. And that was why Spike suspected it wasn’t Angel, but Angelus who now presided over that thick skull. Cruelty had often been Angelus’ weapon of choice to wield on those who had angered him. But that brought the question of why he had been so upset with Dru and Darla if all they had wanted was a family reunion. That left the possibility that the wanker was simply insane – and that was Spike’s favorite alternative. He knew how to deal with insanity. He knew, also, not to bother asking too many questions when someone wasn’t quite there.

As he returned to his crypt with sunrise less than half an hour away, Spike could feel his weariness sink down to his very bones, and it had nothing to do with the lovely time he and Buffy had had after their inspection of the train. Although lovely might not have been the best word to describe it. Heated, passionate… almost frantic… He had a feeling that Buffy had tried very hard to express in a way different than words that he was her partner now, and that Drusilla’s return to town changed nothing between them. Maybe he had made a mistake when he had told her who was responsible for the train’s attack; maybe it would have been easier to simply keep that bit of knowledge from her. But in the last few months, with trials and errors, he had started to realize that easier did not always mean better, or right. He only hoped Buffy’s jealousy wouldn’t make things any more difficult than they already were. He wasn’t sure yet what he would tell Dru when he saw her. And he had no doubt he would see her, she hadn’t returned to Sunnydale to avoid him.

She proved him right when he entered the crypt and discovered that Drusilla had been waiting for him. He observed her warily for a few seconds, and she did the same, silent until she approached him, a red rose in her hands.

“Hello, pretty Spike. Look who’s come to make everything right again.”

“Wasn’t aware anything was wrong,” he replied cautiously, and moved sideways to keep a couple of steps between them. As he came to see the side of her face, he noticed the burnt marks there, continuing down to her neck and chest. “How did you get hurt?” he asked, concern tainting his voice.

She raised a hand to her face and her fingers traced the burn without touching it. “Angelus got mad at me and my daughter,” she murmured. “All we wanted was to be a family again.”

“Your daughter?” Spike repeated and unconsciously looked around, wondering if he had missed Dru’s new toy hiding somewhere around.

“Yes!” she said joyously, and clapped her hands. “They brought back grandma and I got to make her all over again! She tasted so pretty… But not as pretty as my William.”

Through his confusion, Spike still noticed that she shimmied her way closer to him, her look now that of a hopeful child. “I miss my William. I miss us being a family.”

He shook his head, and this time held his ground. “Not gonna happen, pet. I’ve got myself a nice sweet life here, and I…”

Her tongue clucked, scolding. “Nice and sweet? When all you ever wanted was fire and blood? Can’t you see she’s killing my William?”

There was no need to ask who ‘she’ was. No need either for Spike to think back to the first Slayer’s words, and yet they echoed in his mind louder than they had in a few weeks.

“No one is killing me, Dru. And no one will. I am perfectly content as I am…”

Again, she interrupted him abruptly. “Content? When was the last time you hunted, my naughty boy? When did you last feed on life itself, so warm and singing in your veins like pure poetry?” Slowly, she walked around him as she talked, until she came to a halt standing right in front of him. “When was the last time you didn’t feel hunger, my poor, poor Spike?”

Words caught in his throat, Spike remained immobile and silent as Drusilla’s hand raised and hovered over his temple.

“You’re a killer,” she crooned. “Born for blood. No bit of metal and electricity should stop you. And neither should a Slayer.”

“Dru…”

Her eyes were wide, almost hypnotic, but he knew, somehow, that she wasn’t trying to thrall him. A thrall wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours, and if she truly wanted him back, she needed him to be willing just a tad longer than that.

“She’s killing you,” she repeated. “Taking every bit that was you away. What happens when you’re empty and not Spike anymore? What will she do, then? Cast you aside or finally give you peace?”

“You’re one to talk about casting aside,” he regained his footing along with some old anger. “Leaving me like you did, with barely a goodbye!”

With a sigh, she turned her back on him. “She was blinding you already. I had to let you get burnt so that you’d see she isn’t for you.”

“Right,” he snorted. “Of course. Buffy’s fault. And how do you explain falling back into Angelus’ bed and all but forgetting that I existed? Or are you going to blame that one on the Slayer too? She didn’t make you forget the century I spent taking care of you. You did that all by yourself.”

“And I paid the price for that in hell, didn’t I?” she shot back as she faced him once more; her voice was ice.

Long seconds, then minutes passed in silence as they stared at each other. Spike bit back the words that he wasn’t responsible for her little trip through Acathla, despite the old guilt resurfacing and claiming otherwise. He was the first to finally speak, and he struggled to put as much determination in his words as he could summon. She seemed a little less insane than she had once been, or maybe she was going through one of her episodes of near-sanity, and he could only hope she would listen to him.

“I will not return to you, Dru. I’m sure you know that already. I’ve found my place here with the Slayer, and I’m not going anywhere. But you… you need to leave. Because if you don’t, either she’ll stake you, or I will. You have to leave and not come back, pet.”

An immense sadness appeared on Drusilla’s features, and, after a few seconds, she nodded. Spike suppressed a relieved sigh; he had not dared hope that it would be so easy to convince her. Even the prospect of spending the day in the crypt with her since the sun had risen and made her departure difficult did not dampen his relief. Of course, it couldn’t have been that easy, and Buffy’s unexpected visit in the early evening brought the tension back up a few notches before Drusilla finally left for good.

Angel had just finished a long exercise session when the last person he had expected to see entered his training room. Then again, seeing how old ghosts seemed to be reappearing to make his life hell, maybe he should have known Spike would drop by.

“Did you lose it?” Spike asked abruptly.

He stared at his grandchilde; he had an inkling of what ‘it’ was, but he didn’t see any reason to make things any easier for Spike.

“Did I lose what?”

“Your soul, you ponce. Whom am I talking to? Angel or Angelus?”

Old habits resurfaced more easily than Angel would have admitted, and his lips curled on a sneer. “Does it make a difference, boy? Seems to me you’ve never shown a bit of respect to either one.”

Spike’s frown and hesitation were priceless. Or would have been if Angel had been in a better mood.

“Get out of my way,” he barked before pushing by Spike and out of the room. He could tell, without looking back, that Spike followed but at a reasonable distance. Somehow, his caution was at the same time delicious and depressing. He made his way to what had once been his office – he didn’t need an office anymore – and grabbed the bottle of whisky on his desk before sinking into his chair and taking a swig. Spike remained standing by the door; he was still frowning, and Angel was almost certain that he was clutching a stake behind the cover of his duster’s pocket.

“I still have it,” Angel growled. “Anchored for good at your insistence, wasn’t it?”

Spike’s relief was almost audible, and Angel wanted to both laugh and weep. What difference did it make if he still had the damned soul or not?

“Want to tell me what game you played with Dru and Darla, then?”

Angel wasn’t even surprised to hear that Spike knew. He couldn’t make himself care about that more than he did about anything else. He took another mouthful of alcohol, relishing the burn down his throat.

“Isn’t everything we do nothing but a game?” he asked Spike, completely serious now. “Isn’t it a game for me to keep hoping for the prize the Powers That Be dangle in front of me to make me run even faster? Isn’t it a game for you to pretend you’re anything but a vampire? What’s the point, Spike? We’re damned, you and me, whether we have a soul or not. What’s the point of playing their game?”

“I’m not playing,” Spike denied strongly. “The Slayer…”

“Ah, but Buffy is part of the game herself, isn’t she?” Angel cut in with a shake of his head. “The white queen where we’re just pawns turned against our own side of the board, but even the queen can fall. What will happen when she does, Spike? What side will you play for, then?”

“You’re not making any sense, wanker.”

Angel ignored the insult, because he could see the flame of doubt in Spike’s eyes; was he also beginning to see how futile all of this was?

“I’m making too much sense, you mean. You know I’m right. Whatever act you’re playing for her, you know it’s not you. You’ll break, eventually. I know it. I did.”

Spike shook his head, denying whatever truth he was hearing, but Angel didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.

“Leave. Go back to your theater, play the role of the perfect little vampire boyfriend. You’re not getting an Oscar for the role. There’s no prize distribution for that category.”

“Never asked for a prize,” Spike declared, chin held high, before striding away.

“No, I guess not,” Angel murmured, staring at the now empty doorway. “You just wanted Buffy, and you got her. What happens when you lose her too?”

My mood when I returned from LA? You don’t want to know. Really. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s a good thing I was chipped, but if I hadn’t been innocent – or not so innocent – bystanders might have been caught in the path of my frustration. Here I was, soulless and trying to be ‘good’, whatever that word means, because that was the way to be with the Slayer. A talk with a soulless vampire, the one vampire who had made me and knew me inside and out, had not even begun to shake my resolve. But a talk with a souled one had my mind swirling with questions about what was the purpose of it all, and whether changing my nature for a woman was worth the loss of who I really was. She’d die, as Angel had painfully reminded me, and I would live decades and centuries more after that. What would I do, then? Return to the core of what I was? Honor her memory and keep fighting her fight? I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about life without her. But at that moment, I couldn’t not think about it, and for days, even weeks, the question remained at the back of my mind, until…

Right. What was I saying?

Oh yeah. I returned to Sunnyhell in a bloody murderous mood, and I did quite a number on the demon population of our dear old Hellmouth. And that’s where I heard about it. News travels fast, in the demon world; and apparently, the first bot had made a couple of encounters of the demony kind the previous night. I tracked down Warren. Passed my order. He wasn’t so happy about it but it’s always heartening what a little flash of fangs can do.

I was so damn proud of my plan… Now I’m not stupid, I knew already that Buffy might not see my point immediately about the utility of a bot, but I had what I was sure were convincing arguments, and I was confident that I could persuade her. Also, I was hoping that particular discussion would distract her and that she’d forget to ask me about my trip and what had happened.

As it turned out, we didn’t get to talk about the bot for a little while, and I didn’t need to provide a distraction.

Joyce was dead.