“Here. I think I may have it.”

Shifting her gaze from the musty volume on her knees to Giles, Buffy tried not to sigh. They had been on research mode for hours, and she itched to go out and find release in a good fight. Giles however had insisted that she stay in until they knew what was going on with Spike.

“The Gem of Amara,” he announced. “It makes the vampire who wears it immune to sunlight, stake through the heart, and other known ways of...”

Giles’ voice trailed off even as the rest of the Scoobies absorbed the information. Buffy had to struggle not to let her shock show. With her doubts about whether Spike’s diet was still only animal or had now become human blood, the news that he was untouchable was not exactly the best. Then again, after seeing him walk unscathed in the sun, she should have suspected something along those lines.

“So, he’s like, unkillable?” Xander asked, the twitch of his foot revealing just how much the thought made him uncomfortable.

“As long as he wears the gem, yes,” Giles confirmed, throwing a thoughtful glance toward Buffy. “But it doesn’t make him any stronger, or faster, or a better fighter. Just…”

“Just unkillable,” Xander repeated.

“I always thought it was no more than a legend,” the Watcher continued, now seemingly talking to himself, “but from what this book says…”

A frown barred his forehead and his finger glided down the page as he read further on.

“It might have been hidden in Sunnydale. And if it was…”

“Then Spike found it,” Buffy finished impatiently. “Does it say anything more? Like, does he have any weakness we should know about?”

Eyes turned to Buffy, and she was suddenly very uncomfortable. All she had told them was that she had seen Spike out in the sun; she would be damned if she admitted she had slept with him too.

“But, do we need to know about his weaknesses?” Willow asked, hesitant. “I mean, he’s on our side now, so it’s OK if he’s taking up sunbathing, isn’t it?”

Buffy didn’t need lectures; she was berating herself for that particular mistake quite well enough already. Yet, at the same time, she felt like she had to warn them, just in case.

“We kinda had a little… argument,” she said slowly, with some difficulty.

She had the feeling that they could see right through her, that they knew, but none of them said anything for a few seconds, until Xander commented:

“Right. So we have an invulnerable vamp on our hands, and we’re not so sure which side he’s playing for.”

Oz had the last word, summarizing the situation with his usual acuity. “Fun.”


The office door slammed closed with a bang and Angel’s hope for a quiet evening disappeared. He had sent Cordelia and Doyle home early; they had been so busy for the past few nights that they all needed a break. However, with this new arrival, Angel suspected his night would be less than calm. He had serious doubts that Spike was here for a courtesy visit.

“Spike,” he acknowledged his grandchilde with a nod. “Finally decided to take me up on my offer?”

The younger vampire snorted.

“Your offer? You mean work with you?”

He took a few steps in the lobby, his gaze traveling over the sparsely furnished room.

“I don’t think so, no.”

With a harsh smile, he pulled a stake from his coat’s pocket and advanced toward Angel. A flourish and the stake was back in his pocket.

“What I had in mind was a bit more… dusty.”

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What game are you playing?” he demanded, his voice coming close to a growl.

Spike’s fist shot straight toward Angel’s face, only to be deflected at the last instant. By pure instinct, Angel lashed back. His foot caught Spike’s middle and sent him stumbling back a few feet.

“I’m not playing anymore,” Spike spat. “I want you out of my life, and this time for good.”

Despite the threatening words, Spike didn’t use the stake. Instead, he punched and kicked, cursing and yelling every so often. For a while, Angel merely parried the attacks, trying to understand what had put Spike in such a rage. He wasn’t going to let himself be dusted, of course, but he was somewhat reluctant to try to dust Spike without knowing what was going on exactly. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but Angel had more reasons to be angry with Spike than the other way around, what with Buffy and…

Then he caught it. Buffy’s scent. On Spike.

For months, he had been telling himself that Buffy wasn’t his concern anymore, that she was free – he had freed her – and could do whatever she pleased. And if what pleased her was Spike, did he have a right to say anything? Evidently not. It didn’t make things easier however.

Enraged despite his good resolutions, he switched from defensive to offensive. The change startled Spike, and Angel managed to trip him to the floor. Throwing himself on his back, he caught both of the younger vampire’s arms and twisted them tight enough that Spike’s shoulders threatened to pop out if he moved. Of course – it was Spike, after all – he moved. The sound his shoulder made as it dislocated and his grunts of pain were oddly pleasurable to Angel – and at the same time instantly sobering.

This wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t like him to take pleasure in hurting someone, anyone, whatever the reasons. He tried to calm down, taking a few deep, unnecessary but usually soothing breaths. It didn’t help this time, though, because it only made him more aware of Buffy’s scent on the body underneath him. Raw lust and sex. Unmistakable. Heart wrenchingly painful.

“What are you going to do if I let you go?” he managed to ask despite his tight throat.

The only answer Spike gave was to struggle to free himself, despite the pain and the possibility of more injuries.

“Will you stop that, you idiot!” Angel growled, shaking Spike just enough to get his point across. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Let go of me! You bloody fucking son…”

Ignoring the string of curses, Angel reached down to Spike’s side, tugging the coat free from underneath him until he could retrieve the stake from his pocket. Only then did he stand, immediately taking a few steps away from Spike. It wasn’t the first time he had been on the receiving end of such homicidal tendencies – although in truth it had always been Angelus that Spike had tried to get rid of. Once beaten, the blond usually retreated long enough to lick his wounds. He was insane, certainly, but not completely suicidal.

“So, what was that about?” Angel asked, controlling his voice without really understanding why he bothered at all. He had a few reasons to play nice, guilt over William’s turning and education, gratitude for Spike’s help after his return as Angelus; but nothing – nothing at all – made up for the image in his mind of Spike and Buffy together.


“So, what was that about?”

The pain in Spike’s limp arm throbbed, but it was nothing compared to his anger. The Slayer’s words earlier, the humiliation of losing a fight – one more – to Angel even with the gem on his finger, the fact that the damn poof wasn’t even trying to kill him but wanted an explanation…

“What it’s about?” he repeated, incredulous, and exploded. “It’s about your fucking self messing up my life every time a bloody good thing happens to me! I get turned, think I have Dru all to myself; but no, of course not, you’re there fucking everything up! And even when you finally run away, you’re still there like a shadow hovering over us! Dropping by, just to show her her precious daddy is still kicking, and off you disappear into broodiness again. Then you’re back for good, fangs and leather, and I don’t exist anymore, do I? Doesn’t matter that I was there for her all this time; because you’re back and that’s all she sees.”

His fury was blinding him, and Spike had to look away or he was going to throw himself on Angel – dislocated shoulder or not, stake or not. Turning away from Angel, he went to what seemed to be an office door, braced his shoulder against the edge of the wall, and pushed hard, grunting when it resumed its proper place.

“I don’t understand,” Angel said, sounding frustrated. “What in the hell does Drusilla have to do with this?”

Touching his sore shoulder gingerly, Spike turned again to his grandsire, glaring at him for good measure.

“Who said it was ‘bout Dru, you poof? It’s about the same story happening all over again! I thought I had the girl all for myself; but it can’t be that easy. Of course not.”

The bitterness was practically dripping from his voice, and he hated himself for it, hated to show any weakness to Angel, of all people. But hadn’t his original weakness been to rush here in the first place?

“So… Let me get this straight,” Angel said blankly. “You’re trying to kill me because of Buffy? What did she do, dump you the morning after?”

Spike felt himself start to shift, and he tried to fight the change, really tried, but he couldn’t help it. It was all he could do not to swing at Angel again.

“Wonder where she learned that one, heh?” he sneered.

Angel shook his head, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“And you think dusting me is going to make things better?”

“It’ll make me feel better,” Spike shot back.

Damn the bloody poof. He was looking almost amused, now. Almost.

“I doubt that, somehow. Looks to me like you’re always trying to find new ways to hurt yourself. What did you think would happen, going after her? Weeks after I’ve left her? She looks at you, and she sees me, of course. I made you, for fuck’s sake! Forced you to become what you are. And what you are is a killer, no amount of restraining yourself will change that, and she’ll never forget it. Angelus made sure she’ll never make that mistake twice.”

Shaking with barely contained rage, Spike didn’t notice the inconsistencies in Angel’s discourse, claiming ownership of Angelus’ acts with one breath, refusing it in the next. All he heard was confirmation of what he had thought all the way to Los Angeles. It was Angel’s fault if the Slayer had treated him as she had.

“You want to stake me?” Angel continued after an instant, amusement gone and replaced by lassitude. “Go ahead. Do it.”

He threw the stake at Spike, who caught it with a wince as the pain shot through his shoulder.

“Stake me. But next time you have broken heart problems, who are you going blame?”

For long, too long seconds, Spike stared at the older vampire, his fist wrapped so tight around the stake that he cut himself on the raw wood and started bleeding. He had lost count of how many times before he had tried to, wanted to, dreamed of killing Angel. Or Angelus. No difference anymore as far as he was concerned. So many times, and he had never been able to. Never wanted it enough to really accept losing him forever.

And now, now that Angel hinted that he wouldn’t move if he tried… He didn’t want to anymore. This wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was the Slayer. And for Angel to see him win this particular fight.

“She’ll never make that mistake twice, you said,” Spike commented, a forced smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess what. She already did. Now that she has, there’s no way in hell that I’m gonna leave her. Know why?”

He took a few steps, coming within striking distance of Angel.

“’Cause that’s what you do.”

Opening his bloodied hand, he let the stake clatter to the floor between Angel and him. A last glance to make sure he had driven his point home – and oh, yes, he had – and he pivoted on his heels, striding toward the door with a new purpose. The Slayer was his. She didn’t know it yet, but he did, and he’d be dust before he gave up on her. All he had to do – and ironically, it was Angel who had shown him the way – was prove to her that he wasn’t his grandsire. That he wasn’t going to run away when things got tough. That he loved her enough to stick with his choice of being on the white hats’ side even after she had shot him down. And since he could be out and about at any time of the day, let her only try to avoid him.

But before he returned to Sunnydale, he had a hunger to appease, and some anger to dissipate. A bit of fun was what he needed. What better place for that than this huge metropolis and its countless predators waiting to be punished?


Did I kill that night?

Why do you want to know?

Would it make a difference if I did?

I’m a vampire, ain’t I? Probably killed more people through my years than… than… I don’t know. What killed a big bunch of people?

I was made to kill. It’s what demons do.  It’s what I do.

Do I go all indignant on humans because they eat cows?

Alright, so do I, what’s your point?

My point is, you can’t judge me according to human laws. Know why? Simple.

Because. I. Am. Not. Human.

I didn’t make the rules. I didn’t decide that vampires would feed on humans rather than on puppies. I didn’t decide that humans wouldn’t be strong enough to protect themselves. I didn’t decide either that there would be one little girl chosen to hunt my kind like I hunt hers.

I didn’t decide to fall in love with her.

What I did decide was to try to get her heart. Try to make her mine. And something was always quite clear to me, even in the midst of my anger and hurt pride. If she ever learned I had killed – and truth spells are too easy to do not to worry about them – I’d never have her back. Or at all. Because I never had her before, right? Not really.

So, did I kill that night?

What do you think? Would you have? Torn between the very core of what you are and what you desire more than life itself? Between the world you belong to and the one your heart is trapped in? Between the darkness that’s yours and the light that’s hers?

Do you still need me to answer that bloody stupid question?