Los Angeles, Angel’s Apartment
Doyle walked down the stairs, leaned against the wooden railing and watched Angel as he worked out against a punching bag. His boss had clammed up and closeted himself in his ‘prison cell’ ever since the Slayer’s departure. Cordelia may be used to the brooding nature of the vampire. As she had said, ‘Angel broods, the world is great; Angel gets happy, and the whole universe was out of alignment.’ Okay so maybe, she didn’t say those exact words, but then it was Doyle’s mind remembering all this, not Cordy’s.
Doyle watched the way Angel was punching the bag. It was as if he held a grudge against it instead of merely working off steam. The Brachen demon figured he had better speak up before Angel hauled off and kicked or punched the bag from the chains that were
hanging it into the next century, which really wasn’t that far off if someone bothered to look at the calendar lately.
Doyle sat down on the short flight of stairs and watched Angel. “Hey,” he greeted. He waved his hand at the abused punching bag. “Is this a private catharsis or can anyone watch?”
“What do you want?” Angel said with an air of resignation while he continued to punch the bag.
Doyle raised his eyebrows at his boss’ tone. “Well, there’s a girl upstairs who’s not quite sad enough to cry in my arms, but keep up the dark cloud and I might get lucky,” he encouraged.
“I just need some time.” Angel punched the bag even harder.
Doyle nodded in understanding. “Believe me, I know. Last time I saw my ex, she was around for five minutes and I was a wreck for days. Amazing how they can do that to you.”
Angel quit punching and stilled the bag with his hands as his mind flashed through that day. “Buffy was here for more than five minutes.”
“Okay, ten,” Doyle amended. “But who’s counting?”
Angel sighed and trudged over to the sofa to sit down. Doyle stood up from the stairs and joined him. “Actually, she was here for a whole day and night.”
He’d had Buffy here a whole 24 hours. They talked, they fought the Mohra demon. They talked some more. Then, he was right there kissing her without any fear of losing his soul. He had her in his grasp after nearly two years of beating themselves up with this Romeo-and-Juliet romance, complete with all the scenes. There was no soul to worry about. They had cleared the kitchen table during their kissing session and then moved to the bed, undressing each other all the way there with her Slayer thighs still somehow remaining around his waist until they hit said bed. Before he could think about what else happened that day, Doyle broke into his thoughts.
“Alright. One of us has been drinking and I’m sad to say, it hasn’t been me.”
Angel wiped his face of workout sweat with a towel and stood back up. He looked down at Doyle almost accusatory. “Who are the Oracles, Doyle? Why didn’t you tell me about them before?”
That confused Doyle. “The Oracles? Who told you about the Oracles?” He had never told a soul about the messengers of the Powers That Be. How did Angel know about them?
“The first time the Mohra demon attacked it got away,” Angel told him.
“What first time?” Doyle was really confused now. The only time he had seen the demon was an hour ago in Angel’s office where the vampire promptly killed it without hesitation.
Maybe erasing everyone’s memory wasn’t such a good idea after all. Angel gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I tracked it; I killed it, some of its blood mixed with mine. It made me mortal. That’s when you took me to see the Oracles to find out what it meant.”
Angel remembered all too vividly. The blood made him human again. He felt the heat in his blood rise to that of a normal human even before he felt the first thump-thump of his heart beating in his chest. For
200+ years he had thought his body was a hollow shell that only needed blood to stay mobile. Then, all of a sudden, he was mortal again.
He had thought that first thing he wanted to do as a human again was being with Buffy and he had. He truly had. But, then he was with her and Spike kept creeping into his mind. After that it all went down hill. When he was finally in his bed with Buffy surrounding him, Spike made his crashing entrance into his mind and . . . then it went from exhilarating to bad. It got even worse when . . .
That can’t be right. Doyle shook his head in denial. “No, see, I’m going to remember a trip to the netherworld of eternal watching. That’s just not something that happens every day.”
Angel sat down in an adjacent chair. “The Oracles told me that I was released from my duty. Buffy and I were together until – we realized it couldn’t be. We don’t belong to ourselves. We belong to the world, fighting. So I went back to the Oracles and I asked them to turn back the clock . . . as though the day had never happened.”
So many things had happened on that day, things that were said, things that were done. Buffy’s reaction when he had said Spike’s name. Her reaction when the blonde had shown up in the sewer after Angel was cut down by the Mohra. Buffy and Spike arguing over him and he was in too much pain to break it up. He had never had so much pain as a vampire and he had been one for so long. He couldn’t remember the blinding pain humans suffer when nearly gutted by a sword.
Doyle was shocked to say the least. “Human? You were a real live flesh-and-blood human? And you and Buffy . . .? You had the one thing in your unnaturally long life that you wanted and you gave it back?!”
“Maybe I was wrong?” Angel inquired.
“Or maybe Cordelia was right about you being the real deal in the hero department. See, I would have chosen the pleasures of the flesh over duty and honor any day of the week. I just don't have that strength,” Doyle said.
That’s why he had turned back the day. Oh there were various reasons. But one, in particular, when Spike had called him ‘Sire’ and he had denied it because he was human now. He wasn’t a
240-(give or take)-year-old vampire anymore. The look in Spike’s eyes nearly crushed his newly beating heart. He didn’t have the strength to handle that look. Even with the angry words exchanged between them in the crypt after Spike awoke from his injuries.
He could take Spike’s loathing, his insults, the ridiculous names Spike chose to call him and his boy’s anger. But the look in his eyes when Angel had told him that he was no longer his Sire. He knew he had lost his beautiful boy forever at that very second. He hadn’t had the strength to cope with that for the rest of his days.
After a moment everything else that Doyle had said seeped into his mind. Something about not having the strength to do what he did. “You never know your strength until you’re tested.”
Doyle scoffed at that. “Come on, you lived and loved and lost and fought and vanquished inside a day, and I'm still trying to work up the courage to ask Cordy out for dinner, not to mention the part about telling her that I'm half demon.” He stopped and thought about it for a moment. “That should probably come first, huh?"
Angel shrugged. He was trying to figure out his own personal life now. He couldn’t give advice on Doyle’s. “Well, the Oracles said something bad is coming. ‘Soldier of Darkness ushering in the end of days’ kind of bad.”
If it ever came to that, Angel hoped he and Spike would have worked through the worst of their relationship and were fighting on the same side. Spike seemed to have been holding a century-long grudge with that abandonment issue. Even though he had taken back one day, he wished . . . There was so much he regretted in raising Spike, making him a vampire wasn’t one of them though.
Angel never expected Spike to show up that day in the sewer. Somehow Spike knew he was in trouble. Maybe he felt the pull of the Sire-Claim when his blood was mixed with that of the demon. Either way, his boy had put aside his anger and was there cradling his head on the black denim-clad lap. If Angel closed his eyes, he could still feel the strong leg muscles pillowing his head and Spike’s long fingers stroking through his damp hair as he lay shuddering in pain.
That’s how Buffy had found them and it made her livid. Angel inwardly cringed when he remembered her asking Spike why he was even there and Spike’s answer of ‘He’s my Sire. I’m all he has left.’ That was when Angel had denied being his Sire. Because he was human, and as such he could no longer have hope that he and Spike would come to an understanding about each other. He didn’t want to tarnish his boy with his humanity, not if it meant the loss of connection between them, no matter how weak it was now.
“So much for the security of long-term savings bonds, huh?” Doyle was doing his best to be humorous.
Angel came out of his thoughts at the Brachen’s voice. “I feel something coming, Doyle. I don't know what, but I know we're a part of it.”
Doyle had a determined expression on his face. “Well, if it’s a fight they want,” he turned worried eyes to Angel, “can’t someone else give it to them?” Angel smiled at the hurt puppy look Doyle was giving him. “It seems unfair, you know? You gotta save all the helpless types around here and now you've got to fight the apocalypse as well?”
Angel stood up and shrugged. “It's all the same thing. Fight the good fight – whichever way you can.”
Doyle stood up and walked over to the stairs. “Tell you what, you fight,” he looked back at Angel before ascending, “and I’ll keep score.” Doyle’s answer was hearing the punching bag being pounded on.
**************************
Sunnydale University, Buffy and Willow’s Dorm
Willow looked around the room. She heard Amy the rat squeak away in her cage and Buffy softly snoring while she slept. Willow slipped out of bed silently and opened the trunk at the bottom of her bed. She sifted through its contents with a small flashlight, after getting what she needed; she carefully slipped out of her room and down the hall to the community bathroom.
In the bathroom, Willow sat in the center of a circle surrounded by red candles, with an incense censer, bowl in front of her, a goblet of sorts, and three trays containing herbal ingredients.
When the preparations were finished, Willow began to chant, “Harken all ye elements, I summon thee now.” She dropped something into the bowl in front of her. “Control the outside, control within. Land and sea, fire and wind. Out of my passions, a web be spun. From this eve forth, my will be done. So mote it be.”
At the end of the chant she poured the goblet into the bowl. A flicker of electricity made a connection between her and the candles and all the little tongues of flame rose higher, signifying the spell's success. Willow gathered her items and went back to her room. After returning the items to her trunk, she went back to sleep.
The next day, Willow didn’t have any pressing matters so she stayed behind when Buffy left. She sat cross-legged on her bed with a myriad of objects around her. She had tossed and turned all night, excited to see if her Will-Be-Done spell had worked. She took a calming breath, took up a hand mirror and said, “It is my will that my heart be healed. Now.”
She pouted when nothing happened and set the mirror down. She held her favorite spell book as her next object and said, “I will that this book speak its words to me.” She sighed again when still nothing happened. She put the book down and picked up a bent Q-Tip. “I will that this Q-Tip gets . . . unbendy . . . ?” She was near tears when still nothing happened. Before she could think of letting the crying commence there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Willow called out. She knew that after the Spike incident, she shouldn’t just invite anyone in like that, but it was broad daylight and as far as she knew Angel had the Ring of Amara. She didn’t see him coming to see her in the present to near future.
Giles entered the room, looking slightly worried. He closed the door, then cleaned and set his glasses on his face.
“Giles, what are you doing here?” Willow asked surprised to see the Watcher in her dorm room.
“I’m . . . a bit concerned about you, actually,” Giles stammered over his words.
Willow’s eyebrows shot up at that. If Giles knew about her actions last night, with the drinking and dancing and possibly insulting her friends. “Did Buffy tell you about the beer, ‘cause . . .?”
“Uh, Buffy didn’t tell me anything,” Giles said confused by what Willow was alluding to.
“Oh, well . . . forget the beer part, then,” Willow said distractedly. The less he knew the less she’d have to explain.
“Happily. I came because we had an appointment the other day . . .” Giles started to admonish her.
“Oh! Right, right . . . the truth spell,” Willow could have kicked herself for missing any appointments. But frankly, she hadn’t been feeling up for anything since finding out Oz had left her for good and wasn’t returning anytime in the foreseeable future. She really didn’t mean to miss a meeting she had with Giles. “Why did you want a truth spell for Spike again?”
“Yes, well, um . . . I want to be sure that he is on the up-and-up with Angel and not tricking us into anything. Angel’s assertion that Spike is being curtailed by his will as Sire is something for me to research into further and until I can garner enough time for that activity, I need to know we aren’t falling into any traps laid out by William the Bloody himself,” Giles explained.
He looked down at the young witch and sat on the edge of the bed. “Willow . . . I know that you’re going through a very difficult time . . . with Oz leaving . . . But, shirking your responsibilities--”
“But . . . I didn’t – shirk,” Willow cut him off trying to explain her actions. She was grieving, she wasn’t shirking! “I . . . did the research, and I picked up the motherwort, I just forget the doing the spell part.”
“Well, that isn’t like you at all,” Giles said. He understood grieving and pain, but he never once placed them before his responsibility to his Slayer. Knowing that his Slayer was unique in having an inner circle of friends that knew of her calling, he also had her friends’ lives in his hands.
Willow pouted. “I know. I-I’ve been off. I-I even tried to do a spell last night, to have my will done. I was hoping it would be a quick fix to make me feel better. But it just went ka-blooey,” she said, raising her hands in exaggeration.
“A spell?” Giles was thrown a bit by that. Here was Willow telling him that she was responsible and she tried to do a spell in her distraught condition? “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be doing that alone right now. Your energy’s too unfocused.”
Willow took that as an insult. “Well, that’s not true,” she said indignantly, jumping off the bed away from him. “I said I was off, not incompetent.”
Giles sighed and stood up. “I only meant that you’re grieving, and it might be wise if you took a break from doing spells without supervision,” he advised in a calmer voice.
“So I get punished ‘cause I’m in pain?” Willow asked even more incensed. Giles was telling her she was unfocused and couldn’t hold her own? What the hell did he know?
“It’s not punishment, Willow. I’m only saying this because I--” Giles started to say.
“Oh, you care,” Willow cut him off in her troubled behavior. “Yeah. Everybody cares. Nobody wants to be inconvenienced. You all want me to take the time and go through the pain, as long as you don't have to hear about it anymore.”
“No, that’s not fair,” Giles countered.
“Isn’t it? ‘Cause I’m doing the best I can and it doesn’t seem to be enough for you guys,” Willow whined.
“And I see how you could feel that way, I do--” Giles countered again.
“No, you don’t see. You say that you do, and I wish you’d see more clearly, maybe the emotional pain of others wouldn’t drift by,” Willow cut him off again. Her eyes took on a strange blue gleam as she spoke the words.
Giles removed his glasses, suddenly finding his vision a bit blurred. “Um . . . oh, sorry . . . um, sorry. P-perhaps I’d better be going. Let’s um, let’s talk about this later,” he said before stumbling his way to the door.
Giles left Willow’s room and walked down the hall in a bit of a daze, accidentally running into a student along the way. “Oh! I’m sorry. So sorry,” he apologized. He put his glasses back on, quite confused with what was happening.
**************************
Spike’s Crypt
The blonde vampire sat in an easy chair he’d salvaged when he first went hunting for furniture. He played with the small ring with his fingers. It was a man’s ring, white-gold band with the double-A insignia on the crest of it. He had seen the ring before. His Sire always kept it with him. He rarely wore the ring, choosing to wear the claddagh ring of his home country. But Angelus had always kept the ring hidden, out of the reach of Darla’s prying eyes and Drusilla’s curiosity.
Spike recognized the ring. He had given it to Angelus in Tuscany when the Sire-claim was still fresh. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Angel had kept it all these years, but it did. He had thought his Sire abandoned him, even hated him without a care.
When he woke up he found the ring clutched in his fist and couldn’t recall where he had gotten it. He consciously hadn’t seen his Sire since Thanksgiving. For a split second he wondered if Angel had come back and given him the ring, but then dismissed the idea as ludicrous since it’s a two- to three-hour drive to LA and the older vampire wouldn’t have had time for it.
Spike shrugged. For now, he pocketed the ring in his jeans' pocket and sat back down. It wasn’t that he had been brooding. William the Bloody did not brood. Brooding was Angel’s thing. Liar. Okay, so Spike was brooding. But he felt he had a good reason for it. He just couldn’t figure out how he had gotten a hold of what was supposed to be one of Angel’s prized possessions.
Last he knew, Angel was safeguarding the little gem from everyone and everything. In some distant dream-like memory, he remembered being in the sewers with his Sire who was wounded and in human pain, with his head cradled on his lap. He remembered a vague image of Angel giving him the ring and saying that he was no longer his Sire. The very thought that he could lose his Sire was unsettling. As much as he had cursed the ponce for having a soul, he never considered it a possibility that he would lose Angel as his Sire.
Spike thought back to their last words to each other, said in anger and then the vague dream. God, he wanted to kick himself. He wished Angelus were around to beat the brainlessness out of him. He had his Sire with him willingly. His Sire had stayed with him, was willing to stay with him, and he had rejected that because of what? A century of pain over being abandoned? It was a valid reason, but he had wished for Angel’s company for so many years. He finally had it, even if it came at the price of the Slayer and he turned Angel away. Spike’s head fell back against the chair as he thought of a way to fix what he had done.
**************************
Willow and Buffy’s Dorm
Willow played with Amy-the-rat on her bed while Buffy flipped through a magazine. The redhead was still depressed over Oz and now with Giles as well for how he had offhandedly treated her emotions on the subject. She was lamenting this to Buffy.
“I mean, I'm going through something. I just don't see why he was getting down on me,” Willow complained as she teased Amy-the-rate with a small ball of yarn.
Buffy shrugged. “Giles just worries. Spells can be dangerous. It doesn't mean he thinks you're a bad witch.”
“I am a bad witch,” Willow pouted.
“No, you're a good witch,” Buffy corrected her friend with a cheery smile. She was trying to lift Willow’s spirits with little success.
“I'm not kidding anyone. If I had any real power, I could have made Oz stay with me,” Willow went on as if Buffy had never spoken.
“Will, you wouldn't have wanted him to have stayed--” Buffy said compassionately.
“And I didn't have the guts to do the spell on Veruca, and my "I Will It So" spell went nowhere,” Willow continued to pout. “The only real witch here is fuzzy little Amy.”
Buffy put the magazine down and moved over to Willow’s bed. She put her arm around her friend. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Will.”
“She’s got access to powers I can’t even invoke,” Willow explained.
Just then the phone rang. Buffy gave her friend an apologetic look and went over to answer it. “Hello? Uhh. I’ll be right there.” Buffy hung up and turned to Willow. “That was Giles, he wants me to track Spike down and ask him to go over there.” Buffy stopped in getting her stakes. “You know, I don’t see why I’m the one that has to go out searching for him. He’s not my responsibility. Angel made it very clear that Spike was his responsibility.”
“A-and you’re leaving? Now?” Willow asked hurt at the abandonment her friend was doing.
“It’s not like I asked Angel to show up here and help me. And what does he do? He brings Spike into it. Like I need that bleached menace protecting me. I’m the Slayer. I should need protection from him not by him. What the hell is Angel thinking anyway, coming to my town and dictating, once again, what I should and shouldn’t be doing?”
Willow watched her friend. “Angel has him under control with that whole ‘I-am-your-Sire’ thing, Buffy. I don’t see why you are so worked up over this. Angel sent him back here to help you so there’s no need to rush out this instant is there, ‘cause I figured since I’m kinda grievy, we could, uh, you know, have a girl’s night.”
“And the nerve of Giles keeping the secret that Spike was here to help,” Buffy’s tirade continued. “And the way Giles just told Angel I was the one that tied Spike up, like I was the one that had a hand in it.”
“Um, Buffy, you were the only one that had a hand in tying Spike up,” Willow reminded her. “I just said that he helped me with a vampire and Giles just told him not to eat humans in his house, you tied him up.”
“Whose side of this are you on, Willow?” Buffy shot the question at her angrily. “Spike is a murderer.”
“Yes, I get that he’s a vampire. But Angel has him under control,” Willow said confidently.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Angel’s in L.A., what the hell does he know what Spike does here in Sunnydale?” Buffy asked, her anger not abating. “I’m sorry, Will. I can't hang out with you until I get Spike back to Giles, you know that. Okay, I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”
Willow shrugged. “I don't see the big deal. He's probably just sitting in his crypt waiting for Angel to show up to rekindle old flames.” Her eyes took on a strange blue gleam as she spoke the words.
**************************
Los Angeles, Angel’s Office
Angel had tried to get some semblance of work done all day and by the look of his desk he had very little to show for his accomplishment thus far. His thoughts of Spike had kept him preoccupied. He wanted so badly to go to Sunnydale and make amends. He wanted to tell Spike about the day he had the Powers That Be take back. Well, maybe not all of it, but the parts that were important in Angel’s mind.
Angelus started making an appearance in his mind again. The unsouled part of himself was getting more obstinate about going to Sunnydale and reclaiming his boy completely. Now! He tried to ignore it at first. He denied that his demon ruled his actions but the more Angelus wore on, the more Angel started to agree with him. He needed to see Spike if for nothing else than to get a lot of things off his chest.
When Angelus growled at his counterpart to take some action, Angel felt an inner tug, a deep need to see Spike. He didn’t care about the consequences of seeing Buffy again; he just wanted to finally clear the air with his boy. With that decision made, he got to his feet and was out the door searching for Cordelia and Doyle to let them know he’d be gone.
Angel found his two co-workers arguing over how best to extract money from clients. Cordelia was adamant about her views that sending them invoice after invoice until they pay up would work. Doyle tried telling her that what she was doing was sending junk mail and that no matter what she thought the rules of society were defaulting on said payment was another rule of this great country.
Angel walked in the doorway as he shrugged on his coat. “Guys…?” When he didn’t receive an acknowledgement from the bickering pair, he tried again, “Guys!” They shut up and stared at him. “I’m going to be gone for a while, a few days at most, are you two going to be okay while I’m gone?”
“A few days? Where are you going? What if there’s a vision and the apocalypse is coming?” Doyle asked.
“Yes, a few days. I need to go see someone. If there’s a vision or an apocalypse call my cell and I’ll be back,” Angel told them and then left.
Doyle and Cordelia stared after him confused. “Well, where do you think he’s going?” Cordelia asked.
“I don’t know, Princess,” Doyle answered.
**************************
Xander’s Basement
Willow was pacing back and forth, still irate that Buffy had left her to go in search of Spike for Giles. So here she was at Xander’s house in his basement voicing her opinion of her inconsiderate friend.
“I mean, I’m going through something here. You’d think every once in a while Buffy would make best friends a priority,” Willow whined.
“Well, Will, Giles just need to be sure that Spike is not going to be a threat that we all need to be worried about. If we find out he’s under control, great and ‘welcome to the team’. Although, Spike doesn’t seem to be a team-playing sort, does he?” Xander explained.
“So Spike's more important than me. I get it,” Willow pouted.
“It’s not a question of importance. He just wants to get one worry out of the way, and Spike running around Sunnydale seemingly unchecked is a worry. For all Giles knows, Angel was giving him a ruse with that ‘my sire-claim is keeping him from harming anyone’,” Xander tried to make Willow see the other side of the coin.
“Just once, I wish, Buffy would get her head out of her own little Slayer world and see what’s going on around her,” Willow said. Her eyes took on a strange blue gleam as she spoke those words.
**************************
Spike’s Crypt
Spike was still sitting in his recliner contemplating his relationship with Angel when the Slayer stormed into his crypt without knocking. She stopped short on the stairs inside, shaking her head from the disorientation she suddenly felt and looked at Spike like she had just realized where she was.
“You know, Slayer . . . in civilized cultures, that's called trespassing,” Spike said wryly. “Has no one ever taught you not to barge into a vampire’s lair?”
“This isn’t a social call, Spike,” Buffy said disinterestedly.
“When is it ever . . .?” Spike asked as he rolled his eyes.
“Giles wants you to come to his place,” the Slayer told him.
“And why-oh-why has the great Watcher called on me?” Spike asked.
“I don’t know, he just asked me to find you and take you there. How the hell do I know what he wants from you? I don’t even need you,
I'd just as soon stake you now to get you out of my hair, really,” Buffy told him.
"But then Giles wouldn't be happy what with you delivering a big pile of dust to his door," Spike smirked as he rocked on the balls of his feet.
Buffy sighed in exasperation, “Oh for the love of God, let’s go. I got better things to do than stand here and banter with you.”
Spike still had that smirk on his face like he was just itching to goad her some more. Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and was determined to wipe the smirk off his face when she punched him in the nose. He yelled angrily and stared at her while massaging the pain away.
“You know what, Slayer,” he said nasally, “I really hate you. If it wasn’t for Angel I would drink you dry.”
“Well, it’s nice to know the feeling’s mutual, Spike. As for drinking me, I’d like to see you try,” Buffy spat back before grabbing the lapel of his duster and dragging him out of the crypt.
**************************
Giles’ Apartment
Buffy and Spike barged in through front door. Once inside, Buffy tossed Spike around by the lapel of his duster to stand in front of her.
“Hey! Watch the leather!” Spike growled at her.
Buffy shook her finger at him. “One more word out of you, and I swear . . .” she started to reprimand the blond vampire.
“Swear, what?” he challenged her. “You’re not gonna do anything to me. You don’t have the stones.”
“Oh, I got the stones, you bleached freak. I got a whole bunch of . . .” she tried searching for a better phrase but came up empty, “. . . stones.”
“Yeah? You’re all talk, you blonde bint,” Spike shot back.
Buffy slammed Spike down into a chair. She couldn’t believe that Angel left her in the hands of this vampire who spent a year trying to kill her. What was he thinking? So far the blonde vampire had been nothing but trouble for her, arguing with her every step of the way. He wasn’t here to help her; he was here to be a royal pain in her ass.
“I don’t see why Angel wants to help you, it’s not like you deserve any help at all,” Spike sneered.
Giles came in from the bathroom to see who walked in. Upon seeing Buffy and Spike, he went over to a table to retrieve the book that had the truth spell in it. It seemed imperative that he know Spike was telling the truth about his involvement with Angel and that he was really here to help and not harm his Slayer.
“Oh, good, Spike, you’re here,” Giles said as he flipped through the pages of the book.
Spike turned to face Giles from his place in the chair where he was currently restrained. “Yes, I’m here, no thanks to her. Why didn’t you come for me yourself instead of sending the slaying goon. I’ll have you know, she roughed me up before she dragged me here.”
Giles rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can manage a few bumps and bruises, Spike.”
Buffy stuck her tongue out at Spike when Giles said that. Spike glared back at her.
**************************
Xander’s Apartment
“It’s just not fair,” Willow whined.
“Willow, I know it's hard to see it right now, but everything you're feeling is because of you and Oz. Not because of Buffy and me or anybody. But eventually you'll meet somebody else, and it'll be better,” Xander explained.
“Yeah, ‘cause most relationships are great and trouble-free. I don't think so. I think we're all doomed to badness,” Willow pouted.
“We're not doomed,” Xander told her.
“Oh, yeah? Let's-let's look at your bio. Insect Lady, Mummy Girl, Anya . . . You're a demon magnet,” Willow accused. Her eyes took on a strange blue gleam as she spoke the words.
“I was just trying to help,” Xander said in his own defense.
