A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!! :)




“Well, we don’t have to worry about her tonight,” Buffy sighed as she hung up the phone and went to sit on the couch beside Ms. Calendar. “Xander said he walked her to her house. They got there just fine, and she was going to bed, so I’m guessing that when and if Angel’s going to do something to Willow, it’s not going to be tonight.”

“I don’t know, Slayer,” Spike warned her quietly, his eyes solemn as they met hers. “You called the boy, but I think you oughta call Red herself. Make sure she’s as safe in her bed as he seems to think she is.”

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, hesitating, uncertain how to voice her reasons for not calling…but mostly, just not wanting to state the painful truth.

She wasn’t too sure that Willow wouldn’t hang up on her if she called.

“As utterly perplexing as this may sound, Buffy,” Giles spoke up softly, rising from his seat in the chair across from the sofa with a quiet sigh, “I believe Spike may be right. Perhaps it would be best to call Willow…if only to instruct her to stay inside tonight, and at all times after dark until we are able to figure this out.”

Buffy knew that he had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. Pouting in the general direction of the phone, she slowly rose to her feet.

“I’ll call her,” Ms. Calendar volunteered, taking pity on the Slayer and rising to make her way to the phone, as a very relieved Buffy sank back down onto the sofa.

Before she could lift the receiver, the telephone rang under her hand.

The timing was clearly ominous. The four still gathered in the Watcher’s living room exchanged anxious glances, before the gypsy teacher picked up the receiver and raised it to her ear.

“Hello?”

After a few moments, she spoke again. “Okay, slow down…why do you think…? Okay, just a second…hold on just a second, I’ll tell her, okay? Just calm down.” Ms. Calendar held the receiver away from her mouth as she turned troubled eyes on Buffy. “It’s Xander. He says after we called him, he got worried about Willow and called her house. Her mom went to call her to the phone…and she wasn’t in her room.”

“Oh, no,” Buffy moaned, lowering her head into her hands for a moment before rising once more. “I’ve got to go find her. It could be too late already.” She turned suddenly toward Spike, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “When is this supposed to happen?” she demanded. “Do you know that much, Spike?”

“Well, I’ll know when it’s close,” the vampire replied grimly. “It’s sort of a result of something else that’s gonna happen -- and when the first thing happens…well, I’ll bloody well know it.”

“What’s the first thing?” Giles asked, frowning.

“Angelus…Angel’s gonna kill Dru,” Spike blurted out, flinching slightly at his own words.

“But how would that lead to his turning Willow?” Miss Calendar frowned. “I mean, no offense…but isn’t staking Drusilla…more of a ‘good Angel’ thing to do?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed in a disgusted tone of voice, “I mean…Angel wouldn’t just kill an innocent girl. But…if he’s lost his soul again, why would he stake Drusilla? That’s pretty much a good thing as far as I’m concerned, and more of an ‘Angel’ thing to do, isn’t it?”

“He hasn’t lost his soul,” Spike replied, a warning growl underlying his words at the tone Buffy had taken when speaking of his sire. “And Dru was once an innocent girl, too, Slayer. Look what Angelus did to *her*.”

“We’re not dealing with Angelus…”

“Yes, we bloody well are!” Spike’s eyes blazed with frustrated fury. “They’re one and the same, Slayer, and you’d better get that, and right bloody quick!”

“Drusilla’s not dead yet, is she?” Buffy snapped, clearly determined to change the subject.

“No,” Spike admitted with an irritated sigh. “Not yet.”

“Good. Then we still have time…”

“Buffy…”

“Look, we don’t have time for this. I have to go find Willow,” Buffy insisted, turning abruptly away from Spike and heading toward the door. Over her shoulder she instructed the others, “Tell Xander to come over here. You’ll all be safer together. Spike, you can come with me.”

“Oh, can I? Brilliant.”

Buffy glared at him, muttering, “Fine. Suit yourself, Spike. Whatever. But if you really wanted to help me…” Her voice trailed off as she stopped short just before reaching the doorway, surprised to see him standing directly in front of her, a determined expression on his troubled face.

“Of course I’ll help, Slayer,” he informed her softly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Spike did not respond to her snark, just stood there staring at her, refusing to back down.

Buffy held his gaze for a long moment, before shaking her head and waving him out the door ahead of her, muttering under her breath, “You really *do* wanna help. Too weird.”

“Slayer,” Spike breathed darkly, pausing on the porch to allow her to lead the way as she walked past him out the door. “You have no bloody idea!”

They were barely to the sidewalk when the first shockwave of a very physical grief hit Spike.

He knew without being told, without any evidence beyond the profound sense of loss and disconnection that suddenly overwhelmed him -- Drusilla was dead.

“No,” he moaned, shaking his head, dropping to his knees where he stood, his arms crossed defensively over his chest as he swayed slowly. “No, not my Dru, my princess, please, love, no…”

“Then, the crazy ho is dead? Good riddance,” the Slayer remarked flatly, deliberately turning her back on the poignant picture of grief that Spike presented. She was the Slayer; she was not supposed to feel bad when a psychotic menace like Drusilla died…but Spike’s reaction was breaking her heart. Swiftly, she tried to move on. “But that just means that now Willow’s in more…”

The attack was so sudden, so completely unexpected, that before she knew what had happened, Buffy was on her face on the concrete, powerful blows raining across her back and shoulders. Instinctively, she reacted, not taking time to think about the shocking fact that Spike had actually attacked her.

*And why is that shocking again? It’s only the fifty millionth time he’s tried to kill you!*

She pushed up on her arms, throwing the snarling vampire off her and swiftly rolling to reverse their positions so that she was over him, struggling to pin down his flailing, scrabbling hands as he snapped at her with glistening fangs, fury blazing in golden eyes.

“Spike!” she yelled in frustration. “What the *hell*!”

“Don’t you *ever* talk about her like that, you bloody bitch!” Spike yelled back, his struggles stilling as he glared up at her defiantly through brilliant eyes glittering with a pain so raw it took Buffy’s breath. “She’s more than that, she’s bloody *amazing* -- a revelation -- she’s my *sire*, and you can’t talk about her like that, you bloody, soddin’, *stupid* bint!”

Buffy tried to stay calm as she replied firmly, holding his gaze, “Spike…she’s *dead*. I’m sorry, but she is. And if we don’t move fast, Willow’s going to be…”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she realized that the fiercely fighting vampire of moments before had dissolved into a sobbing heap on the ground beneath her. Spike’s shoulders shook, his wrists still pinned by her hands, and he turned his face away from her, his eyes closed, soundless sobs rising from his throat as he shook his head in what was either denial of the truth, or a desire for her not to be there, intruding on his very personal grief.

The soft keening sound that left his lips tore at Buffy’s heart, despite her resolve not to feel anything for either vampire.

He sounded like she had felt when she had first realized that Angel was gone.

“Spike,” she said softly, her grip easing on his wrists as her hands slid up to rest on his arms. “Shhh…it’s okay…”

He shook his head again, and this time his meaning was clear.

It was *not* okay -- not at all.

Buffy knew that she had no words to offer to ease his grief, but she didn’t really mean to do what she did next, either. Still, somehow, in the next moment she found that she had leaned back on her knees, gently pulling the shattered vampire up with her and wrapping her arms around him, just holding him close to her and rocking slightly as his body shook with the intensity of his pain and loss.

*************************************

Angel was lost.

He was not aware of where he was, or what he was doing, only a sense of warmth, and light, and a sweetness that surrounded him, consuming him until it was a part of him, and there was nothing else. He savored it -- the rich, mingled flavor that was innocence, power, and terror -- until he tasted the faint, sickly sweet flavor that he had tasted too often to ever forget.

Death.

With a shock, he came to himself, drawing back and shoving away the limp, unresisting form of the girl in his arms. Revulsion and horror filled him, as he stared in disbelief at the pale, weakened body on the concrete at his feet, and heard the faint, erratic sound of her swiftly surrendering heartbeat.

Willow was moments from death…and it was his fault.

Buffy was going to kill him.

Angel panicked.

All he knew in that moment was that he could not let the girl’s life simply vanish away completely. He had gone much further than he had intended, had lost control of his demon and taken too much blood. Now, he wanted nothing more than to somehow take it back, to undo the damage he had done, before it was forever too late.

*Forever*.

A desperate thought that he never would have considered under other circumstances entered Angel’s mind, and a wild, irrational hope seized him with that thought. He could not give Willow back the swiftly ebbing life he had unthinkingly stolen from her; he knew from experience that she did not have as much time left as it would take to get her to the hospital. No, he could not give her back her life.

But he could give her eternity.

And, better yet, if he was cautious and graced with a little good luck…Buffy would never have to know what he had done.

He knelt beside the barely conscious redhead, listening closely for the faint pulse that told him it was not yet too late. As he reached out to pull her into his arms, she let out a soft, despairing moan -- and Angel nearly wept with relief.

*Relief? *Relief*? You’re about to commit the ultimate betrayal -- against Buffy, against Willow, against everything you’ve spent the last century believing…you’re about to…*

*Don’t think. No time. Just act. Think later…*

Angel pulled Willow closer to him, cradling her still form in his arms as he raised one shaking wrist to his fangs and made a clean slice in his own flesh. He gently tilted Willow’s head back, holding his bleeding wrist over her slightly parted lips.

She was too weak by this point even to swallow the cool blood that dripped into her mouth.

A few tense moments of gently massaging her throat led to a reflexive swallow, and Angel was once again overwhelmed with a sense of relief -- not only because he had been able to get her to respond, but because it was *done*, and for better or worse, there was no turning back. The decision had been made, and all that was left was to play it out, whatever the consequences might be.

Just then, however, his relief was shattered by the sound of a familiar voice calling out into the darkness, and not very far away at all.

“*Willow! Willow, where are you?*”

Angel hesitated for just a moment, fighting back panic as he realized that he was likely moments away from being caught quite literally with blood on his hands, before he lifted Willow’s nearly weightless, still form into his arms and rushed off down the alley, away from the sound of Buffy’s desperate voice.

He needed to find a quiet, safe place where he and his new childe could rest, until she awakened to the new existence he had chosen for her.