Wolfgang sipped calmly from his wine glass, contemplating his latest defeat. He had been foolish to underestimate his enemies, but it would not happen again.

The vampire peered under the blanket to see the stumps that had once been his legs. Yes, the Slayer had indeed ensured that he would never face his enemies again. If only he had stayed away from her...

Soon his minions would discover the secret he kept hidden in his bed. He was useless; he had been reduced to literally a mere fraction of the man he once was. And, as all men wronged, Wolfgang wanted vengeance. But he could not seek it personally...would not seek it personally.

He would find someone much more powerful.

Someone who held power over her.

With the advent of morning the world resurrects itself and breathes anew. The sky alights with fresh promise, and colors that night misplaces are found once more.

Buffy missed the dawn; missed the sun's embrace. Spike could tell by the way sat closer to the window during the day, or would lie on the bed as if sunbathing. There were times when he wondered whether or not she could be happy as a vampire. Yet he did not regret turning her. He had saved her the agony of a slow death, and for this he would never be sorry. Even now, as he watched her peering out the blinds, pushing apart the flaps with gloved hands to protect herself from the forbidden light.

Inevitably she drew too close and the sunlight caught her eye. The blinds were flung violently away as she threw herself to the floor, cursing. Rubbing her eye she removed the gloves and discarded them into a drawer.

Spike rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, pretending -- for the sake of her pride -- that he hadn't seen. But when she climbed into their bed he gave his ruse away by enfolding her in his arms.

"Do you love me, Slayer?" he asked, muffling his voice in her hair.

She tightened the covers around their shoulders before answering with a quiet: "Yes."

"Then stay away from the Gods-be-damned window!" His arms grew more possessive, pulling her closer as if to prevent her from leaving their bed -- though she might have easily wrenched herself free, or even knocked him unconscious. Buffy was pretty much capable of doing an endless amount of damage to anyone. Soul or no soul, she still had a demon. The question was: could she live with it?

"Spike, are you listening to me?"

Her elbow in his gut alerted him to the fact that she had been speaking.

"Sorry, Pet, what was that?"

With a heavy sigh, he felt her pull free of his grasp and retreated to the other side of the bed.

It wasn't important anyway.

"No."

Spike lit a cigarette and took a puff, admiring the resulting ring of smoke rather than listening to Giles. His fellow Englishman had been trying to coddle him yet again into one of those missions to annihilate another vampire master from lala land.

Whatever. Spike wasn't interested.

"You don't understand," stammered Giles. "This is in Allantownship. It's less than forty miles east of here!"

From the couch Buffy interjected. "If it's so close how could infiltration possibly be successful?" She stared disapprovingly at her husband, still lost in his tobacco high. "We'd be recognized right off the bat."

Xander smiled. "But, Buff, they're scared shitless of you. You wouldn't have to infiltrate...just order around."

Buffy watched her husband at his position by the bar counter, hoping he found some satisfaction in her friend's words. Spike, however, took no pride in Xander's statement. Perhaps, had the circumstances been different, he might have felt some sort of accomplishment, but at the moment his mind was too preoccupied. Instead he detached himself from the conversation by moving into kitchen and flipped his half-smoked drag carelessly into the sink. "Well, I won't have any part in it." he shouted around the wall before reappearing. Buffy observed him in continued surprise. Didn't Spike usually enjoy violence? And he'd always liked the idea before...

Her husband was an enigma. He could be studied for years without yielding information, nor would she have any luck deciphering his thoughts tonight. Thus she remained silent, confident that he would tell her later what he was planning. But he only made things more complicated.

"And I don't want the Slayer involved neither."

Heads shot up.

"Spike, I'm the key!" Buffy sputtered incredulously. With a quick glance at her friends they saw she was asking for support which Giles immediately attempted to give.

"Well, Spike, of course I understand that you've just gotten through a mission," he reasoned. "Perhaps you would appreciate a bit of a vacation..."

"Forget it," the vampire cut him off and headed toward the door as he reached for another cigarette. "I'm sick of these ‘missions.' Cut me out...the Slayer, too."

He left quickly, stopping only to ponder whether he ought to take his wife's coat. But of course she wouldn't follow him, so there would be no need.

He left it hanging in the closet.

The coat reappeared after an hour when Buffy tossed it at his head. He plucked it off, grouching that her cast had bent the cover of his magazine, but her indignant glare silenced him.

"What the Hell did you think you were doing back there?! Acting the big, possessive chain smoker..."

"Possessive my ass," he glowered. "Don't you know every time we go on one of those missions you come back different?"

"Different?" she questioned with defiant disbelief.

"That's right, Pet. Different. You don't eat as much, you won't step away from the window during the day ‘til you start to barbeque. Not to mention the fact that you won't touch me let alone look me straight in the eye."

She tried to glare at him with her original vehemence, just to show that he hadn't made his point, but true to his word she found herself unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps she had been momentarily affected by his anger, or it might be that his observation was correct...still, her voice retained its pretense at ignorance.

"And all this is somehow because I kill vampires?" she laughed suddenly, and there was a darkness about the tone that sounded familiar, even to her closed ears. "Let me tell you something, Husband, because maybe you haven't noticed by now that I don't really have a choice in the matter. If I don't do it, who will? I'm the Slayer!"

He stood suddenly, hurling his magazine to the floor. "You're NOT the Slayer! Not anymore, and that's what's destroying you."

She shook her head, coldly. "No one else has been called. It's still my job. My stupid, shitty, on-call-every-second-of-my-life duty that I never wanted. But if I think too much about killing demons, pardon me...it's just a little hard to forget when you're living with one."

Spike made an empty chuckle and made a sudden gesture with his shoulders as if to suggest she had gone daft. "Killing demons? You don't just ‘kill' them; you mutilate them. You tear their limbs off and drown them in holy water. You hate vampires -- you hate them and you hate yourself."

"Maybe I just hate you..." she began, but her voice wavered and gave her away.

"No you don't, Luv." his expression softened. "But every time you're around demons it does something to you. I just think it'd be better if you took a break for a while." he enfolded her in his arms and laid kisses upon her neck and hair. He knew his wife; if he could get her into the right mood everything would be forgotten. However, Buffy had other ideas. She pushed him away.

"I can't take a break."

"Bloody Hell, woman, I've made a decision!"

"Yeah, without consulting me," she growled. When his eyes rolled she slapped him across the cheek. Not hard, but forceful enough to gain his attention. "Listen to me! I do have some say in this marriage. But lately it's always been, ‘Buffy, do this' ‘Buffy you can't do that...'"

"‘And if I can't handle your little campaign for equality, I should get out.' Isn't that your usual line, pet?"

She flinched, but not visibly enough for Spike to notice anything but her apparent stoicism.

"Right." she sneered. "I mean it this time. I really don't want to live with someone still in the 18th Century."

He didn't move, refusing to buy into her act of non-chalance. On many prior occasions pride had become their undoing.

"Buffy," he started calmly. "I'm not trying to be difficult or bossy -- although I must admit you couldn't say the same... But I'm not leaving this house. I just don't see why we always have to run out every shit-wadding moment to kill off some lame-ass fledglings in the most painstakingly slow manner possible."

"Slow!?" she exclaimed. "I'll be glad to stay home when you come up with a better way to take out a city's entire vampire population. God, Spike, we're helping people! Isn't that reason explanation enough?"

"Helping people!" he sneered. "I don't want to help people. Remember? I'm a demon. I want to eat people." He'd meant to be half-way comical, but all it accomplished was to further incite the Slayer's fury.

"Well," she spoke callously. "It's not like I can make you any more than you are. Go hunting if you want -- just don't come home."

He shook his head. "I'm not leaving, Pet." He watched her face for a reaction and saw regret. Regret? His wife collected her coat from the couch and backed away.

"And I can't stay."

He knew when she left she wasn't gone for good. She'd just meant that she had to help people...she'd be back. The argument hadn't been that serious, after they'd had plenty worse. She just didn't want to stop the missions. Right? He'd see her soon enough. Maybe the missions could go on without him, but she couldn't.

But he knew he was right. Always before the missions had been enjoyable for him, but not for her. She was never the same after they completed one. It almost seemed that by coming into such close contact to the garbage of her own kind she had learned to hate herself. She would return full of such self-loathing...she had never tried to look at the sunlight before.

Perhaps he feared that one day she wouldn't come back at all and he would loose the girl he'd fallen in love with. But he certainly didn't fear her absence now. She'd be home in the morning.

And when she wasn't he still didn't worry because she'd come home in the evening.

Nor did he watch for her at night because he expected she had somehow been detained.

But after a week of being alone his confidence had become significantly diminished to the point where he actually called Willow and Oz. Then Giles. And in a final fit of desperation he tried Xander.

But none of them answered.

Allantownship had become a haven of demons and vampires-essentially an extension of the Hellmouth, but without the Slayer. Or so Giles had said. Yet as Spike entered within its city limits he was unable to detect a single demon amongst the sprawling suburban populace. But then Buffy had always been a quick worker. Everyone had probably run off after hearing the rumors of her presence.

All the areas he had attempted turned out to be huge wastes of time. Thus, he had few expectations upon entering the bar -- the last building before the edge of town and ten miles of sweeping desert -- other than being turned out with the same amount of information with which he had entered.

As he entered, Spike could hear the distinct and disgusting thrum of country music in the background, soft enough to be ignored from the busy pool tables and loud enough to lure the drunkards into another round of scotch. The vampire noticed with an uncomfortable pride the few women in the back admiring the dip in his swagger and made a beeline for the bar. He sat close to where the bartender dried his shot glasses and pulled out Buffy's old driver's license, the only photograph he had ever owned of his wife.

"Have you seen her around?" he asked for the hundredth time without success. "Young woman, barely 20, blonde. Goes by the name Buffy Summers..." he trailed off stupidly, not fully seeing the logic of his searching a bar. Buffy would never mar her dignity by entering a dump like this. But just as he prepared to leave a hand leapt over to stop him.

"You know her?" With a start, Spike turned to face a young man standing behind him, eyes glued to the license picture.

"Of course I know her, you dolt. Why else would I be asking?" Spike observed with curiosity the expression which leapt to the man's face. "I don't suppose you do..."

The man's eyes lowered sadly. "I...I did."

"Where is she?" growled Spike. When he didn't receive a response he grabbed the lapels of the man's jacket and shook him violently. "Tell me!".

The man's stool quaked at the legs as the vampire shook him. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. "I haven't seen her in years." He bowed his head and mumbled quietly, almost incoherently: "I thought she was dead."

And suddenly Spike recognized him.

Instantly he released the human, but examined the face with a scrutiny worthy of any detective. The man was older, darker as well...but he remembered this person -- only a boy the last time he had seen him. He had even envied him once.

Collecting himself, Spike stood straight and brushed off his duster. "She is dead, mate." He watched the boy's head sink further as all hope died. "Well, she's dead to you, anyway."

Then the man's head shot up with horror-stricken eyes. Eyes that understood. "By God," he cried, for he recognized Spike as well. "It's you." Immediately the man bolted from his seat and sprinted toward the exit, completely oblivious to the bartender's protests.

When Riley re-entered the small motel room, he was a tangled mess of alcohol and unshaven stubble. Again. He hadn't shaven in days, but he never had been able to grow a beard so it didn't really matter. He was a wreck, and had been ever since that night. What had possessed him to run? It couldn't have been fear of the vampire for Spike had always been harmless. Or so he had been told.

Dear God, he had thought he'd moved on. But he couldn't now...not knowing what had happened to her.

He'd been gone that last semester on an exchange program to England, working on his doctorate at Cambridge. She'd sent him letters and e-mails. Sometimes presents. They brightened his day as well as his love for her.

Until they stopped.

He didn't know why, but he found out upon his return to Sunnydale. Because she was gone...and all that remained was the gravestone. Her mother had blamed it on leukemia; it hadn't gotten bad, but it had slowed down her fighting. She hadn't told him Buffy had been turned.

He'd been called here to catch a vampire...was it Spike or her?

The sewer's stench still slung to Spike's clothing, so he burned them. Unfortunately, he could not do the same to himself, and was forced to waste time in the shower. A full hour of scrubbing before the soap began to help.

He'd searched every section of the underground hoping to find a lair, but came up with nothing other than the usual refuse. But then Buffy had probably moved the hideout...she never had found the sewers suitable for a queen. He would probably have to investigate the mansions next.

But the mansions proved fruitless as well -- though one had provided the site for an appetizing snack. Perhaps she and her friends had gone somewhere besides Allantownship; but, considering how it had been the topic of all recent conversation, it didn't seem logical.

He just needed some sort of clue. A real clue and not just some frightened boy that recognized a photo.

The water washed over his skin, and for just a moment he re-possessed the heat that he had lost centuries ago. He loved showers. In fact, most vampires did.

Then, suddenly the shower curtain was ripped away. Before Spike could react something hit him from behind -- a jolt of light that froze his limbs and shook his bowels. He swore in his mind, cursing his stupidity. He had forgotten the boy's occupation.

Spike observed numbly as Riley Finn removed his mask and sauntered toward him, gun raised and loaded. The Captured couldn't even close his eyes to save himself the pain of watching his killer. And then, miraculously, the world turned black.

But the world reappeared, this time as a dismal hotel room stockpiled with rifles and tranquilizers. Spike knew instinctively that he would be chained or tied, or otherwise incapacitated, but still he attempted to struggle. The clatter of metal and the pull against his wrists informed Spike that he was shackled to something heavy -- a chair or a bed perhaps --, and also alerted Riley to his prisoner's consciousness.

"Good, I was hoping you'd wake up before dark."

"And how long have I been napping for?" Spike sighed, rolling back his eyes..

Riley pointed to the cheap metal clock which displayed the time. Half a day had passed since his capture.

"Lemme go, mate. I don't have time for this." He struggled futilely in his bonds.

"Yes, you do," the boy informed him, handing him a thermos. "It's blood. Human. I'll give it to you if you cooperate."

"Bugger off; I'm not your bloody dog."

Riley sighed. He hadn't meant to be condescending. Not really. Nor could he afford to be if he wanted Spike's help.

"Don't worry, I didn't bring you here to be my dog." he smiled weakly. "I won't give you some degrading designation like ‘Hostile Seventeen' and I won't stuff implants into your brain. You're here because of what you told me. Is it true about Buffy?"

"Is what true about Buffy?" Spike responded, mimicking the human's accent and melancholy tone. There was no chance in hell he was going to give this boy an easy time.

"Is Buffy a...vampire?"

Spike narrowed his eyes in distaste for the way Riley said her name. And whether he did it out of jealousy or unwillingness to give out information he still refused to speak. Yes he remembered this boy well, especially now that he had shaved and sobered.

"Is she a vampire?" repeated Riley, impatiently.

"She's my wife," Spike finally answered, surprising the human. He would crush any hopes this boy had of finding happiness. The vampire had a clear vision of their old, unspoken rivalry. They seldom met -- perhaps in their whole acquaintance they had met twice, but the mutual jealousy had been a tangible thing even from a distance. And it hadn't died with Buffy's mortality. Even when Spike had her and her love the war remained. Oh how he would burn in those first days...when it was Riley's name she called in her sleep.

Riley was fidgeting under Spike's glare. "I didn't think vampires married," the hunter told him glumly.

Spike snorted. "They don't. But we did."

Riley eyed his prisoner with envious disgust. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to stake this monster. After all, by letting him live he was defying all that he had ever been taught...but so what? He'd done that before.

"So why are you looking for her," asked the human. "Did she leave you?"

Spike hissed in his bonds, choosing to ignore how close the boy was to the truth.

"She disappeared. But I know she's here."

The human nodded almost imperceptibly. "I know too."

Instantly, the vampire's temper erupted. "You lying bastard! You told me you didn't." He attempted to kick him, but the chains held firm. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"I didn't know she was a vampire," Riley snapped defensively. "For me she's been dead seven years."

Spike fumed as he waited for the inevitable explanation. It came after Riley crossed the room to examine his guns.

"I was called here by the Watcher's Council ten months ago. They gave me a room, some money. They told me my services wouldn't be needed for a while, but I should get comfortable with the town. They didn't know I'd gone to college around here, so instead of exploring I spent most of my time in bars. Still do; that's how you found me."

He paused to pick up a key and returned to Spike, obviously debating whether or not to free him.

"I was called here to hunt a vampire. No big deal; that's my job. But I'm sure you've noticed this town is vampire free. So when the Council called me last night and told me my services were no longer necessary, and knowing what I do about Buffy..."

"You realized they'd already gotten her," finished Spike with his jaw clenched.

The human's mouth tightened into a thin smile as he watched the vampire eying his keys. "I thought maybe it was you...but you weren't here when I was first called for the job, were you? So I suggest a partnership; Buffy once told me you weren't entirely adverse to such things." He waved the keys tantalizingly close to Spike's face. "I can lead you to their headquarters," said Riley. "You promise not to fight?"

She had walked directly into their trap, thinking she was setting one of her own. She hadn't even sensed the danger until the dart had found her neck. Now Buffy was chained to the wall, a constant object of study and attention. Her friends, from what she had heard, were being held in separate rooms and forced to undergo psychiatric therapy. Buffy found the entire scenario quite amusing. Willow had majored in psychology, after all. She'd give those Watchers a run for their money.

Unfortunately, Buffy's problems were not nearly as simple as her friends'. They were human; their safety was assured. Hers, however...

"AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHH!" she shrieked as one man pressed a cross against her exposed and wounded side.

"Interesting." he commented. "You say you have a soul, and yet you burn under the application of holy objects."

She struggled to conquer the pain before lifting her head.

"No shit, Einstein. I think someone has to re-read the definition of ‘vampire'," she choked hoarsely, trying with all her strength not to vamp out. As soon as they saw her game face, they saw her demon. And there would be no mercy when that happened.

"Oh, I have read the definition," said the Watcher. "It's just that you claim not to fit into it."

Buffy didn't respond. Instead she lowered her head and closed her bleeding eyes, willing the pain to disappear. She was still a Slayer -- the wound would heal within an hour. Or it would if they fed her. She hadn't eaten in days...and there was such a wonderful smell of living flesh coming from every direction.

All around her she could hear the Watchers and smell their blood as they paced back and forth, scribbling notes on their clipboards and discussing solutions to the "Slayer" problem. Their bodies were old and decrepit, and smelled of ancient things. But she was starving...and how could starvation afford to turn down a loaf of stale bread?

Everywhere...her vampiric hearing magnified their footsteps and made their heart beats seem like thunderclaps. But her arms were bound; she couldn't cover her ears or her nose or will herself to stop hungering. If she slipped once that would be the end. Still, if she could wait until her friends escaped. Or maybe Spike would come to find her...

"Well, Buffy Summers." her thoughts stilled at the familiar voice. When she moved her head she could see him, standing very still and pale. Wesley!

He was older, and wore a full beard to hide that snobbish chin. His gait, which had once been so annoyingly cheerful was now impeded by an awkward limp. Even with his lame leg he hadn't lost that pompous stance of his younger days, but for his familiarity in a horde of strangers Buffy found she could almost like him. Almost.

He was frowning. "I never thought I'd see the day when anyone could treat you this shamefully."

She raised her head higher, with a silent entreaty that would make any heart weep. But Wesley wasn't paying attention.

"Well," she said. "That's what you get for not following Council protocol."

Time had not humbled Wesley Wyndham-Price. Nor had it improved his intellect. But from what Buffy saw it had greatly increased his stature.

"Nevertheless," he continued. "We shall be merciful. As long as you promise not to resist -- and I wouldn't recommend it because we are all armed and waiting -- we will release you from your bonds..."

"Good. I'll do it myself." She ripped the chains from the wall, twisted off her wrist cuffs, and proceeded to do the same with her leg bindings. She had intended to prove that she was harmless, submitting to capture when she might have easily freed herself, but as she bend down there was a rip and the sound of metal on bone as a crossbow bolt firmly embedded itself in her shoulder. She hadn't proven anything.

It took the last of her strength as the demon howled in agony and burst forth, enraged by pain and shock.

"Good God, Wesley," cried one of the older Watchers. "She could have escaped any time she wanted."

"And killed us at her convenience, I'm sure," added Wesley, studiously. "But she didn't." His feet drew him nearer. "Why?"

There was grumbling from the man group of the Watchers and one shouted out a vain warning. "Careful, Price, it could be a trick."

Against the stone floor Buffy could hear the slow scrape of Wesley's lame foot until it stopped and his feet appeared in front of her eyes.

"Leave us," he ordered with a confidence she had never known him to possess before. There was some debate which dragged on in her lazy ears, but soon enough she found herself alone with her former-Watcher.

He regarded her with bemusement. "You were never half so complacent while you were human." he said.

"Complacent," she repeated sluggishly. His words were melding together in her exhausted mind as she struggled for clarity.

"Yes, we thought your capture would be far more difficult to obtain."

He opened his jacket and produced a small pouch of blood which she devoured greedily. Upon finishing she wiped away the evidence of her barbaric display with her still freed hands.

"From what we've learned of you; you're quite the fighter in your present form."

She smiled, the blood had reinstated some of her old strength and sarcasm.

"I hadn't expected the Council to be so interested in my affairs. But apparently you weren't interested enough or you might have discovered that I've been evil-free for quite some time."

"Well, according to our reports, you're quite the ruthless killer."

"And proud of it," she snorted at his look of self-satisfaction. He had diagnosed her as soulless, perhaps. "I kill vampires, Sherlock. Check my trail of dust."

"But you didn't kill Wolfgang."

And there was his bait. Wolfgang had been a typical encounter. Buffy had found him, he had challenged her, and she had left him to the mercy of his minions which was the ultimate insult to a great vampire master. Wesley was obviously trying to prove she fell into the usually category of vampiric sadism.

"Who? Lieutenant Dan? I left him a smoking stump for a reason; to send a message to other vampires not to cross my path."

"Yes, but he was still fully capable of killing other humans," countered the Watcher.

"What, with no legs his minions actually let him live!?" exclaimed the vampiress in disbelief.

"Yes, and he even survived to divulge information to the council...regarding you." He shook his head regretfully and rebalanced his weight on his cane and injured leg. His eyes went far away into the memories of his mind. "We lost track of you years ago -- assumed you were gone for good, in fact. But we also lost track of Faith and since that day we have been unable to locate the new Slayer."

Buffy listened attentively. Although Wesley had not said anything that was new, he was definitely headed in a path she did not want to follow. She wanted to know where he stopped.

"You see, a Slayer that becomes a vampire never really dies. So a new Slayer can't be called. But then, you knew that."

She remained expressionless. "So the Council has been powerless all these years. I'm really feeling your pain."

"You should, because you are caught in the very center of the conflict. There are many in the Council willing to believe whole-heartedly in Wolfgang's testimony to your cruelty. We have only to kill you in order to call another Slayer; your soullessness would be a convenient excuse."

Buffy examined him sadly. "A convenient excuse. So you knew that a Slayer keeps her soul no matter what?"

He nodded. "Everyone knows that, but this is a matter of politics. Of control. I think you understand. Still...it's not to late to save yourself."

"How?" She asked, but she already knew what he would say. He would ask for Faith and he would tell her to play Judas for twenty pieces of silver. Oh, yes, Faith had been the betrayer once, but fate had made her pay dearly for it.

"Tell me what you have done with Faith." Wesley bent lower and stared into her yellow demon-eyes. "You know. Now, tell me where she is."

The offer wasn't even tempting.

"Never."

"You were enemies once; you almost fought to the death. What can it mean to you now?" Exasperation was plain on his face. He had meant to corner her.

"We were never enemies," answered Buffy, tightly. Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't. Faith wasn't her enemy, Faith was her foil. Her equal, and her greatest challenge. "And her death won't save me. The more Slayers, the more power."

"God dammit, Buffy, the Council doesn't want two Slayers! They're impossible to control."

"Control!" she quoted mockingly. "You see? Everyone wants control. Oh, Wesley, how little you have learned from yourself."

Anger flashed into his eyes, furious, yet full of admiration that this girl would never respect him. "You're a good fighter, Buffy. It will be such a waste to loose you...but the Council will never see it that way."

The scope was deadly accurate; any scope was, but this one could hit a mole on a man's neck from 500 meters away. Or so Riley liked to brag. And right now he would put it to the test...he swore he would.

"Put the gun down, mate," warned Spike, pushing the gun away from the target.

"But I can hit it and knock the power out," he protested, but the vampire shook his head.

"Power outs? Now, that would just scream ‘ambush'. Buffy would be dust in seconds."

Unfortunately, he had yet to invent a better plan. After all, planning had never been his forte. But just then the human shoved the binoculars in Spike's face.

"She'll be dust anyway if we don't do something soon."

Spike took them roughly and held them expectantly before his eyes. His hands clenched the metal as his knuckles turned white in outrage for what he saw. Yet Riley only saw the faintest glimmer of pleasure in the vampire's face. If he saw anything... He was upset by Spike's apparent non-chalance. It was an insult to his love.

"Aren't you upset by what you saw?"

Spike stood and brushed off his famous duster. "Not really. Because the thought of what I'm going to do to those wankers cheers me up immensely."

"So what's your plan?" trailed Riley. Spike had simply broken through a window -- the Watchers had been overconfident in their security which made for relatively easy break-ins.

"We're just going to walk into a room filled with men and weapons?"

"Right," came the answer as Spike halted by a particular corridor to sniff the air. "But first we're going to free my...friends...for lack of a better word."

Together they rushed toward the detention cells until Riley pulled back.

"We don't have time for this," he argued. "We have to get to Buffy!"

The vampire whipped his head around, game-face ready. "You idiot! You're wasting time by talking. And the two of us could never handle the Council."

For a second Riley appeared sated, but then he shook his head. "Then I'll go distract the Watchers. You don't need me to free anybody."

Before Spike could respond Riley had abandoned him in the corridor. From further in the hall he could hear the echo of footsteps as the guards came to inspect the commotion.

Instinctively he glanced at the ceiling, knowing in a building such as this the ceiling would make an easy escape. Above the cardboard tiles would be a metal frame, some pipes...and empty space.

By the time the guards had reached him Spike, had vanished.

At first glance Riley had believed the situation impossible. She might have already been dead, nor did the constricted circle of Watchers crowded around where she had been give Riley any other indication to dispel his fears. Yet, when the crowd parted in surprise at the new arrival he saw indeed she was not dead. But she might as well have been.

"Agent Finn," recognized one of the older Watchers. "I thought you had been informed that your services were no longer necessary"

He stared at them helplessly, quickly attempting to fabricate an explanation. It might be different if he had appeared in street clothes, but to show up in full military garb and his most powerful tranquilizer gun...how could he ever explain that?

"N..no." he stammered. "I hadn't been aware of that. In fact, I was tracking a vampire just now. I had no idea this building was your headquarters."

The head watcher, a young man with glasses and jet black hair stepped forward limping ever so slightly as he swung his cane.

"Well," said the Watcher, moving aside to present an ample view of the former Slayer lying weak and half-chained to the floor. "Here's your vampire. Not much for hunting, is she?"

Riley stared numbly at the Watcher, and then at his love as he struggled to remain calm. He had not laid eyes upon her in years, nor even had a picture to remember her by. Yet in all that time he had always known they would meet again. But not like this. Riley's hope was that common to any man in mourning. He had dreamed of her and held such visions in his mind as that of an angel, too dazzling and luminous for the human eye.

She was still an angel, though neither dazzling nor luminous, but she moved grown men to tears and her suffering infuriated them.

"If you could catch her yourself," choked the hunter, "why did you bother to contact me?"

Wesley shifted his weight to his good foot. "You are the best vampire hunter in the world. Or at least the best human one. We thought you would be necessary to catch a demon Slayer; we never anticipated that she would fall directly into our trap." There was a pause before Wesley added: "Nor did we expect her to lure you to her side."

Willow had barely roused herself when the commotion ended. There had been a brief scuffle and then the crash of a body against metal...and at the last the liberating jangle of keys.

Oz appeared at the doorway, his hair mussed from his two week confinement.

"Oz!" she threw herself at him. "How did you...?"

When Spike appeared she could barely keep from embracing him, but somehow she doubted he'd appreciate it.

"C'mon, dearie. There's no time, I hear noises. You free Giles and Xander. I think Riley's in trouble."

And he was down the hall in a flash leaving Willow to stare at her husband.

"Riley?"

"Lure me? A Slayer?" sputtered the hunter. "Now, look, I was just tracking a vampire...have no clue what..." but he stopped, knowing he wasn't going to be believed.

"Don't lie, Agent Finn." Wesley raised his eyes derisively. "You never told us of your previous history with the Slayer. But I must say that I knew it all along. Not the extent of your relations, of course, and I still don't...but I thought your previous knowledge might help you track her as soon as you realized who you were tracking. I just never expected you to be so double-faced in your dealings with us. Really, Agent Finn, couldn't you have guessed that your motel room was bugged?"

There was a rattle of chains and a strained voice to answer the question. It came from Buffy.

"Double-faced," she whispered prophetically from the verge of a temporary insanity. Her hunger had returned, and with it the pain inflicted by dozens of wounds. The cauterized flesh of her chest and side heaved as she struggled to stand. The arrow still embedded in her shoulder dripped with the holy water they had poured over her back and neck... But her game face remained undamaged. Her eyes were clear as she spoke. "Double-faced. My husband has two faces. But when you see him, he'll only be wearing one."

As if on cue, there was an outraged roar from the ceiling rafters as Spike launched himself into a protective position in front of his mate. Riley cocked his gun to his shoulder and fired it ruthlessly at one of the watchers as the door slammed open behind him. He turned, to find friends he had not seen in seven years. He swung to their sides and readied his weapon at the fray, gleefully regarding the reunion. It had never occurred to him that these were the friends Spike had gone to free.

"Willow," he cried, grabbing her attention. He tossed her a knife just before a Watcher approached.

Buffy observed the chaos without much interest. She was barely conscious of the events at all. But she had felt her husband's presence, and had seen his reflection in the floor tiles. And her demon watched through her mind's eye the carnage that was laid at her feet. Spike wouldn't kill without her permission, but he had no qualms about crushing every one of the watchers' legs until the marrow flowed like water.

Perhaps she should have protested, but somehow it wasn't an issue. Some people were better off dead.

At last Spike went to free her, but it was not he who had snapped the cuffs.

Buffy stared, uncomprehending, at her liberator. Through the blinding pain it was not a vampire's arms she felt.

"Willow," she asked softly. "Giles?" Her eyes blinked as another man caught her in his embrace and took her away from the forgotten heat of life. All the sunlight in the world could not melt the love she shared with Spike, but... Those hands. That face. Her mind was numb, but sleep did not come before her lips had formed his name.

"Riley."

If jealousy were ever to drive a man crazy, it could have destroyed Spike in an instant. He hated Riley almost as much as he hated those Watchers. They were the same to him, and their common flaws were trying to take his wife. Buffy had been right; Spike was possessive. That's what a demon was. Half animal. Always staking a claim. But he couldn't blame her any more than he could blame a piece of meat for being stolen.

It was a horrible metaphor -- comparing Buffy to a piece of meat. She was above such degradation. And with this realization came the insecurity which accompanied loving her. To Spike she was above all things living or dead. Above himself especially. She was his only because she chose to be so, but she had said Riley's name, not his own. And Spike could only reason that she was speaking to Riley now because she hadn't chosen her husband, whose love wasn't worth her time. He could think of only one thing worthwhile to a Goddess, and this was a sacrifice. Spike could offer himself, but he could only offer it once. For If she did not accept, then there would be nothing left to give.

Thus, he could not leave because he could not offer himself again. And so he endured the pain, staring at her as she talked with that heavenly smile upon her lips and as she held Riley's hand so gently and whispered into his ear.

They didn't notice Spike as he watched them -- they were too involved in each other to see. But it was not the cause for envy that the vampire believed it to be. They talked of times past and of things that could never be.

"Why did you never tell me you were alive?" asked Riley, confusion injuring his brow.

"Because I'm not," was her simple answer, and she turned toward the concealed window with longing in her heart. "I thought it would be easier for both of us if I remained dead. Tell me I made the right decision."

Riley shook his head sadly. "It's easy to say that everything worked out for the best, because everything worked out. But we'll never know how it could have been..."

Briefly they remembered the few months when they had both been happy together, each knowing what the other was and feeling perfect about it.

"I loved you," the Slayer-vampire told him weakly. She found herself wanting to quote Angel, and stopped herself. His arguments seemed even more ridiculous now than before. "But we couldn't be together," she finished.

"I still love you," Riley told her softly, placing his hand on hers. He flinched, not expecting it to be so cold. Instantly he felt guilty and hurried to apologize, but it was too late. Buffy had retreated behind reality.

"You see? We're not the same kind -- you and me. I married Spike." She began to chuckle slightly. "And let's face it, he's my type."

Riley recognized the pun and knew enough to groan. He stood slowly and reached out as if to shake her hand. "I saw your face just now. You know you're really not fooling me with this forbidden lovers crap. I know why you didn't ever tell me." he withdrew his hand. "You fell in love with someone else."

"Riley..."

"No," he stopped her. "It's actually easier for me to know that." But he didn't care if she was someone else's girl. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, letting his lips linger in a final farewell. Like ice...

"Good bye, Buffy."

As soon as he stepped out the door he noticed Spike glowering at him.

"Don't look at me that way," Riley ordered. "If I didn't love her you'd have a reason to look at me that way, but as it stands...well, you're the winner. Everyone loves her, but you're the only one that gets her."

Spike started in surprise at the younger human. Then, as if jealousy had never crossed his mind he unfolded his arms and grinned.

"I knew that."

And from behind the door frame he caught his wife staring at the curtained window. He frowned as he watched her melancholy repose. He didn't know at all.