London closes in around me as I walk. Stale and dust soaked air gets into my lungs and I cough slightly, my Slayer senses on overdrive from all the demons strolling the streets. The sky is grey and swirls of silvery black clouds roll in from the east. It's not going to be a pretty day. I would guess that it hasn't been beautiful in this city for a while.

I smell the air. The scent of Spike is getting more and more pungent, and I move in and out of the crowds, ducking into a pub that reeks of him. I glance up at the name- “The Pretty Penny” and gaze around the room, trying not to choke on the smoke that crawls up my throat.

Angel is dead.

No.

I won't think about that. I won't think about anything but the answers I need. My eyes search the large space, until I catch a flash of platinum and black leather, and make a silent path towards the table where Spike sits… with Darla? Her lips are curved into a moue of displeasure at whatever he's telling her and I feel the sinuous burn of rage slide into my belly.

He's going to pay for this.

Laying a cold hand on Spike's shoulder, I chirp brightly, “Hope I'm not interrupting a family gathering here.”

I feel his surprise, shooting down his spine. Darla's cat eyes look into mine and she smiles slowly. “Hello Buffy.”

“Hello Darla,” I mock, sitting down and facing the two blond vampires with a cold glare. “Spike- is there anything you want to tell me? Besides the fact that the whole, “Darla's dust, blondie” spiel is out the window.”

He looks sick, and bows his head slightly. “I was going to tell you, Slayer.”

“Were you?” I ask, and blink at him. I almost kissed that lying mouth. I feel my tongue recoil and my anger flash bright. “Or were you just going to keep lying to me, you bastard?”

“No, I wasn't. I was going to tell you everything. I came here so we could meet up with Darla after—“ he breaks off and I immediately put it together in my head.

“After you made me into a vampire? What did you think- you and I and Dawn were going to be one big happy family?”

His lips twist and he says furiously, “I saw my chance with you and I took it, Slayer. Don't make it seem like I'm the big bad here. I'm not. There's tons of fucking weird shit going down, and I'm hardly a part of it.”

Darla watches us closely, but with a strange detachment. She looks like winter and I think if I touched her my fingers would run with blue. How did Angel ever lie between those cold thighs? Her lips are pink, shiny and she looks beautiful. Untouched.

“What haven't you told her, Spike?” she inquires, and her voice is tinged with authority. I realize that they really are “family”. She's his Elder- in the Order of Aurelis and it scares me momentarily. They have lived and loved and fought for centuries. Who am I then? Compared to them?

He winces. “Not a lot. I mean… I haven't told her a lot.”

I break in. “Like Angel being in Sunnydale after I died. You wouldn't let him take Dawnie. Even though you *know* that's exactly who I would have wanted her to be with.”

He laughs low. “You were *dead* pet. Do you think anyone gave a fuck what you wanted?”

“Angel obviously did.” My voice gets soft. “He knew how much Dawn meant to me. He didn't turn her into a vampire, Spike. Not like you.”

“Of course,” he snarls, startling me. “Not like me. Angel's such a bloody saint. Get over it, Slayer. He sure as all hell got over you. He's dead. He's fucking dead, and you're going to have to live with that for the rest of your pathetic little life. He died not loving you.”

I feel my stomach bubbling with cold sweat and thick hot blood. Syrupy liquid floods my mouth and I swallow, coughing, wanting to fall into the raven's eyes that I see every night and dream. I picture Willow with her sparrows and the flowers in her hair. I see Angel with his bedroom eyes and slight smile. I'm shaking, but I can't feel it. I'm going to pass out.

“Actually that's not true,” Darla says quietly. “About Angel getting over her.”

“What?” Spike growls, warningly. Darla looks undaunted. She pushes back her silken rainfall of white blonde hair and reaches out to touch my hand. I jerk away, but not in time to avoid the frosty brush of her fingertips. My skin burns and I rub it, staring at her with malevolent, dead eyes.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sipping the cup of blood I suddenly notice in front of her. It pearls on her lips, and I see her as if through a seaweedy dream, her mouth full of glowing teeth and dripping red. Blinking, I wish I could cry. I need to get out of this messy brain I've fallen into. Would Angel take me away if I screamed for him?

God, I can't do this.

Please… someone help me.

Darla's whispers sound like the tolls of a bell in my ears. “He never got over you, Buffy. Trust me, he never did. Spike's a little liar, as he always has been. He just wants to get into your pants, love. Never mind him. Do you know who brought you back?”

I stare at her blankly.

Angel is dead.

Stop it.

“I have no idea,” I respond, my voice cracking. I try and gulp down the stale air around me but it gets stuck between my teeth and I feel myself choke. “It must have been the Powers that Be- wherever the Hell they are. Why are you back? Angel staked you so long ago. And it seems like you should have stayed all dead. I mean, that's only fair, right?”

“Long story,” she smiles sadly. “But I have a soul now. It comes with a conscience, one that I wish I could ignore.” Her eyes are haunted windows to that cursed soul, and I gaze into them, watching her wet her lips with coppery saliva. “Buffy, I think you need our help. And I think we could use your help.

“With what?” I remember Willow's words…

You have to look closer, Buffy. You have to save those who need saving.

She gazes at me seriously. “Spike hasn't told you what's happened to the world, has he?”

“I don't know,” I shoot him a glare. “I don't know if what he's told me is true. I accepted it when he told me… but now I guess there'll be some second guessing going on.”

Her mouth curves in a sensual smile. “I'm glad you still have that… spunk.” I can tell she doesn't like me. But she respects me. Just barely. “You're going to need it.”

(You're going to need it. For what's to come)

“Tell me.”

“Never one to mince words,” she smiles again. It's not a pleasant smile. But she's beautiful. Like an ice sculpture, milky pale and exquisitely carved. How could my Angel have loved her? How could he have—

She speaks again, quietly. “The demons didn't simply kill all the humans,” she begins. “In actual fact, they only killed a small percentage of the population. The rest they put in very large camps- all over the world.”

I feel vomit rise in my throat and whisper, “Camps? What are they, Hitler wannabes?”

“That's not far off,” Spike interjects with a grin, but he falls silent again as I slice him with my glare.

“Sort of,” Darla hesitates, looking up, past my shoulder. Her lips fall into a very gentle, very tender smile. “Hello, darling.”

I don't know. Not right then. I begin to turn, and then my blood boils and Spike lays a hand on my arm and it's cold and I think---

I think---

Dark eyes meet mine and I see my past and my future and it all collides like I did with the white noise four years ago.

“Buffy?” He utters and it's barely a whisper, hardly even a breath- and oh god- it's him- it's *him*

it's always been him and I can't think, can't move and he's beautiful and alive- he's ALIVE

and then all I see, all I hear, all I taste is blackness as I slam through the raven's eyes and hit the floor.

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