The first thing Xander did when they got back to the apartment was call work and leave a message for his boss. He didn't want to leave the man in a lurch and the young man was quite sure that if Spike had his way, neither of them would be fit to use the telephone in the morning. Spike wandered around the apartment while Xander made his excuses, warming up a mug of blood and putting on some music.

"So." Xander started as he hung up the phone. "What are we going to"

Spike shut Xander up with the simple expedient of a kiss. Xander never knew what hit him; one minute he was asking Spike about what the vampire had planned and the next minute said blonde was trying to crawl inside his mouth. Not that Xander minded, of course. He just let Spike hold him up and did his best to kiss back. Harsh, driving music poured out of the speakers as Spike carried Xander into their bedroom, flipping the lights off as he went. The entire apartment was thrown into darkness, save for the few candles Spike had lit in the bedroom. He'd placed perhaps three, all as far from the bed as possible. The room was little more than shadows, flickering over the shiny silk of the bedclothes.

Xander half expected Spike to just toss him down and climb on top of him. To his surprised, Spike let him regain his feet. "Spi..."

Once again Spike sealed his mouth over Xander's, drowning out the boy's words. Xander could barely hear himself think over the music, which was just as loud in the bedroom, thanks to Spike's excellent wiring job with the speakers. He didn't even hear his clothes rip as Spike tore them off, although he knew the fabric had rent under those inhumanly strong hands. Only once he was completely naked did Spike pick him back up and throw him on the black silk comforter.

Xander watched as Spike stripped himself, and then crawled up the bed to join him. The vampire was already in gameface, yellow eyes glittering in the darkness. Xander's breath hitched, his arousal already painful. He'd been waiting for hours for this, but it seemed like longer. He dimly remembered them making love shortly before leaving Los Angeles, but that seemed like years ago, so far back he couldn't recall who had taken whom. Spike growled harshly, causing Xander to groan in reply. The young man loved seeing and hearing his lover lose control.

Unbeknownst to Xander, his eyes were already shifting, their protective membranes extending, making blinking unnecessary. Spike saw it, however, and knew just what it meant; Xander was as desperate as he was. He climbed on top of the boy, shoving him roughly into the mattress. Sharp fangs drifted up and down Xander's chest as Spike laved at his nipples, lapping up the tiny drops of blood he drew with each pinprick. "Spike." Xander moaned, reaching down for his lover. He wanted Spike to kiss him, like had before. He wanted that cold, hard mouth driving everything out of his mind, leaving him unable to think enough to worry about the neighbors complaining.

Spike ignored Xander as he slowly worked his way up, towards Xander's neck. He let his fangs slice open the skin there, blood welling out to pool in the hollow in Xander's throat. He left it there, staining the boy's sweet skin, bright yellow eyes watching each drop run down into the puddle. Only after several minutes, during which Xander's low moans turned into a keening wail, did Spike relent and lean up to kiss the boy.

The kiss was just what Xander had been craving; Spike took complete control, claiming him harshly. He was kissed with almost painful pressure and he was sure the inside of his mouth was bruised from Spike's tongue stroking him. All the while Spike's hands were busy, grasping and pulling as he positioned Xander beneath him. Only the vampire's fierce dominance kept Xander from jerking at the first touch of almost frigid lube. Since Spike had him rather firmly pinned, all Xander could do was groan into Spike's mouth and clench his internal muscles around that one probing finger.

Spike didn't relinquish Xander's mouth even as he thrust another finger into the boy. He managed somehow to grin even as he deepened the kiss, feeling Xander start to breath through his nose. The vampire didn't intend to stop kissing Xander until they were both passed out. It was something he'd been meaning to try. Xander loved kissing, loved the sensation of tongue sliding slickly against tongue, of lips scraping against teeth. There were times when the boy got almost as aggressively violent as a vampire in his kisses, which just made Spike all the more aroused.

Xander writhed under Spike, as much as he could with the vampire holding him down. He got one hand free and immediately put it to good use, teasing Spike by letting it drift lightly down the blonde's back. The touch was a striking, gentle counterpoint to their cruel kissing and Spike's rough preparation of Xander's body. The boy knew he'd done something good when Spike started growling and quickly pushed another finger inside him. Xander's hand faltered when Spike jabbed his prostate hard, making his eyes flash briefly.

The vampire abruptly withdrew his fingers from Xander's body and pushed the very tip of his weeping cock against Xander's hole. He kept sharp eyes focused right on the boy; he wanted to catalogue every reaction, even from this close distance. The young man's eyes twitched when he first felt the cold metal touching him; no matter how aroused Spike was, he was still a vampire. Spike pushed forward slowly, ignoring Xander's obvious though silent pleas for movement.

Xander's eyes rolled back until he could no longer see, although those eerie greenish membranes hid the movement. The sensation of cold, wet metal had been a big shock, sending lightening bolts of pleasure straight up his spine. He could envision just what it looked like, Spike's heavy, pale cock pushing into him, ring disappearing as he slid inside. He could feel the jewelry inside him, a new irregularity in the now-familiar feel of Spike's body inside his. He clenched and unclenched his muscles, trying to get a better feel of the thing. All of a sudden, Spike brushed over his prostate.

Spike knew the moment he found Xander's sweet spot. The boy froze, trying to gasp even though their mouths were sealed together. Spike took pity on him and inhaled through his nose, providing air for Xander to draw in as he tried to regain a measure of control. Once the boy had crawled back into his skull, Spike moved slightly, rubbing the ball at the top of his piercing over Xander's prostate again and again. He rocked back and forth, tormenting Xander continuously.

He was in hell. Xander knew this because in no other place would he be having orgasm after orgasm, ecstasy permeating his body, all without coming once. It felt like Spike was touching every erogenous zone on his body, all at once, without stopping. Pleasure continued unabated, growing into near-pain. He wailed, crying into Spike's mouth, wanting Spike to stop torturing him, to never stop moving like that, to just do something to make the pleasure stay forever without driving him insane.

The blonde watched Xander's face, seeing every spasm, every blink and each tear as it welled up. He could smell the changes in Xander's scent; while the demonic transformation had altered his scent slightly, it had also added a dimension to the boy's pheromones. Spike couldn't put it into words, but somehow he knew that Xander's suffering was sweet and wanted and the boy wanted him to keep going until he passed out. The vampire had other ideas, however.

Xander's body noted the change in Spike's movements before his brain did. The boy was just about to start growling at Spike when his body bucked up and his legs wrapped around Spike's waist. In the next moment he realized that Spike had lunged forward, burying himself all the way inside Xander. The vampire paused there for a moment, and then withdrew completely. Then he lunged forward again, angling up to smash against Xander's prostate. The maneuver was almost brutal in its force; he held back just enough to ensure that he didn't tear Xander's delicate tissues. He knew, though, that he'd just added a serious note of pain to their lovemaking.

< Pain pleasure torture ecstasy and I can't tell the difference anymore, > Xander's mind screamed as he submitted to Spike's onslaught. It hurt. Oh hells, it hurt like the very devil was fucking him. But it was so beautiful, the pleasure so acute, so strong it made him cry. This was making love with a vampire. This, this sharp as a knife, mutilating ecstasy was love and lust in its inhuman form. < Is this what I wanted? > Xander thought as Spike hurled him to yet another peak, shoving him over and driving him on even higher. He moaned into Spike's mouth, suddenly grateful the vampire hadn't stopped kissing him the entire time. At first the extended contact had been difficult; he wasn't used to not being able to gasp and moan freely. Now, though, that cold mouth was his anchor, his focus. He could stand anything, absorb whatever Spike gave him, so long as he had those pale lips on his. < Want this? I need this. I love this. I *am* this, > Xander answered himself. How could he not?

Spike felt something change in Xander's reactions. The boy began to kiss him back more aggressively, began to spur him on with his hands instead of merely hanging on. The vampire shuddered, knowing that the change meant that Xander wanted this, wanted all of what Spike was and not just a taste now and then. The young man had seen what Spike was capable of, experienced what the vampire lusted after, and accepted it, reveled in it. Spike thrust faster, harder, reaching between them to fist the boy, careful not to catch the ring in Xander's cock and cause unwanted pain.

Xander heard a high-pitched, keening howl just as Spike began to fist him roughly. At the same time the vampire began to thrust faster and with more force, making their bed shake with the intensity of it. Xander couldn't keep up with all the sensations; they blended together until he wasn't sure what pleasure was coming from Spike's hand on his cock or Spike's cock in his ass, or the simple yet stunning slide of skin against skin. His mind fragmented, unable to grasp onto anything at all. With that loss of coherence went too his control; orgasm didn't rush on him so much as it simply appeared, taking over his entire body. His cock erupted, his ass spasmed, his skin tightened and twitched. Every cell in his body sang with utter completion and Xander fell, fell down into some abyss of ecstasy, his only touchstone being Spike's mouth.

Spike studied Xander's face as he climaxed, saw him go still as a statue, heard his heart falter in its rhythm--just for a second, but enough to tell the vampire exactly how intense the experience had been. Then Xander seemed to melt back into the bed; Spike wasn't sure if it was simply the boy's muscles relaxing or if he had actually shifted enough to fall through the mattress. It must have been the former, since Spike was still buried in a very solid body.

Then Xander opened his eyes, letting those protective membranes retract. For the first time since they'd started, Spike saw the whiskey colored irises, showing every emotion the boy felt without reservation. All he saw when he looked into them was joy. That alone was enough to send Spike over the edge. He cried into Xander's mouth, fangs cutting into Xander's lips, as his body thrust into Xander's one last time before shuddering in orgasm.

Xander freed his hands from Spike's hold and wrapped them around the vampire, holding the quickly relaxing body close to him. He wanted them to stay as they were for as long as possible. He wanted the reminder, the weight of Spike on him and the prison of Spike's lips and cock keeping the memory of their lovemaking from fading even the tiniest bit. His body said it was grateful they'd finished; he ached and knew he'd be damned sore for a long time. His mind wanted them to go at it again, right now if not sooner, because that had been great, better than great it had been perfect and they should do nothing but that all the time because that was what lovers did. They loved. Often and well.

Spike eventually realized that he was lying on top of Xander. He made to move, only to find that Xander was actually holding him in place, with enough force to tell the vampire that he wasn't supposed to move, didn't need to move, and was wanted exactly where he was. Then he realized that his lips were still pressed to Xander's, so he turned his attention to that, resuming their kiss with aching tenderness. This was his mate; no doubts lingered in his mind, not after this night. There was no part of him that Xander hadn't seen and accepted; not the lovesick ponce, not the sneering punk or the bloodthirsty street fighter, not the hopeless romantic or the closet intellectual, and now not even the vampire itself. Yes, Xander loved him; he'd known that from the first night they'd come together. Yet it never ceased to amaze him that no matter what facet of his self he showed the lad, he was accepted and wanted, as though Xander loved him more for each new side he saw.

Finally Spike broke the kiss, albeit with great reluctance. He immediately dipped down to lick at the blood he'd left pooled at Xander's neck, still warm due to the intensity of their coupling. Xander smiled gingerly, cautious of his bruised lips and sore skin. The blonde studied his lover carefully, but saw nothing amiss, nothing but love and joy and overwhelming exhaustion, all of which he felt too. He briefly considered saying something, asking Xander if he was alright or needed anything, but he decided against it. It was obvious that all the boy really needed was a hand towel and a good night's sleep. The clean-up came first, via a conveniently stored stack of cloths. Xander laid there quiescently as Spike swiped their spent passion away, then let the blonde maneuver him under the covers.

Spike gathered Xander in his arms, knotting them together in a tangled mass of legs and arms. Xander squirmed and burrowed until he found the perfect position, head tucked into Spike's neck right at the shoulder, nose pressed against cool skin. Spike felt Xander's warm breath ghosting across his neck, a brush of heat combating his eternal cold. He knew he was grinning like an idiot.

He just didn't care.

...

Much to Xander's surprise, he woke up before sunrise and before Spike. Normally at this time of day, Spike was still awake. For that matter, Xander was usually asleep, since he'd gotten out of the habit of waking up early for work. A continuously complaining bladder told the young man that under no uncertain terms he was getting out of bed. Unfortunately Spike had other ideas and wasn't about to let go. Even in his sleep he was stubbornness incarnate.

Xander wiggled and pushed, to no avail. He might have been stronger now than he had been as a human, but Spike still had superior strength. Xander was about to do something extreme to wake the vampire when he remembered that he now had the ability to get out of these situations. Concentrating a bit, Xander shifted his body through the bed--and Spike--, swiveling in time to land on his feet instead of his ass as he hit the floor. He took a step to one side, moving himself out of the bed proper. It felt odd standing through a piece of furniture, and downright wrong to be literally in the middle of his lover.

A short trip to the bathroom left Xander much relieved. He glanced at the bed, but didn't return to it. He was tired, yes, and more than a little sore. But he wasn't sleepy, which meant that bed was pointless as long as Spike was sleeping and not up for a bit of slap and tickle. So Xander, with more than a little regret, walked into the living room. He had borrowed a few books from Angel on the subject of Bhavca demons; Xander had every intention of learning to master his new species. He was intending to be around for a long time, and to him that meant knowing the full extent of what he was. He'd seen what happened when you didn't know the limits of your own strengths; Willow, Buffy, and Faith had demonstrated that very well.

Xander chose the first book in the stack and settled down on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket. The text was mind-numbingly dull but informative. Xander didn't mind, since that meant he'd probably get sleepy again soon. He read on for a couple of hours, a bit surprised that Spike hadn't woken up yet. Maybe the stress of the last few days was finally catching up to the blonde.

The young man was about halfway through the introductory chapter when a thought smashed into his mind. He was reading about how Bhavca demons used their abilities to jump between dimensions when Xander realized something very important. Vitally important, to both him and Spike. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner.

He could remove Spike's chip.

*****
Part 16:

Doyle glanced down at the now-awake accountant on the floor. The man was definitely not right in the head; even now that he was in obvious pain, the guy was winding up to start spewing more of whatever he'd said earlier to get himself cold cocked.

"You," The man hissed, glaring at Doyle. "You have two skins, neither of them real. And you want the foully red whore, want to nail her and crawl inside her and wipe away the shit she's smeared on herself."

"Angel?" Doyle called out. "Yer guest's awake now."

"You should try, you know," The accountant continued. "The milquetoast has no claim on her, not anymore. Can I watch, if you do? Watch you make her scream when you split her open?"

Angel walked into the training room in time to prevent Doyle from eviscerating the man. "I think Giles could use some help with the others," Angel murmured to the Irishman. "I'll take care of this."

Doyle nodded and went back to the main room. Meanwhile, Angel hefted the still-ranting guy up and sat him on a nearby table. "So, who are you?"

"I am Hercules!" The man shouted. "I am Spartacus! I am Samson, reveling in the blood of Delilah! I am Orestes!"

"You have a preoccupation with over muscled, small-brained heroes of old," Giles murmured as he stepped into the room. The ex Watcher joined Angel near the table peering down at the trussed up madman. "It shouldn't be difficult to determine if his insanity is organic or not."

Angel nodded. "You can do that?"

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "I'll get Wes to lend a hand." As Giles left, Angel noted that the man didn't seem the least bit unhappy at the prospect of working with Wesley. Perhaps Giles had put his seeming dislike of the other Watcher into the past and had moved on.

Wesley was just finishing shelving a set of useless texts when Giles appeared right behind him. "Giles," Wesley murmured. "How is your guest?"

Giles narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side. "Offensive," He replied. Wesley fought the urge to shiver under that appraising gaze. "Come. We have work to do." Wesley followed Giles obediently, wondering what he could possibly do to help the more experienced Watcher.

"What are you going to do?" Willow asked when she saw Giles pulling down jars of herbs.

"Xander and Spike's theory that the man is somehow possessed seems a likely one, so I am going to test it," Giles replied shortly. "You will remain here." Willow nodded and sank lower into her chair. Tara frowned but said nothing to the redhead. She'd seen the glimmer in Willow's eye--the girl wanted to play in the magicks. Tara wished Willow had a bit more resolve, particularly now when this demon was in Sunnydale.

Wesley followed Giles' clipped orders, grinding herbs as the older man sprinkled them into the mortar. The young Englishman tried very hard not to react to the occasional brush of Giles' body against his as they worked, knowing that it meant nothing other than as a commentary to the lack of space behind the counter. "Is that all?" He asked when Giles stopped adding things to the spell.

"Yes," Giles murmured. "Follow." Wesley trailed after Giles as they returned to the training room. "Angel, you may leave."

Angel's head jerked up. He wasn't used to being ordered around, but Giles was obviously not in an accommodating mood. Instead of questioning the man, Angel nodded and left. Once he was gone, Giles approached the accountant, dragging Wesley along with him. "Chaos wizard!" The accountant shouted as he stared at Giles. "Covered in the jism of those weaker than you, oozing with darkness!"

"Do shut up," Giles muttered. He reached for the mortar, which Wesley handed over. "Wesley, if you would begin."

Wesley nodded and began the brief chant he had to say at least fifty times during the course of the spell. "Ia novalyos huisata ke, Ia novalyos huisata ke, Ia novalyos huisata ke."

Meanwhile, Giles began to sprinkle the herbs around their target, even as the accountant struggled to avoid them. He ignored the man's frantic motions and continued the spell, concentrating on trying to find out if anything demonic was influencing him. Soon the man began to glow a dark green-grey color, evidence that in fact he was carrying traces of a demon on him. However, he wasn't actually possessed. Giles continued, digging deeper. The influence was almost entirely within the man's mind, which meant that the demon hadn't actually inhabited his body at all.

"Enough," Giles murmured. Wesley stopped chanting, grateful for the reprieve.

"Well?" Wesley asked. The accountant looked ready to start screaming again, so he backed up. He didn't want to listen to more of the foul spewing. Giles seemed to agree with him, also moving towards the door.

"Something is influencing him," Giles confirmed. "It is still there, altering his mind."

"He's possessed?" Buffy inquired, looking up from her book. "Exorcism?"

Giles rolled his eyes. "No exorcism, Buffy. This demon is simply using him, probably as eyes and ears. It does not reside within him."

"How so?" Tara inquired.

"The demon has tapped into his mind, letting it see what he sees and hear what he hears. And, incidentally, making him insane. It is not all that uncommon a procedure, for some kinds of demons. Actually, now that we know what is wrong with him, I believe we can narrow our search for Mr. Doyle's demon," Giles said. "Considering what little we do know of what he saw in his vision, and the potential enormity of this accountant's problem, I believe we can safely say that the two are related."

"You mean that the demon we're here to get rid of is making the guy in there nutso?" Cordelia summarized. "So where do we look?"

Giles turned to the stack of books on the table. "I would focus on demons which have close ties to chaos magick." Everyone began flipping through their books with more purpose.

"What do we do with the accountant?" Angel inquired. "We can't let him go."

"And we can't talk around him," Buffy added. "Not if the demon can hear us. Would he lead us to the demon?"

"Probably not," Giles replied. "Now that the demon has control of his mind, there is no need for further contact."

"So we leave him in the training room?" Buffy continued.

"Yes," Giles murmured. "Until this is over, at least."

...

Dawn glanced out the window of the Magic Box. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?" Buffy said tiredly.

"The sun's rising. I know I don't have school today because of that teacher in-service thing, but I'm getting really tired."

Buffy glanced up, surprised. She'd completely forgotten about how very late, or early, it had gotten. "We should go home, you're right."

"Indeed," Giles agreed. "And Buffy? You have class this afternoon. Do not miss it."

"Yes, Father," Buffy muttered. She wasn't going to miss class. Besides, she was supposed to meet up with Austin afterwards. "Give us a ride home?"

"I'll do it," Angel said quickly. He had about half an hour to get safely inside a hotel room before sunrise.

"How are we gonna get to the hotel?" Gunn asked.

"Perhaps Angel should drive you to the hotel while I take the girls home," Giles suggested. "If Doyle and Wes wouldn't mind staying here for a bit, that is."

Doyle nodded silently, as did Wesley. They knew that Willow couldn't be left alone. Tara, Buffy and Dawn gathered their things and followed Giles out the door. Angel, Gunn and Cordelia left soon as well, hurrying to the hotel for a day's sleep. Once they were gone, Wesley busied himself tidying up their research mess while Doyle got Willow a glass of water.

"Doing any better?" He asked the witch as she sipped her water.

"I guess so," She murmured. "Need sleep. I should go back to my dorm and rest."

"But it's full of magickal things, isn't it?" Doyle guessed.

To his surprise, Willow shook her head. "Giles and Buffy shoveled it out," She said sadly. "All Willow-proofed."

"Then perhaps you should go back and sleep, at least until you have a class," Wesley suggested, having been monitoring the conversation. "One or both of us can accompany you."

Willow looked up at the ex Watcher. "Someone has to watch the accountant."

"I'll do that," Wesley murmured. Doyle seemed to be very much at ease around Willow, while Wesley was not. He was magickally inclined enough to dislike the discordant thrum of addiction that pulsed from her.

"Come on then," Doyle said, standing up. "Let's get you tucked in and off to sleep." Willow obeyed, pushing back from the table. She retrieved her purse and led Doyle out of the shop, guiding him towards campus.

"Pretty place," Doyle commented as they strode across campus in the dim morning light.

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "Complete with vampires and demons and." Her voice trailed off. Actually, there weren't many of those left in Sunnydale, not since her little meltdown.

Doyle fell silent and remained that way until Willow had ushered him into her dorm room. She hesitated when she got inside, looking around with sad eyes. He could tell that it had undergone major changes recently; there were unusual, out of place gaps in the bookshelves and spots on the wall that should've held posters, but were now just blank spaces. "Bed, then," He said, looking over at Willow. She nodded and rummaged through her dresser for something to wear.

"Um. can I go to the bathroom and change?" She asked, frowning. She needed to go, and didn't want to get all naked in front of the guy. It would make for awkwardness later.

"You got any mojo stashed in the shower?" Doyle asked dryly.

Willow grinned a little. "Just a bit of rosemary in the toilet paper dispenser," She joked, moving towards the door. "Be right back."

Doyle studied the room while he waited for her to return. He got the feeling that more than just Willow's magickal stuff had been removed. Even without books and herbs scattered around, he could tell that she lived here--clothes stacked up, academic texts in a pile on the desk, and music on a shelf next to the stereo. The other side of the room was considerably more barren. A quick glance in the closet showed him that no one's belongings were there, other than a few abandoned shirts and shoes, which could've been Willow's. or Tara's. Maybe the blonde witch had moved out? That would certainly explain why Willow had been so abruptly sad before.

"No magick in the bathroom," Willow said as she walked into the dorm. "And now sleep. Um. you can mess with the computer, if you'd like, or listen to music."

"Might catch some shuteye myself," Doyle murmured. He, too, had been up all night."

"Oh, yeah," Willow said sheepishly. "Hmm." She looked over at the bed. "It's a big bed, you know. You can lay down there if you want."

Doyle studied the bed doubtfully. Yeah, it was big, but he wasn't sure that was a very good idea. She was in the worst parts of recovery, and he. well, he wasn't so much of a pig that he'd put moves on a sick person, but he liked her. And she was off-limits, having a girlfriend and all. Still, it was that or the really uncomfortable-looking office chair, or the floor. And Doyle *hated* sleeping on the floor. "Right," He muttered, toeing off his shoes and shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.

Willow flicked the light off and crawled into bed, pulling the covers right up to her chin. Doyle stretched out on the other side, as far from Willow as he could get. He used a blanket from the foot of the bed, instead of the down comforter, to keep warm. He could smell the two girls, their perfumes permeating the bedclothes. That had to be driving Willow insane. He hoped it wasn't enough to keep her awake, though. She needed to sleep if she was to recover. Insomnia would weaken her dangerously.

...

Wesley was just finishing shelving the reference books they'd used when Giles returned. "Where is Willow?" The older Watcher demanded.

"Doyle accompanied her to her dorm room," Wesley replied nervously. "She was very tired. He's going to stay with her. Giles, he won't let anything happen to her," Wesley continued when he saw Giles start to argue. "He's been there before."

"We shall see," Giles murmured. "And you? Are you not exhausted?"

"No more than you," Wesley countered.

Giles nodded briefly. "Come. I can take you to Angel's hotel room." To his surprise, Wesley shook his head.

"I'd rather not, thank you," The younger man replied.

"Why not?"

Wesley looked pained. "Cordelia and Gunn will be.affectionate, and I would have to share a bed with Angel." He couldn't completely suppress a shudder at the possibility of being so near the vampire. No matter how long he worked with Angel, he could never forget what the vampire was capable of, what he had been. Yes, he knew that Angel was now working for the same side he was, and Wesley considered him a friend and colleague. But that did not extend to lying next to the man in the vulnerability of sleep.

"Ah," Giles said, understanding all too well. "I shall take you somewhere else to rest, then."

"What about the shop?" Wesley inquired. "Surely you do not intend to keep it open today, when you have not slept either."

"Someone must watch our guest," Giles reminded him. "And while I might invite you into my home, he is not welcome there."

"Then I shall stay here," Wesley decided. Giles looked ready to argue, so Wesley glared at him. well, he tried to, but Giles wasn't an easy man to intimidate under any circumstances. When he was closer to Ripper, as he was now, intimidation was completely useless.

"I have a couch in the office," Giles grated out. "You are welcome to use it." Wesley waited for Giles to continue, but he didn't. After another moment, the younger man retreated into Giles' office, finding the ancient, lumpy couch and a stack of blankets there. Fortunately he was tired enough that the unevenness of the couch disappeared amidst the relief of rest as he burrowed under the blankets and drifted off to sleep. He told himself that he should wake up during the day and offer to help Giles with the shop, since it was the polite thing to do.

...

Tara stood in the middle of the huge green space on campus, staring wistfully at the sky. She knew she'd just gotten out of class, but she couldn't remember what they'd discussed, other than the fact that it had focused on history. She had another class in half an hour, too, and knew that she wouldn't remember it either. Sighing quietly, she sank down onto the grass and started to rummage through her bag. After a moment, she found the apple that Mrs. Summers had given her that morning.

The apple was sweet and crunchy and took her mind off Willow for a bit. Tara knew she needed to stop thinking about the redhead; the more she ruminated over the young woman's downward spiral into addiction, the worse she felt. Could she have stopped it? Had she just not loved Willow enough? Shaking her head, Tara focused on her snack and tried to think about her next class. It was economics, which meant that even if she didn't have personal crises running amok in her head she'd be lost. She loved math, but economics was beyond her. Maybe it was her inherent dislike of capitalism; their professor was a capitalist to the nines and it showed.

A quick look through her book bag told Tara that she didn't have her economics textbook. But she'd picked up all of her books at Buffy's house, so. "Goddess. It's in the dorm." Tara dimly recalled that she'd left some of her books on Willow's desk. That was where the book was. But if she didn't have it, her professor would complain--he was odd that way. She stood up slowly, not wanting to go to the room but knowing that she had to.

Tara unlocked the dorm room door with trepidation and stepped inside. As soon as she did, she froze. Willow was there, asleep on the bed. And she wasn't alone. The blonde gasped. There, next to Willow. too close to Willow. was Doyle.

The economics book was forgotten as Tara spun around and ran out the door, letting it close softly behind her. Even in her horror and shock she couldn't be rude and slam the thing shut. Down the stairs and out the door she ran, wanting to get away, far away and off campus and somewhere that wasn't there where Willow was with someone else in their bed, *their* bed, their *bed* where she and Willow had been together and with each other and oh Goddess.

*****
Part 17:

Oz parked his van on a side street near Buffy's house. He figured that she was the best person to go to first; after all she was both the Slayer and Willow's friend... and hadn't been involved with the redhead at all. Oz wasn't sure if he was up to facing Willow or Xander at the moment. Yes, he needed to come back to Sunnydale. But he'd returned for closure, not to stir up another round of trouble. He needed to really say goodbye to Willow, in a way that said 'you'll always be my first love' instead of 'I'm hurt so I'm running away again.'

He was walking slowly up the street when a vaguely familiar scent caught his attention. He followed it curiously, wondering what in Sunnydale other than Willow had managed to stay in his head. Once he saw what it was, though, he didn't wonder anymore.

Tara.

...

"Hey, lady. Are you ok?"

Tara waved off the question as she walked past a mail carrier. No, she wasn't ok. Not even close. Her world was in pieces, shredded beyond recognition. Ok? She felt like she was dying, like someone was pulling her apart and feeding her to the vultures. Ok didn't even enter the picture.

She stumbled down the street, wiping at her tears with a quickly dampening handkerchief. What was she going to do? Where should she go? Why had Willow done that?

Why hadn't she seen it coming?

Tara sniffled miserably and sat down on a low wall in front of a nursing home. Maybe she had seen it coming, from the very beginning. Perhaps she'd just been desperately ignoring all the warning signs.

Willow's insatiable lust for magick.

The fact that the redhead had *never* been interested in other women before hooking up with Tara.

How convenient it was that they were so good at sharing energies and working together. For all their student-mentor relationship, Willow did have problems working with Giles. Tara was always an easier partner, a cleaner read. Maybe she was just convenient.

Tara would never wander, never stray. She knew she practically screamed fidelity.

And Willow never seemed to mind what they did in bed.

But what did they have in common? If the magick was factored out, what did they have? Tara was a pagan and had been from birth. Willow, though, was not. Oh, she practiced the magicks, and invoked the goddess and whatnot. But she wasn't pagan, didn't pretend to be. Around Tara's neck hung a tiny, five pointed star. Not so with Willow. They both carried the religious symbols of several faiths, all effective against vampires, but that wasn't the same as following those religions. Tara walked one path, Willow another. The blonde didn't think that that alone came between them--many people of mixed faiths had successful relationships.

Of course, few of those successful relationships involved one partner who grossly abused the gifts of the other partner's faith.

The longer she thought about it, sitting on her wall, the less upset Tara was with Doyle, or with that particular facet of the situation. The two figures on the bed hadn't been doing anything but sleeping--fully clothed, not really touching. The image was far more innocent than her mind first thought. But it had been enough to make her realize that she and Willow were not meant to be. The redhead needed something Tara just couldn't give. She wasn't sure what it was, but the blonde was certain she lacked it. It hurt to admit that she'd been wrong, that she and Willow didn't have what it took. They were rather definitely *not* Xander and Spike, two beings distinct in themselves yet so closely bound as to be one entity. She longed for that, even as the pain of this lost love overtook her.

Eventually Tara realized that it had been several hours since she'd fled campus, so she stood and started towards Buffy's house. She had a lot more thinking to do, most of it of a practical nature. Without Willow, her ties to this group were tenuous at best.

...

Oz followed Tara as the blonde slowly made her way to the Slayer's house. He could smell her tears, although he didn't need such enhanced senses to see how upset she was. He couldn't smell Willow on her either. Maybe they'd broken up.

The thought brought him no joy.

Instead, he worried that maybe something bad had happened to Willow. That particular fear drove him to move faster, to draw near Tara and catch her attention. "Hey," He murmured, waiting for her to notice who was beside her.

Tara glanced over at the stranger talking to her. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Oz!" She stopped abruptly, backing away.

Oz also took a step back. "Not gonna wolf on you," He swore. "I swear. I was heading for Buffy's place and saw you."

Tara watched him nervously. "Oh. Um... when did you get into town?"

"A few minutes ago," He replied. "Is something wrong? With Willow?" He asked hurriedly. Tara flinched, which didn't inspire any confidence in the werewolf.

"She's fine now," Tara said despondently.

"What happened?" Oz asked, more than a little forcefully.

Tara took another step back. She wasn't sure that talking to Oz was a good thing. Then again, the one thing she did know about him was that he truly loved Willow, despite all that had happened. "She got addicted to magick."

Oz swore softly. "Did she... is she ok now?"

"Yeah," Tara murmured. "Well, she's recovering. People are helping her," She added brokenly.

"Is that why you're crying?" Oz inquired. A small part of his mind wondered why he cared about Tara at all. He ignored the thought.

Tara shook her head but said nothing. "I need to go," She murmured. "Sorry." She rushed off towards Buffy's house. After a brief moment, Oz followed her. When they arrived Oz was surprised to see that Tara had a key to the door.

"You live here now?" Oz asked as Tara stepped inside.

The blonde paused. "Yeah," She whispered. "Um...Willow's at the dorm," She continued. "But she's not alone." Tara might have been upset, but she didn't want anyone to get hurt--even Oz, and she knew he'd be horrified if he attacked Doyle.

"Not alone?" Oz repeated. He had a very bad feeling he knew exactly what Tara was talking about. He'd encountered Willow in a not-alone situation before. "Who's with her?"

"One of Angel's friends," Tara said. "He knows something about addictions."

Oz studied her carefully, hearing what she wasn't saying. "You're leaving town."

After a moment, Tara nodded. "Can't stay."

"I know the feeling," He replied. In fact, he wasn't staying in town either. He'd come back to make peace, but maybe now was the wrong time. If Willow was going through withdrawal, the rest of the gang would be stressed. Oz didn't want to burden them with yet another thing to worry about, and after his last experience with the Initiative, he knew they'd always be looking askance at him.

"So... I think Buffy will be back later," Tara offered the werewolf.

Oz stared at the ground. He couldn't believe he was going to offer this. It went against every single common sense rule he knew. "I can give you a ride," He murmured.

Tara obviously agreed with the cautionary voices in his head, if her expression was to be believed. "Ah, Oz? Are you..."

"Insane? No," Oz said quickly. "I just came here to...say goodbye and make peace. I'm thinking that now is not a good time for that, you know?" Tara nodded her agreement. "So I'm on my way out again. You need a ride."

Tara just stared at the werewolf. Get in a car with her now ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend? The one who wolfed out and came after her for smelling like Willow? Did he think she had a death wish? Then again, this was the Hellmouth and one of her favorite acquaintances, Xander, had a tendency to date violent non-humans. Another acquaintance killed said non-humans for a living. And Spike was a non-human himself. Vampire to be exact. And she was supposed to feel comfortable in a car with Oz? "Sure," She said eventually. "I need a few things, though."

...

"Nice van."

Oz grinned. "I told you we could get everything in it."

Tara silently agreed. This made things so much easier, and a lot more comfortable. Now she wouldn't ever have to come back, wouldn't have to see the pity in Mrs. Summer's eyes or listen to Xander get all protective. No Spike cursing, no Buffy pouting and most especially no Willow apologizing over and over again about how damned sorry she was. She even had enough money to pay for gas and lodging for a long time. The fact that she was running away--and she freely admitted that she was running--with Oz didn't even faze her anymore. The werewolf had quickly proven himself a friendly, easygoing guy. She could see why Willow had fallen for him, and why the others liked him so much, despite what had happened. If she'd been around before... well, she'd have liked him then too.

"Ready?" Oz asked. Now that decisions had been made, he was eager to get away from the Hellmouth. Each passing minute increased their risk of running into someone, somebody who would ask what they were doing or simply start shouting. He saw that Tara was putting on a brave face, but he could tell that a breakdown was forthcoming. She needed to be elsewhere when that happened.

"Yeah," Tara murmured. She figured that between the note she'd left for Mrs. Summers and the phone call to Giles she was planning to make once they'd gotten out of town would appease most of Buffy's group. And maybe Willow would understand one day.

...

Doyle watched Willow sleep, glad to see a little of her tension drain away. He was holding off waking her up; Giles had called a few minutes before to get them back to the shop. Apparently he and Wesley had found more information about the demon and desired their assistance. But Willow was so relaxed. She almost looked like a young woman again.

The half-demon realized after a while that he had to leave the room, even if only for a minute or two. He hadn't seen the inside of a bathroom for hours. He checked Willow one last time and slid out the door on a hunt for a men's room. It took a bit to find one, but he did eventually. Once he was inside he remembered why he was so happy that dorms hadn't been part of his college experience. Doyle had never really had the urge to stand in pools of urine. Of course he'd done that a lot in bars, but dorm bathrooms were like the bathrooms in your own house. Who would piss on their own floor?

Willow woke up to the feel of bright sunlight streaming across her face. It was a lovely sensation, all warm and tingly. She reached out unthinkingly, wrapping the warm light around her fingers and letting it drip down her arm. The light hugged her, replenishing her energy. How had she ever thought she could give this up?

Doyle returned to the dorm room just in time to see Willow manipulate a beam of sunlight around her body, giving her an unearthly glow. He ran towards her, hoping to catch her attention before she did something stupid. "Willow! Stop, right now!" He yelled in his best elementary school teacher voice.

Willow heard the scream and turned towards Doyle. The man didn't look the least bit happy. "What's wrong? Isn't it pretty?"

Doyle took a chance and reached through the light, grabbing her on the shoulder. "No, it's not. You're not supposed to be practicing, remember?" He shook her for emphasis, rattling her teeth.

"Huh?" Willow murmured. Not do magick? Why would she not do..."Oh." The light slowly faded.

Doyle finally released her shoulder, but kept watchful eyes on her. "You were doing very well there, all day in fact."

The redhead looked heartbroken. "I'm never going to be able to do this. It feels so *right* to practice magick!"

Doyle winced. "When you're doing it, yeah. It's the after that's the problem. And failing once is ok. Most people don't succeed the first time they try something. The thing is to keep trying, until you get it."

"Are you gonna tell Giles?" Willow asked.

"Yeah," Doyle murmured. He didn't add that he didn't have to say anything--the older man would know the instant he saw her. People didn't regain their health that quickly, no matter what. The half-demon was more concerned that Giles would skin him alive for letting her backslide. "And we need to get going. Giles called earlier."

Willow shivered. Still, she retrieved some clean clothes and went to take a shower. The sooner they got going, the sooner the ass-chewing would be over.

...

"Are you sure you want to come to the meeting?" Buffy asked Austin. They were walking through campus after classes, enjoying the little bit of time they had together.

"I want to help you," Austin said patiently. He'd missed being around the group, at least pretending to be of some help. It was better than trading sexcapade stories with the team.

Buffy sighed. "It's just that there are gonna be a lot of others there, and Willow..."

"Is she doing better?" Austin asked cautiously. Buffy had said her friend had had a breakdown, but he didn't know much beyond that.

"Some," Buffy said vaguely. "It's a wait-and-see kind of situation."

"Ah," Austin said. "Maybe we should go to the shop." He really wanted one of those mocha frappes from the coffee shop next door. Xander always got them to put extra chocolate in his, although Austin was never sure why. He wasn't stupid; he knew about Buffy and Xander's brief relationship. He'd have gotten mad at Buffy, except that she didn't mean that much to him. Oh, he liked her well enough, but she wasn't 'forever' material. He'd known that before the whole Slayer thing came out. But he didn't want to hurt her, so he played along as much as he could without making an actual commitment. Besides, he really did like helping out, even if her friends thought he was a real lug nut.

Buffy and Austin reached the shop a bit after sundown. Angel, Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley were already there, studying books and arguing. "Hey, Giles. Anything new?"

Giles looked up, scowling slightly when he saw Austin. "Perhaps. We might have a lead on the demon."

"Where's Willow?" Buffy inquired as she directed Austin to a chair. She handed him a picture book of demons and a pad of paper. He knew that that was his cue to be quiet and not actually do anything.

"Doyle is bringing her," Wesley murmured.

"Spike and Xander will be by a bit later," Giles informed the Slayer. "I asked them to visit a few places before coming here."

Buffy digested the new information. "So, what's the lead on the demon?"

"We've narrowed it down to a specific type of chaos-aligned demon," Wesley said, handing the Slayer a sheaf of papers. "Fortunately they are all rather well-documented. The challenge will be in finding out which one it is."

"So it's another night o' books, huh?"

Giles glared at his Slayer. "Yes. Does that conflict with your busy schedule?"

Buffy gulped. Giles seemed to have broken his 'snark' switch at 'on.' "Nope, no problems here. Me, I love books." Got--dog god...

*****