Part Two

A rustling somewhat akin to the sound an elephant trampling through the underbrush caused Buffy to turn quickly to her right. She dropped into fighting stance, scanning the bushes. A flash of near-white caught her attention and she relaxed somewhat. "Real sneaky, Spike," she called. "You can come out now."

He emerged, pouting slightly. "How'd you know I was there?" he asked. "I was workin' on my stealth moves. You know, stalkin' the Slayer... if you can't 'ear me nobody can?"

She rolled her eyes. "Here's a pointer for you," she said as he approached. "Next time, stick to dodging from headstone to headstone. That way, you're less likely to sound like a big monster."

He puffed up his chest. "I'll 'ave you know I'm the biggest, baddest monster there is," he protested.

"Yeah, yeah," she said dismissively. "I've heard it all before. 'Slayer, prepare to meet your doom' and all that. I thought you undead guys were supposed to be one with the night or something..."

"You've been watchin' the great Poofini too much. Most vamps're lummoxes." He paused. "Except, 'f course, for yours truly."

She snickered. "Yeah, you're really graceful."

"You try sneakin' up on someone in thirty-year-old combat boots sometime," he countered.

She shivered slightly as the wind picked up, goose bumps raising on her arms. She rubbed them and he glanced at her, a momentary look of worry on his face.

The polite Englishman in him shone through for a minute as he asked, "Cold, luv?" He moved to take off his duster, apparently planning to drape it around her shoulders.

"I'm fine," she said. "Keep your coat. Where's my info?" And since when do you care if I'm cold or not?

"They're going to take out Angel. There's a poison that's been used in the past. Kills vamps slowly, real painful. Not like the sun or a stake," he said, glancing at the wooden handle that her fingers ghosted across unconsciously. "An' there's a cure."

"Which is..."

"Your blood."

"My blood, or Slayer blood?" she prompted.

"Slayer blood, I s'pose. Where's the other?"

"She's got an apartment on the other side of town." She paused, then began pacing. "But I can't kill her..." she said. "No matter what, despite her being another Slayer, she's still human at the - "

"I'll do it," Spike offered, cutting her off. Her eyebrows raised and she looked at him incredulously. "What? Evil 'ere... and 'sides, 've done it before."

"If you kill her, I'll have to stake you."

"Never could before," he reminded her. "An' I'm sure I took out a few of your friends last year..."

"Don't bring that up," she said, squeezing the bridge of her nose in a motion reminiscent of Giles.

"Slay-er..." he half-whined. "C'mon. You wouldn't 'ave to do any of the killin'..."

She continued her pacing, her arms crossed as she mumbled under her breath. "You're right," she said finally. She leaned back against a headstone, facing him.

"What was that?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I said, you're right. Faith needs to die."

He clapped his hands together. "Alright, then. When do we drain 'er into a few Bell jars?" he asked excitedly, bouncing on his toes.

"We aren't draining her. You," she stressed, "are gonna drain her after I beat the crap out of her."

He pouted again. "No violence?" he asked, making puppy-dog eyes at her.

"Gah!" she exclaimed. "Stupid... obnoxious... evil... puppy-dog eyes..." she grumbled. "Fine... you can help beat her up."

He grinned evilly, tucking his tongue between his teeth. "When do we kill 'er?" he asked.

"After Angel gets poisoned. I so don't have the energy to take a new Slayer under my wing," she replied, standing up straight and beginning to walk toward the cemetery gates.

"Slayer..." he called. She turned.

"What?"

"What say, you an' me..." he offered, dropping into a fighting stance. "Get some of those issues worked out?"

"I don't know what kind of issues you have," she said, approaching him, "but it sounds great." Her fist lashed out, catching him in the jaw.

His head snapped back with the force of the blow, and he immediately clobbered her across the face with his own fist. "Oh, this is fun," he said gleefully as their fight began in earnest.

Suddenly Buffy released a flood of pent-up agression toward his Sire on Spike. Her limbs were a blur as she attacked him. He countered each of her blows with equal force, finally getting the upper hand by grabbing her by the forearm and pulling her against him, then headbutting her.

Was that... nah... she thought as she fell to the ground, dazed. She forward-rolled to her feet, backflipping and catching him in the chest with the tips of her boots. "You know what the problem is with all the younger vamps?" she asked, catching a small breather as he sprung to his feet and they faced off again. She jabbed at his face viciously, but he ducked to the side and she missed.

"What's that?" he asked, choking slightly as she caught him in a headlock. His elbow connected solidly with her abs and knocked the wind out of her, writhing out of her grip as it loosened.

"They're..." she punched him in the nose, "boring..." she dodged his fists as they swung for her temple in rapid succession, "to fight," she said. "At least with a master vamp, you get some variety in the fighting style."

She got in one particularly hard blow, and he vamped out. "Ta, luv," he half-snarled, suddenly tackling her to the ground and pinning her limbs down with his own. "Oh, dear, it looks like it might be the end for our charmin' heroine," he said, his needle-sharp fangs coming ever closer to her throat. His eyes locked on her cartoid artery, her pulse nearly hypnotizing him. "Don't suppose you'd give a little taste to a reluctant ally?" he asked hopefully, knowing he'd won their sparring match.

"Not likely," she replied. "The only vamps that've gotten a bite out of me are the Master and Angel. So, you want to get off me anytime soon?"

"Nah," he said conversationally, his human mask slipping back into place. "You're all warm an' comfy."

She glared at him. "Off," she demanded. "I have to go home. Things to do..."

He sighed, rolling off her. "Off you go then."

Buffy stoood and dusted herself off. "Thanks for the fight," she said. "And if you'd bitten me..." She made a staking motion with her fist, then blushed when he grinned wickedly. "Ugh," she groaned, throwing her hands up in the air. "God save me from perverted vampires."

~*~*~*~*~

Tall, dark, and brooding were three excellent adjectives to describe Angel and the way he carried himself as he walked down the darkened alley, ever so often glancing about himself. A trash can fell over with a clatter and his head turned in the direction of the noise. He relaxed when he saw a stray cat dash across the alley.

He slowly made his way toward the Bronze, his mind on Buffy and his leaving. Turning a corner, an arrow hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. He glanced down at the bolt, wondering for a moment why he wasn't disintegrating, and then he passed out.

~*~*~*~*~

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Groggily, Buffy reached over onto her nightstand and fumbled with the phone, swearing as she nearly dropped it. She knocked it off the nightstand, then promptly landed on the floor in her attempt to reach it.

"Hello," she answered through a yawn.

"Hi, Buffy?"

"Willow," the blonde said, sitting up and leaning against her bed. "What's up?"

"Listen, something bad happened... to Angel. You need to come."

"What and where?" Buffy stood up, rummaging through her closet and pulling out a pair of black leather pants and a white tank top. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she put on the pants.

"It's a poison called the Killer of the Undead, and it's working fast," Willow said. "Oz and I took him to the mansion, when can you be here?"

"Fifteen minutes," she replied. "And yeah, Spike tipped me off about it. The cure is Slayer blood."

Three minutes later, Buffy burst into Faith's apartment. "Hi there, Faith. Have fun poisoning my ex?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, it was a blast," the brunette replied.

"Great. Can we fight?"

Their blows were evenly matched for the first few minutes, but then Faith began to tire. "Spike!" Buffy shouted, kicking the brunette out the door of the apartment. She spun into the tight grip of Spike's arms.

"Hello, cutie," he said, grinning as he pinned her to the wall. Faith's eyes widened as he vamped out and sank his fangs unceremoniously into her throat, draining her quickly. When she was near-death, he dropped her to the floor of the hallway. "Let's go save the poof," he said resignedly, his energy level soaring due to the amount of Slayer blood he'd ingested.

The two leather-clad blondes exited the building, climbing into Joyce's Jeep and speeding over to the other side of town.

The mansion on Crawford Street was darkened within, except for a yellow glow coming from the living room and Angel's room. Spike's duster flapped behind him as he stalked into the mansion, Buffy close on his heels.

"So how are you going to feed him?" she asked when they'd reached the curtain dividing off his bedroom from the rest of the house.

Spike said nothing, but pulled up the sleeve of his duster and turned his forearm so she could see a shiny, white scar obviously made by a vampire's fangs.

"Oh," she said. "Okay. Are you ready?"

He nodded, but grabbed her hand before she could reach for the thick black curtain that stood between them and the souled vampire. "Wait," he said quietly. "I need to..."

"Need to what?" she asked. A moment later, she let out a high-pitched squeak as he pressed her against the wall and pressed his lips to hers in a demanding, desperate kiss. She stiffened, then relaxed into his embrace, responding to his mouth's ministrations.

Spike pulled away, running a hand through his hair. "I - " he said, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat. "Bloody 'ell..."

"What the hell was that for?" Buffy demanded when she'd regained the power of speech.

"I have no soddin' clue," he replied. His normal snarky demeanor reappeared with a vengeance. "But I think I might hurl."

She rolled her eyes. "Hurl later," she ordered. "Fix Angel now."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Buffy pulled back the curtain to reveal Angel, weak and trembling as the poison spread through him. He shone with sweat.

"Angel," Buffy said quietly.

His eyes opened, nearly unseeing. He squinted at her, taking a gasping breath before whispering, "Bu-Buffy? Is it you?"

"Yeah," she replied gently. "It's me."

"I held on for you," he said. "I didn't want to... I needed to see you one last time before I - "

"Nobody's dyin' around 'ere. 'Cept me, dyin' from boredom. Can't you two make googly-eyes after I cure 'im?" Spike folded his arms across his chest, glancing around the room.

"Spike?" Angel asked. He turned his head slowly toward Buffy. "What's he doing here?"

"He's your cure. Well, actually, Faith was your cure, but Faith is in Spike now, so..."

"Slayer blood," he stated. "You killed Faith?"

"Not quite. She'll be fine if someone finds 'er in that buildin' of 'ers. Now drink up, Peaches. This is a one-time deal." The bleach-blond vampire shrugged out of his duster, then massaged the tendons in his wrist in preparation of being bitten. "Slayer, lift 'im up."

Buffy pulled the older vampire into a sitting position, holding his head up with one hand. "Drink," she instructed.

"I can't," Angel said stubbornly.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Why the bloody 'ell not?"

"You hurt Faith to get that blood," he replied.

"For the love of Pete!" Buffy exclaimed. "Spike, get him to drink."

Spike's demon once again came to the forefront, and he bit into his own wrist, hissing in pain as he drew back. His human mask fell over his features again. "Slayer, open 'is mouth."

Buffy pressed into the hinge of Angel's jaw on both sides and his lips parted, allowing Spike room to put his bloody wrist in his mouth.

The taste of Childe-laced Slayer blood caused Angel's demon to emerge, and he was soon sucking hungrily on Spike's wrist. His lips smacked and he made little moaning sounds intermittently, the noises echoing about the otherwise quiet room. Soon it was Spike who was trembling weakly.

"Slayer..." he gasped as the amount of blood in his system dropped quickly. "Help," he croaked.

"Angel," Buffy said, pulling at his head to get it away from Spike's wrist. "Angel! Stop!" She looked around, her eyes lighting on a small figurine, which she took up and clouted Angel with. The dark-haired vampire fell away from his Childe's arm, and Spike in turn passed out, crumbling to the floor. "Oh, great..." Buffy mumbled. "Where's the blood?"

"Kitchen. Refrigerator," Angel replied.

Buffy ran off, returning moments later with a few bags of blood. She pulled a knife out of her boot, slicing open one corner of the plastic baggie. "Spike, wake up," she called, poking him in the side. He awoke with a groan, his face far paler than usual. "Here," she said, handing the blod bag to him. He drank down the life-giving fluid quickly, reaching for a second one. He grabbed it out of her hands, vamping out and tearing into the bag with his fangs, then sucking it dry.

By the time he'd consumed the contents of the fourth bag, he looked much better, his normal complexion having taken the place of the corpse-like pallor. "Thanks, Slayer," he said quietly, glancing up at Angel, who was now sitting up in the bed.

"You gonna be okay?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah," both vampires answered.

"Good," she said. "Let's go, Spike. Angel, get some rest. You're gonna need it."

~*~*~*~*~

"What's going on, Spike?" Buffy asked. "I mean, first the... the thing in the mansion, and then you're all jealous over Angel... You don't have... feelings for me, do you?"

He scoffed. "What gives you that idea, Slayer?" he chortled. "If anythin', I was jealous that the poofter got to 'ave all the Slayer blood, an' didn't spare me a drop."

"And the kiss was... what exactly?" she queried, not believing him for a second.

He stopped walking abruptly, and Buffy had to backtrack.

"When the hell do you stop walking in the middle of a cemetery?"

"Demon," he said, ducking a meaty, purple fist which promptly slammed into Buffy's jaw. He hopped up on a headstone, watching as the fight progressed.

"Spike!" she called as she attacked the demon. "You could be helping me out, you know. Make yourself useful," she suggested as another purple creature advanced on her. The first demon's neck broke with a sickening pop.

"Looks like you're handlin' yourself just fine," he replied, leaning back to enjoy the show. Her tank top ripped when one of the demons caught its claws into it, exposing strips of honey-gold flesh. He gazed openly at her.

With a roundhouse kick to the demon's chest, she knocked it over and proceeded to twist its head until its neck snapped much in the same way as the first demon's had. She climbed to her feet, dusting herself off and panting slightly from exertion. "Good thing about Slaying," she said, inspecting herself for wounds, "is that you never have to worry about being overweight."

"Nice outfit, luv," he said in reply, his eyes roving over her.

Her leather pants had been shredded from just below the waistband to the knee on one side, and her tank-top hung in tatters from the thin straps. Pieces of white cotton were strewn about the area. She glanced down at herself, realized that she was flashing her bra at the entire cemetary, and blushed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "A polite guy would lend me their shirt or turn away," she hinted.

He was taken aback. "When 'ave I ever been polite?" he asked.

"That time at my house with my mom," she replied, heading quickly for the exit of the cemetery. "I really hope nobody from school sees me," she mumbled as she hurried along.

"Slayer, wait," he said. She turned around to see him pulling his tee-shirt over his head. His duster was neatly draped over a headstone.

Her eyes widened unconsciously as she appreciatively gazed at his torso. Evil looks good on him, she thought, receiving a face-full of black, soft cotton. The combined scents of stale cigarette smoke, blood, bourbon, and an aroma she couldn't place nearly overwhelmed her as she pulled the tee over her head. "Thanks," she said, watching as he shrugged back into his duster and buttoned it.

He shrugged. "Didn't want you all pneumoniaish when you were lookin' for my Gem."

They began walking again, through the gates and onto the sidewalk. "Of course," she replied. "Where are you staying?" she asked suddenly.

"Found a crypt in Restfield..."

She pursed her lips. "We have a guest bedroom at my house," she offered. "I can guarantee that it's more comfy than a crypt."

"I've got a right comfy sarcophagus to sleep on," he said, trying to decline her offer. "Concrete's good for the spine."

She rolled her eyes. "You're passing up the best bed in the house, and nobody's used it since last summer."

"Why the sudden worry about m'comfort?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked.

"Purely for save-the-world reasons. Figured it'd be easier for you to help avert an apocalypse if you didn't need to see a chiropractor." She glanced over at him. "So, you want?"

"Do I get a guarantee that I won't be a Roman candle in the mornin'?" he asked.

"We've got heavy curtains all over the house. You'll be fine."

"When do I move in?"

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