INTO AFRICA
PART ONE: MY OWN WORST ENEMY
Once upon a time, there was a king known as Mulondo of Buganda that died without leaving an heir to succeed him; yet, he did have many pregnant wives. Medicine men and witch doctors were called forth to divine which woman would bear a baby boy. Namulondo was discovered and placed into power under the assumption that it was not her ruling, but the child held in her womb. When the young king was finally born, he ruled by lying on his throne. Because kings were not supposed to cry, as this would bring bad fortune to the kingdom, all of his aunts and uncles created the Amaggunju Dance to keep him permanently smiling.

A loner watched as the merrymakers, dressed in their colorful attire and elaborate head dresses, danced in a line while many people cheered them on, their bodies moving with the constant beating of drums and twining of zithers. He was not smiling.

Events such as this were common and widely popular in the native tribes of Uganda, formerly Buganda. A special word had even been ascribed for the combination of music and dance - ngoma. The Amaggunju Dance was one of the most favored for these proceedings.

While many were enthralled by the goings on, the solitary man (if you could call him that) was seemingly bored at the display. That was not his only contrast with the rejoicing villagers: he had pallor skin; bleached streaks were scattered through his curly brown hair; and he wore a dress of mourners, all black, that was foreign to the region. Those were only the physical dissimilarities that could be seen by everyday passerbys. There were also the characteristics that no one openly discussed: he never ate; he would not venture out in daylight; he left the rural community for several hours every night, his destination unknown; and, last but not least, he refused to acknowledge any presence beyond that of Sangoma.

It was his relationship with Sangoma that dissuaded them from dispelling the outsider. Sangoma was the tribe protector against evil spirits and responsible for finding out the cause of bad happenings. He had held this position for the past ten years and they had prospered under his care, so no one dared question the friendship. The whisperings that the pale one was a vampire were considered false, because Sangoma would not allow such a creature to freely roam.

�Ki kati, (Hi,)� Sangoma said as he joined his companion of the past three months.

For the first time that night, the corners of Spike's mouth lifted and he offered his own salutation, �Ki kati, San. Oli otya? (Hi, San. How are you?)�

Trained from the time he was a child for his present post, no one could even recall Sangoma's given name. Sangoma was actually his status. Prone to giving his acquaintances nicknames, Spike had merely begun calling him San. Surprisingly, Sangoma was only 30-ish, fairly handsome, athletic, and quite the jokester in addition to having remarkable wisdom bestowed upon him by his tutelage. He was very much unlike the images portrayed of most shamans, sages, mediums, and other spiritualists throughout the world.

�Gyendi, (I am okay,)� Sangoma replied. �Oli otya? (How are you?)�

When the foreigner walked away without reply, brows knit in concentration, the mystic called after him, �Ogenda wa? (Where are you going?)�

Spike waved the question off, his perceptive ears picking up faint whimpers for help beneath the musicians' playing. Sounds so low that they were not detectable by ordinary people. Hurrying up his pace, he started to sprint in the distressed mewling's direction, feeling time was of the essence.

The closer he got, the more heightened his senses became. A strong scent of arousal hit him, hinting at what was about to transpire. Reflexively, the bone of his face shifted until he bore a demonic countenance and, with a howl of fury, he moved in to attack.

�Mwattu, (Please,)� the young woman pleaded, pinned beneath a much larger man. �Mwattu. (Please.)� She struggled under his superior strength to no avail.

The aggressor laughed at her futile efforts and continued ripping at his victim's already miniscule garments. �Jangu wano, (Come here,)� he taunted.

Sobbing, she cried, �Munnyambe! (Help!)�

Grasping the burly male, Spike tossed him a good six feet from the petrified girl. He gritted his teeth as the chip began its onslaught, unseeingly staring at the cowering feminine figure with haunted eyes, momentarily forgetting her attacker. He saw someone altogether different. Blonde hair replaced black, golden skin replaced dark, green eyes replaced blue... their only likenesses were the tears and the fear.

Hate and self-loathing filled him. Hearing a shuffling sound to the side, a feral noise was discharged as he noticed the offender trying to flee. With supernatural speed, he was upon him, fists continuously connecting with the face. Every blow inflicted caused an explosion of pain in Spike's head. Pain that he basked in. Reveled in. Needed. The punishment he met out was as much for himself as the other.

�Yimirira, (Stop,)� Sangoma commanded at their rear.

Lost in the past, Spike failed to hear the order. Rushing forward, the village's designated protector reached for his comrade.

�Yimirira, (Stop,)� he again insisted.

With an animalistic snarl, the vampire backhanded Sangoma.

He emitted a cry of hurt as he was knocked down, causing Spike's trance-like state to evaporate. He was horrified to see the badly beaten man laying unconscious below him. Shaking his smarting head in denial, he chanted, �I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it.�

At a loss to the events unfolding, the terrified female backpedaled herself from the trio, still not having regained her feet. Realizing that none were paying her any heed, she leapt up and fled the site.

Sangoma winced as he moved toward Spike, daring not to interrupt the grieving. This is what he had been waiting for months to happen. His friend had repressed much since regaining his soul, and something in particular. While most of his vampire life had been disclosed, he had not mentioned the catalyst for his venture to Africa. Perhaps he was finally ready to face all of his demons. At last.

Once composed, Spike stared solemnly at the ground, lost in his tumultuous thoughts. Thoughts of Buffy, Dawn, the Scoobies, and Sunnydale. He surprised Sangoma by saying in a low, guttural voice, �I'm never going back. Never.�

Then again, perhaps he was not ready to face some of those demons after all.

Glancing at the would-be rapist, out cold, Sangoma frowned. Well, if he could not help one, he might as well help the other.

Music continued to play in the distance.

PART TWO: FLIGHTS OF FANCY
Giles retrieved the envelope that must have been slid beneath his door while he was abed. It was 6:00 a.m., therefore, it only made sense that the delivery person had left it sometime during the preceding night as he had not noticed it the evening before. He immediately recognized Dawn's round-ish, teenage script and grimaced.

With a great deal of foreboding, he broke the seal to see what mischief she was up to now. He did not dare hazard a guess, knowing whatever he surmised would probably end up being ten times worse. Luck of the Hellmouth and all that rot.

�Dear, Giles,� he read aloud. He noted the heart topping off the �i� and could not resist chuckling. Had he ever been that young? Shaking his head, he began to read again, silently this time.

Dear Giles:

I guess I should get right to the point so you won't worry that Buffy and I are in danger or anything. WE ARE OKAY. Well, as okay as Buffy and I ever are. You, however, might not think so once you've finished reading this. You might be ready to put us both in the looney bin. It's going to have to wait though. Wait until we are back from AFRICA.

Yep, you read right. Africa. Land of the giraffes. Why are we going there, you ask? Well, one of our sources said that's where Spike is. Okay, not really a source. Just Clem. Still, it is as good a lead as any.

Please, don't be mad. This is something Buffy and I have to do. Since you moved back to Sunnyhell (Spike-ism), everything has been much calmer. Buffy and I are getting along great. Willow seems to be improving. Heck, Xander and Anya are even cordial now.

As I said, everything is calm again... besides you know what. Umm, let's not get off the subject. We aren't just going to find Spike because of �you know what,� we're going to find him because he is part of our family. We need our family back together again, Giles. All of it.

We hope to be home in a week, if everything goes according to plan (we'll definitely be home before school starts - yuck!). Please don't worry about us. We have everything under control. I worked that horrible job at the theater all summer to help fund this trip. Yeah, we'll probably max out a couple of credit cards and spend some of our savings too; it'll be worth it. I'm babbling now, aren't I?

I know you would have preferred Buffy writing instead of me, but she is in one of those moods again. I was concerned that, if she wrote, she would cry the entire time. I tell you, it's like being on an emotional roller coaster living with the girl. The only thing she is constant about is Spike. As much as we love you all, whether you like it or not, we're going to go bring him back where he belongs. Home.

We'll call you as soon as our plane lands. Hopefully, Buffy will be a little more under control when we are on the other side of the ocean.

Love, Dawn

P.S. You all have been looking after everything since Buffy was put out of commission, I doubt the Hellmouth will miss the slayer for a while. To to keep Xander from blowing a fuse, until we get back at least, you might just want to tell him Buffy and I went on vacation. We'll explain everything when we return.

Giles sat down heavily and gave a weary sigh. He had believed Buffy's indiscretions with Spike mere flights of fancy, nothing more. Why had he not seen how important the vampire had become to her and Dawn? Had he really been that blind? Had they all been that blind? He was fairly certain that none of her friends, especially Xander, knew that she and Dawn had been planning this expedition all summer either.

He let the letter drop to the table and began rubbing his temples. There was nothing to do now, only wait.

PART THREE: ...HERE WE COME
�It doesn't look like Africa.�

Buffy gave an amused glance. �We haven't even left the airport yet. Quit being impatient.�

�Do you think Spike is going to be surprised to see us?� Dawn queried, habitually switching from one topic to another without warning.

The optimistic outlook earned a grin. Not once had Dawn accepted the possibility that they would not find Spike on this excursion. Buffy wished she could be of the same mind. Fate had never been kind to her. She doubted that it would make locating her lover easy.

�I think, if he weren't already dead, we would have to fret over him having heart failure. That's how surprised he's going to be.�

Dawn giggled. �Ready or not...�

Buffy almost dropped her luggage as a body roughly bumped into her from behind. A man immediately reached forward to steady her. Taking in her overall appearance, he swiftly apologized and asked, �Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry. Are you okay?�

�It's all right and I'm fine,� she responded.

�Are you sure?� He anxiously pressed.

�Positive. I'm perfectly okay. Really.�

When he was about to ask a third time, Dawn interrupted with a tone of dismissal, �She said she was fine, mister. Thanks.�

At the abruptness, he tipped his head in farewell and departed.

Buffy tsked. �Dawnie, that wasn't very nice.�

�Well, sorry, but he ought to have comprehended the meaning of 'okay' after the dozenth time.�

She rolled her eyes at her sibling's antics as they exited Enttebe Airport. Giving her a beseeching look, Buffy implored, �My feet hurt. Will you hail a taxi while I sit over there on the bench? Please?�

Dawn snorted and nodded toward her sandals. �I told you not to wear new shoes. Do you ever listen to me? Nooooo.�

When Buffy failed to respond, the younger girl went to do as requested while mumbling, �I also suggested we rent a car. Did she listen to that either? Nooooo.�

Ignoring the playful ranting, Buffy comfortably settled down and pulled a brochure from one of her satchels. She started to read.

�Can we visit Jinja while we're here?� Dawn questioned, noticing the pamphlet. She proceeded to hold her hand aloft and signal a ride.

�What's there?�

�Uh, the beginning of the Nile.�

�You want to see water?�

�It has gorillas too!�

�Let's just get to the hotel and then locate Spike. After that, we'll decide,� was the bargain.

An automobile halted while Dawn agreed, �Works for me.�

Relieved to have easily gotten a taxi, Buffy stood and reached for her baggage.

Peering from the window, the driver saw what she was doing and got out of the vehicle. Before she realized what was happening, he had taken her belongings.

�You shouldn't be carrying such heavy items in your condition, miss.�

Dawn's scoffing laughter came from behind him, picturing the slayer being too delicate to carry her own suitcases. Even one in Buffy's �condition.�

Instead of protesting, she gave the man a grateful look and trailed after him. He quickly put her stuff, followed by Dawn's, in the trunk and moved to open a door for them. While doing so, he kindly inquired, �Are you visiting for business or pleasure?�

She placed a hand on her bulging stomach and contemplated the question.

Sensing the hesitation, Dawn intervened, �Pleasure. We're here to visit her...� Eying the five-month pregnant blonde, she concluded, �husband.�

Ready or not...

PART FOUR: MY ENEMY'S ENEMY
Lilah Morgan watched as two male employees deposited the hub of Wolfram & Hart's newest scheme on her desk. She gave the deceivingly mundane object a critical once-over. �Any difficulties retrieving it?�

�No, Ms. Morgan. The vampire's hotel was empty. We had no trouble entering and seizing the urn,� said the first.

She pondered this for a moment while the workers obediently waited for dismissal. The firm had lost track of Angel and three of his known affiliates several months ago. Not long after his disappearance, Wesley had rejoined the remaining do-gooders, spoiling her recruitment plans for him. This could mean one of two things: 1) he did not believe Angel was coming back and had returned to his former position without fear of reprisal or 2) he was assisting his newly restored colleagues as some sort of atonement for past sins while the Angel-manhunt took place.

�Did you see any clues as to Angel's present whereabouts?�

�No, ma'am. We performed a thorough search and there wasn't a trace. Although, it appears we aren't the only ones looking, so are his associates. The information we found reflects four persons missing - Angel, Cordelia Chase, Connor Angel, also known as Stephen Franklin Thomas, and an individual by the name of Groosalug, as we were already aware. They are no closer than us in their endeavor.�

Tell me something I don't already know, she dejectedly thought. To date, they had received no new data on Angel's location and, from Angel Investigations' behavior of late, the detectives did not know where their firm's namesake was either.

A conversation with her previous, now deceased, superior replayed itself for Lilah:

Lindsey: Angel is an obstacle to everything that we do. Give me one good reason why we can't just kill him!
Nathan: Because Angel - is a major player.
Lilah: In business?
Nathan: In the apocalypse.
Lilah: Oh. That.
Nathan: The prophecies all agree that when the final battle is waged, he plays a key role.
Lindsey: Good for him.
Nathan: Which side he's on is the gray area, and we're gonna continue making it as gray as possible.
Lilah: Works for me.
Nathan: Until then - his growing obsession with the two of you, the increasing possibility that to scratch that itch, he'll go so far as to kill you... Well, that could actually play in the firm's favor. It would be a sign that Angel is on the path to joining our team. And as hard as it is to lose good attorneys, well the truth is - you are both expendable. Angel isn't.

She was expendable; Angel was not. Having lost him was an embarrassment. It could also prove a fatal error if she did not do something to turn the tide in her favor soon.

As of now, her primary goal was to stay alive and, with any luck, the filched vessel would lead to this end. Since Wolfram & Hart did not seem to have the necessary tools to find Angel, the only option left was to get outside sources for help. And, not to forget, the urn's captive might prove useful in handling the Africa development as well...

Taking a step back, she turned at the second employee and indicated to the aged vase. �Open it.�

He shifted in obvious discomfort at the request, but dared not protest. Moving forward, the man tentatively reached one hand out and let his fingers run across the smooth contours of the lid.

Lilah impatiently tapped her foot. �I don't have all day.�

At her prompting, he removed the seal and waited with bated breath. Relief washed through him when nothing immediately happened. �It's empty, Ms. Morg-�

Before he could complete the sentence, a large swirl of light exploded from the container, dazzling the room's spectators. The luminosity began to take form - large, humanoid, battle-scarred, and furious.

No words of gratitude came. Instead, the released being reached for his liberator and gave his neck a resounding snap. Not one to go half measure, he continued twisting the corpse's head until it was amputated. The carcass dropped with a soft thud on the expensive carpet.

Looking at the cadaver bathed in a pool of blood on her office floor, Lilah scowled. �That's going to leave a stain.�

Sahjhan swiftly turned in her direction and gave an accusatory growl, �You!�

Refusing to be intimidated, Lilah offered a shrewd smile. �Nice to see you again too.�

�I'm going to enjoy killing you,� he said by way of greeting.

�I'm flattered to have made such an impression,� she retorted. �Take a seat. We have business to discuss.�

�We have nothing to discuss. My dealings with you are closed. I already got what I wanted, the souled vampire's child is dead.�

The cock of a gun was heard from behind him. Shajhan turned and took notice of the remaining man, counterpart to the dead body resting on the ground, with an intimidating weapon pointed in his direction. If he were intangible it would not have phased him, except that was no longer the case. �Then again, it wouldn't hurt to listen.�

�I'm glad you're being agreeable about this.� After he sat, she advised without preamble, �Angel's son is alive.�

�Impossible,� the demon disputed. �No one survives Quor-toth. Especially not an infant.�

�An infant no more,� Lilah clarified. �He's a teenager now. Something about interdimensional time variance. Anyway, here's the kicker... he's called The Destroyer. I'm guessing, with a name like that, his being of the breathing persuasion doesn't bode well for you.�

�Where is he?� Sahjhan demanded.

�Which brings me to my point,� the attorney said. �I don't know where he is or, for that matter, where Angel is along with a couple of their friends. And, to add to the list, we have another teeny, tiny problem.� She brought her thumb and index finger together as if to measure the insignificance of what she was about to say

�The problem being?� He prodded, impatience clearly evident.

�There are two souled vampires. Not just one.�

�This concerns me how? I only care about the child.�

�Well, how about this? There are two souled vampires and the children each of them has fathered. The first is Connor, Angel's son, and the second has yet to be born, its mother is a vampire slayer. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this.�

He recalled the foretelling of his demise: The one sired by the vampire with a soul will grow to manhood and kill Sahjhan. There was no telling which child was prophesied to defeat him. The only alternative was to eliminate both. Still, one question remained, �How does my assassinating these children benefit you?�

�Our company seems to have the same problem as you. 'Who is who?' so to speak. We have a prophecy to contend with as well, about a vampire with a soul being an important force during the apocalypse. What side he will be on is undetermined. We just don't know which vampire it is now, so we have to direct our plans at both of them. Their loyalties need to be as sketchy as possible and that's where you come in. What could affect a soul more than losing a child?�

�The way I see it,� she continued, �it would be mutually beneficial for us to join forces and deal with Angel, this newly souled vampire and their family. What say you?�

�Where do I find the vampire slayer?� Sahjhan asked. �A pregnant woman, even if she is a slayer, should prove the easiest to get rid of. I'll take her out and then track down The Destroyer to see to his destruction.�

�Her name is Buffy Summers,� Lilah answered. �She arrived in Africa approximately twenty-four hours ago with her sister who, by all accounts, has no special abilities. We assume they are joining her vampire consort.�

�And the vampire? What do you know about him? He might prove an obstacle.�

�Spike, William the Bloody. He is 120+ years old, the Slayer of Slayers, inflicted with a government chip that makes him incapable of harming humans, and the most interesting fact of all being he is the grandchilde of Angelus. Feel free to hurt him as much as you want, just make sure he stays undead and not dead.�

�I understand,� Sahjhan replied. �Get me to the slayer and I'll take care of it.�

�This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.�

PART FIVE: THINGS TO COME
Sitting cross-legged on a hard floor in one of the hemispherical shaped huts that graced the village, Spike pressed his tongue to the palate of his mouth, lowered his eyes until they were almost closed and tried to blank his mind into a meditative state. His efforts were pointless, the shuffling about of Sangoma becoming more pronounced as time elapsed.

Cracking one lid, he saw his companion pick up several small bones decorated with hand-painted symbols and carefully inspect them for damage. During his three-month tenancy, he had witnessed the imminent divination on several occasions - in order to determine how to care for cattle and crops, marriage suitability, health-related matters, etc. The ritual was performed by throwing the bones into the air or on the ground and evaluating how they land so forecasts of the future could be made. He vaguely wondered what Sangoma was trying to deduce this time.

When the clatter of bones meeting earth occurred, a gasp escaped the religious man. He picked up his fortune-telling tools and repeated the process, which was very uncommon. Spike noted that the bones ended up landing in the same position as before. Fate would not be deterred.

�Laba, (Look,)� Sangoma cried.

�Ekyo kiki? (What is that?)� He queried, confusion evident.

The man eyed the insight apparatuses fretfully. �Sikyaagala. (I don't like it.)�

Spike waited for him to elaborate.

�Bulumi. Musaayi. Nkwafu. (Pain. Blood. Dark.)�

Pain, blood and darkness. He sighed. What else was new? Sangoma was doing a prediction for him of course. Surging to his feet, Spike moved to exit the ramshackle shelter, looking forward to finding good fare. Perhaps he would have something besides meadow vole tonight. With his newly ensconced soul and no butcher's shop available, prairie hunting had become his only alternative. Plus, it was the one thing that came close to distracting him from the nightmares of his past and hopelessness of his future. Roaming alone in the African wild where no one else existed.

In such a hurry to get away, Spike did not see a young woman standing at the threshold until he was already upon her. It was the girl he had rescued a couple of days ago. A sound of displeasure emanated from him. She took an uncomfortable step back and held out a handful of wilted acadias. He perused the blue flowers with unconcealed distaste.

�Weebale, (Thank you,)� she said.

Brushing past her, he refused to accept the token. He did not deserve gratitude. From anyone. For anything.

Spike failed to notice two pair of eyes watching the exchange with malevolent intent.

PART SIX: ALLIANCES
Guedado was an ordinary farmer that raised cattle for subsistence purposes. After his encounter with Otieno, the one born at night, his work had seemed of little import as he barely survived the confrontation. What was the laboring worth when a life could be snuffed in an instant by another's slightest whim?

The cuts and bruises left from the outsider and his one-sided brawl were obvious, causing numerous curious stares to be cast when he left his domicile. The most awkward part of the entire mishap was recounting the embarrassing altercation to his kin. Of course, certain excerpts were not divulged, such as attempting to force his will on the village girl, Nadira, in order to keep from suffering greater disgrace.

He endured even more dishonor at having beheld Nadira's offering to Otieno and the demon's lack of acknowledgment to her gift. The nightwalker had halted his taking pleasure of her and spurned her advances toward him. It was as if he was beneath the creature twofold. He was not worthy of Nadira's attentions and Nadira was not worthy of Otieno's attentions.

His volatile musings were interrupted when an unknown voice questioned, �Omanyi olungereza? Oluganda mmanyi lutonotono. (Do you speak English? I can only speak a little Luganda.)�

Pivoting, he was presented with the disfigured visage of a large, robed individual. Guedado was too startled at the sight to react, so overwhelmed that he could not even put his fear into words. Mouth agape, he simply stared at the monstrosity of a man.

The new arrival muttered, �Isn't it against custom to stare?�

Guedado quickly nodded and looked elsewhere. Eye contact was avoided amongst his people, even with the same sex, regarded as excessively provocative. Nevertheless, not gawking at this specimen was almost impossible.

�You understood!�

The younger generation of the village had been exposed to English by tourists that used their tradition and history for sightseeing and pleasure. While many were not proficient in the tongue, they were able to decipher enough of the language for bartering purposes. Compelled to reply, Guedado responded, �S-s-some.�

�Wonderful! Follow me.�

Not waiting to see if his command was adhered to, the stranger started walking.

Perplexed, Guedado trailed after him. They stopped in front of the abandoned hut of widow Mala who had passed away the season before.

�We have a mutual foe, you and I,� the larger commented and proceeded to point out the other's facial bruising. �Interested in revenge?�

Guedado could not determine everything that was being spoken, but grasped the direction of the conversation. Without considering the repercussions, he said, �Revenge. Yes.�

�That is the corrreeeeeeect answer,� the towering figure jested. �And what does he win, ladies and gentleman? Let's look behind door number one.� It was thrown open to reveal a trembling Nadira.

�Just call it a gift to commemorate our association. I believe you were watching her with the vampire earlier. Appears as though you have a soft spot, or a hard spot, for the girl. Am I right?�

Guedado was lost in lust-filled ruminations as he took in the sight. His ravaging eyes greedily traveled over the frightened female.

He was given a jovial pat on the back and ordered, �Go. Enjoy. Then we'll talk about how you can return this favor.� As an afterthought, introductions were made, �Oh, and I'm called Sahjhan. You?�

Author's Note: For anyone who may be confused: Otieno = Spike; Nadira = girl Spike saved; Guedado = man Spike beat up to save the girl. See Part One for more details.
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