Tracks in Time

With a nod, Spike shut the door and wandered off in the direction of Lorne's office at the other end of the corridor. The sounds of singing were still audible to Angel's enhanced senses even through the soundproofing he'd had engineers install, suggesting that the demon was still to finish up his daily workload as well.

Suddenly the expenses and IRS forms that had been taking so much attention lost their appeal, and Angel tipped back in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin and indulged in a few minutes contemplation of what the night was likely to hold.

It was six months since they'd all taken the decision to come and work for Wolfram and Hart, and though Lilah had given him access to the alternate memories all his friends now possessed, Angel still felt like he was floundering at times. Unfortunately, Wes had decided that he'd had enough of Angel's `avoidance behaviour', as he referred to it, and had coerced the vampire into agreeing to tonight's little soiree. For the first time since Connor's `relocation' the whole gang was spending some quality time together.

Down the corridor, Spike actually waited until the demo tape was finished before pushing open Lorne's door and barging in. The anagogic demon was snoring on the couch while the speakers bled white noise in the background. With a snort of amusement, Spike wandered over and shoved the pair of immaculately shod feet from their resting-place onto the floor, eliciting a little shriek of shock as Lorne was deposited unceremoniously on the carpet.

"Sunshine, that was just rude." Lorne clambered to his feet and rubbed his ass, pouting at his erstwhile assailant who, now his fun was over, boasted a distinctly dejected air. Realising he was playing to a distracted audience, he abandoned any pretence of being hurt, sat back down and gave the vampire beside him a considered look.

"Yeah." The vampire was back to thinking - dare we say brooding - and Lorne let the silence open up, suspecting that Spike had something to share and wasn't sure how to phrase it.

My goodness didn't that one come out of the leftfield. Lorne found himself speechless for a few moments until he managed to gather his wits enough to enquire, "Why do you think that, honey? Has tall, dark and handsome been neglecting your sexy self?"

Spike shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just… Since we started working here he's been… distracted, distant, and after everything that happened…" His voice trailed off; explanations were unnecessary.

"It's bloody daft and probably nothing but the other night he was muttering crap in his sleep and out popped a name. Couldn't hear it properly but it sounded like Connor or something."

Yes, undoubtedly Spike would recognise that particular name. In fact, Lorne could kick himself for bringing it up. In his minds eye the bizarre love triangle that had unwound between the two vampires and the now comatose seer replayed in frightening detail. With a shake Lorne pulled himself back from such depressing contemplation and gave Spike a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'm sure it's nothing. Working here has that effect on people and the dream? Well, maybe lover-boy was thinking about a new sword. You know, saying copper not Connor."

"Yeah?" Spike brightened visibly at the idea and, never one to dwell on the imponderables of life, immediately changed the subject. "So, you heard about this undercover job at UCLA? There's beasties munching on the evening students and they need someone to go in and dig `em out."

Lorne smiled, content that he'd been able to bring some happiness into his friend's life. There had been precious little of it recently what with Jasmine, and Holtz before that. "Dish the goss, sweetie pie. Do I detect a smidgen of enthusiasm for the task?"

Dipping his head, Spike hid a shy smile, the one he always tried so hard to conceal from everyone except Angel. Only his closest friends ever really got to see William who lived behind the big bad brash exterior. "Maybe. I thought… It's the English department and it would be sort of… nice."

Each of them had enthusiastically shared the details of their current projects and then all meaningful conversation had dried up. And what was dragging the mood down, without any shadow of a doubt, was Angel's brooding presence. Even at a round table the vampire had managed to find a dark corner, almost daring them to engage him on anything but the most superficial level. Under other circumstances, Wesley might have put his suspicions down to paranoia, after all things between himself and Angel could still be awkward, but even Spike was shooting strange looks at his lover across the table.

"So," All eyes turned in Wesley's direction and he felt a slight flush rise on his cheeks. "Much as I've enjoyed hearing what everyone is doing, I thought we should take this opportunity to talk about last year."

"Firstly, because Skip informed us that we had all been manipulated to facilitate Jasmine's birth and that in itself bears further consideration. And secondly, if that weren't enough, then for no other reason, Angel, than this is your reaction every time someone mentions it."

From the corner of his eye Lorne spotted Spike flinch at Angel's words. From what he could gather Angel wouldn't discuss any of this with his partner either, which, Lorne knew, caused the younger vampire a great deal of pain. There were things that needed discussing, issues that had been allowed to lie fallow that now threatened to erupt and tear the group apart from the inside. And working at Wolfram and Hart meant they needed to stick together.

"I agree with Wesley." Six months in charge of the research division had transformed Fred into quite the go-getter, no longer content to play second fiddle to any of the men. "Angel, I want to start at my beginning. After Buffy died and Spike came to LA."

The gang staggered back through the garden court of the hotel, tired but full of joy at being back from Pylea and Fred, still overwhelmed by her surroundings, stuttered out, "Are-are you sure about that?"

It was a surreal experience. Angel `knew' that it had been Willow that had brought the news, not Spike. In the same way that he `knew' that Fred had not met Spike until six months ago when he'd suddenly appeared at Wolfram and Hart. But in their minds that time two years ago marked the start of a deep friendship between them, with Spike finding a damaged soul to help distract him from Buffy's death and Fred a confidant that had boundless patience when it came to mentally unstable women.

"Remember there was all that noise from downstairs and we went to find out what was happening and when we got to the lobby Angel shouted at us," Fred's voice raised in imitation of the moment, "`Get back to your rooms and stay there.'"

"Yeah. Bloody idiot. If he'd said it was James, I could have helped him kick the git's ass." Spike shot a disgusted look at Angel across the table. "Instead of leaving me at home to mind the kiddies again."

Lorne raised his eyebrows but refrained from commenting that the same `nasty snitch' was dead at the hands of Gunn's friends within three weeks. Some past uglies were best left buried and tonight looked to be Fred and Spike's night.

There was a visible flinch from Spike and Wes when the vampire hunter's name came up and Angel felt like cursing. His memories of Holtz still managed to be worse than theirs.

Gunn noticed the black look that chased across Angel's face and felt a pang for the vampire's pain. Holtz's arrival had heralded the start of the horror that was the last two years and had lead directly to where they were today.

Ouch. The rest of the gang blinked at the unnecessarily cruel remark. They all knew fair well what Spike's feelings were toward Angel, even if Angel himself didn't believe it yet. The younger vampire had moved on from his ridiculous crush on the Slayer and had fallen head over heels in love with his Sire all over again.

"You -- you…!" Spike spluttered and then gave up on conversation. He flung his hands in the air, whirled on his heel and slammed through into Lorne's private quarters in the back of the club. His refuge when things became too heated out front.

"Completely illogical, illuminating and possibly illustrative." Lorne shrugged, "Or just plain sick. I wish those two would just do the deed and put everyone else out of their misery."

Gunn nodded sombrely into his drink, and joined the others in a heartfelt wince at the snarls, roars and crash of breaking furniture from the apartment. "Guess your place is next on the list for a refit."

They sat in silence trying to ignore the rising sounds of destruction, the evening's mood thoroughly ruined. Tonight was supposed to have been pre-opening drinks and sanctuary spell testing, the mix of humans and demons - partial or otherwise - in the AI team making them ideal guinea pigs.

Unlike Angel, Spike had kept up his connections with the Scoobies, especially Dawn, and visited her regularly. Once Fred had teased him, suggesting he had more than a soft spot for the teenager. His response surprised them all as, with remarkable dignity Spike quietly informed them that he'd `made a promise to a lady'.

But even he had missed Willow's machinations and was, if possible, more horrified than Angel when the phone call had come to say Buffy was alive. Angel had visited immediately, but Spike had been unable to get away. Much as he wanted to see his old love, supporting Wes and Fred through the aftermath of family reunions and the Billy debacle was higher on his list of priorities. Then he'd left and had been gone for the best part of a month, completely missing Holtz's dramatic entry into the twenty-first century.

An hour later when they tumbled through the same door to escape the firebomb that swept through the club, they discovered that the vampires had not only trashed the bedroom but had managed to destroy the panels concealing the rear exit from the building. Thankful for small mercies, they fled through it into the alley only to pile into each other at the sight that confronted them.

Surrounded by splintered wooden crates and in complete disregard for their own safety, Spike and Angel were in each other's arms. Their dishevelled clothing, languorous kisses and murmured endearments ample evidence that they had indeed `done the dirty'.

Avidly watching the action from the end of the alley, stood the vampire hunter, armed with a crossbow and flanked by several of the meanest looking demons they'd ever seen.

Angel's head jerked up and he instinctively pushed Spike behind him. For long minutes the two old enemies stared at each other through the darkness, acknowledging their long history of insults given and received.

The ex-Watcher backed away slowly until he reached the end of the alley and disappeared, returning moments later behind the wheel of Angel's convertible. He headed back to the gang only to find them still staring at Angel and Holtz like extras from High Noon.

Suddenly and without ceremony, the vampire hunter reached his decision. He slowly lowered the crossbow, nodded at Angel as if wishing him well then turned on his heel and vanished into the night.

Wesley rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment, before climbing out of his car and locking the door. The evening hadn't been a complete waste of time but he was still worried about Angel. Although the vampire had finally allowed the reminiscing to happen, he hadn't contributed and that left Wesley concerned that there were things he was unwilling or unable to face.

"And you're being ridiculous. Listen to me, Spike. Read the translation. It really couldn't be any clearer." Wesley pushed his notepad across the desk, demanding that he read what had been so painstakingly translated.

Wesley bit his lip to prevent the outburst of anger he felt. "And despite all evidence to the contrary, you are not stupid and know as well as I do that Sire means the same as father. In this context the prophecy reads `The Sire will kill the Childe."

"After what he did to Darla and Drusilla, I wouldn't be so sure." It was a low blow but Wesley wasn't afraid to use it. In the last couple of weeks, Angel's behaviour had become increasingly erratic and the ex-Watcher was terrified that they were witnessing the start of another visit from Angelus.

Wesley nodded. "I do. And I think you'll be the first in line when it does." He sat forward, intent on conveying the importance of his words. "You told me yourself that much of Angelus' hatred for Buffy stemmed from the way she made him feel."

The park was deadly dark and Wesley nervously fingered the stake in his jacket pocket as he walked, aware of what a tempting target he presented. This was the first time he'd returned to this spot; the first time he'd felt able to. Before there had been too much pain but right now he needed to feel that, needed the clarity it would bring.

Surely this was the spot? His recollection was hazy but that shrub and that tree and, yes, there. He dropped to his knees, hands running over the grass, searching… for something, some trace. Of course it was all gone, washed away in rains to numerous to count but the memory remained. Of lying with his throat cut as his life's blood drained into the grass.

Before he could prevent it a sob ripped from his chest. It was entirely his fault. The pain he brought to his friends, the havoc he unleashed on the world. And it was irrelevant that Skip may have right, that they were all manipulated, because Wesley believed in free will and he knows that if he'd told Angel about the prophecy, things would have been different.

Holtz, ironically, had seemed like his best bet. If anyone could protect Spike it was the Vampire Hunter who had made a study of Angelus' hunting methods and psyche. Arrogantly Wesley had approached him, bearded the lion in his den and confronted the man with his fears, that the Sire would kill the Childe.

It had taken some fast-talking on his part to get Holtz to understand. The chip and Spike's history of fighting with the Slayer had proved to be the clinchers that had brought them to a tentative truce.

Sneering at Wesley's bravado, the Vampire Hunter sat back down and flicked the knife around in his fingers. "Well, your problem isn't me right now. Your problem is, your friend is going to kill his own Childe." He glanced up and fixed the other man with a hard stare. "You know you have to do something about it. You know if you don't, I will."

Wesley was lost for words. Yes, he had to do something, but what? This wasn't why he had come. He had wanted Holtz's help, not threats. He blinked and the Vampire Hunter was suddenly in his face, the loathing still evident in his voice.

"I'll give you one day." Holtz turned away and sat back down on the edge of his desk. "You may not trust me, but I trust you to do what's right. One day. After that... everyone will get hurt."

Wesley cursed and slammed his fist into the soil. Fool. Stupid, incompetent fool. All he'd done was play straight into Holtz's hands. Delivered Spike exactly where and how the Vampire Hunter had wanted him. How could he have believed that Holtz could feel anything but hatred for a vampire, albeit a neutered one?

Spike had been felled by the tazer blast while Wesley had been distracted by Justine. The vampire's cry, in turn, giving the woman the opening she needed to slice through the ex-Watcher's throat. As he lay dying on the grass, all he could see was the limp body of his charge being thrown into the back of a van, and the smell of burning rubber and exhaust fumes as it accelerated away.

His breath should have deafened him but even against the backdrop of the heart monitor, it was the memory of the cry that threatened to choke him with tears. Soft footsteps broke through his reverie and his eyes fluttered open of their own accord, dragging him back from his dark recollections. Standing next to the bed was Angel. Pale and drawn, his eyes haunted with grief and Wesley felt his heart contract in his chest for having been the cause.

"Hey, Wes. I just - I want you to know I understand why you did it. I know about the prophecies and I know how hard it must have been for you to - do what you did. You thought I was gonna turn evil and kill my Childe. I didn't. It's important you know that. This isn't Angelus talking. It's me, Angel. You know that, right?"

Relief flooded Wesley's body. Angel was going to forgive him. Despite his foul trespass he was to be given another chance. He blinked his eyes, acknowledging the words.

The pillow was suddenly yanked from beneath his head and pressed onto his face. Wesley fought, trying to free himself from the suffocating pressure and through it he could hear Angel's voice, his desperate cries strange echoes of the single one uttered by Spike when he was felled by the tazer.

"You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my Childe! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You think I'd forgive you?! No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!"

Spike's fingers twisted lazily through the chain around his neck as he watched his lover sleep. He'd decided long ago that this was his favourite time, the early hours of the morning when Angel had already dropped off, and he had the opportunity to see him without the distinct worry lines that now marred his beautiful face during the day.

Even then Angel's face was a sight prettier than the necklace, which Spike privately detested and thought made him look like a cheap Liz Taylor rip off. Still, he wouldn't part with it for the world. Angel had given it to him as a mark of faith and transition, he said. On the day they had all formally joined Wolfram and Hart. The same day Angel had forgiven him and they had started their relationship over.

The conversation over dinner had left Spike more restless than usual and he left the bed in search of his cigarettes, opening the balcony door and stepping out into the night before lighting up. It still felt strange, sleeping during the night, and it was playing havoc with his circadian rhythms. However the new job demanded a daytime presence so the vampires compromised, arriving at the office just after lunch and leaving late in the evening.

That left the best part of the night for them alone, to hunt the LA streets if they so chose or spend their free hours making love. It was a good life. Not as simple as when it was just him and Dru, but deeper and more satisfying than anything Spike had experienced in years.

And it could have been so much better, if it hadn't been for Holtz. Spike raised his cigarette to his lips to take a deep drag and realised his hand was shaking. Those memories still had the power to disturb him and reminiscing had brought them to the fore with a vengeance.

It had taken Angelus a hundred years and a short outing in Sunnydale to make Spike hate him. Five years later, it took all of six months to fall for him all over again. Holtz had to work for fifteen more to bring the hatred back.

His blistering skin was almost unbearable by the time he reached the sewers but he kept moving until he found a broken water pipe that eased the worst of the pain. The sunlight here burned him! How could he have forgotten? He hadn't been away that long when compared to his overall lifespan but his memories of before were vague, as if viewed through someone else's eyes.

What was it Angelus had called him? Spike? That was wrong. He was William or Will, as his Sire, Holtz had named him. The man who had rescued him from the humans that had enslaved and tortured him for nigh on five years. The man, who had taken him in and kept him safe, fed and protected him until the injuries they had inflicted finally healed. The man who had taught him he could be more than a demon. The man he had left behind when he passed through the portal to hunt for Angelus.

And what luck to find Angelus so quickly. When he'd come out of the portal and seen that face once again, it had been all Will could do not to succumb to the blinding rage that the vampire's presence induced. This was the creature that had taken his Sire's first family away from him. And in return, Holtz had taken William and taught him the truth - that Angelus was a beast whatever camouflages he wore and that he deserved to die.

The humans that surrounded Angelus had been an unwelcome surprise and had nearly been his undoing. Without the impressive turn of speed that took him out of the hotel and into the sewers, they would have captured him for sure. The chip would not allow him to hurt humans even in self-defence.

A woman's scream pierced the air, coming from further down the tunnel and Will ran towards it. As he rounded the corner he saw a demon looming over the prone body of a young woman on the floor. Soundlessly he launched himself at the beast, knocking it reeling backwards from the force of his blow.

"Vampire!" The demon hissed through his tusks. "Think you can take me?" It gave a deep bellow that reverberated down the sewer, bringing an answering echo and three more demons, larger and more powerful than the first, stepping out from a hideaway effectively blocking off Will's escape. "Think again."

Spike cast his cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony and traced its glowing arc to the ground where it bounced once and vanished. Sometimes, he wished he could do the same. End in a fiery blaze of glory rather than going gently into that good night. But his chance had come and gone, and it was Buffy who'd died not him. Instead, he plugged away, day by tedious day, surrounded by minions of a more human nature than he was entirely used to, trying to sort good from evil, which at Wolfram and Hart was no easy task.

He shivered and then frowned. It couldn't be the cold - no body temperature, no chills. If he didn't know better he'd say someone had walked on his grave. That thought raised a laugh. With the way things were in Blighty these days they'd probably built a housing estate on top of it.

A sigh from Angel drew Spike back inside and he crossed to the bed and slipped back under the covers. A strong arm reached out for him and pulled him in close until his head was pillowed on Angel's chest. Slowly his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep…

She was magnificent when she fought. All flashing eyes and sunshine hair, her golden limbs economical in their power. And her smile - it made him feel alive for the first time in a century. Was it any wonder that he'd fallen in love with her?

And now see her. A broken china doll, lying fractured and lifeless on the ground. He should have saved her. Should have, could have, certainly would have. Because now his heart was surely as broken as her body.

He goes to move but as he reaches out a miracle occurs. Her eyes flick open and she stretches like a long cat in the sun, rolling to her feet with all the grace he remembered. She prowls over to him, her green eyes luminous in the light and stands so close he can feel the heat of her skin and smell her sweet breath. But she's not looking at him. Instead she is peering over his shoulder at the tractor unit Harris had used against Glory. Her face is a picture of quizzical fascination that makes her nose wrinkle, just so.

Spike woke with a start, her name still on his lips and for a moment he thought he could still taste her. It was impossible of course. She'd only kissed him once and then he'd been too beaten to really appreciate it.

Somewhat disconcerted, Spike sat up and reached out to the nightstand, grabbing his cigarettes and using them to keep his hands busy as he talked. "Yes… No. I mean, it started out the same. You know, the tower, Doc, Buffy falling. But then it got odd."

"Yeah. She spoke to me. Said we didn't need a wrecking ball to bring the house down and then… She kissed me." Spike's free hand came up to trace his lips as if trying to reinstate her touch.

"Why would I dream that? `Cept maybe wishful thinking. I only ever got the one kiss, you know, and I was too battered to appreciate it." Spike would have liked to continue their conversation but Angel was already up, pulling on his robe and heading towards the shower.

As the bathroom door clicked shut, Spike wondered briefly why Angel's shoulders were radiating such tension and why he hadn't gotten an invite into the shower this morning.

Angel stared in bemused fascination at the man who stood before him. Darker curly hair and smart clothes that didn't so much hide the hard lines of his lean body, as allow the tiniest of teasing glances.

This was what he found so difficult, and for the nth time Angel cursed Lilah for what she had done, and then himself for allowing it. Because it would be so easy to fall in love this man, with his shy smiles and dancing eyes. So, so easy. Of course, in Spike's mind they already were and had been for the last two and a half years.

For a moment, Angel wished he had a reflection because the expression on his face must be one worth treasuring. Spike. Spike! Last heard of shacked up with Buffy in Sunnydale complete with shiny new soul - just walked into the conference room, dropped a nonchalant kiss on Angel's lips and sat down next to Fred.

Angel blinked; suddenly realising that Wesley had been speaking. How long had he sat there, staring blankly at the blond figure that had populated his dreams and nightmares in equal measure. A while if the faces around the table weren't lying. Angel tried to pull himself together. "What?"

"Don't mind him." Spike quipped from the other end of the table and Angel just knew that something unsuitable to mixed company was going to come crawling out. He wasn't disappointed. "Shagged his only working brain cell out last night." The accompanying smirk determined that everyone knew Spike had more than a hand in the aforementioned activity.

Fred leaned over and patted Spike's arm affectionately. "Have I said recently how good it is to see you guys back together? It's nice to know some people can get past the bad stuff." She shot a pointed look at Gunn, who put his fist to his mouth, coughed and dropped his eyes.

The rest of the meeting passed in something of a haze for Angel. Spike's presence not-withstanding, this was the first time he'd really spoken to the others since Connor's existence had been erased from their memories. All he could think, as he was given the rundown of various new projects and current business, was that he needed to speak to Lilah - now - and find out what the hell was going on.

Meeting concluded, Angel shot out of the office and headed down the hall. The only place he could think to find the dead lawyer was the white room, and he was so consumed in his thoughts that it took a couple of moments to realise she was waiting for him in the elevator, holding the door open with one finely manicured finger.

"Looking for me?" The arch of her brows managed to combine all the worst features of evil and sexy, and Angel decided it was entirely possible that she and Spike had the same teacher.

There were any number of things he could say, most of them with an Angelus inspired edge of cruelty. He settled on something innocuous that shouldn't convey how violated he was feeling. "What have you done?"

It was a statement not a question. She slunk towards him and Angel suddenly found his senses full of Lilah - her womanly scent muted and tainted with the stench of death, skin colder than his own as if even the sun couldn't drive away the chill of her makeshift grave. His eyes dropped automatically to her neck where the record of her decapitation bisected the messy scar caused by Cordy's knife and his own fangs.

She shrugged, not a hair out of place, ever the control freak. "He wasn't doing anything else and it was easier than trying to fill in the gaps." Off his confused frown she sighed and continued as if speaking to a particularly stupid child. "We couldn't just take away the memories of Connor. Something had to go there, otherwise…"

Lilah waved her hand. "It's complicated. But think about this. Everything Wes has done, including me," she added with a slightly lascivious smile, "was about Connor. Getting his throat cut. You trying to kill him. Him rescuing you from a waterlogged coffin. Angelus. Do you think it's easy to change all that?"

"Lovers. Have been, on and off, for two years. Of course Holtz kidnapped and brainwashed him, and he tried to kill you and was seduced by Cordy, fathered Jasmine and then tried to kill you again but… Yeah, basically, you and Spike are lovers."

"The amulet. Remember the thing I gave you for the Slayer? Spike's wearing it. He thinks you gave it to him, as a gift to show that you really were ready to try again.

But in our reality it's all that's holding him together - and that's literally by the way, not figuratively. If it comes off, he'll dust. The chain is en-spelled; he can't just take it off for a shower. Plus it can't be damaged, or cut. It'll only come off if Spike wants to die."

Now there was an option. "How about I tell him to fuck off, he gets all `woe is me' and takes off the necklace. Then there's Spike dust and no more problems." Angel grinned, content to have found an easy way out of an impossible situation.

"Ooh, I like the way you think." Lilah was almost kittenish in her glee. She reminded him of Dru. "But, sorry, no. He's a good friend to all the others. I know you saw him with Fred. Did you notice how Wes looks at him? Gunn? Lorne even. Taking him away will destroy them all. Is that what you want? Plus he's sort of pivotal to the plot. Without him there's a good chance Connor will start to remember things."

It had to be some sort of fucked up revenge. The Powers That Be making him atone for whatever crime he'd committed this time. Surely that was the only reason they could have made him the lover of the only vampire in history he would happily stake without a second thought.

An irritated "Well?" brought Angel back and he reassessed what he was seeing with a slightly more subjective eye, allowing himself to slide into the role of devoted lover that Lilah had created. A role that was becoming easier with every passing month spent in Spike's company. The vampire he remembered from years past had changed and in his place was a less arrogant, more insecure creature who looked to Angel for approval on an almost daily basis.

"Yeah. Bet I look like a complete wanker." The words conveyed that same self-deprecation that Spike always exhibited when he showed the slightest hint of weakness, but his eyes held a sliver of hope that maybe he was worthy of admiration.

More frightening still was the possibility that they'd taken it away when they removed Spike's memories. A two for one deal. Remove all your angst in one go. And if that was true, why hadn't they unleashed a killer?

As Angel developed that thousand-yard stare that he had learned indicated deep, brooding thoughts, Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix the damage. His lover was distracted again, and although Spike didn't want to admit it, this behaviour was really starting to get to him. He'd thought that the past was, if not forgotten, then at least forgiven and was desperately trying to move on.

But occasionally he felt like he was doing it alone or dragging Angel reluctantly behind him. At times things were really good between them, usually in bed, but then that was one activity they'd always done well together. It was when they moved out of the bedroom that the relationship faltered and Angel became distant, and when they were apart for any length of time it simply made things worse.

Could that be it? Was it a matter of trust? God knew, he'd suspected Angel of fooling around a couple of weeks back, even mentioned it to Lorne. Did Angel think the same thing of him? Or was it something more sinister?

The steel coffin slid from the back of the boat, its silent voyage into the ocean belying its solid weight and Will watched it go. His heart held no regret for his actions. Despite his assurances of love, Angelus had killed Holtz and then made a date with Cordelia, the woman Will remembered with feelings of overwhelming jealousy.

Neither did he feel the hatred that had motivated his actions for so long. Rather he felt hollow, as if someone had ripped out his heart and replaced it with darkness. The only relief from that feeling had come from Fred. With her, Will experienced genuine warmth and safety, something that had been missing from his life for far too long.

But Gunn still made him nervous. There was an edginess about the warrior that left Will uncomfortable around him, like he had to be constantly on his guard. Of course without the chip, Gunn would be no threat. Even if he did try to attack, Will could take him out easily.

"Yeah." The silent moments between them were punctuated by the chugging of the engine and lapping of water as the boat made its way back to the shore. Eventually, Will turned to the woman whom Holtz had told him was as dear a friend as many man could desire. "Could you do something for me?"

And she had. With all her connections in Silicon Valley, Justine had managed to track down a computer whiz, or more accurately a computer warlock, who had deactivated the chip with a combination of magic and technology.

Will had kept the whole operation a secret. So when Fred came to confront him about his involvement in Angel's disappearance, she wasn't expecting him to defend himself. Only the tazer she habitually carried had saved her from serious injury, and when his ability to hunt again was revealed Angel had no hesitation in throwing him out of the hotel and exiling him from their lives.

The files made a satisfying slap on the wooden desk as he threw them down. With a huff, Spike dropped into his chair and glared out of the window into the sunset, no longer struck by the novelty of the display.

It had been a long painful struggle to find himself again, made harder by all the crap the world had thrown at him. Discovering that Holtz was responsible for those years of torture in Quortoth and that the whole thing had been a plot to create the perfect weapon for revenge was brutal. It had taken the promise of Cordy's love to banish William and bring back Spike, who had been buried for years under the weight of Holtz's lies.

But now Spike was back. In his friends lives and, he hoped, Angel's life. Their relationship was still new and tentative, and Spike was striving to make it work. He knew he was deliberately changing, tempering his behaviour and becoming more pliant to Angel's wishes and desires. But he was unwilling to do anything that might upset the status quo. He didn't want to lose Angel again. It had been bad enough the first time.

Will leaned his forehead against the chain link fence and inhaled deeply. The smells from the shantytown were confusing. The stench of human effluent, rotting trash and hundreds of bodies was overwhelming but underneath it lay the ever-present hum of blood. Blood he could now take straight from the vein and taste for the first time in decades. His demon screamed with desire, the bloodlust threatening to undo him, and in his head Will started the exercises Holtz had taught him to control his baser nature.

`Remember, boy. You don't have to succumb. You can be better than this. Find the place within you. That spark of humanity that makes you more of a man than Angelus could ever be.'

Centred, and calmer than he had felt for a while, Will hopped over the fence and picked his way through the sleeping bodies until he found a space. A quick glance around to check there was enough cover to protect him from the coming day and he dropped to the ground, wrapped the blanket around himself and fell asleep.

His hands were shaking. It was ridiculous that a class of undergraduates had the ability to terrify him. Spike took a deep calming breath and closed his eyes before opening the door of the lecture hall and walking in. He was immediately assaulted by the sounds of chatter and laughter, all of which died as he placed his briefcase on the table and turned to face the class.

At least forty of them confronted him, ranging in age from late teens to late sixties. A gross imbalance of males and females, the vast majority were women and it was from them that a new round of whispering began.

Spike concealed his embarrassed grin by turning to retrieve his papers and nearly died again on the spot when a slightly louder voice penetrated the temporary silence.

"Good evening." The cultured tones of an old Etonion that hadn't been heard for a century reverberated around the room and the students stirred with renewed interest. "If you could pick up your books, you'll see that we are going to be reading Twelfth Night."

The queue for an extra curricular chat at the end of the two hour session was huge and Spike spent the best part of an hour fending off everything from subtle invitations disguised as requests for help to blatant offers to bed him. By the time they'd left all he wanted to do was go for a quiet drink and then get back to Angel, but before that he had to patrol the campus for any sign of the demons who had been snatching students as late night snacks. He collected the papers, checked the room, switched off the light and prepared to leave.

Spike spun on his heel at the voice calling from up the corridor and recognised the boy who had been sitting in the front row, avidly absorbing every word he had imparted.

The boy subsided into silence and Spike stopped walking, sensing a revelation of some kind. If it was a come-on then Steven had never done it before, there were waves of nervousness pouring off him.

It was a come-on. Spike sighed, wondering how he could let this innocent down without hurting him. "Look, Steven. I'm sure you're a very nice lad but, I'm in a relationship."

Okay, maybe not a come-on. Obviously all those hormone bombs earlier had left his usually accurate powers of deduction swamped. A bit of back peddling was definitely in order.

"Sorry." Spike grinned sheepishly and was rewarded with a hesitant smile. "Guess the ladies got me on the run." The smile became broader and when Spike started walking again, Steven followed.

"Masterpiece Theatre. All those actors, don't you know?" The exaggerated `luvvies' delivery had Steven giggling inanely as they exited the building and started across the darkened lot to where Spike had parked his car.

The briefcase was safely stowed in the back and Spike was wondering how best to get rid of his shadow when the vampires attacked. There were only three, but he was essentially unarmed, his stakes and axe were stashed out of sight in the trunk.

Steven was thrown sideways by the force of the attack and he landed heavily, smashing his head on the tarmac. One of the vampires went after him, obviously hoping for an easy meal, leaving the other two to gang up on Spike. With a bellow, Spike slid into game face and let fly with his fists. The vamps were young and had little in the way of fighting skills, but it still wasn't easy to kill them with his bare hands. Disabling them seemed like a much better option.

"Steven?" There was no sign of the kid or the last vamp, so Spike quartered the lot until he picked up the scent of blood. Moving like the wind, he tracked the scent past the faculty building and out towards the stands that ringed the soccer field.

Once there, he slowed. If the vampire hadn't killed Steven immediately the chances were high that the kid was still alive. He was probably destined to become larder filler.

Too late, he realised his mistake. He'd been led straight into a trap. Three beefy vampires emerged from the shadows behind him and the one from the lot stepped out in front.

In a flurry of movement, Spike grabbed at one of the wooden supports above him and hauled. A javelin-sized piece came away in his hand, and though the whole structure groaned under his brutal treatment, it remained upright.

Twirling the makeshift weapon in his hands, Spike felt the old glee returning. It was a long time since he'd done this. He slipped back into game face and grinned maniacally at the circling vamps. "Right, lads. Who's first?"

"I'm fine." He checked the corridor to ensure he was still alone. "But I was with a student and they grabbed him. Knocked him about pretty bad. Drained him some as well." There was silence from the other end of the phone.

Will smiled contentedly down at Cordelia as she slept in his arms. The experience had been a revelation to him and not just because it had been so long since he'd been with a woman. It was that this woman was his, all his. Not a Drusilla that he would have to share with Angelus or a Buffy who only looked at him with contempt in her eyes. Cordelia had given herself freely and generously and had said that she loved him.

Outside the Museum, sirens screamed through the perpetual night and Will could smell fire and death on the air. Much as he wanted to stay and spend the whole day cushioned by Cordy's warmth he had to go out. Since the Beast had risen daybreak wouldn't come and that meant the city was a demon's playground. If anything Angel had claimed was true, then it was Will's duty to be out on the streets protecting the innocents.

"Hi." Spike shook the offered hand. "You're Steven's father, right?" He'd seen the man from a distance the night before but had refrained from intruding. It was obvious that the boy's parents were frantic with worry for him.

"That's right. How did you…? Oh, you saw us last night, I guess." Spike nodded and the man smiled. "I understand we have you to thank for saving our son's life. Those thugs that beat him - He could have been killed."

"Even so… Anyway I'm not going to argue. It's enough that I've had the chance to thank you." He glanced back up the corridor where a woman and a young girl were leaning against the wall watching them. The woman nodded and Steven's father turned back. "Would you like to see him?"

Introductions completed, Spike was left alone to visit with Steven while the rest of the family went to get coffee. The boy looked pale against the white sheets but he managed a game smile when Spike entered the room.

"Knock on the head will do that every time." As he was talking, Spike popped a box of candy on the cupboard next to the bed. "Thought a bit of sugar would perk you right up."

For a disorientating moment Steven's face blurred and became older, with dark eyes - no, eye. The other was covered with gauze bandages - and Xander Harris' voice sounded clearly in Spike's mind.

Spike ducked his head to avoid eye contact and his fingers found the chain round his neck. It must be a lack of sleep or something. Harris with one eye? Never happened. The last time he'd seen him was at Casa Summers after Buffy was resurrected and he certainly had two then. "Yeah. Tired is all."

"Another translation?" Spike slouched into one of the comfortable leather chairs that dotted the huge airy room and resisted putting his feet up on the coffee table. He needed Wes' help not a lecture in manners.

"Yes. A fascinating one as well. You know there are hundreds of Slayers now, after Sunnydale was destroyed?" A short nod from Spike and Wesley continued. "Willow was able to distribute the power using an ancient weapon as a focus for her spell and after we spoke about it - that was before you, erm… when…" Wesley's face went bright red.

"When I was still fucked up over Jasmine. You can mention it, Wes. I won't break." Painful as the memory was, it was true. He was recovering, though the memory of murdering the one being who had ever loved him unconditionally was excruciating.

Images flashed through Spike's mind and he screwed up his eyes in an attempt to banish them. A weapon held out in Buffy's hands, followed by the sound of Buffy's voice. `Right now we're going with Scythe. You like?'

Angel glanced up from his book to study the dark head bowed over the computer in the corner. Spike was taking this Literature class thing seriously; opting to continue teaching even after they'd wiped out the nest of vamps holed up amongst the boxes of cultural artefacts in the basement of the Fowler Museum. He seemed to be enjoying it and Angel was glad of anything that gave Spike an interest outside of their relationship.

There was no doubt he was starting to fall in love but sometimes the whole concept of him, love and Spike being connected in the same sentence hit Angel broadside and he had to run. At times like those, it was useful for Spike to have something else to do until Angel recovered from his panic attack.

Angel watched appreciatively as his lover squatted down to dig out the book from the middle of a stack, and moaned quietly as Spike's normally skin-tight jeans conspired to become even tighter with the action.

Dragging his eyes away from that enticing ass, Angel realised he'd been caught out and Spike was grinning smugly at him over his shoulder. And, a moment later, when Spike abandoned his work and prowled across the room, Angel decided being caught could be interesting.

For the next few weeks, Spike took it upon himself to stand guard at the faculty entrance until all his students made it safely to their cars. He'd recounted exactly what had happened to Steven - substituting a gang on PCP for vampires, of course - and now ensured that they all had a ride home. This particular evening, Steven was the last to go. The lad hung back until they were alone and then walked over to the lot with Spike, chatting as they went.

The boy stopped next to Spike's car and scraped his sneaker across the tarmac. "`Cos my parents are out of town with my sister, and my Aunt won't be home for a couple of hours, and I don't want to be alone."

"Fine." Spike gave up on any alcohol consumption. He certainly wasn't taking the lad to any of the bars he'd been planning to visit that evening. "Let's head over to Jimmy's." He checked his watch and frowned. "Should still be open."

Stirring his coffee slowly, Spike studied the boy sat opposite him. In the weeks he'd been teaching, Steven he'd proved himself to be far from stupid but tended to see everything in black and white and very literally for an undergraduate.

Spike sat forward. "Don't think of them as people. They're not. They're larger than life. More than real. Metaphors. Shakespeare was saying something about how people behave. How stupid and self-involved they can be. Olivia, Orsino, Malvolio, they're all so tied up in their own lives they almost bollo… muck everything up."

He was on a roll now and Steven was caught up in the exposition. "And - and it could be sad. Tragic. Lovers never destined to be together and all that rot. Romeo and Juliet all over again. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew are drunks, yeah, but not just that. They're conspirators. Trying to play politics and doing it badly. Viola and Sebastian are the best of the lot but even they aren't honest and that nearly backfires. But then there's Feste, the clown."

"Feste is us. Well, not really. He sort of moves between us - the audience - and the characters. He talks to us as well as them. He gives us permission to laugh at them because he does, see." Spike leaned back, sipped his coffee and shrugged, lecture concluded. "Turns it from tragedy into comedy."

A blonde woman slid into the seat next to Spike and popped her cigarettes down on the table. It was the lousiest line he'd heard for a while - Jimmy's was strictly non-smoking - and was about to say so when strangely familiar images started superimposing themselves on the world.

The warm tones of the coffee house faded away to be replaced by the neon lit darkness of a bar. The smell of whiskey assailed his nose and the thump, thump, thump of heavy bass music drowned out the woman's words.

Suddenly the bar was gone, superseded by more disturbing images. A street, an apartment block, a blonde woman asking him up for a drink, then biting and blood, blood, blood.

Spike lurched to his feet and staggered for the door; hands over his face as his demon tried to come forth. The taste of human blood was so vivid in his mouth that it flooded all his senses leaving him helplessly entangled in bloodlust. Once outside he fled into the shadows and fell to the ground, fighting the urge to kill and rend and tear. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to succumb and a long time passed before he was ready to face anyone again.

They walked in silence; Spike unsure of what to say. This whole scenario was starting to get repetitive. Every time he spent time with the boy, he had one of these turns. Wesley had been interested but not much in the way of help, maybe he should try Lorne.

"Yep. Free and easy. Preston did explain it to me," Lorne dismissed the nasty details with a dramatic flick of his hand. "Some company tax write-off thingy. Then I remembered your kiddies were reading it and, hey, you'll appreciate them more than the accounts department. "

"Technically nine. I have to go, unfortunately. It'll mean a glamour of course and I never was a big fan of the bard unless someone puts him to music. Now, if it was Kiss Me Kate…"

"Free!" In his mind Spike was sorting through the students he should take. Steven obviously. The lad showed a lot of promise and he'd get a buzz out of seeing some of his favourite TV actors on stage.

The tickets put all thoughts of visions and memory flashes out of Spike's head and, as no more occurred for the next couple of weeks, he soon forgot they'd happened at all.

On the night of the trip, the group arranged to meet in the lot and enter the theatre together. Their seats were excellent, in the centre of the auditorium with an unparalleled view of the stage and, before the house lights went down, Steven had devoured the programme. He couldn't believe his luck in actually being there, hobnobbing with the stars. The play boasted an astounding cast with Nancy Learmonth as Olivia, Kevin Symonds as Orsino, Faith Salie as Viola and Blaise Messinger as Feste.

The performance turned out to be everything they had hoped and as the lights came up, the entire audience was on its feet applauding - even Lorne. Far too hyped to leave immediately they retired to the cabaret bar and grabbed a table large enough to accommodate all ten of them.

Drinks were ordered and soon arrived and they sat chatting enthusiastically about the play. Spike was in a happy haze. The evening had gone brilliantly. He could almost guarantee that each of the students here tonight would pass his class with flying colours. There was nothing like seeing Shakespeare live to bring it to life - so to speak.

"Them." Spike grinned and indicated the students, still totally immersed in the experience. "Look at `em. Half of them couldn't have told you who Shakespeare was before we started the class and now they love him."

"Funny you should ask." Stacey grabbed a spare chair and swung it round, plonking himself down and leaning heavily on the back. "I've got a little problem and I was hoping you could help me out."

Stacey grinned, showing off a neat set of needle sharp teeth, a dead give away that he was something other than human. "You're a mind reader." He bellowed with laughter and slapped Lorne firmly on the shoulder, eliciting another wince. "Of course you are. What am I saying?" His eyes narrowed. "Will you do it?" He finished intently.

It was the perfect way to cap off an equally perfect evening. The typically staid theatre-going audience participated with gusto once Lorne had done his typically suave job of wooing them. The students needed no encouragement and Spike was gratified to learn that he had helped some of them find their paths. In fact the atmosphere was so infectious that several of the actors were persuaded to perform, giving Lorne an opportunity to read people who would normally have steered clear of an empathic demon employed by Wolfram and Hart.

The only one who refused to sing - apart from Spike, of course - was Steven. Who spent all his time either avoiding Lorne, or claiming that his voice was so bad that it wasn't fair to inflict it on anyone.

Hours later the night finally started to wind down. The bar had virtually cleared and those that were left were deep in conversation. It was the perfect time to get the reluctant young troubadour on stage and exercising his lungs.

A deafening banging at his front door roused Wesley from sleep and he pulled on a robe before staggering through to open it. Outside, leaning against the wall, was a very strange looking demon, identical to Lorne in every respect except colour.

The moment the door was opened Lorne lurched through and headed for the whisky that lived on the bookcase. Eschewing a glass he unscrewed the top and took a huge swig straight from the bottle, choking as the fiery liquid caught in his throat.

Only when the liquor had worked it's magic did the he turn to face the bemused human, who was still standing in the open doorway, and say, "Houston. We have a problem."

Wesley had finally given in and retrieved glasses from the kitchen, and he and Lorne were now ensconced in his living room sharing the remains of the whiskey between them.

"Argh. Okay, it works something like this. You sing and I get a visual - and not always a pretty one I assure you. There are paths, like strings of beads, disappearing out into your past and future and one of them - the right one - glows. Close up each of the beads is an event, something pivotal and what I do is give people the edited highlights of what I see. Sometimes it's obvious - a love affair, a holiday, a bad business decision. Those are the people I can help. Other times it's more subjective. Like I see a conversation and someone gets upset but without knowing the other person involved I can't say why. Those people I end up fobbing off, giving them fortune-teller mumbo jumbo, a long journey and a tall handsome stranger. But - and this is the important thing - there is always many strings and only one of them glows."

"Well now, that was another strange thing. One of them was great. Kid goes to college, gets a degree, blah, blah, blah. Lovely, sweet, boring. The other - that was the odd one. There were beads on the string but nothing in them. They were hollowed out."

Lorne stared at Wesley, his face a picture of horror. "Yes. That's it exactly." He took a deep breath. "And I have seen it before; I was just trying to suppress. When I was in Vegas and that creep Lee had me putting the finger on people for the futures market, I once read one of his victims. She was the same except there was no second string. All she had was an empty set of beads."

"Because her future was gone." Lorne nodded. Wesley thought some more and then stated. "So what we have is someone - or something - that is going around stealing people's futures and replacing them with different ones."

"A couple of years ago when Angel was going through his dark and dangerous phase, there was this kid. A graduate student who managed to find a way to stop time. I only picked up on it because suddenly everyone I read had no future. Same as Spike. They weren't going to die; they were just going to stop."

Lorne sighed and sat back. "I doubt it. Messing with time like that tends to attract the wrong sort of attention. There is an alternative explanation but I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

There was no reduction in the frown so Lorne searched his mind for an analogy. "Okay, for most people the past and the future is like a tattoo gun, with them being the gun. The needle follows the guideline and leaves a pattern in its wake."

They sat and finished their drinks in silence; each lost in their thoughts. Finally, Wesley reached out to refill his glass and reluctantly met Lorne's eyes. "So what does it mean?"

It seemed strange turning to the woman he remembered as a slip of a girl from Sunnydale High School, but Willow Rosenberg was the most skilled witch Wesley knew who was still speaking to him.

Wesley cleared his throat, nervously. He'd decided to explain away his request as needing the information for a client, distantly aware that Spike had not been a popular character to most of the Scoobies. The question was, would Willow buy it?

"Not a spell, as such. In fact as my abilities with magic are distinctly limited, I'm afraid a spell of any sort would be quite useless. What I need is a way to detect magic, or more specifically to find out if someone or something is under the influence of magic. I have a client…"

"You think not, huh?" Lorne retorted sarcastically. His suit was looking distinctly rumpled from his night on Wesley's couch, though his face was starting to even out a little under the influence of a huge mug of coffee.

The attempt at humour was lost on Wesley who was busy thinking his way around the problem. "There will be far too many opportunities for people to spy on us and I still don't trust them."

"Movie night, meet the guys night, strippers - no, he's a bit young for that." Lorne mused as he worked his way through anything that might entice a teenager to spend the evening with a bunch of adults he'd never met.

"Could work." Lorne paused thoughtfully. "Plus we can use the same trick on the others, thereby neatly avoiding having to tell them they might be under a spell. Even Angel will have to come." He was distinctly satisfied with that plan. "When do we do it?"

"It will take me a while to prepare. Tirer la couture isn't easy and I've been neglecting my meditation skills recently. Let's tentatively book it for next Friday and go from there."

Angel shot a glare at Spike who was belly aching at him from the passenger seat. He didn't want to smile and didn't want to go to Lorne's. Attending the reading didn't bother him; in fact that idea was quite intriguing. It was the dinner party before hand that was disquieting and the necessity of having to make polite conversation with people he no longer felt comfortable with. Unfortunately, he couldn't explain his reservations to Spike, so his mood was coming off as unreasonable and childish.

They arrived outside the apartment building and before Angel had even stopped the car, Spike had leapt out and was stalking off stiff backed, towards the door, his hands jammed firmly in his pockets.

By the time he'd raised the roof, locked the car and walked upstairs, Spike was already inside chatting animatedly with a young man who was standing with his back to the door. As Angel entered, the boy turned around and the world fell away from beneath Angel's feet.

"Steven. Meet my partner, Angel. Angel. This is Steven. Remember? I told you about him." Spike said Steven's name slowly and clearly and it was enough to buy Angel a moment's metaphorical breathing space. He gathered his shattered nerves and entered the apartment, holding his hand out for Conn… no Steven, to shake.

Oh, that smile. How he'd missed it. And the pleasure in seeing it light up his son's eyes as it never had before came close to freeing Angelus from his prison. It was then that reality steamrollered in. This boy was happy! Connor, as Steven, was happy, in a way he could never have been as Angel's son.

In a moment of revelation, Angel decided that this evening was a precious gift. He'd been certain as he walked away from that cabin that he would never see Connor again, but if the Powers had decided to give him this time then he would enjoy it while he could.

Spike studied their interaction with fascination. He hadn't missed the name Angel had whispered when he saw Steven for the first time. It was the same name he had muttered in his sleep weeks ago. Was this `Connor' real? And if so, did he look enough like Steven that the two could be mistaken?

What certainly couldn't be mistaken was the expression on Angel's face. He looked like he'd been hit round the head with bit of two by four. Not necessarily a bad look on the old man, but Spike preferred it when he was the cause.

Dinner turned out to be an interesting affair, with Angel engaging Steven in animated conversation about his life at every opportunity. His devoted attention was so intense and overt that everyone in the room, except the two participants, were left feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Steven, it seemed, was oblivious to the attention he was getting and proceeded to tell Angel all about himself and his family. He spoke affectionately of his parents and sister. He described in great detail their family home and the holiday cabin they had in the mountains. Then he moved on to talk about college and how he was going abroad next year to study and was taking Mr. Bartlett's class for extra credit.

Angel didn't miss the glance Steven threw at Spike when he mentioned the class and felt a moment's blinding jealousy that his lover had garnered Connor's respect, something Angel had never managed to achieve.

Cloutier's trance definitely raised seeing to entirely new levels, Wesley decided as he stared at the crystal in front of him. It was an amethyst Willow had sent as a test subject for magical sight and it worked beautifully. He could `see' the purification spell that had been cast over it, the magic's appearing as a continuously flowing stream through the stone.

Test done, the ex-Watcher got unsteadily to his feet and moved towards the living room where everyone else was busy setting up for the reading. He had excused himself before dinner, claiming a migraine and retreated to the bedroom to start meditating. Now he would rejoin the group.

The moment he opened the door, Wesley staggered, overwhelmed by the presence of manifold magical images and it took him a few moments to recognise the people concealed behind them.

Identical ghostly hands were clamped forcefully around Fred and Steven's heads, but apart from that, they were clear. Around Lorne was the hand and a vague shimmering from the glamour he'd adopted for the evening. Gunn had the hand as well, plus the visage of a giant cat hovering above his head. There was no hand around Angel, but a roaring demonic face superimposed over his human features blurred his image. Initially Wesley thought that was simply an indication of his vampiric nature until he turned to Spike and realised that it must have been the curse.

The younger vampire's appearance was almost enough to bring Wesley to his knees. There was so much magic surrounding him that it was impossible to see anything beyond a vague outline of his real body. Like the others, barring Angel, there was a hand around his head but there any similarity ended.

As he concentrated Wesley started to understand what he was seeing. Spike's entire body was a network of magic's, a continuously pulsing flow of power, and it radiated out from the amulet he wore around his neck. The amulet itself was blinding in its intensity, casting shadows over everything else in the room.

As the evening had been cut short by Wesley's impromptu collapse, Spike and Angel were driving home earlier than expected. This should have been met with enthusiasm since Angel had been so reluctant to attend in the first place, however the journey was taking place in complete silence.

"Hmm?" Angel was miles away, thinking back over some of his happier moments with Connor. He heard the words but missed the intention behind them. "Yeah. A nice-looking kid."

"Looks a bit like me just before I was turned. Brown hair, blue eyes, bit on the scrawny side." Spike set his trap casually and without finesse but Angel walked blindly into it.

Setting his face in stone, Spike lapsed into silence again. This was all the evidence he needed. Angel had strayed, was straying, or was thinking of straying. It was all the same. The question now was; what was he going to do about it?

"Wes! Hi. Did it work?" Willow twirled the cord in her fingers as she listened to Buffy's old Watcher on the other end of the phone. Perched on the stairs trying not to overhear the conversation was Dawn.

When he had finished Willow thought for a bit and then said, "The hand sounds like it could be some kind of memory spell. Angel's certainly sounds like the curse and let's not remove that, huh? The cat and the amulet thing, I have no idea. Do you know where the amulet came from?"

"Y-yes. Here and heard." The witch's voice was shaky and breathless as if she'd just had an incredible shock. Then she seemed to pull herself together and her words were laden with what Wesley recalled was her indomitable resolve. "Give me a chance to make a few arrangements here. I'll be in LA tomorrow."

For the first time since they'd got back together, Spike woke the next morning to an empty bed. He rolled over with a muted groan and glanced blearily at the clock. Seven a.m. What sort of ungodly bloody hour was that? Speculating that Angel had probably fallen asleep in the other room, he rose and wandered into the living room of their shared apartment.

Angel had, and Spike smiled fondly at his lover curled slightly into the end of the small couch. A moment later it froze on his lips when he spotted what was in Angel's lap. A sketchbook and there on the opened page was an exquisitely rendered picture of Steven. With shaking hands Spike reached out and gently removed the book from Angel's loose grip. If it was only the one picture, then maybe there was still hope.

But Lady Luck was fickle. The pad was brimful with sketches. Full portraits of Steven sitting, standing, and fighting. Details of his face, eyes and smile. Even with vampiric recall, Angel must have spent the entire evening studying the boy to have remembered him so clearly.

The book dropped from Spike's hands and black rage rose in his throat. After everything that had happened in the last few years, - Dru, Angelus, the chip, Buffy, Holtz, Jasmine - he couldn't take this as well. Loving someone whom didn't love him back. Again. It was too much.

Faced with a choice between ripping off Angel's head or bursting into unwanted and wretched tears if he stayed, Spike ran to the bedroom and threw on his clothes. Pausing only to scrawl a quick note, which he flung to the floor next to the traitorous drawings, he headed out into the sewers. He'd hole-up there until it was time for work and then ask Wes or Lorne if he could kip over with them for a few days - Just until he worked out where he was going to go.

The three of them - Wesley, Lorne and Willow - were sitting in Wesley's apartment sipping tea with Willow fending off seemingly endless questions from the other two about her memories of the past two and a half years. She'd already given her version, several times, in what she considered was exhaustive detail but the men were far from satisfied.

"That's what Buffy said. The amulet went all glowey and stopped him leaving. She only just got out before the whole town went kaboom. So I guess Spike went kaboom when Sunnydale did."

Willow raised her eyebrows at the term. Snuggle bunny? Even with his soul, she couldn't imagine Spike ever being anyone's snuggle bunny. On the other hand, according to Cordelia, Harmony had called him her Blondie Bear, so who knew?

Willow and Wesley had to concede the point. It would take something beyond their ken to change an aura so radically and for so long, especially after Cordy's trick had made Lorne aware of such manipulations.

"I think what's more interesting is that I still remember Connor." That rendered the men-folk speechless for a few moments so Willow filled in the silence. "I met him when I came to LA to restore Angel's soul."

"No. Spike was in Sunnydale trying to avoid an assassination attempt." She waved away their questions and forced her brain to slip back into the patterns of logical thinking demanded by research. "That's not important right now. Think about this. Why would I and everyone from Sunnydale be excluded from the spell?"

Their discussion moved on to what had happened in LA and between them they tried to piece together how things would have played out if it had been Angel's teenaged son, and not Spike who was the protagonist.

"And after Angelus killed her - well obviously in hindsight we know it was Cordelia but at the time we thought it was Angelus - I beheaded her before disposing of the body." In his mind Wesley returned to the basement and the strange sad conversation he'd had with Lilah, or the Lilah construct he had created. "I was worried she would rise again."

"So when I met Connor, Wolfram and Hart were probably at their lowest ebb. Their employees were all dead or at least flesh-eating zombies and their building was totally trashed. To put it simply they had more on their minds than worrying about you guys."

"Hate to be a party pooper but aren't we making a big assumption here?" The witch and the ex-Watcher glared at Lorne for the interruption. "How do we know it was them that did the spell?"

Down in the sewers, Spike woke much later than he'd intended. Even after finding a safe place to hang out, it had been hard to get to sleep. Years of training in Quortoth on top of his experiences in Sunnydale with the chip meant he preferred company when resting, another pair of eyes and ears to take turns standing watch.

For several hours he'd sat and thought deeply - not brooded - about the sketchbook and what it augured. All to no avail. No matter how hard he tried, he loved the bastard and even if Angel kicked him into the curb and went after this Connor, Spike would still love him.

Those conclusions hardly meant for happy dreams and his sleeping world was populated by images of the people he had loved and lost over the years. Several times he'd woken up, dragging himself back from one humiliating rejection after another, only to sink down into them when his eyes closed.

Waking from such a dream should have put him in a better mood but somehow, rather than happy, Spike felt bereft, as if something beautiful had been snatched away from him.

He started making his way up to the surface, wondering what he was going to do now. It was too close to sunset to bother going to the office but he didn't want to show up at his friends' apartments empty handed begging for a place to sleep. That was beyond pathetic.

"Sorry Wes, but this late in the day the front of your building's in full sun so…" Angel indicated over his shoulder towards the window he'd used as an impromptu front door. As he did so that familiar sense of shame and embarrassment swept over him. In retrospect it was blatantly obvious that he should have announced his presence and not just walked in on them. Nor should he have listened in to their conversation for five minutes beforehand. Would he ever get his head round the stupid rules humans had about appropriate behaviour?

And so there was no choice other than to explain it all. How Connor had come to be born. How Wes had stolen him away. How he had returned near full grown and alienated. How Jasmine within Cordy had used him to become her father. How Connor had chosen to remain with Jasmine despite seeing her as she truly was. And how finally, her rejection of him had brought the boy to the brink of suicidal depression.

"Oh, Angel!" Willow knelt in front of him, clasping his hands between her smaller ones and seeking out his eyes. "You can't fix things like this with magic. I know that, believe me. Tara," Her breath hitched, "Tara tried to explain it to me once and it took me the longest time to get it. Really get it. And I nearly destroyed the world along the way."

Even the earnest sympathy in her voice wasn't enough to temper her message and Angel shrank back. Hadn't he learned anything from his ill-considered forays into magic trying to get Connor back? Magic has a price. There was always a price. In his arrogance, Angel had considered that his grief at the loss of his son would be sufficient. He was wrong. But hadn't realised the truth until the spell had already been cast. He hadn't realised the complete truth until today.

Buffy shrugged. "Dawn said you'd gone to LA and I guessed you'd come to see Angel. When I spotted him leaving the hotel I followed him here and came in the same way." Ignoring the worried looks the others were exchanging, she stalked across the room and balanced nonchalantly on the arm of the couch.

"So what's this about Spike? Thinking of starting a new club, are we. The `I Hate Spike, Posthumously, Club.' Tell you what; Angel can be chairman, being as how he's the only one who technically qualifies."

Never in all their history together had she hated him more than she did right now. From what she had overheard from the bedroom, Angel had had a hellfire year and it sounded to her as if he was about to start blaming Spike for still being here to remember it. Well, to coin one of Spike's favourite phrases, sod that. If he wanted to start blaming people he could start with her, after all it had been her decision to send him packing.

The surprise was that Willow was here. In the months that had followed the destruction of Sunnydale, the two friends had grown closer again. Finally opening up to each other in ways they hadn't dared to for years. Buffy had believed that Willow had heard and understood her when she'd spoken about her relationship with Spike. And from where Buffy was sitting, this smelled like betrayal of the worst kind.

It was Lorne that plunged in the deep end and tried to explain. "It's like this, princess. That cute blond vampire you've been jumping intermittently for the last two years in Sunnydale? In our reality he's been here in LA, bumping uglies with Angel."

Talk about a curve ball. Buffy's mouth dropped open and her gaze slid back and forth from Lorne to Angel, eventually coming to rest on the vampire as she regained her composure.

Before anyone else could move, Buffy was at the door and yanked it open. Spike pushed past her into the apartment and dropped beer and cartons of Chinese food onto the table, totally oblivious to the twin looks of absolute shock that greeted him.

"That's better. Thought my hands were doomed for minute." Then, with the sudden realisation that they were far from alone, he grinned sheepishly and shrugged off his melodramatic entrance. "Buffy? Will? What brings you to LA? Business or social call?"

Buffy stared at the vision in front of her. Spike was different from how he'd been in Sunnydale when she'd left him to die alone in the Hellmouth - cleaner smarter clothes for one thing and his hair was longer and no longer blond. But he still wore the amulet, she could see the chain around his neck, and his face still possessed the strange open quality she'd grown familiar with during that last year.

As always it was there that the true nature of Spike's being, and the changes that had been wrought, lay. The horror and guilt she'd grown accustomed to seeing haunting those ocean depths were gone and instead gleamed a little of the old Spike's playfulness.

That familiar endearment was too much. After months of coming to terms first with her own death and then his, and finding comfort in the fact that at least Spike had gone out the way he'd always wanted - fighting - Spike was back. But he was no longer hers. Worse than that, in his mind he never had been. The long list of those who had left her - Dad, Angel, Riley, her Mom, Giles - stretched to painful proportions as she mentally tagged Spike onto the end. The one person who said he would always be there for her, who would never go no matter how much she pushed him away, had left her more effectively than all the others put together.

Angel watched the interaction surreptitiously from the bedroom, where he had hidden at the first sound of Spike's voice. From its place in his pocket Spike's note, with its undercurrent of anger and betrayal, burned its way into his conscience. Angel ignored it. Even though he felt like a total coward for avoiding the inevitable confrontation with his lover, coming clean with Spike in front of everyone else tonight was a step too far. He'd already borne more than his fair share of guilt today.

The others were now staring at the open door in shocked silence, not knowing what to do for the best. Angel knew. When Buffy ran like this it was normally a cry for help. He remembered all those times that she'd come to him in Sunnydale. How she'd curl up against him, silent for hours before sharing the small part of her heart she was able to give. And that was what she needed now. Someone to listen.

She didn't know where she was going and she didn't care. At one point she came across a gang of vampires feeding, and slayed them all without breaking step, only to continue her mad plunge further into the city.

All that mattered was getting away from the stranger that had walked into Wes's apartment. The vampire who only remembered her as a sad and distant dream, the one who now carried a taste of heaven in his desolate eyes.

Eventually even slayer stamina failed her and Buffy slowed, finding herself in one of LA's numerous public parks. It was deserted, even this early in the evening, a sure indication that the locals here had more sense than those in Sunnydale did. Adventurous young lovers were stock in trade to the average demon out on the prowl.

Up ahead Buffy could just make out the shape of a large tree, alone in the centre of a lawn and she headed towards it, seeking comfort in its rooted, natural presence.

At one time Spike had been her tree. The one she had turned to when she sought reassurance, when her life felt like Hell and the day to day grind became too much. He'd bent beneath the force of her fury, springing back from the blows she landed with her fists and tongue. Strong beyond belief because she'd needed him.

Then, in those last few weeks before their final confrontation with the First, Spike had been her rock. No longer pliant, he'd become a solid foundation for her to cling to when all hope had been extinguished.

Hard as the last six months had been - building a life for herself beyond being the Chosen One - Buffy had done it. Knowing that Spike had earned this chance for her through his sacrifice had finally allowed her to crawl out of her grave and embrace the world again. Living without him was only made bearable by accepting her life as his gift.

To kill nightly to protect those who couldn't protect themselves was one thing, but to take away people's lives and their right to choose whether to live or die. That was unforgivable.

"Spike, wait." Willow grabbed the vampire's arm as he went to follow only to have it shrugged off. With a wave of her hand and a single word she slammed and locked the door in his face.

He snorted in disgust and threw up his hands. "Fine. Tell you what, I'll just go, shall I? And when one of you lot decides that it's time to let the stupid vamp in on the secret, give me a call. I'll be at the hotel."

"Yes. The memory spell anyway. That should be quite easy; after all it's you six that are out of step. As far as we know the rest of the world remembers Connor. The other spells - no. Without knowing what they do I don't want to meddle."

He stopped and stared at her in surprise. In his experience such works always involved paraphernalia of some description. "Really? Hang on. Everyone the spell was cast on?"

Willow nodded again, then paused. "Actually, maybe not. I mean the more the merrier but we could probably do it without Spike if the rest of you are here. It'll be like dominoes. Push one and they all fall."

"Someone should be with him when his memories return." Wesley determined. "If what you say is true it's bound to be traumatic." Dropping his keys, he turned his attention to the telephone. "I'll call the others. I'm sure Steven will come if I say Spike and Angel will be here. Then I'll call Angel, and tell him and Buffy to go to the hotel, to be with Spike."

"Yes, I do." This Willow was a familiar one to Wesley. Older, more focused, more confident. The Willow he'd met when she was battling Cordelia for Angel's soul. "Look, I know he's Angel's son and I know that Angel loves him but what he needs right now isn't a vampire with delusions of parenthood. I was thinking… You know what Giles is doing in Cleveland?"

"I do. He liked Faith, really liked her and if anyone can show him the way, she can. And if Angel isn't here I can keep Connor unconscious and get him out of LA before anyone realises."

"Do it." They both turned to Lorne who looked at them as if they'd both gone completely mad. "Kiddies, the last time he was awake that boy was ready to blow up half the city and if Faith can knock some sense into him then I say, go for it. He's got to be better off at Hogwarts hanging with superhumans his own age than stuck here with his doting, but unstable, father."

"That was Wes. He said, and I quote, `if you two have finished not talking to each other' he wants us to go over to the hotel and have a chat with Spike. Apparently, he left just after us in a bit of a snit."

Buffy just nodded and continued to stare off into the night. She'd been this way for the two hours since he arrived, staring and silent but far from peaceful. Occasionally Angel had caught the scent of tears and her body would shudder as if she were trying to stop something huge escaping.

For the second time that day Angel found himself in the position of having to explain his actions, and this time to someone he'd loved and hurt almost as much as Connor.

Buffy listened without interrupting and when he'd finally finished - concluding with a quick summation of Wesley's discovery - she inclined her head and studied him for a few moments.

"No, you wouldn't, would you." Leaving him to work out the subtler meanings of her cryptic comment, Buffy got to her feet, picked her jacket up from where it had been saving her pants from the dusty ground and slipped it back on.

After a couple of steps, she wheeled round to face him. "Willow says I have to get better at talking to people about my feelings, so here goes." She took a deep breath. "Angel, you know I love you, right?" When he nodded, she continued. "But I need to be around people when we do this because I am so beyond pissed at you about now, that I might conveniently forget the whole Champion for the Powers thing, and stake you anyway."

The second whiskey bottle was half-empty and, all things considered, Spike reckoned he deserved to be pleasantly wasted. Unfortunately, the alcohol was not having the requisite effect and was just making him feel even more depressed. And slightly nauseous. Though that could have been the sight of Angel doing his patented Slayer's lapdog act earlier.

Bastards. All of `em. Bad enough that Angel was giving him the run-around with some cheap bit stuff, without Wes and Lorne taking the poof's side. Spike sniffed pathetically and took another long swig of liquor. They were his mates. Not Angel's. And the bastard had no right stealing them and making them not talk to him.

That felt better. There was nothing quite like insulting Angel to put a bit of perspective on a problem. Now if he could just find the bed, he could work on the still-sober aspect of it.

"A spell?" The young man cast his eyes suspiciously around the gathered throng. "That's not code for any… kinky stuff, is it?" The presence of two women, even if one of them did claim to be a witch, helped somewhat but even so.

"Steven, please." The pretty redhead, Willow, sat next to him and grabbed his hand. "I know this sounds like some kind of whacked out fairy tale and I don't blame you for not believing us, it's just…" She glanced over at Wesley who tipped his head carefully in acquiescence.

"And if you do this… spell, I'll remember all of you?" Something inside Steven curled up at the thought of that. Half of him wanted so badly to believe he was something more than a fairly bright Valley's kid destined for mediocrity, and the other half was terrified of what he might actually discover.

He shrugged and hung his head. He'd been doing a lot of that she'd noticed during this, very one-sided, conversation. She'd taken advantage of the privacy awarded by a booth to tell Angel exactly how she felt about Spike, this time without resorting to cookie dough.

Remarkably gently she'd described how Spike changed even before his soul. How he'd gone to Africa to win it for her - leaving out the assault. Angel really didn't need to know about that. And how he'd come back a shattered shell of a man, tormented as Angel was by his past.

No, she didn't love Spike. Not the way she loved Angel. But that was because, after everything they'd been through together, she trusted Spike in a way she'd never been able to trust Angel. Always, when she was with Angel, the spectre of Angelus hung over them. There was no such spectre with Spike. Even without his soul he loved her, and with it he'd proved to be a loyal and supportive friend.

When she'd told Angel that she didn't see `fat grandchildren' in her future with Spike, that hadn't meant she didn't foresee any kind of future with him. Yes, he could be annoying, thick headed and stupid and sometimes just plain rude, and that was with his soul. And Buffy was pretty certain she'd never dare to take him to a Class Reunion - not that there ever were class reunions for students of Sunnydale High. Apparently the death toll made it impractical - or probably even out for a meal in civilised company.

Still, the principle remained. Spike was her private vice. One she had finally got to the point of sharing with her friends and family, if not with the world at large.

Surprisingly Angel was having similar thoughts. Although without the worries about publicity and reunions. His first priority was still Connor and for no other reason than the well being of his son, he wanted the spell to remain in place, but Spike was also part of the equation. The six months he'd spent as Spike's lover had been so much better than he'd feared. He'd learned to care for the other vampire and was well on his way to being in love. What worried Angel was that with his memories restored, Spike would leave him and go back to Buffy.

It felt strange feeling jealous of Buffy over Spike. Previously it was the other way around. Angel was man enough to admit that most of his initial hostility towards Spike was that his soul wasn't subject to a curse.

Willow broke her eyes away from the crystal she'd been using to focus her meditation and looked up. "Not so bad. I know it seems to be taking a long time but I need balance for this and usually Kennedy's my kite string."

"Give me thirty minutes, then we'll start. Once we get going it shouldn't take more than fifteen to break down the actual spell. Like I said, the default setting is for you all to remember."

"Go. Be with him." There was no hesitation in Angel's voice. He'd finally heard what she'd been trying to say all evening. Her friend needed her and she was going to be there to ensure he survived, whether he wanted to or not.

They filed into the bedroom to find the furniture pushed to one side and a magic circle cast in the centre of the room. At Willow's instruction all five of them took a corner of the enneagram inscribed within the circle and marked by a single white candle, leaving one free to represent their missing comrade. The Witch herself would be at the centre, the fulcrum point from which she could guide the working.

Once they were all sitting comfortably, Willow walked the circle, lighting each candle until five were burning strongly. At the sixth she stayed a little longer, and when she moved on the candle was no longer white, but silver and glowing.

After a quick check that everything was ready she sat in the centre of the circle, facing the focusing crystal and picked up a small bowl of sandalwood oil and a large feather. The oil she placed near to her left knee, easily accessible should she need it. The feather she laid on the palm of her right hand.

"Okay, let's start." She addressed them openly and honestly, making sure she made eye contact with each in turn. "I need you to open your minds. Make them as empty as possible. No pictures or images, at least nothing real. You can think imaginary lakes and stuff like that, you know; like if you're having trouble sleeping. And relax. If you feel yourself start to fall asleep, just go with it. I'll look after you."

When they had all followed her instructions, Willow closed her eyes and started to chant in a low calm voice. It was so unlike the Willow Wesley remembered that he was finally able to forget the little girl he'd once known and put himself into the hands of this astoundingly powerful Wicca.

As the power built, Willow could feel the darkness within her start to rise to its call. There was precious little time to do what she needed but she pushed any rising panic aside and focused her mind on the balancing force of the universe, searching for the weak point that would allow the rightful memories to be restored.

As Angel ran up the stairs he could hear the faint sounds of chanting from within the apartment. Fuck, they'd already started. Still it wasn't too late to call a halt. It may still be possible to stop the spell.

There was something resembling a sigh and then she spoke again. "Enter if you will, but know this. You seek that which cannot be held. The universe is beyond your petty interests and will not be denied. Enter and your heart will be weighed, your crimes tallied and you will never leave."

Attempting to sleep had turned out to be a waste of time, so Spike made his way on to the balcony, relishing the cool predawn air over his bare skin. He was still mad at Angel but the feelings had muted a little during the night, subsiding into a general feeling of resentment that once again he'd been pushed aside by people he regarded as friends.

Buffy ran like the wind through the streets, cursing her ignorance of alleys and shortcuts that could shave vital seconds from her journey. A quick glance at the sky showed dawn was a still several minutes away and with luck she would reach the hotel before the sun rose.

Knowing that he had finally earned forgiveness. Hers - though she would never truly love him - and the world's - despite his crimes. Welcomed into the bosom of his long dead family and allowed to put down the burden of ceaseless life. Permitted to enter the one place he thought denied him forever

Willow slumped sideways as the spell was broken. She managed to retain enough of herself to ensure that Connor remained asleep. From what little she had glimpsed of his mind it would take years to rebuild his psyche into anything resembling normalcy.

Around the circle, the others began to stir. Numbly they stood and moved apart from each other, lost in their recovered memories and coming to terms once again with what had transpired. Wesley was the first to find himself again, helping Willow to stand and leading her into the living room before heading towards the kitchen for the standard English panacea in times of stress.

Willow lifted her head painfully from the back of the couch when the ruined front door pushed open and Angel appeared. Off his tear filled eyes she nodded towards the bedroom where Charles and Lorne were keeping watch over the sleeping teen's body.

Willow smiled. "Good." He turned to enter the bedroom. "Don't try to wake him, Angel. He's in a good place right now and if you'll let me help, we can make sure he's is never in pain again."

The doors of the hotel swung wide and Buffy sprinted through. All the way down the street she'd been haunted by the sound of Spike's howling. She knew that sound. It was the noise that had filled her soul until she'd discovered how to live again.

The look in Angel's eyes the first day Spike had entered the office. Angel's willing conspiracy in the consummation of their fraudulent relationship. The humiliation at being taken unknowing by one who had shown him nothing but contempt and hatred for years.

Rage that had been dulled to dark resentment by the passage of time burned anew in Spike's heart and every slight, every beating, every insult that Angel had ever heaped upon him came rushing back fuelled by the knowledge of this latest betrayal.

It temporarily displaced the lingering pain of heaven and now when he raised his tear soaked face to the heavens his howl of pain was replaced by animal tones of fury and anguish.

Several flights of stairs stretched ahead of her and she ignored the tightness in her chest and her constricted lungs, pulling on every ounce of enhanced speed to reach him in time.

Three stories up, Buffy sensed his presence at the other end of the corridor and flew towards the door. It crumpled beneath the power of her kick, clearing her a route to the balcony.

Spike's hand strayed to the Amulet that still hung around his neck. It had been Buffy's gift, but in his befuddled mind it was still a mark of ownership. Something Angel had pressed upon him along with lies and false protestations of love.