Legacy

By Stakebait/Mer

Drusilla pirouetted in the doorway. With Anne's body in her arms like a dance partner, she flitted through the darkened halls. Angel raced to follow, with Spike close on his heels.

A loud metallic clang rang out, and a muffled curse, as Gunn's lack of night vision claimed a filing cabinet as victim. He hurdled it without bothering to stop, then shouldered past the others, who had stopped short in the lighted doorway to Anne's office.

The back of Anne's skull cracked hard against the desk where Drusilla dropped her, leaving a long smear of blood down the drawer front. The corpse tumbled to the carpet like a jumble of paperclips, all meaningless angles. Gunn grabbed for it, too late, and then sank to his knees and pulled Anne's head into his lap.

Drusilla, still in game face, gave a dainty lick to the back of her hand, removing a tiny spot of blood. She cocked her head, slipping back into human features, and widened her eyes at Spike and Angel, who stood with identical blank, pole-axed faces in the doorway.

"Just like mummy used to make," she said.

Two pencils snicked through Drusilla's dress and into her stomach. She looked down at them, then back to the hand that threw them: Gunn's. He was still on his knees with Anne's corpse cradled to him in a parody of protection, but he was already groping for the letter opener as the next nearest weapon.

Angel rushed between them, knocking aside chairs and toppling a pile of clean, white, folded towels into the spreading pool of blood. He jostled Gunn's arm, and Gunn sprang to his feet, turning on Angel.

"Anne's dead. I don't care whose kid she is; she's dust." Gunn stopped short, his face inches from Angel's, when he saw the stake in Angel's hand. "Right." He looked on the verge of saying something more but was distracted by a crash and a shower of broken glass.

When they looked back, there was only a hole in the window. Drusilla was gone.

Angel leapt toward the window to try to follow but stopped short at the sound of a strangled sob. Gunn turned away, but not before Angel caught a glimpse of his face. It looked like continents breaking apart, each plane of his face adrift and falling as if they could no long form any expression, even grief. He looked like a stranger.

Gunn sank into Anne's desk chair and stared at the snapshots tucked into the blotter. Silent, Angel walked back and dropped a heavy, sympathetic hand on Gunn's shoulder.

Ignoring them both, Spike finally moved from the doorway. He leaned over the body, smoothed the blond hair back, and closed her eyes.

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.12: Legacy
• Written by: Stakebait/Mer
• Edited by: Rossywar
• Researched by: Adoxerella
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse

---

The Walden lobby lights were bright, the red and gold rug glaring more garishly than ever. The phone and a confusion of business card holders, pads, pencils, and a vase of mums had been haphazardly swept onto the floor to make room for Anne's corpse, laid out on the counter, mostly covered by Spike's coat. Only her white-sneakered feet were visible. Illyria stood studying them impassively.

"Real dignified," said Gunn dully. He sat on the ottoman facing the body, even though that meant leaving his back to the door.

"Better than leaving her there for the kiddies to trip over," Spike replied, giving the collar a final tug into place and stepping back. "Could crack that lock with a toothpick, and contrary to folklore I don't have a coffin in my front pocket."

"Need a better lock. Need a coffin. Need to make sure she's not gonna wake up a vampire. Need a funeral." A little animation started to come back into Gunn's expression as he planned. "A real one. With a priest. Someplace with trees and flowers. Bus the kids out to say goodbye. Need a school bus."

Spike snagged a yellow legal pad and pen from the jumble on the floor and strode over to stuff it into Gunn's lap. "Good. Start writing, Charlie."

With his view of the body blocked, Gunn focused on Spike for the first time since they'd got back. "'Cause you're too good to be my Girl Friday now?"

Pocketing two stakes, Angel turned from the weapons cabinet and tossed an ax to Spike, who caught it without looking.

Angel came to stand behind Spike. "We're going after her."

Gunn nodded. "I'm headed on back to the shelter. The volunteer keeping an eye on the place has to be at work in an hour, and Dru might come back looking for another snack. Plus, someone's gotta break it to those kids. Someone who can keep them from going on the rampage afterward."

Spike blinked. "Why would they? She got a bunch of footie fans in there?"

"Loss," Illyria said, withdrawing the finger she'd stuck into Anne's ear.

Angel and Spike startled, as if they'd forgotten Illyria was still in the room.

"Rage at this inadequate era for failing to preserve the requirements of a bearable existence," she continued impassively. "The desire to assert control by creating destruction before it is made by others and sent against you. Also, boredom."

Gunn gave a twisted smile. "What she said."

"Just what we need: a million-year-old teenager," Angel muttered. He looked over his shoulder and, with an exasperated noise, herded Illyria away from the corpse. "You go tell Wes. Dru's on the loose, and she's coming after our allies. He needs to watch his back."

"Could use that newfangled telephone machine," Spike suggested.

Angel shot him a look. "He's in a meeting. I'm not trusting this to voicemail."

"Just 'cause you never check yours..." Gunn muttered.

"I will tell him." Illyria unwound a strand of blond hair from her fingers and dropped it to the floor.

---

Angel had barely watched Illyria and Gunn walk safely out into the sunlight before he picked up the phone and punched a single button.

"Finally mastered speed dial?" Spike asked, peering to see the number on the display.

Angel put a hand to his chest and palmed him out of reach absentmindedly. "Connor? It's Da-Angel. Don't come in to work today. We're..." He looked at the white hand that Illyria had dislodged and was dangling loosely down the side of the front counter. "We're closed for renovations."

Angel hung up and strode toward the entrance to the basement. Spike fell automatically into step behind him.

"Da Angel? Meet one mobster and you think you're Tony Soprano. Is that like 'you da man'? Or in this case, da vampire with da soul?"

Angel, who had just opened the basement door, slammed it shut in Spike's face. "At least one of us has one that works. How can you joke? She's dead."

Spike wrenched the knob from Angel's hand and jerked the door back open. "Yes, she's dead. Dru killed her; we didn't stop her. I was there, Angel, I don't need the play-by-play. She's not gonna get up if I take my nonexistent hat off and make the sad face." He brushed past Angel and made for the sewer entrance.

Angel followed, looking annoyed. "You don't even know where we're going."

Spike waited for him in the sewer. "Can't, can I? We haven't bloody well decided yet. But it's our Dru. Dress shops with handy, daylight-free sewer entrances, doll shops, ophthalmologists, demon singles bars. We're bound to track her down sooner or later."

Angel took the opportunity to stride on ahead, making a decisive left turn. "We don't decide anything. I tell you."

Hurrying to catch up, Spike rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, and I tell you to get stuffed. Seriously, Angel. We have to talk about this. Say we find her? Then what? I'm thinking - "

Angel cut him off. "Catch her. Stake her. End of story."

Spike stopped dead, glaring at him. "I'm thinking the bloke who lived with her for a hundred years might get a bit of a say."

Angel impatiently circled him and gave him a shove from behind. "It's not up for a vote. She's a menace. Last I checked, it's not Spike Investigations. I'm the boss."

"Bollocks. This isn't about whose name is on the business cards. This is family." Spike shoved the ax back into Angel's hands, turned around, and stomped noisily away into the sewers.

"Spike! Goddamn useless... Spike!" Angel hurled the ax into the darkness, and it clanged off the nearest wall to fall inches from his feet.

Angel kicked it. He waited. Nobody came pouting back.

"Spike?" Angel called hesitantly. Nothing answered but distorted echoes.

"Fine," said Angel. "I'll do it myself."

---

Wesley strode rapidly down the corridor of Wolfram & Hart with Johanna at his left shoulder and a deferential young Latino man in a well-tailored suit at his right. He threw open the double doors of his office, making room for the whole formation to enter.

Wesley handed off a file folder to Johanna. "You're going to read it anyway; you might as well take it down to Contracts. Miguel..." Wesley noticed Illyria, who was poking at his paper shredder, and smoothly changed what he was going to say. "Good work. Take a long lunch; catch up on your email. We'll reschedule for tomorrow."

Johanna opened her mouth, but Wesley nodded a firm dismissal and shut the door in his subordinates' faces as they backed away.

Illyria turned, blocking Wesley's view of the paper shredder so that he could not see what she had sacrificed to her curiosity.

"I do not disobey your... request," she said abruptly, making a face as though she tasted something bitter. "Angel sent me. I bring a message. Me, the emperor of galaxies. I killed such bearers if their tidings displeased me."

Wesley merely nodded. "Yes?"

"The one called Drusilla is loose upon the streets of the city. Guard yourself and your dominions."

"She's made contact with Angel?" Wesley asked.

Illyria stared off over Wesley's shoulder, as though fascinated by something only she could see. "She has struck down the one called Anne, who succored the waifs and the outcasts."

Wesley dropped his eyes and sat slowly behind the wide, polished desk. "I see. I am sorry to hear it."

"Angel and Spike hunt her. I am pleased. Her prattling offends my ears."

Wesley looked up sharply, and Illyria met his gaze. "Angel and Spike. Where is Charles?"

"He watches the street spawn, as I shall watch you."

Wesley shook his head. "Go help him. I'll join Angel."

"He intended to leave immediately," Illyria said. "You will never find him. We should remain together."

"There aren't that many sewer lines that lead from the Walden," Wesley said, Picking up a pen and toying with it absently. "If he's been in transit about twenty minutes, there are only a couple of places he could be."

Illyria's expression grew infinitesimally more frustrated. "In opposite directions. You allow foolish hope to color your decisions."

Wesley leaned forward and pushed a button on his speakerphone. "Have two teams ready to check the sewers at my coordinates. Covert vehicles, distance surveillance only. I'll be on the helipad in two minutes."

He released the button and stood, shrugging into his jacket. "Go help Charles, Illyria," he said. "If Drusilla's in Los Angeles, there isn't any time for any of us to waste."

---

Illyria held a bunk bed above her head with one hand like a waiter with a tray while Gunn attached the legs.

"Don't know why Wes sent you here, but I gotta admit it's faster this way," he said.

Illyria put her free hand on her hip. "You are pleased with the death of the guardian of this place."

Gunn gave her a flat look. "Say that again, and I'll wash your mouth out, fist of death or no."

Illyria ignored the threat as though it were a gnat. "You are pleased to claim her domain as your own."

"Sometimes you're scary smart and sometimes just scary," Gunn said. "This is type two. Somebody's gotta keep it together. Doesn't mean I don't wish she was here." He circled around behind her to do the next leg.

"Yeah, it does feels good," he admitted after a moment. "You build a bed, you've built a bed. Somebody sleeps in it. You made a difference. Staking vamps is like... doing the laundry. It just comes back, and you gotta do it all over again. No wonder Anne had Spike and me folding towels." Gunn tamped in a nail head one more time and ran a finger over the smooth join where metal met wood. "By the end of the week I'll be comparing demons to mildew."

"I do not do laundry." Illyria said unnecessarily.

Gunn grinned. "How about windows?"

"These menial tasks are beneath my dignity. I only remain here to protect your weak form."

The smile fell off Gunn's face. "There's more ways to protect someone than hitting shit. And if it was good enough for Anne, it's good enough for you."

"You... cared for her." Illyria said slowly. "You defend her honor." Gunn crouched down to hook up the bottom bunk. "And yet you did not have sexual relations with her as you did with Fred."

Gunn stood up so fast he hit his head. "It's not about that. Anne was grounded. She saw what needed to be done, she did it. She didn't run her mouth waiting for anybody else to step up."

"And your ruler does not."

Gunn rolled his eyes. "Don't make it sound like I kiss Angel's ring. And that came out a lot dirtier than it sounded in my head."

Illyria followed him around the bed. "You believe he is blind."

"Nah. A little paranoid, maybe, but I would be, too, if I had a whole chapter in Cryptic Prophecies Digest. It's just..." Gunn hesitated. "You know what they say, can't see the forest for the trees?"

"A nonsensical statement. Forests are composed of trees. Except for the petrified souls forest of Concaultiam."

Gunn waved a screwdriver in front of her to bring her back to this millennium. "Point is, you get so hung up on one piece you forget to see the big picture. Angel's the other way around. Sometimes it's like he forgets one tree still matters." Gunn paused. "Or he wants to. Like he's so far up he can't even see 'em."

"Like writhing worms beneath his feet." Illyria nodded. "It is a proper attitude for a ruler."

Gunn shrugged. "You'd know. But ruling was just something we picked up to make the job easier. 'Cept it didn't. And Angel... maybe he's not putting it down. I know what that's like." He held up his sawdust covered hands. "That's why I'm getting my hands dirty. Keeps me honest."

Illyria studied his hands. "Is it necessary to bruise your thumb as well?"

Two kids dodged around them, and Gunn relieved the taller one of the hammer he'd swiped on the way past.

"You're no fun," the kid pouted.

"Yeah, I know. Anne would've let you smash the place up. Anne gave you cookies for breakfast. Anne let you stay up till midnight. Give it up, kid, I knew her since you were a gleam in your father's eye." Gunn stuck the hammer through a belt loop.

"Grebathon don't have eyes," Illyria pointed out.

The moment Gunn turned to look at her the kids were off, running out of sight but still audible thanks to the threatened noogies and Indian burns. Gunn did a quick tool count and let them go.

"That's the kind of irrelevant factoid I've come to count on you for," said Gunn, then belatedly realized what she meant. "Kareem's a Grebathon?"

Illyria nodded, bobbling the bunk bed. "On his mother's side."

"How do you know?"

"Eyes," said Illyria.

Gunn nodded. "Never saw a demon kid here before, but it figures Anne wouldn't throw out anyone with no place else to go. Better look up whatever Grebathons eat and add some to the shopping list. I've already made one Costco run today. Who knew eggs came by the gross? There's enough toilet paper in the basement to build a fort with."

He paused. "Wish we could. It's too damn hard to tell if anyone is missing in this place," he said. "Kids coming and going to school, jobs, gangs, back to parents when they get out of jail or rehab. Older ones moving in with boyfriends or girlfriends or pimps. Can't I just lock all the doors and keep 'em in where I can keep an eye on them?"

"Of course you can." Illyria cocked her head. "Are you not the steward now? Who would dare to gainsay you?"

Gunn shook his head. "It's not what Anne would've wanted. Wouldn't work, anyway. Street kids are real stingy with the trust. They won't come if they don't know they're free to run."

Gunn attached the final leg and nodded to Illyria. "Okay, test it. Gently."

Illyria dropped her fist into the center of the platform. The bed held. She covered it with the waiting mattress as though it weighed as little as a sheet of paper while Gunn scooped up the pile of kindling that was their first attempt.

"Come on," he said. "Round up anyone old enough to tie their shoes and handout the sandpaper."

"You wish to smooth over the rubble?"

Gunn winced. "Might as well get some good out of the mess. In this town, you always need more stakes."

---

The manhole cover above Angel's head began to open without warning, and he cursed, dodging the sudden beam of direct sunlight. Belatedly he froze, trusting to the shadows to hide him. The last echoes of his voice were more than covered by the clang of a chain ladder unfolding. Instead of some guy in coveralls and a hard hat, however, a man in an incongruously sharp blazer began to descend. Angel squinted.

"Wes?"

Wesley dropped neatly from the bottom rung. "I knew you would be in transit, but I must admit I hadn't expected to strike it quite this lucky."

"Where's Illyria?" Angel demanded. "She was supposed to warn you."

"She did," Wesley reassured him. "I sent her to Charles and came to find you."

"She was supposed to watch your back. You shouldn't be out alone," Angel said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm not," Wesley said calmly.

Angel growled. "Yeah, now. Not good enough. What if you'd been attacked on the way?"

Wesley gave a hand signal, and the ladder began to retract. When it was gone, the manhole cover closed over them with a clang. "I'm not," he repeated, gesturing to indicate his above-ground lackeys.

"Oh." Angel deflated. "Of course you didn't mean me," he muttered.

Wesley's eyes had adjusted enough for him to look around. "I thought the plan was for Spike to accompany you," he said with a note of irritation in his tone.

Angel snorted. "It was. That lasted all of a minute. He stomped off in a snit, because I put Dru's snacking habits above his romantic history. By now he's probably teamed up with her, being seduced by the darkness, draining human victims, tempted into torturing and killing..." Angel's voice lingered over the possibilities. He set his jaw. "I've got to get to them before it's too late."

"No, he won't," was Wesley absentminded correction.

Angel shot him a glare. "Take a minute to think, why don't you? Trust me, even with a soul it can happen."

"Yes, Angel, I remember," said Wesley pointedly. "But while we don't know that Spike will react that way, we have every evidence that you have. It hardly seems likely that adding you to the mix will reduce the risk of undesirable distraction. In any case, we have a more pressing problem."

Instantly Angel was all business. "The Partners?"

Wesley shook his head. "I've heard nothing. But our source in the LAPD reports that two more slime-covered corpses were discovered this morning."

Angel shrugged. "It's not pretty, but just 'cause we killed the Loppestre demons doesn't mean the mop up won't take a while. They could be finding bodies for weeks."

"These are fresh," said Wesley.

Angel nodded, taking that in, but continued, "We can't just leave Dru on the loose. She's my responsibility."

"And those who die while you're running after Drusilla?" Wesley asked, leaning in. "Angel, I know how fond you are of Connor, but must you repeat every mistake that lead up to his birth?"

"This isn't Darla and Dru, it's Dru," Angel said. "On her own, without anybody in the family to try to hold her back. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I do, just as I know how dangerous it is when you lose sight of what's important," Wesley shot back. "People are dying from more than one cause. Don't tell me I crawled out of my grave to stand by the side of the man who would turn his back on the helpless."

Anger flashed through Angel's eyes. "You don't consider Dru's victims to be helpless?"

"I consider Drusilla to be hunted by Spike," Wesley replied. "Who I might remind you is the vampire who spent decades taking care of her before. He has a soul now. He can handle it."

"If these demons are such a big deal, why don't you set your little Wolfram & Hart groupies on them?" Angel asked. "I know for a fact how much they just love to kill stuff."

Wesley folded his arms, his blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "Because I need you."

A long silence stretched out between them.

"Fine," Angel said, though he didn't look happy. "Where?"

"To rendezvous with Gunn and Illyria at the shelter," said Wesley.

"There's plenty of other kids in this city," Angel pointed out.

Wesley nodded. "But not ones we can use to bait a trap."

---

In the shelter's basement, a man in jeans and a white polo shirt leaned heavily against the wall. His face had an unhealthy pallor, and a sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.

A beam of light, brighter than the single bulb in the ceiling, spilled down the stairs as the basement door opened, then shut very slowly and carefully, with a tiny squeak. A young boy of about eight slid down the pipe banister. He pushed aside a massive pile of toilet paper, reached inside a partially boarded up hole in the wall, and pulled out a flashlight and a candy bar.

"Jorge," the man whispered. "You shouldn't be here. Go upstairs."

"Mister Sean?" Jorge played a flashlight over the man's face. "You don't look so good."

Sean sank down to sit on the stairs. "I'm fine," he said gamely but held onto his stomach. "Must've had some bad bacon."

Jorge stepped closer. "Serves you right, when you make us eat healthy. Seriously, man. You want something to drink? Mama always said ginger ale is good when you're sick, and I know how to break into the supply closet." He grinned proudly.

"You're a real delinquent, you know that... uunnngh!" Sean groaned, and something orange and scaly burst out of his stomach.

"Jesus, its Alien!" Jorge jumped back, away from the creature, which was getting bigger and bigger right in front of him.

"Help!" Jorge dodged around the creature and tried to scramble up to safety, shoving at Sean to make him get up, or help, or run. Instead, Sean's body slumped over sideways, and Jorge tripped. Something sharp caught his ankle, and then numbness spread up his leg to tingle throughout his veins. He could no longer move to catch himself as his body bumped down the stairs.

Sean gasped, then struggled to grasp the railing and pull himself to his feet. He scrabbled until he found a broom leaning against the wall and threw himself at the demon that hung over the boy, beating it back blindly on adrenaline and anger. "Leave him alone."

Finally the demon collapsed, its carapace shattered, though the limbs were still trying to move. Sean turned to chase Jorge to safety... and saw the wound across his throat and the dark pool of his blood spreading stickily across the floor.

The door opened again. "All right already, Jorge," Kareem called as he came sown the stairs. "You win; I'll do your chores. Come out, it's almost time for lunch."

Sean's stomach lurched, and he couldn't tell if it was nausea or another demon on the way. He snatched up the first one and ran out into the sewers.

His face grim, Kareem stared down at the body and then at the hole in the wall, where the boards had been snapped. He picked up the flashlight, ducked his head, and followed.

---

"About so tall? Long, dark hair? Limpid eyes? Fangs about yay long?" Spike described Drusilla for the third time in half an hour.

The demon behind the counter shook his head regretfully, and his long curly horns nearly caught the skirt of a vinyl baby doll in an elaborate christening gown.

"Sorry, bub. Present company excepted, I ain't had a vampire in here since the after Christmas sales," he said. "Sure you don't want that Sasha doll? They're very collectible."

Spike threaded his way through the narrow aisles without bothering to answer and slammed the glass door hard enough to make the jingling bells fall to the floor behind him. He wandered through the mall, surely the first place a vampire would go shopping in sunny Los Angeles, looking for dress shops or screaming, horrified bystanders.

"Bloody well hate this," he muttered. "She's probably tucked up in bed, dreaming of bloodbaths and rose petals. Where I'd be if I had a lick of sense. Can't let Angel find her first when he's all set to stake her. So he says. Never managed it before, but now I'm here he can make me say it for him and then shout me down."

Spike looked around the peaceful food court. "Bugger this. No point in thinking logically; our Dru doesn't do logic. We do this the old fashioned way."

He vamped out and gave the air a good, long sniff. A faint hint of Drusilla's perfume teased him. She'd been here all right, hours ago. He'd never be able to track most people after so long, but after following Drusilla for a hundred years, he'd know her scent anywhere.

The two women seated nearest him saw his face, shrieked, and cringed away. Spike grinned and stole a French fry from one of their plates. "Ta, loves," he said. "Don't mind if I do."

---

Illyria stood near the entry to the shelter like a scarecrow with her arms outstretched while young children climbed her like a jungle gym. They swung from her arms and stood on her shoulders. An older teen was braiding her blue hair into wild locks.

"This is way better than decapitated Barbie," the girl exclaimed. "Oh, hi," she added to Angel and Wesley.

Angel nodded at Illyria, figuring it was safer not to ask what the hell she was doing. "Where's Gunn?"

"In the office, conducting a mourning ritual," Illyria said. "I stand guard."

Angel and Wesley didn't break stride. In the lounge, a circle of serious looking teens was making piles of lopsided, inexpert stakes.

"Remind me not to make them angry," Angel said to Wesley as they rounded the corner.

They found Gunn in Anne's office. The blood-soaked carpet had been rolled up into a corner, and the room smelled of bleach and large quantities of air freshener. Gunn sat at the desk. He was surrounded by manila folders, one open on top of the other, spread out not just in front of him but also on the floor and every other accessible surface.

Gunn looked up and grinned when they came in. "Angel," he said, "just the man I wanted to see."

The frown smoothed itself from Wesley's face. "Ah, this is what Illyria meant when she you were conducting a mourning ritual," he said.

Gunn looked blank.

"Looks like the way she sorted Wesley's crap when he was gone," Angel reminded Gunn helpfully. "Think that last round was by number of syllables."

Gunn nodded and flipped the topmost folder shut. "This place was kind of a one-woman show. It doesn't help much to file the plumber under his last name if you don't know what his name is. It's taken me all morning just to figure out where we stand."

Angel's glance swept the chaos around him. "This is why you wanted to see me?"

"You had practice with Cordy's files," Gunn explained.

Angel made a flip-flop gesture with one hand. "Sort of. Mostly we just started over." He looked again, this time assessingly, at the mess. "How long 'til you're ready to hand this over? We've got a situation."

"Hey, you want it, it's all yours," Gunn said, throwing up his hands.

Angel blinked. "Not to me. To whoever's going to run it now. I need you."

Gunn's expression shifted slowly from perplexed to annoyed. "There's no vice presidents any more," he said. "We're it."

Angel wondered where the conversation had taken a wrong turn. "We run the shelter now? Since when?"

"Since Anne died. She was our friend, remember?"

Angel held up his hands. "Whoa. I liked her too. A lot. But I also like that woman in the porn store across the street. Doesn't mean if something happens to her I'm gonna take up stripping."

Wesley looked at him. "What woman in the store across the street?"

"Not the point," Angel said quickly.

Gunn started shoving his folders back into drawers and boxes with a little more force than necessary. "The point is, the last thing the world needs is you in a g-string. These kids need help."

Angel folded his arms and stood stock still, blocking Gunn's route back to behind the desk. "No argument. We're here 'cause there's something out there going after kids. I'm just saying once they're safe there're monsters that aren't going to fight themselves, and this paper pushing stuff anyone can do."

Wesley gave Angel an unreadable look from his post just inside the door.

"But they aren't," said Gunn flatly. "Anyone can throw a punch, too. The point is, we see a problem, we do something. With Anne gone, I see a hell of a lot of problems right here." He stood up and swung his arms wide in illustration, then circled the desk to bring his face near Angel's. "You need me in a fight, call me, I'll get a volunteer to cover. But the office is gonna have to do without me for a while."

"Is everyone going to quit on me today?" Angel said with an exasperated sigh. "I should've checked my horoscope. What about the mission?"

Gunn stared at him for a moment, then relaxed into a kind of whole body shrug. He stepped back and perched on the edge of Anne's desk. "That's what I thought I was asking you."

Angel pressed his fingers into his eyes and ran a hand over his forehead.

"We always say that. Have to do this, can't do that, it's the mission," Gunn said.

"You giving it up?" Angel asked. "Gonna take Gwen and retire somewhere with a whole lot of lightning?"

Gunn shook his head. "No way. I'm just saying do we have a mission statement somewhere?" He tapped a cheap plastic frame that hung on the wall, surrounded by clip art of multicolored kids holding hands. "You know, like we had in our corporate phase? At Angel Investigations, we are committed to focusing on our core competencies of ass-kicking and vamp-dusting, while delivering added value to our customer base of the helpless."

"Thought we weren't evil any more," said Angel.

Gunn grinned, and the tension between them started to ease. "We're not. But just because Wolfram & Hart butchered the English language and the innocent doesn't mean they didn't have a point."

Wesley crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, looking unimpressed. "Speaking as the butcher's boy, that would be what?"

"We don't actually know what the mission is," Gunn said bluntly.

Angel shrugged and took a seat in the visitor's chair. "It's like porn."

"Just how obsessed are you with the woman across the street?" Gunn asked.

"I mean we know it when we see it," Angel said.

Gunn resumed cleaning up, dumping the leftover cookie crumbs from the empty tray into the wastebasket. "Yeah, about that. Thing is?"

"Yes, Charles, just what is the thing?" Wesley asked with the extra-polite, patient tone that meant exactly the opposite.

"Thing is," he repeated, catching Wesley's eyes and holding them, "we're not all seeing the same mission anymore. Maybe we never did."

Wesley maintained the eye contact and nodded. "Precisely."

Gritting his teeth, Angel jumped up out of the chair. "I care about the kids just like I care about everyone in this city. But taking care of them means there are more important things to do than tying their shoelaces and tucking them in."

Gunn nodded. "Yeah, and it's not like I don't care about the Big Bad Wolf... no offense, Wes."

"None taken," announced Wesley in a clipped tone.

Gunn stepped toward Angel. "It's just that when the chips are down, your bottom line is kill the dragon..." Angel winced, and Gunn flinched in sympathy before he doggedly kept going, "... and mine is save the princess."

---

"Princess!" Spike said.

A home decor store in an upscale strip mall had never been on Spike's top ten list of Drusilla's likely haunts, but after striking out at a likely local magic shop he'd tracked her scent through the shadowed alley to the back entrance. There she was, prowling the aisles and, apparently, comparing prices on deep red glasses like the sane suburban matrons around her, at least if you ignored the gauzy white dress and black lipstick.

Drusilla dropped the glasses into a pile of throw pillows and gave a sunny smile, as if she had no memory of weeping in his arms. "Spike! Did you like my surprise party?"

Concealing the imported teak candlestick he held like a stake in the folds of his coat, Spike circled warily, keeping his back to the store's other customers. "Not above half, no. She was a nice girl, love. You didn't have to break her."

Drusilla pouted and sidled towards him. "But she shone like wheat in winter. It's that thing in you, isn't it? Daddy's leftovers. Cold, bitter dregs. Shall I make a lovely bonfire to warm your heart?"

Closing the remaining distance with a vamp-fast step, she reached casually into Spike's jeans pocket and fished about. He froze under her fingers in surprise, just long enough for her to find his Zippo and pull it free. She flicked it open and waved the open flame perilously near a pile of large wicker chests. He made a grab for it, and she danced out of reach, laughing.

Spike gave a harried glance over his shoulder at a woman with a stroller. "We can't talk here, pet. Come away, and you can play with fire all you like."

Drusilla giggled. "Oh, yes. Just like Daddy did. We all burn for each other, and the smoke rises to blot out the sun."

Spike took her arm to draw her out the back, but she resisted, letting her dead weight drag like a five-year-old in mischief.

"All my pretty things, Spike!"

He sighed, dropping the candlestick back onto the display he'd taken it from, and gathered up the chenille pillows she'd scattered, turning just in time to see her reaching for the cashier's neck.

He jumped between them. "Oi!" he said. "No need for that." Drusilla's face was already flashing with dangerous signs of temper, and there were far too many fragile humans about. Spike's mind raced with ways to appease her.

"I'll meet you halfway, pet, how about it?" He offered. "I'll just lift these, then, and we'll be going. Wicked us, stealing from the innocent, right?"

Drusilla brightened. She opened up an old fashioned parasol, and Spike could see it was lined with tin foil. Spike groaned and snatched up a nearby tablecloth to drape over his head.

"Stop! Come back!" the cashier yelled as they made for the door.

Spike turned and flashed his game face at the man. "You don't want that," he said. "Trust me." He winked, and together the two vampires dashed out into the sunlight.

---

"That's the deal," Angel bottom-lined it for Gunn. "We borrow one of the kids from the shelter, lure the last of the demons out, and take care of them once and for all. He'll be back by dinner time."

Gunn's restless puttering had made the shelter's office less cluttered but no more quiet. "That's your big plan?" he demanded. "Let Dru rampage around free, maybe Vadering Spike back to the dark side, while you stake out one of my kids like a goat? Hell no."

Wesley turned from looking out the window and fixed his attention on Gunn. "They're your children now?"

Gunn glared. "I don't see anybody else looking out for them."

"That's precisely what we're attempting to do," Wesley said.

"No, you're precisely attempting to put them at risk."

"In a good cause," Wesley replied.

"In any cause, Wes," Gunn said, leaning his back against the door and effectively preventing them from going through it before this issue was hashed out. "These kids have been betrayed, abandoned, and used by everyone who should've taken care of them. I'm not gonna put my name on that list."

Wesley walked right up to Gunn. "You weren't so scrupulous when it came to Fred," he said, practically jabbing his finger where last year he'd used a knife.

Gunn met Wesley's eyes. "Yeah, and I learned my lesson. When are you gonna learn yours?"

"I did," said Wesley, his voice firm and even. "Angel is indispensable to averting the apocalypse. The rest of us are not."

Angel stepped between them. "Hey, break it up. We're all on the same side here."

Gunn turned on him. "Then why aren't you out staking Dru? Seems to me every time your old family comes to town you lose your tiny mind. Remember Darla? Screwed with your head and then with the rest of you? We don't have time to drop everything for a week again just to find the cure for your vampire VD."

"Would everybody stop telling me how I'm supposed to handle my family?" Angel demanded. "And what the hell are you talking about?"

"All I'm saying is if your way of dealing with your family leaves you with that nasty-ass itching sensation, maybe you should take some advice!" Gunn threw back at him.

"Itching? VD? Did you hit your head this morning?" Angel asked. "Gunn, you were there when Darla came back. Don't you remem - "

"Angel," Wesley gave a tiny shake of his head.

"Remember what?" Gunn asked.

"Remember... that we have bigger problems to deal with right now," Angel said, quickly recovering. "Like demons that are trying to kill kids."

The door creaked open, and the girl who'd been ruining Illyria's hair entered. "Mr. Gunn?" She tugged on his sleeve. "Mr. Gunn?"

Gunn gently detached the fingers. "In a minute, Sadie." He resumed his staring contest with Angel. "I said no."

The kid stomped on his toe. Hard. Gunn let out a howl of surprise and started hopping up and down.

"Mr. Gunn! You gotta see this. Now," the girl said.

Gunn gave Angel a level look. "This isn't finished."

He turned to his teenage interrupter. She looked like a half-grown elf with a shaggy pixie haircut. "If it weren't for those clunky boots, you could've jumped up and down on my foot all day without me noticing," Gunn said and gestured for her to lead the way.

"You know, violence is not the answer," he added, limping behind her down the basement stairs.

She grinned over her shoulder. "It worked, didn't it?"

---

Spike and Drusilla, still in game face and smoldering here and there from the sunlight, ran through a restaurant full of surprised patrons. A waiter dropped his tray with a crash, and a woman moaned and fainted, face first, into her chicken Caesar salad.

Drusilla grabbed the edges of a red and white checked tablecloth and whipped it free, like a magician, sending a steaming bowl of soup into a patron's lap.

"Just what I needed," she announced and wrapped the tablecloth around her shoulders like a shawl.

"I'll sue you for this," the man howled, whipping out a cell phone with one hand as he frantically fanned his lap with the other. Drusilla plucked the phone from his hand and crushed it into a fistful of plastic splinters and parts, which she dropped onto the spilled soup.

"Wrong number, mate," said Spike, grinning in spite of himself. The man looked into Drusilla's golden eyes and paled.

Spike decided it was time to intervene. "This way, pet!" he called and was relieved to see her follow.

They burst through the swinging doors to the kitchen and ran down the rolling conveyor belt in the delivery hatch, dodging cases of caviar like something out of a video game. From the basement it was only a quick step to the sewers.

Spike fell against the wall, still laughing, and quickly patted out any lingering fires.

"Did you see the waiter's face?" he asked and then remembered he was supposed to be being stern. "Why in hell were you in Pier 1 anyway? Doesn't exactly go with the mayhem and destruction."

Drusilla opened wide eyes at him. "I've come home. I have to make it nice for my family."

"It's not like the old days," Spike warned her. "Angel's not gonna welcome you back with tea and crumpets."

"Of course not," Drusilla told him. "The old days have been eaten by moths. Pretty lace tears at a touch. I've got a new home, spinning in spider silk. Come and see!"

Spike shrugged, nearly losing his grip on the pile of pillows. "Why not?" He turned left automatically. "Industrial warehouse district, I assume? Choice of discerning vamps everywhere?"

But Drusilla shook her head. "Silly boy," she said, "follow the breadcrumbs."

---

When Gunn followed Sadie to the shelter's basement he found the pyramid of toilet paper he'd replenished earlier that day toppled, and behind it was a hole in the wall. It was covered with a few lopsided boards, nailed here and there like a cartoon tree house. The center one was splintered and hung in jagged pieces pointing down to a small boy, curled up with his thumb in his mouth. Gunn walked more softly so as not to disturb him, and then stopped short. Most of the kid's throat was missing.

Gunn swallowed hard and turned his face away, muttering, "Nothing's gonna wake him any more."

Angel and Wesley had come down the stairs behind him, and they drew to a halt and took in the scene.

Gunn scooped up the body in his arms. "Stupid Costco eggs were heavier."

A sniff came from the hole in the wall. Angel's stakes shot out of his shirt cuffs, and Wesley produced a gun from god knows where and aimed it at the dark opening.

Gunn glanced from the gun to Angel's hands and gently laid the boy's body down next to Sadie instead. He knelt down next to the hole. "It's all right," he said. "You can come out now."

Kareem shoved aside the splintered boards and crawled into the room, looking up into the barrel of Wesley's gun.

"I lost him," he said. Gunn gave him a look of sympathy, and Kareem hunched his shoulders with impatience. "The killer," he clarified. "The boards weren't strong enough. You should've let me take the hammer." Kareem looked at Wesley defiantly until he lowered the gun barrel.

"Least it wasn't Dru," Angel said.

Gunn sighed. "Not like an extra killer's an improvement. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Kareem was scornful. "Course. It's Mr. Sean."

Gunn looked blank. To his surprise, it was Angel who filled in the details.

"Anne's guy? The one we saved from the slime monsters?"

Squeezing his eyes shut with the effort of memory, Gunn said, "Oh, yeah. He came by this morning to drop off a donation and say he was sorry. I put him on oatmeal duty. Seems like a year ago."

His attention swung back to Kareem. "Did he hurt you? Was he talking to any of the others?"

"He talked to everybody. He's been working here for months. He came a lot more than you did."

Gunn shivered, thinking of all the months the man could have been preying on the kids he was supposed to be helping because Gunn wasn't here to catch him. "Has anyone else gone missing? The hell, didn't Anne check out her volunteers for the basics, like not being psycho killers?"

Sadie stomped on his foot again. "She was little busy with the giving us a place to live and getting killed for it."

"Sorry," Gunn said. "It's been a long day."

Angel shoved the stakes back up his sleeves and bent over the body. The wound glistened with more than just blood, and Angel stood to show a fingertip covered in very familiar slime. "I'm guessing this is a recent development. Maybe we didn't save him as much as we thought."

Kareem walked up to Wesley and jutted his chin up. "It's okay," he said. "I'll do it."

Gunn spun around. "What?"

"I'll be the bait." Off Gunn's look, he elaborated. "I heard you. We all heard you. You yell a lot."

"Then you heard why not," Gunn said, putting a restraining hand on the kid's shoulder. "It's too dangerous."

Kareem shook off his grip and pointed at the body Sadie still guarded. "That's my brother. We cut our fingers and swore an oath and everything."

In spite of everything, Gunn had to struggle not to smile. The kid reminded him of himself, so serious and determined to be a soldier, so damned young. "Kareem," he said kindly, "just because you do some fancy handshake doesn't mean..."

The kid gave him a look that could freeze bone. "Does too," he said. "I beat up the guy that was picking on him. He watched my stuff while I slept. You think just 'cause you're tall and old and got money you can tell me what's real?"

Gunn indicated his sawdust-covered hoodie. "This look like money to you? I came from the streets. I slept in my truck, back in the day."

"You had a truck," Kareem said. "It's all relative." He turned back to Wesley. "Where do you want me?"

Wesley tucked the gun out of sight and gave the boy a grim smile. "Where did you lose his trail?"

"Looks like we're back on the same page," Angel said, shooting Gunn a wry look.

Gunn gave it back, with interest. "Lucky us."

---

Spike looked around at their destination - a beige living room in a small suburban house - in disbelief. "I don't know, Dru," he said doubtfully.

Drusilla stamped her foot. "It's perfect," she said. "It's in a very good school district."

"I'm sure," he said. "It's just... a split level? With wall-to-wall carpeting? How will you ever get the bloodstains out?"

"The kitchen is terra cotta," she said proudly.

"Uh huh," said Spike, feeling a bit out of his depth.

"The counters are granite. They'll crack bones like eggshells. And there's an Aga stove, for roasting little children in."

"Put that in the brochure, did they?"

Drusilla snatched the pillows out of his arms and arranged them on the sectional couch, standing back to study the impression and then darting in to reverse two that, to Spike's eye, looked exactly the same.

"Much better," she said. She leaned in to lick Spike's throat. "Spicy. Like gingerbread."

Spike shivered and reached up to stroke her hair, then abruptly backed up two paces instead, tripped over a striped ottoman, and fell against the wall. "Yeah. About that, pet. Thought you said we couldn't go back. And I'm not who I used to be."

Shaking her head until her earrings tinkled, Drusilla said, "Not back. Forward. I killed the old days dead. I want a new boy, a new family, hatched from the cuckoo's nest. Like a phoenix."

Spike reached into Drusilla's cleavage. She gave a small, triumphant smile, which quickly changed to a hiss of disappointment when he only took back the lighter she'd stashed there. "If it's all the same to you, love, I've had my fill of burning."

"I saw you," she said. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down and down and down." He turned his face away, and Drusilla slunk up behind him and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You could have it, Spike," she whispered in his ear. "Something that needs you, not dreary Daddy. Something all your own."

Spike swung around, caught her by the throat, and thrust her up against the wall. She crowed delightedly. "No games, Dru."

Letting her go, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked it open. "You know what's in here. It's not coming out, no matter how hard I dig. No matter how happy you make me. Its part of me now. You want that?"

Drusilla ran her nails, hard, down his bare chest. She shifted into game face and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately.

After a few moments, Spike pulled back, panting, with blood on lips that curved into a smile. "I'll take that as a yes."

---

"This is where I lost him," said Kareem.

Angel, Wesley, Gunn, and Illyria peered around in the gloom.

"Looks exactly like every other sewer to me," said Gunn. "What? Like you weren't all thinking it."

"Smells different," said Angel. "Like salt."

Wesley pulled a Palm Pilot out of his pocket and began poking at the glowing white screen. After a moment, he seemed to become aware of everyone looking at him and glanced up sheepishly.

"Battle City?" Kareem asked with a knowing nod.

"Sewer map," Wesley explained. "Which, admittedly, may be a distinction without a difference."

Angel peered over his shoulder. "Where are we?"

"I'm not certain," Wesley admitted. "I declined the GPS on the grounds that I'd prefer my associates not to know my exact location at all times."

Gunn nodded and said, "Making sense."

"If you smell salt, Angel, we're probably near the harbor," Wesley said.

"They're not water demons, are they?" Gunn asked. "Cause I forgot my scuba tank in my other pants."

"The resemblance to crustaceans is purely a case of convergent evolution," Wesley assured them.

Kareem frowned slightly. "A case of what?"

"A coincidence, in a world sorely lacking in creativity," said Illyria. "When I was a god..."

Kareem looked at her. "You were a god? Lemme guess. You got fired? And now you're homeless?"

After a moment, Illyria nodded. "One could say that description was not wholly inaccurate."

"Happens to everyone," Kareem said.

"Can you track him?" Wesley asked Angel.

Angel shook his head. "Too many other scents in the way."

Gunn leaned down to Kareem. "Been walking a long time," he said. "No shame in letting me give you a lift for a while."

"I said I can handle it." Kareem pushed past him and edged closer to Wesley. "I want to walk with you."

Gunn snorted. "Kid's got no taste. You do know he's the one who set you up to be lobster food?"

Kareem nodded. "Yeah. He knows how it is." He focused on Wesley. "We know Mr. Sean's around here somewhere. We know he likes kids. Why don't we just go to kid places and maybe he'll find us?"

Wesley gave him an approving smile. "Quite. And what's the most child-like place you can imagine?"

"Chuck E Cheese?" Gunn guessed.

Kareem shot them a look that suggested he'd met smarter hamsters. "School," he said.

"It's getting dark," Angel pointed out.

"Which means we can walk on the unstinky side of life for once. He's been taken over by giant mutant lobsters," Gunn said. "I doubt they're up on the finer points of scheduling. I'm in. Mapquest us the nearest manhole, Wes."

Illyria sprang upwards and punched through the ceiling.

"Or that," said Angel, smoothing bits of concrete out of his hair.

---

Spike strolled down the street with Drusilla's hand tucked in his arm, enjoying the night air, the admiring looks of passersby at the pretty woman on his arm, and the lack of sewer scent. Only his gaze showed how far from relaxed he was, his eyes canvassing the scene for any sign of Angel on the one hand or humans within Drusilla's reach on the other.

"Still think we should've had a quiet night at home, love," he said. "But if we must go out, what do you say to a show? Or dancing? The parlor looks fine as it is."

Drusilla ignored him. "This is it!" She darted into an unmarked doorway. When Spike caught up with her, she was swaying like a snake, and the hypnotized security guard swayed with her.

Spike put on a burst of vamp speed and caught her wrist just before scarlet nails could slash the man's throat. He pinched off the blood supply in the bloke's neck, instead, until he lost consciousness and toppled over his black and white monitor.

Spike surreptitiously checked for a pulse. "There you go, pet," he said. "No muss, no murder one."

Drusilla pouted. "Not even just a little taste?"

He took her arm and firmly drew her on, and when she stepped over the body and into the warehouse she immediately clapped her hands, her sulks forgotten.

"Spike, it's perfect." She smashed through each massive wooden crate with a fist, peered at the contents, and tossed them aside until she found what she wanted, an elegant chaise lounge that looked like something out of a '50s movie.

Lolling on it and striking a Cleopatra pose, Drusilla said, "I shall need two minions with fans to feed me peeled eyeballs and grapes."

Spike nodded resignedly. "So long as they're vampires already, love. Angel won't stand for you making any newbies."

"My angel is fallen," Drusilla said, sighing sadly. "He sows salt and reaps dust."

"He's not so bad, for a pompous git who likes to see his name in big letters," Spike said, shifting uncomfortably. "He's just taking care of them. He can't help hearing the soul shouting in his head. Keeps things a bit quieter if he listens, is all."

Her eyes narrowed with an angry smile. "He took care of me, once. Now he casts me out, like a devil. But I shall eat his pearls all up."

Spike looked around for a distraction. "Over here, pet," he said. "Wouldn't this oriental go a treat with your upholstery?"

Drusilla leapt up to see. "Oh yes," she said. "We could roll the body up in it."

"No, we couldn't," said Spike. "It's going to be a bloody job and a half to haul this lot back as it is. Plus he couldn't breathe."

"But Spike," Drusilla pouted, "it's tradition!"

---

Angel and Illyria hoisted Gunn, Wesley, and Kareem out of the jagged-edged hole Illyria had made onto a street full of parked SUVs but no traffic to speak of. There were no sidewalks to interrupt the unnaturally green lawns of the quiet suburban neighborhood, so they walked in the street, following Wesley's directions to the nearby school. Gunn herded Kareem closest to the curb, to the boy's obvious disgust.

"You think Spike will take Dru away?" Angel asked Wesley out of nowhere, interrupting Kareem's urgent request for a gun just like Wesley's and lessons in how to shoot it.

Wesley looked up. "It's certainly possible. He must be aware that for her to remain nearby is foolhardy."

Angel shook his head. "Sure. I just meant... take. Not send."

Wesley shrugged. "If he cannot reconcile it with his soul to leave her free, or with his... affections to kill her outright, keeping an eye on her might be a reasonable compromise."

Angel nodded. "It's what he was made for." They plodded on through the quiet streets in silence for a long moment.

"Not like I care if he goes," Angel added firmly. "One less thing for me to worry about."

Gunn shook his head. "You guys aren't giving Blondie enough credit. If he didn't run out on us for little miss Roman Holiday, I don't see why the even ex-er ex is gonna win over the good fight."

"I asked him to stay. Last time," said Angel, with a face that dared Gunn to make something of it. "We needed him for the big battle."

"Didn't say we didn't," said Gunn, unfazed. "Saying we still do."

"At this point, Spike is unnecessary," Wesley said with a shake of his head. "With the inclusion of Illyria, your team has three strong fighters, two of them supernatural, and Connor - "

Angel shot him a warning glance.

" - can handle the office work," Wesley finished.

"Can they make balloon animals?" Kareem asked.

Angel's brow furrowed at the question, and he opened his mouth.

"Never, ever ask," Gunn said with a chuckle.

Stopping short, Angel turned to Wesley. "He's not. What you said."

Wesley laid a hand on Angel's upper arm. "I know you have strong family loyalty, Angel, but in the grand scheme of things..."

Angel shook his head. "Not what I meant. Yeah, we've got plenty of people who can throw a punch, and Spike is the last guy to trust with the planning."

"Or the filing," Gunn chimed in. "Or the coffeemaker."

"But he's the only other souled vampire in the world, that we know of. And considering what could happen..."

"I don't believe that," Wesley said, dropping his voice down so that only Angel could hear him. He glanced at the others to make sure they weren't eavesdropping. "I know what you think you signed away in the name of fighting the Senior Partners, but I don't believe Spike has a chance at a redemption that you can never have."

"Wasn't talking about being human," Angel said, his own voice matching Wesley's quiet for quiet. "I was talking about being... me."

Wesley's brows drew together. He gave a slight shake of his head. "Angel, I don't understand."

Angel sighed. He took his own turn making sure nobody else was listening. "A vampire with a soul. He gets it, Wes. Not saying you don't, but..."

"It's different," Wesley finished for him, nodding. "And you need that. Yes, I see."

"Wouldn't say need..." Angel muttered. "Can put up with, maybe." He started walking again, a little faster.

---

Drusilla unrolled the rug, and the security guard fell out onto the living room floor with a muffled thump. She took a potted fern down from its hook by the window and attached an iron manacle in its place.

"Where am I?" the guard said.

"Shut up," Spike advised him quietly. "Play dead."

"Way hey, rise and scream," caroled Drusilla. "Won't his intestines look lovely as a garland over the mantel?"

Spike tilted his head to the side. "Better upstairs," he said. "On the banister."

The man began to gibber. "Oh no," he said, inching away. "No, please."

"Go and look, pet," Spike suggested. "You'll find I'm right. I've got an eye for these things."

Drusilla scampered up the stairs. As soon as she vanished, Spike picked the guard up and dusted him off. Spike took a step toward the door, glanced back at the stairs, and cursed softly. "Dru'd be able to see me," he muttered.

"Huh?" said the guard.

The top stair creaked. Out of time, Spike spun, smashing the front window with his elbow, and tossed the man through the hole he'd made into the rhododendrons that lined the front yard.

A quiet rain of shards fell onto the carpet.

"Spike? What was that? Did you break my brand new vase?" Drusilla called.

"No, pet," he answered as slowly as he could. The guard still stood on the lawn in shock. Spike drew his crossbow and fired at the man's feet to encourage him to run. "It's only the guard getting away. I put up a terrible fight, but he was just too strong for me."

Drusilla appeared at the head of the stairs with her hands on her hips. "The red bleeds out of the sky, and the clouds weep," she said, and then, as if it were a sequitur, "Can't you do one simple thing I ask you to? Now I'll have to go out and fetch another one."

"No! Don't do that," Spike was quick to protest.

"Mummy's very disappointed in you, Spike," said Drusilla firmly, "I shall put burning coals into your entrails. You shall have no cakes for tea."

Spike cocked his head and studied her. She was backlit, the lines of her body showing through her thin gown. He hesitated, torn, and then nodded, putting on a proper air of penitence. "Don't put yourself out, pet. You stay here and get your new things settled. I'll run out and nab you a fresh one, be back in no time flat."

Drusilla clapped her hands. "And then you'll play with me!"

"Promise you won't leave the house, love," Spike said.

"I shall be waiting with your slippers when you get home," Drusilla said. Spike looked once more from her to the jagged hole into the window and then hurried away.

---

Spike tossed the yellow pages he'd stolen from a convenience store away into the bushes. "Morrison's Memorial Home," a sign read in incongruous pink neon in front of a fine old white Victorian building with a wide porch. "Figures. Too nice to be anything but a funeral parlor or a real estate agent," he muttered.

He heaved the traditional rock through a first floor window. A dog began to bark hysterically inside, but no alarm sounded, and Spike relaxed a hair before knocking out the remaining shards and climbing through. The room looked like a cross between a chapel and a high class brothel, all red velvet and gilt. He ran up to the podium, dodging the cross, and pried open the lid of the coffin lying in state.

It was empty. Spike cursed and wasted several seconds lifting the table's skirt, in case there was another one underneath.

There wasn't. He scanned the room, but there were no other coffins.

"Oh, of course," he said. Behind the dais was an almost invisible door, sporting a tasteful brass plaque that read 'employees only' in script so full of curlicues it was almost unreadable. The door swung open easily. "Who would want to steal a dead body?" Spike editorialized. "Yeah, no one in his right mind."

It was as if he'd walked into an entirely different building, moving from over-the-top decoration to what looked like a hotel kitchen, industrial and cavernously empty. Spike flung open the refrigerated lockers, looking for someone unmarked who could pass for a recent kill.

On the third try, he got lucky. "Sorry, mate," he said and bit into a pale white neck. He spat the results into a stainless steel sink, pulled a sour face, and hoisted the corpse over his shoulder.

---

Kareem pumped his legs, and the chains creaked as the swing swung higher. Four adult heads solemnly turned in sync to watch him swing back and forth, back and forth. At the top of the arc he jumped off and went soaring through the air to land with a thump, hands and knees on the rubberized mat flooring.

He sprang to his feet, only to find a sword in his face.

"What?" he said. "Jumping's not allowed?"

Angel lowered his sword.

"We thought you saw something," Gunn explained.

"This isn't as fun as you'd think," said Kareem. "Can't you guys at least put me on the merry-go-round and push it super fast so it flies off and hits something? That'd be cool."

"We've got to be on the lookout," Gunn said.

"Yeah, 'cause if I was looking for a kid to eat, I would definitely go for the one with four paranoid grownups ready to go off every time he sneezes."

"He didn't eat your friend," Wesley pointed out.

"He didn't have time," said Kareem. "I came right down after him."

"I wonder why he didn't kill you as well," said Wesley.

"Wes!" Gunn protested, but Kareem shook his head.

"Me too," he said, his voice low, rough, and full of pain. "He should have."

"It wasn't me." A man's voice quavered across the night air, and all of the Angel Investigations team spun to face him.

"That's what they all say, Sean." Gunn's tone was scathing. He hefted his ax and started across the playground. "Give me one good reason not to kill you."

Sean suddenly bent double at the waist and retched onto the ground. He pointed at the vomit, bright with blood, and it started to move.

"They got it covered," he said, pointing at the tiny Loppestre demon that was crawling towards them. He turned to Angel. "I think... I figured out... what I slept through," he said. He took a step or two towards them and then fell to his knees, holding his gut.

Gunn realized Sean's shirt hadn't always been red just as a second demon burst out from around the man's clutching fingers.

Sean was eye level with Kareem. Ignoring the others, he stretched out one hand toward the boy, who eyed him coldly from a good ten feet away. "It was the first one. I didn't know. I swear. I killed it. I'm sorry."

"You ran and left him to find that?" It was Gunn, not Kareem, but the accusation rang just the same.

"I had to get away... from the children."

"Very noble," Wesley said. "And yet you came here."

Sean stared up at him, confusion in his eyes. "It's dark," he said, and then blood bubbled from his lips and his face smashed into the ground.

Something snapped, and they turned to find a full-grown Loppestre demon with one claw, dripping with slime, around Illyria's thigh. Two more were skittering towards them, chittering.

"Get up where they can't reach," Gunn urged Kareem.

"I can fight. Leave me alone." Kareem pulled a knife from his waistband. Gunn picked him up around the waist, unceremoniously dumped him onto one end of the seesaw, and stomped on the other seat till he rose high in the air.

"I know," said Gunn. "You hate me. Anne and Wesley would have let you fight hard-shelled, paralyzing slime demons with a switch blade. Shut up and hang on."

"Kids today," said Angel, raising his sword again as the demons closed in. "They grow up so fast."

---

"Honey, I'm home," Spike called.

Spike lowered his find to the couch and rearranged the corpse's hands to look more natural. "Dru? Drusilla? Where are you, pet?"

"In the kitchen," she trilled. "I'm getting to know the neighbors."

Spike closed his eyes. When that didn't help he opened them, and then the door her voice had come from.

There they were, all lined up like Russian nesting dolls, tied each to his or her own pale pine chair around the dinette table with its red checked cloth. Their mouths were stuffed with matching napkins.

Spike grimaced and counted them off. "Now, isn't this homey? Father with his receding hairline and look of utter confusion. Mother with her Botox lack of expression, because this is L.A.. Little Billy and Suzy looking most terrified of all, because they're still young enough to believe in monsters. Smart kids." He chucked the youngest under the chin.

A tuna noodle casserole steamed gently on the countertop.

"Look, Spike," said Drusilla. "Dinner!"

"No," he said, his shoulders slumping with fatigue.

Drusilla pouted. "Don't be rude, Spike. They invited us over specially. Any time, they said. Come and have a drink."

"No," Spike repeated.

Drusilla caressed the little girl's black hair. "So silky," she said. "I think I'll keep her. I could dress her up and teach her all kinds of new games." She turned to Spike. "Wouldn't that be fun?" She laid a hand on the little girl's cheek.

Spike caught Drusilla by the shoulders and threw her back against the counter. "Let them go," he said.

Drusilla giggled, high in her throat. "Ooh, Spike. That's a good game. You be the angry daddy, and I'll be the wicked stepmother." She backhanded him and sent him flying into a chopping block kitchen island. The microwave fell off and smashed onto the tile. The father flinched.

Spike grabbed a chopping knife from the block and leapt up to his feet. "I'm not playing, love."

Drusilla laughed. "Are you going to chop off my head like an onion?"

She reached into a drawer behind her and pulled out a wooden spoon, dangling it just out of reach. "Looking for this? You think if you kill me you'll belong to them, but you never will. There's no room at the inn, and you must sleep in the manger with the dogs."

"Now that's where you're wrong, pet," he told her, keeping his eyes on hers as he circled the island. "There's a place for me after all. Took me a while to realize it, but there is one thing I can do that bloody Angel can't, and that's pry his head out of his ass."

Drusilla walked closer and closer. "You were my knight, Spike. But to the king?" She leaned in until Spike's eyes focused on her dark lips. "A knight is just another sword to break. You can turn yourself inside out till your guts wave like banners, and he'll never be your friend."

Spike leaned in, his mouth hovering just above her throat, and inhaled her scent. "You're right, Dru," he said. "Angel's no friend of mine."

He brought the handle of the knife down as hard as he could on the back of her head. "He's family."

Turning to the struggling prisoners, Spike suddenly heard Angel's all-too-familiar bellow from somewhere nearby. He cut loose the father's hands and was bending to free the man's ankles when Angel yelled again. Spike paused, torn, and then tossed the knife onto the table in reach of the father.

"Hurry," he advised as he grabbed his ax on his way out the back door. "She'll wake up soon."

---

Spike ran through a maze of twisty little cul-de-sacs and looping driveways. Every so often he paused to read the street signs, but they didn't help. "Oak Brook, Walnut Creek, what's next, Redwood River?"

The only thing that kept him from being completely lost was that Angel kept on yelling things like, "Hey you," "Over here," and "Stupid, ugly, son of a seafood special!"

"Funny, that," Spike grunted as he ran. "Always figured him for the strong, silent type."

When he rounded the corner, Spike found out what the yelling was about. Angel, Gunn, Wesley, and Illyria were fighting off a pack of Loppestre demons in a schoolyard. Or at least Angel and Illyria were pummeling three of the squat beasties each. Wesley was pumping shells into them from atop the climbing bars, but it didn't seem to slow them down much. Gunn was apparently defending a teeter-totter to the death.

"Maybe they paralyzed his legs already," Spike muttered. "That or his brain."

He scrambled up the chain link fence and leapt to the gym roof to get a better look. From this vantage point, he could see that some kid was clinging to the top of the see-saw, which explained why Gunn couldn't stop standing on the other half and let the kid down into the claws and maws beneath. There was one man down already, someone Spike didn't recognize.

A faint crack sounded, and then a brand new set of crab legs burbled out of the corpse's stomach. It started out small, about the size of a granddaddy lobster, but a few nibbles at the hand that fed it and it started to grow, fast, like it was unfolding from some other dimension. It came at Angel from behind.

Without stopping to think, Spike threw himself over the roof's railing. He landed with his legs locked around the slimy demon's neck. Claws scrabbled for him, scoring lines along his arms and one across the face, but at that angle they couldn't get a proper purchase. Spike caught the head with both hands and twisted.

"Damned things are too stupid to know when they're dead," he muttered as the oblivious creature kept on charging Angel, or at least the direction where Angel used to be. Angel leapt out of the way, and Spike's mount managed to plow straight into one of the full-grown demons Angel had been fighting before it tottered and fell.

Spike judged his moment and casually stepped off before the corpse finished collapsing at Angel's feet. Illyria used the momentary distraction Spike provided to stomp her own adversaries into a pile of shattered carapace and jelly.

Angel took aim and swung the sword as hard as he could, straight at the low-slung torso of the last remaining demon, and batted it off-balance straight to Spike, who stood ready with his ax and chopped the beast off at the knees.

As Angel closed with it, it swiped an oversized claw toward his face, but Spike took off half a split-second before it connected. Spike used the ax to pin the remaining claw to the ground, and, ignoring the ichor that dripped down his shirt, Angel finished the demon off with a stab and twist to the Loppestre demon's belly. Green gunk bubbled up around his blade.

Angel and Spike grinned at each other, and then Spike jerked his head over his shoulder.

"Oi, Percy. Get the corpse."

Wesley nodded and fired his gun into the body. It jerked several more times, and a little explosion of intestines and what looked like egg shells tumbled out onto the ground. He emptied the clip until they stopped trying to crawl.

Once the coast was clear, Gunn lowered the boy as gingerly as if he were Humpty Dumpty.

Kareem jumped off with a cocky grin that only shook a little around the edges. "Should've let me fight," he complained. "I owed him."

Gunn put his hand lightly on the kid's back. "You did real good," he said. "Your brother'd be proud. So quit carrying that guilt around now. You gotta let it go."

Kareem's shoulders hunched, and he moved away from Gunn's touch. "You don't know what it's like."

"The hell I don't," said Gunn. "I staked my sister."

Kareem stopped and looked up at Gunn, his face in shadow from the high sodium lights. "No shit?"

"No shit. And you better watch your mouth, bro, or Anne's gonna come back from the dead and kick my ass."

"Oh yeah, you're a real role model." Kareem said, but he was smiling.

"I was thinking," said Gunn, "Maybe we could name the place after her. Make a new sign or something?" He put his hand back on the kid's shoulder, and this time Kareem didn't shake it away. Together, they started walking. Gunn nodded at Angel as they passed, but he didn't break stride.

Angel stabbed the demons in the gut an extra time or two just to make sure, then reached over to wipe his sword on Spike's jeans.

"Glad to see you, too," Spike said, shoving Angel's sword hand. He turned away to hide a crooked grin.

"Hey, you were already dirty," Angel said.

"I didn't miss you," Spike informed him.

"Then why are you here?"

Glancing down, Spike fiddled with his torn clothes. "Yeah, well. Somebody's got to save your sorry unlife. Besides, I've been asking myself: Big battle's over, what am I still doing here in Los No, It Wasn't Named After You, Wanker?"

Angel braced, watching his face. "You tell yourself anything useful?"

"I got a job to do."

"Besides annoying me?" Angel asked.

Spike shook his head. "That's the one. You know that bloke who spent the whole parade telling Caesar he was gonna die? That's me. Reality check, ego deflator, all around pain in the ass. I knew you when, and I know what it's like to have a soul shoved up your nasty side."

Spike swept one hand grandly through the air to indicate distant vistas. "Wherever you ponce about proclaiming yourself a champion, I'll be right there reminding you drink your blood two fangs at a time like the rest of us. You can't pull that noble suffering on a lonely windswept mountain shit with me."

"Playground," said Angel.

"What?" said Spike, thrown off his stride.

Gesturing around them, Angel said, "Lonely slime-swept playground."

"Whatever," said Spike. He drew a breath to finish his declaration, then decided the moment had passed. "You can't get rid of me. So deal."

Angel grabbed his hand and shook it. "Deal."

Blinking, Spike took a step back. "Huh? I meant..."

"I know what you meant. And I'm saying good."

Spike eyed him suspiciously. Angel yanked the hand he still held and pulled Spike into a big back-slapping guy hug, getting slime all over his own coat in the process.

"Clear enough?" Angel asked, letting go.

"You just can't stand letting me have the last word," groused Spike, smoothing his ruined shirt.

"That'd mean you'd have to stop talking," Angel replied easily.

"The beasts are dead. The family sagas of vampires bore me. I will leave now and seek violence and my own pleasures." Illyria stalked between them and was gone.

"I think she's mellowing," Wesley commented.

Spike turned to follow her.

"Hey," said Angel. "What happened to 'you can't get rid of me'?"

"I have to do a thing," Spike said. "I'll be back."

As soon as Spike turned the corner, Angel took off his slimy coat. He looked at Wesley. "At last we're alone."

Wesley looked down at the pile of goo, shells, and corpse. "We have to stop meeting like this."

He skirted the edges of the puddle to fetch up at Angel's side, relieved Angel of the slime-sodden jacket he now held out at arm's length by two fingers, and draped his own over Angel's broad shoulders, hiding the worst of his seeping wounds and the stains Spike had left on his shirt.

"Come on," Wesley said, "let me take you home."

"We could stop at Red Lobster?" Angel suggested.

"Over my dead body," said Wesley.

---

Spike shimmied up the brick exterior chimney. His boots clanged on the iron balcony of Drusilla's hideaway, and he slid sinuously through the opened window.

Ivory curtains billowed like ghosts. The room was warm with the light of dozens of wide creamy candles, and the bed was carved dark wood, made up in rust velvet, like old bloodstains. Spike laid the bunch of flowers he'd brought at the foot, careful not to touch.

"I'm sorry, pet," he said. "I still love you. Never could quite make myself stop, and I don't suppose I ever will." He watched one of the flickering candles blow out in the breeze, leaving a trail of smoke. "My dark desire. My dearest nightmare."

There was still no answer. Spike's voice rose defensively, and his hand clenched the high bedpost. "But things are different now. I've not got it in me to be what you want. But I can be what Angel needs, much as he'd hate to admit it." Spike gave a sad half-smile. "Your boys, together. Like you always wanted. Forgive me?"

He looked down at the bed. The naked doll, the room's only inhabitant, didn't answer. As he leaned to blow the candles out, he saw someone had pulled out her eyes.

---

Drusilla crouched in the bushes, pulling the petals from a lilac bloom. "He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me..." She crushed the flower and dropped it at her feet when she spotted her quarry silhouetted in a street light under a sign that said Murphy Hall. He waited for a chariot that would not come.

A predatory smile spread across Drusilla's face as she whispered, "Connor."

THE END