Sun In Water 
 

There were so many things that Spike was good at: fighting, violence, translation, and knowing just the right way to touch Wes that made him make that oddly breathy sound that meant something between, "Yes" and "if you stop I shall surely kill you". What he wasn't good at was getting a teenage girl, half blitzed by hash brownies and a bump on the head, to be quiet. 
 
"Come on 'Bit, shhh." He hissed for the third time as they mounted the steps up from the lobby of the Hyperion. "It's still early and you'll wake everyone up." 
 
Dawn clapped her hands over her mouth, then gave a muffled giggle, "Oh, yeah…." 
 
Spike just rolled his eyes as they finally reached their destination - the door to Buffy's room. He knocked. 
 
He hoped this wouldn't be a difficult interview, for Dawn's sake as well as his own, but he was prepared to take his lumps. He felt responsible that Dawn had got hold of Oz's stash, but he'd been busy enjoying the party. As a matter of fact, he'd been busy sharing a somewhat wobbly dance with the birthday girl when he'd smelled the blood. 
 
True, he'd immediately gone to Dawn's side, summed up the injuries and her somewhat less-than-sober state, and whisked her away to be tended to, but still. It should never have happened in the first place. 
 
"Spike?" Buffy looked out of the door, wrapped in a robe, her hair sleep tousled and mussed. "What are you -- Oh, my God, Dawnie. What happened?" 
 
She came out, instantly going to her sister's side, and raising one hand to inspect the bump on her head. 
 
"Don't make a fuss, Buffy. It's just a little bump." Dawn flinched back from her sister, over compensated and swayed a bit before Spike caught her arm. "I caught my heel on a rock and tripped." 
 
"'S not really that bad." Spike assured her. 
 
"You've been drinking," Buffy looked at her then turned to Spike, "Has she been drinking?" 
 
"Had a bit of beer," Spike admitted, then looked down at his feet, "but that's not the problem." 
 
Buffy frowned, crossing her arms and staring at Spike. "Then what exactly is the problem?" 
 
God, he hated when she got that look on her face. The look that said he was dirt, and irresponsible, and that she didn't know why she had been stupid enough to entrust her sister to him. 
 
"It's not his fault, Buffy." Dawn jumped in. "It was an accident." 
 
"You got drunk on accident?" Buffy snorted. 
 
"I'm not drunk." Dawn asserted. "I'm stoned." 
 
"Shit…." Spike ran one hand over his face. 
 
"You're what?!!" 
 
"Stoned. But it was so not on purpose." Dawn continued, as Spike thumped his head against the door frame. "Illyria and I were hungry and Illyria said she had seen Oz put a whole batch of brownies on the side of the stage. So we went and got some of them. We didn't know they were hash brownies." 
 
Buffy turned an incredulous eye from Dawn to Spike and then back to Dawn. 
 
And then… there was a sound that Spike had never expected in a thousand years. 
 
Buffy giggled. 
 
Then chuckled. 
 
Then snorted as she asked, barely able to control her laughter, "Were they good?" 
 
Spike blinked in amazement. This must be what happened when a Slayer suddenly had less pressure in her life, due to not being the "one girl in all the world". 
 
Still laughing, Buffy bundled Dawn off into her own room, "to watch her for signs for concussion", and told Spike that he could use Dawn's room to sleep in for the day. 
 
*** 
 
Spike had barely been asleep two hours when the door to Dawn's room flew open.  
 
"Dawn, can I borrow your Evanescence CD?" A small blonde whirlwind scurried into the room, flipping on the lights and rummage through a stack of Cds. "Sheesh, Dawn how late did you get in? Are you going to sleep the whole day away?" 
 
"What the fuck?" Spike sat straight up in the bed, the sheet falling to uncover his bare chest. 
 
"Oh…." The girl blinked, spinning around. "You're not Dawn." 
 
"No, ducks." Spike rolled his eyes, "Dawn's the one without the bollocks...." 
 
"Meep." The girl's face turned bright red as she scurried out the door. 
 
"Bloody Slayers," Spike grumbled as he lay back down on the bed. But he could hear them, out in the hall, chattering like a bunch of squirrels haggling over a prime walnut. 
 
"Did you get the CD?" 
 
"Oh, my god! Oh, my god! There's a man in Dawn's room!" 
 
"There is?" 
 
"Well, a vampire, really." 
 
"Angel?" 
 
"No… the other one. Spike! And, oh God. He's naked and in her bed." 
 
"With Dawn?" 
 
"No. She wasn't there." 
 
"Still, god. I'd love to find him in MY bed." 
 
"Yeah." The voice went dreamy sounding. "All stretched out. Naked. All that pale white skin. That wonderful smell…" 
 
"You got close enough to smell him?" 
 
"Uh… well…no. But he looks like he'd smell good." 
 
Spike covered his head with a pillow. "Bloody Hell." 
 
* 
 
It was a bare half hour later that the door opened once again. This time the girl had brown hair, and actually tried to be quiet when she stopped by the side of the bed and stared at him. 
 
"What now?" 
 
"Oh… um… Dawn!" The voice sounded as if it were grabbing a life line. "She wanted…" 
 
The girl's eyes scurried around the room. "She wanted her hairbrush… and… this… this blue…er… shirt." 
 
The items were snatched up and the girl left the room. 
 
Spike sighed, punched his pillow, and tried, once again to go to sleep. 
 
* 
 
…Two hours later. 
 
"Ssshhhh… you'll wake him up."  
 
"Do you have the camera ready?" 
 
"Yeah. Are you sure this will work?" 
 
"Yes. Digital camera - no mirrors." 
 
The door to Dawn's room opened very slowly and three teenaged Slayers tiptoed in on stockinged feet. 
 
A hushed voice whispered quietly, "Too bad that sheet's over him." 
 
"I… I'll move it. But be ready to take the picture and run like Hell." There followed the soft sounds of someone creeping closer to the bed, and a slight stirring as timid fingers gripped the edge of the sheet that "barely" covered Spike's sleeping frame. "Ready?" 
 
"Looking for something?" A deep voice suddenly rumbled out from the vicinity of the pillows and glowing yellow eyes flared from the shadows. 
 
"EEEEEEEEEEEK!" Three girls screamed in unison and the only other thing Spike heard was the sound of retreating feet pounding down the stairs. 
 
"Fuck!" Spike sat up in bed and turned on the light. He grabbed the portable phone out of it's cradle and dialed, then settled back against the pillows while he waited for an answer. 
 
"Wyndam-Pryce." 
 
"Wes…. Get me out of here NOW." 
 
"Spike?" 
 
"I'm going to kill someone. Several someones, if I'm here much longer. Teenaged someones - with much glee and maniacal laughter and smashing of cameras." Spike fumbled on the bedside table for his cigarettes and lit one up. 
 
"They're only little girls, Spike." Wes answered him calmly, but he couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice, no matter how hard he tried. 
 
"They need to be sent away… to a boarding school with a proper matron who uses corporal punishment and will teach them how young ladies should behave." Spike took a long drag off the cigarette, allowing the soothing taste of nicotine to calm his tired nerves. 
 
"Yes, and can I just point out that for those of us who have already endured young men with hangovers and dates, that was far too much information about your private fantasies than was truly needed?"  
 
"Yeah…" Spike closed his eyes for a moment, picturing a burly school matron beating young Slayers with a pointer. "Lovely thought, that…." 
 
There was the unmistakable sound of a head meeting a mahogany desk on the other end of the phone, then Wes's voice, "I do have other things to accomplish." 
 
Spike stubbed out his cigarette, "Don't suppose you can come get me now, eh? Really, Wes, 'm about to go spare from all the gigglin' and creepin' goin' on." 
 
There was a sigh. "I would, except for two things. Motorbike. Daylight." Wes sounded just as fed up as he was. 
 
"Can't you borrow Xander's car?" No... Spike did not just whine. Really, he hadn't. 
 
There was a sort of groan. "No, I can't. Gunn had a date with Jin, and you had his truck. So he's taken Xander's car, and I neither know or care or ever want to find out what Xander and Illyria are doing." 
 
"Charlie made a date with Jin?" Spike sounded a bit impressed.  
 
"Apparently so." The grin was almost audible. "And Spike...he had to borrow one of Xander's shirts for it, too." 
 
"Now that's just bloody frightening." Spike snorted. "And you, love? Keeping the world safe for... puppies and such while I'm stuck here?" 
 
"You could send the puppies here to eat my books," Wes said plaintively. "This is new heights of dull. And Gemma still hasn't finished her check." 
 
"Poor bored Wes.... " Spike's voice had softened, taken on a more caring tone. 
 
Wes's laugh was quiet, wry. "Next time I say boredom would be a nice change, just kick me, please?" 
 
Spike slid lower in the bed, "Could do something better than that. Could help take away some of that awful boredom." He slid one hand down below the sheet. 
 
"You - oh?" Only Wes could sound startled and teasing at once like that, the odd combination of layers of meaning to 'I can't believe you...' 
 
"I'm here… all alone… in bed… naked." Spike's voice rumbled like velvet. 
 
"How very unacceptable..." Wes's voice shivered with amusement and something more. 
 
"Wish you were here. All warm and next to me." Spike continued. "Love to touch you, Wes. Can I feel your skin? Run my hands over you?" 
 
"Always. Heat addict." Wes's voice was soft, coaxing. "I wish I were there too...so you could do what you wanted." 
 
"Do it for me, love. Take off your shirt." Spike was almost purring now. "I can hear it, you know. Picture it." 
 
"*Christ*." It was impossible to tell *what* tone that was, but it was followed by the sounds of someone trying to keep a phone hooked between ear and shoulder and shrug themselves out of a shirt at the same time.  
 
"Yessss…" Spike hissed softly into the phone. "Get comfortable, love. I want you here with me. Want you to feel every word I say, like a kiss on your skin." 
 
"I'm listening. I can." There was the sound of something small and hard hitting the floor, probably a button. "I'm listening," Wes repeated. 
 
"I want ta breathe you in, love… run my hand over your neck to touch that spot. The place that's mine… where you allow me to taste you. Touch there for me please. That's mine. You're mine." Spike's voice rumbled on, and he echoed the movements that he hoped Wes was making, caressing down the side of his neck. 
 
"Yours," Wes's voice agreed, somewhat unsteadily, and there was the faint whisper of fingers on skin, a slightly louder pulse as the mouthpiece was obviously tilted towards Wes's neck rather than to his mouth, picking up more than just breath, now. 
 
Spike closed his eyes, relishing for the moment the strong, slightly quick sound of Wes' heart. "I'd slide my hands lower. Drifting down your shoulders, then in…. teasing your nipples… making them hard. Love how they feel against my palms when that happens. Are they hard, love?" 
 
"You know damn well they are!" came the exasperated response. Spike might love how that felt, but it burnt Wes's patience out in seconds - even to hear about it, apparently. 
 
A laugh huffed out from between Spike's lips. "My love… so impatient… so beautiful with your eyes all flame and heat. Want to drag my nails down your chest to your stomach… mark you with lines, then kiss them better as I unbutton your pants." 
 
There was a sort of hiss of combined relief and irritation from the other end of the phone, and more fabric-noises. Then Wes spoke in suspiciously even tones. "And you, of course, remain completely unmoved. Despite the fact that each nail-line is shading slowly from white to red, despite the fact I'm hotter than a bloody furnace. Despite the fact if I put my mouth on you it would be hotter still..." Then there were the whispery sounds of fingers trailing slowly across skin, and a slightly ragged breath, belying the calm voice. 
 
"Never unmoved by you, love….never…" Spike's tone was a bit breathy now. "Love your mouth on me. God… so hot… warms me all the way through. God… crave you, love… want to touch you… taste you all over. Slide my hands down and feel how warm you are… how hard…. All of you." Spikes hand slid back under the sheet, slicking over skin that was only slightly warmer than the air of the room. 
 
"*Yes.*" Whatever reserves of self-control Wes had called on had fled from his voice. "*Please.*" His breathing was definitely erratic now, his pulse hammering. 
 
"Want to please you. Want to run my hands and tongue over you until just a breath makes you twitch and moan…" Spike gave a small moan himself, as he slid his hand in just the right way. "Then I'd take you in… swallow you down…love you until you give me what I want. A taste of you, love… that's it…so warm… so good." 
 
Wes cursed softly, his breath tight and quick and echoing slightly in the mouthpiece, trapped between plastic and skin, the whisper of palm and fingers audible over the almost hollow sound. 
 
"Yessss…" Spike hissed again, from the sound almost as much as from what his own hands were doing to his body. "Want it. Want you… Let go for me, Wes… want ta hear you… hear your pleasure and desire… hear you give yourself to me. Love you… love you so much." 
 
The sound that followed was somewhere between a laugh and a snarled curse, and then nothing but Wes's heartbeat in the phone, quick and hard. "I love you too," he said eventually, breathless and half-amused. "Though I think you just destroyed my remaining braincells. Love you." 
 
"Braincells…. Nasty things…" Spike drawled out, more relaxed now than he'd been since he'd arrived at… 'Slayer Central'. "Won't miss 'em a bit, I'm sure…." 
 
"I haven't yet," Wesley pointed out. Then there was a snort of laughter. "Though I really do need a shower." 
 
"Go on then, love." Spike smiled into the phone. "Have one... I'll see you tonight. Don't be too late though, hmmm?" 
 
"I really won't," Wes agreed. "Soon as it's sunset." 
 
"Right. See you then." And Spike reluctantly hung up the phone. 

* 

"Unnngggh, " Xander slowly opened one eye. Of course, since he only had one eye this was sort of his only option. "Bright...." Obviously, no one had read his memo about moving that big yellow thing to the other side of the building at this time of day.... whatever time of day it was... And why did he not know that? And why was he sleeping on the floor with his shirt half off? 
 
Illyria stared down at him, her face expressionless. "My Wesley said you will need coffee. Do you need coffee?" 
 
"Yeagh..." He coughed and shifted, and tried again. "Yes... please....." 
 
Something flickered in Illyria's eyes for a moment, before she disappeared into the kitchen. There was the murmuring of Illyria's flat voice speaking to… he thought, Nguyen… something about preferring if Charles-Gunn were out of her bed, and could he possibly see to that? Then she reappeared with coffee. 
 
Xander shoved his arm back into the sleeve of his shirt and tugged in down into it's proper place before accepting the cup. "Thank you. You are a god... uh.. I mean more than usual...." He took a revivifying drink of the coffee... then as his mental neurons juggled themselves into sync, he suddenly realized something. "Why is Gunn in your bed?"  
 
"Are you able to accept an explanation of where everyone is, or would you prefer to accept facts as the day progresses?" At Xander's blank look, Illyria continued, "Charles Gunn is in my bed because Wesley suggested that Jin have your bed, because she had drunk too much, and I was on the sofa and you were on the floor and my Wesley said you were welcome to try to take his bed but you should kindly remember he shared it with an unchipped vampire and a gun."  
 
"Although," she continued. "Spike is not there at present. He took Dawn back to the Hyperion." 
 
"Oh..." Xander took another gulp of the almost-too-hot coffee. "Well... that's alright then....." Yeah... because, somehow... the thought of Gunn being in Illyria's bed had given him a strange kick in his stomach... kinda like the time he had hit a rock with the front wheel of his skateboard and wound up wrapped around a stair rail. He looked down at his cup. "Did you make this?" 
 
"Yes. If it isn't good, I can take it away." She reached for the cup, frowning slightly. 
 
"Ack! No... Mine!" He pulled the cup back against his chest. "It's good. Very good. I was just going to say that if Wes had made it, he's obviously improved." 
 
"Oh. No. He hasn't." There was a faint yell of 'Charles, get your hungover ass out of 'Lyria's bed!' from the dojo, and she cringed. "Nguyen is very...vocal, in the mornings." 
 
"Probably because he is one of the few people around here who isn't hungover." He took another sip of the coffee. "And would you mind moving just...oh.. one step to the left, because all that sunlight is drilling a hole straight into my brain..." 
 
"Oh." She went one better, and went over to pull the shades down. "More coffee and Alka-Seltzer?" 
 
Xander made a horrid grimace at that thought, "I'll give the seltzer a pass.... but more coffee... please?" He put on his very best pity-me-I'm-way-hungover expression. 
 
"Yes." She went back to the kitchen, as a slightly grey-looking Gunn appeared, stumbling groggily through the door. 

"Where the fuck's English and his magic goop?" Gunn asked, and crashed full-length on the sofa.  
 
"I told you that you couldn't substitute tequila for gin in the martinis.... " Xander muttered at Gunn, as he cautiously climbed to his feet. Oh, good... his head seemed in no imminent danger of exploding. This was very much of the good. "Llyria... uh.... I think Gunn needs some of your wonder brew too....." 
 
"It is coffee." Illyria sounded both perplexed and pleased, returning with three mugs and a cafetiere, setting them down on the table. "Can anyone move to get their own?" 
 
"No," Gunn said to the sofa cushions. 
 
"Gonna hafta try, Gunn-dude.... because you so can't drink it from that position. And this is way too good to pass up..." Xander poured some more in his cup, then closed his eyes as he took another sip.  
 
"I hate you all." Gunn sounded as flat as Illyria, but he did push himself upright. "Oh God. Demons in my brain. Clog demons. Dancing. In my skull." He took the mug from Illyria in shaky hands, and gulped at the coffee, then lowered it with a look of surprise. "Man, this is great. How'd you learn t'do that?" 
 
"I put in four tablespoons of grounds and added water," Illyria said, looking more and more surprised. "How did you become infested with demons? We had many wards." 
 
"I think he means metaphorical demons, Llyria..." Xander took another sip of coffee. "There has to be more to this than that... I mean Cordy does the same thing. I've watched her do it. And her coffee? Uh... the term yuck comes to mind." 
 
Illyria sighed. "Because Cordelia burns water." Which was one of those possible-but-not things that she was learning about. "I am so hungry! Do you wish to eat?" 
 
"Uh, yeah... Food." Xander considered for a moment. "Yeah, that might be good after we have the cure from Wes. Do you need me to give you some money?" 
 
"I have money." The look Illyria gave Xander was utterly scathing. "I have Wesley's wallet." It was astounding how that flat, confident voice could make all kinds of wrong sound completely normal. 
 
And with that, she picked up her sandals and left the room.

Xander grinned around his cup of coffee, watching her go out the door... suddenly realizing he probably looked like a some kind of deranged bug trap when he heard Gunn snort at him. 
 
"Man, that's a good look on you. Do it again? It kinda eases the pain..."  
 
Xander scowled then, but it made his head hurt, so he smoothed his features back to something resembling a neutral expression, "What look? The oh-my-god-I'm-so-glad-she-left look? Because one more mention of food and... oooh...." His stomach actually was churning just a bit, so he felt justified in his excuse. 
 
"Naw." Gunn waved that off. "The 'ain't my girl the best' look." He scowled a bit. "The food thing's not helpin', just so's you know." 
 
"Yeah... right there with you on the whole food thing, " Xander agreed. "But she's not...." 
 
Gunn snorted, then clutched at his head. "Yeah. You tell yourself that. Right when you're goin' goopy over her being there breathin', cos that just screams 'not my girl, don't much care'. And where the fuck is English?" 
 
Xander started to continue to deny any of the whole "my girl" stuff... but figured letting it drop was probably best until he could get his brain into better shape, "Asleep, I'm guessing... Why?" 
 
Gunn gave Xander a look that suggested he was too stupid to be allowed to breathe the same air. "Cause Wes knows how to make the magic goop." He leant back, and closed his eyes. 
 
"And still asking: Huh?" Although, mentally picturing anything called "Goop" was making his stomach roll.  
 
Gunn sighed. "Hangover cure. Get him out here before I redecorate this ugly-ass couch, cos I sure ain't gonna sprint for the bathroom, way I'm feelin'." 
 
"Wes has a magical hangover cure?" Xander scowled at that. Wes had obviously been holding out on him.... although, well, the first time he'd shown up drunk too much bad had happened for Wes to think about a hangover cure....then the second time, well, he was suffering so much with other things that he probably would not have accepted the cure anyway. But still.... holding out... "Hmm... I guess I could try to wake him up....." 
 
Gunn's look was evil enough to suggest that he could channel Angelus at will. "You do that." 
 
"Yeah... gee... thanks.... " Xander rolled his eye as he carefully walked towards the door leading out into the hall then upstairs. Why the hell was he doing this? Oh, yeah... Gunn and imminent spewage... and the return of a much too alert Illyria.  
 
He even more carefully made his way up the stairs. 

* 

Wes looked cross, and blurry, and tired out when he finally opened the door. "Oh. Hullo, Xander. What happened now?" 
 
"Shhhh...." Xander pleaded, clutching his head. Coming up all those freakin' stairs had made it pound like mad. "Hangover... horrible.... And yes... I know it's my own fault. Gunn's even worse... He's gone greyish, which is so not helping. He said you could help...." He rolled his eyes up at Wes, "Please....." 
 
Wes held up a hand. "Shut up. Just....shut up. I need coffee." He started to go downstairs, and then swiveled around, pointing a finger at Xander. "Please tell me Illyria made the coffee?" 
 
Xander stopped short as Wes whirled around. Then groaned as the sudden movement made his brain feel like it had bounced off the back of his skull. 'Yeah... she did." He managed to croak it out. 
 
The grumpy morning look was tempered with sympathy. "Do I have to tell you how bad an idea following up martinis with tequila slamming contests with Jin are, or have you worked that out all on your own?" Wes sighed. "Come on. You get first batch as a reward for not being -" he raised his voice and called down the stairs - "too chicken to wake me up, Charles, you great hungover ponce!" 
 
"Wes!" Xander's own voice pounded in his head, making his stomach roll as they went back down the stairs. He moderated the tone, "Wes... voice loud.... bad.... very bad...." 
 
"Ah. My apologies." Wes snickered. "My God, you're in the worst shape I've ever seen you look." He went into the kitchen, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the leftover pot, gulped it down, and began taking out things from the Do Not Touch On Pain Of Pain cupboard, interspersing irritable muttering with gulps of a second cup of lukewarm coffee. The result of his careful mixing was a startling bright green, which began to fizz alarmingly once he waved his hand at it. Unphased by the demented sparkling soda effect, he poured a glass and handed it to Xander. "Don't think about it," he advised, before pouring a second glass and heading for Gunn and the sofa. 
 
Xander looked at the electric green goop... Goop was certainly the right word for it and if anyone else had handed it to him he probably wouldn't have considered drinking it... But this was Wes…so... "Bottoms up." He drained the glass. "Okay, that was.... that was.....er... pretty damned revolting." 
 
"Aw, fucking hell, English, can't you make it taste better?" But it was a shout of outrage, rather than a pained mumble, which meant it had worked.  
 
"Xander?" Wesley called through to the kitchen. 
 
"Yeah... " Xander came out into the living room, his face resembling one of those pictograms they put on bottles to warn children not to drink from them.  
 
"That's......." Xander paused as if taking stock, "That's a lot better... Thanks, Wes....." 
 
"Don't worry about it." Wes yawned, and reached for the cafetiere.  
 
Gunn was downing more coffee between attempts to scrape his tongue on his teeth, and sniffing suspiciously at his shirt. "Man, wasn't just the tequila I was all over last night, was it?" 
 
Xander's lip twitched, "I dunno. Why do you ask?" Actually, he'd seen Gunn dancing with several different Pak ladies... and a couple of the girls from the neighborhood... so exactly who he was smelling was kind of a toss up. 
 
Actually, he even thought he remembered Gunn dancing with Nguyen... so who knew.... 
 
Gunn went back to his former greyish look. "Cause I got a lunch date. Fuck! I got a lunch date! Wes! Shower! Where?" 
 
Wes pointed in the direction, and managed not to choke into his coffee until Gunn had run off. 

"Well, that was.... interesting. 'I stink. I have a lunch date.' I think he's been around Andrew too much." Xander shook his head. "Of course, 10 minutes can be too long to be around Andrew." 
 
"Amen to that." Wes smiled rather nastily. "You danced with Andrew." If one could call it that. 
 
"No, actually.... Andrew danced with me.... and I threatened him with vile harm if he tried it again...." Xander frowned for a moment, "But... okay... did I dance with Spike? Cause I have this strange remembrance of white hair and leather...." 
 
"Very possibly." Wes grinned, his good temper beginning to return. "Xander....you danced with everyone." 
 
"You danced with Spike." 
 
Wes gave a shamefaced grin. "Jin made us - oh dear God. Charles!" It was a shout. "Charles, you need to borrow a shirt from Xander!" 
 
"Well, yeah... he couldn't fit in one of yours, I don't think....Shoulders are too broad for that... " Xander frowned, "Or do you mean something else?" 
 
"No....Gunn scored himself a lunch date with the birthday girl." 
 
Xander blinked, then grinned, "Whoa... good going, Gunn. Jin's a sweetie and definitely on the high side of babeness." 
 
Wes blinked. "Hm. I was rather expecting more on the homicidal threat side. Did I not make the drink correctly?" 
 
"Wes... Jin is a Pak. I figure that Gunn's smart enough to know better than to take on the whole clan... Which he would be doing if he screws this up." Xander gave Wes an amused smirk. 
 
Wes laughed. "How true, how very true. And this has nothing to do with your relief as to why Gunn was actually using Illyria's bed, or who he smells of, does it?" 
 
Okay... that hit home and he could feel his face turning a deep shade of red, and was suddenly very relieved that Wes had waited until after giving Xander the hangover cure before bringing this up. "Uh.... well... really... that wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" 
 
Wes took a deep breath, and then spoke seriously. "In fact, it would. Illyria is not...shall we say unused...to taking lovers, when she requires them." He paused for a second. "Of course, my concern would be for Charles, since if he were drunk and thinking he had Fred back - that would be a concern we all shared." Wes's look at Xander was strangely uncompromising. "Wouldn't it." It wasn't a question. 
 
"Well, yeah.... of course." and Xander really did mean that... but his own feelings about the whole thing were a bit mixed up and he probably didn't sound quite as sure as he tried to. No, he wouldn't have wanted Gunn to be hurt that way... but....... " No... but don't you think Illyria would know that too? Or not?" 
 
"I think Illyria is beginning to realize that sometimes people are afraid of her as she is now. And she is quite prepared to change to allow them to accept her." 

Okay, that idea made Xander frown. Frown a lot. "She shouldn't have to do that. She should be able to be who she is.... what she is. Because....she's just...... " he stopped there and slumped. "Yeah, but does she know who she is yet?' 
 
"She knows, and to a greater degree than we are able to understand. But Xander....right now, what she really knows is that the only people who can truly accept her are myself, Dawn, Spike, and you." Wes' smile was not especially pleasant. "And you seem prepared to lose Illyria for the sake of the old cliché of 'letting her go'." 
 
"Can't let go what I don't have, Wes." And didn't that little admission sound pitiful. "Illyria.... I just don't.... I mean I can't... She can't...." He stopped right there. "I'm not making much sense, am I?" 
 
"Stunningly, yes." Wes looked straight at Xander, then leant over the little wicker table and put his hands on Xander's shoulders. "Xander. Illyria is in love with you. And if you continue to hurt her, I will beat you to death with a shovel, revivify you, and give the shovel to Spike. Are we clear?" 
 
Xander blinked, "Like crystal." He blinked again, "But she can't be." 
 
"How strange. Are we back in the 'vampires don't exist, the Slayer is a fairy tale, give me another scotch universe? Because if so, I want the scotch. Xander, please. Listen. Illyria loves you. She is in love with you. If you don't return the sentiment, tell her once and for all, but otherwise -" Wes shrugged. "Let her in. Because among other things, she would die rather than hurt you." 
 
Xander moved towards the door... then came back... "Wes... Really? This isn't some weird dream brought on by.....whatever the hell that was you made me drink... is it?" He looked unsteady, unsure... and just about as far from the confident person he had lately been striving to be as he could possibly look. 
 
"No. No, it isn't. All I gave you was a somewhat enhanced form of instant Pepto-Bismol and Aspirin. You are, in fact, still hungover." Wes' mouth quirked. "And I seriously wouldn't suggest you drive. But no. This is something you need to know." 
 
Xander went to the door again... and then came back, "I need to go find her...." He ran to the door again...then came back. "Shit she went to pick up food... and I don't know where...." Back towards the door... "I... damn.... I'm going to go get flowers... or something and...... Arrrgggh.... " 
 
"I think that my current stage of caring how you do this is so minimal that microscopes are in awe. Just....decide what you want." Wes' eyes crinkled up. "Although I would assume from this sudden desire to visit a florist that you just did." 
 
"What I want was never the question, Wes. Really. I.... well, I mean... You know God King and carpenter/office boy... not exactly a pairing that first jumps to mind... Anya kinda pointed that out to me when she was here. And she.... Illyria, I mean….God, Wes... She's pretty damn amazing, isn't she?" 
 
It wasn't quite a smile...more a wince of annoyance. "Er....yes?" And that explained to Wes a lot of what had happened at the party. Anya, attempting, and succeeding to a degree, in wrecking vengeance against Xander, even without her demon powers. 
 
"Yeah....." Xander grinned a big sappy smile. "Oh... but no! No flowers because they'd be dead and she wouldn't like that. So maybe... chocolate? Or.... Fuck. I so suck at all this romance stuff." 
 
Wes looked as though he were trying to swallow a raw snail. "I can't believe I'm saying this....but that would, I'm afraid, be the part of it that counts as romance." 
 
"Huh?" 
 
"Never mind," said Wesley gloomily, and took the cafetiere into the kitchen. 
 
* 

Spike stepped out onto the roof, relishing the cooler night air. Los Angeles was winding down from another busy day… and the Slayers were gearing up for their busy night. He was glad, more than ready to get them all out and away from him. To get the sharp tang of his Slayer "awareness" out of his head for a bit. He felt edgy and rough with the feel of it. And with them having trooped in and out of Dawn's room on one pretext after another, he hadn't gotten much sleep either. 
 
But the roof… the roof was quiet. The girls didn't seem to come up here very much, although he could see where they had set out several lounge chairs, presumably for sunbathing.  
 
Spike smiled, sure that the workers in neighboring buildings appreciated the show of young bare flesh, especially since none of the girls seemed particularly shy. 
 
He drew in a long deep breath. Even with the smog, it was more pleasant than being inside. He could just catch a hint of ocean damp from the west drifting in on the slight breeze and of course, he had the seemingly ever present company of pigeons, cooing their sleepy contentment from where they had roosted for the night. 
 
Lilah watched him for a while, silent as a ghost, the one thing she was not. She had broken part of the wards last night - enough to be heard, though not seen, but Wesley...  
 
Wesley was a living ward, a waking barrier. She could see that, now, when she never had before. The bedrock of stern honour that she had sensed in him before was more than that, now, a living, breathing thing that would not permit her entry into his mind or his vision. Which was ironic, given that it was his message that had called her to this dimension once again.  
 
But Spike...Spike was unguarded, carelessly open, and right now, with all his senses set on edge by the presence of the Slayers, utterly.....available.  
 
Lilah smiled, and stepped out of the shadow of the ventilator shaft.  
 
There was a popping sound... then a flurry of wings as the group of purring birds was startled into action. Spike spun, his eyes looking for the cause of the disturbance... 
 
"No!" He gave a startled exclamation, straightening up and giving a puzzled blink. "You're dead."  
 
Spike's voice did not have quite as much conviction as he wanted... so he said again. "You're dead. I killed you." No... no... no. Not now... he couldn't go back. He was past all this - the craziness.  
 
Lilah shrugged, casual and elegant. "Sure you did. And yet...here I am." She leant against the wall, and gave him a little wave, fingers waggling in a parody of flirtatiousness. "So how are you? Oh. I forgot. You're dead too." Her smile was sharp, unkind. 
 
"No.. I'm undead." Spike attempted a smirk, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. Why was he seeing this? She was dead. Dead, dammit, and gone to Hell where she couldn't hurt Wes anymore. He had sent her there and he did. NOT. Feel. Guilty. Not one wit. 
 
"Oh, that's sophistry." Lilah moved her hand in a negligent wave, seeming not to notice when the arc of her gesture passed through the wall she had apparently been leaning on. "You're dead, and you're here. Just like me." 
 
"No… I'm here. You…. You're just…" Spike ran a hand over his face. "Don't know what you are… My imagination. Something." 
 
And why was he talking to something that was his imagination? He turned his back on her, pulling out his cigarettes, lighting one and taking a long draw before he turned back around. "She'll be gone now. Only in my head." 
 
Lilah shook her head at him. "You think you can change things by turning your back on them? The monsters under the bed don't go away because you've put the bedclothes over your head. You should know. You're one of them." She stepped forward, and moved her hand again, wafting it through the smoke of his cigarette, and bringing her cupped palm up to sniff at it. "So that's what was new..." she said dreamily. 

"Not a monster. Not anymore." Spike denied it outright, although deep inside he knew that wasn't exactly true. "Not like you were. You were human. You had a choice and you chose ta do evil." 
 
Some how he couldn't keep from answering her back. Maybe if he did, he'd be able to resolve all this - drive it away. Convince himself that he wasn't falling back into insanity. 
 
"Oh, I did." Lilah smiled. "The perks were too good to pass up, you know?" She sounded as though she were actually enjoying herself, as though she was just a friend, talking. "I sold my soul, and the contract's binding." She made a little face. "And I get you to talk to. Lucky me, hm?" She looked at him, sideways, and smoothed her hair back. "So. What shall we talk about today, lover?" 
 
"Not your lover... never...." Spike's eyes glowed suddenly yellow with his anger at the thought.  
 
This was all new. Scarily new. His visions had always followed a pattern before… taking him into the past and replaying over and over again. Taking him deeper into memories of decades of bloodlust and torture. Was this a new form? Or something else? 
 
"Just have to kill you again then, won't I?" That was it... take her out again... banish her.. make her go away....  
 
He grabbed for her, stumbling when his hands didn't make contact. 
 
"Stupid." Lilah sighed, exasperated, her breath ice-cold against his ear, and then moved away, her high-heeled shoes soundless on the concrete roof. "You can't kill what's already dead. And I'm so very dead...." She smiled over her shoulder at him, and perched on the wall, leaning backwards into space. "We could try again, though. This time maybe we'll find out if you bounce." She gestured down towards the street. 
 
"What are you doing here? I won't let you hurt anyone." Spike scowled as his mind raced. Not really there. Not really there. Can't touch her. Can't hurt her. Not really there.  
 
But there she still was. He could see her, even if he couldn't touch her. There and taunting him. 
 
Lilah laughed. "Oh shush. Didn't your mommy tell you? The dead can't hurt anyone. Like you..." Her voice dropped to an eerie mimicry of the pigeons' throbbing purr. "Can't hurt anyone, can't help anyone, all on your own watching other people live, broken vampire with a broken mind."  
 
"Hurt you right enough." That Spike was sure about. "And no one around here has a broken mind.... not any more...." 
 
"Oh, that you did, lover, you did hurt." She pulled the silk scarf aside, showing the hideous angle of her trachea. "And are you sure of that? It wouldn't be hard to find out. Even if I am dead, Wes knows who he can turn to. He knows who's sane." 
 
No. Wes wouldn't do that... Spike refused to believe that. Couldn't and wouldn't. "Wes hates you...."  
 
"Mmmmm. Loathes and detests me....and pushes papers to the floor to have me." She smiled. "But you wouldn't know about that, would you? He's never that....carried away...with you." 
 
"He doesn't have to be... I don't make him hurt and desperate to feel anything that will make it better." But in the back of Spike's head, the words echoed.... and bounced... on constant repeat. 
 
Lilah slid slowly off the edge of the wall, letting the rough concrete push her skirt up. "The colour of mahogany..." she murmured, and her voice was a perfect mimicry of Wesley's, at the height of arousal. Then she laughed, and smoothed her stocking upwards. "I'm not here for that. You can have him - if he'll still have you." She licked one perfectly manicured finger, and held it into the smoke of Spike's cigarette once again. "Mmm. She licked her lips. "It tastes of..cinnamon and sunlight.....and rice wine?" She chuckled low in her throat. 
 
How she knew these things... private things.. Spike didn't know. It had to be a sign that this was all coming from his mind. Didn't it? "You bitch...Are you going ta tell me why you're here?" 

"I was sent for, of course." Lilah stretched, and yawned, cat-like, her tongue curling behind her teeth. "It's going to be fun, don't you think? You and me..." She smiled. "I'd rather have Wes, of course, but he's so....resistant." She pouted, mock-regretful. "So you're going to have to do, I suppose." 
 
"You stay away from Wes!"  
 
No. Figments of his imagination couldn't hurt anyone. Spike closed his eyes for just a moment trying to focus. "Just wander off back ta Hell like the good little bitch you are. No one fuckin' sent for you and no one wants you here." 
 
"Am I supposed to be afraid?" Lilah arched one perfect eyebrow, her voice genuinely curious. "I'm not going anywhere. I was sent for, vampire, and you've got me." She smiled. "Play nice, and I'll even talk about the things you like..." 
 
Spike's jaw worked, clenching and unclenching in his anger, "Can't think of a bloody thing I'd want ta talk to you about." 
 
"Shame..." Lilah looked down at her nails, turning her hand from side to side. "Oh well, I suppose that means I get to choose the topic." Her expression was malicious as she looked back at Spike. "Sure you don't want to take up the offer? One time only, baby." 
 
"Right. I got one. Tell me how to get you ta go away." Spike glared at her, taking a long drag off of his cigarette. 
 
Lilah laughed, genuinely amused. "You have to ask the right questions, of course," she said cheerfully. "Oh, I knew this would be fun." 
 
Well, that certainly answered that. He was the only one who could banish her. She was just inside his head. Another vision born of a guilty conscience, that would torment him until he found a way to deal with it… subsume it, somehow. 
 
Lilah swung her legs, gleeful and childish. "The sooner you ask the right question, the sooner I'm gone...." It was a coaxing sing-song. 
 
"Don't have any questions for you, ya stupid cow. Can't you get that? Just want you ta leave." Spike threw down his cigarette, crushing it under the toe of his Docs.  
 
Lilah sighed. "That was a wrong answer, lover," she said softly, and then between one flicker of time and the next, she was simply - gone. 
 
Fuck! Spike's mind swirled. Had he really seen that bitch? Had she really been there or was his still-susceptible brain throwing yet another vision of guilt his way. He wasn't sure... but he was going to have to figure it out on his own. He couldn't place this burden back on Wes again. 
 
But...he also felt he had to let someone know. This was different…hell, it had been so real he swore he could still smell that bitch's perfume. If his.... insanity was taking a new form, he had to be sure that he wouldn't put Wes in danger somehow and the best way to do that was to have someone else… someone sane…watching him. 

* 

Spike seemed very subdued when Wes arrived at the Hyperion. He'd trailed Dawn into the lobby and had barely spoken to anyone, just giving Dawn a quick hug before going out and climbing on the back of the motorcycle. 
 
Wesley would have asked if everything was all right, but guessed that after a day of baby Slayers and avoiding Angel, the answer was fairly obvious. He simply kicked the stand up, waved at Dawn, and headed out onto the main street. 
 
The extended and unusual quiet did not retreat, however, with their arrival at the Market. Not until they were upstairs with the door shut behind them did things return to a semblance of normal.  
 
Spike pressed up against Wes, leaning his head on the other man's shoulder. He wrapped one hand gently around Wes's wrist, taking comfort in the feel of his heartbeat, steady and strong, "Missed you, love. So bleedin' tired." There was a silent beat then a huff. "Teenagers..."  
 
"Ah." Wesley smoothed circles into Spike's back, trying to erase all the tension he could feel there, and aware he was probably not going to succeed. "That bad?" 
 
"Well, it wasn't all them, really..." Spike mumbled against Wes's neck. "But there's that... tingle the whole time I'm there. It's like I know I need ta be alert 'cause there's a Slayer about... only it's multiplied." He snorted, "No wonder Angel's so twitchy all the time..." 
 
"Either that or he's terrified they'll all strip." Wesley, who had first been taught about how Slayers reacted to vampires and demons, then been given for guidance a Slayer horribly lacking in the extra sense that was supposed to be obligatory, had no idea of how to help Spike. What he wanted to do was simply not going to go down well with a master vampire, since it involved what could only be described as cuddling, and would probably get him swatted at. Or growled at. Or just pushed over and kissed senseless, none of which he really objected to, but were not quite what he would like to convey. "Couldn't you get away at all?" 
 
"Dawn stood guard outside the door for a couple of hours in the afternoon... so I got a bit of a kip." Spike chuckled there. "Girl's a right lioness, ya know? 
 
Wesley grinned. "Yes, I know. Even dressed in silk strips and stoned as hell." He kissed the side of Spike's head, trying to provide some sort of comfort where there wasn't really any to give. "Good. I owe her." 
 
Spike pressed in closer, "Warm." He didn't seem to notice Wes's instinctive gesture, freeing his wrist from Spike's grip and moving to draw him in closer, trying to give him as much heat as possible. Wesley didn't even tease him about heat addiction, for once. "Got up to the roof for a bit too..." 
 
"Brooding's not contagious, is it?" Wesley frowned a bit, wrapping his arms around Spike more tightly. "I'm surprised Gunn didn't break his date and come back just to drag you down from there - he always had a sixth sense about Angel using it for guilt trips." 
 
"Nah..." Spike denied it. "Just farther away from all the.... girls. Made the tingle a bit less. It helped." It had. The dark and the view, the soft coo of the ever-present pigeons, had all helped to settle him... until...Spike's mind veered quickly away from that thought, "A bit cool and damp though." 
 
"Yes, well, it wouldn't do to have it made completely pleasant, would it?" Wesley asked lightly. What in God's name is wrong here? Spike was shivering slightly against him, and surely the Slayers couldn't have been that bad? "We could do something with the roof here, if you wanted." 
 
"Yeah... might be nice." Spike's voice was a bit non-committal. He straightened up and stepped away from Wes. "Sorry, love, was a long day." 

"I know, I'm sorry." Wes had never been good at finding the right words, and now was no exception. "Look at it this way, you missed the Great Dating Crusade." He went into the kitchen. "Oh, we have real import beer, by the way, Mr Pak's way of thanking us. Did you want one?" 
 
"No thanks," Spike shook his head. "Think I'll just stretch out for a bit. Then some food, maybe?" 
 
Spike still sounded distracted though, as if sleep and food were not really the first things on his mind. "Wes....?" 
 
"Mm?" Wes was refilling the coffee maker, which was spluttering loud enough to drown anything else out. He smacked it, hard, with the side of his hand, before he reappeared. "Sorry, what is it?" 
 
"Nothing... nevermind... "  
 
Wesley drew his eyebrows together, wishing that he had suddenly gained Illyria's ability to pick thoughts out of the air when least wanted to, though he knew his next words proved otherwise. "Slayer residue? I think the shower's working today...." 
 
"Yeah... yeah, could use one I'm sure." Spike's lip twitched just slightly, "I smell like "Sunflowers" and cherry lip gloss." 
 
Wesley made a face. "God, definitely shower. Teenagers are actually demons, I'm convinced." He grinned. "Even more than lawyers," he added, inviting Spike to share the joke. 
 
"Could be," Spike agreed with him, but there was little humor in his voice, or the chuckle he forced out. 
 
"Right," Wesley said, mouth quirking. "You've lost your sense of humour. Go wash it back in. And then perhaps we could go for a good meal, for once?"  
 
"Yeah, sounds good...." but Spike still sounded odd, as though he was making sure he could trust his voice before he spoke. 
 
Wesley wasn't going to pry. He had decided long ago that if Spike wanted to tell him something, he would, and that anything else was probably an intrusion. So he closed his teeth on any questions, and moved on smoothly, "So, perhaps something that isn't one of Mr Pak's specially related inventions, for once? Perhaps an actual restaurant?" 
 
"Yeah... take you out and show you off a bit?" the sentiment seemed honest, even if the tone was still a bit off. "Just us? Or we takin' the whole menagerie?" 
 
"Please, for once, can we not have the zoo? " Wesley grimaced. "And please don't quote me. But what with Oz moping about something I have no idea how to fix, Illyria dancing around Xander like a dervish, and Xander asking me for dating tips, I've really had it for today. I want antipasto, penne al limone, and as many bottles of house wine as we can order." 
 
"Sounds perfect." He gave Wes a smile, cheerful, but with eyes averted so that Wes couldn't see that it didn't quite reach that far. "Giuseppe's then?"  
 
"Good idea. " He hugged Spike tightly for a moment, trying to say tell me and trust me and all the things he had no words for, before drawing back. "I'll never understand why you like artichokes on a pizza anyway," he added, feeling worry start to crawl around at the back of his mind. 
 
"Artichokes are brilliant." He gave a laugh, then tugged Wes closer. "Not at brilliant as you though...." And a kiss, because, no matter what else was wrong, no matter how he felt, or whatever Wes had or had not done... he wanted to assure Wes that he was loved...  
 
"I remain unflattered. Being more brilliant than artichokes is quite possibly an insult. " He smiled. "And you are going to eat a whole toothpaste tube when we get back. And Oz is going to fumigate the place. And you....are perfection. Even better than the special olives which have ingredients I don't ask about." 
 
Spike nuzzled against Wes' throat, "We'll bring back something for the Wolf..." Wes smelled so damn good... tasted so... "Cinnamon....and sunlight.....and rice wine?" Lilah's voice echoed back in his head and he stiffened unconsciously. 
 
* 

Ah, love. Wesley's throat ached, sometimes, with all the things he couldn't say. What are you so afraid of? "Or we could simply wait for it to be made and then bring it back and take it out into the garden?" 
 
"Moonlight picnic behind the hedges?" Spike gave a soft smile, obviously trying to get in a better frame of mind. "Sounds wonderful..." 
 
"That yew hedge is growing....and the moss needs testing." Wesley pulled out his cellphone and dialled the 'non-emergency' number he had set for Xander. "Xander. No, I - no. No. No - look, shut up, would you? Thank you. Stay out of the garden tonight, hm? Yes. Yes, I will hex you most gleefully if you do. Mm. Yes, and then some. Thanks." he clicked the phone shut and smiled. "There. No zoo." 
 
"My hero...." Spike gave a soft chuckle... and then he could resist no longer... his mouth covered over the bite mark on Wes' neck, tasting and suckling - reassuring himself of their connection, a connection more intimate than even the joining of their bodies allowed. "Wes…please?" 
 
Wesley simply tilted his head sideways, allowing better access, murmuring the soft love- words that he never allowed himself to speak aloud at any other time. 
 
Slowly, Spike drew back, licking at the little open wounds, closing them over. "Dinner? Can shower while you're gone." 
 
"Yes." Wesley smiled at him. "Dinner. Wine. Moss. No zoo." 
 
"Perfect...." he purred, and set Wes back from him. He had to, or Wes would never have left. 
 
* 
 
Wesley managed to get away from Mario (who ran Giuseppe's, and he really wasn't asking) with his order, a free bottle of home-made limoncello, and a startlingly tangible blush. 
 
Spike had their picnic site set up before Wes returned... soft blanket smoothed over the moss... the soft glow of luminarias set all around the area, lending their subtle light. Other.... important things... tucked within easy reach. He grinned evilly. He'd show that bitch... real or not... who Wes wanted. He'd show her scattered papers.... 
 
Wesley laughed as he set down about six rather heavy-looking bags. "You know, one day I'm not going to let Mario embarrass me. This time he informed me that if I ate the garlic, it would be..." he kissed his fingers "E va bene, vostri nosferatu, il permesso conti le tutti' I didn't have the heart to tell him that you can 'conti le tutti' without garlic, but still! Oh. And he's been making limoncello for you again, and yes, he put in the laurel." He fished in one of the bags that clanked, and handed Spike an odd-shaped bottle, filled with a cloudy, pale yellow drink that looked almost like sherbet. 
 
Spike snorted, "Mario has a tendency to underestimate people... but since he keeps plying me with limoncello, I'll have to forgive him." He took the bottle and held it up to the light, admiring the colour. 
 
"And wine, o lemon-and-artichoke-one. " Wesley pulled out his Swiss Army knife, and opened one of the other bottles, this one a white wine, inhaling the first blush of scent with pleasure. "I really do want to know how he can grow these grapes...." 
 
Spike grinned. "No... you probably don't love... It will just hurt your brain to think about it..." He took the bottle and poured it into the waiting glasses, passing one to Wes. 
 
Wesley took the glass, and drank deeply. "I should warn you. I intend to get plastered. " He opened the antipasto, and propped it on his thigh, leaning against Spike and the yew. "Olive." He wrapped mozzarella in a slice of parma ham, placed three black olives in the centre, furled it, dunked it in the chilli oil, and popped it neatly into Spike's mouth as he opened it to protest. 
 
He chewed swiftly... "Some reason for that, love? Something on your mind?"  
 
Wesley stifled a sigh. No...Spike wasn't much good at sharing his own worries...wouldn't even consider putting any more of it on Wesley, no matter what... But he was there for Wes, no matter what he needed, full stop.

"Um. Friday? Zoo off duty? The fact I was the only one who didn't drink LA dry last night?" He bopped Spike on the nose with a breadstick. "Garlic. Conti-ing le tutti. Moss." He smiled. "And yew hedges." 
 
"Ah... " Spike reached down and grabbed a breadstick of his own in self defense... "Happy plastered then. Not something I've had a lot of experience with.... might enjoy it."  
 
Wesley stretched luxuriously, ran one lingering hand across the thick yew, and suddenly shivered.  
 
Across the gardens, in her room at the dojo, Illyria sat upright in Xander's arms, gasping as though the air had been taken from the room, and was soothed back towards sleep.  
 
Half-awake, she hissed at the presence in the room, and woke Xander with shaking fingers and small kisses, wrapping them both in her armour while his attention was on her, drawing on the bright, hot power that throbbed in the garden to envelop them in the safety of her desire. "Get gone," she murmured in the language of the Old Ones, pressing the words into Xander's skin. "Touch not mine...." 
 
"Llyria...." he moaned sleepily, feeling something he could not name... and her... and safety, somehow.... 
 
She flung out bright defiance to the unknown, even as she pressed the softness of her unshelled body, caught within the strength of her armour, into the warmth of Xander's too-mortal body. "Mine...." she whispered to the cloudy threat. "Mine...." 
 
"Course, I am... always...." He nuzzled into Illyria's neck sleepily. "Mean it... always...." 
 
 
"It....feels.....odd..." Wesley said, his voice thickened, and his eyes, turned to the shadows where Spike could not see the change, were basalt. Then he shook it off. "Mm. You should. Wine, limoncello, good food...." 
 
"And thou...." Spike leaned down, nuzzling once again at the scar on Wes neck... not nibbling or licking... but just breathing in the scent of his skin. "And.... " He blink, catching the whiff again of magic in the air... it almost made him squirm. 
 
Wesley's eyes were glowing with more than reflected light when he turned to Spike, as the intrinsic power of the garden began to flow through him for the first time. "Singing in the wilderness...." His voice was odd, almost slurring, heavy. Then he shivered, and the light died. "God, Shen-Riu needs to turn down the wards...." He was utterly unaware of what he had called their landlord. 
 
Lilah snarled, unheard, as the something she had felt before, not the wards of the Imugi, but something other, strong and simple and drawing away all her energy, formed an unbreachable wall. 
 
"Wes?" Spike shivered as well.... "What the hell? That was.... what....?" 
 
Wesley's eyes were blank and black and elsewhere for a moment, and a voice that was not his thrummed out danger, protect, push back ! - before he shook himself. "I think Uncle has been overdoing the wards again," he said apologetically. 
 
No... it was more than that... and he would ask Pak about it soonest... but for now? For now he'd accept what Wes said... for peace sake. "Have to agree with you there, love... But better too much than not enough." 
 
"Mm. I am appreciative, but we're supposed to be having a break from it all." Wesley shrugged, and drank more wine, before batting Spike's breadstick with his own, and breaking them both. "Alas. Shattered swords." 
 
"That quickly rust in rain..." Spike quipped, trying to regain that earlier feeling, and reached for the wine bottle, refilling his glass. "So…you want to get me drunk," he said, very deliberately taking another swallow of wine, a small one, and swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing. "Any particular reason?" 

"I am not trying to get you drunk," Wesley said firmly. "It's been a long week, and you - I just thought...you know. Good food, relax, sleep in tomorrow, do research…" All of it true, though under those circumstances, they tended to spend a lot of time in bed -- not necessarily sleeping, but the bed was definitely the place to be.  
 
"Wes…" Spike was talking, and Wes looked at him. Spike had finished his wine. Wes held up the bottle, but Spike covered the open goblet with his hand. "I'm relaxed…I get any more relaxed and you'll have to carry me to bed. Unless, you know, that's what you had in mind?"  
 
Spike was smiling at him: that soft, affectionate, God-I-love-you smile that did, in fact, make Wes want to carry Spike to bed -or would if there was anything even vaguely romantic about what carrying a hundred and sixty-odd pounds of muscle and bone would do to his back.  
 
But there was his opening. "Uh, something like that," Wes said. "Not carrying," he warned.  
 
Spike grinned at him and dropped his gaze, dragging a finger across the remnants of spiced oil in the antipasto, and sucking it off his fingers. "Bed, though," he said invitingly. "Is this meal supposed to last me a couple of days?" 
 
Now there was a thought, but Wesley shook his head. "No, I think we can probably manage a few minutes here and there to feed you, in between…" Wes stopped again. Spike was still sucking on his finger.  
 
"In between…" Spike prompted. His eyes glittered and the pupils looked a little bigger.  
 
"In between the amazing amounts of sex we're going to have this weekend," Wes said firmly. He could say that…he had no problem telling Spike that he had every intention of keeping him in bed for two days. Spike shifted a little, and Wes grinned. "Any problem with that?"  
 
"No... but this is good too, yeah?" And he refilled their glasses... nicking an olive and popping in into his mouth.  
 
"Mm. I think so....." Wesley had had enough of teasing and being teased. He pounced on Spike, scattering olives and parma and garlic to the four winds as he deliberately spilled wine into the hollow of Spike's throat and put his mouth to it, his tongue flickering through the sharp taste of grape to the almost-salt of Spike's skin. 
 
"God.... god, Wes....." He pulled Wes tighter against him. "Yes.... please....." He didn't need wine... or even limoncello to make him drunk... This feeling was more than enough. 
 
He was scarcely aware of what he was saying...only that something deep inside him was prompting him to say it. "Take the garden," he murmured as he licked his way down beneath Spike's shirt. "Take the world, Spike, scatter it at my feet for entertainment....turn it into petals....take flowers like paper...." And he finally, finally reached the beltloops of Spike's jeans. His fingers seemed to move on their own to undo the buttons, and he continued to lick downwards, grooming the wiry hair until he reached the thick base of his lover's cock. 
 
Once there, he nuzzled and breathed and licked his way up, before taking it into his mouth, breathing cold and fast air around it, opening his throat to the surprised upwards twitch, and contracting his throat muscles in a hard, deliberate swallow. 
 
"Fuck...." The word was a moan, and it was all he could do to keep the presence of mind not to thrust upwards hard into Wes' mouth. "Yesssss......" His hands were at his sides, fingers digging deep into the velvety moss to keep them from clutching Wes' head. 

Wesley drew in breath, cooling the flesh that he warmed in slow licks of his tongue, swallowing convulsively until he tasted the first salt and musk of release. 
 
Spike's climax overtook him, tightening every muscle... and then releasing them... leaving him to collapse, bonelessly beneath his lover.... "God, Wes... love you..........love you........" Then there was a soft chuckle... "And if I could feel my toes... I might just show you how much...." 
 
Wesley laughed around softness and warmth, relaxing his tongue and throat before he drew away gently. "Mm. Only your toes? I'm slipping, best beloved." 
 
"Can make that up ta me...." he ventured. "Show me... please, Wes.... " And he reached up, unbuttoning Wes's shirt, stripping him.... "Want you inside me... taking me... making me yours..." 
 
Wesley's fingers laced between Spike's, the moss seeming to curl around the soft tips and nails as he did so, feeling Spike's hands grip his, a tensing that foretold of known pain. "Look at me," Wesley whispered. "See me." And as Spike's eyes opened wide, he slicked his fingers in the oil and pressed all three in at once. 
 
Spike gasped, in pain and pleasure mingled... his eyes locked on Wes, "Yes... show me. Take me.... want me..." He knew it was too much to ask... but somehow he couldn't help saying the words.. 
 
"I want you." Wesley bit down, hard and uncompromising, into the hollow where the wine had pooled. "I'll show you..." he started to suck the borrowed blood to the surface. "And I'll take you." And with that, he replaced his fingers with his cock, one thrust taking both unneeded and needed breath while Wesley stayed still, his neck arched and all the tendons showing, the bite mark battling the old knife-scar for supremacy. "Don't - move..." he gritted out.  
 
Spike heeded the command in the voice... giving out only a soft gasp... his body kept under tight rein, but his eyes telling everything Wes would need to know... his love.. his hunger for Wes to claim him as he had claimed Wes. 
 
Wesley drew in slow air, his eyes fixed on Spike's, before beginning to move, never doing more than blinking to clear his eyes, his whole being wrapped up in the dance of time, watching Spike watch his eyes, his hands reaching up to smooth over Wesley as he moved. This was it... this was love... was home... was a pleasure that he'd seldom if ever felt... and only with Spike was it so utterly perfect. All of it, perfect.  
 
Wesley was eradicating something with every stroke, he knew, but the what escaped him until it no longer mattered, until the only thing that existed was the thrust and pull, Spike's eyes the all-encompassing blue of the infinite that he had once believed to be a threat and now felt like home. He felt Spike's hands on his body, and gasped, shuddering into a long stillness of orgasm that felt more like fusion than the usual sudden scintillation of pleasure. 
 
And as Spike's body tightened and released once again in pleasure, he murmured 'Please, please…' and took Wes's throat with fangs that slipped through skin more softly than he had ever taken Wes's body... the gentle draw and suck more a comfort than anything more erotic, as they wound down into rest. 
 
Wesley laughed, low and soft and rasping, the sound that only a spying Illyria had heard outside their private world. "I think we killed dinner..." 
 
Spike soothed his tongue, gentle over the mark on Wes' neck... "Don't care... This is better...." 
 
"Infinitely..." 
 
But then he laughed as he heard Wes's stomach grumble, "I think yer parts are in conflict, love." 

"Yes, well, some of us cannot live on bread alone...." 
 
"Or limoncello.... " Spike smiled. "Come on, love... raise up... we'll see if anything can be salvaged." 
 
"Oh, perfect." Wesley started laughing. "Your rotten bloody pizza survived!" 
 
"Hey... 'm not the one scattered everything over the countryside." he tried to sound affronted... but somehow greatly pleased was the closest he managed. 
 
Wesley bit Spike's earlobe, chastisement and affection in one. "Share?" he asked, adding ostentatious pathos to his tone.  
 
Spike almost purred into the bite... then managed, "Anything I have... everything I have..."  
 
Wesley's eyes crinkled at the edges in the expression that was the closest he came now to a real smile. "Ah. But I only want pizza." He kept his smile for ten second before pulling Spike down onto him, tumbling them amidst the soft mosses, whispering, "And you. And you. Heart of my heart, best beloved, mine as I'm yours, love, love, love..." 
 
If Wes's smile was restrained, Spike more than made up for it... his laughter lightening the air with its sound. "Best keep me then... I'm too big ta throw back. Love you, my heart... Wish I was better for you... but glad you overlook it...." And he kissed Wes again... soft and loving. 
 
"Better? Than perfect? Well, that should be entertaining...." He kissed Spike back, a mixture of love and bubbling laughter welling up in him and wiping out any other fears. 
 
Spike closed his eyes, soaking in the sound of Wes' laughter like a tonic for his soul. He had to hang on to this... feeling... Use it to anchor him if he was drifting back into madness again. Use it so he wouldn't have to put this on Wes again. 
 
Wesley wanted, more than anything, to be a good enough lover to understand what was chasing away Spike's peace at every given opportunity, but he wasn't, and he knew that any question would be brushed off - and my God, but omnipotence would be useful on occasion! 
 
"So... Pizza?" Spike smiled then, "I'll even pick the artichokes off your bit...." 
 
"Oh, the sacrifice..." Wesley half-laughed. "Yes. Please." 
 
Spike made a dramatic show of removing the green bits from Wes's pizza then passed it to him with a flourish. 
 
"I don't actually mind the basil, you know..." But it was a mild protest. He was the expert at eating one slice and pulling the best bits off others, and he suspected that both habits would earn him only opprobation. 
 
At that moment, Spike would have hand fed Wes the pizza if he'd have allowed it.... all of it, keeping none for himself. At that moment he would have impaled his heart on one of the hedges if Wes had asked and turned, smiling, into dust... if it would keep that loving expression on the man's face. 
 
He was pathetic... pure and simple. 
 
"I told you the hedge would work..." Wesley's voice was thickened and dreamy once more. "One day...a twelve foot hedge." 
 
"Did work, love.. And this..." Spike smoothed his hand over the moss, "This was amazing....Think we should make use of it now..." And he gently pushed Wes down... pulling their picnic blanket over the two of them... settling down to rest and snuggle. 
 
Wesley cupped Spike's face in his hand, traced his thumb over the lower lip. "You'll make me a poet. They took all the words from my mouth and now I rely on their words to let me make sense...."  
 
Spike chuckled softly, "Then let me stop your mouth with kisses and speak no more...."  
 
"And give me a thousand more, so the jealous gods can no longer count...." 
 
"A thousand times a thousand.... and a thousand more than that.... "  
 
The garden was pulling Wesley towards sleep and rest, urging him to replenish the things he had never known to be missing, but he opened his eyes with one enormous effort, and smiled at Spike. "Et mille basia, basia mille...." he whispered, and surrendered to oblivion. 
 
"Rest, my love... " Spike smiled at Wes, his eyes soft and warm. "Dream sweet."  
 
And he only resisted his own rest, long enough to draw them closer to the hedge, knowing that the morning light would find them shadowed by it. 

* 

"Love, oh love, oh careless love…" 
 
Spike could hear Dru singing the oddest song. It was one he hadn't ever heard before, but that didn't mean much with her. It could be something that she'd heard someplace, something from a vision, or it could be something that she just made up as she went along. You never knew with her.  
 
"Look what careless love has done."  
 
The place, an alley really, was well lit due to the fires that were burning uncontrollably in several of the nearby buildings, but still cloudy and shrouded with black smoke. He walked slowly along trying to locate Dru by the sound of her voice. 
 
"Well you worried my mother till she died 
And you caused my father to lose his mind." 
 
"Dru, love. Let's stop with the games. Angelus will be expecting us soon." He heard a door shut near by and the singing ended. "Dru?" 
 
Spike opened the door and stepped inside. The building was old and ornate; one of the many Temples that dotted the city. "Dru?" 
 
Suddenly there was a crash as an ornately carved screen crashed down next to him and a shiny flash as he danced back, barely being missed by the blade of a sword. 
 
"Now, now… that's not nice…. Slayer." Spike smirked at the figure before him, all almond eyes and flashing waves of black hair. A pretty thing… but Angelus had told him they invariably were.  
 
The girl looked back at him, her eyes grave and steady. She threw a comment at him, "zhun bèi zhon." Spike didn't understand but he was certain it did not mean she was inviting him 'round for a cup of tea. 
 
And then the battle was on. The blade flashing around him almost faster than the eye could see. Dodging and leaping, the dance of death that he was beginning to be so bloody good at.  
 
Although, obviously not quite as good as he thought, because she managed to get inside his guard long enough to split open his brow. Fuck! That hurt! 
 
Swiping the blood out of his eye, Spike maneuvered around, looking for an opening. He feinted and the Slayer lunged, her sword embedding itself in a wooden statue of a lion. This was his chance. He jumped forward striking before she could pull the blade free. 
 
Wouldn't you know the bloody girl was just as good at hand-to-hand? Maybe even better.  
 
Their fight continued, and Spike was losing ground. Wasn't the bitch tired yet? Shouldn't her arms be feeling like lead? Making it harder and harder for her to dole out the kind of punishment she was throwing his way.  
 
She shoved Spike back against a pillar, and he flinched as a stake drove straight as an arrow toward his heart. 
 
*BOOM* 
 
Just before the stake made contact, there was an explosion just outside the window, throwing the girl off balance. Pressing the advantage, Spike knocked the stake out of her hand, pulling her close, and driving his fangs deep into her throat. 

The blood was rich and thick, driving away any fatigue he had been feeling. It's sweetness and innocence filling him with power and life. 
 
"Ooh, Spike. Look at the wonderful mess you've made. That's a Slayer you've done in. Naughty, wicked Spike." Drusilla purred at him as she entered the Temple a few moments later. 
 
Spike slowly walked over to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close. "You ever hear them saying the blood of a Slayer is a powerful aphrodisiac?" He held his blood covered hand up to her lips "Here now…have a taste." 
 
Slowly, savoring, Drusilla began to lick the blood from his fingers. Then, suddenly, she stopped, grimacing and looking at Spike with a disappointed expression, "That's not Slayer's blood." 
 
"What do you mean? Of course it is. I killed the bloody bint myself," Spike dragged Dru over to where the bloodied corpse lay on the ground, reaching down and turning the figure face up. 
 
It was Xander. 
 
"No!" Spike's face looked horrified as he stumbled back. 
 
"Oh, lovely boy!" Dru clapped her hands gleefully. "You killed the Slayer's kitten!" 
 
"No! No!" Spike turned tripping and fumbling towards the door. 
 
"Spike! Stop!" 
 
No.. this couldn't be right. Spike kept moving until, suddenly, strong hands grabbed him, tumbling him to the ground.  
 
He opened his eyes to damp green instead of harsh stone, brilliant sunshine only a few feet away, instead of dark night and fire. A solid weight rested against his back, "It was only a dream. Are you awake now?" 
 
Wes. It was Wes. 
 
Spike closed his eyes, "Yeah… 'M fine. Sorry. " 

Wes was beginning to think that "I'm sorry" were the two most hated words in the English language. If Spike had said it once, he had said it a dozen times, while Wes struggled to get him inside and up to bed. After a point, Wes wasn't sure if Spike was even saying it to him or if it was a carry-over from his dream. Spike apologizing for the years of murder and mayhem that he had committed - trying to assuage his guilt with repetitions. 
 
He had finally gotten Spike settled back down to sleep, pressing kisses and reassurances against his wrist, where a pulse should beat, into the hollow of neck and shoulder, where borrowed heat still lingered, over still-moving lips. "It'll be alright. It was only a dream." The soothing repetition of his own voice finally overriding Spike's as he assured him that sleep would be safe. 
 
Wes was reluctant to leave, but there were answers he needed, they needed, if they were to combat the Striped One. His message had been sent, but was there an answer? It was imperative that he know. The sooner he had information, the sooner they would be able to make a plan of action. He slipped out of their bedroom and went down the hall toward the office. 
 
* 
 
When Wes opened the door to the new offices, he stared briefly, then went out and closed it again. He reopened it, hoping for a hallucination. Unfortunately, his mind had let him down again and was refusing to play tricks. Yes, he had seen what he thought he'd seen, and yes, it was still his room, and for some reason Xander was sitting in it with a candle. And music. And....why one candle? 
 
Yes, there was Xander sitting in the middle of the room, legs crossed, lit candle in front of him.... soft, atonal music playing in the back ground. He looked... well, if not relaxed, at least comfortable. 
 
And there was the sound of a soft buzz... deep and sibilate and somehow blending with the music.  
 
Enlightenment, however, was not forthcoming. And the music was driving Wes insane. He looked around for the source, and bent, determined on switching the damn thing off. 
 
Xander gave snort and a jerk as Wes turned the music off... then a deep and heartfelt groan. "Ah shit...." 
 
Leaning against the wall, Wes raised his eyebrows interrogatively. He was prepared to wait all day, if necessary, for an explanation. And this promised to be - interesting. 
 
Xander blew out the candle and picked it up, unfolding himself and standing on wobbly legs. He turned.... and then jumped, splashing hot candle wax on his hand. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"  
 
"Damn, Wes.... warn a guy, huh?" 
 
Wes's eyebrows climbed even further towards his hairline. "What, that I'm going to come in to my own rooms? Yes, I can quite see that this is something that needs announcing...what are you doing here?" 
 
"Oh... er... yeah... sorry. " Xander's expression was contrite and sheepish all at once. "But.... this was the only place I was sure I wouldn't be disturbed... and....er... yeah, sorry again, and next time I'll be sure to ask first." 
 
"No, no, really...I should have expected it. Or something similar." He waved one hand in an odd circular motion, somehow managing to encompass the chaos without further explanation. He stopped when he realized what he was doing, abruptly becoming self-conscious, and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "What, precisely, were you doing?" 
 
"Trying to meditate.... Don't laugh." Xander inserted quickly, his expression guarded. "But it doesn't work... All I seem to do is fall asleep." 
 
Wes didn't really feel like laughing, though he did smile in sympathy. "I've never quite managed it myself, though I do find the opportunity to get some peace and quiet rather refreshing at times. Of course, it depends on whether you're aiming for personal equilibrium, or transcendence...because in the former case, it could be argued that sleep is just as useful." 

"Well.... I was hoping youcdtchmesmstf...." the last part was shot out so fast that Xander wasn't even sure he understood it himself.  
 
And now, to add to his collection of languages, Wes had apparently gained a working knowledge of Xanderese. Unfortunately, comprehension of what had been said didn't make it any more sane. "Me?" he asked blankly. "That's why -" Again, the circular gesture, taking in the silent CD player, the blown out candle, and Xander. 
 
"Well.... Wils used to say that you couldn't draw power from the outside unless you could find the power within... and that 'meditation was the key to the power within'. Or something like that." Again there was the sheepish expression, as if Xander knew it sounded dumb even as he said it.  
 
Wes was a highly intelligent man. It was the one thing he was convinced of in life. So why did he feel as though he were trying to communicate through cotton wool? "You want to draw power?" he asked rather blankly, wondering what point he had missed now. 
 
Xander's face fell. He wanted Wes to understand. He valued the other man's opinion. And when had that happened exactly? Probably about the same time that he had stopped calling Spike "Deadboy Jr." and began to treat him like part of their team. "Yeah.... dumb idea, huh? Well, never mind then... I... I guess I'll just be going...." He went over to unplug his CD player, juggling it and the still melty candle, and moving towards the door. 
 
How he managed to offend people just by asking a simple question had always been rather beyond Wes, but then he had never laid claim to much social grace. "By asking you what you were doing, I didn't mean 'leave'," he said rather acidly. "I meant, 'please expand on what exactly you're trying to achieve so I know what you'd like me to help with'. And yes, I'm aware that I should come with Cliff Notes. I've been told that on numerous occasions..." It was as near to an apology for something he wasn't sure he'd even done as he could bring himself to make. 
 
"Well, I was just thinking that...um... maybe you could teach me some of the simpler mojo stuff so I can, you know, maybe help out with stuff. " Xander's speech rushed forward, words tumbling out as if he expected Wes to interrupt him, "Nothing major. I know I'm not capable of that. But I was thinking that maybe if I knew some simple stuff... it might help me relate to the more difficult stuff and then I... I could, I don't know, not sound completely stupid when I'm talking to people on the phone." 
 
"I don't think you need magic to help you with phone calls..." Wes's mouth twitched suddenly. "Although, yes, I can see where it might come in useful. But aside from that...oh, for God's sake, put that stuff down, would you? - was there anything specific you had in mind?" 

Xander sat everything down on the table, and then collapsed into a chair, obviously drained after getting this all out into the open, "I have no clue even where to start. That's how little I know. I mean I know the first things Willow did but..." 
 
Xander paused and looked at Wes, "Your magicks are different, aren't they? Different from Willow's I mean. When she does something I can almost feel the air crackle. I never feel that when you, ya know.... make with the mojo." 
 
"Well, I haven't got even a tenth of her power, for a start. And I've never been too - well, let's say that even I have areas where learning becomes a chore. But yes, mine is rather different. I wouldn't be able to make the air crackle, because I don't know how to draw my energy from it. I prefer to focus on the actual spell, and let it feed off itself. Unfortunately, unlike Willow, my lack of initial power rather means I have to draw on my own energies, and that really isn't ideal." Wes rubbed at the back of his neck again. "You may be better off with someone else." 
 
Xander's face fell. "Okay... yeah.... I'll look right into that because there are just dozens of people out there who'd be willing to teach Mr. Normal the basics of magic. I'll just drag out the yellow pages and look.... " He, once again, began gathering up his things. 
 
There were times when Wes felt immeasurably older than everyone around him, and this was quite definitely one of them. "Sit down!" He had never used that tone of voice to Xander before, and a small part of him was gratified at its efficacy. "Do me the courtesy of listening to what I'm saying, rather than what you think I might feel. I know I'm probably the only option. What I am telling you is that I might not be a good option. I can only show you how I do things, and that may not be what you're looking for. Do you understand that I'm not telling you I won't help, I'm not telling you even that I can't help, I am pointing out that you may not want my help, because I am very far from sure that it'll be anywhere near useful." 
 
Xander's arse had hit the chair so fast and so hard that it almost hurt and he looked up at Wes in surprise as he listened to what he had to say, "Yeah... yeah... I get that Wes. But... geeze... you don't even have an idea if I'll be able to do any of this. I mean, all those years and Giles never even tried to teach me anything useful... well, beyond a bit of researching skills. No fighting skills, no mojo, no nothing... and certainly, if he thought I had any chance of learning them he'd at least have tried. And goodness knows my teachers all gave up...." 
 
"I find it extremely unlikely that Giles would have decided without evidence that you had no skill for - ah - 'mojo'. I think it may have been more that he didn't want you anywhere near anything even remotely to do with magick. In fact..." Wes's fingers tapped thoughtfully on the chair, "I would imagine that he did everything possible to actively discourage any of you from becoming involved with it. True? And as to the rest...well. I have no reason to count the opinions of school teachers among those I value. And no, of course I have no idea whether you will have any affinity for this, but if you do, it seems only fair that you should at least be made aware that I won't be offering you the best help." 

"Well, Giles used Willow's skills.... and.... okay, yeah, he tried to discourage her... which never helped, I have to add. And, never seemed to have any trouble with using me as part of the spells.... but I always felt like this big.... lump." Xander hands described a sphere about the size of a basketball in the air in front of him. He looked down and then back up at Wes, "Which, yeah, I kind of get... " A grin there... "But, well, can we at least try this? And then if I suck... or nothing comes of it, I won't have embarrassed myself in front of a stranger..." 
 
"I see no reason why not." People were a complete mystery to Wes at times, and Xander more so than most. He would have always preferred to be in a potentially humiliating situation with a stranger, for the simple reason that the outcome couldn't affect their perception of him in any way that mattered. He was unsure whether Xander's preference for someone he knew meant that he had utter confidence in Wesley's detachment, or a horrendously low impression of how Wesley already viewed him. He was rather nastily sure that it was the latter. 
 
Xander's relief was almost palpable, "Thanks, Wes... I mean, that's great. And... well, if it gets to be too much trouble... or I don't have any aptitude, well, I'll just concentrate on the other stuff.... you know, research and... my exercises with Mr. Pak.... " 
 
And, God, Xander couldn't really believe he just volunteered to do more research... and his training with Mr. Pak wasn't going quite as well as he might have liked... but Oz said he got discouraged too easily, so maybe he had just set his expectations too high. 
 
"Well, I shouldn't think anything will be as bad as that, but the truth emerges at last." Wes grinned, indulging himself in a rare moment of humour. "You just want to get out of training in the dojo, don't you?"  
 
"Oh, no... I just love spending hours repeating the same damn exercises over and over and over again, because I can't seem to get my hands to coordinate with my eye. I live for it.... " Dry humor was not Xander's forte, but, fortunately, sarcasm was. "Aching muscles are a way of life... so actually, the learning to sleep while all folded up in one spot... might be a good thing." 
 
"Would it make you feel any better to learn that Mr Pak has an absolute genius for finding precisely what we don't want to do? There are reasons I don't train with anyone, you know. It's not only you he likes to torture..." Wes smiled but then continued, growing more serious, "Come back this evening, and, if this works, you may wish that you'd stuck to Mr. Pak's form of torture, because I will make you study." 

* 

"'m goin' out." Spike shoved his feet into his boots, grabbing his duster off the back of the chair. It almost sounded like an ultimatum - as if Wes would try to stop him.  
 
"All right," Wes said mildly, but he looked a little bewildered, "It is still light, you know....perhaps you should wait a little?" 
 
"Want ta talk to the Wolf before I leave." Spike shrugged into his duster. "If he's around." 
 
"All right," Wes repeated, his smile a little tentative, as though he were afraid it would be obliterated by words. "Spike - " he clamped his mouth shut, and shook his head. "Never mind." 
 
Spike gave a succinct nod of his head and went out the door, almost bumping into Xander as he passed him in the hallway. 
 
"Hey, Spike." Xander greeted, but the only answer was a raised wave of Spike's hand as he went on down the stairs. "Okay…." 
 
Xander shook his head, shrugged and peeked in the door at Wes. "Hi." 
 
At the blank look he received from Wes, Xander ventured, "So.... uh... training? Or at least, testing?" 
 
"Oh. Yes, of course, sorry." Wes smiled faintly, leading them down to the offices. "Why don't we start with - ah." He caught sight of the candle left from earlier. "A little light, perhaps?" 
 
"Now?" Xander looked surprised...then... "Okay, sure... of course now. Uh... what do I do?" 
 
* 
 
Spike had looked all over, in the dojo and training room... out in the garden, but the Wolf was no where to be found. Finally, Mr. Pak told him that Oz had gone out with some of the Dingos. Something about practice or maybe fixing Devon's van, he wasn't sure. 
 
Yeah, well, he'd just have to talk to him as soon as he could. Nothing to be done for it now. And a long walk was calling him now that the sun was down, with perhaps a bit of mayham along the way if he could find it. 
 
Spike's steps took him in the direction of the park a few blocks away. He could tell by the left behind toys and and still warm BBQ pits that the place was well used by the neighborhood.. But, even in this fairly quiet part of L.A. the residents knew better than to hang out there after dark. But for him, it was a place of solitude. A place to reflect and think in peace. Or it was normally, but, it appeared that tonight was going to be different. 
 
Lilah was waiting for him, leaning on the frame for the swings, running a slender hand up her stockinged legs, smoothing the fine seams, her hair glowing like copper in the dim light. She smiled at him. "Hello, lover." Her voice was soft, pleasant, a husky whisper in the still night.

 
"No… not again." Spike's brain wailed and cringed, but outwardly he just said, shortly, "Told ya not to call me that. Never gonna happen." 
 
"But I like you, vampire." Lilah laughed, and moved towards him, the faint scent of her perfume hovering in the air, and ran a finger down the collar of his coat. " A little affection between friends from hell?" 
 
"You flatter yourself, bitch." Spike scowled at her. "Ta be friends, I'd have to think about you at least once in awhile." 

"Do you think in words? Aloud? Or in images?" Wes's expression did not suggest that 'I don't know' was going to be the right answer here. 
 
Xander considered the question and then answered, "Both?" More considering... "Depends on what I'm thinking about. For most stuff words... for building, well, mostly images." 
 
"Hmm. Perhaps we should start there." Wes didn't seem to want to share why, or even how, or if, it was different to the way he did things. "What's the simplest thing that needs doing around here?" To him, it all looked impossible, but then he had no idea where to start with building. 
 
"You start with framing. The studs and cross beams that hold up everything else." Okay... this was pretty painless, if Xander could relate it to carpentry he'd be alright. 
 
Good God, Wes thought, at last, something he could understand. "Yes, well, it's pretty much the same. Only...instead of studs? Think of molecules. In this case - air molecules. More specifically, the ones surrounding this candlewick." 
 
Xander looked at the candle, wrinkles creasing his brow, "Air molecules? Like little bubbles floating around it?" 
 
There were some things that would, Wes suspected, be true in any dimension, and one of them was that he was a sodding abysmal teacher. But at least he was getting an idea of how Xander saw things. "Infinitesimally small ones," he agreed. 
 
"Yeah... I get that. Molecules are small...so the bubbles would be." Xander nodded, as if it all made perfect sense. Well actually, so far, it did. But he wasn't sure how this little pictures of bubbles whirling around made magic. "And then what?" 
 
"Focus on the concept of them heating. What they would do. And please, please, think only about the ones directly surrounding the candle. Once you think you've got that idea, tell me." Wes had a suspicion that this was going to be like pink elephants, but anyone who could survive training with Mr Pak could probably at least start trying this. 
 
"Should I tell you what I'm imagining?" Xander looked a bit confused but game to try this, whatever it was, that Wes was asking him to do. 
 
"As long as you can hold your focus on it at the same time, yes, by all means." 
 
Xander shifted in his seat, getting comfortable, then staring at the candle, "I see a little...pocket around the wick... about 2 by 2... and inside it... all those tiny little blue bubbles of air.... just floating... cool like the room. I'm thinking about them getting warmer... Then they'd be like... bubbles in a pot of water... moving faster, maybe getting... you know.... red, like the flame."  
 
His head was turned to the side, looking at the candle straight on with his useable eye. 
 
Wes wasn't looking at the candle, or really listening to what Xander was saying. He was waiting for the moment of now to appear on the younger man's face, watching him intently. It was not until he was sure he could see it that he spoke.  
 
"Incendiare," Wes said quietly, and touched his finger to the wick.  
 
He jerked his finger back with a curse almost immediately, and blinked upwards as a small, thin, intense flame hit the ceiling, and sputtered out, leaving a soot mark. "Ah," Wesley said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should have specified what sort of heat?" 

* 

"Haven't you thought about me, love?" Lilah's voice was a caress, Wes's softened tones on the last word, pure English unaccented proof of existence. "Not even a little? And you without questions, and all the answers...." Madness flickered, briefly, in her eyes. 
 
"The only thoughts I have of you are how nice it was ta break your scrawny little neck," Spike's voice rumbled, trying to ignore the touch of Wes in her voice. It was a trick, all a trick. His brain was still wonky from spending too much time with Slayers, and horrible dreams. 
 
"Still pleasure." Lilah shrugged, and leaned against him, warm, this time, if insubstantial. "So. What are we doing tonight? And have you found your question yet?" 
 
"Don't know what you're doing. I'm walking." Spike put action to words, ignoring the rest of what she had said, ignoring the swirl of her perfume that threatened to choke him where he stood. 
 
"Well that's dull." Lilah sighed, and moved with him. "I'm real, vampire, so very real, and denying it will only make me stay...." 
 
Spike let out a long huff of air, "Fine then. You're real. I see you. Now bugger off." 
 
"Can't." She smiled, and it was acid and rotten fruit, sharp mould to the eyes. "You've got -to ask - the questions...." 
 
Questions. Questions. She was on about that again. What bloody questions was he supposed to ask a figment of his imagination? 
 
"I don't know what you're talking about. Don't care." He shook his head and turned off down a side path. 
 
She followed him, a sigh of air and scent, her smile a constant, even as her jaw tightened with flexing muscles. "You're going to have questions, vampire, you're going to - " Her head jerked up, eyes wild, and she snarled out - "Ask your Wesley why I'm here!"  
 
And then she was gone, as before, but this time, the pale gauze of her scarf lay on the path, fluttering even in the still air. 
 
Spike picked up the scarf, looking around suspiciously as he tucked it into the pocket of his duster. Something had caused her to flee, something she couldn't control. Or… maybe he had finally convinced his addled mind that this whole thing was ridiculous. 

* 

"Oh, Shit! Ohshitohshitohshit.... Wes... are you okay? Did it burn you?" Xander was on his feet, grabbing Wes by the wrist and attempting to tug him towards the sink. "Cold water on burns... come on, Wes. Shit!" 
 
Wes tried not to. He really did. It proved beyond a doubt that he was an awful teacher. But there was something so purely silly about this, that the laughter was bubbling out of him before he could stop it.  
 
"I'm fine," he managed at last, and waved his hand in front of Xander. "See? Burn free." His laughter settled into a full-fledged grin. "Not bad, by the way. For someone with no aptitude." 
 
Xander blinked... then looked at Wes hand and his laughing face, then shoved at him, "Damnit, Wes... that scared the crap out of me. What the hell happened? " But he wasn't mad, just confused and laughing at himself for his over reaction. 
 
"I think..." Wes snorted a bit, and tried to get himself under control. "I think you may have been visualizing a very focused...blowtorch." He couldn't stop grinning, even though he knew he looked like an idiot. 
 
"Uh...oops?" Because, yeah... contained flame... Xander had gotten just that image in his head as the air "bubbles" moved faster and got hotter.  
 
"Well, yes, I suppose so, if you happened to be a ceiling. On the other hand..." Wes's grin was back. "It worked." 
 
Xander frowned for just a moment, "It worked? But I didn't do anything. I mean you said the words and stuff... " He paused, "Okay... I guess I'm missing something... " 
 
"No, not really. You wanted me to check to see if you had potential for this - which yes, incidentally, you do - rather than teach you an actual spell. I taught you the first step..." Wes frowned, trying to think of a way to put it. "If you like, I just provided the spark. Obviously, you'll have to learn to be able to think of that heat...or possibly less, under most circumstances - and then add the spark yourself." He sighed. "Is any of this making any sense to you at all? I'm afraid I've never tried to teach this before." 
 
"Heat, fuel and oxygen... the three things you need to make a fire... It was just like... the words gave it the last oomph to make it all come together." Xander nodded slowly, then his eyes suddenly went wide, "Okay... that actually made sense. Are there other... you know, similar rules for all the rest of it? Like, oh I don't know, levitation... invisibility.... turning someone into a frog...?" 
 
"Yes to all three?" Wes ventured. "But no frogs." 
 
Xander laughed again, "You're just afraid that I'll get pissed at Spike and you'll have a little vampire frog hopping around in the garden..." 
 
"Well, yes," Wes answered honestly. "But I'm a bit more concerned about the plague of mutant frogs that would result from you experimenting beforehand..." He decided to leave the concept of invisibility well alone. Except... "Perhaps now you see why Giles was not exactly...keen...on having you all running around practicing spells?" 
 
"Well, yeah... but if he'd worked with just Wils.... " Xander stopped there, "I wouldn't have minded, ya know....?" 

"I do know. You have to remember that I feel much the same way about prophecies that Rupert does about magic. My first instinct is to shut them away from everyone else before they can do the kind of damage with them that I've caused. And believe me, I'm aware of how self-perpetuating that kind of behaviour makes the problem. It's just..." God, he was actually defending Giles, and at some point he would notice that the world had stopped turning. "He only signed on for one Slayer, preferably ready-moulded to obedience. No-one prepared him for what it was going to be like." Wes's mouth twitched in almost-humour. "I remember." 
 
"Yeah, but fortunately we got better" Xander smirked, doing a fairly awful Monty Python accent. "We grew up." 
 
"I hate to tell you this, Xander, but the growing up was inevitable." 
 
"Not always..." Xander raised one eyebrow. "I cite Andrew..." 
 
Wes grimaced. "Yes, well. I suppose he seems to have developed enough sense to leave California. A step in the right direction, perhaps?" 
 
Xander's face was expressionless, "He's going with Anya." 
 
Ah. "How very sensible of him," Wes said calmly, not letting even a hint of his sudden sympathy show. "At least she may provide him with some small amount of protection." 
 
Xander suddenly snorted, "Yeah, maybe she'll have sex with him and then he'll start that growing up stuff you were talking about."  
 
For some reason, that thought was not as disturbing to Xander as it should be.  
 
"Well, yes. Perhaps. And perhaps she won't share the details with anyone?" Wes couldn't quite keep the optimism out of his voice. 
 
"We live in Hope, Wes.... we live in Hope." The shake of his head told how vain Xander felt that hope to be. 
 
Wes shook his head. "A suburb of Cairo, I suspect. Right. I'll draw up a few ideas for you to start practicing." 
 
Xander's eyes went wide, "Practicing? I'm hoping you mean with supervision because.... " He looked up at the singed ceiling, "... I'd hate to have an accident..." 
 
"Oh, definitely with supervision." Wes winced suddenly. "Spike's going to kill me..." 
 
Xander cringed, "I wouldn't want that, Wes. Don't want to cause you any trouble... I've done enough of that already. " 
 
"Hm? Oh...no, no, don't worry. It's nothing you've done. But I should probably make sure none of these have to be done inside." Wes looked at Xander's blank expression, and sighed. "Vampire, Xander," he said patiently. "Magic residue? It's a bit like coming home and finding that someone's moved all the furniture around while you were out." 
 
And once again, "Uh.... Ooops?" And Xander grinned slightly, "Just blame it on me, Wes.... He'll expect that." 
 
Wes shook his head. If Spike and Xander weren't snarking at each other he'd believe one of them were ill. 
 
"And geeze! I'm late. Uncle Shen is going to make me do an extra hour of katas." Xander grimaced. 
 
"And you will appreciate punctuality all the better for it," Wes intoned solemnly. 
 
Xander grabbed his CD player and bolted for the door. "Don't do that. Wes.... One Mr. Pak is all we really need." 
 
"Too bloody true," Wes muttered at his books. 

* 

Wesley had failed, quite spectacularly, to sleep in the hours before Spike had come back from whatever-it-was he had gone off to take his bad temper out on, come back in a worse mood than ever, and promptly taken all the blankets to turn himself into a cranky cocoon with the personality of a viper on cocaine, snarling about people who didn't have the sense to take magic outside, and no, Wes, apologies weren't any use at all. 
 
Wesley decided very shortly afterwards, after one aborted attempt to take at least one of the blankets back, that it would be a very good idea to get up and start work, and then, in the middle of his yawn-and-coffee-filled morning, Gemma arrived with the Urn, her eyes raccoon-circled with exhaustion and her fingernails bitten to the quicks. "I can't find anything, Wesley," she confessed. "And the translations don't make any sense. You can try, but -" and then she simply shoved it into his hands and scurried off.  
 
Wesley stared at it for a bit, and eventually opened it. Nothing happened. He turned it upside down and shook it, and still nothing happened. He opened Crenshaw's diaries - again - and looked for some kind of clue, and a vast amount of nothing continued to happen, until he was ready to throw the whole lot out of the window, or risk getting back into bed with Spike and his temper, which seemed to have a separate personality right now. 
 
So when there was yet another knock on the door, and it was Gunn, he was almost relieved. 
 
"Hey, English." Gunn sauntered in, his smile bright as the morning's sunshine had been.  
 
"Charles." Wesley smiled back, briefly. "And I owe this honour to-?" 
 
"Shopping." Gunn smirked. "Or rather, the avoidance of shopping. Let me tell you, Angel has a whole hotel full of teenagers and the term 'Shop 'til you drop' seems to be a way of life for them." 
 
"Urgh." Wesley shuddered, briefly and ostentatiously. "Can't Dawn or Cordy deal with them?" 
 
"Oh, please," Gunn's eyes rolled so far upwards that they almost reached his eyebrows. "Cordy is the worst one. And Dawn? I think she's kind of in a 'I'm a grown up' phase and tries to avoid them all."  
 
He leaned a bit closer, "Plus, I think she's still kinda pissed at the way they were bothering Blondie when he stayed the other day." 
 
Wes's expression hardened. "Yes, that would make two of us." He pushed his books aside. "Gunn, how do you feel about an early and long, long, beery lunch?" 
 
"English? I think you just asked the right man, the right question." Gunn clapped a companionable hand on Wes's shoulder. "Let's do it." 
 
Wesley grinned, and stood up. "Come on, tell me about your date." His voice was saccharine, too-sweet, and deliberately provocative. Said date, however, must have gone well, because Gunn didn't rise to the bait, just grinned instead. 
 
"Amazing was not the word for it," Gunn smiled. "But Jin's a pretty amazing woman..." He started for the door then stopped short. "You need to leave a note for Blondie or something?" 
 
"That would be what I'm pinning to the fridge..." Wesley called back from the kitchen. 
 
"Oh... yeah." Gunn chuckled. "Can't make the little woman worry, now can you?"  
 
"And I note how you waited until you thought this was an empty apartment before you made that crack," Wesley said without much animosity, coming out of the kitchen and moving towards the door. If Gunn ever developed the kind of insanity where he was prepared to say that knowing Spike was around, they all had other problems in any case. "Want me to call Jin and share your humour with her?" 
 
"Oh, come on, Wes. You know Jin can kick my ass." Gunn chuckled. "Trust me, I am being a total gentleman with that lady." 
 
"Yes," Wesley said blandly, "I train with her. I've been doing so for nearly two years. Hence my sudden desire to share your idea of amusement with her..." 
 
"Aww, English, you wouldn't?" Gunn complained as they headed down the stairs. "Would you?" 
 
Wesley grinned at him, head turned to slant the look at its evil best. "Oh hell yeah, Charles. Oh, hell yeah."  
 
*

They grabbed a booth as far away from the hockey game playing on the overhead TV as they could manage, placed their order for lunch and got their first round of beer in record time. "So... What's up, English? As much as I enjoy your company, with or without beer, I'm thinking that wasn't exactly what you had in mind." 
 
Wesley picked at the beer label for a moment, then looked up. "No," he agreed. "Charles....when I was trying to translate the - the fake prophecy...how - how -" he stopped, and swallowed most of the bottle in one draught, gesturing for another. "How insane was I?" 
 
"Insane?" Charles took a pull off his own beer, carefully thinking about his answer. "I wouldn't say insane, Wes. Driven...definitely. Obsessed...possibly. Cranky? Oh yeah. But I wouldn't have said insane." 
 
"How terribly comforting." Wesley sat back, and sighed. "I can't sleep, Charles. Everytime I try, it's as though....as though something pulls me out of myself. As though I -" he shook his head, frowned. "As though something appalling will happen if I do. And the last time I felt this driven...." he finished his beer, and started on the new one. "We both know the cost." 
 
"Yeah, but having trouble sleeping could just mean you've got a lot on your mind. How's the business going? Running okay?" Gunn looked at his friend with a concerned expression on his face. 
 
"It's -" Wesley shook his head., not really willing to go into the problems inherent in the summoning of the Striped One, or the attendant problems that they could be facing - or indeed, his concern that Cordelia remained unaware of the Dragon God's advent. "There's enough work, yes." He didn't know how best to express this. How to say that he felt he was losing himself - not when he was kept awake, but when he slept. How to explain the odd fears he had about Spike's sudden distance, when it would simply make him sound lovesick.  
 
He was miserably aware that he had never been any good at this sort of communication, and even now, when he needed help, he wasn't any better at saying the right things to promote an open discussion. 
 
A large platter of chips and guacamole and salsa arrived, and he gladly silenced himself in favour of picking at the food. 
 
"Then what's keeping you from sleeping, English?" Gunn considered it slowly, taking a big scoop of guacamole on his chip. "Can't be Xander and Illyria, they seem to have gotten their act together from what Dawn tells me. It's not business. It's not family?" He paused there for a shake of the head - and grimace - from Wes. "That leaves Blondie." 
 
"Spike is...." Wes was pulverising a corn chip between his fingers. "Dreaming," he said at last. 
 
"Dreaming." Gunn nodded, a frown creasing his brow. "Everyone dreams, Wes. It's.... It's kind of a thing." 
 
"Yes, thank you." Wes picked up another corn chip and stared at it. "But they aren't all vampires, and they don't all try to walk into the sun because of them." 
 
"Oh..." Gunn paused for a moment. "Ouch. He tried, you know, to kill himself over a dream? I thought.... Well, Dawn said he was doing better with the whole resoul job." 
 
"I don't know. I don't think he knew the sun was there, even…" Wes stared at the table. "I thought things were getting better too, but - damnit, Charles, how can you even pretend you feel concern? You were the one about to put a stake into him!" 
 
"Yeah... because I didn't trust him. I didn't know him." Gunn objected. "I almos