“So you do know something about it.”

“Not really. I just… I was the one that gave the amulet to Buffy—to help fight the First. It was given to me by—by one of my sources.” He shrugged. “Buffy gave it to Spike, and it burnt him alive—something about sunlight pouring out of him and destroying the Hellmouth.”

Something in Wesley’s eyes had him rushing to add, “I had no way of knowing it would do that. I was going to wear it myself. Only Buffy said she needed me to come back here and prepare a second wave of defence.”

“Second wave—of course,” Wesley muttered under his breath. He felt a stab of guilt, unsure why he felt so certain that Angel was withholding something, and hating the bitter twist in his gut every time he looked at the vampire who had, in the last few years, become one of his closest friends.

“I guess she didn’t want me and Spike there at the same time. She…” Angel sighed wearily and closed his eyes. “She was throwing him a bone, that’s all. They were…”

“Intimate?” Wesley suggested.

“He was just convenient. A substitute…”

“I see.”

Angel glared, but Wesley was once again lost in thought.

“If Spike died in the Hellmouth,” the watcher mused, “how is he here? And why doesn’t he remember anything?”

Angel shrugged once more.

“Perhaps…” He hesitated for a moment, knowing that Angel wouldn’t like his suggestion, but equally convinced that it needed to be voiced. “Perhaps you should ring Buffy and let her know he’s here?”

*****

Spike watched the three stooges’ little pow wow with disinterest, turning his thoughts inward.

If Angel were to be believed, he had a big chunk of memory that had somehow gone bye-bye; which could, he guessed, be explained by a good smack on the head or maybe even by a small case of death. What couldn’t be explained was how he’d gone from the bottom of the Sunnydale Hellmouth to Tall Dark and Brooding’s office high above LA—or where he’d been in the intervening weeks.

He needed to get out of here—find Buffy, and find out what the hell was going on. Slipping out the door was easy—his minders were busy, still huddled in the far corner of the room, hissing back and forth amongst themselves and ignoring him completely.

*****

Angel turned the corner from Wesley’s office, heading back to his own after a brief stop at the weapon’s closet. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped, directing his anger at his grandchilde’s retreating back.

Spike paused for half a second, and without turning around answered, “Out,” before continuing to stride towards the lift.

“Out? Just like that?” he growled, stepping around the slighter vampire and blocking the lift doors.

“Not seeing any point in me hangin’ around here,” he answered, reaching around his grandsire and pressing the button. “You don’t want me here, and I sure as hell don’t want to be here. Seems like for once we’re in agreement ‘bout something. So be a good little Neanderthal, step aside an’ I’ll be on my merry.”

“I don’t think so, Spike.”

“An’ why the hell would that be, Angelus? What’s it to you where I go an’ what I do? You know what your problem is…”

“You think I’m going to just let you walk out of here?” Angel roared. “Let you loose to wreak havoc on my town?” His words failed to garner the anticipated response from Spike, who just stared blankly, his face cold and unreadable. Angel’s shoulders slumped and he conceded, “Okay, so you have a soul now, and Buffy says you’ve been doing good so I guess that’s not so much an issue, but something’s going on here… And don’t forget the amnesia.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the unintentional pun.

“Just… just let the doctors check you out,” Angel continued reasonably, ignoring the gesture. “Make sure you’re okay.”

Spike snorted. “Since when do you care ‘f I’m okay, or not?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t,” Angel replied flatly. “But if I let you go out there without making sure you’re alright… Well let’s just say I don’t think Buffy would be very happy.”

“You rang Buffy?” the blonde asked, his defences dropping for a moment, allowing a brief glimpse of the hope and longing he’d worked so hard to disguise, before his eyes hardened once more, his face closing off as he stared over Angel’s shoulder at the seam in the doors.

“Not yet—haven’t had the chance. Look, wouldn’t it be better if when I do, I could let her know that the doctors have checked you out and you’re okay?” he reasoned, slapping Spike companionably on the shoulder.

“What did you..?” Spike’s eyes widened. “You bast…”

*****

Wesley sat at his desk, staring at the still-ringing door, somewhat amazed that it still had its hinges. “Well, that went well,” he muttered to himself.

After a few minutes contemplation, he reached for the leather bound tome in front of him. “Belmyre’s Dictionarium Veneficus Morbus,” he spoke clearly. “Original and English translations.”

With a sigh, he settled back in his chair and began paging through the book. It was best to stay out of Angel’s way for now, before one, or both, of them said something more that they may later come to regret.

*****

“Call security,” Angel ordered the hovering blonde. “Now,” he barked when Harmony continued to stare.

“Is he…?”

“Now, Harmony.”

“What’s going on?” Gunn asked, emerging from Angel’s office with Fred and Lorne in tow.

“You were supposed to watch him.”

“Didn’t know he was a prisoner,” Gunn bristled.

“He’s… not,” Angel conceded. “I just don’t think he should be roaming around. For his own good, you know. I mean, he was dead. And now he can’t remember anything. Who knows what else is wrong. Gonna have the doctors check him out.”

“Maybe I could…” Fred began, chewing on her lip.

“No. You have more important things to do. Don’t worry, the doctors know what they’re doing. They’ll make sure he’s okay,” he soothed as the security team arrived.

“Take him down to the hospital wing,” he ordered. “I’ll be down in a minute.”