Shanshu Bugaboo

Chapter 1

“Let’s get to work.” Shaking the rain out of his eyes, Angel did just that. He disarmed the lead
demon in the charge and decapitated him in one fluid motion which ended in the thorax of another.

Spike’s vision went wavy for a second and Ilyria reached out a hand to steady him. “You are only
allowed to die if Gunn does not. I refuse to be left with only the one most unpleasing to my eyes.”

He had to smirk. “Well Blue, looks like hanging with me has done you a bit of good. You’ve grown
a sense of humor. Now help me kill some of these nasty buggers before the unpleasing one gets too far
ahead for me to catch up.” When a sword flashed out and sliced open his bicep, he let himself slip into
game face. Whirling around, he head-butted his attacker, grabbing him by the wrist and flashing a fangy
grin when he heard the satisfying crunch of bones snapping. Quickly he grabbed his disoriented opponent
by the neck and throttled him for all he was worth. Once the demon was dead, Spike picked up his sword
and pressed forward, slashing and hacking his way through the endless wall of demons. His vision went
wavy again, but this time it was from the blood dripping into his eyes. “Oh, bugger all,” he ground out as
he wiped at the cut on his forehead.

“That’s one way of putting your thick skull to use!” He heard Angel yell tauntingly before he was
swallowed once more by the horde.

“Least it’s useful for something other than those perpetual oh-so-attractive broody lines,” Spike
muttered as his vision faltered a third time. A blade bit into his calf and he fell to his knees. Looking up, he
saw his attacker preparing for the killing blow, when suddenly everything went white and hot. For the
second time in his life, Spike was engulfed flames.


He could feel himself burning, the pain searing through his every nerve ending and roaring
through his abdomen, and with it came a force rapidly pulling him towards something, sending him
furiously into the unknown. He could have sworn it wasn’t this bad the last time—and then, just as
suddenly as it started, it stopped. So this was it, then. He must be dead. The pain had receded, mostly,
only to be replaced with a feeling of lightheadedness and a churning in his stomach not unlike the kind he
got the morning after drinking the entire stock at Willy’s . Opening his eyes, he quickly shut them again
against the image that had seared his corneas.

That settled it. He was dead, and he was in hell. A special hell, designed just for him where he got
to watch Peaches and the Slayer make out like horny teenagers for all of eternity.

“Bugger,” he said again as he raised a hand to his head and winced when it grazed the gash on his
forehead.

“Spike?”

He opened his eyes again. So hell was interactive? Ok.

“Spike?” Buffy asked again. “Angel, was he with you? He doesn’t look so good.”

“Well, yeah, I’m dead, love.” He retorted.

“You’ve been dead since I met you, Spike. Now you look extra-dead.” Buffy nervously crossed her
arms and distanced herself from the elder vampire, looking at Spike with concern. “Look, don’t be mad
about…this,” she waved a hand towards Angel, “Not that it matters if you are, ‘cause I had it on good
authority—you know, mine—that you burned up in Sunnydale. And now both you and Angel show up in
separate flame balls of… flame in my apartment? If anyone’s got explaining to do, it’s you.”

“Wait, what?” Everything was so fuzzy…

And then it came rushing back into sharp focus.

“Buffy!” Spike sat bolt upright, his hands scrabbling for purchase against the slick upholstery of
the couch.

“She is far smaller than I imagined. Not well-suited for fighting.”

He turned to the cerulean god who spoke behind him. “Blue? What the hell happened?”

“I am weary of your confusion. Will you faint a second time?”

“I fainted?”

“Yes.” Her eyes raked over his body in that possessive manner of hers. “But in your unconscious
state you have healed a great deal.”

His hands came up to the tatters of his shirt, searching for scrapes and tender spots. “Yeah.” He
squinted back up at her. “What did I need healing from?”

“You do not recall?”

He sat down again on the unfamiliar—and uncomfortable—couch and huffed. “There’re pictures
in my head that I’m hoping are from a nightmare, Blue, but then I wake up and I’m in the room from the
nightmare. Did we really fight an army of demons?”

“Yes. You did not do well.”

Huffing again, he responded snidely, “I held my own. Until I caught fire. Did you not see me catch
fire out there?”

“You became engulfed in flames not twenty minutes into the battle, yes. I thought you had
angered the dragon.”

“Nah, the dragon was Peaches’…” He stopped as another image danced before him. “Oh, balls!
Captain Broody-Pants is here, too?”

“Yes, the disconsolate one is here as well.”

“And does ‘here’ just happen to be, say, Italy?”

“Yes.”

Spike felt his stomach lurch threateningly. What the hell had happened to his vampire
constitution?

“You look unwell. I become anxious when you lose consciousness. There are no video games in
this domicile.”

Spike dropped his head into his hands, raking through the gelled curls. “I find that very hard to
believe. Andrew lives here.”

“I thought the Slayer was called Buffy.”

He flinched. “She lives here, too. Andrew’s this little pratt who works for her.”

“I do not like her.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. She’s not easy to like.”

“Yet you developed feelings for her.” She narrowed her eyes at him, head tilting in scrutiny.

He avoided her gaze, replying, “You don’t necessarily have to like someone to lo…develop feelings
for them.”

Keen as ever, Illyria jumped on the falter in his speech. “You did not say what you meant to say.
Why?”

He jumped to his feet, suddenly agitated as the images of Buffy dancing with the Immortal,
kissing Angel, telling Spike she loved him flooded his memory, kneading a pillow between his hands as he
paced. “Not interested in talking about it, pet.” He continued to pace and Illyria’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“You do not wish to discuss the Slayer, very well. But I was plucked from battle shortly after you.
Such rudeness is not befitting my sensibilities or stature. You will tell me where we are, and why.”

Spike blinked at her. Bloody hell. “You just told me we’re in Italy.”

“Yes.”

“Well then, isn’t that where we are, Blue?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Do not mock me. Why are we in this domicile on a different continent from where we were? I
had not yet satisfied my desire for violence. We were fighting. Wesley was dead. I should have avenged his
death. The Senior Partners should have paid in rivers of blood. The dawn should have come on a city red
with the offal of their army. ” Illyria started to pace erratically during her outburst, her eyes roaming
around the apartment, hands clenching into fists. Spike, on the other hand, had stopped pacing at the
unexpected display of emotions from the former god and sank back down onto the couch, bewilderment
coloring his features.

“Bloody hell, Blue. I don’t know why…” He looked at her, astonished. This was a whole new side of
her, one he had no clue how to deal with. Best to tread carefully, he thought. Wouldn’t do for the ex-god to
go nuclear again. Hold on. Something was sticking. “The Senior Partners, you say?”

“Those responsible for his end.”

“Also the blokes most recently jonesing for our end, too. So how the hell did we escape that?”

“I am unsure. Perhaps a spell transported us here. Your Slayer—”

“She’s not my slayer.”

“—perhaps she had you brought here.”

“Nah. Buffy’s more the type to let you die in an apocalyptic battle.” He winced. Ouch, bitter was
not a good color on him. He was glad not to have made that comment in her presence. He knew she’d left
because he told her to. Because he had wanted her to leave; to survive, see the world. To live. Wasn’t her
fault the fact that she was doing exactly what he’d wanted her to that made him see red and want to rip
something—preferably Peaches—to shreds. “But you might be on to something, Blue. I just can’t figure
who would do that for us. Tall, dark and forehead made pretty certain that we didn’t have many friends
left.”

“That will be a matter to discuss with him when he and the Slayer return, then. It is clear we will
not come upon the answer ourselves.”

“They left together?” Hurt flooded his blue eyes before they clouded over with ice. “Right. Well,
when I got here, they were goin’ at it like teenage rabbits, so I guess that’s no surprise.” He stood up and
arranged the scraps of his shirt with as much dignity as he could muster, attempting to attain a disaffected
air. “Well, I best be going…”

“You will not wait for news of Gunn?”

“Last I knew of Charlie-boy, he was dying in that alley.”

Illyria shook her head. “He is here. Angel and your Slayer brought him to the infirmary. His
wounds were grievous.”

“That’s what you meant by left together?” His cool façade vanished instantly, shoulders sagging in
relief. “Oh. Then I guess we wait. Now, let’s find that little ponce’s game stash. My hands are itching for
some Crash Bandicoot.”

*********

“Wait, what?” Spike’s voice wavered, holding none of his usual snark.

Buffy watched as one of her former vampire lovers pitched forward in a dead faint. “What the hell
is going on?” She ground out through clenched teeth as she caught him and half-carried, half-dragged him
to the sofa.

“Uh, Buffy?” She’d sort of forgotten that Angel was there. And forgotten the momentary lapse in
judgment that was them kissing. But now, as she arranged a badly beaten Spike on the cushions, it all
came rushing back. Well, why break with tradition? They were Buffy and Angel, reminding themselves in
the most painful ways of what they couldn’t have was what they did. Except that Spike was here now, and
he usually sent all traditions flying out the window.

“You didn’t tell me.” She said, looking down at his bruised and dear features.

“You and I really haven’t been communicating much lately,” Angel sat with difficulty in a nearby
chair, “besides, it was his choice.”

She reached out to ghost a hand over his perfect cheekbone. “Figures he’d make the wrong one.”

Angel pouted. “Hey, what about me? Also arrived in flames, remember?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Well, there was a big fight…” Angel opened his hands helplessly. “We took on the Senior Partners
and this evil secret society called the Circle of the Black Thorn. Took out the entire circle, actually, and
that didn’t make the Senior Partners too happy.” He shook his head at the memory of it. “We were
attacked by an army of demons. We- Spike, Illyria, Gunn and me- started fighting and then—then I was on
fire and then I was here. Oh, God, Gunn. Illyria. They must be…” He trailed off as another bolt of white
light struck the room “…here?”

“The mortal is gravely wounded.” Illyria handed him off to Angel and stood before Spike. “He
lives?”

Buffy nodded, now thoroughly confused.

“That is good. Angel, what is this place?” The ex-god asked, her ice blue eyes raking over him
sharply.

“Rome. We’re in Rome. And that’s Buffy,” he responded, nodding his head towards Buffy.

Ilyria turned her head to address the tiny blonde. “You are the Slayer.”

“Yes. One of them.” Buffy drew herself up to her full height, which, thanks so much to her ever
stylish-yet-affordable boots, was an intimidating five-foot-five. Intimidating to whom exactly was
debatable; but certainly not to model-gorgeous (and tall!) women with piercing blue eyes and a very well-
executed and outrageous dye job that only served to enhance her ethereal beauty. Not to mention the
curve-hugging leather jumpsuit. ‘Or her frown,’ which, though Buffy had met her exactly twenty seconds
ago, she was betting was permanent. “Angel, who is this?”

“Illyria. She, uh, she’s a friend. It’s another long story, Buffy. Do you have somewhere we can take
him? He’s hurt pretty badly.”

“Yeah, fourth floor, it’s the infirmary.”

“You guys own the building?”

“What? Evil Incorporated didn’t know that? The Watcher’s Council got rebuilt and branched out.
Guess we’ve got a lot to catch up on later. Let’s get your friend fixed up first.”

Angel hefted Gunn in his arms and followed Buffy out the door, leaving Ilyria to watch over Spike.

The elevator ride was about as uncomfortable as that time they had stumbled upon a pair of
Knarylik demons mating in a sewer tunnel not too long after Angel had returned from the hell she’d sent
him too. Except without the sexual tension thing, she reflected.

“So, how’s the baking going?” Angel muttered, and immediately regretted it as he sensed her
stiffen ever so slightly beside him.

No, wait, there it was. Good old Angel. You had to hand it to him; even five years after they’d
officially broken up, he was dogging her about their “relationship” within five minutes. Of course, she
didn’t help matters with all the kissage. Real smart, Buffy. She forced a smile and hoped the chipper in
her voice wasn’t too strained. “Weather’s great here. You never told me how beautiful Rome is.”

“It’s not my favorite city.”

“Well, it’s quickly becoming mine. Of course, when you’ve only ever been to three other cities, I
suppose it’s not much of a contest.” Especially when two had been Hellmouths and the other was, well,
L.A., which was worse than the previous two in her opinion.

Gunn moaned softly as the elevator softly bounced to a stop and then there was a flurry of motion
when the doors opened. Gunn was lifted out of Angel’s arms and gently but efficiently laid onto a gurney
before the three staff members wheeled him quickly out of sight down the hallway. Angel went to follow,
but Buffy stopped him with a gentle hand, speaking to him gently.

“Angel, I know he’s your friend, but it’s best to stay out of their way. We have a good team of
doctors and mystical healers here and they’ll do all they can. Coffee?”

Angel nodded dumbly, surprised at the woman next to him. She was a far cry from the girl he’d
walked away from in the parking lot of her destroyed school; even greatly changed from the girl he’d left
behind to provide backup for last year. When had the love of his un-life grown up? And why had he let
himself miss out on the woman she had become?

“Valid questions, Angelus.” A voice said from behind his shoulder.

He turned around in shock. “Willow?”

“That’s me.”

The sight of her conjured up another slew of unpleasant questions, but Willow’s hand on his arm
told him that she already knew.

“It was not my place. There is an order to things.” She smiled up at him; the streaks of white at
her temples making her skin look all the more translucent.

“Well, that would have at least been nice to know.” He scowled, but couldn’t hold it for long in the
Wicca’s peaceful presence. “I thought you were in Brazil on Council business?”

“The Council has branched out and I go wherever I am needed,” she replied hazily. “I should go
check on your friend. Here’s Buffy.” She gave him one last squeeze and headed off.

“Careful, it’s lukewarm and disgusting,” Buffy warned. “You’d think with all the money Xander’s
digging up we could spring for some better coffee in the lounge, but we’re stuck with some monstrous
machine from the seventies.”

Angel took a sip and gagged. Dulled taste buds or no, it was indeed sludge of the highest order.

“I meant the monstrous thing literally. The reason we can’t get rid of it is that it’s possessed.
There’s this poltergeist that refuses to leave the machine and refuses to let the machine leave the floor.
Sometimes he messes with the brew.” She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “So, you saw Willow.”

“Yeah. She’s… different.” He looked to her for an indication on whether or not to proceed with
caution.

“It’s the spell from last year. She has these bouts of...”

“Enlightenment?”

“I was gonna say hippy-ness. But I guess yours is what she would go with. It’s good, she’s happier
in general. She’s still Willow in there. She still does the computer geek thing, we still get all giggly and
gossipy over shoes and our love interests, but there are times when she goes away someplace. Communes
with something.”

Angel zeroed in on the offensive phrase from her explanation. “Love interests…you mean the
Immortal?”

Buffy kept her eyes straight ahead, turned towards but not focused on the television in the waiting
room. The muscle between her shoulder blades contracted, making her stand a little straighter, though.
Angel didn’t miss it.

Great. We’re back to the cookie issue, she thought. “If you’re asking about the cookies again,
you’re going to be disappointed, Angel,” she warned in a low tone.

“Why?” He hissed back. “Are you just oven-shopping or have you decided he’s the one you’re
going to get baked with?” He clenched his teeth and flung an arm out, exasperated.

She rolled her eyes, and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Even if that wasn’t the lamest statement
I’d heard from a jealous ex-boyfriend in a long time, I still wouldn’t be answering the question.”

They indulged in a smoldering glare until Willow came flying down the hallway. Instantly, the
volume on the television roared up to full, a reporter’s clipped British accent narrating the pictures of
billowing smoke juxtaposed against the Pacific. “…the earthquake was a 9.2 on the Richter scale. I repeat:
this is the largest quake in recorded history. The damage to the Los Angeles area is catastrophic. Half of
the city has sunken into the Pacific. There have been several unconfirmed and largely unfounded reports
that this was some sort of terrorist attack…”

Willow looked over to Angel. “Connor is safe. Nina is not,” she said, and promptly fainted.

Angel gripped the back of the chair in front of him so hard that he crushed the formerly sturdy
frame beneath his hands.

“Wow,” Buffy said, eyes glued to the screen. “That’s pretty hard to believe. Well, maybe not—
considering that Sunnydale’s now crater—but,” she stopped short and shot a look to Angel. “Who’s Nina?”