Get It Done

Read the mini-Spikefeed chat transcript here

Anya is walking down an alley, talking a mile a minute.

"I'm a bright girl," she says. "Good education, quick on the uptake. So, tell me, why in the name of almighty Grothenar would I let myself become human again?"

Spike steps into frame. "You're really talking to the wrong fella."

Anya doesn't even notice the interruption. "I mean, sure the vengeance demon gig has some down sides."

"All jobs do."

"But being human, ugh. You're always icky on the inside, disgusting on the outside."

"Your outside's not so bad." He gives her a low-wattage smile.

That comment gets her attention. she stops, looks at him. The smile gets her. "Y-you know the only thing worse than being human is being trapped inside in a house full of humans," she says, maybe a little shy, trying to find something to keep the smile going.

"Preaching to the choir, love."

"I swear, if Buffy rooms or boards one more of the potential girls," Anya says, back in her mood for a moment, not noticing the flicker of annoyance that crosses Spike's face at the implied criticism of Buffy. "I'm gonna call a... I'm gonna call a health inspector."

He's not going to make an issue of it, though. Spike shakes his head. "I like my plan better. Get up, get out, get drunk. Repeat as needed. It's just more elegant." He starts walking again. Anya follows, and slips her arm through his. He gives their linked arms a WTF? look, but doesn't shake her off.

"Thanks for having me along," Anya says after a few steps. She sounds a little shy.

He's not going to make an issue of the touching, either. "Don't mention it," he says .

Blithely unaware of Spike's discomfort, Anya goes on. "At first I thought, 'It's weird, is Spike asking me out on a date?' Because that would just be..." At the word 'date' Spike stops walking, turns and looks at her. She takes another step, which pulls her arm loose from Spike's. She turns, sees the expression on his face, and maybe it makes her change what she was going to say. "...nuts."

He gives her a small, diffident smile. Not making an issue again. "Right, I'm just out for the alcohol." He starts moving again, and so does she.

"Right there with you, Scooter," she says, a tad too brightly. "Tonight, I plan to drink you under the table." He wants this not to be a date, okay, she can do that.

"You're on." Perhaps a little relieved that she's dropping it.

But this is Anya. She's not really dropping it. "Of course, once you're down there, I could join you," she says, sounding very hopeful. Spikes stops dead, his head down. We can't see, but he's probably rolling his eyes.

Anya, who's gone past a step, turns back to him. "Kidding!" she says, and, trying to make a joke out of it, "I like my sex on top of the table." There's a nervous undercurrent to her voice; she doesn't want to be rejected -again-.

But she's doomed to disappointment. Spike throws his head back and all but tears at his hair. "Would you let it go?" he says, stalking past her. "You're like a dog with a bone."

"So what?" Very puzzled.

"It's =my bone=. Just let it go."

She finally gets it, and it sorta pisses her off. "Okay, okay!" She stares at him for a beat, revving up her mad. "I wasn't proposing." Another beat, and the hurt is creeping in. "Time goes by, a girl gets hungry. You should know."

Spike looks away. "Oh, thank God," he says.

"What?"

"Demon."

Behind Anya, a BHD (Big Horny Demon) glares at the two of them, then grabs Anya and flings her to the ground.

"D'Hoffryn says you die!" the demon says.

"Of course he does," Spike says in disgust, and then he's on the demon. He pounds on it a couple times, pulls it off Anya, knocks it down. Looks like it's unconscious. He looks at it for a moment, troubled. He should just go ahead and kill the thing, but...

He hauls Anya to her feet and drags her off down the street, both of them running flatout.

In Buffy's basement. Anya and Spike are arguing as Buffy brings Wood down to meet Spike.

"But you just let him go," Anya says. Clearly not happy with the situation.

"After saving your life," Spike points out with some acerbity.

Anya is not mollified. "For now," she pouts. "That was one of D'hoffryn's killers, Spike, he won't stop coming 'til he kills =me=."

"Yet here you are, walking, talking...annoying." The words are the old snarky Spike, but the tone isn't quite as sharp as he can be. (Ed. Note: At least he's being snarky...)

"But you fought like such a wimpire, what with the lifting and the running. Why not just kill him?"

"Anya, think," he says, obviously trying to be patient. "I fight, demon boy gets lucky, I get knocked out, you get killed. True?" Grudgingly, she acknowledges that. "We both know that the safest and sanest way to keep yhou alive is to keep you with me, away from danger."

Buffy and Wood are coming down the stairs as Spike says this. Anya rolls her eyes and stalks out past them.

"No need to thank me," Spike calls after her, annoyed. "I'm just the one who beat him off." He sees the expression on Buffy's face. "Repelled him, would perhaps be the better phrase," he says, and she tries hard to hide her smirk at the double entendre. "Demon," Spike says, by way of explanation.

"I figured." She's still amused by Spike's comment, and they share the moment.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Wood says, not looking at Buffy and Spike. But he's clearly just being polite; he's not sorry to be interrupting the Slayer and her -vampire- at all.

"Not a bit," Spike says, giving him a look. "And just what brings our good principal to this neck of the gloom?" All of a sudden, he's on alert.

"I'm showing him our operation," Buffy says. "Us." She's giving off strong "mind your manners" vibes.

Spike looks at her for a second, reading her, then shrugs. "Fine by me," he says. "Big fight against evil coming up, the more good guys we've got the longer we'll all live."

"That what you are?" Wood says. He's still not looking at Spike. "A good guy?" It's a very subtle challenge.

"I haven't heard any complaints," Spike says, pretending not to get the subtext. But it is only pretending; he goes on, very casual, "Well, I have heard a few complaints over the years, but I just killed anybody who spoke up, and that was pretty much that." He's looking right at Wood when he says it. Not-so-subtle acceptance of challenge.

Buffy senses the sudden increase in the testosterone level. "He's joking," she says, a little nervous, and gives Spike a glare. This is -not- minding your manners...

Wood, now holding Spike's gaze, calls her on it. "No, he's not."

"No," Spike says affably, and then his voice takes on steel. "I'm not." He lets both words and tone sink in for a beat, then goes back to affable. "But. That's the old me I'm talking about."

"Why don't you tell me about that." Very flat; it's not a question, it's a further challenge. We're about to get into a dick-measuring contest, here.

Spike shrugs. "Not much to tell. I've changed," he says, giving no ground.

"Oh," Wood says. "Now that you have a soul."

Spike didn't expect that, and it throws him for a second, but he recovers quickly. "Yeah," he says, feeling his way. "That was big deal. Very...private." He whips around to glare at Buffy. "What, are you just telling everyone, now?"

Before she can answer, Wood speaks up. "Aw come on Spike," he says, sounding a little amused beneath the placation, "don't blame Buffy. I asked." Point to him for making Spike flinch.

Spike turns back to Wood, gives him an appraising once-over. "Right, the educator," he says. He's recovered quickly. "Yeah, I went to great lengths. Lots of trouble. And now I'm unique. Well, more or less. Got myself a soul. Whatever that means." A muscle in his cheek twitches.

"And how's that working out for you?" Wood is calm, cool, collected, and very, very pissed off.

"In progress." Spike isn't going to give Wood any more than he has to.

"Well you've had some time. You've been in Sunnydale, what...?"

"Years."

"How many?" It's like a tennis match. And they're getting closer and closer, right into each other's space

"A few."

"And before that?"

"Around."

Spike has had enough of this game, and he takes a step toward Wood, his eyes narrowing and the muscle in his jaw jumping again. Buffy, recognizing the signs, steps between them.

"I think we'd better get back upstairs," she says, and she's tense, ready to stop something if either one starts it.

Spike steps back. "Right," he says. "Give him the full tour." He's almost smirking. "You don't want to miss a look at her weapons chest."

Buffy and Wood go back upstairs, leaving Spike in the basement alone.

Buffy is in the middle of haranguing the Scoobies and the Potentials. Spike, obviously very bored,pushes off the table he's leaning on and starts out of the room. Buffy glares at him. "Where are you going?" she says, her voice like a whipcrack.

"Out." He knows what she's like when she's on a tear. "Since I'm neither a girl nor waiting. All this speechifying doesn't really apply to me, does it?" He turns and walks toward the door.

"Fine," she snaps. "Take a cell phone. That way if I need anybody to get weepy or wailed on, I can call you."

That stops him dead in his tracks. Slowly, he turns around, scowling. "If you've got something to say..." he says, his eyes narrowed.

"Just said it." She's not giving an inch. "You keep holding back, you might as well walk out that door."

That is the outside of enough. "Holding back?!?!" he spits. "You're blind. I've been right here in it. Fighting, scrapping..."

"Since you got your soul back?" It's a deliberate poke at a sore spot.

He gives her a head-tilt, with pursed lips and glare. "Well, as a matter of fact," he says, "I haven't been relishing the kill as much as I used to." DUH much?

"You were a better fighter then."

For a moment he's flummoxed. What the -hell-...? "I did this for you," he says. "The soul, the changes, it's what yhou wanted." But he's beginning to question that...

"What I want is the Spike that's dangerous," Buffy says deliberately. "The Spike that tried to kill me when we met."

Spike is furious. He went through all that and it's not good enough for the bitch? "Oh, you don't know how close you are to bringing him out," he says, and his voice is low, menacing.

"I'm nowhere near him," Buffy says. Dismissing the threat.

She calls for the Slayer Emergency Kit. Dawn wants to know why.

"I'm declaring an emergency," she says coldly, as she brushes past Spike.

After Buffy leaps through the portal and the demon comes through in exchange, it starts smacking everybody down. Willow tries to use magic, but it throws her across the room. Kennedy and Dawn snatch up weapons and start bashing at the thing. The demon flings them off, too. Suddenly Spike is there, and leaps onto the demon's back.

"Get her out of here," he shouts, indicating Kennedy, who is wounded. "All of you, unless you want to end up all dead and useless." He's holding on to the demon, who's trying to shake him off.

"What are you gonna do?" It's Kennedy, or maybe Dawn.

"What I do best," he says, and starts pounding on the demon. They trade blows and advantage for a minute, and then the demon gets hold of Spike and flings him upward. He crashes through the ceiling onto the floor of the room above, unconscious. The demon runs away, breaking through whatever's in his path. Dawn goes to check on Spike.

Dawn tries to convince Willow to use magic to open the portal again, but Willow is reluctant. Dawn asks, okay, how would another witch do it? That gets Willow started, and Anya jumps in with her theory, and together they figure out what they need to do, how to get Buffy back. Wood figures out that they need the demon to exchange for Buffy.

"It matter if it's alive or dead?" Kennedy wants to know.

"I vote dead." It's Spike; he's come downstairs. He's leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen, obviously not in top form. "Slayer's counting on you, Willow," he says gravely. "Get cracking on that portal, and don't skimp on the mojo. The demon's mine."

Kennedy gives him a skeptical look. "Hate to say it, Big Bad, but you look like you can barely stand. We're trained. And the only thing we know about this demon is that it kicked your ass."

Spike doesn't even bluster about it. "It did indeed." He pushes off the doorframe, starts out the back door.

"Where are you going?" Wood wants to know.

"Something I need," Spike says, and leaves.

In the high school basement, Spike is tossing stuff out of a box. Looking for something. He finds it--it's his leather duster. He shakes it out, puts it on with a dramatic flare of the leather, and strides down the hallway, his old, loose-hipped, Big Bad self.

"Where are you going?" It's Wood, standing in a doorway, watching Spike.

"Got a job." He's still not going to give Wood any more information than strictly necessary.

"Nice coat. Where'd you get it?" Again with the subtextual challenge.

Spike doesn't even look at Wood, he just keeps on walking. "New York," he says, and doesn't really care if Wood is satisfied with that answer.

Spike has found the demon. They've been fighting for a while; Spike is starting to tire. The demon flings him against a wall. "Oh, come on now, Nancy," he says. "Call yourself a demon? I thought you were up for a proper fight." The demon comes at him again, landing a solid blow. "Now we're talking..." Spike says, and the fight heats up. Spike gets pounded some more, until finally he's had enough and flips the demon ass over teakettle. He stands there, laughing a little, realizing how good it felt to let loose, finally. It was glorious; he throws his head back and howls with laughter. "YEAH!" he says, and wades back into the fight. Now he's pounding on the demon. But the demon gets him pinned up against the wall, trying to rip his head off. Spike has his hands around the demon's neck as well, and after a moment, snaps the demon's neck. It falls.

Spike leans against the wall, exhausted but extremely chuffed. He reaches into the pocket of the duster, pulls out a cigarette (which, I note, had probably been in there for nearly a YEAR... euw!), puts it in his mouth. "I don't know your feelings, big guy," he says as he strikes a match on the dead demon's ear, "but to me, tussle like that..." He pauses, enjoying the moment. "...is good for the soul." He leans back against the wall, relishing his smoke.

Spike hauls the dead demon back to the Summers' house, flings it into the portal without a word.

--

Dori

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