"You bleeding pillock," Spike hissed, recovering with a roundhouse kick
   that hit my knee. It buckled. "I came here to tell you to keep your bloody
   paws off of my woman."

   "And as for your 'lily white', you've let yourself go, lard arse." As I
   dropped to the ground on one knee, Spike punched my face and followed
   through with a kick to the side of my head followed. It was a fuckin'
   impressive rally.

   It pissed me off something royal.

   I came up off the ground with a groin shot, which Spike only partially
   blocked. "Rrrfff..." My self-important child deflated with a protracted
   groan. I stood and knee'ed him repeatedly in the gut.

   I locked my hands and raised them over my head before dropping the blow
   onto his back. <CRACK.> A mortal would have snapped like a twig. Spike
   only suffered one or two broken vertebrae but it was enough to drop him like
   a pole-axed pig.

   I grabbed him by the shirt and hit him a couple more times. Finally, I
   threw him to the ground. He landed on his back with a pained moan and
   rocked, trying to regain his feet but unable. He stared at me with ice blue
   eyes frozen with defiance. "Sod off," he managed, coughing up blood.

   FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! How dare the effin' little prick defy me even as he
   faced his own certain destruction?! To the very end he was insolent and
   rebellious! And to think it was a trait I once cultivated in him, which I
   approved of with paternal pride.

   I hate him. I fuckin' despise the little S.O.B. I wanted him to beg and
   cower. I yearned for his submission. Just to hear him plead for his own
   miserable existence would have been the fulfillment of a thousand fantasies.
   But he refused to give me even that.

   My eyes fell on a wooden crate stacked beside a nearby dumpster. In a
   fury, I grabbed the crate and shattered it against the pavement. It broke
   into boards and shards. A shower of slivers rained over Spike.

   Soon, more than shards would hit him.

   I hastily selected one that made a suitable stake. Gripping it tightly, I
   moved to stand over Spike while he watched me with his ice eyes. Lovely
   shade of blue. If I could have plucked them out I would have kept them as a
   souvenir.

   I knelt over Spike's chest, straddling him. I wanted to be the last thing
   Spike ever saw, and for him to watch me kill him. I crouched over him on
   one knee; my stake-wielding hand dangled across the other knee so that the
   weapon pointed precisely at my child's heart. I did not rush because I did
   not wish to end his suffering too soon. This was a kill to be savored.

   Spike's eyes were full of pain, hate, and hurt. Friggin' Angel would never
   have done this to him. My Nancy-boy soul would never have reduced him or
   humiliated him the way I, Angelus, intended to.

   I could not resist the temptation to chat him up further before I offed
   him. "You're soft, Spike. You've lost your edge and everyone sees it
   except you. Dru knew. Why else do you think she dropped you for me faster
   than a piece of rottin' trash?"

   Hurt flashed in his eyes and I knew that I had scored. "You make me sick,"
   I told him. "You're an embarrassment to my line. The William I sired would
   have taken his own life before he let himself become the whimpering,
   sniveling ass wipe that you've turned into. But you haven't done it so I'm
   going to do it for you." I hefted the stake.

   There was still no sign of fear, no hint of his game face. Not once in
   this whole effin' fight had his visage changed. It was a sign that his
   heart had not been in the fight and it pissed me off. "You came here
   expecting to go another round with Angel, didn't you?" I asked.

   "What?" he mouthed blankly.

   "My prissy soul," I elaborated. "You and he trade a few punches and
   insults, sneak a few gropes between blows, and it ends with both of you
   bruised but not much worse for wear. Neither of you dies, cause that ends
   the affair."

   "What the hell are you talkin' about, you bloody pillock?" Spike demanded.
   He was clearly confused and off-balance. I liked the way that his use of
   'poof' had changed to 'pillock'. I doubt Spike even noticed.

   "I'm talkin' about you and your damnable infatuation with my prissy soul.
   Pisses me off to no end. I've spent the last two years forced to watch the
   two of you flirt and frolic like bosom bottom buddies."

   I grinned viciously as the light of illumination dawned in Spike's eyes.
   He began to understand. "What? You thought it was me, Will, your beloved
   sire? Hate to break this to you, but you would have been a pile of dust on
   the ground ages ago if it weren't for Angel."

   "You're crazy," he said as his eyes flickered to the stake over his heart.
   He really understood now. He realized that this time was for keeps. He had
   lost, and his era was at an end. He would die now. That realization--and
   the accompanying dread--was what I craved.

   "Maybe a tad," I taunted, hefting the stake. I flipped it playfully once,
   and caught it. "You came here today expecting to play with Angel. But you
   didn't count on me."

   "Oh, and one last thing..." I added, unwilling and unable to let the
   opportunity to goad Spike one last time pass. "I know with certainty that
   Willow-witch-bitch didn't shag you."

   "Been shaggin' her box and arse," Spike lisped weakly through a mouth full
   of blood. Red fluid trickled from the corner of his mouth. But his eyes
   flinched and I knew I had scored another direct hit.

   I laughed and spat in his face. The gob of spit hit him square in the eye
   and he turned his face aside. Oh, it was a gamble on my part, a calculated
   guess, but it paid off. I was right. Just as I had suspected, my prissy
   soul had refused to shag in the wicked witch's body out of "respect" for his
   friend.

   Angel always was a soddin' wuss. I know him too well. Guess a hundred
   years of forced cohabitation has finally paid off. It was almost worth it
   to see the humiliation and emasculation in my progeny's eyes. One last dig,
   one last twist of the knife, and I would finish him.

   "Willow didn't fuck you because she wouldn't... couldn't... without my
   permission. I have too much on her," I sneered. "She may have been passing
   time with you but she'd never have shagged you. Not *ever* without my
   permission. I give all your women a good seein' to cause I have the
   knackers."

   Fury crossed Spike's face. "I hate you," he hissed. I had him, and
   defeat. Victory had never tasted so sweet. This was it, time to finish it.

   My lips twisted into a cruel parody of a smile. I was showing a hell of a
   lot of teeth. "You know, I still owe you one for that stunt with the
   crowbar. So I guess your lily white arse is about to meet the great wooden
   shaft. See you in hell, boy-o." I swung the stake up and prepared to
   plunge it down.

   *NO!!!* From the back of my head, my bloody witch shrilled like a fish
   wife. She objected to Spike's destruction. Damn, slight miscalculation. I
   had pissed her off and woken her up. She grabbed for control.

   Well, fuck.

   I fought her tooth and nail, with every fiber of my being. "I have a soul.
   I will not take an innocent life." The words issued from my mouth. They
   were an affirmation of the witch's identity. What she was as well as who
   she was.

   "Spike is about as innocent as the devil himself," I replied aloud.
   Fuckin' all, I was actually pleading. "Let me kill him. He's a pain in the
   ass for everyone."

   "I like him," Willow asserted. "He's cute, almost adorable, in a
   Spike'o'licious kind of way."

   "Spike'o'licious?" I mocked. "Fuck. Chew him up and blow him, why don't
   you?"

   "That's your job! I'm not the Great POOF!" Willow returned. On the
   ground, bubble gum Spike stared up with round eyes. He looked positively
   buggered.

   "Grr! Argh!" I growled but I was losing the battle. The witch was
   winning. We changed from game face and back several times as control
   shifted precariously between us. The stake slipped to the ground with a
   clatter.

   Spike's eyes bulged as I staged an argument with myself. If the bloke
   thought me nuts before, I imagine I had just left Drusilla in the dust.
   "Yer a bloody loon!" he exclaimed.

   "No shit! Tell me something I don't know!"

   Willow won. With a tremendous effort, she thrust me back into the prison
   in the back of our head. I went, quite unwillingly, but resigned for the
   time being. There would be other days, other battles, when her guard would
   come down and her mind would be weak. It was just a matter of biding my
   time.

   "Spike, are you OK?" I gasped as I regained control. (This is me, Willow,
   by the way...) Spike told me later that my eyes actually turned gold
   (soul-gold and not vampire-gold) as I my soul took over. He saw it happen
   but did not understand what it meant at the time.

   "Fine and dandy," Spike snapped. I extended my hand but he scooted away.
   "Don't touch me!" he snarled, determinedly dragging his carcass across the
   sidewalk with his arms rather than suffer my touch.

   "I'm sorry," I apologized, babbling from contrition and disorientation.
   "He just slipped out. It was an accident. You caught me off-guard and I've
   been having trouble keeping him under control!" I reached for him again.

   "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Spike roared. My hand froze. Oh Goddess, but I felt
   awful and guilty. Poor Spike! He looked so hurt. Angelus had battered his
   body and his spirit. He was bleeding all over the sidewalk and I wanted to
   help him but he was terrified to let me near him.

   "I really am sorry," I finished weakly.

   "I can see that," he retorted sourly. "Bloody sorry and sad. You're so
   wretchedly pathetic that I'd ask the Slayer to off you if I thought she'd
   comply."

   I gaped. Wow! Was that ever a concession if I have ever heard one! Spike
   asking for Buffy's help was like... like... like Spike asking for Buffy's
   help!

   Spike dragged himself to the wall, still using his arms. His spine was
   obviously damaged and he could not stand. "Are you going to be OK?" I
   asked.

   "Oh, fine." Sarcasm again.

   "I can't just leave you here," I explained, feeling totally helpless.
   "Especially, considering...morning, sunlight, POOF!" I mocked an explosion.

   Spike gritted his teeth. "I'll be fine. Go away."

   "But the sun will come up and..."

   "Angel, if you come near me right now, I'll retch on both of us." Graphic
   but to the point.

   "Oh." I stood up and stared down at him. I was starting to recover my
   orientation. "Spike, why did you come to LA?" I asked. Curiosity was
   killing me. "Was it about Willow..." I hesitated. "Or me?"

   Frosted eyes glared at me. "Willow is mine," he hissed, spelling it out
   explicitly. "My property. Hands off. Maybe you and her were spankin'
   friends before but those days are done. Read my lips, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF'A
   HER OR I'LL RIP YOUR BLOODY HEART OUT."

   Fire sparked my spirit. Right then I was too outraged to be embarrassed or
   self-conscious. Ooohhh! I swear! When I get my hands on Angel's lying
   carcass! *He* was to blame for this whole mess!

   "Don't threaten me, you candy-ass," I said. "You're the one lying on the
   ground."

   "Bite me!"

   "Gladly! Pull down your pants!" For show, I switched to game face. My
   own outrageous behavior shocked me but the demon's sarcasm still resonated
   throughout my being. I was feeling downright peckish.

   Spike glared in silence, for once at a loss for a snappy comeback. It may
   have been the first time that he did not have something sassy to say.
   Goddess knows, it was probably the last. Finally, he straightened his red
   shirt and slapped away imaginary dust. His movements were awkward,
   betraying his injured back.

   "You tell *Willow* that I'm going to turn her over my knee and beat her
   bare ass raw the next time she decides to share about my purported spanking
   fetishes," I informed him. I clenched my teeth and fists. "In fact, I'm
   going to do it anyway for this time."

   Spike shot to his feet despite the injury. "You stay away from her or I'll
   kill you," he snarled. "She's mine an' you'll keep clear if you know what's
   good for you!" He was serious. Spike was ready to kill me over Willow.

   I mean Angel.

   Oh Goddess help me! I turned and marched off, effectively ending the
   insane, inane conversation with Spike. I have two things to accomplish.
   One, I am going to catch my spanking killer and stop her. Two, I am on the
   next bus to Sunnydale so fast the earth will spin.

   Goddess only knows what Angel might have done with, or to Spike in order to
   elicit such zealous over-protectiveness and possessiveness. The very
   reckoning makes my stomach flip-flop! I have never seen Spike so worked up
   over anyone other than Drusilla!!

   Franken-Angel is in control of my body, and is out of control! He is lying
   about my sexual practices, and carrying on with Spike! Goddess, what might
   he say or do next?! Someone has to stop him before it is too late!

   How is it that your worst enemies are so often your closest friends?

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