Spike ransacked the Crawford Street mansion from top to bottom, demolishing
  everything in his path. Under the best circumstances, the blonde was a
  restless creature and these were a lot worse than normal.

  Ironically, his determined and methodical destruction led him back to the
  living room, where he found an old banded trunk shoved behind a busted end
  table. He had missed it his first time through the room.

  He grabbed the trunk and hauled it out, setting it down on the fireplace.
  He wrenched the lid open. On top lay a set of chains. "Bleeding pouf,"
  Spike muttered, casting them aside. [CLANK CLANK]

  "Bet he can't get his rocks off without being chained up and beat." The
  Brit's voice turned high and girly as he dug deeper into the chest. "Oh
  hurt me, hurt me! *I'm SO bad!* I killed and I tortured so many people
  with no fashion sense!"

  His voice deepened to a boom, "You naughty naughty girl! Take that! [whip
  noise] And that! [whip noise]" Spike found a sheath of papers tied with a
  red ribbon.

  "Oh yes! Oh yes! Hurt me more you big bad thing!" the pantomimed feminine
  voice of Angel the girly mon called. "I help the hopeless and hope the
  helpless but no more charity work with the fashion senseless!"

  "That's very admirable, little lady," the bass-voiced whip wielder of
  Spike's monologue replied. "Almost enough to make up for the amount of
  planet killing chemicals contained within your nancy-boy hair products..."

  Spike trailed off, losing the thread of his anti-Angel ramble. He inhaled
  sharply. Something, a scent, caught at his memory. He performed a mental
  double take and lifted the packet of papers to his nose, sniffing. His
  heart ached. Drusilla... Her scent clung to the scarlet ribbon and a few
  dark hairs were caught in the fabric.

  Tears flooded his eyes as poignant memories of Dru welled up in Spike,
  clogging his throat and eyes. He tore off the ribbon and shoved it into his
  pocket. He shifted through the papers, curious about the contents.

  They were hand drawn sketches on expensive vellum and Spike recognized
  Angelus' handiwork. All of the subjects were familiar: Buffy, Xander,
  Willow, Giles, Spike and Drusilla. "Leastwise the bloke has the sense to
  refrain from bad self-portraits," Spike grumbled.

  There were quite a few drawings of the Slayer, sleeping, fighting, mangled
  and mutilated: the wistful longings of his whacked out sire. Old Soul Boy
  could never have committed such atrocities, even on paper. "Ladies and
  Gentlemen, this particular patient is a unique example of a schizophrenic
  with multiple personality syndrome. Sinner and Saint. Bad Ass Vampire and
  Flouncy Nonce."

  There were subtle differences in the style of the various drawings.
  Curious, Spike laid them side-by-side and moved on to examine others.
  Eventually, he formed a small pile of what he designated "Soul Boy" picts
  and a larger one of "The Wanker's". The distinctions only served to
  reinforce his impressions of the big, oafish loon. Angelus was nuts: pure
  and simple.

  Two of Spike: a rather good caricature of him smoking, thumbs hooked
  arrogantly in the front pockets of his jeans and a mystically suspended
  cigarette dangling from his lower lip. The sketch was rendered with care
  and affection. It went into the Flouncy Nonce pile as fast as he could drop
  it. "Great Pouf always did have a thing for me," Spike muttered with as
  much indifference as he could muster. And a small bit of pride...

  The other was a nasty depiction of Spike with a bulldog face and wheel
  chair hindquarters being taken for a walk by Drusilla. "Pillock," the
  blonde muttered, almost amused. He set it atop the large pile of Angelus'
  work.
 

  It was the drawings on the bottom of the pile that ripped his heart out of
  his chest and shredded what was left of the non-beating organ. Depictions
  of his beautiful Drusilla: dancing and laughing; playing with her dolls;
  sprawled nude, her eyes heavy with the lethargy that followed seduction.

  Spike's knuckles turned white. He knew that Angelus must have fucked Dru
  in order to be able to draw her like this. The nude sketch reeked of sex.
  Two years after the fact, it still tore Spike apart that she had cheated on
  him... And then left him... Dru hadn't even the common decency to kill
  Spike when she left. After all they'd been through together and been to
  one another and she'd left without staking him. She was unbelievably cruel.

  At first, Spike had continued on only for the hope of winning Drusilla
  back. He hadn't allowed himself to think of anything else, to consider that
  he might *not* get her back. But as time passed that candle was flickering,
  going out, and he had nothing left to take its place but fading
  memories...and stubborn denial of the harsh reality that he was nothing
  without Dru.

  "You don't exist without Drusilla."

  "ARSE! I exist," he hissed, "Just don't 'ave much bloody direction is
  all."" He crumpled the drawings and through them into the fireplace. The
  ball of paper caught fire and burned. Pictures of Dru, going up in flames,
  just like their relationship. It was symbolic.

  Spike watched them burn for a second and then shouted, "Fuck!" What the
  hell was he doing burning pictures of his Dark Queen?! Grabbing for the
  drawings, Spike thrust his arm into the fireplace. His arm caught fire and
  he had to pound it out. It is too late for the drawings. They were ash.
  He had nothing left but regrets and ash.

  "You're lost without her."

  "Not like it much matters," he answered Willow's voice in his head.
  Without the chip, he could have gone somewhere else, might have started
  over. Maybe. At least he wouldn't have been stuck hanging out near the
  Hellmouth -- near the very group of people he hated most -- in order to be
  near the last happy place he had been with Drusilla.

  He wasn't fooling anyone though. Willow had a pretty good handle on the
  truth and so did Spike despite her kind hearted attempts to protect him.
  Spike often talked big about the chip's removal but odds were that it wasn't
  coming out. The chip -- and not being able to kill -- was the end of the
  rope, the end of a lot of stuff, for Spike.

  He didn't have anyone left he could trust to do brain surgery on him even
  if the chip could be removed without killing him. The only ones Spike had
  ever trusted -- Angelus and Drusilla -- had betrayed him. His best friend
  and his girl... It was the oldest, saddest cliché of a chap being turned
  into a cuckold and it had happened to The Big Bad. "What a farce," he
  muttered.

  For Drusilla, Spike made a thousand excuses. Drusilla acted on impulses;
  emotionally, she was a child.
  She had been Angelus' lover and childe. The right bastard had driven her
  insane, twisting her mind into his own warped creation. Angel had known
  just how to manipulate Dru, who couldn't possibly have understood the full
  ramifications of her actions. Angelus was one hundred percent to blame.

  Nothing the demonic bastard had ever done to Spike -- the abuse, the cruel
  games - had ever compared with what Angelus had done to Dru. Spike had
  suffered for Dru. He had hurt inside over things that were done to her long
  before he became a vampire. He had bled for her, worshipped her, and
  sustained her with unwavering strength when she was too weak to continue.
  And in return...

  She betrayed him.

  He cringed and inflicted the burning truth on himself yet again. She
  betrayed him. No more excuses, no more remorse, no more whinging and
  whining. Drusilla Betrayed Him. Spike tried the words out and reached for
  the closest piece of kindling on the woodpile. He selected a piece of wood
  long and sharp enough to serve.

  Drusilla BETRAYED Him.

  And now, in its diabolically winding way, history was repeating itself.
  Pansy-souled Angel was taking away someone Spike cared about and he couldn't
  even understand how or why it was happening. It was Drusilla all over
  again.

  Spike's resentment built. The longer he stood there clutching the
  makeshift stake, the deeper his bitterness spread, seeping like venom
  through his veins. It was aimed not just at Angel but at Willow too because
  she was letting it happen. She was a willing accomplice in this second
  betrayal, and this time, there were no excuses.

  How was it that the bleeding pillock could do this to him twice? Soulless,
  Angelus had stolen his Black Rose. Souled, he was taking away Spike's human
  lover. From wheelchair to chip, Spike felt helpless. No matter how hard he
  tried or what he did, it was futile. He just couldn't win. The first time,
  his opponent had been physically stronger. This time, he possessed a
  humanity Spike lacked.

  His teeth clenched. Willow didn't have to allow this. She wanted it or it
  wouldn't be. His Red had already proven herself too stubborn and willful
  for anything resembling coercion. Willow, like Dru, intended to betray him.

  "Women!" Spike scowled at the fire. "Bitches. Every last one of 'em."
  He brought the stake up. He was only finishing what Drusilla had started...

  Giles' clear voice filled the room, "'In revenge and in love woman is more
  barbarous than man.' Are you going to bloody well get it over with or stand
  there all day talking to yourself?"

  Startled, Spike whirled. "Nietzsche was an arse." He glared at the
  Watcher and casually tossed the stake into the fireplace like that was what
  he had intended to do all along. "What the hell are you doing here,
  Sunshine?"

  Giles strolled into the center of the demolished room. "I see you've been
  redecorating." Spike refused to reply and the older man shrugged and
  continued. "I've been hearing rather odd reports of Willow's behavior - and
  yours. The others asked me to investigate."

  "Got sent into the lion's cave cause you're the old fogey an' none of 'em
  had the knackers?" Spike interpreted.

  "Quite," Giles agreed dryly. "However, all of the signs indicate that
  something is amiss."

  "What signs?" Spike interrupted.

  The Watcher hesitated. "Well... There's your unusual um 'relationship', of
  which I've heard some of the more unsavory details..."

  "Bugger!" He snorted. "Red and I play at a bit o' S&M an' they send you
  to investigate? What the hell is wrong with you people?! Get a life!"

  Giles pointedly ignored his interruption. "And Willow has been
  exhibiting... uncharacteristic behavior."

  "Like?"

  "Nothing specific but she hasn't quite been herself," the Watcher said.
  "We think she may be possessed."

  "Really?" He deadpanned skepticism. "How so? The chit seems perfectly
  fine to me." Suspicions began to coalesce in Spike's mind. Willow - his
  Willow -- wasn't *their* Willow. Spike bounced with an explosion of pure
  glee. Hot Damn but his bit o' fluff was a She Demon!

  "Are you all right?" Giles looked at him strangely.

  "Fine." Spike immediately shucked the bouncing. The Scoobies were on to
  his She Demon, probably with goody good intention of "fixing" her, and
  turning her back into a well-balanced Wiccan. It was exactly the opposite
  of what Spike wanted so he had a vested interest in protecting Red from
  their meddling.

  "Just thinking 'bout it but I really can't think of anything out of the
  ordinary that might make lead you to that sort of conclusion," Spike
  volunteered. "What'd she do?"

  The Watcher was so easily led. Sure enough, Giles began to pace and fell
  into lecture mode. "Well, it's hard to pin down. She's been more
  reclusive. Standoffish really. We think she might be possessed... Blah
  blah blah..."

  Spike listened to the pillock witter in annoyance. On and on and on...
  Finally, he made a rude, loud sound. "Oi! So she's kept her own company
  for a few days an' you're ready to call in the Exorcist? Remind me not to
  befriend any of you chaps."

  Giles turned red. "Excuse me but this is quite serious." He glared at the
  blonde vampire.

  "Oh, well I'm *so* sorry," Spike drawled. "But I don't give a toss what
  you an' the Slayer chums are up to."

  Giles fumed. "So you don't give a damn about Willow at all despite the
  intimate relationship you share?" He pinned Spike with his eyes.

  Unfazed, Spike stared right back with an unconcerned expression.

  "Has she killed anyone? Spewed vomit? Spun her head in circles? Maybe
  some obscene Latin?" he asked, pretending to be helpful.

  "No."

  "Fear of crosses, holy water, the bible?" Spike recited. He examined his
  fingernails. The black chipped polish was wearing off.

  "N-no, none of that." Giles' body temperature continued to increase to the
  point where it was radiating waves of heat. He wasn't comfortable and Spike
  had neatly backed the Watcher into a corner. "I did receive an odd phone
  call," he sputtered defensively. "Monday night. I really didn't think much
  of it at the time."

  "Oh?" Casual on the outside, Spike went on alert.

  "From Angel."

  "Well, there's a bloke who needs help from the Slayer," Spike agreed.
  "Preferably, the stake-through-the-heart variety."

  Giles cleared his throat and ignored him again. "Angel called to check up
  on Willow. He claimed-" Spike heard air quotes around the 'claimed',
  telling him that Giles hadn't believed the LA vampire. "-that Cordelia had
  a vision of Willow being eaten by a-"

  The Watcher frowned, struggling to recall. "A big vampire with sharp
  pointy teeth."

  "Oi!" Spike exclaimed. "That's half o' Sunnyhell."

  "Quite." Giles hesitated. "Angel was...extremely drunk."

  "The poufter? Drunk?" Spike expressed his disbelief with his eyebrows.
  "He's a tea totaler, mate."

  "I know." Giles paced and rubbed his brow. "Which is why this whole thing
  is rather disturbing."

  "Real disquieting, it is." Spike extracted a smoke from his pocket and lit
  up. Puffing thoughtfully, he watched the Watcher while he sorted the pieces
  of the puzzle he possessed. Things were starting to come together but there
  were more gaps than pieces that fit.

  Mentally, he ticked off what he knew. A) Monday night, Willow has
  confessed to having a dominatrix relationship with Angel. Not that Spike
  believed her but he had found the idea of a whipped, chained Angel immensely
  amusing. At least, three days ago he had found the thought entertaining.
  Now, he found it offensive.

  Spike's mind skidded off on a tangent. How the hell had he gone from
  amused & gleeful to hurt & jealous in thirty-six hours? He wondered but the
  answer was fairly obvious. The 'She-Demon' possessing Willow had gotten
  under his skin.

  Back to what he knew. B) Possessed She-Demon Willow had first manifested
  right after she returned from Sunnydale on Monday morning. Angelus had
  called Sunnydale checking up on her Monday night. Angel had some sort of
  hold on Willow to the point where he had to keep track of her whereabouts.

  C) Willow professed to being unable to shag without Angel's permission.
  She wanted Spike -- "needed" in her own words -- and got hotter and hornier
  than a cat in heat when he touched her. Her denials were forced.

  For the first time Spike considered that maybe Willow wasn't a willing
  participant in her deception and... Betrayal. What other word was there
  for it? Collusion with Angel could only be disloyalty and treachery. She
  knew how he felt about her. (He assumed and moved on, not wanting to
  examine feelings he didn't actually understand himself.)

  So, basically, Angelus was fucking with Spike's woman. AGAIN. Reputedly
  with her permission but everything he learnt brought that into question.
  Did Willow belong to Angel?

  Bollocks! His mind screamed the refutation. She was Spike's! Since her
  arrival, the little She-Demon had accepted Spike as her lover in every word
  and deed. Angel was lifting his leg on Spike's girl again, and Spike wasn't
  standing for it.

  He would rip Angel a new arsehole and teach the wanker to keep the hell
  away from Spike's woman but otherwise the blonde found the new development
  pleasing. He liked his slinky little sex kitten a damn sight better than
  the old witch.

  "Are we done?" Giles interrupted Spike's thoughts.

  The blonde glared at him in annoyance. "Yeah, we're done. And just so you
  know," he added. "Your half-arsed theory about Willow sounds like a load of
  shit to me. Just my humble opinion."

  "Thank you ever so much," Giles answered dryly.

  "Hey! You're the one bothering me!" Spike called after the departing
  Watcher. The second the mortal was gone, Spike headed for the garage. He
  lowered the Thunderbird down off its jacks and began searching for the black
  paint necessary to sunblock the windows.

  William the Bloody was going to LA to reclaim what was rightfully his. He
  and Angel were going to have a CONFRONTATION.

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