Sympathy for the Devil
by ComedyofErrors

Disclaimer: I have no claim on the characters owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Darn it.

Rating: NC-17 (Torture, Language, Rape)

Sorry for the delay in posting; I had finals to slay.

Chapter 8

*****Flash*****

Angelus had Spike tied naked in front of a curtained window. Darla and Drusilla were reclined on a sofa to William's right, half hidden by shadows. Angelus was standing beside the window, holding the curtain cord. He gave it a tug, letting sunlight stream in on Spike. The younger vampire screamed in pain. After a few seconds, Angelus closed the curtains. Buffy could smell Spike's flesh burning. Angelus walked over to him and grabbed his hair roughly. In the fledgling's ear he whispered, "Now what did that teach you about insulting Darla?"

Spike, skin raw and still smoking faintly, glared defiantly at Angelus. "You're a piece of shite, you bogtrotter bastard, and so's your whore of a sire!"

"Wrong answer, boy," Angelus purred, releasing Spike and walking back to the curtains. He yanked them open wider this time, much to Darla and Drusilla's delight. The process was repeated several times.

When Spike finally apologized, his skin was burned black. He remained suspended from the ceiling, leaking some kind of clear fluid all over the woven carpet. Darla came over and stood before him. One of her hands reached out and scraped harshly over his chest. Spike let out a gurgling moan of pain. But the hand was merciless. It traced all over him, torso, legs, arms, and crotch, aggravating his injuries.

Eventually Darla got bored. She and Angelus wandered out of the room, pulling Dru with them. Dru clucked at Spike, telling him how naughty he was as she was led away. Probably to the closest bedroom. That was where most of these memories ended. Buffy was getting used to it. Witnessing the tortures from a century ago.

The rape in the alley had been the first of a string of memories in which the vampire whose mind she was touring was tormented, usually by Angelus. The reasons varied. Usually he'd disagreed with the senior vampire. Buffy wasn't sure whether to admire Spike's courage at continuing to try and put Angelus in his place, or shake her head at his foolishness.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief when Spike passed out. She was calling him Spike now, not William. After the last half-dozen memories of him being abused by his vampire family, there was little of William to be seen in him. Yet somehow she suspected that William wasn't so far gone as he seemed. There were moments when Spike showed shreds of his former self.

*****Flash*****

Like now. Drusilla was lying on a bed, her back bleeding from being whipped, while Spike tended her with kind words.

It was like the person she knew as Spike was a shell. William didn't become Spike deliberately. He'd created a shield called 'Spike' because he needed the defense against Angelus. Against Darla. Against Dru. To survive. You don't meet that many vampire poets.

Buffy wondered how far the Spike persona went these days. Early on in the memories it was obviously still William pretending to be tough. A few hits with a whip and the Spike façade fell away. Now...it was harder to reach the part of him she called 'William'.

But it was still there. Humanity. She realized now that was what she had trusted in Spike. He was a balance between demon and human, even if the human pieces were mostly mental. Maybe that was why he had such bizarre mood swings. His mind was pieced together from parts of two very different things.

Mostly he showed the demon pieces. She could understand that. After all, you couldn't afford to get attached to your next meal. He hadn't seen humans as anything but that since he was turned. But now, with the chip, he had to deal with people again. So that part of him that was still William-y was closer to the surface than it had been since before Buffy'd met him. Maybe she'd seen that humanity and through some unknown slayer instinct realized that Spike was now less enemy, more friend. And that was pretty impressive, seeing as she was not usually known as insight-girl.

And in truth, sometimes it was obvious that he'd changed. Spike acted like a decent guy with her mom. They liked talking about soap operas together. He'd made himself Dawn's big brother, even if he wouldn't admit to it. He'd watched out for Dawn when she snuck out of the house and helped find her later. Buffy wouldn't have expected him to be best friends with Xander, but Spike wasn't nearly as insulting to him as he once was. Spike wasn't real friendly with Anya, Giles, or Willow, but he never went out of his way to scare Tara. And he hadn't threatened to kill any of them in a long time.

So yes, definitely showing human traits. While still acting like a jerk around Buffy.

His attitude, his insults, and his swagger were all weapons he'd used against Angelus. They were his normal defense against things that made him insecure. He was nice with Dawn and Joyce Summers because they weren't a threat to him. Since he still lashed out at Buffy, she could only assume Spike saw her as dangerous to him.

It bothered Buffy that her most significant ally didn't trust her enough to lay down that mask.

It wasn't like she was mean to him. Maybe she hit him once in a while. Broke his nose occasionally. But that wasn't a big deal and he usually deserved it. He was evil. At least, he used to be. And he used to be able to hit back.

Buffy frowned. A tiny little burn of guilt started in the pit of her stomach. That was the kind of thing Angelus had done: hurting a defenseless William. She hadn't thought of Spike as a person. Buffy couldn't let herself be cruel to him anymore. She didn't think it would be so easy using him as a punching bag now, anyway. Not after seeing where Spike came from.

*****Flash*****

Angelus was sticking a hot poker into William's side. It looked painful

Buffy sighed. She'd had the question of why she trusted Spike answered. She felt secure with her decision. But having glimpsed William, the sweet little poet that was hiding underneath the curses and bleach, she wanted to get a better look at him. Shocking as it was, she wanted to be Spike's friend.

________________________________________________________________________

Giles allowed the conversation he'd been having with Xander to lapse into silence. The images and memories Xander's words brought forward sent his mind down frightening paths. He pushed the disturbing theories that had formed in the back of his mind aside in favor of focusing on the situation at hand.

The crypt door creaked open a few inches. Giles tensed as he saw the point of a crossbow edge through the small opening between the door and the frame. He relaxed as Willow's head appeared above the crossbow. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, at which she flashed a tight smile before pushing the door open the rest of the way. Tara entered behind her, carrying one of the cheap paper sacks Anya stocked for Magic Box purchases.

Tara set the ingredients on one of the sarcophagi. She nodded to Xander, who had jumped down from his stone seat, and to Giles. She looked over to where Drusilla was sitting on the sofa, apparently oblivious to the arrival of the two witches. "Everything o-okay? N-no attacks..." she said in a concerned whisper.

Giles shook his head, matching her tone. "No. It would seem we're part of a cease fire of some sort. She will not be aggressive as long as she believes we're helping Spike."

Willow closed the door before moving to her girlfriend's side. "I'm sorry we were gone so long. It took forever to find the antidote and convince Anya to let us pay for things later."

"Get everything?" Giles asked.

With a frown, Willow shook her head. "All but one ingredient." She fished a photocopy of the recipe out of her pocket and handed it to Giles. She took a breath, then rushed to explain. "We need some venom from the gahr – um, demon that stung Spike. After we have that it's an easy potion to brew, just put the elk bile on to boil and add the powdered ingredients - "

"Yes, thank you, Willow," Giles replied. "You and Tara have done an excellent job on this." He sighed. "However, that leaves us with a rather significant problem. We have to find a way of tracking the glarghk guhl kashma'nik. We cannot trace it from the site of the attack, as we do not know where that is."

"What about going over to Willy's and playing beat the bartender?" Xander asked. "That's always a good way to start."

Giles shook his head. "They are not a particularly social demon, certainly not the kind to frequent bars or mingle with other species, so Willy is not likely to be of assistance in this case."

"The gentleman likes the trees," Drusilla murmured from her spot on the sofa. "The sun holds a ball, winking at him through a thousand fans. He doesn't want to dance."

Giles exchanged a glance with the three young people beside him. He stepped closer to the sofa. "The demon is in the forest?" He queried. She gave a distracted nod, still staring at the television. "Drusilla...can you find the gentleman?"

Her body turned toward him, her arms splayed across the back of the couch. Her head tilted coyly to one side. "Are we to play a game for sweet William?"

Giles nodded. "Yes. We'll..." he groped in the recesses of his mind for a good analogy. Drusilla continued to watch him, unblinking. At last he lighted on an idea. "We'll play hide and seek. We're on the seeking team."

She beamed at him. "To find the gentleman?"

"Yes. And afterward, we have to bring him back here, to help Spike."

Her expression darkened. "He'll be a king and banish the naughty slayer."

Giles was not quick to answer. He felt that he needed to make something clear. "Drusilla, we will not bring Spike back if you harm any of us. That includes Buffy. Do you understand?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded. "Wicked girls play nice for their princes."

Giles sighed. "Very well then. You and I will go hunting."

He heard a snort from behind him. "Giles, you cannot be serious," Xander whispered. "Not only is she a vampire, but have you noticed how many French fries are missing from her happy meal?"

He resisted the urge to take off his glasses and glare in Xander's direction. The boy was trying to look out for him, after all. "Yes Xander, I understand the situation. But we need that demon, and she can find it."

"Then let me go with you. Just in case she forgets about the whole 'play nice' pledge."

"No. I need you to stay here in case Tara or Willow need anything. Ladies," he looked to Willow and Tara, "start brewing the antidote. Hopefully we'll be back within the hour."

They nodded. Willow gave an uneasy smile before handing him her crossbow. "I think you're gonna need this. And don't you dare get hurt. Buffy would never forgive us. Or you."

Giles flashed her a small, reassuring smile. "I shall keep that in mind. I wouldn't want to risk the wrath of the slayer, after all." She smiled back.

Xander chuckled. "Yeah, well, she's pretty fearsome. Killer sense of style, and all. Hey G-man?"

"Yes, Xander?"

"Good hunting."

*****

Chapter 9

*****Flash*****

Buffy found herself looking around a small, bare bedroom. Darla was standing beside an open closet, packing dresses into two large suitcases. A low bed, pieces of blue-glazed pottery her mother would have killed to own, and strings of beads hanging from the doorway gave Buffy the distinct feeling that they were in China. The beads rustled as Spike walked into the room.

He looked a little more disheveled than he had in previous memories. Maybe it was part of his bad boy image back then, like the blonde hair and the jacket were now. What really drew Buffy's attention was the cut in Spike's eyebrow. This was the first memory that contained it. It hadn't turned into a scar yet; it was still raw and reddish, but at least a couple days old. It must have been made with a blessed weapon to leave that kind of mark.

When she'd asked Spike at the Bronze about his slayer kills, he'd said the first one in China had given him that scar. The Spike she was looking at now had recently killed a slayer. She would have thought he'd still be swaggering over the victory. Out getting drunk or having fun with Dru. But right now he looked angry. Distressed.

Darla was deliberately ignoring him. Buffy knew she and Spike had never gotten along, so she wasn't surprised. She got the impression that Darla had wanted William dusted long ago. After being ignored for a few moments, Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and addressed his grandsire. "Where is he?"

Darla kept her back toward him. "Where's who, William?"

Spike gritted his teeth, but didn't rise. "Angelus. Where is he? He came to see you two days ago, and we haven't seen him since then."

In a clipped tone, Darla replied, "He's gone."

Spike frowned. "Gone where?"

"I couldn't care less," was Darla's flippant reply. "I've seen him for the last time, as far as I'm concerned."

The younger vampire was aghast. "What the soddin' hell do you mean? He's your bloody childe. How could you - "

Darla turned around, tossed a dress on the bed, and put her hands on her hips. "I sent him away. I told him never to come crawling back to me again."

Because he had his soul. That had to be it, the timing was right. Angel didn't talk much about his past, but Buffy knew he'd gotten the soul in Romania, and then followed his family to China trying to rejoin them. Darla must have known he still had his soul and told him to get lost. Spike didn't seem to know anything about it. He was genuinely puzzled as he asked, "Why would you do that?"

Darla practically growled out her answer. "Because he isn't a vampire anymore. Those idiot gypsies in Romania and their magic castrated him! He's not the killer I trained. He's nothing."

Spike's mouth fell open in shock. "That's...that's why you told Dru and me to kill 'em." He looked at the ground for a moment, thinking. "You lied to us. You said he left us in Romania to go see Penn in Italy."

Darla let loose a harsh laugh. "Yes, well, I'll not ask you to forgive me for being too embarrassed by my ridiculous childe to own to what really happened."

Spike shook his head. "How could you leave him? It wasn't his fault - "

Darla gave a very impolite snort. "He's the one that ate that Rom princess! He's disgraced me. I'm better off without him."

Spike sneered back at her. "Yeah? Well what about us? What about me and Dru? He wouldn't leave without telling us. He loves us."

Buffy shook her head at Spike's naiveté. Even with a soul, Angel found it very easy to avoid complications by just departing. Darla was openly laughing at what he'd said. "Loves you? He likes to fuck the two of you. Or he did. Now you're nothing to him."

Spike's fists clenched. "Don't say that!"

"Why not? It's true. He can't stand to look at you with that bright shiny soul of his. He told me so. He said he looks at the two of you and wants to vomit." Darla went back to packing. "He has even less regard for you two fools than I do, now. And that's quite an achievement."

Spike's face flashed with emotion. Buffy could see that he wanted to deny it all. Somehow, in spite of all the beatings and torture, he'd come to love Angelus. Spike had a remarkable ability to love, no matter what. He was angry at Darla for telling him this and mad at himself for asking. Buffy thought for a moment he might try to hit her, but he didn't. His face became despairing, then resigned, then more or less neutral. His eyes remained haunted.

He let his eyes wander to Darla's suitcases for the first time. "Where are we going?" He asked with a flat voice.

The vampire opposite him chuckled again. "'We' are not going anywhere. I'm going to the Master's court."

A sigh escaped Spike. "Fine. When'll you be back?"

Darla gave him a fierce glare. "I'm not coming back." Buffy knew she was frustrated that Spike hadn't realized what was about to happen. She had probably wanted to sneak out without telling him anything. Personally, Buffy wanted to smack her. She was a self-centered bitch who'd thrown away her childe and was about to abandon two young vampires that needed her.

Spike smiled humorlessly. "So you're leaving us too, then?"

"Finally you get something right." Darla closed her suitcases, having finished packing.

Spike shook his head, still smiling inanely because there was nothing else he could do. "And you don't care at all what happens to me and Dru?"

Darla grabbed her hat from the bed and began expertly pinning it to her hair. "You can go to hell for all I care. I wash my hands of you. And what are you worried about?" She said primly. "You're the new slayer-killer. You're a brand-new master. Surely two master vampires can survive on their own. And if they can't, it just goes to show that I was right. You two should have been dusted as fledglings for being so far beneath the standards of Aurelius."

Buffy saw the anger building again in Spike at those words, so like the ones Cecily had uttered years before. This time there was no stopping the explosion. He darted around the bed and punched Darla in the stomach. He kept up a continuous stream of blows aimed at her. Buffy was impressed. Spike had learned a lot about hand to hand combat, but not quite enough to defeat a vampire more than two hundred years his senior.

Darla managed to toss him off, and he hit his head against the open closet door. Stunned, he lay there, watching as Darla straightened her clothing, grabbed her suitcases, and walked out without another word. She didn't even look back.

A few minutes later Drusilla came to the doorway. She frowned at the sight of Spike lying on the ground and went over to him. She sat down beside him. Spike rubbed the back of his head gingerly. He seemed to be recovering. He put an arm around Drusilla, pulling her close. She ran her fingers lightly over the side of his face. "Where are Daddy and Grandmummy? Miss Edith says they are not here."

Spike nodded slowly. "She's right Dru. They're not here."

She looked sad at the news. "When will they come back?"

Spike grimaced, then forced a smile. "Not for a long time Dru. You see, they want to see how the two of us get on alone. They'll be watching though. Makin' sure we're alright."

Drusilla didn't look like she believed that anymore than Spike did. "Spike. I'm scared."

He pulled her into his lap, wrapping both arms tightly around her. "Me too, luv." He said hoarsely. "Me too."

They looked as lonesome as Buffy felt some nights after she finished slaying. It was like no one in the world could help you. You were singled out, even when you were surrounded by other people. In the earlier memories, she'd resented her connections to William through his ailing mother and worries about his sisters. Well, that was then. Buffy found she didn't mind having this in common with Spike. It gave her a feeling of ...fellowship.

*****Flash*****

Buffy was more than surprised to be standing in front of Angel, after that last memory. His hair was shorter than it had been and his clothing was a lot more modern. Spike was beside her, wearing a brown leather coat ... with a swastika arm band? And with black hair? Hmm. Maybe the peroxide wasn't so bad.

He sucked his cheeks in irritation as he glared at his grandsire. Then he walked past Angel to a ladder and began climbing it. Buffy guessed they must be in a ship of some kind; the walls were rounded, so maybe it was a submarine.

Spike disappeared from view, then the scene went dark for a moment before Buffy found herself staring at waves. She wasn't in them, just kind of watching from a far as she had when William climbed out of his grave. She realized she could see Spike in the water. He had lost the coat and some of his clothing. He was swimming, but she couldn't imagine that he knew where he was going. She couldn't see land, or a ship, or even the submarine he'd come from.

Or been thrown out of. That must have been why he was so angry with Angel. He'd tossed him out into the water, miles from anywhere. The tiny figure of the vampire was swamped by waves as he continued to swim. The sight of him was jarring. He looked so isolated. So alone. No land in sight, dawn a few hours away, and yet he kept swimming. Buffy wondered if –

Wait. Why the heck were Angel and Spike on a submarine?

*****Flash*****

Buffy found herself in a dark, smoky room. It was filled with little round tables, like the kind in sidewalk cafes. About half the tables were filling with men and women a little older than Buffy, all dressed entirely in black. They looked like those people in old fifties movies that did drugs and played bongo drums. Some of them were smoking; it didn't smell like cigarette smoke to Buffy.

They were watching a guy on a on a little stage at one end of the room. He was perched on a stool, reciting poetry into a microphone. Buffy wasn't really paying attention while he finished up his poem, which was something about clouds. She was scanning the audience for Spike.

She spotted him at a shadowy table far from the stage, alone. That surprised her. He was already a master vampire during the fifties, and they usually went around with minions. She figured he would have at least had Drusilla with him. He was wearing a tight black turtle neck that clung to his thin frame and black trousers. His hair was shaggy but not long, and was back to its natural color. He was leaning over the table, looking nervous and drinking.

The crowd applauded Mr. Clouds and he stepped down. An announcer beatnik guy hopped, actually hopped, up on stage. He took hold of the microphone and said, "Well thank you, Reggie, for that groovy composition. Next up we have a stylin' cat named William, who wants to share some of his stuff." He gestured toward Spike.

Spike downed the rest of his drink, stood, and strode toward the stage. He looked calm, but Buffy could see the tension in him. She could understand. This was probably the first time his poetry had been heard in public since the night he died. He'd been ridiculed horribly. It took a lot of courage to share it now. That was why Spike hadn't brought anyone with him. He was still afraid.

He strode up on the stage and took a deep breath as he pulled out a few folded pieces of paper from his back pocket. "Call this one 'Eternity'. 'Her hair black like the roads we drive, her nails sharp as a scythe...'"

Buffy winced as the boos and hisses started. She didn't know what the audience was complaining about. This was soooo much better than his earlier work. Spike kept reciting his poem over the cat-calls, but after a few seconds his voice began to falter. Two minutes in and he bolted. Buffy ran after him. He darted out a side door into the alley behind the building. He stood with his front toward the wall, his jaw clenched, his head down, and a couple tears running down his cheeks.

It was tragic how much time he spent crying in alleys.

*****Flash*****

The next fifty years must have been pretty decent, because the Spike that ran past her looked like the one she'd met three years ago: bleached, gelled hair, long black duster, red over-shirt. She followed him. He was moving incredibly fast down a narrow, stone street, passing old fashioned buildings covered in snow. And he looked incredibly pissed.

Buffy could see light coming from a wide open space, like some kind of town square up ahead. She could see a crowd of people there. Spike slowed down to a walk when he was twenty yards from the end of the street. He edged toward the side of the building on his left, hiding himself in the shadows as he crept toward the people. He reached the corner and peered around. Buffy heard him growl involuntarily at the sight that greeted him. She stepped forward into the crowd to see what had happened.

In the center of a round mob of people stood a tall statue of a man on a horse. She could see a dark-haired woman whose arms were tied to the sculpture, the ropes thrown over the horse's back. It was Drusilla. Her clothing was torn and she was covered in blood that poured from cuts along her arms and sides. She was barely standing. If it weren't for the ropes pulling her upright by her wrists, she'd have collapsed long ago. She was crying in obvious pain.

The crowd was whistling and shouting at her in a language Buffy couldn't recognize. There were about seventy people, both men and women, around the square. Most held torches and stakes, though she saw the occasional flashlight and shotgun. It was a scene from an old fashioned horror movie come to life. Spike watched, aghast. His eyes flashed an angry yellow as he searched the square for a way to rescue his love.

Suddenly a man holding a sword jumped up beside Drusilla. He dropped his weapon and grabbed her hair, wrenching her head back at a painful angle. He shouted at the crowd and they shouted back, applauding in a frenzied way. He turned back to Dru and grabbed the hem of her dress, ripping what remained of the fabric covering her. He grabbed one of her breasts and leered into her face. She tried to recoil but there was nowhere to go. Then she screamed.

Buffy saw the exact instant Spike's control snapped. His game face surged forward at the same moment he leaped at the fringes of the crowd. It was a stupid move, strategically, but he didn't care anymore. Buffy saw him snap the necks of four people before anyone realized he'd moved. He didn't stop even when they did see him. He roared a challenge at the crowd even as his elongated nails slashed throats.

He was beautiful. Fluid, powerful, elegant, and brutal. They tried to burn him with their torches but he didn't back away. One guy shot at him with both barrels, but he didn't flinch. Spike was merciless. He left not a single person within reach alive as he cut a trail through the mass toward Drusilla. Buffy tried to feel sympathy for the people he was killing, she really did. But then she remembered what they'd encouraged the leader to do to Drusilla. Even if she was a monster, she didn't deserve that horror.

These idiots obviously knew what she was. They should have known better than to try this.

Spike was moving faster than she'd ever seen. In their battles together she'd admired his form, speed, and stamina, but this...was indescribable. He'd killed at least twenty people in five minutes of fighting. The ones that witnessed the horror he wreaked scattered, not daring to look back. The mob was reduced by death and more were fleeing. Ten minutes in and only thirty people remained. They were untrained, sure, and Spike was incredibly lucky they hadn't rushed him, but he was still magnificent.

He killed a few more people before at last reaching Drusilla. He snapped the ropes holding her, lifted her with care, and ran. Buffy followed, but the few people that remained in the square didn't, having finally realized that William the Bloody wasn't something they wanted to mess with. He would have been easy to track; Drusilla's blood ran down his legs and coated the streets.

Spike burst into what must have been their lair, sending minions scurrying away. Buffy didn't blame them for running from their master when he was covered in blood and shaking with anger. Spike ended up in a bedroom lined with Drusilla's dolls. He deposited his moaning sire onto the bed and covered her with a blanket. He grabbed a knife from the bedside table, slit open the side of his neck, and pulled her face to the wound.

She drank weakly, clinging to Spike and shivering. He held her tight, murmuring nonsense to calm her. Her bleeding slowed eventually, but she wasn't healing. Buffy didn't know much about vampire physiology, but losing that much blood couldn't have done her any good.

Spike was rocking her now, speaking quietly. "Don't worry Princess. Spike's got you. Spike'll get you well. We'll see you well. No matter what luv..."

Buffy felt herself nod as she finally understood. This was why Spike came to Sunnydale. Dru had been almost killed in that square. She'd needed the blood of her sire to heal completely, and Spike was determined to provide that.

Finally they were getting to territory Buffy knew. Maybe now she'd have a chance at getting to Spike. Morbidly fascinated as she was by all this, she needed to get Spike out of here. She had no idea how long she'd been in his mind, but Giles must be worried by now.

*****

Chapter 10

It was refreshing to be outside after staring at the interior walls of the crypt for so long. It was cool outside for California, with little wind. The moon was waxing, somewhere past crescent but nowhere near full. It gave enough light to hunt by.

Giles allowed his companion to lead the way. His fingers twitched closer to the trigger of the crossbow he carried. He'd been denying the instinct to end her all evening, but now, with the weapon he needed in his hand and the prey straight ahead, it had never been more tempting to dust her. But he reminded himself that she was needed, and that those he cared for were safe while he was here with her, keeping her busy.

Not that he felt safe himself; rather, he'd grown so used to uninterrupted anxiety over the years that he rarely noticed it now. It was the sudden sparks of memory that Drusilla pulled out from the recesses of his mind that made him wish for a fortunate accident. Her thrall had made him confess such a horrible secret where torture could not. She'd made him fail, tricked him by assuming a beloved shape.

"William would be very cross with you, you naughty man." Drusilla commented as she skipped lightly over tree roots at the edge of the forest.

Giles slowed his pace, peering into the darkness under the trees. It took him a moment to realize that Drusilla had actually been talking to him; she hadn't said a word to him since leaving the crypt, though she had talked to herself a great deal. "What was that?"

She frowned at him, tilting her head back in a predatory gaze. "William would be quite angry if his Mummy were ash."

"I don't intend to harm you. Unless you go back on your word." They had moved beyond the first trees now, heading east. The moon was just visible through the leaves of the tall oak and birch.

She laughed, a sound that Giles found disturbing at anytime. More so when he was alone with her. She turned a coy smile on him, "It's not you that'll play archer to me, t'will be Princess. I'll aim with pretty gold arrows, dove-feathered, at my apple."

Giles's brow furrowed. Drusilla's references were far-flung; she'd obviously had some classical education before her turning. This casual mention of Eros's weapon could be a response to the crossbow he carried, a premonition, or it might be a fancy concerning her childe. Best to find out now, rather than later when Spike was waking. "Do you mean Spike? Do you think he will come with you after this is over?"

She seemed affronted by his question. "William loves his Mummy." She said simply, as though that were answer enough.

His response was rote, something he knew to be suspect but that Council indoctrination still pushed to the front of his mind. "Vampires do not love."

She gave him a serious, but condescending smile and shook her head. "Oh, we can, you know. We can love quite well. If not wisely. And William loves his Mummy," she repeated in a firm tone.

Giles nodded slowly as he replied, "Yes, I'm sure he does. But you remember, Dru, you left him. He may choose not to..."

She wheeled suddenly on him, hissing. Giles could see her eyes threatening to spill over with yellow and gripped his crossbow tighter. "Ashes! What could I do with him betraying me, tasting of what she could give!" Dru gestured wildly in the direction they'd come from. She calmed suddenly, and in a dainty move ran her palms down the front of her dress. "There's still a chance for him to come back to Mummy. We'll make our family whole again."

Taken aback, Giles felt perhaps he should try another venue. "Surely, though, you realize he can no longer hunt. The government put a chip..."

She sneered at the trees. "Tin soldiers put funny little knick-knacks in his brain. Can't hunt! Can't hurt! Can't kill!"

"Yes," Giles agreed. "He could scarcely do what you'd require of him."

She snarled back. "I don't believe in science. All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone. No little tinker-toy could ever stop him from flowing. It's her that's done it," she finished a short growl. "I'll feed him proper, make him strong again, make him mine."

She stared at Giles for a few moments, as though daring him to contradict her, but he wasn't foolish enough to try again. Eventually she turned back to the trees, scanning unhappily for the demon they were hunting.

Giles found himself brought forcefully back to the conversation he'd been having with Xander earlier in the evening. They'd been talking about Spike and the way he'd taken to dogging Buffy's steps. Giles could believe that Spike was stalking Buffy, obsessed by the slayer he couldn't kill. But the manner in which Dru reacted to Buffy's presence in Spike's mind, her dark hints about Spike's attentions being focused elsewhere than on his sire...Giles found his fears that Spike had developed an attachment to Buffy confirmed.

Drusilla was unhinged, certainly, but he'd never known her perceptions to be wrong.

A crash sounded to his right, and he saw a glarghk guhl kashma'nik leap forward with a roar. Drusilla's frightening smile was carried over as she shifted to game face. Giles didn't hesitate to draw a bead on the creature's less vital areas.

________________________________________________________________________

*****Flash*****

She'd been trying to guess what Spike's first memory involving her would be, based on what she'd seen so far. The scenes with his family, his torture by Angelus, and his rejection by Cecily. She would have liked to think that her mom hitting him over the head with a shovel would have been on the list, but she knew that it wouldn't. Sure, he'd been disappointed then – heck, he'd been about to kill his third slayer – but he must have known he'd have other chances.

No, Spike's thoughts on her right now could only start in one place, at one time.

The Spike of three years ago pulled his fangs out of the frightened girl he'd been feeding on. He was surrounded by minions and victims, in what used to be a club. He was staring with a good mix of fear and hatred at Buffy circa '97, who was holding a stake to Drusilla's chest. "Everybody STOP!" He yelled, ordering his minions to retract their fangs.

Buffy watched her sixteen year-old self smile tightly and reply, "Good idea. Now you let everyone out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray."

Drusilla whimpered quietly, "Spike?"

Spike looked reassuringly at her, though both Buffy's could tell he was scared. "It's gonna be alright, baby. Let them go!" The other vampires let go of the idiot vamp worshippers, who took off as fast as they could run.

"Down the stairs," Buffy the Younger told Spike. He backed down as she moved up. When she reached the top she shoved Drusilla down at him. Spike caught Drusilla, holding her tight enough to crush bones in his relief. An instant later he was chasing Buffy, but the door wouldn't open. He descended back to Dru, taking her in his arms and murmuring softly. They clung tightly to each other.

Buffy the Elder walked up to the couple and spoke loudly. "Spike! Spike listen to me. This is a memory. It's not real. Spike? Spike!"

Spike continued to console Drusilla, clearly unaware of the slayer that was now jumping up and down beside him.

*****Flash*****

Okay, what the heck? Spike knew who she was now. She should be able to reach him. Shouldn't she? She should have had Willow or Giles come with her. They were better at figuring out this kind of thing than her.

She looked around at the newest memory. She was in a large, dark room that had one wall lined with dolls and another decorated with chains. Obviously a lair. There was a bed in the center that had one occupant. Spike. Buffy peered through the dim candle light, trying to get a better look him. He was apparently asleep. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his bare legs stuck out limply from the bottom of his blanket, which meant...

Yep, totally naked vampire lying under those sheets.

Buffy was caught between blushing and wanting to get a closer look. It was Spike, he was...not-all-that-evil, ally-type with really good fighting style. But not at all someone she should want to ogle. It wasn't like she'd never realized he was attractive. Numero Uno, Buffy Summers was not blind. Numero Dos, Buffy Summers was temporarily engaged to Spike last year. After that much time in close contact with Spike's lips, there was no way she could have missed that he was, well, hot.

She'd seen it that first night at the Bronze, before she even realized he was a vampire. It was obvious. Sculpted cheeks, slim but muscular build, bad boy image. He oozed sexuality in a clean and well kept way that the average vampire couldn't pull off. The average vampire didn't shower or floss, something Buffy knew for a fact. Spike at least knew what toothpaste was, since Giles had complained one day about the vampire using up all of his.

When he fought he was beautiful. Elegant. Poetry. Not the kind of poetry he wrote. The kind of poetry that Shakespeare and those others guys wrote. And she admired his form.

But Spike was off limits. He was a vampire. He might love deeply and with his entire being, he might be unfailingly loyal, and he might have a poet's heart, but he was still vampire. Soulless. But not the Angelus kind of soulless. Because Spike was nothing like Angelus or Dru.

Okay, back to reality Buffy. Or Spike's version of it. Now was not the time to debate Spike's attractiveness. And really, there was no debate. Spike was sexy, just not on the menu. She walked closer to the bed, steeling herself to look at the naked vampire she was trying to help. As she got closer, she realized he was injured. His left side was badly burned, as though he'd been caught in a fire...

The fire at the church Spike had done Drusilla's ritual in. When Buffy'd knocked him into a church organ. When he'd broken his back. Right on cue, Spike's eyes opened. She could see his disorientation, his surprise, his pain. The wounds on his side must have been hurting him. Then he tried to sit up.

Panic blossomed in his eyes. He reached clumsily for the head board, pulling himself up with the bars. Buffy couldn't imagine what it felt like, suddenly realizing that part of you no longer worked. He threw back the blanket, giving Buffy a full frontal view that she tried desperately to ignore. That job was made easier by Spike's obvious terror as he ran his hands along his legs, trying to get some sensation from them.

Where was Dru during all of this? She should have been here, waiting for him to wake up, to comfort him. He didn't deserve to be alone when he found out something as horrible as this.

He reached into a drawer in the little bedside table to his left. He grabbed a knife out of it and in one swift movement plunged it three inches deep into his left thigh. He stared at it, mouth slightly ajar, clearly not feeling its presence in his flesh. He poked the hilt of the knife, as though willing himself to feel it. But it wasn't helping.

His eyes were moist with unshed tears as he yelled as loud as he could, "Drusilla!" He yanked the knife out of himself and threw it across the room. He rolled toward the edge of the bed and yelled again for his sire, his voice thick. Suddenly he seemed to lose his balance and tumbled off the edge of the bed. He landed hard on the floor, unable to break his own fall.

He lay shivering on the ground, in too much in shock to do anything but cry. Eventually Drusilla came in and began cooing over him, but he still wept. Her desire to reach out to him was as strong as it had been in the earlier memories. There was just something in both Spike and William that called to her, beyond trust and beyond physical attraction. She was starting to like him. As in Like.

Shit. Giles was going to kill her.

*****

Chapter 11

 

The sickening sound of Dru and Angelus screwing was getting uncomfortably familiar to Buffy.

Well, obviously in this memory Angel had already lost his soul. Buffy was in the Crawford Street Mansion, judging from the creepy hallway, and the two vampires she could hear through the door she was facing. So that also meant this was after the Judge, after Jenny's death, and after Giles burned down the factory.

Back then the Scoobies had been moving between disasters, from the kid-killing demon at the hospital to the possession of the school to the transformation of the swim team into fishy demons. It was the big lull in Angelus's attacks before Acathla. She had figured he spent the time plotting up new tortures for her and her friends. But surprise, he was actually screwing Drusilla into the carpet.

Buffy turned from the door, ready to find something else to listen to, and came face to face with Spike. Or she would have, if he weren't sitting in his wheel chair. Once again, he didn't act as though he saw her. In fact, he looked like he was staring through her, right at the door that hid Angelus and Dru. Buffy stepped closer to wave her hand in front of his eyes, but he continued to focus on the door behind her.

The burns on the side of his face were mostly healed now. She could see the jaw muscles below both his cheeks tense with anger. His eyes radiated loss and a feeling of, not disbelief, but betrayed sadness. Buffy supposed it could have been because he was thinking about Dru's unfaithfulness. It must have been horrible, to have her leave him after all those years he'd cared for her after Darla left. After he'd saved her in Prague. After he'd loved her with everything he had. But it wasn't enough for Dru.

It must have been like being reduced to fledgling status all over again. Just without the ability to move freely. Buffy reached her hand up without thinking, running her fingers along his left cheek. She could feel the softness of his skin and the hard, sharp bone beneath, but still he didn't respond. His eyes never moved, his head never shifted, almost as though he were in another world.

Maybe he couldn't feel her because it wasn't really her body touching him, just astral projections of her fingers. It felt real enough to Buffy, so why wouldn't it feel real to Spike's mental projection of himself? If that's what this was. This was a memory, something that had already happened. Maybe Spike wasn't actually here in the way Buffy was. Could he be watching all of this? Or could he only feel and see what the memories let through?

Perhaps she'd never had any chance of reaching him in these memories. All of this was in the past. Spike was part of the present. So where was the present him? Not in the wheel chair in front of her. He was buried in here somewhere; he might be on a level she hadn't reached yet.

The Spike of this memory slowly looked down at the stone floor of the hall. His arms reached for the wheels of his chair, and he backed away from the door. He headed down the hallway, with Buffy following him. She heard a T.V. laugh track a few moments before they entered a room containing three minions. They were watching re-runs of an old seventies game show, judging by the huge amounts of orange in the set decoration.

They were seated on a ragged claw-foot sofa, and though they must have heard Spike enter, they didn't stand to greet him. They didn't look at him at all. Buffy hadn't spent much time in vampire courts, but she was fairly certain that this was not the way minions treated masters. Unless they wanted to be dusted. Spike seemed annoyed, but not surprised by their behavior. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to get their attention, but not one turned a head in his direction. "Hey," Spike said forcefully a moment later, "I want one of you to go get me something to eat. Now."

Finally, the least Cro-Magnon looking of the three sighed in annoyance and met his gaze. "Go get it yourself. You aren't our Master anymore, and our show's on." He didn't wait for Spike's response; instead, he went back to watching the game show.

"Yeah," one of the other minions grunted. "Go hunt for yourself. Wheels."

Spike's eyes shifted to gold for a moment, sparking with anger, then suddenly back to the cool human blue they had been. He looked so lost, wandering in sad thoughts. But he said nothing. He wheeled his chair out of the room and into the corridor, continuing along it past other rooms, some of them filled with minions. Buffy supposed they all thought he was a joke now.

Angelus probably encouraged them to laugh at Spike. Look at the poor, helpless vampire. Angelus probably ordered them not to feed Spike, too. That was why he'd been so thin when he came to Buffy's rescue while the police were arresting her for Kendra's death. No wonder Spike had been willing to come to the slayer for help against Angelus. And he had still waited months before betraying his grandsire. Only when Angelus wanted to start the next apocalypse did Spike turn against his elder.

Loyal to the last. That was Spike.

Buffy followed him as he rolled down the hallway, until they turned a corner to face an open doorway. Spike paused his wheelchair before reaching the door, and a good thing too, because the doorway led to some kind of garden. A currently very sunny garden. For several long moments Spike stared at the line of sunlight a few feet beyond him, his eyes glazed and his face taught. Then he braced his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed himself upward.

The chair shook from the weight he was putting on it and his arms quivered as his feet slid off onto the ground. He forced himself to balance on his stiff, shivering legs, before removing his hands with care from his wheelchair's arms. He was upright. He lifted one unsteady foot and took a step toward the sunlight.

"God, Spike, no. She isn't worth it," Buffy murmured. She was tired of being quiet in this place, saving up her words to try and reach him. It didn't matter if she spoke to his image, since it couldn't hear her. "You're better than this Spike. Really."

His steps, short and awkward though they were, carried him toward the light. His brow began to sweat with the effort each inch's advance took. Until finally, his atrophied muscles gave and he sank to the ground. He lay still a moment, then crawled, not toward the sun, but toward the wall. He propped his back against it and using his hands managed to straighten his legs. He stared at the sun for a moment, then turned away, tears forming in his eyes. His hands came up to cover his face and mute his sobs.

Buffy kneeled down beside him and laid a hand uselessly on his shoulder. "Can't even kill yourself the way you want to, huh? You know, I bet you're glad this plan failed. I know I am. If you'd died I would have watched the world end from a jail cell."

 

Spike was standing with his back to a small open air café or bar, judging by the sea of white metal tables behind him. Farther back stood a stucco building with Spanishy architecture. Fairy lights had been strung between poles ringing the café so that the scene was very bright, even though it was dark outside. Drusilla was sitting at a table near Spike, and there was a slimy demon with antlers standing to one side. So that was a chaos demon. Buffy watched a thin strand of his ooze stretch and fall to the ground. Bleagh.

Drusilla's taste could not be explained. She had a perfectly loyal and reasonably attractive vampire to dote on her and she went out after hours to play with Mr. Ooze. This had to be the moment when she broke up with Spike, the incident he'd cried about in her mother's kitchen.

Drusilla's intense stare was trained on Spike's back. "Why can't you kill her?"

Spike wheeled, obviously furious. "You're the one who keeps bringing her up!" He began pacing. "I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"

Dru shook her head, a sorrowful expression on her face. "But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"

That was odd. Spike always said Dru couldn't stand him because he'd made the deal to stop Acathla. To judge from what Dru was saying, they'd actually been fighting more about his obsession with Buffy rather than his betrayal of Angelus. Well, that explained why Spike came all the way back to California to try to kill her, even if he hadn't managed it.

So Spike was fixated on slayers. Big whoop. Was that a surprise to anybody? Surely Dru, who'd been around when he killed the first two, understood that. Dru was nuts, and that explained a lot, but Buffy couldn't figure out why she thought Spike's fascination with Sunnydale's slayer was such a threat.

Spike shook his head, looking as confused as Buffy felt. "But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this." He gestured toward the chaos demon.

The demon looked uncomfortable. "Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here," he said, gesturing between the two vampires with a mug of beer.

Drusilla spoke in earnest. "I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."

Spike pointed at the chaos demon in outrage. "So this is my fault now?"

Buffy noticed the demon was getting more uncomfortable. Maybe he'd heard of Spike's reputation, or maybe he just wanted to get out of this awkward situation. He smiled nervously as he spoke. "I didn't know she was seeing somebody. I should take off."

Spike crossed his arms with a frown. "Yeah, why don't you do that?"

The demon blew Dru a kiss before striding off, leaving a sticky trail behind on the dirt. Drusilla watched his retreat for a few moments before turning back to her former boyfriend. "You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."

Without giving Spike a chance to reply, she stood and loped after the tall antlered monstrosity. Spike stayed frozen for a few seconds before striding after Dru. But she was already gone from sight, without having ever looked back. His steps slowed until once again he was standing still.

Out of the corner of her eye Buffy caught movement. A waiter with very curly horns sticking out over his ears walked cautiously toward Spike carrying a tray with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. "Senor? The lady and gentleman have left?"

Spike laughed, a dry, hoarse chuckle. "Yeah. They're gone." The waiter bowed and made to leave. "Wait. Leave the bottle."

"Si, Senor." He left the tequila on the table nearest Spike and trotted away as fast as his hooves would carry him. Spike grabbed the bottle by the neck and swung it to his lips, drinking the clear liquid rapidly. Obviously he wanted to get started on the bender that would take him back to Sunnydale.

It was strange to know that she was the real reason Dru and Spike had broken up. Before, she'd been one of several reasons, but now it, it seemed like she was the person that had come between them more than any other. Yet one more thing Spike had managed to overcome hating her for. She was going to have to make this up to him, somehow. She felt bad that his good act had brought him so much pain.

She didn't, however, feel guilty for separating him from Drusilla. No, Buffy wanted him as far from his sire as possible. Not because of the recently discovered fact that she was starting to like Spike in a more than friends way. That wasn't a factor because she wouldn't let it be one. Dru was bad for Spike, and Buffy wanted him to continue to fight for the right side. That was it. Yes. No jealousy. Nobody mentioned jealous Buffy.

 

It was another break up scene between Spike and his sire. It must have been after he returned from Sunnydale to win her back. Buffy wondered if he really did torture her into submission. Whatever he did, it didn't go far to convince Dru that he'd given up thinking about Buffy. She threw him away as she had before, ranting about ashes and little Buffys dancing around his head.

The only real difference this time was that it was a fungus demon, not a chaos demon, that Dru went chasing after. And wow, but that thing made the chaos demon look pretty. And the smell...ugh.

And that was the end of Spike and Dru.

*****
 

Chapter 12

The sun shone brightly inside Spike's mind. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, with a light breeze to let everyone know that fall was around the corner. Buffy remembered this day oh so well. She was standing in the commons of UC Sunnydale, watching the Buffy of last year fighting Spike, Gem of Amara on his finger.

This was how Spike lost his chance to walk in the sun ever again. That was why he was reliving this memory. He'd been a god among vampires for maybe half an hour, then he'd lost it all.

He was in the middle of one of his speeches. It was amazing, when Buffy thought about it, how often he made speeches, and usually to her. She could remember the words of every one of them clearly. It had shocked her when she first realized that Spike knew as much about giving lectures as Giles. The idea wasn't as outrageous to her now that she'd seen what a brainiac Spike was when he didn't play at being a badass.

Caustic as his words tended to be, Spike's observations were always spot on, something else that she valued in him. The 'You'll never be Friends' speech to herself and Angel in the Magic Box was an insightful tear jerker that helped her see the need to move forward. The 'History and Conquest' tirade at the Thanksgiving Chumash attack might possibly have influenced her A minus final history paper during that first college semester. Then there was the sermon in the alley behind the Bronze a couple weeks ago...

She'd suffered his cutting words on innumerable occasions, but the rant this memory of Spike was on currently was the one she hated most. Not because he ridiculed her about Parker. He was right; she'd been naïve and innocent. She hadn't known who Parker really was, any more than she'd truly known Angel when they first came together. Parker hadn't deserved her brief affection, but she'd been too caught up in him to recognize that. Spike had seen, as he always did. Then he went a step too far.

Spike delivered a powerful kick to freshman Buffy, speaking in a superior tone of voice. "I wonder what went wrong. Were you too strong? Did you bruise the boy?" Right there. That's where Spike lost this fight. It wasn't bad enough to ridicule her history with men. He had to make her remember how strange and different she was. She was the slayer. A freak. "Come to think of it seems like someone told me that. Who was it? Oh, yeah. Angel."

Her previous self jumped up and kicked Spike over a planter. She had him down in seconds, her hand on the ring. "Take it off me this way, we both burn."

She hadn't cared. She wanted him gone. "Really? Let's see." The ring slid off and Spike howled in pain, running for the nearest sewer.

Her hatred for Spike had been at its peak at this moment in time. Mostly because he continued to force her to see realities she wanted to ignore. She was the slayer, something she should have accepted a long time ago. It was old news, but still it hurt sometimes to know that 'normal' was beyond her reach. She'd tried for normal. She'd dated Riley. But was Riley normal? He was an ex-super soldier getting suck jobs behind her back. If that was normal, she'd rather have the life of a slayer. Oh, wait, she did.

Buffy supposed what she really wanted wasn't normal; it was the security she associated with normal. Things like friendship and love. Well then maybe she'd already reached her equivalent of normal. She had good friends, at least. Of whom Spike was going to be one. She had her mom and her sister. And her newly reinstated watcher. They all supported her, even if they didn't always understand what she was feeling. They all loved her.

Except Spike of course. He didn't love her. He was a vampire. Not that he couldn't love; just that, what vampire in his right mind would love a slayer? For example: Angel. Split-personality, serious control issues with and without the soul. Not all there. Not that Spike was what she'd call completely sane.

Yet Spike was the one that knew her best. That was the real reason she listened to him spout his theories at her, even when he was evil. Because he understood what it meant to be her.

He had begun to treat her like a friend. What would it be like, she wondered absently, if he were to love her? It was silly. Even if she was starting to crush on Spike the tiniest little bit – ugh, she sounded like Dawn – it didn't mean he would be interested.

*****Flash*****

Spike was standing on a rise above the college, staring down at freshman Buffy on patrol down below and talking to himself, "Watch your mouth, little girl. You should know better than to tempt the fates that way. 'Cause the big bad is back, and this time, it's..."

He was too intent on her to sense the masked soldiers creeping up behind him. One of them aimed his taser at Spike's back, and fired. Buffy heard the wind rush out of Spike's lungs as he hit the ground, stunned.

A pair of soldiers grabbed him, dragging him along the ground toward a van Buffy could see parked on the street behind them. They weren't exactly gentle, and being bumped on the ground over and over forced Spike to rouse himself. Buffy followed along, watching as he took quick stock of the Initiative soldiers.

He kicked himself free of the pair dragging him just as they reached the van, but there were five others in the squad that ringed him. He was on his feet in an instant, kicking their taser muzzles away from him. Spike punched at their faces, kicked their knee caps, and dodged blows, trying to break through the circle they formed around him.

Seven against one wouldn't have been so bad with regular humans. But the Initiative had been pumping these guys full of steroids for months, maybe years. One of them managed to bring the butt of his weapon down on the back of Spike's neck. He stumbled, and they mobbed him. They couldn't shoot him without the risk of hitting each other, but that didn't mean they couldn't beat the hell out of him.

Spike disappeared under the mounds of bodies, all punching and kicking him simultaneously. It looked almost as though he were being smothered by the black mass. Buffy caught sight of his arms and legs, flailing and trying to aim punches, but unable to make an impact.

She saw his head hit the ground, but they kept kicking him in the stomach. God, it was horrible. At last a voice Buffy recognized called out, "Whoa, whoa! Stand down, stand down. Dr. Walsh doesn't like her specimens permanently damaged. Tranq him and get him in the van." Riley, leading the troops. It wasn't that he minded them beating up the vampire, just that Dr. Walsh might get angry. That was his logic.

One of the other boys pulled out a tranquilizer gun and aimed it at Spike. When he spoke, Buffy realized it was Forrest behind the mask. "Okay, Dracula. Welcome to the Initiative. 'Cause you're never gonna leave." Then he fired, hitting Spike in the chest.

*****Flash*****

It was her old dorm room. The one she'd shared with Willow. College, like memories of Parker, seemed so distant. They were before Glory and Dawn, before her mother's illness. Before she got over hating Spike.

Speaking of Spike. He was sitting on Willow's bed...with Willow. This must have been how Spike discovered about the chip after he escaped the Initiative. Buffy could read the tension in his frame, his hands clenched on the blankets he was sitting on with Willow. The redhead had been crying recently, probably over Oz, since he'd left not long before this. "I don't understand. This sort of thing's never happened to me before."

Willow didn't look too scared, more puzzled. "Maybe you were nervous."

Spike frowned, and shrugged. "I felt all right when I started. Let's try again." He leaped suddenly at Willow, causing her to shriek, but pulled back when the chip fired. He tried again, but as before he couldn't touch her without electricity shooting through his brain. "Ow! Oh! Ow! Damn it!" He stood, kicked the dresser, and started to pace.

Willow's brow furrowed as she tried to come up with an explanation for Spike. Buffy had to smile. Here Willow was in danger of being eaten, and she still managed to be concerned for her fellow beings. "Maybe you're trying too hard. Doesn't this happen to every vampire?"

Affronted, Spike growled, "Not to me, it doesn't!" His voice sounded panicked. Buffy didn't blame him. She'd ridiculed Spike when he came to stay with Giles, happy about his predicament. But now it felt familiar to her. It reminded her a little of the Cruciamentum. She'd been a slayer one morning and then suddenly, with no explanation she'd lost her powers. She couldn't do the ordinary things she'd been doing for years. And she'd only been a slayer for three years; Spike had been a vampire for over a century. How much worse was it for him after all that time to discover that he couldn't be in charge of his own life any longer? That his means of survival was taken from him.

Willow spoke quietly, "It's me, isn't it?"

Spike paused his pacing. "What are you talking about?"

Willow looked almost as though she were about to cry. "Well, you came looking for Buffy, then settled. I--I... You didn't want to bite me. I just happened to be around."

Spike snorted. "Piffle!"

Willow continued to babble. "I know I'm not the kind of girl vamps like to sink their teeth into. It's always like, 'ooh, you're like a sister to me,' or, 'oh, you're such a good friend.'"

Spike had probably figured out by now that Willow wasn't actually anxious to be bitten, just acknowledged. He shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'd bite you in a heartbeat."

"Really?" Willow sounded so hopeful.

Spike sat back down on the bed beside her. "Thought about it."

 

"When?" Willow asked eagerly.

Spike mused for a moment, then smiled. "Remember last year, you had on that... fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?" Spike directed one of his sly smiles and as much charm as he could manage under the circumstances at her. Other than the fact that he was there to kill Willow, he was really being quite sweet. Buffy wondered if he recognized how rejected Willow had felt after Oz left. He probably did. He knew what that was like too well not to realize. And even though he was scared because he couldn't bite Willow, he was still taking the time to comfort her. His prey.

The redhead perked up a little at his praise, in spite of the reminder that Spike had kidnapped Xander and herself in the memory he mentioned. "I never would have guessed. You played the blood-lust kinda cool."

He nodded. "Mmm. I hate being obvious. All fang-y and 'rrrr!' Takes the mystery out."

Willow prodded just a little farther, seeking that last bit of reassurance. "But if you could..."

He nodded again, giving her another sad, nervous smile. "If I could, yeah."

Willow put her hand on his arm. "You know, this doesn't make you any less terrifying."

Spike shook his head violently, tense jaw muscles revealing his fears as he stared at the floor, eyes wide and moist. "Don't patronize me." He paused for a moment. "I'm only 126." Again Buffy felt the urge to touch him, reassure him.

"You're being too hard on yourself." Buffy heard the change in Willow's tone from sincerity to distraction as Willow eyed the bedside lamp. Spike having been kind to Willow didn't change the fact that he came there to eat her. "Why don't we wait a half an hour and try again? Or..." She grabbed the lamp and smacked Spike over the head before running for the door. It was locked, but the Initiative saved her the trouble of having to unlock it by breaking in. Willow ran out. One of the soldiers pointed his weapon at her, but Riley ordered him not to shoot.

Spike charged out of the room, smashing one of the soldiers into the wall. He tried to bite the man but the chip kicked in. He struggled frantically as the soldiers piled onto him in a frightening reenactment of his initial capture. They'd caught him again. When he stopped struggling, the soldiers started a debate on whether or not to take Willow with them.

Spike waited for a few seconds then burst out of the arms holding him. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and hit the nearest commando over the head. One of them fired a gun at Spike, but he blocked the shot with the extinguisher. It exploded, giving him the smoke screen he needed to get away.

Buffy was unspeakably glad that he'd escaped. If Riley's crew had recaptured him...it was too frightening to think about what they would have done to one of her favorite vampires.

*****

Chapter 13

Giles pushed open the crypt's door, nodding in greeting to Xander, who had been standing on guard near the entrance. The young man looked warily for Drusilla, and not seeing her glanced at Giles, his eyes questioning. "She's outside," he replied to Xander's unvoiced query. "Guarding the demon."

"It isn't dead?" Xander asked, confused.

Giles shook his head wearily. "No. Unconscious. We may not be able to remove the venom if it's dead. We'll dispatch it after Spike's awake." He set his crossbow atop the nearest sarcophagus before leaning heavily against the stone.

Willow and Tara had moved Spike's coffee table to one side, setting their cauldron and tripod up in its place. A small magic fire, fueled only by will, heated the steaming contents of the pot while Tara stirred carefully. Three strokes clockwise, three strokes counterclockwise, and then again. Willow had been watching, but rose and came to stand near the two men. "Are you okay, Giles? You look kinda tired. And dusty," she added, looking over his disheveled clothes.

He snorted. "Yes, well, the the glarghk guhl kashma'nik as a species are not known for giving in without a substantial fight, even against a master vampire and a well-armed human." He flexed his left hand, the knuckles of which were bruised. "I assure you, Willow, that I'm fine. Just, as you say, tired. And perhaps a bit sore."

Xander frowned, but didn't comment. "Okay. So what now?"

"We extract a sample of the venom and complete the antidote," Giles replied. "How soon will you be ready to include the venom in the potion?"

Willow thought for a moment. "Well, it's got another...say, sixty strokes before we can add the final ingredient, and then it needs to brew for half an hour."

Giles nodded. "Then in an hour we'd best be prepared for a ripe bit of chaos. Drusilla believes Spike is going to leave Sunnydale with her when she goes. I sincerely doubt that he will, given their recent history."

"You think she'll go crazy?" Xander half-smiled when Giles and Willow raised their eyebrows. "I mean, crazier than she already is?"

Giles shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea what we're in for."

________________________________________________________________________

*****Flash*****

Spike was running from the Initiative. It sounded simple enough, but Buffy had never considered what exactly fleeing from them involved. Hiding out in a crypt maybe, or racing through the sewers. The scenario she was watching play out now, in Spike's head, consisted of a string of memories taken from different places and different days that bled together into one long nightmare.

They hunted him furiously. It amazed Buffy that a single vampire, even one as special as Spike, would entice them into such a long and fruitless chase. But then of course Dr. Maggie Walsh didn't want one of her precious experiments, like Spike's chip, to get away.

And so for a week he evaded capture.

First he tried to get his car from a cave on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The soldiers patrolled that area, though, and he had to fall back. He cased the bus terminal, the train station, even a rental car agency in his desperation to find a way out of Sunnydale. Always the presence of soldiers, monitoring the town they'd secretly claimed.

Leaving wasn't possible, so he concentrated on staying clear of the soldiers. Spike couldn't stay still for more than a couple hours at a time, because they were always following. He could hide in a cellar for a little while, or a cavern, but could never rest for long. An hour's sleep and then he was moving again, night and day pursued. He could move faster at night, because he didn't have to spread a blanket over his head for the sun, but it was never fast enough to lose the commandos.

Buffy watched him try to break into a butcher's shop one night, since he'd obviously accepted that he couldn't feed from humans. But the Initiative had counted on that. They were there waiting as Spike broke the glass. He ran fast for a creature that hadn't eaten in days, too scared to let his weakness affect his speed. When the commandos were far enough behind he collapsed on the nearest patch of grass, dry heaving from the exertion. Nothing came up. Then he stood and continued to trudge forward.

On another occasion, Spike stumbled on uneven ground, falling and skinning his palms, but unable to pause for more than a moment. He picked himself up and licked morosely at the blood as it welled up through the cuts. Buffy could hear his short, low growls as he tasted his own blood, the first he'd sampled in a long while.

He went back to Harmony and begged. That went well. Not. She chased him away with a stake. Buffy couldn't bring herself to say Harmony was unjustified after what Spike had put her through, but...he was literally starving.

As the days had passed he'd grown paler, his skin turning grey. His red eyes pleaded for sympathy, dark circles highlighting his lack of rest. His clothing hung loose on his frame as he clutched his duster to him to block out the cold. Pitiable. Like that statue they talked about in art classes. Spike needed help. That was how he came to stand on Giles's doorstep and beg admittance.

*****Flash*****

Spike walked out of a bar on Seventh Street, swaying ever so slightly. He wasn't exactly drunk, just less than sober. He paused just outside the door, looking around for possible threats, Buffy figured. The street before him was deserted, though, so he pulled his coat close around him and headed in the general direction of Restfield Cemetery. If he was living at the Alpert Crypt, then this had to be after Giles got turned into a Fyarl. She couldn't place the time more exactly than that.

Huh. She'd half expected memories from his time among the Scoobies. Being chained in the bathtub at Giles's, being forced by Willow's spell to kiss his worst enemy. The big baby must not have hated it as much he let on. And after all, Buffy wasn't that bad of a kisser. Actually, she was relieved that as unkind as they had sometimes been to the poor vampire, they hadn't ranked among these wretched experiences.

Spike looked so small, clutching his leather duster to him and wandering down the empty street. Only, it suddenly wasn't as empty as it had been. Three guys had exited the club after Spike. They were all a bit over six feet tall and kind of burly. The first had a shaved head and four earrings in one earlobe, the second had a pierced chin and a clashing orange t-shirt and green jeans, and the final member of the trio looked like King Kong. Really. The man was seriously hairy.

They were more than just your common everyday pick pockets. Buffy could tell murderers from muggers any day. It came from hanging out in so many dark places. These guys were dangerous. Their shadows fell long and ominous in the low glow from the streetlights.

They didn't seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. They stood on the sidewalk, laughing at something one of them had said and smoking. Then Baldy, who appeared to be the leader, looked in the direction Spike had taken a few moments before. Spike was only about two blocks away, his back to them. Baldy looked to his two friends and nodded in Spike's direction. They seemed to reach some silent agreement and headed after the blonde.

Oh God. The chip. Spike was chipped. These idiots were going to catch up to him and he wouldn't be able to stop them from doing whatever the hell they wanted.

Spike didn't seem to notice their approach, more proof that he'd been drinking. When he finally looked over his shoulder Buffy saw his instant comprehension of the situation he was in. It came with a flash of fear so brief that most people wouldn't have noticed it, but then she'd gotten accustomed to reading Spike's face. The face which now became closed, with hooded, arrogant eyes, and smile of self-confidence and disdain in place. A mask was now his primary protection.

He released his duster to flow around his body, changing his shadow and his impact in the process. He didn't stop walking, but went with a firmer stride. His whole persona switched from pitiable to something threatening and powerful. An intelligent gang wouldn't have targeted him, since he appeared to be nothing like prey. He was pure predator.

It was good defense, and in fact the only defense he could put forward with the chip.

But it was ignored. The three stooges continued to close in on him, fanning out to cut off his escape routes. They got to within ten feet of him before Spike began to run. The bald leader shouted "Where you goin' Billy Idol?" as he and his three followers sped up their pursuit. Spike streaked down the road, far outstripping them in his flight toward the end of the block.

He leaped out into the road straight into the path of an oncoming car. The driver swerved, hitting him a glancing blow before speeding off. Spike overbalanced, hit the ground, then scrambled up to try and escape, but his stalkers had caught up with him.

Kong tackled him from behind, skinning Spike's cheek on the asphalt below them. Spike fought back on instinct, landing a solid blow to Kong's shoulder that only succeeded in triggering the chip. Spike moaned and went rigid, temporarily paralyzed. Kong and the jerk in the orange shirt grabbed him under his shoulders and drug him off the street. They pulled him to his feet then threw him back first at the wall of the building beside them.

Baldy, who ran like a five year old girl, finally came up. He grabbed Spike's hair at the top of his head, slamming his skull back into the bricks. Buffy could see a red stain spreading out from the point of impact. Baldy began jamming his hands in Spike's duster pockets. He found Spike's cash and a packet of cigarettes, stashing both in his own coat. "Fuck. You're pathetic, aren't, you Billy? Won't even fight back."

"Maybe he likes it!" Snickered the orange shirt.

"Yeah," Kong laughed, "Look at those clothes. He's a fag."

"That right, Billy?" Baldy asked with a sneer. "You into us? Let's see." He grabbed Spike's crotch roughly.

Spike snarled and vamped out, trying to scare them. Kong and the orange shirt flinched as Baldy jumped back. With the other man's support gone Spike couldn't seem to stand and slide down the wall into a crouch on the sidewalk.

"What the hell?" Orange shirt yelled.

"It's a trick!" Baldy shouted as he pulled a gun that had been well-concealed in the small of his back to aim at Spike's head. "Stop whatever the fuck that shit is or I'll blow your head off!" He cocked his gun.

Buffy had never seen a vamp who'd been shot through the head. She wasn't sure what kind of damage a bullet would do, let alone how much pain it would cause. Spike must not have felt it worth the risk of a bullet, and slowly his game face melted away.

Baldy lowered the gun a fraction and in an angry, disbelieving voice demanded, "You like playin' games, Billy? What are you, you freak?"

"Please," Spike said quietly, his eyes screwed shut.

"Please?" Kong asked with a laugh.

"You've got my cash. Please, just take it and go." He winced, eyes still closed, as though it pained him to ask. It hurt Buffy to watch him forced to beg this scum. To cower before humans he wouldn't have bothered to eat a few years ago. She was going to beat the crap out of these idiots if she ever found them. She'd never felt tempted to seriously harm a human being before seeing them.

"Yeah," Baldy snorted, "we'll leave." then he fired. Three shots hit Spike in the chest. His eyes snapped open and he howled in pain. Then seizing his only chance, he slumped over, feigning death.

His assailants laughed to themselves, having, like all denial-ridden citizens in Sunnydale, discarded the notion that they'd met a vampire. They did leave, but not before Kong kicked Spike in the stomach as a farewell. Spike didn't flinch, probably expecting it.

He didn't move after they left, just stayed lying on his side while tears spilled out of his eyes and blood trickled slowly from his chest.

"Stop this Spike. I know you're in here somewhere." Buffy said tiredly. "Stop torturing yourself like this."

Buffy couldn't take much more of this emotional abuse. Watching and unable to stop Spike's robbery and molestation by three of the people her job said to protect did nothing to ease her mind. But she'd nearly reached the present she'd come from. There couldn't be more than one or two more memories between her and Spike. Could there? Or did this just go on and on and on...

*****

Chapter 14

*****Flash*****

Spike was standing outside her window on Revello Drive, beside the tree she had used to climb out of her bedroom in her early days in Sunnydale. His feet were spread, his shoulders back, and his face tilted upward. His left hand rested in his duster pocket while his right hand dangled at his side, holding a forgotten cigarette.

Buffy could remember catching Spike behind that tree and pulling him out of hiding a couple weeks ago. Cigarette butts had littered the ground, proof that he'd lingered for a long while, watching her house. Judging from this memory, he made a practice of watching her.

She knew that occasionally Spike snuck into her house. She'd caught him at that, too. He'd claimed that he was stealing junk from the basement to pawn. Between the Queller demon, her mom's surgery, Riley, and the daily Dawn crisis, she'd never taken the time to confront Spike about his new hobby. She should have been outraged by his behavior, but it didn't actually bother her all that much. He never took anything important, he probably needed the money, and he never made any move to harm her family.

She found it infinitely more disturbing that he still spied on her than that he foraged in her cellar. When he stole, it was just about money, about survival. That she could respect, even if it was annoying to have him pop up at random in the dark. But stalking her was personal. Why would he feel a need to track her movements as he did when they were enemies?

Buffy shook her head. She needed to stop jumping to conclusions about Spike's motives. When she'd first entered his head she'd known that she could rely on him. She knew him well enough now to know how difficult betrayal was for him. Whatever this memory was, it wasn't about Spike trying to find her weaknesses.

He already knew them all, anyway.

Maybe she could get a clue if she figured out what he was watching. The problem was that he really couldn't see anything from this angle. No curtains were open on his level and all the lights were off in the house. It wasn't that late at night, judging by the moon. Her mom and Dawn would have been up if they were home. Spike would surely have been inside now, though, if the house were empty.

Spike's eyes drifted closed, and his head cocked to one side as though he were listening. Listening to something she was doing in her house with the lights off. If Buffy concentrated hard enough, she could hear a low moaning sound coming from the second floor of the house, in the vicinity of her bedroom. It was the sound that Riley made when they were...God. Spike was listening to her boink Riley.

Ewww. That was just creepy. Why the hell was he doing that? Did he think they were his own personal porn channel?

But he didn't really look like he was enjoying this. Good thing, because otherwise she was going to slap him when they got back to real life, friendship and mild crush not withstanding. He certainly didn't look turned on. Actually, Spike looked almost pained. Sad and resigned, much as he had when Dru had gone off to play with Angelus, while remaining within earshot of her adoring, but heartbroken, childe.

Judging by the sudden grunt upstairs, Riley had just finished up. The sounds faded to heavy breathing and then to nothing at all. Spike's head bowed forward, his eyes opening to stare blankly at the ground. Buffy was reminded forcibly of his memories as William. Uncertainty and distress radiated from beneath the cool, graceful vampiric exterior, the inner humanity in Spike showing clearly.

Buffy was going to make a wild guess and say that Spike wasn't upset about Riley's love-life. Open-minded as she knew vampires tended to be about sex in general, Spike held only hate for the former Initiative soldier. That meant that what bothered him about this situation was the fact that Buffy was up there with Riley. Spike seemed, well, jealous that Riley was with Buffy.

Was it possible that Spike was interested in her, the way she was starting to be interested in him? No, that was crazy. Surely she would have noticed a thing like that. But there he stood, that discomfited look on his face that only showed up when the people he adored kicked him in the teeth.

Perhaps she'd seen the signs but explained them away as something else. Maybe that was the real reason he'd been watching her, following her around on patrol and home to her house. He always had an insult ready, though. Could he have been trying to cover up feelings for her? And that last time he was in the house, right before the Queller attacked, had he been stealing photos? Of her?

And then when he'd shown up in the Bronze the other night. Trying to be friendly and ingratiating, dressed in normal clothes. Did he want her to see him as, not just a person, but as a potential date? Boyfriend? Or something more serious still? She would have to confront him about this when they got back to the real world. She had to find out if she was imagining things or if he really did want to be more than friends.

And if he did want it to be something long-term, did she want it? Attraction was not issue. She'd already admitted to it. But was she willing to take the risk of being with another vampire?

Buffy looked over at Spike, who was still standing lost in thought beside the tree. Suddenly he jumped, shaking his hand as though in pain. His cigarette had burned enough to his fingers, and he hadn't even realized it. He stomped on the grass where it had landed as he blew on the slight burn.

If someone she trusted, someone she could be herself around, could love her to that kind of distraction, then she would be foolish to let it go. When she lived her life between apocalypses, she didn't have time to play it safe. Buffy set her shoulders as memory Spike walked slowly away from her house. If he was interested, so was she.

If. She wasn't entirely convinced yet. It was just one memory.

*****Flash*****

Riley through open the door to Spike's crypt. Spike was drinking from a wine bottle, but corked it and set it aside. With great sarcasm he asked, "What took you? Guess it takes a while to get back to full strength after those bites."

So this was post-vamp whorehouse biting. Buffy sighed. So many things had gone wrong with Riley, she had no idea who to blame for what at this point. But it was past now, and quite possibly Spike was future. It would explain why he'd gotten such a thrill out of showing her Riley in that awful place. He'd wanted to disgrace Riley before her. What was it they said about love and war?

Riley yanked Spike out of his arm chair while Spike protested, "Hey! Hey, let's be reasonable about this."

Riley smashed him against one of the crypt's pillars. "You may have noticed, Spike," he said with a punch to Spike's face, "I left reasonable about three exits back."

Spike snorted. "Look, I'm not the one who got you into this. Don't kill the messenger."

Riley's angry sneer didn't phase Spike the way the stake he was suddenly holding did. Buffy gasped as the point was plunged into Spike's heart. "Why the hell not?" Riley asked.

Spike yelled in panic and pain. "Ow! Bloody hell! Oh god!" When he realized he wasn't dusting he looked down at the hand holding the stake. "Hey."

Riley yanked the stake back out, eliciting another pained moan from Spike. "Plastic wood-grain. Looks real, doesn't it?" His hand went to Spike's shirt collar again. "Don't think I don't know what's going on with you, Spike. Stay away from her. Or we'll do this for real next time."

Riley took a few steps back, like he was getting ready to leave, when Spike began laughing quietly. "Oh, man. You are really under it, aren't you?"

"What?"

Spike nodded to Riley. "Look at you. All afraid I'm hot for your honey."

Riley sneered. "Because you are."
Spike stared at him for a moment. "Well ... yeah. But that's not your problem. Even if I wasn't in the picture..."

Buffy tuned out the conversation, something about Riley's worthiness. It didn't matter. Spike had admitted it. He wanted to be with her.

Riley had known before she did, and that was a surprise, since he wasn't all that much more observant. But then in matters of the heart it didn't really take much to be more with it than Buffy. Now, for once, maybe she had a chance to do things right in a relationship. Not that she expected things with Spike to be rosy, if they even got that far.

Man, she was going to have to go a long way to convince Giles and Xander not to stake Spike.

Rocky as it was likely to be, she knew she could count on Spike to help her keep things balanced. This was what she wanted anyway, a counterpart. He'd tell her when she was out of line, and if she hurt him, she'd know. She could read him so easily now. For the first time in a long while, Buffy felt genuine hope about tomorrow.

"You actually think you've got a shot with her?"

Spike sighed, reaching for the wine bottle he'd set aside earlier. "No, I don't. Fella's gotta try, though. Gotta do what he can." He took a drink.

"If you touched her... you know I'd kill you for real." Buffy crossed her arms. Riley was gone, but if he ever came back he wasn't getting near Spike.

Spike snorted, unfazed. "I had this chip outta my head, I'da killed you long ago. Ain't love grand?"

He tossed the bottle to Riley, who began drinking. Spike went on quietly. "Sometimes I envy you so much it chokes me. And sometimes I think I got the better deal. To be that close to her and not have her. To be all alone even when you're holding her. Feeling her. Feeling her beneath you. Surrounding you." There was the poet she'd come to hold dear. "The scent ... No, you got the better deal."

Riley gave a low, unhappy chuckled. "I'm the lucky guy." He shook his head and took another drink. "Yeah."

Buffy stared at the crypt floor, chagrinned. She managed to make guys miserable more often than she made them happy. She was going to have to watch that with someone as sensitive as Spike, however tough he pretended to be.

*****Flash*****

Another alley. That couldn't be good.

Buffy and Spike from a couple of weeks ago were standing in the alley behind the Bronze. It must have been right after Spike gave her that uncomfortable lecture on how he'd killed his second slayer by playing off the slayer death wish. Buffy'd been offended at the time by the suggestion that she actually wanted to die. But sometimes, in the deep dark of the cemeteries, when no one was around, she could almost believe that what he'd said was true.

He was just finishing that part of his speech. "You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day." He was standing very close to her, closer than comfort allowed. With a step back he continued, "Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."

An ominous feeling washed over Buffy. Impending doom hung in the air over this back street. There was something she should be remembering here. Something she'd done. Why else would Spike be reliving this memory? Had she already screwed up her chances with him? She made a sincere wish to whatever power might be listening that it wasn't so.

It wasn't what the Buffy that had come to Spike for advice wanted to hear. Outraged, she replied with subtle menace, "Get out of my sight. Now."

"Oh... did I scare ya? You're the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to," he taunted.

Her counterpart was getting angrier. "I mean it."

Spike refused to back down. "So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!"

The atmosphere crackled around them. Sensing the shift in the scenario, Buffy's past self said uncertainly, "Spike..."

He tried to kiss her.

Oh, no.

The memory Buffy leaped back in disgust and shock. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spike grabbed her arms and spoke with earnest urgency. Exposing himself to whatever censure was coming. "Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."

No, no, no, no, no! She didn't want to remember this. She didn't want it to be true. God, she'd done it. She really had. Already. Right here. Without even knowing what she was throwing away.

"Say it's true. Say I do want to." Past Buffy pushed him roughly to the ground. "It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you."

She threw out the bills she'd promised him. The scattered on the ground around him, much like his hopes.

And then. She. Said. It. "You're beneath me."

Said those horrid, hated words and walked away, not waiting to see the rejection and absolute terror on the face of the man she'd thrown to the ground. The person who loved – yes, loved, she could see it on his face – her without reserve.

Buffy watched as, with as much dignity as he could manage between his tears, he gathered the crumpled offering she'd thrown at him as if he were some prostitute to be paid for his services and dropped in the gutter. He looked after her, and hate blossomed in sorrow's wake. No wonder he'd come after her with a shotgun after she'd said those fateful words.

God. She was Cecily.

*****
 

Chapter 15

Could Spike look beyond her idiocy that night? She knew that she needed to focus, that she was still in Spike's head and that there was still work to be done there, but she was so scared that she'd lost him already. She was hoping so fervently that he could forgive her that she missed most of the next memory.

It had something to do with Spike watching Harmony leave town on a bus. Buffy couldn't feel much sympathy on that count. If Harmony was finally gone, that meant one less obstacle between them. She'd made enough stumbling blocks already; she didn't need competition. Not that Harmony was much competition. Spike was wandering through the cemetery, heading for home, when suddenly a large, pale demon leaped out of nowhere and stabbed him with a deadly looking spine.

Then everything went black. The memory just ended, not fading out as the others had, but just halting. Was that strange demon the reason Spike had gone into a coma? Had he escaped, stumbled back to the crypt, then fallen under the influence of whatever poison had been injected into him?

It must have been terrifying to be alone in the dark, slowly succumbing to these memories.

When the picture came into focus again, she was on a rocky beach at dusk. She could hear crying; it was coming from a little curly-haired boy about five years old. He was dressed in short pants and a tailored jacket.

She sighed. They were back to the beginning.
 

Willow ladled some of the goopy liquid out of the cooling cauldron and into a glass. She looked to Tara for confirmation and got a nod from her girlfriend. Willow stood and walked toward Giles, who was watching the immobile Buffy and Spike. "Giles?" He looked over. "It's ready."

"Good," was his brusque reply. "Let's get her out of there so we can end this night."

Tara frowned at Giles's request. Hesitantly, she prompted, "I t-think it might be best to give Buffy a little longer. It's better if we can let t-them come out of this on t-their own. S-safer." She hastened to add, "And S-spike's aura has been changing since she went inside. I t-think s-she's getting closer to bringing him out."

Giles's lips thinned and his eyes cooled. Tara could tell that he wanted to object, but he held his peace. He gave a slow nod. "Very well. Thirty minutes."
 

Buffy was tempted to speak the words to end the mind-meld spell when she saw little William on the beach for the second time. She didn't seem any closer to reaching Spike than when she'd first stepped inside his head. And she now knew Spike had been attacked by another demon. She could leave and tell Giles that they needed some kind of antidote. He'd know what to do.

She'd waited, though, taking a few moments to stare at the little boy, so scared and alone. It amazed her that she hadn't believed Spike capable of human feelings. He smiled, he wept, and he loved. She wanted so much to help him, to see him free of these horrors. The beach faded away to be replaced by a family meeting in which a teenage William discovered that his father had died.

Wait. Hadn't there been something between these two memories? She could remember William being punished for dropping his chalkboard. The memories had changed for some reason. Willow's magic words were forgotten as Buffy watched to see what other changes had occurred.

The cycle from past to present was infinitely faster this time. Almost half the memories Buffy had seen previously were missing. She noted that the scenes that had slid out of the slide show were the least terrible ones, including some of Angelus's less horrifying torments and the loss of the Gem of Amarra.

The remaining flashes were shortened versions of the memories Buffy had previously viewed, the worst moments of the individual scenarios having been preserved. The instant that William's sister died remained, while her words of comfort for her brother disappeared. Dru was tied by the mob in Prague, abused by her captors, while Spike's rescue of her did not occur.

It was as though the tragedy of Spike's life was being compressed and concentrated into the most humbling spiral of pain possible. It was hurricane of thought, whipping around and around and around.

Another memory cycle began, skipping the early deaths of Spike's family and going straight to the party scene with Cecily. Then to his mother's turning, then to his first beating by Angelus. The sea of memories had grown choppy from all the scene-shortening. Each moment was being stripped to its harshest core.

Another cycle, Cecily and his vampire mother preserved, but Angelus was first present in an alley, raping William. Most of the twentieth century was missing now.

Buffy knew, suddenly, where this was headed. She was approaching the eye of this storm of anguish. The center of it all. Spike. The memories began to bleed together the closer she got to him. They didn't happen in separate rooms or alleys or times. There was no longer any background but stark black, with guest figures appearing suddenly in a tiny circle of light, seven feet across.

Buffy watched as William, in glasses and uncomfortable suit, confessed his love to Cecily. "You're beneath me," she murmured.

Game face at the fore, William's mother leered at her horrified son. "There, there, precious. It will only hurt for a moment." William murmured, "I'm sorry," as he staked her.
Fledgling Spike, violated and battered half beyond recognition, lay on the ground before Angelus. "Consider it a test of what you're made of. You pass, and you keep your existence another day. If not...well, then I'll take good care of Dru."

On the floor beside a dresser in China, Spike watched Darla leave without looking back, abandoning him and Dru to their fate.

An injured Spike whose legs barely functioned sank to the ground, too exhausted to reach the Mansion's courtyard and kill himself. Gradually he sat up, covering his face to weep.

Drusilla spoke quietly to her betrayed childe. "I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."

Spike, chipped and helpless, pleaded with the men who'd assaulted him. "You've got my cash. Please, just take it and go."

Having been thrown to the ground behind the Bronze, Spike could only stare at Buffy as she sneered, "You're beneath me."

When memories next cycled it wasn't William that appeared before Cecily. It was the Spike that Buffy knew, dressed all in black from docs to duster that kneeled on the ground, head bowed, that heard Cecily's dreaded phrase. And when his mother mocked him next, the figure on the ground sat immobile and unchanged, arms crossed and rocking slightly back and forth.

This was her one and only chance to reach her vampire. For the first time since she'd entered his head, she was facing his conscious self, not a mere memory. Buffy walked forward carefully so as not to frighten Spike. She stopped about two feet away from him and called quietly, "Spike?" His head turned slowly toward her. His eyes, dull and glassy, met hers for a few instants, before he dropped his gaze to the ground again.

Buffy frowned as Dru murmurred in a sad tone, "You taste like ashes." Her own shadow self appeared a moment after Dru faded. Buffy stepped quickly between Spike and the ghost of Buffy's past. She kneeled in front of him and put a hand to the side of his face. Once again he looked at her, apparently surprised by her actions. She didn't blame him. He'd been listening to a memory of her tell him that he was beneath her for hours.

"Spike, I need you to listen to me."

He shook his head, trying to look away, but she pushed her hand back to the nape of his neck to keep his eyes facing hers. "Not how it goes," he mumbled.

She took a deep breath. "This isn't real Spike. You were stung by a demon. You're hallucinating. We're inside your memories. We need to get out of here-"

"No!" he said forcefully, and shoved her arm away. He stood and stormed away, to the edge of his small circular world. "It's a trick. It's not how it goes. It doesn't change." He kept his back toward her, tension obvious in its lines.

Buffy stood and followed him cautiously. "It doesn't change for you. I understand that. But it should, Spike. You should be able to make new memories, not just relive these same ones again and again and again."

His head shook and he flexed his fists at his side. "No. No. It doesn't get any worse. New memories mean it gets worse."

She was tempted to touch him, comfort him physically, but he hadn't reacted well to that the first time. "But it can't get any better either, Spike. It can only get better if you make new memories. And to make new memories I need you to come with me." She pressed her palms together, pleading silently.

He spun slowly to look at her, head cocked to one side, eyes suspicious. "You want to make it worse..."

Adamant, Buffy shook her head, "No, Spike, I-"

He advanced, his menace clear. "Haven't you done enough?" He stopped less than an inch from her, but Buffy refused to retreat. "You said it. I'm beneath you. I get it. I knew it before you said it. Now leave me alone!" He grabbed her by the arms and shook her violently. "Why? Why won't you leave me alone!"

Buffy pushed back against his chest, keeping her focus on his eyes. "I came to take you out of here, Spike. I'm not leaving without you." He roared with anger and his fangs and sloped forehead burst forth. Buffy realized what was coming an instant before his fangs were in her neck. It hurt, which didn't shock her, because she wouldn't have expected him to be gentle. He thought she was a new tormentor come to taunt him.

The violence stopped instantly. Almost as soon as his fangs penetrated her, his attack ceased. After a moment he pulled back, a look of uncertainty and bewilderment on his wrinkled face. Buffy put a hand to her neck where he'd bitten her. No blood. No wound. She supposed astral projections didn't have blood.

"You're not bleedin'," Spike murmurred. "Chip didn't fire."

She put her hand back on his face, and this time he didn't shake it off. "That's because this isn't real Spike. This is just memories. We need to get back to the real world."

He frowned, his fangs worrying his lower lip. "It'll get worse..."

"It won't get worse," she said urgently. "It'll get better. I promise you, Spike. I'll make it better."

He sniffed. "You hate me out there."

Buffy lowered her eyes for a moment, unable to face the raw fear and loneliness in his yellow gaze. Her voice shook a little as she answered him. "Maybe I used to, Spike. But that's changed now that I finally understand who you are."

"I love you," Spike said in a quiet, hoarse voice. He looked away, awaiting her rejection.

"I know. I know," she petted his cheek, trying to reassure him. But she wouldn't lie to him. "I don't love you Spike." She could see tears starting in his eyes. "But I think I could. And I want to try."

"Really?" The hope his voice held was painfully sincere.

"Yeah," Buffy replied softly.

His game face receded cautiously. "This a crumb, then? Somethin' to keep me goin'?"

Buffy's other hand came up to frame his face. "Spike, if you'll trust me, if you'll come with me, you can have the whole damn cookie."

His answer was so quiet, Buffy barely heard it. "Okay."
 

Buffy was sitting down with her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened them and saw Spike seated across from her in his chintz arm chair, rigid as he had been when Willow began the spell to put Buffy inside his mind. His blank, fixed eyes still stared straight ahead, unwavering. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy could see Giles and Willow heading her direction, but she remained focused on Spike, searching for any sign that he'd followed her back into the real world.

Very slowly, Spike blinked.

The blinked again.

And then chaos broke out in the crypt.

*****
 

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