Part Seventeen

Buffy had slept fitfully, waking several times with the covers tangled around her limbs and cold tears drying on her face. She finally gave up any hope of real sleep and rolled to her side, watching as the minutes turned to hours on her bedside clock. Her body ached from all the times she'd cried, but now her eyes were dry.

And all she could do was think.

Think about the giant hole that Angel left in her life when he walked away from her, and how she'd thought she would never recover from it.

Think about how she'd nearly gotten her life back on track when her legs were taken away, making her doubt everything and everyone. Making her afraid to be what she was meant to be.

Think about Giles wanting to accept help from the very people who had betrayed them. The people who had turned their backs on them when it had mattered most.

And lastly, think about Spike leaving her in that alley without a backward glance after making her scream in ecstasy. The hatefulness with which he'd treated her, the utter lack of concern for her pain.

Bastard.

Okay, so she'd lied. She could accept responsibility for that, and she'd do anything to take it back. She hadn't meant to hurt Spike, only keep him by her side until she knew what his true feelings were. Was that so terribly wrong? She was human, dammit! She'd made a mistake - did that mean she had to pay for it in blood? Did she have to be humiliated time and time again, her heart and pride torn to shreds?

And was she expected to wallow in self-pity like a mewling, whining child?

No. She wasn't going to live like this any longer, and she wasn't going to be anyone's punching bag again.

Her anger built until she flung herself out of the bed and began pacing around the room like a caged animal, images of the men in her life flashing in front of her in a red haze. Angel always thought she needed saving, did he? Her arm swept across her vanity, sending perfume bottles crashing to the floor. And Giles! Her journal flew into the closet, several pages tearing loose in the process. Giles thought she should just forgive and forget, and when she couldn't, well that just meant she was still and immature little girl, didn't it?

Breathing heavily, she turned in a circle, searching for something else to throw as her anger focused on Spike. How dare he throw her love back in her face? How dare he walk away after fucking her with so much intensity and passion that she'd almost lost consciousness? How dare he...

Her feverish gaze landed on the silver mirror and she snatched it up victoriously, intent on smashing it to bits. She cocked her arm, ready to hurl it into the wall . and then she stopped as she heard Spike's voice inside her head. 'No, -that- is beautiful.'

With a sigh, she lowered her arm and sat down on the bed as her knees gave out. Damn him, she though miserably, tracing her image in the glass with a finger. Damn him for making her trust again, for making her feel beautiful and strong again, only to destroy it in a burst of self-righteous anger.

And destroy it he had, knowing exactly what to say to bring her to her knees. He'd always seen right thought her, from the very moment they'd first laid eyes on each other. When they were enemies, she'd been able to shrug it off, no matter how pissed off she got. But now that she'd let him into her heart . now it felt as if his words were slicing a jagged path right through that same heart. As if he needed to claw his way out from the inside. And she didn't know how much longer she could take the pain.

She let the mirror slip from her fingers onto the bed and stood up, determined to get a grip on what little strength she had left. She didn't -have- to feel this way. She'd dealt with all of this before - with Angel, and to a lesser extent, with Parker. She'd survived each time, a little worse for wear, but still standing, still fighting. And now, she had the mother of all fights just waiting for her participation. All she had to do was get angry and stay that way. And at the moment, that didn't appear to be a problem.

She was the Slayer. It was time she acted like one.

She scanned the room, taking in the evidence of her tantrum. Such a small display for such a supposedly powerful young woman, she thought derisively. Surely she could do better than that. Her gaze fell upon the weapons trunk on the floor next to her closet. Giles had apparently repacked all of her weapons for her. She studied it for a few minutes, recalling the way she used to have to hide it all. Pack away her weapons and conceal her bloody clothes and injuries.

She didn't have to hide anything anymore.

Buffy reached into the trunk and pulled out Mr. Pointy. She'd had the stake that belonged to Kendra bronzed, which earned quite a few odd looks from the men at the mall where she had taken it to have it done. Cradling it in her hand, she got to her feet and held it up in front of her. Striking fast and hard at an invisible foe, she listened to her arm whip through the air, slicing the wind with a low whistle. She was still fast, very fast.

The paralysis hadn't taken that away from her.

The phone cut through her concentration and she grabbed it, biting back the urge to say Spike's name into it. "Hello?"

"Buffy, it's Giles," the Englishman said. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I'm up." She sat on her bed, still running her hand over the bronzed piece of wood. "What is it? Did something else happen?"

"No, nothing has changed." Unless you took into consideration the fact that he had gone all over town looking for Spike and hadn't slept a wink, nothing had changed. "I was just calling to see if you've changed your mind about working with the Council. Angel and I will be meeting with them tonight and I'd very much like it if you'd accompany us."

"No," she stated flatly. "I told you before, I won't work with them. And what exactly is your plan? You never told me."

"I suppose I didn't," Giles sighed. "Malachai, one of the elder councilmen informed me last night that Maggie Walsh was seen in your hospital room hours after your accident. She had a shaman in tow; a mystical man who can alter the state of being. We've every reason to believe that perhaps she is responsible for your paralysis."

Buffy's hand tightened around the stake. "We already know she's responsible for it. She had her pet vampires ambush me."

"No, Buffy. We believe that she put some sort of spell on you to prevent your Slayer strength from healing you."

"A spell?" she asked quietly. "You mean magic kept me crippled?"

"It's quite possible. If there were mystical forces at work it could explain why you've had such a speedy recovery and why it happened so abruptly." He cleared his throat. "At any rate, we've located where the Initiative is operating."

"Where?"

"Underneath the Lowell Fraternity house at the campus," he replied, then added, "If you would just accompany us-"

"No," Buffy repeated more firmly. "Look, I have to go. I'm hungry and I need to get some fresh air."

"Er, Buffy, any word from Spike?" Giles asked casually. "I was wondering because-"

"Giles," she sighed softly. "Look, I can't talk about this, okay? I have to go."

She hung up before he could say anything else and stood, pacing across her room. It had been magic all along? Not her own weaknesses and faults? They had resorted to taking her out of the equation with a spell? That certainly put a new spin on things. If they had been forced to fight dirty, maybe they were scared of a fight.

If that was the case, she'd give Maggie Walsh the fight of her life.

If that bitch hadn't put the chip in Spike's head to begin with, none of this ever would have happened. She had started a chain of events, meddled where no human should meddle, and tampered with the fates. Maggie only thought she knew how to take the Slayer out of her element.

It was obvious that for all of her training, Maggie hadn't the first clue as to what a Slayer actually was. A Slayer's element was what she made it.

Buffy picked up the mirror that Spike had given her and studied her reflection once more. The face that stared back at her was hardened with resolve, all traces of self-pity gone. All that remained was intent.

A deadly intent to slay anything that got between her and Maggie Walsh.

<><><><><>

Giles arrived at the bar first, just after sunset, and secured a large table in the back, away from the other booths. Even as he ordered a beer, his mind stayed on Buffy. She had admitted that she feared being the Slayer again. She had looked him in the eye, her own eyes hollow and red rimmed, and admitted how much her duty terrified her. He hated himself for what he represented in her life; the man who oversaw her 'Sacred Duty'. Yet, there was nothing sacred about being scared and alone.

His thoughts turned to Angel then, the vampire who loved his Slayer as much as he did, only in a very different way. He knew that both of them would die for her, but Angel couldn't even have the satisfaction of being near her. Couldn't even think of being a part of her life. Checking his watch, he scowled and headed toward the payphone to try Angel's number again. He paused when the door opened and the vampire stepped in, looking as if he'd gone about five rounds with ten Slayers. His face was scratched, bloody in places, and his lip was swollen.

Giles met him halfway. "I thought you said you wouldn't do anything rash," he said in a low voice.

"I didn't do anything rash," Angel told him, holding up his hands and showing his bloody knuckles. "I did something violent to avoid rash."

"So, I take it that Spike didn't survive the night?" Giles watched him, wondering how he'd break the news to Buffy. And wondering why he felt so annoyed that he didn't have a chance at Spike first.

Angel frowned at the mention of his childe's name. "I didn't find him. But if I had, anything Angelus dished out would have seemed like a love tap compared to what I would have done to him."

Giles couldn't control the smirk that crossed his face. "I won't say I'm sorry. I have quite a few things to say to him before he meets his demise."

Angel chuckled and followed the man further into the bar, where he sat at the table. "How's Buffy?"

"She told me what happened," Giles said casually, not offering details. "And she told me that she won't take part in bringing down the Initiative."

The vampire looked shocked. "Did you tell her that Maggie Walsh was responsible?"

Giles nodded. "She refuses to work with the Council again. Even if it is for a common goal. To be quite honest, she was furious that I was even considering it."

"To be fair to her, she does have a valid reason to be leery of them." Angel motioned for the waitress and ordered a shot of liquor. When the woman walked away, he added, "I mean, they chose her, then tried to kill her. I think that might put a damper on any working relationship."

"Oh, you're absolutely right," Giles replied. "I don't agree with all their methods myself, but I do believe that in this scenario - they are our best hope."

Angel nodded his head at the door and stood. The Watchers filed in, each one wearing a suit and a somber face. Giles stood as well, extending a hand to Malachai when he was close enough. The elder man shook it and smiled. "Mr. Giles. Angel. I'm glad you both decided to show."

"We gave you our word," Angel told him as he cast a worried gaze at the other men. No matter how many times he told himself to trust them, he couldn't help having reservations about it.

"We've heard rumors that the Slayer was seen in action last night," Malachai reported as he sat down across from Giles. "Is there any truth in that?"

Giles glanced at Angel. If he told them the truth, would they insist on her aid or would they allow her time to recuperate? Taking a deep breath, he spoke firmly. "Buffy has regained use of her legs, however, it is my opinion that it is too soon for her to be back in her full capacity. The injury that she obtained initially was very grave and-"

"Relax, Mr. Giles," Malachai waved a hand, motioning for Giles to sit down. "We won't need her help. We'll be able to do this ourselves."

"Right," Giles gave him a weak smile. "I do thank you. Buffy's well being-"

"Is still the most important thing to you," Malachai finished for him. "It's admirable, the way you love that child, however, it still works against you."

"Quite the contrary, sir." Giles stared him in the eye. "It works *for* me. Buffy's record could speak on its own and we all know that. I think my methods, including my devotion to her, is tantamount to her success thus far."

Malachai regarded Giles for several seconds, then glanced at Angel. "A Slayer who somehow forced a Watcher *and* a vampire to love her. I hope I will meet her before we leave and see for myself what she possesses that could make grown men go against their true natures."

"You just might," Angel told him with a knowing grin. "And won't that be fun?"

Giles shot him a look, then leaned forward, getting down to business. "So, the hour approaches - shall we finalize the plan?"

"It's going to be a long night," Malachai sighed, and motioned for a set of blueprints from another Watcher. Spreading them out on the table, he motioned at one corner. "We'll go in here." He glanced around the table, pausing at each face. "We're stepping into Hell here, gentlemen. Hell on earth." He fixed his gaze on Angel. "And won't **that** be fun?"

<><>

Buffy dressed black leather boots, tight leather pants, and a clinging halter-top. She stood in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection. She had lost weight since her accident, but she was satisfied with her appearance. Her hair was pinned back tightly away from her face so no one could grab it and it made her look older, wiser. When she faced Maggie Walsh, she wanted her to see firsthand that she had not bested the Slayer.

No one would ever best her again.

She was furious. She was strong. And she was hell bent on getting revenge.

Making her way back to her bedroom, she surveyed her weapons trunk and selected a few stakes and a long knife. She dropped the stakes into her bag, then lifted the knife, trailing her fingertips over the sharp edge of the blade. It drew blood instantly, staining the blade with a crimson smudge. The wound closed almost as instantly and she smiled. It was going to be a fine night.

Climbing out her window, both for exercise and for old time's sake, she dropped down onto her lawn and headed toward the UC-Sunnydale Campus. She moved swiftly, with purpose, her anger quickening her pace. Halfway across town, she spotted two vampires and she paused, silently pulling a stake from her bag. They never saw her coming. Her speed surprised even her, and left the vampires with a scream that died on their lips when they dusted. Blood surged in her veins and she gripped the stake tighter.

It was nice to be back.

They'd never stop her again.

<><><>

Lowell House loomed directly in front of her. Buffy stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the massive structure. She hadn't planned very far ahead, hadn't exactly decided how she would enter thee house or find her way to the underground. A car pulled up and she made a show of bending to tie an imaginary shoelace. Three large boys piled out, casting a withering glance in her direction, then they moved to the trunk, where they retrieved a bundle. A bundle that was clearly a person. Or a demon. It was wrapped in a woolen blanket and squirmed madly when one of the boys tossed it over his shoulder.

To the casual observer, it looked like a harmless prank against a fraternity brother. To the Slayer, it looked like a godsend. She made her way down the sidewalk, then hid behind a copse of trees as the boys went into the house. Standing on tiptoe, she watched through a window as the men dropped the bundle on the floor and yanked the blanket off. Bingo! The vampire lunged at the men, talons raking the air, fangs gnashing at nothing and everything at once. She watched as the men taunted and kicked the vampire and narrowed her eyes. These were the same people who had neutered Spike.

Suddenly, the wall opened up behind the boys and Maggie Walsh stepped out. Out of an elevator? Buffy looked more closely. Yes, it was an elevator. She watched as the men shoved the vampire into the elevator, stunning it with a hand held device, and backed away. She was the Slayer. She wasn't exactly equipped to handle stun guns and army men. A flash of light from a low basement window caught her eye and she knelt down, squinting. The elevator was passing down; she could see the light through the crudely constructed shaft.

Prying the window open, she silently prayed for no security alarms, and when nothing blared, she slipped inside. It looked like a regular frat house basement. Not that she had seen many or even any at all, but it looked like a place where a bunch of boys haphazardly tossed their laundry. There were four washers, four dryers and each were buried under a mountain of clothes. There were also cases of beers stacked neatly against one wall. She shook her head at the irony of that. Take care of your beer, but let your colors bleed onto your whites. Men!

Buffy moved quickly to the elevator shaft. It stood in the middle of the room, boxed off with wood and metal. It was a total eyesore, so completely out of place that anyone who saw it would question what it was. Wasting no time, Buffy pulled off one of the wooden beams and separated the metal, peering down into the brightly lighted shaft. It seemed to go on for miles, deep into the belly of the earth. The elevator was at the bottom, apparently stopped. Casting a glance behind her, Buffy slipped through the crack she had made, clung to the cables, and pulled the metal back in place. It wasn't perfectly smooth, but she had chosen to enter in a nondescript place. Hopefully no one would see the small gap.

Hand over hand she made her way down, quietly lowering herself further and further. The muscles in her arms began to ache and she cursed herself quietly. All the time she was in her chair, she should have been exercising her upper body more. A lot more than just lifting the remote control or wheeling herself back and forth to the bathroom. The thought of her wheelchair pushed the ache out of her mind and she felt a renewed burst of energy. Moving even faster, she hooked one leg around the cable and let herself slide.

She went past the air conditioner vent so quickly that she never saw the two vampires, one very familiar and the other bearing a striking resemblance to Maggie Walsh, crawling in the opposite direction.

<><>

Spike heard something whiz past the air duct and glanced behind him. He was on his hands and knees, having entered the air conditioning unit almost an hour before from a tool shed behind Lowell Fraternity. Isobel had been meticulous, carefully rewiring the security system to prevent it from locating their movement. "What was that?"

Isobel, who was just ahead, on her hands and knees as well, continued moving. "It was probably a bat."

Spike scowled, but followed her without question. They had been right next to the vent when the elevator screamed past moments before. He had questioned why they didn't just scale down using the cables, but Isobel had pointed out that the elevators were so fast, it could cut a person in two. He could feel the small passage begin to slope downward and had to struggle to maintain his balance as they moved deeper and deeper into the structure. Isobel had informed him that the facility was about five stories below the surface of the earth.

Ahead of him, Isobel paused and opened the bag she had secured on her back when they began. Spike watched her pull out ropes and harnesses and shook his head. "You really know what you're doing, huh?"

"I do it all the time." She held out a harness to him. "Slide this over your legs and buckle it at the waist. Have you ever rock climbed?"

"I can't say that I have." Spike did as she instructed, then watched her hook a knotted rope through the clip on his harness.

"From here, it's a straight drop of roughly fifty feet. We have to be quiet. We can't just jump because we could go through and land right on top of them. We're going to hook this rope around that beam," She pointed above her head at an exposed metal rod. "and lower you first. When you get to the bottom, you be careful to put your hands and knees on the outside edges of the air ducts. It's exposed down there and they'll hear you if you aren't careful."

"Right," Spike said, tugging on the rope to make sure it was secured. This was his big chance and he wasn't going to blow it. He'd get that chip out and then Buffy- Well, he'd get his chip out. He couldn't let himself think of her. She would tell him to keep the chip, wouldn't she? She'd tell him that it gave him a reason to fight on the side of good. But look at what that had gotten him. The side of good had lied to him, betrayed him, and worst of all, touched a long dormant part of him that was better left alone. His heart.

"Spike?" Isobel repeated the vampire's name for the third time. "Are you ready?"

"What?" He looked at her. "Oh, yeah, lower me."

<><> Part Eighteen

Buffy had almost reached a small utility door inside the shaft when she heard voices in the elevator below her. She made a lunge for the door as the elevator sprang to life. Swearing under her breath, she let go of the cable just in time to softly step on top of the elevator and crouched down low as it began an upward ascent, taking her back over ground she had already covered. Looking upward, she realized that she would be flattened if she wasn't careful, and quickly lay on her back, pressing her palms flat. With no time to spare, she watched the roof quickly approaching and closed her eyes.

She was about to be crushed. In the few seconds it took for her to realize it, various images flashed through her head. Spike, Angel, Giles, her mother, the gang. Her funeral. She held her breath, thinking what a shame it was to die this way instead of in battle, then wondered if anyone would ever know what she had intended to do. If Spike would know. Would he miss her? Would he realize that she had been crushed trying to exact revenge for what Maggie Walsh had caused both of them?

The elevator stopped with a jerk, and Buffy, with her nose pressed to the ceiling, opened her eyes. She was alive! But she was also in quite a predicament. The narrow amount of space prevented her from moving at all, and the ceiling was literally pressing against her breasts, toes, and nose. It was like being buried alive, only worse. There was nothing she could do except wait for someone to take an elevator ride down again. And who knew when that would happen? She could hear the men inside the elevator exiting, and heard several other people laughing and making fun of the vampire they had captured.

It didn't take her long to realize that the air was thin inside the dusty shaft and she was having trouble getting enough of it. Her lungs felt like they were full of dust, her face grew sticky and she could feel sweat gathering on her back. Unable to be sure of how much time had passed, she squeezed her eyes closed again and tried not to think about how easily she could die. Her chest was leaden, it rose and fell with effort and she had to struggle not to cough. If she could hear the Initiative boys, then they would hear her.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a radio playing. Popular top forty music reverberated through the metal tomb and she attempted to concentrate on that. She failed miserably. With effort, she turned her palms up and pressed against the ceiling, hoping it would open, or at the very least, crack just enough to let in some fresh air. However, it was sealed tight and the only reward for her efforts was a cramp in her elbow. Breathing became more difficult after that, since her movements had kicked up even more dust. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her mouth was so dry she found herself wishing they were rolling over her lips instead of down into her ears.

She was close to screaming for help, to putting herself at the mercy of Maggie and her men, when she finally heard the doors open and the elevator shook as it began its descent. Almost sobbing in relief, Buffy sat up and stretched her arms over her head, trying to work out the cramp in her elbow. Looking at her watch, she realized that she had been trapped for almost forty minutes. If she didn't act fast, the Watcher's Council could thwart her plans and everything she had just endured would have been for nothing. A cool breeze blew against her face and she savored it, standing on shaking legs to latch onto the cable again when the utility door came into view. She hooked her leg around it and hoisted herself up, turning the handle on the door. It was locked.

"Son of a bitch!" she whispered as she pulled even harder. It was no use. The door was locked from the inside and looked as thick as a bank vault door. She was in the process of weighing her options when the elevator began to climb upward again. "Oh no!"

Yanking her bag around so she could dig through it, she pulled out an ax and used the blade to pry open the small trapdoor in the top of the elevator. She was amazed to see that the compartment was empty, quickly counted her blessings, and dropped down into it just in time. When the door opened to reveal two men in uniform waiting, she quickly grabbed the one closest to her, put the blade to his throat, and looked at the other one. "Get in."

The man made a move for his gun, but Buffy pressed the knife against her captive's neck even harder. "Get in before things get really bloody and your friend's neck is gone."

"Do it!" gasped the man in her arms.

The other man stepped into the elevator, sizing Buffy up. She gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm small. But don't be stupid enough to think that matters. Press the button that'll take us straight to Maggie Walsh." The man pressed one of several buttons. Buffy nodded. "Now, slowly put your gun on the ground."

As the man pulled his gun free, gingerly holding it between his thumb and finger, Buffy flipped the ax and brought the blunt end down on the back of his head. He collapsed forward as the man who had been her hostage tried to spin around and face her. She punched him in the ribs before he got halfway, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. Gripping his head, she brought his face down onto her knee and he too collapsed. Buffy gathered up their guns, stored one in her bag and held the other in her hand, then waited patiently for the elevator to open.

When it did, she cautiously glanced around, then ripped open the control panel and buried her ax in all the cords, chopping several in the process. She wrenched it free, yanking out several more cords and wires, and stepped out. She was inside a small office. Moving slowly, she stepped onto the plush carpet and walked toward the desk. A small placard that said 'Maggie A. Walsh' sat facing outward.

Buffy smiled.

She was in the Dragon's lair.

A weapon's cabinet stood in one corner and Buffy twisted the lock off, helping herself to a 'Rambo' style bandolier full of tranquilizer darts. She hefted the gun that they fit into and then proceeded to put a stun gun into her waistband. These weren't demons she was dealing with, they were people, and as far as she was concerned, the only person on her hit list was Maggie Walsh. And the pistol would take care of her. The rest would just sleep for a while.

Almost as an afterthought, she decided to shoot both men in the elevator with the tranquilizer gun to ensure they wouldn't wake up and alert anyone up top to their intruder. She studied the firing mechanism, noted the fact that each cartridge held 14 darts, and shot each man once. The gun was silent as it fired and she smiled again. She could get used to weapons like that. As soon as she was finished, she made her way to the door, cracked it an inch, and peered out into the compound. She saw three men making small talk next to a jeep. Hmm, she thought, so there are other entryways into this place. That's not good. She watched for several minutes, but no one else passed.

Gathering her bearings, she took a deep breath, yanked the door open and fired one shot at each man. The darts struck their marks, and whatever was inside was so fast, that none of the men had a chance to pull the needles from their skin before they fell straight forward and lay still. She stayed close to the walls, crouching low and peeking over boxes and around filing cabinets. Finally, something clattered in the distance and she slowly crabwalked, keeping her eyes open, across a small catwalk that looked down into a pit.

Ensconced in a padded area that looked like wall to wall aluminum foil with dentist chairs, were Maggie and four men. They were strapping the vampire that had been captured to one of the chairs. She could hear the growls and protests of the demon, but couldn't make out what the men were saying. She glanced behind her, making sure the coast was still clear, and lifted the gun, resting it on the railing as she pointed at her first target.

<><>

On the other side of the compound, Spike and Isobel had made it through the air conditioning unit undetected. Isobel led the way to a small room, where she twisted the door handle off, flicked a lightswitch, and motioned him into a chair. Spike had no choice but to comply, as he was out of his element and basically at her mercy. He took the proffered seat and watched the female vampire type in several codes on a computer screen. Different windows popped up, then vanished as she went through the various motions. Spike's gut felt like it was in knots as he watched her. This was it. The chip would be coming out.

"Hostile Seventeen, right?" Isobel asked quietly.

"Yes, I suppose." Spike nodded and glanced around the room. He remembered all too clearly what it had been like to wake up inside one of the observation rooms in this hell hole.

"I can't take the chip out," Isobel announced suddenly. "It's embedded into a part of your brain that would render you immobile if it was removed." She saw the look on his face and quickly added, "But I can deactivate it right now."

"Deactivate? It wouldn't shock me anymore?" Spike leaned forward, looking at the computer screen. There was an illustration of something that he imagined was the make and model of his chip. "Do what you have to do. I want it stopped."

Isobel nodded, typed in a few more numbers, and opened one of the desk drawers. She pulled out what looked like a hand held metal detector, save for long tubes running the length of it, and ran it around Spike's head. It began to beep near his right ear. She pressed several numbers on the side of the device and moved it back over his head, carefully inserting one of the tubes inside his ear. Spike could feel intense heat radiating from the gadget, or possibly from his head, and he gripped the arms of his chair. "Ow!"

"We have to burn it up," Isobel said. "Your specific chip will malfunction if the heat rises beyond a certain degree."

"I'll bloody well malfunction if I rise beyond a certain degree too! And it fucking hurts!" he growled.

"Do you want five minutes of pain or an eternity of pain every time you try to act on impulse?" Isobel pressed a few more buttons, watching on the screen as the diagram of Spike's chip began to turn red. They were halfway there.

"You're going to burn me bald!" Spike shouted, trying to push her hand away. "Stop it!"

"Two more minutes," Isobel blocked him. "Two minutes until you're free."

"God, when I get this chip out of my brain, I'm going to kill everything with a heartbeat."

"That spares my daughter. She has nothing where she should have had a heart."

"How did that old bag get so evil, anyway?" Spike asked her, trying not to notice the smell of burning hair. "You don't seem the abusive type."

"My daughter was spoiled by her father, and never taught right from wrong. Everything I tried to do with her was thwarted, and so she became a willful child and even worse adult." Isobel kept her eyes on the screen. "She was always determined to be a Slayer and when she failed, she decided to use science and technology to undermine all that the Council had worked toward."

The Slayer. Spike's mind wondered to Buffy and he went numb all over. Would he be able to kill her? Did he want to? How would she react to the old Spike?

Isobel moved away, announcing that the chip had been 'burned' completely, and Spike gingerly touched the side of his head.

He didn't feel any different.

And he didn't feel any better.

<><>

When the last soldier hit the floor, Buffy stood up and made her presence known to Maggie Walsh, dropping the tranquilizer gun and raising the pistol. The Slayer locked eyes on her foe, and to her credit, Maggie didn't falter. As a matter of fact, she smiled. "Well, well, well," the woman said, eyeing the gun in the Slayer's hands. "I'm guessing you aren't going to use that on me or I'd be a dead woman right now."

"You got the dead part right. You could never be called a woman." Buffy returned the smile and lowered the gun. "I've had an awful long time to just sit and think about payback. It occurred to me that a good old fashioned ass whipping might be just what you need." The Slayer leaped down into the pit and stood a few inches away from Maggie. "Then I'm going to kill you."

Walsh had a long metal rod, which she swung at Buffy's head, but the younger woman had anticipated the move and ducked. As the momentum swung Maggie around, Buffy tackled her, causing the rod to clatter out of the way. Neither noticed the vampire free himself from the chair and run.

<><>

Giles, Angel, and the Councilmen gained access through the cargo bays in the Initiative. There were several army jeeps, several holding pens and one guard, whom they drugged with a hypodermic needle. Jones, one of the security experts from the Council, had tinkered with the alarm system, then announced that it had already been shut down. The men, around fifteen in all, couldn't be bothered with determining the cause. Instead, they sprang into action, each one performing the task they had been assigned before they entered the compound.

Angel stood ready at the doorway, a long metal pole in his hand, waiting patiently for Jones to swipe his fake clearance down the security box. When he did, and the door opened, Angel wasn't prepared for the vampire who flew into him, fangs bared, nails scraping wildly. He watched as one of the Councilmen produced a stake and tossed the vampire off of him, toward the man.

"Wait!" the vampire shouted. "Angelus, right? You don't want to go down there, man. The Slayer's down there and she's pissed."

Giles' eyes locked on Angel's and both men stepped toward the vampire. Angel spoke first. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, man. Cute, blond, tiny and toting an arsenal of weapons. She's attacking some human woman and I bailed. I didn't want to-" The stake was plunged into his back courtesy of Malachai.

Wasting no time, Angel and Giles turned as one and headed through the open doorway.

The stakes had just been upped.

Literally.

<><>

Maggie was stronger than Buffy had anticipated. Blood pooled from a gash in her forehead and as Maggie charged at her, she was momentarily blinded by the sticky liquid. She raised a hand to wipe it away and the other woman slammed into her, knocking her onto her back. Her head connected with the metal base of one of the chairs and stars exploded behind her eyelids. Nevertheless, she gripped the chair and tugged herself upright.

Maggie chuckled as she watched the girl crawl to her feet. "And they said you were the best."

"I'm just letting you get in a few good licks so your death won't be so depressing for you," Buffy said with a shrug.

The smile on Maggie's face faltered and she balled up her fist, swinging wide at Buffy's jaw. The Slayer caught her arm and backhanded her, sending Walsh staggering backwards. Maggie ran her hand under her nose, saw the blood on her fingertips, and charged again. Ducking low, Buffy caught the woman around the knees and then stood, sending her flying over her head and into the wall of the pit. Even the Slayer cringed at the bone crunching smack that sounded as she impacted.

Wasting no time, Buffy stepped forward and gripped her head and chin. "Breaking your neck is going to be the most satisfying thing I've ever done."

She was about to twist when someone shouted behind her. "Buffy, no!"

Turning her head, she saw Angel leap down into the pit and start toward her. In her shock at seeing Angel there, she let Maggie go, and the woman staggered to her feet, raising a knife that had been in her boot over her head.

"Look out!" Angel cried.

Buffy turned in time to see the blade come streaking toward her, but another person leaped into the pit, tackling Maggie. "Giles!" Buffy cried, realizing who had saved her.

She made a move to help the ex-Watcher, but suddenly, commandos were dropping into the pit left and right. She pivoted, seeing for herself that Angel was occupied with two soldiers, and several men in suits were fighting hand to hand with even more. Turning on her heel, she made a move for her weapon bag, only to have it kicked out of her reach.

Looking up, she vaguely recognized the young commando who stood facing her. "Riley?"

"Buffy?" the young man asked. "Buffy Summers? From psych class? What- what are you?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Buffy told him sweetly, as she punched him as hard as she could. "But what I am is none of your business. And you gave me a C when I should have had an A." He landed in a heap on the ground and she stared down at him. "I hold a grudge."

"Mmph," he replied, then went out like a light.

Giles wrestled the knife away from Maggie and tossed it in Buffy's direction. It clattered to the ground behind her and Angel intercepted it. Buffy had given her attention to two commandos who were coming her way. Giles looked at Maggie and smiled. "You always did have trouble holding onto your weapons. I guess that's why you never made it as a Slayer."

Maggie's nostrils flared. "Ripper Giles! How pleasant to see you again."

"You won't feel that way for very long," Giles slowly removed his jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him. "Let's have a go, for old times sake, shall we?"

Her acceptance of the challenge came in the form of a well aimed kick as his head, which he ducked under. Maggie's leg fell to the ground like lead and Giles aimed a blow to her ribs. She coughed and sputtered, doubling over in pain. Giles was gripped from behind by one of the errant commandos, who held him in place as Maggie righted herself and lifted the metal pole she had tried to hit the Slayer with. "Let's see how I hold onto this."

She drew it back, took aim, and then was tackled from behind by something strong. Something stronger than a human. At first, she thought it was the Slayer again, but the hands around her throat were cold. She gripped them, prying them away and turning her head to look.

She met a pair of eyes that were almost identical to her own. Isobel Walsh lifted her daughter to her feet and growled, "Call them off."

Maggie thrashed wildly, trying to ram her elbow into the vampire's chest, but it was no use. She looked around, searching for anyone to help her, but the commandos, the few who were still standing, were engaged in combat with the Council. She watched in horror as the Slayer knocked two of their heads together, bringing them to their knees, and then the remaining few were targeted and downed.

"Isobel. " Malachai stepped forward, gazing at the vampiric visage that was hiding the woman he had known for years. "My god, Isobel, we thought you were simply ill."

"I am ill," Isobel said in a near whisper. "Why don't we let Maggie explain to you why that is."

Malachai glanced at Maggie and shook his head. "No. Maggie, no! Tell me you didn't do this."

Maggie wriggled, trying to slip out of her mother's grip. "What are you people doing!? You've ruined my research facility, you attacked my men, and you- you talk to this vampire as if you feel sorry for her! She's an animal! A monster!"

"Silence!" Malachai held up a hand and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a document. "Maggie Walsh, you are hereby stripped of your title as a Council Operative. You are ordered to return to England as our prisoner, where you will be properly punished."

Maggie started to speak, but Isobel tightened her grip, glaring at the Elder Watcher. "She won't be making that trip, Malachai. It ends tonight."

There was a collective gasp as Isobel sank her fangs into Maggie's neck. As one, the Councilmen stepped forward, each bound to protect their own, but each torn between justice for Isobel and their duty. Suddenly, the female vampire wrenched her mouth free and howled in agony. Tears, crimson and thick, ran down her cheeks. "I can't do it! Do you see what she created!? Do you see what she's done?"

"She can't do it, but I can," Spike spoke suddenly, leaping into the pit. With lightning speed, he gripped Maggie's head, twisting hard and then letting her drop when her neck snapped. Before Maggie hit the ground, he pulled a stake from his pocket, drove it into Isobel's chest, and turned to look at Buffy, who was staring, mouth agape.

"Spike-" she whispered.

He could tell by her face that she realized the truth, the chip was gone. And he was a fool. Armed with nothing but a stake, facing down several Councilmen, Giles **and** Angel who was slowly skulking toward him.

Spike stared silently at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, then, as quickly as he had jumped into the pit, he leaped out of it and retreated, leaving Buffy too stunned to speak at all.

<><><>

Written By: Chelle <mailto:thechelle@worldnet.att.net>

<><><>

Buffy couldn't breathe as she stared down at Maggie Walsh's body, now covered in the ashes of the woman's own mother. She had to struggle to keep from collapsing as the reality of their deaths came crashing down on her.

It had been Spike's work. He'd killed again.

Spike...no chip...Oh God...

Maggie's eyes were staring, unforgiving, straight up her, and Buffy's stomach churned violently as the room began to spin. Strong arms embraced her before she could hit the ground and she knew instinctively that it was Angel. "Come on, Buffy. Climb the ladder."

Numbly, she hooked her hands on the ladder and stepped up. Angel's hand was on her back, urging her silently, and when she paused to look back, he blocked her view. "Don't. Don't look back."

"Angel-"

"Just go. We can talk up there." Angel put a little pressure on her back and was relieved when she began to climb. He looked over his shoulder, made eye contact with Giles, who nodded, and then he followed Buffy up the ladder, guiding her away from the pit and the view it offered.

There was a water cooler set up next to an office and Angel filled one of the cups, handing it to Buffy, who took it and downed it thirstily. When she had finished, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "What's going to happen now?"

"I'll take care of Spike," Angel replied softly.

Buffy's eyes flew open and she stood up straight. "Stay away from him."

"He's a killer again, Buffy. How long do you think it will be before he decides to make you his third Slayer?"

"Spike is my business, not yours." Buffy tossed the empty paper cup in the wastebasket and gestured out over the Initiative's compound. "Besides, I meant what's going to happen here?"

Angel's frowned, not wanting to ignore the issue of Spike, but replied, "Well, the original plan was for them to officially charge Maggie and take her back to England."

"Well, now they can take the bitch home in a box. I hope they don't pay for a good one. They should crate her ass and-"

Angel rebuked her angrily. "She's dead, Buffy. Her debt is paid so I think a little respect-"

"Respect?" Buffy raised her voice as she met his accusing eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was a job requirement. It's my job to slay the bad guys and she was a bad guy. I should be sending Spike a thank you card." Even as she said it, her mind flashed to the image of Maggie lying dead a few feet away. Her heart began to hammer furiously and she took a deep breath, trying to keep up her façade. "She deserved to die."

"So what, you're judge, jury and executioner now? Maybe you have a lot more in common with Spike than I thought. A match made in hell." Angel shook his head in disbelief. "You're really not the person I thought you were."

"Oh, I **so** don't need this from you." Buffy put her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. "You know, you've been judging me since you came back to Sunnydale and the last time I checked, you were not in a position to judge anyone. You've got a soul, so what? That doesn't make you the voice of reason, the moral conscience, or the Saint of Wisdom. It just makes you ballsy enough to think your opinion counts."

"Oh, that's classic! Lash out at the person closest to you since the real culprit isn't here." Angel took a step toward her, trying to control his temper. "What you really want is for me to fight back, to give you a reason to let it all out, and I'm not going to. You hang onto it, Buffy, and you give it to the monster that deserves it." He saw her blanch, and continued. "That's right. Spike. You want a piece of wisdom from me? Do your fucking job and stake the bastard."

Buffy gasped. "How dare you tell me what to do!" she seethed. "You have no idea what went on when Spike was taking care of me! You don't know what the circumstances were, or anything about what happened between us!"

"I don't have to." Angel gripped her arm angrily. "I know Spike well enough to know that it was never the circumstances - it was the conquest that dictated his actions. How did he play you, Buffy? Did he pull his nursemaid act, tending to your every want and need? Or did he just play hard to get until you were so hot you dropped your pants for him?"

Buffy yanked her arm free and shoved him back. "You're about three seconds away from landing on your ass."

"Would that make you feel better?" Angel asked, his voice deceptively calm in spite of the turmoil raging inside. "I know what you're feeling right now. Your soul is stained with regret, and guilt, and remorse, and most of all ... confusion. But don't take it out on me. I came here to help you and-"

"And you're done. You can feel free to go now," she replied.

"Is that what you want?"

"What? You're suddenly giving me a choice? Some kind of say in the matter?" Buffy chuckled hatefully. "Irony, thy name is Angel."

"Dammit, Buffy!" he burst out. "I'm not the one who hurt you here, you know?"

"Don't even go there." Her voice was deadly as she glared up at him. "I think it would be best if you leave. I don't need your help, and I don't want you here anymore."

"Of course you need my help! You obviously can't - or won't - take care of this problem," Angel snapped. "He's a dead man, Buffy. When I get my hands on him-"

"Stay out of it or I'll put you out of it," Buffy said, her voice as cold as her eyes.

Angel couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry. Not in this tooth-grinding, fist-clenching, red-haze kind of way. And certainly not with her. His demon slipped ever closer to the surface as he struggled with the urge to meet her challenge. Her aggressive stance and defiant face weren't helping matters, and the silence grew more and more oppressive with each passing moment.

"I can't talk to you anymore," he finally said, stepping back, knowing that he had to distance himself from her immediately. He bumped into Giles as he turned to go, then walked away without saying a word.

"I mean it, Angel!" Buffy called. "Leave it alone."

Giles glanced over his shoulder, watching as Angel vanished around the corner, and then he turned his full attention back to Buffy. "How are you?"

Quelling the urge to snap, she shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Shall I ask what that was all about," he said, motioning in the direction Angel had gone, "or shall I pretend that the tension wasn't so thick here that I could have cut it with a knife?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said flatly. To one side, there were several commandos pulling their fallen comrades from the pit. Buffy noticed Riley Finn being hoisted over the edge and frowned. "This is a mess, isn't it?"

"The Council is already taking care of it." Giles followed her gaze and sighed. "But yes, it is quite a mess. So much valuable information perished with Maggie and -" Trailing off, Giles turned to face her again. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." The expression on her face disturbed him, but he kept silent. "She knew that she would make enemies with what she was doing. It's not my fault that it caught up with her."

Giles narrowed his eyes, studying his charge closely. "I see. So am I to take it that you aren't at all bothered that Spike seems to have gotten his chip removed?"

Buffy looked away, staring at nothing as she tried to appear impassive. If she let herself cry, if she let herself give in, she wouldn't stop. An elderly man caught her eye and waved, then walked toward them. Buffy groaned and crossed her arms.

Giles cleared his throat and put a hand on Buffy's shoulder when Malachai was just a few feet away. "Buffy Summers, I'd like you to meet Malachai-"

"She needs no introduction," Malachai said, extending his hand toward Buffy. "Her reputation precedes her."

Buffy stared down at the old man's wrinkled hand. "Did my feelings about your Council also precede me?"

Chuckling, Malachai dropped his hand and nodded. "I'm sure we had an inkling when you quit. And then again, when you told Wesley Wyndam-Price to tell us to, what was it, 'piss the fuck off'?"

She grinned despite herself. "At least he got the message right."

"There's a new day dawning for the Watcher's Council, Miss Summers. We plan to restore it to the institution that it once was and having a Slayer of your caliber as we begin that process would be most rewarding." Malachai smiled down at her. "Of course, I don't expect an answer right now, but it's something for you to consider. Regardless of your decision, you have my word that we will aid you in any crisis that may arise."

Buffy said nothing. Giles extended a hand and nodded. "Thank you, Malachai."

"What will you do with the Initiative? With all the soldiers and technology and - everything?" Buffy asked, indicating the structure around them.

"Restoring the Council to what it once was means that there is no room for this sort of technology. And our only soldier is you, my dear." Malachai glanced at the stretcher carrying Riley Finn as it was wheeled past. "And to be honest, that's the way it should be. There are magicks that will erase the soldiers' memories and return them to their lives before the Initiative and we'll move on."

"Just like that?" Buffy asked. "You honestly think it'll be that easy?"

Malachai shook his head. "The things that come easy are rarely the things worth achieving. And with that, I must bid you farewell, Buffy Summers. It was truly a pleasure to meet you."

Giles shook the man's hand, then watched as he walked away. Chewing her bottom lip, Buffy noticed the sad look in Giles' eyes. The look of longing, of nostalgia - of belonging. When he turned to face her again, she mustered a small smile. "You miss it, don't you?"

"What? Miss having a society of like-minded individuals with resources that could rival the pentagon and have enough man power to move mountains? Why would I?"

"I. Think. I. Get. The. Point." Buffy told him. "But I'm too tired to let it register. I need to go home."

"If you'll give me just a moment, I'll walk you."

"No." Buffy held up a hand. "You know, walking was never really something I enjoyed until I couldn't do it anymore. As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I want to do it alone."

Giles knew better. He took a step toward her and squeezed her hand. "Buffy, as your friend, I can tell you that if you're going to look for Spike-"

"Just don't, okay?" Sliding her hand out of his, she was silent for several seconds, then said, "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Be careful." Giles' heart swelled with pride and not a little bit of fear as she walked across the building. He smiled when he saw several of the Councilmen turn to watch her as well, offering greetings, and no doubt commending her for her efforts. How many nights had he spent lying in his bed, wide awake, praying to whatever forces there were that she would mend?

And how many more nights would be spent in the same manner?

She had regained her legs.

But he doubted that the carefree bounce that used to be in her step would ever return.

<><>

Angel had reopened the gash on his knuckle, courtesy of Willy's teeth. He had pulverized the bartender, showing no mercy until the man caved and shouted Spike's whereabouts. Then he had taken out every vampire in the establishment and two Povrux demons just for the hell of it. With a stake in his pocket, his duster billowing behind him, he stalked into the cemetery, heading for the crypt. His eyes were unfocused, blurred with fury, his muscles still tight from the fight at the bar.

There was no question that Spike was going to die. The only dilemma he had was whether to do it swiftly, or take his time, inflicting every torture he could devise on his errant childe. As Angelus, he'd been a master at doling out pain, and no one was more deserving of it than Spike. Hell, he didn't even need much in the way of tools. He flexed his hands. They'd served him well in the past, inflicting all sorts of creative damage on humans and demons alike. All he needed was time alone with his prey...

Shit! Time was something he didn't have. No doubt Buffy would come running after Spike as soon as she finished up with the Initiative. If she found him there... Okay, he'd just barge in, stake him, and leave. And Buffy would never have to know.

He rounded a large monument and froze. Spike was emerging from his crypt, fingering a wad of cash in his hands. The blonde glanced up, eyes widening briefly, and then he had the audacity to grin at Angel. A red flag had been waved. Angel charged, tackling Spike and sending them both tumbling back into the empty sepulcher.

Dust flew as they rolled across the dirty floor. Spike leaped to his feet first, readying himself for another attack. Momentarily blinded, Angel quickly wiped the debris from his eyes as he stood and faced the blond vampire.

Spike laughed lightly. "Aww, if I'd known you were coming, I would have dusted."

"Don't worry," Angel growled. "You will."

"Oh, that's a good one." Spike crouched a little, motioning for Angel to bring it on. "But you lose points for lacking conviction."

Angel pulled the stake from his pocket and laid it on top of the sarcophagus. "One stake. Two vampires. You do the math." Taking a step back, Angel pulled off his duster, and laid it over a broken stone bench.

Spike eyed the stake, his palms itching to grasp it. He had only seen this look on Angel's face once before. And that had been when he had driven Penn away for bedding Darla. Angel had starved his childe for days, then beaten him within an inch of his unlife. The only reason Penn had escaped had been because several minions had intervened. Spike knew he wouldn't be that lucky. His only ally in town had been Buffy and the Scooby Gang -

Buffy-

Spike felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Then he realized someone had. Angel began to rain blows along his torso, and Spike pulled himself together, blocking and dodging as Angel began a new assault. He pulled a perfect right hook, spinning Angel around, then delivered a high kick to Angel's jaw, sending him spiraling into the wall.

The dark vampire shook it off, turning just in time to block a crunching kick at his ribs. Grabbing Spike's boot, Angel shoved as hard as he could. Spike slapped against a column that ran down the center of the room, sending chips of stone clattering against the far wall and floor. Before Spike could right himself, Angel gripped his shirt and belt, half lifting him as he rammed him into the column again and again.

Spike's lip split open and he stiffened when his blood filled his mouth, bringing both legs up and kicking off the column, avoiding a blow that would have broken his nose. Both vampires tumbled to the ground, with Spike at a slight advantage. He leapt to his feet and made a grab for the stake, only to have his feet kicked out from under him. His head slammed against the floor and he howled in pain. "Bloody hell!"

Angel seized the stake and towered over him, wiping his own blood from his face. "Oh, it's gonna be bloody, all right. And painful, Spike. More painful than you can imagine and it still won't be punishment enough for you."

Spike staggered to his feet, cautiously putting the tomb between them. "It can't be worse than this."

"You'd be surprised," Angel replied. He watched as Spike lifted a shaking hand, running it over the side of his bleeding head. "Why her? Why did you have to - She was crippled! You've always been a fiend, but-"

"She started it!" Spike shouted. "I tried to keep her at arm's length, but-" He stood up straight. "You've been there! It's impossible."

Angel's eyes widened. "Don't you dare compare the- the abomination that you had with Buffy to what I had with her!"

"Oh, and what exactly was that?" Spike grabbed a shirt off a pile in his ragged armchair and held it against his head. "A godsend? Heaven? Newsflash, we're **both** demons."

"I have a soul."

"And I've always had more heart," Spike said.

"Yeah, it took a lot of heart to fuck her and leave her wounded and lying in an alley. One more good deed like that and we'll have to make you a saint."

"At least I didn't fuck her and then try to kill her, like the martyr in this room did."

Angel's nostrils flared. "That was different! I didn't have my soul then!"

"And I've never had one. I guess that just makes me the better man, eh?" Spike tossed the bloody shirt to one side and took a step toward him. "Now let's finish what you started."

Angel stared his opponent up and down, letting his gaze linger over the blood that rolled down his temple. "She loves you. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why."

"You think I can?" Spike shook his head. "You think I wanted to hear her say it? It made me sick!"

Lowering the stake to his side, Angel sighed. "Heartsick. Because you know you don't deserve her."

"What I don't deserve is this conversation. It's kill or be killed, mate, not bore each other to tears. Unless of course your method is to get me to kill myself." Spike took a step toward Angel, half hoping he'd raise the stake and end it all. He had been planning on taking his money, buying a car, and driving as fast as he could away from this place, but he doubted he would have made it far. Seeing the Slayer again, seeing the look on her face when she registered what he'd done, that was worse than being staked in the heart. Worse than bathing in holy water. "How is she?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Angel stepped forward and punched him hard across the jaw. "You don't get to ask that, Spike. How the hell do you think she is?"

The cut on his mouth reopened, filling his mouth with blood, which he swallowed. "I think she's better off."

"That's the first sane thing that's come out of your mouth in quite a few decades." Angel raised the stake and took a step closer. "Got any famous last words to go with that?"

Spike glanced at the stake, then looked up at Angel. "Tell her that you can't love something to life. And I was too much of a coward to love her to death."

Angel faltered mid-strike, registering Spike's words. He felt his soul twist in agony, felt the claws that were forever digging into his heart tighten, and closed his eyes. Killing him was too easy.

Spike's eyes widened in disbelief. "Do it! Do it, goddamn you!" He grabbed Angel's arm, pointing the stake against his chest. "You came here for revenge, now take it!"

Angel wrenched his arm away and threw the stake with such force that it shattered against the wall. "You're pathetic, Spike."

"I- I-" Spike's shoulders slumped, and he took a deep unneeded breath as he stared at the floor. "I don't want to live without her."

"But you will," Angel growled, gripping a handful of his childe's hair and tilting his head back so he could see his face. "When you're alone in the middle of the night and you're aching for her, when you're in agony like you've never felt because you think she might be in another man's arms - think of me. Because if anyone will know my pain, you will."

Spike watched in shock as Angel turned, slowly lifted his duster from the bench and slipped his arms into the sleeves. His sire walked over the money that had been strewn when they'd fought, and then he paused at the door. "Killing you might have made me happy. Letting you live makes us even."

And as the door slammed, echoing through the dank crypt, Spike knew that for once, his Sire's words held all the conviction in the world.

<><>

Buffy trudged slowly toward Revello Drive. She dreaded entering the empty house, dreaded sitting down inside alone, dreaded everything. If she slept at all, she was sure to dream of Spike, and if she didn't sleep, she'd be stuck thinking about nothing else. She wasn't sure which was worse. It wasn't like she had control over either one. No matter how hard she tried not to think of him, he was always there.

As much as she hated to admit it, a part of her was happy that Spike had gotten his own revenge on Maggie. In this instance, it had been his own brand of justice, and she couldn't begrudge him that. What really troubled her was the look in his eyes afterward. She had no idea what he'd been thinking or feeling at that moment. Had he been wishing that it had been **her** neck he'd snapped? She didn't doubt for one second that if he'd had the chance, he would have tried.

Would she have stopped him?

She felt tears welling in her eyes and angrily rubbed them away. She had to refocus! Another chance at a semi-normal life had fallen into her lap and she had to embrace it. Just a few days before, she had been convinced that her life would be the four walls of her mother's house, a wheelchair, and not much else. Now she had the world at her feet. All she had to do was cover as much of it as possible and live her life. She was the Slayer! The one girl in the entire world who was strong enough to defeat demons.

Except maybe one.

Her thoughts had come back around to Spike. No sooner than she had gotten herself pumped up to move on, she was right back at square one. She turned the corner of Revello Drive and shoved her hands in her pockets. A car started in the distance and she looked up in time to see Angel's black convertible pulling away from the curb in front of her house. "Angel!" she shouted, breaking into a run.

If he saw her, he didn't acknowledge her, because the car raced around the corner and the sounds of the engine faded into the night. Feeling even worse, if that was possible, she pulled her keys from her pocket and walked up the sidewalk. She saw the piece of paper stuck in the door as she climbed the steps and her heart thumped against her chest. Spike?

Pulling it loose, Buffy sat down under the porchlight. Leaning against the front door, she opened the folded letter. Angel's familiar handwriting was scrawled across the page, and she felt guilty for being disappointed. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

<<>>

The note in her fingers trembled violently, blurring the words as Buffy tried to read it for a third time. The fact that Angel had left Sunnydale again was a dim blip on her radar. It was what he said about Spike that held her attention now. Angel had always been cryptic, always been one to talk in circles and seemed to enjoy watching her try to make sense of his meaning. But this seemed pretty cut and dried.

'His heart got in the way.'

Was she a fool to hope?

The wind blew, rustling the letter in her hands and lifting the ends of her hair. Turning to look out at the darkened street, she remembered the night she had bolted from her wheelchair, sprinting across the lawn and out onto the freezing asphalt to protect him. She recalled the fight that had led to him storming out, the way she swallowed her pride and wheeled herself out, and the look on his face as he turned to come back inside, only to be trapped by the vampires. He had been scared. And it was that very fear that gave her the incentive to burst from the safety of her world and expose the truth.

And just look at what it had gotten her.

Part of her wanted to rush across town, confront Spike and beg him to - to what? Love her? Be with her? No. He was a cold blooded killer without his chip... and she was a Slayer again. Bound by duty and obligation to stop him.

And to stop herself before she raced across town and...

The clocktower in town chimed suddenly and Buffy stepped slowly off her porch, staring down the street. It was almost dawn. The bells only rang out at midnight.

The bells had been ringing the night he had run away.

As if to prove a point, the chimes dinged again, louder, more insistent.

She was running before the sound had faded, note in hand, and her heart on her sleeve.

<><>

Spike finished collecting the last of the scattered money and piled it on top of the stone tomb, then sat heavily beside it. It had taken him longer than he had expected to gather his things again, and already, he could feel the impending sunrise prickling at his skin. His entire body ached from the fight with Angel, but luckily, the aches and pains seemed to cancel each other out, so he couldn't concentrate on a single one.

Except the one in his heart.

He kept thinking about the look on Buffy's face when he'd killed Walsh. Her lips had formed a perfect 'oh', and she had looked at him with shock, her green eyes dull with pain. He doubted she even realized that she had taken a step away from him, as though she feared him. Once upon a time, he would have enjoyed her fear, played on it, preyed on it, but now it made him colder inside than usual. And the part of him that wanted to hate her for it was also the part of him that ached to touch her. To... love her.

As he sat staring at the dim gray walls of the crypt, he remembered the way she had clung to him when the storm hit. The way she had shivered and pressed her lips against his. He recalled the way she had given up, reached her breaking point, and let him pull her back in. Coloring her hair, helping her dress, arguing over the remote control, it had been the closest thing to normal he'd ever had. He had so many memories for the short time he'd been with her ... but it wasn't enough.

A lifetime wouldn't be enough. He had been right in what he told Angel. He couldn't live without her and yet here he was, poised to skip town with a wad of cash, a handful of memories, and enough *remorse*, of all things, to make him miserable. He shouldn't feel bad about killing. It's what he was designed to do, and he shouldn't feel bad about shagging the Slayer either. He should have been out boasting about it with his demon friends and telling them all how she cried and professed her love. And how he had mocked her and brought her to her knees.

But he didn't have any demon friends, not anymore. And he knew that even if he did, he wouldn't have said a thing.

He felt a familiar ache in his chest that he recognized as hunger. At the Summers' house, he had enough blood to last two weeks, but here he had nothing. He sighed and stood up, glancing around the room for the bottle of tequila that had once sat on top of his broken television. He spotted it in the corner and trudged slowly toward it, hoping that it wasn't empty. To his great relief, there was still a couple of inches of liquor left in the bottle. He tipped back his head and drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The door opened behind him and he spun, expecting to see Angel back to finish the job. Instead, it was Buffy. His eyes locked on hers and he lowered the bottle.

She stepped into the room and crossed her arms. "Celebrating your success?"

Seeing her there, face red from the wind, her hair tousled, and her eyes blazing into him, almost caused the bottle to slip from his fingers. Instead, he took another sip and held it out to her. "Yep. Wanna help me?"

Before she could stop herself, Buffy knocked the bottle out of his hands and slammed her fist into his jaw. He spun, staggering against the wall, then pushed himself back up, straightening his back. "What, Angel didn't mark me enough, now you've gotta get your licks in, too?"

Buffy stared at him, fists held tight at her sides. "Why, Spike?" she said in a low and dangerous voice. "Just tell me why."

He licked his lip, tasting blood from a cut she'd reopened. "Why what? Why'd I dare to get my unlife back? Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

"So that's it? You're evil again and all's right with the world?" She laughed bitterly, throwing up her hands. "Congratulations! You finally got what you wanted."

"I've always been evil. You just didn't want to see it." He leveled her with an ice-filled gaze. "This chip didn't make me any less of a demon."

"Yeah, well, maybe it made you more of a man."

"I'm not a man, remember? Not human, and not some fucking prince on a white horse. Vampire. Undead. End of story."

She folded her arms and looked away. "So things just go back to the way they were? Mortal enemies? This is how you wanted it?"

"You got your cure!" he shouted. "Why shouldn't I get mine?"

"Your cure makes you a killer!" she yelled back.

"And yours doesn't? My kind would beg to differ, pet."

"This changes everything between us."

"No," Spike said sharply, "I'm still of the mentality that your lies and your deception changed everything."

Buffy's nostrils flared. "Oh, so this is about revenge."

"If I wanted revenge, I'd lie to your face and then rip your heart out the way you did mine."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't get all sentimental here, but your heart hasn't exactly been in the equation from the beginning."

"You don't know a bloody thing about my heart!" he shouted.

" Maybe I don't," she held up the note, "but Angel seems to think he does."

Spike snatched it out of her hand. A low growl filled the room as he digested what it said. "Is this what sent you scampering over here? The Brooding One?" Spike shredded the note and tossed it at her. "Come to make sure he worked over the Big Bad?"

"The Big Bad?" Buffy scoffed. "Where was the Big Bad when *Spike* was bathing me? Tending to me? Making sure I-"

"That chip in my soddin' head-"

"The chip made you care for me? No, Spike, we both know better."

"What makes you think I cared about you?"

Buffy closed the gap between them. "If you didn't, you would have killed me already," she said quietly. "Or is that why you got the chip out in the first place? So you could finally finish the job?"

Spike grabbed her and yanked her closer, effectively blocking the fist she automatically lashed out with. "Don't fool yourself, kitten. You weren't even a thought when I got the chip zapped. I did it for me! And what bothers you most is that now there's nothing standing in the way."

"In the way of what?" Buffy asked through clenched teeth.

"You and me. Bare bones. Who we are."

"Who we are is a vampire and a slayer. Enemies. According to you, that's all we ever were."

Spike tightened his grip. "Let's find out then, shall we? Put it to the test. We're gonna play twenty questions and if I don't like your answers, you'll know."

She struggled in his grasp. "Don't threaten me!"

He gave her a mocking glance and stilled her movements, his lips only a few inches from hers as he growled, "One, was it a game to you? Toy with Spike's emotions and see if you can get a rise? See if you could win?"

"Win what?" Buffy cried. "A rough night in the alley? Sorry, I'll take what's behind door number two."

"Behind door number two are my walking papers. You remember those? You lied to me and I walked? You chased after me, Slayer, and then you begged for what you got. I made it perfectly clear to you what I am. I'm a *demon*. Getting hurt only goes with the territory."

"Getting hurt? You *murdered* me in that alley. I lay myself bare for you and since you knew you couldn't hurt me physically, you went right for my soul. I told you that I lo-"

"Oh, here it is again!" Spike shouted. If she made another declaration of love, he didn't know what he'd do. He stared past her at nothing for a few seconds, his fingers still digging into her upper arms, before he made eye contact. This time, when he spoke, he leaned down so they were nose to nose. "You love me? Was it all sunshine and roses covering up the stench in that alley? I hate to break it to you, precious, but that wasn't love. That was me fucking you out of your mind."

Buffy shoved him as hard as she could. "You overestimate your skills."

"Is that right?" Spike kept his footing and put his hands on his hips. "Maybe you overestimated yours. Notice I'm the one able to walk away and you're still coming to me." He paused, giving her a questioning look, waiting for her to yell back at him. When she said nothing, her face like stone, he shouted, "Why are you here? What do want from me!?"

"I want to know why!" Buffy cried. She took a step forward and struck him on the chest. "Why did you do it?!" Hot angry tears flooded her eyes as she pounded her fist against him. "Show me, Spike! Show me why losing the chip was worth losing me! Hit me! Kill me!"

"Stop it!" Spike growled, trying to grab her arms. He caught both and pinned them behind her, causing her warm, soft body to arch against his...and every hunger and impulse he'd ever had surged through him at the contact - kiss her, bite her, take her...love her. He closed his eyes and swallowed, fighting for control - control over the demon, control over his heart...control over his very unlife.

"Go ahead and just kill me, Spike!" she sobbed, leaning her head against his chest. "Do it quick like you promised before and stop torturing me!" Her breath hitched in her throat. "I can't...I can't take this anymore...this slow death...please...just...do it..."

And there it was. That magical death wish that all Slayers eventually began itching for. The reason he'd bagged two, actually. Once upon a time he would have gleefully taken her up on it. Would have torn out her throat and bathed in that powerful aphrodisiac that flowed through her veins. Danced on her grave, even.

Once upon a time.

Helplessly, he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her unique scent. "Don't you get it?" he growled in her ear. "I can't kill you. I've never been able to kill you..."

Something inside him gave way and he shook her, the words bursting forth in a torrent. "I bloody hate you, Summers! This - this thing between us is unnatural, it's not supposed to happen! I'm not supposed to want you, I'm not supposed to do anything but take your miserable life and end my torment. And I can't do it. All I can do is think about you and dream about you until it drives me insane." His eyes were wild as they stared down into hers.

"Spike -"

He loosened his grip and wrapped his arms around her, dropping his head to her shoulder as if defeated. "You're under my fucking skin, Slayer, so far under it bleedin' hurts. And I don't want you there. I don't want you inside me, I don't want..." his voice was barely a whisper, "I don't want to love you..."

Her eyes closed as she began to hope, and her hand came up to tentatively stroke his hair. "I know," she murmured softly as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. "Believe me, I know. But after everything that's happened...I don't think either one of us has a choice."

"You've got your legs back, Slayer. You should use them to run as far away from me as you can get." In direct opposition to his words, his fingers dug into her skin, unwilling to let go. "How can this possibly work?" he wondered aloud.

"How can it not?" She tightened her fingers in his hair and tugged his head back to stare into his eyes. "I know who and what you are, and no matter how many times I tell myself that it's crazy, that I *should* run, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference. I still want you, I still want to be with you...and I dare you to look me in the eye and say you don't feel the same."

Under her gaze, his eyes darkened to the color of midnight, and her breath caught at the intensity of his stare. She knew he was warring within himself, still trying to put up one last resistance before leaping into the abyss, where she'd fallen so long ago. She understood it, just as she understood how futile it was to even try to fight it. And she wasn't above giving him a push to help him along. "I want you, Spike," she whispered. "I want you so much I ache with it..."

He stared down at her tear-stained face, at luminous eyes that reflected the hunger that he felt. And he knew that he'd never had a chance, not really, and if he walked now, the way that Angel had, he'd never feel this way again. Never experience the warmth of her smile, or the heat that nestled deep within her. Never know sunlight again.

It was too much to give up.

"Bugger it," he growled helplessly before surrendering and covering her mouth with his own.

At the first taste, an indescribable combination of salt and honey and want and need, he wondered why in hell he'd ever considered putting up a fight. Surrendering wasn't so bad, he mused. Not the stake in the heart he'd assumed it to be. No, it was more like being consumed by the sun. But instead of feeling like death, it felt like...coming home.

The room around her seemed to disappear as Buffy melted into him, offering herself up to the hunger in his kiss. After everything that had happened she'd nearly given up hope on ever getting this close to him again. Almost sobbing with relief, she clung desperately to his shirt, pulled him even closer and matched his hunger with her own. His hands tangled in her hair as she arched against him, rising on tiptoe so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. She let out a gasp as he pressed his erection into the space between her thighs, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

"Spike..." she whimpered as his mouth drifted over her chin and down the slender column of her throat, his tongue tracing the delicate vein that throbbed with every beat of her heart. Her slayer-sense got the better of her when she felt blunt teeth scraping over her skin and she unconsciously stiffened in his arms.

Spike stopped and pulled back, his expression unreadable. He cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her for what seemed like forever, scraping her nerve endings raw with the intensity of his gaze. When she opened her mouth to break the tension, he spoke. "You want me, Slayer?

"God, yes," she replied breathlessly, and tried to move forward to kiss him again.

He pulled back again, stopping her. "Then trust me," he said softly. He moved against her again, sliding his thumbnail over her jaw and tilting her head to one side, exposing her neck. Buffy held her breath as his mouth descended, licking and kissing a path from the base of her throat to her ear. He knew where each and every nerve was located, where the tiniest of touches would send her pulse racing.

And it did, her blood automatically rushing to the surface, as if answering the call of his hungry mouth, begging him to taste it. He silently questioned where these masochistic tendencies came from. Why he was willing to torment himself by refraining from taking that powerful elixir that surged through her veins. The scent alone was nearly driving him mad, as was the knowledge that nothing in the world tasted as sweet as slayer blood. And still he kept his fangs at bay, using only blunt teeth and lips and tongue on her jugular.

Her knees grew weaker with every second as she helplessly clung to him, whimpering with need. The sensation at her throat was maddening, driving her to rub against his hardness in desperation, seeking release. He couldn't possibly make her come this way...could he? He was certainly giving it his best shot, making her writhe against him and clutch his hair in mindless passion, on the verge of begging him to please, please...

But the bite never came. And when he pulled away long enough to tug her shirt over her head, she felt almost...disappointed. She remembered just how powerful Angel's bite had been, how it engulfed her entire being and culminated in a mind-blowing orgasm. Yeah, and you almost died, she reminded herself. Worth it, though, came the next reckless thought. Oh, so very worth it.

And then Spike's hands and lips were on her again and she couldn't think at all. She couldn't do anything except pull at his clothing in desperation, eager to feel his skin against hers. Together they dragged his shirt over his head and fumbled with buttons and zippers, frantically shoving each pair of pants down over hips and thighs. When the last article of clothing had been kicked away, they faced each other, flushed and breathless with passion, and not a little bit of fear.

Spike's hot gaze traveled the length of her as he finally permitted himself to really look at what he'd been hungering for these past few weeks. She was incredibly beautiful, slender, but rounded in all the right places, and she was his for the taking. He thought of all the times he'd turned away from her, out of either propriety or pride, and cursed inwardly, calling himself every kind of fool. There was no way he was going to make the same mistake again.

When he finished his perusal, he found her conducting her own wide-eyed appraisal of him. He grinned at the expression on her face, wondering if she liked the view. Her lips parted, and like a starving man, he reached for her again. Fingers threading through his hair, she pulled his head down to kiss him, and again he was drowning in the taste of her. His hands slid down her body, and then her legs were wrapped around him as he lifted her and unsteadily made his way around the sarcophagus to the mattress that lay behind it.

Spike dropped to his knees and they tumbled onto the lumpy pallet, her slender body stretched out beneath him. He groaned at the feel of warm, satiny-smooth skin against his, at the touch of moist heat grazing his hard cock. All he wanted was to bury himself to the hilt inside her, to lose himself in the inferno between her thighs, but not before finding out if she tasted as good as she felt. If the rest of her matched the utter deliciousness of her mouth...

Buffy's head was swimming as she gazed up at him. Everything was moving so fast, and every inch of her body throbbed with need. She rubbed her legs against his, enjoying the feel of hard muscle and coarse hair against her smooth skin. Her hands ran up over his back, tangling in his hair as his lips found her throat again. Closing her eyes, she moaned as his mouth traveled down into the hollow between her breasts, then lower, over her stomach, and the moan turned into a whimper as he brushed a kiss over her mound. Her eyes opened and she forgot how to breathe as his dark, hungry gaze fixed on her face. "Spike..." she whispered pleadingly, and the grin he flashed her was so predatory, so sexy, that she wondered if it was possible to come without even being touched. And then, as she watched him lower his head to taste her, she didn't have to wonder at all.

The first touch was achingly soft, the merest brush of lips across moist flesh. Spike took a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent - the scent of arousal that had been making him crazy for weeks. It was all he could do to keep from falling on her like a ravening beast, to keep his game face in check as her pulse thundered in his ears. Fighting for control, he rubbed his cheek against one thigh, then the other, and then nuzzled his face into her damp curls with a soft growl that almost a sigh.

The Slayer arched and let out a cry of her own as he fastened his mouth on her, licking and sucking gently at first, then more insistently in response to her pleas. She tasted better than he could ever have imagined - better than the sweetest fruit, the headiest wine...the freshest blood - and he realized that after this, nothing else would ever satisfy him again. His tongue explored every fold, delved deep inside her, swirled over her tender, swollen nub while she writhed and clutched at his hair. As he felt her body tense, his hands tightened on her thighs and he sucked harder, pressing his tongue to the sensitive spot just beneath her clitoris...and then he could feel her going over, hear her scream his name as she climaxed violently against his face.

He didn't give her a chance to recover. Sliding up her body, he entered her with a quick thrust and rode the aftershocks of her orgasm, almost passing out as her hot, tight walls squeezed his cock mercilessly. He set a fast pace, driving her into the mattress, desperate for his own release. Buffy wrapped her legs around him, her hips rising to meet his blinding thrusts head on. She could feel herself cresting again, her body tensing in anticipation as her fingernails dug into his back.

"Spike," she gasped, her breath hot on his neck, "please...nownownow..." and then she shattered, and he was coming with her, his growl joining her cries, his seed mingling with her juices, sweat-slick skin and tangled limbs, bodies trembling as he pulsed inside her one last time and she arched up to hold him there.

Spike's hands were in her hair, his face pressed against her neck, trying to catch the breath that he didn't really need. He could feel her shaking beneath him, and then something warm and wet touched his face. Raising his head, he stared at her with glazed eyes. "You're crying," he murmured, catching a tear with his thumb. While she watched, he brought it to his mouth and tasted it. Her breath caught and she looked at him searchingly, wondering how a demon could be so gentle. He wasn't supposed to be tender, or caring or any of the things he'd shown her during her paralysis. And yet...here they were.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, propping his head on his hand.

She stared at him with huge eyes still shiny with unshed tears. "After the last time, I wasn't sure...I never expected it to be so....so...."

"That makes two of us, luv." Smiling ruefully, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. "No regrets, then?" he asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

"No," she smiled back. "No regrets."

"Good." He grabbed his pillow and shoved it beneath his head, then settled her so that she was curled up against him. Feeling her shiver, he remembered how cold the crypt could be and reached around for the blanket, dragging it up over both of them. She snuggled closer and gave a tiny sigh.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said.

"C'mon, tell me."

"It's just...you can be so sweet, so thoughtful, sometimes." She felt a rumbling chuckle beneath her ear. "Stop it! You know I'm right. I've never known anyone like you - you're probably the exception to every rule in the vampire handbook." Except for Angel, she thought, and then drove him out of her mind completely. He didn't belong here. Not now.

"Look who's talking. I heard they wouldn't even *give* you the slayer handbook. And here you are," he ran a hand over her hip and let it drift up to cup one breast, "fraternizing with the enemy. I guess we're both deviants, eh, pet?"

"Obviously, or we wouldn't be here now," she smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. But *why* are we so different? Why are *you*? Does it have to do with who you were before?"

"Who I was?"

"You know, a doctor. I'm assuming that you became one because you felt...I don't know - empathy? - for others less fortunate. I mean, back then it couldn't have been for the money, right? So maybe after you were turned, you retained some part of that empathy, some...sliver of human compassion. That would explain where your 'bedside manner' comes from. It would explain a lot, actually," she mused. "You know, we could always ask-"

"Bloody hell," he burst out. "Don't you dare tell anyone! Not even Giles - I mean it, Slayer."

Buffy snuggled back down again. "Relax, scaredy-cat, I won't tell. Besides, it gives me something to hold over your head."

"You're evil."

"Must be why I like you so much." She paused, remembering that they'd never really resolved the issue of her feelings. "I wasn't lying, you know, about that night I got attacked. I *was* going to tell you that I was falling for you. It wasn't Willow's spell at all. Not if she did it after I was paralyzed."

Spike was silent. "Spike?" She sat up and looked him in the eye. "What I felt was *real* - all of it - from the start. And it's more than 'like', more than just 'want'..." She took a deep breath, unnerved by his stare, but determined to go on. "I love-"

"Buffy, don't," he quietly interrupted. He saw the hurt look in her eyes and sighed, inwardly searching for the words to make her understand. "Look, pet, what we have here is... incredible, but..." He lowered his gaze for a second, and when he looked back up at her, his expression was one of regret. "I can't give you the words, Slayer. Even if I could, I'm not even sure if I believe in that kind of love anymore, the kind that you want. The kind that you...need."

"Why does everyone always think they know what I need?" Buffy cried out in exasperation. "You, Mom, Giles, Angel - You don't know, any of you. Hell, half the time *I* don't even know. I know what I don't need, and that's everybody in my life making decisions for me. I'm a big girl, Spike. My eyes are wide open, you know?"

"Are they? Can you honestly tell me that when you say you love me, you won't want to hear it in return?"

"I..." She paused, shaking her head. "I've heard the words before, Spike. My father said them, right before he left us. Angel said them, and it didn't stop him from becoming Angelus, or from leaving me. They're just...words. And yeah, they're nice to hear, but not always enough in the long run. Besides," she shrugged as she moved closer, looking up at him through long, dark lashes, "I've always considered you to be a 'man of action,' anyway." His stomach muscles tensed as one tiny finger traced the line of hair that stretched from his navel to his groin. "Was I wrong?"

His answer was a low, rumbling growl as he grabbed her arms and rolled her beneath him. His full weight came down on her and she reveled in the feel of his strength pinning her to the mattress. She squirmed a little, squealing when he nipped at her throat in a show of dominance. "You want action, Slayer?" he purred in her ear.

"Is my stake sharp and pointy?" she shot back breathlessly, faking a struggle. Her retort made him grin as he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly slipped inside, one torturous inch at a time. She let out a soft gasp and tried to take him deeper, but he held back. "Beast," she moaned, feeling her entire body turn to jelly as he nuzzled her neck.

"Mmhmmm," he murmured in assent, suddenly thrusting all the way into her. He raised his head and stared down at her with glowing eyes. "But I'm *your* beast. Yours to command...yours to tame..."

He was moving so maddeningly slow that Buffy thought she'd surely die from the torture of it. It hadn't taken him long to figure out exactly how to touch her, to know just how to drive her crazy. He drove into her hard, deep, his hands lifting and spreading her while his tongue teased her nipples into stiffened peaks. She felt utterly helpless, and for once in her life, she didn't care. Tame him? Why on earth would she want to?

"I think...I like...you better...wild...and..." A sharp cry was wrenched from her as quickened the pace, "...untamed...yes, there...oh, God, Spike...don't stop...please!"

The explosion came from deep in her womb and radiated outward, causing her to convulse around him like a vise. Her muscles gripped his cock, pulling him into oblivion with her until *he* was the helpless one, shouting her name as he filled her again and again. When he was completely spent, he collapsed on top of her and closed his eyes, listening to her ragged breathing. "Christ, Slayer," he panted, "if we keep this up you're going to kill me yet."

"At least you'll die happy," she murmured drowsily, a small smile of contentment on her face. She gave a slight whimper of protest when he pulled away to drop onto the mattress next to her. He gently turned her to her side and spooned himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her. Snuggling back against him, Buffy sighed as she felt his lips brush her shoulder. "I told you," she said softly, "actions are better than words."

He chuckled sleepily. "I should have known you'd want to prove your point with a demonstration. I can't even feel my legs, for fuck's sake."

"That's me, demonstrative girl. You're not complaining, are you?"

"Oh, yeah, this is me complaining." He suddenly started tickling her, causing her to squirm and giggle uncontrollably. "Get away from me, you horrid sexy thing! You're corrupting my morals."

"STOP IT!" she shrieked. When she could finally catch her breath, she gasped out, "God, you're demented. I must be crazy."

"Get off it, luv. You're the sanest person I know. Horribly evil, but sane." He grunted as a small elbow slammed into his ribs.

"Go to sleep before I hit you," she grumbled.

"You know that would only turn me on even more," he answered, grinning as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Oh hush. After all that, I'm too tired to even think about turning you on." She grabbed the blanket and Spike helped her settle it over them as she wriggled closer. Her eyes closed and she started to drift, only to startle awake a moment later. "Spike?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"Do I even want to know where this mattress has been?"

Spike was silent for a moment and she was about to prod him awake when he answered, "Uh...not really, no."

"I was afraid you'd say that," she sighed, trying to tug the blanket underneath her body. "We're going to have to discuss your living conditions, or lack thereof."

"Tomorrow, Buffy," he promised sleepily. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

The casual way he said it gave her pause. For so long she'd only been able to think about life one hour at a time, and now she finally had a future, finally had something to look forward to. She doubted that any of it would be easy, especially with Spike being sans chip, but they'd deal with it the same they had dealt with her paralysis - together.

And everyone else in her life would just have to accept it.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, and smiled as she drifted off, secure in the knowledge that he'd still be there when she woke up.

Still awake, Spike listened to the deep, even breaths that signaled her slumber and tightened his hold around her waist. Tomorrow, he mused, would be very interesting. If they managed to get out of bed at all, there'd be Giles to deal with, not to mention the rest of the gang. And Joyce... Joyce didn't even know that Buffy could walk, so hopefully that bit of good news would overshadow the fact that her daughter was involved with another vampire. One without a soul, and without even the chip to act as a muzzle of sorts, things could get a bit dicey. But Buffy had made it clear that she wanted him, and for now, that was all that mattered, right? And anyway, it wasn't as if he'd ever bothered to follow the rules before. He'd always deviated from the norm. *I'm a loner, Dottie, a rebel...* Christ, now he was quoting Pee-Wee Herman to himself.

Spike shook his head and thought about how he'd told her she should run away now that she had her legs back. In the aftermath, he could finally admit to himself he was thankful that, as usual, she hadn't listened. The irony of it all struck him suddenly - that she'd chased after him because of something *Angel* had said. Her former lover, his greatest enemy...who said the gods had no sense of humor? They had it in spades, perverse though it may be. And as long as it worked to his advantage, who was he to complain?

*His heart got in the way.*

Bleedin' ponce.

"Fuck you, Angel," he whispered just before sleep claimed him, "and...thanks."

-end