SHADES OF GREY

A/N: This is not so much a re-posting as a fixed-up version. It reads better with the italics and stuff that it was supposed to have in the first place - Dee.

TITLE: SHADES OF GREY
AUTHOR: Dee Bradfield (My first finished fic - go me!)
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com.
TIMELINE: AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (happy, happy, joy, joy - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).
SUMMARY: Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.
RATING: PG.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?
DEDICATION: To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie.

~*[+]*~

~*[+]*~

Chapter One - SPIKED

It was odd.

It was beyond odd when you thought about it, because for an inhuman creature he seemed uncannily familiar.

Buffy Summers shifted her grip on the ever reliable Mr. Pointy and squinted, trying to make out the vampire’s features as he emerged from the crypt into the murkiness of Sunnydale’s early twilight. She was cold and tired and this weirdness was putting a dent in her going-home plans.

The silhouetted figure pulled out a cigarette, tucked it into the corner of his mouth and flipped on a lighter. It was that brief, incendiary luminance that exposed his identity.

"Oh-my-God... Spike?"

Buffy hadn’t known that she’d spoken out loud until he turned warily in her direction.

"That you, Slayer?"

Oh yeah, she’d be able to recognize that low Brit-edged tone even in England itself. Definitely Spike - erstwhile immortal enemy and infamous troublemaker.

Buffy sighed. He was probably back in town to wreak more of his unique brand of havoc. She straightened, bent on confronting him, then hesitated and chewed worriedly at her bottom lip. Something wasn't right and it was throwing her spider sense off.

"Sod it!" he declared. It took her a startled moment to realize that the curse was directed at himself. "You’re hearing things again, you daft git." He rapped a fist against the side of his head, peered around uncertainly and then shrugged, drawing deeply on his cigarette. Smoke drifted up around his head as he ambled in her general direction, a route taking him directly through a bright shaft of streetlight.

Buffy gasped, only now realizing why he seemed so different.

Spike had stopped bleaching his hair.

The sleek platinum-white had grown out into a far more natural shade - a darker blond not all that dissimilar to her own. The style was longer and strayed in unruly curls onto his forehead and around his ears. It made him appear, of all the weird things in the world, younger and cuter.

He was still wearing that infernal leather duster, though, even if it was layered over a cream-colored sweater and worn blue jeans instead of the perennial black T-shirt and pants ensemble. He looked almost... stylish?

She snorted then, alerting him to her presence and ruining her attempt at stealth. She came out from behind the semi-protective barrier of headstones and greeted him.

"Nice hair."

Spike pulled up short and stared at her.

He made no move, he uttered no sound, and he just stared.

Buffy stared back, refusing to back down in the face of his blatant scrutiny, but then his eyes distracted her.

Blue.

Spike’s eyes were blue. A beautiful undiluted sky blue. Had she ever noticed that before?

It was a strange thing to ascribe to Spike, but there was purity in his gaze – something honest and profound. Probably stemming from the fact that he had lived for over a century. Well, she amended, not lived exactly - but then Angel had been around for even longer, with the addition of a soul, and she’d never seen anything this captivating in his eyes.

Buffy felt a small internal shift, a tender blossoming behind her breastbone, and frowned at the sensation. She stared down at Mr. Pointy, having momentarily forgotten that the stake was even in her hand, and self-consciously tucked it into the back of her jeans, wondering if she should just leave.

Then her anger kicked in.

What the hell was this? Spike was a demon, a diabolical fiend that’d killed who-knew-how-many innocent people. What was he doing? Was he using some Dru kind of vamp-hypnosis on her?

Her frown deepened as she recalled the new purity in his eyes. Had that government chip in his head done the impossible and returned Spike’s humanity? Had it mutated into some sort of man-made replica of his soul? There was a scary thought. Nowhere near as scary as being this drawn to him, though. It was so much more terrifying to think that she might actually be attracted to him.

She eyed him speculatively. She often forgot how handsome he really was. Tall and lean, and in superb shape, vampire or no. She shook her head in disbelief at her fantastical musings.

Wake up, Buffy! This is Spike for God’s sake! What are you thinking?

Spike averted his head, his fingers toying with the scar that hooked through his left brow. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he seemed kinda vulnerable right then. And that was just plain wrong. Cocky and arrogant - yes, but vulnerable? No way.

He exhaled deeply, cast his eyes upward in resignation and then leisurely closed the gap between them.

"Slayer."

The solitary word was uttered succinctly, knowingly, as though running into her was an inconvenience he’d been prepared for.

"Why are you back in Sunnydale?" The question sounded accusatory even to her ears.

"Missed me, did you, pet?" Spike inhaled of his cigarette, a sarcastic smile curved around its filtered end.

"Don’t call me ‘pet’." The rebuke was an expected, automatic response, something she’d been doing for as long as they’d been acquainted, but she was surprised at her reluctance to snap at him. Strangely enough, she had missed him.

He canted his head and regarded her silently. Away from the direct gleam of the streetlight, his eyes seemed dark and fathom-deep, the lucid blue she’d observed hidden in shadows. She resisted the disorientating urge to drag him into the light so she could gaze at that lucidity without reprisal.

"Well", he said. "You look ... alive." He paused and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "Still."

"And you’re still dead."

"Yeah." He grinned at her - a very disturbing and startlingly genuine grin. It sent goosebumps racing up her arms and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her body protectively.

Spike frowned. "You shouldn’t be patrollin' on these cool nights, Slayer, you might catch somethin' other than evil vampire hordes."

"What do you care?"

"I don’t." The grin returned. "I couldn’t give a toss, actually. Just a suggestion."

Buffy’s inner sense was reeling. Where had this twisted, mind-numbing attraction sprung from? Had it been lurking there all along and she’d somehow been unaware of its gruesome presence? Was she sick and perverted?

"You’re not sick. The perverted bit sounds interesting, though."

Spike’s voice seemed to rumble directly in her ears, but she had been watching him the entire time and his lips hadn’t moved. In some incomprehensible way he was transmitting his thoughts. And he’d read hers.

"Get out of my head, Spike."

"Now, you’d think that’d be done easily enough," he spoke aloud this time. "'Easy’ doesn’t come into this scenario." He quirked an eyebrow. "I find that happens quite a bit around you, love."

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Don’t call me ‘love’." She’d forgotten how nerve-gratingly annoying he could be. The urge to snap at him returned with a vengeance. "What exactly is going on?"

"Exactly?" Spike scratched his chin. "You want specifics?"

Buffy fought against an overwhelming desire to smack him in the mouth. He was either deliberately drawing out his explanation, or he didn’t know what was happening and didn’t want her to know of his ignorance.

What is happening?

"Just a handy little trick I picked up while I was on my worldly travels." Spike’s smile lurched into smirk territory.

"Damn you, Spike."

"Too late for that." He fished about for another cigarette and came up empty-handed. He rolled his eyes, pivoted on a booted heel and headed back toward his crypt.

"You are not walking away from me!" Buffy declared.

Spike’s stride didn’t falter and she eventually surrendered to morbid curiosity and followed him.

Irritating, undead, pain-in-the-ASS.

"I heard that, Slayer." Spike didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder and Buffy poked out her tongue at his leather-clad back.

They entered the crypt. He’d left several candles burning and even in their gentle radiance she could see that it hadn’t improved since her last visit, with no decor to speak of and everything dusty.

"You do realize that this whole thing is majorly creepy," Buffy informed him as he bent to retrieve a pack of smokes from behind the stone sarcophagus he used as a bed. "Even for you."

He straightened and frowned at her. "What do you mean ‘even for me’? I thought nothing I did surprised you. I’m disgusting, remember?"

She studied him, suddenly captivated by the play of candlelight over his angular cheekbones. They were lethal, those cheekbones.

Spike pulled a cigarette from the new pack and placed it between his lips, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was watching him. When he lifted his head and met her eyes, though, she knew that he was far from oblivious - very far.

How was it possible for a cold, soulless vampire to have so much heat in his gaze?

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

Buffy glowered. "Would you stop that?"

"Now, why would I do that? It’s very enlightening." He pulled the unlit cigarette back out of his mouth and gestured at her with it. "There’s actually more going on in that pretty little head than meets the eye."

"What goes on in my head is none of your business."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

Buffy felt like pounding something against a brick wall - preferably him. "You are the most impossible person I have ever met," she said. Then remembered that he wasn’t a person. Not really.

"That’s right, pet. You stick to that." He tapped his own chest. "Nasty demon. Horrible blood-sucking monster." He grinned that unbelievably genuine grin again. "Big Bad."

Buffy smiled despite herself and acknowledged that he was right. Technically he was all of those things, but somehow the practical application didn’t seem to work. Nothing fitted him anymore. Not since the chip.

Spike hopped up to sit on the hard slab of his casket. "Bloody stupid chip," he announced blithely.

Buffy gaped at him. "Are you saying that you don’t want it out anymore? That you’ve suddenly come over all warm and fuzzy?"

Spike glanced away uncomfortably. He swung his legs a little and Buffy was amazed by the innocence he projected at that moment. He looked like a big kid, the candlelight casting a golden aura about his head. She sighed. She just couldn’t get used to the non-bleach thing.

"Why the deep and heavy?"

The soft question made her jump. "Huh?"

"Big sigh, Slayer. Got something on your mind?"

"Switched off the Buffy-channel?"

"Re-runs," he muttered, placing the still unlit cigarette back in its cardboard pack and shoving it deep into his pocket.

"Re-runs?" She repeated absently, noting that he’d apparently decided to stop painting his fingernails as well. She raised her hand. "No, second thought, don’t want to know."

"Good." Spike seemed relieved. "I’m not up to the telling of it."

Buffy was now regretting her reluctance. That had really sounded interesting. What could he hear that she couldn’t?

He drew himself up straight and regarded her. "Worried about my insights? Think I’m gonna pick up on something I shouldn’t?"

"No!"

Damn. Too fast with the reply. Too defensive.

He slid off the casket and stood toe to toe with her, forcing her to tilt her head and look up at him. She was again enthralled by the clearness of his eyes. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to have eyes that blue. Or lashes that thick. Or lips that velvety soft. Stop it, Buffy, you’re getting sidetracked!

"See somethin' you like, love?"

The query came softly, tantalizingly, a forbidden whisper. He was in her head again. She tensed and made to step back, but he curved a restraining hand around her arm.

"Spike..." Intended as a warning, his name instead passed her lips like an invitation. Not good. Not good at all.

He slapped a hand to his forehead and wrenched away violently.

"Ow!" He winced. "Don’t think so hard!"

Buffy couldn’t remember thinking anything - her mind had pretty much gone blank. Was she in shock?

"Alright, I get the point." Spike scowled at her. "You can stop shoutin' at me now."

"I didn’t..." Buffy started to protest, confused, only to gasp as he slumped to the floor next to his casket, his head in his hands.

"Bloody hell, this is worse than the chip." He began to shake. "I said I got it, okay?" His muffled voice became choked. "Shut up!"

She understood then that whatever he was picking up on was not coming from her. And he couldn’t turn it off.

"Jeez, Spike, what have you done?"

He gazed up at her beseechingly. His eyes were glassy with pain, their tear-filled clarity hitting her like a physical blow.

"Make it stop," he pleaded, and she was lost.

~*[+]*~

Rupert Giles groaned as the insistent tapping invaded his already fitful dreams. "Go away," he muttered. "We're closed."

The tapping progressed to pounding.

"Giles!"

He sat up abruptly from the table where he’d been dozing when he recognized that the desperate voice he was hearing belonged to Buffy. He tugged an unusually adhesive sheet of paper from the side of his face and straightened his glasses.

He’d apparently slept through nightfall and could see Buffy's street-lit form pacing outside the half-closed blinds of the Magic Box’s front window. The window itself rattled as she again hammered at the door.

"Maybe I should just knock it down," she said, muffled.

Giles shot to his feet and hurried to pull the door open.

The first thing he noticed was that she was extremely distressed.

The second was that she hadn't been talking to herself. A man sat on the path near her feet with his long legs tucked up and his back resting against the wall. As Giles watched, he lowered his already bowed head onto his knees and whimpered.

Buffy knelt at his side. "We have to help him," she said, her voice breaking. "He hurts." Her fingers stroked his rumpled golden hair in a soothing motion and Giles realized that she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who was this person and what was he to Buffy?

The figure on the footpath emitted a deep inhuman growl. His head snapped upright and he pinned Giles with eyes that seemed to glow with an otherworldly power. They were familiar eyes. Eyes that Giles had not expected to see ever again.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Spike?" He took an involuntary step back, surprised not only at the vampire’s condition, but at the curious effect he seemed to be having on Buffy. What was going on?

"Help me get him inside," she said, taking hold of Spike’s elbow.

Giles shook his head to break his reverie and bent to comply. "Yes, of course."

Spike was having none of it, however, continuing to stare at Giles, who, in turn, felt himself being drawn back into the vampire’s gaze as if hypnotized.

"Know it," Spike said. His voice was low and seemed to carry a disembodied echo.

"I – know what?"

Spike leant forward, ignoring Buffy’s attempts to pull him upright, and placed his left hand on Giles’ temple. "Know it," he repeated forcibly. The unusual light in his eyes flared the fierce blue of an intense flame, and warmth emanated from his normally cool fingertips.

Giles felt a pulse pounding in his ears but could not discern whether it was his own or if it was somehow, impossibly, coming from Spike himself. A disquieting pins-and-needles sensation crawled across his scalp and he realized that the voice he heard was entirely in his head. Spike had not uttered a single word aloud.

The vampire winked at him, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his usual arrogance, before a benevolent smile spread across his chiseled features and he slumped against the wall. He reached for Buffy’s hand and held it as though it were a lifeline. "My Slayer", he murmured and promptly fell asleep.

Giles sat back on his heels, stunned, and looked at Buffy to gauge her reaction. She was watching Spike as he slept, apparently overcome with exhaustion. Their hands remained linked, but it was the unadulterated tenderness evident on her face that made him swallow with a sickening apprehension. Dear God, it was happening again.

Spike’s comment repeated in his subconscious, its deep tone mocking him. ‘Know it’, he’d said.

Giles knew.

And he didn’t like it.

~*[+]*~

Stupefied. It was the only word she knew that came close to describing the expression on Giles’ face. Either that or 'landed fish'.

Buffy had seen it before. She knew that he would snap out of it pretty soon and then the questions would start. Giles was big on questions. The problem was that she wouldn’t be able to answer any of them. Spike probably could, but he still hadn’t woken up.

She smiled, remembering the vampire as she’d left him - flat on his back on the sofa in the danger room, his jaw slack and his mouth slightly open. He slept like the dead. Ugh! Bad pun, Buffy, even for you.

"Buffy?"

Great, her Watcher had come out of his shocked state and had started articulating.

"Before you can get on with the interrogating, Giles, I don’t have any idea what is going on."

Giles frowned, then opened his mouth to ask something else. Buffy cut him off. "I don’t know why Spike’s back. I don’t know how that weird thing with his eyes started or how in the hell he was reading my mind."

"He – he was reading your mind?" Giles’ eyebrows shot so far upward that they almost flew off his forehead. "But that’s..."

"Impossible?" Buffy snorted. "Tell me about it. It’s also freaky beyond belief."

"I can imagine." Giles sank onto the seat opposite hers.

"Betcha can’t." She flipped open a book on the circular study table but wasn’t really interested in the arcane script it contained.

"Um, Buffy, regarding Spike..." Giles was hesitant now, almost reluctant, and she knew exactly where the conversation was headed.

She closed the book and focused on her Watcher. "I can’t explain it, Giles. As soon as I saw him..." She sighed. "He’s got a major charisma thing going on that I didn’t notice before. He was like this supercharged magnet and he just pulled me in."

"You weren’t attracted to him before this?"

"No! No, absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous." At Giles’ skeptical expression she lowered her eyes. "Well, kinda. Maybe. A little - a real little. Like atom-sized little."

Giles stood and began to pace. "Vampires possess an abundance of charisma. It’s one of the techniques they use to lure their victims." He stopped pacing, pulled off his glasses, and cleaned them with his handkerchief. "Slayers are supposed to be immune to it." He gave her an ironic half-smile. "You, on the other hand, seem to be unusually susceptible."

"But this is – it’s Spike! He’s - I just can’t..." Buffy threw her hands in the air. "Aargh!"

"Well put," Giles applauded dryly, replacing his glasses.

"Bloody hell."

Spike’s voice came from the doorway to the danger room where he rested uneasily against the frame. He glared at them, his eyes red-rimmed and heavy-lidded. "Sodding headache," he grumbled. "Sodding Keratos demon."

"Keratos demon?" Giles was instantly alert.

Spike shuffled over to the table and gingerly sat down. He leant forward and rested his forehead against its polished surface, groaning in an exaggerated fashion.

"Spike?" Buffy didn’t know whether she should laugh or offer some kind of assistance.

He rolled his head to one side and looked at her. "What?"

"Keratos demon?" Giles prompted. Buffy could practically see him salivating at the prospect of some research.

"Should’ve gutted the conniving bugger," Spike remarked. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to sit upright. "Oh God, that hurts!"

Buffy stared, stunned at seeing the golden tumble of his hair under the florescent lights.

Spike opened one eye and peered at her. "What?" he asked again. When she didn’t answer he glanced upward, trying to see what she was so interested in, and smiled on realizing the source of her fascination.

"It’s hair, Slayer," he said. "I notice you’ve got some of your own."

"Yeah, but..." she gestured helplessly.

"Okay, so it’s blond," he blurted defensively. "Big deal. You didn’t think that peroxide was my natural shade, did you?"

Buffy hesitated. He was being a bit ultra-sensitive about the non-bleach issue. "It takes some getting used to I guess," she said. "I just won’t look at you."

He blinked as he digested the statement, and then turned to Giles. "Ever come across a Keratos demon, mate?" he asked.

"I – actually, no I haven’t. Their psychic powers are legendary, of course. The Watcher’s Council have an extensive selection of volumes..." Giles trailed off when he realized that Spike wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. He was watching Buffy from beneath his lashes instead - his brooding visage reminding Giles eerily of another, equally besotted vampire. So much so that felt compelled to ask, "Spike, have you somehow managed to get your soul back?"

"Hell no!" Spike was horrified. He grimaced at his own raised voice and clamped a hand over his eyes. "Ow."

Buffy smiled indulgently, resting her chin on her hand. He was cute when he was in pain. She loved seeing him like this. She sat up straight at the thought. Had she just used the word ‘love’ in reference to Spike?

He glanced at her and, noting the change in her posture raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Got somethin' to say?"

"Why don’t you dive on in and see for yourself? You didn’t have a problem with it before."

"I didn’t have a post-Keratos migraine before."

"What did this demon do exactly?" Giles asked, recognizing that they weren’t going to resolve the issue unless he intervened.

Spike ducked his head. "It doesn’t matter."

"It matters," Buffy argued. "It matters big time."

"Leave it," Spike growled. "It was stupid. I was stupid and now it’s over."

She leant forward. "Your being stupid doesn’t come into it. That’s a given thing."

He recoiled slightly, something flashing in his eyes that gave her pause. She’d seen the same expression on his face before, but its meaning had never properly registered. It was hurt - she had hurt his feelings.

Hang on a sec – Spike had feelings?

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you positive you didn’t get your soul back?"

Spike shook his head. "I’m not gonna answer that," he said. "It’s insulting."

Buffy sniffed. "This coming from Mr. Tactful."

He rested his elbows on the table, bringing his face level with hers. "Be honest. You missed me, didn’t you? Truly?"

The laughter dancing in his vivid blue eyes stole her breath. He was enjoying this. She felt a responsive smile tug at her mouth and repressed it. "I’m not going to answer that," she told him. "It’s insulting."

Giles cleared his throat. "The effect that this demon had on you is significant, Spike, even if you don’t want to admit it. It’s imperative that we are aware of all..."

"Oh, alright." Spike threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Just cease the verbal haranguing would you?" He rolled his eyes at Buffy. "I don’t know how you stand it."

She ignored him and tapped her finger on the book she’d opened earlier. "Don’t you have enough info in the A to Z of yuck stuff?" she asked Giles.

"Keratos demons are extraordinarily rare," he said. "I believe that the last recorded encounter was in the vicinity of eighty years ago."

"I’ve run into this pillock three times at least," Spike noted. He appeared to be rapidly returning to his normal self – as normal as that got. "’Course, most demons are pretty much alike. Slimy. Scaly." He pulled a face. "Smelly."

"Three times?" Giles was astounded. "Where?"

Spike’s brow furrowed as he made a show of searching his memory. "Um, first time was India. Early 1900’s." He shrugged. "The other was here in the good old U.S. of A. 1960’s. And then this last..."

"1960’s?" Buffy stared at him. "Were you a hippie?"

"I was at Woodstock," Spike informed her importantly.

"Isn't that like an oldie catchphrase?"

Giles sighed. If this continued there was no chance of his getting the information he wanted. "Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to separate you two?"

"I’d buy tickets to that show." Spike slouched back in his chair and dug into his duster pocket for his cigarettes. When he finally excavated the pack, an increasingly irate Watcher confiscated it.

"No smoking," Giles stated, indicating a nearby sign.

"Oh, and inhalin' incense is good for you?" Spike snorted but made no further protest. "Right, then, where was I?"

Giles sighed and rubbed at his forehead, beginning to feel that the vampire’s headache was somehow contagious.

"I got the Keratos to divulge a few trade secrets is all," Spike related, apparently resigned to his story-telling fate. "Hooked up with him in Mexico at that Day of the Dead thing they do." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and cast a wistful glance at his impounded cigarettes. "Tequila’s handy for loosenin' up the old tongue. Well, tongues as the case may be. And this demon’s quite the imbiber. Not too crash hot at pool, though." He smiled to himself in amused reminiscence. "The extra appendages tended to get in the way..."

"These ‘trade secrets’ you mentioned," Giles inquired. "What did they entail?"

Spike’s attention flicked briefly to Buffy before returning to the Watcher. "Details aren’t vital to the narrative here," he said. "I just wish the wanker had been more forthcomin' about the skull-crackin’ side effects."

"You got a demon to teach you how to get inside my head?" Buffy sputtered in disbelief. "Are you completely insane?"

"Beginning to think so," Spike mumbled. Only Giles picked up on the statement and he frowned worriedly at the vampire.

"What did you say?" Buffy asked. Spike refused to look at her and she turned to Giles. "What did he say?"

"I..." Giles barely got his mouth open.

"I said ‘yes’, okay?" Spike snapped, frustrated. "I’m insane. I’m seriously deluded. I am the friggin’ mother of all nutcases."

"You got that right," Buffy huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

The unearthly light in Spike’s eyes rekindled and shot angry blue fire in her direction.

Buffy backed away. "Uh, Giles," she gestured across the table. "He’s gone all glowy again."

"So I see," Giles scrutinized Spike carefully. "From what little I’ve observed, any kind of overly strong emotion seems to set it off."

"Emotion?" Buffy scoffed. "It is Spike."

"Hey, I’ve got emotions," he told them. "I’m a sensitive guy." He straightened up as something occurred to him. "I’m not gonna get another of those sodding migraines am I?"

Giles pursed his lips in sympathy. "You might."

"I’m gonna hunt that demon down," Spike declared vehemently. "I’m gonna pull his bleedin’ horns off and shove ‘em fair up his..."

"Maybe if you calmed down, it’ll stop," Buffy suggested.

"You think?" Spike seemed pleased at the prospect. He smiled.

This time Buffy sensed when the wave of emitted charisma hit her, causing her heart to trip inside her chest. In that stumbling heartbeat, he became the center of her world. It was as though she was seeing the room through a camera lens and he was the only thing in focus. Giles was relegated to a black-and-white blur in her peripheral vision and Spike was in full glorious Technicolor.

She blinked rapidly, fascinated at the discovery. "Wow," she breathed.

Vampire and Watcher frowned synchronously and exchanged blue-eyed glances – one bemused, and the other deeply concerned.

"What’s up with you, Slayer?" Spike asked.

"You’re such a hottie," she announced, then slapped a mortified hand over her mouth.

Spike winked at her. "Are you just now figuring that out, love? Been tryin' to tell you that for years..." He paused and scowled. "Hang on..."

"It’s something we discovered while you were recuperating," Giles interjected. "Buffy’s Slayer ability to block your, shall we say, ‘vampiric allure' has been somewhat reduced."

"But I’m not sendin' any," Spike seemed honestly perturbed. "Not purposely. Believe me, if I was, you’d be in the same condition. It works much the same on blokes." He leered evilly. "Wonder if she’d get a double-bang if I..."

"Don’t," Giles looked ill. "I’d prefer not to have that image burned onto my cerebrum." He did a double take and raised surprised brows at the vampire. "Your eyes appear to have returned to normal."

"Yeah?" Spike’s reply was distracted. He watched Buffy with a predatory intensity. She avoided looking him, her embarrassment almost tangible.

"You really have a limited attention span don’t you?" Giles remarked. He picked up an ancient tome from the table. "I’ll find what I can on this Keratos demon and you two can..." He glanced from one to the other and visibly shuddered. "In any case, I’ll be up in the loft."

He grabbed several more volumes from a nearby shelf and climbed the precarious iron staircase, leaving Buffy and Spike to regard each other in silence.

Buffy recovered herself first. "What aren’t you telling us?"

"Hey, I spilled. I didn’t have to say anything at all." Spike ferreted around a few books and then peered searchingly under the tabletop. "Sodding Watcher pilfered me fags," he muttered.

"I don’t understand why you smoke anyway," Buffy said. "It’s not like you'd actually get any pleasure from it. You’re dead."

"Speak the obvious much?" Spike got to his feet. "Why do you Scooby-types constantly remind me of what I am? It’s not gonna slip my mind anytime soon."

"Maybe I’m reminding myself," Buffy mumbled under her breath. She pointed her finger at him. "You’re not throwing me off the subject that easily, Spike. You’re hiding something."

"Am not."

"You’ve got to be. It’s what you do."

"Do not."

"You’re not going to say, are you?"

"Say what?" He tilted his head inquisitively.

Buffy slumped back in her chair, defeated. "Okay, fine. Do the kiddy-defense thing. I don’t care."

"Right, then. I’m off." Spike started towards the exit, but halted before ascending the steps to the foyer. He sighed and turned around. "I am sorry about this, Buffy," he said.

She stared at him in askance. "You called me ‘Buffy’. You never call me ‘Buffy’. Why are you Buffy-ing?"

"I’m being sincere, Slayer. Don’t make a big deal."

"What you’re doing is admitting that the glowy-eyed head thing is your fault."

"Well, duh! Didn’t I say that earlier?"

Buffy approached him menacingly. "Tell me exactly what happened in Mexico, or I’ll pull that chip out through your nose."

He snorted. "Nice visual, love."

"Spike..." She drew the name out threateningly.

He folded his arms and thrust out his chin in that smug, stubborn way that only made her want to hit him.

"Look, how many times have we done this routine? Just tell me and get it over with."

He reached up and gently brushed a stray tendril of hair off her face. "Where’s the fun in that?"

She blinked, disconcertion rendering her speechless.

Giles chose that moment to return from the upper floor, worry creasing a map of lines on his forehead. He looked up from the book he carried. "We may have a problem."

"Spike is unwell."

"That’s gotta be the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say," Buffy deadpanned. Spike growled at her.

"I am very serious," Giles insisted. "I found reference in Negra Malo of a vampire infected with something called El Poco Amor Serpiente."

"’The little love snake’?" Spike grinned lecherously. "That being in no way suggestive of course."

"Of course," Giles repeated, distracted. "Demons can, and do, pass on infections in much the same way as humans, by sharing close contact or bodily fluids..."

"Ew," Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Spike, did you swap spit with the Kera-thingy demon and it’s tongues?"

"That is beyond gross, Slayer. Besides which, it was male."

"Hey, whatever."

"...Or," Giles continued, frowning at the bickering couple. "Psychic connection."

"Psychic what?" Spike’s mouth dropped open. "I’m sick?"

"It certainly appears that way," Giles said. "I’ll have to conduct some further research, especially as I can find no mention of the outcome of this case, symptoms, duration, or even if it’s curable." He peered at them both over his glasses. "We will have to quarantine the shop until I can ascertain..."

"Quarantine?" Buffy blurted in disbelief. "You mean I have to stay here? With him?" She indicated Spike with a jerk of her thumb.

"And myself," Giles smiled wanly. "I also had some kind of psychic contact with him."

"You did?" Spike raised his eyebrows. "I don’t remember that." He smirked. "Was it good for you?"

"Not particularly." Giles put a hand to the back of his head, recalling the unpleasant feeling of pins-and-needles that had rippled across his scalp.

Buffy watched the gesture with interest. "He said something majorly icky, didn’t he?"

"’Icky’ doesn’t quite cover it," Giles said carefully.

Spike ignored them. "I’m settlin’ in then," he said, shrugging out of his duster and draping it across the counter. "Where’s the telly?"

Giles flipped over a page of the book he held. "I don’t have a set in the shop."

"What?" Sheer disbelief crossed the vampire’s face. "I’ll miss 'Passions'. Timmy’s lost, you know, and if they don’t find him in time..."

Buffy sat back at the table. "I’m sure you can pick it up in a month or so and still know what’s going on."

"A month?" Spike placed fisted hands on his narrow hips. "Hopin’ that’s an exaggeration." He tilted his head towards Giles. "An exaggeration, right mate?"

Giles adopted a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression. "I’ll try to find out." He hurriedly worked his way back up the stairs.

"This doesn't rate real high on my happy scale," Buffy disclosed as Spike began pacing back and forth in front of the counter.

Spike made a disbelieving noise and kept moving. Buffy watched him for several laps, then said, "Have you ever been diagnosed with a personality disorder?"

He stopped mid-lap and glared at her.

"You’ve got traits that kinda point to ADHD," she continued. "Have you tried Ritalin?"

"I’m not a subject in your bleedin’ psych class, Slayer. Knock it off."

"Classic case," Buffy said.

Spike came toward her then, moving with a slow, sinuous grace.

"I’m not a classic case of anything," he told her. "There is nobody else like me." He leaned down and placed his arms on either side of her chair, bracing himself against the table. "I’m uniquely unique."

Buffy gasped at his nearness, inadvertently inhaling the faint aroma of smoke and leather that was distinctly Spike. She shivered and closed her eyes, only to re-open them at the sensation of his fingertips under her chin.

He’d brought his face level with hers, so close she could see the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his infinitely blue eyes. The sheer intensity of those azure irises was spellbinding.

Don't look directly into them! The thought came almost desperately, a cry of self-preservation. She pressed a restraining hand against his chest, feeling the soft jersey beneath her palm and the solid muscle beneath the softness.

But no heartbeat, her mind protested. No warmth. He’s a vampire, Buffy!

Neither noticed Giles pop his head over the edge of the loft and then retreat again like a scared rabbit.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not sure, even as the words were uttered, if the question was directed at him or herself.

"C'mon, Slayer, I know you feel it too." Spike’s low voice was hypnotic, almost a purr. He smiled lazily as his thumb brushed across her lower lip.

Buffy backed up as much as she could and lashed out with her foot, catching him just above the knee. He collapsed backward in an epithet-spouting heap.

"You’re doing this on purpose," she accused, rising from her seat in agitation. "You’re manipulating this whole damn situation." She made to kick him again but he grabbed her booted foot and twisted it sharply at the ankle. Losing her balance, she landed on her back with a resounding thud.

Giles encored his scared rabbit impersonation at the noise.

Buffy panted, angry and a little winded.

A cool hand curved around her throat. "Like it rough, Slayer? I’ll remember that." The hand squeezed gently, a tender threat, and then Spike released his hold. "I can’t hurt you, pet."

Buffy turned her head to find him crouched at her side. He traced his fingers down her cheek. "I can’t hurt you," he repeated. Then he stood and walked away.

~*[+]*~

Jeez, Buffy. Confused much?

She remained on her back, lying on the Magic Box’s polished floor. Ten minutes had passed since Spike had executed his strategic retreat to the danger room. Ten minutes of trying to focus on something – anything – other than the effect the vampire was having on her.

It had to be something to do with the ‘love snake’ thing he’d been infected with. Had to be, or else it became too bizarre to even think about. No contemplating of the feelings here, Buffy. He’ll get over this bug and everything’ll go back to the way it was.

Giles appeared in her line of sight, peering down uncertainly. "Are you quite alright?" he inquired. "I didn’t think you’d fallen that hard."

"Didn’t fall," Buffy said, uncomfortably aware of the dual meaning of her words. "Haven’t fallen."

Denial. That’ll work.

Giles glanced around the shop. "Spike..."

"Danger room."

The Watcher sighed. "Good," he said, relieved. "I thought he might have left."

Buffy raised a hand to her face, remembering the cool caress of Spike’s fingers. "No, he didn’t leave," she said, then moved to a sitting position. "Giles, what’s going on? Why is this happening?"

He said nothing for a full minute. Buffy counted.

"El Poco Amor Serpiente", he stated finally, sitting down at the table. "The more I read about it, the less I like it."

"That bad?" Buffy joined him. "We’re not stuck here forever, are we?"

"No." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, that’s good, right? We like good. Yay for good-ness."

"It is a consolation," Giles admitted. "However, certain effects of this malady are lasting."

"Oh." Buffy’s spirits dropped. "Good of the not-so-much variety. Is Spike gonna die? More permanently, I mean?"

"Again, no."

"Are we?"

"Buffy, perhaps it would be more advantageous if you would allow me to explain in full."

"As long as it doesn’t involve a slide-show. Or lots of big words."

Giles gave her a quelling glance. "It would also be best if Spike joined us for this."

"Already listenin’, mate."

Spike peeled away from the wall he’d been leaning against for the last few minutes and set himself atop the counter. He ignored Buffy altogether. "What’s the prognosis?"

Giles cleared his throat nervously. "This condition is usually confined to a particular tier of demon anthropology..."

"Big words," Buffy muttered.

"...Those of empathic or psychic castes - the Keratos demon specifically being a documented carrier." Giles opened his notebook and read directly from it. "The Serpiente infests the emotional core of its host. It cannot exist at all unless emotions are present. This is why it primarily infects those demons that have a capacity for, or who are already in love." He raised his eyebrows at Spike. "Technically, vampires are soulless and incapable of such things."

"Watcher’s Council crap," Spike sneered. "Of course we can be in love, you pillock. Why else d’you think I stayed with Dru for over a century? For my health? For fun? Let me tell you, it was rarely fun. She’s not a well girl, you know."

"Understate much?" Buffy asked. "Not like you to gloss over the truth, Spike."

"So I’m loyal as well. Sue me."

Giles sat back in his chair and resumed reading from his notes. "The Serpiente remains in a dormant state until it is activated by the host attempting telepathic connection with the object of its affection." He paused as the implications of what that meant registered with his audience.

Buffy’s jaw dropped and she turned stunned eyes to the vampire. Spike said nothing, acknowledging the truth of the statement with his silence.

"If the connection is made and the object returns even a modicum of feeling," Giles went on, "Then a permanent link is established."

Buffy had continued to gape at Spike, but was roused from her horrified perusal by the Watcher’s pronouncement.

"Permanent? How permanent? He’s not gonna be popping into my head for the rest of my life, is he?"

"It’s entirely possible," Giles replied, almost sadly.

"Spike, you jerk."

"Oh yeah, blame me," he glowered at her and she tried to ignore the blue spark that flared in his eyes. "Returned feelings, Slayer. Want to explain that?"

Buffy crossed her arms defensively. "No."

Spike smiled and turned to the Watcher. "What about the screaming migraine and the glowing? Also a permanent fixture?"

Giles rummaged through his notes. "From what I’ve determined, those are fairly typical indications of the union taking place. Both should abate in time."

"And this Serpiente isn’t physical. I’ve not got a reptile-type thing taking up residence?"

"No, no. It’s only a metaphorical description."

"Right then. All cleared up. I’m going home."

"You can’t just leave," Buffy protested.

"Tag along if you want, Slayer." Spike pulled on his duster and tilted his head at Giles. He extended a hand to the Watcher and clicked his fingers. "Fags," he said.

Giles retrieved the vampire’s cigarettes from a shelf and handed them to him. Spike flashed him that eerily genuine grin and left the shop without a further word.

Buffy pouted and eyed Giles. "He knows something."

"His attitude was rather... cavalier."

"Bet he knew exactly what he was doing and the Kera-thingamajig was in on it."

"Still, that is a rather intricate sequence of events, Buffy. Not foolproof in any respect..."

"Guessing that means tricky," Buffy sighed. "Spike’s not above being tricky. But then this wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t felt anything."

"I’ll admit that is the part that I’m having difficulty with," Giles said. "You care about Spike?"

"Somewhere deep - way, way deep, is a part of me that kinda likes him," Buffy reluctantly admitted. "I know how sad that is. But he’s strong. He’s brave. He’s extremely cute. If he wasn’t a vampire and didn’t have a tendency to annoy me to death, I’d date him."

"Well, that’s..."

"Hey! Was that whole ‘Spike, you’re such a hottie’ deal because of this?"

"Unfortunately", Giles couldn’t disguise his distaste. "Enhanced attraction is another symptom and you were, in effect, linked to him from the moment he initiated contact."

"But that’s not gonna keep happening?"

"I hope not."

~*[+]*~

Spike sprawled in his armchair, his sculpted features dappled with the light from the flickering television. He muttered at the set, cursing the bad transmission, but despite his earlier protestations about missing his favorite soap, the drama failed to hold his attention.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling at this point. It was all muddled.

Everything had seemed so simple, at least the way Apollyon had explained it. Either his Kera-speak wasn’t up to scratch or the demon had skipped a few key points. Of course, he’d been so drunk at that stage, he’d latched on to the basics of what the Keratos had said and paid scant regard to the fiddly details.

He was linked to the Slayer.

The irony alone was murder. And, to quote the Scoobies, it was giving him a major case of the wigs.

Spike frowned. He’d hit rock bottom. Spouting Scooby gang vernacular just didn’t cut it as Big Bad. His unlife had become a complete and utter cock-up.

He leaned over and switched off the television set, leaving himself in relative darkness for a moment while he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then eyed the burning tip between his fingers, contemplating his addiction. The Slayer was right, it didn't give him any pleasure. I was just something to occupy his hands. If he didn't have his fags he'd probably have pulled Sunny-D apart by now.

The Slayer. There was another addiction that didn't give him any pleasure. He really didn't know why he even bothered. Perhaps she, too, had become a habit.

He recalled the earlier admiration in her gaze, her reaction to his proximity, and amended the thought. Definitely not a habit - more like the reason for his existence. He sighed. You're hooked good and proper, Spike old boy, and you know it. Hooked and linked.

Spike pivoted in the chair, turning so that his head was supported by the armrest and his legs hung over the side, and wondered how this mystical linky thing worked exactly. He stared at the ceiling and concentrated, imagining her big green eyes and bouncy shampoo-commercial hair.

Buffy, Buffy, Buffy...

And then he could feel her.

Deep in his inner self was the subtle hint of another presence, bringing with it the disturbing sensation that he was being watched. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. He attempted to focus on the nebulous feeling, and in a white-hot burst of static, coupled with a momentary vertigo, he was linked to Buffy Summers.

Spike lay utterly still, savoring the connection and trying to get his bearings. It wasn't the same as before. Not like being inside her head. That had been an impersonal reading-over-her-shoulder vibe. This was a warm, sharey-carey sort of deal, like walking hand-in-hand with someone you love. He also had a distinct sense of completion, as though someone had slotted in the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

He smiled, despite the tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn't felt this alive since... Well, since he'd been alive.

Spike was aware that he could speak to her if he wanted and that she'd be able to reply, or even initiate the contact if she chose. He didn't know how he was so certain of this, but he did not question the knowledge. It was just there.

He started as a burning pain stung his fingers and he dropped the offending cigarette stub onto the stone floor.

Bugger the fags - this was better than fags. Hell, this was better than sex. Then again, maybe not. Fervent speculations of sex with the Slayer proceeded to corrupt his train of thought. Sex while linked. Oh mate don't go there...

Spike had the sudden realization that Buffy could probably perceive what he was thinking and cringed. Sure enough, her deceptively calm voice was the next thing he heard.

"Get out of my head, Spike." A brief pause. "Now!" There was no mistaking the threat in her tone and he grinned.

"Make me," he taunted. God, he was happy!

"I mean it, you pervert."

"Oh right, like you don't feel how this is."

"How what is?"

"Don't mock it, Slayer." Her denial of what she was experiencing angered him. She was so stubborn. "You can't tell me you don't feel something. Not this time. It's like..." He floundered for a description.

"It's like coming home."

Spike heard the sighed comment a split second before their connection was severed. He floated for a moment, disorientated. Finally he comprehended what Buffy had said - what she had felt. Elated, he stretched and reached over to switch the telly back on. Unlife was looking up. All he needed now was a nice fresh dose of B-positive...

~*[+]*~

Buffy fought the urge to scream. She wasn't about to spring a heart attack on Giles, especially when he was already staring at her like she'd lost it. Maybe she had.

At first, she hadn't understood what was happening. An explosion of white flashbulb had somehow originated from inside her head and then he'd just been there. She'd waited for the usual revulsion to set in, but all she could sense in his unwanted presence was comfort and an unconditional love, like childhood memories of her mother's embrace. She'd accused Spike of the warm and fuzzies, but she'd never expected the depth of that warmth. Or that the fuzzy would be so overwhelmingly soft.

In spite of that, or because if it, there was a part of her brain that couldn't get past the fact that it was Spike who was generating this blissful aura. It hadn't ever crossed her mind that he might feel stuff. She'd continually been told that you needed a soul for that and Spike did not have one.

So the Watcher's Council had screwed up again. Not surprising, really. They tended to have a bias when it came to vampires. Buffy just hadn't realized that she'd been harboring a bias of her own.

Angel - it always came back to him. Angel and the gypsy soul-curse saga had thrown her for an emotional loop and skewed her whole outlook on the vampire situation. Now Spike was creating a shiny loop all of his own. A brand-spanking-new roller-coastery loop so huge that it wouldn't have been out of place in a theme park.

Buffy smiled reassuringly at her Watcher.

"I'm okay. I just had a little Spike interaction going. It was kinda wiggy."

Giles' lips twisted, but he didn't comment. She knew that he didn't entirely get the vampiric attraction thing and that the Serpiente link was freaking him out. She'd have to deal later. For the moment it was best to act as normally as possible.

She forced an enthusiastic grin. "Are we getting the gang together on the research gig?"

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Willow especially may have a better perspective than I."

"Sure. Wills is up with the psychic linkage. Tara, too." Buffy pondered for a minute. "Maybe we shouldn't mention this to Xander. He might wanna stake Spike or something. And who knows what that'd do to me."

"It may very well solve the problem."

"Giles!" Buffy stared at him, aghast. "That's harsh."

"I could never comprehend why you had such a hard time killing Spike. Why you still haven't killed him, despite the chip."

"I know him! It'd be like ... murdering you or one of the gang. Besides which, he's harmless now. He can't hurt anyone." Giles opened his mouth to protest and she glared at him. "And why are you bitching at me? If you hate him so much, stake him yourself."

"Well, I - I have to concede that he can be quite ... charming at times. And he has been helpful on occasion, but this link already seems to have brought you closer together. If we take too long in finding a cure, it may be too late."

Buffy frowned at him. "What do you mean 'too late'?"

"You may be completely inseparable. Two parts of one mind."

"You didn't say anything about that before."

"No, I discovered that wonderful news after Spike had already left."

Buffy stared at him, and all pretence of normalcy evaporated. "Giles, I'm scared."

He gazed at her sympathetically. "I know."

~*[+]*~

Buffy tossed restlessly on the danger room's battered sofa, Spike-related deeds moving through her dreams like a slow-motion horror movie.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Shocked into wakefulness, she threw her arm across her eyes as if to block out any further visions, drawing the arm back again when she realized her face was damp. She'd cried in her sleep. Why in the hell would she have done that? Sympathy for Spike's victims? Maybe. But it somehow felt much more personal.

She sat up and shrugged, trying to shake off the oppressive feeling. Dark and heavy wasn't her - it was more an Angel-type deal. At the thought of her ex-lover, Angel's face flashed before her eyes.

No. Not Angel, but the soulless Angelus, his yellow demon eyes radiating pure venom as he thrust a sinister-looking dagger into unyielding flesh.

Buffy shuddered, drawing an uneven breath. This was a memory, she realized with a sickening certainty, but not one of hers.

It was Spike's memory.

Those terrible things she'd been dreaming had not been caused by Spike - they'd been inflicted upon him. It was his pain she'd been feeling, his suffering. All that disgusting, unspeakable torture and he'd endured it with an amazing strength of spirit.

How could she even pretend to hate him now?

"Buffy?"

At Willow's tentative query, she straightened her shoulders and wiped at her face. "Hi Wills," she greeted the redheaded witch with cheery bravado, but was betrayed by the shakiness of her voice.

"Uh huh," Willow crossed her arms and gazed at her friend with concern. "Giles filled me in on the sitch. Are you, like, okay or -? No," she answered her own question, "Not okay. If I had Spike in my head that'd be..." she paused. "'Creepy' doesn't seem adjective enough."

"It's not," Buffy gave her a watery smile. "Creepy, I mean."

Willow raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, it is and it isn't," Buffy amended. She sighed and slumped back against the sofa. "This is so confusing."

"Understandable," Willow sat alongside Buffy and sympathetically patted her shoulder. Then she frowned. "No, it isn't. How can it not be creepy? I mean, Spike, he's like way high on the creepy meter. And, hello, tried to kill us. A lot."

"Weird as it sounds, I don't think he really meant it," Buffy said. "I can't get it across all explainy, but I can feel what he does. And there's a lot of feeling there. Major, major feeling."

"From Spike?" Willow glanced at the door leading into the Magic Box. "Giles did kinda mention that, in a skimming over way."

"He is so wigged about this."

"He's totally gone into super-research mode out there," Willow giggled. "The books are piling on up. Tara and me had to practically wade through."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Spike loves me."

There. She'd said it. Out loud. And it somehow became more real.

Oh God, Spike loves me! How bizarre is that?

Willow stared at her, nonplussed. She blinked owlishly. "He - he does? Is that even possible? I thought..."

"Apparently 'no soul' does not equal 'no heart'," Buffy snorted. "Bloody Watcher's Council got it wrong again."

"That link must be pretty strong, you're soundin' like Spike now."

"Huh?" Buffy frowned.

"'Bloody Watcher's Council'?" Willow quoted her eyes wide.

"Great," Buffy grimaced. "Like the dreams weren't enough."

"Dreams?"

"Some kinda residual effect from the link. I'm getting Spike's memories in all their blood-soaked glory."

"Really?" Willow wrinkled her nose. "Gross. But, c-can you see ... um, what about, you know, Drusilla?"

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Actually her mega-psycho-ness has been a complete no-show." She glanced at Willow. "That's gotta be wrong. They were together for so long, how can he not have memories of her?"

"Maybe he's keeping them repressed," Willow suggested. "If he loves you, he might be getting all protecty or something."

"I don't think it works like that."

"You could ask," Willow prompted. "Or you could try linking up and having a little ol' look-see."

"Poking around in Spike's head is just too gruesome an idea. Can you imagine what kind of crap he's got stored up in there?" Buffy shivered again as Angelus' demonic countenance flashed behind her eyelids. She exhaled heavily, fighting a wave of nausea. You'd think that in her line of work a bit of blood would be passe by now, but she never usually saw that much of it. Vamps dusted, they didn't spurt.

"Are you okay?" Concern reappeared on Willow's face.

"Will, it was awful," Buffy blurted. "Angelus tortured him. I saw it - felt it. He did horrible, horrible things..."

A blinding white flash alerted her to Spike's presence. Completely ignoring Willow's startled gasp Buffy shot bolt upright. She could sense immediately that he wasn't pleased.

"Don't think of feeling sorry for me, Slayer," the vampire's tone was icy-cold. "The last thing I want from you is your bleedin' sympathy."

"How did you -? I don't..."

"Denying it won't work", his bitterness twisted in her gut. "I won't have it, understand? Any of it. Especially from you."

"Angelus?"

"You're aware of the hate there, pet. You never cared to know the why of it."

"I thought, because of Drusilla..."

"Don't mention her name," Spike's essence distanced itself guardedly.

"You're hiding stuff again," Buffy accused. "What don't you want me to know?"

"Hey, I'm tryin' for a bit of privacy here. If your Watcher succeeds in his cure huntin', we're not gonna stay like this. And I don't want to be giving you any more ammunition than you've already got."

"Defensive much?"

"This works on a two-way basis, love. You wanna keep something hidden, then you best lock it away."

Buffy hadn't thought of that. But then, there wasn't really anything that she couldn't tell him. That surprised her until she remembered that he'd consistently been there when she needed him - even when he'd been actively trying to kill her. He listened when she had something to say. Angel never had. It was always the 'That's nice, Buffy' and the patting of the head.

"Bloody poof," Spike jeered.

Buffy, for once, couldn't bring herself to argue with him.

"Right then," Spike said, satisfied. Buffy felt his wry smile. "Sod off, Slayer."

She laughed out loud as he severed their connection, drawing Willow's intrigued gaze.

"Was that?"

Buffy smiled self-consciously. "It must look insane from the outside. In a totally out-of-the-tree Dru-ish kinda way."

"Yup," Willow nodded. "You're also weirdly happy. That's nice. Leaning over towards twisted, but nice."

"It's all the love-vibes he keeps sending. I mean, even when he's pissed, it's there, like running underneath."

"Has he told you? Straight up, face-to-face?"

"He's ignoring it." Buffy tipped her head as something occurred to her. "You know, he was fine until he found out about the link. I think he probably would have kissed me if I hadn't kicked his legs out from under him."

Willow's eyes grew impossibly wider. "Did you want him to?"

Buffy blushed. "That's part of the link, right? The whole 'enhanced attraction' deal."

"Yeah, but enhanced being operative. The attraction part musta been there already." Willow blinked. "Wow. That's wild. I mean, um, Spike's cute and all, but..."

"Already up on how sick it is. Living the sick-ness."

"You hid it pretty well. With, you know, trading the insults and the frequent kicking of his butt. Not to mention the entire organ-dropping incident."

"It was way easier before the chip," Buffy said. "Since then, he's one of us. A Scooby. Patrolling. Killing demons. Kinda hard to be distant."

"Impossible now, huh?" Willow sighed in commiseration. "Why'd he come back anyway?" she asked. "He's been gone for months."

"Jeez, Will, wait till you see him!"

"That good?"

"Oh yeah! No! I mean, it's just his hair..."

Spike couldn't sleep.

He knew it was day from the diluted sunlight filtering through the crypt's barred windows and from the creeping lethargy that always accompanied the light. Unfortunately he was too preoccupied for a nap. Too wired. It was almost like a real bad case of blood buzz - a condition he'd been fairly susceptible to in the good old days when he'd been able to kill people.

He fidgeted in his chair, kicking at the duster he'd draped over his legs like a blanket. Something about this link didn't sit right, and he couldn't quite figure it.

The original intent of it had been to determine how Buffy truly felt about him. That hadn't gone so well, even if it did confirm her attraction to him.

He should be pleased that he'd actually been right about that all along. He should be rubbing her smug Slayer nose in it. He should be taking advantage.

Should be, but he couldn't bring himself to it. Sodding conscience did him in every time.

Spike didn't know how he even had a conscience in the first place. It was just there. He did sometimes get the impression that a fragment of his former soul was still present - a trace of that insipid fop William. Most of the time he'd been able to keep it at bay, but lately the thing had been working overtime. The instant he contemplated anything even resembling evil he got a severe case of the what-ifs. Not to mention the crippling guilt about the stuff he'd already done. A hundred years of misadventure had ganged together and whacked him upside the head with a huge chip-shaped reality bat.

Reality sucked.

He smiled at that. Actually, his reality didn't suck. It kinda slurped. It sometimes even sipped. Sorry, kids, no sucking allowed. He was living on carryout these days, and not human either. He used to find the lack of fresh-killed food disheartening, depressing really, then he recognized that he'd allowed himself to get into brood-mode, acting not unlike a certain sire of his.

Spike's smile twisted into a sneer.

Bloody Peaches and his self-righteous attitude out there giving vampires a bad name. 'I've got a soul and you haven't ... I'm so much better than you are'. The thought annoyed him no end. Of course he had to admit that there was the Buffy Factor to include in that annoyance equation. He didn't like contemplating the idea of his Slayer being with Angel at all.

Spike burrowed further under his duster, pulling it up to his chin. He used to ridicule Angel and his Buffy fixation, and look at him now. Obsession didn't begin to cover the situation. It was nauseatingly laughable. Someone in charge had a bizarre sense of humor.

He sighed and leant his head back to contemplate the intricacies of the cobwebby ceiling.

Maybe another link-up was the way to go. Maybe a little Buffy-sparring session would relax him and then, just maybe, he'd be able to get a beat on whatever the hell was bugging him about this bloody link in the first place.

~*[+]*~

The Magic Box's door chimes jangled alerting Willow and Tara to the arrival of Xander and Anya. They looked up from their research and exchanged a worried glance.

Anya gave them a disinterested look and went behind the counter. She opened the till and began counting the money.

"Hey, what's with?" Xander greeted them, gesturing at the multiple book stacks piled on the table. "Did I bypass the bat signal?" He glanced up as Giles descended from the loft.

"We're, um, just browsing for a s-spell," Tara offered.

"Yeah. Just a spell. Just a little, unspecial, circumspecty spell," Willow agreed with nervous effusiveness. "No biggie."

Xander stared at her, and then looked to Giles. "And Alfred always enjoys a spot of full-on spell huntage for reasons of the non-particular."

Giles blinked. "Was that even English?"

"All these years and he still can't translate Scooby," Buffy commented, coming in from the danger room. She narrowed her eyes meaningfully at the assembled group. "But still, nothing's up. Right guys?"

"Right," Willow beamed, patently lying through her teeth. Tara fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Here's an idea," Xander said. "How about we play 'let's tell Xander the truth'. 'Cause, gotta tell ya, sucking at this nifty lying game."

Anya came to stand at his side. "Who's lying to Xander?" she asked. "You shouldn't lie to Xander. That's wrong."

Buffy unexpectedly stood to attention, her spine snapping into rigidity. Her eyes lost focus and she stared blankly into space.

Anya glanced at her. "That's wrong, too."

Xander gaped. "Buff?" She didn't reply and he turned worriedly to Willow and Tara. They appeared unfazed. "Huh?"

"Incoming message from the Big Giant Head-ache," Willow quoted, her smile twisting with irony. "You'd better be off sittin' down. 'Cause this might take some time."

"Again with the 'huh?'" Xander waved a hand in front of Buffy's face. She didn't so much as blink. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine."

Xander peered inquiringly at Giles. The Watcher nodded reassuringly, but seemed inclined to ignore the oddity.

"I thought I said 'not now'," Buffy exclaimed abruptly. "I swear to God..." Her voice trailed off.

"Also not liking the talkin' to the big fat no-one," Xander frowned.

"I've seen this before," Anya reported, nodding a little. "It's a demony thing."

"Like that's gonna happen," Buffy scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's kinda like eavesdropping, but on the uninformative half," Xander said. He sat down at the table and halved a pile of books so that he could see Willow.

"It certainly is," she said.

"So who's on the other end?" Xander continued to observe Buffy as she went on arguing with the invisible someone, her silent debate occasionally springing to life in vocal bursts. Freaky. Familiar freaky. In fact, she only argued like that with one other person...

"Oh man. Spike?" Xander's disbelieving gaze swung back to Willow. She met his eyes a little sheepishly.

"Um, yeah, well ... there's a reason."

"A good reason," Tara chimed in.

"Well, I should think so," Anya declared. "Because everyone knows telepathic connections to demons are never a good idea without a reason."

Buffy snorted loudly, startling everyone. They watched as she lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the floor, her head tilting to the side as though she was contemplating something of interest. Her eyes remained completely unfocused and she wore a bemused smile. "Oh yeah, since when?" she challenged.

"Am I the only one with the wiggins?" Xander asked.

"Pretty much the Lone Wigger," Tara teased shyly.

"She's been havin' the on-offs for a while now," Willow told him. "You get used to it."

"Hey, having the Evil Dead invading our Buffster is not something I wanna get used to!"

"And so say all of us," Giles applauded. He'd been strangely quiet up to this point.

"Workin' on the un-invasion," Willow said. She held up a book to Giles. "What about?"

"No, no. The Rites of Tadu are for possession by Chann demon." He paused, thinking for a moment. "There may be something of use in the Tadu Rituals Appendices, however."

"How're the Tadu Rituals different from the Rites of Tadu?" Willow frowned. "Soundin' all alike now."

"The Tadu Rituals are a century older," Anya supplied, sitting alongside Xander and reaching for a book. "And much more boring."

Buffy started laughing. They ignored her.

Xander was incredulous. "She finds him amusing? Spike's barrel-o-laughs boy?"

Willow focused her full attention on him. "Xander don't."

"Don't what?"

"Just don't." She held his gaze. "Things are hell-in-a-handbaskety enough already."

"C'mon Will! I mean, Buffy and Spike makin' with the ha-has? It's just too freaksome."

"Now honey, don't get all flustered." Anya patted his arm soothingly. "It's not very attractive."

Xander sighed. "What's the what with the thing anyway?"

~*[+]*~

The garishly painted mini-bus that drove into Sunnydale's early afternoon garnered no undue suspicion despite its odd appearance. Its rear windows were blackened - a stark contrast to the neon pink of its enameled surface and the gigantic yellow smiley-face decorating the driver's door. If the citizens of the Hellmouth-town had cared to look more closely, they would have seen that the driver himself was nowhere in the vicinity of normal.

Apollyon the Keratos demon perched awkwardly on a seat that was much too small for his cumbersome form, his claws hooked inexpertly around the wheel.

"Soon", he said. "Nigh the destiny."

A giggle sounded from the rear of the vehicle.

"You sound funny," a childlike voice proclaimed from out of the darkness. "Like swimming turtles."

Apollyon was used to the girl's strange turn-of-phrase, but the analogy was beyond him. The most accurate description he'd yet heard of his voice was a comparison to Darth Vader on helium, an unusual correspondence coincidentally made by the very being they had come here to find - the vampire known as Spike.

"Precisely lurks whereby?" he asked, his dual tongues lisping. Comprehension of Kera-speak took some time, the language itself being somewhat limiting, but Apollyon's passenger gleaned his meaning from his thoughts as well as his stilted diction.

The passenger leant slightly forward, evading the direct sunlight.

"Just drive, my pet," Drusilla instructed, smiling serenely. She stroked the scales of his plated shoulder, carefully avoiding the protruding set of perceptive tentacles. "The stars have told Mummy where to find her beautiful deadly boy."

~*[+]*~

"So, Buff's on Deadboy Junior's speed dial and if we can't find this spell, then its full-on linkapalooza," Xander summarized.

"And after what seems like hours of trying, that sounds essentially correct," Giles nodded tiredly. "At this point I'm finding myself at somewhat of a loose end. We're fast running out of options."

"There's a time limit?" Xander opened a book and rapidly flipped the pages. He stopped suddenly as a thought came to him. "Wait. Color me wacky, but why don't we just stake his limey ass?"

"I've already suggested something similar," Giles said. "Buffy was not receptive to the idea."

"It's not an option," Buffy stated firmly, rising from her position on the floor.

"You're back with us I see," Giles did not sound particularly pleased.

"You bet," she gave him a wide smile. "I'm free to forage."

"And Spike?" The name curled distastefully on Giles' lips.

"He's a-sleepin'."

"Well, its about time," Willow remarked. "A little while longer and it'll be time for gettin' up again."

Buffy frowned. "How long have I been out?"

"This last session was almost an hour," Giles said. "Buffy, I did warn you of the hazards of continuing with the link."

"Yeah, I know. Permanent. Inseparable. Two halves of one mind. Blah-blah-blah. Gotta tell you, right now its not sounding overly bad."

There was dead silence as they all stared at her, perplexed.

"Kidding! Jeez, can't you guys take a joke?"

~*[+]*~

Spike woke from his long overdue afternoon nap with the innate knowledge that there was someone - or something - in the crypt with him. An insidious sense of familiarity permeated the knowledge, twisting it into the shape of someone he knew.

"Who's there?" he asked into the darkness, already dreading the answer.

"Someone who'll make it all better again."

"Dru?" He stood up in surprise, his duster slithering down to puddle on the floor at his feet. He looked at it for a moment and then bent to pick it up.

Drusilla emerged from the shadows of the crypt's doorway, her pale face ethereally beautiful in the subtle light.

"Ooh, behold my William!" She bubbled. "All the colors of the rainbow." She reached out toward his unbleached hair.

He shrank back, suspicious, holding his duster in front of him like a shield.

"Why are you here?" He hoped she wasn't planning anything too fiendish, he'd hate to have to stake her.

"I've brought a house guest," she replied, moving to enfold him in her arms. "Are you going to ask us to stay?"

She hadn't turned up with one of her hellish boyfriends, had she? Spike really hoped that it wasn't another Chaos demon. He didn't want slime dribbling on his floor.

"Not until you explain what this is about," he told her, evading her embrace and pacing away to the other side of the crypt. He draped his duster across the sarcophagus with a reverential care.

"I want you at my side, my darling," Drusilla informed him, pouting prettily. "You belong with your Mummy like all the little children."

Spike frowned at her.

"In case you've forgotten, love, you dumped me. I'm not gonna come running back to you now. I'm not that pathetic anymore." At least he hoped he wasn't. He guessed that the Slayer would debate the fact. And quite strenuously too.

"Everything should be as it was," Drusilla insisted. "Everything should be topsy-turvy and delicious." She ran the tip of her fingernail across her lower lip.

"O-Kay." Spike wasn't sure how to take this. A year ago this would have been his dream come true, his dark princess begging him to come back. But this wasn't a year ago. Things had changed. He had changed. He didn't need her to need him anymore. He folded his arms. "So who's this house guest then?"

The heavy wooden door swung open at the question, slamming into the adjacent wall, and an enormous form all but filled the entrance. Spike was in a defensive fighting stance before he even realized.

It was absolutely huge, brawny, and covered with scales of a sickly greenish color. A series of long prehensile tentacles grew from its armored shoulders and a coronet of barbed horns decorated its massive reptilian head.

"Of Keratos," the beast cheerfully announced, throwing its muscular arms so wide that black claws accidentally gouged the stone on either side of the opening. A peculiar guttural sound shaped its words and they were accented by a tremulous whining.

Spike recognized Kera-speak when he heard it and he lowered his fists. The Keratos might resemble a hideous monster, but he was one of the gentlest creatures Spike knew.

"Oh great, it's you." He relaxed for a moment - relieved that this wasn't one of the sporadic attacks he'd been subjected to since the chip. He couldn't deal with some half-baked vengeance-seeking vamp as well as his ex. Then his temper flared. "Apollyon, you scaly sod, what the bleedin' hell did you put in my head?"

The demon's head turned at a ninety-degree angle and he regarded the vampire with one inquisitive green eye. "Specific be," he lisped. "Did asked as."

"Yeah, I know I asked you how to read a human's mind, but you neglected to tell me of your bloody social disease problem." He pointed angrily at his temple. "Its not like I haven't already got something foreign crammed in here."

Drusilla watched them with a self-satisfied smile playing across her lips. She swayed a little from side to side, her long skirt brushing against the floor.

Spike recognized the expression as one he was well acquainted with. He narrowed his eyes at her, wary. "What do you know of this, pet?"

It was then that he felt the tugging sensation, the probe of swirling black tendrils violating his mind as she tried to get in. He'd seen her do this to countless others but she'd never attempted it on him and his head reeled back in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

Drusilla's eyes widened and she moaned softly. As she began retreating backward in horror, the moan rose steadily into a distressed howl.

"All wrong. It's all gone wrong," she ranted, pulling out a fistful of long dark hair. "My Spike, my poor lost Spike, linked up with the nasty Slayer." She hugged herself and sank to her knees, babbling incoherently. "It goes awry and derails. And Miss Edith wants to ride the train."

Spike arched an eyebrow at Apollyon, smiling maliciously as it came together in his head. "You were in on this," he concluded.

"Well was reward," Apollyon's tentacles rippled in a kind of apologetic shrug. He reached forward with a cruelly hooked talon and carefully tapped the side of Spike's head. His unblinking green eyes twinkled with mirth. "Serpiente?"

"Yeah, mate. Thanks a bloody lot."

"The Slayer floats," Drusilla murmured, rocking slightly and weaving the strands of her hair around her fingers. "Laughing around my baby like balloons in the parade. Floating, floating ... confetti in the wind."

Spike blinked at her. Had anything she said ever made sense?

He wondered at the odd feeling of detachment, the utter lack of sentiment he felt toward the woman who had made him what he was. She was his goddess, his wicked ripe plum. He should be falling at her feet and pleading for forgiveness. All he could dredge up was a surprisingly painful stab of pity. It was the one thing Dru had never previously inspired in him. He'd recognized her illness and loved her in spite of it. Now he was seeing her through unbiased eyes and it wasn't a pretty sight. Maybe he'd never really loved her at all. Maybe he had stayed because of some distorted sense of obligation - that vestige of William rearing its daft romantic head.

"So, let's get this straight," he said, addressing the demon without taking his eyes from the wretched figure on the ground. "Dru wanted to get this Serpiente link set up between me 'n' her, yeah? And you went right along with the plan for a bit of cash on the side?"

Apollyon appeared to be highly amused by the state of affairs. He bared pointed yellow teeth in a ghastly semblance of a smile.

"She wasn't expecting me to come high-tailing it back here so fast," Spike nodded to himself. A certain twisted sense was coming of this now. "Wasn't expecting me to try something with the Slayer." He turned to Apollyon. "You knew, though."

Apollyon guffawed, a frightening cacophony that defied description. "Spike heart book open," he gurgled. "Easy read."

Spike squinted at him. "It is not. Take that back."

The demon's dual tongues flicked out in an impudent manner, a Keratos raspberry.

"All Keratos aware," Apollyon advised. "Assistance repay. Favor does. "

"You thought you were doing me a favor?" Spike gaped at him, confounded. "Clueless bloody demon. You needn't have been thinking of paybacks. As far as I'm concerned we're all evened up. Besides, anyone would have done the same." He sighed and contemplated Drusilla, who had lapsed into a state of cataplexy. "And what precisely am I supposed to do with her now?"

~*[+]*~

Twilight had descended again, accompanied by misty rain. Spike loitered in the dampening shadows of the footpath outside the magic shop's entrance and lit a cigarette. Normally he wouldn't be this apprehensive and he hated it. It wasn't as though the Scooby gang's opinion of him mattered any, or that he was worried about a confrontation with the Slayer.

All right, so maybe he was a little nervous about seeing Buffy in person for the first time since the link had been properly established. It was only natural. She was probably going to kick his ass. That wasn't entirely what bothered him, though. She'd kicked his ass plenty of times before. He had even been known to enjoy it. No, it was the emotional connotations of the meeting that were hanging over his head in a whole proverbial Sword of Damocles deal.

He began to pace, casting agitated glances at the building. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He was startled as a voice came from the street behind him.

"They don't bite, you know."

Spike glanced over his shoulder at Buffy. "Ha-bloody-ha, Summers. Was that a stab at irony?"

Buffy moved to stand at his side. They contemplated the closed door in silence.

"This is gonna be fun," Buffy commented after a while.

"Oh sure, a real party," Spike grunted. "Being hauled over the coals by a sodding bunch of..."

"Hey, those are my friends!" Buffy protested.

"Exactly." Spike took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked it onto the footpath. He didn't want to do this but, as usual, he had no choice in the matter.

"So," Buffy said, stepping in front of him. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" He studiously avoided her eyes, staring off down the street.

"Enough with the evasive, already." She reached up and grabbed hold of his chin, forcibly turning it toward her. There was a slight cracking sound.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" He slapped her hand away and rubbed at his neck. "That hurt, you stupid bint."

"You didn't used to be this close-mouthed," Buffy said, ignoring the flash of guilt at his injury. She wanted an answer. "What happened to the in-your-face, honest-to-the-point-of-insulting vamp that we all know and ... don't like very much?"

Spike snorted. "And you expect me to lay myself open for inspection? Give up a nice big slice o' Spike?" He shook his head. "You're not ready for it."

He'd much rather face an angry Scooby-mob than bare his unsoul to Buffy. She already knew too much and he wasn't prepared for her to know the rest.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What's that, pet?"

"Did you know that when you opened the link I'd be able to feel everything you do?"

She could feel everything that he ... Oh brilliant. So much for not being prepared. She knew. She bloody knew. Spike was at a loss now and horribly embarrassed. He shuffled his feet, wanting desperately to be somewhere else. The other side of the planet would be good.

Buffy was still talking. "Is it the same for you? Can you get what I'm-?"

He sighed. "It's a bit more vague from this side," he told her, deciding that honesty was his best bet right now, "I'd most likely get the bonus level if you went ahead and made the first move. But I don't expect that's gonna be happening."

She gave him a small sympathetic smile. "Probably not."

He nodded, masking his disappointment, and silence reigned for a few moments.

"So, Spike, how long have you loved me?" Buffy couldn't hold it in any longer, the curiosity was driving her nuts.

"Oh please! Get over yourself! I don't..." Spike began to protest, but rapidly realized the futility of it. "I don't know. Since the beginning maybe?"

He shrugged. "Dru and me started driftin' apart right after we arrived in merry old Sunny-hell. I blamed it on her demented thing with Angelus. Turns out it was me all along." His lips twisted. "I once told her this place was cursed for us," he confessed. "If only I'd bloody known..."

"Cursed?" Buffy was confused. "Were you magic-whacked by gypsies, too? Is that why you're so chock-full with the feelings?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Slayer, but I've always been able to feel stuff. No soul included." He wasn't near as certain about that as he let on, but Buffy needn't know of that just now.

"Something must have gone really wrong when you were turned," she mused, studying him thoughtfully. "And I mean in a major way."

Spike considered that for a moment. Might be worth looking into.

"Well I can't help there," he said. "Don't know the full story myself. I can remember Dru doing the draining, but Peaches sired me. They never spoke of it after and I was just happy to be my vampy little self." He grinned. "A huge improvement on the previous existence, I can tell you."

"What's that mean?"

Spike was suddenly aware of how much he'd almost given away. He might have feelings for the girl but no one got close to the real him, not even Dru.

"Sorry love, this conversation is over." He elbowed his way past her and entered the store, only to come to a halt as a fresh wave of apprehension hit him.

Damn, he was getting soft.

Buffy came in behind and shoved him forward. He staggered and then tripped down the stairs, landing heavily on the tiled floor.

Xander stood and began a slow clap. "I'd give that a five for effort. Technique was a little sloppy."

Giles diverted his attention from the book he was reading and simply stared, an intense dislike burning in his eyes.

Willow and Tara leant across the counter to peer down at Spike.

"Wow ... Oh my, wow. What did you..." Willow exchanged glances with Buffy. "I mean, what didn't you do to your hair?"

Spike stood and straightened his duster. "Why are you all so bloody fixated on a blokes hair?" he asked.

"It's new," Anya said. "And different. And a little off-putting."

"What? I can't have a change of image to go with the new improved Spike, now available with neutering chip?"

"And built-in Buffy channel," Xander noted, glaring at the vampire. "I'd say these so-called improvements need an overhaul." He raised a hand. "All in favor of staking Non-Bleach Boy?"

"I've already said that wasn't an option," Buffy told him angrily.

Spike raised his brows at her, surprised. "You did?"

"Yes I did." Buffy's glare took in the whole gang, daring them to say anything further on the Spike-staking issue. "We don't know what it will do to me."

"Your compassion is overwhelming, Slayer," Spike drawled sarcastically.

"You got me on a good day."

"Spike, why are you here?" Giles sounded tired and irritated.

"Well excuse me for thinkin' that you might wanna know a bit more about this Serpiente deal. I'll just be toddlin' off then..." He turned toward the exit.

"You came to willingly provide information?" Giles stared at the vampire skeptically.

"Don't sound so bloody surprised. I'm not altogether happy with the situation, you know. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Buffy seized his arm and he looked at her pointedly.

"Can't keep your hands off, can you?" he asked.

"What wasn't supposed to happen?" she inquired, disregarding his comment. She'd get him back for that later. "Just how much of this were you in on?"

"No need to get all suspicious." Spike thrust his hands deep into his pockets and pulled away from Buffy's grasp. Here it went then. "I only knew of the initial mind-readin' thing. Apollyon was supposed to show me how to read your thoughts. He didn't let on about the Serpiente and he was being well paid not to."

"Paid?" Giles frowned. "By whom?"

Spike hunched his shoulders and gave them an apologetic smile. "Drusilla."

"I knew it!" Buffy cried, throwing her hands in the air. "I just knew it! That skanky lunatic 'ho and her psychotic mind games..."

"Slayer, lay off." Spike spoke quietly, oddly serious, and the gang stared at him in amazement as Buffy complied.

"Hey," Anya was intrigued. "How did you do that?"

"Yes, that was quite masterful, Spike." Giles said. "You'll have to enlighten me as to the trick. There have been numerous occasions when it's been difficult to get Buffy to listen to reason."

"No trick," Buffy protested. "I don't need to be tricked." She scowled. "And that was so not masterful. I just ... really wanna know what he has to say."

"Who's Apollyon?" Tara asked timidly. "Th -That was the name, right?"

Spike rolled his head from side to side. He was really working up a knot of tension here. "He's the Keratos demon."

"The same one that you previously mentioned I presume," Giles began scribbling in his notebook.

"Right. And just my bleedin' luck to get the only Keratos in the world with a demented sense of humor."

"This was a joke?" Xander stared. "Some whatsis-demon did this to you being all practical jokey?"

Spike snorted. "No mate, this was a favor." He held up a hand as a murmur of protest rippled through the group. "Not one I asked for, mind, I didn't put in a linking-up request. I just wanted to test a theory."

"A theory?" Giles ceased his incessant note taking and regarded Spike with heavy mistrust.

"Is there an echo?" Spike exaggeratedly searched around. "I said 'theory' dint I? I meant 'theory'. Is there some reason you lot are making me say everything twice?"

"Don't be defensive," Buffy cautioned. "You get all snappy and sarcastic."

Spike peered at her. "Do tell," he urged dryly. "I'm fascinated by your insight."

"I rest my case," she said.

"So when isn't he snappy and sarcastic?" Xander asked. "I thought it was his natural demeanor."

"Ooh big word!" Spike jeered. "Swallow the Watcher's thesaurus, lackbrain?"

Giles cleared his throat. "Tell me about this theory that you wanted to test."

"Not likely." Spike glared. "It was personal. It's gonna stay that way."

"But..." Giles wasn't used to his authority being questioned.

"The theory was only a motivation," Spike explained slowly, as though addressing a child. "The theory isn't the factor you should be focusing on. The Serpiente is the focus, people. And the Serpiente was an accident - a bloody stupid accident. All on account of Dru being up to her usual no-good."

He put his hands on his hips and eyeballed each Scooby. "I am not the bad guy, here. You'd do well to remember it."

They had the grace to seem abashed at their treatment of him, and he gave them one of his genuine grins. "Right. Now that's all settled, we found a way to get this linky-thing broke up?"

"Hold up a minute there, mister," Buffy interjected. "How did you find out about Drusilla in the first place?"

Spike sucked on his lower lip. "She came for a visit. Turned up on my doorstep all 'Come back to me Spikey dearest' and expectin' me to fall at her feet like the miserable lap-dog I was."

Buffy's expression turned murderous. "And where is she now?"

"At the crypt. Actually, more like tied up under the crypt, being watched by our friendly neighborhood Keratos."

"Is that a good idea?" Willow asked. "I mean, she paid him before. If she offers enough of a cash-incentive..."

"Not today, Red," Spike promptly informed her. "She's done a flip-out. It'll take her a couple o' days to come round - maybe longer. I've seen episodes like this drag out for months at a time. Besides Apollyon owes me." The vampire's brow furrowed. "At least, he did. Seems to think this link is some sort of positive payback." He shrugged. "Go figure."

"Why are you being so flippant?" Buffy demanded. Giles was right - he was being way too cavalier about this. She stared at him, irritated, and then cast caution to the wind. She was probably going to regret this later, but ... She took a deep breath and concentrated on him - hard.

Everyone else in the room seemed to disappear.

Spike reeled as Buffy's essence slammed into him full-force, the white flashbulb blinding him temporarily. He gaped at her as emotions flooded him.

"Jesus, Slayer," he whispered in awe. "Do you understand what you just did?"

Buffy couldn't fully comprehend why she'd initiated the link. She had no clear motive, but had been her first instinct and she went with it, having learned that it was usually the best way to go in most circumstances. The jury was still out on this one. All she knew was that it felt right. Actually, it felt more than right - it felt ... perfect.

"So I get the bonus level after all," Spike registered with satisfaction.

"Looks like." Buffy stepped forward and took his hand, needing to touch him. She had the impression that he'd become an essential part of her. "How's it feel?"

Spike closed his eyes and absorbed the staggeringly powerful rush of sensation that buffeted him. It brought with it a range of disconcerting side effects - a dull roar in his ears and a trembling in his limbs. He assumed they were a result of being exposed to her humanness. The expression on his face shifted to reveal pure ecstasy, and then he frowned. He suddenly realized that there was something he'd missed.

"Um, Slayer?" he said hesitantly. "My heart's beating."