As The Romans Do

"The humans we encounter stare at me and treat me strangely. They did not look at you or the girl this way, or the vampire, although he is also non-human."

"Well, Spike's -- non-humanness is a bit more subtle. He can, generally speaking, control his visage."

"This is what I wish to discuss. Since our battle, we have moved exclusively in human realms..."

"If they find me strange, I am memorable. If we are attempting to hide, it would be better if none of us were memorable."

"I have been... confused since my powers left. Overwhelmed by emotions, thoughts I am unable to control. The more the emotions fill me, the more I have... urges. Urges to contract the second person plural in your language. Urges to..." Illyria broke off, staring at Wesley's lips. "Do things. Being her is... relaxing."

"Ah. It's another emotion, one I believe you are unfamiliar with, Illyria. You have my permission. I am going to shower. After that, perhaps you would like to go down and get some pancakes."

Wesley closed the bathroom door against her, leaning his forehead against the door.

"Well, it turns out that I'm not Super Willow at all. I'm more like... a rogue WonderTwin."

"Xander and me, we're all... yin-yangy. Apparently I wasn't 'designed' to do magic without him. It's just so... so fifties, y'know? It's gross. I mean, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, right? And here's I've been with the goddess and the yay for boobies and apparently veiny Willow is what happens when I get all women's libby."

"Xander's my 'magical soulmate', apparently. When I do magic with him, everything's fine, because la-la-la we're two halves of a whole breeder-creation magic sexual-energy... hoo-haa. And the reason most of my magic goes all boom is because I didn't, y'know, stand by my warlock, and all the headaches and the nosebleeds and the scary black eyes and the veiny was what I get for not knowing my place."

"Well, that's great!" Buffy took a look at Willow's face. "Or... not great... why is this not great?"

"No, I mean... it's great, I guess. Huzzah for Xander, y'know? It's just... I mean... I feel like Dawn, all of a sudden."

"Well, you know. Even when she was way older than we'd been when we were all out, y'know, stakin' the vamps, everyone treated her like she couldn't be left alone for five seconds. Don't touch the books, Dawn. Don't leave the house, Dawn. Everything you try to do you screw up, Dawn."

"Because... because Giles made it sound like everything I've ever screwed up, I screwed up because I... crossed the street without Xander holding my hand!"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt so much if it weren't true. I mean, when Xander and I do the magic, I can... I can feel that it's true. Doing magic with Tara felt great... sharing anything with Tara felt great... but doing magic with Xander makes me feel like... like peanut butter and jelly, you know? It just fits, the magic fits, like it's part of me, like it comes from me, not something I sucked out and used. It's like... it's like he completes my circuit, and it... oh God, Buffy, it makes me feel so guilty."

"Because Tara completes me! Tara's my magical partner! I feel like I'm... cheating on her! If she were here..."

"Kennedy's not the same," Willow sighed. "I mean... I felt some of this when I started my relationship with her, but... Kennedy's a fighter, a Slayer. She doesn't understand magic, she doesn't really understand me. I mean... she cares about me... and I care about her... it's just different. Magic's so much of me now, Buffy. Tara could share that, could share that part of me no one else could share, and not sharing it with Kennedy made... it made a holy place in me, y'know? A place that was still all Tara's, a place I was saving for her."

"Kennedy... there's no danger of her ever getting all the way inside me. We're too different. Xander... Xander could get in. He's already in my heart, already my best friend, and now, with this magic thing, that's so much stronger... I'm afraid of him, Buffy. I'm afraid he's... going to take her place."

"Will... is this why you've been all... y'know... cheering 'Hey, Hi, I'm Not Bi!' lately? I mean, normally, you're Willow, who's a lesbian... and lately, you've been kinda... a lesbian, who's Willow."

"Last night. We started working a spell to grow his eye back, we both blacked out, and we woke up naked and smooshy and... I had stuff on me."

"No. Buffy, how can I? She'll be so hurt, and she won't take it out on me, where it belongs, she's gonna..."

"Probably. And that was the thing. We started, y'know, with the spell stuff and all the twinglies, and Giles told him to use the lust as a weapon, as a power source. And Xander did, and the spell worked great, and we didn't, y'know, jump each other or anything. It was like... like the lust was a fuel, just like my rage was when I..."

"Riley..." Buffy sighed. "God, the last time I saw him, that was such a mess... stupid Spike..."

"N-no reason. Um, yeah, you're right. Eros, the life urge, yeah. I should... go research that..."

"God, me and my big mouth. You're not going to shut up until I tell you, are you?"

"Fine." Willow reached out, touching Buffy's arm. There was a brief green flash.

"Why didn't he tell me? I punched him... I dumped him... why didn't he just explain?"

When Willow didn't answer, Buffy grabbed her arm. "I know you know. Tell me why he didn't explain."

"Buffy, it's bad enough I raped Spike's brain without going around giving his secrets out..."

"Give me one more. C'mon. Just one. You can make it something he wouldn't mind me knowing! C'mon, one more."

"Because! I thought he was dead, okay, I missed him! I... I still miss him! I haven't gotten to see him! C'mon, Will, you have his whole brain, gimme just... gimme just a little bit."

"This isn't more of that spinach stuff, is it?" Dawn says weakly from the bed.

"No, pet. Chicken noodle. Out of the can. Totally safe." Spike sets the tray down next to her, pulling a thermometer out of his pocket and sitting at her side. "Open up, Nibblet."

"Fattenin' you up to eat you later, of course," Spike grins. "C'mon, have some tasty thermometer."

"No... seriously. Xander said you were only nice to me to get in Buffy's pants, but... Buffy's dead. So why are you still nice to me?"

"That's right." Spike shakes the thermometer. "I'm evil, and don't you ever forget that. Now, open up."

He slides the thermometer into her mouth, gently settling a pillow across Dawn's lap and topping it with the tray of soup. "Look, Bit. Bein' evil's all about doin' whatever it takes to get what you want, right? And I want you to eat your soup. Grrr."

"I don't want to go to the hospital," Dawn says in panic. "They won't let in anyone but the BuffyBot... she's not ready..."

"I'll do a spot of B&E once you're asleep and get you some antibiotics, pet. Don't worry." Spike reaches out, strokes her hair. "You need anything from the drugstore?"

A look of utter wonder crosses Spike's face, quickly extinguished by the falling curtain of apathy. "That right, pet? Why's that?"

"Because you're funny. All bringing me soup and taking my temperature and casually planning a robbery."

Dawn rolls her eyes. "If I tell anyone Spike knows show tunes, he will rip off my head and drink from my brain stem."

He heard the sound of running water in the bathroom and raised his voice. "Thought you might've gotten knocked out, too, pet. No more hoodoo tonight, all right? I don't fancy another unscheduled nap."

"Well, hello to you too, Nibblet. Look, I'm serious about the hocus-pocus, right?" Spike glanced at the dark television, then back at Dawn with a teasing smile. "Although, since you turned off the bint, I'm prepared to forgive you."

Dawn bit her lip. "I, uh, I think I understand what happened, and I'm... I'm pretty sure you're going to be angry, really angry, when I tell you. I need you to swear that you're not going to, um, stake yourself or run out in the sunshine..."

"Spike, I need you to swear that you're going to stay calm and listen to me. I think we can fix this... or at least, Willow and Xander can..."

"Fine. No strolls in the sunbeams or sharp pointy wooden things. Start talkin'."

15. Sack O' Hammers

"Any more of those?" Xander asks as he walks down the basement stairs, eye on Spike's beer.

"Got a stash. Liquid earplugs, I call 'em." Spike hooks his toe beneath his bunk, hauls out a small cooler. He removes a bottle and hands it to Xander, who collapses onto the bunk next to him with a sigh.

"You got your coat back," Xander says.

Spike lights a cigarette. "Very observant."

"So, that was heavy today, huh? Portal and all, First Slayers, yadayah."

"Yeah... looks like our little Slayer's got a bit o'demon in her," Spike smirks, tilts his head to the side. "Wonder if she'd like some more?"

Xander leaps off the bunk. "You're disgusting."

"Just tryin' to be who she wants me to be," Spike shrugs, taking a drag. "Bloody hard to keep up when that changes every day."

"Look, when she said she wanted the Old Spike, I'm pretty sure she just meant the ass-kicking aspects. You didn't have to pull out the leatherwear and the sneering and the innuendo."

Spike raises an eyebrow. "Cracked the Slayer's code, eh? Don't suppose you'd loan me your decoder ring."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I'm stupidly in love with the bint, ain't I? And don't give me any of that oh-you're-a-demon-you-can't-love business, I bloody well could before they stuffed the soul in me and I certainly can now. Said she didn't like me because I was an evil, soulless thing... and now she wants me to be an evil, soulless thing again? What the bloody hell does she want me to do, get the kind o' soul I stick on with bloody Velcro and can shove in my pocket when my conscience is inconvenient for her?"

"You wanna know what Buffy wants in a man, huh?" Xander laughs. "Why, I've actually devoted several years to studying the topic... if you'd like to hear my findings."

"Oh, please... enlighten me," Spike drawls, sitting up a little higher.

"Well, first off... he's got to be strong. Really strong. As strong as her, or she just won't be able to really respect him. No mere mortals like yours truly need apply. Even Riley came up short on that one. So basically, he has to be more than human."

"Right..."

"So that rules out the humans, which leaves demons. Oh, but wait -- she wants a normal life, too. Or whatever the hell she thinks is a normal life when she gets up at three a.m. and goes out to kill things with pointy sticks. So she wants a guy who can give her kids, picket fences, walks in the sunshine -- oops, that rules you out, doesn't it, Dead Boy? Ruled out Angel, too. So... no humans or demons."

Spike grins wryly. "She wants a male version of herself, is that what you're saying?"

"Bingo. Too bad she can't pull a Willow; she and Faith would make a videotape worth buying."

Spike chuckles at the image. "So basically what you're saying is that no one has a chance with her?"

"Not long-term, no. Look, I'm not blind, Spike. I know you guys have some... freaky chemistry a-brewing... and maybe you'll even get back there for a while, especially now that you have a soul or whatever. But in the long run? She'll want the pitter-patter of tiny feet and a guy she can bring to Family Day at the Zoo. And once she gets that guy? He won't do it for her either. Y'know, Riley told me something you said to him once..."

"The girl just needs a little monster in her man," Spike finishes, smiling a little.

"Yeah. And you're right. But here's the rub, Spikey old boy... a little. Like she has. You're the all-access-pass to monsterpalooza, and that's why you'll never keep her, even if you get her."

"And on the other hand... there's Anya."

In a flash, Xander is all adrenaline. "You stay the hell away from Anya!"

Spike rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking about me, you bloody idiot. I'm talking about you. Carpe the diem already."

"I'm... I'm not ready. It's complicated, it's..."

"Bloody well get ready! We're facing the origin of all evil! It rather puts the dead in bloody deadline, dunnit?"

Xander shifts from foot to foot, and Spike groans in disgust, pointing to the ceiling. "Look, mate, there's a beautiful woman in love with you 'bout eight feet thattaway. If you spend five more minutes down here in the cellar with the undead instead of up there with her, I'm gonna start castin' public doubt on your orientation."

"You do that anyway," Xander stammers.

"Whelp? Get up the stairs or I'll kick you up 'em."

Xander shifts his weight from foot to foot, staring at Spike... who merely cocks an eyebrow.

"Thanks," Xander blurts, and pounds up the stairs.

---------------------

Buffy yanked her arm away from Willow, gasping.

"Was that what you wanted?" Willow purred, black eyes glimmering. "I could give you more."

"No... no... that's okay... Will, you've gone all scary-eyes..."

"I think you need some more."

---------------------

"So, how come you eat food all the time?" Dawn asks, winding a strand of stetching pizza cheese around her finger. "I mean... I thought you liked blood and stuff."

"I do like blood," Spike grins, lifting his mug of it. "Still like food, though. Y'think you'll eat another piece?"

"Yeah, I feel piggy," Dawn says, sucking the cheese-wrapping off her finger. "Do it."

Spike reaches down into the pizza box between them, taking all the mushrooms off one slice and swapping them for all the green peppers on another. His fingers are left covered in tomato sauce; he licks it off each finger, stopping when he notices Dawn's intense look.

"Whatcha starin' at, Bit?"

"It just... looks like blood. Do you do that with blood?"

Spike's eyes narrow. "Are these the sort of wholesome, natural questions about blood-drinkin' every teen is curious about, or are you seguein' into my least favorite topic ever?"

"Well, since you brought it up..."

"Bloody hell, Bit, not again."

"I've been thinking..."

Spike groans. "The three most dangerous words in the human language..."

"My blood is the Key to opening the portal, right? So if you sucked out all my blood... I wouldn't be the Key anymore. I'd be safe from Glory. You'd make a much better Key than me... you're tougher, you can fight..."

"Don't think it works like that, Bit. What movies did you rent, then?"

"Don't change the subject, Spike. C'mon... it's perfect, and you know it."

"Not bloody vampin' you, Bit. Quit bloody askin' me. Eat your pizza."

Dawn pushes herself off the sarcophagus. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Oh, God, not the pouty face, don't make the pouty face..."

"You don't like me."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Nibblet, of course I do. Wouldn't suffer through your bloody wretched taste in films if I didn't, would I?"

"You won't protect me from Glory."

"I will protect you from Glory, Bit... any way I can that doesn't involve killin' you."

"I'd still be alive."

"No, you bloody wouldn't, and I ought to know. Had a bit of experience on the topic."

Dawn flounces across the crypt. "You won't do it because of Buffy. Because you have a crush on Buffy."

"That's not why," Spike growls.

"Whatever. You're just afraid of losing points with her."

"Bit, if I vamped you, I'd be afraid of being dust from her."

"You don't even like me," Dawn accuses. "You're just being nice to me to get in good with Buffy. Just like you sucked up to Mom. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Bit..."

"Maybe you think that if I die, Buffy'll be so sad she'll come to you, huh? It won't ever happen, Spike. Never, ever, never happen. That crap you pulled with Drusilla and that creepy shrine... yeah, Spike, I know all about it."

"Bit, look, I acted like a moron, but I can explain..."

"Don't bother." Dawn grabs her backpack, tossing it angrily over her shoulder. "If you really cared about me, you'd save me. And since you won't save me... I guess I know how you feel about me."

"Bit, it's not like that..."

"Forget it, Spike. I'm going home. There are people there who really love me, who'd save me if they could."

Dawn pounds up the stairs and out of the crypt, and Spike leaps off the sarcophagus.

"Bit?" he calls, running after her.

He takes a few steps outside the crypt. "Bit? Bit, come back..."

She is gone.

Spike vamps out in frustration, punching the wall of his crypt, rough stone tearing away the skin of his knuckles before his face smooths and he takes off after Dawn at a run.

"Run off into the cemetery at night all alone," Spike mutters under his breath as he leaps tombstones, following her. "Fabulous plan, fabulous. Ought to just let the crawlies getcha..."

He catches up to her, duster flying. Dawn doesn't turn.

"What are you doing, Spike?"

"Bloody well walking you home."

---------------------

"Willow... stop..." Buffy gasped, trying to pry Willow's fingers off her arm...

---------------------

"Bugger off, Dru," Spike moans, curled in the fetal position. His hair is grown out, wild and curly, his natural brown pushing the white-blonde to the tips. "Don't want to talk to the stars. Know what they'll say. Poor little demon girl, poor little demon girl. Slash-slice, a millenium and poof -- gone. I always liked her, pet, I always did."

A bookbag drops at his feet. "Hey, Spike."

"It's the Nibblet, Dru, do you remember her? Such bright green energy, she is. She's a doorway to hell; you'd like her. Go nice with Peaches and his big bloody rock, and that's the truth, ain't it? Friends don't have a rock this big."

"Wow, you really are crazy," Dawn sighs.

"Read it in the stars, pet, it's all in the stars, what's coming. Boy meets girl, girl turns blue, boy loses girl. Over and over. Light and dark, male and female, when the angels fall and lose their inky wing. It's not what he thinks it is, Nibblet, it's not. Signed in blood but they've got other ideas. Got to get the girl a blade, Pet, got to get it. In the end I'm all alone, all alone... it's the trinket, don't you see? Burnin' alive with her words in my head, burnin' alive on a lie."

"I brought you some blood."

"Tastes like death, pet. Tastes like death... all the death runnin' together, nobody stays dead anymore. They're bringin' us back, one by one. One final curtain call. Gotta have everyone, Bit... gotta take a bow. Your sister, pet, she's a trendsetter, she is. Everybody wants to be like her, flesh knitted together. I'll do it too, they're not done with me, pet, they've got plans... more prophecies than they know of, love, prophecies on prophecies, but they're not above a little deception... there's a window, don't you see? A window of opportunity."

Dawn reaches in her backpack, pulling out a small knife. She slashes her palm, cutting deeply.

"Won't work, pet, won't work. Not now or then. You'll try, you'll fail, you'll live in a marble in my pocket. Careful not to break you. Little girls rip like pink paper; that's what Dru says..."

Dawn kneels in front of him, rests her bloody palm on Spike's lips. "Spike? Drink."

He shakes his head from side to side maniacally. "Think I'm crazy, you think I'm crazy."

"No, I know you're crazy. Have a drink. You have to be thirsty."

"You don't like mushrooms, and I won't do it. You can have my peppers, Bit. Just the peppers, though. No death. We brought the same gift, Bit. Death is our gift. Hope you kept the receipt."

"Spike, c'mon..."

Spike's eyes suddenly clear; for a moment, he is utterly rational. He tosses Dawn's hand away roughly.

"Bugger off, Bit, I'll never be that sack o' hammers."

"Spike?"

"Don't interrupt your sister when she's speaking, Bit. It's terribly rude."

"Buffy's not here, Spike..."

Another lucid flash. "Nibblet?"

"Yes, Spike?"

"Run."

"But..."

"RUN!" Spike screams, grabbing his head, throwing himself on the floor, curling into the fetal position.

And Dawn does, the slap of her sneakers echoing down the basement corridor as Spike's yellow eyes stare sightlessly at a filing cabinet.

"Early one morning, just as the sun was shining..." Spike croons tunelessly into the dust.

A roach crawls across his forehead. Spike never blinks.

---------------------

Buffy dropped to her knees, pulling at Willow's clawlike hand, finally ripping it from her flesh.

"Ow," Willow said in her normal voice. "Broke a nail. Ouchie."

"He wasn't just babbling," Buffy gasps.

"Huh? Buffy, what'd you say? I feel weird... did I go all scary eyes again?"

"He wasn't babbling, in the basement, he was... foretelling..."

"Again I say, 'huh'?"

"Poor little demon girl... Will, that's Anya. Got to get the girl a blade... me, with the scythe... the trinket, burning alive... oh God, Will, he knew he was going to die in the Hellmouth if he wore that amulet... he knew and he wore it anyway..."

"Buffy? Buffy, honey, you're not making any sense..."

"When the angels fall and lose their inky wing..." Buffy's eyes opened wide.

"Buffy, what is it?"

"Will, I have to go."

"Um, okay, why?"

"I have to go see if Angel still has his tattoo."

---------------------

"It's... it's good to see you, Spike."

Spike reached for his cigarettes. "Well, it's good to see you too, Glinda... don't know why I'm so bloody surprised, either, it's like soddin' Body Snatchers Anonymous around here... did the Bit, er, channel ya or something? Bring out the Bit."

"Spike... uh, don't freak, but..." Tara held up a glass orb. "I think... well, I'm almost positive... Dawnie in in here."

Spike snapped his lighter closed. "Bloody Hell! That's an..."

"Orb of Thesulah, yes."

"Bit's in the ball," Spike said incredulously. "Bloody hell. Did I already say bloody hell? Bloody hell! How do we get her back out?"

"Spike, I... I don't think we should just yet."

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Look, pet, if you're thinkin' about a final shag with Red before you trundle on back to Heaven, I gotta tell you, I think the body you're wearin' s'gonna squick her a bit."

Tara laughed... a rich, mellow sound that sounded utterly bizarre coming from Dawn's throat. "That wasn't exactly what I was getting at, Spike. Dawn's... obviously not in a very good place..."

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a real flair for understatement?" Spike took a heavy, disgusted drag of his cigarette.

"Spike... I'm the one who put Dawn in the Orb. I did it on purpose."

Spike's eyes flashed yellow, and Tara put a restraining hand on his arm. "Let me explain, okay?"

"Make it quick."

"All right. Dawn summoned me, Spike. I was supposed to be the one in the Orb. She was planning to trap my soul in it. It was such a weird feeling... I was here but not, I could hear what both of you were thinking, what both of you were planning. And I knew how bad it was... and before I knew it, I'd sort of... stepped into Dawn. And I put her in the Orb. I didn't know what else to do, Spike. If she'd gone through with what she was planning..."

"And what, exactly, was she planning?" Spike growled.

Tara sighed. "She was going to trap me in the Orb, force you to vamp her, and then have you perform the spell to put my soul into her body. She wrote it out for you. Phonetically. In... green glitter pen. It's on the other bed."

"Bloody hell," Spike moaned.

"That wasn't the worst part, though," Tara added quietly.

"It gets worse? Fantastic. What's the worse bit, then?"

"What you were planning to do."

Spike gaped. "Beg pardon?"

"Once you were helpless, Dawn explained what she was doing to you. She needed you to perform the second part of the spell once she died and the compulsion on you dropped. But... you weren't going to do it."

Tara dropped her eyes, twisting her hands. "You'd already worked it out, what you were going to do as soon as the compulsion dropped. You were going to free my soul... and give her yours. And then, you were gonna..."

"Take a walk on the sunny side of the street, eh, pet? Sounds like me. Always been a bloody drama queen."

"You are kind of stupid when you love someone," Tara grinned.

"You saved me and the Bit both, then." Spike twisted his head to regard her. "Don't suppose they make sufficient thank-you cards for that sort of thing."

"Well... you saved Willow when you closed the Hellmouth. Maybe we can buy each other a beer."

"Hate to break it to you, love, but you're too young to drink."

"Yeah, but look how skinny I am!"

Spike laughed. "Bloody women. Back from the dead and all you care about is that you've got thighs a proper-sized person could floss with."

"That's not all I care about, Spike, I just... noticed." Tara shrugged. "Anyway, we have bigger problems..."

"Like the ball full o'Bit." Spike took the Orb from Tara's hand, holding it up to the light.

"Exactly."

"D'ya think she can hear me in there?"

"I don't think so."

"Damn. I've got years of yellin' to do." Spike turned the Orb in his fingers. "So, what do we do?"

"Well, I... you're not going to like this... but I think that's kind of... Buffy's call, isn't it?"

"And here I thought this day couldn't get worse."

"Willow and Xander will be able to fix this. Willow's done this spell several times..."

"Right," Spike scoffed. "Red's gonna line right up for that, sure. Hey, Red? Remember how Tara died and y'nearly killed everyone on the planet? Well, she's back, and this time, you get to kill her! Put on your pointy hat and get to work, then!"

Tara paled. "I hadn't thought about it quite like that."

"That's what we've gotta bloody do, innit? Think this thing out from a million bleedin' angles?"

Spike touched Tara's shoulder. "C'mon, pet. You've been dead for two years, I think you deserve to be bought some pie."

"So Dru's the bloody Master of the Order," Spike marveled, walking jauntily between the other two vamps. "Don't that beat all. So... where's this 'package', eh? Like to say my hellos an'..."

Spike's words were cut off by the taser at his neck, and he dropped bonelessly onto the ground.

"Well," the vampire grinned to the other, "That's both things we were supposed to get."

"Wonder what she's gonna do to him?" The other vampire kicked at Spike's unconscious form with his boot.

Willow sunk back into her chair, shrinking under everyone's stares. "Um... I..."

"Willow," Giles said, his eyes peering into hers, "Does this have something to do with the door we opened?"

"Yes," Willow whispered. "Look, guys, this is a very you-don't-want-to-know kind of thing..."

Buffy's eyes blazed in fury. "Oh -- I think I speak for everyone when I say that this is a very we-incredibly-much-do-want-to-know-or-Willow-gets-injured kind of thing."

"O-okay," Willow took a deep breath. "Um, okay. Um. Buffy, you know how said that when you held Dawn, it was like holding yourself?"

"Well, uh, you were holding yourself, sort of. When they made Dawnie out of you, they... took out part of your soul and put it into Dawn."

"That's, um, why you've felt so bad. And why she's felt so bad. 'Cause you were both missing a piece of yourself. They did it so that you would be, y'know, drawn to her... in the most literal kind of way, she's your soulmate, your missing piece. I think... I think when you went to Heaven... you experienced, for the first time in your memory, what it was like to feel whole. I think that's why it hurt so much to come back, Buffy. Until then, you didn't remember what it was like to be complete... 'cause of, y'know, the monks and their head-mojo, not that I can throw stones..."

"That would explain a great deal," Giles mused. "Even before your death, Buffy, you had complained to me of feeling disconnected and empty..."

"Buffy..." Willow said gently. "The Key was never meant to be corporeal this long. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, just until Glory's window of opportunity passed... then Dawn would have disappeared and all of our memories of her would have vanished. The monks just meant to borrow part of your soul, not cut it off from you forever. The part where they all got killed was really not in their plan."

"Ever since Dawn found out what she was, she's been begging Spike to sire her. So that you could have your whole soul back, and she would go on existing. Spike's been refusing for years, and Dawn keeps asking."

"All I know is what Spike remembers. She told him that your soul wanted to be whole, wanted to leave her body... which left her with a semi-death wish." Willow smiled sadly.

"Well, she didn't want to stop existing. She just wanted Buffy's soul to be free. That's why she was hitting up Spike to vamp her. Still existing -- no soul."

"He knew what knowing it would do to you, Buffy... 'cause he knew what knowing it was doing to him. He finally made himself forget... took a potion or had a spell done or something. It was... it was eating him alive. Which is why he didn't tell you, and why I didn't want to tell you... but oh no, everybody's gotta make me!"

"All this time... everything we've been through... my little sister's been begging him to kill her and he didn't tell me?"

"There was more than what I showed you," Willow said, explaining briefly as horror flared on every face.

"My God, he's an idiot," Angel gasped. "And I thought he did dangerous stuff for Dru."

"Did he seriously not realize what he could have become?" Angel railed. "An Aurelian vampire, allowing what vestiges of humanity they had to be sucked out?"

"You're telling me I only have half a soul," Buffy said incredulously. "The reason I feel all... numb inside is because..."

"Because Dawn is still alive," Giles finished gently. "But I doubt you would accept killing Dawn as a solution. I'm certain Spike came to the same conclusion."

"I-I can't listen to this anymore," Buffy stammered, standing up unsteadily. "I have to think, it's too much, I need to be alone..."

Buffy shoved her chair back, running out of the cavern. Angel moved to follow her, but Giles restrained him.

"I think we've sheltered Buffy quite enough," Giles frowned. "I certainly wish Spike had shared this knowledge with me..."

"Look. I've known Spike for over a century, okay? No one knows him better than me. I... made him what he is."

Angel ignored him. "Dawn was under Spike's protection. I don't think any of you can understand just how serious a thing that is where Spike's concerned. In Spike's mind, every one of you would be a potential threat to Dawn."

"And how do you feel about Dawn now?" Angel challenged, staring Xander down. "Knowing that she doesn't really exist? Knowing that everything you loved about her is just a stolen shard of Buffy? Knowing that her mere existence is making Buffy miserable? Knowing that she is, essentially, a parasitic organism? Moreover, a parasitic organism that wants to die? A parasitic organism that you won't mourn, because the moment she dies, you'll forget she ever existed?"

Giles sighed. "I may not enjoy Angel's terminology, but he does have a point. Xander, remember when you were split into two beings? Should we not have recombined you?"

"See?" Angel smiled slightly. "That's exactly why Spike wouldn't have told you."

"Anybody else completely confused?" Faith groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

"So Buffy won't ever be whole again until the person she loves more than anyone else in the world dies," Wood mused. "That's... special."

"The t-thing is, I t-think he was trying to slip me a message. 'Cause he called you my boyfriend, which is w-wrong on a l-lot of levels... but those vamps wouldn't know that..."

"A blatantly false statement to clue you in," Wesley sighed, handing Tara a glass of water. "Tell me exactly what he said after that, Dawn, as word-for-word as you can."

"He said to tell you that he'd decided to tackle your 'killer first-day project' by himself."

"P-pretty certain. And he kind of... looked at me when he said it. I-I think it had something to do with the vendetta thing... the vampires said that Drusilla was going to do to Angel what Angel had done to her..."

"Angel did quite a lot of damage to Drusilla in their day. He made her insane, he killed her entire family..."

"Yes. He was rather methodical about it, actually... of course, we're speaking of Angelus here, not Angel..."

And considering what he'd been doing before the dark part, that was probably bad.

His arms were stretched up uncomfortably over his head; his whole body weight hung from his wrists.

"My pretty little Spoike," a feminine voice hissed. Sharp fingernails scratched his cheek.

"You've been terribly naughty," Drusilla giggled, running her fingers over his bruised and swollen face. "Look at all the pretty, pretty colors they've turned you. You're a fruit basket, all apples and plums."

Manacles around wrists: iron, strong, too tight to break his hand-bones and wrench out. Bugger.

Drusilla circled him, smiling... and it was bizarre, the mix of fear and aching tenderness that rose in his throat. His black goddess. His ripe, wicked plum. He breathed deeply, taking in her smell of blood and mildewed lace and sour wine and insanity.

"I've heard such sad stories about you, pretty Spoike. They made Miss Edith cry and cry."

"Sorry about that, love. You know I wouldn't hurt Miss Edith's feelin's for anythin'."

"Liar," Drusilla purred, her fingernails tracing the zipper of Spike's jeans. "You'd like to bash in her brains. Miss Edith says you've been terribly bad. Doing nasty, dirty..."

Drusilla punctuated her words with a vicious squeeze, and Spike's eyes flew wide.

"... things with the Slayer. Making messes of the pretty hellmouth. Shame on you, Spoike."

Drusilla reached languidly into a box, pulling out a small dagger and tapping it against the flat of her palm. "You've been playing hero with Daddy and you didn't even invite me."

She sliced his t-shirt open from bottom to top, letting the tip of the blade paint a thin red line up his neck to his chin.

She reopened the scar at his eyebrow, biting her lip in concentration, getting it perfect.

Spike inhaled sharply as Drusilla increased the pressure, blood welling from the ever-deepening cut.

"Poor Spoike. You always were so dreadfully jealous of Daddy. And he could be so wonderfully hurtful." She clucked her tongue. "I dreamed of you on the blue moons. Dreamt of you rotting. Little squirmies wiggling in and out of your eye sockets. You would have, you know. Too late now..."

Drusilla trailed the knife over his chest, drawing little spirals and loops, leaning over to lick the blood from his throat.

"You taste nicer than Daddy. Did his Slayer ever tell you that, my Spoike? Darla's very cross about it."

Drusilla giggled. "That's never stopped anyone from playing with me, pretty Spoike. They come to me in my garden and sing little songs about dewdrops. Darla's very cross because you died for Daddy."

"Ssssh," she whispered, laying a finger across his lips. "You wore Daddy's trap. How it sparkled! Like baby fish. You changed all their plans, changed the game. Burned poor Willy right up, and him just arrived for tea. Not a very nice thing to do to Willy, was that, Spoike? But you taste better this way."

"Darla says it doesn't matter. But Darla never liked you. I think you knew that." She caressed his arm gently, regretfully. "But I like you, Spoike. Will you come back to me, now that Willy's all burnt up?"

"Of course I will, darling. Just unlock me, and we'll burn through this town like..."

Her laugh was high and piercing, almost a scream. "We've played this game before. I didn't like it last time. You changed the rules. You've changed your rules. No more electricity, no more spark. I wonder where it's coming from?"

"You don't know Willy got all... burnt... up. You think he's still in there. Oh, he was lovely, Spoike. From the moment I saw him. I set him free, sent him soaring away, sent him off to have his repose. And what a long repose it was. Oh, they wanted Liam to burn, my Spoike. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart. They wanted Angelus out to play forever and forever, Liam all burnt up where the nasty gypsies couldn't ever get him back, no matter how they cried. Poor little Spoike. Always second choice."

She dug the tip of her knife into the flesh above Spike's heart. "Should I show you, my darling? You tried to cut him out once. Should I show you that he's gone? Show you how pretty and black you are on the inside?"

"Am I?" She dug deeper with the knife. "Do I lie, Spoike? Didn't you feel him burn? Turn into light? He knew it would happen, my Spoike. He knew ever so long ago. That's why I wanted to eat him."

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose," Drusilla whispered, trailing her hands gently across his arms as she walked to stand behind him.

"Midnight descends..." she tugged playfully at his duster, his sliced t-shirt, "In raven-coloured clothes..."

And Dru wrapped her arms around him from behind, crossing her hands over his chest where the amulet had lain.

She burst her hands apart, miming the way the amulet's light had spread out through the Hellmouth.

Buffy looks up in shock; the waiter is dressed in period clothing, as is everyone around her... it's like a scene from Titanic or something, except, y'know, no Leonardo, which is really a shame.

She tries to speak, and realizes her lungs aren't working properly; a moment later, she connects that with the deep pressure around her ribs.

Okay, this thing's gotta go. No way can she kick ass in this. Not to mention the, like, seventy-five pounds of clothing she's wearing.

He's sitting on a little couch, his hair long and in a ponytail, little spectacles perched on the end of his nose, dressed up like Benjamin Franklin. She'd laugh, but somehow, this isn't funny at all... it's more like the part of the movie where the stupid co-ed walks down the hallway alone and the screechy violins start.

"What's another word for 'gleaming'? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see."

As she watches, Xander phases in and out, his hair lightening and darkening again, his face replaced by Spike's, only... Spike's hair isn't blonde at all, it's a sort of reddish-brown, it's...

Buffy rises, wincing again at the pressure of the corset, doing a slow patrol around the room. She sees familiar faces, but not loved ones; Harmony Kendall, human again, laughing snottily beneath a massive pile of hair. Principal Snyder, Mitch Fargo, Mashad Bolling, Amber Grove, Larry Blaisedale... ugh, ugh, ugh.

So this isn't a Slayer dream at all, then. It's that dream, the one where she's humiliated in front of everyone she hated in high school... only, shouldn't she be naked by now?

Coming down a flight of stairs, her hair elaborately done, floating in her little cloud of snootiness... and oh, of course everyone's turning to look at her, she's Queen Cordelia, isn't she?

The pressure on her ribs, the weight of her clothing gives way, and Buffy is suddenly aware that she's moved in space; she's looking up at Snyder, looming over her, holding a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Don't be shy, Summers," Snyder laughs, that horrible, tittering little laugh of his, his beady eyes dancing with barely suppressed glee.

There's a paper in Snyder's hand, one that is clearly giving him a huge happy. Her latest report card? Paperwork for her expulsion?

Snyder holds up the paper to read aloud, condescension dripping from every syllable, hamming it up for the crowd. "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent."

The words are unknown, the plummeting, nauseous motion of her stomach all too familar.

And they're all laughing, laughing at her... she's surrounded by their contorted faces, their too-wide eyes, their mouths full of too many teeth. Harmony's snorting, one pink-tipped hand over her mouth, and Buffy feels the familiar pain, everyone thinking she was a freak, no one understanding who she really was, what she'd gone through... assuming things, judging her...

Oh, yes, she's had this dream before. Minus the frillies, more with the naked.

"Effulgent," Snyder repeats, like it's the punchline to a hilarious joke, and everyone laughs that much harder.

Kick their asses. She's going to kick absolutely every inch of their asses. Buffy's hands curl into fists, preparing to throw the first punch...

There's no way she can fight them, no way she can win. There's nothing she can do. She's utterly helpless.

She settles for reaching up and ripping the sheet of paper out of Snyder's hands.

"Have you heard?" Harmony titters. "They call him 'William the Bloody' because of his bloody awful poetry!"

Snyder smiles broadly. "It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"

And suddenly, she's a spectator again, a little wave of nausea pulling at her stomach as she shifts, the pressure and weight back on her, watching Xander as he follows Cordelia over to a small sofa.

"Cordelia?" Xander says hesitantly, and Buffy wants to run over to him, push him away from her, tell him not to bother, she's not worth it, Xander's so much better than he suspects, so good, so brave...

Cordelia lets out one of her patented long-suffering sighs. "Oh. Leave me alone."

Things are phasing in and out again; for an instant, Buffy is on the couch, and Cordelia has been replaced with... Parker? Xander flashes with Spike, Cordelia flashes with someone vaguely familiar...

"Your... poetry," Cordelia says, in the same tones she'd discuss stretchy stirrup pants, "It's... they're... not written about me, are they?"

And, oh God, the pain on Xander's face, the dumb-puppy supplication, and how Buffy wants to grab him by the lapels, haul him out of here, tell him he doesn't deserve this...

"Yes," the familiar brunette says, and Buffy knows she's seen her before, can't place her... "But are they about me?"

Buffy turns, and it's not Cordelia, it's not the brunette, it's not Parker... the cruel woman in white is her now, her lip curled in disgust.

"Oh, I know... it's sudden and..." Spike looks near tears, and Buffy's heart wrenches. "Please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Buffy."

The other her scoffs. "You don't have a soul. There's nothing good or clean in you. You're dead inside. You can't feel anything real, Spike. I could never be your girl."

Spike's face contorts in pain, but he hasn't given up yet. "I know I'm a bad poet. But... I'm a good man... a-and all I ask is that... that you try to see me..."

"I do see you," the other Buffy says in disgust. "That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."

And she sees the words cut him, sees his horrified face, as he flashes from Spike to Xander to Willow and back to Spike, each face in excruciating pain, and finally her, the blue of Spike's eyes fading to the green of her own, the tears remaining.

And it is Angelus who looks back at her. "You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night."

And it's dark. Utterly, completely dark. She reaches out and touches wood, a few inches from her face. The air is stale, heavy and thick with decay.

But something's changed; the padding, the lining, she once had to rip through are gone. She touches only wood, even closer to her face than usual, even more claustrophobic than the one in her normal nightmares, and oh God, she's so hungry...

Buffy punches through the coffin lid, kicking out with her feet, the wood splintering, dirt falling on her face, collapsing in all around her, surrounding her, weighing her down, and oh God she has to get out she has to get out...

She knows this, has done it, has done it a million times more in the nightmares that still haunt her. She claws through the dirt, one hand sticking out into the night air...

She is being yanked through the earth as if she weighed nothing, like being born...

She opens her dirt-crusted eyes, and sees Drusilla... who claps her hands in delight.

Buffy looks down at her torn, bleeding hands, shutting her eyes against the familiar sight.

"Get up, boy," he says, his Irish accent thick, his hair long and wild around his face. "We're havin' an little excursion."

He backhands her across the face. "I said, get up. I can't fix what Dru's buggered, but I can teach y'the way of it. We'll make somethin' of you yet, Willy."

"But Angelus, you said he could be mine," Drusilla whines from somewhere beyond her vision.

"He's not ready for you yet, Dru. Wants a bit of tenderizing, he does. Don't want to be unwrappin' your gifts before Christmas, now do ye?"

There is a resounding crack, and a white-hot line of pain flares across her back. She is manacled to a support beam. Everything hurts. The smell of blood is everywhere, and it's driving her insane. She's so weak. So hungry.

Angel grabs her by the throat, twisting sharply, and... oh, god, she feels her neck break, feels the vertebrae shatter. No longer able to hold her head up, Angel points it in the direction he wants it.

The blood-drenched corpses of Xander, Willow, Giles, and Dawn are heaped on the floor, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. Drusilla crawls over them, propping them up, arranging them.

"Pretty dollies," Drusilla muses, grabbing Dawn's body by the throat and examining it. Dawn's sightless eyes are open, empty, yet seem to stare directly at Buffy. "This one looks like you, Willy."

Drusilla grabs Dawn's lower jaw in her other hand, moving it up and down like a ventriloquist's dummy in time to her words. "Hullo, Willy. Would you like to have tea with me?"

"Don't break her mouth, Dru," Angelus says, and the look he gives Buffy burns with dark insinuations. "I think I'll be usin' that first. And I'm sure Willy here wants to watch, so... why don't you play with him awhile?"

Buffy's broken neck sags abruptly as Angelus lets go of it. It is only in her peripheral vision that she sees Angelus begin to unbutton his trousers.

She is lying on her stomach, naked, so weak she can barely move, can barely blink. When she tries to adjust her position, she hears a noise like ripping.

She hears a creak, the mattress sagging beneath a great weight, a man moving over her.

And Buffy screams for a second before his hand claps roughly over her mouth, his other hand on her hip, pressing her deeper into the mattress.

"Don't worry, Willy," he whispers. "It'll hurt much less once you start to bleed."

She is curled in a corner, still naked, whimpering, hog-tied. Darla uses a hand mirror to play with the sun's rays through the window, reflecting them onto Buffy's body, twisting and turning the mirror so she never catches fire... just burns all over.

"I don't see why you bother, darling," Darla sighs. "Just stake him. We'll make Dru a new playmate, and we'll do it properly this time."

"She's attached to this one," Angelus groans in disgust. "We'll never hear the end of her whinin'."

"Jealous? Of a madwoman who can't even sire a fledgling properly? What is he? Besides repulsive?"

"Don't know, my death." Angelus wraps his arms around Darla's waist from behind, nuzzles his head into her shoulder. "But he'll be one of us, when I'm done w'him."

And it is bright; she is staring into a parlor window, lit from within. There are people inside, warm and soft and full of blood, their heartbeats thunder in her ears... and the hunger cramps her gut, nearly twists her in two.

She turns; the other three are right behind her. Drusilla looks worried, eager, concerned; Darla, irritated; Angelus, unreadably intense.

"An' you know what they say about great art, Willy," Angelus smiles. "Need the proper tools. Do ye have the proper tools for this job, Willy?"

"I have the proper tools for this job," Buffy replies woodenly, holding up the stake in her hand.

No longer weak, no longer frail, with the nagging, bloody cough she'd picked up from Mother and her never-calloused fingers, some days too tired from the sickness even to hold a pen. She is filled with power, flushed with it, drunk on it, and it is them, the laughing ones, the tormenting ones, who are weak now. They fly across the room at the touch of her fist; they rip like paper.

One by one, they pay for the way they have made her feel, pay for every second of pain they have caused her, pay for their laughter, pay for their looks, pay for their insinuations, pay for the little jokes made just loud enough that she could hear them.

They scream, and it is music. They sob, and it is ambrosia. The pain in their eyes is the only mirror she will ever be able to see herself in.

She drinks their blood, plays in it, writes with it -- perhaps they'll like these writings better? Perhaps these will be more to their taste?

The drawing room becomes an abattoir, a slaughterhouse, a masterpiece. She repeats their hurtful words back to them, rejoicing in their fear.

She hears footsteps and whirls; they stand in the doorway. Drusilla is delighted, clapping her black-gloved hands together.

And Angelus smiles, surveying the room slowly. He touches Darla's cheek. "See, darlin'? I think our little problem's all taken care of. And to think you didn't trust me."

Buffy stands, drenched in blood, metal spike still gripped in her hand, gaping at them.

She whirls... and it is Spike that addresses her, the real Spike, the now Spike, Spike of peroxide and duster and whiskey and Marlboros. He leans against the doorway, surveying the scene dispassionately, taking a drag off his cigarette.

"Must say, love, I'm impressed." He kicks aside a corpse with the toe of his boot. "Don't think even I was quite this vicious. Issues, Slayer. You've got definite issues."

"Found that out, did you? Bit o' demon and half a soul. Quite the fence-straddler."

"Well, that's what you lot get for pokin' around in my brain, innit?" Spike grins up at her, his old familiar grin, the one that says he's teasing. "Bloody disrespectful of a bloke's privacy, if y'ask me."

"Oh, right, that. You thought I wanted you to know what a great poncy poof I'd been? Bloody hell, woman, you teased me enough as it was without knowin' about William the Bloody Wanker."

The room begins to shake, and Spike turns his face up to the ceiling. "Speakin' of great poncy poofs..."

"Buffy," Angel commanded, shaking her shoulders harder. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up."

"M-maybe it's a Slayer dream," Willow suggested. "It's kinda hard to wake her up from those."

Buffy's eyes flew open at the same moment her arms flew up between his, pushing outward to knock his hands from her shoulders, her leg rising to sweep him from the bed. Angel landed on the floor with a painful thump as Buffy nimbly rolled off the other side of the bed, rising in fighting stance, fists up, chest heaving.

"Well. Good morning to you, too," Angel groaned, hauling himself to his feet. "I'm starting to understand why you went through alarm clocks so fast."

"Oh. That kind of nightmare. Buffy, honey, it's me. Angel. Not Angelus. Human? Heartbeat? Really sore ass, as of about ten seconds ago?"

Willow took a tentative step towards the freaked-out Slayer. "Dawnie's fine, Buffy. Remember? She's with Spike."

"Spike," Buffy whispered. "Oh, God. I thought if I went to sleep, it would stop..."

"I, uh... I kinda went black-eyed yesterday and passed her more memories than she asked me for..."

"Yeah." Willow bit her lip. "Buffy... do you know where you are? You just had a nightmare, okay? Gave you a little wiggins, but it's okay..."

"Guys... I... I need to be alone." Buffy's voice was small and pleading. "I need to... I need to make sense of all this stuff in my head. I need... I need to think."