Leashing the Beast, by Nos


Summary: In response to my own challenge *heh*, found on Crumbling Walls.
The Nerdy Three find out what Spike's chip does and formulate a plan to kill
the Slayer.
Rating: R for violence


Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Never have, never will. I just love
messing with them.


Spoilers: Post Dead Things.


Dedication: For Trisha, since she dedicated hers to me, and for all her
support in my first fic. Thanks so much! And of course, to Fleisch for
beta'ing and being there to goad me on. And to Marrec, for the brotherly
support. And everyone at Crumbling Walls, cause I wouldn't have started
writing again without you.


**********************************************************


Tara Maclay was a soft-hearted, softspoken woman. But when something
needed to be done, or someone was suffering, she was there. She always had
an open ear. She cared, almost too much at times.


Maybe that was why Buffy had chosen her to confess to. Or, maybe, it
was because she was disconnected from the rest of the group. She really
didn't know, but she was going to help. She had thought The Slayer would be
overjoyed to find out there was nothing wrong with her, that the spell they
had cast to bring her back from the dead hadn't changed her in a sinister
way. Instead, she had broken down, sobbing, telling Tara that there had to
be something wrong with her. Begging her not to forgive her. The whole
story had come out when the tears dried, a good while later.


She was a little shocked; she really didn't expect the confession -- that
the Slayer was sleeping with a soulless vampire. One who loved her, true,
and would give his life for her or Dawn. But that wasn't the point. Spike
was evil. Buffy didn't understand why she was feeling as she was: so
attracted to him.


Tara had always had a soft spot for the vampire. He had proved to her that
she wasn't a demon, even if punching her in the nose was the way he chose to
do it. She still remembered his kind words to her after she had her mind
stolen by Glory, and had accidentally burned his hand.

She didn't see him as truly evil. Maybe it was because she was new to the
group, and hadn't lived through the fear Spike had caused them all in the
past. Whatever the reason, it had wrenched her heart to hear Buffy's final
confession: that she had beaten him bloody in the alley behind the police
station, and left him there. The Slayer had sobbed again, recalling how he
hadn't even tried to defend himself, he loved her that much. And she had
continued to hit him, with her full Slayer strength, after she had knocked
him out of vamp face.


She had finally convinced Buffy that they needed to check on him, to make
sure he was alright. The Slayer had reluctantly agreed, almost afraid to
face him. So they had split up, Buffy heading for the alley, and Tara for
the vampire's crypt.


Which was where she found herself now, standing outside his door, where she
had never entered. She fidgeted, and took the steps slowly, pausing to look
around before knocking on the door.


When no answer came, she opened the door, biting her lip, and stepped
inside.


"H-hello?" she called out, looking around.


She sensed movement to her right, and quickly spun to face it. Spike
stepped from the shadows, and she gasped, taking in the damage done to his
face. His usually pale skin had blossomed in a myriad of cuts and dark
bruises. His nose was broken, and one eye was swollen shut. Dried blood
still crusted his cheeks and lips.


He looked confused, and half asleep. He tossed the knife he had to the
floor and scratched his head.


"Tara? Wha' are you doin' 'ere?" he asked, mumbling around swollen lips.
He swayed a little on his feet.


It took her a while to respond.


"B-Buffy talked to me. She...told me everything."


The vampire stilled, tensing.


"So, you've come ta wha', finish the job she did?" he asked bitterly.


Tara shook her head.


"No! No...She's on her way...We wanted to make sure...you...you were
alright." She gave him a little smile and held out the first aid kit she
was clutching to her chest.


Spike blinked, and shook his head, almost losing his balance. He slumped
to the floor, leaning back against the wall.


"Why does she care?" he asked softly.


Tara didn't know how to respond to that. She didn't even know if Buffy did
care, or if she really was just using him.


"I..don't know Spike. She was really upset. If it helps...I'm...sorry
this happened."


He chuckled, almost a giggle, as high pitched as it was.


"Yeah. Well. S'pose we should wait for The Slayer then, eh?"


She gave him a little smile and knelt, opening the box on the floor. Not
looking at him as she spoke, taking out various items.


"I know what you're doing."


He blinked. "Wha'?"


She looked up for a second, before looking away again.


"What you're doing. Telling her she belongs in the dark, with...with you."


He narrowed his eyes a little, studying her.


"An' jus' what am I doin', pet?"


She gave that little half smile again, not looking up.


"You love her. And you think you could never really have her unless she
was in your world. You're...scared of losing what little ground you've gained."


He snorted, a little too quickly.


"I'm -not- scared..."


"Spike.." she cut him off. Something in her tone made him stop speaking.


"You are trying to gain more of a hold on her, by drawing her into your world.
But let me ask you this...What is your world, Spike?" she looked up then.


He stared at her. "Wha' do you think, pet? I'm a -vampire-. I live in the
dark. You lot 'ave proved time an' again I don't belong in -your- sorry world."


She just gave him a knowing smile, and stood up, dusting off her skirt.
The bandages and antiseptics were lined up before him, neatly, in a row.


"Just...Just think about it Spike. She'll be here soon. I'm gonna go."
And without looking back, she opened the door and left.


Spike stared after her, dazed. What tha bloody 'ell jus' 'appened 'ere?
Must be the concussion...


He shook his head, and leaned back, resting fully against the cold stone of
the crypt wall. Pulling out a nearly crushed cigarette, he lit it carefully,
avoiding the split in his lip, and closed his eyes.

Buffy paused, stopping about 10 feet from Spike's crypt, pulling her jacket
around her tighter. Though the air was pleasantly warm, even for a southern
California night, she was chilled. And tired. She knew he could probably
already sense her presence, as she could his. She knew he was there. But
she just didn't want to have to deal with this. Why was it always so hard?
Why couldn't she just pretend as if it never happened? She had tried that
before, with him. She still remembered how flustered he sounded, when she
pretended their first kiss didn't mean anything to her.



'We ... we kissed, you an' me. All 'Gone With The Wind,' with the rising
music, an' the rising ... music, an' what was that, Buffy? '



There really was no other way. She had to face him again, eventually. He
wouldn't forget, what she had done. She was sure of that. She just didn't
-want- to deal with it.



She groaned and started forward again, trudging toward the crypt as if
heading for her own execution. Though, at this moment, she might have
happily marched up the gallows if only to be spared what was likely going to
be an awkward and painful scene.



Taking a deep breath, she marched up the steps and opened the door. No
need to break old habits by doing such a thing as knocking, right?



She felt him, of course, before she saw him. Shutting the door behind her
as quietly as she could, she took in the scene. Three candles were lit,
casting very little light around the room. Spike was leaning against a
wall, near the door. He appeared to be sleeping, but one could never tell
with vampires. Though Spike wasn't a good example -- always wanting to move,
pace, kill, whatever -- vampires could stay still as a corpse for hours.
Because that's what they were. Corpses.



She just stood there for a moment, watching him. This living corpse before
her. It made her shudder to think of him that way. Wouldn't that make her
a necrophiliac? It wasn't like she hadn't loved...she quickly derailed
-that- train of thought...been with a vampire before. Angel, he was
different from the creature before her, as night is to day. He had a soul.
He was ashamed of his vampiric nature. He hid it from her. He felt
remorse, guilt, for his crimes. Spike didn't. He didn't -have- a soul. He
didn't know what it was like to feel remorse.



'Why don't you explain it to me?' he had said, when she stated the same to
him. -That- had thrown her. She didn't expect him to understand. Hell,
she didn't expect him to -want- to understand. But Spike was nothing if not
unpredictable.



So what exactly was he? Sure, he was a vampire, by definition. But how
could a vampire act as he does? Being a vampire slayer, she knew vampires.
They lived only for the kill, for chaos and destruction. They didn't watch
soap operas. They didn't take pleasure in eating human food. They didn't
enjoy human company. They were at best animals, at worst, deadly
sociopaths. Hunt. Kill. Feed.



But Spike wasn't like that. Sure, he reveled in violence. It was his
nature. And the chip -had- changed him. He couldn't kill anymore; couldn't
hunt. But most of his personality she simply couldn't pass off as the chip.
He -always- loved to eat, watch tv. Even Angel, basically a human trapped
in a vampire-shaped wrapper, didn't eat human food. Ever. And Spike had
helped her save the world, before the chip. His explanation? He -liked-
the world. And, he wanted to kick Angel's ass for stealing Dru. But his
first answer was he liked the world.


She shook these thoughts out of her mind. Every time she tried to
rationalize him, she got a headache. And if she thought about it too
long....



She took a step forward, looking at the carefully laid out first aid
supplies at his feet. Tara had been there. She smiled a little, wondering
what they had talked about.



He stirred, finally, and jerked violently on coming awake, startled by her
presence.



"Slayer..." he said, his voice slurred around bloodied lips.



"Spike." she nodded, hugging herself. What now?



"How are you?" It came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop it.
She almost laughed.



He lowered his eyes....eye, since he couldn't very well look out of the one that
was swollen shut, and chuckled softly, also finding the humor in the statement.



"Fine, luv. Aside from the apparently colourful new complexion..." he
made a vague gesture toward his face. He looked up again, a flicker of concern
shining in his gaze.



" 'ow're you, pet?"



She shook her head, and moved closer, bending to take up a square of
gauze. She crouched next to him, avoiding looking directly into his eyes,
and opened the bottle of water Tara had left. Her hands shaking, (the same
hands that had pounded him senseless without a second thought, she forced
herself to remember) she began to gently clean the blood from his face.



He kept silent, knowing she didn't want to talk. Just like he always knew,
exactly what she was feeling.



'And I can fool Giles, and I can fool my friends, but I can't fool myself.
Or Spike, for some reason....'



He flinched when she wiped off the blood near his eye, the muscles in his
cheek twitching violently. She frowned in sympathy, but kept at it, until
the only discolouration on his face was from bruising.



She really couldn't do much for the swelling. She didn't think ice or
Advil would have any effect on a vampire. He would just have to rest, let
his natural vampire healing abilities take over. God, she had used her full
strength. Looking at him now, there was no way she hadn't. He hardly ever
bruised, even with all the fights he got himself into. Hell, the last fight
-they- had been in, he hadn't even been marked up that badly. A few claw
marks. Light bruising. Nothing really noticeable.



She realized that he was just watching her, blinking every so often. He had
started breathing, as he always did when she was around. He didn't seem to
notice. It was interesting, how human he could be without even trying.



She rocked back on her heels, and looked over her handiwork, still avoiding
eye contact. Nodding to herself, she grabbed his arm and pulled him gently to
his feet. Contact with his cold skin always sent shivers through her,
shivers that had nothing to do with temperature or fear.



"Wha..?" he asked gently, still dazed. She didn't blame him. The only
time she had ever seen him in worse shape was after a round of torture with
a hell god.



"You need to sleep. I'm putting you to bed," she replied softly, and
began to lead him toward the lower level of his crypt. "Can you get down
there alright?"



He stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before pulling his arm away
from her.



"Yeah."



He walked ahead of her, unsteady on his feet. She absently hoped he
didn't tumble down the ladder. But he made it alright, and she followed
quickly. He sank down on the edge of his bed, bending to pull off his
boots.



"I've got it." she said quickly, and knelt before him, unlacing them and
pulling them gently from his feet. He laid back, putting his arm over his
eyes for a moment, before pulling himself fully onto the bed. She pulled
the sheet over him, knowing full well he slept naked, but not trusting
herself to remove his clothing.



"Feel better then, luv?" he mumbled, his eyes closed.



She frowned, confused.



"What?"



"Feel better? This relieve all that nasty guilt? 'elpin' the battered
vampire ta bed?"



She blinked at him.



"Spike, this isn't about..."



He opened his eye, and stared at her.



"What -is- it about pet? S'not like ya care or anythin'. So why the hell
bother, eh, Slayer?"



Of course, she got angry. He had a way of doing that didn't he? Pissing
her off to no end with just a few words. But she took a deep, calming
breath, and bit back the bitter retort that hovered on her tongue. 'Of
course I don't care, you're just convenient....'



"Spike..." she said, her tone sounding a little more exasperated than she
had intended. "I do care. That's why I came. I am sorry I did this to
you. I really am." she crossed her arms. "But I really don't feel like
talking about it right now, alright? I'm sorry, I'm tired, just go to sleep."



"'s okay...," he mumbled, already half asleep, despite his anger. How in the
hell had he gotten back here, after what she did? "Night then, Slayer."



She swallowed. He'd forgiven her. Of course he had. He had forgiven her
the moment it was over. She was reasonably sure he would let her do it
every day, if he thought it would make her smile.



She forced back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and moved
back towards the ladder. She turned back, to look at him.


Despite herself, and the sudden, intense feeling that she was leaping from
a cliff, she crossed the room, and pulled back the sheet on the other side
of the bed. She curled up on her side next to him, not touching him, just
watching him. He would have looked peaceful if not for the fact his face
looked as if he'd been in a prison riot.


Tomorrow. Questions could come tomorrow. Just a little nap, she told herself
as her eyes slowly drifted shut. Just a little while, then I'll go
home....

'It was a dark and stormy night...'


No, wait. Overused.


'Funny how things always seem to go your way when you're an evil genius...'

Better.

Warren pounded away happily on his latest entry in the log he'd been
keeping since he, Andrew, and Jonathan banded together to take over
Sunnydale.

"Hey! You...jerk! That's cheating!" came the high-pitched whine of
Andrew behind him, accompanied by the clicking of controllers.


"Idiot, it's -not- cheating, you can't cheat in this game!" Jonathan
replied, frustrated.


"But...but...you have me backed into a corner! And you're using that fast
kicky thingy, I can't get away!" came the whiner.


"That's the -point-! Jeez, you're such a..."


"SHUT UP!" Warren finally screamed, causing the other two to flinch
involuntarily and quiet down.


"See, now you made him yell..." one of them whispered quickly, before
shutting up altogether.


Warren sighed. The things he had to put up with. Idiots. If he didn't
need them....


'Things are looking up. Being on the lam is hard, but not without merits.
One being free time. While the retards spend it bitching about video
games, I found more important things to occupy my mind...'


Warren grinned to himself, and grabbed a small black controller that was
resting near the computer. He wouldn't let it out of his sight. He flipped
open the clear plastic safety shield, and idly fingered the three buttons on
its surface: one green, one blue, and one red. He spun around in his chair,
calling the others to attention.


"Gentlemen!" he interrupted another brewing argument, with Andrew seconds
away from throwing his controller at Jonathan's head.


They stopped, of course, and turned to him with a sigh, putting their games
aside.


"While you ladies were sucking your thumbs, I've come up with a plan....A
foolproof plan to get the Slayer off our backs."


"What, we're not going to just kill her?" Jonathan asked, looking Warren
dead in the eye.


The fearless leader smirked.


"Even better." he held up the controller with a flourish. "In my hand is
the cure for all our problems."


The other two regarded him dubiously.


He smiled.


"You remember when Spike came? And I looked at his chip?" They both
shuddered, and nodded.


"Well, I saved all the information. That baby was high tech. I knew that
it would be useful. And it is. I've not only figured out what the chip does,
I've figured out how to control it."


Andrew looked confused. Jonathan blinked at him.


"What does the chip do?" he asked.


"It's funny really. It zaps him whenever he tries to hurt a human being.
When he was here? Even we could have taken him."


"No way! And we let him get away with...." Andrew started.


"Not important! The Fett is fine. The important thing is, we now have
control. All we have to do is get close to him. Press this little button..."
He ran his thumb over the green button. "...and the chip is totally in our
control. It won't activate unless -we- activate it. Buffy thinks she has
him trained?"


He grinned.


"Now we do a little training of our own...."


He turned back to his computer, chuckling to himself.


'And now we change the game. Now -we- make the rules....'


////

Buffy yawned and stretched, blinking sleep from her eyes. She smiled to
herself. She felt....good. Well rested. She cuddled her sheet closer to
her chin, breathing in the smell of...leather...cigarettes...dust....


Her eyes snapped open. Spike's crypt. In -Spike's- bed. God, what time
was it?


She sat up slowly, carefully, looking over at the bed's other occupant. He
still appeared to be sleeping. Good.


She pushed the sheet back and got up as quietly as a Slayer could manage.
Looking around quickly to see if she was forgetting anything (and thanking
the Powers she was fully clothed...) she started to tiptoe across the room
to the ladder.


She made it halfway.


"See you tomorrow then, luv?" came the sleepy English accent from a tangle
of sheets.


She froze, and gritted her teeth. Damn vampires. Stealthy exits were
totally lost on him.


"Yeah," she said quickly, and against her better judgment, before darting
up the ladder and out of the crypt.


////////


Spike heaved a sigh, and rolled over. The hammering of her heart coulda
woke the dead. And it did. The moment she realized where she was, he'd
awakened as well.


He sat up slowly, testing to see if his head was still spinning. So far,
so good.


Bloody slayer. He was getting right tired of getting shot down for trying
to do the right thing. Hell, she hadn't meant to kill that girl. She hadn't even
done it at all, from what Tara said. But behind bars? What the hell could she do
to save the world? It wasn't like they'd grant her parole on the basis of impending
apocalypse, right? And where would her sister be? In a foster family. Or even
worse, with Daddy. Or her little Scoobies? He was -trying- to save her. Stupid
bitch.


'God I love 'er....'


He stumbled out of bed, and made it up the ladder without serious injury.
And then to the fridge. He'd eat, then sleep some more. Hopefully, it'd
only take a few days to heal up. Not likely, considering the pounding he
had taken. But he could always hope.


He slammed the fridge shut, and slummed into his recliner, pulling the top
of a container of cold blood. He wished for not the first time that he had a
microwave as he downed the thick liquid in quick gulps. Pig's blood wasn't
the best, but cold it was downright disgusting.


It had surprised the hell out of him, Tara's visit. The girl had barely
spoken three whole words to him the entire time he'd known her. And suddenly
she was mama bear? But she was right. He didn't know what world he lived in.
Hell yeah he did. He didn't live in -any- world. The Scoobies wouldn't accept
him. Would -never- accept him. And he killed his own kind. He was a traitor
in the eyes of the demon world.


He looked around. THIS was his world. Alone in his crypt. The only place
he really belonged.


He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps outside. He
sighed. Setting the now empty container aside, he struggled to his feet.
The door opened.


"Slayer, I really don' wanna talk right now, so if you could just be on
your merry...."


But it wasn't the Slayer who entered. He tilted his head, and trailed off,
staring at the dark-haired man before him. Robot-boy.


"What the heck happened to you?"


Spike growled, drawing himself up.


"You should see the other guy. An' if ya don' get the 'ell outta my crypt,
you'll be lookin' at 'im in the mirror."


Warren chuckled.


"Naw. It's cosy here. Oh, and I wanted to tell you. Found out a little
something more about your chip. It's neat really." He pulled out a small,
black controller.


"Not a hard signal to replicate, once you put your mind to it." He held it
out before him, and pushed a button on its surface.


Spike's eyes widened. Then rolled back in his head. Blackness came like
an oncoming car. No warning.


And as though someone had hit his 'off' button, Spike crumpled to the floor.

Buffy and Tara stepped into the welcoming silence outside of the Magic Box,
escaping the constant arguing over flower arrangements and seating charts
echoing from within. Tara rubbed her arms to stave off the chill in the
air.


"So, how's it going?" she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.


Buffy crossed her arms and sighed.


"I don't know. Good, maybe? We talked a little....I'm supposed to be
meeting him soonish."


Tara nodded.


"Want me to come?" she asked, giving that little half smile.


Buffy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.


"Sure."


Buffy opened the door to the shop, and shouted inside that they were leaving,
which was most likely ignored. The girls headed out, walking in silence for a while.
Buffy was the first to speak up.


"He forgave me, you know. Just like that. 'It's okay...' he said. Why
would he do that? After what I did?" Her voice was getting smaller.


Tara gave the Slayer a sidelong look.


"He loves you. It's obvious. He's t-t-aking whatever he can get from
you."


Buffy didn't respond. They were nearing Spike's crypt, and both halted,
seeing the door wide open.


"D-Does he usually leave his door open?" Tara whispered.


"No, he doesn't. Paranoid and everything." She pulled a stake from her
jacket and crouched low. "Come on."


They crept forward, slowly, Buffy entering the crypt first. Tara followed
nervously, a defensive spell on her lips.


Buffy furrowed her brow, looking around. Her Slayer sense told her the
place was empty. Worry began to clutch at her chest.


"Spike?" she shouted, tucking her stake away, and relaxing somewhat. She
turned to Tara, watching as the girl also relaxed her battle stance.


"He's not here. Where would he go? He wasn't really in any condition for
a midnight stroll."


Tara nodded, looking around.


"Do you think something happened to...to him?"


The look on the Slayer's face answered her question.


//////



Spike's eyes snapped open. His first thought was 'Ow...,' his second
coming a few moments later. Wait a sec, this isn't my crypt...


"Stand up," came a voice from somewhere to his right.


He frowned. Who in the hell thought to give him orders? He turned his head
to see for himself.


Ah. Robot-boy and his two friends. Ha. He just stared at the group,
puzzled amusement reflecting on his battered features.


Warren sighed.


"Spot, you're going to learn really quick not to disobey me. When I say
stand up, you stand up!"


That was it. Spike dissolved into laughter -- riproaring, in your face,
you bleedin' idiots kinda laughter.


Warren's face turned beet red in anger. He held out the control and pushed
the yellow button.


Spike's laughter choked off and came to a screeching halt as the chip went
off full blast. He keened and grabbed his head, curling his knees close to
his chest. The bastard held the button for thirty full seconds before
releasing it.


"Stand up," floated again into Spike's hearing when rational thought
returned. Glaring the full-on 'I'm gonna tear you to little bits' glare he
was famous for, he slowly pulled himself to his feet.


Warren smiled.


"Good boy. Now, you're not to speak unless spoken to. You're not to move
unless you're told. And you will do everything we say, without hesitation.
Understand?"


Spike scoffed.


"Not bleedin'...," he began, and yelped when the chip went off again, nearly
sending him to his knees.


"This is so cool." Andrew fidgeted excitedly. "It's just like that Star
Trek episode when Picard got captured by the...."


"Shut up, Andrew." Warren snapped.


Panting, Spike watched this interaction.


Warren grinned, looking back to Spike.


"Now, it's time for your paper training, Spot."


Spike grinned right back.


"They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks..."


The sound of agonized wailing echoed throughout the basement lair of the
Troika.


"This is going to be harder than I thought..." Warren said over the vampire's
screams, finger still holding the yellow button down.


"How are we supposed to train him anyway? He's a vampire, Warren. They
aren't exactly trustworthy." Jonathan asked.


"It's easy. Like an animal, he will respond to negative and positive
reinforcement. All we have to do is make him see that we are in charge.
Then we have ourselves our very own trained attack vampire."


He released the button and the screaming stopped. Spike's eyes were squeezed
shut, blood trickling from his nose.


"Stand up, Spot." Warren commanded. He watched as the vampire struggled
slowly back to his feet.


"Now, what's your name?" he asked.


Spike panted, trying to gather his shattered thoughts.


"Spike," he said, and was zapped again, a quick jolt of intense pain
tearing through his head.


"Wrong. What's your name?"


He drew in a deep breath.


"WILLIAM THE FUCKIN' BLOODY!" he shouted, before falling over again,
clutching his head tightly and biting his tongue to keep from screaming.


"Stand up," Warren commanded again, this time through clenched teeth.


Wiping blood from his nose, he did as he was told, as quickly as he could.
The pillock had held the button for a good two minutes that time. He wasn't
about to repeat that experience again.


"What's your name?"


"Spot," Spike replied, gritting his teeth.


Warren grinned, and Andrew clapped his hands in excitement. Jonathan had
long ago stopped watching.


"Good boy."

'Dear The Slayer....'


"What if he's writing in some sort of code?" Andrew asked, watching the
shaking hand of their new 'pet' form words on a sheet of paper.


Warren waved a hand.


"His mind's totally blown, guys. He's not going to be thinking about codes
at all." He leaned over the hunched vampire's shoulder, scrutinizing the
note. "Make it as realistic as possible, Spot. She has to think it's from
you."


He turned his attention to the others again after Spike nodded. Clapping
his hands together, he rubbed them fiercely, grinning.


"So, this will throw her off the scent, give us a bit more time. She was
getting way too close. Spot's training is almost complete. A few more days
and bam! He'll be ripping her throat out."


"That is so cool." Andrew replied excitedly, almost hopping up and down.
He examined the vampire and the note. "Do you think we should, like, feed
him or something? He's getting kinda thin."


Warren scoffed.


"No. He's easier to control hungry." He snatched the now finished note
from the table, reading it quickly, and then looking to Spike.


"You are aware you write like a toddler, right?" The vampire ignored him,
of course. Warren chuckled, and handed the note to Andrew.


"Get one of your demon buddies to deliver this. If all goes well tonight,
we go into action tomorrow. For the test run."


Andrew grinned and turned around, clutching the note to his chest. He
paused, his eyes moving over the basement hideaway.


"Hey, where's Jonathan?"


////


[The next day...]


"So, what's the big bad?" Xander asked, falling onto the couch beside
Willow, eyeing the piece of paper the fairly pale Slayer held in her hands.
"Any word on the whereabouts of our missing vamp?"


Buffy shook herself out of her thoughts and handed the paper to them. Spike
had been gone for nearly two weeks. It didn't make sense. She had searched
high and low for him, beating up the entire cast and crew of Willy's, asking
Giles to use his Watcher connections elsewhere, and still, not a word about
the very noticeable vampire.


"Yeah. Found this this morning. It's...not right. I know his handwriting;
he writes better than this."


Xander frowned at the paper, before Willow snatched it out of his hands,
scanning the page.


'Dear The Slayer.'


'Tired of games. Leaving town now. I'll be back.'


'I love you.'


'William the Bloody'


Both Buffy and Xander watched her anxiously as she re-read the note
carefully, studying the way the letters were written, delving for clues.


"Well...," the former witch started, chewing on her lip. "The only thing I
can think of..." She furrowed her brow, noticing a pattern. "Every
sentence has three words. Huh."


"Three words?" Buffy sat forward. "What does that mean?"


Willow frowned and shook her head. "It could mean a lot of things. We
all know that Spike has a better grasp of the English language than this. And
the way he wrote..." She chewed on her lip again. "Like he was shaking.
Maybe someone made him write it? And he was trying to clue us in....Oh!"
Her eyes lit up and she started gesturing wildly. "Warren, Jonathan...and...
that guy! Three of them? Maybe...?" Her voice trailed off as she realized
it was pretty unlikely. For the fifth time that week, she suddenly felt
like she was needed somewhere. She had been passing it off as yet another
symptom of magic withdrawal, but she felt like someone was calling to her,
and if she only reached out and....No. No magic.


Not noticing the internal struggle occurring within her best friend, Buffy
spoke up.


"No...maybe you're right." She drew a deep breath. "This is our first real
clue. And the way the note is written.....Maybe 'I'll be back' means it's
all going to be okay?" Now she was the one reaching.


"I don't know, but Bleach Boy has got to be seriously messed up to write
something like this. Especially adding the 'I love you.' part....He's
desperate."


Buffy nodded in agreement with Xander, standing up.


"Xander, come with me. We'll start...I don't know, looking around. Dawn's
with Tara for the night, so she's safe....Willow, would you look around
online? See if you can find Warren's computer or something...."


Willow nodded at her friend, standing up to see them out the door.


"Yeah, I'm already pretty close. Be careful, guys..."



////


"But what about Jonathan?" Andrew asked, as they loaded Spike into the
back of their van.


"Screw him. We'll deal with him later. The test run's going to go as
planned. I think our Spot here deserves himself a meal, right?"


Andrew frowned, looking at the vampire. He had started breathing again.
That always unnerved Andrew. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why
he did it.


"Yeah. He can barely stand, much less fight the Slayer."


Warren grinned at him while starting the engine.


"He won't have to fight her, numb-nuts. She trusts him. He'll take her
totally by surprise." He made a vague gesture to the back of the van. "Get
him wired up. We're rolling."


Andrew did as he was told, fitting a tiny piece of black plastic into the
vampire's ear while Warren steered them toward their destination. He had
finished by the time the van rolled to a stop.


Warren turned around, regarding the vampire, and pulling out the remote
control. He grinned in sick satisfaction when Spike flinched.


"Now, Spot, here are your orders. Find some girl, and feed. Then, go to
the Slayer's house and pick up one of her little friends, and bring them back
here. Do you understand?"


Spike nodded, keeping his eyes carefully downcast.


"Good. Now remember, we will be able to hear everything. If anything
seems amiss...." He hit the button quickly, causing a yelp from the
vampire. "Go."


Spike drew himself up on shaky legs, and exited the van.


Warren chuckled and spun around in his chair.


"Now the real fun begins...."

((AN: [....] is mental communitcation))

Spike stumbled along the nearly empty street, his thoughts whirling. One
name kept repeating itself in his mind, as it had since this whole thing
had begun, hoping against hope that some thread of the mental connection
that they once shared would still be alive.


'Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow....'


"Hurry up, Spot, if this takes all night, I swear to God...," an annoyed
voice chirped in his ear, causing him to stumble in surprise. He squeezed
his eyes shut, stopping in the middle of the road. Gotta do it, he thought.
Gotta get it done. Just go and find some bint....


And he found her. Lovely girl, standing in a halo of a streetlight.
Alone. Anxiously awaiting some ride, perhaps, someone she cared for. The
last thread of sanity in him wondered why he was ingraining her face into his
mind, speculating about her life. He watched her from the shadows, an
innocent standing there, and mused about what her parents would think, if
she had a boyfriend, and if the wanker would miss her, what her laugh
sounded like....


He leapt from the shadows drunkenly, and yanked her into the alley with
him. He knew what her scream sounded like. What her fear smelt like. What
about a smile, huh? No, not going to get that.


He was so weak with hunger and delirium, it took him a little while to get
her shoved up against the wall. He held her by the throat with one hand as
she pleaded, tears glistening in her eyes. Please don't's, and take
anything you want's mixed in with don't hurt me's.


But that's what he was going to do, wasn't it? What he was supposed to do.
Hurt her. Take her life. His shaking hand shifted to her shoulder,
pinning her there as his face contorted in demonic rage. He rushed at
her neck, biting hard, half surprised when the chip didn't punish him. It
would punish him if he didn't do this. He knew what her life tasted of now.
He drank deep, a thirsty man in a desert, blood burning his parched
tongue.


He pulled away and watched her slide bonelessly to the ground, his human
face back in place. Curious, he thought. How strange it was to be standing
here again, in this very moment. He'd been here before. Many, many times,
in many different places. In different times.


He turned, only a little less weaker than he had been before. God, did he
want more.


"Good job, Spot. Now go get one of the Slayer's friends and come back."


He nodded, even though he knew somewhere that they couldn't see him. It
didn't matter; that's what he was supposed to do.


No one, not even he, noticed the girl stagger out of the alley, holding a
hand to her bleeding throat, and run off.


////


"Oh goddess..." Willow breathed, the elation of having finally broken into
Warren's computer crashing quickly as she read what was on the screen before
her. Spike. Oh gods.


So she was right. The three nerds did have Spike. And what they were
doing...Warren had described it with pride. And in detail. She felt sick
to her stomach. They were planning on doing something tonight, but he
hadn't specified. She needed to find Buffy, and fast.


She stood up, and started down the stairs, when a noise made her freeze.
The house was dark. The only light on was in her room, since a tight budget
was forcing them to cut down on electricity.


"Hullo?" she breathed, making her way down the stairs slowly.


Not a sound. Only the darkness answered. She reached for the light
switch, looking around the living room, when her breath caught in her
throat. Spike.


He moved slowly out of the shadows, purely predator. Stalking. She'd seen
him like this many times before, and had hoped never to again. At least,
not when looking at her. His lips were bloodied, his skin paler than she
had ever seen it. Skin sunken into his face, making his eyes and cheekbones
stand out in a frightening way.


"Spike?" she asked quietly, backing up. And then he was on her. Her
shriek was cut off as he slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath
out of her for a moment. One cold shaking hand clapped over her mouth,
hard, her own teeth cutting the inside of her lip. She stared panicked into
his wild blue eyes, feeling sorry for him and terrified beyond imagination
of him at the same time.


He slowly raised the other hand, bringing it to his lips in a shushing
motion. She nodded quickly, watching as he turned his head, pointing at the
thing inside his ear. He growled suddenly, and smashed his fist through the
wall beside her head, causing her to shriek out again, the sound muffled by
his hand. But she was beginning to understand. He was making it sound like
he was killing her.


He slowly removed his hand from her mouth and rested his forehead against
hers, as if all his strength had suddenly been drained. He was shaking,
terribly, and she realized it was because he hadn't eaten anything, if
Warren's notes were correct, in two weeks. Cold fear leapt up in her throat
again. She remained still, fearing to make any move at all, as he tapped
the side of her head, then tapped his own temple.


She furrowed her brow in confusion, as he repeated the gesture a few times,
before she understood, and shook her head quickly. No magic. He growled
and did it again, harder. His bloodshot blue eyes inches from her own,
pleading. This was serious. It wasn't really magic anyway, just a psychic
ability, right? She closed her eyes, reaching out just a little, snatching
onto the thread she had laid in his mind that horrible summer, and....


[Willow, Willow, Willow, Willow....]


[Spike!]


[Willow....help....robot boy and his pals....]


[We know, Spike, we know. Buffy's out looking for them right now. Please
don't kill me?] she added as an afterthought, hoping it didn't drive him
over the edge.


His shoulders shook in silent laughter. His head rolled against hers.


[Killed a girl. Pretty girl. Standin' there all alone, in the dark. Had
to, they told me to, had to. Pretty girl with a mommy and daddy. And a
wanker boyfriend. Why'd they leave her alone? She didn't need to be alone.
She laughed pretty. I know she did....]


His internal rant continued. Willow paled at the horror of it. He had
killed again. And by the way he was describing it, even though he was
obviously on the edge of sanity, he had felt guilty about it.


[Spike!] she interrupted. [What do you have to do? Why are you here?]


[Want me to bring them a friend of The Slayer. Hurry up, Spot, won't be
waiting all night. Gotta do it.]


[I know. I know. Let me...uh....write a note for Buffy. Do you know
where they will take me?]


[1315 Elm. 1315, 1315...]


[Alright. I have to move, Spike.]


He didn't move. He still had her pressed to the wall, his forehead on
hers, talking once again about the girl he killed.


[Brown hair. She probably liked to braid it. Pretty girl. Oh god...]
his nostrils flared, scenting the blood of Willow's cut lip. [Hungry...so
hungry.]


Willow stilled again, fearing for her life.


[If...if you kill me, they'll be mad. They'll punish you more.]


He nodded against her head.


[Gotta go. Gotta do it.]


She pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote the address down on the wall
behind her, hoping she got it right even with the awkward angle of her hand.


[Take me then, Spike.]


[Spot, they say...]


[No, you're Spike. You'll always be Spike.]


His thoughts stilled. Almost a minute passed before he thought anything else
at all.


[Sorry. Don't want to. Sorry, Willow. You're a pretty girl too.]


He pulled his head back and then slammed it hard into hers. Pain blossomed
in her head, and her knees gave out. He pulled her along behind him,
gathering her up into his arms when she could no longer walk. Dizzily, she
watched as he yanked the door open and stumbled out of the Summers'
household. Her vision blurred, and she struggled briefly, before the
darkness overwhelmed her.

Part 7:

((AN: The song in this chapter is Greedy Fly, by Bush. I do not own it.))



((Do you feel the way you hate?))
((Do you hate the way you feel?))
((Always closer to the flame...))
((Ever closer to the blame...))
((Blame....))



[Spike...]



Stormy blue, bloodshot eyes flicked to Willow, for a second. She was
waking up. He watched her, tilting his head as she sat up, taking in the
room, her bound hands, and then looking to him.



"Spot! I didn't tell you you could move!" Warren shouted.



Spike winced, and ducked his head, snapping his gaze back to the position
Warren had left him in.



"She's awake," Andrew stated, pointing at the redhead.



"Ahh. Hello Willow. Welcome to our humble abode." Warren grinned like
mad.



"What...do you want with me?" Willow asked, frowning.



"You're bait. We knew the Slayer wouldn't come for the vampire." He was
pleased with Spike's reaction to the comment, another wince. "So we had to
take other steps."



"She's really pretty, Warren..." Andrew leered, and then jumped back six
inches at the sudden warning growl rumbling in Spike's throat.



All eyes turned to him again.



Protective instinct had driven the growl from him. He didn't even realize
he was doing it until Andrew had jumped.



"Spot, what the hell was that?" Warren asked, pulling out the control.



Spike shifted in his uncomfortable crouched posture, not looking up. The
growl rumbled to a halt. He didn't respond. Willow watched, wide-eyed.



"I asked you a question, Spot." Warren continued, pressing the yellow
button.



Spike yelped, and dug his fingers into his hair, falling over onto his
side. He tugged at his hair, nearly ripping it out at the roots, as if it
would make the pain stop.



"Stop it!" Willow shouted, her stomach turning. It was one thing to read
about what they were doing to him, quite another to witness it for herself.



Warren gave her an amused look, and released the button.



"Spot?"



The vampire slowly uncurled his hands from his hair and looked up at
Warren.



"I don't wan' you to hurt her." came the soft response, his voice gravelly
from lack of use.



Warren laughed. And took a step toward Willow.



((I am poisoned crazy lush..))
((Will these hands to lift me up...))
((We are servants of our formulaic ways...))



With a vicious growl, Spike pushed himself up and leapt in front of Willow,
panting. Oddly enough, even with this amount of disobedience, he remained in
the crouched position.



[Spike, don't! They won't kill me, they need me...] Willow's mental voice
trailed off, as Warren hit the button again. She trembled, the direct link
allowing her to sense the amount of pain Spike was going through.



Spike screamed, and curled into a ball, his whole form shaking, his hands
clawing at his head.



((I'm screaming daisies...))
((From fourteen miles away...))
((I've got my own time...))
((Got it all today...))



He took in shuddering, unnecessary breaths as the pain stopped and rational
thought and reality came crashing back.



"...If you do that again, I swear to the Gods, I'll..." Willow was
saying, her voice laced with malice.



"You'll what? You're not really in a position to make demands, girl,"
Warren replied.



Spike's eyes flickered to Willow's face, floating above him. She gave
Warren the cruelest smirk he'd ever seen her give. He wondered irrationally
if she'd been taking lessons from him.



((Make...))
((Up your mind...))
((Need some help...))
((Fight this mind, mind, mind....))



"I happen to be the most powerful of our little group. I'm even stronger
than Buffy. I don't like doing it, but I could make the both of you bleed
from every pore in your body with a single thought. Let. Us. Go." Willow
radiated confidence, her eyes swearing that she could back that statement
up.



Spike wondered whether or not she was bluffing. He shook his head several
times in a vain attempt to clear it, and pulled himself back up until he was sitting
upright.



[Willow, don't...Spot's not worth it...]



[Spike, shut up.]



He winced, half expecting the blinding pain again, since he had obviously
made her angry. He lowered his head, and absently wiped at his nose, attempting
to clean away the stream of blood there.



((Limbo this, and limbo that...))
((You were this and you were that...))
((Ever know that what you fear is what you find...))




Warren paled slightly, also unsure if Willow was bluffing or not. She
had suddenly begun to radiate the impression of power. Gone was the shy schoolgirl
Warren had taken her for.



((This Indian summer...))
((I signed my life away...))
((There's a greedy fly in here...))
((And I'll fly away...))




His finger slipped from the yellow button, and rested lightly on the red,
not pressing it. He hadn't figured on rebellion from "Spot" or his new captive, but
what had she said -- let US go? He could adjust his strategy.



"If you so much as try anything," he addressed Willow, "I'll press this button.
Once I do, there's no going back. The chip will continue to fire until he's dead. Even
I can't stop it."



((Make...))
((Up your mind...))
((Need some help...))
((Fight this mind, mind, mind...))




///



"Oh my god..." Xander choked, staring at Willow's still glowing computer
screen. They had returned only moments ago, to find the front door open,
and the wall by the stairs smashed in. Their search for the nerds hadn't
been fruitless; their fruit was in the form of Jonathan, who was sitting
downstairs on the couch, an angry Slayer standing over him.



Xander felt a pang of sympathy for Spike, reading Warren's detailed account
of the vampire's 'training'. Even Spike didn't deserve this. Nothing on the
face of the planet deserved this. Bastards. Xander felt the overwhelming
urge to grab an axe and bury it in Jonathan's head for allowing this to go
as far as it did.



He shut off the computer screen and made his way back downstairs, watching
as Buffy hung up the phone.



"What's up?" he asked.



"Tara and Dawn are on their way. Dawn is going to come with us, I can't
take the chance of leaving her alone right now. And we need Tara."



Xander nodded, running a hand through his hair.



"What's wrong?" she asked, taking in his slightly green pallor.



"Found Will's comp all logged on to Warren's upstairs. She cracked it, I
guess. He was pretty...graphic about what they're doing to Spike."



Buffy's eyes blazed with anger for a moment, before she turned to
Jonathan.



"Alright. You came for asylum. You've got it. In the form of 'I'm not
going to rip your head off right now.' Talk."



The boy fidgeted.



"I can take you to them. That, uh, address on the wall is correct. But I
can show you how to get in and stuff. It's not hard. They were, uh,
planning on taking one of your friends, to get you to come to them. They
won't expect you to come before they send a ransom note."



Xander stared at him.



"Why are you doing this? Betraying them?"



Jonathan met his eyes.



"Even I couldn't stomach what they were doing. They want to kill all of
you, or, at least Warren does, and Andrew is following him. I didn't sign
up to kill people."



Buffy shrugged.



"Doesn't matter. You'll take us to them. Xander, get some weapons. When
the others get here, we're leaving."



((Make...)
((Up your mind...))
((Need some help...))
((Fight this mind, mind, mind...))

Part 8:

The house looked nondescript. Dilapidated was the word for it. The
windows were boarded up, and the roof was caving in in certain parts. The lawn
was nothing more than a dirt lot; broken glass, glittering in the light of the
nearly full moon, shone like snow across its surface.


Buffy approached slowly, alone. The others had gone around the back of
the house, waiting for her signal before going in. She wasn't risking anyone
else in this.


Her thoughts spun quickly through her head. Jonathan had described the
layout of the underground basement in full detail, including where they were
most likely holding Spike and Willow. It wouldn't be too hard to find them.
What she would do when she did was anyone's guess. In the back of her mind, she
knew that she might have to stake Spike. But thinking about it in depth made
her stomach churn, so she didn't bother. She'd cross that bridge when she got
there.


She crouched low and gently lifted the rotting wooden door that led to
the basement stairs. Pulling a small dagger from her belt, she descended.


////


Spike tensed suddenly, his nerves tingling in the oddest way. He
remembered this, somewhere. It meant something special, that something was
coming....


His head jerked up, calling Warren's attention to him. He watched,
idly twirling a quarter between his fingers, as the vampire's eyes flicked about,
muscles jerking slightly. Spike didn't notice, however. The feeling tugged at
him, calling him, comforting him somehow. The corner of his mouth twitched.


"Spot? Something you wanna share with the rest of the class?"


The vampire wilted immediately, lowering his head and stilling. Warren
chuckled, and flicked the coin at Spike. It bounced off his shoulder and
clanged to the ground.


[Willow. Slayer's here.]


Willow jerked awake, glancing at Spike and then to Warren. She took a
few calming breaths and worked her hands, loosening her bonds somewhat.


A red light suddenly flashed above the door to the stairwell, signaling
that the motion detector had gone off. Warren jumped to his feet, Andrew
hurrying to his side.


"I swear to God, Andrew, if that damn cat set off the alarm again, it's
dead. Spot, defend!" Warren grated.


"It's not MY fault. You're the one who wanted to feed it," grumbled
Andrew, as Spike shot to his feet, facing the door.


The door smashed apart, flying open in a shower of splinters.


Brushing herself off, Buffy stepped in and grinned at the room.


"Wow. You guys having a get-together?" Her eyes roamed the room,
noting everyone's positions. She crossed her arms and flipped her hair. "If
I'd have known, I would have brought punch."


Warren licked his lips nervously, and gestured.


"Spot, kill her. Now!"



Spike took a step forward, clenching his fists tightly at his sides.
His breath was already coming in gasps. She was an angel, standing there, so
confident. He stared at her, transfixed for a moment, until a sharp burst of
pain behind his eyes brought him back to his task.


"Spot! NOW!" Warren shrieked, grabbing Andrew by the arm and backing
away.


Spike staggered slightly, shaking his head quickly, pulled up his fists,
resting lightly on his toes.


Buffy stared at him, terrified for him. She really didn't want to hurt
him. Not again. Not after what he had been through. She had seen the look in
his eyes; she knew he was still there, just being forced into this action. If
she could take him down quickly, and get to Warren and Andrew, this would all
be over.


"Willow, you okay?" she called to her friend, her eyes never leaving

Spike.


"I'm...fine, Buffy." Willow pushed herself to her feet, working
frantically now on the ropes that bound her hands. "Be careful. He's...not
all there."


"I know, Wills," she responded, before jerking her head back to avoid
Spike's first blow, the rush of wind from his fist touching her face. She
counter-attacked on instinct, driving her knee at his stomach. The blow landed
and bent him over, but he recovered quickly, and threw a solid uppercut. She
backstepped, but not quickly enough, and his fist crashed into her chin,
clacking her teeth together painfully and nearly driving her off her feet.
Taking advantage of her momentary stunned state, he whipped his right leg
around in a roundhouse kick, and sent her spiraling to the ground.


Buffy pushed herself up on her hands, and shook her head, quickly
getting back to her feet. It was strangely eerie fighting Spike in silence.
None of the usual banter flowed between them. Otherwise, she might be having
fun. There was nothing fun about the pained and lost look in his eyes. He
kept his gaze on her face, but never met her own. His fighting was normally
passionate and beautiful. Poetry. Now, it was just dead. She needed to end
it, and fast.


"Spike!" she said sternly, moving quickly back toward him. His eyes
snapped up to her own for a second, before finding the floor. She smiled
grimly and pulled her fist back, slamming it hard into the side of his temple,
pouring all of her Slayer strength into the blow. He staggered, and then
collapsed, panting. She raised both eyebrows in respect, at the fact he
wasn't unconscious. But he wasn't getting up for a while either way.


"Sorry, baby." she told him, feeling slightly giddy. It was almost over.


She stepped over him, her eyes burning into the two nerds before her.
Willow finally worked free of her bonds and joined her.


"This is going to be SO much fun..." the Slayer said cheerfully,
stepping toward them.


"Stop! No closer!" Warren shouted, his voice high-pitched in panic.
He held the remote out before him, hand shaking.


Willow grabbed Buffy's arm and stilled her.


"He said if he pushes that button, it'll kill Spike."


Buffy frowned, looking to the vampire who was already struggling to his
feet, and then to Warren. She crossed her arms.


"How?"


Warren, feeling a bit more in control, grinned, happy to explain.


"It'll put the signal on an irreversible loop. Nothing can stop it.
The chip will continue to fire until he's dust."


Buffy paled slightly, but tried to hide behind a scowl.


"What do you want?"


Warren held the control tighter, thumb resting lightly on the red button.
He licked his lips.


"I'll let them both go in exchange for you."


Buffy opened her mouth to respond, but never got the chance to.


"No." came Spike's grated voice from behind her.


There was a sudden rush of air as Spike charged past her growling, and
launched himself at Warren.


"Spike, no!" Buffy screamed, and joined him. Andrew promptly fainted,
taking himself off the somewhat dangerous list.


Spike smashed his forehead into Warren's, knocking the boy out in a
single blow as Buffy reached them. He stood quickly, backing away as if burned,
shaking violently.


The controller buzzed softly in Warren's limp hand, the red button firmly
depressed.


Buffy's world suddenly centered around that little red button. Thoughts
of 'Maybe he was bluffing...' and 'maybe it didn't work...' filtered through her
head. She raised her foot and smashed the controller with the heel of her boot,
grinding it to little bits. 'Maybe it has a delay...'


She turned to her lover, watching him, as he stood there, panting, his
eyes locked on Warren, fists clenching and unclenching. He was shaking still.


"Spike?" she said softly, reaching out a hand to him.


He flinched violently away from her touch, and then gritted his teeth, and
dragged his eyes up to meet hers.


"Love...you..." he gasped out, before he jerked, the chip firing full blast.


He shrieked and collapsed.

Part 9: