It's Not Where You Start Out (2/17)
by Kelly Frieders
raykel2@cox.net

Genre: Drama, B/S
Rating: PG-13, nothing you wouldn't see on the show
Disclaimer: Spike's not mine. Wish he were, but my husband might object. Buffy and all the rest aren't mine, either. I'm just borrowing them from Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy for a while.

Summary: Post "The Gift." Way post "The Gift," actually. Takes place sometime the following year. There's some new interest in the Key and an old enemy is back in town. Spoilers for everything up to and including "The Gift."

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2.

Spike sat in his flat in the basement of the Magic Box, smoking another cigarette and watching -- well, not watching, really -- some movie on the telly. He was a bit restless, having expected to go out patrolling with Buffy tonight, but mostly he was just reflecting on the evening, feeling content. Which was a pretty odd way for a vampire to feel.

Vampires by nature were hunters and killers. Spike had always been a pretty happy vampire, enjoying the kill, enjoying the fight, enjoying his unlife. But he'd never been really *content.* Underneath, driving it all, was always the burning need for *more*: more blood, more death, more killing, more fighting, more sex. More more more. Even in the happy times, there was a disquiet underneath, always whispering "you don't have ENOUGH."

For the moment, there was no whisper.

Not that things were as he wished they would be. Not really. He was hopelessly and completely in love, and given his past record, he wasn't likely to get over it any time soon. In his one hundred and fifty-some years of existence, he had only been in love three times. The first was when he was a human, William the Sod. He'd been pathetically in love with a society belle named Cecily who wouldn't give him the time of day. He'd even written poetry to her, for god's sake! With words like "effulgent." He grimaced at the memory. But he'd loved her and it was only his death and subsequent turning into a vampire that got him over it.

His second love was Drusilla, the vampire who'd sired him. His dark princess, his black beauty, Dru had been his whole world for nearly a hundred and twenty years. The fact that she was eerily psychic and mad as a hatter had only added to the attraction. He'd worshipped her, then later cared for her when she was ill, only to watch her throw him over when her own sire, Angel, temporarily lost his cursed soul and became evil again. It may well have been the only truly miserable time in his unlife prior to being chipped, and when he couldn't stand it anymore he did the unthinkable, allied himself with the Slayer in an effort to rid himself of Angel and have Dru back. It had worked, but had cost him dearly. Dru had never gotten past it, cheated on him with a Chaos Demon, then blamed *him,* telling him the Slayer was "floating all around him." He smiled at the irony now. Dru really *was* psychic. He should've known.

And now, four years later, Drusilla put behind him, he was in love for the third time. It was ridiculous, really, but there it was. She, of course, did not feel the same and likely never would. That alone should be eating him alive, making every moment a living hell, knowing that he would never have her. And sometimes it *was* painful. Sometimes the need for her, to hold her, to have her -- *all* of her -- would take his breath away, were he someone who actually needed to breathe. But on nights like tonight, what he had, what was *real,* was enough.

Tonight had been a helluva night, too. He *loved* baiting her. He had always known there had been some heat between them. From the moment he'd first seen her, dancing -- on that exact same dance floor, come to think of it-- he'd felt the heat. Yes, he'd hated her then, wanted desperately to kill her, but that only added to the fire. She'd felt it too. Their very first fight she had thrown away her weapon, a perfectly good ax that could have beheaded him quite handily, specifically requesting that they fight hand-to-hand. Now what kind of slayer fights a vampire with no way to actually kill him? As he'd later pointed out to her, a slayer must always reach for her weapon; a vampire already had his built-in. So deny it though she would, Spike knew the truth. There would always be heat and desire between them, and he took great delight in occasionally making just that point. After all, it was *she* who had kept her hand on his thigh, maintaining physical contact between them long after it was necessary to stop him from confronting the niblet's whelp. It was *she* who had watched him most of the time he was playing pool with the glorified bricklayer. It was *she* who had asked him to dance.

The dance. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply from his cigarette. Was that one bloody hell of a dance or *what?* He could live on that memory alone for the next century. Once he'd used dancing as a metaphor for their entire relationship -- //It's all we've ever done,// he'd told her -- and now he knew why. The feel of her waist in his hands, her arms on his shoulders, her body achingly close but not quite touching him, swaying in time with his. She was so small, slender and deceptively fragile-looking, but when he'd held her he could feel her power and strength coursing just beneath the surface. Yes, they were built to dance, he and Buffy. Always together, always apart. And she'd felt it, too. For one heart beat -- had his heart actually been beating, that is -- he'd held her expressive green eyes with his own and in that moment, she was his. If only time could have frozen in that instant.

But he wasn't kidding himself. Attraction and desire were not love and he knew it. Sometimes he was tempted to really push the envelope, to see how far he could drive her, to bring out that heat that he knew was burning in her but that she worked so hard to hide from herself. And he even fancied that he could probably do it. Get her in a situation like tonight, only without the Scoobies around to make her self-conscious, and maybe she would finally give in. And it would be *radiant.* His hands shook just imagining how bloody intense it would be. But then it would be over and inevitably she would regret it. She had the passion, Buffy did, but she was not the kind of person who could accept the passion if she didn't love, too. And maddening as it was, it was one of the things that made him love her. For her to go there without the love, it would demean her and he couldn't bear to do that to her. Besides which it would ruin what trust and friendship he had managed to develop between them, and that had been too hard-won for him to throw it away on one night of passion, not even a night as good as he imagined it would be. And it would break his heart, to have that moment only to lose her completely. He'd already lost her once. NEVER again.

So he danced at the edges, testing the limits, reminding her the heat was there but never pushing her into the fire. And, strangely, some nights that was enough.

He smirked, taking another long drag. Who'd have thought? When those Initiative prats had buggered his brain with their little neutering chip, he'd been pretty miserable at first, but after learning he could still fight demons, he'd adjusted. Spike was nothing if not adaptable. But never had he ever expected to *like* his life this way. Patrolling and killing demons with the woman he loved, their strange dance and union made real in the fight. Acceptance and even friendship from her, her sister, her friends. Drinking beers and shooting pool at the Bronze with the Scoobies. Living at the Magic Box instead of a crypt. *Working* for pay. Not *much* pay -- the demonette was sure tight with the cash -- but then again, not much work either, not if he could help it. But all of these things, things an evil soulless demon like himself had no business even tolerating, and here he was, *liking* it all. Bloody pillock, that's what he was. But damned if he didn't *enjoy* being a bloody pillock.

He ground out his cigarette in an ashtray on the table next to his chair, then leaned his head back, laughing. Here he was, the butt of some big cosmic joke, but *he* was having the last laugh because bugger all if he wasn't having a real good time of it.

He sat up and leaned toward the telly to flip it off, but stopped mid-reach, frowning. He sat still for a moment, listening intently, then finished his move, turning off the television. Sitting motionless and listening more, he heard it again, a noise coming from above his head, upstairs in the shop. He smiled slyly. Maybe he'd get his spot of violence after all.

Furtively he left his flat and crept through the basement store room and up the stairs toward the shop. Carefully opening the door, he poked his head through and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but there was definitely an intruder. Human, too, by the smell. Bloody hell! The one thing he *couldn't* fight. Oh well, the human didn't need to know that.

He came around the corner silently, until finally he saw the intruder: a man, a walking cliché dressed in black from head to toe: black turtleneck, black leather jacket, black trousers. He had dark hair and sort of a horse-like face with a large nose, and he was in Giles' book stacks across from the counter, under the loft where Giles kept the books that were off-limits, searching titles, obviously looking for something specific.

"Sorry, mate," Spike said at last and was gratified to see his quarry jump back about a foot. "We're closed."

The man looked at him, trying to regain his composure. "Oh bugger, you startled me!"

English, Spike noted. Interesting. "I'm gonna do more than startle you. We don't take kindly to burglars."

The man smiled, a little nervously, but not completely lacking in confidence. "Oh please, William, spare me the swagger. I know you can't hurt me."

William? Blighter not only knew he couldn't hurt humans, he knew Spike's real name. Someone from the Watcher's Council maybe? He took a moment to weigh his options, then in one fluid move rushed the man. Grabbing him by the collar he pressed the intruder against the bookcase, careful not to do it with too much force.

"That hurt?" he sneered.

"W-well, no, actually, but it isn't terribly comfortable," the man stammered, confidence all but drained away.

"Good. Because you should know just because I can't hurt you doesn't mean I can't throw your ass out." He made a move in that direction, but his captive protested.

"Yes, I suppose you could throw me out, William, but then you'd miss out on a fabulous opportunity I have to offer you."

Spike paused. William again. "I know you, mate?"

The man smiled, a bit of his boldness returning. "I'm Ethan Rayne."

Spike cocked his head and regarded his captive, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. And then it clicked. "Ethan Rayne. You're the fella who turned Rupert into a Fyarl demon." He smiled at the memory of Giles all demony and GRRRR. "I like you."

"Yes, that was a fun one, wasn't it? Making the Ripper a demon? I'm glad we understand each--" Ethan cut off abruptly as Spike became all business again.

"Now get out."

"Wait! Don't you want to hear my proposition?"

"Not particularly."

"But I can give you what you want most!"

"Really now," Spike smirked, pausing. "And that would be?"

"Freedom," Ethan replied seductively. "I can give you your old life back. I can get rid of that chip in your brain."

----------

Buffy did a twirling leap in the air, landing a powerful kick straight in the vampire's gut. He flew backwards then scrambled on his feet again, coming at her with a low growl. His face met her left fist as her right hand readied a stake to drive home. He managed to duck the stake, swinging around behind her and knocking her off balance. Lying on her back she kicked her legs out and flipped upright, ready for another go when a shower of sparkly dust rained down on the vamp, startling him a moment.

"Petrificus!" Buffy heard Willow yell from over the demon's shoulder just as he was about to rush Buffy again. The words were no sooner out of her mouth when he froze, immobile. Buffy glanced at Willow, then drove the stake through the heart of the paralyzed vamp, withdrawing it quickly as he exploded into dust.

"*Petrificus?*" Buffy said incredulously. "Isn't that from Harry Potter?"

Willow grinned sheepishly as she approached her friend. "Well, yeah. It's the spell that matters, not the word. You can attach pretty much any word to it. I just thought it was quirky."

"Very quirky," Buffy agreed. "Full of quirk. Good spell, though. I like."

"Thanks," Willow replied proudly, green eyes dancing.

Buffy smiled at her best friend. It was hard to believe this was the same girl she met when she'd first moved to Sunnydale. Shy and almost completely lacking confidence in any area that wasn't school-related, Willow had been the ultimate computer geek. Though a few inches taller than Buffy, she'd seemed *smaller* somehow, as if she tried to make herself invisible. But six years of fighting demons along with Buffy had helped mold the timid schoolgirl into a confident, capable young woman. And that didn't even begin to cover the changes in Willow over the years Buffy had known her. In that time she'd become heavily involved in Wicca and had developed into a remarkably adept Witch, and had also met and fallen in love with Tara, thus outing herself as a bisexual. Blond with sleepy blue eyes and about halfway between Buffy and Willow in height, Tara was also a Witch, though with a broader background and a more reverent and cautious approach to spells than Willow herself. Now it was Tara who was the quiet one of the group and she had been hard for the others to get to know, but she made Willow happy and that was good enough for Buffy.

"Hey, wait a minute," Willow said suddenly. "You've actually read Harry Potter?"

Buffy shook her head. "Saw the movie, though."

"Oh, right."

Okay, so maybe she hadn't changed *that* much. Ever the bookworm, she still was trying -- mostly in vain -- to encourage Buffy to be more interested in reading and other scholarly pursuits. She'd also been trying to convince Buffy to re-enroll at UC Sunnydale next fall, but Buffy wasn't sure if she should or not. Unlike all her friends, she was neither a student nor did she hold a regular job, so she pretty much spent all her time caring for Dawn, training, and slaying. Of course training and slaying was full-time job enough and with the stipend she received from the Council of Watchers, plus her mom's life insurance, she didn't really need a job anyway, but she felt a little weird about it sometimes. Up until this year there had always been school to keep her somewhat rooted in the real, non-demony world, but since UC Sunnydale tended to suspend enrollment to the deceased she'd been forced to take the fall semester off, and when spring semester had started she hadn't really felt that enthusiastic about going back to school. Maybe next fall.

They walked together through the cemetery, on the lookout for any more vampires that might be lurking about. "So tell me the truth," Willow said, "what do you think of the guy Dawnie was dancing with?"

Buffy grimaced. "I don't know. I want her to be happy, you know? To have something that somewhat resembles a normal life. I mean, I've accepted that I'm not gonna ever get that. Dying -- twice, actually -- kinda makes you rethink the whole 'normal' thing. But Dawn, she deserves to have a normal life."

"But?" Willow prompted.

"But," Buffy continued, "the whole idea scares the hell out of me. I mean, she's not just my little sister, you know? I'm *responsible* for her. The thought of some guy having the power to mess with her just makes me crazy."

"You sound like a mom," Willow observed.

"I feel like one, which is just too weird. I mean, she's only six years younger than me. I should be giving her dating advice and helping her sneak in late so Mom doesn't find out. But instead I have to be the heavy."

"It's good that you didn't try and stop her from going, though," Willow encouraged her. "I know after everything with Glory last year and all the problems with her school and everything that you're feeling all protectory. But you can't let that control your decisions. She needs a mom, but she needs a sister, too. And you're right, she deserves to have as much of a normal life as possible."

Buffy sighed. "That's just the thing, Will. I don't know if it *is* possible for Dawn to have a normal life. I mean, it's bad enough that she's being raised by her twenty-one-year-old sister because her mother's dead and her father's too self-absorbed to care. But when you add in the fact that said sister happens to be the Slayer and oh by the way came back after four months of being *dead,* there's pretty much no hope that Dawn can pass herself off as just another freshman in high school." She paused, frowning. "And that's just the stuff people know about. Let's face it, Will, she's *not* a normal girl. She didn't even exist two years ago."

"I know," Willow said softly.

"I'm so grateful that those monks created her," Buffy continued, "because I can't imagine my life without her. But sometimes I wonder if they really thought it through. I know it was their job to protect the Key from Glory and it even makes sense that they would hide it by turning it into a human and sending her to me as my sister, someone they knew I'd be compelled to protect with my life, but geez. They send her all the way from Czechoslovakia, plop her into our lives complete with a whole life's worth of false memories. It wigs me out whenever I try to wrap my mind around it. Do you realize in reality I was an only child until I was nineteen? But that's not what I remember, what I *feel.* I remember her birth when I was six, and all of the other things about growing up with her. Think about it, Willow. *Everyone's* memories were messed with. Me, you guys, my parents, the schools in L.A. and Sunnydale where she went, or would have attended, actually. They all remember Dawn as if she existed for fifteen years instead of less than two. That's just *immense.*"

"It is some pretty wicked big magic," Willow agreed. "Transforming the mystical energy of the Key into a human life alone is incredibly complex, but with all the memory-altering? It must have wiped them out to do that spell."

"But that's not the point. The point is, how did they expect her to live out a normal life with all that baggage?"

Willow considered this. "I doubt they gave it much thought at all. When you've got a hell god like Glory after you, you're not exactly thinking long-term ramifications. It's pretty much 'get the Key the hell away from her whatever it takes.' Besides, I don't think we were supposed to *know* all this. If you hadn't done that spell-detecting trance and figured out that Dawn wasn't real, we wouldn't have known the truth. Not even Dawn knew."

"I think we would've figured it out around the time Glory tried to drain her blood to bring down the dimension walls," Buffy pointed out.

Willow shuddered. "Let's not talk about that."

Buffy chewed her lip. She forgot sometimes how hard her death had been on her friends. To her it had been an instant. Glory had kidnapped Dawn after discovering she was the Key, which would allow her to shed her mortal body, a literal prison for her, and return to her own dimension. This wouldn't have been such a terrible thing except for the fact that in the meantime, demon dimensions would bleed into this one, bringing about the end of the world. In order to use the Key, Dawn's blood had to be shed at exactly the right time and place. Once the ritual started, only stopping the blood flow completely -- killing Dawn -- would close the portals. When they didn't save Dawn from Glory in time to prevent the ritual from starting, Buffy bet everything on the idea that the monks had made Dawn out of *her* and therefore her blood was the same as the Key's. She had sacrificed herself to save her sister -- and the world -- and the portal had drained her blood instead and closed. Then the next thing she knew, she was back and it was four months later. It was her friends who had had to suffer through those four months.

"The thing is," Buffy went on, sidetracking the death issue, "Dawn is still the Key. An energy force that we don't completely understand, wrapped up in the package of a fifteen-year-old freshman in high school. What that means for her future and how it will affect her life, I don't have the first clue. But when I was fifteen, I became the Slayer, with all this strange preternatural strength and ability and destiny to fight demons and vampires thrust upon me when all I wanted to do was be a regular kid. For six years I fought that destiny, struggling to be 'normal' even while spending most of my time skulking around cemeteries battling evil. Since--" Buffy stopped short, not wanting to say what she was thinking, that her death changed her understanding of herself and her nature, and when she'd returned, she'd embraced her calling and had put behind her the dream of ever having anything resembling a normal life.

"I'm over that now," she finished quietly. "I've accepted who and what I am. But I'm twenty-one. An adult. It's one thing for me to accept my destiny, to embrace the strangeness that is my life. It's another thing to expect Dawn to do the same. Dawn might be the Key, but she doesn't have to *be* the Key, you know? I have to actively *be* the Slayer, but Dawn has a shot. At least I hope so."

She sighed again. "I don't know, Will. I spent six years trying to fight what I am, trying to be this regular kid when I wasn't. It didn't exactly make me happy. Maybe instead of trying to get her to fit into this 'regular kid' mold, I should be helping her appreciate the fact that she isn't. That's what Spike thinks, anyway."

Willow nodded silently.

"What do you think?" Buffy asked when Willow didn't offer advice on her own.

Willow shrugged. "I don't know, Buffy. I guess you just have to let Dawnie take the lead. Let her deal with the whole Key thing in her own way. She's gotta find her peace with it just like you did."

Buffy only nodded.

They walked silently a little longer when Willow took a big breath as if steeling her resolve. "Can I ask you something, Buffy?"

Uh-oh. Resolve-steeling and the dreaded 'can I ask you something' couldn't be of the good. Buffy braced herself. "Yeah, I guess."

"Are you... I mean, do you..." she faltered, clearly uncomfortable. "Are you starting to fall for Spike?"

Buffy almost choked and stopped dead in her tracks. "NO!" she protested forcefully, "Geez no! Falling for Spike? Are you *insane,* Will?"

Willow cocked her head and gave Buffy that half-smile of hers that she used when she was talking about an unpleasant truth. "I don't know, Buffy, it's just that you guys have been spending an awful lot of time together--"

"*Patrolling,*" Buffy cut her off. "We *patrol.* Because he's strong and he's good at it."

"I know, but it's more than that. I mean, take tonight."

Buffy groaned.

"Seriously, Buffy, there were some major vibes there. You were totally staring at him the whole time he was playing pool with Xander, and when you two were dancing? Definite heat."

"No, no heat," Buffy insisted, a bit panicked. "And I wasn't *staring* at him."

Willow just looked at her.

"Okay, fine, so maybe I was staring at him," she relented. "But c'mon, you've gotta admit he's hot. I mean, now that he's not all killing people and everything."

"Oh, I get that," Willow nodded. "But still, you talk about him a lot too." She shrugged. "You do seem kind of smitten."

Buffy blanched. "I am *not* smitten. I'm smit-free. Okay, so I think he's attractive. But that's it. I don't have a thing for him, I swear. I mean, it's *Spike,* Willow. How weird would that be?"

"No weirder than Angel," Willow pointed out.

"I don't mean the vampire thing," Buffy corrected her. "For one thing it's weird *because* of Angel. They're like family. A really sick and twisted family, but still family. It'd be like dating a guy and then dating his brother. Eeew." Buffy made a face to emphasize her point.

"I know, Buffy. I mean, I'm not saying I think it's a *good* idea to get together with Spike. I'm just pointing out that it kinda seems like you want to."

"No," Buffy repeated firmly, "I don't. I like him, okay? He's become a friend, weird as even *that* much is, and he's fun to hang out with. But he's still *Spike* and he still irritates the hell out of me and there is just no way I'm going there, okay? I don't have a thing for him. I swear."

Willow regarded her for a moment, weighing her words. "Okay," she said at last nodding, "if you say so."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"I believe you, okay? I'm just worried, that's all."

"Why worried? I told you, I don't like him that way. So nothing to worry about."

"Well then don't you think you're giving him some pretty big honking mixed signals?" Willow asked. "Like tonight, the hand on the leg, the dancing, all that. You know he still loves you. Is it really fair to him to let him think you might be interested if you're not?"

This gave Buffy pause. She'd never considered that before. "You think I'm leading him on?"

"No, no," Willow shook her head vigorously, "not leading him on. Not intentionally anyway. But if you've got me thinking there's some vibes there, what must he think?"

Buffy suddenly felt very small. "Oh crap, Willow, you're right. You don't think he thinks--?"

"I don't know, but maybe you guys should talk. If there's really no chance, you should make sure he knows that. It isn't really fair to him to keep him hanging on if there's no hope."

She was right, Buffy knew, but a part of her -- a very large part -- was very reluctant to admit it. The truth was, she liked their relationship as it was. She liked his friendship and his attention and okay let's be honest, when there are no date prospects on the horizon, it's nice to know there was someone who loved her so completely. And only now did it hit her how vain and selfish this was. "Oh man, I feel like such a heartless bitch!" she moaned.

"You're not," Willow insisted, soothingly.

"Okay, I need to talk with him then." Her stomach clenched at the thought. "Oh, I'm really hating this though. What if it pisses him off? Remember what happened the last time I told him there wasn't a chance."

Willow laughed. "I think he's changed a *lot* since then, don't you? I mean, I don't see him chaining you up or siccing Drusilla on you."

Buffy shook her head. No, she didn't see it either. "But what if he leaves? Dawn would have a *cow.* She'd never speak to me again." She tried to ignore how much the thought of him not being around bothered her in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with Dawn.

"I don't think he'll *ever* leave Dawn," Willow said after thinking about it for a moment. "Even if he needed space form you I don't think he'd leave Dawn. He really has a sense of obligation there. You should've seen him when you... well, you know," she said uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I know," Buffy replied, but it didn't make her feel any better. "You're right. I'll talk with him tomorrow night, before patrolling. I can have him swing by the house first. Dawn will be out on her date, so we'll have the place to ourselves." Suddenly she was dreading tomorrow night. If only...

If only what? If only he wasn't a vampire? If only there wasn't all that mucky past history, their mutual hatred, the whole tangly mess of their separate relationships with Angel?

Angel. His face came before her, but not the face of the person she once loved. It was his *other* self, Angelus, the vampire *without* his soul. His mocking grin, his hard, cold and dead eyes full of incomprehensible hatred. There it was, the real "if only." The thing that absolutely terrified her the most. She suddenly felt deeply and profoundly sad.

"You know what really scares me, Will?"

"What?"

"The chip," Buffy said flatly.

"Huh?" Willow looked confused.

"It's plastic and wires. How long do you think it's gonna last?"

"I don't know," she replied uneasily. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"I mean if it were a spell, that's one thing. Spells can be permanent. But technology? Technology gets old. Technology wears out. Technology runs out of batteries. Some day that chip is gonna stop working, and then I'm going to have to kill him. And I really don't want to do that."

Willow frowned. "I don't know, Buffy. A chip's not a soul. Losing the chip wouldn't instantly change him the way--" she cut herself off.

"You can say it," Buffy prompted. "The way losing his soul changed Angel."

"Yeah."

"I know, but since he doesn't have a soul, what's stopping him from killing? Pretty much the chip."

"You think that's the only thing?" Willow asked, brow furrowed. "I'm not so sure. He's changed so much."

"Yeah, but what *caused* the change?"

"Falling in love with you."

Buffy shook her head. "I don't believe that. Not really. I think falling in love with me was a *result* of the change, not the *cause* of it. The only thing that makes any sense to me is the feeding. Keep a vampire from feeding for two years and maybe that's what makes the change possible."

"Yeah, I thought of that too," Willow agreed.

"So if he got the chip out and fed again, I think it would be just like Angel without his soul. Everything, all the gains he's made over the last two years, it would all be gone."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I do. And it scares the hell out of me." She bit her lip. "Until mom died, the worst thing that ever happened to me was Angel losing his soul. I just can't go through that again, on *any* level."

Willow considered this. "But it's not like getting the chip out would *compel* him to feed, the way losing his soul *compelled* Angel to feed. You don't think after all this time he would just choose not to?"

"Why would he? Because he loves me?" Buffy shook her head. "I mean, his whole nature is about feeding. I'm supposed to believe loving me is somehow *stronger* than this biological need to feed? I don't think so. Without a soul to give him some sort of internal issues with it, I don't think he'd stop himself. Why should he? He doesn't get that it's wrong, not really. And loving me certainly didn't stop Angel." She sighed sadly. "Besides, I can't be someone else's moral compass, you know? It's too much." She considered this a moment, then something occurred to her. "I think that's a big part of why my relationships have failed," she said wearily.

"Huh? Not following you."

"Well, Angel kind of needed me to give him purpose. Before he met me he just kind of wandered aimlessly. So when I came along he kind of latched onto me like a life preserver. Something, anything to give his life meaning."

"That's not what your relationship was about, Buffy," Willow objected. "He loved you."

"I know he did, and I'm not saying that's what our relationship was about. But I think that's the part that made it impossible for us, maybe even more than the threat of him losing his soul again. I mean, I didn't get that when I was seventeen. I thought I could be the reason for both of us, but I can't." She sighed. "And then Riley. Don't even get me started on Riley. When the Initiative collapsed he was really left with nothing. Except me. So he built his whole world around me and could never handle that I couldn't do the same for him." She shook her head. "It's hard enough being a whole person for *me.* I can't be a missing part of someone else, too."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Willow agreed softly.

"So even if I *did* have feelings for Spike--which I don't," she hastened to add, "I couldn't go there anyway. Because it's temporary. One day the chip will stop working, he'll start feeding and I'll have to stake him. For once I'm gonna think with my brain and not my heart."

//Real love isn't brains, it's blood, screaming inside you to work its will.//

Buffy cringed, remembering Spike's words to her a few years ago. He'd been talking about her and Angel at the time, and himself and Drusilla, too, but still. Resolutely, she shook it off. What did Spike know?

"Still seems kinda unfair," Willow said softly.

"What?"

"Assuming you'll have to stake him if the chip comes out. What if he *could* choose to not kill, even with the chip out?"

"I hope we never have to find out," Buffy replied grimly.

----------

Spike abruptly released Ethan Rayne's collar and leaned against the wall, arms folded. "And what makes you so sure I want my old life back?"

Rayne coughed and adjusted his shirt and jacket, obviously glad to be on his feet again. "You're William the Bloody, scourge of Europe! Railroad spikes through your victims' brains! You've killed two Slayers. Certainly you're not happy like this." He swept his arm around the shop. "A bouncer for a cheap magic store in a two-bit town, the Slayer's little neutered pet."

"Watch it, mate," Spike growled dangerously.

"Please! So you can throw me out the door! Pitiful, really, when what you really want is to tear my arms from my body."

He had Spike there. The idea of tearing this git's arms off his body was an appealing image. He considered Rayne's words a moment. "And you could do this how, exactly?"

"A spell," Rayne told him. "You know I'm quite powerful, having witnessed the results of the Fyarl demon spell yourself. It would be a very simple matter to turn that little piece of technology in your noggin into a harmless chunk of plastic."

Spike grimaced. "Like I want you working some mojo on my brain. No thanks."

"No, it's perfectly safe," Rayne insisted. "I'll even show you the spell, well, most of it anyway. Can't give away *all* my secrets, you know." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of parchment and handed it to Spike. "But enough that you can see it will work. You've been around magic enough to tell."

Spike unfolded the sheet and skimmed it. Fairly simple ingredients, not too complicated incantation. "And this spell, once it's done, could it be reversed? Could the chip be reactivated?"

"Absolutely not. It's a transformation incantation. The electronic components would be literally turned to plastic. There's no way they could be turned back into exactly the same configuration they are now. The only way they could put you back on their leash would be to put in another chip. And the Initiative isn't around any longer to do such a thing."

"And you'd do this for me, what, out of the goodness of your heart?"

Rayne sneered. "Heavens no! Let's just say that the thought of my *dear* old friend Ripper with a fully active vampire living in his basement amuses me. What can I say? I like my fun."

"Uh-huh," Spike said skeptically. "That's it. Just payback for Giles."

"Well, that's not *all,* of course," Rayne replied. "It will cost you five hundred dollars. Oh, and I might require one *tiny* little favor."

"And that would be?"

"A ritual. I know Rupert has it here somewhere. I just want to borrow it for a while."

"What ritual?"

"A summoning ritual. To summon Palawgi."

Spike frowned. "Palawgi?" He'd heard of Palawgi. Deception Demon. When summoned through a ritual, Palawgi would grant the petitioner the ability to temporarily appear in the form of any human or demon of his or her choosing. The catch was that in return for the favor, Palawgi required that the deception be used to inflict pain, misery, or death on some innocent victim. If not, he would exact his payment from the petitioner himself. "Not exactly a cheery fella. What do you want with him?"

"What difference does it make? I couldn't use the deception on *you.* You're not exactly what Palawgi would consider an innocent victim, now are you?"

"No, I suppose not," Spike agreed. "So I find you this spell and you'll mojo the chip into a useless hunk of plastic, right?"

"Exactly. Plus five hundred dollars. We mustn't forget the money. We have a deal then?"

Spike slid the piece of parchment into the back pocket of his jeans and gave Rayne a hard smile. "I don't think so. Now unless you want me to sully that jacket of yours again, I suggest you get out. NOW."

Rayne's face fell. "I see. Well, no matter. Don't think you can use that spell without me. It's missing a very key piece. But if you change your mind, my cell phone number is on the back. Ring me up. You've only got a few days to change your mind, however. Limited time offer and all that."

"I get a set of ginsu knives with that?" Spike scoffed. "Now are you leaving on your own or--"

"I'm going, I'm going. But think it over. I think you might find my terms most agreeable. Good night, then." Rayne gave him a polite bow of the head then stepped quickly past Spike and out the door.

Spike followed him to the door, examining it for damage when he was gone. Looked like he'd picked the lock, but it wasn't broken. You couldn't even tell anyone had broken in, actually. He closed the door then turned the lock and stepped back. Buffy would want to know about this. He didn't know much about Ethan Rayne's relationship to Giles,
but he knew they were long-time nemeses and if he were in town plotting something it couldn't be good for Buffy, even with Giles miles away in England. The fact that he wanted to summon Palawgi was especially worrisome. Whose form did he want to assume and what innocent party would be tortured or die because of it? Well, the answer to the second question was likely Giles or Buffy and her mates, but the possibilities for the first question were limitless.

Reaching behind him he pulled the piece of parchment out of his pocket and regarded it pensively. She'd really get her knickers in a twist over this, though. The very notion that a spell even existed that could possibly de-chip him would put her in a tizzy. He could tell her about Rayne and leave out the bit about the spell, he supposed. No need to bore her with every minute detail, right?

He fingered the parchment distractedly, feeling the smooth paper between his fingers. Then again, once he told Buffy about Rayne and she caught up with him, the stupid prat would probably blab everything and then she'd really be mightily pissed off at him for not telling her himself. Maybe it would be best to keep the *whole* incident to himself. The man hadn't done anything yet, other than a little breaking and entering, and that was nothing to fret about. He certainly wouldn't find the Palawgi ritual on his own, not with Spike about, so no danger there, so whatever he wanted Palawgi to do for him was moot. And Spike could keep an eye out for the wanker himself, make sure he didn't pull anything. No need to bother the Slayer with this at all, now was there? He slid the paper back into his pocket. No need at all.

NEXT

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