It's Not Where You Start Out (9/17)
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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9.

Buffy and Dawn raced through the hallway of Willow and Tara's dorm and skidded to a stop at the door to their room. She pounded on the door. "Willow! It's Buffy! Open up!"

The door opened and Tara's face appeared. "Buffy? What's--" But Buffy didn't wait for her to finish, she just pushed past her into the room, Dawn at her heels.

Willow was just getting up from her desk, her face etched with concern. Buffy didn't even give her a chance to voice her questions. "The monks, they came for Dawn. With *lots* of help," Buffy panted.

"They came in through my window," Dawn added.

Buffy looked at her sister possessively. "They won't get close again, Dawn, I promise." Damn Spike, distracting her from watching after Dawn! She turned back to Willow and Tara. "I need you guys to stay with her here. I'm not sure if any came after us, so maybe do a protection spell. Whatever it takes. I have to go back."

"Spike!" Dawn cried out suddenly. "He can't fight them, you have to go help him!"

"I'll take care of it," she said curtly. God, Dawn was gonna be *devastated.* Damn Spike for getting rid of that chip!

Tara went to Dawn and led her over to the bed. "C'mon Dawn, you wanna help look up a protection spell?" That got Dawn's interest, distracting her from what had happened. Buffy turned back towards the door, Willow behind her.

"You need any help?" Willow asked.

"No, just stay with her," Buffy said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. No sense in yelling at Willow. Then she considered. "Wait a sec, do you have any stakes handy?"

Willow frowned. "Stakes? I thought the monks were all human. There were vampires too?"

Buffy's face hardened. "Only one."

Willow pulled open a drawer in the dresser nearest the door, revealing several stakes. Buffy scooped out two--didn't want to be unarmed if he knocked one away again--and shoved one into her back pocket. The other she kept in her hand, ready.

"I'll be back soon, Will. Take care of her."

Willow nodded, then Buffy left, taking off down the hall at full run, ignoring her protesting muscles. A run home, a round with Spike, a battle with monks and their henchmen, a run to Willow's and now a run back. She'd be lucky if she weren't too exhausted to fight Spike when she got back.

God. Fight Spike. It made her heart ache. He'd even helped them tonight. He'd never let anyone hurt Dawn. Could she do it, stake someone who'd just helped save her sister?

//Think of *how* he helped,// she told herself. All those humans, a fight, no chip. Man, it was probably a massacre at her house. Even if he hadn't fed before, surely he has by now. And if he's fed, even off of men who were trying to eradicate Dawn's entire existence, then he's evil. The blood would feed the demon, change him, and he'd be back to what he once was. Angelus all over again. She could see Spike before her as she ran, vamp face on, mouth smeared with blood, sinking his fangs into someone's neck. And his eyes. Hard, cold, dead. Full of hate. Hate for *her.* Please, God, anything but that. She had to kill him quickly, before she could see the hate. She couldn't go through it again, watching the hate take over someone she--

//SOMEONE I NOTHING!// she protested, shutting down her own train of thought. He was a demon, a monster, a thing that some twist of fate briefly made into a person, a friend even. But it was a fluke, temporary, she'd always known it. It was over and she had to kill him, like she always had known she would eventually.

She reached her house, dodged around a brown-robed monk lying face-down in the yard, and for the third time tonight vaulted up the porch steps and through the front door, which was now open. She stopped just inside the doorway, eyes taking in the scene, wary. The place was a mess but it was pretty much how she left it, except for the monk on the lawn and another lying near the doorway. Obviously Spike must have prevented them from following her and Dawn. Her stomach clenched. //It doesn't matter that he was helping, all that matters is that he *will* kill and feed and then he'll hate you again.//

She looked around, taking in the scene, trying all at once to sense where Spike had gone while also determining if any of the men had been bitten. On cursory glance it didn't look like it. Most of them were unconscious, maybe dead even, from being thrown over the rail on the stairs or having their heads bashed against the wall. No necks were twisted, no readily apparent bite marks. She felt a glimmer of hope; maybe he really wouldn't start feeding again. But resolutely, she pushed it back down. No soul, no chip, what's to stop him? Loving her? Yeah, right. Loving her hadn't stopped Angel.

A loud thump drew her attention toward the kitchen. She heard voices, too. Spike and someone else. Brother Ondrih? Spike sounded furious. Grabbing her stake tightly, she ran down the hall and could hear Spike growl angrily, something about making things all natural again? Then she was in the kitchen, the door to the back porch open before her -- and she stopped cold.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

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Blood and desire and fear and hunger all swam around him in one delicious aroma, enticing him, calling him. The world was shaded red, blood red, and the blood, the life, was his for the taking, he merely had to plunge his fangs in and drink deep. God YES! One bite and he'd be FREE!

//You think you're *free* now? You're a *slave.*//

Spike recoiled back, almost as if the chip had activated and sent electricity coursing through his brain instead of mere words. But there was no pain, only hunger and need and his prey struggling vainly in his grasp.

He looked down at the monk, this man he loathed, this man who would take Dawn away, wipe her existence from their very memories if they let him -- and he shoved him *hard.*

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Buffy stood in the kitchen, frozen. It had been just as she'd imagined: Spike, just outside the door on the porch, in vamp face, about to feed.

Except he didn't. He pushed the monk away. Inexplicably, he had pushed him away, refusing to bite him, or even to kill him. And he wasn't even an innocent, he was the *enemy.* And still Spike didn't feed.

Buffy's arm, which had been raised, stake at the ready, dropped uselessly to her side.

----------

Brother Ondrih fell to the porch and scrambled backwards, terrified. Spike shook his head, shaking off his demon face and letting his human one return, but he put all the ice and steel into his eyes and voice that he could muster. "It's your lucky day, I just had dinner. So you go back to your little monk mates and you tell them to stay away from the girl, you got that? You *never* get your Key and you *never* get things back all 'natural.' And if you come 'round again I'm gonna have me a real feast."

The monk clambered to his feet and tripped down the steps. Spike watched him go until he disappeared into the trees on the other side of the yard, and then he slumped against the wall, shaking. He'd come so close, within a hairbreadth of losing *everything.* Well, he'd already pretty much lost everything, but just now he'd almost lost *himself.* To the hunger. He *was* a bloody slave, a slave to the demon he didn't want to be anymore. He looked at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably.

And covered with blood. The monk's blood, from the cuts on his face.

Spike swallowed. He didn't know it was possible to be *this* hungry, this desperate for blood, *human* blood, blood that didn't come out of a plastic bag. He stared at his hand for a long time.

Then slowly, resolutely, he wiped the blood off his hand onto his jeans. He felt sick inside, sick and pathetic, but the hunger would *not* control him.

And then he saw her through the open back door. Buffy, standing in the kitchen, staring at him, eyes wide and full of -- pain? He locked eyes with her, unmoving, only peripherally aware of the stake in her hand, hung loosely at her side as if forgotten. He stared at her, stricken, unable to move, to hide, to conceal himself from those eyes that *saw* him, knew him, knew what he was. They stood there, staring at one another, ensnared in each other's eyes.

And then, before he could even react, she was against him, pressing him back against the wall. The stake clattered to the porch at their feet as she took his face in her hands and kissed him, deeply, passionately.

At first, he was too shocked to react, but then something more primal, more real than even the hunger for blood ignited in him and he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer, and he responded to the increasing fervor of her mouth, kissing her hungrily, half crazed with longing. He felt her thumbs stroke his cheeks as her fingers encircled behind his head and pulled him deeper into her kiss. His own hands stayed gripped tightly to her shoulders, almost as if she might run away if he didn't hold her in.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, between kisses. "I should've trusted you."

Her words brought reality hammering back home and with deep regret he pulled back from her, just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. He held her there a moment, not wanting to let the moment end, but knowing he had to. As much as he wanted her, wanted *this,* he wanted it to be honest.

"No pet," he said at last, "you don't understand. You don't know how bad I wanted it." *Almost* as bad as he wanted her. "I almost couldn't stop the hunger."

She pulled back further. "But you did. Stop it. Why?"

Slowly, he let go of her shoulders and slipped out from between her and the wall, putting enough distance between them to clear his head. Bloodlust and Buffy-lust all in the space of a few minutes was a little much and he didn't trust his legs to hold him upright much longer, so he sat down heavily on the top porch step.

"I know what you want to hear," he replied, then looked up at her. She looked beautiful, her blond hair loose and flowing over her bare shoulders, her eyes clear and green and full of longing. //Tell her what she wants to hear, you git! Tell her whatever will make her kiss you like that again.//

Buffy just watched him, expectantly.

"You want me to say 'I didn't kill him because it's *wrong,*'" he finished in a deep, mock-hero voice. "'Far be it from me to take the life of a Souled One.'" He rolled his eyes. "Truth is, I couldn't give a damn about him or his bleeding soul. I could happily watch a pack of wolves tear him to shreds without batting an eye."

Buffy considered this. "He tried to break my sister down into her component parts *and* wipe away any memory any of us had that she ever existed. I'm not exactly having warm fuzzies for him."

"And yet, you didn't kill him, now did you?"

"Neither did you."

She crossed over to him, pulled a stake out of her back pocket and tossed it carelessly aside, then sat beside him on the step. Very close. Her nearness was distracting, but Spike pressed on. "Difference is, love, that you didn't kill him on *principle.* I don't give a damn about principles."

"But strangely, he's not dinner. Why?"

Spike closed his eyes, troubled. How could he explain it to her? "Because I was afraid," he admitted, ashamed. "I was afraid for *me.*"

He looked up at her then, to see if she was shocked. She wasn't. She was leaning forward, arms resting on her knees, face turned towards him, watching him closely. Her expression was open, waiting for him to explain, so he plugged on.

"I *like* the way things are. Or were up until an hour ago," he amended. Buffy's eyes flicked down, rueful, and he looked forward, out into the yard. "I *like* patrolling and kicking demon ass and watching the telly with Dawn and arguing with you. I *like* Red and her little honey. I like the demonette and her incessant prattling and God help me--and I *will* hunt you down if you ever repeat this--I even like builder boy. Shooting pool or drinking beer at the Bronze." He turned to her again. "I love kid sis. And I *like* loving her. I don't *get* it, but I *like* it."

Buffy smiled and took his hand, still stained with blood, between hers. *Very* distracting.

"And I like loving you," he said soberly. His eyes flicked down to their entwined hands. "A whole lot more now than a few hours ago, mind you," he snickered nervously. She blushed and looked down again, but didn't release his hand. "And maybe I blew it by getting that chip deactivated, but I couldn't stand not being able to protect her from *anyone* who would hurt her, and I thought I could handle it, that I wouldn't be tempted." He shut his eyes tightly and licked his lips, the need for warm, living blood still making him feel light-headed. Buffy squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, almost clinging to her hand like a lifeline.

"But even if getting the chip turned off meant you couldn't trust me, that you'd never let me near Dawn again, it didn't change *me,*" he continued. "I was still the same. I still loved you. But feeding, that would change me. You were right you know, that bit about being a slave. Blood used to be *everything.* Fighting and sex and love and lust and everything else that was fun still was all about the *blood.* Then those Initiative prats took the blood away and I *hated* it because I thought what they took was *me.* But really, with the blood gone all that was left *was* me, and I *like* it. I don't want to go back there, where the only thing that matters is the blood. I don't want to be that anymore." He looked down at their hands again, marveling in how good it felt just to have her hand in his. So simple and right. "So I let him go. Not because I gave a damn about him or his life or anything, but because I didn't want to go back there."

Finished, he looked at Buffy, awaiting judgment. Instead, she look positively moved.

"Then you get it, Spike."

"Get what?" he asked, frowning.

"You get it. Doing the right thing. You think it's always about being all noble and selfless?"

"Innit?"

"Heck no. Mostly it's about being able to live with yourself. Being able to look at yourself in the mirror -- uh, so to speak," she finished feebly in response to his pointed look. Then she went on. "You think I like letting sickos like Brother Ondrih walk away? I'm totally right there with you on the wolf pack thing. Hell, I'd bring the popcorn. You know what stops me from going there, though?"

He shook his head.

"Faith."

"Faith? You're not getting all religious on me now, are you?"

"No, not that kind of faith. I mean the person, you know the other slayer? Oh yeah, you weren't around much when Faith was here."

"Ah yes. She went rogue, right? Ended up behind bars?" He snickered. "Surely it's not the fear of prison that keeps our little Slayer on the straight and narrow."

"No, I'm not talking about being in jail. Not that jail would be a happy thing. No, Faith was scary long before she got caught. Really into slaying and fighting, kinda like you. Then one day she killed a human by accident and she shrugged it off. Couldn't touch her, she was 'five by five,'" Buffy remembered. "But she wasn't. She was miserable. It was eating her alive and there is no *way* I wanna go there, end up like that. She *talked* big, about how free and fun it was, but she was in prison long before the police got a hold of her."

Spike nodded, understanding her point.

"I think what matters is that whatever stops you from going there is something **inside you,**" she went on. "It isn't just about me or Dawn or the gang or anything else. It's in *you.*" She poked his chest for emphasis. "You get that the whole killing thing isn't really as fun as you thought it was."

"Maybe," Spike conceded. "Still not the same as fighting the good fight and all that rot."

"But you do. Fight the good fight."

"Well yeah, but mostly for the fringe benefits." He picked up her hand, still wrapped around his, for emphasis.

She considered this. "Okay, so a hundred years from now, assuming I don't stake you just for being a pain in the ass, you're still here, but I'm dead and buried. Dawn, Willow, Xander, all of us, we're history."

"There's a cheery thought," he grimaced. He didn't like to think about Buffy's mortality, especially not after having lost her once.

"Would you start killing again? Without us around to care if you do or not?"

He thought about it. He was a vampire. It was hard to imagine going a hundred years without feeding, without following his nature. But in his gut he recoiled, just as he'd done when he was about to bite the monk. "No, I don't wanna go back there."

"Then you get it."

"You sure know how to suck the fun out of being immortal," he complained. "Can't I just make you and the niblet into vampires?"

She gave him one of her patented Slayer warning looks.

"Just kidding, don't get your knickers in a twist." He frowned, disturbed by the thought of his immortality beside her mortality. "You humans are really a frail lot. No wonder my kind doesn't go 'round with your kind much. How depressing. All the people I care about will be gone, leaving pretty much me... and sodding Angel." He curled his lip in distaste.

"Angel," Buffy groaned suddenly, releasing Spike's hand. Spike gave himself a hard mental kick. Brilliant, bloody brilliant, bringing up the big poof! Buffy put her forehead in her hands and smoothed her hair back away from her face. "You were right. I have been *so* unfair to you."

He cocked his head. "I never said *that.*"

"But it's true." She looked up at the night sky. "It's *all* been about Angel."

"Story of my bloody life," he muttered.

She looked at him, eyes full of remorse. "You know why I was so upset when I first found out how you felt about me? Why I couldn't believe it?"

"Because you loathed me."

"Well yeah," she agreed, "but it wasn't even really about *you.* You challenged everything I believed. About myself, and about Angel. When he lost his soul," she closed her eyes, pained, "it was the worst time of my life, except for my mother's death and Glory taking Dawn. The only thing that got me through it was seeing him as two separate people. Angel and Angelus, the man and the demon. I clung to the soul like a life preserver. Hating me wasn't *his* fault, he didn't have a *soul.* He *couldn't* love me." She looked at him, eyes filled with tears. "So I *couldn't* accept you. I couldn't believe you could love me. Because if you could love me without a soul, then why couldn't he?"

Spike's heart ached for her. He hated to see her in pain. Putting a hand on her shoulder he said softly, "He did love you, pet. You know that don't you?"

She frowned at him, confused.

"Why do you think he hated you so much? Because he *loved* you so much, and he couldn't stand it. It ate him up inside, made him a bloody loon. That Angelus, the way he was then, wasn't the same as he was before he got a soul. You tormented him and he had to prove to himself it wasn't true, he didn't love you, he hated you. Because you got in the way of the *blood.* Hell, why do you think *I* hated you so much?"

"Yeah, well you got over it."

"With a little help from the government," he agreed, pointing to the back of his head.

"But where's the chip now?" she pointed out. "That's what I'm saying. Even after I accepted you really did love me, I told myself it was all the chip. One day you'd get it out and it would go back to how it was, **just like Angel.** So I never really let myself see *you,* just the chip. Because I couldn't go through it again, having someone I--" she cut herself off and swallowed. "Having you hate me again."

If Spike's heart had been beating it would have just skipped one. Someone she what? Had she actually been about to say she loved him?

She was still talking. "So when I found out what you'd done, that you'd gotten the chip deactivated, I was terrified. Not because I'm so noble and righteous and worried for the innocents you'd kill. I was terrified for *me.* Because I couldn't stand it if you hated me, and I had to stop it, stop you before---"

She cut off again, unable to say more as a tear spilled down her face. Spike wiped her cheek with his finger, gently tracing the tear's trail from her jaw up to her eye. "Never, love," he whispered fiercely. "I will *always* love you." He leaned in and kissed her, tenderly, almost gingerly. God, he could lose himself in her--already *had,* actually.

"I know that," she said quietly, breaking off the kiss but keeping her face close to his, "*now.*" She shifted back slightly so that she could look into his eyes. "When you didn't kill that monk, I knew. The chip was gone, but you're still here. I was so wrong about you," she said earnestly. "It wasn't fair, always comparing you to Angel."

"As I said, story of my bloody life," he grumbled.

"I know, and it isn't right. I made it all about the chip to protect *him,* to keep him on that 'first love' pedestal, you know? But I was wrong. It was never the chip. It was *you.* It was always you." She paused, taking a breath as if to gather her courage. "And I couldn't admit that because then I'd have to admit I'd fallen in love with you."

Then he was kissing her again, fiercely this time, possessively. He wanted to devour her, let her fill him, wash away the stain of the hunger, the bloodlust. She responded, her need for him as great as his for her and it blew his mind. She *loved* him. A monster, a soulless demon, and she loved him anyway. It was exhilarating, better than the best kill, the hottest blood. But even so, she couldn't wash it away completely. It was there, boiling underneath.

"I love you so much," he said breathlessly. "I don't want to lose this."

"Then *don't,*" she replied intensely.

He forced himself to stop, to pull back a bit. "Let's not kid ourselves, pet. I almost gave in tonight. I wanted to feed. You have
no idea how much I wanted it."

"I know," she said.

"No you *don't* know," he said savagely. "I never knew I could be so starved, so intoxicated, so-- God, I wanted to drink."

"You sound like an alcoholic," Buffy observed.

Spike laughed bitterly. "Leave it to you, Summers, to reduce the entire essence of a vampire into a tired addiction cliché."

"Well?" she replied. "What's the difference?"

He didn't really have a response for that, so he settled for scowling at her. She flashed him a smug victory smile which half made him want to smack her and half made him want to ravish her. Okay, more than half wanted to ravish her. Instead he opted for Door Number Three: keep talking. "I came so close to letting it have me."

"But you didn't."

"I *almost* did. What if I had?"

She looked at him soberly. "I'd have staked you."

"I know."

They let that hang heavily between them, then Buffy spoke. "You made a choice tonight, Spike. And I trust you, to keep making that choice."

"You sure about that?" he asked honestly, not even sure of his own answer. "I think we both know I'm not likely to just pop off on you and your friends, or even some stranger who crosses my path. But religious blokes like that, when they start using words like 'perversion' and 'unnatural,' you know a little scare's not gonna stop 'em. What happens when they take another go at kid sis?"

"*We* stop them," she answered fiercely.

"Well yeah, no argument there. But what happened tonight happened because I was seriously pissed off. That blighter was gonna hurt Dawn and I was gonna use my best weapon to stop him. You think it won't happen again?"

Buffy absorbed this. "I haven't seen you in vamp face in a long time before tonight, so you know I know you can fight without it."

"Yeah, but I haven't fought humans in a long time. Kinda brings it out in me."

She looked thoughtful. "I don't have any answers for you. But there is someone who might."

"No way," he said adamantly shaking his head, realizing whom she meant. "There is no way I'm going to *Angel.* I'd rather let you stake me."

She shrugged. "It was just a thought. You know, someone who's been there, knows what it's like."

"I think not," he said firmly, grimacing in distaste.

"Well, the best *I* can do is tell you I think there's a huge difference between using 'terminal force' or whatever the stupid military euphemism is, and chowing down or twisting someone's neck around for kicks."

"A difference that gets kind of lost on you in the middle of a fight."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "I think that's a danger for all of us, though, not just you. Witness Exhibit A: Faith." She shifted in her seat. "But I think you can sort out the difference. You did tonight and that was without really being prepared for how hard it would be. Now you know, and you'll do it again. Because you *have* to."

"I know."

They let that hang there too, and this time Spike broke the silence. "You really in love with me?"

The question caught her off guard and she looked panicked for a moment. "I don't know," she said quickly, then chewed her lip without looking at him. "Yeah, I guess I am. It's really weird and scary and I really don't want to admit it, but I guess I am."

He smiled broadly, unable to hide the pure elation. It *was* weird and uncomfortable, for him too. He'd spent so much time convincing himself it would never happen that it was just surreal. That, however, did not lessen the euphoria any. "So what happens now?"

"Hell if I know," Buffy shrugged, then suddenly she jumped up, startling him. "Oh, how stupid! I have a house full of unconscious and half-dead humans and here I am sitting outside talking about ... stuff," she finished sheepishly.

The monks and their henchmen! In all that had happened, he'd totally forgotten. "Humans, leaving messy bodies about to tidy up. At least we vampires have the decency to turn to dust when you kill us."

"We didn't kill them," Buffy corrected, making a face at him as she started up the porch steps into the house. Spike stood up and trailed behind her. The kitchen was pretty much as he'd left it. The black-suits were still sleeping it off.

"What should we do with them?" Buffy asked. "The only other time I fought this many humans it wasn't in my own house."

"I know some fellas," Spike suggested. "Ekorie demons, do clean-up jobs for hire."

Buffy blanched. "We are not handing them over to demons, Spike. Much as they deserve it."

"They won't *kill* 'em, you ninny, they don't eat humans. Buggers fancy cats, actually--"

"Eeewww," Buffy complained making a face.

Spike just rolled his eyes and continued. "They won't hurt humans, but they're really ugly and mean-looking. They'll just take these blighters someplace conveniently not here, put a good scare into 'em, and let 'em go."

Buffy leaned back against the kitchen counter, considering. "Beats calling the police. Can we afford them?"

"How many cats you got?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose and put her hands on her hips. "I am *not* rounding up cats to feed demons."

Spike merely laughed. "I was joking, Slayer. Wouldn't want to upset your delicate sensibilities over fluffy kittens, now would we?" Buffy glared. "They're pretty cheap. Cheaper than me, anyway."

"Yeah, but are they as big a pain in the ass?" Spike smirked at her and she gave in. "Okay, fine. How do we contact them?"

"I'll ring up Willy."

Buffy groaned, "Willy again," and Spike remembered.

"*Willy.* That little weasel, is that how you found out about the chip? How the bloody hell did he know?"

"No, that's not how I found out, not directly anyway. He sent me to Ethan Rayne who I totally left to come here after you." she finished without pausing, self-derisive. "Dammit! He's either up to something very bad or he's already high-tailed it out of town." She turned to him, irritated with him as well. "What were those papers you gave him?"

"Why, what did that git tell you?"

"He didn't *tell* me anything. I was in the middle of kicking his ass and he preferred that I stop and go kick yours instead. He showed me a videotape of that spell he did on you. You punched him and gave him a bunch of papers. What were they?"

He grinned. "He wanted an old ritual Giles had to summon Palawgi. Deception demon, nasty bugger. I doctored it up, though. Did a nice job of it, if I do say so myself. Dru once turned a forger; bloke taught me some tricks of the trade. Rayne couldn't summon a cocker spaniel with that spell."

"Why would he be summoning this Palawgi?"

"To *deceive* someone. Weren't you paying attention?"

Buffy was not amused. "What exactly does the demon do?"

"He gives the petitioner any human or demon form of his choosing for three days. Rayne could look like anyone or anything he wanted, thereby, well, *deceiving* someone."

"But he can't use the spell?"

"Worthless as the crap parchment I wrote it on."

Buffy looked relieved. "Well, at least that makes him lower priority. Like I so need *this* right now, in the middle of all this monk stuff having to go looking for Ethan Rayne and figure out what he's up to." She looked around her wrecked kitchen and sighed wearily. "Tomorrow, though. If you're *sure* that spell won't work."

"I'm not a complete idiot. I wouldn't give a stupid prat like him a demon-summoning spell. And it's not my fault he's here. I didn't ask him to come."

"But you *did* go to *him.* How did you know he was here?"

Spike hung his head sheepishly. "He tried to find the ritual himself at the Magic Box that night you and Willow went patrolling."

A fresh wave of anger washed over Buffy. "So you've known he was here since *Friday?* My God, Spike, how long have you been planning this?"

"I didn't plan it. I swear!" he added when she gave him an incredulous look. "Wanker went looking for the Palawgi ritual and I threw him out. He thought he could tempt me with the de-chipping spell, but I told him I wasn't interested. I only went back to him on Sunday because of what happened to Dawn."

"Okay, but you didn't think to tell me, 'Hey, remember that guy who turned Giles into a demon? He's back in town'? I mean, Ethan Rayne, Spike what were you *thinking?* Besides, you *know* ratting you out had to be part of the plan. He de-chipped you to stir up trouble."

Spike shrugged. "Don't much care. Way I figure, I wasn't doing little bit much good chipped. Didn't much matter what the fella who did the spell thought."

"Still, it was stupid to go to him, and it was stupid not to tell me. Do you have *any* idea how it felt for me to watch that video and see you there, *paying* him?"

This gave him pause. He hadn't really considered that doing this would *hurt* her. Piss her off, yes, but not hurt her. "I'm sorry," he said softly. But then he added, "But if I'd have it to do all over again, I'd do the same thing. I'm not standing by doing nothing while those monk blighters go after Dawn."

She looked at him a beat and Spike waited to see if she'd lecture him more, but instead she sighed. "Okay, but there's still Willy. Wanna bet the monks paid him off to get me on Ethan's tail as a diversion? I'm so gonna kick his ass."

Spike darkened. "Hadn't thought of that. You're probably right. Well then, let's make *him* pay the Ekories instead."

She brightened. "Ooh, that could be fun. It'll hurt him more than beating him up would."

"He could probably round up a few and have 'em here in half an hour."

"Okay, do it."

"Right then," Spike replied, picking up the phone. He dialed Willy's and after a few minutes of threats and posturing on Spike's part and denial, whimpering, and kowtowing on Willy's part, the arrangements were made. Hanging up he told her, "Just like I said, they'll be here in half an hour. Willy is *gladly* footing the bill."

Buffy pushed away from the counter. "Good. Okay, I have to call Willow, tell her I'll be a while, make sure Dawn knows everything's okay."

She went to the phone and made the call while Spike gave the house another once over to make sure none of the sleeping beauties had woken up and decided to cause more trouble. He discovered that two of them were dead--Ekories would like that; they could sell the bodies to demons who do eat humans. He decided he'd better not mention that bit to Buffy, though. Amazingly, all of the others seemed fine, other than being unconscious, and none of them had so much as stirred. Meanwhile, the poncy monk out back had shaken off a fall through a glass window on the second floor. Go figure.

He joined Buffy back in the kitchen to wait for the Ekories. She was just getting off the phone with Willow when he came in.

"Everyone still pretty much where we left 'em," he reported. "A couple are dead," he said cautiously.

She raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"One of the blokes you tossed over the stairway landed on his neck wrong. And one of them that I pitched across the room got his head bashed in good and proper."

Buffy nodded wearily, but didn't comment on the fact that he had killed someone after all. Apparently she'd meant what she said about the difference between "terminal force" and killing for fun and feeding.

"Will got the niblet all safe and snug?" he asked, anxious to change the subject.

She nodded again, then looked at Spike thoughtfully. "I'll have to tell them, Spike. About the chip being deactivated."

Spike grimaced. "Oh, that'll go over big."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed uncomfortably. "Well, Dawn won't care. She worships you."

"Naturally," he grinned, then sobered. "Though I expect demon-whipped boy will be looking to stake me."

Buffy sighed and nodded. "Yeah, Xander's not big on the vampire trust."

"You sure we can't keep it our little secret?"

"It's tempting," Buffy conceded, "but that's not fair to them. They should know. Besides, they'll be *really* pissed if they find out from someone else--and they *will* find out. Maybe if *you'd* have told *me,*" she said pointedly.

"Didn't we just have this discussion?"

"Right. Did I mention how stupid it was to not tell me about Ethan Rayne?"

"Yes, you did."

"Okay then." She surveyed the kitchen again. "Look at this mess. This place is a disaster." Then she noticed the plate smashed against the wall. "Oh no, look what they did to my mom's favorite plates!"

"Right bastards," Spike muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"Well, we might as well clean it up while we're waiting."

"We?" Spike asked incredulously. "I look like a maid to you?"

"Yes. A tall, punk, blood-sucking maid who's feeling very indebted to me for not holding a grudge about Ethan Rayne." She pointed to the shattered remains of the plate. "You can start there."

"I change my mind," he grumbled as he grabbed the mangled trashcan and hauled it over to the wall to pick up the remains of the plate and Dawn's dinner. "I'm going back to evil."

"You'd have a stake in your heart before you could take two steps," she shot back.

He grinned wickedly, swept the wreckage into the trashcan then stood over her. "Look at you, all spit and fire. What makes you so sure you'd catch me?"

"Oh, I'd catch you," she said dangerously and he felt a thrill.

"Ha! You wouldn't even know."

"I'd know."

"What, you think I'd just walk up to you and say, 'Hey, I'm evil, come and slay me!'"

"Well *yeah.* That pretty much describes our entire pre-chip relationship, doesn't it?"

"Well," he protested, then gave up. "right then," he conceded. "But that doesn't mean I'd play it that way now."

Buffy gave an exaggerated eye roll and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Spike. I hate to ruin this whole manly Big-Bad ego thing you've got going, but I have to tell you. You *suck* at lying."

"Do not!" he huffed indignantly.

"Puh-LEASE. I've seen three-year-olds lie more convincingly. It's pathetic, really."

"Pathetic!" he stammered. "You wanna talk pathetic? Pathetic is... is," he paused, searching, then seized upon: "That outfit."

"What's wrong with my outfit?" she asked, hands on her hips.

Absolutely nothing. She looked luscious in her black tank top, backless, and tight jeans, but damned if he was going to let *her* know that. "Nothing, if you're going for that desperate look."

"Desperate!" she roared. God, he loved baiting her. It was almost as much fun as kissing her. "I am so *not* desperate! I--"

She never finished because he decided the baiting wasn't nearly as much fun as the kissing after all.

----------

By the time the Slayer left in a panic and Ethan -- no less panicked himself -- threw together his things and left the fleabag motel, it was rather late and most of the shops in Sunnydale were closed and deserted. He'd stowed his things in the storefront he was using, then found a dark alley from which he could watch the Magic Box. Of course, his bleeding luck, most of the stores *except* the Magic Box were deserted. That girl who ran the shop was the most anal-retentive work-obsessed ninny he'd ever seen since, well, since Rupert. *Finally* she'd packed it in and left the store dark, empty, and most importantly, vampireless.

He waited fifteen minutes just to make sure she didn't return for something, then made quick work of the lock and was inside. Looking around the darkened store he again took in the huge amount of shelf space that was devoted to books. Leave it to a former librarian, Ethan thought to himself. The last time he had broken in the sheer number had presented a difficulty in that finding the exact book he was looking for would be time-consuming. This time he had an advantage. The forged ritual Spike had given him was realistic enough that the vampire could not have possibly created it out of thin air. He must have had the real ritual and changed it just enough to make the false one useless while still being realistic. Why Ethan didn't suspect he'd do that was a mystery to him since he'd done exactly the same thing with the incomplete de-chipping spell he'd given Spike. But no matter, what's done was done. The important thing was that Spike had recently had the actual spell in his hands. This would make finding it a very simple matter indeed, so long as the vampire didn't turn out to be an avid reader of ancient books on demonology and witchcraft. Somehow, Ethan suspected not.

Working quickly, he pulled out a talisman and softly incanted: "Antus, ruler of the lost, hear my plea. Show me the volume touched by hands not living yet not dead, once mortal now immortal. Guide me, Antus, my obeisance to you."

The talisman in his hand began glowing faintly. He carefully walked around the room, starting at the bookcase nearest the door and working his way around. As he neared the counter, the talisman began glowing brighter. He went behind the counter and it dimmed slightly, so he moved away, opposite it, and the glow increased, getting quite bright as he reached the bottom of a ladder that led up to a loft. Raising the talisman high above his head up the ladder, he smiled as it glowed brighter still. He followed its guidance upstairs and into the loft until he found the place where it glowed brightest, so bright it was painful to look at. Putting it aside he pulled out the nearby volumes until he found one with a likely title: **Demons of Arashmaharr:  Supplications and Summons.** Flipping through it quickly he located what he was looking for: "Ritual for the Summons of Palawgi the Deceiver."

Smiling, Ethan closed the book, whispered a thanks to Antus, thus extinguishing the talisman's light. In darkness once more he slowly backed down the ladder, carrying his prize carefully under his arm.

NEXT

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