Sleeper

Part 1

We see a basement, and hear someone humming an old folk tune. It's Spike; he's digging up the basement floor. He looks over to where the girl from the end of the last ep is sprawled against a cabinet. She's dead, eyes wide and staring. He goes over to her, still humming the tune, grabs her by the lapels, hauls her up, then drops her into the grave he's dug. Still humming, he starts to shovel the dirt over her.

Buffy and Xander are discussing what Holden said. Buffy says that the chip still works, she's seen it. Xander points out that maybe that's what Spike -wants- her to think. But Buffy still isn't convinced. Spike is different, she can feel it, he's changed. And if he hasn't... "The Oscar goes to..."

The door opens, and Spike comes in. Hesitates when he sees Buffy there. "This can't be good," he says, "you here this late. In trouble?"

"No trouble," Buffy says, and then fumfuhs for a bit, trying to come up with something that'll sound convincing. But Spike takes it as a brush-off.

"Right," he says, closing the door. "None of my business. No worries." He starts for his closet (which we see later could actually fit another whole bed, by gum) but Buffy stops him.

"How was your night?" she says. It sounds lame, and she knows it.

"All right," Spike says. He's a little puzzled at the small talk, but he's going with it. "And yours? Bag any baddies?"

"One," she says. "Vampire."

Spike looks a little uncomfortable at that.

"Someone I used to know, actually," she goes on, shrugging. "A little. Holden." She's suddenly very focused on him, on how he's going to react to the name. "Holden Webster." She's almost holding her breath.

But Spike's only reaction is concern. "You knew him, huh?" He steps toward her. "Must have been a picnic." He's sympathetic, uncomfortable for her, a little.

"Yeah," she says, very low. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Spike says, averting his eyes for a second. "I'm gonna turn in before I drop." He goes to his room, closes the door.

"Did you see that?" Xander says, "Did you see how he reacted when you mentioned Webs? Cool as Cool Whip. What's up with that?"

Buffy says someone needs to stay and keep an eye on him, and Xander says he has a meeting in a couple of hours. Buffy says they need to find someone else, then.

It turns out to be Anya, who agreed on the phone before Xander told her Spike was killing again. Xander tells her she'll be fine, and opens the blinds to let the sun in, and goes to his meeting.

Much later in the day, Anya, bored and carrying a huge sharp stake, sneaks into Spike's room to look for clues. Spike is asleep, obviously wearing nothing under the sheet, which is pushed down almost to the point of immodesty. Anya looks through his pants pockets, the bureau drawers, then picks up his jacket and starts to go through the pockets. Spike's hand clamps on her wrist, startling her. "Do be specific," Spike says calmly, "and tell a fellow just exactly what you're doing." He doesn't let go of her wrist, but makes no move to do anything else. He's not really restraining her; she looks as though she could pull away any time. But she's sort of frozen by the suddenness of his waking up.

"Well, Spike," she says, pasting a cheerful, non-threatening smile on her face, "I'm here, obviously, for, um... " For a moment she comes up blank. But then something in the air...changes. And she's quite sure what to say. "Sex." Just saying the word makes her shiver.

"Uh," Spike says, eyes going wide as he scoots backward, away from her, and pulls the sheet into another layer over his lap. "Beg pardon?"

"You and me," Anya says, and she's starting to get into it. "Here and now. Let's go. Let's...get it on, you big bad boy." There is hair-tossing and tit-shaking and lip-licking, and she waves the now deeply symbolic stake at him.

His eyes get wider. "Uh, wait, wait, Anya, this is not exactly..." He notices what she's holding. "Is that a stake?"

Whoops. "Yes," she says, making the best of it. "Kinky."

"Uh, well, yeah, but why do you..."

She reaches out, puts a finger over his lips. "Shh," she says, batting her eyes at him. "No questions. No talking." She draws her finger down over his bottom lip. He's holding very, very still. "I can't help it," she goes on, her breath coming just a tiny bit shorter. "I can't stop thinking about you. About us, in our brief but unforgettable time together." She's starting to inch her way up the bed, and Spike is alarmed and a bit puzzled. He leans back, trying to maintain distance between them.

"It's...I mean, why else would I be here?" She's moving closer, and he's trying to back away. "It's not like I'm snooping around looking for proof that you're some kind of whacked-out serial killer." He's completely clueless as to where that came from, and it shows on his face. She keeps advancing, her breath getting shorter and shallower. "Why did I say that? I don't know why I said that," Anya pants as she closes the distance between them. "It's just craziness talking. It's just nerves. Nerves." Her eyes are half-closed now, and he's running into the wall. She slides up his torso, not quite touching him. "Nerves and...horniness." She's forgotten that this is supposed to be a ruse... "Oh, just shut up, William," she moans, "and take me. Take me now!" She flings herself onto his chest, her mouth resting against his throat, panting. For a long moment, nothing happens; Spike is holding inhumanly still, and it's obvious that he's not going to take advantage of Anya's offer. She makes an embarrassed little sound and sits up. His hands are on her arms, perhaps helping her, perhaps holding her away from him.

They are both deeply embarrassed. Spike looks away, aware that this is not going to do Anya's self-esteem any good. "Anya," he says, diffidently.

"Hmm?" she replies, not looking at him.

"It's not that I'm not tempted," he says, giving her an earnest look, "Obviously, if things were different... You're a right catch."

"I got it," she says, sitting back. "No problem, I understand." He looks relieved. But, of course, this is Anya. "You think I'm fat," she says, starting to puff up into outrage.

"What?" This is SO not good....

"That or you hate the haircut." She looks at him accusingly.

"R...ridiculous. The do's quite fetching." He's pitching sincere for all he's worth.

"Oh, right, now you like the haircut."

"Love it."

"As a friend."

"Anya..." Gotta hand it to the man, he's trying to be patient. Anya's just...trying.

"You know, you were a lot more fun when you didn't have a soul." She's quite put out, now, and pouting.

Patience is slipping away fast. "Oh, come on, now, Anya, I've just explained..."

"All I'm saying is that soulless Spike would have had me upside down and halfway to Happyland by now." She's definitely unhappy about missing that train to Happyland.

Spike's jaw works, as though he were trying to keep from saying something extremely snarky. "I need my pants," he says through his teeth, and she picks them up from where she'd dropped them and slaps them onto his chest.

A while later, she's sitting in the big chair, flipping through a magazine. Spike comes out, dressed, buttoning his shirt. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, luv," he says.

Anya keeps her eyes firmly on her magazine. "Who's hurt?" she says, straining for unconcerned. "I'm fine."

"Right." Spike gives her a slightly resigned look. "Uh, got things to do." How mad will she be if he leaves her alone?

"Don't stay on my account," she says, flipping a page. He sighs and leaves. As soon as he's out the door, Anya picks up the phone, dials. "It's me," she says. "He's leaving." --

Part 2

The Promenade is crowded. Spike comes around a pillar where a busker, an old man, is noodling on a harmonica. As Spike passes, the old man begins to play the same music we heard Spike humming as he was burying the girl earlier. His attitude changes slightly; he's not as slouchy, a little more confident.

Buffy threads her way through the throng, looking for Spike. She finally spots him and follows, but the crowds get in her way, and she keeps losing him. Buffy sees him chatting up a girl, watches him take her hand, whisper in her ear, smile at her. Flirting. It troubles Buffy a little. Spike leads the girl away, and Buffy follows, but once again the crowd gets in her way. She catches glimpses of him here and there, but loses him after a moment.

Spike leads the girl into an alley, looking around carefully to make sure they're not seen.

"So," the girl says, in what I'm sure she imagines is a sultry voice, "What kind of name is Spike?" He doesn't answer her. "Oh, you're gonna make me guess?" He leads her around a stack of boxes, into the scant shelter of a doorway. "All right," she says. "I'll guess..." She moves in, close. He doesn't stop her. "You're a little bit bad." She's close enough to kiss, but he doesn't, maybe because she keeps talking. "Am I right? You a bad boy?" She's teasing him with her mouth, pretending to go in for the kiss, but she -keeps talking.- (Ed. Note: STUPID BINT!!!!!) "Cause I don't mind. I was getting bored waiting in that line." She brushes her cheek along his. "I =hate= waiting," she purrs, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck below his ear. His head goes back, his eyes close, he takes in a long breath. "Know what I mean?" the girl whispers. He looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes, bends to kiss her jawline, then her neck.

Something alerts him; he looks up to find Buffy watching. He stares at her, not sure what to do. She smiles and steps close to him. "You know you want it," she says seductively. "You know =I= want you to." There's a slight flicker of confusion, but he does want it, and if it's what she wants, too...

The girl, meanwhile, is starting to get confused; she can't see Buffy. "Um," she says, "is something...." But Spike vamps out. She starts to scream, to struggle, but he holds her and bites her.

Buffy smiles. "There's my boy," she says, very happy. "Now, doesn't that feel better?"

Spike finishes draining the girl and looks up. He's back in his human face, his mouth and chin covered in the girl's blood. For a moment he stares at Buffy. He doesn't seem quite sure of what's going on, but the taste of blood in his mouth is unmistakable. He lets the girl drop, horrified, and runs away.

Buffy morphs into Spike. "How could you use a poor maiden so?" he says, with an evil smile.

Part 3

Spike is asleep. Suddenly the blankets flip and he's on the floor, rudely awakened.

"Did you kill her?" It's Buffy, and she's spitting mad.

"What??" He turns on the bedside lamp, looks up at her. What the hell?

"The girl. Last night." She's barely willing to give him that much.

"What girl? What are you talking about?"

"I caught the first act. I missed the curtain call. Did you kill her? Did you turn her? Is she one of your kind now?"

"Did you... Are you following me?" He gets up. He's wearing the leather pants he had on when he went out before, but no shirt.

"Answer the question. Where is she?" Every word is clipped, sharp.

"Who knows? I talked to her, is all." This is starting to get annoying. Why does Buffy care if he talks to girls?

"Really? Looked like more than talking to me." There's an edge of sarcasm to her words, and maybe something else.

"Well, I certainly didn't off her," he says. Hello to the obvious... He turns away, steps over to the chair, picks up a black tee shirt. "God. Where are you getting all this?" He turns back to her, and his voice wavers. "You know I can't."

"Right," she says, as though she should have expected this . "The chip."

That hurts. Hasn't she been paying attention? "NO, not the chip. Not the -chip-, dammit." He looks at her, wounded that she can dismiss what he's done for her sake. "You honestly think I'd go to the end of the underworld and back to get my soul and then... Buffy, I can barely live with what I did. It haunts me. All of it. If you think I would add to the body count now, you are crazy." He realizes he's still holding the shirt, starts to put it on.

"So, what, you just troll the Promenade looking for drunk coeds because you're hungry for conversation?" The edge of sarcasm is much sharper, and the something else suddenly makes sense.

"Ohhhh," he says, pulling the shirt over his head. " Is that what this is? Right." He pulls the shirt down so that he's decently covered.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

Oh, not =this= again. "Don't play games. Not now."

But he's got it between his teeth, now. "You saw me chatting up another bird, giving the eye to someone else. Touched a nerve, didn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself." She practically spits the words.

"It =burns=, doesn't it? And you can't admit it, so you trump up some charge about me being back on the juice." There is scorn in his voice. It's always about Buffy being able to deny how she feels, isn't it?

"The vampire I killed told me..." But he cuts her off.

"Told you what? That I go out?" He takes a step away, and might start pacing if there were more room. "Yeah, I talk to people. Women. I talk to them cause I can't talk to you." He doesn't meet her eyes as he says this.

"Oh, Spike, save it." If she were five, she'd have her hands over her ears and her eyes squenched shut.

How can she still be denying what he feels? "As daft a notion as soulful Spike the killer is, it is NOTHING compared to the idea that another girl could ever mean anything to me. This chip, they did =to= me. I couldn't help it. But the soul I got on my own. For you." His voice breaks at the end.

The truth of that is so huge that even Buffy can't deny it, though she wishes she could. "I know," she says softly, "But..." Spike cuts her off again, his voice humming with pain.

"So yeah. I go and pass the time. With someone. But that's all it is, is time. Because God help me, Buffy, it's still all about you." The truth of it is naked in his face, blazing out of his eyes, and there's nothing she can say in the face of it.

But there are still things she needs to know. "Spike. This vampire told me you sired him."

She's giving credence to what vampires say now? "That doesn't mean..."

She's not having any more interruptions. "He told me you killed him. Dumped him in a parking lot somewhere."

"And you believed him?" Hello? Is she forgetting something, here? "Vampire, not..."

She breaks in on him again. "I did follow you last night," she says. "And you know what? You didn't look lonely or casual to me. You looked like you were on the prowl." She's daring him to deny it.

"You can't know that." She's willing to take a vampire's word against his?

"So then tell me. Tell me what happened. You talked to her; then what?"

Ah, but that's the problem. He turns away, not happy to have to say this. "I talked to her. That's all I remember."

"All you remember?" And isn't that just -too- convenient...

"I go out. I talk to people. Or I don't. It's boring, it all bleeds together."

"Well, if you seem to forget =that= much..."

"Not that." He turns, and for the first time he's completely confident, strong. This, he knows beyond doubt. "The taste of human blood? =That= I'd remember."

"You were camped out on the Hellmouth, talking to invisible people. Recently. How can you be sure of..."

"NO. You are =wrong.=" Still strong. "You've got an accusation from a pile of dust, and not a shred of proof." Perhaps there is a tinge of bitterness that she obviously still doesn't trust him.

Buffy's lips thin. "So I'll get some," she says, and it's a promise. She leaves, and Spike looks after her, disappointed but not really surprised. And then his brow furrows. What if... what if she's right?

Spike is getting ready to go out. He picks up his jacket, starts to put it on, but something's wrong. He feels the pockets. There's something in one of them. Puzzled, he pulls it out; it's the pack of cigarettes that the girl put on the bar in the last episode. He has a flash of her doing it, of talking to her at the bar, of her lying on the ground with her dead eyes wide open and bloody fang marks on her throat. He looks at the box of cigarettes again, trying not to be frightened.

He comes out of his room and walks purposefully toward the door. Xander, eating a frozen dinner and watching television, jumps out of his chair, dashes past Spike to put himself between the vampire and the door. "No, no, no," he says, holding up a hand, "You're not going out."

Spike is determined. "I have to go," he says.

"Buffy was very clear about the not leaving of you," Xander says.

"I know what the Slayer told you," Spike says tiredly. "It's not true. Let me go, and I'll find a way to prove it."

Xander shakes his head. "Okay, I'm gonna list the reasons that won't happen," he says, and holds up a finger. "One..."

Spike's fist smashes into his jaw, and Xander goes down, unconscious. Spike immediately grabs his head and screams as the chip fires. After a second, he shakes it off and leaves the apartment.

In the Bronze, he's asking about the girl from the memory flash. The bartender isn't very helpful, nor is the waitress. Spike goes up to the balcony, sits staring at the dancing crowd below, nursing a drink alone at a table.

"One of 'em take your wallet?" It's a woman's voice. Spike turns; there's a pretty dark-skinned girl watching him.

But he doesn't want to be bothered. "What's that?" he says. Not very friendly.

"The way you're scanning that crowd," she says, "you look like you're out for blood."

"I'm just lookin' for a certain bird I met here the other night," he says. The 'go away' vibe is pretty strong, and he never gives her more than a brief flick of a glance.

"Hmmm," she says, coming closer to him, stroking his arm. "Is it me?"

Can't she take a bleeding hint? "Sorry, love. Don't think so."

"Not even if I ask nice?" She's practically purring now as she comes around the table.

"Friendly warning, pet," he says, and now his voice is edging over toward dangerous. "I'm the type best left alone." He shifts his attention back to the crowd, pointedly excluding her.

But she's too focused--or too stupid--to notice. "Oh, I get it," she says. "You'd rather I slip into something more comfortable." He turns to look at her, and she shifts into vamp face. He pushes back, out of his chair, away from her, very surprised.

"Should we pick off the crowd one by one?" she says, "Or block the exits and ravish the place?"

His face twists in disgust. "Get away from me," he says.

"What's with the wallflower act?" she says, a little hurt. "You didn't seem so shy when you were biting me." He stares at her, not quite taking it in at first. She takes it for rejection. "I'm not asking if you want to be soul mates," she says, getting a little peeved. "Just figured you'd want to have fun." She looks down at the crowd, sees a couple dancing, and laughs. "I'll take him, you take her," she says. Then, taking his horrified expression to mean he doesn't like the idea, she goes on, "Or the other way around, whatever." Hey, she can be flexible...

He reaches out, grabs her shoulder. "No," he says, "You're lying."

"Get off!" she says, and punches him. He kicks her away, and she lands sprawled on the catwalk. "So that's all I was to you?" she says, "A one-bite stand?" That pisses her off, and they fight in earnest as the musician sings. Finally she grabs up a bamboo tube to stake him, but he takes it away and stakes her instead, knocking her off the catwalk. Her body explodes to dust as she hits the floor. He looks down at her ashes, and the shock of what she's told him starts to sink in.

Spike goes to a pay phone as the singer and the band are coming off the stage. "Man, I =hate= playing vampire towns," the singer complains as Spike dials.

"Hello?" he says as the other party picks up. "It's me. I'm seeing... I think I'm remembering." His voice is low, a little shaky. He's wigged. "I think...I've done some very bad things."

"Where are you?" It's Buffy on the other end of the line.

"I need...I need to see you. There's a house, 634 Hoffman Terrace..."

"I'll meet you," Buffy says, and hangs up.

Spike hangs up and starts to leave the Bronze. As he turns, there's another Spike standing there. "You shouldn't have done that," the other Spike says. This is Big Bad Spike, completely in control, cocky, sure of himself. Spike turns, sees his doppelganger. "It's not time yet," the other Spike goes on. Not nearly. You're going against the plan." He gives Spike an evil, knowing smile. "But we can make it work." Spike stares at him, confused and starting to be very, very frightened.

At the house, Spike opens a door. "Down here," he says, and goes down steps into the basement we saw in the beginning of the ep. Buffy stands in the door, watching him, not speaking, holding a large stake by her side.

He stops a couple of steps from the bottom, looks up at her. You won't come down?" he says. She doesn't respond. "I understand," he says. "It's a risky proposition." He takes the last two steps, only to be brought up short by the Other Spike. They're standing almost nose to nose.

"There's an order," the Other Spike says, with a slight air of reprimand. "Slayer's not in order." Spike doesn't say anything. The Other Spike smiles, as though giving the wink to some slight infraction from a favorite. "But it can't hurt to play," it says. "Get your claws in the mouse, you know?"

"You are NOT HERE," Spike hisses at it. It just grins at him.

Buffy starts to come down the stairs. "All right," she says, very patient. "What do you want to show me?"

Spike looks up at her, his eyes wide. He knows how this is going to sound, but he has to tell her. "I've been remembering," he says. "The girl. I walked her home. The one you saw... And the one before that. And..." He swallows, but goes on. "I think I killed her." Buffy isn't really startled by this, given what she's suspected, but it's still a blow. He goes on, determined to get it all out. And I think...I think I killed the lady who lived here." The words are hesitant and a little shaky, but he's telling her everything he knows. "And... And there might be...others."

"Oh, my God." The full implications of Spike killing again are starting to sink in, and it's painful.

"Here," Spike says, walking onto the dirt floor of the basement. "I think I buried them here."

She walks over to stand beside him. "Spike, =why=?" she says. How can he be telling her this so calmly?

"Well, I don't know, do I?" Spike is starting to get agitated. "I don't even know =how=. I shouldn't be able..."

The Other Spike starts singing. "Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a fair maid sing in the valley below..." Spike's face goes blank as he listens to the music Buffy can't hear.

She senses something is going on, though. "What?" she says, "What is it?" Spike doesn't seem to hear her, and turns to face the Other Spike, who finishes the first verse of the song. "SPIKE!" Buffy calls, trying to capture his attention, and with a growl he turns back to face her, shifting into vamp face. Immediately she lifts the stake, but he snatches it out of her hand and flings it away. It crashes into some jars, knocking them to the floor in a welter of shards. She punches him hard, and he goes flying into the wall. As he gets up, he picks up the largest shard of glass and comes for her.

"What are you doing?!?" She can't quite believe he's attacking her, but he springs forward, slashing at her with the glass. It rips through her sweater and cuts into her bicep. Blood starts to flow. She throws him down onto the dirt floor, pins him down by straddling him. "Spike, listen to me!" she says, desperate to get through to the man. "You don't want to do this."

Spike shoves her off and gets up, coming for her again. She belts him another one.

The Other Spike is watching with amusement. "And it's just about to get fun," it says, leaning back to enjoy the show. A hand breaks through the dirt--one of the bodies Spike buried, coming back to unlife. Buffy and Spike struggle for a moment more as the other new vampires start pushing their way out of the shallow graves. Buffy hears the noise, turns to look. "Oh, God," she says, and punches Spike across the room so she can take on the newly-risen undead.

Spike is groggy from the blow, and the Other Spike leans down. "You know what I want you to do," it says. Buffy is fighting the vamps, but they're getting the upper hand.

"They're waiting for you," the Other Spike whispers. "Take her, taste her, make her weak." Spike gets up, in that Big Bad, crotch-first way that looks like it oughtn't to be possible, and stalks toward where the vamps are holding Buffy still. He's still vamped out, and her eyes widen as she realizes what he's going to do.

"Spike, no!" she says, struggling against the vamps holding her.

He comes right up to her, almost pressing up against her, and, with a growl that's nearly a purr, he leans in, sniffing at her neck. It's her right side, where Angel's and Dracula's scars are; she winces and he moves around to the other side. She watches him, watches his intent expression, and it's probably my wishful thinking, but maybe she looks the tiniest bit...aroused? The scent of the fresh blood from the cut on her arm distracts him, and he moves toward it, leans down, a little hesitant, as though it's something wonderful that might be snatched away at any second. He puts his mouth over the cut, reverently, begins to lick at her blood. He's been waiting years to taste her this way... Almost immediately flashes of memories overwhelm him--biting, feeding, burying the corpses, and he jerks back from Buffy, the demon replaced by the man. His eyes are wide with the shock of it.

He staggers back. "I remember," he says, horrified, and immediately the memories slam through him again. He throws himself away from her, gasping. She immediately takes advantage of the distraction to extricate herself from the vampires' grip, and in a flurry of economical Slayer grace, she stakes all six of them within as many seconds.

Spike has found a corner, and is huddled there, his hands over his head, trembling and gasping as the Other Spike leans over him.

"You failed them," it says, as Spike rocks. "Now she's gonna kill you. You lose, mate."

A hand bursts up through the dirt; the lady who owned the house, who's struggling to unearth herself. Buffy comes over. "Sorry ma'am," she says to the vampire as she strains to pull the woman out of the dirt, "but it's my job." She stakes the woman.

She walks over to where Spike is huddled, stops, looks down at him. She's holding her makeshift stake down by her side. He looks up at her. His eyes go to the stake, and he sets his jaw, pushes away from the wall. He slides over so that he's right in front of her, looking up at her for an instant. Then he pulls the lapels of his jacket wide, exposing his chest. He's resigned, perhaps relieved, to have an end to this, finally. "Do it fast, okay?" he says, giving her a small smile; after everything they've been through, he has the right to ask this of her. But she stands there, looking at him, her face an unreadable, somber mask, and makes no move to stake him.

Why is he not dust? "He said you'd do it," he says, his voice breaking, a tear leaking down one cheek. Doesn't she understand that she has no choice?

"Who said?" It's a terse question, but it's engagement.

"Me," he says, knowing it sounds crazy. "It was me. I saw it. I was here the whole time, talking and...-singing-..." He puts his hands to his head, as though to block out the echo of that music.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't =know=," he cries. "Please, I don't remember. Don't make me remember." He presses his palms to his ears, still trying to block out the voice she can't hear. Abruptly he turns, looking at something she can't see. "Make it so I forget again!" he screams. "I did what you wanted!" He's clearly not talking to Buffy. She looks in the direction he's staring.

"Something's here," she says. She throws down the stake, and the noise it makes when it lands gets Spike's attention.

"Oh, God, no," he moans, "Please, I need that." He looks up at her, his face tear-stained, pleading with her. "I can't cry this soul out of me," he says, his voice broken and thick with tears. "It won't come. I've killed, and I can feel them." He turns his face away. "Every one of them..."

She sighs and sits down beside him. "There's something playing with us," she says, and flicks a glance at him. "All of us."

He can't quite make sense of that, but...she said 'all,' she included him in the group. "What is it?" he asks, "Why is it doing this to me?" He's like a child who can't comprehend the evil around him.

"I don't know," she says.

He looks up at her, and a spark of hope grows in him. Maybe she can fix it...? "Help me," he says, and then, perhaps realizing that he has no right to ask her that, "Can you help me?"

"I'll help you," she says. The Other Spike sighs and looks put out.

The gang is gathered at Buffy's house. Spike is sitting a little way off from them, wrapped in a blanket, staring out at nothing, not moving.

"And you believe him?" Anya says.

"You didn't see him down there," Buffy says softly, with a look at Spike, unnaturally still, huddled in the blanket. "He really didn't know what he'd done. It wasn't in his control."

"Oh, an =out of control= serial killer," Xander says, but without his usual degree of snark. "You're right; that's a great houseguest."

Dawn looks a little alarmed. "Wait, is he staying here?"

"I don't know," Buffy says, not ready to commit to that yet. "But I'm not letting him out of my sight, that's for sure. I can't leave him alone."

"Buffy," Willow says, very serious, "he's been =feeding=. On human blood. That's got to do stuff."

Buffy glances at Spike again, lowers her voice. "I'm not keeping him around just to help him. There was something there, talking to him, making him do things."

Willow's eyes widen. "Something like what was talking to us?"

"Probably," Buffy acknowledges. "But whatever it was is screwing with Spike big time."

Xander is starting to catch on, he thinks. "So you want him around because...?"

"Look," Buffy says, probably not for the first time, "There's something evil working us. And if we are ever gonna have a chance to fight it, we need to learn everything we can about it. This thing has been closer to Spike than any of us."

Willow actually does get it. "And if you want to understand it..."

"I'm going to have to get close to Spike." Buffy doesn't sound as though this is the swellest idea in the world.

"No," Xander says immediately, "It's too dangerous."

"Whatever this thing is," Buffy says, ignoring Xander, "from beneath us, it's bad, and it's only getting worse." Xander can't say anything to that.

--

Dori

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