Never Leave Me

Buffy is tying Spike into a chair in her bedroom. She doesn't look very happy to be doing it.

"We're gonna get to the bottom of this," she says as she ties one arm, then moves around to tie the other one. "We just... can't take any chances..." It's almost an apology.

"-Don't.-" Why should she be apologizing for this? It's the right thing to do. But she's only being half-hearted about tying the second arm. That won't do. "Make it tighter," he says, and she looks up at him. "The knots'll give." She keeps looking at him; it seems like she really doesn't want to do what he says. "I get free...someone's gonna die." It's a bald statement, and it frightens her a little, because he's absolutely positive about it.

Day. Spike is still in the chair, and he's having a bad time. Labored breathing, pain he's trying not to show. Buffy is sitting on the bed, watching, and it bothers her to see him this way.

"Can I do something?" she says, kindly. Worried.

"I think you should g..." Spike starts, but a wave of pain makes him break off. He turns his head, vamps out, and the man is gone, leaving just the monster. He strains against the ropes, snarls, lunges at Buffy, who backs up, startled. There's nothing she can do; she leaves the room. Willow is outside, wanting to know how she's doing. She says it's bad, and that Spike needs blood. Willow goes to get some.

After Willow has brought Andrew and his sack full of blood back to the house, Buffy is in the bedroom, holding a bag of blood. Spike, vamped out and in much the same state as when we last saw him, is drinking greedily. Buffy watches him, her expression compassionate.

Buffy comes back into the room. "Better?" she asks, and Spike nods, not looking at her. "Good."

"I don't remember anything." Spike's voice is tired, and he doesn't look at Buffy.

"Well, you were having pretty bad withdrawal," she says.

"No, not that." He looks up at her. "I don't remember what I did."

"Nothing?" Professional curiosity, perhaps.

He shakes his head. "Some flashes here and there. It's like I'm watching someone else..." He looks down, unable to meet her eyes. "Do it. Kill people." It's hard for him to say the words. "I've been losin' time for a while now, waking up in strange places..." His voice is low.

"When did your chip stop working?" The professional curiosity is turning into business, now.

"I wasn't aware that it had, you know. Not til now."

"And the losing time? How long has that been going on?"

"Well...," he says, thinking about it. "Things have been wonky for me, ever since I got back, ever since..."

"You got your soul," she finishes for him when he won't say the words.

He shrugs, still won't look at her. "Figured that's what it was like. Been so long since I had one." It's a very lame attempt, but it's a joke. She almost smiles.

"How'd you do it?" she says, "How did you get your soul back?"

He huffs out a bitter laugh. "Saw a man about a girl," he says, and when he sees how uncomfortable she is with that,he goes on, seriously. "I went to seek a legend out," he says. "Traveled to the other side of the world, made a deal with a demon. "

A flicker of unease flashes in Buffy's eyes at that. "Just like that?" she says, keeping her cool.

"No, not just like that," he says, as though, DUH...! "There was a price. There were trials. Torture. Pain. Suffering." Buffy is very uncomfortable hearing that. He smiles, a wry twist of the lips. "Of sorts," he says.

She doesn't get the amusement. "Of sorts?"

He looks up at her. "Well, 's all relative, innit?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I have come to redefine the words pain and suffering since I fell in love with you." There's a trace of self-mockery in his words, and the words sting her. This is TellingTheUnpleasantTruth!Spike, and she doesn't like the truth she's hearing.

Buffy huffs out a breath; she's starting to get up a really good mad. "How can you say that?"

"Apparently I just slaughtered half of Sunnydale, love, I'm not too worried about being polite any more." He's got a lot more to feel guilty about than hurting Buffy's tender feelings right now.

Realization dawns on her face. "That's what this is about," she says, smiling a predatory smile. "You feeling sorry for yourself, Spike?"

"Feeling honest with myself," he says. "You used me."

"Yes." She's very quiet.

"You told me that, of course," he says. " Never understood it until now. You hated yourself. And you took it out on me." There's just the tiniest trace of hurt in his words, though he's making a matter-of-fact statement.

One corner of her mouth lifts a bitter fraction. "You figure that out just now?" she says, and he shrugs. No, he's had that one down for a while now...

"Soul's not all about moonbeams and pennywhistles, love," he says. "It's about self-loathing. I get it. Had to travel around the world, but... I understand you now. I understand the violence inside. " H

"Violence," she says, bordering on the verge of angry snark. "William the Bloody now has insight into violence?" Sarcasm wells up in her voice.

"Not the same," he says, shaking his head.. " As bad as I was, as evil and as wretched as I was, I never truly hated myself back then. Not like I do now." There's not a lot she can say to that, so she keeps silent.

In the next room, Andrew yells for help as Anya pounds on him.

"Excuse me," Buffy says, and goes to see what's going on. As she closes the door, Morphy!Spike, in the leather duster, is revealed, standing behind the door.

"Well," it says, "We've got ourselves a problem." It's clearly not happy with what's going on.

Buffy checks on Anya and Andrew, then goes back to her room. She stops outside the door; Spike's voice is coming from behind the closed door.

"What do I have to do, job half-done?" he says. "Never send a boy to do a man's job." And he starts singing the trigger song. Buffy opens the door, but Spike is alone in the room, still tied to the chair.

"Who were you talking to?" Buffy wants to know

"What was that?" It's almost as though he didn't notice her coming back in.

"I heard you through the door," Buffy explains. "Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody," Spike says, offhandedly. "Just, uh, keeping myself company."

He's noticeably more cheerful than he was a minute ago, and Buffy's forehead furrows. "Are you okay?" she says.

"Fine," he tells her, as though she's just making polite conversation. " How are you?"

"Spike?" Something is off-kilter, here. She frowns.

"I'm fine, Buffy, really," Spike says. Very nonchalant. "I'm just...feeling a bit peckish, I suppose." He looks over to the blood bag lying on the dressing table across the room. "Do you mind?"

She walks over to the table, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. She can sense that something is =wrong=, but she can't figure out what. She turns to pick up the blood bag, and the second her back is turned, Spike vamps out. Roaring, he jerks at his bonds, breaking the chair arms completely away. He leaps at Buffy, punches her hard on the jaw. It knocks her down and for a second she's stunned, maybe from the blow, maybe from the unexpectedness of his attack. Maybe both.

Spike heads straight for the wall between Buffy's room and the room where Anya has Andrew backed against that very wall. She's threatening him. Suddenly Spike's hands break through the wall, grabbing Andrew around the chest and forehead. The wall cracks as Spike pulls Andrew -through- the wall, pulling his head to one side and biting down on his exposed neck. Andrew screams.

Buffy, recovered, comes and pulls Spike off Andrew, throwing into a wall hard enough to stun him. She goes to Andrew as Xander and Anya burst into the room. They also go to Andrew, who's sitting on the floor, dazed. Buffy looks up. Spike is sitting up, blood on his mouth, and he looks shocked and horrified to see the bite marks on Andrew's neck. Buffy stands up, her mouth set in a tight line, and aims a kick at Spike's chin. He falls to the floor, unconscious.

Spike is lying on the basement floor, unconscious, manacled hand and foot. Buffy comes down the stairs, carrying a basin and a towel. She kneels beside Spike, dips the towel in the water, and gently wipes the dried blood from around his mouth. Her ministrations wake him, and he opens his eyes. She doesn't stop trying to clean off the blood, doesn't flinch, just gently sponges away at the damning stain.

"Did I hurt anyone?" Spike says, low and afraid of what she'll say.

"You took a good bite out of Andrew," Buffy says as she uses the other end of the towel to dry his face.

"Who?"

"Tucker's brother."

"Ah." He just lies there for a moment. Buffy gets up, takes the basin and towel to the sink.

"He'll be okay," she says.

"I don't remember," Spike tells her.

"It's okay," she says, starting to wash the blood out of the towel.

"Buffy, I don't know why." He pulls himself up to a sitting postion.

"We think we do." She doesn't look up from her work. "Something's playing you. Some ghost or demon has figured out how to control you. I've got the gang researching it right now. Xander has a theory that you're being triggered."

"Kill me." The words aren't loud, but they startle her. She turns.

"What?" Not what she expected to hear, certainly, and not welcome words. For the first time ever.

"Buffy, you have to kill me. " He looks at her, perfectly earnest, deadly serious.

"You don't understand," she says, clearly not considering it for a moment. When I left the room earlier, I heard you talking to som..."

He cuts her off. "Do have any idea what I'm capable of?" He's more together now than he's been for a long time.

"I was in the cellar with you," she says. "I saw what you did." Not happy about it, but still not going to do what he wants.

"I'm not talking about the cellar," he says impatiently. "People in the cellar got off easy. I'm talking about me. Buffy, you've never met the real me."

Her lips purse. What was all that dancing they've done over the years, then? "Believe me, I'm well aware of what you're capable of."

"No," he says, "You got off easy, too." There's impatience in his voice. He stands up, rattling the chains, and she flinches. He takes a step forward, does the Big Bad slouch. "Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she'll die?" he says, deliberately pushing, trying to make her -see- what a monster he was. His eyes go hard. "I do. You see, the trick is to drink just enough, to know how to damage them juuuust enough, so that they'll still cry when you..." He breaks off, unable to say the words. After a moment he goes on. "Cause it's not worth it if they don't cry." His voice trembles, almost breaks; what he's saying sickens him, but he has to make her understand that he was so much worse than she can imagine...

She isn't having any. "It's not your fault," she says firmly. "You're not the one doing this."

"I already did it. It's already done." He's talking about before the soul, but she doesn't seem to realize that. He gives her the head tilt, tongue against his lower teeth in a taunting leer. "You want to know what I've done to girls Dawn's age?" She looks away--that was a low blow, and she knows he did it on purpose. But she looks back up at him, still calm. Still not buying it. He looks at her, deadly serious. "This is me, Buffy. You've got to kill me before I get out."

"We can keep you locked up," she says softly. She's almost pleading with him. "Keep you here, and we'll figure out..."

"Have you ever really asked yourself why you can't do it?" he snaps, interrupting her. "Off me? After everything I've done? To you, to the people around you?" He looks at her, pain in his eyes." "It's not love. We both know that."

"You fought by my side," she says. "You saved lives, you helped..."

"DON'T do that." The pain is in his voice, now, too. "Don't rationalize this into some noble act. We both know the truth of it." He turns away, unable to look at her. "You like men who hurt you." The words are razors in his throat; he never wanted to hurt her.

"No."

He looks back up at her. "You need the pain we cause you," he says, with perhaps a touch of sorrow. "You need the hate. You need it to do your job, to be the Slayer."

"NO." Suddenly she's very vehement. She takes a step toward him, visibly calming herself down. "I don't hate like that," she says softly. "Not you. Or myself. Not any more." Her voice takes on an almost vicious tone. "You think you have insight now, because your soul's drenched in blood? You don't know me. You don't even know you." She calms herself again. "Was that you who killed those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for those girls?"

"There was no one else."

"That's NOT TRUE!" He can't be the one, not if he's got a soul now. He can't be the same. "Listen to me. You're not alive because of hate. Or pain. You're alive because I saw you change. Because I saw your penance." The pain she's seen in him vibrates through her, makes her voice shake.

He lunges forward, straining against the chains. This time, she doesn't flinch. "Window dressing," he spits at her.

She takes a step toward him. "Be easier, wouldn't it? If it were an act." She is the goading, snarky Slayer for just a second. Then her voice gentles. "But it's not. You faced the monster inside of you and you fought back. You risked =everything= to b e a better man."

"Buffy..."

"And you -can- be," she says, softly, fiercely. "You -are-. You may not see it. But I do. I =do=." Her voice softens even more, her eyes are perhaps a little shiny, her lower lip trembles slightly. "I believe in you, Spike."

He does the confused head-tilt, almost not understanding what she's saying. She sees him? Can that be what she means? For a long moment he stares at her, not saying anything.

And the basement window shatters inward, the front door likewise, and the hooded minions pour into the house.

The Scoobies fight them, taking them out right and left. When the fight is over, everybody's mostly okay. Xander looks around, comments that he thought there were more of them.

"Spike!" Buffy says, and races down to the basement. The manacles are hanging empty. He's gone.

Unseen figures bind a naked arm to a large wooden beam with a leather strap. We see a rack of very sharp knives and other implements of torture, and then the figures strap the other arm to a different beam. It's Spike, stripped of his shirt. Morphy!Spike watches, amused. "You'll have to excuse the spectacle," it says,smiling, "but I've always been a bit of a sucker for the old classics."

One of the minions picks up a knife. Spike tries not to, but cries out as the minion cuts into his abdomen. When it's finished, he gives Morphy a killing look.

"Oh, don't look at me that way," it says. "I wanted to do this more subtle-like. But my harbingers have a tendency to call attention to themselves."

The minion carves into Spike again, and he screams, then gives a strangled groan. Morphy comes closer. "You're the one who couldn't hold your end of the bargain," it says, as though talking to a recalcitrant child. "You're the one who couldn't take care of whatsisname. You're the one who had to make breakthroughs and learn something about himself." Its tone is way over into sarcasm.

The minion picks up a small rectangular instrument, and Spike moans as it slices into his flesh.

"So now," Morphy says, stepping back and folding its arms, "fittingly, you're the one who gets to do the honors."

Morphy!Spike melts into Morphy!Buffy. "I have to admit," it says, "I'm glad it worked out this way. I was going to bleed Andew, but.." Its voice goes low and sexy. "You look a lot better with your shirt off."

The minions start to crank a windlass, and the thing Spike is bound to--it looks like a huge wooden wheel--begins to rise into the air. There are three symbols carved into his chest and abdomen, and they're bleeding freely. The minions maneuver the wheel, with Spike facing downwards, to hang directly over the huge seal set into the earth floor.

"To he honest," Morphy!Buffy says, "I'm getting a little tired of subtle. I think it's about time we brought some authority to our presence. Now, Spike. You want to see what a real vampire looks like?" It smiles coldly.

Spike's blood streams from the sigils cut into his flesh, dripping on the seal. The star in the middle of the thing folds up, making a pyramid which quickly sinks down into the earth. A gnarled hand with claw-like nails comes up, groping for purchase on the dirt floor , and a creature crawls up out of the depths. It's old, immensly old, its skin pulled tight around its skull. Its ears are small and pointed, and long fangs protrude from its open mouth. It reaches upward, snarling, and roars. Spike looks at Morphy!Buffy in horrified shock.

--

Dori

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