"... chip out..."
Spike's eyelids fluttered open, Dawn's worried face filling his field of vision. His head was cradled in her lap, her fingertips tracing the scar at his eyebrow, the rest of him sprawled across the concrete...
"How... how long was I out, Bit?"
"A minute or so... Spike, I thought you got the chip out..."
"Wasn't the sodding chip." Spike touched his temples, wincing. "Chip's been gone a while; never felt like that, anyway..."
Wesley took a step forward. "Do you want me to..."
"Uh-uh, mate." Spike rolled off Dawn's knee, raising himself up and putting down a hand to haul Dawn to her feet. "Still waitin' for you to grow horns or fangs or chant in Latin while your head spins 'round. You can stay bloody well over there."
"He was really nice to me," Dawn said helpfully.
"Well that's lovely, Bit, I'll keep it in mind." Spike glanced around the alley, sighing. "This is just fantastic. Like that bloody boat riddle."
"Boat riddle?"
"You've got animals and a boat, you've got to get 'em all 'cross a river without 'em eatin' each other, can't remember which ones eat the other bits... think one was a sheep, maybe. Not important. What's important is, she's an evil god-thing, he's a god-only-knows-what, but... probably evil, 'cause that's just how this sort of thing seems to work out, right? And I don't want either of them out of my sight or anywhere near you, which makes gettin' you back to Buffy a wee bit tricky, y'see?"
"I'm eighteen years old," Dawn huffed. "I don't need to be returned to Buffy Base every time I wander off. I got here all by myself, didn't I?"
"That's right, you did." He cocked his head. "And how'd that happen, exactly?"
"Well, maybe if you guys hadn't spent years ditching me, I wouldn't have such a finely tuned sense of when it was happening..." Dawn crossed her arms defensively. "And I might eavesdrop less."
"We might've ditched you less if you hadn't been Big Bad du jour's victim o'choice every sodding time, Bit... bloody hell, as many times as you've damseled in distress, we might as well have put you in a red shirt and sent you down with the first away team."
"Too much TV, Spike. Way too much TV." Dawn grinned wickedly, and the resemblance to her sister sent an ache through him. "Besides, 'Damsel in Distress'? That's Xander's job. I kick ass now."
"Oh, y'do, eh?" Spike grinned. "Right. Y'know, that bit about the ass-kickin' would be a sight more menacin' if y'didn't bounce on your toes while y'said it, luv."
"Been training," Dawn pouted. "With Faith, when she's around. It's, uh, kind of on the down-low, okay?"
"Is it, then. Explains the more... colorful additions to your vocab, I suppose." Spike eyed her critically. "And your wardrobe... I don't suppose your sister's put her okay on your new little hobby, has she?"
"You won't tell her, will you?"
"Buffy and I aren't... well... we haven't exactly been... pen pals."
Something strange crossed Dawn's face. "You, uh... haven't talked to Buffy?"
"Don't think she knew I was alive until today."
"Well," Dawn grinned, touching his sleeve. "I guess I don't have to punch her for not telling me, then."
"All the same, Bit, things are dangerous, and you..."
"I'm very fast."
"Yeah, I'm sure you're a regular..." Spike froze, looking downward. "That pointy little unpleasant feeling in my chest... that's you with a stake pressed to me, eh?"
"Told you I was fast." Dawn put the stake back in her coat pocket. "Anyway, I smell demons. Hot-wire a car or something, let's get the hell out of here."
"Nibblet." Spike's disappointment shone. "Your Uncle Spikey raised you better than that."
"Let's get the hell out of here... please?"
"That's m'girl."
---------------------
"What did you say?" Buffy repeated, staring at Willow.
"I said I think it's too late to stop the bus... we're almost an hour out of town, aren't we?"
"Willow... that's... that's not what you said. You said..." Buffy fought down a blush. "You said a-a thing someone said to me... that I never told anyone about. And you said it word-for-word."
Willow leaned back against Kennedy, letting out a little sigh. "I guess -- I guess maybe I did? My brain is... all jumbly and full... I feel weird, pet..."
"There! There it is! You just called me 'pet' again!"
Angel, watching the proceedings with interest, sat up painfully. "Willow? What was the first thing I ever said to you?"
Willow bit her lip, thinking. "You said, uh, 'Darla and I had a little spat.'"
"Hell of a 'locator spell'," Angel grimaced, lying back again. "Remind me not to piss you off."
Buffy's nose scrunched in Angel's direction. "When did you talk to Willow about Darla? I don't remember..."
"That's the first thing I ever said... to Spike," Angel groaned. "Course, I called him 'Willy' back then..."
"You called Spike... Willy?" Xander beamed.
Angel grinned. "Called him a lot of things. Not many of them were polite. Maybe we should compare notes sometime."
"Liking Dead Boy more and more, Buff," Xander laughed. "So Will, what'd you do, suck Spike's brain out? And if so, may I say, bravo."
"Angel," Gunn said. "Your, uh... your nose is bleeding a little there..."
"Oh?" Angel touched it experimentally, his hand coming away red. "Damn, uh... anyone got a kleenex? I haven't gotten one of these in a few centuries, do I lean forward or back? I can't ever remember..."
"Uh... Angel?" Kennedy said in horror. "You might want to try forward... over a bucket..."
"What, I..." Angel looked down at his blood-soaked shirt. "What the..."
He raised his hand to his mouth, and it came away bloody; Angel spat blood into his palm, staring at it in confusion.
"When you make a vampire, doesn't the human blood get replaced with vampire blood?" Xander asked. "Maybe it's... uh... leaving... quickly..."
"That bucket might not be a bad idea," Angel gasped.
"Yeah, we forgot the bucket. Can you believe us? Who comes to the apocalypse without a bucket? Don't worry, next time, top of the checklist..."
"Xander," Angel groaned, curling into a ball, "Have I mentioned how much I haven't missed you?"
---------------------
Buffy paced down the cave tunnel, the sound of her heels echoing through the damp cavern. "How come our 'safe places' are never the Ritz Carlton? How come we always end up in these creepy, warded, templey..."
A soft voice, Willow's: "Talking to me?"
Buffy whirled. "Hey, Will. And, no. Talking to myself, I... thought I was alone. Needed some quiet, y'know, after the whole screamy-chaos-Angel-blood-transfusion-bus-hoedown."
"How's he doing?"
"Asleep." A small smile touched Buffy's lips. "And snoring."
"And now we know the real reason you're undeadsexual."
Buffy smiled. "Not needing to breathe does come in handy sometimes..."
"I can certainly think of some times," Willow chuckled.
"Willow!"
"You'd think the prophecy people would have been nice enough to give him human blood of his own," Willow mused, touching the small band-aid at her inner elbow. "I mean, what would have happened to him if he hadn't been with a busful of donors? And you know what else? I wonder what blood type he's going to end up as? I mean, he's got like, ten different people in him..."
"Dunno. I guess he'll be an... exotic blend." Buffy leaned against the cave wall. "So how come you're all... skulking around?"
"I actually, I... well, don't laugh, but I came out here to smoke," Willow said over the sound of striking flint. "Stupid childproof lighter, though... you'd think I could destroy the world, I could work one of these things..."
Buffy froze. "Will, you don't smoke."
"Yeah, I know. I got this from Faith. I thought I'd have one. Don't worry; just one."
A flare in the darkness; Willow sighed, her face barely lit by the ember. "Oh yeah. Still good."
"Still?"
"Well, in a way, I've been smoking for what, eighty years or so?" Willow grinned goofily. "Can't expect a girl to quit just like that."
Buffy took a step towards her. "Willow... we didn't really get to talk, what with Angel puking gallons of vamp blood on us and Giles with the freaking and the transfusioning and the, y'know, but, uh... this little, uh, Spike Attack you had?"
"Don't worry," Willow said, taking a deep drag. "I didn't suck Spike's brain out."
"Well, that's... good, I guess..."
"I think I sort of... downloaded him," Willow mused.
"You... you what?"
"Downloaded him, y'know? Like from a web server. The server still has the data, only now I have it too. Well, I did. It's fading fast, but... did you know he was at Woodstock?"
"Yeah, I... I did. Skip back to the downloady bit..."
"His memories." Willow tapped ashes onto a rock. "Like I said, it's fading now, but... it was kinda cool."
"'Kinda cool'. Remembering a century of soulless evildoing was 'kinda cool'?"
Willow laughed gently. "It's not like that. It's just... flashes. It's like any memory, y'know? They're not all in your mind at once. Well, they were in his, when he was in the basement, but... well. Getting your soul is pretty majorly unfun, as I recall."
"You... you remember getting his soul?"
"Oh, yeah. That memory's really strong. Y'know, for a Big Bad, he sure does end up on the receiving end of the torture a lot, huh? Angel, Dru, Darla, Glory, The First, the African Soul-People, you..."
"Hey," Buffy stammered. "He-he asked me to do that stuff..."
"Beat him to a pulp and tell him he had no good in him?"
Buffy paled. "No-no, other stuff."
"Yeah, I remember some of that," Willow nodded. "The memories with a lot of emotion connected to them are a lot stronger, y'know? I think that's why I remember the recent stuff better. The century of soulless evildoing didn't make as much of an impression. He didn't get any more emotional about the victims than you do dusting vamps, y'know? Bit of excitement during the hunting and the fighting and the killing, but nothing that stuck. They're the enemy, you kill 'em, end of story, all blurred together... I mean, it'd be like me trying to remember every time I ate chicken."
"We're talking about human beings, Willow..."
"Yeah. Food. For him, not me. I mean... I'm sure chickens think we're the Big Bad..."
"Are we talking about the memories of a hundred-year-old master vampire, or you becoming a vegan?"
"That would be hard, I really like cheese... but now that you..."
"Willow!"
"Huh?"
"Back to the point, please?"
"I had a point?"
Buffy groaned. "Look, Andrew told me that the reason they were keeping me in the dark about all this is because Wolfram & Hart made something the Watchers thought was a trap for me... does Spike know what the trap is?"
"Buffy... the thing Wolfram & Hart 'made' was Spike himself."
"I don't... I don't understand."
"Spike died, Buff. Dusted in the Hellmouth. And then woo-oo mysterious, that amulet reappears to Angel, ghost-but-not-Spike comes out of it..."
"Spike's a ghost? I saw him fight a dragon, he was definitely with the corporeal form..."
"He is now. And none of it's been explained, none of it. Why would the Big Bad want Spike back? That can't be good... who brings the person who defeated you back from the dead to do it again?"
"So... what is Spike now? Is he a trap?"
"Maybe? Look, I'd tell you if I could, but Spike doesn't know himself. I don't... I don't think he is. As far as he knows, he's the same."
A grin of relief spread over Buffy's face. "That's why Spike didn't call me, or come see me. That's why... he was protecting me..."
"Uhm..." Willow sighed. "I don't..."
"It makes perfect sense!"
"Um, sure, but... Buffy... I don't think that's all of it..."
"He still has his soul, right?"
"Definitely still does, yes..."
"Then Giles was right. Dawn's safer with him."
"Uh... what?"
"When we got here, and I was all leaving again, to go get Dawn..."
"I did wonder why you were still here..."
"Giles said that we were the Big Bad's main target, all smooshy in the caves like this. Hundreds of Slayers, you with the witchery, Watchers, all of Angel's team except Spike and Goth Stormtrooper Slut..."
"Is that what you're calling Fred?"
"Goth Stormstrooper Slut's name is Fred?"
"Yes. Well, no. It was. Actually, it was Winifred..."
"Wow. Stirrings of pity for Stormtrooper Slut..."
"She's not really Fred anymore. She's this god-thing, Illyria..."
"Spike's new honey is Glory Redux? And I thought he'd hit rock-bottom with Harmony."
"Actually, speaking of Harmony..." Willow closed her mouth, reconsidering. "Nevermind. The main thing is, Illyria's not his, uh, honey. He's friends with her, sort of. He was friends with Fred... it's... complicated."
"Oh, well, that's a big change from the norm. Everything in our lives is always so simple..." Buffy sighed, crossing her arms. "At least Dawn's safer than we are. If Spike has his soul, he'd die to protect her."
"Y'know," Willow said carefully. "He would have before. The soul, I mean. Buffy, you're... you're really hung up on this soul thing..."
"What do you mean?"
Willow took another drag off her cigarette. "I just think, well... I don't think you can measure Spike with the Angel yardstick."
"Meaning?"
"Angel... made it look simple. Angel with a soul equals good; Angel without a soul equals big, big bad. But Spike was becoming a good person... creature... thing, um, way before he ever got a soul. Doesn't that... kinda say something?"
"A good person? Willow, he tried to rape me!"
"You're not going to like what I'm about to say," Willow replied quietly.
"No, I'm not, I can tell by your voice. Say it anyway."
"Buffy... I'm not saying that he should have done that, or excusing it, or anything. I'm not saying that at all. But I don't think it's a big hammer-thing that smashes anything good he did before it happened... any more than the soul he got later magically transforms him into Angel The Blonde."
"Did I say that?"
"Not in so many words, no..." Willow sighed. "But you didn't believe in anything good he did without a soul... and he got magically forgiven for everything once he got one, 'cause you didn't even really see him as the same person. I just think maybe you're... oversimplifying."
"Look, Willow, I'll admit, I was confused too... I mean, Spike really did seem to be turning good or whatever. But then he..."
"Look, all I'm saying is... even taking that incident at face value..."
"Face value? What's that supposed to mean? What value are you taking it with? Willow, you weren't there."
"Buffy?" Willow tapped her forehead. "Yes, I was. And this is going to piss you off, but..."
"I'm already pissed off. Spit it out."
"You insulting him, telling him no, telling him you could never love him, yelling at him to get off you, him having to grab you and wrestle you down and stuff... that was, like, foreplay for you guys. And every other time he did that, you ended up all nakedy and screaming his name, in the good way."
"So what, I asked for it?" Buffy screeched. "Shouldn't have worn such a slutty bathrobe? Willow, you of all..."
"Buffy. I wish it hadn't happened to you. I know it was horrible a-and bad and wrong and my point here is, so did Spike. When he realized you really didn't want it, that you weren't just doing your usual 'no-no-get-off-no-no-oh-yes-yes-yes' thing, what did he do?"
"Well -- he left, y'know, upset."
"Yeah. How many rapists do you know who are all 'Oh golly, sorry, I'll just be leaving then' when they realize the girl's not into it?"
"Willow, that doesn't matter, he still..."
"He felt horrible, Buffy. He felt so much remorse, he went out and made sure he could never ever do it again. Do you understand that, Buffy? Remorse? A soulless demon, gettin' his remorse on... the implications are..."
"I know what the implications are, Willow. Do you? Willow, I've spent most of my life dusting vampires on sight, on the basic premise that they're eeeeevil. If I had to sit down with each one and determine exactly where they are on their spiritual journey of personal growth..."
"So... basically, you're using this one incident with Spike to invalidate every good thing he did before he got his soul, huh?"
"Will... look. It's intent. Spike did some really nice stuff, sure, but he did it to get in my pants... part of his whole sick little Slayer-obsession thingie. I'm not knocking Spike-with-a-soul at all, but Spike-with-no-soul was..."
"Are you not listening to me at all? You can't draw a line down him like that, Buffy! Even without his soul, he did all kinds of good stuff when he knew you would never find out!"
"Practice."
"What?"
"He was practicing. Y'know, for doing the good, to get in my pants."
"Wow, huh -- you have a really high opinion of your pants." Willow hurled her cigarette aside. "Buffy. Do you consider black-haired veiny Willow to be a part of me?"
"Of course not."
"And why not?"
"You're Willow. You're good. The black hair thing was..."
"Something that came from inside me."
"No. It didn't."
"Yes, it did." Willow stood up, shoving the lighter into her pocket. "Buffy... I know you're the Slayer, rah-rah, fight the evil, yarr, but the world isn't black and white, y'know? Until you can accept the grey, you're not really my friend... you're not really Spike's friend... and you're going to keep having these twisted relationships..."
"I see grey! I see tons of grey, I'm unsorted laundry, I'm..." Buffy bit her lip. "Is it cats or dogs that can't see colors?"
"They both have limited color vision, and that's not the point."
"Oh? What is the point?"
"I think..." Willow bit her lip. "I think maybe it goes beyond the rah-rah Slayer thing. I think maybe you can't admit that Spike could love you, really love you, without a soul... because then you'd have to ask yourself what it means that Angelus didn't."
"Why? Why are you saying this stuff to me?"
"Because Spike never will. And there's more, Buffy, there's so much you don't know..."
Buffy leapt to her feet. "Look, Will. I appreciate the little rally from the newest captain of the go-Spike-go cheering squad, but it's not necessary. I like Spike just fine. Better than fine. So you're wasting your breath, and this conversation's over."
"You know I was only sort of talking about Spike, Buffy..."
Buffy glared. "I have to go check on Angel."
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