Summary: Spike stops a warlock's spell, inadvertantly getting himself into deep trouble. Will Buffy be able to accept the changes in him? And what are they going to do about Glory?
Rating: PG-13
Giles frowned, not liking the sound of Buffy's news. "And Angel was certain of this?"
"Dead certain," Buffy said. "He said, and I quote, 'I can't smell a soul on him.' Personally, I didn't realize that souls smelled."
Willow was looking equally uncertain. "But that doesn't mean that something didn't happen to Spike. You said he'd been acting differently, you know, since the whole crucifixion thing."
"I don't know," Buffy sighed. "If I could be sure he had changed, it would be one thing. He did say he was in love with me, and he was acting really strange before that. Hanging around my house, that kind of thing."
Giles' head shot up. "What do you mean he said he was in love with you?" he demanded.
Buffy winced. She'd forgotten that she hadn't told her Watcher about that little conversation in the Bronze. "Actually, what he said was that he didn't want to see me dead anymore. I kind of guessed the rest of it."
He frowned. "This could be quite serious, Buffy. And dangerous. If he lied about getting a soul, there's no telling what he means to do."
"He didn't actually lie," Buffy said slowly. "After you told me about that extra curse I asked him what it meant, and he said he didn't know whether his soul was back or not. But if the warm fuzzies wear off, and he goes back to being his old annoying self, I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Spike is different." Giles, Willow and Buffy turned to look at Dawn, who was glaring daggers at all three. "He's nice. He cares about me, and Buffy."
"Dawnie-"
The girl cut Willow off in mid-sentence. "You're just saying all this because you don't really know him. Spike liked Mom too, and she liked him. You just don't want to have to deal with him because he makes you wonder if you're all wrong, about everything. But he went after that warlock before any stupid curse, so don't tell me he's evil anymore, because I don't buy it." And then Dawn stalked off to the back of the shop before anyone could stop her. Of course, they really didn't have anything to say.
~~~~~
Spike had a theory. Granted, it was a theory conceived at the bottom of a tequila bottle, but it was better than nothing. His theory was that it was all Buffy's fault. It was her fault he'd come back to Sunnydale, and thus her fault he'd gotten the chip. It was the chip's fault he didn't want to eat people, and since he didn't want to eat people, he actually wanted to help Buffy. That's what had led to indescribable pain and torment. So in the end it was Buffy's fault.
The cure, he decided, somewhere in between passing out and waking up, was to get the Slayer out of his system. And since out of sight meant out of mind, he would just have to keep the Slayer out of his sight until he could put her out of his mind.
Of course, he had no thought of leaving Sunnydale. That would make things too easy.
But Spike still had to pay his respects. Just because he wasn't going to talk to Buffy anymore didn't mean he was going to abandon his loyalties to Joyce or the Bit. He didn't bother dressing up for this trip, however; Angel had managed to rip his good shirt, so there wasn't much point. He didn't bring any new flowers either, since he thought Joyce most likely would have appreciated and recognized the gesture from the previous night. Even if Angel had to come along and ruin it all. In fact, perhaps he needed to revise his theory. Maybe it was all Angel's fault.
He hefted his ax in his hand. Once he'd paid his respects, the plan was to hunt. It was just what he needed to take his mind off things. And he was surprised once again, this time by a small huddled figure by the grave.
"Bit? What are you doing here?"
"Spike!" The girl looked up at him, startled. "I was just-"
He frowned, recognizing the implements she was using. "You were just tryin' to raise the dead. I know that book. It's not a good idea."
Dawn stared at him. "You don't know anything about it! I need her."
Spike's features softened. "I know."
"Please, Spike."
He squatted down next to her and gently ran his fingers along the carved letters, tracing out their pattern. "And what happens when it's not your mum that comes out of that grave, Bit?" he asked softly. "What happens when it's a monster and your sister or I have to take care of it? What do you think that would do to Buffy? Or me?"
Dawn suddenly reached out and grabbed the lapels of his leather coat, burying her face in his chest. "I can't live without her, Spike. Buffy won't even-she won't even look at me. Mom was the only one I belonged to."
He dropped the ax and plopped onto the damp ground. "Told your mum I'd look after you," he whispered into her hair. "Told her I'd keep you safe. Promised her, I did."
"Why do you care?" Dawn whispered, looking up at him through teary eyes. "Everybody was talking today, about what Angel said. They said you being nice was going to wear off."
"And you believed them?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "I told them they were being stupid."
"That's my girl." He stroked her soft hair for a while, and then helped her stand. "I'll walk you home, luv, but I'd 'preciate it if you didn't tell your sis about this. Think I'll try to avoid her for a while."
"Can I still come over?" Dawn asked petulantly.
"'course. Said you could any time, you know. But-" He hesitated, knowing that letting her come over would have Buffy after his head in a heart beat. "You keep it quiet now, hear?"
"Cross my heart," she promised.
Dawn clung to him all the way home, and he had to wonder why she trusted him when no one else seemed to. And if she did, why her sister couldn't find it in her heart to feel the same way. He had to wonder why one little girl cared when no one else did. Spike watched to be sure Dawn made it to the door. Watched as the Slayer met her sister and demanded to know where she had been, what she had been doing. Watched as they yelled at one another and screamed, and Buffy slapped her, and then they cried. Spike nodded thoughtfully to himself, knowing they'd be alright now. As he had told Dawn, he had promised Joyce that he would look after them, but from now on he would be a silent watcher, unseen, unheard. At least until he could manage to get the Slayer out of his head and out of his heart.
~~~~~
Buffy discovered something that should have scared her immensely: she missed Spike. In just a few days he had managed to worm his way so deeply into her life that now, when she hadn't seen him in three days, she started to worry. It was probably all part of his grand scheme to get to her; to be nice for a few days, and then suddenly she would want him around.
But it was undeniable, she missed him. She missed the smell of smoke and leather. She missed the way he moved and missed his snark and bluster. Most of all she missed the way he looked at her, as though she was the best thing since sliced bread.
And even if all of this should have terrified her, it didn't. It just intensified her desire to see him again, to find out what it was that had changed him. Because the more she thought about Dawn's words, the more she realized that her little sister had been right. Nothing had made Spike go after that warlock. At least, it wasn't any curse. And Spike had never claimed to have a soul, it was just an assumption that they had made.
Buffy put the last of the dishes away and then sat down at the table thoughtfully. Checking up on him might be a good idea. Really, she needed to get cracking on finding Glory. For that it would be useful to have Spike around. She shouldn't have let him run off after Angel's little proclamation. He was probably sulking right now, maybe at the bottom of a bottle.
She had asked Dawn if she'd seen him within the past two days. Dawn had only sniffed and stalked off, stating that if she really cared she'd go see him herself. Of course, at that point she hadn't been ready to admit that she cared, but now-
Well, now she'd just have to track him down.
~~~~~
Spike was still trying to figure out the ramifications of the curse carved on his chest. The warlock had been very clear on the perpetual torment, but he hadn't said anything at all about the guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.
The vampire lay on his back in the darkened bedroom. He'd used his free time in the last couple of days to scour the dump for anything good and had actually managed to find a decent set of box springs and a mattress. While he'd had to nick the sheets and bedding, he squelched whatever remorse might have sprung up over that little infraction, telling whatever passed as a conscience that stealing wasn't nearly so bad as killing people. And besides, wasn't he preventing people from being killed now? That had to balance out a little petty theft here and there.
Searching out usable items from the dump and decorating his place hadn't taken up nearly enough of his time though. And the rest of it he spent in thought, playing that evening over and over again in his mind, trying to get some idea of what that blasted magician had done to him.
The bastard had been quick, that was for sure. One minute he was sitting in his chair, watching the telly, and the next it had felt as though he were being picked up by a giant hand and pinned to the wall, exactly as an entomologist pinned his specimins. Except that the scientist usually had the mercy to kill the bugs first.
The man wasn't very tall or very big; about average height, average weight, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him except for his eyes, which were flat and dead. By the eyes, Spike had known that he had more mercy at his most evil than the warlock had.
After pinning him there on the wall, the warlock had started beating on him, explaining very carefully as he did so that he'd managed to track Spike by the blood he'd consumed. And then, as he'd carved up his chest, oh so slowly, he'd explained what he was going to do, in detail. Things got a little fuzzy right around there; Spike knew he'd passed out a couple times, and he had a feeling he'd missed a crucial point of the explanation. But he was certain that the warlock had stated that he would endure perpetual torment for daring to interfere. And, in fact, that since he had already undergone a change in nature, he would simply complete the process.
Whatever the hell that meant.
When Buffy had asked him if his soul had been returned, it had seemed to make sense to Spike. After all, he didn't want to kill anybody anymore, except perhaps for those who dared hurt the Slayer or his Niblet. In addition, he felt more than a twinge of guilt for the ones he'd killed in the past. He could imagine what they had been through now, and he cared. He had never cared before.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there were only two explanations for what had happened. Either the ritual itself had a much longer lasting effect than he'd previously thought, or the warlock had added something extra to it in the curse carved into his chest. Perhaps whatever change he'd been going through had begun long before, and this curse had simply pushed him over the edge. That may have been what the warlock had meant about a change in nature and completing it. At this point, he really wouldn't be surprised to find out that he had quietly gone insane when no one was looking. No sane vampire fell in love with the Slayer. Especially not a vampire without a soul.
Somewhere in the midst of all this pondering, he fell asleep, though it was a restless sleep. (He hadn't slept well since the curse.) When he finally did wake, it was to the scent of vanilla drifting past his nose. It smelled like-
"Hey." Spike's eyes flew open and he stared at the Slayer. She sat on the edge of his bed, and all he could do was stare at her. After doing his best to avoid her for the last few days, she ends up at his place, in his bedroom. "You decorated."
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
Buffy wouldn't meet his eyes, and Spike couldn't help but wonder why. "I wanted to talk to you. I hadn't seen you for a while."
"Didn't know you'd miss me." His tone was deliberately snarky. If the truth were to be told, he was spoiling for a fight, couldn't wait to piss her off so she'd leave him alone. It would be easier if she were cruel; it would be harder to love her. At least, in theory.
"Well, surprise," she said. And her voice was deliberately light, no offense taken.
They stared at each other, having come to a stalemate. "Why did you run off the other night?" she finally asked.
"You had Angel. You didn't need me."
Buffy gave a little huff that might have been a laugh. "Angel left. Angel can't stay because if he does, he'll lose his soul again, and we all remember how well that ended." She reached out a tentative hand to where his lay against the sheet. "I told you we were friends, Spike. I'm not planning on taking that back."
"Oh really?" he snarled. He snatched his hand back and rolled to a sitting position, standing up and pulling on a pair of pants at the same time. "So you make friends with the soulless undead now, do you? I'm sure the rest of the vampires in this town will be happy to hear it, luv."
"What is wrong with you?" Buffy demanded, standing and looking at him in disbelief. "Is this where whatever happened to you starts to wear off? Because I would have expected you to be happy that we were still friends."
"Friends?" he asked in disbelief. "Is that what you think we are? We'll never be friends, Slayer."
Buffy stared at him. The only thing that was keeping her from walking out and writing him off as a lost cause was the look in his eyes. He looked-hurt, lost even. "You said you liked me."
"That's what's wrong!" he finally cried. "I'm a vampire, or I was. I killed two Slayers. I was feared. I had Drusilla. I was the bloody Big Bad." Spike paced across the room, unable to stand still, even more unable to look at her. "And then you came along, and now what am I? What am I, Buffy?" he demanded.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
Now Spike stood before her, fists clenched, jaw tight, muscles trembling. "If I don't have a soul, what am I, Slayer?" he whispered. "If I don't want to eat people, if I-if I love the Slayer, the one girl in all the world that kills my kind like we kill humans, what does that make me?"
It was the first time he'd used the l-word out loud. Oh, Buffy had guessed. Spike wore his heart on his sleeve; it would have been hard to ignore once she realized it was out there. But this was the first time he had said it, and she knew she had to address it, mostly because she didn't feel the same way. "Spike-"
"Don't!" He glared at her, and if looks could kill... "That's just it. I know now. I know I'm a monster. I know what you see every time you look at me, and that's half the problem. I don't even know what I am anymore, and I'm drowning in you, Summers."
Buffy swallowed. "So you really feel bad about killing? Because if you do-"
"What difference does it make?" he asked impatiently. "If I'm sorry or not, doesn't bring 'em back, doesn't undo one bit of the harm I did. What's the point?"
"If you're sorry, then you won't do it again," she explained, as though to a slow child.
He laughed, a deeply bitter laugh on the verge of hysteria. "Right, because people with souls never do anything bad and then do it again, even if they feel sorry for it. Tell me another one."
Buffy was stumped. A soul made a difference. Angel had taught her that. A soul was supposed to make all the difference in the world. But this was Spike, and he really wasn't that much different than he had been before, except that he was. He was sorry, and he understood that she would never love him because of what he was.
And suddenly the actual soul didn't seem so important, whatever Angel had said he'd smelled. Spike was acting like he had a soul, and that was good enough for her. "Maybe it doesn't matter," she suggested.
He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Maybe Angel was wrong. I would have thought you would be the last person to listen to anything he said," Buffy stated. "And even if he wasn't wrong, you're different. Unless you're going to tell me that the Spike who had dinner with my family, who looked after my sister, who stayed with me until nearly dawn was all an act, I'm going to say that maybe it doesn't matter, the actual soul. Or maybe you're just weird. But that we already know."
Spike stared at her, and then the beginnings of a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," Buffy replied. "Look, Spike, I know how you feel about me, and I know it's hard." She looked down at her feet, considering her next words carefully. She didn't want to lie, or give him false hope, but she did want to give him an accurate picture of her feelings. "I need to not be in a relationship for a while," she finally said, honestly. "I really want some time just to figure out who I am without a boyfriend. Right now I can't remember a point in time when my life was not revolving around some guy. But that doesn't mean that someday I won't be ready to be in a relationship again."
"But it won't be me," he finished sadly.
"I didn't say that." She met startled blue eyes. "I won't say it's gonna happen, but I wouldn't completely rule out the possibility."
He gave her a genuine smile. "So I guess that leaves us as friends then."
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said we couldn't be friends."
"I was tryin' to piss you off," he admitted candidly.
Buffy returned his smile and sat down on his bed. "Any particular reason why?"
"Thought if I could do a good enough job you'd leave me alone and I could go about getting you out of my head." He came and sat down next to her. "Plans haven't been workin' out for me lately."
Buffy was trying hard not to stare at his chest. And his abs. Had Spike always been this attractive? Or was he just this attractive when he wasn't being annoying? "I kind of noticed." She was quiet for a minute. "Spike, I need to find out where Glory went to. Now that-now that things have settled down, I need to know what she's planning."
He hesitantly put his hand over hers. "You can count on me, pet."
Buffy smiled at him. And left her hand where it was. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."
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