Buffy fic: Buffy vs. the Soul

[ghost2]

Old fic posting!

TITLE: Buffy vs. the Soul
SPOILERS: major ones for first two episodes of S7 ("Lessons" and "Beneath You") and Living Conditions, Enemies, Halloween. Also spoils the "Angel" S3 finale ("Tomorrow").
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Buffy/Spike. Picks up from the end of "Beneath You." Buffy realizes she wants the "old" Spike back. The soulless Spike, that is.
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy" and "Angel" characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Anyway, they're not mine.
NOTES:
Takes place *before* the "Angel" S4 premiere.

Response to a challenge on the We Band of Buggered website.



Buffy stared at the vampire who was draped over the cross, smoke artistically rising about him in great plumes. She had to hand it to him; she'd never have guessed the real Spike was such a drama queen.

"Okay, you got me," she called. "You can move away now. I believe you about the soul, so just stop this nonsense."

Spike acted like he didn't hear her, instead continuing to mutter about resting. Buffy could distinctly smell burning flesh, and a warning flag arose in her mind.

'I can't believe this is happening to me,' she thought. Well, it seemed she could leave Spike to burn to a second death, or she could rescue him from himself. In other words, she had no choice. Heaving a deep sigh, Buffy strode forward, grabbed the insane vampire by the scruff of his neck, and yanked him loose from the cross. He hung limply in her grip, babbling mindlessly. He not only sounded bad, but he looked it, considering the red, weeping sores decorating his chest and arms.

Great. Another choice. She could drag Spike back to the school basement, dump him there, and hope he healed on his own and decided not to take a sunbath. Or, she could haul him home and try to nurse him back to health, not to mention sanity.

Buffy sighed again. As annoying as Spike could be, she had grown rather fond of him and would never be able to forgive herself if she didn't at least attempt to help him. Plus, by his own admittance, Spike had run off and gotten himself the soul because he wanted to be worthy of her. Which was simultaneously touching, and pretty sick. He was just lucky she was leaning toward the "touching" side.

"Come on," she ordered the crazed vampire. "I'm bringing you home with me, which is probably an incredibly stupid move but that's me these days."

Spike more or less allowed himself to be led, making the job fairly easy, although Buffy was sorely tempted to simply clock him over the head and carrying him when he went into a ramble about "purple flowers in Zimbabwe" and broken elevators, presumably not in Zimbabwe. What had become of the old, witty Spike who was actually coherent?

Steering her injured companion through the front door of the house, Buffy groaned when, too late, she remembered that Dawn was waiting for a status report about the worm creature. Sure enough, her little sister was perched on the living-room sofa in front of the TV, but she bounced up as soon as Buffy poked her head into sight.

"Buffy! Xander called and said you were okay but Spike kinda stabbed the worm guy and what the heck is *that*?" Dawn fixed wide eyes on the vampire's blistered, naked chest. "What happened to Spike? Xander didn't say anything about him being hurt. Of course, he wouldn't, I guess, but still, what did happen?"

Buffy gave what she figured would be her standard explanation for some time to come. "Spike went and got himself a soul, plus he went insane, so he's going to be living in our basement until I figure out what to do with him. Any questions?"

Dawn opened her mouth.

Buffy cut her off at the pass. "No? Good." Leaving her confused sister in her wake, she steered Spike to the basement door and down the steps, where she planted him in a corner. "Stay here, don't move, and I'll be back soon with blood." She paused to make sure Spike would obey, then went back upstairs. Sure enough, Dawn was waiting for her, arms crossed and a mutinous expression on her face.

"Don't think you can haul Spike in here and announce that he's living in the basement and expect me to accept it without questions," she blurted.

Buffy nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I expect you to do. Now, I want you to turn off the TV, go upstairs, go to sleep, and tomorrow you will go to school like usual with no argument. I'm going out to get blood for Spike. Don't be downstairs when I come back." With that, Buffy swept out of the house.

An hour later, she was back with a cooler of pig's blood and some clothes Spike had abandoned at his crypt when he'd left town. Dawn wasn't downstairs anymore, which meant she'd either obediently gone to bed or done something characteristically foolish. At the moment, Buffy didn't really care which. She just wanted to get Spike straightened out and then collapse for some sleep herself.

She tapped on the basement door before opening it, hoping not to startle Spike too much. "I'm back," she called softly, slowly moving down the stairs. She needn't have used so much caution, though. Spike was still curled up in the corner where she'd left him, holding a one-sided conversation with a crack in the floor.

"Look, Spike, blood." Buffy enticingly waved a bag in front of his nose.

Spike's eyes focused on it. "I know what that is," he stated with a burst of rationality. Then he continued, "Blood of a man I killed in Madagascar, ran beneath the carriage and stained the wheels and the pavement ate it."

So much for rationality. "It's pig blood." Buffy shoved the bag into his hands. "Take it. Drink it."

Spike made a great show of sniffing and then delicately tasting the liquid before he decided to gulp it down. When he repeated the process with the next bag, Buffy winced. She could already tell this was going to be one long night.

*****

The expected long night did indeed come to pass, so that Buffy awoke feeling groggy the following morning. Before going to work, she took a few minutes to lock and barricade the basement door in the hope that if Spike did try to make his way out, he would give up upon encountering an obstacle. After some more thought, she vampire-proofed every window in the house. Then she headed to the high school for her half-day of labor. Aside from Xander nearly driving off the road when she told him about Spike's soul, the ride was uneventful. The few hours she spent at the school went even more calmly, and when her workday was up, Buffy hurried straight home to find that...nothing much had happened. The basement barricade was untouched, the door remained locked, and when she ventured down the steps, Spike was still there.

Her hope that he had come to his senses in the span of 12 hours died a quick, merciless death when she saw that he was curled up in a ball, hugging himself and moaning. "Oleander, growing beneath me, and the snake eats its own tail. I forgot my speech."

"Come on, Spike," Buffy cajoled. "Come upstairs with me. I covered all the windows for you."

He didn't respond, merely hugging himself more tightly.

"At least let me see if your burns have healed." With some effort, Buffy coaxed Spike into allowing her to examine his arms and chest. Thankfully, the animal blood had worked and he was nearly recovered. "You look pretty good. Now, why don't you come with me and we can talk or something?"

In another lightning change of mood, he lowered his arms and glared at her. "Did *you* kill them all? When you've killed them, then come back and talk to me about going places. The dark, I belong to the dark and it's my rightful place."

"I take it that's a 'no.' All right. I'll try again later." Buffy made a strategic retreat, telling herself Spike simply needed more time. After all, the experience of regaining one's soul must be unbelievably traumatic. Angel had gone through the same thing and he had also taken it pretty hard.

Buffy frowned. In fact, Angel had taken it tremendously hard. She didn't like where her thoughts were taking her. She settled on the couch and searched her memory. As far as she could recall, Angel had admitted to basically having been good for nothing for about a hundred years after being cursed with his soul. She couldn't wait a hundred years for Spike to recover. Besides the obvious fact that she wouldn't live that long, she'd go crazy, too.

What had she gotten herself into? No, more to the point, what had *Spike* gotten her into? She hadn't asked him to go off and get ensouled, had she? No, the idiot had pulled that trick off all by himself, but look who he stuck with the consequences of his actions.

On the verge of panic, Buffy couldn't hold in her feelings any longer. She stormed outside and screamed to the heavens. "Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? My life was finally straightened out, more or less, and then I got thrown this curveball. Wasn't it bad enough that Angel was all mopey because he had a soul? Now Spike has to be the exact same way? Why? Why? Why?"

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and did it again. There. She felt better. A little better, mind you, not a lot, but still better. She could face the disaster head on and deal with it. She would just have to find a way to accelerate the adjustment process for Spike. A century was an awfully long time to wait.

And then Buffy thought of a potential solution.
Perhaps Angel could provide some useful advice, considering that he was the only other vampire in the world to have lived through the same situation.
He might even be able to tell her how to fix Spike, if a miracle shortcut existed. Somewhat cheered, Buffy went back inside the house and picked up the telephone to call him. Then she stopped. She couldn't remember Angel's number. Well, she defended herself, it *had* been a while. Deciding not to waste another second, she obtained the number from information and dialed it.

The phone rang once, twice. "Hello?" a voice answered. It sounded remarkably like that of a sullen teenage boy.

Maybe she had the wrong number. "Is this Angel Investigations?" Buffy asked.

"Yes," the boy answered.

"Is Angel there?"

"No."

With that, he hung up on her. Buffy punched in the digits again and waited while the phone rang.

"Angel Investigations." This time, the voice was that of a young-sounding woman.

"Hello," Buffy replied. "I'm trying to reach Angel."

"He isn't here. I can help you, instead."

"No, I really need to talk to Angel. Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Honestly, I don't have a clue. I think you should talk to Gunn."

There was a murmuring in the background and then a male voice came on the phone. "Hey, what's up?"

"I wanted to talk to Angel, but I was just told that he isn't around. Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No idea," the man informed her. "We're talking possibly months or years here."

Just her luck. Buffy thought for a moment. "Is Wesley there?"

"Nope."

"How about Cordelia?"

"Sorry."

The conversation was getting more surreal by the second. "Is *anyone* else there that I can talk to within, say, the next week?"

"It's me, Fred, and Connor," the man responded. "Take your pick."

"Connor? Who's Connor?"

"Angel's son."

"Okay, thank you for your time." Buffy promptly hung up. And she thought *her* life was weird. Her Los Angeles acquaintances seemed to have been sucked into the twilight zone and replaced with strangers. Maybe when she had a few spare days she'd see about rescuing them, but for the time being she was forced to scrap the idea of asking for advice from Angel. Or Wesley. Or even third-stringer Cordelia. It looked like she was back to the drawing board.

*****

"Spike, please come out of the basement." That evening, Buffy stood impatiently tapping her foot, hoping the stubborn vampire would obey without a fuss.

"Don't belong there, too good for me," he protested.

"Spike, it's only my living room. Dawn's always dropping crumbs in there and the carpet needs to be replaced. Trust me, it's definitely not too good for you."

"No good, useless, no one needs me. Not even the moon hanging high in the sky or the anthill rising beneath you."

That "beneath you" blathering had gotten really old, really quick. "Come on, Spike, snap out of it. Things aren't so bad. So you have your soul back. That's a good thing, right? No one's mad at you. We all forgive you for everything you did."

"Lies, all lies, don't believe you," Spike mumbled.

"It's true," Buffy assured him. "Look at me. I'm saying right here, I forgive you."

Spike paced from one side of the room to another with choppy strides. "Don't believe you, no one else is here. I might be insane but I'm not blind. Room's empty except for us and the giraffe."

The crazy vampire had a point there, except for the part about the giraffe. Buffy was indeed the only one telling him she forgave him. Therefore, she had to gather reinforcements. "Fine, Spike, wait here and I'll bring them to you."
She ran upstairs and called, "Dawn! I need your help." While she waited for her sister to show up, she grabbed the phone and called Xander and Anya. Unfortunately, that was the end of her list. She only hoped she had enough people to convince Spike.

Within half an hour, the small group had gathered in the living room to hear Buffy out. "This is very important," she announced. "I need your help. Badly."

"With what?" Xander asked.

"Well, actually, Spike," Buffy admitted. She'd been holding off mentioning his name as long as possible.

Xander jumped to his feet. "Sorry, Buffy, whatever it is, you can count me out."

"You all have to tell Spike you forgive him," Buffy blurted before the entire gang could bolt.

"What? I don't wanna," Xander complained. "You can go around acting like you're in love with Spike, moving him into your house and all that, but that doesn't mean I have to go along with it."

Buffy got in his face and backed him toward the couch. "Frankly, at this point I don't much care *what* you want or what you think. For one thing, you have no say in my feelings for Spike. For another, you're not the one who's taking care of an insane vampire in your basement, are you? No? Then shut up and do what I tell you."

Xander looked at the floor. "Okay, okay, I'll lie. I just hope it makes you happy."

"Me too," Buffy agreed. "You have no idea how much I hope that."
Getting no protest from Anya or Dawn, she led the group to the basement and the
agitated vampire. "Go on," she prompted.

"Spike, I forgive you," Dawn volunteered. "You have your soul now so you're a different vampire and we can move on."

"What she said," Anya stated, not offering a syllable more.

Buffy turned to Xander. "Well?"

"Okay, fine." He looked at Spike, then away. "Buffy's making me say this, but I forgive you too. Happy?"

Spike's eyes slowly filled with tears. "I don't deserve to be forgiven," he wailed in an ear-piercing tone. "Bad, evil, vicious vampire killed them all, never forgive him because he loved their blood."

Oh, crap. Chalk up another failed plan. Dispirited, Buffy ushered her companions upstairs. "Thanks for trying, anyway."

"Yeah." Xander grimaced. "No problem, I guess."

"I'm certainly not doing that again," Anya stated in her usual forthright manner.

"Poor Spike," contributed Dawn. "I feel pretty bad for him."

"If you want, we could try something else," Buffy began.

Xander cringed and blurted, "I have to get to work. Now. Right now!" He fairly bolted out the door.

"I'm booked up, too," Anya agreed. "Good luck with the crazy demon. I've seen cases that never recovered." She shook her head. "I'm afraid Spike might be one of them." And she was gone, too.

"Thank you, Anya, for bringing sunshine into my drab life," Buffy moaned. "I definitely see the light on the horizon now."

Dawn patted her arm. "Hey, Buffy, why don't we both go talk to Spike? I think he might listen to us this time."

Buffy spared her sister a smile. "It's worth a try. We can bring him some blood and see if that helps."

She and Dawn each toted a bag back to the basement, where Spike was seemingly mesmerized by a gigantic black spider high on the wall.

"Spike, nice, yummy, fresh blood," Buffy greeted him.

"Food, not McDonald's crispy chicken," Spike rambled before he
accepted the bag and went through his routine of sniffing and gingerly tasting it.

"You don't need to test it every time," Buffy reminded him. "I know better than to give you human blood."

"Human? It's human?" He hurled the bag across the room.

"No, I said it *wasn't* human," Buffy pointed out a little too late. "Oh, geez." She stared at the blood-splattered wall and floor. "I ought to make you lick it up. Spike, what am I going to do with you?"

He stared at her with wide, nervous eyes before he backed into his favorite corner and began to recite the alphabet.

Buffy turned to Dawn. "No, really, what *am* I going to do with him? I can't believe how much he's getting on my nerves already." The truth was, Spike was giving her a monumental headache.

Dawn glanced at the vampire and back at her sister. "Buffy, I hate to say it, but I liked the old Spike better."

"So did I, Dawn."

"Too bad we can't have *him* back."

That innocent comment uttered by her sister started Buffy's mental wheels turning. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed.
Maybe they *could* have the old, unsouled Spike back, after all.
"Dawn, you're a genius!"

"I am?" Dawn looked stunned. Rightfully so, because no one had ever called her a genius before, and it was extremely unlikely to happen again.

"Yes, a genius," Buffy repeated. "You gave me a wonderful idea. I'm going to get rid of Spike's soul!"


*****

The day after making the decision to dispose of Spike's soul, Buffy returned home after her half-day of work to devote a few hours to the fulfillment of her mission. She was determined to go about it in the most efficient way possible, so she sat down and compiled a list of all the ways she knew of to remove a soul. First she wrote, "Curse with happiness clause, a.k.a. Angel's downfall." Next came "Sucked out by Mok'tagar demon," in honor of her college roommate, Kathy. Finally, she added the ritual used by Giles' friend, the mage who had almost stolen Angel's soul.

Finished, Buffy examined the list. Where was a gypsy with a curse when she needed one? If she could get the clause pinned on Spike, she could then neatly get rid of his soul by making him happy. It would work out perfectly. All she had to do was find someone who could cast the curse on Spike.

After much thought, Buffy turned to the Internet for help. She pointed and clicked her way across several search engines and websites until she hit pay dirt: a gypsy organization that sounded like a promising lead. It ought to have suitable curse-wielding members to spare. Encouraged, Buffy logged off the Internet and dialed the phone number she had copied down from the website.

"Hello, Romani Association of America," a woman answered. "How may I direct your call?"

Buffy adopted her most convincing tone. "I need a gypsy who can perform a curse. Preferably a gypsy from the Kalderash clan, but this is a pinch so pretty much anyone will do. I'd cast the thing myself but I don't have any experience."

"Excuse me?"

"Gypsy, curse, help? I know it sounds weird, but it's an emergency." Buffy anxiously waited for an answer, but there was no response. "Hello? Hello?" A distinct *click* followed her words. The woman had hung up on her.

Determinedly, Buffy punched the redial button.

*****

"So then she told me if I called back, she'd refer me to the ACLU," Buffy complained to her two companions during a get-together that afternoon at the Bronze. "Can you believe her nerve?"

Dawn nodded. "Yep, nerve was definitely involved."

"What I want to know is, why can't I ever have a normal boyfriend? We all know about Angel, Riley unfortunately had some hidden drawbacks, and if it isn't one thing with Spike, it's another."

Xander tentatively raised his hand. "I'm currently unattached."

Buffy stared him down. "I rest my case."

"Now that you've tried and failed, you're going to leave Spike's soul alone, right?" Dawn asked, cleverly changing the subject.

Buffy firmly shook her head. "Not a chance. That was only my first attempt. I have no intention of giving up so easily. In fact, I went right back online and did a people search for anyone in the whole country with the last name of Kalderash. There aren't that many, but I'm going to call them all and see if any of them can help me."

Xander dipped a French fry in mustard and plopped it into his mouth.
"You're going to a lot of trouble for old Spike. Since he's so much of a mess, why don't you just stake him and put him out of his misery?"

"If I couldn't kill him back when he was chipped but without a soul, I definitely can't do it now that he's chipped and has a soul." Buffy shrugged. "It's just one of those weird things you have to get used to about me. I don't usually go around killing souled creatures."

"But you're willing to take their souls away," Dawn pointed out. "And you don't even know *how* Spike got his soul."

"You think that makes a difference?" Buffy considered. She didn't see why it would. Past baddies hadn't seemed to care one way or the other when they'd set about their little soul-stealing missions. Still, Dawn had raised an issue, so she ought to look into the situation. If she could even get Spike to discuss it.

*****

After giving Dawn permission to stay over at a friend's house that night, Buffy returned home alone. It was probably best if she approached Spike one on one; he tended to become even more nervous in Dawn's presence. This way, she had the whole evening to work on him. Maybe, if all else failed, she could at least
cut his recovery time down by a decade or two. With that tantalizing thought in mind, Buffy set out to lure Spike out of that damn basement. She was beginning to hate the sight of the place.

She ventured down the steps to see that Spike was crouched next to a cardboard box, whispering to an entity only he could see.
"Spike," Buffy called softly, attracting his attention, "I need your help tonight when I go out slaying. You could be very useful. You'd like that, right?"

Spike lowered his head and rocked himself.

"Or not. Okay." Buffy tried another tack, extending the ultimate bait. "Please come upstairs, Spike. You can watch television. Whatever you want. I'll even let you hold the remote control."

"Don't wanna. All dead. Not mine."

Buffy sighed. Her patience had ebbed to a record low. "Fine. Don't say I didn't try to do this the easy way." She strode across the room, grabbed Spike by the arm, and literally dragged him back to the living room. Shoving him onto the sofa, she ordered, "Sit. Stay. I have something I know you'll like." Buffy had made a big sacrifice and had videotaped that day's episode of "Passions." She was even prepared to watch it with Spike so he wouldn't feel lonely. Confident that her surprise would succeed in cheering him up at least a fraction, she started the tape.

Half an hour later, Buffy shook herself out of the stupor the show had induced in her and glanced at the miserable lump of vampire next to her. Judging by his glazed eyes, Spike was about as interested in the program as she was. "Now what's wrong? I thought you liked this show."

"Timmy's dead. It's no fun anymore."

Well, she had tried. Anyway, if Spike didn't want to watch, that meant she was off the hook, too.
Buffy stopped the tape and turned to the vampire, seizing the opportunity to
worm some information out of him. "Spike, this is very important. You know you can trust me, right? I mean, I'm providing your food, and your shelter, and your entertainment, such as it is, so it's only fair that you give me something in return. Right?" Encouraged by Spike's silence and seeming attention, Buffy continued, "I need you to tell me how you got the soul. After all, it isn't like it's something you can buy off of any street corner. So what happened?"

Very calmly, Spike stated, "I stowed away on a ship to Africa. They give them out there if you fight for them."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, that was a good one. Now tell me the truth."

Spike set his jaw and refused to speak. He almost looked like his old self in that moment. Could he already be snapping out of it?

Testing him, Buffy suggested, "Remember what I said before? We can go slaying together. I want your help. Really. I'm asking for it."

Which instantly set Spike off again. "No slaying ever again unless it's me. Bad, evil, useless, soul doesn't help."

"All right! Fine!" Buffy yelled. "You don't have to come with me!"
She stopped and took a deep breath. Spike had stopped babbling and merely looked confused, which wasn't much of an improvement. She really had to get herself refocused. What could she possibly say that might get through to him?
"Can I get you anything? Do you have any hobbies? Something you like to do?"

"Pen. Paper," Spike related.

He wanted to write something. All right. His thoughts might even come out more smoothly on paper. Buffy grabbed a notebook and pen from Dawn's nearby pile of school supplies and handed them to Spike. "Here. Have fun."

She retreated as far as the kitchen, where she could listen for sounds of movement and stop Spike if he tried to leave the house. For long minutes, she heard only the low scratch of pen on paper. Finally, Buffy couldn't take the suspense any longer. She needed to know what Spike was writing.

The second she stepped back into the living room, he stopped. "Let me see?" Buffy asked. She removed the notebook from Spike's unresisting fingers and looked at it. The front was covered with heavy, dark-blue words.
What could Spike possibly have written? A treatise on the nature of the soul? A heartfelt apology? A journal entry?

As it turned out, none of the above. It was something about... "'High aeries and radiant eyes that rest among azure flowers.' What the hell is this?" Buffy stared at the notebook. Spike had jotted down line after line of what she guessed was meant to be poetry. But it wasn't just any poetry. It was really, really bad poetry.

"Um, this is something, Spike." Buffy was truly at a loss for words. "I've never read anything quite like it, that's for sure." She hid the notebook behind her back, hoping he wouldn't ask for it back. "Well, enough of that. What do you want to do now? Whatever you want."

Wordlessly, Spike rose and darted back into the basement. Dragging him out had definitely been a mistake.

Buffy knew one other thing, too. Dawn was going to be pissed when she saw what Spike had scrawled on her algebra notebook.

*****

With another day dawned new hope. All wasn't lost yet. Finding a gypsy who was willing to curse Spike had turned into a longshot proposition (for some reason, the Kalderashes she had found via her Yahoo! search hadn't returned her phone calls), so Buffy simply moved on to the issue of locating a Mok'tagar demon. How hard could that be? She'd unwittingly had one as her college roommate, so they were probably littering the streets of Sunnydale, posing as humans.

Research was an issue, but Willow had left plenty of pertinent books in the house when Giles had taken her away to England. All Buffy had to do was plow through them. She devoted several hours to that task, and eventually reached
one very important conclusion: Doing research was so much easier when Giles was around.

Frustrated, Buffy shoved aside yet another musty, useless book. It seemed Mok'tagar demons were not as prevalent as she had hoped. Plus, even if she *could* manage to locate one, the chances of persuading it to take Spike's soul would be about nil. Kathy notwithstanding, by all accounts the average Mok'tagar wouldn't perform such an action without suitable justification, and Buffy was pretty sure they wouldn't buy her reasons, valid though they seemed to her.

Well, the situation couldn't be helped.
Buffy crossed the Mok'tagar item off her soul-removal list and moved down to the third, and last, possibility: the mage. Which meant she'd have to get in touch with Giles, if only to find out how to locate his friend.
She dialed the phone number Giles had left with her, only to be informed by a stranger that he wasn't around and she should try back in another few hours.

That news gave her plenty of time to try to make inroads with Spike. Buffy proceeded to the basement once more. This time, though, she had an idea that
might just result in success. All she needed was for Spike to confirm her suspicions.

The second he saw her, Spike turned away and wrapped his arms around a thick pipe, clutching it with all of his strength. "Not going upstairs, upstairs is evil and bad like me, never going there again."

Buffy circled around to face him, but stayed a comfortable distance away. "Don't worry, Spike, I won't force you to go upstairs. If you do go up there, it will be because you want to. I just needed to ask you one little question. Remember when you acted like the old Spike? When you helped me fight the worm creature? You said you were wearing a costume. Can you explain what you meant?"

"Like a Halloween costume, like that Halloween you and your friends turned into your costumes. Thought it might work for me. Wrong again, deluding myself."

Spike then launched into a string of unrelated babble, but Buffy had heard enough. She'd come up with a sure way to get him to willingly leave the basement.

*****

Three hours later, Buffy again dialed Giles' number in England.

"Hello," the familiar voice answered.

"Giles, this is Buffy. How are you and Willow doing?"

"Quite well. As a matter of fact, Willow will be re-"

"Good," Buffy interrupted, done with the small talk. "Actually, the reason I'm calling is because something big is going on here. So big, you probably won't believe me at first." She paused for dramatic effect. "Spike has a soul."

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Spike was gone all summer, but he's back now and he has a soul. Don't ask me how he got it, though. He's pretty incoherent."

"Are you certain he is ensouled?"

"Oh, no doubt about it," Buffy confirmed. "Anya could tell by looking at him."

"How fascinating. How is he reacting?"

"Like Angel at his absolute worst, times ten or so."

"That badly?"

"That badly. It's really hard on him. Not to mention me." Buffy launched into the speech that would make or break her attempt at obtaining Giles' help. "I feel responsible for Spike's safety, so much so that I moved him into my basement. And this may surprise you, but I honestly believe he would be better off without his soul. He's still chipped, so there's no danger to humans. What's the harm in sending that soul right back into the ether? It would probably be happier there anyway, and I know I would be. I've tried to think of ways to get rid of it but things aren't going so well and then I decided to call you. You know your friend the mage? I need his phone number. But if he doesn't do the job, you'll have to help me out a little. There have got to be tons more ways to get rid of souls. Let's get into share mode here."

Giles cleared his throat. "Given the circumstances, Buffy, I don't feel comfortable relating that information to you. The very fact that Spike has a soul is amazing in and of itself. I would be highly reluctant to assist you in taking it away from him."

"But he doesn't even like it. It's making him miserable--not to mention me."
Buffy whispered into the receiver, "He's been writing poetry. Can you imagine the old Spike ever writing poetry? It's downright creepy."

"I'm sure the matter is of great concern to you. However, I am not at all convinced that you have decided upon a wise course of action. Have you-"

Buffy interrupted again. "You don't know how bad it is. Today, he wouldn't even come out of the basement until I made him put his Giles costume on."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Giles murmured, "I probably don't want any details about that, do I."

Buffy glanced at the tweed-clad vampire sitting across the room from her. "Um, no, probably not." She'd even had to make a special trip to Wal-Mart for a pair of those little glasses to complete Spike's new look.

Another long silence ensued, followed by a drawn-out sigh. "I'll have to think about the subject and get back to you, Buffy. I will say this much: You've certainly succeeded in worrying me. We'd best say goodbye now."

"Wait, don't... hang up." Too late. Slowly, Buffy placed her own receiver back in its cradle and shot the vampire a dirty look. "I hope you appreciate all these calls I'm making on your behalf. None of them are panning out, but my phone bill next month is going to be a bitch anyway. It's a good thing for you I still think you're worth it. At least, until I get the bill. I might change my mind then."

Unperturbable in Giles mode, Spike merely gazed serenely back at her.

It seemed like she'd reached the end of the line. Buffy realized she had to face the fact that she might permanently be stuck with this odd version of Spike. She'd tried, she'd honestly had, but her plans had been doomed to failure. What else could she do now except simply accept Spike as he was and invest in a cabinetful of aspirin?

Upon this dismal thought, the doorbell rang and Buffy got up to answer it. She swung open the door to see one of the last people she expected, but perhaps the one she was most grateful to encounter.

"Willow."

Willow, who had performed the ritual to restore Angel's curse. Willow, who could, theoretically, curse Spike, as well.

"Hey." Mind awhirl with possibilities, Buffy stepped back from the door. "You're home. Obviously. Which is quite a surprise."

Willow smiled tentatively. "Yeah, Giles and I thought it might be better if I just came back without calling first. We weren't exactly sure what your reaction would be."

"Oh, it's good." A grin began to spread across Buffy's face. "You couldn't have picked a better moment to return."

Willow cocked her head. "Huh? Why is that?" She finally stepped inside the house and Buffy closed the door behind her. "And why is it so dark?" Willow glanced at the closed curtains before her gaze fell on the other occupant of the room. "Spike's here? When did he come back?"

"I found him in the high-school basement about a week and a half ago, but it feels like a heck of a lot longer."

Willow continued to stare. "What's with the mini-Giles look? Not that it doesn't suit him."

"Believe me, it was necessary. Although I never knew tweed was so expensive."

Spike looked up from his copy of "Horton's Demon Compendium." "Willow, it's good to see you back. Buffy told me what happened to you. I trust you're feeling more yourself now?"

Willow stepped forward and began to address the vampire. "Hi, Sp--"

Buffy pulled her back, effectively cutting off the greeting. "Stay back from him for a minute. I have to explain something to you first. Long story short: Spike's living in my basement. Somehow, he got his soul back. I'm not sure how it happened, where it happened, or exactly when it happened, but he's a wreck because of it. Only if he wears a costume, he's much calmer. I figured, who better to imitate than logical, level-headed Giles, who happens to be on the other side of the world anyway." No response. "Hey? Willow?" Buffy waved a hand in front of her friend's face.

"Sorry," Willow came back to herself and apologized. "Still trying to absorb. Spike not only looks like Giles, he even sounds like him."

"I know, it's pretty remarkable. But it gets better. Watch." Buffy went over to Spike, who was again buried in an old text. "Giles." She emphasized the name, attracting his attention. "I need you to research Kigor demons for me--appearance, attacks, habitat, all that sort of thing." She returned to Willow. "Now we just sit back and wait. We can talk, too. Talking would be good, and it's definitely necessary."

The women seated themselves across the room from Spike, who had taken Buffy's words to heart and was plowing through a mound of papers and books.

With an obvious effort, Willow tore her eyes away from the incredible sight. "Just tell me one thing: Do I have to call him 'Giles' now, too? 'Cause that would be really weird."

"I know," Buffy acknowledged. "Don't you think having to do it creeps me out? But I want to keep him in character. Fortunately, it's working out pretty well. He seems content to be left alone with his research materials and he doesn't require much conversation." Buffy paused, trying to think of the most effective approach to take to soften Willow up. A misdirect seemed like a good idea. "Well, enough about Spike. How was your trip?"

For the next little while, the two talked about the flight, Buffy's new job, and Xander, all the time carefully avoiding any mention of magic, vampires, or souls.

Running out of small talk, Buffy was relieved to find another subject to discuss. This one was bound to help her attain her main goal of obtaining Willow's magical help. She nudged her friend. "Look over there."

Together, they checked out Spike's work on the Kigor demon. He had already turned out a credible drawing of the horned creature, three books with marked passages, and a chart filled with pertinent facts. And he was still slaving away.

Willow's eyes widened. "Wow. That's very Gilesian. Only, Spike's better at sketching."

"Yeah. He could have been a Watcher himself. He's great at research. But I'm afraid to break him out of this mode. When he's Spike again, he's pretty much unbearable. I've never heard so much whining and crying and carrying-on. He's taking this soul thing very hard. Which leads me to a serious matter. I have to ask you for a small favor. It's something only you can do and if you say no, I have no other options. My back's against the wall here."

"I'll do whatever I can to help, Buffy," Willow promised.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Buffy paused, taking her time in selecting the words that would best help her cause. "Now, let me start by saying I know you're not supposed to use magic anymore after almost destroying the world. But while you were in England you must have gotten hooked up in one of those 12-step programs. Which means if you just happen to have a tiny little relapse then all you do is work the program and everything's okay, right?"

Willow frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure what you're getting at, but Giles told me I can't *not* use magic. It's a part of me now."

"Oh." Buffy took a moment to mull over that information. "Well, that's both incredibly disturbing in case you go on another rampage, and incredibly convenient for me."

With dawning alarm in her voice, Willow repeated, "Convenient? How?"

"I don't like Spike's soul and I need you to curse him so if he experiences a moment of happiness, he'll lose it," Buffy announced. "It should be a piece of cake for you. You did it to Angel way back when you were still a junior witch or whatever."

"Buffy, I can't do that! It's... it's...." Willow fumbled for a word. "It's overkill!"

"You mean there's an easier way of sending off the soul?"

"No, I mean I won't have anything to do with getting rid of it at all!" Willow glanced at the hard-working vampire and lowered her voice. "It isn't right. The very fact that Spike has regained his soul is a miracle. It's not something to complain about. You have to work with him to try to get him reacclimated to the world. He's seeing life through new eyes. Give him a chance."

"Willow, you're looking at things the wrong way." Buffy summoned all of her patience to calmly explain. "First of all, this reacclimation will probably take the better part of a century. Second, even if Spike does adjust, he won't be the same. No more sparring, no more snide remarks, no more arguments. Heck, the 'new' Spike will probably even be nice to Xander, and you have to admit, that just wouldn't be natural. I don't want a souled, emasculated loser of a Spike--I want the old Spike I loved to hate. Plus, I feel partly responsible for his condition. Spike said he got the soul for me. Most men don't even bother to pick up flowers on anniversaries. Spike, on the other hand, is a diamond in the rough. Or he *was*."

Willow nodded. "According to 'Cosmo,' you are *so* right about the flowers thing."

Buffy beamed.

"But I'm still not going to participate in this crazy scheme."

Buffy's smile disappeared. "I don't think I've made matters clear enough. I've decided what will happen. There is no room for negotiations."

"If you're so set on this, why pick on me? Can't you find someone else to help?"

"Willow, I've tried. You wouldn't believe how many times I've been hung up on in the last few days."

Willow brightened. "I know! Anya's still all vengeance-demony, right? Why don't you sic her on Spike?"

"I thought about that."

"And...?"

"And I concluded that since Anya's typical methods of retaliation seem to consist of placing boils on penises or transforming her victims into ravening monsters, I'd rather bypass her. I want my Spike whole."
Sensing a chink in her friend's armor, Buffy pressed her advantage. "Like I said, you're my last hope. You of all people should realize how pathetic that fact is--that I'm turning for aid to the person who only a few short months ago practically demolished the world."

As Willow's face fell, Buffy prepared to experience the sweet feeling of victory. She had chosen precisely the right words and her plan was guaranteed to work. Just as long as Willow didn't ask what Giles had said.

Willow bit her lip. "You must have discussed this with Giles. What did he say?"

'Oh, shit.' "Giles doesn't understand the gravity of the situation."

"In other words, he told you it was a bad idea."

Scrambling to do damage control, Buffy offered, "He could still call me back with help. Okay, so I'm not holding my breath, but he could. It's not beyond the realm of possibility."

"But Buffy, didn't you always used to yell at Spike for being evil and soulless?"

"Shut up, Willow. That was then and this is now. I'm matured since then. I've grown as a person. I've become desperate." Buffy looked imploringly at Willow, but saw no hint of softening on her features. It was time to haul out the big guns. Buffy jumped up, strode over to Spike, and plucked the wire-rimmed glasses off of his face. "Spike, get back in that basement. You're not Giles anymore."

His head drooped down and he scuttled away, abandoning his research. A twinge of regret shot through Buffy, but she quickly buried it. After all, she had to win Willow over and the best way to do it was to show her the new and decidedly unimproved version of Spike. She waited until the vampire was safely gone and then turned back to Willow. "Your luggage is outside, right? Let's bring it in."

"You're all right with me staying here?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way. We can even switch rooms."

Together, they hauled Willow's two suitcases inside and upstairs to Buffy's bedroom. Okay, so she'd have to take over the room in which Tara had died, but it was a tactical maneuver. She'd make Willow feel beholden to her, then spring the trap. At that point, Buffy wasn't above using any advantage she could finagle, no matter how unfair.

After helping Willow unpack, Buffy checked her watch. She'd given Spike a 15-minute headstart, which should have been plenty of time to allow him to get really worked up. "Willow, how about we go visit with Spike? You can see him in his full ensouled glory."

"You're not going to try to talk me into, *you know*, again?"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't think I'll need to. I'm sure you'll start seeing things my way after about, oh, 30 seconds or so in Spike's presence."
She allowed a wary Willow to precede her to the basement, where Spike was huddled near the foot of the stairs, clutching his knees and rocking.

"He doesn't look so bad," Willow offered.

Unfortunately, she was right. 'Come on, Spike, *please* come through for me,' Buffy willed him. "Why don't you tell Spike you forgive him?" she prompted Willow. "Forgiveness is a big issue with him nowadays."

Willow hesitated, presumably gauging the potential dangers of such an action, before she nodded. "All right." She knelt down in front of the vampire. "Spike, I forgive you for the time you held a broken bottle to my throat, and tried to bite me, and kidnapped me, and attacked Xander, and locked me up, and threatened me, and...."

Spike's eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm bad and evil and useless. I hurt the girl."

Willow halted her spiel. "The list thing obviously isn't working, so I'm going to make it simple. Spike, I forgive you for everything bad you've done to me, ever. Does that help? Do you feel any better?"

Spike shook his head. "You forgive me, but she doesn't and he doesn't and they don't and neither do they." He gestured at the room behind her.

Willow turned around. "Um, there's no one there."

"For someone who's supposed to be smart, you're being incredibly dense, Will," Buffy hissed. "That's kind of the whole point."

"Points are bad, especially if they're wooden," Spike noted. "But they're good if you use them on me. I'm bad and evil and I hurt people."

Slowly backing away, Willow turned imploring eyes on Buffy.
"How do you get him to stop?"

"That's the problem--you don't. Eventually, he'll run down like a toy with dead batteries, but it doesn't take him long to recharge and start up again. I think this is a really good time to go back upstairs and regroup." Mainly because she felt a migraine rolling up on her. In the relative peace of the kitchen, Buffy dry-swallowed an Advil and stared balefully at Willow. "Do you get what I meant now?"

"Kind of," Willow allowed, "but I still find it almost impossible to believe that you think the only solution is to wave bye-bye to Spike's soul."

"Now, that's not true. I'm perfectly willing to admit that other solutions might exist, only I'm not sure exactly which. A healing spell to accelerate the adjustment process? An amnesia spell so he just plain forgets about all the people he's killed and the lives he's ruined? No, wait, ignore that suggestion. We all know how well that kind of spell turned out last time you tried it."

"That wasn't what I meant. Sure, I could look into magical solutions, but for one thing the effects can be unpredictable, especially on a vampire. Toss in the fact that this one has a soul and you're looking at potential disaster. Angel got his soul back and he eventually recovered; Spike should too. Keep magic out of it and let Spike go at his own pace. Why push things and upset the applecart?"

"Because the applecart is wobbling along on loose wheels."
Still, Buffy considered. Willow was probably right. Her attempts at magic sometimes veered wildly, even dangerously, awry. It was best to stick with the tried-and-true curse. Simple and effective: Yes, that was the way to go. All she had to do was convince Willow she was right. "*Please* do it."


Willow firmly shook her head. "I'm going back down to talk to Spike rationally. Only this time, I'll be prepared." She armed herself with a few supplies and ventured downstairs, jaw set.

Her confidence unshaken, Buffy waited patiently. Sure enough, little more than an hour later, Willow emerged from the basement looking considerably paler than before. "Spike cried when I read the newspaper to him. He cried when I talked about England. He even cried when I told him a fairy tale. And it wasn't one of the depressing ones, either. Does anything *not* make him cry?"

"Nope. You should have heard him the other day when Dawn told him they served macaroni and cheese for lunch at school."

Willow sighed, rubbed her forehead, and reached for the Advil.

*****

Late that evening, after making sure Willow and Dawn were both safely tucked away in bed, Buffy crept down to the basement. As always, Spike was there, a quivering, emotional mess.

Buffy crouched beside him and attempted to soothe him as best she could. "You're doing a great job, Spike. Just keep grinding on Willow's nerves as effectively as you're doing now and between us, we'll have her broken down in no time." Her words seemed to help a little, and Spike had fallen into a restless slumber by the time Buffy left the room.

****

Spike was in fine form. For the third morning in a row, Dawn, Buffy, and Willow stumbled into the kitchen, dark circles under their eyes. The sound of Spike's wailing and crying wasn't exactly conducive to a good night's sleep.

"If he keeps this up, the neighbors are going to start asking if we have a dog," Buffy warned.

"Yeah, and if I get an F on my history test, I want you to remember it was Spike's fault," Dawn declared as she headed for the door.

"Dawn, don't you want to wait another 15 minutes for me so we can go together?"
Buffy called.

"Around that noise? No!" Dawn shouted back. "And I'm staying after school again. Don't expect me back till late." The slamming of the door signalled her departure.

Another mournful howl resounded from the basement, causing Willow to jump and drop the milk carton. As she slowly began to wipe up the spill, she looked at Buffy. "I give in. I can't take this anymore."

Buffy shrieked and hugged her so tightly Willow began to gasp for breath. Loosening her grip, Buffy apologized. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just so excited. I knew we were friends for a reason."

"So I can perform horrible, unnatural favors for you?" Willow sighed. "Okay, have you thought about what you'll do afterwards, once the soul is gone?"

"Party?" Willow glared at her. "Sorry. Being serious now. Yes, of course I have. Spike will be like he used to be, and I can handle that. I didn't realize what I had until it was gone. Once I get him back, don't worry, I won't let him escape again. Evil and soulless has its advantages."

"And you should know."

"Indeed I do." Buffy smiled reminiscently. "So, how soon can you get this thing moving?"

"I need to find the computer disk with the curse on it and gather the ingredients for the ritual. It shouldn't be too hard since I can skip the soul-restoration part of the deal and just perform the curse."

"Then it'll all be done by, say, this evening?" Buffy thought out loud, plotting ahead.

"I think so."

"That'll be good. I'll try to get off of work a little early so we can try to
get the whole business taken care of before Dawn comes home."

All through the day, Buffy fantasized about the completion of the ritual and the return of the *real* Spike. When work was finally over, she bolted home to find Willow laying out her supplies on a table in the middle of the living room.

"Are you ready?" Buffy demanded.

"Not yet." Willow continued to work, with Buffy anxiously hovering.
After Willow turned around and bumped into her for the third time, she heaved an exasperated breath. "Buffy, I need another bat's wing. Can you run out and pick it up for me?"

"Sure."

Willow jotted a few words on a scrap of paper. "Here's the address. I'll call ahead so they know you're coming."

The location was a good 20 minutes away, but Buffy hurried over, collected the bat's wing from the man who answered the door, and returned home to find Willow gathering up the remains of her supplies, which had clearly been used.

"All done. I didn't need the bat's wing."

Buffy dropped the little plastic baggy that contained the item in question. "Why didn't you wait for me? I wanted to see you perform the ritual."

"Because you were making me nervous with all your hovering. I was afraid I'd do something wrong. Don't worry. I've done my part and it's up to you to give Spike his moment of happiness. I'm not getting involved in that end of the deal."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm fully prepared. Think about it: If I was able to make Angel perfectly happy without even trying, I should have no problem doing it for Spike when I *am* trying."

"Then you're going to--" Willow's question was interrupted by the opening of the front door.

"Hey, I'm home." Dawn stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing the remains of the herbs and bones. "This looks magicky. I'm being kept out of the loop again, aren't I? Don't you remember I turn into an insufferable brat whenever that happens?"

"And because we've finally figured that out, we'll be filling you in from now on," Buffy assured her. "Dawn, soon there will be one less soul in this house. Willow just cast the gypsy curse on Spike that will solve all our problems."

"Yeah, but the curse should only kick into effect if Spike feels perfect happiness, and the way he's been lately how do you figure *that* would happen? I mean, he's... oh, God." Dawn turned sheet-pale. "You're going to...." She looked at her sister. "You are, aren't you, Buffy? Ew! I definitely don't want to be around for *that*."

"Exactly. Which is why I suggest that you and Willow go out tonight to see a movie so Spike and I can have some privacy."

Dawn grabbed Willow's arm. "Say no more. Only we're making it a double feature, for sure."

Willow managed a quick wave as Dawn pulled her out the door.
"Bye, Buffy. Good luck."

Privacy: exactly what she needed to get the job done. With all due confidence, Buffy strode to the basement to fetch Spike. She simply had to get him out of that dark, grubby room. No way was she doing *it* down there. There wasn't even a bed.

"Spike," Buffy called gently. Even in all her excitement, she kept in mind that the last thing she wanted to do was scare him away.

"Buffy." Spike peeked around the corner of an old cardboard box.

"There you are." Buffy went right over and sat down in front of Spike. He seemed reasonably calm. Buffy almost couldn't believe her luck, catching him in one of his rare moments of lucidity. She looked him in the eye and began her speech. "Spike, listen to me. Now, you've been unhappy lately because your spoilsport soul is tormenting you and making you feel guilty. A good soul wouldn't do that. Wouldn't you feel better if we sent this one back to wherever it was all those years it was gone? Then you could go back to being your old self and we'd *all* be much happier. What do you say?"

Spike blinked at her. "All right."

Well, gaining his cooperation had been easy. A lot easier than she had expected. "Great. One more thing, though. To get the soul to leave, we have to give you just one moment of happiness. Perfect happiness, Spike. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Get my meaning? Good. I think we'd be a lot more comfortable upstairs."

At Buffy's urging, Spike obediently trailed her to the bedroom. Wonderful. Could things be going any more smoothly?

*****

Miraculously, they were still going smoothly half an hour later. Buffy caught her breath and smiled. She and Spike had just spent a very enjoyable, active 30 minutes together. But, like all good things, it had ended and it was time to reap the benefits of her hard work. Buffy reached up and pushed at the vampire's shoulders. "Spike, get off of me. We've done enough." Judging from experience, she thought some weird light should leave his eyes and that was how she'd know when success was officially hers. To do that, though, she had to be able to see his eyes.

After a little more pointed persuasion on her part, Spike slowly rolled away and Buffy peered at him. No weird light yet. Not even a glimmer. Well, the curse probably took a few minutes to kick in. Refusing to panic, Buffy settled down to wait.

And then, to her horror, Spike began to sob great, heart-wrenching sobs.
That wasn't supposed to happen, unless she'd missed the flash of light and he was mourning the soul's departure. Only that didn't make sense. The old Spike would be cheering if the thing left. Which meant PodSpike was still with her.

"Spike?" Buffy tentatively poked his arm, praying it wasn't true. "Is something wrong?"

Her worst fears were confirmed when Spike wailed, "I'm not good enough for you. I'm a bad, evil man!"

"No!" Buffy cried in acute frustration. "Where's your perfect happiness? I did everything I did with Angel and more. I even swallowed this time. I know it's not my fault. Why didn't it work?" Trying to tune out Spike's tortured sobs, Buffy thought hard and reached a horrifying realization. "Oh, no! It wasn't the sex that made Angel happy. The afterglow of feeling accepted and loved was what did the trick." Damnit! Despite her best efforts, she had made a huge mistake. She was supposed to have spontaneously declared her love and eternal devotion to Spike for the plan to go off properly. Well, she'd clearly missed her golden opportunity. "Now what do I do?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"Keep trying?" Spike suggested, his tears magically evaporating. "Nothing to lose, right?"

"Huh." Buffy considered. "You have an idea there. I guess something might stick eventually."

Not wasting any time, Spike pounced on her and commenced with enthusiastic kissing. Hmm, thought Buffy. Maybe she'd underestimated SouledSpike, and he wasn't all that different from the old Spike. After all, he'd managed to worm his way into both her home and her bed in under two weeks.

Sure, she'd continue to work at vanquishing the soul, but she might as well have fun along the way. She just hoped Dawn and Willow were *really* late coming home tonight.

*****

Hours later, Spike stirred, yawned, and propped open an eyelid. Buffy appeared to be sleeping peacefully next to him, but still he wondered, had he laid it on just a little thick?

He considered for a moment and then decided, 'Nah.'

Content, Spike closed his eye and went back to sleep, soul and all.

end