Introduction
Season: First | Second | Third | Fourth | Fifth | Sixth | Seventh
Other Bodies | Episodes | Dramatis Personae
Ramblings | Links | Fanfic

Never Leave Me

Prologue

Dawn, Willow and Anya work at cleaning up more of the mess in the Summers’ living room while Xander measures the plastic covered opening for the window.

“So the basement was filled with bodies?” asks Dawn.

“Apparently,” says Willow.

“And Spike could’ve sired countless of others and buried them around town?” asks Dawn. Willow nods. “And we’re waiting for him to do what, exactly? Do something crazy?”

“It’s not that simple,” says Willow.

Anya turns away from the fireplace mantle on which she has been dusting and arranging objects. “Shouldn’t we stab him through the chest? I mean, isn’t that what we do when these things happen?”

“Look, Buffy knows what she’s doing,” says Willow.

Anya turns to Xander for support. “Xander, you know what we’re all talking about. I mean, you’ve always been part of the ‘Spike is evil’ faction.”

Xander doesn’t want to be drawn into this discussion. “I’ve got a house to put back together.” He turns his attention back to the windows.

“Fine,” says Anya. “You guys keep your heads buried in the sand, but I think we should all prepare ourselves for the possibility that William the Bloody’s back.”

A figure in Doc Martin boots, and a black leather duster strides down the street.

Warren falls in beside Andrew and claps his hands. “All right! Lookin’ good. How do you feel?”

“Good,” says Andrew.

“Excellent,” says Warren. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Do we have to do work right now?” asks Andrew. “Can’t I just walk around for a while in my coat?”

“Don’t go soft on me now,” says Warren. “We’re right in the trench and the exhaust port’s in sight.”

“I thought that was it,” says Andrew. “I did what you told me. It’s not my fault it didn’t work. I mean, why do I have to do all the wet work?”

Warren stops, and Andrew turns around to face him. “Hey! You know the rules. I can’t take corporeal form. Here, feel.” Warren holds open the plaid shirt he’s wearing over his black T-shirt. “Mm-hmm.”

Andrew reaches out his hand. It passes right through Warren’s chest. “Cool.”

“Pretty bitchin’, right?” asks Warren. “I’m like Obi-wan.”

Andrew gets kind of wistful. “Or Patrick Swayze.”

“Believe me, I would do this stuff if I could, but… I can’t,” says Warren. “I need you. You’re my iron fist.”

Andrew sighs. “I just don’t think I can kill anybody else.”

Warren transforms into Jonathan. “Will you stop worrying about that?”

“I didn’t want to kill you. Warren made me.”

“Hey, I’m glad he did,” says Jonathan. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It didn’t hurt too much?” asks Andrew. “I—I’m not very good at stabbing.”

“You know, it wasn’t that bad,” says Jonathan. “It was like a— a sharp pain, then a burning, then a general queasiness. It was kind of like when I used to get ulcers in high school, only at the end I became one with Light and Hope.”

“I can’t do it,” says Andrew. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Jonathan tries to calm him down. “Hey, this isn’t your fault, okay? It’s my fault the ritual didn’t work. I screwed up. I’m little. I don’t have as much blood as other people. And I probably should’ve told someone I was anemic. Don’t worry. We’re going to fix it. You got to trust us. We know what we’re doing.”

“I can’t kill anybody else.”

“Okay. Calm down.” Jonathan smiles. “We can work around that.”

Spike sits in a wooden arm chair in Buffy’s room. She ties ropes around his wrists to the arms of the chair. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” she tells him. “We just…can’t take any chances.”

“Don’t,” says Spike. Buffy stops and looks at him, and Spike nods toward the ropes Buffy’s tying around his arm. “Make it tighter. The knots’ll give. I get free, someone’s going to die.”

Buffy pulls the rope as tight as she can.

Act I

Principal Wood looks at the two students, Grimes and Hoffman, sitting across his desk from him. “You can repaint the walls or, I can suspend you and report this little incident on your permanent record.”

“Fine,” says Hoffman. “Do that.”

“Okay, I was bluffing. I hadn’t really thought that one through.” Wood leans forward against his desk. “Listen, this whole ‘permanent record’ thing is such a myth anyway. Colleges never ask for anything past your S.A.T. scores, and it’s not like employers are going to be callin’ up to check to see how many days you missed back in high school.”

Wood scratches at his forehead, and gets out of his chair. He starts to walk slowly around his desk. “So, listen, I… I could suspend you, but that would mean calling your parents, alerting your teachers, filling out paperwork, and, quite possibly, having to talk to the school board, all of which sounds positively exhausting, to me.” Wood sits on the corner of his desk, closer to the students. “No. No, I think it would be much easier if I just called the police. Let them deal with it.” He leans toward Grimes and Hoffman. “Oh, and, in case you’re wondering, this is the part where I’m not bluffing.”

Grimes and Hoffman exchange a look. “We’ll repaint it,” says Grimes.

Principal Wood smiles. “Good job.” He is mildly annoyed to hear a knock on his door. “Excuse me.”

Wood opens his door, and sees Dawn. “Miss Summers. I’m with students.”

“I just wanted to tell you that Buffy won’t be coming in today,” says Dawn. “She’s really sick. Last night, she was vomiting, and then this morning, she was vomiting some more, and then, just when we thought she was done, she started vomiting again.”

“Yeah, we got that stomach flu going around,” says Wood.

“Her exact words were: ‘I’ve got stuff coming out of both ends.’”

Principal Wood really didn’t want to hear that much detail. “Thank you. That’s, very helpful.”

“Sure! No problem.” She notices Grimes and Hoffman and waves to them. “Hey, guys! How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good,” says Grimes.

“Uh, tell your sister not to worry about it,” says Wood. “We’ll soldier on without her here. Just, um, tell her to concentrate on getting better.”

“Yeah. She’ll be fine,” says Dawn. “She just needs to get some stuff out of her system.”

Buffy is on the phone in her kitchen. “I need to find him as soon as possible. He’s not answering any of his numbers.”

“Well, Miss Summers,” says Quentin Travers, “the Watcher’s Council does not keep track of our lapsed employees. Ever since Mr. Giles pulled up his stake in Sunnydale, we’ve not made it our business to follow his every move.”

“You don’t need to get all British and dodgy, Mr. Travers,” says Buffy. “I know you have ways of finding him.”

“Well, I suppose, if you feel the matter is urgent,” says Travers, “we could look into it.”

“I’d appreciate it,” says Buffy. “Thank you.”

“Not at all. Good day.”

Quentin Travers hangs up his phone. He’s sitting at the head of a large conference table in a board room. He looks around at the eight other people around it, including some of the Watchers who had accompanied him on his last visit to Sunnydale. “The girl knows nothing.” He gets to his feet, and walks over to a world map on the wall. “And we need to find Rupert Giles. As soon as possible.”

Buffy returns to her room. Spike is only semi-conscious in the chair. He seems to be delirious.

Buffy sits on the end of her bed and looks at him. “Can I do something?”

“I think you should probably g—” Spike starts to moan. He transforms into his vampire face and tries to lunge at Buffy.

Buffy jumps back. Spike strains at the ropes tying him, and snarls like an animal, but he can’t get loose.

Buffy returns to the hallway. Willow is waiting for her there. “He’s been feasting on humans for weeks,” says Buffy. “He’s having some pretty bad withdrawals. I think we need to get him some blood.”

Willow smiles. “Do you want me to kill Anya?”

Buffy considers that for a second. “No. We should probably try to wean him off humans. He’ll have to make do with animal blood.”

“I’ll go get some,” says Willow.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, I have to get out of the house,” says Willow. “Xander’s installing the new windows, and he keeps giving lectures on proper tool maintenance. Tool talk: not my thing.”

“Thank you,” says Buffy.

“How are you doin’ in there?” asks Willow.

“He’s in pretty bad shape,” says Buffy. “Past the point where he can tell me anything.”

“I wasn’t asking about him.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Andrew stands in the school basement with a knife in his hand. Warren is beside him.

“She won’t feel a thing,” says Warren. “Just do it. Fast. Cut her deep, cut her quick. It’ll be over before she knows what hit her.”

“What if she squeals?” asks Andrew.

“Uh, better go for her throat first,” says Warren

Andrew looks down at the small pig on the floor in front of him. “Babe 2: Pig in the City was really underrated.”

“Don’t think about Babe,” says Warren. “You’re Conan. You’re the Destroyer. It’s you against nature. You’re the hunter. You’re primal. You live off the land.” Andrew’s resolve starts to build. “You’re Andrew. Everyone knows you. You play by your own rules! It’s kill or be killed!”

“That’ll do, pig!” Andrew throws himself at the pig on the floor in front of him.

The pig squeals, and evades Andrew’s lung. Andrew gets tangled up in his coat as he tries to chase it.

“No—you got to— You got to corner it!” says Warren.

Andrew leaps at the pig again, and misses it again.

“No, stay between it and the hall, or it’s— it’s…” Warren watches the pig scamper past him, and away down the hall. He looks back to Andrew. “That’s the worst attempted pig slaughtering I’ve ever seen.”

Andrew picks himself up off the floor. “I’m not very good at stabbing. Isn’t there some other way we can get blood?”

“Number 87!” calls out the butcher. Andrew sets his tag down on the counter in front of him. The butcher prepares to write his order down on a pad of paper.

“I’d like twelve pork chops,” says Andrew, “two pounds of sausage…” Andrew looks down and the next bit comes out in a rush. “Eight-quarts-of pig’s-blood three steaks, um… halibut and, uh… some toothpaste…”

The butcher looks up from his pad of paper. “This is a butcher shop, Neo. We don’t sell toothpaste.”

“Um…okay…just the other stuff then,” says Andrew.

“You got it.”

The butcher turns away from the counter to start filling the order, and Andrew looks nervously around the shop at the other waiting customers.

Andrew collects his change, and picks up his bag of meat products. He turns away from the counter, bumps into someone and drops the bag. The meat and the bags of blood spill out across the floor. Andrew looks up and sees that the person he bumped into is Willow.

Act II

Andrew runs out of the butcher shop with Willow in hot pursuit. He runs into the alley beside the shop, and finds his escape is blocked by a dumpster. He turns back to Willow. “Don’t kill me!”

“I’m not going to kill you,” says Willow.

“Don’t torture me and send me to an eternal pain dimension!” says Andrew.

“I’m not going to.”

“Warren killed Tara. I didn’t do it, and he was aiming for Buffy anyway!”

Willow’s voice goes cold. “Not making it better.”

“And you got your revenge!” says Andrew. “You killed my best friend. We’re even.”

“Even?” asks Willow. “You think I get satisfaction from what I did?”

“Maybe not, but let me keep my skin, okay?” says Andrew. “I’m not bad. I’m not bad anymore. I’m good. I do good things now.”

“Then why do you need lots and lots of blood?” asks Willow.

Andrew reconsiders, and tries to bluff. “I am bad. I’m bad. I’m evil. But I’m protected by powerful forces, forces you can’t even begin to imagine…little girl. If you harm me, you shall know the wrath of he that is darkness and terror. Your blood will boil, and you will know true suffering.” He spreads his arms apart. “Stand down, she-witch. Your defeat is at hand!”

“Shut your mouth.” Willow shoves Andrew up against the wall. “I am a she-witch, a very powerful she-witch, or ‘witch,’ as is more accurate. I am not to be trifled with!”

“But I—”

“I’m talking! Don’t interrupt me, insignificant man.” Willow doesn’t really sound any more threatening now than Andrew did, but he’s still terrified. “I am Willow. I am death. If you dare defy me, I will call down my fury, exact fresh vengeance, and make your worst fears come true!”

Willow smiles, and quirks her eyebrow. “Okay?” She grabs Andrew’s collar, and drags him away.

Willow pushes Andrew through the front door of the Summers’s house. “Look who I found.” She has hold of him by the collar of his leather duster, and he’s got his bag of meat and blood in his hands.

Xander is still working on the window, with Dawn working as his assistant. He looks toward them. “Oh, this can’t be good.” Anya looks up from the book she’s reading on the sofa.

“Guess who was buying mass amounts of blood at the butcher shop?” asks Willow.

Andrew finally notices something about Willow. “Hey, your hair’s not even black anymore.” She gives him a shake.

Xander steps toward Andrew, with a wooden ruler in his hand. “What are you doing back in town?”

“You’ll get nothing out of me, carpenter,” says Andrew.

Xander slaps the ruler into his hand. “We’ll see about that.”

Xander shoves Andrew down into a wooden chair in Dawn’s room, and starts tying his wrists to the chair’s arms, much like the way Buffy has Spike tied up next door. Anya has followed them into the room. She’s carrying Andrew’s new coat, and is checking its pockets.

“Careful with my coat!” says Andrew. “It’s expensive!”

“Is it new?” Anya throws the coat on the floor, and walks on it.

“Hey!” says Andrew. “Ow!” Xander has just pulled the ropes tight around his left wrist.

“Now, we can do this the hard way…” Xander tightens the rope some more.

“Ow!”

“If you want…” Xander moves around and starts tying Andrew’s other wrist. “…but believe me when I tell ya that this’ll go much easier if you just tell us what…” Xander pulls the ropes tight. “…you…know.” He gives the ropes a final yank.

“Ow! You’re barkin’ up the wrong asparagus, man. I don’t know anything.”

Xander thumps another chair down backwards beside Andrew, and he straddles it, leaning his forearms across the back. “Here’s the thing… I don’t believe you.” Anya stands in front of Andrew, glaring down at him.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” says Andrew.

“Well, then, you won’t mind if we ask you a few questions,” says Xander.

Andrew’s trapped. “Yeah, okay.”

“Why were you buying blood at the butcher shop?” asks Xander.

Andrew has been rehearsing the answer for this question for quite a while in his mind, and it rushes out in a single breath. “I fell in love with a beautiful vampire girl down in Mexico, and now we’re trying to make a go of it on the straight and narrow and put our lives back together here in Sunnydale.”

“You think this is a game, junior?” Anya grabs Andrew by the front of his shirt. “People are dying! Our friends’ lives are in danger!”

Xander stands up, and tries to calm her down. “Hey, Anya…”

Anya will not be calmed. “Now you want to waste my time with deceptions? Not on my watch!” She slaps Andrew with the back of her hand.

Xander grabs Anya, and pulls her away from Andrew. “Hey, Anya! Can I talk to you outside for a second?” He pushes her toward the door.

Buffy holds a bag of blood, and watches impassively as Spike, still in vampire face, drinks hungrily from it. He has bitten through the plastic, and is sucking the blood straight from the bag.

Anya is laughing as she closes the bathroom door. “Did you see that? I actually made him cry!”

“You were perfect!” says Xander. “I was worried I overdid it with the whole ‘easy way, hard way’ thing.”

“No, you were great!” Anya shakes her stinging hand. “And I wasn’t sure if I should slap him, but then he made me want to slap him, so I thought, okay, ‘slap him!’ He’ll be singin’ in no time. So what do we do now?”

“Well, now we let him stew in his own juices for a bit,” says Xander, “then we give him the hard brace.”

“Right.” Anya turns toward Buffy, who has just come in from her room. “What’s the status with your guy?”

“He’s not talking yet,” says Buffy. “We’ll get there. How’s your guy?”

“The weasel wants to sing,” says Anya. “He just needs a tune.”

“He’s primed,” says Xander. “I’ll be pumping him in no time.” He notices the looks Buffy and Anya are giving him. “He’ll give us information soon.”

Buffy returns to her room. Spike is looking human again. “Better?” she asks, and Spike nods. “Good.” She sits down on the end of her bed.

“I don’t remember anything,” says Spike.

“Well, you were having pretty bad withdrawal.”

“No, not that. I don’t remember…” Spike looks away from Buffy. “…what I did.”

“Nothing?”

“Some flashes here and there. It’s like I’m watching someone else…do it,” says Spike. “Kill people. I’ve been losing time for a while now. Wakin’ up in strange places.”

“When did your chip stop working?” asks Buffy.

“I wasn’t aware that it had, you know. Not till now.”

“And the losing time?” asks Buffy. “How long has that been going on?”

Spike sighs. “Well, things have been wonky for me ever since I got back, ever since…”

“…you got your soul,” says Buffy.

Spike nods. “Figured that’s what it was like. Been so long since I had one.”

“How did you do it?” asks Buffy. “How’d you get your soul back?”

Spike snorts. “‘Saw a man about a girl.’” He sees the look Buffy gives him. “I went to seek a legend out. Traveled to the other side of the world, made a deal with a demon.”

Buffy shakes her head. “Just like that?”

“No, not just like that,” says Spike. “There was a price. There were trials. Torture, pain, suffering… of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

“Well, it’s all relative, isn’t it?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I have come to redefine the words ‘pain’ and ‘suffering’ since I fell in love with you,” says Spike.

“How can you say that?” asks Buffy.

“Apparently I just slaughtered half of Sunnydale, pet,” says Spike. “I’m not really worried about being polite anymore.”

“So that’s what this is about.” Buffy stands up, and looks down at him. “You’re feeling sorry for yourself, Spike?”

“I’m feelin’ honest with myself,” says Spike. “You used me.”

“Yes,” says Buffy.

“You told me that, of course. I never understood it, though,” says Spike. “Not until now. You hated yourself, and you took it out on me.”

Buffy raises an eyebrow. “You figured that out just now?”

“Soul’s not all about moonbeams and penny whistles, luv,” says Spike. “It’s about self-loathing. I get it. Had to travel around the world, but…I understand you now. I understand the violence inside.”

“Violence?” asks Buffy. “William the Bloody now has insight into violence?”

“Not the same,” says Spike. “As bad as I was, as evil and as wretched as I was, I never truly hated myself back then. Not like I do now.”

Xander reenters Dawn’s room with a glass of water. “How’s your face?”

“Okay,” says Andrew.

Xander puts the glass down on Dawn’s desk. “Sorry about that. She shouldn’t have hit you.” He unties Andrew’s wrists. “There you go. Thirsty?” He picks up the glass of water, and hands it to Andrew. “Go on.”

Andrew sniffs at the glass, as if he suspects that it’s drugged before he takes a sip. “That chick’s psycho.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Xander turns his chair around, and sits down. “She’s a Vengeance Demon, you know. She’s bad news.”

“This one time I saw her having sex with Spike.” Andrew takes another sip of water.

Xander struggles for a moment to keep control of his temper. He’s supposed to be the nice guy. “She’s killed more men than smallpox.”

“Does smallpox still kill people?” asks Andrew.

Xander cuts off that digression. “She’s killed a lot of men. She tortures them. Anyone who incurs her wrath.” He leans forward and rests his hand on Andrew’s arm. “One time, she…” Xander pulls back. “Nyah, never mind.”

Andrew is getting scared again. “What?”

“It’s not important,” says Xander.

“What did she do?”

“Well, there was this one guy,” says Xander. “There was this one guy, he, uh— he hurt her real bad. So she paid him back. She killed him, but she did it real…slow. See, first she stopped his heart, and then she replaced it with darkness. And then she made him live his life like that. But he still had to go do his job and see his friends and wake up in the morning and go to bed at night. But he had to do it all…empty. Without anything to look forward to, ever.”

This doesn’t sound too bad to Andrew. “Sounds bad.” He covers a smirk by taking a sip of water.

Xander realises his story needs more bite. “Well, then she tore out his intestines and rubbed it in his face and took pictures of it.”

“Oh, my god!” says Andrew. He’s scared again.

Xander puts his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “But she’s downstairs now. Don’t worry about her. See, the thing is, we’ve all been a little on edge lately.” He takes the glass, and puts it back on the desk. “Some bad things have been happening. And the girls, they’re all lookin’ for someone to blame.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You lying son of a bitch!” Anya bursts through the door into the room. “You’re going to tell us what we need to know, and you’re going to tell us right now!” She pushes Andrew off his chair.

Xander tries to pull her away from Andrew. “Anya, no!”

“Get off me, Harris!” Anya spins around and slaps Xander hard. They are both shocked. Anya looks really guilty, and clenches her fists. “I’m sorry!” she mouths at him.

Anya puts her angry face back on and spins back toward Andrew, who’s trying to crawl away. “Come here, you pipsqueak!” She grabs him again.

“Aah!” cries Andrew. “Get her off me! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you what you need to know!”

Buffy hears the noise coming from Dawn’s room. “Excuse me.” She goes out into the hall and closes the door behind her.

The other Spike was standing behind the door. He steps toward Spike tied up in the chair. “Well…we’ve got ourselves a problem.”

Buffy looks into Dawn’s room. Xander is leaning against the edge of Dawn’s desk, with his hand on his face where Anya slapped him. Andrew is on the floor, with Anya on top of him, her hand raised to hit him again. “Everything okay?”

Andrew shakes his head, and looks at Buffy with a silent plea for help.

Anya looks around and smiles. “Fine.”

“Okay.” Buffy goes back out into the hall.

Buffy pauses outside her door. She hears Spike’s muffled voice. “…what do I do, job half-done? Never send a boy to do a man’s job.” He starts to sing softly. “Oh, don’t deceive me. Oh, never leave me. How could you use a poor maid so?”

Buffy opens the door, and reenters her room. She looks around. “Who were you talking to?”

Spike looks up at her. “What’s that?”

“I heard you through the door,” says Buffy. “Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody.” Spike’s demeanour has completely changed. “I was just, uh, keepin’ myself company.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. How are you?”

Anya has let Andrew get back to his feet. She has him backed up against the wall separating Dawn’s room from Buffy’s. “Now, you can talk, or I can keep hitting you. Believe me, I’d love to keep hitting you.”

Buffy eyes Spike suspiciously. “Spike?”

“I’m fine, Buffy, really. I’m just…feelin’ a bit peckish, I suppose.” He nods toward the bags of blood on Buffy’s bedside table. “Do you mind?”

Buffy slowly moves toward her table, but she keeps her eyes on Spike, watching him carefully. He just sits calmly waiting.

Buffy glances away at the blood for a moment, and Spike’s face transforms. He growls and pulls with all his strength at the ropes binding him to the chair. The arms of the chair break away, and Spike charges at Buffy.

Spike punches Buffy, and throws her against the wall beside her bed. He turns away, and charges at the wall separating Buffy’s room from Dawn’s.

Andrew is spilling his guts. “…we needed more blood to activate the Seal of Danza—”

Spike’s right arm crashes through the wall beside Andrew, and grabs him across the chest. His left arm smashes through the wall, and grabs Andrew’s head. Spike pulls Andrew right through the wall, and his fangs sink into Andrew’s neck.

Act III

Buffy pulls Spike off Andrew and throws him head first against the doorframe. Spike collapses to the floor.

Andrew falls to the floor, and Buffy catches him. She kneels to check on his wound as Xander and Anya burst into the room. Andrew’s still alive.

Spike sits up, and looks around. He’s dazed, and confused, and looking human again. Buffy stands up and looks down at him. The other Spike watches over Buffy’s shoulder, shaking his head as she kicks Spike in the head.

Buffy sits in the living room with Dawn and Willow, telling them what happened. “He didn’t seem to want anything to do with me. I mean, he just pushed me aside and charged at the wall.”

“Are you hurt?” asks Willow.

“Not—not really,” says Buffy.

Dawn looks up at Xander and Anya, who are coming down the stairs. “How’s what-his-name?”

“He’s got a good chunk taken out of his neck, but he’ll be all right,” says Xander. “Had to tie him up again, but mainly just to keep him from scratching at his bandages. What the hell happened up there?”

“I don’t know,” says Buffy. “I mean… Spike and I were having a conversation, and he was fine. I mean, you know, fine as Spike can be, and then I went to check on you guys, and when I got back it was…like he was a completely different person.”

“Different like William-the-Bloody-type different?” asks Willow.

“He was talking to someone,” says Buffy. “I heard through the door. He was having this conversation, and then he started singing.”

“Maybe it’s another musical,” says Anya. Everyone just looks at her. “A much crappier musical.”

“He mentioned something about a song in the cellar,” says Buffy. “And he changed there, too— I mean, instantly became another person.”

“Trigger,” says Xander.

“The horse?” asks Anya.

“No, in his head,” says Xander. “It’s a trigger. It’s a brainwashing term. It’s how the military makes sleeper agents. They—they brainwash operatives and condition them with a specific trigger, like a song, that makes ’em drastically change at a moment’s notice.”

“Is this left over from your days in the army?” asks Willow.

“No, this is left over from every army movie I’ve ever seen,” says Xander. “But it makes sense. We’ve had ghosts or something haunting us, right? Well, what if Spike’s ghosts have figured out a way to not only haunt him— what if they figured out how to—how to control him?”

“Spike said he’s been seeing things since I found him in the basement,” says Buffy.

“So he gets his soul back, he starts seeing spooky things, and he goes extra, extra crazy,” says Dawn.

“This trigger, how do we holster— safety or—” Buffy shakes her head. “I don’t know guns. How do we make it stop?”

“Well, usually the operative completes his task and either blows his head off or…steals a submarine,” says Xander.

“All right, I need information,” says Buffy. “If Spike’s a bomb, then I need to know how to defuse him.” She looks toward Willow and Dawn on the sofa. “You two, I want to know what did this to him. Spirits, ghosts, demons: check the lot of ’em. Look for anything that could haunt or possibly control like this. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Principal Wood packs up his briefcase, and leaves his office. He’s the only person who has been working this late in the school. He walks down the corridor toward the exit. He stops as he passes the door leading down to the basement. After a brief pause, he turns toward it. He opens the door, and goes through it.

Wood walks through the basement, directly to the door leading into the room beneath his office. He enters it and looks down at Jonathan’s body lying on top of the Seal of Danthalzar.

Spike is still unconscious, with dried blood on his face and lying on the basement floor with manacles around his wrists and ankles, fastened to the wall. Buffy comes down the stairs carrying a bowl of water, and a cloth. She kneels beside Spike and starts to gently clean the blood off his face.

Spike opens his eyes and looks up at her. “Did I hurt anybody?”

“You took a good bite out of Andrew,” says Buffy.

“Who?”

“Tucker’s brother.”

“Ah.”

“He’ll be okay,” says Buffy.

“I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay.” Buffy takes the bowl over to the laundry tub.

“Buffy, I don’t know why.”

“We think we do.” Buffy wrings out the cloth she used to clean Spike’s face. “Something’s playing you. Some ghost or demon has figured out how to control you. I’ve got the gang researching it right now. Xander has this theory that you’re being triggered.”

Spike pulls himself up into a sitting position. “Kill me.”

Buffy turns around to look at him. “What?”

“Buffy, you have to kill me.”

“You don’t understand,” says Buffy, working hard to remain calm and controlled. “When I left the room earlier, I heard you talking to som—”

“Do you have any idea what I’m capable of?”

Buffy nods. “I was in the cellar with you. I saw what you did.”

“I’m not talking about the cellar,” says Spike. “People in the cellar got off easy. I’m talking about me. Buffy, you’ve never met the real me.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of what you’re capable of,” says Buffy.

“No. You got off easy, too.” Spike stands up. “Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she’ll die? I do. You see, the trick is to drink just enough to know how to damage them just enough so that they’ll still cry when you— ’Cause it’s not worth it if they don’t cry.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Buffy. “You’re not the one doing this.”

“I already did it. It’s already done.” Spike steps toward Buffy, pulling his chains taut. “You want to know what I’ve done to girls Dawn’s age?” That cracks Buffy’s facade a bit. “This is me, Buffy. You’ve got to kill me before I get out.”

“We can keep you locked up,” says Buffy. “Keep you here and we’ll figure out—”

“Have you ever really asked yourself why you can’t do it?” asks Spike. “Off me? After everything I’ve done to you, to people around you. It’s not love. We both know that.”

“You fought by my side,” says Buffy. “You’ve saved lives, you helped—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t rationalize this into some noble act. We both know the truth of it.” Spike looks away. “You like men who hurt you.”

“No.”

Spike looks at Buffy. “You need the pain we cause you. You need the hate. You need it to do your job, to be the Slayer.”

“No, I don’t hate like that.” Buffy slowly steps toward Spike. “Not you or myself. Not anymore. You think you have insight now because your soul’s drenched in blood? You don’t know me! You don’t even know you. Was that you who killed those people in the cellar? Was that you who waited for those girls?”

“There’s no one else,” says Spike.

“That’s not true,” says Buffy. “Listen to me. You’re not alive because of hate or pain. You’re alive because I saw you change… Because I saw your penance.”

Spike lunges toward Buffy, but the chains hold him back. “Window dressing.”

“Be easier, wouldn’t it, if it were an act? But it’s not.” Buffy steps closer to Spike. “You faced the monster inside of you, and you fought back. You risked everything to be a better man. And you can be. You are. You may not see it, but I do. I do. I believe in you, Spike.”

The lights go out. A figure in black robes smashes through a boarded over window, and attacks Buffy with a staff. It knocks her to the floor.

A black robed figure smashes through the front window into the living room.

Xander and Anya are in the kitchen. They turn toward the sound of breaking glass coming from the front of the house. Another black robed figure smashes through the kitchen door behind them.

Another black robed figure breaks through the front door. It attacks Willow and Dawn in the living room, along with the one that came through the window.

Xander and Anya spin back toward the robed figure that smashed through the kitchen door. It hits Anya in the head with its staff, and then Xander.

Act IV

Principal Wood digs a hole near an oil well outside of town. He’s taken off his jacket, and tie, and has his sleeves rolled up. He finishes the hole and climbs out. He rolls Jonathan’s body into it, and starts to fill it in again.

The black robes attack Willow and Dawn in the living room. One of them knocks Willow out.

Dawn manages to catch the staff of the black robe that attacks her. They wrestle for control of it for a bit, and then Dawn smashes the black robe in the face with her elbow.

Buffy smashes through the basement door into the kitchen. A robed figure is right behind her. It smashes at her head with its staff, but she rolls aside. Buffy springs back to her feet, grabs the black robe and tosses it into the hallway.

Buffy fights with the robed figure in the hall. She pulls its staff away from it, and smashes it on the head. Another black robe comes through the front door. It hits Buffy on the back of her head, and then runs up the stairs. Another black robe attacks Buffy. It knocks Buffy to the floor and then runs up the stairs too. Buffy chases after them.

Dawn sees Buffy heading up the stairs, and tries to follow her. The black robe still in the living room grabs her from behind. Dawn elbows it away, and spins to face it. They struggle together briefly and Dawn falls back, pulling the black robe with her. She flips it over her, into the wall.

Andrew is lying on Dawn’s bed with his wrists and feet tied. He’s trying to undo his hands with his teeth. One of the black robes comes into the room, and draws a pair of curved knifes. Andrew rolls aside just in time, and falls on the floor beside the bed as the black robe plunges its knives into the bed.

Buffy pulls the black robe away from Andrew. It attacks her with the knives. Buffy dodges its attack.

Dawn picks up a dropped staff, and cautiously approaches the unconscious black robe she’d flipped against the wall. She raises the staff to hit it again to make sure it’s out.

The black robe kicks Dawn’s feet out from underneath her, and pounces on top of her. She struggles as it gets a one hand around her throat, and catches her arms with its other hand. It releases Dawn’s throat, and draws its knife. It raises the knife to stab her.

Xander whacks the black robe over the head with one of their staffs.

Andrew manages to get his legs free, as another black robe comes into the room. He tries to escape past Buffy and the black robes. She grabs him, and uses him as a weapon. Smashing him against first one black robe, and then the other. She tosses the unconscious Andrew aside.

One of the black robes stabs at Buffy with both knives. She catches its wrists, kicks it away, and strips its weapons from it. She spins around and drives one of the knives into the belly of the black robe behind her. She spins back, and stabs the other knife into the belly of the black robe she took the knives from.

Buffy stands for a moment, with her arms crossed, each hand holding a knife in the belly of one of the black robes, before she pulls the knives free, allowing their bodies to fall to the floor.

Xander comes running into the room. “Buffy!”

Buffy spins around. “Dawn?”

“She’s okay.” Xander looks at the two dead bodies on the floor. “Is this it? I thought there was more of ’em.”

“Spike!” says Buffy.

Buffy and Xander go down the stairs into the basement. Spike is gone. Empty shackles hang from the wall.

Willow carries the first aid kit over to Anya and Dawn, who are sitting on the sofa, and covered with a blanket. Anya is holding her aching head.

“They were so fast,” says Xander. “And organized.”

“They were after Spike all along,” says Buffy. She goes over to the black robe lying on the living room floor.

“And we were just in the way,” says Xander.

Buffy kneels down beside the black robe on the living room floor. There are symbols branded on its face where its eyes should be. “I know these guys. I fought them before.

“We aren’t being haunted. This isn’t some demon. It’s all the same thing.” Buffy stands up, and turns toward her friends. “Spike’s ghosts, the people that you guys saw, ‘from beneath us.’ It’s all the same thing. I know what we’re up against. The First.”

Quentin Travers walks through the chaos in the Watcher’s headquarters. Books are pulled off shelves, and papers are scattered around on the floor.

“They took our files, wiped out our records,” reports one of the other Watchers. “We’ve lost contact with operations in Munich, Switzerland, and Rome, and we’ve got casualty confirmations coming in from as far away as Melbourne.”

“Sir…” says Lydia. “We are crippled.”

Travers puts a reassuring hand on her elbow. “It’s all right, Lydia. We are still masters of our fate, we are still captains of our souls.”

“Yes, sir.” Lydia squares her shoulders, and goes to help the others with the cleanup.

Travers turns to the other Watchers. “Ladies and gentlemen…” Everyone pauses, and turns to hear what he has to say. “Our fears have been confirmed. The First Evil has declared all-out war on this institution. Their first volleys proved most effective. I, for one, think it’s time we struck back.”

Travers starts to give out orders. “Get me confirmations on all remaining operatives, visuals and tacticals, highest alert. Get them here as soon as possible. Begin preparations for mobilization. Once we’re accounted for, I want to be ready to move.”

“Sir?” asks Nigel.

“We’ll be paying a visit to the Hellmouth,” says Travers. “My friends, these are the times that define us. Proverbs 24:6, ‘For by wise counsel, you shall make your war.’”

An explosion rips through the building housing the Watcher’s headquarters.

Epilogue

Black robed Harbingers strap Spike to a large wheel shaped device in the school basement. The First, in the guise of Spike looks on. “You’ll have to excuse the spectacle, but I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for the old classics.”

One of the Harbingers selects a knife from a tray of instruments. It takes it and starts to carve into Spike’s chest. Spike struggles to suppress his scream.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way,” says the First. “I wanted to do this more subtle-like. My Harbingers have a tendency to call attention to themselves.”

Spike cries in agony as the Harbinger carves another symbol into his chest.

The First leans toward Spike. “You’re the one who couldn’t hold his end of the bargain. You’re the one who couldn’t take care of what’s-his-name. You’re the one who had to make breakthroughs and learn something about himself. And so now, fittingly, you’re the one who gets to do the honours.”

The First changes form, shifting into Buffy. “I have to admit, I’m glad it worked out this way. I was going to bleed Andrew, but…you look a lot better with your shirt off.”

Another Harbinger turns a crank, and the wheel Spike is strapped to lifts off the ground, and swings out over the Seal of Danthalzar.

“To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of subtle,” says the First. “I think it’s about time we bring some authority to our presence. Now Spike, want to see what a real vampire looks like?”

Spike’s blood drips onto the seal. It is absorbed into it, and the seal starts to glow. The arms of the pentagram fold up, forming a pyramid, that sinks into the ground, the other sections fold down. A gnarled grey hand, with two inch long claws grasps at the edge of the hole where the seal had been, and a creature pulls itself up. The seal reforms beneath it.

A vampire with gray skin and dressed in black leather, pulls itself erect. It is totally bald, and even more inhuman looking than the Master. It snarls at world around it.

The First smiles.

Death Toll