TITLE: Flashpoint (1/?)
AUTHOR: alliterator
SUMMARY: Spike returns from Africa with a soul. You heard it already? Not this one.
SPOILERS: Through "Grave".
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox, no matter how much I whine and plead and beg them, just so I can have one character, but no, they have be all, we own them. Bastards.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I like to thank Anne Blackwell, my first fantastic beta reader.

Light. That was the first thing he saw. Blinding white light. And pain. The light was painful, searing him, electrifying every inch of his being. He could no longer see anything except the light and could no longer feel anything except the pain. It had started in his chest and spread, not slowly, but blindingly fast, outward. Soon, his entire body was in agonizing pain and the light grew brighter.

When Angel was cursed, both times, it took him a minute or so to remember where he was and what he had done. Not so with Spike. When the light diminished and the pain faded, he remembered instantly. He remembered everything: the killing, the torture, the blood, the unbearable things he had done, and he felt pain again. This pain was more painful than the last, and instead of spreading outward, it was everywhere at once. In his still unbeating heart, in his brain that was filled with wire and silicon, and even in the soul he now possessed. Then he reached the newer memories: his love for Buffy, his helping of the Scoobies in their time of need, his promise to protect Dawn, and the pain eased. Then came the most dreaded memory: his attempted rape of Buffy, the violation that he had tried to inflict upon her, and pain increased. It reached a point where he missed the pain of a few moments ago. At that point, he screamed.

The scream echoed through the caves and caverns that made up the demon's home. The demon, turning his head in the direction of the scream, blinked his glowing yellow eyes and then began walking toward the wall of the cave. He quickly and quietly slipped into the wall, an illusion that hid another cave, this one filled with inky darkness.

"It is done," the demon said, his voice deep and echoing in the limitlessness of the cave.

"Great," a voice said, "a job well done. Boy it is dark in here. Let's turn on some lights." And at that moment, the cave lit up, even though there was no electricity within miles and no fire to be seen. The demon shielded his light sensitive eyes and looked towards the center of the cave where another demon, this one seven feet tall with a brownish exoskeleton and a ring under his mouth.

"The vampire has his soul," in the light the demon looked somewhat like a tree, with a leathery, bark-like skin.

"Excellent," the demon, whose names was Skip, said, "so the Powers That Be will have two souled vampires working for them."

"Not quite."

Skip looked at him. "What's you name?"

The demon stared at him with his yellow, piercing eyes. "Oaxaca."

"Well, Oax," Skip put his hand on Oaxaca's shoulder, "if I can call you that. You mean that the vampire will not know he's working for the Powers, but he'll still be doing good, right?"

"No," Oaxaca said stepping to the side and letting Skip's hand fall from his shoulder, "the vampire might not do any good at all."

"What do you mean," Skip said, "he has a soul. You gave it to him."

"Yes, but the worst killers in humanity have all had souls."

"Do you mean that soul hasn't even made a difference?"

"No, the soul did make a difference. He has a choice now. Earlier, he could only do what the demon soul inside him wanted. Now, he has both demon and human souls and can go either way. He can be the Powers' greatest Champion or the Opponent's bloodiest killer. It is his choice."

Skip seemed to contemplate this for a second. "We need someone to guide him, like Whistler did for Angel."

"Spike is unlike Angel," Oaxaca pointed out, "he tried becoming good before he got his soul back. And I doubt he would follow anyone. It's not his style."

"Then how do we get him to follow the path of light and order?"

"Show him the choices. He'll see the different paths he can take and he'll either choose one or the other."

"But he might go to the Opposition's side."

"That will be his choice, then. We cannot control him. It is not the Powers' way to use people as puppets. You can't force him. He needs to choose."

Skip glanced at him and them turned to one of the walls of the cave, which promptly became translucent and showed the image of Spike, lying on the ground. He had stopped screaming and was now unconscious. Skip turned back to Oaxaca. "Good idea."

***

The motorcycle's engine rumbled. It was almost out of gas and he would have to stop to refill it soon. He didn't want to. He didn't want to stop until he reached Sunnydale. Until he reached Buffy. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he wanted to see her. He felt that he had not seen her in a long time, but it was actually just a few weeks. Still he wanted, needed to see her.

But would she want to see him?

The thought ran through his mind, dashing all the hopeful optimistic wonderings there. Of course not. She doesn't want to see her attempted rapist again. She was probably glad that I left and if I returned, she would probably stake me and soon as she saw me.

Then why are you going back?

Because I have to see her. No matter what. No matter if she hates me, no matter is she stakes me, I have to see her.

The engine puttered and he finally stopped at a gas station. He put the nozzle in, paid the attendant, and waited. When the tank was full, he got back on and left, still eager to get to Sunnydale.

Forty miles from Sunnydale, he began to wonder what it would be like to see Dawn again. Did she know? Would Buffy have told her? Xander probably did, the big poofter. His anger grew as he remembered all the things that Xander had done, but he realized that he had hurt Xander, too, with Anya. Why can't it leave me alone? he thought. Why can't that bleeding soul have to stop me from getting angry about people I hate? Because, his soul said back to him, if you got angry, you might do something stupid, like you did last time. I can't hurt Xander, Spike thought, so what's the problem. No, the soul replied, but you can hurt Buffy. That stopped him. What if he got so angry at Xander, he hurt Buffy to get back at him? That would never happen, I love Buffy, he thought, but he realized that he loved her when he tried to rape her also. His love hadn't stopped him then, why would it now? That's why I got the bleeding soul, he thought.

When he reached the Sunnydale town limits, he stopped at the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign. The old Spike had ran it over every time he had come back. The first time it was because he thought he would destroy the town, just as he had the sign. The second time, he was drunk as hell. The times after that, it was symbolic of his hate for it. Sunnydale, the place that had seen him beaten, crippled, defenseless. But he always came back. What for? A cure for Drusilla, a challenge for him, the gem of Amarra, a need for revenge? He had once said "I came back to Sunnydale for it, a place which has witnessed some truly spectacular kickings of my ass." But for what had he come back for now?

Buffy.

He left the sign untouched as he rode into Sunnydale.

***

The first thing he did was go to her house. He didn't know why, he just wanted to see it. Wanted to see if she was there. She was. She stepped out of the door and she looked radiant. Better than she had ever looked before.

He wanted to go up to her. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her for forgiveness. He wanted to tell her how he was so sorry that he would sometimes think that the only way to truly redeem him was to just stake himself. He wanted to plead her to take his life, his death, his anything. He wanted absolution. He wanted peace.

He hid. Across the street, behind brush and bush, he hid. He watched as Buffy and Dawn started walking down the street, chattering about Dawn's classes in school and how Willow's recovery was coming along. He followed them.

In the graveyard, they were attacked by four vamps. It took every inch of restraint to not try and protect them, but he held back in the shadows. He saw as Dawn, the little bit, successfully beheaded a vamp and staked another. He saw them, after slaying, go and get frozen yogurt and talk more about school and slaying. Buffy insisted that Dawn only slay until 10 PM on school nights, Dawn wanted to go until midnight. They settled at 11 and then left to go back home.

In the shadows, he watched as they slept and dreamt. When the sun began to rise, he quietly left and went to his crypt.

Inside his crypt, it was not as he expected. Instead of his dark and dank crypt, with only a television set and recliner, there was actual furniture. A sofa was propped against a tomb and a loveseat sat next to it. His television and refrigerator had been moved and the place looked very different.

"What the bleeding hell happened here," he shouted. There was a crash in bottom level of the crypt and the trap door opened. Clem poked his wrinkled head out.

"Spike," he sounded surprised, "I didn't know you were back."

"Just got in. What did you do to my crypt?"

"I, uh, didn't know how long you were going to be gone, so I, uh, redecorated."

"Where's my recliner?!"

"I, uh, replaced it with the loveseat," Clem got out fully from the trapdoor and went and sat down on the loveseat, "Isn't it great? I got it real cheap."

Spike glared at him. "Right now, all I want to do is sit in my recliner and watch the telly. I can't do that in a bloody loveseat."

"I'll bring it back up here as soon as possible," Clem turned to the trap door and then turned back. "Do you know everything about what happened while you were gone?" he asked.

"No," Spike said sarcastically, "I just got in and I haven't asked anybody about the sodding news."

"Uh, well, you might want to sit down for this."

Spike looked around at the loveseat and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe not."

Clem looked at him in a weird way and them said, "I just know the things Dawn told me, alright. You know about Warren, right?"

"Leader of the nerd triad," Spike was getting impatient, "what's he got to do with it? Did Buffy finally send him behind bars yet?"

"Not quite," Clem sighed and then, realizing that the loveseat was unoccupied, sat down. "He went to Buffy house with a gun."

Spike's expression suddenly dropped. "He didn't… I saw her,"

"Buffy recovered from being shot," Clem said, "Tara did not."

Spike sat down suddenly on the sofa. "Is she…"

"She died."

Spike got up from his seat and paced around his crypt, hands running through his hair. This would never have happened had I not left. I should have stayed, should have…

"Willow went off the deep end."

Spike looked up from his worrying at Clem. His expression was completely serious, with a tinge of sadness. "What?"

"She killed Warren."

"Good for her," Spike was glad the murderer was dead and his soul raised no objections.

"And then tried to end the world."

Spike sat down again. His mind flashed to all the memories he had of Willow, innocent Willow. The time he had kidnapped her; the time he had tried and failed to bite her; her voice in his mind, telling him to go up and save Dawn. "What happened?"

"Xander got to her in time and stopped her."

Xander. He had been there and he had saved her. He had saved the whole world. Who have guessed? Certainly not Spike. Spike suddenly wished that he could reverse time, go back and not do the things he did. Not leave, not try and violate Buffy. He just wanted to be there when she needed help, but instead he had gone off. Run off like a coward.

Clem's voice interrupted his train of thought. "If you want me to leave right now, it's alright, I can find another place to stay."

"No," Spike realized that Clem had been there where Spike had left and he felt that he owned Clem something. "You can stay, I'll find someplace else."

"No, it's okay, I can pull out the roll-a-way bed," Clem said. He turned and opened the trap door leading to the bottom of the crypt. Spike looked down, expecting to see it wrecked from the grenade that Buffy had plunged in it, but instead it looked neat and tidy, with more furniture. "I cleaned it up," Clem said.

"Thanks," Spike said, genuinely, "I'll just get some sleep now." With that he climbed down and dropped onto the floor.

"I'll stay on the roll-a-way, since it's your bed," Clem said from the opening of the trap door.

"Thanks, again," Spike said as he lay down on the bed sitting in the corner.

Sleep did not come easily. When he closed his eyes, he either saw Willow, intent on ruining the world that ruined her life, Tara, lying still and dead, blood pooling from her wound, or Buffy, lying on the cold bathroom floor, clutching at her robe. Clem's snoring didn't help either.

After about an hour, he got back up and went to the television. He sat down on the sofa and watched soap operas, trying to get his mind from thinking about anything.

***

Hours had past. The sun had finally set and the moon was out, only about a sliver of moonlight showing. Spike opened the door of his crypt and looked out. Now was as good a time as ever.

Along the graveyards and cemeteries he walked. He knew Buffy would be out there, patrolling. He wanted to talk, now that he knew about Willow and Tara and everything. He wanted to apologize for not being there, for not helping her. He wanted to tell her that if he had known, he would have gone back immediately. He would have sacrificed his life to save her.

But then he realized that it wouldn't make a difference. He wasn't there, he hadn't known. It was no use saying what would have happened had he been there, he hadn't been there, he had been in Africa. He had run away, selfishly and cowardly.

He slowed down, realizing that everything he was planning on saying to her didn't make a difference. But he knew that even if he didn't know what he was going to say, he had to say something. Anything. So he walked on, searching for Buffy.

He found her in the sixth graveyard he looked in. She was there fighting a scaly demon, his claws almost raking her flesh. He wanted to go up and snap the demon's neck, but he was too far away. Buffy spun and broke the demon's leg with a kick and then its arm with a well-placed punch. The demon was furious. It jumped at her, trying to slash her throat with its working arm. She dodged its attack and picked up a sword that had been lying in the grass and then promptly impaled the demon. It slumped to the ground, dead.

Spike approached Buffy and felt a pain in his chest. "Buffy," he called out to her.

She turned around and her eyes grew wide. "Spike," she said in disbelief.

"Buffy, I…" The pain in his chest increased. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? The pain multiplied and spread across his torso. As he searched for something to say, the pain grew and spread through his legs and arms. It soon reached the tips of his fingers and toes and then spread to his head. He stood there, with the pain in all of his body, and tried to speak. "Buffy…"

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. Like the pain, it started in his chest, but it spread much, much quicker. Soon, it encompassed him and he could no longer move. He was paralyzed by the light and the pain. He felt himself slipping, where he did not know. The light and the pain pulled at him, tugged at his very being. It started to drag him. He managed to shout out "Buf…" and then he was completely pulled in.

The light dimmed and the darkness returned to the graveyard, leaving a very confused Slayer.

End Part One