Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah..Don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer nor it's characters..and all that gob. Summery: Well, this is obviously the next step after Season 7, thus having a full..or seemingly full view on exactly what Spike went through after that neat cliffhanger we where left with. Review. Don't, and the coalbin'll be put to good use. As for adding more chapters, all will be solved in your reviews. And: Read on. D





Ingredient one: Brooding



There was a mixture of things that woke him up. The hunger, for one thing. The repetitious buzzing sound from an unknown object, and the light that seemed to pierce the darkness behind closed lids.

And pain. There was an intense pains arising in his chest, spreading down from his fingers to toes. It was almost paralyzing, and barely tolerable. His head felt like a mosh pit of jumbled thoughts and recent memories.

Then came the flash backs.

Dark. Hurtful darkness. The kind of blinding oblivion that mocks your senses. It rivals the sanity that you've kept safe for so long. Vampire or not, it hurt like hell. Trials. Three of them. A swirl of pictures, each including the silhouetted profile of that demon, the one that supposedly granted wishes. For a bloody hell of a price.

Soul?

No, no, no. No soul. Not like him. And the scream. Was it his scream? Probably. The vibrating vocal cords were sore. The feeling of bugs then. Tens of millions. More, perhaps. Crawling, the lot of them. Sporting a pair of six legs each. A shudder ran through his still body. Fire, then. Sure, the darkness was gone, but then there was fire. Fire that scorched his skin. Wasn't the fire before the bugs? Who cares. It was over.

Over. Was he dead? Or, un-un dead? Try moving. No, no such luck. But, what about that soul business then? One way ticket into Heaven, innit? Oh sure, go through some three sodding trials and get an eternity stuck in a non-animated corpse. Welsher cheated him.

Move, dammit.

There. Leg's moving. Fingers, achy but moveable. Alright, so maybe he wasn't laying at some pearly white gates. But then again, he isn't laying in some morgue in LA.

Morgue. LA. Africa. Shit.

A seemingly silent scream pressed through thin lips. The cry of pain was obviously enough to be brought to the attention of the women, a dark African woman, who gasped.

Gasp. Yeah, so ears are working too. Vampire senses seem dead, though. Yeah, much like himself. Ha ha. Regroup, you ponce. Pull yourself up. There you go. Ignore the pain. You've been through hell, what are a few more minutes.

The woman had screamed when the supposed dead body sprung up. Well, not sprung up, per say, but a slow and seemingly painful struggle to sit up. He looked around.

The lights. Sun?

He turned himself around, noticing the windows had been drawn tightly. The only lights being emitted was from the dirty florescent tubes that hung overhead. The fact that they had electricity was the least of his troubles.

The buzzing sounds had stopped, but the conclusion was set once his view had turned over to the bloke next to him. Burn marks on his chest, similar to the ones on his. Rubber gloves on the trolley next to the cot. An electrical impulse machine close by.

Bloody hell. Did that bloke, obviously not a vampire, try the same? Well, 'course he didn't come skipping for a soul. Neither did he, for that matter. Shuddering again. And footsteps. Did that screaming chit leave? God, anyone got a stake?

"'e's awake, sir."

Spike was confused. Pained and confused. And feeling terribly screwed. Souls don't mean squat, that's mainly why he ventured so far east to lose the chip, not gain a soul. Yeah, Spike with a shiny new soul. Right up there with grandsire poof. Oh hell. Blood shot eyes sprinted forward at the person that had entered the room. He shifted, despite gritted teeth. It was a man, white, with a strong tan. Mid 50's. Mid life crises victim, perhaps? You know those types, who travel to the furthest ends of the earth so they can brag to their chums that they did something in their sodding life?

"Ah, thought you'd never come too."

All right, so he's friendly. And British. Friendly can be over exuberant. Friendly can be annoying. Without stopping himself, he let out a tense growl, rupturing the already sore cords.

"Ow, dammit."

Barely audible. And barely tolerable, the pain was. Propped up elbows kept his burnt back hovering a few inches away from the red sheets. Had be bled that much? And exactly what was the allotted time?

"Would keep still, vampire. Burns like that take time even for your species."

Vampire? Was it that obvious? Well, those burn marks probably would've killed a human. But he could've been a strong human. Oh god, stop mumbling. You're alive. Well, so to speak. SHUT UP.

His mental argument and chastisement seemed quite picturesque. His face was beaten though, readable expressions seemed lost. A track of black and blue marks trailed from his forehead to his stomach. His back was bloody, thus the sheets having blotches of tainted blood patterns.

"Surprised that you made it. First vampire to survive in nearly 500 years."

Oh, worthy. Yeah, always with the worthy trollop. Angel wasn't worthy. Nope, he was skipping around with that bitch of a curse. But was there strings attached with this soul deal?

He kept quiet. No words to speak. He slowly let himself down again into the puddle of dry blood. Cobalt eyes searched the ceiling. Nope, this wasn't a hut. A rather sturdy establishment made out of wood and stucco. Technology seemed impressive out here, especially since he was in a part of the country not even listed on the map.

"You don't seem too happy about that new soul of yours."

Score one for the annoying one. Doesn't this needle every shut up. Close your eyes, pretend that you're not interested.

"Chip on your shoulder? Or rather in your head?"

Now that made his brow furrow. Well, the bloke probably did examine him when he was laying unconscious on the bed. Yeah, advantage there. No, keep quiet. He'll go away.

"Hmm, not one too talk, are we, Spike?"

All right, that's it. Up we go. Fuck the pain. That's right. Bloody knackered doctor thinks he can pull a fast one. Fat lot that's going to do. No knickers in a bundle, right?

"Wow, you are good, aren't you, mate?"

Ah, that's right. Sarcasm, old boy. But that barely covered what he wanted to know. Soul. 500 years? Worthy business. And the fact that this screwed doctor knew who he was. Positive the bruises left something to be desired.

"Well, after being a watcher for a few years, you get a knack for those sort of things."

Watcher? Council, innit? Oh, bloody hell. Knew he sounded all too British. Accents where all one in the same anyway. Well, that had basically answered the lot of his questions. Not strange for a watcher to know every bleeding vampire that was mentioned in a book some thousand years ago. And saying thousand was being generous.

"Don't worry, I'm not in the business anymore."

Ooh, good. No stakes then. Or garlic. Hell, a bit of sun and it's all over. Everything but the victory party. Ol' Spike is dead. The Slayer and the gang. Wager a few calico's that they're all for staking him. After his twisted attempt to get to Buffy, or using the more harsh word, rape her, he left Sunnyhell. Left his bloody duster there too. Whelp probably burned it.

The man chuckled, then made his way before the injured vampire. Hovering about him for a moment, taking the time to examine him as thoroughly as a minute gave him. He seemed all the bit tentative about the vampire. Despite the pain, Spike had that crooked grin on. Big Bad's back in action.

Please. Scared. The tarty chap obviously knew he didn't have his bite anymore. And this soul, sure, it meant zilch, but it still meant something. Sentimental value. Maybe then Buffy and her patented God Squad would think more of him. If he did ever return back to the Hellmouth.

"Must be wondering about..well, everything aren't you? I've read a lot about you, William. Rail road spikes, eh? Ingenious, if I do say so myself. You seemed to have quite a..disdainful taste in torture."

Seemed. Well, hell. He could still pull off a few moves. On demons. Blasted chip. Can't even defend himself against robbers. Well, there's always the useless demon visage.

"From the style of writing in the old text, it seemed that you where like a vampire Shaft. Everyone wanted to be you. Torture the way you do."

The ex-Watcher chuckled. He had in time moved himself to the other side of the room, cleaning a few instruments. He removed the latex gloves from his hands, disposing of them.

"A real vampiric Sid and Nancy, you and Drusilla where."

Oh, sure. Bring up Dru. Just needed to hear that, mate. Growl, dammit. Let this wanker know whose boss.

"You're not gonna shut up anytime soon, are you?"

There we go. Spoken like a true poof. Next ask if he can change your sheets. Blood really isn't your thing anymore.

The man was hardly taken back by his scratchy comments, disappearing into the next room and returning a few minutes later with a mug. It was full with the crimson liquid that kept the undead from appearing..well, undead. He stopped next to the cot with the resting vampire, handing the mug to him gently and without a look of disgust. This had shocked him considerable, or rather gave him a higher respect for this watcher. Giles on the other hand, now you couldn't pay that bloke enough to crumble a bit of weetabix into his blood. No, no, no. A big fuss was made.

"What's your catch, mate. Don't tell me you're takin' care of me just because you fancy being righteous and all that rot.."

Blood. God, forgot how much it was needed. Sips. Big ones. Finish it up. Feeling better already.

"No catch William. Reckon a vampire gaining a soul is something to be account for."

He took the empty mug, gesturing for Spike to lay down. He responded, easing his back into a semi-comfortable position. He took notice of the position of the cot, having his head higher then his feet. There was a smell, familiar to his scent. Decaying corpse. His view had turned to his right, seeing the human figure beneath a white sheet. Cor, it smelled worse then before this joyous trip.

"Happened to that prat?"

Throat's too dry to speak. But the smell, roasting flesh used to be intoxicating. Now, well, it smelled like hell. Don't say this soul's making the whole vampire deal shown in a different perspective.

"He attempted those trials. Human's aren't tough enough to handle it. Nor are the lot of vampires that had a go at it either. Not too sure what he had wanted though. Immortality if anything. Well, humanity's always a good thing."

Well, Christ, who cares? Shut up already you yapping git. Groggy. Head feeling heavy. And that blood, foreign blood it was. Of course he could handle it. Treacle, scones and mash. Yeah, that fat lot of English food. Nasty, but you eventually acquire a taste for it. Sure he could do the same for this blood. Tired, though. Bloody well tired. Can't turn though, too much pain. Should heal soon..

And with that he dozed off. Or rather ventured into those deep sleeps that vampires are known for. The man smiled briefly to himself, before turning and exiting the room. What a rough ride that one has ahead. No idea that he's on the road to humanity himself. He hummed to himself a little English jig, the sounds of the song reaching beyond him and drifting into the occupied room. The room that had been kept to keep the dead, and those on the road to redemption. To make a long story short, with a soul comes humanity. With humanity, a second chance.