TITLE: Buffy vs. the Soul
AUTHOR: Kelso
E-MAIL: kelso28@excite.com and of course I want feedback!
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 unsouled Spike, that is.
DISTRIBUTION: anywhere
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/kelso28a/
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!"