Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events ofTabula Rasa never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily. This is a Spuffy fic!

Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun.

I hope to continue updating on a weekly basis as long as possible, stick with me, there's lots more to come! Please read and review!

Chapter 6

"So, does everyone have their parts?" Giles looked around the room at the gang, "Dawn?"

"Oh yeah," she grinned hugely, "I've been training for this one my whole life!"

"Willow, Tara?"

"All good, Spike's just got to aim it right." Willow answered and both witches nodded purposefully.

"Spike?"

"Oh, I was born ready, Rupert."

"Right then. Xander, Anya and I will lie in wait where we planned. We don't know for sure that Buffy will be with them, but it's better to be safe and assume she is."

As soon as the sun began to set the Scoobies split up, Spike, Dawn and the witches heading directly to the front of the warehouse, the others going off separately. Spike kept to the shadows, his duster pulled up over his head to ward off the last slanting rays of the sun. "I hate going out this early," he grumbled. The others said nothing, but kept close behind him as they approached the warehouse. Peering through the shattered windows, Spike could see the three of them on the loading platform. Drusilla and her boy lounged on the daybed, while Buffy sat cross-legged on a worked leather trunk on the other side of the platform, looking bored and resigned to their company. "Good thing Giles insisted on that last part of the plan, Buffy's here alright. This is your moment to shine, Bit." Spike turned to Willow and Tara, "you two stay here, watch, and back me up if I need it. Niblet and I are goin' in."

Spike and Dawn squared their shoulders and walked to the door, throwing it open and stepping through with a flare of drama. "Oi! Dude-rancher! Looks like your little spell didn't hold up as well as you thought, did it?"

"You come lookin' for more, boy?" Aaron stood up, challenging him.

"Well, I had such fun last time; turns out Buffy here gets off on a little bondage, so in the end it was very, ah, satisfactory." The blond vampire's lips twisted up lasciviously and he sent a wink Buffy's way.

"I hope you savored it, Spike. 'Cause that was the last taste of—Dawn?" Buffy turned to stare at her sister. "Oh, now you've done it, Spike," she said, not taking her eyes off Dawn. "I can't believe you brought her here, after your whole whimpering little 'don't kill her' speech." Buffy fumed. Her sister sported her favorite cashmere sweater, her classy yet affordable leather boots, the ones she liked to wear slaying, her brand new mini skirt and the expensive earrings her mother had given her the year before. Buffy jumped off the platform and approached her sister, eyes flaming. "Dawn! What are you doing wearing my clothes? Ohmygod, is that a ketchup stain?"

Dawn crossed her arms and pushed her hip out, throwing her weight to one side. Her voice oozed bitch. "It's pizza, but it doesn't matter. Even with the stain it looks better on me anyway. I'm only fifteen and I already look like more of a woman than you. The whole Slayer physique hasn't done wonders for your curves."

"Are you kidding? You're a child! I bet you're still making mooneyes at your babysitters with food all over your face." Buffy stood in front of Dawn with her hands planted firmly on her hips, her face set hard in the kind of anger that can only arise between siblings.

As the two sisters went at it with increasingly below the belt verbal jabs, Spike and the cowboy vampire stared each other down. "They told me you weren't much of a thinker, boy. But I hadn't taken you for a complete simpleton. Things won't be so easy for you as last time. And somehow I don't think our pet Slayer will be worrying her pretty little head over sex when we offer you up to her. Her sense of entertainment might be just a little more, shall we say, eclectic."

"Oh go ahead, you great poofter. Send some more o' that nancy-boy pink magic my way. It kinda tickles, all pleasant-like." Spike spread his arms, offering his chest in challenge and grinning as obnoxiously as he could manage.

Aaron scowled and raised his hand out in front of him, a burst of magenta energy shooting from his palm. Spike held his ground until the last split second, then lunged to the side, dodging the bolt. "Gotta do better than that, mate! You ever play dodge ball?"

The sorcerer leapt off the platform, leaving Drusilla to clasp her hands together and watch in fascination from the daybed. He let another bolt of energy fly from his palm, but once again Spike expertly ducked out of the way at the last minute. "Come on closer, gunslinger! Let's practice your aim!" The blond vampire beckoned him forward. This time when Aaron attacked, instead of dodging, Spike maintained his position. Just as the stream of magical energy was about to hit, he ripped open his duster to reveal a small make-up mirror dangling from around his neck. The deep pink magic collided with the compact and reflected back, pinning the sorcerer in the same crackling shackles he'd restrained Spike with the day before.

"There'd be a certain poetry to taunting you a bit; letting you stew for a while," Spike said, striding over to the hanging vampire, "I'm a poetic bloke m'self, when it strikes me. But lately," he reached a hand into his duster, "it's just so hard to find the time." He rammed the stake home and Aaron exploded in a shower of dust, the cuffs fizzling out as his remains settled on the floor. He pocketed the stake and brushed off his hands.

"Come on, Dru. We're goin' for a little fieldtrip." He marched up to the dais where she still perched on the daybed and yanked her to her feet.

"I don't want to go with you!" She snatched her hands away from him and stepped back, face clouded. "You've gone all smutty, playin' in the sunshine! Swallowin' the light for her…what did Mummy do wrong to have you stray so?"

He sucked in his cheeks and jutted his chin in a scowl, grabbing at her again, "Cut the prattle, Dru. I'm in no mood for games." He growled.

She pulled out of his grasp and smashed her fist into his jaw, sending him reeling. He roared and vamped out, hitting her back.

On the other side of the room Dawn had kept up her barrage of bratty verbal abuse, maneuvering Buffy toward the side door of the warehouse. "You know I was always the favorite, right? I mean, it's kinda obvious; you're such a freak show. All the stuff you put us through, burning down one school, blowing up another, breaking up Mom and Dad. It's a wonder she didn't send you away somewhere, for good. Far away."

"I put you through?" Buffy sputtered and threw up her hands, then regained her focus, raging "Enough! I'm gonna—"

"You'll have to catch me!"

Dawn bolted out the door, taking full advantage of her slight head start. Buffy lunged after her without thinking, completely oblivious to everything but the supreme annoyingness that was her sister. The door opened up onto a narrow alleyway strewn with haphazard stacks of crates, but Buffy was in enraged sibling mode, everything Slayer taking a back seat, and she neglected to scan her surroundings as she dashed out. Xander and Anya leapt out from behind one of the mountains of crates, positioning themselves to either side of Dawn and doing their best to look threatening.

"Really?" Buffy looked at the trio of Scoobies incredulously, then shrugged and launched her fist into Xander's jaw, knocking him flat. Just as she was pulling her arm back to take down Anya (saving the brat for last), she felt a sudden sharp stinging in her left shoulder blade. She twisted her head around and saw a small metallic dart sticking out of her flesh. A kind of heavy, buzzing, languor spread through her muscles and her knees buckled, crumpling her rudely onto the dirty asphalt. Before she slipped from consciousness she heard a soft, crisp voice very far away, "Right then, I'll inject her now while she's still knocked out. Xander, are you alright? It's most important we get her home and in chains before she wakes up."

He'd used those chains just last year in that idiotic half-cocked scheme to prove his love to Buffy. Only that time Buffy'd been in them, with Dru roped to the support pillar. Now, he wasn't taking any chances on Dru squirming free of her bonds; she hung in the metal shackles, head still bowed in unconsciousness. Spike sat straddling a simple wooden chair, arms resting on its back, watching her with dark eyes and hollow cheeks as he waited.

She'd wake up soon and he'd start what he'd done a hundred times before, only this time it would be business, not foreplay. His heart twisted uncomfortably. He loved Buffy now; he knew that in every dead cell and cold molecule of his body. But bloody hell if it didn't do something to him to see Drusilla hanging there, and him about to go through all the violent little motions that used to mean everything to them. To him. All the little cuts like kisses, aggression that resonated passion, showing that like she'd said, they could love quite well, if not wisely. But everything was different now, it'd all changed, he'd changed damn it, and it meant nothing anymore. It was a job, a necessary step to getting Buffy back, and he'd do it like the big bad vamp he was, with no poncy little complaints from the warped boy inside.

She stirred, her dark locks swaying and hiding her face where it rested staring at the floor. A tiny muscle in his jaw tightened and he pushed down everything but the task at hand, and the man who would do it.

"'S'not very polite, Spike, to send my friends home before I'm done playing wif them." She lifted her head and straightened out her legs, taking the weight off her shackled arms.

"Sorry, pet, didn't like him very much; got on my nerves." He looked at her pointedly, "Somethin' else been getting under my skin is this new attitude you've given Buffy. Right whiny little bitch, she is lately, and not in that delicious way that usually gets me feeling all manly. Don't suppose you want to tell me how to fix that?"

"Oh, put your witch on it. I'm not helpin' you get back to swimmin' in your Slayer." She sulked.

"Nope, not gonna cut it. See, Watcher's got some prophecy says we can't just paste her back together, like. So you're gonna have to do a bit better than that."

"Ooo, are you going to make me? Please make me, Spike. It's so much fun when you get all mean and nasty like, although I can hardly remember what it's like…" She goaded him with wide, mischief filled eyes, her lips forming a taunting pout as she trailed off.

Spike said nothing, just stood from his chair, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flask. Instead of taking a swig he methodically unscrewed the cap and walked over to his former lover, coming to a stop just a foot away from her. He splashed her with the contents of the flask, causing the flesh of her chest to hiss and steam where the holy water dripped over it. She shrieked and threw her head back, pulling at her chains. But before the water had even stopped burning she'd straightened her neck and let a dribble of manic laughter come bubbling up from deep in her throat. She looked at him from under long lashes, mouth twisted in a gleeful smile, "Oh yes, come back to me, my Spike. Come back to Mummy, my dark prince!"

His jaw tightened and he pushed down a surge of old shame harshly twisted with longing, for how things used to be. He backhanded her full force across the mouth and her head snapped to the side, cartilage crunching as her demon came forward. She licked her own blood from her lips, grinning, "Do it again, Spike. Oh please, do it again."