Disclaimer: I own nothing at all.

Summary: For crying out loud, if you can't remember, just go back and read the last 200 pages! Spike has a soul, and Wolfram and Hart is controlling his chip. Vincent (the lawyer) set it so it would only stop while he was hitting Faith.

Chapter 21: Violence

The chip was an astonishing device.

Drinking the blood of humans was what kept Spike alive. It was literally his lifeblood. The chip had been able to keep him from feeding. It had been able to drive him back from even hitting humans. It had taken from him the single most important thing. It would be like asking a human to stop breathing.

That was the most radical change you could ever expect from a vampire. More radical than anything else possible.

It didn't surprise Faith in the slightest when Spike hit her again.

And again.

He'd already proven that he would do anything to stop the pain in his head. Even stop feeding. Stop hitting humans. Something that was crucial to his life. Something he couldn't even envision doing without.

Whatever connection he had to Faith, whatever his soul did for him—it wasn't enough to stop this.

Faith cringed, kicking at him, trying to get him away from her.

He pushed her legs off target with the palm of his left hand, slamming another fist into her. She was already down, but this blow rocked her, leaving her seeing stars.

She could see his eyes, and could see nothing in them but pain and anguish. Then he vamped out, and she could see nothing through the dangerous façade that arose.

She managed to scissor-kick his legs out from under him, rolling out of his reach. He screamed, a heart-rending scream, clutching his hands to his head.

It was the scream that brought Angel and Buffy.

Faith struggled to her feet as the other Slayer and the Champion came barreling towards them, heading straight towards Vincent. They both picked him as the threat instinctively, too used to a Spike that was on their side, a Spike who wouldn't or couldn't hit them.

Vincent smiled. "New targets," he noted, playing with the remote control.

Spike gained his feet, intercepting them before they reached Vincent. He clotheslined Angel, an outstretched arm knocking the taller vampire to the ground. He spun around, kicking Buffy back. Before she could recover, he was hitting her.

Buffy reeled back out of his reach, then shot in, punching him away. As he staggered back she pressed forward, slamming her fists into him again and again. Each impact sent him back several feet, and he collapsed after a minute. She spared a final kick for him, then charged Vincent.

Vincent ducked out of the way, scrambling away from the Slayer.

"You didn't say the chip was out!" snarled Buffy at Angel, chasing after Vincent.

Angel staggered to his feet, and Spike rushed him, pounding at him with his left hand while grabbing his neck with his right hand.

Holding Angel captive he rushed Buffy, throwing Angel at her. As they fell he leapt into the air, coming down on Vincent and reaching for the remote.

As they crashed to the ground the remote spun off into the air, and Vincent let out a shriek. Spike roared, clutching his head, and bit Vincent quickly. The lawyer tried to push him off, but Spike's grip was desperate.

Buffy charged forward, a stake in her hand, heading for Spike's back. She raised her arm, ready to deliver the blow.

Faith rammed into her from the side, sending her crashing into a gravestone.

Angel was also up and heading for Spike. Faith spun around, her heel coming up and crashing into his chest, sending him flying backwards with the force of the kick. As he smashed into another grave marker it exploded, stone chips flying as his dead body crushed the stone monument.

Then Faith turned to Spike, tearing him off Vincent. "Come on!" she said, kicking Vincent away, sending his body rolling.

Spike turned, smashing a fist into her face. She rocked back with the blow. "Not so hard!" she snapped.

His next hit was gentler, but it was like comparing being hit by an AK-47 to being hit by an artillery round—it might be gentler, but it was just as deadly.

She pushed him in the direction the remote had gone. He clutched her shoulders, howling with the pain as he tried not to hit her again.

She spotted the remote and dove for it, driving him into the ground. He screamed, clutching his head, while she fumbled with it, punching buttons.

Vincent tried to tackle Faith from behind, sensing that he was losing control of the situation. Angel ran towards them, grabbing the lawyer.

Angel wasn't entirely sure what Faith and Spike were doing, but he trusted the dark Slayer, at least enough to let her let Spike tear her apart. He punched the lawyer, sending him reeling.

Angel was still staggering from Faith's blow, but he managed to limp into a position between Vincent and the two fallen warriors. Faith, in the meantime, was still trying to get the remote to work. She pressed a button, and Spike went limp, groaning.

"Is that better?" asked Faith.

Spike winced, nodding. "It stopped," he muttered.

Vincent chuckled, backing away. "That's cute," he said. "The Slayer and her pet vampire."

Faith was straddling Spike, pinning him to the ground. For a second she didn't move, savoring the moment, running a hand over his face, caressing his cheek. Then she got up slowly, eyeing Vincent. "You're about two seconds from the beating of your life."

"You think turning his chip against him is the worst we can do?" asked Vincent nastily. "He made a deal. If he's reneging now, the consequences, as laid out in his contract, are down-right apocalyptic."

Spike snarled, getting to his feet slowly. "Apocalypse? Learn the plural."

The lunge he made for the other man was nothing short of leonine. He made a graceful arc through the night, slamming into the other man, both arms wrapping around him. Vincent, weak from the loss of blood already, fell to the ground, Spike atop him.

Angel and Buffy both grabbed Spike, each by one arm, and hauled him off.

Vincent twisted on the ground, moaning. Faith, moving closer, put a hand on Spike's shoulder. "What's he muttered about?" she asked.

She was still shaking from Spike's attack.

She'd understood, at least in her head, that Spike's attack had been inevitable, that he couldn't have stopped even if he had wanted to. She knew the power of the chip. She understood.

But deep in her gut, it felt like a betrayal. Like the thousand betrayals that had preceded it. Like the thousand betrayals she had avoided by pushing people away.

"It's Latin," said Angel.

"It's a spell," said Spike, with more urgency. He shook Buffy and Angel off, moving closer. "What are you trying to do?" he asked desperately, running towards Vincent as quick as his rubbery legs could carry him.

Vincent's mouth curved into a sneer. "You didn't think I would come here armed only with a remote, did you?"

Spike screamed, curling his arms about his chest in an unconscious hug. He staggered back, gasping for breaths that he didn't need. "What—what—?" he stammered, unable to make himself clear.

Faith could see a blue light shining through the thin material of his black tee-shirt. She grabbed the front of it, tearing it off him.

Blue lines criss-crossed his chest, with one blue handprint in the middle of his chest. The handprint glowed a deep blue, and as Faith tried to put her hand on it she could feel bone-chilling waves of coldness coming off it.

Vincent rose to his feet. Buffy moved threateningly towards him, and he smiled. "Would you hit a human, Slayer?" he asked.

She punched him, knocking him down to the ground. "Idiot," she muttered darkly, watching with a detached expression as he struggled to his feet, his face panicked, and ran off.

Faith noticed for the first time that Buffy's actions were decidedly odd. She chalked it up to Buffy's recent return from death, not thinking about it very long. She concentrated on Spike, who was lying on the ground now, writhing in pain.

She grabbed the sides of his head, pinning him down, and knelt beside him, holding him still and forcing him to look at her. His eyes were filled with crazed panic, and he was shaking.

Buffy watched dispassionately at Spike struggled. Angel stood there, uncertain what to do.

Faith wept.

Gissard glanced up from the sink as he heard the door crash open. "Who's there?" he asked.

Faith strode into the kitchen, grabbing him by the neck. He was surprised, and a spell formed behind his lips as he tried to struggle.

She dragged him back into the living room, pointing at Spike. "Fix it," she said flatly.

Gissard paused, taking in the tableau before him. Angel stood there over his Childe, who was shirtless and moaning, slashes of blue light across his chest. Spike lay across the couch, where he had obviously been carried.

Another woman, one Gissard didn't recognize, stood in the doorway.

"I didn't invite any vampires in," said Gissard, concerned.

"You invited me," said Faith. "I invited them. Help him!" She shoved him towards the vampire on the couch, her unnatural strength propelling him towards the demon.

The blond by the door shifted uncomfortably, eying them both.

Gissard swallowed. "It should be a person who lives..." He trailed off, remembering that Faith had spent the night in the apartment. Apparently that was all the vampire needed to establish residency—or was it that Faith felt at home here?

Gissard threw the thoughts about how that worked aside. He focused on the runes emblazoned on the chest of the scrawny vampire panting for breath he didn't need.

After a second he realized what the runic markings were. "What kind of spell did he have cast on him?" Gissard asked Faith, worried suddenly.

"I don't know, the lawyer was on the ground, and he was chanting."

"His soul," said Angel suddenly. "That's how they returned his soul to him, isn't it?"

Gissard nodded grimly. "Yes. That would explain it." He and Angel shared a long glance, something that disgusted Gissard. What was he doing, having a meaningful moment with a vampire?

"What's going on?!" demanded Faith, staring at Gissard, then switching her glare to Angel.

"What happened before Buffy and I arrived?" asked Angel.

"Buffy?" said Gissard sharply. He wished suddenly that Quayle was awake. He had met Buffy Summers—or at least seen her from a distance.

Buffy watched Gissard dispassionately.

"He, he put the chip back in, said they were reneging the deal," said Faith.

"The soul was part of the deal," said Gissard. He put a hand on the cold light coming off the vampire's chest, and Spike moaned loudly. "They're stripping it away."

Faith sat on the floor, watching Spike twist and rock. Angel and Gissard were reading some thick texts, muttering obscure phrases.

Buffy was behind Spike, watching him. Her stare was flat. "So he loses his soul?" she asked. "So what? He never had a soul before."

"But..." Faith frowned, staring at the other Slayer. "He has a soul," she said, her voice small.

Buffy's face twisted in another frown that twisted deep into Faith's gut. Almost like a mirror, she thought dully.

Could the blonde Slayer be serious? Hadn't Spike helped her, before?

But then Faith remembered that Spike had wept openly, saying how badly he had failed her. Saying how her blood was on him. It occurred to her suddenly that Buffy might just agree with Spike.

Worse, she could suddenly see in the way Buffy was standing that she hated the vampire. Faith couldn't understand how she had missed it before. Buffy stood watching the vampire, ready to fight him, to stake him. He hadn't been her friend, ever. Buffy had never trusted him the way Faith did.

Faith got up quickly, moving closer to them, hovering over Spike. She trailed a hand through his hair, staring at Buffy, whose lip curled up into a sneer.

Angel was watching, and Faith noted with a quick glance that he looked troubled by the exchange.

Faith ignored this. "He's different!" she snapped, keeping her hands in front of her, ready for a fight, if that was what was coming.

Gissard put the book in front of him down, staring.

"He's Spike," said Buffy. "He killed two Slayers, you know. He told me once that he earned the name William the Bloody before he was turned." Angel choked. "If you think his soul tames him, you're horribly mistaken."

Angel started to rise. "You've been dead!" snarled Faith. "Not here." She leaned forward. "Butt out of it, B!"

"Oh, your pet vampire?" asked Buffy angrily. Angel rose to his feet and moved closer silently.

Gissard rose to his feet, leaving the couch and coffee table behind. "Ladies," he said slowly. They both spared him a glare. "Why don't we concentrate on the matter at hand."

"Spike is the matter at hand," said Buffy, crossing her arms.

"With a soul, he's been much less of a nuisance," said Angel. "And they have control of his chip. If they take his soul, I don't think we'll be very safe. Much safer to prevent this, this—?" He looked at Spike, puzzled. "Whatever they're doing."

Buffy stared at Angel. "Can we talk?" she asked him.

"Uh, sure."

"Not here," she said. "Somewhere private."

He nodded, glancing to Faith with a shrug.

As he led her out the front door Faith looked to Gissard, frowning. "You're not researching."

"Uh, no," he said, with a little half-smile. "But I think we stopped the, um, other Slayer from, um, staking him where he lay."

"I'm calling Giles," said Faith, moving to the phone.

Gissard frowned, but let her go.

Buffy didn't speak, pacing back and forth in front of Spike's now-empty crypt. Angel sat and watched her, trying to understand what was happening. She seemed to be reeling from something—what, he couldn't tell.

"I, I wasn't," said Buffy finally, stopping in front of him. Angel raised a single eyebrow laconically. "I wasn't in hell. I don't know anything about God, or angels, or heaven...but where I was it was peaceful. It was...I was happy there."

Angel just stood there, his face not changing.

Inside, though, he felt his heart break. Again.

They'd torn her out of heaven. They hadn't saved her—they hadn't brought her where she wanted to be. They had imprisoned her, they had destroyed her.

He moved then, sweeping her into a tight hug. He held her close, and she started to cry, clutching the front of his shirt and pressing her face into his shirt. Each sob she let out was quieter than the last one, until she fell silent, clutching to him like a drowning man to a lifeline.

"I can't..." She gave a choked sob.

He hushed her, stroking a hand over her hair. "It'll be all right, Buffy. It'll be all right," he assured her.

She shook her head. "It won't! It won't. I want...I need..." She sobbed again. "I need to feel again," she said. "I feel dead. I feel like I was alive and now I've died. I need to feel...alive." Her hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him even closer, and he was suddenly aware of just how close she was.

Realizing what she was asking, Angel shook his head. "No, Buffy," he said. What she wanted was too dangerous.

"Please?" she asked, her voice breaking on the word.

And he was lost. He never could have said no to that, no matter the consequence.

Faith watched Gissard and Giles reading, and she shrugged, glancing to Quayle, who had arrived recently. "What do you think?" she asked him.

He watched her warily. "Your sacred calling is killing vampires," he said after a moment's thought. "You might want to consider just staking him."

"Just staking him?" asked Faith, surprised.

"If he's in agony, it might be the final kindness you can give him," suggested Quayle.

Faith glared at him from under the thick eye-shadow that she used as a shield. "Kindness?" she asked. Quayle nodded.

"You obviously don't know Faith as well as you think," said Gissard suddenly, without looking up from his book. "Euthanasia is a selfless act—letting the other person go." He looked up, meeting Faith's startled gaze. "I doubt the Slayer could let anyone or anything go."

Faith wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she was pretty sure it was an insult. Her hands curled into fists. Giles looked up in alarm.

Quayle frowned. "What?" he asked, surprised.

Gissard watched Faith closely. "I think you heard me," he said coolly.

Faith returned the gaze, and suddenly realized that Gissard's kind words all disappeared in front of Quayle. With the other Watcher in the room he was downright nasty, but whenever he left the wizard softened.

She knew this game well. The game of keeping up appearances. The game of distance.

But she had no idea why he was playing it now.

"Is that your way of covering up when you can't do something?" shot Faith, sneering at him. Gissard half-relaxed, and she wondered briefly just what kind of games he was playing, just why he was doing what he did.

Quayle watched the interaction closely, but said nothing.

"I have something," admitted Gissard. "It might work, but it's going to do a number on him."

"Do it," said Faith.

"Why?" asked Quayle. Faith turned, surprised. "He's no hero. He's hardly a force for goodness."

"He saved the world!" growled Faith. "The Hellmouth was opening, and he closed it." Quayle blinked quickly, surprised. "He's more a hero than you've ever been."

"Hero or not, we need to act quickly," said Giles quietly. "I'll get everything we need to cast the spell." He got up to leave.

"I should have all the supplies we'll need in my room," said Gissard.

Giles turned around, surprised. "You keep—of course you do." The surprise melted away, and Giles considered Faith quietly.

"Faith," said Quayle. She turned back, watching him. "You forget, you are the Slayer. You're not the one who gives the orders here."

Giles and Gissard both turned, watching the Watcher and Slayer face off. Giles' concerned look deepened.

"You think? What are you without me?" seethed Faith.

Quayle blinked. "Then you're prepared to defy us, as Buffy Summers did?" he asked. "Kick us away?"

"Yes," snarled Faith.

Quayle nodded. "I was afraid of that."

Gissard moved forward, quick as a flash, striking Faith in the arm. She whirled, punching him, sending him flying back into the wall, grabbing her arm.

A hypodermic needle was stuck in her arm, the plunger depressed. Faith yanked it out and threw it away. "What is this?!" she demanded.

"A special blend of sedatives and muscle relaxants," said Quayle, drawing a gun out of his coat. "Designed to make you no more than a normal human for about a week."

Faith stared at him, clutching her arm and staring at the gun as his words sank in. "Wha—?"

"This is the end," said Quayle. "I could tolerate your oddities and quirks as long as you kept your place. But you've gone too far."

"Gissard..." seethed Faith.

"Don't blame the wizard," said Quayle. "I keep him on a tighter leash than you. I somewhat suspect that he was trying to warn you how close you were skating to this in the last few moments. Regardless." He leveled the gun at her. "I shan't miss you, Faith."

Faith tensed herself, preparing for a last-ditch escape attempt.

Instead a cold hand closed around her neck, flinging her to the floor. She heard a loud explosion—a shot, she realized, the noise amplified by their close quarters.

But Spike was up, in front of her. He had taken the shot. He continued forward, and another shot, deafening, exploded. Faith winced, grabbing her ears.

Then Spike had the gun, and tore it out of the Watcher's hand. Faith couldn't see his face, but he punched the Watcher, then cried out in pain, clutching his head and reeling back.

"The chip?" offered Giles, moving closer and taking the gun from Spike, leveling it at Quayle.

"Apparently, Rupes," growled Spike, rubbing his chest.

Giles nodded. "The runes—they've stopped glowing."

Spike nodded wearily. "They did their work—gutted me entirely," he said, his voice amused.

Giles nodded. "I expected as much. The soul?"

Spike rubbed his chest. "Well, the itching has stopped. I expect it's gone now."

Giles nodded. "Get Faith out of here," he ordered. "I'll keep them here as long as possible."

Spike turned, and Faith felt her stomach lurch at the hard, predatory look in his eyes. "Right," said Spike.

He grabbed her again, lifting her easily, and pushed her out the door. She let him, feeling a queasiness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't realized that he had changed at all with the soul—it was certainly a surprise to see a difference now that he'd lost it.

"I feel dirty," he muttered as they walked forward. He smirked. "And hopeful ,for the first time in a long time."

"Why's that?" asked Faith.

"The Slayer is back," said Spike. "Buffy." He grinned. "That makes all the difference to me." He glanced at her. "Well, come on, hop it. I wanna get back to my crypt in time for Passions."

"Passions?" Asked Faith, not understanding. "What?"

He sighed. "It's a TV show."

"Oh!" she said, recognizing it now. "The soap opera!" She chuckled. "You don't seem the type."

A shot rang out behind them, and Spike frowned. "Run," he advised, pushing her forward. "Do they know where my crypt is?"

"I don't think so," she said.

"Even if they do, we can get into the tunnels from my crypt. Come on, hurry it up."

So he was soulless, again. It didn't bother her that much, did it? After all, he'd been without a soul before. He'd been without a soul when she'd slept with him—without a soul through all the things they'd gone through.

Well, most of them.

They reached the crypt, and Spike threw the door open, glancing to the east. "The sun'll be up in a few minutes," he observed.

Faith stepped inside, and gasped. "Angel!" she said.

Spike stepped in after her, his human façade disappearing in a flash as his vampiric visage emerged. "Angelus!" he snarled.

Angel, on the bed, lifted his head from Buffy's neck, blood dribbling down his chin. His eyes flashed, and then his human mask slipped back on. "Faith! Willy!" He grinned widely at them. "Hang on a minute, boys, the party's just starting!"

Faith took in Buffy's state of undress, as well as Angel's, and suddenly realized that Spike was right. This wasn't the souled vampire that she had befriended. It was the demon, the vampire who had tried to end the world once before.

Spike let out a cry of indignation, leaping forward and smashing a fist into Angelus. As the older vampire flew back the younger vampire followed him, raining blow after blow on him. "Get away from her!" screamed Spike. "Stay away from her!"

Angelus batted him away. "Show a little respect for your elders, boy," he said, slamming a bare foot into Spike's chest, driving him to the floor. "Last time I saw you ... you were beating me while the Slayer fought with Drusilla. Still the Slayer's pet, I see."

Spike scissored his legs, taking Angelus down, and struggled to his feet. Angelus was on his feet first, with speed that even a vampire shouldn't have had.

Speed aided by the blood he'd taken from Buffy.

Spike snarled, punching at Angelus. Angelus caught the punch in both hands, head-butting Spike, sending him sprawling.

Faith charged forward, punching Angelus in the jaw.

The punch skittered off his jaw, and she felt as if she'd just punched a mountain. She clutched her hand, surprised, and Angelus's eyebrow came up nastily. "Not quite so strong as we thought, eh?" he asked, although he was clearly also surprised at the ineffectiveness of the blow.

He punched her, a hard blow that flung her across the room, slamming her into the wall. She felt her breath driven out of her by the sharp impact, and could feel the entire left side of her head explode in pain. Her fingers all tingled as she slumped down to the floor.

Then Spike was punching Angelus again, driving him back. "A big bad monster you are," taunted Spike. "Spend all your spare time helping little old ladies cross the road, do you?"

Angelus growled, backing up. Spike took the opportunity to kick him in his unguarded crotch. Angelus staggered back, shifting into game face angrily, letting out a howl of pain. "I'll see you in hell, boy!" he snarled, before turning and fleeing.

Spike jumped on the bed, grabbing Buffy. "Slayer! Slayer!" he said desperately. "She's weak...so weak...she's dying!" He said desperately. He looked to Faith for help as she struggled to her feet. "She's dying!" he said desperately, his face sliding back into its human form. "Help me!" he pleaded.

"We've gotta get her to a hospital," said Faith woodenly. She touched her lips, surprised to find blood dribbling down from them.

"No time," said Spike. "No time." He thought for a second, then shifted back to game face for a moment, biting into his own wrist.

"What are you doing?" asked Faith, rubbing her head. It was too foggy—if she could only think...

"It's the only way," said Spike, leaning forward to press his wrist to Buffy's lips.

Understanding hit Faith like a physical blow, and she shot forward, pushing him. On the bed she was able to overbalance him, even without her super- strength. "No!" she said, angrily. "She—it wouldn't be her, and you know it!"

"It'd be close enough!" screamed Spike. "I can save her!"

"Get her to the hospital!" Faith yelled right back at him. "That's the only help she wants from you!"

Spike shifted upward, deadly intent on his face, but the chip started to fire even as he reached for her. "Agh!" He grabbed his head. "Go, then! Go!" he said, rubbing his temples.

"I can't," said Faith. "I'm not strong enough. I need your help."

Spike stared at her, growling under his breath. "Fine." He scooped up Buffy. "But she starts to falter, and I'm doing it."

"You try it, and I swear I'll stake you, Spike," said Faith.

They set out for the hospital.