Spike took a last drag on his smoke, flicked it to the ground to join its fellows, and immediately lit another. He hated waiting. Waiting meant thinking, and thinking meant worrying--worrying about whether Dawn was all right, about whether the operation would be successful, and about Her, no matter how hard he tried to stop. He didn't know why he was doing this, really; to prove something, he supposed, though he didn't know what or to whom. But he was tired of analyzing, tired of questioning--he was, essentially, a man of action. So he'd acted. Searched for three months, dragged the old DeSoto halfway across the country and back, drank endless shots in countless demon bars, and enjoyed beating information out of more than a few reluctant informants. It was amazing what a bloke could find, really, if he put his mind to it--even rejects from top-secret defunct government agencies. So now it had all come down to this: this alley, this night, this pack of smokes, this waiting.

The door next to him opened, and a petrified, pathetic excuse for a human male peered out at him through too-thick glasses. "He's… um… Dr. Neal is ready," he quavered, looking ready to piss himself any moment.

Spike favored him with his most dangerous smile. "Good boy," he murmured. Some tiny part of him wanted to know why he was doing this. He told it to shut the hell up. His footsteps echoed in the alley as the door swung shut behind him.

Two hours later, he had forty-nine stitches in his head, a terrified doctor writhing on the floor with a broken nose, and no trace of a headache.

---------------------------------

Spike heard a female cry in the distance, and smiled to himself. It was good to be home. As he swaggered along the moonlit streets of dear old Sunny-D, he could feel the blood singing to him, stronger with every human he passed. He'd barely stopped on the long drive back from Bumfuck, Wherever, so he hadn't really noticed the walking Happy Meals, but now they were everywhere, calling him. Hot, sweet, seductive siren song, and he with no one and nothing to lash him to the mast. His demon was screaming inside him—twice, he slipped into game face without intending to. It was as if the chip truly had chained him, as Dru had said, and now he was free. He'd forgotten how overwhelming it could be—the potential, the power. It was almost like the pleasure/pain/horror/exultation of being turned.

It tells you you're not a bad dog, she'd told him, her dark, mad eyes fixed on him in that spellbinding way she had. But you are. He could almost hear her voice echoing in his footsteps, like a litany: You are. You are. You are. You are.

For the last three years, he hadn't honestly known what he was. Now, he was starting to wonder if the answer hadn't been there all the time.

Still, he had a goal in mind, and he didn't have time for an idle snack. A feral smile curved his lips as he saw that the light was on in the Magic Box, long past closing. He caught a glimpse of red hair and, not far away, the dark curls he was looking for. The smile expanded into a grin. He'd been waiting three years for this.

He hauled open the door, strode in, coat billowing, and punched Xander full in the face.

Bleeding blond hell-bitches, it felt good. And the Scoobies' reactions were priceless, as the realization slowly dawned on them that he was chip-pain-free. Surprise, panic, and dread flew across their faces in rapid succession. He almost laughed with the exhilaration of it, watching all their frantic pulses beating in their tasty little necks—and then he realized that the neck he was looking at was Dawn's. Above it, her eyes were wide and terrified and confused. And suddenly, he felt so sick he could barely stand.

And then he didn't really have much choice about the standing, as Buffy had him shoved up against the wall, stake in hand. He met her eyes, and what he saw there made his already-queasy stomach drop right into his battered boots. There was anger, of course, and confusion, but behind it all, a kind of disbelieving pain that went straight to his heart. It hurts her? What the--

"What the fuck's going on, Spike?" she demanded, her voice harsh with barely-concealed emotion.

"Miss me, love?" he asked quietly, smirking just a bit to cover his own confusion.

But she didn't take the bait. She was deadly serious. "Tell me what happened or I stake you right now." She hesitated for just the tiniest fraction of a second right before the word "stake," but her voice never wavered. He wondered if anyone else had noticed.

He looked her straight in the eye. "You know what happened. I found a doctor. Had a little operation. The chip's out." He grinned a little. He knew he was playing with fire, here, but it had been so long since he had been able to reach her, in any way. You always hurt the ones you love. "Dog's off his leash now, pet."

He could actually see the last flicker of hope die. She started to draw back the hand holding the stake, her eyes flat and lifeless. He just watched, wondering if she'd actually do it, knowing he could stop her if she tried. She was just starting her forward motion when Dawn's voice broke the silence.

"Buffy! No!"

Something warm and terrifying and indescribable bloomed in Spike's chest, but he didn't take his eyes off of Buffy. Pain flooded her eyes again, and she seemed to slump a little, like a puppet when its strings go still. "You don't know what you're talking about, Dawn. He's not… he's not the same Spike anymore. He could hurt us, hurt you. Look what he did to Xander."

Spike's eyes flickered to Harris, now back on his feet and standing protectively in front of his demon bride, blood trickling from his nose. Spike's own demon growled eagerly inside him, but this time he ignored it. "Whelp's been baiting me for years, Slayer. Can you blame me for wanting a little of my own back?"

"And you expect me to believe that's all it was?"

The power, the exhilaration, all melted away and he was suddenly tired, more tired than he'd felt in a century. Killing a Slayer had been so much easier than trying to live with one. "Believe what you want, love. If I'd wanted to kill you, I could have done it months ago. You know that." He levered himself back off the wall, pushed her away. She didn't resist, but she still had the stake clutched in her hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Xander tense. He chuckled bitterly. "Well, thanks so much for the wonderful welcome home party, but I'm knackered. Best be getting home now. Lovely to see you all." He turned and headed for the door, senses on the alert in case anyone got any clever ideas about pointy bits of wood. He was just stepping out onto the street when he heard footsteps chasing him. He whirled, ready to defend himself, and was surprised to see Dawn's silhouette in the doorway.

"It's just me," she said quickly.

"What is it, Dawn?" He didn't want to be short with her, but he had to get out of there.

"Just…" He could see her brow furrow, even in the darkness. "Don't leave town again, OK?"

"May not have a choice, platelet." Her face fell. He sighed. "I'll try. Now get back inside." He turned without waiting for a response, and set off for his crypt. With any luck, it would still be unoccupied.

---------------------------------

Buffy barely had time to process the fact that Dawn was chasing after Spike before her sister was back, shutting the door carefully behind her. Buffy's brain was spinning, her heart was pounding, she could barely breathe.

"Um…" Xander raised a hand. "Can this be the part where I wake up and say oh thank God it was all a horrible dream?"

"Yes, and then we can have bad-dream sex," Anya added, on the edge of panic. "I like that plan."

Willow was watching her best friend, who was staring glassily at a spot on the floor. "Buffy? You OK?" she asked quietly.

Buffy's eyes darted up to meet Willow's. "He came back."

"Yeah," Xander broke in before Willow could respond. "In a Terminator kinda way."

Dawn snorted. "Oh, come on. It's not like he came in here with a machine gun and started mowing us all down. He didn't even bite anyone. All he did was hit you. Not so bad on the Sunnydale Scale of Vampire Violence."

"Spoken like someone who's not bleeding," Xander shot back, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"Maybe you should have been nicer to him the past few years," Anya suggested.

"You too?!" Xander rounded on her, incredulous. "Geez, Ahn! What do I have to do to get a little sympathy around here? Like you've been all--"

"Guys." Buffy's voice brought them all up short. They looked at her, standing pale but resolute in the middle of the room, and immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry, Buff," Xander muttered, as Anya and Dawn mumbled their own apologies. After a brief silence, Tara spoke up hesitantly.

"So he got the chip out. Does that mean he's evil again?"

"With Spike, it's kind of hard to tell the difference," Xander remarked wryly, but Buffy shook her head.

"He's different." Hadn't they felt it? The power, the danger, radiating off of him? "I don't know what it means, but he's not the same Spike who left here a few months ago."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Finally, Willow wrinkled her nose. "But we can't just… stake him. I mean, it's Spike. He's helped us."

"Stake him?" Dawn rushed to her sister's side, panicked, and grabbed her arm. "Buffy, you can't."

"Yeah, he spent some time helping us," Xander put in. "But he also spent three years trying to kill us. And a hundred or so years before that killing God knows how many people. Kind of evens things out, don't you think? I mean, when Angel went bad, we all knew what we had to do there." He saw the flicker of anguish in Buffy's eyes at the mention of Angel's name in this context, and he hated himself for putting it there. But he knew it had to be said. He sometimes wondered how he got designated as Guy Who Gets to Say Things No One Else Wants To.

Dawn was glaring at him. "It's totally different. Angel was killing people. Spike hasn't hurt anyone."

"Yet." Buffy's voice was barely above a whisper, but they all heard her as clearly as if she'd shouted. Xander's right, she thought distantly. It was like a nightmare. A recurring one, in her case. She realized Dawn was staring at her, shocked.

"Buffy. Spike wouldn't--"

And suddenly, everything that had been building up inside of her poured out like an avalanche. "He has, Dawn. He's probably lost count of the number of people he's killed--did you think he just makes up those stories he tells you? So he helped us for a while. He's different now, and I don't know what that means, but I can tell you that there is nothing, nothing in this world that hurts worse than watching someone you care about kill other people you care about, knowing you have to stop him but hoping that somehow you can save him, even though you know it's impossible. That's what it would be like for you, Dawn. Knowing people had died because you weren't strong enough to accept that the person you loved just wasn't there anymore. Do you think I want that for you? Do you think I'd let that happen to you?" She was almost shouting by the end, and tears were streaming down Dawn's cheeks.

"So you'd kill him?" Dawn shouted back through her sobs. "After all he's done for you, you'd kill him just because you're not sure?"

"Hey, hey." Willow interceded, placing a comforting hand on each girl's shoulder. "You guys are on the same side, remember?" Dawn shrugged the hand off, and turned her back on her sister and Willow, shoulders heaving. Buffy realized her own cheeks were wet, and she scrubbed at them hastily with the back of her hand.

"Um…" Tara began nervously, twisting a piece of hair around her finger, "I know it's not really my place, but…"

Buffy looked over at her, grateful for the distraction. "Of course it is, Tara."

Tara hitched a shoulder. "It's just that… I mean, I didn't know him before. And I didn't know Angel. But if there's even a chance that Spike's still on our side, shouldn't we… hold off on the staking? For tonight, anyway. I mean, it's not like there are so many people helping us that we can afford to go killing them off, you know?" An idea struck her. "We could, um, set up a watch. Keep an eye on him, see if he does anything suspicious. Might give us a better idea of what he's planning."

Willow smiled gratefully at her lover, trying to muster as much enthusiasm as possible. "Now you're talkin'! Stakeout, instead of staking." She looked at Buffy hopefully. "It'll buy us a little time, anyway."

Buffy sighed, considering, but then nodded, to Willow's immense relief. "OK. But I'm taking the watch. And if he goes out for so much as a nibble, I'll…" she trailed off, suddenly unable to finish. What the hell? she thought. This is Spike, not Angel. Why does it feel so much the same? She frowned.

"He won't," Dawn said suddenly, glaring at her again. Buffy blinked, confused.

"Huh?"

"He won't nibble. I know him. And you should, too." And with a toss of her hair, she stormed out.

"I'll go with her," Xander volunteered quickly, seeing Buffy torn between beginning her watch and making sure Dawn got home safely. "She can stay with us tonight." Anya nodded agreement.

"Thanks, guys," Buffy called after them, as they headed after Dawn. The door swung shut, bell tinkling cheerfully, and Buffy sighed again.

"You sure you'll be all right?" Willow asked. Buffy nodded.

"I always am." Then, after a moment, she laughed, a short, humorless noise.

"What?" Tara had moved over to her lover, preparing to leave, and now they were both staring quizzically at Buffy.

"It's just…" She laughed again, only this time it came out more like a sob. "For a second there, when he first walked in… I was happy to see him." She was afraid to see their response, so she just tucked her head and slipped out the door, leaving two confused and saddened witches in her wake.

TBC