AN: The idea of using Angel's blood in a ritual was "borrowed" from another fanfic I've read here by Sarahvampgirl called "Love's Bitch". I thought I would just note that in case I get in trouble or something. But hey, we're all basically stealing Joss' creations, what's a little borrowing amongst ourselves?

Chapter 14: Painful Solutions

"I can't believe this," Xander whispered, almost inaudibly. His throat and chest felt so tight that he was surprised he could get a word out of them. He gripped the edges of table at the Magic Box and stared vacantly in front of him. Buffy sat next to him, the same expression of shock and sadness on her face. Tara sat huddled in the corner, still letting the tears wash over her glistening face. Dawn sat worriedly and unusually quietly at the front desk. Spike stood silently, next to Dawn, smoking a cigarette with a thoughtful expression on his face. Even Anya was caught up in the morose mood and worriedly looked from person to person as she dusted.

"So if we don't kill him, he'll take over her," Buffy was saying emotionlessly, "He'll break down her spirit and kill her."

Xander whirled towards her. "We can't let this happen!" He exclaimed. "This can't happen again!" Buffy involuntarily cringed at the words. Xander softened as he noted this and wrapped an arm around her. Buffy continued to stare vacuously.

"We haven't found a way to keep Rack out of her body. The only way is to kill him, but . . ."

"I still say that we just kill one of the many other losers Rack picked for playmates," Spike said harshly although he softened his voice when Buffy turned to glare at him. "Sorry luv, I didn't mean Red."

Buffy stood up and started pacing, a telltale sign of worry for her. "We can't," she sighed. "As much as it would stop all this madness---" she motioned towards the door and the window where they could hear the blare of sirens and screams coming from outside, "We can't just kill an innocent person."

"But some of them aren't innocent," Xander said, his voice full of anger. "What about Amy? She took Willow there under false pretenses, got her all stuck on some guy that uses human bodies as currency. Why can't we find her and---"

"Xander!" Buffy looked shocked at what he was implying. "Amy and people like her had no choice in this. Sure, she made a bad decision in going to Rack, but they had no idea what he was about. We can't possibly kill them because of it!"

"But Buffy," Spike said, his voice softly insistent. "Think of it. Just one person, just one can make this stop. Can make all this soddin' whirly-go-round o' blood and gore stop. Personally, I don't mind the not hurrying, kind of harks back to the old days for me but still---"

Buffy cut him off, enraged at how Spike could still maintain his violent tendencies in a time like this. "NO. We are not going to kill anybody. We can't."

Xander stood up and briskly strode over to Buffy. "I hate to agree with the Melanin-Deprived Wonder over there, Buff, but he's right. We have to think about this. I know the morals of this but---"

"It's not even about the morals," exclaimed Buffy with a voice full of anger and hardness. "I watched Faith kill an innocent man, Xander. That's not something you can forget about. Even if the guy could have been corrupt or brain dead, he was a person. A human being. We can't take life from any person involved in this." She looked firmly at Xander with agonized eyes.

"Buffy," Spike sounded more caustic, harder now, impatient with her stubbornness. "We have no choice. It's not like these people have anything going for them."

"They could be Willow!"

"Exactly. They could be Willow. People exactly like Willow. People that Rack are just using, destroying, breaking down until there's nothing left. So what's the point if we kill one of them and kill him as well?"

Buffy shook her head resolutely. "No. We don't know that. We can't take that chance." She gazed deeply into his eyes. "We can't risk killing an innocent person."

Frustrated, he grabbed her by the arms and seemed like he was trying to shake sense into her. "You're the Slayer," he told her through gritted teeth. "You take risks. You handle things like this all the time."

She threw his arms off her, incensed. "I'm the Slayer. I'm not a killer." She glared at him with rage. "Although you can't understand that, being a soulless demon and all. You don't care about adding to carnage that's already out there."

Spike stepped away from her slowly. "That's not fair Slayer," he spat out testily.

"What's fair? That my best friend's slowly being killed by something beyond her control? Fair that everyone is coming to me, pressuring me to take a life? I know death. I felt it. I am not going to be impose that to any human."

Spike began to notice that Buffy was shaking. "Buffy---" he started softly, stepping nearer to her.

"Don't," she uttered as she recoiled from him. Spike sighed and ran his hands through his platinum hair.

"So what do you want us to do?" he said with tired patience. She whirled to glare at him again.

"Do? You don't do anything. I take care of this myself."

"Buffy, you need someone on your side---"

"I sure as hell don't need you!" She yelled as she grabbed her jacket and began to head for the door. Spike stood back and looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

"Buffy!" Dawn exclaimed fearfully. "You can't just go out there! The rioting—"

Buffy turned to give her a reassuring look. "Don't worry Dawn, I can handle it. I'm just going out to patrol, maybe think of something, clear my head."

"Wait, I'll come with you," Spike said, striding over beside her.

"No." Her voice was as cold as her facial expression. "I'm going by myself."

"Buffy." Spike's jaw clenched. "You need someone to watch your back. Someone to help you with this."

"You've done enough," Buffy snapped as she swung open to the door and slammed it shut. Spike sighed as he turned to face and confused and worried Scooby gang.

"What was that about?" Anya asked, trying to unsuccessfully hide her curiosity.

Spike lazily stepped off the landing and plopped into the chair. "That stupid git of a sister of yours is too goddamn stubborn for her own good," he informed Dawn. Dawn nodded seriously.

"I know," she whispered. "You can't ever get her to change her mind. When she thinks there's something she has to do, she does it. Like when Glory---" Dawn's eyes filled with tears.

Spike patted her hand before she could continue. "Don't worry Nibblet. She's not gonna get herself into trouble, not on my watch. We'll figure something out." Dawn smiled up at him, relieved slightly.

Xander frowned. "Something as in what? Because so far, our attempts at something have turned out to be stinking dung heaps of nothing."

Spike turned to Xander, prepared to utter a searing insult when a small, black gadget sitting on the shelf caught his glance. He stopped and got up to look at it.

"What is this?" He asked Anya as he went over to inspect the apparently ancient contraption.

"That?" Anya asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh I think that's the concentric amulet of the Sumerian god, Bublosoth. It just kind of came in a shipment last week from London." Spike turned the instrument back and forth in his hand, his brow furrowing up a storm. He pursed his lips as he lost himself in his thoughts.

"Tara," he said, as soon as he had refocused his attention back onto the Scoobies. "Have you ever heard the witch Kalik'shia?"

Tara looked puzzled. "No, I've never----" She stopped. "Wait. I've heard of that amulet before. And something about it involving a world-famous witch." She rushed up the stairs to where Anya and Giles had kept the important and darkest books on magic. Running back down, she clutched a huge, musty book. "K-Kalik's-shia." She looked up. "I found her." She rushedly swept most of the items on the table aside as she set the huge book down. Spike came to inspect the yellowed pages. He put a slender, white finger to the page and scanned down the lines.

"I can't bloody believe that after all this time I didn't even think of . . ." Spike muttered, skimming the ancient texts. Xander and rest looked at each other, thoroughly confused. Finally Spike's eyes gleamed with recognition. "Ahh. Here." He began to read aloud. "Kalik'shia. Highly powerful, yet menacing sorceress known to cast extremely dangerous and dire spells of annihilative consequence. Feared to for her treacherous destruction, as well as her seeming invulnerability to attack of any kind, a group of cloistered Jesuits cast a spell on Kalik'shia, making her----" he paused as he turned to gaze at the rest of the group, "Fully mortal."

Everyone was silent for a few seconds. Tara, in her optimistic rush was the first to break silence. "What does this mean?" she demanded. "That we can turn Rack mortal? W-we can k-kill him?"

Spike rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. "I dunno. I only remembered how back in the day, this mate o' mine was showing me this contraption," he juggled the amulet awhile in his hands. "And telling me about how it he jacked it from these monks way before m' time, after they had used this thing to turn this incredibly bitchy doll into a human and killed her. I mean, I don't know if it can work, I don't know if Rack and this Kallie bit have the same kind of power, but. . ."

"So that's it?" Xander asked, his face as well as Tara's beginning to brighten. "We use that to turn Rack mortal and then we can kill him?"

Spike turned back to the book. He held a hand up in hesitation. "Wait a bit, Scoobs. It says here that there's more involved in the ritual." Anya came over to inspect the book as well.

"Well we have most of that stuff here," she pointed out, motioning to the neatly stocked shelves. "What's the big deal?"

"The monks then needed the blood of one who carried the darkness of night, that which to mirror the witch's own.," Spike continued to read. "However, the humanity of a soul was necessary to fulfil the needs of the ritual to make the Dreaded human . . ." he looked up thoughtfully.

"Meaning what?" Xander asked. "Seriously, they need cliff notes for this ancient lingo magicky books."

Spike slammed the book shut. "It's pretty straight forward actually, Harris. 'Blood of one who carries the darkness of night'? 'Humanity of a soul'? I think the fates are doin' a bit of channeling to our ever-favorite Anne Rice wannabe."

Xander's lips pursed as his face went grim. "Angel," was all he said.

"Bingo. Seems like this pleasant little spell requires a little soul-fortified blood from me beloved grand-sire." Spike didn't bother to hide the mordant bitterness in his voice.

Xander groaned. "Why is it that these spells always require such stupid ingredients. I mean, eye of newt isn't funky enough for ya?"

Tara's spirits were obviously raised as this new prospect. "What does it matter? This is it. This will save Willow." Her hands were shaking and she couldn't restrain the fierce smile that spread on her face.

Spike couldn't help but feel his insides and his borrowed blood chill so that every vein in his body nearly felt like it was painfully turning to icicles. He hated Angel with all his being, jealously thinking of all the pain he caused with Drusilla, and then with Buffy by just being there in spirit, a cloud of past memories and confusion that she seemed to cling to. And he wanted more than anything to scream at everyone not to do this bleedin ritual, not if it meant bringing back that bloody poofter. But he knew what Buffy was going through with Willow, how desperately she feared for her. And now Tara, a gleam of pure brightness washing over her, well, Spike couldn't very well ignore it. Although he told himself a thousand times that he didn't care rot about any of the Scoobies, somewhere in his empty, lifeless chest, he felt a pang of awareness, something that told him that this was the right thing to do. Bloody freakin' hell. Big Bad Spike had developed a conscience.

"I'll call Angel then," he asserted quietly, shocking all.

"Angel? Angel as in you're whole 'much-hated sire Angel'?" Xander looked at him incredulously.

"Well what else can we do?' Spike asked tiredly, throwing up his hands in frustration. "And no one tell Buffy about this, y'hear?" he growled, fiercely glaring at everyone in sight. No one responded, only nodding their heads in agreement, so he went to the back training room to make the call.

Spike gripped the phone so tightly that his usually white skin seemed transparent over his strained knuckles. "Hey." His jaw clenched and he could almost feel his game face arise just at the tone of restrained hatred in his voice. "Yeah, it's me. I need to ask you for a favor . . ."

Buffy sighed as she paced back and forth in front of Spike's crypt. She was done with patrolling, but she remained in the graveyard, debating whether or not to go in. She certainly felt guilty for the way she acted at the Magic Box, but at the same time she felt so angry. Angry at Xander, all of the Scoobies, for looking at her with same old look of pressuring expectation as if to say, "Well what are you waiting for, Buffy? Go fix this." Like always, world goes haywire, Apocalypse comes to town on a visit, it all gets dumped into Buffy's lap. Didn't they understand that it had only been a few months since she had desperately clawed her way back into life? And a few months before that that she had to deal with the harsh reality of her mom's death? That after all that, she couldn't take a life, deal with the repercussions of death once more? It wasn't like taking a demon life. This was a human. It would cross Buffy from the world of Slayer to Murderer. After all this time, she wasn't prepared to deal with death that closely after she had tried so hard to shake it off.

But at the same time, she understood why it could have been the right thing to do. This was for Willow. And there was no other person for the job of protecting her, as well as the rest of the town. So once again, she felt the same mix of resentment as well as devotion for her duty as a Slayer that she had felt for the last couple of years.

But now there was something in her life that made her reevaluate that duty. Damn Spike with his goddamn charm and his goddamn allure. If it wasn't for him, this whole thing with Willow wouldn't have happened in the first place. She had never neglected her duty as Slayer as she did now. Granted, she was busy dealing with her death, playing Mom for Dawn, paying the bills and worrying about the groceries. But she had to admit, Spike certainly took up a lot of her time. Riley had been so easy to push out of the way when duty called, and Angel was never there for the majority of the time anyway, but Spike . . . Buffy couldn't get rid of him, and she was unsure of whether she wanted to. But she knew that what should be. If she wasn't so busy absorbed in her own thoughts of Spike, she would have caught Willow with her whole magick thing before any damage was done. She could have been more supportive, more helpful, more understanding so that Willow would have never even felt the need to go to Rack in the first place. Buffy reflected over all of this as she twirled a stake in her hand thoughtfully. Yes, she had arrived at a decision. She had to do what she had to do.

Thrusting open the door with the standard clang and bash, she stood in the dark mustiness of Spike's crypt. She stood in the same spot for awhile, conflicted on whether to go downstairs, where she knew he probably was since the T.V. wasn't on upstairs or to leave while she still had a chance. Jutting out her chin and donning an air of resolution, she marched downstairs.

The air faded considerably when she found him sleeping, his slicked hair mussed and buried among linen sheets. This always got her, seeing him sleeping like this. He usually slept with his nose buried in the pillows, his arms on either side of his head, like a boy. She often lay awake beside him just to marvel on how different and beautiful he looked while he slept. She knew he did the same when she was asleep and that made her firm countenance slip further. Trying to avoid staring at his lean, sinewy, uncovered back for much longer, she roughly nudged him awake.

"Huh? What?" Spike groggily said, springing awake. He looked up. "Buffy?"

Buffy immediately put her resolute face back on. "Hey. She tried to make it sound as unfeeling as possible.

"Hey," he answered, slightly confused and disoriented as he sat up in bed. "What can I do for you luv?" More awake, his smirk fell in place. "Although I recall hearing that I've done enough."

Buffy's lip curled over sulkily, becoming one of her staple expressions, just like Spike's famous smirk. "Oh. I . . . I just wanted to . . ." She started to mumble under her breath. "Apologize for that."

Spike leaned exaggeratedly near to Buffy. "What's that? Didn't catch it."

"I said I'm sorry," Buffy said loudly. " I might have been . . . a little . . . stressed, and hence, unfair. So I'm apologizing. There you happy? I've said it three times now."

Spike grinned. "Very happy." He wanted to impulsively grab her into his arms at that moment but she stepped back further, as if guessing his intentions. He frowned, seeing her expression of firmness and seriousness. Seeing his reaction of hurt and confusion, Buffy wavered. She sighed and approached him once again.

"Can I?" she asked grumpily, indicating the bed. Trying to hide his satisfaction, he scooted in and held up the blanket so she could snuggle into the warm sheets and cradle into his cool hold. For a few moments they sat in silence, her enjoying the feel of his arms around her, him enjoying the scent of her hair and the feel of her small, soft body against his compact one. "Spike?" Buffy asked, breaking the silence abruptly.

"Hmm?" Spike didn't move or change his expression, but continued to twine his fingers into her golden hair.

"If I asked you do something for me, would you do it?"

"Always, pet."

"If I asked you to stay away from me, would you?" She spoke slowly and deliberately. Spike stiffened slightly, but Buffy couldn't feel it. He continued to sit, not facing her and playing with her hair.

"Why? He asked, trying not to let his beginning feelings of anger and hurt fade into his voice although he immediately thought, Not again!

Buffy sighed and turned to face him. "Because . . . because of Willow. I think that I should be more focused on Willow and this Rack thing."

Spike pursed his lips. "So you don't want to see me because you're too busy taking care of Willow?"

"It's not just that. It's---it's just that if I wasn't so . . . distracted, this whole thing with Willow would have never happened."

Spike remained emotionless. "So that's my new name, eh? Distraction?"

Buffy ducked her head tiredly. "No, I don't mean it like that. I just mean that . . . if I wasn't so . . . involved in other . . . things, I could have paid more attention to Willow, made sure this whole thing with Rack didn't happen."

Spike had let go of her. He snorted frustratededly. "Not again, Buffy. How many times are you gonna blame yourself for this?"

"Well why shouldn't I?" Buffy asked, bristled. "I mean, she was living under my roof. I just too self-absorbed to notice what was going on."

Spike reached over to get a cigarette and light it. "Red is a big girl. She made her own decision to go down there, you can't play Mummy Buffy 24 hours a day."

"I could have done something!"

Spike took the cigarette out of him mouth and looked her seriously in the eyes. "Buffy, Willow was already waist deep in the black arts before you came back. Bringing you home wasn't the lightest of spells and for her to do that, she had already made the decision that she was gonna muss up the fates a bit. There was no stopping her."

Buffy could see by his expression that it was true. She frowned slightly, then sighed. "It's not only that," she pointed out. "I've been neglecting my slayer duties too."

"So cause you're Slayer, you don't get to have a private life?" Spike cautiously avoided the words 'love life', knowing that she wasn't quite ready for that.

"Well, no, I mean, yes! But . . ."

Spike sighed. "Fine Slayer. If you want me to stay away from you, just say so." By this time, she was already back in his arms, her back against his chest.

"I want you to stay away from me."

Spike smiled slightly at the inconsistency of her words with her actions. "Really?" he asked, restraining the tone of sarcasm.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Y-yes."

He chuckled and turned to face her. "Look, pet, I know all your games. If you say 'no' you usually run willy-nilly away from me to show you mean it. So lemme ask again. Do you want me to stay away from you?"

Her lips curled as her defenses weakened, then crumbled. "No," she admitted. "Although I want to want you to stay away."

He smiled. "Don't we all." Sighing, she settled back into his arms.

"Well Operation Stay-Away-From-Bloodsucking-Fiend blew up in my face in no time flat," Buffy mumbled grumpily.

"Can't get enough me, can you luv?"

"Spike?" She had already strayed from his egoistic victory dances he was doing for having won this battle.

"Yeah?"

"What about Willow?"

He sighed, and gathered her into his arms tighter. "We'll figure something out. I promise."

And hearing him say it made Buffy believe it was true. Besides, when had he ever broken a promise to her? There was also a tone in his voice that totally affirmed that not only was he being honest, but that it would happen. She couldn't but help smile slightly, then wrinkle her nose as she yawned. Being near Spike always made Buffy feel safe, and consequently, sleepy.

"Sleep," he urged her, still holding her tight. She nodded and felt her lids grow heavy and waver as they finally closed. As she finally feel into sleep, a small catch of air between her lips, blowing onto his chest, Spike stared down at her and lost himself in thought. To watch her like this made for his happiest moments and his most reflective as well. The way her thick lashes rested upon the slight curve of her cheek allowed Spike to feel the world grow still and quiet. As he noted the slight rise and fall of her chest, he thought of the solution he promised her. For the one of the first times in his unexistence, he was truly scared. Scared that this would change everything between them, that having him back would push Spike out where he started. And to do without this, the way a slight crinkle formed between her eyes to show she was dreaming, or the slight smile that still settled on her still lips, he was terrified that it would all go away with this painful, but necessary solution.