Spike was alone. Harmony had taken to going out more and more as his obsession with his journal infringed upon his attentions toward her. She resented his constant preoccupation, and nightly sex was doing little to placate her. Her absence was both welcome and irritating. At least when she was there, she was a willing partner and he could use her to reach the drop-undead exhaustion he needed in order to sleep, but she would also demand his attention when he was busy, then get angry when he would not stop what he was doing.

What he was doing was grinding his teeth and pacing like a caged animal. Despite his efforts, he had been unsuccessful in convincing Buffy or Joyce to return to the hospital for a CAT scan. He knew that she would go soon when the results from the first barrage of tests came back, but it meant that he'd been throwing himself against that particular wall for nearly three weeks.

He was mentally and physically exhausted and frustrated, and even more convinced that he really was dead and in hell. It seemed that no matter what he tried, he couldn't affect big change, and he was beginning to think that that all his efforts were in vain. He was trapped. He couldn't tell Buffy and the Scoobies the truth. He couldn't kill Ben. He couldn't stop Glory from hunting for the Key. He couldn't even get a woman one-third his age to go to the bloody hospital! It had him seething, chomping at the bit like a high-strung horse, and near to bursting with feelings of helplessness and rage.

It was in this state that Buffy found him when she came storming into his crypt and slammed him against the stone pillar. As his face hit the rough surface, he remembered all too well the last time she had done this and what she had wanted from him. He knew where this was going. She'd come to hear about the Slayers, and planned to pay him for his story of how he defeated them.

He'd been expecting her to show up, planning how he would do things differently, but her assault hurt in more than one way. His new soul disliked pain and his demon had never been terribly fond of it to begin with, so the unwarranted attack upset him. The fact that Buffy still felt it necessary to beat him up whenever she wanted anything from him was also a sore point. He had hoped after three weeks of cooperation and relatively bloodless, painless interaction that Buffy would ease up on her habit of "kick-the-Spike," but it would seem that Buffy had other ideas. He was starting to suspect that she was already using him as her punching bag, an "acceptable" outlet for her anger and frustration, and that he had allowed it without ever really noticing what she was doing.

'I was just so happy that she was there, acknowledging me. Negative attention was better than no attention,' he realized as she ground his cheek into the stone then turned him around.

"To what do I owe these bruises, Slayer?" he asked coolly, looking at her.

Her eyes flashed anger and indignation, but no remorse, no acknowledgement of how abusive she was being.

'She doesn't see me as anything but a monster, an unfeeling, soul-less monster. To her it doesn't matter if she hurts me because I'm just a demon.'

The thought saddened him, and not merely because he now had a soul, but because he knew how misguided she and the Council of Watchers were about the true nature of demons.

'Maybe I can use tonight's lessons to teach her more than just about the Slayers I killed.'

"Slayers. You killed two of them," she said tightly.

He feigned surprise and concern. "I did."

"You're gonna show me how."

"I am, am I?" he countered.

She punched him in the face and he yowled in pain, grabbing his nose.

"Yes, you are."

He was bleeding, his soul crying, as he staunched the wound.

'I don't want to do this, but I have no choice. Tonight's the night she finds out about her mum going back to hospital for, finally, the bloody CAT scan. Only three weeks late!'

"Alright, Slayer, you've convinced me."

"I knew you'd see it my way, besides, there's cash in it for you."

"Joy," he replied without enthusiasm. "Where do you want to begin?"

"Not here. I don't want to be stuck in this place alone with you for any length of time. We'll go to the Bronze."

His hurting soul allowed the demon more slack on its tether as it reeled from the pain she had dealt it.

"Afraid to be alone with me, eh pet?" he sneered.

"Don't make me break your jaw, Spike," she threatened, turning to walk out.

Spike followed, swallowing his pain and wounds, his eyes watching the back of her head.

'I love you. I love you and you hurt me. I love you. I hate you. I love you.'

He let her take him to the Bronze and buy him American beer. Once again, she scowled at his attempt at civilized conversation and brought him back to the subject at hand. He, again, demanded wings as part of his payment.

"Just as I thought," he commented, drawing attention to her gasp of pain and reflexive holding of her injured side. "So, what nasty got a piece of you and is it dead yet?"

"I'm fine. It's nothing. Riley's taking care of it."

"Soldier Boy? Really?"

"What? You don't think Riley can handle himself?" she demanded, defensive.

He sat back, backpedaling a bit. "I didn't say that. It's just with him not being Super Soldier anymore could make a man do things he normally wouldn't do. Make him take risks where he might not have before."

She winced and he knew he'd hit a nerve. "Riley's fine."

"I'm just sayin' I know what it's like to have all of your power and reason for being taken away from you overnight. Can make a weaker man do some stupid things," he explained reasonably, knowing she would realize that he was questioning Riley's manhood.

"Have you always been this big of a pain in the ass?"

He gave her an evil smirk. "What can I tell you, baby. I've always been bad."