Title: End of Days

Chapter: Chapter Six – The Wager

Author: Queen Akasha

Rating: R in some chapters

Summary: B/S. Season Seven. Spike got his chip out – but he wanted more. What else is new?

Feedback: Yes PLEASE!!! This site or e-mail me at Queen_Akasha@telus.net

Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. All belongs to Joss. (Have to write it 98 times more on the chalkboard). Also, thanks to Stephen King for RF.

Spoilers: Up to the end of Season Six

Distribution: That would be too cool. Just tell me so I can brag…..

A/N: Hey Guys!!! Thanks for all the feedback!!! I really appreciate it. I'll be trying to post a chapter at least every other day, and there's over 25. I'm dedicating this story to you readers. It's great to be appreciated!!! Hugs and kisses from Queen A!!! )

Also – If you read chapter five and said "huh?" please re-read. There was a problem when I uploaded, and about half of it was zapped into cyber space. It should make more sense now! )

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Chapter Six – The Wager

"How long have you been in the "honeymoon suite?" Buffy asked, while scanning Spike to try to determine the extent of his injuries.

"I think a couple weeks," Spike replied. "Didn't even need a reservation," he tried joking.

"Why are you all black?" she wondered, shining the light on a particularly nasty wound on his arm.

"Well, I think I'm scorched. Is my hair burnt off?" he asked plaintively, making Buffy want to laugh at his vanity, even in the situation that he was in.

She shone the light on his head. "Nope, it appears intact, just blackened by, uh, soot or something," she answered. 'But, Spike, there's so much blood,"

He chuckled weakly. "Not mine, luv, that's my dinner. I almost escaped the first day I was here. That's why the wall is patched. The guards got in a spot of trouble I think, and since then, when they bring me fresh blood, they throw the old bucket on me and on the walls." He thought wryly of yesterday, when his resolve had briefly weakened, and he had pictured actually licking the walls to try and put something in his shrunken stomach.

Buffy cringed at the thought of Spike being locked up in this hell hole for the past two weeks. "If they've been feeding you, why is it all on the walls, and why are you so skinny?" she wanted to know.

Spike looked away from her. He didn't know how to answer her. Buffy waited for some response from him. When none was forthcoming, she gently cupped his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers. "What's the story?" she asked.

Spike met her gaze, and she noticed that the usual brilliant blue of his eyes had been muted to a somber grey. That, probably worse than anything, scared her.

"I tried, Buffy," he whispered. "I tried, and I failed, and I didn't want to exist any more. They did try and feed me, I just wasn't eating it. I think that's why you're in here now – they think maybe I'll feed from a living victim. I don't think he could know that we know one another."

"Who? Who are you talking about, Spike, and what did you fail at?" Buffy asked gently. Spike remembered.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spike is standing in Flagg's "office". The office consists of a small, windowless room in the bowels of the arena where he had fought the twelve Kirakas demons, furnished with a battered desk and several dilapidated chairs. Flagg sits behind the desk, and behind him in the shadows is a large black man. The only light comes from a desk lamp, strategically placed to shine in Spike's eyes and prevent him having a good view of Flagg and the other man. * Who do they think they are, bloody Nazi's? * thinks Spike. *Wankers. * This thought doesn't have much force, though, as being in Flagg's presence makes Spike definitely weak at the knees, as close to terror as he had been when he was turned.

"Well, Mr. Spike," Flagg says. "What can we do for you today?" as if he hadn't been the one to ask Spike's return.

Spike meets his eyes. * Damn him * Spike thinks. Flagg seems amused at Spike's efforts. "I dunno," Spike shrugs. 'You wanted to see me, mate. What can I do for YOU today might be the question."

Flagg laughs and stands up, walking around the desk to stand in front of Spike. "I like you, my friend." Flagg reaches a comradely hand towards Spike's injured arm. Spike involuntarily cringes away but then stands firm. Flagg smiles and claps him on the bicep. Spike tries not to wince as his wound blossoms into fresh pain. "You impress me. You really do." He looks at the shadowy man in the corner. The shadow nods.

"We have a proposition to make to you," Flagg grins at Spike and lets go of his arm. Spike grins back with a sickly feeling. This was not of the good. "My colleague here has a small, well, I guess you can call them an army. Very small and unpretentious. However, he does need one thing more. A general." Flagg coughs delicately. "This, of course, is where you come in."

* Bloody Hell! * Spike thinks. "And just why would I want to work for this wank….. for this bloke," Spike corrects himself. "I've already got what I wanted, and I've been away from home long enough. Besides, I've had enough battle for awhile." * Except at the side of my Slayer * Spike thinks. He has been feeling increasingly uneasy about whatever is going down at Sunnydale, and thinks he'd better be getting back.

"Do you really have what you want, Spike? Your true hearts desire?" Flagg suddenly grabs Spike's head with both hands. Spike feels as if there's an alien presence in his brain. He fights to expel it with all his formidable force of will. Flagg lets go with an explosive breath.

"A SOUL?" he says. "Your true hearts desire is a SOUL? I expected more from you, Spike, I really did. A soul to impress a woman? A soul is just a burden, really, you're much better off as you are now."

Spike fights to hold his game face at bay. Antagonizing Flagg doesn't seem like a good plan. "Yeah, I guess I do want a soul. But that's neither here nor there. Look, mate, I'm knackered. I believe our dealings are done."

Flagg steps back from Spike and leans against the corner of the desk. "It seems a shame to ruin a good man with a soul," he says, " but we could maybe make a small wager. You win, you get your soul back. I win, you work for my friend here. What about it, Amigo?"

Spike now has to reign in his laughter. This Flagg is obviously crazy. However, he's not a man to piss off – Spike can sense power coming off him in waves, as strong or stronger than he's ever known.

Flagg senses his hesitation. "I know a thing or two about souls, Spike. Let's just say that I have a small, uh, you could call it a collection. They aren't that hard to entice. And yours isn't gone by any means. Oh, no. I can smell it, just hanging around and waiting for an engraved invitation to join up with you. Souls have patience. After all, they exist for eternity. Vampires, although immortal, seldom endure for more than a few hundred years. The souls wait, just in case the demon deserts the body. Strange, though, most vampires souls stay as far away from the host body as possible while the demon is in residence. Yours actually seems to want back in."

"You could give me back my soul?" Spike asks Flagg incredulously. "With no catches? Like, I have to give it to you when I'm done with it?"

Flagg laughs. "Well, that would be an added bonus, but, no, it would be yours free and clear. IF you win our little wager. If you lose, though, you remain soul-less, and become the commander of my friend's army. What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

"What do I have to do," Spike asks.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Well, Buffy, I made a bet," Spike began, "with a very bad Man."

TBC

OOH!!! A BET!!! I wonder what it was about? Stay tuned – same time, same bat channel. More stuff, comin up!!! (Quicker if you review!! – hint hint!)