Buffy whirled on him. Spike had no chance to play dead, no time to come up with an alternate plan. Buffy had seen him--the puppet--clearly alive and moving. She could have no doubt about it.
Therefore, he wasn't exactly surprised when she charged him with the tree branch upraised.
"Buffy, stop!" he yelled.
Instead of halting, she whacked him over the head with the branch. She hit just as hard as he remembered. Spike rocked under the blow, wishing just for once, Buffy would pull her punches with him.
Like she needed any encouragement, Dawn began to cheer from the sidelines. "Get it, Buffy! Kill it!"
As another blow rained down upon him, Spike braced himself and cried, "Stop! It's me, Spike!"
If it was possible, Buffy began to whale upon him with even more force. "You--little--lying--bastard! Defiling Spike's memory!"
Spike hadn't counted on her not believing him, and he knew he couldn't stand up against the barrage much longer. Hunger, combined with a physically exhausting last few days, had taken a severe toll on him. Sooner or later, Buffy would finish him off. Probably sooner.
And then he saw an opening, as Buffy paused to rest. If he attacked now, he stood a good chance of disarming her and possibly gaining the advantage. But he didn't want to hurt Buffy, and hurting her would definitely be necessary, considering her current state of mindless fury. He hesitated, torn between two unpleasant options. That hesitation proved to be his undoing.
Buffy drew back the branch and smashed it against him.
Spike's world went black.
*****
When he woke up, he was in Buffy's living room, bound to a chair, with his arms roped behind his back and his legs secured. He tested his bonds and quickly realized that escape was not a viable option. Buffy had used enough rope to restrain a bull elephant, let alone an injured, exhausted little puppet. He would just have to sit up and take his punishment. Actually, Spike was a bit surprised to still be "alive." Buffy had been so pissed, she'd probably seriously considered simply finishing him off while he was unconscious. The fact that she hadn't didn't particularly encourage him.
As for the length of time he'd been out, Spike had little idea. He was totally disoriented yet again, and every inch of him felt sore. Stuffing poked out of a tear in his right arm, while his duster was muddy and rumpled. He could only imagine how pathetic he must look to observers, though he didn't delude himself by thinking that would win him any points with Buffy at the moment.
Speaking of Buffy, where was she? Spike held himself perfectly still and listened hard. Sure enough, he heard Buffy and Dawn's voices coming from the kitchen.
"So, I'm guessing Faith didn't send you that gift package, then," Dawn said.
"I'd love to know who did," Buffy replied. "They wouldn't be long for this world once I found out."
"You have a lot of enemies. Whoever it was knew your weak point."
"Yeah, how stupid was I?" Buffy agreed. "When I opened the box and saw that puppet, all I could think about was Spike--not the possibility that a gift sent with no return address and no card might not be a gift after all."
"What are you going to do with it?" Dawn asked.
A pause. Then: "Kill it. After I make it talk."
Spike gulped. Things were not looking good for him right now. Of course, Buffy didn't know his true identity yet, but even when she learned it, she might easily still be inclined to do him serious injury. Why the hell had he come here in the first place? In retrospect, it seemed like one of the dumbest decisions of his life, and he had a lot to choose from.
Spike sighed and shifted, attempting to find a less constricting position. From the kitchen he heard the clinking of metal and the sound of a drawer sliding shut before Buffy continued, "Let's go wake it up and get its story."
A few seconds later, she and Dawn stepped into the living room. Both were clenching long, sharp knives that they looked more than prepared to use. Spike didn't even pretend to play dead; he was trapped and he knew it.
"So, you're awake," Buffy addressed him with a glare. "Do you want to talk, or do I have to hurt you first?"
"I'll talk," Spike said quickly.
"I'm not sure whether I'm happy or disappointed." Buffy settled down on the chair in front of him, with Dawn a safe distance away on the couch. "Let's start with the basics: Who sent you here, and what's your agenda?"
"Listen to me, Buffy," Spike said in his most sincere tone. "It's me--Spike."
Her fingers tightened around the knife handle. "Wrong answer. Spike has been dead since last May, and he wasn't a puppet before that."
"I got transformed into a puppet," Spike explained.
"No, you're just an evil doll," Dawn retorted. "We know all about them. We saw Chucky in the 'Child's Play' movies, plus those evil dolls on 'Passions.'"
"And the one in that really crappy 'X-Files' episodes Stephen King wrote," Buffy concluded. "So don't feed us any more stupid lies. You have evil written all over you."
There was a time when such a comment would have made Spike glow with pride. That time was long past. "I'm not evil," he protested. "I saved Dawn from that demon tonight."
Buffy glanced at her sister. Dawn shrugged. "Well, it *was* dead, but I didn't see how it happened. I was down on the ground. Besides, I think the puppet was working with the demons. He probably came here to case the house and prepare for the attack ahead of time. Ick!" She shivered. "I bet that thing was creeping around at night, spying on us and touching all our stuff."
Buffy eyed the puppet with mounting dislike. "I can't believe I let you sleep in my bed."
Spike winced but nevertheless saw an opening for his next defensive stand. "I've been in this house almost three days. Could've killed you already if I'd wanted to."
"Which means you have another motive you haven't confessed yet," said Buffy, fingering her knife. "Where should I start cutting to make you talk?"
"I can prove I'm Spike. Call Angel--ask him about being turned into a puppet. It happened to him, too."
"Angel?" Buffy tensed. "He was here last night, and I'm beginning to think his appearance wasn't any coincidence."
"His visit was totally weird," Dawn said with a frown. "He'd never been on a plane before and he came here all of a sudden with a strange excuse. Buffy, do you think *he* might be behind all this?"
"He *does* work for Wolfram & Hart now," Buffy mused. "We already suspected he'd gone evil again."
"If you won't believe Angel, ask one of the others," Spike suggested. "Ask Wesley, Fred, or Gunn."
"Wesley, Fred, and Gunn, who all also work at Wolfram & Hart?" Buffy shook her head. "They're tainted sources." She stood up and raised the knife over Spike. "Since you won't talk willingly, I guess I'll just have to make you, in the most painful way I can come up with."
Spike frantically tried to think of a way out of this mess. Buffy didn't believe him when he told her the truth, and any credible lie would probably just make him look even worse than he already did. He had to convince her he truly was Spike. Except, how could he do that? Maybe... that was it! He had to tell her something only the two of them would know. And then it came to him.
Buffy drove the knife toward Spike's chest just as he blurted, "Angel wears lifts!"
TBC