A/N: Here's a pet peeve of mine on this show: Vampires are strong. Buffy is strong. Like, Incredible Hulk strong. Yet again and again, they get trussed up in ordinary, everyday rope, and we're expected to believe they can't break loose from it? Gimme a break! Might as well be using dental floss to restrain them. :-P

(Note: Some dialog taken directly from the episode.)

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon.

Early one morning

Just as the sun was shining

I heard a maid sing

In the valley below

Oh, don't deceive me

Oh, never leave me

How could you use a poor maiden so?

-English Folk Song, "Early One Morning"

Spike sat passively in a chair in their bedroom while Buffy tied his wrists to the arms of the chair. They both knew this was a temporary measure, at best; if Spike was strong enough to punch through concrete and bend steel bars, some rope and a wooden chair wouldn't do much to hold him. But until Xander finished installing the chains in the basement, this would have to do.

"We're gonna get to the bottom of this," Buffy said, trying to distract herself from anxiety and the guilt of having to tie up her boyfriend,"We just can't take any chances."

"Don't," Spike interrupted, his tone gentle, but firm, "Make it tighter. The knots will give."

Buffy stared at him, hesitant.

"I get free, someone's gonna die," Spike insisted.

Buffy chewed her lip and reluctantly did as she was told, tightening the cords of rope until Spike's fingers went numb. "Just 'til we figure out how Amy's been controlling you," she muttered.

"It's not just that," Spike told her, "Been feeding off humans for a while. Comin' off that's like...an addict quittin' cold turkey."

Buffy's brow wrinkled in concern. "A-Are you gonna be okay?"

The vampire snorted. "It's not gonna be pleasant, that's for sure." He'd been through it before, after he escaped the Initiative and discovered he could no longer harm humans. He wasn't looking forward to reliving the experience.

Buffy got up from kneeling on the floor and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm gonna call Giles. See if he's got any ideas what the latest Big Bad might be. Maybe he'll even know how Amy's been controlling you."

Spike nodded, his eyes cast downward. Buffy left the bedroom and went downstairs to use the phone. Twenty minutes later, she was about ready to give up. She'd tried every one of Giles's phone numbers, even the ones he hadn't used in some time, and no answer. It was like he fell off the planet. There was only one option left.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," she grumbled, dialing the hated number. Once her call was answered, she was put through a lot of rigamarole—several transfers and long minutes on hold listening to crappy muzak—before she finally heard the familiar, supercilious voice.

"Ms. Summers," Quentin Travers greeted insincerely, "How can I be of assistance?"

"It's Giles," she replied, "I need to find him as soon as possible. He's not answering any of his numbers."

"Ms. Summers, the Watchers Council does not keep track of our lapsed employees. Ever since Mr. Giles pulled up his stake in Sunnydale, we've not made it our business to follow his every move."

Buffy gritted her teeth, "You don't need to get all British and dodgy, Mr. Travers. I know you have ways of finding him."

"Well," Travers sighed, "I suppose, if you feel the matter is urgent, we could look into it."

"I'd appreciate it," she bit out, "Thank you."

"Not at all. Good day."

Buffy carefully placed the receiver in the cradle so as not to hurl the entire phone against the wall in frustration, then returned upstairs to her and Spike's bedroom. As she got closer to the door, she realized not all the agitation she felt was her own; Spike was starting to feel the effects of blood withdrawal. Buffy entered the room and saw him twitching in his chair. His forehead gleamed with sweat and his breathing was ragged. Buffy reached out to comfort him and he flinched away.

"Can I do something?" she asked, hoping he'd say yes. She hated watching him suffer like this.

Spike shook his head. "I think you should probably g—" he broke off, hunching over in pain.

Buffy took a step towards him, then jumped back when he raised his head and snarled at her, his features fully vamped. At first, she thought he might have been under Amy's control again, but his eyes were normal yellow. The link screamed with hunger and desperation. The ropes groaned in protest as Spike struggled against the urge to tear free and attack the nearest warm body. Buffy took a breath and closed the distance between them, her movements slow and cautious. She tried to send out soothing thoughts through the link. "Easy. It's okay."

A low growl reverberated from the vampire's throat. When she was close enough, Buffy extended her left wrist towards him. "Go on. It'll help, right?"

For a moment, he strained towards the offered wrist, but then he managed to regain a shred of control and turned his head away. "No," he rasped.

"Spike, it's okay."

"I won't...be able to stop," he forced out, squeezing his eyes shut, "Please... Just go..."

Buffy pulled her arm back and reluctantly headed for the door. "I'll be right outside," she said, but Spike's momentary lucidity was already gone. He growled and bared his fangs at her until she shut the door between them. Buffy leaned against the doorjamb, eyes closed in weariness.

"Buffy?"

She opened her eyes to see Willow approaching. Buffy mustered a smile.

"How's it going?" the redhead asked.

Buffy exhaled, "He's been feasting on humans for weeks. He's having some pretty bad withdrawals. I think we need to get him some blood."

"D'you want me to kill Anya?" Willow (mostly) joked.

Buffy pretended to consider it. "No. We should probably try to wean him off humans. He'll have to make do with animal blood."

"I can go get some," Willow offered, then grimaced, "I have to get out of the house. Xander's installing the new windows and he keeps giving lectures on proper tool maintenance. Not my thing."

Buffy smiled in gratitude. "Thank you."

"How you doin' in there?"

"He's in pretty bad shape," Buffy replied.

The redhead's expression was sympathetic. "I wasn't asking about him."

Buffy managed to keep up a brave front. "I'll be okay."

Willow hugged her. "He'll be alright," she reassured her, "Tara and Dawn are still researching different mind-control spells, trying to find anything that causes violet eyes. It shouldn't take 'em long to find it."

"Good. The sooner they find it, the sooner we can stop it," Buffy's eyes narrowed in anger, "Hopefully hurting Amy in the process."

"I still can't believe Amy would do something like this," Willow shook her head, eyes wide, "I mean, I know she was way into the dark magics, like I used to be, but I never thought she'd do something this..."

"Evil?"

The redhead nodded. "Guess you don't really know how low a person can get."

There was a pained cry from inside the bedroom. Both women winced at the sound.

"I-I'd better get that blood," Willow stammered and hastily left for the butcher shop. Buffy continued to lean against the door, fighting back tears as she felt her lover's suffering.

"Well, I got those chains installed," Xander said a short while later. Buffy had come downstairs to check on everyone's progress. Dawn and Tara were still trying to narrow down which mind-control spell Spike was under. They were sitting together on the couch, surrounded by books. Behind them, the newly installed replacement windows blazed with late afternoon sunlight.

"Does this mean we're locking Spike in the basement now?" Anya asked, pausing in her efforts to clean up the last of the mess in the living room.

Buffy thought about it, then shook her head. "No. We'd better wait 'til Willow gets back with the blood. Spike should be calmer after he feeds and we can move him then."

The front door opened and Willow rushed in; she was not alone. "Look who I found."

"Oh, this can't be good," Xander groaned.

Willow was gripping Andrew, the former Trio member, by the scruff of his neck. The twitchy geek was clutching a paper bag in his arms.

"Guess who was buying mass amounts of blood at the butcher shop?" Willow said.

Buffy scowled at the unexpected prisoner. She so didn't have time for this. "What're you doing back in town?"

Andrew put on an unconvincingly haughty air. "You'll get nothin' out of me, Slayer."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "We'll see about that." She turned to Xander. "Feel like doing a little interrogation?"

"Ooh! Can I help?" Anya practically bounced with enthusiasm.

Xander grinned at the anxious looking blonde guy.

While the carpenter and the ex-vengeance demon played good cop/bad cop in Dawn's room, Buffy took the blood they got off Andrew to her room. Spike was still in his gameface and too far gone for rational thought. His nostrils twitched at the smell of the pig's blood. Buffy set the paper bag down on the dresser next to a large bowl she'd taken from the kitchen. She pulled out one of the quart-sized sacks of blood and carried it over to the restrained vampire. There was no need to do anything but hold onto it while Spike's fangs pierced the plastic and he began sucking down the sack's contents. He wound up draining two of the sacks. Buffy placed the empties into the mixing bowl so they wouldn't drip all over the place.

Spike was noticeably calmer when she stepped out to check on Xander's and Anya's status. The two of them were already out in the hall, having apparently decided to give Andrew some time to stew after their initial confrontation.

"What's the status with your guy?" a cheerful Anya asked.

"Getting better. The blood's definitely helping," she replied, "How's your guy?"

Anya's response was both eager and absurdly B-movie cliché, "The weasel wants to sing. He just needs a tune."

"He's primed," Xander agreed, "I'll be pumping him in no time." At the women's looks, he ducked his head in embarrassment and amended, "He'll give us information soon."

Buffy wished them the best of luck and returned to the bedroom. Spike's features had finally returned to human and his discomfort seemed less. Buffy sat beside him, on the edge of the bed. "Better?" At his nod, she reached out and ran a gentle hand through his white-blonde hair. "Good."

Spike closed his eyes, relaxing into her comforting touch. "I don't remember anything," he said quietly.

"Well, you were having pretty bad withdrawals."

"No, not that," he turned his head to meet her gaze, "I don't remember what I did. Just some flashes here and there. It's like I'm watching someone else...do it," he looked away, "Kill people."

"Any ideas when your chip stopped working?" Buffy asked.

The vampire snorted, "Wasn't aware that it had, you know. Not 'til now." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Any word on when Harris'll be done with those chains?"

Buffy pursed her lips, still not liking the thought of chaining him up in the basement like some kind of animal. "He's finished. If you think you can manage—"

She was interrupted by shouts and cries of distress from the next room. It was probably nothing, but Buffy decided to check anyway. "I'll be right back," she told Spike, then left the room.

As the door shut behind her, a figure was revealed. Spike's eyes widened at the sight of his doppelganger.

"Well," the First drawled, "We've got ourselves a problem." It sauntered towards the restrained vampire. "Job half done. Never send a boy to do a man's job," it chuckled, "Lucky we still have you, hmm?"

"Stay away from me," Spike warned, but the faint tremor in his voice gave away his fear.

The First grinned, "Relax. This won't hurt a bit."

Across the street, staring at the Summers house, Amy touched her medallion and recited the activation spell.

Buffy knew something was wrong. She felt it; Spike's fear, then that unnatural calm. She rushed back into the room and found him sitting with his head down, eyes closed. He looked like he was sleeping.

"Spike?"

With a roar, he suddenly slipped into gameface and broke free of the chair, splintering it in the process. His violet eyes blazed from his demonic features. Buffy ran forward to stop him and his fist smashed into her jaw, knocking her to the floor, stunned. Spike could have finished her then, but instead he ran to the wall separating their room from Dawn's and drove his arms through it. There was a scream, then Spike surged backward, dragging a struggling Andrew through the wall. He sank his fangs into the young man's neck and started to drain him.

Buffy recovered from the blow to the face and leapt up to stop Spike. She grabbed the vampire, tore him away from his victim, and flung him aside. Spike's forehead connected violently with the doorknob and he collapsed to the floor. Andrew fell to his knees, panting and in obvious shock, but alive. Xander and Anya hurried into the room to see to him while Buffy turned her attention to the vampire.

Spike raised his head, his face once again human. His eyes had returned to their natural blue, and were full of confusion. Blood stained his lips. "What..."

"You were being controlled again," Buffy told him.

He stared at her in alarm. Then his expression hardened in resolve. "Knock me out."

Buffy didn't give herself time to hesitate. She lashed out with her foot as hard as she could. Spike's head rocked back from the impact, then he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Xander," Buffy fought to keep her voice steady, "Help me get him to the basement."

Andrew would recover. They tied him back up, mainly to keep him from scratching his bandages, and left him in Dawn's bed. Spike was in the basement, his wrists and ankles shackled to the cement wall with heavy chains. He was lying on an old camping cot they'd dug up from somewhere; Buffy didn't want him lying on the cold floor. It was bad enough that they had to chain him.

Buffy and the Scoobies gathered in the living room. The Slayer was really hoping for some good news.

"I-I think we've figured out how Amy's controlling him," Tara said, much to Buffy's relief. Dawn held up a book showing an illustration of what looked like two circular medallions, each with a violet stone set in the middle.

"They're called Encante's Eyes," the teen explained, "One medallion's worn by the person being controlled, and the other's worn by the person doing the controlling. When they're activated, the victim's eyes turn violet, like Spike's did."

Buffy frowned as she scrutinized the pictures. "Amy was wearing a medallion like that. But I didn't see anything like that on Spike."

"I-It must've been planted on him somewhere," Tara said, "The spell doesn't work unless th-the victim has the second medallion on him."

Buffy felt a mixture of rage and relief. Rage towards Amy for violating Spike this way, and relief that the solution was so simple. All she had to do was find the second medallion and get it away from him. She got to her feet. "Okay, I'm gonna search Spike for this magic doohickey. Meanwhile, you guys keep trying to figure out what the Big Bad is—spirits, ghosts, demons. Check the lot of them. I need to know exactly what we're dealing with."

While the others got cracking with the books, Buffy collected a few things and went down into the basement. Spike was lying on his side on the cot, dried blood smeared across his lips. Buffy went to kneel beside him and set the items she'd brought down on the floor by her knees. Among them was a bowl of water and a washcloth. She dipped the cloth into the water and began cleaning the blood from Spike's face. His eyes cracked open a moment later.

"Did I hurt anybody?"

Buffy rinsed off the cloth and continued wiping his face. "You took a good bite out of Andrew."

Spike frowned, puzzled. "Who?"

"That blonde guy from the Trio," she explained, "He'll be okay."

Spike's gaze drifted from her. "I don't remember," he said, barely above a whisper.

"It's okay," Buffy said.

"Buffy, I don't know why."

"We think we do," she responded, "There's these medallions. Amy was wearing one. The other's gotta be on you, somewhere."

Spike frowned in thought. "She's been controllin' me for weeks. Not too many places it could be without me noticing."

"I already checked your coat," Buffy told him, "And your boots."

Spike's expression cleared as understanding dawned. He glanced down at the other items Buffy had brought. "Not on me," he murmured, "In me."

Buffy nodded, chewing her lip. "She could've met you at The Bronze or some other bar, maybe slipped something into your drink. Then wiped your memory...after."

"Makes sense." He snorted in derision. "Bloody hell, first the Initiative shoves that sodding chip in my brain, now this."

"It's probably just under the skin," Buffy guessed, hoping she was right.

"And if it isn't?" Spike quirked an eyebrow.

Buffy wasn't able to meet his gaze. If the medallion wasn't under his skin, then it was somewhere deeper. She really didn't think she could bring herself to just cut him open, even if he was unconscious. A touch on her arm drew her attention back to him.

"It's alright, luv," he soothed, "Do whatever you have to."

Buffy took a breath, nodded, then reached for the knife. Instead of removing the shackles, she simply cut away his T-shirt. She then began prodding his exposed skin with her fingertips. She would check every inch of him from his scalp to the soles of his feet. As many times as it took.

She'd reached his shoulders before Spike starting talking. "If you don't find anything—"

"I'll find it," she interrupted.

"If you don't find anything," her persisted, "you have to find a more permanent solution to keeping me from hurting anyone." He moved his right arm, causing the chain's links to rattle. "These aren't enough."

"Well, what else can we do?" she asked, "Drug you? Put you in a cage?"

Spike's eyes were somber. "When I was bein' held by the Initiative, I saw 'em lobotomize one of the other vamps."

Buffy tensed, eyes blazing. "That's not gonna happen."

He sighed, "Buffy, do you have any idea what I'm capable of?"

Buffy returned her gaze to the task at hand. Her probing fingers worked their way down his left arm. "I was in the cellar with you. I saw what you did."

"I'm not talking about the cellar," he stated, deadly serious, "The people in the cellar got off easy. I'm talking about me. Buffy, you've never met the real me."

"I've seen your life, remember? Believe me, I'm well aware of what you're capable of."

"No," Spike insisted, "If you were, you wouldn't be hesitating to do whatever it takes. Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she'll die? I do. You see, the trick is to drink just enough...to know how to damage them just enough, so that they'll still cry when you—" He broke off, his control failing for a moment, then said in a less steady voice, "'Cause it's not worth it if they don't cry."

Buffy still didn't look him in the eye. She'd finished checking his left arm and was working on the right. "It's not your fault," she murmured, "You're not the one doing this."

The vampire scoffed, "I already did it. It's already done." He lowered his head, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You want to know what I've done to girls Dawn's age?"

Buffy swallowed.

"This is me, Buffy," Spike told her, "You gotta make sure I don't get out. If it weren't for the Claim, I'd tell you to kill me." But he couldn't let Buffy end her life along with his.

Blinking rapidly, fighting tears, Buffy focused her attention back to her task. As she reached Spike's armpit, she froze. Her fingers pressed into the skin, feeling a hard ridge just under the surface. "Oh, god. I...I think I found it."

Spike stared at her, daring to hope. Buffy picked up the knife again and told him to lift up his arm. Trembling slightly, she cut into the soft flesh of his armpit. Spike winced, but kept perfectly still. A hiss of pain escaped him as Buffy reached into the wound and slowly extracted the quarter-sized disc of metal. She quickly pressed a square of gauze to the wound and taped it in place. Buffy laughed in relief, the tears she'd held back now spilling down her cheeks, "We did it. You're gonna be okay."

Spike grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her into an intense kiss. When they finally drew apart, he panted, "Now get me outta these soddin' chains."

Grinning, Buffy started to comply. That was when the lights suddenly went out and a hooded figure burst through the basement door which led outside. The attacker was wielding a staff and he struck Buffy on the side of her head, knocking her away from Spike. She heard other crashes upstairs and her friends' terrified screams. Buffy fought back, but found herself driven up the stairs until she crashed through the door into the kitchen. She and her opponent fought their way down the hall leading to the front door, where she finally struck the hooded man down with his own staff. She saw a couple of other hooded men running upstairs and chased after them.

Buffy found one of them in Dawn's room about to stab Andrew with a couple of wicked-looking curved knives. The blades whirred in the hooded man's capable hands, and it was all Buffy could do to dodge them. A lucky punch sent the man reeling, but then the second hooded man burst into the room, knives at the ready. Buffy found herself fighting two skilled opponents at opposite sides of her. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and discovered that Andrew had somehow wriggled free of the ropes and was trying to make a break for it. She grabbed the blonde man, swung him first into one of the hooded men, then the other, knocking them off balance. She flung Andrew out of the way, then managed to wrestle the knives from one of the men before he fully recovered. She lashed out with her left arm, impaling the hooded man coming at her from the right. Then the other hooded man charged from her left and she twisted so he fell on the blade in her right hand. Arms now crossed in front of her, she yanked both knives free and watched the bodies fall.

"Buffy!

She turned at the sound of Xander's voice. "Dawn?" she asked, worried for her sister.

"She's okay," Xander was quick to assure her. He stared down at the bodies. "Is this it? I thought there was more of 'em."

Buffy felt the ground fall away from her feet. She frantically checked the link, but all she felt the barely-there sensation of unconsciousness. "Spike!"

She dashed down the stairs, Xander barely able to keep up. When they reached the basement they found the chains dangling empty from the wall, the shackles broken. Buffy stood utterly still. If she moved even a little, her legs would give out and she'd topple to the floor. So she kept still and waited for the terror to give way to sheer rage. Rage was good. Rage was an excellent motivator.

Xander touched her shoulder. "Buffy, I—"

Buffy turned and abruptly ascended back into the house. Startled by her behavior, Xander followed a second later.

"Th-They were so fast," Tara said, her tone slightly dazed from shock, "And organized."

"They were after Spike all along," Buffy stated coldly.

"And we were just in the way," Xander concluded.

Buffy approached one of the bodies and crouched over it, staring at the hooded man's face. Instead of eyes, strange runic symbols were carved into his flesh. "I know these guys. I fought them before," she straightened, turned to address her friends, "We aren't being haunted. This isn't some demon. The ghosts we all saw. 'From beneath us.' It's all the same thing. I know what we're up against." Her hands tightened their grip on the knives she'd taken from the attackers. In a deadly calm voice, she spoke the name of their enemy, "The First."

Spike woke to darkness. He was underground somewhere. He sensed the Hellmouth was near. He was surrounded by chanting hooded men, tied spread-eagle to some kind of wheel-shaped device. His arms and legs were bound with chains wrapped so tightly he couldn't feel his hands or feet. He was still shirtless, the bandage Buffy had applied to his armpit lost somewhere along the way. Blood seeped from the cut she'd made to extract the medallion.

A figure different from the hooded men approached. Spike tensed when he saw it was his doppelganger. The creature smirked.

"You'll have to excuse the spectacle," it said, "but I've always been a bit of a sucker for the old classics."

One of the hooded men approached a small table that held an intimidating array of sharp implements. The man selected a long, thin blade and approached the restrained vampire.

Spike tried to stay quiet. He really did. But when that blade started slicing into him, the screams just poured out of him, just as the blood poured out of the wounds. The hooded man carved a series of symbols onto Spike's flesh with agonizing slowness. Spike gritted his teeth. He might not be able to hold back the screams, but he'd be damned before he started begging these pillocks for mercy.

"Oh, don't look at me that way," Not-Spike chided, "I wanted to do this more subtle-like. My harbingers have a tendency to call attention to themselves." It pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're the one who couldn't hold his end of the bargain. You're the one who couldn't take care of what's-his-name. And so now, fittingly, you're the one who gets to do the honors."

The hooded man with the knife stepped back, his work apparently done. Two more hooded men grabbed some chains hanging from the ceiling and pulled. Spike found himself lifted from the ground, the wheel he was tied to rising towards the ceiling of the underground chamber. The wheel tilted until Spike was horizontal, hanging face-down. Blood poured from his wounds in thick rivulets, splashing onto something below. It looked like some kind of seal; a five-pointed star with a goat's head in the center. There was something familiar about it, but in his pain-fogged state, Spike was unable to remember.

His doppelganger stepped into view, standing beside the seal. Spike watched as the creature shrank and morphed until it was no longer his double he was looking at, but Buffy's. Somehow, this was so much worse.

"I have to admit," the First said in Buffy's familiar, light-hearted voice, "I'm glad it worked out this way. I was going to bleed Andrew, but you look a lot better with your shirt off." She grinned.

Spike's blood soaked into the seal as if the metal were a sponge. There was a low hum, the seal began to glow.

"To be honest," Not-Buffy continued, "I'm getting a little tired of subtle. I think it's about time we brought some authority to our presence. Now, Spike, you wanna see what a real vampire looks like?"

The corners of the pentacle star folded up into a pyramid shape, then sank into the ground, leaving an opening. From the darkness, something emerged. Clawed hands reached out and dug into the earthen floor, hauling up a nightmarish creature that made what little blood remained in Spike's body run cold. It was a vampire, but unlike any vampire that existed in the world. There was no trace of humanity in this creature. It was pure hunger. Pure malevolence. It was the thing that even vampires feared.

The Turok-Han raised its baleful gaze to the helpless white-blonde hanging above it and let out an ear-splitting roar.