Buffy winced when she heard the sound of movement at the top of the stairs, just after she firmly shut the door behind Spike. Apparently, her friends had heard the sound of the closing door, because a moment later, she heard two sets of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. She steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation, turning slowly around to face her friends.

There was a long moment of silence as Xander and Willow took in the sight of the empty chair where Spike had been bound, the chains that now lay on the floor behind it, and their friend, standing by the front door with a determined resolve in her eyes.

Xander was the first to break the building awkward silence. “Buffy,” he said, a slight tremor in his overly patient voice, “tell me you dusted him.”

Buffy was momentarily tempted to do just that; the idea of explaining her decision to her friends was terrifying to her. She knew that they had much more reason to hate Spike and wish him dead than she did, and making them understand would be terribly difficult, if not impossible.

But before she could venture any response at all, Willow was already shaking her head in denial to Xander’s suggestion, as she made her way to the chair and crouched down to pick up the empty chains in her hands.

“She didn’t,” she informed him in a low voice of disbelieving anger and disgust. “The chains are *open*, Xander. They wouldn’t be open if she’d dusted him.” She dropped the chains and stood up straight again, turning accusing green eyes on Buffy. “How could you let that monster go, Buffy? After what he did?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Buffy began slowly, cautiously. “He’s in a position to help us take on Faith and actually win, guys! He knows things – secrets, that she only tells him – and he can find out more…”

“What makes you think he *wants* to help us?” Xander broke in, anger rising in his usually calm voice, and shaking Buffy worse than Willow’s reaction. She was used to Willow’s being emotional; Xander was supposed to be the calm, steady one.

He was anything but calm at the moment.

“Buffy, he’s a killer! He’d tell you anything he had to tell you to get you to let him go! The first chance he gets, he’s just gonna stab you in the back!”

“No,” Buffy argued, her voice trembling but emphatic. She was terribly nervous about this conversation, which was going very badly at the moment, but she was still certain that she had made the right choice, regardless of the opinions of her friends. “I *know* that he’s against Faith. He wants her dead. That’s why I know that he’s going to help us.”

“We don’t *need* his help!” Willow snapped, a vicious fury beginning in her voice, angry tears shining in her eyes.

“Right!” Buffy shot back sarcastically, growing angry and defensive herself, under what she perceived to be an attack from her friends. “Because we’re doing *so* great at fighting her on our own!”

“You can’t possibly trust him,” Xander objected, incredulous at his friend’s decision. “How can you possibly believe anything that creep tells you? Everything Spike says is whatever is gonna suit his purpose at that particular time, Buffy. He only helps *himself*.”

“He helped me before,” Buffy said quietly, and neither of them replied for a moment.

Then Willow spoke up, in a voice of barely bridled rage, “Before what, Buffy?” she demanded quietly. “Before he killed Oz? Before he started working for the person who ordered your mother’s murder?”

“Will,” Xander began warningly, recognizing that his friend was dangerously close to crossing a line, in her heedless anger and grief.

Tears sprang to Buffy’s eyes at the implied accusation in Willow’s statement. “He says he didn’t know anything about that,” she said, her trembling voice barely over a whisper. She glared defiantly at Willow through her tears and added in a slightly stronger voice, “And I believe him.” She paused. “He may be the only chance I’ll ever have to know who *did* kill my mother. And if that’s the case, then I can’t dust him until I know.”

That effectively silenced her friends for a few moments, as they were stunned by the realization of her true motives for aligning herself with Spike.

“So…that’s why you need him,” Xander said slowly, trying to be sure he understood. “Because only Faith knows who did it…and only he can find out from her…right?”

Buffy nodded silently.

There was silence for a moment before Willow went on, her voice considerably calmer with the revelation of Buffy’s motives. Now that she understood why she had made the decision she had made, she found it easier to sympathize with her friend – although she was still certain that she had made the *wrong* decision.

“So,” she began slowly, only a slight tremor in her now calm, even voice, “once you find out who killed your mom…you *won’t* need him anymore…right?”

Buffy frowned slightly, bothered by the direction she sensed that her friend was taking this, and bothered by the fact that it actually bothered her. “Right,” she conceded cautiously.

Willow was silent for a moment before nodding slowly, resolutely. “Fine,” she said quietly. “He gets to live that long.”

Her calm, quiet words were chilling to her best friend, who had never before heard such underlying violence in her voice. Willow had always been so meek and soft-spoken, gentle in nature, from the very moment that Buffy had first met her.

But she had changed since losing Oz. Xander had been there as the change had gradually taken place, and thus was not as surprised by her words as Buffy was. Buffy, however, was deeply disturbed by the hatred that her friend had allowed to become so powerful in her heart.

“Buffy,” Xander broke in, hesitantly. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. You can’t trust him.”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, her voice quiet and sure. “I don’t.”

She turned to Willow, who seemed to have calmed herself somewhat, and searched her pain-filled eyes, her own gaze compassionate but urgent. “I need you to go ahead and do a disinvite spell for Spike again, okay?”

“Gladly,” Willow assured her, heading up the stairs to get her supplies.

Buffy turned back to Xander, who was still watching her with troubled, dark eyes. “Xander…it’s gonna be fine,” she insisted gently. “I’m watching my back…I’m not trusting him. The first sign I get that he’s trying to pull something – he’s dust. Okay? But Spike’s not opposed to helping his enemy, if it works out to his favor, and right now it does.”

Xander nodded reluctantly, watching her as she went on. He could see her point, but was not quite ready to concede that she had made the wisest choice.

“He wants to help us,” Buffy went on. “Because we want to get rid of Faith. And she killed Drusilla. He’s out for revenge.”

“Well, he’d better watch *his* back,” Xander said ominously with a sigh, as he glanced up the stairs where Willow had disappeared. “Because he’s not the only one.”


Spike made his way back to the mansion in the darkness, slowly and painfully, exhausted and aching from his brutal interrogation at the blonde Slayer’s hands.

*Little bint’s bloody ruthless,* he thought resentfully as he trudged down the sidewalk, realizing again with a deep, shaky breath just how lucky he was to even be undead at that moment *She could give Faith lessons.*

That thought brought up a whole new set of worries, he thought with an uncomfortable feeling. He really wasn’t sure exactly how long he had been gone, but he knew it had been at least one full day. It had been late evening whenever he had cornered the little redhead in the alley, and now it was nearly midnight, at least the next day – if no more time had passed while he was unconscious.

*Wouldn’t be surprised if it was longer,* he thought. *She nearly took my soddin’ head off with that pipe!* He was surprised to realize that mixed in with his resentment toward the ordeal Buffy had just put him through, was a certain measure of grudging respect.

He had been impressed by the Slayer’s fighting skills in the past, and had seen her as a more than worthy opponent, the greatest challenge he had ever faced in battle. But he would never have thought her capable of the control and authority that she had managed to convey disturbingly well during their little confrontation. It made him see her in a new light.

And it made him want to see her again.

*You stupid wanker!* he berated himself. *She just nearly killed you! And here you are wanting to go *back* there?*

But now, with the threat of death no longer hanging over his head, his mind was free to think about other aspects of his little stay at the Slayer’s house. Her soft yet powerful hands as she had run them over his body had fulfilled her intent – to intimidate – but also had accomplished much more than she realized, bringing about a very different reaction in her intended victim.

*Just lucky she didn’t notice that or you’d never have gotten this far,* he reminded himself. It would not do to let himself be distracted and become careless because of a foolish attraction to a Slayer, and especially such a dangerous Slayer as this one.

He remembered the sense of power he had felt just rolling off of her in that living room, as she had stood over him, arrogant and proud and utterly certain of her complete control over the situation.

It only made him want her more.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in mild self-disgust as he entered the mansion. “You’re gonna get yourself dusted yet, mate.”

“Probably.”

Faith’s voice from right beside him startled him and he jumped slightly, inwardly cursing himself for the show of weakness when he turned to see the little smirk on her face at his reaction.

“You startled me, love,” he laughed wearily, putting on his best smile for her. “You can’t go around doing that to a bloke…especially when he’s as bloody worn out as I am, pet.”

Her mouth turned downward in a sympathetic pout as she drew closer to him, but he could see the mocking mirth in her sparkling eyes. “Aww,” she murmured. “poor baby.” She reached him and took his arms, pulling him closer to her and giving him a seductive smile. “Want mama to make it all better?”

He supposed that telling her how completely un-sexy that particular analogy was, especially when he was far too weak to defend himself, would be utterly foolish – but it was still a tempting thought.

“Love,” he said softly, making his voice affectionate and entreating. “I’ve had a long night. I’m bloody exhausted and sore, and I really just need to rest.” He made a point of meeting her gaze as he spoke to her, and was relieved to see her eyes soften a little as she slowly, reluctantly, released her hold on him and stepped back to look at him.

Okay, *that* might not be such a good thing, after all, he suddenly realized.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she noticed for the first time the bruises that covered his face, and the bloodstains on his shirt where Buffy’s stake had pierced both the shirt and his flesh.

“What happened?” she asked, a note of concern that almost seemed sincere in her voice.

“Had a run in with the other Slayer,” he said with a slight shrug, keeping his voice calm and even, and putting an exasperated tone into it as he went on. “Still determined to pin her mum’s death on me.” He paused, shaking his head a little as he said, his voice quieter, “I barely got out alive.”

Faith suddenly noticed something and reached down to take his arm just above his wrist, raising his hand to get a closer look. Spike fought every instinct in him to jerk away from her unwelcome touch, especially when he realized what she was looking at.

Her eyebrows raised speculatively as she looked at the red, raw marks on his wrists from the chains that had bound him. “Never figured Buffy for the kinky type,” she commented dryly, and he did not miss the way her eyes darted shrewdly up to his as she spoke, watching carefully for any reaction that might give something away.

That was something he was determined not to give her.

“Neither did I,” he replied darkly, thinking fast. He had found that it worked best to keep his story as close to the truth as possible without revealing anything *really* important; that kept it convincing. But he really wasn’t sure how much to tell Faith, especially considering that she was already suspicious of his motives.

“Little chit chained me up and started her own bloody inquisition. Kept insisting if I didn’t kill her mum, I knew who did.” He managed to keep his voice calm, though he was acutely aware of Faith’s hand holding his arm, her thumb slowly tracing along the line of the mark left by the chains in an absent way as her piercing dark gaze searched his eyes for any sign of deception. “Course, I didn’t, as I bloody well kept telling her…but she wouldn’t believe me.” He paused, shaking his head as he looked away from her. “Bloody lucky I got away.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, glancing down at where her soft but strong encircling fingers imprisoned his ravaged wrist. “Really lucky.”

“Yeah,” he said, raising his voice a little from the hushed tones of their conversation, in an attempt to close the discussion. “Well, I s’pose I’ll head off to get some rest now, pet…” he began, pulling against her hand to head away from her and toward the stairs.

“Wait a second, Baby,” Faith said softly, her hand unyielding, holding him there, and he winced at the twinge of pain as her grip tightened slightly around his injured wrist. “I’ve got one more question.”

He looked back at her expectantly, swallowing back the apprehension that rose in him, every instinct warning him of the unpredictable danger that so often presented itself when she was around.

Without warning she slammed him back against the wall, pinning him there with her body, her hand now painfully tight around his wrist, and he bit back a moan of pain. “How *did* you get away from her?” Faith asked, her voice still deceptively soft, though her eyes were full of menace as she pressed herself closer to him.

*Sod it all,* he cursed to himself. *As if one bloody psychotic Slayer in a night isn’t enough!*

“What – what are you talking about, pet?” he struggled to respond, gasping in pain. “I got away. I waited til she wasn’t looking and I managed to…”

“What?” she interrupted, lifting his wrist up between them, into his line of vision. “Break the chains that were tight enough to leave these?” she demanded, giving his wrist a vicious, wrenching twist that would have been severely painful if it *hadn’t* been injured already.

He drew in his breath sharply, determined not to let her hear him cry out. He still had at least that much pride. “No,” he gasped. “I – I tricked her into taking them off. I lied and told her they were too tight – hurt too much – couldn’t answer her questions. She took them off to fix them and I made a break for it.”

He was aware that the story was pitifully weak, but it was the best his pain-ravaged mind could come up with under the circumstances.

“You know what, honey?” she said, her voice almost gentle as she leaned in closer, twisting his wrist again mercilessly as she whispered in his ear, “You’re a terrible liar.” She pulled back a little with a cruel smirk. “You think I’m gonna believe that she was dumb enough to fall for a stupid trick like that?”

“That’s a bloody Slayer for you,” he forced a bold smirk through the pain, his eyes blazing on hers. “All bloody brawn…no brain,” he gasped out.

She laughed softly, shaking her head a little and rolling her eyes at his nerve. She loosened her grip on his wrist a little, but reached with her other hand to grip his hair and slam his head back against the wall. Considering the severe head wound he had received the night before, the blow was enough to nearly knock him unconscious, and he struggled to stay on his feet, and would have collapsed had she not been pinning him there against the wall.

“You know what I think, Baby?” she went on, her voice soft and almost soothing. “I think you’ve got a problem with that smart mouth of yours. You just don’t know how to keep it shut. That’s a little problem that could get you hurt someday.”

She went on softly, speaking very close to his ear, “You know what I think happened? I think the Slayer’s too smart to fall for a trick like that. I think that you must have told her something that put her in a good enough mood to be willing to let you go.” She jerked his head closer to her and smiled menacingly as she whispered, “Am I getting warmer?”

“Cold as ice, pet,” he insisted, breathing hard and fast in his pain and fear. “Think about what you’re saying, love,” he went on desperately. “You think she’s not gonna just stake me the second I told her what she wanted to hear? If I’d even *known* the answer to her bleedin’ questions? Which I didn’t? She would never have let me go on her own! I got away, just like I told you.”

Faith was silent for a moment, frowning slightly. She had no answer for that very valid point, but she still sensed that something in his story was not quite right. She released her grip on his hair, stepping back a little, still glaring at him in a menace, before finally releasing his battered wrist with a final shove back against the wall again.

She stepped close to him again, and he tensed in anticipation, not knowing what she intended, and still too weak, especially by this point, to fight her off. But this time, her powerful hands were gentle as she moved in close, placing a possessive hand behind his head, pulling his head down and closer to her.

Her fingers ran lightly through his hair in a gesture that was deeply unsettling, in the wake of her violence of moments before, as she whispered in his ear, “You’d better be telling me the truth, Baby.”

He nodded quickly, still trying to catch his breath. “I am…”

“Shh,” she whispered, her hand tightening slightly on the back of his head, as she went on, “If I find out you’re lying to me…you’re gonna wish I’d staked you tonight. Got it?”

He nodded again, his eyes closed and his head down as she released him and backed away, a self-satisfied smirk on her face, before turning to saunter up the stairs, leaving him alone to recover from her assault.

*God, what is it with Slayers and their bloody fate-worse-than-death threats?* he wondered with bitter resentment as he slid down the wall to the floor, cradling his abused wrist in his other hand.

As he sat there on the floor, trying to regain his composure, he realized two things.

Finding out what Buffy wanted to know was going to be harder than he had thought, with Faith as dangerously suspicious as she was now.

And despite that, he would have to do it quickly – before the tattered threads of the dark Slayer’s sanity unraveled completely.