“This has got to be the most disgusting thing I have ever done.”

Giles’ face bore a grimace of distaste as he held the barely conscious vampire’s head up slightly off the sofa, making it easier for Buffy to pour the tiny amount of pig’s blood in the mug she held into his slack, open mouth.

“It *is* rather unseemly, isn’t it? A vampire slayer, practically spoon-feeding blood to a vampire?” he agreed with a slight smile of ironic amusement.

“I wasn’t thinking ‘unseemly’,” Xander remarked from behind the Watcher, warily eyeing the procedure with a sort of sick expression on his face. “I was thinking ‘gross’. Nasty. Utterly pukesome.”

“Please don’t mention puke while I’m watching him drink blood, or you just might end up…”

Buffy’s warning broke off in a startled yelp, as the emptiness of the mug in Buffy’s hand brought about an immediate reaction, and his features shifted to reveal his demon’s face. Several frightened gasps and soft cries were heard from her friends, all gathered and watching from a safe distance, at the unexpected movement of the invalid vampire, as he struggled weakly to rise, obviously disoriented and a little confused.

“Simply a reaction to the prolonged starvation, Buffy,” Giles quickly reassured her, easily holding the weakened vampire down to the couch as he instinctively tried to sit up, snarling weakly at the humans surrounding him. “He needs more. It’s instinctive, really -- and he hasn’t the strength to actually harm anyone at the moment.”

“Like bloody hell I don’t,” Spike rasped out, startling Giles, who jumped behind him -- and then immediately looked around in chagrin to see if the children had noticed his reaction.

They had.

“I’ll tear you all to bits if you don’t get your bloody hands off me -- and you’d better soddin’ well give that back! I know it’s only pig’s swill, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose!”

The blond vampire growled, weakly shaking the Watcher’s hand off of his shoulder -- only to turn and find the Slayer, moved in closer to him now and clutching a stake in her hand, smiling coldly at him with one eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

“And in what insane-o universe does the whole ‘I’m evil, so give me blood so I can be strong enough to kill you’ argument actually work?” she asked, her voice quietly mocking, her emerald eyes flashing with a sort of harsh amusement -- and an unmistakable warning.

Spike blinked at her for a moment, as his confusion faded and he gradually remembered where he was, and who he was with -- and the facts that he was weak, chipped, and at the mercy of the Slayer and her little friends.

His wide eyes became solemn as they shifted to brilliant blue, and he said softly, still meeting the Slayer’s deadly gaze, “Right. Good point. Not that I -- actually intended to harm any of you…”

“Oh, no, you were just going to tear us into nice, non-dead little pieces, weren’t you?” Xander quipped, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest impatiently, looking to Buffy with expectation as he pressed her, “Let’s just find out what he knows, so we can…*oww*!”

“Throw him a party,” Willow finished for him, glaring at him none-too-subtly for his careless words. “A nice, dust free, thanks-for-helping-us-get-back-Angel’s-soul, party.”

Spike stared at them both in flat disbelief, wondering if the little redhead actually thought she was any more clever than the boy with her failed deception. He returned his dubious gaze to the Slayer, a faint smirk beginning on his dry, pale lips, as he leaned back against the sofa again, beginning to feel his exhaustion return -- but not before he managed to get in at least one little dig.

“You do realize you’re hanging about with a tribe of bloody morons, don’t you?”

“What do you think?” Buffy addressed her friends without answering Spike, her smile widening with false cheer. “Should we stake our helpless little friend here now, or wait to see if he has anything useful to tell us? Any -- help he might be able to provide, to convince us to spare his life?”

Spike felt a brief flash of fear at the hard, threatening glint in her eyes, swallowing hard as his eyes moved between her and the mere humans surrounding her, searching his mind swiftly for anything he could use to help improve his situation. His body was still weak, weary, and too badly injured to defend himself; and the meager cupful of pig’s blood he had ingested had done little to promote his much-needed healing -- but his mind was already much clearer, sharp and ready to come up with a plan.

At least, he bloody well hoped so.

“Can’t talk too well, yet, Slayer,” he reminded her, his voice taking on the same weak, raspy sound it had had when he had first awakened. “Too weak, in too much pain…gotta have a bit more blood -- then we’ll talk about working out a deal…”

“If you’re too tired to make a deal, Spike, how’s this?” Buffy shot back, one hand striking out lightning fast to grab a fistful of the sheet tangled around him and jerk him in close to her, her stake now pressing dangerously against his bare chest, her pretty lips still forming that false, deadly smile. “How about I forget the whole thing, find a way to fix Angel myself, and save us all the trouble by staking you now?”

Spike felt his stomach lurch with nervous apprehension at the feel of the rough wood pressed against his skin, and swallowed again, his eyes widening, locked on the Slayer’s piercing gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, deciding to go along with her little inquisition for now, answer her questions, find a way to stall her, as a sort of queasy, sick feeling of weakness came over him again.

“Right, then,” he barely managed to get the words out. “Let’s chat…”

And then, everything began to fade away again…

************************************

“You have *got* to be kidding me,” the Slayer muttered flatly, her eyes wide with surprise as she instinctively caught the vampire, rather than allowing his body to drop back onto the couch, as he lost consciousness again.

“Buffy, what did you do?” Miss Calendar asked, a note of concern to her voice -- and perhaps just a hint of accusation -- as she moved quickly forward to help Buffy lower him back down onto the couch.

“Nothing!” Buffy protested, her voice coming out as a rather defensive squeak. “I didn’t do anything to him!” But as she spoke, she wondered why she felt defensive in the first place, and why it mattered if she *had* done something to hurt Spike -- and why she was being so gentle with his limp form, so careful not to jar his deeper injuries.

“Bloody hell,” Giles muttered in sudden annoyance, moving forward to help adjust the sheet, drawing Buffy’s attention to the lower portion of it, covering Spike’s badly damaged abdomen. “Buffy, look.”

Her eyes widened with alarm when she took in the bright red spot of blood which had seeped out from his open wounds to stain the sheet -- and the couch beneath it.

“He’s right,” Jenny concluded grimly, a look of reluctant sympathy in her dark eyes. “He’s losing the blood before it can have much effect. Pig’s blood isn’t nearly as healing to vampires as human, anyway -- and with such a small amount, it didn’t really do much to help him…”

“No, all it did was stain my sofa,” Giles complained resentfully.

“So we *are* going to have to give him more blood, then,” Buffy sighed with resignation, her eyes carefully averted from the alarmingly wide red spot on the sheet, evidence of brutal damage that she had not yet had to see firsthand -- and she had no intention of seeing it, either. “If we’re going to get anything out of him, we’re going to have to get him more blood.”

“We’re going to have to get him off my sofa!”

“Forget the sofa, Rupert. It’s ruined,” Jenny cut him off, a bit impatiently, deliberately ignoring his offended look as she addressed her next words to the Slayer. “We really ought to see to those wounds -- bandage them up and such -- because if we don’t, he’s just going to bleed out as much blood as we give him all over everything.”

“Yuck?” Xander offered flatly.

“Yeah,” Buffy responded, ignoring her friend’s rather un-helpful remark, “but if pig’s blood won’t really help him heal, then won’t he just do that anyway? Bandages or no?”

“Well…” Jenny’s pretty face twisted to form an apologetic grimace as she continued slowly, “…I have an idea…but you’re not going to like it…”

********************************

“Check those chains again,” Buffy instructed quietly, and Xander moved to obey her, as she turned her nervous attention back to the hypodermic needle Miss Calendar held poised over her arm. “Be sure they’re good and tight, because if this has a stronger effect than we’re thinking, we need to be sure they’ll hold him.”

Spike was lying on his side, his hands chained behind his back, and his ankles were shackled as well, preventing much movement on his part at all -- that was, whenever he happened to awaken. He was laid out on the floor now, instead of the sofa, the sheet wrapped neatly around his lower body, most of which was now covered with bandages beneath it.

Buffy winced inwardly to think of the brutal damage that had been done to the vampire -- the huge, gaping wounds in his lower stomach; the dark livid bruises and burns that covered so much of his skin -- and wondered not for the first time who it was that had done those things to him.

*Angel?* she wondered almost timidly, really hoping that it was not her former lover who had inflicted such terrible abuses on anyone, even Spike. *Or -- I mean -- Angelus…*

It seemed harder and harder for her to distinguish in her mind between the two.

*How could one little thing like a soul -- one single thing -- make such a difference?* she wondered, a bit doubtfully -- and then abruptly focused her attention back on the matter at hand, before her mind could take her down a more painful path.

She would rather think about the thick needle Miss Calendar had just plunged into her arm.

“So -- just this little bit mixed in with the pig’s blood should start his healing going again?” she asked again, though she had already heard the answer.

“Uh-huh,” Jenny replied distractedly as she removed the needle, the tube of which was now filled with Buffy’s dark, red -- and apparently very potent -- blood.

Buffy frowned, puzzled -- and maybe just a bit suspicious. “How do you know so much about vampires and how their bodies work? And, you know -- Slayers and all?” she asked mildly, staring at the tube of her own blood.

Jenny shrugged. “Hey -- I study. Lots, actually. You’d be surprised the things I know.”

Neither young woman noticed the pleased, almost awed expression on the Watcher’s face as he glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s still sleeping,” Willow observed with a slightly impatient frown, glancing toward Buffy as she spoke. “So -- do we just wait? Or…”

Buffy shrugged. “You’ve got that nifty little needle. Why not just give him an injection?”

No one spoke for a moment, before Xander quietly, grimly, broke the silence.

“Just so we’re all clear, I really *really* hate this idea.”

When no further protests were made, Jenny shrugged slightly and headed toward Spike’s still form, needle in hand. Within moments, the potent Slayer blood was working its way through his system -- and in less than a minute, he was stirring, moaning slightly as he made his way from deep sleep to wakefulness.

“Wha…what did you…?” His eyes suddenly flew open, and he rolled over onto his back, wincing at the movement, as, all at once very alert, he tried to face his captors. There was an expression of stunned confusion in his eyes as he glanced down at his body, which was trembling slightly with the power of Buffy’s blood, and then back up at her with cautious apprehension in his eyes, as he whispered in a soft, awed voice,

“What did you do?”

Buffy suddenly felt very uncomfortable under the piercing scrutiny of his open, expressive gaze, making her feel a funny quivering in the pit of her stomach at the way he was looking at her, the awe, and -- and something else, something she couldn’t quite put a name to -- in his eyes.

*He knows,* she realized. *He knows I gave him my blood…*

And then, a darker thought followed it, as she reminded herself, *He only knows, because he knows what that power feels like, a Slayer’s blood running through his veins -- because he’s killed them before. He’d kill you too, if he could…*

Her lips formed a firm, dangerous line as she stalked toward him, suddenly planting one stylish boot firmly against his middle, pressing just slightly, though not hard enough to cause more than a twinge of actual pain in the sensitive wounds that she was not quite touching.

“You don’t ask the questions,” she informed him imperiously, narrowed emerald eyes blazing down at him. “You answer them. Or you die. Clear enough?” As she spoke, she pressed just slightly harder, and Spike winced, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Crystal,” he whispered, his eyes closed, his jaw locking in anticipation of worse pain.

The very fact that he expected it troubled Buffy too much to allow her to cause it.

Her own expression taut and defensively hard, she removed her foot, crouching down beside him and crossing her arms over her chest as she replied, “Good. Now. What do you know about what brought Angelus back? What made Angel lose his soul?”

Spike breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, turning his head slightly away as he tried to catch the breath he had nearly lost at her threatening gesture -- but didn’t need, anyway. When Buffy suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked him up to a sitting position, jerking him closer to her in an intimidating way, he swallowed hard, wincing slightly at the stinging pain in his scalp, as he hurriedly gasped out a response.

“The ritual -- it was Dru’s bloody ritual, to make her well -- had a bit of an unexpected side effect, it did…”

The deep breath Buffy had been holding let itself out in a slow, shuddering sound that the others didn’t pick up on -- but Spike apparently did, judging by the sharp, searching look he suddenly gave her.

Buffy hardened her expression, shaking him slightly by the grip she still held on his hair, as she demanded, “How do we fix it? How do we find Angel’s soul and get it back to him?”

“Getting it back to him -- haven’t got a soddin’ clue, Slayer,” Spike laughed, a quietly bitter sound that sent a chill down Buffy’s spine to hear it. “Finding it -- well, that’s a bit of a different story.”

Giles frowned, puzzled and a bit wary at those words. “Why is that, exactly?” he asked in a cool, calm tone of voice, giving Buffy a wondering look.

Spike let out the same soft, slightly manic giggle that Buffy had heard from him in the mansion, while they were both being forced to endure the torment of their loves crying out to others, before he gave the stunning, unbelievable reply.

“Because it’s right here.”

“What do you mean, it’s right here?” Buffy asked, shaking her head with frustrated confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The ritual,” Spike whispered weakly, a soft, ironic smile on his lips as he turned his head away, his eyes downcast with a despairing look. “It restored Dru, and took Angel’s soul -- but it didn’t take it far.” He turned his wide, sad eyes back up to meet Buffy’s as he delivered the shocking, final blow, “It put it -- into *me*.”