Within moments of his false confession, Spike found himself hauled to his feet by the throat and pinned none too gently against the wall, one thoroughly brassed off Slayer glaring into his eyes furiously.

“Care to run that by me again, Spike?” she bit the words off past a brittle, false smile.

Choking slightly from her grip on his throat, Spike barely managed to gasp out, “N-need -- air…”

“No, you don’t,” Buffy countered without hesitation. “Just talk.”

Her grip had tightened spitefully at his request, and Spike could not speak at all at this point -- but the withering look he gave her said it all.

“Er -- Buffy…” Giles began cautiously, not wishing to incite his Slayer’s temper any further.

Closing her eyes, her jaw clenched with frustration, Buffy released the vampire abruptly, allowing him to slump back against the wall, gasping gratefully for breath.

“Yeah -- I know,” she muttered, grudgingly embarrassed by her mistake. Her eyes narrowed on Spike as she pressed on, unrelenting, “*Now*, Spike. What’s this about -- Angel’s soul?”

“Yeah -- right…” Spike rasped out, swallowing to dampen his dry throat. “Give a bloke a second, Slayer…let my bloody life finish flashing before my eyes, yeah?”

“I don’t have that long,” the Slayer ground out the words through clenched teeth, a warning look in her blazing green eyes.

*Right, then – better think fast…*

“The – the ritual – I don’t know how it did it, it bloody well wasn’t supposed to – but it somehow drained Angel’s soul from him with his blood. And why it went into me, I couldn’t say – would’ve thought it would’ve gone into Dru, yeah? What with her taking in his blood and all? ‘Cept that’s not how it worked – not what happened.”

He was quiet for a moment, bowing his head and swallowing hard, raising a hand to press against his closed eyes, sniffing back imaginary tears as he carefully kept his head down and added in what he hoped was an anguished, tormented voice, barely over a whisper,
“Not at all what happened. I woke up – under the rubble of that bloody organ – with this – this *thing* inside of me…and I can’t get it out…all these…these voices…all the people I’ve eaten…the killin’ and mayhem and bad things I’ve done…must be bloody thousands of ‘em up here…and it’s torment, Slayer! I can’t stand the guilt any longer!”

He looked up at her through eyes bright with tears that were only there because of the pressure he had been applying to them, reaching out a hand to grip her arm urgently, putting a slight tremor in his voice as he begged her, “Please, Slayer – I’ll do anything you need me to do – just help me get this bloody thing out of me!”

*Yeah – sod it all. You’re bloody dust in the wind, mate, because there is no soddin’ way she’s gonna buy…*

“Great,” Buffy muttered, throwing her hands up in frustration and turning her back on the chained vampire, rolling her eyes as she repeated, “This is just great! On top of everything else -- now I find out that Angel’s soul is trapped in this -- this *thing* -- and I can’t even stake him, not with him looking at me like…like…” She shook her head, at a loss for words, as she quickly looked away from Spike, apparently very uncomfortable with his suffering, souled condition.

Spike tried not to show the relief he felt, letting out the breath he had been holding as subtly as possible, lowering his gaze in a properly subdued manner, trying to look as miserable as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around the room at the Slayer’s group of friends, trying to gauge whether or not his story had worked as well with them as it clearly had with the Slayer.

The Watcher was frowning, thoughtful, though he seemed mostly just fascinated by the possible implications of what Spike had told them, rather than doubtful that he had told them the truth. The little redhead did not seem to care much, one way or the other; in fact, she sort of seemed to be just along for the ride. The boy looked positively disappointed.

But the gypsy teacher -- and Spike had seen enough gypsies to recognize that she was one -- was looking at him strangely, while the Slayer and her Watcher began to forcefully debate what was the best course of action.

“Doesn’t it make sense that to just reverse the spell would just undo whatever happened to put Angel’s soul into Spike?” Buffy asked, frustration evident in her voice. She frowned with distaste, glaring toward Spike as she added under her breath, “And is there a way to sterilize a used soul? Because -- *ewww*…”

Spike rolled his eyes at her comment, and she quickly looked away from him, apparently surprised that he’d heard her.

“That would be the assumption,” Giles conceded, “if the ritual had gone as it was supposed to. According to Spike something apparently went wrong, in which case a simple reversal spell could possibly only unleash more mayhem and confusion. We must take time, to ensure that we know exactly what we are getting into, before…”

“We don’t *have* time!” Buffy snapped, her voice trembling slightly. “Angel is out there…”

“No,” Spike interrupted quietly but firmly, swallowing hard when all eyes in the room turned to him, but finishing his statement anyway. Too bloody late to turn back now. “He’s not.”

“Excuse me, did someone speak to you?” Buffy asked, that dangerous expression in her blazing green eyes again as she took a warning step toward Spike, who was still standing with his back to the wall.

*Right -- bad move. She’s still all boo-hooin’ over losing the ponce to his dark side…* he reminded himself, as he deliberately cast his gaze downward in a nervous, apologetic way, making his expression sorrowful and regretful as he began to speak quietly.

“Sorry, Slayer -- but it’s the truth, and you need to know it. You’re not bloody dealing with Angel anymore. That’s Angelus out there -- in a way it always has been -- only now he’s on the loose. And he’d as soon drain you dry as look at you, so the sooner you understand that…”

He cut off his words abruptly as the Slayer stalked toward him, her stake in hand and suddenly poised over his chest as she commanded in a low, warning tone of voice that was trembling with emotion despite herself, “Shut. Up. Spike…or so help me I will…”

“Buffy,” Giles’ quiet voice stopped her, accompanied by his gentle but firm hand on her staking arm. “Buffy, wait…”

Wide-eyed with surprise, Buffy turned to face her Watcher. “Are you actually taking his side? Are you saying that…?”

“I’m saying that what he says is right, Buffy. Angelus is out there, and Angel is not,” Giles stated firmly, meeting her gaze, unflinching in the face of her anger. “And if you want to have half a chance of changing that, you’d best not stake Spike until we have all the facts.”

“Actually,” Spike put in with a falsely casual little shrug, “*best* would be, not at…”

“Shut up, Spike.”

This time, the words came from both the Slayer and the Watcher, simultaneously -- and Spike wisely complied. As they continued to bicker about what was the best course of action to take, Spike gradually tuned them out -- at least, once it was obvious that they had agreed that staking him would be a bad thing for the moment.

The boy, Xander, still seemed inclined to think otherwise, but neither the Slayer nor her Watcher seemed to be paying him much attention. The little redhead and the teacher had gone off to the kitchen counter with a stack of books, apparently in the hopes of discovering some spell to take the soul out of Spike and put it back into Angel.

Spike noticed, a bit uneasily, that the teacher was still staring at him rather frequently, giving him oddly knowing looks of suspicion that were more than a little unsettling. He began to feel a bit nervous, as he wondered just how much she knew about Angelus and his history, and whether or not she might be able to somehow tell that he was lying.

The way she kept looking at him made him think that maybe she could.

*Had to be a soddin’ gypsy in the mix, didn’t there?* he thought with sarcastic resentment. *Has to be *something* to sully up the mix, otherwise wouldn’t be in the natural order of things, now, would it? Can’t have one of old *Spike’s* plans actually working out without a hitch, can we? Can’t ever just…*

“*Spike*!”

Startled out of his internal rant, Spike returned his attention to the Watcher, who was giving him an impatient, exasperated look. “As eager as she seems to be to stake you, you might find it in your best interests to pay attention and prove yourself useful.”

Spike nodded dutifully, giving the Watcher his most innocent, apologetic look. “Right -- sorry, mate -- what can I do to help?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned away in irritation, and Spike had to suppress a grin.

It seemed that his very niceness -- or rather, losing her grounds for hating him -- annoyed her.

For his part, Spike thought it was bloody hilarious -- but of course, he could not let either of them in on the joke.

“Tell me everything you remember about the ritual,” Giles instructed. “You’ll have to tell us where we can find the manuscripts you used as well, so that we can compare what happened with what should have happened, and possibly pinpoint what may have gone wrong, and find a way to correct it.”

Spike nodded seriously. “All right. I remember it all -- I’ll tell you. And -- I know where the books and all are, in the factory -- or at least where they were, as long as Angelus didn’t have ‘em moved.” He sighed heavily for dramatic effect, before remarking ruefully, “Could just send a bloody minion ‘round for ‘em -- if any of the bloody wankers still listened to me -- which they don’t. Angelus -- he made sure of that, all right!”

Giles frowned, curious almost in spite of himself. He was aware that there were much more important things to discuss at the moment, but it was obvious that the Watcher in him simply couldn‘t help but ask.

“Why’s that, exactly? You and Angelus are -- are family, yes? I understand that’s important to most vampires of your -- your age, and lineage. Why should he want to undermine your authority with your minions?”

This one came easy to Spike. He almost laughed, it was so brilliantly simple.

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze in what he hoped would pass for an expression of torment. “It’s this bloody soul,” he replied in a voice that was only slightly over a whisper. “Makes me -- less than what I was in their eyes. Angelus and Dru. Besides, I expect it reminds him of his own torment -- when this thing was in him -- and he hates to think of it being around at all.”

Buffy was listening now, interested in spite of herself, as she remembered how she had found Spike in the mansion -- lying injured beyond repair, starving to death, in a dark room without even so much as a candle for light, while Angelus and Drusilla were right in the next room…

“That’s why they shut you up in that room,” she mused, her voice softer than it had been before, and touched with a note of compassion that caught the vampire by surprise. “Because of your soul. That’s why Drusilla…” Buffy was suddenly quiet, her face flushing slightly at the attention of the others in the room, waiting curiously for her to go on. She tried again, realizing too late that not to finish would only further arouse the suspicions of her friends. “Why she…”

“Why she chose him over me,” Spike finished for her, and this time the ache of pain, the soft bitterness in his voice, was not part of his act. His blue eyes smoldering with the hurt and anger of betrayal, as he raised them to meet hers again. “Yeah. With this soddin’ soul in me, seems I’m not -- not monster enough for her anymore. She’s rather go runnin’ back to her soddin’ ‘daddy’ than deal with me when *I* actually need *her* for a…”

He stopped talking all at once, suddenly realizing that he had already said too much.

He could tell by the tears that he was suddenly forced to blink back, or risk looking like a right ponce in front of the Slayer and all her pathetic little human friends. He lowered his head, feeling the heat of shame rising in his face, as he swallowed back a sob. Instinctively he tried to raise his hands to wipe a stray tear away, but remembered with a soft growl of frustration that his hands were chained behind his back.

Suddenly, the Slayer was standing right in front of him, barely a breath away, and he tensed instinctively, looking up at her in an alarmed question.

To his amazement, there were tears shining in her emerald eyes, her expression solemn and calm, yet unmistakably sympathetic.

“Just when you need her most,” the Slayer spoke in a soft voice that Spike had never heard her use before, her eyes searching his, “she’s gone. She’s -- she’s become the enemy…”

Spike’s eyes widened as he processed what she had just said. He was having a hard enough time getting past the idea that she had said it at all. The last thing he had expected was the understanding that he saw on her face, let alone her tears.

But her words -- such a true expression of both her pain, and his own -- brought a hard lump to his throat, and made him have to look away again quickly, before she saw far more in his expressive gaze than he was willing to show her.

*Careful, mate,* he warned himself, struggling to regain control of his rebellious emotions. *Can’t let her see your weakness…can’t let her see any of the things you’re hiding…*

When she grabbed him suddenly and spun him around so that his face was to the wall, Spike winced, preparing himself for the worst.

*Too late,* he guessed. *She’s figured it out…*

But the next of many surprises that night followed immediately, as he felt her deceptively soft hands working the chains that bound his wrists -- and then felt them fall away. He stood perfectly still, as the Slayer crouched on the floor behind him and unfastened the shackles around his ankles as well.

He knew what they didn’t -- that he could not harm her without hurting himself in the process -- and the last thing he wanted to do was to destroy the trust he was building so easily in her.

*So much easier than I thought,* he mused as she pressed gently on his shoulder, silently urging him to turn back around, and he slowly moved his hands to absently rub his sore wrists. *The Slayer’s not such a bright one after all, if I can fool her this easy…this is gonna be fun…*

Yet, the thrill he usually would have felt about the success of his plan thus far was somehow -- lacking.

The tears, the compassion, he had seen on Buffy’s face made the thought of her eventual destruction not quite as much fun as it had once been.

*Watch it,* he warned himself with a rising sense of alarm. *They caught you off guard and damaged you -- don’t let it make you go soft, too…only way you’re gonna bloody survive like this is to keep your soddin’ wits about you, mate…*

He glanced carefully at the others in the room, who all seemed rather surprised -- and not particularly pleased -- by the Slayer’s actions. The boy looked poised on the brink of a loud, obnoxious protest which the Slayer would likely ignore, while the redhead and the gypsy simply watched with silent looks of disapproval.

The Watcher, however, appeared to be a slightly bigger hurdle to cross.

“Buffy,” he said in a quiet voice of concern. “Are you -- are you quite sure that’s wise? You’ve just given him an infusion of your blood, and we have only his word on which to base his claim that he actually has…”

“He *has* a soul, Giles,” Buffy stated firmly, meeting her Watcher’s eyes with conviction in her own, which still glistened with traces of tears. “I know it. Just -- just look at him.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Spike, who was slowly taking a seat on the blood-stained sofa, still warily watching the mild confrontation.

The Slayer lowered her voice, clearly in an attempt to keep Spike from hearing her words -- but he could still make out what she was saying with no trouble, as she leaned in closer to Giles and added softly, “He’s in real pain -- that’s obvious. All it takes is one look to see that. And you don’t feel that deeply -- love that much -- not without a soul.”

She shook her head firmly, and Spike felt a strange tightening sensation in his chest at the slight tremble of her lips as she drew in a deep, shaky breath, and brushed quickly at her eyes in slight irritation at her own emotion. Suddenly, he realized the line of thinking he was falling into, and shook his head slightly, forcing himself to look away from her.

*She’s *supposed* to buy it, you stupid git!* he reminded himself. *That’s the whole soddin’ point! It’s her or you, and you can’t be worrying about her bloody *feelings* when the only thing that should be keeping you from tearing her throat out is this soddin’ piece of metal in your head!*

Then, Buffy’s eyes turned back toward him, and he heard her words -- still soft and intended only for her Watcher’s ears -- as her eyes softened with that same strange sympathy that seemed to be throwing his own emotions so off kilter.

“He has a soul, now, Giles -- and that means we have to help him.”