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A/N As always thanks to April for the proof reading, God knows I need it.

..............

“He wouldn’t,” Buffy denied hotly, shaking her head. “Not now; he has a soul now. He wouldn’t...”

“Buffy.” Giles kept his voice low and calm, trying to reach through his slayer's disbelief, “He—we—felt there was no choice.”

“No.” She was pacing now, wringing her hands together nervously. Her voice rose, shrill and insistent: “He wouldn’t.”

“He would!” Giles cursed himself for shouting. “He would,” he continued more softly, “and he has.” He paused, looking into her eyes. “And if he had not, then I would have.”

He lip was trembling now and she bit down on it in an attempt not to cry. This just could not be happening. There was no way Spike would torture someone to death, not now; his soul wouldn’t let him. Every time she looked at him she could sense the regret—the guilt—radiating off him. How could he do this? “Why?”

“Buffy,” Giles chided gently. No need to ask why Spike would lay down his new-found morality. Hadn’t she told him just days ago that she needed him dark and dangerous? Why would Spike damn the very soul that should have redeemed him? Simple, really: for her. Always for her.

“It’ll destroy him.” Was that her voice, so hoarse and weak?

“Yes,” Giles agreed, gently taking her hand as she slumped back down in her chair. “Yes, I suspect it will.”

……………………..

It was gone, and he was nothing. But if he was nothing, there should be no regret, no crushing sense of loss, and yet he felt it, felt the anguish of knowing that he was once again dirt beneath her feet.

The crack of a whip sounded in the silence and a sharp sting burned his cheek. Looking up, he took in the demon: she was tall and slender with ebony hair and lily-white skin. In her right hand was a leather bullwhip and in her left a jewelled rapier. She could have been mistaken for human if not for the shining violet ovals of her eyes.

He felt his own demon rise in response, unrestrained and gleeful. He came gracefully to his feet and gave his challenger a cocky smirk. “Well, hello there, cutie.”

……………………….

“Buffy, where are you going?” Giles asked, coming to stand between her and the door.

“I’m going to stop him,” Buffy spat, trying to step around her watcher.

“It's too late, Buffy. He would have reached the temple hours ago.”

She looked ready to argue when Willow’s sleepy voice turned them both around. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

Buffy shot a murderous glance at her watcher. “Giles sent Spike to the get the Scythe.” She knew that wasn’t entirely true, but fear, anger, and a growing sense of guilt made her lash out at the watcher “I have to stop him before he does something he’ll regret.”

“And I’m telling you, Buffy, you’re too late,” Giles reiterated, not moving from his place by the door.

“I don’t care,” she insisted, glowering at him. “I have to try.”

“I could find out for you,” Willow offered, interrupting their staring match. “I could do a spell, a spell to see if he’s still in this dimension.”

With one last murderous look at her watcher, Buffy turned to the redhead. “Do it.”

……………………………..

He roared with delight as he felt the captured blade penetrate its mistress’s flesh. Twisting the sword to stop it sticking, he tugged it out of her belly and swung for her neck. Beheading was a pretty safe bet; worked on most things, anyway.

Her heeled boot pushed him away before the edge made contact and he stumbled back. Tough chick. With an expert flick of her wrist she had the whip wrapped tightly round his throat, crushing his windpipe when she jerked hard on it.

Did she know what he was? He wondered, as she pulled the leather cord tight around his throat. Perhaps she had been expecting a human. He feigned choking when she yanked on the whip, bringing his free hand to his throat as he lurched forward.

Another strong jerk, another theatrical stumble, and he was right in front of her, gasping and choking for breath as he clawed at the garrotte. She laughed a loud victory laugh and he could have crowed with delight: got ya. She pulled again on the whip, frowning in confusion when instead of stumbling forward he straightened up and winked at her.

Surprise gave way to comprehension on her face, her violet eyes widening with the realisation that she had been tricked; then her head rolled across the dirt-covered floor and the bright discs faded to black.
…………….

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Willow told her, a troubled frown creasing her porcelain brow. “He’s gone. He must have done it.”

Buffy brought her fist to her face, biting down on the knuckle. “Oh God,” she whispered, her voice small and broken, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh God.”

“Oh, Buffy.” Willow felt her heart constrict at the sight of her friend's pain. Opening her arms, she pulled the small slayer close, gently stroking her back and murmuring meaningless platitudes into her hair.

………………

“And here I thought there were gonna be challenges,” Spike called into the empty room. He kicked the decapitated body at his feet. “Miss Whiplash here doesn’t really qualify.”

He looked around, impatience and adrenaline thrumming in his body. “Come on, now,” he challenged, stepping over the body and spreading his arms in invitation. “Show me what you got.”

A loud grating sound was his only answer. He turned around, looking for the source. Louder then, a rushing and hammering as sand began to pour into the suddenly smaller room.

“Bloody hell.”

………………….

The ceiling needed painting. Perhaps she’d redecorate the whole room. She’d been planning on doing it for ages; she’d told Spike last year that she wanted a change. He’d started to say something. "Well if you want, I can…" What would he have offered? Suddenly it seemed important to know. Would he have come round and helped her? She pictured him with bright paint on his black jeans, could almost hear his teasing voice mocking her choice of colour.

She closed her eyes, trying to sink deeper into the domestic fantasy. He’d have dabbed at her with his brush, leaving pink paint on her nose. Wait, why was she painting her room pink? Right, to annoy Spike.

She smiled at the scene she’d created. Maybe when he got back they could do it, take half a day off from saving the world, pack the girls off someplace and paint her room. She closed her eyes again. She’d try and retaliate, waving her dripping brush at him threateningly, but he’d just laugh and dodge her feeble attempts. Funny how in her fantasy her slayer speed had deserted her. She’d lunge clumsily at him and he’d grab her hand, turning her around easily and sending them both to the floor giggling.

He’d turn serious then, holding her eyes with his, bright and blue and intense. Then he’d kiss her, gently at first, until she pushed harder against him, making him growl and grind against her, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth, demanding she accommodate him. She’d push back, flipping them over and taking control—ooh, Slayer strength makes its return—kissing him passionately, teeth clashing as their tongues battled.

She could almost feel his hands on her, rough and demanding one second, gently caressing the next. So complex. So unpredictable. So Spike.

A lone tear broke the confines of her closed eyes and trickled unchecked down her cheek. If he did this, he would never be Spike again; she was sure of it.

…………….

Dirt filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes as he clawed his way upward. Sand and soil worked its way down his throat to clog his lungs. He was blind and deaf, but he was calm: he’d done this before. It wasn’t so bad.

He remembered the first time, how scared he’d been, panic and terror fuelling his desperate struggle through the wet, heavy earth of that dark London cemetery. He remembered how he’d tried to spit soil from his mouth as he’d dug, how he’d clamped his lips shut as he’d struggled towards the air he had yet to realise he didn’t need.

Breaking through the surface, he spat sand from his mouth with casual distaste. No gasping for breath this time, no falling to his knees coughing up dirt and gulping in huge lungfuls of drizzle-filled air.

A glance upward revealed his escape route, and he jumped for the opening, pulling his body up through the hole with graceful ease. Challenges? He wasn’t even tired yet.

………………..

She wasn’t sure if she’d slept at all. She’d spent the night in that strange rest state the body adopts when the mind won't let it sleep, limbs heavy and immobile, eyes closed, mind racing with images and scenarios.

And, in each one, the starring role went to her vampire. Her souled ex-lover. In her mind's eye, she saw him taking a human life, condemning a human soul to hell. She should have pitied the faceless victim but she didn’t. Spike was all she could think about: his pain, his fathomless guilt, his soul.

The soul that was already drenched in blood—would it drown now? Go down in a sea of red and never surface again? She pictured him on his knees covered in his victim’s blood, insanity creeping again into his remorseful eyes.

She shuddered. He didn’t deserve this. Giles should never have let him go; she should never have demanded this of him, however indirectly. God, she was to blame, not Giles. He’d done this for her. It was all her fault.

……………………….

“As challenges go,” he addressed the empty room in a conversational tone, “yours really need some work.”

He wandered around the featureless room looking for an exit. “Maybe I could help you out,” he smirked, catching sight of a change in texture of the brickwork. “Sort of a consultant.” He paused; pushing on the brick, he felt it move and smiled. “How about you work in a guy with flaming fists, or a fight to the death with a two-headed demon. Or everybody’s favourite, the swarm of beetles.”

One firm push and the false wall swung open with a loud creak of protest. He stepped into the room and glanced around, frowning slightly as he inspected the venue for the final trial. “Well” he muttered, “this isn't what I was expecting”



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A/N Writers block has me by the throat and I can do nothing to defend myself. Had meant to put all three challenges in this chapter but I got so bogged down I thought I'd just post what I had.

The plots all there in my head I'm just blocked on some detail. If nothing comes to me I may just do something really lame to get around the bit I can't write, but it may take a bit of time. Please all be patient with me, I will update again one way or another.


Thanks so much for the encouragment



Caroline - I don't want to make Spike's choice in Africa amount to nothing, without it he wouldn't have been able to do this for Buffy. But I want Buffy to have to think about Spike soul or no soul he's th esame, he loves her and he'll do anything for her. She needs to get over this 'He has a soul now' mentality and appreciate him as he is. Just like I do.

Hey Shadowsbabe, that's a new name in my review world, so pleased you're liking the story and thanks so much for taking the time to review. You're right if Spike can see the 'best and the worst' of Buffy and still love her so much, maybe Buffy could learn a little about love from the souless monster.

Cali, hey babe, so you saw through my obviously not so surprising twist. Damn it it was supposed to be a shock surprise. Never mind as long as you liked it. How will Buffy react, well we know Buffy so I doubt she'll welcome souless Spike back with open arms. Not immediately anyway ;)





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