Author's Chapter Notes:
As always, your reviews give me the motivation and encouragement to keep going. Especially with this story, which hasn't wanted to cooperate much at all.

Pain. The amulet's power has hold of him now, right and proper, going to use him up to destroy the baddies. It reaches deep into him, finds his soul and latches on. Hurts.

Love, worry, concern, tenderness for Buffy. Sorrow that this is the most she'll accept from him, that this is the only time she can make herself say she loves him. He knows better, knows he isn't enough for her and never could be, but still, it was nice of her to say so.

More pain. A little fear – yeah, all right, a lot of fear, then – but nothing worth admitting to. It's the ultimate challenge, it's going to eat him alive, and the thrill has him laughing in ol' Death's face.

"I wanna see how it ends."

Searing, blinding agony as his body is consumed in holy fire, agony that seems to go on forever, until the moment when it doesn't anymore. There is a glimpse, an instant barely remembered later and possibly invented, of peace, or maybe just oblivion. Of rest. Can we rest now, Buffy?

Then the pain returns, along with sight and sound, and he hears himself screaming, feels his body being stitched back together. Pain that seems to go on forever, until it doesn't.

Gasping for unneeded breath, surrounded by chaos. A Babel's Tower of voices, faces coming into focus, an unfamiliar room instead of the cavern, people he doesn't recognize. Human, one demon – "easy, slim, no one's going to hurt you" – someone else saying his name… "second only to –"

"– me." And he knows that voice. Turns, and there the sadistic bastard stands. Angel. Too cowardly to just shove the stake home and kill him cleanly, too cowardly to risk his own arse wearing the amulet himself.

Too cowardly to stand by Buffy's side, when she needs it most.

Spike roars and lunges… and passes right through his grandsire, and into the desk behind him. Realizes with a twisting sense of dread that while he doesn't feel the pain anymore, he isn't feeling the desk, nor anything else either.

"Oh bugger."

There's a moment of stunned silence – good to know everyone else is just as gobsmacked as he is, at least – before the cacophony starts up again. Who, where, how, all questions he'd bloody well like to have answers to himself.

"From this," says one of the men. British. Has an officiousness to him that Spike has learned to associate with Rupert and the rest of the bloody Council of Wankers. Just his luck to find himself in the presence of another one. But he's holding up the amulet, the one Spike wore into the pit, right there at the literal sodding Mouth of Hell. Damn thing looking none the worse for wear, even though it apparently did quite the number on Spike.

"What is that?" says the woman. Pretty enough little chippy.

"Something I gave to Buffy before –" the bloody ponce starts to say.

Buffy. Christ, how could he forget? What's happened to her while he was burning to ash?

"Buffy! Is she –"

"She's okay," says the ponce.

"Where," he needs to know, "where is she?"

"Europe, last I heard," says the ponce.

How is that possible? An instant ago they were in the pit together, facing the hordes of hell.

"Want to see her," says Spike. "Want to talk to her." The ponce says she's all right, but Spike needs to know. Needs to see her again with his own eyes.

The ponce doesn't care. Here they are, Angelus once again looking at Spike and seeing only William the fledgling. Of course he starts a pissing contest over which of them gets to claim Buffy for their own.

And Spike, fool that he is, disoriented and confused, the aftershocks of mortal agony only now fading, falls for it.

He's almost grateful when that stupid bint Harmony sticks her two pence in, sidetracks them both, gets things back to the point.

"…an ally of hers for some time, at least, that's what Angel told me," says the not-quite-a-Watcher. Narrows his eyes at the ponce. "That's all Angel told me."

Yeah. 'Cause Angelus has never liked to share – not his toys, not his kills, and certainly not his place at the top of the mountain. King of his own little hill, he is, our Liam.

More with the voices, these strangers asking too many questions, Angelus on the defensive, and no one telling Spike what he needs to know.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" he demands.


They adjourn to some laboratory, the lot of them crowding into an elevator together, everyone else giving Spike a wide berth. It's rude gettin' in someone's personal space, elbows jostling, when you're all crammed together like that. It's creepy when you discover there's nothing physically there to jostle against.

Spike stands in his corner, arms folded tight across his chest, enduring the racket, giving clipped answers to their questions and listening to the Cliffs Notes edition as they answer his. It's been near three weeks since Sunnydale; he's in Los Angeles, not hell, "though a lot of people make that mistake" says the demon. Seems an all right fellow if a bit light in his loafers. They got the amulet in the mail, the bloody post for Christ's sake, and out he popped for no reason anyone can determine. None of them, including Spike, has any idea how he got in there in the first place.

He follows the chippy inside, Angel and the black fellow behind them, the Brit and the demon bringing up the rear. They're muttering something about what an interesting story it all makes, but Spike isn't listening to them. He's thinking about something the ponce said earlier, back in what is apparently his office.

It was that throwaway phrase, "last I heard". Buffy's in Europe, "last I heard." The ponce said it as if it were no big deal. No – as if Angelus didn't have tabs on his little girl, didn't know exactly where Buffy was, what she was doing, and with whom. What she ate for breakfast in the morning.

What a complete, steaming pile of horse shit. Spike knows Angelus too well. He's willing to bet the ponce knows exactly where Buffy is.

See, Angelus has never, not once in all the decades Spike has known him, allowed his prey to slip out of sight once he's picked her out of the crowd. The great broody forehead might not be killing anymore, but that "artist" who loved to manipulate and control, who would take whatever he could from another person in order to make them his and his alone, that person is still there. Angelus never lets go, never shares what he thinks is his. Always has to be king of that little hill.

"Buffy's not mine to keep," his gleaming white ass. Ponce is lying to himself if he really thinks he's not trying to keep her, even now. The bastard may tell everyone he's a completely different person with the soul, may even believe it himself, but Spike knows better, knows that some things don't change. Some things are so deeply ingrained in a man's nature that he can't leave them behind, on any threshold.

Scanner girl – Fred – says he's not a real ghost. He flirts with her a bit, reflex more than anything, even though she does have a cute smile. But his heart isn't in it. He turns away, passes his hand through a few pieces of lab equipment, just for the novelty of it and for something to do besides stand there like a bleedin' science project.

He feels nothing.

"What the hell am I then?" he asks the room in general.

"Whatever he is," oh thanks, Watcher-wannabe, can't be bothered to speak to Spike, only about him, "it's clearly tied to this amulet." He's looking at the thing through a microscope, murmuring about essence while Angel scoffs.

"Last I heard, it was buried deep inside the Hellmouth. How did it end up here?"

Of course, thinks Spike. If you can't be the hero, you wouldn't want the guy who did the deed, Buffy's real Champion, to find his way back and show you up, now would you?

Then Fred starts using words like "destiny" and "higher purpose" and it's Spike's turn to scoff. He knows what he is, and some bloody savior of the world is not it. He loves Buffy, but he can never be enough for her, so he went into battle by her side fully expecting not to come back out again. Died willingly so that she wouldn't have to – it was the only gift he had left to offer her. And yeah, he saved the world, but it wasn't out of some desire to redeem his past sins. It was for her. Only now it looks as though his offering has been rendered worthless by the sodding higher powers, and for what? Just to see how thoroughly they can fuck Spike over? Here he's been dragged back from the dead, and he saw exactly how well that went when it was Buffy's turn.

The room blurs for a moment, and when his vision clears everyone is staring at him. He realizes he's not standing in quite the same place he was a moment ago.

"Where'd you go?" asks the black fellow. Go? What, now he's pulling vanishing acts too?

Right. Spike's had enough of this, thank you.

"This is your fault," he says to Angel. Sodding coward couldn't wear the amulet himself, couldn't stay to fight at Buffy's side. Didn't dare – or maybe couldn't be bothered – to risk his wide, pimpled ass when it came down to brass tacks.

"She made the call," says the ponce. "Wasn't my choice."

"And this bloody well wasn't mine," Spike snarls. "I'm not you." And thank Christ for that. "I don't give a piss about atonement or destiny. Just because I got me a soul…"

And shock all around. The almost-Watcher looks up from his microscope, checks he heard Spike correctly, turns to Angel. "You never said."

Ponce gets all evasive. Little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Didn't seem worth mentioning. You know."

"Seems to be a lot of that," frowns the black fellow. Well, of course, thinks Spike. Being unique is yet another way for the ponce to place himself up top of his own little hill, the way he likes. The only thing Spike can't figure is that these friends of his actually seem surprised to have seen our Liam's true colors.

"Or maybe Captain Forehead was feeling a little less special," he says. Smirks as he sees the arrow hit the target. "Didn't like me crashing his exclusive club – another vampire with a soul in the world."

And now Angelus is in his face, growling. "You're not in the world – Casper." And goes stalking off, likely to brood or glower or whatever it is he does when he knows someone is right who isn't him.

Bullseye.

Doesn't make him feel any better though, knowing the bastard is right too. He isn't in the world. Spike whirls around, sweeping his arm through table, chair, people, and microscope, wishing to God he could hit them all and maybe smash a few things on the floor.

He's as surprised as anyone when his hand comes into contact with the amulet, sittin' there under the Brit's nose, sending it flying out from under the microscope and skittering across the worktable.

The Brit and the chippy are looking at each other in surprise. Cautiously, Spike walks around the corner a ways before he remembers he could just go through, and stops, waist-deep in worktable. Scoops his hand through the table's surface and under the amulet. The chain swings through his fingers as if it isn't really there, but the jewelry itself is solid in his hand, the points around the edges digging into his palm as he squeezes.

Spike looks up at the other two left in the lab, eyebrow raised.

"Perhaps your connection to the amulet is more extensive than I thought," says the almost-Watcher. Really, couldn't sound much more like ol' Rupert if he tried.

"Yeah. I'm gathering that," says Spike.


He leaves them to it, poking and prodding at the Liz Taylor jewelry since they can't poke and prod at him, and explores for a little. Finally finds the ponce and goads him for a bit, but again, his heart isn't in it. What he wants is to be with Buffy, so when Angelus tells him, "Get out of here, Spike," he does.

Or at least, he tries to. For the rest of the bleeding day he walks, runs, practices vanishing and reappearing, and generally does what he can to make his way out of Los Angeles. Seems he can mostly appear wherever he chooses, if he focuses hard enough. With luck he'll get good enough at the parlor tricks to concentrate on Buffy and be at her side in an instant.

Only it never happens. He reaches the edges of the city proper, "Now Leaving Los Angeles", and feels a fishhook catch his guts and yank him back to the lobby of the great evil law offices. Every damn time. A dozen different attempts in a dozen different ways all get the same result.

It's after nightfall when he gives up, puts himself just outside the ponce's office where he's speaking with the almost-Watcher – former-Watcher, actually, according to him. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce is there, muttering with His Broodiness over why their higher-ups gave the amulet to them if they knew it would do this to whoever used it.

So maybe Angel was the intended target, after all. Nice to know our Liam has problems of his own, but that doesn't make Spike any happier about having been swept up in affairs that should have had nothing to do with him. God knows he's never happier than when he's away from the ponce and any of his dealings.

"What are you doing here?" asks the ponce when he spots Spike in the doorway. "I thought you left town."

"Don't think I didn't bleeding try," Spike says. Explains to them about the fishhook, how it always seemed to catch him right at the city limits.

"Hmm," says the former-Watcher. "I suspected as much. The amulet is Wolfram and Hart's property. It's bound to this place, and since Spike is connected to it…"

"Hey! I'm nobody's bloody property, Percy," Spike snaps. "So what – I'm just stuck here forever?" He glares at the ponce. All of this is his fault, anyway. "I bet you're loving this, aren't you?"

Dream come true, says the ponce. Spike will show him a bloody dream come true.

"Where do you think you're going?" Angelus growls, as Spike turns and stalks away.

"To fix your problem," Spike calls over his shoulder.


They follow him, of course, but they can't get a hand on him. One of the only advantages Spike can think of to being a ghost. He concentrates and puts himself back in the laboratory, while they're still banging through doorways and stomping down halls.

Spike is pleased to see Fred still there, clicking away on her computer. She startles as he appears in front of her, and he can't help but smile.

"Sorry," she says, "I, uh, didn't see you come in." She laughs nervously. "You know us science types, get all wrapped up in our work…"

"Pet," he says kindly, "is that amulet still down here, from earlier?" When she nods, he says, "Be a lamb, then, and get it out for us? There was something I just wanted to check before I forgot about it."

She hands it to him just as Percy and our Liam thunder through the door. He smiles at her and walks over to the nearest lab table. It's got a good solid bit of equipment on it with some sharp corners that should do nicely.

"What are you doing, Spike?" growls the ponce.

"Told you," says Spike. "Solving our problem."

"It won't work," says the Watcher. "Spike, the amulet is protected, except perhaps on hallowed ground. Its magic makes it virtually invulnerable." He stops, catches his breath. "And if you did manage to destroy it on hallowed ground, you'd be destroying yourself as well."

"You think I planned to come back from being burned to ash at the mouth of Hell?" says Spike bitterly. "Think I'd look forward to haunting you lot for all eternity? What, Spike the wisecracking ghost sidekick? Bugger that for a game of soldiers."

"You… you want to kill yourself?" asks Fred. Sweet of her to care, really.

"I'm already dead, pet," he says to her gently. Glares back up at Percy and the ponce, adds, "and if it's so bleedin' invulnerable then why is it the only thing I can touch? You said I was connected to it, right?"

Watcher nods thoughtfully. The ponce scowls.

"What happens if he can break it on unhallowed ground?" he mutters.

Watcher shakes his head. "Perhaps nothing at all," he says. "Perhaps Spike would be free to leave Wolfram and Hart, or perhaps he would still, er, cross over. No longer be trapped between realms as he is now. We've simply no way to know what will happen… assuming anything happens at all."

Angel sighs. "Fine. Go ahead, give it your best shot," he says.

"As if I needed your permission," Spike replies. Rolls his eyes. Angelus, trying to be in charge even now.

"Thanks for the help," he says to the chippy. It'd be just Spike's luck for nothing to happen at all, but he has to try. Takes a deep, utterly unnecessary breath, says, "Let's see what this does," and slams the amulet down on one corner of the lab machinery.

The world goes white.







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