Title: Second Chance
Total Number of Parts: 7
Author: Whitewolf
Spoiler Warning: Up to and including 'Who Are You?' (I have to admit, I've only been watching sporadically though). It's a future-fic though, so there are only passing references. Rating: PG-13 Content Warning: bit of S/B, bit of S/D
Summary: Four years after season 4, Spike's implant shorts out, Dru's back, dark things are on the horizon... Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, Warner Bros, etc. own/produce, etc all things Buffy.
Author's Note: *These* indicate emphasis



No pain.

None at all.

Spike withdrew his fangs, and allowed the partially drained body in his arms to fall limply to the ground. He surveyed the mess around him once again as he wiped the blood from his mouth. Bodies lay strewn about haphazardly, none dead, but all severely beaten. *He* had done all that. *Him*.

....and there was no pain radiating through his skull.

None at all.

A slow smile worked its way across his face as he stepped around the unconscious bodies and strolled back to the bar. Shifting back to his human facade, he leapt over the bar counter, and rummaged through the mess he found there until he came across an unbroken bottle of beer. Smiling triumphantly he stood once again and uncapped it, offering the silent room a small salute with its tip before bringing it to his lips and taking a hefty swig.

The possibilities were truly endless now; he could get the Slayer and her little group anytime he wanted - any *way* he wanted - they would never know what hit them. He could have killed anyone here at the bar tonight, but he had refrained. It had been hard, especially after existing for so long now unable to hunt as he once had, then suddenly finding himself free to do whatever he pleased, but he had plans for his first kill. He wanted Buffy for his first kill.

Oh yeah, the Big Bad was finally back, and he was back with a vengeance!


"You let him leave?!" Buffy exclaimed incredulously.

"Well, he seemed much better this evening when he finally came to." Giles defended, carrying his tea cup to the table where Buffy was seated.

"Yes but massive electro-shock - can't remember his own name - ringing any bells?" the young blond woman continued with exasperation. Spike had, after all, been knocked flat out after the ogre-like demon they'd encountered the previous night had shoved the peroxide blonde vampire into a damaged fuse box. Buffy had then been forced to drag her unconscious slaying partner back to Giles, after finishing the demon off herself.

The few, sporadic times the vampire had regained consciousness, he'd been unable to even put together a coherent sentence. Although Buffy would never admit to it aloud, she'd been truly afraid for the vampire - for purely practical reasons, of course... after all it wasn't as if she were *feeling* anything towards her longtime mortal enemy, but occasionally useful ally - because she wasn't. She hated him; always had, always would; just like she knew he hated her - they just plain hated each other. For nearly four years now they'd hated each other, six if she counted back to the year of their first meeting, back when he'd first shown up in Sunnydale, but back then, she hadn't been working alongside him. The occasional saving of one another's lives since that time however had changed absolutely nothing. No-thing. "Buffy?" Giles interrupted her train of thoughts expectantly.

Refocusing her attention on the older man, she quickly searched her mind for some clue as to what he'd just said. "Huh?" she finally settled for, when her mind came up a blank.

"I said, he's a vampire, despite the implant, and is quite capable of taking care of himself - which is what you should be doing as well." sighing, Giles removed his glasses and took a sip of his tea, "Go home, Buffy, get your rest. If it will make you feel better, I'll give you a ring as soon as Spike returns."

"It'll make me feel better when he's a pile of harmless ash." Buffy muttered, just loudly enough for Giles to hear, as she got up and headed for the door, "Then I won't have to worry about him figuring a way around the implant and going off on a maniacal killing spree." That last bit was mostly true, at least, Buffy rationalized as she let herself out and started off down the street.

It hadn't really been until after she and Riley had broken things off that she realized just how much she *didn't* want Spike getting 'fixed' as he called it. She'd still been sure of her hate for him at the time, but a small part of her had actually grown used to having him around. No implant meant no reason to help her, which ultimately meant no reason for her to keep him around. Strange as it sounded, she really didn't want to kill him anymore.

Oh, she loved fighting with him, loved picking on him, loved... well, hating him - but ending him forever?

Passing by Lowell House, she paused for a moment, briefly letting the memories of her freshman year pass through her mind. She'd really thought Riley could be *the* one way back then - a polar opposite to Angel - or so she'd thought at the time. In retrospect though, she'd had more and more trouble distinguishing between the two.

Riley had been so human - so... *ordinary*... even after she discovered his Initiative ties, he'd insisted that things could work out for them. With Angel, it just seemed as though one or the other would eventually need to walk away - which Angel had ultimately literally done - but with Riley - he'd forced her to see a *them* even when she thought it would be hopeless.

That was about where the differences ended though. Both men had been quiet, reserved, strong yet gentle, devoted... mirror images: one on one side of life, the other, on the other. So, where had things gone wrong, if Riley wasn't faced with the danger of losing his soul were he to experience a moment of perfect happiness? Demons. The answer was a simple as it was complex. Riley couldn't - or perhaps *wouldn't* - acknowledge the complexity behind them.

He had agreed to look the other way with Spike, but that had been due more to the fact that he could not come up with a convincing argument to her insistence that Spike was completely harmless and therefore no threat to the innocent. He had even begun analyzing the whys of demons and not just the whats; having learned from prolonged exposure to the Watcher method of hunting demons that most demons did actually have a reason for coming to the Hellmouth, and that dealing with the demon did not always succeed in dealing with the actual problem. Even the reality of magic and sorcery had been made plain to him, despite his constant insistences that there was some scientifically based explanation. He had really been a Scully to the Scooby gang's Mulder at times.

What had done their relationship in however, was not his skepticism about the more magical and supernatural aspects of slaying, nor even the constant conflict he felt between his duties as a military special agent, and his loyalty to her as a friend and lover. No what had done their relationship in had been his unwavering, unfaltering, unchangeable opinion of demons. To him, they weren't 'intelligent'. They were animals. Rabid animals at that.

The concept of a 'good' or 'benevolent' demon was preposterous to him; the concept of an ensouled vampire even more so. There were no grey areas for him with regards to demons, if they weren't out killing or destroying, it only meant that they were planning it. 'Harmless' demons were simply time bombs waiting to go off.

She had been so sure that she'd be able to prove him wrong, that his stubborn refusal to see things in that light had eventually become the foundations for the wall that had slowly grown between them. She just couldn't understand it. Of all people, it should have been *her* who'd be the stubborn one - she was after all the Slayer, the one destined to kill those same demons. Yet memories of Angel, Whistler and even Doyle, though she'd never really known him on a personal level, had forced her to open her eyes to the truth.

The Initiative would have gone after Angel in a heart beat, soul or no - and while she *might* have been able to accept them putting a chip in his head, knowing the risk of Angelus returning was still very real, it wouldn't just be a chip... it was never 'just' a chip. Riley couldn't tell her why they'd kept demons in that underground facility, even after Professor Walsh had been killed - why the tests continued - why the 'fixed' demons were never re-released. He'd suggested once that the Initiative was just cataloguing the different types of demons, and analogized it to a biologist studying and classifying a new species of animal.

That answer had never sat well with her, still didn't in fact, and it was almost poetic justice when she'd found out that an enraged and powerful demon attack had decimated the facility. Apparently the Initiative had become enough of a threat that a small raiding party had infiltrated the facility, released their imprisoned kin and wrecked havoc on the place. Riley hadn't been there at the time, but his superiors had recalled him, and he'd left Sunnydale with the remaining survivors soon after.

Spike had, of course, been enraged at the news. With the Initiative and its people gone, his best chance of getting the implant removed had been lost; yet he had remained with the Slayerettes. In fact if anything, he'd become significantly more helpful from that point on, more cooperative. Buffy had no clue why, and she'd never asked.

Reaching her own room, she entered quietly, noticing that Willow was already in bed and asleep. Changing out of her slaying gear, she slipped into her pajamas, then snuggled under the covers. Spike had also taken to sitting in her room on occasion after he thought she'd gone to sleep. Again, she had no clue why, nor had she ever asked.

The first few times she'd nearly jumped out of bed and staked him, but since he never seemed to do anything other than sit at her desk, or occasionally on the edge of her bed she stopped worrying. Besides, it wasn't as though he could do anything to hurt her anyway.

She drifted off quickly, unafraid, knowing her Slayer-sense would go crazy if he did show up. It always did... besides, lately, it had been almost nice feeling his presence in here... if she didn't know him better, she might think he was flirting in some weird and twisted way... a small smile crept to her lips... nahhh, he wouldn't, not with her... but she could pretend...


Spike slipped through the unlocked door of the dorm room with ease and glanced at the two vulnerable and unsuspecting bodies. They were just begging him to kill them, leaving the door unlocked like that, even after all their years on the Hellmouth. Smiling darkly, he let his eyes roam over Willow's slight frame. He'd wanted to turn her once... still did in a way, if he was completely honest with himself, but no. No, tonight he was here for the Slayer.

Making his way to her bed, he sat down on the edge, watched her shuffle a bit in her sleep and exhale loudly, then ran a finger down the side of her face. It would be so easy, especially now that the chip in his head wasn't stopping him. He bent forward towards her neck, then closed his eyes and sat back up.

Not like this. He wouldn't kill her like this. Standing, he removed himself from the temptation and pulled out her desk chair, sitting himself in it instead. His eyes gazed thoughtfully at her, as his mind slowly turned over the possibilities.

She'd been a good adversary, back when they'd first met, and if anything her skill had only improved since then - although, a part of him was surprised she'd managed to last this long. Of course he hadn't exactly been completely sidelined over the years either. He'd picked up some new fighting techniques himself, largely because of the implant... an anticipatory smile curled his lips. A fight, a straight, dare he say clean, fight. Just the two of them. That's what he really wanted.

Leaning back and relaxing in the chair, he nodded to himself. Tomorrow night perhaps, after they patrolled, he could reveal his return to the game. It would be just the two of them, and he'd even let her do her duty one last time - die knowing she had at least made a difference that night - it was the least he could do, after all as much as he hated to admit it, he had developed a growing respect for her. Which was why he'd need to kill her soon.

Tilting his head slightly as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, and listened to the rhythmic beating of her heart, his mind drifted to the first time he'd snuck in here to sit with her. It had been shortly after she'd told him that the Initiative was officially no more. If he could have, he would have torn the throats from every mortal that had run across his path that night. But of course, he could not, so instead he'd done the deed to every demon that had crossed his path, completely disregarding the possible consequences that posed to his continued standing among them.

That had been it, his last best hope to get the chip out had been taken from him. Anger at the Slayer for failing to help him had fuelled his rage, fear at being stuck in his defanged condition forever fuelled his recklessness. Had he been seeking violence, or final death that night? He no longer knew. All he remembered clearly was that his hate for the Slayer and her band of misfits had tripled that night.

So, after calming down, and discovering that he was indeed still among the undead, he'd come here. He'd sat in this very chair and watched the bane of his existence as she slept, blissfully unaware of his presence, for she would have surely staked him otherwise, and dredged through his mind the thousand ways he'd love to end her little existence.

He'd returned a few nights later, and then again, and again, until it had almost become a part of his nightly habits. It calmed him somewhat, kept him focussed and on track, reminded him of who he was, *what* he was. Sometimes he would stare at her shadow-shrouded face and envision it bloodied and crying, begging for death, for a release from the pain he was inflicting. Other times he'd envision her look of surprise in that brief instant before he snapped her neck, or drained her dry. On rarer occasions he'd even envisioned her naked and chained, a slave to his every whim and desire. Once, only once though, he had also envisioned her in his arms, softly swearing her loyalty to him, vowing never to leave him, promising to always love him. That had been the last time he'd been here, nearly five nights ago now.

He'd managed to chalk that disturbing episode up to having missed his daily soaps, and running into, and subsequently staking, a vampire Dru had sired with Angelus one night six years ago while he'd still been stuck in that wheelchair.

But tonight, he noticed with glee, his mind was back on track. The Slayer would be his... dead at his feet one way or another by this time tomorrow, of that he was sure. Until then however, he'd have to continue with this helpless vampire charade so as not to raise suspicion. Speaking of which, he glanced at the time on the alarm clock by her bed, he'd have to get back to Giles' home soon before the aging mortal sounded the alarms, and sent a search party out for him.

He slipped out of the room as quietly as he'd entered, making his way down the silent halls. His mind drifted slowly from Buffy to the rest of her friends, as he considered what to do about them and when. Should he leave Buffy's body for them to find, or hide her away until he had killed them all, then present the whole lot of them to the former Watcher before slicing his throat open. Better yet, why not kill the whole slaying team, Giles included, then mail them all to Angel - he paused dead in his tracks as that thought hit him. Angel - Angelus, to be more precise - all this scheming and planning and playing, that had been Angelus' style, not his.

Pursing his lips, he continued walking; he did not, in any way, shape or form, want to run around imitating his sire's method of doing things - not after spending so many years trying to prove how unlike the dark-haired vampire he was. Yet, how could he pass up such an opportunity as this? The silly mortals all trusted him, whether they chose to admit to it openly or not, he could tell by the way they acted around him, tell by the way they talked to him, that despite his early past with them, his more recent actions had secured himself a position in their tightly knit group.

Of course he could still use that trust without having to act completely as Angelus had back when he had lost his soul. There was no rule stating that he'd have to flaunt their every weakness in their faces, taunt them with their own insecurities and mock every secret he'd been privy to before he killed them. He could just turn around one day, give them a good scare, then kill them. Quick, clean, simple.

Nodding to himself he continued down the street and toward the residential areas, when he heard a voice call out to him. Slowing, he turned and looked over his shoulder to see Xander jogging to catch up with him.

"So, you finally managed to haul your dead weight off the couch." the young man greeted good naturally as he fell into step beside the vampire.

Spike automatically offered a slightly lopsided grin, "Yeah, I was getting a little stiff just lying there." he joked back, momentarily letting himself fall into the 'buddy' role, he seemed to have somehow developed with the most annoying mortal of the group. Xander would be the easiest to kill when the time came, he tended not only to miss the obvious, but was also the weakest member of the group.

Amy, Tara, Willow, all three were witches who'd no doubt easily get the better of him if he didn't handle them with care. Even Giles had enough knowledge and skill to offer a promising challenge. Anya, despite her mortality, was not one to be taken lightly, again she had knowledge, experience, and waning magical abilities to be considered. Oz had gained a surprising amount of control over his wolf over the years, and Spike had no doubt that if aggravated sufficiently the young werewolf would be able to call upon a change even without the help of the full moon.

"Man, these late shifts are killers." Xander was saying as the two continued walking, "On the bright side though, I can still look forward to a night of wild monkey sex." Spike cast him a bemused glance as the dark-haired mortal wiggled his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Channelling Anya, I see." the peroxide blonde vampire commented, with a smirk.

"And about to do a whole lot more." Xander agreed with an eager leer.

Rolling his eyes, Spike automatically walked Xander to the end of his driveway, and faithfully waited until the young man was safely inside before finally making his way towards the Watcher's home. Patience had never been his strongest quality, and the lacking thereof had inevitably led to many an unneeded defeat. This time, he was determined not to screw things up by jumping the gun. He'd waited four years for this moment, another few days would be easily manageable.

End of Part 1/7


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