TITLE: Body and Soul - The Curse
AUTHOR: Lysia
EMAIL: cricket818uk@wadnitt.fsnet.co.uk
FEEDBACK: Very much appreciated. Praise is encouraging, constructive
criticism is used to improve.
RATING: 12, for violence.
WARNING: Violence, angst. And possibly language. Light S/A comfort-
type romance.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of them, but I'll give them back to Joss
when I've finished with them.
SPOILERS: Set sometime after 'Forever'.
ARCHIVING: Here. Anywhere else, just ask.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guide to characters from FFL - Henry Carver is the
bloke who read the poem out at the party; Charles Hamilton is the
other man at the party; Katharine Millington-Parks is the woman with
the funny hair-do who was with them.

Chapter 2

Spike was gasping for unnecessary breath as he began his painful run
along the road that ran past the cemetery, the other vampires still
in hot pursuit. He pegged it down the street as fast as he could,
wracking his brains to think of somewhere he could go. His heart
leapt into his mouth as he passed Buffy's house.

She wouldn't stand for it and he knew it, but there was nowhere else
he could go. The vamp mob was gaining on him fast. He raced up the
path to Buffy's house, hammering on the door with his fists in a
desperate attempt to get away from the 'Down With Spike' gang.

The look of irritation and then anger of Buffy's face when she opened
the door chilled Spike to the bone. "Oh God, what the hell are you
doing here?"

"Let me in!" Spike demanded, his voice coming out as more of a
whimper. "There's a group of vampires who ransacked my crypt and now
they're after me."

"Well fight them," Buffy replied matter-of-factly. "You're the Big
Bad, remember, tough guy, slayer of Slayers. Sure you can manage a
few mangy old vampires."

"I can't!" Spike replied, ashamed of his own weakness. "They're too
strong... and there's about ten of them! They've already kicked the
crap out of me! Please, I can't go anywhere else! I won't do anything
I swear, just let me in!" He could hear the rising panic in his
voice. He was getting desperate and he hated Buffy seeing him like
this, but he didn't know what else to do. He refused to believe that
meeting his old rival Hamilton had shaken him. But he couldn't deny
the shock the felt at seeing the man he had killed 120 years ago.

Shaking with panic, he turned around and saw the vampires start up
the path towards him, all brandishing broken pieces of the ladder
from the crypt. Spike edged backwards, pressing back against the
barrier at the door of the house. He could retreat no further.

The vampires leapt up the steps onto the porch, just as Spike felt a
none-too-gentle hand grab his shoulder. "Fine. Spike, come in."

With that, he was dragged into the house and allowed to collapse onto
the floor in the hall while the vampires outside snapped and snarled
at him from outside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy sighed wearily as she looked out of the window at the departing
vamps. Spike had made himself comfortable in the sitting room,
looking as if he owned the place.

"Alright, Spike," she snapped, grateful to be able to get rid of
him. "They've gone. Out you go."

Spike looked up from nursing his aching leg. "What? Just like that?"
he replied in disbelief. "They could be waiting for me around the
next corner."

Buffy rolled her eyes and glared at him. "Oh, diddums den!" she
sneered. "Poor wittle Spikey! Look, I've played the good Slayer and
protected you. Now they've gone. I'm sure you can find somewhere else
to go."

Pouting sulkily, Spike looked up from his leg. He had just rolled his
trouser leg up and found that his shin had turned a nice shade of
blue. "Don't be so harsh, Slayer," he muttered. "I've had a really
bad day. Very considerate hero you, aren't you?"

"A bad day?!" Buffy laughed incredulously. "You've sweet-talked your
way back in here, persuaded me to protect you from vampires and
you're telling me it's been a bad day?"

Spike clenched his fists, grinding his teeth in exasperation. "Do you
think I want to be here in these circumstances, luv?" he muttered
irritably. He'd had just about enough. "Hiding from my own kind? I
used to pride myself on my fighting ability but back then in the
crypt... all I could do was run away."

Ashamed, he glared intently at the carpet and picked absent-mindedly
at his nail polish.

Buffy shrugged and flopped onto the sofa opposite the miserable
vampire. "So, you lost a fight. That's nothing to get upset about."

"It is for me!" Spike protested. "You know sod all about vampires!"

Buffy cleared her throat indignantly. "Um... hello? Slayer here!"

"You know how to kill us," Spike shot back with a roll of his
eyes. "You don't know about our traditions, or beliefs, our Lore.
Today I got insulted by two fresh-out-the-grave fledglings and driven
out of my own home by a gang of fellow vamps. I'm supposed to be
respect by other vamps, and now I'm a laughing stock for demon
newbies and easy pickings for vampire mobs. Do you have any idea what
a step down that is for me?"

Buffy surveyed the sulking vampire. Perhaps it would be easier to
console him rather than argue. "Well maybe you just had a bit of bad
luck," she suggested, an excuse she often used herself whenever a
vampire got away for no reason.

Spike shook his head. It was understandable that he'd lost his edge a
little over the last year of not being able to fight as much as usual
and only drinking stale blood, but he knew those vampires were more
than just a gang of fledges. "No, there was something else," he
informed Buffy, reassuring himself as much as informing her. "They
were strong. They weren't your run-of-the-mill minions. And there
was..." He paused, suddenly remembering Hamilton. Perhaps it was better
not to mention him, but Spike's concern was telling him to look into
it.

He looked up at Buffy, who was watching him curiously as he
considered the battle. "Listen," he said, suddenly serious. "You and
your bunch do research and other book shit, yeah? Don't suppose you
could look someone up for me could you?"

Buffy scowled at him. "No! We have a job to do. We can't waste time
researching people who have grudges against you when some demon might
be killing innocent people."

"These vampires could be killing innocent people!" Spike immediately
protested. "There are lots of them, and they're strong. Personally, I
think, as the Slayer and protector of Sunnyhell, you should try and
find out about them." He sat back triumphantly, folding his arms.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. But talk to Giles about it. I'm going
out to patrol in a minute so I can walk up that way with you, so if
your not-so-friendly friends some after you again I can..."

"Protect me," Spike sighed, impersonating a damsel in distress in
some cheesy film, only slightly more sarcastic. "Aww, never knew you
cared, pet!"

"I don't," Buffy replied with a shrug. "I was going to say watch and
laugh."

Spike glared at her, slightly hurt by her thoughtlessness but not
showing it. He'd embarrassed himself enough for one day. "Just get me
to the bloody Watcher."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Absolutely not!" Giles protested indignantly after Spike had shoved
past him into the flat and demanded the former librarian's
assistance. "My books a-and other resources are used only for matters
of importance - threats to..."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike groaned, weary of the litany. "Threats to
innocent people, dangers to citizens of Sunnydale, cruelty to fluffy
bunnies, whatever."

"It's not just that," Giles insisted, biting back an objection as
Spike made himself comfy on the sofa. "Buffy has expressed her wishes
that you no longer approach any of us, and it is a view which I
heartily agree with. You can't honestly expect me to help you."

Spike glared up at Giles. He didn't like the way the old git tried to
boss him around like some authority figure. He was hardly going to
listen to a retired librarian who was little more than a third his
age and whose best defence when faced with a sarcastic vampire, i.e.
yours truly, was to polish his glasses. Ooh, scary.

"It was Buffy who sent me to you, you stuck-up pillock." Ha, that put
a stop to his self-righteous bollocks. Spike couldn't prevent the
sneering grin that threatened to spread across his face. He was
feeling particularly vindictive now, perhaps trying to reassert his
power after getting his arse kicked. He may by easy pickings for
other vamps, but he could irritate the hell out of a few humans. Oh
yeah, he was bad.

"Ah," Giles muttered, his mentality changing upon hearing Buffy
mentioned, adjusting his spectacles and heading over to a vast supply
of books. "I assume she decided there was a substantial enough threat
to the community."

Spike watched sulkily as Giles immediately began removing the most
relevant books from the shelves. Typical. The Watcher wouldn't lift a
finger to help Spike but as soon as Her Buffyness gave the alright he
instantly had his nose in a book.

"Yeah she did," Spike sighed, sinking lower on the sofa and trying to
get his wounded leg into a more comfy situation. There wasn't room to
stretch, so he just plonked the offending limb on Giles's coffee
table. "My problems don't matter, but if there's a risk of some poor
little innocent kittens gettin' hurt or summat then there's instantly
cause for concern. Nope, no worries about me."

"No," Giles agreed, completing his pile of vampire books. "Now what
was the name of this vampire you were so concerned about?"

Spike glared at him. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?!" he
demanded.

Giles stared back at the vampire, looking vaguely amused. "Sorry
Spike, I was doing what you asked me to do. Is there a problem?"
Silence was the stern reply as Spike pouted and wriggled even lower
on the sofa, pushing a mug off the coffee table with his outstretched
foot. "Good, now would you care to get your boots off my furniture
and tell me who this vampire is?"

"Charles Hamilton," Spike replied, shivering slightly at the name. He
still hated that bloke, even now. He was glad he'd killed him.
Again. "He's part of some big vampire gang, and they're tough."

Giles nodded and took a book over to his desk. "I see. Can you give
me any more information? When you think he was turned; how you know
him; where he originates from"

"Nope," Spike muttered, scowling as he shifted his foot around,
smearing dirt all over the table and pushing a small ornament onto
the carpet to join the mug. "But this lot aren't the typical minions
the Slayer disposes of every night. She'll have one hell of a job
getting rid 'em."

"I see," Giles pondered, working his way through the index of his
first vampire book. He paused, taking off his glasses and setting
them down on the page. "Um... Spike, I trust you didn't make a nuisance
of yourself visiting Buffy."

Spike turned around. "Like what?"

"You know what I mean," Giles snapped, giving Spike a pointed look.

Spike rolled his eyes. "No I didn't try an' talk her into a quick
wriggle," he replied wearily. Hell, he hadn't even thought about it.
You didn't tend to when a pack of crazed demons were after your
blood - literally. "It was hardly the right moment. What kind of a
desperate idiot do you think I am?"

Giles held up his hands defensively. "Alright, there's no need to get
shirty. It was a perfectly legitimate concern."

"Yeah, well keep your bloody concerns to yourself," Spike snapped. He
was in a seriously bad mood now. The Watcher's nagging was really
starting to grate on him.

"Spike, are you alright?" Giles demanded, his harsh tone indicating
that this was not a polite enquiry regarding the vampire's
health. "You're being remarkably obnoxious, even for you."

"Alright?" Spike bellowed getting up from the sofa in a very
undignified manner due to the fact that he had slumped down too
far. "Look at me! I've got a bloody great big gash in my shoulder,
one of my legs is turning a very attractive shade of mauve and I
can't go home because the little troupe of Spike-bashers might come
after me again! I think I have a bloody good reason to be obnoxious."

Giles's brow creased with concern. "You can't go home?"

Spike shook his head and folded his arms. "Nope. If I've got much of
a home to go back to."

"Well you can't stay here!" Giles protested, placing his glasses on
the desk, silently stating that either Spike left now or he wouldn't
continue the research.

Spike scowled at the former librarian. "What, got another girlfriend
visiting have you? Or have you just got something against me kipping
on your sofa?"

"Judging by the mess you've made of my table do you think I'd trust
you with upholstery?" Giles snapped back. "I'll research your vampire
attackers for you, but in the meantime get out of my home before you
wreck the place entirely."

Spike stared at Giles in utter disbelief. He hadn't expected the
warmest of welcomes but he had thought that maybe the Watcher could
let him stay the night - even chained in the bathtub like last time -
if he had a gang after him. "I can't go anywhere else!" he snapped,
annunciating to get his point across. "Now I'm no happier about this
than you are mate, but I have to stay somewhere..."

"Getting aggressive isn't going to win you my sympathy," Giles
replied firmly, not liking Spike's tone.

Spike sighed, utterly exasperated. What did he have to do to get
anyone to help him? Usually he did his best not to bother the
Slayer's gang with his own problems - mainly because he didn't want
them thinking he was weak - and the one time when he was desperate
for help no-one was going to do anything. It wasn't asking much
really. "Look," he said quietly, doing his very best not to sound
annoyed. "You know I don't like asking for help, right? I normally
wouldn't, especially not from you and your lot, but I've had this bad
feeling all day that something is going to happen, something really
bad, and I would rather..."

"No," Giles replied instantly, opening the door for Spike. He really
didn't want a vampire kicking around his home, whether he was having
an attack of paranoia or not. Spike wasn't exactly the best company
in the world. "Absolutely not."

Spike hissed in anger. "Oh yeah? Bugger you then!"

"Very witty," Giles sighed, ignoring the irate vampire's fury and
going back to his books.

Spike glowered at Giles before storming out of the flat, exaggerating
his limp. He really didn't feel like arguing - for some reason he was
at a loss for any witty come-backs - but he made it perfectly clear
through his expression and the satisfying crash of the door closing
behind him that he did not wish to be venturing forth into the
streets of Sunnydale alone. He didn't like the stuffy old Watcher
much, but he would have preferred to have spent a while in the
relative safety of someone's home.

Still, he probably couldn't trust Giles not to kill him in his sleep,
he pondered to himself as he lit a cigarette to calm his nerves.
Nerves? Since when did he get nervous? The ominous feeling he'd had
for hours now was getting steadily stronger now he was out on his own.

He shuddered and exhaled a plume of smoke in a long shaky breath. He
wasn't used to feeling like this. It had to be meeting up with
Hamilton again. He hated it that the memories of the way he had been
treated by the upper-class socialites could still affect him. As
Angelus had told him, he wasn't supposed to care.

Determined to be tough and not-caring, like all good vampires should,
he began to stride down the street purposefully towards... wherever the
hell he was going. Perhaps he could find a nice cosy shop doorway to
curl up and go to sleep in. Why not? He'd done it before - of course
he'd been pissed as a newt at the time - and he couldn't go back to
his crypt.

He sighed mournfully when he thought of his nice little home he had
dug for himself. His new-found enemies had made a pretty good job of
smashing the 'cellar' up by the time he had got home, and they had
probably gone back and completely ransacked the place by now.

Wandering the streets, he began to sing 'Show Me the Way to Go Home',
slightly off key. He was miserable, and tried to turn his misery into
good healthy demonic aggression, kicking, stomping on and squishing a
poor innocent empty coke can. The coke can didn't put up much of a
fight, and neither did it scream in agony as it met its demise under
the heel of Spike's boot, so the vampire didn't feel any better.

It was only after the crunchy noises of Spike's can-torturing halted
that he noticed the steady sound of footsteps behind him. He stopped
and turned, surveying the street with narrowed eyes. His finely tuned
senses were suddenly alert, attempting to pick up any sign of danger.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He didn't like this.
Something was wrong. He had a nasty feeling. His nerves were on edge,
screaming at him that he should be doing... something, but this sudden
strange instinct did nothing to help him.

The person following was closer now, Spike sensed without knowing
how. There was an alley to the left in front of him and he just knew
his mystery stalker was approaching from that direction.

"Alright, come on out," he growled, having to force the aggression
now. For some reason he didn't feel angry or violent any more.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the alley: a man dressed in dark
clothes - black jeans, a dark brown leather bomber jacket, and a red
bandana on his head. He also sported a large pair of sunglasses and
the collar of his jacket was upturned, effectively hiding his face.

Spike eyed him curiously, ensuring he kept his distance. "Well, hello
mate," he muttered, frowning at the stranger.

The barely visible mouth curved upwards in a wicked smile. "Hello
William," the man said. English accent, similar to Spike's but
stronger, indicating he hadn't been living abroad for as long, and
more cockney as well. The man sighed, sounding almost nostalgic. "So,
we meet again."

Spike studied the man curiously. He didn't recognise the voice, the
dress style or what little he could see of the face. Still, there was
an inking of recognition, not at a surface level, but more a chilling
snesation in Spike's blood that he knew this stranger - that they
were connected. But he couldn't tell who it was. "Um... don't think
so," he replied, slightly bemused.

The man's only reply was to laugh - and draw a pistol from his
pocket. Spike was about to make some comment about how guns couldn't
harm vampires, when he noticed the pistol was loaded with a dart.
Before he could turn and run, or try and knock the gun away, it was
fired with the sound of a click and a small whistle of air, and then
the small dart was embedded just beneath Spike's collar bone.

Spike gasped as the tranquiliser immediately took effect. His head
felt as though it was spinning, his vision became blurred and his
legs collapsed beneath him. He heard his attacker whistle loudly, and
the last thing he saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was a
grey van pulling up beside him and several vampires clambering out of
it. He was jolted violently as he was grabbed none-too-gently, then
the world rushed away into a welcoming black void.

TBC