Title: Pushing an Elephant Up the Stairs
 

Rating: This chapter is PC-13 for language.

Spoilers: Set after 7.14 First Date.

Response to the following challenge: Set anytime during season seven: Spike is back from Africa with the soul that he fought for and won. Make him lose the soul, however you choose: noble sacrifice, random quirk of fate, trick, whatever. Soulless Spike is back. What happens now? How will this effect his relationships with the Scoobies and with Buffy? The fic should be pro-soulless redemption, although it doesn't necessarily have to have a happy ending. Any ship you choose, any length, any rating.

Distribution: Let me know.

Review please.
 

Chapter 12—I Can't Believe...
 

Angelus strolled through Sunnydale casually, reacquainting himself with the area. It was pretty much the same as last time, except there were fewer people. Much, much fewer people. They were abandoning the city like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Angelus loved the rich, intoxicating fear that permeated every corner of the town.

Angelus ignored the people that scurried past him, desperate to reach the sanctity and safety of their homes. There would be plenty of time later to hunt, but for now, he had to see a girl.

He strolled through the cemeteries, hoping to catch her on patrol and off her guard. He didn't want to take her on at her house. She would have too much backup. It would be best to meet her alone, one on one. He didn't have time to play with her this time around. He had to get back to LA as soon as possible.

Angelus heard her before he saw her, and instantly vamped out, fully becoming the dangerous predator he was. He prowled in the shadows, intent on finding her. He picked her heartbeat out of the chorus of the night, and followed it intently, his mind filled with blood red images of her death. So intent on the Slayer, that he completely missed her companion until he was nearly on top of them.

"Oh, isn't this cozy?"

Spike and Buffy broke apart quickly, both startled and on their guard.

"It reminds me old times, when we used to play sucky-face in the cemetery. Does Spike make you want to die too?"

"The First?" Buffy asked under her breath.

Spike shrugged, stepped forward, and punched Angelus in the nose as hard as he could. The bone shattered beneath his fist, and blood gushed forward. "Nope, it's Peaches in the flesh."

"You'll pay for that," Angelus growled, a right hook connecting solidly with Spike's eye. It instantly began to swell. Spike staggered back and grinned nastily.

"Angelus, ol' sod, how long have you been in town?"

"Not long. I just have a small errand, than I'll be on my way."

"Well, don't let us stop you." A solid kick to the stomach.

"You never could, William." Angelus regained his footing, then sent Spike flying into the nearest mausoleum with deadly kick to the chest.

Buffy wanted to rush over to Spike to check on him, but he was already pulling himself up to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" She asked coldly.

"I came to see you of course. I mean, does a vampire need a reason to kill his favorite Slayer?"

"So it's not a special occasion, then?" Buffy pulled her stake out of her jacket, hoping that she didn't look as sick as she felt. Spike stood behind her, silently offering her encouragement and strength. She knew that he wouldn't leave her, but she needed him to run and get Willow and Giles. The one night they don't patrol with the others is the night she needs them the most. Just perfect.

Angelus shrugged. "I'd say the night of your third death is a very special occasion. But before we start, you have to tell me what the hell you see in Spike. Need a bit of cold comfort? If you missed me, you could have just called, Buff."

Spike tensed behind her and growled low in his throat. She reminded herself that he knew Angelus better than any of them, and he was too smart to give Angelus the reaction he was seeking.

"You're not half the vampire he is."

Angelus's face twisted in anger, and he lunged. Both Buffy and Spike sidestepped his attack, and Buffy plowed her fist into his face, being sure to hit his broken nose. And suddenly, they were fighting in earnest.

Spike stayed out of the way, stepping in only when she needed him too. She had several chances to stake Angelus, but she didn't take them. Spike tried not to think too much about that. She probably wanted to keep him alive so that they could return his soul somehow, though Spike thought the chances of that happening were slim to none.

Finally, Buffy got the firm upper-hand. She had Angeles straddled, a stake over his heart. "Go get the rest!" She shouted.

"I'm not leaving," he insisted.

Angelus smirked, "He's such a gentleman."

"Shut. Up." Spike growled, and kicked him in the head. Then again and again until he was sure the poofter was out cold.

"Was that last kick really necessary?" Buffy asked, standing up and wiping her hands.

"He's wily," Spike responded. "You should stake him while he's out."

"I'm not going to stake him," Buffy said.

"What? Why not?"

"We can restore his soul."

"We can, but why would we want to?"

She sighed, "Because Angel doesn't deserve to die."

"Buffy, how many times do we have to go through this? How many more times does he have to try to kill you?"

"Angel didn't try to kill me, Spike."

"Well, the guy you are straddling wants to rip your head off. Call him Angel, Angelus, or the bloody, fucking Easter Bunny, he's still guilty."

"If I kill him, Angel dies too. I can't do that."

"Buffy, if you don't know by now that Angel and Angelus are the same..."

"They aren't," she insisted hotly. "The soul makes a difference. Angel is good."

"I see."

Buffy's eyes widened, "Spike, I didn't..."

Suddenly, he was all business. "Do you want to drag him back to the house? If we move fast, we can get him there before he wakes up."

Buffy stood up, and examined the bleeding, unconscious vampire. "I'll call Willow and tell her we're on our way."

"Yeah, you do that." Spike bent and lifted Angelus, putting him over his shoulder. "Jesus Christ, it's like carrying a small whale."

"Willow? Well, is Willow there? Yeah, I need to talk to her, thanks....Willow, you'll never believe this. We have Angelus, can you get the soul spell ready?" She paused for a long time, impatience and frustration furrowing her brow. "Look, he's not going to be out forever. I don't care what you have to do, just do it." She flipped her phone closed then nodded to Spike.

They set a brisk pace back to the house, Spike moving as fast as he could with all the extra weight. Buffy was concerned about his silence, but confident that once they got this mess straightened out, they would be able to talk and fix things. He couldn't stay mad at her forever, could he?

They reached Revello Drive quickly. "We can chain him up in the basement," Buffy said, "While Willow gets the spell ready. Hopefully that'll be enough to hold him."

"Whatever."  He wasn't surprised when he entered the house with Angel without needing an invitation. After all, why would it occur to Buffy to revoke the invitation to the psycho vampire trying to kill her?

Willow was waiting for them in the basement, her supplies laid out before her, Kennedy hovering over her shoulder. "We're ready to..."

She was interrupted by the sound of Angelus coming to. Without warning, Spike bashed Angel's head into the wall, stilling him again. Buffy closed her eyes briefly and winced. "What was that, Red?" Spike asked calmly, as though nothing had happened.

"What's going on?" Kennedy asked.

"We're ready to start," Willow said.

"Is it something dangerous?" Kennedy asked.

Willow shook her head, "Not really. The soul restoration is straightforward enough."

Spike threw his burden onto the cot and chained him unceremoniously.

"Why are we restoring his soul?"  Kennedy asked. "And not Spike's."

Willow pursed her lips. "Because it's...complicated. Can you help me with this?"

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just recite some Latin."

"Yeah, ok, I can do that."

"Can I do anything to help?" Wood asked from the doorway.

"Oh bloody hell!" Spike shouted, "What did you do? Move in?"

"Who is this?" Wood asked, ignoring Spike.

"His name is Angel," Willow said, "and do you know anything about magic?"

"Angel?"

"Look," Buffy said, "We don't have time to explain. It'll be best if you go back upstairs."

"I just want to help."

"No, you just want to get underfoot," Spike muttered. Then louder, "He's secure."

"Great, we're ready to start," Willow announced. "We need Giles though."

"I'll get him," Wood volunteered.

Spike sighed, spared one last look at Angel, then followed Wood up the stairs.

"Was it chilly in here, or is just me?" Willow asked, nobody in particular.

Kennedy nodded, "Sure was."

"I'll explain later," Willow promised softly.

Buffy watched Spike's retreating back, then with a matching sigh, marched up after him. "Spike? Where are you going?"

"Out for a smoke."

"Can you please stay? We might need you."

"I'm not going to be within 100 feet of that mojo," Spike announced. "What if the witch messes up?"

"And what if we need you?"

"Buffy, I won't go far, ok?"

"Buffy!" Willow yelled, "He's waking up!"

"I'm coming!" She sent a helpless glance to Spike, then hurried back to the basement.

"You don't like him?" Wood observed.

"I don't like you."

"Who is he?"

"The old boyfriend."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I could write volumes."

From below them, they could hear the ritual begin. Spike ignored it, though Wood seemed fascinated. He even moved towards the door.

"I wouldn't go down there," he warned, "unless you want to turn into a toad. Hey, you know, on second thought..."

Wood backed off. Spike moved around the kitchen, filling a large bowl with hot water, looking for a clean washcloth, and getting the first-aid kit prepared. Buffy would need all these things to nurse Angel back to health. Willow grew louder and louder, the incantation rolling off of her tongue, and Spike's skin itched from the strong magical forces surrounding the house.

Wood felt it too. "What's that?" He asked lowly.

Spike didn't answer. Instead, he was lost in the memories of that dark, smelly cave in Africa. Suddenly, he resented Angel more than ever. Rage burned deep in his chest, his vision clouded over with red. It would be so easy to rush down there, interrupt the spell, and stake the bastard. Ashes to ashes.

So easy, and so very tempting. He could do it before anybody even noticed. Why should that bastard get so many fucking chances, when Spike had to work and work and work?

She loves you, you idiot. Get over it. The voice was very reasonable, and had a very good point. But it was hard to hear over the anger careening around his head. Wood was either completely oblivious to Spike's inner-battle, or he wanted to use it to his advantage.

"So you guys have a history?"

Spike turned around, and focuses bright yellow eyes on Wood's blank face. "Yeah," he growled.

Then suddenly, it was over. They were finished downstairs, the spell was cast, the curse was complete. Spike relaxed slightly, then gathered up his supplies. He thought about telling Wood to stay put, but fuck it. The more the merrier, right?

"Is he all soulful?" Spike said as a greeting.

"We think so," Willow answered. "He's still unconscious, but you know, I felt it. It worked."

Spike handed the bowl and the kit to Buffy. "Figured you might want to clean up the blood."

"Thank you, Spike."

Spike stood against the wall and crossed his arms and watched as Buffy gently wiped the bloody from Angel's broken face and the gash in his head. Watching the way she treated him, it was like the past four years had never happened. Spike felt sick. It was in her body language, in her eyes, the smile on her face. Spike could read her better than anybody, and right now she looked very happy to have her Angel back.

Willow and Giles noticed it too, and they both looked at Spike, worried and concerned. But Spike gave no outward indication of the pain or anger rolling through his body. He just looked on casually, waiting for her to finish so he could take the bowl and cloth back upstairs and escape.

Spike was successful in masking his tumultuous emotions until she gently stroked Angel's hair. That was just too much. A strangled groan escaped before he could stop it, and he fled up the stairs and out of the house, not acknowledging her cries for him to stop.