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Future Sins Past by DreamsofSpike
 
Proof Positive
 
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A/N: I know, you're all waiting to see the results of Dru's spell...more will be revealed next chapter, I promise :) It's a bit complicated, a bit of a *major* twist in the story, and probably very unexpected (I hope) and I'm sorry to put off the reveal even longer, but this chapter sort of took over, and wrote itself :P and the answers will have to wait....thanx for your patience and your kind feedback and support, it's so very much appreciate :)
*hugs*
DoS



Angelus was already having a bad night when it happened.

He had been by the Slayer’s house -- twice -- with no luck. Next, he had made his way in turn to each of her friends’ homes, none of which he could actually enter now unfortunately, still without seeing any sign of her. Finally, he had made his way to her Watcher’s apartment, and though he had seen no sign of her, the lights had all been on, and he could hear the sound of several voices inside.

She was there -- they all were -- but untouchable for the moment.

He had been headed back to the mansion, frustrated by the failure of his intentions to try another attack on Buffy, or at least one of her little friends, when he had felt it.

A strange sensation deep within him, like a wary sense of foreboding, followed by the unmistakable feeling that something monumental, something drastic, had occurred in the fabric of his bloodline -- something that would work a permanent change in his unlife, and those of his family as well.

He took off at a run for the mansion, determined to find Dru and find out what had happened.

On the floor of the bedroom where Spike had been until just recently, he found her. She was sobbing uncontrollably, utterly distraught and not even aware of him as he rushed to her side. His eyes widened with dismay as he saw the remnants of her spell, burned to ashes on the floor, and suddenly knew that her tears, her sobs, were the result of more than just another mad fit of hers.

She had seen something -- something terrible.

“Dru!” he said harshly, crouching beside her and grabbing her shoulders roughly, pulling her up in an attempt to force her to face him. “Dru, look at me!”

“Should’ve known,” she wailed softly, her head turned away, her eyes closed. “Greedy girl, I’m a greedy girl -- greedy girls shall have no cakes -- greedy girls shall have no gifts. I’ve been a bad, greedy girl, and she’s come to punish me…”

“Dru!” Angelus snapped, too upset to even try to make sense of her nonsensical words. “Dru, talk to me! *Dru*!”

“Nothing to say -- only confusion -- such terrible confusion -- it’s all out of order, all wrong, all mixed up…I wanted them all to myself,” she moaned, shaking her head in despair, still not looking to him. “Thought I’d keep both my boy and my daddy all to myself -- but I’m a greedy girl, and she’ll take them all away…I shan’t have any now, I’ve been such a bad girl…”

“*Dru*!” Angelus punctuated the harsh near-shout with a hard slap across her face, and she looked up at him as if just realizing he was there, her dark eyes wide and mad and despairing. “Dru…” he went on, softer, “…what have you done?”

***********************************

“Xander!” Buffy cried out, rushing to her friend’s side, momentarily heedless of the fact that Spike was escaping out the front door. “My God, Xander, are you okay?”

Her friend was dazed from the blow he had taken to the head, mumbling incoherently as his head lolled limply to the side.

“Giles!” Buffy’s voice trembled with fearful concern, her eyes wide as she turned them up imploringly toward her Watcher. “What should I do?”

“Well -- first of all -- help him lie down,” the older gentleman advised in a terse tone that spoke of his own concern, as he moved forward to help Buffy lay the boy’s legs out on the sofa. Moving in close to inspect the wound, Giles frowned before nodding with satisfaction and declaring, “It’s only a surface wound, doesn’t seem to have done any real damage. Give him a few minutes to come around, and he should be fine…”

As if to prove his words true, after just a minute or so, Xander opened his eyes and looked up at them, apparently a bit confused, but his eyes open and alert as he glanced around at his friends all hovering around him anxiously.

“What happened?” he asked groggily, and then, before anyone could get the words out, “Wait -- oh, yeah -- Spike…”

“Spike,” Giles echoed, as if just remembering that the blond vampire had been there at all.

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed as she stood up straight. “Spike,” she repeated, loading the single word with deadly intent. “He can’t have gotten far, he was still in pretty rough shape.” Turning toward Willow and Jenny, who were standing by the sofa, she instructed almost as an afterthought, “Since you’ve already located Angel’s soul, go ahead and start on the restoration ritual. The last thing I need is to run into Angelus out there, so let’s get him back to normal first thing, okay?”

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and serious, as she and the teacher headed back toward Giles’ stock of magical supplies, preparing to do the ritual in question.

“Buffy, wait! I’ll go with you!”

As the Slayer finally headed out the door, a mostly recovered Xander sat up quickly -- and then discovered that he was not quite as recovered as he thought he was, as he struggled to regain his sense of balance, and nearly collapsed again. The Slayer turned in the doorway to give her friend a grim look of sympathy.

“You should stay here, Xand. You’re not too steady on your feet, and I’m just gonna dust the stupid vamp anyway…” No one seemed to notice her slight wince as she said the words -- a subtle betrayal of her disappointment at having to do so.

“Yeah,” Xander nodded firmly, for his part not disappointed at all -- or even surprised, for that matter. Rising to his feet, he braced himself on the sofa for a moment before steadying himself and standing up straighter, his jaw set with vindictive determination. “And I wanna be there.”

*******************************

Spike awakened mere minutes after losing consciousness to the pain of his chip, which had mostly faded now, leaving only a dull ache with the aftershocks of the electric current that had coursed brutally through his skull. He looked around himself for a few moments, as he remembered where he was and how he had gotten there -- and hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, bracing himself on the wall beside him for purchase.

The Slayer.

She would be on her way to find him right now.

His legs were trembling with fatigue, and the remnants of his pain, as he began to make his way as quickly as possible down the alley he had entered. He knew he had not been moving all that fast before, and he couldn’t have made it very far from the Slayer’s house before he had passed out.

It was amazing to him that she had not caught up with him yet.

As he neared the end of the alley, however, he slowed to a stop, realizing with dismay that it was a dead end. There was no way out from that end, and he would have no choice but to go back. But he just stood there for a few moments, his head lowered with defeat and uncertainty, swallowing back a sob that rose in his throat with a single thought, a question for which he had no answer.

Where would he go?

Dru was at the mansion, happy with her “daddy”, quite likely unaware that he was even gone. If he went back there, all that awaited him was the emotional torment of watching Dru fawning over Angelus, and whatever physical torment Angelus might decide to unleash upon him, as he was still nowhere near strong enough to defend himself against the older vampire.

*Well, wherever you’re gonna go,* he reminded himself with grim resignation, as he started to turn around and go back the way he had come, *bloody well can’t be here.*

He had to get moving, had to put as much distance as possible between himself and…

…the Slayer.

She was standing in the mouth of the alley, arms crossed over her chest, a stake gripped loosely in her right hand -- a coldly triumphant smile on her lips.

And he had nowhere to go.

As she stalked toward him, he found himself fighting off the useless urge to back away. After all, it wasn’t as if he could actually escape her at this point, and the least he could do was face his death with pride, like a man.

*At least it’s the Slayer doin’ you in, and not that soddin’ pouf Angelus…*

“You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you, Spike?” the Slayer taunted him as she casually approached him, taking her time. After all -- she had to know she already had this one won.

He shrugged, meeting her gaze boldly, defiantly, his fists balled at his sides in preparation for a fight that he knew he could not win -- not when he had at best a single strike before the chip in his head took him down.

“Bloke’s gotta try, Slayer.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t have hit my friend,” she informed him matter-of-factly, finally uncrossing her arms as she drew within a few yards of him. “All that did was make me want to make it hurt more.”

Spike nearly flinched, not out of fear of her stake, or because he was cowed by her threats, but simply because of the hard, bitter note to her voice that had not been there mere minutes earlier. Before his lie had been revealed to her, he had heard compassion, kindness, sympathy there; but now, he could hear the hard shield she had put up in the wake of the betrayal she felt at his deception.

*It’s her own bloody fault,* he insisted to himself defensively. *She shouldn’t feel betrayed by me -- I’m her soddin’ mortal enemy! It’s sort of my job description to lie to her, trick her, and generally do whatever I can to make her *die*, so what’d the stupid bint expect, anyway?*

But he *knew* what she had expected -- and that was what was bothering him, even now, when his life was likely about to end at the point of her stake.

She had expected more than that from him.

And suddenly, he had to try to make her understand.

“ ‘S not like I had much of a choice, Slayer,” he pointed out, his voice quiet and steady, his eyes focused on the stake in her hand as she edged closer to him, always keeping herself between him and the only way of escape. “You lot would have staked me if I hadn’t. In fact, you would have staked me the second you had your bloody information, if I hadn’t made you think I had a soul -- given you a reason not to…”

Buffy was silent, and though Spike got the impression that she had taken those words in, and found no response for them, she still moved in closer, her jaw set stubbornly as she raised her stake toward him.

“Yeah, I don’t have a soul,” he objected, his voice rising slightly with his nerves as he watched that deadly stake move nearer to him, feinted toward the other end of the alley, and then tried to dart past her on the other side. But his attempt was useless, as he succeeded only in being grabbed by her and slammed forcefully into the wall at the end of the alley, her stake pressed firmly against his chest through the thin fabric of the shirt the Watcher had given him. “But I still didn’t try anything -- didn’t try to bite any of you, or hurt any of you, until you were about to stake me! I didn’t do anything but defend myself!”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, her head tilting slightly as she realized that he was telling the truth. “Yeah,” she remarked, “and why is that, Spike? What were you after? Why’d you play your little game to begin with?”

“It wasn’t a game, Slayer,” Spike insisted, shaking his head, holding her gaze intently, willing her to see the truth in his eyes. “Take a soddin’ look at me, love. I’m half-starved, just now healing up from a bout of torture -- do I look like I could do any bloody damage?” He was silent for a moment, when she did not respond, before going on, “It was all about survival, love. You’re the one that brought me to your Watcher’s; all I was trying to do was leave the bloody house alive.”

Buffy swallowed hard, and Spike could see her resolve faltering.

Perhaps -- perhaps if he told her now about the chip, and she realized that there was nothing he could do to defend himself -- perhaps she would relent, and not stake him…

“Slayer,” he began quietly, “there’s more. You wanna know who did the honors with the torture session?”

She nodded silently, her expression thoughtful and troubled as she lowered the stake, but did not release her firm grip on his collar, did not back off at all.

“Military blokes…well, it’s a woman in charge…but there’s some sort of operation going on here in Sunnyhell. They’re taking demons and experimenting on ‘em -- and this,” he gestured down to his barely healed torso, “was their idea of research.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, releasing him. “What?” she asked in disbelief. “Military, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Uniforms, semi-automatic weapons, the whole bit.”

Buffy frowned, considering the implications of this new revelation on the situation at hand.

“I -- I may not have a soul,” Spike went on quietly, his eyes locked onto hers, watching closely to gauge her reaction. “But I can’t hurt humans, Slayer.”

She looked back at him sharply, a question in her frowning eyes.

“They -- they did something to me. Put some kind of chip in my head -- and I can’t hurt humans. Can’t fight back, defend myself even. I try -- and there’s this searing pain in my head -- electricity, I’d wager,” Spike explained, keeping his voice even and level, hoping against hope that she would believe it, after the lies he’d already told.

She stared at him blankly for a long moment, before moving slowly toward him again, and he tensed at her approach, expecting an attack.

He was not wrong.

She drew back her powerful fist and struck him hard in the face, knocking his head back into the wall; and he snarled at her instinctively, drawing back his own fist to strike -- but instantly stopped by the pain in his head. His snarl became a whimper, and he nearly lost his footing, his hands falling to grip the wall behind him for purchase lest he should collapse to the ground.

She watched him closely for a moment, frowning uncertainly. She waited patiently while he recovered, breathing hard, steadying himself, and finally looking up to meet her eyes again.

“What if this is just another trick, Spike?” she asked him flatly. “Another lie? What if all you’re doing is just trying to keep me from staking you by making up a story and faking a headache?”

Spike held her gaze, though he wanted to look away, as he stated in a low, certain voice, his eyes silently imploring her to believe him. “I’m not, Slayer. I swear I’m not. I can‘t hurt a human -- can‘t even fight back.”

“Oh, yeah?” a male voice spoke suddenly from the other end of the alley, and Spike looked up to see the Slayer’s male friend, the one he had hit with the chain, approaching, a spiteful smile on his face, and a lethal looking black baton in his hand -- probably nicked from the Watcher’s trove of weapons. “Let’s test that out.”

Spike felt his heart sink at the turn the situation was taking, aware that while the boy was only human, he could probably do a fair bit of damage with the heavy weapon in his hand. He looked up to the Slayer from where he was leaning against the wall, hoping that she would prevent it -- but her expression was calm, closed, revealing nothing of her emotions.

Spike realized with a sinking feeling of regret -- she had taken his side without evidence for the last time.

And that was what she was seeking now -- evidence.

Holding his gaze pointedly, no leniency or pity in her eyes, the Slayer took a single, deliberate step back, allowing the boy through, and at the same time blocking any escape route.

“Yeah,” she stated softly, with a barely perceptible nod. “Let’s test that out.”

Spike steeled himself for the inevitable attack, preparing himself to fight, though he knew he would lose, as the boy approached him, apparently all too eager to pay him back with interest for the single blow he had taken himself. The Slayer blocked the entrance to the alley, knowing that he could not get past her, so she made no move to stop him as he circled slowly with the boy, hoping that he could manage to outmaneuver him, if he could not actually fight him.

A single feint with the baton toward his damaged stomach had Spike instinctively ducking backward, however, and the boy swung the weapon around and brought it down hard across the vampire’s back, driving him to his knees. As Xander stood over him and raised the weapon to strike again, Spike reached out an arm to sweep the boy’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground, dropping the baton.

He just barely managed to grab the thing and hurl it several yards behind him before the pain from the chip kicked in, and dropped him to the ground. He was vaguely aware as the boy staggered to his feet, cursing and clearly seething with rage, stepping over the fallen vampire to reclaim his weapon.

Only vaguely aware, because even as the pain of the chip faded away, a new sensation began to come over Spike’s body and mind -- a strange tingling, floating sensation, as a flood of thoughts, feelings, and memories of things past, present, and yet to come flooded his mind, his body, his entire being.

It was sensory overload, to the extreme.

He was again only vaguely aware, as he heard the Slayer become aware that something strange was happening to him, reaching out a hand to stay her friend’s arm, crying out in alarm, “Xander, *stop*! Something’s -- something’s not right…”

And as the sensations surrounding him became more clear to him, and Spike became more aware of what was actually happening to him, he realized that she was absolutely correct in her assessment.

Something was very definitely not right.
 
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