Much thanx to my wonderful beta, Eowyn315!!!! :)


“I want to go home. Xander’s going to walk me,” Willow announced, stepping out of the kitchen with her best friend right behind her. Her eyes were red and bleary, and her cheeks tear-stained, but she seemed to have regained some of her composure.

“Will, please, don’t,” Buffy objected, an apologetic sound to her voice. “I’m so sorry -- and Angel’s gone now, you don’t have to…”

“I *want* to go home,” Willow repeated, not quite meeting the Slayer’s eyes as she headed toward the door. “I don’t care if he’s here or not right now, Buffy. I just -- don’t want to be here.”

Buffy looked as if she was about to try again to convince her friend to stay, but Xander stepped very deliberately into her way, walking protectively behind Willow as the redhead opened the door. Then, before anyone could voice any further protest, without a word to anyone, he followed her out and closed the door behind them.

No one spoke for a long moment, as Buffy visibly struggled to maintain her composure. Finally, she turned and faced the vampire still bound to the chair, a cool, carefully controlled expression on her face.

“So, go ahead. Talk. Tell me -- besides my best friend’s freak-out session -- why I shouldn’t let my boyfriend in -- why he’s so *dangerous*!” The Slayer’s tone was deadly, her voice trembling with fury -- and a good bit of fear as well, Spike would have wagered, though she was clearly doing her best to hide it.

“Unless you do something to change it, Slayer,” he insisted, his voice quiet but unyielding in the face of her anger, “he’s going to destroy you, and everyone around you.”

“You keep saying that, but how? How is that possible? Angel has his soul back, so why would he want to hurt me? *Us*?” Buffy protested, her anger giving a bit of ground to a vulnerable, uncertain tone, just below the surface of her words.

“He can’t help it, *Slayer*,” Spike replied pointedly, using the word to remind her of his meaning. “It’s in his soddin’ nature to want to hurt you. And the only reason he’s ever done any differently is so he can get what he wants.”

“What does he want?” Giles asked in a quiet voice, his brow creased in a pensive frown as he took a step toward the blond vampire, though his manner spoke more of intense interest than of any kind of threat.

Spike shrugged slightly, considering the answer for a moment before suggesting, “Recognition? Accolades? Hard to say. Most likely, just to play the big hero. To get the glory and all that comes with being one of the bloody White Hats. I don’t think he really cares all that much about actually *being* good, truth be told…just *looking* good.”

Buffy frowned, shaking her head in protest. “He has a soul -- a conscience. That makes people want to be good…”

“Some people more than others, though, Slayer,” Spike reminded her grimly. His piercing blue eyes bored into hers, as he added in a slow, deliberate tone, “Some…less.”

“He’s right, you know,” Giles spoke up, and Buffy turned toward him in surprise and dismay. “While the lack of a soul does tend to rule out the possibility of being ‘good’ with no ulterior motives, the *presence* of a soul by no means guarantees that a person *will* be good. There are countless examples of human beings who have committed heinous atrocities, while in full possession of their souls.”

“But…but…no. Not Angel,” Buffy objected, shaking her head in denial of what they were telling her. “Angel loves me. The only reason he said those things was because he didn’t have his soul. He *loves* me.”

“*Loved* you. Past tense,” Spike remarked flatly. “As in, he doesn’t now. When you lot gave him back his soul…you gave him back the *wrong* soul.”

At his first words, Buffy moved toward him, clearly furious, but his last statement stopped her in her tracks. She frowned in confusion. “Wait -- *what*? Are you saying the soul he has now isn’t his? Is that what makes things go wrong later on?” There was a desperately hopeful note in her voice.

Spike could not let it remain, as much as he might have liked to. “No. This spell you just did gave him back his original soul. For the first time in a couple of centuries.”

“What exactly are you saying, Spike?” Giles was beginning to sound more than a little impatient, though his eyes still held a gleam of fascination.

“I’m talking about the bloody curse, the one that gave Angelus a soul in the first place. Fact of the matter is, the man Angelus was before he was turned wasn’t so bleedin’ interested in the wellbeing of his fellow man. He was more interested in as much shaggin’ and boozin’ as he could get his filthy little hands on.” Spike paused, allowing his words to sink in before explaining further, “Wouldn’t have been much of a punishment, giving Angelus back his own soul. Wouldn’t have caused him much suffering at all. He’d have just lost himself in the drink to escape it, and gone back to his old ways, though possibly without the torture and killing.”

The Watcher’s eyes widened incredulously, as he realized what Spike was telling them. Still, he could not help but ask, scarcely able to believe it. “Are you saying that the Gypsy curse on Angelus gave him -- *someone else’s soul*?”

Spike nodded once without hesitation, his eyes solemn and intent, unflinching as he met the Watcher’s questioning gaze. “Yes.”

“But -- but that’s ridiculous,” Buffy objected. “That’s not even possible…”

“You’ve lived on a bloody Hellmouth for *how* long now?” Spike cut her off. “*Anything’s* possible, Slayer.”

“But -- but that’s not fair! Whose -- whose soul was it?”

“That bit, I don’t know, Slayer. In the future I saw, I didn’t figure it out for a while -- all I know is that the spell you lot just did on him returned his original soul to him -- and not with the same conditions as the last one, either…”

“Okay -- this is getting confusing,” Buffy muttered. “Not that I’m even sure I believe any of this, anyway,” she added petulantly.

“Believe it, Slayer,” Spike snapped, his tone dark and warning. “Because if you don’t, nothing I can say can help you.”

After a moment’s tense silence, he added in a slightly milder tone, “It’s really quite simple. Angelus was given a soul that doesn’t much care for the big, broody guilt trip he’s been on for the past century – and one that doesn’t care how happy he gets, either. It’s most likely there for good this time -- not that it makes that much difference, anyway. He’s going to go bad, Slayer, very bad -- and he’s not going to have to lose his soul to do it.”

“Wait…what are you saying about – how happy Angel might get?” Giles echoed, holding up a hand to stop the vampire’s explanation. “What do you mean? What does Angel’s happiness have to do with anything?”

The Watcher’s interest in the answer kept him from noticing the pale, trapped expressions on the faces of the other two people in the room. Buffy looked positively sick at the thought of her worst fears being confirmed, and the Gypsy teacher was simply silent, standing a bit apart from the others, as if she really wanted to flee the room -- and Spike’s words -- completely.

Spike noticed both reactions, but chose not to call attention to either for the moment.

He answered the question quietly. “The original curse on Angel was meant to cause him eternal suffering. But there was an out. If he ever experienced a moment of true happiness, even once, the soul would be taken from him, and he’d return to his soulless self.”

“But…” Giles spoke after a long, heavy moment of silence, apparently unaware of the intense discomfort reflected on the faces of the two women in the room. “But that doesn’t make logical sense! Why on earth would the Gypsies leave such a -- a loophole in the curse? Why would they allow him to escape his punishment so easily?”

“Oh, I don’t expect it was easy, Watcher,” Spike remarked, with a quiet huff of laughter. “The guilt the soul caused him was so extreme, I’d wager they didn’t think anything could ever make him completely happy with that soul in place. I think it must have taken something bloody intense -- a moment of happiness so complete that it made him forget everything else for that moment -- to make that broody soul he had tied to him forget all his past sins and go fluttering off into the ether, or what-soddin’-ever.”

The last bit was spoken with flippant contempt at the concept, but Spike’s eyes were focused very seriously on the Slayer’s face.

Her mouth was working with some repressed emotion, her jaw set in stubborn refusal to face what he was getting at, while her eyes blazed defiantly, furiously, into his.

Suddenly, Spike began to question the wisdom of coming so near to outing the Slayer’s secret in front of her Watcher. He glanced down with alarm at her clenched fists at her sides, opening and closing reflexively, before returning his eyes to hers, adding slowly and cautiously, “But then…that’s just my best guess…I really wouldn’t know…”

He saw the flicker of surprise in the Slayer’s eyes, followed by a sort of wary relief, as if she was almost afraid to believe that he was really not going to say anything more about how Angel had lost his soul in the first place.

He could have throttled the Watcher when he persisted in a frustrated tone of voice, “But you *must* know! If you’ve seen the future, then at some point we must have discovered what caused Angel’s reversion. Are you seriously telling us that we never learned the cause for Angel’s loss of his soul?”

“Well, it’s not like a bloody movie in my mind, Watcher!” Spike objected, a bit defensively. “It’s not like I’ve seen every last detail. The visions aren’t all that specific…”

“No, you stated before that it was somewhat like an open book in your mind,” Giles reminded him, a note of suspicion in his voice. “You said you could see whatever moment in the future you wanted to see. So, surely you *must* know…”

“Liar!” the Slayer suddenly interrupted, her voice fierce and menacing as she moved swiftly between her Watcher and the bound vampire. “I’m sick and tired of your games, Spike!” As she spoke, she drew back her hand and delivered a dramatic slap across his face.

And ‘dramatic’ was definitely the word for it, Spike decided. There was very little actual force behind the blow, and he realized immediately that it had only been for show, even before the Slayer tore the chains from his arms and jerked him up out of the chair.

Glaring at Spike, she told her Watcher, “I’ll get him talking, Giles. Just give me a few minutes alone with him…”

“Buffy,” Giles cautioned her, alarm in his voice at his Slayer’s sudden display of temper. “That’s hardly necessary…”

“Oh, trust me, Giles…it’s necessary,” Buffy insisted, and Spike found that she was terribly convincing, the menace in her voice sending a shiver down his spine despite the fact that he was almost certain by this point that she was acting.

Almost.

As she dragged him toward the front door, she assured her Watcher coolly, “Don’t worry, Giles. It’s just that you’re so *not* gonna wanna see this!”

She *was* acting -- wasn’t she?

“But Buffy,” the Watcher protested, and Spike was strangely gratified by the look of concern in his eyes as he glanced at the vampire, by all accounts but Buffy’s, falsely accused. “What makes you think he’s lying?”

“He’s Spike,” she shot back, with a bit too much disgust in her voice. “Isn’t that enough?” With those words, she once again headed toward the door, dragging Spike out and slamming it behind them.

“Buffy…” Giles opened the door for one last attempt at reason.

“Close the door!”

The authority in the girl’s voice was all it took to make the older man obey without further question. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Buffy released Spike with a shove, already talking before he had even caught his balance.

“If you try to get away, I will take you down before you get ten feet, and I will make you *wish* Angelus still had you!”

Spike considered that for a moment, well aware that she was physically capable of carrying out her threat, considering his somewhat weakened state. Whether or not she was emotionally willing -- that was a different matter. He was not sure that she really meant to harm him, but there was enough doubt in his mind to keep him from attempting to escape.

Besides, if he was ever going to be able to help her, he was going to have to gain her trust.

“What’s this about, Slayer?” he asked in a quiet, cautious voice. “You and I both know I wasn’t lying in there…” His face took on a faint smirk as he added, “…maybe that’s the problem, yeah? I was getting too bloody close to the truth?”

“I don’t know.” Buffy shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line. When she continued, after a moment, there was a faint note of desperation in her suddenly softer, almost pleading voice. “But I need to. I have to know, Spike. What -- what did you see?”

“Well, I was going to say, but…”

“Not to them. Not -- not this. I just need to know…was it me? Did I -- did I make Angel lose his soul?”

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

Willow would have loved for Xander to stay with her when they reached her house; she really did not want to be alone right now. Her mother’s rules, however, kept him out. She was already late getting home herself, and there was no way that her mother would allow her to have a male friend in the house at this time of the night.

So it was that she ended up sitting alone in her room, her mind unable to focus on anything but the nightmare image it kept replaying, the lingering feeling of Angelus’ body, pinning her down, his hard hand clamped across her mouth and stifling her screams.

Her best friend coming to her rescue -- and then favoring her attacker with a kiss.

*Buffy’s right,* she tried to tell herself. *It wasn’t Angel. He has his soul back now…it wasn’t really his fault…wasn’t really even *him*.*

But, as hard as she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t quite manage it.

*You coward,* she accused herself viciously. *You have to face the fact that Angel’s back -- and no one else is going to blame him for anything Angelus did -- except maybe Xander. But only because he’s always hated him anyway.*

The beginnings of an idea started to form in her head, an idea that terrified her, but just might be the only way that she could come to terms with the situation, and get past it enough to go on with her life.

*Decide, Willow. Are you going to be a little baby and lie here and cry about it like you always do -- or are you going to get up and grow up and face this like a -- well, a grown up?*

With an uneasy determination, she rose from the bed, pulling on her shoes and her jacket. Then, she turned off the lights in her room and arranged some clothes and pillows in her bed to hide her absence from her mother, should she happen to look in on her again before going to bed.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Willow stepped out the door into the darkness of the night -- and headed purposefully toward Angel’s apartment.