A/N: This will be the last update before Christmas. Hope you all have a lovely holiday! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to start my Christmas shopping... :)

*****

Chapter 9: Hopes and Fears of All the Years

Buffy’s eyes widened as she ran up to Spike. “What do you mean? Why didn’t it work?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Hit me again.”

He did, this time a punch in the gut that had Buffy doubled over. “Nothing. Not even a tickle.”

“I don’t understand.”

Spike went to hit her a third time, but this time she blocked it and landed a kick to his ribcage. He looked at her, startled for a moment, then attacked. Now, they were fighting for real, both going all out. They crashed into things, knocking over training equipment and trampling the straw dummy. At the sound of the commotion, Xander and Giles came into the training room, and were shocked to see Spike lift Buffy and throw her against the wall like a rag doll.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Xander cried. “I thought he couldn’t do that!” They watched Buffy jump up and charge at Spike, turning a cartwheel and kicking him with both feet as she flipped. With that, Spike morphed into game face and roared, “Slayer!”

“Uh, they’re just playing, right?” asked Xander.

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Giles replied, his face mirroring Xander’s concern.

The thought flitted through Buffy’s mind that she should be afraid, or at least concerned. This was Spike, unmuzzled, just as able to hurt her as the day he first set foot in Sunnydale. But beneath the flicker of slayer warnings, there was something else – exhilaration. She hadn’t let go like this in a long time – not since she’d rescued Spike from Drusilla’s cave. The fledgling vamps she fought on a nightly basis were no match for her – even chipped, Spike could give her a better workout. To really just let loose, to unleash the full extent of slayer fury and know that he was fighting back with all the strength his demon gave him – it felt good. It felt really good.

Buffy was blocking Spike’s attacks, but he slipped in a spinning kick that knocked her to the floor. She fell near a stray stake and grabbed it.

“How about we raise the stakes?” She jumped up and twirled the stake in her fingers.

“Obligatory pun,” Spike observed, his kicks driving her towards the wall.

“Uh, now she’s got a stake,” Xander narrated.

“Oh, dear,” was all Giles could manage.

Spike eyed the stake in her hands, feeling its presence in the fight like a silent third combatant. Would she use it? He honestly couldn’t say. She seemed fearless enough – if she was really worried about him, she’d be panicking more, right? Not looking at him with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed as much with delight as with exertion.

But he never forgot that she was the Slayer, and he was a vampire, and all of a sudden the scales were set right again. No more “we wouldn’t hurt a harmless creature” – all bets were off now. The simple malfunction of a sliver of metal and circuitry, and there was nothing to distinguish him from the hordes of other vampires she’d fought in her lifetime, save for their brief amiable history. Was it enough?

He grabbed Buffy by the shoulders and threw her against the wall. Then, he seized her wrist and banged it against the wall repeatedly. It was her injured arm, and she gasped in pain, dropping the stake.

“You know, we should do something,” said Xander.

Giles just stared at him as if to say, “Like what?” If Spike could hurt humans again, the two of them were certainly no match for him.

Spike threw Buffy away from the wall and kicked her to the ground. As she was picking herself up, he grabbed her from behind, wrapped one arm around her waist, and with the other hand jerked her head to one side, exposing her neck. He growled, revealing his sharp fangs, and leaned in for the kill.

Xander and Giles just stood there, paralyzed, unable to think or react. This was their worst nightmare come to life – that one day, Spike would remember he was evil and use Buffy’s trust to get close to her and then kill her.

But just before he bit her, Spike’s vampire face melted away, and he said in her ear, “I win, pet.” Releasing her with a light cuff to the temple, he gestured to where Xander and Giles were standing, dumbfounded. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

“Wh-wh-what the hell was that?” Xander asked, as they approached.

“Chip’s not working, I guess,” said Spike. “I can hit just fine.”

“This can’t be good,” Xander muttered.

Giles was wide-eyed. “Well, this is certainly an… interesting development.” The expression on his face indicated that the word he wanted to use was “terrifying” rather than “interesting.”

“You’re sure it’s not working?” asked Xander.

Spike gave him a devilish grin. “You wanna see?”

“Spike, no!” Buffy cried, but too late. Spike walloped Xander and both started shrieking in pain.

“OW! He hit me!”

“Bloody hell!” Spike clutched his head.

Buffy stared at them. “Wait, it worked that time?”

“Maybe it was a blip,” Giles suggested, his voice extraordinarily hopeful. “Temporary malfunction.”

“Wanna try out that theory?” Spike raised his arm to punch Giles, but Buffy intervened, grabbing his wrist.

“Spike, you can’t just go around punching everyone to see if you get zapped.”

“Why not?”

She gave him a glare that answered his question. “Okay,” she said, turning back to the others. “Now, let’s not freak out about this. We just need to figure out what –”

Spike let out a howl of pain and dropped to the floor. He rolled onto his side in the fetal position, his hands buried in his tangle of hair.

“Spike!” Buffy knelt beside him, pulling his head into her lap. “Spike, what’s happening?”

He looked up at her, his chest heaving as he instinctually sucked in air he didn’t need. “Chip,” he gasped, before his eyes rolled up into his head.

“Spike!” Buffy slipped her hands around his and massaged his cranium until he expelled his breath with a whoosh of relief.

“Buffy,” he croaked. He uncurled his limbs, leaving his head resting in her lap. Her fingers were working magic up there, easing his pain away with gentle overlapping circles, and he was in no hurry to break from her touch.

“Spike, what happened?” Giles was crouching next to him now, but at a safe distance, not willing to give him an opportunity to test out the chip again.

He struggled to sit up, Buffy supporting him from behind. “Chip just fired for no reason. I – bloody – aaahhh!” His head slammed down into Buffy’s lap again, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched. Buffy bent over him, working her hands along his scalp and doing her best to comfort him until the episode had passed.

“Spike, why’s it doing this?”

“Don’t bloody know, pet,” he said through gritted teeth. Quickly tiring of being the victim, he scrambled out of Buffy’s grasp and to his feet. “If I knew what was causing it, wouldn’t be rolling on the floor screaming in pain, would I?”

Buffy jumped up after him. “Were you, maybe… thinking about hurting –”

“No!” Spike made an aimless, angry gesture, flinging his balled fist at no one. “It just… went off.”

“Maybe it was a delayed reaction?”

“Can I just say, I’m not liking any of this,” said Xander. “Except for the part where he was in pain. It’s the part where the chip’s not working that makes me a little run-for-my-life-y.”

“We don’t know that it’s not working,” Buffy insisted.

Spike hauled off and punched Xander again, this time with no unpleasant side effects. “’S not working.”

“Ow!” Xander pressed his fingers to his nose, feeling for broken bones or ruptured blood vessels. “Would you stop doing that?”

“Okay, this is… I don’t understand what’s going on.” Buffy gave her Watcher a plaintive look. “Giles?”

Giles took off his glasses and squinted at Spike. “I’m afraid I’m really out of my depth. Without more knowledge of the technology, there’s really nothing we can do. We’ll just have to let it run its course.”

*****

“So, we’re really sure about this?” Tara asked. “The chip’s completely kaput?”

Buffy nodded, running her fingers absently over the new mark on her neck that had been the final test. They came away stained with blood. “I think it’s time to accept that Spike’s chip is no longer operational.”

A mixture of curious and concerned glances made their way around the living room. Spike leaned against the door frame, visibly apart from the others. He made them uncomfortable when he got too close; he’d picked that up right away. It hadn’t helped matters when he’d lunged at Buffy from behind to catch her off guard. But he already knew the chip didn’t fire if she let him bite her. It had to be a surprise in order for it to be a real test.

He shook his head and scowled. “Would you all stop lookin’ at me like I’m a bloody science experiment?”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘unrestrained homicidal monster,’” said Xander.

“That’s, like, three words, and Spike doesn’t do that anymore!” Dawn protested.

“How do we know?” Jacob asked, casting an uneasy eye in Spike’s direction. This was his first official Scooby meeting, so he restrained himself from saying, “I told you so,” but he felt somewhat vindicated in realizing his fears had been well founded. “I mean, he hasn’t killed because of the chip, right? We don’t know what he’s like now.” His gaze fell on Buffy’s marred throat, and his eyes hardened with protective instinct.

Spike’s nostrils flared. How dare that wanker judge him? Presuming to know what went on in his head.

“Well, we’ve been here for at least an hour, and Spike hasn’t killed anyone yet,” Anya pointed out.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Spike’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Oh, I’m not saying you won’t. Just laying out the facts.”

“Look, I’m telling you, Spike’s not going to hurt anyone.” Buffy paced her way over to the doorway and took up position next to him, legs apart and arms folded in a parade rest. “Tell them.”

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. “I promise not to eat any of you. Satisfied?”

“And what about the rest of the world?” asked Giles. “They go back to being your all-you-can-eat buffet, is that it?”

The truth was, Spike didn’t know the answer to that. He’d convinced himself that he’d changed, because of Buffy, because of wanting to be good, and if this day ever came when he was finally free of the chip, finally free to choose for himself – he’d believed that he’d choose to be good, for her at least, if not for the sake of being good.

But lately he’d been feeling the demon within, rumbling inside him like the beginnings of an earthquake, ready to erupt given the right provocation and the release of Spike’s self-restraint. Reminding him of what he was, telling him that he’d never change, not really. No matter how much he loved Buffy, he’d still been able to hurt her, even with the chip. Now that he was uncaged, unmuzzled, how much worse would his carnage be? Even if he managed to control himself around her – and her friends, because it’d be pointy and wooden for him if he ever tried to hurt them – how could he bring himself to care about the millions of people out there who meant nothing to him, who were no more than Happy Meals with legs?

Was it enough, to love her and do what was right because she asked it of him? When he was fueled by a love that would never be returned, when he obeyed a heart that belonged to another? Could he walk that line, defy his nature, overcome his demon?

In the end, it didn’t matter. He had to try, or else he had to leave town now and hope to never run into the Slayer again. The past year meant nothing if he couldn’t hold himself back. She’d killed her one true love; she could surely kill him without a second thought if it came to it.

“I’ve changed,” he said, because he had to. Anything less would turn him to dust. “On the side of good now. If I slip up” – he nodded toward Buffy – “she knows where to find the heart.”

*****

When Tara got home, Willow was curled up on the sofa, clad in her fuzzy moon-and-stars pajamas, hot tea in hand with tissue box at the ready. Tara slid onto the couch, giving her lover an affectionate squeeze and pressing her lips to Willow’s forehead in a gesture that was as much to take her temperature as it was a sign of affection. “Feeling better?”

Willow’s face was pale, with an unsettling greenish tinge around the edges. “I threw up again,” she mumbled.

Tara reached out and tucked a strand of stringy red hair behind her lover’s ear. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish I’d been here for you. Can I get you anything?”

Willow shook her head. “What was the big emergency Scooby meeting about?”

“Oh, it was n-nothing,” Tara replied, not wanting to worry her any more than necessary.

“It’s not nothing. I heard Xander freaking out when he called here. Something happened.”

Tara hedged a little, but finally she admitted, her eyes focused on her lap, “Spike’s chip isn’t working.”

“What do you mean, it’s not working?”

“He can hurt people again.”

“You’re sure?” Willow was surprised, but she didn’t seem as concerned as the others had been. Tara wondered what sort of balance was being struck in her mind, weighing the experience of being bitten, but not harmed, when Spike was wounded against all the threats and kidnappings and broken bottles in the face she’d been on the receiving end of during his pre-chip days.

“We’re sure. We had a little round robin, with Spike going around pinching everyone. Some people set it off at first, and he had these creepy episodes where it just misfired for no reason…” She shuddered at the memory of Spike’s face contorting in pain while he gripped his head and huddled on the floor. Apparently, it’d happened before, because Buffy seemed to know just what to do, helping him through it with gentle hands massaging his head. “But after a few tries, it just stopped working at all. No one could get a reaction, not even when he bit Buffy.”

“He bit her?” asked Willow, more out of curiosity than concern. She trusted Spike almost as implicitly as Dawn did.

Tara nodded, eyes widening at the scene replaying in her head – Buffy, reasoning that a real vampire attack was the only true test, interrupted mid-sentence as Spike vamped out and sank his teeth into her. The look of shock that faded into something like ecstasy – so brief Tara might have imagined it – before he pulled away, sputtering as though he was trying not to actually drink. Giles, Xander, and Jacob leapt to their feet, but Spike was halfway to the front door before any of them could even reach for a weapon. Then, a murmured consultation in the foyer, as Buffy convinced Spike to come back to the group.

Willow laid her head down in Tara’s lap. “What happened?”

“We’re not sure. I don’t know if something went wrong or – or it degenerated or what. Buffy said… back when the Initiative was still around, Riley had mentioned that Spike was the first to – the first success. Maybe they weren’t really thinking long term. Anyway… Did – did you hear that?” Tara’s body suddenly went rigid, her eyes sweeping the room.

“Hear what?” Willow mumbled, now half asleep, lulled by the soft stroke of Tara’s hand through her hair.

“I thought I heard something, like a tapping. On the window, maybe. Hold on a sec, okay?” She gently lifted Willow’s head and slipped off the couch, placing a pillow in her stead. She peered through the sheer curtains but saw nothing. The campus emergency light across the street cast a blue glow over the ground, throwing odd-shaped shadows across the apartment building’s parking lot. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and it occurred to her that the lights in the living room were illuminating her clearly for anyone who might be out there, while they would be cloaked by the darkness. She quickly let the curtain drop back into place and hurried back to her place on the sofa, missing the dark shape that darted across the parking lot once she’d turned her back.

“Probably the squirrels or something,” she said, cradling Willow in her arms again. She started running her fingers through Willow’s hair again, noting how limp and knotty it was. Willow’s messenger bag was sitting on the floor, and Tara rummaged around, looking for a brush.

“Will? Where’s your hairbrush? The one you always keep in your bag.”

“I dunno,” she mumbled. “It’s not in there?”

“No.” The blonde witch stiffened again, as an ominous thought suddenly occurred to her. “When was the last time you saw it?”

Willow shifted slightly, in what would have been a shrug if she hadn’t been lying down. “Saturday, maybe? I can’t really remember.”

“Did you have it in a public place? Did you leave it unattended?”

Willow sat up at the urgency in Tara’s voice. “Yeah, I – I took my book bag everywhere when I was studying. The library, the Espresso Pump. I might have been distracted – what? What is it?”

Tara met Willow’s eyes, her gaze intent and concerned. “Thaumaturgy.”

*****

Spike trudged down the streets of Sunnydale, hands shoved in his pockets, head bent to avoid eye contact with any passing strangers as they bustled by loaded down with holiday shopping. He navigated the crowded thoroughfare of Main Street, brightly lit by Christmas lights strung from street lamps and adorning shop windows. He didn’t trust himself to the darkness of the alleys, where he might happen upon a lonely soul, the seductive aroma of blood and sweat and fear lulling him into a complacency of rationalizations – he’ll never be missed… the Slayer would never know – and he’d be ripping out the poor sod’s throat before he even had time to consult his lack of a conscience.

Fuck.

Spike raked an angry hand through his rumpled curls and stumbled out of the path of pedestrians, drowning in the myriad of human scents, each of them humming through his veins like a siren song. He tried to stop himself from drawing in the deep draughts of sanguine-tinged air, but he might as well have been a human for all he could keep from breathing.

It would get easier. It had to get easier.

He leaned against the brick face of the bank on the corner, eyes closed, head lolled back. He unearthed a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his duster, tapped one out, and shoved it between his lips. He ducked his head toward the flickering flame, then snapped the Zippo closed with a metallic click, wondering how exactly his unlife had turned to such utter shit in a matter of hours. A tiny flake of metal no larger than a dime, bits of electrodes and circuitry, shorted out and sending him reeling, careening off into a world he didn’t understand, traps and obstacles at every turn, tempting him, taunting him.

Back when he first escaped the Initiative, he’d spent hours imagining his first kill once he got the chip out. Stalking his prey for blocks, just for the thrill of the chase, sniffing out the blood pumping through tender, succulent veins, until he cornered his victim in an alley. Exhausted, weak, stinking of fear, heart pounding like a tribal drumbeat, threatening to break through the fragile ribcage. The caress of his fangs, sliding along a neck slick with sweat until they found their purchase, sinking in like a knife through butter. The sweet nectar, flowing into his mouth, over his tongue, filling him with warmth, with life, with…

Bloody fuckin’ hell.

His erection strained against the fabric of his jeans, even as he was choking to keep from dry heaving on the pavement.

Of course, he’d had to revise his fantasy since then – the list of “people he couldn’t kill because it would upset Buffy” kept growing, until finally he’d realized that killing anyone would make her unhappy – even people she didn’t know. And the longer he had the bloody thing, the more remote it seemed that he would ever get it out. He’d stopped thinking about what he would do “if” and begun to accept life as a neutered vampire.

Maybe he should have given it more thought.

He had plenty to think about now. Like what to do now that he was free – free to make choices he was utterly unequipped to make, when his only moral guidance was a slight blonde with a fierce right hook. Or what to make of the inner turmoil that burned hotter than ever before – knowing he could kill, and part of him wanting to, needing to, aching to unleash his demon and sate his bloodlust, even while the part of him that worshipped Buffy and strove to be a man recoiled at the very notion of killing a human.

What if he couldn’t do it? What if he couldn’t live up to Buffy’s expectations? She’d promised them all, signed him up for an unlife of restraint and self-deprivation. But what if he failed? Couldn’t keep his demon in check in the face of all the temptation, every human being a cornucopia of smells and tastes and dinner. No matter how many humans with whom he made acquaintance, he’d never been able to completely disregard the idea of them as food. It had been easy, with the chip, knowing they were off-limits. A high-voltage electrical shock to the brain did wonders for curbing the appetite. But without that barrier… for the first time in his long memory, Spike was truly afraid of himself.

Cigarette burned down to the filter, he flicked it to the sidewalk and ground it out under his boot. He tried to fathom the perversion of a vampire unwilling to succumb to his primal urges, reluctant to hunt his natural prey. How had he become such an abomination to his species? Was it the chip, forcing him to associate with humans he wouldn’t have given a second thought to otherwise? Was it her? Some power she held over him, making him long to be that which he could never be again? Forcing him into this state of confusion and chaos – unwilling to be a monster, unable to be a man.

Spike slid down the wall at his back, falling to a crouch with his elbows on his knees. His hands skated through his hair to the back of his neck, pulling his head down into the hollow created by his curled body, tears of frustration dripping onto his denim-clad thighs.