Fic; A Journey of a Thousand Miles (4/?)

[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

Disclaimers
Hey, you think Buffy would have gone near Spike without at least a canister 
of garlic spray if I owned the show? If it's Buffy, it's Joss, Marti, Mutant 
Enemy and 20th Century Fox.

Spoilers
Up to 'Wrecked', a.k.a. the BtVS After School Special

Archives
Please do. Just get my name right.

Feedback
Give me a happy at JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Rating
PG-13 to R for angst.

Summary
Two friends begin their recovery from the darkness that threatened to claim 
them. But Spike and Rack are still out there. And for Buffy and Willow, 
their only salvation may be in each other…


A Journey of a Thousand Miles
By Kirayoshi

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
--Chinese proverb


Chapter Four
Make Everything Alright

"She never mentions the word addiction 
In certain company 
Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan 
After you meet her family 

She paints her eyes as black as night now 
She pulls those shades down tight 
She gives a smile when the pain comes 
The pain gonna' make everything alright 

Says she talks to angels 
They call her out by her name 
Oh yeah, she talks to angels 
Says they call her out by her name"
--The Black Crowes
"She Talks To Angels"


<<>>

"Hello Xander, Anya," Willow greeted her long-time friend, as Xander and his 
fiancée quietly filed into Buffy's living room. She managed a small smile, 
which didn't convince Xander a bit. "Go ahead and sit down." As Xander and 
Anya looked over the sofa and surrounding chairs, they nodded silent 
greetings to Tara and Dawn, and then noticed a strange woman with black hair, 
sitting at the head of the coffee table. "Oh, Mrs. Ramirez," Willow gestured 
toward the woman in question, "this is Xander, and his fiancée Anya."

"A pleasure," Mrs. Ramirez nodded, smiling, as Anya shook the councilor's 
hand.

"Same likewise," Xander replied. Turning to his old friend, he asked, "How 
are you doing, Willow?"

She considered lying, but one look at Xander's face convinced her otherwise.  
Tonight wasn't about deceiving, she knew that going in. Tonight was about 
truth.

But she wasn't just ready to tell the entire truth, not quite yet. "I am, 
Xander. Let's leave it at that for now."

As Xander and Anya took their seats on the sofa, Buffy emerged from the 
kitchen with a jar of salsa. "Hey, Xand," she greeted her friend stiffly, 
"glad you could make it."

"Right," Xander harrumphed, as Anya sighed slightly. For once, Anya was 
going to remain silent. Normally discussing her sex life, or the sex lives 
of the rest of the Scooby Gang wasn't something that bothered her, but she 
decided not to bring it up tonight.

Xander had no such qualms. "Okay, Buffy, I need to know. Did you sleep with 
Spike?" Anya and Dawn's eyes widened at Xander's question, while Buffy 
simply buried her head in her hands.

"Xander!" Willow growled at her friend. "This isn't the time for that!"

"No, Willow," Mrs. Ramirez answered. "I fear that tonight is exactly the 
time for that. Too much has been left unsaid between you."

Xander gritted his teeth and stared angrily at the others. Anya said 
nothing, but quietly slid away from him to the end of the sofa. Xander 
glanced briefly at his beloved, and for a terrifying moment he thought he saw 
in Anya's eyes a reflection of his mother's face, the moment before his 
father would hit her. Soberly, Xander relented his anger and sagged his 
shoulders, unable and unwilling to sustain the rage that had flared so 
violently for a moment. Whatever stupidity he might have perpetuated in his 
lifetime up to that moment, he would be damned before he allowed himself to 
become like his father.

A deathly silence blanketed the living room as Xander and Anya sat back into 
the sofa. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty, and still no one wanted to speak 
after Xander's outburst. Finally Buffy lowered her head, unable to look at 
her friends. "Yes," she whispered, but her voice still carried in the quiet 
of the room. "Yes, I slept with Spike."

Willow had heard this confession before, so she kept a weather eye on the 
others, watching their reactions. Apart from Xander's cold stare, reactions 
were surprisingly subdued; Anya and Xander had evidently suspected already, 
and Tara, always the empathic one, only displayed concern for Buffy. It was 
not hard to feel concerned for Buffy; her frame sagged under the terrible 
burden of her confession, and she wouldn't raise her head to meet anyone's 
eyes. In the years that she had known the Slayer, Willow had never seen her 
appear so small.

Finally, it was Dawn who broke the silence with a simple question. "I don't 
get it, gang. What's the big deal? Spike's okay, isn't he?"

Xander turned his condemning stare toward Dawn. "Sure, if you like murderous 
psychopaths! The only thing keeping Spike from ripping your throat out is 
that damn chip! What the hell were you thinking, Buffy? He's the enemy, 
dammit!"

"You think I don't know that?" Buffy hissed angrily at Xander. "You think I 
don't remember that punk laughing when he learned that Dru killed Kendra?  
The way he bragged, 'Alright, Dru bagged a Slayer!'? I hate him!" Looking 
away from Xander, Buffy stifled a sob as she stared intently at her lap. Her 
voice came out as a strained whisper, but everyone in the room heard her; 
"But more than that, I hate myself for letting him handle me the way he did.  
I hate myself for dragging Willow into my crazy life. One of the two most 
important people in my life is hurting, and it's my fault." She lowered her 
hands in her lap, and stared hard at them. Willow, sitting in the chair next 
to her, could only look sadly at her best friend, cursing herself silently 
for her part in Buffy's sadness.

After another oppressive silence, Victoria steadied her gaze at Buffy, 
examining her features gently, without prying. She sat desolately on the 
edge of her chair, a sinner desperate for redemption but not knowing how to 
find it. "Buffy," she asked calmly, "perhaps I could understand your 
predicament better if you explained some things to me. Like, who's this 
Spike person? And why do you blame Willow for her magic issues?"

Buffy glanced up at Victoria and swallowed hard, mentally debating whether 
she could trust her. She turned briefly toward Willow, who seemed to 
recognize Buffy's dilemma. Willow nodded, quietly assuring Buffy that she 
could trust the councilor. "Mrs. Ramirez," she started, "just what do you 
know about what goes on at night in Sunnydale?"

Victoria gave Buffy a knowing smirk. "I know enough to carry an atomizer of 
holy water and a spare crucifix in my purse. And please, call me Victoria."

Buffy chuckled ruefully at Victoria's observation. "Well, you just keep 
carrying them. The vampires are out there. There's all sorts of demons and 
monsters out there at night. And, lucky me, I'm the one who's destined to 
fight them. I'm what's called a Slayer."

"Slayer," Victoria spoke the word as though she were testing it. "I've heard 
rumors about a girl who was charged by some higher power with the task of 
fighting the forces of darkness. I wasn't sure whether I should dismiss them 
as rumors, but clearly they're true."

"They're true, Victoria. Six years ago, I met a strange old man who showed 
me the truth; that I was meant to fight the vampires. It's not an easy life, 
or a particularly long one; I've already lived longer than any Slayer before 
me. In fact I died last May. The only reason I'm alive is because of 
Willow."

Victoria sat solemnly and absorbed what Buffy told her. She paid rapt 
attention as Buffy recalled how Willow and the others joined her in her 
ongoing fight against the darkness that dwelled in Sunnydale. She hung on 
every word as Buffy spoke of Willow's interest in magic and wicca, and how 
her abilities in that field had aided her cause. She then listened to 
Buffy's account of her final battle with the mad goddess Glorificus, and her 
act of sacrifice to save Dawn from Glory's scheme.  

As Buffy fell silent, Willow took over the narrative, speaking haltingly 
about her dreams of Buffy, crying out from a pit of flame and lava, begging 
for salvation. "All I knew is that I had to save her. So I scoured all the 
books and tomes I could find, until I found information about the Urn of 
Osiris."

Victoria's face tensed visibly as Willow mentioned the Urn. "I've never 
believed in the Urn, but if half of its legends are true, I'm amazed that 
you're soul is still intact, Willow. You used the Urn to restore Buffy to 
life?"

"Yes," Willow answered. "The others helped me, but I alone put my soul in 
danger. I was tested...it was part of the ritual, to allow myself to be 
tortured for the sake of the one we were trying to resurrect. It felt likea 
thousand Hells broke out around me, and when those demon bikers crushed the 
Urn under their bikes, I thought I'd failed. But when we saw Buffy, spoke to 
her, hugged her, I believed that it was worth it. I mean, I'd saved Buffy 
from Hell, right?" She shook her head in desperation. "Wrong! She wasn't 
in Hell, she told us herself! I dragged her from Heaven!" Willow fell 
silent, verging on tears, and Tara bit off the urge to embrace her 
once-lover. She knew that Willow had to unload this burden herself.

Victoria spoke gently to Willow, saying, "I don't know whether that's true or 
not, dear. I strongly doubt that Buffy would have any memory of her 
after-life experience. But in using the Urn, you surely tapped into some 
powerful magicks."

"And the rush I felt after the fact, when I realized what I had achieved," 
Willow reflected. "Oh Goddess, no wonder I was able to fall so far. All 
that power, it felt so good. Too good. But then when I crashed, and ended 
up going to Rack for more power…" Fresh tears welled in Willow's eyes, as 
she recalled how her need for more power nearly ended up costing Dawn her 
life. She glanced back at Dawn, and winced at the sight of her arm still in 
a cast.

"Actually, Willow," Victoria said, "Rack didn't channel any power into you.  
Rather, he took it out." The others turned their heads sharply toward 
Victoria. "Think about it, people. Rack's a pusher, right? But he didn't 
ask Willow for any money, or take anything from her, did he? He doesn't give 
people power, he gives people sensations of power. I know that from my own 
experiences with him. He's not human, he's what is known as an incubus. He 
feeds off power, off souls, the way a vampire feeds off blood. His victims 
must come to him freely, of their own will, for want of power. He sensed 
your power levels, Willow-that 'walk through your soul' he took, when he said 
you tasted like strawberries." Willow shuddered at the memory. "He probably 
sensed your power spiking off the charts when you pulled the resurrection 
spell. Channeling that kind of power, actually raising Buffy back to life, 
that kind of power registers on any chart."

"Even if it didn't work," Willow muttered.  

Victoria arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Pardon? I thought you succeeded in 
bring Buffy back."

Willow turned her eyes away from Victoria, shame coloring her cheeks.  
Victoria glanced at Buffy in hopes of an explaination. Buffy sighed loudly, 
and took the story over; "I came back wrong. I'm not really human anymore.  
I've been disconnected from everything and everyone that ever mattered to me 
before. I needed to feel something, anything. But all I felt was numb.  
That's why I did the deed with Spike. Spike-he's a vampire, and a really 
nasty piece of work. Anyway, a couple of years ago, a government group 
investigating the supernatural kidnapped Spike and stuck a microchip in his 
head. The chip stops him from attacking anything human. He tries to hurt 
you, the chip causes him pain."

"I think I saw that in 'A Clockwork Orange'," Victoria commented. 

"Whatever," Buffy said blandly. "Well, after I came back, I started to hang 
with Spike more. I didn't want to be around my friends, or Dawn even, and 
Spike was an outlet. But it turns out that he can hurt me now. Man, can he 
hurt me," she recalled, rubbing her chin in remembered pain. "It was the 
first time I really felt anything since I came back. And that night, the 
only time we ever made love, I simply turned off my mind and allowed myself 
to feel." She shook her head in faint anger, and concluded, "But the next 
morning, when I realized what I had done, all I felt was shame and 
self-loathing. I let my enemy take complete control of me, and I don't know 
if I can keep him from doing it again."

Buffy closed her eyes, and the others could see a faint trail of a tear 
leaking out of her left eyelid. After an eternal silence, Xander made a 
throat-clearing motion. "Hey, Buffy," he asked timidly. "I'm sorry for 
giving you grief over the whole Spike thing. I guess I didn't know how bad 
you were hurting."

"None of us did," Tara added. "And I was too wrapped up in blaming Willow 
for using her magic on me. Willow, Buffy, I hope you both accept my apology 
letting my anger turn me away from you. You're my friend, Buffy, and I 
shouldn't have ignored you. And you, Willow, I love you with all my heart, 
and I end up showing it by bailing when things get tough." Leaning forward 
in her seat, Tara touched Willow's hand for a moment, and the electric 
sensations of Tara's touch lightened Willow's heart for a moment. 

Victoria smiled, then turned toward the Slayer. "Buffy, I'd like you to 
consider something. This Spike, you say that he can hurt you, despite that 
chip. And you, Willow," she turned her attention to the red-haired witch, 
"your use of the Urn of Osiris involved a testing of your soul. Am I right?" 
Willow and Buffy nodded, uncertainty coloring their expressions. "And then, 
before you could complete the final tests, the 
demon bikers interrupted, smashing the Urn." Willow nodded again, wondering 
where Victoria's questions were leading.

"Girls," Victoria announced, "I suggest that the ritual of Osiris is still 
being played out even now." Buffy blinked, wanting to argue Victoria's 
point, but unable to make her lips move. Willow's eyes enlarged, distorted 
in shock and wonder. "Willow, I believe that you are facing the last and 
toughest of Osiris's tests. I took classes in comparative mythology at 
college, and I recall a few points about the myths of Osiris. Osiris was the 
God of the Dead, the final judge. He questioned each soul as it passed from 
life to death, testing their worthiness to pass into his fields. Your soul 
is still being tested, tempted with power that it's not ready to handle."

"But…but…" Willow stammered, unwilling to fathom what this must mean for 
her, or for Buffy. "This can't be right, Victoria. I mean, the tests are 
over, right? Buffy's here, she's whole again! She's alive, isn't she?"

"Alive, yes," Victoria answered sadly, "but not whole. You said it yourself, 
Buffy. You said you came back wrong. You didn't come back wrong, Buffy, you 
just didn't come back all the way. Not yet, anyway. That's why Spike can 
hurt you, Buffy, because you're not completely alive yet."

"What do you mean, 'completely alive'?" Dawn asked, puzzled.

Xander added, "What do you mean 'yet'?"

Victoria looked directly at Buffy and Willow, but glanced around briefly to 
assure herself that she had the undivided attention of everyone in the room.  
"Buffy, Willow, for both your sakes, you must complete the ritual of Osiris." 
Before Willow could open her mouth to interrupt, Victoria added, "Yes, I 
know that the Urn is destroyed, but its purpose was mainly as a conduit of 
dark magic. Once you took that magic onto yourself, the Urn had served its 
purpose. That energy is still coursing through you, corrupting your natural 
powers. This, I believe, is the final test of Osiris; the temptation of 
power. To complete the ritual, you must cleanse yourself, in body, mind and 
soul."

Willow inhaled and exhaled audibly, steadying her nerves before she spoke to 
Victoria. She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded when she asked 
her question; "What must I do?"

Victoria had no choice but to smile; Willow had made the all-important first 
step of asking how she could change. "Today is the seventh of December. In 
two weeks is the twenty-first, the Winter Solstice. At that time, I wish to 
perform a Cleansing ritual, to cast out the dark magic that's tainting your 
soul, Willow. The Winter Solstice, the end of the yearly cycle, is 
traditionally a time of renewal and rebirth, so a cleansing during the 
Solstice would be more effective. And you, Buffy, I believe that you would 
benefit from attending the ritual as well."

"Me?" Buffy chuckled in surprise. "But I'm not even a witch."

"You are Willow's best friend," Victoria answered warmly. "It is customary 
for any wiccan who undergoes a Cleansing to have a friend stand by her during 
the ritual. Your support at this critical time may spell the difference 
between success and failure. And in saving her, you may find the means to 
save yourself. Indeed, all of you," she turned to address the rest of the 
gang, "have a vital place in Willow's recovery. Your friendship, love and 
devotion are all that can sustain her during this trying time."

"Hey," Xander spoke loudly and with feeling, "count me in!" Anya gave a 
silent 'me-too' nod in response.

"Same here," Dawn announced.

"You can count on my support, Willow," Tara assured her beloved.

Buffy turned toward Willow, her eyes sparkling with new-found emotion.  
"Anything I can do to help you, Will," she had to choke back a sob as she 
spoke, "just name it."

Willow looked at this circle of friends with watery eyes, nearly in tears at 
their show of support. She had made more than her share of mistakes over the 
last few months, yet they still called her 'friend', they still believed in 
her. "Thank you guys," Willow breathed, desperately steadying herself, as 
Buffy stood up and collected her in a warm and generous embrace. Soon Tara, 
Dawn, Xander and even Anya joined the pair in a group hug, while Victoria 
nodded approvingly. As long as she had the support of her friends, she 
reasoned, Willow could weather any storm.

After the gang had disengaged the hug, Victoria told Willow, "I'd like to see 
you tomorrow, between classes. I have some meditation pamphlets that you may 
find useful."

"I'll be there," Willow promised.

"Good," Victoria answered as she stood up and collected her coat. "I'll see 
you then. Thanks, everyone, for coming here. I hope to see each of you 
soon."  

Buffy turned suddenly toward Victoria as she prepared to leave. "Hey, you 
want me to walk you to your car? Just to make sure there are no vamps 
outside?"

"Actually, Buffy," Victoria answered, "I'd like you to join me for a little 
matter of mutual interest…"

<<>>

"That's my girl," the slovenly dressed warlock grinned broadly as Amy Madison 
blurred from his field of vision. The magic high had hit its peak, and she 
crested on a wave of pure sensation. She didn't allow herself the luxury of 
rational thought, she simply felt. Pleasure, pain, apathy, excitement, she 
felt all these things at once, not caring at all about the outside world.

That is, until the outside world crashed in around her.

The door to his place of business splintered and flew off its hinges under 
the pressure of a rapid boot. Buffy smirked sardonically as she saw Amy 
tripping on bad magic. Turning to her companion, she commented, "This must 
be the place."

"And there's the man," Victoria added, pointing an accusing finger at Rack.

Rack raised his eyebrows at the sight of the two women standing at his 
doorway. "May I ask what you're doing here, ladies?"

"I'm insulted," Victoria quipped wryly. "You don't even remember me, Rack?"

Rack allowed his eyes to stroll over Victoria's body, staring at her in such 
a way that Buffy wanted to ram her fist down his nasal cavity. The incubus 
smiled hugely as he recognized the furious woman standing before him. "Lady 
Marmalade!" he whooped gleefully as he approached her. "Voulez vous couche 
avec moi, c'est soi-UHGH!"

Buffy chuckled grimly at the sight of Victoria's foot impacting rapidly with 
Rack's ugly pot-belly. "I hate that song!" Victoria hissed. "It only 
reminds me of when I was weak! You have no more power over me, Rack! You 
understand me, you bastard?"

"Hey, Victoria," Buffy calmly silenced the enraged priestess. "Save a little 
of Scuzzo the Clown for me!" Buffy hoisted the corpulent magic dealer up off 
the ground with one hand on his neck, while her other hand was formed into a 
fist. "Okay, Rack, consider this advance warning. We're shutting your 
operation down. You won't be able to sell your junk to anyone, ever again!"

Rack just scowled at Buffy as she dropped him gracelessly to the ground.  
"Ladies," he spoke in annoyingly condescending tones, "If you're not here to 
buy anything, I must ask you to leave!"   

Buffy threw the dealer hard against the wall, five feet away from where Amy 
was lolling on a dirty mattress in blissful oblivion. "We'll leave, Rack.  
But consider yourself on notice. You and I are at war. You tried to corrupt 
my friend, and nearly got my sister killed." As Rack scrambled to his feet, 
Buffy cuffed him a hard right kick to the chin, sending him sprawling again.  
"My advice, Rack? Get the hell out of Dodge. Because the next time I see 
you-" Buffy said nothing, just ground her right fist into her left palm.  

As Buffy and Victoria stalked out of Rack's shop, Buffy turned back for one 
last glance at the monster who tried to ruin Willow's life. Never before had 
Buffy hated any of her opponents as much as she hated Rack. When she 
remembered what he had done to Willow, Buffy silently hoped that she would 
meet him again. She relished the prospect of hurting him.

As Rack slowly dragged himself back to his feet, he glared hard at the door, 
considering Buffy's threat. Rack had never raised a fist or a weapon to 
anyone before; he never needed to. All he had to do was channel a portion of 
his power into any opponent's pleasure center, and his enemy would be in no 
condition to fight. This Buffy person got lucky, attacking him as his powers 
were at low ebb. The only person that he could feed off of at the time was 
Amy, and she had started to weaken in recent days. Being a rat for three 
years didn't do anything to increase her power levels.

He needed to bolster his strength to face Buffy. He needed a powerful 
reservoir of magic. Fortunately, he mused as he watched Amy crest from her 
high and drift into a dreamless sleep, he knew such a power source. And he 
had Amy to thank for that.

"Go to sleep, little lamb," he purred to Amy as she slept, "I'm developing a 
taste for strawberries."

<<>>

Warren checked his watch again. Two-fifteen a.m. Exactly ten minutes after 
the last time he checked his watch. He checked the 'Black Box' again, his 
earphone picking up every vibration. He smiled; his servant would be here 
soon. Warren prepared to meet his slave, to explain that he was now the 
Master.

"Hello, mate," the shadow shifted in front of Warren, catching him by 
surprise. Even with the advanced warning he received from his Black Box, 
Warren wasn't expecting the sudden and smooth entrance that he received from 
his guest.

"Hello, Spike," Warren greeted the vampire tonelessly. "I suppose you're 
wondering why I wanted to meet you here."

Spike sneered at the immature genius. "I figured it had something to do with 
your suicidal streak. You know who I am, right? In case you didn't…" 
Spike's face distended into his 'game face', ridged brows and yellow eyes 
turned toward the computer geek.

Warren stood his ground, unimpressed. "Yeah, I know you; Spike, vampire, the 
Slayer of Slayers, Scourge of Europe, on a sesame seed bun. I also know that 
you can't do Jack Squat with that chip in your head."

Spike tilted his head as he looked at Warren, reminding the geek of a vulture 
he had seen on a Discovery Channel documentary. He relaxed his vampiric 
aspect, resuming a more human appearance. "Okay, so you know more than most 
around here. You a friend of Buffy's?"

"Hardly," Warren snorted derisively. "I've got plans for her, and I need you 
to help me with them."

"Oh, bite me," Spike snarled at Warren, his patience with the unpleasant 
young lad wearing thin. "What do you think I can do about the Slayer?"

"Oh, I dunno, Spike," Warren smirked, "but considering that you can still 
attack her, I figure you can at least keep her out of my hair while I 
continue my plan to dominate Sunnydale."

Spike rolled his eyes in disbelief; this loon was talking like a cut-rate Lex 
Luthor. But he was smart, Spike had to give him that. "Okay, Geek-boy," 
Spike regarded him coolly, "so you know that I can still attack the Slayer, 
huh?"

"Of course, my minion," Warren chuckled. "I know all about the chip in your 
head, from the information I got from hacking into the Initiative files. I 
found out that they were collecting vamps, and inserting microchips in their 
craniums, in order to create an invincible undead army. Cool idea, wish I 
thought of it myself. When I learned that the Initiative had folded their 
tents here, I figured that there must have been a few chipped vamps out 
there. That's when I came up with this." He reached behind his back and 
produced what was an X-Box video-game console in a previous life. "The Black 
Box, my nocturnal friend. I had been attempting to discover the correct 
frequency that controls the chips, but without a vampire to experiment on, it 
was mostly hit or miss. Well, miss actually."

"Then I showed up on your doorstep," Spike guessed, "and you found out about 
that chip in my head."

"Correct," Warren grinned. "Actually, I found the frequency before you even 
showed up, but I didn't realize it until later. You complained that there 
was something wrong with the chip, and that's when I realized the truth. I 
had jammed the chip with my Black Box. Then I found out something even more 
interesting; With the Box, I can low-jack into your aural canal through the 
chip, and I can hear what you hear. In fact," he raised an editorial eyebrow 
toward the vampire, "I could hear everything you did with Buffy that night."  
He started to snicker like a frat-boy. "Next time you and Buffy go at it, 
I'm taking notes. Know what I mean? Nudge, nugde, say no more!"

"Bloody hell," Spike whispered to himself. "So what you're saying, Dr. Evil, 
is your little gizmo can cancel out the chip in my head?" Spike started to 
reach for the box, which Warren snatched away from Spike's reach.

"Only when I wish it," Warren warned Spike. "I control the frequency of your 
chip, and can shut if off or on as I wish. See," he showed him the dial on 
the top of the box. "With this dial I can modulate your chip. Check this 
out." He twisted the dial to the right, and suddenly all the pain in the 
world concentrated around Spike's skull and squeezed. Pain like a thousand 
white-hot lances seared his flesh. His face was contorted into absolute 
fury, his only desire was to knock Warren's head off of his shoulders. The 
pain redoubled, leaving Spike in agony.

"Get it, slave?" Warren shouted at the agonized vampire at his feet. "I just 
jacked the frequency up to ten times its strength. Now, just the thought of 
attacking a human is enough to cause pain. And judging from the way you're 
writhing on the ground, you really want to kill me." Turning the dial to the 
left, Warren smiled as Spike slowly regained his composure. "I reset the Box 
to 'five', which is your chip's default setting. By setting it lower, I can 
allow you to attack others, even feed off them. By setting it higher, well, 
you can guess, can't you? What you just experienced was the 'ten' setting.  
But I made the Black Box to Spinal Tap specs." Dropping into a lame British 
accent, he added, "It goes all the way to eleven!"

"Ha ha ha," Spike spat contemptuously at Warren, as he raggedly scrambled to 
his feet, "very clever. So, what do you want from me?"

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Warren grinned. "Simply put, I allow you 
to kill again. Of course you'll only be allowed to kill whom I tell you to 
kill. You do as I say, be my enforcer, and you'll be rewarded. Cross me…" 
he gestured his hand toward the dial on the Black Box, "well, you get the 
idea."

"Hmm," Spike pondered. "So it looks like you're in the driver's seat doesn't 
it. Maybe we can work together after all, Warren. What say we talk about it 
over a pint, and…" He paused, his eyes wandering toward the alleyway behind 
Warren. "Say," he pointed casually over Warren's shoulder, "is that a poster 
for the new Spider-man movie?"

"Really?" Warren gasped with childlike excitement, turning around. "Where?"

Spike jumped at the distracted geek and grabbed the Box from his hand.  
Warren tried to grab the Box from Spike, but the vampire leaped away from his 
opponent, to a nearby fire escape. Fiddling with the knob, he asked, "Now,I 
turn this thing to 'zero', and-"  

"NO!" Warren shrieked. "What do you think you're doing?"

Spike leapt from the fire-escape and was now standing nose-to-nose with 
Warren. "I think I'm liberating myself, you overgrown bed-wetter! Now 
then," he placed his hands gently on the sides of Warren's head, as the 
hapless genius gazed in unblinking horror at the monster who had him at his 
mercy, "let's see if your head goes all the way to eleven."

With a savage grunt, Spike twisted Warren's head cleanly, severing his spine 
with one swift movement. Warren was dead before Spike could drop him to the 
ground. Spike glanced briefly at the corpse he left behind, deciding not to 
bother draining his blood. "Probably anemic, the putz," Spike growled to 
himself. He cast a feral eye past the alleyway, hearing the sounds of 
traffic, of people walking to and fro across the sidewalk. "Happy meals with 
legs," he chuckled. "And it's dinner time in Sunnydale!" Stopping to grab 
the Box from the fire-escape, he headed off toward the streets of Sunnydale, 
anticipating his first true feeding in three years, and contemplating what he 
would do to Buffy. 

"Look out, Slayer," he chortled to the night, "I'm ba-ack!"