A couple of weeks later…

“Joan, ya got a mo’, luv?” Spike called out to the garage after Buffy headed out with the twins to the park.

“Yes. I have one hour and thirty-seven minutes before I need to begin preparations for the evening nourishment,” Joan replied, turning her attention away from the sanding she was doing on an antique cedar chest she and Buffy had been refinishing.  She set her work down and headed up to the back porch where Spike was standing, waiting for her.

He motioned for her to take a seat in one of the rockers while he leaned on the railing in front of her. “How ya feelin’?” he began. “The little ponce’s got ya all fixed up, then?”

“Yes. He has done an excellent job at repairing my damaged wiring. He also installed several upgrades. I now have even more memory and faster processors. I feel like a new woman!” The Bot tilted her head, studying Spike. “Has my performance been unsatisfactory? You appeared to enjoy our efforts to overload your senses last evening.”

Spike smiled at the memory. “No worries on that, pet. You two Slayers always overload my senses.

“I was just wondering … the little geek said something about hackin’ into the government’s computer systems and … getting some info ‘bout this chip in my head. Said maybe you two could … get it out. Has he said anything t’ you ‘bout that?”

Joan tilted her head, double checking her memory, then shook her head negatively. “No. I have no record of any such directive. Would you like for me to make that a priority?”

Spike frowned. “No, I’ll talk to the little ponce about it first. See what’s up. Just wondered if he’d mentioned it to ya.”

**~**

A little while later, Spike paced in the living room waiting for Buffy to return from the park. He was wearing a path in the wooden floor they’d spent so many hours refinishing, but he didn’t give a bloody damn. He was furious. And hurt. Of course, that was no surprise; when he got hurt he usually got furious – it was his defense mechanism. Above the hurt and fury, he was confused.

He ran his hand through his now-disheveled platinum locks for the hundredth time in the last half-hour as he replayed the little geek’s words in his mind again, “Buffy told me not to. She said she’d hurt me … like with actual pain, if I did it. I have a very low threshold for pain. It’s not my fault; I was born with ultra-sensitive nerve-endings.”

Of course the ponce was near tears by the time Spike had gotten the truth out of him. It hadn’t taken a lot – a few growls and threats to his action figure collection. Buffy had also threatened pain if he told that she was the one to put the kibosh on the removal of Spike’s chip. Apparently the threat of future pain was less of a motivator than the threat of the imminent destruction of Boba Fett; although Jar Jar Binks was apparently expendable.

Spike spun towards the front door when he heard her steps on the front porch. His whole body tensed, as if ready to pounce, as Buffy came in the front door pushing the double stroller in front of her.

Buffy stopped short when she saw him, some cajoling word that she’d been saying to the babies cut short. The anger was rolling off him in waves. His body was stiff, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and a muscle ticced in his jaw from the power of his teeth grinding together.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Buffy asked, her eyes darting around the living room for the cause of Spike’s anger.

“You tell me,” he replied, his voice surprisingly calm and low.

“I … huh?” Buffy stammered, looking confused. Despite her words, her stomach began to get that sinking feeling in it like it used to get when her mother had caught her in a misdeed as a child.

Spike’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Buffy took an automatic step back from him, pulling the babies’ stroller with her. “Spike … I can explain,” she offered quickly, watching him warily.

Spike stepped forward, mimicking her retreat, his face a mask of barely contained fury. “This I gotta hear,” he sneered, folding his arms over his chest. “Please explain t’ me how you don’t trust me, Buffy. Explain how you think without this soddin’ chip that I’ll kill our family. Please explain how I’ll rip your throat out in your sleep an’ drain the life blood from our bits. Tell me how everything between us has been a lie. Go on, then …” he invited, waving a hand out dramatically as if to give her the floor.

Buffy’s chest tightened and tears burned behind her eyes. “Spike…” was all she could manage to press out past her heart, which had lodged in her throat.

“Oh, come on, Slayer! You can do better than that! Tell me what an evil, soulless bastard I am. Tell me I’m a monster! Tell me how I got no morals, got no compass, how without this soddin’ chip I’ll go back t’ William the Bloody … driving railroad spikes inta wanker’s eyes and ripping out throats. Tell me how I won’t be able t’ control myself. Tell me how I’ll be nothin’ but a bit of muck to be scraped off your shoe!

“You bloody bitch,” Spike growled at her, taking another step forward.

Buffy pushed the stroller with the babies still in it behind her just as Spike stepped within inches of her.

“After all I’ve done for you,” he seethed, leaning as close as he could to her without actually touching. “You’re a piece of work, Slayer. A self-righteous, holier-than-thou, piece o’ bloody work.”

Buffy glared at him, her green eyes flashing with anger, her fear and guilt burned away by his furious rant. “You stupid vampire,” she growled back at him, shoving his shoulders hard enough to make him stumble backwards. She followed him, pushing him again as soon as he got his balance.

“You don’t get it at all!” she informed him, stalking forward as he stepped back further with each shove.

“Well, why don’t you explain it to me, luv,” he shot back, dodging her next shove, whirling around, and ending up behind her.

Buffy spun on her heels to face him again. “If you’d stop talking long enough, I would,” she asserted, giving him another shove.

“Right then,” he agreed, ducking her next shove and stepping around the coffee table. He kicked one end of the heavy, oak table into her path. “Evil vampire yields the floor t’ the bitch Slayer.”

Buffy walked into the table, banging her shins hard enough to take her balance away. She caught herself on the edge of the thick top and shoved it out of the way with enough force to send it banging into the fireplace at the other end of the room.

“It has nothing to do with me not trusting you!” she insisted, recovering from her encounter with the table and stalking toward him again. “It has nothing to do with thinking you’d hurt me or the babies!”

Buffy caught up to him and shoved him against the wall, then stood in front of him, her chest heaving with angry breaths, daring him to move.

“Then what? Somebody else? Think I’ll eat the berk that cuts me off in traffic, that it? Or the old woman at the grocery that runs over my soddin’ foot with ‘er electric cart?” he shot back, returning her fiery glare with one of his own. “You got that little faith in me? Been a vampire a long time, pet. Knew how t’ control it even before your former shoved this chip in my head.”

“I know that!” she shot back, her eyes blazing with anger. “I know better than anyone what you’re capable of, how different you are, how … how much heart you have.”

“Then what the fuck, Slayer? What is your bloody problem with that little ponce getting this piece o’ space junk outta my brain? Afraid I’ll be able t’ shove you back? Afraid o’ being on equal footin’ with William the Bloody again?”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you, Spike,” Buffy claimed, still standing toe to toe with him, his back against the wall.

“Then what?!” he screamed at her, every tendon in his neck standing out with the effort.

“I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore! Okay?! Are you happy now!? You stupid, fucking vampire!” she yelled back at him, banging a fist against his chest in frustration and anger. “What if it’s just the chip? What if … what if … it’s making you love me?” she asked as tears jumped to her eyes, her voice breaking with emotion. “You didn’t love me until … maybe it’s the chip.”

Spike stood there, dumbfounded, as she pounded on his chest now with both hands. He barely noticed her frightened, angry blows as her words cut through his own anger and hurt.

“Buffy,” he breathed gently, shaking his head in denial. “Buffy, no … it’s not,” he assured her, finally grabbing her wrists and stopping her tirade.

She collapsed against him, sobbing, and Spike wrapped his arms around her. “Buffy, it’s not, luv – I swear it’s not the chip.”

“You don’t know,” she argued, her voice muffled against his chest. “You didn’t love me until you had it. How can you know that? Maybe it … did something. Maybe it’s pressing against your … ‘Love A Slayer’ nerve and …”

Spike snorted out a short laugh, interrupting her. “Buffy, trust me, pet. It’s not the soddin’ chip. Not gonna love you any less without it.”

She shook her head against his chest, her breath coming in fits and starts as she cried. “You don’t know.”

Spike took a deep breath and pushed her back to arm’s length. He leaned down so he could look directly into her shimmering eyes. “Buffy, I loved you from the first moment I saw you. Didn’t know what it was then, o’ course. Wrote it off t’ the old Slayer/Vampire eternal struggle between good and evil bollocks. But it wasn’t,” he assured her.

“Dru saw it first, barmy bint,” he half-snarled. “Said she saw you all around me … that’s why she left.” Spike shrugged. “Or so she said.”

“But, what if…” Buffy began to object.

“It’s not,” Spike cut her off emphatically. “Do you trust me, Buffy?”

Buffy’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “It doesn’t have anything to do with trust, Spike. I trust you, but…”

“No ‘buts’,” he interrupted. “I. Love. You. If you don’t believe anything else I’ve ever said, believe that.”

Buffy sighed heavily, searching his eyes for some way to tell if it was really him that loved her or if the chip had done something to him to make it happen. She couldn’t tell. How could he know? How can you know if your mind is being manipulated from within? Crazy people thought stuff in their mind was real all the time – until they got on the right medicine and found out the big white rabbit that followed them around didn’t actually exist. What was the difference?

“Spike, please,” she begged, barely resisting the urge to drop to her knees in front of him.

Spike saw the confusion and consternation and fear wash over her features. At once he felt sad that she’d think that it wasn’t him that loved her and elated that she worried so much about losing his love.

“Make ya a deal, pet. If the little ponce takes it out and I stop lovin’ you, then you have my permission t’ put it back in.”

Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Oh, would that be before or after you tell me and my saggy ass to ‘sod off’?”

Spike tilted his head, pursed his lips, and gave her a ‘give me a break’ glare. “Thought that we’d established, through many hours of extensive and exhaustive research, that your ass is not saggy, luv.”

Buffy rolled her eyes to the ceiling and left them there, heaving a tremulous sigh.

Spike sighed too, his attempt at levity obviously not working. “You trust me not to kill anyone but you don’t trust me to love you? Buffy, I swear, nothing’s gonna change ‘cept my ability to defend our family that much better.”

Buffy rolled her eyes back down to meet his. Finally, after a long minute of silence, she grudgingly nodded. She did trust him; she just hoped he knew what he was talking about. “Please don’t be wrong, Spike.”

He gave her a reassuring smile and pulled her back into a tight hug, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I’m not, Buffy. My heart’s never been controlled by my brain, luv. Trust me – the two are from different bloody planets.”

She snorted again and shook her head, praying he was right. 

**~**

A few weeks later…

Joan dropped the little piece of plastic and metal into a Tupperware bowl with a satisfied smile.  “It has been removed,” she announced.

Spike blinked his eyes open, nearly blinded by the bright lights shining down on his head and face.

“Doesn’t look like a penny, does it?” he asked as she began to fit the piece of skull she’d cut out back into place.

“No. It is a monolithic integrated circuit. Therefore, it looks like a monolithic integrated circuit,” she assured him.

Andrew picked the bowl up and peered down into it. He quickly set the bowl back down, as if it were burning his fingers. He pressed a hand to his mouth as he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the blood clinging to the chip.

After a full minute of concerted effort, the geek recovered his composure.

“It’s actually unbelievably sophisticated. It has its own little power-station that apparently uses Acetylcholine or other neurotransmitters to recharge. I’d love to plug it into my computer and see how it works. How can it tell if what you’re hurting is a human? I mean, what if you tried to hurt the AI that was created to duplicate the Doctor’s reactions in ‘Seeing I’ from ‘Doctor Who’, the ‘Eighth Doctor Adventures’? Could it tell it wasn’t actually the Doctor? I mean, it mimicked the Doctor’s …”

“Andrew. Quit prattling,” Spike ordered.

Andrew clamped his mouth shut … for about three seconds. “Can I have it?” he asked Spike excitedly. “I mean … after all the icky blood’s off it?”

“Knock yourself out,” Spike groaned. “Just do it someplace that’s not ‘ere.”

**~**

Buffy stepped into the ‘operating room’, which also doubled as the kitchen on normal days, after Joan came out to say that it was all done.

“Hi,” she said tentatively, not moving more than a step past the doorway.

Spike blinked his eyes open again. The bright lights had been turned off, but he was still groggy from the combination of Benadryl and Jack Daniels he’d taken as a sedative. “Hey,” he replied sluggishly.

“Are you … alright?” Buffy asked as his eyes feathered closed again.

“Seem t’ be. Can wiggle all m’ fingers and toes; mouth still works. Haven’t tried much else, t’ be honest.”

”Does it hurt?” she wondered stepping forward and nearer him.

“Not yet. Reckon I’ll ‘ave a royal hangover later. She didn’t bugger up my hair, did she? Leave a cowlick or a big, gaping bald spot?”

Buffy stepped around him to the back and looked at his head. “Actually, I can’t even tell where she went in,” she muttered, running a hand through his hair. She finally found the stitches under his thick mane. “I think it’s fine, no bald spot or ... licking.”

“Brilliant,” Spike sighed and let his eyes fall closed, his body relaxing further in the barber’s chair they’d gotten to use just for this occasion.

“So, ummm…” Buffy continued tentatively. “Is everything … the same? I mean … ummm … between us?”

She stepped to the side of him, wringing her hands nervously and waiting for him to open his eyes and tell her he still loved her.

“Reckon so,” Spike replied, never opening his eyes. “What was your name again?”

Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with horror, her whole body going rigid. She began to stumble backwards in shock when Spike reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. She somehow spun – whether he did it or she did it, she wasn’t sure – and landed sideways in his lap the next moment.

“You daft bint,” he rumbled against her neck. “Told ya everything would be fine and it is. Nothing’s changed, Buffy. Still love you more than life itself, pet.”

“You jerk!” she shrieked at him, slapping his chest none-too-gently. “That was … mean and rotten! You’re a big meanie!”

“Careful with them insults, Slayer. Not leashed anymore … I could … chastise you good and proper.”

“You could try,” Buffy shot back, not sure whether to be mad at his stupid joke or ecstatic that he was still him.

A laugh rolled from Spike’s throat as he pulled her closer and captured her lips with his in a hard, fast kiss. “Could do more than try,” he assured her with a smirk, his words somehow both hot and cool against her mouth.

Buffy pulled back slightly to look at him. She ran a hand through his curls – no gel allowed before the operation – and studied his eyes. It was always Spike’s eyes that told you the truth of him if you knew how to read them. Buffy hadn’t always been good at it, but she knew enough to recognize the familiar look of adoration sprinkled with a bit of evil glee in them.

“You still love me?” she asked timidly, although she could see it clearly in his eyes, she just wanted to hear it again.

“I still love you, you daft woman. How could I not?”

Buffy lowered her eyes to his chest. “Had more than one guy find a way to stop with the Buffy-love.”

“Well, I ain’t just some guy, now am I?” Spike asked, curling a finger under her chin and lifting her eyes back to his. “When I love, it’s forever, pet. Bloody chip don’t change that. Love you more than I can say, Buffy. Love that you trust me, that you believe in me. I promise I won’t let ya down.”

Buffy nodded and blinked the moisture back from her eyes. “I know you won’t. You aren’t the same vamp that crashed Parent-Teacher night.”

Spike smiled a little wryly at her. “Same vamp, pet. You’ve just got me …”

“Whipped?” Buffy interjected quickly, a coy smile on her face.

“Pffft! That’s not bloody likely,” Spike snorted in disagreement. “Was gonna say, ‘under your spell’.”

“Ooo, I like that,” Buffy beamed. “The big meanie is under my evil, dastardly love spell…”

“Oi! Warned ya before! Watch the insults, Slayer.”

“Big meanie, big meanie, big meanie,” Buffy teased, giggling.

Spike growled menacingly and pulled her against his chest, burying his face through her long, soft hair and nuzzling against her neck. It occurred to him, as he suckled and nibbled at the old scars there, that he could cover them now. There was nothing stopping him. He could just sink his fangs into her tender skin and …

Buffy moaned in pleasure, and he smiled against her rapidly heating skin, wishing he hadn’t taken quite so many Benadryls … or maybe he should’ve just had one bottle of Jack. Getting up out of this chair without fallin’ on his arse was gonna be an issue for a good while yet.

He sighed contentedly, still nuzzling her neck, as Buffy relaxed against him. One day she’ll think of it herself. One day she would invite him in fully and completely. Until that day, he’d settle for having all the rest of her. It was more than he’d ever imagined, more than he deserved – and if she never thought of it, that would be alright too. She was his – whether his mark was on her neck or not – and he was hers. Nothing would ever change that.

**~**