::Master:: by Aurora

Summary: AU. Buffy was never called as a Slayer. On a summer road trip, she gets taken prisoner by Sunnydale's Master Vampire, Spike. Her emprisonment changes not only her life but flips Spike's world upside down.

Warning: Earlier chapter contain BDSM and sex that's on the verge of non-consentual.

Her desperate cries and screams permeated the viscous silence that shrouded the desolate night air, sadly only to fall on deaf or uninterested ears. Battered and beaten, she continued to fight them off, but for all her effort, she just couldn’t manage to get free.

These things that looked human, that she would have sworn were normal people if she had seen them walking amongst a crowd, horrified her beyond belief; the shock leaving her completely incapable of simply putting together a coherent thought. Amongst the chaos, she noticed her captors consisted of both males and females, unimaginably strong males and females who all seemed to sport similar disfiguring forehead bumps, demonic yellow eyes, and razor sharp fangs. If she wasn’t afraid for her life, her inquisitive side would have been absolutely fascinated in studying these foreign creatures. But at the moment she was petrified, so freak-fang-people field studies weren’t anywhere on her up and coming to do list.

They roughly dragged her down the alley, her semi-conscious form paying little attention to landmarks or for any possible by-standers who could be of some assistance. She had put up as much of a fight as her knowledge in martial arts had allowed her, but not even a black belt in Tae Kwan Do could free her from these super human monsters.

She had a nagging inclination in the back of her mind as to what they actual were, but couldn’t believe she was actually rationalizing the existence of vampires. Sure, blatant evidence in the fact that she had witnessed throats being ripped out and that the silver cross necklace her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday had singed one of them when they had tried to bite her,… but vampires? Weren’t they made up by some bored storytellers in the late nineteenth century? Imaginary people who turned into bats and did their shopping at Capes ‘R’ Us? Who were pushed into modern society by greedy movie executives and eccentric Anne Rice fans?

As they continued to drag her through the barely lit alley, all she could think about was how blind she must have been to have missed the fact that she had been living amongst the unliving. At a time like this, most would have their lives flashing before their eyes, pleading with God, Buddha and Allah combined to save them, but she just fixated on how she could have been so oblivious, so ignorant; that and the searing pain in her left side.

After what seemed like hours, but were more likely only ten minutes, of being towed, her knees felt as though all the skin on them had been scraped off and she could swear her arms were both dislocated. Everything before her was a mere shadow or glimmer; nothing seemed or felt real, like it was all one horrible nightmare she had to just wake up from. As they progressed further into the darkness it became beyond dreamlike quality, beyond nightmare; it was as though she was trapped in a perpetual abyss, everything looked bleak and hopeless.

Suddenly, she felt the floor. In all honesty, her face felt the floor when she had been unexpectedly dropped. She didn’t remember being brought indoors but the ceramic tile was cool against her hot bruised cheek, temporarily easing the pain of her swollen lip and making her forget the change in scenery. Her blond matted hair that had been gorgeously styled earlier that evening was now tangled all around, covering her eyes from those above her and shielding her from the hungry gazes that were being sent her way.

Slowly opening a swollen eye and seeing only darkness, she brought a hand to move the obstruction from her field of view, realizing that she was trembling. She could feel foot steps, the vibrations in the floor tickled her oversensitive skin, but the only thing she could see was stationary feet and various furnisher legs. She wanted to move, get up and run the hell away, but her body betrayed her, being stiff from her involuntary activities as a human trough. The room was quiet, but suddenly it seemed like they had all been sucked into a vacuum, devoid of any noise until a single voice rumbled from behind, like thunder through the silence.

“It’s your bounty from the raid. We were most successful. The streeters were amongst those eliminated,” a feminine voice explained, maintaining a respectful tone.

“And this one?” the unknown inquired. She could hear an accent in the deepness of his voice; sounded British. She was pretty good with accents. God did her knees ever hurt.

“The last of them, sir. She’s a spitfire. Took three of us to take her down. I had to pull Bronx off of her. He’s still a fledge, got a little carried away but I straightened him out,” a teenage male voice answered.

The footsteps started to circle her, making her feel even more vulnerable. She could feel his eyes on her, boring holes into her. He stopped and said, “I wanna inspect her. Pick her up.”

All at once she could see every ridged face in the room; strong arms lifting her off the ground, limply suspending her so that she could be scrutinized. Her one good eye showed her a black clad, average height, platinum blonde male. Tough guy persona, definitely, but not exactly what you expect from a leader of bunch of vampires. She was anticipating a Dracula or maybe a Lestat, not freakin’ punk boy.

She mustered enough strength to sustain her gaze as he approached; his face devoid of any strange conformations. The sight of his piercing blue eyes made her hold her breath, like they could freeze you from the inside out. As he took her chin in one of his hands and looked over every inch of her face, she stared back at him in the same scrutinizing manner. The scar on his right eyebrow, a trait she would have probably considered sexy if she knew he wasn’t going to drain her of every drop of blood she had in her veins, was the second thing she noticed after his eyes. Pretty good looking, she surmised, but she felt his cool hand let go and suddenly she was staring down at the floor again.

The vampire, the man she assumed was a vampire, finished his examination, never once uttering a word of approval or dissatisfaction with his share of the raid and strolled to a large leather chair. Sitting down, he waved a hand at the group before him, “Let her down and leave us,” he instructed.

She fell once more when the strong hands let go, her sore knees smacking against the cold tiles, making her hoarsely whimper in pain. Once a few minutes had passed and the pain had subsided a little, she slowly raised her bowed head and looked up at him. Unsure of what to expect, she searched for his face, finding it hidden behind a bottle of Jack.

“So, pet, you’re at a club, you out last even vampire street fighter kids in the ambush and you take 'em all on knowin' you’re no match. 'm impressed, and that rarely happens, 'specially with humans,” he said as he placed the bottle of liquor on the table next to him. “Come here,” he ordered.

At first she didn’t know what to do. She was scared, if she wasn’t in so much pain she knew she’d be shaking uncontrollably. She gradually pulled herself off the floor, easing herself onto all fours, only to collapse as her arms gave out. She waited for him to help her or at least offer. But as she stared up at him as she laid there a mess; she found him smugly watching. When the realization came that he wouldn’t help her, she tried again only to fall on her face once more. She could feel the tears brimming, but she pushed them back. She wasn’t going to cry in front of this asshole.

Blinding hatred coursed through her as she lifted her head up off the floor to glare at him. The rage was enough to give her a little momentum and she soon found herself on her butt, barely able to sit up right. Swaying, she never broke eye contact, giving him a look of utter loathing and disgust. Yet as she fought just to maintain an upright posture, he kept on smirking at her, amusement plastered on his face as his azure eyes laughed at her.

It was at that moment she knew. She was going to die. He was going to kill her. Strangely, it all became so clear, as if the smoke had been lifted. Why else had she been brought here? He was going to kill her, make her a meal, if she was lucky. Suddenly all the horrible things he might possibly do to her were emerging amongst her frantic thoughts and fear finally decided to rear its ugly head. She knew being brought back here instead of being killed at the club was a much worse fate. At least, if they had killed her then, it would have been relatively less painful. Less painful than what she was going to go through in the next few hours.

“Fuck you,” the words escaped her lips before she realized what she was saying.

Suddenly the man before her stopped smirking. He strode over to where she sat on the floor and with one hand clamped around her neck he lifted her up off the ground. She gasped frantically as his abnormally strong hand squeezed the life out of her. Her once weak hands flew to her throat, pointlessly trying to pull him off of her, only to feel his grip get tighter. He brought her face inches away from his, the coldness of his eyes made her shiver as she continued to gasp. He then smirked once more.

“Now, I know you didn’t mean what you just said, eh pet? ‘Snot very polite. Know what you’re trying to do by the way. Make me kill you in a fit of rage so that you don’t have to endure whatever it is I have planned for you,” he stated as he released his grip, letting her fall in a heap on the floor.

She was taking in as much air as her lungs allowed, hyperventilating face down in dirty ceramic. He sat down on his haunches in front of her, abruptly pulling her face off the tile, making sure she gazed into his now demonic yellow eyes. “But you know what, luv? That wasn’t what you really wanted, now was it? You reek of fear. You don’t want to die. And that’s fine with me. Not planning on killing you. So be a good human, and get the sodding hell off this floor!”

Without so much as a word, she wrenched away from his hold. Slowly she picked up her battered and trembling body, until she found herself standing before him, trying to get her bearings, but never breaking the deadly gaze she was sending him. At last, she straightened herself out, straight back, squared shoulders and defiantly high chin.

The smirk grew into a sinister grin as he watched her. “That’s better. Why don’t you…”

She hadn’t heard the rest. She was falling into oblivion as the darkness took her over. As quickly as she had gotten up, her body had once again betrayed her, passing out and falling into the arms of her capture.

“Come on Buffy, just one night of fun won’t kill you,” a well dressed short haired brunette stated as the two of them walked into the local convenience store.

“Fine, we’ll go. But if you get on stage with the band and make an ass out of yourself again, I swear Cordy, I’ll full out deny I know you,” Buffy giggled as the made their way back to their motel room.

Something acrid tickled her nose as she stirred back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, one of them more painfully than the other, as she awakened from her sleep. Panic took over when she couldn’t move her body until the searing pain kicked in seconds later. She had forgotten everything about the night before, until the pain had pulled her back out of her dreams. The smell returned and she realized it was her that stank, having spit up during the night while she had been out cold. ‘Good thing I didn’t choke to death,’ she thought as she rolled over to find him sitting in a chair staring at her. ‘Or maybe not.’

He remained seated, looking at her in the dimly candlelit room, observing something with some masked fascination. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and without any trace of emotion inquired about her sleep.

Feeling like she had been hit by five buses, she replied accordingly, although her throat was dry and her mouth was numb, so her words came out scratchy and barely audible. “Oh, wonderfully! I can’t move without setting off every nerve ending in my body, I’m lying in my own blood and filth, and I think I may have had a concussion. But the sleep was great, thanks for asking!” Her words oozed with sarcasm and she realized it was the most she had ever said to him. She noticed how easily she forgot what he was and how he could kill her with a flick of the wrist. She didn’t care.

Unfazed by her tongue lashing, the blond vampire calmly continued his interrogation.

“Buffy? Got your name raffled out of a hat, pet?” he asked her ignoring the shocked expression on her face. What was it with this guy? Let’s see, beating her and scaring her didn’t work, so lets make fun of her name?

“Oh, and what’s yours? Billy? Sid?” she asked gradually sitting up, jaw clenched as the pain in her side returned and intensified with a vengeance.

He got up from his chair and sat himself next to her. She noticed the black leather duster he had been sporting was gone, leaving him in black jeans and black t-shirt. He gave her what seemed to be his trademark smirk and leaned in a little closer until his lips were millimeters away from her ear. “It’s Spike.”

The utterance of his name gave her goose bumps. His tone and close proximity made her uncomfortable and she knew this tepid display of emotion was just the calm before the storm. He wasn’t going to be so cool and collected for much longer.

Spike reached out and gently brushed a piece of blond hair behind her ear, making her turn her gaze to him. “I could have killed you, ya know, but what would be the fun in that?” he told her casually, again ignoring the confused look he was getting. “’m sick of bloody bein’ in the company of retarded vampires. Minions are good for some things, but conversationalists their not. Plus, food’s easy enough to come by. What’s the human population nowadays, six billion? A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wasted on a meal.” He reached out his hand once more, and her breath hitched from the coolness of his touch against her overly heated cheek.

He continued to stroke her face, watching as she closed her eyes as he soothed her skin. “From now on, you will be referred to as Slave and nothing else. You are mine and no one may touch you other than me.”

Buffy’s eyes flew open at his words, their relevance sinking in. She knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was pretty messed up, with no idea where she was and with a house full of vampires ready to hunt her down if she decided to run. At that moment her survival instincts kicked in, willing to do what was necessary to live. Though the anger and disgust still remained, she bowed her head, hiding the tears that she was desperately trying not to shed.

“That’s a girl. I’m also known as William the Bloody by the way, but to you it’s Master,” he said as he lifted her chin; her already puffy face was streaked with tears, blackened by her smudged eye makeup. “Now, these are my quarters of the house. There’s a bathroom, hardly used, and a bed. This will be your new home.”

Suddenly he scooped her up into his arms, which made her to nearly jump out of her skin. Instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, she closed her eyes and placed her head on his cold still chest. Exhausted, she didn’t care where he was taking her.

The air suddenly became warmer and she could swear she smelled lilies. Opening her eyes, she found the large bathroom lined with a few scattered candles, the sparse lighting revealing a large tub, nearly filled to the brim with hot water and florally scented bubbles. She felt him lower her onto the toilet seat and noticed she was slowly becoming undressed. Having pulled off her boots, he moved up to take off her white tank, never letting hands or eyes fall where they shouldn’t. Buffy just sat there, utterly confused and unbelievably afraid. He gently unbuttoned and pulled off her black pants, being careful when he neared her knees. Most her clothing had been discarded to a messy pile on the floor as he reached out again for her undergarments, when she naturally covered her chest, stopping him from going any further.

“Come on, pet. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he coaxed as he softly pulled away her hands.

Lacking the strength to fight back, Buffy hands fell to her lap as Spike unclasped her bra and slipped off her thong. Naked as the day she was born, Buffy blushed and turned her eyes away from him. Spike said nothing. She had expected a cocky remark or put down, but all she got were two strong arms picking her up again and slowly easing her into the warm bathtub.

The water was hot, and it stung when it came into contact with her superficially wounded skin. She leaned back and enjoyed the soak, letting her mind forget about the horrible night she had just had. The ignorant bliss was short lived when she felt Spike place a hand in the water. She instantly tensed and flinched away from him.

“Just making sure it’s not scalding. Don’t have to get all shirty,” he said as he sat down on the toilet seat, his eyes never leaving her.

Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him either, unsure what this gesture meant. One minute he was almost chaining her to the wall and the next minute he’s being all respectful and bathing her. She sighed and with what little strength she had, dunked her head under the water, washing away all the grime and blood out of her blond hair. Coming back up, she scrubbed her face, trying to get rid of the raccoon eyes she had developed over the last night. She was startled when Spike handed her a washcloth.

Every few second she would glance over to where he was sitting, finding him staring back at her, his face emotionless as he observed her. She needed to say something, the silence was just too deafening.

Spike leaned forward, his palms firmly planted on his knees. “Makin' sure you taken cared of. ’m investin' more than just time in you, so it wouldn’t do me any good you rottin' away. Plus, you were startin' to smell,” he said nonchalantly, smirking at her.

Frustrated at the fact that she actually considered he was doing it as an act of kindness, she scowled at him and returned to her scrubbing. “Sorry, but when you get the shit kicked out of you, hygiene isn’t exactly top priority,” she sarcastically stated as she washed herself beneath the concealment of bubbles.

Spike continued to smirk. He hadn’t expected anything from the previous night’s raid, considering it was mostly minions he had sent out at dusk. A few dead streeters was what he was hoping for. He hadn’t ever expected them to significantly diminish the demon hunters' numbers and especially hadn't expected them to bring one back. Spike knew she wasn’t a streeter, just an innocent who got in the way.

The chit they had brought in was tough; she had to be if she took on a group of vamps alone. He never asked why Natasha and Damon had brought her back to him, but he knew his seconds in command saw what he saw. This girl had a fire within her, something so strong, so pure that it would be fun just to try and break her. He knew that’s why they had brought her to him, but it was not the reason why he had kept her. The moment he had laid eyes on her, even through the blood, dirt and bruises, he had wanted her. She was beautiful, with a small yet strong body that could mold easily to his own and with eyes that shone with the hidden passion that dwelled within. Watching her bathe was a struggle for him, his jeans not doing anything for his growing hardness. It didn’t help either that she verbally threw everything back at him, uncaring of the fact that he was a vampire who could kill her at any instant, which only turned him on even more.

When she finished with the washcloth Buffy leaned back in the tub, enjoying the soothing effect the water was having on her battered body. She was about to fall asleep when Spike called out to her.

“Come on, pet. Time to get out before you catch one of your human diseases,” he said picking up a large cotton towel as he made his way to the edge of the tub. Opening it up, he held it as she slowly and weakly stood up and allowed him to wrap her up in its soft downiness.

Before she could step out, she was back in his arms, where he swiftly brought her over to the bed. Once lowering her onto the newly changed black satin sheets, he grabbed a black t-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it over her. She wondered when he had time to clean up the bed. When she couldn't come up with an answer, she assumed it must have been when was in the tub and almost falling asleep. He remained silent as he administered to her, fetching an obviously unused first aid kit and tended to her more serious injuries.

Her eyes wandered as Spike applied ointment to her bruised and scraped knees. The room itself was large but seemingly stark except for the desk, couch, mini-fridge, dresser, bookshelf and bed. The bed frame was gothic fashioned wrought iron and the desks and other furnishings were made of varnished wood and black leather. ‘He likes black,’ Buffy thought as she lay there, idly fidgeting with the cross around her neck. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from variously scattered white candles. Turning her head she noticed a fireplace, unused, and realized she was cold and shivering.

Finishing with the last bandage, Spike lifted her up so that she was sitting in front of him. He pulled out a different ointment, smearing some onto his finger and spreading it along the cuts of her neck, arms and face. It stung at first, causing her to hiss, but gradually his caresses felt soothing, almost pleasant. His fingers massaged her bath flushed flesh as he applied the medicated cream, stopping eventually when finished; Buffy had to suppress a groan when he ceased his touches.

“Your eye and lip are gonna swell more if you don’t ice ‘em,” he said wiping his greasy hands on her towel as he brought an ice pack to her face and laid her back down onto the soft bed.

He took the ice pack from her and wrapped it in the extra towel he brought and placed it on her cheek, near her mouth and her left eye. She eased into the pillow and relaxed as the cold packs relieved the swelling. She nearly jumped out of bed when Spike slipped off his boots and shed his shirt before he slipped in next to her.

Her eyes immediately were glued onto him. She had registered his good looks when she first saw him, but being distracted with survival, Buffy didn’t really notice how unbelievably gorgeous he was. His cerulean eyes and chiseled cheekbones she had appreciated when he had first evaluated her, but her heart raced and her breathing became erratic as his well muscled chest, washboard abs and strong arms made their way toward her. He was a pale Adonis and Buffy was just too overwhelmed. He lifted the comforter and eased in next to her, lying on his back.

She remained stiff as a corpse, on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think about the body that was right beside her. She couldn’t believe how turned on she had been by the sight of him. It was as if she had completely forgotten he was a vampire who was holding her prisoner and just turned into a giant wanton bitch in heat. Scolding herself mentally, she rolled onto her side, praying sleep would soon take her.

At that thought she felt a now familiar cool hand stroke her shoulder, making her heart jump into her throat as it thumped a thousand beats per second. She slowly turned her head, finding those piercing blues gazing into her hazel eyes.

“What’s wrong, pet? I was getting the impression you wanted me to touch you,” Spike huskily whispered in her ear.

“I did nothing that would prompt a free-for-all fondle fest,” Buffy stated angrily.

At his words, Buffy turned beet red, utterly humiliated at the fact that he knew she had been ogling him. “You’re such a pig,” she said as she turned her back to him.

Spike chuckled. “Whatever you say, luv. But you’re the one who has the hots for this pig.”

Buffy closed her eyes tightly, praying she would fall asleep. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be anywhere but next to a blood thirsty killer. Buffy had an idea why Spike had kept her around, and she was just waiting for him to take it. She suddenly felt his hand creep down her side, falling on her hip.

Buffy didn’t like his touch, it was gentle but possessive. “How old are you, Slave?” he asked still stroking her, slowly drawing her closer so that her back was pressed to his chest.

“Twenty,” she answered, taking notice it was the first time he called her by her new title.

She nodded. “I do. Was suppose to start my junior year at UCLA this September,” she replied bitterly.

“So, there’s a brain that goes with this lovely body,” he said as he stroked her upper arm. She gulped, feeling something hard up against her back. “Where’d you learn to fight, pet? Minions said you put up a good front,” he asked, his cool breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine.

“Black belt, that’s impressive Slave. Good to know if any one here gets out of line when I’m not around you can mind yourself,” he spoke calmly.

Buffy was so confused. From his hard-on she knew what he wanted but he wasn’t acting on it. Why? She wasn’t stupid. She knew the only reason he didn’t kill her was because he wanted a slave, most probably just a warm body to fuck. She just hoped he’d be as gentle or at least quick.

He raised his head back to her ear and hoarsely whispered, “You’re not chaste are you, luv?” She shook her head, slightly ashamed and slightly turned on, which only furthered her embarrassment. “Didn’t think so. But you still hurtin’?”

“You’ll be fine in the morning. Go to sleep, Slave,” he ordered as he held onto her.

Once he threw off the ice pack from her face to the floor, she eased the back of her head against his bare chest. Buffy let out a sigh and soon fell asleep in the arms of her new Master, a vampire named Spike.

The room was nearly dark when she woke up, most of the candles having melted down and the windows being draped with heavy black curtains. She noticed that the strong arms that had once held her during the night were gone; she rolled over and found herself to be the bed’s only occupant. “Mornin’, Slave,” a deep voice called from the washroom. “Actually, good afternoon s’more like it.” Spike added as he strolled to the bed.

Buffy groaned as she moved around trying to get up, her muscles still a little sore. Luckily, the swelling in her face was almost, if not completely gone and her cut lip didn’t even hurt anymore. Buffy didn’t realize her makeshift nightgown had slinked up her thigh, nearly giving the vamp a good peep show. She quickly readjusted herself, yanking the bottom of the black t-shirt down near her knees. “What time is it?” she asked as she brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Her mouth formed in an ‘O’ as she started to slide out of bed, feeling kind of sheepish for sleeping in so late. As she reached the edge, Spike sprang up in front of her. “Did I say you could get up?” he asked, in a scarily different tone from that of last night. There was no smug cockiness or strangely gentle subtleness, just a voice riddled with pure dominance.

Buffy defiantly looked him square in the eyes, lifting her chin up like she did whenever she felt threatened. “No.” She knew that being healed up would mean he’d want her. Even if he was going to take her, she would still have her dignity. Regardless of how painful it was going to be.

“That’s a good slave,” he said stroking her cheek. “Now, take off the shirt.”

Buffy hesitated at first but with trembling hands managed to grab the hem of the tee. She glared at him as she dropped the garment on the bed, remaining seated as he looked over her, bringing a hand up to stroke her arm.

Spike watched as she struggled to not fight back. He was pleased that she was listening to him without much resistance. He gradually looked over her naked body, admiring her silky bronze skin as it gleamed in the sparse candle light. Taking note of every curve, mound and dimple found on her perfect body, Spike could feel himself harden all over again. The mere site of her perky breasts and strong thighs were nearly enough to send him over the edge.

She saw him, standing above her, still only wearing his black jeans that were, at the moment, doing nothing to hide his erection. She felt awkward, not only from being naked, but because her posture was so rigid; both arms at her sides and knees dangling over the edge of the bed. She watched as Spike leaned down, hovering over her, placing his hands on either side of her. “’m very happy I didn’t kill you,” he mumbled, making her skin flush and goose bump at the same time.

Spike moved his mouth down above her collarbone and placed few kisses along the sensitive skin. As embarrassed and as angry as she was, she couldn’t help but get aroused from what he was doing to her. He gracefully moved down her chest, latching onto one of her breasts, liking and suckling at a painstakingly slow rate, sinking down in front of her so that he could gently nudge her to lie back. One talented pale hand slid down to the other overlooked breast, tweaking the nipple between his finger and thumb. Buffy arched her back and moaned as his mouth and hands simultaneously worked her.

His mouth left her chest, causing her to whimper at the loss, and began to trail down her hot stomach, his cool tongue making a path to her navel and fiercely plunging into it. She gasped as that same tongue twirled around while his one hand returned to pinch her now overly sensitized nipple. Spike continued on, his mouth inches away from her wet sex, inhaling the scents of her arousal, and allowing Buffy to stew as she waited for his next move. She cried out when his tongue slid down between her soaking folds and flicked her clit.

“Hmmm. You taste so good, luv,” he stated before twirling his talented tongue around her swollen nubbin.

He could hear her heart racing and see her chest heaving as she tried to compose herself. Spike’s free hand brushed against her sex, two fingers entering as he alternated between sucking and nibbling on her clit. His fingers slid into her slowly, easing into her, stretching her.

He started to push against the bundle of nerves inside her, pumping harder and faster on her g-spot. Buffy couldn’t take any more, her head thrashed back and forth, waiting for the feeling to wash over her as he kept working her with his tongue.

Pulling away from between her legs, Spike smugly grinned and asked, “Please what, Slave? You want me to stop?”

Buffy whimpered and shook her head. “Please…” It was all she could manage to say.

“I know what you want, what you need, Slave. But I don’t really like the way you’re askin’ for it,” he said, pulling further away from her.

It’s what he had been waiting for. He wanted her to give in, to succumb to the desire so that she wouldn’t fight back any longer. For her to use the words he knew she wouldn’t until he put her in her place. And put her in her place he would. As fast as the words had escaped her lips, Spike’s mouth was back on her clit, greedily sucking as his fingers plunged into her core. Buffy screamed as her orgasm roared through her, making her spasm and arch her back even more.

Spike slipped his drenched fingers out of her, slowly rising back up so he could look down at her. With glazed eyes, she stared up at him and watched as he sucked her juices off his digits. Her breathing started to get out of control again as she watched him. She’d had her share of orgasms before, but they’d never come close to what she had just experienced.

Once pulling the fingers out of his mouth, Spike asked coldly, devoid of all emotion, “Did I say you could come?”

Buffy couldn’t even put together a coherent thought and tried to shake her head.

She languidly sat up and shakily rose to her feet, steadying herself against the bed. Spike sat down in her spot, his erection more evident through his jeans. She yelped when he grabbed onto her waist and pulled her over his knee; his hard member digging into her stomach, causing him to groan.

“You begged me for it but I never said you could come. Now you have to be punished,” he stated as Buffy felt a hard hand smack against her bare rear.

The shock of his actions masked the sting of the strike as she gasped. He smacked her ass with an open hand, at least five times before he asked, “Do you like this?”

She was still too dazed at what he was doing to notice his fingers were traveling into her wet pussy and stroking her clit. “I think you do, Slave.”

“Stop! Don’t! Owww!” She screamed and squirmed from the sixth smack, the feeling of the assaults finally sinking in.

“Shut up! Did I give you permission to speak?” he scolded as he gave her two more slaps.

“I told you to shut up! D’you want me to take off my belt?” Spike threatened, delivering another strike. He eventually sensed that she was starting to hold back, trying desperately to control the urge to cry out.

Spike lightly stroked the reddened skin, which made her reluctantly sigh from its relief. He lifted her in his arms and flipped her violently back onto the bed, making her bounce up and down. Throwing off his pants and pouncing on her in lightning speed, he swiftly entered her to the hilt.

He screamed from the sheer pleasure of her searing inner heat and she screamed from his girth stretching her. He began to languidly pump his cock into her, slowly sliding in and out, as she thrashed under him. She didn’t want to orgasm until he said so, afraid of getting hit again if she did. He started to increase the tempo of his thrusts; the bed shook from the force he was exerting. Buffy arched her back as Spike grabbed her legs, pushing them up against her chest, so that he could angle himself to go deeper.

Finally, hearing the words, “You can come,” escape his lips, Buffy threw her head back and came violently; her inner muscles clamping down around his member.

Barely holding out a little longer, he lowered his mouth to her neck, vamping just as his fangs pierced the sensitive skin. She came again, as he drank from her, ignoring her survival instincts to push him off since the feeling of his bite was so sexually consuming. He finally came, spilling his cold seed and collapsed on top of her. Spike gently pulled out, fangs and dick, and licked the wound on her neck before rolling off of her.

“Cor, luv. I forgot how good it was to fuck a human. Especially one who’s a somewhat consenting participant,” he commented as he stroked her flushed face.

The meaning of his words sunk in and Buffy’s conscious crashed against the simple immorality of what she had just done and all the things she had easily allowed him to do. Cringing away from him, she quickly sat up and threw on the black t-shirt she swiped from off the floor, scurrying away as far as she could. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked against the foot of the bed. “You’re a monster,” she stated as he remained in the spot she had left him, unmoved by her actions.

Gradually sitting up, he responded, “Didn’t seem like you were complaining five minutes ago.”

She glared at him, disgusted at his vulgarity. She shook her head and began to ramble, “No. I couldn’t…I didn’t just… You’re evil… You kill people, innocent people…Oh my God, how could I have let myself have sex with you? Aren’t you dead? Or is it undead? I’ve heard that about vampires, that their dead. You’re a living corpse. Oh my God, I’m no better than a necrophiliac,” As she hysterically rationalized her actions, she began to grow frantic, endless self-hating tears escaping her eyes.

Buffy couldn’t take it any longer. Without really thinking, she uncurled out of the ball she had been in and flew for the door, willing to take on a house full of vamps just to get the hell away from him. What she hadn’t expected was Spike’s super vampire strength and speed as he grabbed hold of her and slammed her up against the door.

She struggled against his death grip, rambling. “Let go you fucking evil piece of shit. You might be going to hell, but I sure ain’t gonna risk it for a good fuck. I’d rather die. Why are you doing this to me?” she said as she delivered a painful knee to his exposed crotch. When he knelt down to hold onto his newly battered balls she Tae Kwan Do spun kicked him across the chest, making him fall back in pain from the assault.

Buffy frantically grabbed the door knob, pulling at it to no avail. There was a lock, but no key. Spike, who seemed to have recovered fairly quickly, rose back to his feet, chuckling as he watched her pull and struggle with the door. “Need a key there, pet. It’s a prison for a reason.”

She turned, back pressed against the door, feeling trapped more now than ever. She reached for her silver cross necklace that usually hung around her neck, but her hands only clutched at air and skin. Spike continued to look amused at the horrified expression on her face. “Took it off when you were asleep, luv. Wouldn’t want you to use it against me.”

She was furious; it was one thing to be killed by an evil soulless vampire, it’s another to be used and ridiculed by one too. “I fucking hate you!” she spat out. “You act all gentle and kind when your goons beat the shit out of me and kidnap me, then you use me, do things to me that I would never…” she paused as her voice choked up. “Never let someone like you do. At least give me my dignity and just kill me!”

“You think I’m just gonna fucking lie around and let you use me? Fuck you! One morning you’re going to find a cross in your mouth and the curtains wide open. I hate you and hope you fucking burn in…” she ranted, unable to finish when a hand flew at her face and the world became dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Buffy could feel the softness of the pillow against her sore cheek and her throbbing neck while the cold metal manacles bit and chafed the skin at her wrists. She was waking up to find that she’d been dressed in same shirt she had been wearing the night before and chained to one end of the bed. She rested on her side, her legs curled up into the fetal position; her body desperately seeking some form of comfort after being assaulted for the countless time in the past 48 hours. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let anyone know she was awake.

Buffy wished she could just stay in bed and dream this whole nightmare away. She hated how Spike made her feel; how he was the reason behind her pain but at the same time managed to bring her so much pleasure. She despised what he’d turned her into, an object at his disposal for his own amusement. She wanted nothing more than to be back home in her mother’s embrace and have her little sister borrow her clothes without asking. She didn’t want to die, and her anger induced schpeals about dignity and morality weren’t bettering her chances at survival. She decided that she wasn’t going to cause waves; she was going to be a good little slave and simply wait. Wait until he let his guard down and then light the bed on fire with only him in it.

Buffy rolled over towards the voice, seeing a fully dressed Spike standing by the bed, glaring down at her. She cringed away from his look; it feeling as painful as if he had actually hit her again. “Get up,” he ordered.

With the chains wrapped around the iron headboard of the bed, she felt like a leashed dog, with limited freedom but enough leeway to maneuver. She got out of bed, the chains clanking to the floor as she slipped in front of him, head bowed, waiting for instructions.

Spike began to walk around her, inspecting her like he did the night she’d been captured. ‘What day was it? How long have I been in this hell?’ she wondered. Her sleeping pattern had been so messed up ever since she had arrived and it was always so dark that she never knew what time of day it was. She turned her focus back on the vampire who, from what she could see from beneath her lashes, was stalking about her.

“You know Slave; you upset me greatly with your little outburst. Gave it to me good, didn’t you? My poor boys hadn’t been kicked like that in ages. And you weren’t afraid to use that mouth of yours to tell me a thing or two either,” he reached out a hand and firmly lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. Giving her a seductively evil smirk, he said, “Now get on your knees and use it to show me how sorry you are.”

Buffy had to suppress the bile that was rising in her stomach. She sunk to her knees before him, knowing exactly what he wanted her to do. She wasn’t shocked; she knew why she was still alive and figured this would continue for some time. And blowjobs weren’t foreign to her either, they weren’t common, but they weren’t intimidating.

At that moment she thought of James, her high school sweetheart, and remembered how they had lost their virginity together. She remembered when they had explored one another, and she had been so scared and didn’t know what to do. He’d been so gentle, so patient. She missed him. ‘God, why did I decide to come to Sunnydale?’ she thought as she unbuckled Spike’s belt. ‘And why didn’t I convince Cordy to leave this town?’

She began to unzip his jeans, fighting back the tears at the sudden thought that her best friend might be dead, and pulled them down. She realized he was a commando kind of vampire. Buffy wrapped her hand around the base of his semi-erect cock, slowly stroking it as it became slightly even more erect. She gradually brought her mouth before his member, her warm breath sending obvious shivers through Spike.

When she engulfed him, he hissed from how hot her mouth was relative to his cool dick. She unhurriedly twirled her tongue around his shaft as she took him in fully, then scraping her teeth along it as she pulled him out. Buffy flicked her tongue over the sensitive head and found a spot on its underside that made him moan loudly. She could feel his hands rake through her hair, needing to find something to hold onto. She reached out with one of her still manacle clad hand and started to massage his balls, further increasing his moaning.

Suddenly, the strong hands in her hair pulled her off of him. She yelped from the pain, seeing Spike angrily look down at her. “I know what kind of girl you are luv, but stop fucking around, keep your mouth open and stay still,” he said as he watched her drop her hands to her side and parted her swollen lips.

He abruptly slid his dick back into her mouth, hitting her in the back of her throat. Grabbing her head roughly, fingers pulling at her hair, he pumped into her, fucking her mouth. She groaned from the pain of her hair being pulled, causing her throat muscles to vibrate around him, augmenting his pleasure as he continued to thrust into her. Buffy desperately tried to hinder her gag reflex as he deep throated her, hoping he’d come soon just so it would be over with.

As though her wishes had been heard, Spike violently came, spilling his cool seed in her throat as she tried to swallow it all, knowing she’d have to face his furry if she didn’t. He seemed like the kind of sadomasochist who wouldn’t appreciate her spitting out his come. His grip on her loosened and he slid out of her mouth, walking shakily over to the bed as he pulled his black jeans back up to his waist. Buffy remained kneeling, raising a hand to wipe her mouth, watching him as he sat down on the bed.

Buffy cringed at how his words could make her feel so much dirtier than any vile act he forced her to do. “Thank you, Master.” She hated having to be submissive, but she needed him to think she was caving in, that she wasn’t going to run or pull anything like she had before. She needed to convince him or she’d never be free.

Spike smiled at the spectacle of her. He knew she wasn’t a pushover, that she was doing all of this from fear of him draining her. “Come here, pet,” he instructed, his voice much softer.

She got up off her knees and dragged the chains towards where he was sitting at the bed’s edge. She remained standing, her head still bowed as she waited for him to say something else. “I don’t wish to be cruel, but if you make me upset, you have to be taught a lesson,” he explained as he got up from the bed. “I’m gonna scratch us up some grub. Figured you might be peckish. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. That’ll be my only warning to you, Slave.” And with that the platinum vampire was out the door.

Buffy collapsed face down onto the bed, pulling her chained arms around her. She was exhausted and sick, unsure if life was worth living if it meant being William the Bloody’s fuck slave. She suddenly realized she was still only wearing the now stretched black t-shirt. Her only other clothes were completely torn and bloodied. What did it matter anyway? She might as well walk around naked, make it easier for the asshole of a vampire.

Buffy sat back up, knowing sleep wasn’t exactly what she should be doing. God, she wanted nothing more than just to escape into her dreams, but she had to think of a way to get out of this prison. Her only plan so far had been to try and be a good little slave until he let his guard down; then she would make her move. Problem was, with a house packed with hungry vamps at Spike’s beck and call, she wasn’t sure what that move should be.

The door suddenly opened, and Spike walked in with what looked like a bag of food from a take out restaurant. Smelling the greasy food made Buffy’s stomach rumble, but for some reason she couldn’t shake off the nausea that the mere sight of the blond vamp was bringing forth. “Here Slave, eat.” He held out the paper bag, expecting her to take it.

Buffy risked defiantly looking up at his face, her eyes glaring in pure hatred. “Not hungry,” she replied before insolently turning her back to him.

Spike’s jaw clenched. He thought he had gotten through to her. Guess that meant a few more lessons in obedience. He stalked over to the bed and spun her around, eyes flashing yellow as though he was about to go into game face. The anger and impatience on his face were evident, but she didn’t care. She kept her line of sight with his, ready for anything he was about to say or do. “Eat.”

It was all he said, as though the simplicity of the words were to suppose to instill some sort of fear in her. Looking back at him, she said, “I would rather starve.”

At that point Spike lost it and smacked her across the face, sending Buffy flying off the bed and onto the floor. It wasn’t enough force to knock her out, but it did sting like a bitch. Bringing her hand up to her newly swollen cheek, Buffy gazed up at Spike, who was intimidating in the way he stood above her. The fast food bag was thrown to the floor, it hitting her in the shoulder before it smashed into the ceramic tile, and Spike continued to tower above her, arms crossed.

Buffy stayed completely motionless, hand still on face and shoulder now newly doused with grease. It was at that point that it all fell apart. Sure, things were had already hit rock bottom but it was then that everything inside of her just shattered to pieces.

The tears began to cascade down her reddened face, which soon turned into gut wrenching sobs that consumed her entire body. She fell to the floor, curling up into a ball, holding her head in her hands. She ignored the vampire and continued to let every single cry, every single pent up tear that she had been holding back ever since she had arrived to this godforsaken place.

Cordy was dead. She had to be. Spike had said she was the only one to survive the attack on the club. Her best friend was gone. If she had only followed her gut and convinced Cordy to leave Sunnydale, to move onto the next town on their summer road trip, she’d still be alive. But she hadn’t and now Cordy was gone.

Everything was gone; her life, her freedom, her dignity. In less than two days she had gone from a UCLA undergraduate on a fun summer road trip to the warm body some Master vampire fucks to get his jollies. She was stubborn and she was strong, but she wasn’t invincible. She missed her family and desperately wished her mom would just hold her and make the monster go away. But the monster would never go away. He would never let her go.

She didn’t know why she had fought him on the food. All she had wanted was to get some control back and deciding whether or not to eat was the only freedom she had left. Buffy didn’t know if pretending to give into him was such a good idea anymore. If she did, it would mean giving up every single ounce of free will she had left. She didn’t know how much longer she would last if she did.

Spike watched as the human girl kept wailing as though he was torturing her. Her small body rocked from the powerful sobs that were coming out of her mouth. He watched, at first annoyed that she was now doing something else to contradict him but then he became perplexed. Not at what she was doing, but what her crying was doing to him. He felt something; he wasn’t sure what exactly. It wasn’t disgust or even pity. It was a sad feeling, painful to just watch her.

Utterly shocked, he realized he felt guilty. Not having felt it in so long, he didn’t recognize it at first and it petrified him. Feeling as though he had lost all motor functions, Spike backed away from her and stumbled to the door, frantically trying to get out of the room.

As the large wooden door flew shut, he slid down against it to the floor, face cradled in his hands. Only when he had slightly composed himself did he take note of the two minions who were posted to the room to keep guard. “Leave me!” Spike ordered in a not too pleasant tone, causing the vamps to almost run out of the hallway.

Taking in an unnecessary breath, Spike patted himself down in search of cigarettes. Lighting one, he took a long drag before he allowed his mind to return to his uncharacteristic feelings of remorse. How could he feel sorry about what he did? He was a vampire, no soul, no problem. Was it him? Did someone give him a soul like his poncy Sire without him knowing it? No, that couldn’t be it. He would know, wouldn’t he? Spike figured that it must be Buffy, his new thorn in his side. It had to be. Her incessant crying was like a hole deep in his chest, like a hand twisting his guts. But why her? She was definitely more trouble than she was worth. Than why didn’t he just kill her? When he had told Natasha and Damon that he had kept her alive, they were utterly shocked. What vampire keeps a human other than to feed?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Spike sighed deeply. Was it because she had been the best fuck he’d had in ages? Maybe the demon saw her more as a release for his carnal impulses as opposed to just a good meal. Or maybe it was the small remnants of the man he had once been that longed to be loved, and who yearned for someone to just be his. Finishing the cig, Spike put it out in an old decorative vase that he usually used as an ashtray.

He knew he needed to go back inside the room and deal with her. However, he wasn’t completely sure how. Spike didn’t want to drive her into further hysterics but he didn’t want to lose the edge he had gained over her. Figuring he’d simply wing it, he slowly pushed the door open and slid into the room, making sure it was locked before he turned to face what he had left behind.

He found Buffy still on the floor, curled up just like she had been, but this time the sobs were gone, replaced instead by sparse tears and muted hiccups. Spike opted to react, not think, just act, as he knelt down next to her. She flinched when he placed his hand on her arm, but he ignored it, undoing the manacles around her wrists. Buffy remained stiff with eyes unfocused that stared out at the floor in front of her. He picked her up into his arms and laid her gently back onto the bed. Spike pulled the blankets over her, deciding to sit down in his chair and wait until she snapped out of it.

Buffy wrists were raw from the rusty chains. She didn’t notice she was in bed until five minutes after being tucked in. As though waking up from a dream, Buffy came back to earth and all she saw was Spike watching her from his seat across the room. “You need to rest, go ahead and sleep,” he said arms crossed over his chest, trying hard not to look like he was being merciful.

Buffy shook her head. “Too tired to sleep,” she croaked; her voice hoarse from all the crying she had been doing.

Spike nodded. “Fine, then at least eat. You probably haven’t had anything in twenty four hours,” he said getting up and handing her the only salvageable item left in the squashed paper bag, a wrapped up cheeseburger.

Buffy took it without saying a word, unwrapped it, and took a bite. Eating the not-so-great-tasting burger, Buffy’s hunger intensified and soon she was ravenously devouring the sandwich until it was completely gone. Feeling a bit embarrassed at her sudden pig out, Buffy kept her head bowed, not wishing to meet his eyes again.

After a few minutes, she felt the bed sink a little and looked up to see Spike sitting next to her. He pulled the blankets back up to her chin and got comfortable in the spot beside her on the king sized bed. Buffy kept still, tense and distant from his actions, confused at his sudden change in attitude. He didn’t move to touch her, just letting her be as he reclined against the headboard.

“You’re gonna need clothes and whatever else you humans need to stay clean. When you feel up to it, I’ll get Natasha to get you what you need,” he said, not looking at her, his eyes focused on the end of the bed.

Buffy only nodded, unsure how she was supposed to respond. She had expected her breakdown to be the last straw; she was surprised when he hadn’t walked back in to kill her. There was an awkwardness now, tension in the air as they both quietly sat on the bed.

The silence was broken when Spike let out an unnecessary breath. “Thought of siring you, but decided ‘gainst it. Got enough vamps around me and haven’t been with a human in a long, long time. Figured it was time for a change. Making you my slave isn’t just something I want but it’s also something you need. The vamps ‘round these parts don’t keep pet humans unless it’s to feed off ‘em like cattle. For my vampires to accept you and to even protect you, they have to think you’re absolutely mine. So I tried to get you to submit, not really considering the possibility that you just might go bug shaggin’ crazy,” Spike stated slowly turning to face Buffy as he finished.

There, it was done. The ball was now in her court. It was all up to her whether she would continue to fight him or just give in. He admired that she was strong, a lot stronger than he had expected her to be. Spike didn’t want to break her anymore than he already had. He wanted her to stay the spitfire she was when she had been first brought to him. There was a fiery passion in her hazel eyes that he never wanted to see extinguished. He didn’t really want a brainless slave at his beck and call; he wanted, no make that needed, someone to challenge him.

A hundred plus years of killing, feeding and fucking were becoming a little mundane, especially in a town like Sunnydale. Buffy was a change, a breath of fresh air. That’s all it was, he reflected. He needed something new in his life. The foreign feeling of guilt that had stirred within him earlier had occurred in the context that he didn’t want to lose a potential challenge. It had nothing to do with the beautiful girl beside him and how she had broken down into a mess of tears and sobs from his unrelenting dominance. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was the first human he had encountered since he had been turned and not killed. It was all about his needs and had nothing to do with his lack of interest in hers. The feeling hadn’t been guilt for someone else; it was self-deprecation for almost ruining his chances at something different in his unlife. She wasn’t getting to him; she couldn’t be getting to him, right?

Buffy didn’t know what to say. She knew he was waiting for her to say something. Could she cave in? Could she live with herself if she did? What were the alternatives? Death. Sure a few hours ago she might have welcomed it, but at that moment, she was petrified at the thought of dying. She didn’t know if she could muster enough energy to face any brutal death that no doubt Spike would exact upon her for not submitting.

The only other option was doing what the vampire wanted. Just submit. Give in to him and be his wiling slave. Maybe she could try and maybe if she didn’t fight him on it, he wouldn’t be such a fucking asshole. He was being kinda okay at the moment. She could deal with that, right? Buffy took in a long deep breath. She would accept the fact she was his slave and no longer had any freedom, but she promised herself that she wouldn’t give up. The first chance she saw that could potentially get her out of this prison, she would take it without a second thought. She just had to be patient and wait. That or somehow convince the blond vamp to let her go. But that would never happen.

Those two little words were exactly what Spike had been waiting to hear. He reached out a hand to Buffy’s neck, which made her whole body tense even more, and started to stroke his mark. Almost instantly Buffy’s voice hitched in her throat and she melted in his hands as he dragged his cool thumb around the two small puncture wounds.

He knew what touching his mark would do. He wanted to reward her like a good Master should. She agreed to be his and he was going to show her the benefits of that title. Spike could hear her heart start to pound erratically in her chest and her breathing became nothing but short gasps. He didn’t want to give her too much, she had to earn the rest, but giving her a taste of what could be should give her a little incentive.

Pulling his hand away, he heard her whimper in disappointment and felt her mold against his side, trying to calm herself down. He liked how his petting had relaxed her enough to allow herself to rest her head against his chest. The heat coming off of her alone was enough to burn him to the core. Not to mention that the scent of her arousal was forcing him to use all his will power just to not jump her and screw her brains out.

Buffy didn’t know what had just happened. One minute she was willingly agreeing to become Spike’s slave and then the next she verging on a mind shattering orgasm. What had he done? Touch her neck? Touch his bite? Why did it make her see fireworks? Was it some kind of vampire voodoo? Finally calming down, Buffy suddenly realized that half of her was nearly sprawled out on top of him. She slowly peered up with a look of complete perplexity plastered on her face.

“What did you do?” she asked hoarsely, her question filled with genuine confusion.

“I touched the mark that I left on your neck, pet,” he said looking down into her saucer wide eyes.

“Why would that make me almost co…I mean…How can it make me feel the way it did?” she asked, her cheeks blushing at her near slip up.

“Vampire thing, pet. It’s what Sire’s do to their Childers, to keep them in line. But what you felt is only a sliver of what a Childe would feel from a Sire’s touch. The connection is more than physical and the bond between them is much more heightened. What you felt is only residual but my touch, and only my touch, brings it out.”

“Not really. Most people end up dead after vamps get through with ‘em,” he answered, making sure she understood how rare it was for him to even keep her alive.

“What’s a sire?” she asked meekly, unsure if her curiosity was gonna get her in trouble.

“’S the vamp that makes another vamp. Depending on how much blood is exchanged, the person who becomes the vamp will be their Childe.”

“Yup. Person gets sucked almost dry, ‘til their almost dead. Then vamp cuts his wrist and gives his blood to them. Pretty basic actually.”

“I see.” Buffy remained nestled against his side, finding herself suddenly at ease.

Spike soon felt her breathing steady out, telling him that she was sleeping. He had managed to get her to calm down and realize that she was better off not fighting him on everything. He liked the feeling of her small form snuggled up next to him, her tiny elegant hands casually sprawled on his chest, mere inches away from her serene looking face.

Spike pulled her closer to him and she simply responded by letting him. He tried to stay awake but he was starting to get tired, his eyelids feeling heavy, and as he slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep, the unfamiliar yet strangely comforting feeling of peace took over him.

It seemed to have been at least three days since Buffy had made her pact with Spike, but how long had it actually been? She wasn’t sure. She had spent most of her time just sleeping, trying to recover from the first forty-eight hours of being captured. She slept most of the day and even into the evening, until Spike came back into the room just a little after sunset. He hadn’t touched her since the other night; she figured he was giving her time since he knew she wouldn’t fight him anymore. Spike usually arrived with food whenever he came into the room and she would eat it; she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. The three days had felt like one big haze to her, only sleeping and eating, but on the morning of the fourth day she woke up and pulled herself out of bed.

The floor was cold, making her scurry to the washroom. Buffy needed to shower; she felt disgusting. Her hair was greasy and tangled, she knew she looked horrible and she figured she probably didn’t smell much better either. Slowly turning on the tap, she filled the tub with steaming water, adding a bit of the lily scented body wash she remembered Spike had used the last time she had bathed. Throwing off the black t-shirt and easing herself into the hot water, Buffy let the warmth consume her as she sank into the bubbles. She tried her best to wash the grime off her body, but she didn’t have anything other than the body wash. She knew she was going to have to ask Spike for shampoo and other hygienic essentials. Buffy dunked her head, scrubbing her hair vigorously before coming back up. Once she wiped the water from her face, she saw two piercing ice blue eyes gazing down at her.

“Decided on a bath, pet? Good call,” he said never taking his eyes off of her.

Spike chuckled. “You want me to get Natasha in here sometime today? So she can get you whatever you need?”

Buffy only nodded as she continued to scrub herself. Deciding she was finished she glanced up at Spike, who hadn’t moved at all since he had found her bathing. “You mind?” she asked.

“Not at all, luv,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Buffy was annoyed. Sure he’d already seen her naked, didn’t mean she shouldn’t want some privacy. “If you’re going to stay, could you at least hand me the towel?”

Buffy stood up as Spike passed her the towel, his eyes wandering to places they shouldn’t. She ignored it and wrapped herself up before stepping out. Her eyes fell upon the dirty black shirt she had been wearing the past few days. “You wouldn’t by any chance have anything else I could wear in the meantime?”

Spike snapped out of his stare fest and walked into the room, with Buffy following behind him. He pulled open a drawer of the only dresser in the room and pulled out another clean black t-shirt. Buffy rolled her eyes at the fact that it was all he had to wear. Thanking him, she quickly dropped the towel and slipped on the shirt; like the other one it barely covered her ass, coming down to her mid thigh. She raked her fingers through her wet hair as best she could before sitting down on the bed, throwing the blankets back on her. She forgot how cold the house was until the goose bumps and shivers reminded her.

“I brought you some food,” Spike said, pointing to the paper bag that was on the floor beside the bed. Sighing, Buffy picked up the bag and hoped that it wasn’t anything from a fast-food place. One more cheeseburger and she was going to toss her cookies. Finding a wrapped up ham sandwich and a Styrofoam container of chicken soup made Buffy smile.

She ate in silence, slightly unnerved by the fact that Spike kept watching her from his position half way across the room. Needing to break the quiet void, Buffy asked, “So, what do you do during the day?”

“Just that you can’t go outside in the sun and your not here either, so what do you do all day?” she asked stirring her soup with a plastic spoon.

“Not much. Keep the minions in line, check up on the others, stay in the shadows; I don’t know, the usual,” he answered shrugging his shoulders.

“You mean all those vampires are all downstairs?” she inquired. Buffy knew that the house was filled with vampires, but she didn’t really know how many there actually were.

Spike laughed. “No, I haven’t got any Childers, luv. I guess you could call them my lieutenants, my seconds-in-command.”

“Natasha, Damon and Vincent are the three I trust, but there are others who I consider more than just expendable fledglings.” He responded, watching her continue to eat, appearing unfazed by what he was saying. “What’s with the sudden inquisitiveness, pet?”

“Don’t know. Just curious I guess. If I’m gonna be here I might as well know who’s who and what’s what,” she stated just as she finished her last bite of sandwich.

Spike smiled at her genuine interest in her new place of residence. He had been careful not to push her in the past few days and it paid off. Her strength was back and she was more at ease with him. He knew she would never fully accept being held captive and deep down she would always long to be free. Yet from what he could see, she was trying, for the time being anyway. Getting up from his chair, Spike headed for the door. “I’ll get things set up with Tasha. Go ahead and watch some telly if you get bored, luv.”

Buffy’s eyes flew to the medium sized screen placed in front of the couch in the other corner of the room. When she heard the door shut, she grabbed a blanket and dashed to the couch. Nothing like a soap marathon to distract me, she thought as she wrapped herself in the comforter. Finding the remote, she settled into an afternoon of degrading talk shows and twisted plot dramas.

Spike was getting annoyed. He had asked Natasha to go out and get things for Buffy, but the bint refused to budge. “Wasn’t really askin’ as so much as orderin’, luv. Now go on and get what she needs.”

Natasha glared at him. “What’s with this human anyway?” she asked, poignantly crossing her arms.

“’S none of you’re concern,” Spike grumbled, pushing down his impulse to smack her for her insolence.

“Of course it is. She’s a liability to all of us. Did you even consider what would happen if word got out you had a pet human? Every single one of your enemies would know she would be an easy way to get to you. And the strange thing is that, for some inexplicable reason, I think you would probably do whatever they asked just to get her back. You worked too fucking long and hard to throw it all away,” Natasha pointed out, getting very flustered.

“Please! I got over you a long time ago,” she said, glaring furiously at him.

“Is that right? ’S not really comin’ through in your plea to get rid of Buffy.”

“Buffy? You’re calling the human by her name now? And what the hell kind of name is Buffy anyway?”

“I am not jealous!” she yelled, drawing the attention of other nearby vamps. Lowering her voice, she added, “I never asked for you to keep her. I thought we were bringing you back a meal you could play with, not coddle and spoil.”

“Well, that’s the rub now innit? You don’t get to decide what I choose to do with her. She’s mine. I’m not gonna debate this with you,” he remarked, quickly adding, “And you will treat her as though she were my Childe and do everything else that comes with that title.”

“Speaking of Childers, why didn’t you just turn her? It’d simplify everything up so much,” she asked.

“Fine. Whatever. Just ask yourself if a hot body to fuck is worth losing your Clan over?” she spat back as she headed towards the basement exit, immediately stopping when she realized he was still continuing the conversation.

“Be careful Tash. I might allow you to voice your opinion, and sometimes I actually listen, but I won’t tolerate your impudence. It will be my only warning. Do anything to that girl and you’ll be beggin’ me to stake you.”

Buffy was in the middle of Teenage Paternity Tests on Maury when the door creaked open. Expecting to see a platinum blond head to pop in, she was a little put back at a woman coming into the room. Buffy eyes stayed on who she presumed was Natasha. The vampiress was of fair height, maybe a little taller than she was and she was definitely fit. Her hair was long and dark, almost black, and her brown eyes were large surrounded by thick lashes. Buffy noticed the bundle Natasha was carrying as she made her way to the couch. Dropping the few bags she was holding, she glared down at Buffy, obviously unhappy she had to run errands for the Master’s new pet.

“I got you some clothes, mostly jeans and tees, some other things Spike wanted you to wear and toiletries. If I missed anything, let Spike know and I’ll get it,” the vampire explained, her voice lacking any true interest.

Buffy looked up at Natasha’s face, not sure if she was afraid of her. “Thanks. I know you probably didn’t like being sent out for things that some human needed.”

The glare turned into a perplexed pout as Natasha hadn’t expected Buffy to say much, let alone that. Sighing she sat down on the couch. “It’s not a problem.”

Buffy sat awkwardly next to Natasha, unsure why she didn’t just leave. “So, you’re a vampire?” she asked, flinching the moment the words had left her mouth.

Natasha turned to look at her, a slightly amused smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah, and you’re a human.”

“That I am.” It was Buffy’s turn to look confused. “Spike’s not here, so why aren’t you all with the ‘grrrr’ and the going for the throat?”

“Because if I do, I’ll have to face a really pissed off Spike. And I personally like having all my limbs still functionally attached to my body, thank you.”

“So don’t worry. As long as Spike’s the big chief, you’re safe,” Natasha commented.

“What happens if he loses his head honcho title?” Buffy asked, quite concerned.

Natasha laughed out loud. “Won’t happen. There’s a reason why he’s our leader and it’s not because he gives dental.” The vampire became serious when she further added, “But if it did happen, you’d be up for grabs.”

Buffy suddenly became extremely uncomfortable. “So how do you know Spike?” she asked, needing to change the topic.

Easing up a bit herself, Natasha shrugged, “Known each other a while, even when he was still with Dru. God, we use to have such a wild time. Those were the good old days. I think we met in a bar in New York. But we didn’t band together until he showed up here a few years after that. I still remember it like yesterday. He walks into our lair, all fangs and attitude, proclaims himself leader and by the next night had everyone under his thumb. Vincent and I didn’t know whether to fight him on it or not. I guess he made an impression because we’ve been by his side ever since.”

“Spike mentioned Vincent. Said he considered him one of his right hand guys,” Buffy reflected out loud. “Is Vincent your Childe?”

Another giggle escaped the vampire’s lips. “No. He’s just a companion from way back; known him longer than I’ve known Spike. And Vincent has been a vamp way longer than both Spike and I have.”

“Sure at first he was kinda unhappy about it. But what can I say, Spike’s an amazing leader,” Natasha replied, with a glint in her eye that could only be explained by admiration for her general.

“Are you and Spike…together?” Buffy inquired, unsure why she even wanted to know.

“We had a thing, right after Druscilla left him. He was lonely and horny and I was his available. He ended it but I didn’t fight it. Being the rebound after a relationship like the one he had with Druscilla was exhausting, to say the least.”

Spike entered the room just as Buffy had asked the question, uncertain how he felt about Natasha revealing the details of his past. Natasha stood up and nodded to Spike as she made her way to leave. “Got her what she needed. Told her to tell you if I missed anything,” she stated as she closed the door behind her.

Buffy remained on the couch as Spike made his way over to her, pulling off his duster as he sat down in Natasha’s spot. “So, what were you and Tash gabbin’ about, pet?”

“Nothing really. I was simply inquring into the workings of your clan. You know just gossip,” Buffy joked, suppressing a giggle.

“If there’s anything you wanna know, you don’t have to sneak around and ask Tash; I’m right here to answer whatever little query is naggin’ that blond head of yours,” he stated, giving her his trademark smirk.

Deciding to take him up on his offer, Buffy immediately asked, “Who’s Druscilla?”

Spike instantly groaned. “No one you should worry about, luv.” He got up and walked over to his dresser and pulled out a bottle of Jack from one of the drawers. Pouring himself a glass, he brought it and the bottle back to the couch. Taking a long sip, he sat back down, slouching down and sprawling out as much as he could. He continued to drink his whiskey, blatantly ignoring her question.

“She was the ex,” Spike emphasized before taking a big gulp. “Was the face of my salvation she was. She made me a vampire and ever since that night in that cold London alley, I was hers. Dru was my world, my everything.”

Spike’s face distorted into a look of pure pain and morose, making Buffy regret her persistence. “The worst. I spent more than a century with her; took care of her when she was sick, but the minute she gets her strength back, I’m suddenly not as important anymore. She had the nerve to say I was obsessed with the Clan, went on about how the stars told her I would stop loving her and then one day, I found her with a Chaos demon. Have you ever seen a Chaos demon? They’re nothing but slime and antlers. She left me that same night, ran off to South America, I think. So, I found myself alone, for the first time since I had been turned. All I had left was my Clan.”

Buffy was surprised at how hurt and emotional he was getting from explaining his ex to her. How could someone, who killed without so much as a second thought, be in so much pain over a break up? Spike was a merciless cold blooded murderer and here he was pouring out all these feelings of loss and rejection. Buffy was so thrown. “Can vampires love?”

Buffy didn’t know what to do. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved but she didn’t know how to comfort him. Placing a gentle hand on his back, she patted him gently. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Her words shook him out of his ill temperament as his shocked eyes turned to look at the hand that she was comforting him with. Pulling his eyes up to find hers, he saw kindness in their hazel depths, which only unsettled him further. The feeling he had had that other night, when he had held her while she slept had resurfaced; it almost felt like his dead heart was beating again. What was she doing to him? Why was she so nice to him all of a sudden?

Buffy knew that if she wanted her time as Spike’s slave to be pleasant, she needed to give a little. If she was nice to him, maybe he’d be nice back. She gave him a warm smile and pulled her hand away slowly, letting it fall into her lap. Maybe he might reciprocate her kindness, maybe he wouldn’t; it was at least worth a try.

Finishing off the once full glass of whiskey, Spike poured himself some more and took another big drink before mentioning, “You weren’t so willing to be my friend a few days ago, luv.”

“’ppreciate it. Know it ain’t easy to play nice with the vamp that’s keepin’ you prisoner.”

‘Not to mention the same vamp that fucked her, used her and humiliated her all within a twenty-four hour span,’ Buffy added in her mind, knowing that he was thinking the same. “No biggie. So, I guess I better try on whatever Natasha brought me. How did she know my size anyway?”

“I gave her your old clothes. Your boots and underwear are still in the loo,” he said pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

She simply nodded as she got up from the couch, carefully bending at the knees to pick up her bags as to not flash the vampire. Buffy dashed to the washroom, eager to change out of her black t-shirt attire and into anything that resembled normal clothing.

Locking the door, she threw off the shirt and rummaged through the bag, finding some clean underwear, blue denims, black pants and an assortment of colored tops. Buffy dressed quickly, opting for the jeans and a red tank, before she opened the other plastic bag that had much needed toiletries. Freshening up and tying her long blond hair up into a ponytail, she opened the last bag and nearly gasped at what was inside. Apparently this was the bag with the things Spike wanted her to wear. The bag was filled with leather skirts, corsets, stockings and other pieces of clothing that would make a courtesan blush. Deciding to ignore the third bag, Buffy left them in the washroom, hoping Spike wasn’t actually serious about making her wear those things.

Buffy entered the room to find Spike still drinking from the now nearly empty bottle of Jack. He didn’t look drunk; she figured vampires had a better tolerance for the fire liquids than mere mortals. She sat back down next to him, lost for anything to say.

Spike turned to look at her, as though he had just realized she was sitting next to him. His eyes trailed over her now clothed form and he smiled in approval. The little red top she was wearing dipped low enough to give him a good view of her cleavage, making him grow hard. Her scent suddenly seemed stronger and he could have sworn her skin looked flawless even though he knew a few days back she had been badly beaten.

The bottle of Jack hadn’t gotten him drunk in the slightest, but it did sort of numb the pain he felt whenever he even thought of Druscilla. Gracefully inching his was closer to her, Spike placed a hand on her neck and stroked his mark, receiving the moan from her lips that he had been hoping his touch would elicit. He could smell her arousal intensify as he continued to lazily circle the wound with his finger. Spike wanted her badly. Every night since the last and only time he had fucked her, he tried to think of anything else, even resorted to finding cold comfort from one of his minions, but it wasn’t the same. After being inside her heat, Spike couldn’t be with anyone else. He wanted her so bad it was making him crazy.

Buffy felt herself lie back as Spike continued to stroke her neck with her eyes glazed over with lust and breath hitched in her throat. He hovered above her, taking in the sight of her. Her chest erratically rose and fell with every flick of his thumb against her neck; her usually tanned skin was flushed and glistened in the poorly lit room; and her small wonderful mouth was alternatively letting out small moans and biting its bottom lip. Spike leaned down and latched his mouth on her neck, gently sucking on the erogenous region of her wound. Buffy cried out in ecstasy; she could swear she could see sparks. The feeling only intensified as Spike started to grind his unbelievably hard erection into the junction between her legs as he simultaneously licked and nipped her neck. Buffy couldn’t take much more.

“Master,” she huskily called out, remembering the last time he had teased her.

Spike growled into her throat, swiftly reaching down and unbuttoning her jeans along with his own, desperately pulling them down far enough, but never breaking contact. As soon as the denim obstructions were at their knees, Spike entered her. He madly pumped into her, hissing from the heat she exuded; he could swear he was going to burn him to a cinder.

“Buffy…” he mumbled as he frantically fucked her, his pubic bone smashing into her clit.

“Spike…” she screamed out, not realizing she had called him by name as she came.

The sensation of Buffy’s inner muscles clamping and pulsating around him and hearing her cry out his name, made Spike instantly come. Grunting, he spilled his cool seed, collapsing on top of her, utterly spent.

For a few moments, neither one of them moved, until Spike began to stir. Lifting his head to look down at her, his lips floated inches away from hers, proposing the possibility of him kissing her. As he lowered his mouth closer, Buffy quickly turned away, giving him her cheek. Outwardly unaffected by her mild rejection, Spike pushed himself off of her, doing up his jeans as he sat up. Realizing her lower half was still exposed, Buffy struggled to pull her jeans back on. She sat up, fidgeting with her clothing, trying to fix herself up, doing anything to avoid looking at the vampire beside her.

He had tried to kiss her and she had turned away. Of course she turned away. Buffy freaked the moment she saw those luscious lips heading her way. How could he try and kiss her? ‘Well you do let him screw you,’ she inwardly scolded. But kissing to Buffy was different. There are so many more emotional implications with one chaste kiss then there were with a million fucks. She couldn’t let Spike kiss her. To her it would mean she had feelings for him. And how could she? He was a soulless blood sucking fiend. She could never love him. Her conscious couldn’t overlook what he was to love him, couldn’t trust him enough to love him. Her body, for the moment, was his and she accepted that. Buffy had submitted and with that came the Spike-gets-sex-whenever-he-wants clause. But it didn’t give him right to her heart, never her heart.

Spike remained still, uncertain again of his feelings. He had tried to kiss her and she turned away. The hot fuck should have been enough, so why in the bloody hell did he try to kiss her? He could remember lying on top of her, her small warm body pressed beneath his, and all he could focus on was how he would have liked to press his lips against hers. The odd feeling of contentment had filled him as he had gazed down into her hazel eyes, but that had been short lived. His stupid move to kiss her, only to receive her blatant rejection left him feeling dejected, like a cold steel blade churning in his gut. What was happening to him? How did she bring out things in him he hadn’t felt in over a century? Memories of Cecily and ‘being beneath’ resurfaced, making Spike long for another drink. Getting up, he made his way to his liquor stash without so much as a word to the girl beside him.

The following weeks progressed into a similar routine. Spike would be nowhere to be found all night long, giving Buffy as much time as she wanted to sleep. She would wake up, shower, dress, watch some television, and, when she needed to, wash her limited clothing in the washroom sink. Spike had brought her tons of non perishable food, so she didn’t have to wait for him to feed her. The vampire would arrive in mid afternoon, have his way with her and leave. Their small friendly truce seemed to have disappeared since Spike barely even said two words to her; it being replaced by a cold distant arrangement based solely on fulfilling his most immediate needs. In essence, the niceties and humorings were over with and she was now what Spike had kept her around for, his slave. Buffy didn’t think much of his change in attitude; she figured it was what he had wanted all along.

She would keep busy by tidying the room, needing some sort of distraction, and in her rummaging she found books, more precisely a shelf full of books. Some of them were novels of various genres; mystery, fantasy, and even a few classics, but the majority of them were poetry anthologies. Going through each book and dusting it with an old rag she had found, Buffy took stock of every one before placing it back on the shelf. However, as she went through the bottom row of books, something strange caught her eye. There was a slight unevenness in the backboard of the shelf. Buffy reached back and pulled at the board, revealing a small nook containing a few sparse items. She pulled out a few photographs, letters, sketches and a leather bound book, which she surmised was a journal. Buffy wasn’t sure what she had found but she had a feeling Spike would be pissed if he found out that she had discovered the secret compartment.

The pictures were old, crinkled and yellow. Peering down at the face in one of the photographs, she saw a man in what looked like Victorian styled clothing, with an ere of class about him. He wore spectacles on his face, which displayed no emotion whatsoever. It was only when she focused that she could see the familiarity between this man and the vampire who was holding her hostage. ‘Oh my God, it is Spike.’ Buffy couldn’t fathom how this seemingly proper gentleman had turned into the arrogant platinum bloodsucker she knew. She flipped through to the next photo and saw the same dignified man standing beside a seated older woman, who Buffy assumed was his mother. Even in the old and fading photograph, the lady appeared sickly. Shuffling to the next one, she found a very different image staring back at her; a dark haired woman in a white dress sitting quite proper with her gloved hands in her lap. Buffy wasn’t sure who she was but she had to be important if Spike kept a picture of her. Putting the photos down, she turned her attention to the sketches.

The drawings were well done and very detailed. She recognized one of them being the dark woman from the photos but there was another that she couldn’t put a name to. It was a sketch of a man’s face. A dark man who sported a sly grin and whose eyes conveyed pure malice and power, which made Buffy shiver uncontrollably. She wondered who this man was and why Spike had kept a picture of him. There were few more sketches of Spike with the man and the dark woman, and one with four people, a blond woman mixed into the group. Buffy skimmed over these since they didn’t really reveal anything about Spike, other than who he chose to hang out with back in the day. Buffy’s mind was playing with the idea that one of those women could be Druscilla, but that train of thought stopped when she came upon the last sketch. Of her. Actually of her sleeping. She knew Spike had watched her a lot during those first few days, but she never had the slightest idea that he was drawing her. She scrutinized the picture, analyzing every curve and shade, unsure how Spike could capture her misleadingly tranquil face so well on paper. The concept of him drawing her was both romantic and eerie. She wasn’t sure if one nullified the other.

Placing the sketches in a neat pile with the photos, Buffy moved onto the next items, the letters. She knew she shouldn’t be reading them since they were slightly more personal than the photographs and drawings, but she figured she had already crossed the line, so there really wasn’t anyway of going back. As she read over the well penned letters, she recognized them as words shared between a mother and son. Him telling her of his studies and her telling him of the pride she felt for him. They were written with conservative tones, but the feelings behind them were clear; they had loved each other immensely. The letters were soon added to the pile of secret items Buffy should have never come across.

The last piece of nostalgia of Spike’s past weighed heavily in her hands. She carefully opened the journal, surprised at the remarkable condition it was in for its probable age. There didn’t seem to be a chronological order of entries, but instead simple random thoughts put to paper. Some of the scribbles even looked like poetry. Buffy’s eyes encountered a few blurbs, some corny ones about birds and stars but she stopped scanning when she came across a poem that called out to her.

The poem itself wasn’t the best she’d ever read but the way every word dripped with sincerity and innocence. At first she refused to believe that Spike had written the poem. It was so blind and naïve in its ideal description of being in love. It was almost endearing in the way it was written, oblivious to how ugly love could actually be. Spike wasn’t kind and he sure as hell wasn’t naïve, so the concept that he might have written this poem made Buffy wonder how someone could stray so far from who they once were. From what she was seeing, William was quite the polar opposite of Spike.

Buffy jumped when she heard footsteps outside the door and frantically shoved everything back into the nook, making sure she closed the partition before she placed the books in front of it. Glancing up, she sighed seeing Spike coming through the door. ‘Good, he didn’t see me.’

Finding Buffy on the floor in front of the shelf, the vampire cocked an eyebrow, “Looking for something to read, pet?” His question being the most he’d spoken to her in two weeks.

Standing up, Buffy dusted herself off and picked up a book. “I was cleaning and I noticed the shelf. I was looking at some of them and this one seemed interesting,” she answered, clutching at the novel, afraid his sudden bout of speaking had to do with his possible suspicion that she had found something other than printed literature on the shelf.

He shrugged and slipped off his duster, carelessly draping it on his chair. Buffy followed after him, knowing what he had come for. She sat on the bed and started to unbutton her top, but at about halfway down, Spike grabbed her wrist. “Not here for that, luv. You can keep your clothes on.”

Buffy gave him a perplexed look as she did her shirt back up. Had he grown tired of her already? The past few weeks, the only time she had seen him was for his daily shag and now, here he was, not fucking her. Did she do something? Did he not want her anymore? Buffy wasn’t sure if not being used was any better than being used because she suddenly felt so dirty. Then, a second thought almost knocked her over. What if he was here to kill her? Or even worse, give her to someone else?

“Master…” Buffy started, but for the second time that night was quickly interrupted.

“So why don’t you wanna…?” Buffy asked, trailing off with slight embarrassment.

“It’s complicated. Had a rough night is all,” he stated as he sat down next to her on the bed, rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

“Like I said, don’t worry ‘bout it. Just wanna get pissed and pass out.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied as she watched Spike snatch a bottle of tequila and settle down in front of the television.

She stayed still, keeping her gaze to the back of his platinum head and watched him as he took long gulps from the bottle. She wasn’t sure if she should just crawl under the blankets and go to sleep, or join the obviously ill tempered vampire on the sofa. She had a sinking feeling that she should go be with him, at least try and cheer him up. It’s what she would do for most normal people, but Spike wasn’t normal. Hell he wasn’t even technically people.

Buffy had to admit that her opinion of Spike had slightly changed since she had found his mementos. He had warmed up to her briefly, but then, after that night she had refused to kiss him, he had become so off putting. And now here he was, not wanting sex from her, right after she had read all those things she assumed he had written when he was human. In Buffy’s eyes, the monster that was Spike was starting to grow layers. The only problem was she didn’t know if that was a necessarily a good thing.

She grabbed her blanket, draping it around her like she always did whenever she watched T.V., and made her way to Spike’s side. He was mindlessly flipping through channels as he occasionally drank from the bottle, ignoring her presence completely.

“Nothin’ really,” he answered without taking his focus away from the screen.

“More for me, then,” Spike said as he took another gulp of the amber liquid.

Buffy kept her gaze on him, wondering what had occurred to make him so quiet and even more distant.

“Look, pet, you don’t have to keep me company. Go on and do whatever it is you do. Read that little book you picked out even. I can get drunk on my own.”

Buffy was getting slightly irritated by his bad mood. Deciding to risk it, she asked, “What’s your problem?”

Nearly choking on his drink, Spike coughed as he stared at her utterly bewildered. “What’d you just say?”

Holding out her hand to count her fingers, Buffy replied, “Well, let’s see. One minute you’re making with the friendlies, telling me all this personal stuff and actually being somewhat tolerable; then you turn into Mr.Frigid and totally shut me out, that is, unless you wanna count the times you had sex with me. That lasted for two weeks and now you’re here, actually saying a few words to me, but for some reason you don’t want to sleep with me. And right now, at this very moment, you’re being a complete asshole. So now tell me you don’t have a problem.”

Spike was furious. “I should smack you for speakin' to me like that, Slave.”

Buffy didn’t flinch at his murderous gaze or harsh words. She only locked hazel with blue as she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Can you just please tell me. I’m so confused. I just don’t know what to think anymore,” she said, lowering her eyes.

“I’m so lonely. God, I would welcome a beating if it meant you’d just speak to me. I can’t take being cooped up here, in the dark, all alone without you even talking to me. Spike, please talk to me.” She hadn’t meant to say those exact words, to voice feelings she didn’t even know she had buried deep down inside, until her mouth had started to move.

Upon hearing her desperate plea, Spike released a long breath. “Buffy…I…I can’t really tell you what’s wrong, when I don’t even know m'self.”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Things haven’t been the same since you showed up. Been havin’ these strange feelings that no right minded vampire should ever have. When I was hurtin’ you, I felt bad, which is complete rubbish, cos I shouldn’t have. And then, when...I tried to...when I...God I can’t do this!” Spike pulled away from her touch, getting up to find another bottle, since his was now apparently empty. Yanking out the cork, he drank down the vintage port that he had found in his liquor crate.

“Spike…” Buffy called out, hopping he would return to the spot next to her.

“I’m not discussin’ it anymore, pet. So sod off,” he responded, moving a little in the direction of where she was sitting.

Grabbing the empty bottle from the couch, Spike flung it against the far wall, shattering it to pieces. “Leave me the bloody well alone!”

“So I’m the problem?” Buffy asked, upset by the sheer audacity of his remark. “I’m the reason why you’re being so fucking hot and cold? Hasn’t been the same since your lackeys brought me here, has it? Well guess what, MASTER? I didn’t fucking ask to be captured and I sure as hell never asked to be your little sex slave! If your gonna have issues, at least realize it’s your own fucking fault. You should just kill me if I’m such a frickin’ inconvenience!”

“Cos I think I’m in love with you,” Spike said in a barely audible whisper.

Buffy froze, noticing that she was suddenly standing in front of him, blanket tightly wrapped around her, unable to make her vocal chords work. “You love me?” she croaked out, totally shocked. “How?”

“Love’s got nothin’ to do with how long you’ve known a person, pet. ‘S about truly knowing someone. Knowin' their passions, their desires, their strengths, their weaknesses. From the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you. But I never knew how much of you I actually wanted. Wasn’t until that night, when I held you, after the first time I touched my mark on your neck that I knew I wanted more than just your body,” he explained, his voice low and vulnerable.

“It’s not that. I just don’t think you know what you’re saying. How could you possibly love me, when you treat me the way you do? How could you use and humiliate someone you claim to love? No. It's not love. Lust or an infatuation maybe, but it’s not love. You might think it’s love, but it’s not. It can’t be,” Buffy stated.

“You think I haven’t tried. Do you know how bloody fucked up it is for me to love you? These feelings I’ve been havin'; the guilt, the longing, the unnecessary worry and the all consumin' joy that burn inside of me whenever I’m bloody well around you. I can’t stop thinkin' 'bout you. All day long I dwell on every single word, every single gesture, every single touch exchanged between us. I’m drownin' in you Buffy.”

“That’s why I haven’t said bugger all to you since you wouldn’t let me kiss you. It hurt and I didn’t know why. Those two weeks I also spent alone, just as alone as you, refusin' to talk to anyone. The only person I saw was you because I needed to touch you, Buffy, needed to get lost in you. Because when I’m with you, I feel whole.”

“So then what made today a non-physical one?” Buffy asked, still trying to grasp the fact that Spike had just declared his undying love for her.

“Today, my Clan confronted me. Well actually, just the Trio. They told me that the Clan was growin’ restless and that my behavior was creatin’ problems. Said I had to get out of whatever rut I was in and start actin’ like the leader ‘m ‘spose to be," Spike explained, obviosuly unmoved by their threats.

"They knew what was wrong with me, hell Tash had known before I even did. Told me that the Clan wouldn’t support me if I openly loved you. They wouldn't accept you as anything other than my slave; it’d make you my equal and no one would allow that. Doesn’t help that I’m a Master vampire either,” Spike paused to take a big gulp from the half empty bottle of wine before he continued. “So under no uncertain terms, they threatened basic mutiny if I ever elevated your position above that of Slavegirl.”

“You lost your clan?” Buffy asked, the rock that seemed to have materialized in her stomach was now pushing against her heart.

“Didn’t lose it. Came close to it though. I still hold the title and respect of Master vampire of this god forsaken hellmouth.”

“I think I might have to take you up on that drink,” Buffy said, honestly not trying to be funny.

Spike smirked, closing the distance between them as he handed her the bottle. Buffy snatched it and took a swig, making faces as she swallowed the wine. Passing it back to him, she stepped back, finding a comfortable distance from him.

“Spike, I don’t understand. For the majority of the time, you treat me so badly. And now you’re telling me you nearly gave it all up, for me? It’s so out of sync with everything else you’ve done. I don’t know how to feel,” Buffy revealed, slinking down back onto the couch, blanket still tight around her shoulders.

“You go all revealy with your love, nearly loosing everything you’ve worked for in the process, and without even so much as knowing if I would feel the same way? That was either really arrogant, really stupid or really romantic,” Buffy said, pausing as she reflected on everything she had been told. “I don’t know what you expect from me. I don’t know you, don’t trust you enough to love you, Spike. I need time and I need you to stop with the dominance and the slavery crap. I need my freedom back. God, if you really loved me you’d let me go.”

Spike’s only response was a shake of his head. He hadn’t expected her to open up and he appreciated her honesty, but he couldn’t let her go. If he did, he knew he’d never see her again. “Better go off to bed, luv. Need to sleep on a lot tonight.”

“Where you gonna be?” she asked, upset at the fact that she knew he would never willingly let her go.

“I’ve been alone enough these past weeks. Emotionally distraught vampire is better than being all by myself,” Buffy replied as she made her way back to the couch, with Spike sitting next to her seconds later.

They watched the television in silence, neither one of them actually paying attention to what exactly they were watching. Buffy eventually drifted off to sleep, half-sitting half-reclining against one end of the couch, as physically far from Spike as possible. Spike hesitantly pulled her blanket up to her chin. When she didn’t flinch, Spike smiled and settled into the other end, eyes focused on the T.V., occasionally flicking back to a misleadingly peaceful Buffy.

Warning: Earlier chapters contain BDSM and sex that's on the verge of non-consentual.

She was running as hard and as fast as she could, but it didn’t get her anywhere; it was like sprinting underwater. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew something was after her. Every time she looked back all she saw was darkness, which only made her try harder. Frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t speed up, she could feel the gnawing fear about to fully consume her. All Buffy could do was keep trying, even though the thing wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t cease in its pursuit.

Spike stirred, pulled out of unconsciousness by a scream. Looking around, he realized he was on the couch, remote still in hand. Turning in the direction of the scream, he saw Buffy writhing and whimpering in her sleep.

Deaf to him, she continued to thrash, her beautiful face distorting in fear and pain. Spike reached over to her, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. “Buffy, wake up luv.”

Her eyes suddenly shot open, tears instantly spilling down her cheeks. Shooting up, she latched onto him, her small arms tight around his torso, her wet face buried in the crook of his neck. Her little body rocked with sobs, pulling Spike out of the initial shock of having her so close to him, making him protectively wrap his arms around her. With soothing strokes and hushed words, he managed to help her stop crying.

“Was just your typical can’t-get-away-from-something-you-can’t-even-see kind of nightmare,” she explained, sniffling between her words.

She only nodded into his chest, not wanting to let go. If she closed her eyes and tried really hard, she could pretend Spike wasn’t an evil vampire and that he was just a man who was apparently in love with her. It was a nice fantasy, but short lived when she could no longer ignore how cold and still his chest was. Pulling away, she settled back against the couch’s armrest, arms wrapped around her trembling body. Looking up at Spike, she noticed the pain plastered on his face. “Sorry for getting all grabby,” Buffy said, knowing the intimate moment they had just shared must have affected Spike in some way.

Buffy, who was still reeling from her nightmare, couldn’t believe she was actually looking at a bashful Spike. It scared her how she could now plainly see the love in his eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Realizing that she had stopped shaking, Buffy allowed herself to relax. “Spike?”

“Yeah, luv?” he answered, looking at her as though he was readying himself for more rejection.

Buffy didn’t respond, she just slowly crawled toward him and settled against his side. Dumbstruck, Spike leaned back, allowing her some space next to him on the couch. With most of her body melded to his side, Buffy placed her head on his shoulder.

“Pet?” he asked, remaining completely still for fear that any sudden movements would scare her away.

“Just distract me for a while,” she replied, rationalizing her actions to not only Spike but to herself as well.

“With what?” Spike asked, slowly becoming less tense as she languidly stroked his arm.

“I don’t know. Maybe tell me about who you were before you became a vampire.”

“I dunno. I guess I wanna know the guy behind the vampire. You know, like why one minute you can be the meanest jerk on the planet, and then the next minute, you’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met? Maybe if I find out about William, I might start to understand something about Spike.”

If his heart could beat, it would have broken through his chest. “Umm…I…there’s…well…umm…where d’you want me to start?” he asked, adorably flustered.

“At the beginning, I guess. Where were you born?” she asked innocently, playing with the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Died when I was three. He was a barrister, decent man and he did a lot for average folks in London. So I was told, anyway. Was stabbed to death on his way home from work,” he said the last part in a barely audible whisper.

“I’m so sorry,” Buffy said as she gazed up at him with the utmost sincerity.

Spike shrugged, trying to hide how her kindness was making him feel. “Never really met the man, but thanks anyway.”

Buffy suddenly noticed the pained look on his face and quickly changed the topic. “I just live with my mom too.”

“My parents split up and like every stereotypical divorce scenario; I ended up with my mom.”

“It was, and it got worse before it got better. After a while, dad just stopped caring. We barely got birthday cards. I think it was harder on Dawn since she was the baby. She would always stick up for him whenever I’d make a comment about his absentee parenting.”

“Naw…well sometimes, but we usually get along. She’s a pretty decent kid.”

At first she didn’t know why he was asking her that until she brought her hand to her face and felt sparse tears. Sniffling, she answered, “Yeah, I guess I just miss them.”

The feeling of guilt resurfaced in Spike, suddenly needing to veer the conversation away from things that might be painful for her. But before he could say anything, she did it for him. “So, what did you like?”

“Yeah. Father’s inheritance got me the best education London could offer.”

“Oxford! Wow! Oxford? Are you kidding? You must have been a genius. What happened?” she joked, giggling.

“Funny.” But he couldn’t care less if she had called him a spineless jellyfish. Hearing her laugh was like music for his nonexistent soul and he was just about ready to do anything to hear it again.

“What did you study?” she asked, with a new found respect for her vampire captor.

“Everyone figured I’d just go and study law, like me pops. But it didn’t suit me.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me if I tell you,” Spike said, turning his head away from her inquisitive looks.

Turning back to look at her, searching her face for anything but unadulterated honesty, he sighed and told her. “Literature.”

“I’m just surprised. Ya know, I was actually considering having a minor in classical literature,” she explained, giving him a meek smile.

“Most don’t. I like reading though, when it’s interesting. What do you like to read?” Buffy asked, already knowing the answer.

“Read me some,” Buffy timidly asked as she buried her face into his shoulder.

God help him if she resorted to begging because he just might explode from sheer joy at all her unexpected niceties. “There’s one that sticks out.”

He felt Buffy settle against him, getting comfortable. When she stilled, he began.

Uttering his last word, he gazed down to look at his newfound love. Her even breathing and calm heart rate told him she was peacefully sleeping. So much had happened today, that he was still a little unsure if it all wasn’t just a dream. He had nearly lost everything he had worked for concerning his Clan but he could care less. Buffy was all that mattered. After he had told her his feelings, she had considered them seriously. She hadn’t laughed in his face, but instead, after the shock had worn off, told him she needed time. And now, here she was, actually reaching out to him. The hope he had that she might some day reciprocate his feelings was growing. He couldn’t let himself mess things, he just couldn’t.

The slamming of a door and the mutterings of an infuriated vampire woke Buffy from her dreamless sleep. She groaned and rolled over into the empty space next to her, realizing Spike must have carried her to bed after she had fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to see Spike staring at her with a regretful expression on his face. “Sorry, luv. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said sheepishly.

Buffy smiled at how cute he was being. She still couldn’t believe how emotionally complicated Spike was, especially with his newly proclaimed love for her. “That’s okay. I needed to get up anyway,” she told him, noticing how much more nervous he seemed around her. “So what was with all the yelling?” Buffy asked, hoping casual conversation would ease the tension.

“The lug head said a few things about you that I didn’t much care for,” Spike explained.

“Oh,” Buffy bashfully stated. “Is this gonna make things worse for you?”

“Was just a fledge. Damon might stay mad for a few days but he’ll get over it; can always fix things with those three. It’ll only get worse if the whole lot of ‘em start formin’ opinions. That’s why I had to kill him; nip it in the butt,” Spike explained.

“Aren’t you worried that Natasha or Vincent or even Damon might turn everyone against you?” Buffy inquired.

“A little. Mostly because I’d have to kill ‘em. You see pet, even if my so called lieutenants make the whole rabble of ‘em mutiny, the minions won’t last a second without their leaders. ’S why I’m more worried about minions hell bent on a cause than ‘em mindlessly followin’ Damon.”

“Uh huh. Aren’t you being a little too sure of yourself? I mean, what makes you think you can just knock off any of your pals? They gotta be stronger than the average vamp to buddy up to the likes of you, right?” Buffy asked, getting up from bed.

“There’s a reason why I’m Master vamp, luv,” he stated, standing a bit taller and giving her a look that conveyed absolute power.

“So I’ve been told,” Buffy replied, quickly changing the topic. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Spike watched as she scurried off to the washroom. After shrugging off his duster, he jumped onto the couch with remote in hand, continuously changing channels. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Any more minions like Damon’s and he was going to have a major crisis on his hands. He needed to show all of them that Buffy was nothing more than just a plaything, even though he knew she was so much more. He needed to put it all to rest so that he could keep his clan and Buffy too. But how was he going to do that?

Spike started to slowly develop a plan as he idly flipped through mid-afternoon television. His mind went on pause when Buffy stepped out of the washroom, steam billowing around her towel clad body. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her until he noticed she was looking directly back at him. Breaking her gaze, Buffy went to the room’s only dresser and pulled out some clothes and made her way back to the washroom. She soon remerged, clad in blue jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Nice shower, luv?” Spike asked as Buffy made her way over towards the couch.

“Yeah,” she answered, still feeling a little funny after their stare-fest. She wondered if the awkwardness between them was going to be permanent.

“So I guess there isn’t anything I can do to help with your current quandary?” Buffy asked but not really sure why she did.

Spike was surprised by her offer. He knew she wanted nothing more than to be free of him, to be free from this prison he had created. But here she was, offering her help. Did it mean she was allowing herself to see that he really did truly love her? Was she starting to accept his love?

“There might be. But I dunno if it’s something you’d be willin’ to do,” Spike said.

“To the Bronze. If I publicly show everyone that you are my slave and nothing but my slave, they’ll accept and move on. We can end this stupidity by tonight, luv.”

Buffy suddenly grew agitated. “So you want me to go out with you to a club filled with vampires and play slavegirl? The same club your friends raided and kidnapped me from not even a month ago?” she asked.

Buffy nodded, seriously considering her options. Spike was never going to let her go. He claimed he loved her, and from what she had experienced last night with him, she was beginning to believe that it might be true. Emotionally speaking, Spike might be more than the average vamp but when it came down to it, that’s what he still was –a killer. His moral compass was completely disoriented from years of guiltless killing and god knows what else. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to overlook that even if he truly did love her.

Buffy also knew that since Spike was never gonna let her go, she was trapped. If a revolt did occur, she wouldn’t survive. She would be a prize awarded to the victor. And an emotionally confused Spike was a lesser evil than whatever else lurked downstairs. She really had no choice. If she could help Spike get everyone off his back and bring stability back to this messed up vampire clan, she would. As long as Spike was around, Buffy still had a chance. But the mere thought of going back to the club scared her to death. God, she must be nuts because she was actually going to go along with it!

Astonished for the second time that day, Spike allowed her words to sink in. Taking in an unnecessary breath, he began to explain what needed to be done. “This is how it’s gonna be, pet. I know you don’t want me treatin’ you like how I did before, but if we want to make this believable, you’re gonna have to make an Oscar worthy performance. I’m talkin’ full and total submission or nobody’s gonna buy it.”

“Fine. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. And you better not push me anymore than you have to,” Buffy warned, knowing that if Spike ever wanted her to consider his feelings, he couldn’t blow this.

“Well, you’ll have to follow my every order and never look directly into my eyes or any other vampire’s for that matter. You’ll have to sit at my feet when I tell you to and…” Spike started to explain, but soon trailing off, unsure how to continue.

“What! You’re kidding, right?” she asked bewildered, looking up into his face to see that he wasn’t anything short of serious. “You’re not kidding.” Buffy shrugged. “I guess if the occasion calls for it, but don’t be getting any ideas,” she warned, pointing her finger at him.

“There’s also the issue of wardrobe, pet,” Spike brought up, dreading what he was about to ask.

“Well, everyone expects that I’m keeping you around for certain reasons. And if we don’t make that obvious, then they gonna start thinkin’ there’s more goin’ on,” he told her, avoiding looking straight at her.

“So basically, if I don’t look like a sex slave, nobody’s gonna believe I’m one?” she reiterated his logic.

“I’m not wearing any golden bikinis,” she declared, getting up and walking toward the bed. She knelt down, pulled a plastic bag from under it and brought it over to Spike. “I guess that’s what these are for,” she commented, opening the bag full of kinky clothes that Spike had asked Natasha to get for her.

Spike gulped and nodded as he eyed the corsets, fishnets and black hooker boots in the large bag.

“What time are we leaving tonight?” Buffy asked, closing the bag and bringing back Spike’s attention to the issue at hand.

“When it gets dark,” Spike responded, mentally kicking himself for acting like a horny teenager.

“I better go get ready,” Buffy stated, making her way to the washroom with bag still in hand.

When Spike heard the bathroom door close behind her, he groaned loudly. Ignoring his rock hard erection, Spike grudgingly searched for the leash while Buffy got ready for their big night out.

After two long hours of struggling with the binding clothing and scrutinizing over her hair and makeup, Buffy emerged from the washroom. Spike nearly tripped over his own two feet when he caught sight of her. She was wearing a red corset that was covered entirely in black lace, which pushed her breasts up and gave any onlookers a good eyeful. Her strong thighs were covered in a black leather miniskirt and her long legs were sporting black fishnet stockings. The outfit was topped off with the pair of knee-high black hooker boots Spike had noticed earlier in her bag of tricks.

Her face was painted with heavy make up. Her eyes were smokey, rimmed in black eyeliner, and her lips were painted blood red. Her hair was brushed up neatly in a high ponytail without a single straying strand. She looked amazing. And if Spike didn’t do something soon, he was sure he was going to burst.

“So, do I pass the test for sleazy ho bag sex slave?” Buffy asked, cocking her hip.

Spike inwardly moaned as he held his hand out to her. Buffy peeked at it and realized he was handing her the leash. She took it and secured it around her neck, allowing the attached silver chain to dangle down her front. Going back into the washroom, Buffy gazed into the mirror. “I think the spikes on the collar are definitely the finishing touch,” she giggled.

Spike liked seeing her like this; confident, happy, wearing lace and leather. Keeping his eyes on her, an idea popped into his head. Abruptly turning back into the room, Spike strolled quickly over to the far wall next to the room’s main door. Kneeling down, he removed a section of base board and pulled out a red velvet bag. Getting back up, he felt Buffy’s close presence.

Turning around to face her, Spike undid the cords of the pouch. “Hold out your hand,” he ordered.

Buffy opened her hand palm up. It was a slight show of trust on her part which he fully noted. Turning the pouch upside down, Spike allowed its contents to spill into Buffy’s awaiting hand. “My necklace,” Buffy said, bringing the silver chain and cross to her breast. “Why are you giving this back?”

“Cos it’s not mine,” Spike simply stated. “Plus, it’s a little incentive for those wankers to keep their greedy little mitts off ‘f you.”

Buffy clasped the chain around her neck, adjusting it so that it was in plain view and not obstructed by the leash and collar. With the outfit complete, Spike gave Buffy his trademark smirk, “Let’s get going, luv.” Almost as though it had materialized out of the thin air, Spike placed a black hooded cloak around Buffy’s shoulders. “It’s cold out,” he explained. Drawing the cloak tighter around herself, Buffy nodded in gratitude.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Spike’s hand cup her face, pulling her gaze up into his own. “Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I don’t mean it. ‘Preciate what you’re doin’ for me, luv.”

With that said, and without waiting for Buffy’s response, Spike turned on his heel, the chain of her leash wrapped tightly around his other hand, and walked out the room’s only exit, with his slave not too far behind. What he had failed to notice was that one of the sparse chairs in the room was strangely missing one of its legs.

The trip out had been rather uneventful which was expected seeing as how the house was completely deserted. The same could have been said for the rest of the neighborhood as they quietly made their way down the streets of Sunnydale. It was a part of town that Buffy had avoided, even during the day, before her capture. The Bronze was on the borderline between the safe and not so safe part of town. It explained why the raid had occurred that fateful night.

When they neared the club, Spike pulled Buffy closer to him. “Better keep your eyes to the ground, pet,” he whispered. Buffy quickly dipped her head low, keeping it bowed.

As they neared the front doors, Spike held out the leash, making it more visible to anyone watching. “Move it, Slave,” he ordered, tugging on the chain. Buffy allowed herself to be pulled, even staggering a little to make it seem like his treatment of her was slightly rougher than it actually was.

Walking up to the two vamps posted at the door, Spike vamped out and growled. The two instantly fumbled out of the way and bowed to show the respect that was due to their leader. Spike shoved the doors wide open, and swaggered in, dragging Buffy along with him. She kept close to him once they entered the club, keeping her gaze to the floor, too petrified to look anywhere else. She could here the growls and curses coming from all around her. There was loud, angry heavy metal music playing over the speakers and the air was filled with cigarette smoke. She knew just from looking at the floor that the Bronze had changed drastically since the last time she had been there.

Spike stopped when he reached his makeshift throne, happy to find it vacant. Buffy was careful not to bump into him. She hid her hands beneath her cloak, since they were starting to shake, and waited for instructions.

“Sit,” Spike ordered as he reclined on his big high-back leather chair. Buffy instantly settled at his feet, always keeping her eyes to the floor. Spike reached down and started to pull off her cloak, leaving her a little more exposed to the room full of vampires. If she could have lifted her eyes to the room, she would have noticed that most, if not all of the vampires in the room were salivating at the mouth, some from more than just mere appetite. As Spike pulled his hand away from Buffy, he allowed his thumb to brush against his mark, in the hopes it would calm her. Luckily for her it did, making the tension gradually flow out of her body.

Keeping his grip tight on the leach, Spike glanced around the room, noticing that everyone was looking their way but not a single vampire dared to make eye contact. He took it as a good sign.

“You got a lot of nerve bringing her here,” a quiet but confident voice spoke behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Spike saw Damon come up to sit in one of the seats by his left side. Leaning in towards him, Spike calmly said back, “And you must be yearnin’ for a Redwood through the chest.” There was no humor in his statement. “Don’t really care if you believe it, mate. So long as the mob does,” Spike countered.

Buffy already didn’t like Damon. From what she could hear, he was an asshole. If she was a leader she would have gotten rid of him a long time ago. He was too defiant and way too arrogant. She also wasn’t completely convinced that he wasn’t a threat to Spike.

“So took the pet out for a walk?” a different voice called from Spike’s right.

Oddly enough, Buffy was grateful for the elder vampire’s sudden appearance. He seemed to have buffered out the tension Damon had created, which even a person staring at the floor could sense. Vincent was without a doubt English, like Spike, but his accent was more refined, upper class even. And he didn’t speak with any airs of superiority or bouts of insolence like Damon. There was just something about him that seemed like he’d stay loyal to Spike even until the end.

Buffy tensed up at his words. She knew that the room was filled with vampires. But it hadn’t really hit her yet what that meant. Suddenly, she was noticing sounds that she hadn’t picked up on when she had first entered the Bronze. There were moans and whimpers accompanied by growls and even a few screams. Buffy assumed that like her there were other humans at the club. But unlike her, they weren’t gonna leave alive. Her blood ran cold at the idea that people were being used like cattle all around her and that there was nothing she could do about it. She just wanted this night to end.

The music suddenly changed, gone were the harsh notes and screams that were associated with heavy metal, replaced with instead by the loud strong beats of techno. Buffy, though her eyes were still lowered, could sense a shift in the room. She assumed that everyone was moving to the dance floor.

Since his makeshift throne faced the stage, Spike was able to see the large mob rush the floor once the music changed. Stomachs now full and bodies warm with stolen blood, the crowd moved, gyrated and grinded to the erratic beats. The spectacle before him exuded raw sexuality and the stench of their arousal soon filled the air to the point of suffocation. Like a domino affect, one triggered the other and soon Spike found himself falling victim to it as well. He looked at either side of him and noticed that his second-in-commands had disappeared, most likely in search of something to fuck. Spike glanced down at Buffy, who was unaware as to what was happening around her. The way she was dressed, her absolute compliancy and the fact that he was chocking on everyone else’s arousal was driving him insane. The desperation for release was consuming his every thought.

Spike reached down and wrapped his hand around Buffy’s upper arm, lifting her up off the floor. Shaken at first by his unexpected actions, Buffy eventually rose to her feet and allowed Spike to guide her onto his lap. He pulled her as close to him as she could get, making her ass push against his erection. Spike groaned not only from the contact but from the little gasp that escaped Buffy’s lips. Trying to keep his composure, Spike leaned into her and whispered into her ear. “Just relax, pet.” He brushed his mark with his thumb, causing a shiver to run through her. He continued to rub the bite mark, circling it with feather light caresses. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he huskily whispered in her ear as he stimulated her flesh.

Buffy was no longer able to control her actions. His touches were sending shocks straight to her womb, making her panties drenched. She writhed in his lap, trying to get the much needed friction between her legs. Spike groaned louder as she moved against his hardened cock. “Make me so weak,” he whispered so quietly that even he barely heard it.

Spike took his hand away from Buffy’s neck, which caused her to whimper from the loss, but soon replaced it with his lips. Buffy squeaked as his mouth kissed, nipped and sucked on her already sensitive wound. At that moment Buffy dared to look up and what she saw shocked her. She had expected everyone to be staring at them but instead she found that they were all too preoccupied with satisfying their own needs. Buffy couldn’t believe how here she was, writhing in Spike’s lap before a whole group of on-the-verge-of-fucking vampires. She turned her gaze to the far corner of the room. Oops! Make those actually-fucking vampires. Strangely, the idea of being with Spike in front of so many people made Buffy feel so liberated. She found herself getting off on the danger of it.

Feeling a little braver, Buffy reached a small hand behind her and began to stroke Spike’s denim clad erection. The moment her hot hand touched him, Spike’s hips bucked and he growled into her neck. Her bold move made Spike intensify his ministrations until Buffy was on the cusp of orgasm with a nearly black hickey. He deliberately pulled away before she could come. Spike had stopped in hopes of enticing her to do more, to simply act without any inhibitions, but what he got was not what he had unexpected.

Buffy didn’t know what came over her. It was as though all rational thought and logic had just flown out of her head. The orgasm Spike had been building up threatened to be explosive, and not being in the right frame of mind at the moment, she was willing to do anything to just come. Spinning in his lap, Buffy straddled him and started to grind her soaking sex against his hard cock. The friction wasn’t enough and soon she found herself frantically unzipping his jeans and pulling him out. Stroking him a few times for good measure, she pushed her thong out of the way and impaled herself on his cock. Feeling his cool member fill and stretch her, Buffy developed a newfound appreciation for thigh high stockings.

Spike’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he entered Buffy’s searing hot velvet quim. He hadn’t fucked her since he had told her he loved her, and God, how he had missed it. She rode him slowly, bringing herself back close to fulfillment. When Spike couldn’t take it any longer, he began to thrust his hips in time with hers. Both were soon on the edge, both waiting for that one thing to drive them over.

It was Spike who finally acted. Grasping her head roughly, he brought the unmarred side of her neck to his mouth. Vamping out, he sunk his fangs in her neck, drinking down the warm blood that flooded his mouth. The moment he pierced her kin, Buffy’s orgasm ripped through her, making her inner muscles pulse around Spike’s cock. Holding out for a few seconds, Spike soon followed, pulling away from her neck and screaming out her name in release. Slowly sliding out of her, Spike lifted her limp body and cradled her against his side, allowing her head to lazily nestle onto his shoulder. Her warm breath tickled his skin as she exhaled heavily, still reeling from the mind shattering sex they had just had.

They both looked around and saw that the mayhem still hadn’t died down and that no one was paying them any attention. Deciding he had made his point, Spike whispered, “Time to go, luv.”

Buffy simply nodded and slowly slid off his lap. Spike draped the cloak back over Buffy and started to lead her toward the front exit. With downcast eyes, she allowed Spike to lead her through the apathetic crowd, her mind beginning to wander.

She wasn’t sure if having sex with Spike had been such a great idea. Buffy knew he had initiated it, getting her all hot and bothered, yet surprisingly, she wasn’t angry at him for it. Deep down, when she had first agreed to help him with his crazy plan, she had a feeling she was going to end up sleeping with him before the night was through. She just hadn’t expected it to happen in front of a crowd. Yet, when all was said and done, she had jumped him and had wanted it just as badly as he did. She could play it off as it being all an act for the masses, but she knew better. She worried that he might interpret it as more than just sex. To be honest, Buffy wasn’t sure herself what it had meant.

When Spike had told her he loved her, she had been adamant about not being able to love him back. She had convinced herself that he didn’t know what love was and that he was nothing more than a cold blooded killer. And here she was, helping him keep his title as leader of his clan by screwing his brains out in front of a room full of vampires. Buffy knew she was throwing him mixed signals, but she hadn’t meant to. So much had happened with Spike in the past few days to make it all so much more complicated between them.

Unfortunately for Buffy, she didn’t see the minion until it was too late. Colliding into him, Buffy accidentally looked up at him from the unexpected bump. The vampire appeared infuriated, and not really noticing she was tethered to Spike, grabbed her roughly. “You dare look at me!” the game faced vampire spat in her face, making Buffy instantly cower and bow her head. When he didn’t let go of her, Buffy struggled to get out of his grasp, causing the chain around her neck to swing wildly. When the silver cross hit his hand, hissing as it burned, all hell broke loose.

Feeling Buffy’s sudden halt, Spike turned to see his girl get smacked to the ground by some meat-headed fledgling. All he saw was red as he raced over to them, ready to rip the vampire to pieces. He knew the minion was another one of Damon’s but he didn’t give a fuck. No one touched what was his.

The vamp stood over a fallen Buffy, readying himself to strike her again as venomous words spilled from his fanged mouth. “Stupid bitch! Maybe this will teach you a fucking lesson!”

As he went to make his move, Spike flew between the vampire and a cowering Buffy, his death grip somehow finding its way around the minion’s neck. “Better step off, mate. She doesn’t belong to you,” Spike stated rather calmly, surprising everyone around him.

Spike could hear Damon’s threat from within the crowd of onlookers that now surrounded them, but he didn’t give it a second thought. If anything his grip only tightened, threatening to snap the vamps head right off his neck.

It was only when he heard Buffy whimper that he realized they needed to get out of the club before everything they had accomplished that night had been for naught. Throwing the vampire to the floor, Spike called out to Buffy. “Let’s go,” he ordered. It killed him that he couldn’t go over to her and scoop her up into his arms. But if he showed any sign of emotion toward the girl, things no doubt would have only become worse.

Buffy shakily got herself to sit up, trying desperately to get up as quick as possible. To Spike it was all too reminiscent of the first night she had been brought to him. He waited patiently, face devoid of any emotion until Buffy finally stood up on trembling legs, head bowed and ready to follow her Master.

As they turned to leave, Damon’s minion slowly rose up, staggering to get his bearings, and locked onto Spike’s back with a murderous glare. Ready to retaliate, the vamp sprang into attack, lunging toward a vulnerable Spike. However, to get to him, he had to push past Buffy. Nearly knocking her down as he flew by, the vamp halted when he felt that something was off. Peering over his shoulder, he saw Buffy holding a stake that was embedded in his back.

The room was dead silent; all amber eyes were glued to the girl who had just slain one of their own.

Some vampire’s lone remark, though brief, was a good representation of what was going through minds of everyone else in the room.

Spike, who had been none the wiser, turned to see Buffy with dust at her feet and with stake in hand. She was staring at it as though she couldn’t believe she had just actually dusted a vampire. Her eyes were just as wide as of those around her, the shock and amazement at the power she wielded with a simple piece of wood gradually sinking in. Spike watched as her expression changed from bewildered to self-contentment, almost to the point of pride in what she had just done. Buffy, slightly bolder, glanced around, gazing right into the eyes of other vampires, at times actually making a few fledglings take a few steps back.

Spike didn’t know what to do. He knew it could get ugly if he didn’t approach it the right way. If it were really up to him, he’d just stay exactly where he was and admire Buffy. There she stood, defiant in all her glory. Her chin was up with her cloak thrown behind her shoulders, exposing her supple body to the crowd. It was almost as though she was begging for someone else to take her on. God, he loved this woman.

“Can’t just let anyone touch what’s mine,” Spike stated loudly, making sure everyone heard him. “If any of you lays a hand on her and survives, you’ll have me to contend with!”

With that said, Spike turned on his heel, pulling Buffy, who had reverted back to her meek head bowed stance, along with him. Everyone silently watched the duo leave, all with a new found respect for their leader and his feisty slave girl.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?!?!” Spike shouted, slamming the door once they had entered the room. His jaw tensed and twitched as he gazed down at her, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to maintain some sort of composure. But to her credit Buffy remained unfazed by his anger, her eyes meeting his own, refusing to be intimidated.

Buffy didn’t really know what had come over her that night. The now infamous stake that she had constructed out of a broken chair leg was still in her hand. Weeks before, when Spike had left her to her own devices, she had made it. Left with nothing but her fear and paranoia, she had made it for the moment when she was to escape. And as Spike appeared to be less and less interested in her, she had figured it important to have something to protect herself with when the day came that he wouldn’t return and she’d be left with a house full of bloodthirsty vampires. She had brought it with her to the Bronze for her own protection, but she hadn’t thought she was actually going to use it.

All she knew was that something inside of her had snapped when she saw that vampire about to attack Spike. It had all been instinct; her brain didn’t even have time to process what was happening.

But why? Why would she endanger herself for Spike, especially since he had made her life for the past month a living hell? Even if he hadn’t expected it, Spike could have taken on that vampire all on his own. So what had compelled her to stake that vamp? She knew that if in the off chance Spike got killed, she would be done for. Technically, and ironically, Spike was her only lifeline. With him gone, she could kiss this mortal coil goodbye. Maybe that was what had made her pull that stake out from under her cloak. She couldn’t ignore the nagging thought at the back of her mind, the one that was considering that she had done what she did from genuine concern about Spike’s wellbeing.

So what did that mean? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that Spike couldn’t know the truth. He couldn’t find out that she had done it for him. He had to think she had dusted that fledge out of anger and not out of the fear that she would never see his stupid smug face again.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Buffy removed her cloak, briefly breaking eye contact with Spike, who still seemed like he was going to burst a vessel. “Yeah, I do,” she stated calmly. “I just spent my night helping you reclaim you Leader of the Pack status.”

She watched as he relaxed at her response. “And I’m grateful. Really, luv, I am. But you know there’s gonna be some hell to pay for what you did,” Spike replied, easing out if his duster.

Spike turned from placing his leather coat on his chair to find Buffy with a self-deprecating look etched on her face. He knew ranting at her wasn’t fair. He was actually angrier at himself for letting things get so out of control. “Oh well, sod it! Guess ya made things kinda interestin’,” Spike admitted, smirking at her.

“So, I didn’t completely screw everything up?” Buffy asked, hopeful her little performance as ‘slave-girl’ hadn’t been completely pointless.

“Actually, luv, ‘m thinkin’ vamps ‘round here are gonna start mindin’ what they say ‘bout you,” Spike commented, sitting down on the bed’s edge.

“Why? Cuz I killed one of them?” Buffy asked, still not completely convinced.

“You’d be surprised what kind of power that holds. It’s no joke when the hunters become the hunted, pet,” Spike rebutted.

“So, let me get this straight,” she paused as she collected her thoughts. “I might have actually helped you out by staking that vamp?” Buffy inquired, slightly bewildered.

“Possibly. Hopefully Damon won’t make too much of it. But other than him, yeah, all the minions know not to mess with me or what’s mine.”

Buffy contemplated while she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Once she seemed to have finally accepted what he was telling her, her eyes narrowed in irritation. “So, what the hell were you getting all mad about?”

“Dunno. Felt like the moment called for it,” Spike shrugged, knowing that his hollering had been more reflex than based on actual anger.

“Huh,” Buffy replied, clearly unimpressed. “I’m gonna go and get out of these clothes.”

Spike groaned loudly when he heard the bathroom door close behind Buffy. As excruciating as it was just to see her in those clothes, the idea of her slipping out of them was a million times worse.

Since the whole staking incident, Spike hadn’t had much time to reflect on the past night’s events. Namely the mind blowing shag he had had with Buffy in front of a crowd of lust crazed vampires. God, it had been one of the most erotic experiences he’d had in the longest time. Marking her as his for all to see; claiming her, figuratively speaking anyway, in front of everyone. And as surprising as it was, he had sensed that she had enjoyed it as well.

He knew the only reason she jumped him was because he had been playing with his mark on her neck. She wouldn’t have otherwise. ‘She probably regrets it,’ he reflected, knowing she didn’t feel the same way about him.

‘'Probly blew my chances.’ It hadn’t occurred to him until now that fucking Buffy was most likely gonna make her despise him again. All the progress they had made, opening up to one another and possibly becoming friends, was shot to hell. Who was he kidding? They’d never be friends.

Finding himself in a sour disposition, Spike just wanted to get the hell out of the room. He needed to give himself some time away from Buffy and all the unnatural emotions she managed to bring out of him.

Sliding off the bed, Spike made his way to retrieve his duster when Buffy suddenly emerged from the bathroom. Decked in a tank top and pajama bottoms, face scrubbed and hair loosely tied back at the nape of her neck, she had never looked more beautiful. The urge to flee vanished when he finally noticed the bruises on Buffy’s cheek.

“You can thank Mr. Dusty for that,” Buffy quipped, a little thrown at Spike’s concern.

Taking her chin gently in his hand, he slowly turned her head from side to side, inspecting her injuries. ‘She must be gettin’ tired of this,’ he thought. ‘Always bein’ hurt; it always bein’ my fault.’

Stroking her cheek lightly, he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll get some ice for that.” Making his way to the room’s small fridge, he pulled out an icepack from the tiny freezer compartment. Wrapping it up in a shirt he found on the bed, he carefully placed it against her swelling face. Slowly guiding Buffy to the couch, Spike helped her get comfortable, throwing a blanket over her so the room’s constant chill wouldn’t affect her. All his hovering made Buffy brake out into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Spike asked, unsure what had brought on the unexpected giggle fest.

“I think you should change your name to Florence Nightingale,” she joked, trying to stifle a giggle.

“Is right that?” Spike asked, appearing not in the least bit amused but inwardly ecstatic that Buffy wasn’t angry at him for anything that had happened that night.

“Uh huh. I think you’d look cute in a nurse’s cap,” she added with a snort.

“Your sense of humor still eludes me, pet,” Spike replied, sitting down next to her. “Where’d you learn you could kill a vamp with a stake, luv?” he asked out of the blue.

Buffy sobered up at his question, knowing where the question was leading. “It’s like common knowledge, Spike. It’s in all those cheesy horror movies. You know, the ones with the castle and the angry mob with torches. My cross hurt you, so I figured the stake thing was probably true too.”

“So what you mean to say is that from your expert knowledge in bad horror cinema you deduced that stakes are weapon of choice against vamps?” he asked, receiving a nod in response. “And,” he continued. “That on your first try, you managed to stake a vamp in the exact right spot? Well that’s just impressive,” he said, unmistakably skeptical.

Slumping into the couch, Buffy cast her eyes to her lap where she began to fiddle with the drawstrings of her cotton pants. “I kinda practiced when you weren’t around much. Just in case I needed to protect myself,” she explained, still finding her clothing incredibly fascinating.

Buffy didn’t answer. Her refusal to even look him in the eye told him enough. “It was for me, wasn’t it?”

Buffy nodded. “It was before you told me that you…you know and you left me here all alone. I figured you’d just get bored with me and leave me,” Buffy shivered at the thought. “But, I gotta admit, things are different now.”

“There’s that,” Buffy admitted, a little uncomfortable at how easily he could say those three words to her. “But also because I don’t think you’d leave me. Call it love or possessiveness, but I don’t think you’d ever leave me.”

Spike gave her a confused look. ‘Of course I’d never leave you, you crazy bint.’ God he should leave her, run from her screaming like a madman for all the grief she’d caused him. But he couldn’t. He might play the role of Master vampire but it was Buffy who had him by the short hairs. He was completely and utterly love’s bitch.

“But the stake. You brought it tonight and kept it from me. Speaking of which, where the hell did you manage to hide it anyway?” he asked, not remembering feeling anything on her person during their coupling.

“I put it in my boot,” she explained. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you wigging out.”

Lowering the icepack from her face, making sure Spike clearly saw her cheek, Buffy calmly said, “You weren’t always there, Spike.”

The vampire flinched at her remark, knowing it was nothing but the truth. He had lowered his guard down for a second and by some stroke of bad luck, Buffy had managed to nearly get throttled by some pissant fledge.

“Plus,” Buffy added as she watched Spike’s countenance diminish. “If I hadn’t brought the stake, I wouldn’t have been able to dust the sorry asshole and make everyone afraid of me.”

“Guess you’re right,” Spike mumbled, still feeling like the world’s biggest pillock for nearly getting Buffy killed. Like many other things that had happened that night, it hadn’t hit him until now the severity of what could have occurred. Buffy could have died. He hated how he hadn’t even noticed Buffy’s face until a few minutes ago. He hated how he had almost shrugged off the whole incident and was just about to leave because she made him feel guilty. And he really hated how he couldn’t get the image of Buffy dead in his arms out of his head.

Placing the pack back on her face, Buffy watched as Spike retreated into himself, an upset expression marring his usually flawless features.

Reaching out, Buffy patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay. Still all in one piece here,” she smiled, hoping he wouldn’t get all broody.

Inhaling deeply, Spike nodded, put at ease by Buffy’s claim that she was alright. He only hoped that her optimism was grounded in fact, that everything was really going to be okay.

Vincent and Natasha, who were both lounging at the now empty Bronze, watched an infuriated Damon pace back and forth on the dance floor.

“I think it’s rather ingenious,” Vincent remarked. “Training her so that she’d protect herself; it scares the minions away.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You actually think he did this to protect his property? Didn’t any of you see his face when he saw what she did? It didn’t even look like he knew what was going on,” Damon countered.

“I don’t think Spike would be foolish enough to let the girl carry a weapon without being aware of it first,” Vincent commented.

“Well, I didn’t think Spike would be stupid enough to keep the fucking girl!” Damon growled.

“I kinda have to second that. Definitely wasn’t something I expected,” Natasha supported.

“He kills one of mine, lets his whore kill another and fucks her in front of all of us and then has the gall to expect me to just go along with it?” Damon vented, still pacing the wooden floor.

Vincent watched the younger vampire with a twinge of disgust. Damon, who was slightly younger than Spike, couldn’t understand how he, in such a small amount of time, had managed to stronghold the majority of Sunnydale. In Damon’s logic, Spike had nothing that he didn’t have. However, Vincent knew that wasn’t the case.

Where Damon would have to resort to violence, Spike would only require the use of a menacing glance to make another vampire submit. The minion that had dared to challenge their leader had been under Damon’s influence and brainwashing. His misguidance had proven quite lethal for the insubordinate fledgling. Yet, in most cases, one only had to watch Spike enter a room, and see how the crowd would part. There were only a few vampires that had that amount of power and Vincent could count them off on one hand. What Damon didn’t understand was that what Spike had had nothing to do with age, or strength, or even charm. It was an innate quality, one that couldn’t be taught by experience. It was all in the blood.

Everyone knew, but seemed quickly to forget, what line of vampires Spike heralded lineage from. He was after all technically the Master’s great great grand Childe and the Aurelian Order wasn’t anything but excellent at securing and using power. Damon was a fool to think he could ever take on Spike. Vincent, being at least two centuries older than his peroxide leader, knew that challenging Spike was futile, and more importantly, foolish. He was actually looking forward to seeing Damon fail miserably.

Vincent turned his attention back to Damon, who had stopped rambling, but who was still pacing angrily. Natasha on the other hand appeared indifferent, inspecting her nails as she reclined in her chair, acting very bored.

“We follow Spike like we always have. Nothing has changed,” Vincent answered.

“Are you blind?” Damon asked, infuriated. “Nothings changed? Everything has changed, old man. Not only is Spike making that bitch his number one priority, but soon he’ll be forcing us to call her ‘Mistress Buffy’.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Vincent remarked, beginning to get annoyed with Damon’s insolence.

“Just you wait and see. It’s only a matter of time before this whole clan is groveling at her feet,” Damon replied through gritted teeth. “And you’ll all be wishing I killed her when I had the chance.”

Emphasizing his point, Damon stormed out of the club, leaving behind Natasha and Vincent to ponder his statement.

“If he does, he’ll just end up dust in the wind,” Vincent replied, waving his hand in the air.

“Vincent, did you just make some obscure pop culture reference?” Natasha asked, feigning shock.

A/N: Thnx to everyone who’s been reviewing. To answer some of the questions I’ve been getting, I’d just like to say that Buffy is not and never will be a slayer in this fic. But just because she doesn’t have any supernatural powers doesn’t mean she can’t kick some vamp ass

The following week had progressed, to Spike’s relief and slight disappointment, without so much as a peep from any of his vamps. However, he did notice a healthy boost in fear emanating from his subjects. Hell, even Damon’s disobedient lot walked on eggshells around him, terrified he’d set Buffy loose on them. The act had worked and now Spike was back where he belonged, at the top with everyone else under his thumb.

As for his wonderful actress, she hadn’t left the room since their little excursion to the Bronze. The past week had passed in a simple routine, similar to the one Spike and Buffy had established before the vampire’s unexpected declaration of love. Spike would leave before dawn, only to return once evening hit, and where once he would have expected sex, this time around all he and Buffy did was talk. Their conversations had begun as barely intrusive discourses, but eventually evolved into meaningful exchanges about one another’s lives. After a couple of days, the duo seemed to have reached a turning point, walking a fine line between what you would normally permit the outside world to know and what you usually kept hidden away inside. That ambiguous boundary was finally crossed one fateful evening when Spike had returned tardier than usual.

“Hey, you’re late,” Buffy commented as she turned her attention away from the television.

“Keepin’ tabs on me now, are we pet?” Spike joked, flopping down beside her after getting out of his infamous leather duster.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she smiled, flipping through the channels.

“Know me all too well, luv,” he remarked, enjoying the level of comfort they had finally managed to establish with one another.

“‘Ask Anything’? That’s the best name you could come up with for our nightly chats, pet? Little lacking in originality, don’t you think?”

“And I think it sounds like a bad weekday morning game show,” Spike quipped.

“Okay, lemme think,” she said, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Oooo, I know. How long have you been head vamp of Sunnydale?” Buffy asked.

“You mean how long have I been Master?” he rephrased, receiving by an affirmative nod from Buffy. “I’d say about three years, give or take.”

“Not really. When I came to this two-bit town, the vamps here were completely scattered. Definitely lackin’ in any real type of leadership. ‘Probly couldn’t organize a tea party without gettin’ themselves dusted. Was why it was so easy for me to take over this godforsaken Hellmouth,” Spike explained.

“I guess,” Buffy responded. “So if this place is like vampire central, wouldn’t it need a leader? You can’t be telling me you’re the first one?”

“Well, there was the Master. Patriarch of my line, you know. Set up shop right here in Sunnydale and had a pretty good run. Rumor has it though that the ancient bugger bit the dust a few years back.”

“Pfft! A poofter named Angelus,” Spike stated, disgust evident in his words.

“Tragedy really. The man was a legend, a vampire that broke the mold, and one of the Biggest Bads to ever walk out onto the scene. Angelus was my guru, my bleedin’ Yoda.” Spike paused, reflecting on something he thought amusing, a sinister grin plastered on his face. It made Buffy suspect he wasn’t reminiscing about innocent boyhood pranks. Getting back on track, the vampire continued. “Then, he messes with the wrong gypsy, gets cursed with a soul and, as far as I know, is livin’ out the rest of his days feastin’ on an array of vermin in some dank dark alleyway.”

“He killed a gypsy and they put his soul back? Does that mean vampires don’t have souls?” Buffy asked. She knew Spike wasn’t outright saying it but Buffy was getting the impression that Angelus was the type of psychopathic vampire who had wiped out entire European villages in a single night. Strangely, what irked her even more was how Spike seemed to view regaining one’s soul as some sort of nuisance.

“Nope. It flies away when we get turned. Would get in the way if it stuck around.”

“No, a tart named Darla had the privilege of that title. She was the Master’s Childe.”

“Hell if I know,” Spike replied. “What’s with all the questions ‘bout my family tree, pet?”

To be honest, Buffy wasn’t really sure why she wanted to know. Maybe it had been finding all of Spike’s secret possessions. Perhaps it had triggered some buried curiosity in her that only now did she have the opportunity to explore. Buffy wanted to know more about him, try to figure him out, but with the way things were headed, she feared she’d be opening a Pandora’s Box. If she continued and discovered every dirty detailed truth about the vampire who claimed to love her, would she be able to be around him? Would she able to speak to him or even look him in the eye? Part of Buffy knew that discovering everything about Spike was only going to lead to disaster, but another, more inquisitive, side of her couldn’t help it. Buffy just had to know.

“Just curious,” the blond replied. “You said the Master got dusted? What happened?”

“Typical white hat do-gooder type. A chosen warrior for the people and all that rot. The girl’s got enough muscle in her to take on a room full of vampires.”

“It’s some sort of supernatural lottery system. Girl goes to bed normal, then wakes up the next mornin’ with super powers and some Watcher knockin’ at her door,” Spike explained.

“A Watcher? Her life gets turned upside down and she suddenly has to deal with some creepy guy stalking her?”

“No, pet. It’s nothing like that,” Spike chuckled. “He doesn’t watch her in the sense that he’s peekin’ at her through some window with binoculars to his face. It’s more like he’s her sitter. Minds her and teaches her the slayery ways. ‘Til she kicks it anyway.”

“So, some major mojo picks some random girl, gives her powers to fight vampires, but the all inclusive package has an early expiry date?”

“So where is she? She killed the Master right? That’s kinda big. Why isn’t she around here anymore?”

“Have to admit, the bint did clean this town up. But you gotta understand pet, she was no different from any of the slayers. In the end some lucky vamp got the better of her.”

“No.” he lied. “She bit the dust way before I even got to this shit hole of a town.”

“Yup, another fortunate girl picked to endure the burden of the world’s welfare on her shoulders.”

“Me, too,” Spike replied without thinking. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not one either. Would certainly present a conflict of interest if you were.”

”Ummm…yeah…so,” Buffy said, trying to steer the conversation to some other less uncomfortable topic. “You never said where the new slayer is.”

“You know the Watcher? Well he works for this Council of Wankers who basically have him and his slayer by a leash. Anyway, supposedly there’s another Hellmouth somewhere out there that’s also in desperate need of a slayer. Watchers posted her there this time ‘round. Figured good old Sunnyhell a lost cause.”

“Spike, why do you stay here? I get the whole leader of a clan thing, but you don’t even seem to like it here,” Buffy asked.

“I used to be real nomadic right after I got turned. Me and Dru, we’d go from town to town. The longest we stayed anywhere was a few days tops. Didn’t want the locals gettin’ too suspicious.” Spike broke off, taking a calming breath before he continued. “We were in Prague a little longer than we usually stayed in any one given place and one night I was stupid enough to leave Dru alone. She got into some trouble and before I knew it, we were bein’ chased down by a bloodthirsty mob. Dru was sickly ever since.”

“Yeah. Had to take care of her. It was harder to travel around after that. Came to these here United States, wandered a bit more ‘til I found a place where I could take care of her and still be the Big Bad.”

The vampire and the California girl sat in uneasy silence for what seemed like the longest minute ever. Luckily for him, Spike glanced at the TV. “Show’s on pet.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.” Buffy said, grabbing the remote. “Didn’t expect you to be such a Dawson’s Creek fan.”

“Yeah right. I saw you wipe away a tear when Joey had to break things off with Pacey.”

“I did not cry. Even so, felt bad for the poor bloke. He got the short end of the stick; lost the girl and the pillock of a best friend.”

Spike, though he wished it weren’t true, had actually enjoyed watching the show. Yet, it wasn’t the riveting plot twists that had made the experience more than just bearable. It was Buffy’s lovely presence and being able to share something with her that was outside of their usual Slave-Master dynamic that always brought him back for more.

“When you go all bumpy, does it hurt?” she asked, deciding to ignore the television program for another round of Q and A.

“Oh.” He took a moment to consider her question. “No, not really. ‘S more like tingles, pins and needles almost. Why?”

Buffy shrugged. “Always wanted to know. So, do you only put it on when you’re gonna kil…bite somebody?” she asked, quickly rephrasing her words.

“No, not just then. Also do it when I gotta heighten my senses,” he answered.

Spike shook his head. “The human face is the mask, luv. The ‘vamp face’ as you put it, that’s the first face we show when we wake up after getting’ turned. It’s our true face.”

“Can I see it?” The words had slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to even think about what she was saying.

“You’ve seen it before,” Spike instantly countered, not liking how Buffy had suddenly developed some weird fascination with his demon side.

“When you…we were…I didn’t really get a good look,” she stated, blushing slightly.

He studied her, noting only genuine interest and mild embarrassment on her face.

“Fine.” Spike caved in, the bones and muscle rearranging as he put on his game face.

Buffy let out an unintentional gasp at the sight of him. She hadn’t seen a vampire that close up since the night she’d been captured. Sure, Spike had bitten her at least twice since then, but his face had always been buried in the crook of her neck. Also at the time, she had been a little too distracted with the wonderful things he was doing to her body to focus on anything else, let alone try and catch a glimpse of his face.

“Can I…?” She left her thought unfinished, raising her hand in indication as to what she wanted to do. Spike nodded and watched as Buffy scooted closer to him. The initial shock of seeing him in this manner had worn off and now only her stubborn curiosity persisted.

She slowly brought her fingertips to his cheek, allowing her warm touch to settle for a few moments on his cool skin. Gradually and lightly drawing her digits up to his brow, Buffy stroked the ridges with her fingers as her thumb traced over the sexy scar that marred his eyebrow. As her hand danced over his distorted forehead, she gazed into his yellow eyes, trying to search for remnants of his other less scary guise. Buffy was about ready to give up until she noticed it. There, behind the animalistic features and in the cat-like amber eyes, were glints of humility and love. She couldn’t help but smile. Buffy didn’t really care what Spike thought, this was not his true face.

The vampire tilted his head, wondering what it was exactly that she had seen in his game face that made her want to smile. It had taken all his energy not to purr like a weak little kitten when she had been touching his face. And now, here she was, grinning at him like a crazed woman. Good thing Spike didn’t read into things, or else he would have thought Buffy was finally falling for him.

Realizing that she had been staring for a good while, Buffy eased away from him. “Uhh, thanks,” she said, somewhat mortified.

Buffy gazed at him as he changed, amazed at how easily he could alter his looks in an instant. She hadn’t noticed before, but her heart had been racing ever since the moment she had asked Spike to vamp out. Only now that he had reverted back to his normal appearance, did the rapid thumping in her chest finally calm down. Her body was obviously trying to tell her something. Buffy should be afraid of Spike’s vampire appearance. It was a clear indication of danger and literally the last face any of his victims ever saw. The fact that Spike had victims was an issue in of itself where Buffy was concerned. Even with being witness to the barest component of Spike’s demon nature, namely his other face; she still refused to fully acknowledge what he really was. Buffy knew it had to stop, or else her denial was going to get her killed.

Spike watched Buffy watching him. He knew that the blurred line they had been walking the past few days hadn’t just been crossed, it had been completely wiped out.

“Look, pet, I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Let’s just watch the telly, alright?”

“God, help me. Okay, what other query is rattlin’ around in that pretty blond head of yours?” he pushed.

“Jokin’ aside pet, what are you, my mother?” Spike grumbled, getting up off of the couch.

“Spike, what do you do everyday before you come and see me?” Buffy was forcing the issue, wanting him to admit what she already suspected.

“I already told you. Watch the clan, do leaderish things. Nothing I haven’t done since you’ve arrived.”

“Fine. Yeah, I fed today, which usually results in someone dyin’,” Spike shouted at her, towering above her sitting form. “But I’m a vampire. Or did you forget that?”

“Guess I did,” Buffy answered. She made sure her gaze was in direct line with his. “But trust me Spike; I won’t be making that mistake again.”

Buffy suddenly rose from her seat and marched toward the bed, needing to get away from him. “Buffy wait,” Spike called out, grabbing her arm.

Buffy felt Spike’s grip loosen, allowing her to walk away, but before she could get far he began to speak. “You knew what I was, what I am. Why the sudden change of heart, luv?”

Buffy heard the hurt in his voice. She knew she was being hot and cold with him, but she couldn’t go on pretending Spike was just another Average Joe. Turning to face him, she gave an honest answer. “I’ve been kidding myself Spike. It’s hard to hate you when you’re the only person I can see. It was easier for me to just blind myself to the fact that you’re a vampire because if I didn’t I’d have no one.”

Spike saw the tear trickle down her cheek. He hated that he made her cry. He was always making her cry. “Luv…”

“No. Spike, nothing you can say is going to justify what you did. You’ll always be a cold blooded killer.”

“What do you want me to do? I need blood,” Spike responded, get frustrated with the girl.

“I’m not baggin’ it. I worked too hard to get this clan back in order to just piss it all away by buyin’ pig’s blood,” Spike vented.

“You’re not even trying. Spike, how could you ever expect anything to come from us if I can’t even look you in the face? I can’t be around you knowing you’ve just killed someone. How could you ever expect me to feel anything for you when you murder people without any remorse?”

Buffy wiped her face with the back of her hand. “You just said you couldn’t.”

Taking a deep breath, steadying her gaze with his and straightening her back so that she stood tall, Buffy offered her suggestion. “Use me.”

“Drink from me everyday, not enough to hurt me but enough to quench whatever hunger you have.”

“Have you gone completely carrot-top? I won’t do it. How could you possibly ask me to do that?”

“I’d rather lose a little blood than lose a piece of my soul every time you walk out that door.”

“It’s not just the blood, pet. There’s the hunt, the need for violence. If you deprive a vampire of that, it can be dangerous,” Spike commented.

“Then kill other vamps, or chase after rapists and murderers. I don’t know. I don’t care. Just stop killing innocent people.”

“You sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into?” he asked, slowly making his way toward her.

“Alright, pet,” Spike conceded. Buffy had made herself perfectly clear. If he ever wanted any kind of relationship with her, he needed to stop killing. Just because he lived in a world without guilt, didn’t mean she did.

Buffy nodded and turned to go to bed. Spike observed as she slipped beneath the covers, taking the hint that it was probably time for him to leave. He headed towards the couch to grab his duster but before he could slip on the leather Buffy asked one last question.

“It’s just that I never see you sleep,” Buffy commented, raising her head from her pillow.

Buffy drew her finger along bed’s comforter, eyes averted from Spike’s. “You can stay here, ya know. Still get’s kinda lonely.”

Spike nodded, resisting the urge to smile. She still wanted him around. “I’ll just watch some telly pet. Let you get to your sleep.”

“’Kay. Night, Spike,” Buffy said, snuggling into her blankets, feeling better now that she had Spike’s promise to ease her guilt.

“Night, luv.” The vampire glanced one last time at his sleeping beauty before he settled himself on the couch. Dawn would soon break, so sleep wasn’t that far off for him either. But until the sun peaked above the horizon, he would be dwelling on the fact that he’d just promised the woman he loved to do something completely against his nature. A small thing of a girl had managed to get a Master vampire to stop killing. Spike always knew he would do anything for the one he loved; he just never realized how much of love’s bitch he actually was.

If someone were foolish enough to set foot onto the streets of Sunnydale after sunset, and were by some off chance actually able to look around as they were relentlessly being chased down by a pack of rabid vampires, they would have noticed that the town’s nighttime activities consisted solely of the periodic flashings of traffic lights. Stray cats didn’t even dare to venture out into the streets, almost as though they intuitively knew that it was no longer safe after dark. Sunnydale, a once wholesome generic blip on the California map, was now a virtual ghost town. During the day, many of Sunnydale’s population kept to themselves; the constant fear that they had grown accustomed to during the night had finally pervaded into their daylight hours. The days seemed shorter and the nights seemed colder in this small town. The faith that one day good would finally triumph over evil, a sentiment that many residents had once clung to with such maddened conviction, had eventually grown stale, withered away with the tragic deaths of loved ones. After the death of the Slayer, a pilgrimage had occurred out of Sunnydale. Many had left the town, but some still remained, mostly because they had no where else to go.

Though, amidst the sadness and despair, tucked away in one of the many abandoned residential areas of Sunnydale, was a single house that contained within its brick walls the still kindled flame of a hope. A faction composed of a brave few who had stayed behind to stave off the oncoming tides of darkness that seemed to be on the brink of fully consuming this poor beaten town. To the outside world, the house appeared uninhabited, yet if one were to venture inside to the basement, one would be pleasantly surprised to discover that there were a few residents of Sunnydale busily at work, refusing to give up.

The large unfinished basement was scattered with numerous fold-out tables and chairs. The area was dimly lit, with only a few sparsely distributed low hanging ceiling lamps to provide the much needed light. Computers, telephones, televisions, radios and any other forms of communication equipment were strewn all over the room. The people occupying the limited space were themselves dispersed, clustered in groups, appearing to be preoccupied in whatever tasks they were doing. Some were making stakes, others were reading large dusty texts and some were even sparring in a far corner, trying to better their skills at staking a vampire.

However, even with all the hectic commotion going on at the headquarters of Sunnydale’s only vampire fighting force, there was one table where all activity seemed to emanate from. It was at this centrally situated table where a map of Sunnydale was constantly laid out and from where all orders were issued. Here the leaders of this band of makeshift warriors devised their strategies and revised their tactics. It was where the first link in the chain of command began and at the moment, admist all the hustle and bustle, it was here where a meeting was taking place.

“If we station two cohorts here and here,” a middle aged Englishman said as he indicated to the map. “We should be able to corner them.”

“That’s assuming they’re still nesting in that abandoned warehouse. We haven’t sent a scout out there for over three weeks; they could have moved to somewhere else by now,” the brunette standing crossed armed next to the Englishman commented as he peered down at the map.

“I’m not risking sending anyone out to that side of town. Even during the day, it’s too dangerous. You remember what happened to Larry?” the older man replied.

“Yeah, stepped into the wrong shadow,” another young man answered stoically from his seat at the table.

“So do we just send everyone in and cross our fingers that they’re still there?” a redheaded girl meekly asked, peeking down at the schematic from over the seated man’s shoulder.

“We know that’s not the main house. It’s too close to the border. I’m assuming it’s just an outpost of some sort for a few of Spike’s minions. It should still be occupied and shouldn’t be too difficult to take back,” the man stated, taking off and wiping down his glasses as concern marred his brow.

“Only as a last resort. We don’t want to burn half of the town down,” the Englishman responded, taking the suggestion in all seriousness as he placed his spectacles back on his face. “Xander, I want you to gather a fair share of volunteers. Twelve would be ideal. Get them equipped and fill them in on the plan.”

Suppressing the automatic urge to scold the young man for the annoying nickname, he continued on issuing orders. “Oz, help Xander out. Afterwards, I want you to do weapons check. We need to do an inventory.”

“Willow, I know you’re still working on it but do you think that spell will be ready any time soon?” the man asked.

“Almost. I just got to tweak it a little but it should be ready by tomorrow morning,” the witch stated, sounding a lot more confident than she had minutes ago.

“Good. Show it to me whenever you’re ready,” he instructed, turning to the group as a whole. “We’ll reconvene an hour before dawn.”

The group immediately sprang into action, all heading in different directions as they weaved their way through the crowded basement. The Englishman sat down, his eyes never leaving the map.

“And what about me Giles? What do you want me to do?” the brunette asked, unsure why she hadn’t been given an assignment.

“Well, you could tell me again what you remember from that night,” he said softly, knowing it had been a very upsetting experience for the girl.

“Uhhh…They were kinda in packs, you know, like wolves,” she described, unsure how to convey what she remembered.

“That sounds about right. A big raid like the one they conducted on the Bronze would call for the utmost synchronization,” Giles commented. “Was there anything that seemed particularly unusual before the attack?”

“No, not really. Well there was this one girl wearing this totally heinous wannabe Versace halter dress, but other than that I guess it was pretty normal,” she stated, unaware of the irritated look Giles was giving her.

“Apart from the night’s fashion faux pas, was there anything else that you can recall that might actually be of some use? Like maybe how many vampires there were?” Giles inquired, annoyance evident in his voice.

Unaffected by Giles’s mild scolding, the girl answered indignantly. “You’re kidding right? Giles, there were like a gazillion vamps. Plus, I was a little too preoccupied with trying to get the hell out of there to take the time to do a head count.”

“Alright,” he exhaled, frustrated at the lack of success they were having. “Can you think of anything else that might be of some relevance?”

“We’ll there was this one thing that I thought was really weird,” the brown haired girl replied thoughtfully.

“When I was hiding in the vent, before I crawled out of the building, I heard one of them say that they ‘should bring the human back to him’. I’m not sure who they were talking about and I couldn’t catch a glimpse of who was saying it. Do you have any idea what it could mean?”

“Good Lord,” Giles uttered under his breath. “Are you certain that’s what you heard?” he asked sternly, needing confirmation.

“Yeah,” she quickly answered, a little surprised by his suddenly troubled expression.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Giles prodded, sounding increasingly distressed.

“I was traumatized. Even if I did remember everything from that night, I’d probably still want the memories repressed. That one just happened to come back to me a few nights ago and I wasn’t even sure if it was real,” the girl defended.

“Let us hope it isn’t real. Because if it is then it would mean that someone was taken back to William the Bloody, which in of itself is a fate much worse than death,” Giles grimly stated.

“Well, like duh Giles. I know I wasn’t,” she remarked, twirling her finger through her now slightly longer chestnut hair.

“No. I mean of course you weren’t but there was also another body that was never found,” the Englishman noted.

The girl’s eyes grew wide when she finally grasped at what it was Giles was referring to. “No…it can’t be. You all said that they turned her. That she was lost and was as good as dead.”

“We assumed she was turned. We have no proof in the matter. There’s a possibility that she might have been the one they brought back to Spike,” Giles solemnly explained.

“It can’t be,” the brunette cried out, still not having completely mourned her best friend.

“I’m sorry to say, but it appears that Buffy did survive the raid only to be taken as Spike’s hostage. And knowing him like I do,” Giles added, the searing hatred he felt for the vampire hidden under a composed demeanor. “I fear that she’s still in his custody.”

The girl’s brown eyes were filled with unshed tears, threatening to spill at any moment down her flushed cheeks. Initially she had refused to believe that her best friend was gone but the inevitable truth eventually caught up to her, and only recently did she allow herself to mourn. The figurative wounds she had incurred from her friend’s supposed death were yet to heal. If what Giles was alluding to were true then she had been right all along.

“Yes, Cordelia, I believe Buffy is still alive but one can only imagine what that poor girl must be going through.”

She was running again. Her sides hurt as she breathlessly tried to get away from the man that was chasing her. Buffy didn’t know if she would ever outrun him but she had to keep on trying. She wasn’t exactly sure what would happen if he caught up to her but she knew she didn’t want to find out. Buffy struggled to run harder, but it made no difference; her pursuer was always just a few paces behind. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, there he was, like a sinister presence that refused to let her be. His face was blurred and his features were indiscernible but she could still tell it was a man running after her. Buffy was petrified; scared to the core, but what made her blood run cold was the menacing laughter that seemed to follow after her. Her feet pounded the asphalt as she made her way down some unknown winding road, the sound echoing through the darkness that surrounded her. After what seemed like eons of sprinting, the laughter abruptly stopped. Thinking that the threat was gone Buffy slowed down, ready to turn around to see if the man had given up. A blood curdling scream was the only answer to that uncertainty.

“Buffy,” Spike worriedly called to her as he gently shook her from her sleep. “Buffy, wake up luv.”

Her eyes shot open, gazing up to find Spike inches from her face. Screaming, Buffy jumped, unintentionally whacking Spike in the nose with her forehead. Crying out in pain, the vampire grabbed his face as he put some distance between himself and a fully awake Buffy. “Christ, pet, nearly broke my nose,” Spike nasally remarked, still cupping his sore sniffer.

“Sorry, but you scared the crap out of me. What were you doing anyway, hovering over me?” Buffy asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You were screaming,” Spike quickly replied, making his way back towards her seeing as how the threat of getting hit again had slightly diminished.

“Yeah you were. You were lyin’ there with your eyes closed, hollerin’ at the top of your lungs. Thought you were havin’ some kinda spell,” Spike countered, sitting down beside her. “What’s going on, luv?”

“The more fitting question would be ‘still?’ as in ‘am I still having the nightmares?’” Buffy stated casually, unconsciously fiddling with the drawstring to her pj bottoms.

Spike appeared confused by the news. “You mean it’s that same dream?” Spike wondered.

“Yup. Every night it’s the same thing. I’m running, they’re chasing, and it finishes off with me getting caught. Really makes for a good night’s sleep, don’t ya think?” Buffy explained sarcastically.

“Why is it I’m only finding ‘bout this now?” Spike inquired, inwardly hating himself for not having picked up on any signs that Buffy was having recurring nightmares.

“Cuz you were never around when they happened. It’s not just something one brings up in casual conversation,” Buffy rationalized, wishing they were talking about anything else. “Can we just drop it?”

Buffy suddenly took note of what the vampire was wearing. He was sporting his black leather duster, which he only wore when he was heading out. “Where are you going?”

“Out, pet. Got a clan to manage, remember?” Spike replied nonchalantly as he stood up.

“Spike,” Buffy called out as he made his way to leave, her tone absolutely serious. “You promised.”

Turning back to look at her, the vampire groaned. “I’m not in the least bit peckish and I don’t need to feed every single day.”

“Pet, I don’t wanna hurt you unless I have to. I can wait a few days until I absolutely have to feed,” Spike reasoned.

“So you wanna wait until you’re starved? Isn’t that just more dangerous? I mean, call me crazy but I know when I’m dying to eat something it usually isn’t part of the daily recommended servings of fruits and vegetables,” she argued.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Spike asked, beginning to think that maybe Buffy had gone mental from constantly being cooped up in her room.

“What I’m trying to say is that if you push yourself to that extreme, you’re gonna end up doing something stupid, like kill someone or….”

“End up killin’ you,” Spike cut her off, knowing precisely what she was about to say.

“Yeah, that too could happen,” Buffy agreed, but seeing the uneasy look in his cobalt eyes, she added thoughtfully. “If we do this little by little, you won’t go on a bender and do something you’ll end up regretting.”

Letting out a compliant breath, Spike nodded. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said as he made his way over to the bed, taking off his duster and sitting back down next to her.

“Pet, this is serious,” Spike chided. “It’s gonna hurt a hell of lot more than my other bites.”

“Why? It shouldn’t be any different than before,” she questioned, becoming a little unnerved by Spike’s warning.

“The others were shallow, and I didn’t take much blood. They were just tastes really,” he replied, taking her hand in his in an attempt to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

Taking in a deep breath, Buffy nodded her head vigorously. “Yeah,” she answered, her conscience reminding her that it was something that had to be done.

“Lay back for me, pet,” Spike instructed as he gently pressed a firm hand against her shoulder. Buffy did as she was told, lying down on her back with her head on her pillow. She was nervous and with him looking down at her, she felt strangely vulnerable, exposed even.

“Comfy, luv?” he asked, receiving only a nod as his answer. Leaning on one arm, Spike slowly brought his free hand up to Buffy’s neck. She tensed the moment before his fingers could brush against his mark on her neck.

“What are you doing?” Buffy asked, flinging her head away from the undesired caress.

“It’ll be less painful if I touch my mark. It’ll distract you,” he explained, gazing down at her, hoping she could see that he wasn’t trying to do anything funny.

Spike caved in again for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Alright, just relax. The tenser you are the more it’s gonna hurt.”

Once Buffy had calmed herself down, Spike lowered himself onto her stilled form, half-sitting with his weight still supported on his elbows. Looking down into her hazel eyes, he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna sting for a bit pet, so just hold on.”

Buffy nodded, finding she was unable to respond. Vamping out, Spike glanced down one last time, making sure she knew exactly what it was she was getting herself into before he moved to the left side of her neck. He let out a muffled growl just as his fangs pierced the sensitive column of flesh.

Buffy cried out. Spike was right. It was more painful. Really painful. All he had done was penetrate the skin and she was pure agony. It hadn’t seemed so bad when he had done it those other few times before but she had to admit that they had occurred under very distracting circumstances. Namely, during a mind blowing orgasm that at the time had changed the world as she knew it. Yet now, it was painful and so much deeper and her heart was beating rapidly from the fear that was building up inside. Buffy had to restrain herself from pushing him away. She had to trust him. God, did she ever want to trust him.

Spike could hear her whimpers of pain and eased a little on the first few pulls he took from her. He drew himself up so that he was now lying on her left, slightly draped over her side, and wrapped his right arm around her waist. The change in position allowed Buffy to get a better hold of him, strongly grasping his shoulders and digging her nails into his skin as she tried to deal with the pain. If it didn’t end soon her claws were going to break through fabric and skin, and draw blood.

Spike knew they were nowhere near finished and that the level of pain Buffy was in was just unacceptable when he knew there was something he could do about it. Pulling out his fangs, he lapped the blood coming from her neck, trying to coax a reaction from the old wounds that were still active under the new ones. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp, followed by soft mewls as he continued to lick the punctures. Spike could feel her relax again and was about to sink his fangs back into her neck, when Buffy suddenly wrapped her leg around his waist.

The moment Spike had pulled out his fangs, Buffy thought it was over. Then when he began to run his rough tongue over her incredibly sensitive skin, she could have sworn something instantly exploded within her. She had experienced this before, but the pain from this bite that accompanied the pleasure made everything so much more intense. Buffy was becoming increasingly aroused from the slightest lick and soon found herself where she had been a week before; about to do something she knew she would later regret simply because Spike was touching her in just the right way. Though at first she had refused to let him stroke his mark on her neck, inwardly she had wanted it, craved it even. And now, she urgently longed for him to satisfy the smoldering inferno that was ready to burn her inside out.

Almost in lightning speed, she drew one leg around Spike’s waist and rolled him on top of her, so that he was fittingly situated between her thighs. Spike felt like he had been winded, though he had no real necessity for air. The immediate erection he had gotten the moment he had sunk his fangs into Buffy’s flesh was now pressed against her searing heat. He didn’t want to move, knowing that he would be digging his own grave if he goaded Buffy on any further. Spike wanted to take the high road, ignore the fact that only two layers of fabric separated his throbbing cock from her now soaking quim, and just finish the task at hand. However, the scent of her arousal, her lust filled whimpers and the constant rotating of her hips broke his last bit of restraint.

Returning his mouth to the wound, he bit down again, eliciting a scream from Buffy’s lips, her nails piercing his skin through his black cotton tee. Drinking down enough of her blood, Spike pulled his fangs out for the last time, but morphed back into his human face and continued to suck on the wound. The harder he sucked, the faster Buffy grinded her pussy against his engorged member, his hardness hitting her perfectly against her clit. The primal dance they seemed to be in felt like it continued on forever, pain and pleasure melding into one as they neared the maximum precipice of their senses. Buffy’s last sliver of inhibition had left her, freeing one of her hands to stroke Spike’s chiseled stomach, her blood coated nails grazing his pebbled nipples. Arching her back, she tightened the grip her legs had around his waist in an attempt to push her molten core harder against him. The world blurred and the loss of blood made her lightheaded. Buffy felt as though if she didn’t come soon she would die.

All of a sudden, Spike began to thrust his hips back in time with hers. His lips had moved to her ear, saying words that he had never said to her before. “Cream for me luv. Ugh, love to see you come in my arms. So beautiful. Make me so weak, you do. Love you so much. Come for me, pet. Love you, love you, God, love you so much,” Spike incoherently rambled, his voice strained with need.

With his love drenched words, Buffy finally flew over the edge. “SPIKE!!!!” she screamed his name, her body quivering beneath him.

Not wishing to shoot his load in his jeans, Spike waited until she stilled. With a few calming breaths, he lifted off of her, yanking off his shirt. Buffy gazed up at his bare chest with a lust glazed stare, unmoving as she tried to reel from what she had just experienced. Her sex fogged brain was confused when he suddenly stood up, having expected him to continue on what they had started. Leaning over, he pressed the bunched up cotton shirt against her neck, trying to get the wound to stop bleeding. Taking her hand and making sure she held the shirt firmly in place, he stood back up and slipped on his duster. Disregarding the stinging he felt from the leather against the small gashes on his back, Spike made his way to the door.

“Another day, luv. Gotta head out,” he replied, peeking at her over his shoulder.

Buffy nodded, biting her bottom lip. When she had asked Spike to drink from her instead killing people to get his blood, she hadn’t expected it to turn out to be another one of their no-sex orgasm sessions. It was tense and awkward again between them, but she couldn’t explain why and wasn’t sure who was really to blame. Buffy felt like she should be mad at herself or at him, but what she really wanted more than anything was to have him come back to her and hold her for the rest of the day.

Seeing the dejected look in her eyes, Spike added, “Means more than you’ll ever know what you just did for me pet. Never forget that.” The moment the words were uttered, Spike threw the door open and left Buffy to contend with her wounds and her overwhelmingly confusing emotions.

Shutting the door behind him, Spike leaned against it as he buried his face in his hands. “What the fuck did I just do?” he irately asked himself.

Dejectedly dropping his hands to his sides, Spike looked down and realized that he was still hard as a rock. Groaning, the vampire crossed the hallway and entered his room, feeling a hint of déjà vu as he went to spend a few lonely hours coming down from the high that being with Buffy always brought on.

Chapter Eleven:Hesitation

His still hand rested on the unpolished knob, incapable of making the slightest turn of the wrist to open the unlocked wooden door. He’d been silently standing in the same spot for the past fifteen minutes, staring down at his hesitant grip, contemplating how he was going to step into the room. Should he walk in relaxed and totally nonchalant like nothing had happened between them? Or should he just go right in, bring up the issue and force her to deal with it? Or maybe he’d just chance it and hope to find her already fast asleep. Releasing his grasp for the fourth time, Spike scratched the back of his head, unmoving as he continued to stare at the door.

What the bloody hell was he doing? He was a Master vampire, leader of the most powerful clan this side of the world and here he was, dithering about just because he couldn’t face some girl.

‘Oh sure, mate,’ Spike inwardly criticized. ‘‘Cos that’s all that Buffy is to you, right? Just some girl.’ He scoffed at his own ridiculous logic. ‘Yeah, she’s only just the most annoying, stubborn, smart mouthed, willfully spirited, passionate, gorgeously beautiful, with a body that could rival Venus herself some girl of your dreams.’ God, he felt like such a moronic git.

Reaching out his hand again Spike tried the doorknob for a fifth, and hopefully, final time. He could do this. Just turn, push, step and voila, he’d be inside.

Inside.

As in the place where Buffy was.

Where she was probably waiting for him.

‘‘S just me, or it’d get a hell of a lot hotter in here?’ he pondered, yanking on the collar of his black tee. He suddenly became very aware of the unusual clamminess of his hands, especially with the one holding the brass doorknob. Lifting it up to inspect it and upon seeing the unexpected sheen, Spike wiped his hand on his chest, wondering if vampires were even supposed to sweat. And why did it feel like his stomach was doing summersaults? Spike didn’t know why he was having these weird symptoms. Technically speaking, he was a walking corpse, so he couldn’t get sick. Then why did he feel so shitty?

Wait soddin’ minute. He remembered feeling this way before. His mind raced through the memories of the past century, eventually landing on a particular face, one that usually brought forth sentiments of self-loathing. Cecily. He still remembered that fateful night, when he had admitted to her that she had been his muse, the inspiration for every bloody awful poem he had written. It happened so long ago, yet remained so vivid in his mind. Spike had been so naïve and so insecure. And here he was, a hundred plus years later, a little less with the naïveté but still just as nervous as ever. Nervous about seeing Buffy again and about her hating him…again. Because, let’s face it, Spike can’t go at least a week without giving Buffy another reason to despise him.

Taking in a long unneeded breath, the vampire shook his head to clear his mind. ‘Stop actin’ like that poncy William, grow back your stones and get your ass into that room,’ he inwardly coaxed.

What was he so worried about really? Spike had just done what she had asked him to. Granted, he knew it hadn’t gone exactly how Buffy had expected. Hadn’t been a complete disaster, though. She got off on it, perk for her and no harm, no foul. It doesn’t really matter that he still made her squirm and pant when she had been utterly serious about him not touching his old bite marks. Doesn’t matter that instead of just ending the whole fiasco the moment Buffy had felt the slightest bit of pain, he decided to solve the problem by licking and sucking the hell out of her neck. It didn’t even matter that after filling his belly with her blood, he not only managed to get her to come the hardest she’d ever had before, but did it while whispering all those loving endearments in her ear. God, if Buffy didn’t hate him for taking advantage of her then she was probably too mortified to ever look him in the face again. So yeah, no worries Spike.

“Arrrgggh!” Frustrated, he instinctively smacked his forhead on the door. After the third pound, he jumped back as if the door were on fire. Perking up his ears, he listened for any sign that Buffy had heard him. Only silence. He needed to step into that room before he completely lost his cool.

Exhaling and wishing he’d had just one more smoke before he had made his way upstairs, Spike turned the knob and opened the door. Stepping inside, he gazed around the room, closing the door behind him. It was dark; the variety of lamps and candles dispersed throughout the room remained unused. The room’s only sparse lighting was that originating from the television, its soft pulsating glow casting dancing shadows on the far back wall. Spike’s boots stealthily made their way across the floor as he ventured into the room, catching a whiff of vanilla and lilies. Peering over the back of couch, he saw that it was empty. The vampire kept making his way further into the room, quiet incase Buffy was asleep. Glancing over at the ruffled bed and seeing it was also vacant, Spike deduced that Buffy was most likely taking a bath. He took a few steps back, away from the bathroom door. Things were already going to be awkward between them. There was no point in adding insult to injury by entering the bathroom.

Slipping out of his duster, Spike grabbed a bottle of tequila and sat himself down on the couch, watching the infomercial that was on. After half a bottle and half an hour later, he wondered if Buffy was ever going to get out of the tub. Should he go knock on the door to see if she was alright? No. He’ll wait. Give Buffy some space and let her enjoy her relaxing bath. The image of Buffy in the tub, soapy suds clinging to her glistening heat flushed body popped into his brain, making Spike take another swig from his bottle.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open announced that Buffy had finally finished her bath. It was show time. Spike remained quiet, not wanting to scare her and waited until she realized he was in the room. He couldn’t see what she was doing, his eyes focused on the television while Buffy scurried around the room behind him. The sound of a towel drop and the padding of damp feet across the tiled floor were all that Spike could hear. Heightening his vampire senses, he picked up on her calm breathing; she obviously didn’t know he was there. More sounds. Drawers were being opened and he could hear her dressing. The vampire took another swig; too many naked Buffy thoughts.

Buffy finally looked over toward the TV and saw a bleached head peeking from behind the back of the couch. “Spike?” she asked, a little perturbed that he’d been there the whole time and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Just watchin’ the telly, pet,” the vampire replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Buffy, who was wringing her hands anxiously, sat down beside Spike. He watched her, noting her recently combed wet hair and her blue jeans and pink t-shirt attire. He thought Buffy had been gorgeous that night they had gone out to the Bronze, but it paled in comparison to the way she looked now. Her natural, God-given beauty was much more stunning. After ogling her for a few seconds, Spike shook himself out of his stupor and turned his attention back to trying to asses what mood Buffy was in. She didn’t seem mad and sure she was a little skittish but not the red faced humiliation he was expecting. Maybe he had blown the whole thing out of proportion. Maybe Buffy was okay with what had happened and the weirdness between them was just the obligatory the-day-after-we-did-something-naughty kind of guilt.

“Spike,” Buffy started, her voice quiet. “Should we talk about it?”

“You mean instead of sweeping it under the rug like we’ve done with everythin’ else that’s gone wrong between us?” Spike tried to joke, though it came out bitter.

“Yeah.”

“Well, floor’s yours, pet. Go ahead. Spill your heart out,” Spike said, sounding like he truly wanted to know how she felt. Taking another drink, he readied himself for what she was about to say.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy stated, her eyes averted from his.

A spray of tequila escaped Spike’s lips. “What?” Spike asked, coughing as he wondered what the hell she was apologizing for.

“I’m sorry I pushed the whole blood drinking issue and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about the touching my neck thing. Maybe if I had let you do it, things wouldn’t have gotten so carried away,” Buffy explained, her body tense and on the edge of the couch.

Spike was flabbergasted. Firstly, she wasn’t mad at him or even blaming him. Secondly, she was blaming herself. What in the hell did that mean? Spike hadn’t the foggiest clue. Perhaps she was finally seeing past the vampire exterior and actually considering that his love for her was real. Maybe she too had felt something earlier that day. Maybe she was actually growing feelings for him. Spike inwardly laughed at the thought. ‘Keep dreamin’ you wanker. ‘Probly take a lifetime before Buffy even considers likin’ you.’

“Luv, I should be the one apologizin’. I took advantage of the situation, got you all hot and bothered. Made you all loopy and not think straight. I knew what I was doing and I did it anyway. ‘M sorry,” Spike mumbled, avoiding the surprised stare she was giving him.

Shaking her head, Buffy countered, “You might have motivated me a little, but deep down I knew what I was doing, Spike. If I didn’t really wanna do it, I wouldn’t have.”

Was he dreaming? Did she just admit what he thought she had? Spike needed to be pinched. She had willingly wanted him. The implications of what she was saying were so big that he didn’t even know what to think. Buffy had wanted him. She wanted him. Everything inside of him was jumping for joy while his demeanor remained calm and collected. “So what now, pet?”

Buffy shrugged. “I dunno. Knowing the way we cycle, we’ll probably ignore it, be fine for a few days and then when we think its gonna be nothing but smooth sailing from here on in, something else will come along and mess with the delicate balance that is us,” she joked, managing to bring out a genuine smile from Spike.

“And in the mean time?” he inquired.

“Well, just because the first time was a disaster doesn’t mean we’re never trying it again,” Buffy remarked, more relaxed as she leaned back into the couch.

Unsure what she was specifically referring to, Spike asked, “Try what again?”

“You drinking from me. If I had just let you touch the mark in the first place, it wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand. Plus, I’ll know what to expect this time around, so you don’t have to worry about me jumping your bones,” she answered, her tone strangely perky.

“Wasn’t really complainin’, luv,” Spike retorted.

“Yeah well, we’ll just have to be more careful next time so things don’t get too crazy,” Buffy commented, another smile spreading across her lips. “Wow, that was really mature of us, don’t ya think? Talking about our problems like level headed adults?”

“Yeah, pet, real grown up,” Spike chuckled, as he took another drink from the tequila bottle.

“Well, I think it was,” she pouted. “Spike?”

Pulling his gaze from the television, he looked over to Buffy, “Yeah, luv?”

“Did you mean those things you said?” she asked, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she nervously scratched her knee.

“Every word of it,” he answered, also unable to look her in the eyes as he stared down at his bottle. If she rejected him again, Spike didn’t know what he was going to do.

The vampire turned his head when he felt the couch suddenly shift. Glancing up, he saw that Buffy was now by his side, so close that she was invading his personal space. Spike observed in fascination, mystified and speechless as she took the tequila bottle from his hands and placed it on the floor next to them. Never would he have ever expected what she was about to do next.

Buffy drew her legs up onto the couch and slowly pressed her supple form against Spike, casually and wordlessly placing her head gently on his chest. After giving himself a few seconds to come to grips with what was going on, he shifted so that he could draw Buffy up into his arms. Lying down with her half-sprawled on top of him, Spike peered down at her, confusion still in his eyes. “Buffy?”

“Can you just hold me?” she asked meekly.

Spike only nodded in response. He didn’t understand what had brought on her sudden need for intimacy but he wasn’t going to fight it. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he rubbed her back as he listened to her steady breathing. Just over an hour ago he was terrified Buffy would never speak to him again and now here he was, holding her. What he had thought was major blunder on his part had actually been the perfect shove in the right direction to bring them closer together. Inhaling deeply, he took in her sweet scent and listened to Buffy’s body rhythms.

Though he had come back to the room a few hours later than he normally did, spending the latter part of the day procrastinating, not wishing to face the inevitable, it was still pretty early in the evening. Grabbing the remote, Spike flipped through the channels, coincidentally finding a rerun of Dawson’s Creek. He could feel Buffy smiling against his chest, which only made his own smirk transform into a goofy grin. He felt tingly all over, all his senses in total euphoria, and it was all because Buffy truly wanted to be in his arms. No words were exchanged between them as they half-heartedly paid attention to the TV show. This was their escape, a small reprieve from the only harsh reality they knew. For the next few hours Spike wasn’t a vampire and Buffy wasn’t his prisoner. For the next few hours it was just the two of them, blanketed by the faint indigo glow of the television screen.

********

Giles impatiently tapped his fingers on the table top, waiting for the squad he had sent out that morning to return. He glanced over at Willow, who was sitting across from him at the dining room table, engrossed in one of her spell books. She didn’t seem the least bit worried that the group wasn’t back yet. Giles, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in his team, but he just couldn’t seem to get over this peculiar sense of foreboding.

Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Giles glimpsed at his watch and vigorously wiped his glasses when he realized it was getting close to sunset. Xander and his gang should have been back hours ago.

As Giles put his glasses back on, readying to immerse himself in another anxious hour of finger tapping fun, the front door of the house sprang open. Xander and his small brigade piled into the front hall, filling the house with laughter and cheers of victory. As the members of his team went their separate ways, Xander entered the dining room where he knew Giles would be waiting. Noticing that Willow was sitting with the Englishman, he smiled at the redhead.

“Hey, Will! Those Sun Bombs you concocted were amazing,” the young man exclaimed, walking over to the table.

“Really?” Willow asked, very excited that the spell she had worked so hard on was actually being deemed useful.

“Totally. That Holy Hand Grenade you made dusted at least ten vamps at a time. Made everything so much easier,” Xander answered, reassuring his best friend.

His good mood however was interrupted by the clearing of Giles’s throat. “So if I understand you correctly, Xander, I take that the raid was a success?”

“Yup,” he responded cheerfully, taking a seat next to Willow.

“Then would you like to inform us as to why it took you the whole day to return?” Giles inquired, his mood becoming increasingly exasperated.

“You see…well…we all sort of thought that we had some time to spare and we did have a few extra Sun Bombs at our disposal, so we…” Xander began to explain, but was cut short by Giles’s tired and irritated groan.

“Please don’t tell us you went out in search of other vampires to slay.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Xander quipped, knowing Giles was about to go into an all out scold-a-thon.

“Xander, you know you cannot be so foolhardy in that part of town,” Giles admonished.

“Giles, it’s not the end of the world. We spent most of the day just looking for another nest, and when we finally found one, all we did was throw in a few Sun Bombs. No one got hurt and we killed a few extra vamps,” Xander defended, knowing he wasn’t as reckless as Giles was making him out to be.

“Xander, the moment the mission was completed, you should have immediately come back to headquarters. If this were an actual military organization, you would have been court marshaled for defying orders,” the older man argued.

“I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” Xander commented, crossing his arms.

“Just promise me you won’t be so irresponsible the next time,” Giles said, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“Will there even be a next time?” Xander grumpily asked, looking like a ten year old who’d just been given detention.

Giles relaxed his furrowed brow and grinned at the young man’s sour disposition. “You know there will. As much as I berate you Xander, you’re one of the most qualified members of this team. I’d be foolish in forbidding you from leading any of our future raids.”

“And the punishment?” Xander asked, knowing Giles never let anyone off that easily.

“Kitchen duty for a month,” the Englishman answered quickly.

Groaning, Xander accepted the punishment; it wasn’t the worst he’d ever been given, but it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his post-dinner hours. Deciding to change the topic, the brunette turned to Willow. “So where’s Oz?”

“Downstairs in the cage. It’s almost sundown,” the witch answered, a little edgy. She hated full moons. It was such a hassle clearing out the basement and bolting the door shut so that no one other than those armed with tranq guns could venture downstairs. More importantly, Oz was always so tense around this time of the month and even after four years, it still put strains on their relationship.

Xander gave Willow a reassuring pat on the hand, knowing how difficult these nights were for her. “Want me to stay up with you tonight? We could brew a hot pot of coffee and have a night of whacky card games?” he suggested.

Willow giggled, but shook her head. “Nah, you’re probably too tired after a long day of vampire killing to stay up and werewolf sit. You should go to bed. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“You positive?”

“Sure as sugar.”

“Cuz I’m not really that tired and…”

“Xander,” Willow said, cutting him off. “Do you see my resolve face?” she said, pointing to the face she was making. “I know you’ve seen it a billion times before.”

“Backing off as of now,” Xander replied, holding his hands up in defeat. “So, what’d I miss today?”

“Well, as you were off gallivanting in Vampire District, we were here planning for our next mission,” Giles commented.

“Planning for what mission exactly?” the young man wondered.

“I was speaking with Cordelia last night and apparently a few of her memories have resurfaced. It turns out that her friend Buffy wasn’t killed the night of the vampires’ attack on the bronze,” Giles explained.

“Yeah, she was turned. We’ve already established that. So what?” Xander asked, not completely getting Giles’s point.

“That’s precisely it Xander, she was neither killed nor turned. The vampires that night brought her back to Spike and I believe she is still being held as his prisoner at the main house,” Giles responded, the expression on his face conveying the utmost sincerity.

“You’re kidding?” the brunette asked, bug eyed with surprise.

“Wish I were, but no, it’s true.” Giles sighed. “It is imperative that we get her out of there as soon as possible. This will be our one and only objective until she has been liberated.”

“Are you sure she’s even still alive?” Xander skeptically asked. He watched Giles suddenly become rigid in his seat and Willow cower in fear. Either he made a scary face without knowing it or there was something frightening standing right behind him. Turning in his chair, Xander reluctantly peaked over his shoulder. He almost tripped over his own two feet as he scurried to the other side of the table, hiding himself behind Giles.

“How did you get in here?” the ex-Watcher asked, not permitting his fear show through.

“One of your guys invited me in. Not too bright your people. You should work on the whole not inviting people in after dark thing, even if they look like they’ve been terribly wounded,” Damon said, grinning menacingly as his face morphed back into its human guise.

Giles’s hand reached for one of the stakes that he always kept strapped to his forearm, hidden under the long sleeve of his shirt. Damon caught sight of the movement and tisked at the middle aged man. “You’ve become jaded in your old age Rupert Giles,” Damon remarked. “But I’m not here to kill any of you.”

“Why is it that I don’t believe you?” Giles inquired, his hand ready to pull out the stake.

“You should. Have some information that might be of some use to you,” Damon stated, appearing not in the least bit threatened by the ex-Watcher.

“And again I ask what makes you think we’d believe anything you say?” Giles inquired, uncomfortable by the fact that a vampire was in his home.

“Because it pertains to a certain blonde girl who, if I overheard correctly, you seem to have some sort interest in,” Damon answered, waiting for Giles’s reaction.

“We already know Spike has Buffy. That is no news to us,” Giles countered, wishing the vampire, who he recognized as one of Spike’s right-hand men, would just leave.

“Yes, but do you know where he has Buffy?” Damon asked, smirking devilishly.

“She would be at the main house with Spike,” Giles answered, not taking Damon’s bait.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you Watcher? But the thing is Spike has a secret house where he likes to keep his little playthings,” Damon deceptively elaborated, oblivious to the disgusted grimaces being sent his way.

“Where is it?” Xander automatically asked.

“Are you deaf or just retarded? It’s a secret house. As in no one knows where it is,” Damon replied, in a mockingly slow manner, clearly unimpressed by the young man. “No one but Spike that is.”

“And why are you telling us this?” Giles inquired, his fear diminishing while his irritation for the vampire increased.

“Quid pro quo, Mr.Giles. I set up a scenario, giving you the opportunity to capture a certain platinum peroxide vampire, who so happens to know the exact whereabouts of your missing girl, and you do me the favor of ridding me of the one and only pain in my ass,” Damon countered, excitement dancing in his grey eyes.

“You actually think we’d trust you? You’re a vampire. An innately evil demon and one who’s betraying his own Master,” Giles openly doubted, his brow knotting with distrust.

“What else have you got going for you? Let’s face it Watcher, I’m the only hope you’ve got in finding Buffy,” the black haired vampire replied, his voice loosing its oddly playful quality to that of a much more serious tone.

“If we agree, what guarantees us that this isn’t just a trap? Our mission is to hunt your kind and getting rid of us would put you in Spike’s good books. So why should we trust you?” Giles asked, feeling like a broken record player.

“Once you get Spike, you’ll have the location as to where he’s hiding Buffy. Finish him off and your once fair town will be rid of the tyrant who’s ruined your lives for the past three years,” Damon rationalized, casually leaning against the archway that led from the hallway to the dining room.

“And you, what do you get out of this?” Xander asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Damon swiftly stood up straight, his intense gaze focused on the young man as his own eyes glittered with mischief. “Things go back to the way they were before he rolled into town. The way it oughta be.”

A/N:Thnx for all the reviews

Chapter Twelve: You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

They hadn’t meant to, but Buffy and Spike had fallen asleep, having become accustomed to being in one another’s arms. The couch wasn’t very accommodating for two sleeping bodies, yet it hadn’t seemed to bother the pair. It was Spike who had awoken first, the scent of the encroaching dawn tickling at his sleepy senses. It had been an early night for him, since he usually didn’t fall asleep until after daybreak. It hadn’t really bothered him though. Spending a few precious hours with Buffy was worth the early morning wake-up.

Spike shifted a little, the soreness in his lower back making him long for the softness of the bed that was only a few feet away. Slowly sitting up, he cradled Buffy in his lap, trying not to wake her as he drew her up into his arms. She mewled softly against Spike’s chest when he stood up, unaware that she was being effortlessly carried to her bed. It wasn’t until he gently lowered her onto the soft silky covers that her eyes started to flutter open.

Inhaling deeply, her mind still rattled with sleep, Buffy turned her head from side to side, wondering where she suddenly was. Once she saw Spike, his two strong arms surrounding her as they held his body up above her, she smiled. “Spike?”

“Mornin’ luv,” he grinned back. He knew he was staring at her but he didn’t care. Even with her sleep rumpled clothes, disarrayed bed hair and droopy tired eyes Buffy looked stunning. Spike wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her all day long, and after last night, it was going to be difficult enough just leaving the room, let alone concentrating on whatever obligation he had for the day.

Groaning, Spike plopped down on the bed next to her. Buffy who appeared confused at his abrupt change in mood, curled herself up against his left side. “What’s wrong?”

“Gotta head out soon,” Spike explained, sounding miserable.

“Already?” Buffy asked, also disappointed.

“Duty calls,” the vampire replied, gradually sitting up. He felt a warm hand clutch his arm. Buffy was pulling him back down to the bed. “Luv, I really have to…”

“I know,” Buffy stated as she continued to pull on him, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “But you have to eat first.”

Spike was a little surprised. He knew she had wanted to keep on with their little arrangement, but it hadn’t quite sunk in until now. “You certain, pet?” he asked as he rolled onto his side, searching her hazel eyes to see if the emotions they conveyed betrayed the words she spoke.

Taking his hand, Buffy brought it to the left side of her neck. “I’m sure.”

Spike’s hand floated above her neck for a few seconds, still needing to see if she was completely up for another round of blood letting before he stroked the pleasure inducing mark. Searching her eyes for the slightest trace of fear or doubt, he found none. What was even more interesting was that he found something he would have never expected. Trust. Finding it nearly made him fall off the bed. The past few days could only be described as one long emotional rollercoaster, and with this new tidbit of information, one that seemed to have no sign of slowing down. Not only had Buffy wanted him, but now he knew she trusted him.

Lowering his hand, Spike brushed his thumb over the still healing bite mark he’d given her the last time they had done this. It was light enough so that it relaxed her but not stimulating enough to get her too excited. Bringing his mouth to the unattended side of her neck, Spike placed a tender kiss on the old wound, which made her shiver uncontrollably. Morphing into game face, he pierced her silky skin with his fangs, careful not to tear the flesh. Hearing her whimper, his hand began to caress her neck at a much faster pace. Soon Spike could hear Buffy’s whimpers turn to pants and the unmistakable scent of her arousal filled the air around them. Feeling his body involuntarily react to her, Spike ignored the hard-on and kept his mind focused on what he was doing. He wasn’t going to allow himself to loose control. Spike had seen the trust Buffy had in him; he didn’t want to see it replaced with regret the next time he gazed into those beautiful green eyes.

********

Spike walked out of his room, closing the door as his gaze staid focus on the door across the hallway. After he had finished drinking from Buffy and once he properly bandaged up her neck, he let her go back to sleep. Spike, who had been very careful not to reveal the persistent bulge in his pants, had bolted across the hallway to his room. There, under the hot spray of the shower, the vampire had, for what seemed to be a now daily occurrence, a good long wank. It was getting to the point where every time he stepped into Buffy’s room he left fully aroused and with no hope of satisfaction unless he stooped to self-gratification.

A look of yearning crossed his face as he glanced to her door one last time, before venturing down the hall. When Spike turned on his heel, he hadn’t expected to encounter who he saw waiting for him at the end of the hallway. It worried him that he had been too distracted to have sensed that another vampire was just a few feet away. Trying to appear like he hadn’t been thrown off by the vampire’s sudden materialization, Spike offered an informal greeting. “ ‘lo Damon.”

“Had yourself a good night Spike?” Damon asked, a quirky smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall across Buffy’s room. “Cuz it sure smells like she did.”

In the past, Spike would have chuckled at the remark, maybe even thrown in one of his own quips about his sexual prowess or how much of a good fuck Buffy was. Now Damon’s snide comments only sickened him. Actually, what they really made Spike wanna do was use his bare hands to rip the dark vampire’s head from right off his body. He didn’t like Damon and he sure as hell didn’t like his insinuations. The pillock made Buffy sound like she was nothing but a cheap piece of meat.

That’s when Spike remembered that that was precisely how Damon and everyone else saw Buffy, as the clan leader’s fuck slave. No one knew. They suspected he cared a little more than he should for her, but no one truly knew the extant of the love he felt for Buffy.

Unclenching his fists and relaxing his tightened jaw, Spike gave Damon his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, mate,” he coyly replied. Damon’s only response was to give an indifferent shrug.

Walking past the vampire, Spike started down the hall, until he stopped at the sound of Damon’s voice. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m even here?” he said, as if he were posing a riddle.

Not wishing to play anymore games, Spike exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Just out with it already.”

“The warehouse on the west part of town was taken out by streeters. They got all of our vamps. The post’s theirs now Spike,” Damon clarified, his unexpectedly somber manner indicating the gravity of the situation.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed, punching a hole into the nearest wall. He just couldn’t get a break. The moment things finally start going his way, when his relationship with Buffy was progressing so well and when he had full control over his clan, this had to have happened. If he started loosing face to the streeters, to bloody humans, he was going to loose more respect than when his vamps had suspected he was coddling Buffy. Spike had to retaliate quickly and a few humans were going to have to suffer for what they did so that the vampires of his clan felt like vengeance had been served. A nagging voice at the back of his head told him that Buffy wasn’t going to like that but he pushed it away, focusing on his new dilemma instead.

Pulling the fist from the shattered drywall, Spike turned his platinum head to look at Damon. “Get your minions ready. You’re heading out at nightfall,” Spike ordered, ignoring his bleeding knuckles.

Damon slowly shook his head. “I’m just the messenger. None of my vamps wanna head out there and I sure as hell don’t wanna send them. This is your mess, you deal with it,” Damon defiantly stated.

Spike didn’t like the tone Damon was using with him. He had flogged other vamps for much less. However, he didn’t have the time to argue with him. “Fine. Get your ass downstairs and tell Vincent to meet me there with his crew. Can you handle that, Damon?” Spike replied bitterly, beginning to despise the insistently rebellious vampire.

“Sure thing, boss,” Damon answered, emphasizing the last word. Spike assumed it was an expression of contempt because the ebony haired vampire was being ordered around. Little did he know that Damon was actually being facetious.

Watching the vampire head downstairs, Spike made his way over to Buffy’s room. He was going to have to tell her something. He probably wasn’t going to see her that night and she deserved an explanation as to why. Should he tell her the whole truth? Spike peered down at the bloodied fist; it was the same hand that had hesitantly grasped the doorknob the night before. Spike groaned in aggravation. He couldn’t stand around debating any longer. He didn’t have time to piss away on pleasantries and being nervous.

Opening the door, he entered the lamp lit room, scanning around for Buffy. She was on the couch with the television blasting, watching and singing along to some horrible pop music video. Making his way toward the couch, Spike watched as Buffy realized he had returned, a little surprised to see him. Having changed into clean clothes since the last time he had seen her, she stood up to greet him, a huge smile plastered on her face.

“Hey, you’re here early. Whatcha doing, playing hooky?” she asked, playfully placing a hand on her hip. Buffy started to laugh but stopped herself when she saw the dismal look on Spike’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer to him, concern evident in her eyes. He unintentionally glanced down at his bleeding hand, which only made her fret all the more. “Spike, what happened?”

Not being able to answer her question just yet, he walked past her to the bathroom, throwing the door open. Turning on the sink faucet, he washed his hand, rinsing off the blood and dust. Buffy followed after him, stopping at the bathroom doorway, watching as the water in the sink turned pink. He wasn’t saying anything and her worry was only augmenting her impatience. “Spike, tell me what the hell is going on!” she demanded, frustrated by his uncharacteristically quiet and evasive behavior.

Wiping his hands down with a towel, he threw it back onto the bathroom counter and pushed past her again. Buffy scurried behind him, ready to scream at the top of her lungs in frustration until Spike abruptly stopped in front of the bed. Turning around, he faced an irate Buffy; her arms crossed and scowl marring her face. “I won’t be back tonight luv. Got some business to attend to that might keep me away from the house all night long. Just wanted to let you know I won’t see you ‘til after dawn,” he stated, keeping his tone calm and his words vague.

“Where are you going? Why were you hurt? What could possibly be so important that it’s going to keep you out all night long?” she frantically asked, gesturing wildly.

“I can’t tell you. Just didn’t want you to worry ‘bout me. Tash will be in the house, so no vamps should get any ideas while ‘m gone,” he answered.

His attention turned to the scents around him; he could smell blood. His hand had already healed, so it wasn’t from his wound. He peered down at his shirt and realized he had bled on the black cotton tee. Taking off his duster and the red button up shirt he wore beneath it, Spike tossed the garments on top of the bed. He couldn’t have his blood distracting any of the other vampires. They were going to need to stay focused on reclaiming the warehouse and sniffing out any possible humans who might have been stupid enough to stay behind. Spike walked over to the mahogany dresser and pulled out another t-shirt; he seemed to have an endless supply. He quickly stripped off the soiled shirt and put on the clean one.

Turning back to face Buffy, he caught her dreamily ogling his back before her face returned to its much more stern and unconvinced demeanor. “Spike, you’re not telling me something. Why are you going out tonight?”

Putting only his duster back on, Spike stubbornly shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked, her mood becoming more and more annoyed.

“Why can’t you drop it? You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you stewin’ here all night long wonderin’ where I was,” Spike rebutted, unwavering.

“I’m lucky enough!?! Wow, thank you so much for doing what most people would’ve considered to be a common courtesy!” Buffy vented, slightly shocked by the audacity of his remark. “What has gotten into you?” she wondered, hoping he’d give her a sincere answer.

“Nothin’. Just don’t have time for this right now, alright?” he replied, moving toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t. Come back here and explain to me why you’re being all avoidy,” Buffy commanded, grabbing his arm.

“Buffy, I don’t have time for this. Let go of me,” Spike demanded, waiting for her to release the grip she had on the sleeve of his duster.

“No. Not until you tell me,” she refused, which made Spike glance back at her in irritation. He had forgotten how stubborn Buffy could be, but he couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand.

“Buffy, I’m warning you. Let go of me,” he said slowly, making sure she understood he was completely serious.

“Now you’re warning me?” she asked, stunned by the domineering quality of his voice and stance. She refused to back off as he stared down at her, trying to intimidate her. It felt so reminiscent of what felt like ages ago when she had first been brought to him. Buffy felt her heart constrict, she didn’t understand why Spike was acting this way. Opening her grasp, she finally let go of him.

Pivoting on his heel, he marched to the door when Buffy spoke to him. “So should I take off all my clothes, chain myself to the bed and just wait until you return?” Her soft voice quivered in rage as she glared at Spike.

“What the soddin’ hell are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated beyond belief.

“Well, you can’t even tell me where you’re going. You don’t think it worthwhile to fill me in on what’s going on. And that says a lot more than you think, Spike. Obviously, I’m nothing more than just a plaything that you pretend to be human with.” Buffy paused. “I’m just a warm body for you to fuck.”

Spike strolled back over to her, fury evident in his cobalt eyes. “That’s real ballsy of you! Are you such a bitch that you’re going to deny what we’ve been through these past few months?”

“You seem to have forgotten without too much effort,” Buffy commented, crossing her arms again as her eyes narrowed.

Spike’s last bit of patience evaporated at the sight of the grimace she was giving him. She was looking at him like he was a despicable piece of scum, the way she used to look at him when she had hated him. Buffy was so quick to forget what he’d been through to prove his love for her. It was so easy for her to ignore the feelings he knew she was developing for him. So easy for her to think the worst of him. An insuppressible rage began to boil within him, making his temper flare up violently. Inching himself closer to Buffy, his face a whisper away from hers, Spike let it all go.

“Know what I haven’t forgotten? You riddin’ me ‘til my eyes rolled back into their bleedin' sockets, front of a room full of vamps,” he replied, making sure his face always in hers as the invasion of personal space made her want to step away.

“Also remember you screaming out my name when I fucked you on that very couch,” he added, pointing to the said couch as he continued to follow after a retreating Buffy.

“Spike, you’re scaring me,” she cowered, frantically looking side to side, trying to find away to escape, feeling like the vampire was cornering her.

“Scary am I? Didn’t stop you from forcing me to drink from you. Were you scared when you cumed from my bites, pet?”

Buffy suddenly felt her back bump into a wall Spike’s face was so close to hers that she could see amber flecks in his wild blue eyes. She heard a growl escape his lips, his eyes intently focused on her. She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the wall. Grabbing her chin, he roughly brought her gaze back to his own. The forceful treatment made her shrink in fear.

“If you want things to go to the way they were before and ignore everything that’s happened between us, fine. But don’t ever think it’s something I want. If I did, I would have already smacked the gall out of you,” he threatened, his eyes still smoldering with fury.

Spike let go of her face, his mood swinging as he glumly dropped his hand to his side. Buffy watched as his expression changed from anger to despair. “Do you have any idea what it’s like craving you? Looking forward to the next moment just to be with you? Having you in my arms but not having you completely?” Spike forlornly asked, bringing his hand back up to her face, but this time to stroke it tenderly.

Buffy grew tense as she felt Spike press her against the wall with his body. He ran his fingers lightly over her flowing blonde hair, uncaring about her apprehensive posture. Lowering his lips to her ear, he hoarsely whispered, “Do you know how much I wish I could just throw caution to the wind, ignore what I know is wrong and have my way with you? Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to restrain myself?”

As his lips brushed her earlobe, his hand traveled down from her hair, past her bandaged neck, finally stopping as it cupped one of her breasts. Buffy gasped from the unforeseen move, sensing her body betraying her as she felt the dampness between her legs. Spike kept going, ignoring the voice in his mind that was screaming at him to stop before he completely ruined all his chances with Buffy. Breathing heavily, he continued to whisper into her ear. “If you want things to go the way they were before pet, you won’t get a complaint out of me,” he added, stroking her clothed breast with his thumb and pressing his now rock solid erection against her stomach to underline him point.

Buffy initially felt hypnotized, her own body craving the ecstasy that she knew Spike could offer. Reality, however, soon hit and she pushed Spike off of her, visibly disgusted. Spike started to laugh like a madman. “Course you don’t. Got it good now, don’t you? You get the lovesick vampire and a scheduled happy every single day. Meanwhile I’m left pulling my hair out just trying to keep myself from going on a killing spree,” he said, his laughter abruptly coming to an end as he moved his way back closer to her. “You think I’m being heartless and that I’m completely disregarding whatever glimmer of trust we’ve developed? Well I think you’re being a selfish and ignorant fucking bitch!” he spewed out, contempt lacing every word.

“I hate you,” Buffy spouted back, her throat tight as her brimming tears threatened to spill down her flushed face.

“Not enough to stop me from touching though. Not even enough to stop yourself,” Spike rebutted, moving his face so that his eyes were level with hers. “Guess we know what kind of girl that makes you, eh luv?”

Buffy’s hand flew at him, slapping him hard across the cheek. He staggered back, shocked not only by the blow she had inflicted but also by the realization of what he had just done. Holding his cheek, his bewildered eyes looked down at her. She was fuming, her chest heaving as the tears finally broke free.

“Buffy, luv…” Spike moved closer, reaching out to her as he attempted to apologize.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Buffy, ‘m sorry. Please…” he beseeched, desperately pleading with her.

“Get out!” she said sternly, avoiding the sorrow in his eyes.

“Pet, please…”

“GET OUT!!!” Buffy screamed, collapsing into a ball on the cold ceramic floor, hiding her face in her arms as she cried.

Spike observed her trembling form; he could hear the horrible sobs she was making. It ripped right through him. Every thing they’d been through, every small step they had made, gone because Buffy had doubted his feelings for her. It was that doubt, combined with all his frustrations, that had made Spike snap. He felt like such a fool. In mere minutes Spike had obliterated what had taken him months to build.

He needed to get out of the room; the sight of Buffy reminded him of the last time he had made her cry that hard. She had despised him them like she probably despised him now. Spike had blown it and Buffy was most likely never going to want to see him, let alone speak to him, again.

Reluctantly turning toward the door, Spike stopped in his tracks, knowing Buffy could probably still hear him despite her crying. “I didn’t tell you what I was going to do because you would have hated me for it. Guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He paused. “I lost one of my posts, a warehouse on the west side of town, to the streeters and now I gotta head out there and take back what’s mine. I didn’t want to tell you ‘cos I knew you’d figure out that I might hafta kill a few humans. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Guess, I was wrong for thinkin’ you’d ever have any expectations of me,” Spike desolately stated, storming out of the room before Buffy could respond.

Buffy lifted her head up, taken aback by what he had just divulged. A whirl of emotions slammed through her, leaving her baffled and miserable. Curling back into her ball, Buffy began to sob again, incapable of understanding just how it was possible in the course of a few hours to go from sleeping in Spike’s arms to hating every fibre of his being.

Off in the hallway, a few paces away, on the other side of the wooden door, stood a remorseful Spike, whose thoughts were plagued by that very same question.

A/N: Things can't seem to get anyworse right? Guess you'll just have to wait and see. But have a faith. And keep on sending in those wonderful reviews!
A/N: It's a short chapter, but a good one. Plz keep sending in those wonderful reviews!

Chapter Thirteen: Et Tu, Damon?

Once night fell, Spike hit the streets. Though he knew he should have spent the afternoon planning out strategies with Vincent, like he had intended to, Spike had instead hidden himself away in his room. He had been too distraught to arouse any sort of interest in his clan or even in that night’s mission to reclaim the warehouse. He had just sat on the floor, leaning against the badly painted wall, staring into the dark empty room with a mind void of any real thought. He had sat there like a lump, hating himself, smoking his whole pack of cigarettes and finishing off every last drop of bourbon in his flask. A whole day wasted away in self-loathing. Now, he was outside, making his way down the deserted streets of Sunnydale, with the stars glittering above him. Spike couldn’t help but feel like they were mocking him with all their cheerful twinkling.

The vampire made his way down the street, his mood somber as he headed to the west side of town. He assumed Vincent and his gang were waiting for him; he never really did follow up on if Damon had delivered the message. At the moment, he didn’t really care. Spike just wanted to get there, deal with it, then go back to his room and wallow for as long as he possibly could.

It was his town; well half of it was anyway, so he didn’t mind leaving the house all on his own. Maybe he should be more vigilant, but again, he just didn’t care. Perhaps Spike was looking for a good brawl; he definitely needed to let off some steam. If someone or something was stupid enough to attack him, it was their funeral.

Drawing his black leather duster tighter around him, Spike tried to blend into the shadows. His thoughts weren’t so much focused on his surroundings as they were on a certain blond haired girl who he had terribly wronged. He still couldn’t believe what had happened that morning. How could he have said those things to her? Bowing his head in shame, he trudged along down the road. Gone was his usual confident swagger, replaced instead with a gloomy march, his entire being saturated with melancholy.

Spike quickened his pace. He just wanted this night to be over with.

Turning a corner, he took a few shortcuts through the backstreets, jumping over chain-linked fences and leaping from rooftops. He soon found himself near the border, snaking around the town’s many streets and their adjoining alleyways. Spike was making his way past one specific alley that looked no different from any of the others, when something he heard coming from within caught his attention. Veering off-track, Spike slowly crept toward the sound, peering over the edge of the wall to see what was hidden within the blackness of the alley.

Scanning for a few seconds, his vampire eyes finally focused on two struggling forms. He could hear cries of despair as the strong stench of blood and fear hit him like a ton of bricks. Spike also heard muffled threats and the sounds of flesh being slapped with an open hand. Someone was getting manhandled, he deduced.

Before he knew what he was doing, Spike was making his way into dark alley. He could see dark brown hair swaying frantically as a girl tried to pry herself out of some smelly bugger’s grip. She seemed desperate to get away but she wasn’t screaming for help. Made perfect sense, to Spike anyway. You start hollering for help, you’re more likely to attract some of the nasties that roam these parts than some Good Samaritan who’d be willing to risk his neck to save you.

Spike picked up on the scent of alcohol mixed in with the fear and blood. Usually he would relish in this kind of mayhem, the demon in him exhilarated by the potential hunt and violence. This time however, his mind could only focus on the little whimpers of fear that echoed throughout the cold dank alley. It was too familiar. Her cries were pounding into his head and he just wanted to make it stop.

Reaching out, Spike grabbed the sad excuse for a demon by the neck, easily flinging the lout off of the girl. He crashed into the opposite wall; the sound of his bones crunching reverberated through the suspenseful silence. Spike peeked down at the unconscious, and might he add, quite ripe smelling vamp. Hold on a sec? Spike was definitely off his game. Human. The asshole was human. The cornucopia of smells must have masked the guy’s true scent. For some reason in his mind, Spike could have sworn he had seen a defenseless blond girl getting attacked by a vampire. Wait. Blond? ‘Mind’s playin’ tricks on you again, mate. It’s not her. Totally different chit. Not to mention the fact that this one’s a brunette.’

Spike turned his head back to the fallen and beaten girl. Taking a whiff of the air, he confirmed that they were both human. What the hell were two humans doing in this part of town?

Glancing up at the wall he had thrown the thug against, Spike saw the neon glowing sign. It all started to make sense. The Lupanar. It was a clandestine brothel that catered to both humans and demons alike, and was one of Sunnydale’s best kept dirty secrets. The place was a landmark in the town’s demon underground, established long before Spike had ever set foot in Sunnydale. The Gyrnel demon that owned the place was generous enough to take in Spike’s vamps as clientele, so long as none of the girls ended up dead. That was pretty much how this place ran. For the right price, you could do whatever you wanted, just don’t kill or permanently scar the girls. But what wasn’t making much sense to Spike was that The Lupanar usually employed these giant meat-headed bouncers to keep a watchful eye over the merchandise and the assorted customers. All hell usually broke loose if anyone even tried to step out of line. How this pissant human had somehow managed to drag out a girl without anyone even noticing was beyond him. Spike shrugged at the mystery. Didn’t matter now. She was safe.

Speaking of which, Spike peered down only to see a mass of long curly chestnut hair and quivering skinny limbs. She was still crying. He didn’t understand why. No bug ugly was gonna touch her now. Shrugging again, Spike started to walk away. He felt the girl tug on his leg, refusing to let go. Getting a little bored with the whole situation, he looked back down at her, ready to tell the girl to buck up and bugger off. He stopped himself when he saw her huge glistening green eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. God, thank you so much,” the girl incoherently rambled, as she continued to kneel by his feet.

Well this was different. Spike wasn’t used to girls praising him. They usually scurried away from him, screaming at the top of their lungs. They didn’t look up at him like he was their bloody Lord and Savior. Spike stepped away from her, needing to distance himself from the unfamiliar feeling of accomplishment that was suddenly weighing down on his chest. God, why did the girl suddenly look so much like Buffy?

“No problem, pet. Just go on and get your precious self back inside,” Spike said, surprised at how soothing his voice was.

The girl vigorously nodded, sniffling and wiping away her tears. She stood up and made her way to the brothel’s back door, the sign’s buzzing fluorescent glow lighting up the small steps that lead up to the rear entrance. Opening the door, she turned back to Spike with a smile that seemed so out of place against her swollen and bleeding face. “If only we had more guys like you around here,” she commented as she slipped into the building.

Spike wondered if he had fallen into some alternate dimension. When did he start saving damsels in distress? What had possessed him to get involved? What the hell was happening to him? If any of his vamps found out what he had just done, he wouldn’t only lose all his creditability as their leader but he’d be the utter laughing stock of the entire clan. He could just hear the nickname now: William the White Hat. Why couldn’t he have just walked away?

‘You bloody well know why, you ponce!’ he internally reprimanded. An image of those sparkling green eyes flew into his head. The sounds of crying filled his ears. Buffy. It was always because of Buffy. The thought of her in this exact same alley, getting pawed at by some drunken oaf made Spike want to retch. Is that what she had looked like when his minions had caught her? So helpless and scared?

Spike stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the empty street. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his duster, he continued on. He wasn’t too far from the warehouse. Just a few more blocks really. The vampire stopped for a second and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Empty. Great. He was dying for a fag to smoke out his jitters. Taking in a deep breathe, he took a moment to sit down on a wooden crate that was by the wall of some factory. Glancing around, he realized he was suddenly in the town’s industrial district.

Spike didn’t know what to feel. He should be disgusted with himself. Honestly, who’d ever heard of a vampire helping the helpless? Spike ran his hands over his face. But he wasn’t disgusted. If anything, he felt good knowing Buffy would be proud of him. In theory, she would have been proud. Now, he wasn’t so sure. The last words he had spoken to her had cemented his fate. She was never going to be proud of him and she was certainly never going to forgive him if he went back to her with blood on his hands. He could picture Buffy in his thoughts, the look of pure and unadulterated revulsion on her face. The whole argument replayed in his head. Spike never wanted to see her like that again. He didn’t want to be the cause of her pain anymore. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before. Before he had opened his gob and destroyed the only bit of happiness left in their mostly miserable lives.

That was it. Spike decided. To hell with the consequences. He wasn’t going to go through with the counter-attack. He’d still go to warehouse but he was going to call the whole thing off. Make up some excuse, like Damon had fabricated the whole thing to try to create a new riff between the leader and his clan. Yeah, that was believable, right? Spike would order everyone off on their merry way and make his own way back home. He would go straight to Buff’s room where, after explaining to her that he had cancelled the raid, he would crawl on his hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness. Spike knew he didn’t deserve it, but he prayed to whichever god it was that was messing with his life to get her to just listen to him.

“Better get going,” Spike thought out loud, feeling as though a weight had been lifted. Sliding off of the crate, he headed to the warehouse, his eyes being able to make out the silhouette of the condemned building against the backdrop of the night sky. Spike consciously rearranged his posture. ‘Can’t have any one suspectin’ the Big Bad’s gone soft,’ he reflected.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he looked up to the sky. ‘Buffy, what have you done to me?’

Swaggering towards the front entrance, he perked up his senses to pick up on Vincent or his vamps. Strangely, he couldn’t sense any of them. Instead, he caught wind of another vampire. One who just that morning had refused to go anywhere near the warehouse.

“Damon? What the hell are you doing here?” Spike wondered, as he walked toward the dark vampire.

Damon, whose presence was illuminated by a nearby functioning lampost, was lounging about on the front stone steps of the warehouse’s main entrance. Jumping to his feet and with a spring in his step, he made his way closer to Spike. “Surprised to see me?” he asked with a sinister-looking grin on his face.

“Yeah…What happened to not wanting to clean up my mess?” Spike asked, eyeing Damon as he edged closer to him.

“Change of heart I guess,” Damon casually stated. His superficial tone set off silent alarms in the back of Spike’s head.

“‘S that right?” Spike asked, taking a few hesitant steps toward Damon.

“Uh huh,” Damon casually replied, stopping a few feet from Spike.

“Where’s Vincent?” Spike inquired, glancing around.

“He’s not coming,” Damon answered, smiling widely at Spike’s malcontent reaction.

“Why the hell not?” Spike vehemently asked, his jaw clenching at Damon’s clear display of disobedience.

“I didn’t tell him to meet us here,” the dark vampire responded, carelessly examining his hand as Spike fumed at him just a few paces away.

Spike angrily stepped toward Damon, pointing his finger at him. “I’ve just had about enough of you, you pillock! The raid is officially off. You better hope Natasha held onto that whip she likes so much. If not, she’ll have to find a new one. And you know how much fun she gets outta breakin’ ‘em in,” Spike sneered threateningly, watching Damon recoil a little.

Damon shook off the threat, regaining his composure and resuming the menacing smirk he usually sported. He suddenly started to laugh. Spike watched, completely baffled; Damon’s impudence was completely inexplicable and absolutely inexcusable. Nevertheless, the black haired vampire continued to chuckle, clearly mocking Spike. “You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice still light and giddy.

“What the fuck are you blathering on about?” Spike was used to Damon’s rebellious ways, but this was beyond rebellion, this was pure insubordination.

“Well, you seem to think that I would actually waste my time and play messenger boy for you. Why should I go trouble Vincent when this catastrophe is all your fault?” Damon wondered, his tone steady and fearless.

“Because I bloody well ordered you to!” Spike roared, his voice breaking through the night’s silence.

Damon laughed again. “Oh Spike. See that’s what you’re not getting. Why should I follow your orders?” he asked, reclining on the lamp post he was standing by.

“You have some nerve. You follow my orders ‘cos ‘m your fucking leader!” Spike gritted out, livid with the vampire he had once considered worthy enough to be one of his seconds-in-command.

Damon’s strolled over to Spike, his mood more calm and serious, the laughter still there but only in his grey eyes. Standing face to face with his leader and spotting the ice cold fury in Spike’s azure glare, Damon smirked. “Not for long.”

Spike didn’t fully understand the meaning of Damon’s statement. Glancing away as Damon took a step back, Spike’s mind grappled with what he had just heard. Looking back up and seeing Damon’s smug face, Spike suddenly knew something was very wrong. Before he could reply, the net dropped.

Thrashing wildly, his gaze never left Damon’s as at least ten humans ambushed him. He knocked two to the ground, but the rest kept a strong hold on the net. Roaring like a rabid animal, Spike struggled against those who were trying to restrain him.

“DAMON!” Spike screamed as the treacherous vampire arrogantly smiled, menacingly waving goodbye as he slowly faded away into the shadows.

Spike kept on fighting. He could feel himself getting brutally hit; fists, kicks, blunt objects. It didn’t deter him though. All he could think of was Buffy. He wasn’t going to be there, which meant that she was going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Damon had betrayed him and was no doubt heading to the house. He was going to go after Buffy and Spike wasn’t going to be there to protect her.

A jolt of electricity shot right through him. His body tensed as he rigidly collapsed to the ground. He groaned loudly from the pain but it hadn’t been enough to knock him out. Gazing up through the holes of the net, he saw the face of a man he’d thought he’d never see again. The word ‘Watcher’ crossed his mind as another jolt sent him into a dark oblivion.

Chapter Fourteen: He’s Gone

She was running again. It was always with the running. Night after night she exhaustedly tried to flee as the laughter, that creepy maniacal laughter, followed her wherever she went. Her neck tingled, like that feeling you get when someone is standing right behind you, just a little too close for comfort. He was going to catch her soon. Buffy hated this. She was practically running blind, sometimes tripping over herself as he chased after her, always only a few steps behind.

Then something changed. Buffy’s unconscious mind, the one that had created this frighteningly unrelenting world, seemed to have drastically tilted on its axis. Her sole purpose in this reality was gradually conforming. For the first time ever in any of her dreams, she actually slowed to a halt. Pivoting around, she realized Mr. Ominous wasn’t chasing her after her anymore; well she assumed he wasn’t, it was hard to make out anything in the black of night that enveloped her. Buffy stood completely still, her head spinning and her insides twisting as she felt what seemed like the cosmos themselves realigning. There was a shift in the air and the need to get the hell away suddenly converted into a need to run to someone.

That someone namely being Spike.

Buffy had the sudden desperate urge to find Spike. Buffy’s conscience, the part of her that could not forget the sins that the vampire had committed against her, was muted and walled out in this dream dimension. At the moment, all she knew was that she had to see his face again; she had to know he was alright. Voluntarily sprinting further into the black abyss she had once cursed, Buffy madly dashed down the winding unpaved road, hoping that this time it might actually take her somewhere. She prayed it’d lead to Spike.

Buffy bolted upright out of bed, extremely alert. That was weird. She hadn’t woken up screaming and the sheets seemed to be lacking their usual layer of cold sweat. Really weird nightmare. ‘Could you even call it a nightmare?’ she wondered as she held her head in confusion. The memory of her cataleptic experience was slowly fading, but the emotions they had conjured up were still just as vivid. Looking around the room, she realized that Spike wasn’t back yet. Buffy let out a short sigh in disappointment. She didn’t know why, especially after what had happened between them last night, but she really wanted to make sure that that stupid vampire of hers was okay.

‘Hold on a sec?’ Buffy thought as she almost rolled off the bed. Did she just refer to Spike as ‘hers’?’

The whole disaster that had been last night was still fresh in her mind. After Spike had left, she had crawled into bed, still crying her eyes out. Only when she had dried out all of her tear reserves had she finally managed to fall into an exhausted sleep. The cathartic sob session hadn’t only been emotionally therapeutic; it had helped clear away the gloomy clouds hanging over her head. Oh Buffy was still pissed and the feeling of being punched in gut wasn’t going away any time soon, but at least she didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was confident that she could now think more clearly without getting so emotional. So when, her now more logically capable brain wondered, did I exactly think of Spike as ‘mine’?

Buffy reasoned it must be her post-fight frazzled mind not thinking straight. She was supposed to be mad at him now, so she casually shrugged off the possibility that her slip up had been a subconscious disclosure of her true feelings for the absentee vampire. Sluggishly padding over to bathroom, Buffy turned on the tap. Splashing some cold water on her face, she washed away the sleep from her eyes and then grabbed a clean white towel from the rack next to her to wipe down her face. Placing the towel back in its place, Buffy looked into the mirror, her eyes drawn immediately to her neck. She lightly brushed her fingers over the two little puncture wounds; they had healed pretty well. ‘Probably won’t scar too noticeably’. Gazing at the marks, Buffy realized just how cautious Spike had been and the amount of restraint he must have had used when he had bitten her. She could tell just by looking at them that he had tried so hard to not hurt her. Slowly drawing her hand over her chest, Buffy took in a quivering breath. Too bad he hadn’t been so careful with her heart.

Buffy made her way back into the room, settling down on the couch as she mindlessly flipped through the channels, needing to find some form of distraction. When her channel surfing resulted in absolutely nothing decent to watch, she began to roughly increase the rate at which she pressed the ‘up’ button on the remote. Growling at the indiscernible images flicking across the TV screen, she chucked the remote to the floor, the batteries flying out into the air. Though it appeared to be that her anger was directed towards the poorly programmed weekday morning television, it was actually the furthest thing from her mind.

‘How could he have said those things to me?’

Spike had made her feel so dirty; he had technically called her a slut. When he had had her pressed up against that wall, all the memories of two months past had remerged and Buffy was back on the cool ceramic floor, dressed in one of his dirty black tees, chained to the bed, letting him use her body. When those words had passed from his lips, in Buffy’s mind, she was his slave again, degrading herself just to not get hit, just to survive another day. And he was that monster again, the one towering over her as he tried to break her. In her mind’s eye, for the briefest second, Spike was her merciless Master again and that’s how it was always going to be.

Buffy knew she had pushed his buttons a little, but it didn’t mean it gave him the right to go ballistic on her. The niggling guilt that she had been trying to suppress since she had woken up from that dream had finally broken through her tough resolve. Not all of what Spike had said to her the previous night had been completely untrue.

Buffy groaned loudly as she laid herself out on the couch, throwing her arms over her face. Had she been selfish? Spike was always bending over backwards for her. He was constantly trying to do right by her. Deep down she knew it but for some reason last night she didn’t want to believe it. The moment Spike had refused to tell her where he was going, she had wanted to hate him. It was just too much like it had once been between them. The look of dominance in his cold eyes kindled a fire in her that she had thought had been extinguished long ago. Buffy had openly doubted his feelings for her and she had ignored her own. Why? She wished she knew. Why couldn’t she trust him?

‘Well, you were right to be suspicious. He was going out to kill somebody,’ she reflected.

‘Yeah, but if you hadn’t been such a bitch maybe you could have stopped him, talked him out of it even,’ she internally countered.

Buffy whined childishly. Why was everything so hard? At the drop of a hat she had basically spat on his claim of love for her. Buffy had been so quick to forget, so quick to doubt him. She knew that was why he had flipped. If only she had been a little more trusting. The whole disaster could have been averted.

Buffy was terribly conflicted. She was so angry with Spike but she felt bad about how she had pushed him too far; it was her mistrust in him that had forced his temper to fly over the edge. She knew that the wrong words could easily come out when a person was delirious with rage. It didn’t mean the words didn’t cut any less. Now, not only did she feel guilty about hurting Spike but she felt like it was her fault if anyone had gotten killed in his counter attack on the warehouse.

Buffy wondered when Spike would be home. She needed to talk to him, to resolve this, but how was she going to be able to look at him again knowing what he’d done? Buffy’s head suddenly hurt from too much thinking. It didn’t matter at the moment. What was done was done. She just needed to see him again. Must have been why her dream had been so different from all the others. Her subconscious had been trying to tell her what was taking her all morning just to figure out. She had to settle things with Spike. For both their sakes.

Buffy stayed mulling over her thoughts on the couch, not paying much mind to the time that was passing by, that is until the front door violently burst open. The unexpectedness of it caused her to nearly fly up into the air and land on the floor. Glancing over the back of the leather couch, she saw Natasha and Vincent walk in, their eyes scanning the room.

“Buffy?” Natasha called out, her voice tense as she portentously strutted around the room, looking for the blond human girl.

“I’m here,” Buffy announced her presence timidly, peeking from behind the back of the couch.

Vincent closed and locked the door once he had seen Buffy for himself. The two vampires marched over to her, their faces void of any emotion, which frightened Buffy. She tried not to look them straight in the eye, unsure what the etiquette was with these two. Sure, she’d had casual conversation with Natasha before but everything had changed after that night at the Bronze. She was supposed to be Spike’s slave. Plus, she wasn’t completely certain what to do when Spike wasn’t around. Buffy really didn’t want to offend these two vampires, especially when Spike wasn’t there to protect her. She hoped he had been right about these two, that she could trust them.

Natasha and Vincent rounded the couch, stopping in front of Buffy, standing intimidatingly above her. She dared to glance up at them. Natasha’s large brown eyes were gazing right back at her, the dark beauty’s brow was furrowed and a look of both trepidation and sheer fury marred her face. Peering up at Vincent, Buffy realized that it was the first time she had ever laid eyes on the vamp. He had a nicely structured face, not as chiseled as Spike’s but still nice, and his hair was dark brown with flecks of grey. She surmised that he must have been turned when he had been in his forties. His expression was stoic, but his hazel eyes were a collage of emotion. In Buffy’s opinion, neither of them looked very happy.

“W-what’s wrong?” she asked, fear making her hesitant to speak.

Natasha narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized Buffy’s seemingly innocent and oblivious demeanor. When Natasha was convinced that Buffy was sincerely confused and not simply using a dumb blond routine to hide anything from them, she spoke. “Did Spike say anything to you last night?” the vampiress asked, crossing her arms.

“Like what?” Buffy asked back, genuinely perplexed as to why they were questioning her when they could just wait for Spike to return.

Natasha groaned, visibly becoming impatient. “Like did he say anything about where he was going or what his plans were?”

“Not really. He said he was going to the warehouse, near the border. I think he said on the west part of town,” Buffy offered, trying to recall exactly what Spike had said to her the night before.

“What was he going there for?” Natasha inquired, her agitation increasing. Why she was getting so upset, Buffy didn’t know but it was making feel a little uneasy.

“H-he said he had to take back the warehouse,” Buffy answered, sitting on her hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

“Why the fuck didn’t he tell either one of us? He wouldn’t go out on his own,” she yelled at the small blonde.

Buffy flinched slightly, her body tensing, readying for fight or flight. Neither were really an option but Natasha was freaking her out. She tried to respond but she was loosing control over her voice. “I-I d-don’t know.”

“Natasha, calm yourself. There’s no need to raise your voice at poor Buffy,” Vincent interceded, motivated by the mounting scent of the girl’s fear. Kneeling down in front of the Buffy, Vincent gave her a comforting smile. “Now Buffy, is there anything else you remember that Spike might have said last night?” he asked in soothing tones.

Buffy glanced up to Natasha, who was pacing in front of the TV like a caged panther, ready to pounce at any moment. Definitely a good cop, bad cop routine. Buffy took in a shaky breath and shook her head. “No. But he was kinda angry. I don’t know if that helps,” Buffy said still nervous as Vincent patted her on the knee.

“That’s fine, lamb,” he told her, his voice still steady and his expression still pleasant. Buffy decided then and there that she liked Vincent. If he wasn’t a vampire, she wouldn’t have minded to get to know him a little better. She watched as Vincent got up and walked over to Natasha, the two quickly whispering to one another.

“What’s with all the questions?” Buffy asked, shrinking when Natasha angrily glanced over at her. “I-I mean, why not just ask Spike. Isn’t he back yet?” she asked apprehensively.

“Spike’s been captured,” Natasha stated matter-of-factly.

Buffy eyes widened in shock. “W-what?”

“Damon just arrived here today, makin’ a lot of noise about some ambush,” Vincent enlightened. “He claims that a bunch of human had outnumbered them and where he had somehow miraculously managed to escape, Spike hadn’t been as fortunate,” he skeptically elaborated.

Buffy was inwardly distressed. If Spike was gone, she had no one to protect her from the ass-load of bloodthirsty vampires wandering around the house, just dying to get a piece of her. She’d be put up on the auction block and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Her heart started to hammer away in her chest and a cold sweat broke out all over her body. Buffy was officially freaking out.

Yet even though she was petrified beyond words, scared that she might die a violent death at the hands of some vicious vamp that very night, there was something else that frightened her so much more. The mere thought that she would never see Spike’s infuriatingly cocky smirk or hear his annoyingly inappropriate innuendos was agonizingly devastating. She was on the verge of hyperventilating just from the idea that he would never again look at her with the undying love that was always present in all of his cerulean gazes, even if only in the slightest glimmer, even when she didn’t really deserve it. Buffy fought back the tears that were building up and cleared her throat. “So what do we do now?”

“‘We’ aren’t doing anything. Vincent and I are going out to find Spike,” Natasha retorted, not hiding her blatant disdain for the human girl.

“But what about me?” The high-pitched question instantly flew out of Buffy’s mouth, her panic rising as it played with her vocal chords.

Vincent sighed. “Damon is too busy vying for power at the moment. With Spike’s unexpected disappearance the whole clan will be in certain upheaval for a few days. You’ll be safe so long as you don’t draw attention to yourself,” he explained reassuringly.

Buffy was slightly confused by what the elder vampire had mentioned. “You mean they aren’t going to look for Spike?”

“All the other vampires in this clan are nothing but utter lemmings; they have no loyalties, and will follow whichever flavor of the week vamp that comes along and scares them into submission. Hell, they’d follow a sac of potatoes if it could give out orders,” the older vampire sardonically commented.

Vincent paused for a moment, feeling he was straying off topic. “As Spike’s lieutenants, it is our duty to find him and to rule in his place until he returns. Actually it’s Damon’s responsibility as well, but he’s acting as though Spike is gone for good,” he explained, the concern for his abducted leader evident on his crinkled brow. “It is why Natasha and I believe something is seriously wrong. When we asked him about the location of the attack, I noticed an irregularity in his behavior and his answer was clearly preposterous.”

“What did he say?” Buffy asked, feeling a little less intimidated and a little more put at ease with Vincent.

It was Natasha who answered though. “Damon said it happened near the bronze, which is complete bull shit because that place is crawling with our vamps. There’s no way Spike would have gotten attacked without someone else coming in to help him out,” she vehemently stated.

“From what you said, we believe Spike must have been attacked at the warehouse,” Vincent told Buffy, kneeling down in front of her once again, taking her warm hand in his cool one. Buffy tried not to recoil at the vampire’s touch, not wanting to come off as being unappreciative of the kindness he was showing her. Instead she focused on his kindly face, giving him her full attention as he continued. “Damon must have lured him there somehow. It is him who you must worry the most about, Buffy. The moment he has trampled his competitors and consolidated power over the clan, he will come after you. It’s been no secret how he feels about Spike and his lil’ pet human.”

“How long before you think he’ll come after me?” Buffy asked, trembling.

“Probably no more than two days, but Natasha and I will surely have found Spike by then. Now that we know where to start, we’ll track him down in no time,” Vincent answered thoughtfully, patting her on the hand. “But don’t worry, lamb. When Spike returns Damon’s entire claim to fame will become null and void. He won’t be able to lay a finger on you.”

Despite his best efforts to reassure her, Buffy didn’t feel any less petrified about the whole situation. “S-so basically what you’re saying is that you guys are going to go find Spike while Damon’s too distracted to stop you, and I get to wait here like a sitting duck?”

Natasha tapped her nose with her index finger in confirmation. “Yup,” she quickly replied. “So make sure you keep quiet. Don’t even breathe loud.”

Vincent stood up and moved to stand next to Natasha. “Keep the door locked, luv, and keep a stake handy at all times,” he advised as the two vampires turned to leave. Vincent paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and I wouldn’t advise sleeping tonight either, ducks.”

Before Vincent and Natasha got to the door, Buffy rushed over to them. “Thanks. I know this isn’t something you normally do, you know, trying to help out a human and all,” she said sheepishly, trepidation still tainting her voice.

Natasha turned to face Buffy as Vincent unlocked the door. She didn’t appear very pleased by the human’s gratitude. “Let’s just get one thing straight, alright Blondie? I’m doing this for Spike and only Spike. For some reason he likes having you around, so I sure don’t want him anymore pissed off than he’ll probably be when he gets back because he finds out his precious little Buffy is dead,” the vampiress pointed out, her tone biting with spite. “Who knows? You’re probably a great person and if we were both humans, or even if Spike had actually had the right sense to turn you, I bet we would have been the best of friends. But that’s not how things are and that’s not how they’ll ever be, so don’t delude yourself in thinking I’m doing any of this just for you.”

Vincent opened the door, holding it open for Natasha. She moved to walk through but stopped and turned one last time to Spike’s human slave girl. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d hope Spike’s still alive because I just might let Damon have you.” With that said, Natasha haughtily marched out of the room.

As the brunette had spouted out her venomous diatribe, Buffy had slowly shrunk into herself, eventually bowing her head to avoid Natasha’s intense and enraged glare. Vincent took Buffy’s quivering chin in his hand and lifted her face up to his. He was smiling down at her, his brown eyes tender with sympathy. “Don’t listen to her, lamb. She partly blames you for what happened to Spike. Things just haven’t been the same since you showed up,” he comforted, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Personally, I like you. You have a spark in you that I’ve rarely seen in my hundreds of years of existing. It’s actually quite refreshing.” Vincent released his gentle hold of her face, content to see a slight blush creep over her cheeks as a tiny smile tugged on her lips.

“Take care Buffy,” Vincent said as he turned to leave.

“Promise that you’ll bring him back to me,” Buffy sorrowfully implored, her suddenly tear-filled eyes betraying her attempt to put on a brave face.

“I promise,” Vincent assured, slipping out of the room as he closed the door behind him. Buffy hurriedly bolted the door and reinforced the lock by placing a chair beneath the doorknob. She ran to the bed, grabbing the stake she hid under her pillow and slipped beneath the covers. Buffy shivered as she gripped the piece of wood as if it were her only lifeline. Almost on impulse, she bent slightly over the edge of the bed, her free hand reaching under the mattress. Grabbing hold of what she kept tucked away, she pulled out a leather bound journal. Getting comfortable again, she flipped open the book with her free hand as the other help the wooden weapon to her chest.

A few days ago, after Spike had unintentionally blurted out his incoherent ramblings of love when he had first fed from her, Buffy had acted on the urge to pull his journal out from its hiding place. She kept it by her bed and read from it, obviously only when Spike wasn’t around. She found out that it was only the front half that was just scribblings where as the second half actually chronicled a bit of William’s life. It made her feel safe and at the moment, it made her long for Spike’s return all the more.

‘Please let him be okay,’ she prayed as she began to read William’s secret musings. She was beginning to understand some of the emotions behind his entries. It was easy to relate to loneliness and insecurity when you’re the only human in a house full of vampires.

Buffy snuggled deeper in her blankets, still shaking, feeling as though she couldn’t get warm even with all her coverings. As ironic as it was, it was Spike’s cold body that she yearned to warm her. A tear slid down her cheek as she closed the journal and lowered her head to her pillow. “I don’t care what happened last night between us,” she choked in a whisper. “Just come back to me Spike.”

Author's Note: Thnx for all the wonderful reviews!!!! Hope you enjoy the chapter. P.S Spike get's tortured in this chapter so beware if you're schweemish.

A groan escaped Spike’s lips as he slowly regained consciousness, his clouded mind struggling to focus on his surroundings. The persistent soreness in his knees told him he had been kneeling down on the hard cement floor for some time now. The dull ache in his shoulders brought his uneven attention to his arms, which were pulled back around a stone pillar, tied together by thick coarse ropes. Weakly lifting his head up, Spike glanced around, barely making out through the hazy darkness a mess of tables, chairs and computers screens. The large open room he was in had a cold, dark and dank quality to it which made Spike assume he was being held in some sort of basement. In the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of a few small blackened out windows. He had no idea how long he’d been knocked out, and though Spike could sense the sun outside, he had no clue what time of day it was specifically. His head fell back to his chest from an inexplicable exhaustion but when his face hit bare flesh, he realized he was missing a few articles of clothing; his shirt and duster were gone.

Feeling as though he had been thrown head first into a frozen lake, a short period of clarity washed over Spike. He knew what was about to happen, what was in store for him if he didn’t get the hell out of there. Spike desperately tried to rip the ropes apart, but for all his efforts, he couldn’t get himself to break free. That was when he picked up on the scent of magic in the damp air and shuddered at the thought that he was being magically drained. No vampire strength, no resistance against whatever was going to be thrown his way.

‘Watcher’s got a witch helpin’ him with his dirty work,’ Spike numbly reflected as he swung his head back into an upright position. ‘Speaking of which, where the hell is the poncy bastard?’

As if on cue, a single light bulb lit up above him, its light swinging back and forth, casting moving shadows on the face of the said Watcher who was holding the pull string. His stern face glared down at the vampire as he slowly lowered his hand to his pocket. “I see we’re finally awake,” Giles derisively stated.

“What have you done to me, you wanker?” Spike grumbled, feeling as though his head was stuffed with cotton.

“Just a minor modification. Can’t get any information out of you if you manage to break loose,” Giles casually answered as he approached the crouched vampire.

“And what information is it exactly that you think I have to divulge?” Spike wondered, swaying a little from his lightheadedness.

Giles grew suddenly very somber, his face contorting into a discontented expression. Walking up to the vampire until he was hovering right above him, the ex-Watcher glowered down at Spike. “Where is the girl?” he asked in a solemn tone.

Spike flicked his glossy blue eyes up at Giles, an amused smirk plastered on his face. “What girl?”

It was then that Spike came to the realization that his reflexes had also been affected by the hindrance spell; he didn’t even have time to react when he saw the fist fly straight at him. Giles struck the vampire across the face, causing Spike’s head to snap to the side. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Spike returned the Watcher’s murderous glare, undeterred in his refusal to answer the question.

Rubbing his knuckles, Giles paced back and forth in front of Spike, his determination evident in every stride. Glancing back at his prisoner, his small amount of patience began to dwindle. “I’ll only ask you once more. Where is the girl, Spike? Where is Buffy?”

“Well, that’s actually askin’ twice more, now innit?” Spike retorted smugly, feeling his head clear a little. Pulling on his restraints in the hopes that the spell was dissipating, he came to the unfortunate discovery that he was still as weak as a newborn kitten. It all made sense to Spike, the spell was to weaken him, not to completely numb him from the experience. No point in torturing a bloke if he can’t feel it.

Giles smacked Spike again across the face. Spitting out more blood, Spike moved his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. The vampire peered up at his would be torturer, noticing his tightened fists and the knots in his prominent brow. The barefaced hate the Watcher was giving off was enough incentive for Spike to cooperate. He couldn’t do a damn thing to escape; he might as well play along. “What makes you think I have her?”

“I have it under good authority that you are keeping Buffy hidden away,” Giles informed, removing his glasses and wiping them down before placing them back on his face. “For what purposes exactly, god only knows,” he added, sickened by the thought of the possible atrocities the vampire could have already committed against the poor girl.

Though his lip had been burst open by Giles’s onslaught of punches, Spike kept in deceivingly good spirits, smiling despite the blood. “And what authority would that be?”

Giles’s lips drew into a stubborn thin line. Spike continued to smirk; he knew he had hit a sore spot. “It was Damon, wasn’t it?” the vampire inquired, all of a sudden very serious. Spike took the Watcher’s inability to reply as a definite ‘yes’.

A loud, somewhat maddened laughter escaped Spike’s lips. “Oh this is just too priceless!” He continued to chuckle uncontrollably. “You actually believed him? A vampire? I have to say, Watcher, I expected so much more from you,” Spike ranted as he burst into another fit of laughter. “Rupert Giles, the Wayward Watcher!” he giggled out.

Having had about enough of Spike’s hysterics, Giles abruptly kicked the vampire in the gut. Spike pitched forward from the pain, but the ropes stopped him hitting the floor. He felt a hand violently grip his head, yanking at his short platinum blond locks to lift up his dangling head. Spike was suddenly face to face with the enraged Watcher, his searing hate burning metaphorical holes into the vampire. “I did what I had to. It was the only way to get her back without getting my people killed,” Giles spat out.

Spike feigned being scared by the ex-Watcher’s aggressive actions, his eyes wide in a transparently fake expression of fear. Another bout of laughter came from him as he dropped the charade, loving how easy it was to mess with the broken old man. “Oooooo, ’m shakin’ in my boots Rupert.”

“Shut up, you git,” Giles grumbled as he let go of Spike’s head.

Sitting back upright, Spike’s pleased azure stare followed the pacing Watcher. “You actually took his word for it,” Spike not so much as asked, but remarked, still stunned by Giles’s abnormal behavior. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

Giles irately strolled over to Spike, pointing his finger at him furiously. “You shut the bloody hell up! We had no choice. To save Buffy, we had to take a chance.”

“And you blew it!” Spike yelled back, nearly vamping out. “‘Cos yeah, I had Buffy, but I wasn’t fucking hiddin’ her anywhere,” he heatedly threw back at the Watcher.

The look on Giles’s face transformed from pure contempt to utter disbelief. “What?!”

“You heard me, Watcher. Right as we speak she’s all alone at the main house, with Damon, who by the way hates both me and her with a fiery passion. Thanks to you, you fucking git, Buffy’s got no one to protect her!” Spike growled as he pulled on the ropes, his frantic need to save the woman he loved from uncertain death growing with very passing second.

“You’re lying,” Giles responded, sounding as though he wasn’t completely convinced by is own denial.

Spike stopped struggling and looked up at the middle-aged Englishman with untainted sincerity in his gaze. “Wish I were.”

Giles ignored Spike’s apparent honesty, unable to let go of his distrust for this particular vampire. “I don’t believe you. I know you all to well, William the Bloody, and protecting young innocent girls is not part of your perverse repertoire.”

Spike snorted apathetically. “Think whatever you’d like, mate. No amount of flapping my gums is gonna convince you otherwise. Already got your mind made up.”

“If you don’t wish to be cooperate, we’ll find ways of dragging the truth out of you,” Giles warned, a glimmer of Ripper flashing across his face.

“Doesn’t matter what I say. Gonna torture me either way. Always knew you had it in you Watcher,” Spike quipped, leaning his head back against the large pillar he was bound to.

Giles harshly backhanded Spike, the veins bulging in his neck as his vision blurred in rage. “Don’t you dare presume to know me!”

Spike gurgled out a guffaw as a trickle of blood fell from his nose. He gave Giles his trademark smirk. “Know you more than you’d like.”

Giles stormed into the darkness, stepping out of the range of the basement’s only light source. The Watcher marched his way back to Spike, his mind clearly set on doing something not-so-fun to the vampire as he roughly grabbed him by the neck.

“Really? Know me well enough to expect this?” Giles asked as he dumped a whole bottle of holy water on Spike’s chest. The sound of singeing flesh and Spike’s stunned cries broke through the basement’s eerie silence.

Once the pain had slightly subsided, Spike stared down at his reddened chest, tilting his head in appreciation of the Watcher’s handiwork. “No. Can’t say I was. Dippin’ a little into the dark side, aren’t we Rupert?” he leered in a hiss as a breeze of air hit his irritated skin.

“Fuck you, you pillock,” Giles gritted out. “You don’t know me. You’ll never know me. Just because you…” he trailed off, becoming incredibly flustered. Closing his eyes and taking in a long calming breath, the Watcher tried to get himself under control. Gradually opening his eyes, he gave the vampire a long detached stare and continued with what he had been trying to say in a neutral tone of voice. “Just because you killed her doesn’t mean you know me.”

A new found insightfulness filled Spike, his blue eyes widening in response to the Watcher’s words. “Ohhh! So this is all this is? Little bit of vengeance ‘gainst the vamp that did in your Slayer?”

Giles’s countenance turned on a dime. Gone was his newly calm and collected demeanor, replaced instead with the Ripper persona he’d thought he had long since buried. Snatching at the cross that was hanging around his neck, he ripped it off and forcefully pressed it against Spike’s shoulder. The vampire convulsed madly, screaming in delirious pain as the smoke from his burning flesh billowed around his head.

Giles lingered for a moment before slowly pulling away the cross, leaving his victim panting from the severe pain. Spike roared in frustration as he once again struggled to get free but his vampire strength was still waning. Waiting for Spike to settle down, Giles remained quiet until his impassive eyes met with the vampire’s intense blue ones. Kneeling down in front of Spike, the Watcher never broke eye contact. In a steady voice, he began to respond to Spike’s allegation. “Torturing you won’t even begin to heal the countless wounds you’ve inflicted upon me.”

Spike didn’t appear the least bit threatened. “Do what you’d like. Wasn’t lyin’ before. Just remember the longer you waste your time tryin’ to get a lie out of me, Damon’s out there, free to hurt Buffy.”

“I know that’s not what you’re worried about,” the Watcher stated. “Are you afraid that we’ll find her? That you’ll loose another girl to torment with another one of your sick obsessions? That you won’t be able to beat and demean her any longer?” Giles maliciously asked as he stood back up. “You afraid we’ll take her away before you can finally kill her?”

Spike growled at the audacity of the ex-Watcher’s spiteful questions. “I swear, if you let her die, I will move heaven and earth to make your life a living hell,” Spike spouted angrily as he morphed into game face.

“Too late,” Giles retorted, menacingly cracking his knuckles. “And aren’t you making a bit of an assumption here?”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“That you’ll actually still be all in one piece when I’m through with you,” Giles forebodingly declared, pulling out a plastic stake from his back pocket, amused by the fear in Spike’s saucer wide amber eyes.

“Oh balls!”

********

The late afternoon sun filtered in through the glass of the large dinning room window, its rays shinning down on a small group of friends, who were at the moment casually sitting around a worn-down wooden table. Appearances can be deceiving and the atmosphere was anything but cheerful as gut wrenching, blood curdling screams emanated throughout the house. With every bellow of pain, the group flinched, unable to restrain themselves from feeling sorry for the miserable vampire downstairs. Even if he was the leader of the clan that had ruined their lives for the past three years, Giles was seriously wailing on the poor bastard.

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” reached their ears from the partially open basement door.

Xander pushed himself out of his seat and slammed the door shut, hoping it would dull down the nerve rattling noise. Sitting back down beside Cordelia, he balked again at the newest screech, lowering his face to his hands. “Thank God we cleared the house before Giles got his mitts on Spike. I don’t even know how much more I can take,” he complained.

Cordelia patted the brunette on the back. “It shouldn’t last too long right? I mean, how long could it possibly take to torture a vampire?” she wondered, glimpsing over at Willow and Oz who were sitting directly across from her.

Willow gave the new girl a saddened look. “Depends on how much of a fight Spike puts up,” the redhead replied.

“And you also gotta consider how much Giles hates him. So I’m thinking it might be a couple days,” Oz chimed in, taking hold of Willow’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“I get the whole hating Spike thing, cuz you know, evil vampire and all, but a couple of days? Isn’t that a little obsessive?” Cordy inquired suspiciously.

Xander slowly lifted his head back up and turned toward the confused girl. “See, you’re new to this so I’ll let you in on what everyone here already knows,” he said in the quirky way that only Xander could get away with. “A few years ago, Captain Peroxide down there roared into town, killed Sarah and then made it his mission to turn the rest of our lives into the living hell we’ve all come to know and love.”

Cordelia was confused by the name drop. “Okkaaayyy. Who’s Sarah?”

“Giles’s Slayer. We didn’t really know her that well but we know they were close,” Willow answered, sorrow evident in her voice.

“What happened?” Cordy asked, her concern mounting. If Spike could kill a girl endowed with super strength, what chance did Buffy have?

“We don’t really know. Giles doesn’t like to get into specifics and we try not to bring it up,” Xander explained, his body tensing at the lack of noise coming from the basement. He didn’t want another scream catching him off guard.

“So when did she die?” Cordelia asked, feeling as though she needed to know everything about Spike’s victim. In her misguided logic, it made sense to know everything about Spike and the people he’d hurt; it just might shed some new light on how to save Buffy. Her desperation was making her grasp at straws and she could care less if she was opening up old wounds.

“Like Xander said, it was right before the town went all to hell. I still remember that day at school when we found out she had died,” Oz responded, deviating from his usually stoic and silent manner.

Willow nodded her head. “Yeah, I remember the announcement but everyone else just shrugged it off. Guess we can thank Sunnydale’s freakishly high mortality rate for everyone’s lacking sense of sympathy.”

“You’re kidding?” Cordy asked, stunned.

“Nope,” Xander sadly replied. “Plus it didn’t help that Sarah was a total social pariah.”

“She didn’t have any friends?” Cordelia wondered.

“Well, we talked to her but we were never really close. She was a loner, always hanging out at the library. It makes tons of sense in hindsight but at the time everyone thought she was some sort of delinquent recluse,” the witch elaborated, a grim look on her face.

“Giles was the librarian, right?” Cordy inquired.

“Hence all of Sarah’s solo retreats to the library,” Xander quickly confirmed.

Willow chuckled. “Remember when everyone thought that she and Giles were having some kind of illicit affair?”

“Ewwww,” Cordy disgustedly reacted.

Xander gave her an annoyed look. “It wasn’t true.”

“No d’uh. But still: Ewwww,” she restated.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, not even the slightest sound making its way upstairs. “Do you think he’s done?” Cordelia wondered.

Right when she asked that question, the most horrid scream ripped through the entire house. Willow and Xander instantly flew into the nearest available arms. Xander instantly pulled away from Cordelia, trying to brush off the dreadfully uncool incident where as Willow buried her face in her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Guess not,” Oz impassively observed.

“Will, how long is that spell of yours supposed to hold up?” Xander asked, his nerves on edge.

Willow lifted her grimacing face back up to look at her best friend. “As long as Giles needs it to work.”

“Couldn’t you maybe make up some kinda excuse, like claim the spells gone wonky or something to pull Giles out of the basement?” Xander wondered, desperation in his voice.

“I don’t think that’d be a god idea. That spell's kind of a one shot deal. The ingredients are like impossible to find and we were only able to do it cuz Giles was saving up for a special occasion. And I so don’t wanna deal with a grouchy Giles,” Willow protested.

“Then could you at least come up with some kinda blocking spell or maybe conjure up some mystical ear plugs? I’m about ready to jump out of skin here, Will,” Xander pleaded, holding his hands over his ears, readying himself for another one of Spike’s tortured cries.

“I’ll try, but it might take a while. It’s gonna be kinda hard to concentrate,” the witch offered as she left to gather some of her magic supplies.

“Thanks Willow,” the antsy brunette called out in relief. Xander dropped his head in his hands again, shaking it in uncertainty. “Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked dismally.

Cordelia immediately and adamantly answered. “Of course we did the right thing! We have to find Buffy! How could you even ask that?”

“I’m all on board for saving your friend Cordy, but letting Giles get his hands on Spike is like opening up a whole other can of worms. And I’m talking like the big cans you get from Cosco, filled with snarling, razor sharp-toothed demon worms,” Xander inventively explained, peering up at Cordelia.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the girl wondered, noticing as a silent exchange passed between the two guys.

“We kill vampires Cordelia. We don’t torture them. If we did, we’d be no better than the monsters we hunt,” Oz stated stoically.

“And the longer Giles is down there, the bigger the hole he digs for himself. I just hope he knows what he’s doing before he gets in way too deep,” Xander added, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

Another roar flew out of the basement, this time nearly sending Cordelia into Xander’s lap. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, a look of desire passing between them. Cordelia blushed as she turned away from his hungry stare, excusing herself as she mumbled something about helping Willow.

Xander sighed as he watched the new girl leave, returning his gaze to the only other person left in the room. Oz gave his fellow vampire hunter an uncharacteristic yet all knowing grin, which was deliberately ignored. Looking at his watch, Xander took note of the time. “Better get going. Sun’s gonna set soon.”

“You don’t think Giles is gonna keep it up while I’m down there, do you?” Oz asked as he stood up, his usually relaxed demeanor shifting into that of agitation.

“For your sake, I hope not,” Xander answered, placing his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders as they headed out of the dining room. “Who knows, maybe we’ll luck out and you’ll break free and accidentally eat Spike. That’d sure put an end to Giles’s torture the vampire crusade.”

********

The full moon’s pale glow barely invaded the dark empty room, its soft light shinning through the big bay window. Buffy sat at its edge, having pulled open every heavy curtain in the room, deciding that once the sun rose, it would be her best defense against any hungry vampires who might decide to pay her a daytime visit. This way, all she had to worry about was just surviving through the night.

So here she was, staring down at the grisly moon-lit town below, whittling herself another stake as her mind unintentionally wandered. As she stared out into the expanse of town’s numerous dark scattered buildings, Buffy’s thoughts were filled with images of a certain platinum haired, devilishly handsome and infuriatingly sexy vampire. It’d been less than a full day since she found out he’d been abducted, and Buffy felt as though she hadn’t seen him in ages.

A sigh caught in Buffy’s throat when she spotted an inquisitive vamp strolling around in the street below, glancing up at her window. Scurrying away, Buffy hid, pressing her back against the adjacent wall. After a few seconds, she dared to take a peek. The vamp was still there but he appeared to have lost interest in whatever he might have seen in the upstairs window. Buffy exhaled as she regained her composure, sitting out of sight on the ceramic floor. Clutching at the half-made stake, tears of dread began to well up in her eyes. She hoped Vincent and Natasha found Spike soon. Buffy wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before some of the vamps actually acted on their curiosity.

Author's Note: Hello readers. Thx for all the support and reviews. They're very much appreciated. Just wanted to thank everyone who loved the last chapter even if it was a bit dark and morbid. And again sorry to the schweemish but I figured if you're reading this story and have gotten this far, you could definitely stomach a bit of torture. So like before, there is some graphic yuckiness in this chapter, so beware!

Chapter Sixteen: Cassette Tapes and Flying Fur

Giles exhaustedly slouched against the hard brick wall, across from a just as drained but still unwavering Spike. Neither one was giving in. No matter how much pain Giles could inflict, Spike wouldn’t budge. Breathing heavily, the Watcher pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat off his brow as he observed the stubborn vampire. Spike’s eyes were closed, his slumped body swaying on its knees as the taut ropes held him up. The skin on his front was red, peeling and chaffed like a son of a bitch. His face was a mélange of blue, purple and crimson with an unsightly black eye making it nearly impossible for him to see. Spike’s once unmarked chest was covered with gaping wounds that had at first bled quite profusely, but were now just painful holes in his tortured flesh. The loss of blood was in no doubt affecting him. The vampire was a picture of agony, but he still wouldn’t surrender and Giles didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up at this ineffective pace.

Spike giggled to himself, oblivious to the other man’s scrutinizing gaze. The ex-Watcher was unquestionably a sick one. He had made sure the hindrance spell messed with all of Spike’s vampire abilities, including his vampire healing.

The few seconds of silence were finally broken by Giles. “Had enough?” he asked, still slightly out of breath.

Spike chuckled as his voice took on a girlish quality. “No, not anymore, Mr. Watcher. I promise I’ll be good. I was a bad vampire and you’ve shown me the light. Please let me go,” he sluggishly replied.

“Patronizing me will only prolong your stay here further,” Giles cautioned as he stood back up.

Spike growled, knowing the Watcher was right. How the bleedin’ hell was he going to get out of this soddin’ basement? He needed to get to Buffy fast but Spike was afraid that if he went along with what Giles wanted, if he lied and told him where Buffy was supposedly ‘hidden’, what would stop the Watcher from plowing a real stake through his unbeating heart? If Spike caved in, Giles would no longer have any use for him. He’d be free to do what he’s been no doubt waiting years to do; he’d kill Spike and Buffy’s fate would be forever sealed.

Spike felt as though he was being torn in two different directions. He couldn’t let Giles kill him but the longer he stayed there, the longer Buffy was unprotected. He hoped that Vincent and Natasha were looking out for her. They wouldn’t turn their backs on him, would they? Damon had, and he was one of the few Spike had first trusted when he had arrived in Sunnydale. He felt like such a moron. Why didn’t he get rid of Damon when he still had the chance? How stupid and blind could he have been these past months to have completely ignored every bald-faced sign that was sent his way? ‘If she dies, it’s all your fault, mate. No matter who you blame, it’ll still be your fault.’

The vampire opened his one good eye and watched as Giles moved back out of the light, quickly returning with a small cassette tape player. Spike quirked an eyebrow. “What you gonna do now? Turn on some Bob Dylan and pull out the good ole switch blade?” he joked as his laughter eventually converted into a fit of coughing.

“No, I’m not. And it was a straight blade, you ponce,” Giles indignantly quipped as he lowered the player in front of him. Kneeling down, he looked into the vampire’s glazed cerulean eyes, making sure that his own pain was evident in his focused stare. “You should remember this. You’re the one who recorded it,” he stated somberly as he pressed the play button.

At first Spike thought that the Watcher had completely fallen off his rocker, but then as the sound of a sweet, soft spoken voice filled the void space of the basement, he knew exactly what it was. It was the tape, the one he’d sent Giles all those years ago. The one with her last goodbye on it.

Giles turned up the volume. He’d heard the tape a million times, played it to himself at least once everyday just to hear her voice again. In the short years he had known Sarah, she had been the closest thing to a daughter, to a family, that he thought he’d ever have. As a Watcher, he had been taught not to allow his emotions to interfere in his relationship with his Slayer but he had quickly learned that that was impossible. With being so far away from the Council’s ever vigilant eye, and with the numerous of unprecedented issues his Slayer had to deal with on the Hellmouth, convention had been thrown completely out the window. Sarah was everything a Watcher, and a father, could have ever wished for. The greatest tragedy was that her death hadn’t even been for a noble cause. There had been no final battle, no honor in her unjust demise. And it was thanks to this one despicable vampire that his Sarah had died so disgracefully.

“Hey Giles,” the girl spoke, fear trembling her timid voice. “I-I guess this is goodbye.” She broke off, choking away a sob. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop it but there were just too many of them.” She stopped again, this time actually crying. “I’m scared, Giles. I-I don’t wanna die,” the voice of Sarah continued as she wept hysterically. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry. I love you, Giles,” she croaked, crying for at least a minute before finally whispering, “I’m sorry.”

The Watcher lowered his finger, pushing the stop button. He tried to push back the tears. Listening to it always made him want to break down into sobs but he couldn’t. Not in front of the thing that had taken his Sarah away. He watched as Spike remained perfectly still, his blue eyes still focused on the small black tape player.

“Why the hell would you play me that?” Spike asked, slowly looking up at Giles.

The Watcher was slightly taken aback by the confusion, and what appeared to be guilt in the vampire’s face. In all honesty, playing the tape for Spike had nothing to do with Spike. It was more for Giles, for his own closure. Maybe deep down there was a part of him that wanted Spike to experience the all consuming grief that he was forced to endure day after day but it was all just wishful thinking. Giles knew that Spike could never feel anything, let alone show remorse for what he had done. He never expected this though. Giles had never once imagined that Spike might actually regret what he did. The naturally inquisitive Watcher side of him wondered what had happened to this vampire to make him at least acknowledge his past transgressions and perhaps make him feel guilty about them too. Did it have to do with Buffy? Did Spike truly care for the girl’s wellbeing? Was he actually telling the truth? Was Buffy really in danger?

As Giles contemplated Spike’s integrity, the vampire’s gaze remained glued to the tape player. It seemed like so long ago when he had had that tape made; he had done it to rub salt in the old Watcher’s wounds. Spike even remembered what he had done when he had turned the tape recorder off. He had finally found a way to cure Dru. It was a spell, undeniably that of the black arts variety and he had threatened some shaman with his life if he didn’t perform it. For it to work though, Dru had to drain the blood of a Slayer. So, like the ingenious strategist that he was, Spike drew the Chosen One to the factory, made her think he was conducting some diabolical scheme to destroy the world. The lure had worked and he caught himself a Slayer. He recalled being quite pleased with himself, having killed two birds with one stone and all. Dru was strong again and he had added a third slayer to his list.

It was supposed to be a triumphant and glorious memory but as Spike listened to the tape, he tried to recall the ritual, but all he could see was Buffy tied up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she mumbled frantically against a mouth gag. He knew the Slayer had actually looked nothing like Buffy, but as Sarah’s voice echoed throughout the room, he could only see his beloved pleading for her life. Spike knew from when he had surprisingly saved that girl outside the Lupanar the previous night that Buffy was starting to get to him. He never realized though that she had become his conscience. Guess he could officially say she was his soul.

Giles suddenly snapped out of his inner ruminations and snatched the tape player off the ground, pulling the cassette out and placing it back in his shirt pocket, the one closest to his heart. Spike kept silent, unsure of what the Watcher was going to do next. He hoped the physical torture was over with but he couldn’t help but feel that the old coot was going to try and use some psychological torture instead.

“You ruined my life the day you killed her,” Giles stated, returning to his place by the wall, across from the vampire.

Spike was getting aggravated. The Watcher had some serious issues that he hadn’t yet resolved and Spike was supposed to what? Sit around and play therapist while God knows what was happening to Buffy.

“She was a Slayer, I was a vampire. That’s how the game is played,” Spike responded unemotionally.

“Right, because that’s all anything is to you, Spike. Just a game,” Giles remarked with revulsion.

“Villainize me all you want Watcher. If it helps you sleep at the night,” Spike gruffly retorted.

“I don’t need to make you the villain of this piece, Spike. You did that all on your own when you turned this town into your own little vampire amusement park,” the Watcher gritted out, his rage returning at the thought that he had been stupid enough to believe that the vampire was capable of mustering up even the slightest bit of guilt.

Spike coughed again, peering up at the Watcher. “Let me go,” he demanded, his voice firm but with a detectable note of desperation.

Giles had not expected the sudden shift in attitude but it would take much more than that to even make him consider freeing the vampire. “No,” the Watcher curtly replied.

“She’s going to die if you don’t let me go,” Spike reiterated grimly, feeling like a broken record player.

“She’ll die if I do let you go,” Giles corrected, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. Gazing down at the clearly distressed vampire, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn’t about to let Spike go but he’d at least listen to whatever fabricated reason the vampire had to validate his release. “If what you say is true, if Buffy is in great peril, why would you even care?” Giles skeptically inquired as he slowly walked around Spike.

“Because she belongs to me,” Spike angrily answered, his cobalt eyes following the Englishman as he circled around him.

“So you don’t want someone else profiting from your investment?” the Watcher continued to ask, taking off his glasses and placing the tip to his mouth.

“You’ve got me right pegged, Inspector Clueso. Now let me the fucking hell loose!” Spike insisted as he wrestled with his binds.

Giles stopped in front of the vampire, glaring down at him. “And why the bloody hell should I?”

“How many soddin’ times do I have to tell you? He’s going to kill her!” Spike declared, letting down his defenses by showing the Watcher the desperation in his eyes. The vampire’s body shook, partly from frustration by also from conviction. He was tired of running around in circles and he needed Giles to see he wasn’t lying. Buffy needed him and he’d be damned if he let some pissant, washed up Watcher stop him.

Giles saw it. At first he thought that he had been mistaken because there was no way in hell that he would have ever expected to see what he’d picked up on in Spike’s behavior. This wasn’t a monster looking to reclaim what he thought was his stolen property. It was the actions of a man who was beside himself with worry for the woman he loved. The thought nearly knocked Giles off his feet. It also made him sick to his stomach. What perverse delusions did this vampire have that he thought could even resemble love? Vampires were incapable of feeling true love, and were especially unable to express it. The Watcher stared down at Spike as though he had grown another head, his mind trying to wrap around the concept that this monster could ever genuinely care for someone. It was just too much for him. Giles needed to get away. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the light, leaving a puzzled Spike to continue to fight with his restraints.

Opening the basement door, Giles nearly plowed into Xander and Oz, who had been heading downstairs after grabbing a bite to eat. Obviously rattled, the Watcher had forgotten about the time. Avoiding the young men’s concerned stares, Giles offered a nod in ‘hello’. “Xander, I need you and Willow to watch over both Spike and Oz tonight,” he instructed as he moved past them.

Both seemed perplexed by their mentor’s strange behavior. “You alright, G-man?” Xander asked as Giles marched up the stairs.

“I’m fine,” the older man mumbled back, not slowing down in his retreat.

Xander turned to his friend, even more troubled by the Watcher’s actions, yet it was Oz who said what the brunette was thinking. “He didn’t yell at you for calling him G-man,” he concernedly noted.

“I know,” Xander agreed as he stared up at the stairs. Shrugging off the incident, he gestured toward the basement door. “C’mon, let’s get you downstairs before you start growing claws.”

The two hesitantly made their way down the wooden steps, never taking their eyes off the vampire, who appeared to be passed out at the moment. Careful not to wake Spike, Oz tiptoed to the cage, and with Xander’s assistance, locked up for the night. Xander turned on another light above the oversized dog pen before he pulled out two chairs, sitting on one while waiting for Willow to come down. Within a few minutes, the witch was slowly making her way downstairs, smiling at her best friend who was clearly nervous about watching over both a vampire and a werewolf for the night.

“Hey Xander,” she whispered as she handed him a tranquilizer gun, quickly running to the cage to kiss her boyfriend goodnight.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the weapon, holding onto it tightly, watching as Oz got ready to transform.

“Sorry but I didn’t have enough time to make you those magic ear plugs you wanted,” Willow sheepishly apologized as she took her seat next to Xander.

“Don’t sweat it. Captain Peroxide’s out cold for the night anyway,” he shrugged as he pointed to their seemingly unconscious prisoner.

“Oh,” Willow squeaked, as she covered her mouth with her hand. She’d noticed Spike on her way downstairs, but after having a good look at him, the redhead was a little disturbed by the condition he was presently in. “Giles did all that?”

Xander sighed. “It’s called torture for a reason, Will. What’d you think all that screaming was about? Giles wasn’t spending the whole day down here tickling him into submission, that’s for sure,” he seriously stated as he stared at the badly beaten vampire.

“I know that, Xander, but saying it and actually seeing it are two totally different things. It’s kinda giving me the serious wiggins,” Willow dejectedly replied.

“Gotta agree with you there, Will. Definitely not one of Giles’s finer moments,” Xander commented.

The two friends’ ears perked to the noise of Oz’s changing, the small man letting out a small shout before his body conformed into its werewolf manifestation. Willow cringed slightly as she watched, inching closer to Xander as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders in moral support. No matter how many times she saw it, it always got to her when Oz went through his metamorphosis. She was just thankful it was the third night of the full moon. They wouldn’t have to worry about it again until another month from now.

Though he appeared to be out for the count, Spike was actually wide awake. Well, more like fuzzily conscious. After Giles had stormed out of the basement, the vampire had been left to do nothing but worry. When he had heard footsteps heading downstairs, he decided to pretend to be asleep. He really didn’t feel like dealing with anymore humans at the moment. Spike picked up on the scent of the werewolf, which surprised him. He couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. One of Giles’s demon hunters was actually part demon himself. He could sense the other two humans as well. The stink of magic was strong around one of them. ‘Great. Now the Watcher’s got his witch to be my sitter.’

Spike tried to pick up on the whispering that he was hearing. The sudden and strong urge to scream at the top of his lungs was getting harder to suppress. He couldn’t hear anything. He’d been stripped of every advantage being a vampire gave him. ‘The witch is a strong one,’ he reflected as he briefly opened his only functional eye to stare down at his crotch. She better‘ve not messed with any other certain aspects of his vampire constitution. ‘‘Probly can’t even hold my liquor like I used to,’ Spike bitterly thought, feeling a little groggy. He tried to stay awake but the loss of blood was finally taking its toll. Spike soon feel into an involuntary sleep.

Willow and Xander sat quietly, their focus alternating between the dormant vampire and, for now, the composed werewolf. Willow exhaled a short breath. “Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”

“Don’t jinx it, Will,” Xander reprimanded in a whisper. “Cuz as much I feel like Captain Willard with this gun, I so don’t wanna have a reason to use it,” he rambled nervously.

Willow however lost interest in what he was saying, her attention centered instead on the vampire. Holding her hand up to silence the bumbling brunette, she asked, “Do you hear that?”

Xander feared the worst. “Hear what? I don’t hear anything. Are you picking up on something? Is it some kind of witchy, high frequency distress signal? Or is it-”

“Xander, shut up for a sec and listen,” Willow scolded as she slapped her hand over his mouth.

Leaning a little forward, Xander picked up on what at first sounded like mumblings. Mumblings that were coming from Spike. Pulling his face away from the witch’s hand, Xander seemed a little blasé. “He’s just dreaming, Will.”

“No really?” Willow sarcastically responded. “Listen to what he’s saying you doofus.”

“I’m not a doofus,” Xander indignantly defended as he perked up his ears. Straining a bit, he heard what it was that had gotten Willow all huffy about.

“Buffy….” Spike groaned. “Don’t hurt….Damon…don’t hurt her…” Spike incoherently muttered in his sleep, the worry for his girl weighing down hard on his subconscious.

“What’s it mean?” Xander asked in a whisper, getting instantly shushed by Willow.

“Lemme listen,” Willow said as she leaned in further, trying to make out what the vampire was saying.

“Buffy…’m sorry…don’t hurt…Damon don’t….no….Buffy…love you so much…never meant…’m sorry” Spike uttered, choking out a sob as his nightmare progressed, mirroring his worst fears.

Xander fell out of his seat as Willow gasped in shock. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” he bewilderedly asked as he got up off the floor.

“He loves her,” the witch repeated the vampire’s words, still completely stunned.

“He’s lying,” Xander instantly blurted out, unable to believe what he had just heard.

“Xander, he’s asleep,” Willow rebutted with an unimpressed expression on her face.

“Are we sure? I mean, he could be faking it, you know, make us feel bad for him so that we’d let him go,” he tried to reason.

Willow shook her head. “No, he’s definitely having a nightmare. And I think he really loves her,” she resolutely stated.

“You can’t be serious? Will, he’s a vampire. He’s the vampire.” Xander tried to convince his best friend.

“And Oz is a werewolf,” Willow countered thoughtfully.

“Big difference. Monumental difference. As different as the Pacific Ocean is wide kind of difference,” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

“I think we should tell Giles in the morning,” the redhead stated, ignoring her friend’s rant.

“You know he’s not going to believe us,” Xander remarked as he leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable again.

“I know, but we still gotta tell him,” Willow said as she sadly glanced over at the tormented vampire who continued to mumble in his sleep. She just couldn’t explain it but she truly believed Spike loved Buffy. Willow had no idea where this sympathy for the vampire, who was basically considered to be public enemy number one, came from but she knew how blurry the ethical line could be. And being a girl who was in love with the most unexpressive man in Sunnydale, she knew when a guy was genuine when he said he loved a girl. And Spike without a doubt loved Buffy.

A sudden loud bang pulled Willow out of her inner reflection. For some strange reason Oz was becoming extremely agitated and was roughly throwing himself against the cage door. The abrupt noise of metal clashing pulled Spike out of his short nap, making him groan groggily. “What’s a bloke gotta do to get a few winks,” he whined as he slowly came to, his face dropping when he realized where he was.

Oz growled menacingly at the vampire, thrashing against the steel bars of the cage, and unbeknownst to everyone, dislodging the door’s weakened hinges with every crash. Spike vamped out and growled back at the werewolf, unsure why the pup was suddenly acting up. “Quit your barkin’, you mangy mut!”

Willow and Xander slowly stood up, remaining completely still like deer caught in headlights as they helplessly watched Oz collided against the cage door. With one final crash, the werewolf was suddenly free, springing toward the vulnerable vampire.

“Xander, shoot him!” Willow screamed.

Fumbling frantically with the gun, Xander dropped the weapon as he tried to load the dart. He quickly tried to recover, but his nerves were making it hard to get the thing working.

Meanwhile, the werewolf had lunged at Spike, ferociously biting him in the shoulder as the vampire tried to unsuccessfully fend him off. “Get this fucking thing off of ME!” he yelled, roaring in wolf’s face as he thrashed beneath the beast.

Not liking the taste of dead meat, Oz lost interest in the easy target, his attention gradually diverting to the two other people in the basement. Slowly pulling away from the vampire, the wolf stalked toward the Xander and Willow, growling as he readied to attack.

“Xander,” she whimpered fearfully. “Hurry up.”

Finally having loaded the gun, Xander pulled the trigger but it wouldn’t shoot. “It’s stuck,” he announced in a frantic high pitched voice.

“Well, fix it,” the redhead ordered as they slowly backed away from the approaching werewolf.

“I’m trying,” he cried out as he shook the gun.

Oz roared loudly, crouching as he prepared to pounce. Willow’s eyes flew from a still struggling Xander to her wolf boyfriend who was about to eat her to the amber eyes of a pissed off vampire. Willow knew what she had to do. She knew he was their only hope.

“Libero.” The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to contemplate what she’d done.

It was like a bolt of lightning had hit him. All the energy that had been drained out of him all came back in one sudden rush. Effortlessly ripping off the ropes, Spike stood up and turned to the wolf. He grabbed its hind legs as it leapt through the air, stopping the beast just short of a few feet from two helpless humans. Holding on, Spike sent the werewolf flying, brutally tossing him against the steel cage. The wolf instantly rebounded, back on its feet, growling at the vampire who stood between it and a good meal. Spike stood on guard, waiting for the beast to lunge, baring his fangs as he growled back a warning to the oversized dog. Oz coiled up his body and pounced on Spike, who was expecting the attack. With cat-like reflexes and swift maneuverings, he locked his arm around the wolf’s head in an attempt to hold him down. “Do it now! Shoot him!” he yelled to Willow and Xander.

Xander finally got the trigger unstuck; he raised it up and aimed it at the two unsteady demons in front of him. He couldn’t get a lock on Oz; he was moving and thrashing too much. Spike kept on spinning around with the werewolf, trying to keep the upper hand he had on him. “Pull the fucking trigger already, you git!” Spike hollered at the boy, his hold on the wolf waning.

“I’m trying,” Xander squealed. “It’s just really hard to-” The first dart hit Spike in thigh. “aim.”

Spike staggered back a little, pulling Oz along with him. “Not me! Shoot the fucking dog!”

Xander aimed again, this time getting Oz in the back. The werewolf continued to struggle against Spike until he fell to the ground, the tranquilizer finally taking its desired effect. Spike, however, staggered to the two people tensely standing in front of him. Fighting the drug that was flowing through his veins, he ungracefully yanked the dart out of his leg and handed it to Xander. “Makes s-sure you aim a lil’ better next time.”

“Sorry,” Willow meekly apologized as Xander stood completely dumbstruck.

Spike drunkenly waved off the apology. “S’nothing.” He then collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

“What just happened?” Xander asked in utter disbelief.

“I undid the spell and Spike saved our lives,” Willow answered just as surprised.

Xander stared down at the sleeping demons, his eyes flicking between their deceptively passive faces. Staring back up at Willow, an expression of sheer astonishment on his face, he said, “Giles is so not gonna believe us.”

A/N:
For those who are unfamiliar with the film Reservoir Dogs, the Bob Dylan reference is actually from a torture scene in that movie.
Also, Captain Willard was the main character in one of Xander's favorite movies, Apocalypse Now.
*There are also a few lines from Lies My Parents Told Me

Author's Note: Hello gentle readers. I would just like to thank everyone for their wonderful support and the great reviews that've been posted. Just warms the heart. Okay so here's the sitch, this chapter deals with some iffy issues, so here it goes. !!WARNING!!:This chapter contains attempted rape. So if it bothers you, please don't read it anyway and then post a flame. Yet again I say that if you're reading this story, you're not looking for warm fuzzies. Thnx again and I hope you enjoy

Chapter Seventeen: Don't Let Him Hurt the Girl

Giles guardedly stood before Spike, gazing down at the slumbering and immobile vampire. He heard of what had happened the previous night. Not that he had believed it at first, but when he saw Oz’s mangled cage door and the bite marks on Spike’s pale shoulders, he knew that the stories were true.

After the Watcher had discovered that Willow had foolishly disengaged the hindrance spell, he had had Spike chained to the cement pillar with the binds triply reinforced. Spike had some of his strength back but hopefully the tranquilizer Xander had fortuitously shot the vampire with would stay in affect for a while longer. Giles suspected that even if Spike awoke, it would take him a while to recover from the drug since he had lost a fair amount of blood. For now, Giles allowed the bugger to sleep; he at least deserved that much after saving Xander and Willow.

Giles still couldn’t believe that he was actually giving the supposed rescue any creditability. Why would Spike save two humans when he could have easily hightailed it out of there? He had been freed, but had chosen to stay instead, if only just to make sure that Giles’s two most valued team members, two people the Watcher considered to be his surrogate children, hadn’t been turned into werewolf food. It was just too mind-boggling.

Willow had also informed him about what she had heard the vampire mutter as he had deliriously slept. It had confirmed what Giles had suspected, what had sent him bolting like a madman out of the basement, completely stunned by the revelation. Spike loved the girl. He was hopelessly in love with Buffy and was worried sick about her.

Giles hated that he had made the pact with Damon, and though he claimed good intentions, deep down he knew he had just wanted to get his hand on the platinum haired vampire and do horrible things to him. He had wanted justice for Sarah and revenge for the pain Spike had caused him. But now he realized that giving Damon exactly what he had wanted was probably the biggest mistake he’d ever made. According to Spike, Damon was going to go after Buffy and the longer the vampire remained trapped in this basement, the less likely she would be found alive. Yet Giles couldn’t shake his distrust for Spike. How did he know that the vampire was telling the truth? That question was the motivating factor for what he was about to do next.

Tightly gripping the glass of water in his hand, Giles dumped the cold liquid on Spike’s face. The vampire spurted, promptly stirring him awake. His head was pounding something fierce and it took a few moments for his eyes to focus, the hazy fog from the tranq drug slowly subsiding. He groaned when he felt the pinch of the rusty old chains against his bare chest, groggily glancing to his sides to see that he was snugly secured to the same pillar. Spike hissed when he felt the air hit the werewolf bite wounds he’d sustained the night before from fending off the sodding overgrown dog. He tried to ignore the pain as he blearily stared up at Giles. “What you want now?”

Giles didn’t answer Spike’s question, lowering the empty drinking glass to the floor as he picked up a spell book and an already lit bundle of sacred, yet considerably stinky, herbs. Whisking billows of the incense over Spike’s head, Giles ignored the befuddled looks coming from the vampire.

“What the bloody hell are you doing? What? You gonna aromatherapy me to death?” Spike sarcastically inquired, his slightly muffled voice croaking.

“No. I just need to make sure you’re telling the truth,” Giles explained, continuing to wave the stick of burning herbs above Spike.

The semi-alert vampire growled softly in annoyance. “Great. Another spell. Anybody ever tell you ‘bout the consequences of magic, mate?”

“Only use it in necessary circumstances. And determining if you’re being truthful about Buffy’s whereabouts is quite necessary,” Giles half mindedly stated as he flipped through the spell book, finding the right page.

The overwhelming rage that rapidly bubbled up within Spike permitted his mind a short reprieve of clarity from the persistent residual grogginess of the tranquilizer. He wished he had the strength to rip off the chains that were holding him down so that he could the rip the fucking has-been Watcher a new one.

“You fucking tellin’ me that you coulda used a soddin’ truth spell in the first place?!” Spike heatedly screamed at Giles, his wild azure eyes were large, sparkling with blinded fury.

At Giles’s non-responsive behavior, Spike went berserk. “You fucking pillock! I knew you were a sick sadistic prick! Just had to lay it on me, didn’t ya? I swear to God if Buffy dies I will kill you! And I’ll make sure you get every ounce of mercy you showed me,” he madly shouted. As quickly as it had appeared, the short spurt of adrenaline that had allowed for his outburst had swiftly disappeared, leaving Spike feeling even weaker than when the witch had had cast her hindrance spell. Panting for unnecessary breath, he exhaustedly continued, suddenly taking on an eerie, whispering tone. “Better pray she’s okay, Watcher. Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if she’s not.”

Giles continued to ignore Spike’s threats, desperately trying to hide his trembling hand as he suppressed the gnawing fear the vampire’s words had involuntarily induced. Giles could act as tough as he’d like but he was still only human, and very much afraid of what an enraged vampire like Spike could do to him.

Clearing the fright from his throat, the Watcher began to read from the spell book. “Elobe, enemy, be now, quiet. Let your deceitful tongue be quelled. Let no untruths be spoken. Remove your insincere intentions. So with these words, let thy deceitful will vanish, and let the true essence of this creature emerge,” the Watcher finished, slamming the book shut in his one hand.

“How we ‘sposed to know if your lil’ incantation worked?” Spike grumbled as he looked around to see if anything around him had changed.

“Are you a vampire?” Giles asked to test out the spell.

“Yes,” Spike instantly blurted out, a bemused expression contorting his face. “Bloody hell. Didn’t even give me a chance to think.”

“That’s the point,” the Watcher retorted, slightly irritated. “Where is Buffy?”

Again Spike’s mouth flew open, responding to Giles’s question before he could even mentally comprehend what exactly was being asked. “At the main house.” Spike growled. “Alright! You got what you needed, now lemme go!” he demanded, straining against his restraints though he barely had enough energy to keep his head up.

Giles however readied to ask another question. “Do you love Buffy?”

“Yes.”

Spike’s eyes were wide in bewilderment, his pallor appearing to have turned a few shades paler. “You knew?”

“Willow and Xander heard you in your sleep,” Giles stated, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. He didn’t really want to get into the semantics of his own deductions from their last encounter.

The vampire stared down at the floor, once again confused, his eyes flicking back and forth as he tried to remember what he had dreamt about. The images of Buffy lying dead on her bed, the sheets soaked, stained in her crimson splattered blood, with Damon’s brutal marks covering his own on the white-blue skin of her neck, all flooded back to him. He must have unconsciously uttered those three little words out loud in his restless sleep when the witch and that moronic whelp were watching over him. They must have told Giles. Spike didn’t know whether he liked the idea of the ex-Watcher knowing about his true feelings for Buffy. It held a bit of power over him, made him vulnerable, which in the hands of his enemies was a dangerous weapon. Giles now knew his one and only weakness, his proverbial green kryptonite, but if the Watcher was the white hat, do-gooder type he made himself out to be, Spike shouldn’t have anything to worry about. In theory, with this newfound information, Giles would release him; wish him on his merry way to save the girl. In theory.

Though he had hidden it well, Giles was disturbed by Spike’s affirmation of love for the missing California girl. Even if Spike sincerely thought he was in love with Buffy, but was actually projecting some sort of morbid obsession instead, he would have answered ‘no’. The spell was a truth spell, it revealed actual fact, and not what Spike believed felt was true. Yet the moral quandary lay in the fact that he had answered ‘yes’. If Spike, a vampire, could learn to genuinely love someone, could other vampires as well? Were other vampires capable of love? Was it a love solely for Buffy or did he also have other feelings toward general humanity? The incident with Oz last night told Giles that perhaps it was possible. Was Spike growing a conscience?

Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as the questions circled around in his head. The previous night’s sleep had been restless for Giles; his inner demons had spent the majority of his semi-conscious hours battling with the guilt he could no longer stave off. Did exacting revenge in the name of one girl, justify the possible death of another? If Spike was telling the truth about Damon, Giles might have unwillingly condemned the girl to an early grave. Not to mention that the shame of his recent actions had also surfaced. He had woken up that morning, unable to look at himself in the mirror. If Sarah were still alive, she’d be incredibly disappointed in him. Slipping his glasses back on his face, Giles took a deep soothing breath. He now definitely knew what had to be done.

“So now you know. I haven’t been lying. Buffy’s in danger and you need to let me go,” Spike told him calmly, making sure the Watcher understood the seriousness of the situation.

“How do I know you won’t just get up and kill me when I unlock those chains?” Giles asked, slight trepidation evident in his voice.

“I won’t,” immediately flew out of Spike’s mouth. The vampire let out a loud frustrated growl, annoyed by his inability to control his own vocal chords. “Can you bloody well undo the spell already?”

Giles nodded. “Elobe, return.”

“That’s it?” Spike asked skeptically. “Didn’t even have to wave that foul smellin’ herb stick of yours.”

"It’s inactivated,” Giles reassured as he pulled out a set of keys. “Now when I unlock these chains…”

His words were cut off by the sudden crash of shattering glass, two dark figures slipping their way into the basement through the only two small windows. Before he could react, a fist flew at Giles, knocking him out cold.

“It’s about time you two got here,” Spike griped as he stared up at the welcomed intruders.

“Took a while to track you down,” Vincent explained as he worked the chains, trying to ignore the horrible shape his leader was in.

Natasha stared down at the human she’d punched out. “Wouldn’t have taken so long if you had told someone about the raid on the warehouse,” she complained as she scanned the room, her brown eyes finally making out the leather duster draped over the back of a foldout chair that was in one dark corner. Walking to it, the vampiress pulled it off the chair, picking up a set of keys out of Giles’s relaxed hand as she made her way to Spike’s side to undo the locks.

When the chains clanked to the floor, Spike slowly rose to his feet, his knees aching terribly from having spent his whole stay in that basement in a constantly crouched position. He wobbled a bit, feeling dizzy. He hadn’t fully recovered yet; his vamp healing was starting to gradually kick in but he needed to feed if he wanted to speed it along. Spike didn’t have time for that, though. He had to get to Buffy.

Without needing to be told, Natasha slipped the duster on Spike while Vincent stood at his side, supporting him as they headed to one of the windows to make a discreet getaway. Natasha stopped, with the other two vampires also halting at her sudden pause. Glancing over her shoulder, she stared at the unconscious Watcher. “Shouldn’t we kill him first?”

Spike wasn’t surprised by the question. Giles was after all Damon’s co-conspirator. He was the human that had dared to inflict pain on their leader. Spike was surprised he didn’t have to restrain Natasha from exterminating the nuisance of a Watcher. He looked back at the man on the cement floor and slowly shook his platinum head. “There’s no time.” It was the only explanation Spike gave. His real reason however lay in what had transpired between him and Giles. The cathartic hours of torture, both physical and emotional, had provided a rare insight into one another’s’ psyches. Spike wouldn’t necessarily call it a truce, or even dare to presume that all was forgiven, but he did feel like him and the Watcher had an understanding. It was why Giles had been about to free Spike and in return, it was the reason why the vampire let him live. Spike figured he owed the Watcher as much, seeing as how he killed his Slayer.

With that last thought, Spike slipped out of the basement window with his friends’ assistance. The cold night air hit the wounds on the parts of his chest that weren’t concealed by his duster, making the pain he thought that had subsided return with a vengeance. The blood loss was making the world spin all round him, making it near impossible to walk in a straight line. Even though he could barely stand upright, Spike didn’t let it deter him. The clock was ticking. He needed to kill Damon before the asshole could lay a finger on Buffy.

********

Buffy wrapped the covers tighter around her shivering body as she stared out the room’s large window, watching the last hints of light in the sky fade into the dark of night. She had to get up; the blanket of sunlight that protected her during the day, the only time when she could get her few fitful hours of sleep, was gone. Groaning, she threw the blankets off of her as she enfolded the red shirt she was wearing around her small form. It was Spike’s, the one he had taken off that last day she had seen him, the day he had disappeared. Buffy had opted to wear it instead of her pjs for the past two nights, finding comfort in its scent. It still smelled like him.

Pulling out her crudely fashioned stake from under her pillow, Buffy sat diligently on the bed, bringing her chin down to her drawn up knees as her hazel eyes settled upon the wooden door on the other side of the room. Ever since Vincent and Natasha had told her Spike was missing, the lonely dangerous nights had almost become unbearable. It was the third night she was to stay up and wait. Wait to see if it would be that night when a vampire would finally make its way up to her room. She tried to be brave, but the anxiety of not knowing if this day would be her last was finally taking its toll. She was beyond paranoia; every creek, every breeze of wind sent her onto full out alert mode. Buffy was exhausted and just wanted this perpetual nightmare to end.

Reading William’s journal no longer provided the much needed distraction like it once had. In the long dark hours that she was awake, she tried to keep her mind sharp and her body ready for the inevitable. Yet as hard as she tried, her thoughts would wander to what had happened the day Spike left. Her regret would rematerialize at least once a night. Buffy knew that if he were to just walk through those doors, she’d forgive him. At this point, she’d even be willing to beg him for forgiveness.

Seconds of waiting would pass into minutes which would then form into hours. Hours of deafening silence without the slightest indication as to what her fate would be. She didn’t want to fall asleep, but the darkness of the room and the soft mattress beneath her were just too welcoming. It didn’t help either that she’d only gotten about three hours of sleep during the day. Her eyes drooped, opening and closing as she halfheartedly fought off the wave of fatigue that threatened to put an end to her night watch.

Her eyes opened.

Closed.

Opened.

Closed.

Opened…to Damon, who was menacingly smiling at her from the open doorway.

“Hello, Buffy.”

His words instantly snapped her out of her stupor and she flew to her feet, jumping behind the big bed to put it between her and the vampire. Getting into fighting stance, desperately hoping her black belt skills weren’t too rusty, she raised her stake in her right hand while holding out her left to block. This was what she’d been dreading. Damon was here to kill her.

Damon chuckled as he swaggered into the room, looking like a wolf on the prowl. His grey eyes mischievously ran over her body, taking note of her defensive posture. It only made him laugh louder.

Buffy couldn’t pinpoint it at first, but there was something about the laughter that seemed so familiar. The way her body responded to it, shivering and having the strangest urge to run for her life, was also very unsettling.

The dream.

She almost dropped her stake when she realized that Damon’s laugh was the exact same one that had plagued her nightmares for weeks. A wash of memories soon invaded her mind, bringing her back to the night she had been kidnapped. She had been running out of the club, into a back alleyway, fleeing from the laughter as a vampire chased her. The details of that fateful evening were still a little hazy but now looking back, Buffy knew it was Damon who had been that unknown vamp. She remembered getting later cornered by a group of vampires and though she couldn’t recall, she assumed Damon had been amongst them, no doubt leading the pack. Buffy had beaten them off as best she could but one vampire almost did her in. Luckily, or unluckily depending on which way you looked at it, Vincent and Natasha had shown up, pulling the vampire off of her and claiming her for the Master instead.

It all made perfect sense now. That night was subconsciously haunting her and that laughter was the soundtrack. Though she tried, she couldn’t tune it out. Damon’s derange cackling was still as chilling as the first time she’d heard it.

“Well, aren’t you the poster girl for wannabe Vampire Slayers everywhere?” the vampire coyly asked as the strolled toward her.

“Don’t you dare get any closer,” Buffy warned, her voice tight, not wanting him to know how terrified she was.

Damon kept on moving forward, unheeding her warning, the stupid arrogant smile still plastered on his face as he took a long whiff of the concentrated fear in the air. “What’re you gonna do? Stake me?”

“You can count on it,” Buffy sourly retorted, her grip on her stake tightening.

Damon let out a muffled giggle before glancing up at the ceiling, shouting in disbelief. “God, you’re so delusional!”

Buffy jumped a little at the outburst but she kept firm, refusing to be intimidated. She knew she had been right to dislike Damon; he was a complete psycho!

Damon marched closer to the bed, which made Buffy take a few steps back in retreat. “Your little karate moves might work on a fledge who’s got his back turned, but never on me,” he stated, placing his hands down on the bed top as he leaned forward, his face shifting into its vampire manifestation. “I sure as hell ain’t no fledge.”

With a roar, Damon leapt into the air, jumping over the bed to where Buffy was. She bolted from him, instinctively choosing flight over fight, trying to get the hell away as she ran to the open door. She suddenly felt herself get forcefully knocked down, sending her stake out of her hand as it skidded across the white tiled floor. Turning over, she looked up to see Damon, standing over her, still in game face.

“Spike didn’t put up much of a fight either,” Damon cheerfully remarked, loving the unadulterated terror in her large sparkling eyes. And her scent! Oh, it was nothing but pure fear coming off of this girl.

Buffy felt her throat close up as she inched away from the vampire. Had Damon killed Spike? She started to get up to run away when he effortlessly picked her up and threw her across the room. Buffy flew over the black leather couch, painfully landing on the floor between it and the television. Groaning, she tried to pick herself up, ignoring the searing pain in her ribs and hip. Reaching beneath the couch, she pulled out the second stake she kept hidden there. Quickly tucking it away in the sleeve of Spike’s red shirt, she stood back up and readied herself to face Damon again.

“Is that all you got?” Buffy defiantly asked, wheezing out a cough.

Damon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, it’s not,” he answered, walking to her.

Buffy slowly backed away around one end of the couch as Damon rounded the other. She kept a good distance between herself and the vamp, using the large black sofa as an obstacle he would have to cross to get to her. ‘Okay, let’s try this again,’ she thought as she resumed the fighting stance she had abandoned earlier. Buffy grew worried when Damon didn’t move; he only stood there trying to suppress the boisterous macabre laughter that seemed to be consistently coming out of his mouth. ‘Is this guy on a permanent supply of nitrous oxide or something?’

“I’ve been waiting for this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he stated casually, his gaze roaming over her body. Buffy didn’t say anything, watching carefully for any change in demeanor, anticipating for his swift lunge over the couch.

“I knew you were going to be trouble. Spike took too much of a liking to you,” he said as he slowly walked around the big piece of furniture. With every step he took forward, Buffy took two back, gradually retreating toward the open door.

Damon’s grey eyes settled on the wounds on her neck, a wide smile splaying across his lips. “I wonder how sweet you taste.”

Freaked by his comment, Buffy erroneously turned her back to the vamp, sprinting for the exit. A growl reached her ears and before she knew it, Damon was standing right in front of her, blocking her path to the door. She flinched at the unexpectedness of his appearance, inwardly cursing that damned vampire speed.

“Ah, ah, ah. We’re not done here yet, Buffy,” he gleefully said, waving his finger in her face.

She had had enough. Buffy laid into Damon, throwing punch after punch, which unfortunately he seemed to easily duck and dodge. She finally pulled out the stake she had hidden and tried to plunge it into his chest, but before the wooden tip could even tickle his chest, the vampire caught her by the wrist, twisting it behind her back as he spun her around. Damon grabbed her other flaying arm and secured both appendages to her lower back, yanking the weapon out of her hand and assertively tossing it to the floor. Holding on tight, he lowered his misshapen face to her ear, growling lightly as she continued to struggle against him.

“You don’t remember, do you?” he throatily whispered.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Buffy asked, still trying to break free from his hold.

“The night we captured you, before the raid, you were on the dance floor,” he started to explain, his creepy calm voice sending shivers down Buffy’s spine. “I was there too, ya know. Checking things out, scouting out the club. Don’t you remember me Buffy? You should, you smiled at me.”

At first Buffy thought Damon was completely full of shit, that he was only doing it to mess with her head. Then she remembered she had given a tall, dark and handsome hottie on the other side of the dance floor one of her flirty, ‘come and get it’ looks. It couldn’t have been Damon though. She would have recognized him from that night. Damon was a total creep and she so would not hit on him…right? Buffy’s mind raced, trying to relate the image of Damon that she had come to know these past few months with the chaotic memories of that night. Almost as though something within her head clicked, she knew. Buffy gasped at the realization. It was him.

“I knew you’d remember,” Damon chuckled hoarsely.

“So I smiled at you. Big whoop. I still don’t know what you’re trying to get at?” Buffy angrily wondered.

Damon’s hold on her shifted, taking her two rebellious hands in his one strong grasp. Raising the free hand to her neck, he traced Spike’s bite marks. It didn’t elicit any kind of a response from her, like when Spike touched her, other than a slight shudder from its unexpectedness.

“W-what are you doing?” Buffy asked, somewhat sickened by his gentle caress.

“Wanna know a secret?” he answered with another question, ignoring Buffy’s distressed query. Not waiting for her response, he continued. “You were supposed to be mine.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she gritted out, officially getting freaked out by Damon’s change in attitude.

Spining her around so that she faced him, he firmly kept her hands locked behind her as he crushed Buffy’s body against his. She gasped when she felt his burgeoning erection grind against her stomach. As her terrified stare locked with his hungry amber gaze, Buffy knew it wasn’t just her blood that he wanted. Squirming in his grip, Buffy wriggled, thrashed and kicked but to no avail. She couldn’t break free. This couldn’t be happening. The mere thought of Damon touching her in any way, especially in a sexual manner, made her want to violently retch.

“Yeah well, I’m not yours. I’m Spike’s,” she replied with conviction as she disgustedly looked him in the eyes.

“Actually, you belong to the Master of this clan,” Damon good-humoredly corrected. “And with Spike gone, guess what that makes me?”

Before she could respond, Damon threw her again, tossing her through the air and onto the large bed. With another roar, he pounced on top of her, loving how she futilely attempted to fight him off. Straddling her thighs as he pinned her arms over her head, Damon leered at her flustered flushing face, seeing the searing hatred burning in her hazel eyes as she glared up at him.

“That night, when I saw you dancing, I knew I wanted you,” he told her huskily, lowering one hand down the curves of her body. “I wanted to make you mine.”

“I’d rather die,” Buffy gritted out, completely repulsed.

Damon slapped her across the face. “Shut up!” he hollered. “I saw you first! I fucking spent the night running after you! And I sent my minions out to bring you in! Not Spike!” Damon madly ranted.

His hand slowly returned to where it had been traveling, stroking the swell of her breast above the silk barrier of Spike’s red shirt. He giggled a little. “Then Tash and Vince come along and say that we gotta bring something back for Spike. Gotta make sure the boss is happy. So of course they take you away cuz you were the only thing still left alive,” he bitterly remarked. “He took you away from me.”

Buffy shuddered, unable to extricate herself from his molesting touch. “Get the fuck off of me!” she furiously ordered.

Again he ignored her. “I didn’t get to claim you, drink from you. I didn’t get to turn you,” he lamented before he broke out into another fit of giggles. “Then…then Spike had the fucking nerve to keep you alive!” he bellowed, his hand traveling down her body. “If he had offed you, made a meal of you like a vamp’s supposed to do, I could have gotten over it. But instead, he keeps you around, gets blind sighted, forgetting about us, his own fucking clan! He even rubs it in our faces and fucks you for all of us to see. His precious little Buffy,” he bitterly snarled, as his hand snuck beneath the hem of the red shirt, skimming the toned muscles of her stomach before tracing the waist band of her panties.

Buffy shouted, thrashing beneath him, trying to pull away. “No…don’t touch me,” she growled as she desperately struggled against his vice-like grip.

“Bet I know why he keeps you alive,” he lustfully commented as one of his fingers slipped beneath her underwear, teasingly stroking the milky smooth skin near her sex, making it involuntarily quiver.

Buffy thought she was going to throw up. A mixture of fear, anger and pure revulsion boiled within her. She felt the tears start to well up, but she fought them back; Buffy didn’t want to give Damon the fucking pleasure of seeing her cry. He could rape her, violate her, kill her but she refused to let him see her cry.

“When Spike gets back, he will kill you,” she stated matter-of-factly, pushing away the fear that threatened to trigger the panic that was on the verge of taking her over.

Damon lowered his face to hers, smiling widely at her determinedly sickened face. “Don’t you mean if Spike gets back?” he smugly retorted, moving his mouth to her neck with a rumble in his throat. “Even if he isn’t dusted, it won’t matter. You’ll be mine, in every sense of the word,” he quietly whispered against her throat, his fangs grazing against Spike’s marks on her neck, ready to plunge into the column of flesh.

“No,” Buffy weakly pleaded, her body unable to fend him off any longer, unwillingly caving into her exhaustion.

She shrieked, when his soft touch suddenly turned rough and ripped off her panties, leaving her bottom half completely exposed. This was it. He was gonna rape her and then turn her into a vampire. She didn’t want to believe Spike was gone for good. She didn’t want to think that even if he did eventually return, he’d be too late. Buffy simply couldn’t stomach the thought of being Damon’s for all eternity. She just couldn’t.

Under her breath, her eyes tightly shut, she tried to escape herself. “He will come for me. He will come for me. He will come for me…” she softly mantraed, hoping it wasn’t a prayer made in vain.

A cold hand grabbed her chin, jerking her head violently. Buffy immediately opened her eyes to see Damon staring down at her, infuriated by the fact that he had been unable to break her spirit. He was rightly pissed that she still believed Spike would save her. “Get it through that air headed, blonde brain of yours. He. Is. NEVER. Coming. Bac–”

Damon was suddenly flying backwards in the air, nearly crashing through the far wall near the door. Buffy blinked a few times, unsure of what had just happened. That was until she peered up and saw Spike standing above her, his chest heaving as he stared down at her. Both fury and sheer terror danced in his sharp blue eyes as he possessively looked over her vulnerable and exposed form. Buffy soon noticed Natasha and Vincent standing a few feet behind him, which made her sit up to cover herself for decency’s sake. Her focus returned to Spike, her eyes sparkling as pure happiness played across her face. He was back.

“’llo luv,” Spike said, smiling brightly at her, before dropping to his knees and partly collapsing into her arms.

Buffy panicked. “Spike? Spike?” she desperately tried to wake him. She then noticed the bruises and cuts on his face, and she could feel something wet dripping down her leg. Shifting her gaze to the floor, she saw blood pooling at her feet. “Oh, God. Spike.”

Her eyes instantly flew past the two silent vampires, searching for the one responsible for Spike’s present state. Yet, when her focus landed on the far wall, Damon was gone; only a small indentation in the cracking drywall remained. Glancing to Natasha and Vincent, she realized they had also noticed the renegade vampire’s departure.

“Take care of Spike. We’ll deal with Damon,” Vincent said, his voice devoid of any emotion though his eyes sparkled with unsung rage. The two turned on their heels and marched out the door, leaving Buffy alone with Spike.

Staring down at his platinum blonde head in her lap, his body kneeling before her, unconscious to the world, she finally allowed the tears to fall. Bellowing out a guttural sob, she lowered her head to Spike’s, crying into his disheveled platinum curls. Her tears were for what she had been through, for the pain Spike had had to endure, and for the fear that still dwelled within her that she would never see him again. But mostly, they were happy tears, momentously joyful in the fact that Spike had been returned to her. From now on, Buffy had the reassurance that everything would be alright, and even if it was a little presumptuous, she didn’t care.

Her Spike was back.

A/N: For anyone who isn't a science nerd like me, nitrous oxide is the chemical name for laughing gas.

*Also, part of the truth spell was taken from the episode Something Blue

Chapter Eighteen: Reunited

The sound of an incoherent murmur slowly pulled Buffy out of her dreamless sleep. Her eyes opened to the sight of a pretty beaten up Spike, who was whimpering slightly in pain as he slept.

Last night, after she had wiped away the last of her tears, Buffy had instantly gone on autopilot, running to the window to close the large heavy black curtains to keep out the looming morning sun. After hauling Spike up onto the bed to examine him by sparse candlelight, she had realized that when he had thrown Damon across the room he must have reopened some of his already healing wounds. Her hands had fluttered over his battered flesh, her eyes making out large bite marks all over his shoulder and deep round gashes in his chest. His skin had been, and still was, a collage of varying shades of purple and blue. His front appeared to have been scorched; she still could discern the reddened outlines of crosses in several different places on his body. As she had peeled away his duster, Spike’s horrible condition had been further revealed.

For a few seconds, the sight of him had left her both sickened and distraught, but Buffy had instantly pushed those feelings away. She had stripped off his remaining pants, gently washed his body and carefully bandaged him up. It had taken her most of the night. When she had finished, she had maneuvered Spike around so that she could rip off the fitted sheet beneath him that was filthy and covered in his dried blood, using up the last ounce of strength she had left. She had collapsed onto the bare mattress beside him, barely conscious as she had lifted the covers on top of them. Careful not to touch him, Buffy had exhaustedly passed out.

Now, she was awake again, feeling the most rested she had in days, staring longingly at Spike’s sleeping face. From the erratic movement behind his eyelids, Buffy knew he was dreaming. She smiled when he smiled and grew worried when he would wince in pain. Her hand gingerly slipped from beneath her cheek, traveling across her pillow to his, her finger tips brushing against his face, stoking his sharp cheekbone and jaw line. Her hazel eyes studied him intently, recommitting every single detail about his appearance to memory. His skin was a little clammier, his color was paler than normal, and he had dark sunken circles around his eyes, but at that very moment, Buffy thought he’d never looked more gorgeous.

Spike began to purr from her soft touch. Buffy smiled to herself. She didn’t know vampires could purr. It was cute and made her want to cuddle with him but she restrained herself. He was too banged up; she was afraid to even get too close to him. Buffy wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him but Spike looked so fragile. She was scared she’d accidentally break him. Sighing, she contended herself with simply watching him as he slept. Snuggles could wait, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The vampire groaned when he tried to lean into Buffy’s hand, turning slightly onto his side, which pressed his weight down on his bruised ribs. Buffy could see his eyelids flickering; the pain must have awakened him. Spike droopily opened his eyes, steering his half-conscious attention to the person caressing his face. “Buffy?” he disbelievingly rasped, unsure if he was still dreaming.

Buffy gave him a brilliant smile, her eyes shimmering. “Yeah, it’s me,” she managed to choke out, fighting off the tears of joy that were threatening to spill.

“Is it really you?” he asked again, needing the confirmation that she wasn’t an illusion, that she was actually safe, lying beside him. He felt his own eyes start to sting with unshed tears, a heady mix of relief and contentment filling him. Memories of the prior night, when he had yanked Damon off of her, suddenly reemerged. Had he gotten there in time? Spike tried to sit up, his body instinctively trying to get to Buffy, to make sure she was okay. He yelped as the agonizing pain in his back, legs and chest intensely burned with every move he made. It wouldn’t stop him though. He needed to see for himself that she was alright.

Buffy immediately flew to his side, her hands flying everywhere, uncertain where to lay them to stop him from getting up. “Spike, what are you doing? You have to rest,” she beseeched, concern evident in her strained voice as he refused lie down. She could only watch as he stubbornly hissed and panted, scooting his body backwards until his back touched the headboard. Buffy did her best to make him comfortable, surrounding him with pillows and fussing over his bandages to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently pulled open any wounds. Spike didn’t object to her coddling; it was nice to know she cared.

Finally settled, he peered up at her, his blue eyes full of trepidation. “Did Damon…?” he paused, the words getting caught in his throat. “Did Damon hurt you?” he worriedly finished the question.

Buffy shook her head, now understanding why Spike had had the sudden urge to move. “No, you stopped him before he could,” she responded quietly.

She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, but she hadn’t had time to deal with what Damon had almost done to her. Remembering the whole incident made her feel a little dirty but what she really felt like doing was exacting some serious vengeance on that demon’s ass. Buffy consoled herself with the thought that Damon would be dealt with. She didn’t want what had happened last night with the dark vampire to ruin her reunion with Spike. She quickly pushed all thoughts of it aside.

Spike let out a sigh of relief, before bowing his head in shame. “’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye.

“It wasn’t your fault Spike. You weren’t here and Damon-” Buffy instantly grabbed his hand as she began to quickly reassure him, not entirely understanding why he was apologizing for something that had been totally out of his control.

“No…I mean… ’m sorry ‘bout that too…’s just… it wasn’t what I was referrin’ to,” he interrupted her, his melancholy gaze remaining fixed on their clasped hands, away from Buffy’s questioning stare. “I never meant any of it, luv.”

He was talking about the morning before he had been taken away. About the horrible words he had said to her. Since Spike had returned, Buffy had almost completely forgotten about the awful incident. She wanted to laugh. She remembered how much she had hated him for it. It seemed like a distant memory, almost eons ago, and in retrospect, it felt so inconsequential. She had forgiven him the moment she had found out he was gone. It should be her asking for his forgiveness. Buffy looked over his horrid physical state once again. How could she have ever doubted his love for her?

“I know,” Buffy said softly, giving Spike’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Spike tentatively raised his head, his teary eyes locking with hers. He looked up at her as though she had absolved him of all his sins and not just those he had committed against her. He looked up at her as though she had just saved him somehow.

“That’s a relief,” he croaked, his emotions playing nasty tricks on his voice.

He still couldn’t believe she was sitting beside him and that the hand he was touching was actually hers. The past seventy-two hours had been an utter nightmare for the both of them. Spike’s mind was having some difficulty processing the fact that he was free and Buffy was alive and well. Yet amongst his inabilities to come to grips with reality, his conscience, yes Spike now truly believed after everything he had been through that he did indeed have a conscience, albeit an only recently reactivated one, refused to forget about the fateful day he had left. For the longest time he had been solely focused on only getting back to Buffy, but he hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget those obscene things he had said to her in a moment of infuriated passion. But it was water under the bridge now. Spike took in a calming but needless breath. ‘Get it together mate, before you start blubberin’ like a baby.’

Buffy could feel the beginnings of her own tears forming. She inched her way closer to his stiff body, bringing her free hand up once again to his bruised face. Her thumb brushed over his cheek as she lovingly smiled at him. “I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Buffy hoarsely whispered, sniffling as a few tears slid down her face.

Spike nearly fell apart at her teary confession. What he wouldn’t have given a week ago to have her look at him the way she was now; so trusting and genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t bear the thought that he could have lost her. He was a century’s old vampire, one who had endured countless of tortures throughout his sordid past, some of which made the last few days seem like a walk in the park, but it only took the mere thought of someone harming even one blonde hair on that beautiful head of hers to bring him to his knees.

After everything Spike had suffered, after all of that time spent worrying about her in that dank basement, he had finally arrived to Buffy’s room only to see Damon straddling her, forcing himself on her small, defenseless form. The image had been seared into his mind and the overwhelming rage that the sight of Buffy’s near rape had initially generated was now rekindling within Spike. Damon, if he had any of his wits about him, was most likely long gone, probably flew out of the house like a bat out of hell when he had realized that the prodigal clan leader had returned. With deathly assurance, Spike knew Damon would be dealt with, in one painful way or another. It was only a matter of time, depending on how long it was going to take for him to return to full strength. As Spike stared into Buffy’s glistening bittersweet gaze he inwardly vowed that the despicable treacherous vampire would come to truly know why William the Bloody had taken on the telling moniker of ‘Spike’.

“Better believe it, pet. I’m here” he gently reassured, a sad smirk tugging at his lips before pulling his face away from Buffy’s touch, glancing down at his bandaged body. “Hmmph. Relatively in one piece.”

As Spike scrutinized his mummified torso, he hardly noticed Buffy shift beside him. His eyes bugged out as he let out a gasp when he felt her warm supple form gently lower itself into his lap. Half sitting on his thighs, the only part of him that she couldn’t remember seeing covered in bruises, Buffy put most of her weight on her knees, just in case she was wrong about his seemingly healthy limbs. Spike raised his eyes to hers, her face inches away from his.

“Buffy?” he asked, his knitted brow trying to convey his bewilderment, his tone both questioning and yearning.

“Oh God, did I hurt you?” she anxiously wondered, thinking the confusion on his face was actually an expression of pain, shifting again to get off of him.

Spike vigorously shook his head. “No,” he agitatedly stated. He could feel his battered body start to react to her. His blood, whatever little that was left, was rushing to his nether regions. He gripped harder on their still clasped hands, tugging on her arm to stop her.

Buffy sighed, a little relieved. Seeing the determined look on his face, she knew he didn’t want her to move. Smiling gleefully, she continued on with what she had been in the process of doing. Leaning in towards him, placing a hand on the mattress by his side to keep her steady, Buffy watched as Spike’s face changed from perplexed to flabbergasted, his magnificent blue eyes glittering in anticipation. She stopped when her lips were a whisper away from his, her hot heavy breath mingling with the cool pant that was escaping his parted mouth.

Spike groaned loudly. “Pet, I spent the past few days in not so pleasant company. Don’t need you torturin’ me too,” he huskily whined, feeling like he was on the verge of total utter breakdown if she didn’t do something soon.

Pushing the last smidgen of her insecurity and fear aside, Buffy closed the miniscule gap separating them, gently planting her lips on his. For a few seconds neither one of them moved, taking time to reflect on the significance of the moment. The fact that it was Buffy who had initiated the embrace spoke more than any words ever could. She was letting him into her heart, a place she had denied him access to ever since he had first tried to kiss her. Since she had been captured they had humped, bumped and grinded each other into mind bending, world altering, pop you like warm champagne kind of euphoria. Yet they’d never truly shared anything as intimate as this, their first kiss.

Once overcoming his initial shock, Spike eased into the kiss, his lips languidly moving against hers. It was sweet and gentle and everything else that wasn’t a normal descriptor of their past physical encounters. Their mouths gradually opened, their lips lightly brushing against one another’s. There was no force and no rush despite the desperate burning desire that was scorching both of them from within. Buffy was afraid she’d hurt him and Spike didn’t want to do anything that might make her regret this later.

Spike knew if he wasn’t as physically limited as he presently felt, he would have plundered her mouth until she had to shove him off just to breathe. He prided himself on being quite astute in the art of kissing. A century of experience, years of snoggin’ with Druscilla, had afforded him that kind of arrogance. But this was different. All his past embraces had been frenzied, passionate, all consuming kisses that usually accompanied a fuck marathon with the occasional biting. Not this kiss. Even with everything he’d done with Buffy, he’d never felt as close to her as he did now. This was their next step, and there was no going back.

Buffy grew bolder, reassured by Spike’s intermittent moans of pleasure, daringly gliding her tongue along his bottom lip, teasing him to permit her entrance. Spike willingly allowed her to explore his mouth, sliding his own oral muscle against hers in soft caresses. Twirling his tongue around hers, Spike reached out an arm around her waist, instinctively pulling her closer to him. Buffy gasped loudly into his mouth when she unsuspectingly rubbed up against his erection, the hardness covered by the silky fabric of the satin sheet pressing on her exposed, wet pussy. Pulling away from his mouth, she rested her forehead against his, breathing heavily as she tried to keep her arousal under control.

Spike let out an uncharacteristic whimper at both the loss of her lips and the delicious friction she was inflicting on his cock. Wanting more, he did what came naturally, his lust fogged mind focused on her moist swollen lips, forgetting himself for the briefest second. Spike leaned forward to capture her mouth in another more searing kiss, when a burst of fire ripped through his midsection, making him wince violently.

“Spike?” Buffy worriedly questioned the pained expression on his face.

“Not used to bein’ a decrepit, luv. Got lost in you for a second there,” he explained through clenched teeth, resting his head back on the pile of pillows as he dismally covered his face with his hand.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…” Buffy started to lament, mentally kicking herself for pushing things too far, too soon.

“Never say that,” Spike insisted, lowering his hand from his displeased face, appearing to be gravely upset with her. “I’d let you break every bone in my body just to get you to kiss me again. Don’t ever say that you’re sorry, ‘cos I sure as hell am not.”

Buffy could see the insecurity in his downcast glance. She knew he was worried that she’d immediately regret the kiss. Stupid vampire. Shouldn’t he know by now that if she was voluntarily smooching him, he had nothing to worry about? Not every guy had an all access pass to her lips and very few could sneak their way into the VIP room that was her heart. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was reeling from severe injuries, Buffy would have smacked him for his lack of confidence.

“First of all, not sorry about anything here. Secondly, I was going to say that I shouldn’t have jumped you the way I did. And thirdly, you’re a dope!” she announced indignantly, sliding back down to his thighs, away from his rock solid member.

“What are you goin’ on about?” Spike asked, frustrated not only by her incoherence but with the fact that the stiffy he was sporting wasn’t going to be tended to any time soon.

“You were gone, and I’m not saying that whatever you went through was easy, but it wasn’t all peachy happy rainbows here either,” she commented, her voice trembling as she recalled the anxiety of those three nights, just trying to survive from one sunrise to the next. “I had a lot of time to think. You were right. I can’t deny what has happened between us these past few months and I should hate you for it.”

Buffy felt Spike grow tense beneath her; she could see the dread spring into his eyes. She didn’t want to mislead him but she had to say what was on her mind. “I should despise you for the bringing me here, for trapping me in this house, for saying those horrible things to me. I should hate you for leaving me all alone,” she steadily divulged, watching as Spike became increasingly more apprehensive.

“But I don’t,” Buffy admitted with conviction. “God, how I don’t!” she paused before whispering, “I really don’t hate you, Spike.”

If Spike actually had a pulse, he most likely would have had a heart attack. She couldn’t just kiss him and then take it all away. It took a while for it to sink in but he exhaled noisily when he realized what she was really saying. She was his. Buffy was trying, might he add quite unsuccessfully, to tell him that she cared about him, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her limited words were enough of a declaration for him.

Spike slowly leaned in again, ignoring the dispersed shots of minuscule pain in his body, capturing her lips in another kiss. Buffy crawled up his lap in response, urgently pressing her mouth to his. The kiss quickly intensified, their need for one another fueling the frenzy of their embrace. Spike brought his hand up to Buffy’s hair, running his fingers through her blond locks. Their tongues dueled, playfully competing for dominance. Buffy squirmed in his lap, regenerating the dampness between her own thighs as she grinded against his still rock hard cock. She smiled against his lips when Spike emitted another guttural moan. Needing more, he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her flush up against his bandaged chest.

Spike immediately ripped his lips from Buffy’s. “Arrrrggghhhhhh!”

Buffy flew backwards at the unexpected bellow, her eyes glued to Spike as he wheezed frantically, his pain eventually subsiding. “You’d think I’d learn from the first time around,” Spike longingly remarked, cursing his currently feeble state.

Buffy had an inkling that Spike needed blood to get better. It was just logical. He was a vampire after all. Moving back into his lap, Buffy tilted her neck, exposing it to him in a silent invitation.

“You sure?” he asked to make sure he wasn’t misreading her.

“I need it just as much as you do,” she reassured, grabbing the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to her offered flesh.

Spike morphed, his tongue lapping the old wounds on her neck. Buffy shivered as Spike induced the sensations that only he could trigger within her. Her hips began to move of their own volition, her damp sex searching for satisfaction to quell her mounting desire. She cried out in ecstasy when his fangs pierced her skin, strangely feeling fulfilled by the penetration. It was only when Spike started to take pulls of blood from her willing body that Buffy felt as though his homecoming was finally complete. This feeding was more than the ones before. She wasn’t just giving him what his undead body needed to heal and to thrive but it was almost a reclaiming. He was making her his again but now the need to be linked to each other was being reciprocated. She wanted to belong to him.

Spike could feel Buffy’s blood fill him, working its way through his body, filling every withered cell to regenerate him back to tip top form. Having taken just enough to start the healing process while not too much to cause Buffy any harm, he carefully pulled out his fangs. Dragging his tongue across the puncture wounds to seal them, a growl rumbled in his throat in response to her involuntary thrusting. He wasn’t one hundred percent better yet, but with a few more winks of sleep, he’d be fine.

When she felt he was no longer drinking from her, Buffy tried to suppress the urge to grind up against him. She knew he needed rest, that he wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. Grudgingly slipping off of him, Buffy settled down by his side, not straying too far. She peered up at his face, seeing the sense of loss in his own eyes. “Better get some sleep,” she whispered, drawing the blankets back up over him as she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. She moved to give him some space. Buffy didn’t want to distract him from getting better. Yet as she made her way off of the bed, a firm grip pulled her back.

“Spike, you need to rest,” she argued as she struggled against his much stronger grip.

He didn’t let go. Instead he brought her back to his side, his arms tight around her, refusing to release her. “I can’t let you go, pet. Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through,” he murmured softly. “Just stay with me.”

Buffy wanted to be strong but she instantly caved in when her head nestled on his shoulder. Spike shifted to get comfortable, content despite the small aches that still resounded throughout his body. This was how it was supposed to be between them. All that time wishing she’d return his feelings finally paid off. It had only taken his capture, subsequent torture and Damon’s near take over to get them to this point. Spike sighed as he slipped into peaceful repose, feeling Buffy’s warmth slowly seep into him, her vanilla scent invading his nose while her heartbeat steadily drummed in his ears. It had been worth it.

********

Natasha burst through the house’s front doors, marching into the main foyer, the angry stomps of her heeled boots sending off warning signals to the few nearby minions to stay away. Things were not good. Shit had literally hit the fan.

Walking up to a distracted Vincent, who was reclining on the wall by the room’s usually curtained window, the vampiress stood and waited for him to finish his observation of the night’s starlit sky. Growing impatient, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Hate to disturb your little mediation moment Vincent, but we got a major problem on our hands,” she stated, annoyed by his indifferent behavior.

“Is it what we feared?” the elder vampire asked, his voice stern, void of any feeling.

“Worse,” Natasha replied, emphasizing the gravity of the situation with a long exhale.

Vincent turned from his midnight vigil to look into Natasha’s worried face. He raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, the only glimmer of emotion to break through his up until recently stoic demeanor. “Well?” he asked.

“He’s gone. And he’s taken all his vamps with him. The fucker even managed to get a few of our own too. With all those fledges gone, our numbers are less half of what they were,” she explained solemnly.

Vincent stared at her thoughtfully, the wheels in his head turning. After a long while, he finally spoke. “He’s creating sides, forcing a schism throughout the entire clan,” he deduced as he unhurriedly paced by the window.

Natasha hated when Vincent got cryptic. “So what’s it all mean?” she looked to him to elaborate.

Vincent stared back out into the dark world outside, his jaw clenching as his once relaxed hands formed into fists. “It’s war, Natasha. The pillock wants war.”

Chapter Nineteen: And It Feels So Good

It was her scent that pulled him out of his sleep. The sweet tangy vanilla fragrance that made him water at the mouth and stirred other not so innocent parts of his anatomy into full awareness. Spike’s eyes slowly opened, blearily focusing on the top of Buffy’s blonde head, his nose snuggly buried in her golden locks. Breathing in her wonderful smell one last time, he raised his head. Though he loved the feel of Buffy’s body half draped over his own, sleeping while sitting upright was a little confining. Reaching behind his back, Spike pulled out the pile of pillows that were keeping him propped up. With a steady hold on a still dormant Buffy, he gently lowered the both of them so that his head lay on a single pillow while hers rested on his chest.

‘That’s a lil’ better,’ he reflected.

Spike tried to get comfortable as he mildly wiggled around but he just couldn’t seem to find a satisfying position. Letting out an exasperated groan, he picked Buffy up from off of his chest and gently lowered her onto another fluffy pillow beside him. She whimpered slightly, unconsciously protesting the loss of contact, but quickly returned to her peaceful slumber. Spike glanced down at Buffy, his azure stare roaming over her innocent looking face. It was only as his gaze scanned over the rest of her did he notice what she was wearing. His red silk shirt. Spike grew harder at the realization. There wasn’t anything sexier than his girl wearing nothing but his shirt. He smiled widely at the thought. Buffy was now officially his girl.

Daring to take his eyes away from her, Spike peered down at his own body, grimacing at the unsightly bandages he was wrapped in. He needed to get these things off. Compared to last night, he felt a hell of a lot better, sensing that all of his wounds had at least sealed up. Buffy’s blood and a little bit of rest had done the trick. It still hurt a bit but only when he moved abruptly or when he stretched too far. It was really more of a nuisance than anything else. Sliding off the mattress, an indifferently naked Spike quietly padded over to the washroom, carefully closing the door behind him.

Flicking on the light switch, he looked down at his chest, instantly grabbing at the bandages. He unraveled the length of gauze and cloth that Buffy had wrapped his torso up in the previous night. The lack of reflection prevented him from examining his face in the mirror, but what he saw when he simply looked down at himself in the exposing bathroom fluorescent light genuinely surprised him. Reddened circles, the faint outlines of crosses, rosy tinted skin and a few yellow and purple bruises were all that remained of his stay at Casa de Giles. Though he remembered being maliciously assaulted at the hands of the spiteful ex-Watcher, any sign of that extensive torture was now barely visible on his healing body.

He had never recuperated this quickly before. Maybe the sudden jolt he had experienced after the witch had disengaged her hindrance spell had actually concentrated his vampire abilities. It would explain the sudden ease at which he had held down the rabid werewolf after the pup had broken free of its cage. Maybe his vampire healing had also been jump started, working at a faster and more efficient rate than it usually did. Or perhaps it had something to do with Buffy’s blood. She wasn’t a Slayer or his Sire, so there were no healing properties that he knew of flowing through her veins. Maybe just knowing that she had given it to him freely, willingly giving up a part of herself so that his own body could heal, had been all it took to assist for his speedy self-restoration. Who knew? Perhaps mind over matter did truly work and recognizing that Buffy wanted him to get better was just what he needed for it to occur. Spike shook his head. It really didn’t matter how it happened. He was just happy he wasn’t a broken mess anymore.

Switching the lights off as he left the bathroom, Spike strolled back over to the bed, finding Buffy where he had left her. He couldn’t help but smirk as he stared down at her, his eyes focused on the red silk of his shirt riding up her thigh, its top few buttons open, giving Spike a sneak peak at the top of her perky breasts. Licking his lips, he slid back down next to her, possessively laying his hand flat over her stomach. Buffy intuitively rolled toward his touch, reaching out to him. He pulled her towards him, spooning her back against his chest, cautious not to press his turgid cock against her ass. He didn’t want to wake her up, especially in that way. They’re relationship was finally starting to turn in the direction he wanted it to and Spike wasn’t about to muddle things up by inadvertently insinuating he wanted sex. Not saying that he didn’t crave it though.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open at the feel of a strong arm gingerly wrapped around her waist. Awakening from her restful sleep, she turned in Spike’s arms, rolling so that she could look into his wonderful face. A genuine smile greeted her, his sparkling clear blue eyes darting back and forth, assessing how awake she really was. Buffy smiled back. “Good morning,” she mumbled. Her brow scrunched for a moment as she noticed the room’s darkened state, only a faint light coming from a dim lamp in the room’s far corner. “It is morning, isn’t it?”

Spike had caught whiff of the sunrise a few hours back but had naturally gone back to sleep. He could still sense the bright sunlight that would have filled the room with its fatal rays if it weren’t for the black heavy curtains Buffy had closed shut the night before. He nodded. “Close enough. Reckon it’s probably just past noon.”

“Hmmmm…” she hummed incoherently as her eyes glanced down to his bare, sculpted chest. Wait a minute. Bare? “Spike, did you take off your bandages?” she gently scolded as she checked over his surprisingly recovered body.

“They chaffed,” he rationalized, hoping she wasn’t about to berate him for doing it.

Buffy shrugged. “Guess it’s alright. You look more or less okay. Gotta love that supernatural vampire healing,” she admitted, bringing her small warm hand to his chest, dragging her fingertips across the scars that would soon disappear.

Spike bit his lips as she stroked the sensitive skin, wishing those warm digits would inch over to his hardening nipple. Taking the small hand in his, he put an end to the unintentionally stimulating caresses. Planting a kiss on her open palm, Spike decided to change the topic. “So did you sleep well, pet?”

“Yeah,” Buffy responded, her face contorting into another perplexed expression before the smile returned to her lips. “I actually did.”

“I don’t follow,” Spike stated, feeling a little confused himself.

“No nightmares,” she explained happily.

“Good to hear, luv,” he replied, reaching out to tuck a piece of stray blonde hair behind her ear. “D’ever figure out who was chasin’ you?”

“Nope,” she answered, dropping the issue. Buffy wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him it had been Damon haunting all of her dreams. She knew she should but she didn’t want to bring him up. Mentioning the recalcitrant vampire would only anger Spike and ruin the warm, happy moment they were having. Buffy really didn’t want that.

Spike’s hand slid from the side of her face, down her marked neck, to the silk collar of the shirt she was wearing. His eyes darkened with lust as his fingers fiddled with the crimson colored material, his gaze focused on her exposed cleavage. “Love the shirt, pet,” he remarked.

“What this old thing?” Buffy joked as she observed him ogling her. She tried to act nonchalant even though his touches felt like fire against her skin, making her body hum with anticipation. “Just found it lying around.”

“So the shirt’s not yours?” Spike played along, distractedly tracing the two unfastened buttons.

“No, but the person who owns it is,” Buffy coyly replied.

It took a few seconds for what she had just said to sink in, but the instant that Spike comprehended that Buffy had indirectly declared he belonged to her; the vampire smashed his lips against hers. Pushing his tongue into her willing mouth, he growled possessively when he felt her fingers rake through his disheveled platinum hair. He loved how her hot tongue wrestled back against his cool one. He loved how sweet she tasted and how soft she felt beneath him. He loved how he could smell her pungent arousal and how the guilt he used to have for feeling like he was taking advantage of her was gone. But what Spike truly loved the most was that he could kiss her like this whenever he wanted to and she would want it just as much as he did. God, he loved kissing this girl.

Buffy pulled away, gasping for air, her chest heaving for frantic breath as she stared up into his desire filled gaze. Without much thought, Buffy took the hand that had been playing with her shirt and brought it to the few remaining buttons that were still buttoned up. In an unspoken invitation, she let go of his hand and waited for him to do what she hoped he would.

Spike’s attention flew to his hand, now nestled between her breasts. He rolled one of the buttons between his fingers, looking back into her face to make sure he had her full consent. When she nodded, Spike worked diligently, unbuttoning one at a time until the shirt was completely undone. Her breath hitched when his hand slipped beneath the silk, pulling at the material to reveal one soft round mound, his cool sensuous touch and the room’s slight draft causing the rosy nipple to harden. Soon the rest of the crimson shirt was brushed aside, leaving Buffy completely exposed.

Spike paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her. “So beautiful…” he huskily whispered.

The state of her arousal tickled his nose once again, which made his eyes dart down from her breasts to the wet junction between her thighs. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her, to feel himself encased in her searing velvety quim. Getting a little too excited, Spike brought his attention back to Buffy’s face. He was surprised to see she wasn’t blushing beet red with embarrassment. Instead she met his lustful gaze with her own, never taking her yearning hazel eyes from his.

Capturing his hand once again, Buffy brought it to his mark on the side of her neck. He instinctively brushed the lightly scarred flesh with his thumb, making Buffy shiver beneath him. “Spike…” she moaned.

Spike was having a little difficulty keeping it together. He let out a long hoarse breath in attempt to calm himself down. He didn’t want to rush anything. “Christ, pet. I want you so much,” he confessed, his voice shaky with need as he continued to stroke his marks.

“I want you too,” she also admitted, wrapping her arm around his neck to pull his face back down to hers. “Make love to me, Spike.”

At first he wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly. Only after a few dumbfounded moments, Spike realized what it was that she was asking of him. Buffy wanted him to make love to her. It was a simple request, but one that he hadn’t been expecting to hear. Taking in another deep breath, Spike composed himself. He felt like a fumbling nervous virgin even though it wasn’t going to be his first time. Not by a long shot. Christ, it wouldn’t even be the fist time he had sex with Buffy. Yet it’d been a while since he’d technically “made love”.

In the few years since Dru had left him, the only kind of sex he had had could only be described as fucking. He had refused to invest any of his emotions into any potential relationship that had come his way. Even when his dark princess had still been with him, tenderness had been a rare occurrence between their bed sheets. As much as the opportunity to make love to Buffy excited him, it also made him oddly petrified. It was going to be as much as a new experience for him as it would be for her.

Spike smiled as he leaned down a bit, gently pressing his lips to hers. Sweetly kissing her, his finger stroked the erogenous mark on her neck while the other hand skimmed over her breast, ghosting a caress over the erect nipple. He cupped the mound of flesh, delicately pinching and rubbing the pink bud until Buffy was moaning into his mouth. Spike turned his focus to the other overlooked breast, giving it the exact same treatment. Pulling away from her lips, he kissed along her jaw until he reached the shell of her ear where he traced the sensitive skin with his tongue. He could hear her heart hammering away in her chest and the scent of her arousal was so thick that he was nearly choking on it.

“You like that, pet?” he throatily asked as he continued to slowly work her into ecstasy.

Buffy nodded, panting loudly. “Y-yes,” she stuttered, the pleasure he was inducing being so intense that she was barely able to coherently respond to his question.

Spike smirked at her answer. His mouth moved to her neck, latching onto the marked skin, sucking and licking it as his hands massaged her oversensitive breasts. Before Buffy reached the climax that always arose from his oral manipulation of the bite marks on her neck, Spike pulled away, slowly sliding down her body. He waited until Buffy was a little more collected. When her breathing calmed slightly, Spike lowered his mouth, flicking his tongue across her nipple, which brought forth a noisy groan from Buffy’s lips. He continued to tend to her breasts, twirling his talented moist tongue slowly around the dusky areole. The noises she was making were driving him crazy, and the whimpers and coos weren’t helping with the angry erection that was pressing against her thigh. Yet Spike remained focused, determined that he’d do things right, to make it good and to make it last.

Buffy’s fingers ran through his short peroxide blonde curls, desperately needing an anchor to this world. She’d never felt this kind of pleasure before. All the other times she had been with Spike there had been undertones of guilt, disgust or confusion flying around her head. Her mind would reluctantly cave into the demands of her body, and at times unwillingly surrender to the carnal bliss that Spike could provoke within her. It was not the case now. Buffy wanted him, wholeheartedly and there were no more lingering doubts or fears to quell what she felt for him.

The licking gradually turned aggressive and Spike was soon sucking hard on her nipple, which sent bolts of electricity straight to her womb. “Spike….uh….ahhhhhh….” she whimpered, forgetting what she was about to say.

Releasing his mouth from her breast, Spike chuckled softly. “Yes, pet?” he teasingly replied.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, yanking his head back down to her chest.

Swiping his tongue lightly against the under curve of one breast, Spike nuzzled the smooth skin. “No worries, luv. Gonna take care of you. ‘m gonna make it feel so good,” he reassured as he slithered down her body.

He trailed open mouthed kisses down her sweat glistened stomach, intermittently darting out his tongue to taste the salty tang of her skin. Spike circled her navel with peppery kisses before dipping his tongue into it. Meanwhile, his skillful hands moved smoothly over her taut stomach, lowering them to her hips and thighs to stroke the sensitive, quivering skin he found there. Sliding completely off of her, Spike tenderly coaxed her legs apart, broadly smiling when she spread them eagerly, revealing to him the pink puffy lips of her juicy pussy. He was fully salivating as an overwhelming hunger took over him. The ever mounting urge to dive right in and eat her out like his unlife depended on it was getting harder and harder to suppress.

“Bend your knees a bit,” he instructed so that he could have better access to the savory peach at the apex of her thighs.

Buffy did as she was told, trembling with fevered expectation. She watched as Spike’s platinum head lowered and felt his lips graze the skin of her inner thighs, slowly making their way to her quim.

“Spike…” she began to beg, wishing he would just place his skillful mouth on her pussy. “I need you to…Oh my God!”

Wish granted.

Spike ran his tongue through her moistened folds, catching dollops of her heady dew on its tip. His hand skimmed up her thighs, taking his limber fingers to peel open the lips of her sex. Her engorged clit beckoned to him. Much like her nipples, he circled the nubbin and flicked it repeatedly with his tongue making Buffy arch further into his mouth.

“Ahhhh… unghhh…S-spike…don’t stop…uhhh…” she babbled, squirming uncontrollably.

“Taste so good, luv. Like bloody ambrosia,” Spike muttered as he surrounded his lips around her clit, sucking so intensely that Buffy started to see stars.

“Ahh…Spike…ahhhhhhh…” she unintelligibly cried, pulling at his hair, nearly ripping handfuls straight off from his head.

He detached his mouth from her clit, gliding his tongue down to her dripping entrance. Spike plunged his tongue into her sopping hole, twirling it around as he pulled it out. Buffy emitted a guttural mix between a growl and a moan, pushing her hips down on his face with every thrust of his tongue. After a few more strokes, he pulled the tongue out and replaced it with one, then quickly two nimble fingers. He pumped and stretched her with the digits as he returned to licking her clit. After a few short minutes he could feel her inner walls begin to quake. Turning his hand to that the palm was upright, the two fingers embedded within her delved in further, searching for the soft little spongy bundle of nerves. Finding her G-spot, Spike stroked it as he fiercely began to suck on her clit again.

Buffy felt as though she was on the verge of exploding. She couldn’t breathe and her heart was going a hundred miles a minute. As he continued to stimulate a spot within her that she had almost completely forgotten was there, Buffy’s orgasm was beginning to boil over. “Spike…Spike…I’m going to…Ahhhhh!!!!” she bellowed as she climaxed, her hips bucking, a wash of juices filling Spike’s awaiting mouth.

He kept flicking her G-spot as she rode out her first wave of pleasure, the treatment speedily triggering a second orgasm. She almost passed out from the immensely suffocating bliss that was ripping through her. When she finally came down from her delirium, Buffy could feel Spike lapping her pussy lips clean, which sent tiny aftershocks throughout her body. With one last lick, Spike lifted himself back up, hovering above her so that he could gaze down into her face. He smirked devilishly when he saw the sated kittenish look she was giving him.

Buffy reached up to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. It was Spike’s turn to moan when her small warm hand wrapped around his silky cool shaft. Disengaging from the kiss, she guided his solid cock to her entrance. “I need you in me,” she stated as she waited for him to move.

Spike let out a ragged breath. He had put his own needs aside up until that point, his attention centered solely on her pleasure. Part of him wanted to fuck her brains out, to release all the pent up desire that had been building up within him. It was that part of him that made him afraid he was about to bollocks things up. Pushing those thoughts away, Spike slowly entered her, groaning as her scorching heat engulfed his throbbing member. He hissed when her smooth inner muscles contracted around him, squeezing him in just the right way.

“Christ, pet, you’re so fucking tight,” he said into the crook of her neck.

He moved slowly at first, drawing out every sensation as he reentered her hot molten core. Buffy met his every thrust, wrapping her legs around his waist to push him in deeper. Soon Spike was grunting noisily, his hips madly smashing into Buffy’s but he was still under enough control to remember her needs as he slipped a dexterous hand between their bodies to stroke her clit. Her pants soon echoed his grunts as they both approached the pinnacle of their coupling.

“Do it,” Buffy rasped urgently. “Please Spike. Just do it now!”

Not needing any clarification as to what she was specifically asking him to do, Spike vamped out and sunk his fangs into the tender flesh of her neck. Her warm spicy blood gushed into his mouth as he frantically pounded into her, letting the demon inside take full reign only for a moment, allowing it to make love to Buffy the only way it knew how. With one last strategically angled thrust, and simultaneous twist of her clit, Spike sent Buffy soaring into her third orgasm of the night.

“Spike!!!!!!” she screamed as the tremors rippled through her body.

With a few more thrusts, he quickly followed her over the edge, pulling his fangs from her neck, roaring deliriously as he spilled his cool dead seed into her.

“Buffy!!!!”

Once the convulsing stopped, he collapsed on top of her, completely spent. As his head cleared Spike rolled off of her, hoping he hadn’t accidentally crushed her. Concerned, he peered down into her face, relieved when she was smiling brightly up at him. Grinning back, he leaned down and kissed her sweetly.

"That was amazing,” Buffy mumbled against his lips.

“That’s ‘cos you’re amazin’, pet,” he explained as one of his hands idly glided over her stomach. He raised his head, his warm cerulean eyes meeting her bashful stare. “Never dreamed it could be this way. I love you so much, Buffy.”

His words made Buffy freeze with uncertainty. She knew how she felt about him and she knew that it was her cue to say the “L” word back. So why couldn’t she bring herself to say it? What was stopping her? What was she so afraid of? Sure she had trust issues when it came to her relationships with the opposite sex. She could thank her adulterous and absentee father for that. But Spike wasn’t like that and she knew it. ‘Damn it, Buffy,’ she internally scolded. ‘Tell him how you feel.’

She watched as Spike’s loving expression turned to one of dread, the fear that his love would still be unreciprocated evident in eyes. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, trying to force what she wanted to say into words.

“Spike, I…I…I”

The sound of her stomach rumbling interrupted her pretty sad attempt at telling him how she truly felt.

Sighing, Spike ignored the pain in his dead heart at Buffy’s inability to articulate her feelings, especially after everything they had been through. Shoving those insecurities aside, he concernedly inquired, “When was the last time you ate, luv?”

Somewhat relieved and guiltily thankful for the distraction, Buffy shrugged. “Sometime before you came back,” she dismissively answered.

Spike’s eyes widened, shocked by her confession. “And you still let me feed from you? How’s it you haven’t passed out yet?” he bewilderedly asked.

Buffy sheepishly shrugged again.

“Well that just won’t do,” he seriously remarked as he slipped out of bed. “We still have any of those chocolate biscuits you like so much?”

Buffy nodded as she pointed to the box filled with food that she kept by the mini-fridge. Spike kissed her forehead quickly before he sauntered over to the other side of the room, completely comfortable with his nudity. Buffy blushed when her eyes automatically shot straight to his tight perfect ass. Turning away as she pulled the bed sheet over her naked body, Buffy’s guilt resurfaced about being unable to tell Spike that she loved him. Remembering the brief flash of sadness that had crossed his face when she hadn’t said those three little words back made her hate herself all the more.

Spike returned with the carton of cookies he had promised. “Here you go, luv. A box of sweets for my sweet,” he chuckled at his corny joke.

Buffy couldn’t help but giggle at the lame compliment. Grabbing a cookie from the open box, she bit into it, slowly savoring the sugary goodness. She noticed Spike watching her as she ate the cookie, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Seeing the adoration in his eyes, Buffy felt even worse. She only hoped he understood that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him. Even after all the nightmarish experiences she had survived through these past few months, Buffy was still the same insecure girl when it came to expressing her feelings. She had let him into her heart; she was just too afraid to let him know it.

Chapter Twenty-One: Preparation… Preparation…Preparation

The house was quiet. A little too quiet for Spike’s liking.

Heading down the stairs, he spotted Natasha and Vincent standing together in the middle of the house’s large foyer. Their troubled faces, along with the fact that Damon wasn’t hogtied at their feet, told Spike that things weren’t good. He cleared his throat as he approached them, announcing his arrival.

“You look better,” Vincent casually commented though his expression remained concerned.

“Just needed some rest is all,” Spike distractedly responded as he scanned the downstairs rooms. His brow creased at the unusually low numbers of vamps sleeping in the darkened corners of the house.

Natasha quickly brought his attention back to them. “Yeah, well I hope you’ve gotten your fill of ‘rest’,” she sardonically remarked, making quotation marks in the air. Spike simply reeked of sex. There was no way that ‘rest’ was the only thing he had been doing while under Buffy’s care. “Because Damon’s missing and so is half of your clan.”

“What?!” Spike hollered in disbelief.

“Yes, Spike. I’m afraid it’s true. Damon has managed to escape and he has taken with him a large portion of the clan,” Vincent assured. “Those that have stayed loyal are mostly our minions, though Damon did sway a couple of them to his side. We’re still uncertain about our vampires in the different outposts. We don’t know if Damon’s gotten to them yet.”

“Arrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!!”

Spike furiously threw a nearby chair across the room, making it smash into pieces upon impact against the hard wall.

“I told you he’d flip,” Natasha whispered in Vincent’s ear, wincing as another piece of projectile furniture flew over their heads only to crash into tiny bits right next to the first chair to have felt Spike’s wrath.

“That bloody fucking pillock!” Spike tossed an old chipped vase against another wall.

Just fucking fantastic! First the stupid spat with Buffy about her bloody freedom, and now this. It was bad enough that the bastard had stabbed him in the back by handing him over to the Watcher and his White Hats. Spike growled loudly. Damon couldn’t even face him, he just ran away with his tail between his legs, with all his brainwashed, treacherous, good for nothing vampires.

Taking in long, unnecessary breaths, Spike tried to get it together. He could say he hadn’t seen it coming. He could claim that he would have never expected half of his clan to abandon him. But Spike knew that wasn’t the case. He had ignored Damon’s unrelenting denunciations, and had somehow kidded himself in thinking that a few boasting displays of his own power would be sufficient enough to put an end to whatever uprisings the dark vampire might have initiated. The rift in the clan had started the day Buffy had been brought to him. He had been just too ignorant to have noticed.

“He’s clearly gathering his forces. Damon will retaliate,” Vincent stated when he noticed that Spike had finally composed himself.

The two vampires watched as Spike paced the foyer, his hands on his hips as he considered his next move.

“What d’you want us to do?” Natasha asked, growing impatient.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Spike turned to face them, having made up his mind. “Send out a few vamps. Get ‘em to find out what they can ‘bout the outposts. If Damon hasn’t gotten to the vamps there yet, I want ‘em brought back ‘ere,” he firmly ordered.

“Why bring them all here?” Natasha wondered, a little intrigued.

Spike smirked. “Damon wants a war, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for the obvious answer. “Then ‘m gonna need an army.”

********

On the outskirts of the dangerous part Sunnydale, an old abandoned farmhouse flirted with the edge of the town’s border. And just a few yards from this old, rickety house was a huge, unused barn; the perfect place to house a fugitive vampire and his group of loyal minions.

Damon stared down at the large group, sitting high above them on the wooden ladder that led up to the hayloft of the crowded barn. He could feel the excitement in the air as it hummed with the scents of fear that always accompanied new and untried endeavors. The buzz of their mingled voices prevented him from picking up on any one particular conversation but Damon knew exactly what they were all discussing. These blood lusting creatures below him were dying for some action, having grown bored and hungry from the lack of hunts and raids since the last one on the Bronze. The occasional human might have been captured but the thrill had left them and the perks of being a member of Spike’s clan had eventually become a drawback. Damon smiled to himself. He was going to give them just what they needed.

It was the dead of night, and the dim interior of the barn was patterned with gloomy shadows. There was no available electricity to tap into for lighting and torches just screamed bad idea in a place filled with dry, flammable hay. Yet even despite the lack of light, it was still a sight to be seen. A proverbial mass of game faced vampires, waiting for him to change their destiny, to return their lives to the way they should rightfully be.

Having decided that his new clan had waited long enough, he gestured to those vampires he had stationed at the doors to close them, sealing everyone in complete darkness. Relying on his heightened vision, Damon then signaled one final time. A wash of moonlight immediately illuminated him as the minion swung open the wooden shutter to the barn’s only window, high above the large timber doors. The natural spotlight drew every single vampire’s attention to their new leader, silencing them instantly. Damon waited, knowingly building up the suspense for when he finally decided to speak. However, his flair for the dramatic was incapable of stifling his impatience. It was show time.

“The dawn of revolution is upon us,” he began, his voice booming as it reverberated through the attentive silence of the barn. “The clan you once knew is no more.”

“I have brought you all here for greater things, to commence a superior, stronger clan from the likes of which the world has never seen. We will return to the ways of old, where I will lead you through a glorious age of carnage and bloodshed.

“The past clan was a travesty, a disgraceful amalgamation of the undead where there was not one single blood tie to our leader. Yet, all of you here are truly linked to me. I have either sired you or you have been turned by those I have sired.”

Damon paused when he noticed a few vampires suddenly appear extremely apprehensive. The pungent smell of their fear reached his receptive nose. He realized he had forgotten about the fledglings he had taken from Natasha and Vincent. The wheels in Damon’s head slowly began to turn as he stared down at them.

“For those of you who are not bound to me in any sort of way, yet still found it within yourselves to abandon the clan you have grown so accustomed to, it will be you who will find a place at my side. You will partake of my blood and I will make you my exalted Childers. It is this blind faith and unbelievable bravery which you have shown without any sense of reservation which will make you fine examples for the rest of this clan. Through this we will all be joined by blood and become a clan in the truest sense of the word!”

The hum of excitement rose once again, gradually escalading into numerous shouts of agreement and exhilarated exclamations of admiration. Damon soaked up the accolades from his gullibly devoted vampires. They were the perfect lot of minions. None of them exceeded him in age or experience. None would try to take the clan from him. All would look up to him in fear and awe.

Damon held up his hand, which instantly quieted the large group of vampires down. He wasn’t finished yet. “However, for our dreams to be realized, drastic measures must be taken. The clan we have abandoned, though considerably weakened, is still in existence. We must rid ourselves of them for they are a diseased limb of the vampire existence. And like all infected parts, they must be cut off before any growth is to occur.

“Spike has turned himself into a plague upon his own clan. He has ignored his duties and has become unworthy of the title of leader. I admit that I did try to claim the clan for myself but only in the hopes of returning it to its past glory. I know now that I had been a bit impulsive. I know now that a new clan had to built, one bonded by blood.

“Spike had also allowed himself to be captured and to be tortured by mere humans. He is weak and distracted. He has become blinded by his whore. His human pet who takes precedent over his own clan! It is because of this perverse fondness for humanity that he has neglected his fellow vampires, his own kind!”

Another burst of roars erupted in response to Damon’s rousing words. He motioned again for them to quiet down, a smile splayed across his lips.

“Tomorrow night we shall return to our old lair and reclaim it for ourselves. We shall purge this world of those we had once called brothers, for they have been tainted with Spike’s humanistic persuasions. They must all be destroyed. Nothing connects them; there is no blood between them. They shall scatter like rats the second true loyalty will be asked of them. The lair will be ours. The town shall be ours. We will achieve the glorious vision which Spike could have only dreamed of aspiring to. We will take back what is ours! We will see victory!”

Damon dramatically thrust his arm up into the air, the minions below mimicking his exact actions. His already bloated ego began to bloom even more as the vampires below him began to chant his name. Though elated on the inside, Damon only gave the crowd his sinister smirk as an indication of his appreciation. He did not stop them this time around from making as much noise as they wanted, especially when they were praising him as if he were a god.

A cornucopia of emotions materialized throughout the throng of vampires below. Zeal, anger, fear, hunger and even lust played across the faces of every undead bloodsucker within the barn. Damon chuckled a little. ‘It’s gonna be hard to get any sleep around here,’ he reflected as the scent of the looming sunrise filtered into his sensitive nostrils. Signaling to the vampire stationed at the barn window, he ordered for it to be closed, blocking out the moon’s iridescent glow. Many other vampires also sensed the upcoming dawn, gazing up in attempt to find their leader when he had suddenly disappeared into the darkness.

“The sun approaches and so comes with it our daytime slumber, my friends, for tomorrow we embark on a journey to reclaim what was once ours. We shall need our rest.”

Damon observed the large group slowly calm down, readying itself for sleep. He smiled to himself for the hundredth time that night. Who would have ever thought that those rhetoric classes his father had forced him to take as a teenage boy would have finally come in handy? Too bad he never got the chance to thank the old man before he died.

‘I was having too much of a good time ripping out his throat anyway.’

********

Giles remained transfixed in the basement corner as a whirl of activity occurred before him. To an outside observer, he would have appeared to be in deep contemplation, with his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he chewed on the tip of his specs. Yet he wasn’t. His mind was a blur, a mash of chaotic images that matched the atmosphere of this hectic basement.

After Spike’s escape, the Watcher had brought the entire team back to headquarters. The small group, his own mini-lieutenants, had been forbidden to discuss what had transpired while Spike had been brought into their inner sanctum. Giles had even banned them from mentioning that Spike had actually been captured. No one else had to know. The ex-Watcher did not want them to.

All around him the hustle and bustle of the town’s only demon hunting force did not stir him from his trance. Nothing seemed to wake him; not the group of teenagers sharpening stakes and making crosses from scraps of wood; not the technologically competent young men repairing and maintaining the taser weapons; not the collection of women restocking the first aid kits; not the more hulking group of young men who were sparing with each other; not Willow and her few apprentices as they worked on producing more of those ‘sun bombs’; not even Xander and Cordelia, with their constant bickering could shake Giles of his distracted state.

The Watcher couldn’t explain his sudden lack of concentration. It wasn’t as though his head was in the clouds. If anything he should keep his wits about him, considering he was about to send out some of his best fighters to get Buffy back. Perhaps he was just numbing himself to the experience, preparing for the worst by not allowing himself to think about anything at all. He wasn’t certain but he just prayed that the stone in the pit of his stomach was simply nerves and not some foreboding omen that they were about to fail. Giles didn’t know what he’d do if he lost any of them.

“Giles?” a small voice called to him through his mental fog.

Slightly flustered from the unexpected disruption, Giles looked down to see a concerned Willow as she tried to get his attention. “Wha…Huh…Hmmm…” Clearing his throat, he impassively answered her. “Yes, Willow?”

“Umm…The girls and I finished making the SB’s,” she informed him, dismissing his odd behavior.

“SB’s?” Giles wondered, thrown off by the unfamiliar abbreviation.

“Sun Bombs, Giles,” Willow explained. “Anyway, since that’s now out of the way, I wanted to go over what I saw when I did the locator spell on Spike.”

Willow’s words were like a splash of cold water to Giles’s consciousness, awakening him from whatever stupor he was in. “The torn shirt? It worked?”

The redhead nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, it did.”

Giles noticed the rolled up maps in her hands. He gestured to the desk he’d been standing beside, helping Willow to roll it open on the desktop. There were actually two maps; one of Sunnydale, which had been marked red at the location of Spike’s lair and the other which made Giles eyes widen in surprise. “These are the blueprints to the main house. How on earth did you acquire these?”

Willow smiled broadly. “Went back to my roots,” she cryptically stated, causing Giles to frown in confusion. “I hacked into Sunnydale’s historical archive, and there it was, an entire file on the layout schematics to the old Mackenzie manor. I would’ve gone to City Hall to get it myself, but you know, wouldn’t have been able to get past all those vampires,” the witch gleefully elaborated, mentally patting herself on the back. “So I printed them up, taped them together and made us all a pretty nifty map.”

Giles smiled at her. He could always count on Willow. “Quite ingenious of you, Willow. Wonder why we’ve never thought of it before?” Giles commented as he stared down at the map.

Willow shrugged. “Well…we never really needed them before. It’s the first time we’ve been crazy enough to even consider going into Spike’s lair.”

“Yes, well, you were saying about the locator spell?” the Watcher inquired, trying to get back to issue at hand.

Willow nodded, pointing to the pencil markings in one of the rooms on the blueprints. “Spike spent most of the day in this room. It’s probably where Buffy is being kept.”

Giles gave a curt nod in agreement. The vampire would have wanted the girl by his side. Even in his battered condition, he would have wanted to ensure that she was safe and protected. That much Giles knew for certain. Wherever Spike was, so was Buffy.

“Has Oz returned with the scouts?” the Watcher asked as he continued to stare at the map on the table.

Willow frowned as she shook her head. “No. They’re not back yet.”

Giles also grimaced. He had sent out his best scouts, Oz included, to scope out the ruling vampire’s lair. The Watcher needed an assessment of what exactly they were up against. He knew it was risky and he would have never done it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Giles had faith in Oz’s sense of judgment. He couldn’t picture the boy doing anything too foolish. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but worry.

“We’ll just have to wait until he returns before making any brash decisions,” Giles told the troubled witch.

“How long do you think it’ll be before he gets back?” Willow inquired, her green eyes glancing back to the blueprints on the desk so as to not show Giles how worried she really was.

“Probably not until right before dusk. He will most likely want to inspect as much as he can while the sun is still up in the sky,” Giles reasoned, giving Willow a sympathetic look.

“I just hope he’s okay,” Willow quietly stated as she played with the tattered corner of the map.

“You hope who’s okay?”

Willow’s eye immediately brightened when she turned around to find her boyfriend standing right behind her, a slightly perplexed expression on his face.

“Oz!”

The somewhat vertically challenged man had to stagger back a bit when he found himself with an armful of girlfriend. “Hey Will. It’s good to see you too,” he chuckled as he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

“I was just kinda worried. You’ve been gone for a while,” Willow explained sheepishly as she gave Oz a little more personal space.

Oz took her small hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as his warm gaze met with hers. “Hey. I’m okay,” he reassured.

Giles cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with breaking up the tender moment the two young lovers were having. “What have you discovered?”

Oz gave Willow one last smile before turning to Giles. “The guys and I staked out the house and we think we have an idea where Spike’s holding Buffy,” he began to enlighten them as his eyes fell on the map. “Is that the house?” he asked, pointing to the blueprints.

Willow nodded. “Remember how I started doing that locator spell this morning? Well Spike was in this room the whole time,” she clarified as she indicated to the map.

“Is that the room facing Mills Road? The one with the huge window?” Oz wondered earnestly.

“Yes it is. Why?” Giles replied, baffled at the young man’s uncharacteristic eagerness.

“That’s gotta be the room Buffy’s in. Spike’s scent is all over that side of the house,” Oz elaborated.

“Hooray for residual werewolf superpowers!” Willow happily cheered before her face scrunched up into another frown. “Hold on a sec. How close to the house did you have to get so you could smell it?”

Oz gave her a lamenting pout but he was interrupted before he even had the chance to respond.

“The real question is how could you have identified Spike’s scent?” Giles wondered, surprised by the new information his best scout had just given him. “You weren’t exposed to him long enough during his stay here for you to commit his scent to memory.”

Oz shrugged. “I just took a whiff of his shirt, you know, the one Willow was using for the locator spell? Sniffed it before we set out,” he offhandedly elucidated. “And even if my trail wasn’t the strongest, he’s the only vampire I know that smokes like a chimney.”

Giles grinned at the young man’s logic. “Well then, I would say there’s no time like the present. From what you’ve told us Oz, and from what you have derived from your locator spell Willow, we should put all our focus on that room and pull Buffy out before the sun sets,” the Watcher began to rattle off instructions, not noticing that his subordinate was not quite yet finished.

“Umm…Giles?”

“Yes, Oz?”

“There’s some other stuff that you should know about,” he began to clarify, causing Giles’s forehead to crinkle in puzzlement. “When I was out there with Mark and Chris, we almost got spotted by a few vamps.”

Willow gasped at her boyfriend’s admission. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked, the worst case scenarios playing in her head even though the simple fact that Oz was standing right in front of her should’ve been evidence enough to nullify all her worries.

Oz gave her a comforting smile. “I didn’t want to worry you. Like I said, I’m fine, really,” he reassured. “Look, the point I was trying to make was that they didn’t see us and while we were hiding from them, we overheard something.”

Giles became troubled. What possibly could two lowly vampires have to say that would affect their mission to rescue Buffy? It was the Watcher’s turn to let his imagination run wild with worry. “What did you hear?” he urgently asked, his voice tense.

“Damon flew the coop and took half of the clan with him. They think he’s gonna come back tonight, with minions and all, to finish off what he started,” Oz explained.

“You mean kill Spike,” Giles filled in the blank.

“Exactly. So I’m thinking, if you wanna sneak in and snatch a Master vampire’s best watched possession, why not do it when his attention’s somewhere else?” Oz suggested, a grin forming on his face.

Giles appeared hesitant. “So, you’re saying we should wait until nightfall, when utter mayhem is bound to break loose at the main lair before getting Buffy out of there?”

Oz nodded indifferently. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” the Watcher responded with a broad smile.

Willow kissed Oz on the cheek. “I never knew you were such a mastermind strategist,” she teased.

“It’s a gift,” he stoically joked back.

A/N: Just a little shameless self-promotion here but if you love agnst and wish season 7 had gone a little bit differently, check out my other fic Out of the Shadows.

A/N:Here's the next chap. Thnx for reading and thnx to all of you guys who took the time to leave a review. And if you do read, plz review. C'mon...I know you wanna. Anyway, I'd also like to send out my appreciation to whoever it was that nominated this fic for a Love's Last Glimpse Award. You're the best.

July 19, 1879

At times I feel like the world has turned against me. That the beauty I used to find in all of God’s creations has now not only lost its innate luster, but has transformed into a repulsive shell of its former self. I fear that at times I am alone in my view of the world and that it is only the naïve ramblings of a wishful man that I put down on paper.

I know what they think of me, those uncultured brutes. They claim my works of poetry are nothing more than mere travesties of art, yet they themselves, who are so forthcoming with their criticisms, would not recognize true art even if the Muse Erato herself struck them over the head with it. I am not an angry man and I surely do not hold onto grudges. Those sentiments only poison the soul. It is difficult however to remain positive when the world around you has turned itself against you. If it was not for mother and her genuine encouragements, I fear my scribblings would have been put to an end ages ago.

I am faithful in my obligations. I do what is expected of me in this day and age, yet I find no pleasure in any of it. I am trapped in this existence and my only solace is here, in my bed, by the sparse light of a candle, with this journal in my lap, its pages open to me so that I may pour my heart out into it. My duties have imprisoned me; my responsibilities have become a cage upon my life. I am trapped and no one truly knows the loneliness I must endure.

Buffy closed the leather-bound journal, unable to continue on to the next entry. Tears threatened to spill once again down her face. Despite the disbelief that these words were actually those once written by Spike, Buffy couldn’t help but relate to the feelings they evoked. Though the circumstances were completely different, William felt stuck, helpless to everything that was going on around him. Just like how Buffy was feeling.

Sighing, she slipped William’s journal underneath her pillow before gently resting her head back down on its downy softness. Buffy didn’t want to think about what was bothering her but she couldn’t help it. She was still angry with Spike but if anything it was just an extension of what she really felt. A big old heaping bucket of disappointment.

Spike had denied her freedom and with that had completely botched whatever potential exchange of ‘I love you’s that were heading their way. Buffy knew that her refusal to reciprocate his declaration of love was most likely the reason why he hadn’t let her go. It didn’t change how she felt, though. If he loved her, he would stop being selfish and grant her her freedom. And there was that disappointment again.

Maybe she should tell him. Then he could stop being such a butthead and finally let her go so they could go back to the kissing and the loving and forget about the whole stupid ‘who shoulda said what’ mess they were currently in. If only it were that easy. As much as she hated to admit it, she had her pride to consider. Spike had failed the test and Buffy wasn’t about to go on bended knee to proclaim her love for him just to be liberated from the prison he had created. She wasn’t even completely sure that if she did actually say those three little infamous words that Spike would actually be able to push his own pride aside and let her go.

So what did it all mean in the long run? The hell if Buffy knew. The only thing that was for certain was that Spike’s love was conditional and that he still saw her as his possession.

God, why did he have to be so stubborn? After what they had shared? How couldn’t he know how she felt? Why couldn’t he just trust her? Frustrated tears finally began to cascade down her cheeks, further wetting the already damp pillow beneath her flushed face.

Spike couldn’t possibly think that things between them would return to the way they were just hours before. ‘He better not,’ Buffy bitterly reflected as her heart ached. She wanted to love him so much, she just couldn’t.

********

So here he was again. Outside her door, alone in the dark hallway, his hand tentatively placed on the brass doorknob. Nothing but a little bit of history repeating. The only difference was that he wasn’t hesitating because he was nervous. Though Spike did feel a little guilty, he was not the wrongful party this time around. Or so he firmly convinced himself.

The day had been spent in preparation for what was to come at dusk, leaving the house in a state of pure pandemonium. The number of vamps that had returned from all over town was less than what Spike had been expecting. Apparently, after Spike’s unanticipated return, the fugitive Damon had not only fled with half of the house’s resident vamps but had intimidated every single vampire he had encountered to pledge undying allegiance to him. For those who had refused, the pillock had actually staked them, strategically increasing his numbers while figuratively fucking Spike right up the ass. The vamps that had come back to home base had been the lucky few who had not bumped into Damon and his recalcitrant vampire brigade.

It was almost show time; Spike could smell the sun settling below the horizon. He figured he should tell Buffy about what was going on. But that’s all he was there for, nothing more and nothing less. There wasn’t going to be any heartfelt pleas of forgiveness and there sure as hell wasn’t to be any going back on what he had said. Spike had no intentions of freeing her, especially since she clearly didn’t love him. Not in the way he thought she did.

Those few hours of heaven they had spent together that very morning would have pushed Spike to the conclusion that Buffy did in fact love him. He knew she was going to say it too if not for her noisy stomach. Spike let out a disappointed snort. Saved by her own gastrointestinal tract. That was definitely a new one. Spike would’ve understood if Buffy had told him she was scared, if she was unsure about loving him but the bint hadn’t said a word. Instead Buffy had bloody well gone and demanded her freedom.

Had she ever really cared about him? Or were the past few months just an act to get in his good graces so that he would set her free? He could have sworn Buffy loved him. Spike had seen it in her eyes when she had tenderly asked him to make love to her. Why would Buffy even request such a thing if she didn’t love him?

Spike’s unbeating heart sank a bit more as realization pulled the metaphorical veil from his eyes. A menacing growl escaped his lips. ‘You were takin’ for a ride mate,’ he thought furiously, his jaw instinctively clenching, nostrils flaring with rage. ‘Been nothin’ but a fucking act!’ The knob in his hand suddenly crushed under the pressure he was unknowingly exerting. ‘We’ll see who’s played the fool.’

Squaring off his shoulders as he stood up straight, Spike roughly turned the misshapen handle and shoved the heavy door open, storming into the barely lit room. Buffy was in the exact same place he had left her, on the bed, laying curled up on her side, her back purposefully turned to him. She didn’t stir at all; leaving him unsure as to whether she was asleep or simply just ignoring his presence. With a searing fury and newfound determination, Spike marched over to her side of the bed, his boots pounding against the tiled floor. Ready to grab his slave by the throat and tell her to shut up and spread ‘em, his voice faltered at the sight of Buffy’s face.

Tear tracks were visible down her reddened puffy cheeks; her hazel eyes were filled with sheer misery. Had he done this to her? Christ, Spike hated it when he made her cry. It made his gut twist and churn and brought back the ugly memories of when she had openly despised him. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he had inadvertently hurt Buffy when he hadn’t sincerely considered or even really listened to her plea for freedom. Could it be that she had been holding back, waiting for him to at least say he’d let her go before she would voice her feelings for him? Spike mentally shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. What if Buffy was really playing him for a fool and flew out of the room the second he decided to giver her the choice to leave? Not only didn’t Spike want her walking the streets of Sunnydale all alone and unprotected, he didn’t want to let Buffy go. What if he never saw her again? Spike just couldn’t bear the thought.

“What?” Buffy huffily sniffled, furiously staring up at him.

Spike’s expression of concern instantly turned impassive, his soft blue eyes transforming into cold orbs devoid of all emotion. “Something’s come up,” he said callously. “Damon’s run off and he’s got most of the clan with ‘im. He’ll be back after sundown.”

Buffy sat up suddenly, clasping the bed sheets to her chest. “What’s going on?” she asked apprehensively, panic quivering her voice.

“Damon’s gonna come back and try to take over the clan,” Spike somberly explained, trying to ignore the automatic feeling he had to comfort Buffy, to run to her and wrap her up in his arms.

“What?!” Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with trepidation. She could still feel the dark vampire’s cool breath on her neck from when he had tried to rape her. What if he succeeded the second time around? What if she ended up being a spoil of war? What if Damon killed Spike? The last thought suddenly made Buffy feel very nauseous. “What’s with this guy? Why does he hate you so much?” she wondered, trembling slightly.

Spike released a ragged exhale. “Goes back to before I even stepped foot in this town. After the Master got dusted, his clan was up for grabs. Both Vincent and Damon were contenders to be the next head honcho. Problem was I stepped in, took all of it from right under their feet.”

Buffy just stared at him puzzled. “So they just handed it over to you?”

Spike shook his head, turning his gaze to anywhere else in the room other than Buffy’s distraught face. “I did something that set me apart from the rest of ‘em. Skyrocketed my status is what it did. Vincent never really cared but apparently Damon’s been in a huff ‘bout the whole thing ever since,” he clarified, censoring exactly what it was he had done to get mostly every vampire in Sunnydale to fall in line.

Buffy picked up on the blatant omission but didn’t bother to pursue the issue. She was upset enough as it was with Spike. She didn’t even want to imagine what possible atrocity he had committed that would’ve been considered vile enough to gain the respect of the town’s vamp population. Buffy decided to remain quiet. She didn’t know what else to say.

Spike continued to speak, needing to fill the silence, petrified of what would happen if he stopped talking. “The git failed before and he’s gonna fail again,” he remarked confidently.

The chill that was making Buffy uncontrollably shiver wouldn’t seem to go away. Spike’s haughty statements didn’t reassure her at all. The thought of Damon returning, along with other vivid recollections of his unwanted touches and forceful advances, made Buffy tense with dread. Just when she thought they were out of the woods, clear of whatever danger Damon had posed, this had to happen. Now he was back and she was going to have to return to being in a constant state of fear.

Buffy whimpered. She was simply too emotionally exhausted to deal with the threat of Damon’s looming retaliation. She had experienced every possible human emotion in the past twenty-four hours, everything from the highest peaks of joy to the lowest recesses of sadness. If anything else were to happen, Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d be strong enough to survive it.

“What should I do?” she asked meekly, twisting the sheets tighter around her small body.

Spike’s azure gaze reluctantly returned to hers; he didn’t want to see the despair in her eyes again. Luckily for him, her head was bowed, her golden hair shielding him from whatever expression was on her face. Inhaling unnecessarily, Spike patted himself down, searching for his pack of smokes. Pulling one out, he lit it up and took a long drag before answering Buffy.

“You’re not gonna do anything, pet, besides getting dressed. Tash’s gonna stay up here with you the whole time. You’ll be safer that way,” he told her as he released the gray smoke from his dead lungs in a single stream through his nose.

‘I’d be safer if you’d just let me go,’ Buffy crossly thought but still kept her line of sight away from his. She said nothing, not even coughing when the foul scent of tobacco smoke assaulted her nose.

Spike knew there was nothing more to be said. Without a word, he marched toward the door, about to exit the room when he abruptly stopped short of walking through doorway. He could see her in the corner of his eye, her blond head curiously lifting up to watch him leave. Keeping his focus out on the hallway, Spike began to speak.

“I know you must bloody well hate me for keepin’ you ‘ere but I can’t just let you go. ‘Specially not when Damon’s out for blood. ‘m not gonna let anything happen to you, luv. All hell’s gonna break loose and ‘m gonna need to know you’re safe. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he hoarsely finished.

Buffy said nothing, her gaze transfixed on her folded hands.

Spike nodded. He hadn’t expected her to respond. With one last glance he made a move to step out into the hallway, abruptly stopping to a complete halt when he heard Buffy’s low, bittersweet voice.

“Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

Though the words seemed casual, they were in fact tense, laced with worry and even minute traces of –dare he say it?—love.

Spike smiled sadly. “I’ll try.” It was his only reply before disappearing out of the room, locking the wooden door and heading downstairs to an unknown fate.

A/N: The Muse Erato is one of the Greek Muses. She's the Muse of romantic poetry.

Author's Note: Hey everyone. Here's the next chap. It's a bit violent so beware. Thanx for all the wonderful reviews. Keep 'em coming! Hope you enjoy.

<< ChaptersStory Index1. Chapter One- A Whole New World2. Chapter Two- Things Change3. Chapter Three-Decisions4. Chapter Four -New Wardrobe5. Chapter Five- Revelations6. Chapter Six- A Vampire's Layers7. Chapter Seven- A Night Out8. Chapter Eight- Aftermath9. Chapter Nine-Unraveling10. Chapter Ten-Some Things Never Change11. Chapter Eleven-Hesitation12. Chapter Twelve-You Always Hurt the Ones You Love13. Chapter Thirteen-Et Tu, Damon?14. Chapter Fourteen-He's Gone15. Chapter Fifteen-Whisper to a Scream16. Chapter Sixteen-Cassette Tapes and Flying Fur17. Chapter Seventeen-Don't Let Him Hurt the Girl18. Chapter Eighteen-Reunited19. Chapter Nineteen- And It Feels So Good20. Chapter Twenty-You Won't Get to See the Tears I Cry21. Chapter Twenty-One- Preparation...Preparation...Preparation22. Chapter Twenty-Two-If You Were Meant To Be My Lover I Wouldn't Have To23. Chapter Twenty-Three-Showdown
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Chapter Twenty-Three: Showdown

The suspense in the house was so thick that Spike could almost choke on it. It was a pitiful site if he’d ever seen one. Beside the pathetic vamp count he had going for his side, Spike could actually smell the putrid scent of fear coming off of the remainder of his clan. They were gathered before him in the immense downstairs foyer of the lair, anxiously waiting for the sun to set. Spike grumbled disapprovingly. This wasn’t an army. Hell, it was barely a militia. Other than maybe Vincent and Natasha, all the other vampires were pretty young, inexperienced fledglings, some not even a full decade old. Spike could only hope that the bloodlust, that inconsumable desire for violence, would be enough to fuel his ragged pack of minions to victory. If not, there was always a vampire’s ruthless survival instinct to depend upon. Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. At least he hoped there would be.

Vincent and Natasha stood on either side of him, their appraising eyes focused also on the group crowding the entrance hallway. Usually Spike would have reveled in the palpable fear that was surrounding him but instead it made him want to retch. If he had been the cause of the fear then maybe he could have enjoyed it. He was still a vampire after all. Yet his own vampires weren’t afraid of him at the moment. No, he was to be their savior from the danger that was heading their way. They were scared shitless of Damon. It made Spike hate the double-crossing vampire all the more.

The terror in the air increased with every passing minute, correlating with the progression of the setting sun. Spike wanted to scream at them to suck it up. They’re vampires for chrissakes! Act like it. But it wouldn’t do any good. This wretched lot of the undead was all he had going for him. Spike was going to have to make due. He didn’t have much of a choice either way.

Turning to Natasha, Spike gestured to the stairs with a flick of his head. “Get up there, Tash,” he ordered.

The vampiress nodded. When Spike had first told her what her role would be during the upcoming fight, Natasha’s first impulse had been to argue with him. If there was going to be any chance of Spike coming out of this battle still in one piece she needed to be there, fighting at his side, not playing bodyguard for Buffy. She had almost been offended when he hadn’t so much as asked but demanded that she watch the girl. Natasha had bit her tongue though. She knew Spike was going to need piece of mind during the mayhem and if that meant she had to protect his little human girlfriend, then she’d do it.

Before turning on her heel to leave, Natasha gave Spike one last poignant look. “After all this is through, you owe me big,” she stated. “If you’re not a big pile of dust, that is.” Feeling like she had made enough of a point, she moved toward the stairs.

Natasha was stopped short when Spike roughly grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. He wasn’t angry but his ferociously blue eyes bore into hers, threatening her with every conceivable type of pain if she failed to keep Buffy safe. “If I so much as see a scratch on her…”

Natasha brushed off the threat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ll dust me and piss on my ashes. I get it. Now if you don’t mind,” she growled as she yanked her arm from out of his grasp. “I have a human to baby-sit.” With that said, Natasha marched up the stairs, her heeled boots stomping against the wooden steps.

Vincent chuckled slightly at her behavior, but quickly converted the laughter into mild coughing when Spike turned his head to glare at the older vampire. Clearing his throat, Vincent reverted back to his previous state of attentiveness. “Don’t think the clan will survive this,” he remarked, his eyes scanning the short expanse of restless bodies before him.

Spike let out a derisive snort. “Clan’s finished, mate. Been finished for quite some time now. This lil’ endeavor’s just to make sure Damon gets what’s comin’ to ‘im.”

“And after all this is through?” Vincent somberly asked, turning his head to look at his leader.

Spike shrugged indifferently. “Don’t know. Haven’t given it much thought really. Hard for a bloke to think in terms of ‘after’ when he’s just tryin’ to get through the night. ”

Vincent gave Spike a knowing grin. “So nothing else is bothering you?”

The platinum haired vampire grimaced. “Even if there was, s’none of your business.”

Spike’s sour disposition could not wipe the smile from Vincent’s face. Sighing, he patted the younger vampire on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. She’ll come around.”

Spike choked on his own astonishment. “What did you just say?!” he sputtered.

Vincent chose not to respond other than to give Spike one last smirk before turning his attention back to the piss poor excuse of an army they had going for them.

Utterly gobsmacked, Spike continued to stare at the apparently psychic Vincent for a few more minutes before turning his own gaze to the crowd. Though his eyes landed upon the group, his mind was elsewhere. How the bloody hell had Vincent known about his little tiff with Buffy?

Buffy.

Spike closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to push her from his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about her right now. He just might get depressed enough and let Damon stake him. Thoughts of the golden goddess imprisoned in the upstairs bedroom were going to have to play second fiddle to those concerning a certain dark and deranged vampire. If Spike dwelled on what was happening between him and Buffy, then he would surely be dust by sunrise. He was just going to have to ignore the dull ache in his chest.

********

Buffy sat quietly on the large, unmade bed. Like Spike had instructed, she had dressed herself in her jeans and one of Spike’s clean black cotton tees. Her hazel eyes slowly followed the moving figure before her, going back and forth in time with the other person in the room. Watching Natasha pace made Buffy more and more apprehensive with each passing second. It was like déjà vu. Memories of the visit from Vincent and Natasha from when Spike had disappeared began to resurface. Unfortunately for Buffy, Vincent’s soothing presence wasn’t there this time to accompany Natasha’s stinging harassment. Strangely, Buffy wished the vampiress would say something. Her nerves were on edge and a little bit of verbal distraction wouldn’t necessarily set her at ease but it wouldn’t hurt.

Stomps echoed throughout the quiet room. Buffy could tell that Natasha wasn’t happy about having to miss out on the fight so that she could guard ‘the human’. Her blatant displeasure made Buffy all the more uncomfortable. She would welcome another confrontation with Spike just to get Natasha to leave. The chick gave her the creeps.

“Ummm…so…I’m guessing things aren’t looking so good?” Buffy threw out, risking getting her head literally bitten off.

Natasha turned her head abruptly to glare at the blonde girl, never faltering or slowing down in her pacing. “Picked up on that all by yourself, Blondie?” she snapped, on the verge of snarling.

That was it. Buffy was getting sick and tired of vampire crankiness being sent her way. To hell with the danger of getting bit. “God, what is your damage?!”

Natasha nearly tripped over her own two feet at Buffy’s exclamation, doing a double take at the girl’s gutsy bravado. “Say what?”

Buffy exhaled dramatically. “What the hell is your problem?”

Natasha let out a contemptuous laugh. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! Miss Buffy finally grew a pair!” She made her way over to Buffy, menacingly inching toward the bed the girl was sitting on. “I so don’t need this shit!”

Buffy got up and stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be intimidated. Crossing her arms, she waited until Natasha was just a few feet in front of her. “And you think I do?!”

Natasha returned Buffy’s glare. “Look, all I know is that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I should be downstairs, duking it out with Vincent and Spike. Instead I’m here to watch out for your skinny ass!” she announced, her voice harsh with disdain.

Buffy took a firm step forward, purposefully getting in Natasha’s face. With a simmering hatred, she calmly began to speak. “You think I want to be locked up here while God knows what’s going on downstairs?! I could care less if Spike told you to protect me. If you wanna leave, then go ahead, if not, stop with the fucking pacing! It’s driving me nuts.”

It was Natasha’s turn to cross her arms. “You know I can’t just leave you here. Spike would…”

Buffy cut her off. “Of course, Spike! Gotta keep the Master happy. Gotta do as you’re told, like a good little minion,” she mocked, not having any patience for Natasha’s blind loyalty. “You know what? I don’t think you can even be that mad about having to baby-sit lil’ ole me. It’s your fault I’m here. It was your idea to bring me back to Spike that night the Bronze got sacked, am I right? It was you who ‘saved’ me from Damon.” She didn’t wait for the vampiress to respond, but Buffy could see she had hit a nerve. Placing her finger on her chin, she carried on. “Guess that makes you one pretty big hypocrite, doesn’t it? Whining and complaining about taking care of Spike’s pet human when you basically brought me home from the pound.” Buffy grinned proudly. ‘Take that!’

Natasha fought the urge to gawk at Buffy’s unabashed insolence. Instead she set her features into an unimpressed scowl. “We never expected him to actually keep you. I wasn’t bringing you home from the pound so much as from the meat market. You were supposed to be a midnight snack,” the vampiress bitterly retorted.

The news didn’t really shock Buffy. She’d heard it all before. “Guess he wasn’t hungry.”

Natasha scoffed indignantly. “Yeah, just horny.”

The vampire never saw the fist that flew at her.

Staggering back ungracefully, Natasha clutch at her cheek. When complete comprehension of what had just occurred settled in her mind, she instantly vamped out, snarling at Buffy. “You bitch!”

Ready to pounce on the girl, Natasha came to a screeching halt when a silver cross was dangled in front of her face. The vampiress instinctively cringed, jumping back a few feet. Amber eyes remained fixed upon unrelenting hazel as Buffy continued to hold up the palm sized crucifix. The blonde reached over to the bed, grabbing her stake from beneath her pillow with her free hand. Natasha didn’t react to the appearance of the weapon. A few moments of tense silence passed before Buffy spoke. “You don’t like me and I sure as hell don’t like you, but were stuck here whether we like it or not. So how’s about you take a seat, relax and play like the good little watchdog Spike wants you to be.”

Natasha knew that the cross wouldn’t really hurt if it burned her and she knew she could easily dodge the stake. She knew it but she wasn’t going to act on it. The vampiress couldn’t help but admire the spitfire before her. Natasha was beginning to see what Spike saw in the California girl. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded. “Okay, Blondie. Whatever you say.”

Buffy didn’t let her guard down as she watched the dark vampiress sit on a chair that was close to the bed. Staying wary for any sign of deception, Buffy slowly lowered herself onto the bed, dropping the cross out of her hand to let the necklace hang from her neck. Her grip on the wooden stake became just a little tighter. She couldn’t understand the sudden change in Natasha’s attitude but she wasn’t really complaining.

“So…”Buffy said unnervingly. “What’s really going on downstairs?”

Natasha let out a distressed sigh. “You're right. It’s not looking good.”

As Natasha went on to explain what problems were being faced by the remainder of the broken clan, Buffy gradually became catatonically hysterical. Things turned out to be much worse than Spike had made them out to be. The all consuming fear was beginning to return. As she remained frozen in place on the large bed, all Buffy could think about was that there was a real chance that Spike could die. He could die tonight and never truly know just how she loved him. Buffy clung to the hope that he’d keep his word. That Spike would try to not get himself killed.

********

Spike could smell them coming. The sun had set at least twenty minutes ago, and he could sense the approaching mob of undead outside his door. Nodding to Vincent, the two vampires made their way through the thin crowd in the main hall, heading toward the front of the line to greet the soon to be unwelcomed guests. Neither one said a word to the other as the stood in front of the immense wooden doors, counting down the seconds until they burst open.

In those last moments, Spike couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Buffy. He knew he shouldn’t because it would get him killed but he was weak. She made him weak. He thought of how angry she was at him for keeping her locked up and how upset he was at her for not loving him back. It didn’t change how he felt about her though. Spike still loved her. Still love’s bitch and all that rot. Images of Buffy sprang forth in his mind. Some were of her peacefully sleeping, while others were of her tear stained face and even a few were of her writhing beneath him, her lips parted in a strangled moan, her hazel eyes glazed over with lust. Yet none of these affected him like the images of her smiling, lost in a single moment of happiness. So rare were the instances when she would completely let herself go and playfully laugh along with him as they talked about nothing. It was those moments he cherished the most and it was those moments that kept him going. Spike had to defeat Damon, even if just so that he could experience the pleasure of seeing Buffy smile again. He wasn’t about to let that pillock take that away from him.

The pounding on the door stirred Spike from his reverie. Turning to his right side, he gave Vincent a saddened smile. “Nice knowin’ you Vince. Hope to see you on the other side.”

Vincent’s stern expression didn’t change yet his eyes were soft as he stared at his friend. “Remember to be merciless, Spike,” he solemnly remarked, his body shifting into a stance that would enable him to spring into action the second the occasion called for it.

Spike gave him his most devilish grin. “Way ahead of you, mate.”

The doors flew open, revealing Damon’s dark form, leading his pack of traitorous vampires. Spike grew concerned, though refused to show it, when he saw that the double-crossing vampire’s horde of minions had packed the entire street in front of the old house while the remnants of his clan could barely fill the front hall. This wasn’t going to be a war. It was on the verge of becoming a massacre.

Growls echoed throughout the dead silence, emanating from both sides of the battle line. Damon tried to smugly stare down Spike and the vamps standing behind him but none of them even blinked. However as Spike’s icy cerulean eyes skimmed over the huge crowd behind Damon, his cold deathly gaze landed on a few unsuspecting fledglings, making them instantly recoil in fear. It made him smirk. ‘Yup, I still got it.’

Being the impatient one, Damon had just about enough of the stand off. “Nice to see you’re back to normal. Guess the Watcher didn’t do too much damage,” he remarked with an arrogant smile on his face.

“What can I say? ‘m a survivor,” Spike unenthusiastically responded, unaffected by the other vampire’s badgering.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” Damon quipped as he gave Spike’s ragtag clan one last look over. “You’re gonna need as much luck as you can get if this is all you’ve got going for you.”

“‘S ‘bout quality, mate, not quantity. But you wouldn’t know much about that now would you?” Spike retorted, exhibiting a deceptive air of confidence. He didn’t want to give Damon the satisfaction of knowing that he was worried.

“Stand down, Spike,” Damon said, getting straight to business.

“No.”

“Then you give me no choice,” the dark vampire stated calmly before abruptly turning on a dime and launching himself at Spike.

It was at that exact moment that everything broke out into utter chaos. The second Damon had crossed the line vamps from both sides flew at each other, colliding into a mess of bodies, nothing but fist and fangs. Damon’s advantage in numbers suddenly became a weakness as the majority of his vamps remained outside, unable to squeeze into the house. Not only that but every one of his vampires that did manage to enter was quickly slaughtered.

Spike had easily ducked Damon’s attack, sidestepping away from the hit as the rest of his clan raced past him, heading to the front of the line. The darker vampire spun on his heel, turning to face his old Master. They immediately began to circle one another, waiting for the other to make the next move. It was Spike who threw the first punch. Damon swiftly recovered and threw one of his own right hooks, but Spike easily blocked it and delivered a jaw crunching uppercut in return. They broke apart, circling each other once again.

“Where are your cocksure comebacks now, Damon?” Spike asked, smirking.

The other vampire growled, ignoring the blood that dribbled down his face. “Ask me again when I’m finished kicking your ass.”

Spike laughed. “I’d like to see you try. You’re bloody pathetic, you know that? Can’t ever face me on your own, can you? Always gotta have other vamps or even sodding humans at your back. It’s sad really,” he taunted as they continued to circle.

“Oh now I’m sad?” Damon bitter replied. “Well I’m not the one in love with a human.”

Spike snarled. “Don’t you dare speak of her. I should’ve ripped your head off for even touching Buffy!”

Damon’s lips twisted into a sinister grin. “Got it bad, don’t ya? Bet her blood tastes real sweet, especially after a good hot fuck. That’s what you kept her for, wasn’t it?”

“Watch it you git before I rip your heart out through your arse,” Spike threatened, his jaw clenching as he tried to control his hate. He couldn’t afford to lose his head. There was just too much at stake.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Spike. Temper, temper. Wouldn’t want to let your anger get the best of you. You have the girl to consider. Wouldn’t want to leave her in the hands of a fiend like me. God knows what I’d do if I got my hands that little, tight body of hers,” Damon jeered, his smile spreading wide at the thought of Buffy under his control.

That was it. Spike had had enough with the talking. It was time for some violence, his demon craving vengeance for the betrayal that had yet to be avenged. Vamping out, Spike growled as he leapt into the air, crashing down upon Damon in a flurry of solid punches and roundhouse kicks. Spike wanted to beat the asshole into a bloody pulp for having the audacity to even utter Buffy’s name. He would make sure this Judas-with-fangs suffered. A malicious smirk tugged at Spike’s lips at the thought of tearing out Damon’s heart, just to show it to him before he pierced it with a stake.

*******

Hours had passed. The air had become thick with the dust of the brutally slain. The heady scent of spilt blood was so intoxicating that it only added to the vicious frenzy that had seized the dueling creatures within old the house. Although Spike had feared that his vampires were too inexperienced to triumph in this unfair battle, Damon’s mutinous brood was much more wet behind the ears. There were casualties on both sides, yet it was the opposing team that began to falter, enabling Vincent and the remainder of the clan to push the enemy back out onto the street. The few older vampires tore through the groups of fledglings like wildfire, dusting two or three vamps at a time with their bare hands. A stalemate had been reached by early morning, neither side making any dents in the other’s advances. After an endless night of combat, two equal parties remained trapped on the asphalt battleground, continuing their violent dance, waiting until one side finally surrendered.

Spike and Damon were no different. The two had somehow stumbled out of the house and out onto the road, bringing their fight just behind the front lines of the mini-war which was consuming the small neighborhood. Neither vampire showed any sign of weakening, though their appearances were nothing if not completely thrashed. Spike had sustained minor injuries, a cut lip here and a bruised cheek there. Damon’s face on the other hand looked like a bloody bag of minced meat. Amongst many other cuts and lesions, one of his eyes was swollen and he was bleeding profusely from his broken nose. Both vampires had severe neck wounds, having found ways to get by one another’s defenses long enough to go for the throat. They were coated in thick, slick layers of their own and each other’s blood. It was like one of those gory scenes out of a Tarantino flick, blood just everywhere. And yet they were once again circling each other, stuck in an endless loop of pounces and pauses, unable trump the other with one final, deciding blow.

A trail of crimson dribbled down Spike’s chin as he gave Damon a toothy grin. “Getting tired mate?”

Damon snarled in response, baring his fangs. “You wish.”

Spike chuckled. “You know you don’t have it in you to keep it up,” he declared, his voice suddenly taking on an angered tone. “Look around, you ponce. This whole rebellion thing’s ‘bout to go down the crapper. Your lil’ wannabe clan’s ‘bout to get itself obliterated and you look like a bucket of shit.”

Damon came to a stand still at Spike’s criticism. With a questioning look and a quick lift of his brow, the dark vampire broke out into a fit of his menacing, blood chilling laughter. “You actually think I’d bring all my vamps with me here tonight? Boy, are you retarded.” Sobering from his momentary lapse of sanity, Damon’s golden eyes squinted into a glare. “No Spike, what you saw here tonight is only a third of what I have at my disposal. I always have a contingency plan. That’s where you and I differ. My clan’s always gonna come first.”

Spike let out an unimpressed snort. “Yeah, so long as it keeps on bein’ a means to an end at gettin’ at what’s mine.”

“You never deserved it. You stroll into town and get everything handed to you on a silver platter,” Damon hissed. “But not anymore. This clan and this town will be mine. I’m gonna take back all the things you’ve stolen from me,” he righteously remarked as his mouth twisted into another evil smile. “Including Buffy.”

Spike didn’t even reply, instantly flying at Damon with another hard assault of punches. His fury was giving him the upper hand, knocking Damon down again and again. Every move his opponent made, Spike blocked and immediately retaliated. It seemed as though it was finally going to end. Spike was at last going to be rid of Damon once and for all. Unfortunately, amongst all the blood and mayhem, neither of them noticed the imminent sunrise.

Spike pounded his fist into Damon’s bloodied face. “You will…” punch “never…” smack “have Buffy!”

Damon gurgled an incomprehensible response before Spike threw him across the street and into a hard brick wall of a nearby building. The defeated vampire slumped to the ground, no longer able to hold himself up.

Preparing himself for the kill, Spike took a few steps forward, wanting to draw out the wonderful moment of victory. It was after the fourth step that the sun decided to peak over the horizon, filling the street with bright morning sunlight. The vampires that were not instantaneously incinerated stopped fighting and threw their singeing bodies into the closest bit of shade. Damon forgot all about the threat that Spike posed when he caught sight of the day’s morning light crawling along the pavement towards him. Clumsily scurrying into the shadows, a battered Damon fled from light, following his vampires in retreat.

Spike watched all around him as the world became illuminated. Ironically the sun had become his greatest ally. The feud with Damon wasn’t anywhere near finished and the pillock would eventually return. Yet Spike was still standing, having survived to fight another day. And so long as he stayed fighting, Damon would never get his hands on Buffy. That was what mattered the most to Spike. For the moment, his golden girl was safe.

Spike’s inner musings were cut short when his face shifted back into its human guise as he involuntarily squinted. Something bright was shining in his eyes. Something like the sun! Instinctively Spike threw himself into a dark shadowed corner in an attempt to get away from the sun’s deathly rays.

Hold on a tic?!

Spike stared down at the unmarred skin of his hands. They were still pale, not even the slightest hint of a sunburn could be detected. Why wasn’t his skin smoking and why the bloody hell didn’t he burst into flames? Spike stared out at the brightly lit street from the shady corner he was standing in. Glancing down once again at his untarnished self, he took a step back into the light. Holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the intense sun, Spike let out a whopping laugh.

It was unbelievable. How could this possibly be? The sun wasn’t turning him into a big pile of dust. Spike suddenly clutched at his chest. No. No heartbeat. So he hadn’t been turned into a human. So then what the hell was going on? What had happened to make him completely impervious to the deadliest threat to a vampire? Spike’s mind raced for an explanation, running over the events of the past few tumultuous days. The Witch. It had to be. Something to do with the spell the Watcher had made her cast to turn Spike into a weak kitten. What other explanation could there possibly be?

With a spring in his step, Spike made his way across the sunlit street. “Well isn’t this just…” his smile faded as he stood before the open doors to the lair. “Neat.”

His good mood faltered at the sight of the house where his clan had once resided. The burnt ashes of those who had fallen lay scattered across its front steps. Obviously not every vamp got out of the sun in time. Spike could only pray they had been Damon’s as he stepped into the trashed house. The doorway and adjacent walls had been demolished and the main hall had been turned upside down. Broken glass, splintered wood, broken furniture, dried blood and even more ashes littered the floors of the lower level of the house. ‘What d’you expect mate? It was technically a war zone.’

As Spike scanned and surveyed his ruined lair, a feeling of unease took over him. It felt as though something wasn’t right, like something was missing. He didn’t like the feeling and it made him want to run up to check on Buffy. Turning to head to the stairway, Spike nearly stampeded over Vincent.

“Bloody hell! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a bloke like that?” Spike yelped, jumping back in surprise.

“I would be more vigilant if I were you. Can’t be so careless with who you turn your back to. Especially since Damon’s escaped,” the older vampire reprimanded.

“It’s good to see you too, Vince,” Spike replied, giving his comrade a good-humored smile.

Vincent let out an amused yet slightly vexed sigh. Of course he was happy to see his leader had survived, but his British stodginess prevented him from showing it. “Have you checked in with Natasha? She must be tearing her hair out by now.”

Spike shook his head. “Just ‘bout to head up there before you snuck up on me,” he jibbed as the two made their way upstairs.

“You should have known I was there. Don’t let yourself get distracted Spike. You were lucky this time but who knows what will happen the next time you and Damon face off,” Vincent pointedly noted.

Spike sneered at the mention of the vampire he had nearly defeated, dismissing Vincent’s disapproval of his apathetic outlook. “D’you see any of our vamps out there?” he asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Vincent nodded. “A few. They’ll be making their way back soon. Not sure how many are still standing though. Probably should look into that.”

Spike shrugged as he reached the door to Buffy’s room. The feeling that something was gravely wrong returned, this time with much greater intensity. Without a second thought or moment to reflect, Spike broke through the door, tearing it off of its hinges in his haste to see Buffy. What he saw made his heart metaphorically stop.

The heavy dark curtains that usually covered the large bay window had disappeared, flooding the most of the room with deadly sunlight. The glass of the room’s only window was shattered to pieces on the tiled floor. Part of the room was on fire, small sparse flames licking at pieces of upturned furniture. The bed had been flipped and television had been smashed in. Spike could see Vincent rushing over to an unconscious form on the floor. He suspected it was Natasha, who had been lucky enough to have been knocked out of the sun’s direct path when the attack had occurred. Whatever had destroyed the room had spared the vampiress.

Spike remained unmoving as he stared out into the destroyed space before him. The only thing that played over again in his mind was a single sentence composed of three simple words.

Buffy was gone.

A/N:Hey everyone. Sorry this update took so long. It would have been posted sooner but the past two weeks have been sheer hell for me. Anyway, Thnx for the reviews and emails, and no I would never leave a fic just hanging like that. So thnx again for the patience and please review. It'll put a smile on my face.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Spill My Heart for You

Buffy woke up a little disoriented. Her head was pounding and her vision was slightly blurred. She felt like she had just woken up from a late night drinking bender. Sitting up slowly Buffy suddenly realized that she wasn’t in the right bed. She wasn’t even in the right room. Glancing around, she grew frantic.

‘Where the hell am I?’

The bed she had been sleeping in was covered with crisp white sheets and a floral top blanket, a far cry from the black satin nest she had come to accept as hers. The room itself was much smaller than Spike’s and the walls and furnishings were all painted white. Buffy felt like she was either in a bed and breakfast or a rehab facility. Neither were really where she wanted to be. Why wasn’t she in Spike’s room?

Buffy’s hazy memory started to clear, uninterrupted images beginning to assault her recuperating mind. Images of her arguing with Natasha, of them impatiently waiting for the fight to begin, and then of the bloodcurdling roars and screams filling the house when it finally did. After that, things became dim again, unclear and hard to decipher. Buffy could remember sitting on the bed, her stake clutched to her breast as she waited for the unknown to happen. And that it did. All she could recall was the sound of glass shattering, of light filling the large room as Natasha instinctively growled. She could see a few people, though their features, more specifically their faces, were indiscernible. She’d fought them off as best she could, knocked a few to the ground even, but they’d been too many. Then the smell of something sickly sweet had covered her nose and everything around her had gone black.

The delayed, yet intense fear struck at last as Buffy came to grips with the situation. She had been kidnapped…again! Her immediate reaction was that Damon was behind the whole thing but looking at where she had spent the night, Buffy quickly dismissed that possibility. No, someone else had taken her out of that house, but who had even known that she had been there beside deranged and bloodthirsty vampires?

Slipping out of bed, Buffy stared down at what she was wearing; a long, red plaid, flannel nightshirt. It sure as hell wasn’t hers, so who did it belong to? Walking quietly to the window, Buffy threw open the flower patterned curtains and saw that she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. It was the middle of the day, the sun was shining bright and people were walking the streets. People leaving their houses, driving their cars, walking their dogs. Buffy was actually staring at real, living, breathing, mostly honest members of society people! The sight of something as simple as a girl riding her bike in the sunshine left Buffy utterly flabbergasted. Though quite mundane, what she was seeing before her held one major implication.

She was free. Free from that house, free from the threat of Damon, free from constantly living in fear. Free from Spike.

The last thought made her eyes sting and something inside her hollow out. In fact the thought of never seeing Spike again made her feel empty, like a part of her was missing. What was she doing standing there? She had to find out what had happened to Spike.

Buffy needed to know he was alright, that he had kept his promise and hadn’t gotten himself killed. She needed to find him. She pushed away thoughts that he had met a dusty ending. Buffy didn’t want to even consider that possibility. Insurmountable remorse wouldn’t even begin to describe how she would feel if she started to think Spike was gone. Buffy refused to believe it. If she did, it would mean she would never see him again and it would mean he would never truly know how she felt. With hindsight, their last squabble seemed so pointless. She had been so wrapped up in technicalities about her freedom that now, when she was finally free, she wanted nothing more than to run back to the vampire lair to tell Spike how much she loved him. Buffy felt like such a fool. If Spike was dead, she would never forgive herself.

Marching determinedly to the closed bedroom door, Buffy didn’t care what lay on the other side. She was going to find Spike. Her resolve faltered somewhat abruptly when the door swung open, forcing her to halt. Going automatically on the defensive, Buffy eyed the man entering the room.

He appeared middle-aged and was fairly tall. Well, taller than she was anyway. He was casually attired, jeans and black knit sweater. The man also wore glasses, which he was wiping down as Buffy subjected him to her scrutinizing gaze. He was standing in direct sunlight, it shinning on him from the open window. He wasn’t a vampire, but even that wasn’t enough for Buffy to determine whether he was friend or foe.

Placing his specs back on his face, Giles sighed loudly. “I trust you had a good night’s sleep?” he asked, trying to be hospitable though there was a guarded element to the Watcher’s voice.

Buffy gave him her most contemptuous glare. “As good as any chemically incapacitated hostage can sleep.”

Giles was quick to correct her. “You are not a hostage. We rescued you.”

Buffy scoffed angrily. “Do you drug everyone you supposedly rescue? What was that stuff anyway?”

“Chloroform. And we only used it to ensure your safety,” the Watcher argued, becoming flustered by the unexpected hostility being sent his way.

“Oh ‘cuz that makes a whole lotta sense!” Buffy threw her arms up in frustration. “Whatever. Thanks for everything but I’ll be going now.”

Giles blocked Buffy’s path, his face stern with indignation. “Surely, you cannot be serious? Where would you go? It would be imprudent to venture out into town so late in the day. You wouldn’t reach the border before nightfall.”

“Who’s to say I’m leaving town?” she heatedly threw back.

Giles’s eyes widened; he was dumbfounded by her irrational attitude. “Are you mad? It would be suicide to go back out there on your own!”

“Look, I appreciate what you did for me but I need to find Spike. So if you’ll just move out of the way, I can go vampire searching,” Buffy adamantly replied.

The Watcher just stared at the small blonde girl, unable to wrap his mind around what she was telling him. Buffy wanted to go back. She wanted to not only search for the vampire that had imprisoned her for months but she wanted to reassure herself about his wellbeing. It was another mind altering revelation to the exhausted, battle weary Watcher. The love that Spike had displayed for his captive had not been unrequited. Buffy loved him back. And that notion in itself nearly knocked Giles on his ass.

“You care,” he bewilderedly mumbled, not so much as asking but reaffirming what he had just discovered.

“Well yeah,” she instantly answered. “Damon was on full out megalomaniac mode. You do know who Damon is, right?”

Giles nodded, but he wouldn’t say how he knew the treacherous vampire. “I do and last I heard he was facing off against Spike for claim over the clan.”

It was Buffy’s turn to nod. “Last I heard too.” Her voice grew scratchy as she tried to contain her emotions. “I don’t know who won. Spike could be dust as we speak,” she hoarsely whispered.

The Watcher needed to sit down. He had been sure that Spike’s declaration of love for Buffy had been based on the grounds of some sort of misconstrued infatuation. However, now that she was exhibiting similar feelings for the notorious vampire, Giles was beginning to doubt everything he had ever been taught to believe about the living dead. For a human to have feelings for a vampire was like having a lamb love the wolf that hunted it. It was against every rational thought he had. It could be considered a crime against nature, against the very laws of the universe. Yet it was happening and there was nothing Giles could really do to stop it. And who was he really to come between two lovers, even if their love defied all logic? If anything, the whole ordeal reignited his suppressed Watcher tendencies, making him want to investigate whatever was left to learn about vampires, especially that which concerned William the Bloody.

“I know you are anxious to see what has become of Spike but I would hope you have enough sense to wait until I can organize an expeditionary group to take you back to the lair,” Giles offered with genuine sympathy.

“Expeditionary group? What are you guys, like some kind of demon hunters?” Buffy not so subtly wondered.

“Well yes, I guess you could say that,” he stammered. He had never encountered someone with such a cavalier outlook when it came to the existence and hunting of vampires. When they had found Cordelia, it had taken him a week to bring her out of her self-encouraged denial. Even Willow and Xander had been skeptical when Giles had first told them about Slayers and his role in the fight against evil. Buffy, however, appeared to be unfazed by anything she encountered, when anyone else would deem it earth shattering. Though he was not used to it, Giles could understand Buffy’s nonchalant manner. After being the only human in a house full of vampires, everything else must seem extremely inconsequential.

“Oh my God! You guys are the streeters, aren’t you?” Buffy gasped out the question.

“The what?” Giles wasn’t sure if he should be offended or flattered. What in pray tell was a ‘streeter’?

“It’s what Spike called the humans that were always fighting with his vamps. It was you guys he was talking about, wasn’t it?” Buffy explained, finally seeing the connection as to why these strangers would know, or even care, about her.

“Yes, he was referring to us, though I would prefer if you no longer called us by that name,” he answered before letting out an appalled murmur. “Streeters indeed!”

Buffy smiled at the older man’s indignant reaction to the nickname. He was stuffy and British but you couldn’t help but warm up to him. “So you’ll help me find Spike?”

Giles hesitated before he responded. “We’ll see it so that you remain safe.”

Buffy shrugged. “Good enough for me,” she stated as Giles moved out of the way. “Now all I need is a change of clothes.”

“I think one of the girls can lend you something,” he said as he opened the door so that they could leave the room.

Neither one had expected to bump into someone standing out in the hallway. Buffy’s hand flew to cover her mouth as she gasped. It couldn’t be. It just wasn’t possible. She was supposed to be dead.

“Cordy?”

The brunette could only nod as tears streamed down her face. Reacting instinctively, Cordelia pulled her shock rattled best friend into a hug. Once Buffy felt Cordy’s arms around her, once she finally felt some kind of physical confirmation that her friend was really alive, the floodgates burst open. Her knees buckled as she joined Cordy in her crying, unable to hold back any longer the grief she had never been able to fully let go. Thoughts of Spike were pushed aside as Buffy poured herself out, at last reunited with the traveling companion she had been separated from so many months ago.

********

Buffy was gone.

It was the only thing he could think of as he stared numbly at the shambled room, standing amongst the debris from the unanticipated attack. He was expecting Buffy to suddenly appear from behind the overturned bed or from hiding all along in the bathroom. But he knew better. He couldn’t sense her; he couldn’t pick up on her heartbeat. There was nothing alive in the bedroom.

The reality of everything was slowly settling in. He had acknowledged the fact that he had lost his clan, that Damon had in some way won. Spike recognized that the power he had once exacted over Sunnydale had slipped through his fingers. He got all of that, and accepted it without feeling so much as a twinge of regret. Losing Buffy, however, was the more than he could handle. She was his world and it was now crashing down all around him.

Distraught, Spike fought back the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. The shock subsided, giving way to panic as his mind flitted over every possible worst case scenario. The first thing that crossed his mind was whether or not Damon had taken Buffy. Spike stared out from the dark shadows of the room, his cold eyes landing on the expanse of sunlit floor. No, it couldn’t have been Damon’s vamps. Buffy’s scent was still too strong; she had to have been taken an only hour ago. And there was no way that any right minded vampire, besides Spike apparently, would subject himself to sunlight and still be undead enough to pull off a kidnapping. No, he couldn’t place the blame on Damon, no matter how much he wanted to.

A disheartened Spike heard a moan from the other side of the room. He turned to see Natasha cradled in Vincent’s arms. Spike hadn’t given the vampiress much thought since he had discovered Buffy was missing. Though now, upon seeing the condition she was in, he wished he had remained in his ignorant stupor.

Natasha was entirely burnt on one half of her body. The skin on her left side was a deep crimson, bubbling and chapped from the unpredicted exposure to the sun. She also had a busted lip and her face was covered in a purpled bruise. It was clear that she had been knocked out and that somehow the unforgiving sunlight had fallen upon her combustible skin, but in what order had those events occurred Spike was unsure.

Spike walked toward the two vampires, dashing through the sunlight, unbeknownst to the semi-conscious Natasha and the far too preoccupied Vincent. The oldest vampire of the three had ripped through his wrist with his own fangs and was at the moment feeding the fallen vampiress with his blood. He wasn’t her Sire so his blood was not very potent but at the moment any blood was better than no blood. Or so he hoped.

Spike watched quietly as Natasha sucked on the wound while Vincent stroked her head gently. The tenderness between them reminded the peroxide vamp so much of the times he had fed from Buffy. He hated himself for missing the taste of her blood gushing into his mouth and he hated himself even more for the involuntary reaction his body was having to the memory. Spike felt sick as his jeans tightened from remembering how Buffy’s warm, supple body felt beneath him as he brought her off just from drinking from her neck. How could he think about such a thing at a moment like this? Not only was there a possibility that he’d never see Buffy again but if he did find her, what chance was there that she would even speak to him, let alone allow him to snack off of her?

Guilt finally cemented in Spike’s heart. He should have let her go. He should’ve trusted Buffy, believed in her when she had said she wouldn’t leave but that she had only wanted his trust. Spike covered his face with his hands. Why had he been such a git? So what if she hadn’t said ‘I love you, too.’ Didn’t mean Buffy didn’t care. Didn’t mean he loved her any less. Spike cursed his stubborn pride.

Who was he kidding? Pride was just a smokescreen for his fear. The overwhelming fear that Buffy would never love him, that everything they’d shared had been nothing but a horrible, heartbreaking lie. It was a fear that had presented itself the very second Buffy had requested her freedom, though he hadn’t realized it until now. If he had at least freed her, even if only in the vocal sense, then their last words to each other would’ve held more meaning than the ambiguous sendoff she had given him. He would’ve at least known she didn’t hate him even if their goodbyes would’ve still been bittersweet. Spike would’ve been able to live with himself, which was more than he could say at the moment.

“Spike?” a somber voice called to him.

The defeated vampire turned to look down once again upon his two friends. Vincent was staring back up at him, waiting for instructions from his leader as he held Natasha in his arms. She was still unconscious. Spike inwardly scoffed. He wasn’t their leader anymore; he had no right to tell the older vamp what to do. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t, though.

“’S not safe for the two of you ‘ere anymore. Take whatever vamps you got left and get the hell out of town,” Spike muttered, his gaze growing blank.

“You can’t be serious,” Vincent replied in disbelief. “Damon…”

“Is my problem,” Spike interrupted. “Just do this one last thing for me, Vince. Pick up the pieces and get out of Sunnydale. Find a nice cozy tomb with a view if you don’t wanna do the clan thing anymore. Doesn’t matter really what you do, just leave. Let it be my last order as your leader.”

“I can’t believe you’re simply giving up,” Vincent said, a rising anger evident in his voice.

“Who says I’ve given up?” Spike asked incredulously.

“You did. Just a second ago,” the other vampire stated, becoming concerned that Spike had completely lost his marbles.

“No, I never did,” Spike quickly corrected. “Yeah, I’ve given up on the clan. I’ll give you that. Was a lost cause since before the fight had even started. But Damon’s fate is still fair game and what better way to get back at the pillock than by making him think he’s won.”

“If it’s what you want…” Vincent surrendered, his eyes reverting back to Natasha’s marred face.

“It is,” Spike affirmed. “You’ve been the best chum a man could’ve ever wished for, Vince, but it’s over.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” the crouching vampire remarked with a shrug. Slipping a gentle hand under Natasha’s knees and around her back, Vincent lifted her in his arms as he stood up. “Guess it was a lil’ unrealistic, eh? Askin’ vamps for loyalty and trust when we’re all so…well, so evil.”

“Was nothin’ but a dream, mate,” Spike added sadly.

“Ah, but a good dream nonetheless, even if we were deluding ourselves,” Vincent countered reflectively.

“Better get goin’. Want to make a good head start before sunset,” Spike mentioned as he absentmindedly walked out of the room.

“Can’t use the sewers, Spike. Damon knows all the trails. He’s bound to have his vamps patrolling them,” Vincent stated as he followed Spike with Natasha still in his arms. His curiosity intensified as they made their way downstairs, it peaking when they went all the way down into the basement. He watched silently as Spike effortlessly smashed through piles of old broken furniture, flinging the cobweb covered debris out of his way. Finally pushing through the junk, the younger vampire reached the far stone wall, which was partly veiled by a bulky wooden bookcase. With one tug, the case was knocked to the floor, revealing a once hidden exit way in the stone foundation. Vincent cocked his head to the side as he analyzed the enormous hole in the wall. Why had he never known about it?

“Leads to a system of tunnels. They don’t connect to the sewers and Damon doesn’t know bugger all ‘bout ‘em. Safe way out, mate,” Spike explained, filling in the blanks for his perplexed friend.

“Spike, why is it I’ve never seen this before?” Vincent wondered as he stared out into the blackness beyond the secret doorway.

“I was the only one who knew it was there,” Spike casually informed. “‘S why I picked the house in the first place. The whole clan thing was a little too new and I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Needed an escape route if you guys ever decided to turn against me. Almost forgot ‘bout the bloody hole ‘til just a few minutes ago.”

Vincent warily stepped closer to the opening, his face shifting into its vampire visage so that he could navigate through the thick darkness that clouded the unfamiliar passageway. Holding Natasha firmly to his chest, he glimpsed back at Spike. “Farewell, William.”

“Good luck, Vince,” Spike forlornly muttered.

“Likewise,” Vincent encouragingly replied. “Oh and when you do see Damon again, give ‘im hell for me, would you Spike? Make sure he suffers for what he did to you,” the older vampire gravely requested, his eyes shining with the revenge he would never be capable of exacting.

“No worries, Vince. I’ll see to it that the pillock gets what’s comin’ to him,” Spike reassured, his own lips tugging into a smile.

With the womanly bundle in his arms, Vincent took a step into the shadowy exit but not without glancing back one last time at Spike. “Hope you find her, William.” It was all he said before turning back into the darkness.

Spike observed Vincent disappear into the blackness. The two vampires he had trusted unconditionally were walking out his life, probably indefinitely. Spike headed back upstairs, only stopping when he reentered Buffy’s room. With one glimpse around the decimated empty room, he crumpled to the floor, dropping his face to his hands. In all his time as a vampire, Spike had never been without companionship, whether with Dru or with the clan he had only recently lost he had never been on his own, never truly been alone. At that very moment, Spike was the loneliest he had ever been. The tears he had been holding back since he had discovered Buffy’s disappearance were finally cascading down his sharp cheeks. Whimpers transformed into sobs, his body rocking from the intensity of his sorrow. He was so lost and he hated himself for being so weak.

As Spike mourned for all that he had lost, he longed to bury his face in golden hair and to feel the reassuring embrace of one girl. It was Buffy who he missed, for whom he was weeping like a ponce. Everything else was just icing on the shit cake that was his immortal existence.

TBC

A/N:Hey everyone. I'd like to thank whoever it was that nominated Master for the Breathless Awards. You're the best. Thnx to all you guys who've left a review. It means a lot. Now, on a much more serious note, I just want to send my thoughts and prayers to everyone affected by Hurricane Katrina. This especially goes out to Whitelighter354, a fellow Spuffy author, who is from Biloxi, Miss. I hope you're okay Dell.

Spike remained crumpled on the cold tile floor; his back slumped up against the crumbling wall. Single tears silently trickled down his face as his unfocused eyes stared out into oblivion. He sat directly in the sunlight that poured in from the room’s only window, yet it couldn’t even bring him to squint. Spike’s sudden imperviousness to the sun no longer left him in awe. Instead, he kept an apathetic vigil, but as to what it was exactly that he was watching he was yet to figure out. He didn’t want to move because moving required thought and thinking always brought him back to Buffy. So he stayed completely still. That way it wouldn’t hurt as much.

Spike knew he was being foolish. Damon would be back soon. He knew that after the dark vampire finished licking his wounds, he would without a doubt return for round two and that was something Spike sure as hell didn’t want to be around for. He sneered slightly. Wouldn’t Damon love to find him like this? A total nancy boy, crying on the floor like some poofter. Spike would rather stake himself than give that Judas with fangs that kind of bleeding satisfaction.

Furiously wiping away his last frustrated tears, Spike jumped to his feet. Marching toward the broken window, he stopped abruptly when something caught beneath his boot. His leather-bound journal. Bending over, he picked up the worn book. What was it doing out here? Glancing at the book shelf where he kept his few truly personal possessions, Spike wondered if Buffy had discovered his secret hiding place. He made his way over to the small bookshelf and threw all the books on it to the floor. Pulling out the back of the bottom shelf, Spike found all the photos, letters and drawings he had left there. The only thing that was missing was the journal, which was in his hands. He noticed that his belongings weren’t in the order he had left them in. Spike couldn’t stop himself from smiling. That was his Buffy. Too curious for her own damn good.

Pulling out his things from their safe place, Spike stuffed them into his duster pocket. If he was leaving the house for good, he didn’t want to leave anything behind. Skimming over the dog-eared diary, Spike gradually shoved it in his pocket along with the others. There wasn’t any time to concern himself with what Buffy could have possibly learned about his meekly former self. He could only speculate as to how she had reacted when she had first learned about William. Spike prayed she had found it endearing and that it had not somehow attributed to her only recent bit of rejection.

Spike headed back on his path to the window when something else sidetracked him. In the corner of his eye, sprawled atop the broken bed was his old red shirt, the one Buffy had worn during that brief period of time when all had been right between them. Taking it in his hands, Spike brought the silky fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply the lingering scents of her body and of their love making. His throat tightened upon remembering what they had shared and what he had most likely lost.

Buffy had been so open, if not with her words then with the way she had expressed her feelings. Looking back, Spike could see it now. Simply asking him to make love to her should’ve been enough proof of how she felt.

Spike’s thumb unconsciously stroked the collar of the crimson material as he mentally berated himself for his insecurity. During that short reprieve he had never felt more loved than when he had been in Buffy’s arms. The torture Spike had endured, Damon’s looming threat, his own deteriorating clan had all completely disappeared from his mind in those blissful moments. When he was with Buffy it felt as though the world around them vanished and that he was just a man, locked in the embrace of the woman he loved. Spike choked as he fought back another onslaught of tears. Buffy made him forget he was a monster; she made him feel like a man.

Spike’s fist tightened around the battle worn shirt. Now, because of his own downright stupidity, he might never have that again. Buffy could be lost to him forever and all that he would have left were a few drawings and the shirt he held in his hands.

Bringing the discarded garment back to his nose for one last heart wrenching smell, Spike stopped before the red shirt was in mid-lift. Something else besides essence of Buffy had tickled his overly sensitive nostrils. Dropping the shirt to the floor, Spike concentrated on the foreign scent. He couldn’t put his finger on it but it was familiar. Why hadn’t he noticed before?

The answer was obvious. He’d been too devastated and the only thing his guilty conscience had allowed his mind to register was Buffy’s scent. The sparse indoor fires and the dust and blood all over the house also did little to help in pinpointing the alien smell.

It wasn’t one scent but the combination of many. Mostly human. Mostly. Except for one, very minute trace of demon.

Spike smirked as he strutted to the large, shattered window. He jumped through it, landing two floors below on the bright sunlit street. If his hunch was right, he knew who had taken Buffy and where she was now being kept. A part of him was overjoyed that it wasn’t Damon but the demon inside of him was screaming to take back what was his. He just wasn’t sure if Buffy was his to take anymore.

********

Buffy mindlessly stared out the living room window as the early afternoon sun filled the room with its bright light. She was still in a bit of shock, what with her sudden freedom and discovering Cordelia had been alive all this time. To be honest, Buffy was feeling a bit overwhelmed. She still felt the urge to go find Spike but her brain was too overloaded at the moment to put anything into action. For now she remained unmoving, waiting for reality to sink in.

Buffy’s hand was clasped in Cordy’s as she sat beside her at the room’s only table, surrounded by many unfamiliar faces. The man she had met upstairs she learned was named Rupert Giles, a retired Watcher.

The three other people in the room were introducing themselves, though they already seemed to know who she was.

The shy redhead sitting across from her was named Willow. Buffy had discovered that the unexpected pjs she had woken up in belonged to the kindhearted, but at times fashionably-challenged girl. Despite her lacking skills in style, Buffy gave Willow a warm and thankful smile, which was enthusiastically returned.

Seated next to Willow was Oz, who by the looks of it was her boyfriend. Not that he was the lovey-dovey, in your face with the PDA kind of guy. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Oz’s impassive face couldn’t mask his feelings for the girl beside him. Though usually expressionless, the young man had body language that simply screamed ‘protector of Willow’. Buffy had seen it before. Spike used to act that way around her all the time. Even with the simplest gesture of resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, Buffy knew the guy cared. Buffy glanced at his hair. Oz was redhead like Willow. Buffy thought that was adorable.

Sitting at the end of the table across from Giles was Xander, a cute guy with chocolate brown eyes who appeared to be the joker of the bunch. Buffy couldn’t help but notice the fleeting glances he was sending Cordelia’s way. She also noticed how Cordy would blush ever so slightly and avert her eyes from his gaze. Buffy smirked knowingly. It seemed as though a few things had happened to her best friend in the months they had been separated. She made a mental note to ask Cordy about it later.

Still gazing out at nothing, Buffy missed part of the conversation that was transpiring all around her. It wasn’t until Cordelia lightly elbowed her, did she snap out of her trance.

“Huh?” she turned to look at her best friend, hazel eyes wide with confusion.

“I was just telling them how we met freshman year and about the road trip,” Cordy reiterated, a little thrown by Buffy’s lack of attentiveness.

Buffy scoffed sadly. “We would’ve probably been in Vegas by now.”

Cordelia nodded, turning in her chair to look Buffy in the eyes. “I should’ve listened to you when you were having doubts about Sunnydale. If I hadn’t been so one tracked mind about having a good time…if we had just left town then…then maybe we would’ve never had to live through this nightmare,” she lamented as a single tear streamed down her face.

Buffy could feel her own tears about to give way. “It isn’t your fault, Cordy. How were any of us supposed to know what was gonna happen,” she reassured. “And it’s okay now. I’m here with you and you’re alive. For all these months, I thought you were dead.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Cordy replied as she squeezed Buffy’s hand.

Buffy reached over and hugged her best friend. “Hey, I’m all with the living here,” she good-humoredly stated. “Everything’s gonna be alright, Cordy. We survived.”

“It’s a miracle that you did,” Willow broke in. “I mean, you’re both so lucky to have gotten the heck out of the Bronze that night with your lives.”

The girls nodded in agreement before Oz added his own two cents. “Not to mention the fact that Buffy survived all those months while being held captive at Spike’s lair. That’s beyond miracle. I might even wager it’d be deemed a phenomenon,” he commented in his typically stoic manner.

Buffy nodded as her hand unconsciously crept up to the scars on her neck. Brushing the wound lightly, she suddenly wished she could’ve been wearing a turtleneck instead of the black cotton tee she was sporting that did nothing to shield her from curious gazes. It wasn’t that Buffy was ashamed but the knowledge that she had been a willing participant when Spike had bitten her might be a little too unsettling for the group at the table. They might think that her need to find the vampire that had held her prisoner for months was some kind of post-traumatic insanity. Buffy couldn’t risk them finding out and trying to stop her. The ex-Watcher had promised her that they would help her but how was she supposed to know whether or not she could trust them. She especially did not want to tell Cordelia. The brunette might be her best friend but open minded she was not. No. Buffy was going to have to do this alone. She just had to find the opportunity to slip away.

“How did you survive Buffy? Why didn’t they kill you?” Cordelia wondered. It never made sense to her. What the heck would a vampire keep a human around for?

Buffy tried desperately not to blush as she thought of the initial reason as to why Spike had enslaved her. What was she supposed to tell them? What would be believable? She couldn’t tell them the truth. Buffy couldn’t stand to see the disgusted and pitying looks they would no doubt be giving her if they found out. She wasn’t a victim. Survivor most definitely, but never a victim.

As Buffy struggled to enlighten everyone as to what she had endured in the past couple pf months, Xander and Willow exchanged uncomfortable looks. They knew exactly why Spike had held onto her. They weren’t a hundred percent sure about the sex aspect of the relationship but they were pretty certain it had something to do with Spike being in love with Buffy. Xander had chalked the whole ‘vampire in love’ thing up to Spike being one pretty sick and twisted monster who deluded himself in thinking that the girl he kept chained up in his room was actually in love with him. It was the only way the simple minded brunette could live with what he had heard and seen that night he and Willow had played basement night watchmen.

Any other possible explanation was just too much for him to come to grips with. Vampires were supposed to be bad and humans were supposed to be good. As simple as that. To Xander, it was completely black and white. Vamps weren’t supposed to fall in love with their food. His survival instincts had taught him from the beginning that there wasn’t any room for the varying shades of grey when it came to morality. If you second guessed what you were doing, who you were fighting, then you were dead. So Spike was evil, regardless of his uncharacteristic declarations of love. Once a soulless, evil bloodsucking fiend, always a soulless, evil bloodsucking fiend.

Willow on the other hand had a difference of opinion. While Xander lived in his own world of denial and closed-mindedness, the Wicca couldn’t ignore what she had seen that night. There had been something about the way Spike had whimpered over Buffy in his sleep. It had been so sincere, so distraught, just too raw for it not to have been love. Willow knew with every fiber of her being that the vampire had fallen in love with Buffy and that had probably been the reason why he had held onto the blonde girl for so long. The question now was whether or not Buffy felt the same for Spike. If she did, Willow wouldn’t judge her for it. The relationship would be extremely unconventional, but this was Sunnydale after all, where the unusual was a way of life. Discretely eying the girl across from her, Willow couldn’t decipher for herself what the emotions playing across Buffy’s face meant. Sighing, the redhead simply waited along with the rest of them for Buffy’s response.

“I..I..” Buffy began to reply, clearly stumbling over what to say. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now if that’s okay with you,” she covered as her clutched at the front of her t-shirt, trying to hide the bites Spike had adorned her neck with.

Cordelia sympathetically nodded. “Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

The former cheerleader could only imagine what horrors her best friend must have survived during her stay at Vampire Central. She didn’t want to pressure Buffy into telling her what had happened. She still looked pretty upset over the whole ordeal. The last thing Cordy wanted was to make Buffy feel even more uneasy, especially in front of a group of people she considered to be strangers. She patted her best friend’s hand. Cordelia would be there for her no matter what. She knew Buffy would’ve done the same for her. It’s what best friends do.

“Thanks,” Buffy sighed in relief as she stared around the table. Everyone else seemed pretty content with her answer. They were probably thinking the worst, probably jumping to conclusions about torture, rape and her being used as a blood cow. Why else wouldn’t she want to talk about what she had been through?

It wasn’t until her eyes met with the Englishman’s did she realize that not everyone was clueless as to why she did not wish to speak on the issue of her capture. The Watcher knew she loved Spike.

‘Of course he does!’ Buffy inwardly berated herself. How couldn’t he when she had ranted like a mad women the second she had met him, demanding that she be let go so that she could find Spike.

Speaking of finding Spike, Buffy needed to snap out of it and get to it. The shock of Cordelia being alive had brought her to the table but what was keeping her there? It wasn’t the riveting conversationalists sitting all around, that was for sure! Then why was she stalling? Why was she dodging questions and pushing off actually taking Mr. Giles up on his offer about helping her search for Spike? As much as she hated to admit it, she exactly knew why. Buffy was afraid of what she might eventually find.

If she were to discover that Spike had perished during the fight against Damon, then she didn’t know what she’d do. The possibility was just too devastating, leaving her with fearful indecision. The longer she waited, the harder it was to move. Her heart was beating rapidly and her stomach churned painfully at the thought that Spike was gone forever, that there was an actual chance she might never see him again. The room suddenly seemed to be getting small, like the walls were creeping slowly toward her. Her lungs were finding it difficult to draw in precious oxygen. For the first time in a long time Buffy felt as though she could possibly give into a panic attack.

‘Snap out of it!’ the stronger part of her ordered. ‘Get a grip. You need to know what happened to him. He could be out there somewhere thinking you ran away or that you’re dead.” The weaker aspect of her psyche quickly added, ‘Yeah, if he isn’t dead himself.’

Taking in one deep, long breath, Buffy turned back to look at the Watcher. “Mr. Giles…”

Holding up his hand, the older man interrupted her. “Please, simply Giles is adequate,” he informed with a smile. “It’s how everyone around here refers to me.”

“Plus taking off the ‘Mr.’ makes Giles feel like he’s not the old, teacher/mentor, Watcher guy that he really is when he’s around all of us younggins,” Xander quipped.

“Why thank you ever so much for that little bit of vital insight Xander,” Giles sarcastically stated, aggravated by the young man’s distorted sense of humor. “And I am not old,” he finished with a mutter.

“Uh…you were saying Buffy?” Oz chimed in, trying to get the group back on track.

“Yes Buffy, I must apologize for the interruption. Please, continue with what you were about to say,” Giles urged.

Buffy sighed loudly as she bowed her head, avoiding all the intense stares sent in her direction. “Well…like I’d told you upstairs Giles, I think…I think I need to go back,” she told them as she glimpsed up to momentarily see their reactions. Everyone appeared mostly perplexed by what she was trying to say. “There are some loose ends that I never got the chance to tie up before you guys broke me out of there.”

“Is this about payback Buffy? Because as crazy as you sound right now, that’s the only thing that would make any sense,” Cordelia asked, staring at her friend as though she had grown another head.

“No Cordy. This isn’t about getting back at anyone,” Buffy remarked with conviction. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing Damon hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Then why in the hell would you wanna go back to that haunted house?” the flustered brunette inquired.

“Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand,” Buffy stated, wishing Cordy would just drop it. The last thing she wanted at that moment was anymore dissuasion. She needed to get to Spike, with or without anyone’s help.

“Then why don’t you at least try to explain it and we’ll see whether or not I understand?” Cordelia irately suggested, bringing forth her inner bitch. She didn’t like it when people kept things from her, especially when said people included her best friend. Traumatic experience aside, Buffy couldn’t simply declare that she wanted to go back to Spike’s lair without giving a good, and more importantly, sane reason as to why.

“It has to do with Spike,” Buffy hesitantly began to elaborate.

Everyone tensed suddenly when she mentioned the name. Buffy knew Spike’s name was synonymous with pain and death to the people sitting before her. She could understand why bringing him up would make everyone jittery.

“I need to find him. I need to know what happened. Giles said you guys would help but if you don’t want to, I understand,” Buffy continued on, still not telling them what her exact plans were regarding the infamous vampire.

“Spike was…I mean…Spike is very important t—” Buffy started to clarify, stopping abruptly as she gazed around the room.

Everyone still seemed pretty on edge but it was beyond mere name association wiggins. They were all wide eyed, trembling with the fear that was clearly etched across their faces. Their gazes were not on her but past her, to something that was standing behind her.

Buffy turned to her side to look at Cordelia. The petrified girl was pointing a shaky hand to something in the hallway behind Buffy, her mouth open as she tried to vocalize some sort of distress call.

Without so much as a second thought, Buffy spun around in her seat. What she saw almost made her cry, scream and faint all at the same time.

“Hello luv.”

Chapter Twenty-Six: If I Lose You, My Heart Will Be Broken

Crossbows were instantly drawn on the creature standing before Buffy as the rest of the room’s occupants swiftly maneuvered to the far side of the table, putting the obstacle between them and the vampire. Every single bow was loaded with a deadly arrow, ready to pierce the heart. And those without the luck of having the projectile weapon within their possession had instead pulled out stakes, crosses and even small glass vials of holy water. Anything that would protect them from the peroxide intruder.

The vampire in their midst however did not even flinch. Hell he wasn’t even paying them the least bit of attention. His gaze was locked on the blonde girl, who for some reason showed no sign of fear. Instead, she returned his intense stare, her hazel eyes shimmering with oncoming tears. It was as though they were trapped in each other’s eyes, lost to the world around them as a flurry of emotions tugged at their hearts.

A single mantra of ‘go to Buffy’ played over and over again in Spike’s mind. Without any consideration for the danger he was in, the vampire took a step toward his love, still hypnotized simply by the site of her.

It was the harsh sound of Oz’s defensive, growl-like warning that broke them from their trance. “Get back.”

Spike finally glanced around. His cerulean eyes widened for a split second, but almost as soon as the trace of fear crossed his face, it quickly disappeared behind a mask of indifference.

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Spike smirked at the group of humans. “Come now. Is this any way to treat a guest? ‘Specially one who returns even after the piss poor treatment he got during his first visit.”

Buffy’s brow crinkled with confusion. Turning to Giles she asked, “What’s he talking about?”

The Watcher didn’t remove his crossbow from its mark, his eyes never leaving the intended target that was the vampire’s chest. Grudgingly, though still very much focused, Giles answered her. “Spike had spent some time here not too long ago.”

Spike scoffed resentfully. “Old age startin’ to creep up on ya, mate? Forgettin’ a few minor details, aren’t we Rupes?” he spitefully badgered. “Like how you went into cahoots with Damon or how you couldn’t beat the livin’ stuff outta yours truly without havin’ to resort to mystical castration,” Spike unveiled, his tone cold and unforgiving.

Giles eyes narrowed. “We thought Buffy was in danger. We thought you were hiding her. At the time, we had no other options,” he explained through gritted teeth.

“Oh really?” Spike quickly replied, totally unconvinced. “Certain it wasn’t a lil’ vengeance call on your part, Watcher? Had to get your jollies out with a good ole round of kick the Spike?” He paused so that the humans around him could fully absorb the newly revealed information. “Stop deluding yourself, Rupert. I might be an evil vampire but at least I don’t hide behind some kind of perverse moral superiority whenever I got an agenda.”

“Giles, what is he talking about?” Xander asked nervously as he continued to aim his own crossbow at Spike.

The Watcher didn’t respond. It wasn’t the time for this particular conversation. Right now, Giles had to act as their leader and push away the guilt he felt for what he had done. Even if Giles wanted to rehash what he had almost allowed himself to turn into; how he had almost become the thing he hated most in the world; how he had allowed his hatred to consume him to the point that he had jeopardized Buffy’s life; he couldn’t. His comrades would learn soon enough but not if they were dead. Despite his misgivings about Spike’s evilness, the Watcher wouldn’t put it past the vampire to exact a bit if his own revenge. He couldn’t take the chance that Spike wasn’t deeply upset over the whole torture fiasco and that he wouldn’t just kill them all so that he could run off with Buffy. The vampire might have some redeemable qualities, but he was still a vampire. A very brassed off vampire to boot.

“Leave Spike,” Giles ordered, his grip tightening around the crossbow in his hands.

Spike smirked again. “Don’t think so, Watcher. Gonna need a bit more persuasion than a stern talkin’ to while you shake that medieval stick slinger at me.”

Giles ignored the jibe and repeated his warning. “Leave or I’ll shoot you. Medieval stick slinger or not, it can still send an arrow through your chest. And believe me, this time I won’t miss your heart.”

Buffy, who had been in a state of pure mental lockdown up until now, suddenly crashed down to reality. Memories of gaping holes in Spike’s chest flooded her mind. The connections were all there; the newly discovered information about Spike’s association with Giles, the long and frightening days he had been missing, and the wounds he had brought back with him. Buffy’s shocked gaze landed on the Watcher, who at the moment was oblivious to her recent epiphany. Giles and the rest of them, including Cordy, were the reason why Spike had been beaten beyond recognition. They were the reason Damon had taken reign over the clan. They were the reason Spike hadn’t been there to protect her when Damon had attacked her. Worst of all, they had hurt Spike. And with that knowledge something primal, almost animalistic, awoke within Buffy.

Standing up from her seat, Buffy stood in front of Spike, using her body to block him from the arrow that would in no doubt kill him.

Spike stared in awe as he watched Buffy use herself as a human shield to protect him from probable death. It was her first real reaction to his sudden re-appearance and it spoke volumes. She was giving him a crumb, a smidgen of hope that there was something left between them. Buffy didn’t hate him and that was something noteworthy enough to point out.

Though inwardly jumping for joy, the vampire remained completely still, cautiously aware of the girl standing before him. Spike wasn’t about to rule out the possibility that Buffy’s selfless gesture was actually a ploy to bring down his defenses just enough so that she could deliver the killing blow herself. Spike prayed it wasn’t the case, though he knew he deserved it. Even if she was about to plunge a stake into his chest, he’d still love her. Until his ashes hit the floor, Spike would keep on loving Buffy.

“Buffy, are you crazy!?! What are you doing!?!” Cordelia anxiously yelled from the other side of the table, unconsciously lowering the tightly clutched cross in her hand.

“You can’t kill Spike,” Buffy declared ardently, her adamant words not solely directed to Cordelia but to every single person in the room.

“Why the hell not!?!” Cordy snapped, her face flush with frustration. “Why the hell are you protecting that monster?!” she nearly screamed as she angrily pointed to Spike.

Buffy turned her head around to glimpse at Spike. He was staring at her, cobalt eyes wide and glittering, his emotions playing across his face. She could see he was apprehensive, that he was scared of what she was about to say. Buffy, however, could also see that behind the fear was the love he felt for her. It was reassurance enough. She knew what she had to do.

‘Moment of truth,’ Buffy thought nervously as she turned to face the group of demon hunters once again. ‘There’s no turning back now.’

“Because I love him.”

The room grew quiet. Had they heard right? Had Buffy just told them that she loved Spike? The vampire himself looked a bit stupefied, as though it was taking some time for his brain to wrap around what exactly it was that was happening. Though a few people in the room had an idea, an inkling as to what the relationship between the Master vampire and his former prisoner entailed, no one had ever expected this pretty abrupt and very public declaration. Especially not Cordy.

Xander stood there, utterly gobsmacked, with his mouth hanging wide open. It was during that brief moment of distracted bewilderment that his finger accidentally brushed the trigger of the crossbow he was holding. And it was because of this little error that an arrow shot through the air, flying directly at Buffy. Though it all happened too fast for anyone to react, gasps reverberated through the silence when the lethal projectile was stopped. Yet, it wasn’t Spike’s vampire quick reflexes that had saved Buffy. It was her own hand that had caught the arrow right before it pierced her chest. Snapping the arrow in half as though it were a twig, she dropped the pieces of wood to the floor.

Turning once again to face a flabbergasted Spike, Buffy quizzically pouted. “Huh, I caught it.”

As soon as the words fell from her mouth, Buffy’s face became expressionless. Her eyes suddenly rolled to the back of her head as she started to fall. Spike instantly reached out and caught her before she hit the ground. Carefully cradling Buffy in his arms, he tried to wake her, calling out her name and gently stroking her face. Spike was near panic and he instinctively wanted to shake her but he stopped himself. He didn’t know what she’d been through in the past few days or what injuries she might have sustained. Spike’s rage elevated as he pictured the Watcher clobbering Buffy over the head, knocking her out so that it’d be easier to take her from the lair. If this fainting spell was some kind of late symptom of head trauma, so help him, Spike would without a doubt eviscerate Giles before tearing him limb from limb. The concern for Buffy’s unexpected aptitude for arrow catching was quickly pushed aside as the vampire focused on trying to revive his girl.

Giles rushed to Buffy’s side, forgetting the danger he was putting himself in simply by being within arms reach of Spike. The Watcher followed the vampire as he laid her down on the tabletop. Spike stripped off his duster, bunching it up so that it could be used to cradle Buffy’s head. The vampire ignored the looks he was getting from the anxious group of humans. They tensely watched as Spike stroked the unconscious girl’s blonde head.

A few moments of strained silence passed before Spike asked, “What have you done to her?” His voice was steady but unquestionably lethal as his gaze remained fixed on Buffy’s deceptively peaceful face.

“N-nothing,” Willow uneasily replied, immediately put on the defensive.

Spike glimpsed up at the group of humans. “Doesn’t bloody well look like nothing, now does it?”

It was Xander this time who stepped up to the plate. “How do we know this isn’t your fault?” he heatedly proposed. “Maybe all your brainwashing finally got to her. Must have been pretty intense stuff to get her to believe she actually loves you.”

Spike’s ice blue eyes narrowed as they focused on the boy. “Buffy’s words were her own,” the vampire defended. How dare the little pissant demean what could possibly be the most meaningful and joyful moment of his entire existence. “And I would never hurt her, which is more than we can say ‘bout you, whelp. ‘Least I didn’t almost shoot her with a crossbow,” Spike spitefully remarked before his lip curved into a smirk. “Ya know for a demon hunter, you’re a pretty lousy shot.”

Willow tensed as Spike spoke those few incriminating words, her gaze instantly landing on Oz’s flummoxed face. The last thing she wanted was to lead an exposition on what precisely had happened the night Oz had broken free from his cage. The window of opportunity was there and Willow could almost see where the conversation was heading. So before the subject of when exactly had Xander ever demonstrated his not so stellar aim arose, the redheaded witch abruptly cut in. “Giles, could Buffy be a slayer?”

To Willow’s relief, everyone for the moment appeared to have forgotten about the squabble and turned to the Watcher for an answer.

What they hadn’t expected was an indignant snort from Spike. “You really need to get you’re team to crack open a book once in a while, Rupert. They should know Buffy’s a lil’ too old for the Slayer gig.”

Giles grimaced. “As much as it pains me to say this, Spike is right. Buffy is far past the age when most slayers are called. Also, I know for a fact that the Slayer in Cleveland is still alive. Though I am no longer with the Council, I remain in contact with her Watcher, most of the time just trying to get him to lend a hand with the crisis here in Sunnydale,” he clarified before bitterly adding. “The stupid berk never does give me a straight answer.”

“But it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?” Willow hesitantly threw out. “I mean, the Slayer can die at any time and what if Buffy got chosen? Stranger things have happened. I know of this spell…”

The sound of a menacing growl interrupted Willow’s explanation. “Think you’ve done enough damage with that mojo of yours Red. Don’t think for a second that I’m gonna let you anywhere near Buffy with a spell book.”

Oz stepped between Willow and Spike’s venomous stare, his demeanor unfazed and protective. The non-verbal showdown lasted for a few seconds until the vampire gave the wolf boy a bit of an appraisal, sizing him up. Finding a bit of newfound respect for the werewolf, Spike shrugged the whole thing off.

Snapping his head to the right to threateningly glare at Giles, Spike continued in a low voice, “If she doesn’t wake up the bloody well soon, I’m gonna…”

A moan silenced him. Rushing to Buffy’s side, he assisted her as she tried to sit up. “What happened?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“Had a bit of a faintin’ spell, luv,” Spike clarified for her before worriedly asking. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay,” Buffy reassured, suddenly becoming aware that she was sitting on a table and that everyone around her looked extremely concerned. Turning to gaze back up into Spike’s still pensive face, Buffy slowly began to remember. The memories began to rematerialize in her mind as the dizziness finally dissipated. “Did I almost get shot with an arrow?” she inquired in astonishment.

Spike nodded tentatively.

“And I caught it, didn’t I?” she asked, again in disbelief. It seemed so preposterous but it was what she remembered.

Spike smiled softly at her bafflement. He nodded again.

Buffy’s eyes widened in response. “Okay!” she nearly shouted. “My life just upgraded from weird to freakin’ bizarro!”

Spike couldn’t help but chuckle. Taking her hand in his, he asked one last time, “But you’re alright?”

Giving him her most genuine and loving smile, Buffy was quick to reassure. “Yeah, I’m fine. A little wigged, but fine.”

What was transpiring between the Master vampire and the blonde California girl did not go unnoticed by the rest of those in the room. Even Cordelia could not deny what she was witnessing.

“Why was I able to do that?” Buffy wondered, not really asking anyone in particular, simply hoping someone would provide an answer.

Spike looked to the Watcher. “C’mon , Rupes. This should be right up your alley. Wouldn’t want all those years at the Academy goin’ to waste, now would we? So, go on, have at it.”

Giles didn’t miss the taunting undertone of Spike’s pestering. The vampire was hoping that the Watcher would find himself stumped. Giles knew Spike wanted to embarrass him, to humiliate him, to show him what it felt like to be rendered useless. It wasn’t exactly vengeance but simply a bit of salt in a healing wound.

“Well…perhaps…It could be…” the ex-Watcher struggled, wracking his brain to come up with a possible explanation. Almost like a light bulb turning on, one idea popped into his head. Staring intently at Spike, Giles asked, “Have you claimed Buffy?”

“Does she look like a mindless drone to you?!” he angrily retorted.

“Uh, can someone please clarify for those of us who didn’t take Vampire 101?” Buffy spoke up, hating that they were talking about her but that she was completely out of the loop.

Sighing loudly, Spike forced himself to calm down. Buffy deserved to know what was going on. “When a vamp claims a human, the human becomes the property of the vamp. In essence, the poor sucker looses total control, turns into a complete automaton and has to do the vamp’s biddin’.”

Buffy continued to stare at Spike even after he finished with his explanation. “I don’t feel like I’m not in control of my body,” she declared, unsure if she should feel any different, absentmindedly stroking the marks on her neck.

“That’s ‘cos you haven’t been claimed. Need to bite you and officially declare you as mine before I can make you my puppet,” Spike lightheartedly enlightened.

“So this whole time you coulda had me by the metaphoric mind leash… and you didn’t,” Buffy slowly stated, remembering how hard he had tried to get her to submit all those months ago. “From the beginning, you didn’t even try.”

A twinge of regret flashed before Spike’s eyes. “Guess I was a glutton for punishment, wantin’ you to stay the way you are. Told you already pet, turnin’ you, claimin’ you would’ve been too easy. I was lookin’ for a challenge.” He said the last part with a smirk.

Buffy gave him one of her own cheeky grins. There was so much she still didn’t know about vampires even after spending the majority of her summer trapped in their lair. There was also so much she still didn’t know about Spike. The fact he hadn’t gone the easy route, even after all the times she had pushed him to the brink of sanity made Buffy love him all the more.

“Have you two mated?” Giles asked, no tip toeing around the uncomfortable issue. Simply straight to the point.

Spike froze, his body turning into one giant nerve.

“Mated?” Buffy wondered incredulously. “Please tell me you’re not actually asking me what it sounds like you’re asking me?”

Giles, whose cheeks were slightly tinted with embarrassment, was quick to elaborate. “It’s more or less a vampire marriage. It involves two vampires exchanging claims which inevitably bind them for eternity.”

Buffy’s gaze returned to Spike, who suddenly appeared uncharacteristically worried and insecure. Without looking back at Giles, she asked, “What’s it involve?”

“Well…uh…in the midst of…umm…intercourse, blood must be exchanged and the claim must be accepted by both parties involved,” Giles uncomfortably elucidated, becoming quite flustered.

“Way to reduce one of the most sacred moments in a vamps life to a textbook definition,” Spike criticized, forgetting his uncertainties for a brief second.

“So there’s more to it?” Buffy asked Spike, truly curious.

Spike nodded, somewhat comforted by the fact that she wanted to learn more about the ritual. “It links two vampires for eternity. They share each other’s emotions. If one gets hurt, the other experiences their pain. It’s almost as though the other vamp becomes a part of you. And when that part goes missing, it hurts, like a knife in your gut. Some vamps even stake themselves if their mates get dusted. The loss is just too unbearable.”

A few strange feelings stirred within Buffy as she heard Spike explain the intricacies of vampire mating. The connection, the unbearable pain he described somehow resonated within her.

Buffy understood why he had never mentioned the ritual. The idea of being magically connected to one person, let alone a vampire, for the rest of time would’ve totally freaked her out. To be honest, it still did. Staring at Spike’s silent standoffishness, Buffy gave him another warm smile. He hadn’t brought the issue up because it would have been another bit of rejection, something he most probably had had enough of since he had met her. Buffy knew she wasn’t ready for anything like that but she wasn’t about to rule out the possibility just yet.

She turned to Giles. “We’re not mated.” The Englishman almost looked relieved with the information. But before he could say anything, Buffy added with unquestionable certainty, “But I think I claimed Spike.”

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